THE HOME ON THE CREEK
“I think it's the loveliest home that ever was!” said Tommy solemnly.
“Well, indeed, it takes some beating,” Wally agreed.
“Creek Cottage”--the name was of Tommy's choosing--was ready for
occupation, and they had just finished a tour of it. There was nothing
in it that was not fresh and bright and dainty--like Tommy herself.
The rooms were small, but they had good windows, where the crisp, short
curtains were not allowed to obscure the view. There were fresh mattings
and linoleums on the floors, and the home-made furniture now boasted,
where necessary, curtains of chintz or cretonne, that matched its
colouring. Norah and Tommy had spent cheery hours over those draperies.
The curtains for Tommy's “suite” had been Norah's gift--of dark-green
linen, embroidered in dull blue silks; and in the corner there was a
little sofa with cushions of the same. Tommy had purred--was, in fact,
still purring--over that home-made furniture, and declared it superior
to any that money could buy. She had also suggested new ideas for
shelves.
They had not troubled furniture shops much. Save for a few comfortable
arm-chairs, there was nothing solid and heavy in the house; but it was
all pleasant and home-like, and the little rooms, bright with books
and pictures and flowers, had about them the touch of welcome and
restfulness that makes the difference between a home and a mere house.
The kitchen was Tommy's especial pride--it was cool and spotless, with
fresh-painted walls and ceilings, and shining white tiles round the
white sink--over which Wally's draining-rack sat in glory. Dazzling
tin-ware decorated the walls, and the dresser held fresh and pretty
china. For weeks it had been a point of honour for no one to visit
Cunjee without bringing Tommy a gift for the kitchen--meat fork, a set
of skewers, a tin pepper castor; offerings wrapped in many coverings of
tissue paper, and presented with great solemnity, generally at dinner.
The last parcel had been from Mr. Linton, and had eclipsed all the
others--an alarum clock, warranted to drive the soundest sleeper from
her bed. Bob declared it specially designed to ensure his getting fed at
something approaching a reasonable hour.
A wide verandah ran round the whole house, and rush lounges and deck
chairs stood about invitingly--Tommy had insisted that there should
be plenty of seating accommodation on the verandah for all the Linton
party, since they filled the little rooms to an alarming extent.
Near where they stood the drawing-room opened out by a French window.
Something caught Tommy's eye, and she dived into the room--to return,
laughing with new treasure-trove--a sink brush and saucepan-scrubber,
tied up with blue ribbon.
“Your doing?” she asked, brandishing them.
“Not mine.” Wally shook his head. “I don't do frivolous things like
that. But I heard Jim wheedling blue ribbon out of Norah this morning,
and I don't fancy he has much use for it ordinarily. You'd better ask
him.”
“It's like both of you--you nice stupids!” she said.
“What?--the pot-scrub! That's not polite of you, Miss Rainham; and so
untrue, where I'm concerned.” Wally sat down on the arm of a lounge and
regarded her with a twinkle. “What's old Bob doing?”
Tommy laughed happily.
“I think whenever we don't know where Bob is, he's safe to be out
looking at either the sheep or the pigs,” she said. “He just loves them;
and he says he can see them growing.”
There was a hint of Spring in the air, and more than a hint of good
grass in the green paddocks stretching away from the house. By the creek
the willows were putting out long, tender shoots that would soon be a
thick curtain. The lucerne patch that stretched along its bank was dense
and high. The Rainhams had been delayed in taking possession of Creek
Cottage; a severe cold had smitten Tommy just at the end of her labours
in the hospital, and, being thoroughly tired out, it had been some time
before she could shake off its effects. Mr. Linton and Norah had put
down their feet with joint firmness, declaring that in no circumstances
should she begin housekeeping until she was thoroughly fit; so the
Rainhams had remained at Billabong. Tommy was petted and nursed in a
way she had not known since Aunt Margaret had died, while Bob worked
feverishly at his farm, riding over every day from Billabong, with a
package of Brownie's sandwiches in his pocket, and returning at
dusk, dirty and happy. Bob was responding to Australian conditions
delightfully, and was only discontented because he could not make his
farm all that he wanted it to be within the first week.
Therein, however, he had unexpected help. The Cunjee district was a
friendly one; station owners and farmers alike looked kindly on
the young immigrant who turned so readily to work after four years'
fighting. Moreover, Tommy's work in the hospital was well known; the
general opinion being that “anything might be expected from young
Norah Linton, but you wouldn't think a bit of a new-chum kid like Bob
Rainham's sister would turn to and cook for a crowd, and she hardly off
the ship!” So the district laid its heads together and consulted Mr.
