CLEMATIS.

Otago Witness, Issue 3100, 13 August 1913, Page 82

CLEMATIS.

By Axgkla Hastings

"lou non’t mind if I go, will vou Pat?” 3

The girl laughed. “What a question, Teddy ! If I say- I don’t mind, you will ■probably be offended, and if I say I do mind, you will promptly set to work- to reveal all the benefits to be derived therefrom.”

Now it was he who laughed. “Well, shall I go or shall I not?” “To be or not to be? It’s too hot to think, Teddy.”

“.Make one desperate effort, Pat. Shall I telegi-aph. to Hinton that I am not going to accept his kind invitation?” “Poor fellow! It would be an act of charity to go. What lovely ears y-ou have, Teddy-,” she added, gazing at them as though stricken with admiration. “Then you think I should go, Pat? I would—only when a fellow has just had the good fortune to become engaged ” “The audacity, you mean !” “Well, anyway, it was all your fault!” he retorted. “Mine! Did I not refuse you seven—no, eight—times, and still vou persisted ! Do y-ou mean to insinuate, sir, that I wanted y-ou to propose? Mr Edmund Spain, you are excused !” She swept him a low curtsey and pointed a slender hand towards the door. “Yes, afterwards,” he replied, settling more comfortably on the couch. She looked at liim witheringly. “Teddy-, you’re perfectly disgusting'”" “1 m sorry. ’ “Sorry ! I should think you would he ! In that supreme moment' I saw Sarah Bernhardt my understudy-! And you ! You lounged there like a bear!” “I’m sorry. I was trying to bear your acting.” “How good of you. Your nose is exquisitely- chiselled. By the way, what was it we were talking about, Teddy?” “You are superior to the immortal Sarah. It was about my departure.” “Don’t be nervous. You’re going to be asked to lunch. Mother said I could.” “Must I endure all this?” groaned Teddy. “Pat, can you answer a sensible question ?” “Certainly, if yon managed to ask one !” “Well, shall I go?” “You call that sensible? It is imbecilic ! Go now? When the ‘baked meats’ are upon the dining room table? Teddy, are you insane?” She stood up once more and regarded him with horror. “No, but I shall be soon !” He -sprang up and seized her by- the shoulders. “Teddy-, you hurt!” she protested, and she rubbed the offended shoulders tenderly as soon as he released her. “I can hear the bruises rising !” “It’s all right then, Pat,” he returned cheerfully, “for they say- as long as the bruise doesn’t go in there’s no danger. But now for that sensible question ! Shall I go to Te Kaimata?” “Did I not say that it would be an act of charity to go?” “But shall 1 perform this act of charity?” “Most certainly.” Teddy looked unhappy. “Well, I think you might at least have pretended you wanted me to stay, even if you didn’t!” “Sirrah, thou art ungrateful for my supreme sacrifice of self! Sounds good enough for a quotation.” “I believe you’ll be glad to get rid of me.” “I rather like you when y-ou look sulky. Your head would make a delightful study. I wish I could draw. I’d call it ‘Apollo in the Dumps.’ ’’ “Kindly excuse mo. to your mother. I shall not wait for lunch, and, if it is not asking too much of you, say good-bye to her for me. I shall leave town by the first express to-morrow.” “T b—e—g you—r par —don?” drawled Pat. “I shall leave town by the first express to-morrow.” “I heard that, hut what were the messages for mother?” “Pat, you’d drive a. man mad ! “Poor Teddy, I’m so sorry. Was it I who did it to you? So young —handsome — ta 11 —<l ar k -eyed ’ ’ Suddenly Toddy caught her in his arms and kissed her. “U—gh !” She broke away from him. “I shall be ill ! Most likely I shall die ! How dare you kiss me when I hate it?” “Well, didn’t you say I was young, and handsome, anil tall, and dark-eyed ?” “Yes, and it isn’t true! You’re old, and ugly-, and wee, and —yes, you are—-crooked-eyed !” „ “I shall kiss you again.” “I’m poisoned now, so it won’t matter.” “Be friends, Pats. Sit beside me like a good old Pats, and toll me why- I ought to eo to Te Kaimata?” “How do vou know I think you ought to, Teddy?”" “I guessed. Tell me why, Pat?” “You know as well as I, Teddy, hirst, it’s an act of charity. Evidently poor Jack Hinton needs a change badly, and it’s a grand chance to perfect youi Maori. Besides, there’s nothing to keep von in town.” “I agree with you in all but the last statement. There is something to keep 1 me here.” | “I suppose you mean me r 1 m not a thing. Teddy.” I “It is not yon,” he answered smilingly, j “Not me? Are yon quite sure thcie j isn’t a train to Te Kaimata this aftcri noon?’’ . I “it’s mv love for you, my own 1 rincess | Pats!” “Ah. well, you’re forgiven. Putting I vnur arm round me like that isn t any j further proof of your contrition. And here’s mum coming! Let go!” 11. “All seated ! Standclcar.plca.se! Stand clear!” The engine of tiie north express i had whistled. Out of the carriage win- ' dow leaned Edmund Spain, still holding Pat’s soft pink hand.

