THESE CHILDREN.

Otago Witness, Issue 3854, 24 January 1928, Page 80

THESE CHILDREN.

By

Betty Knell.

(Copyright.—For the Otago'Witness.) Guy, Fawkes, Guy, Stick him up on high, Stick him on a lamp-post,

And there let him di-i-ie

“ F’r goodness sake ! ” The hammock in the corner twitched irritably. When one hears a couplet reiterated some 60 times in the course of an hour, on e may be excused a little irritation, November the fifth or no. Evidently the exclamation took effect, or else Billy had no more crackers ready, for there wa s no sound from the steps, and peace descended for a little space on the sunlit veranda. Sleepiness prevailed, and quiet ruled the day. . . . Then a nerve-shattering roar broke the stillness. The occupant of the hammock was perceptibly raised and lowered on the instant a good Sin by the explosion of a double-banger in her immediate vicinity. —

“ Billy Sanders I ” The hammock shook perilously, and the recumbent figure jerked itself to a vertical attitude. “If you do that again. . . .” There was a wealth of promise in the unfinished threat.

But apparently the small brother held himself immune from promiscuous threats. He chuckled and remarked appreciatively, “ Gee, but you did jump, Pat! ” Patricia s’wung silk-clad legs over the hammock’s side. “ See here, William Rhodes Sanders,” she said decisively, “ You do that <snce more and I’ll—l’ll ” — she cast about for an penance—“ I just won’t take you to the pictures to-night, so there ! ” There wag no doubt that this shot told. All right, Patsy,” said a comparatively subdued child. “ I won’t do it again. C’n I take them down the garhe asked meekly. “ Yes,” decided Patricia. “ Down by the second rose bush, though,” she added. She swung her legs back into th e hammock, and descended once more into a horizontal attitude as unladylike as it was comfortable. “ And no more doublebangers, mind,” she called after her brother’s pudgy little retreating figure. A sun-warmed silence returned once more to the veranda. Patricia allowed Nesfield s Modern English Grammar to tall, crumpled, to the floor, and sighed a sigh of utter content. That sleepiest of sounds, the drowsy humming of bees, came up from th e sweet-smelling stocks below. Patricia blinked heavy evelids at a® iF Oof .’ and her thoughts chased delightfully through her brain. She was wondering lazily lots of things—why silk stockings made you feel righteous, how v F ™ other woul d be out, what she would teel like when she was 13. what the date Was • r. : .9 h ’ the fifth. Of course. ‘ - . a . Icia was still child enough to think of it in capital letters. She drowsed 111 the hot sun. BANG! ! ! • • .

A regrettable little word, learnt from Daddy in a moment of stress, ripped from the hammock. Patricia, widely awake, awfully angry, heaved herself up. All right, she began very deliberately and then her voice tailed away into silence lamely enough. “It’s vou, is it I she substituted. * « it’s me.” Grammar troubled the tall, good-looking lad on the steps not at all. He laughed down at her confused face. “Billy told me that you d get mad as anything if I- let that off. Are you mad,"Patsy?” He crossed over and balanced himself on the end of the hammock. Patricia was very impressed with his silk shirt and white flannels.

Awfully,” she said. “You—vou do look nice, Gerry.” “ First time I’ve worn 'em,” the boy admitted. “ They feel a bit funny, yet.” He brushed a Speck of dust carefully from his. sleeve. “What are we goinoto do to-night, Patsy? That’s what I came around to find out.”

Patricia looked rather shyly at this man of the world, one long year her senior.

“Pictures?” she suggested diffidently. “And then, of course, there’s our Guy Faykes.” Patricia put forth this proposition with even more diffidence. Somehow, since they had made the guy a week ago, Gerry seemed to have outgrown itu.

Gerry promptly confirmed this impression. “ Guy Fawkes ? ” he said with all the scorn of first long trousers. “ Oh, the kids can have it. Wait a minute’ though.” He moved his long’legs consciously. “Tell you what, Patsy. Would you be allowed to come up the hill after the pictures? We might have quite a good show burning the guy.” Patricia’s eyes sparkled. “Oh let’s! ” she said. . There’ll be lots of guys, and we’ll go highest of all, shall we'? And take rockets! ”

Where are you goin’ to take rockets, , C ” n 1 C6nie too?” Billy’s fat little legs negotiated the steps, one’ ; at ■ - vou up on the Heights, Pat?” he persisted:;, : i

