“WILD GRAPES”

Waikato Times, Volume 121, Issue 20265, 6 August 1937, Page 10

“WILD GRAPES”

By THEODORA WILSON-WILSON.

SERIAL STORY.

CHAPTER XXX. — (Continued). Stephen Smith. When Norris announced to Paula that Mr Stephen Smith had called, the girl looked at her aunt questioningly. "You don’t mind, Aunt Claudia?’’ "My dear child, why should I?” And Paula nodded assent to Norris. “That shy man, surely, who couldn't make up his mind to dance at the party," said Miss Hammand. "IHe danced well, when he submitted to my pestering,” said Paula with a light laugh. And then Stephen Smith entered. “How do you do, Mr Smith, said Paula cordially. "You will remember my aunt, Miss Hammond. Do please sit “Thanks, so much,” said Stephen. “Did you want Robert or me?” she asked. “Mr Smith knew Robert at Cambridge, Aunt Claudia.” “Well, as a matter of fact, you, Miss Hammond.” “Then that’s all right. Robert Is out at the moment, but he may be coming any time.” ‘‘My sister Doris got a letter by the late post on Saturday, and she thought you ought to have it as soon as possible.” ‘‘So you’re the Sunday Postman — working overtime I Have you had tea?” ‘‘Oh, yes—•" ‘‘That was a deliberate lie, Mr Smith. You haven’t had tea,” and she smiled. “You didn’t define the date I I had it yesterday,” and the tension broke. So Paula ordered fresh tea. and acted the tactful hostess by taking another cup herself and more toast, and Stephen was soon at ease enough to begin to enjoy the situation. “We are in a frightful mess, as you see,” said Paula. “But you should have seen us a few 'days ago. All this is wonderful.” “I remember something of what it was when we cleared out from Gowthwaite Vicarage. I was only a youth, but I helped, and it was all a ghastly break.” “You —loved the place?” “And the people loved my father and Doris. I was born there—and a dalesman, always a dalesman 1” “I shall appreciate that better when I have become a daleswoman. But you have some message from your sister. I hope my job hasn’t fallen through?” “Rather notl” and he drew out a letter, “it’s just that Doris has heard from her old Nannie, Miss Graham, she lives at Beck Cottage, and is thirsting already to bed and board and do for you generally.” “Isn’t that splendid, Aunt Claudia?” “It sounds a very happy arrangement,” said her Aunt cautiously. “Nannie is amazing good stuff,” said Stephen, “so long as you beware and turn off the tap at intervals. Otherwise she talks the fire out I Doris and I stay there in the holidays sometimes. She makes wonderful pancakes and currant pasty.” “You must be considerably older than Robert,” struck in Miss Hammond. “Yes, I go down the end of this term. Then I light through as a medical student. My sister has run her shop to fTnance me, and I’m bound to make good and pay her back by giving her her freedom and the comfort she needs. Doris was ten when my mother died at my -birth, and Doris has ‘had me’ as she calls it, ever since.” “You’ve been lucky.” “That’s it, Miss Hammond. Only—” iHe stopped as though doubting his next sentence, and they waited. “You see, when my sister saw Sir John Hammond, he was most kind and gave her some serious advice, and I’m tremendously keen that she should follow it out. She absolutely must get a holiday this autumn.” “And I can clear out for you,” said Paula. “I mustn’t monopolize your Nannie 1” And then Stephen brought out a package of postcard snaps, and handed them over. “I thought. Miss Hammond, you might like to get some idea of Gowthwaite.” “How nice of you—thrilling.” And over the photographs, Stephen’s tongue loosened, and he went off the deep end over the beauties and the wonders of dale life. “You ought to apply to Cook and Sons —you’ve missed your vocation,” she teased. “I’m sorry,” and he laughed. “But talking of vocations —wait till you meet our old Dale Doctor —the boss of the whole district.” “I shall fight him, I hate tyranny.” said Paula. “Do, and the result will be —interesting. He’s the President of Gowthwaito and District Choral Society. Perhaps you’ll lead on Gowthwaite to victory!” "Leading a choir has not been mentioned as one. of my Jobs.” “We’re bound to share all we have and are with one another in Gowthwaite. Your brother must come along for the Festival.” "Your’re leaping ahead 1” said Miss Hammond. “Robert must not be thinking of any kind of public singing for at least two years.” “That’s what you say, Aunt Claudia. But you haven’t quite reckoned with the personal factor.” "The personal factor that matters is Mr Maurice Gardner,” said Miss Hammon, “as I am thankful to remember that Robert will soon'find out.” And presently, Robert and Olive returned, bright with health and exercise, and the talk became general. It was later, as Stephen and Doris were sitting over their gas fire and cigarettes, that Stephen remarked, apropos of nothing: "A doctor’s wife ought to have a sense of humour.” “Quite.” Doris agreed. “A sense of humour is a help over the Slough of Despond.” “So far as I can hear, Lady Hammond is pretty deadly.” “As far os ] knew her, I fancy she is,” admitted Doris. “I say. T hope you never sent in a bill for that last frock? She wasn’t wearing it at the party!” “1 wrote it off.” and Doris smiled rather sadly. “I* counted It discount for the big cheques Sir John passed over to us. Stephen, her father was a great man.” "T know.” Then they talked of other things. Miss Hammond made no remark regarding the afternoon visitor, except to herself, in whom she often confided. "That, man is in love with Paula. He has a firm chin and far-seeing eves. The kind of man to get what he goes for.” CHAPTER XXXT. Round the Corner. It was a month later, that Paula sat

