RECONSTRUCTION.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LVI, Issue 17348, 20 December 1919, Page 2 (Supplement)

RECONSTRUCTION.

• By HILDA KEANE.

|..,HEODOI^A ; and May sat down to faßjPt < afternoon . tea, . pretty Theodora 3 JwL somewhat ruffled in spirit and j yl'fljv, ... notj above showing it. " ■ "Did yon make these delicious things?" i asked May, bent on propitiating the < ruffled preitinesa.. -Beauty's answer was a ' contemptuous eye-lift of assent. She ' looked absently through -the casement to . the bine distance where great vessels were j but black specks on the Hauraki water. < "I can make only jam sandwiches," said heroic May, * and I can't do Sancy fillings . and Hang." ( "I detest 'icing,'* from haughty Theo- < Bora; "I like a plain jam sandwich," ' ** I am so glad," gushed tbei other girl \ ™So do 3, *ith raspberry jam." ] ** Apricot,*, came criiehingly. May was-Saved- further , effort .by the i ringing of the .- door belL "Here they , are " "she shrieked, "Shall I carry the tray cii to" the balcony, dear?" "Not" snapped Theodora, who knew . the value of a setting— little minx! Into the; shaded wind-blue drawingroom . strode Bob Grace and his friend, Henley < Field, lately betrothed to Theodora. Both ; wore leggings; hoth bad 'muddy boots. With fine disdain Bob put a foot on the dainty.loose, cover of , the Chesterfield. Henley stood looking about him-and asked if he should raise the blinds. His fiancee did not like light;,she called it "glare," . and said so. ...... ** Funny the way you girls darken . rooms,** remarked Bob, crushing a cake into his mouth. Field was waiting for Theodora to git while he balanced a fragile china cup in one hand. She tantalised him by choosing the farthest chair. He made a movement to draw another to her side, and fax "SO* doing upset his tea. For ever there waa.a.J6tairi on the delicate carpet * Really,, you are most clumsy, Henley," declared itbe* girl, vexedly; while Bob, with misguided 'goodwill, rubbed the wet • spot with his handkerchief. ** And for. goodness', sake, Bob, leave it IBlone," she said, with asperity. . . -. 'After "this nothing went right, and May was not surprised, a week later, to hear that the engagement between her adored friend and Henley Field was broken. Henley had "suggested an early marriage; -lie complained, that he rarely saw her alone;.. he hinted that Theodora would be happier in a four-roomed /cottage with him than Tunning about to afternoon teas and motor, drives and bridge parties, and "fooling roundi generally a lot of «Hy girls."* He actually wanted her to go on totals' farm" to live: said he could notf'giv* her many irocks for a year pr two, but she .was dever enough to fix -such things for herself." *1 canVsew,* she remarked, icily. •Ca^f,'^it^ r he, asked, indulgently. ••HihoagMii saw yon .making ji blouse?" "Btoaß&r* she repeated, contemptuously. I think I- will not ask you to give me airy^fiing^ 0 you may as wellhave back.* ';"., _•',. .. The~iposU -handed him back her ring and.stalked "ou¥ of the room. From Mrs. Grace he received no comfort. She stared aft him, and said.that she had never yet opposed -Theodora, and never * A . She mus,;pteasei herself. ' She *> but her daughter's happiness can _ .... and a little . more, to .that effect. fcsr.. .3 went back: to. his " old farm.' Then" the war-cloud burst. -Joe Grace , went. Henley Field left his farm to the care of neighbours. There were garden fetes, comforts' 0 teas, street flower sales, . all kinds of'' gaieties under the