THE SOFTIE

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXVII, Issue 12824, 19 August 1939, Page 3

THE SOFTIE

THE EVENING STORY======

By Olive MacDonald

Mrs Crain stepped from behind a sheet she was hanging in her back yard just ip. time to collar a young miscreant in the very act of hurling, a stone at her favourite apple tree.

Mrs Crain' had no patience with boys. Apple stealing little savages she used to call them when she caught them knocking the fruit off her trees before it had a chance to ripen. At times she could almost tolerate well-behaved little girls

“ Where’s your mother?’ ” whose mothers had taught them to know their places in an adult world; but nobody could make a little boy fit to live with. For the most part, she used to say, little boys should be taken out of general circulation until they were at least 15. This time, chiefly because the boy had no idea that he was bein,g chased by a plump lady, she was able to get a firm grip on his shirt. “What do you mean by throwing rocks'at my trees?” she thundered. “I—l’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t think,” quavered the very small, badly frightened trespasser. “Didn’t think I’d catch you is what you mean.” Giving his collar an angry twist. Trembling with fright the 'Child shrank from her glance. As Mrs Crain tightened her hand on the collar a warm shock ran up her arm. In that moment she realized that she had never before touched the bare neck of a frightened little boy.- How could such a reprehensible creature have skin like the petal of a rose? “Anybody’d* think you were afraid of me,” she said, frowning. After the manner of all small boys in such dilemmas he squirmed. Mrs Crain shook him irritably, further incensed by the fact that with each movement of her hand she could feel the moist tenderness of his skin.

“Where’s your mother?” she demanded. “I haven’t any,” said the child simply, “but my aunt takes care of me.” „

“She Hoes, does she? Then why doesn’t she teach you to keep away from things that don’t belong to you?” “Oh she does, ma’am!” His brown eyes were big with eager justification. “But I didn’t think about the apples belonging to you. It’s so long, since lunch, and she won’t be home till six,” his voice trailed off'uncomfortably.

A sudden light dawned in Mrs Crain’s mind.

“Do you mean that you wanted the apples because you were hungry?” she exclaimed. Somehow it had never occurred to her that there could be any other motive than sheer lawlessness for the depredations of these youngsters.

The child made no answer. Hanging his head, he dug his toes into the grass. As her eye travelled over his threadbare little figure Mrs. Crain caught her breath, “Don’t!” she said sharply. “Don’t you see that your toes are right through your shoes? You might get a bad. cut if you aren’t careful.” Turning him round she studied him. “Haven’t you any other shoes?” she asked, loosening her hold on his collar.

“No, ma’am,” he gazed wide-eyed into her face. “My aunt says she* just can’t see how she can get me any. She doesn’t earn much,” h© added. This time there didn’t seem to be any legitimate target for Mrs. Crain’s resentment.

“Don’t you run away,” she said threateningly as she let go of the frayed collar. She wanted to study this small disturber without the con-

Mrs Crain found more than stolen apples when she caught the ragged young thief in her yard

tact with his smooth little neck. “I won’t, ma’am,” he said. “And I won’t throw' any more stones at your trees.”

Somehow Mrs. Crain knew that he

wouldn’t. She suspected, too, that she had been rather in the habit of exaggerating her own feelings regarding high-spirited youth. “Kids are a nuisance and I won’t be pester-

ed with them,” she used to say. But, as her eyes met the soft brown ones before her she was a little confused about it all.

“Well,” she said suddenly, “you didn’t get the apple, so that means you’re still hungry. Fine lot of good a green apple would have been to

you, anyhow.” Grumbling to herself, she swung round and started for the house.

. “Come on,” she called impatiently, holding the door open, “don’t let the flies get in!” * Questioningly he followed. But he didn’t question the heaped-up plate that Mrs. Crain set before him, nor the apple pie, profusely decorated with whipped cream. He reacted as any small boy. does to such a situation, even if he isn’t hungry. “Hello, Bub!” The man of the house appeared in the kitchen just as the boy was starting on his second piece of pie. Casually he slid into his chair, veiling the twinkle in his eye, the same twinkle that was always there when his wife rated the mischievousness of the local kids, and ended up with a worried plaint about the thinness of their legs or the scantiness of their clothes for the time of year; Not by a single twitch of his mouth did he betray that there was anything unusual in the scene.

“Maybe if we feed ’em ‘they’ll leave the apples alone,” Mrs. Crain explained shortly. “They do taste better in pies.”

“Sure!” said her husband, gazing into his plate as his wife removed the boy’s shoes and shook the sand out of them. , “Gosh! He needs a new pair, don’t he?” squinting down at the worn-little sandals.

“Of course, he does!” said his wife indignantly. “But how in the world can his poor aunt buy them for him when she has to slave all day to get him enough to eat? Ido declare my heart aches for the poor woman. She must worry about him, too, he’s so little,” she added in an undertone. Mr. Crain smiled. “I see the point,” he said innocently, “somebody’s got to help out a woman who has to go out to work to support a kid that doesn’t even belong to her. Suppose we get him a pair of shoes and-—well, kind of keep an eye on him now and then?”

“It’s the least we can do,” Mrs. Crain responded absently. “Maybe we can teach him a few things that might do him good. It would be one less little ragamuffin in the fruit.”

Mr. Crain winked at the would-be apple stealer, who was too busy to appreciate the fact that husbands are not as dull as some people think.