Left-over Stories

Southland Times, Issue 21073, 3 May 1930, Page 23

Left-over Stories

THE WARM-HEARTED BEETLE. —Highly Commended.— benjamin Bottletop Belial Beetle swayed to and fro on a outtercup, humming a contented, if rather untuneiul air. "it's a good old world,’’ he murmured, “with nothing to- do but sleep and eat. Yes a good old—dear me what’s that!’’ For from the clover patch not far from him, came the sound of sobbing. Benjamin could not bear to see anyone in trouble, so sliding down from the buttercup, he hastened in the direction of the weeping. There on a fourleafed clover, sat a tiny beautiful fairy, weeping bitterly. Benjamin advanced with low bows, and said in his sweetest voice, “Why weepest thy heart away, dear lady ? Do not grieve I pray you. I, Benjamin, Bottletop Belial. Beetle, am here to help you. What may your trouble be?” The fairy lifted her head and said sadly, “It is my magic ring. The Fairy Queen gave-it to me only two days ago. I went to sleep for a few moments, and now it has been stolen by the Purple People. If I can’t get it again, I won’t be able to return to Fairyland, and then I shall die. Oh dear! Could you help me in any way?” Benjamin stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well,” he said, “I’ll do my best. What are the Purple People, anyway and how big are they?” “They are huge,” said the fairy, “about six inches tall. If they found you near their cave they would kill you.” “Which way did they go?,” said Benjamin in a determined tone, drawing himself up to his full height. “Past those flax bushes,” said the fairy, pointing.

Benjamin set off as fast as he could, until he came to a colony of ants working vigorously to re-build a portion of their kingdom which had fallen in. Although he w& in a hurry, Benjamin stopped to inquire politely if he could be of any use to them. “Yes,” said the ants, “you are big and strong. Come and help us.” Benjamin was soon hard at work, helping the ants to build up their colony. “Do you know the Purple People,” he asked presently. "Know them!” echoed an ant. “Why it was they that knocked in our kingdom. What do you want them for, anyway?”

Benjamin explained and then added, “Can you tell me where they live?” The ants pointed out the direction, and told him they’d be only too willing to help him if he needed their aid. Benny set off once more, and had not gone far before he came to a spider dancing at the edge of a pool of water. “Help! help!” she cried, “My eggs—my beautiful eggs!” “What’s wrong with your eggs?” asked Benjamin politely. “They’re in the water,” cried the despairing spider, “Oh dear; and they were so nearly hatched. Oh what shall I do?—what shall I do?”

Benjamin Beetle looked into the pool and there, floating about on the water, was a little white ball of eggs. Without stopping to think, he plunged boldly into the water, and in a short time, had handed Mrs Spider her ball of eggs. “How can I thank you?” she cried, “I will help you if ever you require my aid.” “Oh, don’t mention it Madam. I was only too pleased to save your eggs,” said Benny graciously, and went on his way. Before be had gone many steps, he heard sounds of distress coming from the cornfield near by. Once more he made his way patiently in the direction of the sounds. He saw a little mouse running hither and thither, apparently looking for something. “What ails you, dear lady?” asked Benny “Oh dear,” sobbed the mouse, “I have lost my new dancing shoes, If I can’t find them very soon, I shall be late for the Beaver’s ball.”

"I’ll find them"’ said Benny who had already sighted the shoes. "They are on your feet.” "Oh, how foolish of me,” said the mouse, “How glad I am that you noticed them. I’ll help you willing!” if you ever require my service. Now I must hurry away to the beaver’s'ball. Goodbye.” and she was gone. Benny Beetle continued his journey until he stopped suddenly at a patch of wild poppies. He had heard that the seeds of wild poppies were a most effective drug, so, taking off his hat, he filled it with seeds, and went on his way with a much lighter heart. As he neared the cave of the Purple People, he heard strains of what was meant to be music. He crept to the door without being seen, and peeped in. In the middle of the cave was the. magic ring,' shining and glittering with its many coloured jewels, and round it danced a crowd of little men, with purple hair reaching to their feet, and long purple beards. Their faces were bright green and their eyes a vivid yellow. Near the door of the 'cave was a large bowl of wine, and, unnoticed, Benjamin tipped the hatful of poppy seeds into it. It was not long before the dancing ceased, and the Purple People came over to refresh themselves with the wine. The effect of the poppy seeds was almost instantaneous, for one by one the dwarfs fell asleep. Slipping into the cave, Benjamin seized the ring, and fitting it round his body set off as fast as he could.

