The Storyteller.

Waikato Argus, Volume VI, Issue 449, 17 June 1899, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Storyteller.

MR WILKINS-

J. S, Wilkins, Englishman, about the end of September one year, coming to the conclusion that his little income would not keep him in comfort in London, and deciding that he could not possibly live anywhere else in Europe, sold out of the Funds, said good-bye to his friends, and booked a passage for New Zealand.

Wilkins, although a town-bird, had always had a loaning towards o country life. His tastcß were simple, though refined, and he thought he would like to live a quiet happy, pastoral sort of existence, surrounded by his favourite pictures, his books, and a few pet birds, amid the lovely New Zealand scenery in what he had heard was the finest climate in the Torld. Wilkins was a man who always did things systematically, so he bought as many books on sheepfarming as he could get—it appeared that sheep-farming was the thing to do in New Zealand—and he paid a visit to the Agent-Genoral in Victoria street. The Agent-Genet-Hl was out, but another very po'.ite gentleman was in, and Wilkins had an interesting conversation with him.

Everything seemed eminently satisfactory. The polite individual said that a gentleman like Mr Wilkins, with capital at his own disposal, would be most welcome in the colony. He was in fact just the kind of person they were looking for. There would be no difficulty in purchasing land, not the least. Thero were innumerable agents, who would be delighted to give him assistance.

Was sheep-farming difficult? Oh, no! On the big runs you just bought your sheep, turned them out and they looked after themselves, more or less; the owner only seeing them two or three times a year, at lambing, shearing, <fec. Was shearing difficult? Will, as a rule one employed men to do that for one, and the only difficulty about that was paying them afterwards. Here the polite gentleman smiled. Did the polite gentleman think Mr Wilkins suitable for a colonial life?

The polite gentleman looked at Mr Wilkins with a little twinkle in his eye. Wilkins was a small, slight young man of about thirty, with a pale student's face, clem shaven, and with a large, mild, cow-like eyes. • Well,' he said at length, kindly, • I wouldn't be in a hurry to buy if I were you. Have a good look round 6rst. If you have a friend over there, or if you can arrange it with anyone, try to get some experience, but get it cheap.' After an exchange of pleasant remarks the polite gentleman wished him good fortune and good-day, and Wilkins left, feeling very happy. He already saw himself the proprietor of a run, with his flocks increasing and multiplying round him. He saw hi? little cottage covered with roses nestling among the trees, his little garden, his littlo pet birds and his books. Perhaps he would choose a few friends too from among his neighbours, but only a few, for he did not want to go into Bociety at all. Wilkinß packed up his treasures, and England saw him no more.

When Wilkins arrived in Christchurch—for he had decided on Canterbury—ho was agreeably surprised. There were no Maoris about, and the streets and the shops were far beyond his expectations. He spent a week in sight-seeing, leaving his name and address with several agents, together with particulars of the kind of place he wanted.

He told the agents he required a nice littlo sheep run, with a nice little homestead, and he would like a bath-room if it were possible, and a garden with flow«rs and fruit and things. It struck him that the agents rather passed over the question of the bath-room, &c. They seemed more interested in dis covering the kind of land he needed. And, of course, that after all was only right, as it was what he would make bis income out of.

At first places seemed rather dear; anything from four to fourteen pounds an acre ; and Wilkins had somehow or other got the idea that land was bought or had been bought at £2 per acre in New Zealand. Hjftjiad £3OOO capital, and he had oxp( jcted to buy about 1000 acres. After weeks of hurrying from office to office, hearing particulars of " sheep to the acre,' bushels of oats, «fcc, and looking at plans which made his brain reel, Wilkins found his ideal.

That is to say it seemed to be 80. In the first place it was not an ordinary " run." It was an estate. The " Killgummy Estate " on the Ivakaia Plains. There were a thousand acres, and the price was £2 an acre, just the very price Wilkins had been prepared to give. It would grow good turnips the agent said, though not wheat. But as it was sheep Wilkins was going in for that fact did not much matter. There was the usual house on the place; only two rooms, but timber was cheap, and more could easily be added.

