Aunt Roberta’s Family

Manawatu Standard, Volume LI, Issue 181, 3 July 1931, Page 10

Aunt Roberta’s Family

OUR MOTTO FOR 1931. When a task is once begun, Never leave it till it's done; lie the labci.. great or small, Do it well—or not at all. Dearest Children, Skipper is a grey nurse shark who is a captive in an aquarium. He does not feel the cold weather. Lucky, isn’t he? In his pool he has a dock of little fishes, too email to whe: his appetite. They are actually Skipper's housemaid#.. They keep the pool clean. Busy little souls, they swim and dart, eating the refuse, keeping the place clean. Sometimes a few of them will swim ahead of Skipper for hours on end, piloting him around tne pool no doubt. Maybe they burn him fish songs or tell him fish stories! U no knows? But Skipper liken them. And Skipper will never eat them. The greynurse shark is fed on ralmon at 3.15 every afternoon. Skipper’s housemaids are well cared for, too. They are fed daily upon tasty prawn-.—but not too many. Too much food

RECIPES. TEA-TIME DAINTIES. NUT CAKES: Take 3oz of ground nuts, 3oz castor sugar and the white of an egg beaten to a stiff froth, and as much flour as will make into a thick paste. Work paste with floured hands till smooth, roll out till -pinch thick. Cut with a fancy cutter and bake in a slow oven for about 20 minutes. CUSTARD CAKES: Make a paste with one cup of flour, 1 tablespoon butter and lard mixed. Make a custard with 2 egg-s, 2 cups rniik, 1 tablespoon sugar. Line patty tins with the paste, and crop in each 2 teaspoons of the custard. Bake in a moderate oven till brown on top. —TOPPING—I mark. LITERARY CORNER. Contributed by RONNIE DALEITELD: THE TOLL-GATE HOUSE. The toil-gate's gone, but still stands lone, In the dip of the hill, the house of stone, And over the roof, in the branching pine, The great owl sits in the white moonshine. An old man lives, and lonely, there; His windows yet on the cross-roads stare; And on Michaelmas night, in all the years, A galloping tar and faint he hears. . . . His casement open wide he flings, With “Who goes there?” and a lantern swings. ... But never more m the nun moonbeam Than a cloak and a plume, and the silver gleam Of passing spurs, in the night can he see, For the toll-gate’s gone and the road is free. —John Drinkwater. RESULTS OF 6th COMPETITIONS. The Book Prizes awarded in these competitions will be posted early in August. WORD BUILDING —"The Ragamuffins.” SENIOR DIVISION: The Book Prize is awarded to ARNOLD DALEFIELD (15 years), whose list totalied 1247 words. Congratulations on your industrv, Arnold. HIGHLY COMMENDED: Mervyn Dalefield (1242), Juliet (1073) and Windflower (352). COMMENDED: Brunette (669). Dorothy Jessop (663), Fuzz Buzz (660), Anna Lee (530). Kenepuru (507), Titanla (433), Princess (442). JUNIOR DIVISION: I think the juniors must have gone to sleep. RONNIE DALEFIELD is as industrious as his brother Arnold, for he also found 1247 words, and the Book I’rize is hir-:. It is quite a task, I consider, for a boy of 9 years, even to copy out 1247 words. Commended: Vera Butt (163). SHORT STORY (Senior Division) : ECHO AND PRINCESS'S entries were not (stories, but just descriptions. NICODE.MUS (18 years) is awarded the Book Prize. “The Call” is almost a prose poem. Congratulations! HIGHLY COMMENDED (in order of merit) : Mervyn Dalefield —Very good, indeed, for a boy just 12 years of age. A’ou have the gift of writing. Keep on. Topping—Well thought out, and could really happen. Titania—Very good for 12 years. Kenepuru—A very readable story; good plot. Sparks—Doesn’t seem quite feasible, but I suppose schoolgirls do get up to all sorts of tricks. There’s a lot of effort in your story. Silver Eyes—“ Adventures in South Africa” —Fair. Starts all right. Then you commence the second episode . . . “and went to look for the gorilla.” What gorilla? You should have given a few words of explanation. COMMENDED: Christmas Lily. A DAY IN MY LIFE (Junior Division ONLY). I cannot understand why only one junior member competed. Surely it was a very easy competition. Perhaps that is the reason of its failure—too easy for the young folk of the Family ! RONNIE DALEFIELD got the right idea; his entry is most interesting, I think. The Book Prize goes to this nephew.

