She fell upon the hen swiftly, and transferred it to the eggs. Joe,

recalled with difficulty from the hay-loft, appeared with his person

largely concealed under straw, and had to submit to a vigorous

brushing-down by his sister. Then they jogged off together in the

twilight.

*CHAPTER XI*

*FARMERS IN EARNEST*

Two months passed, and spring deepened into summer. The gold of the

wattle, which had covered the hills when the strangers came to

Gippsland, faded; its tiny yellow balls floated down on the surface of

the river, carpeting it with a rippling sheet of gold, until the current

took them away to sea. The hot winds breathed upon the creamy tangles

of clematis, and turned them to hanging masses of dull brown. The tiny

orchids in the gullies sighed for the wet spring, drooped, and died.

But the convolvulus and the purple sarsaparilla went on blossoming

bravely, climbing through the densest masses of the scrub; and the tiny

eucalyptus capsules burst, flinging their wee caps afar, and releasing

bunches of perfumed stamens, so that all the air was filled with

sweetness. Out on the hills the grass turned yellow and the ground was

hard. But the gullies were always cool, their rich earth moist under

the great green tree-ferns, about whose roots the little streams

gurgled, winding away to the lake.

Garth loved the gullies. Now that Mother and Daddy were so busy all day

there was much time on his hands. A small boy of seven cannot always

help, no matter how willing he may be; there were times when all his

jobs--and they were many--were done, and he was free to wander off into

the paddocks, where the cool fern-glades were storehouses of wonder for

the little city lad. Books were forbidden him nowadays; but his brain

held old stories of fairies and elves and gnomes, and it was easy to

people this new country with them all.

Best of all he loved the days when 'Possum worked upon the little farm.

'Possum never was too busy for a small boy. Her day's work was a

generous one, for she came early--rising at no one knew what unearthly

hour to finish her home-tasks first--and stayed late, riding away in the

dusk with her blue skirt flapping against the side of the old grey; and

she was a swift, tireless worker, with a rare ability for using her head

as well as her hands, so that she never made two strokes where one would

suffice. But she managed to include Garth in most things. If she were

ploughing, he knew that by waiting at the end of the furrow he could

have a few words with her as he watched the fascinating business of

turning the big disc-plough; and if the going were good, there might

even be the wild joy of sitting in its curved iron seat, and holding the

reins while 'Possum turned the horses. Always at the end of the day he

was there to help her take them out of the plough; and then, each

mounted on a broad bare back, with the harness jingling, they would jog

home together to the stable, and he would help to rub down the horses

and feed them. 'Possum always let him help. It was one of the things

Garth liked best about her.

He was fast turning into a country boy. All the dull business of

putting in the crops was a gloriously interesting matter to him--partly

because it was so interesting to Daddy, and because Daddy was learning,

even as he was. They watched together for the first shoots of the oats,

the tiny tender leaves of the field-peas, and the slender spears of the

maize; and Garth was a proud boy because it was he who first found the

potatoes sending green messages above the brown soil he had helped to

prepare. Later, 'Possum showed them how to "hill" them, so as to

protect the tender stems: just as she taught them the points of the new

calves that were now running in the paddocks, turning from good veal

into better beef, and of the sheep that dotted the rises. Her father

showed Tom how to buy them: or rather, he bought them while Tom looked

on, vainly trying to see why a beast should be good value at 30*s*., and

another, looking--to him--very like the first, should be ruination at

35*s*. Nick O'Connor, for all his kindliness, was not good at

explaining. But 'Possum knew almost as much as her father about stock,

and her knowledge was always at their disposal: so that light gradually

broke upon Tom, and with it an added interest in his new work. Garth

listened with all his ears, and picked up crumbs of information.

Already he knew a Hereford from a Shorthorn, and could tell you which

was likely to turn into the best beef.

But there were times when 'Possum laid aside business, and became simply

the best mate imaginable. Sometimes it would be when she had come

especially early, and so could squeeze a spare hour out of the tail of

the day: sometimes on a Sunday afternoon she would appear, and take

possession of Garth, and they would vanish into the Bush. 'Possum taught

him all her own learning: how to find all manner of birds' nests, for

which she would climb like a monkey; where the wallaby and wombat hid by

day, and which were the holes that might hide her namesakes, the

'possums. She had queer stories of the Bush fairies, and taught him to

recognize the rings their dancing left in the grass, where mushrooms

would come up in the autumn. They came back from these rambles laden

with treasures: yams, dug with sharp sticks, which 'Possum cooked in the

fashion of the blacks; clumps of rare fern; strange fungi; cool mosses;

birds' eggs of delicate hues. 'Possum would never take more than one

egg from a nest. "Don't you reckon a bird's got feelin's, same's you?"

she would ask the abashed Garth.

She was always a little shy of Tom, even while she taught him his new

trade of farmer. There was a twinkle in his eye that was disconcerting

moreover, his manners were so good, and his politeness so invariable,

that she never got over an uneasy feeling that he might be laughing at

her. She liked him very much, and referred to him in her own mind as "a

real gent." But the shyness was always there.

She worshipped Aileen frankly. Something in the dainty sweetness of

Garth's mother appealed to the Bush girl who had never known daintiness.

Not a line of the slender body in the fresh print frocks was lost upon

her: not a ripple of the smooth, shining hair. Even in the midst of

hard country work Aileen's well-groomed look never left her--partly

because of the extreme simplicity of her dress; and it was this quality

of fresh neatness that captivated 'Possum most. It never occurred to

her that it would be possible to imitate it. Torn and shapeless

dungaree frocks were her portion in life, and though she hated them she

regarded them as inevitable.

Already Aileen's poultry farm was flourishing. The three bad-tempered

hens had applied themselves to their duties with such concentration that

three dozen half-fledged chicks now followed them about. Others had

been set to rear turkeys and ducks, and these, too, flourished; although

the unpleasant propensity of young turkeys for expiring without warning

had done much to age Garth, who fed them once an hour with clockwork

regularity. The fowls purchased from Mother Coffey had done well.

Garth knew all their nests which was saying something, as the Bush fowl

changes her nest frequently, in the hope of finding a corner

sufficiently well concealed to prevent prying humans from robbing her of

her eggs. In the store-room kerosene tins in steadily increasing

numbers held eggs, put by in waterglass to sell in the winter; and

meanwhile the hotels and stores, and the summer visitors, demanded all

that could be spared, and paid good prices for vegetables, at which Tom

and Aileen worked early and late. 'Possum did the marketing, with her

own goods, unwillingly accepting a small commission. "I won't let you

do it unless we pay you," Aileen had said. "And think of the wretched

prices I should get! I should never have courage to ask half the money

you make people pay!"

"I'm gettin' more meself than I ever did," 'Possum had answered. "Look

how you've learnt me to get things up dossy, to sell--strawb'ries an'

gooseb'ries in little nests of leaves, an' veg'tables lookin' pretty

enough to put in vawses in a parlour! I used to dump me things in

anyhow. It's no wonder they fall over themselves to buy things like you

send 'em in. Flowers, too; it never even entered me head that summer

visitors 'ud like 'em--an' they rush me for 'em! I do think I was a

silly ass all these years!"

Melbourne seemed to have faded away. Sometimes, even yet, a pang of

homesickness swept over Aileen; but for the most part she was too busy

and too interested in her new rife to spare time for hankering after

vanished fleshpots. Outside occupations had taught her the folly of

cooping herself too much in the house. Work, too, had grown easier as

method developed; she was just as "house-proud" as ever, and the little

cottage shone throughout, but it no longer claimed all her time. Garth

was an excellent helper, and Tom always willing to lend a hand; and a

woman had been found to give a day weekly to washing and scrubbing.

Even Horrors was responding to training which had demanded the patience

of Job, and could be trusted to wash dishes and scour saucepans, getting

himself extremely wet in the process, but arriving, in the fullness of

time, at cleanliness. Cooking was simple, for they lived mainly on

their own produce, and had appetites that required no tempting. They

took many meals in the open: grilling chops over a fire in the Bush,

boiling the billy, and making the most ordinary meal into a picnic.

"Saves a heap of washing-up, and it's healthy," said Tom.

It was certainly healthy. Already the simple life had set its seal on

them all. Garth had grown and broadened, and his brown face and clear

eyes were sufficient proof of the wisdom of Dr. Metcalfe's advice.

Aileen, Tom declared, grew younger and prettier every day, and was

herself astonished at her muscular development; while Tom, lean and

bronzed, and hard as nails, showed the perfect physical condition of a

young colt. They rose early, and went to bed early: worked hard, lived

in the open air, and had appetites that would have alarmed the Julia of

old days. Interests which had meant much to them once upon a time were

now small matters beside the rain that came when the crops were just

needing it, the price of eggs and vegetables, or the calf that strayed

away into the scrub and remained lost for three days. It was Garth who

found it, at last, and his pride was all but sinful--not that he had

found it, but because he managed to follow its tracks along the bed of a

creek!

Life on the whole was very happy. There were bad days, of course; days

when the oil for the stove failed, and all the firewood was wet and

declined to burn--or when there was none at all, and Tom and Horrors

were away in the paddocks, so that there was nothing for Aileen to do

but take the axe and go for some herself. She developed a queer

fondness for using the axe, and preferred it to any other form of

exercise; it was so interesting, she said, to see how seldom you could

hit twice in the same place! Days came, too, when, everything went

wrong: when cooking was a failure, and ironing only scorched the

clothes, and the baker failed to come and the milk turned sour for no

apparent reason; and worse days still, when, perhaps, a headache or a

bad night made the world go awry, and everything seemed to conspire to

irritate; when Garth might be provoking or Tom be so busy in the

paddocks as to forget dinner-time, arriving in a leisurely fashion half

an hour late. Those were days when sharp words sprang to the lips

unbidden, and had to be fought back. It was sometimes necessary to pray

very hard at her quaint little supplication--"Lord, keep me from gettin'

sour!"

She helped herself by contrasting her lot with that of hundreds of women

whose life was so much harder--who had half a dozen little children

about therr busy feet, and perhaps half a dozen rough men for whom to

cook and clean. She knew what therr homes were like--comfortless,

rough, and bare, with neither daintiness nor convenience. She had every

labour-saving device that Tom could procure her: they had nothing but

such primitive arrangements as their grandmothers had had when the

country was new. They worked early and late and grew old and worn-out

long before their time; but still, they worried along, and reared their

swarm of babies into tall men and women, a credit to their country: and

they were happy, and would not change their lot, so long as the babies

lived, and the husband was kind. She felt herself a butterfly beside

them--even when she looked at her roughened hands, stained with earth,

and contrasted them with the memory of the pink nails she used to

manicure in the "House Beautiful."

