It will be remembered that my first impressions as regarded Beryl
Matterson savoured somewhat of disappointment. By the time I had dwelt
a week beneath the same roof I could only marvel how such could have
been the case. Now I had dwelt beneath it a month, and the prospect of
life apart from her presence seemed not worth contemplating. To such a
pass had things come.
What a time that had been--golden, idyllic! When I was not accompanying
Brian or his father upon their rides or walks, on stock supervision or
sport intent, I would inveigle Beryl forth on the plea of being put _au
courant_ with the flora and fauna of the country. Nor was the plea a
fictitious one, for I had always had a leaning towards natural history,
albeit precious little time or opportunity for indulging the same; but
now, with such a companion, and such a taste in common! Ah, those long
rides, the glorious sense of freedom and glowing enjoyment, the
exhilaration of the atmosphere, the deep unclouded blue of the heavens,
the rolling bush country--earth, air, foliage, all athrill with
pulsating life, animal or insect life, never silent, never for a moment
still--small wonder that those days should go by as in a very dream of
Paradise!
But real life is not idyllic, only its episodes, and they but rarely;
wherefore, fearing to outstay my welcome, I mooted the subject of moving
on. Brian's blank stare of amazement was something to behold.
"Why, Holt, you've only just begun to know us," he said, "and it would
be affectation to suppose you are not enjoying your stay, because any
one could see that you are, even if you hadn't said so yourself. You
can't leave us yet. You mustn't think of it--must he, dad?"
"Certainly not," declared Septimus Matterson with all his wonted
decision. "Why, Iris would cry her eyes out. She's quite fallen in
love with you, Holt."
For the little girl had returned home, and her seaside adventure--with
me in the role of rescuing hero--had been made known. She had bound
Brian to secrecy on the subject during her absence, lest her amusements
should be restricted and herself placed under an irksome surveillance.
Further than that he refused to be bound, nor did she herself desire it.
On receipt of which tidings I really have the most confused
recollection of what was said to me by each and all, or of the
banalities I stuttered out as the nearest approach to a "suitable
reply." The only definite thing that lives in my memory is the physical
agony I strove to repress what time Septimus Matterson's iron grip
enclosed my own far from delicate paw, while he declared that his house
was henceforth as much my home as it was that of his own children,
whenever and as long as I chose to make use of it--a declaration which
went far to neutralise the excruciating experience which emphasised it,
remembering that the said home was that of Beryl also. Even George was
graciously pleased to approve of me, and in the result ceased to play me
monkey tricks or to make me the butt of his covert impertinence.
"Man, Mr Holt, but that was fine!" he pronounced in reference to the
episode. "_Ja_, I'd like to have been there! But I thought fellows
from England couldn't do anything of that sort."
"Let it be a lesson to you then, George," I said with dignity, "that
`fellows from England' are not necessarily asses."
Then I felt foolish, for the remark savoured of a touch of complacent
brag, and Beryl was a witness. But she seemed to read my inner
confusion, and smiled reassuringly.
"There was Trask," went on the imp; "when he first came out he couldn't
hit a house unless he was shut up inside it. He couldn't sit a horse
either. _Ja_, we used to have fun out of Trask."
"I should say _Mr._ Trask, George," said Beryl.
The correction was received with a lordly contempt, as the young rascal
went on--
"Can you sit a bucking horse, Mr Holt?"
"Did you ever hear what the man said when he was asked if he could open
oysters, George?" I said.
"No. What?"
"I've never tried."
He looked puzzled, then annoyed. Beryl and Iris broke into a peal of
laughter.
"Don't see where any joke comes in," he grunted. "But why not have a
try now, Mr Holt? There's Bontebok up in the stable. He always bucks
when you first get on him. I'll go and tell Sixpence to saddle him up
just now."
"You'll do nothing of the sort, George," pronounced Iris decisively.
"You're a great deal too cheeky. I wonder Mr Holt stands it. Besides,
we want him to go out with us."
That dear little girl! I was fond of her already, but more than ever
now that she had come to my rescue in that whole-hearted and tactful
fashion. For I did not want to make an exhibition of myself and furnish
forth a circus entertainment with Beryl for audience; and it would have
been difficult, unaided, to have backed out of what was in effect a
challenge, without jeopardising my reputation.
"Another time, George. Another time," I answered loftily.
"Right you are; I'll tell them to keep Bontebok up," came the ready
response. "He'll be livelier in the morning."
The young villain, you see, was not going to let me down so easily.
"But I may not be. Those circus tricks are all very well for an
unfledged young monkey like you, George, but a middle-aged buffer isn't
always on for that sort of game."
"Middle-aged buffer! That's good," jeered the young rascal. "Why, you
and Brian were at school together."
"Oh, George, will you scoot?" interrupted Iris, emphasising the
injunction with a far from gentle push. "You're getting such a bore,
you know. Go and make yourself useful in some way, if you can. Get the
air-gun and go and shoot some mouse birds. Brian and dad both want some
tails to clean their pipes with."
"Can't. Dad'd object. It's Sunday."
"Well, anyhow--scoot. I don't want you. So long."
"I'm on for a swim in the dam," was the answer. "I'll go and rout out
Brian."
