TOLD BY READERS.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 146, 22 June 1929, Page 2 (Supplement)

TOLD BY READERS.

m, ORIGINAL STORIES UNDER THIS HEADING ARE gag Mil fE'l 'NVITED forour fortnightly competition. pg §§p f§g

THE CHASE. 'By Kathleen Neely, 34, West End Road, Heme Bay, age 16.) "I was feeling rather "wonky" when I went to the Guide meeting the other week, but I knew if I didn't go Joan, my second, would kick up a fuss. Our company's entertainment was "Hinemoa." I was the background—very much at the back. I toddled off home when it was all over, feeling very tired, but very pleased with our play, and dozed off to sleep with the strains of Tutanekai's flute and fragments of play running through my mind. "Ah, true and brave, you left your all to cross the wave ... and left . . . your all to cross the wave. To cross . . . the wave "Leaders, come here!" "Good gracious! What can Captain waiit?" I thought as I hurried out of our patrol corner. In the ball (which had changed considerably since I last saw it) stood a little man with a great big dog talking to Captain, who held a tangled mass of red tape in her hand. "A very dangerous convict has escaped," she said, "and the Police Commissioner has sent M.A.T. of Auckland Yard to ask if we would assist in capturing the escapee. This is Zamiel," she said, pointing to the dog, who grabbed the tape and promptly dug a hole and buried it. "He is a Pekingese bloodhound

famed for man-hunting. Take your seconds and a Guide and help with the search, and don't " (her voice was growing fainter) "come back until you've found him." Verna, my second, Joan, and myself found ourselves standing in the centre of the school basketball courts, with Zamiel beside us, burrowing in the asphalt. "What is that dog doing?" said Verna. "I don't know, but if we don't stop him there'll be a row," I said. "Whoa, Emma!" Zamiel stopped. Then he poked in the hole and dragged out—the red tape. With his mouth full of red tape he trotted over to the cookery room and pushed the tape into the fire; then, giving a horrified glance round the room, he bolted off. When we had caught up to him we found ourselves on the top of a hill. Glancing back I saw the cookery room in flames. Was it with regret I watched it burn? I wonder. At the foot of this hill a number of people were congregated—Guides, Scouts, policemen, fellows in caps and gowns, and Maoris wrapped in gaudy blankets. They took no notice of us as we tore down the hill, for they were gathered about a maiden with long golden tresses draped in an eiderdown and singing a mournful Maori ballad. "Heavens, it's Joyce!" said Joan. "Where's the rest of her Patrol? Isn't she supposed to be after the convict, too ?" "Yes, of course," said I, and yelled, "Joyce, what are you doing?" "Keep quiet, Kath," she said severely. "Can't you see I'm luring the convict chap to me?" ~ A sudden yell burst from one of the crowd and a man in a trailing overcoat rushed away up the road. "There he is," screamed Joyce. "You mean wretch, I'd have caught you if you hadn't interfered," and she tore after the man, followed by the crowd. Away they went, Joyce with her hair flying to the wind, the man with his coat flapping round his legs, and the native part of the crowd yelling war cries and shaking green paper-covered gardening forks. "Will we follow them?" Verna asked. "I suppose we'd better," I replied. "We have to do some something." So off we went, bringing up the rear.

[fc was queer, however, that when we started after the others they vanished, and we jogged along a long dusty road, bordered by poplar trees, on our own. But our progress was greatly hampered by Zamiel, who would insist upon climbing trees that turned into strange contorted beings. They always fought with Zamiel and we had the "greatest difficulty in separating them. However, we at last caught up with the others, who were holding a meeting in a wood. Joyce, a policeman, and several Boy Scouts had firm hold of the gentleman in the coat, while the learned ones stood round with notebooks in their hands. As we drew near we heard the captive say, "But I tell you I'm not the convict! I ran because of someone I saw coming down the hill." ° "Surely it can't be me," I thought "I'm not so ugly as that." "Wow!" cried the man; "there it is again!" He stared at us, trembling with terror. The others turned and stared too. "Kathleen, you are a nuisance," called Joyce. Then her eyes alighted on Zaxniel. "What on earth is it ?" she said. "You mug," I replied; "it's a dog, of course, and a very good dog, too." "A wh-what?" Joyce gave another hasty glance at Zamiel, then bolted off like a streak of lightning. As the rest of the crowd noticed Zamiel they did likewise, and so vanished in no time. We now found ourselves standing in the middle of a paddock, the wood having vanished with the crowd, and Joan was looking very curiously at Zamiel. "He does look , a bit queer," she said. I looked at him. His face did not resemble that of any dog I have ever seen; it was most uncomfortably human. Verna edged up to me. "Kath," she whispered, "I think it's the convict himself." I stole another look at the animal. It was queer. "Hush," I said to the girls, "we'll jump on him suddenly." We placed ourselves about him. I nodded to the girls, then we pounced. Zamiel growled, struggled and rolled. We clung like leeches. We rolled over and over, and then fell. We all clutched Zamiel desperately. "Hold tight," he called, "I'm going to fly." Huge wings spread out from his body and we glided slowly down to earth. "You know," said Zamiel, "you shouldn't have caught me like that. It wasn't fair. You should have chased me first." "Dash it! Why should we chase you?" said Joan. "Never mind," said Verna. "He's saved us from tumbling over the cliff." "We wouldn't have tumbled over," 6aid I, "had it not been for him." "I don't like your name, Leader," suddenly remarked the Zamiel convict. "It's not time to get up yet," said I, and woke up.