THE BLUE HAT

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 136, 11 June 1938, Page 6 (Supplement)

THE BLUE HAT

By A.B.C.

Prize Short Story

Fwas not till she was actually sitting in the train with the Brent girls opposite that she had any misgivings about it. She saw them look her up and down and then their eyes lingered on the blue hat, and she heard one snigger and say softly, "Guaranteed absolutely home-made." Anna flushed painfully and the glory was suddenly gone from the day—that lovely golden day that had seemed sent from heaven for Averil's wedding. Was it possible that the hat was wrong after all? Of course, there had been no woman to consult, but it had looked so smart when she tried it on in the farm bedroom; she had set it on her little grey head and turned to Ernest questioningly. He had limped across and kissed her and said: "Who would dream that you were the wife of a backblocks cocky ?" She would not have dreamt it herself 10 years w»n. for at the age of 38 Miss Dews—"Dewy" , to a- succession of affectionate pupils—was quite certain that she would live and die a governess. The future had worried her at times, but she was very happy in her work, filling with the care of other people's children the emptiness of her warm and maternal heart. She had looked the traditional governess, too, with her gentle, plain face and her spare, spinsterish little figure. Yes, she was content with her lot, except for the thought of the day when Averil Anstey, best loved and last of her pupils, should have grown too old for her care and be translated to that boarding school that had roobed Miss Dews of 30 many beloved children. How could she bear life when Averil bad left her? But in the end it was she who bad left Averil, though not until boarding school was only a term away—left ber in order to marry the mild, middleaged little dairy farmer whom she had met in her winter holiday. It etill seemed a miracle to her that anyone should have fallen, in lot* cith her, just as it seemed to Ernest Lang the most wonderful thing in the world that he should have won this clever, refined, gentle little woman; he, a returned soldier with an injured leg and a tiny dairr farm far away, in the coujltry and with no money at all. "I do hope it will be a success," Mrs. Anstey had said anxiously. "It seems impossible to imagine Dewy on a dairy farm, milking cows." "Of course it will be a success," cried 12-year-old Averil stoutly; "anything would love Dewy—even cows." And it had been a. sueeees, and the cows had loved her. Dewy had returned their love, once she had conquered her initial fears and forced herself to handle the gentle, sleek-coated creatures. Themarriage, against all reason, had been perfectly happy, though neighbours might laugh at them and call them "a funny little pair of cooing doves," and the Brent girls "positively shriek" «rt the sight of Mrs. -Lang in gumboota in a muddy yard. Anna Lang wae serenely happy; her yearning, maternal heart waa satisfied in mothering thie 3*me little husband of hers, and her day*' were filled with her housework, her cats' and the cows. Bnt in the evenings she and Ernest used to talk of those years before they met; he would tell her long stories of the war and of the dreadful days on Gallipoli when he received the wound that left him lame for life. She would respond with gentle tales ' of heft old pupils and would bring out the latest letter from Jennifer, who wae married in India, or {Sock who had' joined the flying corps, t Then came the exciting evening that Drought Averil's letter with the news of her engagement; Dewy had

cried a little over that letter, for Averil had remained the most beloved of all her pupils. "Tears of happiness, Ernest, because it is all so suitable—he'e. young and handsome and rich", and just what my darling , should have." But when tie wedding invitation came, accompanied by a note in Averil's untidy hand—"Strange how the dear child still blots everything"—there was anxiety mingled with her pride and joy. "You've eimply got to come, darling Dewy," Averill had written; "I can"t possibly :ret legally married without you;" and "Of course you must go," Ernest had said instantly, looking proud and masterful for once. ITow tell him that clothes were the trouble? It was to be a very smart wedding and she had not a penny to L-pend on herself. The dress did not worry her so much; thore was that lovely pieco of grey-blue silk that Jennifer had sont her and that beautiful length of cloth, that miraculously matched it, given her last Christmas by Robin, who had joined the mercantile marine. (Dewy did so hope it was not smuggled, but darling Robin had always been a little wild.) Yes, she could make her frock and her coat, for her sewing had always been her special pride; it was wae the hat that worried her. 'Hats," muttered Anna desperately, as she took out the blue one that was now two years old, "hate give you away." Then with set teeth she began to unpick the old trimming and to remodel the blue hat that luckily matched the frock in shade. Yes, she had done it—done it really well, so she had believed and Ernest had declared; sh e had been perfectly happy about it until 6he overheard the Brent girls sniggering and saw them looking at her hat. Then she felt as if someone had struck her in the face. Of course, she was tired, for she had been up at five to help Ernest with a few of the cows and catch the early lorrv; hungry, too, for she had had only a cupof tea at eix o'clock; and then she had a stupid habit of feeling sick whenever she travelled by train—otherwiee, she told herself, she would not have felt so upset by the girls' chatter. All the .same, she secretly opened her purse—that magnificent affair given her last birthday by Neil, who wa* a head-

