Northern Weekly Gazette. — 1916-03-11 (Stockton-on-Tees, Cleveland, England)

NEW SERIAL.  "THE BURDEN OF DOUBT."  CHAPTER 1.  ENTER VIOLA.  It had been a horrid depressing November day on which the veiy sparrow 's must have been so depressed as to contemplate suicide in the nearest puddle. A day of east winds that caught pedestrians at street corners, sent hats gambolling regardless of greasy payments, and tossed a few leaves round the churchyard of St. Mary Abbott's, and down the muddy overflowing gutter of Church' street. A few peop,e stood at the corner waiting for their respective 'buses to 'appear, and a. few steps further, ,High-street. Kensington, gave a vista of flashing lights, bustle, and animation. Alter high-street, Chuiclestreet must have ' seemed a dull, wet, straggling grey thoroughfare, with its untidy low and tall buildings; hutehers, bakers, grocers, drapers, and he and there dwelling-house—making, the passer-by think of an untrimmed hedge: that is, if he had time to observe his surroundings, for the east wind no doubt brought teats to his eyes at every step, and at every corner endeavoured to turn :his umbrella. inside out. Dusk was falling. and the lamplighter trudged along through wind and rain, a long line of twinkling yellow lights left behind him„ their reflections casteig bilightly in the .mirror-like pavements. A polioeman Was doing his beat at the other side of the road, and three little girls, carrying eatchels, came racing (back from school and slopped outside a gaunt, dingy house, in the ground floor windows of which hung boards with —to Let" on them. They rang the fost floor bell tit was a house for several tenants), and presently a fruu2y maid with soiled apron and ,flushed face, let them in, and reclosed the door with as little noise as possible. Their first, "Phceibe has----" was cut short by a fierce "Sh—sh—don't you start none of your racket. Just go in the parlour and don't make a noise to worrit your ma.' Poor, hard-working, outspoken Plicebe Higgs! !How well I remembei her. It was she who gave me the outlines of that, for me, memorable even lit was really a hateful night on which to make a first appearance, and I must have thought so, for upstairs in. mY wicker cradle I stirred and uttered a piercing yell of disgust at finding myself in this strange cold world of rattling windows, and whistling gusts of wind that played havoc, round the house, and sent all .sorts of mysterious things down the chimney. On the floor beneath, the throe little girls Fat in a row on the shiny horsehair sofa, and stared at the flustered Phcebe as she clattered around the table, filling their respective cups with cocoa, and putting a portion of jam on each bread plate. " Phceo-e," sta,rted my three sisters in one voice, " What's he—like?" Phcebe gasped. She told me so years later—told me precisely what kind of gasp it was. '• My conscience! Didrrt I tell you it's a little sister you got?" "Another one!" exclaimed Owendolen, my eldest sister. "Phoebe,—is she like Amy was—with a red face and no hair?" Phcebe giggled. to-morrow." "What does dad say?" inquired Beryl, the second girl, and Amy, the youngest, sulked over her cocoa cup, and said: "I wanted a brother, and he'd wear a sailor suit when he got big, and go and climb masts on a great Ibig ship." "law !" Phrehe shrieked, and fled from the shabby sitting-loom. She was. only a slap-dash young person of sixteen summers then. so she often told me afterwards. The next day wy threc! sisters came to have a look at me. and Ilervl expressed her surprise at discovering that I could not utter a word, and only stared at my mother. father, and surroundings with solemn black eyes. - - .  :rust you wait. and you'll see  All at once 'Alny buried, her fa.ce in hr satchel,  and began to cry %silently, end at the sight of hei iister's grief Beryl's under Lip began to work, but Gwen looked on with the superiority of eLeven yeatis. "I thought it would be a little brother who'd have a sailor suit, and talk, and—and it's a little black baby," my ster sebbed. " Good gracious!" cried my mother, my father laughed t.so Phcebe told nie), and for myself I must h-aTe felt Amy's remark to be a keen insult, for my small pink face grew beetroot colour to the very roots of a ,few downy dark wisps, my eyes puckered up, and I how td, and Amy followed suit, whilst Meryl began to whimper. "Well I never! Fancy coming to make your dear pretty little sister ery!" Phoebe it was who popped her head in at the door like ,a. jack-in-the-lbox I shall never forget the length of Phoebe's neck, and herded my three a-biters out of the room.  " She's. not pretty, she's very ugly," was the opinion five-year-old Amy (gave vote to on. the draughty landing outside a.nd I yelled louder than ever. Her lungs ..a.re in good order," sighed my dear old dad. "She's not very good looking, is she, my dear? Look at these straight wisps of hair!' As my father travelled towards Chancery-lane that morning, he .must have shaken his head sadly, and sighed, "Another girl!" But he grew to have a, very soft spot for that "surplus girl ' all the same. And that i how the fourth Miss Rees made her entrance into the world. Three weeks later she was christened at the Welsh Chapel as Viola, fourth daughter of Mr Hugh Rees and of Mrs Mary Ree.s , (née 'Griffiths), and rineidently cried during the whole of the ceremony.  This new serial by Odette Tehernine will be continued in the "Northern Weekly Gazette' next week. The story, which is by quite a new author, pulsates with human heart-throbs. and displayi an experience of life and a di.crimination of character remarkable in Sc) young a writer. .  Miss Taernine nay claim to be a typical representative of the Allies, for her father is a Russian, born in the Criniea, and her mother is French. It is also of interest to note that Miss Tchernine, though she has resided sin e babyhood in England, was born in Paris nineteen, years ago.