DOUBLE MATCH.

Manawatu Standard, Volume LVII, Issue 10, 10 December 1936, Page 18

DOUBLE MATCH.

By JAMES POLLARD

“Folks as want to be alone at Christmas time ain’t natural.” Airs Jessop gave a little extra elbow grease to the roller with wliieli she was Bpreailing dough. “Miss Hilton’s bad enough, coinin' away ironi the city to hide up in my little old home. But that painter-fellow who took the Carpenter shack down in the valley for a month, an’ ain’t shown any interest in anybody durin’ the week lie’s bin there—well, mebbe there’s something wrong with him.” “Oh, I dutino,” responded the smith cheerfully. He had left his forgo along the street to spend ten minutes with the widow Jessop, as was his habit on Friday mornings, when the good woman always had a “nice cup o’ tea and a taste ‘‘of something out o’ the oven.” He went, on: “I. lcmemher once camping alone for a month over Christmas in the bush, an’ it was a real change to be free o’ screeching young 'mis an’ prattling old ’nils—an’ 1 didn’t have to buy presents for anybody. Shouldn't lie surprised if that chap’s one of a big family an’ has come up to this quiet place to dodge the home sliivoo for one Christmas.”

Mrs Jcsstip tossed her bead. “If he lias a family, he's a right to bo with them. M aylie lie doesn't know j anybody. He's it nice chap, but a bit —stand-offish.” She paused, appearing perplexed. “I. took him down a bit o’ cake soon after lie came, an’ though he was mighty nice an' civil lie’s never been near us, for all that I told him to look in any time. Once I thought Miss Hilton would get to know him an’ bring him along, but she’s a lonely sort, ton. It’d bo a good tiling if they learned to share one another’s loneliness.” Airs Jessop rested for a moment and something like an inspired expression crossed her rugged face, and then she looked alertly at the smith Broman missed that look. “If Miss Hilton hadn’t eoino along, I s’poso you’d he baling a lonely Christmas yourself,” lie com men ted good-humour- j edly, and added slyly: “Unless you : .thought to share your cold turkey with some fellow who . . . .” : “I’m likely to he sharin’ things with; any fellow, now, am 1? I've got all il want for the rest of me days, an’ if! I started sharin’ I’d soon be back to [ pinchin’ an’ scraping again. That fire o’ yours ’ll he wanting attention,” she added as the man went smiling to the door. “Still, 1 know where a slice o’ my turkey will be appreciated on Christmas Day.” Broman reflected as he strode down the street that a woman not yet fifty might advantageously share more than a bit of turkey with a fellow who was not much older, and could balance her share of worldly goods with a sound business and a comforting bank-bal-ance. But she was an independent spirt who for the last twenty years had remained proof against the blandishments of wife-seekers' more artful than honest Ted Broman. Still, she had always been friendly to him. . . There the sight'of his dead fire changed his reflections. | A little later he looked up from the! glowing coals in response to a pleasant hail from the wide doorway. • | He thought as he left his forge:! “Old Renshaw’s got at least one mount; to suit a lady.” And certainly the j maiden of austere beauty and correct poise who smiled down at him was well-matched by the graceful, up-! standing animal on which she was' seated. ! “Mrs Jessop called me as I passed a few minutes ago. She forgot to give you a parcel to take down to Mrj Devenish, and asked me to deliver it.; I hope you won’t mind if I pass it on to you, Air Broman —but do pleasei take it for me.” | The appeal in her eyes would have! persuaded men of harder metal than i the smith. “Why, Miss Hilton, I’d be happy to do anything for you- —an’: Mrs Jessep knows I’d go anywhere for' her.” He took a small round parcel from her, and a grateful smile —and only after she had cantered away did he look ruefully at sundry ploughshares waiting his attention; and then, with a philosophic. “They can wait,” strode off along the road into! the valley. _ I Joan Hilton rode out of the little mountain settlement of Beeaning relieved to have been saved the em- j barrassment of meeting Peter Dev- 1 enish again. She could hardly admit: to Airs Jessep that she had been avoiding the artist for years ; and the idea | of appealing to Air Broman had been a happy inspiration. Destiny, however, was playing games with several lives in the quiet hills this Christmas, and perhaps one of her moves was the creation of that inspiration. For, because of it. Joan ruling along the timber-fringed road to Wingalong. came upon Peter Devenish as she walked her horse around j a l>end of the road, which overlooked a valley of orange groves and garden homesteads. Devenish had found himself a strip of violet-shadowed gravel for foreground, silver-barked gums for a frame, a white gate for entrance, a middle distance of green grove and chocolate soil, with a red-roofed house! and a riot of flowers in a corner, and j a background of shadowed busiilanf! 1 reaching high to a blue and white sky; and he was absorbed in painting it on a square foot of canvas when I Joan reined her horse near him.