encourages lazinesn, and they must be kept busy looking after Skipper. What do you think of the doings of the lovebirds, also in captivity? i’ll explain why I have asked the question. They are housed with the bronzewing pigeons, and are feeling the cold. To secure a plentiful supply of feathers for their winter nests, these lovebirds, charming little fellows in their appealing way, have been etealing rides around the cage on the pigeon’s backs and brazenly pecking feathers from the pigeons’ necks. This went on for a time until the pigeon? showed bald patches and shivered in the cold. Lovebirds nests were fine and cosy, however, with snug pigeon down ! Affectionately yours,

£Luxt< ix&l*X& 2}

ENROLMENT COUPON. Cut out this, coupon, fill it in, and post to “Aunt Roberta,” care “Standard.” My Name is My Age i.s My Birthday is My Address is I read ‘‘Aunt Roberta’s Family” Page. Signature of Parent, Guardian or School Teacher Sent in by SPECIAL PRIZE OF A BOOK VALUED AT 2? 6d. , When a member of the Family gains 25 points by highly commended, and commended marks in the competitions, including any other marks gained by recipes, something to make, games, interesting tacts, etc., a special prize, as above, will be awarded.

Please write your name, as well as penname, on everything you .-.end for the page,

OUK MAIL BAG. AO-TEA-ROA: Pleased to hear from you again r-.o soon. Yes, Sydney is a lovely place, but there is a lot oi poverty and distress, which rather spoils it. Many happy returns of the 21rt Julie, if my wishes are not too late. I know such a number of hoys and girla whose birthdays fall in June. Thanks for the sweet ki.u-.ea. Best love. SILVER SLIPPERS: I thought I recognised the handwriting. Which of the pictures in the book is your favourite? You did indeed receive some really lovely presents on your birthday. You’re very lucky! So glad von are enjoying the serial. Love and best wishes. ANNA LEE: But don’t you wish it was summer time? I do! It is wonderfully pleasant to hear you love “The Ragamufjinn.” I have written four serials (about 50,000 words eachj and many short stories, both for children and older folk. Writing poetrv does not come so easily to me. Yes, I believe keroeene is a cure for chilbains — with some people. lasts of love, and hoping you have grown more accustomed to the cold. ELF LADY: You are indeed lucky, Elf Lady! Yes, I have visited the Auckland Zoo’ and know Ellerslio very well, also. The enrolment coupon wan not enclosed, but I expect it will come to hand next week. Certainly, your little niece may print, as she cannot write. Good-bye, my dear. SILVER EYES: Thanks for the suggestion, but I’m afraid not many members would be able to write a story about South Africa. To write a good story you want to be familiar with your subject. Beet wishes. INTERESTING FACTS. Usually any reference to a hotiso of gold is found within the cover of story-books, with King Midas an the central figure. However, there is such a house in real life out near Hamilton Mine, California. All the bent pieces of gold quartz were selected from the Hamilton Mine, and used as bricks in the construction of this novel house. Every piece of quartz containe gold, which can be plainly seen glittering in the bricks. ... ■A. gigantic hen, seven feet height, speakn English, French and Spanish, and lays wooden eggs! It was displayed at the London Poultry Congrees by the Department of Agriculture. Various anatomical functions are performed and illustrated in a realistic manner, while a gramophone supnlied a lecture on the various operations. —ANNA CHRISTENSEN—I mark.

