"WELCOME THE TRAVELLER”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 16 September 1939, Page 12

"WELCOME THE TRAVELLER”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

COPYRIGHT.

By

ARTHUR HARDY.

CHAPTER I. Robert Berry did not need the bell of the alarm clock to awaken him. A cock began to crow a minute before the released spring gave birth to a brazen challenge. With outstretched hand Robert checked the alarm, smiled as the rooster set up again his triumphant call, then snuggled under the blankets for a further fifteen minutes. At a quarter to six he was up. At six o’clock, wearing flannels, a sweater and shoes with stout rubber soles, ne opened the door of the farmhouse and plunged into the grey mist that blanketed the dawn. Past barns and outhouses, sheds and stables he sped, moving in a loping run up the rise to thb open pastures where Tam Pearce and the boy Rob should be driving the cows into the movable corral for the milking. As he went the mist began to thin, enabling him with keen eyes to take stock of the fields that flanked the way. He ran on breathing deeply, his eyes bright with health and hope. At long last the Wood Farm was beginning to pay its way. The bad times were mending he hoped, and with the return of prosperity he and his sister Nora would be set free to earn their living outside the unvarying routine of the farm. In the grey cloud ahead of him a bright light showed itself suddenly like a winking star. Tam Pearce was already there at the bail. The high pitched voice of Rob echoed down the hill. The oil engine was whirring. The bail came into view- showing six cows passing into the steadings from tne movable corral, eager for the milking. More than fifty cows were jostling one another’ for the next right turn. Robert Berry's eyes, swept the scene, missing nothing. “AH right, Tim?” “All be right, sir.” ■■ “You don’t want me?” “No, sir. I can manage alone.” Tam Pearce was to be trusted. The milk would be delivered on the tick of time for- transference to motor lorry and train. Robert Berry stayed long enough to see the outer doors of the steadings open and let forth into the clearing air the six cows that had just been milked. They were all busy chewing with their mouths as happy as cows could ever be. Satisfied with what he had seen, Berry hurried on with a wave of his hand and a word to Tam. He passed on to the far limits of the farm, then came back again by the best fields and the cherry orchards, pausing for a while when near the house to overlook the poultry farm with its innumerable hen houses and wired in runs and inspect the broods. The poultry girls were busy. The pens had been newly shifted. All was well. The pigs, the greenhouses full of flowers, tomatoes and cucumbers and the odd vegetable fields could wait until after breakfast.

By this time the sun was up, and the sky a sweep of serenest blue. The pleasing landscape spread on every side, lacking the tidiness of pre-war days, if he could judge by what the old hands said, yet neat enough. He whistled softly .as he looked around him and laughed happily as he sped past the stables to the range of barns which housed no cattle now that the cows were kept in the open all the year round. John Robert Berry, Robert’s father, was slowly getting rid of his worries nowadays. Swinging open a heavy wooden door, Robert sprang through to change his clothes and his shoes to a lighter pair. Taking a skipping rope down from a hook, he began to swing it with the skill of an acrobat. For fifteen minutes timed by the clock which ticked loudly on the wall he kept it up, then turned his attention to a heavy stuffed bag which hung from a stout rope. Pulling on a pair of large padded boxing gloves, he began to punch at the bag with a power that sent it swaying back and forth like a pendulum. There were moments when his punching was vicious, and the sack seemed to wilt under the punishment, dumb thing though it was. That done he began to dodge and shift and feint and strike and guard at nothing with the speed of a phantom. After nine minutes of this shadow boxing he turned to strike al a pear shaped ball which hung below a sounding board. He rattled this ball with a speed that struck a musical hum out of it and. as if the grand finale had need of the attention of a spot light, a shaft of blinding sunshine lit up the figure of the man and* tne machine and the dancing ball. Attracted by the sound of physical exercise at this unaccustomed hour of the morning, a slip of a girl had pushed in the heavy door, and stood framed in the opening. She smiled broadly. The boxer did not notice the sunshine or hear the door move. Ho danced round the bobbing ball timing his blows with the precision of a machine'. Half completing a circle, he came so as to face the door, and for the first time saw the girl watching him. '

Instantly he hit the ball up and up again to the roof of the stand until the drum screamed in agony. Then, dodging the rebellious balloon, he stepped away. "As if you haven’t enough to do in the morning without all that.” said Nora Berry, shaking her tumble of curls out and flashing her teeth in a lovely smile, ‘‘You’d have gone on until lunch time if I hadn’t come to fetch you.” "Is breakfast ready— ’’ asked her brother, tearing the sweater off him and ruffling his dark hair in the process. The first gong went ten minutes ago. I struck the other myself just before I came out here.” "Shan't be long. Nora. ’Scuse me.”