The girl sat still, quiet, fighting a swift panic—and would have tied only that restless stamping made the artist aware of invasion. She saw a spare, thoughtful face looking rather older than his years. At thirty-four Peter Devenish had endured the most trying of his battles. He was successful; but the gathered wrinkles about his eyes, the tightness about his lips, and the grey temples bespoke his years of toil, hardship, suffering. His trown gave place to a quick smile. “Why. Joan, I “You are glad to see me, and yet afraid—is that it?” she queried as he hesitated; and knew herself in Ilia same queer mood. “Something like that.” lie agreed- “ But I came up here Imping to find you. I learned from your father that voir were visiting Beeaning.” “I am sorry. Daddv knows that I don’t want to be painted ever anymore.” Devenish smiled. “That attitude seems to make Dr Hill on want another portrait of you more than ever. If you would like io give a Christmas present dear to his heart •” “I have already chosen his present. I’ll stick to my attitude. Now”—challoiigingly—“do we talk about other filings—or do I ride on?” He indicated his canvas. “I’d love you to criticise my new picture. AVon’t you dismount?” So they talked of other things, the girl pleasantly and, indeed, happily, because in spite of her attitude she loved this mail —had loved him ever since those days when, she a schoolgirl and lie a student artist, she had sat for him whilst ho painted her por-

trait. Then he had gone abroad, forgetting her, she believed. Her love had strengthened with the passing of time. The clrkl’s hero became the woman’s ideal. Two years ago lie returned, seeking her then and 'often since, seeking to paint her anew'. And she had tried to evade him always, because she was afraid that if she sat again to him lie might see into her heart and into her soul. Alany a pang she 'had suffered in denying him, in running away from him, and the more keenly because lie was a man with natural restraint and never pressed her hard. During her recent illness lie had never visited her, hut conveyed his sympathies with flowers and an occasional message. And she had not wanted to sec him again until she tvas returned to health and strength . . . and when her father had said: “I’m sending you up to Airs Jessop for a fortnight—Christmas will he too strenuous for you in town,” she heard him gratefully and with -relief. And now it was uncomforting to be suspicious that her father and Peter Devenish had been plotting. The painter watched her rifle away at noon, and sat down to his roadside lunch feeling lonely and yet well pleased. “If she won’t sit to be painted,” he confided to a companionable wagtail, “then I must paint her without sittings. Doc. Hilton won’t forgive me if I fail him. She said she’d come again to-morrow. After that 1 think I can depend on seeing her every day. And, binding, if a man sees much of a beautiful maid, and/the man be an artist, lie shouldn’t find it a hard task to make a portrait of her ”

I At evening on entering his shack he found a parcel and a note on his untidy table. The note said, "Miss Hilton asked me to deliver this,” and bore the smith’s signature. Presently he was enjoying more of Mrs Jessop’s | cake, and thinking: “She is verykind. I really must go up and see her —now that there’s no danger of scaring Joan. But what’s the mystery behind that note of Broman’s?” The smith dropped in to yarn away an hour a couple of nights later, and enlightened him. “Maybe she was a hit shy o’ coming down here alone,” he added. “Young girls are like that. Now Mrs Jessop would think nothing o' marchin’ in here and cleaning up an’ cooking you a meal, an’ things like that. Fine woman—not that Miss Hilton ain't, only she’s in another class. I’d say—”

“Airs Jessup lives alone?” interject ed Devenish, smiling. “Yes, mostly. Her house is always open, an’ most lollc hereabouts keep her company. She’s got no call to have anyone livin’ with her, though there’s more limn one .fellow would be willin to pool his all with hers. She’d make anv man a fine wife. ...”

When the smith prepared to depart, “Aon might tell Airs Jessop I’d like to call.” said Devenish. “Well, you just go along any time —or say, conic with me Friday morning. It’s not a busy morning with you, is it?” “Not particularly,”, returned the painter, with a thoughtful glance at a covered easel in a corner of the room. ‘Friday will suit me fine.” The next morning a pleased Airs Jessop shook out a hunch of flowers which the .grocer had brought, up from the valley, and her eyebrows lifted as n card fell o:i to the table. Tt was Devenish’s and on the back lie had written: “Ted told me you liked snapdragons.” “So 1 do,” she declared aloud. “But be also might have told you there are more snapdragons in my garden than T know what to do with.” She eyed the bunch from all angles before deciding: “Yes; I'll put them in Miss Hilton's room.” Later Joan thanked her lor the flowers, saving: “They are lovely.” “Yes, ain’t- they? That’s just what T said when I opened them. Mr Dcvenish sent ’em up.” The girl did not respond with I'or me?” And because slic did nut, All's Jessop looked knowingly after her as she moved away. . Broman looked in. “Mr Devenish asked me to thank you for the cakes. Said he’d like to see von, so I vited him along with nivsell on Fri-' day.” “Well now, perhaps lie’s not so uppish as I thought. Some men just need a bit o’ warming up, so to say —and,” she added as lie was about to speak. “There are others who don’t.” “You’re right,” returned Ted affably. “Some men take kindly to a woman’s warning, especially when she looks likely to profit by a man’s friend-

