A great change has occurred in our household. Guy's father is dead--his
latter years cheered by the accounts of his son's steadiness and
prosperity, and by the touching proofs thereof which Guy has exhibited.
For he insisted on repaying to his father the old college debts, and
the advance of the £1500, begging that the money might go towards his
sister's portion. Now, after the old gentleman's death, the sister
resolved to come out and live with her dear brother Guy. Another wing
is built to the hut. Ambitious plans for a new stone house, to be
commenced the following year, are entertained; and Guy has brought back
from Adelaide not only a sister, but, to my utter astonishment, a wife,
in the shape of a fair friend, by whom the sister was accompanied. The
young lady did quite right to come to Australia if she wanted to be
married. She was very pretty, and all the beaux in Adelaide were round
her in a moment. Guy was in love the first day--in a rage with thirty
rivals the next--in despair the third--put the question the fourth--and
before the fifteenth was a married man, hastening back with a treasure,
of which he fancied all the world was conspiring to rob him. His sister
was quite as pretty as her friend, and she too had offers enough the
moment she landed--only she was romantic and fastidious, and I fancy
Guy told her that "I was just made for her."
However, charming though she be--with pretty blue eyes, and her
brother's frank smile--I am not enchanted. I fancy she lost all chance
of my heart by stepping across the yard in a pair of silk shoes. If I
were to live in the Bush, give me a wife as a companion who can ride
well, leap over a ditch, walk beside me when I go forth, gun in hand,
for a shot at the kangaroos. But I dare not go on with the list of a
Bush husband's requisites. This change, however, serves, for various
reasons, to quicken my desire of return. Ten years have now elapsed,
and I have already obtained a much larger fortune than I had calculated
to make. Sorely to Guy's honest grief, I therefore wound up our
affairs, and dissolved partnership; for he had decided to pass his life
in the colony--and, with his pretty wife, who has grown very fond of
him, I don't wonder at it. Guy takes my share of the station and stock
off my hands; and, all accounts squared between us, I bid farewell to
the Bush. Despite all the motives that drew my heart homeward, it was
not without participation in the sorrow of my old companions, that I
took leave of those I might never see again on this side the grave.
The meanest man in my employ had grown a friend; and when those hard
hands grasped mine, and from many a breast that once had waged fierce
war with the world came the soft blessing to the Homeward-bound--with
a tender thought for the Old England, that had been but a harsh
step-mother to them--I felt a choking sensation, which I suspect is
little known to the friendships of Mayfair and St James's. I was forced
to get off, with a few broken words, when I had meant to part with
a long speech: perhaps the broken words pleased the audience better.
Spurring away, I gained a little eminence and looked back. There,
were the poor faithful fellows gathered in a ring, watching me--their
hats off--their hands shading their eyes from the sun. And Guy had
thrown himself on the ground, and I heard his loud sobs distinctly.
His wife was leaning over his shoulder, trying to soothe: forgive him,
fair helpmate, you will be all in the world to him--to-morrow! And
the blue-eyed sister, where was she? Had she no tears for the rough
friend who laughed at the silk shoes, and taught her how to hold the
reins, and never fear that the old pony would run away with her? What
matter?--if the tears were shed, they were hidden tears. No shame in
them, fair Ellen--since then, thou hast wept happy tears over thy
first-born--those tears have long ago washed away all bitterness in the
innocent memories of a girl's first fancy.