MY BRILLIANT CAREER

MILES FRANKLIN

1901

PREFACE

A few months before I left Australia I got a letter from the bush signed"Miles Franklin", saying that the writer had written a novel, but knewnothing of editors and publishers, and asking me to read and advise. Something about the letter, which was written in a strong original hand, attracted me, so I sent for the MS. , and one dull afternoon I started toread it. I hadn't read three pages when I saw what you will no doubt seeat once--that the story had been written by a girl. And as I went on I sawthat the work was Australian--born of the bush. I don't know about thegirlishly emotional parts of the book--I leave that to girl readers tojudge; but the descriptions of bush life and scenery came startlingly, painfully real to me, and I know that, as far as they are concerned, thebook is true to Australia--the truest I ever read. I wrote to MilesFranklin, and she confessed that she was a girl. I saw her before leavingSydney. She is just a little bush girl, barely twenty-one yet, and hasscarcely ever been out of the bush in her life. She has lived her book, and I feel proud of it for the sake of the country I came from, wherepeople toil and bake and suffer and are kind; where every secondsun-burnt bushman is a sympathetic humorist, with the sadness of the bushdeep in his eyes and a brave grin for the worst of times, and where everythird bushman is a poet, with a big heart that keeps his pockets empty. 

HENRY LAWSON

England, April 1901

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

INTRODUCTIONONE. I REMEMBER, I REMEMBERTWO. AN INTRODUCTION TO POSSUM GULLYTHREE. A LIFELESS LIFEFOUR. A CAREER WHICH SOON CAREERED TO AN ENDFIVE. DISJOINTED SKETCHES AND CRUMBLESSIX. REVOLTSEVEN. WAS E'ER A ROSE WITHOUT ITS THORN?EIGHT. POSSUM GULLY LEFT BEHIND. HURRAH! HURRAH!NINE. AUNT HELEN'S RECIPETEN. EVERARD GREYELEVEN. YAH!TWELVE. ONE GRAND PASSIONTHIRTEEN. HEFOURTEEN. PRINCIPALLY LETTERSFIFTEEN. WHEN THE HEART IS YOUNGSIXTEEN. WHEN FORTUNE SMILESSEVENTEEN. IDYLLS OF YOUTHEIGHTEEN. AS SHORT AS I WISH HAD BEEN THE MAJORITY OF SERMONS TO WHICH I HAVE BEEN FORCED TO GIVE EARNINETEEN. THE 9TH OF NOVEMBER 1896TWENTY. SAME YARN (Cont. )TWENTY-ONE. MY UNLADYLIKE BEHAVIOUR AGAINTWENTY-TWO. SWEET SEVENTEENTWENTY-THREE. AH, FOR ONE HOUR OF BURNING LOVE, 'TIS WORTH AN AGE OF COLD RESPECT!TWENTY-FOUR. THOU KNOWEST NOT WHAT A DAY MAY BRING FORTHTWENTY-FIVE. BECAUSE?TWENTY-SIX. BOAST NOT THYSELF OF TOMORROWTWENTY-SEVEN MY JOURNEYTWENTY-EIGHT. TO LIFETWENTY-NINE. TO LIFE (Cont. )THIRTY. WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS, 'TIS FOLLY TO BE WISETHIRTY-ONE. MR M'SWAT AND I HAVE A BUST-UPTHIRTY-TWO. TA-TA TO BARNEY'S GAPTHIRTY-THREE. BACK AT POSSUM GULLYTHIRTY-FOUR. BUT ABSENT FRIENDS ARE SOON FORGOTTHIRTY-FIVE. THE 3RD OF DECEMBER 1898THIRTY-SIX. ONCE UPON A TIME, WHEN THE DAYS WERE LONG AND HOTTHIRTY-SEVEN. HE THAT DESPISETH LITTLE THINGS, SHALL FALL LITTLE BY LITTLETHIRTY-EIGHT. A TALE THAT IS TOLD AND A DAY THAT IS DONE

INTRODUCTION

Possum Gully, near Goulburn, N. S. Wales, Australia, 1st March, 1899

MY DEAR FELLOW AUSTRALIANS, Just a few lines to tell you that this story is all about myself--for noother purpose do I write it. 

I make no apologies for being egotistical. In this particular I attemptan improvement on other autobiographies. Other autobiographies weary onewith excuses for their egotism. What matters it to you if I amegotistical? What matters it to you though it should matter that I amegotistical?

This is not a romance--I have too often faced the music of life to thetune of hardship to waste time in snivelling and gushing over fancies anddreams; neither is it a novel, but simply a yarn--a _real_ yarn. Oh! asreal, as really real--provided life itself is anything beyond a heartlesslittle chimera--it is as real in its weariness and bitter heartache as thetall gum-trees, among which I first saw the light, are real in theirstateliness and substantiality. 

My sphere in life is not congenial to me. Oh, how I hate this livingdeath which has swallowed all my teens, which is greedily devouring myyouth, which will sap my prime, and in which my old age, if I am cursedwith any, will be worn away! As my life creeps on for ever through thelong toil-laden days with its agonizing monotony, narrowness, andabsolute uncongeniality, how my spirit frets and champs its unbreakablefetters--all in vain!

SPECIAL NOTICE

You can dive into this story head first as it were. Do not fearencountering such trash as descriptions of beautiful sunsets andwhisperings of wind. We (999 out of every 1000) can see nought in sunsetssave as signs and tokens whether we may expect rain on the morrow or thecontrary, so we will leave such vain and foolish imagining to those poetsand painters--poor fools! Let us rejoice that we are not of theirtemperament!

Better be born a slave than a poet, better be born a black, better beborn a cripple! For a poet must be companionless--alone! _fearfully_ alonein the midst of his fellows whom he loves. Alone because his soul is asfar above common mortals as common mortals are above monkeys. 

There is no plot in this story, because there has been none in my life orin any other life which has come under my notice. I am one of a class, the individuals of which have not time for plots in their life, but haveall they can do to get their work done without indulging in such a luxury. 

CHAPTER ONE

I Remember, I Remember

"Boo, hoo! Ow, ow; Oh! oh! Me'll die. Boo, hoo. The pain, the pain!Boo, hoo!"

"Come, come, now. Daddy's little mate isn't going to turn Turk like that, is she? I'll put some fat out of the dinner-bag on it, and tie it up inmy hanky. Don't cry any more now. Hush, you must not cry! You'll make oldDart buck if you kick up a row like that. "

That is my first recollection of life. I was barely three. I can rememberthe majestic gum-trees surrounding us, the sun glinting on their straightwhite trunks, and falling on the gurgling fern-banked stream, whichdisappeared beneath a steep scrubby hill on our left. It was an hour pastnoon on a long clear summer day. We were on a distant part of the run, where my father had come to deposit salt. He had left home early in thedewy morning, carrying me in front of him on a little brown pillow whichmy mother had made for the purpose. We had put the lumps of rock-saltin the troughs on the other side of the creek. The stringybark roof ofthe salt-shed which protected the troughs from rain peeped outpicturesquely from the musk and peppercorn shrubs by which it was denselysurrounded, and was visible from where we lunched. I refilled thequart-pot in which we had boiled our tea with water from the creek, father doused our fire out with it, and then tied the quart to the D ofhis saddle with a piece of green hide. The green-hide bags in which thesalt had been carried were hanging on the hooks of the pack-saddle whichencumbered the bay pack-horse. Father's saddle and the brown pillow wereon Dart, the big grey horse on which he generally carried me, and we wereon the point of making tracks for home. 

Preparatory to starting, father was muzzling the dogs which hadjust finished what lunch we had left. This process, to which the dogsstrongly objected, was rendered necessary by a cogent reason. Father hadbrought his strychnine flask with him that day, and in hopes of causingthe death of a few dingoes, had put strong doses of its contents inseveral dead beasts which we had come across. 

Whilst the dogs were being muzzled, I busied myself in plucking ferns andflowers. This disturbed a big black snake which was curled at the butt ofa tree fern. 

"Bitey! bitey!" I yelled, and father came to my rescue, despatching thereptile with his stock-whip. He had been smoking, and dropped his pipe onthe ferns. I picked it up, and the glowing embers which fell from itburnt my dirty little fat fists. Hence the noise with which my storycommences. 

In all probability it was the burning of my fingers which so indeliblyimpressed the incident on my infantile mind. My father was accustomed totake me with him, but that is the only jaunt at that date which Iremember, and that is all I remember of it. We were twelve miles fromhome, but how we reached there I do not know. 

My father was a swell in those days--held Bruggabrong, Bin Bin East, andBin Bin West, which three stations totalled close on 200, 000 acres. Fatherwas admitted into swelldom merely by right of his position. His pedigreeincluded nothing beyond a grandfather. My mother, however, was afull-fledged aristocrat. She was one of the Bossiers of Caddagat, whonumbered among their ancestry one of the depraved old pirates whopillaged England with William the Conqueror. 

"Dick" Melvyn was as renowned for hospitality as joviality, and ourcomfortable, wide-veranda'ed, irregularly built, slab house in itssheltered nook amid the Timlinbilly Ranges was ever full to overflowing. Doctors, lawyers, squatters, commercial travellers, bankers, journalists, tourists, and men of all kinds and classes crowded our well-spread board;but seldom a female face, except mother's, was to be seen there, Bruggabrong being a very out-of-the-way place. 

I was both the terror and the amusement of the station. Oldboundary-riders and drovers inquire after me with interest to this day. 

I knew everyone's business, and was ever in danger of publishing it at aninopportune moment. 

In flowery language, selected from slang used by the station hands, andlong words picked up from our visitors, I propounded unanswerablequestions which brought blushes to the cheeks of even tough oldwine-bibbers. 

Nothing would induce me to show more respect to an appraiser of the runsthan to a boundary-rider, or to a clergyman than a drover. I am the sameto this day. My organ of veneration must be flatter than a pancake, because to venerate a person simply for his position I never did or will. To me the Prince of Wales will be no more than a shearer, unless when Imeet him he displays some personality apart from his princeship--otherwisehe can go hang. 

Authentic record of the date when first I had a horse to myself has notbeen kept, but it must have been early, as at eight I was fit to rideanything on the place. Side-saddle, man-saddle, no-saddle, or astride wereall the same to me. I rode among the musterers as gamely as any of thebig sunburnt bushmen. 

My mother remonstrated, opined I would be a great unwomanly tomboy. Myfather poohed the idea. 

"Let her alone, Lucy, " he said, "let her alone. The rubbishingconventionalities which are the curse of her sex will bother her soonenough. Let her alone!"

So, smiling and saying, "She should have been a boy, " my mother let mealone, and I rode, and in comparison to my size made as much noise withmy stock-whip as any one. Accidents had no power over me, I cameunscathed out of droves of them. 

Fear I knew not. Did a drunken tramp happen to kick up a row, I wasalways the first to confront him, and, from my majestic and roly-polyheight of two feet six inches, demand what he wanted. 

A digging started near us and was worked by a score of two dark-browedsons of Italy. They made mother nervous, and she averred they were not tobe trusted, but I liked and trusted them. They carried me on their broadshoulders, stuffed me with lollies and made a general pet of me. Withoutthe quiver of a nerve I swung down their deepest shafts in the big bucketon the end of a rope attached to a rough windlass, which brought up theminers and the mullock. 

My brothers and sisters contracted mumps, measles, scarlatina, andwhooping-cough. I rolled in the bed with them yet came off scot-free. Iromped with dogs, climbed trees after birds' nests, drove the bullocks inthe dray, under the instructions of Ben, our bullocky, and alwaysaccompanied my father when he went swimming in the clear, mountain, shrub-lined stream which ran deep and lone among the weird gullies, thickly carpeted with maidenhair and numberless other species of ferns. 

My mother shook her head over me and trembled for my future, but fatherseemed to consider me nothing unusual. He was my hero, confidant, encyclopedia, mate, and even my religion till I was ten. Since then Ihave been religionless. 

Richard Melvyn, you were a fine fellow in those days! A kind andindulgent parent, a chivalrous husband, a capital host, a man full ofambition and gentlemanliness. 

Amid these scenes, and the refinements and pleasures of Caddagat, whichlies a hundred miles or so farther Riverinawards, I spent the first yearsof my childhood. 

CHAPTER TWO

An Introduction to Possum Gully

I was nearly nine summers old when my father conceived the idea that he waswasting his talents by keeping them rolled up in the small napkin of anout-of-the-way place like Bruggabrong and the Bin Bin stations. Thereforehe determined to take up his residence in a locality where he would havemore scope for his ability. 

When giving his reason for moving to my mother, he put the matter beforeher thus: The price of cattle and horses had fallen so of late yearsthat it was impossible to make much of a living by breeding them. Sheepwere the only profitable article to have nowadays, and it would heimpossible to run them on Bruggabrong or either of the Bin Bins. Thedingoes would work havoc among them in no time, and what they left theduffers would soon dispose of. As for bringing police into the matter, itwould be worse than useless. They could not run the offenders to earth, and their efforts to do so would bring down upon their employer the wrathof the duffers. Result, all the fences on the station would be fired fora dead certainty, and the destruction of more than a hundred miles ofheavy log fencing on rough country like Bruggabrong was no picnic tocontemplate. 

This was the feasible light in which father shaded his desire to leave. The fact of the matter was that the heartless harridan, discontent, hadlaid her claw-like hand upon him. His guests were ever assuring him hewas buried and wasted in Timlinbilly's gullies. A man of hisintelligence, coupled with his wonderful experience among stock, would, they averred, make a name and fortune for himself dealing orauctioneering if he only liked to try. Richard Melvyn began to think sotoo, and desired to try. He did try. 

He gave up Bruggabrong, Bin Bin East and Bin Bin West, bought PossumGully, a small farm of one thousand acres, and brought us all to livenear Goulburn. Here we arrived one autumn afternoon. Father, mother, andchildren packed in the buggy, myself, and the one servant-girl, who hadaccompanied us, on horseback. The one man father had retained in hisservice was awaiting our arrival. He had preceded us with abullock-drayload of furniture and belongings, which was all father hadretained of his household property. Just sufficient for us to get alongwith, until he had time to settle and purchase more, he said. That wasten years ago, and that is the only furniture we possess yet--just enoughto get along with. 

My first impression of Possum Gully was bitter disappointment--animpression which time has failed to soften or wipe away. 

How flat, common, and monotonous the scenery appeared after the ruggedpeaks of the Timlinbilly Range!

Our new house was a ten-roomed wooden structure, built on a barrenhillside. Crooked stunted gums and stringybarks, with a thick underscrubof wild cherry, hop, and hybrid wattle, clothed the spurs which ran upfrom the back of the detached kitchen. Away from the front of the housewere flats, bearing evidence of cultivation, but a drop of water wasnowhere to be seen. Later, we discovered a few round, deep, weedywaterholes down on the flat, which in rainy weather swelled to a streamwhich swept all before it. Possum Gully is one of the best watered spotsin the district, and in that respect has stood to its guns in thebitterest drought. Use and knowledge have taught us the full value of itsfairly clear and beautifully soft water. Just then, however, coming fromthe mountains where every gully had its limpid creek, we turned indisgust from the idea of having to drink this water. 

I felt cramped on our new run. It was only three miles wide at itsbroadest point. Was I always, always, always to live here, and never, never, never to go back to Bruggabrong? That was the burden of the griefwith which I sobbed myself to sleep on the first night after our arrival. 

Mother felt dubious of her husband's ability to make a living off athousand acres, half of which were fit to run nothing but wallabies, butfather was full of plans, and very sanguine concerning his future. He wasnot going to squat henlike on his place as the cockies around him did. Hemeant to deal in stock making of Possum Gully merely a depot on whichto run some of his bargains until reselling. 

Dear, oh dear! It was terrible to think he had wasted the greater part ofhis life among the hills where the mail came but once a week, and wherethe nearest town, of 650 inhabitants, was forty-six miles distant. Andthe road had been impassable for vehicles. Here, only seventeen milesfrom a city like Goulburn, with splendid roads, mail thrice weekly, and arailway platform only eight miles away, why, man, my fortune is made!Such were the sentiments to which he gave birth out of the fullness ofhis hopeful heart. 

Ere the diggings had broken out on Bruggabrong, our nearest neighbour, excepting, of course, boundary-riders, was seventeen miles distant. Possum Gully was a thickly populated district, and here we weresurrounded by homes ranging from half a mile to two and three miles away. This was a new experience for us, and it took us some time to becomeaccustomed to the advantage and disadvantage of the situation. Did werequire an article, we found it handy, but decidedly the reverse whenour neighbours borrowed from us, and, in the greater percentage of cases, failed to return the loan. 

CHAPTER THREE

A Lifeless Life

Possum Gully was stagnant--stagnant with the narrow stagnation prevalentin all old country places. 

Its residents were principally married folk and children under sixteen. The boys, as they attained manhood, drifted outback to shear, drove, orto take up land. They found it too slow at home, and besides there wasnot room enough for them there when they passed childhood. 

Nothing ever happened there. Time was no object, and the days slidquietly into the river of years, distinguished one from another by namealone. An occasional birth or death was a big event, and the biggestevent of all was the advent of a new resident. 

When such a thing occurred it was customary for all the male heads offamilies to pay a visit of inspection, to judge if the new-comers wereworthy of admittance into the bosom of the society of the neighbourhood. Should their report prove favourable, then their wives finished theceremony of inauguration by paying a friendly visit. 

After his arrival at Possum Gully father was much away on business, andso on my mother fell the ordeal of receiving the callers, male andfemale. 

The men were honest, good-natured, respectable, common bushmen farmers. Too friendly to pay a short call, they came and sat for hours yarningabout nothing in particular. This bored my gentle mother excessively. Sheattempted to entertain them with conversation of current literature andsubjects of the day, but her efforts fell flat. She might as well havespoken in French. 

They conversed for hours and hours about dairying, interspersed withpointless anecdotes of the man who had lived there before us. I foundthem very tame. 

After graphic descriptions of life on big stations outback, and thedashing snake yarns told by our kitchen-folk at Bruggabrong, and theanecdotes of African hunting, travel, and society life which had oftenformed our guests' subject of conversation, this endless fiddle-faddle ofthe price of farm produce and the state of crops was very fatuous. 

Those men, like everyone else, only talked shop. I say nothing incondemnation of it, but merely point out that it did not then interestus, as we were not living in that shop just then. 

Mrs Melvyn must have found favour in the eyes of the specimens of thelords of creation resident at Possum Gully, as all the matrons of thecommunity hastened to call on her, and vied with each other in a displayof friendliness and good-nature. They brought presents of poultry, jam, butter, and suchlike. They came at two o'clock and stayed till dark. Theyinventoried the furniture, gave mother cookery recipes, describedminutely the unsurpassable talents of each of their children, anddescanted volubly upon the best way of setting turkey hens. On takingtheir departure they cordially invited us all to return their visits, andbegged mother to allow her children to spend a day with theirs. 

We had been resident in our new quarters nearly a month when my parentsreceived an intimation from the teacher of the public school, two milesdistant, to the effect that the law demanded that they should send theirchildren to school. It upset my mother greatly. What was she to do?

"Do! Bundle the nippers off to school as quickly as possible, of course, "said my father. 

My mother objected. She proposed a governess now and a goodboarding-school later on. She had heard such dreadful stories of publicschools! It was terrible to be compelled to send her darlings to one;they would be ruined in a week!

"Not they, " said father. "Run them off for a week or two, or a month atthe outside. They can't come to any harm in that time. After that we willget a governess. You are in no state of health to worry about one justnow, and it is utterly impossible that I can see about the matter atpresent. I have several specs. On foot that I must attend to. Send theyoungsters to school down here for the present. "

We went to school, and in our dainty befrilled pinafores and light shoeswere regarded as great swells by the other scholars. They for the mostpart were the children of very poor farmers, whose farm earnings wereaugmented by road-work, wood-carting, or any such labour which camewithin their grasp. All the boys went barefooted, also a moiety of thegirls. The school was situated on a wild scrubby hill, and the teacherboarded with a resident a mile from it. He was a man addicted to drink, and the parents of his scholars lived in daily expectation of seeing hisdismissal from the service. 

It is nearly ten years since the twins (who came next to me) and I wereenrolled as pupils of the Tiger Swamp public school. My education wascompleted there; so was that of the twins, who are eleven months youngerthan I. Also my other brothers and sisters are quickly gettingfinishedwards; but that is the only school any of us have seen or known. There was even a time when father spoke of filling in the free forms forour attendance there. But mother--a woman's pride bears more wear than aman's--would never allow us to come to that. 

All our neighbours were very friendly; but one in particular, a JamesBlackshaw, proved himself most desirous of being comradely with us. Hewas a sort of self-constituted sheik of the community. It was usual forhim to take all new-comers under his wing, and with officious good-natureendeavour to make them feel at home. He called on us daily, tied hishorse to the paling fence beneath the shade of a sallie-tree in thebackyard, and when mother was unable to see him he was content to yarnfor an hour or two with Jane Haizelip, our servant-girl. 

Jane disliked Possum Gully as much as I did. Her feeling being much moredefined, it was amusing to hear the flat-out opinions she expressed to MrBlackshaw, whom, by the way, she termed "a mooching hen of a chap". 

"I suppose, Jane, you like being here near Goulburn, better than thatout-of-the-way place you came from, " he said one morning as hecomfortably settled himself on an old sofa in the kitchen. 

"No jolly fear. Out-of-the-way place! There was more life at Bruggabrongin a day than you crawlers 'ud see here all yer lives, " she retorted withvigour, energetically pommelling a batch of bread which she was mixing. 

"Why, at Brugga it was as good as a show every week. On Saturday eveningall the coves used to come in for their mail. They'd stay till Sundayevenin'. Splitters. Boundary-riders, dogtrappers--every manjack of 'em. Some of us wuz always good fer a toon on the concertina, and the restwould dance. We had fun to no end. A girl could have a fly round and alark or two there I tell you; but here, " and she emitted a snort ofcontempt, "there ain't one bloomin' feller to do a mash with. I'm full ofthe place. Only I promised to stick to the missus a while, I'd scoottomorrer. It's the dead-and-alivest hole I ever seen. "

"You'll git used to it by and by, " said Blackshaw. 

"Used to it! A person 'ud hev to be brought up onder a hen to git used tothe dullness of this hole. "

"You wasn't brought up under a hen, or it must have been a big BramerPooter, if you were, " replied he, noting the liberal proportions of herfigure as she hauled a couple of heavy pots off the fire. He did notoffer to help her. Etiquette of that sort was beyond his ken. 

"You oughter go out more and then you wouldn't find it so dull, " he said, after she had placed the pots on the floor. 

"Go out! Where 'ud I go to, pray?"

"Drop in an' see my missus again when you git time. You're alwayswelcome. "

"Thanks, but I had plenty of goin' to see your missus last time. "

"How's that?"

"Why, I wasn't there harf an hour wen she had to strip off her clean dudsan' go an' milk. I don't think much of any of the men around here. Theylet the women work too hard. I never see such a tired wore-out set ofwomen. It puts me in mind ev the time wen the black fellers made the ginsdo all the work. Why, on Bruggabrong the women never had to do no outsidework, only on a great pinch wen all the men were away at a fire or amuster. Down here they do everything. They do all the milkin', andpig-feedin', and poddy-rarin'. It makes me feel fit to retch. I don'tknow whether it's because the men is crawlers or whether it's dairyin'. Idon't think much of dairyin'. It's slavin', an' delvin', an' scrapin' yereyeballs out from mornin' to night, and nothink to show for your pains;and now you'll oblige me, Mr Blackshaw, if youll lollop somewhere elsefor a minute or two. I want to sweep under that sofer. "

This had the effect of making him depart. He said good morning and wentoff, not sure whether he was most amused or insulted. 

CHAPTER FOUR

A Career Which Soon Careered To An End

While mother, Jane Haizelip, and I found the days long and life slow, father was enjoying himself immensely. 

He had embarked upon a lively career--that gambling trade known as dealingin stock. 

When he was not away in Riverina inspecting a flock of sheep, he wasattending the Homebush Fat Stock Sales, rushing away out to Bourke, ortearing off down the Shoalhaven to buy some dairy heifers. 

He was a familiar figure at the Goulburn sale-yards every Wednesday, always going into town the day before and not returning till a day, andoften two days, afterwards. 

He was in great demand among drovers and auctioneers; and in the stocknews his name was always mentioned in connection with all the principalsales in the colony. 

It takes an astute, clear-headed man to keep himself off shore in stockdealing. I never yet heard of a dealer who occasionally did nottemporarily, if not totally, go to the wall. 

He need not necessarily be downright unscrupulous, but if he wishes toprofit he must not be overburdened with niceties in the point of honour. That is where Richard Melvyn fell through. He was crippled with too manyUtopian ideas of honesty, and was too soft ever to come off anything butsecond-best in a deal. He might as well have attempted to make hisfortune by scraping a fiddle up and down Auburn Street, Goulburn. Hisdealing career was short and merry. His vanity to be considered asocialistic fellow, who was as ready to take a glass with a swaggie as aswell, and the lavish shouting which this principle incurred, made greatinroads on his means. Losing money every time he sold a beast, wastingstamps galore on letters to endless auctioneers, frequently remaining intown half a week at a stretch, and being hail-fellow to all the spongersto be found on the trail of such as he, quickly left him on the verge ofbankruptcy. Some of his contemporaries say it was grog that did it all. 

Had he kept clear-headed he was a smart fellow, and gave promise of doingwell, but his head would not stand alcohol, and by it he was underminedin no time. In considerably less than a twelvemonth all the spare capitalin his coffers from the disposal of Bruggabrong and the Bin Bins had beensquandered. He had become so hard up that to pay the drovers in his lastventure he was forced to sell the calves of the few milch-cows retainedfor household uses. 

At this time it came to my father's knowledge that one of our bishops hadmoney held in trust for the Church. On good security he was giving thisout for usury, the same as condemned in the big Bible, out of which hetook the text of the dry-hash sermons with which he bored his fashionablecongregations in his cathedral on Sundays. 

Father took advantage of this Reverend's inconsistency and mortgagedPossum Gully. With the money thus obtained he started once more andmanaged to make a scant livelihood and pay the interest on the bishop'sloan. In four or five years he had again reached loggerheads. The priceof stock had fallen so that there was nothing to be made out of dealingin them. 

Richard Melvyn resolved to live as those around him--start a dairy; run itwith his family, who would also rear poultry for sale. 

As instruments of the dairying trade he procured fifty milch-cows, thecalves of which had to be "poddied", and a hand cream-separator. 

I was in my fifteenth year when we began dairying; the twins Horace andGertie were, as you already know, eleven months younger. Horace, hadthere been any one to train him, contained the makings of a splendid man;but having no one to bring him up in the way he should go, he was achurlish and trying bully, and the issue of his character doubtful. 

Gertie milked thirteen cows, and I eighteen, morning and evening. Horaceand mother, between them, milked the remaining seventeen. 

Among the dairying fraternity little toddlers, ere they are big enough tohold a bucket, learn to milk. Thus their hands become inured to themotion, and it does not affect them. With us it was different. Beingalmost full grown when we started to milk, and then plunging heavily intothe exercise, it had a painful effect upon us. Our hands and arms, as faras the elbows, swelled, so that our sleep at night was often disturbed bypain. 

Mother made the butter. She had to rise at two and three o'clock in themorning, in order that it would be cool and firm enough to print formarket. 

Jane Haizelip had left us a year previously, and we could afford no oneto take her place. The heavy work told upon my gentle, refined mother. She grew thin and careworn, and often cross. My father's share of thework was to break in the wild cows, separate the milk, and take thebutter into town to the grocer's establishment where we obtained oursupplies. 

Dick Melvyn of Bruggabrong was not recognizable in Dick Melvyn, dairyfarmer and cocky of Possum Gully. The former had been a man worthy of thename. The latter was a slave of drink, careless, even dirty andbedraggled in his personal appearance. He disregarded all manners, andhad become far more plebeian and common than the most miserable specimenof humanity around him. The support of his family, yet not, its support. The head of his family, yet failing to fulfil the obligations demanded ofone in that capacity. He seemed to lose all love and interest in hisfamily, and grew cross and silent, utterly without pride and pluck. Formerly so kind and gentle with animals, now he was the reverse. 

His cruelty to the young cows and want of patience with them I can neverforget. It has often brought upon me the threat of immediateextermination for volunteering scathing and undesired opinions on hisconduct. 

The part of the dairying that he positively gloried in was going to townwith the butter. He frequently remained in for two or three days, asoften as not spending all the money he got for the butter in a drunkenspree. Then he would return to curse his luck because his dairy did notpay as well as those of some of our neighbours. 

The curse of Eve being upon my poor mother in those days, she was unableto follow her husband. Pride forbade her appealing to her neighbours, soon me devolved the duty of tracking my father from one pub to another andbringing him home. 

Had I done justice to my mother's training I would have honoured mypaternal parent in spite of all this, but I am an individual ever doingthings I oughtn't at the time I shouldn't. 

Coming home, often after midnight, with my drunken father talking maudlinconceited nonsense beside me, I developed curious ideas on the fifthcommandment. Those journeys in the spring-cart through the soft faintstarlight were conducive to thought. My father, like most men when underthe influence of liquor, would allow no one but himself to handle thereins, and he was often so incapable that he would keep turning the horseround and round in the one place. It is a marvel we never met with anaccident. I was not nervous, but quite content to take whatever came, andour trusty old horse fulfilled his duty, ever faithfully taking us homealong the gum-tree-lined road. 

My mother had taught me from the Bible that I should honour my parents, whether they were deserving of honour or not. 

Dick Melvyn being my father did not blind me to the fact that he was adespicable, selfish, weak creature, and as such I despised him with therelentlessness of fifteen, which makes no allowance for human frailty andweakness. Disgust, not honour, was the feeling which possessed me when Istudied the matter. 

Towards mother I felt differently. A woman is but the helpless tool ofman--a creature of circumstances. 

Seeing my father beside me, and thinking of his infant with its mother, eating her heart out with anxiety at home, this was the reasoning whichtook possession of me. Among other such inexpressible thoughts I gotlost, grew dizzy, and drew back appalled at the spirit which was maturingwithin me. It was a grim lonely one, which I vainly tried to hide in abosom which was not big or strong enough for its comfortable habitation. It was as a climbing plant without a pole--it groped about the ground, bruised itself, and became hungry searching for something strong to whichto cling. Needing a master-hand to train and prune, it was becoming rankand sour. 

CHAPTER FIVE

Disjointed Sketches And Grumbles

It was my duty to "rare the poddies". This is the most godless occupationin which it has been my lot to engage. I did a great amount of thinkingwhile feeding them--for, by the way, I am afflicted with the power ofthought, which is a heavy curse. The less a person thinks and inquiresregarding the why and the wherefore and the justice of things, whendragging along through life, the happier it is for him, and doubly, trebly so, for her. 

Poor little calves! Slaves to the greed of man! Bereft of the motherswith which Nature has provided them, and compelled to exist on milk fromthe separator, often thick, sour, and icy cold. 

Besides the milking I did, before I went to school every morning, forwhich I had to prepare myself and the younger children, and to which wehad to walk two miles. I had to feed thirty calves and wash the breakfastdishes. On returning from school in the afternoon, often in a state ofexhaustion from walking in the blazing sun, I had the same duties overagain, and in addition boots to clean and home lessons to prepare for themorrow. I had to relinquish my piano practice for want of time. 

Ah, those short, short nights of rest and long, long days of toil! Itseems to me that dairying means slavery in the hands of poor people whocannot afford hired labour. I am not writing of dairy-farming, thegenteel and artistic profession as eulogized in leading articles ofagricultural newspapers and as taught in agricultural colleges. I amdepicting practical dairying as I have lived it, and seen it lived, bydozens of families around me. 

It takes a great deal of work to produce even one pound of butter fit formarket. At the time I mention it was 3d. And 4d. Per lb. , so it was muchwork and small pay. It was slaving and delving from morning tillnight--Sundays, week-days, and holidays, all alike were work-days to us. 

Hard graft is a great leveller. Household drudgery, woodcutting, milking, and gardening soon roughen the hands and dim the outside polish. When thebody is wearied with much toil the desire to cultivate the mind, or thecultivation it has already received, is gradually wiped out. Thus it waswith my parents. They had dropped from swelldom to peasantism. They wereamong and of the peasantry. None of their former acquaintances camewithin their circle now, for the iron ungodly hand of class distinctionhas settled surely down upon Australian society--Australia's democracy isonly a tradition of the past. 

I say naught against the lower life. The peasantry are the bulwarks ofevery nation. The life of a peasant is, to a peasant who is a peasantwith a peasant's soul, when times are good and when seasons smile, agrand life. It is honest, clean, and wholesome. But the life of a peasantto me is purgatory. Those around me worked from morning till night andthen enjoyed their well-earned sleep. They had but two states ofexistence--work and sleep. 

There was a third part in me which cried out to be fed. I longed for thearts. Music was a passion with me. I borrowed every book in theneighbourhood and stole hours from rest to read them. This told upon meand made my physical burdens harder for me than for other children of myyears around me. That third was the strongest part of me. In it I lived adream-life with writers, artists, and musicians. Hope, sweet, cruel, delusive Hope, whispered in my ear that life was long with much by andby, and in that by and by my dream-life would be real. So on I went withthat gleaming lake in the distance beckoning me to come and sail on itssilver waters, and Inexperience, conceited, blind Inexperience, failingto show the impassable pit between it and me. 

To return to the dairying. 

Old and young alike we earned our scant livelihood by the heavy sweat ofour brows. Still, we _did_ gain an honest living. We were not ashamed tolook day in the face, and fought our way against all odds with thestubborn independence of our British ancestors. But when 1894 went outwithout rain, and '95, hot, dry, pitiless '95, succeeded it, there came atime when it was impossible to make a living. 

The scorching furnace-breath winds shrivelled every blade of grass, dustand the moan of starving stock filled the air, vegetables became a thingof the past. The calves I had reared died one by one, and the cowsfollowed in their footsteps. 

I had left school then, and my mother and father and I spent the days inlifting our cows. When our strength proved inadequate, the help ofneighbours had to be called in, and father would give his services inreturn. Only a few of our more well-to-do neighbours had been able to sendtheir stock away, or had any better place to which to transfer them. Themajority of them were in as tight a plight as ourselves. This cow-liftingbecame quite a trade, the whole day being spent in it and in discussingthe bad prospect ahead if the drought continued. 

Many an extra line of care furrowed the brows of the disheartened bushmenthen. Not only was their living taken from them by the drought, but thereis nothing more heartrending than to have poor beasts, especially dairycows, so familiar, valued, and loved, pleading for food day after day intheir piteous dumb way when one has it not to give. 

We shore ourselves of all but the bare necessaries of life, but even theyfor a family of ten are considerable, and it was a mighty tussle to getboth ends within cover of meeting. We felt the full force of the heavyhand of poverty--the most stinging kind of poverty too, that which stillholds up its head and keeps an outside appearance. Far more grinding isthis than the poverty inherited from generations which is not ashamed ofitself, and has not as an accompaniment the wounded pride and humiliationwhich attacked us. 

Some there are who argue that poverty does not mean unhappiness. Letthose try what it is to be destitute of even one companionable friend, what it means to be forced to exist in an alien sphere of society, whatit is like to be unable to afford a stamp to write to a friend; let themlong as passionately as I have longed for reading and music, and beunable to procure it because of poverty; let poverty force them intodoing work against which every fibre of their being revolts, as it hasforced me, and then see if their lives will be happy. 

My school life had been dull and uneventful. The one incident of any notehad been the day that the teacher, better known as old Harris, "stood up"to the inspector. The latter was a precise, collar-and-cuffs sort oflittle man. He gave one the impression of having all his ideas on thesubjects he thought worthy of attention carefully culled and packed inhis brain-pan, and neatly labelled, so that he might without flusterpounce upon any of them at a moment's warning. He was gentlemanly andrespectable, and discharged his duties punctiliously in a mannerreflecting credit on himself and his position, but, comparing the mind ofa philanthropist to the Murrumbidgee in breadth, his, in comparison, might be likened to the flow of a bucket of water in a dray-rut. 

On the day in question--a precious hot one it was--he had finishedexamining us in most subjects, and was looking at our copy-books. Helooked up from them, ahemed! and fastidiously straightened his waistcoat. 

"Mr Harris!

"Yes, sir. "

"Comparisons are odious, but, unfortunately, I am forced to draw onenow. "

"Yes, sir. "

"This writing is much inferior to that of town scholars. It is very shakyand irregular. Also, I notice that the children seem stupid and dull. Idon't like putting it so plainly, but, in fact, ah, they seem to bepossessed with the proverbial stupidity of country people. How do youaccount for this?"

Poor old Harris! In spite of his drunken habits and inability to properlydischarge his duties, he had a warm heart and much fellowshiply humanityin him. He understood and loved his pupils, and would not have aspersionscast upon them. Besides, the nip he had taken to brace himself to meetthe inspector had been two or three, and they robbed him of thediscretion which otherwise might have kept him silent. 

"Si-r-r-r, I can and will account for it. Look you at every one of thosechildren. Every one, right down to this little tot, " indicating a littlegirl of five, "has to milk and work hard before and after school, besideswalk on an average two miles to and from school in this infernal heat. Most of the elder boys and girls milk on an average fourteen cows morningand evening. You try that treatment for a week or two, my fine gentleman, and then see if your fist doesn't ache and shake so that you can't writeat all. See if you won't look a trifle dozy. Stupidity of country peoplebe hanged! If you had to work from morning till night in the heat anddust, and get precious little for it too, I bet you wouldn't have muchtime to scrape your finger-nails, read science notes, and look smart. "Here he took off his coat and shaped up to his superior. 

The inspector drew back in consternation. 

"Mr Harris, you forget yourself!"

At this juncture they went outside together. What happened there we neverknew. That is all we heard of the matter except the numerous garbledaccounts which were carried home that afternoon. 

A DROUGHT IDYLL

"Sybylla, what are you doing? Where is your mother?"

"I'm ironing. Mother's down at the fowl-house seeing after some chickens. What do you want?"

It was my father who addressed me. Time, 2 o'clock p. M. Thermometer hungin the shade of the veranda registering 105 1/2 degrees. 

"I see Blackshaw coming across the flat. Call your mother. You bring theleg-ropes--I've got the dog-leg. Come at once; we'll give the cows anotherlift. Poor devils--might as well knock 'em on the head at once, but theremight be rain next moon. This drought can't last for ever. "

I called mother, got the leg-ropes, and set off, pulling my sun-bonnetclosely over my face to protect my eyes from the dust which was drivingfrom the west in blinding clouds. The dog-leg to which father hadreferred was three poles about eight or ten feet long, strapped togetherso they could be stood up. It was an arrangement father had devised tofacilitate our labour in lifting the cows. A fourth and longer pole wasplaced across the fork formed by the three, and to one end of this weretied a couple of leg-ropes, after being placed round the beast, onebeneath the flank and one around the girth. On the other end of this polewe would put our weight while one man would lift with the tail andanother with the horns. New-chum cows would sulk, and we would have greatwork with them; but those used to the performance would help themselves, and up they'd go as nice as a daisy. The only art needed was to draw thepole back quickly before the cows could move, or the leg-ropes would pullthem over again. 

On this afternoon we had six cows to lift. We struggled manfully, and gotfive on their feet, and then proceeded to where the last one was lying, back downwards, on a shadeless stony spot on the side of a hill. The menslewed her round by the tail, while mother and I fixed the dog-leg andadjusted the ropes. We got the cow up, but the poor beast was so weakand knocked about that she immediately fell down again. We resolved tolet her have a few minutes' spell before making another attempt atlifting. There was not a blade of grass to be seen, and the ground wastoo dusty to sit on. We were too overdone to make more than one-wordedutterances, so waited silently in the blazing sun, closing our eyesagainst the dust. 

Weariness! Weariness!

A few light wind-smitten clouds made wan streaks across the white sky, haggard with the fierce relentless glare of the afternoon sun. Wearinesswas written across my mother's delicate careworn features, and foundexpression in my father's knitted brows and dusty face. Blackshaw wasweary, and said so, as he wiped the dust, made mud with perspiration, offhis cheeks. I was weary--my limbs ached with the heat and work. The poorbeast stretched at our feet was weary. All nature was weary, and seemedto sing a dirge to that effect in the furnace-breath wind which roaredamong the trees on the low ranges at our back and smote the parched andthirsty ground. All were weary, all but the sun. He seemed to glory inhis power, relentless and untiring, as he swung boldly in the sky, triumphantly leering down upon his helpless victims. 

Weariness! Weariness!

This was life--my life--my career, my brilliant career! I wasfifteen--fifteen! A few fleeting hours and I would be old as those aroundme. I looked at them as they stood there, weary, and turning down theother side of the hill of life. When young, no doubt they had hoped for, and dreamed of, better things--had even known them. But here they were. This had been their life; this was their career. It was, and in allprobability would be, mine too. My life--my career--my brilliant career!

Weariness! Weariness!

The summer sun danced on. Summer is fiendish, and life is a curse, I saidin my heart. What a great dull hard rock the world was! On it were a fewbarren narrow ledges, and on these, by exerting ourselves so that theforce wears off our finger-nails, it allows us to hang for a year or two, and then hurls us off into outer darkness and oblivion, perhaps to endureworse torture than this. 

The poor beast moaned. The lifting had strained her, and there werepatches of hide worn off her the size of breakfast-plates, sore and mostharrowing to look upon. 

It takes great suffering to wring a moan from the patience of a cow. Iturned my head away, and with the impatience and one-sided reasoningcommon to fifteen, asked God what He meant by this. It is well enough toheap suffering on human beings, seeing it is supposed to be merely aprobation for a better world, but animals--poor, innocent animals--why arethey tortured so?

"Come now, we'll lift her once more, " said my father. At it we wentagain; it is surprising what weight there is in the poorest cow. Withgreat struggling we got her to her feet once more, and were careful thistime to hold her till she got steady on her legs. Father and mother atthe tail and Blackshaw and I at the horns, we marched her home and gaveher a bran mash. Then we turned to our work in the house while the mensat and smoked and spat on the veranda, discussing the drought for anhour, at the end of which time they went to help someone else with theirstock. I made up the fire and we continued our ironing, which had beeninterrupted some hours before. It was hot unpleasant work on such a day. We were forced to keep the doors and windows closed on account of thewind and dust. We were hot and tired, and our feet ached so that we couldscarcely stand on them. 

Weariness! Weariness!

Summer is fiendish and life is a curse, I said in my heart. 

Day after day the drought continued. Now and again there would be a fewdays of the raging wind before mentioned, which carried the dry grass offthe paddocks and piled it against the fences, darkened the air with dust, and seemed to promise rain, but ever it dispersed whence it came, takingwith it the few clouds it had gathered up; and for weeks and weeks at astretch, from horizon to horizon, was never a speck to mar the crueldazzling brilliance of the metal sky. 

Weariness! Weariness!

I said the one thing many times but, ah, it was a weary thing which tookmuch repetition that familiarity might wear away a little of itsbitterness!

CHAPTER SIX

Revolt

In spite of our pottering and lifting, with the exception of five, allour cows eventually died; and even these and a couple of horses had asmuch as they could do to live on the whole of the thousand acres which, without reserve, were at their disposal. They had hardly any grass--itwas merely the warmth and water which kept them alive. Needless to say, we were on our beam-ends financially. However, with a little help frommore fortunate relatives, and with the money obtained from the sale ofthe cowhides and mother's poultry, we managed to pay the interest on themoney borrowed from the bishop, and keep bread in our mouths. 

Unfortunately for us, at this time the bishop's agent proved a scoundreland absconded. My father held receipts to show that to this agent he hadregularly paid the interest of the money borrowed; but through somefinicking point of law, because we had not money to contend with him, hislordship the bishop now refused to acknowledge his agent and one-timepillar of the cathedral, and, having law on his side, served a writ onus. In the face of our misfortunes this was too much: we begged for time, which plea he answered by putting in the bailiff and selling everythingwe possessed. Our five cows, two horses, our milk separator, plough, cart, dray, buggy, even our cooking utensils, books, pictures, furniture, father's watch--our very beds, pillows, and blankets. Not a thing besideswhat we stood up in was left us, and this was money for the payment ofwhich my father held receipts. 

But for the generosity of our relatives we would have been in a prettyplight. They sent us sufficient means to buy iii everything, and ourneighbours came to our rescue with enthusiasm and warm-hearted genuinesympathy. The bailiff--a gentleman to the core--seeing how matters stood, helped us to the utmost of his power. 

Our goods were disposed of on the premises, and the neighbours arranged amock sale, at which the bailiff winked. Our friends had sent the money, and the neighbours did the bidding--none bidding against each other--andthus our belongings went for a mere trifle. Every cloud has its silverlining, and the black cloud of poverty has a very bright silver lining. 

In poverty you can get at the real heart of people as you can never do ifrich. People are your friends from pure friendship and love, not fromsponging self-interestedness. It is worth being poor once or twice in alifetime just to experience the blessing and heartrestfulness of a littlegenuine reality in the way of love and friendship. Not that it isimpossible for opulence to have genuine friends, but rich people, I fear, must ever have at their heart cankering suspicion to hint that thefriendship and love lavished upon them is merely self-interestedness andsham, the implements of trade used by the fawning toadies who swarmaround wealth. 

In conjunction with the bishop's name, the approaching sale of our goodshad been duly advertised in the local papers, and my father receivedseveral letters of sympathy from the clergy deploring the conduct of thebishop. These letters were from men unknown to father, who were unawarethat Richard Melvyn was being sold off for a debt already paid. 

By the generosity of relatives and the goodness of neighbours as kind asever breathed, our furniture was our own again, but what were we to dofor a living? Our crops were withering in the fields for want of rain, and we had but five cows--not an over-bright outlook. As I was getting tobed one night my mother came into my room and said seriously, "Sybylla, Iwant to have a talk with you. "

"Talk away, " I responded rather sullenly, for I expected a long sing-songabout my good-for-nothingness in general--a subject of which I washeartily tired. 

"Sybylla, I've been studying the matter over a lot lately. It's no use, we cannot afford to keep you at home. You'll have to get something todo. "

I made no reply, and my mother continued, "I am afraid we will have tobreak up the home altogether. It's no use; your father has no idea ofmaking a living. I regret the day I ever saw him. Since he has taken todrink he has no more idea of how to make a living than a cat. I will haveto give the little ones to some of the relatives; the bigger ones willhave to go out to service, and so will your father and I. That's all Ican see ahead of us. Poor little Gertie is too young to go out in theworld (she was not twelve months younger than I); she must go to yourgrandmother, I think. "

I still made no reply, so my mother inquired, "Well, Sybylla, what do youthink of the matter?"

"Do you think it absolutely necessary to break up the home?" I said. 

"Well, you suggest something better if you are so clever, " said mother, crossly. "That is always the way; if I suggest a thing it is immediatelyput down, yet there is never any one to think of things but me. Whatwould you do? I suppose you think you could make a living on the placefor us yourself. "

"Why can't we live at home? Blackshaw and Jansen have no bigger placesthan we, and families just as large, and yet they make a living. It wouldbe terrible for the little ones to grow up separated; they would be nomore to each other than strangers. "

"Yes; it is all very well for you to talk like that, but how is yourfather to start again with only five cows in the world? It's no use, younever talk sense. You'll find my way is always the best in the end. "

"Would it not be easier, " I replied, "for our relations to each give alittle towards setting us up again, than to be burdened with the wholeresponsibility of rearing a child? I'm sure they'd much prefer it. "

"Yes, perhaps it would be better, but I think _you_ will have to get yourown living. What would they say about having to support such a big girlas you are?"

"I will go and earn my own living, and when you get me weeded out of thefamily you will have a perfect paradise. Having no evil to copy, thechildren will grow up saints, " I said bitterly. 

"Now, Sybylla, it is foolish to talk like that, for you know that youtake no interest in your work. If you'd turn to and help me rear poultryand make dresses--and why don't you take to cooking?"

"Take to cooking!" I retorted with scorn. "The fire that a fellow has toendure on that old oven would kill a horse, and the grit and dirt ofclearing it up grinds on my very nerves. Besides, if I ever do want to doany extra fancy cooking, we either can't afford the butter or thecurrants, or else the eggs are too scarce! Cook, be grannied!"

"Sybylla! Sybylla, you are getting very vulgar!"

"Yes, I once was foolish enough to try and be polite, but I've given itup. My style of talk is quite good enough for my company. What on earthdoes it matter whether I'm vulgar or not. I can feed calves and milk andgrind out my days here just as well vulgar as unvulgar, " I answeredsavagely. 

"There, you see you are always discontented about your home. It's no use;the only thing is for you to earn your own living. "

I will earn my own living. "

"What will you do? Will you be examined for a pupil-teacher? That is avery nice occupation for girls. "

"What chance would I have in a competitive exam. Against Goulburn girls?They all have good teachers and give up their time to study. I only haveold Harris, and he is the most idiotic old animal alive; besides, Iloathe the very thought of teaching. I'd as soon go on the wallaby. "

"You are not old enough to be a general servant or a cook; you have notexperience enough to be a housemaid; you don't take to sewing, and thereis no chance of being accepted as a hospital nurse: you must confessthere is nothing you can do. You are really a very useless girl for yourage. "

"There are heaps of things I could do. "

"Tell me a few of them. "

I was silent. The professions at which I felt I had the latent power toexcel, were I but given a chance, were in a sphere far above us, and tomention my feelings and ambitions to my matter-of-fact practical motherwould bring upon me worse ridicule than I was already forced to endureday by day. 