Linton; with the result that one morning Bob found himself unexpectedly
accompanied to work by his host. It was nothing unusual for Jim or
Wally, or both, to go with him. He was cutting a drain, which they
declared to be a job for which they had a particular fancy. But to-day
he found Monarch saddled with the other horses, and Mr. Linton, not only
ready to start, but hurrying them off; and there was no lunch to carry,
Norah airily declaring that since she and Tommy were to be deserted
they declined to be downtrodden, and would motor over with a hamper and
picnic at Creek Cottage. There was a mysterious twinkle in Norah's eye;
Bob scented something afoot, and tried--in vain--to pump her on the
matter. He rode away, his curiosity unsatisfied.
But when they rode up the homestead paddock at his farm, he gave a long
whistle.
“What on earth--?” he began amazedly.
There were men in sight everywhere, and all working. Eight or nine
ploughs were moving across the paddocks destined for cultivation;
already wide strips of freshly turned earth showed that they had been
some time at work. On the flat where Bob had begun his drain was a line
of men, and some teams with earth-scoops, cutting a deep channel. There
were even men digging in the garden; and the sound of axes came faintly
from a belt of scrub that Bob was planning to clear--some day. He gaped
at them.
“What does it mean?”
“It's a bee,” said Wally kindly. “A busy bee, improving each shining
hour.”
Bob turned a puzzled, half-distressed face to Mr. Linton.
“I say, sir--what is it?”
“It's just that, my boy,” said David Linton. “The district had a fancy
to help you--Cunjee thinks a heap of soldiers, you see. So a lot of the
fellows got together and planned to put in a day on the creek, doing odd
jobs.”
“I say,” said poor Bob flushing scarlet, “I never heard such a
thing--and I hardly know any of them. Whatever am I to say to them,
sir?”
“I wouldn't say much at all,” said David Linton laughing. “You'll only
embarrass them if you do. Just take a hand in any job you like, and
carry on--as we're all going to do.”
“There's one man you know, anyhow,” said Jim grinning. He pointed out
old Joe Howard, the nearest to them among the ploughmen.
“Heavens!” ejaculated Bob. “You don't mean to tell me old Joe has come
of his own accord!”
“Couldn't keep him away,” Jim said. “He remarked that you were a very
decent young feller, and he'd taught you how to work, so he might as
well lend an 'and. It's like old Joe's cheek, but he'll claim for ever
that he made you a worker.”
“Oh, let him,” said Bob. “It doesn't hurt me, and it may amuse him.” His
gaze travelled across the busy paddocks. “Well--I'm just staggered,” he
said. “The least I can do is to get to work quickly.”
They turned the horses out and scattered; Bob to cutting scrub--it was
the job he liked least, so it seemed to him the decent thing to tackle
it--Jim to the drain construction, while Wally joined the band of
workers in the garden, since he knew Tommy's plans concerning it; and
Mr. Linton attacked a fence that needed repairs. In the middle of the
morning came the Billabong motor, driven by Norah, with Brownie and a
maid in the tonneau with Tommy, and hampers packed wherever possible. A
cart with other supplies had been driven over by Evans in the very early
morning, since Billabong had undertaken the feeding of the workers for
the day. The Rolls-Royce picked its way delicately round the paddocks,
while the girls carried drinks and huge slabs of cake to the different
bands of workers--this being the time for “smoke-oh.” Then they hurried
back to the cottage, where Brownie and Maria were busy unpacking hampers
on the verandah, and Brownie was preparing to carve great joints of beef
and mutton and pork in readiness for the hungry horde that would descend
on them at dinner time.
It was all ready when the men trooped up from the paddocks--squatters
and stockmen, farmers, horse breakers, bush workers of every degree;
all dirty and cheery, and filled with a mighty hunger. Soap and water
awaited them at the back; then they came round to sit on the edge of the
long verandahs, balancing heaped plates on their knees, and making short
work of Brownie's provisions. Jokes and cheery talk filled the air.
Tommy, carrying plates shyly at first, found herself the object of much
friendly interest. “Little Miss Immigrant,” they called her, and vied
with each other in making her feel that they were all welcoming her. But
they did not waste much time over dinner--soon one after another got
up and sauntered away, lighting his pipe, and presently there were
straggling lines of figures going back to work across the paddocks.
After which Norah and Tommy bullied Bob into eating something--he had
been far too anxious to wait on his hungry “bee” to think of feeding
himself, and then the ladies of the party lunched with the ardour of the
long-delayed, and fell upon the colossal business of dish-washing.
