BIRTHDAY PRESENTS

Southland Times, Issue 20675, 22 December 1928, Page 22 (Supplement)

BIRTHDAY PRESENTS

YE CONQUEST OF YE FIERY-DRAGON. A banquet was being held in the huge hall of King Arthur’s palace and everybody was feasting to his heart’s, and maybe his stomach’s, content. There were knights of all sizes, with handsome faces and—er—urn—ugly faces, most of them joking and laughing, while one or two looked as though there was something wrong with their digestion? Perhaps it was over-eating, but what matter? One of these was Agravaine ye Dolorous, the hero of this knightly tale, so that a slight description of him will not be amiss. He had a prominent nose, Barney Google’s eyes to perfection, and two front teeth that came out over his bottom lip, to give him the expression of a nervous rabbit. Of course he possessed brains, probably more than his gallant comrades, but as brains were never heard of in those far-off days as anything useful, he was not much better off. He was thin and lanky, with legs like a sparrow, so Sir Hugo de Biggbrayne avowed, but a Wise man had once said that Agravaine had a great future before him. As what, the Wise man alone knew, but perhaps he didn’t, for all you had to do in those days to be a Wise man was to live alone and grow a white beard, tell people something they did not know, of which there was a great deal, and tell them to “pay at ye desk” as they left, marvelling at the wisdom of the Wise man. But to return to Sir Agravaine, feasting at King Arthur’s round table. Sir Stowitaway, at his side, was feasting well and truly, despite the fact that he looked as if he’d been born at a bean feast and had been feasting ever since. Then a valet approached King Arthur and said something to him. “Bring her in,” he said graciously. The knights knew what that meant, and they all rose from the table, except Sir Agravaine, who was used to this sort of thing and was never chosen to be the help of some damsel in distress. In vain did Sir jab him with a fork, or whatever it was they used at the table then, to make him rise. Baking powder couldn’t have done it. Enter the damsel. The knights' faces fell, and Sir Stowitaway had such a shock he stopped chewing a piece of juicy steak. For the damsel was the plainest girl those stately halls had ever seen. There was a creaking of seats as the knights sat down and Sir Stowitaway tried to steal a juicy tit-bit from Sir Agravaine’s platter in the confusion. But down came Agravaine’s fist, the platter was sent flying and Sir Stowitaway sucked his fingers. Gentlemen,” said King Arthur, “this is the daughter of the Early Worm the Hills—” “Early Dorm of the Hills,” said the maiden with a voice oddly like Henry Ford’s pedestrian remover. “Who is troubled with a huge dragon which is ravaging the countryside,” went on King Arthur unperturbed, “and I hope her claim for help will meet with ready response. Could you render your service, Sir Lancelot?” * Sir Lancelot was in mourning for the Lady of Shallot. Sir Hugo de Biggbrayne had an ingrowing toe-nail, and Sir Stowitaway had a wart growing on his nose. And then Sir Agravaine stood up. King Arthur turned to the damsel. “Are you willing to take Sir Agravaine ye Dolorous for your champion,” he asked. “Yes,” said the damsel, shyly. So Sir Agravaine left the hall to get ready for his journey, and Sir Stowitaway beamed, for Sir Agravaine had not been eating well, and what food was left, not counting that on the floor, would fill up that one empty spot in his stomach. Sir Agravaine, with armour buckled on, and his sword swinging at his horse’s side, rode along beside the damsel. He was not feeling very brave now. Dragons usually were not inclined to be friendly. At last he ventured to ask a question. How large w'as the dragon? “His body is as large as ten stout trees, Sir Knight, and his head is up in the clouds.” Agravaine said nothing, he felt rather flat. He wished he had got Merlin to make something that would make him immune from dragon bites. But did dragons bite, or did they whack you with their tails, or just breathe fire? And its body was as large as ten stout trees? Why, he would not even have the melancholy satisfaction of giving it indigestion! For all the difference he would make to that vast interior he might as well be a salted almond. The sun was setting when Earl Dorm’s castle came into eight. The damsel’s father was a wizened little man with bow legs, but Agravaine was looking around for any sign of the dragon on the skyline; evidently it was not about. Earl Dorm came forward with a grin on his face that made Sir Agravaine’s two front teeth move up and down in a strange fashion. “So you’ve come to kill our dragon, eh?” he piped. “You’ll be hungry, eh?” Agravaine was, and said so. “It will soon be supper,” was the reply, “but your armour is dusty; it needs polishing, and so does your sword. Remove them, my servant will clean them.” Agravaine did so, and handed them to a man who appeared as if he thought Agravaine would make a good meal, and almost said so. Sir Agravaine was escorted to the hall where supper was served, a very frugal meal, it must be allowed, for the dragon had made short work of everything within reach. The servants were huge fellows, and very clumsy, as Agravaine found out to his cost, when a foul mixture of grease, bones and dirty dishwater was tipped down his neck, but he was glad it had gone down the outside and not the inside. Earl Dorm pre tended to be very sorry and condemned the offending one to be made as a sacrifice to the dragon next day. Agravaine shivered. There might be more than one sacrifice. Supper finished, Agravaine was escorted to his room. Immediately he entered the door was slammed shut and locked. He strode to the window', it was barred, and the wall was a foot thick. He sat and stared through the window. There would be a storm soon, for a huge cloud was rising over the horizon. Higher and higher it rose and Agravaine wondered at its strange shape. And then he gave a start! It was the dragon! There was going to be a storm all right! Just then his door opened. Agravaine made a dash to get free, and Earl Dorm clasped his long legs. They rolled down the stairs, missed the next flight, and fell to the floor below. Thud! Agravaine was on the bottom and he was completely knocked out. He recovered to hear voices and strange noises. He wondered vaguely if the dragon had got him yet. It was very warm and Agravaine reached out his hand. Then he remembered! All was still now, and then, wonder of wonders, he woke up! Agravaine rose from his bed and stared through a hole in the wall that served as a window. It was morning and the sky was clear. A huge cloud rose over the horizon. Agravaine fainted! —Cousin Peter Ferguson (14), Underwood.

