TWO LOADS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVI, Issue 20306, 13 July 1929, Page 1 (Supplement)

TWO LOADS.

AN OLD-TIMER'S TALE.

BY ANO.V,

It was a wet, cold night, and we were gathered closo round tho cook house stovo when tho door was flung open without ceremony. It was Bill, the lorry-driver from the nearest settlement, muddy up to the knees wet, cold, and obviously bursting with a grievance. We knew Bill, and asked no questions, but later, after a good meal when ho joined our circle with " something hot " in his mug and his pipe gouic well, ho bccamo more expansive " Well. I'vo loft that there piano stuck in a rut thret miles down this precious road of yours," ho began truculently, casting a pugnacious glance round. Then, as nono condemned him, ho continued more calmly She's well covered, and will come to no harm -but that road—" Bill wandered off on to the blissful paths of profanity returning later to remark; " What beats ni" is what any woman can want with a piano in a place like this."

" Well, I don't know about that," drawled a quiet voice from tho corner where tho Old Timer sat, his faco in shadow, his stockinged feet well up on the slab sido of the mantelpiece. " I reckon it's in the backblocks that women do need such gadgets. In town, life's ready made for them. Here, they've got to mako it for themselves —or go under."

" Yes. but a piar:o ain't life," objected Bill, conscience-stricken, maybe.

' Not what you and mo would call life, perhaps," went on the slow voice. " But women is queer folk, and I never set up to understand 'cm myself. There was a woman onco—"

Wo put somo more wood on tho stovo and took tho top off Tho Old Timer was well launched. Ah, well, ho had seen backblocks life as we had not, thirty or forty years ago and his stories were worth listening to Moreover, it was raining hard, and promised us an easy day to-morrow. Making Their Start.

" It's thirty years ago now." ho was saying, " when 1 was on that big place, fiftv mi Irs hark of Wsmganui Now, that was really n rough life, and wo all got a shock when wo heard there was a woman coming ori to the next place. It was a young couple, making thcyr start, on a hig. rough place, steep as the side of a house, and all in standing hush or scrub No roads, and no motors, neither, to cut 'cm up. and then grumble about ruts." The Old Timer paused invitingly, but we winked at Bill, and ho let the challenge pass. " They built on about tho only level acre of ground on the place. As I remarked before, (he place was not exactly roaded "—the voice was heavy with sar casm—' and the onlv wav in was hv a three-foot track for five miles, and then three-ouarters of a mile up a steep spur to thp house Not much of a house when you got thero—two rooms and a loan-to of corrugated iron. Hardly up to modern renuirements. but she made a home of it, being the sort to make a homo out of a packing-case and a hpnzine tin. Not that she was used to tho life, being town bred and highlv educated, tliev said, fond of music, and all that. Tho Old Timer's tone was apologetic, unfl wo rovfftlv at paeb otbpr " But for all that," he went on, " T've never sppji her for pluck and.kindness. They had a hard time, hut Jack took fencing and shearing inbs to help them round the corner. Then, a year or so laler. tho baby came—and went Jack and T buried it in (lie cemetery, fiftv miles a wav. for she said : ' No, not here. Pete. We might have to leave some day. We must not strike our roots too deep.' Verv rmiot sho was, and sensible, hut poor Jack—- " So it. was me that carried the little coffin down thr spur, very light it was. ♦hough the track was sleep and slippery. It was raining, but she watched us out of sight and 'hpn went in and shut the door. . • Well later on. Jack got her away for a "chancre. I know he was dreading the return for her, and one day, when we were sitting smoking bv the fire, lie said (o me: 'Pete, I'd give nil I've got to got; the missus' piano up here.' '" 'Piano ?' says I, startled, for Jack was a sensible chap. But lie went on to explain. It seemed sho hnd a fine piano before sho married, and had left i( in tho town. She loved it, seemingly—women is "Oiieer folk, as I may have remarked before. Getting the Piano. " 'Well, it couldn't bo sledged,' says I, beginning to think. ' No,' says ho, with a sigh. ' It's impossible, of course. I just thought it might have made it easier for her.' 'lt mightn't be impossible,' says I, warming up. ' What about carrying it V ' Five and threeouarter miles.' snvs he. with a laugh: ' that's nonsonso, Pete." ' Not 60 sure of that,' says I, still thinking hard. ' What if a dozen of us took it in turns? What it we took tho wholo day to it, quietly like? What if wo made a stretcher with low legs, and somo harness ?"

" Ho sat up at that, keener than I'd seen him sinco that wet day I spoke of, and got to planning. So we got it all arranged. Jack made tho harness out of ropes but well-padded with sacks where it went round tho shoulders, and each rope running on a pulley on the four long handles of the stretcher. lie made the stretcher very low, just so as wo could rest her easy for spoils. " Well, he had the piano carted up to the end of the track, and we arranged for tho last Sunday before the missus came back. It was nine o'clock when wo got to tho place, but thero wo had our first setback. Only six men turned up, and one of tlioso was an old chap of sixty-five " Jack was real cast down. ' Best go home, Pete,' says he. But wo thought of tho little woman coming homo next day and of that empty cot, and ' Give it a go.' savs we Well, we had that piano in her house by six o'clock that night, though wo carried the scars of those ropes" on our bodies for months after."

Tho Old Timer paused, and cast a challenging glance round. Short Stages.

" Tlio old chap," ho continued presently, " carried the coals, and boilod the billy every mile or so. That left us with one change. Wo did it in short stages, sometimes a hundred yards, sometimes two hundred, according to grado. It was four o'clock when we got to the ridge, and that was where the'real troulilo began. Wo were tired, and our shoulders wero raw and bleeding "—the old man paused and reminiscently rubbed his shoulders; it was as though ho still felt thoso honourablo scars.

'' We only staggered up a yard or two at a time—and we could never have done it but for Jack's pulleys. That mado the weight equal for all, tall or short, whatever tlio grado. It took us two hours—but I kept thinking of that other load I'd carried down, and how light it had been. . .

" And what dia sho say when sho saw it?" wo asked.

" Well," the answer canio slowly and grudgingly. ' she certainly surprised me, all right. She. who'd been so quiet and sensiblo beforo, sho acted mighty queer. First sho gives a cry, and stands still. Then she runs over and falls down on her knees by that there piano. Women, as I may have remarked before, is queor folk.*' " No. tliov don't chancre," ho resumed a moment later, "but times is changed all right. When you seo theso hero motors, and hear chaps talking about ruts—ruts—" The scorn in the Timer's voice was a direct challenge, apd this timo Bill roso to meet it.