THE GREEN TEA-SET.

Otago Witness, Issue 4030, 9 June 1931, Page 74

THE GREEN TEA-SET.

By

Margaret Newell.

Duncan Ross was tired. The weary droop of his shoulders under' his old grey jacket showed it. So was Nell, the dog which padded along behind him, her silky ears wet with cold mist. He had brought some sheep to the market that morning, walking ten miles from his little farm on the edge of the moor. But they were thin and in poor condition. There had not been a bid for them, and Duncan was driving them home with a sad heart. Times had been hard lately, his wife ill and the rent was overdue, money growing short He had hoped to sell these sheep, and meant to get Jean a few dainties for her birthday. And it. was only a week to the day. A drifting rain was beginning ami a chill, persistent wind blew in his face from the hill top as he trudged on in the darkening—his pocket light, ami his heart heavy. One of the sheep had gone lame. He felt as sorry for the tired beasts as for himself. How could he tell Jean there was no money? She would be watching from the window which looked down the hill, ready to put on the kettle as soon as she saw him. A rare wife Jean! And she would say no word of complaint, that he knew. He had meant to buy her a birthday present. He had not’ missed ome for 40 years—till now. . “ Shabby weather, Dunean,” called a farmer riding home from the meet. Then, with a clatter of hoofs, a man rode up on a fine grey mare. Duncan knew him by sight as a stranger who had lately bought Brow Farm. A wealthy man, too, he had hen rd. That’s a fine dog you have.” said the huntsman, bringing his horse to a walk. “Been trained?” "Yes.” Duncan answered carelessly. He felt disinclined to talk to strangers, and wanted to be alone with his thoughts to-night. “Suppose you won’t sell her? I’ll give you ten pounds for her now. I haven't seen one that’s taken my fancy so for a long time. She’s like one I used to have.” Duncan’s first impulse was to say “ No” at once. Nell was not just a dog. She was a friend, and-Jean loved hcr too. But ten pounds! It would just see him over the birthday without worrying Jean. The temptation was great. He could say he hail lost Nell. „Jean would fret, he knew, but such things did happen. She would have a good home, he guessed. But life without Nell! Almost as if the dog knew, she looked up at him with pathetic, golden eyes. Then Jean’s face drifted before him, peaked and whiter far than it should have been. The money meant he could get so much for her. He swallowed hard and halted. “ I never meant to sell Nell, but—well you can have her, sir. She’s a good dog. The best ever a man had.” “ Thanks very much. I’ll take her with me and settle with you now,” and he counted out ten pound's in notes. “ \ ou’ll have to have a bit of lead. She’ll never leave me unless she’s made,” said Dunean, as he stooped down and patted the spaniel’s damp head. “Good lass. Go with him, good lass.” “ It’s Mr Harris of Brow Farm, sir, isn't it? Maybe I could see her sometimes, if I come by?” “ Certainly. Look in and see her any time.”

Duncan felt in his pocket and produced a worn lead. “You can have the lead, sir. I’ll no be wanting another dog.” He fixed it to Nell’s collar with fumbling fingers. '■ “That’s fine. Come on. Nell.” Duncan turned and walked on—alone. His first impulse as he heard the long, low whine from Nell, was to go back and press the money into the stranger’s hand. Such a small sum to sell half the ioy of his life for! The road felt steeper now, and he wondered if he should ever reach home. At last, the light of the cottage. The sheep folded, Duncan opened the little gate, and lifted the latch. As he expected, Jean waited. Supper set, a vety frugal one to-night. "Did they sell well, Duncan?” she asked, anxiously, as she poured the water into' the brown teapot. He untied his boots before answering Aye, fair, lass, fair. Here’s ten pounds, and one is for your birthday gift. I wish it had been twenty.” “No ned to buy me a birthday gift,” she said, but’he could hear the relief in her-voice.. “ Supper’s ready. Why, dear me, where’s Nell? Didn’t she come in with you ? ” Nell was a part of the little household, and supper would not be complete without her. Jean felt she deserved an extra tit-bit to-night to celebrate the ten pounds. “ There’s a bone in the pantry. I’d been saving to make a drop of soup to-morrow, just in case the sheep didn’t sell. She can have it, poor beastie. She’s, gone short these few days as well as ourselves.”

“Where can the dog be?” Duncan stood up. The moment he dreaded had come. He told his lie bravely. “ Well, lass ”he stopped. “ I lost her, Jean, on the moor. It came a fog. But don’t worry, wife. She’ll come home sure enough.” He tried to make light of it. Perhaps he could buy Nell back soon, or Jean would forget. The ache in his own heart grew worse as he looked at the old rag mat before the fire, and knew that never again would Nell’s, tail thump a welcome for him there. Jean accepted his story without question. It dimmed her gladness, however, and it was very quietly she washed up and got ready for bed*. Next day brought the first snow of the winter. Jean paused in her work to go to the door and call “Nell, Nell,” times without number. Her old eyes peered down the snowy road and her ears grew keen to hear the slightest scratch. Nell had missed her master before, and come home; surely she would again? Duncan lagged over his daily tasks, and broke oft to stand still and imagine a soft head on his knee. He looked up at the grey sky and his heart grew bitter. >So little he had, and now even his dog had to go to buy bread. He had never realised before, but now he knew he was growing old. Jean went to bed early that night and the old man sat over his peat fire and watched it crumble and fall to ashes. This was the time he missed Neil most. She had always slept in the armchair at the other side of the fire. On cold nights like this he had covered her with his old jacket, and she had licked his hand in friendly fashion for thanks. The chair stood empty. The jacket was neatly folded on its arm. The wind howled round the cottage like a soul in pain, making the candle gutter and flicker. A scratch at the door! Again! Duncan had it open in a moment. “ Nell.” (Such a bedraggled Nell! Mud caked her silky ears, and she limped sorely. But the beautiful eyes looked up at her master full of love*. With an inarticulate cry he bent and gathered her up in his arms. She lay quiet while he washed and fed her. Twenty miles, but home at the end. Then she dropped asleep in her old place. “What was that?” Janet called. “It’s Neil,” he answered. “She’s come home.” “ I’m right glad,” she said, crying softly.

