THE FARM THAT MEANT TOO MUCH

Hawke's Bay Herald-Tribune, Volume 81, Issue 19, 15 October 1937, Page 37 (Supplement)

THE FARM THAT MEANT TOO MUCH

How rural peace and beauty made a city girl content with the simple things of life.

fNot workin* this afternoon, father?" f'No, mother ... there ain't mucb to do." "I s'pose not." "Anyway, I'd better be round . . . That tfeller's comin' to sign up fer the place this afternoon." He sighed and sat listlessly in a rocking chair on the pleasant shady porch. His wife lingered near in unaccus.tomed idleness, her faded eyes wistfully on the glinting river that ran close by the little white-washed cottage. Absently she fastened a loose piece of the honeysuckle that covered the porch. "Must water them Toses," she murmured; then at the sound of a second sigh she rolled her sleeves briskly. ""Oh, well, father, I can't be settin' idle. I'd better be startin' to paCk. . . . Think I'll get the old blue plates down and start on them." She swallowed hard and brushed her eyes with hei snowy apron. The man looked up anxiously. "We're lucky to get such a good price fer the old wom-out f arm,' ' he ' ventufed. She nooded a wordless assent. "It's great that we'can buy them two stylish places in town," he continued. "No more work" — a pause — "nor woTry ,*bout flopds and droughts and all that. . v . Tom 's a sensible f eller to make us sell it all. With him in a steady job, drivin' Coles's lorry. . . . And us gettin' the pension. . . . We won't have a blessed thing to worry about." Ile drew a deep breath. " We're past work-, mother, and let's bo thankful we aint got to go on."But his unusually long speech evoked no hope for argument. She assented tonelessly, "Yes, father," and looked down at her toil-worn hands; at the spotless, serubbed boards of the porch, and on out to the blossoming garden. And this time it was she who sighed. All the past years of toi], with their attendant joys and disappointments, l-ose up before her. It was "life" to her, and now it was, over. The place sold, and soon they would be living in town, in a showy little semi-detached cottage beside Tom and his bride. Her mouth softened at the tliouglit of Mollie. She was more than all she could have desired as a daughter-in-law. ,Loving and- sweet, she had, from the . very outset, won her . way to the old' pf Opie's hearts. . . . If only she had not hated the farm «o. With lagging footsteps the woman drifted off into the house, and, left alone, the old man lapsed into an attitude of undisguised dejeetion. . . . If mother had roused him off to some work ho might have felt better. But she had ceased her kindly bossing since their decision to sell out, and the mild, dreamy-eyed old man was missing it sorely. It had been the spur to his ambition all tlie yearB of their married

life. . . . No, he thought, she must be feelin* it even worse'n me, fer she neither argues nor scolds now. 0 - * • The scent of sun-drenched flowers came drifting across the garden. All was silent, save for the hum of bees and the distant plink-plonking of frogs ,in the river. On the hill-side, in the shade of a white gum tree, stood his two draught mares, lazily switching their tails at the flies. His heart contracted painf ully at the thought of strange hands working them. Nell so timid; and Brown, whose "near*' shoulder required a specially padded collar. • He leaned his silvered head wearily on his hand, and the little sheep-dog, sensing his unhappiness, came whining to him. Gently he patted her. "I'be old," he whispered brokenly, "old and done for. I'll be leavin1 you, too, my pretty. . . A backyard the size of a pocket handkerchief's no place fer a dog . . . no'more'n it is fer me," he added bitterly. «= . • s * Mollie was out staying with them for a few days; her -voiee mingled gaily with Tom's now as they came on to the pordh, laden with the spoils of their cherry-picking. "It's easy to see I wasn't moant for country life, wearing good stock- ' ings in the grass like that, ' ' said 'the girl, ruefully observing a ladder. The old man straightened himself "That's right, lassl " ho agreed heartily. "The bush is no place fer the likes of such dainty cloths as you be wearin'.*' He smiled brightly at the sweet face with no lingering trace oi the sorrow that he had, but a few moments ago, betrayed to his dog. But Tom kicked his heels disconsolately. He wished his parents would not be so painstakingly cheerful about it all. They might deceive Mollie, but they could not pull the wool ove'r his eyes, and he felt that, if they did not make some complaint, he could not bear it. With their marriage near, Mollie had wept and implored him not to take her into the unaccustomed loneliness of the country to live. And, worshipping her as he did, he could only persuade his parents to sell out; toru with remoTse though he was for their pain, yet Mollie 's happiness came first. * # # A car drove up and a man descended and approached the house. As he walked he cast appraising eyes on the rich lucerne flats and silently congratulated himself on gettin g the place so cheaply,

