YOUTH SHALL BE SERVED.

Otago Witness, Issue 3828, 26 July 1927, Page 80

YOUTH SHALL BE SERVED.

By

E. Mary Gurney.

(Copyright.—For the Otago Witness.) Out of the grey dawn a soft light fell swiftly across the western hills. Jasmine Delaney checked her pony and sat staring, her dark eyes luminous with wonder —and sudden tears. M hy tears, she did not know, for she would not admit that Pat was dying ; yet these tears were born of a sudden sense of desolation—and wild longing. Just a rosy’ light on far hills, a glimpse of unearthly beauty, gone as swiftly as it had come ; yet leaving in its wake a pain that no amount of labour could ease. Jasmine Delaney went her way. The sun climbed swiftly, and the day' began ; but the ache had come to stay. The days came and went, but the work was never done. Jasmine’s father. Patrick Delaney, lay dying, and Jasmine’s slim hands performed alone the thousand and one heavy tasks that had been his. Up in the morning with the sun. and after the cows were milked, all day in the saddle, for the sheep were heavy with wool ; the feed was scarce, and the swamps many and treacherous. The days were long—and hot as only are days after long drought. Sometimes there were seven or eight heavy, brainless sheep to be rescued from slow death. Sometimes there were bullocks bogged in seemingly' inaccessible places, necessitating hours of huge labour, which Jasmine would not leave to the men, neighbours all, who willingly lent their aid to the slim, once laughing girl who was so pluckily “ holding down ” Pat’s job. The doctors were more than certain that Pat Delaney would never need his job again. They told Jasmine so; told her gently, kindly ; and she laughed in their faces. “Him dying!’’ she mocked. ‘‘Him! And he so strong and young! You’re a lot of old women!’’ she taunted. “He’ll not die ! He’ll pass the graves where you lie when the stones are grey above you !” Nevertheless, a little, haunting, unbidden fear tormented her brave heart, and her gay laugh lost much of its wonted lightness ; but she never once lot up on her gallant effort to “ hold Pat’s job down for him.” When Pat came back to the farm, everything should be just as Pat himself would have had it. The percentage of loss should be no greater. The heifers should be as well broken as ever he had broken them himself. Those heifers 1 Seven to break—and two of them were wild, unprincipled little beasts—and they would calve the very morning the doctors had told Jasmine that Pat would never need his job again. Jasmine was up with the sun that morning, as she had been up everv morning since Pat’s accident, two months ago. As she crept down the passage she could hear old Aunt Norah snoring in the big front room. Lucky Aunt Norah ! She’d snore there for another four hours yet—till long after Jasmine had finished milking the grade Jerseys and gone awav on the daily round. Lucky Aunt Norah ! Aunt Norah was not really Jasmine’s aunt. In fact she was no relation at all; unless great aunt by marriage can be called Relationship. She was a gaunt, domineering old woman—but she was afraid of Patrick Delaney ; and that was whv she was already talking of getting another manager : and why Jasmine was trying go desperately to hold down Pat’s job.

It was a good job, and it was in their own home country. The country where Jasmine had been born and bred; .and "which she loved with the passion known only to those in whose heart the homing instinct dwells.

Jasmine stole out into the grey half light-, caught her pony, and went out to the 20-acre paddock to see if the heifers had.calved.

They had—both of them—in opposite corners; and they were both teetering about on the tips of their tiny hoofs, rolling their big eyes, and acting generally as if they had been born and bred on the ranges, instead of hand-fed on “skim.”

It took Jasmine two hours and a lot of Tat’s favourite expressions to round up those two young mothers; and she "wouldn’t have done it then if it hadn’t been for a tall, blue-eyed stranger who came riding by. The 20-aere paddock wag across the road, and just as soon as Jasmine herded the indignant cow's out into the road, they bolted, one in each direction, leaving their deserted offspring bawling dismally in fhe middle of the road.

The blue-eyed stranger met Dixie and tried to stop her; but after the first attempt, let her go. He cantered his springy thoroughbred to Jasmine’s side, and smiled a smile that exposed a perfect set of very white teeth. " ‘‘lf you would lend me vour whip,” he said, “ I would reduce the recalcitrant lady to a minimum of resistance in a minimum of time !”

Jasmine swept him with one swift, appraising glance ; decided. he was as thoroughbred as his mare : tossed him the whip, and watched him as the dancing mare leapt into action.

