A Shooting Accident

New Zealand Journal of Agriculture, Volume 73, Issue 6, 16 December 1946, Page 595

A Shooting Accident

By

G. Thompson

MY brother Jim from the city was spending the first week of his holidays with us, and, bent on prov-■ ing (to him that life in the country could be. just as full and exciting as that in the town? my husband had arranged with one of our Maori friends, Rui, to act as guide on a pighunting trip on the Saturday. After a night of . heavy .rain the’ morning of departure dawned dull and cool. - Lowering - clouds moved . slug-, gishly across the sky. and the air felt damp with the threat of more - ram. . Undeterred, . however, they decided to

continue with their plans. Rui arrived at the appointed hour, clad in heavy boots, leggings, sou’wester, and an oilskin cut off at the knees. His only weapon, a sheathed knife, hung from his belt.- , _ _ . ■ As my husband pulled on his boots, he called, “Rui, come round to the side of the house. Put your head through the window and see the new gadget I’ve got.” My husband’s hobby is radio, and by the previous day’s mail he had received a gramophone pick-up. As .it was a new toy, he was justly proud and wished everyone to admire it.

Jim, surrounded by our three heroworshipping youngsters, curbed his impatience by taking potshots at flying birds with a .22 rifle from the front verandah. , Meanwhile Rui, half in, half out of the window, was being initiated into the intricacies of the gramophone pick-up. "What about a tune before we go?” I heard him ask, and in a few seconds the beautiful . strains of , a Strauss waltz came hauntingly through the air. "Pretty good, eh?” asked my hus- . band in satisfied tones.

“Pretty good, all right,” answered Rui. “Now I ; think we , better get away.” ’ - , “I’ve just got to get my coat and I’m ready,” replied my husband. Jim, are you ready?” Rui withdrew from the window and walked round the side of the house toward the front verandah. My husband came out to the kitchen where I was putting away the last of the breakfast dishes. He picked up his coat. A shot rang out, then silence. There, was something in that silence which made us look at one another ■ question- • ingly. "Oh, my God! Quickly someone, quickly. I’ve shot him, called Jim’s ’ voice. ’ We dashed out to the verandah just in time to see Rui, his face suddenly wrinkled' and grey . with pain, sink slowly on to the step. "Jim—he shot me—through the thigh. Was an accident.” His lips trembled. “Yes, yes, my hand slipped,” said Jim, white-faced and shaken. “I was

unloading ...” “Never mind that now,” answered my husband roughly, who was ■ the only calm one present. “Get . a couple . of aspirins first.” I fled to obey, glad to have something to do. With visibly-shaking hands I held a cup of water to Rui’s lips. The cup clattered against his teeth and . water poured down his chin, but he managed to get enough to enable him to swallow the tablets. ' , - “Now,” said my husband, “we’ve got to get you inside somehow. Jim, you support one side and I’ll take the other. Ready?”

.. Careful as they were in moving him, Rui almost fainted as they laid him on the bed. After a few moments a more natural colour returned and he smiled. ; “It’s all right, Jim. I know it was an accident. Don’t you worry. 'Jim smiled wanly. He was still very upset. ■ “I’d better have a look at the .wound,” my husband said, beginning to unlace Rui’s boots (fortunately I had previously spread an old rug over the bed), but this brought forth • vehement protests. ■ “No no! Don’t take my boots offL Don’t take my boots off!” Rui implored. “It will be more comfortable,” . I said. “Why don’t you want them off. “I—l just forgot to wash my feet last night and I haven’t got any socks -on.” was the shamed renlv ;

' “Oh, that’s all right,” I answered ■ casually, but. with difficulty suppressing a smile. After an examination my husband said, “You’re lucky Rui. The bullet, has missed the bone. It has gone clean through the muscle and I can just see the tip of the bullet under--the skin. Then ,he added, knowing the patient s ' almost fanatical dread of doctors and hospitals, “I z could get it- out quite easily for you if you like. “No! no, don’t touch it! I might bleed to death. I’ll go to the hospital. The doctor will fix . me,” Rui replied quickly, covering ' the wound lightly with one hand. ' “You get. my brother Tara. He’ll take me down to —— m . the waka. You come, too. Tara can steer; you can.paddle. You bring Tam here.”

