HARD TIMES.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20827, 20 March 1931, Page 20

HARD TIMES.

' NEW ZEALAND STORY.

BY OLIVE McKENZIE. //

Little Mrs. Smithson sat at the kitchen lablo enjoying the luxury of a cup of morning tea. She loved to sit liko this, idle,/ sipping at her favourite beverage and looking through the wide-flung window across the flat unintoresting earth in the foreground at the hills beyond. They were high hills, huge and tumbled and gashed across and across by deep ravines. White flowering manuka, looking in the distance liko wincFtossed foam, grew on the steeper ridges, while the spurs and gullies were a rich tawny yellow against the blue sky.

She sighed softly. It was a beautiful day—a day of warmth and soft harmonies —a day to be seized and enjoyed. If only —but there was the dinner to cook and the jam to make. Sighing gently onco more —she was always genUe in everything that she did —she roso and turned to the bags of freshly gathered blackberries, pungently sweet, and oozing dark blue stains through the white cotton of tho sacks, and began to pick them over with experienced fingors.

" A boiling of jam and one of tho conserve, and a pie or two," she murmured ■" Yea, I musn't forget tho pies. John does like a blackberry pie." She worked on briskly, efficiently, with A soft little whisper of song on her lips. She had her first panful on tho range when the sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention.

" Surely not John," she thought, and cast a worried look at the disorder of her table. " Gracious, if lie's wanting his dinner now—"

But it was a stranger who stood at her doorway. " Good morning," said her visitor, raising his shabby hat, " Could you oblige me with something to eat? I'm on tho road—travelling through." A swagger! Sho looked at him interestedly. He was not the usual type who called with a request for food, ho was cleaner, better dressed and spoke well. She liked his smile.

41 I'm not wanting it for nothing, you know,", ho said, earnestly, as she made no response, " I'll pay for what I get." " Oh, no, no, indeed!" cried little Mrs. Smithson, flushing and fluttering her hands in dismay, "as if I ever would! Good gracious, whatever will you be thinking of me? Come away in, do, and I'll get something. I was thinking and wondering a bit, and that's why I didn't invite you in sooner. Now, just you come along and sit you down there while I get you something. I won't be a moment. If you'll just maybe push that bag of berries out of your way —there now!" She was bustling around the warm kitchen, poking at the fire, filling the kettle, and popping it down on tho flames as she spoke. " Maybe you'd be wanting a piece of cold mutton," she suggested, slipping n dish with a small sfiouldor of meat on to the table, "and some sauce or a bit of chutney maybe." Quickly she laid a clean blne-checkod cloth on one corner of the table and . set it . out in readiness for his meal. "Ah, there now, it's boiling!"_ she, said brightly, as a gurgling sputter filled the room, " You'll be glad of a drink, I'll be bound." "Rather!" said her visitor,'"lt's hot work walking these roads a day like this, Gee! This looks good to me!" lie attacked his food with fervour. She busied herself with the .fruit and preparations for the midday meal. While she worked she talked. She felt drawn to him. She liked his looks, his sunbrowned face and his nice brown eyes. Boon she was confiding in him. "l Hard times," she said sadly, " they're hard for everyone. I just don t, know what's going i.O happen to us here: my man's working himself to a standstill trying to make the farm pay more, but I "dunno—with prices as they are, it just can't be done. I suppose we'll have to leave it." Her lower lip quivered and there was a suspicion of tears in her eyes. " It's hard, when a man's put all the best years of his life into a place and just gets it into good working order and then a slump comes and it's all gone for nothing. Poor John! He's taking it hard." The young man nodded sympathetically. luck!" he said, "It's a devil." " He feels it so," she said desperately, "It'll break his heart to give it all lip. Goodness knows what he'll do if he has to'walk off. And I feel so useless. I try to help, but there's little a woman can do to make money. I have the fowls and the ducks—but they cost a good deal to feed and then the price of eggs has fallen like everything else. I've thought and thought but there's absolutely nothing I can do —" " Rotten luck," he said again awkwardly. Words failed him at sight of her distress. Fine little woman! Gad, it was a hard timo for the women! "I I'm awfully sorry," ho concluded fervently. His sympathy was genuine. She smiled. " My gracious!" she cried, " Fancy mo Worrying you with all my troubles like this. The very idea! And you just a young fellow with enough of your own troubles. Now, let me fill your cup up again, do! 'lhcre now! Drink it while it's hot." She began to hum a tune softly to hereelf. _ " It's no use complaining, she said a moment later, " When I feel worst I rust hum a tune or make a little rhyme. Funny, but I'm a fool about poetry. John says I'm daft on it. But I do feel better if I do a bit of rhyming." " So you write poetry?" he asked and looked at his brisk hostess with now interest. " Oh, yes," slio anwercd, " I've been doing it for ages. It comes natural and it soothes me as nothing else does. I just Sit down at any odd minuto as the thoughts come into my mind." "Do you keep them?" lie asked eagerly, " You know I'm rather keen on poetry." y oh, yes, I've got a book I write (hem in here." She opened the clipboard drawer and brought out a paper backed notebook." " It's nearly full, this one—they're not clever or anything —just simple little things about the' hills and hay and trees and stars —but somehow —well —perhaps you might caro to read one or two of them," she suggested little diffidently. " I don't as a rule like anyone to read them, they may laugh, and think me an old fool —but you—you seeiri different —I think you understand." Shyly she handed it to him. lie bccamo instantly absorbed in it.

