MARY GRANT BRUCE

Author of "Glen Eyre," "Mates at Billabong,"

"Norah of Billabong," "Jim and Wally,"

etc., etc.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO

To

My Mother

*CONTENTS*

I The "House Beautiful"

II Breaking Bad News

III Gordon's Farm

IV Into the Unknown

V The Home-Coming

VI A Day in the Country

VII The Riding of Jane

VIII Rain--And a Friend

IX "Maggie or Something"

X 'Possum Takes Hold

XI Farmers in Earnest

XII Sailing

XIII Amateur Surgery

XIV A Boating Holiday

XV Santa Claus and Clothes

XVI A Little Boy

XVII 'Possum Becomes a Pupil

XVIII The Regatta

XIX The Order of Release

*'POSSUM*

*CHAPTER I*

*THE "HOUSE BEAUTIFUL"*

The trim suburban garden blazed with flowers. Over the porch at the gate

mandevillea hung in a curtain of fragrant white, and an archway over the

path that wound through the close-shaven lawn was a miracle of Fortune's

yellow roses--gold and rose and copper blended gloriously. There were

beds aflame with "bonfire" salvia, and others gay with many-hued

annuals. Gaudy tulips reared splendid heads near a great clump of arum

lilies that fringed a tiny pool where little Garth Macleod's solitary

goldfish swam in lonely state. Everywhere there were roses; in

standards in the smooth, well-kept beds, or trained along the wide

verandas, forming a screen of exquisite blossom. Their sweetness lay

like a charm over the garden.

It was a hot spring afternoon. Tom Macleod, digging busily in a corner,

pushed his Panama back from his flushed face, and stood erect for a

moment to ease his aching back. As he did so a motor whirred to the

gate, stopped, and a stout little man hurried up the path, waving a

capable hand towards the shirt-sleeved worker across the lawn.

"Hullo, Doctor!" Macleod called.

"See you presently, Tom," was all the doctor vouchsafed him. He

disappeared behind the roses on the veranda, and Macleod returned to his

work with a furrow between his eyes that had not been there before.

From time to time he cast half-impatient glances towards the house,

whence no sound issued. Finally, with a hasty movement, he plunged his

spade into the soil, and went with long strides across the

grass--meeting, at the step, the doctor, who plunged out of the house

like a plump Jack-in-the-box.

"Oh!" said Macleod vaguely. "How's the kid?"

"The kid? why, going on first-rate," said the doctor, laughing. "Can't

a man stay five minutes talking to his patient's mother without your

making up your mind that the kid must be dying?"

Tom Macleod grinned a little shamefacedly.

"The last three weeks have rather unsettled my nervous system, I

believe," he said. "I didn't know I had one until Garth took to trying

to die. You needn't be so superior, old man. I believe the little

beggar shook up yours, too!"

"Well--it hasn't been too jolly a time," admitted the doctor. "One

doesn't like to see a nice kid suffering: and Garth and I are old chums.

Anyhow, he's better. Come and sit down; it's an extraordinary thing,

but I have time for a cigarette."

He went with quick, short steps towards a bench under a drooping pepper

tree, Macleod following with his long, easy stride. No two men could

have been a greater contrast: the short, plump doctor, with his

humorous, ugly face, which every child loved at the first glance, and

the tall, lean Australian, clean-limbed and handsome--almost boyish, but

for a certain worn expression, and for the lines of anxiety which his

boy's illness had graven round his eyes and mouth. They lit their

cigarettes and stared at each other.

"On the rare occasions when you announce that you've time to smoke, I

have noticed that you generally have something to communicate--probably

unpleasant," said Macleod. "What is it, old man?"

"I wish you weren't so observant," said the doctor; "it's disconcerting.

Well, I _have_ something. It isn't exactly new: I hinted at it to you

six months ago. Now I've got to speak plainly."

"You mean----?"

"I mean that if I had a boy like Garth I wouldn't run the risk of trying

to bring him up in a city," the doctor answered. "I haven't been

satisfied with the little chap for a long time. His constitution's all

right--there's nothing radically the matter. But he doesn't thrive.

You've seen that for yourself, Tom."

"Yes--I've seen it," said the father heavily. "Of course, we've kept

hoping he would grow stronger. As you say, there seemed nothing really

wrong, and he's pretty wiry----"

"If he hadn't been wiry I could not have pulled him through the last

three weeks," Dr. Metcalf said. "You may thank your stars he's wiry."

"If he hadn't picked up this unlucky illness----"

"Well--I don't know," said the doctor. "I'm inclined to think you may

yet consider it a blessing in disguise. You might have gone on pouring

tonics and patent messes into him, and hoping he'd improve. You can't

do it now. It's up to you and Aileen to give him every chance, if you

want a strong son instead of a weakling."

"That's final?" Macleod asked.

"That's my considered opinion. I know your difficulties, old man. But

I know you don't value anything in the world beyond Garth. Take him to

the country; let him live out of doors, and run as wild as a rabbit;

give him unlimited fresh milk--not the stuff you buy out of a

can--country food, and pure air: let him wear old clothes all the time

and sleep out of doors--and in a year I'd stake my professional

reputation you won't know him. Keep him in a Melbourne suburb, and I

won't be answerable for the consequences."

"That's pretty straight, anyhow," said Macleod.

"I mean it to be straight. I haven't known you since you were at school

to mince matters with you now. And I'm fond of the kid: I want to see

him grow into a decent man, with all the best that is in him given a

fair chance."

"We've tried to do that," Macleod said. He looked round the glowing

garden. "It's such a jolly home, and he does love it."

"It's one of the jolliest little homes I've ever seen, and it's going to

hurt both of you badly to leave it," the doctor rejoined. "The trouble

is, it is too jolly. You have made yourself a little Paradise inside

the tallest paling fence you could build, and you've shut out all that

lies outside that fence--miles on miles of teeming streets, packed and

jammed with people. You're in the midst of grass and roses and things,

with a sprinkler going on your tulips, or whatever those rainbow affairs

are--and you don't think about the street outside, dry and baking, with

a hot wind swirling the germ-laden dust about--blowing it probably upon

the meat and fruit and milk you'll buy to-morrow. The air comes to you

over thousands of houses, clean and dirty, and thousands of people

breathe it. You've got to get where there's no second-hand air."

"Great Scott!" ejaculated Macleod. "Will you tell me how any children

manage to live at all?"

"It's a special dispensation of Providence that most youngsters don't

die from germs," said the doctor, laughing. "I'm aware that the

infantile population of Melbourne is pretty healthy, but it's always a

mystery to me how children in any big city survive their surroundings.

After all, Melbourne's cleaner than most places. However, there is only

one among its hordes of kids that is interesting you and me at the

moment, and that's Garth. You've got to get him out of it, Tom."

"When?"

"As soon as you can make your arrangements. I know you can't do that in

a moment, but, of course, he could not be moved just yet. When he is

strong enough Aileen could take him somewhere until you were ready. But

get him to the country. His poor little head is full of stories and

make-believes: let him forget what a book looks like, and introduce him

to a pony. By the way, it's going to be enormously good for you and

Aileen, too."

"Is it?" Macleod asked, smiling grimly. "I'll worry along somehow,

though I know mighty little of anything outside a city. But it's rough

on her, poor girl. She just loathes the country--hasn't any use for

scrub and bad roads, and discomfort generally. I'll never be able to

get her a servant--there aren't any, I believe, once you get more than a

mile from a picture theatre. And she has never had to work."

"Don't you worry your head about Aileen," said the little doctor,

rising. "She has her head screwed on the right way--and women have a

way of doing what they've got to do. She can imagine herself her own

grandmother, fresh out from England, and tackling the Bush as all our

plucky little grandmothers did. Pity there are not more like them now:

we live too softly nowadays, and our backbones don't stiffen. But

you'll find Aileen will come out all right. In a year you'll all be

blessing me. When you come to think of it, I'm the only one to be

pitied. I'm going to miss you badly." There was a twisted smile on his

lips as he wrung his friend's hand. "Good-bye: my patients will be

calling down maledictions on my head if I don't hurry."

Macleod saw him into his dusty motor and watched it glide down the hot

street. Then he turned and went back through the scent of the garden,

instinctively making his footsteps noiseless as he crossed the veranda

and entered the house.

It was a trim house of one story, with a square hall where tall palms

gave an effect of green coolness. An embroidered curtain screened a

turn into a passage where, through an open door, could be heard the

sound of a low voice reading. A childish call cut across the soft

tones.

"Is that you, Daddy?"

"That's me," said Macleod cheerfully, if ungrammatically. "Are you sure

you ought not to be asleep?" He entered the room and smiled down at his

little son.

"A fellow can't sleep all day," Garth said. "'Sides, I needn't sleep so

much now. Doctor says I'm nearly well, Daddy."

"That's good news," said his father heartily. "We'll have you out in the

garden soon, and getting fat. The tulips are blossoming, Garth, and

your poor old goldfish is awfully lonesome. He says even Bran doesn't

go near him now."

"Bran is too busy nursing his master," said Garth's mother, looking at

the rough head of the Irish terrier curled up on a chair beside the

boy's bed. "We'll all get out together in a few days, and find out all

the beautiful things that have happened in the garden since we were

there. Won't it be lovely, Tom?"

She leaned back until her head touched her husband--a tall, pale girl,

with lovely features and a mass of fair hair that glinted like Garth's

when the sunlight fell on it, and eyes as blue as violets. Her long

hands, blue-veined and delicate, lay idly in her lap, one finger keeping

open the book from which she had been reading. She was like an

exquisite piece of china--fragile, to all outward appearance, and

dainty; graceful in every line. Tom Macleod looking down at her, felt as

he had felt ten year' ago, before they married, that he must let no wind

blow upon her roughly.

Now he had to tell her that they must go away, away from the ordered

comfort of city life, which was all that she had ever known, to whatever

the country had in store for them. Even for himself, always a townsman,

the prospect carried something of dread, as do all unfamiliar prospects.

But he knew that, whatever hardships the Bush holds for a man, it is

hardest on a woman.

Garth was chattering away, oblivious of his father's grave face.

"Doctor says I can talk as much as I like," he proclaimed happily. "And

he says I'll be perflickly well in a little bit, and then Mother can

take me down to the sea. And she says she will, didn't you, Mother?

And then you can come down for week-ends, Daddy. Or do you think the

Office would give you a holiday, like it did the time we went to Black

Rock?"

"It might," said his father.

"Do make it," Garth begged. "It would be so lovely, Daddy--and you

could teach me to swim." His little thin face, for which the brown eyes

were so much too large, was alight with eagerness. "Bran'll come too--he

loves going away, doesn't he? D'you know, Daddy, I think Bran was just

cut out for a country dog! He's so awful interested when he gets away

from the streets."

