HEATHER OF THE SOUTH.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXI, Issue 18891, 13 December 1924, Page 5 (Supplement)

HEATHER OF THE SOUTH.

BY ROSEMARY REES, Author of " April's Sowing." (Copyright.)

CHAPTER X. — (Ton tinned).

Gillespie, who was "over the shed," had conducted (he |>arty round and had explained .1 good deal more of the method of working than Hie station owner had done. Creed vus mere than a little amused at his manager's officiousness. It was quite true, lie thought, that he'd left the riins of government in Gillespie's hands long enough. "If I'd stayed away another year or two it would have been difficult to convince Gillespie that he didn't own the place," he reflected, with a smile in his clear eyes.

"Mrs. Gillespie'd he very pleased to cive you a cup of tea over at the cottage," he now heard Gillespie assuring Lois; hut, in spite of her avowed love "I the beverage, she declined the invitation. When Stephen, however, suggested paying a visit to the orchard to see if they could gather some cherries or any other fruit, both she and Paul assented. Gillespie, rather unwillingly, returned to the shed, and the trio passed on across the paddocks and through a patch of Indian corn cm their wav to the orchard. "Do you like maize boiled on the cob I asked Stephen. . ~ •■ 1 don't thmk I've ever tasted it, answered [xiis. "Von shall have some to-night at dinner. It's very good with plenty of butter but one's apt to get somewhat greasyin the process of nibbing it off the cob." "Then let us all nibble and get happily hutterv together," said Lois. So they gathered some of the young, tasselled corn cobs on their way and carried 'hem—with what ripe fruit they could find and h-"d not already eaten tinder the trees tr the orchard—buck to the car. "We can't sec much of the run from the Beat of a motor," said Stephen. "You'll have to ride if you want to see the bits that are most worth seeing. Still, we can go a little wav round, in the car before much." , They drove on along the cart track tvhich ran past the woolshed through the paddocks and led eventually down to the Viver. Here the stream spread out for a distance in wide and Shallow rapids, and, in summer, this was a practicable ford for

traffic. " ■• It's low enough to cross now, said Stephen. "In llie winter, of course, ov nfter heavy rain, nothing can get over. Who bush 'is beautiful on the other side there, and I'd like you to see it. - ' The oar splashed into sparkling water and. lurching over the shingle, and the silt, and rotting leaves, and avoiding logs and boulders, it made its way toward the opposite hank. "The current in these rapids is apt to he deceptive at times." remarked Creed. " I remember as a kiddie wading in here and wetting knocked off my feet suddenly and washed over into the deep water round the bend there, and down to the 1 caches of the river this ride of the house. Fortunately, T could swim a bit, but it gave me a bigger fright than 1 ever owned up to." " Any trout here? " asked' Paul. " Yes," answered Stephen, " hut the best, pools are along by Weka Flat." "Where's that?"

"The small house we passed about three miles further down the road as we camo up yesterday." "Weka Flat '." said Lois. "That's a queer name for a house that all's among the hills. And what on earth's a weka '!" " A weka is a moorhen," explaned Stephen, siu'Jing. "You'll often hear them calling at night, something like a curlew, and the flat is the valley across the river in front of the homestead." " And who lives at Weka Flat?" asked Lois.

Again there was the very smallest of pauses before Creed answered easily: "The girl who :nilks the cows." "Does she live there all alone?" " Oh, dear no Her mother's with her." ' *' So far there |has been no mention of the mother! What's her name?" " Mrs. Burnside."

j "No; I meati tlio girl's name." ! "I believe she s called Heather."

! " Heather Burnside," repeated Lois reflectively. "It's a charming name; I'm beginning to bo somewhat intrigued by this young woman. Do you think she, or her mother, will call on me?"' Creed gave a short laugh. " I'm sure they won't." " Then do you think I might call on them ?"

" I don't think it would be advisable."

