LITTLE FEET

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 46, 23 February 1935, Page 5 (Supplement)

LITTLE FEET

}y RUTH PARK,

LUKE wont across to tlie window and peered out. It was a very-

windy night; the withered leaves came swirling in little gusts and patters against the pane. Through the trees he could see the winking light in the window of the house across the valley.

Luke's forehead puckered into a worried frown. "I wish I could do something for that poor woman over there," he murmured. "It must be hard for the poor soul struggling along on that tiny piece of sour land. Sure, I don't think the pig will last long, and as for the little hen —well! I'm glad I gave her the big pumpkin yesterday. It was a fine one, to be sure, and I cared for it iike a baby but sure it's better on her table than on mine. It's good to be thinking that that poor creature over there lias something decent to eat. Wisha, but if only I had lots of money to help, all the poor people in the world!"

He cast a glance round the room. Rough burlap curtains, a home-made bed, one chair with half a back, and another with three legs. Luke sighed. His kind face was wistful. Certainly he had very little to spare for the helping of others. Suddenly he stopped stock-still, listening. From the outer room there came a sound, so faint and deceptive that it was scarcely a sound at all —a light, ghostly tinkling, like that of thin china. Luke stepped forward and peered into the dark room. The tinkling ceased immediately. The hair prickled on the back of his neck. He opened his mouth to hurl a gruff "Who's there?" into the darkness, but somehow no sound came. He just stood there, staring into the silent room.

He felt that someone, or something, was watching him. Small furtive eyes were peering at him from out of the dark. Strange eyes which rould not see in the honest light of clay. A great terror gripped him, but he could not move.

Then suddenly, breaking the dead silence, came another sound, just the barest thread, the merest whisper— and to Luke's straining ears it seemed, that it was the noise of feet, little, hurrying, furtive feet running across the floor.

The outer door blew open with a bang that shook the house, and tin. wind swooped in like a mad thing. But it did not drown the noise of tiny feet scurrying towards the swinging door. They grew fainter, and yet fainter. Soon there was no sound at all. But nothing had crossed the threshold. Luke was sure of tlint.

He found himself free from the queer, terrifying spell which had bound him, and, pulling himself together, took the lamp into the

room. Setting it upon the table, he hurriedly closcd and bolted the door, then, cursing himself for an imaginative old fool, turned once more towards the table.

Luke rubbed his eyes and looked again, his face foolish with astonishment. Stacked methodically upon the rough boards were vows and rows of 6hining coins—hundreds, thousands of pounds' worth, for tliey were all gold. They winked slyly up at him, fat, beautiful, ruddy-red.

"It was the little folk," whispered Luke in awe; "the good little people. And they brought me fairy gold."

Far into the night the old man sat gloating over the coins, thinking ecstatically of the things they would buy. To-morrow morning he would go round the village and pop a handful of coins into each poor woman's apron pocket. And the children! He would lead them to the village green and scatter sweets and pennies amongst them. Luke chuckled. Sure, they'd think he was one of the good folk himself!

But when morning came, Luke felt a few misgivings about his plans of the night before. He realised that nobody would believe how he had come by the gold. Some of the people didn't even believe 'in fairies any more. They would think him a thief. Luke felt a little afraid. Evidently he couldn't show the gold to anyone. Bolting the door, he stacked the coins carefully in an old box. Ah, but they were beautiful—so yellow, so heavy. Guiltily he looked over his shoulder. He felt a secret gladness that he would not be able to share the money. It would be his —all its rich glitter, its musical clinking.

He did not go outside that day, and across the valley poor o!d_ Mrs. O'Flynn wondered why her kindly neighbour had not come to see her.

By lamplight, Luke gloated over the coins. He was conscious of guilty pleasure in the possession of the gold. Even though he could not spend it, it was his. Nobody else's; his alone. He knew now that he didn't want to give it away. He didn't want to lose one single coin. He caressed them, played with them, and as the morning drew near he knew that he would not give one of them to buy life for a dying man.

As the lamplight faded into the sunlight, there came a knock at the <loor. Starting up, he threw a cloth over the gold and opened the door cautiously.

"Well, what dp you want, Paidin O'Daref" lie growled.

The neighbour who had come a-visiting looked' with growing astonishment at Luke. The pleasant smile and kindly demeanour was gone. There was a strange, furtive gleam in Luke's bloodshot eyes, a surly, suspicious twist to his unshaven month.

"The saints preserve us!" gasped Paidin. "Bah!" said Luke fiercely, and slammed the door. Looking out of the window, he saw Paidin pelting clown the hill. There would be strange tales in the village to-day. Impatiently he drew the burlap across the window and returned to his counting. Soon he heard excited voices outside, and, peering out the window,: saw. that there was quite a' crowd of gossiping, finger-pointing women coming up the hill, Paidin in their midst., Luke felt queer; unreasoning fury arise in him. How dare they! How dare they! How could he finger and caress the beautiful red gold if they kept interrupting him? Flinging open the door, he halfscreamed, "Go away! Go away, all of you!" They retreated down the hill, chattering excitedly. With a grunt of satisfaction Luke again settled down to his counting. He was undisturbed for the rest of the day—and all day long he played with the coins. There was no longer the remotest echo of his natural charity in his soul. All the goodness and kindness of him had faded under the golden gleam from the fairies' gift. When night came again, Luke placed the coins upon the table, where he could see their moonlit glitter from where he lay in bed. He lay fascinated by their lustre until lie drifted off to sleep. Suddenly he awoke. There was a queer sound coming from the outer room—a faint, stealthy jingling. Luke tried to spring up, but, as before, some strange enchantment bound him. He could only watch and listen. The outer room was quite moonlit. The gold lay like a patch of ruddy light upon the table. There was nobody in the room. Yet one by one the coins were disappearing. Strange, unseen little hands were taking the fairy gold back to the fairy treasuries.

At last they were all gone but one—one solitary coin winking slyly in the moonlight. Luke's eyes were fixed fascinatedly upon it. Would it too disappear?

Then there came another sound,, for all the world like that of little furtive feet, slipping sibilantly across the floor. A gust of wind went swooping madly round the house, and the door blew open with a tremendous bang. Softly the sound of the little feet faded away. But not even a shadow crossed the threshold.

Luke sank into a deep sleep. When morning came lie felt strangely different, as though he had been ill and was now recovered. The sunlight outside looked joyous and clean. He felt clean, too, and happy, as though a great weight had been lifted from his mind.

Springing out, he picked up the solitary coin. As he looked at it indifferently, the old smile came to his lips. •*

"I'm glad it's over," he murmured humbly-ancl happily. "I'm glad I've found out that at heart I'm really a clutrJiing old miser. I'm glad of my poverty —oli, I'm glad of everything!" He hurried into his clothes, chuckling awhile. "Oh, the tales they'll be telling about me down in the village!" Slipping the coin into his pocket, he went happily out into the sweet, friendly sunlight. He was going (l-visiting the poor old lady acroßt the valley.