He knew it would not be long before the dwarfs woke up, and a beetle’s progress is very slow. Just as he reached the cornfield, he heard a whirr of wings, and looking round, beheld a sight which made his heart leap into his mouth. An army of dragon flies was flying towards him, and on the back of each, sat one of the hideous Purple Men.

Then Benny sighted Mrs Mouse, and ran towards her. “Jump in here,” said she, “and they won’t see you.” v Benny Beetle popped down the Mouse’s hole, and the dragon flies flew on without having seen him. j “I can go much faster than you,” said the mouse, “get on my back.” They were running quickly on their way and had nearly reached the pool of water •when the., dragon-flies came darting back, but were going so quickly they flew a long wav before they could put on their brakes. Then Benny sighted the spider, and implored her help, so Mrs Spider began at once to build webs across the path of the dragon-flies and had just finished when the dragon-flies came whirring back, but became hopelessly caught in the webs, while Mrs Mouse was running on her way with Benny Beetle and the precious ring. Knowing that their steeds were hopelessly tangled, the Purple People pursued Benny Beetle on foot. They had nearly caught him by the time he arrived at the ant’s colony, and unnoticed by them, Benny had given the ring to an ant which was hurrying to give it to the fairy. The Purple People surrounded him, and demanded the ring, but Benny only laughed and said thev were mistaken in thinking he had it. Then they saw how they had been fooled and were just going to kill Bennv when the little fairy arrived, carrying her magic ring, “Begone, all of you,” she cried, “if there is anyone left here in three minutes, I shall kill him immediately,” and the trembling Purple People made good their escape. The fairy was so pleased with Benny that she said he should be happy for the rest of his life. And so he was. for that very afternoon he met a charming little ladybeetle. He married her and of course they lived happily ever after. —2 marks to Cousin May Heath (13), C/o Messrs Cameron and Finn, Tuatapere. —Highly Commended.— If you are ever able to visit the town of Fleeider on the north coast of the Island of Ihsectide. I have no doubt that you would be advised by the oldest inhabitant, most probably a Disynochorous of one hundred and twelve months, to take a tram to the northern terminus, and there with the use of a microscopic instrument and the help of your guide, you,would find “Goodnatured Villa,” which is the birthplace of a beetle who, because of his warm heart, is the patron saint of Fleeider. This is the old house of Horatio Erasmus RandolphBeetle, commonly known as “Horry,” who was so kind that his .kindness was nearly the cause of his death. And there the guide would tell you the story of this near calamity; but, for the benefit of those who may never have the .chance of visiting the famous birthplace of the celebrated Hora-

tins, I shall endeavour to let you know the whole story. This villa, was first built by Horry’s ancestors in the time of the conquest of Insectide by the fierce Animalia tribe, which was several thousands of months before the earliest memory of the oldest inhabitant, The house had come down to all the Ran-dolph-Beetles, and now then» was no heir to H. E. R. Beetle, for was quite a staunch bachelor.

He had many famous neighbours from Nursery Land on cither side, one of the best-known being the spider who always invited frivolous Hies in for tea in his parlour, and somehow his visitors always stopped for supper, but we have our grave suspicions they were not present at his breakfast as visitors. We are glad to say, however, that although Adolphus Spidairc greatly enjoyed “Fricasse de la Beetle” for his dinner, he and Horatius were on quite friendly terms, and so it was to Adolphus that the beetle carried his cjistressing problem. ‘‘This could be solved in two ways,” the studious spider replied, after deeply considering the matter, “either by marrying or by adopting a son.” Horry was not very excited about picking a wife, for he considered all he had seen to be nagging creatures who objected to their husbands having a night out occasionally, and he considered the other alternative quite good in comparison. So the very next day there was an advertisement in the Fleeider Times that H. E. R. Beetle, Esq., wished to adopt a son, and all willing beetles were to call at 14 Butterflant Road at 2 p.m. on Tuesday. On that afternoon the applicants were so numerous that soon Horry had to decide to have his refreshments last so that no swelling would cause awkward complications.

