The Lost Locket

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXX, Issue 21462, 8 April 1933, Page 4 (Supplement)

The Lost Locket

rlj (Original.) By LILIAN FLOYD, Tawa St. f Te Kuiti (age 15)

Swiftly and silently round j the bend in the river, where trailing willows swished in the rapid-running waters, Swept a large i , canoe. Close at hand came loud exultant yells —that could not be mistaken in those days in New Zealand. It gave one the instant thought—Maoris, savage, bloodthirsty Maoris pursuing the hated pakeha. The white men in the canoe, strained at the paddles with grim determination. Now in the shadow, now in the sunlight, they bent to their task, and the canoe shot forward like an arrow from a bow. They knew what a stern race was before them—a race to tha nearest garrison with their lives as a forfeit if they lost. Behind them, churning the water into foam with their paddles, the Maoris came in pursuit of their foes. The splash of paddles, then suddenly a shot and a bullet whistled over the heads of the pakeha. Round another bend they swept, almost skimming the water. Another shot rang out, and this time the bullet grazed the side of the canoe. One of the men, John Smith, leant over to see if their shrieking pursuers were gaining on them. There was a sudden splash and a sparkle, and something glittering fell into the water and slowly sank. John Smith tried to grab it, and then realised with anguish, that it was probably gone forever. A locket and chain, just a plain silver locket and chain, but what a lot it meant to John Smith. It meant a little greyhaired mother, far away in the Old Country, whose picture was contained in the locket with a wisp of thin, grey hair. A memorable scene came before him as he feverishly paddled with his companions. A crowded wharf, a ship's siren wailing,

cherished lockefc at the bottom of the singing river. Years have passed. .Again the silence of the river is broken by yells and whoops, but this time not those of bloodthirsty Maori savages, but boyish laughter and cries that sang with the happiness of youth. Round the bend in the river shot two little tin canoes, each paddled by a freckle-faced, red-haired lad, with a grin of gleo spread over his face. "Gee! the current's swift here, Derry. Mind you keep—hey! look out." It was too late. The canoes bumped together with a scrape of tin, and the two boys toppled into the water. They came up spluttering and gasping. "Gee! that was a good one Jack. Crumbs—what'll Mum say about us getting wet again." " Well, couldn't help it, anyway," said Derry Smith. " Better fish those canoes out, though the current's jolly swift—and cold."

The two boys, waist-deep and heedless of their drenched clothing, began to haul away at the canoes. They got one out and flung it on the pebbly shore of the river, but the other was well stuck in the sand. Derry and Jack tugged and pulled, and finally got it out of the sand. " Must have taken a nose dive. Hello, what's that," said Derry, pointing to a silvery gleam near the edge of the canoe as they stood in the swirling waters to take a breath.

" Only a bit of tin. I s'pose," said Jack, peering down until his nose touched the water.

" I'll see," said Derry, and taking a deep breath, he screwed up his little freckled face, held his nose, and plunged his hand toward the gleaming object. He fumbled round and jerked up to the surface of the river with a dangling silver loeket and chain. The gift of a loving mother to her boy. John Smith's treasured possession found at last! "Gee!" cried Jack, "What a find. Wonder how it got there. Let's see? A.SWonder whose initials those are?"

"Look! this should open," said Derry as he fingered the find carefully. " Let's take it home to Dad. He'll know how to open it." They pulled the canoe out of the river and scampered, wet and shivering, over the green meadows, which, when John Smith had paddled with his companions down that singing river, had been wild with fern and manuka.

and a loving mother unclasping a locket from her neck. " Wear it, laddie, and remember me always." Ah! but their lives are in danger. He will perhaps come again, and get it. His wife and kiddies though! Pray God they are safe from these savage devils. On they sped. A shot rang out, and John Smith, with a low moan, slumped forward in his place. Another mile to the I garrison and safety, and in a few minutes that fierce race was won, but at what cost? Turning him over his companions shook him in vain— John Smith was dead.

" Look, Dad, what we've found," panted Derry, handing the locket and chain to his father.

"By Jove! where did you find that," inquired John Smith. " In the river," replied Jack. " Queer place to find it! Wonder whose initials 1" With the aid of his penknife Mr. Smith forced the locket open. Inside was a drenched lock of thin grey hair, and the picture, slightly damaged, of a sweet, smiling face. " I say, Dad," cried Derry, " That's a minature of great-grandma Smith's picture inside." And so where John Smith still slumbers on the old hillside, his little treasure has been found by bis grandchildren, and in the stead of his dear, sweet mother, their own smiling mother has clasped it round her neck.

A sorrowing wife and her little ones gathered round a new grave in the tiny cemetery on the old grey hillside. In loving memory of John Smith. Yes! there he lies sleeping peacefully, and with him the knowledge of that