He had not thought such simple folk existed these days. He looked at his watchj.just nice time to get signed up and back to town for a drink before closing time. He trod he'avy-footed across the pansy bed, and greeted the little group on the porch breezily. The old woman came out with a chair for him, but he declined it facetiously. "After the bumps on that rough track of yours, I'nf glad to stand up for a while. How do you survive your trips to townf" "We don't have to go often," the old woman answered defensively, stifling a sigh for her mutilated pansies. "We grow most of what we needs on the place." The newcomer threw up his hands in mock horror. "What! . . . Well 1 guess you are breaking your necks to get off to town to live. . . . Why, you are buried alive in this stale hole." There was an awlcward silence, and Mollie cast him a reproachful glance. After all, she thought, it is peaceful and beautiful; and it is poor taste to run it down to those who have made it so. The buyer cleared his throat, anxions to get to business, yet suddenly, unaccountably nervous. . Roughly he dragged down a long piece of honeysuckle. "1 '11 soon have this stuff cleared away," he bragged, "and cover the porch with nice bright tiles . . . You won't know the place when you come to visit it." As no one answered, he continued somowhat aggressively: "I'd like you cleared right out by next Wednesday . . : I'm putting a man on to puU most of tlie old dump down." Still there was silence. . . . The stupid fools. . . . What ailed them. He took a step baekwards and trippcd Over the dog. There was a yelp of pain, followed by one of terror, as he kicked it roughly down the steps. "Get out, you beast,*' he exploded. "The proper plase for a dog is on the end of a chain." With an effort he regained his" balance. ♦ . • • Mollie gave a little: gasp. During the last few minutes something had been dawning cj her. . . . Something she had hitherto not even remotely guessed. She looked first. at Tom, who stood, hands in pockets, his mouth Bet in a hard line she had no.t seen before. Then across at the old couple. They were close together, looking at each other with desolate, stricken eyes. That was enough. With chin held high and clieeks aflame she stepped fodvard, "You can go," she said im*

periously. "We've changed , our minds; we're not selling,". '• The man flushed angrily. "What's the joke?" he asked apprehensively. " There 's no joke,*' steadily, "1 said we're not selling. y He turned to Tom. "What's this nonsense? ... It's all settlecu" "Yes, all settled," snapped the girl. "We're not leaving." "But I've brought the papers to sign, I tell you, it's— — " ' "Well, you can take them away again. '* The man looked ugly. "You can't back out like that," he snarled. Tom gulped and looked bewildered, but, before he could speak, Mollie continued, for all the world as if she was already married ahd bossing. "Don't try to bully us, it's not too late, and we know it." The buyer began to shout. "What have you got to do — — " But Mollie threw up a silencing hand. "Stopl We've decided to live on here . . . and nothing you can say will make us change our minds. . . . You can go now . « . and you needn 't even wait to ropair. the damage you've done," -with au ominous' look at the honeysuckle .and p'ahsies. There was something about the valiantly determined little figure that carried conviction. For, unable to stand up to her further, he made a seowling departure.' At the gate he paused to yell threateningly, "You'U hear about this. . . . You '11 be sorry." Then, starting the car up, ho bumped off at' a furious pace up tho narrow track, leaving bekind him three'peoplcwhoso emotion was too deep for words. » « Tho old woman recovered first, and glared through tears at her husband. "For goodness' salce, father," she commanded, "split me up some firowood. I've got scones -and biscuits to bake. . . . And," with a glance at the lengthening shadoVrs, "you should 'a' had that corner of the lucerne fenced off for the cows long ago." The dreamy blue eyes lit up. "Have it done in no • time, - mother, " he assured her; and, whistling strode away with-a new spring in his step. She followed him, calling, "And catch me one of them young roosters that's eatin ' their heads off. . . . A bit o' fried chicken'll be no harm for tea." Left alone, Tom faced Mollie, and all the worship of his heart was in his voiee as he promised, "I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up to you for this, my girl." But she shoOk her head, and only the tendorness of her eyes belied her stern tones. "Tom Davidson. . . . It will take both of us' all our time to make up to those poor dears for' all the sorrow we've been causiug theia. "