Duncan fell into an uneasy sleep. So little money, but how could he raise it? He must go to Mr Harris in the morning and ask him to take something in place of the dog. ° Then, half in a dream, he remembered the old tea-set which had been his mother’s, stored in the attic. A chance motorist who had stayed the night once said it was worth ten pounds. Perhaps Mr Harris would have it? Gentry folk collected suchlike things. He would go and see. Next morning Duncan started at dawn for Brow Farm. He told how Nell had come home and how his wife had fretted for her sore. Then he described the green tea-set. Would Mr Harris take it in place of Nell ? “ I had your siller,” Duncan said simply. In times of stress he always reverted to his native Scots. “ And, if you no like the china, I’ll pa.v you back, if you’ll give me time. Maybe you could come and see it, sir, and perhaps you would forbear to mention to Jean that I sold Nell. She couldna bear it. I’m sure. She had no notion things were so bad. I’ve been keeping it from her like, her beiim ill. and all.” Mr Harris took in quickly the brave struggle the tired old hands, nervously twisting the worn cap. had had. and the tremble in the man’s voice when he spoke of Nell. 1 “Of course I will. Tell you what, Mr Ross. Y'ou stay and have a bit of lunch with me, and we’ll go back in the car and see the china. We can tell your wife you lost your way on the moor, and I picked you up.” Duncan did not speak for a moment. He could not. He was very tired. Hungry, too. To have food and a rest and be taken home sounded like a "limpse of heaven. ° Mr Harris quite captivated Jean by his bluff good nature. Nell nearly gave everything away by getting up and wagging her tail for him. ‘ Well I never ! ” Jean said. “ I never knew her take to a straimer afore.” ° Dunean climbed the creaky stairs and brought down the old tea ‘set and explained to Jean that he w’as going to sell it to Mr Harris if he liked it. “You’re welcome,” Jean said, “I’m sure. I never could abide that "reeu on it ! ” °

Mr Harris proved himself a wonderful actor. Taking a cup to the window, he exclaimed, “ Ten pounds ! I’m not going to rob you, Mr Ross. It's worth far more than that. I’ll take it with pleasure, and if you will trust me, I’ll write you a cheque ami I’ll pack it up in the car now. Now good-bye, Mrs Ross. You must come and see my china some day, you and Nell.”

He laughed as he stood at the door, but his shrewd eyes took in the poverty which could not be hidden, but was so carefully disguised.

“ You’ll no be married ? ” Jean queried, smiling. n °t Boss, but when the Lady of my Dreams comes ” When the “ehug-chug” ofthe car had died away, Duncan picked up the cheque.

lhe figures danced before his eyes, and he wondered if he saw aright,‘for it was for fifty pounds. It was a very happy trio who sat before the fire anil talked it over, Nell in her accustomed place between them.

Next day Mr Harris entertained his Dieain Lady to tea, to see his collection of china. She was only twenty, and veil pretty, and her youth, contrasted with his own forty-five years, made him despair of ever winning her. After tea she said, laughingly: Now I want to see the fifty pound tea set, please. I guess it’s the gem of the whole collection.” ° I* ancy old Duncan Ross havin" it tucked away in an attic.” I oi Duncan had not been able to keep the story of his wonderful luck to himself, and somehow it had leaked out in the village. V) here is it ? Do you know all the attics in the Dale have been explored in hopes of another ‘find’?”

“I’ve even turned out mine. But all I found was an old lustre mug—and it was cracked. Do show it to me, Squire Harris.” lhe ta.l man -beside hcr blushed, and looked shamefaced for a moment, then pointed to the top shelf of the oak dresser, and said, “ There it is.” Dorothy reached up and took down a cup. “ But it’s only Staffordshire, and what a horrid colour,” she said in puzzled fashion, being something of a connoisseur. ° “ Surely you didn't make a mistake ? ” “ No,” he said, gravely, “ I don’t think I made a mistake. T wanted it, you sec. And it is worth that—to me.” I am a bit of a fool sometimes, you know, and I call it Harris Folly, that tea set, to myself.” Comprehension dawned in Dorothy’s grey eyes as she reached up to rephice the cup on its hook. And, knowing as she did that he was aching to tell her how he cared for her, but would not because lie thought he was too old, she said softly, “ 1 think that I love fools ” “ Dorothy ! ” He turned and caught her in his arms. “Tell me! Could you love me ? ” “ I do,” she said, against his rough tweed shoulder, “ But, really, I thought you were never going to ask me to.” He kissed her gently. “M e will call it Harris’s Luck, I think, that tea set, instead of Harris’s I'olly, and use it on our wedding day. What say you, Dorothy ? ” And she said “ Yes.”—Weekly Scotsman.