He supposed there was a garden. . . of course there would be a garden. . . yes . . . but Wilkins had better go down and see the place. He would find it well worth the money. Wilkins hesitated. How would he find it worth the money 1 How did you tell good land from bad ? It was a subject he had not got up; and his books told him nothing of the matter. The agent seemed to judge all the places .by the sheep they carried, or the crops they grew. This one, two sheep to the acre; that one, twenty bushels of oats ; but how to tell without growing the oats or the shepp first!

Wilkins, passing through England in the train, had been used to seeing all the land covered with something. This land, being a sheep run, would of course be covered with grass. How could he tell, without digging it up, what it was like; and even if he did diu: some up, how could be know if it was good V However, he knew the agent was respectable the land anyway couldn't be very dear at £2 an acre. He went home and deliberated. At last he decided to go down and see for himself. It seemed absurdly amateurish not to. He would give a hasty glance at the lnnd, and then come back and offer £1 15s an acre. This idea struck him »s so brilliant that he went to bed delighted with himself.

At breakfast Wilkins, who was a late riser, received a note from the agent. He said that a customer had offered £2 5s an acre for Killgummy, but, of course, as the piece was under offer to Wilkins, the agent had not yet accepted. He would be glad, however, if Mr Wilkins would decide at once, as otherwise he might lose the chance. This settled the matter. Someone else wanted the place and was ready to give more than Wilkins. Wilkins hurried through, his breakfast, and took a cab to the agent's. He returned to " Coker's " the proud proprietor of the Killgummy Estate.

The agent gave Wilkins the address of a trustworthy auctioneer who agreed to supply him with the necessary amount of sheep— Wilkins successfully evading his advice that he should attend a sale and purchase them in open market. They were to be delivered on the run, and Wilkins bought a little simple furniture on the samo conditions, and a plentiful supply of stores. He also purchased a nice big English dog-cart and horse, deciding to drive down to the place as it was only fifty miles, and t have a look at the scenery on the way. Our hero lost himself once or twice when he got out to the plainß, but managed at last to reach Killgummy—a passing horseman directing him to a gate in a wire fence, which he said was the boundary fence. A straight grass track led from this gate to a little hub in the distance, and Wilkins, concluded that the homestead would be somewhere near, drove gaily on. The heavy English dog-carfe rooked about a bit, but the horse was a strong one, and Wilkins took the shaking as part of his colonial experience.

He was a plucky little chap, but he couldn't help a slight feeling of dismay as he gazed at the qcene before him, and thought bow far it was from his ideal. For miles in front of him, and to apparently illimitabledistancesaround, stretched a flat brown plain, intersected here and there with reddish brown wire fences. There were no hedges, no roadside trees, no woods, no cottages, absolutely nothing to break the rusty monotony. Only on the furthest horizon a range of blue mountains, here and thore tipped with snow, broke the sky-line. Wilkins had not imagined that the country would be brown. He bad pictured long meadows of green waving grass,' with buttercups and daisies showing up against the sheep. To be in the country and to see not a vestige of green around him seemed an upsetting of the laws of Providence.

Then, too, he was not a judge of land, but this place appeared to consist of huge round stones, between the interstices of which, as it seemed to him, grew great bunches of brown grass. He wondered what the sheep lived on. However, the auctioneer, who seemed to know the place well, had told him it would carry so many sheep at this time of year, and lie ought to know. He supposed they liked the brown bunches, which on referring to hi& books, he decided were called " tussocks."

Wilkins drew up at the little wooden hut, with iron roof, that seemed to have been dropped in the middle of the great plain, got down, and looked in at the window. It was apparently a small two-roomed house. There had been only one two-roomod house on the plain he had seen. If this was his future home, where was the garden !

He walked to the back. His furniture had arrived and lay in disconsolate canvas heaps on the ground. Behind the house was a two-stalled stable and trap-house. He had, fortunately, being a systematic little man, forgotten nothing that was necessary to existence. Horse feed, covers, cooking utensils, stores, everything that the most

fastidious bachelor could desire was there in plenty. Wilkins took off his coat, rolled his shirt sleeves up over his little white arms, and started colonial life.

