*CHAPTER XV*

*SANTA CLAUS AND CLOTHES*

Garth woke to a blissful Christmas morning.

The end of his bed gave ample proof that his father's dismal forebodings

about Santa Claus had not been needed: a bulky stocking, with strange

hollows and protuberances, ornamented one post and yielded such

treasures as a new bridle, a pair of leather leggings, and a stockwhip,

with other offerings showing clearly that the saint fully realized that

this particular boy had moved from the city. That was good: and good it

was, on his way to his bath, to meet Bran, resplendent in a new collar.

But when an enormous bundle on his chair at breakfast-time revealed the

very desire of his heart, a dainty, light saddle, Garth was speechless.

He could only hug his father and mother again and again, and feel the

saddle lovingly, and smile at them in a silence that they quite

understood.

Aileen was smiling, too, at what she found on her plate: books and

music, a very new aluminium saucepan, a soap-saver for the kitchen, and,

tucked away under the rest, a little brooch within which a black opal

gleamed mysteriously, full of dark fire. Aileen loved black opals: but

she regarded them as belonging to the old times when evening dress and

balls and theatres were as common as working overalls and fowl-rearing

and hoeing now. She shook her head at Tom.

"You shouldn't--bless you!"

"Oh, I had to!" he said; "I couldn't help it. I haven't altogether

forgotten the girl who liked pretty things."

"She's very contented to have put them away," said Aileen.

"I know. But I wanted to see her in one," he said obstinately.

Whereupon Aileen, to please him, pinned the brooch in her overall, and

found herself greatly enjoying it as she prepared dinner.

They jogged to church behind Roany, and exchanged greetings with a few

people they knew and with many to whom they were strangers--except that

every one knew that they were "the new, hard-working lot that's come to

Gordon's farm," and being simple, kindly-minded Gippsland settlers, saw

no reason why they should wait to be formally introduced. Then they

came home to a happy Christmas dinner--everything cold, and therefore as

it should be, with the thermometer at 95 deg.--after which, by mere

force of habit, Aileen was about to go to work in the garden, but was

restrained by Tom, who remarked that there were some things not done in

decent families, and placed her forcibly in a long chair on the veranda

with a new book.

'Possum came through the house presently. A feeling that something was

due to a day which evidently meant far more to the Macleods than it had

ever done to her, had induced her to put on her new dungaree dress, and

she was stiffly uncomfortable. Dungaree obligingly fades as soon as it

is washed: when new it is a rather deep hard blue, and the wearer looked

hot and red-faced, and crackled as she walked. She stood in the doorway

looking down at Aileen, who had put on a white frock in honour of

Christmas, and, with her shining hair against the pale green canvas of

her long chair, was like the spirit of spring and coolness. She put up a

slim hand and took 'Possum's work-roughened one.

"I'm too lazy to get up, 'Possum," she said. "Come and sit down."

"It ain't often one sees you lazy," 'Possum answered, leaning back in a

chair, and promptly sitting up again, since the position brought her

great boots too baldly into view.

"I have been bullied shamefully," Aileen said, casting a severe glance

at Tom, who bore it with cheerfulness. "Goodness knows my broad beans

are calling for me, but I'm not allowed to go near them. What have you

been doing, 'Possum?"

"Oh, the usual thing. Dad's away shearin', so I've got to be pretty

busy again: and anyhow, it's about time I was; my feet are all right,

an' I'm full-up of loafin'. Seems to me," said 'Possum, "that loafin's

all very well for a bit, an' then it gets on your nerves. The kids have

been jolly good, an' I pretend not to see a lot o' things they do or

they don't do; but there's lots o' times I'd give me ears to be doin'

the work myself."

"That is pride, which is a thing all you women suffer from," Tom said.

"She"--indicating Aileen--"has violent attacks of it whenever I wash up,

or sweep a room, or do any of the things she imagines she does better

than I do. Of course, it's only a delusion on her part, because I'm

really a first-class housemaid: but there it is. It's a pity, because

otherwise she has rather a nice character!"

'Possum grinned. She was beginning to understand what she called Tom's

"foolin'," and was no longer bewildered and slightly alarmed when he

chaffed her. Nevertheless, she had not yet come to the point of

chaffing in return, and so she thought it more prudent to change the

subject.

"Where's Garth?" she asked.

"Garth is careering over the hills and far away on a brand-new

saddle--and Jane," said Tom. "There is also a new bridle, and he has new

leggings--the latter must be exceedingly uncomfortable on a day like

this, but he insisted on putting them on. He's awfully pleased with

himself. I don't think it's much of a Christmas for Jane; she probably

prefers him bare back."

"My word, he must be proud!" 'Possum uttered. "He told me the other day

he was goin' to save up for a saddle, 'cause he couldn't go askin' you

to get it, with you buyin' so much fertilizer: an' he wanted to know how

long it would take him. Said he'd got ninepence. I didn't know what to

say to the poor little kid."

"Well, he has the saddle now, and I sincerely trust I won't have so many

pairs of knickerbockers to mend," Aileen remarked. "Bare back riding

may be fun for a boy, but it's destruction to his trousers!"

"Yes, ain't it?" 'Possum agreed. "I'm always preachin' to Bill, but of

course he don't take any notice--you wouldn't expect him to!"

"You wouldn't let young Bill hear you say that," Tom remarked.

"Not much I wouldn't," 'Possum grinned. "Bill's too much inclined to

kick over the traces as it is, without me givin' him any encouragement.

I reckon I'll have me hands full with him yet."

"Poor old Bill! I see storms ahead for him," said Tom, rising and

stretching his long form. "This is a hard country for men since women

got the vote! I think I'll go and find Garth, and we'll compare notes

on our troubles."

"Don't be late for tea, or 'Possum and I will eat all the Christmas

cake!" Aileen called after him. "You'll feel that more than anything I

can do with my old vote!" He flung a laughing rejoinder at her, and

vanished round the corner of the veranda.

For a few minutes after his footsteps died away Aileen was silent. She

was wondering how to make her gifts to 'Possum without hurting the

girl's feelings. Underneath the queer, abrupt exterior she knew there

lay a sensitiveness so easily wounded that only the most delicate

handling would succeed--and 'Possum's independence was a sturdy growth.

She might resent the presents altogether: for a moment Aileen grew

almost sorry that she had prepared them, now that the time came for them

to be given.

"I believe I've got stage-fright," she thought.

'Possum opened the way herself.

"I wish we bothered more about Christmas--the way you do," she said.

"It'd be nice for the kids. I remember we used to keep it up before

Mother died. But now we never bother."

"I love Christmas," said Aileen, "especially since I had Garth. He

makes a great difference, because he believes in every bit of it,

particularly Santa Claus! And it's such fun, preparing presents, even

if you spend very little on them: it's the doing it that is the fun."

She hesitated. "I wanted you to be in our Christmas, Possum."

"Jolly good of you," said 'Possum gruffly. "But I'm not much good to any

one."

"That isn't for you to say," Aileen rejoined. "Come into my room,

'Possum." She led the way.

"I say!" said 'Possum, entering. "Oh, ain't that pretty!"

There was a dainty pink frock on the bed, with white cuffs and collar:

very simply and plainly made, but well cut in every line. Near it was

underwear: plain also, but good, and beautifully ironed. A pair of

black shoes accompanied neat black stockings: a straw hat, swathed with

palest pink muslin, lay on the pillow. There was even a pretty

handkerchief on the frock. Nothing had been forgotten.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it! Why, it's like the inside of a shell! I never seen such a

lovely colour. But you do always have pretty things, Missus."

"I'm glad you like it," Aileen said. "Because it isn't mine, 'Possum.

I made it for you."

'Possum flushed to the roots of her hair, staring at her.

"Me!" she said at last. "I say, you're gammoning, aren't you, Missus?"

"No, I'm not," Aileen said. "I've had terrible work keeping those

things out of your sight--and it has been such fun making them!" She

watched the flushed face uneasily. "You're not cross with me, 'Possum?"

"Cross with you!" 'Possum uttered. "Well, I _would_ be a beast. But

I'd rather not take them, thank you very much, all the same."

"But why?" Aileen flushed in her turn.

There was a pause.

"I'm not the sort as wears those sort of clothes," 'Possum burst out at

last. "I'm just a workin' hand, same as a man: this old dungaree's my

style, not lovely things like that. It's no good me thinkin' I could

pretend I was a lady--an' them's only a lady's things." Her voice

broke, and she stood staring at her rough boots.

"Aren't you just a dear old stupid!" Aileen said softly. "We're all

working-hands, and we wear old clothes at our work because any other

things would be silly. But you haven't been just a working-hand to us:

you've been more like a godsend. You put heart into me, when I hadn't

any. I didn't love making those things because you had helped us, but

because you're my friend."

'Possum's eyes glowed suddenly.

"Me your friend!" she said. "I'd sooner be that than any blessed thing

on earth. But I ain't fit."

"You might let me pick my own friends without sitting on me!" Aileen

said, laughing. "Ah, 'Possum dear, don't be a duffer! You can't refuse

to be friends, for if you do I shall go over and sit in your kitchen,

and talk to you, and be extremely in the way; and you simply won't be

able to shake me off. 'Possum, be nice to me: I do want to see you in

those clothes!"

'Possum gave a long sigh. It was the sigh of capitulation. She picked

up the dress and held it against her cheek.

"It's just the loveliest ever!" she said. "And I just can't say thank

you, but I reckon you know. Will I put them on an' come over to-morrow,

Missus?"

"No--I can't wait for to-morrow!" Aileen cried. "You're going to look

so nice that I've got to see you at once! I'll go and get tea, 'Possum,

and you can put them on."

"What--now!" 'Possum's tone was doubtful, but her eyes were eager.

"Yes. Hurry!"

"I wouldn't put them lovely things on unless I had just had a bath,"

'Possum declared. "I had one last night, but that's not the same. I

reckon it 'ud be a sin to put 'em on after these hot ol' things. New

dungaree's such smelly stuff, an' these just smell of freshness, the way

all your things do!"

"Well, there's the bathroom," Aileen said, laughing. "I'll leave a

towel in there. Run along!" She gathered up the new things in her

arms. "Don't forget the shoes, 'Possum!" she cried, and hurried off.

It was half an hour later that Tom Macleod, coming in from the paddocks

with Garth at his heels, stopped abruptly at the sight of two figures

standing near the window. A stranger had called, he reflected; he

looked hard at the tall girl in pink standing by his wife, wondering who

she was. Then she turned, and he saw that it was 'Possum.

But a new 'Possum. The pink dress fell in soft folds, hiding the

angularities that the dungaree horrors always accentuated. Its extra

length made her yet more tall and slender, and the colour was reflected

in her cheeks, while the light in her eyes had never been there before.

The white collar fell away from a neck that was brown, but very shapely.

Her fair hair was parted a little at the side, and brushed until it

shone like Aileen's. Now that the old felt hat was removed, it showed a

crisp little wave that made amends for its shortness.