Life was not all work. They took long drives into the country, jogging

behind Roany along lanes where the narrow track wound in and out among

clumps of tea-tree and stunted gums, skirting fallen logs and ancient

stumps. Aileen and Garth learned to drive, as well as to harness Roany

and get the buggy ready. Tom laughed at her for insisting on the last,

but Aileen stuck to her point--a woman in the Bush could not be too

independent, she said. Garth's education in riding had gone ahead as

soon as his wrist was strong enough; and now he and Jane had fought many

a tussle together until Jane unwillingly admitted that the small boy was

master, and submitted with meekness, if not with enjoyment, to being

galloped round the paddocks barebacked. Best of all was the

motor-boat--no new thing to them, since in the old days they had often

made excursions in one up and down the Yarra and into the great, placid

expanse of Port Phillip Bay. But boating near the city was a different

matter to exploring the by-ways of the lakes, away from the track of

steamers and fishing-boats, finding little hidden bays and islands, and

coming home brown and hungry, and laden with fish. On the hot days they

bathed in these quiet corners: or sometimes, landing on the farther

shore, climbed the hummocks until they came in sight of the Southern

Ocean, pounding on the narrow strip of land which holds it back from the

lakes. Then came the most glorious bathes of all--when they ran down

the sand-hills and into the sea, each holding a hand of Garth's--and the

great rollers came curling in and took them and buffeted and battered

them, until they were swept far up on the smooth beach, breathless and

laughing, and ready to run back and dive into the next breaker. Then,

when they were too breathless to fight the rollers any more, it was good

to dress quickly in nooks in the hot sand; to climb back to a sheltered

hollow in the hummocks, where the sea-breeze could not scatter the ashes

of their fire, and boil the billy and grill fish over driftwood

embers--fish that had been swimming in the lake an hour before.

Once or twice they made a day's excursion to Bairnsdale--going up by the

early steamer through the morning freshness of lake and river, spending

a few hours in the pleasant town on the bank of the Mitchell, and

returning in the afternoon--no longer the tired strangers that had made

the first journey in the spring, but worthy settlers happily coming

home. The peach orchards had flung a dress of palest pink over the

sunny Bairnsdale hillsides when they first came: now they were densely

green, with splendid fruit turning rosy under the leaves; and the flats

along the backwater were bearing stately crops of maize. It was

pleasant to be in a town again; to wander about the wide streets and

trim gardens, and to see new faces; and to dine at an hotel was a real

excitement--not to know, as Aileen said joyfully, what the pudding would

be, nor to care who would wash up afterwards! But there was happiness

in going home to the little house on the hill, where the bright

sitting-room smiled a welcome, and even Horrors' stolid face would

expand into a grin as they approached. Nothing would ever make Horrors

intelligent. But kindness and cleanliness had had a softening effect

upon him, and he had developed a queer, dog-like affection for them all.

The farm showed signs of paying. Fruit and vegetables brought in a

small but steady income, and as fast as one crop was exhausted another

was sown. Ignorance and brains combined do not make a bad working

outfit. Tom Macleod knew his limitations, and was thankful for Nick

O'Connor's guidance and 'Possum's helping hand; but in addition he read

widely on farming matters, studied his land, and sent samples of the

different soils to Melbourne for analysis. Expert advice as to manures

came back; and since his business training had taught him what many

farmers never learn--that it is wise to spend money in order to gather

it--he bought artificial fertilizers for his land and food for his

calves, and already had some reward in the promise of heavy crops and in

sleek, quickly-growing animals. It left them with very little money to

spend. But then, it was comforting that there was not much chance of

spending. The farm gave them butter and milk and cream, fresh eggs and

chickens, fruit and vegetables and honey. One pig had already been

converted into pork and bacon, under the direction of Mr. O'Connor;

another promised a further supply for the winter. The lake was close at

hand, swarming with fish; occasionally a rabbit fell to Tom's gun, and

there were visions of duck-shooting ahead. Garth and Aileen scarcely

ate meat at all: Tom ate less than he had ever done, and felt all the

better for his change of food. Except for their modest supply of

groceries, there was little need to spend.

Meanwhile, their coming meant wealth to 'Possum. When she worked for

them, using her father's horses, she carefully handed half her day's pay

to Nick; but on the days when she jogged over on her own old grey and

used only her own muscles, the money went to swell her little account in

the Savings Bank--the only building in the township that she was

supposed to enter with pleasure. The account had grown but slowly before

the Macleods came; now it was swelling in the most delightful fashion.

"What are you going to do with it, 'Possum?" Aileen asked her.

"Oh, I d'no," 'Possum answered. "You never know when you'll want a bit

of money. Me Dad's all right about payin' for boots an' things, so long

as we don't come it too strong; but he'd never understand some ways of

spendin' money."

"What ways? Tell me, 'Possum."

"Well, there's the kids. Bill may want to go to Melbourne for the Show

some day, or to the Cup; an' Bert an' Polly'll be gettin' bigger, an'

p'raps there'll be parties an' darnces comin' along, an' they got to

have decent clothes. Dad 'ud never understand; he'd think they could go

all right in whatever they happened to have on. But they got ideas.

They been with other girls at the school, y' see. I couldn't have 'em

cut out by a parcel of kids not half as good-lookin' as they are. I'm

goin' to get them dresses for the regatta on New Year's Day. All Sale

an' Bairnsdale comes down then, an' my kids got to look as well as any

of 'em."

"What about yourself, 'Possum?" Aileen asked. "Don't you ever want to

go to regattas and dances and jollifications?"

"Me?" said 'Possum, with blank amazement. "Oh, I'm too old--an' I ain't

got no time." She stuck out a roughly-booted foot and looked at it

critically; then gave an irrepressible little chuckle. "Wouldn't I be a

rummy spectacle at a darnce, now, Missus?" But the laugh did not last

long, and Aileen thought it was followed by a sigh.

*CHAPTER XII*

*SAILING*

"Christmas is coming!" announced Garth at the tea-table. "Isn't it

scrummy?"

"Very scrummy," said his father; "but then, Christmas always is. Still,

I'm a little worried about old Santa Claus."

"Why, Dad?" Garth's tone showed swift alarm. Santa Claus was

absolutely real to him, and his visit was one of the very greatest

events of the year.

"Well, it was all right in Melbourne, of course," Tom answered gravely.

"He knew his way about there; and then, it's very easy to get about, in

decent streets--don't you remember how you thought you heard the feet of

his reindeer trotting along Orrong Road? But it's a very different

matter to be here in the Bush, where there are mostly no tracks at all.

I don't believe reindeer could haul his sleigh round here. Why, Nick

O'Connor couldn't manage a sledge with a team of bullocks the other

day--it simply rolled over on the hill-sides. Santa Claus' sleigh is

much more lightly built than a sledge, I should think."

Tom ceased, and retired behind his tea-cup. Garth's face had lengthened.

"I never thought of that, but I suppose it _would_ be hard for him,"

said the small boy dolefully. "And of course, he doesn't know we've

moved! It's--it's pretty hard luck, isn't it?" He tried to make his

tone unconcerned, and Aileen's mother-heart rebelled.

"_I_ think you're two very foolish people, and you don't deserve to have

Santa Claus come at all, for not trusting him!" she remarked. "Do you

suppose he neglects all the little children in the Bush?"

"Well, Joe's never heard of him," said Garth; which was something of a

poser, but Aileen rose to it manfully.

"I believe he does miss out some people who have never believed in him,"

she said. "But he very seldom forgets any one he has been good to. I

wouldn't worry, if I were you, sonnie. I think he'll come."

Garth still looked doubtful.

"But how about his reindeer? It is bad country for them, isn't it?"

Aileen pondered.

"I don't believe he has reindeer at all in rough country," she said. "I

believe he has a team of big black swans, and his sleigh will float; and

when he comes to the lake, or to a river, the swans just swim and pull

the sleigh along the water, but when he has to cross mountains or rough

parts of the Bush they mount into the air, and fly over with him. Don't

you think that would be a really sensible plan for him, in Australia?"

Garth bounded in his seat.

"Oh, that's a ripping idea, Mother! Of course he must do it!"

"Well, we know he must be a sensible old chap, or he never could get

through all the jobs he has on Christmas Eve," said his mother. "I've

often thought he must have a wonderful head for business. So it's only

natural to think that he accommodates himself to different countries. I

dare say he uses elephants in India, and camels in the desert of Gobi."

"Or whales in the Red Sea!" suggested Tom dreamily.

"Certainly not--he has Pharaoh's chariots there, all handy!" rejoined

Aileen. "At all events, he won't neglect his jobs for little

difficulties about transport. So I would just not worry if I were you,

Garth."

"You're an awful comfort, Mother!" said Garth gratefully. "I've

finished--can I go, please?"

"Where are you off to?" asked his father.

"Got to shut up the young turkeys. 'Possum said she heard a fox last

night, so we can't be too careful." They heard him race through the

back yard, whistling for Bran, then the bang of the gate in his wake.

"Isn't he getting a man?" Aileen said, laughing. "Why do you torment the

poor soul?"

"Just to give you a chance of smoothing away his difficulties," he said,

and smiled at her. "Isn't that what you're for?"

She smiled in return, and then grew thoughtful.

"I've been thinking about Christmas, Tom," she said. "Have we any

money?"

"Not a heap, when I've paid for the last lot of fertilizer," he said.

"Not enough to give you a diamond necklace, I'm afraid--I'm sorry!"

"It would be so handy to me here that it seems a pity," she rejoined.

"The spectacle of Mrs. Macleod hoeing turnips in a diamond necklace

would be interesting, to say the least of it!"

"It would," he agreed. "But, apart from diamonds, I can give you a

little money, dear. How much do you want?"

"Oh, a very little," she answered. "We'll plan Garth's presents

together, of course; but I want to do something for 'Possum, Tom.

'Possum has been very good to us."

"I quite agree--she has done a great deal more than she has been paid

for," Tom said heartily. "What do you want to give her?"

"I want to give her a pretty, dainty print frock," said Aileen, leaning

her elbows on the table, and speaking rapidly, with shining eyes. "Not

blue--she never wears anything but blue dungaree: pink, I think, with a

little white collar and cuffs. And some simple pretty under-things and a

petticoat to wear with it, and a pair of nice stockings and neat shoes,

and a simple, pretty hat. Is that too much, Tom?"

"If you mentioned how much these glories would cost----" he began,

laughing.

"Oh, very little. I'll make all the things myself, and the material

will cost hardly anything. I have a hat that will do--she has never

seen it: and the shoes and stockings will be very plain. Would about a

pound for the whole be too much?"

"I'll give you thirty shillings," he said. "Then you can buy yourself

chocolates with what is left. How about fitting her?"

"Oh, I can guess about the dress," Aileen answered. "And she can wear

my size shoes, though you would never guess it to see her feet in those

enormous boots. I made her put on one of my slippers the other day when

she lost a boot in the creek, and we had to dry it after we had fished

it up. And I saw her looking at her foot in my slipper with a kind of

hungry expression in her eyes. She does love pretty things, Tom; I

think one reason why she likes coming here is because I have them."

Tom laughed.

"She likes coming here because she has fallen badly in love with you and

Garth," he said. "But she's a good sort, and I'm grateful for all she

has taught me. Do you know, I think she tries to imitate you. She

looks cleaner, somehow--and I'll swear she brushes that queer short mop

of hers more than she used."

"I know she does," Aileen said. "I've seen a difference ever since I

told her casually that I gave mine at least a hundred strokes with the

brush every night. And she has a tub regularly--she told Garth so--and

I know she scrubs her hands. But her terrible clothes don't give her a

chance; and, of course, she spends nearly all her spare time on the

children."

"She's a queer mixture," Tom said.

"Isn't she? She has mothered those babies, kept house, cooked and

washed, cut scrub, fenced and drained paddocks, put in crops, and broken

in horses; and she can hardly sew on a button--decently, I mean; she

'clamps 'em on,' she says; she has never made a pudding or a cake, never

been to Church, and never ten miles from her home. She told me all the

religion she had. 'Mother learnt me to say prayers, so I says 'em; and

I learnt the kids. Father, he don't care. The kids goes to school, so

they picked up more'n me; but I keep 'em up to the mark. Mother said

you say prayers to God, so that's how I know He's there, an' that's all

there is about it--there'd have to be Some One somewhere, wouldn't

there--no get-out of that!"