" What have you done to them 1 Have yon been shooting their sheep, or laying poison for their cows?" She was looking nt him with her little mocking smile, but as he caught her glance, she turned away and gazed about her, as though she expected no reply to her idle question. The car had readied the opposite bank of the river, and Creed pulled up on the level stretch of grassy sand below the steeply-ris ng bushed hillside. "It's very beautiful here!" said Lois, quietly.

The big, bare bluffs higher up the liver stood out white and clear against the blue sky; the great grey-trunked kahikate'a trees —white pines—rose almost from the water's edge, their feathery green crests towering above the car, and outlined too, against the nine sky; and the shrilling of the crickets and the rasping of the loc ists in the still, hot sunshine, blended with the sound of the rushing water—green in the deep pools and shining and laced witli foam as it slipped over the more shallow rocky led. In the bush higher on the hillside, the birds were whistling and calling, and all tln-ir notes seemed to echo over the water, and up along the reaches of the river under the big. bare cliffs. " You'll find it .'till more beautiful above here in the bush," answered Creed. "We'd better get out of the car and wall:. 'there is a cart track, but there's a creek a little further up which makes the road boggy. If we got the car stuck in the mud therr-'d be nothing for it but to wade the river and walk home." He led the wav up the hillside along the track and Paul and Lois followed. It

sppnifil to tin-in bath that they had plunged in one instant into the primeval forest. They had lost the sunshine and were in a cool, given, gloom; around tlit-tn were the lie tint ks of enormous forest trees twined and looped about with supple-jack, and all sorts of clinging vines and . rei p«rs: above the lower undcr-growth were the graceful bonded »ikau palms and tree ferns with tlieir black trunks and spreading, lacelike enAvns: old rotting lugs, moss-covered and forn-grown, below; dead leaves and mould thai seemed the accumulation of thousands of years of growth ;> id decav. underfoot; and ferns of .nil shapes, all sixes and all ages everywhere. Before i-f-aching the boggv part of the road ( reed struck in to the bush on the right, and they made their way through (lie undergrowth and over the 'ferns, to-wai-ds ihp creek which tumbled down the hillside—eddying and foaming past mossgiown and fern-covered rocks to the nvc- below. Hot: hu opening in the 1! ""' let in the sunshine from overhead ' ■''■'• >' : ' :!l ' «ud gave them glimpses of 1! "- "vcr t], ~,„;-}, the foliage, and the s '^ ht ,"' »h< hl-.fTs. hot and wliife against ' " - ,:v: nnd In-re in a little fern-grown '" ' ■ '• ,|,t in by nikau palms and iv,-,-f, ' r " s - "i'h the sunshine llickering " ,,;r -d' the green leaves everywhere about ll,<-m. they halted.

Lois seated hermit on a fallen log. but 1 -"il nunc himself full length '~, the soft bed of leay.es and ferns, and lay on ns back, his hat tilted over his eyes looking up through the laee-like screen «■' a big, ~;;!,. green ii\n fern frond, to the 1 hie above. lo> watchful eyes rested. on him. and Pan] without looking round, seemed to sense her unseen glance.

" 1 know what you're going to sayLois, so don't bother to say it. 3 S the ground damp ? No, it isn't, Do T think it will do me any harm to lie here? No, it won't. Nothing could harm anyone in this fairy land."

" I'm not so sure of that."

He moved his head a little and turned and smiled at her, and at Stephen, who stoad beside her.

" I give you fair warning, both of you! I wont be fussed over any more. Vm nn invalid no longer. I intend to do as I please—to be as lazy as I please, and as energetic as I please. In fact, I intend to enjoy myself in my own way. So, as Mr. Wodchousc remarks: 'Put that on your needles, and knit it.'"

" Isn't he trying " began Lois, plaintively, and then stopped abruptly. Above them sounded a full-throated beautiful note.

"What lovely bird is that?" she asked "The tilt."' answered freed.

