SWEET PEAS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 20596, 21 June 1930, Page 22

SWEET PEAS.

BY NELLA PARKER.

A SHORT STORY.

In the background, an old-fashioned ted brick house; to right and left flower beds sheltered by well-clipped, holly hedges; and in the middle distance, in the shade of two big elms, on a carpet - of very green turf, a couple of wicker chairs, a goodly supply of light literature and a small table. In one of these chairs, with her elbows on the table, and her head on her hands, sat Theta Lawrence, regarding with calm disapproval her brother Tom, who at that moment was lying full length on the grass, his heels in the air his face turned to his sister. " You've 110 right to slide down the bannisters when you're carrying other people's writing cases," remarked Theta. " Well, who was to know that tho strap would break, and what does the major want with Aunt Pamela s portrait? " What does anybody want with portraits?" , " And it was that old thing in the .White gown, and someone had painted & border of sweet peas round it. Sweat peas!" sniffed Tom. I know something more than that." ."What is it?" You won't tell ?" " Tell! I'm not a girl." " No. You're only a boy. " Oh,' changing her tone, ""here comes Major Marley. Do run away, Tom." /, " Run away! What for ?" " Because —because I've got an idea. There, if you'll go at once, I'll sort out your stamps, every one of them." And at this Tom, who, being a very human boy, was as lazy in some things as he was energetic in others, turned over, rose, and disappeared. Then, from the depths of an unfashionable pocket, Theta produced a notebook and began writing, apparently unaware of the presence of Major Marley, who now came toward her, walking unsteadily, as was natural to a man who had but recently laid aside crutches. " Good morning," said the major, cheerily. " Oh, good morning," replied Theta, ab*ently- . " Genius burning ? " Only smouldering." " Can't you get an idea from some of these?" glancing at the magazines. / •' Those ? There's not an idea in 0110 pf them worth—tuppence." 11 Dear me! Is that really so? But —seating himself —" I've nothing to do. Suppose you let me help ?" > " Well," doubtfully, " I believe tho first part's all right. It's the end that puzzles me." " Then, if yoflr people can't die and be decently buried, and won't marry and live happily ever after, why don't you copy Ibsen and end with an if? are a good many ' if' stories in real life ?" " But they're awfully foolish. My story's just this," looking at him from under her long Ipshes "It begins when the hero and heroine are quite young. They're much in love with one another, but they quarrel. Then, being a soldier, he has to go away, and he won't say he's wrong." . „ " Perhaps he was right.' " Being right shouldn't make people *tuck up." " Certainly not. And she? Did sna give in?" "Oh! you know a woman can t do that before she's married " It was on remarks of this kind that the family belief in Theta's future " career" as an authoress was founded. 94 So they parted, and didn't meet again for years. Then, instead of rushing at one another, he said, >* how do you do ?', and she said, ' I hope frou are better.' " ' " Had he been ill?" " No—fighting, and he's got wounded—badly." " And even that made no impression on sier ?" " She didn't seem to mind a bit. Yet one day when he was too ill to go about they were staying in the same house, you know —someone caught her crying over his crutches." " Oh! I don't think she'd do that—in real life." "But I'm quite sure she did. And another time, when her visit was just at an end, the person who tells the story saw her take up his sword and pass her hand along it—so—and put her cheek to it—so —and—that's as far as I've got. Do you think it will do for a beginning? " For a beginning—yes. But it isn't yery original." " 1 can't help that. Stupid live people will keep on doing the same stupid old things. If I- didn't want it to sound real, it would be quite easy. I could pretend that' he had never left off caring for her, and that he was more sorry than angry and that he had kept a lock of her hair;" introducing a - possible fiction to excuse a knowledge of facts, "and her_ portrait. But a man wouldn't behave like that. jNow, would he ? " "He might—in some circumstances.' " Well, of course, being a man you jought to know. Then I may as well go on With the story." " And when it's finished, what shall you do with it? " _ " Get it type-written and send it to—" tut here Theta paused as if in doubt. " Not to the local paper ? " exclaimed jMajor Marley, rather hurriedly. "Why not?" 4t Weil, somehow, I have a fancy that I should like to arrange about the disposal of that story. What are the terms ? " " Two pounds," answered Theta, with dancing eyes. "If I like the conclusion, I'll give you five." "Do you think it ought to have a happy ending? " " I hope it will." " Where are you going ? " " Oh, to dawdle round a little. Do you lenow where I shall find any of the others, in case I get tired of my own company ? " " Yes, Tom's sure to be down by the pond, and I saw mother reading in the orchard, and Aunt Pamela's on the lower terrace cutting sweet peas. There'll be B. lot wanted for the table to-night." "I suppose so. Good-bye for the present " " Good-bye," and Theta bent over the note-book, but the next moment she had stepped on her chair and craning her neck, ,was looking after the major as he slowly . took a path that led neither to the pond nor the orchard. Then scowling amiably as was her wont when in the throes of composition, Theta sharpened her pencil wrote in large letters " Part Second and Last," and proceeded to give a fancy picture of ;what that " happy ending " should be. Down tho long straight path between ' tho box bordered beds of lilies and roses, Major Marley walked till ho came to the sfone steps leading to the lower terrace. These he descended with some difficulty, and there, at the end of the walk, a tall lithe figure in a blue cotton gown, her back turned towards him, her hands busy , amongst her favourite flowers, stood 1 Pamela Preston. With a smile, half sad, half hopeful, ' but wholly tender, tho major looked at 1 her. Once before, just ten years ago, he had seen her stand like that, a veritable Lady Disdain, dear and dainty, but intensely self-willed and irritating—and so, standing with her back towards him, he had left her. Now she was apparently too absorbed Sn her own thoughts to notice the sound of his slow step, and he went on until there remained but some four or five yards between them. Then remembering those bygone days ot love and laughter, there came back to him the memory of the Hick-name he had given her. A name •uggosting her initials as well as her

