THEY CALLED on Miss Currie

Lake County Mail, Issue 28, 3 December 1947, Page 3

THEY CALLED on Miss Currie

PART 1 Nothing exciting had ever happened in little Miss Currie’s quiet life before. For years she’d lived alone in her dim little cottage, and filled the garden with the colour and sweetness of her beloved flowers and the soft humming of her’ bees. Never for a moment had she expected excitement or change—or any visitors, except neighbours who wanted to buy flowers or fruit. The pleasant young man in brown tweeds didn’t seem to want anything at first. But, then, maybe he couldn’t really be described as a caller, for he came no farther than the small gate. ‘‘What a lovely day!” He leaned over the gate in friendly fashion and swung his stick idly over her path. Miss Currie smiled and nodded as she rose from her weeding. The young man swung his stick in an upward direction. “ That’s a charming little house just up the hill there! ” Miss Currie looked up the lane. She never missed an excuse for standing still to look at Greenways with its gay red roof, its cream-washed walls and quaint shuttered windows. That lovable little homestead was Miss Currie’s idea of heaven on earth. Then she shook her head. “ It’s not for sale,” she told him gently, having listened to his opening remarks like the young man’s before. “ Mrs Leslie is coming back to-morrow. Her little boy told me. He’s there already with his auntie.” The young man’s stick wa* still for a moment. “You know the lady?” Miss Currie’s face was lit up by a smile. She nodded. But nothing could make her speak out the thoughts that wblled up in her heart just then. “‘Yes, I know her,” her heart said lovingly. “She’s the sweetest thing you ever saw, all glowing and golden, yet she has time to talk to a plain, dull, old woman! She’s the one bright star in my quiet, humdrum life. Oh yes, I know her! ” But she only nodded. “ Her husband built Greenways,” she told the young man quietly. “It’s a lovely house, isn’t it? He was killed in the war, poor lad. Mrs Leslie was away working in Glasgow, and the house has been let until just now.” The young man drew pictures on her path with his stick. “I ought to have told you,” he began slowly, “that I know Mrs Leslie, and,” he hesitated a moment, “I feel just like you about her, too!” Miss Currie’s head jerked up “ You you want to ” He nodded, and his brows rose whimsically, at the obvious approval in the little lady’s face. Then he shook his head wryly. “ She—she’ll not have you ?” “No!” He dug up a small stone with his stick and flicked it lightly away. “ But one goes on hoping and trying. I suppose that’s what brought me here this afternoon. Just to—to look at her home. That reminds me ”—he seemed suddenly to realise he was talking too much—“l’ve a train to catch!” He refused Miss Currie’s shy offer of tea with cordial reluctance, raised himself from the gate, saluted her with his stick and was gone, limping just ever so slightly as he swung down the twisting lane. Miss Currie watched him go with compassion and friendliness and admiration mingling in her heart. Why, he was just the one for that lovely Mrs Leslie. And just the fathei for Timmy. Miss Currie had never quite approved of Allan Leslie. She considered him rather weak and too much under the thumb of that bleak-faced sister of his. And how anyone married to so lovely a person as Clare could ever be influenced by that ill-tempered Frances creature, Miss Currie could never understand. But Allan had been a mere boy, and, anyway, he’d made Clare happy. She’d been broken-hearted when he died. Surely she wasn’t still grieving for him. It muit be yearly four .jpari ppr s 5 W» &