PRIZE STORY. “THE CALL.” (By XICODEMUS, 13 years.) The bright-eyed fantail on a rain-spark-ling branch cocked his pert head and listened. The shadows of the bush, urged by tho rising orb of day, drew closer to the clearing, but only the light-hearted breeze, rippling over the hillside, and stirring the wet grasses, and waking the bush flowers, dared peep her elfin eyes into that roughly built hut to see tho cause of that sweet, clear call. The scene was a strange one. A boy, slim and dark, with straight hair, and expressive black eyes in a vivid face, was leaning against the rough fireplace, hie tapering fingers interlaced behind his neck. An old man, with eyes as youthful as those of tho hoy, held tenderly in his hands that which called —an old brown violin. Its age rang out in its mellow sweetnose, its finished tone. Its song was the accumlated sweetness of decades —each golden noto sweeter than the last. Tho bow was held by a inastei —one of a long line of masters, tho first of whom had fashioned tho instrument himself, even as the great god Pan had fashioned his rood pipe*. This player was Victor Montaigne, the Montaigne" who had awed world audiences —Victor Montaigne at his best, playing one of bis own weird, sweet compositions—Victor Montaigne in the clothes of a gold-dig-ger, socking a livelihood on the gold fields of New Zealand. Strange work for a musician’s hands; ah, but necessary. To tho musical world he was now a memory—the memory of a man whose wonderful talent was ruined by the musician’s dread—paralysis of the fingers. To be sure it was only temporary at the time, but no company cared to engaged him on contract. His hands having been heavily insured he did not feel the loss financially until the long expensive illness of his wife, which ended in her death two years ago. Thereafter Louis, the son, and his father had lived as best they could. Louis was not strong. Ho had that same heart disease which had proved fatal to his mother. The pair had been in Now Zealand two months now, and in their present abode about three weeks. Their hut was built apart from the rest of the minors’ homes, and so far Victor Montaigne’s career, as a miner, had not been very successful. Besides, his work had been hampered by his attentions to Louis, who had hut to-day risen from a sick hod. The father laid down the bow. “Well, Louis, have you caught it now? See how well you can play for mo to-night. I’ll visit the store on the way homo and we’ll have a little dinner to celebrate your return from the invalid’s couch, a dinner at which Monsieur Louis Montaigne will render Montaigne’s celebrated ‘Gall’ 1” The boy laughed, and, with his hand on his father’s shoulder, accompanied him to the door. “It’s going to rain, Dad. Those lowering clouds don’t look friendly, and Mr I'antail is oiling his new spring suit. No, I’ll not go outside. I’ll practise the ‘Call,’ and you’ll hear me calling as you come up the valley.” Victor Montaigne took his tools and began to descend the path that led round the shoulder of the hill and thence to the riverbed. Louis re-entered the hut, took up tho violin and played again and again the beautiful “Call’ that Montaigne Had imbibed from the opening buds, the pulsating, warm, brown earth, the cuckoo’s note, and

GAMES. (More games are required.) POSTING LETTERS. This is a good game to play in a garden, particularly one in which there arc several large shrubs or tree 3. It can be played by any number of people. Each person is given several slipo of paper bearing tho names of different towns, while boxes labelled in the same way are placed in different positions all round the garden. At the word “Go!” all tho players set out to “post their letters.” That is, they-must put each slip into the box bearing the name name. The one who first posts all hie or her letters is the winner. —SILVER SLIPPERS—I mark.

SOMETHING TO MAKE.

HOLLYHOCKS FOR DOLLY’S GARDEN

If your dolly likes to see her garden looking pretty, I am sure some of those hollyhocks in it will please her. They are very easy to make, but you will have to wait until mummy buys a box of dates. First of all, take the long stick out of tho centre, and place it in the eun to dry thoroughly. Then cut it in half and paint the stem part green. The little cups all the way up must be coloured pink, white or red, and tho centres should bc ( given a dab of yellow or gold paint. Glue the “plants’* on to cork stands, and then they will be quite ready to go in dolly’s gar--1 n ' —BABY PEGGY—I mark.

OUR MOTTO; " CHARACTER AND PERSEVERANCE ”

all the clean, sweet awakening? of spring. Late afternoon —and the scene is changed. Dark is the sky, dark with a threat of further storm; drenched are the weary trees, and mournful the gay breeze of the morning. No bird dared to venture through the clashing elements. Louis had laid aside his bow and was preparing the evening meal. His father would he sheltering in one of the work sheds —and all would be well. He smiled with anticipation as he thought of his father's homecoming. Ten o’clock —and Victor Montaigne had not returned. A roaring fire blazed in the fireplace, and Louis watched with eyes full of anxiety for a sight oi his father's form.

An hour later, and Louis, with coat on, and hat pulled over hi? burning cheeks, took a lantern, and .-.rood at the edge of the clearing, where the path wound down the hill. No success. Then grew a wild scheme in his brain —a scheme horn of despair and desperation. He returned to the hut, grasped the violin and bow, and was out in the storm again. Victor Montaigne paused in his blind groping;. The wailing gale was beating the cruel, cold rain in his face and eyes. and his bruised limbs were heavy with fatigue. He must, he must reach home and Louis— Ah! What was that—that sound in tho harsh shriek of the gale? Again it came! It wae his “Call’" —a call with a clearer, fiercer note —a note that called above the tempest —that shrieked with all its tenderness changed to a wild entreaty! Hu; son was calling him as he came up the valley. The wind of the morning, the elfin-eyed sprite, now changed by her God to a gale, carried salvation almost to defeat. Blindly ho followed the now loud, now dying call, and found an exhausted hoy, almost dead with his supreme effort. A few days later the soul of Louis Montaigne answered the Great Call that never goes unheeded. His father was left with a beautiful memory that was a solace to his bruised and lonely heart. And when the winds sigh through the lc-aven, before spring’s coming, and shrieks in winter’s gale, then is heard the sadder "call” that entreats the return of beauty and light, even as it called to Victor Montaigne in his own song. JUNIOR DIVISION. A DAY IN MV LIFE. PRIZE ENTRY. Friday morning was very cold, and Mother said that I must put my hoots and stockings on (I like going barefoot best). Well, I put my boots on to piea.-e her, and they squeezed” rny feet like anything. I told .Mother that I wanted a new pair of licots, a.-; those I had were too small lor me, hut she just looked at them and said, "You have put them on the wrong feet!” I felt very foolish, are! disappointed because I wouldn’t get a new pair of boots. It" they really had been too small I’d not have had a new pair, I’m afraid. You see, I happen to he the fifth boy in this family, and there are always one or two pairs of boots that have become too small tor the others, waiting tor me in the wardrobe or somewhere.

