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M
AID Martha—sturdy, round and bucolic
stood at the rectory gate one dreary
afternoon in November and consider
ed the question to go or not to go. The
rain had ceased falling, but the puddle still
glimmered faintly on the damp, black .earth.
It was almost dark, and walking down a wet
lane at that hour of the evening alone, was
to her maiden mind a doubtful pleasure. The
lane, however, was short and at its further
end lay all the dissipation that the village high
street—its shops and its gossips—could afford.
Cook had asked her to oblige her by running to
the baker’s for an extra loaf against young
Mr. Frank’s coming home on Sunday. Mr.
Frank had a rare appetite and when he came
I ‘in unexpected it did make a difference to
the bread and no mistake.” So Martha hesi
tated, unconsciously performing the mental feat
of balancing pros and cons. Finally she de
cided to go. Though ostensibly she was doing
it to oblige, it must be confessed that Martha’s
motives were, undoubtedly mixed. Her best
friends (as is frequently the case in higher cir
cles than Martha’s) were also her severest crit
ics, had never accounted her an unselfish per
son. But Virtue being a kindly lady and gen
erous in rewards, even when merit is small,
it so happened that Martha bought the loaf,
enjoyed her chat, heard as much of the tittle
tattle of Litle Tadpole as could be crammed
into ten minutes and experienced a comfort
ing sense of having rendered Cook a service
as she turned homewards. She walked slowly,
and in consequence, it was even darker than
when she started.
As she approached the school house she dis
cerned in the gathering gloom a figure lean
ing against the wall. She was not in the least
alarmed; on the contrary, under cover of the
darkness, she preened herself, much as a hen
does, and half lowered her skirts into the mud
for she could see enough to make out that
the shadowy form was a masculine one.
“Good night,” said a voice she did not rec
ognize.
“Same to you.” said Martha pleasantly, as
becomes a maid when spoken to civil like by
a man, be he who he may.
“You’re up at the Rectory, ain’t you?” the
voice continued. “ I heard as how a new maid
were coming. I ’low you be she.” Martha’s
slow pace slackened still further until it came
to a full stop.
“Indeed,” she said with would be sprightly
emphasis, I ‘and may I ask that may
be to you?”
“Waal,” returned the masculine voice into
which a persuasive inflection had already crept,
“Waal, you see it might be some one to speak
to, and then again it might not.”
“It won’t be tonight anyway,” remarked
the girl with great decision, but without mov
ing, “if I’m going on.”
“If so be as its your turn out tomorrow,
and you’d care to see the church—as being
a new comer you should —I’ll be going that
way myself and perhaps I might look round
on the chance so to speak.”
Our country maid pursed her lips and turn
ed her head to one side as though consider
ing it.
“I’ve heard tell as how it is the church to
see,” she admitted, “but two miles is too far
to go alone these dark evenings in the coun
try.”
“Then I’m your chap!”
THE GOLDEN AGE FOR JULY 31, 1913
MARTHA’S WOOING
“Indeed you’re not, and not likely to be.
neither,” she retorted.
The man took out a match, struck it and
shaded the light carefully while he put it to
his pipe. “I’ll be waiting for you whenever
you please soon as milking’s done,” he an
nounced stolidly.
“There now,” thought Martha, testily, as she
watched his proceedings, “why can’t he let
me have a look at his face instead of hiding
the light like that?” By all her rules for good
behavior which were many and precise the
interview had lasted long enough. She gather
ed up her skirts and moved on.
“The railway arch will be handy for both,”
she sang out over her shoulder as she disap
paered. “Six sharp, I’m not to be hanging
around.”
On the whole, she was not sorry that the
creaking of the garden gate was loud enough
to drown the “good night” that followed her.
Cook had sharp ears and was apt to be down
on girls. She was quite ten minutes later
than usual getting to sleep that night, won
dering who the man might be.
Sunday belied its name. It came into ex
istence grey and sombre, grew into a dull noon,
and settled down resolutely into a dreary
evening. But Martha was not depressed; her
thoughts were on business intent, her only anx
iety was that it might rain and spoil her even
ing out. As six o’clock approached, she might
have been seen —had not observation been dif
ficult—walking briskly in her Sunday coat and
skirt, best hat, gloves and armed with an um
brella towards' the appointed place of ren
dezvous. Arriving at the arch, she could see
nothing, and was almost turning away in dis
appointment when a husky voice said
“Is that you?”
