THE DESERTED HOUSE.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 260, 2 November 1935, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE DESERTED HOUSE.

(By Jean Duncan, 13, Furrar Street, Richmond, asre 17.) It was a little thatched-roofed cottage nestling in an old-world garden, shrouded from the view of passcrsby by an old yew tree- hedge. The well-kept lawns of yesterday were overgrown with thistles and coarse grass. Its flowering shrubs were untrimmed and the tall hollyhocks had gone to seed and were drooping from their height against the wall. The roses which twined around the lattice arch were growing at will, through lack of care and attention. The woodbine's scent had faded and the fragrance of lavender and lilac was no more. Every flower seemed to resent the unoccupied state of the house. The cobbled path which led towards the front door was covered with moss and the hinges of the little wicket gate had rusted, leaving it propped up in the long grass. The apple trees had borne their fruit in vain; where was the rosy-checked child to romp amongst the leaves and bury its snow-white teeth in the llcsh of a delicious apple? What of the house? It had fallen into a state of disrepair. The window sills sagged as though the eyes of the house were steeped in tears. A hole in the glass pane testified the prank of some small boy. The back door had shrivelled and bent with the heat and storms it had experienced] and the tank had rusted into holes, while the tank-stand had twisted on its legs as if apt .to topple over at any moment. The roof of the cottage was sadly in need of repair. Its thatch was worn and decayed in many places, and the walls had become grey and dull through lack of whitewashing. Thus stood the deserted house, a truly pathetic sight, seeming to say: "Oil for those long ago days when I was the pride of the village."

I know a young man Who can stand on Ills bead And sew on a patch Without nny thread. —SHADOW SONG. "I'll bet none of you can do this!" Knarf cried merrily. Mij, Flor, Yam and Hanid, the other shadow-children, gazed at their eomradc in amazement. He was walking on ;i thread! Yes —that was amazing enough, hut to make it harder he suddenly stood on his head. Can you imagine standing on your head on a thread? You mustn't forget that shadows can stand on almost anything. Don't you wisli you were a shadow? It was late at night. All the real nelsons in the house were fast asleep. The shadows could roam wherever they pleased without interference. They found their way —or rather Knarf did and they all followed him—into the room where mother did her sewing, and here Knarf found a spool of thread. He immediately unwound it and drew it across from the sewing machine to the table about a yard away. Then he pulled himself together until he -was no bigger than a pin and began his tricks;

"I'll bet none of you win do this!" he cried again. The shadows were about io say that they couldn't when a sharp voice popped up. It came from the sew-

ing basket. "1 can easily do it," said the voice. It turned out ro be the needle. It came out of the basket and stuck itself into a little ball of wool that was lying on the table. "O-ouch!" exclaimed the ball of wool. "You're sticking me!" "Don't mention it," said the needle, more sharply than ever. Then it turned and looked at Knarf (it could look, you see, because it had an eye) and winked (I'm quite sure it winked although it may have blinked), and finally remarked: "Well, why don't you come down off the thread and give me a chance?" "Ha-ha." laughed the shiidow-boy, "you'd better not try to walk on this thread. You'll surely fall off."

"Don't worry about me," said the needle. Then it sprang lightly out of the ball of wool and landed on the thread. "Watch out, watch out," warned Knarf. The other shadows warned it too. They expected to see it drop to the floor any moment. So fearful were they that they stood on the floor below the thread and "Raited to catch it. But the needle wasn't worried at all. It hopped up and down as gaily as a lark. "I'm used to thread," it kept saying. "You may be used to sewing with it, but you're not used to walking on it," Han id called up. "You'd better get off before it's too late." "And now," said the needle, "I'm going to show you how to do a somersault —" "Don't!" But it did. And the next instant it slipped and foil down to .the floor. That's not all. It rolled into a crack before the shadows could stop it, and there it lay for weeks and weeks—until it rusted quite away. It's a sad story.