For a moment Tom forgot his manners, and stared. Then, as a hot wave of

colour surged into 'Possum's face, he recovered himself, and came into

the room, making a casual remark upon the lucerne crop--even as he

spoke, it seemed incredible that the pink vision before him and the girl

who had ploughed the ground and helped to put in the crop were the same

person. He tried to make the remark sound ordinary, but Garth

interrupted him. Garth, as his parents afterwards remarked, had small

occasion for tact.

"I say, 'Possum, I didn't know you!" cried the small boy. "Isn't she

swagger! Mother, doesn't she look ripping! 'Possum, weren't you

awfully s'prised?"

"I just was," said 'Possum. Even her voice seemed different: it was

somehow softer. When she smiled down at Garth she was very winning.

"Well, as these matters have been mentioned so boldly, I don't see why I

should stand out," said Tom. "I won't, either! 'Possum, you look nicer

than nice, and pink's your colour. Isn't it, Aileen? Carried

unanimously. Is tea ready?"

Tea was ready, and they made it a merry meal--longer than usual, because

no work was to be done on Christmas Day, save by the luckless Horrors,

who could be heard, bucket-laden, clanking his way towards the cow-yard.

'Possum did not talk much. But her face was so happy that words did not

matter!

She went with Aileen into her room when it was time to change into the

old dungaree and go home: poor little Cinderella! Aileen thought,

wondering if she had done well to be fairy godmother. There seemed no

prospect of any Prince waiting for the Cinderella of the Bush.

"I was wonderin'," said 'Possum, and hesitated--"if you'd very much mind

me leavin' these things here. You see, if I take 'em home I'll never

wear 'em, an' they'll get grubby an' crushed. But if I could put 'em on

sometimes when I come over--not to feel such a pig when you make me come

into tea, say. Then they'd be a terrible comfort to me! I do love 'em

so, but it's here I want to wear 'em. If I take 'em home I'd take 'em

out every day an' look at 'em, but I'd never put 'em on, for fear of

spoilin' 'em."

"But, 'Possum, it's only cheap print," Aileen protested. "It will wash

beautifully. Why should you be so particular about it?"

"Well, you see, it's all I got," 'Possum returned. "Oh, I simply

couldn't bear to spoil 'em, Missus!"

Aileen pondered.

"Of course you can leave them here," she said. "That's quite easy. But,

'Possum, why should it be your only pretty dress? Can't you buy some

print, and bring it to me, and we will make it together? You've no idea

how easy it is, with a few lessons. Then you could keep your dungarees

for work, but put on fresh frocks in the evening, or when you went out."

"Print costs money," said 'Possum.

"But your father----"

"Dad 'ud take a fit if I asked him for any," said the girl. "He thought

he was doin' a tremenjous thing when he give me this dungaree the other

day."

"Well, you have your own money. You earn it thoroughly enough. Surely

you could spend a few shillings of that."

'Possum drew a long breath. Then she put the temptation from her.

"I don't reckon it's mine: it's the kids'," she said. ("It was as

though she had said, 'Get thee behind me, Satan!'" said Aileen to Tom

later on.) "I couldn't touch it. That bit o' money's a big comfort to

me."

"Bill is twelve, and you can't let him go to the Cup by himself until

he's grown-up--and you're saving for it now!" said Aileen. "Oh,

'Possum, be sensible!"

"I reckon I am," said 'Possum firmly. "There's other, things besides

Cups. I couldn't do it." There was a hint of a sob in her voice.

"Please don't ask me, Missus; you're a brick to say you'd help me, an'

you don't know how I want them dresses. But I got to go without. Don't

you worry about me--you been awful good to me already."

"Now I wonder would O'Connor mind?" Tom reflected, when they discussed

the matter after Garth had gone to bed. "I don't believe he's

close-fisted--and, though he probably wouldn't admit it, he's very proud

of 'Possum. Do you know, I think a lot of women are afraid to ask their

men-folk for money, when there's really no need to be afraid? Most men

like to see their daughters decently turned out."

"Then I'll ask Mr. O'Connor myself!" said Aileen decidedly.

She did so some days later, meeting the big man on the road to

Cuninghame, where she was hunting for strayed turkeys; and, having

explained the matter, had the satisfaction of seeing Nick flare up, as

his daughter would have said, "like a packet of crackers."

"'Possum's got no need to be badly dressed!" he said angrily, quite

ignoring the fact that it was his own talk about money that kept the

girl from asking him for an unnecessary sixpence. "I was on'y the other

day talkin' to her about her clothes. I'll tell her she ought to have

more sense than to talk to you like that."

"Please don't," Aileen said quickly. "I felt sure it was just that you

didn't understand; but 'Possum hates to ask you for anything for

herself. She will ask for things for Bertha and Polly, but she doesn't

realize that she has also an example to set them of turning out neatly."

"That's right," the big man agreed. "Well, what am I to do, if you

won't let me talk to her, Mrs. Macleod?"

"If you would give me the money, I would buy the materials, and then

teach 'Possum to make them," said Aileen. "Then, if you show her that

you notice and approve when she goes home in a new frock, it will do

more good than a great deal of talking now. And you will be surprised

to find what a good-looking daughter you have, Mr. O'Connor!"

"She used to be an awful jolly little kid--before her mother died," Nick

said. "I'm afraid she's had a tough time ever since. She's just too

useful--that's what's the matter with 'Possum!" He put some money into,

her hand. "Will that do?"

"It is too much," Aileen said.

"Oh, you'll use it up soon enough. Tell me when you want more. And

thank you, Mrs. Macleod. You've made a mighty lot of difference to

'Poss. I reckon the day you came here was a lucky day for her!"

Thus it was that 'Possum, summoned by Aileen, beheld dress-lengths of

material of divers colours, and learned, to her utter amazement, that

they were hers.

"Dad give you the money!" she gasped. "_Dad_? Well, that just beats

everything!"

"Of course he gave it to me," Aileen said.

"An' never made a fuss?".

"No--why should he. I don't think you're quite fair to your father,

'Possum. You have made him think you care for nothing but work.

Doesn't it ever occur to you that he would like to see his eldest

daughter nicely dressed?"

"No, it don't," said 'Possum firmly. "I think he'd a jolly sight sooner

see me on top of a plough!" Which view held so much truth that Aileen

was compelled to laugh. Nevertheless, she held to her point.

"If he does, it's your own doing," she said. "Men are queer creatures:

they always think what a woman encourages them to think. You have let

him imagine that dungaree was the only thing to dress in. But once he

sees you in something prettier, he won't be satisfied with the old

dresses any more, except just for working."

"Well, I'd like to believe it," 'Possum said, drawing a long breath.

"But I've known Dad a long time!"

"You'll know him much better when you have accustomed him to a

well-turned-out daughter. And think of the children, 'Possum. How do

you expect Bertha and Polly to be dainty and fresh if you don't set them

the example?"

"Well, I seem to have been making a mighty lot of mistakes," 'Possum

said ruefully. "I thought I was doin' the best for those kids, but I

suppose I'm all wrong."

"I think you're wrong in one or two things, and just a wonder in

everything else," said Aileen warmly. "And they love you just as if you

were their mother, 'Possum. Now you have got to make them very proud of

you."

So they worked at the new frocks together: Aileen patient in explaining,

and swift at planning, while 'Possum grasped her needle as if it were a

bradawl, and drove it through the stuff with much muscular effort,

producing stitches of a size truly majestic. "Blest if I can handle the

silly little thing!" said she, laboriously unpicking: "ploughin's a

jolly sight easier!" But in time her natural deftness came to her aid,

and when Aileen had succeeded in making her forget the methods by which

she had "clamped" together the garments of her family, and inducing her

to use a needle less thick than a skewer, she arrived at creditable

results. The finished pile of dresses contained plenty of her work, and

she gloated over them proudly, though most of her pride was reserved for

the frocks for the little girls, and the cool suits for the boys, that

had been "managed" out of the stock of material.

"We put 'em all on for tea," she told Aileen on the day following the

great occasion of the finishing of the work. "I had the kitchen very

dossy, an' a vawse o' flowers on the table, an' there we were when Dad

came in. He just looked at us careless-like, an' then he seemed to take

notice, an' he stared an' stared. An' of course the kids giggled. Then

he said, 'Well!' just like that, an' stopped, like as if he hadn't any

more ideas. An' he kep' on starin'. At last he says, 'I suppose this

is Mrs. Macleod's doin'?' An' I says, 'Yes.' 'Who made 'em all?' he

says. An' I told him. An' he says, 'Well, I'm proud of you, 'Poss--an'

all my kids!' An' he got up an' went out. An' presently he come

back--an' if you'll b'lieve me, Missus, he'd acshally gorn an' put on a

clean shirt!"

*CHAPTER XVI*

*A LITTLE BOY*

"What are you going to do with the old boat, Dad?"

"Why, I really don't know that she's worth bothering about," Torn

Macleod answered, looking up from the dinghy he was examining. "She's

very ancient and leaky: I suppose Gordon used her before he got the new

skiff. He was apparently quite satisfied to let her go to pieces, and I

don't think I'll interfere with his intentions."

"Oh!" said Garth, somewhat disappointed. "I thought you were going to

mend her; and it would be such an int'rusting job."

Tom laughed.

"Well, that was rather what I was thinking myself," he answered. "If I

had nothing else to do I would like nothing better than to patch up the

old thing. But then I have about fifty-seven other jobs waiting for me,

most of them not nearly so interesting, but all more important. So I'm

afraid the old dinghy must stand aside, son. Perhaps, if work is slack

in the winter, I may get at her."

"I wish you would," Garth said. "I love helping you with carpent'ring

jobs."

"Well, we'll see," said Tom. "But really, I'm afraid she's too rotten."

He hauled the dinghy to the end of the jetty and moored her to a post,

returning to his task of cleaning the skiff and the motor-launch. It

was an idle morning, and to overhaul the contents of the boathouse had

been a good way of using a few hours.

February had come, with a last burst of heat, after a cool January; and

February heat has a vicious quality all its own, perhaps because it

comes when people are beginning to hope that summer is over. Therefore,

it induces much slackness, and makes a toil of work that in ordinary

weather is only pastime.

The little household of Gordon's Farm had felt the influence of the

weather. Garth's ability for work and play had slackened, and Aileen

had begun to administer a tonic: herself white and heavy-eyed, and with

little inclination for work. The cottage was stifling in the long, hot

days; luckily, the nights helped them, for they all slept on the

veranda, as they had done throughout the summer, and the fresh night

breeze from the lake never failed. Tom watched his wife carefully,

knowing that her spirit would keep her going long after her tired body

needed rest. His own work in the paddocks was lessening as the season

advanced; he had more time to give to the house, and spent many days

ostensibly in the garden, but, in reality, ready to lend a hand at a

hundred tasks. It was the constant thought, even more than the actual

help, that carried Aileen on from day to day.

'Possum helped, too. There was little outside work for her, but she

rode over often, and delighted in forcibly compelling Aileen to rest

while she made light of housework and cooking. To cook with Aileen's

patent stove was always a peculiar joy to her, and no inducement would

draw her from the glass-fronted oven while she could watch her scones or

pastry developing from dough to crisp perfection. To Aileen's

remonstrances at being forced to be idle she turned a deaf ear.

