Original Stories

Southland Times, Issue 22728, 2 November 1935, Page 18

Original Stories

—Commended.— Well, I really must tell you the story of my adventurous life, at least so far. After standing in the shop window for a couple of days, I was bought by a tall man who wore a swallow-tail coat and a bell-topper hat. This man, as I found out later, was very rich and lived in a grand two-storied house. I was regarded with much respect during the first three or four weeks. Then came another walking-stick to share my life on the hall-stand. At first he was very haughty, but at last we came to good times. One day we were most insulted to find ourselves being cast out into a back room, which contained about thirty other sticks. Those dirty, sticky things; I shall never forget them and their uncomplimentary speeches. Shortly after that, a man came into our midst and took all of us away. Some of us were burnt and some sold, so here I lay on the grass also waiting to be burnt. A kind of grub has eaten into me and, as the people do not want them in their homes, I am to be burnt. —2 marks to Cousin Marjorie O’Halloran (13), 115 Nith street, Invercargill. —Commended.— I am a walking-stick and I am four years old. I was first a piece of blackthorn; then some men took me away and shaved me round. I was then taken to a shop and sold for three shillings. A few days later I was sold to a crabby old gentleman who used me very often. One day his grandchild came and was playing with me. He took me out on the street and lost me. I lay there for a number of days till a poor man picked me up and broke me into fire-wood. I am now lying in a box ready to be burnt. —2 marks to Cousin Constance Lloyd, (11), Section 5, Glencoe R.D. —Commended.— How I wish walking sticks would come into fashion again. Here I lie on top of a cupboard from one spring cleaning to another. It is dreadful to be laid aside like this. How well I remem-

ber my Sunday afternoon walks with my master, when he wore his best suit, and a flower in his buttonhole. How proud he was of me, too, because he had made, or rather found me himself. At one time I was a little tree battling for my life in the dense bush. I grew up so straight to get to the light that a greedy vine used me as a support. How tightly it clung to me, and how cruelly it dug its coils right into my wood. Perhaps it would have killed me, but one day a bushman saw me and

thought what a fine walking stick I would make. He carefully cut through my stem and untwisted the vine from the spiral markings it had pressed in my wood. When he had trimmed, oiled and polished me, we were very proud to go out together. Perhaps there is hope for me yet. My owner’s son is a smart young man now and perhaps the day will come when he will be proud to twirl the old bush walking stick. —2 marks to Cousin Dorothy Frew (11), Milton street, Winton. 7