LADIES' COLUMN.

Timaru Herald, Volume LXII, Issue 3130, 9 December 1899, Page 2 (Supplement)

LADIES' COLUMN.

BIDDY'S BOTHER. ] (Auatralasian.) An old stable, m front of which for years had been dumped the rubbish from The Parsonage. Both house and garden had contributed to this heap. Amongst tins and broken crockery narcissus sprang up and blossomed ; cutting from shrubs and fruit trees put out young leaves, aud for a brief space struggled for life, until eaten down by the cow or trampled on by Hobble, the old white pony. To the right of the stable was the kitchen and fruit garden ; to the left a field, where ripening cowl waved. The stable and surroundings were the playground of Biddy and Bill, the Parsonage children, aged eight and ten. Mrs Best was too delicate, and the Rev Ebner Best too much occupied with his duties, to pay great attention to their offspring, so Biddy and Bill lived a free and joyous life at present, untroubled by lessons, "their governess being away during the holidays. The stable stood empty, save at night, when Hobble, coming m from the paddock, found there a resting place aud a feed of chaff. In a corner lay the garden tools. It was while on an expedition m search of a lost trowel, which had been lent to. the Parsonage folks weeks before, that I first became Biddy's confidant and friend, or "pal," as she preferred to call me. Whilst turning over some bags and pea-stalks I he:<rd a sound of sobbing m the loft. Mounting by ladder, I reached the floor above. There on a heap of straw I found Biddy, the picture of misery, her curls hanging over a very red and dirty face, with hands clasped about her knees, which were drawn up to her chin. She was crying, heedless of the caresses of a terrier, who whimperingly rubbed his nose against her '•'What's the matter. Biddy? of the pets dead, or are you hurt?" I asked, seating myself beside her. •< jf — no, it — it isn't that. I can't tea ; no. I just can't, you— you— never would vn — vn — understand," she sobbed. "Well, never mind; here is doggie wa.itfor » romp, and here am I with nothing to do. Won't you show me the rabbits? Last week your cow broke into our garden and pulled all the creepers from the verandah." "Did she really?" said Biddy, becoming interested. " Judy is always m trouble. Father really wilt mend the gate when he has time. Yesterday Bill and me made a saddle for her; put the tortoiseshell cat on her back. That cat did get a fright ; held on tig-lit with her claws when Judy started off; then we ran and Judy ran, till she got out of the gate, and right down town, with Torty hanging on." All this information was given without a pause. Biddy being now breathless, got up. shook herself, and seemed to have forgotten her trouble. "If you help me, we will go dow.n," I said. "It is rather dusty and cobwebby up here." " Want till 1 oatdh v. fly and feed Josephine, then we will yo." A fly was caught on the only unbroken pane of glass, and carefully decapitated, " so as his muscles will still work," Biddy explained. Then ifc was served up on one of my hat pins as a dainty dish for a tarantula, whose home was a crack m the wall. " Now, if you hold my leg we'll get some plums." sidd Biddy, as she opened the door of the loft. I «at on her feet as instructed, while she leant for out and caught a bough of the plum tree, which stretched its branches orer the garden fence. Shaking it, she sent a shower of fruit to the ground, saving, " Now we must hurry, or Hobble will have them all eaten before we get down." The tended 1 was put m a> basket, then carefully lowered irrto the stable ; he seemed o understand the performance, and ,sat perfectly still. Biddy said he could come up "0.X.," but never could manage to go down. At the back of the stable were sheds, originally used as buggy and harness rooms, but now as a home for raobits, guinea pigs, and pigeons. "-Now let's make whistles," said Biddy. I professed inability to do any such thing, but said I was willing to learn. I "as taken over a paling fence into the cornfield. Grey paroquets, with red and yellow cheeks, rose screeching at our approach ; a rabbit scurried into a hedge of prickly pears, with the terrier m full chase. Overhead a skylark sang m the bright sunshine. " Come right into our nest ; there are stacks of apples there," said Biddy. Very soon we were busy making whistles from corn-stiilks, and blowing them vigorously. Growing tired of whistle-making, we sat and tried the red apples. Then Biddy caught grasshoppers, and made (hem hop races across her pinafore. "Where is Bill to-day?" I asked. "It is strange to find you without your brother." Instead of answering my question Biddy began to cry. " Is all the trouble about Bill?" "Do grown-ups have troubles?" asked Biddy. " I thought it .was only children, and was wishing I was grown up when you found me m the loft. Bill and me weie always chums, and never wired for anyone else, except, of course, mother, and father when he has time to talk to \is. Most days we fight like anything, and don't play speaks sometimes, but we soon make up." "Are not you and Bill .still chums?" I at-ked. "Oh! Bill has a girl now — a .sweetheart. She is pretty, her hair is not red like mine, and she hasn't freckles on her nose. Do you think Bill would like just only me ; if I had dark ,hair and big, brown eyes, like Miiudie Smith? He always talks about her eyes, and says poetry about them that he -heard the butcher say to Jane." " I think Bill will soon tire of Maudie ; she's a. dressed-up little girl and won't play with him as you do for fear of spoiling her frock." "Do you really think so? Then perhaps he won't want all the pocket-money next month to buy chocolate for Maudie. I can save up to buy Mr and Mrs Abrain Paul ; their children must be so lonely without them. They are two white fantail pigeons. Father gives each of us two shillings and sixpence a month. We always mean to buy a bike, but never can start saving. Bill asked me what I thought Maudie would like for her birthday. I told him the little silver owl brooch m Dymond's window. It is the sweetest little silver owl, with red stones for eyes, and it sits on a twig; how I did wish somebody would give it to me last Christmas." With a sigh, Biddy lapsed into »ilence. •' Did Bill buy the owl with his pocket money?" I asked. "He couldn't at first ; it was seven and sixpence, s-o I gave him my money, but Dymond wouldn't trust us till next month. How I do hate Maudie! I know I should not, but I can't help it," cried Biddy. " Bill thinks I like her just as much as he does. I never let him see me cry about the Pauls. You won't tell you found me crying, will you ?"' I promised not to tell, saying, " White chalk," as instructed by her. "I stopped awake hours," she continued, "and thought and thought. Then 1 told Bill if he wanted to, he could sell the Pauls to that horrid Blackhall boy, the one who calls me 'Carrots,' and pin.s my hair to the back of the seat m church. Bill thought ', I wanted him to, so he did, and that boy might forget to feed them. Mrs Abrani Paul was learning to eat out of my hand." At this thought the tears ran down Biddy's cheeks. "Cheer up, little woman. 1 know Maudie Smith's mother ; she told me to-day they intend moving up country, so I expect you will havu Bill to yourself again," I said. " What will you do when Bill is a man, and goes out into the world ; are you going with him?" " No, I don't think so ; I shall be a visitor then, and. (to to see people. I'll be so nice tlut everybody will say, 'Miss Biddy, you must stop to tea,' and then when the rain comes, 1 will stop all night ; and next morning they will say, ' Now, you must stop