"Just you don't worry," she would say. "You got to remember you've had

a hard summer--workin' like a carthorse, an' you never used to work in

your life before. It's bound to tell, 'specially with this beastly

heat. You'll be all right once we get the autumn."

She came over early to-day, and hearing from Aileen that Tom was working

at the boats, rode down to the jetty with a message. Nick O'Connor was

going to a farm at Metung to look at store calves, which they both

needed: he proposed to ride over presently and ask Tom to accompany him,

making the journey in Tom's motor-launch. Macleod assented heartily.

"Nothing I'd like better," he said. "I was wondering where I could get

hold of some young stock." His face clouded a little. "My wife isn't

looking very fit to-day--I had planned to take her out this afternoon on

the lake. Still, it's business, and she won't mind."

"Not she," said 'Possum. "I say, though, I haven't got anything special

to do to-day: how'd it be if I was to stay and do a few odd jobs about

the house, an' then take her an' Garth out in the skiff when it gets

cooler? We could drift down to the lake, an' then just mooch along

until we met you comin' home from Metung; an' you could bring us home in

the launch an' tow the skiff."

"That's as brilliant as most of your ideas, 'Possum," Tom exclaimed. "I

would be very glad to think Aileen had your company to-day, and she'll

get her outing after all. It won't be hard work for you, either, for

the current will take you down to the lake, and if you don't start until

it's cool we ought to meet you soon after."

"Oh, that'll be all right," 'Possum answered. "Goodness knows, I'm used

to pullin', an' that skiff of yours is just a beauty to pull--she's

diff'rent from our old tub. Well, I'll get along, an' let me horse go."

It was an unusually stifling day, and Aileen was tired enough to be meek

when 'Possum bullied her into subsiding into a long chair. She had

risen at five o'clock, having found that the only way to work

comfortably in such weather was to do so before the sun had time to grow

vicious: therefore, the housework was done, and lunch prepared. 'Possum

was slightly disgusted. "I came hopin' to be useful," she said,

arranging Aileen's feet comfortably.

"You're always useful," Aileen said, smiling up at her. "Come and sit

down, too, and we'll sew."

'Possum shook her head.

"No good _me_ tryin' to sew in this weather," she said. "The jolly old

needle simply sticks in the stuff, like as if you'd rubbed glue on it.

It's a marvel to me how you manage it, Missus. Never mind; I'll go on

makin' the cage for that parrot we're goin' to catch for Garth some day.

I won't make much mess, an' I'll sweep it up." She busied herself with

tools deftly, while Garth watched and tried to help.

No one wanted much lunch: it was too hot to eat. They made what

pretence they could, and soon went back to the veranda. At their feet

Bran panted, open-mouthed; outside the fences they could see the fowls,

with gaping beaks, standing about under the trees.

"I say," said Garth suddenly, "what about a bathe?"

"Isn't it too hot?" Aileen said.

"It's too hot, here, but it would be lovely down there," Garth answered

wisely. "Do come, mother; we'd all feel heaps better."

"I believe it's sound advice," Aileen said. "Come on, 'Possum."

They put on their bathing-dresses in the house and, with sand-shoes on

bare feet, went down the slope to the lake. There was a tiny sand-bank

near the jetty, shelving gently under the water: a good place for Garth

to splash and paddle when he was tired of swimming. He had not been a

very apt pupil in the water--perhaps because his swimming lessons were

somewhat haphazard, given when either Tom or Aileen had time. To swim

half a dozen strokes was an achievement for him, and he accomplished it

to-day with much puffing and blowing. Then he returned to the shallows

and played with Bran, while 'Possum dived off a log into a deep pool,

and Aileen swam about lazily--she was not a strong swimmer, and the day

was not one for exertion, even in the water. However, they were all

refreshed, when at length Garth clamoured that he was hungry, and the

three dripping figures climbed the hill to the house.

It was tea-time when they were dressed, and after tea they made ready to

start. The sun was hotter than ever, it seemed: a mist that had hung

over the sky all day had cleared away, and had left blazing heat behind

it.

"I don't think I would go, if we had not said we would," Aileen said.

"But I suppose Tom might be anxious if we didn't appear."

"Afraid he would," 'Possum agreed. "They might go lookin' for us, too,

thinkin' they'd missed us. Oh, you'll feel better on the water, Missus;

an' ten to one we'll get a breeze when we come out on the lake."

"Yes, perhaps we will," Aileen said. "I really think it's wiser to

go--one shouldn't let hot days make one too lazy."

"You ain't got a lazy bone in your body," 'Possum averred stoutly.

"Indeed, I don't feel as if I had a bone at all, on days like these,"

Aileen said. "It worries me that I should feel so useless, 'Possum. I

haven't time to be useless!"

"Ah, you--useless! Not much you ain't!" said 'Possum. "Every one feels

beastly weather like this--unless it's Garth. _He_ don't seem to be

sufferin' from loss of energy, just now at all events."

She nodded at the small boy, who was racing ahead--a gallant little

figure in white shirt and brief knickerbockers, with a wide felt hat.

He took a flying leap upon the jetty, where the water swished softly on

the pebbles, and capered beside the old dinghy that Tom had left moored

near the skiff.

"Come on!" he shouted. "You're too slow. I'm going off to meet Daddy by

myself!"

As he spoke, he planted one foot gingerly in the old boat. It rocked

and swayed, and he almost overbalanced. 'Possum sprang forward with a

quick catch of her breath, but the little fellow righted himself with a

mighty wriggle, and sat down abruptly in the dinghy. 'Possum turned to

Aileen with a relieved, half-shamefaced laugh.

"He jolly near sat down in the water that time," she said. "It give me

a start--lucky he managed to hit the boat." She raised her voice.

"Keep still, Garth; let me steady her while you get out."

There came a queer little cry from Garth.

"But it's going away with me!"

Aileen saw, and screamed, and ran. She was too far away. The sudden

jerk had parted the rotten strands of the old rope that held the boat,

and slowly, yet all too quickly for 'Possum's wild rush, the dinghy

swung out into the stream. The tide was running out, and the current

was very swift. It seemed in but a second; while they cried out and

ran, that the current caught the old boat and whisked it swiftly away.

"Come on," 'Possum said, "quick! Don't worry, Missus, we'll catch him."

She leapt upon the jetty. Aileen followed, and flung herself into the

skiff, thrusting the oars into the rowlocks. 'Possum tugged at the

painter, and abused Tom's knots under her breath. They yielded at last,

and she sprang in, pushing off with a force that sent the boat spinning

down-stream. 'Possum grasped the oars, Aileen was already at the

tiller--staring ahead in utter silence, seeing nothing but the little

blue and white figure. It swung round a bend, and was out of sight.

"Keep her out in the middle, where the tide's swiftest, Missus," 'Possum

said. "Don't look like that--it's all right--we'll get him."

She was rowing desperately, with sharp, quick strokes under which the

boat flew through the water. They rounded the turn, and ahead--but how

far ahead!--was the dinghy, with Garth sitting upright and very still.

Faster and faster, as they neared the mouth, the current set out to sea.

"It's very light, you know," 'Possum said, between strokes, in answer to

Aileen's look. "An' it got a good start. We're gainin', though, you

notice." She was flinging quick looks backward as she rowed. "Ain't he

sittin' still--my word, he's good! He's got sense enough for ten!"

Garth's clear little voice came back to them over the dancing water.

They could not hear his words, but there was no fear in the tone.

Aileen felt almost ashamed of her own sick terror, hearing that brave,

childish voice: but the stories of the danger of the current echoed in

her mind, and if once the dinghy gained the lake before them she knew

that hope was slight. And he was such a little, little boy!

The high banks seemed to fly past. Afterwards, in her dreams, she saw

them always: flickering visions of yellow banks and dark green masses of

wattle-trees. But at the moment she saw only what lay ahead: glancing

water, and swift oars flashing, and 'Possum's flushed, strained face;

and the boat that rocked and fled from them with its tiny burden.

But they gained. As they swung round turn after turn, they crept nearer

and nearer to the dinghy. Surely they must win! And yet, 'Possum was

afraid--looking at her, with senses sharpened by terror, the mother saw

the fear in her eyes. She met Aileen's glance with a forced smile, but

it could not hide her fear. Her arms never ceased their rapid,

mechanical strokes--under the thin blouse her muscles rose and fell as

she opened her shoulders with long, powerful swings.

"Can you stand it?" Aileen whispered. "Oh, why can't I row decently!"

"You're ... far more use steerin'," 'Possum gasped. "I'm all right.

See how we're gainin'."

"Then why are you afraid?" Aileen cried.

'Possum shook her head, and forced a smile--a smile that brought no

conviction. Then Garth cried out again, something about "water," and

"wet," and 'Possum's anxious look grew sharper. Her voice was shrill and

strained as she called back to the child.

"I know, dearie--sit still!"

"What is it?" Aileen gasped: and suddenly knew. They were gaining

rapidly now, but the dinghy was settling down in the water. The leaks!

the wonder was that it had floated so long. Now the water rippled

almost level with its edge. For an instant Aileen lost her head in her

agony of terror. She screamed, starting half up.

"Sit down!" 'Possum's voice, stern in its anxiety, brought her to her

senses. She flung a backward glance. "Near down," she gasped; "I knew,

when we gained so quick."

Garth's voice came again, and this time with a sob of fear. The dinghy

was almost sinking. For another moment the skiff spun through the

water, rounding a bend, and there, ahead, lay the open water of the

lake. 'Possum shipped the oars with a sudden jerk.

"Try 'n' keep her straight"--she flung the words at Aileen. "There's

one chance----"

Ahead, the dinghy seemed to stop. There was a slow, sickening swirl,

and, even as 'Possum screamed to Garth to jump, the water closed over

the little boat. There was a cry--a cry that choked suddenly. Then the

skiff quivered and stopped as 'Possum dived into the stream.

The water lay blank and desolate before the woman who sat staring in the

skiff--blank but for the widening ripples that spread across the pathway

of the current. So it lay for a dragging moment that was years, and

then 'Possum's head broke it, and, but farther away, Garth's upturned

face. They disappeared again.

When she saw them once more, they were together--'Possum gripping the

boy tightly, and keeping afloat with one hand. The skiff was drifting

down towards them. Aileen grasped an oar and tried to bring it closer,

loathing the helpless ignorance that made her efforts awkward.

Close--closer, but still too far. She thrust the oar towards them,

leaning over the side. It was too short.

The current whisked her away--still stretching vainly towards the two

faces in the water, crying to them, calling to God. Then she flung

herself into the water, striving, with desperate helpless strokes,

against the racing tide.

[Illustration: "Then she flung herself into the water."]

A motor-launch came swiftly round from the lake, the two men in her

talking and smoking. They saw the empty boat first, and the words died

upon their lips.

"My goodness!" said Tom Macleod, and sprang to his engine. The launch

leaped like a live thing, tearing through the water. The skiff danced

past them, rocking upon the waves.

"Can you see them?" he asked, between his teeth.

