PRIZE STORIES

Southland Times, Issue 20633, 3 November 1928, Page 22 (Supplement)

PRIZE STORIES

THE RABBITER. Peter loved animals. One could see from his big soft Hue eyes and sensitive smiling mouth, that he would get them in his small hands and hold them tight, and speak to them as friends. The dogs at home were his comrades, the cats and chickens his playmates, and the trilling birds his songsters, yet he loved most the rabbits, the shy-eyed bunnies, who were rather like Peter himself. Of course it was all poohpoohed that anyone should wish to do ought but. kill those destroyers of the land. The farmers’ blood in Peter’s family rose against petting “useless animals.” Another thing Peter wanted almost as much as having bunny friends, was a paint-box and brush, and a book that he would not have to share with Emily and Joe, who would tip water all over the paints and spoil them altogether. He wanted to learn to put down the colour of evening, to imitate the light and shade of the scintillating creek. Thus was a dream however, perhaps to be realized in that dim “future” which is shrouded in golden mists in the eyes of children. Then a boy at school told Peter that great money could be earned. “How ?” queried Peter, his cheeks flushing. “You come with me Saturday morning.” Peter waited anxiously for Saturday. “Where are you going?” questioned his brother. “With Jim. He’s going to tell me how to earn some money.” The brother laughed shortly, but did not proffer any suggestion. He knew Jim’s way of earning money. Saturday was pearl and gold, and the dew-wet grass smelt fresh and clean, oh, so clean and wholesome. Peter loved it, and inhaled the warm air. “Hurry,” called Jim from an adjoining paddock, “I have a big round.” This was a man of the world speaking. They swung along together the big strapping boy, and the small delicate child. “There is one,” said Jim, as he darted to a rabbit-trap. “Hurray! another skin..” “Don't!” yelled Peter, “you are hurting a bunny.” “Get out!” retorted Jim as he killed one of Peter’s playmates. “Oh!” sobbed Peter, his small face white, “is that how you earn your money.” He felt sick, and rushed home. “Say, what’s up?” Jim was amused. “Poor little boy couldn’t kill a rabbit. Mummy’s wee man,” Peter was greeted with at school nexc day. “You’re beasts, a lot of bullying beasts. What have the rabbits done to you that you should kill them?” He charged into the nearest aggressor, and was soon in the thick of his first real fight. He emerged a little while later very dishevelled and bruised. He limped to the river bed and watched the sun beam |g goodwill on all the world. Birds sang, and grasshoppers croaked, and all the wotld was gay. Peter watched it all sadly. “I don’t care,” he cried, trying hard to stop his tears. “I don’t want money from killing those poor little things.” His dream of painting grew remote and he sat and thought, while the Summer’s sunshine played and flickered around him. Poor little champion of hurted animals! -y—2/6 and 4 marks to Cousin Catherine Thomson (16), 37 Rueben Avenue, Brooklyn. Wellington. TOM’S LOVING PAL. The bright sunbeams were fitting over the dew-wet ivy that covered the walls of the farm-house making them shine like gold. The birds were singing gaily in the trees, and the lambs were frisking in the meadows, where the air was filled with the songs of the bees. The side door of the dairy opened, and a big man stepped on to the concrete and stood as if looking for somebody. He waited for a moment or two and then walked to the wicket-gate and called “Tom, come here a minute.” A merry faced boy with a bucket in his hand appeared and Mr Frazer, Tom’s father took it and said: “I want you to go and catch that ‘jib’ of yours Tom. Put him in the gig at 9 o’clock, for I’m going to go to town. The car won’t go, and I want to be home by 12. Give him a good feed, and I think you’d better go now. I’ll put tha milk out for you.” “Right-oh, dad,” replied Tom in his cheery voice, “I’ll go right now. Hl put those cows in the clover paddock on my way.” Going to the harness-shed he picked up the horse’s bridle and started up the meadow whistling an old school chorus. From the gate Mr Frazer watched him. “How that boy is growing,” he said to himself, “he’ll soon be eighteen now, too. I wonder whsrt I’ll get him,” and Mr Frazer went away with a thoughtful face. Tom Frazer, going on for eighteen summers, was a tall, good-looking lad. He had a nice open face, that was well tanned with leading an outdoor life, big hazel eyes that twinkled with fun (he was a dreadful tease), and a shock of brown hair that would always look crumpled. He was a popular young fellow, tod, for he had a smile and a joke for all. In his old clothes he appeared to be very manly, and strangers always took a fancy to him. As he neared “Jib” or Major as was his proper name, he stopped whistling and felt in his pocket for a piece of sugar, calling Major coaxingly, at intervals. When Major saw his young master feeling in his pocket he came trotting to him, and while Tom fastened the bridle, he ate his sugar lump and then commenced to look for more. He put his nose over Tom’s pocket and licked up crumbs with his tongue, and he neighed “thank you” when Tom gave him another lump. Tom had been given Major for his birthday four years before, and the two were great pals. Tom rode him everywhere, and Major adored his young master, who thoroughly spoilt him in return. Major was a clever horse too, and he could do lots of tricks. He used to shake hands with people when Tom told him to, and