SHORT STORY

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 19989, 4 November 1927, Page 11

SHORT STORY

NANCY PATTON ( By C. Thompson.) Nancy Patton was nicely off in many ways. Though the old people had; gone their way, they had reached the full end of their tether, and everybody agreed that it was a blessing. And they had left Nancy with a pound or two cmoing in and the complete possession of a thriving hardware business. She sold pots and pans and oil stoves, aad, oil to keep them going, to the farmers who drove past the shop. She did very well in the daytime, but when the shop was closed she felt it a melancholy way of living to be alone. Often she sat upon the bottom step of the twisting stairs until the tears dried upon her check. Then she would was* her face and brisk up. A business woman has to be presentable. Luckily enough, there was a lot to do in the shop, and many a bit of gossip came her way. She was not one to 1 'toot” into everybody’s business, but she idjid like to know what was going on. Of course her position made her careful in comment. Her ftftmula was as safe as the bank. When she spread out her hands and said "Yo never say’n?” it was at once noncommittal and encouraging. Whether she had heard the tale before or not there might be interesting sidelights to be picked up. She liked to know both ”th’ talc an’ tale’s maisthur.” ! It was Friday afternoon that Mrs ’ Murgatroyd from the town end* popped in to buy a pint of paraffin and a few candles. Whilst Nancy was wrapping up the candles she listened to her customer. “Aw reckon yo’n yerd’ at Mrs Fawcett piked off this mornin’.” “Yo’ never say’n?” said Nancy. “Aw do! It’s a rare bad job. There’s nowt but warkhouse for young Betsy as far as aw con see.” "Eh! Deary me!” said Nancy. "There’s nowt but trouble in this world Did yo want any deeshclouts?” I "Not this mornin, 1 Nancy.” I Every time a spare minute or two came Nancy’s way she found herself feeling "fair ill off” about little Betsy Fawcett. She even found the figures dancing up and down the slate i when she tried to balance the previous | day’s doings. So she went and sat i down on the bottom step with one eye ’ working for the bairn and the other on her own behalf. It was close on

shutting-up time, so she washed her face and put on her shawl, went across to Mrs Murgatroyd to 4, spur” out the latest information. She learned that the child was for the time being at "Mcsthur Buckley’s,” tho relieving officer. "Mesthur Buckley” was a local preacher at Nancy’s chapel, and would not take a visit amiss. So she called on her way home. "Mesthur Buckley” was busy writ-. ing, and the child sat forlornly on a "buffet” near the fire. "Has it many clooas ” asked Nancy. "Just what it has on,” replied the relieving officer. "Yo never say’n?” said Nancy. She said no more until she ha,d thoroughly and deliberately blown her nose. Then she asked, "Con aw tak it wi’ me? It’ll have a good whoam.” "It’s a big job rearing somebody else’s child, ” he said. 11 It’s bi ’ itsel ’—an ’ aw’m bi misel 9 —an’ it’ll ha’ to earn it’s keep.” There was none to say nay, and Betsy nestled under Nancy’s wing. Nancy treated the child as if it were her own; but Betsy was compliant and stood it very well—plenty of work and hard, wholesome discipline on the lines of her own bleak bringing up. But the child took to Nancy and filled Nancy’s heart. The bottom step was now tenantless. In the passing of time good keep and a likeness to her mother gave Betsy more than the average allurement of maidenhood. Sheepish farmers’ sons astonished their fathers by offering to call at the shop for supplies that were hardly needed. Nancy took it into her head to serve them all with waspish perversity. She had not been prepossessing in her own youth, and she had a peevish delight in visiting the neglect of the fathers on a younger generation. Betsy demurely dusted whilst her "auntie” filled cans of oi! for sulky-looking louts. It came to Nancy’s ears that young Jim Hopkinson was in the habit of bringing Betsy home from Sunday school. She just spread out her hands and said "Yo never say’n?” But when the shop was closed she waited until Betsy had put her hat on. Then she said quietly: "Tell Jim Hopkinson ’at Aw want to see him.” "E-e-e-e Auntie,” said Betsy. Jim was no shirker. He ptdfuceri his pedigree, his credentials, and his past, present, and likely future balancesheet. And he was not a bad-looking lad. Nancy was very favourably impressed. "Well, we’ll see,” she said noncommittaly. "Tha con. come Wednesday neet an’ Sundays. But durn’t let me see thi face in between.” The day Nancy was twenty-one Jim came in his Sunday best. He pulled* his gloves off and placed them on the table. We’re thinkin’ o’ gettiu' wed,” he said. "Aw’ve nowt again it,” said Nancy. "Tha’rt a good lad an’ likely to ’nddle good brass.” " We’re noan thinkin’ o’ leavin’ yo alone. We’re willin’ to stop wi’ yo when we do gfet wed.” "Yo’ll do nowt o’ th’ soart. Aw believe in young bincis havin’ a neest o’ their own. When yo get we»i —out yo goo.” She let the neighbours see that she was not going to let the lass go shabby. It was the best "do” in living memory held in the club-room of the Brown Cow. Old Pendlebury played the concertina until eleven. When the dancing was over Jim and Betsy were seen off to some tunc. Then chattering neighbours accompanied Nancy on her | way home. She was gratified in her I knowledge that it had been a "reight I good do,” and nobody could say dif- , ferent. Once inside the house she pullI cd off her bonnet and patted her wisj pish hair. When she was ready she lit a candle. With her foot on the bottom step of the stairs she peered timidly round the house. But sho could see little, for there was a mist round the candle and colours like a lunar rainbow.