THE WHITE GATE.

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 204, 29 August 1934, Page 16

THE WHITE GATE.

(By Elsa Flavell, 49, Wilson Street, '--/>■ Hawera; age 17.) ; -The afternoon light lay in a dreaming haze;over the far blue hills. The clpuds were grey, silver-edged, floating in a sky of deepest blue —the blue that presages spring, the blue that comes after rain. Heather and Pearl had walked a long way, talking of all manner of things in the intimate way of girls who are closest friends. They talked of the hills-, and the glory that rested there; of the clouds, and the mysteries held in the blue depths of the sky. They wondered together at the poignant beauty of the patterns made by a lacery of naked boughs against the sky, and the warm loveliness of red willows framed among the darkness of pines. Together they listened to the song of a thrush in the hedge, a silver-sweet song, filled with the- rich promise of leafy days to come.

They stopped to listen to the music of a stream, and wove a story round a riven willow-tree. They hastened up a hill to see what lay beyond and lau r hed when they found another rise before them, so that they had to climb again before their curiosity was satisfied. They talked of their plans for the days of the future, their own rain-bow-woven dreams, and of golden childhood memories.

'j/hey walked and talked, talked and walked, and were very happy.

The white gate lay at the end of a short road, "a branchlet of a road," as Heather said. It was a quiet little road, narrow, with hawthorne hedges crowding in upon it.

"In spring there are lots and lots of little ferns among the roots of these hedges, I know," said Heather.

"And buttercups, I expect," said Pearl, "and daiidelions for certain; and blue linen flowers."

They walked along the lane and stood by the fence that ended it. There was just an old, broken gate here, grey with age, and lichened. The hedges continued, but they were low now, and straggling. The two girls could glimpse the blue hills.

They stood and looked towards the white gate where the hedpes ended. Two great macrocarpa. trees bent over it; there were other trees too, oaks and willows, and a glimpse of silver birch.

"There must be a house there," Heather said, "and I believe it is a nice house! What do vou think it will be like, Pearl?"

"A quiet little white house," Pearl answered. "With a bright red roof over which the. trees droop. A nice house to go to sleep in at night, with the trees whispering."

"And a beautiful lady lives there, with a little girl and a little boy, two darlings who love the trees and the flowers that grow under them; and they both believe in fairies."

"And their father is tall and dark," Pearl said. "They're lovely dreampeople, all of them."

■ "I believe the house is called 'Home of Dreams," said Heather. She was silent in thought a minute; then she added, "why shouldn't we go and see? It can be no harm —there's just the road."

"It's fenced off," objected Pearl "They want us."

"Oh, come," said Heather in im patience. "We shan't worry."

Pearl hung back. "I'd rather I just think of it," she said slowly. "You go."

Heather climbed the fence and ran down the road. There were ruts where wheels had passed, long ago, the grass was growing in them now. She did not notice.

Was it just such a house that stood beyond the white gate? A "Home of Dreams," such as she would love for her own? ■ .

The trees sighed above her as she stood looking over the white gate. There was a wide brown path of hard earth, with a hedge of dark ever-green, out of which stood two tall poplars, leafless now. She could see no house.

For one minute she hesitated, and then she'had climbed the white gate and moved cautiously along the path. The trees sighed' with a mournful note; a great drop of water slid from a grey bough, and landed on the ground with a heavy "thud." "Oh!" Heather wished she had stayed with Pearl, content to imagine. She had scarcely expected the identical house of their dreams, but—this! Thero was a sob rising in her throat as sho climbed over the gate again. "Was there a house?" said Pearl. "What -was it like?" "There was a house—once," Heather answered. "It was burnt down. There's only the chimney . . . and the trees. . ."