REFORMATION OF JOHN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20970, 5 September 1931, Page 19

REFORMATION OF JOHN.

By JOYCE T. WEST.

John came up the hoof-worn track from the yards—a slim sturdy figure in blue shirt and dusty dungarees and big boots, brown eyes looking out with contentment upon the world from under the battered brim of an atrociously old felt hat. A chestnut pony walked saucily behind, pushing his soft inquisitive nose against John's arm. It was precisely at the minute that John reached the gate that a young man rode up to the other side of it. It was a peculiarity of Section No. 16.—known as The Pines—and Section No. 17—christened by a sentimental owner " Aroha Nui"— that the homesteads were but a stone's throw from one another, in fact, as close almost as suburban villas. " The Pines" had two bow-windows; " Aroha Nui" a wide and impressive verandah. The present owner of " The Pines" was Old John Mannering; " Aroha Nui" had been up for sale for Bix months. John Junior and the strange young man reached for the gate simultaneously; simultaneously withdrew. He was quite a personable-looking young man, in fact, amazingly so—brown haired, blue-eyed, bronzed, with white teeth which he showed in an amused grin. Ho rode an uncommonly good brown mare. John reached for the gate again, and opened it this time. The brown mare came through with a flick of her heels, and her rider leaned carelessly from the saddle. "Thanks son. Is the boss about?" John's lips opened to speak, then closed again. " Are you dumb, kid ?" said the stranger impatiently, " Is your boss in ?" " Yes—" said John abruptly, pulled down the atrocious felt hat, slipped up on to the chestnut pony's bare back, and turned the corner of the road at a gallop. When John came back, Old John Mannering was sitting on the back verandah, peacefully cutting plug tobacco. " Where have you been to?" he wanted to know, " You should have been here. I wanted you to meet young Vale Chester, our new neighbour." " Has he taken ' Aroha Nui ?' " demanded John with the tragedy of despair. "Yes. Why not? He seems a nice young fellow—" "He—he—called me son, and kid!" John burst out, " He asked me where the boss was! He took me for & farm-hand, or something!" She pulled off the old felt hat; and throw it down with the gesture of a tragedienne. She ran furious and distracted fingers through a shock of rumpled brown hair. . John Senior grinned mildly, and packed tobacco into his pipe with a toil-worn and square-tipped finger. "You don't take any notice of me!" said John with angry despair. " Well, I told you you'd meet some nice young man some day, and then you'd be sorry for going about like a second-rate swagger—" " Nice young man!" cried John, " It's nothing to dp with a nice young man! It's just—he—he—was so rude—" "How?" her father wanted to know provokingly, "It generally amuses you if people take you for a boy. Why this sudden anger ?" " He was rude—" John persisted. " I'm sorry," Baid Mannering, " I asked him to come up one of these evenings, and meet my daughter, and he said thank you, he'd like to, he saw her down by the gate." John stared at him. She was not often at a loss for words, but she was now. She turned away dumbly, and went down toward the gate, and John Senior looked after her with an in rstanding grin. John made a trip to town next day, and returned with threfe pennies in her riding coat pocket. The new neighbour made a call the very next night. John met him on the porch. " My daughter, Joanna—" Mannering murmured dutifully. Vale Chester bowed over the hand that was coolly extended to him. John wore a white dress, the very slickest kind of a white dress, with a sophisticated littlo velvet jacket, and her hair was brushed back from her ears in the prettiest demurest mashion. She clicked in before him on the daintiest of little high-heeled shoes. " Quite a chill in the evenings—" she was murmuring—" After the hot days—don't you think so Mr. Chester ?" " Oh quite—" Vale rallied his conversational powers— ." The evenings are drawing in—it'll be winter before we know it—" 1 " Did you get the last wool-sale prices?" John Senior plunged into the details beloved of the sheep farmer. John sat in the window seat, and took lazy stitches in a piece of silk embroidery. Once in a way, over it, Vale Chester, discussing wool classing, met her eye. At half-past nine, she rose, brought in a tray, laid supper on a white cloth, with blue dishes, and plates of tempting little cakes. " So nice to have a woman about the house—" John Mannering murmured, with a gleam in his eye. " Men are so helpless," John said, prettily, deprecatorily. "About cooking, or anything like that. Don't you think so, Mr. Chester ?" " Oh quite—" said Vale Chester. " You look like your mother—" Old John Mannering said, when the visitor was gone— "We wanted a boy so badly —and we called you Joanna—and then Johnnie —I hadn't any idea that you were pretty, John—" That was the beginning of the reformation of John. She became Joanna. She blossomed out in ruffly pink morning dresses, with little crisp aprons, in a coat with a soft white fur collar and a little white hat, in a tweed costumo with a frilly blouse, in sheer stockings and little buckled shoefe, in a blue serge riding-habit that gathered every speck of dust. The boy had to milk the cows; Old John mustered alone. John took to cutting flowers in the weed-infested garden, to house-wifely pursuits like bottling tomatoes, to little evening walks by the river, to lonely rides in the blue habit. Skit, the chestnut pony, bucked her flying the first time she mounted him in skirts. She had no chance to save herself, for her divided skirt got mixed up with the heel of her boot, and off she went. Fortunately, Valo Chester had been working near at hand, and he came on the run. " That darn skirt—" muttered John. " What did you say?" Vale said, white beneath his tan, his handsome face still looking frightened. " Hard in the mouth—" Joanna gasped, recollecting herself. " Far too hard for a slip of a girl like you! Little brute ho is! You mustn't ride him again—" Vale said, masterfully, almost angrily. John lowered her eye-lashes, brushed the dust from the blue habit. " I've a littlo mare that would mount you perfectly," Vale said, " y You must try her—" " Never trus,t a man with beautiful curly hair—" said Old John Mannering, with a twinkle in his eye, after John, and the habit, had parted from Vale and Vale's horse and the littlo mare, at the gate. " Father!" said John, " What arc you talking about?" " Nothing—" said Old John Mannering.

