THE CAKES OF JUDGMENT.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2586, 21 August 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE CAKES OF JUDGMENT.

a TRANSVAAL ELOPEMENT. (By ANctor Rousseau, in the “Century.” Aunt Jacomina paused to wipe the sticky pancake dough from her arms with fresh flour. “Aron ought to have married them yourself, poor things,she said to her husband, “instead of sending them to the Dutch Reformed Church minister, who is little better than a heathen, just because her father is one of your elders. I do despise a spineless man. And they’ll be here for the wedding feast in a couple of hours, and I don’t believe that donkey of a schoolmaster has learned the speeches he’s to make.” “How many are there to learn?’ asked the prodikant. “Three,” replied Aunt Jacomina. “One for the bride, one for the bridegroom, and one for the bride’s father.” “But he won’t he here,” said her husband. “Of course ho will. Whoever heard of a bride’s father not being at the wedding feast? You’re going to fetch him.” “But he’s such a man of wrath!”

groaned the prodikant, miserably. “Yes; but lie can’t touch a clergy- - man, can he? The predikant’s voice is God’s voice. Whoever heard of anyone striking a clergyman?” “Must I go, wife?”, asked her husband, feebly. “I’ve talked the whole day with each of them already, and neither will' givo way a .particle. Never have I seen such an obstinate quarrel over a trifle. It’s disrupting the Hopper Church, and it gives such unchristian joy to tho Dutch Reformed congregation.” “Take tlio blue roan and drive over to Uncle Piet Brand’s farm at once,” said Aunt Jacomina, decisively. “And don’t light your pipe in my kitchen; the smell gets into tho cakes.” In the end the prodikant yielded before h.is wife’s firm, expansive personality, saddled the blue roan mare, and rode out of Krododilsrust, attended by the malicious salutations of half its inhabitants, who guessed his errand. From 1 the farm the houses of the village could ho seen dancing in a mirage upon the horizon. Presently a speck seemed to emerge and - traverse the plain. Elder Piet Brand laid down his Bible; refilled his silver-topped pipe with some loose Transvaal tobacco, and went to - the door, where ho stood shading his eyes from the hot noonday sun.

“Trana,” lie caked, “make coffee Here conies a rider.” His wife put down her needle, filled the kr.UJe w.Li uater from the bucket, and set it ~n the wood fire. Meanwhile her husband continued to watch intently the approaching horseman. •‘Trana, make the best coffee,” he continued, “and set out a pitcher of cream. It is that blue roan of the pro dike at. 1 know that mare. I told him weeks ago that she had a spavin, and ho sad it was only stiffness. She’ll go lame in a few days longer.” “It is not right to argue with , the prodikant, Piet,” said prana ; “but you are so obstinate; you will quarrel with everybody. If our Freda had married that young Van tier Me: - v. - e, as they were inclined, it would have been a fine match; but just because you chose to quarrel with the field-cornet over nothing at all, after you had been good friends since you wore children together, and—” “Allemachtig!” shouted the elder, bringing his fist down with a crash on the big Bible. “Will you never % let that rest? Did he not summon me three times in a month to sit on his jury, when he knew the crops had to be gathered in?” “That was because you wouldn’t have him on the hoard of elders, and him twenty years a member —” “Allemachtig!” 'shouted the elder, again. “I said Freda should never marry his son, and that settles it forever. Not that she would dream of doing so against her father’s wish; she’s a good girl, and knows the Lord’s commandment about honoring one’s parents. Ha ! I’d like to see my children disobey me, anyway. And now you want to shame me in the eyes of all the Boer folk by marrying her into tho family of an atheist, a scoffer at holy things, who tells me to my face that the world is round, and outside tho Church door, too, when the Bible says distinctly that it is flat. ‘He stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth,’ says the Holy Book. How could there be any foundations if it was round? Didn’t King David know what he was writing about when bo made up the Psalms? Let me bear no more of this nonsense.”

Trana was silent, but presently a tear fell upon the hot kettle, and spluttered there; and Piet Brand, seeing his wife’s distress, ceased his denunciations of his enemy, and began pacing the floor angrily, occasionally giving vent to his feelings in short ejaculations.