Not until -late, Billy boy;?’ aa id Patricia hurriedly. “Too late'for vou But Gerry and I will take yon -to"the pictures,- and' we?ll ■ get some sweets. Just look at' your hands? ” she broke off. “ Whatever have you been doing ? ”

“Jus’ pokin’ snails. They fiked its*< averred Billy, regarding his "hands coito placently. “ Green wiv’ snails and re 3 wiv’ crackers! ” he announced wit§ pride. The sound of the words him, and he began a gruff little chant*]

Green wiv’ snail s and. red wiv’ crackers, Green wiv’ snails an’ Oh, dear! ” Patricia wriggled of the hammock, retrieved the fallen graminer book, and eyed her small brother with distaste and a sad lack of interest in his poetical abilities. “ You are a piglet, aren’t you?” she inquired. The piglet stuck the offending members in his pockets, and Patricia turned with, a despairing look to the elder boy, Gerry, I think you had better go home now. I’ll have to bathe him before mother comes in.” She pushed the grimy William in front of her to the open door. “ Seven o’clock ? ”

Seven o’clock,” Gerry confirmed. On his leisurely way back through the town he invested in some exciting-look-ing fireworks and a tall rocket or two. Even when one has turned thirteen gunpowder and Guy Fawkes Day have their thrills.

Patricia, in a clean silk dress, and opposite an equally shining Billy, sat with one eye on the clock. It \vas teatime, and the cry was “ All’s well.” Ex- » citement and expectation had left her S* with little appetite, but she had a quivery, tip-toe feeling that did just as well. Her poise was rudely shattered by the small son of the house. He chose a lull in the general conversation to launch his bomb without warning. “Mummy, can I go with Pat and Gerry to-night, out Guy-Fawkesing? ” Patricia swallowed a piece of particularly hard crust, choked, and turned on her small brother. “No, you can’t!” she hissed. “Shut up!” Mother was too busy pouring tea for daddy to hear, but Billy was in no wise deterred. He raised his., voice a couple of semitones, and repeated hia request in no uncertain manner.

Patricia gulped down her tea, slipped off her chair with a mumbled “ ’Scuse me, please,” and made a cautious detour around the table to the door. A great deal depended upon the speed and quietness of her exit, but Billy was as aware of that fact as she. As the door closed behind his sister’s retreat, he demanded in a subdued roar:

“ Mummy, can I go with Pat and Billy out Guy-Fawkesing to-night?” “Stop that row, young man!” came from the head of the table, and, “ Billy, Billy, don’t be so noisy!” from the little mother. “ What is it ? With Patsy and Gerry ? Where are they going ? ” “ They’re going to burn their guy up on the Heights, an’—an’ Pat doesn’t want to take me.” Billy’s voice assumed a suggestively plaintive tone. “ I expect you didn’t ask her nicely,” suggested his mother. “ I’m sure she’ll take you.” She raised her voice, “Patricia! . . . Where did the child go? ”

Prob’ly she’s upstairs, putting on her coat, I should think,” said Billy, wriggling with impatience. “I’ll go an’ call her, shall I ? ”

“ No. Finish your tea, son.” Mrs Sanders went in search of her daughter, with a little smile on her lips. These children! As she knocked and entered, Patricia turned mutinously.

“ Mums, Billy’s so littie, and I am taking him to the pictures. And we want to go right up to the top of the Heights and have our guy highest' of all, and Billy would get too tired.” Patricia, in spite of her 12—almost 13—years, was near to

“Gently, gently, Patsy!” the mother interrupted. “Now, tell me quietly;' Who will you be with to-night? Just you and Gerald ? ” “Yes,” gulped Pat. Mrs Sanders nodded. “But you arg taking Billy to pictures? Well,.dear, father will meet you afterwards, and Billy can see the display with Jiim, / Daddy won’t mind, and Biily will.gnjoyv it just as much. I don’t want him to

miss seeing it altogether, though. S.mall boys love crackers so.” Patricia stood uncertainly for a mo, ment, then dropped her coat and flung her arms around her mother’s neck.

