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New Zealand Herald, Volume LXX, Issue 21580, 26 August 1933, Page 4 (Supplement)

DEAR BOYS AND GIRLS: Holidays once more—and what a day for them to start I I don't know- that I ever remember a wilder, wetter dawn than that of last Monday morning. I was spending the week-end at my little cottage in the hills, and so fierce and wild wag the storm that broke over us during the night that I thought cottage and all would be hurled bodily down the hill—or that at the very least, the last of the 'old shingled roof would be torn off over my hebd! However, none of these things happened. And when I looked out my window and into the sodden paddocks, what do yon think was the first thing that met my eyes? A most pathetic qjght—a tiny brown, new-born calf lying huddled up with the rain beating pitilessly down on it, and the mother cow standing disconsolately by. "What world to be born into!" the poor ' little calf to be saying, as it lay there shivering. It seemed to be lying there a long time, but at last X saw the farmer come trudging up the wet fields through the rain with a great bundle of hay, .which he flung out to the cattle. Then he took the little »nlf on his backj and followed by the y toother, he carried it to warmth and iafety in the milking shed. " Spring is here!" I thought rather ironically as I turned from the window, Pondering what li£y ahead for this poor mite? A few short days of baby calfhood . . . then the " bobby calf " lorry, la racking, jolting journey . .. . then the swift, inevitable end. Or .perhaps the fates would be kinder, and there would be long, peaceful years of browsing in green daisied fields. Just the tomft hazard of death and life that thousands of baby calves are facing, all Unknowing, these first bright days o: , iP W&[I, my -little story will be a very familiar one to all our country girls and boys. May it waken in some a determination to do everything in their power to support the splendid campaign our own Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals is now running for the impfovement of this gad "bobby-calf'' traffic, and the . jniniinising of the Buffering or its pool . little vietimsl . . t ., And ■ may these spring-time holiaayi be for country and city members alike a time of happiness and fun, for spring truly is here and every daffodil trumpet Ss sounding the good news! Love to you all from WHEN I CROW UP Sear Hids Morton,—l have been playmf "" (tt being "grown-up," so now I am gauu ■ to write and tell you what I would lik< to do when I really am grown up. I thinh it would be ever bo nice to always staj young. Don't you think there are 6ucl lotfl of things one cannot do when one is older? But when I do grow up Id like most of all to have my very own farm. J -want to have green l fields, sloping gentlj down to the sea, here and there clumpe of native trees, » little home nestling among roses and honeysuckle—the windows always open to the sounds of the murmur of the bees and the soft swish-swish of the waves, I'd have »' real old-fashioned garden with iall hollyhocks gracefully swaying in the ijreeze, clumps of pinks and smiling pansy aces, little dainty, blue forget-me-nots, langlea of sweet-smelling mignonette aIJ -- down the garden. I'd have a sleek. shins well-fed pony, and I'd gallop over the hills i.'- on the clear sunny days, with the sail breeze stinging my face and singing just because I was-happy to be alive. I would have dear little woolly lambs gambolling about in the .sunshine, and gentle JerHej tows to give me cream and butter. When no one was looking I'd run races with the Uttle calves and forget I was grown up. i would have a cosy sitting room with big \og fires in winter and all the* books i love, and my piano for company. Sometimes t'd leave my beautiful little home and travel and see all the wonders of the world —St. Paul's Cathedral, Rome, the Rocky Mountains, the Pacifio Islands—visit the Holy Land aid so many more places I have read of in my books, of lands across the sea. Of course I must travel in my own glorious New. Zealand first, to Minora Sound, the Lakes, the fiords, then north to the thermal regions, the glowworm cave and up to' the beauties of Russell and the Bay of Islands. And after I would come home to the tranauil cottage, back to my books and music and to the little P'ap e Mn my dreams that I'd call home I—Betty Dromgoo'i, Bpringcombe Rd.. St./ Hellers Bay, E.l. A QUAINT STORY Dear Miss Morton,—l heard a quaint little story iu church last Sunday, told by tho missionary of the Solomon Islands. J. would like to pass it on to you. Th® natives in the Solomon Islands manage to live without money. They barter goods and things that they make themselves for food and clothing. As they have dq money they only have a collection for the church once a year. Then it is a ve ry large oollection, amounting to hundredweights. The natives all come in a body to tha church, bringing their collection with them, which mostly consists of coconuts and yams. They place them on the floor in a big henp. The women bring shell necklaces, armlets and all sorts of curios which they find on the beach and make into ticles to wear. At one of these collection days the missionary noticed a man who came in late carrying a fowl's feather. He knew that this man owned a big plantation of cocon'uts. He began to think what a mean man he mu6t be to come offering only a fowl's feather. One of the natives nearby, reading the mission ary'e thoughts, touched him on the arm and said: ".It, is all right, Tonija. He is not going to give you just a feather. The feather is to show you that he i 3 going to give you a fowl when he can catch it. A sort of a promissory note, or an 1.0.TJ. You see, the fowls roost in the trees over there. He hud been trying to catch one and couldn't." . The next day he brought the fowl, all tied up, eo that it could not get away, and put it under the house. The missionary laid that is what he wanted us to do. To make a promise and keep it; that we would do our best to help the missionaries In the Solomon Islands.—Hoping you will like my story, I am, your little friend. Patsy Lockyer, Hungahunga, Waharoa. (Age 9.) MY PERN-TREE PERGOLA In my garden, out of pieces of punga, I have made a tiny pergola. Around this 1 have planted ferns ana so made a tiny fernery. Mosses keep the roots of the ferns moist, and tiny pieces of red atone make a miniature rockery. Other plants or flowers that can brave the cold of winter also v are there, and by the summer I hope that It will be quite pretty. If I look carefully I see tiny little shoot 3 peeping from the ground. They are daffodils. Soon they will dance in their frocks of sun gold in the corner of the garden. Then, with many a • curtsey and nod, they will Inquire, in some surprise, " Where, Sir Bee, are the rest of the flowers?" So we will thaAk the sun-gold daffodil for dancing In our gardens and so brightening them. It is interesting to watch V things grow,; and now our punga is sending forth new leaves and beginning to glory in vtlva welcome moisture after the continual . dryness' of summer. Some tiny trees are also starting to grow. But, oh dear I there . . . Is toy cat Peter ao kindly helping me In the by Jigging up „Ij m y poppy plants El have just planted. So, farewell, lovers: 'all' success with ferns and —lris Reeves, Creen Bay, care New ost Office.