"I'm not sure that that's not very good taste on Bran's part," said

Macleod: and at something in his tone his wife looked up sharply. "What

do you think about it yourself, Garth?"

"Oh, I just love the country," Garth answered. "You get so tired with

streets--they all look alike, nothing but motors and dust. The Gardens

are jolly, of course, and so's Fawkner Park; but they're not the same as

the real country. D'you remember the time we went to Gippsland for the

holidays? Wasn't it lovely? I always felt when we went out walking that

we might meet anything whatever--fairies, or Bunyips, or--or all sorts

of things!"

"But you never did, I suppose?"

"N-no," Garth admitted. "But I used to pretend I did, and that was fun.

And I truly did see some rabbits and a wallaby, only the people at the

farm weren't a bit pleased when I told them about the rabbits. Mr.

Brown said he'd rather see a gorilla on any of _his_ land. Isn't it a

pity rabbits are such damageous things, Daddy? Anyhow, I used to

pretend that all the really bad fairies had got locked up inside

rabbits, to do as much mischief as ever they could, until they got good

again. But Mr. Brown said that if ever he heard of a rabbit getting

good he'd eat his hat."

"Seeing that Brown told me he'd just spent two hundred pounds netting

his land against rabbits, you couldn't expect him to love them," Macleod

said.

"Two hundred pounds is an awful lot of money, isn't it?" Garth asked

innocently. "But you've got heaps more than that, haven't you, Daddy?"

"Not as big a heap as I would like," his father answered. He walked

across the room and stood looking out of the window, his eye wandering

over the well-kept garden. A lucky legacy had enabled him to buy his

home just before his marriage: now he wished with all his heart that he

had not spent so much, in the years that followed, in making it nearer

and nearer to their hearts' desire. They had built a room here, a

veranda there: had installed electric light and cooking power, electric

fans and electric irons--had filled the house with every modern device

for ease and comfort. His salary was good: there was no need for

economy. He had lavished it on the garden they loved, until its high

walls enclosed, in truth, a little paradise. Their personal tastes had

been expensive: stalls at the theatres, little dinners at the Savoy,

races, dances, bridge parties, had all been commonplaces in their happy,

careless life. Best of all had he loved to dress Aileen beautifully.

"When a fellow has the loveliest wife in Australia, it's up to him to

see that she's decently rigged out," he would say, bringing home a fur

coat, a costly sunshade, a piece of exquisite lace. He hardly knew how

much his own clothes, quietly good, had cost him: Garth had been the

best turned out boy in the neighbourhood. Their servants, well-paid and

lightly-worked, had kept the household machinery moving silently on

oiled wheels. There had seemed not one crumpled petal in the

rose-leaves that strewed their path.

The trained nurse entered softly, bearing on a little brass tray Garth's

tea-service--dainty china, painted with queer, long-necked cats.

"This is the first day I've felt really int'rested in tea," Garth

proclaimed cheerfully, wriggling up on his pillows. His mother moved

quickly to help him, slipping a wrap round the thin little shoulders.

Then a gong chimed softly from the hall, and she turned to her husband.

Her fingers lay on his shoulder for a moment.

"Tea, Tom."

"Oh, all right," he said, and turned from the window. "So long, old

son--eat a big tea."

"I'll eat a 'normous one, if Nurse will only give it to me," Garth said,

eyeing his tray hungrily. "Mind you do, too, Daddy. And come back

soon."

"I will," Macleod said. He smiled at the eager face as he followed his

wife from the room.

*CHAPTER II*

*BREAKING BAD NEWS*

It was one of Aileen Macleod's whims that she liked to brew her own tea.

A copper kettle bubbled busily over a spirit lamp on the tray as they

entered the drawing-room, and her husband flung himself into an

arm-chair and watched the slim, beautiful hands busy with the silver

tea-caddy and the quaint, squat teapot. Neither spoke until she came to

his side with his cup.

"I beg your pardon, dear," he said, trying to rise. She kept him back,

a hand on his shoulder.

"You've been working: why shouldn't I bring you your tea?" she said,

smiling at him.

"Because I ought to be looking after you," he rejoined. He was on his

feet with a quick movement, took her by the shoulders laughingly, and

put her into a big chair, bringing tea and hot cakes to a tiny table

beside her.

"There!" he said. "No: you want another cushion. Now lie back,

sweetheart, and rest; you're ever so much more tired than you'll admit,

even to yourself."

"Being tired doesn't matter, now," she said. "Nothing matters, now that

Garth is safe. But it's nice to be bullied." She smiled at him, with a

little restful movement, then took up her cup. Over it she looked at him

questioningly.

"Dr. Metcalfe _is_ quite satisfied, Tom? What were you and he talking

about for so long?"

"Oh, he's quite satisfied with the boy's progress," Macleod answered.

"He says you and he can go away quite soon. We--we were just yarning."

Something tied his tongue; she looked so tired, and yet so peaceful. He

would not tell her just yet.

Aileen opened her lips to speak and then closed them again. They talked

idly of the garden, the tulips that were just blossoming, and the new

roses, until tea was over and a silent-footed maid had removed the tray.

Macleod lit a cigarette, and lay back in his chair.

"Tell me, Tom," she said quietly. "I know there is something more."

He was silent for a moment, looking at her. She was very pale, her

breath coming quickly.

"Don't bother about anything now," he said. "We've got the little chap

back; and you're dog-tired. You mustn't worry about anything."

"Don't you see--when I don't know, I think it's Garth!" Her voice

broke, almost in a cry. "Tell me--quick!"

He was on his knees beside her in a flash.

"What a fool I am!--it's all right, my girl. Garth's quite safe. Only

we've got to go away--to leave all this and take him to the Bush. He'll

grow strong if we do. But I didn't know how to tell you."

His wife gave a long sigh, and put her face down on his shoulder.

"Oh-h!" she said. "I thought it was something that really mattered!"

"My girl!" said Macleod huskily. For a while they did not move. Then

she put him away from her gently, and looked at him with steady eyes.

"I suppose I shall wake up some morning--perhaps to-morrow morning--to

realize that it's quite large and important," she said. "But at present

it seems the smallest thing, because all that really counts is that

Garth is safe. Tell me all about it, Tom."

"Metcalfe won't answer for him if we keep him in town," he said. "If we

take him right into the country for a few years he will grow into a

strong boy. Therefore, as the Americans say, it's country for ours."

"Of course. What will happen?"

"We'll sell or let this place," he said, watching her face keenly for

some sign that the blow was telling. But there was no change in its

eager interest, and he went on.

"I must send in my resignation at the office. They'll be nice about it,

of course: probably they'd always try to find a berth for me, though it

would not be as good as this one. That will leave us with the little

bit of private income we have and whatever we get out of the house. We

might live on that, after a fashion. But if we've got to go into the

country, I'd rather see if we can't make something out of the land."

"But we don't know anything about it."

"Not a thing," Macleod agreed. "But I don't believe it's so awfully

complicated: surely a man of reasonable common sense can learn. And

look at the alternative--living in some beastly cottage in a township,

with not a thing to do. I don't think I could stand it."

"I'm sure I couldn't," said his wife. "Of course you'll learn--look at

all the stupid people who do well out of land. Quite stupid people: and

your worst enemy can't say you haven't got brains, Tom!"

"I make you my best bow," said her husband solemnly. "You're very

encouraging, ma'am! I'll try to live up to your high estimate of me. But

what seems to matter more is that I think I've got enough muscle."

For the first time a shadow of doubt came into her eyes.

"I don't want you to be worked to death," she said. "Will it be very

hard for you, Tom?"

He broke into a short laugh.

"Hard for _me_! Do you think it matters the least little bit about me?

But it maddens me to think what it's going to mean for you. Do you

realize that it means no more fun, as we've always counted fun? no more

outings or gaiety, no pretty clothes? any sort of a home, and mighty

little comfort? We--we won't have much money, Aileen."

"We'll have enough to--to _live_, won't we?" she asked. "To buy food, I

mean?"

"Oh, there'll be enough for that. But we'll have to scrimp in a hundred

ways. I don't know that we can even keep a servant for you, though I

don't suppose, for that matter, that there are any to be had in the

Bush. I wouldn't mind that so much if I could help you: but I'll have

my own work outside, and it will keep me going. I've never let you

work, Aileen," he ended wistfully.

"No, you haven't," she said; looking at him gently. "If ever a woman

was thoroughly spoilt it's your wife!"

"I couldn't have had the face to marry you, if it had meant that you

would have to work," he answered. "How could I, when you'd never done

any work in your life?"

"I don't know that that is a very creditable record for a woman," she

said reflectively. "I've often thought my life was too soft a one; only

you have made it so easy to be lazy, Tom."

"You're not lazy," he defended her hotly. "Look at all you have on

hand--your music, the garden, the home--do you think it's only servants

that have made us our 'House Beautiful?' You've charities, and Women's

Leagues--and Garth. It seems to me you're always busy."

"They're all very pretty things to play at," she said, laughing. "All

except Garth: he is a solid reality. Now I'm going to discover ever so

many other realities. Don't worry about me, Tom, dear. It's going to

be an Awfully Big Adventure, but we'll get through somehow."

She smiled up at him. Something like a great weight lifted from

Macleod's heart.

"You aren't afraid?" he asked.

Her face grew grave, and for a moment she did not answer.

"I never knew what fear really meant until Garth was ill," she said, at

length. "One says one is afraid of lots of things; but you get right to

the terrible depths of fear when you think your child is dying. And it

teaches you that nothing else matters. Now that Garth has come back,

and I can hold him again, nothing else even seems serious. I suppose a

month ago I might have felt scared at the idea of cooking and scrubbing,

but now I feel as if I could do it, and sing. You understand, don't

you?"

"Yes, I understand," he answered. "It's hard to imagine anything else

troubling us, if the kid's safe. But will we feel like that in a year's

time? in six months? The sharp edge of thankfulness will have worn off

then, but the cooking and scrubbing will remain."

She nodded.

"It isn't easy to say. I suppose I shouldn't make any predictions,

since I don't in the least understand all I'll have to tackle. But

plenty of other women have done it, and much more--women with half a

dozen little children. I'm not going to be afraid." She lifted her

chin with a defiant little toss. "I suppose it will be hard, and I'll

make ever so many mistakes--so will you, and we'll laugh at each other!

Oh, Tom, nothing can be very bad if we keep laughing, and we have

Garth!"