Afternoon tea came early, by which time nearly all the ploughing was
done, and the brown ribbon of the new drain stretched, wide and deep,
across the flat. The girls took the meal round the paddocks, this time
with Bob to carry the steaming billies of tea; it gave him a chance to
thank his helpers, when it was difficult to say whether the thanker or
the thanked were the more embarrassed. Soon after “cow time” loomed for
some of the workers, and whatever waits in Australia, it must not be
the cow; so that here and there a man shouldered his tools, and, leaving
them at the shed, caught his horse and rode away--apologizing to Bob, if
he happened to meet him, for going so early, with the brief apology of
the dairy farmer, “Gotter get home an' milk.” But the majority worked on
until dusk came down and put an end to their efforts, and then came up
for their horses, singing and laughing.
Bob stood at the gate, bareheaded, as they rode away. By this time he
had no words at all. He wished from the bottom of his heart that he
could tell them what good fellows he thought them; but he could only
stand, holding the gate for them with Tommy by his side; and it may
be that the look on each tired young face moved “the bee” more than
eloquence would have done. They shouted cheery good-byes as they went.
“Good luck, Miss Immigrant! Good luck, Captain!” And the dusk swallowed
them up, leaving only the sound of the cantering hoofs.
Thanks to “the bee,” the little farm on the creek looked very
flourishing on the great day when the lady of the house came down in
state to take possession of her domain. Bob had worked hard in the
garden, where already rows of vegetables showed well; Jim and Wally had
aided Norah and Tommy in the making of a flower garden, laying heavy
toll on Hogg's stores for the purpose; to-day it was golden and white
with daffodils and narcissi and snowdrops. The cultivation paddocks, no
longer brown, rippled with green oats; and cattle were grazing on
the rough grass of the flats, once a swamp, but already showing the
influence of the big drain. Bob had great plans for ploughing all his
flats next year. Dairy cows pastured in the creek paddock near the
house; beyond, Bob's beloved sheep were steadily engrossed in the
fascinating pursuit of “turning into wool and mutton.” He never grew
tired of watching the process.
The ever-present problem of labour, too, had solved itself pleasantly
enough. Sarah, for many years housemaid at Billabong, had married a
man on a farm near Cunjee, whose first attempt at renting a place for
himself had been brought to an untimely end by the drought; and Sarah
had returned to Billabong, to help in preparing for the home-coming of
the long-absent family, while her husband secured a temporary job in
Cunjee and looked about for another chance. There Jim had found him,
while helping at the hospital; the end of the matter being that Sarah
and Bill and their baby were installed at Creek Cottage, Bill to be
general utility man on the farm, and to have a share of profits, while
Sarah helped Tommy in the house. Every one was satisfied, and already
there were indications that Tommy would be daft over the baby.
Sarah came out now to say that tea was ready--she had insisted on being
responsible for everything on this first day. Not that there was much
to do, for Brownie had sent over a colossal hamper, declaring that Miss
Tommy shouldn't be bothered with thinking about food when she wasn't
'ardly settled. So they packed into the little dining-room; where,
indeed, it took no small ingenuity to stow so large a party, when three
of the six happened to be of the size of David Linton and Jim and Wally;
and Tommy did the honours of her own table for the first time.
“And to think,” she said presently, “that six months ago there was only
Lancaster Gate! Of course, there was always Bob”--she flashed him a
quick smile--“but Bob was--”
“In the air,” put in Norah.
“Very much so. And it didn't seem a bit certain that I could ever get
him out of it; or, if I did, that I could ever escape from Lancaster
Gate.”
“And you wouldn't, if the she-dragon had had her way,” Bob said.
“No. There was nothing to do but run. But even when I dreamed of
running, I never thought of more than a workman's cottage, with you
earning wages and me trying to make both ends meet. And now--look at us!
Bloated capitalists and station owners.”
“Well, you were a cook not so long ago. I wouldn't be too proud,” Wally
gibed.
“All the more reason for me to be proud--I've risen in the world,”
declared Tommy. “Left my situation to better myself--isn't that
the right way to put it? And we've got the jolliest home in
Australia--thanks to all of you. Do have some more cake, Mr. Linton; I'd
love to say I made it myself, but Brownie did--still, all the same, it's
mine.”
“Don't you worry,” he told her. “I'm coming here plenty of times for
cake of your own baking.”