Horry had soon to examine each one at the door because his study became full of more applicants, but at last when he had seen them all, he decided that none were the nicely-mannered and good-looking son that he wanted and so at the close of the afternoon he informed them that he had decided he did not require a son at the momment, but would let them know when he did and he then wished them “Good afternoon.” But no one moved! He then endeavoured to make his meaning clearer. "Good-bye, everyone!” he remarked, and still there was no movement for all the beetles had liked the house so much that they decided to adopt him, without waiting for his adoption. That night Horatius Erasmus Randolph Beetle slept on the cellar floor because he was too kind to turn the occupants of his own bed out. Next morning he found his many sons waiting for breakfast and soon Horry found his sons took all the best things and our hero, being good-natured, put up with the second best, but by the time all the visitors had finished it was more like the fifth best.

In two or three weeks his back began to turn a greyish colour, and soon he had to use a wheel-chair to move round, because he found it impossible to use his wings in such cramped surroundings. At last he became so feeble that all the citizens of Fleeider called a meeting at the general post office to endeavour to save the beetle from his own warm heart, and get rid of the intruders by some means, fair or foul. The question was, however. “What was to be done?” Adolphus Spidaire, who was feeling rather guilty because of his advice, agreed to ask the beetles—two at a time, into his parlour and after that they would become shrouded in mystery—and in the spider’s famous covering. And so Horry found his sons gradually disappearing until, one morning when he woke up, there were only two left, and our host, fearing the discomfort of having only himself to talk to, invited them to stop with him as paying guests. And now, with the anxieties of his big family lifted from his shoulders, Horry became rejuvenated, and his grey back soon became replaced by a shiny new one, while his wings became firm and hard. He was so grateful to the citizens for his release that his heart became bigger than ever and upon his death he at once became their warm-hearted saint. So, if ever you go to the Island of Insectide, you> certainly must see his dwelling-place, and the cellar floor upon which he slept during his tide of visitors. —2 marks to Dawn Smith (15), 8 Afton street, Gore. —Highly Commended.— All the beetles and insects of Wonder Town, Down South, had assembled on the bark of an old tree and were going to try and settle an argument between their president, Mr. U. R. Beetle, and a flower in a princess’s garden. This flower had said that no insect was to creep on her, only bees were allowed. “Well,” said Mr. Beetle, “I do not know what I can do for you because the insects have been told by the town ruler that they may go on any tree, flower or shrub that they wish as long as they do not do it any harm. “Well,” replied the flower, “if you must have your own way about it, I suppose you must.” And so the quarrel went on. At the meeting the president and the committee sat together talking until they heard a bell tinkling. Mr. Beetle stood up and said, “well, my friends, what are we going to do about this quarrelsome flower we know of. If any of you has any suggestion, I shall be willing to hear it.” No one had thought of anything and Mr. Beetle was just going to go on, when a little ladybird said, “Please, Mr., couldn’t we get Mr. Wind to blow her down?” “My word,” said Mr. Beetle, “this young one seems as though she has a good brain in her head. Yes, we could get Mr. Wind to blow her down, because he likes destructive work.” But Mr. Beetle was very warm heated and he liked flowers so he said that he thought it might be rather cruel to do this to the flower and suggested that they beg her pardon and invite here to their party which was to be held the next evening. "Yes, yes,” chorused the crowd, listening. All at once a heavy thump, thud, thud, thumpwas heard and everyone scattered, some with noises like “help.” The gardener was approaching but all the insects and beetles had scattered. It next happened that the warm-hearted Mr. Beetle received the flower’s pardon and also the flower was going to go to the party on the morrow. That next night the flower enjoyed herself immensely and no one could or would have thought that there had been any trouble between them, so “all’s well that ends well.” —2 marks to Cousin Zoe K. Smith, (12), 24 Mitchell Street, Lindisfarne, Invercargill. THE LONELY HOME. Back among the hills, the shepherd took his bride. For years he toiled, always busy, making fences, planting trees, and attending to his sheep. His wife was always ready to help him. She loved the life away from the town. When her housework was finished and the shepherd’s tea was cooked. Mrs John would go out to their willow tree, and wait for her husband to come home. They had no little children to comfort them and they loved one another dearly. For years they lived together in their lonely cottage, miles away from anyone. The hills they climbed for deer and wild pigs, for they were plentiful. The rivers kept them in fish and with a few cows they did not go into the towns very often. Now one day the shepherd had to go miles further out to attend his sheep, and as he bade his wife farewell, he told her he would try and be home by five o’clock. Bv a quarter to five his tea was ready awaiting him, a nice, warm fire was ready too, because the evenings were getting cold, so Mrs John slipped on her cardigan and went out to await the shepherd. Everything seemed so quiet, the trees were silent, the smoke from the chimney going well up into the air, and not a sound to be heard. Six o’clock came and went, and still no sign of the shepherd. Whatever is wrong, I wonder, said Mrs John to herself. Silently she sits, waiting so sadly for. one to return.' But he has answered the call from his Heavenly Shepherd. 1 mark to Cousin Margaret Maearthur (11) Ohai.