a week,' and I'll know heaps of people, and not be lonely when Bill is away. I can write and tell him all about everybody ; he is going to be a sailor on a ship that calls everywhere, and I can have a letter from him at every port. I thought Biddy had forgotten the pigeons, but she began again to talk about them. " 1 went over to see them this morning, and the Blackhall boy chivied his dog on to ours, and said he wouldn't sell the' pigeons for less than five bob." At that moment, with a. rush, bang, and a whoop, Bill dashed into the nest. "Oh ! I say, Biddy, I am hungry ; where are the apples, and why can't you keep your face clean V" " Dirty face yourself '" cried Biddy indignantly. " Look at your coat, all torn, and you've been fixing up that hole m your stocking with copper wire." " Well, why did not you mend it for me ': You know mother said you were to mend my stockings now. Since we joined the Children's League I always remember to dv my good deed every day. I've been weeding Maudie Smith's garden all this week, while you've been loafing. Here, hand over those apples." "There goes the tea-bell, i so you can'i have one, till after tea." While Biddy was climbing the fence I told Bill to come to me after tea, but not to tell or bring Biddy, as it was a secret. Together we went to see the Blackhall boy, and bought the pigeons. Bill carried them home. I think I may say that Biddy was the happiest child m the parish next morning, when she found the Abram Pauls m the old shed, contentedly feuding with their children. I did not forget to provide for my little " pal '" a silver owl seated on a silver twig when her birthday came round, and as Maudie Smith's people went up country, and Bill is not a lotter-writer, 1 think Bfrddy's bothers are ended, and hope she may have sunshine and happiness all her life.