CHRISTMAS MORNING. I awoke to the sound of birds trilling, and crept to the window to see where the lovely sound came from. There were songsters flitting amongst, the bush, pouring out their ecstasy at the beauty of the morning; all around me they made joy and laughter < and happiness. It was that time of the morning which borders on dawn and daylight, when everything indefinite begins to take definite shape, and the very breeze is elusive, fleeting, like a playful nymph. On the eastern horizon trembled a star, brilliant and glowing, set in a shadowy sky. In the dull light the hills stood out distinct and sharp, stretching away in a clear line. The sea murmured in harmony with the birds, and the wind, as it stirred past my window, told me its wonderful tales. Then there was a blush of shy red in the sky, which spread its warm colour over the bush-land, and inch by inch along the white, white road, until it reached the sea, and set every crystal-tipped wave sparkling and dancing. In those few minutes the world had awakened to pulsating life. No longer the road was a dull line, it twisted and turned in a pattern of brilliant white, no longer the flowers beside it bowed their heads, overweighed with dew; they glistened and raised their petals to meet the warm rays. How good it was to be alive! I leaned far out of the window and inhaled that flowerladen air.

I ion agreed that it was a pity, especially for ! Jo. As soon as the castle was made he promised he would come back again the next afternoon, then, taking a header from a high rock, swam away, with easy strokes. The child followed him with wistful eyes ; until the brown head disappeared around ' the point. The sun was dropping behind the hills and a fishing smack with brown sails unfurled, glided past, making for the harbour. Dick felt hungry and was just putting the final touches to the wall he was building, when a tall, dark haired girl, came down ’ the track that led through the manuka, scattering the white petals as she brushed past. ’ “What a lovely castle, Dick, surely you ' didn’t make that yourself?” “How do you know I didn’t?” was the reply, but she saw a twinkle in his eyes. ' j “Who helped you?” she asked. ' “Oh, a big boy came out of the sea,” Dick said casually. ’ | “That would be Prince Neptune of ’ i course,” said Josephine, a smile in her > j tired eyes; but Dick was off up.the track to ■ the cottage beside the Lighthouse. j After tea Dick and Josephine went to ’ the “Outlook." A few days after they had . come, Dick had been wandering renind discovering things, and wheu he was scramb--1 ling down a steep bank, he found a little cave where a boulder had been dislodged. Grass had made a soft carpet and a big mutton bird tree, blown at an angle by the wind, screened the hiding place. Here J they could lie and watch the twinkling lights of the harbour peeping through th* . dusk, and occasionally a pleasure boat, ' laden with laughing holiday makers, and