“Ai! you lazy wretch,” cried Trana to tho yellow Hottentot maid, “what arc you doing there? Run to the dairy and fetch a pitcher of cream. And take the flieis out; it is for the predikant. ’ By the time the cream and coffee were ready, and Trana had arranged tho chairs and dusted the parlor, the blue roan had reached the door. The prodikant dismounted, hitched his steed to a locust-tree, and entered. “Good-day, Uncle Piet,” he said. “Good-dav, Aunt Trana. How da you feel to-day, Uncle?’.’ “Better than that blue mare cf yours, Predikant,” the elder answered. “Nephew, she has the worst-case of spavin I’ve seen. She’ll be hopelessly lame in a low days longer.” “AYell. well,” answered the predikant, “just as you say, Uncle.” This unexpected acquiescence took the elder back. “AVhat’s the matter, predikant?” he demanded. “Aren’t you well.' Last time I warned you. you got quite angry about it, though 1 do say it’s better to serve the Lord than to understand horses, and a man who docs the Lord’s will with all his power can’t be expiefa.l to know anything about them:' lie lire n’t got time; it stands to reason.” “Be quiet, Piet,” said Trana, pulling at her husband’s arm. “You will argue, just to get up a quarrel with somebody. Sit down, Herr Predikant AVill you drink coffee?” “Thank 3’ou, my aunt,” replied the predikant, seating himself, and pulling up his black trousers at the knees. “And. a drop of schnapps, just t-* I make it sweeter?” said the elder producing a bottle. "“Thank you. Uncle,” said the predikant, crossing his legs and clearing lus throat nervously. “AYhere’s your wife, Predikant.' asked Trana, pouring in the cream. “She couldn’t come, Aunt; she s

baking.” “Baking on Monday?” asked Trim, in surprise. “She isn't becoming extravagant., I 1101)0, like t-liat cousin of her .stepmother’s, who put baking-pow-der in the leaven.” “No, Aunt.” ' “Aunt Jacomina’s a good woman, and doesn’t take up with such new-fangled, godless notions,” said the elder warmly, “There are some people who would reform the Holy .Book itself, like Cornelius Van dor Merwe, these days. I remember liis old father ; lie was as godly a man as you could imagine, always! dressing :u black and going to church twice regularly oil Sundays, and following the service from memory, without having to look at his prayer-book. And j what does Cornelius do hut toll me to my face that the world is round, as though tho Bible could be corrected!” “You used to bo such good friends, Uncle,” faltered the prodikaut, setting down his cup. “Yes, before he got these atheistic, Homan Catholic notions into his thick skull,” cried the elder. “Now I will have no more of him. Maclitig! Didn’t;! have to send Freda to tho boarding school because his son was always hanging around after her ? % Never shall she marry him —never, never !” “Uncle,” began the predikant, twirling hit hat nervously, “they arc saying in Olifantsfontoin that young Van der Menve lias got- married already—” - “What?” cried the elder. “Was it Martha Sinit, that girl with teeth like an Englishwoman’s? Though, to bo

jit:no, her father is rich, and, after a 11,.; ho needn’t look at her if ho doesn’t j tv ant to.” ‘•No, it—it wasn’t } Martha Sinit, i Uncle.” ' | “Mai” chuckled the elder. “Corne- i lies will rage like a bull; he wanted his eon to marry Martha Srr.it when he couldn’t get Freda. Well, serves him right for his obstinacy. It is a judgment from heaven for his blaspheming.” The prcdikant rose, nerved for Jrls ordeal, a light of resolution upon h s face. “Uncle Piet,” he said, “your daughter has run away from the- hoard-ing-school in. Olilantsfontcin and married young Van der Monve this after-