"Mention a few of the things you could do. "

I might as well have named flying as the professions I was thinking of. Music was the least unmentionable of them, so I brought it forward. 

"Music! But it would take years of training and great expense before youcould earn anything at that! It is quite out of the question. The onlything for you to do is to settle down and take interest in your work, andhelp make a living at home, or else go out as a nurse-girl, and work yourway up. If you have any ability in you it would soon show. If you thinkyou could do such strokes, and the home work is not good enough for you, go out and show the world what a wonderful creature you are. "

"Mother, you are unjust and cruel!" I exclaimed. "You do not understandone at all. I never thought I could do strokes. I cannot help beingconstituted so that grimy manual labour is hateful to me, for it ishateful to me, and I hate it more and more every day, and you can preachand preach till you go black in the face, and still I'll hate it morethan ever. If I have to do it all my life, and if I'm cursed with a longlife, I'll hate it just as much at the end as I do now. I'm sure it's notany wish of mine that I'm born with inclinations for better things. If Icould be born again, and had the designing of myself, I'd be born thelowest and coarsest-minded person imaginable, so that I could find plentyof companionship, or I'd be born an idiot, which would be better still. "

"Sybylla!" said my mother in a shocked tone. "It is a wonder God doesn'tstrike you dead; I never heard--"

"I don't believe there is a God, " I said fiercely, "and if there is, He'snot the merciful being He's always depicted, or He wouldn't be alwaystorturing me for His own amusement. "

"Sybylla, Sybylla! That I should ever have nurtured a child to grow uplike this! Do you know that--"

"I only know that I hate this life. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, " Isaid vehemently. 

"Talk about going out to earn your own living! Why, there's not a womanliving would have you in her house above a day. You are a perfectshe-devil. Oh God!" And my mother began to cry. "What have I done to becursed with such a child? There is not another woman in the district withsuch a burden put upon her. What have I done? I can only trust that myprayers to God for you will soften your evil heart. "

"If your prayers are answered, it's more than ever mine were, " I retorted. 

"_Your_ prayers!" said my mother, with scorn. "The horror of a child notyet sixteen being so hardened. I don't know what to make of you, younever cry or ask forgiveness. There's dear little Gertie now, she isoften naughty, but when I correct her she frets and worries and showsherself to be a human being and not a fiend. "

So saying my mother went out of the room. 

"I've asked forgiveness once too often, to be sat upon for my pains, " Icalled out. 

"I believe you're mad. That is the only feasible excuse I can make foryour conduct, " she said as a parting shot. 

"Why the deuce don't you two get to bed and not wrangle like a pair ofcats in the middle of the night, disturbing a man's rest?" came in myfather's voice from amid the bedclothes. 

My mother is a good woman--a very good woman--and I am, I think, notquite all criminality, but we do not pull together. I am a piece ofmachinery which, not understanding, my mother winds up the wrong way, setting all the wheels of my composition going in creaking discord. 

She wondered why I did not cry and beg forgiveness, and thereby giveevidence of being human. I was too wrought up for tears. Ah, that tearsmight have come to relieve my overburdened heart! I took up the home-madetallow candle in its tin stick and looked at my pretty sleeping sisterGertie (she and I shared the one bed). It was as mother had said. IfGertie was scolded for any of her shortcomings, she immediately tookrefuge in tears, said she was sorry, obtained forgiveness, andstraightaway forgot the whole matter. She came within the range ofmother's understanding, I did not; she had feelings, mother thought, Ihad none. Did my mother understand me, she would know that I am capableof more depths of agony and more exquisite heights of joy in one day thanGertie will experience in her whole life. 

Was I mad as mother had said? A fear took possession of me that I mightbe. I certainly was utterly different to any girl I had seen or known. What was the hot wild spirit which surged within me? Ah, that I mightweep! I threw myself on my bed and moaned. Why was I not like othergirls? Why was I not like Gertie? Why were not a new dress, everydaywork, and an occasional picnic sufficient to fill my mind? My movementsawakened Gertie. 

"What is the matter, dear Sybylla? Come to bed. Mother has been scoldingyou. She is always scolding some one. That doesn't matter. You say youare sorry, and she won't scold any more. That's what I always do. Do getinto bed. You'll be tired in the morning. "

"What does it matter if I will be. I wish I would be dead. What's thegood of a hateful thing like I am being alive. No one wants or cares forme. "

"I love you, Sybylla, better than all the rest. I could not do withoutyou, " and she put her pretty face to mine and kissed me. 

What a balm to the tempest-tossed soul is a little love, though it may befleeting and fickle! I was able to weep now, with wild hot tears, andwith my sister's arms around me I fell asleep without undressing further. 

CHAPTER SEVEN

Was E'er a Rose Without Its Thorn?

I arose from bed next morning with three things in my head--a pair ofswollen eyes, a heavy pain, and a fixed determination to write a book. Nothing less than a book. A few hours' work in the keen air of a lateautumn morning removed the swelling from my eyes and the pain from mytemples, but the idea of relieving my feelings in writing had taken firmroot in my brain. It was not my first attempt in this direction. Twoyears previously I had purloined paper and sneaked out of bed every nightat one or two o'clock to write a prodigious novel in point of length anddetail, in which a full-fledged hero and heroine performed the duties ofa hero and heroine in the orthodox manner. Knowing our circumstances, mygrandmother was accustomed, when writing to me, to enclose a stamp toenable me to reply. These I saved, and with them sent my book to theleading Sydney publisher. After waiting many weeks I received a politememo to the effect that the story showed great ability, but the writer'sinexperience was too much in evidence for publication. The writer was tostudy the best works of literature, and would one day, no doubt, take aplace among Australian novelists. 

This was a very promising opinion of the work of a child of thirteen, more encouraging than the great writers got at the start of theirliterary career; but it seemed to even my childish intelligence that thememo was a stereotyped affair that the publisher sent in answer to allthe MSS. Of fameless writers submitted to him, and also sent in allprobability without reading as much as the name of the story. After thatI wrote a few short stories and essays; but now the spirit moved me towrite another book--not with any hope of success, as it was impossible forme to study literature as advised. I seldom saw a book, and could onlyspare time in tiny scraps to read them when I did. 

However, the few shillings I had obtained at odd times I spent on paper, and in secret robbed from much-needed rest a few hours weekly wherein towrite. This made me very weary and slow in the daytime, and a sore trialto my mother. I was always forgetting things I should not have forgotten, because my thoughts were engaged in working out my story. The want ofrest told upon me. I continually complained of weariness, and my work wasa drag to me. 

My mother knew not what to make of it. At first she thought I was lazyand bad, and punished me in various ways; but while my book occupied mymind I was not cross, gave her no impudence, and did not flare up. Thenshe began to fear I must be ill, and took me to a doctor, who said I wasmuch too precocious for my years, and would be better when the weathergot warmer. He gave me a tonic, which I threw out the window. I heard nomore of going out as nurse-girl: father had joined a neighbour who hadtaken a road contract, and by this means the pot was kept, if not quite, at least pretty near, boiling. 

Life jogged along tamely, and, as far as I could see, gave promise ofgoing to the last slip-rails without a canter, until one day in July 1896mother received a letter from her mother which made a pleasant change inmy life, though, like all sweets, that letter had its bitter drop. It ranas follows:--

My dear daughter, Lucy, Only a short letter this time. I am pressed for time, as four or fivestrangers have just come and asked to stay for the night, and as one ofthe girls is away, I have to get them beds. I am writing about Sybylla. Iam truly grieved to hear she is such a source of grief and annoyance toyou. The girl must surely be ill or she would never act as you describe. She is young yet, and may settle down better by and by. We can onlyentrust her to the good God who is ever near. Send her up to me as soonas you can. I will pay all expenses. The change will do her good, and ifher conduct improves, I will keep her as long as you like. She is youngto mention in regard to marriage, but in another year she will be as oldas I was when I married, and it might be the makings of her if shemarried early. At any rate she will be better away from Possum Gully, nowthat she is growing into womanhood, or she may be in danger of formingties beneath her. She might do something good for herself up here: notthat I would ever be a matchmaker in the least degree, but Gertie willsoon be coming on, and Sybylla, being so very plain, will need all thetime she can get. 

Your loving mother, L. Bossier. 

My mother gave me this letter to read, and, when I had finished perusingit, asked me would I go. I replied coldly:

"Yes. Paupers and beggars cannot be choosers, and grandmother might aswell keep me at Caddagat as at Possum Gully"--for my grandmothercontributed greatly to the support of our family. 

As regards scenery, the one bit of beauty Possum Gully possessed was itswattles. Bowers of grown and scrubs of young ones adorned the hills andgullies in close proximity to the house, while groves of differentspecies graced the flats. Being Sunday, on this afternoon I was atliberty for a few hours; and on receiving the intelligence contained inthe letter, I walked out of the house over a low hill at the back into agully, where I threw myself at the foot of a wattle in a favourite clump, and gave way to my thoughts. 

So mother had been telling my grandmother of my faults--my grandmotherwhom I loved so dearly. Mother might have had enough honour and motherlyprotection to have kept the tale of my sins to herself. Though thisintelligence angered, it did not surprise me, being accustomed to mothertelling every neighbour what a great trial I was to her--how discontentedI was, and what little interest I took in my work. It was the last partof the letter which finished up my feelings. Oh heavens! Surely if mymother understood the wild pain, the days and hours of agony pure andcomplete I have suffered on account of my appearance, she would neverhave shown me that letter. 

I was to be given more time on account of being ugly--I was not avaluable article in the marriage market, sweet thought! My grandmother isone of the good old school, who believed that a girl's only proper spherein life was marriage; so, knowing her sentiments, her purpose to get memarried neither surprised nor annoyed me. But I was plain. Ah, bosh! Oh!Ah! I cannot express what kind of a feeling that fact gave me. It sankinto my heart and cut like a cruel jagged knife--not because it would be adrawback to me in the marriage line, for I had an antipathy to the verythought of marriage. Marriage to me appeared the most horribly tied-downand unfair-to-women existence going. It would be from fair to middling ifthere was love; but I laughed at the idea of love, and determined never, never, never to marry. 

The other side of the letter--the part which gave me joy--was the prospectof going to Caddagat. 

Caddagat, the place where I was born! Caddagat, whereat, enfolded ingrandmotherly love and the petting which accrued therefrom, I spent someof my few sweet childish days. Caddagat, the place my heart fondlyenshrines as home. Caddagat, draped by nature in a dream of beauty. Caddagat, Caddagat! Caddagat for me, Caddagat for ever! I say. 

Too engrossed with my thoughts to feel the cold of the dull winter day, Iremained in my position against the wattle-tree until Gertie came toinform me that tea was ready. 

"You know, Sybylla, it was your turn to get the tea ready; but I set thetable to save you from getting into a row. Mother was looking for you, and said she supposed you were in one of your tantrums again. "

Pretty little peacemaker! She often did things like that for me. 

"Very well, Gertie, thank you. I will set it two evenings running to makeup for it--if I'm here. "

If you are here! What do you mean?"

"I am going away, " I replied, watching her narrowly to see if she cared, for I was very hungry for love. 

"Going to run away becauses mother is always scolding you?"

"No, you little silly! I'm going up to Caddagat to live with grannie. "

"Always?"

"Yes. "

"Really?"

"Yes. "

"Honour bright?"

"Yes; really and truly and honour bright. "

"Won't you ever come back again?"

"I don't know about _never_ coming back again; but I'm going up for always, as far as a person can lay out ahead of her. Do you care?"

Yes she cared. The childish mouth quivered, the pretty blue-eyed facefell, the ready tears flowed fast. I noticed every detail with savagecomfort. It was more than I deserved, for, though I loved herpassionately, I had ever been too much wrapped in self to have been verykind and lovable to her. 

"Who will tell me stories now?"

It was a habit of mine to relate stories to her out of my own fertileimagination. In return for this she kept secret the fact that I sat upand wrote when I should have been in bed. I was obliged to take somemeans of inducing her to keep silence, as she--even Gertie, who firmlybelieved in me--on waking once or twice at unearthly hours and discoveringme in pursuit of my nightly task, had been so alarmed for my sanity thatI had the greatest work to prevent her from yelling to father and motheron the spot. But I bound her to secrecy, and took a strange delight inbringing to her face with my stories the laughter, the wide-eyed wonder, or the tears--just as my humour dictated. 

"You'll easily get someone else to tell you stories. "

"Not like yours. And who will take my part when Horace bullies me?"

I pressed her to me. 

"Gertie, Gertie, promise me you will love me a little always, and never, never forget me. Promise me. "

And with a weakly glint of winter sunshine turning her hair to gold, andwith her head on my shoulder, Gertie promised--promised with the solublepromise of a butterfly-natured child. 

SELF-ANALYSIS

N. B. --This is dull and egotistical. Better skip it. That's myadvice--S. P. M. 

As a tiny child I was filled with dreams of the great things I was to dowhen grown up. My ambition was as boundless as the mighty bush in which Ihave always lived. As I grew it dawned upon me that I was a girl--themakings of a woman! Only a girl--merely this and nothing more. It camehome to me as a great blow that it was only men who could take the worldby its ears and conquer their fate, while women, metaphorically speaking, were forced to sit with tied hands and patiently suffer as the waves offate tossed them hither and thither, battering and bruising withoutmercy. Familiarity made me used to this yoke; I recovered from thedisappointment of being a girl, and was reconciled to that part of myfate. In fact, I found that being a girl was quite pleasant until ahideous truth dawned upon me--I was ugly! That truth has embittered mywhole existence. It gives me days and nights of agony. It is a sensitivesore that will never heal, a grim hobgoblin that nought can scare away. In conjunction with this brand of hell I developed a reputation ofcleverness. Worse and worse! Girls! girls! Those of you who have hearts, and therefore a wish for happiness, homes, and husbands by and by, neverdevelop a reputation of being clever. It will put you out of thematrimonial running as effectually as though it had been circulated thatyou had leprosy. So, if you feel that you are afflicted with more thanordinary intelligence, and especially if you are plain with it, hide yourbrains, cramp your mind, study to appear unintellectual--it is your onlychance. Provided a woman is beautiful allowance will be made for all hershortcomings. She can be unchaste, vapid, untruthful, flippant, heartless, and even clever; so long as she is fair to see men will standby her, and as men, in this world, are "the dog on top", they are thepower to truckle to. A plain woman will have nothing forgiven her. Herfate is such that the parents of uncomely female infants should becompelled to put them to death at their birth. 

The next unpleasant discovery I made in regard to myself was that I waswoefully out of my sphere. I studied the girls of my age around me, andcompared myself with them. We had been reared side by side. They had hadequal advantages; some, indeed, had had greater. We all moved in the onelittle, dull world, but they were not only in their world, they were ofit; I was not. Their daily tasks and their little pleasures providedsufficient oil for the lamp of their existence--mine demanded more thanPossum Gully could supply. They were totally ignorant of the outsideworld. Patti, Melba, Irving, Terry, Kipling, Caine, Corelli, and even thename of Gladstone, were only names to them. Whether they were islands orracehorses they knew not and cared not. With me it was different. Where Iobtained my information, unless it was born in me, I do not know. We tooknone but the local paper regularly, I saw few books, had the pleasure ofconversing with an educated person from the higher walks of life aboutonce in a twelvemonth, yet I knew of every celebrity in literature, art, music, and drama; their world was my world, and in fancy I lived withthem. My parents discouraged me in that species of foolishness. They hadbeen fond of literature and the higher arts, but now, having no use forthem, had lost interest therein. 

I was discontented and restless, and longed unendurably to be out in thestream of life. "Action! Action! Give me action!" was my cry. My motherdid her best with me according to her lights. She energetically preachedat me. All the old saws and homilies were brought into requisition, butwithout avail. It was like using common nostrums on a disease which couldbe treated by none but a special physician. 

I was treated to a great deal of harping on that tiresome old string, "Whatsoever your hand findeth to do, do it with all your might. " It wasdaily dinned into my cars that the little things of life were thenoblest, and that all the great people I mooned about said the same. Iusually retorted to the effect that I was well aware that it was noble, and that I could write as good an essay on it as any philosopher. It wasall very well for great people to point out the greatness of the little, empty, humdrum life. Why didn't they adopt it themselves?

The toad beneath the harrow knowsExactly where each tooth-point goes. The butterfly upon the roadPreaches contentment to the toad. 

I wasn't anxious to patronize the dull kind of tame nobility of the toad;I longed for a few of the triumphs of the butterfly, decried though theyare as hollow bubbles. I desired life while young enough to live, andquoted as my motto:

Though the pitcher that goes to the sparkling rillToo oft gets broken at last, There are scores of others its place to fillWhen its earth to the earth is cast. Keep that pitcher at home, let it never roam, But lie like a useless clod;Yet sooner or later the hour will comeWhen its chips are thrown to the sod. 

Is it wise, then, say, in the waning day, When the vessel is crack'd and old, To cherish the battered potter's clayAs though it were virgin gold?Take care of yourself, dull, boorish elf, Though prudent and sage you seem;Your pitcher will break on the musty shelf, And mine by the dazzling stream. 

I had sense sufficient to see the uselessness of attempting to be otherthan I was. In these days of fierce competition there was no chance forme--opportunity, not talent, was the main requisite. Fate had thought fitto deny me even one advantage or opportunity, thus I was helpless. I setto work to cut my coat according to my cloth. I manfully endeavoured tosqueeze my spirit into "that state of life into which it has pleased Godto call me". I crushed, compressed, and bruised, but as fast as I managedit on one side it burst out on another, and defied me to cram it into thenarrow box of Possum Gully. 

The restless throbbings and burningsThat hope unsatisfied brings, The weary longings and yearningsFor the mystical better things, Are the sands on which is reflectedThe pitiless moving lake, Where the wanderer falls dejected, By a thirst he never can slake. 

In a vain endeavour to slake that cruel thirst my soul groped in strangedark places. It went out in quest of a God, and finding one not, grewweary. 

By the unknown way that the atmosphere of the higher life penetrated tome, so came a knowledge of the sin and sorrow abroad in the world--thecry of the millions oppressed, downtrodden, God-forsaken! The wheels ofsocial mechanism needed readjusting--things were awry. Oh, that I mightfind a cure and give it to my fellows! I dizzied my brain with theproblem; I was too much for myself. A man with these notions is a curseto himself, but a woman--pity help a woman of that description! She is notmerely a creature out of her sphere, she is a creature without a sphere--alonely being!

Recognizing this, I turned and cursed God for casting upon me a burdengreater than I could bear--cursed Him bitterly, and from within came awhisper that there was nothing there to curse. There was no God. I was anunbeliever. It was not that I sought after or desired atheism. I longedto be a Christian, and fought against unbelief. I asked the Christiansaround me for help. Unsophisticated fool! I might as well have announcedthat I was a harlot. My respectability vanished in one slap. Some said itwas impossible to disbelieve in the existence of a God: I was only doingit for notoriety, and they washed their hands of me at once. 

Not believe in God! I was mad!

If there really was a God, would they kindly tell me how to find Him?

Pray! pray!

I prayed, often and ardently, but ever came that heart-stilling whisperthat there was nothing to pray to. 

Ah, the bitter, hopeless heart-hunger of godlessness none but an atheistcan understand! Nothing to live for in life--no hope beyond the grave. Itplunged me into fits of profound melancholy. 

Had my father occupied one of the fat positions of the land, no doubt ashis daughter my life would have been so full of pleasant occupation andpleasure that I would not have developed the spirit which torments menow. Or had I a friend--one who knew, who had suffered and understood, onein whom I could lose myself, one on whom I could lean--I might have growna nicer character. But in all the wide world there was not a soul to holdout a hand to me, and I said bitterly, "There is no good in the world. "In softer moods I said, "Ah, the tangle of it! Those who have the heartto help have not the power, and those who have the power have not theheart. "

Bad, like a too-strong opponent in a game of chess, is ever at the elbowof good to checkmate it like a weakly managed king. 

I am sadly lacking in self-reliance. I needed some one to help me overthe rough spots in life, and finding them not, at the age of sixteen Iwas as rank a cynic and infidel as could be found in three days' march. 

CHAPTER EIGHT

Possum Gully Left Behind. Hurrah! Hurrah!

If a Sydney man has friends residing at Goulburn, he says they are up thecountry. If a Goulburn man has friends at Yass, he says they are up thecountry. If a Yass man has friends at Young, he says they are up thecountry, and so on. Caddagat is "up the country". 

Bound thither on the second Wednesday in August 1896, I bought a ticketat the Goulburn railway station, and at some time about 1 a. M. Took myseat in a second class carriage of the mail-train on its way toMelbourne. I had three or four hours to travel in this train when I wouldhave to change to a branch line for two hours longer. I was the only onefrom Goulburn in that carriage; all the other passengers had been in sometime and were asleep. One or two opened their eyes strugglingly, staredglumly at the intruder, and then went to sleep again. The motion of thetrain was a joy to me, and sleep never entered my head. I stood up, andpressing my forehead to the cold window-pane, vainly attempted, throughthe inky blackness of the foggy night, to discern the objects which flewby. 

I was too full of pleasant anticipation of what was ahead of me to thinkof those I had left behind. I did not regret leaving Possum Gully. Quitethe reverse; I felt inclined to wave my arms and yell for joy at beingfreed from it. Home! God forbid that my experiences at Possum Gullyshould form the only food for my reminiscences of home. I had practicallygrown up there, but my heart refused absolutely to regard it as home. Ihated it then, I hate it now, with its narrowing, stagnant monotony. Ithas and had not provided me with one solitary fond remembrance--only withdreary, wing-clipping, mind-starving recollections. No, no; I was notleaving home behind, I was flying homeward now. Home, home to Caddagat, home to ferny gullies, to the sweet sad rush of many mountain waters, tothe majesty of rugged Borgongs; home to dear old grannie, and uncle andaunt, to books, to music; refinement, company, pleasure, and the dear oldhomestead I love so well. 

All in good time I arrived at the end of my train journey, and was takenin charge by a big red-bearded man, who informed me he was the driver ofthe mail-coach, and had received a letter from Mrs Bossier instructinghim to take care of me. He informed me also that he was glad to do whathe termed "that same", and I would be as safe under his care as I wouldbe in God's pocket. 

My twenty-six miles' coach drive was neither pleasant nor eventful. I wasthe only passenger, and so had my choice of seats. The weather being coldand wet, I preferred being inside the box and curled myself up on theseat, to be interrupted every two or three miles by the good-natureddriver inquiring if I was "all serene". 

At the Halfway House, where a change of the team of five horses wasaffected, I had a meal and a warm, and so tuned myself up for theremainder of the way. It got colder as we went on, and at 2. 30 p. M. I wasnot at all sorry to see the iron roofs of Gool-Gool. Township disclosingto my view. We first went to the post office, where the mail-bags weredelivered, and then returned and pulled rein in front of the WoolpackHotel. A tall young gentleman in a mackintosh and cap, who had beenstanding on the veranda, stepped out on the street as the coach stopped, and lifting his cap and thrusting his head into the coach, inquired, "Which is Miss Melvyn?"

Seeing I was the only occupant, he laughed the pleasantest of laughs, disclosing two wide rows of perfect teeth, and turning to the driver, said, Is that your only passenger? I suppose it is Miss Melvyn?"

"As I wasn't present at her birth, I can't swear, but I believe her to bethat same, as sure as eggs is eggs, " he replied. 

My identity being thus established, the young gentleman with the greatestof courtesy assisted me to alight, ordered the hotel groom to stow myluggage in the Caddagat buggy, and harness the horses with allexpedition. He then conducted me to the private parlour, where a friendlylittle barmaid had some refreshments on a tray awaiting me, and whilewarming my feet preparatory to eating I read the letter he had given me, which was addressed in my grandmother's handwriting. In it she told methat she and my aunt were only just recovering from bad colds, and onaccount of the inclemency of the weather thought it unwise to come totown to meet me; but Frank Hawden, the jackeroo would take every care ofme, settle the hotel bill, and tip the coach-driver. Caddagat wastwenty-four miles distant from Gool-Gool, and the latter part of the roadwas very hilly. It was already past three o'clock, and, being rainy, theshort winter afternoon would dose in earlier; so I swallowed my tea andcake with all expedition, so as not to delay Mr Hawden, who was waitingto assist me into the buggy, where the groom was in charge of the horsesin the yard. He struck up a conversation with me immediately. 

"Seeing your name on yer bags, an' knowin' you was belonging to theBossiers, I ask if yer might be a daughter of Dick Melvyn, ofBruggabrong, out by Timlinbilly. "

"Yes, I am. "

"Well, miss, please remember me most kindly to yer pa; he was a good bosswas Dick Melvyn. I hope he's doin' well. I'm Billy Haizelip, brother toMary and Jane. You remember Jane, I s'pose, miss?"

I hadn't time to say more than promise to send his remembrances to myfather, for Mr Hawden, saying we would be in the dark, had whipped hishorses and was bowling off at a great pace, in less than two minutescovering a rise which put Gool-Gool out of sight. It was raining alittle, so I held over us the big umbrella, which grannie had sent, whilewe discussed the weather, to the effect that rain was badly needed andwas a great novelty nowadays, and it was to be hoped it would continue. There had been but little, but the soil here away was of that rich loamydescription which little water turns to mud. It clogged the wheels andloaded the break-blocks; and the near side horse had a nasty way ofthrowing his front feet, so that he deposited soft red lumps of mud inour laps at every step. But, despite these trifling drawbacks, it wasdelightful to be drawn without effort by a pair of fat horses in splendidharness. It was a great contrast to our poor skinny old horse at home, crawling along in much-broken harness, clumsily and much mended withstring and bits of hide. 

Mr Hawden was not at all averse to talking. After emptying our tongues ofthe weather, there was silence for some time, which he broke with, "Soyou are Mrs Bossier's grand-daughter, are you?"

"Not remembering my birth, I can't swear; but I believe myself to be thatsame, as sure as eggs is eggs, " I replied. 

He laughed. "Very good imitation of the coach-driver. But Mrs Bossier'sgrand-daughter! Well, I should smile!"

"What at?"

"Your being Mrs Bossier's grand-daughter. "

"I fear, Mr Hawden, there is a suspicion reverse of complimentary in yourremark. "

"Well, I should smile! Would you like to have my opinion of you?"

"Nothing would please me more. I would value your opinion above allthings, and I'm sure--I feel certain--that you have formed a true estimateof me. "

At any other time his conceit would have brought upon himself a finesnubbing, but today I was in high feather, and accordingly very pleasant, and resolved to amuse myself by drawing him out. 

"Well, you are not a bit like Mrs Bossier or Mrs Bell; they are both sogood-looking, " he continued. 

"Indeed!"

"I was disappointed when I saw you had no pretensions to prettiness, asthere's not a girl up these parts worth wasting a man's affections on, and I was building great hopes on you. But I'm a great admirer ofbeauty, " he twaddled. 

"I am very sorry for you, Mr Hawden. I'm sure it would take quite aparagon to be worthy of such affection as I'm sure yours would be, " Ireplied sympathetically. 

"Never mind. Don't worry about it. You're not a bad sort, andthink a fellow could have great fun with you. "

"I'm sure, Mr Hawden, you do me too much honour. It quite exhilarates meto think that I meet with your approval in the smallest degree, " Ireplied with the utmost deference. "You are so gentlemanly and nice thatI was alarmed at first lest you might despise me altogether. "

"No fear. You needn't he afraid of me; I'm not a bad sort of fellow, " hereplied with the greatest encouragement. 

By his accent and innocent style I detected he was not a colonial, so Igot him to relate his history. He was an Englishman by birth, but hadbeen to America, Spain, New Zealand, Tasmania, etc. ; by his own make outhad ever been a man of note, and had played Old Harry everywhere. 

I allowed him to gabble away full tilt for an hour on this subject, unconscious that I had taken the measure of him, and was grinning broadlyto myself. Then I diverted him by inquiring how long since the wire fenceon our right had been put up. It bore evidence of recent erection, andhad replaced an old cockatoo fence which I remembered in my childhood. 

"Fine fence, is it not? Eight wires, a top rail, and very stout posts. Harry Beecham had that put up by contract this year. Twelve miles of it. It cost him a lot: couldn't get any very low tenders, the ground being sohard on account of the drought. Those trees are Five-Bob Downs--see, awayover against the range. But I suppose you know the places better than Ido. "

We were now within an hour of our destination. How familiar were manylandmarks to me, although I had not seen them since I was eight yearsold. 

A river ran on our right, occasionally a glimmer of its noisy watersvisible through the shrubbery which profusely lined its banks. The shortevening was drawing to a close. The white mists brought by the rain werecrawling slowly down the hills, and settling in the hollows of the rangeson our left. A V-shaped rift in them, known as Pheasant Gap, came intoview. Mr Hawden said it was well named, as it swarmed with lyrebirds. Night was falling. The skreel of a hundred curlews arose from thegullies--how I love their lonely wail!--and it was quite dark when wepulled up before the front gate of Caddagat. 

A score of dogs rushed yelping to meet us, the front door was thrownopen, lights and voices came streaming out. 

I alighted from the buggy feeling rather nervous. I was a pauper with abad character. How would my grandmother receive me? Dear old soul, I hadnothing to fear. She folded me in a great warm-hearted hug, saying, "Dearme, child, your face is cold. I'm glad you've come. It has been aterrible day, but we're glad to have the rain. You must be frozen. Get into the fire, child, as fast as you can. Get in to the fire, get in to thefire. I hope you forgive me for not going to meet you. " And there was mymother's only sister, my tall graceful aunt, standing beside her, givingme a kiss and cordial hand-clasp, and saying, "Welcome, Sybylla. We willbe glad to have a young person to brighten up the old home once more. Iam sorry I was too unwell to meet you. You must be frozen; come to thefire. "

My aunt always spoke very little and very quietly, but there wassomething in her high-bred style which went right home. 

I could scarcely believe that they were addressing me. Surely they weremaking a mistake. This reception was meant for some grand relativehonouring them with a visit, and not for the ugly, useless, had littlepauper come to live upon their bounty. 

Their welcome did more than all the sermons I had ever heard put togethertowards thawing a little of the pitiless cynicism which encrusted myheart. 

"Take the child inside, Helen, as fast as you can, " said grannie, "while Isee that the boy attends to the horses. The plaguey fellow can't betrusted any further than the length of his nose. I told him to tie upthese dogs, and here they are yelp-yelping fit to deafen a person. "

I left my wet umbrella on the veranda, and aunt Helen led me into thedining-room, where a spruce maid was making a pleasant clatter in layingthe table. Caddagat was a very old style of house, and all the frontrooms opened onto the veranda without any such preliminary as a hall, therefore it was necessary to pass through the dining-room to my bedroom, which was a skillion at the back. While auntie paused for a moment togive some orders to the maid, I noticed the heavy silver serviette ringsI remembered so well, and the old-fashioned dinner-plates, and the bigfire roaring in the broad white fireplace; but more than all, thebeautiful pictures on the walls and a table in a corner strewn withpapers, magazines, and several very new-looking books. On the back of oneof these I saw "Corelli", and on another--great joy!--was _Trilby_. Fromthe adjoining apartment, which was the drawing-room, came the sweet fulltones of a beautiful piano. Here were three things for which I had beenstarving. An impulse to revel in them immediately seized me. I felt likeclearing the table at a bound, seizing and beginning to read both books, and rushing in to the piano and beginning to play upon it there and then, and examine the pictures--all three things at once. Fortunately for thereputation of my sanity, however, aunt Helen had by this time conductedme to a pretty little bedroom, and saying it was to be mine, helped me todoff my cape and hat. 

While warming my fingers at the fire my eyes were arrested by a beautifulportrait hanging above the mantelpiece. It represented a lovely girl inthe prime of youth and beauty, and attired in floating white dinnerdraperies. 

"Oh, aunt Helen! isn't she lovely? It's you, isn't it?"

"No. Do you not recognize it as your mother? It was taken just before hermarriage. I must leave you now, but come out as soon as you arrangeyourself--your grandmother will be anxious to see you. "

When aunt Helen left me I plastered my hair down in an instant withouteven a glance in the mirror. I took not a particle of interest in myattire, and would go about dressed anyhow. This was one symptom whichinclined my mother to the belief of my possible insanity, as to mostyoung girls dress is a great delight. I had tried once or twice to makemyself look nice by dressing prettily, but, by my own judgment, considering I looked as ugly as ever, I had given it up as a bad job. 

The time which I should have spent in arranging my toilet passed ingazing at my mother's portrait. It was one of the loveliest facesimaginable. The features may not have been perfect according to rule ofthumb, but the expression was simply angelic--sweet, winning, gentle, andhappy. I turned from the contemplation of it to another photograph--one ofmy father--in a silver frame on the dressing-table. This, too, was a finecountenance, possessed of well-cut features and refined expression. Thiswas the prince who had won Lucy Bossier from her home. I looked around mypretty bedroom--it had been my mother's in the days of her maidenhood. Inan exclusive city boarding-school, and amid the pleasant surroundings ofthis home, her youth had been spent. 

I thought of a man and his wife at Possum Gully. The man was blear-eyed, disreputable in appearance, and failed to fulfil his duties as a fatherand a citizen. The woman was work-roughened and temper-soured by endlesscare and an unavailing struggle against poverty. Could that pair possiblybe identical with this?

This was life as proved by my parents! What right had I to expect anybetter yield from it? I shut my eyes and shuddered at the possibilitiesand probabilities of my future. It was for this that my mother hadyielded up her youth, freedom, strength; for this she had sacrificed thegreatest possession of woman. 

Here I made my way to the dining-room, where grannie was waiting for meand gave me another hug. 

"Come here, child, and sit beside me near the fire; but first let me havea look at you, " and she held me at arm's length. 

"Dear, oh, dear, what a little thing you are, and not a bit like any ofyour relations! I am glad your skin is so nice and clear; all my childrenhad beautiful complexions. Goodness me, I never saw such hair! A plaitthicker than my arm and almost to your knees! It is that beautiful brightbrown like your aunt's. Your mother's was flaxen. I must see your hairloose when you are going to bed. There is nothing I admire so much as abeautiful head of hair. "

The maid announced that dinner was ready, grannie vigorously rang alittle bell, aunt Helen, a lady, and a gentleman appeared from thedrawing-room, and Mr Hawden came in from the back. I discovered that thelady and gentleman were a neighbouring squatter and a new governess hewas taking home. Grannie, seeing them pass that afternoon in the rain, had gone out and prevailed upon them to spend the night at Caddagat. 

Mr Hawden took no notice of me now, but showed off to the others for mybenefit. After dinner we had music and singing in the drawing-room. I wasenjoying it immensely, but grannie thought I had better go to bed, as Ihad been travelling since about midnight last night. I was neither tirednor sleepy, but knew it useless to protest, so bade every one good nightand marched off. Mr Hawden acknowledged my salute with great airs andstiffness, and aunt Helen whispered that she would come and see me by andby, if I was awake. 

Grannie escorted me to my room, and examined my hair. I shook it out forher inspection. It met with her approval in every way. She pronounced itbeautifully fine, silky, and wavy, and the most wonderful head of hairshe had seen out of a picture. 

A noise arose somewhere out in the back premises. Grannie went out toascertain the cause of it and did not return to me, so I extinguished mylamp and sat thinking in the glow of the firelight. 

For the first time my thoughts reverted to my leave-taking from home. Myfather had kissed me with no more warmth than if I had been leaving fora day only; my mother had kissed me very coldly, saying shortly, "It isto be hoped, Sybylla, that your behaviour to your grandmother will be animprovement upon what it has ever been to me. " Gertie was the only onewho had felt any sorrow at parting with me, and I knew that she was ofsuch a disposition that I would be forgotten in a day or two. They wouldnever miss me, for I had no place in their affections. True, I was anundutiful child, and deserved none. I possessed no qualities that wouldwin either their pride or love, but my heart cried out in love for them. 

Would Gertie miss me tonight, as I would have missed her had ourpositions been reversed? Not she. Would my absence from the noisytea-table cause a blank? I feared not. 

I thought of poor mother left toiling at home, and my heart grew heavy; Ifailed to remember my father's faults, but thought of his great patiencewith me in the years agone, and all my old-time love for him reneweditself. Why, oh, why, would they not love me a little in return!Certainly I had never striven to be lovable. But see the love some havelavished upon them without striving for it! Why was I ugly and nasty andmiserable and useless--without a place in the world?

CHAPTER NINE

Aunt Helen's Recipe

"Dear me, Sybylla, not in bed yet, and tears, great big tears! Tell mewhat is the cause of them. "

It was aunt Helen's voice; she had entered and lit the lamp. 

There was something beautifully sincere and real about aunt Helen. Shenever fussed over any one or pretended to sympathize just to make out hownice she was. She was real, and you felt that no matter what wild orawful rubbish you talked to her it would never be retailed for any one'samusement--and, better than all, she never lectured. 

She sat down beside me, and I impulsively threw my arms around her neckand sobbed forth my troubles in a string. How there was no good in theworld, no use for me there, no one loved me or ever could on account ofmy hideousness. 

She heard me to the end and then said quietly, "When you are fit tolisten I will talk to you. "

I controlled myself instantly and waited expectantly. What would she say?Surely not that tame old yarn anent this world being merely a place ofprobation, wherein we were allowed time to fit ourselves for a beautifulworld to come. That old tune may be all very well for old codgerstottering on the brink of the grave, but to young persons with youth andromance and good health surging through their veins, it is most boresome. Would she preach that it was flying in the face of providence to moanabout my appearance? it being one of the greatest blessings I had, as itwould save me from countless temptations to which pretty girls are born. That was another piece of old croaking of the job's comforter order, ofwhich I was sick unto death, as I am sure there is not an ugly person inthe world who thinks her lack of beauty a blessing to her. I need nothave feared aunt Helen holding forth in that strain. She always saidsomething brave and comforting which made me ashamed of myself and myselfish conceited egotism. 

"I understand you, Sybylla, " she said slowly and distinctly, "but you mustnot be a coward. There is any amount of love and good in the world, butyou must search for it. Being misunderstood is one of the trials we allmust bear. I think that even the most common-minded person in the landhas inner thoughts and feelings which no one can share with him, and thehigher one's organization the more one must suffer in that respect. I amacquainted with a great number of young girls, some of them good andtrue, but you have a character containing more than any three of them puttogether. With this power, if properly managed, you can gain the almostuniversal love of your fellows. But you are wild and wayward, you mustcurb and strain your spirit and bring it into subjection, else you willbe worse than a person with the emptiest of characters. You will findthat plain looks will not prevent you from gaining the _friendship_ love ofyour fellows--the only real love there is. As for the hot fleeting passionof the man for the maid, which is wrongfully designated love, I will nottell you not to think of it, knowing that it is human nature to demand itwhen arriving at a certain age; but take this comfort: it as frequentlypasses by on the other side of those with well-chiselled features asthose with faces of plainer mould. "

She turned her face away, sighed, and forgetful of my presence lapsedinto silence. I knew she was thinking of herself. 

Love, not _friendship_ love, for anyone knowing her must give her love andrespect, but the other sort of love had passed her by. 

Twelve years before I went to Caddagat, when Helen Bossier had beeneighteen and one of the most beautiful and lovable girls in Australia, there had come to Caddagat on a visit a dashing colonel of the name ofBell, in the enjoyment of a most extended furlough for the benefit of hishealth. He married aunt Helen and took her to some part of America wherehis regiment was stationed. I have heard them say she worshipped ColonelBell, but in less than a twelvemonth he tired of his lovely bride, andbecoming enamoured of another woman, he tried to obtain a divorce. Onaccount of his wife's spotless character he was unable to do this; hetherefore deserted her and openly lived with the other woman as hismistress. This forced aunt Helen to return to Caddagat, and her motherhad induced her to sue for a judicial separation, which was easilyobtained. 

When a woman is separated from her husband it is the religion of theworld at large to cast the whole blame on the wife. By reason of heryouth and purity Mrs Bell had not as much to suffer in this way as someothers. But, comparatively speaking, her life was wrecked. She had beenhumiliated and outraged in the cruellest way by the man whom she lovedand trusted. He had turned her adrift, neither a wife, widow, nor maid, and here she was, one of the most estimably lovable and noble women Ihave ever met. 

"Come, Sybylla, " she said, starting up brightly, "I have a plan--will youagree to it? Come and take one good long look at yourself in the glass, then I will turn it to the wall, and you must promise me that for threeor four weeks you will not look in a mirror. I will put as many as I canout of your way, and you must avoid the remainder. During this time Iwill take you in hand, and you must follow my directions implicitly. Willyou agree? You will be surprised what a nice-looking little girl I willmake of you. "

Of course I agreed. I took a long and critical survey of myself in theglass. There was reflected a pair of hands, red and coarsened with roughwork, a round face, shiny and swollen with crying, and a small roundfigure enshrouded in masses of hair falling in thick waves to within aninch or two of the knees. A very ugly spectacle, I thought. Aunt Helenturned the face of the large mirror flat against the wall, while Iremarked despondently, "you can make me only middling ugly, you must be amagician. "

"Come now, part of my recipe is that you must not think of yourself atall. I'll take you in hand in the morning. I hope you will like yourroom; I have arranged it on purpose to suit you. And now good night, andhappy dreams. "

I awoke next morning in very fine spirits, and slithering out of my bedwith alacrity, revelled--literally wallowed--in the appointments of myroom. My poor old room at Possum Gully was lacking in barest necessaries. We could not afford even a wash-hand basin and jug; Gertie, the boys, andmyself had to perform our morning ablutions in a leaky tin dish on astool outside the kitchen door, which on cold frosty mornings was apretty peppery performance: but this room contained everything dear tothe heart of girlhood. A lovely bed, pretty slippers, dainty whiteChina-matting and many soft skins on the floor, and in one corner a mostartistic toilet set, and a wash-stand liberally supplied with a greatvariety of soap--some of it so exquisitely perfumed that I felt tempted totaste it. There were pretty pictures on the walls, and on a commodiousdressing-table a big mirror and large hand-glasses, with their faces tothe wall at present. Hairpins, fancy combs, ribbons galore, and a prettywork-basket greeted my sight, and with delight I swooped down upon themost excruciatingly lovely little writing-desk. It was stuffed full withall kinds of paper of good quality--fancy, all colours, sizes, and shapes, plain, foreign note, pens, ink, and a generous supply of stamps. I feltlike writing a dozen letters there and then, and was on the point ofgiving way to my inclination, when my attention was arrested by what Iconsidered the gem of the whole turn-out. I refer to a nice littlebookcase containing copies of all our Australian poets, and two or threedozen novels which I had often longed to read. I read the first chaptersof four of them, and then lost myself in Gordon, and sat on mydressing-table in my nightgown, regardless of cold, until brought to mysenses by the breakfast-bell. I made great pace, scrambled into myclothes helter-skelter, and appeared at table when the others had beenseated and unfolded their serviettes. 

Aunt Helen's treatment for making me presentable was the wearing ofgloves and a shady hat every time I went outside; and she insisted uponme spending a proper time over my toilet, and would not allow me toencroach upon it with the contents of my bookshelf. 

"Rub off some of your gloomy pessimism and cultivate a little morehealthy girlish vanity, and you will do very well, " she would say. 

I observed these rites most religiously for three days. Then I contracteda slight attack of influenza, and in poking around the kitchen, doing oneof the things I oughtn't at the time I shouldn't, a servant-girl tipped apot of boiling pot-liquor over my right foot, scalding it ratherseverely. Aunt Helen and grannie put me to bed, where I yelled with painfor hours like a mad Red Indian, despite their applying every alleviativepossible. The combined forces of the burn and influenza made me a trifledicky, so a decree went forth that I was to stay in bed until recoveredfrom both complaints. This effectually prevented me from running in theway of any looking-glasses. 

I was not sufficiently ill to be miserable, and being a pampered invalidwas therefore fine fun. Aunt Helen was a wonderful nurse. She dressed myfoot splendidly every morning, and put it in a comfortable position manytimes throughout the day. Grannie brought me every dainty in the house, and sent special messengers to Gool-Gool for more. Had I been aprofessional glutton I would have been in paradise. Even Mr Hawdencondescended so far as to express his regret concerning the accident, andfavoured me with visits throughout each day; and one Sunday his gallantrycarried him to a gully where he plucked a bouquet of maidenhair fern--thefirst of the season--and put them in a bowl beside my bed. My uncleJulius, the only other member of the family besides the servants, wasaway "up the country" on some business or another, and was not expectedhome for a month or so. 

The Bossiers and Beechams were leaders of swelldom among the squattocracyup the country, and firm and intimate friends. The Beechams resided atFive-Bob Downs, twelve miles from Caddagat, and were a family composed oftwo maiden ladies and their nephew, Harold. One of these ladies was auntHelen's particular friend, and the other had stood in the same capacityto my mother in days gone by, but of late years, on account of herpoverty, mother had been too proud to keep up communication with her. Asfor Harold Beecham, he was nearly as much at home at Caddagat as atFive-Bob Downs. He came and went with that pleasant familiarity practisedbetween congenial spirits among squatterdom. The Bossiers and Beechamswere congenial spirits in every way--they lived in the one sphere and heldthe one set of ideas, the only difference between them, and that anunnoticeable one, being that the Bossiers, though in comfortablecircumstances, were not at all rich, while Harold Beecham was immenselywealthy. When my installation in the role of invalid took place, one MissBeecham was away in Melbourne, and the other not well enough to come andsee me, but Harold came regularly to inquire how I was progressing. Healways brought me a number of beautiful apples. This kindness was becausethe Caddagat orchard had been too infested with codlin moth for grannieto save any last season. 

Aunt Helen used to mischievously tease me about this attention. 

"Here comes Harry Beecham with some more apples, " she would say. "Nodoubt he is far more calculating and artful than I thought he was capableof being. He is taking time by the forelock and wooing you ere he seesyou, and so will take the lead. Young ladies are in the minority up thisway, and every one is snapped up as soon as she arrives. "

"You'd better tell him how ugly I am, auntie, so that he will carryapples twelve miles on his own responsibility, and when he sees me won'the vexed that all his work has been for nothing. Perhaps, though, itwould be better not to describe me, or I will get no more apples, " Iwould reply. 

Aunt Helen was a clever needlewoman. She made all grannie's dresses andher own. Now she was making some for me, which, however, I was not to seeuntil I wore them. Aunt Helen had this as a pleasant surprise, and wentto the trouble of blindfolding me while I was being fitted. While in bed, grannie and auntie being busy, I was often left hours alone, and duringthat time devoured the contents of my bookshelf. 

The pleasure, so exquisite as to be almost pain, which I derived from thebooks, and especially the Australian poets, is beyond description. In thenarrow peasant life of Possum Gully I had been deprived of companionshipwith people of refinement and education who would talk of the things Iloved; but, at last here was congeniality, here was companionship. 

The weird witchery of mighty bush, the breath of wide sunlit plains, thesound of camp-bells and jingle of hobble chains, floating on the softtwilight breezes, had come to these men and had written a tale on theirhearts as had been written on mine. The glory of the starlit heavens, themighty wonder of the sea, and the majesty of thunder had come home tothem, and the breathless fulness of the sunset hour had whispered ofsomething more than the humour of tomorrow's weather. The wind and rainhad a voice which spoke to Kendall, and he too had endured the misery oflack of companionship. Gordon, with his sad, sad humanism and bitterdisappointment, held out his hand and took me with him. The regret of itall was I could never meet them--Byron, Thackeray, Dickens, Longfellow, Gordon, Kendall, the men I loved, all were dead; but, blissful thought!Caine, Paterson, and Lawson were still living, breathing human beings--twoof them actually countrymen, fellow Australians!

I pored with renewed zeal over the terse realism and pathos of Lawson, and enjoyed Paterson's redolence of the rollicking side of the wholesomelife beneath these sunny skies, which he depicted with grand touches ofpower flashing here and there. I learnt them by heart, and in thatgloriously blue receptacle, by and by, where many pleasant youthfuldreams are stowed, I put the hope that one day I would clasp hands withthem, and feel and know the unspeakable comfort and heart-rest ofcongenial companionship. 

CHAPTER TEN

Everard Grey

Uncle Julius had taken a run down to Sydney before returning to Caddagat, and was to be home during the first week in September, bringing with himEverard Grey. This young gentleman always spent Christmas at Caddagat, but as he had just recovered from an illness he was coming up for achange now instead. Having heard much of him, I was curious to see him. He was grandmamma's adopted son, and was the orphan of very aristocraticEnglish parents who had left him to the guardianship of distantrelatives. They had proved criminally unscrupulous. By finding a flaw indeeds, or something which none but lawyers understand, they had deprivedhim of all his property and left him to sink or swim. Grannie haddiscovered, reared, and educated him. Among professions he had chosen thebar, and was now one of Sydney's most promising young barristers. Hisfoster-mother was no end proud of him, and loved him as her own son. 

In due time a telegram arrived from uncle Julius, containing instructionsfor the buggy to be sent to Gool-Gool to meet him and Everard Grey. 

By this time I had quite recovered from influenza and my accident, and asthey would not arrive till near nightfall, for their edification I was tobe dressed in full-blown dinner costume, also I was to be favoured with alook at my reflection in a mirror for the first time since my arrival. 

During the afternoon I was dispatched by grannie on a message some milesaway, and meeting Mr Hawden some distance from the house, he took it uponhimself to accompany me. Everywhere I went he followed after, much to myannoyance, because grannie gave me many and serious talkings-to about thecrime of encouraging young men. 

Frank Hawden had changed his tune, and told me now that it mattered notthat I was not pretty, as pretty or not I was the greatest brick of agirl he had met. His idea for this opinion was that I was able to talktheatres with him, and was the only girl there, and because he hadarrived at that overflowing age when young men have to be partial to somefemale whether she be ugly or pretty, fat or lean, old or young. That Ishould be the object of these puerile emotions in a fellow like FrankHawden, filled me with loathing and disgust. 

