In Sight of Hammerville
It was the next day but one, and Rockefeller was toiling along the heavy
road outside Pomeroy, when a man in a cabbage-tree hat, red flannel
shirt, and long boots rode up to Hutton's store, which stood on the
outskirts of the town, and, seeing the van coming, dismounted, threw his
horse's bridle over the fence, and walked towards it.
"Are you the Plumstead lot?" he asked, with a jerk of his hat towards
Nealie, which was meant for politeness and accepted in the same spirit.
"We are," she answered, with a bow, wondering nervously if he were a
bushranger, of which she had read so much during the voyage and yet had
not set eyes on since landing.
"Which is Dalrymple Plumstead?" demanded the red-shirted individual,
fixing a ferocious gaze on Rupert, who flushed and turned a trifle pale,
wondering what could be the matter.
"I am Dalrymple," said Rumple, dodging round from the shady side of the
wagon, where he had been walking and trying to compose blank verse about
Australian roadside scenery, but not succeeding over-well.
"Why, you are only a kid!" exclaimed the man in ludicrous
disappointment, falling back a step and surveying Rumple with an
expression of bewildered surprise.
"It is a fault that will mend with time," replied Rumple, with such
crushing dignity that Sylvia, who was sitting behind Nealie in the
wagon, gurgled and choked.
The red-shirted person threw back his head with a great burst of
laughter, then, thrusting out a brown, hairy hand, cried eagerly: "Well,
you are plucky anyhow, every ounce of you! Shake, will you? I'm
downright proud to make your acquaintance, sir, and if you have come to
these parts to settle, all I've got to say is that we are proud to have
you among us."
This was quite too much for Sylvia, who choked so badly that Ducky
thought she had a bone in her throat, and patted her with great concern.
But Rumple flushed up in an offended fashion, for he thought that he was
being laughed at, and it made him angry, although, as a rule, he was
remarkably even-tempered.
"Perhaps I should understand better if you explained your business with
me," he said, puffing out his chest in what Nealie called his best
pigeon manner, and which caused her to turn her head abruptly to gaze at
the fence on the other side of the road, so that the stranger should not
see that she was laughing so much.
"Well, I take it that you are the young gentleman that stalked the
cattle thieves out by Russell Downs, and kept them from getting clear
away with five hundred head of my cattle; and if that is not cause for
thankfulness I don't know what is," said the man, gripping Rumple hard,
and sawing away at his hand much as if it were a pump handle and the
water was hard to fetch.
"Oh, they were your cattle that stampeded, and bowled our wagon over in
the dead of night!" exclaimed Nealie, while Rumple turned pink with
pleasure at the thought of being so much appreciated.
"No, Miss, I should say it was the other lot, which belong to Tom Jones
of Hobson's Bottom, and if you want to make any claim for damages you
had better send it in to him, seeing that he is much better off than I
am, and his cattle are the wildest lot in the New South Wales boundary,"
said the red-shirted person, with such an air of wriggling out of it
that the whole seven burst into a shout of laughter, and then promptly
apologized for their apparent rudeness.
But he waved his hand in an airy fashion, and begged them to have their
laugh out.
"And it does me good to see young things so lively," he exclaimed,
taking his hat right off and bowing to right and left, as if he had
received an ovation. "My name is Tim Callaghan, and I am Irish on my
father's side, though I never saw old Ireland, and am never likely to."
"We are very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Callaghan, and we
are quite sure that it must have been Mr. Jones's cattle that knocked
our wagon over, so we will give his address to Messrs. Peek & Wallis, if
there is any complaint of damage made to us about the wagon when it is
returned to the owners," said Nealie; and then she asked in an
interested tone; "But how did you hear anything about it? Were you
helping to drive the cattle?"
"No; if I had been I would have taken good care that there was a better
watch set," replied Tim Callaghan. "I couldn't leave because my wife was
ill, but I heard through the police, who sent me word that I should be
fined for letting my cattle stray to the danger of other people's
property, and that I should have doubtless lost the greater part of my
mob for good and all if it had not been for a Mr. Dalrymple Plumstead,
who rode after the thieves and gave warning to the police. There is one
comfort about it, and that is that Tom Jones will be fined too, and it
will do him a world of good to be taken down a peg or two. And now what
can I do for you, ladies and gentlemen?"
"You might tell us which is the best place in Pomeroy to buy food, for
our provision box is nearly empty, and things are so dear in these
country places," said Nealie rather wistfully, for her money was running
very low, and there was always present with her the dread that she would
not have enough to keep them going until they reached Hammerville.
"You had better come along with me to Gil Addington's; he is about as
reasonable as anyone in Pomeroy, and we are having a deal over some pigs
that may help me to pull his prices down a bit for you, and they will
stand a little paring off at most times," said Mr. Callaghan, who was
uncommonly glad to pay his debt of gratitude in this fashion, since the
cost would fall upon someone else.