"You dear!" he said. "I might have known you'd take it that way. Of

course"--he hesitated--"there are other alternatives. You wouldn't care

to send Garth to live on a farm for a few years, if we could get hold of

the right people? Like the Agnews did with that delicate boy of theirs,

you know?"

"The Agnews couldn't help themselves," said Aileen. "_There's_ a woman

to be pitied, if you like. Mrs. Agnew aged ten years in the first year

after she had to part with Harry. We don't do that sort of thing in

this family. Next?"

He laughed.

"With my first suggestion badly squashed----"

"You would have squashed it yourself if I hadn't, Tom!"

"Yes, but I knew you would," he said comfortably. "Well, the next is

really more feasible." He watched her narrowly. "Suppose I stayed on

at the office, and we let this house, and I lived in rooms; there would

be money enough to establish you and Garth in some little country place

where you wouldn't have to work, and it would be all right for the boy.

It would mean separation, of course, but I might be able to run down to

see you every few months. It would be far easier for you, dear."

"And for you?"

"Whatever is best for you will be best for me," he said. "You know

that, Aileen, don't you? I will be quite satisfied with your choice."

"I wish I knew what you want," she said, watching his face.

"And I won't tell you." He laughed at her.

"Very well," she said, "then I will choose, and it's your own fault if

you don't like it. I think that as a planner you begin well, and then

slump dreadfully--at any rate, your last two efforts are simply horrid.

Do you think I can take the responsibility of bringing up Garth alone,

just when he needs a man's hand? He'd break his heart. I wouldn't dare

to tell him we meant to leave you. And if you imagine that a little

freedom from work would make up to me for being without you---- Aren't

you ashamed of yourself, Tom Macleod?"

He sat down on the arm of her chair and lifted her hand against his

face.

"I had to give you your choice," he said. "But you don't know what a

blue funk I was in!"

"Then you ought to be more ashamed of yourself than ever!" she retorted.

"We're mates, you and Garth and I: nothing matters, so long as we are

together."

"Not even scrubbing?"

"No," she said. "Nor ploughing, Tom?"

"Certainly not. Nor cooking?"

"Cooking might be fun. What about milking?"

"I learned to milk in my extreme youth," said he proudly. "That's a

detail. But--washing?"

"It's done in the best families," she said. "Counted out. How about

clearing land?"

"I will do it with my little hatchet," said her husband. "Washing-up,

Aileen?"

"Ugh!" she said. "Even in this uplifted moment I can't pretend I'm

going to enjoy greasy dishes. Never mind--they'll get done. We won't

think about them. Anything else?"

"Lots, I'm certain. What if the sheep get foot-rot, and the hens

develop pip? Or is it the other way round? Could you manage a hen with

foot-rot?"

"Just as well as you would handle a sheep with pip. What are they,

anyhow?"

"Diseases which have always been happily obscure to me," he said, "Now

we'll have to study them."

"We'll study them together, then," said his wife; "then, if they appear

we can turn on them our united batteries of knowledge. There must be

lots of other diseases, Tom. Is it hens that get glanders?"

"Very probably: it always seemed to me that hens have nasty habits,"

said he. "Of course, I've only looked at them with a kind of

semi-detached eye, but then, I never felt any inclination for close

acquaintance with a live fowl. My soul was as a star, and dwelt apart!"

"I think one of the first things you had better do would be to uproot

any graceful notions about your soul," said his wife. "We shan't need

encumbrances like that for some time. Stout bodies and strong muscles

are likely to be more in our line; don't be surprised or shocked if you

find me writhing in odd corners, because it will be only Swedish drill,

to develop me--also in odd corners!"

"It will be awfully interesting," he said, laughing. "Couldn't you start

it now? I believe there's one lovely exercise that you do at

meal-times. Strangers are apt to run to your assistance, thinking

you're strangling, but it's only neck-drill, to give you a long, slender

throat!"

"I've always faintly hoped mine pleased you," rejoined his wife.

"However, it's too late now--it won't matter in the Bush if one has a

throat or not. My energies are going to enable me to develop strength

enough to throw a bag of wheat over my shoulder, and go whistling down

the lea!"

"Why not bring it home? I don't see why you want to throw good wheat

about, after I shall probably have had grave trouble in growing it. And

what is a lea, anyhow?"

"It's something the lowing herd winds slowly o'er," she said. "You

ought to know that."

"I did, but I don't know what it looks like. And I suppose I'll have to

know." The laughter died out of his eyes, and he looked at her in

silence for a moment. "Aileen--it's all very well to play the fool, but

we're two horribly ignorant people. I wonder if we'll do any good at

all?"

"Yes--we will," she said stubbornly. "And I don't mean to stop playing

the fool: at least I hope I won't have to. Think of poor old Garth, if

we grew old and solemn! We'll just back each other up and worry

through. We're in a pretty tight place, but we're not going to pull

long faces over it. I suppose sometimes things will get bothersome, and

we'll be tired, and possibly our tempers may become a bit ragged at the

edges. But we'll understand, and not remember it against each other

next day."

"Nor next minute, I hope," he said. "Well, a man would be a cur if he

were afraid to face things with any one like you."

"Don't you expect too much of me," said his wife. "I'm an ignorant old

thing, as you've justly pointed out, and when you have indigestion

through my bad cooking you'll dislike me extremely. But I'll improve.

Now come and we'll tell Garth all about it."

*CHAPTER III*

*GORDON'S FARM*

It was Dr. Metcalfe who found the new home for them.

He came in on Garth's first afternoon in the garden. They were gathered

under the pepper tree, and Garth gave a glad little shout at sight of

him.

"Oh, there's my doctor! Come along, Doctor, and have tea!"

"This seems a party," said the new-comer, regarding the table beside the

boy's couch. "Cakes, as I live! and with pink and white icing! Who

said you could have exciting things like that, young man?"

"Mother did--and I b'lieve you told her," said Garth cheerfully. "I'm

ever so nearly well. You know you don't have to come and stick that old

fernometer in my mouth any more."

"It's evident that it will be needed again to-morrow," said the doctor,

regarding the cakes with a lowering brow.

"Never mind--it'll be worth it," Garth rejoined. "Anyhow, I know you're

only pulling my leg!"

"The attitude of disrespect shown by one's patients is very

distressing," said the doctor, subsiding into a low chair and accepting

tea. "Go on, young man: don't blame me when you find the castor-oil

bottle looming by your bed of pain! Then you'll wish that you had stuck

to good old bread-and-butter, and you'll send for me."

"Well, you'd come," said Garth comfortably.

"I would not. I would send back a stern message--'Double dose of oil.'"

"Then I'd better have a double go of cake," said Garth. "Bettern't I,

Dad?"

"Most certainly, I should say," his father answered. "It's a sound rule

not to mind paying for your fun." He held the plate for Garth's

inspection. "There's one in the corner, with an enormous blob of icing:

it looks pretty good."

"It is," said Garth, digging his sharp little teeth into it, with a rapt

expression.

"A nice pair, you are!" quoth the doctor, regarding them with a twinkle

in his eye. "Not that I can blame the son, seeing what his father is. I

pity you, Aileen: you'll have a hard time with them when you get to the

Back of Beyond."

"Oh, did you know we were going there?" Garth queried eagerly. "Isn't

it lovely, Doctor! I'm going to have a pony, Dad b'lieves. Will you

come and see it?"

"It will be my one ambition," the doctor told him gravely. "Have you

made any arrangements yet, Tom?"

"I'm trying to find a place," Macleod answered. "The office has been

awfully decent: they say I'm to come to them if ever we return to

Melbourne, and they'll do their best to take me back. Likewise, they've

given me a bonus, which is handy."

"And said the nicest things about him," interpolated his wife. "_He_

won't tell you that, so I must--you can blush unseen, Tom. And the

staff, to his great horror, mean to give him a silver salver."

"Very handy in the Bush, I'm sure," said the doctor.

"It's jolly good of them," Tom said; "but I wish they wouldn't. Poor

beggars, they have enough to do with their money. The awful part is

that I believe they're going to make speeches!"

"And you'll have to make one," said Aileen. "Do you think they would let

us come and hear?"

"Heaven forbid!" ejaculated her husband. "I haven't made a speech since

the burst of eloquence I uttered, at our wedding breakfast."

"I remember well," said the doctor. "It lasted fully ten seconds, and

then you collapsed. We all blushed for you. I think I'd like to hear

you make another."

"Well, you won't,'" said the victim, with finality. "I wish you'd change

the subject: it hurts."

"Certainly," said the doctor. "I've found you a farm."

"You have! Where?"

"Down in the Gippsland Lakes country," said his friend.

"Is it any good?"

"I wouldn't have found it if it were not," said the doctor severely.

"As a matter of fact, I believe it is rather a lucky find. It belongs

to Jim Gordon, an Englishman who has been out there about fifteen years.

He knocked about all over the country for a good while, and then bought

this place. Now he has had money left to him, and he's going back to

England. But he likes Australia, and he does not mean to stay away for

ever, so he won't sell: he's fond of this little place, and he'll take a

low rent if he can get a tenant who will look after it. He showed it to

one man, who looked at his plunge-bath and remarked, that it would be a

good thing to set tomato plants in! It seems to have given Gordon rather

a shock."

"It would," said Aileen feelingly. "Did you tell him we were nice

people, Doctor?"

"I went as far as I could," said the doctor guardedly.

"I wonder he hasn't already come to call, in that case," said she,

laughing.

"Apart from your quite unjustifiable reasoning, he isn't exactly a

calling man," the doctor remarked. "I gather that he has lived very much

to himself on this place, doing most of his own work, and that he is not

at all popular among the settlers near, who, probably regard him as full

of unpleasant English pride--which he is. He's one of those

stiff-necked people who think their own ways are always best, and so

will never learn any new ones. Therefore, he has never made much money.

From what he says, there is plenty of work to be done on this place.

It's about the acreage you want, and there's a decent little house on

it; and he does seem to have taken some pains with his orchard and

garden. But for the most part he appears to have gone fishing, and let

the place take care of itself."

"Would there be room on it for a pony?" Garth asked wistfully.

"Yes--and what's more, there's a pony there already!"

"Glory!" said Garth faintly.

"Have we got to take his live stock, too?" asked Macleod.

"It isn't necessary, but I should think it would suit you. There is not

much--a pony or two, and a few cows and sheep. You will need all he has

had, and, I should think, more: and he'll sell them at a fair valuation.

He has two boats, which are let with the house, if the tenant undertakes

to keep them in order--he really seems keener about the boats than about

anything else. He has a horror of agents and lawyers, and wants to

arrange the whole thing privately. If you will consider the place he

would like you to go down with him to see it."

