LAWLESS ISLAND

Waikato Times, Volume 124, Issue 20742, 28 February 1939, Page 4

LAWLESS ISLAND

NEW SERIAL STORY.

An Irresistible Love Btory

By EMILY HEATON

CHAPTER I. Teresa Chubbs ran to meet the postman. She had watched Jiis slow progress from the bend at Stork's Corner—bumping over the uneven road—wondering which of the cottages he would be visiting in the hamlet of Nether Hill almost a mile further on. And here he was, leisurely propping his bicycle against her garden wall, then fumbling in his bag for a letter which coulll only be for her. No wonder the dizzying shock made her head reel, for to Teresa Chubbs a letter meant trouble. “I hope yon aren't expecting bad news,” remarked Lamb, goodnaturedly, as he. prepared to ride away—he had noted the strained expression of fear ‘‘l hardly know what to expect,” muttered Teresa, gulping down a tremor. ‘‘The last letter I had —and that’s twelve months since—was to tell me my Aunt Judith was dead, so it’s happen my uncle this time." Lamb lingered a moment, being anxious to pass the news on, but as Miss Chubbs made no attempt to open the letter, he reluctantly departed. Teresa went slowly up the path and turned into the little sitting-room before venturing to settle down and read. She desired the perfect privacy of indoors, though the farm at Stork's Corner—half-a-mile away—was the nearest dwelling to Whinny Knowle. Even then she hesitated, nervously turning the letter over and over, studying- the handwriting on the envelope. Did she recognise it at all? Had she ever seen it before? She dedecided that she had not. The educated writing was totally unlike the hand of any previous correspondent. Then she opened her letter, and read—

“Dear Miss Chubb#,” it began, “Doubtless you will have heard that Dr. Argent is leaving Yeolm. He is about to retire, and I am taking over his practice. 1 shall expect to include Nether Hill in my round —as he did—and I have been thinking it would greatly facilitate matters if I could hire a room in the district, to be used for consultations, Monday and Thursday mornings in each week, say. I understand that you n\ght be able to oblige me at Whinny Knowld, and trust that it will not inconvenience you to do so. If you favour this application, 1 shall be pleased to receive a line from you stating terms, and *ll particulars. I should like you to provide me with luncheon, and also be prepared to take in all messages. Awaiting your reply, which I hope will be favourable, Very truly yours, Hildegard Aslin.” Teresa read the signature with a sense of surprise. The sprawling masculine type of writing had not prepared her for a feminine name at the foot —least of all that she should be a doctor. A lady doctor in place of the grandfatherly Dr. Argent, who had attended the sick throughout the scattered parish of Ypolm for all of forty years—inclusive of Nether Hill and Ribblesbank, which straggled one on either side. Dr. Argent had often remarked on the povidential strength and agility of the legs of his pony, and the miraculous good health of the Nether Hill and Ribblesbankites —he could not have accomplished his gigantic task without their aid. But a lady doctor! How could she be expected to traverse the mountain passes dividing Nether Hill from Yeolm, and Yeolm from Ribblesbank—and twice a week at that? Teresa curled her nose as she read "H Aslin, M. 8.” on the envelope enclosed for her reply. What would women be after doing next? Although she did not altogether approve, no doubt lingered as to the tenor of her reply. Her patrimony nad dwindled to an inflnitesmal sum, as is the contrary way of money when it should keep pace with prices; and only Teresa Chubbs herself knew how often lately her purse had refused to stretch it/elf to the demands of her appetite. She would gladly write an afilrmative answer to the letter. It might be better to leave her rug shaking until she had done so, then she could hand the missive to Lamb who must pass on his way back; this was quite in order, as the postman’s duty was to collect the letters as well as to deliver them. Exactly how to answer was the puzzle. Teresa knew what to charge for the use of her sitting room, her mind had so often dwelt upon its possibilities as a source of revenue. She would not be greedy, she could be reasonable without robbing herself. The question of luncheon was a different matter. So much depended upon Dr. Aslin’s expectations in that direction. If she happened to be the dainty aristocrat with tastes akin, it would be impossible to satisfy—regular supplies being unobtainable in that remote part with its difficulties of transit. But if the doctor possessed sufficient intelligence to understand this, and was willing to accept homely fare and cookery, then arrangements might be made at a price to content both sides.

