'Such a Treasure!'

BY

EILEEN O'CONNELL

 'Evelyne, come to my room before you go to your singing lesson. I have had a most important letter from your father; the New Zealand mail came in this morning.'

'Can I come now, Aunt Mary?' replied a clear voice, its owner appearing suddenly at the head of the stairs pinning on to a mass of sunny hair a very large hat. 'I want to go early, for if I arrive first, I often get more than my regular time, and you know how greedy I am for new songs.'

Mrs. Trevor did not reply; she walked slowly into her morning-room and stood at the window looking perplexed and serious, thinking nothing about her niece's lessons, and looking at, without seeing, the midsummer beauty of her garden. A few minutes later the door opened, and she turned to the young girl, who with a song on her lips danced merrily into the room.

At the sight of Mrs. Trevor's face she stopped suddenly, exclaiming, 'Something is wrong! What has happened?'

'You are right, Eva, something has happened--something, my child, that will affect your whole life.' With a falter in her voice the woman continued, 'You are to leave me, Evelyne, and go out to New Zealand. You are needed in your father's house.'

 'To New Zealand?--I refuse to go.'

'You have no choice in the matter, dearest. Your mother has become a confirmed invalid, and is incapable of looking after the children and the house. Your father has naturally thought of you.'

'As a kind of servant to a heap of noisy boys, half of whom I never have seen even. I daresay it would be very convenient and very cheap to have me. However, I shall not go to that outlandish place they live at in New Zealand, and you must tell father so.'

'But I cannot, Evie. There is no choice about it. Your parents have the first claim on you, remember.'

'I deny that,' said the girl passionately; 'they cared so little about me that they were ready to give me to you and go to New Zealand without me; that fact, I think, ends their claims. And Auntie, having lived here for eight years, and being in every way happy, and with so much before me to make life worth living, how can they be so selfish as to wish to ruin my prospects and make me miserable?'

'Eva, Eva, don't jump to conclusions! Instead of believing that the worst motives compelled your father's decision, think it just possible that they were the highest. Put yourself out of the question for the moment and face facts. Your parents were _not_ willing to part with you; believe me, it was a bitter wrench to both to leave you behind. But settling up country in the colony was not an easy matter for my brother with his delicate wife and four children. Marjory was older than you, so of course more able to help with the boys, and knowing that his expenses would be very heavy and his means small, I offered to adopt you; for your sake, more than other considerations, I think, my offer was accepted. Since Marjory's death your mother has practically been alone, for servants are scarce and very expensive. Now, poor soul, her strength is at an end; she has developed an illness that involves the greatest care and rest. You see, darling, that this is no case for hesitation. The call comes to you, and you must answer and do your duty faithfully.'

The girl buried her face in the sofa cushions, her hat lay on the floor.

'I hate children--especially boys,' she said sullenly when she spoke. 'Surely in eight years a doctor ought to be able to make enough to pay a housekeeper, if his wife can't look after his house.'

'You don't understand how hard life is sometimes, or I think you would be readier to take up part of a burden that is dragging down a good and brave man.'

'To live in an uncivilised country, where probably the people won't speak my own language----'

'Don't betray such absurd ignorance, Eva,' replied Mrs. Trevor; 'you must know that New Zealand is a British colony, inhabited mainly by our own people, who are as well educated and as well mannered as ourselves.'

'And just when I was getting on so well with my singing! Mr. James said my voice would soon fill a concert hall, and all my hopes of writing and becoming a known author--everything dashed to the ground--every longing nipped in the bud! Oh! it is cruel, cruel!'

In New Zealand

'I knew, dear child, that the blow would be severe; don't imagine that it will be easy for me to give you up. But knowing what lies before us, the thing to do is to prize every hour we are together, and then with courage go forward to meet the unknown future. The boys are growing up----'

'Hobbledehoys, you may be sure.'

Mrs. Trevor smiled, but said nothing. 'And in addition to them, there is the baby sister you have never seen.'

'And never wish to,' added Eva ungraciously.

'We shall have much to think of, and when once you have become used to the idea, I should strongly advise you to settle to some practical work that will help when you are forced to depend on yourself.'