[ “Take good care of yourself, Pats,” he | was saying. I “Munsie-ur need have no fear,” she an- | swered gaily j “Stand clear!” | She pressed his fingers to her lips. | “Pats!” She laughed “You need not promise not to wash it off until I come up in , December.” I “And you will come?” “If you want me.” j “Pat! Je vous desirerai toujours parce : qne je voue aime bien.” I “Good-bye!” Pat’s blue eyes were shining very brightly. “Mon plus cher ami!” Teddy watched the white handkerchief Until it became a tiny fluttering fragment, lost from view at the turning of the railway. He bought a morning paper and looked through the cablegrams. He read the Balkan news, smiled at tho doings ot the Suffragettes, and glanced down the personals. He handed Iris paper to a young lady near him, and then, gazing out the w indow, thought of Pat. She had been a Briton to bid him go, readily sacrificing her pleasure for his good. Even the dad had thought it impossible for him to leave for Te Kaimata so soon after tho announcement of his engagement, and on hearing Pat's decision had praised her warmly. “A sensible little girl, Ted,” he had said. “You mustn’t lose her. She’s right. It’s a splendid thing for a lawyer to be up in Maori, and I’ve many a time regretted my lack of .knowledge of the : language.” So, to oblige his friend. Jack Hinton, and to perfect tho language, Teddy was bound for Te Kaimata. Having changed trains at the junction, he went slowly on into the heart of wild, beautiful native scenery. Tree ferns drooped their graceful fronds until they mingled in the densest bracken; tiny mountain streams tumbled over miniature waterfalls and disappeared; struggling lawyer caught tho friendly, neighbouring supplejacks and swung up to the sunlight; above all gleamed the pure star clematis, from heaven dainty cirrus clouds sent messages to earth. At last came Te Kaimata, and upon the station was Hinton, scanning eagerly the train. “It’s awfully decent of you to come, Spain,” said Hinton when they had shaken hands “Is this all your baggage?”

“Yes. I don’t suppose I shall need much toggery in this region, Hinton.” “I don’t know how you’ll like it.” “If you’ve survived all these months, old fellow, I can surely put in six weeks. It's a grand chance to polish up Maori, and besides By Jove! You don’t look very fit, Jack. I’m glad I came. Vv nat does tho doctor say?” “That I must get out of here—inland, he says.” Hinton coughed violently. “Otherwise, consumption.” “Good heavens! And you an ex-full back !’’ “Queer, isn’t it? I didn’t like to leave the school in tho lurch, and yet you can’t get many fellows that know the language.” He coughed again. “Do you intend coming hack. Jack?” “Not if I can avoid it, Teddy, although it’s curious how the place can chain you.’’ Soon they came to the hotel, a plain, square, unpretentious structure, standing modestly in its vegetable garden. Its only claim to romance lay in its name, The Maori Belle. In the evening Hinton led Spain to the chief’s house, situated at the top end of the pa. “His two daughters,”- said Jack, “will be among your pupils. Ngaire is nearly eighteen and Reka sixteen.” “To remember the names Avill be an eternal puzzle to me. How many in tho school?” “Twenty-three. Oh, you’ll soon get used to them. , Here we* are. There is Kaimata himself and his eon, Maia.’’ “ Will he expect me to rub noses?” whispered Teddy, smiling inwardly at what Pat’s criticism of such a proceeding would be.

