"GARMENTS OF PRAISE."

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19748, 22 September 1927, Page 18

"GARMENTS OF PRAISE."

j 4,-^ : ji |A NEW ZEALAND STOSY.)

Gloria Grant straightened her tired, »ching shoulders, and leaning heavily on ler hoe, surveyed with satisfied albeit wearied eyes, the long orderly mounds of chocolate earth topped with leafy green. It was a promising crop of potatoes, but Glwia. had been earthing them up the whole of four hours, and swift as her progress had been, it had kept but tardy pace with the ache in her back and arms. Now, the work finished, she was almost «xhausted, but the satisfaction cf seeing a "good job well jobbed" was ample compensation.

It was a perfect spring morning, and ifche girl made a beautiful picture as she stood, the sunlight playing on her goldbrown hair, the breeze from the old orchard showering her lilac frock with pink find white petals. Her lips were parted, ler usually pale cheeks were almost glowing, and her warm brown eyes gazed dreamily and wistfully up the white road that wound like a silver ribbon through paddocks of golden gorse. The dull staccato beat of horse's hoofs roused her, and round the distant bend a boy on a black pony came galloping furiously in a sweeping cloud of dust. Gloria laid down her hoe, and hastened down to the gate to receive the goods which the rider, Jimmy Wayne, had promised tc bring from the store. The sweating pony bounded up the bank, and stood with her head over the gate, champing frothily at the bit, her dainty black feet beating an impatient tattoo on the grass.

"Your meat's a bit squashed, Miss Grant," said Jimmy, as he hauled a damp, flabby parcel from the saddle-bag. "Tangi is such a beggar to go when she gets hot, and all the things have been flapping like billy-o."

"Quite all right, thank you, Jimmy," lie was assured. "Any mail?"

"Patsy's invitation has come," rejoined Jimmy briskly, sorting a pile of letters. know it's the invitation, 'cause we got curs, and this is the same envelope. The party's a week to-day, on Sat'day. (There's nothing else, 'cept a couple of old lills."

Gloria smiled faintly at the resentful ione of the last sentence. She was well aware that the whole settlement knew of ler poverty, and though their pity somelimes galled her independent spirit, their many tactful, neighbourly kindnesses left bo room for resentment.

"Oh, the bills-will be paid, Jimmy," she said, cheerfully. "We're going to lave a good season this year. Just look at our potatoes, and the fruit trees are in better blossom than ever before, and the chooks are beginning to lay well. Patsy is very proud of <:he eggs she gets."

"Where is Patsy?" asked Jimmy, with carefully-assumed carelessness. "She's been helping me hoe the potatoes all the morning, and now she's inside preparing lunch. Shall I call her dowp, Jimmy?" and Gloria smiled at the colour that flushed the freckled face.

"No—o, thanks, Miss Grant," he said hurriedly,'' but tell Patsy that Mavis says she is not to go to the party as a fairy, cause she's going as one. Oh, an' dad jfcold me to tell you that he'd come along an* "help you spray the spuds nest week. Goo'-bye, Miss Grant."

Gloria walked slowly up to tlie house, Jher face very sober as slie looked at tlie iestive envelope, So far as she e,ould see, there was little chance of Patsy going to the party at all, for finances were at such a low ebb after the bad winter that. #very economy had to be practised in •order to eat, ;iet alone buy fancy ureases. Gloria, herself an 01 puaii, Jiad taken ■Patsy when tne cnild was orplianed at years of age. she had no means ot ber own, so had elected to siay on hev brother's bit ot laua, hoping to, at least, <ej£B out a living tor nerseli and lier brother's chtid. it had been a hard Struggle, but with true colonial grit she jhad persevered, and was slowly but surely jßrinning cut. If it were not lor the mortgage, she thougnt bitterly, as she surveyed one of the accounts in her liand. .Before everything came that biacK burden, interest, it was due now, and the money not yet in hand, so she and- i J atsy had <deciaed that this year there could oe no party dress. It was a bitter disappointment to Patsy, who was only ten, as she friftd hoped every year to win the prize jwbich. Mrs. Allen awarded to the prettiest fancy dress, but, adoring her aunt, and {with full knowledge of her fight with adversity, Patsy would have died rathei; tthan let a complaint fall from her lips. iShe met Gloria now at the door, her eyes ps blue as summer skies and happily smiling. "Lunch is ready, Aunt Gloria. Was ffcere some mail? I saw Jimmy at the gate." "Just some bills, Patsy," said her aunt, £S they sat to lunch, "and—and this, your invitation to the party," and then she added gently, "I'm so sorry, dear." "I don't mind a bit, Aunt Gloria," so.id Patsy," brightly. '"l'd much rather go for a picnic in the bush with you and Rover. XJon't be sorry, Aunt Gloria." "You wouldn't care to go as some newspaper again, I suppose," said Gloria, doubtfully. "Oh! no, auntie," returned Patsy, quickly. " I went as a daily paper last iime, and the Weekly before that. Please <don't worry, Aunt Gloria. I really and ■truly don't care. I'm going down to the orchard as soon at we've washed up," she continued, jumping from her chair, f Old Slaty gets out every day. and I'm Sure she's got a nest in the orchard." " Never mind the dishes, dear," said , iter aunt, "and don't hurry back. You jworked hard all morning, and you needn't ■v-orry till it's time to go for Blossom snd Brindle."

