POETIC JUSTICE.

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 192, 16 August 1939, Page 18

POETIC JUSTICE.

(By Patricia nutton. Heme Bay.)

fieorgie slamined the gate and splashed along in the mud, stamping his feet in the yellowish puddles so that little splashes of dirty water flew all over his untidy trousers and lodged in the folds of his socks which were, as usual, round his ankles. He wished fiercely that he was dead—he wouldn't have to I walk miles and miles for an old skein lof wool then. They didn't knit in I Heaven, he reflected. Perhaps if he died they would appreciate him more and have more consideration of his feelings. Tad would be waiting for him down by the creek where they had arranged to build an enormous dam and now he would just wait there, and perhaps never be friendly again. Georgie's great vexation of spirit was caused by the lonjj muddy road lie had to walk over to Gemsford, three miles away, just to btiv a skein of wool for Aunt Ellen. He thought of the bush in the gullv and the little creek with stones just 'ready to be used in a dam. Suddenly bis' mind wns made up. Bother Aunt Ellen's knitting! Why couldn't she wait till Monday for it only three days. She was always telling him to be patient—she could tryit herself for a change. He turned resolutely from the swimming road into the grass at the side and thence through the wire fence. He half-slid down the ■wet pine-needles towards the creek. Half an hour later Tad and fieorgie were dumping stones into the creek, happily talking. fieorgie's conscience was not of the pricking variety. Tomorrow, Saturday, would be fieorgie s birthday. Their little football team, the fiemsford Rovers, were playing the Holleston Scorpions, too, and it was going to be a "walkover." fieorgie,had just been in the team for a week and had not yet broached the subject of the jersey, a blatant affair of green and purple, to his mother. Night was falling as he pushed open the gate and crept up the path. Aunt Ellen was waiting for him at the door. "Well, Georgie, where's the wool? "I-er-there wasn't any left," said Georgie nervously. "What a pity." said Aunt Ellen. I didn't think anyone would want that colour. Well, it will be a great disappointment to him when he knows she added to herself as Georgie went ' • Next morning lie woke up filled with joy at the sight of a bike from his father and mother, and a scarf from his little sister Joan—it was somewhat unevenly knitted, and Georgie wondered dubiously whether it would ever go round his neck. But where was Aunt Ellen's present? He searched feverishly under his pillow, under his bed, in vain Perhaps she would give it to him at breakfast, he thought, as he went in dutifully to thank his mother and f *At r ' breakfast ] Aunt Ellen said: "Georgie, I'm terribly sorry dear but vour present from me isn't finished. She took from her knitting bag a iersev It was a striking jersey of a cheerful emerald green with scream,ng purple stripes, running round it. It had one sleeve sewed on, and the other was still on the needles. "You see dear, I was knitting your football jersey, and I ran out of woo yesterday. There wasn t any left, you said, so it will have to w »' 4 4,11 Monday. I could have finished it last night if I'd had the wool." Georgie is now firmly convinced that crime does not pay*