| ‘‘Shake hand.-;,” said Hinton softly. Kaimata spoke English well, and cordi- ' ally invited his guests into his dwelling, I in which the scarcity of chairs and the j abundance of mats were conspicuous. Pro- ; bably out of courtesy to his guests, Kaij mat a sat down upon the third chair, and | his wife, holding behind her back in her left hand her short pine, went forward to greet the visitors. Maia was introduced, and the sisters, Ngaire and Rcka, called in and presented. Undoubtedly they were handsome, Ngaire remarkably so, and yet Teddy fancied he preferred the gentler : face of Reka. Each had two great heavy ! plaits of jet-black hair reaching far past ; the waist, and contrasting strongly with their crimson frocks. Ngaire wore a long necklace of yellow heads, and Rcka one of : tiny shells. Neither spoke except in ; answer, but both watched Teddy intently, j listening closely to all he said and noting his slightest movement, j “We shall like our new teacher,” said Reka to her sister as they both stood unfastening their frocks at bedtime. “ He is handsome,” said Ngaire. “ I like him better than Mr Hinton,” , said the candid Reka. “ I do not like that coughing. I wonder if he will like . us !” “ I will make him like me,” answered ; Ngaire; “but yon. Reka,—yon are. so j silly I” she added contemptuously. Reka’s ! dark face was tinged with colour. ! “ Ngaire, you are unkind.” j “ Unkind I Because I speak truly! You silly child! If I love Mr Spain, how I could he care for you, not half so hand- ! some? Mala says so, and father, and did i not Mr Hinton make mo the goddess in ; our tableau? And the English tourist—- ; did he not say I was beautiful enough to he one? To-morrow 1 will take to Mr Spain a wreath of clematis, perhaps some rata, and see then whom our teacher loves !” “ Can I not go for rata apopo i te ata?” (early to-morrow morning). “Taukiri! Kahore! The teacher would not care for yv>ur poor stuff. Wait! I j know where is the loveliest wreath that

ever grew, and nana. t I will bring it to the school to-morrow.” Day after day Ngaire decked Teddy’s desk with flowers and wonderful trails of clematis drooped from the roughly-hewn mantelpiece. He found his scholars for the most part wonderfully responsive, and possessed of an excellent intelligence. His greatest stumbling-block was the arrival of two new pupils, whose brown eyes gazed and gazed at the alphabetic card he held before them, but whoso astonished brains seemed incapable of absorbing the purport fo those mvsterious symbols.

In the evening, with Ngaire,' Reka, and Maia, he went up the river fishing, and the hours passed pleasantly. One glorious moonlight night, contrary to his usual custom, he set oft alone. Leaning against the stone parapet of the bridge was a dark figure, and, calling to it, Reka’s soft voice answered him.

“\ou, Reka! He aha to mate?” (“ What is the matter with you?”) She slipped her moist handkerchief into her pocket. “ Nothing.” “ Does Reka cry for nothing? Well, never mind, I am going to fish. You will come ?” She hesitated.

‘‘Come,’ said Teddy kindly, “it’s no use standing on the bridge crying, you know.”

