THE MIA-MIA.[A]
"How dare you do it, sir? You are too presumptuous."
"I am awfully sorry, Amy, but really I could not help myself."
"But you did help yourself, Reg," and the young girl turned upon her
companion such a bewitchingly pretty face, her lips pouting with
badly-simulated anger, that the young man had no compunction in taking
her in his arms, and kissing the pouting lips till they smiled again.
This scene was enacted in a tiny summer-house of trellis-work,
completely covered with hanging greenery, which stood in one of those
pretty gardens that are still to be found in the suburb of Brixton. The
summer-house appeared to be designed expressly for its two occupants. It
held only two seats and was of dimensions just sufficiently confined to
prevent them from being too far apart. Through the opening could be seen
the full stretch of the carefully-tended garden, backed by a comfortable
house with a verandah running round it. On the lawn, a couple of dogs
were lying lazily; hanging in the verandah was an aviary and the noisy
twittering of its occupants reached the ears of the two in the
summer-house. Their eyes dwelt lovingly on the scene before them, with a
sense of rest, for happiness and contentment seemed to be in the air.
An elderly man in shirt-sleeves was busily engaged in pruning some fruit
trees. As he paused in his work to wipe his perspiring brow he formed a
picture of contentment in complete harmony with the scene of which he
was a part. This was Oliver Whyte, the owner of the house and garden,
which he had christened, in true Australian fashion, "The Mia-Mia." He
was a man of about sixty, short and thick-set in appearance with a
tendency to corpulence. His character was written in his fine open face,
clean-shaven save for a ring of white hair that set his honest
countenance in an oval frame; was felt as one listened to the tones of
his rough, good-natured voice. He was joined by an elderly woman, who
despite her grey hair and heavy build, was as active as many a younger
maid. Her voice had a genuine and pleasant ring in it and her face
always wore a cheerful, contented smile. She was beloved by all who came
in contact with her, for she was the embodiment of the word motherly.
The dogs rose and stretched themselves and lazily rubbed their noses
against her skirt, as she passed from one flower bed to another,
snipping a dead leaf here and picking a faded blossom there. This was
Mrs. Whyte or, as Oliver fondly calls her, "the missus."
Forty years before, Oliver Whyte, a young man in his prime, set out with
two companions for the sunny shores of Australia. He had served his time
as a carpenter, and his employers had cause to regret the loss of a fine
workman when Whyte became fired with the ambition of travel at the time
when the glorious accounts of the richness of Australia attracted the
energetic youth of Britain. Arriving in Melbourne in '52, when the gold
fever was at its height, he and his companions lost no time in finding
their way to the fields in search of the precious metal. He spent twelve
months in rough living and hard labour then, to realize it was not as
easy to make a fortune as he imagined. But he was a good artizan and,
men of his stamp being scarce, he returned to Melbourne and started
working at his trade. In vain he tried to persuade his mates to follow
suit, but the gold-fever had taken too strong a hold upon them. Wages
were very high in Melbourne, and he had no difficulty in earning ten and
even fifteen pounds a week. In a few months' time he was able to start
in business on his own account and, as Melbourne had by this time been
acknowledged as the capital town, he invested all his savings in land
which could then be had at low rates. When he had made a fair business
he sent home for the girl with whom he had "kept company," and on her
arrival they were married in Melbourne. Years went by, his business
extended, and his land increased in value fifty-fold, and Oliver Whyte
was rapidly becoming a wealthy man.
The fact that no children blessed their union was a great trouble to the
Whytes. But when his wife began to fret over it Whyte would answer in
his cheery fashion, "Never mind, missus, we shall have to get one of
somebody else's."
One day, when they were at their mid-day meal, a letter in a strange
hand-writing was brought to them, in which they were begged to come at
once to the Melbourne Hospital where a woman named Johnson wished to see
them.
"Johnson! Johnson!" said Whyte. "The only Johnson I ever knew, was my
mate, Bill Johnson, whom I left on the 'fields.'"
"Maybe this is his wife, Olly."
"We'll go at once and see her."
Straightway the honest couple set out for the hospital and, on arriving
there, were taken to the bedside of a dying woman.
"Are you Olly Whyte?" asked the woman, feebly.
"Yes, that's me," said Whyte.
"My name is Johnson and Bill told me that if anything went wrong I was
to look out for Olly Whyte, and he would help me."
"Are you Bill's wife, then? Where is he?"
"Dead, two years ago, and I am going to join him."
"Poor old Bill!" said Whyte, feelingly.
"I've got a little girl," murmured the poor woman. "She ain't been
brought up first class, but if you would look after her I'd die happy."
"Where is she?" said Mrs. Whyte, speaking for the first time. "Of course
we will do so."
That night the widow of Whyte's old mate, Bill Johnson, died and the
house of Whyte had an additional inmate in the shape of a tousled-haired
little girl, removed from a tenement in Little Bourke Street, one of the
lowest slums in Melbourne. When Amy Johnson found herself in the midst
of these novel surroundings, and experienced the delights of new and
warm clothing and of plenty of good things to eat, and the disagreeables
of having her face and hands washed oftener than she thought necessary,
her equilibrium was completely upset. But time and careful handling soon
made her forget her old ways. As she grew up, she developed startling
qualities of mind and body, united to a loveable disposition, that she
soon filled the gap in the home of the old couple. At the age of eight
she was sent to school, where she early distinguished herself and became
a great favourite with the teacher, as with her schoolfellows. Her life
was one of sunny happiness, the more so because she was completely
unspoiled. Though she never knew trouble, she could yet sympathize with
it, and she returned the idolization of her adopted parents with a love
and consideration that caused them to bless the day that saw them on
their errand of mercy to Melbourne Hospital.