"One of 'em's close," Nick said. "Steady--starboard a little. Be ready

to back if I miss." He hung over the side and clutched at the fair head

near the boat. "Ah--got her. It's your wife." His great shoulders

quivered as he dragged her in, looking wildly ahead as he did so. A cry

broke from him.

"There's my girl--she's got your kid. Hold on, 'Poss! Get on with you,

man--starboard, starboard!"

He flung Aileen into the boat, and turned again swiftly. 'Possum was

paddling feebly with one hand, almost done. She met his eyes and her

lips parted.

"Take the kid," she gasped. But he took both, catching them with his

great arms, and holding them out of the water until Tom could get to his

side. He caught his boy from 'Possum's tired hands and laid him in the

boat beside his mother, while Nick O'Connor dragged at the girl.

"I believe we're too late," Tom said in a terrible voice. "Aileen!

Aileen!"

Her eyes opened, and in them was an agony of fear. She tried to speak,

but only a whisper would come.

"Garth!" And Garth half turned and cuddled in to her with a little

sleepy sigh.

* * * * *

The current fled onward, and on its breast the empty skiff danced as

though the little waves were playfellows that had come to greet it and

to carry it away to join their game. They rocked it gently until it

neared the lake; then they grew choppy, and the skiff bobbed and swayed

until it was drawn out upon the bosom of the water. It was calm there;

but still the tide set seawards, carrying the skiff away and away--over

the lake, hurrying, hurrying, until the great grey piers loomed ahead,

with the grey waste of the sea dark between them. The roar of the

breakers boomed, rising and falling. The lane of water between the piers

was smooth: there were no waves; but under the surface were deep eddies,

and the skiff spun and quivered over them, still drawn onward and

outward towards the bar that leaped and thundered beyond the end of the

piers. It reached the bar, and the breakers took it and played with it,

flinging it up and down. Their curling crests tossed their spray into

it; and still the little boat rode bravely, now in the hollow trough of

a wave, now rising on a great curving wall of green water, and dashing

forward with the tide out to sea. So, by some strange chance it passed

the bar into the long, smooth ocean swells, and drifted to the horizon.

But when, in the night, the tide turned, it brought the little boat

back. The pale moon that smiled over the Bush cottage where Garth lay,

sleeping calmly, saw it also: a tiny thing on the great waste of waters,

desolate and alone. Slowly it drifted landwards until the roar of the

surf sounded near, and then it was hurried forward, towards the forsaken

beach west of the piers, until a mighty roller caught it on its crest

and bore it, mounting ever higher, at racing speed to the shore. It was

high in the air when the great wave crashed downwards, and when its

hundreds of tons of green water thundered to the sand, the skiff, bottom

upwards, was dashed ashore in a swirl of white surf. Once the undertow

caught it, dragging it back, but another roller flung itself down, and

when its wild rush along the beach had spent itself, the little boat,

battered and broken, lay half buried in the sand. The tide ebbed out,

leaving it there; and a seabird, screaming by, saw it and perched upon

it, calling to its mate.

In the little cottage, Garth slept on: and beside him his mother knelt,

one arm flung across the warm, childish body, listening to his soft

breathing: dumb with thankfulness.

*CHAPTER XVII*

*'POSSUM BECOMES A PUPIL*

"If you _could_ spare a day or two," said Tom Macleod, and looked

anxiously at 'Possum. "I think it's fairly rough on you to have to save

my son's life one day, and nurse his mother the next, but a woman about

the place would be a tremendous comfort, and Aileen would rather have

you than any one she knows. She can't lift her head."

"Well, you didn't need to drive over yourself," 'Possum said. "You had

no right to leave her! If you'd sent that kid Horrors with a bit of a

note, you might a' known I'd be there as quick as old Greystones 'ud

bring me. How on earth is she managin', with you traipsin' over here?"

"She was asleep, and Garth is sitting with her," Tom said meekly. "She

can't bear him out of her sight; and you know he's pretty handy. Then

you'll come back with me, 'Possum?"

"My gracious, yes!" 'Possum answered. "I won't be five minutes--just

wait till I sling some clothes into a basket. You go an' tell Dad I'm

goin', will you, Mr. Macleod?" She hurried out of the room, and he

heard her calling Bertha urgently.

Nick O'Connor never thought of questioning 'Possum's movements. If she

said she was going anywhere, well, she was going, and that was all there

was about it. Bertha was an able lieutenant to leave in charge, and it

was certain that food would appear upon the table at the usual hours,

which, after all, was the only thing that mattered.

Even if it had been uncertain, or dependent on his own efforts, it would

have been unthinkable that 'Possum should not go to a neighbour in

distress. He would; in that case, have said, "Git along; I'll look

after the kids," and would have done so to the best of his ability,

though the staple diet of the said kids and himself would probably have

been corned beef.

"Just you keep her as long as ever the missus wants her," he said,

packing 'Possum's basket into the back of the buggy. "An' if you want

more help, send over for me. I could run your place all right if you

want to be in the house." He brushed aside Tom's grateful disclaimer,

of needing more aid with, "Well, you know where to find me if you want

me." The buggy bumped away over the paddock while he watched it, Bertha

silent beside him. When it turned out of sight round a clump of

tea-trees, he looked down at her from his great height.

"Sure you can manage things?"

"My word!" said Bertha. "I like it. On'y you tell Bill to cut me

stove-wood." She marched into the kitchen with high enterprise in her

heart.

Aileen was still asleep when they reached the farm. Tom peeped into her

room, and saw Garth sitting by her bedside, very upright and alert. He

shook his head frantically at his father, and Tom took the hint, and

withdrew.

"Well, I'll just get things straightened up," said 'Possum, receiving

his report. "Then she'll be glad of a cup o' tea when she wakes."

"Don't do too much," Tom said. "Remember you had a pretty tough time

yesterday."

"Me?" said 'Possum, wide-eyed. "Bless you, it was on'y another bathe

for me!" She disappeared into the spare room.

So it was that Aileen, waking from a troubled sleep that was full of

sinking boats and dancing water, found Garth beside her, his tremulous

little smile welcoming her back to consciousness; and presently, after

an unseen hurried glance and withdrawal, 'Possum came in, bearing a

little tray with tea and dainty strips of golden-brown toast; and in one

corner of the tray an exquisite rosebud, nodding in a vase.

"Oh, 'Possum!" she said, "'Possum!" The tears choked her.

"I say, don't look like that, Missus, dear--please don't!" said poor

'Possum miserably. She put her tray on a table and caught Aileen's hand

in hers, and Aileen drew the rough hand against her cheek and held it

there.

"Now you ain't goin' to talk of it, nor to think of it, neither,"

'Possum said presently. "You ain't got nothin' to worry about, 'cause

it's all over, an' there's old Garth grinnin' at you, an jus' as right

as pie. An' all you got to do is to get well, 'cause the Boss is that

bothered about you he's right off his feed. I think if you was to let

me help you sit up, you could have this." She raised her gently; and

somewhat to her surprise Aileen could eat and drink a little.

"If only I weren't so stupidly tired," Aileen whispered, lying down.

"And my head buzzes--it buzzed all night as if an engine were let loose

inside it."

"Course it would," said 'Possum soothingly. "But it's goin' to be all

right now."

"You're sure Garth is well?"

"Now, look here, Missus," said the girl decidedly. "If I wasn't sure,

you might just jolly well know I wouldn't have him up, even to let you

see him--he'd be in bed with a hot bottle, an' a jolly good go of

med'cine. But you'd never think he'd had a duckin' at all. Bless you,

what's an extra duckin' to a boy? Our kids is in an' out of the lake

all day long."

Something in the rough, homely words soothed the mother more than a

hundred more polished speeches. She nestled into her pillow sleepily

with a little smile, her eyes never wandering from Garth for more than a

moment. But presently the heavy lids drooped, and sleep came to her:

deep, refreshing sleep, this time, unbroken by the weary maze of dreams

that had tortured her before. She did not stir when 'Possum and Garth

tip-toed from the room.

"Bettern't I stay with her?" the small boy asked anxiously.

"No; you go out, old son. She's goin' to sleep for a long while, this

time, an' what's more, she's goin' to be better when she wakes."

"Sure, 'Poss?" he asked eagerly.

"Dead certain. An' it'll be miles nicer for her to see you with a bit

of colour in your washy old cheeks than lookin' white from sittin' all

day in her room. You go an' find your dad, an' tell him not to worry

about her, an' give him a hand in the garden. I'll be on the listen,

an' I'll call you the d'reckly minute she wakes." She watched the

little fellow catch his felt hat from its peg and run out with his news.

"My word, he's a dear kid!" she muttered.

For all her brave words to Tom, she was very tired. The shock of the

child's danger had told on her: her arms and shoulders ached cruelly

from the long, hard pull, and from the wild struggle to keep afloat,

with Garth a dead weight upon her and the current tearing at them,

sucking them away from the shore she had tried so vainly to reach. She,

too, had had her dreams of horror--in which she had fought wildly to

land on a shore that had continually slipped away, and had felt choking

waters rising over her head. She shivered now, as the thought of them

came over her, and then fought it back resolutely.

"Don't you be a silly ass, 'Possum O'Connor!" she told herself. "A

little bit o' work's what _you_ want." Thus dealing with herself, she

seized a broom, and made a furious onslaught upon the kitchen; and

having valiantly routed seven hens that had come uninvited into the back

yard, felt considerably better.

It was afternoon when Aileen awoke--this time with light in her eyes and

colour in her cheeks:--able to take the soup that 'Possum brought her,

and to smile at Garth and Tom as they perched on her bed and entertained

her with news of the estate, as Tom gravely called it. There was always

so much to tell of the estate each day; news of garden, or fowl-run, or

pigsty; fresh flowers blossoming, a panel of fencing broken down by a

cow with a thirst for exploring, or a raid after calves that had escaped

through the gap and distributed themselves up the most scrub-grown gully

they could find. To-day the pigs had taken advantage of Horrors having

opened the gate of their sty and then fallen to dreaming; with the

result that Garth and his father had had a long hunt, and were

considerably heated.

"But we got them back, all right," Garth said triumphantly. "Daddy let

me go pig-sticking with a long bit of tea-tree, and you should have seen

them run! It was awful fun, but I never got near them!"

"I don't reckon you would--much!" said 'Possum. "Now, how about tea?"

"Ah, do have it in here!" Aileen begged. "If you don't mind, that is?"

A supposition which induced mirth on the part of her hearers.

So they nursed her back to quietness of mind, which brought healing to

her tired body, filling her days with laughter and the interests of the

farm, until the dreams left her and she ceased to look at Garth with a

shudder of remembrance. They kept her busy, as soon as she could sit up,

finding urgent requirements of patches and buttons, and a hundred little

things that only she could understand and arrange. "Best thing for

her," said 'Possum, and they saw that her words were true.

Messengers came from 'Possum's home very often--Bill or little Joe

riding over with news of the farm and inquiries for the Missus. Bertha

was doin' fine, they said. "Never puts her nose outside the kitchen,

an' my word! she cooks a treat!" was Bill's verdict. "Yes, the house

looks all right--why wouldn't it? Dad was busy all day harvestin' at

Mackenzie's, but he came home at night. An' the wool was sold, an' Dad

said to tell Mr. Macleod it was the best price he'd had for years, so

Mr. Macleod's wool, bein' along with it, must have brought him luck."