he was a quick trotter. He loved to let Tom ride him round the cattle, and when Tom was on him they never bothered about gates. Major loved jumping and Tom loved him for it. “Come on my beauty,” drawled Tom in his soft tones, “we’ll go home quickly. Now stand still Major, my wee white horsey, I’m going to ride you bareback.” With his ears forward Major stood still for Tom to spring up, and then off he went. “Now for it,” cried Tom, and Major went faster while Tqm patted his neck crooning flattering phrases to his ever listening ears. “You’re my good old pal, Major,” said Tom when they reached the stable door, and Major made a noise in his throat, like a choked back laugh. He rubbed his satin nose against Tom’s neck when the latter was getting the chaff, for he, Major, knew well how to work things. My, didn’t he just, I’m sure he smiled when he saw Tom place a dipper full of oats into his feed. Major wasn’t hungry, so he just ran his tongue round and round the chaff sorting out the oats, while Tom combed him down and did his mane and tail nicely. Major looked round approvingly every now and then, and Tom whispered to him all the while. Those two, master and pal, thoroughly understood one another. Now 7 , however much Major; loved Tom, he simply detested Tom’s father, so that when he was led to the gig-shed and put into the gig he had an idea what was trumps. It was just once in a blue moon Tom drove him in the gig, and Major began to get restless. Mr Frazer never crooned or whispered nice things to him, but would just roar “Get up!” as if he was an ordinary animal. Major didn’t like being called “Jib” either, that always put him in a bad humour. He well remembered meeting Tom’s dad the last time, too. He made Mr Frazer chase him for three hours, and during that time the chaser’s temper boiled, and it hadn’t worked off any when Major was caught. Tom had been away and Major had got a good thrashing, though I don’t say he didn’t deserve a smack or two. But a thrashing—no. Hatred set in in Major’s heart, and he was going to have revenge even if he had to pay for it afterwards. Major was ready to start when Mr Frazer came out. “Good boy, Tom,” he said when he saw that the gig was in readiness and that everything was dusted and clean. “I think you deserve a holiday this afternoon. You can go over to the ranch and see Teddy if you like.” “Thank you, dad,” answered Tom gratefully. It was a long time since Tom had been over to Teddy’s place, and he was pleased. When Major heard Mr Frazer’s voice, he stood erect. With head held high, ears well back, with quivering nostrils and fiery eyes he stood—waiting. Tom saw and understood. He stepped to Major’s head and whispered consolingly, but for once that proud horse failed to notice Tom’s presence. The young master stepped back, while his father picked up the reins and jumped into the gig, not a moment too soon. Major had bolted. Tom could hardly believe his eyes. Round and round the paddock he madly tore, with the gig rattling and tearing after. The whip dropped from its place and Mr Frazer had all he knew to stay in. With flying mane, Major kept on racing, while the would-be-driver roared threats between the jerks. Once again Major passed Tom, but when he reached the far end of the paddock he stopped, and cowered ready for the threats to be carried out. Mr Frazer jumped to the ground and seized a stick. With a dull thud it landed heavily on Major’s rump. “You would, would you?”—thud—“l’ll teach you”—thud---“You beast!”—thud—“Mongrel!”—thud—“l’ll, I’ll”—thud—“kill you!”—crash, bang—the stick broke. Smack went the reins, and then Mr Frazer wheeled round for someone had caught his arm firmly. Tom, panting and ghastly pale, stood before him. Tom, with eyes gleaming coalblack and with horror written on his face. “Dad,” he gasped. “Don’t! You’ll kill him, and he’s mine! Leave him to me!” Mr Frazer muttered that he was sorry and turned away. 'Hie sight of his only child’s face brought him to his senses. How Tom hated cowardice too. To hit and hurt dumb creatures knowing perfectly well that they cannot defend themselves was viewed by Tom as downright cowardice. Hadn’t Tom said that he hated cowards too. What would Tom think? “Boy,” he said as lightly as he could without moving, “I’m going to go by bus. Tell your mother please, and go over to Teddy’s for lunch.” He then walked away

briskly and never looked back till he reached the gate. With a sorrowful face Tom stood watching, when suddenly something cold was thrust into his palm. It was Major’s nose, and when Tom turned the cunning horse neighed softly. Tom brushed his head and whispered, “Why did you do it, naughty white horse?” but Major just shook his head. “Come, naughty boy,” said Tom, and the horse followed to be taken out of the trap and be saddled for the ride to Teddy’s place. Tom told his mother of his intentions, and then rode away. Major simply flew over the fences end they both enjoyed the journey very much. It was dusk when Tom reached home for he had gone by the store, and when he reached the gate his father was just going through. “Halloa, Tom,” called his father. “Did you have a good time?” “Ripping!” exclaimed Tom. “How’s town?” “Still there'” answered his dad with a laugh, as he shut the gate. Suddenly he dropped a bag he was holding, and there rolled on to the track some big red apples. Mr Frazer began to pick them up and Tom waited for him. Major was restless, pawing the ground to hurry, but Tom held him in. Mr Frazer began to walk by MajoPs head, and he slipped a big apple under Major’s