"Poor little soul! Well, she's straight enough, whatever her religion

may be, and she's bringing up those kids uncommonly well," Tom said. "A

man was telling me that young Bill stole some apples, and told a lie

about it; 'Possum found it out, and dragged him five miles to the owner

of the fruit to own up and ask for a thrashing! Said she couldn't look

their mother in the face if they grew up liars and thieves. I believe

young Bill has been extremely reliable since!"

"It's like her," Aileen said.

"The same man told me that she can swim like a fish, and handle a boat

as well as any fisherman on the lakes. Her father used to own part of a

fishing-boat, and she has been out with him on the wildest nights. Yes,

you'd certainly call our 'Possum a young lady of mixed accomplishments.

But I suppose one would find a good many like her, if one went hunting

in the Bush districts. She's just what her upbringing has made her."

"I don't think you'd find many with 'Possum's straight, clean soul,"

Aileen said slowly. She went to the doorway, and stood looking out

across the paddocks to the blue glimpse of the lake, where 'Possum, had

she known it, was at the moment fighting one of the toughest battles of

her life.

It was at breakfast that morning that Nick O'Connor had announced his

intention of taking his small sailing-boat and crossing Lake King to a

settler's farm on the farther shore. There were pigs to be looked at:

if he approved of them he might even bring a couple home in the boat.

Therefore he would need help.

"Suppose you can come, 'Poss?" he said.

"Oh, I s'pose so," 'Possum answered. "I was goin' over to the Macleods'

to look how their lucerne's comin' on, but I guess that'll keep till

to-morrow. Bertha'll look after the kids."

Bertha nodded. She was a small stout person of few words, who had been

born old, and had never become young.

"Right," said her father. "You get in wood, Bill, an' milk in good-time

if I'm not back; an' don't you forget them pigs an' calves."

Bill nodded also. He was deeply engaged with his third plate of

porridge, and relieved, on the whole, that no more tasks had come his

way.

"Then we'll hurry up, 'Poss," said Nick. He got up from the table, his

great form seeming to fill the little kitchen. "When'll you be ready?"

"Oh, as soon as you get the boat, I expect," she said. "Just give a

coo-ee when you're ready to start."

"Right," said her father. He gathered up pipe, tobacco and matches, and

strode from the house, and 'Possum disappeared in the direction of the

shed. There was a sick calf to be tended, and instructions to be given

to Bertha and young Bill as to its feeding during the day, with a dozen

other jobs that needed her before she could leave the house with an easy

mind. She was not, indeed, finished when she heard her father's coo-ee,

after which there was a wild rush, which did not include time to make

any additions to her toilet. Not that it mattered, she reflected; the

Simpsons would not be likely to know whether she had a dress on or not.

Blue dungaree was good enough for them.

Nick O'Connor, for a wonder, looked at his daughter, when they had

pushed out from shore and were gliding gently down the arm of the lake

to the broader water beyond.

"That ol' dress of yours has seen its best days, hasn't it?" he said.

"Seems to me it's more patch than dress."

"It is so," 'Possum answered. "Can't make 'em last for ever. Anyhow,

dungaree lasts twice as long as anything else."

"What else 've you got?" inquired her father.

"Why, I ain't got nothin' else but dungaree, except me oilskin, an' me

old thick skirt," 'Possum answered, in some astonishment. "It's the

most useful; an' I never have time to put on other clothes. I got three

of these--enough to get 'em washed when they want it."

"H'm," said her father thoughtfully. "Well, it looks a bit rum. You'd

better get a new one, I think, an' give that ol' rag a rest: it looks

about fit to make good floorcloths."

"Right," said 'Possum cheerfully. Even of dungaree, a new dress was a

pleasant, almost exciting experience: albeit dungaree when new is more

like petrified wood-pulp than anything else, and only ceases to scratch

the wearer severely after many washings. She wondered, would she depart

from her usual custom of buying a man's jumper for the blouse, and,

instead, try to make it a little like some of Mrs. Macleod's working

dresses Then, with a shrug, she gave up the idea. She knew she could

not fashion the harsh, unyielding material into anything pretty--even if

she could sew well enough. "An' you jolly well can't," she told

herself. "You ain't the kind to wear pretty things, anyhow."

They had reached the lake, and were running along half a mile from the

shore. It was a hot day, with a fitful wind coming in puffs off the

land, where, probably, it was scorching things considerably; but here,

tempered by their swift motion, and by its path over the water, it was

only cool and refreshing, and made their journey an easy matter.

'Possum had done a hard week's work: it was pleasant to sit idly in the

boat, watching the water cream away from the bow, and the waves sparkle

under the sun's rays. They passed fishing boats, hurrying in to hand

over their catch to the Bairnsdale steamer; and one or two

motor-launches from the hotels, crammed with gaily-dressed summer

visitors bent on a long day's picnic, crossed their bows, the occupants

glancing curiously at the unkempt girl in the sailing boat, who drew her

battered felt hat over her brows, and concealed herself after the

fashion of the ostrich. 'Possum disliked all summer visitors. They were

a useful species, in providing a market for eggs and vegetables, but

nothing could have induced her to believe that they did not laugh at

her.

They reached their destination in good time, and received the usual Bush

welcome from Mr. Simpson, a lean and silent settler, and Mrs. Simpson,

who was also lean, but not at all silent, as well as from a large horde

of little Simpsons, to whom visitors were an infrequent and glorious

excitement. Nick disappeared with his host in the direction of the

pigsty, while 'Possum remained in the kitchen and nursed the last baby

and the last but one, between whom there seemed but a slight difference

in point of age. In the intervals of this employment she peeled

potatoes, washed cabbages, and gave slices of bread and treacle to any

little Simpson who demanded them--which occurred with extraordinary

frequency; and later, finding her hostess' bed still unmade, rectified

this, and swept the room. Mrs. Simpson was grateful.

"There's some people comes into the house and they wouldn't lift a

finger to do a hand's turn for you," she remarked. "But I do say you're

not like that, 'Possum O'Connor. I never seen your equal for findin'

out things to be done. It's a comfort to see how that baby takes to

you, like. She ain't been well, an' she howls the whole blessed night

an' most of the day. Makes you fair tired. Not as what you ain't always

tired, with seven of 'em under your feet all day. But a woman's born to

be tired, so it ain't no use to grumble. Delia O'Hea, across the lake,

she grumbles, an' her husband he up an' hit her the other day. Said he

was full up. I wouldn't blame him, neither. Well, thank goodness, Jim

ain't never lifted a hand to me yet. I wouldn't advise him to,

neither--he's smaller'n me. Well, ain't you got any news, 'Possum?

Might as well be in the Equator for all the news we get here."

"No, I don't think there's any," 'Possum answered, dancing the last baby

until it roared with joy. "I never go anywhere, except to sell aigs an'

veg'tables. Sellin' flowers, too, this year. Mrs. Macleod put me up to

that."

"Oh, tell us about the Macleods," Mrs. Simpson begged, pausing,

rolling-pin in hand, in smoothing out dough. "Jim, he saw Mr. Macleod

at the sales one day with your father, an' he said there was none of old

Gordon's style about him. Said he was a toff, all right, but none o'

your stand-off toffs. Jolly, too, Jim said, an' didn't mind sayin'

straight out that he didn't know a thing about calves. Nor he didn't

neither, Jim said."

"Well, you wouldn't expect him to," 'Possum said. "And it don't matter

not to know anything, if you know you don't know. It's when you think

you do that you fall in."

"That's right," agreed Mrs. Simpson, falling anew upon the dough. "Tell

us about Mrs. Macleod, 'Poss. I s'pose she's a toff, too. Does she

dress very swell?"

"Yes, she's a toff," 'Possum said slowly. "But she dresses as plain as

you or me, almost. Just print things, an' not one scrap of trimmin'."

"No trimmin'! But I s'pose she has lace collars an' things?"

"No, she hasn't. I never see her with a bit of lace on. Just plain

white collars. Washes an' irons 'em herself, too--leastways, she did

till she got ol' Mrs. Todd to do the washin'. But she irons 'em. I

seen her."

"Fancy her dressin' like that, an' comin' straight from Melbun," said

Mrs. Simpson, marvelling on such misuse of opportunities. "But what's

she wear when she goes out, 'Poss?"

"Well, sometimes she just wears her old prints. If it's cold she puts on

a coat an' skirt--made most awful plain."

"An' a trimmed hat?" said her hostess eagerly.

"No. Her hats is plain, too."

"Well, I never! She must look queer!"

"No, she don't," said 'Possum hotly. "She--she'd look lovely, no matter

what she had on. An' even if her clothes is plain, they're just right.

You'd say so, if you saw 'em on her."

"Is that so? Well, I s'pose I would, if you say so, but I must say I do

like a bit of trimmin'," said Mrs. Simpson. "I seen a picksher of a

dress in a paper Jim brought home the other day: marone, it was, with a

vest an' collar of tartan silk, an' some cawffee lace on it, an' big

pearl buttons. My, it did look a treat! You'd think any one comin'

from those big shops in Melbun 'ud have lots of dresses that sort. But

is she as pretty as all that, really, 'Poss?"

"She's awful pretty," 'Possum said. "Very tall, an' yeller hair, an'

blue eyes. An' whatever she puts on seems just like it ought to be."

"Go on!" said Mrs. Simpson, greatly interested. "Fancy, now! An' she's

doin' her own work?"

"My word, she is. Inside an' outside, too--an' she's got that place a

picksher," said 'Possum. "An' the veg'tables she grows! you'd ought to

seen them. Works in the garden like a cart-horse. An' fowls, an' all

sorts. They're goin' to make money off that place, you take my word!"

"Lor'!" said Mrs. Simpson. "Jim was sayin' you've been workin' there,

'Poss?"

"I been doin' a bit o' ploughin' an' odd jobs."

"An' they do treat you nice?"

"Couldn't treat me nicer, not if I was a member of Parliament!"

"Go on! Well, that sort is real toffs, an' no mistake! An' what about

the kid?"

"He's a darlin'," 'Possum said. "I never seen a boy with such nice

manners. Well, you'd hardly believe it, but that boy's seven, an' I

ain't seen 'im rude to any one yet!"

"Well, I never!" said her hostess feebly.

"No. An' he looks after his mother as if she was a bit of china an'

might break. He'd look after me, too, if I'd let him. Many's the time

when I've been workin' there on a hot day he come down the paddock to me

with a billy of tea or a bottle of lemon syrup. An' they'd no more let

me go without havin' me afternoon tea than they'd fly!"

"Brings it out to you?"

"Not they; they come an' haul me into their sittin'-room. My word, you

ought to see it--all pickshers, an' books, an' flowers, an' a lovely

pianner. An' she plays a fair treat."

"But aren't they awful well off?"

"No, they ain't. They got jolly little money. They had plenty in

Melbourne, but he had to give up his billet there when they come here.

An' they say they don't care a button, 'cause the kid's gettin' strong,

an' he nearly died in Melbourne."

"Don't s'pose they would," said Mrs. Simpson, rescuing the last-but-one

baby from the wood-box, and bestowing it outside the door, with a spank

and a kiss, both of which it received without emotion. "Oh, lor'!

here's your dad an' Jim, an' I'll bet the potatoes ain't cooked!"

