HEATHER OF THE SOUTH.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXI, Issue 18861, 8 November 1924, Page 5 (Supplement)

HEATHER OF THE SOUTH.

' BY ROSEMARY REES. Author of " April's Sowins."

(Copyright.) CHAPTER IV. (Continued). "Funny thing! Tjhis happened to Noah!" /'What did?" "Well, it didn't exactly happen to Noah, but it happened on the Ark. Tho two rats he had with him fell into a pan of milk one night." "Where did he get the pan of milk from ?" "Ho ran a dairy farm before he took to the Ark." "I suppose that was the origin of the old joke about watering the milk. It must have started about the time of the Flood."

"Heather, don't interrupt," said Mrs. Burnside. "I want to hear the story of the two rats." "Well," continued Billy, "one. rat happened to be a pessimist, the other was an optimist. Directly they fell into the milk the poor old Dessimist gave up all hope, ana sank to the bottom and was drowned; but the optimist refused to give up hope. He kept on swimming round and round the pan saying, 'Day by dav. and in every way, I'm swimming better and better,' and in the morning,

when Mrs. Noah went in to get some milk for the morning tea, she found the optimist still in the milk-pan, but he was sailing round on a pat of butter.' Mrs. Burnside laughed. "That may be old, but it's new to me. Where do you find all these stories, Billy?" "He's a regular subscriber to Comic Cnts and Funny Bits," said Heather. "Put the meat in the safe, please,

Billy." "If I can't help you, I'll leave you," said Mrs. Burnside. "Take somo matches, Mother. Tho sitting-room lamp isn't lighted." Mrs. Burnside passed out into the narrow hall and moved into the front

room. On the other side of tho passage was her bedroom and Heather's, and theso four rooms were now their home. Well, at least, it was a house to shelter them from the rain, and the sun, and the cold wind, and no mansion did more than that; and, with Phillip in his grave, and Tom gone, what did it matter what their homo was like ? ' The pain which her heart always knew at tho thought of Tom stabbed her afresh. Where was he now 1 to-night ? She passed restlessly out into the hall again, through tho open door on to the verandah, and gazed down over the paddocks to where, across the road, the moonlight shone like silver on the river, aad showed the dark line of the bush beyond- Did Tom look up at the same wide heaven she saw to-night ? Was tho Southern Cross above him ? If she could

only know what had happened to him! It ~ was this terrible silence—not knowing if he were alive or dead—that seemed to be killing her. She pressed her hands to her heart. At least she had Heather left. . . Brave little Heather! And she too must be brave for Heather's sake. She turned her back on the moonlit night, sweet with the scent of flowers from her garden, and striking a match, lighted the lamp on the sitting-room table. From the open window a few moths fluttered in, but blinds were never drawn now, and windows never closed, except in stormy weather, at Weka Flat. The little room with its faded pink paper, was redeemed from commonplace- . ness by the few good prints on the walls, the cretonne cover of the three easy chairs and the stretcher be*i —which masqueraded as a couch, and upon which Billy slept when he spent the night with them —the jars of flowers, the books, and the brasses and pieces of old china which stood upon the top of the bookshelves, and on the mantelpiece. There was nothing in the room that could not have been bought for a few pounds, except the piano, which filled up the corner between the window and the door. The lamplight shone warmly_ on > the polished wood, and as Mrs. Burnside's eyes fell on the instrument she wondered with another littlo catch at her heart, how much longer it would be possible to keep it. There was the interest on the mortgage soon to meet. The Pastoral and Agricultural Company had shown them a good deal of consideration, for the last instalment of interest due to the mortgagees. had not yet been paid by the Burn- ' 6ides; they were waiting until after the shearing; and Heather had often said that if the wool clip did not realise sufficient to meet the money due, the piano must go. A dealer in Wairiri had already offered them a big price for it, Mrsi Burnside clenched her hands. This mustn't be sold! It was Heather's one joy in life now! Even if professionally she could never hope to do anything with her music, the talent, and the joy of expression in this one way remained to her —to Heather, her baby! Well! It was no use anticipating trouble, Mrs. Burnside decided; and she took up some work, and was sitting beside tho table, the lamplight shining on the lines of grey in her dark hair, when Heather and Billy entered the room. "Will you stay to-night, Billy?" she asked, looking up at him. "No thank you, Mrs. Burnside. I've got Jacko saddled in the stockyard. I must be up before three to-morrow. We're mustering some of Fergusson's sheep for him."

