Children's Page

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXV, Issue 18599, 21 June 1930, Page 12 (Supplement)

Children's Page

(By PETER PAN).

OUR OWN STORY-TELLERS. v v ALL'S WELL THAT END’S WELL. It was Joan’s birthday and mother had promised that they would celebrate it by having a picnic down at the river. The day was perlect. The sun, as though he knew all about it, shone brilliantly and the children were anticipating a very enjoyable day down amongst the bushes and paddling in the streams. Very soon the baskets were filled. The family jquickly packed themselves into their car, and in next to no time were busily engaged settling their paraphernalia in a sheltered spot. Then the smaller members of the family took their spades and buckets and went to make castles in the sand, while the elder ones quickly got into their bathing togs and went in swimming. The main river was very deep and also swift flowing, and the girls had promised to keep to the side streams. They had taken their doggie with them, hoping that they would be able to coax him to go in the water with them, but although he would gladly frolic with them on the bank and was quite prepared to play Indians in the bushes, nothing would persuade him to go into the water. After wasting a precious hour on him, they gave up trying and, calling him a “little coward," returned to their swimming. Several times he would rush right to the water’s edge as though he would plunge in, and then he would gaze at the flowing water, rather wistfully, and turn away again. Strange, thought the mother, that he was so afraid of the water, as both his parents were as much at home in it as they were on land. She was feeling a wee bit regretful that he should be showing the yellow streak, but the baby, a little girl of three, lisped that she was hungry, and in the bustle that followed, doggie’s shortcomings were forgotten. When

all was ready, the girls were called and showed themselves very eager to partake of the good things spread on a grassy table, which seemed to be made by nature, specially for picknickers, Doggie dropped himself down beside the youngest member, who was his favourite; for she was always willing to play when he felt in the mood for it, and she fed him as much as she fed herself. After eating their fill, they all stretched themselves out in the sun, and possibly the heat made them feel a bit lazy, for, after gazing delightedly on the beautiful sprays of yellow blooms that both the gorse and the broom had put forth, they begged their mother, who was an authoress, to tell them a story of her own making, before they started to play hares and hounds. Anxious to make their day as enjoyable as she could mother started:—

“In a lonely spot in the heart of a thick forest dwelt an old man—so old that even he could not remember how old he really was. With him lived the' dearest little lady you ever saw. Her hair was like silver and —” the story ended with a gasp of dismay as mother heard a tiny cry of “Mummie!” and, jumping quickly to her feet turned, to where the cry had come from. An awful sight met her gaze, and, without a second’s pause, she started running towards the main stream of the river, for she had seen her baby fall "into that swift-running stream. With frantic haste the poor woman tore on, knowing in her heart that she had little hope of getting baby out alive, for although'the river was only about twenty yards away, it was so swift it would have carried the child well down stream ere she could reach the bank. “God spare my baby!” mother prayed despairingly, and, as if in answer to her prayer, a black form bounded past her and without a moment’s hesitation jumped into the water. Doggie also had heard that pitiful cry of distress from his loved one, and had instinctively fled to protect her. Then there followed a fight between the dbg and the 1 river in which it seemed that the dog,

handicapped by his inexperience, could not possibly win. But with amazing perseverance he fought on, and little by little gained on the form that was being carried away, until, with a final spurt, he caught her. Then, grasping the wee one’s frock; between his teeth he pluckily fought his way back to land, and gently dropped his loved playmate at the feet of his mistress. With a sob of thankfulness she clasped the wee mite in her arms and the girls, having lit a fire, hastily helped to remove her wet things and roll her in warm ones. In a very short while she had quite recovered. With tears of thankfulness the mother tenderly held the hero who had saved her baby—a hero in very deed, for although he feared the water he had answered duty’s call, and in doing so he not only earned the lifelong gratitude of every member of the family, but also did himself a good turn; for now that he knows he can beat the river, he has lost all his fear of it. (5 Marks and a Merit Card awarded to “Airy Fairy,”—lris Kellie, Pleasant Point, aged 11.) THE HOUSE ON THE MARSH. Marindin Marsh is a very lonely place and on this particular night of late Autumn the dull sky and the stillness of the air, gave it a lonliness difficult to describe. The only sound that broke the stillness was the faint, distant call of sea-birds and the sucking sound of a pole being thrust into the mud. This latter sound came from a fiat-bottomed punt which a boy was pushing, by aid of a pole, up a deep channel in the Marsh. Jim Collins was a tall, broad-shouldered youth of fourteen with dark hair and dark brown eyes. Although it was a cold night, perspiration was streaming down his face and it was plain that he was in a great hurry. It was quite true. He had been fishing and was on his way home to his mother with a string of flounders and moki. He had stayed longer than he had wished to, and the tide was going out. It was a question whether he would reach the top of the creek. If he failed he would have to leetve the punt and take to his pattens and cross the mud. Jim did not want to do this as it' was getting dark. At last he reached a place where the creek forked. To the right was the deepest but the longest. The left saved. t three-quarters of a mile but it led him past the haunted house. Jim had heard