Dinner at the Simpsons', being complicated by the seven little Simpsons,

was a long and stormy affair, from which 'Possum and her father escaped

before it had raged its way to a close. Nick O'Connor had bought a pig,

and was anxious to get home. Mr. Simpson conveyed it to the water's edge

in a wheelbarrow, tied in a sack, through a hole in which its head

protruded, while it emitted the agonized shrieks peculiar to pigs. It

redoubled these on being dumped into the boat, having, apparently, an

aversion to a sea-faring life; and under cover of its wails 'Possum and

Nick screamed their farewells to their host, and pushed off.

The breeze was still choppy, and they made but slow progress, tacking

frequently. On land, it had been very hot, and the Simpsons' crowded

kitchen had been stifling. Even on the lake, when the breeze fell, the

sun was hot enough to make Nick throw off his coat. They zigzagged

backwards and forwards across the lake; the boat went sluggishly, and

both her passengers were sleepy. The only wakeful individual was the

pig, who had ceased to yell, more from lack of breath than from any

pleasant inclination, and was steadily employed in widening the hole cut

for its head.

A sharp puff of wind came off the land. Simultaneously, the pig freed

himself from the sack, and started for home, oblivious of the fact that

his hind legs were still tied together--a fact which checked its first

leap, and sent it rolling, with an ear-splitting yell, against Nick's

legs. That gentleman awoke with a start, and instinctively put the helm

over, just at the wrong moment. The gust of wind struck them suddenly,

and the boat heeled over, too far to right itself. The sail struck the

water, and in an instant Nick, 'Possum and the pig were struggling

together in the waves.

The pig's troubles were quickly over. The rope round its hind legs,

knotted by the capable Mr. Simpson, held firmly, and the water soon

choked its cries as it sank for the last time. 'Possum and her father

swam to the boat, which lay on its side, and clung to it, looking at

each other.

"Well, of all the born fools!" spluttered Mr. O'Connor, a vision of

soaked wrath. "I oughtn't to be let out. D'you know what happened?"

"I don't--I was asleep," 'Possum admitted. "First thing I knew, I was

swimmin'."

"Well, you'd a right to go to sleep, but I hadn't," said Nick furiously.

"That darned pig got loose, an' barged into me just as the wind struck

us. Now we're in a lovely fix, an' I've lost a jolly good pig, an' it

hardly paid for an hour. And me hat. Well, I ought to be kicked for a

careless fool!"

"Can't be helped," said 'Possum cheerfully. "It was awful easy to go to

sleep, sittin' still after havin' dinner in that hot kitchen."

"All very well for you to talk--you ain't got to pay for the pig!" said

her father morosely. "I say, you climb up on the boat."

'Possum scrambled upon the boat, which lay on its side, held in position

by the sail under the water. Then her father tried to follow her

example; but the little craft ducked so ominously under his great weight

that he slipped back into the lake.

"That'll never do--she won't hold both of us," he said.

"Then I'll get off," said 'Possum. "I can easy hold on."

"You will not," said her father decidedly. "Sit where you are, an'

behave yourself. Tell you what--I'll work round an' stand on the mast:

that'll be some support, an' it'll divide the weight better."

He made his way round the bow until he could feel the mast with his

feet, and gingerly stood on it. It creaked, and the boat swayed over;

and for a moment Nick prepared to jump off again. Then, however, as the

boat showed no further sign of sinking, he sighed with relief.

"You wouldn't call it exactly comf'table, but it's better than hangin'

on in the water," he said. "Can you see any sign of bein' picked up?"

'Possum scanned the lake.

"Not any one in sight," she said. "We're a bit off the usual track,

aren't we? Do you reckon we'll drift into shore? It ain't far away."

"I don't," said Nick. "We're out o' the way o' currents, as well as

boats. Still, you never can tell where people'll cut across the lake;

an' them hotel launches ought to be comin' home about this way. Well,

we just got to stick it out. I'd give a dollar if me matches an' baccy

hadn't got wet!"

The slow hours of the afternoon crept on. No one came near the

castaways. Once or twice their hopes rose high, as a fishing-boat or a

launch crossed the lake; but they were not seen, and their shouts died

unheeded on the water. It seemed extraordinary that they should not be

perceived, for the shore was not a mile away, and houses looked

peacefully down upon them; it was maddening to see the cheery smoke

curling upward from the chimneys, and to realize how near lay

deliverance.

They changed places after a while. Nick's great height made his

position on the mast unbearably cramped, and when he had slipped off

twice, 'Possum became firm.

"It's silly," she said. "I can stand on that stick quite easy; it's

different for you, an' you six feet four. Why, it doubles you up

something cruel." She descended into the water, and occupied the

position on the mast before the cramped man could regain it.

"I b'lieve the boat'll hold you all right, if you get up gently," said

she. "Go on--you're about due for a rest."

Nick scrambled to her former seat, the boat merely swaying beneath him.

He looked at her gratefully.

"My word, it's good to sit down!" he said. "That place is a fair terror,

'Poss; I ain't goin' to let you stay there long. Hot above an' cold

below, it is--your feet an' legs is near froze, an' on top you're

gettin' sunstroke. You just tell me when you want a spell."

"Oh, I'll stick it all right," said 'Possum. "I had a mighty long spell

already." They relapsed into silence. There was nothing to talk about.

They shouted, from time to time, until they were hoarse and weary; but

no one heard them, and at last they ceased. Nick was growing very

weary. Once he slipped off, half asleep, and 'Possum had to swim after

him and bring him back to the boat. He seemed half-dazed, and a sick

fear came over her that the heat of the sun on his bare head had been

too much for him. She splashed water over his face, and he became more

alive.

"Thought I might swim ashore," he said thickly. "But I s'pose I'd better

get back." He climbed laboriously upon the boat once more, and 'Possum

returned to her perch on the submerged mast.

The sun went down slowly, a red ball of fire, into the lake. It was a

relief to be without its fierce rays; but as the short Australian

twilight deepened into dusk the wind blew coldly on their soaked

garments, and they shivered. O'Connor opened his heavy eyes, and looked

at his daughter.

"I dunno how you can keep on there," he said. "I'm near done, an' I'm

twice as comf't'ble up here. Well, if you come out of it an' I don't,

'Poss, there's a sort of a will in the drawer where I keep the

strychnine for the foxes. It'll fix up all about the farm."

"I say, chuck it, Dad!" 'Possum said unsteadily. "You ain't goin' to

give in."

"Not if I can help it," he said. "But I'm not far off done."

There came across the water the dull beat of a screw and a red light

showed faintly through the dusk. It was the Bairnsdale boat hurrying

down to her night's rest; and the sight galvanized the weary castaways

into fresh efforts. But the steamer passed them half a mile away, deaf

to their shouts. Her gleaming lights fell across them as in mockery

before she throbbed away towards the Entrance.

"Well, that does me," O'Connor said, after a long, silent pause. "I'll

drop off soon, 'Poss. Then you come an' perch up here."

"I won't," 'Possum said, with a sob. "You ain't goin' to give in, Dad.

Think of the kids--I can't manage them boys."

"I'm near done, 'Poss."

"No, you're not. The Sale boat'll be along in less than an hour now.

She'll pick us up, I bet you."

"It'd be a miracle if she did," Nick said. "What with the row of her

engines, an' her passengers all talkin', how on earth's any one to hear

us in the dark? It's no good, my girl. I'll drop off."

"If you do, I'll only come in after you, an' finish the way you do,"

said 'Possum between her teeth. "It ain't like you, Dad, to be such a

jolly old coward. You _got_ to hang on, for the kids' sake."

"I'll try a bit longer," said her father meekly. "But I'm dead beat,

'Poss."

They fell silent again, save for the water lapping gently against their

poor place of refuge. Unbearable pains were beginning to torment

'Possum; her feet, from standing on the narrow mast, were swollen and

agonizingly painful, and pains like red-hot wires shot up her legs.

Sometimes she let herself go into the water altogether, holding to the

boat; but she was too weak to cling for long, and soon she was forced to

climb back to her place of torture. Her father no longer spoke. She

could see him dimly, leaning forward astride of the boat, and breathing

heavily.

Somehow the hour dragged by, and again the low throb came across the

lake. 'Possum strained her eyes. At first the gloom was too thick to

pierce, but presently she made out a dull glow from the steamer's

lights, and could see the red gleam of the lantern at her mast. 'Possum

cried to her father.

"Dad! It's the Sale boat. Yell!"

[Illustration: "'Dad! It's the Sale Boat. Yell!'"]

O'Connor grunted heavily, half asleep, and utterly exhausted. She could

get nothing more from him; and as the steamer drew nearer, she left the

half-conscious man alone and uttered cry upon cry for help. Nearer and

nearer yet the gleaming lights rushed upon her. She spent all her

strength in a last cry, which ended in a sob as the steamer passed on.

"They've gone!" she gasped. "Well, we're done, anyhow!"

A bell clanged sharply, and with it a shout.

"Coo-ee! Who's there?"

She screamed in answer. The steamer was slackening speed, coming round

in a half-circle; she could hear each clang of her telegraph. Voices

came loudly.

"Who's there?"

"Any one in trouble?"

"Want help?"

But 'Possum had no words. She could only utter broken cries, that grew

fainter and fainter. Her feet were slipping from the mast: she clung to

the side of the boat with nerveless fingers that slipped and clawed for

a fresh hold, and slipped again. Then, very dimly, it seemed, she heard

the clash of oars in rowlocks, and a deep voice close to her. And

then--nothing more.

She woke in a little cabin. There was a faint light. Her feet and legs

were full of pain, but she was wrapped in blankets, and even the pain

could not keep her from feeling gloriously warm and comfortable. A

kind-faced woman came forward.

"Where's 'Dad?" 'Possum asked feebly.

"He's all right--asleep in a cabin."

"Where am I?"

"You're in the ladies' cabin on the _Omeo_," said the woman. "And I'm

the stewardess, and we're tied up at Cuninghame, and you're not to worry

about anything, you poor child. Drink this."

'Possum did not know what it was: but it was hot and pleasant and

soothing, and the woman's kind voice was like music. There did not seem

anything to worry about; she might as well go to sleep--and did so.

*CHAPTER XIII*

*AMATEUR SURGERY*

"Aileen! Aileen! Are you there?"

It was very early on a hot December morning. Tom Macleod came up the

yard hurriedly. His wife appeared at the back door, broom in hand.

"What is it, Tom?"

"It's a poor beggar of a scrub-cutter," Tom said hurriedly. "You know

there are two men working up the Lake? Well, one has just been down to

borrow a pony. He says his mate has broken his leg--the limb of a tree

fell on him: and he's gone to bring him in here: we're the nearest

people. I say, you studied first aid, didn't you?"

Aileen's heart turned to water.

"I did--but it's ages ago," she said. "And I have never had any

practical experience. I would be afraid to touch him."

"Well, something ought to be done," Tom said, obviously disappointed.

"Don't you remember anything about it?"

Aileen racked her memory.

"I could try, of course," she said slowly. "But I should be terrified

of making it worse."

"I think any sort of bandaging is better than leaving it altogether,"

said Tom. "Let's try, at all events. It's the lower part of the leg

that's broken."

"That's easier than the thigh, at all events. Come on. I'll leave you

to chop out splints while I run for an old sheet for bandages." She ran

towards the wood-heap, but paused on the way to pick up an old paling.

"That will do, I think," she said, and knitted her brows, striving to

think of long-forgotten instructions. "I can't be perfectly certain of

the lengths, but if you will cut it here--and here--it should be about

right."