A Charming Story with Delightful Appeal.

back wearily in the North Express on her way to Gowthwaite. The sale was over, the worst had been faced, and she had spent serious hours In the South Kensington Art School and other places, preparing herself as far as she could for this new task she had, as she now felt it, so rashly undertaken. But in spite of all the worries and perplexities, life was still going on, as the busy corridor express showed. Men and women were thinking and planning and hoping and fearing and she must not show herself as a life’s coward. She was now on the high spring board, with arms above her head, ready to plunge into a pool of peace. Paula wondered at herself that she was not more conscious of her broken engagement to Lloyd Manners. Surely she must be constitutionally heartless. [ And yet, the wise side of her appreciated that the whole affair had been unreal from the beginning, and she looked forward to hearing that Lloyd had done better for himself. They had never quarrelled and she would always wish him well. Yes, she was now bound for the Pool of Peace in Gowthwaite, and her tired mind and body felt curiously stimulated as the Express panted up the great fell track, and real water and ice ■carved fells rose to right and left. She passed from side to side of the compartment restlessly, as though she I could not see too much, and the sheep, stirred from their cud-chewing, looked at the passing train with a superior in- ; difference. j Alighting at a small station, she I found the expected local bus, which was to take her to Gowthwaite, and j her heavier luggage was to come on by the carrier. “This all right for Gowthwaite?” she asked the youthful conductor. “Aye, Miss Hammond,” he said civilly. “Miss Graham said you’d land on this train.” j This was an unexpected welcome, and Paula smiled. This was no London terminus, where nobody was anybody. She got into the bus, and her goods j followed, but there was no start for i some time. Yes, this must be the Pool | of Peace—for there appeared to be no - hurry. She noticed that the inside ; front of the bus was specially arranged for the miscellaneous goods and ! parcels already collected, and which , kept arriving. ! But at last they were off, and as the conductor collected the fare, he took his chance with the only passenger. “I hope you’ll like us,” he remarked. “We take a bit of liking.” “Do you 1” said Paula cheerfully. “Well, I’m all in. How far is it—l mean how long does it take?” “To Gowthwaite? That’s as it may be, counting stopping for paroels and newspapers, and messages, and latecomers running for us down the side lanes. We’v,e a post box on the bus, and that takes a bit of time. But we’ll get to Gowthwaite all right, don’t you worrit, Miss Hammond.” “I’m not worrying. I’ve left all worries behind in London.” Then the boy seized a bundle of newspapers, and pitched them expertly on to the grassy road-border. Paula noticed that in spite of some dips in the road, they were ascending all the time, and meeting them now on one side and now on the other as they crossed narrow bridges, ran Gowthwaite “beck” as the boy called it. “You’re not exactly crowded up with people,” she remarked presently. “We are and we aren’t 1” he answered. “You’d think up ‘Gowthwaite there wasn’t a cat stirring sometimes, and then, if owt happens, well there’s folks—spring out of t’ ground 1” and he laughed, “and- mind you folks is folks 1” Paula couldn’t be quite sure what he meant by that, but it evidently conveyed a suitable scorn of Londoners. This adventure was growing in interest. And then a shabby high-powered car passed them, and the bus swerved almost to the grass. “That’s Dr. Benson. Folk has always to let him get past, same as if he was a lire engine. He’s in a hurry about summut 1” And then Paula heard a low rumbling sound, as of thunder. “What’s that?” she exclaimed. “Quarries —blasting. That’s what Gowthwaite is, sheep and stock and quarries. Now watch when we round this corner, and you’ll see Gowthj vvaite.” And so they did. but they saw something else, for smoke was pouring forth from a cottage a little distance in front. “A fTrel” and the bus plucked up spirit and accellerated, “and, why, it’s at your own place, Miss Hammond— Beck -Cottage!” Certainly the boy had been right, that, when anything was the matter folks sprang from the ground For men and women and hoys and girls were busy passing buckets along from the beck to the cottage, doing what they could, under the guardianship of the Doctor. Paula sprang from the bus, and rushed forward to take her share In the work, without, asking anyone’s leave, and was admitted into the dale comradeship. The doctor, with his coat off, gave her a hasty welcome. “You’re our new Londoner?” he said gruffly. “Come to show youp muscle when we’re getting fired. Fresh blood —but we’ve killed the old Are beast!” And then a fire engine came racketting and ringing up the dale, and it was greeted with laughter and cheers. “Too late, lads,” shouted the doctor. “We’ve got her under with our own fists.” “We’d best make sure," said the head officer. "Aye, they mustn’t come all this way for nowt!” came the cries. Besides, they all wanted to see the engine at work. So the hose was unwound, and the smoking cottage got an extra dose, while Miss Graham stood gesticulating and arguing and lamenting and protesting that the tire had not been her fault, “Fires never are anyone’s fault," said the Doctor with a laugh. "Well. Dr. Benson.” she urged, “1 was jwst wiping up the hearth stone with my duster, and how did I* know that a living cinder had stuck to the duster, when I tossed it into my cupboard ?" "You didn’t know—and here we are!’’ said he. I “And all my goods scattered on the l road, and my cottage won’t he dry for long enough, and there’s the lady from London herself, standing staring and wondering what such a place she’s come to." “Oh. hut you mustn’t mind me.” said Panin. "I’m most terribly sorry. Yon will have to got me to help you scrub everything down." (To Be Continued).