LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM.

Otago Witness, Issue 3803, 1 February 1927, Page 80

LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM.

By

Margaret Moore.

(Copyright.—For the Witness.) Nellie Lowe stood in the beam of . sunlight that fell across the kitchen. She Washed the breakfast dishes capably, but Her absent manner and the far-away look In her eyes denoted that'her deftness tame from past practice and was not due to the care she was giving to this particular washing up. It -was golden March, and on the next distant Boxing Day she was to be married. Her mind, therefore, could not be expected to be in so ordinary a task as dish washing. Out of a series of pictures that continually passed before her mind like a pageant—varying scenes with always the one stalwart noble hero—she was now visualising one that was to be the crowning point of these happy dreams—her wedding day. She saw herself walking up the church aisle, clad in shimmering, cloud-like garments, and felt the rapturous looks her friends bestowed upon her as she passed them; she heard the frou-frou of her stately satin train as it was disturbed by the little white shoes in her triumphal march. She could not fix the veil in her imagination. Next time she went to Wanganui she would study Bartlett’s wedding groups. “Nellie, put some more wood on the fire; it is nearly out.” The girl started at the sound of her grandmother’s voice. She shook the water from her hands and absently put some large pieces of wood on the fire. She was still a bride walking up the church aisle in soft garments. . “I called you three times, and you took no notice,” her grandmother complained. “I didn’t hear you, Gran;” Nellie answered cheerfully, still in her dream. . She commenced to dry the dishes, barely aware of the pile she had washed, and deaf to the sound of her grandmother’s thin old voice insistently crying performance in the classroom may have a. complaint. “Dream away about them, but you will soon find out they’re different. There isn’t one of them will let -you alorie, runnin’ after ye with ‘dear this’ and ‘lovey that’ till they’d make you sick, but they’re all the same once they get ye. It’s ‘do this’ and ‘bring’ me the other thing,’ until you are ready to drop; no ‘dears’ or ‘darlings’ to it then.” The did woman’s- voice pierced the girl’s consciousness at last. The re- * iterated words sank into her mind and banished her happy dream. She had been too well brought up to speak rudely now and tell her grandmother that she did not want to hear her sordid story, but the tears of annoyance splashed down ner face. From being gay and undoubting, she was suddenly aware of the existence of unhappiness and depression. Her mother came in from outside in time to beat her own mother’s words. “Now, now, Gran, you must" ndt put r!1 those ideas into Nellie’s head and epoil lovtf’s young dream,” she said kindly but sharply. She saw distress in the girl’s face, and signed to her with her eves to eo to the door. * S “Don’t take any notice of Gran’s talk,” she said soothingly. “I don’t think she is very well to-day.” “But she makes out all men are the sung and cion f. care about you once you are married. You don’t think that, do you, Mum?” cried Nellie. ‘‘Of course, I don’t. Look at the good man your father is,” her mother answered with spirit. Nelli© looked at. her mother ans hopes she would not notice her startled expression. Her mother, whose hair was lustrejess through lack of attention, who worked hard "’ith little time for play, she to have laughed and played with that sober citizen, Nellie’s father, to have had desires to touch his hand, to'look into his eyes! She wanted to laugh. Then fear seized her. This was what her grandmother meant—marriage wore you down to this. ... PV fc Mum > von and Dad. Didn’t you think it would all be different—more fun and things?” There Was something like terror in her voice when she slowly brought out the words. . ■ft', the mother’s turn to want to laugh, but she was serious enough when she answered. . “Nothing is quite what you. think it is going to be, and all lif e is hard, but I would not change mine for any other.” Con^’nue< i to stare at her mother until she dismissed her. “Oh, don't be such a goose, Nellie,” she exclaimed, Tmd moved away from the door. “Go" and see where Frankie < . , saw getting through into the middle paddock five minutes ago.” The girl walked across the hard, sunbaked paddocks to the ‘‘middle” one, her heart sore and bewildered, and her dreams er perpetual goodness of man, arid the continuance of human happiness shattered, wan said all men were the same—once married they ceased to be the kind loving Protectors you thought were’: and her mother said that no -e couid