Little Mrs. Smithson picked up a yellow flelf bowl and began with deft lingers to mix iter pastry. She breathed a little quickly and warm colour flushed her cheeks. Every now and then she cast a quick timid glance at her guest. What would he think of her poor little poems? Would he bo secretly amused 1 Laugh, perhaps ? "I say! These aro fine!" he cried suddenly. "Why, they're just great! There's eomething so true about them. I'd like to have them for about a week to read as I trudge along." " Why, have them then," she offered at once. Iler face was alight and eager. " Just keep them as long as you like and then return them to mo. See, there's my name and address there on the book. Mrs. Smithson, Wnimeie."

" Why—why " he stammered, " That's awfully decent of yon to trust me like this. I—I —hardly like to tako them, tut—" lie fingered tho notebook lovingly. f They aro so jolly good I almost feel like taking you at your word."

" Have them, of course," she said generously, " I'm sure if they are going to give you any pleasure, you're welcome ijo them. Why, I'm proud that you think them worth while reading." A few moments later she stood at the idoor arid watched him depart, the notebook clasped lovingly in his hand. He offered her payment for his food, but she had vehemently refused to accept . pnything,

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" I hopo somo day to repay you for your kindness," he said with emotion. " It does a fellow good to have someone take hirn on trust as you have dono." Sho stood a moment, eyes idling over the peaceful scene about her. Her garden, so gay and so neat—with lavender, mignonette and sturdy marigolds—scabias placidly nodding their mauve cushions, zinnias multi-coloured and prim, lilies chasto and superior, asters blowsy, but jolly—there they all were, shouting gay notes for lior—and all around the soft crooning of bees, the grunt, which is half a squeal, of tho baby pigs as they scrambled about in tho grass —tho faint clucking of tho hens in the hay. Oh, how she loved it all! It would bo terrible—, heart-breaking, if slio had to leave it!

" Something must happen," she said, determinedly hopeful. " Yes, I'm sure something will happen."

It was three weeks later, and little Mrs. Smithson was plodding gamely along the dusty road. It was a day of clinging heat. Tho hot rays of the sun beat down, making little shimmering discs before her eyes. Wearily she trudged, with the dust churning up behind her, and the hot hand of tho sun on her back. "Whew!" she ejaculated, now and then, "Whew, but it's hot!" She had been down to Mrs. Freeman's, lending a hand with tho cooking for the haymakers. John had protested .at her going. " She doesn't deserve your help," he said finnly. " She's nothing but a lazy muddler, and if she can't manage herself, I don't see why you should go and tire yourself for her." " But she's got a new baby, John," said little Mrs. Smithson, mildly, " aud goodness knows if tho men would get anything at all if it's left to her. No, 111 go along for a short while and give the poor buddy a hand. Don't you worry, John, I'll not overtire myself." " I don't think I could be tireder," she said. "My gracious, but it's hot!" she paused a moment to wipe her streaming face. " But it's just as well I went along though. Goodness alone knows what that poor creature would have been like if she'd had no one to help her!"