111. Amomhpassed, and Wilkins was aim*. The w.ather had been beautiful. Me had spent the firstfew days in getting his furniture in order, and unpacking his treasures, arranging his pictures and hooks in something Hire their accustomed order around his little rooms. When he had finished the place had taken a look of home. He had got need to the long, brown, bare plains, and their first monotony had given was to a half pleasant sensation of general space and grandeur. In the distance the mountain ranges, occasionally tipped with white, looked cool m the warm sun.

He rode daily round the run, getting to know the boundary fences and the look of the sheep, difficult to distinguish at first among the tussocks. As far as lie could see they did not appear to grow thinner, and concluding, after a time, that they were all right, he gave himself up to making some kind of garden round the hut; buying little pine trees by the hundred from Cnristchurch, and sowing vegetables and flowers in profusion. Towards the end of the month most of the work he could do for the present was done, The little pine trees planted neatly in groves; a space carefully dug over, and the seeds put in in graceful profusion, under the directions of a manual on gardening which Wilkins has purchased. He began to have a considerable amount of time on his hands, and to wonder what his neighbours were like, and when they would call.

For it was evident that the great runholders would eventually come to see him, bringing their wives and females generally, so Wilkins regularly washed and tidied up for the afternoon, puting on his neat black tail coat, and seating himself upon his little verandah to bo ready for them.

When, however, some days had passed and no one came, he concluded that his arrival was nob known, and gradually betook himself to his little sitting-room, where herend or dozed away the afternoons. One day, as he lay half asleep on his sofa, he heard the sound of a horse's hoofs on the neat gravel path which he had made from the fence to the house ; and springing up he hastily donned his black coat and hurried to the door. It must be a caller at last.

A man stood there—a working man apparently, dressed in toilstained clothes, and with nther a truculent expression on his face. ' Good day,' said he. ' Good day,' returned Wilkins politely. ' Your dog has been worrying my lambs,' said the new comer with an appearance of indignation. ' He's killed about fifty and worried a couple of dozen irore. They were worth 10s apiece. What are you going to do about it V Wilkins turned pale. His dog Towser was a quiet, harmless looking animal, given him by the auctioneer, who had been about to Bhoot it when Wilkins had begged its life. The auctioneer, averring it was too sof v . for anything, had reluctantly made him a present of it. It was true that the dog had been absent the day before, having slipped his chain, but that Towser, meek Towser, who trembled when Wilkins raised his hand, should kill fifty lambs and worry a couple of dozen more, seemed absolutely incredible.

He mentally added up fifty lambs at 10s, and a couple of dozen at, say, sa. Total, £3l. 'Well,' said the nun angrily, ' what are you going to do V

Wilkins decided that this must be one of the disagreeable cockatoos he had heard about.

' You must write to me properly,' he said, at length, trying to look stern, 'and I will refer the matter to my lawyer.' The man gazed at him for a moment, and then muttering something about " seeing all about it," turned and left.

Wilkins went out and thrashed Towser heavily, Towser looked innocent, but anyway it was a relief.

Tvo days after he received a lawyer's letter applying for £3O damages done to his client's sheep. There were witnessos to prove Towser's guilt, and Wilkins decided to pay.

He went to bed that evening rather thoughtful. £3O was 5 percent on £GOO, nearly a quarter of his capital. His troubles had begun, Later on in the night he woke in bed with a roaring as of a thousand cannon in his ears; and, sitting up, found the room exceedingly hot and stuffy, and his heart beating fiercely. He jumped out of bed and looked out. The night was a fine starlight one, and everything seemed as usual. The noise came from the wind. What was apparently a hurricane of tremendous violence was blowing, hurling through the air with awful fury, and shaking the little hut to its foundations.

The peculiar thing about it was that the more it blew the hotter it became.

Wilkins put on a dressing gov\n, afraid to return to bed lest the house should blow down, and looked through his books for an explanation. He concluded at last that it was what was called a nor'-wester — a wind which, the book said, occasionally did immense damage on the Cantprbuvy plains—blowing newly-p'oughed and sown land completely away, sometimes to a depth of two or three inches of the top soil, and burying the sheep and fences completely from sight. Wilkins wondered why he had not remembered to have read this before.