The Blue Hat" n>as chosen winner of the short story competition for Mα}}. Entries for the June competition should be posted to reach the Literary Editor, "Auckland Star," not later than June 24.

master now—and glanced ashamedly in the little mirror. As ehe looked at herself her heart turned right over and then sank, just like a . . Yes, the Hat was wrong. She gave a hunted glance round and half rose from her seat; if only the train would draw up at some station, so that she might creep out and wait for one that would take her home again—home to Ernest and security! But thie .was the expjese and did not stop till it reached town; moreover, it was running late, so that the wild plan that had half-forined in Anna's mind of rushing to a shop and spending the whole pound Ernest had given her on some hat—something, anything, provided it didnt look "guaranteed home-made"— was hopelessly frustrated. She had just time to catch a tram and get to the church if ehe was to see her darling married—Averil whom she loved and whom she was going to disgrace. She heard mocking voices: "What queer friends Averill has—look at that woman in the blue hat." She took the wrong tram in her misery and arrived at the church after all the fashionable gueste had gone in. There was the usual inquisitive crowd waiting for the bride's arrival and she heard a vulgar voice say: "Lawks, I'll bet that ain't one of 'er set—not in that 'at." It was too much. Anna could bear no more; she must get away now, at oroe. The crowd parted and ehe seized he- way of escape; teare blinded her eyes so that she did not see the bridal car draw up, almost stumbling in her frantic haste into the arms of the ushers who had rushed forward. And then a miracle happened. For then Anna eaw a lovely vieion in white, heard a beloved voice: "Why, it's darling Dewy. Hop- sweet you look, and how good of you to come," and felt warm arms clasp her and fresh lips kissing her faded cheek. Then the voice, imperioue now and laughing together, as was always Averil'e "way , - "Tim, you must find room for Mrs. Lang right in front. She's a very special person." How the crowd gaped as the immaculate usher, smiling kindly and not at all superciliously, led the quaint little figure up the aisle to one of the very beet seats, just behind the row of "next of kin."

Aβ for Dewy—she cried quietly from the moment that the organ began to peal out till at last the smiling bride was led to the vestry. She was etill weeping happily when the same usher touched her arm; "You are to come to the vestry, please;" then came & breathtaking walk amidst staring eyee—the hat happily and completely forgotten— that ended in the crowded vestry and Averil's laughing words as she pulled her forward: "Dewy, you must help me and tell me not to blot, as you always used to do." Nor was this all; at the reception she had met so many old friende and all had been so kind. Mne. Anstey herself had refused to believe that the hat was home-made ("But you were always so clever with your fingers, Dewy") and Anna had suddenly known that everything was perfect in this most perfect world—even the blue hat. The culminating moment had come when, as Averil bent to kiss her good-bye, ehe whispered: "You're not going back by train; there's only a slow one and I know they always upset you. Hush, not a word. It's mother's idea —Hunter is taking you in her car." It was incredible, that 80-mile drive in Mre. Anstey'a own car, behind tho friendly, familiar, but ageing, back of Hunter. How Dewy longed that Ernest should share this immense treat! .She smiled happily to think that she tvould soon be with him again, that now he would really see for himself that they had been—well, a little fond of her. when they would send her so far in

tliis beautiful car. For a moment her mind reverted to the miserable train journey of the morning, and she found hercolf wishing (but perhaps thie was wrong and a little vain) that thoec smart and rather unkind Brent girls could see her now. And, as if in answer to that timid little wish, when they reached the settlement, the train had just drawn up at the station and the Brente, together with a crowd of other passengers, were coming through the gates. Hunter, always the soul of caution, slowed down and blew hie horn importantly; everyone looked up at the gleaming new car, but when the Brent girle caught sight of the solitary occupant—very erect and dauntlese in the blue hat—they positively gaped with excitement and curiosity. It was not in Dewy's nature ever to be unkind, even in return for unkindness, so her smile wae sweet and friendly, filled with the joy of her perfect day. But she sat up a little etraig-hter and, as if in answer to their etarcs of astonishment, her hand went up nnd set tlie blue hat at a more fashionable—-vow, <i rakish —anale. Tho gesture was almost a triumphal salute.