After which recitals Bill and Joe would consume enormous quantities of

tea and cake and reluctantly take the track for home. They confided to

Garth that Bert was a pretty good cook, an' all that, but it wasn't like

havin' 'Poss.

In a few days Aileen was able to get up--too weak to work, but glad to

be about once more, even if being "about" meant only sitting still. Then

came 'Possum to her, with a request.

"If you wouldn't mind," she said, and flushed scarlet, "I thought it 'ud

be such a chance for me, when I was knockin' about here, an' you not

busy, if you'd put me up to a few things."

"What sort of things, 'Possum?" Aileen asked.

"Oh, just odd things. You know--like the way you have the house. I

don't know a thing, except how to cook, after a fashion, and land what

I've cooked on the table; an' that's after a fashion, too. You have

everything so pretty an' nice: I'd like to learn how."

"You would be just the easiest person to teach." Aileen told her.

"Would I?" 'Possum's face was eager. "I'd try not to be too much of a

duffer. It's like me old dungarees. Before you come, I thought they

were all right; now I can't stand 'em, except just for rough work. I

think it 'ud be nice if I could get like that about other things--if I

could feel as if I couldn't stand food slung on the table anyhow, or

rooms all messy an' hideous. Then I could teach the kids."

"But once you feel like that, it leaves very little for me to teach

you," she said. "Your mind is dainty in itself, so you like everything

about you to be dainty."

'Possum drew a long breath.

"That's the nicest thing ever I had said to me in me life," she said

softly. "I _will_ try, Missus--like fury. An' there's another thing;

on'y it's givin' you a lot of bother----"

"Rubbish!" said Aileen, laughing. "What is it, 'Possum, dear?"

But this was harder to say. 'Possum made several false starts before

the words came at last.

"It's--well, you know, I know I speak jolly rough. Since you come I

have tried to keep me voice softer----"

"I know," Aileen said.

"Did you? I'm so glad. But I make awful mistakes, I know. Even the

kids tell me that--they've had more schoolin'. But the trouble is, they

pick up things from me. If you could just drop on me now an' then when

I say anything all wrong? I know I ain't got enough grammar to keep

meself warm. But I'd try an' get better. I truly would."

"And you wouldn't mind being told little things? They're _such_ little

things, really, 'Possum."

"Mind?" said 'Possum. "Oh, I'd give me ears if you'd teach me. Like as

if I was Garth I've heard you tell him when he pernounced a word

skew-whiff!"

"Then I will tell you," Aileen said. "I know you'll make it easy for

me--because I will be dreadfully afraid of hurting you, 'Possum."

"Lor'!" said 'Possum. "You couldn't hurt me, not if you tried with a

meat-axe!"

Aileen laughed.

"Very well. Then we'll cut out 'Lor'!' for the future, 'Possum, shall

We?"

'Possum stared.

"Ain't I a silly chump?" she said. "I might a known it was wrong,

'cause you never say it. Right-oh, Missus!" And it said something for

her determination that no one ever heard her say it again.

It was speech that was the only stumbling-block. Little daintinesses of

living came to her naturally, with only a hint, just as daintiness of

person had come. Her eye for colour was sure, and she had a natural

instinct for arranging flowers and for brightening a room that developed

daily under Aileen's gentle tuition. Beginning with perfect cleanliness

as the basis of perfection, it was easy to work up and up, learning a

little more each day--and 'Possum never had to be told a thing twice.

But her unchecked speech was a harder matter, and often the cheeks of

both girls burned, until the idea came to Aileen to make a joke of it,

when they got on much better. Tom, privately consulted, suggested

making 'Possum read aloud, for which she proved to have a natural

aptitude, and the exercise taught her more than many lessons.

"You know," she said, one day, "Mother wasn't rough. I was only a bit

of a nipper when she died----"

She pulled up, observing Aileen's face.

"Kid, I suppose I should say," she said, grinning broadly. Aileen burst

out laughing.

"Try, 'little girl,'" she suggested.

"H'm," said 'Possum critically. "Doesn't sound very satisfyin', does

it? Well, I was, anyhow; but I remember a lot about her, an' I know she

always had the house dossy----"

Pause.

"Pretty, I mean; an' things more like you have 'em--_them_, an' her

voice was soft an' gentle. But I was only eleven, an' there was a good

lot to do, an' I got careless, 'specially with her not there to tell me

anything. All the same, I knew things weren't the way she'd like to

have them, and it worried me, when I had time to think of it. I'm

afraid," she added, honestly, "that that got to be not very often. When

you're always wonderin' how you're goin' to get all your jobs done, you

can't worry an awful lot over things like that."

"Indeed, you can't. I often wonder how you managed everything--and you

such a wee thing," Aileen said. "I think your mother knew and was

pleased, 'Possum."

"Do you, truly?" 'Possum asked wistfully. "I used to wonder if she did.

I never could feel that she'd got far away, 'cause she didn't want to

go. But once I said that to the woman Dad got to look after us, an' she

hit me a clip on the ear, an' said I was a wicked little wretch to talk

like that."

Aileen's eyes blazed.

"Oh, it was she who was wicked!" she cried. "How could she!"

"If you'd known her, you wouldn't have asked how," 'Possum said grimly.

"She was a fair terror, she was. At least"--she stopped and pondered,

searching in her mind for an expression at once forcible and

refined--"she was a very ... disagreeable person!"

Aileen fell into peals of laughter.

"Oh, it won't do, 'Possum--do say 'a fair terror!'" she begged.

"Well, I guess I'll have to," 'Possum grinned. "Somehow, when you say

things, they sound just what you want 'em to say. But unless I make my

remarks pretty strong they sound as silly as a wet hen!" With which

pearl of speech the conversation came to an abrupt conclusion.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*THE REGATTA*

Cuninghame wore an air of unwonted festivity. There were flags flying

from the stores and hotels, and from many of the private houses; little

pennons fluttering at the mastheads of the sailing-boats that were

dotted all along the shore. All over the lagoon could be seen other

boats, arriving: yachts, motor-launches, smart skiffs, skiffs that were

not smart, and ancient tubs bound from every little lake settlement or

lonely farm. For this was the day on which Cuninghame burst into clouds

of glory, and drew unto itself crowds that turned it into something

between a whirlpool and an excited ant-heap. It is only on one day in

the year that Cuninghame holds its regatta, and the occasion is one to

be treated with respect.

New Year's Day had been fixed originally for the great event: but the

Clerk of the Weather had been singularly tactless, and had ushered in

the New Year with such deluges of rain that hurried telegrams had been

sent to Sale and Bairnsdale and other district towns, postponing the

regatta; and hundreds of would-be excursionists had unpacked their

luncheon-baskets and remained at home. But to-day was to make amends for

all disappointments. Rain had fallen, just enough to clear the air and

secure the very perfection of autumn weather, while laying the dust on

the roads for the folk who rode and drove. The sands were dry and firm:

the hummocks shone white against the sky, across the lagoon. There was

just enough breeze for sailing--enough to dot the lake with tiny

wavelets, gleaming and dancing in the sun. Just to look at that blue,

restless surface was enough to set the heart dancing, too.

The Macleods came early, since Garth's impatience was a thing not to be

gainsaid. He had never seen a regatta, and the stories told him by the

young O'Connors had set him dreaming of nothing else for weeks past.

Soon after breakfast he arrayed himself, emerging from his room shining

and speckless in white duck, with white sand-shoes and bare brown legs,

and a white felt hat held in readiness. After which, his attitude began

with sublime patience, which collapsed after a time and merged into

trenchant inquiries as to why people couldn't be ready as soon as he

was, and lugubrious certainty that they were missing all the best of the

fun. Eventually they found themselves driving into the township quite

an hour earlier than they had thought of starting, while Horrors, on

Jane, jogged in the rear, and wondered how soon he might begin to eat

the enormous packet of lunch with which he had been provided.

Early as they were, the O'Connors were before them. It was a day of

which no young O'Connor was willing to miss a minute. What was it to

them that the regatta itself did not really begin--save for a few

sailing races, which nobody noticed--until one o'clock? Was there not

all the unusual stir and bustle of the town to see?--the gay shops,

decked for the occasion with brave displays of fruit and sweets and

cakes, to tempt hungry picnickers; the gallant array of boats,

glistening with new paint and varnish, and as bright as "elbow-grease"

would make them: the crowds arriving from all the countryside by land

and water--people they knew, to greet and by whom to be

greeted--schoolfellows, curiously unfamiliar in their best

clothes--school teachers, even more curiously human and approachable,

and not at all suggesting the week-day discipline of desk and ruler?

Not a yard of the esplanade was without its excitements. There were the

summer visitors from the houses that were shuttered and gloomy all the

winter, and from the tiny cottages under the hummocks across the lagoon,

owned by people from Sale and Bairnsdale, who lived a camping existence

from Christmas until Easter, with the breakers pounding almost at their

back doors. These considered themselves part and parcel of the place,

as indeed they were, and looked with something of disparagement at the

folk from Melbourne and Sydney who filled the hotels, and who might

never come again, and who, at the best, lived a luxurious and pampered

life, and did not know the joys of a picnic existence, with no servants

and no worries--every one working in the same way, and every one ready

for every kind of fun, from big surf-bathing parties or moonlight swims

in the lake, to rushing over the hummocks in a body to lend a hand with

the hauling of a shoal of salmon brought in through the breakers. Then

there were other visitors--blacks from the Lake Tyers Mission Station;

principally lithe young men keen on taking part in the regatta, with a

sprinkling of older men, and a few young women and boys. They moved

here and there among the crowd on noiseless bare feet.

Never had the O'Connor family looked so resplendent. Nick, to begin

with, was a majestic figure in his best suit, with a "boiled" shirt, and

a tartan tie which appeared only on great occasions. Bertha and Polly

were in fresh washing frocks, and the boys in suits of blue-striped

galatea, very smart and summer-like. But 'Possum, in Aileen's Christmas

gift of the dress that was like the inside of a shell, tall and slender,

her face half-eager and half-shy, was an unfamiliar figure at whom many

people turned to glance. Never before had 'Possum been to a regatta,

and her inward excitement was almost as keen as Garth's. "The kids

always went," she had told Aileen. "I didn't. The old dungarees didn't

seem to fit in."

To-day no one "fitted in" better than 'Possum: and Nick O'Connor found

himself casting glances of pride at his brood, while mothers from "up

the lake" gazed upon the O'Connor tribe with blank amazement, and came

to the conclusion that Nick must have found a gold-mine on the farm.

"Not that the whole lot of them dresses ain't cheaper than my Albert's

plush," said one matron, regarding her son's green sailor suit of that

opulent material, with its lace collar. "But it ain't exactly

that--on'y they look like toffs!"