"You're not shearing yet?" " No, but we start directly after the show. We've got to make use of the shearers, before Maranui starts." Mairanui! Creed again! Heather's brows contracted in a quick frown, but they cleared as quickly when Billy turned to her. "You promised me some jazz music, Heather! " She flashed a smile at him, and took her place at the piano. " It's very wrong of me to encourage such a low taste in you." For a moment, her hands '' touched "tho keys caressingly, and almost silently, and then with a few crashing chords, she broke into a wild, lilting syncopated melody, that seemed to carry with it £i sense of dazzling lights, and swaying figures, and folly, and desire, and laughter, and heartache. She played on—all sorts of popular, well-known songs and dances; and every now and then, to link them up, improvisations of her own, but rag-time every

" I ought to be ashamed of myself for playing such stuff," she laughed over her shoulder at Billy; but because she knew it pleased him she still continued. At last she brought it all Ho a crescendoed grand finale, and swung round to face her audience. " Now for the good of your soul Billy, you've got to listen to something worth while before you go." She turned again to the piano,"and in a moment the little room was filled with the first wistful notes of Chopin's "Nocturne" in F. Minor. Through the open window with its fluttering moths, over the verandah, over the little garden with its privet hedge, over tho moonlit paddocks, the music passed; and on until it was lost in the rippling shallows of tho shining river, and the heavy scented, golden gorse. Stephen Creed had been walking for nearly an hour, when he was brought up abruptly by tho sound of those first crashing chords. He had no idea that he was anywhere near any human habitation, and tho sound of the music—coming so suddenly out of the stillness of the night —was something so unexpected, that it produced an almost uncanny feeling of bewilderment within him. It was some time beforo ho realised that he had reached a point where the road ran to within about two hundred yards of the Burnsides' cottage, and the

gentle westerly breeze brought with H From the house, every note: so that he heard it almost as distinctly as if he were sitting on the verandah, within a few feet of the pianiste. He stood for a moment quite motionless. All that Gillespie had told him earlier in the day of Heather Burnside's talent, her studieu in Paris, her care of her hands: everything concerning her, flashed back into his mind.

As she played he realised that here was no ordinary talented amateur —the touch was too sure, too subtle, too full of temperament and power, even in these foolish melodies.

Creed himself strummed a little on the piano, and though he had no talent as a performer, he loved and appreciated good music. He threw himself down now among the dry rush bushes bordering the road, and listened with intense mterest and a certain curious sense of excitement, to the girl's playing. The well-known tunes stirred his memory. He'd danced to these things at Murray's many times; and in Paris, and at the Base in the winter garden of that old hotel. How it all came back to him—the uniforms and the lights, the bare shoulders and the perfumes, and the smiiing inviting eyes— the hands he'd pressed and the girls he'd kissed. And Lois —more clearly visioned thin all the rest—Lois, whose picture lay now on the mantelpiece of his room at Maranui!

And here he was listening to it again— this jazz-music—with the wide sky, cleared by the moon of smaller stars, above his head: the little wind moving down the valley, across the wide reach of the murmuring, silvered river: the sound of the sheep from far away, the cry of a weka—its mournful wailing note echoing in the distance on the fh.ts across the water—and above him, and about him, and enfolding as with somo magic invisible garment, the warm spring night. She was playing Chopin now, and the dim, half vague feeling of dissatisfaction and restlessness —assort of sensuous longing stirred by the well-known syncopated music—left him. This nocturne brought longing too, but it was of a different order: something nobler, something deeper not so much a stirring of the senses as of the heart. He remembered that this was one of his mother's favourites—remembered hearing it for the first time when ho was a little boy, playing in the sunny garden at Maranui; and he had stopped his game, and sat down quietly under the oak tree to listen. He could smell the stocks, and the roses now, and hear the rasping sound of the locusts, the lazy drone of the flies in the sunshine, and the sweet note of a tui echoing somewhere in the bush on the steep hillside across the river. Many times since then had ho heard it; once in France, in a Y.M.C.A hut, dimly lit by paraffin lamps,—the window blinds all closely drawn for fear of enemy aircraft. Most of the men were foing back to the trenches next day. Ho ad looked round at them, and wondered what thoughts were locked behind each tanned and rugged face, as they listened to Chopin's Nocturne. The concert parties didn't often get up so near the line, and this was one of the best of tho Lena Ashwell companies—every member of it a first-class and well-known artiste.