THE FUR DEALER. Tom crept quietly past the wealthy quarters of the town until ho came to the laundry. There he dumped a parcel on the doorstep, ran~ the bell, and ran as hard as he could in the direction of the slums. He was not trying to play a trick on Shing Fu, the launury wortter, but he knew that the parcel of clothes which he had just left was not a quarter as line as it had been a week ago. He knew that those fine silk dresses of mother’s, father's starched collars and cuffs, and his own and Bobby’s gay shirts had all gone down a tiny sidestreet and were now being displayed in the dusty windows of a small pawn shop. Yes, he knew all too well that although Shing Fu was a clean washer, a stiff Starcher and a good darner he was a tremendous gossip, and just now when the news of the great fur dealer's ruin was fresh in the ears of the public it was only natural for Shing Fu to try and get some first class information/from the fur dealer’s own son, Tom Dorny.

As Tom ran through the dirty street to which they had just shifted he looked round him with disgust. His disgust turned to horror when he saw red faced Mrs Coppus leaning over a battered wash tub and conversing in shrill cackles with her neighbour about the downfall of “my lady Domy,” and he felt very warlike when he saw what- a vast amount of rude enjoyment they seemed to derive from the fact that in a week’s time my lady was starting to do her own washing. “Tou’ll see if she ain’t just like me and you in a week or two," called out Mrs Coppus in glee. Tom looked at the bold looking red face and then thought of his own gentle mother and his whole being rejoiced in the knowledge •that although his mother might wash and scrub she would never become such a self centred gossip as her near neighbour. As the autumn approached and the time for fur hunting parties drew near, the Domy household became alive with preparations. Mr Domy knew that all of the chief trappers had been bribed by his old business rival, Boubon, so he knew that none of them would visit him to see if he wanteel to buy their spoils or to see if he had any friends who might like to accompany the expedition, so he set himself sternly to the task in hand. It did not trouble him if he wore the same suit on week days as on Sundays, or if the family lived in a state of semi famine so long as he achieved his end and defeated his conqueror.

