A COTTAGE IN THE COUNTRY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIII, Issue 19412, 21 August 1926, Page 16 (Supplement)

A COTTAGE IN THE COUNTRY.

SHORT STORY.

" This," Kitty said ecstatically, "JS sheer Heaven! Isn't it, Nancy?" " "How is tho fire getting on?" asked Nancy, who was of a more practical nature. " 1 expect wo shall want some more wood, shall t we .' Kitty sat back on her heels, and stared round tho room without answering. The tire had been obstinate, but it was lit at last. The flames leapt up and caught the dry logs, Hooding the room with rosy liufht. Again Kitty drew in her breath with a sigh of happiness. " '- 1 ' 1 ? Nancy, she said. "This is better than London Itoad —isn't it?" " I should think it is," Nancy's face softened. " Wc'vo really done very well 1 think. We deserve supper." " Of course," Kitty, leapt to her feet. " No, you just sit there and rest. Jlou know you've done ail the work, really. I'll get the supper. Please, Nancy." " You'll smash all tho eggs," Nancy said humorously, but. she hud sunk into the basket chair Kitty pushed toward her, as though she was tired. " lhen there will be no supper at all." " What a shame," Kitty laughed, her light, ringing laugh. "\:ou are flunking of Mrs. Smith who used to say ' Miss Wenley's willin' I will say that. It meant she couldn't say much else, didn t it ? You haven't seen mo in the country, Nancy. ; ' " No." N'inev leaned back, her arms folded behind her head. You always belonged to tho country, Kitty. \ou are a different person to-night." " 1 feel c.ne." Kitty sat down hugging her knees, she had forgotten about supper for the moment: her eyes shone in the firelight. "To-morrow wo shall see the garden, Nan—properly, I mean. I had only time to run out to-night and get ihe.se—" she indicated tho chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies that fctood in jars about tho room. The chrysanthemums were red and gold and a. little brighter for the firelight on them. They matched the yellow curtains at the window and tho cushion behind Nancy's dark head.

"Oh!" Nancy turned <?. little to look at them. " I was wondering where they came from. T* thought it was hardly to lie expected that Mrs. Williams could have anno it. Anyhow they didn't look as if she had arranged them. You always loved chrysanthemums, Kitty, even more than other flowers." " Later," Kitty's eyes were dreamy, " when wo are doing well with the fruit and vegetables, couldn't we start flowers as well, 011 a small scale? We could send them into Banbury—or—even to London." Nancy did not answer at once. She was staring at the flowers in a puzzled way. "I am wondering," she sa:d, " where these came from. When I saw this place last the garden was a wilderness." "So it is still, except for one corner. That was cleared, and there were masses of ' these beauties growing against the wall—such a wall, Nancy ! —old rod brick with a peach tree growing on it. I thought perhaps Mrs. Williams' husband had done it-—cleared the weeds, I meaju. " Perhaps." Nancy was too tired to seek a further explanation. " We'll Jiave your fiowers for ourselves, anyhow, Kitty, even if we don't sell them. I remember I used to think once I'd* like to run a flower shop. Ttyere was one I remember with a marble floor and a fountain playing like a garden. It was* delicious in hot weather." "Yes." Kitty turned to look at her. " Do you remember the ojlice, Nancy, in hot'weather, with the fans going:'and the heat from the tarred roads coming in at everV window, and not a breath of air for all the fans T" _ ' "I do." Nancy stai:ed into the firp. " I am not sure that that was worse, than the winter days with the gas fire,- and the electric light 'on from morning till night. I remember a day when you brought in a sheaf of daffodils apd put them on; % table; l:'ataios,t cried." "We 'were made for the country," Kitty said. " What a blessing we found each other and had enough money to do this. I never thought Aunt Menu's legacy would give me heaven.- It didn't go far in town." , , v " Town." Nancy laughed. I have forgotten all that, Kit. Or very nearly. Only for thinking of the other poor things, sweating away. Wo must have them down here. Wouldn't that be lovely ?" . il Scrumptious. Think of that spare bedroom, all pink and white, with the creeper coming in at the windows and the field outside! They have been cutting the after grass and my room is full of the scent of it. Think of Norah. How she would adore it after London!" " For a night or two." Nancy was wise. " Norah as a Londoner, you know. A week here would bore her to extinction. I don't suppose she would even know that they were cutting the after-grass, mid that it smelt sweeter than any scent you coulci buy. After a week hpre Jvorah would begin'to pine for the shops and the cinema and her young men."

