The gentlemen named strode into the roughly-furnished kitchen-like room,
looking as unlike a clergyman and a lawyer as could be imagined, for
both were dressed in well-worn garments, half farmer, half back wood
settler, the one with a thistle staff or spud in his hand, the other
shouldering a double gun, which, following the example of his companion,
he set up in a corner in company with the spud and a couple of fishing
rods and a landing-net, before going to the broad shelf over the
fire-place, upon which he placed a cartridge wallet, glancing at the
same time at another fowling-piece and four rifles hanging across upon
hooks.
The whole place was untidy, giving the notion to an observer that no
woman ever entered the shanty; but the firearms looked clean and bright,
and the gentleman who had just deposited the canvas wallet on the
mantel-board was probably answerable for the absence of dust, for he
took an old silk handkerchief from his pocket, and using it liberally,
flicked away a few traces of white wood-ash which had floated up from
the fire smouldering on the hearth in spite of the heat of the day.
"Hallo, boys!" he said; "back again?" and without waiting for an answer,
he continued, "What have you for dinner to-day, Lee?"
"Potatoes--damper--"
"Hang it all, man! There's a tin or two of preserved meat. One wasn't
finished."
"No," said the doctor; "I looked at it this morning, and it had gone
bad."
"Too bad to eat--for a hungry man?"
"Yes," said the doctor; "unless he wants to poison himself."
"This sounds cheerful, Bourne."
"Horrible! There, it's of no use to save up," said the gentleman
addressed. "You must give us the last tin of bouille beef."
"Gone bad too," said the doctor gruffly.
"What, have you opened it to see?"
"No; the top and bottom are both blown up in a curve with the bad gas
generated."
"Well, upon my word! Hear this, Wilton! Can anything be worse?"
"No. Who says home--Eastward Ho!" replied the gentleman addressed.
"Look here, Lee; we've been talking it all over as we went well over the
plantation this morning. Everything has gone wrong, and it's madness to
try any longer. Why, it's five years since we agreed to join hands and
lands and to work the fruit-farm into a success."
"Yes," said the doctor sadly; "and we've worked like slaves."
"I'm afraid," said the gentleman addressed as Bourne, "that no slaves
would have worked half so hard."
"That they would not," cried Wilton. "There, it's a failure, and we'd
better get to 'Frisco and take passage by a sailing-vessel while we have
the money. The plantation is going back to a state of nature, and we
shall waste time by trying any more."
"We ought to stay on for a bit," said the doctor, as the two boys stood
listening eagerly and forgetting all about the poor dinner to come.
"What!" cried Wilton, with a bitter laugh. "Who'd buy it?"
"Oh, we shouldn't make much; only enough to pay our passages back to
Liverpool. Some newcomer would be glad to have a place fenced in and
planted, and with all the improvements we have made."
"I, for one," said Mr Bourne firmly, "will not be a party to selling
such a miserable failure to a stranger."
"Nor I," cried Wilton angrily. "It wouldn't be honest."
"Well, I suppose not," said the doctor sadly. "I'm afraid--no matter
how little we obtained--I should feel as if I had swindled my
brother-seeker for prosperity. There, I'll join with you in what you
say. But what a failure we have made!"
"No, no, not altogether," said Ned's father warmly. "We have found what
we ought to think better than riches. Eh, Wilton?"
"Hah! Brother-grumbler, we have indeed," said the other. "I never
expected to be strong again."
"And we are," said Bourne. "Strong as horses, thanks to you, Lee."
"No, no, no, I won't take the undeserved credit, my dear fellows; thank
the climate and the out-door life. The place is a regular Eden."
"Only it won't grow us food-stuffs to live upon."
"Nor fruit to sell," added Wilton. "There, we've talked it over for
years, worked till we have been worn out, and hoped against hope. The
plantations are the homes of plagues of every noxious insect under the
western sun, so let's give it up and go."
"Agreed," said the others, and the boys joined in with a hearty
"Hurrah!"
"Then you won't mind going, Ned?" said Mr Bourne.
"No, father. I should like it--for some things," replied the boy
addressed, and he looked wistfully at his companion.
"What do you say, Chris?" cried the doctor. "You want to go, then?"
"Yes, fa, I should like to go to England again, but I shall be very
sorry to go away from here, for it is very beautiful, you know."
"But you'd like the change?"
"Yes, fa," said the boy frankly, "for some things. But I shouldn't like
it if Ned Bourne were not coming too."
"Oh! I should be coming too, shouldn't I, father?" said the other lad
eagerly.
"Of course, my boy. I dare say Doctor Lee will think out some plan by
which those years of companionship may be continued," looking at his
friends.
"Oh yes," cried Wilton eagerly; "that must be managed somehow. I should
say--Who's this?"
"Company?" said Ned's father, turning to look through the open door
towards the track leading to the next plantation.
"Our Yankee neighbour," said the doctor. "What does he want?"
"It's a patient for you, Lee," said Wilton.
"Hillo, you!" cried the newcomer, in a lusty voice, but in rather a
nasal sing-song tone. "Doctor there?"
"Yes; come in," was the reply, and a tall, sun-dried, keen-looking man
in grey flannels, the legs of which were tucked into his boots, dropped
the butt of his rifle on the earthen floor with a dull thud, as he
slouched into the room, to show the assembled party that the joke about
a patient for the doctor was a good guess, and that many a true word
really is spoken in jest.