( copyright.)

fancy for wearing those scented, manycoloured blossoms, long before fashion had recognised their charm, and almost without thinking he said softly: " Sweet P.P.'s." At that Pamela turned and her cheeks flushed.

" Yes, sweet peas. It is my last evening, and the table decorations are in my honour. Oh!" looking at him more closely* "y°u have walked too far." " I believe I have." " And there is no seat. Will—will you take my arm " Yes, thank you. There, don't scold and don't talk about doctor's orders. I had to come. I can't remember oxactly how it began, but I was wrong, Pamela." "Wrong!" she repeated, wondering a little whether the remarks of a man recovering from wounds and fever should be taken seriously." " Quite wrong. I've often suspected as much, and to-day, I'm convinved of it. Dear, we have already wasted ten years. That's a high price to pay for a mistake." And then she understood.

" Oh! that's all done with. I was obstinate and didn't realise what a prickly path one's own way may sometimes prove. But we are good friends now, so everything is as it should be." " Scarcely. You and I ought to be something more than friends. When I first heard you were coming hero, I would havo given half of all I possessed to be able to run away, but a cripple, you see, can't run. So I pulled myself together and made the best of it. Then when you came and looked at me with grave questioning eyes, and spoke to me with a steady voice, I told myself that as I was the only one to suffer, it would matter little whether I went or stayed. Later on, I grew accustomed to the pleasant pain of your presence; and began to understand that where you are, is, and ever must be, my haven of peace. After all", a lifetime is more than ten years. The trees are just as green, the sky as blue, the brook runs to the same old tune: can't we make believe that we too, are unchanged, that I am once again your boy lover—a little wiser, perhaps, than boy lovers sometimes are—and that you are still my flower faced playmate and tyrant—Sweet P. P.'s?" " Twenty-seven cannot play at being seventeen."

"Does that mean that you are going to turn your back on me a second time ?" " How can I?" speaking unsteadily. " You are to do as you like, above all to be kept quiet, and you are holding my arm." " Ah! now I realise the strength of weakness. Pamela, I believe you do care a little."

" I—l care a great deal. But I never thought you would find out. How did I betray myself, Geoff?" Well, 1 can't exactly say that you did betrary yourself. . It had to bo reasoned from—from induction."

"Oh!" said Pamela as if greatly impressed, " but are you sure you know what that means ?"

" Well, frankly I don't. But it sounds well," and at this candid admission, thoy both laughed as merrily as though she were yet in her teens, and he still on the sunny side of thirty. And Theta, catching the distant sound of that laughter, argued well for the fate of her story, so she scribbled on, guessing shrewdly that in this case, style would fail to impress her critic, whilst even grammar might be regarded as a matter of secondary importance. And when at last just as she wrote " The End," • Aunt Pamelp, and Major Marley came in sight, she, blushing and smiling, he, looking five years younger. Theta glanced at them with innocent surprise. "Why you've forgotten tho sweet peas." she said. " How stupid!" exclaimed Aunt Pamela and never before did twenty-seven so quail before tho eyes of .fifteen. " I'll run back and fetch them," and as she passed out of sight, Theta turned to the major. " The story's finished."

" How does it end ?" " She's to be married in white satin, and they're going to Switzerland for the honeymoon." " Oh, make it Holland. A man»with a stiff knee prefers flat country," and the major laid a crisp £5 note beside the stumpy pencil. "No!" he as Theta'put her hand on the notebook, "I'll take that, and remember, the copyright's mine. You don't serve up that idea with variations —for anybody else." And for the next month the family and Tom—especially Tom—wondered how it came to pass that Theta's money affairs were in so flourishing a condition.