Creed was conscious of a thousand mental pictures as Heather Burnside played, but the one which lingered longest, was of a girl with eyes like cornflowers, shaded by long black lashes; of a vividly temperamental little face which smiled down at him from an old spring cart. The music ceased. He heard voices on the verandah. The cottage was too far away for him to distinguish tho words, but there was the slam of a gate, and later the barking of sheep dogs, and jingle of chains as they were released, and the rattle of the stockyard slip-rails. From the ring of a stirrup iron on a post, he knew that a saddled horse was being led out; and then as the horse and his rider, with the dogs, moved off, a girl's voice was heard calling clear and sweet through the night,. " Goodbye Billy dear. Come over to-morrow if you can.' "RightO! I'll try. Good.night." The click of the garden gato once more, and then silence save for tho sheep far away, and the river whispering in the shallows, and the wekas crying.

Creed rose from tho rushes where he had been sitting, and with a queer sense of annoyance, began once more to walk towa.rds Maranui. Why should he feel this little spurt of anger, he asked himself '! And as the truth dawned on him, he smiled; but his smile was one of selfmockery. "We don't care to hear another man called ' Dear' by a pretty woman, however little she means to us! Lord what poor things wo mortals be!" But the thought of the Hon. Lois Mer-rick-Stroud, troubled him no more that night.

CHAPTER V. THE WAIRIRI SHOW. A week later, Heatlier and Billy, moving about among the cows in the chill, misty light of early dawn, looked spectral, and unreal. Heather, in fact, was conscious of feeling somewhat likb a ghost; litce some shade about to revisit—very unwillingly— the scenes of the past life. As a, child she had always ridden at the Wairiri Show, and possessed a stack of red First Prize tickets: "Best girl rider under ten" : "Pony under fourteen hands" ' Cob to be driven in harness by a lady' (The lady in this case being Heather, at the age of ten, seated alone in her father's gig.) "Best girl rider under twelve, Leaping.": and so on, But to face the show again, after an interval of eight years —and that interval so filled with sorrow and -disaster, for her and for her mother seemed to Heather, an undertaking requiring the highest courage. Still having given her word to Billy and her mother, she was determined that they should not see how much the effort was costing her. Sho kept up her usual light hearted, chaffing manner with Billy—their repartee if neither very clever nor very witty, was at least apt, and always served to amuse them both—and when they had finished the milking, she left him to feed the pigs and calves, and mado her way up to the house. , ... The newly risen sun had dispersed the morning mist, and was sending long 'level beams across the valley, over the gold of the gorse and the blue of the river; all the cobwebs were outlined and spangled with sparkling rainbow drops; and the bircb in the patch of bush behind the house, were clamorous with joy. In spite of herself, Heather began to feel her spirits rising. Nothing could mar the pleasure she always felt in riding Lightning, not even the fact that her riding kit—coat breeches, putties, and Panama hat —was the same old one she had worn at the ago of fifteen, and was neither very fresh looking nor very smart. She had so little vanity, that she failed to realise that no girl in Wairiri that day would present a more Jiarming figure than she in her worn, but well cut riding coat, hw slirn legs and ankles trim iri the well siliusted putties, and her little vivid faco looking out from its nimbus of black hair, under the turned down hat. But if she did not realise her beauty, she was sensible enough to know, after glancing in her small mirror, that though her coat might bo a trifle shabby, sno really did not look so badly turned out, and 'she need not be self conscious about her own appearance. And yet, in epito of the fact that riding Lightning would be a joy to her, the meeting with those old friends whom she had not seen for so long, and with those whom she had seen only for an hour or two since her return from England, was anything bujt a joyful prospect, it was not that she did not want to see them again, but that to meet them vvoulo re-open old wounds, and would give her an acute sense of her own altered position. She wouldn't know what to talk to them about. She felt sho had lost touch with the little world of Wairiri, in which as a child she had been so happy. But she gave no hint of all this trouble in her mind, as after the early breakfast she, and Billy, and Mrs. Burnside, jolted along in the old spring cart, towards Te Hau railway station. If Mrs. Burnside divined her daughter's troubled thoughts, she in her turn, gave no sign that she had done so. To the older woman also, the morning brought back and revived the memories , of days gone by; but it would have taken i a shrewder, and more experienced obseri ver than Heather, to discern the aching heart behind her mother's smiling, nati ural manner.

