A WEEK ON THE RIVER.
The time had come at last, and a merry party gathered to go off to the
river. They had chosen a spot a few miles from "Gillong." The Hudsons,
the Garlands, Enid and some of her friends, and the governess made up
the party.
Old Joe drove the cart with the tents, hammocks, and bags and boxes, and
after a lot of persuasion he let the twins and Doris drive with him.
"But, mind you, none of your tricks or nonsense," he threatened. "Doris
is as bad as the pair of you now."
"Oh, Joe, we'll be good!" declared the twins, with their
innocent-looking faces.
"All right, then, none of your pranks! D'you hear?"
"Yes, Joe."
"Well, mind you 'eed," he answered, as he started off.
For the first mile they were all right, and then they grew restive. When
Joe wasn't looking Keith would hang on to the tailboard of the cart with
his legs swinging in the air, and execute a high kick now and again,
much to the delight of the other two. Then, like a flash of lightning,
he would be back in his place if old Joe glanced round. But he played
the game once too often, and just in the middle of a high kick the cart
wheeled round the bend, and he was thrown far out on to the soft clover.
"Oh, Joe, Joe, pull up quick!" cried Doris. "You've thrown him out."
"Who? What?" cried Joe. "Threw him out!" and he pulled up with a jerk.
"Yes, Keith, round the last bend."
"Sakes alive, you'd send a man crazy, so you would. I 'ope he ain't
'urt," and he turned back quickly, to see our hero racing along and
crying at the top of his voice.
"Come 'ere and jump in. How did you fall out?"
"The c-a--rt bumped me--o--ut," sobbed Keith.
"Where was you sittin'?"
"N--o--t far from de others."
"Show me the spot," said Joe, sternly. "You must ha' been up to some of
your tricks. Where was you sittin'?"
"I was near the back of the ole cart," said Keith, sulkily.
"Was you hangin' out of it?"
No reply.
"Come on, out with it! Was you hangin' out of the cart?"
"Yes," said Keith, defiantly.
"Well, serves you right for fallin'. You might ha' broken your leg,
fallin' like that. You'll never drive with me again as long's my name's
Joe."
Then he lit his pipe and drove on and didn't speak to them again till
they reached the river; but the young rascals were whispering and
giggling together long before then--up to some fresh roguery.
Such a gay crowd set to work to pitch the tents and swing the hammocks,
and soon the fresh smell of cut timber and bruised leaves filled the
air, while laughter and merry voices were heard on every side.
The hammocks were mostly bags slung up with wire, and in some cases
sheets of wire-netting, with a rug thrown over them. But they swung
among the leafy branches under the fresh-smelling leaves, and there were
never better beds in the world! It was delightful to wake in the early
morning under a canopy of leaves, and see the sun peeping forth,
transforming the dew-tipped leaves and grass and gossamer spider-webs
into glistening jewel-like splendour. To hear the birds chirping and
twittering along the river, or watch them plunge into the stream. To
hear the flap of the fish as they sprang out of the water, and then to
hear the fire crackling merrily. At times like this they all wished they
were gipsies.
Then breakfast would come, with fish fresh from the river and potatoes
cooked in their jackets, and there was nothing but goodwill and
merriment from morning to night.
They would have tea as the evening shadows were creeping along the
river, and hear the birds fluttering and cooing among the branches, or
far along the river strange calls and chirps would be heard from strange
wild bush birds. Then the merry jackasses would give forth their jolly,
rollicking laugh, and wake up all the echoes; and the children would
join with them, till there was perfect pandemonium. And by-and-bye a
great golden moon would swing in the sky, lighting up the scene into
fairy-like splendour, making the tents stand out whitely and
transforming the broad stretch of water into a golden sheen. This was
the time for stories, and they would gather round the camp fires and
listen while the "grown-ups" talked; and sometimes they would declare
that they could see gnomes and fairies high among the glistening gum
leaves, and even hear them chattering.
