FOR THE CHILDREN.

Auckland Star, Volume LVII, Issue 25, 30 January 1926, Page 26

FOR THE CHILDREN.

THE PERSONALITY OF 'PEGGY ,

(By ERIC ST. JOKN'.I My first impression of her was negative. She was seated on an upturned box. manicuring, with minute care, a well-shaped, patrician hand—somewhat at variance with the rather broad-fea-tured face, which suggested African origin. Her coat of smoke-grey fur was shabby, thin in places, revealing the pink flesh beneath. Now and again she shivered slightly, and raised a pair of sad little dark eyes in mute appeal. Suspecting hunger. I searched my pockets: result—nil, save for a ■"sodamint." which I refrained from offering. People began to gather round—much in the same way as a crowd collects about a man in the street seeking for a lost coin. Peggy watched their movements with interest. A facetious youth inserted his stick between the bars of the cage- and poked her emphatically between the ribs. She showed her resentment by a display of white teeth and an audible anathema. I But the hunger in her eyes persisted. A strident voice in the rear was exclaiming: "Look, Billy! See! —a monkey!" The owner of the voice dived into a bag and produced a handful of dried peas. They looked as hard as billiard balls, but Peggy stretched out two little hands to grab the spoil. She showed signs of disappointment, and promptly stowed the unappetising morsels somewhere in her mouth for later discussion. A small boy squeezed under my elbow and thrust an inquisitive nose through the bars. Peggy's fist shot out like a flash and tweaked the offending member. The lady of the strident voice clutched the hoy by the shoulders. "Treacherous th;ngs, monk-keys!" she remarked severely, with an acid glance at mc, as if I were a party to the misdemeanor. "Hard peas are rather indigestible. . ." I began; but she was already moving away with her whimpering offspring. Presently we were alone—Peggy and I. Putting a tentative hand through, I touched her with a light caress. Tie sad eyes held mine for a few she sensed my offer of friendship with quick understanding, and held, my hand tightly, "nuzzling" her face into the palm with low, mumbling sounds of satisfaction. "Poor little girl," I whispered; "captivity doesn't leave you a sporting chance, eh?' . Then, somehow, she made mc understand how she hated the senseless taunts, gibes, pokes and inane laughter at her unusual appearance and helplessness, revealing something of her heart's longing for love and the companionship of her kind; the loneliness of isolation behind bars. Suddenly she released my hand. Her face wore" a detached, far-away look. She leaped off the box and started a restless pacing round and round the limited area, with soft, padding, rhythmic steps. . . The call of the jungle had laid its spell on her senses through the race heritage of her forbears. She was tasting the joy of freedom, the delight'of danger amongst the trees of a forest home. . . Her little monkey heart was responding to the cry of its mate. . . . Into her eyes crept the soft gleam of mother instinct. Helpless little ones were taking shape. . . . I left her to her visions. . . . Mercifully—for a long period—iron bars were non-existent for Peggy. I visit her as often as time permits. She dips into my bag for the offering which she knows is there. Apples, oranges, bananas, nuts—all are welcome. But I think she likes, best of all, a couple of hot potatoes in their jackets. Then she proceeds to warm her toes round one, whilst busily relishing the other. But not a bite ./ill she take until she has drawn my hand to her and buried her face in the palm, with those soft, little mumbling sounds which first established communion between us. This is her rite of thanksgiving, rarely omitted. The merry jibes of onlookers are often shared between us now. For I fancy that, somehow, I am helping Peggy to find her soul. They say it is all "cupboard love" and "monkey cunning"—but I know!

DORIGEN'S JEWEL.

You may think that -writers who lived rears and years ago, in the time we think of as "history," were very dull, but some of them were not at all dull. One of the earliest writers in England way Geoffrey Chaucer, who lived hundreds of years ago—for he was born in the year 10-tu. This is a tale he wrote aboir. Once upon a time, many, inanj - years ago, there lived in Brittany a very beautiful lady called Dorigen. She waa not only very beautiful, but good and sweet and kind and she was greatly beloved by a knight named Arviragus, who had won fame by many a noble and brave deed. Arviragua worshipped Dorigen from afar; he had heard of her great beauty and he did not think she would ever love him, so he contented himself by declaring himself as her knight by fastening her colours to his helmet when he went into battle or to joust at a tournament. Dorigen saw her colours blowing in the wind when Arviragus rode by her window, but she did not think much about him (for many knights wore her colours into battle) until she heard how brave and true he was, and that he was always protecting the poor and weak and attacking the bully. She was told, too, in what high honour he held her, and her heart was touched, and she grew to love him. Arviragus learnt this, and he asked Dorigen to marry him, saying that he would always do his utmost to serve her and please her. After they were married they lived in a big castle, standing on top of a cliff, looking out across the sea to where England lay. For a year they lived there very happily; then Arviragus felt that he had been idle too long, and that as he was a knight he must once more go to fight and suffer. An expedition was being sent to England. He joined it, and away he sailed to the north in a little brown ship, leaving Dorigen disconsolate behind him. After a. time, although Dorigen still missed her husband greatly, her grief became a little less, and her friends, who were very sorry for her and tried to comfort her and turn her thoughts, managed to persuade her to go for walks with them inland, out of eight of the sea she so greatly feared. One day, early in the summer, she went for a picnic with a lot of friends. As usual, Dorigen wore a beautiful jewel, something like a large crystal, which hung on a long gold chain given her by Arviragus on her wedding day. The crystal jewel had been given her on the day she was born, and her mother had told her that if she kept it safely, always bright and pure, she would always have the love of all who were good and true, and that it would bring her joy and peace and love; but if she lost it or gave it away, she would lose all her beauty and youth, she would be lost to all her friends, no one would love her, and she would be alone in the world. So Dorigen guarded her jewel very carfully, always wearing it in order that it should never be out of her sight. On the day of the picnic Dorigen was standing watching her friends dancing (for she was too unhappy to dance herself), and the sun gleamed on her jewel, making it shine magnificently. At the picnic was a handsome young man, named Aurelius, who envied Dorigen her beautiful jewel, and would do anything to get possession of it. At last he went to Dorigen and asked her to give it to him. saying that he would give her half the price of it. Dorig-en was very angry -with Aurelius, and said that she would never part with it, even if she were starving. Then she suddenly thought of Arviragus, and she longed to ppe him again; but between her and him there seemed to rise the grim black cliffs of the Breton coast. Shuddering, she turned to Aurelius and said: "I will -willingly give you my jewel if you will remove every rock on the shore of Brittany." Aurelius kne-w that that -was impossible, and he turned away sadly. When he reached home he became quite ill with his intense longing for Dorigen's jewel, and he remained ill for some months, nursed by his brother. Meanwhile Arviraans had reached home safely, and Dorigen was happy once again. One d=iy Aurelius' brother remembered an old book of magic in which he read strange tales of how magicians were able