Jasper County Democrat, Volume 18, Number 24, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 June 1915 — PEG O’MY HEART [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

PEG O’MY HEART

By J. Hartley Manners

\ Comedy of Youth Founded by Mr. Manners on His Great Play of the Same Title—lllustrations From Photographs of the Play Copyright, 1913, by Dodd. Mead L Company

SYNOPSIS. Frank O’Connell, young Irish patriot, la shot and wounded by British soldier* while making a home rule speech. H« la aided by Angela Klngsnorth. an English society, girl, who defends him. Angela takes O’Connell to her Brother's home and helps to nurse him. He recovers, and be and the girl become fast friends. O’Connell when well is sent to Jail for disturbing the peace. He finally writes Angela that he has finished his sentence. O’Connell and Angela wed. She has espoused the Irish cause. Her brother, a member of parliament. Is very angry. The happy couple come to America to live. A daughter is born to them. Angela’s brother refuses to help the couple tn any way. Angela dies. O’Connell names his daughter Margaret and calls her ’’Peg.’’ O’Connell receives a most important letter from England, which perplexes him. O’Connell allows Peg to visit England at her uncle’s request. The elder Kingsnorth’g heart had finally softened toward his dead sister’s little girl. Peg goes to the home of the Chichester family in England at the direction of Mr. Hawkes, Kingsnorth’s attorney, as Klngsnorth suddenly dies. She first meets Ethel Chichester and Brent, a married man In love with Ethel. She interrupts them by accident in a secret meeting.

CHAPTER X. Peg Away From Home. FOR the next few days Peg was busy preparing herself for the journey and buying little things for her scanty equipment Then the cable came to the effect that a passage was reserved for her and money was waiting at a banker’s for her expenses. This > Peg obstinately refused to touch. She didn’t want anything except what her father gave her. When the morning of her departure came poor Peg woke with a heavy heart It was their first parting, and she was miserable. O’Connell, on the contrary, seemed full of life and high spirits. He laughed at her and joked with her and made a little bundle of some things that would not go in her bag and that he had kept for her to the last minute. They were a rosary that had been his mother’s, a prayer book Father Cahill gave him the day he was confirmed and lastly the little miniature of Angela. It wrung his heart to part with it, but he wanted Peg to have it near her, especially as she was going among the relations of the dead woman. All through this O’Connell showed not a trace of emotion before Peg. He kept telling her there was nothing to be sad abont. It was all going to be for her good. When the time came to go the strange pair made their way down to the ship—the tall, erect, splendid looking man and the little red haired girl in her simple black suit and her little black hnL with red flowers to brighten it O’Connell went aboard with her, and an odd couple they looked on the saloon deck, with Peg holding on to Michael, much to the amusement of the passengers, the visitors and stewards. Poor, stanch, loyal, honest, true little Peg. going alone to—what? Leaving the one human being she cared for and worshiped—her playmate, counselor, friend and father—all in one! O’Connell never dropped his high spirits all the time they were together on board the ship. He went aboard with a laugh, and when the bell rang for all visitors to go ashore he said goodby to Peg with a laugh, while poor Peg’s heart felt like a stone in her breast She stood sobbing up against the rail of the saloon deck as the ship swung clear. She was looking for her father through the mists of tears that blinded her. Just as the boat slowly swept past the end of the dock she saw him right at the last post so that he could watch the boat uninterruptedly until it was out of sight He was crying himself now—crying like a child—and as the boat swung away he called up: “My little Peg! Peg o’ my heart!” How she longed to get off the ship and go back to him! They stood waving to each other as long as they remained in sight While the ship plowed her way toward England with little Peg on board the man whom she was crossing the Atlantic to meet died quietly one morning with no one near him. The nurse found Mr. Klngsnorth smiling peacefully as though asleep. He had been dead several hours. Near him on the table was a cable dispatch from New York: My daughter sailed on the Mauretania today at 10 o’clock. FRANK OWEN O’CONNELL. Mrs. Chichester, whom we last saw under extremely distressing circumstances in Ireland, now enters prominently into the story.. She was leading a secluded and charming existence in an old and picturesque villa at Scarborough, In the north of England. Although her husband had been dead for several years, she still clung to the

outward symbols of mourning. It added a softness to the patrician line of her features and a touch of distinction to her manner and poise. She had an illustrious example of a lifelong sorrow, and, being ever loyal, Mrs. Chichester retained the weeds of widowhood and the crape of affliction ever present. She was proud indeed of her two children, about whom she had written so glowingly to her brother Nathaniel. Alaric was the elder. In him Mrs. Chichester took the greater pride. He was so nearly being great—even from Infancy—that he continually kept his mother in a condition of expectant wonder. He was nearly brilliant at school. At college he almost got his degree. He just missed his “blue” at cricket, and but for an unfortunate ball dribbling over the net at a critical moment in the semi-final of the tennis championships he might have won the cup. He was quite philosophic about it, though, and never appeared to reproach fate for treating him so shabbily. lie was always nearly doing something, and kept Mrs. Chichester in a lively condition of trusting hope and occasional disappointment She knew he would “arrive” some day—come into his own. Then ail these half rewarded efforts would be invaluable in the building of his character. Her daughter, Ethel, ou the other hand, was the exact antithesis to Alaric. She had never shown the slightest interest in anything since she had first looked up at the man of medicine who ushered her into the world. She regarded everything about her with the greatest complacency. She was never surprised or angry or pleased or depressed. Sorrow never seemed to affect her—nor joy make her smile. She looked on life as a gentle brook down whose current she was perfectly content to drift undisturbed. At least that was the effect created in Mrs. Chichester’s mind. She never thought it possible there might be latent possibilities In her impassive daughter.