She came back in a few moments, and together they tore and rolled

bandages swiftly.

"It's the worst of luck that the motor has gone wrong, and I can't take

the poor chap down in the launch," Tom said. "It would have been such

easy travelling. Now we'll have to lay him flat in the buggy, and you

know what the jolting of that road is."

Aileen thought a moment.

"There's a better way than letting him lie down," she said. "I read of

it the other day. You lash a padded board, stretching across from the

seat to the splashboard, and let the patient sit up in the ordinary

way--the good leg hanging down, and the broken one strapped to the

board. The paper said the patient would hardly feel a jolt."

"Well, I know the lying-down position is simply torture, so we'll try

your way," Tom said. "With luck, we may catch the Bairnsdale boat with

him--it doesn't go until nine, and it's only seven o'clock now. I hope

they won't be long. The fellow who came in said he could manage to get

him here on the pony, so I thought it was better for me to wait and get

things ready here. I'll fix that board, if you will find something to

pad it. Is Garth up?"

"He's in his bath, I think."

"You might tell him to hurry and run the horses up as soon as he's

dressed. I'll get the buggy out. I expect the poor beggar will want

some nourishment--and a drink."

"We'll give him brandy before I touch the leg; and I have some strong

soup I can 'hot up' for him to take afterwards."

"That's good," Tom said approvingly. "If time is short, you could drive

him in, couldn't you? and I'd ride ahead and try to hold the steamer

back. I'm sure the captain would wait, under the circumstances."

"Splendid idea! I'm certain he would wait. But perhaps we won't need

to," Aileen said. "I'll go and get everything ready, and fix up some

breakfast for Garth."

"Get something to eat yourself," Tom called after her. She shook her

head, smiling, as she hurried in: breakfast for herself was the last

thing to be thought of. But Tom came after her with long strides.

"Be sensible, dear," he said. "It may be an ugly job; and you don't

want to turn faint or have unsteady hands, for the poor chap's sake."

"That's true," Aileen admitted. "Aren't you sensible! Well, I will eat

something." She smiled into his eyes, and was gone.

Garth, half-dressed, went flying down the paddock, and was soon urging

the horses up the hill, with shrill shouts, to the stockyard. In a few

minutes the buggy was ready, with the padded board in position. Just as

Tom tied up the horses Roany whinneyed; and turning, he saw Jane, led by

the scrub-cutter, coming up the hill, the injured man riding. A

"Coo-ee!" brought Aileen hurrying out. She ran to the gate.

The patient was little more than a boy. He was crouched on the pony,

leaning forward: one hand steadying himself on Jane's withers, the other

under his knee, supporting the broken leg. As he saw Aileen his white

face twisted into a smile, and he freed the hand under his knee that he

might lift his hat. The leg sagged downwards. A cry broke from her.

"Oh, please, don't! Take care of your leg!"

The effort was almost the finishing touch to the long agony of the ride.

The boy went forward helplessly, and, abandoning Jane, Tom and his mate

lifted him off and laid him on the grass under the quince-tree. A

little colour came back to his lips, and he gasped, "Sorry!" Tom

slipped a hand under his head, holding brandy to his lips.

"Cow of a trip!" said the other scrub-cutter. "Had to carry him downhill

and across the creek on me back, an' you know what the scrub is there! I

fell twice with him. Mighty good luck the bone ain't through the skin,

but it ain't. It's broke in two places, though."

Aileen was on her knees on the grass, feeling the leg gently. Before,

she had been sick with nervousness; but in the presence of the boy's

agony, every thought but one fled from her--to help him. She was

perfectly cool.

"I'm afraid I've got to hurt you," she said. "I'll be as quick as I

can."

She ran her hands up and down the leg, feeling, with an involuntary

shudder, the bones grate under the skin, She must get it straight, she

knew. Gently, but firmly, she pulled it into position. Once she heard

him gasp, but her hands did not falter. It was straight at last, and

she signed to Tom. "Hold it--just like that."

She laid the splints in position, and bandaged them tightly, forgotten

deftness coming back to her. Round and round the firm hands went

steadily, until the leg, swathed like a mummy, stuck out stiffly before

her. Then she sat back on her heels.

"That's all I can do," she said, finding her lips stiff and dry. The

voice was not like her own. "Look carefully, Tom, and tell me if you

think it is straight."

"As far as I can see--perfectly," Tom said, peering at the leg.

"I guess it's straight," said the patient cheerfully, "'cause it don't

hurt now, hardly a bit. An' it was a fair caution before you touched it.

Where'd you learn how, mum?"

But Aileen had no power to answer. She found herself suddenly

shuddering, and drenched in perspiration. Tom put his hand on her

shoulders, and made her drink a little brandy.

"Oh, I was so afraid!" she whispered, "so dreadfully afraid! Are you

sure it's straight?"

"It must be," he said gently, "or he wouldn't be out of pain. Pull

yourself together, dear--remember we haven't much time. And he must

have the soup."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I'm all right, Tom; don't worry. Will you

two get him into the buggy while I bring the soup?" She hurried away.

When she came back, with the steaming cup in her hand, the patient was

sitting up in the buggy, wearing a wide smile, while Tom strapped the

leg to the board above the knee and at the foot. Garth stood

sentry-fashion at the horse's head, his eyes shining with excitement.

"By Jove, that's good!" said the broken-legged one, tasting the soup.

"And I'd hardly know me ol' laig was broke, I'm that comfortable.

You're a great doctor, ain't you now, Mrs. Macleod?"

"I hope I didn't hurt you much," she said, smiling at him faintly. She

was still trembling.

"Not you. That ol' pony hurt like fury, an' it was a fair caution when

Bill fell down with me. Twice, he did; Bill's a great hand at fallin'."

He grinned at Bill.

"Thank y'r lucky stars I was big enough to carry y'r great carcase,"

said that worthy, not at all abashed. "Might as well be decently

grateful: I can tell you, you ain't no luxury to carry!"

"Finished?" Tom asked, handing the empty cup to Garth. "Get the place

tidy, son; mother's going to drive in. We'll be back soon." He helped

Aileen to the driver's seat, handing her the reins. "You haven't too

much time. I'll go ahead and try to hold the boat. Jump up behind"--to

the mate. "I'll leave the gates open as I go, and you can shut them."

He swung himself upon the pony, and trotted down the hill.

It was with a shiver of dread that Aileen felt the first severe jolt as

they jogged over the rough paddock track. She glanced anxiously at her

patient.

"Did that hurt you much?"

"'Ardly felt it," said he. "This dodge of yours is the best ever I see.

Every one else puts a man full length on a mattress, an' crikey! don't

it hurt! Every little jolt'll make a man howl. But this is like bein'

in an armchair, and the jolts don't seem to worry you at all." They

bumped heavily over a tussock, and his calmness bore out the truth of

his words.

She was thankful for it, for there was no time to waste. Her patient,

smoking and chattering, was apparently indifferent as to whether he

caught the steamer. "I don't reckon any ol' doctor is goin' to make a

better job of this laig than you done," he said, carelessly. But to

Aileen it was unthinkable that they should not catch it. She had no

belief in her own ability to set a broken leg properly. That the boy

should be cheerful, and almost out of pain, was a kind of pleasant

miracle, but she could not realize that her unskilled hands could

possibly have caused it. She would not have been surprised if, at any

moment, he had broken down again in shivering agony. The dread lest she

should have made some mistake almost choked her--how could she ever face

him in the future if the leg she had doctored were crooked, or shorter

than the other? He was such a boy! She could not bear to think that he

might be crippled, and because of her.

"I say!" said the patient, suddenly alert. "There's a snake! Do stop,

Mrs. Macleod, and let Bill kill the brute."

"Not for fifty snakes!" said Aileen firmly. She brought down the whip

with emphasis on Roany's back. The snake, a big brown one, slid away

into a patch of bracken.

"I don't believe in letting snakes go," said the patient severely. "You

never can tell where it's going to turn up again. It's like leavin'

poison lyin' about loose where there's kids. You wouldn't like your own

kid to meet that chap if he was runnin' about in the scrub, not

thinkin'."

Aileen had a feeling of having been put in the corner by a small boy.

"I know," she said meekly. "And I truly would not leave it, if we had

time. But this is a lonely part, and there are no children--and it is

very important to get you to a doctor quickly. If we miss the boat, you

know, it means waiting a whole day."

"Ah, doctors!" said the boy scornfully. "I knew one once in South

Gippsland where a chap broke his laig, same as me, and some one set it,

and got him pretty right for the time bein'. They took him home an'

wired for a doctor to a place ten mile away, tellin' him what was the

matter, so's he'd bring the proper fixin's. He come along after a bit,

took off the setting an' looked at the laig, an' said it was set all

right, an' he'd left the splints an' things at the hotel, an' he must go

an' get them. So he left that laig with nothin' on it but a blanket, an'

went off; an' he didn't come back for seven hours!"

"But why?"

"Why? 'Cause he was playin' billiards an' havin' a good time. That's

why. They sent ever so many messages to him, an' the poor chap lay

there, with his laig swellin' something cruel. Then the doctor come back

at last, an' if you'll believe me he'd never brought a thing with him!

He took them old bandages an' rough bits of wood they'd used for

splints--the things he'd taken off an' chucked aside in the morning--an'

put 'em on the laig again: all dirty, they was, from bein' against his

ol' workin' pants."

"But why did he not bring the proper things?"

"Nobody never knew. He didn't, anyhow. When that laig was set first, by

the chap as did it in the Bush, it was as straight and comft'ble as

anything could be. But when that beautiful doctor done it, it wasn't

straight. He put on the things quite loose and careless. The man's

mate was there, an' said so, an' the doctor flared up like & packet of

crackers. 'Do you think I don't know me business?' says he. 'I'm

blooming well sure you don't,' says the mate."

"What did he say to that?" Aileen asked.

"Not a thing. You couldn't insult him--he hadn't no decent pride. He

just finished tyin' up the poor bloke's laig, an' went off, sayin' he'd

come back in three days an' look at him. But the chap suffered very

bitter in his heel all night, an' next morning his foot was stickin' out

turned half-ways round. They sent five mile into the Bush for the man

that had set it first, to come an' straighten it an' set it again."

"Did he?"

"No, he had sense. He said he couldn't take the responsibility of

touching it. So they packed the poor chap an' his laig up on a

stretcher, with the laig just as the doctor had left it, an' sent him up

to the Melbourne Hospital. They said it was the laughin'-stock of the

whole place--they asked was it a doctor as had done it, or a goanna?"

"I never heard of such a thing!" Aileen breathed. "Did he--was he lame

afterwards?"

"Well, he wasn't, but it was luck. And it was ages before he was

better, an' him out of work all the time. So that's why I ain't in any

hurry to get to any ol' doctors. Me laig's comft'ble now, an' I'd like

it to stay so."

"But all doctors aren't like that, thank goodness," Aileen said. "I

know one who saved my boy's life. And when he comes into a house where

there is sickness, you feel as if he had suddenly shouldered all your

troubles."

"Oh, I suppose there's good and bad in all trades!" her patient admitted

handsomely. "Only that fool Englishman in South Gippsland was the only

one I ever met very intimate, so to speak. But I've heard they're good

in Bairnsdale."

"I know they are," Aileen assured him. "And there's a big, comfortable

hospital where you'll be splendidly looked after. You see, it's all

very well now, when you haven't had time to get tired; but you will be

glad enough to be in bed after a while."