"We s""m to have readied the end of the world," said Lois softly, after ;i moment. "London is very far away! Poor London! Think of-the fogs, and the grev short days they're having now, and all the shops get.b'g ready for the crowd of Christmas shoppers." "It will lie our first summer Christmas-. It ->\ as November when we got hack to England after the South American trip wasn't it Lois ?"

"Yes, and that was in 1913. We didn't know you then Stephen. You were at Cambridge." Creel nodded. "In my second year." "A mere infant while 1 wajj an old married woman."

Stephen, laughing, dropped on to the ground beside her. "Now I know how yci regarded me when we. first met," he said. "After all that was only a few months before I came down to Merrick."

"What do yon do at Christmas time in New Zealand ?" asked Lois, refusing to be drawn into any discussion of her early impression of him. "We eat hot roast turkey, and hot Christmas pudding, at home on the hottest of summer days, or we picnic, or go out camping." "Now that's what I should like to do!" said Lois. "To live for a time in a tent." "As ii matter of fact. Mrs. Strettorf was t.T'king of organising a big campingout pa-'ty later on in the summer, at Waka'.vai. I don't know whether she's given np the idea. She asked me if I would join them." "Would she include us?" Certainly. She'd be only too delighted I'm sure, if you'd care about it." "And will the girl who milks the eows be there i" "I don't think so.'' "Doesn't she know Mrs. Stretton ?" "Oh yes, they're very old friends." "The'i why won't she go camping?" "She can't leave the farm." "1 feel certain that Heather deserves :r holiday. I really think if we go. that vim must, try to arrange that she should come too. Stephen." She shot another wicked, sidelong smile at Creed, a smile which he found difficult to interpret, "You can't keep us apart you know. By hook or by crook. I mean to meet her!" With, a quick impulsive movement, she laid her hand for an instant nn Stephen's. "Poor old Stephen !" she said, laughing. "What a shame to tease him !" Paul looking round at that moment, saw Stephen's face as he turned to Lois. Had not Merrick-Stroud already known that Creed loved his wife. that. look, he felt, would in itself have revealed the truth to him '. CHAPTER XT. THE HON*. MRS. MEimiCK-STIKU'D IS M I'CH DISCUSSED.

An afternoon bridge parly was in progress at Miss Garside's little house in YVairiri. Perhaps one ought not to describe it as a "party," for there was only one table, and the players consisted of "Miss Carside herself. Laura Stretlon, Mabel Turner—not forced now to drive into town in her chauffeur's side-car— and Mis. Brownlow.

These were four of the best women players in Wairiri —the " bridge fiends," as they were described by the non-bridge players. Miss Garside had a small— a very small, income—which she .supplemented by giving lessons to a few young children, who came to her cottage in the mornings. Her afternoons were free, and these site devoted with both ardent joy. and unremitting zeal, to the game of bridge. Jt was her one and only passion. The desire, which, held in common with almost every other female living in any small town, urged her to gossip about the affairs of her friends, had to take .second place when bridge was in question.

This quartette never played "chatty" bridge. Even Mabel Turner, a vivacious and dashing brunette, fond both of telling and of listening to anything in the way of a good story, was silent, earnest and absorbed during tTie progress of the game. Any stranger watching them, would have imagined that: they were playing for high stakes, but as a matter of fact, the settling up at the end of these afternoons, involved no more than a few shillings either lost or gained.

