PATCHWORK PIECES

Otago Witness, Issue 3888, 18 September 1928, Page 76

PATCHWORK PIECES

By

Eileen Service.

FOR THE OTAGO WITNESS.) LXVIIL—-MOOD. After that week she felt rejuvenated. The sensation of age had left her, and she was tingling with vitality as if she - had drunk of Youth. It had taken so little to effect the change-—just a week in a new environment with nothing to worry about. Mornings spent in sunshine, afternoons mingling with the class-under the trees, and evenings in the studio—that was all it had been. But still it had been sufficient. She could have wished for nothing better. The sunshine had been radiant for early spring. Lying there on the veranda slie had felt herself absorb it as blottin (r paper absorbs liquid, till it had given her skin and hair the lustre of blossoms. The afternoon class had been wildly eager—-girls with bare limbs and rain-bow-coloured tunics leaping and running and dancing on the grass. And in the evening bowls of daffodils set in the windows, and bands around heads that had been bare before, had turned the studio into a temple and the carefree class into maidens of Greece. That, in its solemn beauty, had been best of all, she thought. It had set a seal on the rest of the day, and been like a blessing to the night. Now she was going home. How different from when she left a week ago. Her people had been patient, and had humoured her all they could. But she knew she must have tried them unbearably with her whims and querulousness. That was the worst of being moody. It made tiredness put a dull tinge on everything. But matters were changed now. She was no longer weary/ She would see if she could compensate for those Ugly times. Strange how health could make such alterations. She was like a flower that had been shown the sun, and had expanded from sickness into a glowing bloom,The way home led down a'hill into a long, straight road. At the end she would turn eastward, and be back on the hills, again. But first there was that mile of straightness to be traversed. She. had never liked it. It was the heart of suburbia—house after house with square uninteresting gardens, and yard after yard of commonplace picket fence. When she was dispirited it made her more so. It was so monotonous.

But to-day? As she sprang out of the gateway ready to start homewards, she was remembering the night before, which had been particularly wonderful. They had ended their work in a group representing " Ecstasy,” and she had been called from her place at the back to see the effect. Its beauty had made her choke. The life of it, the upward yearning, and yet the stillness! Unconsciously colours had found their proper complements,, and green and emerald, purple and blue, pink and apricot, and orange and white tunics were arranged in a perfect harmony. The line of lifted arms, the curve of cheeks, and the rapt expression in every upturned face! .Being tall, she had been standing behind to balance the group. When she stole back after that moment of vision, she raised her hands with the palms downwards as if she would take all the beauty beneath her and hold it there for- ever. &he was thinking of it as she went down the hill. A sudden joy that she had shared in so much Joveliness stirred fiercely within her. She leaped on her toes and began to run. When she ceased, she was well down the road of ugly houses. It was the first time.she had ever gone there without distaste, and certainly the first time she was not sorry to be there as soon as she realised her position. But now she was uncaring. She walked with little springs. If one could always dress in tunics! Shoes and stockings were horrible after one had known what it was’ to be barefooted, and it made movement so much more pleasurable when one’s feet were free. Running and leaping, for instance. How could one possibly with heels on one’s shoes? And there were so many opportunities in this road. A Spartan girl would never walk sedately over these differences of asphalt. She would imagine the dark pieces to be chasms, and jump them for her life—like this. She jumped. The impetus made her run so that the next dark patch was taken in her stride. This was a splendid way of treating the long straight road. And how quickly she was faring! It was Saturday afternoon, and most people were away from home. Hence the street was deserted except for children. Perhaps grown-ups would have stared at her—she had no reason to believe otherwise. But the children were charming. It might have been the laughter in her face that gave her the password to their approval, but at anyrate none of them as much as looked askance, and she ran through them with her leaping steps, meeting only understanding as she passed. Once she had thought them sticky, cheeky imps, because they lived in that road. To-day she found that she knew them differently. Then at the last house the sun, which had been lighting the scene with unnatural brilliance, all at once disappeared, and the K rain that had threatened for hours began to fall. She frowned. She would be wet. By the time she reached home all hep ardour would be

gone. Why could not the rain have waited for just a little longer? ■ Oh listen! She was pampering herself again. She had made a mood, and in her old selfish way was refusing to allow anything to come near to break it. Soon she would, let the rain disgruntle her. And then she would arrive home looking wan and self-pitying, and say how everything had been right until this external thing came to spoil it. She stood still, disgust strong in her heart. This prattling about rejuvenation. This delighting in beauty and appreciation of atmosphere! What was it worth if she could betray it in this fashion? The week might just as well never have taken place. Let her Ipok to herself. How dared she be so untrustworthy! And what if it did rain now? Had -she not six full mornings of sunshine behind her?' She turned up the hill, aversion to herself making her cheeks burn. For a moment it amounted to hatred. Then she became clean again.- The rain seemed to wash away her angry bitterness, and when she reached the house she was as she had been on the road. Oh, let her remember. Everything was beautiful. Nothing was bad if she would only believe. Just let her keep a rein on herself and refuse to fall back into those selfish habits • of thought, and it would always be like this—shining, shining, as if the sun, which had been lost in the rain, had risen within herself, and was pouring itself outwards through the medium of her being.