They all lunched together at the buggies, in the shade of some gum

trees--hurriedly, for the children wanted to see the steamers come in

from Sale and Bairnsdale, with their big crowds of excursionists. The

first far-off hoot came just as they had finished, and they hurried to

the packed wharf. Across the lagoon, at the Entrance wharf, the steamer

was discharging a throng of the people to whom regattas are nothing, but

the open sea and the Ninety-Mile Beach everything--townsfolk, weary of

the long summer, and longing for the sands and the clean breeze from the

ocean. They pressed up the steps leading to the hummocks, a black

swarm. Then the steamer came slowly across the little strip of water to

Cuninghame, her decks still dark with people. She was gaily decked with

flags, and on her bows could be seen girls in light summer frocks, like

a fluttering garden. Faint at first, but gradually growing louder and

louder, a band was playing a swinging waltz: the music chimed in with

the plash of the water as the boat slackened speed and churned her way

to the wharf. Impatient boys sprang ashore without waiting for the

gangway to be lowered; then the great plank came down and the

excursionists trooped across it, gay and chattering; some laden with

rugs and luncheon-hampers, while others had prudently saved time by

lunching on board during the long trip through the lakes--a plan fraught

with danger, since people were crowded like sardines in a tin, and an

unwary movement of a neighbour was apt to send tea-cups flying. But then

no one ever minded such insignificant occurrences on a lake excursion.

When you rise at six o'clock, drive some miles to a boat that starts at

eight, with a five hours' water-journey each way, for the sake of three

hours on the beach,--what is a spilt tea-cup?

The regatta went along merrily, after the manner of regattas: wildly

interesting to those directly concerned, and of mild excitement to

outsiders. There were yacht races, in which the boats departed into the

horizon, and were promptly forgotten by the spectators; fishermen's

boat-races, which drew a crowd at the finish; and skiff-races, which,

being shorter, held the attention all the time, and evoked great

cheering from the backers of the competitors. Tom entered for one of

the latter combats, but was ignominiously defeated by a young fisherman

and a black fellow from Lake Tyers, behind whom he paddled in meekly,

much to Garth's disgust.

"I don't believe they played fair!" said the small boy gloomily.

"Don't you say that!" said his father sharply, and then relented at the

amazed face.

"It doesn't do, old man," Tom continued. "When a fellow is beaten, he

takes his gruel like a decent chap; and he doesn't abuse the other

fellow. Do you imagine, too, that your old city-bred father had any

chance against men who have been on the lakes all their lives?"

"Well, you used to be in the eight at Trinity College," said Garth

sadly.

"When I was young. And pulling in a racing-shell isn't the same as in

one of these tubs--as you will find out later on. Cheer up, old chap;

there's a small boy's foot-race coming off, I hear."

There was, and Garth, being a long-legged person of great fleetness, won

it: and was immediately stricken with remorse at having beaten little

Joe, to whom he apologized for the year's seniority that gave him the

victory. Joe was philosophic, and forgot races and defeat altogether

when Garth suggested that they should adjourn to one of the stores and

find out what sweets those emporiums stocked. They reappeared later

with bulging cheeks and impeded utterance, and took up positions as

spectators with renewed joy.

Two sides were playing water-polo--scrambling in ten feet of water for a

gaily-painted bladder, which ducked and bobbed in the waves like a live

thing. It was an exciting game, and caused helpless mirth among the

spectators, when a confident player, racing with the ball for goal,

found his leg grasped by an opponent who had dived below him, and was

dragged, spluttering and furious, under the surface; or when the

assailant, rising triumphant with the ball, felt another leap bodily

upon him, so that they disappeared together, while the ball rocked gaily

away. Luck and pluck counted almost equally in it, and the victory was

apt to go to those who had swallowed least salt water. Then came a race

for men mounted astride on barrels, who propelled them through the water

with their hands and feet; which was easy enough when the movements were

careful, but the excitement of the finish caused the riders to paddle

frantically, whereupon their steeds rolled over promptly, and there were

wild scenes of catching and remounting, while a boy, who had prudently

gone slowly, paddled in alone as the winner--unnoticed by the other

competitors, who continued to scramble and tussle for their slippery

steeds, filling the air with the tumult of their remarks, while the

spectators rocked with laughter. Finally it was brought home to them,

through the gentle medium of a megaphone, that the race had been over

for some time, when they dispersed, much crestfallen. The crowd, very

happy, sought further diversion.

"You've got to go in for the umbrella race, 'Possum," said Tom.

"Not me!" said 'Possum firmly.

"You must," Tom rejoined. "I've borrowed the lightest little dinghy you

ever saw for you, and the biggest umbrella. It belongs to old Pa Smith,

and it's like a tent."

"I say!" ejaculated 'Possum, staring. Pa Smith was known to disapprove

of borrowing or of lending. He was a dour old man, farming a good piece

of land near the township; and no person in the district was less likely

to do another a favour. Hence 'Possum's amazement.

"How ever did you manage it?" she gasped.

"Bless you, he never raised an objection," said Tom cheerfully. "Take

Pa Smith the right way, and he'll eat out of your hand."

"You will have to race now, 'Possum," Aileen said, laughing. "Do!"

"I wouldn't win," said 'Possum, after the manner of bashful young

ladies.

"I suppose you wouldn't, if any one beat you; but they mightn't," said

Tom. "Here's Polly, longing to cox you. You can't refuse, 'Possum--it

isn't decent, when I've risked all I have for you in getting that

umbrella!"

"All right," said 'Possum, capitulating, while Garth uttered "Hooray!"

"Thanks, awfully, Mr. Macleod. When does it start?"

"Pretty soon," Tom answered. "You might as well get into the dinghy and

practise, as those girls are doing." He nodded towards some small boats

out on the lake, in which fair maidens, apparently at the mercy of wind

and tide, were endeavouring to use large umbrellas as sails, with

varying success. Small boys in boats hovered near, cheering and jeering

their efforts in a manner which filled the umbrella-maidens with

embarrassment and wrath. Their threats of vengeance floated across to

the onlookers.

'Possum established Polly at the tiller, and paddled away from the

wharf. The dinghy was certainly light, and the umbrella, rolled and

laid along a thwart, looked huge; but she found, on approaching the

others, that they were just as well equipped; and Flossie Parker, who

had a great reputation in this branch of sport, had a dinghy that was

considerably lighter. 'Possum sighed, and hoped faintly that her

umbrella was smaller.

She shipped her oars, and unfurled Pa Smith's property. It was a

majestic umbrella, with an ivory crutch-handle that made it easy to

hold, and lessened the chance of having it wrenched by a puff of wind

from her grasp. Again, a spasm of wonder floated across her mind, that

Pa Smith should ever have parted, even temporarily, with his well-loved

possession. It was so unlike Pa Smith. However, it was merely another

instance of Mr. Macleod's remarkable power of getting what he wanted;

and 'Possum had ceased to wonder at that. So she said, "Now, look where

you're goin', Polly, 'cause you can be quite sure that a lot of other

people won't!" and spread her umbrella to catch the wind.

It was a fitful breeze, that occasionally sent them spinning along, and

sometimes dropped altogether, leaving them to wallow on the water

unaided. At such moments Polly's anguish was painful to behold.

"What'll we do if it does that in the race, 'Poss?" she wailed.

"Why, bless you, if it does, won't every one be in the same box?"

'Possum answered. But Polly looked unconvinced and anxious, and her

brow only cleared when a fresh puff sent them gaily on.

There were only five competitors altogether. Two others arrived on the

scene, but on comparing their heavy boats and small umbrellas with those

of the other girls, they prudently withdrew, much to 'Possum's relief:

the lagoon was not wide enough for a large number of starters. They

dodged about here and there, occasionally colliding, and apologizing

with much forced politeness, while under their breath they reviled their

coxswains. Most of these latter were small girls chosen for their light

weight rather than for their ability; but Flossie Parker's was of proved

skill, and had steered her to victory in many a hard-fought contest.

Flossie's umbrella was red, and of a mighty size. "Still, I'm blessed if

I think it has the acreage of Pa Smith's!" thought 'Possum, comparing

them.

A shout from the starter's boat brought them into line near the head of

the lagoon.

"The finish is the line between those two boats ahead--near the far

jetty," said the starter, who looked careworn. "Shut your umbrellas.

When I fire the pistol, you open 'em and get along. Any one touching

her oars is disqualified. First over the line wins. Bumping not

allowed. Now then, are you all ready? Right-oh. Go!"

The pistol's sharp crack cut across the sudden silence. It was followed

by five simultaneous snaps, as the umbrellas shot into the air and were

unfurled. They spread wide to catch the breeze.

Nothing occurred. There was, at the moment, no breeze. The five

competitors wriggled and jerked their sails, and held them at various

angles to woo the difficult zephyr, but the zephyr obstinately remained

away. The boats began to drift out of line. Loud cheers arose from the

shore, with pleasant shouts of encouragement, under which the cheeks of

the fair starters burned.

"Mighty funny, I don't think!" snapped Flossie Parker. "I suppose they

fancy they're jolly clever. Blow the old wind!" a pious remark which

was made on general principles, since, at the moment, there was no wind

to blow.

"Push 'er, Flossie! Get out an' push, why don't yer?" The cheering

words floated across from the wharf; and Flossie screamed an angry

answer.

"I say, Poll, be ready," said 'Possum, in a low tone. "The breeze is

coming." She had glanced over her shoulder, seeing a ruffle on the

surface of the lake.

No one else saw it quite as quickly, and when the puff struck them it

found some of the competitors not ready. Two boats promptly collided,

and disentangled themselves with difficulty. It is not the easiest

matter to guide a boat describing an erratic course in the water under a

wobbly umbrella, especially when coxswains of tender years lose their

heads; and the two boats in question lost much ground, and never quite

made it up. The other three went away gallantly, 'Possum a length

ahead. Miss Parker had been taken by surprise, but her natural instinct

was quick, and she was speedily in pursuit. The third competitor, a

stout girl with a green umbrella and a very light dinghy, kept level

with her. Loud howls came from the shore, over which could be

distinctly heard the shrill pipe of little Joe, who threw his head back

and vociferated, "Go it, 'Poss!" without ceasing for an instant.

Afterwards it was doubtful whether little Joe had seen all of the race,

but it was quite certain that he had never ceased to yell!

The breeze died away, but with the strange perversity of summer breezes

it gave a tiny last flicker which seemed especially for the benefit of

Miss Parker. "It was that small she caught it all in her umbrella!"

said Possum, afterwards. It took her ahead, while the two other leading

boats were motionless; to the anguish of Polly, she floated slowly past

them. The smile of the runner who sees victory flickered about her

mouth. "When I get me nose in front, they don't often see more than me

heels again," was her reflection.

Again the little wind ruffled the lake and quivered towards them.

Polly, rigid, with her hand on the tiller, was as ready as 'Possum. The

three boats slipped forward, coming nearer and nearer to the line across

the water that marked the goal. There was a steady roar from the

shore--cheers, laughter, and advice, mingled inextricably.

"'Possum's beat," said Nick O'Connor sadly. "Bother that Parker girl!"

The breeze dropped again to short puffs. 'Possum rose to her feet

suddenly, holding the umbrella high over her tall head, at a cunning

angle; and suddenly her boat shot forward. She was level with Flossie

before the latter's boat began to move, then she drew ahead slowly, and

inch by inch they crept on, while the howls from the shore grew more and

more frantic. Miss Parker tried every trick of umbrella generalship

that she knew, but she could not quite make up the distance. 'Possum's

boat touched the line half a length ahead.