“ Darling, I’ll take him,” s he said re. morsefully., “ I didn’t mean to be. selfish. He won’t be the least bit of bother, and we just won’t go so far up the hill.’’. Her mother held her close and smiled, “ No. little Patsy,” she said. “ We’ll leave things as they are, I think. Billy * will b e quite happy with daddy. : Now, what about this picture to-night? Dq you know what it is about? ”

“ Only the name of it,” said Patricia, “‘Higher. Education,’ it’s callfd. I(j doesn’t sound awfully interesting, but wq had promised . Billy ” “ ‘ Higher Education,’ ” Yepeated Mrq Sanders thoughtfully. “ Yes. it should be suitable enough. ‘ . . . That’s Billy calling. Ready, dear ? Good-bye, then,Enjoy yourselves.” •...•■

“ Good-bye, mumsie. ” A farewell kiss and Rat was gone, two steps at a time, all the way down the stairs. The mother smiled, a little wistfully. What a ’ pity, that children had to'grow up!’ Came a rushing of feet on the path below,

the banging of the gate. Then the house settled to silence again. * * *

It was the magic hour when the sadness of twilight brings acuter feeling to the senses, which stretch forth invisible antennae to touch delicately the experiences around them. Gerry and Patricia, with a small boy trotting happily between them, on their way to the kinema, did not, of course, know why they were so very silent, very content, and altogether appreciative of the beauty around them. A last touch of sun made a glory of som e golden gorse away at the top of the Heights. Children’s voices, their shrillness softened to a musical thin tinkling, like Pan’s reed-pipes on' a river, pierced the stillness around them. Ahead, even the hard brightness of the little town’s lights seemed to twinkle' with the glow of so many shaded candles. Patricia and Gerry walked with the unselfconsciousness of Billy himself, oblivious to their more immediate commonplace surroundings. To-morrow the innocency of their clear eyes might be a veil to cover the little pool of knowledge hidden in their depths. To-night childhood looked supreme from their soul’s windows. Came a little spluttering noise of excitemeut from Fully. “ Sky-rocket, you chaps,”—in the lordly manner of one who has seen and shown to ordinary mortals some unguessed marvel of Nature. Gerry and Pat came to earth with a bump. For the remainder of the short walk they chattered of all the contrivances and inventions of gunpowder—Catherine wheels, Roman candles, “ fizzers,” and the like. Gerry, it appeared, had a cache on the hill, in company with the guy. They talked excitedly of the burning. At the next corner, a policeman warning them against “ inny monkey tricks with thim fireworrks ” in the lawful limits of the k town filled them with some degree of importance and no little awe. “ S’pose we could blind people, and get put in prison, if we wasn't careful,” said Billy solemnly. “ ’Splosives ace dangerous, daddy says,” which possibility kept them thoughtful to the very door of th e picture palace.

Higher Education ” was on the screen. Up to the present the evening had been very successful. The comedy had been worthy of the name, the scenic reel a marvel of colouring and loveliness. But this picture! . . . Under cover of the kind darkness, Patricia’s cheeks flushed to an uncomfortable redness. She rather dreaded the moment when the lights would click on. The people around her, she thought, would not want to catch each other’s eyes. She felt she would shuffle her feet during the National Anthem and fiddle with her wraps. Gerry, on the other side of Patricia, sat very still and stiffly. He supposed it was all right—nobody had stopped the thing, anyway, and everybody, he noted, straining his eyes to see without turning his head, seemed to be looking at it. He wished he hadn’t, brought Pat. , . . The melodrama with its sordid story dragged on to a sloppv finish.

Patricia the child had .taken little heed of such pictures before. She had had an unusually sheltered life; but her mother had kept vital truths from her just a little too long. Now this picture, coupled with her woman’s awakening instincts, had suddenly revealed to her that complexity that we call sex in an unlovely and suggestive light. The theme was an old one, dressed up in ultra-modern garments. The usual heroine, starving with an unwanted child; the fine hero miraculously escaping death and dealing out a bloody justice to the villain; the Puritan father and the hopelessly plebeian mother—they were all there. To the title there was, of course, no faintest clue. Harmless enough, even humorous, t°. your cynical, matured twenties and thirties, but to twelve-year-old Patricia it was little short of a tragedy, both directly and indirectly. Directly, it spoilt her triist in the world as she found it, and introduced doubts and uncertainties. Indirectly, it cut short her childhood’s days all too soon, pushing her- into adolescence prematurely. Patricia gripped her hands tightly together, and shut her eyes at the ugly parts, but despite her resistance new knowledge and new facts forced their way into her mind. When at last the • lights flashed on, Patricia busied herself with her buttons, with Billy’s rather tight squeeze of an overcoat. She would not look at Gerry. It was surprising that people seemed to be laughing and talking as usual, that no one looked ashamed as she felt, that a sweet-faced lady asked after Gerry’s mother quite as if she were not at all concerned with the just-finished picture. Pat’s mind was in ” a confused maze. On the stairs one man ’ said to another: "Putrid production; putrid music, too. Got a light, old man ? ” Evidently grown* . iips took that sort of tiling for granted, • then. Patricia had not even heard the orchestra.