“A Merry Christmas,” I cried, and the sea crooned back, and the trees murmured back, and the breeze and the birds joined in. “A Merry Christmas,” they chanted. “A Merry Christmas!” —Cousin Catherine Thomson (16), 37 Reujjen Avenue, Brooklyn, Wellington. “BIG BROTHER.” A small sunburnt boy lay on the warm sand kicking vigorously and contemplating, with pride, a large sandcastle. It was quite a good sandcastle, wtih turrets and battlements, moat and drawbridge all complete. Beside it lay a bucket and spade, both showing signs of the hard work they had done since Santa Claus had left them beside his bed. Only one thing marred Dick’s pleasure; there was no one to admire his work and the tide would soon sweep it away. Few people came as far as the Lighthouse perched on the headland, so he felt he possessed the sheltered beach at its feet. A splashing noise made the boy turn quickly. There striding through the water was a youth, shaking the water from his dark head as he came. "Hello, young architect?” he said in a friendly voice and Dick beamed. In a few minutes they were building another castle, twice as big as the first, Dick chattering away as boys do, about everything in general. He told his new friend about his sister Jo, and what a good sport she was; but he did wish she wouldn’t stick inside all day writing what she called “pot-boilers”; she might just as , well have stayed at the office. His compau-

gay witn coloured lanterns, wouiu pass Delow them. To-night Dick was telling his sister of the fun he had had on the beach with his new pal. ‘You know,” he said, “I was just wishing I had a big brother like Tommy Dennis has, one who would take a fellow out in a boat, or teach him to swim, when out of the water pope a big boy and he comes and plays with me. Just what I wanted. He. is a nice boy Joe, he’s got crinkly black hair and he’s as sunburnt as an Injun.” They were silent for awhile then Dick said. “Jo, you know how you come and bring me something to eat sometimes in i the afternoon?” “Yes.” “Well he’s coming again to-morrow, and to-day he said when he went that he was ravenous, so couldn’t you bring us a sort ! of party, then he would stay longer ? Do, j Jo.” His sister laughed and said she would I Dick tore off to the beach the next afteri noon armed with his spade and bucket, and I an old shovel, wheedled from Mrs. Baker, j the Lighthouse-keeper’s wife. Later in the [ afternoon Josephine, who was busily writing, stopped a minute and looked at the clock.” “Half-past three! I must take a snack to Dick,” she said to Mrs. Baker. “He has made friends with a boy who swam round the headland.”

“That's nice for the little chap,” was the reply. “It’s no good to him being so much alone.” As she came to the top of the bank the girl looked down on the beach, at Dick “hooraying” about something, and the long figure in the bathing suit. They did not see her until she was on to the sand, then the ring of her shoe on a rock made Dick look up. “I thought you were never coming, Jo,” he cried, hastily relieving her of the basket. His friend sprang to his feet, but he was not the boy Josephine had expected; there was that look about his eyes that indicated manhood, and she felt like running home again. “Dick said you were only ” r . “Well I did think you were just a big boy,” Dick broke in, guessing what his sister was about to say. “But he told me he’s an architect, and has got an office in town. He's Bob Watson.” “But I refuse to be anything but a boy, when I’m on holiday, Miss Josephine.” Dick, half-way through a slice of bread and jam pushed the basket under his friend’s nose. The girl couldn’t help laughing at the two, demolishing bread and jam. Bob Watson with a smear of Raspberry on the side of his nose. He told them he had a tent pitched in the little cove half a mile from the Lighthouse beach. He promised to teach Dick to swim, for which his sister was very grateful. Josephine felt that both she and Dick had gained a friend. Nearly every day Bob came. Dick had quite adopted him as the brother he had long wanted. It did not matter that he was older than Tommy Dennis's brother. The swimming lessons were a great success. Dick showed him a cave in the rocks at the end of the beach, and this became their bathing shed. When they had finished playing dolphins, Josephine brought afternoon tea to them. One day Bob came round in a dinghy, and announced that he had hired it for the remainder of the holidays. Josephine frequently accompanied them on the fishing expeditions that the dinghy made possible, and the whole party enjoyed themselves thoroughly. Then Josephine received a letter containing two of her “pot-boilers,” returned with polite regrets. Five days remained until they must return, and where were al? the stories she had planned to write? Immediately the old frown creased her pretty forehead, and one hundred and one worries beset her, of Dick’s new school clothes, a new coat for herself, all the things that would be wanted after the holidays, and she had been wasting precious time enjoying herself, instead of working while she had the opportunity. Next morning she was up early writing hard, and later on, when Bob came, refused a ride round to the Harbour. Until late at night she worked and was up again early. The frown grew’ deeper and she was rather cun with her next refusal. The morning before their last day. Dick told her that Bob was catching the evening boat home. Josephine could not work that day. She had been staying up too late, and forcing herself to work so hard that her brain was rebelling. She spent the morning gathering their things together. After dinner she took paper and pencil and sat down in the Outlook. Perhaps the fresh sea-breeze would cool her aching head and invigorate her a little. Bob might have come and said good-bye she thought. “Oh well, now his holidays are over, he will probably forget us,” said her tired self.