"Well, we shan't." Kitty jumped to her feet, remembering the forgotten supper. •' What a blessing neither of us want young men! We shall be women farmers to the end of our days, more prosperous every year." She stopped on her way to ton door. " By the way," she said, roguishly, " I can't do without young men altogether, Nan." _ "No." Nancy's face was unperturbed by this statement. ■" Have you found one yet ?" "No. Mrs. Williams brought me the most delicious puppy when you were out —so delicious and appealing that I could hardly resist him. But I have set my heart on a spaniel like the Dash I had when I was a child; and this thing was a terrible mongrel. I can't imagine what he will be like when he grows up." "It doesn't matter," Nancy laughed. " I don't know how you could have been bo cruel Kitty. And mongrels are very often tho most intelligent. Let's, have them both, then there will be a young man apiece." " All right." Kittv went off laughing, arid in a minute of two Nancy heard her singing gaily to herself in tho kitchen. She was certainly a different person since tlioy had como to tho cottage. In London she had wilted like a flower that had been transplanted. Now—Nancy looked round the firelit room as though sho could hardly believe it. This -was the fulfilment of their dreams. At first the idea had seemed nothing more than a wild, impossible dream. Then they had talked it over, not .once but many times. Each of them adored (lie country and flowers and animals, and they bad each a little money. In that they were more fortunate than the other girls they worked with. When it was pooled there ; would be enough to ensure that they did not starve. They worked it all out, sitting up at nigh'" in xlie tiny sitting room of the fiat they shared. They had both worked on the land during the war and had learned something about farming. And they had adored the life and thrived on it even when l it was hardest. They reckoned that by growing their own vegetables and having their own eggs and fowls they would have enough money to live on, leaving some over for the luxuries of life, books—they were both mad about reading—occasional new frocks—very occasional visits to town (though Kitty was quite sure she would never want to see a town again). What profit they made on the garden and fowl produce was to be put" by to enlarge the industry. There was a paddock attached to the cottago as well as the orchard. As soon as they could afford it they hoped to have a cow, and their own milk and butter. "Anyhow," as Kitty said, "if we plave I;pre all our lives and barely n;nk.ti living, it is heaven in comparison with Jijrjiing beastly letters all one's life."

BY PAMELA HINKSON.

That war work had proved invaluable, tor they would never have had the courage to start if they had not had some training. On the farm where they had worked, they had learned to do all manner of things fro chopping wood to driving a herd of unruly cattle to market. They were not likely to givo in easily. Now, as Kitty collected the plates for supper on a tray preparatory to laying the taf.'io in the little dining-room, she remembered suddenly that thero was no more wood for the fire. Better get it now while she remembered. Seizing a big basket, she ran out bare-headed into the garden. The woodshed was at the end, near the orchard. It was September and the twilight was full of a faint mist. As she ran down the path a twig cracked under her foot. The garden was full of autumn scents and sounds. " Oh," Kitty dropped the basket suddenly, and knelt on the grass, her face pressed to it. She-might have been performing some rite, but she was only smelling the dew, revelling in it. All her life she had been starved just for this. She had to fumble about in the woodshed for what she wanted, and the logs, when she found them, were all too big for the little grate-in the sitting-room. They had to bo chopped smaller, which she did on the block outside, having brought, the hatchet, wisely. fshe was chopping busily, when a voice spoke over the hedge, startling her. She had been making too much noise to hear footsteps in the grass. " I beg your pardon," it was a pleasant voice. " Couldn't I help you ? It is hard work, that, and . . . for a lady. . . . " Kitty pushed back the fair, bobbed hair that had fallen over her face, and peered up at him in the twilight. " I am not a lady," she said humorously. "I am a working woman—and I did harder work in the war." "So did I," he said gravely. "It doesn't follow that I want to do it again, unless I must And .... all women are. ladies. If you will excuse me. . . In another moment ho was beside her, and had taken the hatchet firmly from her hands. • " Now," he said, when the basket was full. She had given up protesting, and had watched him i'i silence, trying vaguely to see his face in the darkness. Ho was big and broad-shouldered, so much she -could seo, and he wielded tho hatchet as though it was very little effort. "If you will permit me to carry this to your door. It is really too heavy for you." She walked with him, unprotesting, up tho narrow path between the box hedges, through the garden full of the scents of autumn, to the house where the lit kitchen window showed. "It looks so jolly," he said, indicating it. " I'm glad you have como. You will let mo know if I can do anything for you."

