WAIPOURI.

Otago Witness, Issue 2545, 24 December 1902, Page 67

WAIPOURI.

By R. Adatr. "This year, next year, some time, never! How very silly of six-and-twenty." One by one the leaves dropped from the twig of manuka until the last remained at "this year." "This year, indeed," proceeded the mocking voice, "and -this the last day of it. Manuka of the starry eyes, thou'rt a stranger to truth — I'll none of thee." Nan Cathernay -dropped the denuded "twig, and broke a young, green shoot from the gorse bush beside her. "Now, the truth from you, as I love you, oil, fearless -outlaw," she said. "This year, next year, some time, never !" iechoed the falling spikes of green, answering the girl's unspoken question. The mocking died outrof her voice as the reluctant fingers beared tha last — "this year." "Oh, you lunatic," exclaimed Nan, springing -up, "much ozone hath made thee mad. Better descend to .lower levels and break- j las^" - and sddwri the -hill she wound her ■way-jv knee-deep in the .springy fern. . From theioot'of the hill she heard the camp gong} announcing breakfast. '.' " ".. . . ■ - The-fishing party had camped in one of the<most favoured spots on-'tiie P<smahaka.'s ' banks,; at .the junction of that river with the*. Waipouri, a ' stream „4romv the Puru Mountains. Between the Waipouri and the hills is a small, triangular flat, covered ■with tussock, manuka," and flax, that forms an ideal camping ground for the , fisherman. Bordering.- the stream are sombre birches and pines, whose green gloom throws into ■vivid relief the warm crimson of the mistletoe and the white, starry loveliness of the taraire's blossoms. In their shadows the brown water lingers to murmur regretful farewells to the solemn Puru Mountains, whose dark valleys have cradled it, and to the soft-eyed deer and sweet-voiced birds that have loved it, befo» yielding itself to the masterful Pomalaka. Down in that lonely spot, with hills lining all the hprizon, one feels very far from the crush and confusion of civilisation, very near to Nature's heart. The voices of ■ and waters charm away one's ■world-weariness, while the' silent strength of the hills enters the soul to fortify it for a renewal of Life's warfare. Amid the manuka .two tents stood, and under a giant birch' opposite them the table — a sheet. of iron on four pegs — was set for breakfast;'' "A' 'man- was- lifting from the fire, near at hand a pan of beautifully-browned fish; and his wife, Nan's sister, was -dusting the-, plates that had been -warmed at the' fire. J * . ' "£qme" along,, Nan-}", cried- her brother-in-' ..law'j .Bervingjthe. trout', '/-Tve quite- surpassed all former, culinary achievements. this morning." • The pile of bread and butter quickly disappeared under the. onslaught of six hungry people, and Jack Gordon had no difficulty in disposing of his fish, the last piece of -which he sold by auction. ~ His sister Bee secured it at the price of a promise to pro? vide pancakes and raspberry jam for lunch, and her husband appropriated it and shared it with the bright-faced boy known in camp as Six-and-eight. "How far away is Dunedin, Madge?" asked Bee, leaning contentedly against the old birch. "Oh, millions of miles," answered Madge, as she crumbled bread for two robins hopping near. "Ever toiled in a lawyer's office, Six-and-eight?" drawled Bert Gregory, and the boy tumbled out of his tussock with a very shocked face. "Hush," he said, "this is the abode of Truth. • Profane it not. At least, Nan said so yesterday when I was calling Imagination to the aid of Memory.'' And so the merry talk rippled on, and peals of laughter woke the echoes in the hills and drew sweet response from the birds. The day's programme was arranged, and soon, the men were equipped with rods and baskets, the boy with his rifle. "Lunch on the island at 12 sharp, gentlemen," cried Bee. ■ "Have the dining room fire .burning, little man." • . "Bring out all' your wet clothes," admonished Madge,- "or we'll toss out your . feather-bed in search of stray socks, and yov^ll have to cut a new one." "Don't • forget _tbe pancakes, Mrs Be r e," cried the* boy, half-way down the flat., and Bee, in reply, waved the frying pan in jne hand, her. sun-bonnet in the other. "I'm off on the wander, girls," said Nan. •when the camp had been put in order, "so that you may enjoy the gossip you denied yourselves last night. "Alright, Pelican of the Wilderness," was Madge's reply. - They had given Nan that name because she liked to wander alone, and because she wore a grey gingham, hardly distinguishable among the rocks. Bo she climbed again to the gorse-scented hollow in the hillside, where the manuka and the gorse had given the same answer to her unspoken question — -when will he come? On the last day of the year, six summers ago, Ralph Helmore had left her there, and now he was in Queensland. Every day for a fortnight he and his cousins had come down to the camp from Arran Station, and th«y two had journeyed together far into a new, lovely land. How far neither then knew, but in the long years of separation since Nan had learned that it was too far to admit of turning back. That road, in sunshine or shadow, could be trodden once only by a, woman, with, a nature, such .as hers. ' . ' On that £ay the Arran girls had iome done alone. Cousin Ralph had stayed to read his letters,- and would overtake them ; but the day. wore on t and Nan's heart grew heavy with the foreboding of coming pain. It was evening when he came tc the camp, and they all went up the hill together. Just here he and she had paused to look down on the valley where they had been so happy tsgeggr* jiad, it seeniedTift Njm j&afc

