CUPBOARD LOVE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18901, 28 October 1929, Page 13

CUPBOARD LOVE.

(Written for the “Star” by ALMA WHITAKER)

You think young Doris loves you, but it is only for what you give her. Do you suppose she would write you those affectionate letters if you were not always sending her parcels?” Thus wrote a mutual “friend.” visit Ing in a distant town where l had a little protege I had never seen. Yon see, her mother had been a friend of mine in the long ago . . . and I knew there had been hard times . . . and it was lots of fun sending occasional little luxuries to this sixteen-year-okl girl, who was otherwise likely to miss a lot if things. Well, how could I expect Doris to ove me for myself alone? After all. j how very few of us can hope to be \ loved for ourselves alone! Doris had ! never even seen me, anyhow. Mind you. that note disturbed me f a shade at first . . . even while deplor-1 ing the state of mind of the mutual i 'friend,'’ whose motives were not quite clear. She evidently did not like my j Doris. I can remember when it seem- • ed very important to be loved for my- j self alone. We never quite get over it. But it is surely a vain quest. Something I Wanted. Compiling a little list of the people I love best, I found that each and every one had given me something. Oh. it is often an intangible something, perhaps just sympathy or appreciation, a good conceit of myself- Or a helping hand in the days when I sorely needed helping hands. Very likely it was remembering me, and writing an occasional note, or, again, seeing that I was included in jolly parties. One, I remember, whom I did not know especially well at that time, sent me saucy little cheery postcards, insisting that no answer was expected, when I was ill. Another, in a like category, sent me a row of little presents when we were in quarantine with a scarlet-

fevered baby. One old darling sends me slips of new flowers for my garden. Another is interested in my clothes and helps me to look my best, with affectionate criticism. One always stands ready to play chauffeur for me with her own nice car. Another will come early to parties and pitch in and help. Anyway, pretty well all of them have been kind to me in some way or other . . . and given me something I wanted. I probably think I love each and all for themselves alone, but I wonder. Sometimes, somewhere, they

have thought, earned or won my love —just as I have probably bought, earned or won any love that is mine. I remember a jolly aunt that I loved t devotedly because she always took my r ! part. I often needed a defender. < There was an uncle, too, who often ; sent me little extras when I was at J boarding school. You may be sure I , loved him. Other uncles were probI abl>* just as nice to other nieces, but j my favourite uncle was the one that j favoured me. Why wouldn’t little ■ Doris feel affectionate toward me and j write me those adorable letters just ' because I sent things? What else j could she possibly” judge me by? More Blessed to Give. • We often seem to love people who i j cause us a lot of trouble and appear jto be selfish. But even these give us I something, if it is only that superior feeling of having them depend upon us in a crisis. They make us feel strong, * capable, and give us a nice chance to j exercise our capacity on their behalf. We can feel nobly sacrificial in their company. See the successful married couples around us and note how their abiding friendship is based upon reciprocity. It is never successful when one does all the giving. “Yes, we’ve ! >een married tweny-two >*ears,” laughs Alice. ... “I think perhaps we have always been good sports at saving each others* faces. Yes, really. You see, we all do foolish things, cheap things, mean little tricks, at some time or another; but if the other partner understands and helps us save our face when the remorse sets in we love him, or her, for it. W’e have always been careful to keep our little differences to ourselves and to uphold each other to the world, no matter how annoyed we felt.” ft is f this quality of generosity, of “giving,” that really endears them to y* s ’. J he - V i° ,n their power to “rub it in,” to make us cheap and ridiculous. ... but they preferred to pass it by gallantly', and we love them with an infinite gratitude for it. Cupboard love! It is rather sweet, and oh, so practical and reasonable \ It is the kind that proves so sumptuously.* that it is, indeed, more blessed to give than to receive, and that “To have a friend one must be a friend.”

(Anglo-American N.S. Copyright.)