It was late in the afternoon when Hawden and I returned, and the buggywas to be seen a long way down the road, approaching at thegoing-for-the-doctor pace at which uncle Julius always drove. 

Aunt Helen hustled me off to dress, but I was only half-rigged when theyarrived, and so was unable to go out and meet them. Uncle Julius inquiredfor that youngster of Lucy's, and aunt Helen replied that she would beforthcoming when they were dressed for dinner. The two gentlemen took anip, to put a little heart in them uncle Julius said, and auntie Helencame to finish my toilet while they were making theirs. 

"There now, you have nothing to complain of in the way of looks, " sheremarked at the completion of the ceremony. "Come and have a good look atyourself. "

I was decked in my first evening dress, as it was a great occasion. Itwas only on the rarest occasion that we donned full war-paint atCaddagat. I think that evening dress is one of the prettiest and mostidiotic customs extant. What can be more foolish than to endanger one'shealth by exposing at night the chest and arms--two of the most vitalspots of the body--which have been covered all day? On the other hand, what can be more beautiful than a soft white bosom rising and fallingamid a dainty nest of silk and lace? Every woman looks more soft andfeminine in a _decollete_ gown. And is there any of the animal lines knownpleasanter to the eye than the contour of shapely arms? Some there arewho cry down evening dress as being immodest and indecent. These will befound among those whose chest and arms will not admit of being displayed, or among those who, not having been reared to the custom, dislike it withmany other things from want of use. 

Aunt Helen took me into the wide old drawing-room, now brilliantlylighted. A heavy lamp was on each of the four brackets in the corners, and another swung from the centre of the ceiling, and candelabra threwmany lights from the piano. Never before had I seen this room in such ablaze of light. During the last week or two aunt Helen and I had occupiedit every night, but we never lighted more than a single candle on thepiano. This had been ample light for our purpose. Aunt Helen would singin her sweet sad voice all the beautiful old songs I loved, while Icurled myself on a mat at her side and read books--the music oftencompelling me to forget the reading, and the reading occasionallyrendering me deaf to the music; but through both ever came the solemnrush of the stream outside in its weird melancholy, like a windceaselessly endeavouring to outstrip a wild vain regret whichrelentlessly pursued. 

"Your uncle Julius always has the drawing-room lighted like this; he doesnot believe in shadowy half light--calls it sentimental bosh, " said auntHelen in explanation. 

"Is uncle like that?" I remarked, but my question remained unanswered. Leaving a hand-mirror with me, aunt Helen had slipped away. 

One wall of the drawing-room was monopolized by a door, a big bookcase, and a heavy bevelled-edged old-fashioned mirror--the two last-mentionedarticles reaching from floor to ceiling. Since my arrival the face of themirror had been covered, but this evening the blue silken curtains werelooped up, and it was before this that I stood. 

I looked, and looked again in pleased surprise. I beheld a young girlwith eyes and skin of the clearest and brightest, and lips of brilliantscarlet, and a chest and pair of arms which would pass muster with thebest. If Nature had been in bad humour when moulding my face, she hadused her tools craftily in forming my figure. Aunt Helen had proved aclever maid and dressmaker. My pale blue cashmere dress fitted my fullydeveloped yet girlish figure to perfection. Some of my hair fell incunning little curls on my forehead; the remainder, tied simply with apiece of ribbon, hung in thick waves nearly to my knees. My toilet hadaltered me almost beyond recognition. It made me look my age--sixteenyears and ten months--whereas before, when dressed carelessly and with myhair plastered in a tight coil, people not knowing me would not believethat I was under twenty. Joy and merriment lit up my face, which glowedwith youth, health, and happiness, which rippled my lips in smiles, whichdisplayed a splendid set of teeth, and I really believe that on thatnight I did not look out of the way ugly. 

I was still admiring my reflection when aunt Helen returned to say thatEverard and uncle Julius were smoking on the veranda and asking for me. 

"What do you think of yourself, Sybylla?"

"Oh, aunt Helen, tell me that there is something about me not completelyhideous!"

She took my face between her hands, saying:

"Silly child, there are some faces with faultless features, which wouldreceive nothing more than an indifferent glance while beside other faceswhich might have few if any pretensions to beauty. Yours is one of thoselast mentioned. "

"But that does not say I am not ugly. "

"No one would dream of calling you plain, let alone ugly; brilliant isthe word which best describes you. "

Uncle Julius had the upper part of his ponderous figure arrayed in afrock-coat. He did not take kindly to what he termed "those skittishsparrow-tailed affairs". Frock-coats suited him, but I am not partial tothem on every one. They look well enough on a podgy, fat, or broad man, but on a skinny one they hang with such a forlorn, dying-duck expression, that they invariably make me laugh. 

Julius John Bossier, better known as J. J. Bossier, and better still asJay-Jay--big, fat, burly, broad, a jovial bachelor of forty, too fond ofall the opposite sex ever to have settled his affections on one inparticular--was well known, respected, and liked from Wagga Wagga toAlbury, Forbes to Dandaloo, Bourke to Hay, from Tumut to Monaro, and backagain to Peak Hill, as a generous man, a straight goer in businessmatters, and a jolly good fellow all round. 

I was very proud to call him uncle. 

"So this is yourself, is it!" he exclaimed, giving me a tremendous hug. 

"Oh, uncle, " I expostulated, ?? wipe your old kisses off Your breathsmells horribly of whisky and tobacco. "

"Gammon, that's what makes my kisses so nice!" he answered; and, afterholding me at arm's-length for inspection, "By George, you're awonderful-looking girl! You're surely not done growing yet, though! Youare such a little nipper. I could put you in my pocket with ease. Youaren't a scrap like your mother. I'll give the next shearer who passes ashilling to cut that hair off. It would kill a dog in the hot weather. "

"Everard, this is my niece, Sybylla" (aunt Helen was introducing us). "You will have to arrange yourselves--what relation you are, and how toaddress each other. "

The admiration expressed in his clear sharp eyes gave me a sensationdifferent to any I had ever experienced previously. 

"I suppose I'm a kind of uncle and brother in one, and as eitherrelationship entitles me to a kiss, I'm going to take one, " he said in avery gallant manner. 

"You may take one if you can, " I said with mischievous defiance, springing off the veranda into the flower-garden. He accepted mychallenge, and, being lithe as a cat, a tremendous scamper ensued. Roundand round the flower-beds we ran. Uncle Jay-Jay's beard opened in a broadsmile, which ended in a loud laugh. Everard Grey's coat-tails flew in thebreeze he made, and his collar was too high for athletic purposes. Ilaughed too, and was lost, and we returned to the veranda--Everard intriumph, and I feeling very red and uncomfortable. 

Grannie had arrived upon the scene, looking the essence of briskrespectability in a black silk gown and a white lace cap. She cast on mea glance of severe disapproval, and denounced my conduct as shameful; butuncle Jay-Jay's eyes twinkled as he dexterously turned the subject. 

"Gammon, mother! I bet you were often kissed when that youngster's age. Ibet my boots now that you can't count the times you did the same thingyourself. Now, confess. "

Grannie's face melted in a smile as she commenced a little anecdote, withthat pathetic beginning, "When I was young. "

Aunt Helen sent me inside lest I should catch cold, and I stationedmyself immediately inside the window so that I should not miss theconversation. "I should think your niece is very excitable, " Mr Grey wassaying to aunt Helen. 

"Oh, very. "

"Yes; I have never seen any but very highly strung temperaments have thattransparent brilliance of expression. "

"She is very variable--one moment all joy, and the next the reverse. "

"She has a very striking face. I don't know what it is that makes it so. "

"It may be her complexion, " said aunt Helen; "her skin is whiter than thefairest blonde, and her eyebrows and lashes very dark. Be very carefulyou do not say anything that would let her know you think her not nicelooking. She broods over her appearance in such a morbid manner. It is aweak point with her, so be careful not to sting her sensitiveness in thatrespect. "

"Plain-looking! Why, I think she has one of the most fascinating facesI've seen for some time, and her eyes are simply magnificent. What colourare they?"

"The grass is not bad about Sydney. I think I will send a truck Of fatwethers away next week, " said uncle Jay-Jay to grannie. 

"It is getting quite dark. Let's get in to dinner at once, " said grannie. 

During the meal I took an opportunity of studying the appearance ofEverard Grey. He had a typically aristocratic English face, even to thecold rather heartless expression, which is as established a point of anEnglish blue blood as an arched neck is of a thoroughbred horse. 

A ringer, whose wife had been unexpectedly confined, came for granniewhen dinner was over, and the rest of us had a delightful musicalevening. Uncle Jay-Jay bawled "The Vicar of Bray" and "Drink, Puppy, Drink" in a stentorian bass voice, holding me on his knee, pinching, tickling, pulling my hair, and shaking me up and down between whiles. MrHawden favoured us by rendering "The Holy City". Everard Grey sangseveral new songs, which was a great treat, as he had a well-trained andmusical baritone voice. He was a veritable carpet knight, and though nota fop, was exquisitely dressed in full evening costume, and showed hislong pedigreed blood in every line of his clean-shaven face and tallslight figure. He was quite a champion on the piano, and played auntHelen's accompaniments while he made her sing song after song. When shewas weary uncle Jay-Jay said to me, "Now it's your turn, me fine lady. We've all done something to keep things rolling but you. Can you sing?"

"No, "

"Can this youngster sing, Helen?"

"She sings very nicely to herself sometimes, but I do not know how shewould manage before company. Will you try something, Sybylla?"

Uncle Jay-Jay waited to hear no more, but carrying me to the music-stool, and depositing me thereon, warned me not to attempt to leave it beforesinging something. 

To get away to myself, where I was sure no one could bear me, and singand sing till I made the echoes ring, was one of the chief joys of myexistence, but I had never made a success in singing to company. Besideslosing all nerve, I had a very queer voice, which every one remarked. However, tonight I made an effort in my old favourite, "Three FishersWent Sailing". The beauty of the full-toned Ronisch piano, and Everard'sclever and sympathetic accompanying, caused me to forget my audience, andsing as though to myself alone, forgetting that my voice was odd. 

When the song ceased Mr Grey wheeled abruptly on the stool and said, "Doyou know that you have one of the most wonderful natural voices I haveheard. Why, there is a fortune in such a voice if it were, trained! Suchchest-notes, such feeling, such rarity of tone!"

"Don't be sarcastic, Mr Grey, " I said shortly. 

"Upon my word as a man, I mean every word I say, " he returnedenthusiastically. 

Everard Grey's opinion on artistic matters was considered worth having. He dabbled in all the arts--writing, music, acting, and sketching, andwent to every good concert and play in Sydney. Though he was clever atlaw, it was whispered by some that he would wind up on the stage, as hehad a great leaning that way. 

I walked away from the piano treading on air. Would I really make asinger? I with the voice which had often been ridiculed; I who had oftenblasphemously said that I would sell my soul to be able to sing justpassably. Everard Grey's opinion gave me an intoxicated sensation of joy. 

"Can you recite?" he inquired. 

"Yes, " I answered firmly. 

"Give us something, " said uncle Jay-Jay. 

I recited Longfellow's "The Slave's Dream". Everard Grey was quite asenthusiastic over this as he had been about my singing. 

"Such a voice! Such depth and width! Why, she could fill the CentennialHall without an effort. All she requires is training. "

"By George, she's a regular dab! But I wish she would give us somethingnot quite so glum, " said uncle Jay-Jay. 

I let myself go. Carried away by I don't know what sort of a spirit, Iexclaimed, "Very well, I will, if you will wait till I make up, and willhelp me. "

I disappeared for a few minutes, and returned made up as a fat old Irishwoman, with a smudge of dirt on my face. There was a general laugh. 

Would Mr Hawden assist me? Of course he was only too delighted, andflattered that I had called upon him in preference to the others. Whatwould he do?

I sat him on a footstool, so that I might with facility put my hand onhis sandy hair, and turning to uncle, commenced:

"Shure, sir, seeing it was a good bhoy yez were afther to run errants, it's meself that has brought this youngsther for yer inspection. It's ajool ye'll have in him. Shure I rared him meself, and he says his prayersevery morning. Kape sthill, honey! Faith, ye're not afraid of yer poorold mammy pullin' yer beautiful cur-r-rls?"

Uncle Jay-Jay was laughing like fun; even aunt Helen deigned to smile;and Everard was looking on with critical interest. 

"Go on, " said uncle. But Mr Hawden got huffy at the ridicule which hesuspected I was calling down upon him, and jumped up looking fit to eatme. 

I acted several more impromptu scenes with the other occupants of thedrawing-room. Mr Hawden emitted "Humph!" from the corner where hegrumpily sat, but Mr Grey was full of praise. 

"Splendid! splendid!" he exclaimed. "You say you have not had an hour'straining, and never saw a play. Such versatility. Your fortune would bemade on the stage. It is a sin to have such exceptional talent wasting inthe bush. I must take her to Sydney and put her under a good master. "

"Indeed, you'll do no such thing, " said uncle. "I'll keep her here toliven up the old barracks. You've got enough puppets on the stage withouta niece of mine ever being there. "

I went to bed that night greatly elated. Flattery is sweet to youth. Ifelt pleased with myself, and imagined, as I peeped in the looking-glass, that I was not half bad-looking after all. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Yah!

"Bah, you hideous animal! Ha ha! Your peerless conceit does you credit. So you actually imagined that by one or two out of every hundred youmight he considered passable. You are the most uninteresting person inthe world. You are small and nasty and bad, and every other thing that'sabominable. That's what you are. "

This address I delivered to my reflection in the glass next morning. Myelation of the previous night was as flat as a pancake. Dear, oh dear, what a fool I had been to softly swallow the flattery of Mr Grey withouta single snub in return! To make up for my laxity, if he continued toamuse himself by plastering my vanity with the ointment of flattery, Idetermined to serve up my replies to him red-hot and well seasoned withpepper. 

I finished my toilet, and in a very what's-the-good-o'-anything mood tooka last glance in the glass to say, "You're ugly, you're ugly and useless;so don't forget that and make a fool of yourself again. "

I was in the habit of doing this; it had long ago taken the place of amorning prayer. I said this, that by familiarity it might lose a littleof its sting when I heard it from other lips, but somehow it failed inefficacy. 

I was late for breakfast that morning. All the others were half throughthe meal when I sat down. 

Grannie had not come home till after twelve, but was looking as brisk asusual. 

"Come, Sybylla, I suppose this comes of sitting up too late, as I was nothere to hunt you to bed. You are always very lively at night, but it's adifferent tune in the morning, " she said, when giving me the usualmorning hug. 

"When I was a nipper of your age, if I didn't turn out like greasedlightning every morning, I was assisted by a little strap oil, " remarkeduncle Jay-Jay. 

"Sybylla should be excused this morning, " interposed Mr Grey. "Sheentertained us for hours last night. Little wonder if she feels languidthis morning. "

"Entertained you I What did she do?" queried grannie. 

"Many things. Do you know, gran, that you are robbing the world of anartist by keeping Sybylla hidden away in the bush? I must persuade you tolet me take her to Sydney and have her put under the best masters inSydney. "

"Under masters for what?"

"Elocution and singing. "

"I couldn't afford it. "

"But I'd bear the expense myself. It would only be returning a trifle ofall you have done for me. "

"What nonsense! What would you have her do when she was taught?"

"Go on the stage, of course. With her talent and hair she would causequite a sensation. "

Now grannie's notions re the stage were very tightly laced. All actorsand actresses, from the lowest circus man up to the most gloriouscantatrice, were people defiled in the sight of God, and utterly outsidethe pale of all respectability, when measured with her code of morals. 

She turned energetically in her chair, and her keen eyes flashed withscorn and anger as she spoke. 

"Go on the stage! A grand-daughter of mine! Lucy's eldest child! Anactress--a vile, low, brazen hussy! Use the gifts God has given her withwhich to do good in showing off to a crowd of vile bad men! I wouldrather see her struck dead at my feet this instant! I would rather seeher shear off her hair and enter a convent this very hour. Child, promiseyou will never be a bold bad actress. "

"I will never be a _bold bad_ actress, grannie, " I said, putting greatstress on the adjectives, and bringing out the actress very faintly. 

"Yes, " she continued, calming down, "I'm sure you have not enough bad inyou. You may he boisterous, and not behave with sufficient proprietysometimes, but I don't think you are wicked enough to ever make anactress. "

Everard attempted to defend his case. 

"Look here, gran, that's a very exploded old notion about the stage beinga low profession. It might have been once, but it is quite the reversenowadays. There are, of course, low people on the stage, as there are inall walks of life. I grant you that; but if people are good they can begood on the stage as well as anywhere else. On account of a littleprejudice it would be a sin to rob Sybylla of the brilliant career shemight have. "

"Career!" exclaimed his foster-mother, catching at the word. "Career!That is all girls think of now, instead of being good wives and mothersand attending to their homes and doing what God intended. All they thinkof is gadding about and being fast, and ruining themselves body and soul. And the men are as bad to encourage them, " looking severely at Everard. 

"There is a great deal of truth in what you say, gran, I admit. You canapply it to many of our girls, I am sorry to confess, but Sybylla couldnot be brought under that classification. You must look at her in adifferent way. If--"

"I look at her as the child of respectable people, and will not have thestage mentioned in connection with her. " Here Grannie thumped her fistdown on the table and there was silence, complete, profound. Few daredargue with Mrs Bossier. 

Dear old lady, she was never angry long, and in a minute or two sheproceeded with her breakfast, saying quite pleasantly:

"Never mention such a subject to me again; but I'll tell you what you cando. Next autumn, some time in March or April, when the fruit-preservingand jam-making are done with, Helen can take the child to Sydney for amonth or so, and you can show them round. It will be a great treat forSybylla as she has never been in Sydney. "

"That's right, let's strike a bargain on that, gran. " said Everard. 

"Yes; it's a bargain, if I hear no more about the stage. God intends Hiscreatures for a better life than that. "

After breakfast I was left to entertain Everard for some while. We had afine time. He was a perfect gentleman and a clever conversationalist. 

I was always desirous of enjoying the company of society people who werewell bred and lived according to etiquette, and possessed of leisure andculture sufficient to fill their minds with something more than the priceof farm produce and a hard struggle for existence. Hitherto I had onlyread of such or seen them in pictures, but here was a real live one, andI seized my opportunity with vim. At my questioning and evident interestin his talk he told me of all the latest plays, actors, and actresseswith whom he was acquainted, and described the fashionable balls, dinners, and garden-parties he attended. Having exhausted this subject, we fell to discussing books, and I recited snatches of poems dear to me. Everard placed his hands upon my shoulders and said:

"Sybylla, do you know you are a most wonderful girl? Your figure isperfect, your style refreshing, and you have a most interesting face. Itis as ever-changing as a kaleidoscope--sometimes merry, then stern, oftensympathetic, and always sad when at rest. One would think you had hadsome sorrow in your life. "

Lifting my skirt at either side, I bowed several times very low in what Icalled my stage bow, and called into requisition my stage smile, whichdisplayed two rows of teeth as white and perfect as any twenty-guinea setturned out on a gold plate by a fashionable dentist. 

"The handsome gentleman is very kind to amuse himself at the expense of alittle country bumpkin, but he would do well to ascertain if his flatterywould go down before administering it next time, " I said sarcastically, and I heard him calling to me as I abruptly went off to shut myself in myroom. 

"How dare anyone ridicule me by paying idle brainless compliments! I knewI was ugly, and did not want any one to perjure his soul pretending theythought differently. What right had I to be small? Why wasn't I possessedof a big aquiline nose and a tall commanding figure?" Thus I sat inburning discontent and ill-humour until soothed by the scent of roses andthe gleam of soft spring sunshine which streamed in through my openwindow. Some of the flower-beds in the garden were completely carpetedwith pansy blossoms, all colours, and violets-blue and white, single anddouble. The scent of mignonette, jonquils, and narcissi filled the air. Irevelled in rich perfumes, and these tempted me forth. My ruffledfeelings gave way before the delights of the old garden. I collected anumber of vases, and, filling them with water, set them on a table in theveranda near one of the drawing-room windows. I gathered lapfuls of thelovely blossoms, and commenced arranging them in the vases. 

Part of the old Caddagat house was built of slabs, and one of the woodenwalls ran along the veranda side of the drawing-room, so the songs auntHelen and Everard Grey were trying to the piano came as a sweetaccompaniment to my congenial task. 

Presently they left off singing and commenced talking. Under the samecircumstances a heroine of a story would have slipped away; or, if thatwere impossible without discovery, she would have put her fingers in herears, and would have been in a terrible state of agitation lest sheshould hear something not intended for her. I did not come there with aview to eavesdropping. It is a degradation to which I never stoop. Ithought they were aware of my presence on the veranda; but it appearsthey were not, as they began to discuss me (wonderfully interestingsubject to myself), and I stayed there, without one word of disapprovalfrom my conscience, to listen to their conversation. 

"My word, didn't gran make a to-do this morning when I proposedto train Sybylla for the stage! Do you know that girl is simplyreeking with talent; I must have her trained. I will keep bringingthe idea before gran until she gets used to it. I'll work thewe-should-use-the-gifts-God-has-given-us racket for all it is worth, and you might use your influence too, Helen. "

"No, Everard; there are very few who succeed on the stage. I would notuse my influence, as it is a life of which I do not approve. "

"But Sybylla _would_ succeed. I am a personal friend of the leadingmanagers, and my influence would help her greatly. "

"Yes; but what would you do with her? A young gentleman couldn't takecharge of a girl and bring her out without ruining her reputation. Therewould be no end of scandal, as the sister theory would only he nonsense. "

"There is another way; I could easily stop scandal. "

"Everard, what do you mean!"

"I mean marriage, " he replied deliberately. 

"Surely, boy, you must be dreaming! You have only seen her for an hour ortwo. I don't believe in these sudden attachments. "

Perhaps she here thought of one (her own) as sudden, which had not endedhappily. 

"Everard, don't do anything rashly. You know you are very fickle andconsidered a lady-killer--be merciful to my poor little Sybylla, I pray. It is just one of your passing fancies. Don't wile her passionate youngheart away and then leave her to pine and die. "

"I don't think she is that sort, " he replied laughingly. 

"No, she would not die, but would grow into a cynic and sceptic, which isthe worst of fates. Let her alone. Flirt as much as you will with societybelles who understand the game, but leave my country maiden alone. I hopeto mould her into a splendid character yet. "

"But, Helen, supposing I am in earnest at last, you don't think I'd makeher a bad old hubby, do you?"

"She is not the girl for you. You are not the man who could ever controlher. What I say may not be complimentary but it is true. Besides, she isnot seventeen yet, and I do not approve of romantic young girls throwingthemselves into matrimony. Let them develop their womanhood first. "

"Then I expect I had better hide my attractions under a bushel during theremainder of my stay at Caddagat?"

"Yes. Be as nice to the child as you like, but mind, none of those littleladies'-man attentions with which it is so easy to steal--"

I waited to hear no more, but, brimming over with a mixture of emotions, tore through the garden and into the old orchard. Bees were busy, andcountless bright-coloured butterflies flitted hither and thither, sippingfrom hundreds of trees, white or pink with bloom--their beauty was lostupon me. I stood ankle-deep in violets, where they had run wild under agnarled old apple-tree, and gave way to my wounded vanity. 

"Little country maiden, indeed! There's no need for him to bag hisattractions up. If he exerted himself to the utmost of his ability, hecould not make me love him. I'm not a child. I saw through him in thefirst hour. There's not enough in him to win my love. I'll show him Ithink no more of him than of the caterpillars on the old tree there. I'mnot a booby that will fall in love with every gussie I see. Bah, there'sno fear of that! I hate and detest men!"

"I suppose you are rehearsing some more airs to show off with tonight, "sneered a voice behind me. 

"No, I'm realisticing; and how _dare_ you thrust your obnoxious presencebefore me when I wish to be alone! Haven't I often shown--"

"While a girl is disengaged, any man who is her equal has the right topay his addresses to her if he is in earnest, " interrupted Mr Hawden. Itwas he who stood before me. 

"I am well aware of that, " I replied. "But it is a woman's privilege torepel those attentions if distasteful to her. You seem disinclined toaccord me that privilege. "

Having delivered this retort, I returned to the house, leaving himstanding there looking the fool he was. 

I do not believe in spurning the love of a blackfellow if he behaves in amanly way; but Frank Hawden was such a drivelling mawkish style ofsweetheart that I had no patience with him. 

Aunt Helen and Everard had vacated the drawing-room, so I plumped down onthe piano-stool and dashed into Kowalski's galop, from that into "Gaitede Coeur" until I made the piano dance and tremble like a thingpossessed. My annoyance faded, and I slowly played that saddest ofwaltzes, "Weber's Last". I became aware of a presence in the room, and, facing about, confronted Everard Grey. 

"How long have you been here?" I demanded sharply. 

"Since you began to play. Where on earth did you learn to play? Yourexecution is splendid. Do sing 'Three Fishers', please. "

"Excuse me; I haven't time now. Besides I am not competent to sing toyou, " I said brusquely, and made my exit. 

"Mr Hawden wants you, Sybylla, " called aunt Helen. "See what he wants andlet him get away to his work, or your grannie will be vexed to see himloitering about all the morning. "

"Miss Sybylla, " he began, when we were left alone, I want to apologize toyou. I had no right to plague you, but it all comes of the way I loveyou. A fellow gets jealous at the least little thing, you know. "

"Bore me with no more such trash, " I said, turning away in disgust. 

"But, Miss Sybylla, what am I to do with it?"

"Do with what?"

"My love. "

"Love!" I retorted scornfully. "There is no such thing. "

"But there is, and I have found it. "

"Well, you stick to it--that's my advice to you. It will be a treasure. If you send it to my father he will get it bottled up and put it in theGoulburn museum. He has sent several things there already. "

"Don't make such a game of a poor devil. You know I can't do that. "

"Bag it up, then; put a big stone to make it sink, and pitch it in theriver. "

"You'll rue this, " he said savagely. 

"I may or may not, " I sang over my shoulder as I departed. 

CHAPTER TWELVE

One Grand Passion

I had not the opportunity of any more private interviews with EverardGrey till one morning near his departure, when we happened to be alone onthe veranda. 

"Well, Miss Sybylla, " he began, "when I arrived I thought you and I wouldhave been great friends; but we have not progressed at all. How do youaccount for that?"

As he spoke he laid his slender shapely hand kindly upon my head. He wasvery handsome and winning, and moved in literary, musical, and artisticsociety--a man from my world, a world away. 

Oh, what pleasure I might have derived from companionship with him! I bitmy lip to keep back the tears. Why did not social arrangements allow aman and a maid to be chums--chums as two men or two maids may be to eachother, enjoying each other without thought beyond pure platonicfriendship? But no; it could not be. I understood the conceit of men. Should I be very affable, I feared Everard Grey would imagine he had madea conquest of me. On the other hand, were I glum he would think the same, and that I was trying to hide my feelings behind a mask of brusquerie. Itherefore steered in a bee-line between the two manners, and remarkedwith the greatest of indifference:

"I was not aware that you expected us to be such cronies--in fact, I havenever given the matter a thought. "

He turned away in a piqued style. Such a beau of beaux, no doubt he wasannoyed that an insignificant little country bumpkin should not beflattered by his patronage, or probably he thought me rude orill-humoured. 

Two mornings later uncle Jay-Jay took him to Gool-Gool EN ROUTE forSydney. When departing he bade me a kindly good-bye, made me promise towrite to him, and announced his intention of obtaining the opinion ofsome good masters re my dramatic talent and voice, when I came to Sydneyas promised by my grandmother. I stood on the garden fence waving myhandkerchief until the buggy passed out of sight among the messmate-treesabout half a mile from the house. 

"Well I hope, as that dandified ape has gone--and good riddance tohim--that you will pay more heed to my attentions now, " said Mr Hawden'svoice, as I was in the act of descending from the fence. 

"What do you mean by your attentions?" I demanded. 

"What do I mean! That is something like coming to business. I'll soonexplain. You know what my intentions are very well. When I amtwenty-four, I will come into my property in England. It is considerable, and at the end of that time I want to marry you and take you home. ByJove! I would just like to take you home. You'd surprise some Englishgirls I know. "

"There would be more than one person surprised if I married you, " Ithought to myself, and laughed till I ached with the motion. 

"You infernal little vixen! What are you laughing at? You've got no moresense than a bat if such a solemn thing only provokes your mirth. "

"Solemn--why, it's a screaming farce!" I laughed more and more. 

"What's a farce?" he demanded fiercely. 

"The bare idea of you proposing to me. "

"Why? Have I not as much right to propose as any other man?"

"Man!" I laughed. "That's where the absurdity arises. My child, if youwere a man, certainly you could propose, but do you think I'd look at aboy, a child! If ever I perpetrate matrimony the participant in mydegradation will be a fully developed man--not a hobbledehoy who falls inlove, as he terms it, on an average about twice a week. Love! Ho!"

I moved in the direction of the house. He barred my path. 

"You are not going to escape me like that, my fine lady. I will make youlisten to me this time or you will hear more about it, " and he seized meangrily by the wrist. 

I cannot bear the touch of any one--it is one of my idiosyncrasies. Withmy disengaged hand I struck him a vigorous blow on the nose, andwrenching myself free sprang away, saying, "How dare you lay a finger onme! If you attempt such a thing again I'll make short work of you. Markmy words, or you'll get something more than a bleeding nose next time, Ipromise you. "

"You'll hear more of this! You'll hear more of this! You fierce, wild, touch-me-not thing, " he roared. 

"Yes; my motto with men is touch-me-not, and it is your own fault if I'mfierce. If children attempt to act the role of a man with adult tools, they are sure to cut themselves. Hold hard a bit, honey, till yourwhiskers grow, " I retorted as I departed, taking flying leaps over theblossom-burdened flower-beds. 

At tea that night, after gazing interestedly at Mr Hawden's nose for sometime, uncle Julius inquired, "in the name of all that's mysterious, whatthe devil have you been doing to your nose? You look as though you hadbeen on the spree. "

I was quaking lest he would get me into a fine scrape, but he onlymuttered, "By Jove!" with great energy, and glowered menacingly acrossthe table at me. 

After tea he requested an interview with grannie, which aroused mycuriosity greatly. I was destined to hear all about it next morning. Whenbreakfast was over grannie called me into her room and interviewed meabout Mr Hawden's interview. She began without any preliminaries:

"Mr Hawden has complained of your conduct. It grieves me that any youngman should have to speak to me of the behaviour of my own grand-daughter. He says you have been flirting with him. Sybylla, I scarcely thought youwould be so immodest and unwomanly. "

On hearing this my thoughts of Frank Hawden were the reverse offlattering. He had persecuted me beyond measure, yet I had not deigned tocomplain of him to either uncle, grannie, or auntie, as I mightreasonably have done, and have obtained immediate redress. He had beenthe one to blame in the case, yet for the rebuffs he had brought uponhimself, went tattling to my grandmother. 

Is that all you have to say, grannie?"

"No. He wants to marry you, and has asked my consent. I told him it allrested with yourself and parents. What do you say?"

"Say, " I exclaimed, "grannie, you are only joking, are you not?"

"No, my child, this is not a matter to joke about. "

"Marry that creature! A boy!" I uttered in consternation. 

"He is no boy. He has attained his majority some months. He is as old asyour grandfather was when we married. In three years you will be almosttwenty, and by that time he will be in possession of his property whichis very good--in fact, he will be quite rich. If you care for him there isnothing against him as I can see. He is healthy, has a good character, and comes of a high family. Being a bit wild won't matter. Very often, after they sow their wild oats, some of those scampy young fellows settledown and marry a nice young girl and turn out very good husbands. "

"It is disgusting, and you ought to be downright ashamed of yourself, grannie! A man can live a life of bestiality and then be considered a fithusband for the youngest and purest girl! It is shameful! Frank Hawden isnot wild, he hasn't got enough in him to be so. I hate him. No, he hasn'tenough in him to hate. I loathe and despise him. I would not marry him orany one like him though he were King of England. The idea of marriageeven with the best man in the world seems to me a lowering thing, " Iraged; "but with him it would be pollution--the lowest degradation thatcould be heaped upon me! I will never come down to marry any one--" here Ifell a victim to a flood of excited tears. 

I felt there was no good in the world, especially in men--the hatefulcreatures!--and never would be while it was not expected of them, even byrigidly pure, true Christians such as my grandmother. Grannie, dear oldgrannie, thought I should marry any man who, from a financial point ofview, was a good match for me. That is where the sting came in. No, Iwould never marry. I would procure some occupation in which I could treadmy life out, independent of the degradation of marriage. 

"Dear me, child, " said grannie, concernedly, "there is no need todistress yourself so. I remember you were always fearfully passionate. When I had you with me as a tiny toddler, you would fret a whole dayabout a thing an ordinary child would forget inside an hour. I will tellHawden to go about his business. I would not want you to considermarriage for an instant with anyone distasteful to you. But tell metruly, have you ever flirted with him? I will take your word, for I thankGod you have never yet told me a falsehood!"

"Grannie, " I exclaimed emphatically, "I have discouraged him all I could. I would scorn to flirt with any man. "

"Well, well, that is all I want to hear about it. Wash your eyes, and wewill get our horses and go over to see Mrs Hickey and her baby, and takeher something good to eat. "

I did not encounter Frank Hawden again till the afternoon, when he leeredat me in a very triumphant manner. I stiffened myself and drew out of hisway as though he had been some vile animal. At this treatment he whined, so I agreed to talk the matter over with him and have done with it onceand for all. 

He was on his way to water some dogs, so I accompanied him out to thestables near the kennels, to be out of hearing of the household. 

I opened fire without any beating about the bush. 

"I ask you, Mr Hawden, if you have any sense of manliness, from this hourto cease persecuting me with your idiotic professions of love. I have twosentiments regarding it, and in either you disgust me. Sometimes I don'tbelieve there is such a thing as love at all--that is, love between menand women. While in this frame of mind I would not listen to professionsof love from an angel. Other times I believe in love, and look upon it asa sacred and solemn thing. When in that humour, it seems to me adesecration to hear you twaddling about the holy theme, for you are onlya boy, and don't know how to feel. I would not have spoken thus harshlyto you, but by your unmanly conduct you have brought it upon yourself. Ihave told you straight all that I will ever deign to tell you on thesubject, and take much pleasure in wishing you good afternoon. "

I walked away quickly, heedless of his expostulations. 

My appeal to his manliness had no effect. Did I go for a ride, or a walkin the afternoon to enjoy the glory of the sunset, or a stroll to drinkin the pleasures of the old garden, there would I find Frank Hawden by myside, yah, yah, yahing about the way I treated him, until I wished him atthe bottom of the Red Sea. 

However, in those glorious spring days the sense of life was too pleasantto he much clouded by the trifling annoyance Frank Hawden occasioned me. The graceful wild clematis festooned the shrubbery along the creeks withgreat wreaths of magnificent white bloom, which loaded every breeze withperfume; the pretty bright green senna shrubs along the river-banks weredecked in blossoms which rivalled the deep blue of the sky inbrilliance; the magpies built their nests in the tall gum-trees, andsavagely attacked unwary travellers who ventured too near their domain;the horses were rolling fat, and invited one to get on their satin backsand have a gallop; the cry of the leather-heads was heard in the orchardas the cherry season approached. Oh, it was good to be alive!

At Caddagat I was as much out of the full flood of life for which Icraved as at Possum Gully, but here there were sufficient pleasant littleripples on the stream of existence to act as a stop-gap for the present. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

He

Here goes for a full account of my first, my last, my only _real_sweetheart, for I considered the professions of that pestiferous jackerooas merely a grotesque caricature on the genuine article. 

On making my first appearance before my lover, I looked quite the reverseof a heroine. My lovely hair was not conveniently escaping from the combat the right moment to catch him hard in the eye, neither was mythrillingly low sweet voice floating out on the scented air in a mannerwhich went straight to his heart, like the girls I had read of. On thecontrary, I much resembled a female clown. It was on a day towards theend of September, and I had been up the creek making a collection offerns. I had on a pair of men's boots with which to walk in the water, and was garbed in a most dilapidated old dress, which I had borrowed fromone of the servants for the purpose. A pair of gloves made of basil, anda big hat, much torn in struggling through the undergrowth, completed mymake-up. My hair was most unbecomingly screwed up, the short endssticking out like a hurrah's nest. 

It was late in the day when, returning from my ramble, I was met on thedoorstep by aunt Helen. 

"While you are in that trim, I wish you would pluck some lemons for me. I'm sure there is no danger of you ruining your turn-out. A sketch of youwould make a good item for the _Bulletin_, " she said. 

I went readily to do her bidding, and fetching a ladder with rungs abouttwo feet six apart, placed it against a lemon-tree at the back of thehouse, and climbed up. 

Holding a number of lemons in my skirt, I was making a most ungracefuldescent, when I heard an unknown footstep approaching towards my back. 

People came to Caddagat at all hours of the day, so I was not in theleast disconcerted. Only a tramp, an agent, or a hawker, I bet, Ithought, as I reached my big boot down for another rung of the ladderwithout turning my head to see whom it might be. 

A pair of strong brown hands encircled my waist, I was tossed up a footor so and then deposited lightly on the ground, a masculine voice saying, "You're a mighty well-shaped young filly--'a waist rather small, but aquarter superb'. "

"How dare anyone speak to me like that, " I thought, as I faced about tosee who was parodying Gordon. There stood a man I had never before seteyes on, smiling mischievously at me. He was a young man--a very youngman, a bushman tremendously tall and big and sunburnt, with an openpleasant face and chestnut moustache--not at all an awe-inspiring fellow, in spite of his unusual, though well-proportioned and carried, height. Iknew it must be Harold Beecham, of Five-Bob Downs, as I had heard hestood six feet three and a half in his socks. 

I hurriedly let down my dress, the lemons rolling in a dozen directions, and turned to flee, but that well-formed figure bounded before me withthe agility of a cat and barred my way. 

"Now, not a step do you go, my fine young blood, until you pick up everyjolly lemon and put them away tidily, or I'll tell the missus on you assure as eggs. "

It dawned on me that he had mistaken me for one of the servant-girls. Thatwasn't bad fun. I determined not to undeceive but to have a lark with him. I summed him up as conceited, but not with the disgusting conceit withwhich some are afflicted, or perhaps blessed. It was rather an air ofI-have-always-got-what-I-desire-and-believe, -if-people-fail-it-is-all-their-own-fault, which surrounded him. 

"If you please, sir, " I said humbly, "I've gathered them all up, will youlet me go now. "

"Yes, when you've given me a kiss. "

"Oh, sir, I couldn't do that!"

"Go on, I won't poison you. Come now, I'll make you. "

"Oh, the missus might catch me. "

"No jolly fear; I'll take all the blame if she does. "

"Oh don't, sir; let me go, please, " I said in such unfeigned distress, for I feared he was going to execute his threat, that he laughed andsaid:

"Don't be frightened, sissy, I never kiss girls, and I'm not going tostart at this time of day, and against their will to boot. You haven'tbeen long here, have you? I haven't seen you before. Stand out there tillI see if you've got any grit in you, and then I am done with you. "

I stood in the middle of the yard, the spot he indicated, while heuncurled his long heavy stock-whip with its big lash and scented myallhandle. He cracked it round and round my head and arms, but I did notfeel the least afraid, as I saw at a glance that he was exceedinglydexterous in the bushman's art of handling a stock-whip, and knew, if Ikept perfectly still, I was quite safe. It was thanks to uncle Jay-Jaythat I was able to bear the operation with unruffled equanimity, as hewas in the habit of testing my nerves in this way. 

"Well, I never! Not so much as blinked an eyelash! Thoroughbred!" He saidafter a minute or so, "Where's the boss?"

"In Gool-Gool. He won't be home till late. "

"Is Mrs Bossier in?"

"No, she's not, but Mrs Bell is somewhere around in front. "

"Thanks. "

I watched him as he walked away with an easy swinging stride, which spokeof many long, long days in the saddle. I felt certain as I watched himthat he had quite forgotten the incident of the little girl with thelemons. 

"Sybylla, hurry up and get dressed. Put on your best bib and tucker, andI will leave Harry Beecham in your charge, as I want to superintend themaking of some of the dishes myself this evening. "

"It's too early to put on my evening dress, isn't it, auntie?

"It is rather early; but you can't spare time to change twice. Dressyourself completely; you don't know what minute your uncle and hisworship will arrive. "

I had taken a dip in the creek, so had not to bathe, and it took me but ashort time to don full war-paint--blue evening dress, satin slippers, andall. I wore my hair flowing, simply tied with a ribbon. I slipped outinto the passage and called aunt Helen. She came. 

"I'm ready, auntie. Where is he?"

"In the dining-room. "

"Come into the drawing-room and call him. I will take charge of him tillyou are at leisure. But, auntie, it will be a long time till dinner--howon earth will I manage him?"

"Manage him!" she laughed; "he is not at all an obstreperous character. "

We had reached the drawing-room by this, and I looked at myself in thelooking-glass while aunt Helen went to summon Harold Augustus Beecham, bachelor, owner of Five-Bob Downs, Wyambeet, Wallerawang West, Quat-Quatta, and a couple more stations in New South Wales, besides anextensive one in Queensland. 

I noticed as he entered the door that since I had seen him he had washed, combed his stiff black hair, and divested himself of his hat, spurs, andwhip--his leggings had perforce to remain, as his nether garment was apair of closely fitting grey cloth riding-breeches, which clearly definedthe shapely contour of his lower limbs. 

"Harry, this is Sybylla. I'm sure you need no further introduction. Excuseme, I have something on the fire which is likely to burn. " And aunt Helenhurried off leaving us facing each other. 

He stared down at me with undisguised surprise. I looked up at him andlaughed merrily. The fun was all on my side. He was a great big man--richand important. I was a chit--an insignificant nonentity--yet, despite hissex, size, and importance, I was complete master of that situation, andknew it: thus I laughed. 

I saw that he recognized me again by the dusky red he flushed beneath hissun-darkened skin. No doubt he regretted having called me a filly aboveall things. He bowed stiffly, but I held out my hand, saying:

"Do shake hands. When introduced I always shake hands with anyone I thinkI'll like. Besides, I seem to know you well. Just think of all the applesyou brought me!"

He acceded to my request, holding my hand a deal longer than necessary, and looking at me helplessly. It amused me greatly, for I saw that it washe who did not know how to manage me, and not I that couldn't manage him. 

"'Pon my honour, Miss Melvyn, I had no idea it was you, when I said--"Here he boggled completely, which had the effect of reviving my laughter. 

"You had no right to be dressed like that--deceiving a fellow. It wasn'tfair. "

"That's the best of it. It shows what a larrikin Don Juan sort ofcharacter you are. You can't deceive me now if you pretend to be avirtuous well-behaved member of society. "

"That is the first time I've ever meddled with any of the kitchen fry, and, by Jove, it will be the last!" he said energetically. "I've gotmyself into a pretty mess. "

"What nonsense you talk, " I replied. "If you say another word about it, I'll write a full account of it and paste it in my scrapbook. But ifyou don't worry about it, neither will I. You said nothing veryuncomplimentary; in fact, I was quite flattered. "

I was perched on the high end of a couch, and he was leaning with bigcareless ease on the piano. Had grannie seen me, I would have beenlectured about unladylike behaviour. 

"What is your uncle at today?" he inquired. 

"He's not at anything. He went to Gool-Gool yesterday on the jury. Courtfinishes up today, and he is going to bring the judge home tonight. That's why I am dressed so carefully, " I answered. 

"Good gracious! I never thought of court this time as I wasn't called onthe jury, and for a wonder hadn't so much as a case against a Chinaman. Iwas going to stay tonight, but can't if his worship is going to dinehere. "

"Why? You're surely not afraid of Judge Fossilt? He's a very simple oldcustomer. "

"Imagine dining with a judge in this toggery!" and he glanced down hisgreat figure at his riding gear. 

"That doesn't matter; he's near-sighted. I'll get you put at the far endof the table under my wing. Men don't notice dress. If you weren't so biguncle or Frank Hawden could oblige you. "

"Do you think I could pass muster?"

"Yes; after I brush you down you'll look as spruce as a brass penny. 

"I did brush myself, " he answered. 

"You brush yourself!" I retorted. "There's a big splash of mud on yourshoulder. You couldn't expect to do anything decently, for you're only aman, and men are the uselessest, good-for-nothingest, clumsiest animals inthe world. All they're good for is to smoke and swear. "

I fetched a clothes brush. 

"You'll have to stand on the table to reach me, " he said, looking downwith amused indulgence. 

"As you are so impertinent you can go dusty, " and I tossed the brushaway. 

The evening was balmy, so I invited him into the garden. He threw hishandkerchief over my chest, saying I might catch cold, but I scouted theidea. 

We wandered into an arbour covered with wistaria, banksia, and MarechalNiel roses, and I made him a buttonhole. 

A traveller pulled rein in the roadway, and, dismounting, threw hisbridle over a paling of the garden fence while he went inside to try andbuy a loaf of bread. 

I jumped up, frightening the horse so that it broke away, pulling off thepaling in the bridle-rein. I ran to bring a hammer to repair the damage. Mr Beecham caught the horse while I attempted to drive the nail into--thefence. It was a futile attempt. I bruised my fingers. He took the hammerfrom me, and fixing the paling in its place with a couple of well-aimedblows, said laughingly:

"You drive a nail! You couldn't expect to do anything. You're only agirl. Girls are the helplessest, uselessest, troublesomest littlecreatures in the world. All they're good for is to torment and pester afellow. "

I had to laugh. 

At this juncture we heard uncle Jay-Jay's voice, so Mr Beecham wenttowards the back, whence it proceeded, after he left me at the frontdoor. 

"Oh, auntie, we got on splendidly! He's not a bit of trouble. We're aschummy as though we had been reared together, " I exclaimed. 

"Did you get him to talk?"

"Oh yes. "

"Did you really?" in surprise. 

When I came to review the matter I was forced to confess that I had doneall the talking, and young Beecham the listening; moreover I describedhim as the quietest man I had ever seen or heard of. 

The judge did not come home with uncle Jay-Jay as expected so it was notnecessary for me to shelter Harold Beecham under my wing. Grannie greetedhim cordially as "Harold, my boy", he was a great favourite with her. Sheand uncle Julius monopolized him for the evening. There was great talk oftrucking sheep, the bad outlook as regarded the season, the state of thegrass in the triangle, the Leigh Spring, the Bimbalong, and several otherpaddocks, and of the condition of the London wool market. It did notinterest me, so I dived into a book, only occasionally emerging therefromto smile at Mr Beecham. 

He had come to Caddagat for a pair of bullocks which had been fatteningin grannie's home paddock. Uncle gave him a start with them next morning. When they came out on the road I was standing in a bed of violets in atangled corner of the garden, where roses climbed to kiss the lilacs, andspiraea stooped to rest upon the wallflowers, and where two tallkurrajongs stood like sentries over all. Harold Beecham dismounted, and, leaning over the fence, lingered with me, leaving the bullocks to uncleJay-Jay. Uncle raved vigorously. Women, he asserted, were the bane ofsociety and the ruination Of all men; but he had always considered Haroldas too sensible to neglect his business to stand grinning at a peskyyoungster in short skirts and a pigtail. Which was the greatest idiot ofthe two he didn't know. 

His grumbling did not affect Harold in the least. 

"Complimentary to both of us, " he remarked as he leisurely threw himselfacross his great horse, and smiled his pleasant quiet smile, disclosingtwo rows of magnificent teeth, untainted by contamination with beer ortobacco. Raising his panama hat with the green fly-veil around it, hecantered off. I wondered as I watched him if anything ever disturbed hisserenity, and desired to try. He looked too big and quiet to be ruffledby such emotions as rage, worry, jealousy, or even love. Returning to thehouse, I put aunt Helen through an exhaustive catechism concerning him. 

Question. Auntie, what age is Harold Beecham?

Answer. Twenty-five last December. 

Q. Did he ever have any brothers or sisters? A. No. His birth caused hismother's death. Q. How long has his father been dead?

A. Since Harold could crawl. 

Q. Who reared him?

A. His aunts. 

Q. Does he ever talk any more than that? A. Often a great deal less. 

Q. Is he really very rich?

A. If he manages to pull through these seasons he will be second to nonebut Tyson in point of wealth. 

Q. Is Five-Bob a very pretty place?

A. Yes; one of the show places of the district. Q. Does he often come toCaddagat?

A. Yes, he often drops in. 

Q. What makes his hair so black and his moustache that light colour?

A. You'll have to study science to find that out. I'm sure I can't tellyou. 

Q. Does he--?

"Now, Sybylla, " said auntie, laughing, "you are taking a suspiciousinterest in my sunburnt young giant. Did I not tell you he was takingtime by the forelock when he brought the apples?"

"Oh, auntie, I am only asking questions because--"

"Yes, because, because, I understand perfectly. Because you are a girl, and all the girls fall a victim to Harry's charms at once. If you don'twant to succumb meekly to your fate, 'Heed the spark or you may dread thefire. ' That is the only advice I can tender you. "

This was a Thursday, and on the following Sunday Harold Beechamreappeared at Caddagat and remained from three in the afternoon untilnine at night. Uncle Julius and Frank Hawden were absent. The weather hadtaken a sudden backward lurch into winter again, so we had a fire. Haroldsat beside it all the time, and interposed yes and no at the properintervals in grannie's brisk business conversation, but he neveraddressed one word to me beyond "Good afternoon, Miss Melvyn, " on hisarrival, and "Good night, Miss Melvyn, " when leaving. 

