The Christinas Present

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXII, Issue 22000, 5 January 1935, Page 4 (Supplement)

The Christinas Present

By GWEN EVANS. D.M.8.G..

Mid-afternoon of a glorious December •day, and the orchard drowsed to the incesisant click of the sun-steeped locusts and the liquid droning of the pollendusted bees.

"Wonder,if Dad will give me that air-gun for Christmas," ruminated Pat from, his perch in the branches of a plum .tree, pelting his sister absentmindedlv with well-cleaned fruit stones.

" Shouldn't think so," returned Patsy mildly, "if vou continue to consume plums at that rate, and take hack a- half empty basket for the jam!" With a gulp Pat swallowed the last guilty mouthful, tossed the stone neatly at the wide-brimmed hat beneath him, and began picking the fruit at an astonishing rate. At tea that night Pat was unusually attentive to the needs of the family,* so much so that Mother remarked with a smile that Christmas was not far off. Hera Patrick dropped his knife, to retrieve it rather shamefacedly. Dad collected his straying thoughts. "Ali, Christmas presents," he said 6lowly, glancing at the boy. " I'm afraid they will have to be small this year, kiddies. I'm sorry, but, well—we've had very little rain, and the cream cheque won't be very big this month." He had forgotten the wideeyed boy and girl who were listening, and was speaking only to his wife. "There's the interest on the mortgage to pay by the 17th, too. I don't see how we are going to do it, and Mr. Haekett won't wait any longer —it's already overdue." In silence Pat and Patsy listened, then the girl beckoned to her brother,

small head was turned to hide two tears that would not be winked away. "Even then we wouldn't have enough," she ended pathetically. " What will happen if we can t pay?" questioned the boy anxiously. " I'm not sure," said Patsy, "but Mr. Haekett may want us to leave—and I couldn't bear that," she ended with a rush, her eyes taking in wistfully the lovely expanse of rich pastureland and rolling hill country. Why, her grandfather had farmed this land, and his father before him had begun the great task of wresting sustenance from this soil. It was unthinkable that strangers should b# allowed to carry on a tradition that was Pat's and her birthright. ' That night Patsy could not sleep. The restless soughing of the pines, and the merry song of the crickets blent with the occasional bark of a dog or the lonely bellowing of cattle, to emphasise all she would have to give up were they compelled to leave " Crosslands." Surely there was a way out—but yes, of course there was—why had she not thought of it before? Her books. The precious books which Grandad had left to her because she loved them so. They were valuable, she knew, for Daddy had once had the opinion of an expert on them. There was a first edition of Byron, a very early collection of Dickens' works, and a lovely set pf Shakespeare's plays in minute volumes bound in red morocco, with a leather case sheathing them. The great man had said that if she ever decided to part with them ho would like first offer, but could she let

and slipped quietly from the table. In the comforting arms of a favourite oak they faced- the problem. "My air-gun!" wailed Pat, seeing his cherished dream fast receding beyond the bounds of possibility. " Stop it!" commanded Patsy quickly, drumming her heels thoughtfully against the trunk of the tree. " How can you be so selfish? Can't you think of anything to help instead?" J?at was penitent at once. " I might sell my rabbits," he suggested heroically, "and I'll have the money for those turkeys I'm fattening for Christmas. How much is a very fat turkey worth ?" ... " I'm not sure," replied his sister doubtfully, "perhaps 12s 6d." " What's ten turkeys at 12s 6d? — U:m, £6 ss, isn't it? Cheers!" he shouted, almost toppling out of the tree with excitement. "How's that, sister r' "It's awfully decent, really,' replied Patsy, "but the interest is about £25, I think, and I've only about £5 in the bank." Pat was once more sunk in gloom. "Doesn't seem as though a fellow can help much. Can you think of anything?" " There'll be the egg money." Patsy began to calculate to herself. "But that won't be half as much as the turkey money. I could sell ' Sunray,' " she said, suppressing a quiver of the lips. "She is a lovely heifer, and Mr. Barneß offered to buy her on Show Day." This was said proudly, but the

them go? She must, for surely God had shown her this way of keeping the homestead for all who loved it so.

Next day she wrote the letter, telling the expert just why she wanted to sell, and anxiously awaited the reply. It came; such an understanding letter as she had believed only her Dad could write. The offer was more than generous, and she need part with only the rarest, and what was more delightful, he told Patsy if ever she wanted them back again, he would be only too pleased to let her have them. December 16th, and Mr. Connell had been unable to find the interest, but on the breakfast table were two fat envelopes addressed to him in generous characters. The first he opened was Pat's effort. He had collected the "turkey-money" in advance, and five crisp pound notes met the man's astonished gaze! He slit the other envelope, and four five-pound notes slipped out. "But I don't understand, said Dad helplessly, reading the brief enclosure, "To help pay the interest, with love from Patsy," and a similar one from Pat. " Oh, isn't it enough?" begged Patsy than enough," replied Dad huskily, " for I will be able to pay the back interest as well." " And the farm?" added Pat. _ " Why, I guess ' Crosslands ' is the best Christmas present a fellow could have, eh kiddies?" the man said, drawing the excited boy and girl close.