Although Mrs Domy would have preferred a more cultivated companion than Micky Copnus for her sons she had no choice in the matter and so it came about that one drowsy afternoon she bade a tender farewell to her own two sons and to Master Coppus who were .eagerly setting forth on a long journey to the wild, frozen North. The boys soon found that Winter in the heart of an untamed Nature is more real and more convincing than Winter in the crowded, throbbing heart of the town. Long ere the hardest frosts and the deepest snows had fallen Micky’s nose well represented the tomato end of a tomato sausage and his temper was not much better, indeed, his frequent outbursts of savage language both surprised and shocked his more gentle companions. Hardships unnumbered greeted them at every turn and often Master Coppus would sit down in the snow and tell the brothers what he thought of, them for bringing him out into the bush and trying to lose him like the Babes in The Wood. At such times as these Bob would console him by telling him of Sussannah Bydolphic, a most beautiful unheard of girl who lived in the middle of the North, and Tom would grumblimrly declare that it was not fair to let him do all the chopping and sawing of the trees while they rested until the shanty was finished. Still, after many little quarrels and mishaps a rude kind of house was built of the logs and the hard business of trapping began in earnest. It was morning. Tom sat down on the slippery wood pile, and, with his axe across his knees, he gazed thoughtfully up at the snowy slopes. The very hills were a picture of dazzling white mountains of snow while the feeble sunlight instead of mdting the trimmings on the spreading branches of the stately pines only made them seem more white, more cold, more hard and more beautiful. A small grey coated animal scuttled past the wood pile and disappeared in the shadows between the thickly growing pines. Tom’s glance followed it until it came to the top of a small rise, then, emitting a shrill whistle, he ran to the house. Jhe furs were tied in bundles and squeezed into the van; the few pets were set free, and the party set out on their return to civilization. Gone was the Winter and the Spring, and the Summer was at hand. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits but a keen observer might have noticed the lack of joy in the grey eyes of Micky Coppus. Once again the Winter has crept afoot the land and with his icy stare he views the changes in the towns and in the wilds. The great fur seller of old has been reestablished with more than his former pomp and glory, and the red face of Madame Coppus is almost concealed in the huge silver fox fur which she flaunts in the envious eyes of her less fortunate associates. While the town is filled with wonder at the great change and while Shing Eu smilingly pockets the money from an extra large washing of finery, the frozen timber lands are becoming more and more dear to Micky Coppus who, with Susan Finygun, has added,to the rough, cabin like house. In short, Mr. Micky Coppus is the most successful fur trapper of the pine forests and he will not move from the dear old place where he gets his yearly collection for the Domy’s fur store in the large town and where he can hear the low, mournful, almost human cry of the wild cougar. He is a man of the forest born in the town. He has tasted the glories of the forest and he will not leave it. —2 marks to Cousin Beatrice Witsey (16) Riverton. THE RESULTS OF BLACKBERRYING. "Come on, Pat, I’ll race you to the woods,” cried Pam, as she ran on. “Oh, wait on me. I’ve the lunch basket, you know,” said Pat. “Oh, I say, where’s Daphne?” queried Pam as she'came back to her twin. “Here I am,” cried Daphne, as she stepped out from the bushes ahead of them. “We’d better hurry, or we’ll be too late for any blackberries,” Pat said. “You take the other side of this "basket, Pass. Ah, that’s better.” “Where are we going?” asked Daphne, their cousin, who was staying with the twins. “We’ll need to go right through the bush to the other side, to get the best blackberries,” said Pam. “It’ll take a while to fill this basket with blackberries,” said Daphne, waving her basket. “And Daph, mind you keep to the left, because the Witch Woman lives on the right side of the bush,” said Pat. “What Witch Woman?” asked Daphne, interested. “Oh, THE Witch Woman,”'said Pat. “Folk are frightened of her. I don’t know why though, do you Pat?” asked Pam. "Oh, yes. Don't you remember? Little Bobby Dawson got lost in the bush over there,” said Pat, pointing to the right. “And he has never been seen again. People think the Witch Woman stole him.” “He was only four,” Pam explained. “I don’t see why the Witch Woman should be blamed. We have no proof that she was the thief,” said Pat. “It was nine years ago. We’re fourteen now, and we were five, when it happened, ’ said Pam. . “Has anyone ever # seen this niten Woman?” asked Daphne. “Oh no! They’re too frightened,” said Pat. “How silly of them. I think they’re very unkind , to call her ‘Witch Woman’ when they have not even seen her. Tell me some more about Bobby Dawson,” said Daphne. She was thinking of her little cousin who had disappeared. “Oh well, he was just Bobby! Everyone loved him because he was always so happy. He was an orphan who lived at the Children’s Home. We were playing with him