nose. Major couldn't pass that tempting offer, so he quickly ate it and nosed the bag for more. Tom was talking all the while, pretending he didn’t notice, but he saw and was pleased. The next morning Tom caught Major early, and left him to have his feed while he went for breakfast. When he came out to the stable he heard someone talking to Major in caressing tones. Tom stood at the door and beheld the strangest sight. Major was eating an apple, and all over his satiny nose there glistened sugar. Major seemed to like getting his head brushed too, and as Tom walked away, he laughed to himself. Major will soon have another pal, he thought. Dear old Major will no longer be called “Jib,” and it is quite true for now Major has won another friend. Someone else has found out that through being kind to dumb animals, treating them as you yourself like to be treated, great love is returned and, is it not ample payment? —2/6 and 4 marks to Cousin Mabel Wright (16), Makarewa. JUSTICE. The Fairy Queen was holding a meeting on Mid-Summer’s Eve, to which many animals had been invited. They met under a large hawthorn tree, and when they were all seated in a ring, White Moonbeam, the Fairy Queen addressed them thus. “I hear that much cruelty has been going on in the world, especially to the poor dumb beasts, and I must do my utmost to prevent it. If any of the animals present have any complaints to make, please step forward.” At this, a thin, bruised old horse, a lame, halfstarved dog and a small kitten with a piece out of its ear came and stood before the Queen. The old horse spoke first: “Your gracious Majesty,” he said, “I wish to tell you the wrongs done to me by my master. For many years I have been faithful to him, and done my duty. Now that I am old, he gives me very little to eat. I have to cart the milk to the factory, twice every day, and as I cannot go as fast as before, my master whips and lashes me till I can scarcely stand, and I wish I could die to end my unhappy life.” “I shall end your sorrows very soon,” said the Queen. Then the dog spoke. Your Honourable Majesty I have served my master well, but when I broke my leg he kicked me away, and told me to find a better ’ole, at which I was very sad.” Then up spoke the bedraggled little kitten. “I am very sorry to have to say it, your esteemed Majesty, but my mistress, in a violent rage cut a piece out of my ear, and then scolded and shook me for not keeping still. Then she seized and threw me into a tub of icy water. I was nearly drowned before I could climb out.” “My poor friends,” said the Fairy Queen kindly, “I shall give you a rest in Fairyland for three weeks, and at the same time punish your owners.” While the animals were thus enjoying the best of everything, the owners were fuming with rage at their strange disappearance. The owner of the horse had to borrow one from his neighbour who lent it very unwillingly; while the dog’s master found himself in a great fix, without his faithful Fido. The little girl who owned the kitten mourned its loss every day, and felt sure the pussy had run away because of her unkindness. Nor was this all. Every night, through the Fairy Queen’s power, the two men dreamed that they were the ill-treated beasts and were beaten, starved, and kicked, just as they had treated their faithful animals. This went on for three weeks, until the men were nearly crazy, and began to wish they were dead. One morning when the horse's master went out, he beheld Dobbin peacefully grazing in his paddock. “Oh you good old horse,” he cried, “no wonder you went way, I shall always be kind to you now, and give you plenty to eat.” The dog’s master, too, was delighted to see old Fido once more, and promised to treat him weiL The little girl cried with joy when her pussy came home, and tied a blue ribbon round his neck. You will all be pleased that the Fairy Queen’s plan worked well, and she never again had complaints from these three animals, but I’m sure there are plenty more who suffer, aren’t you? Don’t be one of the people who own these animals. —2/6 and 4 marks to Cousin May Heath (12), Dunrobin (via Heriot). STUMPY. I have a cat which is called Stumpy, because he has no tail, Sometimes when the ball is on the grass he plays with it. Stumpy is may favourite cat. In the mornings when I am dressed I play with Stumpy inside. When I am outside I sit on the doorstep and pat Stumpy. Sometimes when the cupboard door is open he comes inside and takes a piece of meat. One time he was locked in the washhouse at night. Sometimes Stumpy gets into my dolls’ pram, but when I start to wheel him he jumps out again. When he was wee I used to get a piece of paper and let him play with it. Stumpy likes to be cuddled up on my knee. When we are having our meals he comes to the table and crawls round my legs for something to eat. When we shifted over here from across the road Stumpy would not stay with us because he was too frightened and we had to carry him over several times, and he used to be carried inside for a while. One day he tipped my pram over and dirtied all my shawl. Stumpy used to scratch some of Dad’s seeds out. Dad had to put some netting wire over some onions to keep him off them. He scratched some of Dad’s potatoes out the other day. He sometimes catches birds up the big hedge trees. W’hen I am drying the dishes he comes into the scullery. Stumpy is awake every morning before I am. he scratches me when I am playing with him, but I am sure he doesn’t mean it. —2/6 and 4 marks to Cousin Noreen Dicks (8), 116 O’Hara street, South Invercargill.