One night they found Keith and Kossie, armed with two little tomahawks,
just about to try and climb a great gum that had gnarled and knotted
branches, and they declared they were going up to give the gnomes the
fright of their lives.
"We wadn't goin' to hurt 'em; we was only goin' to have some fun," they
answered when Miss Gibson protested with them.
"When I grow up I'll settle some of dem old gnomes," said Keith, shaping
up to fight, "and I'm goin' to find de ole wolf dat nearly killed Red
Riding Hood and shoot him," he ended up, tragically.
"Oh, but the woodmen shot him!" cried Doris.
"Well, den I'll kill his brudder," declared Keith.
"That's right, you'll kill someone if you're not careful," said Frank,
with a hearty laugh. For Frank's laugh rang out gay and clear these
days, and oftimes Mother and Father would look at him and marvel at the
change.
"I don't think we did right by the lad, keeping him so long with us at
the work he must have hated," said Father.
"Oh, well! it will make him appreciate his good fortune all the more
now," said Mother. "And I don't think Frank regrets the time he spent
with us now, but it's nice to see him so happy."
The last evening came, as last evenings will, no matter how we try to
stay their progress. The last evening of a happy, care-free week--a week
to which many looked back in after years with a sigh or a smile, but
always with a tender memory.
"I wonder will we ever have another week here. I wonder where we'll all
be this time next year." And a great, great many more wonders were
voiced, as they gathered round the camp fire for the last time. And how
they did talk! The things they had meant to say for ever so long were
said to-night. Fresh stories and jokes were recounted, and from being at
first a somewhat saddened party, with the thought of the "break-up" in
the morning, they became noisy and gay. Just in the midst of the
laughter two little figures bounded up before them.
"Good gracious! Whatever's that? The twins!"
Sure enough it was the twins--the twins, smothered in mud and dirty
water, with dead leaves sticking to the mud that covered them, and
dirty, muddy water streaming from their clothes.
"Where have you been? I thought you were in bed?" and other questions
were put to them.
"So we wad, and we seen a rabbit and we jumped out an' chased him, and
Kossie fell in the river and I pulled him out----"
"An' den he fell in----" chipped in Kossie, "an' I pulled him out, and
den----"
"He fell in again!" shouted Keith, roaring with laughter at the thought.
"Dear, oh, dear! I thought you were the gnomes or the wild men of the
woods," cried Eva. "You do look funny."
"An' de rabbit got away----"
"Of course it did," said Colin. "It had more sense than you two."
Then they had to be bathed and put to bed and given a lecture, which
took no more effect on them than the proverbial water on the duck's
back.
There was more talking, followed by supper, and they climbed into their
hammocks, to sleep under the open skies, under a star-specked dome, for
the last time for many a month to come.
They were back again at "Gillong" a week after the week on the river.
They sat on the wooden verandah, the five of them, and gazed at the
great green stretch before them. Mother and Frank had driven to Bragan
Junction that morning, and they should be back any time now. Inside, the
governess wrote letters to Sydney.
"It's only a year ago that we sat here, drought-stricken," said Mollie.
"What a big, big difference in one year! Then we didn't know Uncle, and
we didn't know Sydney or Miss Gibson, or----"
"And Frank was here, working hard and sick of the drought, and----"
"And we didn't know the twins," chimed in Doris.
"No, and we didn't think we'd be going to Sydney again this year. Why,
in two months' time we'll be down there again, and Uncle will tell us
all about his wonderful trip--my word, I must look up my geography,"
said Eileen.
"And we didn't know Willie," shrieked Doris, at the top of her voice, "a
year ago."
"No, and now he's nearly our brother," said Eva.
"What a lot of good things have happened! I believe if we counted up
we'd get a dozen."
"And we didn't have the baby," shrieked Doris, louder still.
"Oh, no--no baby brother! I'd forgotten him," said Eileen.
"I think we often forget him--for a little while," said Eva. "We're so
used to talking about the five of us."
"Let's count all the good things; let's count quick!" shrieked Doris,
holding up her chubby fingers.