"But he has put himself out to make our holidays ever so much more enjoyable,” reasoned a more just Josephine. Anyhow she would probably be too busy if he did want to see them in town. She suddenly flushed and picking up the book tried to resume her work. But she couldn’t. She did wish Bob cared enough to come ano say good-bye. She heard steps on the gravel nearby. “He must have forgotten us, Dick,” she said as she heard a familiar tune whistled. As she finished speaking, Bob himself pushed through the bushes. “So you really cared whether I forgot or not ” he said quietly. She nodded. "I was thinking how disappointed Dick would be,” she answered. “You see, he has been pretending you were his big brother. He —’’ Josephine stammered nervously and turned away. Why did he look at her so strangely ? “Wouldn't a brother-in-law satisfy him, Josephine ?” Dick waited a long time; it was after six and the tea was not laid. Moreover, Bob had not come to say good-bye as he had promised, and Josephine was missing. Just as he was about to raid the cupboard for the third time, Josephine and Bob came, up the path, and at the same time Dick heard the warning whistle of the boat at the harbour two miles away. “Hey. you’ve missed the boat’.” he yelled. Bob looked at Josephine and then laughed such a merry laugh. “I’d forgotten all about it,” he replied. “And I’ve forgotten all about Dick’s tea,’’ said Jo. “She was engaging me to be your big brother.” ‘To live with us?” asked Dick, wideeyed. ‘To live with you, old fellow,” Bob answered solemnly, and suddenly the boy understood. “Can I come to the Wedding Breakfast,” he asked. “Tommy Dennis’s brother had one and Tom said they had ” But Bob had followed Josephine into the house. Kind Mrs. Baker held both their hands and was beaming radiantly. —Cousin Sheila Campbell, (18), 79 Thames Street, Northend. A SCHOOL BOY’S TROUBLES. Oh dear' I feel in my bones that this is my off week. My head is stuffed with a heavy cold and I never felt seedier. The little badge I carry as a mascot is not to be found —’tis examination morning and to add to mv woe, mother is sick. My trusty old Massey-Harris that some buffeting motorists tried a game of footer with, refuses to carry me in spite of sundry coaxings in the shape of putting on the chain which persistently comes off, and resetting the wheel. I change my tried and tired friend for a second-hand one and get home at night on her; but someone with a turn for mechanics gives her a turn too much and I’m again a foot, miles from the station and barely fifteen minutes till the train is due—nothing for it but to cut across the neighbouring farm, taking ditches and barbwire fences in mv stride. One of the days I was extra seedy, and allowed to catch the express home. I reached the f station only to find that the afternoon express did nor run that day. Another morning I waited