in the bush when he disappeared. The Matron was with us, but we did not see him go," said Pam. k "What’s the time Daph?” asked Pat, her eyes on the lunch basket. “It’s twelve o’clock! We’ve been nearly two hours getting here. How far is it from the farm?” asked Daphne. “Oh, about three miles the shortest way, but we came the long way, because it s so much prettier," said Pam. "I vote we havei some lunch,” said Pat. “And I second it,” put in Pam. "I suppose I must third it then, said Daphne, sitting down on the grass. “Hurry up and open them, Pat, I m hungry,” said Pam impatiently. When they had finished their lunch Daphne said, “I’ll take the lunch . basket now, because I want to explore a bit. It s just lovely out here. In town there s nothing but shops and houses.” “All right!” said Pam, “Pat and 11l get busy here.” ' , Daphne took her basket and walked farther into the bush, until she came to a little stream, where she had a good drink. . “Oh! Here are some stepping stones. Now —ready—Set—go!” Daphne gingerly stepped from stone to stone and at last reached the other side. "Oh dear! I think I’d better pick the blackberries first and then go on,” she thought. For over an .hour Daphne picked steadily, the while going farther and farther into the bush. Finding then, that the basket was nearly full, she tramped on again, and then started picking. . , ~ “Oh! Surely that’s enough! My backs nearly breaking.” Daphne stretched herself and looked at her watch. Half-past four! She looked again. , , , “Oh my! Half-past four, and they have tea at five.” Daphne hurriedly snatched up her basket and went back, thinking it was the way she had come. She walked on and on, but did not see the stream. At last she sat down wearily on a tree-stump. “I suppose it’s about half-past five now. Yes, it is. I’ll give it another try.” ' She started again and walked on until it was nearly dark. Then she sat down under a tree, and soon she was - asleep, while the moon rose in the sky and smiled down on her.