I studied him attentively all the while. What were his ideas andsentiments it were hard to tell: he never expressed any. He was fearfullyand wonderfully quiet. Yet his was an intelligent silence, not of thatwooden brainless description which casts a damper on company, neither wasit of the morose or dreaming order. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Principally Letters

Caddagat, 29th Sept. , 1896

My dearest Gertie, I have started to write no less than seven letters to you, but somethingalways interrupted me and I did not finish them. However, I'll finishthis one in the teeth of Father Peter himself. I will parenthesize allthe interruptions. (A traveller just asked me for a rose. I had to get upand give him one. ) Living here is lovely. (Another man inquired the wayto Somingley Gap, and I've just finished directing him. ) Grannie isterribly nice. You could not believe. She is always giving me something, and takes me wherever she goes. Auntie is an angel. I wish you could hearthe piano. It is a beauty. There are dozens of papers and books to read. Uncle is a dear old fellow. You should hear him rave and swear sometimeswhen he gets in a rage. It is great fun. He brings me lollies, gloves, ribbons, or something every time he comes from town. (Two Indian hawkershave arrived, and I am going out to see their goods. There were nineteenhawkers here last week. I am sitting on a squatter's chair and writing ona table in the veranda, and the road goes right by the flower-garden. That is how I see everyone. ) Have you had rain down there this week? Theyhave great squawking about the drought up here. I wish they could seeGoulburn, and then they'd know what drought means. I don't know what sortof a bobberie they would kick up. It's pretty dry out on the run, buteveryone calls the paddocks about the house an oasis. You see there aresuch splendid facilities for irrigation here. Uncle has put on a lot ofmen. They have cut races between the two creeks between which the houseis situated. Every now and again they let the water from these over theorchard gardens and about a hundred acres of paddock land around thehouse. The grass therein is up to the horses' fetlocks. There is anyamount of rhubarb and early vegetables in the garden. Grannie says thereis a splendid promise of fruit in the orchard, and the flower-garden is aperfect dream. This is the dearest old place in the world. Dozens ofpeople plague grannie to be let put their horses in the grass--especiallyshearers, there are droves of them going home now--but she won't let them;wants all the grass for her own stock. Uncle has had to put another manon to mind it, or at night all the wires are cut and the horses put in. (An agent, I think by the cut of him, is asking for grannie. I'll have torun and find her. ) It is very lively here. Never a night but we have thehouse full of agents or travellers of one sort or another, and there areoften a dozen swaggies in the one day. 

Harold Beecham is my favourite of all the men hereaway. He isdelightfully big and quiet. He isn't good-looking, but I like his face. (Been attending to the demands of a couple of impudent swaggies. Beingoff the road at Possum Gully, you escape them. ) For the love of life, next time you write, fire into the news at once and don't half-fill yourletter telling me about the pen and your bad writing. I am scribbling atthe rate Of 365 miles an hour, and don't care a jot whether it is goodwriting or not. 

Auntie, uncle, Frank Hawden and I, are going to ride to Yabtree churchnext Sunday. It is four miles beyond Five-Bob Downs, so that is sixteenmiles. It is the nearest church. I expect it will be rare fun. There willbe such a crowd coming home, and that always makes the horsesdelightfully frisky. (A man wants to put his horses in the paddock forthe night, so I will have to find uncle. ) I never saw such a place formen. It is all men, men, men. You cannot go anywhere outside the housebut you see men coming and going in all directions. It wouldn't do toundress without bothering to drop the window-blind like we used at PossumGully. Grannie and uncle say it is a curse to be living beside the road, as it costs them a tremendous lot a year. There are seven lemon-treeshere, loaded (another hawker). I hope you think of me sometimes. I amjust as ugly as ever. (A traveller wants to buy a loaf of bread. )

With stacks of love to all at home, and a whole dray-load for yourself, from your loving sister, Sybylla. 

Remember me to Goulburn, drowsing lazily in its dreamy graceful hollow inthe blue distance. 

Caddagat, 29th Sept. , 1896

Dear Everard, Thank you very much for the magazines and "An Australian Bush Track". Isuppose you have quite forgotten us and Caddagat by this time. The sunhas sunk behind the gum-trees, and the blue evening mists are hanginglazily in the hollows of the hills. I expect you are donning your"swallow-tail" preparatory to leading some be-satined "faire ladye" in toa gorgeous dinner, thence to the play, then to a dance probably. No doubtall around you is bustle, glare of lights, noise, and fun. It is such adifferent scene here. From down the road comes the tinkle of camp-bellsand jingle of hobble-chains. From down in that sheltered angle where thecreek meets the river comes the gleam of camp-fires through the gatheringtwilight, and I can see several tents rigged for the night, looking likewhite specks in the distance. 

I long for the time to come when I shall get to Sydney. I'm going to leadyou and aunt Helen a pretty dance. You'll have to keep going night andday. It will be great. I must get up and dance a jig on the veranda whenI think of it. You'll have to show me everything--slums and all. I want tofind out the truth of heaps of things for myself. 

Save for the weird rush of the stream and the kookaburras' goodnight, allis still, with a mighty far-reaching stillness which can be felt. Now thecurlews are beginning their wild moaning cry. From the rifts in the darklone ranges, far down the river, it comes like a hunted spirit until itmakes me feel--

At this point I said, "Bah! I'm mad to write to Everard Grey like this. He would laugh and call me a poor little fool. " I tore the half-finishedletter to shreds, and consigned it to the kitchen fire. I substituted aprim formal note, merely thanking him for the books and magazine he hadsent me. To this I never received an answer. I heard through his lettersto grannie that he was much occupied. Had been to Brisbane and Melbourneon important cases, so very likely had not time to be bothered with me;or, he might have been like the majority of his fellows who make a greatparade of friendship while with one, then go away and forget one'sexistence in an hour. 

While at Caddagat there were a few duties allotted to me. One of thesewas to attend to the drawing-room; another was to find uncle Jay-Jay'shat when he mislaid it--often ten times per day. I assisted my grandmotherto make up her accounts and write business letters, and I attended totramps. A man was never refused a bit to cat at Caddagat. Thisnecessitated the purchase of an extra ton of flour per year, also nearlya ton of sugar, to say nothing of tea, potatoes, beef, and all brokenmeats which went thus. This was not reckoning the consumption of victualsby the other class of travellers with which the house was generally fullyear in and year out. Had there been any charge for their board andlodging, the Bossiers would surely have made a fortune. I interviewed onan average fifty tramps a week, and seldom saw the same man twice. What agreat army they were! Hopeless, homeless, aimless, shameless souls, tramping on from north to south, and east to west, never relinquishingtheir heart-sickening, futile quest for work--some of them so long on thetramp that the ambitions of manhood had been ground out of them, and theywished for nothing more than this. 

There were all shapes, sizes, ages, kinds, and conditions of men--theshamefaced boy in the bud of his youth, showing by the way he begged thatthe humiliation of the situation had not yet worn off, and poor oldcreatures tottering on the brink of the grave, with nothing left in lifebut the enjoyment of beer and tobacco. There were strong men in theirprime who really desired work when they asked for it, and skulkingcowards who hoped they would not get it. There were the diseased, theeducated, the ignorant, the deformed, the blind, the evil, the honest, the mad, and the sane. Some in real professional beggars' style calleddown blessings on me; others were morose and glum, while some wereimpudent and thankless, and said to supply them with food was just what Ishould do, for the swagmen kept the squatters--as, had the squatters notmonopolized the land, the swagmen would have had plenty. A moiety of thelast-mentioned--dirty, besotted, ragged creatures--had a glare in theireyes which made one shudder to look at them, and, while spasmodicallytwirling their billies or clenching their fists, talked wildly of makingone to "bust up the damn banks", or to drive all the present squattersout of the country and put the people on the land--clearly showing that, because they had failed for one reason or another, it had maddened themto see others succeed. 

In a wide young country of boundless resources, why is this thing? Thisquestion worried me. Our legislators are unable or unwilling to cope withit. They trouble not to be patriots and statesmen. Australia can bringforth writers, orators, financiers, singers, musicians, actors, andathletes which are second to none of any nation under the sun. Why canshe not bear sons, men of soul, mind, truth, godliness, and patriotismsufficient to rise and cast off the grim shackles which widen round usday by day?

I was the only one at Caddagat who held these silly ideas. Harold Beecham, uncle Julius, grannie, and Frank Hawden did not worryabout the cause of tramps. They simply termed them a lazy lot ofsneaking creatures, fed them, and thought no more of the matter. 

I broached the subject to uncle Jay-Jay once, simply to discover hisideas thereon. 

I was sitting on a chair in the veranda sewing; he, with his head on acushion, was comfortably stretched on a rug on the floor. 

"Uncle Boss, why can't something be done for tramps?"

"How done for 'em?"

"Couldn't some means of employing them be arrived at?"

"Work!" he ejaculated. "That's the very thing the crawling divils areterrified they might get. "

"Yes; but couldn't some law be made to help them?"

"A law to make me cut up Caddagat and give ten of 'em each a piece, andgo on the wallaby myself, I suppose?"

"No, uncle; but there was a poor young fellow here this morning who, Ifeel sure, was in earnest when he asked for work. "

"Helen!" bawled uncle Jay-Jay. 

"Well, what is it?" she inquired, appearing in the doorway. 

"Next time Sybylla is giving a tramp some tucker, you keep a sharp eye onher or she will be sloping one of these days. There was a young fellowhere today with a scarlet moustache and green eyes, and she's dean goneon him, and has been bullying me to give him half Caddagat. "

"What a disgusting thing to say! Uncle, you ought to be ashamed ofyourself, " I exclaimed. 

"Very well, I'll be careful, " said aunt Helen, departing. 

"What with the damned flies, and the tramps, and a pesky thing calledSybylla, a man's life ain't worth a penny to him, " said uncle. 

We fell into silence, which was broken presently by a dirty red-beardedface appearing over the garden gate, and a man's voice:

"Good day, boss! Give us a chew of tobaccer?"

"I'm not the boss, " said uncle with assumed fierceness. 

"Then who is?" inquired the man. 

Uncle pointed his thumb at me, and, rolling out on the floor again asthough very sleepy, began to snore. The tramp grinned, and made hisrequest of me. I took him round to the back, served him with flour, beef, and an inch or two of rank tobacco out of a keg which had been bought forthe purpose. Refusing a drink of milk which I offered, he resumed hisendless tramp with a "So long, little missy. God bless your pleasantface. "

I watched him out of sight. One of my brothers--one of God's childrenunder the Southern Cross. Did these old fellows really believe in the Godwhose name they mentioned so glibly? I wondered. But I am thankful thatwhile at Caddagat it was only rarely that my old top-heavy thoughtstroubled me. Life was so pleasant that I was content merely to be young--achit in the first flush of teens, health, hope, happiness, youth--aheedless creature recking not for the morrow. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When the Heart is Young

About a week or so after I first met Harold Beecham, aunt I V Helenallowed me to read a letter she had received from the elder of the twoMisses Beecham. It ran as follows:

"My dearest Helen, "This is a begging letter, and I am writing another to your mother at thesame time. I am asking her to allow her grand-daughter to spend a fewweeks with me, and I want you to use your influence in the matter. Sarahhas not been well lately, and is going to Melbourne for a change, and asI will be lonely while she is away Harold insists upon me having someoneto keep me company--you know how considerate the dear boy is. I hardlylike to ask you to spare your little girl to me. It must be a greatcomfort to have her. I could have got Miss Benson to stay with me, butHarold will not hear of her. He says she is too slow, and would give usboth the mopes. But he says your little niece will keep us all alive. Julius was telling me the other day that he could not part with her, asshe makes 'the old barracks', as he always calls Caddagat, echo with funand noise. I am so looking forward to seeing her, as she is dear Lucy'schild. Give her my love, etc. , etc. "

and as a postscript the letter had--"Harold will go up for Sybylla onWednesday afternoon. I do hope you will be able to spare her to me for awhile. "

"Oh, auntie, how lovely!" I exclaimed. "What are you laughing at?"

"For whom do you think Harry wants the companion? It is nice to have anold auntie, as a blind, is it not? Well, all is fair in love and war. Youhave permission to use me in any way you like. "

I pretended to miss her meaning. 

Grannie consented to Miss Beecham's proposal, and ere the day arrived Ihad a trunk packed with some lovely new dresses, and was looking forwardwith great glee to my visit to Five-Bob Downs. 

One o'clock on Wednesday afternoon arrived; two o'clock struck, and I wasbeginning to fear no one was coming for me, when, turning to look out thewindow for the eighteenth time, I saw the straight blunt nose of HaroldBeecham passing. Grannie was serving afternoon tea on the veranda. I didnot want any, so got ready while my escort was having his. 

It was rather late when we bowled away at a tremendous pace in a redsulky, my portmanteau strapped on at the back, and a thoroughbredAmerican trotter, which had taken prizes at Sydney shows, harnessed tothe front. We just whizzed! It was splendid! The stones and dust rose ina thick cloud from the whirling wheels and flying hoofs, and the posts ofthe wire fence on our left passed like magic as we went. Mr Beechamallowed me to drive after a time while he sat ready to take the reinsshould an emergency arise. 

It was sunset--most majestic hour of the twenty-four--when we drove up tothe great white gates which opened into the avenue leading to the mainhomestead of Five-Bob Downs station--beautiful far-reaching Five-BobDowns! Dreamy blue hills rose behind, and wide rich flats stretchedbefore, through which the Yarrangung river, glazed with sunset, could beseen like a silver snake winding between shrubberied banks. The odourfrom the six-acred flower-garden was overpowering and delightful. Abreeze gently swayed the crowd of trees amid the houses, and swept overthe great orchard which sloped down from the south side of the houses. Inthe fading sunlight thirty iron roofs gleamed and glared, and seemed likea little town; and the yelp of many dogs went up at the sound of ourwheels. Ah! beautiful, beautiful Five-Bob Downs!

It seemed as though a hundred dogs leapt forth to greet us when that gateflew open, but I subsequently discovered there were but twenty-three. 

Two female figures came out to meet us--one nearly six feet high, theother, a tiny creature, seemed about eighteen inches, though, of course, was more than that. 

"I've brought her, aunt Gussie, " said Harold, jumping out of the sulky, though not relinquishing the reins, while he kissed the taller figure, and the small one attached itself to his leg saying, "Dimme wide. "

"Hullo! Possum, why wasn't old Spanker let go? I see he's not among thedogs, " and my host picked the tiny individual up in his arms and got intothe sulky to give her the desired ride, while after being embraced byMiss Beecham and lifted to the ground by her nephew, I went with theformer over an asphalted tennis-court, through the wide garden, thenacross a broad veranda into the great, spreading, one-storeyed house fromwhich gleamed many lights. 

"I am so glad you have come, my dear. I must have a good look at you whenwe get into the light. I hope you are like your mother. "

This prospect discomfited me. I knew she would find a very ugly girl withnot the least resemblance to her pretty mother, and I cursed myappearance under my breath. 

"Your name is Sybylla, " Miss Beecham continued, "Sybylla Penelope. Yourmother used to be very dear to me, but I don't know why she doesn't writeto me now. I have never seen her since her marriage. It seems strange tothink of her as the mother of eight-five boys and three girls, is itnot?"

Miss Beecham had piloted me through a wide hall and along an extendedpassage out of which a row of bedrooms opened, into one of which we went. 

"I hope you will he comfortable here, child. You need not dress fordinner while you are here; we never do, only on very special occasions. "

"Neither do we at Caddagat, " I replied. 

"Now, child, let me have a good look at you without your hat. "

"Oh, please don't!" I exclaimed, covering my face with my hands. I am sodreadfully ugly that I cannot bear to have anyone look at me. "

"What a silly little girl! You are not like your mother, but you are notat all plain-looking. Harold says you are the best style of girl he hasseen yet, and sing beautifully. He got a tuner up from Sydney last week, so we will expect you to entertain us every night. "

I learnt that what Harold pronounced good no one dared gainsay atFive-Bob Downs. 

We proceeded direct to the dining-room, and had not been there long whenMr Beecham entered with the little girl on his shoulder. Miss Beecham hadtold me she was Minnie Benson, daughter of Harold's married overseer onWyambeet, his adjoining station. Miss Beecham considered it would havebeen more seemly for her nephew to have selected a little boy as aplay-thing, but his sentiments regarding boys were that they weremachines invented for the torment of adults. 

"Well, O'Doolan, what sort of a day has it been?" Harold inquired, setting his human toy upon the floor. 

"Fine wezzer for yim duts, " she promptly replied. 

"Harold, it is shameful to teach a little innocent child such abominableslang; and you might give her a decent nickname, " said Miss Beecham. 

"O'Doolan, this is Miss Melvyn, and you have to do the same to her as youdo to me. "

The little thing held out her arms to me. I took her up, and she huggedand kissed me, saying:

"I luz oo, I luz oo, " and turning to Mr Beecham, "zat anuff?

"Yes, that will do, " he said; and she struggled to be put down. 

Three jackeroos, an overseer, and two other young men came in, wereintroduced to me, and then we began dinner. 

O'Doolan sat on a high chair beside Mr Beecham, and he attended to allher wants. She did everything he did, even taking mustard, and was verybrave at quelling the tears that rose to the doll-like blue eyes. When MrBeecham wiped his moustache, it was amusing to see her also wipe animaginary one. 

After dinner the jackeroos and the three other men repaired to asitting-room in the backyard, which was specially set apart for them, andwhere they amused themselves as they liked. My host and hostess, myself, and the child, spent the evening in a tiny sitting-room adjoining thedining-room. Miss Beecham entertained me with conversation and the familyalbums, and Harold amused himself entirely with the child. 

Once when they were absent for a few minutes, Miss Beecham told me it wasridiculous the way he fussed with the child, and that he had her with himmore than half his time. She also asked me what I thought of her nephew. I evaded the question by querying if he was always so quiet andgood-tempered. 

"Oh dear, no. He is considered a particularly bad-tempered man. Not oneof the snarling nasty tempers, but--"

Here the re-entry of the owner of the temper put a stop to thisconversation. 

Harold gave O'Doolan rides on his back, going on all-fours. She shoutedin childish glee, and wound up by curling her small proportions on hisbroad chest, and going to sleep there. 

Mrs Benson had sent for little O'Doolan, and Harold took her home nextday. He invited me to accompany him, so we set out in the sulky withO'Doolan on my lap. It was a pleasant drive of twelve miles to and fromWyambeet. O'Doolan was much distressed at parting from Mr Beecham, but hepromised to come for her again shortly. 

"One little girl at a time is enough for me to care for properly, " hesaid to me in the winning manner with which, and his wealth, unintentionally and unconsciously made slaughter among the hearts of thefair sex. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When Fortune Smiles

"Now, Harold, you have compelled Sybylla to come here, you must notlet the time drag with her, " said Miss Beecham. 

It was the second day after my arrival at Five-Bob. Lunch was over, andwe had adjourned to the veranda. Miss Beecham. Was busy at herwork-table; I was ensconced on a mat on the floor reading a book; Haroldwas stretched in a squatter's chair some distance away. His big brownhands were clasped behind his head, his chin rested on his broad chest, his eyes were closed, he occasionally thrust his lower lip forward andsent a puff of breath upwards to scatter the flies from his face; helooked a big monument of comfort, and answered his aunt's remarks lazily:

"Yes, aunt, I'll do my best;" and to me, "Miss Melvyn, while here, pleasebear in mind that it will be no end of pleasure to me to do anything foryour enjoyment. Don't fail to command me in any way. "

"Thank you, Mr Beecham. I will not fail to avail myself of your offer. "

"The absurdity of you two children addressing each other so formally, "said Miss Beecham. "Why, you are a sort of cousins almost, by right ofold friendship between the families. You must call me aunt. "

After this Mr Beecham and I called each other nothing when in MissBeecham's hearing, but adhered to formality on other occasions. 

Harold looked so comfortable and lazy that I longed to test how far hemeant the offer he had made me. 

"I'm just dying for a row on the river. Would you oblige me?" I said. 

"Just look at the thermometer!" exclaimed Miss Augusta. "Wait till itgets cooler, child. "

"Oh, I love the heat!" I replied. "And I am sure it won't hurt hislordship. He's used to the sun, to judge from all appearances. "

"Yes, I don't think it can destroy my complexion, " he saidgood-humouredly, rubbing his finger and thumb along his stubble-coveredchin. The bushmen up-country shaved regularly every Sunday morning, butnever during the week for anything less than a ball. They did this toobviate the blue--what they termed "scraped pig"--appearance of the facesof city men in the habit of using the razor daily, and to which theypreferred the stubble of a seven-days' beard. "I'll take you to the riverin half an hour, " he said, rising from his seat. "First I must stick onone of Warrigal's shoes that he's flung. I want him tomorrow, and must doit at once, as he always goes lame if ridden immediately after shoeing. "

"Shall I blow the bellows?" I volunteered. 

"Oh no, thanks. I can manage myself. It would be better though if I hadsome one. But I can get one of the girls. "

"Can't you get one of the boys?" said his aunt. 

"There's not one in. I sent every one off to the Triangle paddock todayto do some drafting. They all took their quart pots and a snack in theirsaddle-bags, and won't be home till dark. "

"Let me go, " I persisted; "I often blow the bellows for uncle Jay-Jay, andthink it great fun. "

The offer of my services being accepted, we set out. 

Harold took his favourite horse, Warrigal, from the stable, and led himto the blacksmith's forge under an open, stringybark-roofed shed, nearlycovered with creepers. He lit a fire and put a shoe in it. Doffing hiscoat and hat, rolling up his shirt-sleeves, and donning a leather apron, he began preparing the horse's hoof. 

When an emergency arose that necessitated uncle Jay-Jay shoeing hishorses himself. I always manipulated the bellows, and did so with greatdecorum, as he was very exacting and I feared his displeasure. In thiscase it was different. I worked the pole with such energy that it almostblew the whole fire out of the pan, and sent the ashes and sparks in awhirlwind around Harold. The horse--a touchy beast--snorted and dragged hisfoot from his master's grasp. 

"That the way to blow?" I inquired demurely. 

"Take things a little easier, " he replied. 

I took them so very easily that the fire was on the last gasp and theshoe nearly cold when it was required. 

"This won't do, " said Beecham. 

I recommenced blowing with such force that he had to retreat. 

"Steady I steady!" he shouted. 

"Sure O'i can't plaze yez anyhows, " I replied. 

"If you don't try to plaze me directly I'll punish you in a way you won'trelish, " he said laughingly. But I knew he was thinking of a punishmentwhich I would have secretly enjoyed. 

"If you don't let me finish this work I'll make one of the men do ittonight by candle-light when they come home tired. I know you wouldn'tlike them to do that, " he continued. 

"Arrah, go on, ye're only tazin'!" I retorted. "Don't you remembertelling me that Warrigal was such a nasty-tempered brute that he allowedno one but yourself to touch him?"

"Oh well, then, I'm floored, and will have to put up with theconsequences, " he good-humouredly made answer. 

Seeing that my efforts to annoy him failed, I gave in, and we were soondone, and then started for the river--Mr Beecham clad in a khaki suit andI in a dainty white wrapper and flyaway sort of hat. In one hand my hostheld a big white umbrella, with which he shaded me from the hot raysof the October sun, and in the other was a small basket containing cakeand lollies for our delectation. 

Having traversed the half-mile between the house and river, we pushed offfrom the bank in a tiny boat just big enough for two. In the teeth ofHarold's remonstrance I persisted in dangling over the boat-side todabble in the clear, deep, running water. In a few minutes we were in it. Being unable to swim, but for my companion it would have been all up withme. When I rose to the surface he promptly seized me, and without mucheffort, clothes and all, swam with me to the bank, where we landed--a pairof sorry figures. Harold had mud all over his nose, and in general lookedvery ludicrous. As soon as I could stand I laughed. 

"Oh, for a snapshot of you!" I said. 

"We might have both been drowned, " he said sternly. 

"Mights don't fly, " I returned. "And it was worth the dip to see youlooking such a comical article. " We were both minus our hats. 

His expression relaxed. 

"I believe you would laugh at your own funeral. If I look queer, you lookforty times worse. Run for your life and get a hot bath and a drop ofspirits or you'll catch your death of cold. Aunt Augusta will take a fitand tie you up for the rest of the time in case something more willhappen to you. "

"Catch a death of cold!" I ejaculated. "It is only good, pretty littlegirls, who are a blessing to everyone, who die for such trifles; girlslike I am always live till nearly ninety, to plague themselves andeverybody else. I'll sneak home so that your aunt won't see me, and noone need be a bit the wiser. "

"You'll be sun-struck!" he said in dismay. 

"Take care you don't get daughter-struck, " I said perkily, turningto flee, for it had suddenly dawned upon me that my thin wet clothing wasoutlining my figure rather too clearly for propriety. 

By a circuitous way I managed to reach my bedroom unseen. It did not takeme long to change my clothes, hang them to dry, and appear on the mainveranda where Miss Augusta was still sewing. I picked up the book I hadleft on the mat, and, taking up a position in a hammock near her, Icommenced to read. 

"You did not stay long at the river, " she remarked. "Have you beenwashing your head? I never saw the like of it. Such a mass of it. It willtake all day to dry. "

Half an hour later Harold appeared dressed in a warm suit of tweed. Hewas looking pale and languid, as though he had caught a chill, andshivered as he threw himself on a lounge. I was feeling none the worsefor my immersion. 

"Why did you change your clothes, Harold? You surely weren't cold on aday like this. Sybylla has changed hers too, when I come to notice it, and her hair is wet. Have you had an accident?" said Miss Augusta, risingfrom her chair in a startled manner. 

"Rubbish!" ejaculated Harold in a tone which forbade further questioning, and the matter dropped. 

She presently left the veranda, and I took the opportunity to say, "It isyourself that requires the hot bath and a drop of spirits, Mr Beecham. "

"Yes; I think I'll take a good stiff nobbler. I feel a trifle squeamish. It gave me a bit of a turn when I rose to the top and could not see you. I was afraid the boat might have stunned you in capsizing, and you wouldbe drowned before I could find you. "

"Yes; I would have been such a loss to the world in general if I had beendrowned, " I said satirically. 

Several jackeroos, a neighbouring squatter, and a couple of bicycletourists turned up at Five-Bob that evening, and we had a jovial night. The great, richly furnished drawing-room was brilliantly lighted, and themagnificent Erard grand piano sang and rang again with music, now martialand loud, now soft and solemn, now gay and sparkling. I made the verypleasant discovery that Harold Beecham. Was an excellent pianist, agifted player on the violin, and sang with a strong, clear, well-trainedtenor, which penetrated far into the night. How many, many times I havelived those nights over again! The great room with its rich appointments, the superb piano, the lights, the merriment, the breeze from the east, rich with the heavy intoxicating perfume of countless flowers; the tallperfect figure, holding the violin with a master hand, making it speakthe same language as I read in the dark eyes of the musician, while aboveand around was the soft warmth of an Australian summer night. 

Ah, health and wealth, happiness and youth, joy and light, life and love!What a warm-hearted place is the world, how full of pleasure, good, andbeauty, when fortune smiles! _When fortune smiles!_

Fortune did smile, and broadly, in those days. We played tricks on oneanother, and had a deal of innocent fun and frolic. I was a littlestartled one night on retiring to find a huge goanna near the head of mybed. I called Harold to dislodge the creature, when it came to light thatit was roped to the bedpost. Great was the laughter at my expense. Whotethered the goanna I never discovered, but I suspected Harold. In returnfor this joke, I collected all the portable docks in the house--abouttwenty--and arrayed them on his bedroom table. The majority of them wereWaterburys for common use, so I set each alarm for a different hour. Inscribing a placard "Hospital for Insane", I erected it above his door. Next morning I was awakened at three o'clock by fifteen alarms in concertoutside my door. When an hour or two later I emerged I found a notice onmy door, "This way to the Zoo". 

It was a very busy time for the men at Five-Bob. Waggons were arrivingwith &hearing supplies, for it was drawing nigh unto the great event ofthe year. In another week's time the bleat of thousands of sheep, and theincense of much tar and wool, would be ascending to the heavens from thevicinity of Five-Bob Downs. I was looking forward to the shearing. Therenever was any at Caddagat. Uncle did not keep many sheep, and always soldthem long-woolled and rebought after shearing. 

I had not much opportunity of persecuting Harold during the daytime. Heand all his subordinates were away all day, busy drafting, sorting, andotherwise pottering with sheep. But I always, and Miss Augusta sometimes, went to meet them coming home in the evening. It was great fun. The dogsyelped and jumped about. The men were dirty with much dust, and smeltpowerfully of sheep, and had worked hard all day in the blazing sun, butthey were never too tired for fun, or at night to dance, after they hadbathed and dressed. We all had splendid horses. They reared and pranced;we galloped and jumped every log which came in our path. Jokes, repartee, and nonsense rattled off our tongues. We did not worry about thousands ofour fellows--starving and reeking with disease in city slums. We wereselfish. We were heedless. We were happy. We were young. 

Harold Beecham was a splendid host. Anyone possessed of the least talentfor enjoyment had a pleasant time as his guest. He was hospitable in aquiet unostentatious manner. His overseer, jackeroos, and other employeeswere all allowed the freedom of home, and could invite whom they pleasedto Five-Bob Downs. It is all very well to talk of good hosts. Bah, Icould be a good hostess myself if I had Harold Beecham's superiorimplements of the art! With an immense station, plenty of house-room, tennis courts, musical instruments; a river wherein to fish, swim, andboat; any number of horses, vehicles, orchards, gardens, guns, andammunition no object, it is easy to be a good host. 

I had been just a week at Five-Bob when uncle Julius came to take mehome, so I missed the shearing. Caddagat had been a dull hole without me, he averred, and I must return with him that very day. Mr and Miss Beechamremonstrated. Could I not be spared at least a fortnight longer? Itwould be lonely without me. Thereupon uncle Jay-Jay volunteered toprocure Miss Benson from Wyambeet as a substitute. Harold declined theoffer with thanks. 

"The schemes of youngsters are very transparent, " said uncle Jay-Jay andMiss Augusta, smiling significantly at us. I feigned to be dense, butHarold smiled as though the insinuation was not only known, but alsoagreeable to him. 

Uncle was inexorable, so home I had to go. It was sweet to me to hearfrom the lips of my grandmother and aunt that my absence had been felt. 

As a confidante aunt Helen was the pink of perfection--tactful andsympathetic. My feather-brained chatter must often have bored her, butshe apparently was ever interested in it. 

I told her long yarns of how I had spent my time at the Beechams; of thedeafening ducts Harold and I had played on the piano; and how he wouldpersist in dancing with me, and he being so tall and broad, and I sosmall, it was like being stretched on a hay-rack, and very fatiguing. Igave a graphic account of the arguments--tough ones they were too--thatMiss Augusta had with the overseer on religion, and many other subjects;of one jackeroo who gabbed never-endingly about his great relations athome; another who incessantly clattered about spurs, whips, horses, andsport; and the third one--Joe Archer--who talked literature and trash withme. 

"What was Harry doing all this time?" asked auntie. "What did he say?"

Harold had been present all the while, yet I could not call to mind onething he had said. I cannot remember him ever holding forth on a subjector cause, as most people do at one time or another. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Idylls of Youth

In pursuance of his duty a government mail-contractor passed Caddagatevery Monday, dropping the Bossier mail as he went. On Thursday we alsogot the post, but had to depend partly on our own exertions. 

A selector at Dogtrap, on the Wyambeet run, at a point of the compass tenmiles down the road from Caddagat, kept a hooded van. Every Thursday heran this to and from Gool-Gool for the purpose of taking to marketvegetables and other farm produce. He also took parcels and passengers, both ways, if called upon to do so. Caddagat and Five-Bob gave him agreat deal of carrying, and he brought the mail for these and two orthree other places. It was one of my duties, or rather privileges, toride thither on Thursday afternoon for the post, a leather bag slunground my shoulders for the purpose. I always had a splendid mount, andthe weather being beautifully hot, it was a jaunt which I never failed toenjoy. Frank Hawden went with me once or twice--not because grannie or Ithought his escort necessary. The idea was his own; but I gave him such atime that he was forced to relinquish accompanying me as a bad job. 

Harold Beecham kept a snivelling little Queensland black boy as a sort ofblack-your-boots, odd-jobs slavey or factotum, and he came to Dogtrap forthe mail, but after I started to ride for it Harold came regularly forhis mail himself. Our homeward way lay together for two miles, but healways came with me till nearly in sight of home. Some days we raced tillour horses were white with lather; and once or twice mine was in such astate that we dismounted, and Harold unsaddled him and wiped the sweatoff with his towel saddle-cloth, to remove the evidence of hard riding, so that I would not get into a scrape with uncle Jay-Jay. Other times wedawdled, so that when we parted the last rays of sunset would be laughingat us between the white trunks of the tall gum-trees, the kookaburraswould be making the echoes ring with their mocking good-night, and scoresof wild duck would be flying quickly roostward. As I passed through theangle formed by the creek and the river, about half a mile from home, there came to my cars the cheery clink-clink of hobble-chains, the jangleof horse-bells, and the gleam of a dozen camp-fires. The shearing wasdone out in Riverina now, and the men were all going home. Day after daydozens of them passed along the long white road, bound for Monaro and thecool country beyond the blue peaks to the southeast, where the shearingwas about to begin. When I had come to Caddagat the last of them had gone"down" with horses poor; now they were travelling "up" with theirhorses--some of them thoroughbreds--rolling fat, and a cheque for theirweeks of back-bending labour in their pockets. But whether coming or goingthey always made to Caddagat to camp. That camping-ground was renowned asthe best from Monaro, to Riverina. It was a well-watered and shelterednook, and the ground was so rich that there was always a mouthful ofgrass to be had there. It was a rare thing to see it without a fire; andthe empty jam-tins, bottles, bits of bag, paper, tent-pegs, and fish-tinsto be found there would have loaded a dozen waggons. 

Thursday evening was always spent in going to Dogtrap, and all the otherdays had their pleasant tasks and were full of wholesome enjoyment. Theblue senna flowers along the river gave place to the white bloom of thetea-tree. Grannie, uncle, and aunt Helen filled the house with girlvisitors for my pleasure. In the late afternoon, as the weather got hot, we went for bogeys in a part of the river two miles distant. Some of thegirls from neighbouring runs brought their saddles, others from town hadto be provided therewith, which produced a dearth in sidesaddles, and itwas necessary for me to take a man's. With a rollicking gallop and abogey ahead, that did not trouble me. Aunt Helen always accompanied us onour bathing expeditions to keep us in check. She was the only one whobothered with a bathing-dress. The rest of us reefed off our clothing, inour hurry sending buttons in all directions, and plunged into thepleasant water. Then--such water-fights, frolic, laughter, shouting androaring fun as a dozen strong healthy girls can make when enjoyingthemselves. Aunt Helen generally called time before we were half inclinedto leave. We would linger too long, then there would be a great scramblefor clothes, next for horses, and with wet hair streaming on our towels, we would go home full belt, twelve sets of galloping hoofs making a royalclatter on the hard dusty road. Grannie made a rule that when we arrivedlate we had to unsaddle our horses ourselves, and not disturb the workingmen from their meal for our pleasure. We mostly were late, and so therewould be a tight race to see who would arrive at table first. A dozenheated horses were turned out unceremoniously, a dozen saddles andbridles dumped down anywhere anyhow, and their occupants, with wetdishevelled hair and clothing in glorious disarray, would appear at tableaverring that they were starving. 

The Caddagat folk were enthusiastic anglers. Fishing was a favourite andoften enjoyed amusement of the household. In the afternoon a tinful ofworms would be dug out of one of the water-races, tackle collected, horses saddled, and grannie, uncle, aunt, Frank Hawden, myself, and anyone else who had happened to drop in, would repair to the fish-holesthree miles distant. I hate fishing. Ugh! The hideous barbarity ofshoving a hook through a living worm, and the cruelty of taking the fishoff the hook! Uncle allowed no idlers at the river--all had to manipulatea rod and line. Indulging in pleasant air-castles, I generally forgot mycork till the rod would be jerked in my hand, when I would pull--too late!the fish would be gone. Uncle would lecture me for being a jackdaw, sonext time I would glare at the cork unwinkingly, and pull at the firstsigns of it bobbing--too soon! the fish would escape again, and I wouldagain be in disgrace. After a little experience I found it was a goodplan to be civil to Frank Hawden when the prospect of fishing hungaround, and then he would attend to my line as well as his own, while Iread a book which I smuggled with me. The fish-hole was such ashrub-hidden nook that, though the main road passed within two hundredyards, neither we nor our horses could be seen by the travellers thereon. I lay on the soft moss and leaves and drank deeply of the beauties ofnature. The soft rush of the river, the scent of the shrubs, the goldensunset, occasionally the musical clatter of hoofs on the road, the gentlenoises of the fishers fishing, the plop, plop of a platypus disportingitself mid stream, came to me as sweetest elixir in my ideal, dream-of-a-poet nook among the pink-based, grey-topped, moss-carpetedrocks. 

I was a creature of joy in those days. Life is made up of little things. It was a small thing to have a little pocket-money to spend on anythingthat took my fancy--a very small thing, and yet how much pleasure it gaveme. Though eating is not one of the great aims of my life, yet it wasnice to have enough of any delicacy one fancied. Not that we ever wenthungry at home, but when one has nothing to cat in the hot weather butbread and beef it gives them tendency to dream of fruit and cooldainties. When one thinks of the countless army of one's fellows who aredaily selling their very souls for the barest necessaries of life, Isuppose we--irresponsible beings--should be thankful to God for allowingus, by scratching and scraping all our lives, to keep a crust in ourmouth and a rag on our back. I am not thankful, I have been guilty ofwhat Pat would term a "digresshion"--I started about going for the mailat Dogtrap. Harold Beecham never once missed taking me home on Thursdays, even when his shearing was in full swing and he must have been very busy. He never once uttered a word of love to me--not so much as one of thesoft nothings in which young people of opposite sexes often deal withoutany particular significance. Whether he went to all the bother and wasteof time accruing from escorting me home out of gentlemanliness alone, wasa mystery to me. I desired to find out, and resolved to drive instead ofride to Dogtrap one day to see what he would say. 

Grannie assented to the project. Of course I could drive for once if Ididn't feel able to ride, but the horses had been spelling for a longtime and were very frisky. I must take Frank with me or I might get myneck broken. 

I flatly opposed the idea of Frank Hawden going with me. He would make amull of the whole thing. It was no use arguing with grannie andimpressing upon her the fact that I was not the least nervous concerningthe horses. I could take Frank with me in the buggy, ride, or stay athome. I preferred driving. Accordingly the fat horses were harnessed tothe buggy, and with many injunctions to be careful and not forget theparcels, we set out. Frank Hawden's presence spoilt it all, but Idetermined to soon make short work of him. 

There was one gate to go through, about four miles from the house. FrankHawden got out to open it. I drove through, and while he was pushing itto, laid the whip on the horses and went off full tilt. He ran after meshouting all manner of things that I could not hear on account of therattle of the buggy. One horse began kicking up, so, to give him no timefor further pranks, I drove at a good round gallop, which quickly leftthe lovable jackeroo a speck in the distance. The dust rose in thickclouds, the stones rattled from the whirling wheels, the chirr! chirr! ofa myriad cicadas filled the air, and the white road glistened in thedazzling sunlight. I was enjoying myself tip-top, and chuckled to thinkof the way I had euchred Frank Hawden. It was such a good joke that Iconsidered it worth two of the blowings-up I was sure of getting fromgrannie for my conduct. 

It was not long before I fetched up at Dogtrap homestead, where, tetheredto the "six-foot" paling fence which surrounded the flower-garden, wasHarold Beecham's favourite, great, black, saddle-horse Warrigal. Thevicious brute turned his beautiful head, displaying a white star on theforehead, and snorted as I approached. His master appeared on the verandaraising his soft panama hat, and remarking, "Well I never! You're not byyourself, are you?"

"I am. Would you please tell Mrs Butler to bring out grannie's parcelsand post at once. I'm afraid to dawdle, it's getting late. "

He disappeared to execute my request and reappeared in less than aminute. 

"Mr Beecham, please would you examine Barney's harness. Something must behurting him. He has been kicking up all the way. "

Examining the harness and noticing the sweat that was dripping from theanimals, panting from their run, he said:

"It looks as though you've been making the pace a cracker. There isnothing that is irritating Barney in the least. If he's putting on anyairs it is because he is frisky and not safe for you to drive. How didJulius happen to let you away by yourself?"

"I'm not frightened, " I replied. 

"I see you're not. You'd be game to tackle a pair of wild elephants, Iknow, but you must remember you're not much bigger than a sparrow sittingup there, and I won't let you go back by yourself. "

"You cannot stop me. "

"I can. "

"You can't. "

"I can. "

"You can't. "

"I can. "

"How?"

"I'm going with you, " he said. 

"You're not. "

"I am. "

"You're not. "

I am". 

"You ar-r-re not. "

"I am". 

"You are, ar-r-re not. "

"We'll see whether I will or not in a minute or two, " he said withamusement. 

"But, Mr Betcham, I object to your company. I am quite capable of takingcare of myself; besides, if you come home with me I will not be allowedout alone again--it will be altogether unpleasant for me. "

Mrs Butler now appeared with the mail and some parcels, and Harold stowedthem in the buggy. 

"You'd better come in an' 'ave a drop of tay-warter, miss, the kittle'sbilin'; and I have the table laid out for both of yez. "

"No, thank you, Mrs Butler. I can't possibly stay today, it's gettinglate. I must hurry off. Good-bye! Good afternoon, Mr Beecham. "

I turned my buggy and pair smartly round and was swooping oil. Without aword Harold was at their heads and seized the reins. He seized hishorse's bridle, where it was over the paling, and in a moment had himtied on the off-side of Barney, then stepping quietly into the buggy heput me away from the driver's seat as though I were a baby, quietly tookthe reins and whip, raised his hat to Mrs Butler, who was smilingknowingly, and drove off. 

I was highly delighted with his action, as I would have despised him as abooby had he given in to me, but I did not let my satisfaction appear. Isat as far away from him as possible, and pretended to be in a greathuff. For a while he was too fully occupied in making Barney "sit up" tonotice me, but after a few minutes he looked round, smiling a mostannoying and pleasant smile. 

"I'd advise you to straighten out your chin. It is too round and soft tolook well screwed up that way, " he said provokingly. 

I tried to extinguish him with a look, but it had not the desired effect. 

"Now you had better be civil, for I have got the big end of the whip, " hesaid. 

"I reserve to myself the right of behaving as I think fit in my ownuncle's buggy. You are an intruder; it is yourself that should be civil. "

I erected my parasol and held it so as to tease Harold. I put it down sothat he could not see the horses. He quietly seized my wrist and held itout of his way for a time, and then loosing me said, "Now, behave. "

I flouted it now, so that his cars and eyes were endangered, and he wasforced to hold his hat on. 

"I'll give you three minutes to behave, or I'll put you out, " he saidwith mock severity. 

"Shure it's me wot's behavin' beautiful, " I replied, continuing mynonsense. 

He pulled rein, seized me in one arm, and lifted me lightly to theground. 

"Now, you can walk till you promise to conduct yourself like aChristian!" he said, driving at a walk. 

If you wait till I promise anything, you'll wait till the end of thecentury. I'm quite capable of walking home. "

"You'll soon get tired of walking in this heat, and your feet will heblistered in a mile with those bits of paper. "

The bits of paper to which he alluded were a pair of thin-soled whitecanvas slippers--not at all fitted for walking the eight miles on the hardhot road ahead of me. I walked resolutely on, without deigning a glanceat Harold, who had slowed down to a crawling walk. 

"Aren't you ready to get up now?" he inquired presently. 

I did not reply. At the end of a quarter of a mile he jumped out of thebuggy, seized upon me, lifted me in, and laughed, saying, "You're a veryslashing little concern, but you are not big enough to do much damage. "

We were about half-way home when Barney gave a tremendous lurch, breakinga trace and some other straps. Mr Beecham was at the head of the plunginghorse in a twinkling. The harness seemed to be scattered everywhere. 

"I expect I had better walk on now, " I remarked. 

"Walk, be grannied! With two fat lazy horses to draw you?" returned MrBeecham. 

Men are clumsy, stupid creatures regarding little things, but in theirright place they are wonderful animals. If a buggy was smashed tosmithereens, from one of their many mysterious pockets they would producea knife and some string, and put the wreck into working order in no time. 

Harold was as clever in this way as any other man with as much bushmanability as he had, so it was not long ere we were bowling along asmerrily as ever. 

Just before we came in sight of Caddagat he came to a standstill, jumpedto the ground, untied Warrigal, and put the reins in my hand, saying:

I think you can get home safely from here. Don't be in such a huff--I wasafraid something might happen you if alone. You needn't mention that Icame with you unless you like. Goodbye. "

"Good-bye, Mr Beecham. Thank you for being so officious, " I said by wayof a parting shot. 

"Old Nick will run away with you for being so ungrateful, " he returned. 

"Old Nick will have me anyhow, " I thought to myself as I drove home amidthe shadows. The hum of the cicadas was still, and dozens of rabbits, tempted out by the cool of the twilight, scuttled across my path and hidin the ferns. 

I wished the harness had not broken, as I feared it would put a clincheron my being allowed out driving alone in future. 

Joe Slocombe, the man who acted as groom and rouseabout, was waiting forme at the entrance gate. 

"I'm glad you come at last, Miss Sybyller. The missus has been in adreadful stoo for fear something had happened yuz. She's been runnin' inan' out like a gurrl on the look-out fer her lover, and was torkin' ofsendin' me after yuz, but she went to her tea soon as she see the buggycome in sight. I'll put all the parcels on the back veranda, and yuz cango in at woncest or yuz'll be late fer yer tea. "

"Joe, the harness broke and had to be tied up. That is what kept me solate, " I explained. 

"The harness broke!" he exclaimed. "How the doose is that! Broke here inthe trace, and that strap! Well, I'll be hanged! I thought them strapscouldn't break only onder a tremenjous strain. The boss is so dashedpartickler too. I believe he'll sool me off the place; and I looked atthat harness only yesterday. I can't make out how it come to break sosimple. The boss will rise the devil of a shine, and say you might havebeen killed. "

This put a different complexion on things. I knew Joe Slocombe could mendthe harness with little trouble, as it was because he was what uncleJay-Jay termed a "handy divil" at saddlery that he was retained atCaddagat. I said carelessly:

"If you mend the harness at once, Joe, uncle Julius need not be botheredabout it. As it happened, there is no harm done, and I won't mention thematter. "

"Thank you, miss, " he said eagerly. "I'll mend it at once. "

Now that I had that piece of business so luckily disposed of, I did notfeel the least nervous about meeting grannie. I took the mail in my armsand entered the dining-room, chirping pleasantly:

"Grannie, I'm such a good mail-boy. I have heaps of letters, and did notforget one of your commissions. "

"I don't want to hear that now, " she said, drawing her dear old mouth intoa straight line, which told me I was not going to palm things off aseasily as I thought. "I want a reason for your conduct this afternoon. "

"Explain what, grannie?" I inquired. 

"None of that pretence! Not only have you been most outrageouslyinsulting to Mr Hawden when I sent him with you, but you alsodeliberately and wilfully disobeyed me. "

Uncle Julius listened attentively, and Hawden looked at me with such aleer of triumph that my fingers tingled to smack his cars. Turning to mygrandmother, I said distinctly and cuttingly:

"Grannie, I did not intentionally disobey you. Disobedience never enteredmy head. I hate that thing. His presence was detestable to me. When hegot out at the gate I could not resist the impulse to drive off and leavehim there. He looked such a complete jackdaw that you would have laughedyourself to see him. "

"Dear, oh dear! You wicked hussy, what will become of you!" And grannieshook her head, trying to look stern, and hiding a smile in herserviette. 

"Your manners are not improving, Sybylla. I fear you must beincorrigible, " said aunt Helen. 

When uncle Jay-Jay heard the whole particulars of the affair, he lay backin his chair and laughed fit to kill himself. 

"You ought to be ashamed to always encourage her in her tomboyish ways, Julius. It grieves me to see she makes no effort to acquire a ladylikedemeanour, " said grannie. 

Mr Hawden had come off second-best, so he arose from his half-finishedmeal and stamped out, banging the door after him, and muttering somethingabout "a disgustingly spoilt and petted tomboy", "a hideous barbarian", and so forth. 

Uncle Jay-Jay related that story to everyone, dwelling with great delightupon the fact that Frank Hawden was forced to walk four miles in the heatand dust. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

As Short as I Wish had been the Majority of Sermons to whichI have been Forced to give Ear

When alone I confessed to aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me towithin a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but lookedvery grave, and, drawing me in front of her, said:

"Sybylla, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Doyou mean to marry him?"

"Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. Hehas never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does notfor an instant think of me in that light. I'm not seventeen. "

"Yes, you are young, but some people's age cannot be reckoned by years. Iam glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real andhalf-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your presentlife wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no usefeigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech--action withhim is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say thatHarold has not extended you something more than common politeness?"

Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushedand felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the nightbefore had struck home. "A hideous barbarian", he had called me, and itseemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant latelythat I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting withredoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the loveof my fellows, which I so much desired. 

I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly:

"Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to memore than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you knowenough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a manlosing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is apretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and suchlike commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, whichis set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not ifits object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has theseattributes. "

"Sybylla, Sybylla, " said auntie sadly, as if to herself. In the firstflush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?"

"Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction ofugliness, " I replied. 

"Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something hasput you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men'slove may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is notthat kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, andfeel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accepthim?"

