REAPING.

Otago Witness, Issue 3714, 19 May 1925, Page 73

REAPING.

By

Maud M'lntosh.

(Copyright.—For tiie Witness.) Tlie grey-loearded man in the shabby tweed 6uit paused with his hand on the rusted gate latch, and glanced along the grass-grown, uneven stretch of ground that did duty for a road. A straggling row of ramshackle structures that had once been homes, but were now in the last stages of decay and delapidation, jumbled together in an erratic, unkempt line, forlorn and dreary. Occasionally, very occasionally, a fitful trail of thin smoke betokened the survival of life. Down the road near the river a biggish building slumped over; its rotting door bore tbe imprint of hundreds of halfobliterated names, all that remained to remind that once its Tough rafters rang with revelry and dance, and the noise of hundreds of busy feet. Across the road another building, and yet another, pitifully fallen from the erstwhile pomp and splendour of public offices, catered to the purposes of the owners of those hundreds of feet. Down beyond the river piles and piles of reddish grey moss-grown stones and a few odd bits of rusted machinery told their own tale. Tt was a place teeming with memories, peopled with ghosts, but almost a deserted village—almost—not quite. The stranger pushed open the gate, and went up the path to the door. As he waited he noted that sweet william and wallflower ran riot in the garden, eld fashioned, in keeping with the place. A grey-haired little lady opened the door, and looked polite surprise. In response to his request for a rest and a meal he was invited courteouslv in, and a weather-beaten, grev-haired man, with old. wise eyes, bade him welcome. The little living room toned with the outer world—clean, yes, oh! yes, but old, very old; onlv the decay had not penetrated into the hearts of the two old people whose home it was. It was obvious in their looks, their tones, in the very atmosphere, that something bigger than time and age held reign supreme in the little house. But the old man was speaking. “ Not much of interest here now. sir,” he wa« saying: “ but in the old days, why we made historv. We had our post office, our hank, halls, stores, our thousands along the streets there. Great times, if wild; hut you know—a mining camp, things happened, dreadful things, every man carried a gun. and the quickest in the hand, you understand. I was a hit of a nut myself once,” he added reflectively. "Now, dad,” reproved the old lady. “ Stores, you said. They flourished, 1 suppose—made a pile? ” “ No,” the old man shook his head. “You might think so reasonably; but no, there were too many, and one big man cut the prices. I was in the line myself, so I know. No, we didn’t make much money ; but we had the life. There was the case of The old lady ceased her work ; the stranger sat unstirring in his hard-backed chair while they dipped back into the days before the piles of stones beyond the river had turned a reddy grey, overgrown with moss, when men now scattered the wide world over lived and bad their being in this little world’s backwater. Night fell, and they were still talking, and a bed was made for the stranger beneath the hospitable roof. In the morning, with the sun glinting down as fiercely on the few as it had done on the many, on the ruin as it had done on the building, the stranger was shown was left of the old, dead settlement. They looked over the old, old buildings, tried to decipher the undecipherable names fallen a victim to Father Time, spoke to the doddering old man who peered out at them from his hovel short-sightedly, then sat down on the bank of the river Came the whirr and rush of something approaching. Dust, and more dust, as a big tourist car swept into view, and slowed down for the benefit of its interested occupants. The white-garbed driver was waving his arm explanatorily. “ The big gold rush—wild district— i down that bank a woman gave her life for a man—in that hollow just there was found the body of a man, headless: the head was found in a gully further down, boiled in a kerosene tin ” (little nervous shrieks from the women, non-committal grunts from the men). “ That queershaped tree on the right marks the place where a big Australian killed a man in defence of a child; he was carried shoulder high round the camp; later the same man was killed in a dninken fight ” The car whined onward in a cloud of dust, modernity symbolised. ** I remember,” said the old lady; “ big Joe, tho Australian —a kind man, a good man. He visited us often; the children and he werf friends.” “ You have two children, I think you said.” "Two; both married; farming over the hill yonder. Good children, but we don’t often see them. It is a long way, you see, and travelling is rather dear. They have children, little dears.” “ Life, after all,” said the stranger, " is one big struggle. Few of us realise cur ambitions. For years I had a tremendously sincere desire to own a bank.” The old lady gave him a sympathetic glance; another of life’s failures, like them se lvcs.