noon at the Dutch Reformed Church.” “What?” shouted the elder, dropping his pipe and standing as though petrified, while Trana uttered a scream. “I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t my fault, Uncle . Aunt Jacomina sent me to break the news to you. They drove up to the church in Uncle Cornelius’s new spider,—you know, the red one with the yellow wheels, —and Aunt Jacoinina said I was to tell you what’s ended can’t bo mended, and she wanted you and Aunt Trana to come to the wedding supper at once. They’re being photographed—” “Fool!” shouted the elder. “W ill you sit there by the hour and talk and talk and talk to me about rubbish while iny daughter is being kidnapped? Be silent, wife! Never shall she marry into an atheist’s family.” He rushed out of the room; presently they could hear him harnessing up his buggy outside. “Piet, Piet, what are you going to do?” cried liis wife, hurrying after him when she had regained her composure. “Be meek. Remember you are ah elder.' My poor girl! And to think I didn’t make the bridal dress!” she continued weeping. “What will the dear Lord think about it all, and her having no dress or veil, and everybody laughing at us?” While she was still lamenting, the elder harnessed up his horses ana- climbed into the buggy; but in his haste he had forgotten to take off the animals’ halters, and he had to clamber out again. When all was ready at last, he found his wife and the predikant tightly wedged into the hack seat. He was too angry to protest, but, standing up. whipped up his team and sent the buggy Hying along, the stretch of sandy read flanked by dry watercourses, that stretched in the direction of Krokodilsrust. “Remember you arc an elder, Piet, ’ cried Trana, anxiously, as the buggy humped and jolted over stones, ruts, and boulders, now buried half-way to the axles in red sand, now sliding on two wheels, pendent on the verge of the gully that ran parallel with the track. But Piet Brand only lashed his animals, and stood there with lips compressed and frowning brows, his black coat buttoned tightly around him. Suddenly Trana uttered a cry and pointed to a small path which debouched into the main road about a mile in front of them. Along this course a spider was coining at breakneck speed, the flying horse urged on by a man who was standing up. It would! evidently be a neck-and-neck race for the fork. The new-comer was the field-cornet, Cornelius Van der Merwe.

“Take care for the gully. Uncle!' cried the predikant, as the buggy reared itself upon the crumbling edge of the > ravine and righted itself with an effort. But the elder heard nothing. His face was purple, and he shook his first at his reciprocating neighbor, who was now within bailing distance. If possible, the field cornet appeared angrier than the elder. His hat bad blown from his head, liis coat was flying in the wind, and his grey hairs I hirst-led. “Thief! hypocrite!” he shouted, “restore to me my son that you have stolen!” “Liar blasphemer! atheist! schismatic! Papist!” the elder retorted, “give me my daughter!” “Give mo niv soil! He's mine, you smeerlap!” “Not one penny of mine shall come to your family, Jesuit!” “Piet, Piet, be meek, be meek!” cried Trana. Remember that you arc an elder!” “Sit down, Uncle!” the predikant cried, seizing the elder by his coattails. “Be calm! be —” He finished bis sentence amid a cloud of splintering frames and breaking; axles. He had a vision of plunging hoofs and rearing heads, then all was still. Ho turned his head sidew:«e ?n amazement. Trana, wearing an expression of pain and resentment, was still seated beside him in the hack seat of the buggy, which rested upon the road. Nothing else was visible. “Hemmel!” cried Trana. ; AY here is my husband?” They looked round again: they could see only the rolling veldt, backed by the iron roofs of Krokodilsrust, But presently a voice rose out of the distance: | “1 say it’s round, arid 1 mean it. It’s round, round, round.” Dislodging himself with some difficulty, the predikant went to the edge of the wash-out. Ten feet below, concealed to their necks in sand and mud, the elder and the field-cornet glared { at each other amid the wreckage of their vehicles. In unheeded proximity were the hoofs of the. struggling horses. Half an hour hifor the two mud-crusted parents approached the prodikant's house, Aunt Trana panting in the rear upon the arm of her spiritual consoler. Tlieir advent created a sensation among the populace, who were: | gathered about the door, Aunt JacoI nun a came bustling out, and dispersed the loafers with vigorous blows. “Come in, Uncle Cornelius,” she cried. “Some in, Undo Piet. Come '.in, Aunt Trana,” she continued, kissI ipg her and leading her in. The table was set for the wedding feast. There were fresh loaves, stewed antelope, coffee, P-e ; a. d a whole