"Don't forget that you're to be at the Post Office corner at ten, Heather. Laura Stratton will pick you up there in the car, and take you out to the Show GroundYou'll have lunch with them, and she's promised to motor you back to the station m time to catch the half-past four train. I'll be waiting for you with the faithful Ginger." Heather nodded. Laura—a good deal younger than her mother, and a good deal older than herself—was one of the gayest of the Wairiri matrons. The wife of a wealthy sheepfarmer, living not fifteen miles outside the town, she managed to attend every dance, race meeting, luncheon or bridge party, theatrical entertainment, or function of any 6ort, taking place in the district. .Tall, fair, and altogether without good looks, amusing, and pleasure loving, she was one of the most popular women in Wairiri; and blessed with an adoring husband, who believed her to be both brilliant and beautiful, she had come to believe herself somewhat privileged by reason of this brilliance, and beauty, and consequently she did what she liked, and said what she liked. If other people disapproved of anything she chose to do, it was quite immaterial to her! But she had always been fond of Mrs Burnside, and of Heather; and had been genuinely pleased when Mrs. Burnside had rung her up, and asked her to take Heather under her wing at the show. As the spring cart passed the Maori settlement, the bridge, the Dairy Factory, and the white painted wooden Hotel, Heather was aware of a stirring of memory. She had brought the cream into the factory more than once since her meeting with Creed, bub this was the first time she had actually driven along the road where she had stopped and spoken to him. She remembered now, her tempest of rage against him—against herself, too, for not having realised that he was the man she believed to be to blame for all Tom's misfortune. Tom! If only he were back with them, happy as they used to be—even during the war he'd never seem depressed—then she could make up her mind to be happy too, in fipite of the loss of her father, and of Phillip, and notwithstanding their present poverty. " Penny for your thoughts, Heather!" She turned to Billy, forcing a smile. "My thoughts aren't for sale, and if they were you Taaven't enough in the bank to buy them." "I haven't anything in the bank, that I'm aware of, except an overdraft!" returned Billy. " Here we are at Te Hau station. Now I suppose we'll sit dangling our legs over the edge of the platform for an hour or two, until the train chooses to put in an appearance." " It's duo in ten minutes," objected Heather.

Billy cast a pitying look at her. "Haven't you learnt yet, you poor silly child,

that the Wairiri train bloweth where it listeth, or to be more exact, turns up when it pleaseth ? An hour of two, here or there, is a matter of indifference to it."" " Well mother, you'd better not watt. "Indeed I shall," replied Mrs. Burnside. " What if it didn't come at all?" " Don't suggest anything so horrible, Mrs. Burnside! You make my flesh crcep! No Lightning, no Troubadour, no show, no notliing. Ginger'll have to take us in to Wairiri." "If you could get Ginger as far as Wairiri, you'd be cleverer than you are," said Heather. "What nonsense you talk, Heather! How can I be cleverer than I am 1" " You can't. That's the trouble." "Listen!" Mrs. Burnside raised her head. " Thore's the train whistling at Miller's Crossing. I'll wait, and see you safely in."

A fevr minutes later the train camo in sight. Tfc consisted of one long first-class coach almost filled; two more than filled second-class carriages; and a string of open trucks in which sat—upon boards placed on boxes to form seats—many Maoris, and country settlers—the latter with their wives and children —all bound for Wairiri, and the show.

Billy having waved his hand in a friendly fashion to tho engine driver, the train obligingly stopped to pick them up; passengers at Te Hau, wore rather rare. Heather was making for a second-class carriage, but Billy protested. "Do you imagine I'm going to allow tho winner of tho Ladies' Hunter to travel second?" he asked. " Certainly not. It's not done." Heather laughed, and obediently took her place in trie first-class coach, waved to her mother, and the train moved on. Having triumphantly negotiated the twenty-six miles from To Hau to the town, in just under two hours, the little train pulled into Wairiri shortly before ten o'clock.

It was not a great distance to tho Post Office corner, where Heather was to be picked up by tho Stretton's car, so sho walked cn there alone, while Billy made his way to the livery stables (from which no man in livery had ever emerged) to meet Tim Holding who had brought in Troubadour, and Lightning, overnight. All banks, officcs, and shops in the town wero closed. For race meetings, (which occurred with astonishing frequency) for tho show, and for any other special functions, a public holiday was always proclaimed in Wairiri. To English visitors, accustomed to tho four bank holidays a year, this closing of shops and cessation of business for raco meetings and shows, for tho King's birthday, and tho. Prince of Wales' birthday, for Labour Day, and Dominion Day, and for many other " days," in addition to Christinas, Easter and New Year vacations might seen a triflo excessive; but New Zealanders would consider themsolves very hardly used if they wero asked to do without their various public holidays. To-day in Wairiri, in spito of the shuttered flhjps, and closed banks, there was