Eva did not reply. Mentally she was protesting or blankly refusing to give up her life of ease, of pleasures, and congenial study in exchange for the one offered her in the colony.

'Friends of your father are now home and expect to return in September; so, having arranged for you to accompany them, we must regard their arrangements as time limit. It is always best to know the worst, though, believe me, anticipation is often worse than realisation.'

The sword had fallen, cutting off, as Evelyne Riley was fully convinced, every possibility of happiness on earth so far as she was concerned. Time seemed to fly on fairy wings; Mrs. Trevor made all necessary preparations, and before Evelyne realised that her farewell to England must be made, she stood on the deck of the outgoing steamer 'Waimato' at the side of a stranger, waving her hand forlornly to the woman whose heart was sore at parting with one she had learned to look upon as her own child.

Six weeks later, Eva landed at Wellington. The voyage had not interested her much, and she was glad to end it. She had read somewhere that it was usual to wear old clothes on board, but for landing to choose smart and becoming ones, and Eva had bestowed quite some thought on the subject. Her dark serge lay at the bottom of her trunk, and for the important occasion she decided on her most cherished frock and the new hat, which in Richmond she had worn on high-days and holidays. Certainly she looked very attractive. Almost sixteen, tall and very fair, Eva was a beautiful girl, and as the eyes of Dr. Riley fell on her, he wondered in amazement at the change that had taken place in the pale, slight child he had left with his sister. Could this really be Evelyne? If so, how was she going to suit in the simple surroundings to which she was going? He gazed in dismay at the expensive clothes and fashionable style of one who soon would need to patch and darn, to bake and cook, run the house on practical lines, and care for children.

Somewhat nervous and much excited, Eva allowed herself to be kissed and caressed, asking after her mother in a constrained fashion, for, try as she would, she bore a grudge against one who was the cause of her changed life.
 

'An Impossible Crowd!'

A shadow overcast the doctor's face as he replied, 'Your dear mother will not welcome you at our home as we had hoped. She lies very ill in a hospital at present, awaiting a severe operation, the success of which may save her life--God grant it may--but the boys and Babs are wild with excitement and longing to see you. We ought to reach 'Aroha' before they are in bed. It is only nine o'clock, and we can go part of the way by train; then we shall have a long buggy drive through the bush.'

That day Eva never forgot. Travelling with one who was practically a stranger to her and yet her nearest relative, the girl felt embarrassed. She wanted to hear about her future surroundings and ask questions about the children, but she found it hard to disguise her disappointment in having to leave her old home and to pretend enthusiasm about her brothers and sister; she feared that her father would read her thoughts and be hurt and offended, so relapsed into silence. Once they left the railway they said goodbye to civilisation, Eva felt positive.

The country was at its loveliest; the early summer brought a beauty of its own. Rains had washed every leaf and refreshed each growing thing. Great trees, veritable giants, reared their heads proudly towards the sky, bushes were in full leaf, the ground on either side of the road was carpeted with thick moss that had grown for long years without being disturbed. From out of a cloudless sky the sun shone brilliantly, and the travellers gladly exchanged the high-road for the shelter of the bush. The day was undoubtedly hot, and Eva in her holiday raiment felt oppressed and weary before the carriage came in sight of the first houses that comprised the growing little township in which her father held an important position as medical man.

The style of house brought a curve of contempt to the girl's lips, but she offered no opinions. Suddenly, without a remark, her father checked the horses, as a small group came to a halt in the middle of the road and began waving their hats and shouting wildly.

'There's a welcome for you, Eva!'

'Who are they? I mean--how did those boys know I was coming?'

'They are your brothers, dear; jolly little chaps every one of them, even though they are a bunch of rough robins.'

Eva shivered; her brothers--those raggety tags!

They presented a picturesque though unkempt appearance. Jack was eating a slice of bread and jam; Dick had Babs--somewhat in a soiled condition from watering the garden--on his back; Charlie, the incorrigible, with a tear in his knickers and a brimless hat on the back of his curly head, was leaping about like an excited kangaroo.