many ugly stories about this house. Enson, the fisherman had only yesterday seen a light moving from room to room. But Jim was hardy and had fought many hardships. After pushing up the creek for a quarter of a mile he stuck in the mud. So he got out of his punt, put his pattens on and secured the boat to the bank alongside the creek. Then he began to climb the bank. By the time he had reached the top it was dark. The mud in the heavy gloom had a horrible appearance. Jim guided himself by the outline of the Haunted House. He had to test the ground every step he took with his pole. He was now even with the Haunted House. A faint light lit up the surface of the mud and Jim started and looked around him, but the light had disappeared. There it was again and what was that creaking sound? Jim glanced towards the house. Who was that at the window? Was it tije ghost, about which Enson had told him? No, it was a man in an old brown coat. The light had gone out,

Those v/hobr'ing Sunshine into the lives of others l cannot keep tt from themselves \

*** *2* *♦* *£* *2* *}* *s* * *»♦ »»* *s* <*♦ *s* •$» «$» * *j» <■** *j* *J« •$* •£♦ ♦!* *J* *s» ♦s* **♦ •5* *s* *l* *2* DEAREST LITTLE PEOPLE, * * Only one mope week to go and Our Page will be Three Years £ * Old! I have had a splendid time saying “How do you do!” and smiling *> 4 at all the happy-looking Circlians who have smiled at me from the £ § dozens of photos that have reached me lately. I love every photo you £ v send me, little people, but unfortunately only a very limited number * * can be reproduced in Our Page and therefore each photo has to be 4 * exceptionally good and clear before it is passed by the Man-Who- £ £ Knows. * X Our Little Artists’ Exhibition of Paintings and Drawings will be £ £ well worth seeing, and I hope every Circlian possibly can will go * 4 to the Bristol Piano Coy’s window next Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, * X where ugly Dolorous Dragons, fierce Schrunchadunchas, gloomy Growly- £ * Grouchys, clever Pictures Without Paints, beautifully framed and £ <♦ painted pictures and splendid ships and other drawing will all be dis- y * played. . * 4 I am sorry to say that no collection of Painted Picture Puzzles 4 4 reached the prize-winning standard, and consequently there will be no * £ special prize for this Competition. £ £ There is great rejoicing in Elfin Land at present, and all the £ * fairy folk are singing my little artists’ praises; for the prize Dolorous £ ❖ Dragons are so ugly they have broken the wicked witch’s spell. The £ X Elfin King has become himself again, left the Enchanted Island where ❖ £ he was cruelly imprisoned, and returned to his happy people. Elfin Land £ | is a gay Land of Laughter once more, and Redcap, Will O’ the Wisp, £ 4 the Laughter Lady, and the grateful Elfin King are trying, with the * £ help of the Rhyming Tree, to write a “thank you” poem to you all. 4 £ Perhaps I shall print it next Saturday, £ ❖ when the two ugliest Dragons will look -/j * X sadly at you from the Birthday Page. fr* J i iW 4 % I Mi*- I d/K * * LOVE, * 1 t t |

*?• •£• •£• *J< »!• 4* *> <•> *-> *£• * *s* *£* 4* ♦!« <♦ 4* •$> »J* *J 4 *S» *-J» **• *J* *s* ♦:* 4 *J* *s* "J 4 *s*