“That's what I want.” She beamed at him. “All of you. Bob and I will
feel lost and lonesome if we don't see you all--oh, often.”
“But you're going to,” Norah said. “We'll be over goodness knows how
many times a week, and you two are always coming to dinner on Sunday,
and ever so many other days as well.”
“Was it in your plans that any work should be done on this estate?”
queried Bob solemnly.
“Why, yes, in your spare time,” Wally answered. “Any time you're not on
the road between here and Billabong, or catching a horse to go there, or
letting one go after coming back, or minding the Billabong horde when it
comes over, you can do a little towards improving the creek. I say, Bob,
it sounds the sort of life I'd love. Can't you give me a job, old man?”
“Seeing that you've done little but work on this place since you came
back from Queensland, I shouldn't think you'd need to ask for a job,”
retorted Bob. “However, I'll take you on as milker if you like--it's
about the only thing you haven't sampled.”
“No,” said Wally, “you won't. Whatever beast I finally take to by way
of earning my living, it won't be the cow--if I can help it. I'd sooner
graze giraffes!”
“Oh, do try!” Norah begged. “I'd love to see you trying to put a bridle
on one in a hurry!”
“Wonder what would happen if one rode a giraffe and he reared?” pondered
Jim.
“You'd have to swarm up his neck and hang on to his little horns,” Wally
said. “But they're nice, silent beasts, giraffes, and I think they'd be
very restful to deal with.”
Every one laughed unsympathetically. Restfulness was the last quality
to be associated with Wally, who had been remarkable throughout his life
for total inability to keep still.
“It's always the way,” said Wally, in tones of melancholy. “Every
fortune teller I ever saw told me that no one understood me.”
“All fortune tellers say that, and that's why people think them so
clever,” said Tommy. “It's so soothing to think one is misunderstood. My
stepmother always thought so. Did Bob tell you, Mr. Linton, that we had
had letters from home?”
“No--from your people?”
“From Papa. The she-dragon didn't write. I think her words would
have been too burning to put on paper. But Papa wrote a pretty decent
letter--for him. He didn't speak of our letters from Liverpool--the
notes we wrote from the hotel, saying we were leaving for Australia.
But he acknowledged Bob's letter from Melbourne, saying we were going
up country under your wing, and actually wished us luck! Amazing, from
Papa!”
“I think he's jolly glad we got away,” Bob said.
“I think that's highly probable,” said David Linton. “You'll write to
him occasionally, won't you?”
“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” Bob answered. “Sometimes I'm a bit sorry
for him; it must be pretty awful to be always under the heel of a
she-dragon. Oh, and there was a really fatherly sort of letter from old
Mr. Clinton. He's an old brick; and he's quite pleased about our finding
you--or you finding us. He was always a bit worried lest Tommy should
feel lonesome in Australia.”
“And not you?” Norah asked laughing.
“No, he didn't worry a bit about me; he merely hoped I'd be working
too hard to notice lonesomeness. I think the old chap always was a bit
doubtful that any fellow would get down to solid work after flying; he
used to say the two things wouldn't agree. But you sent him a decent
report of me, didn't you, sir?”
“Oh, yes--I wrote when you asked me, just after you bought this place,”
David Linton said. “Told him you were working like a cart-horse, which
was no more than the truth, and that Tommy was serving her adopted
country as a cook; and that I considered your prospects good. He'll have
had that letter before now--and I suppose others from you.”
“We wrote a few weeks ago--sent him a photograph of the house, and
of Tommy on a horse, and Tommy told him all about our furniture,” Bob
chuckled. “I don't quite know how a staid old London lawyer will regard
the furniture; he won't understand its beauty a bit. But he ought to be
impressed with our stern regard for economy.”
“He should,” said Mr. Linton with a twinkle. “And I presume you
mentioned the sheep?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Tommy confidentially, “his letter was little
but mutton. He described all his ewes in detail--”
“Colour of their eyes?” queried Wally.
“And their hair,” nodded Tommy. “I never read anything so poetical. And
any enthusiasm he had over went to the pigs and the Kelpie pup!”
“But what about the cows?” laughed Norah. “And the young bullocks?”
“Oh, he mentioned them. But cattle are just four-legged animals to
Bob; they don't stir his soul like sheep and pigs. He couldn't write
beautiful things about them. But when it comes to sheep, he just
naturally turns into a poet!”
The object of these remarks helped himself serenely to cake.
“Go on,” he nodded at his sister cheerfully. “Wait until my wool cheque
comes in, and you want a new frock--then you'll speak respectfully of my
little merinoes. And if you don't, you won't get the frock!”
