A BUSH TOUR
Tom did not propose to spend his four or five weeks of holiday in
idleness. Whilst making his sister's house his headquarters, he
determined to revisit such places as lay within reach, and would
start off with his knapsack on his back, taking a two or three days'
tour at a time.
"Why can't I walk with you?" Jack asked one day, wistfully. "I'm
ever so strong on my legs!"
"Not strong enough for that," said Tom, but it set him thinking what
to do to brighten Jack's holiday. The boy was manfully doing his
best; had reinstated himself in Eva's good graces by a renewal of
friendship and a demand for her companionship, but having tasted the
strong drink of the fellowship of boys there was no question that to
go back to a girl playmate was a little like sipping milk and water.
His manner to Aunt Betty changed from the confiding affection of
infancy to an obedient deference that she found distinctly
attractive, for Uncle Tom was constantly impressing upon him by
precept and example, that all women should command gentleness and
respect from the masculine sex, so that not again had Betty to
complain of rude answers or disobedience. What had passed between
Jack and Tom she could only dimly guess, but the result of Tom's
treatment was entirely satisfactory.
One morning Tom presented himself at the farm quite early in the day.
"I've a plan to unfold, and I want your consent before I speak to
Jack about it," he said. He had followed Betty to the dairy where
she was busy among her milk pans, and stood leaning against the
door-post.
"Your treatment of him proves so entirely salutary that you have my
consent before I even guess what your plan may be," she said, looking
up at him with smiling eyes.
"That's good hearing. I have hired a horse for a week, and am going
to take a riding tour to various townships and outlying farms that
are beyond my reach on foot, and I should like to take Jack with me.
Is there any pony on the farm that he could borrow?"
"Father has let him ride Tim lately. Tim has quieted with age, and
though still full of spirit, seldom indulges in tricks. I don't know
if the pony could be spared for so long, but it would be so big a joy
to Jack that I feel as if father is certain to consent."
"Where may your father be found? I'll go and ask him. I want to get
off quickly while the day is fairly cool. Meanwhile, will you put up
in Jack's school knapsack such things as are absolutely needful for a
few days' bush riding? Make it as light as you can."
"You are accepting father's consent as a foregone conclusion."
"I think so; it's his own fault that I do so. He never yet has
refused me anything I've asked."
Jack was nearly wild with joy when, half-an-hour later, he and Tom
were trotting down the green lane side by side. He turned in his
saddle to wave his cap to Eva and her mother who stood watching their
departure from the gate, then settled himself in his seat with a
quivering sigh of enjoyment.
"It's just splendid of you to have thought of it. Just think of
riding with you for a whole week. I wish it were for ever and ever."
Tom laughed over Jack's enthusiasm. "I expect we should both get
pretty tired of it and of each other then, Jack."
"I shouldn't," declared Jack, stoutly, putting Tim into a canter.
"I'd never be tired of being with you. You're the jolliest grown-up
I've ever seen except father. I'd like to stay with you until I can
go to him. It's queer he doesn't want me now. I keep on telling him
in every letter how big I am. Where are we going to first?"
"I propose to ride first to Jessie's home. We shall drop in there
just about dinner-time."
"How jolly! We've seen her several times since we saw you. She
comes down here about once a year. She's left Wylmington School ever
so long, and has gone as second teacher in a girls' school in
Launceston, so I don't expect we'll find her."
"You forget it will be her holiday time too. I often hear from her,
and she seems to have grown quite strong."
"Yes, and Aunt Betty says she's pretty," said Jack, who had no
opinion of his own about girls' looks at present.
The ride for the first eight miles was entirely normal, along
beautifully engineered roads which climbed ever up and up by zig-zag
courses through the hill forests to Wylmington. Beyond were the
falls which in summer-time were a favourite resort for picnic
parties, but, leaving them to the right, Tom followed one of the bush
roads bearing to the left, which was nothing more than a cart track,
in some places almost overgrown, and in others, where more clearing
had been done, opened out into a glorious view of surrounding hills.
