WAYBACK BURNS HIS FERN.

Otago Witness, Issue 2664, 5 April 1905, Page 69

WAYBACK BURNS HIS FERN.

By Chabi.es Oscar Palmer.

Wayback heard the wind wailing dismally about his cabin as it blew steadily seaward down the river valley during the night. He almost feared that the frosty ■wind was setting in early in the fall, but when he came abroad this morning he was pleased to see that the wind blew from the nor'-west, for t!Te weather had been very broken, and he almost despaired of getting his fern burned.

"You see," he explained to mother at breakfast time, "if I burn in the spring "when the sap is rising the fern is up again strong and rusty in two or three, weeks' time, and the sheep prefer the young grass to the rank fern. Besides, the fern rust stains the wool. If I burn in the fall the fern only springs a little ; the sheep are on it all the winter, and) they are sure to nibble and stunt some of ■■ it before it bounds up in the spring. As it requires three years'^growth before there is enough dead underneath for a decent burn, I- like to be careful, and only set light to it in the autumn."

-After breakfast Wayback took his homemade billy (a large jam tin with a binding v»ire handle) from the. rf&il where it hung in the old whare, filled it with kerosene, and with a box of matches in his vest pocket, set off for the swamp. He broke a dry, porous flax stick from the handiest bush, snapped it off to a convenient length, dipped the larger end into the kerosene, struck a match, applied the light to the stick, and so with billy of oil and fiery wand he walked from culmp to clump of flax, tutu, or rushes, or over the fallen, matted fern. The burning lawyers hissed, seethed, and cracked 1 , the flax bushes were wrapped in a roaring whirl of flame, and the fire swept over the fern before the freshening wind. "*»

With the fragrance of flax and fern, Wayback in fancy saw the old selection, where his dad wrought behind the plough •when Mag and Bumble struggled through the stones and roots, or when he set potatoes in tlie furrow behind the old swing plough. The smell of smoke and the Serceness of fire sent his heart over seas in pity for the great, dry land, and in fancy ha wrought with those who bared the brawny arm and lashed at till they checked the fire that threatened "Rosse's Farm."

Meantime, toward noon, little Teddy liad askedi mummies permission to go out to dad, ■and eagerly he set off round above the river bank. The dense volume of smoke that rushed up above th.?. ferny rjdge affrighted him, and when he came round where thunderous fire roared in the fiax bushes, he was terrified. Daddy was in there, and would bs burned up. A poor, timorous hare .lay panting in the path. It leapt up at Teddy's approach, and with ears laid back and quivering flanks bounded through ths smoke and over the rushes. Teddy madfe a bold run forward, determined to rescue his dad or die with him. Fierce tongues of flame shot out from the reed's and caught at him. He turned back, where his hardened, shoeless feet sank into the bog. He scrambled out of the swamp, and. mentally calling to Godi to protect his dad. he stood, his battered cap clenched in his hand, and the blinding smoke on his blackened face.

The wind veered, the smoke clouds rolled asunder, the little chap made a bold dash, and was soon safely through to the windward side of the fire. All his terror left him in a moment, for there ■was dad, black and! sweaty india-ed, but self-possessed, walking among the fern with fire-tipped stick.. "What brings you here, you young rascal?" asked dad. "Doesn't your mother want you?" "I wanted to help with the burn," Teddy answex-ed. "Oh, well !" dad said. Teddy broke himself a flax stick, dipped into the oil tin, and the flame of the last little fire, and made an eager dive for the biggest flax Tdusli he could see. He held his burning stick beneath the dry, crumpled blades until they began to crackle. The rudtdy tongues of flame crept between them ; the uoy stood back and -watched the whiff of white smoke steal up. Suddenly the flame caught the green blades, there was a roar, and a black rush of smoke was swirling away on the wind. Teddy shivered with delight and terror, and watched the fires until dad told him to go and turn the old cow back from the fence, or she would be into the turnips. Slowly, loth to leave the burning, Teddy went. The old cow was before him. Wayback saw her blunder over tb^e wire-netting, and furiously broke out with "The brute! If she once gets a taste of those, turnips, nothing will stop her." He ran down through the fern, grabbed up a couple of stones, and 1 raced through the stubble to the turnip patch. The old cow was used to such occasions. She ran and took a clumsy leap at the boundary fence, struck the top wire, and broke it as she dragged her tough, lean old carcase into the river bed. As Wayback turned her in at the little gate, he saw that his fire had taken to the. hillside, andi was sweeping the fern thence, and leaving it blackened and bare. He trembled lest some of liis sheep should beovertaken and burned before they scampered over the ridge. Feeling thirsty, he hoisted Teddij on his shoulders, and set off home. How pleasant was the shade of the trees in the little gully, and the tinkle of the water be-tw-een the mossy stones. At the dinner table he warned mother not to let the laddie away again when he was burning. "The young pilgrim might have been roasted between some of those bushes," he said, "and then where would 1 we have %een?" , ks Wayback returned in the evening, after a long, dry, -dusty day in the fern, !he wondered why he felt so gritty, until he turned up the* left leg of his blackened dungarees and looked! at his shin. Then it suddenly struck him that only a hot tub would make life bearable.