“Judy Says No”

Taranaki Daily News, 3 August 1931, Page 10

“Judy Says No”

Winifred Garter,

CHAPTER IV- —(Continued.) | And that good, lady was on the war-1 path. She looked Uke an angry turkey, cock. Waiting had evidently been an unaccustomed art, and one she did not enjoy. . , , , UT “Oh, lam sorry,” said Judy. i *q can hardly believe that,” sneered Mrs Crawford. „ “Oh, but I did; really I did, Judy assured her. . “Forget that you were going out, to buy clothes! You may be a little, mouse, my dear Judy, butnot quite so innocent, I think. There ‘ was' an unpleasant note in her.-voice, which .she could not keep out. - “Now, 1 look here,- Eliza,” said the old man truculently. “If you have been 1 waiting it is the first time in your life, I’ll be bound.' .Generally you or Enid are-the culprits, so it’s a nice change for you to-be on time, and it will make up for some of the delinquencies of your se.x-. on that ■point. All the same, I am sorry you ■have been .waiting, for Judy is not going shopping this morning.” ■ /• “Really?” said Mrs Crawford indignantly. “I-think it would have been more polite on Judy's; part io have let me know before.” "She did not know she wasn t going,” said the old man- testily. “Just look at. that 1 foot.” “Oh, how horrid l’\said Mrs'Crawford.' shuddering: "I hate'the sight blood.” ' . £ „ “You’d hate the feel of that, too, said Henry Harmer. . f “Oh,, that’s, nothing," said Judy reassuringly. “I have-had far worse things; I would not have shown J. - to vou, grandfather, or made a fuss ■ at all, but. .1 knew it would help me to make you take away the traps. Let me go. Really, I feel all right.” She flashed him a smile, and when Judy smiled something very lovely lit up . her : face—-good-fellowship, affection, understanding. Unconsciously his heart warmed towards her. “She is not going, Eliza, understand. She can stay and entertain me this morning.” “Just as you wish, Henry,’’ said Mrs Crawford distantly, and departed... “Sorry to disappoint you, my dear,” said Henry Harmer to Judy; “but there 1 will be plenty of time for shopping. Now, if you can hobble I’ll take you into the garden. .1 think, I am a little proud of an excuse to keep you to myself." He looked a trifle ashamed of the confession. “I’d love to have a look at things .with you,” said Judy, her eyes dancing. . “In half an. hour, ' then, I’ll be ready.” “Walter!” The man came into the room instantly “I’ve not had my breakfast yet,” ! Judy confessed, “and I’m ravenous. Should I have time for some?" . “Bless my soul, child; do you think we want to starve you? Why. didn’t you order breakfast before you went » but?”- ■- , • ■ She looked dubiously at him. 1 Order that stiff, resentful-looking staff about 1 She could not see ■ herself doing that. ’ "You are mistress here, Judy, my dear," he said. “Don’t forget that. (Go and nave a good breaklast ,or you) won’t be allowed to come out with me.” ' r L " “Waller, show her to the breakfast;, room.”, ‘ ■ "Very good, sir," said the man, and he shepherded Judy down. “Thank you,” said Judy, with her engaging smile, and Waller all but capitulated. ■Going back Waller passed Rapson, the elderly maid who had been told off by Mrs Crawford to look after Judy. “If that young woman were anyone but the girl who is going to take Master Nick’s place I’d not Aeel so against her,” he told Rapson. . She’s got a way<.\With -her, I’ll admit that, and it’s perfectly wonderful how the master has taken to her.” “That’s what makes me dislike her, said Rapson sharply. Meanwhile, Judy sat down at the table in lonely state. Almost miraculously food appeared, and a silver urn of coffee at her side. “Perhaps you prefer. tea, miss?" said the man obligingly. v “I’d like coffee,” said. Judy. “Has ev.eryone else finished?” '■?«•■ "Miss Enid has her breakfast in herOwn room, and so does Mrs Crawford. Mr Clive generally, does without br “l k sTe t ,” said Judy, forlornly. So she sat by herself,, eating porridge, and then bacon and eggs, then toast. Refusing kidneys- and .fish, -she incidentally wished'that she could! transfer that which she did not. want i to the Vicarage, to the hungry mouths ■ there. Oh, this delicious food was a treat, but it did not taste as good as the porridge at home, though they did have skim milk and treacle there while here there were lashings of cream., Life’s uqequ?’ . she mused. Things ought to be better balanced. Too much food here, too much service, and too little at other places! Then she forgot to philosophise any more, for the peacock had advanced up the lawn, and he was not alone this time, for a peahen, a drab little creature beside her flamboyant, mate, walked behind, a small, twittering pea-chick behind her. ■ \ ■ “Oh, the darlings!” cried. Judy, thankful that the man was out of the room for a moment. i. She snatched up the remaining toast and fed the beautiful creature, amused to And that father peacock gobbled everything up that, came his way unashamedly, while the pea-hen looked valiantly after the little'/chick. “Quite a domestic scene,” said her grandfather, appearing on the lawn. “Finished, Judy Sure you have had enough?” . . ' “I’ve had porridge, and bacon and an egg, and toast. I feel stuffed like a Michaelmas goose.” She slipped her arm in his confidingly, and they went down the smooth green lawn and towards the swimming-pool. "I can swim,’ said Judy, “but I don’t go out of my depth. Does Enid swim?” "Yes, but she hates getting.her hair wet,” sneered the old man. “It is a nuisance, it takes such a lot of drying. Doesn’t it look beautifully cool, and green. Could I buy a bathing costume, grandfather?" "You are to have anything you want while you are here—in reason that is, ’ he added hastily. She dimpled at that. In the distance came the sound of barking. Her eyes lit up. . . T “Dogs,” she said. "That s what 1 miss here, animals. We’ve always been like a hospital at home. Every stray or battered animal comes to us as sure as eggs are eggs. We can’t keep them all, but we find good homes for them. She turned towards the kennels. There were some beautiful dogs there. It grieved Judy to see that they were fastened up. An enormous Borzoi came bounding towards the old jnan, ■leaping up in a rather territying manner. “Down Bruce,” said the old man, but he noted with