"Or a nice little farm,” said the old man suddenly, “ to end your days in—a garden, chickens, stock, your children and grandchildren round you ” “ Don’t I ” the old lady said sharply, and they fell silent. Next day the stranger left, and, so quickly are friendships formed, he left Tegret and a little sadness behind. In a week he returned, and pleasure writ itself large on the countenances of the old couple. They lazed away a quiet, happy day together. Next morning be said: “ Business takes me back. It is a beautiful day. If you would honour me with your company for the outing you would do a lonely man a great favour.” The old people looked at one another in indecision. Then, “ You need a change, mother,” and a swift repudiation, " But you, certainly, are a little pale, dad.” He waited outside for them, and as they donned their “ best ” they noted that his shabby tweed suit looked shabbier than ever in the bright morning sunlight. A doubt seized them—the expense; could he afford this? But they went, boarding the service car at the extreme end of the settlement, and so away out of the valley of bygone days. All three were silent. The sunshine, the swift motion of the powerful car, a scented breeze, a charming bit of landscape caught at the senses of the old couple, and sent their hands together in an appreciative clasp. Then stock aroused their interest—fat, healthy, lazy stock on the hill slopes and green fields, —pros-perous-looking farm houses, a panorama of changing scenery, sparkling streams, an occasional dashing white waterfall. They had forgotten their own country was so beautiful. And all the time the stranger watched his companions intently. Lunch at the next stop,” announced the driver presently. The country was opening out now, the land was getting richer, the sprinkling of farms became more plentiful; a turn in the road showed them peppered liberally over the immense tract of country in front. “ Now,” said a young lady passenger, ‘ that’s what I call a farm.” It lay on the land to the left, like a white jewel in a velvet green setting. Back on the slopes stock swarmed, Lig mechanical things moved in the fields, with dots of men moving slowly among them. It looked oddly peaceful and attractive. The old couple relaxed in their seats and sighed. The car whirred softly to a standstill, and the passengers disembarked. “ I have made arrangements for lunch at the farmhouse we passed,” said the stranger, "if you don't mind.” If they didn’t mind! On the way to the farm the stranger fell silent, and for the first time unquiet thoughts disturbed the old couple, mutually as always. The road was lonely just here, and their companion’s face was. grim and set. A vague alarm took possession of them, memories of the early days crowded up unbidden. “ I wa s & bit of a nut,” thought the old man. “ We have nothing worth robbing,” ran the old lady’s thoughts. The lonely road merged suddenly into the main one with signs of life, and their qualms disappeared. "After lunch,” said the stranger, “we can have a look round.” The meal was served in a cool, lofty, dining room, and was as healthy and wholesome as the surroundings. The woman in attendance looked curiously at the stranger, then at the old couple, and withdrew. “ Now,” said the stranger when they had finished, " if you will come outside we can get a bird’s-eye view of the farm.” It improved on close range. The house was just as white and more spotless, the fields as green, the big mechanical things bigger, and tho stock at the back fatter and more numerous. Then there were chickens, a horse or two, and, catering to the eye of the beautiful, in front of the house a tiny, beautifully-kept lawn, with thick borders of sweet-smelling flowers. And, above all, was the atmosphere of live, growing things, healthful, life-giving. It was a place to love, and go on loving, loving. The hands of the old couple met in mute agreement of thought. The stranger was explaining, explaining. He seemed to understand farm life minutely, and they listened and looked and listened. Presently they all sat down on the big lounge verandah seat. The old couple took no heed to the purr in the distance of a big car. They had forgotten tho car, forgotten they had to return to tho place where life lay dead. The flowers nodded gaily in the breeze, the pleasant sounds of orderly farm life floated up, but no sound came from the house: it was empty. A big tabby cat strolled on to the verandah, inspected, then jumped confidently on to the old lady’s knee. ‘-’he crowed delightedly. “ You beautiful darling,” she said, ne was like Tibbins, their pet, who had died, and whoso grave lay. beautifully tended, not too far from their home. Silence, and again the old couple became conscious of the stranger’s intense, searching gaze; again their disquietude arose, their vague fears returned. There was something about this stranger, something they could not understand. The old man peered and poked into the recesses of nis past the while he patted his wife’s hand reassuringly. The stranger saw the movement, and sat up straight. “ So you like the farmT ” he said.