Mrs. Turner's Rolls-Royce car was left in the road outside the cottage, and one might have judged from this vehicle, and from the expensive gown, and wonderful and costly rings she wore—the air of lavish expenditure that seemed to surround her like an aura—that she would never lie content to play so small a game, in such an unpretentious environment. An English writer has said that there is a deep dividing line between the " Haves " and the " Have nots," but this was not so as yet in Wairiri. There was a division of society, certainly, and tire four bridge players belonged' to what might be termed in an older country, the upper classes; but most of the residents of Wairiri had at some time or other, lived in cottages of tins size, whether their parents had come from fine old English homes of whether they were of the ordinary farming class, and the bond which held all the original settlers together was that of life-long association, and a com mon interest rather than that of riches or poverty. So that to Mabel Turner. who was often forced, in the absence of servants, to slip out .of her Pans gown. remove her rings, and ret to work to coot the dinner in the Lichen—this bridge parly was natural, and part of her life'. The four women played in Miss Gar side's little srl I room, but, the black board was tactfully pushed out of sight, before the bridge table was brought forward. Miss Garsido had some feeling at the back of her mind that the two ought never really to come face to face. For some time before four o'clock, Miss Tbii side bad been casting anxious eves to ward the little clock on the mantelpiece, and whenever she happened to be dummy, she would seize the opportunity to pass out through the schoolroom door into the adjoining room, which was the kitchen. Mi>s Garside was her own-cook and housemaid, and consequently she was foiced to snatch a few odd moments from the game in older to put the kettle on the gas stove, and nuke the afternoon t •

It was dining a break in the game, necessitated by her advent with the well laden tray, that conversation became general.

Has anyone seen anything of this Mrs. Merric < Stroud, who is staying with Stephen Cited?" asked Mrs. lirownlow.

I hear she's very handsome!" put in Miss Caiside.

I don't think she's handsome." returned Laura. She had been slight Iv chagrined by the fact that Stephen had not informed her of the expected arrival of his English guests, nor consulted her in any way as to his entertainment of them. She liked to be consulted on these points, and she had always looked upon Stephen as nore or less her own property. She bad a way of doing this with unattached yoang men whom she had known from hovhood.

"Oh, she is handsome, Laura!" objected Mabel Turner. " And she weary the most adorable clothes!"

She had on a very ordinary coat and skirt, when 1 saw her in town one day with her husband and Stephen." " Isn't her husband an Honourable or something?" asked Miss (larside, eageilv. " No, he's not an Honourable, but, he owns a big place in England called Merrick." replied Mabel. "It's she who's tiie Honourable. She's Lord Somebody or other's daughter." "Well, it's a horribly cumbersome name!" Laura was determined to find something to Lois' detriment. "The Honourable Mrs. Merrick-Stroud! Does she expect us to use it all ?"

" You wouldn't call her the Honourable anyhow."

Laura was slightly nettled by Mabel's remark. It, made it appear that, she— Laura—w/is not in the habit of addressing ladies of the Peerage. The fact that this was nothing more than the truth irritated Laura still further. Titled members of the British aristocracy did nut abound m Waii'iri. Occasionally a younger sun, 01 a stray baronet was to be met with in the. back-blocks; one had run a suae nt Pallia, another had I>oen a cadet on the Woolaston's station, and a third had kept livery staliles. in the town itself; l>ut "Lord Somebody or other's daughters" did not make a practice of visiting Waii'iri.

" 1 shall address her as Mrs. Stroud!— If I address her at all !" Laura now main tamed. "Haven't you cilltd ?" asked Mabel. No. Have you ?" "Yes. George wanted to see Stephen about some cattle, so he drove me out, one day last week. She's realiy awfully nice."

She and Stephen seem to tie very good friends. I must say 1 think it's rather funny that l.e never told us anything about them before they arrived." " They got out so soon after he did." You might almost think the was chasing Stephen !" "Oh! I do hopo she ii.n'i that sort of woman!" interjected Mis: Garsirie. as she handed round the cups. " Scandal like that is so horrid."

" The whole thing's a little queer in my opinion!" Up to this moment, Laura had not reajfly thought there was anything remarkable about the household at Maranui, but having now made this statement she began to persuade he:set' that the situation might be " queer." To cast sonic slight upon the Hon. Mrs. Mer-rick-Stroud was also one way of storing off Mabel. The latter took up the challenge at once.