When morning came the strange gale had abated, and Wilkins went out to water his garden. There was no garden. The place where it had been was swept as bare as if the sea had been over it,

Ho concluded he did not like nor-westers, He grew more used to them, but he never got to like them.

Wilkins had been living during all this time on his stores ; tinned tongues, potted meats, etc. As a fastidious little man he had supplied himself bountifully at the commencement with these and various other delicacies. When they came at last to an end Wilkins grew thoughtful. He had not considered, in the first flush of proprietorship of Killgummy, how the prices of such things mount Up, and to the present time Killgummy had brought nothing in j while he had Towser's escapade and the loss of his pine trees and seeds to put on the wrong side.

There was no doubt of it, to launch out into further expense at the present time was impossible. He must live on mutton as he supposed everyone about him did. Nothing at first sight appeared simpler. Mutton was plentiful, it surrounded him, so to speak, wuer eever he went.

He grasped a knife one day stirred by the pangs of hunger, and set out to obtain it.

He found it difficult at first; that is, he found it difficult to catch his sheep. Towser was no good at all. He gambolled around them in a playful manner, doing more harm than good, and Wilkins unaided was certainly not capable of running a sheep down. He had, by the aid of his books, fathomed some of the mysteries of drafting yards, races, etc., but how to get the sheep into the yard 3 first was what puzzled him. It seemed a case of first catch your sheep, and if he only caught one, that was all he wanted ; he did not want the lot. After half an hour's excitement Towser tired of his buffoonery, and seemed to settle down to work.

Wilking was delighted with hi intelligence. He bounded off at a tremendous rate, rounded up the sheep, and took them along at a sharp trot towards the yards apparently without an effort. At the gate Wilkins joined him, and together they shooed the sheep inside. Wilkins let them all out carefully through the race, all but one, a fat wether—the doomed ene. Towser sat down panting and watching the strango sight.

Wilkins's heart was in his mouth. He had never killed anything before. Given the choice, there was nothing he would not rather have done; but, as I have said before, he was a plucky little chap, and he had started this life, and put his capital into it, He could certainly not yet afford a man or boy to slaughter for him ; and though the great woolly wether looked nearly as big as himself, he was going to kill it. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and took the knife in his hand. The wether stood and looked at him, Wilkins had learned from his books that the best way to catch a sheep was to grasp it by one of its hind legs and then throw it down and turn it over. After a few minutes he succeeded, by making a quick dash at the wether, and flinging himself at it, in catching a bony hind-leg. Unfortunately the act had put it out of his power to manage the sheep in any way, now that he had caught ik, and a few more seconds showed Towser the strange sight of his master going round and round the yard at it furious rate on his stomach.

However, Wilkins held on, and succeeded in recovering his balance at last. Then with a struggle he got the brute on to its back and tied its legs with his handkerchief. What happened after that Wilkins hardly knew. He found himself seatad, sick and faint, on his sofa. He hardly knew what he had done. He knew he had been a refined little Englishman once; and between that time and the present came a vision of a struggle with some great warm living thing, a struggle literally for life and death, with the advantage all on one side, and then there was blood—blood on his hands—blood everywhere. It seemed all so very much like murder, that Wilkins closed his eyes again and shivered.

This was not the Arcadian life he had pictured. From the very start his little castles in the air began to crumble. His cottage nestling amid the trees, his roses, his garden, his few choice friends, the little income he would make, all seemed to have vanished, and now

Wilkins shuddered. Tojgo through

that struggle for life again was more than his soul was capable of. He lived on mutton for a week, taking very little interest in his food, however. Ac the end of that time, he concluded he would rather starve than kill another wether.

He began to grow visibly thinner and a week of hot thundering nor'westers affected his nerves badly. The intense loneliness and distastefulness of the life he had so heed lessly taken up with no capabilities for it began to impress itself more and more upon his brain. E\tn his favourite little pictures were no longer a joy to him, and he couldn't settle down to read in his reckless state,

One day as he rode along his run, his head hanging down, and his thoughts far away, a sudden voioe, almost by his side mide him jump. It was the first human voice he had heard for a month.