ship.” And leaving her that to ponder upon, he retired. On the Friday Devenish wedged an occasional pleasant word into Airs Jessop’s rambling good-natured talk, and between-whiles exchanged comments with Joan, and continued his study of the girl. But the study was not continuous. Once as he watched her ho thought: “She grows more beautiful.” Again: “I like her self-control.” Yet again : “Surely this is a man’s ideal or woman.” Airs Jessop’s wise old eyes did not fail to see on his face a light which seemed' in harmony with that which glowed in Joan’s eyes when she laughed or talked with him. And she was not surprised when he agreed without reluctance to stay to lunch. Afterward: “I wonder if you’d ride out to the Five-Alile for me this afternoon, dear. I’m wantin’ a small packet o’ clothes taken out to Airs Jameson, for her new baby. I promised her them this week, so’s she could have the child lookin’ nice for Christmas. . ” “Of course I will I I’d love to see the baby, aud ” "But it’s a fair ride, mind you, an’ mebbe the road’s a bit lonely in parts, so ——” With a twinkle in his eye, Devenish deftly spoke his piece; and presently departed to acquire horses for the journey. Toward evening Airs Jessop was laying her table for three when footsteps hurrying along the garden path arrested her attention. Then Joan burst in breathless, pale, wide-eyed. “Oh, Airs Jessop, there’s been an accident. Mr Broman —I mean ——” The blanching of the elder woman’s

face checked her, and shocked her slightly With its significance. “Now tell me properly,” said _ Airs Jessop quietly, standing still with a handful of cutlery, and watching the girl steadily. Joan was calmer. “My horse got a. shoe loose on the way home. We called at the smith’s, and Air Broman was examining it/ when a scrap of paper frightened the animal. Air Broman got a kick on the thigh, and his fall stunned him partly. He tried to tell me it was not bad, and then as he lay back he mentioned your name. And [ couldn’t think of anyone better to conic to. Peter quietened • the horses and stayed behind.”

The widow laid aside her tableware and gave directions quietly. “Go along to Sammy Bolton’s. He’s a. fettler an' knocks off early. Toll him an’ Air Devenish to bring Ted right here. There's no place in Beeaning he’d bo better cared" for. I must see to a bed an' things. Now don’t worry. Ted Brennan’s been kicked by horses before to day. He’ll be nailin’ more shoes in a day or two.”

They brought him in, a man helpless, but able to smile as lie was made comfortable on the spare bed which Mrs Jessop had prepared for him in tier sitting-room. And when after two days and nights he stood again prepared to leave, he could say feelingly and yob with courage: “1 never expected to he takin’ such hospitality from you, Sally Jessop.” The answer was: “You could go farther ail’ fare worse.” So he added ; looking at her directly: “I mean, I thought mebbe the time would conic when I’d bo offerin’ you a home.” Her response, as she lowered her glance, then looked helplessly for something .to do was: “Well now. I’m sure I rinilil go farther an’ tare worse,” And alter a brief silence: “Mebbe you don’t really need to go openin' the smithy before Christmas. Ted.” . . . Joan made her way alone to Devenish’s shack with a gilt from Airs Jessop. and found him absent. Curiosity dictating her mood, she passed into the place—and stood aghast at

the disorder within. Stilling some trepidation of heart, she began to maim things look tidy, and on coming against the covered easel, stole a peep beneath the cover, and tor a time became lost to all but what she saw. Thus Peter Devenish found her, and stood in his doorway. She turned and gazed at him through a mist of tears, saying, at first brokenly: “I think 1 —hate you 1 It was mean —to go behind my back to gain your ends. But oli, it is beautiful!” “Not mean, Joan—for your father made me promise to make a new portrait of you. I give it to you, to send him for a Christmas present—unless you would like it to go from us both. I never wanted the picture myself. All I wanted of you, my dear, was your love. I have loved you a long, long time. I think I learned when I painted you as a child, that life without you would always be half-empty.” “AVhat —what are you saying?” she stammered, amazed. He laughed softly as he sat down opposite her, and said inconsequentially : “Ted Broman reckoned he and I could arrange a double wedding. That was after you had left the forge, going for assistance. Shall we walk up and and see how he’s faring?” As Airs Jessop tried to compose herself for sleep that night her musings were: “Now who’d have thought I’d be havin’ four people for Christmas dinner this year? Well. . . mebbe you did, madam, considerin’ that you planned to match two of ’em —an’ Ted Broman was invited an’ accepted as a conclusion aforegone. . . hereinafter ever to be mentioned, please God an’ Santa Claus. . . y’old fool : turn over an’ go to sleep. . . ”