I ate a good breakfast, and soon after rnv brothers and I went down to a paddock, where my father was putting up a new fence. I played there with our dog, and when it was lunch time we came home in the dray. Father allowed rue' to drive the horse, "and I felt quite proud. After lunch I got the morning wood, and watered some hydrangeas and ]jolyanthuses that had been transplanted. I hen I played in the sandpit and on the swing. At about half-past four I went down the drive to get the newspaper at the gate. It being Friday, we had “Aunt Roberta's Family” page to read, and there was a beautiful letter from Aunt Roberta telling all about Anzac Day in Sydney. Mother read it to us, and as wo listened we seemed to see the men marching in the rain, and we felt so sorry for them, and for the poor mothers and fathers, and others who had lost loved ones in the war. We wished that the sun could have shone on Anzac Day in Sydney as it did here. The rain and the dark sky there must have made everyone feel sad.

I read “The Ragamuffins” in our Page—it’s a lovely story, and they had just found some footprints in the sand —just like old Robinson Crusoe did. When I finished reading the Page, I had a nice dinner; then I played games till eight o’clock, when I had a wash, cleaned rnv teeth, and went to bed. RONNIE DALEFIELD (9 years).

OCR SERIAL. TIIE RAGAMUFFINS. ' Soft the mother sea is calling, “Come, my children, come to me.” Forth the lazy ships are crawling, Dawdling idly out to sea. P. J. DWYER. CHAPTER 12. TIIE WOOD NYMPH AGAIN. Gussio was very disgusted when he heard about tho wood nymph, and tried to persuade his brother, and then David, to institute a search, in which, of course, he would figure prominently, for her dwellingplace. lie had a vague idea, that this would be a cave not like tho ones near the F oa.—Hut a gloomy, mysterious, underground place. She would bo in the power of some horrible monster, from whom he would rescue her. This picture of himself in the rolo of hero was very pleasing to Gussie. “Of course, I knew you and David had something up your sleeves, when you kept on disappearing like that,” lie said to Iris brother, as they were dressing, one morning. “But I never guessed—no, not in a month of Sundays—what it was. 1 thought you’d found a clue .about tho treasure —some more footsteps, p'raps, and vou didn’t want me to know, ’cause you thought I might toll.” lie added reproachfully, as an after thought, “Which I wouldn’t.” He left off in the middle of pulling on a hoot, and scowled at March. “Lot me tell you, next time I’ll lie on your track, whatever you do to throw ine off, so thero 1” When Mr Bronson heard about the hoys adventure with the wood nymph, he said lie thought she was probably one of a family, w r ho, having lost their home, had built a "humpy” in the bush, and existed on trapped rabbits and birds. Probably, too, such people would bo assisted by the dole. Alas ! there were many such cases in those hard times. Presently, in tho busy days that ensued, the wood nymph was forgotten. Ono night a mysterious light appeared on the densely wooded hill at tho back of the sand-hills. Tho next night it was there again, and also the following one. “Seems to me,” said the old Captain to Mr Bronson, who was spending an hour with him, “it’s a beacon light—someone is trying to attract attention.” “I had the same idea myself,” Mr Bronson returned slowly. “I wonder?” Ho paused, and David’s grandfather, as :f reading his thoughts, said : “May have something to do with the little gril March and Davey found.” “It won’t do any harm to try and find out what really is the meaning of tho light,” Mr Bronson returned. “I’ll go now, I think, and take David and March with me, and perhaps Ril. They will enjoy the fun, oven though the light proves to he nothing more than a bonfire, although the fact that it has appeared for tlireo evenings in succession rather explodes this idea. No one would light a bonfire moro than once—or twice, at tho most.”