Teresa bit her pen, and her thin brows wrinkled in anxious cogitation how best to discuss the knotty point on the paper before her. Besides, she had the painful feeling that the unaccustomed implement in her hand would let her down in the matter of blots and other blemishes in wait ready to prove the remoteness of school days. Hesitatingly she began, losing confidence the more as the letter proceeded on its uneven way; and when completed and eyed with critical eyes smitten by its shortcomings, she sought comfort in the thought that Dr. Aslin would not be likely to expect a country rustic to write Jike a schoolmistress. Half defiantly she folded the epistle and placed it in the addressed envelope: th's she deposited on the kitchen mantelpiece, propping it upright against the alarm clock in the exact centre. “I can't help seeing it up there, and it will remind me to look out for Lamb on his wav back,” she told herself, though she well knew she could not forget—did not the subject tingle through every nerve in her excited brain ? So obsessed was she that she began to feai* she inght miss the postman if she swept the bedrooms —her usual morning s duty on that .particular day of the week.

So she decided to finish cleaning 1 the rugs and leave the bedrooms until the day following, though her methodical mind deplored this upsetting of routine, especially when all the while she knew’ that Lamb never I came back until after noon. . . . But : what if he came before? * The garden badly needed attention—j its chronic state —and Teresa felt , virtuous in the decision to devote some of her valuable time to Its needs, |so she set to work with fork and ! shears, the while keeping an eye on i the road beneath. j The house, Whinny Knowle, being | situated on the side of one of the ! numerous fells—or mountains, in ! boastful native parlance—its garden | was suspended in terraces perched i above the creeper-hung boundary wall, making it an easy matter to see the full length of the road as far as the bend, which curved upward to dizzy heights before dipping into the dale where lay the miniature village of Nether Hill. The village took its name from the | gigantic hill fronting Whinny Knowle, divided only by the length of some three or four fields—an awesome sight, even when the sun chased away long shadows, formed by no visible i reason; but when clouds hung low, the huge, black rocks amongst the sparse vegetation assumed a sinister expression of evil. In the w’aste ground surrounding Whinny Knowle, Teresa Chubbs kept her poultry, the huts sheltered In the clefts of the hill. When tired of her gardening, she betook herself to feed the fowls, for their wants must be attended to twice every day. This work kept Teresa occupied until twelve o’clock, time for dinner, which she hurriedly prepared and ate at the small table facing the window. Then she smoothed her hair, arranging the two heavy plaits closer to her head by extra hairpins, donned & clean apron, one degree less faded than the other, and her toilette for the day was completed. , • • • • t For the second time that day, Teresa ran to meet the postman, lie did not dismount as before, but held out his hand for the letter she breathlessly tendered. Then with a cheery farewell word he rode on, and Teresa turned aw*ay with an odd feeling that she was closing her garden gate upon the world. The pleasurable incident was over, and she must simmer down into her usual apathetic calm. She went inside and closed the door, as was her wont, to keep out intrusive insects. She felt stifled—in prison. In a sudden spurt of revolt she flung the door open, widely back, and seated herself on the step. Ricks, her fox terrier guardian, laid his head on her lap, and snuggled into a dreamy doze. He could not understand this unusual procedure, inaction in place of industry, but he was well content. Two figures were rounding the bend, as yet too far away for recognition, and Teresa amused herself by guessing their identity for strangers seldom passed that way. As they drew nearer she discovered them to be the Rev. Joel Shouksmlth, minister at Ribblesbank Baptist Church, and Richm&l, his little daughter. They made a quaint couple, the child, whose lanky limbs had outgrown the clothes she wore, and the man, whose gait and stooping shoulders suggested a sedentary lifej His coal black beard, sallow visage, and immense dark eyes, allied with his parson’s coat, would have conveyed an impression of unrelieved blackness, had not that same coat acquired the mellow tint of one past its prime. The " parson’s indoor coat was a generation older, so rumour said. Teresa Chubbs attended the Metho- | dist Chapel at Nether Hills, which was j in a more flourishing condition than j the Ribblesbank Baptist Chapel, but she did not despise on that account— I at the same time fully alive to the ! denominational superiority of Methoj dism —so she awaited the approach of the pair with a pleased interest, j She anticipated a pleasant greeting, i possibly a brief conversation, the i weather as a topic, but certainly nothI ing more; so that when the minister ! purposefully led his daughter up the j garden path, Teresa swept Ricks aside, and arose from the doorstep with A mild wonder. (To be continued)