While her mother admired Ethel’s lofty attitude of indifference toward the world, a manner that bespoke the aristocrat, she secretly chafed at her daughter’s lack of enthusiasm. How different from Alaric, always full of nearly new ideas, always about to do something. Alaric kept those around him on the alert No one ever really knew what he would do next On the other hand. Ethel depressed by her stolid content with everything about her. Every one knew what she would do—or thought they did. Mrs. Chichester had long since abandoned any further attempt to interest her brother Nathaniel in the children. Angela’s wretched marriage had upset everything—driven Nathaniel to be a recluse and to close his doors on near and distant relatives. Angela’s death the following year did not relieve the situation. If anything, it intensified it, since she left a baby that, naturally, none of the family could possibly take the slightest notice of—nor interest in. It was tacitly agreed never to speak of the unfortunate incident, especially before the children. It was such a terrible example for Ethel and so discouraging to the eager and ambitious Alaric. Consequently Angela’s name was never spoken inside of Regal Villa. And so the Chichester family pursued an even course, only varied by Alaric’s sudden and definite decisions to enter either public life, or athletics, or the army, or the world of art—ll was really extremely hard for so well equipped a young man to decide to limit himself to any one particular pursuit. Consequently he put off the final choice from day to day. Suddenly a most untoward incident happened. Alaric, returning from a long walk, alone—during which he had almost decided to become a doctor—walked In through the windows from the garden Into the living room and found his mother In tears, an open letter in her hand. This was most unusual. Mrs.Chichester was not wont to give vent to open emotion.' It shows a lack of breeding. So she always suppressed it. It seemed to grow inward. To find her weeping —and almost audibly—impressed Alaric that something of more than usual importance had occurred, “Hello, mater!” he cried cheerfully, though his looks belied the buoyancy of his tone. “Hello! What’s the matter? What’s up?” At the same moment Ethel came In through the door. It was 11:30, and precisely at that time every morning Ethel practiced for half an hour on the piano—not that she had the slightest interest In music, but it helped the morning so much. She would look forward to it for an hour before and think of it for an hour afterward, and then It was lunchtime. It practically filled out the entire momIng.

Mrs. Chichester looked up as her beloved children came toward her, and real tears were in her eyes, and a real pore of alarm was in her voice: "Oh. Ethel! Oh. AlaricJ” A-larie was at her side in a moment. He was genuinely alarmed. Ethel moved slowly across, thinking vaguely that something must have disagreed with her mother. “What is it, mater?" cried Aiaric. "Mother!" said Ethel, with as nearly a tone of emotion as she could feel. "We're ruined!” sobbed Mrs. Chichester. . "Nonsense!" said the bewildered son. “Really?” asked the placid daughter. "Our bank has failed! Every penny your poor father left me was in it!" wailed Mrs. Chichester. "We’ve nothing—nothing! We’re beggars!" A horrible fear for a moment gripped Aiaric—the dread of poverty. He shivered. Suppose such a thing should really happen! Then he dismissed it with a shrug of his shoulders. How perfectly absurd! Poverty, indeed! The Cliiehesters beggars? Such nonsense.’ lie turned to his mother and found ber -holding -out- a letter nnd a newspaper: lie took them both and read them with mingled amazement and disgust. First the headline of the newspaper caught his eye: "Failure of Gifford's Bank.” Then he looked at the letter: ‘‘Gifford’s bank suspended business yesterday!" Back his eye traveled to the paper: "Gifford’s Bank Has Closed Its Doors!” He was quite unable at first to grasp the full significance of the contents of that letter and newspaper. He turned to Ethel: “Eh?” he gasped. "Pity," she murmured, trying to find a particular piece of music among the mass on the piano. "We’re ruined!” reiterated Mrs. Chichester. Then the real meaning of those cryptic headlines and the businesslike letter broke in on Aiaric. All the Chichester blood was roused in him. "Now, that's what I call a downright, rotten, blackguardly shame—a blackguardly shame!” His voice rose in tones as it increased in intensity until it almost reached a shriek. Something was expected of him—at any rate, indignation. Well, be was certainly indignant '“Closed its doors, indeed!" he went on. “Why should it close its doors? That’s what 1 want to know! Whyshould—it?” And he glared at the unoffending letter and the noncommittal newspaper. He looked at Ethel, who was surreptitiously „ concealing a yawn and was apparently quite Undisturbed by the appalling news. He found no inspiration there. Back he went to his mother for support. “What right have banks to fail? There should be a law against it They should be made to open their doors and keep ’em open. That's what we give ’em our money for—so that we can take it out again when we want it.” Poor Mrs. Chichester shook her head sadly. "Everything gone!” she moaned. “Ruined, and at my age!” ITO BK CONTINUED )