•—Highly Commended— FAITHFUL BEN. Ben was a big black Newfoundland dog who lived on a sheep station with his master and who became a favourite with all on the place. Many a time he would watch over a flock of sheep for his master if he was engaged elsewhere. Mr. Smith had bought him from a traveller when he was a puppy and had ever since, been proud to own him. He had grown into a very faithful and to-be trusted animal friend of the sheep-owner’s. Mr. Smith’s two nieces, Elsie and Adrien Somers had arrived at the station to spend their term vacation. On the day in question, Elsie and Adrien, along with their two country cousins, Joan and Mary, were going for a picnic to a lovely forest which lay to the west of the homestead. They had their lunch packed and all ready to depart by 10 o’clock and were to be back in time for tea at 6 o’clock. “Uncle Tim, may we take Ben with us,” said Elae. "Yes, if you like. If any of you get lost Ben will help you,” he laughed, as he bade them goodbye, never once thinking his words would come true. The dog licked his master’s hand and trotted off after the girls. The girls took turns at carrying the lunch basket and tripped merrily along, gaily talking of their doings since last they met. Ben followed at their heels and occasionally received a pat from one of them. After a two hour’s walk they reached a cool shady glade at the forest’s edge. Here they halted. “Delightful,” echoed the town girls. “Well,” said Joan, “Let’s have lunch and then have a rest er go for a ramble. Elsie was fond of sketching and had brought a sketch book with her; so after lunch she and Mary stayed in the glade to sketch, while Adrien and Joan went for a ramble. Ben had not been forgotten at iunch time and now lay contentedly on the grass beside Elsie and Mary. The other two had been too absorbed in talking and gathering ferns that they had not noticed that dusk was approaching and they had been wandering on and on for hours. “I am getting hungary. Let’s go back now,” said Joan. “I think so, too,” laughed her cousin. But try as they would, they could not get to the edge of the forest. Instead, they were going inwards and besides it was near dark and they became frightened. “Oh, let’s rest here beside these ferns and not wander about so.” So saying, they lay down on the mossy ground, and being tired out, were soon fast asleep. Meanwhile Mary and Elsie had finished sketching and were waiting for the others to appear. There being no sign of them about dusk they decided to send Ben to the rescue. “If they are lost, they will soon be found,” said Elsie. She then took a piece of notepaper and wrote a few worda to Joan telling her that if they were lost to keep Ben with them and stay where they were while they went for uncle; if they were not loet, to come at once. The note was tied to Ben’s collar and Mary sent him off on the tracks of her friends. Then after

a time, Elsie and Mary headed for home at a run. Ben had followed the girls’ tracks on and on, deeper into the forest, until he came upon them sleeping on the ground. He put his nose in Joan’s hand and lay down beside her. This movement awakened Joan and she sat up and saw Ben beside her. She at once espied the note on his collar and then she woke Adrien and together in the moonlight they read it. So they sat and waited. When Elsie and Mary’ reached the house they informed Mr. Smith of what had taken place and after getting lights they retraced their steps, Mr. Smith following. When they came to the edge of the forest, there was Ben waiting to meet them. “He will show us the way,” said Mr. Smith. * He must have found them, because the note is gone from his collar,” said Mary. Then Ben turned and started off into the forest, turning now and again and barking joyously, which was surely for them to follow. On and on they tramped until they came upon the girls huddled under a big fern. “Oh, at last,” sighed Elsie. Though they had been lost only a matter of a few hours, it was a relief to all concerned, when they were found. “We got your note and after waiting for I what seemed an age, we sent Ben to meet you, and,” said Adrien choking back a sob, “and you know the rest.” During the proceedings Ben stood looking on and wagging his tail. “You darling dog,” exclaimed the girls. “My faithful animal,” remarked Mr. Smith, and they all patted him, which made him happy to know that they trusted him. While walking home in the moonlight, Elsie said, “I’m glad we decided to take Ben with us this morning.” es, said her uncle, remembering what he had told her. “I wouldn’t part with my faithful Ben for worlds.” And Ben trotted along at their heels, wagging his tail joyously—a happy dog who had done another good turn for his master. Therefore we should be kind to all and every animal, for though they are dumb, they appreciate kindness as well as human beings. —2 marks to Cousin Frances Sharp (14), % Mr. G. Morton, Gorge Road. SNAP. Joan came in dejectedly, threw her hat and books on to the table and went to help her mother get the tea. “Tired?” queried her mother, noticing signs of unrest in the girl’s face. “Yes, I s’pose so—no, only cross, mums. It’s been so hot to-day and school is always horrid on Fridays, and then teacher has given us an essay to do over the week-end on ‘Pete.’ I don’t know anything about pets. I haven’t ever had any. It just isn’t fair. I heard Peggy and Joyce planning to go to the wild cherry gardens on their ponies. Doris has the dearest little white lamb and Edith showed me a ‘snap’ she had taken of her collie. Everyone else has pets. Why can’t I have one Mums?” She broke off a little piece from the slice of cake she was cutting for tea—then another piece and

another until it was all gone. It would have been much easier to take the whole slice at once, but it didn’t look half so greedy this way. Her mother sighed. Joan had had this wish for some time now, and although her mother usually gave in to her requests, she could neither understand nor sympathize with this latest desire. “But, Joan, think what a trouble it would be to you. I’m sure that you wouldn’t always remember to feed it, and I have enough work now without any extra. You would always want it in the house and it would be a nuisance to everyone. There’s a letter in the front hall. Would you run down and post it for me, dear?” Joan went slowly down the path on to the road. After all it was not fair. She was the only child and there were no children near enough to where she lived in this little village for her to have much companionship at home.