I at the end of the road meaning to take the bus to school and feeling impatient, 1 started up the road to meet it and such a * meeting—there stood the poor bus, minus a • wheel, and I had to wait, with what pat- ; ience I could summon, until another bus i was sent from town for the passengers. ' All things come to an end—even unluckly weeks—my little badge was found in a ■ pot of apricot jam—no doubt due to the haphazard house keeping we practised while mother was too sick to supervise. All is serene once more and I’m to have a real new bicycle for next year, -which you may be sure, I’ll try very hard to keep out of the way of hurrying motorists. —Cousin James Edgar Botting (13), ’Terry Hill,” Woodlands. THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT. As night reigned, in the great city of London, the snow fell softly upon the town, j covering her as much as it could. Very I few people trampled through it, as it was j very late. Among the travellers, however, ! was a little boy, whose name was Gerald : Ashton of about twelve years of age. He passed through the streets feeling very sad because he had no home as other children , had and was not enjoying himself, as they • did, either. It made him still sadder when j he heard the happy voices of the children ' indoors enjoying Christmas Eve. I Suddenly a flash of a lantern made Gerj aid stop still and he heard coming towards ■' him a person whistling. Darting into some [ shrubbery he waited till the man went past, i Just as Gerald w’as going tb leave his hidi ing place he saw an object twinkle in the i light. Walking after the man he came to ' the spot where he saw the twinkle. Gerald i looked carefully as there was not much light. The man ahead turned his lantern into another position which gave Gerald more light. Suddenly he saw, to his surprise, a silver purse. He looked at it very carefully. Then looking up, he saw the man going up the stairs of a big two-storeyed house. Gerald ' ran after him and he caught him just as he was going to close the door. Gerald handed him the purse saying: “Here sir, you dropped this purse when you were going along the road.” He looked at it and then put it to’ his heart. “Thank you, very much," he said, “My name is Pearse. Come with me my boy. One good turn deserves another, you must remember." Mr. Pearse took his hand and led him into a big drawing room. They sat down on a sofa. "What is your name, my boy?” asked Mr. Pearse. “Gerald Ashton, Sir.” “Where do you live. Gerald?” “I have no home, Sir. My parents died l&st year.” “Well, my boy you shall stay with me and be brought up with my children. Do you think that would be a nice Christmas i present, Gerald?” “Yes, Sir, and thank you very much.” j Then he led* him into another room where his children were. Gerald learnt to love them and he went to school with them and a happy time he had. —Cousin Alexis Barclay (12), Te Tua. UNDER TWILIGHT SKIES. The glow of the sunset skies is slowly fading. The stars, twinkling, pale and silvery are beginning to peep at motherearth. A smiling new moon wends its way along the milky way, wooing the stars. The tall lithe gum trees, sway and whisper in the breeze, sweetly scenting the air. Shadows, ghostly, flaunt across the path, and silence reigns in the woods. Silence except for as occasional hoot from the dreamy-eyed owl,

reigns and only the trees murmur. The flowers nod in their slumber and the nightscented stock fragrants the cool air. The light grows dim and purply, and slowly night comes and wraps her trailing misty robe around the world. —Cousin Mabel W’right (16), Makarewa. A CHRISTMAS PRESENT. One morning when May Hunter woke up she saw in her stocking a doll. “Oh,” she said, “Santa Claus has sent me a pretty little doll.” Then she sprang from her bed and went into her mother's room. She said to her mother: “Santa Claus has sent me a pretty doll. Can I take it away with me for my holiday?” she asked politely. “Do not break it.” Then she went to her Auntie’s that day to play with her little Cousins. They were good chums with her. One of them was rough and broke the doll. May cried bitterly. Then her Auntie came out and asked what was the matter. May’s other Cousins told her. Then her Auntie said, “Don’t cry, we will get you another doll this afternoon.” —Cousin Ngaire Horrell (8), Mandeville. NIGHTFALL AS I ONCE SAW IT. It was just sunlight when I wandered up the hillside reaching the top as the day departed and night spread her filmy cloak over everything. The stars twinkled and shone out a welcome to the night, and through the chilly air came the soft, low bleating of the sheep. Then there rose from behind the hills a great golden moon. Up and up it came until it was an amber moon in a sea of misty blue. It shed its radiance over the sleepy town, until, high up in the heavens, it turned the river below into a jewelled snake, which wound its way, murmuring softly through the hills, a vital living stream, whilst the moon smiled a welcome to the stars until they twinkled and danced with joy, and night with a soft low voice welcomed her with open arms. Cousin Jack Valentine (11), Waimahaka.