Tam O’ Shanter

Northern Advocate, 30 March 1937, Page 8

Tam O’ Shanter

Tam-o’-Shanter her brothers nicknamed her —this wild boyish sister of theirs. She was the foreman’s daughter and the pet of the big bush camp, on the coast in the extreme north of the North Island.

The day was cold and windy, but Tam whistled gaily as she ran through the trees, her scarlet jersey showing in bright contrast to the dull surroundings.

Turning off through the bush, she took a little winding path down to the shore, and perched herself on a big boulder.

It was there he found her—a little red figure with her short black curls waving in the wind, and the waves splashing up around her. She heard him approach and looked up in surprise. “Hullo,” she said.

“Hullo,” he answered rather awkwardly. He was a boyish looking man of about thirty, with grave grey eyes. “It’s funny to see a stranger here,” Tam chattered. “You don’t belong to the camp, do you?” He did not answer, but kept regarding her intently with those grey eyes. Tam shifted uncomfortably under the steady gaze. And then he spoke. “Listen little girl, is there any good hiding place round here?” His voice was strained, and for the first time Tam noticed that he looked tired and hungry.

“Hiding place?” Tam repeated, and could harlly keep the excitement from her voice. “Well, there’s the caves, but everyone round here knows of them. No, I don’t think there’s any good hiding place;” He sat down on the sand, and stared moodily out to sea.

They’ll have me in a counle of hours,” he murmured. “Who?” Tam asked.

“The police.” Listen, and I’ll tell you. Two months ago I came to New Zealand on business, and left my wife and my little Pat in Australia Then suddenly a large sum of money-many hundreds of pounds—disappeared from my firm, and this morning a warrant was issued for my arrest. if onlv I could get out of this country and set to Australia where the real culprit is I know I could fight it out and win in the Australian Courts. I W i S h VQI could help me. I swear I am innocent.” Tam knew that. One look at those grey eyes had told her so. But she could think of nothing and together the two stared out to sea. Then suddenly Tam gasped—a gasp of amazement and joy. “Look, look!” she whispered. He looked. Out at sea rounding the rocks was a small vessel. “The Warati,” Tam breathed. “It’s bound for Australia, and just g oes once a month. Oh! you are lucky Come on.”

She sprang from her rock and flew along the beach, while half-dazedly the man followed her.

On they sped, until rounding a curve in the rocks the man saw a little dinghy. And now he understood. In a second they were rowing over the choppy waters, while Tam told him her plan. “The.Warati is a cargo vessel, no passengers, but I know the captain. Now listen, you are my uncle, remember that, and you haven’t time to go to Auckland to catch the Sydney boat. He will take you, I.know. See? “Yes,” said the man slowly, “I see.” And they lapsed into silence. The Warati was very near now, and Tam started chatting again. She told him of her wild, carefree life in the bush camp with her father and brothers, told how the father was saving to send her to school in Auckland, and asked dozens of questions about his little Pat. And then they were alongside the boat and eager hands were helping the man on board. i “What’s you name, little girl?” he . asked suddenly, as he had his foot on | the ladder. “Tam-o’-Shanter,” Tam laughed. And then the boat was off. “Good-bye,” Tam shouted, “and good-luck.” On board the man stood watching the red speck manfully rowing back to land, and in his heart he hoped that his Pat might some day be like this New Zealand girl. And on land the detectves watched and waited—in vain. Two months later a letter arrived addressed to “Tam-o-’Shanter,” care of Bush Camp. Inside was a tiny note that ran:— “To my little New Zealand friend for her schooling with the same hope that you wished me when we said good-bye. Good luck.” And enclosed was a cheque for £IOO.