“LEANERS”

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 311, 23 March 1928, Page 5

“LEANERS”

WHY THEY DO IT “My children are sueli leaners,” exclaimed the “children’s” mother. “They lean on me the whole time —rely on me for everything.” There are families like that —just "leaners.” But very often it’s the complaining mother of the leaners who is to blame for the whole state of affairs She’s brought her family lip to rely on her simply because she’s always insisted on doing everything herself. Then she complains bitterly that they run to her whenever they want a button sewn on, and all the cooking and the household management are hers—in fact, her little world revolves round her because her children are such leaners. Very possibly—indeed, almost undoubtedly—her children don’t want to lean. They’d much rather be* doing things for themselves, but nobody has ever been able “to do anything to suit mother.” The mother of “leaning” children is very frequently one of those women who assert that they’d rather do a thing themselves than show anyone else how to! Generally very capable managers, they can hardly bear to let one of the daughters search the linen cupboard for a clean tablecloth in case she should crumple the other contents of the ; shelves. They don’t really think the drawingroom fireplace can be properly clean unless they themselves have done it. Therefore, in due course, the children give up trying to help, and instead of finding the tablecloth themselves, they say:— “Mother, we want a clean tablecloth!” Or. “I know Mother will only do the grate again, if I do clear it up, so I’ll leave it till she comes down.” And then Mother sighs and rises from her easy chair to lind the tablecloth which her daughter was quite capable of producing without accident to any of the others, and comes down in the morning to find the ashes in the grate which her daughter could have cleaned with perfect efficiency. “What you’ll do when you marry, I don’t know,” she’ll say at painfully frequent intervals. And what will they do? Why, they’ll get on very well indeed, thank you. and be glad of the chance to ransack their own linen cupboards without crumpling the new sheets, and to carry out the ashes of last night’s fire from a shining and glossy fireplace! Say what they like, it’s the “managing” women of the world who by their own managing ways create the “leaners” they despise. They cannot and will not believe that anyone in the world—their own children least of all—can do things as well as they can themselves. “Auntie Bet gave me a long lecture yesterday for letting Mother make the l?eds while I played the piano,” complained a “leaner” the other day. “But what can I do? She always says I’m no good at bed-making, and if I even make my own she’ll do it after me, so what’s the use?” Another “leaner” of my acquaintance is occasionally to be found opening a drawer as stealthily as though she were going to steal. “I’m only getting my clean undies,” she explains. “Mother’s got a visitor.” “But surely you’re capable of getting out your own undies?” “Of course I am, silly, but Mother’s so afraid I’ll mess the drawer up!” And yet another member of the same family does her odd jobs in bed at night, because if she did them by day there would be a prompt cry of: “I’ll do that!” What is the poor “leaner” to do? “Then you will do as I tell you.” “I am not a child.” “If you stay, you will do ,as I tell you. You are not to speak to these men, or go near them, unless I am with you.” “It is tyranny,” she flashed. “You are perfectly free to go.” “I do not wish to go.” “Then you stay—on that condition. Please understand.” She did not speak. “Kindly tell me that you will do as I say,” he insisted. His voice was dangeroussly quiet. Still she said nothing. “Otherwise I will tell Joseph to have the car ready early in the 0101-111115.” “Oh, all right,” she exclaimed, with ungracious anger, that amounted to rudeness. “You promise, Grace. I must have your promise.” “I—promise,” she said. And she looked like a queen eating dirt. Herself she could not understand why she did not go. Neither of them addressed the other all the rest of the day. The next morning Grace' was up before the dawn. A battle was raging in her soul. Would it not be better to go away now she had the chance? All her inherited instincts urged her to cut herself adrift from this man who, while scorning her, did not hesitate to use his power over her. That power degraded her. 1-Ie was a murderer, and yet she felt herself at a disadvantage in his presence. If she stayed, what would happen? This tyranny would go on growing in power, feeding on itself, and in Ihe ' end it might break her spirit. What kept her there, then, tied to j him by that thin legal tie, that had no moral sanction? Cowardice, she told herself fiercely, as she climbed up into the sunrise along the narrow path still in the icy shadow of the November dawn. She made up her mind that she would go away. He offered her her freedom. She would take it. And then, as she stepped upon the summit of the hill, and the radiant glory of the sun confronted her, sending long arrowy rays of light to gild that lovely prospect of hill and dale, and making the small mountain sheep look like toys carved in finest ivory, a sudden, glad burst of laughter rang in her ears. She looked round her, startled, and could see nothing human. But then, from the shelter of a clump of gorse, rose a tall, young figure, vigorous and splendid as the sunrise, and she gave a low sound of wonderment and pleasure, as she met the glad, blue eyes of Shean Glyn. CHAPTER XII.—LAD’S LOVE. “Mrs. Rivett!” the young man exclaimed. "How absolutely topping to meet you! Isn’t it glorious up here? I thought I was on the right, road. I was just resting and smoking a ; pipe, so as not to burst in on you too early.” “Were you coming to see us?” she asked, in astonishment. “Didn’t Mr. Rivett mention it? He j asked me to come. I saw him in j Weaveliam. He was ever so kind. He j said he thought he could find me just j