How the Reverend paid his Footing.

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, Volume 1, Issue 6, 1 March 1900, Page 55

How the Reverend paid his Footing.

By Keron HAiii-

r^S|g|§isj«M|^UMAN nature is the same ■«g||gi|l| |siiw|f' Reverend Eustace VVhalley j?3§^Bljp|^ii|^ was always anxious to beHeve the words of wisdom j colleagues, and man, misrepresented by tho struggling farmers and township drift of a wilderness back in the Southern Alps, the resemblance was infinitesimal. He was young and had ideals, but " Tairoa " buried them all in a couple of months. It was the raw material that he found on the desolate wind-swept plains and bush-choked gullies of his parish. Clay for the potter. Plenty of it — extending even to the sod houses cowering under the scanty scrub-belt that flanked their nor'- west ends. But the; raw material did not want "the parson." He had arrived in early autumn, when the salvation of their souls counted as nought beside the salvation of their crops. " Winter's the time for religion," said Jummet, the churchwarden, when the Reverend Eustace, with ashamed tears in his eyes, came out of the empty schoolroom that served for church. " God 'elps them as 'elps themselves, sir, and if we don't 'elp ourselves pretty quick these days, the wind won't leave us much grain in the straw. 'Sides, these chaps don't cotten to parsons much. You'll hey to give 'em time to git used to you, like, afore they'll come to church." The stars were fighting against the Reverend Eustace, so he turned his attention to a place where harvests came not, and where men toiled year in and year out, and swore with patient and persistent l'egularity at each season as it came. There were the dregs of an old gold mine oyer the hill behind Tairoa, and the names

Illustrated hy W. A. Bowring

of the men who worked there won* a terror in tho land. But tho llovorotul's parish extended to the confines of eternity among these mountains, and, therefore, his duty lay over that hill. "They'll kill you if you go!" was tho assurance of the constable ; "they've got a regular derry on parsons ! " "They won't know I'm a parson," returned the Reverend, and he climbed into his newlyacquired saddle and turned his pony's head hillwards. He had dressed to suit hin company, knowing that to-day more virtuo lay in a flannel shirt and slouch hat than in full canonicals. The white pony puffed its stertorous way to the top of the hill, and the new Alexander looked down on his unconquered country, rather anxiously. There was bush below, and bounty, and brilliant sunshine. Water sparkled along an open shoot to a stony creek. Heaps of mullock and open cuts along 'a face, gavo red and brown glories to tho picture, and tho men crawled about peacefully. They took no notice of the Reverend when he hitched his pony to a dead honeysucklo by the shoot, and strolled up to a man working a hose. But across tho crook Smith nudged his mate, and jerked his thumb in the direction of the new-corner. " 'Oo's the nipper? " " Dnnuo ! Looks a bloomin' fool ! 'E won't git much change out o' Dowson, I bet!" The Reverend was smiling, and asking innocent questions of tho camp " boss " ; and Dowson, putting him down as a " bit dotty," suffered them with unusual amiability. " Yuss, I said 'c could come agin," ho told the men later. " 'E's jist a bloomin' Juggiiiß ! Groin' tor write a book, may bo ! We'll give Mm somethin' tor put in it ! "

i So the Reverend came again and again, till the men began to look for the fat pony sliding down the hill with his rider sitting all over him. They yarned to him when 01 they felt inclined, and said " Shut up, little 'un ! " when they didn't, which was very

reprehensible and shocking ; but the " little 'un " knew what he was about. He learnt much of the inner lives of these men during the next few weeks, for he possessed something bettei) than much Greek, or the ability to turn a neat sentence. He won hearts — unwittingly; for Grod, who

bestows that gift but sparingly, holds the eyes of those who have it, lest self-consciousness enter in to spoil. 0 The Reverend was beginning to feel his feet, and hope for a future, when Dowson went into the township one night and there S learnt several things concerning the " little 'un." It was the hotelkeeper that told the Reverend about it.

" Dowson was ravin' mad, 'c was ; and 'c promised that next time 'c got a 'old of you Yd smash you straight — and 'c will, too ! 'E said as 'ow you was a wolf sneaking inter the fold ! "

The " little 'un " smiled. There was another Biblical phrase that seemed move appropriate. "He hasn't warned me, so I'll make him give me fair play ! " he said, kicking the pony into a walk. The man watched him till he was a black, creepingspeck upon the yellow tussock. " 'E's the right stuff — but 'c's a young fool ! Dowson '11 pound Mm into the middle of next week." Dow so n was shovelling fiercely when the "little 'un " arrived and

sat down on an adjacent Leap of dried mullock, asking cheerfully : " Well, who got top weight last week ? " Dowson glanced round. Bailey was wheeling a barrow of stuff to the sluice, and no one was very near. He dropped his shovel and came up to the Reverend Eustace. "I wos in the