Baby held both her hands up.
"First--Uncle. Second----"
"Here they are. Here's Mother and Frank," called Eileen, "and whoever's
that with them? Why, it's Uncle! It's Uncle!" she shrieked. Sure enough
it was Uncle, smiling and smart and distinguished looking.
"Uncle, Uncle!" they shouted, and the five of them were hanging round
him, all asking questions at the one time.
"You didn't think your old Uncle could come up here without you knowing
all about it, did you? Well, Uncle is trying to be as clever as his
little bush nieces, and your Mamma and Frank kept the secret well."
"How long have you known? How long, Mum and Frank?"
"Ever since Frank came home," smiled Mother, "but I wanted to surprise
you."
"Ever since Frank came home?" they repeated, blankly. "However could you
keep the secret that long?"
"Why, couldn't you?" asked Uncle, looking knowingly at the five of them.
Then they all shrieked with laughter.
"It's the best thing in the world that could have happened," said Eva,
"just to have you back here again."
"Yes, and I want you all to hurry up and get ready to come to Sydney.
Can you manage in a month? I've taken a beautiful big house with
grounds, so I'll be looking out for you."
"Ready!" they cried. "Of course, we'll be ready. Oh, it will be
beautiful! Beautiful! Three cheers for Uncle!" they cried, dancing round
him.
It was late that night before the lights were out at "Gillong."
"I'll never grumble again as long as ever I live," said Eileen, as she
blew out the candle and slipped into bed.
"Oh, you've said that hundreds of times," said Mollie, sleepily.
"Yes, but I really mean it this time. I'll--never--grumble--again--as
long as--ever--I--live," she repeated, as she fell off to sleep.
The moon rose slowly over "Gillong"--a great golden moon--and sailed
high in a cloudless sky. Its rays lingered lovingly on the children in
their little white beds on the verandah. It flickered on the quivering
leaves of the gum trees in the garden, where Frank and Willie were
wrapped in a dreamless sleep in their swinging hammocks. Then it sailed
serenely on, casting its magic glow over the paddocks and scrubs and
creeks on "Gillong," till it paled before the glow of dawn in the
eastern sky.
CONCLUSION.
My dear Basil,
The days are growing longer. There is a tinge of summer warmth and
drowsiness in the air. The corn paddock at "Myall," which has been a
picture of vivid green, with the pale gold corn cobs peeping out of
their golden tresses and swathing of tenderest green, is turning to
rich, deep green, with red-gold and burnished cobs raising themselves
proudly erect or swaying in the breeze. The wheat field, too, is
turning to yellow with the rustling ears breathing ever a slight
cadence to the breeze. And with the growing length of days my picture,
too, is growing apace. I stand back and gaze at it ere I place my
brushes away for to-morrow's work. It is a picture of joyous young
life, of early blossom and fresh born greenery, of tender leaflet and
bud, of wattle's gold and a glimpse of road winding among forest
giants, and the spirit of the early tenderness and benediction of
Spring time breathes over all. If in the years to come I shall ever
again gaze on that picture, my thoughts shall go rushing back to
glorious, fresh-tinged days when all the world seemed young; to
lilting, joyous song of birds; to the gambols of those merry foals; to
the teeming, indescribable hum of insect life among those forest
trees; to the haunting perfume of that golden wattle--in fine, to all
the charm and allurement of Spring time in the open spaces.
The end of the year is not far off, and on the whole it has been a
year of interest, of pleasure. When one studies human nature, as well
as the great open Book of Nature around one, then the time flies by
all too quickly.
Soon I shall take a short holiday in Sydney, and just for a space
become one of the busy, hustling crowd, and revel in the glimpses of
shining water and twinkling fairy barques and harbour lights and
white-winged yachts, and then back again to the life of the Bushland,
and the pleasant task of teaching the dearest, funniest children I
have ever met--Five Little Bush Girls.
MARIE.
FINIS.
Transcriber's Notes
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