IN APPLE BLOSSOM TIME.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXII, Issue 19032, 1 June 1925, Page 5

IN APPLE BLOSSOM TIME.

EY L. G. • LIOEZULY.

I Author of " CiertririiiT j'i-e*," 's*o 3 " Violet Duns'..)i," tic. 0 (Copyright). Is CHAPTER VIII. (Continued.) | " Weil, iam afraid it will mean going | up to your guns." Mr.. Martin t,poke 1 slowly. " (Suing into things us careij fully us 1 can, and counting cvety penny upon which wo can possibly count, 1 ( don't see how you can hope to have an J income of more than £4O a year at the outside." lie said the last words emphatically. " Certainly you will be able ito pay, and, taking one thing and another to let the remainder of the lease of this ■ house, .but there are outstanding debts into consideration, 1 think 1 am light in sayiug-that £4O a year will represent your soie reliable income." " When dad was alive 1 had £4O a year to dress on, (Sow I shall only liavo that amount for everything." " I am afraid so." Mr. Martin spoke j reluctantly. Mis eyes grew pitiful as lie looked at the.i small fragile girl who was preparing to light life's battle singlehanded. " And you nuist see,' Miss Breanington, 'that you cannot live upon an income, of £4O a year. lam afraid >ve must; consider ways and means of supplementing that very tiny income." " Ever since mother died 1 have been thinking and wondering what I could do. I was quite sure. 1 should have very little to live upon, and I have been racking my brains to think of plans. But tho difficulty is I have had no training. There i§ not a single thing I could do ' well enough to ask payment for doing it. I have just been a daughter at home, and nothing more." " You have never had the slightest chance of being anything more," the solicitor said warmly. " Your whole time has been spent in taking care of your mother, and .making life smooth for her. You liavo had no opportunity for training in any capacity, and until tho last year of so there would not have seemed to be tho least necessity for such training." " Every girl ought to be trained to do something," Sylvia cried passionately. " The very richest people may lose money and become poor. Nobody ever knows that some day they may not bo obliged to earn their living, and, if they have never had any training at all, they are so utterly helpless—as 1 am," she added, with a sudden falter in her voice. " Perhaps—could you undertake to teach little children 1" Mr. Martin said, with hesitation, and, after a moment of | thought, " be a nursery governess?" " It wouldn't be fair of me, not a bit fair. I have never had anything io do with children. 1 love (hem, but lam quite ignorant." " Possibly you might find a post with a lady, to read to her, write her letters, and—and—" " Try for a companion's place?" Sylvia put in quietly. "I might Iry for that failing everything else. I would really rather'-go into service, only I am afraid I haven't got the physical strength." " No,- you couldn't do that," was the decided response, " even though I grant that a companion's work is a very thankless and wearisome task, it would still be less tax upon your bodily strength than domestic service. I suppose you have no relations to whom you could go, at any rate for a time, while you are looking round?" "We are a rclationless family. Dad was an old son, mother was an only daughter, So we have no uncles or aunts. The only-relation I ever heard of was an old cousin of my grandmother's, a Miss Brooklands, who lives in Hampshire. But mother has not heard from her for years. Sho was a queer old lady, I fancy, with all sorts of fads. And she disapproved of mother for some unknown reason.. And the other relation was on dad's side, an uncle of dad's who went (b Australia and was practically lost sight of by the whole family. lam afraid neither of (hese will bo of much use to me!" " You think Miss Brookland might not, be, disposed to offer you a homo until things arc more settled ?" "1 am afraid I am not disposed to go begging for a home." Sylvia's tones were gently decided. " I would really rather sweep a crossing than ask cousin Deborah for anything. I have only met her once, and then I thought her the most detestable old woman T ever came across." ." We must thing of something for you," The solicitor looked at her thoughtfully. " As far as I can see, (he only possible situation. at present is to take a post as companion." Sylvia's lips closed rather mutinously. " If there is absolutely no other wayout. for me T will take that way, but not otherwise. I have enough money to live upon just for the present, and I will do my best to find some work 1 am capable of doing." " Remember you have to face an overstocked market, and that, you are com- 1 peting against those who are trained," Mr. Martin said anxiously. His:responsibilities with regard to this small, fragile-

looking girl weighed heavily upon him. Though he recognised that there was no weakness of character behind that physical fragility he shrank from the thought of what would be entailed for her in the uphill struggle for existence. "I know it is going to be very difliejilt, but I don't want to think too much about the difficulties until'.they come. I don't want to frighten myself with more i bogeys than I need," she smiled rather wistfully.' " You couldn't go away for a week or so?" John Martin questioned, with a sudden realisation that the girl's face was very white, and her eyes were big, with dark shadows under them. " After all you have had a time of great strain and worry. Couldn't you get out of town'! Wouldn't, it do you good ?" _ ' Being accustomed to a wife who advocated change of air and scene as a universal heal-all, he had grown accustomed also to regard it as a panacea for every ill.