"I suppose he would not object to my taking a man down with me? Dawson,

who values for our office, knows all about these things: and you know

how much I do. The office has offered to lend me Dawson to look at any

place."

"Oh, Gordon won't mind--he's really a very fair-minded old chap, and you

won't find him hard to deal with. He's not the sort of person to take

advantage of the young and innocent: in fact, he'll probably respect you

more for taking a tame expert with you."

"It's a long way from town," Macleod said, regarding Aileen with

troubled eyes.

"What of that? It's glorious country, and the very place for a small

boy," said the doctor, smiling at Garth, who had forgotten cake, and was

listening, his eyes shining. "You don't want to be running to town

always--that's expensive and unsettling. Cuninghame is quite close,

where you can get all your stores: and if you want a bigger town, Sale

and Bairnsdale are within easy reach. I've never found out which of them

is the capital of Gippsland, but perhaps you'll make the discovery. Did

I mention that one of the boats is a motor-launch. You lucky people

will be able to explore all the corners of the lakes that mere tourists

never see."

"Dad!" came from Garth, in a burst of ecstasy--which somehow checked his

father in a remark that busy farmers would not have much time to play

about on the lakes. Looking at the delighted face, with the unnaturally

large eyes, it seemed better to put that remark away among unborn

speeches. He said instead--

"It sounds very jolly. I'll have to teach you to run the motor, old

son. By the way, Metcalfe, do you happen to have gathered whether we

are likely to make a living out of this highly desirable place?"

"Why, yes, I think you are," the doctor answered. "Gordon has not done

so badly, and he's not a hard worker. Given decent seasons and fair

luck you ought to get on, though it's not a place to make any fortunes

out of. But go down and look at it for yourself."

Which Macleod did, returning a few days later with a cheered expression.

"It's not so bad, Dawson says," he told Aileen, gratefully sipping a cup

of coffee, after his long journey. "No fortune in it, as Metcalfe said;

but a living, unless we have bad luck. And it's certainly cheap. The

house might be much worse--though I'm afraid you will find it bad

enough, after this one, my girl."

"Bless you, I'm not expecting a palace," said Aileen cheerily. "I hope

it's small: a palace would be somewhat burdensome when one came to scrub

it."

"Oh, it's small enough," he said. "We'll fit in, with an extra room or

two. There are some things that you don't rind in many bush homes,

Dawson says--a decent bathroom, wire window-screens and doors, and a

thoroughly good water-supply. They seem awfully ordinary, but I can

assure you they're not! And the country is lovely: the view from the

front windows will make you forget your old scrubbing-brush!"

"It will be a bad look-out for you if I do!" murmured his wife.

"That's beneath you," he said, laughing. "I don't think a respectable

farmeress ought to make bad jokes. There's a good garden, and a fair

orchard, and Garth will fall in love with the pony."

"Is the pony safe?" she asked.

"Very unsafe, I think--it's always in danger of going to sleep. I

wouldn't like to say how old it is, and I'd hate to ride five miles on

it. But Garth will think it a lovely steed. It may make you realize

how much past its prime it is when I tell you Gordon wouldn't sell it.

He hadn't the face to put a price on it--threw it in with the farm, on

condition that it was treated kindly. Well, you couldn't treat anything

like that unkindly--not if you had been brought up to reverence age!"

"It sounds a soothing beast," said Aileen--"not likely to harrow my mind

by bucking Garth off."

"I'll guarantee it won't. There's another pony, too. I've bought that.

Also three cows, twenty-four sheep, some assorted calves, and a lot of

fowls. Dawson says they're cheap: I don't know. And I've inherited an

orphan boy!"

"Tom! What do you mean?"

"Just what I say. Gordon has a boy on a three-years' lease from an

orphanage in Melbourne, and only six months of it have run, so I've

taken him over. He's about fourteen, and quite full of wickedness. But

one may train him into something."

"Did he--did he look at all clean?"

"He did not. I rather think the training will begin with soap; and it

will be a terrible shock to him, because you'd say from his appearance

that he'd never met it. His name is Horace, I suppose, but old Gordon

always called him Horrors, and I think we'll stick to it; it's

extraordinarily suitable."

"I don't think he sounds nice," said Aileen, wrinkling her pretty nose.

"To tell you the truth," said her husband confidentially, "he isn't.

But he'll do a lot of odd jobs. I made inquiries about a servant, but

it's as we thought--not a soul to be had. Did you sound Julia about

coming?"

"I did," said Aileen. "'Is it me?' said Julia, 'that 'ud be leavin'

Melbourne to go to wan of them places I've heard tell of--nowhere to go

on your night out, and never a man to see, not if it was even a

butcher-boy! I lived in a bog in Ireland all me days till I come to

Australia; and 'tis no longer the counthry that I'd work in, but a good

town with moving pictures and the grocer callin' every day for orders!'

Then she wept at leaving me, and said she loved me as if I was her

mother. Annie weeps too, at intervals, but of course she won't leave the

young man in the baker's shop. But we couldn't afford them, anyway, Tom,

so what's the good of worrying? Stop worrying at once, and tell me more

about the farm."

"There's a gorgeous cloth-of-gold rose tumbling all over the veranda,"

he said obediently, "and lots of nice common flowers in the

garden--stocks, and wallflowers, and snapdragons, and honesty, and

pinks, and things like that. It's very untidy, but quite pretty. The

house is in a sheltered place where anything will grow: he has orange

and lemon trees, covered with fruit, and he says the lemons bear all the

year round. There are guavas, too: I didn't know they grew in

Victoria."

"Glory!" said Aileen, quoting her son. "I'll make guava jelly!"

"Do you know how?"

"No, but I'll learn. What else?"

"Oh--apricots, and peaches, and cherries, and apples, and pears, to say

nothing of gooseberries and currants. There's a good strawberry bed,

too."

"It sounds lovely," said Aileen. "Think of pies! I've been learning to

make pastry, Tom, and Julia says I have a lovely hand for it. She's

going to teach me all sorts of things. Do you think we can afford to

buy one of those nice American oil-stoves? The ovens have glass doors,

and you sit in front in ecstasy, and watch your cakes rise."

"What if they don't rise?"

"Then you go and do something else, and hope for the best. Don't

depress me, Tom. They truly are lovely stoves, and you and Horrors

wouldn't have nearly as much wood to cut. And they're nice and cool to

work at."

"Well, that's quite enough reason," Macleod said. "If any dodge is

going to make work easier for you, we'll get it, if I have to pawn my

watch. Let's go and buy these fascinating things to-morrow. I've got a

list of everything in the house, and you'll have to go over it, and see

what else you'll need." He rose and stretched himself with a great

yawn. "Eh, but I'm sleepy! The boy is asleep, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes, poor man: he tried to stay awake for you, but I told him you

would be too tired to talk. He's desperately anxious to hear about the

pony--you must go in to see him as soon as you get up, and tell him

about it. He is so happy to be going to the country. It's going to be

awfully worth while, Tom."

"Is it?" Then the doubt in his eyes died at the sight of her face.

"Yes, I believe it is," he said. "But then you'd make anything worth

while!"

*CHAPTER IV*

*INTO THE UNKNOWN*

They said good-bye to the "House Beautiful" in the early morning, while

the roses on the porch were still wet with dew. One fragrant bud

brushed Aileen's shoulder as she went, and she picked it, and tucked it

into her coat. If a little shiver ran through her as the door closed

behind her, she gave no sign. Their cab rattled off down the familiar

suburban street. Neither Tom nor Aileen looked back.

At the big station all was bustle and hurry: and soon they were in the

train and slipping through the long miles of grey houses, until the

just-awaking city was left far behind, and wide green paddocks and gum

trees, tall and stately, surrounded them. Little townships, like beads

upon a string, brought them to a halt every few miles: sometimes so

close together that there seemed scarcely any break between the outlying

homesteads.

"Plenty of settlement here now," Macleod said. "My mother used often to

travel this road by coach, and it was a journey in the winter: the road

was just a succession of bog-holes. There was one cheery spot known as

the Glue-Pot. Passengers used to get out there, in a body; the women

and children stood under the trees, often in pouring rain, while the men

got their shoulders to the wheels and dragged and pushed the old coach

through. It must have been hard on women with babies."

"Ugh!" said Aileen. "Do you know, I think our mothers were made of

better stuff than we are."

"I don't," said her husband stoutly. "You aren't called upon to do what

they did--you would do it if you were. But I don't think we men are

anything like as good as our fathers: we're brought up softly, and we

simply haven't got their muscle and endurance and pluck."

"It's just the same with you--you would do what you had to."

"I suppose we'd try. Honestly, though, we wouldn't get through as much.

Every one thinks more nowadays of having a good time: the old people

never took holidays, never had luxuries: worked year in and year out;

had mighty few clothes, and patched them until they fell to pieces. I

suppose that's partly how they made money. No, we're poor specimens

compared to our fathers."

"Well, _I_ think you're just as good as Grandfather, and a jolly lot

better!" said an indignant small voice; and Garth hurled himself

tumultuously upon his father.

"It's something to have a champion, isn't it?" said Aileen, laughing.

"Sonnie, this is where I tuck you up for a sleep," at which Garth

protested that he had never been less tired in his life, but

nevertheless submitted to being rolled up in a rug with his head on his

mother's knee; where presently sleep came to him, and he lay peacefully

while the train raced through the fertile paddocks that were once a

desolate swamp, climbed the Haunted Hills laboriously, rattled down the

other side, and so came upon wide plains where great bullocks ceased

grazing to look lazily at the iron monster that came daily to disturb

their solitude.

Half the afternoon had waned when the train came to the end of its long

journey, and they emerged from the station into a sleepy street where

two-horse cabs waited to rattle them across Bairnsdale to the river. A

paddle-steamer, moored to the wharf, was hooting as they approached, and

late-comers were hurrying down the hill, fearful of being left behind.

Having thus shown her independence by hooting, and every one being

safely on board, the steamer decided not to hurry; and it was some time

before she woke up to fresh energy, mooring ropes were cast off, and she

churned her way into mid-stream.