but not before the man had seen him. “What are you doing there? he asked in a harsh voice. “Trying to get home, but the mud’s so soft I can’t cross it,” replied Jim. He wondered what this man . was doing in the house. Perhaps he was one of the villagers and had come to look for the ghost. The voice came again, “Come along this way; come inside; I'll show you,” So Jim, thinking it was a villager, unstrapped his pattens and went up to the front door. It was opened by an unshaven man with a dirty handkerchief tied around his neck. Jim had just stepped inside the door of a little room, when his arm was caught from behind and he was whirled across the room to an open cellar. The attack was so sudden and unexpected, that Jum was almost at the edge of the cellar before he realised his danger—that this man was going to make him a prisoner. But Jim was quick and strong and as soon as he realised that this was so he stepped aside as quickly as he could. He then thrust his foot out and tripped the man up, who fell with a crash into the dark depths of the cellar. Quick as a flash Jim jullea the door down and fastened it securely. “Let me out!” bellowed the ruffian from below. “Let me out, I say!” Jim did not wait, but with his pattens in his hand he hurried from the house. The noise that came from the house was like the beating of drums. Suddenly Jim was up to his knees in mud. At all costs he must get his pattens on. As he did so he heard the clop, clop of another pair of pattens approaching. Jim’s heart sang within him as he realised that either his enemy had escaped, or a companion was in pursuit. Next moment a stream of light cut the darkness, fell on upon face, almost blinding him. “Here’s one of them,” came a sharp voice. “Why, it’s young Jim Collins,” came a second voice, and, looking up, Jim saw a policeman and recognised him as Stirling, his best friend. “You know him?” snapped the other man. “Yes, he lives at Sandhaven with his mother,” answered Stirling. “What were you doing in the house there on the Marsh?” Jim explained everything. “What! You penned that big fellow in the cellar?” “Yes, sir,” Jim answered. “Good for you, my boy! Then, turning to Stirling, he added, “It’s Stevenson himself. Come along.” They hurried off, to return in less than five minutes with the man safely handcuffed. Jim felt glad and told Stirling. “You may well say that, Jim. He’s one of the most dangerous criminals in this country. He escaped ten days ago from gaol, and it was Detective Rensliaw here, who tracked him to the Haunted House. We were wondering how we would tackle him when you did the job for us. And I’ll tell you something, Jim,” he whispered, “there’s a reward out for his arrest. I wouldn’t wonder if you didn’t get a share.” Jim did, too, for about a week later the postman left a letter, which when opened, contained five pounds. (Sent by “Lucky Packet,” Timaru). LIMERICKS. The Bright Side. Though I’m trapped (squeaked a cheerful young mouse), I’ve no reason to grumble or grouse; When a chap’s safe in here ' He’s protected, it’s clear, From the claws of the cat of the house! Utter Nonsense. Said a goose who was scared of a fox, “That sly fellow can’t open a box.” So she travelled up West, Where she bought a big . chest, And she locked herself in with three locks!

BETWEEN OURSELVES. LITTLE MESSAGES FOR LITTLE PEOPLE. “Dawn of Spring,” Otaio: Your nicely written letter, will find a place in Our Page next Letter Day, Dawn of Spring. —P.P. “Bluebell Queen,” Four Peaks: Ever so many thanks for the jolly photo of you and your pony, Bluebell Queen. It is finding a place in Our Birthday Page. Your pony looks very nice. What do you call him?—P.P. “Maori,” Peel Forest: Another wee animal story from Maori. It it quite good, dear, and I may be able to squeeze it into the Birthday Page.—P.P. “Pixie,** and “Bill Pickle,” Gleniti: Very many thanks for the photos. They are splendidly clear, and I like them all. You are both happy-looking Circlians, and your little ponies are dears. The snaps of you on your ponies will probably smile at you from the Birthday Page. Your story is very good, Pixie, and, if there is room, will be printed next Saturday.—P.P. “Christmas Rose,” Waihao Downs: I was so pleased to get a letter from Christmas Rose. I hope your sister is better now, and I also hope you will be quite well and strong again soon. Lots of “thimbles” for this Circlian of mine. I wonder what you call your Christmas dolly.—P.P. “Pixie the Fairy Queen,” Southbum: Yes, it is pretty notepaper, my dear, but you should not write on both sides of it, you know. Your interesting letter will find a place in Our Page next Letter Day. Yes, Gwenyth Evans is a Circlian, but not a very enthusiastic one. What do you call your puppy?— P.P. “Wolf Dog,” Timaru: I was pleased to see that Wolf Dog had not quite forgotten me. I am glad you drew a Dolorous Dragon for me. You should

