THE DROGOOSE’S COLOUR

Press, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22335, 24 February 1938, Page 8 (Supplement)

THE DROGOOSE’S COLOUR

The. Drogoose lived in a round hblloW like a green plate pointed at the edges, with purple flowers, and .in the middle was a pattern of spreading leaves. That is to say. he had his house at the foot of a • 'tiyow • tree in a circle of thistles ’ ’f the bottom of a hill. j Tbe Drogoose had a long nose, •aich drooped like a bird’s bill. On his head he wore a brown 1 . cap, and on his feet flat, brown sandals. His ears were two pointed foxglove leaves, and he had eyes the colour of tussocks, matching his loose, flapping clothes.

Sometimes it was difficult to distinguish him from' a brown paper hag flattened against this fence, or spuming on that thistle leaf, or in such and such a ditch. times he became com- . lost in the tussock grass, only his brown cap, like a Tittle, SfOwa bird, moving just above them. 'J“deed, the Progoose was quite “Sly, and-nearly always sad. • To those who passed he usually said S a «igh-and-low sort of voice, f the sad and lonely progoose, Sluing under my sad green wilJow. Then he would add, “All the nme, every day, I wish for bright colours, for so many reds and blues hho purples and .especially golds, “ft I can cover myself up.” But °ne -ever brought him any

There were the days when he • further than his hollow £? ree , n grass and circle of thistles. Beyond these was a high hill covered with tussocks. That was vrf- He would pick a few dandeor, a bunch of pale mauve zf®PAhUla or some feathers which a goldfinch had left to flutter be- * Ween two stones, but he could JwlJy Mirer find enough colours to happywi, - e , was the Moxy Moo, a “way hare, but before the Droeven had time to say, "Good rooming, ’ or “Good afternoon, , come in?” the Moxy Moo Sr® 1 ? 1 ®?, to have leapt right round JS,® thistles, and at the words, youid you bring me some colour?”

(By Helen Shaw)

he was probably half way up the hill. And, last, there was April, about as high as a tussock, with hair the colour of a nasturtium. When she waved to the Drogoose as she peered between two thistles he thought she looked like a fairy; but in the distance, running across the grass, she might have been a pale yellow leaf. His greatest desire was to play with April. On one of the days when he was feeling particularly like a dull tussock, and looking more than ever like a very empty, blow n about paper bag, he saw April dance past his thistles, followed by the. Moxy Moo, his fur shining like the hard, bright outsides of chestnuts. What fun they are having, the Drogoose thought. “April.” he called. "Stay for a minute. Play witj? me.” But April and the Moxy Moo . vanished and only a voice like an echo reached the Drogoose, “Not to-day. Not to-day. It is too sunny to play in the shade. You ought to leave your house under the willow.” The Drogoose’s shoulders drooped, and the willow leaves brushed rhythmically across his jelly-bag cap, and he fiddled with a stem of grass in his fingers, while longing for heaps and heaps of colour, and for April to play with.

He hardly noticed, that the sky was becoming grey. All the sun had disappeared; and, the yellow leaves were brushing his shoulders much more rapidly.. A drop of water fell on to a leaf and balanced there. A second drop fell oh to a leaf, rolled down the middle and splashed over v his forehead. The Drogoose looked up. More and more drops fell, hitting the' leaves and splashing over his cheeks, nose, and fingers. “It is raining,” he said, aloud. “April will be caught, but, 'of course, the Moxy Moo will be quite safe. The rain cannot hurt his reddish fur.” Then closing his eyes he listened to the rain, and opening them he watched the thistle flowers brimming over with silver beads, and his green hollow filling up with small puddles, and again closing them for a long while he imagined the Moxy Moo and April

running up to him with a great basket piled up with gay flowers, hundreds and hundreds of red and gold flowers, saying, “Here you are, old brown Drogoose. We have brought you colour.” ' Quite suddenly the rain stopped. The Drogocse felt a warm patch on his right ear, then on his right hand, and opening his eyes he saw the sun forcing its way between the clouds. By this time it was low in the sky, so low that the clouds had turned to the colour of roses, with gold dust shaken over the edges. On the hill stretched a reflection of these red, gold-dusted clouds. Each tussock was pale gold or tawny red. On the tops of them drops shook, for a ruffling wind had risen.

"It is my hill, and there are hundreds ana hundreds of well—not flowers, but- colours,” murmured the Drogoose. The tussocks are no longer drab and dull like me. How happy I aip.” Sitting on one of the lumpy roots at the foot of his willow, with the thin branches brushing rhythmically over his jelly-bag cap, he smiled and smiled, and his eyes were tawny and his cheeks red, and when April and the Moxy Moo ran past his hollow, which was like a green painted plate, he hardly seemed to see them, for out on the hill, on' the Drogoose’s hill, he could watch hundreds of Aprils playing over the tussocks.