On either side of her lay the swamp, mottled with its clumps of rushes and willow-weed. Tho grass was rank and hair-like. Here and there a tall clump of flax, leaves yellowing, pushed its way to the sun. A mop-headed cabbage tree by the wayside rattled with a dry sound. " If only wo could afford to drain it," she thought, listlessly. "It would be wonderful soil if it were drained. But that, of course, means money. So that's that." She sighed wearily. "Poor John, he'll just hate having to go." Yesterday the final notice of the mortgagee had arrived. Only three more weeks —and then —Oh, it was hard hard. —John had hoped to get a bettor price for his calves. He had thought that perhaps, with care, he might just have managed it this time. If he had weathered this, there was a chance of his pulling through. There were tho mangels and the potatoes and the barley. And prices couldn't possibly co down any more. Oh, it was hard, with only twenty pounds to find. Twenty pounds! Might as well say twenty thousand, it was just the same! She shook her head sadly. Poor John! It would be a terrible break. She couldn't, bear to think of him when he had to leave. Ho just loved this farm. . ... Nearing homo she saw him, plodding heavily behind the plough and the sweating flank? of tho horses. Still working --still hoping— doggedly refusing to give

in. "Poor John! Poor John!

Tho mail was in the box. She took the. letters out, looked at them with a little quiver of fear for each. Bills—bills—oh, dear—dear!

But there was one that was different, a fat, interesting looking envelope, with a seal in the corner. "The Guardian,' she read. frowning. " Whatever—' Anxiously she tore it open. Never would she forget that strange, wild, unbelievable moment when she read her letter. It wasn't true! It couldn't be ! It—it She stood there, a tiny, thin little woman, hot and dishevelled, with her hat slipped back a little and a damp wisp of her hair trickling down her brow, eyes bulging, breath racing, reading. Tho impossible, unexpected miracle had happened. They were saved ! Sho raced across the new-turned furrow sn fresh and clean and black in comparison with the tortured, cracked earth beside it, waving her letter, stumbling, puffingevery now and then she gavo a breathless little squeak, which was all that she could manage. John, seeing her racing so excitedly to him, came running to meet. her. "What is it? What is it, lass?" ho cried anxiously as ho reached her. " Oh, John! Oh, John! Saved! Saved! Read it! Read it!'- She handed him the letter, stumbled and fell at his feet. " I—l'm all right," she said, breathlessly, at his concern. " I'm quito all right, really, I'm just hot and thrilled." She laughed excitedly, " Read it, John. Read it, do!" And John, seeing that sho was not really ill, obeyed. " I)ear Mrs. Smithson," ho read,

" Maybe you liavo forgotten the lonely stronger whom you fed and took on trust sonio little time ago. lam writing now to thank you once move for your kindness, and to give you, I hope, a pleasant surprise. Do you rpmemher my interest in your poems ? Well, although I was, to all appearances, an ordinary tramp, I was not a genuine one. I was tramping for experience—to see the country as it really is, and to find out what I could about how bad things are for the farmer. In real life I am a reporter, and my chief sent me out on this job. Well, when I got back, I showed your popnis to him, with a few words anout how I came to have thorn. " Here is his verdict. He is going to print them each day in his paper until they are dono —and after that as many more as you care to send along. He will pay you at tho rate of fivo shillings for each one—there are one hundred and twenty in the book. As lie thinks that you may find tho money useful, he is forwarding it in advance. This is unusual, but then tlie whole thing is unusual.

"Ho liopos, when it. is convenient to you, lo interview you with reference to having your poems published in book form. He thinks them tho finest collection of N'ew Zealand poetry ho has ever read. There now, kind la'rly, the lonely tramp hopes he lias repaid a little of his debt to you. I remain, yours truly, Stanley Graham." Attached to the lettor was a statement form and a cheque for thirty pounds. John looked at it, then turned his astonished oves on his wife.

" Well, I'm blowed," he said, " Well, I'm blowed."

"Isn't it gorgeous?" cried little Mrs. Smithson. " Don't you see, John, there's the extra money we needed. Isn't it wonderful'! Just for all tho world like a fairy story." Ho passed a hand across his brow. "A poet!" he murmured. "A regular poet! Save us, lass, but this is a surprise." She sprang up and caught him in a* warm embrace.

" Oh, John, 1 can't beliovo it. Those simple little things! But if tho man wants to pay for them, well, we won't complain, and anyhow tho money' 3 real enough. Oh, .John, give the horses a spell do, and let's go in and have a cup of tea. I certainly need it."