"I s'pose I will; but I never was in bed a day in me life," he said

ruefully. "Oh, well, if I'm fool enough to let a limb hit me, I got to

pay for it."

They were approaching the outskirts of the township. Scattered houses

came in view, and the roar of the surf grew plainer as they drew near to

the narrow lagoon that lies between Cuninghame and the sand hummocks of

the Ninety Mile Beach. Above it came three long discordant hoots.

"My word, that's the steamer!" said the man at the back. "Can you get a

bit more out of that ol' pony, mum?"

Aileen was already plying the whip, much to Roany's disgust. He shook

his head angrily from side to side, and finally broke into a lurching

canter. Tom came in view, riding to meet them.

"Hurry all you can!" he said briefly. "The captain has kept the steamer

almost as long as he dares; you see, he carries the mail from some

places. I'll tell him you're coming."

They turned into the esplanade, and rocked down past the houses and the

stores. Near the wharf a knot of people waited, gazing curiously at

them. The paddle-steamer was at the wharf, smoke pouring from her

funnel. Aileen could see the tall figure of the captain leaning over

the railing. He shouted something she could not hear. She pulled up

near the wharf, with a sigh of relief.

There were plenty of willing hands to help to carry the patient to the

steamer. The captain had offered his cabin, but the boy begged to be

left on deck.

"I'll be inside four walls long enough, I expect," he said. "Let's stop

out here." So they propped him up where he could look across the lake,

with his bandaged leg sticking stiffly out in front of him. He looked

at it with a wry smile.

"A nice object, you are!" he said. He held out his hand to Aileen.

"Thanks, Mrs. Macleod. If I've ever the luck to be able to do a good

turn for you, I'll do it."

"But you would do that if you'd never hurt your leg," she said,

laughing. "I think all Gippslanders are ready to do good turns! Take

care of yourself, and good luck!" She turned to his mate. "You'll let

us know how he gets on?"

"My word, yes," said Bill. He also shook hands vigorously. "Great bit

of luck we struck you, mum, anyhow!"

The steamer gave an agonized hoot, and Tom and Aileen sought the wharf

hurriedly. They stood, watching, while the big, top-heavy-looking, boat

moved slowly out from the wharf, with great churnings of her paddles,

and set off down the lagoon towards the lake opening out ahead. Aileen

suddenly realized that she was very tired.

"And the washing-up not done!" she said. "It's very bad management to

begin the day with such dissipation! Come home, Tom."

"Right-oh!" Tom answered. "I'll lead Jane, and come with you in the

buggy." He helped her in, and they jogged back along the esplanade.

"Are you very done up, my girl?"

"Oh, a little bit tired," she said. "I think it's more from fear than

anything else."

"Well, you had no reason to be afraid," he said. "Your job was all

right. I was proud of you! But it wasn't an easy thing to tackle.

However, none of us need worry now when we break an odd limb or two: all

we have to do is to get as comfortable as possible, light a pipe, and

wait for you!"

"If you dare----!" said his wife, laughing.

"Why not? But apart from joking, Aileen, our 'Possum has been having

adventures. They told me about it when I was waiting for you at the

wharf." He told her the story of the wrecked boat.

"And where is she now?" Aileen asked anxiously. "Is she ill?"

"Her feet and legs are pretty painful, they said. But she wouldn't see a

doctor, or stay in Cuninghame; and her father was better, so he took her

home yesterday."

"I must go over and see if I can do anything," Aileen said decidedly.

"Well, I thought you'd like to. But are you fit for it, dear?"

"I shall be quite all right, especially when I have some tea!" she said.

"Tea is the one thing my soul craves for."

"I'll brew the largest teapot in the house directly we get home," Tom

said. "And you will just keep quiet and take things easy. You won't

need to do any cooking, will you?"

"I should like to take a basket of things over to the O'Connors," she

said. "But I won't do much, really, Tom. I'll starve my poor family on

'Possum's account!"

"If I believed that you would, I'd be contented," he said. "But I know

you better. When shall we go over?"

"Oh, after dinner. We'll take Garth--the poor man has had a horrid

morning."

Garth did not consider that he had had a horrid morning at all. It was

not every day that the thrilling excitement of a broken leg came his

way; and later, he had found enormous satisfaction in dusting and

tidying the house, and in spurring Horrors to amazing efforts in the

kitchen. The housework was done by the time the buggy drew up at the

back gate--if the corners were not above reproach, Aileen knew better

than to look at them. She looked instead at her little son's glowing

face, and kissed him, with moist eyes; and Tom's deep "Well done, old

man!" sent Garth into the seventh heaven.

There was a big basket stowed in the back of the buggy when they set off

early in the afternoon: such things as might relieve the anxieties of a

crippled housekeeper and of a cook of twelve. A big piece of cooked

mutton; a crisp, brown loaf of soda bread, and a bundle of scones tied

up in a fresh, white cloth; a big cake of the kind that invites hungry

people to cut and come again, and, in a special corner, a glass of jelly

and a sponge cake, warm yet, and light and puffy: things to tempt an

invalid.

"Won't it be 'strordinary to see 'Possum in bed?" Garth chattered. "Do

you think she has dungaree nighties, mother?"

O'Connor's farm lay two miles away, in a dark valley between hills

covered with gum trees. There was no gate leading into it: only heavy

slip-rails, fitting into rusty horse shoes nailed to posts on either

side. Like their own farm, it had scarcely any homestead track: they

bumped over tussocks and rough ground, and wriggled a tortuous way round

logs and clumps of scrub. 'Possum and her father nearly always rode;

and the children walked two miles across the paddocks to the little Bush

school. There were few wheel-marks on O'Connor's land.

Little Joe was playing on the wood-heap near the door as the Macleods

drove up. He greeted Garth with a grin of joy, and Garth's father and

mother with shy pleasure.

"How is 'Possum, Joe?" asked Aileen, descending. "Is she asleep?"

"'Poss? Asleep? Gwacious, no!" said 'Possum's brother, in amazement.

"She's feeding the calf. Come on down to the shed."

He led the way across the untidy yard. The shed was a half-open place,

tenanted by a dray, two ploughs, a harrow, sundry old iron, and a calf.

The calf was tied to the wheel of the dray, and at the moment was

strenuously objecting to take nourishment, which 'Possum, seated on a

wheelbarrow, was endeavouring to administer by means of a baby's bottle.

The efforts of the calf to withdraw were frustrated by the combined

muscles of Bertha, young Bill and little Polly, who held it firmly in

position and talked to it in good plain terms. The calf, however, was

obdurate, and at last 'Possum gave up the attempt.

"Oh, let him go!" she said, without noticing the new-comers. "I

wouldn't mind if it was on'y his feed, but it's his med'cine as well.

We'll hot it up after a bit, Bill, an' try him again."

"Might as well try 'n' pour milk into a gate-post!" said young Bill,

disgustedly, prodding, with a bare toe, the calf, which had lain down

thankfully on its straw. "Brute! I dunno how Daisy come to have such a

mis'rable little runt of a thing!"

"Jolly careless of her," said 'Possum. "Now you just turn me round, an'

wheel me up easy, Bert. Don't go an' pitch me out, like you near did

comin' down!"

"Let me help," said Tom, stepping forward. Every one jumped, and 'Possum

turned a lively pink.

"Sorry," she said gruffly, looking at her bandaged feet, which were

thrust over the edge of the wheelbarrow, "I'm lame, like the silly ass I

am, so the kids have to wheel me round--that fool of a calf won't drink

for Bill, but he gen'lly-as-a-rule will for me. Don't you bother, Mr.

Macleod; Bert can get me up all right."

"I don't believe Bertha's half as good in the shafts of a barrow as I

am!" Tom retorted. "I've been broken in ever so much longer than she

has; I wouldn't trust her not to kick!" Which pleasantry reduced Bertha

to suppressed giggles, until she grew alarmingly red in the face.

Tom wheeled the barrow up the steep yard, and paused at the kitchen

door. It was a dark, low room, lit only by one small window; but it was

spotlessly neat and clean. A rough home-made sofa, from which a coarse

rug had been flung back, stood under the window.

"Is that your camp?" Tom asked, indicating the sofa. 'Possum nodded,

looking more wretchedly uncomfortable than before.

"If--if you'n' missus 'ud go into the front room, I can get to it," she

muttered, crimsoning.

"You can't walk, 'Possum?" Aileen put a hand on her shoulder.

"No, but I can manage." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Please do

take the boss away!"

"I say!" said Tom unhappily. "It isn't fair to shunt me like that,

'Possum." He turned to the silent children. "How did she get to the

barrow, Bill?"

"Crawled 'n' rolled," said young Bill briefly. "An' it hurt her like

fury."

"Well, you aren't going to crawl and roll this time," said Tom, with

decision. "And you can't sit in that barrow all day. Now you just

behave yourself, 'Possum; I'm going to make believe you're Garth.

You've no idea how handy I got as a nurse when he was ill."

Without giving her time to make any further protest he lifted her gently

and carried her across to the sofa, putting her down as easily as though

she had been a featherweight, and arranging the rug across her knees.

He talked fluently all the time, without looking at her.

"This is a sort of hospital day for us," he said. "You've been trying to

drown yourself and fill the lake with cold pork, and the Missus has been

setting broken legs until her brain reeled. And Garth has been cook and

bottle-washer, and what the family would have done without him I tremble

to think. He even made Horrors hurry, and I guess you know what sort of

a job _that_ would be, 'Possum! Horrors showed signs of swooning from

overwork and brain-fag by the time Garth had finished with him. The

missus will tell you all about it. Now I'm off to talk to that calf,

with Bill. Come along, Bill. I don't think the calf likes a crowd any

more than I do when I've medicine to take." He took the calf's rejected

bottle, to which 'Possum had clung instinctively, and went out, Bill at

his heels.

"Jus' fancy him carryin' me like that!" 'Possum uttered, her eyes

shining. "Ain't he the limit! Oh, you were good to come, Missus!"

"Of course we had to come," Aileen said, shaking up a cushion, and

putting her back upon it gently. "Wasn't our station-manager ill!"

'Possum's pale face expanded in a delighted grin.

"Oh, I'm all right," she said. "Leastways, nearly! Me laigs'll be on

strike for a few days, they say."

"No chill?" Aileen asked. "Are you truly all right, 'Possum, dear?"

It was not often that a word of endearment came in 'Possum's way. Her

eyes, as she raised them to the tall girl bending over her, had

something of the utter devotion of a dog.

"Lor, I dunno how to be ill!" she answered. "Don't you bother about me,

Missus. If it wasn't for me silly old laigs I'd be as right as pie. I

was a bit tired, but I slep' in this morning--never opened an eye till

eight o'clock! Nice state the place 'ud get into if I was to do that

often."

"And your father?"

"Oh, he's pretty right. Looks a bit washed out, but he's gone off to

Coffey's to try an' get another pig. Did they tell you 'about it?

Wasn't it rotten luck losin' that other one? He was a real good pig,

too!"

"We might have lost you," Aileen said. She bent and kissed the girl

lightly on the forehead. A swift wave of colour dyed 'Possum's face,

and she caught Aileen's hand and held it tightly for a moment.

"Now we're going to have tea with you, and I'm going to help Bertha get

it," said Aileen cheerfully.

"It ain't fit for you--we on'y got enamel cups," said 'Possum unhappily.

"An' goodness on'y knows what there is to eat. To-day's bakin' day, by

rights, but of course nothin's got done. Have we got any butter, Bert?"