a heavy hand was crashing her down, down into unknown darkness. Never before had there been any restraint them, any barrier of misunder- ; standing, but now she felt herself shut i jut- , , ! "It is good-bye to Waipouri and to the beautiful life here, Miss Nan," he said, hoarsely. "I have lived in the mountains of life with you for two weeks, and now duty and honour call me back to the plains. I must leave for home to-morrow ; but I will not forget how we have climbed the heights, and crossed tbe dark water, and listened to the voices that call out all that is good in a man down there together." Nan knew that he was fighting desperately to control his voice, and her heart ached intolerably under the numbing pressure upon her. "You are very young, and the young are quick to judge.* All 1 dare say to you tonight is, ' Be pitiful, for every man is fighting a hard battle.' Good-bye, Madam Girl." He was gone, and Nan sank down and locked her hands round her knees in a wild struggle for self-control, for the others were coming back. - The week that followed, before the camp was- broken up was a very martyrdom, although none guessed it. There,- by the .Waipouri, well-named, as Nan" bitterly thought, -the .girl- drank of Life's dark waters, and found her .woman's .heart. Months afterwards she heard that Ralph Helmore had* been engaged for five years to a Queensland cousin, and that the engagement /seemed likely to last as long again. Then Nan understood, and the bitterness that had been slowly warping her nature was dispelled. The memory of their long talks became all sweet again, and now. lying there where they had parted, she held a review of those lovely summer days. Dreamy and soft grew her eyes, and at last, stretching out her hands," she softly said, "Ralph, Ralph, Ralph. Ob, Mr Man, you are long in coming." In merry moods they had been Mr Man and Madam Girl. Somehow, he had been very near her all day, and she could see his serious face brighten and feel the firm hold of his hands on hers. So often those hands had steadied her in difficult places, and Nan knew in her soul that, seen or unseen, they would hold her always. Suddenly the rattle ot falling stones disturbed her dreams, and she sat upright. A man in tourist's dress was making his way \ to the flat. What was there about the tall figure that drove the colour from the girl's face and set every nerve quivering?-'. , | "I cann,ot be," she breathed ; "the Arran girls would, have told us." . j ' When Nan saw him bend, over the bunch of golden, gorse-blossoms .thai she had tied to their ieplr pole that morning, and .then break off a-j>iece and "put it in his coat, she knew the manuka and the gorse had spoken truly. He was come — this year. Ralph. Helmore loved the subtle-scented, vvild thing as she did, and many a piece, he had "spiked" for her to wear in her belt. Once, when the others were rallying her about her "queer taste," someone had laughingly ascribed it to like drawing to like, Nan remembered how. Ralph Helmore's eyes had met hers then, and lie had not laughed. In five minutes she might read his eyes again. How could' sbe meet him, though, growing hot and cold -in this way? Perhaps it had been Imagination, not Faith, that had led her on and upwards all the years. Not until he and the two girls had left the camp with the lunch baskets did Nan Cathernay leave her retreat. She could meet him more, composedly in the general excitement that would follow his unexpected appearance down at the island. Ralph Helmore turned-. -with a start when a merry voice beside him said : "How do you do, Mr Man? Welcome to the Waipouri !" And a great -light leaped into his eyes. What did it matter now for the long waiting and the hearthunger? As soon as possible Nan slipped away and wandered down the gray banks of £he Pomahaka until she came to an old haunt under a shelving rock. There she lay dreaming for a- long, -long time, until the sound of a rifle shot very near made, lier spring up, startled. Her- feet slipped on the dry grass, and, throwing out her hands, she fell" Sack. The sound of a terrible cry made her start up again-, and she saw Jim Gregory* with his rifle still at his shoulder, staring up at her. with a ghastly face.. Then poor Six-and-eight went down on the sandy beach, and Nan was flying down the bank to reach him. The river was narrow there, and broken rocks offered a possible crossing. With a last spring Nan went kneedeep into the river, and was kneeling by the boy when his brother and Ealph Helmore reached them. They had heard the shot, and seen the girl's frantic crossing, and had run back. "He's not shot," said Bert, after a moment. "I believe he has only fainted. Don't look like that, Nan ; he'll come round directly." Presently the boy's eyes opened slowly, and he tried to rise. "Nan — I've shot Nan !" he .gasped ; and Nan threw her arms round him, and said, with a little laugh of intense relief: "You silly Six-and-eight, how you've scared us all!" "I shot at a rabbit on the rock, never seeing you until you sprang up. Oh! it was horrible !" And the boy's head dropped back on Nan's" shoulder." Nan heard the sharplydrawn breath of' the nfan kneeling beside her, "and she smiled" reassuringly wlien he turned his white face to her. *In 1 flash she- saw that it was Faith, not Imagination, that had walked with her all the years. The boy's white face and Nan's wet dress made it necessary to tell the others of their adventure, and thanksgivings for a merciful escape filled the hearts of all. Bee Gregory petted her young brofcher-in-law into cheerfulness, while Madge helped Nan into dry clothing. -".You were sayin.g that ffbite jjaflut lor