—J Tara came, and Jim explained, “Somehow my finger slipped on the hammer as I was unloading the nfle.. I didn’t know I had hit Rui until I saw his face when he came round the end of the verandah.’’ Tara nodded. He was slightly deaf and he held one hand behind his ear. His answer was a slow smile. I made a much-needed cup of tea, which we drank while discussing t e best method of taking Rui to the river a mile away. We- decided the least painful way would be by sledge.- c -

“I get the horse and bring the sledge,” said Tara. “Might be a long, time. The horse hard to catch. -y "Oh, well, be as quick as you can. I think it’s going to rain again, 1 answered, looking first at the sky, and then at the puddles of muddy water lying here and there, caused, I remembered in sudden panic,, by heavy rain the previous day and night which would have made the ; river a swollen, ■ roaring torrent. Quickly I tried t brush thoughts of danger aside by occupying myself in the preparation of dinner. By this time various relations and

friends had gathered who wished to see Rui, and hear repeatedly how the accident had happened. In an incredibly short time he had become a hero, and I think, despite the pam, was' quite enjoying the experience. My polished floors seemed a sea of footmarks etched -in brown mud but I was too worried to care because of a recurring picture of swiftly-moving turbulent water flashing before my eyes. After dinner Rui was helped on to the sledge, a mattress and several pi - lows adding to his comfort_ Then began the slow journey to the river over the muddy track and through archways of clinging gorse. At last we reached the landing. ...■ ■ “We will put this platform in the

middle of the waka,” said Tara,' "then Hui can lie on it.” “All right,” said my husband, “It will be more comfortable than lying on the curved bottom of the waka. It will make , the balance even, too, with you at one end and me at the other.” “Careful, there,” called Tara warntagly to my husband and Jim, who

ivere helping Rui into the canoe. .“It’s lard to hold her steady. ' The current Is strong even at the edge.”

“Jim, you help Tara steady the !anoe. I can manage here,” my husband said. “You know more about handling lanoes than anyone in these parts, , 1 said as 1 shook hands. There s no need to tell you to take Extra care, today, I know,”- my voice trembled' slightly, “but the river is very high, isn’t it?” “’Tis a bit high, but don’t you worry. , We get there safe - We. be all right, he drawled in his slow, soft voice, and grinned confidently.

But as they stepped into the canoe, I noticed that both men had left their heavy boots unlaced. z . The waka swung out into the current- and gathered speed. I choked back a sob and blinked away quick tears, hoping that no one would notice. My trembling knees gave way suddenly, and I sank down on a fallen log. From dry lips a whispered prayer for the safety of the travellers winged its way upward. In my heart, too;:were thoughts of the long hours to be lived through until Tuesday morning, before we would know for certain whether the men had reached their destination safely. “Oh! Time, Time, fly quickly. - Fly on winged feet,” I prayed. We watched in silence as the tiny canoe grew smaller and was at last hidden by a bend in the river. With heavy hearts and dragging steps we squelched our way home. ■** ♦ * On Tuesday long before the boat was due to arrive we . were waiting at the landing. The morning was one of blue

skies and crisp, keen air. The river had resumed its normal level and looked clear and sparkling in the warm sunlight. A thrush in full-throated song sat on a willow branch above our. heads'. ■ ; ' , ■; " At .long last we heard in , the distance the: familiar chug-chugging ’echoeing and re-echoeing up and down the river. Ah! there was the.-boat ’coming round the bend. ’ With eager eyes we strained to catch a glimpse of those on board. ; ' “There he is, I think,” I called, excitement . and uncertainty making my ' voice squeaky. “No! it isn’t. Jim, can you see? Is that Tara or my husband or neither?”.

“Yes! there they are. See! They’re waving,” he answered. I drew a deep breath of relief, although on the Sunday night I had decided that if anything untoward had occurred, surely; someone would come up and tell us; but a small doubt had .still lingered. “We had a -pretty good trip,” Tara drawled, smiling. “Yes! we had very little trouble,” said my husband. “We called in at Kahui and they telephoned to Nurse to meet us at . We had one bad moment at Ngaporo Rapid. You know how the river curves like a snake in an ‘S’ bend, and how . the

water, hurls, itself against-the granite bank in normal times; well,' the flood water was crashing against the bank with a tremendous roar. It was Tara’s skilful handling of the canoe that brought us .safely, round the first, bend. Water splashed over us, drenching us to the skin. The current carried us straight' for the opposite bank. Tara steered like a hero, but', poor -old Rui must-have thought we were doomed. Pulling himself up and quite forgetting that it is. Maori etiquette not to swear before respected pakehas, he yelled, ‘Paddle, you ——s! Paddle you b- s! Paddle, I say!’ “We paddled, I can tell you. We needed no encouragement. Somehow, we shot round the bend, with nothing to spare, into smoother waters. “The rest was easy going, and we arrived at —— to find Nurse waiting with her car to take us out to the hospital.

