PATCHWORK PIECES

Otago Witness, Issue 3832, 23 August 1927, Page 75

PATCHWORK PIECES

By

Eileen Service.

(Special for the Otago Witness.) XU.—THE OLD LADIES. The gate was a little picket one, peeping from between the folds of a maorocarpa hedge. Sometimes when they returned from a long holiday, the old ladies could scarcely find it, so quickly had the hedge encroached upon it during their absence. Then they would shake their heads and say they could scarcely believe their eyes; and they would make arrangements, for one of the Jacob boys to come and tidy the place at once. They were very particular old ladies. Miss Patience, who was tall and angular, with a head of unbelievably curly grey hair, was so careful about things that she made you think she was severe. But Miss Prudence, whom she mothered with all the devotion of her two years’ seniority, could inform you differently. It was only her sister’s appearance, she would say, smiling upon you through her spectacles ; in reality she was the kindest soul alive. Miss Prudence was short and chubby, and suffered from adenoids. Her tendency to colds, however, was regarded as a blessing by Miss Patience, who now had unlimited chances of concocting cough mixtures and potions, and of fussing around with a thermometer in her hand whenever the delicate one showed signs of hoarse breathing. The gate opened to show a path of sand and gravel, neatly weeded when the ladies were in residence and set between two wonderlands. On the left a gullv of fuchsia trees and rata sloped away out of sight, luring the adventurous to exploration, hut giving as reward nothing but scratches from lawyer bushes. On the right, behind a row of silver birches guarding it like sentinels, was the orchard.

Was there ever a more darling orchard? Its being on the hillside made it original to begin with, but, in addition, in among the ferns which grew waist-high all through it, were little tracks, once plainly visible, but now so lost in the undergrowth as to be rendered secret. If you found one and followed it to its end it would lead you zig-zag higher and higher till you came all at once to an old rustic seat, rotting with age and covered with moss, from where you could look down on the fruit trees with their grizzled trunks, over the top of the gully, and out to sea. But only a flattening in the ferns gave any hint of the way you had come. The track was completely hidden from sight.

At tlie end of the path was the house. It was a friendly house. A cocker spaniel which stayed with a neighbour in between times and greeted its mistresses delightedly on its return, sat on the step, and a quartet of cats lived all around the door. The dog was called Fanny—a ridiculous name you always considered—and the cats Grimmin, Purra, Sir Mowling, and Lady Grey-tip. The last two, a regal pair, boasted Persian ancestors, and no matter what happened, they never forgot their breeding. Although part of the family, they liked to keep themselves aloof, just to mark the difference, and they treated the fest with faint superi-

ority. All four were allowed inside on Sundays, but at no other time. You marvel still at their cleverness in discriminating between the dates.

The house, low roofed and square, with knick-knacks in the living room and bed rooms smelling of lavender, was almost hidden in summertime under a tangle of flowers. There were roses and geraniums and nasturtiums, brilliant to behold, and, at one side, a wealth of ivy trailing over the wall. Right in front of the living room window was a bank where strawberries grew. You could see them through the lace curtains when you were inside being polite to your hostesses, and would try to memorise their place in the leaves so that when you were free you might pick them. They were very pink and luscious, and you would always save them until you had eaten first of red and white and black currants just for the pleasure of crowning your feast with their sweetness Above them, and flanked on one side by a spread of drying green, was the Shed. I use a capital letter purposely. It was a superlative shed. Dark red and covered with ivy, it was entered by two open arches, most splendidly suited to make-believe, for they could belong to palace or temple or cave, just as you pleased, with a facility which a mere doorway would never have given. Moreover, they afforded a perfect stage setting when you used the place for a. theatre. You were fonder of those arches than of any other part of the Shed. Sometimes, towards evening on a wet day, when you had played there all alone, you would receive a message saying that the ladies were coming to visit you, and at once you would fly to make ready. The floor would be swept and the gardening tools put away, and you would drape an old curtain over a bench to serve as a seat. If you had time yon would prepare refreshments—currants or green peas arranged on dock-leaf plates. And you would flutter with excitement because everything was so delightful. Then they would arrive, Miss Prudence rather inclined to pant after mounting the steps at the bank, and Miss Patience dividing her attention between her sister and the small person who was waiting at the arch to receive them. They WQuld enter graciously, exclaiming at the tidiness you had achieved, and wondering if the Jacob boys had put baek the shears safely after using them the day before.

Miss Prudence would beam a'i you through her glasses. And they would sit on the prepared bench, side by sftde. Then you would perform for them—a recitation perhaps, or a song, or sometimes, if it was not too cold to be barefooted, a dance. But you generally found a dance to be unsuccessful, for, performed in shoes, it made the old shed rock and reverberate, while, if you were barefooted, you generally trod on something that hurt. So mostly you confined your repertoire to less energetic items.

But once you became the audience. You will never forget that time. The old ladies sat whispering for a minute or two, nodding their heads the while, and gesticulating. Then they rose, and, Miss Patience inclined to shyness, and Miss Prudence to giggles, asked you if you would play a tune on the comb for them. Mystified, you obliged. Then, very quaintly and awkwardly, they took hands together and went through a demonstration of a gavotte. Dear old ladies! How charmed you were! They were so embarrassed when they started, but you remember still the grace which grew upon them as they moved. It was a relic of bygone days when they had dan'ced among the belles in a ballroom; only then it was the hands of other partners that they held.

. . . On the end of a chain round the neck of both Miss Patience and Miss Prudence there hung a locket. Once you had been allowed to peep inside. Two faces with side whiskers and waving hair had stared back at you, and for somestrange reason you recalled them now as the old ladies tripped and curtseyed. The light was growing fainter. The sun was nearly set. But surely there stood in the archway two shadowy forms whose eyes smiled down upon the dancing figures before them! You forgot the old shed and the sound of the comb. All you saw were two maidens, fresh and dainty in their muslin gowns, dancing a gavotte with their soldier-lovers before they left them to go to the war.