A DREAD IN SPRING.

New Zealand Tablet, 13 November 1919, Page 33

A DREAD IN SPRING.

Mother she calls to me: "'Here, Bess, Slip up t' Beacon Farm," she says, »-- "An' take their basket back again; An' keep an eye for firin'-wood." She thinks the climb'll do me good, She dunno how I dreads that lane. "Nightingale Lane," as Jim an', mo Did used to call'Farm Lane, when we Walked out on April, nights last year: For where it sang above its nest We'd stand 'longside the hedgerow, prest In one another's arms to hear. An' Jim he'd learned to mock the bird ...- That nateral you never heard: Four long high notes he used to give. Then ■jug-jug-jug" ; until, maybe, "f would sing him answer, seemingly There, I. shall hear it long's I live! An' spring nights, when he'd pitched his fold Ait' moonlight was all dusky gold, ' He'd whistle for me like that — An' 1 'ud steal out soft to Jim .'•■•"' So none 'ud see me go to him, , . Only our nightingale 'ud know. First off we cared naught for the war; Put, before April come once, more, Jim bo had gone, an' fought, an' died: Yes, when he'd heard an' thought on it, It seemed as he must do his bit, For love o' me, like — an' pride. I durstn't never go that way, Up our old lane, 'cause any day The nightingale may get back there; An' sudden, maybe, he might sing Tho cal! Jim whistled me, an' wring My poor heart worse' a I cu'd bear. An' 1 dreads evenin's more an' more; > When Mother's knittin' at tho" door An' Father's got his pipe an' mug, I sits an' holds my head, for fear Lest up our little lane I'll hear Those four long notes, then "jug-jug-jug." —Hamjeiuon EuiiHAM, in tho London Spectator.