Her errand finished, she turned homewards. The sun had just sunk behind a hill, leaving a great fan of light, and tingeing the edges of the silvery clouds with crimson. All the birds in the trees above were twittering and singing their evening songs before the light faded. Usually, Joan was in ecstasies of delight with a beautiful twilight, but to-night she was thinking deeply. She would rather like a rabbit with long floppy cars, or a kitten, a smoky grey Persian, but most of all she would like a dog—a little black one with a small intelligent head and dark brown eyes. Just then someone came flashing round the corner on a motor-cycle. He seemed just a blur as he passed Joan—when from the bushes at the other side of the road out sprang a little dark shape—seemed to spring right under the wheels of the oncoming terror. The cyclist may have felt a slight bump, but his speed did not lessen as he whirled on in a cloud of dust. Perhaps he had not seen anything—one small moving object could not show very much when the whole countryside was flashing by. Joan turned away with a gasp of horror. Then she turned and saw that still, huddled heap, where a few seconds ago' there had been liveliness and energy. She bent over it—her dream dog in real life, but just now looking very dead, the head brown with silky black ears and coat. She spoke gently, caressingly, and when she touched him the poor little creature flinched and the eyes flickered open. Joan felt she must do something to relieve the look of suffering in them. She had been learning ambulance work on Guiding, so set about finding what damage had been done. As tenderly as possible and speaking low, soothing words all the time she examined the tiny body. There was one leg broken, so she set it with deftly improvised splints, and bandaged it as skilfully as she could. Then lifting him carefully she started again for home. Night was falling and as she came near she saw that her mother was waiting for her at the gate. “I was getting quite anxious about you, dear,” she said, then catching sight of the strange burden, “whatever is that you are carrying?” Joan didn’t find it as hard as she had thought trying to persuade her mother to look after him, as she said that she could keep him until he was claimed. Joan had not thought of that before, and the idea tormented her. Those adoring brown eyes had seemed to cast a spell over her, and she felt she couldn’t be happy again if someone came now and took him away. “Oh, you darling. I think I’ll call you Snap,” she said as she fondled the silken coat, which, now that the grit and dust of the road had been removed was delightfully soft and glossy. He didn’t look very ill, lying there on a blue cushion in front of the fire, and so leaving him sleeping peacefully she went to bed and dreamt all night of her new playmate. Next morning she took him to the local doctor who attended to any minor ailments of the village animals. After examining the leg and pronouncing it to be quite satisfactory, he asked her how it had happened, so the whole story came out. The doctor was voluble in his praise of her action. “My word, young lady, it’s a pity there aren’t a host more like you in this world; then the animals would have a much more pleasant time.” Joan glowed with pride and carried her pet home in triumph. Of course, her essay did not take long to write, and besides having top marks her teacher praised her highly for it. No one came to claim Snap, and with the special care and food he was soon walking round, rather stiffly at first, but daily becoming stronger. Everybody made a fuss of him, but he liked Joan best of all, and long’ before her hour of returning from scohol, he would be waiting at the gate, and when she came would race to meet her, barking excitedly and jumping and running round her. There is always plenty of mischief for a little dog to find, but besides being playful, he is more useful than any other pet. Joan’s mother discovered this, and strange to say, was becoming almost as fond of Snap as his own mistress; so that when last heard of he seemed in a fair way to being spoilt. —2 marks to Cousin Patricia Ward (15), Awarua Plains. “THE BLACK PRINCE.” Out on the plain three wild horses pranced. In the east a small black cloud was rising. This surely meant a boding storm, and the horses, with their wonderful instinct, had already scented it. One, which seemed to be the leader, was pawing the ground, very eager to go galloping across the plain to find shelter. Soon the storm came. The cloud, having spread across the sky, hung in a dark and lowering mass above. A wind arose, sweeping across the plain in intensely cold and squally gusts. Soon the rain came down in torrents. Not soft showers which come and go, pattering on the earth and refreshing it, but blinding sheets of tropical rain, falling with a force which laid the long, dry, prairie grass almost flat. The three horses reared and plunged, their shaggy manes tossing in the wind as they clung closely together, each trying to find shelter by the other. The storm soon abated, leaving the plain bare and dreary-looking. Weeks went by and their wild life continued till one day, three horsemen could be discerned appearing over the horizon in the distance. Nearer and nearer they came, and, when