no lack of life; for vehicles of all descriptions were moving in the direction of, the show ground. The threo motor-busai of which the town boasted, bore Aarge posters announcing the fare and entrance money to the show, and numerous /motorvans' and lorries, fitted with temporary seats, bore the same announcements, The drivers vied with one pother in, shouting loudly, " All the way to the e/aow! All the way to the show!" and most of the conveyances were filling rapidity. As judging in soma of the events was to start at ten thirty Laura Stretton's big touring 1 car was not late. Wally Stretton her devoted husband was driving it, and she sat besido him in front, while her three children —Gwen who was twelve, and the twins who were three years younger —occupied thi» back seat. The car pulled up at tho Post Office corner, just as the clock finished striking the hour, and Laura "cooeed" and hailed Heather cheerily. " Punctual to the minute, Heather, both of us. Climb in at tho back ( with the family and the lunch,. and we'll go straight out. Don't sit on the sausago rolls, or the lemonade bottfles! For goodness sake Gwen," (this to her daughter) " disentangle the twins. Tony, I've teld you before, you'll be sent to Auntie Maud's for the day, if you don't stop pinching Peter." " Peter pinched mo first!" retorted the admonished twin. " Auntie Maud's going to the show herself," added the pinched Peter cheerfully. " Get in Heather—if you can find any room. Wally, hadn't we better drag one of the twins over into the front seat with

us?" . - There were shrill shouts from the boys. " Me! Drag me! I want to sit in front!" "They're all right," returned v\ally imperturbably. " You fixed up Heather ? (Jive the door a bang. There's a rug there if you want it. Gwen, move up a bit, and give Miss Burnside room." " Oh, not Miss Burnside, please!" said Heather. The presence of the grinning, mischievious-eyed twins, and the more domure Gwen, helped her through tho first awkwardness of the meeting. " Auntie Heather, then," conceded Mrs. Stretton. " I'd rather be plain Heather." " Plain Heather! Plain Heather!" chorused the twins delightedly; and though their mother endeavoured to reprove them, she laughed, and so did Heather. The show was held in one of the two racecourses about three miles out of town and on their arrival, the Strettons parked their car, together with some ninety or a hundred others, under the shade of the trees in the members' enclosure. Thej would return here for luncheon, and have it on the grass, beside the miniature lake, bordered oy weeping willows. Laura Stretton, as she stepped down from her seat besido her husband, was

hailing friends and acquaintances, by the score. Various girl friends had stopped to speak to Heather, among them, Mavis Hill. " You're riding Liglitnjng, aren't you ?" she asked wistfully. "Yes," answered Heather, "Billy's entered him for the Light Weight Hacks, as well as the Hunters. '

" I believe he'll win thom both. Is Billy hero ?" " I think so. He was bringing tho horses out from town. I'm ]ust going down now to meet him at the entrance to the saddling paddock—that is if he's arrived." " Can I come too ?" "Of course you can." Heather with a flash of intuition suddenly sensed poor Mavis Hill's secret. She was fona of Billy! Well, Heather herself was fond of Billy. But not in that way—not as a lover! No ono surely could take Billy seriously in that role ? Yes, Mavis could Heather, walking along besido her through tho holiday crowd gathered round tho grand stand—past the uniformed town band now blowing into their brass instruments, and setting up their music stands, on the green turf of the lawn, among tho flower beds; and so on down to whero Billy Winter waited, knew without any doubt that Mavis Hill's pretty grey eyes shono moro brightly as they lighted on Billy's good natured face, and her voice as she spoke to him, held some quality lacking in it up to that moment. Billy Winter an object of adoration! Heather could almost have laughed aloud. Sho couldn't imagine him the nero of any romanco. And then she felt suddenly ashamed. Why shouldn't he bo ? And sho was sorry for Mavis! . The latter was so evidently envying her—Heather—her good fortune in boing so much with Billy.

" Hello, Mavis!" Billy's tono was perfectly casual. "Aren't you riding to-day? " I've got nothing to ride," returned Mavis, somewhat saaly. "Hard luck! But you're looking very smart."

" Do you like my frock ?" Poor Mavis sounded pathetically eager. " Rather! I like that crushed strawberry colour. That's what you call it isn't it?"

" I don't know what they call it. I trimmed my hat myself: do you think it's pretty?" " It's very swish. Come on Heather, I've got Lightning and Troubadour, across hero intone of tho loose-boxes. They'll be judging the light weights after the ponies " Mother wants vou to have lunch' with us Billy." " Well you see, Heather's with Mrs. Stretton, and Mrs. Strctton very kindly asked met

"Oh, that's all right then," Mavis* tono sounded happier. " Mother, and Mis. Stretton, and tho Blands, und the Mclvors, and a whole lot more arc all having lunch together." She hailed a passing girl friend. "Come alonjj down and seo Lightning and Troubadour. Heather's going to lido Lightning in the Hacks, and the Hunters.

(To b* contiuuoU on Saturday next.)