"You've probably pounds and pounds, but I brought some over, just

because I was so painfully proud of its colour!" said Aileen, beginning

to unpack her basket swiftly. "It wouldn't 'come' last night; I churned

it until my arm wouldn't churn any more, and then I hung it in the well

all night, and attacked it again at six o'clock this morning. Then it

came quite meekly. It's the only way to deal with it in summer, isn't

it?" The butter emerged, firm and yellow, from a wrapping of wet cloths

and cabbage leaves. "Put that meat in the safe, Bertha, like a good

girl--it's a great day for flies. Polly, that's cake; you unwrap it,

and if you don't say it's a good cake, I won't be friends with you. Now

we'll have scones to try my butter. What have you eaten to-day,

'Possum?"

"Well, I ain't had much feelin' of fancyin' anything," 'Possum admitted.

"I tried me porridge, but it was too hot; this ain't much of a day for

hot things, is it? You can't eat much on a blazin' day like this."

"She won't eat nothin'," said Bertha, in a high, miserable voice. "I

tried an' tried, an' fried her an aig, an' it wasn't any good.

Leastways, the aig was good, but she wouldn't eat it. I dunno what to

do with her."

"We brought you some of my jelly, and you've just got to eat it," said

Garth happily. The jelly glass came from its jar of wet salt, with its

contents clear and golden and quivering. 'Possum's eyes rested on it

hungrily.

"Now!" said Garth. He demanded a teaspoon of Bertha, and advanced upon

the sofa, jelly in hand, and looking ridiculously like his father.

"Just you behave yourself, and eat this!"

"It's lovely!" 'Possum whispered to him gratefully.

Aileen, after the first glance, did not look at the sofa. 'Possum never

liked eating with an audience--but Garth did not count. He leaned

against her, chattering in his eager little voice; and the jelly was

disappearing. So Aileen busied herself with Bertha and Polly, making

tea and buttering scones. Everything was ready when Tom loomed in the

doorway, with young Bill at his heels.

"Bill and I think you people don't understand calves," Tom announced.

"You don't take them properly. That fellow leaned up against us, and

kissed us, and drank his bottle like any other nice, well-behaved baby.

Now Bill and I want ours--don't we, Bill?"

Bill chuckled deeply, casting adoring glances at this cheerful person,

who might be "a gent," but nevertheless treated him as a man and a

brother. Garth brought the jelly-glass triumphantly to the table.

"She's eaten every bit!" he cried.

"That's lovely!" said Aileen, and smiled at her. "Now she's going to eat

my sponge cake and tell me if it isn't good." She took it to 'Possum's

side, with a cup of tea, and turned an empty box into a bedside table;

and they were all very merry, and ate enormously, while 'Possum nibbled

her cake and watched Aileen's smallest movement, and sighed now and then

with a content that not even bandaged, aching feet could take away.

"You will take care of yourself, won't you, 'Possum?" Aileen said, when

the time came for good-byes. They had all washed up together, and Tom

had insisted on sweeping the kitchen, to the great anguish of mind of

the sisters O'Connor. "Don't try to walk too soon; and promise to get

Bertha to rub you twice a day. You will, Bertha, won't you?"

"My oath!" said Bertha, firmly. "No matter what she says!"

"That's quite right," said Aileen, laughing. "And hide her clothes,

Bertha, if she tries to get about before she should!"

"I'll plant 'er boots," said Bertha. "That'll fix 'er!"

Young Bill had helped Tom to put in Roany, and the buggy waited, with

the O'Connor family in extended order to bid them good-bye: 'Possum

watching from her window, while Bertha helped to stow the empty basket

under the seat and tuck in the dust-rug; and Polly was at the gate of

the yard, her curls shining in the sun, and ahead, Bill, on a

bare-backed pony, careered across the paddock to let down the sliprails.

It was something like a Royal Progress; and from the shed came a loud

"Ma-a-a-a!" as though in farewell. It was the calf!

*CHAPTER XIV*

*A BOATING HOLIDAY*

"Dad!"

"Yes?" Tom Macleod paused in his task of staking peas, and looked

inquiringly at his little son.

"It's a lovely day," Garth said, conversationally. "Isn't it?"

"It is. Did you come out to tell me that?"

"Well, not exactly," Garth hesitated. "Only, it _is_ a nice day. And

mother and I were thinking we hadn't had any fish for ages. And we

thought it wouldn't be any wonder if the motor got indigestion again,

through not being used!"

Macleod grinned.

"You and mother are a pair of old conspirators, and I am your unhappy

victim!" he said. "This means, I suppose, that I am to stop earning

both your livings and play about in a silly motor-boat all day!"

"You know it isn't a silly boat--it's a beauty!" Garth protested. "And

it isn't waste of time, 'cause we'll catch such a lot of fish that it'll

save the butcher's bill no end. And there's meat-pies to take out for

lunch: mother made 'em yesterday, and they're lovely!"

"I never heard a more convincing set of reasons," Tom said. "Well, if I

don't come I suppose you and mother will go off by your wild lones, and

eat all the pies, so I suppose I'd better be meek. I say, though, what

about bait?"

"'Possum and I caught a lovely lot of shrimps yesterday," said his son

demurely.

"Oh, did you? I'd like to know was it the sight of your shrimps that

made mother make the pies, or the sight of the pies that sent you after

shrimps?"

"It wasn't neither, truly," Garth answered. "She made 'em while I was

away. She says it was a brain-wave!"

"I have noticed mother have that species of brain-wave before," said

Tom, staking vigorously. "Well, I'll come; but I must finish this row

first. Even to catch fish and eat pies I won't leave my precious peas to

trail in the dust. Peas are money, young Garth!"

"I'll help you," Garth said eagerly. "If I hand you stakes you'll get

on ever so quicker."

"True for you," said his father. They worked together until they came

to the end of the row, and Tom stood up, glad to stretch his aching

back.

"People with long cheap backs like mine ought never to be asked to

double them up," he remarked.

A grey horse and a flapping blue skirt came into view, mounting the hill

towards the house.

"There's 'Possum!" Garth-cried. "I wonder would she come with us? May

I ask her, Dad?"

"Yes, of course," Tom answered. Garth shot across to the garden gate,

and he followed more slowly.

'Possum had lost all outward traces of her accident, except that she

walked a little stiffly, and was not yet capable of any hard work. She

did as much as possible in the saddle; but for the most part her father

had suddenly put down his foot where work for her was concerned--the

result of a conversation with Aileen--and the girl was experiencing a

most unusual holiday. It almost troubled her: leisure had so little

come her way. Now, her father performed all her rough tasks; and Bertha

and young Bill gathered the fruit and vegetables, and prepared them for

market, while Polly and little Joe tended the fowls, fed the broods of

baby chickens, and gathered the eggs. As a kind of favour, 'Possum was

permitted to market her produce--with Bill or Bertha as attendant, to

jump in and out of the cart and carry the loads into the houses.

'Possum did not enjoy it. "I ain't used to being a lady," she said.

She fell back thankfully on the Macleods; and there were few days when

she did not ride up to the cottage on the hill--to potter about the farm

with Tom and Garth, and look at the crops and the stock, or to watch

Aileen as she worked in the garden or in the house. Aileen was busy

with a good deal of sewing in those days, most of which she was careful

to conceal when she heard 'Possum's step. One day 'Possum surprised her

in the act of working at some pale pink print, and laid her hand gently

on the stuff. "Your things is always so pretty," she said wistfully.

Whereat Aileen smiled, and remarked vaguely that pink was a good washing

colour.

To-day 'Possum professed herself as very willing to join the fishing

party: and they set off happily, laden with baskets and quart-pot, to

the boat-shed, where Tom dealt mysteriously with the motor. The launch

was only a tiny one, fitted up by Mr. Gordon for his fishing

expeditions: five or six people filled it comfortably, and it drew so

little water that it could be run into the shallowest of bays and

creeks. Tom settled 'Possum and Aileen comfortably in the stern, and

Garth took up his usual position, as far out of the bow as he could hang

his small person with safety. Bran whined distressfully on the shore.

Ordinary boating-trips were permitted him; but to bring leaping fish

into the boat upset all his calmness, and sent him into such paroxysms

of barking that when fishing was part of the programme he had been

condemned to remain at home. Garth sorrowed over it, and talked

severely to him on the subject of gaining more sense: orations which

Bran heard with respect, but which had so far produced no effect.

"Orders, please, ma'am," Tom said, looking up from the digestive

apparatus of the little engine. "Where do you want to go?"

"I want to explore this arm of the lake," Aileen replied promptly. "You

know, we have never been up to the end, and we've always planned to do

so. We might get some fishing in the pools, 'Possum says; and if we

don't, we could go down to the lake itself after lunch and fish in

earnest. Does that meet with your worshipful approval?"

"Sounds very jolly," Tom said. "All right, then, we'll go exploring

first. Ready?"

They slid away from the little jetty, and turned up the arm of the lake.

It was like a river pushing itself in among the hills. Near its outlet

it was wide, and on stormy days there was a choppy sea at its mouth; but

as it wound its sinuous course inland it grew smooth and tranquil and

even narrower, save that now and then at a sudden turn it broadened into

a deep and quiet pool. Then it would wind away again, each time seeming

the last, until at length it narrowed to nothing, and the blue water

vanished in a tangle of driftwood and rubbish brought by the slow tide

to the end of its tortuous journey.

They swung round bend after bend. Gum and wattle trees bordered the

water: and sometimes they came to a little clearing, where a settler's

cottage stood, trim and neat in its setting of orchard and garden, with

fowls pecking contentedly near the homestead fences, and perhaps

barefooted children running about. One such clearing led to 'Possum's

home, though the trees hid the house; they passed the little jetty where

lay the sailing boat which had so nearly cost two lives--little the

worse apparently for its long immersion. Two fishermen had towed it in

next day and righted it--empty of all spare gear, but without damage.

'Possum gave a little shudder as she looked at it.

"No more sailing for me just yet awhile!" she uttered. "I seem to have

lost me taste for it!"

They went on and on, winding and twisting through the forest, which grew

thicker and thicker. Often it seemed certain that they had come to the

end, as they entered a pool with no apparent outlet; but, as they glided

farther, the water opened before them in another bend, and yet another,

and another. Deep fern gullies came down to the water's edge, dark and

beautiful, and full of the chiming of bell-birds: and sometimes they

heard the quick swish and crack of the stockwhip bird. They landed in

one gully, where 'Possum said she had twice seen lyre-birds: and by

great good luck, and patiently sitting on a log for twenty minutes, they

actually caught a glimpse of a pair of the queer, shy birds, dancing

solemnly on a mound, uttering strange sounds.

"They're copyin'--they're just born mimics," 'Possum whispered.

"Listen--they've heard a sawmill somewhere!" And indeed the sounds were

nothing but the harsh rip of a saw through timber. They changed in a

moment to the yap of a dog: which so enchanted Garth that he fell bodily

off the log, and the lyre-birds promptly disappeared.

"Well, you are a goat!" said Tom.

"I just am," Garth admitted penitently: "I don't know what made me

overbalance. I'm sorry."

"Well, you hadn't much log to lie on," Tom said, relenting as he looked

at the tiny limb where the small boy had been perched. "Can't be

helped, at all events."

"You had jolly good luck to see 'em at all," 'Possum said. "I been

about the Bush all me life, an' I haven't seen 'em half a dozen times.

But that gully's always a haunt for birds--nobody hardly ever goes

there. Look--there's a blue wren."