"I don't see why you should say that," she remarked, a trifle hotly. "Did you see anything of the Burnsides while you were out there ?" Mrs: Brownlow put the question, not so much because she desired news of the Burnsides as because she thought it expedient to introduce another topic. Being a tactful- woman, and sensible to "atmosphere," she realised that Mabel and Laura—who as old school friends reserved the right to quarrel when and where-they pleased— might now he heading toward a disagreement.

"Yes, we went into Weka Flat for half an hour," replied Mabel, "and saw Mrs. Burnside. Heather was out, at the sheepyards at the back of the run somewhere. Strangely enough Mrs. Merrick-Stroud" (she put, a slight emphasis upon the "Merrick" in order to make certain that, Laura Mould notice it) "was asking till about them."

"Has she seen them ?"

"No. but she seemed quite interested when I told her how pretty Heather was

and how beautifully she played the piano. She thought it very hard that Heather should be forced to work like that on the farm."

"Kenton is afraid she won't be working there much longer." "Do you mean that the I', and A. are going to foreclose?" asked Laura. "They may have to later on. They've been in difficulties like everyone else, you know, and its their dairy factory at To Hail. They talk of closing that almost immediately, and Heather depended a good deal 'on the milking. It meant a little ready cash to keeu things going at Weka Flat."

"The factory won't be closed before Christinas, w ill it ?" "Oh, no, I don't think so. Christmas is next Mondav."

"Good gracious!" Mabel counted rapidly on her fingers. "Only six more days! I'd forgotten how near it was." "Kenton thinks the Te Han factory will stop ninning toward the end of next mouth. Of course, it isn't certain that they'll close down."

"It'll be very hard on Heather if she has to give up the farm! She's carried <• n so pluckily, through all the worst of the slump, too. What on earth will the Humsides do? Heather's had to searificc her music and everything. Ido feel sorry for her'"

'"Yes, and for Mrs. liurnside, too!" Laura's little flash of annoyance was all gone at the thought of old friends in (lis tress. "It's really worse for Mrs. Bum side she's bad so much trouble—and Heather's young. Wally was only saymg the other day he wished he. could do something for them, but everything's been so bad for us all lately we're only just beginning to lift our bead.-, mil of the slump. If we'd only been content with Strathmore, and hadn't bought Wakavai as well. ..."

"It's just the same with us. If (Jcorge hadn't got tied up with the Piako prop erty. he could easily have helped them."

"Kenton doesn't think they'd accept monetary help from anyone. Both Mrs. liurnside and Heather are very proud!" "Well, at anv rate, they've got dozens of friends who'll be only'too pleased to have them to stay with them for as long as they like," said Laura. "Yes, but its clothes, and things!" put in Miss Garside. "You can't let fri.mds pay for your boots." "You wouldn't be able to call your sole your own, would you ?" Mabel's quick rejoinder raised a laugh, but Laura voiced the sentiments of them all when she spoke again.

"Let's hope it won't come to that for the Burnsides. Wally is sure the slump is really over, and wool certainly is going up."

"I suppose Heather might earn sonie'Jiing by teaching music?"

"Not much in Wairiri." returned Miss Garside, emphatically. She had just lost the last of her music pupils, and in couso-

quencc believed the whole population of the district to he sadly lucking in appreciation of anything artistic. There was a little more desultory conversation in reference to tho Buriisides, and then Miss Oarside returned to the Kindness in hand. In her opinion time and bridge should wait for no man. " Whose deal is it ?" she asked as she put aside the empty cups', and having discovered that it was her own, the game restarted.

The rumour concerning the Te Hau dairy factory had already reached Weka Mat. In the parlance of the sheepfarmers, the Buriisides were " in the hands of the P. and A. That is to say, the P. and A. (or to give the. company its full name and complete title. "The Pastoral and Agricultural Company, Limited, Stock and Station Agents"}—which advanced money on stations, on stock, on wool, on mutton, or produce of any kind; which supplied station stores: which bought and sold stock or produce on behalf of' its clients—hold a mortgage on Weka Flat, and all money from the farm passed through the-company's hands. If the P. and .-\. failed a good many sheep farmers in the district would he badlv hit.