"I really do 1 liink you would be well advised if* you copld iakc a. week right away from the, wholo atmosphere in 'which you have been, living lately," he went en. wanning to his work: " then you would come hack refreshed, and more lit to begin lift again." "Yes, perhaps, if ii didn't cost too much, and if I had anywhere to go. But, I would rather finish all the packing and tearing up papers, and the crowds of things* that have to he done in this house. If I could do all that first, &«d there was anywhere I could go, it would lie lovely to get right away. Sometimes I feel as it this house and all that has happened in it during the, last v year, are like nightmares pressing down upon me, from which I shall never get away again. CHAPTER. IX. . AT THE I:'A P.M. The Kitcr • came next day. II- sent a gleam of light across the darkness of Sylvia's mil). It. gave her a renewed sense of the, great bond of humanity. The events of the past ten months had rudely shaken her belief in her fellow human beings. The letter was headed "Gledstanes, April 13th," and. as she read its contents, ! Sylvia felt a little glow of warmth about her heart. • "Dear Miss Brennington.;: Although we have never had the pleasure of meeting you, my husband and 1 do not feel as if yon vera a. stranger, because we are both »ri fond of your brother. An you Jmotf we mado his acquaintance abroad, and ho has stayed with lis here. We both feel,that perhaps, after all your nursing and anxiety, you might like a change, WillAyou come and spend a little time with us? Sjrini? is very lovely here, arid very restful. We should be so pleased to have you with as. Wo will leave you quit© free to do exactly what you like. You shall not feel like „ gneat. but must make yourself Quite at juome.—Yours sincerely, Bertha Delston." Tito simple kindliess of the letter broke Sylvia down. All through the past weeks of bewilderment and pain she had scarcely shed a tear. Heart .and brain alike seemed to be numbed by the. blows that had rained upoa thorn. She-had stood up against |

