Peter Persists

Waikato Times, Volume 128, Issue 21418, 12 May 1941, Page 4

Peter Persists

ENTHRALLING NEW SERIAL

By Sylvia Cairn

CHAPTER Vlll—(Continued) “Ask Molly,” Nancy smile up at him. Molly waved a bundle of darning. '"'My dear, Tim hates my dancing anyway, and is positively brotherly about it. Besides, look at this. Mark and Tim simply eat their socks!” “Come on,” invited Tim, arms outstretched—and she obeyed. She liked Tim, and she liked his dancing. It was getting late , when she left, and she had to hurry. “Hullo!” Jim Ransome greeted her in the hall. “Where’ve you been? I came down early on purpose, and then you’re out!” “Oh, arc you there?” Nancy started. “Of course.” His air was injured. “Been mooning about for ages. I did think you’d have been in.” “I didn’t even know you were coming,” she protested. “I was down at the Rectory.” “I suppose that bounder Allardyce was there?” His air was jealous. “Yes. I like Mr Allardyce.” Nancy stuck out her chin. “1 don’t. And people—say things about him!” “What sort of things?” Nancy’s eyes were dangerously bright. , “Oh—er—things one can’t repeat—to a girl, I mean,” Jimmy hedged. “But you know the kind of stuff I mean ” “Then why mention them?” flashed Nancy. “Because ” he spoke softly, “Nancy, because I think such a lot of you that I hate you to go about with a fellow like that. Girls don’t seem to—see for themselves ” “Oh!” Nancy was slightly mollified by his manner. Miss Ransome raised her voice from the adjacent drawing-room. “Is that you, Miss Munro? Did you have a nice walk?” “Very,” smiled Nancy, and ran up to her room. Jimmy seemed more friendly than usual that evening, and quieter. But for his disparagement of Tim Allardyce, she would have liked him better than before. . . . When she went upstairs, she did not go to bed immediately. She thought of the young men and their mutual dislike. Both, she felt certain, were absurdly prejudiced. Jimmy meant well, in spite of Tim Allardyce; it was just his exuberant youth which irritated Tim, with his fey additional years and graver manner. And Molly disliked him, because he showed so plainly that she bored him. That was bad manners, of course, but it was just because he was so young, like a big schoolboy. So one must make allowances. As for Tim —she found herself thinking of him as Tim, although she called him Mr Allardyce. He was delightful, so interesting and companionable. And she did like his bridge, and his dancing. .. . Yet Jimmy would not say a good word for him. Of course she did not believe Jimmy’s carefully veiled innuendoes. He just said things like that because “Because of what?” said Nancy. “If I were a conceited donkey,” she confided to her mirror, “or still had pots of money, I’d say because of me. But being merely a paid companion, it can’t be that!” she stopped dreaming, and sat down to write a long gay letter to Erenda. When she read it over she laughed; it seemed so full of Jimmy with his crude tweeds and Tim with his pleasant shabbiness. “And I told Brenda I was sick of young men!” she chuckled. “She won’t believe me. Goodness, how late it is!” She undressed quickly, switched out the light, and then pulled back the curtains, preparatory to getting into bed. The night was dark with a density of lowering cloud. Trees and rums merged almost imperceptibly into a sky almost as solid. Nancy yawned as she looked out. Then she stiffened. She was sure she had seen a light move in the direction of the ruins. Cold as the night was, she opened the casement and leant out. The light vanished and then reappeared amidst the tangle of the wild garden. Nancy wondered what it could be. If it were dangerous for her to explore by daylight, surely it must be much more dangerous to wander round after dark. But it was not her business.

The light finally disappeared; she strained her eyes after it.—and suddenly realised how cold she was in a thin nightdress. She shivered violently, and jumped into bed. But what could it be? Sold and curiosity had driven sleep far from her, and she tossed and turned. Lights at the ruins The place was said to be haunted. She had not thought of that before, but it couldn’t be ghosts, there weren’t such things. Besides, she hadn’t felt creepy—but she was creepy enough now! Commonsense re-asserted itself. It must be the gardener, she’d ask him in the morning. She did not like John MacKenzie, the gardener; she felt he resented her presence, although there was no reason why he should. She ascribed his gruffness to Scots dourness and not to any personal reason. She never spoke to him unnecessarily, but today she had to satisfy her curiosity. He looked at her queerly before answering. “Hoots, Miss, there’d be no one theer after .dark! The things no’ in reason. Juist passing cars on the load, or ye fancied it.” “Nonsense, MacKenzie!” she was' nettled at his scepticism. “I telJ you I saw it distinctly, a light bobbing to and fro —not moving along steadily as a car light would have done. Besides, I always draw back my curtains. If I could see lights on the road, why haven’t I seen them before. “Awheel ” he spoke uneasily, and glanced over his shoulder as if afraid of being overheard. He bent forward confidentially. “Never a word to the mistress, mind ye. It’s them monks at their games again! Never a villager would go nigh the place after dark. And I wouldna mysel’.” • Oh, MacKenzie! You don’t imagine ghosts?” Nancy felt an unpleasant shiver run down her spine. The old man nodded. (To be Continued)