Garth was wildly excited. Already a big grey horse in a gig had

supplied a private circus for his benefit, declining to cross the bridge

over the river near the wharf, and showing its utter disapproval of all

bridges by dancing wildly on its hind legs, while the girl who was

driving beat it in vain. A parting hoot from the steamer's siren

concluded the argument, so terrifying the horse that it dropped to all

fours and, in desperation, bolted across the bridge, disappearing in mad

career towards the town. Already, Garth decided; the country was

showing extraordinary attractions: this sort of entertainment never

happened in a Toorak street. And now they were slipping down the river,

between high banks where pleasant houses perched, surrounded by

beautiful gardens. Boat-houses were built at the edge of the water,

whence flights of steps ran up the hill: and little boats, tied to

stakes, rocked lazily as the steamer approached, and, as she passed

them, executed a frenzied dance as the swish of the water from the

paddle-wheels churned into the reeds along the bank. Sometimes a lone

fisherman sat in a boat, patiently angling. These sportsmen regarded

the steamer as a necessary evil, and dangled their baits in the air

until the commotion of her passing should have subsided.

A road wound along the river-bank. It was partly screened from view by

trees, but sometimes they caught glimpses of people riding and driving,

and once they saw a flock of sheep, driven by two boys, the younger of

whom looked about Garth's age. A little later came three or four merry

boys and girls, on ponies, racing, with shouts of laughter, along the

track. Garth drew a long breath.

"Isn't the country a lovely place for boys, Dad!" he said.

"It seems pretty jolly, old man," his father answered. "How soon do you

think you'll be able to ride like that?"

"I expect I'll have to get bucked off a good few times first," said the

small boy soberly. "But it doesn't hurt much if you choose a soft spot

to fall, Doctor says. He told me no one could ride until he'd been

slung off seven times!"

"Well, a good many people couldn't ride if they had been off

seventy-seven times," his father answered. "Some people aren't born to

be riders."

"Do you think I am?" queried Garth anxiously.

"Can't tell until I see you on a pony. You ought to be all right;

there's a good deal in beginning young. You will be all right if you're

not afraid," said his father.

Garth's small face set firmly, and instinctively he stiffened his back.

In his heart he was not quite sure that he was not a little afraid. But

he hoped no one was going to guess it.

Round a bend came a little sea-going steamer, trim and workmanlike. She

passed them, so close that a biscuit could have been thrown from deck to

deck. The two crews exchanged cheery greetings; the men on the incoming

ship were busy getting everything in order as they neared the end of

their long voyage from Melbourne.

"Some day, when we want an adventure, Garth, we'll go round to Melbourne

in that boat," Macleod said, watching the steamer's stern as she

ploughed her way up the river. "I believe she carries passengers."

"Well, you'll get the adventure if you chance it in rough weather," said

a man near them. "I bin round in her an' the ol' _Despatch_ too: an'

when it's fine it's a jolly good way of gettin' there. But when it's

rough, it's a fair cow! One trip, we was four days instead of

thirty-six hours, and every one ashore give us up for lost.

"Wrecked?" asked Garth, wide-eyed.

"'M. But we wasn't. We was sheltering in a little inlet, and lucky we

was to get there. We put in at Waratah Bay an' tried to land, but all

the ol' boat 'ud do was to try an' climb on the wharf, there was such a

sea running: so we got out again. It wasn't no picnic. We hadn't any

too much food--not that most of us had big appetites. She was standin'

on her head all the time, when she wasn't doin' her best to lie down' on

her side an' die, an' we were bruised black an' blue from bein' chucked

about. I nearly had me arm broke, from bein' pitched out of me bunk,

one night."

"You had a bad time," Tom said.

"It was a fair cow. I guess even one of them big ocean liners might

have bin a bit uncomfortable in that storm--and she was about three

hundred tons! Anyhow, whatever she was, she could weather a storm

better than most of them--there was bigger ships than her went down in

that gale. We got to Melbourne all right, if we were a few days late. I

guess the owners were pretty relieved when we came up the bay: I know

_we_ were!"

He laughed, and drew out his pipe. He was an immensely tall man, with

broad, stooping shoulders. A straggling beard ornamented a face burnt

to the colour of brick-dust, in which twinkled little china-blue eyes.

There was something very simple and friendly about him.

"But you have not always had bad trips?" Aileen asked.

"Bless you, no, lady. When it's fine I wouldn't ask no better way of

getting about; an' I bin round often when there wasn't hardly a ripple

the whole way. There was two young ladies once, travelling round, an'

they slept out on deck both nights. Not that I've any fancy that way,

meself; gimme a good, air-tight cabin. Oh, you wouldn't ask a nicer

boat than the _Wyrallah_--her we passed just now. I had a liking for

the poor ol' _Despatch_; but she's gone now."

"Where did she go?" Garth asked.

"Down to the bottom, son. She was tryin' to get into the Lakes'

entrance in a heavy gale, with a bad cross-sea running. It's not an

easy entrance--very narrow, and a nasty bar. The current took her a bit

out of her track, an' she got on to a rock, an' went down. It happened

mighty quick. There was lots of people in Gippsland as was sorry for

the ol' _Despatch_. She wasn't a beauty, but she'd tramped up and down

from Melbourne many a year, and we'd got a liking for her."

He pointed ahead with his pipe-stem.

"We're getting into the lake."

The high banks had changed to flats, across which they could see a broad

sheet of water. The land between narrowed to a point; and presently

they came out upon the placid waters of a wide lake rippling gently in

the evening sunlight. In the reeds near the point great black swans

were swimming. They rose as the steamer churned past them and sailed

away into the western sky, the clang of their leader's note coming more

and more faintly as they became dots on the blue.

"Some people as calls themselves sportsmen shoot those birds," said

their new acquaintance scornfully. "Sportsmen, indeed! I'd as soon go

out and shoot canaries, they're that tame. And they're no sort of use

when they are shot; you'd have to be mighty hungry before you'd eat one.

[Illustration: "'Some people as calls themselves sportsmen shoot those

birds.'"]

"Are they tough?" Aileen inquired.

"Tough--and fishy. The blacks eat 'em, but they aren't white men's

food. It's a shame to kill them. But lots of these bright young chaps

that come from Melbourne on a holiday reckon that anything with fur or

feathers on is made for them to blaze at. I'd teach 'em a thing or two,

if I had me way." The china-blue eyes were suddenly fierce. "Y'see,

there's lots of things in the Bush that we get fond of, and it makes us

a bit savage to have chaps like them rampaging round! I found one of

'em once trying his hardest to shoot bell-birds!"

"Is that very wicked?" Garth asked innocently.

"Well, it's worse than shooting canaries. The bell-birds live in the

fern gullies: they're shy little brown things, hard to see, but they've

a note just like a little bell chiming away in the tree-tops. You'd

think even a Melbourne fine gentleman couldn't help liking them. But

there was me gent, with his little gun, looking for scalps; and even a

bell-bird's was better to him than none."

"What did you say to him? Did you let him shoot them?" the lad asked.

"I misremember what I said, but he didn't like it, an' he got nasty, and

wanted to fight. Lord, you couldn't fight anything like that! So to

end it I just gave him a good spanking, and let him go. He went."

Tom burst out laughing.

"You didn't, really?"

"I did, though. What else could you do with him? He reckoned he was

grown-up, but he hadn't as much sense as my kid of ten. Spanking's the

only thing for that sort--an' I guess he remembers the one I gave him

yet. You see, he was rude."

"Are all Melbourne people like that?" Aileen queried, with a twinkle in

her eye.

"Bless you, no," said the giant, twinkling in return. "Most of 'em come

to fish, and they don't do any harm: an' there's lots that like the

Bush, an' wouldn't hurt anything in it. Some of 'em's that proud of it

they even collect all their lunch-papers and burn 'em after a picnic;

but you don't meet many as well brought up as that." He knocked the

ashes out of his pipe. "Well, I think it's a fair thing to go an' have

some tea." He grinned at them, and strolled off along the deck.

"That's an idea," said Tom. "Come on, and we'll have some too."

The little saloon was crowded, so they brought their tea on deck, where

nothing, Garth said, was ever so good as bread-and-butter, eaten in the

sweet air that blew softly across the lake. Here and there brown-sailed

fishing-boats could be seen, and sometimes the steamer slowed down while

a boat ran alongside, and the crew pitched empty fish boxes down to the

men in blue jerseys, in readiness for the night's haul.

"They'll give them back to us filled in the morning, if they have luck,"

said the Captain, a long and friendly man who had come down from the

upper deck to make acquaintance with his passengers. "Then we ice them,

and the fish will be in Melbourne to-morrow night. Not as good as

fresh-caught, of course, but then you city people don't know the

difference! Wait till you get fish at the hotel, I suppose you're going

to Kalimna?"

"No--we're coming down here to live," Tom told him.

"You don't say!" ejaculated the Captain. Light broke upon him. "Is it

you who've taken Gordon's place?"

"Yes."

"Wonder how you'll like it." His glance rested for a moment on Aileen,

dainty in her well-cut travelling clothes, her delicate face a little

pale and tired. "It's not a bad little place, but I'm afraid you'll

find it a bit rough. Gordon's a queer stick: hardly ever spoke to a

soul. He wasn't what you'd call popular in these parts."

"I hope that won't make people unfriendly towards us," said Aileen,

smiling.

"Not much--once they know you're not like Gordon," the Captain answered.

"Country people are friendly enough--when they've time--but they can't

stand any one being stuck-up, and that was the name Gordon had. He

liked the place, too, I believe, but he never would make any friends. He

was a lonely old soul. Well, well! And so you're going farming!"

Again his eye travelled over them curiously. "Been at it before, might

I ask?"

"No--this is our first attempt," said Tom, flushing a little.

"Well, you've got pluck, haven't you? That's all it wants--pluck and

hard work. One thing, you've a good neighbour; Nick O'Connor's a nice

chap. Didn't you know him?"--as Tom's face showed no response. "That's

him you were talking to awhile ago--that big chap."

"Is he our neighbour? Oh, I'm glad, aren't you, Dad?" Garth exclaimed.

"And are you going to be a farmer, too, young man?" queried the Captain.

"I'm going to try," Garth said manfully. "Dad says I can help him."

"I should say so--a big fellow like you. Would you like to come and see

the engines?"

"Glory!" said Garth blissfully, and trotted off by his new friend. Half

an hour later his father went in search of him, and found him on the

upper deck, grasping the wheel with his thin little hands, and trembling

with eager delight as the steamer answered his touch. The Captain stood

by, laughing at his efforts.

"I'll make a sailor of him, if he finds he doesn't like farming," he

said.

"I'll remember," Tom said, laughing. "Which is it going to be, Garth?"

"I like this--awfully!" Garth panted. "But I suppose one might get a

bit sick of it. And you can't have a pony on a ship!"

"Not as a rule," said the Captain. "Well, let me know if you change

your mind. I might have a vacancy for a first mate any time." He

patted Garth on the head as the small boy went off with his father to

the warmth of the lower deck and his big overcoat.