“Not being able to see, I can’t say,”
came the prompt response. “Are you the
chap as is waiting for me?”
“I were to meet a maid here at six sharp,”
continued the hidden speaker with great de
liberation. “If so be you’re she I’m he.” The
girl gave a little laugh. “Then come out into
the light and let’s look at you,” she said, “I
didn’t recognize your voice at first, its that
croaky, whatever’s the matter?”
“It’s the fog from the meadows. It did get
down my throat last night when 1 was a talk
ing to you. It always serves me so.”
“Tie a stocking round your throat at night
and twill be well in the morning. It’s an old
fashioned remedy, but a good ’un.”
“Since ’tis your advice I’ll take it, the more
so being cheap.”
By this time the man had obeyed the girl’s
behests and emerged from the darkness, and
the two were in such close proximity that,
though neither of them had seen the other’s
face clearly, nor had an idea of each other s
name they proceeded arm in crook, on their
walk without further ado. Such conditions
of imperfect knowledge, however, were little
to Maid Martha’s taste. They walked for a
few minutes in silence, then she opened the
“ball:”
“This here meeting’s all very well, but with
out the kno'wing of names and such like we
shan’t get no forader.”
The man cleared his throat. “I’m Abel Holt
at your service,” he said. “Should you like
to hear more?”
“Yes, I should.”
By W. R. GILBERT.
With a volubility that betrayed preparation
he proceeded: “Age twenty-nine, total abstain
er, no swearer, laborer cowman, cottage and
garden. Everyone do speak well of me, par
ticularly them as don’t know me, through be
ing here a short time. Also church though no
scholar, I’m a domesticated chap as can cook
and mangle, wash and get up my own shirts,
clean a house from top to bottom and if drove
to it can mend socks and such like, and for
years been in a club. ’ ’
He stopped to take breath and Martha broke
in: “Martha Hands is my name; I’m just
twenty-four and most particular as belonging
to the Christian Endeavor, which is a society
of good objects, one being to do the best you
can for yourself; ’tis partly religious, we have
evenings out, and are most careful what w’e
read.”
“Waal, being no scholar,” interposed Abel,
“I wouldn’t interfere; I’m a poor hand at
books, though I can work a separator with the
best.”
Things were distinctly promising well; but
as Martha’s mother 'had always maintained
that no good ever came of shilly-shallying in
delicate affairs of this kind, she followed up
her advantage.
“That’s as it should be,” she said though
whether approving of his skill at the separator
or his want of it with books was not clear,
“and as far as it goes does you credit. I’ve
never done anything foolish myself and have
always lived in the best places, keeping them
for years, so I’m sure you’ll excuse my ask
ing you what’s the meaning of this, what’s your
little game?”
At this inquiry as much to the point as it
was unexpected Abel’s slow moving mind be
came almost agitated. He removed his arm
from Martha’s, tilted his hat forward and
scratched t'he back of his head.
“Waal, my maid, you do go ahead and no
mistake. I wouldn’t deceive you for worlds,”
he said at length, “so I‘ll just speak out with
out beating about the bush as is the way with
so many. I wants a wife! If so as you want
a husband, we may as well ’pair off as any
others. I can’t say no fairer.”
“You go on,” said Martha, sniggering.
“ ’Tis true lass, I am steadfast, and what
I say I mean and I’m not without a bank
book, neither, where you may read as Abel
Hope has S7OO put by. I’ll show you the
book any day, and seeing’s believing.”
At the mention of the bank book, a wide
smile, which was at no pains to suppress,
played round Martha’s lips.
“That’s a sensible w r ord you’ve just spoke,”
she admitted, “but don’t go far to think you’re
the only one with money for I’ve some bank
money myself. But,” with a sudden change
of subject, “supposing we don’t go to church;
the clouds look so black. Will you come into
supper with my sister instead? Business is
business! We’ll talk t'he matter over with
her and her husband, and if agreeable I’ll
ask leave on Monday, and take you over to
mother on approval. Are you willing?”
“That I am, my maid.”
Whatever opinion friends of her own posi
tion and standing might entertain of Mar
tha’s characteristics her mistress’ verdict ever
since she had been in service had been unan
imously favorable. As a servant she excelled,
(Continued on page 16.)
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