The two moved as one—and the thoroughbred overhauled Dixie as if Dixie was going backwards. Dixie, headed and flicked with the whip in all her tenderest places, crashed over the fence; and straightway the pretty mare went after her as if seven wire fences were child’s play to her —as indeed they were. Dixie came back to her offspring. The blue-eyed stranger beamed at Jasmine.

“ Great fun !” he said. “ Let’s head this lot into the yard and go after the other one!”

They arrived back an hour later, with the other heifer, now’ very meek and chastened, and lowing lustily for the calf she had so baselv deserted.

Aunt Norah was still snoring vigorously when they crept in for morning i tea—at something to 5 o’clock. Jasmine—her eyes dancing, and the ache (and Pat) forgotten for the moment •—hade him walk and talk in a whisper, lest the dragon awaken. “ It’s all very improper,” she told him. “ But poor old Mrs Grundy got killed in the war; and anyway, the labourer is worthy of his hire!” Afterwards he helped her to bail Dixie, and then sat down, absent-mindedly, and began to milk. Jasmine said: “If you had an appointment, it’s time you kept it, don’t you think?” The stranger glanced up at her, a smile lingering in the depths of his intensely blue, far-seeing eyes. “ I was coming from nowhere, on the road to nowhere,” he answered. “ Now’ I’ve got somewhere, don’t you think I should stay awhile?” Jasmine said, “ I don’t know,” and stared away into the distance at the grey old hills. The milk hissed and foamed into the pail, and the stranger, quite unconscious of the heifer’s kicking, eyed Jasmine gravely. Presently her gaze wandered back from the hills, and she flushed as she met his glance. “ Hope for the best, be ready for the worst, and take cheerfully whatever comes!” she quoted, mockingly. Then she took her bucket, and went to the far end of the yard, where her “ best ” cow’ stood solemnly chewing its cud. The stranger sat smiling slightly into the bucket; Jasmine, quite unconsciously, hummed a little song —the first for many days; and in the hospital oyer the hill Pat Delaney rallied slightly in preparation for the last round in his long and losing fight. Jasmine said, as they went housewards after the job was done: “ Smile at Aunt Norah as you've been smiling at me, and she’ll capitulate immediately. She loves young men!” The stranger laughed joyously. " Do you love young men ?” he tbased. Jasmine shook her head. “ I dtm't know any young men,” she averred. “ And I shouldn’t have time to love them if I did.” “ If yon had a young man,” he persisted, “ what would you call him ?” “ I have a young man,” countered Jasmine perversely, “ and I call him ‘ dar- . ling’—when he isn’t impudent!” “Oh!” said the blue-eyed stranger, suddenly flat, and Jasmine smiled grimly. “ Aunt Norah will be surprised when she finds I don’t even know’ your name,” she told him. “ It’s a brute of a name,” said the stranger, gloomily. “ A beast of a name -—Prescott—Allaric Prescott.” “ It might have been worse,” consoled Jasmine. “ It might have been Percy.” “ You’ve got a perverted sense of humour,” answered the stranger, still gloomy. Allaric devastated Aunt Norah. There’s no other word for it. He turned on the battery of all hjs charms, which were surprisingly numerous, and £nnt Norah capitulated without a straggle. For-

tunately for Jasmine, she prided herself in being an up-to-date old lady, so she found no fault with Jasmine for bringing in a perfectly strange young man. Besides, she loved young men! Jasmine hadn’t mentioned Pat, or, indeed, her affairs at all, but during the course of a very pleasant breakfast, Aunt Norah told this charming young man her life’s history, past and present, in every detail, laying great stress on the difficulty of getting and retaining efficient managers. She touched lightly on the shocking accident that hath deprived her of her latest, and registered despair at the idea of having to commence a search for another one.

Allaric was concerned—surprisingly concerned—and straightway offered his services (for bed and board) until Aunt Norah was suited; and Aunt Norah, who was “ close,” straightway accepted the offer.

As to Jasmine—she would have rejoiced at anything that would make Pat’s job safe; for Pat wasn’t going to die—he wasn’t —he wasn’t!

During the ensuing two weeks Allaric Presscott learned much of the grave, quiet girl whose eyes and lips were surely made for laughter. He heard the story of their coming, four months previously, to manage Aunt Norah’s estate, and of how happy they had been, all through the two months before Pat’s accident.