‘‘ It’s perfect, quite perfect,” said the old lady. “It is,” said the old man; " a place to dream about—dream about.” “ Well,” said the stranger, and there was a new quality in his voice, ‘‘ you have honoured me with some of your Hfe’s history. Will you now listen to a little of another man’s ? ” The old man’s hand on his wife’s tightened, the tabby cat, stroked roughly and uexpectedly backwards, jumped down in indignation and disappeared. “ This man, too, was back yonder in the old days, when Murphy ran his big store at the Bend, and Joe Wilson did a thriving trade in cartridges. He was there as a raw, orphaned lad, young, reckless, headstrong, who inevitably joined up with the lawless element of the district, and with them ran riot. A young storekeeper and his wife, who had shown him many kindnesses, stepped in and tried to stop him, but nearly too late. There was a memorable night in early winter. Ah! I see you remember it: one of the darkest nights in that place of fearsome nights, a night of shots and cries and groans and mangled limbs. The young man was in the midst of it, one of the victims. The storekeeper and his wife, both of them, went into the terror of the night to find him; found him halfdead, and took him home. You know of whom I am speaking. You are that man and wife, and the lad was Dan O’Halloran.” The old couple were white to the lips, and trembling. Words failed them. “ You took him in; you nursed him. Week after week, night after night you sat up, both of you, until your own strength flagged and your business suffered. I think no other woman in the camp would have taken him at all; he was wild Dannie O’Halloran; but you pulled him back from Death’s door. You must guess —I am Dannie.” They did not speak, they could not, Dannie they had long since thought dead. This man was the stranger—a stranger who bore no resemblance to the boy they had known a lifetime ago. He went on: “ After months of ailing you put me into the store. I was fit for nothing else. You, mother, mended my clothes —mended and patched and kept me tidy,—and you, sir, were a father to me, and I was neither kith nor kin to either of you. Then a chance came for me —a splendid chance to go abroad and start afresh. I was mad to .to, but it required money, a good deal. You knew, both of you, and you sent me, God alone knows at what cost to yourself, what sacrifice. But, young as I was, I dimly realised that it was something big, bigger than I would ever quite understand ” The old people were back in the past, living swiftly over again aching nights of anxiety, late hours of mending that tired the eves, and then- the time they had sent Dannie away. All their savings had gone cheerfully; but even they had not cared to delve" too closely into the matter of how it had affected their little business and, incidentally, their own life, for the boy had been so dear, so dear. “ I vowed before my Maker that I would repay it. I have travelled the globe, a wanderer over the face, of the earth. I have gambled with life in ways you do not know, will never know. I am neither a saint nor a sentimentalist. I am a hard man, and I have lived a hard life, bul I have never forgotten what you did for me, and success has come to me. I know your life’s desire, and it means the biggest thing in my life that I can erratify it. Your children—get them! This farm is yours.” Suddenly the stranger smiled, and he was a stranger no longer. That dimple! Why Two old souls struggled back from a sea of emotion that had threatened to swamp them; two old voices attempted to speak, then died quaveringly away. Presently rational speech would come in plenty, but not now—not now. “ Why, Dannie, lad,” said the old lady, lifting up a transfigured old face, “ your sleeve is wearing. I must mend it for you.” And—"l was a bit of a nut myself,” began the old man huskily, but his voice broke, and he could not finish.