HOME ON THERANGE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 62, Issue 85, 21 January 1942, Page 7

HOME ON THERANGE

By BENTLEY RIDGE.

(Copyright).

CHAPTER XV.

STILL UNCONSCIOUS.

“What do you say to our making a tour of Canada? Thy say Lake Louise is pretty hot. We could paint Montreal red—or not red exactly. I kndw you wouldn’t care about that but it might be pretty interesting.” Myrle said it would be very interesting 1 , it would be quite lovely.

“Do you think you’re beginning to care for me a bit??” said Rex later, before he. left, when he kissed her goodbye. And Myrle who had been honest before, was betrayed by her doubts and fear and guilt, into a lie: “Yes, Rex, of course, I am/’ Next day she rang the Barbours to know how Rosemary was. She was still unconscious, and there was talk of an operation to remove a piece of .bone which the doctors believed to be pressing on her brain. “George- has left for ‘Black Hill’,” said Yvonne Barbour. “He’s gone up to make some arrangements at home, and he’ll be down again this afternoon before they operate at four o’clock. My dear, you should see him, he looks a wreck! I never thought that he’d take it so hard.” It was no surprise to Myrle therefore, when Tellforth walked in to see Evelyn just before noon. He did not look at Myrle; Myrle did not look at him. He answered Mrs Daintry’s questions about Rosemary’s condition, and coaxed Evelyn into acceptance of the fact that he had not come back to stay. Only when Mrs Daintry mentioned that she and her husband' were going down to Christchurch to the races, did Tellforth speak to Mryle: “You* would have been going, too* if you hadn’t had Evelyn on your hands,”’ he said. “No, I would not. I don’t want to go!” She said' it with so much force that he could not argue. He went, saying that he must get back to town.

Mrs Daintry said, as soon as he was out of hearing:

“He looks quite broken up.” Myrle could not trust herself to speak. Probably she had underestimated his feeling fdr Rosemary all along. Hia manner to herself seemed to indicate nothing else. What right had she to fancy that it might be due to an idle word—and one but half-spoken —in a happier hour? What he had said to her about herself then was probably only what he thought in the most casual way. He was candid—much too candid! He despised her for marrying Rex for his money, and he had not hesitated to show it. “WHY ARE YOU SO UNKIND?” Appallingly bad manners, Myrle would have said —but for her misery at his thinking so badly of her. If he only knew the depression and despair which had made her seize Rex as a chance of escape. Besides, she was fond of Rex, she owed him the same loyalty that Teliforth owed tp Rosemary.

Myrle Md her thoughts while she helped her mother to get ready to go to town. Myrle had been truthful in saying she did not want to go. Her feelings were so deplorably mixed that she gained & secret warmth from the idea that she could help Tellforth harmlessly by looking after Evelyn. Her mother and father were to be In Christchurch for five days. They had had no holiday away from the homestead since their arrival,, and. Captain Daintry wanted to show his that country life could have its town consolations.

Half an hour after Tellforth left, Myrle waved goodbye to them. “Shall we go and see if we can find some eggs?” she suggested to Evelyn. Evelyn said nothing, her face wore a look of secretive rebellion which boded trouble. However, she went with Myrle.

They began to hunt in the bushes about the hen run, as some of the hens were laying away from the regular nests. Before they had found two eggs, Myrle looked round and found that Evelyn had disappeared. Myrle took no notice, and it was not until five minutes later that she suspected something amiss.

She looked in the house and called in the garden; Evelyn was not there. It took Myrle two minutes to discover that Evelyn’s clothes had disappeared too, and she set off at a run down the drive.

She overtook Evelyn at a bend half way to the road. Evelyn looked round, clutched her bundle of belongings more tightly, and walked faster. “Where are you going?” asked Myrle hurrying beside her. Evelyn bit her lip, then decided to reply. “I’m going home to ‘Black Hill.’ I don't want to stay here any more.” Red with the humiliation the child put upon her, Myrle said: “Why are you such an unkind little thing, Evelyn?” Evelyn’s eyes opened rather wide at that, and her steps slowed a little. “If you hadn’t told Daddy you’d have me here he’d have taken me to town!” she burst out.

'“But Evelyn, you couldn’t go with Daddy. Don’t you know Rosemary, is very ill? It wouldn’t be kind for you to bother Daddy when he’s so unhappy.” Evelyn began to cry. “Well, I’d rather go to ‘Black Hill’.” “I’m sorry you don’t like it here, said Myrle, almost crying herself, with weariness and trouble. “But you can t go back to ‘Black Hill’ now, because Mrs Marks has gone to see her mother in Waihi.” x . “She hasn’t!” said Evelyn, but hei

tone was weakened by doubt. “Joe told me to-day that she was going down to Waihi on the store van and staying there for two days.” Evelyn hesitated, but Myrle saw the day was won and began to walk back towards the house. Sniffing, Evelyn followed her, and Myrle was silent, too dispirited to try to comfort the child. She pulled herself together, however and proposed that they should take their lunch out tor the plantation and picnic there. Evelyn brightened at that; but the plantation plan did not turn out very comfortably for Myrle, because Evelyn amused herself by climbing into the uppermost branches of a pine tree, while Myrle watched her in terror. The afternoon wore on.

Four o’clock at last. Myrle saw the hands of the kitchen clock pointing to the hour. Now they were beginning theif fight with death in the heated quiet of the operating theatre far away down on the plains. Tellforth must be waiting now, and Mrs Kane, tortured by intolerable suspense. Tick-tock, tick-tock, the sound of the clock was loud irt the empty homestead.

Myrle busied herself preparing vegetables for Evelyn’s tea. At half past six, when the sun was red on the wall, she 1 rang the Barbours. Rosemary, Diane told her, had only been out of the operating theatre about half-an-hour. It had been a terribly long operation.

“Dr. Prittchet told mother they simply can’t tell what the result will be yet,’said Diane.

Myrle was glad to see Evelyn into bed' that night, and go to bed herself. Around the lonely haven of the homestead the back-country night was incredibly silent.

She was up early the next morning, but knew she could not disturb the Bafbours by ringing before eight o’clock. Soon after seven there was a tap on the back door. Outside stood Jack Henty, a large basket of raspberries in his hand.

• “I’m on my way to Christchurch, so I brought them in. Missus said we couldn’t get through them ourselves, she thought maybe you folk could do with them.” A bronzed, sturdy Yorkshifeman, Jack Henty was a shepherd on the “Thelma” run, twenty thousand acres of rough hill country on the far side of the river. He and his wife lived quite alone in a cottage, the further outpost of humanity at the end of the road. „ “That’s very kind of her, Mr Henty, said Myrle. - “Ah, well, she don’t feel up to bottling fruit just now,” said Henty. “I’m going down town to buy her a radio. Be up again this evening. She don t want me to be away too long. “No of course, not,” said Myrle, recollecting that young Mrs Henty was expecting to go down to Waihi to be confined shortly. (To be continued.) * The characters in tms story are en tirely imaginary. No reference is tended to any living person or to any public ot nvivafe uronertx.