"Oh!--the lovely thing!" Aileen breathed.

He was certainly a lovely thing--a proud little person of black and

enamel-blue, with a blue cap and a deep-blue tail nearly as long as his

whole body. He was very busy, strutting happily about the ground or

fluttering from twig to twig with a rapid flight that made him look like

a glancing jewel. Finally he perched on a bough and broke into a little

song as exquisite as himself: and then dashed off in a great hurry to

find his mate.

"What a jolly little chap!" Garth uttered.

"He's a dear, ain't he?" 'Possum said. "An' his little mate's as plain

as he's pretty, but she's a dear, too. Look--there's a couple of

honey-eaters!" She pointed out a pair of dainty black and yellow birds,

hanging head downwards under a patch of eucalyptus blossom. They had

long, curved, slender beaks, in and out of which darted busy tongues

ending in little brushes that swept the honey from the flowers.

"But they're exquisite!" Aileen uttered. "I didn't know we had anything

so lovely."

"There's dozens of different sorts of honey-eaters, an' they're all

lovely," 'Possum said. "Some day we'll go out, will we, Missus, an'

spend a whole day watchin' birds?"

"I would love to," Aileen said.

"Bert came home from school once, an' said they'd been reading a bit o'

poitry by some bloke that said Australian birds hadn't any songs,"

'Possum said, with disgust. "Well, I s'pose a bloke has to be clever to

write poitry, but I don't reckon he knew much about Australia. I

wouldn't ask anything better than our own of magpie singin' in the early

morning, or the thrush, or that little blue wren, or any of the

warblers--an' there's dozens an' dozens of others.. Even the ol'

butcher-bird can sing a fair treat. I reckon he was a silly bloke,

don't you?"

Aileen ventured a mild defence of the poet.

"I don't think he meant that we have no songbirds," she said. "I think

he only tried to say that some of our handsomest birds were songless."

'Possum tilted her nose.

"Well, people that make up poitry have a right to be careful," she said

severely. "Kids in schools pay an awful lot of attention to what they

say, an' it's up to them not to lead 'em wrong!" After which Aileen

defended no more.

They went back to the boat, and journeyed on, presently coming on a new

sight for the Macleods. A blacks' camp stood on a natural clearing near

a creek that ran down into the lake-arm: a rough "wurley," built of

interlaced boughs, with a bit of sacking hanging down for a door. Hot

as the day was, a little fire smouldered between two big stones. The

only person visible, at first, was a tiny black baby, tumbling about on

the ground without a rag of clothing; but as Tom stopped the engine, the

sacking over the door was lifted, and a man and a woman came out. They

were young, and the woman was not bad-looking, and her dress was fairly

neat; but the man was an evil-looking creature, ragged and slouching,

with a furtive, unpleasant gaze.

The woman picked up the baby, and they came down to the water's edge,

looking curiously at the boat and its occupants. The man held out a

rough boomerang he was making, and offered it for sale.

[Illustration: "The man held out a rough boomerang he was making, and

offered it for sale."]

"I've no money with me," Tom said. "Would you like it, Garth? I can

tell him to come to the house to be paid, if you would."

"Don't you!" said 'Possum, in a quick whisper. "It ain't worth

buyin'--those fellers don't know how to make a decent boomerang.

They're on'y sham things, made to catch silly visitors----" She pulled

herself up, and turned scarlet. Tom laughed.

"Bless you, 'Possum, I always get truth from you," he said. He shook

his head at the man. "No, thanks," he said; and the black fellow looked

surlier than ever. The woman uttered a quick jabber of words that

included something about "bacca."

"Oh, they can have that," Tom said. He took a piece of tobacco from his

pocket and tossed it to the man, who caught it deftly, his heavy face

lightening for a moment. Then the boat chugged her way onward, and they

lost sight of the little clearing.

"'Fraid I was a bit rude that time," said 'Possum. "But if you once let

one of those fellers come to your house, you're never free of them.

They'll turn up at any hour and want tucker and baccy; an' what's more,

they'll tell their friends, and you'll have them callin' too. And

they'd steal the very clothes off your back. Nothin's safe from

them--the washin' out on the line, an' the chickens, an' the things in

the shed. They're a caution when they take to hangin' round a place."

"But won't they come in any case?" asked Aileen.

"Oh, they may, of course. But they're queer people; if once they're

told to call at a place they seem to think they've got a hold on it for

keeps, an' they'll come back for years an' years."

"Where do they live, 'Possum?"

"Those people have most likely been in one of the settlements--Ramahyuck

or Lake Tyers. The woman's dress looks like it: she'd never be as neat

as that if she hadn't been in a mission station. They treat 'em jolly

well there--give 'em decent little cottages to live in, an' just enough

work to keep 'em going. But they always break out now an' then, an' one

or two'll clear out to the Bush an' camp for a while. They'll go back

when the cold weather comes--or before that, if they aren't pickin' up

enough food. An' they don't much mind where an' how they pick it up, I

can tell you."

"Why wouldn't you let Dad buy the boomerang, 'Poss?" asked Garth.

"I'd make you a better one meself," 'Possum answered. "It's really only

the old men who know much about either makin' or throwin' boomerangs:

none of these young ones'll bother themselves. You could throw that

affair he was makin' into the air, same as you could any old stick, but

it wouldn't return to you. Most people don't know the difference"--she

grinned at Tom shamefacedly--"an' they get a sale for all sorts of

rubbishy stuff among the summer visitors. But it's no more real black's

stuff than I am. That gets harder to buy every year, because the old

men who used to make the things are dying out."

They had been gliding along gently, the water growing steadily

shallower. Suddenly, they came upon the end of the arm--a pool like

hundreds of other pools through which they had passed, save that in each

of the others there had been an outlet, and here there was none. The

water ended. All round them the trees frowned down upon the still

surface, where leaves and sticks floated idly, never to get away: doomed

to wash into the rubbish along the shore, or to become water-logged, and

finally to sink to the muddy bottom. There was something unnaturally

eerie and still about the place. Even the birds had deserted it: there

was no longer the happy sound of their singing and twittering. Far

overhead a fish-hawk sailed lazily.

"Ugh!" said Aileen, shivering a little. "I don't like this place. Let

us turn back."

So they turned and drifted into wholesome blue water, passing the

blacks' little camp and the gullies and clearings that led back to the

country they knew. In one gully they moored the boat and made their

fire, eating their luncheon among the limbs of a fine old tree that had

fallen and lay upon its side, its gnarled-boughs making splendid natural

arm-chairs. The birds were very tame: one little brown honey-eater came

hopping near them for crumbs, and finally perched on the toe of Tom's

boot, where it remained in a quaint attitude of alert attention. Then

they fished the pools, with varying success, and at last gave it up and

travelled swiftly down the arm until they reached the lake itself. For

the last half-mile there was little need for the engine. The current

had been steadily growing in power; at length it whisked them round bend

after band, until it brought them out into the open water, and set

swiftly towards the Entrance, where the great grey piers guarded the

lane of water that led out to the breakers.

"You wouldn't have much chance if you drifted out here without oars,"

'Possum remarked. "The current joins the one that sweeps down the lakes

from ever so far up, an' don't they just race out to sea! There was a

party of girls in a boat--visitors--got into that current last year, an'

went bobbin' along towards the Entrance. They'd been told it was risky,

so they lost their heads an' dropped an oar, an' then, of course, they

had no chance at all."

"Were they taken out?" Aileen asked.

"No, but it was luck they weren't. They were mighty close to the

Entrance when some people in a motor-boat saw 'em an' chased 'em--just

managed to stop 'em in time. They'd have been in the surf in three

minutes, an' no boat could live there unless it was jolly well handled.

You'll see the fishing-boats comin' in sometimes, when they've been out

with the nets after a shoal of salmon, and it just is exciting! Even

with four good men pullin', it's risky enough to bring a big boat

through those breakers. Dad seen one turned clean over one day, an' one

man was caught underneath it an' killed. An' that was a great big

sea-goin' fishin'-boat, not the sort of little cockle-shell thing that

people pull round on the lakes."

"Poor chap! I did not know that the fishermen went outside the

entrance: I thought they only fished in the lakes," Tom remarked.

"They fish wherever they can earn a livin'," said 'Possum drily.

They came out upon the wide surface of the lake, and ran across to a bay

that nearly always held fish. To-day it lived up to its reputation, and

soon they were hauling out whiting and big pink schnapper, whose sides

were like live opal as they came out of the water. Tom fished

scientifically, with a rod that was the pride of his heart: the others

bobbed cheerfully with hand lines and sinkers, and were filled with joy

because their results were as good. Their basket was full when they

turned homewards in the evening.

"Tell about the time when Joe got bushed, 'Possum," Garth pleaded.

"That ain't anything to tell about," said 'Possum reprovingly. "And

besides, you know already."

"Yes, but I like to hear it again," Garth begged.

"We haven't heard, at all events," Tom said. "Go on, 'Possum."

"Well, it's nothin' much," 'Possum said, reluctantly: to tell Garth

stories was one thing, but it was quite another to be forced to retail

them to Garth's parents. "Joe went off on his own into the Bush one

afternoon--on'y four, he was--an' next thing I knew was, it was near

dark, an' no Joe. Dad was out in the boat that night, so I left word

for him, an' put all the other kids to bed an' made the fire safe, an'

started off."

"Into the Bush?"

"Yes, of course. That's where Joe was. Well, I pounded through the

jolly old scrub all night--no luck, an' I was pretty worried, 'cause Joe

wasn't no more'n four. An' all me clothes got tore, an' I was scratched

near to bits, an' I kept thinkin', if that was all the fun I was gettin'

out of it, an' me past fourteen, how about poor old Joe?"

"But you found him, 'Possum?" Garth cried eagerly.

"Just about daybreak, I did--in an old hollow stump. Crawled in, he

had, an' there he was, lyin' asleep, happy as Larry. Not any trouble

for Joe. He woke up, an' I was the first thing he saw, an' he laughed

all over his dear old dirty face. 'Where's me porridge, 'Poss?' he says.

He always was just about the limit!"

"What about your father?" Aileen asked.

"Oh, he got home about two o'clock, an' seen the note I left, but he

reckoned if I couldn't find Joe he couldn't, so he turned in. Dad never

worries about things. He says everything'll come out in the wash, if

you leave it long enough."

They reached the jetty, and ran gently alongside. 'Possum hopped out

nimbly, in spite of her sore feet, and helped to steady the boat while

Aileen followed more carefully with the fish and the empty luncheon

baskets. They left Tom to put the engine to bed, aided by Garth, and

went slowly up the hill.

"Christmas will be in three days," Aileen said.

"I suppose so," 'Possum answered. "It don't make much difference to us.

I'll have to kill a turkey for the kids' dinner, I suppose." She paused

at the gate. "I won't come in, Missus: it's late, an' I better be

gettin' home."

"You must take some fish," said Aileen, quickly halving the catch and

placing 'Possum's share in an old sugar-bag. "No, that's not too much

at all: there are more of you to eat it. And you know Polly loves

fish!" They exchanged a fishy hand-grip. "Oh, and, 'Possum, come over

to see us on Christmas afternoon, won't you?"

"Seems to me I come most days," said 'Possum, laughing.

"But we want you on Christmas Day. Will you come?"

"Why, yes, I'll come--thanks," said the girl, laughing. "Catch me

stayin' away, when you'll be bothered with me. Well, so long!" She

limped off to where her old horse slept peacefully under the quince

tree.