they had reached a certain distance, spread out. The three noble creatures were plainly puzzled. Hitherto they had lived their lives unmolested, and to see these figures surrounding them was very strange indeed. When the horsemen began to close in around the three wild horses they scented danger and made attempts to get away. A lively struggle ensued. Eventually two of the horses were captured, while their leader, a noble animal with a black, silky skin, escaped. “I’d like to have got the other one,” said one of the men as they rode back, “he was such a beauty!” “He’d make a fine present for Betty, my daughter,” added another. It seemed to be the one desire of all the men to have the horse, so another hunt was decided upon. How lonely the horse felt, and how he longed to see his companions again. Little he thought that he would shortly see them and be in bondage as they were. The following day the horsemen again appeared and spotted a solitary black horse grazing on the plain far in the distance. “That’s the one,” eagerly shouted one of the men. After much trouble the horse was captured and taken back to be the proud possession of a sixteen-year-old girl by the name of Betty. Betty loved the horse and christened him the “Black Prince.” Then came his breaking-in. The “Black Prince,” at the sight of his two companions, would neigh wildly and make desperate attempts to reach them. Only Betty’s tender caresses and sympathetic fondlings would quieten him. One day, when the “Black Prince” was sufficiently broken in, Betty decided to have a long ride, alone. The sky was clear and blue when they set off but, after she had been travelling for some time, she noticed that it was becoming downcast.

She had halted and was contemplating when a loud thunder-clap put into the “Black Prince” his old instincts. He reared, plunged, snorted and then set off at a mad gallop across the plain. All Betty’s efforts could not pull him up. He was unconscious of her presence, for he was a wild horse in his natural states, revelling in a mad tear across the plain. Betty hung on for dear life while the wind whistled about her ears and the rain beat down on her. Where would it end? The sun was shining in a cloudless sky when Betty, regaining consciousness, opened her eyes. Where was she ? What had happened? She was lying on the damp grass thinking thus when some figures on the plain in the distance attracted her notice. As they came nearer she could identify them. Her father was in front riding on the “Black Prince” (the good faithful beast), while her elder brother and a friend were also riding horses. She cried out to them in a weak voice and they espied her. What a joyful greeting! After being taken home Betty was told how the “Black Prince” had arrived home shortly after they had left. His sides were covered with foam and, by whining he gave them to see that their daughter needed assistance. The “Black Prince” grew to be Betty’s most faithful companion and, though he often longed, in his animal’s way, for his former wild life, he was always gentle and friendly with Betty. —2 marks to Cousin Annie Williamson (14), Balclutha. THE LITTLE RABBIT. A little rabbit lived in a burrow in the middle of the forest with his mother. The little rabbit loved his mother very dearly, and had never disobeyed her. Since the little one was one week old, he had been warned never to go further than the edge of their burrow without his mother. One day when Mrs Rabbit was sleeping, the lonely little rabbit went to the edge of the burrow. “Oh! how happy everything looks. Surely mother would not mind if I went a few yards from home.” Saying this, he wandered on, never looking to see how far from home he was. Suddenly he saw a wicked eye peeping round a tree. “Ah, you shall do for my supper,” said the weasel, for it was he who was behind the tree. The terrified rabbit ran as fast as he could and the weasel came after him. For twenty minutes they ran, and all the time the weasel was gaining on the rabbit. The rabbit was feeling that he could not run any further, when he heard voices behind him. The weasel had met a stoat and they were fighting to see which was to have the rabbit for supper. “I shall have him,” said the stoat. “You shall not, I saw him first,” said the weasel. All this time the rabbit was running on. When he was a few miles away from the stoat and the weasel he lay down and went to sleep. The stoat and the weasel fought for half on hour, the fight ending in a victory for the stoat. By this time the stoat was tired out and went home saying: “My supper has run away from me, so 1 shall go home.” For an hour the weasel lay on the ground and when he was conscious again it was dark. “Oh, bother, my supper has run away from me,” said he. At sunrise the next morning, the rabbit woke. “Oh,” sobbed he, “I do wish that I hadn’t run away. What will mother say when I go home?” He walked for miles, trying to find his home, but all the time he was going farther away from it. At four o’clock he came to a cave which had “Kindly step inside” printed on the door. The rabbit thought that he would be given a nice tea and a warm bed to sleep in, but his thoughts were incorrect. He went into the passage, but there was nobody there. Thinking that nobody was at home, he went into the