As they rode along Tom told Jack of his experience the last time he
had passed that way in a gale of wind and rain, and how he had been
weather-bound for the night at Woodlands, Jessie's home.
"We won't stop there to-night, will we?" asked Jack, whose one idea
was to put as great a distance between himself and home as possible.
"Oh, no, I want to get on to the next homestead, about ten miles
further on, but it will be slow going, as there is little more than a
bridle-track to travel by, and we could easily lose our way."
"What fun! I hope we shall."
"I don't," said Tom. "It's no laughing matter to be lost in the
bush. It's a very lonesome spot we are going to, and we shall
probably sleep in a shakedown in the barn."
Jack gave a joyous laugh of anticipation, but here they were in sight
of Woodlands, and he sprang from his pony to open the gate which
separated the home clearing from the bush. Before they rode up to
the door Jessie had caught a glimpse of them and came running towards
them with a radiant face. She had changed from a girl to a young
woman and a pretty young woman too, Tom thought, as he dismounted and
one of the boys came forward to take his horse.
"We'll off-saddle them for an hour or two if we may," he said, "and
we've counted on Woodlands hospitality to give us something to eat."
"But of course," cried Jessie joyously. "I told mother that the
feeling in my bones meant something good was to happen to-day, but I
never thought of anything half so good as this."
Then came the farmer and his wife to welcome their guests. The
family dinner was over and the boys dispersed about the farm, but a
meal of sorts should be ready in a brace of shakes, and the "nipper"
looked ready for it, which the nipper was, for the ride had given him
a hearty appetite. And whilst Jessie flitted to and fro in
hospitable preparation, Tom noticed the stamp of refinement which
illness had left upon her, but there was something more than
refinement written on her face--a certain radiance which he accepted
as the outward manifestation of an inward grace, a heart at peace
with God and all the world.
"You found the right work for the girl," said the farmer, following
the direction of Tom's eyes. "She just dotes on her teaching, and
gets on well with it. We shall have her up here some day, I expect,
setting us all to rights as school-teacher at Wylmington."
"Not yet, father," laughed Jessie, shaking her finger at him. "I
want to know ever so much more before I try for a school of my own."
"And will it be a school in the bush when that time comes?" Tom
asked. "Time was when you did not like the Bush much."
"I don't know; being away from them all makes you long to be back,
though a town school, where I am now, teaches you a lot about
discipline and such things, but sometimes now I think I'll get back
to the country, where you can get to know all your children and love
them and have care of them out of school as well as in it. And one
can do something for the church in these country places. I'm
learning to play the harmonium, and I could play perhaps on Sundays
when we have service. There's no one to do it now, not even anyone
who can lead the singing. Don't you remember how you said once that
it was a clergyman's work to set the machinery in a place going, the
spiritual machinery, and the work of the people to keep it alive and
active?"
"Did I say that? You can't expect me to remember all I said four
years ago."
"But I remember, because you were the first one to talk to me about
the church's order. You said most people left their religion to
chance and odd times, and we ought to be as careful over it as over
our other work."
"You were an attentive pupil, it seems," said Tom, smiling at her.
"Because you put things clearly so that I could understand them,"
said Jessie simply. "When you went away and I could not talk to you
any more, I wrote down a good many things you said, so as to teach
them to my class in the Sunday School."
"Then you are a Sunday School teacher?"
"Oh, yes, for over three years now. I love it best of any of my
teaching, and the Sunday School is all alive where I am now. Here I
found it very difficult to get the children to care."
Jack had slipped away with Jessie's father to see a fresh brood of
chickens, which gave Tom an opportunity of some talk with Jessie
about her work, but presently he looked at his watch and said they
must be moving on, but, before the horses were re-saddled, Mrs.
Butler insisted upon a cup of tea, and sent them on their way with a
well-filled wallet of provisions in case they got detained upon the
road.