“As we stopped at the hospital Rui pushed two pounds into,my hand, and whispered urgently, ‘Buy me some pyjamas quickly. I don’t want any Nurse to see me in bed without pyjamas? But . when I came back I found him comfortably in bed in a pair of hospital pyjamas, but still determined that he didn’t want any nurses ‘fiddling’ about with him.” We all smiled broadly. ' “I think that’s all,” said my husband, “What about getting home? I’d like a cup of tea.”

QTfjree (Rnistmasteg

(From “A Thousand Sunrises,” by

Rita F. Snowden).

A LOVELY event, Christmas .. . Z . And it will soon be Christmas again! In its short life our little country has seen the keeping of some remarkable Christmases—three in particular. It was on ' Christmas . Day, nearly three hundred' years ago, that Abel Janszoon Tasman, the discoverer of New Zealand, came beating up the coast in his little wooden sailing vessel. Sad he was. Away to the south, some of the members of his crew had been massacred. It happened that, to the. north, he had just discovered a little group of islands; and because it was Christmas, appropriately enough, he named them The .Three Kings— those who long ago came paying homage to the newborn King. Then again, a hundred and twentyseven years, on- and oddly, it was Christmas—came one, / rediscovering, Captain James Cook, On Christmas night he was actually ,in the vicinity of Th.e Three Kings. Great storms had buffeted his tiny vessel, For many

anxious days and nights he had tacked to and fro. His thoughts? Of his native Yorkshire? Of the big ■ log fires and the turkeys and the mistletoe? I think his thoughts would more likely be for the safety of his .little boat. . But who shall say? Then came a Christmas— a life- ■ time further on—perhaps the most wonderful of all; for on that day the Reverend Samuel Marsden preached the first sermon in this land. Strange cathedral his— blue sky; strange choir— nearby lapping of waves; strange, altar; everything strange, except the one great message of the new-born King, as old almost as the fields of Bethlehem, and as strangely new. Thus, on Christmas Day, 1814, our land heard its first sermon; and from the significant text, “Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy.” The little congregation sang the Old Hundredth, and a chief whom Marsden had befriended interpreted. The third of these memorable Christmases .. in New Zealand‘s story. And now, we are come again to Christmas, or Christmas is come again to us. How shall we keep it?

MARY'S fflusesgt

WE really do enjoy your “At Home in the “Journal.” I feel as though I know “Tinkle ' Tinkle” and many others quite well. I loved the verse “St. Teresa’s' Bookmark” —it contains many sermons in. one. No need fox worry if we really believe that. -

—“Jonathan,” Clarence Bridge.

I HAVE had more fun in the vegetable garden this season than in the flower beds. It is miraculous the way tiny seeds so quickly become healthy plants, and , I spend more time than I should, just watching them grow. My small daughter has suddenly become extremely interested. in the vegetable garden. I tremble to think of the day when the green peas are ready, but at least . I will. know where to find her! My cornflowers are in bloom in three shades of blue, and the .new ranunculi have also flowered. They were a present from my husband the kind .of . present I love most because its loveliness ' increases. "J! ** j a

—“Native Flower,” Waipukurau.

HERE is yet another wishing to join your “Good Neighbours.” What a lot of newcomers you have had lately, and what a spirit of friendliness is shown in their letters— “ Slue Eyes, Springston. -

MAY I join the “At Home”? I enjoy the pars, very much and they give me many happy moments. The coloured covers are most attractive.

—“Teddy,” Te Kauwata.

IT is lovely to see so many new neighbours joining the circle and enjoying your interesting pages. I hope you are having better weather than we have had. A strong nor’-wester did great damage to the early . flowers, especially, the wallflowers, which nave not regained their early promise. Po yanthi, wood hyacinths, ranunculi, and anemones are making a nice display at present, but the annuals will all be, late; this year.