kitchen. When he opened the door, to his surprise he saw a big fox standing beside a large pot. “I have the water in the pot, but I have nothing to cook. Last night I had no supper. Tonight I should like a nice, tender rabbit,” said the fox. The poor little rabbit was so afraid that he could not move. In an instant he was seized by the fox and tied to the pantry floor with several large ropes. After the fox had told himself that his supper was safe, he went to bed, intending to wait until the water boiled, to cook the rabbit in. In the pantry, the rabbit was thinking that there was not a chance of escaping. Every minute he expected the fox to come and put him in the pot. The pot was a big one and the fire was not a good one, so the pot took an hour to boil. The fox was sound asleep and snoring so loudly that the rabbit was more afraid than ever. In about half-an-hour the rabbit heard a gnawing sound. For a few minutes he held his breath. “I have come to save you,” said a voice. “S-sh,” said the rabbit, “we must not wake the fox. Who are you?” “I am Mr Mouse from near Rabbitville,” said the mouse. After gnawing for a few minutes, the mouse had broken all of the ropes that bound the rabbit. The fox was still snoring loudly. “What if he should waken and catch us,” said the rabbit. “Oh, he won’t do that,” said the mouse. They walked safely to the door and looked back to have a last laugh at the fox who little knew his dinner crept on tip-toe past him while he slept. When the two were safely outside the gate, they ran fast, for the sun had gone down in the west and it was darkening quickly. At nine o’clock they arrived at Rabbitville. Mrs Rabbit asked kind Mr Mouse to stay for supper, but he said that he could not stay. The rabbit was not punished by his mother as he had already had his punishment. In the fox’s den, the fox was snoring less loudly and in a few minutes he was awake. “Now, for my supper,” said he. He went to the pantry and found that the rabbit had gone, but it was too late to chase him then. —2 marks to Cousin June Mitchel (14), 41 Nelson Street, Georgetown. THE STORY OF A DOG. One fine summer’s day, Alice and Pamela were walking along a quiet country road, when suddenly the sounds of a dog barking roused their thoughts. “Oh! the poor thing is howling,” said Pamela, “let’s go and see what’s the matter.” After they were round the bend, they saw a sight that filled them with horror and indignation. There was a man, a tramp, beating the dog, oh, so unmercifully. The poor animal was tied to a tree, utterly helpless, making frantic attempts to escape. Alice rushed up to the man. “Oh,” she cried, “You great bully. How dare you! Beating a poor helpless dog. Why don’t you bully somebody your own size?” “How dare I, miss. He stole my dinner and he’s going to pay for it. Out of my way, there.” “You won’t hit him once more. You’ll hit me before you hit the dog.” And she stepped in front of the dog and gazed scornfully at him. He dropped his stick and slunk away. Evidently he had a little shame. As soon as he had gone, the girls turned their attention to the suffering animal. He whimpered so pitifully. “We must get him home at once,” said Alice. “He is starving and completely done. We shall have to carry him.” Between them they carried him the two long miles home. At last they arrived there, and took their patient into the kitchen to ease his pain. Pamela bathed his wounds while mother bound them and Alice prepared some food, which the famished dog ate speedily. When he had been made as comfortable as possible two excited girls ran to tell their father about it. “Oh Daddy, can we keep him, ?” they asked when they had finished their story.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Daddy. “We’ll have to advertise, but if no one claims him you may certainly keep him.” The dog was much better when they went in again. He looked at his rescuers as if to say, “I thank you.” He was a goodlooking dog when he was clean, a black smooth-coated collie with a white collar and vest. About a month after the girls had brought him home, Daddy announced, that as nobody had claimed the dog, they might keep him.

What a shout of joy went*up from Pamela and Alice, while Don (for that is what they had named him) was told all about it. He licked their faces and looked just as if he understood everything they said. He was taught many tricks, and what fun they had playing in the fields. One day, Pamela and Alice went for . a picnic up one of the hills behind their house; but they left Don behind. It was ever so far to the top but at last they reached there. How far away everything looked. They could hardly see their home. After having a delicious lunch they lay down to rest, and, under the sun’s soothing influence, fell asleep. Hours crept on and they did not wake while slowly mist came down the hill until it had completely enveloped them. Still.they slept on but at last, about six o’clock Alice awoke. She looked about her in alarm and hastily woke Pamela. What would they do It would be useless to walk about. They would be more lost than ever. Two long terrifying hours went by, when through the gloom came Don—their faithful ally. He had come to look for them. Away he went again probably to get help; but they were much cheered by his momentary visit.