Patsy flashed back a bright smile from the doorway, and ran down the path, humming gaily, but Gloria was not deceived, and later, as she found Patsy asleep in an old hammock under a flowerladen peach tree, she stood regarding her sadly. Fatsv's face was flushed and swollen, and Gloria knew that the child had cried herself to sloop. Softly she stepped back, and waikeu slowly up to the house, her patient eyes dim and ircubled. Entering the room which she and Patsy shared, she drew an old chair t-o the window and sat, a prey to dejected thought, gazing with unseeing eyes »t the fair prospect before her.

It seemed to Gloria so hard that for! ■orar.t of a few shillings Patsy should be j idenied the pleasure of the fancv-chess i party, the treat of the rear for all the ! children in the settlement. Indeliblv j impressed on her mental vssion was the j little tear-stained face under the flower- j ing peach tree, and the fact that Patsy j had so bravely tried to hide her disappointment, made Gloria's sorrow ail the more, poignant. Suddenly, as again she pictured the white-clad figure under the rain of petals, an idea, a glorious inspiration, flashed into the girl's mind, *nd rising, she went swiftly to an old wardrobe and unlocked the door. All Gloria's pretty dresses had been eat up long ago to make frocks for Patsy, ■feat- there was one she could never bring herself to alter. There if. hung in solitary loneliness, a beautiful wedding gown; draped in its shimmering veil and crowned ■svrth blossom-decked coronet, it gle.-nied in the dusk of the old cupboard like a "white ghost. Ave! a ghost, truly, the "Wraith of a dead happiness. Why, oh, had the and Graeme quarrelled ? j&£a yih&b 4 .trivial .thing ihst coarrfii

BY JEAN BOSWELL.

(COPYRIGHT.)

