IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE STOCK ACT.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1265, 28 May 1896, Page 8

IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE STOCK ACT.

(Written for the New Zealand Mail.) An early touch of summer lay upon the country, suggestive of a long sleepy time to follow. The flats in front of Major Grant’s house were still green and hopeful, powdered with a heavy sprinkling of starring daisies, the clump 3 of bush, a sheen of tiny diamonds in the early sunshine. And yet the Major looked out over the bay half wearily, his sheep an eyesore, fine well woolled stock too, but, as he knew, tlieyj were tainted, very much so. He sat on a log smoking idly, pulling at his beard. He held his pipe from him pres- ntly and sang softly, and his voice was sweet: “ Maxwolltown’s Braes are bonny, Where early fa’s the dew, And ’tis there that Annie Laurie Giecl mo her promise truo.” Tho lunging thump of the surf came to him across the outer reef—the song of the sea. Tho lament of tho patient sheep on the hillside threw their mournful harmony into tho scale ; a lark high above drew a “bar" across the face of the Heavenly sky, and all nature lay palpitating. The Major sang on “ Gied me her promise true That ne’or forgot will bo, And for bonny Annie Laurie I’d lay me down and dee.” Tho sound of a strong mellow voice came to him from the rising country above, “ I’d lay me down and dee,” an echo as it were of his own mournful song. Ho turned slowly and looked up the hillside. A horseman rode down through the long fern, a big man, hoavy and boarded. He waved his hand to the Major ; the Major cried “Good day ! ” Ho rose as in duty bound, and met the big Sheep Inspector at the gate. They exchanged commonplaces, but with weary insolence the Major ignored the halfextended hand. Butts, the Stock Inspector, followed him into tho house, his heavy spurs clanking. They sat down and the Major produced some whisky. “ Pretty little song that, Major." “Yes,” said the Major. “Ah, help yourself." Butts sang a few bars of “ Annie Laurie ”in sheer good nature. “ Here I am again, Major, turned up like a bad penny. How’s the sheep?" “ On duty ? " “Yes! Rumours of whito lice in the district,” answered Butts. Tho Major turned his glass round in his fingers vaguely ; he felt out of sorts this morning, and—he didn’c liko tho Inspector. “Oh, of course, your Hock's all right,” said Butts. Inspector Butts was one of tho old school. Entertain him hospitably, plenty of whisky and a little tact generally produced a clean certificate. As a runholder once said, “ Only fill him with whisky and laugh at his jokes and he’ll overlook anything short of arrant scab." The Major was aware of this little peculiarity, bub ho was a conscientious man. “I'm net so sure, Butts," he answered slowly. “ Lice V queried Butts. “ Nothing I I never go back on a good fellow ; dip ’em well when the wool’s off." “ I’m afraid it is worse.” Butts looked at him quickly; the Major made no sign. “Ah, well, Major, I suppose I’ll have ■to go through ’em,” ho said hopelessly. J< Is it scab ?" “ I couldn’t say, really ! ” said tho Major. “ I have only a couple of thousand, give me a hand and we ll run ’em in.” They caught their horses and rode out “ back." A steady wind sprang up, and the sheep mustered well. They worked them down the long spurs, picking up the stray lot* as they came, the Inspector ever singing “ Annie Laurie,” the Major silent, a world of fun in his eyes. Carelessly at first Butts worked through j the flock ; the day d-ew on, but still thuio was no sign of scao. The Inspector tor k his coat off and swore roundly, he jambed them in mini! lots into the “diamond,’ ami worked for another Imur 1! * i.fr tiff at Hr, cursing. “ Y iur stock’s clean -s my face, Major," j lie said. They put on their coats and went back to the house. Butts helped himself to whisky, “Come, now, Major, your stock is clean." “ I wish it was," he answered, sighing. “But, man, I've been through every hoof you’ve got." “They are much tainted," said tho Major, hopelessly. Butts brought his glass down with a bang. "They’re not dirty, there’s no lice, no scab—the skin’s clean—give it a name, Major." Then the Major looked at him, his face solemn, his eyes twinkling. “Oh! a thousand pound mortgage— Maoriland Amalgamated Lend and Ib’queeze’eni Company, he said softly." “ Oh, you!—you dog Pour me out some more whisky." Robert Alla>’.