! .cr.i uietly, with a t»'o-1 oi passive ac- ! .ept« ct-, but !-he h.-'d never- bi.'oksn down a n »w. The kindness of a ;.btal stranger | >; w!:rt nothing else had bocn able to i - fitting in the paitially dismantled it.'.i I>«s<de .he ..breakfast. table, ; imp';- mil ina; tistically laid by the woman ! ..... ,-tn \ed iiei. bvivia buried her j i -t-c n her hauls and sobbed bitterly, ye' ' ;.H'ihrp-i bit icily was not. the vroid to use, j (or behind all the bitterness there j welled up iii' sense of vf;rm gratitude toi wards the woman who had written that j letter holding out welcoming hands towards- a stranger in trouble.; So many j ei the Brenningtons" old friends and ac- ' quaintances had looked askance at them i;.since Do'ii'is Brenningft'Us ; fall. At the j iimc of her mother's illness am:' death, ; and during all the weeks that followed, ! her loneliness had weighed increasingly j upon tltc girl Except for Mr. Martin •' there was nobody to whom she could turn ! for help or advice, in any difficulty; no j one from whom she could hear a word of ! sympathy or encouragement,, and, though ! a spit it of dogged endurance had carried | her through, stu- had more than once como j very near to breaking point. And with j the fitst touch of real and genuine kind- • rcss that point had come. Perhaps the flood of tears, the result, of Mrs. Delston's letter, acted as a safety valve, and saved her from a more serious collapse. When at last the storm of tears was spent, she felt lighter of heart than she had done for many a long day. Some of tho intolerable weight that had lain like lead upon he:r soul, was lifted from her. To get away from the house that was of haunting memories,! To put a Way all the wearying problems of her future just for a week or so, and go to' such a peaceful, country place, as she knew from her brother's description Gledstaties Farm must be, seemed almost'too good to be true! And the invitation had come at - precisely the most opportune moment. In a few more days -the furniture of her old homo wou'ld be sold; the house itself let; and, the few things which, by Mr, Martin's advice she was not selling, would have been warehoused and she herself obliged _to go into a lodging, or a cheap boarding-hoUse, until she could find suitable employment. Mrs. Delston's invitation cut the knots of every difficulty. For a week—a blessed week, —possibly even for longer, she would be m the country, with people who would take care of her!" Tliosp last terrible days in the. old home seemed less terrible now that she had the prospect' of Gledstaties Farm ahead of her; and when on a morning of late April she found > herself standing on the platform or Sun-, ley Station, s'lio drew in a long breath of thankfulness. It was s;o peaceful, this little way.sido. station. The green hills that wrapped it. about lay bathed in such delicious sunshine; and the orchards were a wonder of blossoming trees! . " Be for GJcdstaue.s Farm," the one porter asked her, "Mr. Delston ho wa'tr ing for oe willi the carl." And on the white road, outside tho station, Sylvia saw a. high dog-carl,. . Seated iu it was a maddle-aged man, who greeted her with a friendly smile. . ... " Excuse my not getting down. Miss Brerminglon, but Daphne, hates trains." The mare's fidgety, dancing movements, ' and pricked ears, testified to the truth of her master's words. _ . "Whoa my beauty, it's all tight, whoa ! Go to her head, Jenkins, wliilst I help . Miss Brenningtondnto the cart," Andrew added, dropping the reins and leaving his seat to give, Sylvia a hand. The drive amongst those green hills and' blossoming orchards, lingered afterwards iii her m,(nd filfi <1 beautiful and gracious memory,; culminating in her arrival at (1)0: farm itself, where Bearfha Delston stood waiting for her at the little wicket gate. "Welcome to Gledstaties," Bertha {laid . gently, holding both, the girl's hands in hers, and looking with motherly stilicitudo into ,tho small, white face. "I am glad you have such a heavenly s.ftetnot) to maker your first acquaintance with Gledstaties."' "I never imagined anything half wo lovely." Sylvia looked round her with a. little gasp. " It's like, u dream! " The red bricks, of the old farmhouse glowed in the westering sunshine; the diamond-paned windows sparkled in its light. Upon the dimly-coloured tile.'i of" the roof pigeons sat or strutted, cooing softly, and from (he trees beyond the farmyard came the melodious cawing" of the rooks. The little front garden up which Mrs. Delston led her guest was gay wj'ih narcissus, wallflowers, and forget-me-nots;'; " and, amongst the snowy blossom of a pcai". tree by the gale, a black.biid sat fltuL whistled his song of spring lime. The hill* v- rved away from the farm-house nn eit her sidG, leaving a. wide valley where (ho copses showed delicalc green leaves, and orchards sloped down to a small stream 1 that went tinkling and singing over the •stones on its way to the sea at, the valley's end. , . Sylvia's bedroom drew from her lips an exclamation of pleasure. The black, polished boards upon which were laid one, or two Eastern rugs; the dainty chhitK window curtains, stirring iu the April breeze; the white walls that threw the dark oak furniture into striking relief, all these appealed to the girl's aesthetic sense, and the. view which the window framed: reduced her to of ptiro , delight. Beyond the. sunny front garden, was h cop.se, starry Vvilh primroses. From the copse, (he hill sloped gradually lo !ho stream in the valley, its .sides covered by an apple orchard just .breaking into bloom. The dappled April i-sky made a background for the, budding April branches, of the apple trees. Under/math thcMrecs

themselves bluebells spread a. carpel, m blue as the sky overhead. A great, ban droned lazily in at tlxo window and out again. From somewhere down the. valley , a cuckoo called, and culled again. Sylvia turned to her hostess with a little, eager smile. , ' -i "I think I shall get here," she said, "I seemed t«i have'roire <(he very end oi my tether. j\'ow 1 (.an make i, fresh start-." "This is just/ the right place for fresh starts." ' > Her voice carried a hlost'comforting con-'; viction ;v her eyes, as they met Sylvia's," held the same convincing comfort. " You arc just to do exactly what you like here," she suid r *puttin.£ lier hand on her guest's shoulder,...''fyi^tu ( ,>ro to Ice! quite at homo, and as you please, anil not lie on with us. We want yen to ((<•( thoroughly resfeJl and to sla v with us Ys lolfg as ever .you are happy here." "As long as I Jwupy ?" Sylvia; laughed rather lieiniJ',tj\l;A "1 hi-. i,>u'l ;i place where o:ie soon stopn being hapjiv. *' "Then stay with u*v» j<,iiig lime," ramo the prompt reply. "Denis is Mich ;i dear, triend of ours, we whijt you to be our friend, too." And, as. the spring flays slipped by, SvlvTa realized that what Andrew and ■Beit,ha said they meant, ami acted upon in ail simplicity and sincerity. • Some of tli'i tension and strain from which she had suffered during the past year and more were eased in th*. peaceful at mil sphere- of the fiiiin, and it was » very different Sylvia v.'ho looked'out upon life when the baimv, hawUiorn-secnted days of May drifted into June, and tile, time of roses. : The Delators had entirely declined !<> ;isten to her wb.cu she spoke of saying with them only for a week or two. "You came here for it cure," lierfht JJclston said firmly. , "Until the c ire 13 complete we shall not let you g'-'.'V ' (To l)o continued daily.}