i seemed now, after all the weary years. Oh; the headstrong obstinacy of youth. How often was lifelong misery the fruit of its wilful sowing. Taking the gown from its hanger, she 1 held it pressed to her heart, her eyes misty with pain, her throat aching with suppressed anguish. From the wall, a test-card, framed and given her by her ' mother in those happy days, looked down : at her, its beneficent wording seeming ; to mock at her grief. " Beauty for ashes; ; oil of joy for mourning; garments of praise for the spirit of heaviness." What little significance had the words held for her then! What need of more beauty and joy in a love-lit world ? How desire" more wondrous garments than the one which symbolised life, love and happiness for her ? Ah! but she had since tasted the ashes, had drunk deep of mourning, and the spirit of heaviness would be hers to eternity. With a sharp sigh, Gloria replaced the shimmering dress. Patsy should not be cheated of her pleasure. The beautiful gown should be the garment of praise for the child's spirit of heaviness, and a new, strange peace filled Gloria's heart. All that night, sleeping and waking, she planned the frock, and as soon as Patsy left for Sunday School the next afternoon, she unpicked and pressed the dress ready for the cutting. The three following days, working in between her | necessary indoor and outdoor tasks, she sewed frantically, and by Wednesday eve she had as dainty a little frock as even her fastidious taste could conceive The coronet, she decided, would be -about the right size, and it was the work of but a few moments to denude it of its pearl ornamentation and orange blossom. Soon both dress and coronet were ready for the trimming. Gloria had dreamed day and night of that trimming, and now from her work-basket she selected a fine steel hook, and two reels of finest sewing silk, one 'of a deep peach colour, the other shade paler. For a moment she hesitated, and then feverishly the shining needle flashed back and forth, while, as though by magic, dainty buds and flowers began to fall from the busy fingers. On the two following days, housework sufierea from unaccustomed neglect. The fine work was tedious, and she could work only when Patsy was at school or asleep, but late on Friday evening she had what she thought would suffice, and, trembling with excitement, she began to tack the flowers in position. She had scalloped the bottom of the frock, and she now stitched a flower and bud alternately on the points of each arc, then carelessly scattered a few more over the skirt and bodice, settled a tiny group on each shoulder, and dropped others haphazard on the pretty, puffed sleeves. On the lower edge of the coronet she sewed alternate flowers and buds, as on skirt, set a group of three on the peak of the crown, and then, in delicate stitchery, she embroidered the word " Spring across the front. Next she brought Patsy's white shoes and socks, dropped a bud here and there on each sock, and placed a flower on the toe oi each little shoe. Her delight at the effect of her completed handiwork was unbounded, and she felt a childish impatience for the morrow and the hour when she could surprise Patsy with her gift. And oh 1 the shriek of utter ecstasy from Patsy, when, after Saturday lunch, Gloria called her little niece to their room and silently displayed the peachblossom frock Softly the little fingers caressed the dainty flowerets, and there and then, the awed delight in the childish face more thm compensated Gloria for her sacrifice. But suddenly Patsy looked up, and her eyes were tragic. "Oh, Aunt Gloria! You've made it from your wedding-dress—you've cut up your lovely frock," she said, and burst into tears. Gloria laughed lightly, and took the little girl into her arms. " Why, iff worth it a hundred times, sweetheart," she said. # " It would be selfish of me to keeo a useless dress when I could use it for you. But you must be happy in it. Patsy, ° r you 11 spoil all the pleasure I had in the making. Now have your bath, dear, and then I'll dross you in your peach-blossom frock." Well might Gloria have felt proud at the result of her efforts, for, in the dainty frock showered with radiant blossoms, her eyes glowing, her yellow curls shining beneath the flower-strewn coronet, Patsy looked the very spirit of spring, and to complete the illusion, Gloria cut a bloomcovered wand from the peach tree and gave it to her to carry. "There!" she said, unlimited satisfaction in face and voice. " There won t be a prettier dress at that party% 1 know. Now your cape, dear, and you'd better wear your sand-shoes 'iip, for soiled shoes would spoil the effect of your dress. Now off you go. sweetheart, and have the finest of times.'

That afternoon seemed to Gloria to be the longest she had ever spent, for she was like a chil- hi her eagerness to know whether Patsy's dress had won the prize, and when, just after sunset, there came an energetic rat-tat-tat at the door, she smiled as she hastily laid down her work and hurried along the little halL She guessed the meaning of such a triumphant knock, and sure enough, there was Pasty, perfect rapture on her face and a beautiful book in her arms. But after that first hasty glance at her little niece, Gloria's dazed eyes were drawn to another who stood behind Patsy, someone tall and bronzed, whoso hands were out in appeal, whose grey eyes, alight with passionate pleading, gazed into her- own. Vagr.riy she heard patsy's breathless chatter.

"Oh, Auntie! I got' the prize—l got the prize. And Mrs. Allen said my dress was the prettiest she had ever seen, and this gentleman was there, Aunt' Gloria. He said he knew you years ago, so I told him about the dress, and he asked me to bring him home to tea. It wasn't wrong, was it, Aunt Gloria ? Mrs. Allen said—" and then Patsy stopped in utter surprise, for the tall man had moved up close to her aunt, and was speaking to her in eager vibrant tones —quick, passionate words whose import was beyond the little girl's comprehension. "Gloria!" he was saying, "I've found you at last, after all these years. It has been a long, long search, Gloria, and it was such a foolish quarrel! Why did you disappear so quickly, sweetheart ? You surely must have loved me, since you kept your wedding-dress—our wedding-dress—all these years. Can you forgive and forget ? Will there be another wedding-gown * Is it too late, Gloria ?" Too late! Patsy seized on the she thought she understood. "Of course it isn't too late," she cried. " It's only six o'clock, and we don't have tea till seven on party days. It isn't too late, is it, Aunt Gloria?"

Gloria's fluttering hands were pressed against her bosom, as though to help confine a l>ounding heart; her lips were tremulous, her eyes were autumn pools in sunset light. Away before her, into infinite distance, stretched life and its prospects, rosy as the bloom-laden breeze that swept from the old orchard. There would be a wedding, after all; another" for mourning, garments of praise. Oh, garments of praise! She bent down swiftly a nd kissed her little niece.

No. darling, it is not too late." she said softly, 3nd opened wide the door.