The day was dying, and Garth began to feel a little tired: ready to sit

down between his father and mother, and watch the lake shores as they

glided by. They were in another lake now, the first of the chain of

three that stretches inland from the sea; and their course was close to

shore, underneath wooded heights and past beautiful little bays. The

lake grew darker and darker. It was all very beautiful and peaceful:

but, to the three strangers, it was certainly a little lonely, perhaps a

little unfriendly. Home--the dear "House Beautiful" seemed very far

away.

There came a momentary stoppage at a little jetty under high cliffs,

where three or four men with rod cases went ashore and disappeared on a

steeply ascending path. Then the steamer ran on, almost under the

cliffs, until the lake narrowed, and opened out again; and ahead they

could see the lights of a township. On the right hand, dimly visible, a

narrow pathway of water ran out, between long grey piers, to an

illimitable grey waste of water beyond; and a dull sound that had for

some time been audible swelled to a roar; the thunder of the surf

pounding on the entrance bar and on the Ninety-Mile Beach. They steamed

past the entrance and into what seemed a little land-locked lake: paused

for a moment at another jetty, and then made across to the beckoning

lights on the further shore. The long journey was at an end.

*CHAPTER V*

*THE HOME-COMING*

Weary, a little dazed, the three travellers stood up, collecting rugs

and wraps, and moved to the rail, watching the bustle of disembarkation.

Most of the township of Cuninghame seemed to have come to meet the boat;

the wharf was crowded, fishermen and labourers mingling with

gaily-dressed visitors--boys in flannels, and girls in pretty frocks.

Across the street from the wharf, light streamed from the open doors of

a brightly-lit store, throwing everything else into greater darkness.

Tom Macleod leaned forward, scanning the throng intently.

"I wish I could see my worthy friend, Mr. Smith," he muttered.

"Who's Mr. Smith, Daddy?"

"Mr. Smith is the proud owner of a two-hoss shay he calls an

express-wagon: and I hired him to meet us and drive us home, my son,"

Tom answered. "Thank goodness, there he is!" as a short, thick-set man

came into view in the shifting crowd. "Hi! Smith! Stay here, Aileen:

I'll go and get the luggage ashore." He disappeared, and they heard his

voice again urgently hailing Mr. Smith, who strolled to and fro on the

wharf, apparently enjoying the evening, but making no effort to find his

temporary employer. Finally, a more insistent call secured his

attention, and they lost sight of him.

A long and dreary wait ensued. The decks had emptied; and the steamer

lights were being turned out. A keen wind blew from the water: Aileen

wrapped Garth in a rug, and they crouched together on a seat, too tired

even to talk. The people on the wharf went home, or clustered in groups

near the store, gossiping. From time to time they caught sight of Tom

and Mr. Smith, crossing and re-crossing towards the street, laden with

boxes and trunks. Garth was nearly asleep when at length his father

appeared.

"You poor souls!" Tom uttered. "I'm awfully sorry to have kept you such

a time, Aileen. But we couldn't get a soul to help us, and Mr. Smith

isn't what you'd call a swift mover. Asleep, sonnie? Come on--we'll

soon be home."

Garth got to his feet stiffly, and stood, shivering, while his father

and mother gathered up the rugs. Then they crossed to the wharf over a

narrow gangway. In the street waited Mr. Smith, in a curious vehicle

like a single-seated buggy with a very long tail, which tail was piled

high with their luggage. The seat was very high, and looked--and

was--exceedingly uncomfortable. Two impatient horses were making

attempts to start, and Mr. Smith was repressing their energy.

"G'd evenin'," he said. "Back there, Blossom. You're a long way off

your paddock yet. Take care how you get up, Mrs. Macleod; the step's a

bit high. Afraid the kid'll have to sit on your knee. Bit of a squash,

ain't it?"

They settled themselves somehow; the high seat caused Aileen's feet to

dangle uncomfortably until Mr. Smith obligingly produced a sack of

potatoes which acted as a footstool and prevented her slipping down.

Tom took Garth on his knee, and muffled him in a rug. His head went

back thankfully upon his father's shoulder. Mr. Smith clicked

encouragingly to the horses, and they trotted up the street, leaving the

brightly-lit store behind them. On one side were dim houses, and on the

other, behind a low stone wall, the lake glimmered, and the water

splashed on the shingle.

They turned inland presently, along a track that was hardly visible to

the untrained eyes of the city people, though Mr. Smith and the horses

followed it unerringly. It wound like a snake among the dim shapes of

gum trees. Soon they were beyond the outlying houses of the township,

and only an occasional lit window showed the existence of any

inhabitants of this lonely region. Even these disappeared at last, and

they drove into what seemed utter blackness.

Afterwards, Aileen Macleod was amazed to find that her new home was only

three miles from the township. On that first night, twisting and

turning on the dark bush track, with her senses numbed by weariness and

homesickness, it was an interminable drive. Garth fell asleep, but the

bumping of the express wagon over unseen obstacles awoke him constantly,

and he whimpered a little--too tired to be a man, in spite of his seven

years.

"Buck up, ol' son," said Mr. Smith. "We're just about there."

They stopped at a white-painted gate, only half visible to the

strangers. Tom got down and fumbled with unaccustomed fastenings, while

the horses fidgeted at the delay, and Aileen tried hard not to be

nervous. At length it was open, and then another pause ensued while it

was shut--an operation even more difficult than the opening. Tom swung

himself up into the wagon again, with a muttered apology for his

slowness.

"There ain't a decent gate on ol' Gordon's place," Mr. Smith said.

"You'll have to let your boy come back with me to open it--I'd never

hold these brutes once they got their heads pointed for home."

They were trotting through a paddock, where, apparently, no track

existed. Bump--bump--bump, they went, over hollow and rise, stick and

tussock. The horses swerved and twisted among the grey tree-shapes.

Once they shied so violently that Tom had to clutch Aileen to save

himself from being thrown out. Something got up with a snort and

lumbered off into the darkness.

"A bloomin' cow!" observed Mr. Smith.

"Do cows always lie down on the track at night?" Aileen asked.

"Cert'nly," said Mr. Smith, in some surprise. "The things what don't

come here at night, gen'lly-as-a-rule, is horses and buggies!"

A new chill crept over her. The stupid incident seemed to sum up her

position. The cow was at home, and she, most emphatically, was not.

Would it ever be home to her?

A faint light showed through the trees ahead, and presently they were

skirting a rough garden fence, as Mr. Smith announced his intention of

taking them round to the back. He pulled up, with a great grinding of

brakes, and shouted "Coo-ee!" loudly. Across the yard a door opened,

and a boy's squat figure showed against the light.

"There's your man," said Mr. Smith, with something resembling a chuckle.

"Come over 'ere, 'Orace, and lend a hand with these things."

The boy moved slowly, hesitatingly, forward. Tom got down, and held out

his hands to Garth.

"Come on, sonnie. Be careful, Aileen: the step is high."

He lifted Garth down, and turned to help his wife. She was numbed from

her cramped position, and stumbled against him, glad of his arm, for a

moment.

"I'm all right, Tom," she said then. "Give me something to carry in."

"You can take the rugs," he said, "and Garth. Don't come out again,

dear; just look round the rooms to get the hang of the place. I'll

hurry the things in as quickly as I can, and come to help you."

Mother and little son stumbled across the uneven yard, guided by the

light from the door. The squat boy brushed against them, evidently

afraid. They reached a narrow veranda, across which the light streamed.

It came from a kitchen: such a kitchen as Aileen had never seen. She

looked into it half-timidly.

It was not a very large room, and it was indescribably filthy. A fire,

which seemed the only clean thing, blazed in a rusty-looking stove,

which had not known blacklead since its earliest infancy. On the hearth,

logs, buckets and dirty boots mingled: a very black kettle and some

evil-looking saucepans stood on the stove-top and the hobs. The floor

was covered with tattered linoleum, with bare spaces here and there

where the ancient covering had worn away, or still lingered in ragged

strands. There was a sink in one corner; a large table, the surface of

which shone with blackened grease, a dresser, covered with a queer

assortment of cracked and stained crockery. The walls had once been

whitewashed, but the white had long disappeared beneath a coating of

smoke and grime. A black frying-pan hung by the fire-place, with a

toasting-fork that had been twisted out of fencing wire. Over all was a

reek of vile tobacco smoke, mingled with the smell of dirt and

closeness. It was very evidently the sitting-room of Horrors. The

mantelpiece held a framed text, its gaudy flowers almost invisible under

the speckled and misty glass. It said, "God Bless Our Home."

"Mother!" said Garth, in a whisper. "Is this where we're going to

_live_?"

She looked down at the child's white face, and woke from the disgust and

horror that had swept over her.

"Well, it is, sonnie," she said. "But it won't look like this long.

You wait until we all get busy at it, and you won't know it. Anyway,

we'll forget about it to-night. Come on and explore the rest of the

house."

There was only one lamp, and she did not like to take it, since its dim

beam was the only guide for the men as they tramped backwards and

forwards from the wagon to the veranda. She looked about on the

dresser, and found an end of candle stuck into a broken porter bottle,

the sides of which were thick with grease. No matches were visible, so

she held it to a blazing stick until it was alight. Then they entered

their home.

There were four main rooms, with a kind of lobby at the back, off which

were bathroom and storeroom. It was a simple cottage, such as you will

find in the Bush in hundreds: a big living-room, and three bedrooms of

varying sizes, the largest of which would have made a servant's bedroom

in the "House Beautiful"--which was, perhaps, a place that gave itself

airs. Such rooms they were! The extreme filth of the kitchen had not

penetrated indoors; but they were dirty enough, with dust thick in every

corner, and an almost unbearable fustiness that cried eloquently for

fresh air. After her first sniff of the evil atmosphere Aileen went

hastily to each window, flinging them open: all save one, which,

apparently, never had been opened, and declined to begin now. She

struggled with it for a minute and then gave it up, glancing at her

dirt-streaked hands with a little shudder of disgust.

They had sent ahead of them, by steamer, a few articles of furniture,

arranging with Mr. Smith to bring them out and unpack the new beds;

which stood, gaunt with their naked mattresses, looking painfully clean

amid the surrounding squalor. Sheets and blankets were somewhere in the

mass of luggage that even now was being flung down on the dark back

veranda. The other furniture was rough and untidy, and chiefly

home-made: the dressing-tables were old packing-cases draped with dingy

cretonne, the washstands were shelves against the wall. Mr. Gordon had

evidently been a gentleman with a turn for carpentry: there were chairs

made from barrels, and bookshelves composed of old laths from fruit

cases, and filled with tattered and dirty books. The walls were boarded

and varnished, cobwebs forming their only decoration.