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So John took demure canters on the silken-mouthed gentle little mare, and Skit waxed fat and saucy in the saddle-pad-dock, and kicked his heels at shadows. So the autumn fled, and one evening Valo Chester met John wearing the white dress and demure little jacket, and gathering ferns down by the creek. There, in the twilight, with only the ferns and the creek for audience, he kissed her. John fled to the house, forgetting the ferns, honestly shocked, and .thoroughly upset. She sat on the edge of the bed, and thought about it. Vale certainly had very nice curly hair. What had her father meant by saying never to trust a man with surly hair ? " Nothing—l s'pose—" said John, and got up to rub cold cream on her brown little •hands. Vale called across the fence next morning as though nothing had happened. " I say! I've got something to tell you. Mrs. Chester is coming out to join me! She'll be here to-day!" " How lovely—my cake is burning—" said John. She walked insidq, sat down on a chair, and looked flatly at the fire. Mrs. Chester. Mrs. -.Vale Chester. His wife — Oh John, John—men were deceivers ever! Never trust a man with curly hair. " I don't care—" said John, " I don't care!" She jerked off the ruffly little apron, Ind throw it down. Ten minutes later, clad in trousers, shirt, and boots, and the be loved old hat, sbe sallied forth to help the Maori boy who was cleaning the dip. She worked long past noon, hot, wet, furious, and returned to the house, wet to her knees, splashed from head to foot, her face red, wisps of damp hair hanging over her brow, the old hat jammed crookedly down. Then she stopped short, for sitting on the porch with her father was Vale Chester, and with him the sweetest and prettiest of grey-haired ladies in a grey dress and hat. * "Why here she is!" said Vale. His handsome mouth twitched unpardonably. " Mother, this is Joanna." The grey-haired lady smiled, and extended both hands. " I've heard so much of you from my son. I've quite longed to meet you." John never knew how she got through the next twenty minutes. She heard herself propose tea, heard Mrs. Chester say they'd come over again. " How dare he!" raged John, when they had gone, " How dare he! What must she think of me—so sweet, bo dainty—and she wanted to meet me—he had told her about me—how dare he make a fool of me ?" Skit was grazing near the gate. With an ironic thought for the blue riding-habit. John put a bit between his sullen teeth. Caring little for a saddle, she flung herself up. Skit ducked his head, and bucked, stifflegged, down to the gate. Once on the road, he sidled off into the water-table, and balked. John gave him a cut with her switch, and he bucked—another cut—another buck—and all this performance in full view of the " Aroha Nui" windows! John saw red. Too hard-mouthed, was lie? She'd show him! The switch fell full on Skit's stubborn sides. Skit reared, shaking his head slowly, ears flattened like a frightened cat. Up he went till he seemed to be leaning backward, then down, still right side up, with a jarring pound of hoofs. Sideways he went, into the fence, then out as if it had burnt him. Finding his obnoxious rider still in plaie, he bolted. Round the corner he went like a bullet, and down the slippery Big Hill. His gallop was scrambling, his mouth of iron. Desperately, John clung to his slippery sides, and tried to pull him up. Well she knew that no horse going at that pace could hope to turn the corner at the foot, and cross the narrow wooden bridge in safety. Skit went at the bridge like a bull at a gate, and was almost across when his feet slipped from underneath him on the wet boarding, and down he went on his side. There was .» terrific thud, and John was flung clear. The next thing she remembered was seeing Vale Chester's face bent above her. " Aly darling— my darling—" he was saying, " John, speak to me— say you're not killed—" " I'm not killed—" said John in a small voice. " Oh, John—" said Vale Chester, " Forgive me—l was only teasing you—l meant to explain, but you went away so quickly. There's never beon a Mrs. Vale Chester, and never will he unless—" "What will your mother think of me?" said John tearfully. , " She told me. She said she thought country girls were wonderful the way they helped and could do anything." " Unless what, Vale?" she said after a long time. " Unless you will be her," said Vale boldly. " Are you asking John or Joanna ?" said John with the mistiest little smile. " John-Joanna," said Va|e firmly, " John mostly. Oh, please, John—l love you. Say you love me! John—" " I—l love you—" said John-Joanna.