• Looking for your sheep V it said. Wilkins looked up, surprised. The speaker was an oldish man, on a powerful horse. He was big and strongly built, with a hard-featured I'.ut not unkindly mouth. ' Looking for my sheop,' stammered Wilkins, gazing round him —' why, they're there.' He stu/ted and looked round. There wore no sheep in sight anywhere. 1 Oh, you needn't look for them,' said the stranger ; ' I thought they had broken your fence at first, but now I've seen the way you ride about with your head down and dreaming like that, I expect the truth is you left the gate open, some time or other.'

With a sinking of tho heart Wilkins recalled a ride he had taken the day preriously. He certainly could not recall shutting the gate. 'l've found them,' said the stranger, half inclined to smile. Wilkins looked up, with a beaming face. Here was a neighbour and a friend at last.

' In my oats,' continued the newcomer sternly. ' I don't suppose they've spoilt more than fifty acres, but they've certainly spoilt that. 1 had to pound 'em, and of course you'll pay the damages to the crop. Wilkins tried hard not to faint. The stranger, who was watching him curiously, gave a slight laugh- ' You're only a new chum at this work, aren't you V he asked. 1 I've befin out from England three months,' said Wilkins.

' Ever had any experience of sheep V 'No, none,' stammered Wilkins, feeling somehow rather foolish, and wishing the unfortunate would leave him alone to think a little.

1 Have you bought this place,' asked the stranger. Wilkins replied in the afliirmative,

• Well, I'd sell it again if I were you,'said the stranger; and wishing him a rather abrupt good-day, he cantered off, after explaining where he would find his sheep next morning. Wilkins returned home dazed. Ho wasn't sure what' pound' sheep was; but he has discovered by his books that it meant prisoning trespassing sheep in a kind of public yard, whence they had to be released by payment of rarious tines per head. In his case he concluded, after making it out carefully, that the fines would umout to Gd per head per sheep ; they evidently coming under Schedule I. Trespassing in any fenced land having thereupon any growing crop—' for every ewe, lamb, or wether, 6d.' Wilkins had 800 sheep—that was £2O. The owner of the land could apparently sue for damages. What the damages to 50 acres of oats would amount to Wilkins did not know, He decided be did not want any more callers. He felt that he might shoot the next one that came.

Wilkins recovered his sheep by paying the pound fees and £SO damages to the oats. The next day he started for town with the object of selling Killgummy. The agent, however, who had sold him the. place did not seem very sanguine as to his probable success. Times were bad, he said, and Wilkins would do batter to hold on. One or two others expressed the greatest willingness to put it on their books; carelessly adding that thev thought they already had all the particulars. One indeed, the last W'ilkins visited, went so far as to remark that he had had the place on his books for the last ten years.

When our friend mentioned that he was prepared to let it go at £1 1.5 s an acre, thereby losing 5s an acre, the agent laughed heartily. 1 1 should think you would,' he said. He was a jovial, frank creature, and he took no notice of Wilkins' pained expression. ' 1 could have sold it to you any day the lust eight years for 15s an acre, let alone the odd pound. No, my dear sir, you put it at 15s, and take my word with forty years experience behind ine, you will never get a penny more this sids of Kingdom Come. Wilkins went home, and seating himself in his little parlour, added up a few figures. He had purchased Killgunmty for £2OOO. He had calculated to make 5 per cent, on that which would be £IOO a year. He had paid away £26 for Towser's lams, and £2O for young trees aud seeds

which the nor'-wester had taken

Then there were the £SO pound fees and the damages to the oats. It appeared that his first year's profits were gone before he had been in possession three months.

Also ho had learnt tint Killgummy was worth £750 instead of £2OOO. Wilkins concluded he was unsuitcd for colonial life. He sold Killgummy for 16-; an acre to a brisk young colonial, who knocked a good living out of it, and he went to live himself at Dieppe. There are no sheep there.—Weekly Press.