mend more quickly than that. Miss Currie sighed and went into the cottage—a dark little place whose only asset was running water, laid on from a spring behind, but which dried up in any spell of fine weather. Often she’d tried to get the landlord to make improvements. There was electrciity in the lane now. The attic would convert nicely into a bathroom. While the scullery window was so small you could hardly see to wash up! Any one of these improvements would have done much to brighten her life. But you couldn’t really expect it. The man was willing enough, but he’d so many, calls on his purse. His two married sisters who seemed always to be needing help, and a young half-brother studying to be a doctor. Naturally, a man considers his own family first, and after all, she was lucky to have a home at all these days. What a thrill it gave Miss Currie when Clare Leslie and her little son Timmy called on her next day. Timmy played in the garden, nibbling blissfully at a scone thickly spread with honey. Clare sat in the dark corner of the tiny kitchen —and talked. But when she came to the name of lan Drummond, the young ex-airman ,who wanted to marry her, Miss Currie said nothing about his visit. He wouldn’t want Clare to know he’d come like that, just to look at her home. “And oh, Miss Currie,” Clare rocked herself in the stiff old rocking chair, “ it’s so hard to know what to do for the best!” “You like this Mr Drummond?” Clare nodded, smiling ruefully, her lovely eyes dreamy. “ I like him too well, I’m afi’aid. You see, there’s Timmy to consider.” “You’ll not tell me he and Timmy wouldn’t get on together?”" “ It’s not that,” Clare hesitated. “ It’s Allan’s people. Well, actually, it’s Frances, his sister, who is staying with me now. She’s the strong-willed one. Mrs Leslie a'nd the other sister seem to think just the same as Frances does, always. If they don’t at first, she usually manages to talk them round. “It’s not her business, surely?” Clare stopped rocking and her tiny suede-shod foot rested on the brasstopped fender. “But it’s Timmy who will suffer if I offend the Leslies. They’re his people and he has a right to see them ,to visit them. He adores his granny who spoils him terribly. I can’t cut him off from her, from all his father’s people, and that’s what it would mean. His granny is a great one for spoiling" children. She spoilt Frances and let her develop into a family tyrant. But she doesn’t se it that way—she thinks all that Frances does is right.” Miss Currie’s needles clicked fiercely. “ I always thought she was a thrawn, bad-tempered woman with a cold heart into the bargain.” Clare’s golden head shook gently. “ She’s an unhappy person. She’s never had the happiness I had with Allan, and she doesn’t see why I should have it twice. She says I’m selfish and unfair to Timmy even to think of marrying again.” Miss Currie’s next caller came early in the evening. It was Duncan Taggart, her landlord. Stooping his great shoulders under the doorway, he slapped his hand together, bawling, “Well here we are Miss Currie! And how are .you ?” Miss Currie got out her rent book quietly and laid it and the money on the table before him. “ H’m, and have you a jar of honey stored away you could let me have? Bessie’s youngest girl is complaining of a sore throat. A bit of honey would be the very thing, I’m thinking!” Miss Currie found a jar in her tiny storeroom and waved aside the money. Duncan Taggart smiled an unexpectedly sweet smile. “You’ll get that bathroom of yours yet, Miss Currie!” he teased. “We’ll manage it some day, you’ll see!” A curt tap on the half-open door punctuated his words. On the step stood Frances Leslie, cool, trim and smart in her plain Harris tweed costume. “ Come in, Miss Leslie,” said Miss Currie stiffly. Frances Leslie advanced a few steps jjjto the room, and Duncan sat up in hi*

chair in an unashamed attempt to see her more plainly as she stood with her back to the light. “Is Timmy here?” her voice was clear and precise. “He came back with Clare, now he’s gone off again, and its past his bed-time.” Her cool grey eyes flicked over the great sprawled figure, and Miss Currie expected to see her stiffen at such casual manners. But Duncan grinned, unabashed and friendly, and Frances Leslie actually unbent to give him a cool nod before she turned away! “ Well, if he’s not here, I won’t bother you any longer.” She turned, flicking another brief, unsmiling glance at Duncan. “ Good-eVening! ” “ H’m! ” Duncan thrust his thumbs into the armholes of his broad waistcoat and watched her through the tiny window until she was out of sight. “ Good looking woman if she’d unbend a bit. Who is she?” It was the first time Miss Currie had ever seen him interested in a woman —other than his sisters. But she didn’t answer his question. She wasn’t going to help Frances Leslie to anything good. “Come on now!” ordered Duncan cheerfully. “ You know fine I can soon find out ,even if you don’t tell me. Come on! Who is she?” Miss Currie suddenly smiled. Why not? It would never work out. Just let soft-hearted Duncan Taggart, whose family kept him poor, get to know the woman who could treat her dead brother’s family so unkindly, and what could ever come of it? So she told him calmly, and saw the little smile of interest and anticipation on his keen eyes as he strode from the cottage—quite forgetting about the jar of honey! Then Miss Currie’s conscience smote her. Poor Duncan, she should have warned him. It would be a pity if Duncan got interested in Frances Leslie. But next day Miss Currie forgot to be concerned about Duncan when Miss Leslie stopped at her gate and admired the trim garden. Miss Currie guessed

what her caller wanted to know, and a sudden wonderful idea struck her. There was a way in which she could help her adored Mrs Leslie. Duncan - Taggart’s claims to consideration were forgotten and she sacrificed him cheerfully. (To be Continued.)