Judy , was not the least bit afraid. “Ever since your grandmother came here we have always had a dog of this breed. I gave-her a puppy. She was a beautiful woman was your grandmother, my dear, and she made a wonderful picture walking across the lawns with the do'gs by her side. I remember your own mother used to lie kicking on the lawn as a baby with one of Bruce’s ancestors guarding her. -Do you ■■ remember your mother, child?” “So well,” said Judy with a sigh. “Always the happiest woman I have ever known.” “So she was happy.” He frowned and his face grew dark and grim. “Somehow i can’t believe s that. Poverty and pinching,' and all those children to look after.” “But she was happy, grandfather,” said Judy, fearlessly. “Perhaps you never knew mother as I did, but she was born to be loved. It seemed to be her very life; things never came hard to her. When Daphne was born and she died, I remember her saying to father: ‘I have never regretted, Martin. I have had happiness here.’ “I.al ways remember that,” went on Judy, dreamily, “a happy, life, and 1 think she. had. You see . there were all of us . looking to her for everything, for air our happiness; and father, who was a lost soul without her, and there were the villagers; if anyone was in trouble or sorry it was always to Mrs Warrender they came. I think she liked to feel.she was of use.” “No regrets?” said the old man, unbelievingly. “Do you believe that she, could go from this to poverty and not regret? Look at it, Judy! At all, the luxury! ’Being waited on! She had everything here that the heart of a girl could desire.” “Except love,” said Judy, in a hushed little voice. "We all loved her,” he stormed. "Not in the way she wanted, and you see had she -stayed here it meant giving up father. They were born for each .other, grandfather. Oh, I have hated you because you tried to stop it. Of course you couldn’t ever have stopped it. Love like theirs could no more be dammed- than a river can be robbed of its source. She thought of you at the finish. Dad wrote and told you, didn’t he? You did not come to her funeral, but if you had you would have seen a wonderful sight. All the villagers, and people from all round came; even, the school children brought little bunches of flowers they themselves 'had picked. It’s something, grandfather, to win love . like that. If she had stayed here it would all have been wasted.” “1 would have come to her funeral,” he said harshly, "but I was ill.” They moved on slowly, the graceful Bruce bounding beside . Judy.

“May he come -with me, grandfather?” said Judy, suddenly. “It would be rathei* lovely to have ; an animal here of my own. I’ni a little lonely, there’re so many of us at home.” .

“Certainly,” said the old man, still wrapped in thought. Now they came along to/the boundary between Harmer House and the next estate. Judy saw a rolling park stretching away into the distance, and a great stone house lay bathed in sunlight. “Kenway Court,” said her grandfather. ‘”lt used to be tmy ambition to. unite these two estates. Ambitions are futile -things, my girl, when you -come'to the full tale of years.” Judy looked sympathetically at him. The man who owns that, Herbert Kenway, is a cousin of the Herbert Kenway who wanted to marry your mother, my dear. I think if a Kenway - had not been the man whom Martin Warrender ousted in your mothers.affections, I'd not have been so hard.” “It’s difficult to give up one’s own will;” Judy agreed, “especially when ambition is there too. -But I'am sure of ’ this; grandfather, mother was happier married to daddy than she would have been had she been mistress of that, without love.” And then Judy saw her grandfather’s hands cleiieh in a very fury. That look of' extreme anger and indignation she was getting to . know clouded his face.

“There’s smoke -coming from that objectionable little cottage,” he barked. "I did not know Wilcox, had got a tenant.” Judy turned in startled amazement to where her grandfather was looking. Instantly she recognised the- place. The little cottage'where she had gons that morning, carried in Nicholas Harmer’s arms.

. “Harmer’s Rest, it’s an eyesore, a positive eyesore," he growled. “Years ago, -Judy, that parcel of ground and that house belonged to Harmer House. Some, foolish owner-of -the place willed it to-one of his faithful servants and it passed out of the hands of. th< family. For years I have been trying to buy th{it back, but the man whfl owns it delights in refusing to sell, 'Now he’s let it. It’s most annoying.’ 1 . A servant came softly over ths greensward. “Lord Kenway to see you, sir.” “Bring him down here,” said ths bld man, his angry face changing. He cast a look at Judy; at the serious, bewitching little face. And suddenly the old ambition stirred to life. Her mother had disappointed him; perhaps Jtidy would be mors amenable.

A moment later Lord Kenway came towards them. He was tall, and stooped a little, with the stoop thatli attached to the bookworm. The eyes behind the glasses were kindly, and as they rested on Judy he blinked. “Ah,'Kenway, this is good of you,” said Henry Harmer, genially.

"I came over to ask you if you had heard that Wilcox has let Harnjer’i lest to a young man who is going in lor farming?” /To be continued.!