“Why, I wouldn't disrespect them for anything,” Tommy said. “I think
they're lovely beasts. So graceful and agile. Will any of them come yet
when you whistle, Bobby?”
“Are you going to put up with this sort of thing, Bob?” demanded Jim.
Bob smiled sweetly.
“I'm letting her have her head,” he said confidently. “It's badly
swelled just now, because she's got a house of her own--but you wait
until she wants a new set of shelves, or a horse caught in a hurry
so that she can tear over and find out from Norah how to cook
something--then she'll come to heel. It's something in your climate, I
think, because she was never so cheeky at home--meek was more the word
to describe her.”
“Meek!” said his sister indignantly. “Indeed, I never was meek in my
life!”
“Indeed you were, and it was very becoming,” Bob assured her. “Now
you're more like a suffragette--” He stopped, staring. “Why, that's it!
It must be in the air! She knows she'll have the vote pretty soon!” He
broke into laughter. “Glory! Fancy little Tommy with a vote!”
Tommy joined in the general mirth.
“I hadn't realized it,” she said, “and I needn't bother for over
eighteen months, anyhow. And I don't believe that any of you have ever
voted, even if you are twenty-one--except Mr. Linton, of course; and you
don't know a bit more about it than I do.”
“Hear, hear!” said Wally. “I certainly don't, and neither does Jim. But
when we do vote, it's going to be for the chap who'll let us go and dig
our own coal out if there's a strike. That's sense; and it seems to me
the only sensible thing I've ever heard of in politics!” A speech which
manifested so unusual an amount of reflection in Wally that every one
was spellbound, and professed inability to eat any more.
Bob and Tommy stood on the verandah to watch their visitors go; Mr.
Linton and Norah in the motor, while Jim and Wally rode. The merry
shouts of farewell echoed through the gathering dusk.
“Bless them,” said Tommy--“the dears. I don't believe we'd have a home
now but for them, Bob.”
“We certainly wouldn't,” Bob answered. “And sometimes I feel as if
they'd spoon-fed us. Look at all they've done for us--these months at
Billabong and all they've taught us, and all the things that they've
showered on us. We couldn't pay them back in twenty years.”
“And they talk as if the favour were on their side,” his sister said.
“There's the buggy they've lent us--Mr. Linton spent quite a long time
in pointing out to me how desirable it was for them that we should use
it, now that they have the car and don't need it. And the horses that
apparently would have gone to rack and ruin from idleness if we hadn't
come.”
“And the cows that don't seem to have had any reason for existence
except to supply us with milk,” Bob said laughing; “and the farm
machinery that never was really appreciated until immigrants came
along--at least, you'd think so to hear Jim talk, only its condition
belies him. Oh, they're bricks, all right. Only I don't seem as if I
were standing squarely on my own feet.”
“I don't think we could expect to, just yet,” said Tommy pondering. “And
if they have helped us, Bobby, you can see they have loved doing it. It
would be ungracious for us not to take such help--given as it has been.”
“Yes, of course,” Bob answered and squared his shoulders. “Well,
I'm going to work like fury. The only thing I can do now is not to
disappoint them. I feel an awful new-chum, Tommy, but I've got to make
good.”
“Why, of course you're going to,” she said, slipping a hand through his
arm. “Jim wouldn't let you make mistakes; and the land is good, and
even if we strike a bad season, there's always the creek--we'll never be
without water, Jim says. And we're going to have the jolliest home--it's
that now, and we're going to make it better.”
“It's certainly that now,” Bob said. “I just can't believe it's ours.
Come and prowl round, old girl.”
They prowled round in the dusk; up and down the garden paths by the
nodding daffodils, out round the sheds and the pigsties, and so down
to where the creek rippled and murmured in the gloom, flowing through
paddocks that, on either side, were their own. Memories of war and of
gloomy London fell away from them; only the bright present and a future
yet more bright filled them; and there was no loneliness, since all
the big new country had smiled to them and stretched out hands of
friendliness. They came back slowly to their house, arm in arm; two
young things, like shadows in the gloom, but certain in their own minds
that they could conquer Australia.
Bob lit the hanging lamp in the little sitting-room, and looked round
him proudly. A photograph caught his eye; a large group at his Surrey
Aerodrome, young officers clustered round a bi-plane that had just
landed.
“Poor chaps,” he said, and stared at them. “Most of 'em don't know yet
that there's anything better in the world than flying.”
“But they've never met merino sheep,” said Tommy solemnly.