pyramid cf pamud:winch towered in uneasy splendour over the coffee-urn. Inside the parlor ■.•• re several of the mere important members cf Krokodilsrust, including the schoolmaster, who wa.'i to be the sp <;■ Jmiaker. But all eves were focussed upon the sofa at the far end of the room., where, seated side by side, hand ck;: ping hand, sat the bridal pair. In iisnt of them the photographer was adjusting his tripod. Young Van dor ?-’:• ■ vo was dressed in a new store suit, w:ih a white t:o and patent-leather shoes, and the bride wore a white dr-r- .-’ml .a tram, the gift of Jam: dun, • i i! a veil. Al le nineh tig, my girl!’-’ screamed Aunt Trar.a, liiag:;:..; herself upon her daughter’s neck, while the photographer, puzzled by the appearance of this new image upon his ground-glass plate, looked rr> worn, under his cloth and remained patiently waiting for the bride’s mother to withdraw.

v“0 husband forgive them!” cried Trana, clasping the blushing bride within her arms. The elder’s voice quavered slightly, but, he merely advanced into the room/ and said: “Come, Freda; let us go home.” “My son! my poor stolen son!” shouted the field-cornet, who had been waiting upon his enemy’s words. “Come back with me and all shall be forgiven.” “Father,” said young Van der Merwe, throwing his arms round his bride dramatically, “we are both married.” Then Aunt -Jecomma came hustling forward and took each father by the arm. “Now listen, you stupid, obstinate men,” she said; “the children are married now, and what’s ended can’t be mended. Uncle Piet, aren’t you ashamed of your obstinacy, and you an elder in the church?” “Yes, shake hands,” said the mild voice of the schoolmaster, who, considering this his province, had insinuated himself into the group. But nobody heard him, for at that moment the photographer bumped into the table and upset the pancakes. “Donkeyhead!” cried Aunt Jaeomina, “'pick every one up immediately or you get no supper. Now, Piet Brand, what have you against this match? Have done with your nonsense. Why are you at enmity with Uncle Cornelius?” “He told me that the world was round; ves, to my face, blasphemer.” “I said it, and I say it again. The world is round.” They glared at each other in i it-: eon- , cilable anger. For the moment Aunt Jaeomina seemed nonplussed. “Aunt, let us ask the schoolmaster.” said the photographer, anxious to retrieve himself. “Schoolmaster, do you teach that the world is round or fiat? ' “Whichever the parents desire. Cousin,” replied tlie schoolmaster, rubbing liis hands together nervously. “ “If there's one thing above all others that I do despise,” Aunt Jaeomina said, “it is a spineless man.” Her glance fell upon the cakes, which the photographer had deftly piled anew. She stopped, and a broad smile of comnrehension came over her face. “Maclitig!'' she exclaimed. “You oolish men! What shape are my p snakes, Uncle Piet?” “Flat —as fiat as the world.” said Yet Brand, promptly. “Round —round, like the earth,” said jncle Cornelius. Slowly the glare, faded out of their lives, and their mouths opened. “Allemachiig!” said Jncle Piet, scratching his head as some new :houglit came to him, and staring alike cakes. “Maclitig!” said Jncle Cornelius, lolding out a pancake before him. and razing at it with awe. They watched ?ach other furtively. “Uncle Piet,” said the predikant. •you are both right and also both wrong, you see. But you are an elder, [t is your privilege to be 'meek. Hold >ut your hand.” He caught hold of his wrist, audslowy. inch after inch, Uncle Piet's hand 10me cut of his pocket. _ “Uncle Cornelius,” said the predicant, “give me your hand.” Uncle Cornelius’s hand began to move very slowly upward. Then Aunt Jaeomina, who had been everywhere at the same instant, seized the men’s wrists and yanked their fingers together.

"Now they shall be photographed,” she said., ‘‘and then we’ll have supper.” “Look pleasant, please,” said the •photographer. When the shutter had snapped, Piet Brand, who had been standing thoughtfully in a corner, seized the predikant by the arm. '•Nephew,” he shouted, his features convulsed with indignation, “you'll have to put that blue roan of yours out of her misery. She has positively the worst ease of spavin that I have ever seen.”