KING ARTHUR.

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 141, 16 June 1928, Page 3 (Supplement)

KING ARTHUR.

Dan gazed round the old farmyard, a pathetic little figure in a tattered costume consisting of a pair of old Tiding breeches many sizes too big for him, a washed-out shirt, open at the throat, and a hat that had once adorned the head of the squire—a hat that had brought many happy hours into Dan's life, and set strange thoughts racing in his otherwise tranquil brain as he tended the sheep on the lonely mountain side.

It was a lonely, solitary life for a boy of twelve, but Dan loved every minute of his day, from the time his eyes opened in the morning with the first raya of the sun glinting through his small window to the last five minutes before bed, when he romped over the meadow with Twink, the sheep dog who shared his lonely watch on the mountains. To-day as he looked round the familiar scene everything seemed the same, and yet everything was changed. An unaccustomed lump rose in his throat, a pain persistently tugged at his heart; Jess, the old brown mare, was in her stable instead of being in her nsual place in the fields; the cattle, crowding round the gate, were lowing dismally as if they also felt the strange atmosphere that enveloped the farm.

Dan had been born on the farm. For his keep, as soon as he was old enough, he had minded the sheep, milked the cows, and had done a hundred and one things for Farmer Jones. The farmer had been kind to him in his bluff, hearty way. But now everything was changed. Farmer Jones was dead, and to-day the farm was to change hands. Dan blinked hard to drive back the tears that threatened to fall. Then lie thought of Gwennie, the farmer's little daughter, an elf-like child of ten. From the time when she was a laughing, dimpled baby, clutching wildly at his finger as he leaned wonderingly over her cradle, he had been her slave.

As he sat astride the rickety gate she came out of the whitewashed cottage and walked across to where he sat. He made room for her on the gate beside him, and looked into her face beneath a shower of golden curls. Two very troubled blue eyes looked solemnly back at him. "How long will they be, Dannie?" she asked. "This afternoon, early, I think," the boy answered, with an attempt at gaiety. "It ia only 10 o'clock now. What shall we do, Gwen? All the cattle are fed, and the sheep are in the hurdles ready for inspection. Oh, Gwen, to think of leaving the farm and you going away! What shall I do?" "You will be all right, Danny. You can stay in Cilcen with John Richard. Only mummy and I need to go into the town to find work." Dan sighed. "I wish I could come to the town with you to take care of you," he said sadly. "I hate towns. I only want you and Twink and mummy and our mountains, Dannie." Tears gathered in Dan's eyes in spite of the brave face he tried to put on things. "Come, dear," lie said, '"let us have our last picnic. Where shall it be?" "Moel Arthur. Perhaps wo shall find some of the hidden treasure they buried in. the trenches there."

_ They set out hand in hand, their simple lunch in a haversack on Dan's back, barefooted, bareheaded, their hearts lightening as they climbed the rough mountain path, ever upward, until the top was reached. Here they rested a while to eat their meal. "Tell me about King Arthur, Dannie, please." "It was here on this mountain," began Dan, "that he kept his 300 men and built trenches, as you can see by the remains. The legend goes that there, at the fork of the road, between the two hills, he killed 200 men with one sword. He stood there with his sword and killed them as they came through the pass. They are all buried in the bog there. They were evil men, and wanted to take the country from him." Dan pointed to a marshy piece of land that lay in the hollow below. "Like tlie man who wants to take our farm from us. I wonder if it's true, Dannie?" "Of course it's true. Yon see the trenches he built. Why is this mounted called Moel Arthur but after him." The children, interested in the legend that all true Welsh people believe, sat on, living in the past, their own troubles forgotten, their eyes dilated with wonder at the recollection of the stories that are handed down from one generation to another of the great King Arthur and his knights of the round table. -\t last the setting sun reminded him of home, and all their sadness returned. The hated stranger would be there, the farm sold, and they would no longer have a home.

They lingered on the homeward way,' wandering down the sweet-scented lane's, their dread increasing as each step brought them nearer to the farm. Dan watched the little face beside him anxiously. Her sorrow hurt him. All the chivalry of his untutored boyhood arose to help her. "Don't fret about the farm," he whispered. "Who knows? Something wonderful may happen. They say (he leaned close and whispered in the girl's ear) that when anybody is in trouble King Arthur comes back and helps them, just as he used to do." "Oh, Daniel, all dressed up in armour and riding on a white horse?" Dan shook his head. "No; just like an ordinary man. Look, the sun is shining, though the top of Moel Famma. is hidden in the mist! That is a good omen, Gwennie." He dried her tears on his coarse handkerchief as he spoke, and together they soon reached the farm. At the table a stranger was seated, while Mrs. Jones, a smile on her face, piled slices of ham on his plate. "Come, children," she said cheerfully, '"and get your supper. Dannie, the sheep are waiting for you to drive them back to the mountains.'* "The sheep!" Dan echoed wonderingly. \\ hat had he to do with the sheep of the stranger? The children stood hand in hand as they looked in bewilderment from one to the other. The sunlight pattered the floor of the cosy kitchen with patches of vivid yellow, lingering on the old oak dresser and catching'the reflections of the row of brightly-coloured jug 3 that hung from a beam across the ceiling. The stranger looked long at the children, while Dan's feeling of resentment

gave place to one of wonder. Why was ho so kind looking, this man who had come to break up their home? Why was Mrs. Jones making him welcome instead of sending him away as soon as the horrid business was settled? He looked at Gwennie; she too, was under the enchantment cast by the strange man* who smiled at her with a pair of blue eyes very much like her own. "The sheep?" Dan said again. "They are not our sheep. I will not work for the stranger who has bought our farm!" "Not if I tell yon that Gwenneth and I are staying?" asked Mrs. Jones with a smile. "Staying?'' Dan's incredulity grew. "But Gwennie and you are going to the town. We have just said good-bye to Moel Arthur, so I know." "Poor children! Were you so very sad to leave the farm?" asked the stranger in a kind voice. "Will you stay with me, too, Dan?" he went on, holding out a hand to each of them. "Can I be your uncle, too?" "Are you my uncle?" asked Gwenneth. "I am your uncle, your mother's brother, and I have just come home from America in time to save the farm," said the stranger. "What is your name, sir?" inquired Dan eagerly. "My name is Arthur," said the stranger. The children looked at on© another happily, their eyes shining. "It is King Arthur!" they whispered.

HATS. "I must get a new hat, and, Pa, you must come with oie," said Mrs. Brown. Pa looked over his paper, and nodded, "Yes, my dear; and I will get one for myself at the same time," he said. The following day they set off. Mom w-as to buy her hat first. They arrived at the shop, and the conversation between the shop girl and Mum took place something like this: "I want you to show me some winter ■ hate." "What shade, madam?" "Oh, I'll try that chic little blue one on the stand there." She tried it on, and walked a few steps back, admiring herself in the glass. "It suits, madani." "Do you think so? I think it is a little too wide in the brim/' "Well, try this one; latest from Paris." Ma looked doubtfully at a very bright red hat, with a bright red rose on the side of it. Pa coughed, but Mum took no notice. Mum tried it on, but did not like it. After several more, she decided on the blue one she had looked at first. "*Do „\ou like it?" asked Mum, and Pa said he did, and sighed with relief as they walked out of' the shop, and set ont to buy his own hat. This is how Pa bought his hat: "I want a hat." "What size?" "Six and a quarter." The assistant displayed one. "How much?" "Twenty-seven and six." "Bone!" The hat was wrapped up and paid for, and Pa walked out, thorouohlv satisfied. ° *