My appeal to his manliness had no effect. Did I go for a ride, or a
walk in the afternoon to enjoy the glory of the sunset, or a stroll to
drink in the pleasures of the old garden, there would I find Frank
Hawden by my side, yah, yah, yahing about the way I treated him, until
I wished him at the bottom of the Red Sea.
However, in those glorious spring days the sense of life was too
pleasant to be much clouded by the trifling annoyance Frank Hawden
occasioned me. The graceful wild clematis festooned the shrubbery along
the creeks with great wreaths of magnificent white bloom, which loaded
every breeze with perfume; the pretty bright green senna shrubs along
the river-banks were decked in blossoms which rivalled the deep blue of
the sky in brilliance; the magpies built their nests in the tall
gum-trees, and savagely attacked unwary travellers who ventured too
near their domain; the horses were rolling fat, and invited one to get
on their satin backs and have a gallop; the cry of the leather-heads
was heard in the orchard as the cherry season approached. Oh, it was
good to be alive!
At Caddagat I was as much out of the full flood of life for which I
craved as at Possum Gully, but here there were sufficient pleasant
little ripples on the stream of existence to act as a stop-gap for the
present.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He
Here goes for a full account of my first, my last, my only _real_
sweetheart, for I considered the professions of that pestiferous
jackeroo as merely a grotesque caricature on the genuine article.
On making my first appearance before my lover, I looked quite the
reverse of a heroine. My lovely hair was not conveniently escaping from
the comb at the right moment to catch him hard in the eye, neither was
my thrillingly low sweet voice floating out on the scented air in a
manner which went straight to his heart, like the girls I had read of.
On the contrary, I much resembled a female clown. It was on a day
towards the end of September, and I had been up the creek making a
collection of ferns. I had on a pair of men’s boots with which to walk
in the water, and was garbed in a most dilapidated old dress, which I
had borrowed from one of the servants for the purpose. A pair of gloves
made of basil, and a big hat, much torn in struggling through the
undergrowth, completed my make-up. My hair was most unbecomingly
screwed up, the short ends sticking out like a hurrah’s nest.
It was late in the day when, returning from my ramble, I was met on the
doorstep by aunt Helen.
“While you are in that trim, I wish you would pluck some lemons for me.
I’m sure there is no danger of you ruining your turn-out. A sketch of
you would make a good item for the _Bulletin_,” she said.
I went readily to do her bidding, and fetching a ladder with rungs
about two feet six apart, placed it against a lemon-tree at the back of
the house, and climbed up.
Holding a number of lemons in my skirt, I was making a most ungraceful
descent, when I heard an unknown footstep approaching towards my back.
People came to Caddagat at all hours of the day, so I was not in the
least disconcerted. Only a tramp, an agent, or a hawker, I bet, I
thought, as I reached my big boot down for another rung of the ladder
without turning my head to see whom it might be.
A pair of strong brown hands encircled my waist, I was tossed up a foot
or so and then deposited lightly on the ground, a masculine voice
saying, “You’re a mighty well-shaped young filly—‘a waist rather small,
but a quarter superb’.”
“How dare anyone speak to me like that,” I thought, as I faced about to
see who was parodying Gordon. There stood a man I had never before set
eyes on, smiling mischievously at me. He was a young man—a very young
man, a bushman tremendously tall and big and sunburnt, with an open
pleasant face and chestnut moustache—not at all an awe-inspiring
fellow, in spite of his unusual, though well-proportioned and carried,
height. I knew it must be Harold Beecham, of Five-Bob Downs, as I had
heard he stood six feet three and a half in his socks.
I hurriedly let down my dress, the lemons rolling in a dozen
directions, and turned to flee, but that well-formed figure bounded
before me with the agility of a cat and barred my way.
“Now, not a step do you go, my fine young blood, until you pick up
every jolly lemon and put them away tidily, or I’ll tell the missus on
you as sure as eggs.”
It dawned on me that he had mistaken me for one of the servant-girls.
That wasn’t bad fun. I determined not to undeceive but to have a lark
with him. I summed him up as conceited, but not with the disgusting
conceit with which some are afflicted, or perhaps blessed. It was
rather an air of
I-have-always-got-what-I-desire-and-believe,-if-people-fail-it-is-all-
their-own -fault, which surrounded him.
“If you please, sir,” I said humbly, “I’ve gathered them all up, will
you let me go now.”
“Yes, when you’ve given me a kiss.”
“Oh, sir, I couldn’t do that!”
“Go on, I won’t poison you. Come now, I’ll make you.”
“Oh, the missus might catch me.”
“No jolly fear; I’ll take all the blame if she does.”
“Oh don’t, sir; let me go, please,” I said in such unfeigned distress,
for I feared he was going to execute his threat, that he laughed and
said:
“Don’t be frightened, sissy, I never kiss girls, and I’m not going to
start at this time of day, and against their will to boot. You haven’t
been long here, have you? I haven’t seen you before. Stand out there
till I see if you’ve got any grit in you, and then I am done with you.”
I stood in the middle of the yard, the spot he indicated, while he
uncurled his long heavy stock-whip with its big lash and scented myall
handle. He cracked it round and round my head and arms, but I did not
feel the least afraid, as I saw at a glance that he was exceedingly
dexterous in the bushman’s art of handling a stock-whip, and knew, if I
kept perfectly still, I was quite safe. It was thanks to uncle Jay-Jay
that I was able to bear the operation with unruffled equanimity, as he
was in the habit of testing my nerves in this way.