“C.V.W.,” Dunedin.

MY four ' small children keep me very busy and allow me very little time. for, other pursuits. But I always try to keep a book at my bedside.- What a treasure books-are; with books and a vivid imagination , one can travel the world of -space and time, and life is never dull. — “Rosemary, Levin. •

IDO appreciate colour in a garden, especially where there is . a wide sweep of-lawn-to offset it. Violas, are , ideal plants, as they are so gay and bloom for such a long period. . Sometimes I lose patience with. the folk who .go in for “show” blooms alone, scorning Nature’s attempts. I think they miss something if they don’t allow some of' the plants to grow at their own sweet will. ; “Cloudy,” Ashburton. MAY - I join your ■ ever-increasing-circle .of members? I ’do enjoy your pages. While my husband is engrossed in the various articles I admire

the “Journal”'covers. They are really lovely and like many of your .readers I look forward to seeing the cover of each new issue.— “Pirillippa Anne,’ Te Awamutu.

I AM interested in your “At Home’’ pages. W-e have taken the Journal

for some time and have • “signed on for a few’ years. Son enjoys the farming : articles. I ' find since he ■ returned to New Zealand he is not so fond of stories—articles are more to his. liking. I read-all the recipes and try the ones I like. I think the built-in furniture is labour saving, ' but often wonder what we do with-the bit of time weve saved. We never seem to do anything definite with it: we’ve so many irons in the fire.— “ Tussock,” Otago.

WHAT would you call a, person who W gets an inspiration while doing her housework and sits down and puts the inspiration into writing? Well, that’s ,what I have been doing and it s now eleven o’clock and . all the beds are not made yet. Why worry; I.ve enjoyed myself, anyway! It is cold and dull here despite the nice weatherreport this. morning. We had. a > frost two nights ago and I felt like weeping on ' beholding the rows and . rows of potatoes and beans so badly frostbitten. Slugs and ■ snails, had also been busy, so last night I went’out foraging and. caught.a number of them as they, were ■■ crossing from outside the fence into the garden for their supper. I. have never known a'year like it for slugs; I have killed thousands and still. they seem as numerous as ever.—Alix, . Wairoa. , .

T DO so much enjoy reading of the JL doings of my fellow Good Neighbours. My literary scrap-book is nownearing completion, and as it is reaching the stage of becoming bulky 1 shall have to continue in another. - . . The weather., hasn’t been too kindly disposed towards my flowers .lately.. The cold snap withered the lilac and the tender buds on the roses,, as well as catching the plums, some of winch now hang like raisins on the. trees. .... —“Clara Jane, ; Rakaia.

MAY I please join your. “At Home,” IVJL. Mary? I do enjoy the friendly paragraphs and look forward to each new issue. I have, a young family of four and find my life very full, but not so full that I cannot find a little time to read— favourite , pastime. Better. to drown ■ one’s worries in a good book than air them to the neighbours. “Gipsy,” Canterbury.

I ALWAYS feel drawn to things in miniature. Is it the English in me? . I’d like to be able to collect the silver filigree “dolls’” furniture that ■ Queen ' Mary specially likes, or more of -the miniature jugs. 'To .go with those I have is a Doulton “gallipot, andLa tiny copper saucepan (its. mate, the frying pan, got - lost. . It was on y three-quarters of an inch long,; •■but■ beautifully proportioned). I did some long-overdue weeding in the garden this morning and _my fingers : seem full -of , prickles. They will work out, no doubt, but are . a

bit tender at . the moment. We are afflicted, too,' with that wild garlic which looks so pretty and smells so unpleasant! It’s dreadful stuff for taking charge, isn’t it? — “London Lass,” Wellington. . ■ - • T ENJOY your pages and try to A imagine what the owners of the interesting pen-names look like. Anyway, they ; sound nice and some of their thoughts are really beautiful. Thank you for your friendly corner. “Clarabelle,” Te Kopuru. MAY I join your happy band? I •*•*■*■ have read the “Good Neighbour” section of the “Journal” for a long time now, but have never ventured to write.— “ Sunset,” Timaru.

MY husband , and father-in-law. built IVI our home, which was fa- great accomplishment, as neither of them is a carpenter by trade and they built the place in their , spare .time.. They employed a plumber and bricklayer only, and I, too, did my share of painting, staining, and varnishing. I also made the blinds and curtains for 22 windows. —“Happy Mother,” Blenheim.