Tho children found tramping through the dark, silent hush very thrilling, Guasio was thero, too, hanging on to his father’s arm, and keeping up a running tiro of questions that it was impossible to quell, lie had been so heartbroken at tho

idea of being left behind that his father had given his consent, very unwillingly, it must be confessed, to ins presence.

Ril, March and David, in single tLe. in the rear, unknown to Mr Bronson and Gussie, had assumed the guise of the Ragamuffins, searching for treasure. They deluded themselves with the fancy that the mvsterious light would prove to be a

signal of some kind to the persons, unknown. who also were searching for the pirates’ heard. They discussed the matter in whispers, and altogether enjoyed themselves immensely. Presently the faint glimmer of a fire w'as discernible between the trees, and anticipation and excitement mounted higher and higher in each ycung breast. Ihey came to a narrow, well-worn track, which led up the hillside. "Ah.'' said Mr Bronson, with a wealth of meaning in the one word. “This trac<t is a regular route for someone.

When thev were near the top of tne hill, the light which had beckoned them suddenly came into full view in an open space among the trees. It v.as a large bonfire, and we-s evidently fed by some human hand from the heap oi twigs and small branches of trees close by. They stood and watched it for a short space; then Mr Bronson said, looking about him, and endeavouring to penetrate the thick, dark shadows which fell beyond the red glow of the flames: “Seems” as if there’s no one here—but why the fire? I'll call, and see if that produces any response.” lie cooed and called, again and again, awaking echoes from the hillside. Ihese had scarcely died away, when, without the faintest sound, a small form appeared in the firelight.

“It's —it’s the wood nymph March cried in an awestruck whisper, advancing slowly towards the apportion. Sure enough it was the wood nymph—hut how different ! Gone were the dainty festoons of flower and fern. She nas dressed in an old tattered garment which showed her limbs, as dusky as a gipsy’s. Wild were the sweet eyes, and tho little face was thin and pinched. She began to weep, uttering the same fournful sound that brought swift rememrance to David and March. As she wept, she rocked her body, her berry-brown hands beating one against the other. There was something strangely unchildlike in the gesture. "Poor little thing,” Mr Bronson said gently. The children pressed about her. the sympathy bubbling up in their hearts showing in their eyes, and in little furtive touches of the hand. But swiftly she turned from them. On the edge of tile black trees, which appeared to be crowding down upon her l:ko a horde of human beings, she halted, and beckoned to those standing by the fire to follow. Mr Bronson said quickly : “Children you stay here ! I'll go with her.” He followed the small form up tho path to a large cave, which was overhung by a huge ledge of rock, forming a kind of verandah. Ihe feeble light from a piece of candle in a bottle was the only illumination. After his eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, he discerned the form of an old man, lying on a lied of straw and rags, in a comer of the cave, He bent over the quiet figure for a minute or two. Then' he straightened his hack, his face very grave. The little girl stole to his cide, and looked up with imploring eyes. He patted her hand tenderly. “You can hear what I sav?” he a-ked and she nodded her head. "Your grandfather?” and lie pointed at the form beside them. She nodded again. “I thought so. Well, lie’s he’s gone away.’ Then it occurred to him that it would be better, perhaps, to tell her tho truth, and he added: "You understand? Your grandfather is dead.” She choked, swaying before him, and a rush of tears blinded tier. Then she clung to his hand, moaning like an animal in pain. (To be continued).

CR IS PIES. Bobby: “Please, teacher. should I be punished, for something I didn’t do ” Teacher: “Certainly not. Why?” Bobby: “I didn’t do my homework.” Q. If a boy broke his leg where would he go to get it mended ? A. To the butcher’s, where they sell kidknees (kidneys). Q. Why in a soldier like a good flannel ? A. Because he never shrinks. * * * * Q. Why is a cook a good conjuror? A.: Because he can make a sausage roll and an apple turn-over. * * * * Mother: “Jimmy, didn't your conscience tell you not to do that?” Jimmy: “Yes, mother, but you said I was not to believe all I hear.” fSent bv SILVER EYES.) *** * * Peter: “Mother, come into the diningroom. I want to play elephants at the Zoo.” Mother: “And what am I to do?” Peter: “You’re the visitor who feeds the elephants with fruits and sweets.” Visitor: “Well, Johnnie, how do you like your new little si.ster?” Johnnie: “OOh, of course, she’s all right, but there wore things that we needed more.”