"Well, I'm blessed!" said Flossie sourly. "I don't know how you managed

that!"

"No more do I," 'Possum answered. "Just luck. Now then, Polly, you

behave yourself." For Polly, given wholly up to triumph, was

threatening to turn somersaults in the stern.

"H'm," said Flossie, regarding the ecstatic Polly. "How old's she?"

"Seven," 'Possum answered.

"Oh!" Flossie shrugged her shoulders. "Mine's near twice as old, an'

weighs twice as much."

"Pity she doesn't steer twice as well, isn't it?" remarked 'Possum

composedly. Sourness to herself might be borne patiently, but when it

touched Polly it was another matter. Polly, however, having no fine

scruples, did not hesitate to fight her own battles.

"An' your dinghy only weighs half what ours does!" she shrilled. "Beat

yer--smarty!"

"Be quiet, Polly!" 'Possum said sharply. She took the paddles and

turned the boat towards the shore. Polly, utterly unabashed, glared

angrily at Miss Parker as they drew away, but was reduced to a

lamentable state of mind by the conduct of Flossie's coxswain, who put

but her tongue at her with gestures of scorn and derision. Polly would

gladly have retaliated in kind but for wholesome fear of her sister, who

had been known to fall severely on such natural exhibitions of distaste

for a foe. She endeavoured to content herself by tilting her nose in

the air as far as Nature would permit; but it was an unsatisfying

reprisal, and cast a gloom over her until they neared the shore and

caught sight of little Joe's face of ecstasy.

"Knew you'd win, 'Poss! Knew you'd win!" he shouted, capering up and

down. 'Possum looked sheepish.

"Behave, Joe, can't you?" she said.

"Good girl, 'Possum--we're proud to know you," Tom said, mooring the

dinghy to a ring on the wharf. "Just give me that umbrella, will you?"

He took the umbrella and turned to pass through the crowd. But a new

event was beginning, and he found it impossible to get through, for the

wharf was already thronged, and fresh people were endeavouring to arrive

at a point where they could see. Tom gave up the attempt, and turned to

his party.

"Better stay where we are," he said. "It's the greasy pole: and the

natural savagery of all good people is bringing every one to gloat over

the sufferings of their fellow-men. Can you see, Aileen?"

"Beautifully, thanks," said Aileen cheerfully. "I'm glad we're not going

to miss this."

"Your character's deteriorating," said Tom, with gloom. "Here, Garth,

hop up on my shoulder." He swung the small boy up and turned to the

edge of the wharf.

A long sapling had been lashed to the wharf, projecting out over the

water. Its smooth surface shone from a liberal allowance of soft soap,

and a small flag was thrust into a hole bored in its far end. As they

watched, the first competitor appeared--a tall boy, in an old shirt and

trousers. He started gingerly along the pole, and made excellent

progress until he was half-way. Then his feet suddenly slid from under

him, and he sat down abruptly, the pole quivering and bounding under his

weight. He clawed wildly at the slippery surface. Then the water

received him kindly.

He rose to the surface amid the shrieks of the delighted populace, and

struck out for the steps, as the next competitor, a Melbourne schoolboy

in a bathing-suit, appeared on the pole. Unfortunately, his career was

even shorter. His first step was rash, his second even wilder: he slid

for a moment, and then the end came quickly. Just below him the first

lad was swimming. The Melbourne boy fell on him bodily, and they

disappeared together in a whirlpool of spray. Those of the onlookers

who had room at this point sat down on the wharf and held their aching

sides.

The fun grew fast and furious as, one after another, valiant men and

boys started along the pole, and, sooner or later, plunged, gasping and

struggling, into, the depths. Some got as far as half-way, others

succumbed in the first three steps, but all alike went down, and the

various methods of their falling were sufficient to keep the spectators

in roars of laughter. Finally a black boy achieved a meteoric progress,

shuffling sideways along the pole so swiftly that it seemed he gave his

feet no time to slip until almost at the very end, where the pole

narrowed in what Tom termed an inhuman fashion. Then he shot into

space: but, even in falling, he grasped the flag, and brought it proudly

with him from the bottom of the lake.

"Oh, wasn't it lovely!" Garth gasped. His peals of laughter had rung

out even above the joyful shouts all round him. "Oh, I wish they'd do

it all over again!"

"Do you!" said a wet and greasy competitor, striding wrathfully past in

search of his clothes. Then he met the dancing eyes and grinned in

friendly fashion, and disappeared among the crowd.

Tom put his son down, and tucked the handle of Pa Smith's umbrella under

his arm, holding it against his side.

"I'll see you presently," he said to Aileen. "Must go and return this."

He moved away with the throng.

Where the goods store blocked part of the end of the wharf, a wrathful

voice fell on his ear.

"If the Gov'n'ment 'ud give us a policeman or two in this township it

'ud be better for honest people! Thieves! the place is full of them!"

"Aw, I wouldn't say that, Mr. Smith," said the soothing voice of Nick

O'Connor.

"You mightn't, but I would. An' so'd you, if you had your property

lifted as soon as you turned your back!"

"Go on, now!" said Nick sympathetically. "You don't mean----"

"I mean there's a pack o' thieves here. Me good umbrella that I left in

the trap----"

"It ain't gone, surely?"

"Yes it is. My word, if I could lay me hands on whoever took it! I've

had that umbrella these fifteen years."

"Mighty good luck it didn't split with 'Possum," said Tom to himself.

He grinned, flattening his body against the wall of the shed.

"You don't say!" Nick was murmuring. "I wouldn't have thought any one

'ud go stealin' an umbrella. But with all these blacks about, you never

can tell."

"Me father used to shoot blacks for stealin'," boomed Mr. Smith. "I

dunno why they'd object if you did that now. A pack of idle, useless,

thievin'----"

"Well, you don't know for certain it was them," said Nick. "Look here,

now--are you sure you didn't leave it at home?"

"Do you take me for a fool?" demanded the wrathful Mr. Smith.

"Not me. But the best of us is careless sometimes. Well, are you sure

you hunted all over the trap?"

"It wasn't on the seat, where I left it. It wouldn't have walked

underneath, would it?"

"You never can tell," Nick said wisely. His mild eye, travelling round,

encountered Tom's, and, struck by something in his child-like

expression, examined him yet further. The end of an ivory

crutch-handle, tucked tightly under Tom's arm, caught and held his

glance, and for a moment he looked unutterable things. Then he bestowed

his attention anew upon Pa Smith, moving a little so as to interpose his

person between him and Tom. He felt a grateful dig as Tom slipped past

him.

"It's funny how almost any one'll make mistakes," he said. Out of the

tail of his eye he beheld a tall figure hurrying down the street towards

the tree where Pa Smith's buggy stood in a patch of shade. "Say we go

an' look in your buggy again for that little parrysole of yours, Mr.

Smith. Then, if it ain't there, we'll go on up to the hotel an' get a

little something to console you."

On the way to the buggy they met Tom sauntering back, apparently at

peace with all men. He grinned at Nick cheerfully as they

passed--Nick's gentle voice acting as accompaniment to the loud wailing

of the bereaved Mr. Smith. It changed to blank amazement as they,

neared the buggy, where an ivory-handle lay conspicuously protruding

from under the seat.

"Well, I'm hanged!" said Mr. Smith.

"Didn't I tell you the best of us makes mistakes?" murmured Nick.

"It was great luck winning that race," said 'Possum next day, "But the

one thing I never will understand to me dying moment is how you managed

to make old Pa Smith lend you that umbrella, Mr. Macleod. An' he never

raised a single objection, you said?"

"Not one," Tom answered. He paused. "I wonder," he said reflectively,

"if that might be because I never asked him!"

*CHAPTER XIX*

*THE ORDER OF RELEASE*

"Don't you think it's time Garth was home?"

Aileen Macleod was standing by the garden gate, shading her eyes as she

looked across the paddocks. Her husband, who had come upon her

unexpectedly, laughed a little.

"Oh, hen with one chick!" he said, "will you ever learn to let that boy

out of your sight for an hour?"

"Indeed, I think I'm very good," Aileen defended herself. "I let him go

all over the country, which you know very well, and climb enormous

trees, and go swimming with the O'Connor boys, and use an axe, and do

all sorts of things that would have filled us both with horror six

months ago. And I take hold of myself with both hands and say, 'Aileen

Macleod, you're not going to be nervous and make a poodle of your son!'

But this is the first day he has ridden Roany to the township, Tom: and,

you know, Roany isn't old Jane!"

"No, thank goodness!" said Tom with fervour. "But you needn't worry,

really, dear: he manages Roany quite well, and the pony is perfectly

safe. And you _are_ good, and so am I, because often I'm just as

nervous about the blessed kid as you are--so there!" They smiled at

each other. "Anyhow, here he comes. The little beggar's racing, too!"

Garth came into sight, sitting very straight, with his hands well down,

and with Roany going at his best hand-gallop. He took the shortest cut

across the paddock, which included a fair-sized log, over which the pony

hopped gaily, while both parents gasped.

"I didn't know Garth could sit that!"

"Neither did I," said Tom, with a grin. "Oh, he's developing! I wonder

what's making him hurry so."

"_I_ wonder where are his bundles," said the lady of the house, with

some concern. "I provided him with two sugar-bags, and he was to bring

bread and meat, and all sorts of oddments, and to come home slowly. Can

anything be wrong?"

"He doesn't look as if there were," Tom said.

He did not. As he caught sight of the two who waited for him at the

gate, he took off his hat and whirled it round his head with a mighty

shout, digging his heels into Roany, who shot up the hill in response.

They pulled up.

"What's your hurry, old son? And where are your bundles?"

"You don't know who's coming!" Garth cried, with dancing eyes.

"'Possum?"

"No! 'Possum can come any old day. This is a most awfully special

visitor. Hurry up and guess!"

"The only person who would be that," said Tom slowly, "is old

Metcalfe----"

Garth gave a little shout of joy.

"Good old Daddy! I knew you'd guess!"

"I say, it isn't really, Garth?"

"Yes, it is. He's coming out now, too."

"Now! But when did he come?"

"He came by last night's boat. He wrote, and sent you a telegram, too,

but of course we haven't sent in for the mail for three days--I 'specs

they're both in this bundle," said Garth, hauling a packet of letters

from his pocket. "So when he got here and found no one to meet him he

wouldn't come out last night, and he stayed at the hotel. I met him

just starting out in a buggy." Garth gave an irrepressible chuckle.

"He didn't know me from Adam. I rode up, and said, 'Hallo, doctor!' and

he said, 'Who are you, young man?' and looked at me as if I was a

wombat."

"What did you say?" asked his mother.

"I just laughed and laughed, it was so funny. And then he suddenly said,

'By Jove, it's Garth!' and he jumped out of the buggy and came and felt

me all over, to see how fat I'd got. So I gave him all the bundles, and

I raced on ahead to tell you. He'll be here in two jiffs."

