WELL DONE, PRUE

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 83, Issue 47, 25 February 1939, Page 12

WELL DONE, PRUE

Great black clouds rolled ominously across the frowning sky, and more snow flakes began fluttering down as Allan came ri.T.ag along the road to his farm home. He sheltered his horse in the stable and went inside to a cosy room where his mother, Mrs. Manning, was sitting beskie a cheery, crackling lire. “Hello, Allan,” she said, looking up as he came in, “where is your father?” “Mr. Cameron wanted to see him about some sheep. He, won’t be home until fairly late,” Allan said. “Golly, it’s cold!” Cecily, his sister, came in carrying a tray with newly-baked scones and a pot of steaming tea. “Do go and call Prudy. She’s upstairs writing a letter,” she said. Allan grimaced, for Prue Hardy, their cousin, was not very popular with the young Mannings, and was only staying with them while her father was in England. “She’s always writing something,” Allan said, “either to her ‘dearest Agatha,’ or her ‘beloved Aunt May.’ I bet they get tired out trying to read all that stuff.” “Allan.” Mrs. Manning reproved, “that will do. You must remember Prue misses her mother.” “Oh, I know,” argued Allan, “but couldn't she have stayed with Aunty May when her mother died. They knew her better than we do. She just doesn’t fit in here.” “Allan, be quiet,” Cecily said sharply. “She might hear you.” Her warning, however, war too late, for Prue, coming down the narrow staircase, had heard Allan’s clear, annoyed young voice coming through the halfopened door. She paused a minute, tears starting to her eyes. So they really did. not like her after all. “Well.” Prue thought angrily, “I haven’t all my life lived Jn the country on a farm. Of course it’s different for me. Dad has always been able to afford a fine house and have servants. They think I’m stuck up—that I’m too stupidly proud and vain to help about the farm. I’ve tried to help, but they aiways say “It doesn’t matter, we’ll do it.’ Oh, I’m sorry I came,” Prue choked back a sob, and tossed her fair, smooth head. “Bui I’ll show them!” She entered the room as Allan was going out the door. “Oh, hello,” she smiled bravely, “is tea ready? Oh. what was that!” A great crash of thunder broke the stillness, followed by a bright lightning flash. “Only a bit of storm,” Allan said

“Only a bit of storm,” Allan saic dryly, a mocking look in his eyes a. q he thought that Prue should not have been so startled. “Come and have some tea.” Mrs Manning said kindly, “Cissie has made some scones.” “You’ll have Io make us some one day,” said Allan, with hidden irony in his tone. Cecily glared at him in a manner that silenced him. “I’m afraid I’m not much good at making cakes,” Prue said awkwardly. She thought Allan rather mean. “I suppose Cissie thinks as he does,” she thought-, “but I wish we were all good friends.” “Is the river still frozen over, Allan?” she asked. “Yes,” was the brief reply. That evening Prue went up to her room for a book, anil as she was about to join her aunt and cousins downstairs, she heard a commotion. Peering over the top bannisters she saw twe roughlooking men standing in the hall below. “You can’t come in here!” cried Allan, but one man with a close-set, beady eyes, pushed him out of the way and approached Airs. Manning. “Get away!” exclaimed Cecily, in alarm. “Now, missy, don’t get excited,” drawled the man, “and no one will get hurt.” Mrs. Manning drew herself up. “What do you want?” she demanded. The fellow leered at them. “Me and my pal here’s just waiting out of the storm for a friend. We didn’t fancy sneaking into your barn, besides we’re feeling like something to eat. The little girl here don’t look as though she’s fed on bread and water.” “Leave my home,” ordered Mrs. Manning, coldly, while Allan made a leap at the ruffian, who drew a revolver on the boy. “Now be quiet,” the fellow said, and his companion took a tight grip on Allan’s shoulders.

| "We are waiting for Morgan Black," said the spokesman of Ihe twr vagabonds. I "What!" gasped Mrs. Manning. “Ah, I thought you might have read 'about him," sneered the man. for the sheltering trees which hid her Smart, eh?" He then proceeded to marshal I hem into the living room. “Now we're all nice and cosy," Prue heard the bank-breaker's confederate say, as he closed the door. What could they do against two armed men, she wondered. Oh, it only Uncle Peter was back. She must do something, bul what? She crept stealthily down the stairs wilh bated breath, and slid silently to the front door, stopping only to put on a thin coat. The snow was falling fast and the wind blew the flakes against her so that she was soon chilled to the marrow, but on ran Prue Hardy, pushing blindly forward. She was nearing the bridge when she suddenly stopped .short by I a clump of bushes. Standing on the bridge she saw two figures. They were talking. “Ditl you hear anything?” said one. “No,” said the other. “Wish Black would hurry a bit, then we can join Bill and Sampson at the farm." Prue’s heart sank. She I could not pass over the bridge, I the only way was to cross the river. Prue crawled on hands and knees down to the river, thanking heaven for the sheltering trees which hit her from view. The wind still tore at her hair, the snow still stung her cheeks, but the spirit within her glowed. She was nearly across the river when she lurched forward. The ice was cracking, and she must hurry. Treading more cautiously, she reached the other bank, then started off at a run over the snow-covered fields away from the men on the bridge. After some time she was able to take to the road again. A thousand fears crowded into her mind as she stumbled forward. Had the men seen her after all? Was she being pursued? Would Morgan Black himself come along just as she was reaching her uncle? At long last the scattered lights of the township twinkled through the storm. Prue found her uncle in an engrossed conversation with his friend, Mr. Cameron. "For heaven’s sake, Prue!” he exclaimed as the girl burst in upon them. Quickly she explained, and quickly her uncle and Mr. Cameron went to lhe police station for assistance before setting out for the farm. When they left, Prue gave a queer little smile and crumpled up on the rug before the fire in the Cameron library, where some hours later Mrs. Manning, Cecily and Allan found her. still unconscious. Next afternoon, Prue was sitting up in bed, propped around with pillows and blankets. She had lost her voice and had a bad cold. Cecily was fussing over her, and Allan came in and grinned sheepishly. Prue smiled. Words of apology were not necessary, for Allan gripped her hand, saying: "You are just the pluckiest girl I know -and I thought once that you would have just screamed and thrown a fit if anything really dangerous cropped up." He turned and dashed out of the room. “Oh, Prudy,” said. Cecily, “you'll b« staying with us a long, long time won’t you?" "I'd love to,” said Prue.