hope to be happier than she was. There was not much fun in her mother’s life as far as she could see. She could not bear it if Dick ever changed from being his gay, light-hearted self. She would die, she told herself heavily, if he ever became indifferent to her presence. Little Frank was not anywhere in the middle paddock, which was the end of a little tableland on which the homestead stood, but Nellie suddenly caught her breath when she saw him in his bright red romper suit on the road that ran at the foot of the little plateau. It was not the main highway, but a lot of local traffic went along it. She ran down the track that went sharply down the hill. Tiie little boy had found a playmate on the road—a small, fat boy who lurched instead of walked. No doubt he belonged to the couple who were near a motor car drawn up alongside the road. The man was examining a wheel, while the woman sat. on the ground comfortably propped against a short, stout tree looking through a magazine. When the man called some-" thing to her, she answered without looking up from the paper. Nellie gazed at them, real sorrow in her heart. Frank cooed with happiness when ho saw her. He came last in a family that was in different stages of the ’teens when he was born, and he seldom had the treat of playing. with anyone near his own age. The little strange boy was too small to know how to, play, but he, too, seemed to want to show his pleasure at meeting one of his own kind, for he would run up to. Frank, and tug-at his romper and laughingly run off, to come back and repeat the . game the next minute. Frank thought it was great sport. “You must come home, Frank. You are a naughty boy to go ’on the road Nellie said calmly. She was still looking at this couple, who had probably been in love at some time, had got married, and now could bear to look at each other calmly and almost coldly. The little fellow must have thought Frank’s going away was still part of his delightful game, for he came running up to them across the road as Nellie led him away. He gave the red suit a final tug, and ran back again laughing loudly. He was in the middle of the road when round the bend came a boy on a bicycle pedalling furiously—straight into the baby, it seemed. The parents looked up at that moment, but before they had time to even.cijy out the boy swerved slightly, and .was safely past the child. The mother ran quickly and picked up the still-laughing baby,, holding him tightly to her, and covering'his face with kisses. The father swore, arid began to run after the boy, but he in excessive fright pedalled harder than ever, and was soon'lost to sight in a white cloud of dust raised by his own furious disturbance of the road. Giving up the chase he ran back to his wife, and regardless of who might be watching took she and the child into his arms. As Nellie was about to go up the track she heard him say in awestricken tones: “If he had knocked him down. . . . ’ If he had knocked him down. . . They had certainly been lover-like enough to satisfy Nellie’s present critical mood, but it was the approach of calamity that had stirred them to it, she reflected, as she and little Frank walked slowly hand in hand up the steep track. Their father was walking in front when they reached the flat paddocks again, and entered the house just in front of them. Mrs Lowe was washing some clothes in a small tub in the scullery. There was perspiration on her face and her hair was damp with it. She wiped her arms and left the tub to look for a piece of stout string that her husband wanted. He- also looked hot and weary. She went to pass him to go into the kitchen, but he caught .her and put his arm around her waist. “ You have got a sweat up, old girl — you shouldn’t work so hard this hot weather.” Her mother did not see Nellie, but the girl in passing through the kitchen to go on with the interrupted housework caught sight of her mother’s face, flushed and almost girlish looking. No roseate daydreams uplifted her now. Instead, her mind was a jumble in which the words of a querulous old woman, the sight of a man passionately seizing his wife and child, and her mother’s face pleased and flushed, were all mixed together. Out of this jumble it was slowly borne in on her that this was one of the things she was to learn as she grew older: that life is mostly hard work—a rough caress, a kiss, are like oases in a desert of dull days and ceaseless toil. To trust and keep ■ a consented mind is to have won the battle. She sighed profoundly, and felt as old as the hills. She was about to set the table for lunch when she heard an halloaing in front of the house. She hurried out, and saw Dick Roberts riding along the road and waving in her direction. It had happened like this once or twice before —his father had unexpectedly sent him along to the Lowe’s for a small thing like a tool or machine oil. .To-day he surprised him by telling him to take a holiday. . - - Nellie rang out to the gate at. the side of the. house where he would alight, and, leaning on the gate, watched him coming

up the long lane. She was lighthearted once more. He was so fine and big, so noble and manly. She loved him so, she told her own romantic heart. And though all the world chose to walk restrained and calm they would love always as they loved now, and would not be ashamed to tell the world so, she thought fiercely. If it were necessary she would fight and keep the romance and love in his heart —in her own it would never die. The boy was at the gate, and she opened it to let him pass through. He took off his hat and bowed low before her—a game he played when he was unusually pleased. “How is my love?” he said with an elaborate gesture, and put out his arm to embrace her. She stood smiling by the gate, but suddenly she was filled with shyness and reticence. • “ Aw—don’t he silly,” she said, and made to push his arm down.