The bright sunshine, the soft voice of birds, whose songs in that clime, though brief and broken, are peculiarly melodious, the glow and glitter and warm stir of life above, below and on every side, were altogether so little in unison with the sad thoughts which had agonized my mind the previous night that my spirits, buoyant with youth, yielded to these cheering influences, and began to rise again to their own level. Hope struggled within my heart, and so far succeeded that, as I pursued my morning's walk through the sweet garden and over the memorable plank bridge to the Flats, I commenced to question with myself whether Lotty's view of the case might not after all be the right one, and that the more likely because her cooler, quieter judgment would favour her discerning the truth more clearly than my anxious disposition admitted of. Perhaps dear aunty was only meditating a short visit to some friend's house, and could not conveniently take us with her as heretofore. Yes, I would hope and wait.

MECHIE AND THE GARDENER.

On my return home after a more agreeable wander over the Flats than I had dared to anticipate upon first setting off, and as I was passing through the garden, I saw a man at work beside the path I was coming down. Hearing my steps, he turned sharply and looked at me from under his beetling brow. What a disagreeable look it was!—like that of a savage wild animal meditating a spring at me. Never before, I thought, had it fallen in my way to meet with a human being of so repellant an appearance as this man had, both in face and form. He evidently possessed great muscular strength, judging from his short, broad form and large head, which latter, as he took off his cap to wipe his forehead with a very unrefreshing-looking red handkerchief, displayed a thick growth of matted black hair, wiry and curling. I must confess that as I thought of the loneliness of the garden and my possession of a beautiful gold watch and chain—the latter worn conspicuously in front of my dress, and which were the gifts of my kind uncle and aunt on my last birth-day—I felt very uncomfortable at having to bring so tempting a prize closely within his reach. Encouraging myself with the reflection that not only was his occupation a harmless one, but that he must have received some sort of recommendation to induce Rathfelder to engage him as a servant, I came slowly up to him as with a concluding scratch of his head, which he gave in a savage kind of way, he thrust his handkerchief into his pocket and replaced his cap. From very nervousness—a feeling akin, I afterward thought, to that which, with so strange and irresistible a power, draws the poor bird into the jaws of the rattlesnake—I stopped and wished him good-morning as pleasantly as I could, to which civil greeting he merely vouchsafed a grunt.

"I suppose you are Mr. Rathfelder's gardener?" I suggested, wishing to further propitiate him.

"I s'pose I be—leastways, he thinks so," he answered in a compound tone of fierceness and sulkiness.

"Well, but are you not?" I repeated, puzzled by so doubtful a reply, and still less reassured by his words and manner.

"I don't mean to be so long, that's sartin." He seemed determined to avoid giving me a straightforward answer, and as I stood perplexed and casting about in my mind what next to do or say, he added abruptly, "John Rathfelder don't pay me wages enough, that's the fact; and if he won't, I shall cut, that's all."

"I have always understood that Mr. Rathfelder is a generous, liberal master," I objected, in some surprise. "Surely there is some mistake. Did you engage with himself or through another?"

"There's no mistake about it," he rejoined, roughly. "I'll tell 'ee what it is," he added, speaking with fast-increasing fierceness, for the unlucky subject was one which evidently excited very bitter feelings, "it don't follow that what be liberal to some be so to all. He might be liberal enough to them 'ere stoopid black critters, but if he thinks Joe Blurdon will put up wi' the like he'll find himself in the wrong box, that's all."

"What country do you belong to?" I asked, feeling more and more uncomfortable as I detected his wild, glittering eyes, which boldly stared at me, frequently fastening themselves with, I thought, a hungry, rapacious look upon my gold chain, which he no doubt supposed to be attached to a valuable watch within my belt.

"Hinglish, to be sure!" he answered, with a look and tone of indignant surprise at, he considered, so unnecessary a question. "I be Hinglish, and don't want to be nothing else."

How much I wished some one would come into the garden, and break the spellbound feeling which, despite my fear and dislike of this man, kept me against my will rooted to the spot!

"Is not Rathfelder as good a paymaster as all other land-owners at the Cape?" I asked.

"I got a deal better wages when I drove a bullock-wagon up country," he answered in his usual evasive way; "I had five pun a week, and my wittles; and John Rathfelder, he gives me two pun ten a week, and I 'ont go on wi' it."