guise of patriotic effort. Theodora revelled in them. "She"was very pretty; she "was a good 8?!ier««" - , ' '•• - : - ■■-■-■■ The h'6r?w'6f Gallipoii crashed upon us. Theodora "held her'head a shade higher when Bob's name was among the wounded. She ha^ ; now a certain ownership in the tragedy.. Then we began to send gifts to the front and letters to soldiers. May, a kindly little soul, sent a I gift to Henley and wrote-"'to' Bob' in hospital. When Henley .tlianked her she sent him news of which was really news, of Theodora, until* the vicarious . wooing resulted in a renewal of the engagement, and the spoilt beauty, confessed; that; she had been rather exacting,,.and,anyway, if it comforted the poor boy to be engaged to her, she did not mind. During these days she sewed and knitted- dainty things of crepe de chine"and fine muslin and ilk and lace, pretty flimsies which helped to swell the war funds, and useful socks which were greater-effort. And in time there came to her transformation and transfiguration. It was not- done in months. She was a spoilt child, indulged for her prettiness by her parents' and by others. The depths were there - , since pretty looks alone cannot retain affection. But she did not know, and others did not know, her real self. Under the veneer of frivolity and desire for a gay time lay character, awaiting the test to call it forth.* She sewed and she knitted, she talked war talkand none can do these things without meditation of .some sort, „ She began to mean what she said about patriotism, and she found herself straining to hear the postman's whistle. It came one day,. and she felt faint at the sound of-—dared not go for the letter. Mrs. Grace brought it to her, comforted her when she burst into tears, then laughed even as she cried herself, for the relief of it. Henley .Field, was wounded and in hospital, and reality raised itself in Theodora's heart. • She loved him, and at last fhe knew it. Now, love is a generous giver: a girl in love is a potential mother, she must find things to do for her beloved. Knitting and sewing were all veiy well, but they were only a tithe of what she could do. For the cause she would still make effort; for her man she must do more that was direct and definite Ilnnley was soon out of hospital, soon back in the trenches, hating the life, yet sticking it. He wrote, sending her power of attorney, asking her to cell his "old farm," since his neighbours had all enlisted and there was to attend to it. His allotment was made over to her. She was to do whatever the agents advised, if she could feel interested enough. If not, it did not matter. " 1 think out here," he wrote, " of your „Mrden, foregrounding that lovely Waite- "> ii. of your pretty rooms—do you remember the day I spilt tea?" " "i i's, and 1 love the dirty slain where *'f (olours ran on mother's "best carpet," .-■'-. wrote bark. Over the telephone she ..-ked May Bryan if she would go with if to stay at Henley's farm for a week. Irankly sh,. was dismayed. For what we hi- nleaficl to rail farms are often different from our dreams of them. There was land, on which at times grew grass and at others was covered by a waste of Jem arid manuka. It, was unfenced, ii^ \y?' lay abm ' in h,a l> B and the little shed was filled with coils of wire At I ■ fin *** *"" ty broke ' -to ft' y° u cou,d never come here v -*«wa the dah>L •»»»«>£!"• She looked r ,#doned"4t t K So(aet y g, rl to the beau- \ -y - Zl 9 » Q -loomed place, with a V - "**««* to W, -"KKidora'a reply was ,"S •' Bk.