"_Is_ Jessie pretty?" Jack inquired, as they rode upon their way.
"Yes, I think she is, but she's more than pretty: she's good."
"How d'you know?" Jack asked.
"By her look--goodness, like evil, writes itself upon people's faces,
Jack--by her ways and by her words," said Tom.
The saying did not altogether please Jack.
"It's rather horrid people can tell whether you are good or bad by
looking at you," he said.
"Then you must take care only to do and think such things as will
give you a good face," said Tom, with a little laugh, and then he
began talking about other things.
How the week sped, a week which Jack was old enough now to look back
upon with pleasure all his days! It was an unusually hot and dry
year for Tasmania, and the sun, beating upon the forests and rich
undergrowth through which they rode day after day, brought out a
pungent fragrance that acted like a tonic, preventing any
consciousness of fatigue. There was a sense of adventure, too, in
travelling by these unknown and little trodden tracks that was quite
delightful to a boy, and delightful also was Tom's companionship, and
in fuller measure came back his old ascendancy over Jack. Before it
had been the affection of a little child, but now it took the form of
a boy's hero-worship, the wish to grow into a man something like
Uncle Tom or father. The mere fact that Tom could turn his hand to
almost anything was a deep source of admiration, from lighting a fire
to shoeing a horse. And Tom on his side grew deeply attached to the
little boy, whose pluck and courage might have belonged to a boy
twice his age, whose interest in all he saw or heard was so
singularly alive, and quite unconsciously his influence for good over
the boy almost every hour of the day was making itself felt. It was
more from what he did than what he said, although with a man like
Tom, whose first object and aim in life was to serve God himself and
to teach others to serve, it was scarcely possible to live with him
many days without some mention of higher things. The mention of such
things might pass unnoticed, but the fact that when they passed one
or two nights in a shed together, Jack saw Tom kneel down and say his
prayers with absorbing earnestness before he crept into his bed of
straw, was an object-lesson Jack could not well forget. And again,
when they woke in the morning, Tom's hand searched in the knapsack
which had served as his pillow for the Testament he always carried
about with him, and he would read aloud to Jack some parable, or
miracle, said or worked by our Lord, and invest it with an entirely
new character, making Jack feel it a reality instead of something
written in an old book that might or might not be true. On the last
morning of their tour, as they sat together on the bole of a huge
forest tree that had been felled and left lying along the ground
until such time as it was carted away, Tom chose for the morning
reading the account in the Acts of the churches that had not yet
received any open manifestation of the Spirit, and of how the
Apostles were sent for to bestow the great gift.
"And that is what we now call Confirmation, Jack, that is the Bible
teaching about it. I wonder if anyone ever showed Dick Chambers that
passage, or tried to make it clear to him. He might change his mind
about its being all stuff and nonsense."
Jack coloured a little.
"But everyone who is confirmed isn't good, Uncle Tom."
"I don't say they are, Jack; I only tell you it is a great help, a
gift of God that I want every boy and girl baptised in our church to
look forward to and get ready for. If you use a gift it may help you
immensely; if you neglect it or throw it away that is not God's
fault: it's yours."
Jack did not make any answer; Tom did not know if he even understood,
but from that day forward Jack renewed his determination to be
confirmed some day, when he was old enough, "same as Jessie was."
Perhaps it was Jessie's confirmation that helped to give her a "good
face," in which conjecture there was more truth than little Jack was
aware of.
And that evening found the companions at home again, Jack very
bronzed and voluble about all his experiences of the different places
they had stayed at, and of the almost wild children they had come
across, of the snakes they had killed in the bush, of their picnic
meals, etc.; but, of the things that had gone deepest, of his talks
with Uncle Tom and of the way Uncle Tom said his prayers, he never
spoke at all. They had sunk too deep to come up to the surface. But
Eva, as he talked to her, bemoaned the fate that, in making her a
girl, cut her off from all these delightful pleasures.