"We ought to have some corn for Rockefeller too, if we can manage it,"
said Nealie rather anxiously. She knew that it was the poorest sort of
economy to let the good horse go underfed, and ungrateful as well,
seeing what a useful beast it had been. But corn for horses was a
tremendous price in most of the little towns through which they had
passed, and food for Rockefeller had become a very big item in the
expenses.
"Want some corn for the hoss, did you say?" demanded Mr. Callaghan in a
breezy tone. "Well, I don't know as I can't let you have half a bushel
free, gratis, and for nothing, as they say in the old country. My wagon
is in the town now, I believe, and the corn is in it safe enough, unless
someone has stolen it, which isn't likely."
A queer, choky feeling came into the throat of Nealie as she drove Rocky
along the main street of Pomeroy, with Mr. Callaghan riding on ahead.
How kind people were to them! Of course she did not know that in common
decency Tim Callaghan should have paid Rumple fifteen shillings or a
sovereign for the service rendered in caring for the cattle, and that he
also should have paid something towards the damage sustained in the
overturning of the wagon. Ignorance was certainly bliss in her case, and
she esteemed the Irishman a benefactor indeed, when as a matter-of-fact
he was doing his level best to shuffle out of his obligations.
However, he beat Gil Addington's prices down to a figure so low that
Nealie worried considerably as to whether she would not be a party to a
fraud if she took the goods at Mr. Callaghan's valuation, and was not
even consoled when he whispered to her in a loud aside that Gil was
quite sharp enough to make the next customer run up his profits for
him.
Still, it was an amazing comfort to find the provision box full once
more, to know that there was enough corn to last Rocky to the end of the
journey, and to feel that she had still a little money left in her
purse. On shipboard there had seemed to be no anxieties at all, but ever
since landing she had carried a very heavy load indeed.
There were a good many miles yet to travel, and the worst of it was
that, although they had a very good map of the route, which Mr. Wallis
had marked for them, they had several times made mistakes, and had gone
miles out of their way in consequence. And in a journey like theirs such
things tell seriously in the mileage.
The weather had grown very hot again, and everyone, including the horse,
was feeling the effects, while Rupert and Ducky, the most delicate of
the party, were almost in a state of collapse. Rupert, according to his
wont, made no complaint at all, but Ducky, who had less self-control,
enquired fifty times a day how soon it would be before they could live
in a nice cool house again, and have beds with sheets to them.
Sylvia did her utmost to keep these plaints from reaching the ears of
Nealie, for surely the elder sister had more than enough of worry and
care. Sylvia had never troubled herself about things of this sort in the
days at Beechleigh, when she had been as irresponsible in her way as
either Don or Billykins, but the long journey and the sense of
responsibility in being so peculiarly on their own had steadied her and
developed her character in quite a wonderful manner.
She rigged Ducky up a little shelter at the back of the wagon, because
it was cooler there, and the dust was less. Then she would walk behind
for miles, finding all sorts of things to interest the petulant little
maiden, and beguile her from fretting, while Rupert sat on the front
seat and drove.
By this time the boots of the most active members of the family began to
show signs of heavy wear and tear; but that really mattered very little,
as the weather was for the most part dry, and they had all a spare pair
to put on if those in active use became too aged to be worn.
One day which followed a succession of other hot days Sylvia paused at a
little wooden house by the roadside to interview a woman who had eggs
and milk to sell. Even after the purchasing was completed she lingered
talking to the woman, while the wagon lumbered on along a winding road
that gave peeps of exquisite beauty here and there, where a river valley
opened to view.
Presently she came running to overtake the wagon, crying, in an excited
fashion: "Nealie, Nealie, what do you think?"
"I think a good many things when I have time, but I have not had much
lately, and so the thinking has not been done," replied Nealie, who was
riding this morning because she had stockings to darn. They washed their
stockings most nights, and hung them on the tilt of the wagon to dry in
the morning, and then it was Nealie's business to darn them, while
Rupert drove; and as so much walking induced holes and thin places in
every direction, the task was one of magnitude.
"The woman at the house yonder told me that when we reached the top of
the next high ground we should see the smoke of the Hammerville
factories right away in the distance."
"Hurrah!" cried Nealie, forgetting her occupation, and clapping her
hands, with the result that she stuck her needle into her finger with
such violence that it brought the tears to her eyes and made her wince.
"And she says that last winter, when her little boy was ill, a Dr.
Plumstead came out from Hammerville to see him," chanted Sylvia,
whirling round on the tips of her toes in the dusty track, and flinging
up her hands like an Italian dancing-girl, which made Rocky snort and
plunge as if he wanted to join in the fun.
"Steady there, steady, old fellow, we don't want you bolting at this
time of day!" called Rupert in a warning tone. "Control your
transports, Sylvia, for the sake of Rocky's nerves, or we shall have the
old fellow developing a temperature, and then what shall we do?"