The doctor held out his arms to the three-year-old little girl, who looked shyly at the pretty lady and then promptly hid her face. Eva's heart sank; she knew she ought to say or do something, but no words of tenderness came to her lips. The child might be attractive if clean, but it looked neglected, while the boys were what she described as 'hobbledehoys.' 'An impossible crowd,' she decided with a shudder, and yet her life was to be spent in their midst.

'Leave your sister in peace, you young rascals!' said the doctor; 'she is tired. Dick, put on the kettle; Eva will be glad of some tea, I know. Welcome home, dear daughter. Mother and I have longed for you so often, and my hopes run high now that you have come. I trust you will be a second mother to the boys and Babs.'

'I will try,' Eva replied in a low voice.

Her father noticed her depression, so wisely said little more, but going out to see a patient, left her to settle into her new surroundings in her own fashion.

Next morning Eva wakened early and looked out of her window, which was shaded by a climbing rose that trailed right across it. The house was boarded and shingled, one little piece of wood neatly overlapping the other; it was only two stories high, with deep eaves and a wide verandah all around it.

Breakfast once over, Eva made a tour of the rooms, ending up in the kitchen, accompanied, of course, by all the boys and Babs at her heels. Uncertain what to do first, she was much astonished at a voice proceeding from the washhouse saying in familiar fashion, 'Where on earth are you all?' There had been no knock at the door, no bell rung--what could it mean?

Standing unconcernedly in the middle of the room unrolling an apron stood a little woman of about forty years.

'Good day to you, Eva; hope you slept well after your journey. Come out of the pantry, Jack, or I'll be after you.'

'May I ask whom I am talking to?' asked Eva icily, much resenting being addressed as 'Eva.'

'I am Mrs. Meadows, and thought I'd just run in and show you where things are. You'll feel kind of strange.'

'Of course it will take some time to get used to things, but I think I should prefer doing it in my own way, thank you.'

'Perhaps that would be best,' replied Mrs. Meadows. 'To-day is baking day; can you manage, do you think?'

'I suppose I can order from the baker?'

The woman smiled. ''Help yourself' is the motto of a young country, my dear; every one is her own cook and baker, too. Let me help you to-day, and by next week things will seem easier, and you will be settled and rested. Your mother is my friend; for her sake I'd like to stand by you. Will you tidy the rooms while I see to the kitchen?'

Fairly beaten, Eva walked upstairs, hating the work, the house, and everything in general, and Mrs. Meadows, whom she considered forward, in particular.

The next three days were trials in many ways to the doctor's household, himself included. The meals were irregular, the food badly cooked, but the man patiently made allowances, and was silent. It was a break in the monotony of 'sweep and cook and wash up' when Sunday arrived and the family went to church. The tiny building was nearly filled, and many eyes were turned on the newcomer. But she noticed no one. The old familiar hymns brought tears to her eyes, and her thoughts stole away from her keeping to the dear land beyond the seas. However, she rallied and joined heartily in the last hymn, her voice ringing out above all others.

When next she saw Mrs. Meadows the conversation turned to church and congregation. After telling her details she thought were interesting, Mrs. Meadows said, 'You have a nice voice, Eva, but you mustn't strain it.'

 'Do you think I do?' she replied. 'I was trained at the Guildhall School, and I suppose my master knew the limits of my voice. _He_ approved of my top notes. Perhaps you don't know what the Guildhall School is, though,' she added insolently.

'On the contrary, my father was one of the professors until he died. Don't think that in New Zealand we are quite ignorant of the world, Eva.'

Eva's Top Notes

The conversation upset the girl sadly. She was vain of her voice and anxious to make the most of it. She went into the kitchen to make a pie, heedless that Jack had found a jar of raisins and was doing his best to empty it as fast as he could, and that Charlie was too quiet to be out of mischief. The paste was made according to her ability, certainly neither light nor digestible, and was ready for the oven, when suddenly a giggle behind her made her turn to behold that wretched boy Charlie dressed in her blue velvet dress, best hat, and parasol.

'You wicked boy, how dare you?' she cried, stamping her foot, but the boy fled, leaving the skirt on the floor. Picking it up, she gave chase to recover the hat, and when at last she returned to her pie, she found that Jack had forestalled her and made cakes for himself out of it and a marble tart for her.