“Well, I never! Not so much as blinked an eyelash! Thoroughbred!” He
said after a minute or so, “Where’s the boss?”
“In Gool-Gool. He won’t be home till late.”
“Is Mrs Bossier in?”
“No, she’s not, but Mrs Bell is somewhere around in front.”
“Thanks.”
I watched him as he walked away with an easy swinging stride, which
spoke of many long, long days in the saddle. I felt certain as I
watched him that he had quite forgotten the incident of the little girl
with the lemons.
“Sybylla, hurry up and get dressed. Put on your best bib and tucker,
and I will leave Harry Beecham in your charge, as I want to superintend
the making of some of the dishes myself this evening.”
“It’s too early to put on my evening dress, isn’t it, auntie?
“It is rather early; but you can’t spare time to change twice. Dress
yourself completely; you don’t know what minute your uncle and his
worship will arrive.”
I had taken a dip in the creek, so had not to bathe, and it took me but
a short time to don full war-paint—blue evening dress, satin slippers,
and all. I wore my hair flowing, simply tied with a ribbon. I slipped
out into the passage and called aunt Helen. She came.
“I’m ready, auntie. Where is he?”
“In the dining-room.”
“Come into the drawing-room and call him. I will take charge of him
till you are at leisure. But, auntie, it will be a long time till
dinner—how on earth will I manage him?”
“Manage him!” she laughed; “he is not at all an obstreperous
character.”
We had reached the drawing-room by this, and I looked at myself in the
looking-glass while aunt Helen went to summon Harold Augustus Beecham,
bachelor, owner of Five-Bob Downs, Wyambeet, Wallerawang West,
Quat-Quatta, and a couple more stations in New South Wales, besides an
extensive one in Queensland.
I noticed as he entered the door that since I had seen him he had
washed, combed his stiff black hair, and divested himself of his hat,
spurs, and whip—his leggings had perforce to remain, as his nether
garment was a pair of closely fitting grey cloth riding-breeches, which
clearly defined the shapely contour of his lower limbs.
“Harry, this is Sybylla. I’m sure you need no further introduction.
Excuse me, I have something on the fire which is likely to burn.” And
aunt Helen hurried off leaving us facing each other.
He stared down at me with undisguised surprise. I looked up at him and
laughed merrily. The fun was all on my side. He was a great big
man—rich and important. I was a chit—an insignificant nonentity—yet,
despite his sex, size, and importance, I was complete master of that
situation, and knew it: thus I laughed.
I saw that he recognized me again by the dusky red he flushed beneath
his sun-darkened skin. No doubt he regretted having called me a filly
above all things. He bowed stiffly, but I held out my hand, saying:
“Do shake hands. When introduced I always shake hands with anyone I
think I’ll like. Besides, I seem to know you well. Just think of all
the apples you brought me!”
He acceded to my request, holding my hand a deal longer than necessary,
and looking at me helplessly. It amused me greatly, for I saw that it
was he who did not know how to manage me, and not I that couldn’t
manage him.
“’Pon my honour, Miss Melvyn, I had no idea it was you, when I said—”
Here he boggled completely, which had the effect of reviving my
laughter.
“You had no right to be dressed like that—deceiving a fellow. It wasn’t
fair.”
“That’s the best of it. It shows what a larrikin Don Juan sort of
character you are. You can’t deceive me now if you pretend to be a
virtuous well-behaved member of society.”
“That is the first time I’ve ever meddled with any of the kitchen fry,
and, by Jove, it will be the last!” he said energetically. “I’ve got
myself into a pretty mess.”
“What nonsense you talk,” I replied. “If you say another word about it,
I’ll write a full account of it and paste it in my scrapbook. But if
you don’t worry about it, neither will I. You said nothing very
uncomplimentary; in fact, I was quite flattered.”
I was perched on the high end of a couch, and he was leaning with big
careless ease on the piano. Had grannie seen me, I would have been
lectured about unladylike behaviour.
“What is your uncle at today?” he inquired.
“He’s not at anything. He went to Gool-Gool yesterday on the jury.
Court finishes up today, and he is going to bring the judge home
tonight. That’s why I am dressed so carefully,” I answered.
“Good gracious! I never thought of court this time as I wasn’t called
on the jury, and for a wonder hadn’t so much as a case against a
Chinaman. I was going to stay tonight, but can’t if his worship is
going to dine here.”
“Why? You’re surely not afraid of Judge Fossilt? He’s a very simple old
customer.”
“Imagine dining with a judge in this toggery!” and he glanced down his
great figure at his riding gear.
“That doesn’t matter; he’s near-sighted. I’ll get you put at the far
end of the table under my wing. Men don’t notice dress. If you weren’t
so big uncle or Frank Hawden could oblige you.”
“Do you think I could pass muster?”
“Yes; after I brush you down you’ll look as spruce as a brass penny.
“I did brush myself,” he answered.
“You brush yourself!” I retorted. “There’s a big splash of mud on your
shoulder. You couldn’t expect to do anything decently, for you’re only
a man, and men are the uselessest, good-for-nothingest, clumsiest
animals in the world. All they’re good for is to smoke and swear.”