Not long afterwards lanterns appeared in the darkness. Here were. Daddy and some others. Soon both girls were safely inside relating their adventure. What a wonderful dog Don was. As Alice expressed it when she was lying in front of the fire, “He is so faithful, even though he has been with us a few months. Just think, we might still be out in that horrid fog if it hadn’t been for Don.” I love all animals, but none so much as dogs, especially Don. Dogs are so human. Much more so than other animals. They look at people who love them so adorably. If one is kind to animals one is always repaid in some way, such as we were. If only Don could speak, he would be perfect, but although he is dumb he speaks so well with his eyes. He is quite content if he is fed well and if we are kind to him. He is so grateful for any kindness and thanks us so well with his eyes. I think people who tie cans to dogs’ tails and throw stones at them ought to be severely punished. I would like to thrash that man who hit Don. If he was in Don’s place for a while he would soon stop his cruel treatment. Fancy beating a poor dog that cannot protect itself. Don has found a home here now. Dogs such as he will be “faithful unto death.” I will always love him. I, of course, am Alice. —2 marks to Cousin Clare Douglas (13), Arrowtown. THE HEDGEHOG. Rustle, Rustle, “That’s mother coming back,” said Bristle unrolling himself and opening his beady eyes. “Wake up, Prickles.” And he brushed against his sleepy sister. These two hedge hogs were just three weeks old and thought they were quite grown up. Just then their mother came hurrying to the nest. “Well children,” she said, “it is a lovely night and I will take you and show you where you can get some fine fat worms.” so they tcrambled out of the nest behind their mother. It was dark and being their first time out they felt a little frightened. What a time they had in a nearby garden! When the time came for them to go home Prickles did not want to go. Heedless of her mother’s warnings, she wandered alone in another direction and when daylight came she did not know where she was. A little boy on his way to school found her curled up on the side of the road and took her to school. There she received very rough handling and was finally taken home and put in a box. “Oh what shall I do,” she squeaked sorowfully to herself, “if only I had listened to Mother and taken her advice, I should not have been treated like this.” Days passed by and Prickles was very lonely besides being very hungry for the boy had not fed her but amused himself by poking at her with sticks and cruelly treating her until she died. We should all remember that animals although they are dumb have feeling such as we have and we should all try to be kind and to love them. —2 marks to Cousin Gladys Robertson (11), 110 Chelmsford Street, North Invercargill. • —Late Entry.— Billy, the beaver, pushed his way up from the stream, his eyes always alert and searching, turning quickly this way and that. Billy was very busy. He intended building a dam across the stream and was searching for a large tree, suitable for the purpose. Presently he found one growing almost beside the stream and was soon gnawing into the trunk with his big strong teeth, pausing now and again to eat a little bark, or bud or tender leaf. When the tree began to crack, wise little Billy dodged out of the way and let it fall with a crash—right across the stream, and breaking several trees in its descent. Billy was delighted and ran proudly to fetch his friends to help push the smaller logs into the stream, allowing them to rest against the larger trunk, now bridging the stream. For many days every beaver worked hard after that. They carried mud and stones held against their breasts and brought sticks between their teeth till the dam was finished. Then each beaver built a home for his family in it, making a little round living room and a storeroom full of bark and cut branches or twigs for winter feed. Billy was very happy and proud when all was finished. He spent the days contentedly, sometimes on land, sometimes in the water, dreaming or diving and thoroughly enjoying life. About the time of the first heavy fall of snow a bird brought news that travellers, returning from the north, intended passing that way. But neither Billy nor his friends worried, even at the warning, for they told themselves they were perfectly safe. Poor little creatures, they did not dream that humans could be so cruel and cunning! One cold day Billy pushed his way up the snowy bank and sat there, listening to the sounds about him, which he decided were not at all usual. The birds were fluttering excitedly about and several small animals went scampering by in fearful haste. Billy asked the reason of this bustle of one of the birds, but received only a frightened squawk in answer as the bird fluttered noisily away. He sat there, silent and puzzled. The stream was high and made a gurgling sound as it brushed up against the dam, the noise drowning from the beaver’s hearing the sound of footsteps crunching the snow as they approached on the other side of the stream, stealthily, slowly. Suddenly he heard a voice—a sharp voice that he knew belonged to no bird or animal he had ever heard of. He turned quickly to dive back into the pool and thence to his house by the door under the water, but there came the report of a gun—and then silence. Then a human voice exclaimed, “How stunning!” “Yes,” came another voice, “these beavers make good sport. But come along, we must hurry ” “But aren’t you going to take the skin ?” “Of course not. Hurry up! Too much trouble that would be!” And a second later the footsteps had crunched on past the dam, leaving all silent again. And on the sparkling whiteness of the snow lay a brown animal, smaller than a large dog. It was Billy, the beaver—dead. —2 marks to Cousin Gwen Irwin (16), “Elderslie,” Lochiel.