THE WINDMILL.

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 267, 10 November 1934, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE WINDMILL.

(Half-crown prize to Elsa Flnvcll, 49, Wilson Street, Hawera, age 17.) At the end of the third day Walter came to the strange grey land that lies on the edge i>l , the world —the shadowy, twilight land where things forgotten lie buried in the dimness, and things yet uncreated wait in the shadows, formlees, mute, unfeeling. When the mists that descended Upon him. in the mountain pass had cleared away he saw it before him, a wide, grey plain arched over by a clouded sky. Strange glimmerings of pearl and silver shone among the clouds, but upon the plain the shadows brooded, grey and still. There were scattered, trees that might have been green at the- be:: inning of time, but so old, and bent, and gnarled were they, and eo wrapped around in mist, that they, too, were grey. The calm and quietness of eternity lingered ther'e; it was as if all things had been waiting through all time for some strange miracle to happen—as if they were waiting still, and were to wait—

for ever. The greyness settled around Walter as he walked down the narrow, broken pathway, until he, too, seemed a shadow, walking among shadows. A great weariness came upon him as he went; and the way was very long—it seemed never-ending. There was nowhere to rest, nowhere to shelter. But -it last a tall shape appeared through tho swirling mist—a rounded tower, grey and old,- with long, narrow windows. It, was like a windmill without sails. Cloee by there was a pool of grey water, upon which floated the broad leaves of water there was one flower blooming. It was black. Here, then, was his goal—the flower he had been sent to seek, the wonderful blossom which held in its heart the liquid that would give everlasting life to him who drank it. Strangely, he felt no elation. The joy had gone from his quest; he seemed no longer to care for that which he had spent so many years in finding; he wanted one thing only—rest. He did not stay to look a second time at the strange flower, but stumbled to the tower door and knocked, ... Xo answer. He pushed the door lightly and stumbled into a bare, grey room which oppned into another, larger, and just as bare. His footsteps echoed hollowly as he crossed tho floor and entered this second room; here there were no mists, yet there was the same uncanny stillness, the same waiting, the fiame monotony of grey shadow.

Immediately opposite the door of the second room there was a long, narrow window, framing a stretch of still grey, shining sky; and in one wall was a great black vent, seeming to stretch away

downwards into the depths of the earth; in the other, a narrow staircase wound upwards. Seeking a comfortable resting place, Walter climbed the stair, groping in a thick darkness, up steps that went steeply and straight to a door without a handle. A ray of grey light streamed through the keyhole, but there was no handle, and the door would not open, lie was forced to return to the bare room which he had first entered, and stretch himself on the hard, cold floor; £0 weary was he, however, that h? fell ;i sleep at once. A strange sound awakened him, a sound as of a great wind sweeping across the heavens, whirling and echoing with a wild music, as if it swept invisible harp strings. Raising himself, he gazed into the larger room—gazed spellbound, transfixed.

The' figure which knelt T>y the black vent rose to its feet.

"To the south." cried a commanding voice; "to the wild-tussoeked plains, and sing there yonr song!" The sound grew louder, rushing trp from the vent —and a strong wind blew thence. With a sudden swiftness it filled both rooms, whirling and racing .iround (hem, breath-taking, chill. . . Then with a scream it blew out through {he window space and was gone. There was a calm. Tho figure moved away, and was hidden. Walter leapt to his feet and ran into the other room. At the foot of the staircase she turned; and looked at him. She was young, and slender, and beautiful —but colourless! She wae like mist that had taken a lovely form; and she looked at him with— Xo eyes-! She turned and glided soundlessly up the stairs, and Walter, standing below. saw the door open. There w.is a bright ness lieyond. a glow as of richly- '

I coloured old tapestries. Colour etirred life m Walter, and he ran up the etaire —but no answer came to his knocking and gradually the weariness overcame him again, and he stumbled back to sleep again on the floor. Realisation came to him when he next awoke—this waa indeed a windmill, the place where all the winds were made , the- beautiful being he had seen was their maker. Now again she knelt by the vent, singing in a low, sweet voice. There came up a soft murmuring sound' like the sway of trees on a Summer afternoon, when a light wind stirs. "To the east," the spirit said gently, "to the lands of sunshine and flowers' whisper your songs among blofesoms and trees." It was a little breeze that wandered round the room—a happy-hearted little breeze that whispered of loveliness far away, of flowers, sunshine, bright colours. ... It whispered coaxingly to Walter, but he, overcome by the grey dreariness of this strange land, murmured, "Not worth—not worth »" It pushed the door open then, and he saw the water lily, rocked gently on the surface of the water. Desire awoke, and he ran down to the pond. The flower swung tantalieingly near o- its long stem, and then swung away again . . . and t'he little breeze had flown away through the dim shadows, away to the brightness of sunshine. The weariness came again, very suddenly. The flower wae far out of reach . . . and Walter sank down beside the water, murmuring again, "Not worth —not worth ." Everlasting life? A dream. Nothing was "worth whilp, only sleep—only rest. •** • • Far away on the dim border of the world is the shadowy land where the winds are born, where things uncreated dwell, and wliere there is a sense of eternal waiting for some miracle; the mists glide dim and grey, along the ground; and they hold t'he secret of sleep, of forgetfuiness. ...