She stared at him .realising that she did not even know his name. She was wondering if she could ask him, and what Nancy would say. As though he had known her all 'his life, he pushed open the kitchen door and dragged the basket inside. Then he closed the door behind him and came back to her. "My name is Arthur Whnrton," he said, holding his hat in his hand. "Ours is the next farm to yours. You will remember if you want any help. ... We belong to tho trade, you see." • "It is very good of you," she said, wondering a little if it was all part of the dream. (Men weren't usually so anxious to help women in these days.) "You would—perhaps—" she was shy. "Nancy -and I—" "If we might call. Thank you so much," he lifted his hat again. "Now you must go in. The dews are heavy these nights." He was gone and Kitty went back into the house, blinking a little after the dimness outside, Nancy came down the stone passage. "I am so hungry, I couldn't wait. I won't make you 'secretary' of the table, Kit. There wasn't anyone here, was there ? I thought I heard a man's voice." "So you did," Kitty said. "Mr. Arthur Wharton, who lives next door. He came over and chopped wood for me. He thinks women ought to have things done for them because they are women." "Not really!" Nancy looked bewildered. "He ought to be in the museum, then. But—l don.'t know that I approve." 3 . '"lts all right," Kitty broke an egg into a basin dreamily. "He's married. At least I think he is. He asked if 'we' might call. I suppose ho meant his wife." " I suppose.so." Was it possible Nancy was a tiny bit disappointed. " We'll ask Mrs. Williams when the comes to-mor-row."

Mrs. Williams, who came in the morning to do the rough work, was quite ready to talk about Mr. Wharton. Not that she knew much about him, she explained—" 'e being a stranger in these parts." What she did know she told. Ife had bought Minnowbrook Farm a year or so ago, he, and the other young gentleman, Mr.—there —Mrs. Williams would forget her own name next—Mr. Paton, she thought it was. They had been officers together in tho war, and wanted a quiet life now, it seemed. No., neither of them were married, leastways, not as Mrs. Williams had 'eard tell on. There wern't no wife at Minnowbrook Farm anyway. With which she went off cackling, leaving Kitty thoughtful. Was it possible that she was being silly like other girls who blushed if a man spoke to them, who were disturbed by chance encounters like that ? Last night when she had lain awake in the bare little room under the roof, the window wide open, and the room full of the scent of the dew, and the new mown grass, she had been vaguely disturbed. And was it all for a roan whose face she had never seen, and who was probably married in any case? Now she knew ho was not married, was it possihle that the day was a little brighter ? She was making toast for tea that afternoon before the fire in the little sittingroom, when sho heard footsteps on the gravel path, and turned in time to eee two tall figures pass the window. There was a knock at the little hall door. Kitty put down hc?r toasting-fork very carefully, but Nancy had already opened tho door. She heard Arthur Wharton's voice explaining; another unfamiliar one, then they wero in the room and sho was shaking hands with them. Mr. Wharton had taken tho toasting-fork from her and was on his kness before the fire, explaining that he was awfully good at making toast, as George would "tell them, and Kitty, feeling suddenly shy before them both, went out to get the tea, and was so flustered that it was quite a long time before she could, find enough cups and saucers. When sha reappeared in the room, Nancy was buttering the toast, and talking to tho two like old friends. They both leapt to take tho tray from her, nearly dropping it between them. Kitty poured out, while Arthur Wharton handed the cups. When he had finished he came and sat beside her. This is jolly," he said, looking about him with real appreciation. " I saw it betore you came in, you know. I thought [ the cottage had possibilities, but—nothing like this. I never saw such jolly curtains and ' chintzes. You will haVe "perpetual summer here." Kitty blushed and laughed. " I chose the colour, she said, " I always loved vellow good yellow. Look what I found weeds buried " nder the weeds! She lifted a vase with two late roses in it, golden yellow. " What splendid fellows!" he said " I wonder what they are called. I have never Seen quite that colour in a rose before We must rescue the poor bush." That "we" thrilled her absurdly. You must let us help you in your garden," he went on beside her. It will be a job getting it into order at first. Extraordinarlyy bow quick Nature takes its own back. I'm sure we could help each other in lots of ways." Kitty said shyly that he was very kind, and looked across? at Nancy by the fire! She ami M-. Paton seemed' to be getting on very well.

(COPYRIGHT).

" Another thing," Mr. Wharton looked serious. "Have yon a dog? You ought to have a dog for company. Unless—you don't like them." "Like them!" Kitty laughed. '' Tm a dog worshipper." " Ah, I thought so," it was as though a load were off his mind. A few days later he came Tip the gravel path with something waddling beside him —a spaniel puppy. " Miss Mainwaring told me you adored spaniels," ha said, while Kitty fell on h(Sr knees before the uppy. "As they are both pups ho won't, quarrel with the other. Kitty laughed up at him. "Unless he discovers that Bill is of very humble origin. Dogs are such snobs, aren't they ? But this—how can I ever thank you!" He brushed her thanks away. " You really saved me some suffering. I have several of them, and I hate parting with them. I shan't feel lam losing this one." " No indeed," she gathered the soft thing in her arms, laughed at his efforts to lick her face. " And I shall be fearfully good to him. You may be sure of that. Let's go and show him to Nancy. You will stay to tea?"