feo they set off up the river bank together, she leading the way. The way she swung along reminded Teddy of Pat, whose letter ho had been enjoying while he ate his tea. One day more and she and her mother would be in Te Kaimata. He and Reka sat down on the stones, and he dropped his line softly into the water. She held the rod while he took out his cigarette-case. You don’t mind mv smoking, do you, Reka?” ’ She laughed. “ \ou forget. Nga wahine (the women) smoke; so shall I some dav, perhaps.” “A wa e kai tupeka.” (“Do not smoke.”) Taku whaea (my mother) smokes,” she answered simply. “And you say, ‘Honour thy father and thy mother.’ and if she does this, why should not I?” “Reka, you are not quite a child. You are old enough to understand. You are he kotiro mahara. Your mother did not have the chance you had. For you your education makes things wrong that are not so for'“her.” “It is true,” she said meditatively. Katahi taku mea whakama ko te wahine kia kai paipa.“ (“1 ant ashamed to see a woman smoke.”) Ihe fish were biting badly, and soon Teddy drew in his line. “Why don’t you bring me clematis like Ngaire does, Reka?” lie asked her as they went down the river bank. Ho had put the question unthinkingly, never for a moment guessing the wild, riotous joy it brought to Reka’s heart. To him she was a mere child, at most a schools'^ “E ! But you would not care for it.” “But I would. Me mau mai apopo,” (bring it to-morrow), said Teddy, little dreaming of the evil consequences of his thoughtless words. Ngaire’s eyes shone with anger as she and Reka undressed that night. “You were with him?” she demanded in a low, earnest voice. “Yes,” replied Reka, and, unable to restrain her desire to prove her triumph to her sister, she added, “I’m glad now yon struck me when I wouldn’t give you my blue ribbon for to-morrow; I went to the bridge and I was crying when he came.” “Ugh! And did you tell him why?” “I told him what I liked !” Ngaire seized her by the shoulders. ‘‘Tell me, kotiro !” she cried, shaking Reka violently. “Let me go. T did not teli, but—hut ——” there was triumph mingled with the younger girl’s sobs—“he asked me hr bring him clematis to-morrow !” “Taukiri! You will not!” “But I will ! And if you strike me 1 shall call te tana matua !” (our father.) “Haera atu !’’ Ngaire pushed her sister from her. “You are a baby!’’ The elder girl slept little that night, and when Reka awoke from a dream of a wonderful fishing expedition, Ngaire was already dressed. “Reka,” she said softly, “Jet us go for the clematis together.” “You will not take mine from me?” “You silly child ! Of course not.” Both knew well where the best blooms grew, high up on a steep hank overhanging the wild falls of the river. They went over the hilltop, scrambling through the undergrowth, and thinking as little of torn hands as of rent garments. Far down the precipitous hank they could see a glorious spray, gleaming as if in defiance on account of its secure position. “Na !’’ said Ngaire, pointing to it. “It is the most beautiful I have ever seen.” “Will vou try to reach it?” asked Reka. Her sister laughed. “I am not so foolishly in love, my sister. No. It would take a greater love than mine to break that branch.” ‘Then I will try to reach it,” said Reka. Cautiously *slu> descended, never looking at the raging torrent beneath. Down—down—down, until she stood close beside the lovely cluster. As she stretched out her hand towards it, Ngaire stretched out hers towards a great, rough stone — an instant later came a sickening thud an agonising shriek —a loud splash in the raging waters of the falls. That day the school was closed in honour of the death of Reka, the chief’s daughter whose body was found lying in the quiet waters of the Kaimata. just half a mile below the falls. While gathering clematis upon the high river hank she had slipped and fallen. 111. Teddy half wished Pat were not coming. He hated bringing her into an atmosphere of such gloom. However, it was too late n’ow to cause her fo defer her visit, for in ten minutes more the train bearing her and her mother to Te Kaimata was due.

Teddy tramped up and down and un and down the platform, quite unconscious of the fact that from behind the bush a pair of beautiful brown eyes watched him. At last, with a great rush and a roar, came the train, and a moment later Pat was in his arms. Leaving Harry, the Maori boy, to bring on the luggage in the dilapidated old spring-cart, Mrs Fielding, Pat, and Teddy set off for the hotel. As they went out the white station gate a Maori girl glided over to the cart. “Who are they, Harry?” she asked the boy quietly. He grinned. “ Teacher’s wahine and her mother.” “You mean his sister?” “ Kahore! Tana girl!” {“ Xo, his girl!”), and Harry laughed. Slowly Ngaire went hack towards the densely-covered hills—slowly on and on, plodding almost blindly to the high bank where the glorious wreath of clematis was still growing. She tore the great trail down and wound it round her crimson frock and intertwined it in her straight, black hair. The long slanting rays of sunset fell upon the water, which, with, its warm tinge of colour no longer looked, foreboding. Far down on the still water near where they had found Reka lying was a broad expanse of blood-red gold. On this bright spot Ngaire’s eyes were resling. “Reka,” the girl spoke softly, as if dreaming, “it was neither you nor I the teacher loved ; so I am coming—coming—coming where you are..” She stretched her arms towards the river. “My sister, I am coming !” Down behind the fern-clad hills the great sun descended, tinging as he went the snow carpet of the distant mountains. Then softly rose his queenly consort, and the land was flooded with the dim, mysterious moonlight. “ Oh, Teddy! It surely is too perfect” —whispered Pat as they strolled beside the river—“ eV) calm and still. You are right. It is wonderful your river.” “ And beyond the bend are the falls, Pat; and ” “Teddy! Teddy! What is that?” She gazed in horror at a curious dark bundle lying with upturned face upon the river bank. Again that night in the chief’s house the sisters slumbered to awake no more at early dawn, hut to sleep on forever. Grief, so they said, had driven the older girl mad, and, unable to endure the loss of Reka, she, 100, had g'one down the broad river to the unknown spirit land.