" Why hot ? It's better than what those;] ** Why not ? It's better than what those j poor things have at the front. I intend] to live here—most of the.time, anyway;j and, furthermore, I intend to get the place into order. When Henley comes back he shall find, I hope, a farm with a homestead on it, and" She could not utter th© rest to anyone but the man, but May partly divined. Wnen next they cam© to Mata the bulk of their luggage was in the goods-van, and the two young women put in soma solid work, taking counsel from other women who were running the neighbouring farms, employing heavy labour when i% was obtainable, but mostly doing things undreamt of in their former existence. Theodora was, as' always, the dominant spirit j but at last her leadership was good. Vanity went overboard when she donned their working overalls; but there is a beauty in utility that none would have denied them.

When Bo? returned invalided and settled on his land it was May who accompanied him, and Tfceo had often to "carry on" single-handea when no friend was available to help her. She wrote to Henley with restraint, and he gathered the impression that the butterfly girl amused herself by paying flying visits to his " old farm." His own sordid life could not dim his perceptions to the fact that a thousand acres of scrub-covered country in mid-Auckland could have little attraction for his gay Theodora.

"There's no chance of a sale in its present condition," she wrote. "But I think I will make a garden and grow flowers for our Bed Cross shop." He smiled grimly at this. ' Then she' was planting lettuce, and her " vegetables would soon be coming along." Another time Bob was to be persuaded to build

her a chicken-house; the " eggs would be worth selling." Again she suggested that perhaps dad would put in a few fruit trees—peaches and pears always sold welL , "Little goose 1"- he replied. "Don't yon know that a peach takes four years and a pear at least eight to come into bearing? Still, do as you like with the old placet" He noted that she was always""" going" to do 'one of these wonderful things. But never a hint did he receive that the thing was actually being done. By this time Theodora had a very flourishing flower garden, she had sold sacks of potatoes, and her orchard was already an acre in extent. The planning, pruning, and spraying she did herself. Next'she told him that she had won a motor-car in one of the art unions, that she had already an offer of two hundred and fifty pounds for it. She thought that it might be a good idea to sell it and build a tiny bungalow room on to his shack, with a wide verandah. It would be such fun to have a place for the girls who were nursing at the convalescent home to give them a rest. Henley did not receive that letter. It was on a torpedoed ship. When ehe told him of a sort of sewing-bee sale she had had, and of the marquee dad had put up, and of the hundred pounds they had made for the comforts' fund, he, man-like, merely thought they might have chosen a better place to hold it. A little unlined shack in the wilderness was scarcely fit for a party —it had, of course, he supposed, _ really happened at Bob's place. Theodora's accounts were always "very hazy. She continued to be lucky at raffles. She won a lot of furniture, then a chest of linen, and ft host of little things. Perhaps he would not mind if she sent the furniture up to Mata; and she was thinking of having a cooking-range put in. She really could not make cakes on an open fireplace.

Some returned men were working on the adjoining place. Bob thought that Henley's far ' block had too much weed; the inspector would notice it. Had not the men better plough it up and put in some kind of crop? • , "Play with the allotment money just as you like," he wrote.

Theo laughed over this. " What a number of times we've used that poor old allotment," she said to her father, who now spent most of his time with her.

" Yes," he said. " Better tell Henley about the heifer Bob gave yon." "I'll suggest that there's a picking on his 'old farm,' and he'll guess that there's plenty of feed at Bob's. He could never imagine me milking, though, could he?'

Incidentally, the heifer was mentioned and the soldier was informed that the far block was looking very well: the fences were But he knew what had happened about the fencing wire. He shrugged his ehoulders^ — the shed .had got burnt down. .

And now the amazing revelation was to come. He was granted furlough. He planned to have a gay little time with her, rush round in motors wherever she wished, go shopping, have morning tea in town, fag round to parties, and never once ask her to marry him. He knew what 6he really thought of the marriage proposition. She should just be his " little butterfly pal;" and at the end of his six months he would go back to the lines and she could go on amusing herself.

The butterfly looked somewhat pensive. Would he see the change in her? Her dainty complexion, for instance! She was. brown; her hands were not as satin smooth as they used to be. She did not feel that she could spare time from the farm for fooling. The joy of creating had been hers, and it is a joy that grows. Mere frivolity no longer gave her pleasure, though she could enjoy fun as much as anyone. No one can work for three years in the open air without, either loving or hating it; and Theo had long ago found where her love lay. But to create for an absent soldier was not the same as when the soldier was on the spot. What would he really think of what she had done? Positively she was somewhat afraid of him. , Mrs. Grace met him when he landed.

I " ■Theo' is sorry, but she is up in the country « preparing for a party of some kind. 1 We can catch a train in an hour's time," '-'s-.. •:'>;•■ ..'• ' ■'<■• v-

Disappointment -was added to ; his bewilderment * Nearly five years away, and no. Theodora to meet him. He had looked at ■/ the . homes set I among, the green as they sailed up the blue narbour. He had tried to pick out the Grace house, had imagined her there on the broad balcony, with her pretty home setting; had looked to see her on the wharf.

"Of course, I had not reckoned with all the tedious landing business," he remarked. '. '■"■

"Where did you say Theodora was!" asked. '-■'■'-' v. /■ •' -~.* ... v/ .*.>

"Oh, upatMata.'! , * "Near- my old » place? There are new people about there, I suppose. And Bob, of course, is married?"