"May I?" he hesitated. "We must not be" bothering you too much. You know you've spoilt us for masculine teas, horrid affairs, eaten at a table from ugly plates. No man knows anything about a tea-table. I will come then since you, are so kind. I want to hear how you are getting on." " At present," she said, as he laid his hat and stick away and followed her into the little drawing-room where tho fire burnt brightly, and Nancy.had jnst lit the lamps in their yellow silk shades, we are only getting straight. The farm isn t even stocked yet." " You must let us help you about that. I don't want you to be cheated at the beginning and people are apt to try and impose on ladies." " But.'-' Kitty protested, ■ it is too much. You are so busy." " Not a bit. We can buy things for you when we are buying our own. It won't be any more trouble. Besides, we want you to make a success of it. If you didhi t you see you might go away again! That is from the purely selfish view." A few weeks later the farm was in full swing. They had gone slowly acting on Arthur Wharton's advice. " You won't be able to do very much with the poultry until the spring," he said. " You can't hope for more than enough eggs to supply yourselves. In the spring I should get prize fowl eggs and set them. Try for quality, not quantity. And in the meantime .

" In the meantime. ? T' Kitty looked «p at him. They wore standing in the garden path. She had bean digging when he came through the gate from the. paddock and she was in her working garb, coat and breeches of green that suited her fair hair to perfection. No one would have recognised in her the town girl of three months ago. . "in the meantime there is this. It is the time to make a garden. How are you getting on?" " Slowly—labour is so expensive and the men do so little work when you do employ them." ~ „ , . " I know," he nodded. I know of two very good men if you would employ them in their spare time—they would clear this place in a day or two. " They sound as if they would be expensive." His mouth twiched a little. " They are not. They only want which in their case means a cup of tea." " "Why " she had a sudden illumination. " It was you who cleared that bed by the wall, where the chrysanthemums were. Why did you do it?" He laughed. a . . " For exercise, and I felt sorry tor the garden, and for you finding it all overgrown. I had meant to do more but you came in sooner than yon had intended. There was no holding out against them. Kitty and Nancy protested, but in vain. Each afternoon the two young men came up the hill through the paddock, their forks on their shoulders. . " " You need not see us if you don t like us," Mr. Paton said with his humorous smile, looking at Nancy. But, of course, we should love our tea when we have earned it." By this time the evenings wero lengthening and the two girls realised that after all they might have found it lonely with no companionship. Miss Norah Field had* come for a week-end and flown back to London protesting that it was just too lovely, but that a week of it would drive her crazy. She thought the country in the winter was best left to crows and cows.

Kitty thought that winter was almost more beautiful than autumn. She loved the frosty mornings when the whole world was "#hite and the afternoons when the sun went down behind the trees, all red and fiery, and the grpund was hard and crisp under her feet. She had gone to the village one afternoon on some message or other and been delayed so that it was dark when she turned her face homeward. She was not at all afraid of the dark roads in spite of her years in town, and she had Dash—called after the other dog of beloved memory—for company, even if he was too young to be much protection. She was going across the common and was quite a long way from any house when a figure lurched out at her suddenly, from behind a tree, and made a grab at her bag. Kitty screamed' for all she was worth, and he clapped a filthy hand over her mouth. She heard Dash fly at him with pathetic fury. Poor little Dash! What strength had he! There was a yell as the dog's teeth met in the tramp's leg and fox just one moment she was free. Wrenching herself away from him she ran like a hare. She could hear him pounding behind her, and screamed again. Surely there must be someone within earshot. Then—the footsteps behind her stopped suddenly. There was a scuffle and something fell heavily. " That'll keep yon quiet for a bit," Arthur Wharton's voice said. " Now, madam —" He broke off and there was a moment's silence, then ''Kitty —!" he said, and there was anguish in his voice. "Yon poor littla thing." She was in hi 3 arms, .crying against his shoulder. How big and strong it was. She did not even feel frightened now of that figure lying by the side of the road. He released her, and went back to look at the man. " Have you killed him ?" she asked in a whisper. " No unfortunately. But he'll be quietly | enough for some time. I ought to tell the | police." "No," she clung to him. "It would mean evidence and all sorts of things. And he only wanted my money. Perhaps he was hungry. Poor thing!" , " Poor thing ?" He smiled at her grimly. "Very well then. Let us go home—where is Dash ?" Dash was wagging his tail beside them, very pleased with the turn events had taken and quite unhurt. " But," Arthur Wharton said as he held the cottage gate open for her. " I can't have yon going about like that any more. We shall have to—" he stopped and looked down at her in the darkness—-"start cooperative farming, don't you think ? Kitty —darling—it is—yes?" " But," she struggled a little. "NancyMr. Paton—" He laughed and released her. " Look," he said. " that problem seems likely to solve itself." The curtains of the sitting-room were undrawn, and the light was streaming out. Inside Nancy and Geogre Paton sat either I side of the fire, talking as two who were very well content with each other. Kitty nodderl. j _ T think." she said, " that co-operative farming would be very nice."