A ROSE IN THE HAYFIELD

Otago Witness, Issue 3525, 4 October 1921, Page 66

A ROSE IN THE HAYFIELD

By

RICHARD DUFFY.

[Copyright.] “Time!” shouted Farmer Mease from the farthest corner of the hayfield. The men dropped their forks and retired for luncheon to the shade of the trees along the hedge. Jessie Mease- and Joe, the lout of a choreboy, had brought down from the. farmhouse tea, bread, butter, and hardboiled eggs, in quantities to feed a regiment. When the big-chested, hollowstomached labourers had gulped down this simple fare, they lolled for a spell, smoking their pipes and commenting on their work, which lay in great clusters of gold threads over the field. But Dave Torrev, Farmer Mease’s righthand man, had more ambitious thoughts. As was his custom, he stole away with Jessie to a spot shady and remote. Here Jessie would give him his paint and canvas as regularly ,as 'she had brought him his luncheon, and lie made her stand off from him in a- deathly-still pose, while he sought to imprison on canvas her graceful outline of figure, her large, clearcut, healthy features. The big trusting blue eyes, like the sky above, were the hardest task. Jessie seemed more than fractions in posing to-day. At the precise instant when he felt- the real life appearing in his portrait. Jessie gave utterance to a pout-ish grunt and squatted on the grass. “Darn vou, Jess, wot d’ye mean?” Dave cried in very artist's frenzy. “Dave, I'm mad; I’m sinful; I don’t want you to drore me any more.” Then she laid her rosy, chubby face in her hands and wept most copiouslv. Dave stepped un to her and took down her hands, holding them tight in his own. “What is it. Jess?” he asked fearsomely. “What d've do to make you sinful?” Jess only sobbed. “Tell me, Jess,” said Dave sternly, as an awful suspicion clouded his fancy. “Oh, Dave, Dave!” she groaned, “I'm jealous! Jealous!” “Of me?” “Of you and Sarah Brett.” “You durn little fool ! What’s wrong with me and Sarah?” “Nothing, Dave”—the sobs were breaking faster now—“only you said she made such a picture in church yesterday, with her new bonnet, an’ I thought-, I thought-, maybe you’d want to drore her instead of me, and then and them ” “Time !” roared Farmer Mease in the distance. Dave leaped over the hedge and ran down to the group of workers in the field. Jess gathered up his materials, slowly and with infinite care, wept quietly for a moment, and then hastened to help Joe carry hack the lunch tins to the house. There was a champagne breakfast in Perciv-al’s studio that morning. The “gang.” including all who knew Percival mid liked his wine, was gathered to honour David Torrev. thp farmer artist, who. after six months in New York, had leaped suddenly into celebrity. Dave and his friends had had many a laugh over the ridiculous words that got into print about him. The latest and wildest of all had reached him this morn- '