Next morning Daphne woke up to the singing of the birds in the trees around her. Old Sol was nowhere to be seen, but billowy grey clouds drifted across the sky. A hill in the distance was a deep purple colour, while the wind was whistling in the trees. Daphne stared round, bewildered. She looked at the basket beside her and then she remembered. “Oh, what a dear little house that is over the road. Why the chimney is smoking already. I wonder what the time is! She looked at her watch and found that it was half-past eight. “I think it’s going to pour,” said Daphne. “And what am I to do? I’m not near home—l didn’t see that little house before. I wonder if it is . . . .” Daphne ran across the road, forgetting her basket of blackberries. She knocked at the door. “What shall I say?” Daphne wondered. A curly-haired boy, about her own age, opened the door, and asked politely if he could do anything. “I was out blackberrping with iny cousins Pat and Pam Perry, yesterday, and . . . .” Daphne stopped, for the boy was staring open-mouthed at her. “Oh, I know now! Surely you are not Bobby Dawson?” she asked excitedly. „ “Yes, I am. May I ask your name?” he asked. His kind blue eyes twinkled at Daphne, who answered laughing, “Daphne Dawson.” “Dawson?” he asked, incredulously. “Yes, why? Oh! Bobby, Bobby, truly I didn’t realize that Bobby Dawson, that P«m and Pat told me about, was my long lost cousin.” “Oh, just won’t they be surprised, she continued. “I’m so glad I was lost. .la Auntie May alive, and who do you live with?” “Oh, do come inside Daph! It s chilly out here.” So the two walked into the kitchen, where a pretty lady was washing the dishes. At the sight of her, Daphne ran to her and kissed her, saying, “Oh, Auntie May I didn’t expect to see you again.” “Come Daphne, dear, you’re cold, and we must give you some breakfast,” said Bobby’s mother. “And while I have it, please tell me your story, Auntie,” pleaded Daphne. “Here you are, then. Eat this.” “Please .... Daphne began. “Well, when your Uncle Ted died I became very ill. The people at the hospital said they were taking care of my Bob, so I did not worry about him, as I thought they would look after him well. When I got better I enquired about Bobby, and, the hospital people said an old lady was looking after him. I went to find her, but the - lawyer said she had died two weeks before. As I couldn’t find Bob I came to Live here, in this little house.” “I was in the ‘Children’s Home’, near the twins, and I used to play with them,” Bob explained. “And one day I was walking in the bush when I saw Bob playing with the twins. He ran to hide, but when he saw me, he knew me. And we have lived here for years now,” said Bob’s mother. “And to think,” laughed Daphne, “that people call you the Witch Woman, because you ’stole’ Bobby. No one has ever seen you, Auntie.” “People have often seen me in the -town near the twins, but they did not know that I was their Witch Woman,” said Mrs Dawson. “Come, Auntie, we'll go to the twins now, and to-morrow we’ll take the train home, and you’ll live with us,” said Daphne. “But your father mightn’t have us, Daphne,” laughed her Auntie May. One can imagine the excitement of the twins at seeing their old friend Bob Dawson. And still more surprised were they to learn that he was Daphne’s cousin. Bobby and his mother lived with Daphne, and Pam and Pat often visited them. ■—2 marks to Cousin Hazel Stewart (15), 270 Ythan Street, Invercargill. A HOME FOR THREE. A tall dark girl was resting beside a favourite tree, watching a little grey car winding its way among the sunset hills. Suddenly she remembered her father and hurried back to the house. On entering the door she heard him calling. She answered, “Yes Father, what is it?” “I want to talk to you, Althea.” She seated herself on the arm of his chair near the fire and put her arm about his bended shoulders. They were bending more than ever lately, she thought. He began, “Althea, my dear, I was wondering what you’ll do, when‘Pm gone.” She was surprised. “Why! Are you ill Father?” “No, no my dear, only I’ve been feeling weak lately, and I’m an old man now, you know. I have always hoped to have plenty to leave you; but I’m afraid there isn’t much but this home of ours.” "Oh Father, you musn’t speak like this.” “Don’t you worry. Your old Dad’s all right. But you have sacrificed everything for me and now I have nothing to leave to you—has John never written since he was here so long ago?” He had never mentioned John’s name before. She asked quietly, “Why do you ask, Father?” “Because he was a decent fellow and I’ve always been sorry I was such a beast to him. But I couldn't bear him to take you all those thousands of miles over the sea away from me. I’m sorry, but you know what would have become of me.” “Oh yes, Father dear. He understood. He has written often but I didn’t tell you because I thought it would worry you.” She was nearly in tears now and he put his shaky arm around her waist and said "Forgive your old Dad, if you can my dear.” "Oh! ‘but I have been quite happy, Father. I have loved you ever since I can remember. I could never leave you now!” “If John ever comes back to see you, my dear, make him at home here, and tell him I’m sorry, will you?” “Thank you, ,father.”

The door bell rang. She got up and answered it. “John,” she cried. “Althea, darling, I have come again.” He held her in his arms for a few fleeting moments and then she said, smiling through her tears, “Father has just been speaking of you. He said if you ever came again I was to say he was sorry and make | you at home here. John, will you stay a j while?” “Yes, if I may.” “Oh! I’ve wanted you so much. Father is failing quickly lately and the way he spoke just now frightened me. Come in and speak to him.” He held back. “John, please?” He followed her. Her father was lying back in his chair with his eyes closed. Althea put her hand softly on his head and said, “John has come to see us, Father.” He opened his eyes and taking John’s hand in his, said, "I’m glad you came, John. I won’t last long now I’m afraid, and I know you’ll be kind to her and if she is as true to you as she has been to me the Lord will shower his peace upon you both as he has done to me.” —1 mark to Cousin Jean Playfair (16) Gummies Bush, Riverton R.D.