T’HIS is the busiest time of the year on a farm: gardening, shearing, and dozens of other, jobs are all wanting attention.— -“ Cloudy,” Ashburton. I WOULD like to become a member of the “Good Neighbour” circle. We. live a few miles out of the city and have several acres of land, some of which is cultivated.— “ Smiling Thru,” Auckland. WE loved the cover of the October W “Journal.” I am glad, however, that my pet lambs only number two this year and I don’t have to compete with the land girl and her half dozen! We feed ours from a bowl, which is a bit messy, but is really quicker and simpler than the bottle method and easier to wash up afterwards"? • —“E.W.,” Waiheke Island.

I HAVE had a pet cat for about six • years now. Strange to say, he '.oves to hear the bagpipes. Once when he was quite, young he heard a pipe band concert over the air. Evidently he did not think the music was loud enough, for he jumped up on to the table beside the wireless and patted all the knobs until , he struck the right one and obtained .the right tone to suit himself. Then he jumped down and curled up by the fire to sleep. —‘‘Another Good Neighbour,” Ward. WE live right beside the Arapuni Lake. We have such a picturesque vista of the lake from, our front door. We do not possess a boat, but my brother and I know the majority, of the boats by name and are often given rides. There’s Spitfire, Dawn 11, White Wings, Salome, Velitoa, Oojacka, Arab,

Blackie, Blue Peter, Moa, and numerous others. When some of these boats start up they almost deafen you—they are real “speeders” and go like shooting stars— “ Bella Rob,” Putaruru. IT was very nice to see a photograph 1 of your room. It must be beautiful and so uncommon. “Tiare,” North Otago. ' , I ALWAYS look forward to your 1 pages in the “Journal” and enjoy every line of them. For two years we lived right out in the country and how I enjoyed reading all the paragraphs from different readers—it was • almost like having visitors for tea

and talk, and it was grand to hear what subjects were of interest to others.— “Tup,” Ashburton.

AT last I am about to take up my writing again after having neglected it for a dozen years or more. Of recent years my time has been fully occupied with a young family, so washing lines have had to take the place of penned ones! What a pleasure to have time to write again. —“Hot-Rot,” Hawera.

HAVING spent 17 years on the land I am most interested in all things connected with, the farming world. My husband and I are hoping to , have a farm of our own some day. Near where we are living there is a river which flows out of the bush and eventually joins the Wanganui. I believe it has its origin near Mt. Ruapehu. Several years ago we went as far as the Mountain Hut, a. walk of nine

miles each way, mostly through enchanting bushland. Many ,of the trees were draped with beautiful white clematis in full bloom. It is only about two miles from the hut to the top of the mountain. The panorama before us was almost beyond description, and I wished very . much that I had my camera. The whole trip was most interesting and I shall long remember it with delight. “ Skylark,” Ohakune.

THE Maoris, gave our district a name which means “Where the sun lingers longest,” as the beauty of our sunsets will testify. The Tasman laps the shore of our lovely beach and behind Mt. Egmont in all her glory keeps guard over us. “Toodles,” Oakura.

I WOULD . like to . belong to your happy circle, too. Here is a quotation which my father wrote in my autograph book when I was a little girl. Though the book was lost the words stay with me—“He prayeth best, who loveth best all things both great and small— “ Seven of Spades,” Ngaere.

PLEASE may I join your.- circle? I am very interested in books and music and these provide my favourite indoor occupations. I have just begun to learn the violin and hope that’ some day I will be able to entertain . others as well as myself— “ Barbara,” Timaru.

HERE is a recruit from the ranks of those who eagerly read your pages .each month and in the subsequent enthusiasm decide, “I must try to do something for Mary’s pages. But sad to say, after a few days the impulse has weakened into “I should have...” As an example, here am I now thanking “Isabel Emm” for. an essay that I enjoyed in the September issue of last year entitled Kumara Moon.”— “Haleakala,” Nelson.

I’VE just had a field day among the mending and with most of it finished I’m feeling much happier. I have to confess I am not a perfect housekeeper from it— and as I love not sewing, the mending is always a bugbear. It has an unpleasant habit of growing into a goodly pile and then in desperation I force myself to sit at it till I have' cleaned it up once again. I won’t say how many good resolutions to “mend my ways” are made and broken!— “Cloudy,” Ashburton.