The closing down of the- Te Hau dairy factory would in itself he a blow to the Burnsides. If there was no handy market for the cream it was not much use for Heather to continue with the milking. To send the cream to iown by train would mean a great expanse for carriage, and a quite uncertain market : to make it into butter on the farm would entail more work than Heather and her niothei: could manage; and the pii'e which must, be paid for cartage to another dairy factory would be prohibitive. Heather now had to face the fact that within a few weeks she would in all probability bo forced to abandon the milking, and this would leave the finances for the farm seriously crippled." Botli she and Mrs. Bnrnside lalked the matter over many times with their good friend, Billy Winter, and altar various evenings spent with pencils and scraps of paper, figuring out the expenses of alternative plans, it was decided to begin sel.'lng off the cows at once, if if were possible to get good offers for them, and to use sonic of the paddocks that had been kept t'oi i!.e dairy herd for crops. "After all," said Billy, vlien this was settled; ' the milking was far too much for Heather. It'll be better in the end for her to give it up, whether the factory closes down or not, and now that- wool's coming on a bit, things ought to be all serene."

Both Mrs. Burnside and Heather devoutly hope that he might be right, and both, in their hearts, did not altogether regret the decision to make an end of the milking. Mrs. Burnside h;:d always hated it For her daughter; and Heather herself knew thai it she, were deprived of Billy's

help S'or any lengthy period,—and she had no right to'count oil this help— she might find the work too much for her. So, by tin' middle of December, four of the cows wore sold, and when Bilk' loft his own farm—by no means willingly—to spend Christmas" with liis people up the Coast li<' had the satisfaction of knowing thai Heather would not be working quite .>o haul in his absence.

But though the girl had four animals less to milk each day work continued, for there were always a hundred and one different jobs to lie done, and until Billy's return she would be deprived of his assistance Ho left for ni-> trip up Die Coast three days before Christmas, and after he had gone Heather f«lt for the first time a sensation of almost, intolerable loneliness. She. had been wretched enough, tired enough, and disheartened enough, times out of number m the past eighteen months bul she had never before experienced such an aching sense of utter desolation. Without being aware of any reason for i!, her thoughts latterly had often turned to Maranui. She knew that Creed had a Mr. and Mrs. Merrick-Stroud —whom he had known in England—staying with him. If the Burnsides had few visitors they were not altogether cut off from intercourse with their friends; for in Wairiri the telephone was exceedingly well patronised, not only for business but for much small talk.

Weka Flat was on what is called a " party line:" consequently the telephone bell rang most of the day. Each subscriber on the party line had his or her particular ring. Two long rings signified that Weka Flat, was wanted: two short and a long ring indicated that the call was for Maranui; and there were very many other variations for the other set tiers on the same line.

Everybody's ring was heard on everybody's telephone, and so was everybody's conversation, provided anyone had the curiosity and leisure enough to take down the receiver, and " listen in" when the bed rang. Lois, at Ma/anui, had expressed some astonishment at the frequency of the telephone calls, and the apparent disregard of them, until Creed explained the " party line" system to her.

" But how <lu yon over know your own rail?" she asked'in sonic amazement, and was assured that it was only n matter of liabi! : that one learnt to disregard all signals save that intended for oneself. " I should never recognise it," slio said positively; but before she bad been a week at Ma'ranui. she had been forced to withdraw this statement. She found that. although apparently oblivious to all sounds on the constantly' ringing telephone, di rectly two short rings and a long one, rear lied her ears, she was instantly alert. " The dear old sub-conscious mind again!" she exclaimed. "What an excellent example of its working! We're not aware of any sound except the one that it is constantly watching and waiting for." (To be continued on Saturday next.)