“It,” Ttmaru: Ever so many thanks for the excellent photo you sent me, It. You do look a dear little Circllan, and your fancy dress suits you perfectly. As you are dressed as “Cupid” I am going to call you that, instead of “It,” when you appear in the Birthday Page.—P.P. Mairi'e Lamb, Timaru: "Rainbow Queen” Is the pen-name I have beside your name in my big Address Book, Mairie. “Rio Rita” was a splendid picture, wasn’t it. All the “Anne” books are very good. Thank you for sending me that amusing poem.—P.P. Olive Bruce, Hilton: A big welcome to this new Circlian. You may have “Lake Tekapo” for your pen-name, Olive. That was an unfortunate accident, and I hope your leg will soon be quite better again. I like those favourite records of yours very much, too. I hope you had a happy birthday. Was it on the 11th or 18th cf June?—P.P. . “Cottage Rose,” Hilton: Your letter was nicely written, Cottage Rose. Jack Frost is having a splendid time these days, but the shortest day will very soon be past now, and then the winter will be over in no time. You must be a clever little person with your fingers. What sort of things do you sew?—P.P. Bill Sullivan, Pareora East: You may have “Long Antler” for your penname, Bill. Tiki must be a very useful pony, as well as a jolly pet.—P.P. Jack and Bill Buckley, Pareora East: A big welcome to these two new Circlians. You may have “Sinbad” for your pen-name, Jack, but don’t you think it would be nicer to call yourself “Sinbad the Sailor.” As I already have a “Rip Van Winkle” among my Circlians, Bill, would you like to have “Flashlight” for your pen-name?—P.P. “Gay Caballero,” Arundel: I was so pleased to get a wee letter from Gay Caballero. What a number of pets you have. I wonder what you call your cats and dogs. What about calling your calf “Clover” or “Tim”? lam sure you had a happy holiday in Christchurch. —P.P. Ethel Fleming, Glenavy: A warm welcome to Our Circle, Ethel. Both those pen-names have been chosen, so would you like to call yourself “Damask Rose” or “Herald of Spring”? You have some jolly pets. Yes, pussies love the fire, especially these days. Your letter was very neat, and next time you write you must try to find a place among the Good Scribes.—P.P. “Whippet,” Timaru: I liked your amusing drawings, Whippet. I am glad you passed your music exam. Are you fond of music? I will ask our Circlians to write to you.—P.P. “Pakeha,” Waimate: I was glad to see that Pakeha had not forgotten me. Yes, the “Talkies” are most entertain-

go to see the exhibition of ugly dragons and ever so many other drawings and painting in the Bristol Piano Coy’s window at the end of next 'X^k. —P.P. “Little Miss Muffet,” Hilton: Little Miss Muffet may see that very neat letter of hers among the Good Bribes in a week or two. Yes, Bessie Newing’s letter was very interesting. Tell Mother I think she has one of the very nicest names there is.—P.P. “Elfin Princess,” Sawyer's Bay: Your nice little letter will probably find a place in Our Page next Letter Day, Elfin Princess. Yes, I think Amy Johnson is a wonderful girl.—P.P. “Dutch Doll,” Kingsdown: Your splendid happy Birthday verses will find a place in Our Page next week, Dutch Doll. Your holiday letter may be printed on Letter Day.—P.P. Margery Martin, Fairlie: A big welcome to this little new Circlian. “Maryburn” is very pretty, Margery, and you may have it for your penname. Christopher Robin sends Smut a very loud purr.—P.P. “Princess Daffodil,” Timaru: You are not a far-away Circlian now, Princess Daffodil. I am glad you enjoy reading Our Page so much. Christopher Robin is growing into such a big pussy. lam afraid I was never very fond of sewing. Have you finished your apron yet?—P.P. Joan Lyne, Timaru: A big welcome to Our Circle, Joan. Very many thanks for the photo. It is a splendid one, and I like it ever so much. As I have not heard from my “Lorna Doone” Circlian for well over a year you may have that pen-name for your own. Thank you for the list of pen-names. They are good ones, and I am sure lots of them will be useful. Your interesting little letter will find a place in Our Page on Letter Day. You did very well in the Christchurch Competitions.—P.P. “Wood Fairy,” Sutherlands: A nice wee letter from Wood Fairy. I hope you will soon be quite well again, dear. The peg-bag will be a very useful present for Mother. I hope you will have a happy birthday next week.—P.P.