He heard, too, the details of that frightful episode, and his heart went out to tile lonely girl. “ It was an awful day,” said Jasmine, as she sat outside the bail, milking her best ” cow’. One of those days that are quite dark with heavy clouds, and look as if they must rain—and don’t. I felt all the time as if something dreadful would happen. We were draughting cattle, and Pat was in the gateway.” Jasmine paused, and stared out over the cowyard—and her eyes held something of the horror of that awful overcast day, two riionths gone. “They were a wild lot,” she went on. “ And one broke away. I was just coing after it, when I heard Pat shout, When I looked round there was a big Hereford charging straight at Pat’s pony. The pony lost its head, and Pat couldn’t shift it. The sfeer just ripped the poor beast open, and flung him down into the gateway.” Again Jasmine stopped, and Allaric held his breath. Then the girl resumed her tale, in a sort of sobbing whisper. “ The rest of them went through the gateway, after the Hereford,” she said, “ and I could do nothing—nothing Allaric said : “But—he should have been killed!” Jasmine nodded. “ He was lying almost under the pony, so they didn’t tread on him—much.” The next day Jasmine and Aunt Norah went to see Pat Delaney, and Jasmine insisted on Allaric’s going, too. They stayed only a few moments, during which time Jasmine knelt beside Pat’s bed, holding his hand, and murmuring to him in a tiny, hushed voice; but all the time Allaric could feel the dying man’s eyes on him, following his every movement.

He was a splendid man, was Pat Delaney. Even now, when his body was battered and broken beyond hope of recovery, he radiated vitality. From his grey, desperate eyes the * love of life gleamed unquenchable; and on the twisted lips, a little, derisive smile lingered, as if he would defy Death’s self. But Allaric, who had fought in France, and on Gallipoli, could readily trace the mark of the Reaper’s hand on the damp, imperious forehead. Allaric, turning at the door for a farewell nod to Jasmine’s father, read a message in Pat’s fearless eyes. Jasmine and Aunt Norah had already gone out, and Allaric hurried back to the man’s side. For a moment Pat Delaney studied him in silence. Then : You’ll look to my lass when I am gone?” he whispered, and as Allaric hesitated, “ she’s no one—not a soul to turn to except Norah—and Norah 1” There was a world of scorn in the whispered words. ‘‘ Lad, I’ll stake my life that you arc straight! Look after her when I am gone ! Promise me.” “But, sir,” stammered Allaric. unhappily.” I—there s someone else—” “You mean—you’re not free?” whispered Pat, a great disappointment in his tired eyes. “ Ah—well—it can’t be helped.” “No—no!” Allaric protested. “You’ve got it wrong! Miss Delaney told me that —that there was—that she was—engaged ” The laughter leapt back into Pat’s

stormy eyes. “ The minx !” he gasped. “ Sire’s never had a sweetheart hut me ! I’m leaving her to you, boy. You’ll be good to her when I am gone? Promise me!” Allaric promised, and Pat sighed suddenly as he relaxed his broken limbs.

“ I can go now,” he said happily, Ipit the fire in his eyes remained undimmed. They strolled back in the dusk that night, and Jasmine climbed to her favourite seat on the high railings of the. stockyard. Allaric leant beside her, and a brooding silence lav over the world. Presently Jasmine spoke. “ Allaric,” she said —and it was the first time she had used his given name. “ Allaric—is Pat—dying?” Allaric, his heart bleeding for her, "answered gently: : “ My dear—we should thank God for it.” Far out across the plain, a little lonely wind cried suddenly, and as suddenly was still. “ Jasmine,” asked the man gently, “ Did he speak of me—to vou ” “ He said,” answered the girl, steadily. “ Allanah—if I’d had a son—he should have been just like the boy.”

“ He told me. Jasmine, that you’d never had a sweetheart but him—and that —he left you—to me.” Jasmine was very still, and he reached out and< laid his hand over hers that clutched the railings till the knuckles showed white. “ Did he say anything more?” he questioned, and Jasmine answered faithfully, for this was the Hour of Truth. “He said, ‘ Allanah mine, it’s glad I am that he’s not your brother, for - lie’ll be a greatei’ comfort to you now than ever a brother could have been!’ ” She ended with a little sob, and Allaric turned swiftly and caught her other hand. “Jasmine!” he said, “Jasmine—if only I could be a comfort to you !” '1 he eyes that searched his upturned face were Pat’s eyes—brave for all their agony. 'Then she slipped from the fence, and with a little, wailing cry of “Pat—oh, Pat !” she clung to him, weeping piteously. In the hospital over the hill Pat Delaney called softly: “ Jasmine ! Jasmine—Allanah !”

Then he went smiling out, over the grey old hills.