"It's a funny house," Garth said plaintively. "Mother, could I go to

bed, do you think?"

"Mother hasn't got a proper bed ready for you," Aileen said. "Never

mind, sonnie: I'll fix you up without proper things for a while."

She brought the bundle of rugs, and spread them on the smaller bed: Mr.

Smith, with an admirable economy of space, had erected both in one room.

Garth was fumbling wearily at his buttons, and she came to his aid

quickly.

"We won't take all your clothes off, because your pyjamas, are hiding in

one of the boxes," she told him. "But you won't mind that, to-night."

Garth was past minding anything. His heavy head nodded forward as she

picked him up, kneeling on the dirty floor while she unlaced his boots;

then she laid him gently back on the uncovered pillow. He was asleep

almost as his head touched it. Very gently, she drew the rugs over him,

and turned from him, shading the candle with her hand.

Tom Macleod, entering hurriedly, looked from the white face on the

pillow to that of his wife, almost as white.

"My poor little girl!" he said.

A lump rose in Aileen's throat. She choked it back with decision.

"If you begin to pity me I might cry, and there doesn't seem time for

any diversion like that," she said, smiling bravely. "We're all right.

I've put Garth to bed---the poor man was so tired I wouldn't wait for

sheets. But I would like some milk for him, Tom. Do you know if there

is any?"

"There should be any amount--I think it's kept in the store-room," he

said.

"And a saucepan?"

"Smith says he put the new pots and pans in the store-room, too--and the

bread and meat and things we ordered."

"Then we'll all have hot milk and bread before we start unpacking," said

his wife with decision. "Would you get the lamp, Tom? I'm so tired of

this illumination!" She put down the greasy bottle and looked at the

candle-end with disfavour. "I'll leave it, in case Garth wakes."

The store-room was more hopeful, since its window consisted of wire

gauze, through which the air came freely. They found milk in what

seemed to Aileen enormous quantities, most of it sour; but a bucket held

the fresh supply of the evening, and a huge parcel from the store

revealed butter as well as bread and groceries. They found another

lamp, and while Tom heated milk in a hurriedly-rinsed saucepan, Aileen

spread their first meal in the dining-room, using old newspapers for a

tablecloth. She woke Garth, and made him drink a cupful of milk, but he

was too sleepy to eat.

"Never mind--the milk will do him good," Tom said, watching them. "Now

come and have some yourself."

They looked at each other over the paper-spread table, and to each of

them came a vision of the "House Beautiful"--was it only last night that

they had been in its dainty luxury! Neither spoke of it, however. Tom

poured milk into a cracked cup and gave it to her.

"Don't be afraid. I washed the cups!" he said. "There was plenty of hot

water, but nothing to dry them with--at least, nothing that you'd have

cared about! So they're damp, if clean."

"Bless you!" said his wife. "Did you ever wash a cup before, Tom?"

"Not that I know of," he said, laughing. "But it isn't really

difficult, if you have brains! Is the house very awful, dear?"

"Well--I'm inclined to think it's as well I had no stronger light than

my candle-end to inspect it," she said, forcing a laugh. "It's--well,

just a bit dirty. You ordered a charwoman, didn't you, Tom?"

"Of course I did. At least, one doesn't order them in this part of the

world: one begs them humbly. I arranged with a plump lady named

O'Brien, and Smith was to bring her out as often as was necessary. But

she sent him a message that she had a lady friend from Bairnsdale

staying with her, and she wasn't going. There doesn't seem to be any

one else; so, since Gordon left, the house has been at the tender mercy

of Horrors, not that I think he gets much beyond the kitchen. The

kitchen is eloquent of him."

"It is, indeed," said Aileen, with a shudder. "Where is he now?"

"Gone to open the gate for Smith. I told him to come back quickly, but

I don't fancy he's strong on being quick. I want him to help me carry

things into the lobby--it's the best place to unpack. You know where to

put your hands on the things we need to-night, don't you?"

"Oh, yes--bedclothes and sleeping things are all together in the black

trunk, and so are our old clothes. They're all handy. But I can't

remember where I packed soap and towels."

"They'll turn up," said Tom cheerfully, "especially if you don't worry

about them. All you have to think of to-night is bed, even if you go

there grubby! I'm afraid you'll have a very hard day to-morrow, my

girl."

"It doesn't seem as if anything could be hard if I only had a sleep

first," she said. "Have more hot milk, Tom."

Tom drained the saucepan.

"I never knew what a really good thing milk was," he said. "Let's live

on it largely: it's cheap, and easy to cook! I feel pounds better."

"Kin I go ter bed?" said a voice at the door.

It was Horrors: a curious, squat boy of fifteen, with a very red face in

which small eyes looked dully at the world; with a mop of extremely

tight black curls, and an expression of stupidity that proved to be

quite genuine. His clothes, tightly buttoned, were of blue dungaree,

and had a well-filled look which, later, they found to be due to a habit

of wearing other complete suits underneath the top layer, as though

prepared at any minute to leave home suddenly. He stood at the door

opening from the lobby and repeated his question heavily.

"Kin I go ter bed?"

"You can't, just yet," Tom said. "I want you to help me carry in those

boxes."

"Awright," said Horrors sadly.

"Where do you sleep?" Aileen asked nim, studying her new henchman

gravely.

"In me room."

"But where? Not in the house?" with a swift fear.

"Over there." He jerked his head towards the outer world. It was

characteristic of Horrors that he never used two words where one would

do.

"There's a buggy-shed, with a lean-to attached that forms Horrors'

sleeping-bower," Tom told his wife. "I told him to clean it out before

we came."

"Did," said Horrors.

"H'm," said Tom. "Pity you didn't clean the kitchen, too. Well, we'll

get in these boxes."

They carried them in, placing them so that they could be conveniently

unpacked. Aileen dragged out bedclothes and garments and made the bed

by the light of the candle-end, now nearly exhausted. She was not used

to the task: it would not have been considered a well-made bed. But it

looked rather like heaven to her when it was finished.

Tom came in, to find her rooting wearily in a trunk.

"I wish I could have helped you," he said anxiously. "What are you

looking for, now?"

"Soap," she said, her lip quivering in spite of herself. The hunt for

soap had suddenly assumed enormous proportions--she had a vague idea

that, if necessary, she must go on searching for it all night.

"Oh, you poor old tired thing!" her husband said. "There's an old bit

of yellow in the bathroom, and here's a spare pillow-case--it will make

a beautiful towel. I've got hot water in the basin--it was the dirtiest

basin you ever saw, by the way. Come along." He lifted her to her

feet.

They washed their hands and faces together in the basin, like children,

and dried them on the pillow-case. The candle-end had guttered out when

Aileen went back to her room, and she undressed by a faint gleam of

moonlight that filtered in through the uncurtained window. The smell of

the yellow soap was her last waking memory on her first night in the new

home.

*CHAPTER VI*

*A DAY IN THE COUNTRY*

The sun was streaming through a threadbare yellow blind when Aileen

Macleod awoke next morning. For a moment, dazed with sleep, she

wondered what had happened--surely Julia was very late in bringing tea!

Then memory came to her, and, with it, the realization that, for the

first time in her life, food depended upon her own exertions.

Simultaneously came the conviction that never before had she wanted

morning tea so much.

She slipped out of bed. Garth and her husband were still sound asleep,

but from outside came a clatter of buckets that gave hope that Horrors

was astir. The thought of the bath called her. But on examination, the

plunge-bath proved to possess an encrusted layer of dirt that defied

cold water, and effectually robbed her of any craving to use it. The

basin provided minor ablutions--the pillow-case was still damp from its

midnight use, but its cleanliness, even though moist, was pleasant.

Everywhere that she looked the pitiless daylight revealed dirt which the

kindly candle-end had hidden the night before. She drew the skirts of

her pretty dressing-gown more closely about her as she went back along

the narrow passage towards the locked front door. She threw it open and

went out upon the veranda.

[Illustration: "She drew the skirts of her pretty dressing-gown more

closely about her and went out upon the veranda."]

Before her was loveliness of which she had not dreamed.

The house stood on a little hill, which sloped gently away at the back,

and, in front, shelved more steeply down to where a glimpse of blue

water showed. Like a river, it wound away among the hills until it was

lost to sight: now narrow, now widening almost to a baby lake. Beyond

were hills clothed with gum trees and wattle, stretching to the far

distance; but nearer, she looked down into an exquisite fern gully,

where splendid tree-ferns flung their fronded crests high into the air,

and smaller fern-growths nestled about their stems. The plash of a tiny

waterfall told of a stream running through it, to empty itself in the

lake. Nearer, the hills were low and rounded, their fresh greenness a

delight to tired city eyes.

No other houses were visible. It was as though they owned all the sweet

countryside that stretched about the little cottage. On a far rise she

could see knots of sheep, like dots of white wool upon the green; but

before her no living thing moved, and there was only the still peace of

hill and valley and curving lake. There had been fear in her heart--the

fear born of inexperience and ignorance, the dread that the task she had

shouldered would prove too hard for her. But it died as she looked out

across the paddocks. In fancy she saw Garth running on the hills:

growing strong and rosy, losing the pinched, tired look, and the blue

circles under his eyes. With that dear vision in her heart, nothing

else could matter.

She went back to her room. Garth was sitting up in bed, frankly

bewildered.

"Hallo, Mother!" he said. "Did I go to sleep in my clothes?"

"You did," said his mother, beginning to brush her hair with swift

strokes. "You were quite too tired last night to worry about pyjamas

and sheets, sonnie."

"I don't remember a thing about it," said Garth. "I say, isn't this a

queer room?"

"Oh, rooms don't count," Aileen answered. "You won't think about them

when you see what a country we have come to. It's just lovely, Garth.

Green paddocks--and gullies--and blue water!"

"Glory!" said Garth, and tumbled out of bed: a quaint figure in crumpled

shirt and trousers. He ran to the window. "Oh-h, Mother!"

"Are you two discovering Gippsland?" asked a sleepy voice.

"Yes. Get up, lazy one, and discover it too," said Aileen.

"You forget that I explored it before kindly bringing you here,"

answered her husband, turning more comfortably on his pillow. "Aren't

you grateful to me?" He suddenly regarded her with amazement. "Why are

you doing your hair in that small, hard bun?"

Aileen skewered the bun in question with a final careful hairpin.

"There is going to be an amount of dust raised in this house to-day that

will make up for the years during which it has never seen a

spring-cleaning," she answered. "And my hair is clean. So I screw it

in a bun, and presently I shall also tie it in one of your largest

handkerchiefs. Then I shall sally forth and attack our new home with a

broom."

