MAKING HAVEN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20982, 19 September 1931, Page 1 (Supplement)

MAKING HAVEN.

A HOME IN THE BUSH. BY ANON. The road was steep and his pack heavy. It had been raining the day before and he had spent the night in an empty house on an abandoned farm. To-day ho was conscious that he was getting old. His limbs moved stiffly and he was very hungry; but there was no sign of habitation anywhere, only the bush closing in before and behind. In another mile, if ho did not come to a house, he would boil the'billy and eat that last hunk of bread. Tho road climbed on into the mist. Only the dark trunks of the tall trees were visible, and the ferns that hung in clusters from their gleaming sides seemed to point limp, derisive fingers through the dimness. A friendly little fantaij flew before him, and his heart warmed to the fluttering. trustful creature, so that he stopped and lowered his swag stiffly to the ground. His billy was fastened to the outside and ho lifted the lid and broke off an inch of the bread inside. Then he sat down and carefully scattered the crumbs upon the bank. Ho had not very long to wait. Tho tiny bird ventured nearer and ever nearer, its bright eyes flitting from the bread to his quiet form, and he answered its inquisitive chirps with a foolish, staccato imitation. In another minute it had perched warily i upon tho bank and was seizing hungrily, yet daintily, upon the scattered crumbs. And then in a minute there was a flutter of little, hurrying wings in the mist, and tho bushes were alive with peeping, wary heads and bright eyes. The swagger smiled and got to his feet, but slowly that ho might not disturb the little breakfasters. He shrugged on his pack and trudged heavily up the muddy road, leaving a busy colony at work upon the crumbs. He smiled rather grimly as he looked about him at the ghostly trees and soaking shroud of mist and thought of the men he had left behind him a week ago in a city doss-house. This would have given them tho horrors, all right. Not much good in the backblocks, those chaps; sooner starve in town. For himself, ho was far better here. Alter the War. 110 did not know exactly where ho was, although this class of country was familiar to him. Hard land and hungry, with a bleak climate and long winter. But there was generally work to be done, if only everyone was not too poor. He was past caring' about wages; for the matter of that he was not used to them. All the years he had had his own place he had seldom had any cash to jingle in his pocket. But he had been happy. It had been a small farm, and he had bought tho goodwill with his war gratuity. Before tho war he had worked on wages and never saved. But he had come back after four years with just one longing—to get away from crowds and to sit by his own fireside. For years he had worked "unceasingly on his small section, seeing little of his neighbours and living amiably, if not companionably, with an elderly sister. Then the miraculous had happened and the middle-aged and unattractive spinster had married an old suitor and returned to town. But from the first it had been a losing game; he had so little capital and it was hungry land. Manures were dear and the roads so bad that carting was prohibitive. Prices were poor and he began to get behind with the interest, without a hope of meeting the principal. Then the mortgagee had foreclosed. Jle had a troublesome son who was always getting into mischief in town; the farm was tho very thing. So, one mellow summer morning, the soldier had packed his swag and looked grimly around at the paddocks he had cleared and the little house "he had built. Ho was not given either to sentiment or heroics, but his heart was bitter with a dim sense of injustice. Then he smiled as ho glanced from the town-bred lad to the 'bush that was already menacing. No need to hope for revenge; the bush would seo to that. But his nature was kindly, and he felt sorry for the boy as he said good-bye and left him standing at the door, wondering what you did in a show like this. Little Left. For a couple of years after that ho had been in a good job and, although tho wages were not. high, he had been able to save. But his sister had been stricken by disease and ho had felt bound to stand by. When at last she had died, there was little left. And then his " boss " had seen his income swept away by tho slump. " I hate you to go, but it's going to be hard even to find tucker this year." There were a number of children, so the soldier had not liked to suggest working only for his keep. After a long and unavailing search for work he had drifted to town—reluctantly, but with the countryman's faith that you ciould not starve there. Perhaps that was true, but there were worse things than starving. It was wrong, he felt, for a strong man—for he was still hale, though over fifty—to be living on charity or be getting a couple of days' work a week, chipping weeds off suburban paths. The shops and houses hemmed him in, and his eyes ached, for they were used to green distances and dim horizons. He would rather tramp the roads and boil his billy in the open. So bo made for the backblocks. The bush ended at last and he came out on to a clearing. It was exactly what he had expected and loved—a small, corrugated iron house, verandahless and with a big iron chimney. Its narrow windows raised surprised eyebrows in feeble protest to find itself thus set at odds with Nature. On the unpainted gate a small child was swinging; she looked frighenea when she saw him and ran inside. He understood that; bush children were always afraid of swaggers. He braced his shoulders as he opened the gate. How he hated asking for food when they all had so little! But at least he was not afraid of work. The mist closed intimately about him as he crossed the log-strewn paddock. . . . A Welcome. It was very early tho next morning when the swagger woke; he stretched himself slowly and very luxuriously. The room was tiny, but "to him it was tho height of comfort. It was clean and h 0 had not been so warm for many nights . Even without so many blankets lie thought he would have been warm—he could never forget that welcome, when he had been expecting so little. Memory, which returns slowly to the middle-aged and tired, had now flooded back, and he got up hurriedly. He must get the fire going; women mostly liked a cup of tea. It was hard luck on her and she so young. Disaster was the fate of tho old, it seemed to him. She had made very light of it, as backblocks women do. " Four months in hospital, tho doctor says. But he'll never be strong again, not as he was before. . . . Why, it would be h godsend, if you did not' mind tho backblocks; and perhaps later, when times are better, we can manage to pay you." He bad not been able to say very much, but she understood, for she was that sort. The child had climbed on his knee and he had got out tho war medal that lie usually kept hidden. He smiled as ho looked out of the window. Tho sky was golden with the promise of a fair day. The bush showed very black, but it was not forbidding. He understood it, and it was his home. Then his thoughts flitted back to his little friends of tho road. He hoped tho fantails had found a good breakfast, too.