Outside the picture hall the brightness and noise were bewildering. A blinking but still sleepily enthusiastic Billy was handed over, to Daddy, who said: "Well, you fuzzies, like the pictures ? ” and “ Don’t bring Pat home too late, young Gerry.” Then they parted company, and: Patricia and Gerry walked silently away in the direction of the Heights. r Unwelcome little thoughts flitted in and out of Patricia’s brain. At the corner they said “ Good night ” to Mrs M'Lean. She had twelve children in her little. hovel of a house, and old Daddy M‘Lean was the dirtiest ' man in. the town. . . . • A gramophone blared out from a lighted shop the

latest "hit.” Lines of it followed them down the street:

It takes a go-o-od woman nowadays to keep a good man at home. . . . Oh, I know a good dinner will bring him home all right. But you can’t keep him satisfied with . steak all night. . . . It takes a go-o-od woman . . .

The nasal voice twanged after them like an evil spirit. Yesterday, Patricia would have laughed. Now Gerry glanced at the frowning, flushed face and said awkwardly: “Beastly sort of song. . . Rotten picture, too, Patsy. I’m sorry. • • • ” His voice trailed away uncomfortably. “ ’Twasn’t your fault,” said Patricia quickly. They started up the hill, heads bent to the ciimb, guided by the first crackers of the display. Gerry reached for the girl’s hand and pulled her over the steeper bits. Half way up they stopped, still silent, to unearth their hidden guy. Then on higher, until at last they were breathless on the top, and all the town, with its myriad lights, lay patterned below them. “ Lovely!” gasped Patricia. They were both breathless from the last pull. Fires blazed over the hill, and rockets shot upwards to falter and fall in a hundred coloured stars. The earlier evening was forgotten in the excitement of the moment. “ Come on, Gerry. Let’s get ours alight!” As the flames shot up, and the reek of gunpowder tainted the air, they were children again, and happy. The rockets soared gloriously, far above their lesser rivals below. The guy, soaked in a purloined bottle of kerosene, flared bravely, lighting up Patricia’s eager little face to a luminous glow. Presently the light of the fire died down to a flickering stage—the life of a guy is a short span—and with it the light faded from Pat’s eyes. Silence fell betw’een them again. Gerry kicked out the embers. Patricia blurted: “ Gerry, did you know—about babies ? ” Gerry flushed and nodded. “ Dad told me,” he said simply.

“ Oh.” Patricia stared at the aftermath of their burning. For a long space she stood with her boyish little head bent. Gerry watched the town’s lights below flash out, section by section. The girl stirred and shivered. “ It’s got beastly coid,” she said with enforced gaiety. “ Come home, Gerry. I’ll race you down the hill!”

Home they went, down the steep slopes and through the now almost silent little town. The tumult and the shouting had dwindled to stray calls and the isolated sharp report of the' last crackers. The gramophone shop was shuttered, and the picture hall stood bare and black against the sky. At Patricia’s gate the children paused awkwardly, and Gerry shuffled one foot against the other. So they stood for a half-minute, until the sudden chiming of a clock made Gerry move abruptly. “ Well, goo’-night, Pat.” “ Goo’-night, Gerry.” “Come swimming to-morrow?” “ Yes—after lunch. Goo’-night.” Patricia watched him down the shadowy street until his footfalls died away. Then she went slowly through the sweet-smelling garden and climbed the stairs to her own room. Billy was already abed and sleeping; she heard his regular breathing as she passed his open door. On an impulse, she turned and tucked the blankets in around his shoulders. Then on to her own quiet bedroom. She heard the clock below strike midnight. In the garden, a chill little night wind awoke and ruffled through the roses and the heavy-headed stocks. It chased a fallen leaf from the veranda steps, and fluttered the pages of a child’s grammar book lying beside the swaying hammock. Upstairs, a little girl, still a little girl in spite of new, unexplored avenues of thought, iay face downwards on her pillows. "'Citin’ day,” she said sleepily. " Queer day.” A faint little frown creased the smoothness of her forehead for an instant, but disappeared with a wholehearted yawn. Then she sighed, very happily. “ Swimming to-morrow And so turned over and fell asleep.