"Intend to accept him!" I echoed. I haven't once thought of such apossibility. I never mean to marry anyone. "

"Don't you care for Harold? Just a little? Think. "

"How could I care for him?"

"For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is oneof the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom noone could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best ofall, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues. "

"But he is so conceited, " I remarked. 

"That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young personvery conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly, " hereaunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. "What you complain of in Haroldwill wear off presently--life has been very easy for him so far, you see. "

"But, auntie, I'm sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking. "

"Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him. "

"Yes, just for his money, " I said scornfully. "But I'll surprise him ifhe thinks he can get me for the asking. "

"Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man's heart, I think, is one of themost horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of. "

"I would scorn to flirt with any man, " I returned with vigour. "Play witha man's heart! You'd really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, tohear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman coulddo with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing withmen's hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished longago. It does not matter how a woman is played with. "

"Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse foryou to be unwomanly, " said aunt Helen. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The 9th of November 1896

The Prince of Wales's birthday up the country was celebrated as usualthereaway by the annual horse-races on the Wyambeet course, aboutfourteen miles from Caddagat. 

The holding of these races was an elderly institution, and was followedat night by a servants' ball given by one of the squatters. Last year ithad been Beecham's ball, the year before Bossier's, and this year it wasto take place in the woolshed of James Grant of Yabtree. Our two girls, the gardener, and Joe Slocombe the groom, were to be present, as alsowere all the other employees about. Nearly every one in thedistrict--masters and men--attended the races. We were going, Frank Hawdenvolunteering to stay and mind the house. 

We started at nine o'clock. Grannie and uncle Boss sat in the front scatof the buggy, and aunt Helen and I occupied the back. Uncle always droveat a good round gallop. His idea was to have good horses, not donkeys, and not to spare them, as there were plenty more to be had any day. Onthis morning he went off at his usual pace. Grannie urged as remonstrancethat the dust was fearful when going at that rate. I clapped my hands andexclaimed, "Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah forClancy!"

Uncle first said he was glad to see I had the spirit of an Australian, and then threatened to put my nose above my chin if I failed to behaveproperly. Grannie remarked that I might have the spirit of an Australian, but I had by no means the manners of a lady; while aunt Helen ventured awish that I might expend all my superfluous spirits on the way, so that Iwould be enabled to deport myself with a little decorum when arrived atthe racecourse. 

We went at a great pace; lizards and goannas scampered out of the way indozens, and, clambering trees, eyed us unblinkingly as we passed. Did wesee a person or vehicle a tiny speck ahead of us--in a short time theywere as far away in the background. 

"Please, uncle, let me drive, " I requested. 

"Couldn't now. Your grannie can't sit in the back-seat--neither couldI--and look like a tame cockatoo while you sat in front. You ask Harry tolet you drive him. I bet he'll consent; he's sure to be in a sulky with aspare scat on spec. We're sure to overtake him in a few minutes. "

There was a vehicle in the distance which proved to be from Five-BobDowns, but as we overhauled it, it was the drag, and not a sulky. Haroldoccupied the driver's seat, and the other occupants were all ladies. Inoticed the one beside him was wearing a very big hat, all ruffles, flowers, and plumes. 

"Shall I pull up and get you a seat?" inquired uncle Jay-Jay. 

"No, no, no. "

The boss of Five-Bob drew to his side of the road, and when we had passeduncle began to tease:

"Got faint-hearted, did you? The flower-garden on that woman's hat corkedyour chances altogether. Never mind, don't you funk; I'll see that youhave a fair show. I'll get you a regular cart-wheel next time I go totown, and we'll trim it up with some of old Barney's tail. If that won'tfetch him, I'm sure nothing will. "

Before we got to the racecourse Barney went lame through getting a stonein his hoof; this caused a delay which enabled the Five-Bob trap to catchus, and we pulled rein a little distance apart at the same time, toalight. 

Mr Beecham's groom went to his horses' heads while Harold himselfassisted his carriageful of ladies to set foot on the ground. Aunt Helenand grannie went to talk to them, but I stayed with uncle Jay-Jay whilehe took the horses out. Somehow I was feeling very disappointed. I hadexpected Harold Beecham to be alone. He had attended on me so absolutelyeverywhere I had met him lately, that I had unconsciously grown to lookupon him as mine exclusively; and now, seeing he would belong to his ownparty of ladies for the day, things promised to be somewhat flatwithout him. 

"I told that devil of a Joe to be sure and turn up as soon as I arrived. Iwanted him to water the horses, but I can't see him anywhere--theinfernal, crawling, doosed idiot!" ejaculated uncle Julius. 

"Never mind, uncle, let him have his holiday. I suppose he'd like to havetime to spoon with his girl. I can easily water the horses. "

"That would suit Joe, I have no doubt; but I don't pay him to let youwater the horses. I'll water 'em myself. "

He led one animal, I took the other, and we went in the direction ofwater a few hundred yards away. 

"You run along to your grannie and the rest of them, and I'll go bymyself, " said uncle, but I kept on with the horse. 

"You mustn't let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether, " hecontinued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "If you stick to yourguns you have a better show than anyone to bag the boss of Five-Bob. "

"I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier, " I said stiffly. 

"Now, little woman, you think you are very smart, but you can't deceiveme. I've seen the game you and Harry have been up to this last month. Ifit had been any other man, I would have restricted your capers long ago. "

"Uncle--" I began. 

"Now, Sybylla, none of your crammers. There is no harm in being a bitgone on Harry. It's only natural, and just what I'd expect. I've knownhim since he was born, and he's a good all-round fellow. His head isscrewed on the right way, his heart is in the right place, and hisprinciples are tip-top. He could give you fal-de-rals and rubbish to noend, and wouldn't be stingy either. You'll never get a better man. Don'tyou be put out of the running so cheaply: hold your own and win, that'smy advice to you. There is nothing against him, only temper--old Nickhimself isn't a patch on him for temper. "

"Temper!" I exclaimed. "He is always so quiet and pleasant. "

"Yes, he controls it well. He's a fellow with a will like iron, and thatis what you want, as I find you have none of your own. But be careful ofHarry Beecham in a temper. He is like a raging lion, and when his temperdies away is a sulking brute, which is the vilest of all tempers. But heis not vindictive, and is easy managed, if you don't mind giving in andcoaxing a little. "

"Now, uncle, you have had your say, I will have mine. You seem to think Ihave more than a friendly regard for Mr Beecham, but I have not. I wouldnot marry him even if I could. I am so sick of every one thinking I wouldmarry any man for his possessions. I would not stoop to marry a king if Idid not love him. As for trying to win a man, I would scorn any actionthat way; I never intend to marry. Instead of wasting so much money on mein presents and other ways, I wish you would get me something to do, aprofession that will last me all my life, so that I may be independent. "

"No mistake, you're a rum youngster. You can be my companion till furtherorders. That's a profession that will last you a goodish while. "

With this I had to be contented, as I saw he considered what I had saidas a joke. 

I left uncle and went in quest of grannie, who, by this, was beyond theother side of the course, fully a quarter of a mile away. Going in herdirection I met Joe Archer, one of the Five-Bob jackeroos, and a greatchum of mine. He had a taste for literature, and we got on together likeone o'clock. We sat on a log under a stringybark-tree and discussed thebooks we had read since last we met, and enjoyed ourselves so much thatwe quite forgot about the races or the flight of time until recalled frombook-land by Harold Beecham's voice. 

"Excuse me, Miss Melvyn, but your grannie has commissioned me to find youas we want to have lunch, and it appears you are the only one who knowsthe run of some of the tucker bags. "

"How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?"

"Over in that clump of box-trees, " he replied, pointing in the directionof a little rise at a good distance. 

"How are you enjoying yourself?" he asked, looking straight at me. 

"Treminjous intoirely, sor, " I replied. 

"I suppose you know the winner of every race, " he remarked, quizzicallywatching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl whennabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. 

"Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselvesthat we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all, " Ireturned. 

"You'd better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the otherhorses if you don't keep a sharp look-out, " he said, turning to hisjackeroo. 

"Ladies before gentlemen, " I interposed. I want Mr Archer to take me togrannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer. "

"I'll escort you, " said Beecham. 

"Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so. "

"In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe doesas you request. "

Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on hisusually pleasant face. 

"By Jove, I'm in for it!" ejaculated my escort. "The boss doesn't getthat expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he feltinclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here toYabtree. "

"Go on!"

"It's a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his biddingimmediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obeyhim like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick andlively. "

"Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of yourdisobedience, " I replied. 

"That's where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don't know how youare going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes. "

"Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is MrBeecham really bad-tempered?"

"Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust heraised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform. "

I was always hearing of Harold Beecham's temper, and wished I could see alittle of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailinglygood-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he hadno emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. 

Grannie greeted me with, "Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don'tknow how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Whereon earth have you been?"

Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me toher sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction toseveral ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set towork in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out--the Five-Bob Downsparty had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with twoyoung ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other atall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognizedas the lady who had been sitting on the box-scat of the Beecham drag thatmorning. 

Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrickfrom Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of thatcity. 

This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get anopportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missedthe honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sittingat some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religiousmanner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away withhim, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took JoeArcher in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bobthree days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. 

"Was she really very handsome?" I inquired. 

"By Jove, yes!" he replied. "But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn't deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seventhousand a year. "

I don't know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all thehorses running. Some of them were uncle's; though he never raced horseshimself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for theoccasion. 

Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at adistance. They were fit for an artist's models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, hisjockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of thecity belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothingappertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose--indeed, a splendidpair physically!

Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inchstature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast wepresented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitterlaugh. 

I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of severalchildren to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a longtime absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left mealone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. 

"Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?" I inquired. 

"No. They have gone over an hour, " he replied. 

"Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go andleave me. What did she say?"

"On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not tokill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to saygood night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony, " hesaid mischievously. 

"Where am I going tonight?"

"To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly, " he replied. 

"I haven't got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home. "

"We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is MissMelvyn we want, " he said. 

"Oh, bother you!" I retorted. 'Wen are such stupid creatures, and neverunderstand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball ina wrapper. "

"At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young ladyat their place, no matter how she's dressed, " he said good-humouredly. 

On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. Fromher I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but MrBeecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the nightat Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on themorrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at theprospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With auntHelen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together--for ever! Tilldeath!

Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my handand said she was delighted to see me. 

A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree--nearlyevery trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion inreadiness for the fray. 

CHAPTER TWENTY

Same Yarn--continued

Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ballat Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, whilethe jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doorswhich had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemenguests. 

Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses toput on we had to make the best of our present toilet. 

I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. Wewashed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment--roses. Crimson andcream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen pluckedsome of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully atmy throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there wasnothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared theviands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded tothe drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soonmade their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs andbigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer theoverseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple ofgovernesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, ayoung friend of Harold's from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wooll-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dressin with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and hadjewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien wassuggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a bighandsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was asovershadowed as a little white handkerchief would he in comparison to agorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given thebest scat as though she were a princess. She sat down with greatindifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened herfan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. 

"By Jove, isn't she a splendid creature?" enthusiastically whispered agentleman sitting beside me. 

I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way wasmuch developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shapedface, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention hadnot been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea offacial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people Ihad set eyes upon. 

She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She wouldnever make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffledself-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud tointroduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home todinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry himwith silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would neverbecome a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife tobe a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there arenow. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is anup-to-date one. 

This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in thedoorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for thedining-room--twenty-two all told--thirteen men and nine representatives ofthe other sex. 

Aunt Helen got one scat of honour near the head of the table and MissDerrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. 

The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains andkissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from thewide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth awealth of blossom. 

When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued backand forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise, and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimmingover with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing wasproposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was toohot, but all the young folks did not care a rap for the temperature. Harold had no objections, Miss Derrick was agreeable, Miss Bensonannounced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was "leppin'"to begin, so we adjourned to the dancing-room and commenced operations. 

I played the piano for the first quadrille, and aunt Helen for the seconddance. It was most enjoyable. There was a table at one end of the room onwhich was any amount of cherries, lollies, cake, dainties, beers, syrups, and glasses, where all could regale themselves without ceremony or botherevery time the inclination seized them. Several doors and windows of thelong room opened into the garden, and, provided one had no fear ofsnakes, it was delightful to walk amid the flowers and cool oneselfbetween dances. 

A little exertion on such a night made us very hot. After the third dancethe two old squatters, the horse-buyer, the clergyman, and Mr Bensondisappeared. Judging from the hilarity of their demeanour and the killingodour of their breaths when they returned an hour or so later, duringtheir absence they must have conscientiously sampled the contents ofevery whisky decanter on the dining-room sideboard. 

I could not dance, but had no lack of partners, as, ladies being in theminority, the gentlemen had to occasionally put up with their own sex ina dance. 

"Let's take a breeze now and have a song or two, but no more dancing fora while, " said some of them; but Harold Beecham said, "One more turn, andthen we will have a long spell and a change of programme. "

He ordered Joe Archer to play a waltz, and the floor soon held severalwhirling couples. Harold "requested the pleasure" of me--the first timethat night. I demurred. He would not take a refusal. 

"Believe me, if I felt competent, Mr Beecham, I would not refuse. Icannot dance. It will be no pleasure to you. "

"Allow me to be the best judge of what is a pleasure to me, " he said, quietly placing me in position. 

He swung me once round the room, and then through an open window into thegarden. 

"I am sorry that I haven't had more time to look after you today. Comeround into my room. I want to strike a bargain with you, " were his words. 

I followed him in the direction of a detached building in the garden. This was Harold's particular domain. It contained three rooms--one alibrary and office, another an arsenal and deed-room, and the third, intowhich he led me, was a sort of sitting-room, containing a piano, facilities for washing, a table, easy-chairs, and other things. As weentered I noticed the lamp, burning brightly on the table, gleamed on theface of a clock on the wall, which pointed to half past ten. 

We stood beside the table, some distance apart, and, facing me, he said:

"It is no use of me making a long yarn about nothing. I'm sure you knowwhat I want to say better than I do myself. You always are wonderfullysmart at seeing through a fellow. Tell me, will it be yes or no?"

This was an experience in love. He did not turn red or white, or yellowor green, nor did he tremble or stammer, or cry or laugh, or becomefierce or passionate, or tender or anything but just himself, as I hadalways known him. He displayed no more emotion than had he been invitingme to a picnic. This was not as I had pictured a man would tell his love, or as I had read of it, heard of it, or wished it should be. A curiousfeeling--disappointment, perhaps--stole over me. His matter-of-factcoolness flabbergasted me. 

"Is this not rather sudden? You have given me no intimation of yourintentions, " I stammered. 

"I didn't think it wise to dawdle any longer, " he replied. "Surely youhave known what I've been driving at ever since I first clapped eyes onyou. There's plenty of time. I don't want to hurry you, only I want youto be engaged to me for safety. "

He spoke as usual in his slow twangy drawl, which would have proclaimedhis Colonial nationality anywhere. No word of love was uttered to me andnone requested from me. 

I put it down to his conceit. I thought that he fancied he could win anywoman, and me without the least palaver or trouble. I felt annoyed. Isaid aloud, "I will become engaged to you;" to myself I added, "Just for alittle while, the more to surprise and take the conceit out of you whenthe time comes. "

Now that I understand his character I know that it was not conceit, butjust his quiet unpretending way. He had meant all his actions towards me, and had taken mine in return. 

"Thank you, Sybylla, that is all I want. We will talk about the mattermore some other time. I will go up to Caddagat next Sunday. You havesurprised me nearly out of my wits, " here he laughed. "I never dreamt youwould say yes so easily, just like any other girl. I thought I would havea lot of trouble with you. "

He approached me and was stooping to kiss me. I cannot account for myaction or condemn it sufficiently. It was hysterical--the outcome of anoverstrung, highly excitable, and nervous temperament. Perhaps my vanitywas wounded, and my tendency to strike when touched was up in arms. Thecalm air of ownership with which Harold drew near annoyed me, or, asSunday-school teachers would explain it, Satan got hold of me. Hecertainly placed a long strong riding-whip on the table beneath my hand!As Harold stooped with the intention of pressing his lips to mine, Iquickly raised the whip and brought it with all my strength right acrosshis face. The instant the whip had descended I would have smashed my armon the door-post to recall that blow. But that was impossible. It hadleft a great weal on the healthy sun-tanned skin. His moustache had savedhis lips, but it had caught his nose, the left cheek, had blinded theleft eye, and had left a cut on the temple from which drops of blood wererolling down his cheek and staining his white coat. A momentary gleam ofanger shot into his eyes and he gave a gasp, whether of surprise, pain, or annoyance, I know not. He made a gesture towards me. I half expectedand fervently wished he would strike. The enormity of what I had doneparalysed me. The whip fell from my fingers and I dropped on to a lowlounge behind me, and placing my elbows on my knees crouchingly buried myface in my hands; my hair tumbled softly over my shoulders and reachedthe floor, as though to sympathetically curtain my humiliation. Oh, thatHarold would thrash me severely! It would have infinitely relieved me. Ihad done a mean unwomanly thing in thus striking a man, who by his greatstrength and sex was debarred retaliation. I had committed a violation ofself-respect and common decency; I had given a man an ignominious blow inthe face with a riding-whip. And that man was Harold Beecham, who withall his strength and great stature was so wondrously gentle--who hadalways treated my whims and nonsense with something like the amusedtolerance held by a great Newfoundland for the pranks of a kitten. 

The clock struck eleven. 

"A less stinging rebuke would have served your purpose. I had no ideathat a simple caress from the man whose proposal of marriage you had justaccepted would be considered such an unpardonable familiarity. "

Harold's voice fell clearly, calmly, cuttingly on the silence. He movedaway to the other end of the room and I heard the sound of water. 

A desire filled me to tell him that I did not think he had attempted afamiliarity, but that I had been mad. I wished to say I could not accountfor my action, but I was dumb. My tongue refused to work, and I felt asthough I would choke. The splash of the water came from the other end ofthe room. I knew he must be suffering acute pain in his eye. A farlighter blow had kept me sleepless a whole night. A fear possessed methat I might have permanently injured his sight. The splash of waterceased. His footfall stopped beside me. I could feel he was withintouching distance, but I did not move. 

Oh, the horrible stillness! Why did he not speak? He placed his handlightly on my head. 

"It doesn't matter, Syb. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. I suppose youthought you couldn't affect my dark, old, saddle-flap-looking phiz. Thatis one of the disadvantages of being a big lumbering concern like I am. Jump up. That's the girl. "

I arose. I was giddy, and would have fallen but for Harold steadying meby the shoulder. I looked up at him nervously and tried to ask hisforgiveness, but I failed. 

"Good heavens, child, you are as white as a sheet! I was a beast to speakharshly to you. " He held a glass of water to my lips and I drank. 

"Great Jupiter, there's nothing to worry about! I know you hadn't theslightest intention of hurting me. It's nothing--I'll be right in a fewmoments. I've often been amused at and have admired your touch-me-notstyle. You only forgot you had something in your hand. "

He had taken it quite as a matter of fact, and was excusing me in thekindest possible terms. 

"Good gracious, you mustn't stew over such a trifling accident! It'snothing. Just tie this handkerchief on for me, please, and then we'll goback to the others or there will be a search-party after us. "

He could have tied the handkerchief just as well himself--it was only outof kindly tact he requested my services. I accepted his kindnessgratefully. He sank on his knee so that I could reach him, and I tied alarge white handkerchief across the injured part. He could not open hiseye, and hot water poured from it, but he made light of the idea of itpaining. I was feeling better now, so we returned to the ballroom. Theclock struck the half-hour after eleven as we left the room. Haroldentered by one door and, I by another, and I slipped into a seat asthough I had been there some time. 

There were only a few people in the room. The majority were absent--somelove-making, others playing cards. Miss Beecham. Was one who was not thusengaged. She exclaimed at once:

"Good gracious, boy, what have you done to yourself?"

"Looks as if he had been interviewing a belligerent tramp, " said auntHelen, smilingly. 

"He's run into the clothes-line, that's what he's done, " said MissAugusta confidently, after she had peeped beneath the bandage. 

"You ought to get a bun for guessing, aunt Gus, " said Harold laughing. 

I told them to put the clothes-lines up when they had done with them. Iknew there would be an accident. "

"Perhaps they were put up high enough for ordinary purposes, " remarkedher nephew. 

"Let me do something for you, dear. "

"No, thank you, aunt Gus. It is nothing, " he said carelessly, and thematter dropped. 

Harold Beecham. Was not a man to invite inquiry concerning himself. 

Seeing I was unobserved by the company, I slipped away to indulge in myfoolish habit of asking the why and the wherefore of things. Why hadHarold Beecham (who was a sort of young sultan who could throw thehandkerchief where he liked) chosen me of all women? I had no charms torecommend me--none of the virtues which men demand of the woman they wishto make their wife. To begin with, I was small, I was erratic andunorthodox, I was nothing but a tomboy--and, cardinal disqualification, Iwas ugly. Why, then, had he proposed matrimony to me? Was it merely awhim? Was he really in earnest?

The night was soft and dark; after being out in it for a time I coulddiscern the shrubs dimly silhouetted against the light. The music struckup inside again. A step approached me on the gravelled walk among theflowers, and Harold called me softly by name. I answered him. 

"Come, " he said, "we are going to dance; will you be my partner?"

We danced, and then followed songs and parlour games, and it was in thesmall hours when the merry goodnights were all said and we had retired torest. Aunt Helen dropped to sleep in a short time; but I lay awakelistening to the soft distant call of the mopokes in the scrub beyond thestables. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

My Unladylike Behaviour Again

Joe Archer was appointed to take us home on the morrow. When our hostwas seeing us off--still with his eye covered--he took opportunity ofwhispering to me his intention of coming to Caddagat on the followingSunday. 

Early in the afternoon of that day I took a book, and, going down theroad some distance, climbed up a broad-branched willow-tree to wait forhim. 

It was not long before he appeared at a smart canter. He did not see mein the tree, but his horse did, and propping, snorted wildly, and gave abackward run. Harold spurred him, he bucked spiritedly. Harold now saw meand sang out:

"I say, don't frighten him any more or he'll fling me, saddle and all. Ihaven't got a crupper or a breastplate. "

"Why haven't you, then? Hang on to him. I do like the look of you whilethe horse is going on like that. "

He had dismounted, and had thrown the bridle rein over a post of thefence. 

"I came with nothing but a girth, and that loose, as it was so hot; and Iwas as near as twopence to being off, saddle and all. You might have beenthe death of me, " he said good-humouredly. 

"Had I been, my fortune would have been made, " I replied. 

"How do you make that out? You're as complimentary as ever. "

"Everyone would be wanting to engage me as the great noxious weed-killerand poisonous insect exterminator if I made away with you, " I answered. Igave him an invitation to take a scat with me, and accepting, he swung upwith easy grace. There was any amount of accommodation for the two of uson the good-natured branches of the old willow-tree. 

When he had settled himself, my companion said, "Now, Syb, I'm ready foryou. Fire away. But wait a minute, I've got something here for you whichI hope you'll like. "

As he searched in his pockets, I noticed that his eye had quiterecovered, though there was still a slight mark on his cheek. He handedme a tiny morocco case, which on being opened disclosed a costly ring. Ihave about as much idea of the prices of things as a turkey would have. Perhaps that ring cost thirty pounds or possibly fifty guineas, for all Iknow. It was very heavy, and had a big diamond supported on either sideby a large sapphire, and had many small gems surrounding it. 

"Let me see if it fits, " he said, taking my hand; but I drew it away. 

"No; don't you put it on. That would make us irrevocably engaged. "

"Isn't that what we intend to be?" he said in a tone of surprise. 

"Not just yet; that is what I want to say to you. We will have threemonths' probation to see how we get on. At the end of that time, if wemanage to sail along smoothly, we'll have the real thing; until then wewill not be any more than we have been to each other. "

"But what am I to do in the meantime?" he asked, with amusement curvingthe corners of his mouth. 

"Do! Do the usual thing, of course; but don't pay me any specialattentions, or I'll be done with you at once. "

"What's your idea for this?"

"It is no use making fools of ourselves; we might change our minds. "

"Very well; so be it, " he said laughing. I might have known you wouldhave things arranged different from any other girl. But you'll take thering and wear it, won't you? Let me put it on. "

"No; I won't let you put a finger on me till the three months are up. Then, if we definitely make up our minds, you can put it on; but tillthen, don't for the life of you hint by word or sign that we have anysort of an arrangement between us. Give me the ring and I'll wear itsometimes. "

He handed it to me again, and I tried it on. It was a little large. Harold took it, and tried to put it on one of his fingers. It would fiton none but the very top of his little finger. We laughed heartily at thedisparity in the size of our hands. 

"I'll agree to your bargain, " he said. "But you'll be really engaged tome all the same. `

"Yes; under those conditions. Then it will not matter if we have a tiff. We can part, and no one will be the wiser. "

On my suggesting that it was now time to go to the house, he swunghimself down by a branch and turned to assist me. Descending from thattree was a feat which presented no difficulties to me when no one was by, but now it seemed an awkward performance. 

"Just lead your horse underneath, so that I can get on to his back, thence to the ground quite easily, " I said. 

"No fear! Warrigal wouldn't stand that kind of dodge. Won't I do? I don'tthink your weight will quite squash me, " he returned, placing himself inleap-frog position, and I stepped on to his back and slid from there tothe ground quite easily. 

That afternoon, when leaving the house, I had been followed by one of thedogs, which, when I went up the willow-tree, amused himself chasing waterlizards along the bank of the creek. He treed one, and kept up a furiousbarking at the base of its refuge. The yelping had disturbed granniewhere she was reading on the veranda, and coming down the road under abig umbrella to see what the noise was about, as luck would have it shewas in the nick of time to catch me standing on Harold Beecham's back. Grannie frequently showed marked displeasure regarding what she termed mylarrikinism, but never before had I seen her so thoroughly angry. Shutting her umbrella, she thrust at me with it, saying, "shame! shame!You'll come to some harm yet, you immodest, bold, bad hussy! I will writeto your mother about you. Go home at once, miss, and confine yourself inyour room for the remainder of the day, and don't dare eat anything untiltomorrow. Spend the time in fasting, and pray to God to make you better. I don't know what makes you so forward with men. Your mother and auntnever gave me the slightest trouble in that way. "

She pushed me from her in anger, and I turned and strode housewardswithout a word or glancing behind. I could hear grannie deprecating myconduct as I departed, and Harold quietly and decidedly differing fromher. 

From the time of my infancy punishment of any description never had abeneficial effect upon me. But dear old grannie was acting according toher principles in putting me through a term of penance, so I shut myselfin my room as directed, with goodwill towards her at my heart. I wasburning with shame. Was I bold and immodest with men, as accused ofbeing? It was the last indiscretion I would intentionally have beenguilty of. In associating with men I never realize that the triflingdifference of sex is sufficient to be a great wall between us. The factof sex never for an instant enters my head, and I find it as easy to bechummy with men as with girls: men in return have always been very good, and have treated me in the same way. 

On returning from her walk grannie came to my room, brought me somepreachy books to read, and held out to me the privilege of saying I wassorry, and being restored to my usual place in the society of thehousehold. 

"Grannie, I cannot say I am sorry and promise to reform, for myconscience does not reproach me in the least. I had no evil--not even aviolation of manners--in my intentions; but I am sorry that I vexed you, "I said. 

"Vexing me is not the sinful part of it. It is your unrepentant heartthat fills me with fears for your future. I will leave you here to thinkby yourself. The only redeeming point about you is, you do not pretend tobe sorry when you are not. "

The dear old lady shook her head sorrowfully as she departed. 

The afternoon soon ran away, as I turned to my bookcase for entertainmentand had that beautiful ring to admire. 

I heard them come in to tea, and I thought Harold had gone till I hearduncle Jay-Jay address him:

"Joe Archer told me you ran into a clothes-line on race-night, and eversince then mother has kept up a daddy of a fuss about ours. We've gotprops about a hundred feet long, and if you weren't in the know you'dthink we had a telegraph wire to old St Peter up above. "

I wondered what Harold thought of the woman he had selected as his futurewife being shut up for being a "naughty girl". The situation amused meexceedingly. 

About nine o'clock he knocked at my window and said:

"Never mind, Syb. I tried to get you off, but it was no go. Old peopleoften have troublesome straitlaced ideas. It will blow over by tomorrow. "

I did not answer; so he passed on with firm regular footfall, andpresently I heard his horse's hoof-beats dying away in the darkness, andthe closing and locking of doors around me as the household retired forthe night. 

During the following fortnight I saw Harold a good many times atcricket-matches' hare-drives, and so forth, but he did not take anyparticular notice of me. I flirted and frolicked with my other young menfriends, but he did not care. I did not find him an ardent or a jealouslover. He was so irritatingly cool and matter-of-fact that I wished forthe three months to pass so that I might be done with him, as I had cometo the conclusion that he was barren of emotion or passion of any kind. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

SWEET SEVENTEEN

Monday arrived--last day of November and seventeenth anniversary of mybirth--and I celebrated it in a manner which I capitally enjoyed. 

It was the time of the annual muster at Cummabella--a cattle-stationseventeen miles eastward from Caddagat--and all our men were thereassisting. Word had been sent that a considerable number of beasts amongthose yarded bore the impress of the Bossier brand on their hides; so onSunday afternoon uncle Jay-Jay had also proceeded thither to be inreadiness for the final drafting early on Monday morning. This left usmanless, as Frank Hawden, being incapacitated with a dislocated wrist, was spending a few weeks in Gool-Gool until he should be fit for workagain. 

Uncle had not been gone an hour when a drover appeared to report thattwenty thousand sheep would pass through on the morrow. Grass wasprecious. It would not do to let the sheep spread and dawdle at theirdrovers' pleasure. There was not a man on the place; grannie was in agreat stew; so I volunteered my services. At first she would not hear ofsuch a thing, but eventually consented. With many injunctions to conductmyself with proper stiffness, I started early on Monday morning. I wasclad in a cool blouse, a holland riding-skirt, and a big straw hat; wasseated on a big bay horse, was accompanied by a wonderful sheep-dog, andcarried a long heavy stock-whip. I sang and cracked my stock-whip as Icantered along, quite forgetting to be reserved and proper. Presently Icame upon the sheep just setting out for their day's tramp, with a blackboy ahead of them, of whom I inquired which was the boss. He pointedtowards a man at the rear wearing a donkey-supper hat. I made my waythrough the sheep in his direction, and asked if he were in charge ofthem. On being answered in the affirmative, I informed him that I was MrBossier's niece, and, as the men were otherwise engaged, I would see thesheep through. 

"That's all right, miss. I will look out that you don't have muchtrouble, " he replied, politely raising his hat, while a look of amusementplayed on his face. 

He rode away, and shouted to his men to keep the flock strictly withinbounds and make good travelling. 

"Right you are, boss, " they answered; and returning to my side he told mehis name was George Ledwood, and made some remarks about the greatdrought and so on, while we rode in the best places to keep out of thedust and in the shade. I asked questions such as whence came the sheep?whither were they bound? and how long had they been on the road? Andhaving exhausted these orthodox remarks, we fell a-talking in deadearnest without the least restraint. I listened with interest to storiesof weeks and weeks spent beneath the sun and stars while crossing widthsof saltbush country, mulga and myall scrubs, of encounters with blacks inQueensland, and was favoured with a graphic description of a big strikeamong the shearers when the narrator had been boss-of-the-board outbeyond Bourke. He spoke as though well educated, and a gentleman--asdrovers often are. Why, then, was he on the road? I put him down as ascapegrace, for he had all the winning pleasant manner of ane'er-do-well. 

At noon--a nice, blazing, dusty noon--we halted within a mile of Caddagatfor lunch. I could have easily ridden home for mine, but preferred tohave it with the drovers for fun. The men boiled the billy and made thetea, which we drank out of tin pots, with tinned fish and damper off tinplates as the completion of the menu, Mr Ledwood and I at a littledistance from the men. Tea boiled in a billy at a bush fire has adeliciously aromatic flavour, and I enjoyed my birthday lunch immensely. Leaving the cook to collect the things and put them in the spring-cart, we continued on our way, lazily lolling on our horses and chewinggum-leaves as we went. 

When the last of the sheep got off the Caddagat run it was nearing twoo'clock. 

Mr Ledwood and I shook hands at parting, each expressing a wish that wemight meet again some day. 

I turned and rode homewards. I looked back and saw the drover gazingafter me. I waved my hand; he raised his hat and smiled, displaying histeeth, a gleam of white in his sun-browned face. I kissed my hand to him;he bowed low; I whistled to my dog; he resumed his way behind thecrawling sheep; I cantered home quickly and dismounted at the front gateat 2. 30 p. M. , a dusty, heated, tired girl. 

Grannie came out to question me regarding the sex, age, condition, andspecies of the sheep, what was their destination, whether they were insearch of grass or were for sale, had they spread or eaten much grass, and had the men been civil?

When I had satisfactorily informed her on all these points, she bade mehave something to cat, to bathe and dress, and gave me a holiday for theremainder of the day. 

My hair was grey with dust, so I washed all over, arrayed myself in acool white dress, and throwing myself in a squatter's chair in theveranda, spread my hair over the back of it to dry. Copies of Gordon, Kendall, and Lawson were on my lap, but I was too physically content andcomfortable to indulge in even these, my sworn friends and companions. Isurrendered myself to the mere joy of being alive. How the sunlightblazed and danced in the roadway--the leaves of the gum-trees gleaming init like a myriad gems! A cloud of white, which I knew to be cockatoos, circled over the distant hilltop. Nearer they wheeled until I could heartheir discordant screech. The thermometer on the wall rested at 104degrees despite the dense shade thrown on the broad old veranda by thefoliage of creepers, shrubs, and trees. The gurgling rush of the creek, the scent of the flower-laden garden, and the stamp, stamp of a horse inthe orchard as he attempted to rid himself of tormenting flies, filled mysenses. The warmth was delightful. Summer is heavenly, I said--life is ajoy. 

Aunt Helen's slender fingers looked artistic among some pretty fancy-workupon which she was engaged. Bright butterflies flitted round the garden, and thousands of bees droned lazily among the flowers. I closed myeyes--my being filled with the beauty of it all. 

I could hear grannie's pen fly over the paper as she made out a list ofChristmas supplies on a table near me. 

"Helen, I suppose a hundredweight of currants will he sufficient ?"

"Yes; I should think so. "

"Seven dozen yards of unbleached calico be enough?"

"Yes; plenty. "

"Which tea-service did you order?"

"Number two. "

"Do you or Sybylla want anything extra?"

"Yes; parasols, gloves, and some books. "

"Books! Can I get them at Hordern's?"

"Yes. "

Grannie's voice faded on my ears, my thoughts ran on uncle Jay-Jay. Hehad promised to be home in time for my birthday spread, and I was sure hehad a present for me. What would it be?--something nice. He would benearly sure to bring someone home with him from Cummabella, and we wouldhave games and fun to no end. I was just seventeen, only seventeen, andhad a long, long life before me wherein to enjoy myself. Oh, it was goodto be alive! What a delightful place the world was!--so accommodating, Ifelt complete mistress of it. It was like an orange--I merely had tosqueeze it and it gave forth sweets plenteously. The stream sounded faraway, the sunlight blazed and danced, grannie's voice was a pleasantmurmur in my ear, the cockatoos screamed over the house and passed awayto the west. Summer is heavenly and life is a joy, I reiterated. Joy!Joy! There was joy in the quit! quit! of the green-and-crimson parrots, which swung for a moment in the rose-bush over the gate, and then whizzedon into the summer day. There was joy in the gleam of the sun and in thehum of the bees, and it throbbed in my heart. Joy! Joy! A jackass laughedhis joy as he perched on the telegraph wire out in the road. Joy! joy!Summer is a dream of delight and life is a joy, I said in my heart. I wasrepeating the one thing over and over--but ah! it was a measure ofhappiness which allowed of much repetition. The cool murmur of the creekgrew far away, I felt my poetry books slip off my knees and fall to thefloor, but I was too content to bother about them--too happy to need theirconsolation, which I had previously so often and so hungrily sought. Youth! Joy! Warmth!

The clack of the garden gate, as it swung to, awoke me from a pleasantsleep. Grannie had left the veranda, and on the table where she had beenwriting aunt Helen was filling many vases with maidenhair fern and LaFrance roses. A pleasant clatter from the dining-room announced that mybirthday tea was in active preparation. The position of the yellowsunbeams at the far end of the wide veranda told that the dense shadowswere lengthening, and that the last of the afternoon was wheelingwestward. Taking this in, in an instant I straightened the piece ofmosquito-netting, which, to protect me from the flies, someone--auntieprobably--had spread across my face, and feigned to be yet asleep. By thefootsteps which sounded on the stoned garden walk, I knew that HaroldBeecham was one of the individuals approaching. 

"How do you do, Mrs Bell? Allow me to introduce my friend, ArchieGoodchum. Mrs Bell, Mr Goodchum. Hasn't it been a roaster today?Considerably over 100 degrees in the shade. Terribly hot!"

Aunt Helen acknowledged the introduction, and seated her guests, saying:

"Harry, have you got an artistic eye? If so, you can assist me with theseflowers. So might Mr Goodchum, if he feels disposed. "

Harold accepted the proposal, and remarked:

"What is the matter with your niece? It is the first time I ever saw herquiet. "

"Yes; she is a noisy little article--a perfect whirlwind in the house--butshe is a little tired this afternoon; she has been seeing those sheepthrough today. "

"Don't you think it would be a good lark if I get something and tickleher?" said Goodchum. 

"Yes, do, " said Harold; "but look out for squalls. She is a great littlefizzer. "

"Then she might be insulted. "

"Not she, " interposed auntie. "No one will enjoy the fun more thanherself. "

I had my eyes half open beneath the net, so saw him cautiously approachwith a rose-stem between his fingers. Being extremely sensitive totickling, so soon as touched under the ear I took a flying leap from thechair somewhat disconcerting my tormentor. 

He was a pleasant-looking young fellow somewhere about twenty, whose facewas quite familiar to me. 

He smiled so good-humouredly at me that I widely did the same in return, and he came forward with extended hand, exclaiming, "At last!"

The others looked on in surprise, Harold remarking suspiciously, "Yousaid you were unacquainted with Miss Melvyn, but an introduction doesnot seem necessary. "

"Oh, yes it is, " chirped Mr Goodchum. I haven't the slightest idea of theyoung lady's name. "

"Don't know each other!" ejaculated Harold; and grannie, who had appearedupon the scene, inquired stiffly what we meant by such capers ifunacquainted. 

Mr Goodchum hastened to explain. 

"I have seen the young lady on several occasions in the bank where I amemployed, and I had the good fortune to be of a little service to her oneday when I was out biking. Her harness, or at least the harness on thehorse she was driving, broke, and I came to the rescue with mypocket-knife and some string, thereby proving, if not ornamental, I wasuseful. After that I tried hard to find out who she was, but my inquiriesalways came to nothing. I little dreamt who Miss Melvyn was when Harry, telling me she was a Goulburn girl, asked if I knew her. "

"Quite romantic, " said aunt Helen, smiling; and a great thankfulnessovercame me that Mr Goodchum had been unable to discover my identityuntil now. It was right enough to be unearthed as Miss Melvyn, grand-daughter of Mrs Bossier of Caddagat, and great friend and intimateof the swell Beechams of Five-Bob Downs station. At Goulburn I was onlythe daughter of old Dick Melvyn, broken-down farmer-cockatoo, well knownby reason of his sprees about the commonest pubs in town. 

Mr Goodchum told us it was his first experience of the country, andtherefore he was enjoying himself immensely. He also mentioned that hewas anxious to see some of the gullies around Caddagat, which, he hadheard, were renowned for the beauty of their ferns. Aunt Helen, accordingly, proposed a walk in the direction of one of them, and hurriedoff to attend to a little matter before starting. While waiting for her, Harold happened to say it was my birthday, and Mr Goodchum tendered methe orthodox wishes, remarking, It is surely pardonable at your time oflife to ask what age you have attained today?"

"Seventeen. "

"Oh! oh! 'sweet seventeen, and never been kissed'; but I suppose youcannot truthfully say that, Miss Melvyn?"

"Oh yes, I can. "

"Well, you won't he able to say it much longer, " he said, making asuggestive move in my direction. I ran, and he followed, granniereappearing from the dining-room just in time to see me bang the gardengate with great force on my pursuer. 

"What on earth is the girl doing now?" I heard her inquire. 

However, Mr Goodchum. Did not execute his threat; instead we walked alongdecorously in the direction of the nearest ferns, while Harold and auntHelen followed, the latter carrying a sunbonnet for me. 

After we had climbed some distance up a gully aunt Helen called out thatshe and Harold would rest while I did the honours of the fern grots to mycompanion. 

We went on and on, soon getting out of sight of the others. 

"What do you say to my carving our names on a gum-tree, the bark is sonice and soft?" said the bank clerk; and I seconded the proposal. 

"I will make it allegorical, " he remarked, setting to work. 

He was very deft with his penknife, and in a few minutes had carved S. P. M. And A. S. G. , encircling the initials by a ring and two heartsinterlaced. 

"That'll do nicely, " he remarked, and turning round, "Why, you'll get asunstroke; do take my hat. "

I demurred, he pressed the matter, and I agreed on condition he allowedme to tie his handkerchief over his head. I was wearing his hat and tyingthe ends of a big silk handkerchief beneath his chin when the cracking ofa twig caused me to look up and see Harold Beecham with an expression onhis face that startled me. 

"Your aunt sent me on with your hood, " he said jerkily. 

"You can wear it--I've been promoted, " I said flippantly, raising myhead-gear to him and bowing. He did not laugh as he usually did at mytricks, but frowned darkly instead. 

"We've been carving our names--at least, I have, " remarked Goodchum. 

Harold tossed my sun-bonnet on the ground, and said shortly, "Come on, Goodchum, we must be going. "

"Oh, don't go, Mr Beecham. I thought you came on purpose for my birthdaytea. Auntie has made me a tremendous cake. You must stay. We never dreamtof you doing anything else. "

"I've changed my mind, " he replied, striding on at such a pace that wehad difficulty in keeping near him. As we resumed our own head-wear, Good churn whispered, "A bulldog ant must have stung the boss. Let's askhim. "

On reaching the house we found other company had arrived in the personsof young Mr Goodjay from Cummabella, his sister, her governess, and acouple of jackeroos. They were seated on the veranda, and uncle Jay-Jay, attired in his shirt-sleeves, was appearing through the dining-room doorwith half a dozen bottles of home-made ginger ale in his arms. Dumpingthem down on the floor, he produced a couple of tots from hisshirt-pockets, saying, "Who votes for a draw of beer? Everyone must feelinclined for a swig. Harry, you want some; you don't look as though theheat was good for your temper. Hullo, Archie! Got up this far. Take adraw out of one of these bottles. If there had been a dozen pubs on theroad, I'd have drunk every one of em dry today. I never felt such a daddyof a thirst on me before. "

"Good gracious, Julius!" exclaimed grannie, as he offered the governess apot full of beer, "Miss Craddock can't drink out of that pint. "

"Those who don't approve of my pints, let 'em bring their own, " saidthat mischievous uncle Jay-Jay, who was a great hand at acting the clownwhen he felt that way inclined. 

I was dispatched for glasses, and after emptying the bottles uncleproposed a game of tennis first, while the light lasted, and teaafterwards. This proposition being carried with acclamation, we proceededto the tennis court. Harold came too--he had apparently altered hisintention of going home immediately. 

There were strawberries to be had in the orchard, also some latecherries, so uncle ordered me to go and get some. I procured a basket, and willingly agreed to obey him. Mr Goodchum offered to accompany me, but Harold stepped forward saying he would go, in such a resolute tragicmanner that Goodchum winked audaciously, saying waggishly, "Behold, thehero descends into the burning mine!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ah, For One Hour of Burning Love, 'tis Worth an Age of Cold Respect!

We walked in perfect silence, Harold not offering to carry my littlebasket. I did not dare lift my eyes, as something told me the face of thebig man would not be pleasant to look upon just then. I twirled the ringhe had given me round and round my finger. I occasionally put it on, wearing the stones on the palm-side of my finger, so that it would not hetaken for other than one of two or three aunt Helen had lent me, saying Iwas at liberty to use them while at Caddagat, if it gave me any pleasure. 

The Caddagat orchard contained six acres, and being a narrow enclosure, and the cherries growing at the extreme end from the house, it took ussome time to reach them. I led the way to our destination--a secluded nookwhere grape-vines clambered up fig-trees, and where the top of gooseberrybushes met the lower limbs of cherry-trees. Blue and yellow lupins stoodknee-high, and strawberries grew wild among them. We had not uttered asound, and I had not glanced at my companion. I stopped; he wheeledabruptly and grasped my wrist in a manner which sent the basket whirlingfrom my hand. I looked up at his face, which was blazing with passion, and dark with a darker tinge than Nature and the sun had given it, fromthe shapely swelling neck, in its soft well-turned-down collar, to wherethe stiff black hair, wet with perspiration, hung on the wide forehead. 

"Unhand me, sir!" I said shortly, attempting to wrench myself free, but Imight as well have tried to pull away from a lion. 

"Unhand me!" I repeated. 

For answer he took a firmer hold, in one hand seizing my arm above theelbow, and gripping my shoulder with the other so tightly that, throughmy flimsy covering, his strong fingers bruised me so severely that in acalmer moment I would have squirmed and cried out with pain. 

"How dare you touch me!" He drew me so closely to him that, through histhin shirt--the only garment on the upper part of his figure--I couldfeel the heat of his body, and his big heart beating wildly. 

At last! at last! I had waked this calm silent giant into life. Aftermany an ineffectual struggle I had got at a little real love or passion, or call it by any name--something wild and warm and splendidly alive thatone could feel, the most thrilling, electric, and exquisite sensationknown. 

I thoroughly enjoyed the situation, but did not let this appear. A minuteor two passed and he did not speak. 

"Mr Beecham, I'll trouble you to explain yourself. How dare you lay yourhands upon me?"

"Explain!" he breathed rather than spoke, in a tone of concentrated fury. "I'll make _you_ explain, and I'll do what I like with you. I'll touch youas much as I think fit. I'll throw you over the fence if _you_ don'texplain to _my_ satisfaction. "

"What is there that I can explain?"

"Explain your conduct with other men. How dare you receive theirattentions and be so friendly with them!"

"How dare you speak to me like that! I reserve the right of behaving as Iplease without your permission. "

"I won't have a girl with my engagement ring on her finger going on as youdo. I think I have a right to complain, for I could get any amount ofsplendid women in every way to wear it for me, and behave themselvesproperly too, " he said fiercely. 

I tossed my head defiantly, saying, "Loose your hold of me, and I'llquickly explain matters to my own satisfaction and yours, HaroldBeecham. "

He let me go, and I stepped a pace or two away from him, drew the costlyring from my finger, and, with indifference and contempt, tossed it tohis feet, where the juice of crushed strawberries was staining theground, and facing him, said mockingly:

"Now, speak to the girl who wears your engagement ring, for I'll degrademyself by wearing it no more. If you think I think you as great a catchas you think yourself, just because you have a little money, you are atrifle mistaken, Mr Beecham, that is all. Ha ha ha! So you thought youhad a right to lecture me as your future slave! Just fancy! I never hadthe slightest intention of marrying you. You were so disgustinglyconceited that I have been attempting to rub a little of it out of you. Marry you! Ha ha! Because the social laws are so arranged that a woman'sonly sphere is marriage, and because they endeavour to secure a man whocan give them a little more ease, you must not run away with the ideathat it is yourself they are angling for, when you are only thebothersome appendage with which they would have to put up, for the sakeof your property. And you must not think that because some women willmarry for a home they all will. I trust I have explained to yoursatisfaction, Mr Beecham. Ha ha ha!"

The jealous rage had died out of his face and was succeeded by tremblingand a pallor so ghastly, that I began to have a little faith indescriptions of love which I had hitherto ridiculed. 

"Are you in earnest?" he asked in a deadly calm voice. 

"Most emphatically I am. "

"Then all I can say is that I haven't much respect for you, Miss Melvyn. I always considered that there were three classes of women--one, thatwould marry a blackfellow if he had money; another, that were shamelessflirts, and who amuse themselves by flirting and disgracing the name ofwoman; and a third class that were pure and true, on whom a man couldstake his life and whom he could worship. I thought you belonged to thisclass, but I have been mistaken. I know you always try to appearheartless and worthless, but I fancied it was only your youth andmischief, and imagined you were good underneath; but I have beenmistaken, " he repeated with quiet contempt. 

His face had regained its natural colour, and the well-cut pleasantmouth, clearly seen beneath the soft drooping moustache, had hardenedinto a sullen line which told me he would never be first to seekreconciliation--not even to save his life. 

"Bah!" I exclaimed sarcastically. "It appears that we all labour underdelusions. Go and get a beautiful woman to wear your ring and your name. One that will be able to say yes and no at the right time; one who willknow how to dress properly; one who wouldn't for the world do anythingthat other women did not also; one who will know where to buy the bestgroceries and who will readily sell herself to you for your wealth. That's the sort of woman that suits men, and there are plenty of them;procure one, and don't bother with me. I am too small and silly, andhave nothing to recommend me. I fear it speaks little for your sense ortaste that you ever thought of me. Ta-ta, Mr Beecham, " I said over myshoulder with a mocking smile, and walked away. 

When about half-way down the orchard reflection pulled me up shortlyunder an apple-tree. 

I had said what I had said because, feeling bitter for the want of love, and because full of pain myself, I rejoiced with a sort of revenge to seethe same feeling flash across another's face. But now I was cool, and, forgetting myself, thought of Harold. 