"You look as if you had a temperature yourself. Do you feel bad,
Rupert?" asked Sylvia, coming closer to the wagon, and speaking so
anxiously that Nealie glanced quickly up from her stocking-darning to
look at her brother's face.
"Oh, I'm right enough!" he answered quietly. "I feel a bit heavy, but
that is because of the weather. I think we shall have a storm before
night."
"Oh, I hope not!" cried Nealie in a tone of dismay.
"It would cool the air, and that would be a blessing. Don't you think it
is very close this morning?" he asked, wiping his face with the hand
that was not occupied with the reins.
"It is hot certainly, but so it is every day," she said, glancing up at
the sky, and feeling relieved to see that there were no storm clouds
hovering in sight. "Give me the reins, Rupert, and do you go astern and
lie down beside Ducky. You will be cooler there, and these stockings can
wait."
"I think that it is a great mistake to mend stockings at all in weather
like this, for holes are much cooler than little lumps of darning
cotton," remarked Sylvia.
"I don't see the use of wearing them at all. I am comfortable enough
with bare feet in my shoes, and so would you be if only you were used to
it," said Rumple, coming up with a sackful of grass for Rocky's midday
feed on his back. The younger boys took it in turns to provide Rocky's
luncheon, and to-day was Rumple's turn.
"Sylvia and I are not boys, you see, and so the same rules do not apply
to us, for girls always have to observe the conventions," said Nealie,
with the prim little air which she sometimes put on for the sake of her
juniors.
"What are they?" demanded Billykins, who at this moment ran up from the
other side. But Nealie was spared a lengthy explanation by the timely
arrival of Don upon the scene, calling shrilly upon the others to come
and see a snake which was swallowing a frog, and getting choked in the
process.
"I suppose we ought to kill the snake," said Rupert wearily. "But
personally I would rather not."
"That is how I feel; for after all we have no quarrel with the snake,
and it may be a very harmless creature after all," said Sylvia. "Don't
you remember that Mrs. Warner told us a great many people keep a snake
in their houses in preference to a cat, just to keep the mice down."
"Well, there is no accounting for tastes," said Nealie, and then she
deftly guided Rocky on to the side of the road, drawing rein under the
drooping branches of a lightwood tree, where they could rest for two or
three hours until the fiercest heat of the day was past.
They were not as merry as usual to-day. The heat was so great that they
all wore a more or less wilted appearance.
Presently a breeze sprang up and moaned its way through the trees, and
Nealie decided, with nervous haste, that it was time to be moving on.
She had a great horror of thunderstorms, although she mostly kept it to
herself, and to-day she was vaguely oppressed by a brooding sense of
coming disaster, which was doubtless the effect of the electricity in
the air.
The way at this part was very solitary. Once they passed a bark-roofed
hut standing close to the road; but when they knocked at the door they
found that no one was at home, and so went on their way, by no means
certain that they were taking the right direction, for although the
route lay clear enough before them on paper, in actual fact it was very
hard to find, especially here, where there were so many roads and
beginnings of roads that did not show upon the map.
After some consultation they took the road which seemed the best and the
most used, and, following it, arrived in time on very high ground, from
whence they had a fine view over a great stretch of country, dotted
here and there with little townships and solitary stations, a rich and
fertile land apparently, most of it being under close cultivation.
Thunder grumbled in the west, and the lightning played fitfully along
the distant horizon.
"There is Hammerville!" cried Sylvia, flinging out her hand in the
direction where tall chimneys stood outlined against a copper-hued sky.
"What a long way off!" cried Nealie, with a new note of dismay in her
voice. She had thought that it would be possible to reach the goal of
their journeying before the storm broke, but those chimneys were at
least eight or ten miles away, and Rocky was showing signs of being
nearly done up, for the hills had been heavier than usual, and the heat
had been enough to try the mettle of the strongest horse.
"We had better camp for the night in the first convenient place, and
then to-morrow we can arrive in style," said Sylvia, who was quite pink
with excitement at the thought that when those distant chimneys were
reached she would see her father again.
"I suppose that will be better; but, oh, I had so hoped that we should
have reached home to-night, so that Rupert would not have to sleep on
the ground any more! I am so worried about him," said Nealie, who had
jumped down from the wagon, and was standing in the road trying to make
up her mind which was the best pitch for a camp, always a time of
anxiety for her since that night when the stampeding cattle had bowled
the wagon over in their mad rush down the steep hillside.
"Let the boys have the wagon to-night, and we will sleep underneath. I
should love it!" cried Sylvia, clapping her hands and whirling round on
the tips of her toes, bowing to an imaginary audience, then giving a
sideway skip to show the lightness of her poise.
But at that moment there was a crackle of thunder right above their
heads, a blaze of lightning, and then a downpour of rain, as if the roll
of the thunder had opened the floodgates of the clouds. It was no longer
a question of where to camp or where to sleep. They just had to crowd
into the wagon and stay there until the tempest had spent itself.