T SHOULD like to use as my penname the one I used as a child 1 when contributing to a childrens page. Shall I ever forget the joy on receiving my first postal-note for a poem accepted! Busy years have passed, and though my time is fully occupied with my home and my-three

small boys, I feel I must take time to let you know how much your message means to me each month — the strength and beauty which lie in your words must be an inspiration to all “Good Neighbours.”— “Rakiura,” Southland. .rrHE “Journal” brings an in- “■ terest to - the home. Having a young family makes outings rather • difficult. Books are great friends though, and of course the radio keeps us in touch. I learn such a lot through the children’s educational sessions and find them most entertaining, too. —“London Pride,” Ashburton. HEN I was six years old I reVV ceived a dear little piano about a foot long and with black and white keys which tinkled merrily when I

pressed them. I used to think of all the songs I knew and play them on my piano and ask my brother to guess them. ■ Many times I sang myself hoarse. Sometimes at night my father would play the accordian, my brother, would get his mouth' . organ, and I would join in with my piano.— Isabella Robinson, Putaruru. RECENTLY I received a huge parcel of knitted jerseys, sox, underwear, and woollen skirts—did I have a wonderful time distributing' them among my tribe. of little ones! I also ’ received three. dozen prize gladioli bulbs from a “Good Neighbour.” Next in order, a brand new wringer, and last, a big Christmas' cake from another “Good Neighbour.”— “Martha,” , North Canterbury.

T MUST mention a very special gift 1 I received last Christmas. My eldest son, aged six, proudly presented me with one of his new pups. It was such , a sacrifice on his part, and other mothers will know the joy that was in my heart that day.— “M.B.M.,” Invercargill. AMONG my presents was a bulky parcel wrapped in , green cellophane and tied with bright ribbons. On untying the ribbon I found, a little scarlet manuka in full bloom. You may not consider a tin-opener a very exciting gift, , but for me the thrill was in the card attached, which read, “To Mum, with love from Santa Claus Junior” —it was from my schoolboy “Curly,” Southland. SANTA Claus once brought me one of those gauzy Christmas stockings. It -held the loveliest things. Right at the bottom were some sweets, then a brightly-coloured ball and a gailypainted tin whistle.. Next came a

much-longed-for . doll wrapped round by a picture book for. protection. Several other things precious to a child were stuffed into that treasure store of a stocking, and outside was pinned a beautiful bon-bon. • What fun we had pulling it and opening that wonderful stocking.

“Tui,” Hawke’s Bay.

DURING my school days I craved for a pocket knife The one I received was .in the form of a pencil with a slit at one end. You pressed the other end and .the knife appeared. I was also given a pair of folding scissors.

Some years ago my family saved up and . gave me a small magnifying glass as a Christmas gift. I had often wanted one when looking at snaps, so I valued it very much. Last Christmas brought me a cameo necklace from. Italy. I was thrilled with its beauty and more so by the fact that Son had remembered. — “Matau,” Milton.

Child's Song of Christmas ■ • h it. My counterpane is. ft as silk, My blankets white as creamy milk. The hay was soft to Him, I know, Our little Lord of long ago. Above the ro.fs the pigeons fly In silver wheels across the sky. The stable doves they cooed to them, Mary and Christ in Bethlehem.. .... ' ■/ ... S' *h Bright shines the sun across the drifts, And bright upon my Christmas gifts. They brought Him incense, myrrh, and gold, . Our little Lord who lived of old. ■ Oh, soft and clear our mother sings Of 'Christmas joys and Christines things. God's holy angels sang to them, Mary and Christ in Bethlehem. Our hearts they hold all Christmas dear, And earth teems sweet and heaven seems near, Oh, heaven was in His sight, I know, That little Child of long ago.

TO WALK IN PARADISE

He who would seek for treasure In furrow or in field Finds richer gems about his path Than cities ever yield. There, like a blue-starred carpet, The periwinkle lies: Deeper its shade, softer its hut • , Even than angels’ eyes. Leaning above it twines a rost About an elderberry stem. Which is the lovelier, none can ten— Both were brushed by Beauty’s hem. He who goes seeking treasure Needs only open eyes. A thankful and a wondering heart To walk in Paradise.

—M.E.T.