I had led him on because his perpetually calm demeanour had excited in mea desire to test if it were possible to disturb him. I had thought himincapable of emotion, but he had proved himself a man of strong and deepemotion; might he not also be capable of feeling--of love? He had not beenmean or nasty in his rage, and his anger had been righteous. By acceptinghis proposal of marriage, I had given him the right of expressing hisobjection to any of my actions of which he disapproved. I on my part hadthe liberty of trying to please him or of dissolving our engagement. Perhaps in some cases there was actually something more than woundedvanity when a man's alleged love was rejected or spurned. Harold hadseemed to suffer, to really experience keen disappointment. I was clearlyin the wrong, and had been unwomanly beyond a doubt, as, granting thatHarold Beecham was conceited, what right had I to constitute myself hisjudge or to take into my own hands the responsibility of correcting him?I felt ashamed of my conduct; I was sorry to have hurt any one'sfeelings. Moreover, I cannot bear to be at ill-will with my fellows, andam ever the first to give in after having quarrelled. It is easier thansulking, and it always makes the other party so self-complacent that itis amusing as well as convenient, and--and--and--I found I was very, veryfond of Harold Beecham. 

I crept noiselessly up the orchard. He had his back to me, and had movedto where a post of the fence was peeping out among the greenery. He hadhis elbow placed thereon, and his forehead resting on his hand. Hisattitude expressed dejection. Maybe he was suffering the torture of abroken ideal. 

His right hand hung limply by his side. I do not think he heard meapproach. 

My heart beat quickly, and a fear that he would snub me caused me topause. Then I nerved myself with the thought that it would be only fairif he did. I had been rude to him, and he had a right to play tit-for-tatif he felt so disposed. I expected my action to be spurned or ignored, sovery timidly slipped my fingers into his palm. I need not have beennervous, for the strong brown hand, which had never been known to strikea cowardly blow, completely enfolded mine in a gentle caressing clasp. 

"Mr Beecham, Harold, I am so sorry I was so unwomanly, and said suchhorrible things. Will you forgive me, and let us start afresh?" Imurmured. All flippancy, bitterness, and amusement had died out of me; Iwas serious and in earnest. This must have expressed itself in my eyes, for Harold, after gazing searchingly right there for a time, seemedsatisfied, and his mouth relaxed to its habitually lovable expression ashe said:

"Are you in earnest? Well, that is something more like the little woman. "

"Yes, I'm in earnest. Can you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive, as I'm sure you didn't mean and don'tremember the blood curdling sentiments you aired. "

"But I did mean them in one sort of a way, and didn't in another. Let usstart afresh. "

"How do you mean to start afresh?"

"I mean for us to be chums again. "

"Oh, chums!" he said impatiently; I want to be something more. 

"Well, I will he something more if you will try to make me, " I replied. 

"How? What do you mean?"

I mean you never try to make me fond of you. You have never uttered oneword of love to me. "

"Why, bless me!" he ejaculated in surprise. 

"It's a fact. I have only flirted to try and see if you cared, but youdidn't care a pin. "

"Why, bless me, didn't you say I was not to show any affection yetawhile? And talk about not caring--why, I have felt fit to kill you andmyself many a time the last fortnight, you have tormented me so; but Ihave managed to keep myself within bounds till now. Will you wear my ringagain?"

"Oh no; and you must not say I am flirting if I cannot manage to love youenough to marry you, but I will try my best. "

"Don't you love me, Syb? I have thought of nothing else but you night andday since I saw you first. Can it be possible that you don't care a strawfor me?" and a pained expression came upon his face. 

"Oh, Harold, I'm afraid I very nearly love you, but don't hurry me toomuch! You can think me sort of secretly engaged to you if you like, but Iwon't take your ring. Keep it till we see how we get on. " I looked forit, and finding it a few steps away, gave it to him. 

"Can you really trust me again after seeing me get in such a vile beastof a rage? I often do that, you know, " he said. 

"Believe me, Hal, I liked it so much I wish you would get in a rageagain. I can't bear people who never let themselves go, or rather, whohave nothing in them to carry them away--they cramp and bore me. "

"But I have a frightful temper. Satan only knows what I will do in ityet. Would you not be frightened of me?"

"No fear, " I laughed; I would defy you. "

"A tomtit might as well defy me, " he said with amusement. 

"Well, big as you are, a tomtit having such superior facilities forgetting about could easily defy you, " I replied. 

"Yes, unless it was caged, " he said. 

"But supposing you never got it caged, " I returned. 

"Syb, what do you mean?"

"What could I mean?"

I don't know. There are always about four or five meanings in what yousay. "

"Oh, thanks, Mr Beecham! You must be very astute. I am always thankfulwhen I am able to dish one meaning out of my idle gabble. "

The glorious summer day had fallen asleep on the bosom of the horizon, and twilight had merged into dusk, as, picking up the basket, Harold andI returned cherry- and strawberry-less to the tennis court. The playershad just ceased action, and the gentlemen were putting on their coats. Harold procured his, and thrust his arms into it, while we were attackedon all sides by a flood of banter. 

My birthday tea was a great success, and after it was done we enjoyedourselves in the drawing-room. Uncle Jay-Jay handed me a large box, saying it contained a present. Everyone looked on with interest while Ihurriedly opened it, when they were much amused to see--nothing but a dolland materials to make it clothes! I was much disappointed, but uncle saidit would be more in my line to play with that than to worry about trampsand politics. 

I took care to behave properly during the evening, and when the good-byeswere in full swing had an opportunity of a last word with Harold, hestooping to hear me whisper:

"Now that I know you care, I will not annoy you any more by flirting. "

"Don't talk like that. I was only mad for the moment. Enjoy yourself asmuch as you like. I don't want you to be like a nun. I'm not quite soselfish as that. When I look at you and see how tiny you are, and howyoung, I feel it is brutal to worry you at all, and you don't detest mealtogether for getting in such an infernal rage?"

"No. That is the very thing I liked. Good night!"

"Good night, " he replied, taking both my hands in his. "You are the bestlittle woman in the world, and I hope we will spend all your otherbirthdays together. "

"It's to be hoped you've said something to make Harry a trifle sweeterthan he was this afternoon, " said Goodchum. Then it was:

"Good night, Mrs Bossier! Good night, Harry! Good night, Archie! Goodnight, Mr Goodchum! Good-bye, Miss Craddock! Ta-ta, Miss Melvyn! So long, Jay-Jay! Good-bye, Mrs Bell! Goodbye, Miss Goodjay! Good night, MissMelvyn! Good night, Mr Goodjay! Good night, Mrs Bossier! Good-bye, MissMelvyn! Good night all!"

I sat long by my writing-table that night--thinking long, long thoughts, foolish thoughts, sad ones, merry ones, old-headed thoughts, and thesweet, sweet thoughts of youth and love. It seemed to me that men werenot so invincible and invulnerable as I had imagined them--it appearedthey had feeling and affections after all. 

I laughed a joyous little laugh, saying, "Hal, we are quits, " when, ondisrobing for the night, I discovered on my soft white shoulders andarms--so susceptible to bruises--many marks, and black. 

It had been a very happy day for me. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Thou Knowest Not What a Day May Bring Forth

The next time I saw Harold Beecham was on Sunday the 13th of December. There was a hammock swinging under a couple of trees in an enclosure, half shrubbery, partly orchard and vegetable garden, skirting the road. In this I was gently swinging to and fro, and very much enjoying aninteresting book and some delicious gooseberries, and seeing Haroldapproaching pretended to be asleep, to see if he would kiss me. But no, he was not that style of man. After tethering his horse to the fence andvaulting himself over it, he shook me and informed me I was as soundasleep as a log, and had required no end of waking. 

My hair tumbled down. I accused him of disarranging it, and ordered himto repair the damage. He couldn't make out what was the matter with it, only that "It looks a bit dotty. "

"Men are queer creatures, " I returned. "They have the most wonderfulbrains in some ways, but in little things they are as stupid as owls. Itis no trouble to them to master geology, mineralogy, anatomy, and otherthings, the very name of which gives me a headache. They can see throughpolitics, mature mighty water reservoir schemes, and manage five stationsat once, but they couldn't sew on a button or fix one's hair to savetheir life. "

I cannot imagine how the news had escaped me, for the story with whichHarold Beecham surprised and startled me on that long hot afternoon hadbeen common talk for some time. 

He had come to Caddagat purposely to explain his affairs to me, andstated as his reason for not having done so earlier that he had waiteduntil the last moment thinking he might pull himself up. 

Business to me is a great mystery, into which I haven't the slightestdesire to penetrate. I have no brains in that direction, --so will notattempt to correctly reproduce all that Harold Beecham told me on thatafternoon while leaning against a tree at my feet and looking down at meas I reclined in the hammock. 

There was great mention of bogus bonds, bad investments, liabilities andassets and personal estates, and of a thing called an officialassignee--whatever that is--voluntary sequestration, and a jargon of suchterms that were enough to mither a Barcoo lawyer. 

The gist of the matter, as I gathered it, was that Harold Beecham, lookedupon as such a "lucky beggar", and envied as a pet of fortune, had beenvisited by an unprecedented run of crushing misfortunes. He had not beenas rich and sound in position as the public had imagined him to be. Thefailure of a certain bank two or three years previously had given him agreat shaking. The tick plague had ruined him as regarded his Queenslandproperty, and the drought had made matters nearly as bad for him in NewSouth Wales. The burning of his wool last year, and the failure of theagents in whose hands he had placed it, this had pushed him farther intothe mire, and now the recent "going bung" of a building society--his soleremaining prop--had run him entirely ashore. 

He had sequestrated his estate, and as soon as practicable was goingthrough the courts as an insolvent. The personal estate allowed him fromthe debris of his wealth he intended to settle on his aunts, and he hopedit might be sufficient to support them. Himself, he had the sameprospects as the boundary-riders on Five-Bob Downs. 

I had nothing to say. Not that Harold was a much-to-be-pitied man whenone contrasted his lot with that of millions of his fellows as deservingas he; but, on the other hand, considering he had been reared in wealthand as the master of it since his birth, to be suddenly rendered equalwith a labourer was pretty hard lines. 

"Oh, Harold, I am so sorry for you!" I managed to stammer at last. 

"Don't worry about me. There's many a poor devil, crippled and ill, though rolling in millions, who would give all his wealth to stand in myboots today, " he said, drawing his splendid figure to its full height, while a look of stern pride settled on the strong features. HaroldBeecham was not a whimpering cur. He would never tell anyone his feelingson the subject; but such a sudden reverse of fortune, tearing from himeven his home, must have been a great blow to him. 

"Syb, I have been expecting this for some years; now that it is donewith, it is a sort of grim relief. The worst of all is that I've had togive up all hope of winning you. That is the worst of all. If you didn'tcare for me when I was thought to be in a position to give you all thatgirls like, you could never look at me now that I'm a pauper. I only hopeyou will get some fellow who will make you as happy as I would have triedto had you let me. "

I sat and wondered at the marvellous self-containment of the man beforeme. With this crash impending, just imagine the worry he must have gonethrough! But never had the least suspicion that he was troubled foundbetrayal on his brow. 

"Good-bye, Syb, " he said; "though I'm a nobody now, if I could ever be ofuse to you, don't be afraid to ask me. "

I remember him wringing the limp hand I mechanically stretched out to himand then slowly revaulting the fence. The look of him riding slowly alongwith his broad shoulders drooping despondently waked me to my senses. Ihad been fully engrossed with the intelligence of Harold'smisfortune--that I was of sufficient importance to concern him in any wayhad not entered my head; but it suddenly dawned on me that Harold hadsaid that I was, and he was not in the habit of uttering idle nothings. 

While fortune smiled on him I had played with his manly love, but nowthat she frowned had let him go without even a word of friendship. I hadbeen poor myself, and knew what awaited him in the world. He would findthat they who fawned on him most would be first to turn their backs onhim now. He would be rudely disillusioned regarding the fables of loveand friendship, and would become cynical, bitter, and sceptical of therebeing any disinterested good in human nature. Suffering the coldheart-weariness of this state myself, I felt anxious at any price to saveHarold Beecham from a like fate. It would be a pity to let one so youngbe embittered in that way. 

There was a short cut across the paddocks to a point of the road where hewould pass; and with these thoughts flashing through my mind, hatless andwith flying hair, I ran as fast as I could, scrambling up on the fence ina breathless state just as he had passed. 

"Hal, Hal!" I called. "Come back, come back! I want you. "

He turned his horse slowly. 

"Well, Syb, what is it?"

"Oh, Hal, dear Hal! I was thinking too much to say anything; but yousurely don't think I'd be so mean as to care a pin whether you are richor poor--only for your own sake? If you really want me, I will marry youwhen I am twenty-one if you are as poor as a crow. "

"It is too good to be true. I thought you didn't care for me. Sybylla, what do you mean?"

"Just what I say, " I replied, and without further explanation, jumpingoff the fence I ran back as fast as I had come. 

When half-way home I stopped, turned, looked, and saw Harold canteringsmartly homewards, and heard him whistling a merry tune as he went. 

After all, men are very weak and simple in some ways. 

I laughed long and sardonically, apostrophizing myself thus:

"Sybylla Penelope Melvyn, your conceit is marvellous and unparalleled! Soyou actually imagined that you were of sufficient importance to assist aman through life--a strong, healthy young man too, standing six feet threeand a half in his socks, a level-headed business man, a man of highconnections, spotless character, and influential friends, an experiencedbushman, a man of sense, and, above all, a man--a man I The world wasmade for men. 

"Ha ha! You, Sybylla, thought this! You, a chit in your teens, an ugly, poor, useless, unimportant, little handful of human flesh, and, above, orrather below, all, a woman--only a woman! It would indeed be a depravedand forsaken man who would need your services as a stay and support! Haha! The conceit of you!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Because?

The Beechams were vacating Five-Bob almost immediately--before Christmas. Grannie, aunt Helen, and uncle Jay-Jay went down to say good-bye to theladies, who were very heartbroken about being uprooted from Five-Bob, butthey approved of their nephew settling things at once and starting on aclean sheet. They intended taking up their residence--hiding themselves, they termed it--in Melbourne. Harold would be detained in Sydney some timeduring the settling of his affairs, after which he intended to takeanything that turned up. He had been offered the management of Five-Bobby those in authority, but could not bring himself to accept managershipwhere he had been master. His great desire, now that Five-Bob was nolonger his, was to get as far away from old associations as possible. 

He had seen his aunts off, superintended the muster of all stock on theplace, dismissed all the female and most of the male employees, andsurrendered the reins of government, and as Harold Augustus Beecham, bossof Five-Bob, on Monday, the 21st of December 1896, was leaving thedistrict for ever. On Sunday, the 20th of December, he came to bid usgood-bye and to arrive at an understanding with me concerning what I hadsaid to him the Sunday before. Grannie, strange to say, never suspectedthat there was likely to be anything between us. Harold was soundemonstrative, and had always come and gone as he liked at Caddagat:she overlooked the possibility of his being a lover, and in ourintercourse allowed us almost the freedom of sister and brother orcousins. 

On this particular afternoon, after we had talked to grannie for a littlewhile, knowing that he wished to interview me, I suggested that he shouldcome up the orchard with me and get some gooseberries. Without demur fromanybody we set off, and were scarcely out of hearing before Harold askedme had I really meant what I said. 

"Certainly, " I replied. "That is, if you really care for me, and think itwise to choose me of all my sex. "

Ere he put it in words I read his answer in the clear brown eyes bentupon me. 

"Syb, you know what I feel and would Eke, but I think it would be mean ofme to allow you to make such a sacrifice. "

I knew I was not dealing with a booby, but with a sensible clear-sightedman, and so studied to express myself in a way which would not for aninstant give him the impression that I was promising to marry himbecause--what I don't know and it doesn't matter much, but I said:

"Hal, don't you think it is a little selfish of you to want to throw meover just because you have lost your money? You are young, healthy, havegood character and influential connections, and plenty of good practicalability and sense, so, surely, you will know no such thing as failure ifyou meet the world bravely. Go and be the man you are; and if you fail, when I am twenty-one I will marry you, and we will help each other. I amyoung and strong, and am used to hard work, so poverty will not alarm mein the least. If you want me, I want you. 

"Syb, you are such a perfect little brick that I couldn't be such abeggarly cur as to let you do that. I knew you were as true as steelunder your funny little whims and contrariness; and could you really loveme now that I am poor?"

I replied with vigour:

"Do you think I am that sort, that cares for a person only because he hasa little money? Why! that is the very thing I am always preachingagainst. If a man was a lord or a millionaire I would not have him if Iloved him not, but I would marry a poor cripple if I loved him. It wasn'tbecause you owned Five-Bob Downs that I liked you, but because you have abig heart in which one would have room to get warm, and because you aretrue, and because you are kind and big and--" Here I could feel my voicegetting shaky, and being afraid I would make a fool of myself by crying, I left off. 

"Syb, I will try and fix matters up a bit, and will claim you in thattime if I have a home. "

"Claim me, home or not, if you are so disposed, but I will make thiscondition. Do not tell anyone we are engaged, and remember you areperfectly free. If you see a woman you like more than me, promise me onyour sacred word that you will have none of those idiotic unjust ideas ofkeeping true to me. Promise. "

"Yes, I will promise, " he said easily, thinking then, no doubt, as many aone before him has thought, that he would never be called upon to fulfilhis word. 

"I will promise in return that I will not look at another man in amatrimonial way until the four years are up, so you need not he jealousand worry yourself; for, Hal, you can trust me, can you not?"

Taking my hand in his and looking at me with a world of love in his eyes, which moved me in spite of myself, he said:

"I could trust you in every way to the end of the world. "

"Thank you, Harold. What we have said is agreed upon--that is, of course, as things appear now: if anything turns up to disturb this arrangement itis not irrevocable in the least degree, and we can lay out more suitableplans. Four years will not be long, and I will be more sensible at theend of that time--that is, of course, if I ever have any sense. We willnot write or have any communication, so you will be perfectly free if yousee anyone you like better than me to go in and win. Do you agree?"

"Certainly; any little thing like that you can settle according to yourfancy. I'm set up as long as I get you one way or another, that's all Iwant. It was a bit tough being cleared out from all the old ways, but ifI have you to stand by me it will be a great start. Say what you saidlast Sunday. Again. Syb, say you will be my wife. "

I had expected him to put it in that way, and believing in doing all ornothing, had laid out that I would put my hand in his and promise what heasked. But now the word wife finished me up. I was very fond ofHarold--fond to such an extent that had I a fortune I would gladly havegiven it all to him: I felt capable of giving him a life of servitude, but I loved him--big, manly, lovable, wholesome Harold--from the crown ofhis head to the sole of his foot he was good in my sight, but lacking inthat power over me which would make me desirous of being the mother ofhis children. 

As for explaining my feelings to him--ha! He would laughingly call themone of my funny little whims. With his orthodox, practical, plain, commonsense views of these things, he would not understand me. What wasthere to understand? Only that I was queer and different from otherwomen. But he was waiting for me to speak. I had put my hand to theplough and could not turn back. I could not use the word wife, but I putmy hand in his, looked at him steadily, and said--

"Harold. I meant what I said last Sunday. If you want me--if I am of anyuse to you--I will marry you when I attain my majority. "

He was satisfied. 

He bade us good-bye early that afternoon, as he intended departing fromFive-Bob when the morrow was young, and had two or three little mattersto attend to previous to his departure. 

I accompanied him a little way, he walking and leading his horse. Weparted beneath the old willow-tree. 

"Good-bye, Harold. I mean all I have said. "

I turned my face upwards; he stooped and kissed me once--only once--onelight, gentle, diffident kiss. He looked at me long and intently withoutsaying a word, then mounted his horse, raised his hat, and rode away. 

I watched him depart along the white dusty road, looking like a longsnake in the glare of the summer sun, until it and he who travelledthereon disappeared among the messmate- and hickory-trees forming thehorizon. 

I stood gazing at the hills in the distance on which the blue dreamingmists of evening were gathering, until tears stole down my cheeks. 

I was not given to weeping. What brought them? I hardly knew. It was notbecause Harold was leaving, though I would miss him much. Was it becauseI was disappointed in love? I persuaded myself that. I loved Harold asmuch as I could ever love anyone, and I could not forsake him now that heneeded me. But, but, but, I did not want to marry, and I wished thatHarold had asked anything of me but that, because--because, I don't knowwhat, and presently felt ashamed for being such a selfish coward that Igrudged to make a little sacrifice of my own inclinations to help abrother through life. 

"I used to feel sure that Harry meant to come up to the scratch, but Isuppose he's had plenty to keep him going lately without bothering hishead about a youngster in short frocks and a pigtail, " remarked uncleJay-Jay that night. 

"Well, Sybylla, poor Harry has gone: we will all--even you included--misshim very much, I am sure. I used to think that he cared for you. It maybe that he has not spoken to us on account of his financial failure, andit may be that I made a mistake, " said aunt Helen when she was bidding megood night. 

I held my peace. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Boast Not Thyself of Tomorrow

We felt the loss of the Beechams very, very much. It was sad to think ofFive-Bob--pleasant, hospitable Five-Bob--as shut up, with no one but asolitary caretaker there pending the settling of the Beecham insolvency;with flowers running to seed unheeded in the wide old garden, grassyellowing on the lawns, fruit wasting in wain-loads in the great orchard, kennels, stables, fowl-houses, and cow-yards empty and deserted. But morethan all, we missed the quiet, sunburnt, gentlemanly, young giant whosepleasant countenance and strapping figure were always welcome atCaddagat. 

Fortunately, Christmas preparations gave us no rest for the soles of ourfeet, and thus we had little time to moon about such things: in addition, uncle Jay-Jay was preparing for a trip, and fussed so that the wholeplace was kept in a state of ferment. 

We had fun, feasting, and company to no end on Christmas Day. There werebank clerks and young fellows out of offices from Gool-Gool, jackeroosand governesses in great force from neighbouring holdings, and we had amerry time. 

On Boxing Day uncle Jay-Jay set out on a tour to New Zealand, intendingto combine business with pleasure, as he meant to bring back some studstock if he could make a satisfactory bargain. Boxing Day had fallen on aSaturday that year, and the last of our guests departed on Sundaymorning. It was the first time we had had any quietude for many weeks, soin the afternoon I went out to swing in my hammock and meditate uponthings in general. Taking with me a bountiful supply of figs, apricots, and mulberries, I laid myself out for a deal of enjoyment in the cooldense shade under the leafy kurrajong- and cedar-trees. 

To begin with, Harold Beecham was gone, and I missed him at every turn. Ineed not worry about being engaged to be married, as four years was along, long time. Before that Harold might take a fancy to someone else, and leave me free; or he might die, or I might die, or we both might die, or fly, or cry, or sigh, or do one thing or another, and in the meantimethat was not the only thing to occupy my mind: I had much to contemplatewith joyful anticipation. 

Towards the end of February a great shooting and camping party, organizedby grannie, was to take place. Aunt Helen, grannie, Frank Hawden, myself, and a number of other ladies and gentlemen, were going to have ten daysor a fortnight in tents among the blue hills in the distance, which heldmany treasures in the shape of lyrebirds, musk, ferns, and such sceneryas would make the thing perfection. After this auntie and I were to haveour three months' holiday in Sydney, where, with Everard Grey in thecapacity of showman, we were to see everything from Manly to Parramatta, the Cyclorama to the Zoo, the theatres to the churches, the restaurantsto the jails, and from Anthony Hordern's to Paddy's Market. Who knowswhat might happen then? Everard had promised to have my talents tested bygood judges. Might it not be possible for me to attain one of myambitions--enter the musical profession? joyful dream! Might I not be ableto yet assist Harold in another way than matrimony?

Yes, life was a pleasant thing to me now. I forgot all my wildunattainable ambitions in the little pleasures of everyday life. Such athing as writing never entered my head. I occasionally dreamt out alittle yarn which, had it appeared on paper, would have brimmed over withpleasure and love--in fact, have been redolent of life as I found it. Itwas nice to live in comfort, and among ladies and gentlemen--people whoknew how to conduct themselves properly, and who paid one every attentionwithout a bit of fear of being twitted with "laying the jam on". 

I ate another fig and apricot, a mulberry or two, and was interrupted inthe perusal of my book by the clatter of galloping hoofs approachingalong the road. I climbed on to the fence to see who it could be who wascoming at such a breakneck pace. He pulled the rein opposite me, and Irecognized a man from Dogtrap. He was in his shirt-sleeves; his horsewas all in a lather, and its scarlet nostrils were wide open, and itssides heaving rapidly. 

"I say, miss, hunt up the men quickly, will you?" he said hurriedly. "There's a tremenjous fire on Wyambeet, and we're short-handed. I'mgoin' on to knock them up at Bimbalong. "

"Hold hard, " I replied. "We haven't a man on the place, only JoeSlocombe, and I heard him say he would ride down the river and see whatthe smoke was about; so he will be there. Mr Hawden and the others havegone out for the day. You go back to the fire at once; I'll rouse them upat Birribalong. "

"Right you are, miss. Here's a couple of letters. My old mokeflung a shoe and went dead lame at Dogtrap; an' wile I was saddlun another, Mrs Butler stuffed 'em in me pocket. "

He tossed them over the fence, and, wheeling his mount, galloped the wayhe had come. The letters fell, address upwards, on the ground--one tomyself and one to grannie, both in my mother's handwriting. I left themwhere they lay. The main substance of mother's letters to me was a hopethat I was a better girl to my grannie than I had been to her--a sentimentwhich did not interest me. 

"Where are you off to?" inquired grannie, as I rushed through the house. 

I explained. 

"What horse are you going to take?"

"Old Tadpole. He's the only one available. "

"Well, you be careful and don't push him too quickly up that pinch byFlea Creek, or he might drop dead with you. He's so fat and old. "

"All right, " I replied, snatching a bridle and running up the orchard, where old Tadpole had been left in case of emergency. I clapped aside-saddle on his back, a hat on my head, jumped on just as I was, andgalloped for my life in the direction of Bimbalong, seven miles distant. I eased my horse a little going up Flea Creek pinch, but with this delayreached my destination in half an hour, and sent the men galloping in thedirection of the fire. I lingered for afternoon tea, and returned at myleisure. 

It was sundown when I got in sight of Caddagat. Knowing the men would notbe home for some time, I rode across the paddock to yard the cows. Idrove them home and penned the calves, unsaddled my horse and returnedhim to the orchard, then stood upon the hillside and enjoyed the scene. It had been a fearfully hot day, with a blasting, drought-breathed wind;but the wind had dropped to sleep with the sunlight, and now the air hadcooled. Blue smoke wreathed hill and hollow like a beauteous veil. I hadtraversed drought-baked land that afternoon, but in the immediatevicinity of Caddagat house there was no evidence of an unkind season. Irrigation had draped the place with beauty, and I stood ankle-deep inclover. Oh, how I loved the old irregularly built house, with here andthere a patch of its low iron roof peeping out of a mass of greenery, flowers, and fruit--the place where I was born--home! Save for the murmurof the creek, the evening was wrapped in silence--sweet-breathed, balmy-browed, summer quietude. I stretched out my hand and stained myfingers, next my lips and teeth, with the sweet dark fruit of amulberry-tree beside me. The shadows deepened; I picked up my saddle, and, carrying it housewards, put it in its place in the harness-roomamong the fig- and apricot-trees--laden to breaking point with ripe andripening fruit. The two servant girls had departed on their Christmasholiday that morning, so grannie and auntie were the only members of thefamily at home. I could not see or hear them anywhere, so, presuming theywere out walking, I washed my hands, lit a lamp, and sat down to my tea, where it had been left for me on the dining-table. I remembered--wonderfulaberration from my usual thoughtlessness--that the book I had left in thehammock had a beautiful cover which the dew would spoil, so I left my teato bring it in. Two little white squares struck my eye in the gatheringdusk. I picked them up also, and, bringing them to the light, opened theone addressed to me, and read:

No doubt what I have to write will not be very palatable to you; but itis time you gave up pleasuring and began to meet the responsibilities oflife. Your father is lazier if anything, and drinks more than ever. Hehas got himself into great debt and difficulties, and would have beensold off again but for Peter M'Swat. You will remember Peter M'Swat? Well, he has been good enough to lend your father 500 pounds at 4 per cent, which means 20 pounds per year interest. Your father would have no moreidea of meeting this amount than a cat would have. But now I am comingto the part of the matter which concerns you. Out of friendship to yourfather, Mr M'Swat is good enough to accept your services as governess tohis children, in lieu of interest on the money. I have told him you willbe in Yarnung In Friday the 8th of January 1897, where he will meet you. Be careful to remember the date. I am sorry I could not give you morenotice; but he wants his children to commence school as soon as possible, and he deserves every consideration in the matter. Perhaps you will notfind it as pleasant as Caddagat; but he has been very good, and offersyou a fair number of holidays, and what he will give you is equal to20 pounds. That is a lot in these times, when he could easily get so manybetter girls than you are in every way for half the money, and make yourfather pay the interest, and thereby be 10 pounds in pocket. You will haveto help Mrs M'Swat with the work and sewing; but that will do you good, and I hope you will try hard to give every satisfaction. I have alsowritten to your grandmother. 

That letter wiped away ever vestige of my appetite for the daintiesbefore me. M'Swat's! Send--me--to M'Swat's! I could not believe it! Itmust be a nightmare! M'Swat's!

Certainly, I had never been there; but all those who had gave graphicdescriptions of the total ignorance of Mrs M'Swat. Why, the place wasquite tabooed on account of its squalor and dirt!

The steel of my mother's letter entered my soul. Why had she notexpressed a little regret at the thing she was imposing on me? Instead, there was a note of satisfaction running through her letter that she wasable to put an end to my pleasant life at Caddagat. She always seemed togrudge me any pleasure. I bitterly put it down as accruing from the curseof ugliness, as, when mentioning Gertie, it was ever, "I have let Gertiego to such and such an entertainment. We could not very well afford it, but the poor little girl does not have many pleasures for her years. " Iwas smaller than Gertie, and only eleven months older; but to me it was"You must think of something besides pleasure. "

The lot of ugly girls is not joyful, and they must be possessed ofnatures very absurdly sanguine indeed ever to hope for any enjoyment inlife. 

It was cruel, base, horrible of my mother to send me to M'Swat's. I wouldnot go--not for 50 pounds a day! I would not go! I would not! not for anyconsideration. 

I stamped about in a fever of impatience until grannie appeared, when Ihanded both letters to her, and breathlessly awaited her verdict. 

"Well, child, what do you say?"

"Say? I won't go! I can't! I won't! Oh, grannie, don't send me there--Iwould rather die. "

"My dear child, I would not he willing to part with you under anycircumstances, but I cannot interfere between a mother and her child. Iwould not have allowed any one to do it with me, and believe in actingthe same towards any other mother, even though she is my own daughter. However, there is time to get a reply before you would have to start, soI will write and see what can be done. "

The dear old lady, with her prompt businesslike propensities, sat downand wrote there and then. I wrote also--pleaded with my mother against herdecree, begged her to leave me at Caddagat, and assured her I could neversucceed at M'Swat's. 

I did not sleep that night, so arose betimes to await the firsttraveller, whom I asked to post the letters. 

We got an answer to them sooner than we expected--at least grannie did. Mother did not deign to write to me, but in her letter to grannie I wasdescribed as an abominably selfish creature, who would not consider herlittle brothers and sisters. I would never be any good; all I thought ofwas idleness and ease. Most decidedly I could not get out of going toM'Swat's, as mother had given her word. 

"I am sorry for you, " said grannie, "but it cannot be helped. You canstay there for two or three years, and then I can have you here again. "

I was inconsolable, and would not listen to reason. Ah! that uncleJay-Jay had been at home to rescue me from this. Then aunt Helen broughther arguments to bear upon me, and persuaded me to think it was necessaryfor the benefit of my little brothers and sisters that I should take upthis burden, which I knew would be too much for me. 

It was a great wrench to be torn away from Caddagat--from refinement andcomfort--from home! As the days till my departure melted away, how Iwished that it were possible to set one's weight against the grim wheelof time and turn it back! Nights I did not sleep, but drenched my pillowwith tears. Ah, it was hard to leave grannie and aunt Helen, whom Iworshipped, and turn my back on Caddagat!

I suppose it is only a fancy born of the wild deep love I bear it, but tome the flowers seem to smell more sweetly there; and the shadows, howthey creep and curl! oh, so softly and caressingly around the quaint oldplace, as the great sun sets amid the blue peaks; and the never-ceasingrush of the crystal fern-banked stream--I see and hear it now, and thesinking sun as it turns to a sheet of flame the mirror hanging in thebackyard in the laundry veranda, before which the station hands were wontto comb and wash themselves. Oh, the memories that crowd upon me!Methinks I can smell the roses that clamber up the veranda posts and peepover the garden gate. As I write my eyes grow misty, so that I cannot seethe paper. 

The day for my departure arrived--hot, 110 degrees in the shade. It was aWednesday afternoon. Frank Hawden was to take me as far as Gool-Gool thatevening, and see me on to the coach next day. I would arrive in Yarnungabout twelve or one o'clock on Thursday night, where, according toarrangement, Mr M'Swat would be waiting to take me to a hotel, thence tohis home next day. 

My trunks and other belongings were stowed in the buggy, to which the fathorses were harnessed. They stood beneath the dense shade of a splendidkurrajong, and lazily flicked the flies off themselves while Frank Hawdenheld the reins and waited for me. 

I rushed frantically round the house taking a last look at nooks andpictures dear to me, and then aunt Helen pressed my hand and kissed me, saying:

"The house will be lonely without you, but you must brighten up, and I'msure you will not find things half as bad as you expect them. "

I looked back as I went out the front gate, and saw her throw herselfinto a chair on the veranda and cover her face with her hands. Mybeautiful noble aunt Helen! I hope she missed me just a little, felt justone pang of parting, for I have not got over that parting yet. 

Grannie gave me a warm embrace and many kisses. I climbed on to the frontseat of the buggy beside my escort, he whipped the horses--a cloud ofdust, a whirr of wheels, and we were gone--gone from Caddagat!

We crossed the singing stream: on either bank great bushes ofblackthorn--last native flower of the season--put forth their wealth ofmagnificent creamy bloom, its rich perfume floating far on the hot summerair. How the sunlight blazed and danced and flickered on the familiar anddearly loved landscape! Over a rise, and the house was lost to view, thengood-bye to the crystal creek. The trees of Five-Bob Downs came withineye-range far away on our left. What merry nights I had spent there amidmusic, flowers, youth, light, love, and summer warmth, when the tide oflife seemed full! Where now was Harold Beecham and the thirty or morestation hands, who but one short month before had come and gone at hisbidding, hailing him boss?

It was all over! My pleasant life at Caddagat was going into the past, fading as the hills which surrounded it were melting into a hazy line ofblue. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

My Journey

The coach was a big vehicle, something after the style of a bus, the tiltand seats running parallel with the wheels. At the rear end, instead of adoor, was a great tail-board, on the principle of a spring-cart. This waslet down, and, after we scrambled over it into our seats, it was fixedhalf-mast, all the luggage piled thereon, and firmly roped into position. When this was completed, to any one on the ground only the heads ofpassengers were visible above the pile. Had the coach capsized we wouldhave been in a nice fix, as the only means of exit was by crawling upthrough the back of the box-seat, which rose breast-high--an awkward feat. 

Frank Hawden and I parted good friends. I leant out and waved myhandkerchief, until a bend of the road hid him from sight. 

It was noon, the thermometer registered 112 degrees in the shade, and thedust was simply awful. It rose in such thick grey clouds that often itwas impossible to discern the team of five which pulled us, and there wasdanger of colliding with passing vehicles. We were very much crowded, there being sixteen passengers. When we settled down and got started, Idiscovered that I was the only representative of my sex, and that I wassandwiched between a perky youth in his teens and a Chinaman, while ablack fellow and a man with a red beard sat opposite. A member ofParliament, farther up the seat, who had been patronizing New Year's Dayraces in a portion of his electorate, bawled loudly to his companionabout "the doin's of the 'Ouse". In the perky youth I discovered aprofessional jockey; and when he found that I was a daughter of DickMelvyn, the one-time great horse-breeder, he became very friendly. Hegave me a couple of apples out of his tin box under the seat, from whencehe also produced his whip for my inspection, and was good enough to say:

"If you can't stand the stink of that bloomin' chow, miss, just changeseats with me. I've knocked about, so that I can easy stand some toughsmells without much inconvenience. "

I cautioned him to talk lower for fear of hurting the Chinaman'sfeelings: this amused him immensely. He laughed very much, and, leaningover to the red-bearded man, repeated the joke:

"I say, this young lady is afraid I might hurt the chow's feelin's. Golly! Fancy a bloomin' chow havin' any!"

The other man also thought it a great joke. I changed seats with thejockey, which put me beside a young gentleman of a literary turn of mind, with whom I had some conversation about books when the dust, rumble ofwheels, and turf talk of my other neighbour permitted. They were all verykind to me--gave me fruit, procured me drinks of water, and took turns innursing a precious hat, for which, on account of the crush, no safe placecould be found among the other luggage. 

Before we had gone half our journey the horses knocked up. All the menwere forced to walk up hills for miles and miles in the dust and heat, which did not conduce to their amiability, and many and caustic were theremarks and jokes made upon the driver. He wore out two whips upon histeam, until the labour and excessive heat sent the perspiration rollingin rivulets down his face, leaving muddy tracks in the thick coating ofdust there. The jockey assisted with his loaded instrument of trade, someof the passengers thrashed with sticks, and all swore under their breath, while a passing bullock-driver used his whip with such deadly effect, that the sweat which poured off the poor beasts was mingled with blood. 

"Why the deuce don't you have proper horses?" demanded the red-beardedpassenger. 

The man explained that a ministerial party had chartered his best team togo on a tour of inspection to a mine; a brother coachman had been "stuckup" for horses, and borrowed a couple from him, whereupon he was forcedto do with animals which had been turned out for a spell, and the heatand overloading accounted for a good part of the contretemps. However, wemanaged to catch our train, but had to rush for it without waiting forrefreshments. Nice articles we looked--our hair grey with dust, and ourfaces grimy. The men took charge of me as carefully as though I had beenspecially consigned to their care. One procured my ticket, anothersecured me a scat, while a third took charge of my luggage; and they werejust as thoughtful when we had to change trains. Off we went. Grannie hadpacked me quite a large box full of dainties. I produced it, the menprovided drinks, and we had quite a pleasant picnic, with all the windowsdown to catch a little air. 

I love the rush and roar of the train, and wished on this occasion thatit might go on and on for over, never giving me time to think or stop. But, alas, at 1. 20 we pulled up at Yarnung, where a man came inquiringfor a young lady named Melvyn. My fellow passengers collected mybelongings, and I got out. 

"Good-bye, gentlemen; thank you very much for your kindness. "

"Good-bye, miss; you're welcome. Some of us might meet again yet. Ta-ta!"

A shriek, a jerk, and the great train rushed on into the night, leavingme there on the insignificant little platform, feeling how lonely andunhappy, no one knew or cared. 

Mr M'Swat shouldered most of my luggage, I took the remainder, and wetrudged off in the dark without a word on either side. The publican hadgiven M'Swat the key, so that we might enter without disturbing thehousehold, and he escorted me to a bedroom, where I tumbled into bed withexpedition. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

To Life

It is indelibly imprinted on my memory in a manner which royal joy, fame, pleasure, and excitement beyond the dream of poets could never efface, not though I should be cursed with a life of five-score years. I willpaint it truthfully--letter for letter as it was. 

It was twenty-six miles from Yarnung to Barney's Gap, as M'Swat's placewas named. He had brought a light wagonette and pair to convey methither. 

As we drove along, I quite liked my master. Of course, we were of calibretoo totally unlike ever to be congenial companions, but I appreciated hissound common sense in the little matters within his range, and hisbluntly straightforward, fairly good-natured, manner. He was an utterlyignorant man, with small ideas according to the sphere which he fitted, and which fitted him; but he was "a man for a' that, an' a' that". 

He and my father had been boys together. Years and years ago M'Swat'sfather had been blacksmith on my father's station, and the little boyshad played together, and, in spite of their then difference in station, had formed a friendship which lived and bore fruit at this hour. I wishedthat their youthful relations had been inimical, not friendly. 

We left the pub in Yarnung at nine, and arrived at our destinationsomewhere about two o'clock in the afternoon. 

I had waxed quite cheerful, and began to look upon the situation in asensible light. It was necessary that I should stand up to the guns oflife at one time or another, and why not now? M'Swat's might not be sobad after all. Even if they were dirty, they would surely be willing toimprove if I exercised tact in introducing a few measures. I was notafraid of work, and would do many things. But all these ideas wereknocked on the head, like a dairyman's surplus calves, when on enteringBarney's Gap we descended a rough road to the house, which was built in anarrow gully between two steep stony hills, which, destitute of grass, rose like grim walls of rock, imparting a desolate and prison-likeaspect. 

Six dogs, two pet lambs, two or three pigs, about twenty fowls, eightchildren which seemed a dozen, and Mrs M'Swat bundled out through theback door at our approach. Those children, not through poverty--M'Swatmade a boast of his substantial banking account--but on account ofignorance and slatternliness, were the dirtiest urchins I have ever seen, and were so ragged that those parts of them which should have beencovered were exposed to view. The majority of them had red hair and widehanging-open mouths. Mrs M'Swat was a great, fat, ignorant, pleasant-looking woman, shockingly dirty and untidy. Her tremendous, flabby, stockingless ankles bulged over her unlaced hobnailed boots; herdress was torn and unbuttoned at the throat, displaying one of thedirtiest necks I have seen. It did not seem to worry her that the infantshe hold under her arm like a roll of cloth howled killingly, while theother little ones clung to her skirts, attempting to hide their heads inits folds like so many emus. She greeted me with a smacking kiss, consigned the baby to the charge of the eldest child, a big girl offourteen, and seizing upon my trunks as though they were feather-weight, with heavy clodhopping step disappeared into the house with them. Returning, she invited me to enter, and following in her wake, I wasfollowed by the children through the dirtiest passage into the dirtiestroom, to sit upon the dirtiest chair, to gaze upon the other dirtiestfurniture of which I have ever heard. One wild horrified glance at thedirt, squalor, and total benightedness that met me on every side, and Itrembled in every limb with suppressed emotion and the frantic longing toget back to Caddagat which possessed me. One instant showed me that Icould never, never live here. 

"Have ye had yer dinner?" my future mistress inquired in a roughuncultivated voice. I replied in the negative. 

"Sure, ye'll be dyin' of hunger; but I'll have it in a twinklin'. "

She threw a crumpled and disgustingly filthy doth three-cornered ways onto the dusty table and clapped thereon a couple of dirty knives andforks, a pair of cracked plates, two poley cups and chipped saucers. Nextcame a plate of salt meat, red with saltpetre, and another of dark, dry, sodden bread. She then disappeared to the kitchen to make the tea, andduring her absence two of the little boys commenced to fight. Oneclutched the tablecloth, and over went the whole display with abang--meat-dish broken, and meat on the dusty floor; while the cats andfowls, ever on the alert for such occurrences, made the most of theiropportunities. Mrs M'Swat returned carrying the tea, which was spillingby the way. She gave those boys each a clout on the head which dispersedthem roaring like the proverbial town bull, and alarmed me for the safetyof their ear-drums. I wondered if their mother was aware of their havingear-drums. She grabbed the meat, and wiping it on her greasy apron, carried it around in her hand until she found a plate for it, and by thattime the children had collected the other things. A cup was broken, andanother, also a poley, was put in its stead. 

Mr M'Swat now appeared, and after taking a nip out of a rum bottle whichhe produced from a cupboard in the corner, he invited me to sit up todinner. 

There was no milk. M'Swat went in entirely for sheep, keeping only a fewcows for domestic purposes: these, on account of the drought, had beendry for some months. Mrs M'Swat apologized for the lack of sugar, statingshe was quite out of it and had forgotten to send for a fresh supply. 

"You damned fool, to miss such a chance wen I was goin' to town with thewagonette! I mightn't be groin' in again for munce [months]. But sugardon't count much. Them as can't do without a useless luxury like that fora spell will never make much of a show at gettin' on in the wu-r-r-r-1d, "concluded Mr M'Swat, sententiously. 

The children sat in a row and, with mouths open and interest in their bigwondering eyes, gazed at me unwinkingly till I felt I must rush awaysomewhere and shriek to relieve the feeling of overstrained hysteriawhich was overcoming me. I contained myself sufficiently, however, to askif this was all the family. 

"All but Peter. Where's Peter, Mary Ann?"

"He went to the Red Hill to look after some sheep, and won't be back tilldark. "

"Peter's growed up, " remarked one little boy, with evident pride in thismember of the family. 

"Yes; Peter's twenty-one, and hes a mustatche and shaves, " said theeldest girl, in a manner indicating that she expected me to be struckdumb with surprise. 

"She'll be surprised wen she sees Peter, " said a little girl in anaudible whisper. 

Mrs M'Swat vouchsafed the information that three had died between Peterand Lizer, and this was how the absent son came to be so much older thanhis brothers and sisters. 

"So you have had twelve children?" I said. 

"Yes, " she replied, laughing fatly, as though it were a joke. 

"The boys found a bees' nest in a tree an' have been robbin' it thesmornin', " continued Mrs M'Swat. 

"Yes; we have ample exemplification of that, " I responded. It was honeyhere and honey there and honey everywhere. It was one of the manyvarieties of dirt on the horrible foul-smelling tablecloth. It was on thefloor, the door, the chairs, the children's heads, and the cups. MrsM'Swat remarked contentedly that it always took a couple of days to wear"off of" things. 

After "dinner" I asked for a bottle of ink and some paper, and scrawled afew lines to grannie and my mother, merely reporting my safe arrival atmy destination. I determined to take time to collect my thoughts beforepetitioning for release from Barney's Gap. 

I requested my mistress to show me where I was to sleep, and sheconducted me to a fairly respectable little bedroom, of which I was to besole occupant, unless I felt lonely and would like Rose Jane to sleepwith me. I looked at pretty, soft-eyed, dirty little Rose Jane, andassured her kind-hearted mother I would not be the least lonely, as thesickening despairing loneliness which filled my heart was not of a natureto be cured by having as a bedmate a frowzy wild child. 

Upon being left alone I barred my door and threw myself on the bed tocry--weep wild hot tears that scalded my cheeks, and sobs that shook mywhole frame and gave me a violent pain in the head. 

Oh, how coarse and grating were the sounds to be heard around me! Lack, nay, not lack, but utter freedom from the first instincts of cultivation, was to be heard even in the great heavy footfalls and the rasping sharpvoices which fell on my ears. So different had I been listening in a roomat Caddagat to my grannie's brisk pleasant voice, or to my aunt Helen'slow refined accents; and I am such a one to see and feel thesedifferences. 

However, I pulled together in a little while, and called myself a foolfor crying. I would write to grannie and mother explaining matters, and Ifelt sure they would heed me, as they had no idea what the place waslike. I would have only a little while to wait patiently, then I would beamong all the pleasures of Caddagat again; and how I would revel in them, more than ever, after a taste of a place like this, for it was worse thanI had imagined it could be, even in the nightmares which had haunted meconcerning it before leaving Caddagat. 

The house was of slabs, unlimed, and with very low iron roof, and havingno sign of a tree near it, the heat was unendurable. It was reflectedfrom the rocks on either side, and concentrated in this spot like anoven, being 122 degrees in the veranda now. I wondered why M'Swat hadbuilt in such a hole, but it appears it was the nearness of the point towater which recommended it to his judgment. 

With the comforting idea that I would not have long to bear this, Ibathed my eyes, and walked away from the house to try and find a coolerspot. The children saw me depart but not return, to judge from adiscussion of myself which I heard in the dining-room, which adjoined mybed-chamber. 

Peter came home, and the children clustered around to tell the news. 

"Did she come?"

"Yes. "

"Wot's she like?"

"Oh, a rale little bit of a thing, not as big as Lizer!

"And, Peter, she hes teeny little hands, as wite as snow, like that womanin the picter ma got off of the tea. "

"Yes, Peter, " chimed in another voice; "and her feet are that little thatshe don't make no nise wen she walks. "

"It ain't only becos her feet are little, but cos she's got them beautifulshoes like wot's in picters, " said another. 

"Her hair is tied with two great junks of ribbing, one up on her head an'another near the bottom; better than that bit er red ribbing wot Lizerkeeps in the box agin the time she might go to town some day. "

"Yes, " said the voice of Mrs M'Swat, "her hair is near to her knees, anda plait as thick as yer arm; and wen she writ a couple of letters in aminute, you could scarce see her hand move it was that wonderful quick;and she uses them big words wot you couldn't understand withoutbein' eddicated. "

"She has tree brooches, and a necktie better than your best one wots youkeeps to go seeing Susie Duffy in, " and Lizer giggled slyly. 

"You shut up about Susie Duffy, or I'll whack yuz up aside of the ear, "said Peter angrily. 

"She ain't like ma. She's fat up here, and goes in like she'd break inthe middle, Peter. "

"Great scissors! she must be a flyer, " said Peter. I'll bet she'll makeyou sit up, Jimmy. "

"I'll make her sit up, " retorted Jimmy, who came next to Lizer. --Shethinks she's a toff, but she's only old Melvyn's darter, that pa hasto give money to. "

"Peter, " said another, "her face ain't got them freckles on like yours, and it ain't dark like Lizer's. It's reel wite, and pinky round here. "

"I bet she won't make me knuckle down to her, no matter wot colour sheis, " returned Peter, in a surly tone. 