township day before yes'day," he announced. The "little 'an" tickled a startled lizard with a bit of fern. "So I heard. Why didn't you look me up?" " And," ignoring the interruption, " I said as 'ow I'd flatten you out if you come 'ere agin ! " '' Did you ? That was jolly mean when you hadn't warned me ! Did you never hear of fair play ? " This touched Dowson on the raw. "I allers plays fair wi' men," he said curtly, " but I ara't goiu' ter 'aye no cunts knockin' round. You won't cure no souls on this camp ! " " I don't mean to try ! " The Reverend leaned back against a broad leaf and watched the hose- water making rainbows in the sun. Dowson kicked a pile of stones contemptuously. " You ain't got the pluck of a cockerbully ! A feller should hey spunk enuff ter stick to 'is trade, ef 'c is only a curit ! " " Look here," said the " little 'un," sitting up straight and pushing back his soft hat, " you wouldn't let anyone else wash your face and hands for you — would you ? " " I'd black 'is heye ef 'c tried ! " said Dowson with meaning. " Exactly ! Because you can do it for yourself (though you don't," sotio voce). " In the same way you can wash your own sonl better than I could do it for you. I can only tell you how." This rapid logic flustered Dowson. He looked down at his dirty shirt as if discovering some affinity between it and his inward appurtenances. " I don't need it ! " he muttered aggressively. "All right! You'll see differently some day"; the "little 'un " got up whistling. He had achieved a point, for Dowson was popularly supposed to deny the possession of a soul. Also . But Dowson reached a long arm and jerked him back. " I'll let yer off this time as yer didn't know ; but ef yer comes over that 'ill agin, I'll make a mud pie of ye ! D'ye 'car? "

The Reverend nodded. Thoro \vas\ way round the hill-foot — long, and vory rough, bub it would do. "1 hoar," ho said. " Dowson, why arc you afraid of me ? " Tho big man stared dumbly. Thon ha wiped his mouth with his sleeve and explained very clearly that he was not. v But you must bo, or you wouldn't object to my coming. Is that Loodes over there ? 1 wanted to ask him if ho found any colour in that new pocket." Dowson picked up his shovel absently as the " little 'vii " hopped over tho rough ground, and his thoughts wen; couched in unusually picturesque language. " Blessed little cook-sparrer ! " he said. "Me feared o' 'iin ! Jes' let 'iiu come agin, that's all!" The Reverend Eustace knew enough of Dovvson's creed to wonder how ho would get. home again when ho turned his pony into the bush track the following week. Me had no thought of crying oil ; besides — as a bad reason is better than none, he knew that his status in Tairoa hung on this, for the settlers, learning of his tilt with the miners, began to consider him worth noticing, and consequently sent their wives and children to church. The hills rose steeply on either side of tho bush track, and opposite a gully whore barefooted children were gathering convolvulus, a primitive go-cart — literally a soap box on wheels, stopped the way. it held a dirty, happy baby, with fat hands full of maidenhair fern, and the Reverend smiled at it as he edged the white pony past. Thon he came into the narrow, dusty road which gave out on the mine propor to the right, and the new gaping face-cut on the left. There he met with Garron, evidently undor the impression that there was something half-a-mile further on which ho wanted that very minute. "What's up?" asked the Reverend, dropping into the vernacular. " Brnte of a cow ! 'Er dead calf's up on that face. Look out ! She's jist be'ind !" Garrou caught at the twisted arm of a black birch and mounted heavenwards with alacrity.

The rolling cloud of dust below the face resolved into a bony red and white cow, with head down and tail up. The Reverend knew naught of wild cattle, nor did he desire to know anything, therefore he tightened the reins hastily. Then he remembered the go-cart round the corner, pulled his pony across the road and awaited developments. Garron thought he was mad, and the " little 'uu " himself was not very clear on that point when a moment later the brute's horn took him full, just below the knee. It lifted him clean out of the saddle, and he sought the earth in a hitherto undreamed of position. Then the white pony, in a spasm of astonishment, kicked deliberately ; the cow swerved, and went off into the bush beyond the shoot with the mark of an iron hoof across her nose. There were many men round the Reverend before he had quite decided where he was, and he scrambled to his feet dazedly, white as to his face and shaky as to his knees. " What in thunder made you do sich a fool thing?" growled Dowson, wiping the heat from his forehead, for ho had come swiftly at sight of the attack. '* There's a baby round the corner ! " faltered the "little 'un." " I thought if I didn't stop her " " Strikes me yer want stoppin' yerself ! Look at that 'ole in yer leg ! By Gum, kiddy, it's bleedin' sure enough ! " "It's nothing much," said the Reverend Eustace, feeling deathly sick, and smiling hard. " Just tie something round it, will you ? My arm is rather — rather powerless, at present." Dowson eyed him narrowly. " You want a reglar overruling, that's what you want ! Gimme that 'and kerchief o' yours. That's right. Hist 'im hup on my back, Luke ! Wait till we gits ter camp, ' little 'un,' an' we'll see 'ow much o' ye wants repairin'." The fire outside the cookiug-tent burnt translucent blue and saffron in the hot sunlight, and the men crowded round the " little 'un " as he sat on a totara log. They were surprised to fiud how interested they were in