"Then, this is where I hurry," said Aileen. "Thank goodness, I turned

out the spare room two days ago! It must have been a brain-wave!"

"Come and we'll help," Tom said to Garth. "Let your pony go."

They flung themselves at what remained of the morning's housework with

such good will that preparations for dinner were well established, and

every room shining, when the hotel buggy drove up, and they all trooped

to the gate.

"Well!" said Dr. Metcalfe, pausing on the veranda. "Let me look at you

all."

He looked from one to the other, until Aileen complained that the look

was becoming a stare. Perhaps it was upon her that it dwelt longest.

Garth and his father had filled out and broadened beyond belief: they

were deeply tanned and clear-eyed, and in each was a curious look of

resoluteness that the doctor had never seen before. But the change in

Aileen was deeper. The fragile, willowy girl of Toorak had gone: in her

place was a woman with lines about her eyes, yet a new beauty in her

face. A gracious woman, with perfect health on her brown cheek, and in

her eyes perfect happiness. He looked at her hands: in the old days

they had been like the inner petals of a rose, as soft and smooth, and

delicately pink. Now they were still smooth and well-kept, but hard, and

bronzed. She held them out to him with a quaint little gesture.

"You needn't look at my hands--I told you I was a working-woman!"

He took the slim hands in his, and bent over them.

"I find them extremely good hands," he said "And all of you make a tonic

for tired eyes. I haven't seen three such visions of health for years,

and the curious part of it is that though you're lone exiles you don't

look unhappy!"

"I'm afraid we've given up the 'exile' stand-point," Tom said, laughing.

"It was pathetic, of course; but it grew so ludicrously incorrect that

we had to abandon it for the sake of our own self-respect. Come in, old

man, and get your coat off."

"You must bring him to the kitchen when he's ready," Aileen declared.

"If I don't cook the dinner there won't be any, and you needn't think

I'm going to miss any of his visit!"

"We'll come and help cook," the doctor said.

He watched them, later--Aileen, with her sleeves rolled above her

elbows, compounding pastry, while Tom prepared vegetables, and Garth

scrubbed potatoes.

"Do you always manage this way?"

"Mercy, no!" said Tom. "She won't let us. She's proud, and haughty, and

insists on doing everything herself, and she hunts us out into the

paddocks to toil in the heat--doesn't she, Garth?"

"And then they come in, and bully me outrageously, and turn me out of my

own kitchen!" said Aileen, laughing. "Isn't it a nice one, doctor?"

"It is," said the little doctor, looking round the white kitchen, with

its gleaming tins and bright stove. "I never saw such a companionable

place. Do you mind if I spend most of my time here?"

"Not a bit," said Aileen. "We do, ourselves." She peeped through the

oven, door at tartlets that were becoming puffy and brown. "But you

must see all the estate. Tom will take you after dinner."

"You must come, too," said Tom.

"If I can."

"H'm," said Tom reflectively. He nodded presently to Garth, and they

slipped away.

"Just ride over to 'Possum," Tom said. "Tell her we've got a visitor,

and ask her can we borrow her for a bit. Mother mustn't be too much

tied for the few days the doctor can spare."

Garth nodded, and fled to the stable for his bridle; and thus it was

that, just as dinner was over and Aileen was experiencing the momentary

inward pang that comes before tackling clearing away and washing-up,

'Possum rode up.

"Got a free afternoon," she said, having greeted the stranger shyly.

"There's not much doing on the farm just now. Thought I might do a few

odd jobs."

She fell upon the remains of the meal and removed them to the kitchen,

Aileen following, protesting.

"Now, look here, Missus," said 'Possum, "ain't you got a visitor?--I

mean, _haven't_ you? And here am I with not enough to do to keep meself

warm. Just you all go out an' show him the place, an' I'll clear up an'

get tea."

"Oh, 'Possum, you are a dear!" said Aileen gratefully.

"Poof!" said 'Possum. "An' I'm comin' to-morrow, an' every day while

he's here. Not often I get a chance to use that little stove!" She

looked affectionately at the glass door of the oven, and then removed

Aileen gently but firmly from the kitchen.

They wandered over the estate throughout the afternoon, pointing out to

their visitor beauties of sheep and calves, whereat he was politely

unappreciative, and beauties of fern gullies, and lake, and hillside,

which made him as enthusiastic as the most exacting proprietor could

desire. They showed him where the crops had been, and where the lucerne

defied the approach of winter and still grew green and strong; and they

quoted for him prices of cattle, and sheep, and pigs, of fowls, and

eggs, and vegetables, until his brain reeled. They dragged him up the

ladder into the loft, full of fragrant hay ready for the winter; they

took him to the racks where golden maize-cobs were drying, and to the

shed where sacks of peas stood. "Thrashed them myself, with a flail,"

said Tom proudly. They introduced him to the fat Berkshire piglings in

the sty, and to the incubator which was to hatch enormous broods of

chickens and make Aileen's fortune; they showed him sheds and stables,

tool-room and garden implements, and crops of root vegetables and winter

cabbage, until he gaped with awe. And at last they brought him into the

front garden, where masses of bronze Japanese chrysanthemums blazed in

the warm sunshine of late autumn; and on the veranda 'Possum had long

chairs ready and a tea-table, brave with bright silver and china, with

tea-cakes smoking in a hot dish over a spirit-lamp, and a copper kettle

bubbling. The weary visitor sat down thankfully.

"Eh, but this is the most comfortable place I've seen for a long time!"

he said. "The very look of this veranda would make a man hungry, Miss

O'Connor!" At which 'Possum blushed hotly, and thanked Providence once

more that the tea-cakes had turned out like feathers.

She rode away after leaving the supper-table ready. They watched her

cantering across the paddock. To-day she rode a fiery young mare of her

father's, sitting it as though she were part of the animal. It shied

violently at a bunch of dead leaves, and the little doctor gasped, but

apparently 'Possum had not noticed any movement. A clump of trees hid

her.

"So that's the right-hand man?" the doctor said thoughtfully.

"That's the godsend," Tom answered.

"That's the dearest, best-hearted----" Words did not come easily to

Aileen. But she looked after 'Possum with a smile.

"Well, I knew from your letters that she was an extraordinarily good

farm-hand," said the doctor. "But you didn't prepare me for finding an

uncommon nice girl as well."

"That's Aileen's doing," said Tom.

"Indeed it's not," Aileen said quickly. "I have only put on a little

polish. But 'Possum is her own dear, honest self. She has taught me

more than I could ever teach her; and not only work, but things that

matter more." But she would not say what those things were.

Dr. Metcalfe came from Garth's bedroom that evening with a very

contented face.

"Well?" said Tom and Aileen together.

"I've overhauled every inch of your son," said the doctor, sitting down.

"And I would not have thought that eight months could make such a

difference. There is absolutely no sign of the old delicacy. He's just

a great, hardy young ruffian, and if you weren't growing into a bigger

edition of the same thing yourself, Tom, I should advise you to be

polite to him, in case he handled you roughly! Seriously, I'm

enormously pleased. You must have had a hard time, but it has paid you

well."

"Garth is the main thing, of course," Tom said. "But it has paid in

other ways, too. Of course, we have had luck. We struck a wonderful

season, and we had no trouble with drought or bush-fires, or anything

else. We haven't made a fortune. But there's money in it--not enough to

get excited over, but enough to make one feel easy about the future.

What with the stock, the wool, the crops, and the fowl-yard and

vegetable-garden, we've had a very decent season, haven't we, Aileen?"

"Yes," said Aileen solemnly. "I'm going to have a new hat!"

"You can have the best hat in Melbourne," said her husband.

"Thank you, but I won't bother," said she. "It's at Barke's, and it's

three-and-elevenpence. I shall get it next time I drive in."

The doctor looked from one to another, his eyes very kindly.

"Well," he said, and paused; "I hunted you away from Melbourne, to make

your boy into a strong fellow. And you've done it. I don't want to

make rash promises or raise false hopes. But Garth has improved so

wonderfully that I cannot see that there is any real reason for you to

bury yourselves down here for ever. If you gave him, say, another year

of Gippsland, I think you might with perfect safety take him back to

Melbourne. You'd have to watch him, of course. But, with an occasional

holiday in the country, he would get on quite well."

Tom looked at Aileen, and she at him.

"What do you say?" said each.

The doctor laughed.

"I'm going out to smoke a pipe," he said. "You can talk it over

together. But it would be safe to come."

He went out.

"You'd like to go back, dear," Tom said. "You've been most awfully

plucky, but I know it hasn't been easy. I'm glad it isn't a

life-sentence for you. I was afraid it meant that."

"I don't think I'd be afraid," she said.

"You're never afraid of anything," said Tom.

"I am still afraid, and I always will be, whenever I turn out a

pudding!" Aileen said quaintly. "There is always in me a lurking horror

that it will be sodden in the middle! And I will be afraid of snakes

until I die. But I have given up being afraid of the estate. I like

it."

Something in her tone made him look at her steadily.

"You mean----?" he said.

"I wish I knew what you wanted," she said suddenly. "Are you keen to go

back, Tom? You did like it all, you know--Melbourne, and races, and

dinners, and golf, and theatres, and all the old life. You never would

say you missed it, but I knew you did."

"I did: for a month," he said. "Then it just faded. I would have gone

on missing it, I think, if you hadn't been so content. I don't know how

you managed it. But it used to make a fellow ashamed of himself for

feeling blue, with your happy face always about ... and to hear you

singing."

She drew a long breath.

"Then--don't you want to go back? Ah, tell me, Tom!"

Tom Macleod laughed.

"I'll go back to-morrow, if you like," he said. "But otherwise--well, I

think there are plenty of people in Melbourne without me."

"Oh, I'm so glad!" she cried. "Tom, I don't want to go back!"

"Are you certain?" he asked. "It's a hard life for you, my girl."

"Indeed, it isn't. I'm alive, now--and I don't think I ever was in

Melbourne. I thought I was happy there, and indeed I was. But this is

different, somehow. One has so many interests. I feel part of the

world now, not just a drone."

"Just raising chickens and vegetables?"

"Some one has to do it," she said. "And I didn't raise anything

before--except one small boy, and even that job was nearly spoilt! Now

I'm part of the world's work. Oh, I like it, Tom! You do, too, don't

you?"

"My tastes have become altogether common," he said, laughing. "I'm

enormously interested in the crops we've planned out for next season,

and I'm going to put in Tasmanian potatoes that will make Cuninghame

open its eyes! And I'm going to sow onions, and make an enormous

fortune----"

"And I strawberries," Aileen said eagerly. "Think of the summer

visitors, all eating them, and my bank-book swelling!"

"And there's money in those calves we bought at Metung," he said. "With

that lucerne, and all the winter feed we've got, we'll have something

worth looking at in the spring!"

They looked at each other, and laughed.

"So the end of it is, we say, 'Thank you very much, kind sir, but we

don't want to go back from the land'--and we turn into old farmers,"

Aileen said. "Won't Garth rejoice!"

"And 'Possum?" Tom said.

"Oh--'Possum!" Her face grew very soft. "I told you I would always be

afraid of some things, Tom. I should never have been brave enough to

tell 'Possum I was going away!"