f ing. I wonder if you have been to I them again. What are some of the j books you have been reading lately? Your letter was nicely written.—P.P. “Melrose Maid,’’ Washdyke: A nice little letter from this Circlian of mine. Although I liked your Dolorous Dragon, Melrose Maid, it was not quite ugly enough to break the witch’s spell and set the Elfin King free.—P.P. “Sundew,” Makikihi: I hope the naughty foot is quite better again now, Sundew. What pretty slippers you all have. You have been getting lots of nice new things. Would you like to call your kitten “Puck” or “Pip”?—PP. “Caller-Herrin,” Sutherlands: I was pleased to hear from Caller-Herrin | again. I am sure your work-oasket ! will be very nice when it is finished. You must have had a jolly holiday at Pareora. I am glad you enjoy reading Our Page.—P.P. “Hertford Lassie,” Geraldine: Although your Dragon was not “dolorous” enough to reach the prize-winning standard, Hertford Lassie, he is a very fearsome looking monster, and wili be exhibited with the other well-drawn | Dolorous Dragons next week. I am glad you are lots better, and hope you will soon be well enough to go back to school again.—P.P. “Red Pepper,” Timaru: Your Dragon is a wicked looking monster, Red Pepper, and I like him very much. Perhaps you will see him again if you go to look at the Exhibition next week.— P.P. “Golden Glow,” Makikihi: Your Dolorous Dragon is a very weird and wonderful monster, Golden Glow. Christopher Robin is still growing, and is quite a big fellow now. Yes, your guess is right.—P.P. “Hiaw-atha,” Timaru: Your “Dreamland” poem is well written, Hiawatha, and will probably find a place in Our Page next Saturday. Yes, I think “at anchor” would be better in the third verse. I may make several other small alterations, too. Try to make some more verses for me, won’t you.— P.P.

* THE TALKING TREES.

bn fine morning Cyril lay in the hammock under the trees, and he tried to decide what he would like best to do. So many pleasant things occurred to him. But before he had decided wh-'ch of them he would like best to do, his mother came out on the poreh and said: “Cy, my boy, I must go into town, so will you please stay here and tell the men where to plant the new tree? It is to go where that stake is. Goodbye, dear, ril not be long.” Now, remaining at home and telling some workmen where to plant a tree was not one of the pleasant things Cy had in mind, but of course he said: “Very well, mother, but you won’t be I very long, will you?” When his mother had gone, he said: | “Oh, dear, having to stay here is about as bad as having my feet planted like a tree. It must be very stupid to be a tree, and have to stay in one spot always.” He went and stood by the stake, with his feet together, and with his arms spread out, and gently waving as if blown by the wind, pretending that he was a tree. “Oh, it would be terrible to be a tree!” he shouted, and then leaped and ran and turned handsprings and kicked his heels, because he was so glad that he was a boy. “Well, well! Did you hear what that absurd boy said?” asked a voice that seemed to come from the heart of a large cedar. “Did I hear? Didn’t he shout as if he were alone in the world, while we were standing right here?” asked an elm tree in reply. “Strange manners. I must say!” de» dared a handsome beech. “But whal can you expect from such fidgety creatures? Humans don’t remain quiet long enough to have repose and real manners. Besides, he may not have realised that we could understand him. That is one strange thing about humans—they don’t seem to realise that the rest of us have any feelings or any sense.” Cy was so astonished that he %at flat on the ground, and stared up at the trees. “I beg your pardon—l didn’t know that you could hear and talk,” he gasped. “Didn’t I tell you so? Humans think we know nothing,” said the beech. Now, fancy their having the cheek to be sorry for us, and to think that we lead stupid lives, because we don’t dash about as they do!” The cedar tree looked up proudly at the sky, and exclaimed: “The absurd little fellow! How thankful we ought to be that we can stand here year in and year out, and be bathed by the rain and be fanned by the winds, and be fed by the air and the earth, instead of hustling about for food and clothing and shelter like humans!” “Yes, indeed! Wouldn’t we look silly hunting about for a tub large enough to bathe in!” cried the elm. “Wouldn’t it be terrible to have to eat corned beef and cabbage!” At this Cy rolled over on the grass and laughed. “But you always have to look at the same things,” he said. “You can’t go to parties and see strange sight!” The beech replied: “The parties and strange sights come to us. That is much better. Circus parades, garden parades, airplanes—all sort of things pass by. And all we have to do is to stand still and be trees.” Cy pulled a funny face, and said: “But if everybody followed your example and stood still, nothing would pass by.” “That’s so!” gasped one tree after another. “Well, well!” remarked the cedar. “Perhaps the old earth needs all kinds of creatures —those that stand still and those that move about. But I am glad I am a tree!” “And I am glad I am a boy!” shouted Cy, kicking his heels, to be sure they hadn’t taken root. “Well, nobody would take you for anything else! Boy, do you know where the lady wants this tree planted?" asked a man. “Who are you talking to, anyhow?” “Oh, I was just pretending,” answered Cy, and showed the man the stake. Q.: What does an artist like to draw best of all? A.: His salary. “Loloma,” Pareora East: I am giacl you like your new pen-name, dear. Thank you for sending me tha; nice little poem and the riddles.—PT.