Off came his singlet, revealing a muscular body down to the waist so smoothly modelled that a mastei might have made it. He kicked off his shoes, showing bare feet. The rest of his disrobing was done beyond the little door which led to the shower room. Flannel trousers came flying through w drape their legs about the punch ball stand. A shrill whistle rang above the gush of raining water. Nora could hear him bobbing about under the heavy shower, his stifled whistles echoing above the swish of water. She smiled again, very sweetly.

“I'll keep your bacon and eggs hot in the chafing dish for five minutes, but no more,” she shouted. “I’ll be there,” he bawled, his mouth full of water.

Nora Berry crossed the yard to the farmhouse stepping as prettily as the young foal in the paddock and as equally unconscious as it of grace. Her parted lips fashioned a song which •set a lark to soaring in a neighbouring field. It was Jessie Capstow’s famous song from the Wide World revue at the New Royal Theatre in London, and Nora sang it with emphasis and inflection so exactly imitative and yet perhaps more sweetly than Jessie herself could do it, that Mrs Berry came bustling to the door. She shook a plated spoon at hei* only girl child now eighteen. “Your breakfast is getting cold. Where is Bob?” “Scrubbing his body, which I am sure needs it” answered the girl, as she hurried in and sat herself down at table in a charming room. “Morning, Dad,” Farmer John Robert Berry looked hard at his daughter over the rim of his out-size coffee cup, smiled and nodded. “Morning,” said he. CHAPTER 11. It was Friday—payday at the farm. After lunch, served at half-past twelve, Farmer Berry endorsed the few welcome cheques the post had brought, and made out his own cheque for the men’s wages and the family needs. “You’ll be looking in to see John?” said the farmer, eyeing his stalwart son shrewdly. ■ “Susan is poorly—he told me on the telephone this morning.” ( “I’ll call at the garage on the way,” Robert promised. “And I’ll take Nora with me.” _ He stuffed the paying-in book and the cheques in an inside pocket. “Nora,” he tried out, pausing in the sunlit hall. “Put some things on and come with me.” A musical voice answered from upstairs. “I'll be down by the time you've got the car out.” He drove the car out of the bam which served as a garage. It was the new car bought from brother John at the Mill Street garage, the old one having been allowed for in the exchange. He opened the sun roof and let down the side windows. Nora met him at the door. She had changed her clothes and looked alluringly pretty in a coat and skirt, and an extravagantly smart small hat Jessie Capstow had given her. They drove past the wood, which had given the farm its name, and took the downward slope of the hill, which ran past Daniel Shelton’s cottage, knowing full well that on such a day Daniel would be sure to be pottering about the front garden. But Daniel was not pottering about the garden. Instead, he was leaning with folded arms upon the gate and blinking lazily in the sun. Beside him, Katmir, a champion Alsatian bred and slrown by Daniel Shelton, reared up on hind legs, snuggled his muzzle on two big forepaws set upon the gate rail. , Daniel, without coat or waistcoat, showed braces crossed over a bright blue shirt. He was sun-tanned and round of face, thick about the middle, his nose had been broken and flattened at its bridge, and his cheek was scarred and marked. Hair of sandy yellow and eyebrows beetling above eyes of blue-grey extraordinarily piercing. “Thought I should see yer,” said Daniel as Robert Berry pulled up the car to a momentary stop. “Dan’s in great shape, Bob. but I can't find the right sparring partners for him for love or money. When are you coming along to help reg’lar?” “I'll do all I can the last fortnight. Daniel,” answered Berry. “But there’s the farm ” Daniel Shelton studied the figure which lolled behind the steering wheel of the car with keen appraising eyes. He had met few men in his time who showed the peak of perfection of physical fitness Robert Berry habitually presented. How tight the tanned skin was, how clear the eyes. how firm the flesh. “You've bin doing a bit of trainin' this morning?” said he. “Before breakfast, and with no sustenance inside him,” Nora answered for him. Daniel Shelton turned his head round lazily. The door of the cottage stood open. “Hey, Dan, lad,” he bawled. “Come and have a word wi’ Robert.” (To be Continued.)