Iris, you see, ruled the house, including George. Including me, I might
add; but for me her rule was light. She was almost more grateful to me
for keeping my own counsel upon it than for getting her out of her
perilous predicament. Anyhow, we were great friends, and she teased me
with the same freedom and whole-heartedness that she teased Brian, who
idolised her; but in her bright, pretty, engaging little ways there was
none of the covert impudence that characterised Master George's attempts
at banter.
"I hear you are going to stay with us altogether, Mr Holt," she broke
out suddenly an hour later as we were resting, having gained the
objective of our Sunday afternoon stroll--a beautiful spot deep down in
a kloof, where a pile of rocks all festooned with maidenhair fern
overhung a large water-hole, and on the lower side steep upsweeping
slopes of foliage cut a sharp V of green and gold against the azure of
an unclouded sky, while the varied call and whistle of birds kept up a
continuous echo of melody. Whoever it was who gave rise to the saying
that South African birds have no song is guilty of libel, for the
varying and melodious cheeriness of the bird voices, at any rate in bush
country, constitutes one of its greatest charms, and the very
unfamiliarity of these is in effective keeping with the wildness of the
surroundings.
"Well, for some little time, at any rate," I answered.
"I'm glad. You're rather a good chap, you know, Mr Holt."
Beryl and I exchanged glances, she intensely amused, while I laughed
outright.
"I didn't know it, Iris; but am delighted to learn the fact on your
indisputable authority," I answered.
She flung a handful of grass sprays at me, which she had been absently
plucking.
"Don't use those beastly long words," she said. "No, but really I am
glad."
The straight glance of the pretty blue eyes full upon my face expressed
all a delightful child's genuine liking. I own to having felt in my
innermost self considerably moved thereby.
"I must take off my hat this time," I said, suiting the action to the
word with a sweep of mock elaboration. "Miss Matterson, will you second
the resolution just proposed?" I added, turning to Beryl.
"Ah, why do you always say `Miss Matterson'?" interrupted Iris
decisively. "It's so stiff. Why don't you say `Beryl'?"
"May I?" was the obvious rejoinder--indeed, the only possible one.
"Why not, Mr Holt? I'm sure if there is anybody whom we have every
reason to look upon as one of ourselves it is you." Yet with the words,
frank and friendly as they were, ever so slight a colour had come into
the sweet calm face. But before I could make any reply Iris emitted a
loud whistle.
"Look at that, Beryl," she cried derisively. "And then you call him
`Mr Holt.'"
"The very thing I was going to remark upon," I said.
"Very well, then," said Beryl. "Then I won't do it again." This time
the colour had disappeared, but I could have sworn I caught a momentary
look in those soulful eyes that would have justified me, had I been
alone, in throwing my hat in the air and hooraying, or executing any
other frantic and maniacal manoeuvre indicative of delirious exaltation.
"Then it's a bargain," I said.
"Yes," smiled Beryl.
Now what had given rise to that dear child's original remark was a
certain conversation that had been held that morning over at the kraals
at counting-out time.
"Why don't you make up your mind to stop out here altogether, Holt?"
Brian had said, as, the job aforesaid over, we were leaning against a
gate watching the flocks streaming away to their respective pasture
grounds. "You seem to take to the life, too. Man, you'll never feel at
home in one of those beastly stuffy offices again after this, grinding
away at figures. Why don't you cut loose from it all, and fix up out
here? You can do it. Don't you think he ought, dad?"
"I think he might do worse," was the answer. "As you say, he seems to
take readily enough to it."
With the words an idea had flashed into my brain, an idea that was as a
veritable illumination.
"But before I could start on my own account I should want a precious
deal more experience than I've got at present," I said. "There are
heaps of things I should have to learn."
"Yes, you would have a good deal to learn," said Septimus Matterson,
shading a match with his hands as he lit his pipe.
"Look here, Mr Matterson," I said, coming straight to the point. "Will
you teach me--you and Brian? I am not a man of large means, but
anything in the way of a premium that you may think fair, I shall be
only too happy--er--er--that I am content to leave entirely to you," I
stuttered.
Septimus Matterson had lit his pipe now, and stood emitting puffs of
smoke slowly, while a queer smile deepened upon his strong handsome
face. Then he said--
"I don't often swear, Holt, as I believe you'll bear me out in saying.
But in this case I'm going to make an exception. Premium be damned!"
At this Brian threw back his head and roared, while I, puzzled, grinned
idiotically.
"What I mean is," he went on, "in the first place it's not likely I'd
take any remuneration from you for giving me a helping hand. Even if
you hadn't saved my darling little girl's life, as a friend of Brian's
you're heartily welcome to any assistance I could give you. Wait a
bit--" interrupting the protest I was trying to stammer forth. "In the
next place, we don't as a rule take premiums in this country for
teaching a fellow to farm--the few who do are generally just the ones
who can't teach him anything at all. And, finally, every word I said to
you the other day I meant. So if you're inclined to stay on here and
pick up your knowledge of the life and experience of the country by
helping us, why this place is your home for just as long as ever you
like to make it so."
"Rather," appended Brian in his quietly emphatic way. "Give us a fill,
dad," reaching out a hand for the paternal pouch.
I have but a confused idea of what I said in reply, probably something
incoherent, as my way is when genuinely moved, possibly because that is
a mental process I so seldom undergo. Anyhow, the matter was settled to
the satisfaction of all parties, which was the main thing.