I to-morrow, Nan. Never mind, you won't I want to ramble far to-night now." And ; in Jier heart of hearts Nan was saying, "Bless the wetting! He likes white better than anything else." Under the stars, after the others had turned canipwards from -the gleaming waferfall, they two spere together again. "Nan," said the man -softly, with hungry eyes on the face that had been his lodestar through six weary years, ''I have come -back, free at last, to tell you why I left you. 'here, long ago. "That morning I had received a letter from the girl to whom I. had been engaged since I was twenty. For two weeks I had lived in a world, where she was not, where you. were. I had dreamed, and her letter awoke me. I took the only course open to me, but she refused to cancel our engagement. Four months ago she sent me from Sydney a newspaper containing the notice of her marriage there. "The time has beer long, dear, and my mountain hard to c'.imb, but for your sake I have kept hold of my alpenstock. Sometimes the mists of doubt darkened the way, and then I would feel in the dark for your hands, soft hands stealing into mine in the dark, holding me fast without a spoken word. Dear heart, have you understood all that those days meant to vs — yes, and all they promised us too?"' he concluded, and Nan laid her hands in his. The Waipouri rippled on joyously, murmuring a soft thanksgiving for what it had seen and heard. "Ralph," she said later, "you have been teaching me many things since that day when you taught me, up there, that there was no honey in the gorse 'blossoms. I was oh, so ignorant, creeping along like a caterpillar, with my eyes on the leaf I was eating, and I thought myself so wise. Narrow and uncharitable, and selfish too, all in my little groove. You have made me grow, giving me eyes to see and strength to climb up for what I taw." "Ah, no, Madam Girl, you were far up on the mountains in the' old days. It is just that the higher up one's ideal is set, the further down one feels. Perhaps you did not know yourself as I saw you then, you were so young for your years. Nan, if I" had hot" been able, honourably, to come back to you, would you have lived lonely among the bare mountains of Might-have-been?" "I should have gone softly all my days, because of the days when we walked hand-in-hand here by the Waipouri," replied the girl, "and I would have been glad, glad, even when the heart-hunger was worst, because of what you had given to me." Round a big camp fire they all sat listening to the last sighs of the dying year. Jack Gordon sat. watch in hand, until the last beat of its heart came. Then there were heartiest New Year greetings, and Ralph Helmore took Nan's hand in his, and said to Jack and Madge : "It is our New Year too."

UNDENIABLE FACTS. Since TUSSICURA was placed on the market no cough remedy has achieved so wide a success as this preparation, and its name is a household word in thousands of homes in every part of New Zealand. These are facts that cannot be denied, and the favour it has secured is due entirely to the mixture being exactly w.hat it. professes to be — namely, an absolutely infallible cure for all diseases to which the throat, lungs, and bronchial tubes are liable. Its effect is immediate and permanent.

— Between £400 and £500 has been earned on the average this season by the boats' crews -engaged in the herring fishery on the Northumberland and Berwickshire coast,