his welfare when Dowson stood up and delivered his opinion. '"Little 'an,' you've got that bloomin' harm o' yours shoved back on ter tlio shoulder-blade in some way. That's what's wrong. I'vo seed it done afore, and it's got ter be pulled back afore the muscles sets ! " " Lor' ! " said cookie, wiping his floury hands on his knees, " 'ow'll yer do it, Dowson ? " " I'll show yer ! Ketch 'old on 'ira be'ind there, Bailey ! You 'ook on tor Mm too, Garrou. ['vo got ter pull agin the three o' ye. Now, ' little 'an,' sit tight ! Lor', what sort o' harm d'ye call this ? It's like pinchin' a pipe stem ! You never did no 'ard work, sonny ! " The " little un " knew no moro of physical pain than of physical labour, and he was mightily afraid. He set his teeth tight when the wrench camo, and thought vaguely of early Christians dismembered by lions. " Ain't got 'im yet," said Dowson. " Wait till I git a bit more leverage on ! Why the dickens don't yer faint, 'littlo 'un ?' " It'ud limber up yer muscles fine ! " " I — l don't know how ! " The Rovorond bit his lip to hide its tremble, and Downon tried again, with his bootless foot under the "little 'uns" arm. Then the threo men came over on top of the giant, and cookie stopped further proceedings. " The ' little 'un ain't a ' try-yor-woight ' machine ! Get out, Dowson ! Bailey, you go and git the cart and take the kid down to Colon." " Shot up ! " said Dowson, " I'm goin' ter try agin. It ought ter hop inter tho socket heasy as any think ! " "P'raps 'c am' got no socket," suggested Luke. " Best leave 'im alone, Dowson, and plug that '010 in 'is leg. It's leakin' agin." There was a puddle of blood round the " little 'un," and a sudden tear took hold of Dowson as he wrapped the leg in cookie's best wash-up towel. Then Bailey rattled up with a raw-boned colt in the chaise cart. " Shove 'im in !" he yelled, straining at tho grcen-hido reins. "We'll git 'im tor town 'fore the muscles

sets. The colt's got a week's spell be'ind 'im." The Reverend was propped on the narrow seat between Dowson and the driver, and they bumped swiftly down the gully into the bush, with that strange terror still in Dowson's heart, and the nearest doctor thirty miles away. "It'll be your fault ef 'c bleeds ter death, Bailey," he said, and the "little 'un" heard. The colt blundered through clinging lawyer and thick bracken, barn danced over Spaniard patch and bog, and finally swung down the flat metal road, in the gathering gloom, into Colon. The " little 'un ; was reviewing many things, and realising very clearly that he was half the world away from the dear hearts that loved him, until the insidious warm stream began sliding into his boot again, and numbed the grating agony in his shoulder and the fear in his soul. He fell over against Dowson as the cart stopped suddenly, and the big man lifted him down as if he had boon a baby, and carried him into a blaze of light that might hold life or death at the back of it. "We couldn't fix 'im ourselves, so we brought 'im along ter you," explained Dowson to a fccen, professional face hovering before the "little 'uns " vision. "We 'ad a try, thongh." The Reverend was laid on a bed in unknown regions, then his muscles " limbered up " as Dowson had desired. It was fully two hours later that the doctor went out to the verandah where Dowson and Bailey still awaited news of the " little 'un," and he spoke as an ordinary man speaks when his temper has got the upper hand. " I've a good mind to give the pair of you in charge !" he told them. " That boy will have a weak arm for the rest of his life ! What under the sun made you pull him about like that ? " Dowson stared amazedly. " But — but, we thought the muscles might git stiff ! An' we bunged up the 'ole in 'is log. 'E won't— die, will 'c ? "

" Can't say. I'll have you up for manslaughter if he does ! You don't know pluck when you see it ! That's all ! Good-night ! " He slammed the door, and rubbed his hands in the hall with great contentment. " This will give the boy a bigger pull over them than barrow loads of sermons. Oh, but they're in a deadly funk ! " Then he went to see the Reverend, who looked so absurdly boyish with his white face on the white pillows that the doctor wanted to pat his head. " You're a plucky little chap ! " he said, " and I think you've paid your

footing into Tairoa district now. But you won't get over this little escapade in a day or two, and that arm of yours will be all the barometer you'll need hi the future." The Reverend did not answer, but there are several kinds of silences, and the doctor understood. Dowson came to see the Reverend on visiting day, and there was a project in his mind. " Look 'ere, ' little 'un ' — sir," he said, loosening the gaudy handkerchief round his neck, " the doctor seys as 'ow yer may 'aye a weak harm along o' that there cow, but ef yer likes ter come back ter the camp when yer gits 'ealed up, and — and jaw at us like, that bein' yer dooty, I'm blowed ef I don't make them boys listen, ef I 'aye ter knock their 'cads off fust ! "