He suddenly hated Mata. He remembered the lonely dragging days after Theo had " turned him down." tHe had lost heart. His shed was filled with wire, and the fencing posts lay in heaps where they had been dumped. And he could not face up to them. The war had come as a mighty relief. Just to "chuck" things and getaway." Evidently, too, new people were up society people, the type that he detested and Theodora liked. The contrast between the life 6T"smart folk playing at farming and that ;at his' hut in the scrub was too great. He could stand frivolling in town, but not there.

" I don't think I'll go to Mata," he announced. . i •

Mrs. Grace stared at him. " Theo specially said I was. to Tiring you."

" Oh I I'll camp at a hotel and waft till she comes down. I don't fancy the country."

He would willingly have gone into a cell and cried. Mrs. Grace, filled with strange ideas of soldiers, on leave, had no intention of leaving him. He was stubborn, tool

"Come and have lunch; I'm hungry," he said. "If I remember^ this is a good place, isn't it?"

Reluctantly she accompanied him, hoping he might be more amenable when fed. She opened fire again later. ■

"I darei hot disappoint Theo to-night," she began.'. " You will come with me, won't you, Henley? x There is another train at 2.30. can wire to Bob to put us up.". , ,; ' ~•'.' He' saw no, escape; and undoubtedly, when fed, bo did: feel -iii better humour. He assented and let'- her lead him. But he wished that he had never- come. He had longed to see his little girl after the weary, racking, years thought of her with her dainty prettiness,. her very uselessness, had kept, him going. j And now she was at a party and her mother wanted to drag himj with ; her. He hoped that they would miss the next train. What did he want with Bob and his wife? Theodore and a merry little fling were all that he craved for. And Theodora was at a party It was night when they arrived at their station. Bob met them with his car, and his hand-grip, and "Glad *to see you, old fellow!" sent some of the shadow spinning from Henley's heart. ' But, as they bumped over the hills and hollows of the so-called road, he gloomed again into silence. May was at the house, sleepyeyed, but with supper waiting.

"Just'get something Ato eat and go off to bed. Don't keep him up to-night, Bob," she urged. "He must be very tired, and to-morrow means a long day. Goodnight!"

Bob Grace was an uneasy talk© checked himself every now and ther answered Field's laconic questions concer ing his land most indifferently, ■* ev< hostilelyj sometimes did not reply, on stared. '■" . i

Morning brought surprise. Bob's place was startingly altered. It was really a farm. Henley determined to keep away from bis own hut in the wilderness. After a six o'clock morning tea, presided over by May, Bob seized his hat.

" Come on, Field 1" Unwillingly the soldier followed through a well-kept orchard, past good boundary shelter, on to a well-used track.

" Whose place are we on now 1" He was confused as to direction. Bob's reply, almost inaudible, as he pulled up a tuft of offending weed, conveyed nothing more than " a neighbour of mine." The paddocks were in good grass, stock were feeding on them he saw two good hacks and a staunch farm horse. A gate led him to an enclosure and a homestead— a snug little place, such as once he would have liked to offer Theodora. Its garden was gay; there were roses trailed round the heavy pillars of a broad verandah. A table set for breakfast, and— Who was thatthe girl who came running from the door? She flew straight to him: her arms were round his neck. She held her face to his. Ah! this was a new Theodora.

" But I say," he said, when the first flush of this delightful welcome was over. " I don't quite know where we are. Whose place—?" "Make the coffee, Bob," ordered Theodora, " while I show him." She led Henley to a door at the end of the verandah. Open it!" she commanded. He did— and —his old shack, just as he had left it. There was his old bachelor table —he had made it himself; there was his shabby chair; there the box in which 1 he kept his tools; on the wall hung his slashers.

Theodora walked to the little window. He followed and saw through it—paddocks, cultivation, stock! _ "And this is—" He dared not put it into words.

"Yes," she whispered. "Ours!" "And you've done all this, you little plucky" The tears rushed into her blue eyes at the worship in his. " Come along !" shouted Bob. " Breakfast !"

"Quick, before I get soppy!" s he breathed, and dragged him outside again. The rest you know: how they married as soon as ever they could, and how the armistice came suddenly to our tired hearts, and how a really merry Xmas was spent there. And now, a year afterwards, they are still honeymooning and as happy as the summer days are long.