"THE DESERTED GARDEN."

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 85, 11 April 1931, Page 2 (Supplement)

"THE DESERTED GARDEN."

(By Esma Burcher, 9, Lochiel Road, Reniuera; age 17.) The red and cream roadster stopped with a jerk outside the rusty iron gates and the driver, after a swift survey of the high stone wall surrounding the place, produced a large key of antique pattern from his pocket anrj inserted it in the lock. He peerect curiously through the iron bare before returning to his car to collect an easel, a small camp stool and a box. The gates creaked slowly open as the key grated in the lock, and shut with a clang behind the stranger as he walked up the overgrown flagged pathway which led to a low, rambling cottage of mellowed brick, Tiny mullioned windows caught the golden sunshine and flashed like 60 many diamonds. There was a big oaken door, and a quaint knocker in the shape of an owl's head. The whole cottage was charming, but the garden was a wilderness of weeds and grass. A tiny cobble-stoned path, almost hidden by moss and grass led to a pond where the water was dank and fou,l, and the fountain was coated with green elime. In one corner of the garden stood a 6undial, scarcely visible through the wild tangle of weeds, but brave'y marking the summer hours. A few wild flowers flung up defiant heads to catch the warm sun, and a straggling plum tree gave shelter to a golden-throated blackbird.

Everywhere were signs of neglect, except in one place, where a glorious mass of red rambler roses climbed in colourful profusion over the grey stone wall. The stranger drew a deep breath. "I wish I could have seen this garden as it once was," he mused, and, setting down his stool beside part of an old yew hedge, he slipped on a paint-stained smock and began to put the roses on canvas. / It was very quiet in the garden. The high trees filtered mellow sun through their shady boughs and it fell in a dappled pattern on the soft moss at their feet. A car fled along the road, raising voluminous clouds of dust and scattering a brood of cheeping yellow chickens-after their anxious mother. But the sounds seemed very far away. Golden-brown bees dipped into the roses and honeysuckle which grew over the dilapidated arbour, humming lazily as they worked. A very gentle breeze caressed the trees and the sweet perfume of some hidden flower stole through the artists' senses. Over the garden fell a great peace.

The stranger looked up in amazement, and. his brush fell from his startled fingers. The -garden had changed—it was the 6ame, and yet —!! The red roses extended in a velvety mass over the whole of the garden wall. Jasmine mingled its heavy scent with that of a sea of pink and cream roses that grew riotoiiely side hy side with sweet-per-fumed honeysuckle. The arbour was a bower of-colour. At the foot of the stone Avail pink and cream hollyhocks reared their stately heads. Near them grew the humble wallflower. Cobble-stoned paths _ wandered in and out among beds of vivid flowers, mignonette caressed the shoulders of babv-faced pansies, heavy-headed stock filled the air with a rare sweetness; pink, white, and yellow carnations curtseyed gaily to a bed of Sweet William; across the way marigolds and brightly-coloured poppies talked together in low tones. The artist's eyes wandered to where the soft green lawns sloped away ,to shady walks and rustic seats. The fountain chuckled merrily ajs it threw its glittering water into_ the air and caught the gleaming spray in a marble bowl. . Suddenly a little green gate set in a fantastically-cut yew hedge opened,and down the path came a little lady in a flowered'dimity gown. The artist stared and stared. She wore a little frilly cap which covered, long black ringlets demurely piled high on her shape.y head, but a wanton curl had escaped and fell across her cheeks like damask roses. Two bright eyes looked past the stranger as my lady came tripping down the path, tiny blue shoes picking their dainty way over the stones. At hfei aproned waist hung a bunch of keys. In her black mittened hands carried a basket and a pair of scissors. _ My ladv went from bed to bed, s u*P> snipping 'with her scissors, while the artist sat spellbound. He coughed once, loudly, but she did not turn her head. Cream and pink and red roses went into the basket, and a variety of pansies; i the lilac tree lost some of her pretty mauve frills, stock, yellow and pink carnations, sweet William, mauve an white sweet peas, they all went into the basket. The blackbird sang joyously from his cool retreat, the fountam played merrily, and as the little ia-ly worked she hummed a lilting song under Then, when the basket would hokl no more, my lady plucked a piece of rosemorw and tucked <it in her flowered bodice. With a swish of skirls she passed the artist again, looking neither to right nor left, till she reacjieu the little green gate. There, she turned, uttered a little laugjfc and was gone. And the light faded, and the perfume of a thousand flowers wei>t with ner.

Till the dusk crept with quiet feet over the deserted garden and tiny jewels pierced the blue, the stranger sat there smoking his lonely pipe. Then, very swiftly he rose, went to the gate, ancl took down the "For Sale" notice.