PATCHWORK PIECES

Otago Witness, Issue 3987, 12 August 1930, Page 5

PATCHWORK PIECES

By

Eileen Service.

(Special for the Otago Witness.)

CLXVII.—THE LIE. Suddenly, into that reverie of leaves and sunlight, there came the order to cease work. The class straightened its shoulders and looked attentive. Twiddle raised her eyes from her lap. Sometimes, at, an unexpected word from the teacher, she was startled so that she ever as if somebody had frightened her. But to-day Mr Bead’s voice merged so gently into her thoughts that she neither feared it nor wished it had been silent.

Such thoughts: a grove of willows with sunshine on them, and a wind blowing! * It was the line of poetry that had caused her to picture them, and now she could think of nothing else, even though, outside, it was raining. “ Stand those who kept their eyes pn their books all the time,” the teacher said.

One or two boys rose. The girls sat waiting. All at once Twiddie stood up. “ All the time ?” Mr Bead asked. She nodded, bright-eyed. (“Willows whiten, aspens quiver ”)—Yes, all the time. And then Lydia, in a tone of choked disgust: “ Oh, you did not, Twiddie. You were looking at your fingers half the period!” Was she? Something said “Yes,” but something else that went with green leaves and sunlight made her forget if it were so, and remember only that there could be nothing happier than to be one of those who had kept their eyes on their books and were now to receive Mr Bead’s

approval. She did not blink at Lvdia’s words. Rather .her eyes grew brighter than before. She felt herself rauiaut, lifted into a state of rapture? ''She was possessed by the . brightness and beauty pf her reverie. Came Mr Bead’s answer, cold, accusing: ' _ ’•

“You have lied to me, Twiddie. Lydia is right. Sit down. You were hot looking at your book all the time.’” She sat down. You might have thought that shame would have overwhelmed her. But she still smiled, still looked in that secret, shining way, still deemed so caught into a dream that she ]cnew and cared for nothing else. Mr Pead frowned. “ Come here,” he said. ’ And then, while th/ rest of the class pet themselves to paraphrase the poem, he explained the sin of telling a lie. To Twiddie it was as if she were in

(in enemy’s camp, protecting something from scrutiny. It was something in her heart, sweet and quivering, and it had to do with sunshine and leaves. What yvas a lie? Did it matter so much? Was

it so important that she had to admit it?

(She must not listen to that talking voice! Let her do so, and it would kill her joy. So she stood there, gravely, but obviously unimpressed. Mr Bead might as well have talked to a stone. Suddenly his virtue and;patience left him. He sent her back to her seat. y “ Books away,”-he said. The class rose. It passed out, seat after seat, for the afternoon’s recess. Twiddie saw the moment as one of deliverance. She had.escaped. She was free. The questioning was over. She hurried, ready for flight, eager to be alone in her own special place. It was down at the bottom of the playing reserve. There she would be away from everyone. But she found th e whole class grouped in the clammy porch. It was raining too hard for them to go out. Dismayed, but covering her feelings with a swagger, she stood there, trying not to feel self-conscious. Then they noticed her, and quickly turned to stare. Lydia spoke first. “Liar!” she said. Her look was contemptuous. “ Who’s the cad who tells lies ? Who’s a cheat ? ” “ I’m not a cheat,” Twiddie answered. Lydia laughed. “ No? Isn’t it cheating to try and win praise through a lie? I think so. So would anybody decent.”

They crowded upon her, mocking her, pushing her. Then they drew themselves away.

“Leave her,” they said. “The mean liar! Let her be by herself. Leave her alone.”

Mr Bead appeared at the porch. “ Twiddie, come to my room,” he said •And as she turned to go they whispered their delight: “ The strap! ” they said. “ That’s ■what it means. That’s what happens to cads who lie. O —oo! Who’s going to catch it?” She went into Mr Bead’s room. She saw him looking at her. He said: “ Twiddie, are you sorry that you told that lie? ” And then she had to give in. Like an enemy that she had been holding back, her acquiescence invaded her. It drove out the willows, the supshine, the wind. It slew, her joy. There was .-nothing left but greyness, bleakness, rain. She was vanquished. Crumpling into a seat, she began’to cry. “Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes, yes.” And after that there was no more said, for Mr Bead had won his point. When the class reassembled Twiddie was in her place. Her face was hidden by her arm. She was bending over her book. She could feel the curious glances of the others, and knew that they would be thinking she had been strapped. But somehow it did not matter what they thought. .Nothing i mattered now. And what were willows

and wind and sunshine if they made you .like this ? For she was back again "where she was meant to be, and' from

where she should never have sought to rise. Her position in class was that of an inferior. Why had she forgotten ? The worst part now was the going home. They would tease her and taunt her, and hem her in. They would ask her how often the strap had fallen, and if it had hurt much. And all the time they would keep apart from her because she had cheated. It must not be like that ! It - must not. She could not bear it. And yet, what was she to do ? There was nothing. Suddenly, as if he spoke with the tongues of angels, Mr Bead addressed her.

“ Yow have worked very well since recess,” he said. “You may leave now, Twiddie. Pack your bag and go.” And there she was, leaving before any of the others, going away before they could find her, evading them ! She seized her coat and fled from the porch. The rain beat in her face.

As she rah, she felt as if an age had passed since she had last felt rain. So much had happened that the afternoon might have begun a year before. And now she was free from it all, leaving it behind her like a bad dream. She went more quickly, splashing over the ground. There was nothing to cry about any more.

All at once everything was forgotten—the lie, her sdrrow, and the jeering of the class. She was aware only of the stinging rain, and cared for nothing else. It was wonderful; it thrilled her; it made her excited with joy. She wanted to sing because it was so glorious. She wanted to dance. She ceased to run and let it pour on her cheeks. There was a nameless exultation in her heart.

And then she laughed and rubbed her eyes. Why should she suddenly -think of a willow grove in sunshine, and a wind ?