Eva did not trust herself with the boys that morning; she literally hated them. Still, she must master herself before she could master them, and show once and for all that she was able to deal with the situation. Shutting herself into the parlour, she sat quiet, trying to think and plan, but in vain--she could not calm herself.

She took up a book and attempted to read and forget her annoyances in losing herself in the story, but that, too, failed. Her trials were countless. Not sufficient were to be found in the house, but that interfering Mrs. Meadows must criticise her singing.

 She opened the piano, determined to listen to herself and judge what truth there was in the remark. She ran over a few scales, but was interrupted by a rough-looking man shouting, 'Stop that noise, and come here! It'd be better if you looked after the bits of bairns than sit squealing there like a pig getting killed. Don't stare so daft; where's yer father?'

Eva rose in anger, but going up to the man, words died on her lips--her heart seemed to stand still, for in his arms he held Babs, white and

 limp.

'What has happened--is she dead?'

'Don't know; get her to bed.' But Eva's hands trembled too much to move them, so the old Scotch shepherd pushed her aside, muttering, 'Yer feckless as yer bonny; get out of the way.' Tenderly his rough hands cared for the little one, undressing and laying her in her bed.

'She's always after the chickens and things on our place, and I think she's had a kick or a fall, for I found her lying in a paddock.'

'Where were you, Eva? Hadn't you missed Babs? I thought at any rate she would be safe with you,' said her father.

Eva's remorse was real. Her mother dying, perhaps, the children entrusted to her, and she--wrapped up in herself and her own grievances--what use was she in the world? But oh! if Babs were only spared how different she would be! If she died, Eva told herself, she would never be happy again.

She went downstairs wretched and helpless, and once more found Jessie Meadows in possession of the kitchen. 'How is Babs?'

'Conscious, I think--but I don't know,' and the girl buried her face and wept passionately.

'There, there, Eva, we've all got to learn lessons, and some are mighty hard. Take life as you find it, and don't make trouble. The change was a big one, I know, but you'll find warm hearts and willing hands wherever men and women are. I just brought over a pie and a few cakes I found in my pantry----'

'I can't accept them after being so rude.'

 'Were you rude, dear? A short memory is an advantage sometimes. But we'll kiss and be friends, as the children say, and I will take turns with you in nursing Babs.'

What Eva would have done without the capable woman would be hard to say, for the child lay on the borders of the spirit land for weeks. When the crisis was past her first words were, 'Evie, Evie!' and never before had Eva listened with such joy and thankfulness to her name. The child could not bear her out of sight; 'pretty sister' was doctor, nurse, and mother in one. Unwearied in care, and patient with the whims of the little one, she was a treasure to her father, whose harassed face began to wear a happier expression.

'I have great news to tell,' he began one evening when, with Babs in his arms and the boys hanging around in their usual fashion, they were sitting together after tea.

'Tell, tell!' shouted the audience; but the doctor shook his head, while his eyes rested on Eva.

MRS. MEADOWS' BROTHER ARRIVED.

'Is it about mother?' she whispered, and he nodded.

'Mother is well, and coming home.'

'Mother's coming back!' was echoed throughout the house to the accompaniment of a war dance of three excited kangaroos until sleep closed all eyes.

The day of the arrival was memorable in many ways to the young girl. In the morning came an invitation to sing at a concert, an hour later Mrs. Meadows' brother arrived, laden with good things for the returning invalid, and with a letter from an editor in Wellington, which brought a flush of delighted surprise to Eva's face.

Mrs. Meadows herself came over later.

'The editor is a friend of mine, Eva,' she said; 'and in rescuing a story of yours from Jack, I found him a contributor. Not for what you have done, but for what I'm certain you can do if you will write of life and not sentimental rubbish. You are not offended, are you?'

Eva's eyes glistened. 'Offended with _you_--_you_ who have laden me with kindness, and helped me to find all that is worth having in life! I have learned now to see myself with other eyes than my own.'

Eva's doubts were set to rest once and for ever when she saw the frail mother she had really forgotten, and felt her arms around her as she said, 'My daughter--thank Heaven for such a treasure!'