n ing, and when the coffee and cigarettes I began to grow Hat after dinner, Dave gave it forth with excessive gravity. a “It is said that Mr David Torrey, I whilom farmer and now famous artist, 1 the creator of ‘ A Rose in the Hayfield,’ is engaged to marry one of New York’s t swagger women. It appears that the picr t-ure Which made for the fortunate artist v his name is a life likeness of his affianced, I although he had never laid eyes on her until after it was exhibited. For social - reasons the name of the young lady is at present withheld.” “Ha! Ha! Ha!” roared Dave, in his r tremendoi\ basso. “That’s the best yet.” ? The whole assembly roared with mirth, ? and attacked the champagne with re- - newed zest. At this moment the elevator boy stuck his head inside the door and i yelled, “Lady downstairs at 27, to see f Mr Torrev.” S darn the lady; tell her he’s en--0 gaged,” grunted one. 1° , °ne of New York's swagger women, ’ piped Percival. r _ 'See here, fellows,” Dave interposed, “I niust leave you, but only for a minute, t It s Miss Curtis. She wants mo to engage 1 her to pose for my next, but .'he won’t > do. So I wrote her I had made other t arrangements. I’ll get rid of her in i snort order and be right with you again.” And Dave tore out of the studio. Miss Curtis it was, and she looked wicked as Medea. Dave asked her to be seated, 1 while he opened a letter, which he found 1 in the letter-box at his door. The handwriting was familiar but untraceable. My dear Mr Torrey,—l send you a piece of newspaper which Sarah Brett kindly cut out and sent to me. Sarah | is in Cincinatti. I want to tell you now . that I think you’re a coward; and if ever I see you again IT tell you so to your face.—l remain, sir. yours respectfully, ' Jessie Mease. 1 P.S.—Dave, you’ve broken my heart.” The piece of newspaper was identical • with the one he had just read and laughed over upstairs. There was no laugh in Dave s eyes now. He gazed out gloomily i on the composite of snow, rain, and sleet, - beating down vixenishly on the street beI low. ITe became quite lost in the mood. “Mr Torrey,” snapped Miss Curtis after , a while. “I presume you know how much I’m paid per hour.” • Dave came back to reality with a jump. “Oh, excuse me, Miss Curtis, vou see ■ I’ve just got some bad news from home, and ” “I’m sorry, Mr Torrey. Your letter was bad news to me.” “Perhaps. But to tell the truth, you know I didn't definitely engage you.” “Mr Torrey,” said Miss Curtis, flaming into wrath, “I’m a woman of my word. I believed you a man. of your word.” Dave thought the screen which hid the door of the studio was going to fall. Was it from the shock of her stamped foot? Tt swayed a moment, and then rested firm. Dave was thinking of little Jess. “Mffes Curtis,” he said with angry determination, “you were not engaged by me, and are not engaged. I have business to attend to at once, so please excuse me for asking you to consider our conversation at an end.” Dave turned and retired into his bedroom, closing the door deliberately behind him. His mind was full of a letter of explanation and solace which he prepared to send to Jessie immediately. Full of venom, Miss Curtis stared at the door for a few. minutes. Then she stood up with a deep-drawn sigh, and swung around on her heels, showing her back to it. A most unusual figure loomed on her sight. A splendidly-formed, rosv-cheeked, pert lass, clad in the most countrified gown and bonnet, was eyeing her, like a tigress rearing to Epring. “So you think you’re engaged to him.” s-aid the stranger in an ominous whisper, “my swagger New York lady?” “T know I am,” retorted-the stranger. “You know you 1—• —” gasped the stranger ; then, bursting from rage into sobs, she moaned, “Oh, please forgive me, miss, I didn’t mean to be sinful. Rut do go away. Do go away and leave him to me. You’re pretty ' and rich and elegant, but—hut-—I—I ’ ’ With a final despairing Sob of pleading Jessie Mease fell before Miss Curtis in a heart. “Help! Help!” shrieked Miss Curtis in affright-. Dave pulled back the door of his bedroom and strode out all unnerved. The sie-ht of him rather restored the equilibrium of Miss Curtis. “Mr Torrey.” she said icily. T suppose this is the young woman vou engaged in mv place. She’s fainted —perhaps from hunger. T’m sure she needs work more than T do. Take care of her.” Miss Curtis strode away, haughty and vet tender. Dave seemed paralysed until the door slammed hard on her retreat. Then he seized the limp, oddly-clad and thoroughly wet form in his arms. “Jess! Jess! My God, ’tis Jess!” he cried, frantic between joy and fear. But Jess only moaned. He laid her on the divan beside the window, seized a glass of water, and bathed her face briskiv. Presently the heavy lids lifted, and the big blue eves gazed at him, swimming in jov and doubt and hope. “Dave ! Dave !” she whispered, “has she gone and left you to me?” “Yes. my pet.” “And vou really will love only me, Dave?” “Only you and forever, -Toss.” She reached out her hand, took his arms and drew him down till their lips met. , fThe End.]