Meanwhile, the occupants of the summer-house in Brixton were passing the
time in lover-like reminiscences.
"Do you remember the first time we met, Amy?" said Reginald Morris, as
he fondly stroked her hand.
"We met, 'twas in a crowd, upon the mighty ocean, on board the steamship
_Ormuz_," answered Amy, in mock-tragedy. "Yes, I remember it well," she
added, with a happy little sigh.
"I can remember every incident of the voyage, though it's three years
ago. I thought it was going to be a disagreeable voyage for me, and I
was seriously thinking of landing at Adelaide, when I made the
acquaintance of your dear old dad, and that changed the whole purpose of
my life. I can see him now as he came up to me with his frank smile and
said in his cheery voice: 'My name is Oliver Whyte, sir.' My heart went
out to him after his hearty greeting, and we soon became fast friends.
Then he introduced me to his dear old wife, and a pert little kid--"
"Take that for your impertinence," interrupted Amy, boxing his ears
lightly.
"I mean a smart young lady. I can see her now, and she captured my heart
on the spot and, try how I will, I cannot get it back."
"Well it was a fair exchange, for you took mine in return," she
answered, with a blush.
"Six months from to-day, Amy?"
"Yes, Reg. Six months before I have to give up all my pleasures,
sacrifice all my pets and put myself at the mercy of a tyrant."
Reg stooped to kiss the lips again that chaffed him so prettily, when
the doorway was darkened by the figure of Oliver Whyte, who said in an
amused tone of enquiry:
"I suppose you are too busy to go and say good-bye to Mr. Northmore,
Reg? He's waiting to see you, for he sails to-morrow."
"Come Amy, let's go to him together," said Reg rising and, tucking Amy's
arm under his own, he entered the house and greeted a young man waiting
there:
"Hullo, Jack, how are you?"
"I'm jolly, old chap. And Miss Amy, I trust you are well."
"No, I'm not, Mr. Northmore, he's been worrying me again. Never get
engaged: it's too wearing. If it were not for the fact that one can
wreak revenge when one is married I don't think any girl could stand
it."
"Well, Reg does not seem to dread the coming vengeance."
"How do you do, Mr. Northmore. I am so sorry you are going to leave us
so soon," said Mrs. Whyte, entering at this moment.
"Business, Mrs. Whyte, business. I am not so fortunate as our friend
here. I came only on a visit, which I have enjoyed very much. I am due
at Cape Town in a fortnight."
"Amy, do you think you can find our friend Northmore some refreshment,"
said Whyte, as he joined them.
"I'll try, dad. Come on, Reg, I shall want your help," and they both
skipped out of the room.
"That's the way they go on all day long," said Whyte to Northmore,
"just like two kittens."
"They are to be married shortly, are they not?"
"Yes, in six months. It's hardly fair to keep Reg waiting any longer.
They've been engaged three years now."
"I am glad Reg is going to settle down, and with such an excellent
partner."
"Yes, you're right, Northmore. I don't think a happier pair, or one more
suited to each other could be found in a year's travel."
"Reg is a wonder, too. It is not every man who can boast of having made
a fortune for himself at twenty-four."
"Ah, I intended asking you about that. He is so modest and reticent
about himself. He says he did it by accident and could not help
himself."
"Nothing of the kind, Whyte. He was left an orphan at fourteen in
Adelaide and had only one relative, living at Dunedin in New Zealand,
who sent for him there and procured him a post in a sharebroker's office
as errand-boy. By dint of hard work he rose to be confidential clerk
when he was twenty-three. It was then that the great event happened
which made him. I remember it well. Reg had studied mineralogy
thoroughly and was able to give a pretty accurate forecast of the
capabilities of a mine, and he was often sent to report. One day he was
ordered to 'Dagmar No. 2' and, on his return he gave a most promising
account of it, in face of two experts who had reported it of no value.
The experts were believed and the shares fell, but Reg, to show his
confidence in his own opinion, bought all he could get at a low rate.
His employers and his friends reasoned and argued with him, but to no
avail. All his earnings and all he could raise, he invested in the mine.
His employers were annoyed and he was dismissed. Nothing daunted, he
went off to the mine and offered to manage it for nothing, telling the
directors he would make it pay. They laughed at him, but finally gave
way, especially as his holding was large enough to entitle him to a seat
at the board. Two months later reports began to spread that Dagmar No. 2
had struck a rich lode, and a week later it was acknowledged to be one
of the richest mines in New Zealand. Reg sold out for something like
sixty thousand."
"Come this way," said Amy in a playful way, opening the door, and
leading Reg by the ear. He was carrying a tray of glasses and completely
at her mercy. "This is how I intend to lead my husband."
"Amy, I'm shocked," said Mrs. Whyte, laughing heartily.
"So am I, mother," said Reg, putting down the tray, and gently releasing
her fingers.
Then the conversation became general. In the midst of it the postman's
knock was heard, and letters for Reg and Amy were brought in, which
proved to contain invitations to the annual ball given by the Brixton
Bachelors.
"Oh! Reg, dear, will you go?" cried Amy.
"That rests with you."
"Then we'll accept," said Amy, decisively.
As Northmore bade them good-bye at the gate he said: "Reg, you are a man
to be envied. You have a girl who is a pearl amongst diamonds."
"I know it, old fellow, and I appreciate it to the full."
On the following day acceptances were sent to the invitation of the
Bachelors, and little did that happy circle dream that this ball, about
which they laughed and joked, would be the means of blighting that happy
home for ever.
[Footnote A: Pronounced "mi-mi."]