My worst suspicions were awakened by this acknowledgment of his former occupation, for of all reckless characters the wagon drivers amidst the savage wilds of Africa are considered among the worst. Nevertheless, despite all my apprehensions and his forbidding looks, an inclination I could not withstand impelled me to say a word of advice and warning to his darkened soul. I was as yet unskilled in such style of speaking; but no matter, thought I; I hold the seed in my hand, and I will at least cast it on the earth, and leave the rest to that merciful God who has declared of his word that it shall not return unto him void. Besides, I really felt a sort of pity for the man, who was evidently unhappy. Dashing abruptly into the subject, I exclaimed, "Oh, don't go back again! don't go back to those savage, godless places! how do you know but that the Almighty, in pity to your uncared for, uncaring condition, has himself worked out your return to this Christian, civilized part of the world, where you can hear his word and be taught his laws in order to save your soul and bring you in the end to himself? And oh, think how soon that end might be at hand! What is the longest life in comparison with eternity, an eternity—according to how you live in this world—of woe unutterable or of such joy as the heart of man hath not conceived? Stay at the Cape—do—and go to church every Sunday, and pray to God to make you all that is pleasing in his eyes. You will be happier, I promise you, than you have ever been while living without God in the world, even though your wages are far less."

It was clear that he had never before been so addressed, and the mixed and varied expressions which came and went like light and shade over his dark, hard face were curious to see.

"My mother was one of your sort, and as good an 'ooman as ever lived; I mind that, though I was young when first I left her," he said with a more softened voice than before.

After a short silence, during which I endeavoured to recover from the excitement which almost took away my breath,

"Is she still alive?" I asked.

"Still alive?" he repeated, abstractedly, "yes—leastways, she was when I last heered from her."

"Then you can write and read? and you keep up a correspondence with her? Only think how nice to be able to tell her you are living a respectable, religious life in Cape Town, and that you are looking forward to meeting her again in another and happier world, if not at home. Wouldn't that make her very glad?"

In speaking of his mother, I saw I had touched the one chord which still rang out in unison with one of the best and holiest of human feelings and sympathies. I saw it in the changed tone of his voice and in the softened look of his face, that contrasted strangely with its general expression of ferocious recklessness and degradation. But my last words proved a sad failure, for to my extreme terror and astonishment his manner suddenly and completely changed; all that was hopeful and gentle vanished at once from his features, which resumed their former wild-animal style of fierceness, distrust and dislike.

"I'll tell 'ee what, miss, I don't like this at all, I don't!" he exclaimed, savagely. "I sees what it is. Some mean, cowardly-hearted villain has been a telling on me, and have set you on to trap me. That's the fact!"

His eyes gleamed and glared so ferociously I felt frightened half out of my wits. In vain I assured him he was mistaken, that no one had spoken to me about him in any way, that in truth I was ignorant of his very existence until I saw him in the garden.

"He didn't believe me," he said, "not a word, and I ought to be ashamed of myself, that I ought, to be a-preaching at him one minute and telling lies the next."

Of course I am obliged to leave out some of his words while thus condemning me, they were so profane and dreadful. "I was a good-for-naught wench," he concluded, "and he'd have nothing more to do with me." Thereupon he struck his spade energetically into the earth and resumed his digging.

As much grieved and disappointed as terrified by the failure of a success so near attainment, I stood hesitating whether or not to make another attempt; but the determined, dogged expression of his countenance and every movement deterred me, and sorrowfully I left the garden.

When again, during breakfast, my eyes rested on the pale, sweet face of Aunt Rossiter, the recollection of last night's painful fears concerning her almost chased away more recent feelings, and I resolved I would take the first opportunity which offered during the morning to ask her the meaning of those words she had spoken to Lotty which had caused me so much distress. After a while I related my conversation with the gardener and its mortifying termination.

"Such a result is not to be wondered at, my little Mechie," uncle said, smiling encouragingly on this my first serious attempt to turn an erring fellow-creature from the path of sin. "I was walking up and down the stoop a little while ago with mine host Rathfelder, and this gardener passed at the time, and impressed me, as he did you, with an unpleasant feeling of what a singularly unprepossessing-looking being he was. It seems Rathfelder's former gardener was old and sick and obliged to give up work, and Joe Blurdon, as he calls himself, was engaged a few weeks ago to supply his place. The exigencies of the case—for no other labourer in that capacity could be obtained just then—prevented our landlord from being as particular regarding character as he usually is, and he unfortunately contented himself with receiving a short, unsatisfactory recommendation from his last master, for whom he had worked a very little while, and whose place is the only one he has filled with the exception of Rathfelder's since his coming to the Cape. He is drunken, idle, discontented and altogether worthless, the landlord says, and is to leave his service in a few days. So you see, my darling Mechie, if you had succeeded, as in your amiable heart you wished, in making a convert of that misguided man, you would indeed have achieved a great victory."