No doubt it was this idea which later in the afternoon induced him toswagger forward to shake hands with me with a flash insolent leer on hisface. I took pains to be especially nice to him, treating him withdeference, and making remarks upon the extreme heat of the weather withsuch pleasantness that he was nonplussed, and looked relieved when ableto escape. I smiled to myself, and apprehended no further trouble fromPeter. 

The table for tea was set exactly as it had been before, and was lightedby a couple of tallow candles made from bad fat, and their odour was suchas my jockey travelling companion of the day before would have describedas a tough smell. 

"Give us a toon on the peeany, " said Mrs M'Swat after the meal, when thedishes had been cleared away by Lizer and Rose Jane. The tea and scraps, of which there was any amount, remained on the floor, to be picked up bythe fowls in the morning. 

The children lay on the old sofa and on the chairs, where they alwaysslept at night until their parents retired, when there was an all-roundbawl as they were wakened and bundled into bed, dirty as they were, andvery often with their clothes on. 

I acceded to Mrs M'Swat's request with alacrity, thinking that whileforced to remain there I would have one comfort, and would spend all myspare time at the piano. I opened the instrument, brushed a little of thedust from the keys with my pocket-handkerchief, and struck the openingchords of Kowalski's "Marche Hongroise". 

I have heard of pianos sounding like a tin dish, but this was not asPleasant as a tin dish by long chalks. Every note that I struck stayeddown not to rise, and when I got them up the jarring, clanging, discordant clatter they produced beggars description. There was not theslightest possibility of distinguishing any tune on the thing. Worthlessto begin with, it had stood in the dust, heat, and wind so long thatevery sign that it had once made music had deserted it. 

I closed it with a feeling of such keen disappointment that I haddifficulty in suppressing tears. 

"Won't it play?" inquired Mr M'Swat. 

"No; the keys stay down. "

"Then, Rose Jane, go ye an' pick 'em up while she tries again. "

I tried again, Rose Jane fishing up the keys as I went along. I perceivedinstantly that not one had the least ear for music or idea what it was; soI beat on the demented piano with both hands, and often with all fingersat once, and the bigger row I made the better they liked it. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

To Life--continued

Mr M'Swat very kindly told me I need not begin my duties until Mondaymorning, and could rest during Saturday and Sunday. Saturday, which wassickeningly hot and sultry, and which seemed like an eternity, I spent inarranging my belongings, brushing the dust from my travelling dress, andin mending a few articles. Next morning rain started to fall, which was agreat God-send, being the first which had fallen for months, and the onlyrain I saw during my residence at Barney's Gap. 

That was a hideous Sabbath. Without a word of remonstrance from theirparents, the children entertained themselves by pushing each other intothe rain, the smaller ones getting the worst of it, until their clothingwas saturated with water. This made them very cold, so they sat upon thefloor and yelled outrageously. 

It was the custom of Peter to spend his Sundays in riding about, buttoday, being deterred by the rain, he slept some of the time, and made amuzzle for one of his dogs, between whiles. 

From breakfast to the midday meal I shut myself in my bedroom and wroteletters to my mother and grandmother. I did not rant, rave, or sayanything which I ought not to have said to my elders. I wrote thoseletters very coolly and carefully, explaining things just as they were, and asked grannie to take me back to Caddagat, as I could never endurelife at Barney's Gap. I told my mother I had written thus, and asked herif she would not let grannie take me again, would she get me some othersituation? What I did not care, so long as it brought emancipation fromthe M'Swat's. I stamped and addressed these missives, and put them bytill a chance of posting should arise. 

Mr M'Swat could read a little by spelling the long words and blunderingover the shorter ones, and he spent the morning and all the afternoon inperusal of the local paper--the only literature with which Barney's Gapwas acquainted. There was a long list of the prices of stock and farmproduce in this edition, which perfectly fascinated its reader. Theecstasy of a man of fine, artistic, mental calibre, when dipping for thefirst time into the work of some congenial poet, would be completelywiped out in comparison to the utter soul-satisfaction of M'Swat whendrinking in the items of that list. 

"By damn, pigs was up last Toosday! Thames the things to make prawfiton, " he would excitedly exclaim; or--"Wheat's rose a shillun a bushel!By dad, I must double my crops this year. " When he had plodded to theend, he started at the beginning again. 

His wife sat the whole afternoon in the one place, saying and doingnothing. I looked for something to read, but the only books in the housewere a Bible, which was never opened, and a diary kept most religiouslyby M'Swat. I got permission to read this, and opening it, saw:

September

1st. Fine. Wint to boggie creak for a cow. 2nd. Fine. Got the chestnut mair shode. 3rd. Fine. On the jury. 4th. Fine. Tail the lams 60 yeos 52 wethers. 5th. Cloudy. Wint to Duffys. 6th. Fine. Dave Duffy called. 7th. Fine. Roped the red filly. 8th. Showery. Sold the gray mair's fole. 9th. Fine. Wint to the Red hill after a horse. 10th. Fine, Found tree sheap ded in sqre padick. 

I closed the book and put it up with a sigh. The little record was aperfect picture of the dull narrow life of its writer. Week after weekthat diary went on the same--drearily monotonous account of a drearilymonotonous existence. I felt I would go mad if forced to live such a lifefor long. 

"Pa has lots of diaries. Would I like to read them?"

They were brought and put before me. I inquired of Mr M'Swat which wasthe liveliest time of the year, and being told it was shearing andthreshing, I opened one first in November:

November 1896

1st. Fine. Started to muster sheap. 2nd. Fine. Counten sheap very dusty 20 short. 3rd. Fine. Started shering. Joe Harris cut his hand bad and wint hoam. 4th. Showery. Shering stoped on account of rane. 

Then I skipped to December:

December 1896

1st. Fine and hot. Stripped the weet 60 bages. 2nd. Fine. Killed a snake very hot day. 3rd. Fine. Very hot alle had a boagy in the river. 4th. Fine. Got returns of woll 7 1/2 fleece 5 1/4 bellies. 5th. Fine. Awful hot got a serkeler from Tatersal by the poast. 6th. Fine. Saw Joe Harris at Duffys. 

There was no entertainment to be had from the diaries, so I attempted aconversation with Mrs M'Swat. 

"A penny for your thoughts. "

"I wuz jist watchin' the rain and thinkin' it would put a couple a bob ahead more on sheep if it keeps on. "

What was I to do to pass the day? I was ever very restless, even in themidst of full occupation. Uncle Jay-Jay used to accuse me of being in sixplaces at once, and of being incapable of sitting still for five minutesconsecutively; so it was simply endurance to live that long, longday--nothing to read, no piano on which to play hymns, too wet to walk, none with whom to converse, no possibility of sleeping, as in anendeavour to kill a little of the time I had gone to bed early and got uplate. There was nothing but to sit still, tormented by maddening regret. I pictured what would he transpiring at Caddagat now; what we had donethis time last week, and so on, till the thing became an agony to me. 

Among my duties before school I was to set the table, make all the beds, dust and sweep, and "do" the girls' hair. After school I had to mendclothes, sew, set the table again, take a turn at nursing the baby, andon washing-day iron. This sounds a lot, but in reality was nothing, anddid not half occupy my time. Setting the table was a mere sinecure, asthere was nothing much to put on it; and the only ironing was a fewarticles outside my own, as Mr M'Swat and Peter did not wear whiteshirts, and patronised paper collars. Mrs M'Swat did the washing and alittle scrubbing, also boiled the beef and baked the bread, which formedour unvaried menu week in and week out. Most peasant mothers with afamily of nine have no time for idleness, but Mrs M'Swat managed thingsso that she spent most of the day rolling on her frowsy bed playing withher dirty infant, which was as fat and good-tempered as herself. 

On Monday morning I marshalled my five scholars (Lizer, aged fourteen;Jimmy, twelve; Tommy, Sarah, and Rose Jane, younger) in a little backskillion, which was set apart as a schoolroom and store for flour androck-salt. Like all the house, it was built of slabs, which, erectedwhile green, and on account Of the heat, had shrunk until many of thecracks were sufficiently wide to insert one's arm. On Monday--after therain--the wind, which disturbed us through them, was piercingly cold, butas the week advanced summer and drought regained their pitiless sway, andwe were often sunburnt by the rough gusts which filled the room with suchclouds of dust and grit that we were forced to cover our heads until itpassed. 

A policeman came on Tuesday to take some returns, and to him I entrustedthe posting of my letters, and then eagerly waited for the reply whichwas to give me glorious release. 

The nearest post-office was eight miles distant, and thither Jimmy wasdispatched on horseback twice a week. With trembling expectancy everymail-day I watched for the boy's return down the tortuous track to thehouse, but it was always, "No letters for the school-missus. "

A week, a fortnight, dragged away. Oh, the slow horror of thosenever-ending days! At the end of three weeks Mr M'Swat went to the postunknown to me, and surprised me with a couple of letters. They bore thehandwriting of my mother and grandmother--what I had been wildly waitingfor, --and now that they had come at last I had not the nerve to open themwhile any one was observing me. All day I carried them in my bosom tillmy work was done, when I shut myself in my room and tore the envelopesopen to read first my grannie's letter, which contained two:

My dear child, I have been a long time answering your letter on account of waiting toconsult your mother. I was willing to take you back, but your mother isnot agreeable, so I cannot interfere between you. I enclose your mother'sletter, so you can see how I stand in the matter. Try and do good whereyou are. We cannot get what we would like in this world, and must bow toGod's will. He will always, &c. 

Mother's Letter to Grannie

My dear Mother, I am truly grieved that Sybylla should have written and worried you. Takeno notice of her; it is only while she is unused to the place. She willsoon settle down. She has always been a trial to me, and it is no use oftaking notice of her complaints, which no doubt are greatly exaggerated, as she was never contented at home. I don't know where her rebelliousspirit will eventually lead her. I hope M'Swat's will tame her; it willdo her good. It is absolutely necessary that she should remain there, sodo not say anything to give her other ideas &c. 

Mother's Letter to Me

My dear Sybylla, I wish you would not write and worry your poor old grandmother, who hasbeen so good to you. You must try and put up with things; you cannotexpect to find it like holidaying at Caddagat. Be careful not to giveoffence to any one, as it would be awkward for us. What is wrong with theplace? Have you too much work to do? Do you not get sufficient to cat?Are they unkind to you, or what? Why don't you have sense and not talk ofgetting another place, as it is utterly impossible; and unless you remainthere, how are we to pay the interest on that money? I've always been agood mother to you, and the least you might do in return is this, whenyou know how we are situated. Ask God &c. 

Full of contempt and hatred for my mother, I tore her letters into tinypieces and hurled them out the window. Oh, the hard want of sympathy theyvoiced! She had forced me to this place: it would have been different hadI wanted to come of my own accord, and then sung out for a removalimmediately; but no, against my earnest pleadings she had forced me here, and now would not heed my cry. And to whom in all the world can we turnwhen our mother spurns our prayer?

There never was any sympathy between my mother and myself. We are toounlike. She is intensely matter-of-fact and practical, possessed of noambitions or aspirations not capable of being turned into cash value. Sheis very ladylike, and though containing no spice of either poet ormusician, can take a part in conversation on such subjects, and play thepiano correctly, because in her young days she was thus cultivated; buthad she been horn a peasant, she would have been a peasant, with nolongings unattainable in that sphere. She no more understood me than Iunderstand the works of a watch. She looked upon me as a discontented, rebellious, bad child, possessed of evil spirits, which wanted trouncingout of me; and she would have felt that she was sinning had she humouredme in any way, so after cooling I did not blame her for her letters. Shewas doing her duty according to her lights. Again, it was this way, grannie did not come to my rescue on this occasion on account of herattitude towards my father. The Bossiers were not at enmity with him, butthey were so disgusted with his insobriety that they never visited PossumGully, and did not assist us as much as they would have done had myfather's failure been attributable to some cause more deserving ofsympathy. 

After reading my letters I wept till every atom of my body writhed withagonized emotion. I was aroused by Mrs M'Swat hammering at my door andinquiring:

"What ails ye, child? Did ye git bad noos from home?"

I recovered myself as by a miracle, and replied, no; that I was merely alittle homesick, and would be out presently. 

I wrote again to my mother, but as I could not truthfully say I washungry or ill-treated, for, according to their ability, the M'Swats werevery kind to me, she took no notice of my plaint, but told me thatinstead of complaining of monotony, it would suit me better if I clearedup the house a little. 

Acting upon this advice, I asked Mr M'Swat to put a paling fence roundthe house, as it was useless trying to keep the house respectable whilethe fowls and pigs ran in every time the door was opened. --

He was inclined to look with favour upon this proposition, but his wifesat upon it determinedly-said the fowls would lose the scraps. "Would itnot be possible to throw them over the fence to the fowls?" I asked; butthis would cause too much waste, she considered. 

Next I suggested that the piano should be tuned, but they were united intheir disapproval of such a fearful extravagance. "The peeany makes agood nise. What ails it?"

Then I suggested that the children should he kept tidier, for which I wasinsulted by their father. I wanted them to be dressed up like swells, andif he did that he would soon be a pauper like my father. This I found wasthe sentiment of the whole family regarding me. I was only the daughterof old hard-up Melvyn, consequently I had little weight with thechildren, which made things very hard for me as a teacher. 

One day at lunch I asked my mistress if she would like the children to beinstructed in table-manners. "Certainly, " her husband replied, so Icommenced. 

"Jimmy, you must never put your knife in your mouth. "

"Pa does at any rate, " replied Jimmy. 

"Yes, " said pa; "and I'm a richer man today than them as didn't do it. "

"Liza, do not put a whole slice of bread to your mouth like that, andcram so. Cut it into small pieces. "

"Ma doesn't, " returned Liza. 

"Ye'll have yer work cut out with 'em, " laughed Mrs M'Swat, who did notknow how to correct her family herself, and was too ignorant to uphold myauthority. 

That was my only attempt at teaching manners there. In the face of suchodds it was a bootless task, and as there were not enough knives andforks to go round, I could not inculcate the correct method of handlingthose implements. 

Mrs M'Swat had but one boiler in which to do all her cooking, and onesmall tub for the washing, and there was seldom anything to cat but breadand beef; and this was not because they were poor, but because they didnot know, or want to know, any better. 

Their idea of religion, pleasure, manners, breeding, respectability, love, and everything of that ilk, was the possession of money, and theirone idea of accumulating wealth was by hard sordid dragging and grinding. 

A man who rises from indigence to opulence by business capabilities musthave brains worthy of admiration, but the man who makes a fortune asM'Swat of Barney's Gap was making his must he dirt mean, grasping, narrow-minded, and soulless--to me the most uncongenial of my fellows. 

I wrote once more to my mother, to receive the same reply. One hoperemained. I would write to aunt Helen. She understood me somewhat, andwould know how I felt. 

Acting on this inspiration, I requested her to plead for me. Her answercame as a slap in the face, as I had always imagined her above the commoncant of ordinary religionists. She stated that life was full of trials. Imust try and bear this little cross patiently, and at the end of a yearthey might have me back at Caddagat. A year! A year at Barney's Gap! Thepossibility of such a thing made me frantic. I picked up my pen andbitterly reproached my aunt in a letter to which she did not deign toreply; and from that day to this she has rigidly ignored me--never so muchas sending me the most commonplace message, or casually using my name inher letters to my mother. 

Aunt Helen, is there such a thing as firm friendship when even yours--bestof women--quibbled and went under at the hysterical wail from theoverburdened heart of a child?

My predecessor, previous to her debut at Barney's Gap, had spent sometime in a lunatic asylum, and being a curious character, allowed thechildren to do as they pleased, consequently they knew not what it meantto be ruled, and were very hold. They attempted no insubordination whiletheir father was about the house, but when he was absent they gave me adog's life, their mother sometimes smiling on their pranks, often lazilyheedless of them, but never administering any form of correction. 

If I walked away from the house to get rid of them, they would follow andhoot at me; and when I reproved them they informed me they were not going"to knuckle under to old Melvyn's darter, the damnedest fool in theworld, who's lost all his prawperty, and has to borry money off of pa. "

Did I shut myself in my room, they shoved sticks in the cracks and madegrimaces at me. I knew the fallacy of appealing to their father, as theyand their mother would tell falsehoods, and my word would not be taken incontradiction of theirs. I had experience of this, as the postmistresshad complained of Jimmy, to be insulted by his father, who could see noimperfection in his children. 

M'Swat was much away from home at that time. The drought necessitated theremoval of some of his sheep, for which he had rented a place eightymiles coastwards. There he left them under the charge of a man, but herepaired thither frequently to inspect them. Sometimes he was away fromhome a fortnight at a stretch. Peter would be away at work all day, andthe children took advantage of my defenceless position. Jimmy was theringleader. I could easily have managed the others had he been removed. Iwould have thrashed him well at the start but for the letters Iconstantly received from home warning me against offence to the parents, and knew that to set my foot on the children's larrikinism would requiremeasures that would gain their mother's ill-will at once. But when M'Swatleft home for three weeks Jim got so bold that I resolved to takedecisive steps towards subjugating him. I procured a switch--a very smallone, as his mother had a great objection to corporal punishment--and when, as usual, he commenced to cheek me during lessons, I hit him on thecoat-sleeve. The blow would not have brought tears from the eyes of atoddler, but this great calf emitted a wild yope, and opening his mouthlet his saliva pour on to his slate. The others set up suchblood-curdling yells in concert that I was a little disconcerted, but Idetermined not to give in. I delivered another tap, whereupon he squealedand roared so that he brought his mother to his rescue like a ton ofbricks on stilts, a great fuss in her eyes which generally beamed with acowful calm. 

Seizing my arm she shook me like a rat, broke my harmless little stick inpieces, threw it in my face, and patting Jimmy on the shoulder, said:

"Poor man! She sharn't touch me Jimmy while I know. Sure you've got nosense. You'd had him dead if I hadn't come in. "

I walked straight to my room and shut myself in, and did not teach anymore that afternoon. The children rattled on my door-handle and jeered:

"She thought she'd hit me, but ma settled her. Old poor Melvyn's darterwon't try no more of her airs on us. "

I pretended not to hear. What was I to do? There was no one to whom Icould turn for help. M'Swat would believe the story of his family, and mymother would blame me. She would think I had been in fault because Ihated the place. 

Mrs M'Swat called me to tea, but I said I would not have any. I lay awakeall night and got desperate. On the morrow I made up my mind to conqueror leave. I would stand no more. If in all the wide world and the wholeof life this was the only use for me, then I would die--take my own lifeif necessary. 

Things progressed as usual next morning. I attended to my duties andmarched my scholars into the schoolroom at the accustomed hour. There wasno decided insubordination during the morning, but I felt Jimmy waswaiting for an opportunity to defy me. It was a fearful day, possessed bya blasting wind laden with red dust from Riverina, which filled the airlike a fog. The crockery ware became so hot in the kitchen that whentaking it into the dining-room we had to handle it with cloths. Duringthe dinner-hour! slipped away unnoticed to where some quince-trees weregrowing and procured a sharp rod, which I secreted among the flour-bagsin the schoolroom. At half-past one I brought my scholars in and orderedthem to their work with a confident air. Things went without a rippleuntil three o'clock, when the writing lesson began. Jimmy struck his penon the bottom of the bottle every time he replenished it with ink. 

"Jimmy, " I gently remonstrated, "don't jab your pen like that--it willspoil it. There is no necessity to shove it right to the bottom. "

Jab, jab, went Jimmy's pen. 

"Jimmy, did you hear me speak to you?"

Jab went the pen. 

"James, I am speaking to you!"

Jab went the pen again. 

"James, " I said sternly, "I give you one more chance. "

He deliberately defied me by stabbing into the ink-bottle with increasedvigour. Liza giggled triumphantly, and the little ones strove to emulateher. I calmly produced my switch and brought it smartly over theshoulders of my refractory pupil in a way that sent the dust in a cloudfrom his dirty coat, knocked the pen from his fingers, and upset the ink. 

He acted as before--yelled ear-drum-breakingly, letting the saliva fromhis distended mouth run on his copy-book. His brothers and sisters alsostarted to roar, but bringing the rod down on the table, I threatened tothrash every one of them if they so much as whimpered; and they were sodumbfounded that they sat silent in terrified surprise. Jimmy continued to bawl. I hit him again. 

"Cease instantly, sir. "

Through the cracks Mrs M'Swat could be seen approaching. Seeing her, Jimmy hollered anew. I expected her to attack me. She stood five feetnine inches, and weighed about sixteen stones; I measured five feet oneinch, and turned the scale at eight stones--scarcely a fair match; but myspirit was aroused, and instead of feeling afraid, I rejoiced at theencounter which was imminent, and had difficulty to refrain from shouting"Come on! I'm ready, physically and mentally, for you and a dozen otherssuch. "

My curious ideas regarding human equality gave me confidence. My theoryis that the cripple is equal to the giant, and the idiot to the genius. As, if on account of his want of strength the cripple is subservient tothe giant, the latter, on account of that strength, is compelled to givein to the cripple. So with the dolt and the man of brain, so with MrsM'Swat and me. 

The fact of not only my own but my family's dependence on M'Swat--sankinto oblivion. I merely recognized that she was one human being and Ianother. Should I have been deferential to her by reason of her age andmaternity, then from the vantage which this gave her, she should havebeen lenient to me on account of my chit-ship and inexperience. Thus wewere equal. 

Jimmy hollered with renewed energy to attract his mother, and I continuedto rain blows across his shoulders. Mrs M'Swat approached to within afoot of the door, and then, as though changing her mind, retraced hersteps and entered the hot low-roofed kitchen. I knew I had won, and feltdisappointed that the conquest had been so easy. Jimmy, seeing he wasworsted, ceased his uproar, cleaned his copy-book on his sleeve, andsheepishly went on with his writing. 

Whether Mrs M'Swat saw she had been in fault the day before I know not;certain it is that the children ever after that obeyed me, and I heard nomore of the matter; neither, as far as I could ascertain, did the"ruction" reach the ears of M'Swat. 

"How long, how long!" was my cry, as I walked out ankle-deep in the dustto see the sun, like a ball of blood, sink behind the hills on thatFebruary evening. 

CHAPTER THIRTY

Where Ignorance is Bliss, 'Tis Folly to be Wise

When by myself, I fretted so constantly that the traces it left upon mebecame evident even to the dull comprehension of Mrs M'Swat. 

"I don't hold with too much pleasure and disherpation, but you ain't hadovermuch of it lately. You've stuck at home pretty constant, and ye andLizer can have a little fly round. It'll do yous good, " she said. 

The dissipation, pleasure, and flying round allotted to "Lizer" and mewere to visit some of the neighbours. Those, like the M'Swats, weresheep-farming selectors. They were very friendly and kind to me, and Ifound them superior to my employers, in that their houses werebeautifully clean; but they lived the same slow life, and their soul'sexistence fed on the same small ideas. I was keenly disappointed thatnone of them had a piano, as my hunger for music could be understood onlyby one with a passion for that art. 

I borrowed something to read, but all that I could get in the way ofbooks were a few _Young Ladies' Journals_, which I devoured ravenously, soto speak. 

When Lizer's back would be turned, the girls would ask me how I managedto live at Barney's Gap, and expressed themselves of the opinion that itwas the most horrible hole in the world, and Mrs M'Swat the dirtiestcreature living, and that they would not go there for 50 pounds a week. I made a point of never saying anything against Mrs M'Swat; but I fumedinwardly that this life was forced upon me, when girls with no longingsor aspirations beyond being the wife of a Peter M'Swat recoiled from thethought of it. 

My mother insisted upon my writing to her regularly, so once a week Iheaded a letter "Black's Camp", and condemned the place, while motheras unfailingly replied that these bad times I should be thankful to Godthat I was fed and clothed. I knew this as well as any one, and was awarethere were plenty of girls willing to jump at my place; but they were ofdifferent temperament to me, and when one is seventeen, that kind ofreasoning does not weigh very heavily. 

My eldest brother, Horace, twin brother of my sister Gertie, took it uponhimself to honour me with the following letter:

Why the deuce don't you give up writing those letters to mother? We gettongue-pie on account of them, and it's not as if they did you any good. It only makes mother more determined to leave you where you are. She saysyou are that conceited you think you ought to have something better, andyou're not fit for the place you have, and she's glad it is such a place, and it will do you the world of good and take the nonsense out ofyou--that it's time you got a bit of sense. Sullivan's Ginger. After shegets your letters she does jaw, and wishes she never had a child, andwhat a good mother she is, and what bad devils we are to her. You are afool not to stay where you are. I wish I could get away to M'Swat or MackPot, and I would jump at the chance like a good un. The boss still spreesand loafs about town till some one has to go and haul him home. I'm aboutfull of him, and I'm going to leave home before next Christmas, or myname ain't what it is. Mother says the kiddies would starve if I leave;but Stanley is coming on like a haystack, I tell him, and he does kickup, and he ought to be able to plough next time. I ploughed when I wasyounger than him. I put in fourteen acres of wheat and oats this year, and I don't think I'll cut a wheelbarrow-load of it. I'm full of theplace. I never have a single penny to my name, and it ain't father'sdrinking that's all to blame; if he didn't booze it wouldn't he muchbetter. It's the slowest hole in the world, and I'll chuck it and goshearing or droving. I hate this dairying, it's too slow for a funeral:there would he more life in trapping 'possums out on Timlinbilly. Motheralways says to have patience, and when the drought breaks and goodseasons come round again things will be better, but it's no good oftrying to stuff me like that. I remember when the seasons were wet. Itwas no good growing anything, because every one grew so much that therewas no market, and the sheep died of foot-rot and you couldn't give yourbutter away, and it is not much worse to have nothing to sell than not heable to sell a thing when you have it. And the long and short of it isthat I hate dairying like blue murder. It's as tame as a clucking hen. Fancy a cove sitting down every morning and evening pulling at a cow'stits fit to bust himself, and then turning an old separator, and washingit up in a dish of water like a blooming girl's work. And if you go to apicnic, just when the fun commences you have to nick off home and milk, and when you tog yourself on Sunday evening you have to undress again andlay into the milking, and then you have to change everything on you andhave a bath, or your best girl would scent the cow-yard on you, and nothave you within cooee of her. We won't know what rain is when we see it;but I suppose it will come in floods and finish the little left by thedrought. The grasshoppers have eaten all the fruit and even the bark offthe trees, and the caterpillars made a croker of the few tomatoes we keptalive with the suds. All the cockeys round here and dad are applying tothe Government to have their rents suspended for a time. We have notheard yet whether it will be granted, but if Gov. Doesn't like it, they'll have to lump it, for none of us have a penny to bless ourselveswith, let alone dub up for taxes. I've written you a long letter, and ifyou growl about the spelling and grammar I won't write to you any more, so there, and you take my tip and don't write to mother on that flute anymore, for she won't take a bit of notice. 

Yr loving brother, Horace. 

So! Mother had no pity for me, and the more I pleaded with her the moredetermined she grew upon leaving me to suffer on, so I wrote to her nomore. However, I continued to correspond with grannie, and in one of herletters she told me that Harry Beecham. (that was in February) was stillin Sydney settling his affairs; but when that was concluded he was goingto Queensland. He had put his case in the hands of squatters he had knownin his palmy days, and the first thing that turned up in managing oroverseeing he was to have; but for the present he had been offered thecharge of 1600 head of bullocks from a station up near the Gulf ofCarpentaria overland to Victoria. Uncle Jay-Jay was not home yet: he hadextended his tour to Hong Kong, and grannie was afraid he was spendingtoo much money, as in the face of the drought she had difficulty inmaking both ends meet, and feared she would be compelled to go on thebanks. She grieved that I was not becoming more reconciled to my place. It was dull, no doubt, but it would do my reputation no harm, whereas, were I in a lively situation, there might be numerous temptations hard toresist. Why did I not try to look at it in that way?

She sent a copy of the _Australasian_, which was a great treat to me, alsoto the children, as they were quite ignorant of the commonest things inlife, and the advent of this illustrated paper was an event to berecorded in the diary in capital letters. They clustered round me eagerlyto see the pictures. In this edition there chanced to be a page devotedto the portraits of eleven Australian singers, and our eyes fell onMadame Melba, who was in the middle. As what character she was dressed Ido not remember, but she looked magnificent. There was a crown upon herbeautiful head, the plentiful hair was worn flowing, and the shapelybosom and arms exposed. 

"Who's that?" they inquired. 

"Madame Melba; did you ever hear her name?"

"Who's Madame Melba? What's she do? Is she a queen?"

"Yes, a queen, and a great queen of song;" and being inspired with greatadmiration for our own Australian cantatrice, who was great among thegreatest prima-donnas of the world, I began to tell them a little of herfame, and that she had been recently offered 40, 000 pounds to sing forthree months in America. 

They were incredulous. Forty thousand pounds! Ten times as much as "pa"had given for a paid-up selection he had lately bought. They told me itwas no use of me trying to tell them fibs. No one would give a womananything to sine, not even one pound. Why, Susie Duffy was the bestsinger on the Murrumbidgee, and she would sing for any one who asked her, and free of charge. 

At this juncture Jimmy, who had been absent, came to see the show. Aftergazing for a few seconds he remarked what the others had failed toobserve, "Why, the woman's naked!"

I attempted to explain that among rich people in high society it wascustomary to dress like that in the evening, and that it looked verypretty. 

Mrs M'Swat admonished me for showing the children low pictures. 

"She must be a very bold woman, " said Jimmy; and Lizer pronounced her madbecause, as she put it, "It's a wonder she'd be half-undressed in herphoto; you'd think she oughter dress herself up complete then. "

Lizer certainly acted upon this principle, as a photo of her, which hadbeen taken by a travelling artist, bore evidence that for the occasionshe had arrayed herself in two pairs of ill-fitting cuffs, Peter's watchand chain, strings, jackets, flowers, and other gewgaws galore. 

"There ain't no such person as Madame Melber; it's only a fairy-tale, "said Mrs M'Swat. 

"Did you ever hear of Gladstone?" I inquired. 

"No; where is that place?"

"Did you ever hear of Jesus Christ?"

"Sure, yes; he's got something to do with God, ain't he?"

After that I never attempted to enlighten them regarding our celebrities. 

Oh, how I envied them their ignorant contentment! They were as ducks on aduck-pond; but I was as a duck forced for ever to live in a desert, everwildly longing for water, but never reaching it outside of dreams. 

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Mr M'Swat and I Have a Bust-up

Men only, and they merely on business, came to Barney's Gap--womentabooed the place. Some of them told me they would come to see me, butnot Mrs M'Swat, as she always allowed the children to be as rude to themas they pleased. With the few individuals who chanced to come M'Swatwould sit down, light his pipe, and vulgarly and profusely expectorate onthe floor, while they yarned and yarned for hours and hours about theprice of wool, the probable breeding capacity of the male stock theykept, and of the want of grass--never a word about their country'spolitics or the events of the day; even the news of the "MountainMurders" by Butler had not penetrated here. I wondered if they wereacquainted with the names of their Governor and Prime Minister. 

It was not the poor food and the filthy way of preparing it that worriedme, or that Mr M'Swat used "damn" on an average twice in five minuteswhen conversing, or that the children for ever nagged about my father'spoverty and tormented me in a thousand other ways--it was the deadmonotony that was killing me. 

I longed feveredly for something to happen. Agony is a tame wordwherewith to express what that life meant to me. Solitary confinement toa gipsy would be something on a par. 

Every night unfailingly when at home M'Swat sat in the bosom of hisfamily and speculated as to how much richer he was than his neighbours, what old Recce lived on, and who had the best breed of sheep and who wasthe smartest at counting these animals, until the sordidness of it turnedme dizzy, and I would steal out under the stars to try and cool my heatedspirit. This became a practice with me, and every night I would slip awayout of hearing of the household to sing the songs I had heard atCaddagat, and in imagination to relive every day and hour there, till thething became too much for me, and I was scarcely responsible for myactions. Often I knelt on the parched ground beneath the balmy summer skyto pray--wild passionate prayers that were never answered. 

I was under the impression that my nightly ramble was not speciallynoticed by any one, but I was mistaken. Mr M'Swat, it appears, suspectedme of having a lover, but was never able to catch me red-handed. 

The possibility of a girl going out at night to gaze at the stars anddream was as improbable a thought for him as flying is to me, and havingno soul above mud, had I attempted an explanation he would haveconsidered me mad, and dangerous to have about the place. 

Peter, junior, had a sweetheart, one Susie Duffy, who lived some miles onthe other side of the Murrumbidgee. He was in the habit of courting herevery Sunday and two or three nights during the week, and I often heardthe clang of his stirrup-irons and the clink of hobble-chain when hereturned late; but on one occasion I stayed out later than usual, and hepassed me going home. I stood still and he did not see me, but his horseshied violently. I thought he would imagine I was a ghost, so called out:

"It is I. "

"Well, I'll be hanged! What are ye doin' at this time ev night. Ain't yuzafraid of ghosts?"

"Oh dear no. I had a bad headache and couldn't sleep, so came out to tryif a walk would cure it, " I explained. 

We were a quarter of a mile or so from the house, so Peter slackened hisspeed that I might keep pace with him. His knowledge of 'etiquette didnot extend as far as dismounting. There is a great difference betweenrudeness and ignorance. Peter was not rude; he was merely ignorant. Forthe same reason he let his mother feed the pigs, clean his boots, andchop wood, while he sat down and smoked and spat. It was not that he wasunmanly, as that this was the only manliness he had known. 

I was alone in the schoolroom next afternoon when Mr M'Swat sidled in, and after stuttering and hawing a little, delivered himself of:

"I want to tell ye that I don't hold with a gu-r-r-r-l going out of nightsfor to meet young men: if ye want to do any coortin' yuz can do itinside, if it's a decent young man. I have no objections to yer hangin'yer cap up to our Peter, only that ye have no prawperty--in yerself I likeye well enough, but we have other views for Peter. He's almost as good asmade it sure with Susie Duffy, an' as ole Duffy will have a bit evprawperty I want him to git her, an' wouldn't like ye to spoil the fun. "

Peter was "tall and freckled and sandy, face of a country lout", and, like Middleton's rouse-about, "hadn't any opinions, hadn't any ideas", but possessed sufficient instinct and common bushcraft with which, byhard slogging, to amass money. He was developing a moustache, and had a"gu-r-r-r-l"; he wore tight trousers and long spurs; he walked with asidling swagger that was a cross between shyness and flashness, and tookas much pride in his necktie as any man; he had a kind heart, honestprinciples, and would not hurt a fly; he worked away from morning tillnight, and contentedly did his duty like a bullock in the sphere in whichGod had placed him; he never had a bath while I knew him, and was a manaccording to his lights. He knew there was such a thing as the outsideworld, as I know there is such a thing as algebra; but it troubled him nomore than algebra troubles me. 

This was my estimation of Peter M'Swat, junior. I respected him rightenough in his place, as I trust he respected me in mine, but though fatethought fit for the present to place us in the one groove, yet our liveswere unmixable commodities as oil and water, which lay apart and wouldnever meet until taken in hand by the omnipotent leveller--death. 

Marriage with Peter M'Swat!

Consternation and disgust held me speechless, and yet I was half inclinedto laugh at the preposterousness of the thing, when Peter's fathercontinued:

"I'm sorry if you've got smitten on Peter, but I know you'll he sensible. Ye see I have a lot of children, and when the place is divided among 'emit won't be much. I tell ye wot, old Duffy has a good bit of money andonly two children, Susie and Mick. I could get you to meet Mick--he mayn'tbe so personable as our Peter, " he reflected, with evident pride in hisweedy firstborn, and he got no farther, for I had been as a yeast-bottlebubbling up, and now went off bang!

"Silence, you ignorant old creature! How dare you have the incomparableimpertinence to mention my name in conjunction with that of your boor ofa son. Though he were a millionaire I would think his touchcontamination. You have fallen through for once if you imagine I go outat night to meet any one--I merely go away to be free for a few minutesfrom the suffocating atmosphere of your odious home. You must not thinkthat because you have grasped and slaved and got a little money that itmakes a gentleman of you; and never you _dare_ to again mention myname in regard to matrimony with any one about here;" and with my headhigh and shoulders thrown back I marched to my room, where I wept tillI was weak and ill. 

This monotonous sordid life was unhinging me, and there was no legitimateway of escape from it. I formed wild plans of running away, to do what Idid not care so long as it brought a little action, anything but thistorturing maddening monotony; but my love for my little brothers andsisters held me back. I could not do anything that would put me for everbeyond the pale of their society. 

I was so reduced in spirit that had Harold Beecham appeared then with amatrimonial scheme to be fulfilled at once, I would have quickly erasedthe fine lines I had drawn and accepted his proposal; but he did notcome, and I was unacquainted with his whereabouts or welfare. As Iremembered him, how lovable and superior he seemed in comparison with themen I met nowadays: not that he was any better than these men in theirplace and according to their lights, but his lights--at least not hislights, for Harold Beecham. Was nothing of a philosopher, but thefurniture of the drawing-room which they illuminated--was more artistic. What a prince of gentlemanliness and winning gallantries he was in hisquiet way!

This information concerning him was in a letter I received from mygrandmother at Easter:

Who should surprise us with a visit the other day but Harold Beecham. Hewas as thin as a whipping-post, and very sunburnt [I smiled, imagining itimpossible for Harold to be any browner than of yore]. He has been neardeath's door with the measles--caught them in Queensland while droving, and got wet. He was so ill that he had to give up charge of that 1600head of cattle he was bringing. He came to say good-bye to us, as he isoff to Western Australia next week to see if he can mend his fortunesthere. I was afraid he was going to be like young Charters, and swear hewould never come back unless he made a pile, but he says he will be backnext Christmas three years for certain, if he is alive and kicking, as hesays himself. 

Why he intends returning at that stipulated time I don't know, as henever was very communicative, and is more unsociable than ever now. He isa man who never shows his feelings, but he must feel the loss of his oldposition deeply. He seemed surprised not to find you here, and says itwas a pity to set you teaching, as it will take all the life and fun outof you, and that is the first time I ever heard him express an opinion inany one's business but his own. Frank Hawden sends kind regards, &c. 

Teaching certainly had the effect upon me anticipated by Harold Beecham, but it was not the teaching but the place in which I taught which wasdoing the mischief--good, my mother termed it. 

I was often sleepless for more than forty-eight hours at a stretch, andcried through the nights until my eyes had black rings round them, whichwashing failed to remove. The neighbours described me as "a sorrowfullookin' delicate creetur', that couldn't larf to save her life"--quite adifferent character to the girl who at Caddagat was continually chid forbeing a romp, a hoyden, a boisterous tomboy, a whirlwind, and forexcessive laughter at anything and everything. I got into such a state ofnervousness that I would jump at the opening of a door or an unexpectedfootfall. 

When cooling down, after having so vigorously delivered Mr M'Swat a pieceof my mind, I felt that I owed him an apology. According to his lights(and that is the only fair way of judging our fellows) he had acted in akind of fatherly way. I was a young girl under his charge, and he wouldhave in a measure been responsible had I come to harm through going outin the night. He had been good-natured, too, in offering to help thingsalong by providing an eligible, and allowing us to "spoon" under hissurveillance. That I was of temperament and aspirations that made hisplans loathsome to me was no fault of his--only a heavy misfortune tomyself. Yes; I had been in the wrong entirely. 

With this idea in my head, sinking ankle-deep in the dust, and threadingmy way through the pigs and fowls which hung around the back door, I wentin search of my master. Mrs M'Swat was teaching Jimmy how to kill a sheepand dress it for use; while Lizer, who was nurse to the baby andspectator of the performance, was volubly and ungrammatically givinginstructions in the art. Peter and some of the younger children were awayfelling stringybark-trees for the sustenance of the sheep. The fall oftheir axes and the murmur of the Murrumbidgee echoed faintly from thesunset. They would be home presently and at tea; I reflected it would be"The old yeos looks terrible skinny, but the hoggets is fat yet. Bycrikey! They did go into the bushes. They chawed up stems and all--some asthick as a pencil. "

This information in that parlance had been given yesterday, the daybefore, would be given today, tomorrow, and the next day. It was the bossitem on the conversational programme until further orders. 

I had a pretty good idea where to find Mr M'Swat, as he had latelypurchased a pair of stud rams, and was in the habit of admiring them fora couple of hours every evening. I went to where they usually grazed, andthere, as I expected, found Mr M'Swat, pipe in mouth, with glisteningeyes, surveying his darlings. 

"Mr M'Swat, I have come to beg your pardon. "

"That's all right, me gu-r-r-r-l. I didn't take no notice to anything yemight spit out in a rage. "

"But I was not in a rage. I meant every word I said, but I want toapologize for the rude way in which I said it, as I had no right to speakso to my elders. And I want to tell you that you need not fear me runningaway with Peter, even supposing he should honour me with his affections, as I am engaged to another man. "

"By dad, I'll be hanged!" he exclaimed, with nothing but curiosity on hiswrinkled dried tobacco-leaf-looking face. He expressed no resentment onaccount of my behaviour to him. 

"Are ye to be married soon? Has he got any prawperty? Who is he? Isuppose he's respectable. Ye're very young. "

"Yes; he is renowned for respectability, but I am not going to marry himtill I am twenty-one. He is poor, but has good prospects. You mustpromise me not to tell anyone, as I wish it kept a secret, and onlymention it to you so that you need not be disturbed about Peter. "

He assured me that he would keep the secret, and I knew I could rely onhis word. He was greatly perturbed that my intended was poor. 

"Never ye marry a man widout a bit er prawperty, me gu-r-r-r-l. Take myadvice--the divil's in a poor match, no matter how good the man may be. Don't ye he in a hurry; ye're personable enough in yer way, and there's asgood fish in the seas as ever come out of 'em. Yer very small; I admire agood lump of a woman meself--but don't ye lose heart. I've heerd some mensay they like little girls, but, as I said, I like a good lump of a womanmeself. "

"And you've got a good lump of a squaw, " I thought to myself. 

Do not mistake me. I do not for an instant fancy myself above theM'Swats. Quite the reverse; they are much superior to me. Mr M'Swat wasupright and clean in his morals, and in his little sphere was as sensibleand kind a man as one could wish for. Mrs M'Swat was faithful to him, contented and good-natured, and bore uncomplainingly, year after year, that most cruelly agonising of human duties--childbirth, and did more forher nation and her Maker than I will ever be noble enough to do. 

But I could not help it that their life was warping my very soul. Naturefashions us all; we have no voice in the matter, and I could not changemy organisation to one which would find sufficient sustenance in themental atmosphere of Barney's Gap. 

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Ta-Ta to Barney's Gap

It chanced at last, as June gave place to July and July to August, that Icould bear it no longer. I would go away even if I had to walk, and whatI would do I did not know or care, my one idea being to leave Barney'sGap far and far behind. One evening I got a lot of letters from my littlebrothers and sisters at home. I fretted over them a good deal, and putthem under my pillow; and as I had not slept for nights, and was feelingweak and queer, I laid my head upon them to rest a little before goingout to get the tea ready. The next thing I knew was that Mrs M'Swat wasshaking me vigorously with one hand, holding a flaring candle in theother, and saying:

"Lizer, shut the winder quick. She's been lyin' here in the draught tillshe's froze, and must have the nightmare, the way she's been singin' outthat queer, an' I can't git her woke up. What ails ye, child? Are yesick?"

I did not know what ailed me, but learnt subsequently that I laughed andcried very much, and pleaded hard with grannie and some Harold to saveme, and kept reiterating, "I cannot bear it, I cannot bear it, " andaltogether behaved so strangely that Mr M'Swat became so alarmed that hesent seventeen miles for the nearest doctor. He came next morning, feltmy pulse, asked a few questions, and stated that I was suffering fromnervous prostration. 

"Why, the child is completely run down, and in a fair way to contractbrain fever!" he exclaimed. "What has she been doing? It seems as thoughshe had been under some great mental strain. She must have complete restand change, plenty of diversion and nourishing food, or her mind willbecome impaired. "

He left me a bottle of tonic and Mr and Mrs M'Swat many fears. Poorkind-hearted souls, they got in a great state, and understood about asmuch of the cause of my breakdown as I do of the inside of the moon. Theyascribed it to the paltry amount of teaching and work I had done. 

Mrs M'Swat killed a fowl and stewed it for my delectation. There was partof the inside with many feathers to flavour the dish, and having noappetite, I did not enjoy it, but made a feint of so doing to please thegood-natured cook. 

They intended writing at once to give my parents notice when I would beput on the train. I was pronounced too ill to act as scribe; Lizer wassuggested, and then Jimmy, but M'Swat settled the matter thus:

"Sure, damn it! I'm the proper one to write on an important businessmatther like this here. "

So pens, ink, and paper were laid on the dining-room table, and the greatproclamation went forth among the youngsters, "Pa is goin' to write awhole letter all by hisself. "

My door opened with the dining-room, and from my bed I could see theproceeding. Mr M'Swat hitched his trousers well through the saddle-strapwhich he always wore as a belt, took off his coat and folded it on theback of a chair, rolled his shirt-sleeves up to his elbows, pulled hishat well over his eyes, and "shaped up" to the writing material, none ofwhich met with his approval. The ink was "warter", the pens had notenough "pint", and the paper was "trash"; but on being assured it was thegood stuff he had purchased especially for himself, he buckled to thefray, producing in three hours a half-sheet epistle, which in grammar, composition, and spelling quite eclipsed the entries in his diary. However, it served its purpose, and my parents wrote back that, did Ireach Goulburn on a certain day, a neighbour who would be in town thenwould bring me home. 

Now that it was settled that I had no more to teach the dirty children, out of dirty books, lessons for which they had great disinclination, andno more to direct Lizer's greasy fingers over the yellow keys of thatdemented piano in a vain endeavour to teach her "choones", of which hermother expected her to learn on an average two daily, it seemed as thoughI had a mountain lifted off me, and I revived magically, got out of bedand packed my things. 

I was delighted at the prospect of throwing off the leaden shackles ofBarney's Gap, but there was a little regret mingled with my relief. Thelittle boys had not been always bold. Did I express a wish for aparrot-wing or water-worn stone, or such like, after a time I would becertain, on issuing from my bedroom, to find that it had beensurreptitiously laid there, and the little soft-eyed fellows wouldsquabble for the privilege of bringing me my post, simply to give mepleasure. Poor little Lizer, and Rose Jane too, copied me in style ofdress and manners in a way that was somewhat ludicrous but more pathetic. 

They clustered round to say good-bye. I would be sure to write. Oh yes, of course, and they would write in return and tell me if the bay mare gotwell, and where they would find the yellow turkey-hen's nest. When I gotwell I must come back, and I wouldn't have as much work to do, but go formore rides to keep well, and so on. Mrs M'Swat very anxiously impressedit upon me that I was to explain to my mother that it was not her (MrsM'Swat's) fault that I "ailed" from overwork, as I had never complained andalways seemed well. 

With a kindly light on his homely sunburnt face, M'Swat said, as he putme on the train:

"Sure, tell yer father he needn't worry over the money. I'll never behard on him, an' if ever I could help ye, I'd be glad. "

"Thank you; you are very good, and have done too much already. "

"Too much! Sure, damn it, wot's the good er bein' alive if we can't helpeach other sometimes. I don't mind how much I help a person if they havea little gratitood, but, damn it, I can't abear ingratitood. "

"Good-bye, Mr M'Swat, and thank you. "

"Good-bye, me gu-r-r-r-l, and never marry that bloke of yours if he don'tgit a bit er prawperty, for the divil's in a poor match. "

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Back at Possum Gully

They were expecting me on the frosty evening in September, and thechildren came bounding and shouting to meet me, when myself and luggagewere deposited at Possum Gully by a neighbour, as he passed in a greathurry to reach his own home ere it got too dark. They bustled me to aglowing fire in no time. 

My father sat reading, and, greeting me in a very quiet fashion, continued the perusal of his paper. My mother shut her lips tightly, saying exultingly, "It seems it was possible for you to find a worseplace than home"; and that little speech was the thorn on the rose of mywelcome home. But there was no sting in Gertie's greeting, and howbeautiful she was growing, and so tall! It touched me to see she had madean especial dainty for my tea, and had put things on the table which wereonly used for visitors. The boys and little Aurora chattered and dancedaround me all the while. One brought for my inspection some soup-plateswhich had been procured during my absence; another came with apicture-book; and nothing would do them but that I must, despite thedarkness, straightaway go out and admire a new fowl-house which "Horaceand Stanley built all by theirselves, and no one helped them one singlebit. "

After Mrs M'Swat it was a rest, a relief, a treat, to hear my mother'scultivated voice, and observe her lady-like and refined figure as shemoved about; and, what a palace the place seemed in comparison toBarney's Gap! simply because it was clean, orderly, and bore traces ofrefinement; for the stamp of indigent circumstances was legibly imprintedupon it, and many things which had been considered "done for" whenthirteen months before I had left home, were still in use. 

I carefully studied my brothers and sisters. They had grown during myabsence, and were all big for their age, and though some of them notexactly handsome, yet all pleasant to look upon--I was the only wantingin physical charms--also they were often discontented, and wished, aschildren will, for things they could not have; but they were natural, understandable children, not like myself, cursed with a fevered ambitionfor the utterly unattainable. 

Oh, were I seated high as my ambition, I'd place this loot on naked necks of monarchs!

At the time of my departure for Caddagat my father had been negotiatingwith beer regarding the sale of his manhood; on returning I found that hehad completed the bargain, and held a stamped receipt in his miserableappearance and demeanour. In the broken-down man, regardless of manners, one would have failed to recognize Dick Melvyn, "Smart Dick Melvyn", "Jolly-good-fellow Melvyn" "Thorough Gentleman" and "Manly Melvyn" of thehandsome face and ingratiating manners, onetime holder of Bruggabrong, Bin Bin East, and Bin Bin West. He never corrected his family nowadays, and his example was most deleterious to them. 