"To do which, you must be fed," said Tom, getting up with a quick

movement and disappearing towards the bathroom.

"How he'll _hate_ that wet pillow-case!" Aileen murmured. Inspiration

came to her, and she dived into a trunk, which, after a moment's

rummaging, revealed a large brown towel. Thrust in at the bathroom

door, this induced gasping sounds of gratitude.

The newspaper tablecloth of last night did duty for breakfast also; and

breakfast was eggs, boiled over a spirit-lamp, and tea, which Tom brewed

in the kitchen. Garth, delighted at what he regarded as a huge picnic,

trotted here and there, helping and hindering with equal enthusiasm.

"I've made a tour of the house," Aileen said, manipulating an enormous

brown tea-pot; "and I want to map out our plan of campaign. What are

you going to do?"

"Help you, until the place is clean," said her husband, looking at her.

She was an unfamiliar Aileen, in a blue overall, short and workmanlike,

and with her tightly-screwed hair. Tom came to the conclusion that he

liked it. "What do we do first?"

"Good housewives, I have always read, begin by setting their kitchen in

order," she answered. "But I think I would rather have clean bedrooms

first; and I propose to ignore the kitchen. It's dirtier than all the

rest of the house put together, and I feel that it will keep. If we

could set up the oil-stove in the lobby we could boil kettles and things

there. I brought an enormous piece of cooked corned-beef, so we shan't

need to cook."

"First-rate idea," said Tom approvingly. "What about the kid? Does he

eat corned-beef?"

"There's a cold chicken for him," said his mother. "Also meat jelly, in

a jar: I trust it's not broken by that unholy bumping last night of Mr.

Smith's express wagon. What does Horrors do to earn his living, Tom?"

"He's supposed to do what he is told; but under Gordon he seems to have

done very much what he liked," Tom answered. "He milks three cows, and

feeds pigs and calves and fowls; and cuts wood, and draws water--no, he

doesn't, there are taps, praise the pigs! He's just an odd-job boy--and

quite at your disposal. His not to reason why!"

"He might do some of the rougher work, and the scrubbing," Aileen said.

She knitted her brows. "I do feel so stupid--I don't know where to

begin!"

"I don't blame you, with a house in what my old nurse used to call a

dirty uproar," said her husband. "Let's hurl everything out of one

front room on to the veranda and clean things there. Then we'll clean

the room, and put the clean things back into it, and then we'll sit down

in the clean midst of everything and smirk at the result. We shan't be

clean, ourselves, by that time, but that's a detail. If we do that

every day for a week you won't know our mansion!"

"It sounds a good plan," said Aileen enthusiastically. "Come on, and

we'll begin." She reached the door, and then turned back, laughing.

"I quite forgot that if we didn't clear away the breakfast things,

nobody would!" she said. "I must wash up."

"I'll help you, Mother," said Garth eagerly.

"Will you, sweetheart? Well, you can dry the things. And Tom, if you

could get Horrors, you and he might begin the hurling-out of the

furniture. Where is Horrors, by the way?"

"When I last saw him, he had eaten five eggs, and was beginning a

sixth!" said her husband. "If he feels well enough, which seems

doubtful, I'll get him at once. I'll fill the kettle for you. Don't go

into the kitchen more than you can help, for it is in every sense a

place of horrors. I saw fully five thousand cockroaches there last

night."

"Ugh!" shuddered Aileen.

"Don't worry. I'm told that it's only at night that 'the rogues come

out to play,'" said he. "We'll poison them when we come to attack the

kitchen. They must have been great company for that boy in the long

evenings--we mustn't grudge him lively society!"

"What's cockroaches?" asked Garth, greatly interested. "I never saw

one."

"I trust not," said his mother hastily. "Never mind them--we must get

to work, sonnie."

There were evil rags in the kitchen that had done duty as dish-towels,

and which Aileen, having sniffed gingerly, lifted on the point of a

stick and conveyed to the fire. There was also a dish-pan so encrusted

with the remains of many washings that she decided to use a wash-hand

basin. There were the shelly remnants of Horrors' breakfast--which it

seemed best to leave for his own disposal. Finally, having discovered

that when cockroaches are sufficiently tame and prosperous they do not

always shun the daylight, she seized the kettle and, shuddering, fled,

leaving both doors open, that fresh air might remove some of the more

obtrusive odours of Horrors' sitting-room. Later, she found that this

plan had led to the intrusion of a large family of fowls and several

half-wild cats. In the hope that some of these visitors might care for

eating cockroaches, she forebore to disturb them.

It was a strange day for a woman who had never before done an hour's

hard work. Throughout her life she had known only ease and dainty

comfort; now she found herself plunged into dirt and squalour, with no

skilled aid, and handicapped by utter inexperience. It was the

inexperience that almost angered her as the hours went on. By nature

she was practical enough--it was hurting to her pride to make stupid

mistakes that must be paid for by more hard work. She scrubbed a room

without thinking of cleaning the walls and ceiling--which, when

examined, yielded so much grime that her fastidiousness forthwith

scrubbed the defiled floor again. Tom was greatly annoyed with her when

he found her on her knees, wielding the scrubbing-brush anew. But at

least there was comfort in having done the job thoroughly.

Horrors, as a scrubber, proved an utter failure. Tom said he "took the

rough off"; but Aileen, looking at pools of filthy water which seemed to

have flung up waves of dirt, decided that his methods were hopeless,

and--when Tom was out of the way--went over the work again herself, and

made the discovery that scrubbing is not so easy as it looks, and that

it carries possibilities of backache undreamed of before. Indeed, as

the day wore on, a thousand aches seemed situated in her back, and her

shoulders grew so stiff that she could scarcely raise her arms. Like

all enthusiastic beginners, she tried to do too much, and paid the

penalty.

Yet throughout the hard day she was never unhappy. The work brought its

own reward in the delight of feeling cleanliness about her again; and it

was something to be working together, uniting their efforts in making

the new home. Garth's happy face, as he appeared from time to time at a

window, full of joyful tidings of new discoveries outside, was a

never-failing tonic. And Tom was the best of mates; ignorant as

herself, and much more unpractical, but full of energy, and with a joke

always on his lips. Garth's voice singing, as he roamed in the garden,

mingled with his father's, singing also, to the accompaniment of much

rattling and banging, as he unpacked and erected the new oil-stove. It

made her want to sing herself--only that her back ached too much.

They lunched in a scrappy fashion, very late which was foolish; and,

having lunched late, let afternoon tea go altogether, which was more

foolish still. They had yet to learn that hard work, without sufficient

food, does not pay. Aileen was finishing bed-making, in a room that

fairly smelt of cleanliness, when Tom appeared in the doorway.

"Six o'clock; and that's the last stroke of work you do this day," said

he firmly. "Come and eat things: I've made an enormous pot of tea, and

Garth has laid the table."

"How lovely! and what dears you both are!" she said, turning, and

smiling at him. Then suddenly the room began to turn round, slowly at

first, and then faster, and she was falling through space.

It seemed a very long while, though it was but a few moments, before she

opened her eyes, to find herself on her bed, with Tom bending over her.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "I'm all right, Tom--let me get up."

She struggled to rise.

"Lie still, dear," he said anxiously.

"Did I faint?--how silly of me!" she said disgustedly. "I'm so sorry; I

must have frightened you."

"I'm glad I caught you," he said. "Isn't there some medicine I could

give you? Sal volatile, or something? Tell me where to look."

Colour was coming back to her lips. She began to laugh.

"Oh, I don't want any medicine," she answered. "I haven't got any,

either--you know I never faint, Tom. It's too stupid of me to do it

now. I was only a little tired--and I think the idea of tea overcame

me!"

"Keep quiet, then, and I'll bring you a cup," he said, disappearing. He

was back in a moment, cup in hand, and made her lean against him as she

drank it.

"That was lovely!" she said, lying back. "Oh, I've such a heavenly

feeling of laziness, and of course, I must nip it in the bud! I'm all

right now, Tom, and so hungry. Come along."

"Sure you are?" he said, regarding her doubtfully as she got up. "Well,

don't go tumbling about like that any more: it scares one." He held her

arm as they went along the narrow passage to the dining-room, and kept a

wary eye upon her throughout the meal. Being well aware of this, she

forced herself to be extremely merry, despite thee fact that red-hot

knives seemed to be running in and out of her shoulders.

"It's just the beautifullest place that ever was!" Garth said,

blissfully looking up from his bowl of bread and milk. "There's lovely

sheds, and a big bench with tools--they's rustier than _your_ tools,

Daddy!--and a stable, and such a jolly loft, with hay in it, and rats!"

"It sounds a jolly place," said his father. "Are there more rats than

hay, or vice versa?"

"I didn't see any---any of those things you said," answered Garth,

slightly puzzled. "Do they run about?"

"Not as a rule," said Tom gravely. "Never mind; I dare say there are

none. But are there many rats?"

"I only saw three, but I heard lots." Garth's tone was hopeful. "And

Bran was awful excited. He couldn't get up the ladder, but he raced

about down below, and barked like fun. Do you think you could carry him

up to-morrow, Daddy? I tried, but it's a very steep ladder, and he

wriggled."

"And who said you could climb up steep ladders?" asked his mother.

"But I couldn't have got up into the loft if I hadn't," said her son.

"That seems to settle it," said Tom, beginning to laugh. "We'll have to

get used to these things, I suppose."

"I suppose so," Aileen agreed. "We really don't want a prim suburban

son now. Only make me one promise, Garth, to keep my old mind

easy--don't go near the water until Daddy has time to teach you to

swim."

"I did go, to-day," confessed her son, "but I won't again. You'll teach

me pretty quick, won't you, Daddy? And can I go near the little creek

in the gully? It's the littlest ever--I can jump across it anywhere."

"Oh, we can leave you the gully," Aileen answered. "And we'll make a

swimmer of you just as soon as we can. Every one finished? Then we'll

go and look at our work."

The house reeked pleasantly of soap and turpentine, and, so far as was

possible, it shone. It had been fortunate for the workers that Mr.

Gordon's furniture was both simple and scarce, and so had economized

cleaning. They had arranged it to more advantage in the bare little

rooms, and already they were homelike, though lacking as yet the

smallest pretence at adornment. The cretonne petticoats had been

ruthlessly torn from the packing-case dressing-tables, the shelves and

tops of which were modestly covered, for the present, with newspapers.

Gay Indian bedspreads lent a touch of colour to the prevailing dinginess

of the brown walls and linoleum-covered floors of the two front rooms.

"Don't you feel a holy glow that we took up those linoleums?" Tom asked.

"When I think of what was under them, I do!" rejoined his wife grimly.