The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942, 1899-12-05
BY Lloyd Osborne.

~ &
SHHHSE SHHHH&H
His thirtieth birthday! His first
youth was behind him, with all it's
heartburnings, it's failures, its mani
fold humiliations. What had he done
these years past but drift, forlorn, pen
niless and unattached, over those shall
lows where others had stuck and pros
pered2
In the colonies he had toiled unre-
mittingly in half hundred characters,
groom, cook, boundary rider, steamer
roustabout, always sinking, always
failing. Had life nothing more for
him than an endless succession of not
empty days on the farthest beach of
| Upolu, with scarcely more to eat than
! the commonest Kanaka and no other
outlet for his energies than the barter
ing of salt beef for coprah and an oc-
casional nights fishing on the reef?
| The noise of an incoming boat drew
him to the door, and he looked out to
see the pastors old whaler heading
through the pass. A half grown girl
| leaped into the water and FASTENED up
| to the store with something fastened
| in a banana leaf. 1t was a letter.
which she shyly handed to the trader.
| Walter Kinross looked at it with sur
prise, for it was the first he had re-
ceived for four years, and the sight of
| its English stamp and familiar hand
writing filed him with something like
awe:
Ny Dear Nephew know you're pretty old to
come back and start life afresh here, but if you
haven't had the unmitigated folly to get married
out there and tied by the leg forever I'll help
you to make start, if you have the grit to
do 1t. You shan't starve il 800 year will
keep you, and if you will try and turn over a
new leaf and make man of yourself in good ear
nest am prepared to mark you down substan-
tally in my will
| But, mind, no promises; payment strictly by
results. You're no longer a boy, and this is prob
ably the last chance you'll ever get of entering
civilized life again and meeting respectable folk
incose you draft at sight on Sydney for 81, $780,
for you will doubtless need clothes, ETC., as well
as your passage money and if you decide not to
return you accept it a present from your
old uncle. Afectionately yours,
ALFRED BANNocK
The house could not contain him and
his eager thoughts; he must needs feel
the sky overhead and the trades
against his cheek, and take all nature
into his puny confidence. Besides,
vaiala had now new charm for him,
one he had never counted on to find.
Hard and lonely though his life had
been, this Samoan bay was endeared to
him by thousand pleasant memories
and even by the recollection of his past
unhappiness. Here he had found peace
and love, freedom from taskmasters,
scenes more beautiful than any picture,
and, not least, sufficiency to eat.
A little money, and his life might
have been tolerable, even happy;
enough money for good sized boat,
cow or two, and those six acres of the
Pascoe estate he had so often longed to
buy. How often had he talked of it
with Leata, who had been no less eager
than himself to harness their quarter
acre to the six and make them all his
little paradise. Poor Leata, whom he
had taken so lightly from her fathers
AOuoC anu pau AOh III 6uAPOW0CA anu
kegs of beef; his smiling, soft eyed
Leata, who would have died for him!
What was to become of her in this new
arrangement of things.
BY this time he had worked quite
round the bay, and almost without
knowing it he found himself in front Of
Paul Englebert's store. Englebert was
1xb Ar.oI tn o;a 10
middle aged Prussian, who had been
good friend of his before those seven
breadfruit trees had come between
them.
He recalled Englebert's rough, jovial
kindness, remembered how Paul had
cared for him through the fever, and
helped him afterward with money and
trade. How could he have been so petty
as to make a quarrel of these bread
fruit trees? Poor old Paul! 1t was a
shame they hadn't spoken these two
years.
On the veranda, barefoot and in
striped pyjamas, was Englebert, pre-
tending not to see him. To Kinross, as
he walked up the path and mounted
the veranda stairs, the man looked old
and sick, and not little changed.
How do you do, EnglebertT' he said.
The German looked at him with
smoldering eyes. Cant you see I'm
busyT he said.
"You might offer a man a chair"
said Kinross. seating himself on the
tool chest.
"Dere is no jare for dem dat isn't vel
come" said the German.
81 used to be welcome here" said
Kinross. ''There was time when you
were a precious good friend of mine,
Paul Englebert."
dat wass long ago." said the trader.
1--WE been thinking" said Kinross,
''that I've acted like fool about those
trees"
dat .wass what l was blinking, too,
desc two-dree years." responded the
other.
'@rake them; they are yours" said
Kinross. You can build your fence
there tomorrow"
"Sop said Englebert with dawning
intelligence. "De Yerman consul has at
last to my complaint listened"
"Hang the German consul! Nor cried
Kinross. 81 do it myself because was
wrong; because you were good to me
that time | was sick and lent me the
500 and the trade"
"And you want nodingw asked En-
GILBERT, still incredulous.
81 want to shake your hand and be
friends again, old man." said Kinross,
same as we used to be when we play
ed dominos every night, and you'd tell
me about the Austrian war, and how
the prince divided the cigars with you
when you were wounded"
The German looked away "Oh, Kin
ross" he said, with a queer shining
look in his eyes, you make me much
ashamed" He turned suddenly round
and wrung the Englishman's hand in
an iron grasp. 81 too, wass fool. Ho,
Malta, de beerw
His strapping native wife appeared
with bottles and mugs. At the sight of
their guest she could scarcely conceal
her surprise.
"Prosit," said Englebert, touching
glasses. '.You know dem six ayers of de
Pasgoe estate" he said, looking very
hard at his companion; very nice little
place, very sheep, yoost behind your
storew
Kinross nodded. but his face fell, in