"Uncle Tom, we ought to have a blow-up for Eva before you go," Jack
said one day soon after their return. "It _is_ rather dull being a
girl, you know. Could not we have a picnic a long way off on
Thursday? It's my birthday; I shall be twelve years old, but we
could pretend it was Eva's."
Uncle Tom was rather pleased at this budding thoughtfulness for
Jack's chum, and caught readily at the notion.
"We'll talk to my sister and Aunt Betty and see what can be done," he
said. "Has Eva ever been to Wylmington Falls? If not, we could hire
a brake, get some of the neighbours to join us, and we'll call it
Eva's party."
The notion caught on like wildfire, and Eva herself was in ecstasies
of delight. She watched every cloudlet that flecked the sky with
grave forebodings lest the longed-for day should prove wet.
"Not a chance of it," said Uncle Tom. "The farmers are all longing
for rain to save their crops, which bush fires are constantly
destroying," but that rain should fall on Thursday was more than he
or any of the others could wish. And it did not rain! Never was a
more perfect day for a picnic. The families at the farm and the
cottage were early astir, for everybody was coming except Mr.
Treherne, who had to stay behind for the task of looking after the
animals, for it was to be a real long summer holiday, beginning with
dinner directly they arrived, and closing with tea before their
return, which would give the horses a nice long rest. So soon after
eleven the brake started off with Mrs. Kenyon, Mrs. Treherne, Betty,
and all the provisions packed in hampers, and behind came the pony
cart from the farm driven by Tom, with Jack and Eva tucked in by the
side of him, and various other vehicles joined them on the way,
carrying invited guests, so that it was quite a cavalcade that wound
its way along the circuitous road, and there was much laughter and
rivalry as to who should take the lead, and who could keep it, and
for one proud triumphant moment Tom and the pony led the way, to be
superseded very quickly by the brake with its stout pair of horses.
But for the long, long climb at the end, all were reduced to walking,
and many of the passengers got out, amongst them the children, who
plunged into the bush below and above them, bringing back handfuls of
flowers and berries.
"And this afternoon, Eva, whilst the others are lazing about, you and
I will go blackberrying in the bush. We'll make a surprise for Aunt
Betty, who'll be awfully pleased when we bring back a lot of berries
ready for jam," said Jack magnanimously, determined to make the day
altogether delightful for Eva.
"How lovely!" said Eva. "Don't forget we're to keep it a secret. No
one shall guess what we mean to do."
But now the carriages had turned into the rough track which led to
the famous falls, whose nearness proclaimed itself by a distant roar
of falling water, a sound which mingled with the swirl of the river
under the bridge they had just driven over.
A quarter of a mile through the green overgrown track brought them to
a large clearing, where open sheds had been built for the special
benefit of picnicers, where a general halt was called, and whilst the
men busied themselves in taking out their horses and giving them a
rub down before securing them in the sheds, the women and children
collected fuel for the fire, but Jack and Eva, fascinated by the
sound of the falling water, stole off hand in hand to obtain a nearer
view of the Falls. Arched over their heads was a long avenue of tree
ferns, under their feet the rocks and stones which the winter floods
brought with them, but now the river had withdrawn to its natural
bed, and an exquisite undergrowth of flowers and maidenhair fern
concealed the roughness of the way. More than once Eva would have
lost her footing but for Jack's hand, but at last they reached the
point where they could obtain their first full view of the falls,
three separate cascades of foaming, sparkling water growing greater
and stronger in its fall, until it lost itself in the turbulent river
below.
"One would not have much chance if one fell in," said Jack.
"No, it's lovely, but it frightens me and makes me giddy to look at
it. Take me back to the others," Eva answered.
Jack longed to linger, longed to scale the rough ladders set against
the hill, which would lead him up to the higher falls, but the day
was Eva's, and he turned and gave her his hand.
"It's a dreadful pity you're not a boy," was all he said.