Mother gave me a list of her worries in private after tea that night. Shewished she had never married: not only was her husband a failure, but toall appearances her children would be the same. I wasn't worth my salt orI would have remained at Barney's Gap; and there was Horace--heaven onlyknew where he would end. God would surely punish him for his disrespectto his father. It was impossible to keep things together much longer, etc. , etc. 

When we went to bed that night Gertie poured all her troubles into my earin a jumbled string. It was terrible to have such a father. She wasashamed of him. He was always going into town, and stayed there tillmother had to go after him, or some of the neighbours were so good as tobring him home. It took all the money to pay the publican's bills, andGertie was ashamed to be seen abroad in the nice clothes which granniesent, as the neighbours said the Melvyns ought to pay up the old man'sbills instead of dressing like swells; and she couldn't help it, and shewas sick and tired of trying to keep up respectability in the teeth ofsuch odds. 

I comforted her with the assurance that the only thing was to feel rightwithin ourselves, and let people say whatsoever entertained their poorlittle minds. And I fell asleep thinking that parents have a duty tochildren greater than children to parents, and they who do not fulfiltheir responsibility in this respect are as bad in their morals as adebauchee, corrupt the community as much as a thief, and are among theablest underminers of their nation. 

On the morrow, the first time we were alone, Horace seized theopportunity of holding forth on _his_ woes. It was no use, he was chokefull of Possum Gully: he would stick to it for another year, and then hewould chuck it, even if he had to go on the wallaby. He wasn't going tobe slaving for ever for the boss to swallow the proceeds, and there wasnothing to be made out of dairying. When it wasn't drought it was floodsand caterpillars and grasshoppers. 

Among my brothers and sisters I quickly revived to a certain extent, andmother asserted her opinion that I had not been ill at all, but had madeup my mind to torment her; had not taken sufficient exercise, and mighthave had a little derangement of the system but nothing more. It wasproposed that I should return to Barney's Gap. I demurred, and wasanathematized as ungrateful and altogether corrupt, that I would not goback to M'Swat, who was so good as to lend my father money out of purefriendship; but for once in my life I could not be made submit by eithercoercion or persuasion. Grannie offered to take one of us to Caddagat;mother preferred that Gertie should go. So we sent the pretty girl todwell among her kindred in a land of comfort and pleasure. 

I remained at Possum Gully to tread the same old life in its tame narrowpath, with its never-ending dawn-till-daylight round of tasks; with, asits entertainments, an occasional picnic or funeral or a day in town, when, should it happen to be Sunday, I never fail to patronize one of thecathedrals. I love the organ music, and the hush which pervades thebuilding; and there is much entertainment in various ways if one goesearly and watches the well-dressed congregation filing in. The costumesand the women are pretty, and, in his own particular line, the ability ofthe verger is something at which to marvel. Regular attendants, ofcourse, pay for and have reserved their seats, but it is in classing thevisitors that the verger displays his talent. He can cull the commonersfrom the parvenu aristocrats, and put them in their respective places asskilfully as an expert horse-dealer can draft his stock at a sale. Then, when the audience is complete, in the middle and front of the edifice areto be found they of the white hands and fine jewels; and in the topmostseat of the synagogue, praying audibly, is one who has made all hiswealth by devouring widows' houses; while pushed away to the corners andwings are they who earn their bread by the sweat of their brow; and thosewho cannot afford good linen are too proud to be seen here at all. 

"The choir sings and the organ rings, " the uninteresting prayers arerattled off ("O come, let us worship, and fall down: and kneel before theLord, our Maker"); a sermon, mostly of the debts of the concern, of thecustoms of the ancients, or of the rites and ceremonies of up-to-datechurchism, is delivered, and the play is done, and as I leave thebuilding a great hunger for a little Christianity fills my heart. 

Oh that a preacher might arise and expound from the Book of books areligion with a God, a religion with a heart in it--a Christian religion, which would abolish the cold legend whose centre is respectability, andwhich rears great buildings in which the rich recline on silken hassockswhile the poor perish in the shadow thereof. 

Through the hot dry summer, then the heartless winter and the scorchingsummer again which have spent themselves since Gertie's departure, I havestruggled hard to do my duty in that state of life unto which it hadpleased God to call me, and sometimes I have partially succeeded. I havehad no books or papers, nothing but peasant surroundings and peasanttasks, and have encouraged peasant ignorance--ignorance being themainspring of contentment, and contentment the bed-rock of happiness; butit is all to no purpose. A note from the other world will strike upon thechord of my being, and the spirit which has been dozing within me awakensand fiercely beats at its bars, demanding some nobler thought, somehigher aspiration, some wider action, a more saturnalian pleasure, something more than the peasant life can ever yield. Then I hold myspirit tight till wild passionate longing sinks down, down to sickeningdumb despair, and had I the privilege extended to job of old--to curse Godand die--I would leap at it eagerly. 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

But Absent Friends are Soon Forgot

We received a great many letters from Gertie for a little while after shewent up the country, but they grew shorter and farther between as timewent on. 

In one of grannie's letters there was concerning my sister: "I find Gertieis a much younger girl for her age than Sybylla was, and not nearly sowild and hard to manage. She is a great comfort to me. Every one remarksupon her good looks. "

From one of Gertie's letters:

Uncle Julius came home from Hong Kong and America last week, and broughtsuch a lot of funny presents for every one. He had a lot for you, but hehas given them to me instead as you are not here. He calls me his prettylittle sunbeam, and says I must always live with him. 

I sighed to myself as I read this. Uncle Jay-Jay had said much the sameto me, and where was I now? My thoughts were ever turning to the peopleand old place I love so well, but Gertie's letters showed me that I wasutterly forgotten and unmissed. 

Gertie left us in October 1897, and it was somewhere about January 1898that all the letters from Caddagat were full to overflowing with thewonderful news of Harold Beecham's reinstatement at Five-Bob Downs, underthe same conditions as he had held sway there in my day. 

From grannie's letters I learnt that some old sweetheart of Harold'sfather had bequeathed untold wealth to this her lost love's son. Thewealth was in bonds and stocks principally, and though it would be sometime ere Harold was actually in possession of it, yet he had nodifficulty in getting advancements to any amount, and had immediatelyrepurchased Five-Bob. 

I had never dreamed of such a possibility. True, I had often said wereHarold a character in fiction instead of real life, some relative woulddie opportunely and set him up in his former position, but, here, thisutterly unanticipated contingency had arisen in a manner which wouldaffect my own life, and what were my feelings regarding the matter?

I think I was not fully aware of the extent of my lack of wifely love forHarold Beecham, until experiencing the sense of relief which stole overme on holding in my hand the announcement of his return to the smile offortune. 

He was rich; he would not need me now; my obligation to him ceased toexist; I was free. He would no longer wish to be hampered with me. Hecould take his choice of beauty and worth; he might even purchase aprincess did his ambition point that way. 

One of Gertie's letters ran:

That Mr Beecham you used to tell me so much about has come back to liveat Five-Bob. He has brought his aunts back. Every one went to welcomethem, and there was a great fuss. Aunt Helen says he (Mr B. ) is veryconservative; he has everything just as it used to be. I believe he isricher than ever. Every one is laughing about his luck. He was here twicelast week, and has just left this evening. He is very quiet. I don't knowhow you thought him so wonderful. I think he is too slow, I have greatwork to talk to him, but he is very kind, and I like him. He seems toremember you well, and often says you were a game youngster, and couldride like old Nick himself. 

I wrote to the owner of Five-Bob desiring to know if what I heardconcerning his good fortune was correct, and he replied by return post:

My dear little Syb, Yes, thank goodness it is all true. The old lady left me nearly amillion. It seems like a fairy yarn, and I will know how to value it morenow. I would have written sooner, only you remember our bargain, and Iwas just waiting to get things fixed up a little, when I'm off at greattracks to claim you in the flesh, as there is no need for us to waitabove a month or two now if you are agreeable. I am just run to death. Ittakes a bit of jigging to get things straight again, but it's simply toogood to believe to be back in the same old beat. I've seen Gertie a goodmany times, and find your descriptions of her were not at all overdrawn. I won't send any love in this, or there would be a "bust up" in thepost-office, because I'd be sure to overdo the thing, and I'd have allthe officials on to me for damages. Gather up your goods and chattels, because I'll be along in a week or two to take possession of you. 

Yr devoted

Hal. 

I screwed the letter in two and dropped it into the kitchen-fire. 

I knew Harold meant what he had said. He was a strong-natured man of firmdeterminations, and having made up his mind to marry me would never foran instant think of anything else; but I could see what he could not seehimself--that he had probably tired of me, and was becoming enamoured ofGertie's beauty. 

The discordance of life smote hard upon me, and the letter I wrote wasnot pleasant. It ran:

To H. A. BEECHAM, Esq. , Five-Bob Downs Station, Gool-Gool, N. S. W. 

Sir, Your favour duly to hand. I heartily rejoice at your good fortune, andtrust you may live long and have health to enjoy it. Do not for aninstant consider yourself under any obligations to me, for you areperfectly free. Choose some one who will reflect more credit on yourtaste and sense. 

With all good wishes, Faithfully yrs, S. Penelope Melvyn. 

As I closed and directed this how far away Harold Beecham seemed! Lessthan two years ago I had been familiar with every curve and expression ofhis face, every outline of his great figure, every intonation of hisstrong cultivated voice; but now he seemed as the shadow of a former age. 

He wrote in reply: What did I mean? Was it a joke--just a little of my oldtormenting spirit? Would I explain immediately? He couldn't get down tosee me for a fortnight at the least. . 

I explained, and very tersely, that I had meant what I said, and inreturn received a letter as short as my own:

Dear Miss Melvyn, I regret your decision, but trust I have sufficient manhood to prevent mefrom thrusting myself upon any lady, much less you. 

Your sincere friend, Harold Augustus Beecham. 

He did not demand a reason for my decision, but accepted itunquestionably. As I read his words he grew near to me, as in the daysgone by. 

I closed my eyes, and before my mental vision there arose an overgrownold orchard, skirting one of the great stock-routes from Riverina toMonaro. A glorious day was languidly smiling good night on abundance ofripe and ripening fruit and flowers. The scent of stock and the merry cryof the tennis-players filled the air. I could feel Harold's wild joltingheart-beats, his burning breath on my brow, and his voice husky with ragein my ear. As he wrote that letter I could fancy the well-cut mouthsettling into a sullen line, as it had done on my birthday when, bycaressing, I had won it back to its habitual pleasant expression; but onthis occasion I would not be there. He would be angry just a littlewhile--a man of his strength and importance could not long hold ill-willtowards a woman, a girl, a child! as weak and insignificant as I. Thenwhen I should meet him in the years to come, when he would be thefaithful and loving husband of another woman, he would be a littleembarrassed perhaps; but I would set him at his case, and we would laughtogether re what he would term our foolish young days, and he would likeme in a brotherly way. Yes, that was how it would be. The tiny noteblackened in the flames. 

So much for my romance of love! It had ended in a bottle of smoke, as allmy other dreams of life bid fair to do. 

I think I was not fully aware how near I had been to loving HaroldBeecham until experiencing the sense of loss which stole over me onholding in my hand the acceptance of his dismissal. It was a somethinggone out of my life, which contained so few somethings, that Icrushingly felt the loss of any one. 

Our greatest heart-treasure is a knowledge that there is in creation anindividual to whom our existence is necessary--some one who is part of ourlife as we are part of theirs, some one in whose life we feel assured ourdeath would leave a gap for a day or two. And who can be this but ahusband or wife? Our parents have other children and themselves, ourbrothers and sisters marry and have lives apart, so with our friends; butone's husband would be different. And I had thrown behind me this chance;but in the days that followed I knew that I had acted wisely. 

Gertie's letters would contain: "Harold Beecham, he makes me call himHarry, took me to Five-Bob last week, and it was lovely fun. "

Again it would be: "Harry says I am the prettiest little girl ever was, Caddagat or anywhere else, and he gave me such a lovely bracelet. I wishyou could see it. "

Or this:

We all went to church yesterday. Harry rode with me. There is to be avery swell ball at Wyambeet next month, and Harry says I am to keepnearly all my dances for him. Frank Hawden sailed for England last week. We have a new jackeroo. He is better-looking than Frank, but I don't likehim as well. 

Grannie's and aunt Helen's letters to my mother corroborated theseadmissions. Grannie wrote:

Harry Beecham seems to be very much struck with Gertie. I think it wouldbe a good thing, as he is immensely rich, and a very steady young fellowinto the bargain. They say no woman could live with him on account of histemper; but he has always been a favourite of mine, and we cannot expecta man without some faults. 

Aunt Helen remarked:

Don't he surprised if you have young Beecham down there presently on an"asking papa" excursion. He spends a great deal of time here, and hasbeen inquiring the best route to Possum Gully. Do you remember him? Idon't think he was here in your day. He is an estimable and likeableyoung fellow, and I think will make a good husband apart from his wealth. He and Gertie present a marked contrast. 

Sometimes on reading this kind of thing I would wax rather bitter. Love, I said, was not a lasting thing; but knowledge told me that it was forthose of beauty and winsome ways, and not for me. I was ever to be alonely-hearted waif from end to end of the world of love--an alien amongmy own kin. 

But there were other things to worry me. Horace had left the family roof. He averred he was "full up of life under the old man's rule. It was tooslow and messed up. " His uncle, George Melvyn, his father's eldestbrother, who had so often and so kindly set us up with cows, had offeredto take him, and his father had consented to let him go. George Melvynhad a large station outback, a large sheep-shearing machine, and otherimprovements. Thence, strong in the hope of sixteen years, Horace set outon horseback one springless spring morning ere the sun had risen, withall his earthly possessions strapped before him. Bravely the horsestepped out for its week's journey, and bravely its rider sat, leaving meand the shadeless, wooden sun-baked house on the side of the hill, withthe regretlessness of teens--especially masculine teens. I watched himdepart until the clacking of his horse's hoofs grew faint on the stonyhillside and his form disappeared amid the she-oak scrub which crownedthe ridge to the westward. He was gone. Such is life. I sat down andburied my face in my apron, too miserable even for tears. Here wasanother article I ill could spare wrenched from my poorly and sparselyfurnished existence. 

True, our intercourse had not always been carpeted with rose-leaves. Hispitiless scorn of my want of size and beauty had often given me asleepless night; but I felt no bitterness against him for this, butmerely cursed the Potter who had fashioned the clay that was thusdescribed. 

On the other hand, he was the only one who had ever stood up and said aword of extenuation for me in the teeth of a family squall. Father didnot count; my mother thought me bad from end to end; Gertie, in additionto the gifts of beauty and lovableness, possessed that of holding withthe hare and running with the hound; but Horace once had put in a wordfor me that I would never forget. I missed his presence in the house, hispounding of the old piano with four dumb notes in the middle, as hebawled thereto rollicking sea and comic songs; I missed his energeticdissertations on spurs, whips, and blood-horses, and his spiritedrendering of snatches of Paterson and Gordon, as he came in and out, banging doors and gates, teasing the cats and dogs and tormenting thechildren. 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The 3rd of December 1898

It was a very hot day. So extreme was the heat that to save the lives ofsome young swallows my father had to put wet bags over the iron roofabove their nest. A galvanized-iron awning connected our kitchen andhouse: in this some swallows had built, placing their nest so near theiron that the young ones were baking with the heat until rescued by thewet bagging. I had a heavy day's work before me, and, from my exertionsof the day before, was tired at the beginning. Bush-fires had been ragingin the vicinity during the week, and yesterday had come so close that Ihad been called out to carry buckets of water all the afternoon in theblazing sun. The fire had been allayed, after making a gap in one of ourboundary fences. Father and the boys had been forced to leave theharvesting of the miserable pinched wheat while they went to mend it, asthe small allowance of grass the drought gave us was precious, and had tobe carefully preserved from neighbours' stock. 

I had baked and cooked, scrubbed floors and whitewashed hearths, scouredtinware and cutlery, cleaned windows, swept yards, and dischargednumerous miscellaneous jobs, and half-past two in the afternoon found mevery dirty and very tired, and with very much more yet to do. 

One of my half-starved poddy calves was very ill, and I went out todoctor it previous to bathing and tidying myself for my finishinghousehold duties. 

My mother was busy upon piles and piles of wearying mending, which wasone of the most hopeless of the many slaveries of her life. This was hardwork, and my father was slaving away in the sun, and mine was arduouslabour, and it was a very hot day, and a drought-smitten and a long day, and poddy calves ever have a tendency to make me moralize and snarl. Thiswas life, my life and my parents' life, and the life of those around us, and if I was a good girl and honoured my parents I would he rewarded witha long stretch of it. Yah!

These pagan meditations were interrupted by a footfall slowlyapproaching. I did not turn to ascertain who it might be, but trusted itwas no one of importance, as the poddy and I presented rather a grotesqueappearance. It was one of the most miserable and sickly of its miserablekind, and I was in the working uniform of the Australian peasantry. Mytattered skirt and my odd and bursted boots, laced with twine, werespattered with whitewash, for coolness my soiled cotton blouse hungloose, an exceedingly dilapidated sun-bonnet surmounted my head, and abottle of castor-oil was in my hand. 

I supposed it was one of the neighbours or a tea-agent, and I would sendthem to mother. 

The footsteps had come to a halt beside me. 

"Could you tell me if--"

I glanced upwards. Horrors! There stood Harold Beecham, as tall and broadas of yore, even more sunburnt than ever, and looking very stylish in asuit of grey and a soft fashionable dinted-in hat; and it was the firsttime I had ever seen him in a white shirt and high collar. 

I wished he would explode, or I might sink into the ground, or the calfwould disappear, or that something might happen. 

On recognizing me his silence grew profound, but an unmistakableexpression of pity filled his eyes and stung me to the quick. 

I have a faculty of self-pity, but my pride promptly refuses theslightest offer of sympathy from another. 

I could feel my heart grow as bitterly cold as my demeanour was icilystiff, when I stood up and said curtly:

"This is a great surprise, Mr Beecham. "

"Not an unpleasant one, I hope, " he said pleasantly. 

"We will not discuss the matter. Come inside out of the heat. "

"I'm in no hurry, Syb, and couldn't I help you with that poor littledevil?"

"I'm only trying to give it another chance of life. "

"What will you do with it if it lives?"

"Sell it for half a crown when it's a yearling. "

"It would pay better to shoot the poor little beggar now. "

My Brilliant Career

"No doubt it would the owner of Five-Bob, but we have to be morecareful, " I said tartly. 

"I didn't mean to offend you. "

"I'm not offended, " I returned, leading the way to the house, imaginingwith a keen pain that Harold Beecham must be wondering how for an instanthe could have been foolish enough to fancy such an object two years ago. 

Thank goodness I have never felt any humiliation on account of my mother, and felt none then, as she rose to greet Harold upon my introduction. Shewas a lady, and looked it, in spite of the piles of coarse mending, andthe pair of trousers, almost bullet-proof with patches, out of which shedrew her hand, roughened and reddened with hard labour, in spite of herpatched and faded cotton gown, and the commonest and most poverty-strickenof peasant surroundings, which failed to hide that she had not beenalways thus. 

Leaving them together, I expeditiously proceeded to relieve thelivery-stable horse, on which Harold had come, of the valise, saddle, andbridle with which it was encumbered, and then let it loose in one of thegrassless paddocks near at hand. 

Then I threw myself on a stool in the kitchen, and felt, to the bone, thesting of having ideas above one's position. 

In a few minutes mother came hurrying out. 

"Good gracious, what's the matter? I suppose you didn't like being caughtin such a pickle, but don't get in the dumps about it. I'll get him sometea while you clean yourself, and then you'll be able to help me by andby. "

I found my little sister Aurora, and we climbed through the window intomy bedroom to get tidy. I put a pair of white socks and shoes and a cleanpinafore on the little girl, and combed her golden curls. She was allmine--slept with me, obeyed me, championed me; while I--well, Iworshipped her. 

There was a hole in the wall, and through it I could see without beingseen. 

Mother was dispensing afternoon tea and talking to Harold. It waspleasant to see that manly figure once again. My spirits roseconsiderably. After all, if the place was poor, it was very clean, as Ihad scrubbed it all that morning, and when I came to consider the matter, I remembered that men weren't such terrible creatures, and never made onefeel the sting of one's poverty half as much as women do. 

"Aurora, " I said, I want you to go out and tell Mr Beecham something. 

The little girl assented. I carefully instructed her in what she was tosay, and dispatched her. She placed herself in front of Harold--awide-eyed mite of four, that scarcely reached above his knee--and claspingher chubby hands behind her, gazed at him fearlessly and unwinkingly. 

"Aurora, you mustn't stand staring like that, " said mother. 

"Yes, I must, " she replied confidently. 

"Well, and what's your name?" said Harold laughingly. 

"Aurora and Roy. I belong to Sybyller, and got to tell you somesing. "

"Have you? Let's hear it. "

"Sybyller says you's Mr Beecher; when you're done tea, you'd like me if Iwould to 'scort you to farver and the boys, and 'duce you. "

Mother laughed. "That's some of Sybylla's nonsense. She considers Roryher especial property, and delights to make the child attempt long words. Perhaps you would care to take a stroll to where they are at work, by andby. "

Harold said he would go at once, and accepting Rory's escort, and with afew directions from mother, they presently set out--she importantlytrudging beneath a big white sun-bonnet, and he looking down at her inamusement. Presently he tossed her high above his head, and depositingher upon his shoulder, held one sturdy brown leg in his browner hand, while she held on by his hair. 

"My first impressions are very much in his favour, " said mother, whenthey had got out of hearing. "But fancy Gertie the wife of that greatman!"

"She is four inches taller than I am, " I snapped. "And if he was as bigas a gum-tree, he would he a man all the same, and just as soft on apretty face as all the rest of them. "

I bathed, dressed, arranged my hair, got something ready for tea, andprepared a room for our visitor. For this I collected from all parts ofthe house--a mat from one room, a toilet-set from another, and so on--tillI had quite an elaborately furnished chamber ready for my one-time lover. 

They returned at dusk, Rory again seated on Harold's shoulder, and two ofthe little boys clinging around him. 

As I conducted him to his room I was in a different humour from that ofthe sweep-like object who had met him during the afternoon. I laughed tomyself, for, as on a former occasion during our acquaintance, I felt Iwas master of the situation. 

"I say, Syb, don't treat a fellow as though he was altogether a stranger, "he said diffidently, leaning against the door-post. 

Our hands met in a cordial grasp as I said, "I'm awfully glad to see you, Hal; but, but--"

"But what?"

I didn't feel over delighted to be caught in such a stew this afternoon. "

"Nonsense! It only reminded me of the first time we met, " he said with atwinkle in his eye. "That's always the way with you girls. You can't becivil to a man unless you're dressed up fit to stun him, as though youcouldn't make fool enough of him without the aid of clothes at all. "

"You'd better shut up, " I said over my shoulder as I departed, 1dor youwill be saying something better left unsaid, like at our first meeting. Do you remember?"

"Do I not? Great Scot, it's just like old times to have you giving meimpudence over your shoulder like that!" he replied merrily. 

"Like, yet unlike, " I retorted with a sigh. 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Once Upon a Time, when the days were long and hot

Next day was Sunday--a blazing one it was too. I proposed that in theafternoon some of us should go to church. Father sat upon the idea as amad one. Walk two miles in such heat for nothing! as walk we would hecompelled to do, horseflesh being too precious in such a drought tofritter it away in idle jaunts. Surprising to say, however, Harold, whonever walked anywhere when he could get any sort of a horse, uttered awish to go. Accordingly, when the midday dinner was over, he, Stanley, and I set out. Going to church was quite the event of the week to theresidents around Possum Gully. It was a small Dissenting chapel, where alayman ungrammatically held forth at 3 P. M. Every Sunday; but thecongregation was composed of all denominations, who attended more for thesitting about on logs outside, and yarning about the price of butter, thecontinuance of the drought, and the latest gossip, before and after theservice, than for the service itself. 

I knew the appearance of Harold Beecham, would make quite a miniaturesensation, and form food for no end of conjecture and chatter. In anycompany he was a distinguished-looking man, and particularly so amongthese hard-worked farmer-selectors, on whose careworn features the crueleffects of the drought were leaving additional lines of worry. I feltproud of my quondam sweetheart. There was an unconscious air of physicallordliness about him, and he looked such a swell--not the black-clothed, clean-shaved, great display of white collar-and-cuffs swell appertainingto the office and city street, but of the easy sunburnt squatter type ofswelldom, redolent of the sun, the saddle, the wide open country--a manwho is a man, utterly free from the least suspicion of effeminacy, andcapable of earning his bread by the sweat of his brow--with an arm readyand willing to save in an accident. 

All eyes were turned on us as we approached, and I knew that theattentions he paid me out of simple courtesy--tying my shoe, carrying mybook, holding my parasol--would be put down as those of a lover. 

I introduced him to a group of men who were sitting on a log, under theshade of a stringybark, and leaving him to converse with them, made myway to where the women sat beneath a gum-tree. The children made a thirdgroup at some distance. We always divided ourselves thus. A young fellowhad to be very far gone ere he was willing to run the gauntlet of all thechaff levelled at him had he the courage to single out a girl and talk toher. 

I greeted all the girls and women, beginning at the great-grandmother ofthe community, who illustrated to perfection the grim sarcasm of thefifth commandment. She had worked hard from morning till night, until tooold to do so longer, and now hung around with aching weariness waitingfor the grave. She generally poured into my cars a wail about her"rheumatisms", and "How long it do be waiting for the Lord"; but todayshe was too curious about Harold to think of herself. 

"Sure, Sybyller, who's that? Is he yer sweetheart? Sure he's as fine aman as iver I clapped me eyes on. "

I proceeded to give his pedigree, but was interrupted by the arrival ofthe preacher, and we all went into the weatherboard iron-roofed house ofprayer. 

After service, one of the girls came up to me and whispered, '11at isyour sweetheart, isn't it, Sybyller? He was looking at you all the timein church. "

"Oh dear, no! I'll introduce him to you. "

I did so, and watched him as they made remarks about the heat anddrought. There was nothing of the cad or snob about him, and his shortseason of adversity had rubbed all the little crudities off hischaracter, leaving him a man that the majority of both sexes wouldadmire: women for his bigness, his gentleness, his fine brownmoustache--and for his wealth; men, because he was a manly fellow. 

I know he had walked to church on purpose to get a chance of speaking tome about Gertie, before approaching her parents on the matter; butStanley accompanied us, and, boy-like, never relaxed in vigilance for aninstant, so there was no opportunity for anything but matter-of-factremarks. The heat was intense. We wiped the perspiration and flies fromour face frequently, and disturbed millions of grasshoppers as we walked. They had devoured all the fruit in the orchards about, and had evendestroyed many of the trees by eating the bark, and now they werestripping the briers of foliage. In one orchard we passed, the apricot, plum, and peach-stones hung naked on their leafless trees as evidence oftheir ravages. It was too hot to indulge in any but the most desultoryconversation. We dawdled along. A tiger-snake crossed our path. Haroldprocured a stick and killed it, and Stanley hung it on the top wire of afence which was near at hand. After this we discussed snakes for a fewyards. 

A blue sea-breeze, redolent of the bush-fires which were raging atTocumwal and Bombala, came rushing and roaring over the ranges from thecast, and enshrouded the scene in its heavy fog-like folds. The sun wasobscured, and the temperature suddenly took such a great drop that I feltchilled in my flimsy clothing, and I noticed Harold draw his coattogether. 

Stanley had to go after the cows, which were little better than walkinghides, yet were yarded morning and evening to yield a dribble of milk. Heleft us among some sallie-trees, in a secluded nook, walled in by briers, and went across the paddock to roundup the cows. Harold and I came to ahalt by tacit consent. 

"Syb, I want to speak to you, " he said earnestly, and then came to a deadstop. 

"Very well; 'tear into it, ' as Horace would say; but if it is anythingfrightful, break it gently, " I said flippantly. 

"Surely, Syb, you can guess what it is I have to say. "

Yes, I could guess, I knew what he was going to say, and the knowledgeleft a dull bitterness at my heart. I knew he was going to tell me that Ihad been right and he wrong--that he had found some one he loved betterthan me, and that some one being my sister, he felt I needed someexplanation before he could go in and win; and though I had refused himfor want of love, yet it gave me pain when the moment arrived that theonly man who had ever pretended to love me was going to say he had beenmistaken, and preferred my sister. 

There was silence save for the whirr of the countless grasshoppers in thebrier bushes. I knew he was expecting me to help him out, but I feltdoggedly savage and wouldn't. I looked up at him. He was a tall grandman, and honest and true and rich. He loved my sister; she would marryhim, and they would he happy. I thought bitterly that God was good to oneand cruel to another--not that I wanted this man, but why was I sodifferent from other girls?

But then I thought of Gertie, so pretty, so girlish, so understandable, so full of innocent winning coquetry. I softened. Could any one helppreferring her to me, who was strange, weird, and perverse--too outspokento be engaging, devoid of beauty and endearing little ways? It was my ownmisfortune and nobody's fault that my singular individuality excluded mefrom the ordinary run of youthful joyous-heartednesses, and why should Ibe nasty to these young people?

I was no heroine, only a common little bush-girl, so had to make the bestof the situation without any fooling. I raised my eyes from the scantybaked wisps of grass at my feet, placed my hand on Hal's arm, andtiptoeing so as to bring my five-foot stature more on a level with his, said:

"Yes, Hal, I know what you want to say. Say it all. I won't be nasty. "

"Well, you see you are so jolly touchy, and have snubbed me so often, that I don't know how to begin; and if you know what I'm going to say, won't you give me an answer without hearing it?"

"Yes, Hal; but you'd better say it, as I don't know what conditions--"

"Conditions!"--catching me up eagerly at the word. "If it is onlyconditions that are stopping you, you can make your own conditions if youwill marry me. "

"Marry you, Harold! What do you mean? Do you know what you are saying?" Iexclaimed. 

"There!" he replied: I knew you would take it as an insult. I believe youare the proudest girl in the world. I know you are too clever for me; butI love you, and could give you everything you fancied. "

"Hal, dear, let me explain. I'm not insulted, only surprised. I thoughtyou were going to tell me that you loved Gertie, and would ask me not tomake things unpleasant by telling her of the foolish little bit offlirtation there had been between us. "

"Marry Gertie! Why, she's only a child! A mere baby, in fact. MarryGertie! I never thought of her in that light; and did you think I wasthat sort of a fellow, Syb?" he asked reproachfully. 

"No, Hal, " I promptly made answer. I did not think you were that sort offellow; but I thought that was the only sort of fellow there was. "

"Good heavens, Syb! Did you really mean those queer little letters youwrote me last February? I never for an instant looked upon them asanything but a little bit of playful contrariness. And have you forgottenme? Did you not mean your promise of two years ago, that you speak ofwhat passed between us as a paltry bit of flirtation? Is that all youthought it?"

"No, I did not consider it flirtation; but that is what I thought youwould term it when announcing your affection for Gertie. "

"Gertie! Pretty little Gertie! I never looked upon the child as anythingbut your sister, consequently mine also. She's a child. "

"Child! She is eighteen. More than a year older than I was when you firstintroduced the subject of matrimony to me, and she is very beautiful, andtwenty times as good and lovable as I could ever be even in my bestmoments. "

"Yes, I know you are young in years, but there is nothing of the child inyou. As for beauty, it is nothing. If beauty was all a man required, hecould, if rich, have a harem full of it any day. I want some one to betrue. "

"The world is filled with folly and sin, And love must cling where it can, I say;For beauty is easy enough to win, But one isn't loved every day, "

I quoted from Owen Meredith. 

"Yes, " he said, "that is why I want you. Just think a moment; don't sayno. You are not vexed with me--are you, Syb?"

"Vexed, Hal! I am scarcely inhuman enough to be angry on account of beingloved. "

Ah, why did I not love him as I have it in me to love! Why did he look soexasperatingly humble? I was weak, oh, so pitifully weak! I wanted a manwho would be masterful and strong, who would help me over the rough spotsof life--one who had done hard grinding in the mill of fate--one who hadsuffered, who had understood. No; I could never marry Harold Beecham. 

"Well, Syb, little chum, what do you say?"

"Say!"--and the words fell from me bitterly--"I say, leave me; go andmarry the sort of woman you ought to marry. The sort that all men like. Agood conventional woman, who will do the things she should at the propertime. Leave me alone. "

He was painfully agitated. A look of pain crossed his face. 

"Don't say that, Syb, because I was a beastly cad once: I've had all thatknocked out of me. "

"I am the cad, " I replied. "What I said was nasty and unwomanly, and Iwish I had left it unsaid. I am not good enough to be your wife, Hal, orthat of any man. Oh, Hal, I have never deceived you! There are scores ofgood noble women in the world who would wed you for the asking--marry oneof them. "

"But, Syb, I want you. You are the best and truest girl in the world. "

"Och! Sure, the blarney-stone is getting a good rub now, " I saidplayfully. 

Annoyance and amusement struggled for mastery in his expression as hereplied:

"You're the queerest girl in the world. One minute you snub a person, thenext you are the jolliest girl going, and then you get as grave andearnest as a fellow's mother would be. "

"Yes, I am queer. If you had any sense, you'd have nothing to do with me. I'm more queer, too. I am given to something which a man never pardons ina woman. You will draw away as though I were a snake when you hear. "

"What is it?"

"I am given to writing stories, and literary people predict I will yet bean authoress. "

He laughed--his soft, rich laugh. 

"That's just into my hand. I'd rather work all day than write theshortest letter; so if you will give me a hand occasionally, you canwrite as many yarns as you like. I'll give you a study, and send for atruck-load of writing-gear at once, if you like. Is that the only horroryou had to tell me?"

I bowed my head. 

"Well, I can have you now, " he said gently, folding me softly in his armswith such tender reverence that I cried out in pain, "Oh, Hal, don't, don't!" and struggled free. I was ashamed, knowing I was not worthy ofthis. 

He flushed a dusky red. 

"Am I so hateful to you that you cannot bear my touch?" he asked halfwistfully, half angrily. 

"Oh no; it isn't that. I'm really very fond of you, if you'd onlyunderstand, " I said half to myself. 

"Understand! If you care for me, that is all I want to understand. I loveyou, and have plenty of money. There is nothing to keep us apart. Nowthat I know you care for me, I _will_ have you, in spite of the devil. "

"There will he a great tussle between you, " I said mischievously, laughing at him. "Old Nick has a great hold on me, and I'msure he will dispute your right. "

At any time Harold's sense of humour was not at all in accordance withhis size, and he failed to see how my remark applied now. 

He gripped my hands in a passion of pleading, as two years previously hehad seized me in jealous rage. He drew me to him. His eyes were dark andfull of entreaty; his voice was husky. 

"Syb, poor little Syb, I will be good to you! You can have what you like. You don't know what you mean when you say no. "

No; I would not yield. He offered me everything--but control. He was a manwho meant all he said. His were no idle promises on the spur of themoment. But no, no, no, no, he was not for me. My love must know, musthave suffered, must understand. 

"Syb, you do not answer. May I call you mine? You must, you must, youmust!"

His hot breath was upon my cheek. The pleasant, open, manlycountenance was very near-perilously near. The intoxication of his lovewas overpowering me. I had no hesitation about trusting him. He was notdistasteful to me in any way. What was the good of waiting for thatother--the man who had suffered, who knew, who understood? I might neverfind him; and, if I did, ninety-nine chances to one he would not care forme. 

"Syb, Syb, can't you love me just a little?"

There was a winning charm in his manner. Nature had endowed himliberally with virile fascination. My hard uncongenial life had renderedme weak. He was drawing me to him; he was irresistible. Yes; I would behis wife. I grew dizzy, and turned my head sharply backwards and took along gasping breath, another and another, of that fresh cool airsuggestive of the grand old sea and creak of cordage and bustle andstrife of life. My old spirit revived, and my momentary weakness fled. There was another to think of than myself, and that was Harold. Under amaster-hand I would be harmless; but to this man I would be as atwo-edged sword in the hand of a novice--gashing his fingers at everyturn, and eventually stabbing his honest heart. 

It was impossible to make him see my refusal was for his good. He was asa favourite child pleading for a dangerous toy. I desired to gratify him, but the awful responsibility of the after-effects loomed up and deterredme. 

"Hal, it can never be. "

He dropped my hands and drew himself up. 

I will not take your No till the morning. Why do you refuse me? Is it mytemper? You need not be afraid of that. I don't think I'd hurt you; and Idon't drink, or smoke, or swear very much; and I've never destroyed awoman's name. I would not stoop to press you against your will if youwere like the ordinary run of women; but you are such a queer littleparty, that I'm afraid you might be boggling at some funny little pointthat could easily he wiped out. "

"Yes; it is only a little point. But if you wipe it out you will knockthe end out of the whole thing--for the point is myself. I would not suityou. It would not he wise for you to marry me. "

"But I'm the only person concerned. If you are not afraid for yourself, Iam quite satisfied. "

We faced about and walked homewards in unbroken silence--too perturbed tofall into our usual custom of chewing bush-leaves as we went. 

I thought much that night when all the house was abed. It was tempting. Harold would he good to me, and would lift me from this life of povertywhich I hated, to one of ease. Should I elect to remain where I was, tillthe grave there was nothing before me but the life I was leading now: myonly chance of getting above it was by marriage, and Harold Beecham'soffer was the one chance of a lifetime. Perhaps he could manage me wellenough. Yes; I had better marry him. 

And I believe in marriage--that is, I think it the most sensible andrespectable arrangement for the replenishing of a nation which has yetbeen suggested. But marriage is a solemn issue of life. I was as suitedfor matrimony as any of the sex, but only with an exceptionalhelpmeet--and Harold was not he. My latent womanliness arose and pointedthis out so plainly that I seized my pen and wrote:

Dear Harold, I will not get a chance of speaking to you in the morning, so write. Never mention marriage to me again. I have firmly made up my mind--it mustbe No. It will always be a comfort to me in the years to come to knowthat I was loved once, if only for a few hours. It is not that I do notcare for you, as I like you better than any man I have ever seen; but Ido not mean ever to marry. When you lost your fortune I was willing toaccede to your request, as I thought you wanted me; but now that you arerich again you will not need me. I am not good enough to be yourwife, 'for you are a good man; and better, because you do not know you aregood. You may feel uncomfortable or lonely for a little while, because, when you make up your mind, you are not easily thwarted; but you willfind that your fancy for me will soon pass. It is only a fancy, Hal. Takea look in the glass, and you will see reflected there the figure of astalwart man who is purely virile, possessing not the slightest attributeof the weaker sex, therefore your love is merely a passing flame. I donot impute fickleness to you, but merely point out a masculinecharacteristic, and that you are a man, and only a man, pure andunadulterated. Look around, and from the numbers of good women to befound on every side choose one who will make you a fitter helpmeet, amore conventional comrade, than I could ever do. I thank you for theinestimable honour you have conferred upon me; but keep it till you findsome one worthy of it, and by and by you will be glad that I have set youfree. 

Good-bye, Hal!

Your sincere and affec. Friend, Sybylla Penelope Melvyn. 

Then I crept into bed beside my little sister, and though the air insidehad not cooled, and the room was warm, I shivered so that I clasped thechubby, golden-haired little sleeper in my arms that I might feelsomething living and real and warm. 

"Oh, Rory, Rory!" I whispered, raining upon her lonely-hearted tears. "Inall the world is there never a comrade strong and true to teach me themeaning of this hollow, grim little tragedy--life? Will it always be thisghastly aloneness? Why am I not good and pretty and simple like othergirls? Oh, Rory, Rory, why was I ever born? I am of no use or pleasure toany one in all the world!"

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

He that despiseth little things, shall fall little by little

I

The morning came, breakfast, next Harold's departure. I shook my head andslipped the note into his hand as we parted. He rode slowly down theroad. I sat on the step of the garden gate, buried my face in my hands, and reviewed the situation. I could see my life, stretching out ahead ofme, barren and monotonous as the thirsty track along which Harold wasdisappearing. Today it was washing, ironing tomorrow, next day baking, after that scrubbing--thus on and on. We would occasionally see aneighbour or a tea-agent, a tramp or an Assyrian hawker. By hard sloggingagainst flood, fire, drought, pests, stock diseases, and the sweatingoccasioned by importation, we could manage to keep bread in our mouths. By training and education I was fitted for nought but what I was, or ageneral slavey, which was many degrees worse. I could take my choice. Life was too much for me. What was the end of it, what its meaning, aim, hope, or use?

In comparison to millions I knew that I had received more than a fairshare of the goods of life; but knowing another has leprosy makes ourcancer none the easier to bear. 

My mother's voice, sharp and cross, roused me. "Sybylla, you lazyunprincipled girl, to sit scheming there while your poor old mother is atthe wash-tub. You sit idling there, and then by and by you'll be groaningabout this terrible life in which there's time for nothing but work. "

How she fussed and bothered over the clothes was a marvel to me. My frameof mind was such that it seemed it would not signify if all our clotheswent to the dogs, and the clothes of our neighbours, and the clothes ofthe whole world, and the world itself for the matter of that. 

"Sybylla, you are a dirty careless washer. You've put Stanley's trousersin the boil and the colour is coming out of them, and your father's bestwhite handkerchief should have been with the first lot, and here it isnow. "

Poor mother got crosser as she grew weary with the fierce heat andarduous toil, and as I in my abstraction continued to make mistakes, butthe last straw was the breaking of an old cup which I accidentally pushedoff the table. 

I got it hot. Had I committed an act of premeditated villainy I could nothave received more lecturing. I deserved it--I was careless, cups werescarce with us, and we could not afford more; but what I rail against isthe grindingly uneventful narrowness of the life in which theunintentional breaking of a common cup is good for a long scolding. 

Ah, my mother! In my life of nineteen years I can look back and see atime when she was all gentleness and refinement, but the polish has beenworn off it by years and years of scrubbing and scratching, and washingand patching, and poverty and husbandly neglect, and the bearing ofburdens too heavy for delicate shoulders. Would that we were morecompanionable, it would make many an oasis in the desert of our lives. Ohthat I could take an all-absorbing interest in patterns and recipes, bargains and orthodoxy! Oh that you could understand my desire to feelthe rolling billows of the ocean beneath, to hear the pealing of a greatorgan through dimly lit arches, or the sob and wail of a violin in abrilliant crowded hall, to be swept on by the human stream. 

Ah, thou cruel fiend--Ambition! Desire!

Soul of the leaping flame, Heart of the scarlet fire, Spirit that hath for nameOnly the name--Desire!

To hot young hearts beating passionately in strong breasts, the sweetestthing is motion. 

No, that part of me went beyond my mother's understanding. On the otherhand, there was a part of my mother--her brave cheerfulness, her trust inGod, her heroic struggle to keep the home together--which went soaring onbeyond my understanding, leaving me a coward weakling, grovelling in thedust. 

Would that hot dreary day never close? What advantage when it did? Thenext and the next and many weeks of others just the same were followinghard after. 

If the souls of lives were voiced in music, there are some that none buta great organ could express, others the clash of a full orchestra, a fewto which nought but the refined and exquisite sadness of a violin coulddo justice. Many might be likened unto common pianos, jangling and out oftune, and some to the feeble piping of a penny whistle, and mine could betold with a couple of nails in a rusty tin-pot. 

Why do I write? For what does any one write? Shall I get a hearing? Ifso--what then?

I have voiced the things around me, the small-minded thoughts, the soddenround of grinding tasks--a monotonous, purposeless, needless existence. But patience, O heart, surely I can make a purpose! For the present, ofmy family I am the most suited to wait about common public-houses to lookafter my father when he is inebriated. It breaks my mother's heart to doit; it is dangerous for my brothers; imagine Gertie in such a position!But me it does not injure, I have the faculty for doing that sort ofthing without coming to harm, and if it makes me more bitter and godless, well, what matter?

II

The next letter I received from Gertie contained:

suppose you were glad to see Harry. He did not tell me he was going, or Iwould have sent some things by him. I thought he would he able to tell melots about you that I was dying to hear, but he never said a word, onlythat you were all well. He went travelling some weeks ago. I missed himat first because he used to be so kind to me; but now I don't, because MrCreyton, whom Harry left to manage Five-Bob, comes just as often as Harryused to, and is lots funnier. He brings me something nice every time. Uncle Jay-Jay teases me about him. 

Happy butterfly-natured Gertie! I envied her. With Gertie's letter camealso one from grannie, with further mention of Harold Beecham. 

We don't know what to make of Harold Beecham. He was always such a steadyfellow, and hated to go away from home even for a short time, but now hehas taken an idea to rush away to America, and is not coming home till hehas gone over the world. He is not going to see anything, because bycablegrams his aunts got he is one place today and hundreds of miles awaytomorrow. It is some craze he has suddenly taken. I was asking Augusta ifthere was ever any lunacy in the family, and she says not that she knowsof. It was a very unwise act to leave full management to Creyton andBenson in the face of such a drought. One warning and marvellous escapesuch as he has had ought to be enough for a man with any sense. I toldhim he'd be poor again if he didn't take care, but he said he didn't mindif all his property was blown into atoms, as it had done him more harmthan good, whatever he means by talking that way. Insanity is the onlyreason I can see for his conduct. I thought he had his eye on Gertie, butI questioned her, and it appears he has never said anything to her. Iwonder what was his motive for going to Possum Gully that time?

Travel was indeed an unexpected development on the part of HaroldBeecham. He had such a marked aversion to anything of that sort, andnever went even to Sydney or Melbourne for more than a few days at astretch, and that on business or at a time of stock shows. 

There were many conjectures re the motive of his visit to Possum Gully, but I held my peace. 

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

A Tale that is told and a Day that is done

There are others toiling and straining'Neath burdens graver than mine;They are weary, yet uncomplaining, --I know it, yet I repine:I know it, how time will ravage, How time will level, and yetI long with a longing savage, I regret with a fierce regret. 

A. L. GORDON. Possum Gully, 25th March, 1899

Christmas, only distinguished from the fifty-two slow Sundays of the yearby plum-pudding, roast turkey, and a few bottles of home-made beer, hasbeen once more; New Year, ushered in with sweet-scented midsummer wattleand bloom of gum- and box-tree has gone; February has followed, March isdoing likewise, and my life is still the same. 

What the future holds I know not, and am tonight so Weary that I do notcare. 

Time rules us all. And life, indeed, is notThe thing we planned it out, ere hope was dead;And then, we women cannot choose our lot. 

Time is thorough in his work, and as that arch-cheat, Hope, graduallybecomes a phantom of the past, the neck will grow inured to its yoke. 

Tonight is one of the times when the littleness--the abjectlittleness--of all things in life comes home to me. 

After all, what is there in vain ambition? King or slave, we all mustdie, and when death knocks at our door, will it matter whether our lifehas been great or small, fast or slow, so long as it has been true--truewith the truth that will bring rest to the soul?

But the toughest lives are brittle, And the bravest and the bestLightly fall--it matters little;Now I only long for rest. 

To weary hearts throbbing slowly in hopeless breasts the sweetest thingis rest. 

And my heart is weary. Oh, how it aches tonight--not with the ache of ayoung heart passionately crying out for battle, but with the slow deadache of an old heart returning vanquished and defeated!

Enough of pessimistic snarling and grumbling! Enough! Enough! Now for alilt of another theme:

I am proud that I am an Australian, a daughter of the Southern Cross, achild of the mighty bush. I am thankful I am a peasant, a part of thebone and muscle of my nation, and earn my bread by the sweat of my brow, as man was meant to do. I rejoice I was not born a parasite, one of theblood-suckers who loll on velvet and satin, crushed from the proceeds ofhuman sweat and blood and souls. 

Ah, my sunburnt brothers!--sons of toil and of Australia! I love andrespect you well, for you are brave and good and true. I have seen notonly those of you with youth and hope strong in your veins, but thosewith pathetic streaks of grey in your hair, large families to support, and with half a century sitting upon your work-laden shoulders. I haveseen you struggle uncomplainingly against flood, fire, disease in stock, pests, drought, trade depression, and sickness, and yet have time toextend your hands and hearts in true sympathy to a brother in misfortune, and spirits to laugh and joke and be cheerful. 

And for my sisters a great love and pity fills my heart. Daughters oftoil, who scrub and wash and mend and cook, who are dressmakers, paperhangers, milkmaids, gardeners, and candle-makers all in one, and yethave time to be cheerful and tasty in your homes, and make the best ofthe few oases to be found along the narrow dusty track of your existence. Would that I were more worthy to be one of you--more a typical Australianpeasant--cheerful, honest, brave!

I love you, I love you. Bravely you jog along with the rope of classdistinction drawing closer, closer, tighter, tighter around you: a fewmore generations and you will be as enslaved as were ever the moujiks ofRussia. I see it and know it, but I cannot help you. My ineffective lifewill be trod out in the same round of toil--I am only one of yourselves, I am only an unnecessary, little, bush commoner, I am only a--woman!

The great sun is sinking in the west, grinning and winking knowingly ashe goes, upon the starving stock and drought-smitten wastes of land. Nearer he draws to the gum-tree scrubby horizon, turns the clouds toorange, scarlet, silver flame, gold! Down, down he goes. The gorgeous, garish splendour of sunset pageantry flames out; the long shadows eagerlycover all; the kookaburras laugh their merry mocking good-night; theclouds fade to turquoise, green, and grey; the stars peep shyly out; thesoft call of the mopoke arises in the gullies! With much love and goodwishes to all--Good night! Good-bye!

AMEN