CHAPTER IVINTO THE UNKNOWNThey said good-bye to the "House Beautiful" in the early morning, while the roses on the porch were still wet with dew. One fragrant bud brushed Aileen's shoulder as she went, and she picked it, and tucked it into her coat. If a little shiver ran through her as the door closed behind her, she gave no sign. Their cab rattled off down the familiar suburban street. Neither Tom nor Aileen looked back.At the big station all was bustle and hurry: and soon they were in the train and slipping through the long miles of grey houses, until the just-awaking city was left far behind, and wide green paddocks and gum trees, tall and stately, surrounded them. Little townships, like beads upon a string, brought them to a halt every few miles: sometimes so close together that there seemed scarcely any break between the outlying homesteads."Plenty of settlement here now," Macleod said. "My mother used often to travel this road by coach, and it was a journey in the winter: the road was just a succession of bog-holes. There was one cheery spot known as the Glue-Pot. Passengers used to get out there, in a body; the women and children stood under the trees, often in pouring rain, while the men got their shoulders to the wheels and dragged and pushed the old coach through. It must have been hard on women with babies.""Ugh!" said Aileen. "Do you know, I think our mothers were made of better stuff than we are.""I don't," said her husband stoutly. "You aren't called upon to do what they did—you would do it if you were. But I don't think we men are anything like as good as our fathers: we're brought up softly, and we simply haven't got their muscle and endurance and pluck.""It's just the same with you—you would do what you had to.""I suppose we'd try. Honestly, though, we wouldn't get through as much. Every one thinks more nowadays of having a good time: the old people never took holidays, never had luxuries: worked year in and year out; had mighty few clothes, and patched them until they fell to pieces. I suppose that's partly how they made money. No, we're poor specimens compared to our fathers.""Well,Ithink you're just as good as Grandfather, and a jolly lot better!" said an indignant small voice; and Garth hurled himself tumultuously upon his father."It's something to have a champion, isn't it?" said Aileen, laughing. "Sonnie, this is where I tuck you up for a sleep," at which Garth protested that he had never been less tired in his life, but nevertheless submitted to being rolled up in a rug with his head on his mother's knee; where presently sleep came to him, and he lay peacefully while the train raced through the fertile paddocks that were once a desolate swamp, climbed the Haunted Hills laboriously, rattled down the other side, and so came upon wide plains where great bullocks ceased grazing to look lazily at the iron monster that came daily to disturb their solitude.Half the afternoon had waned when the train came to the end of its long journey, and they emerged from the station into a sleepy street where two-horse cabs waited to rattle them across Bairnsdale to the river. A paddle-steamer, moored to the wharf, was hooting as they approached, and late-comers were hurrying down the hill, fearful of being left behind. Having thus shown her independence by hooting, and every one being safely on board, the steamer decided not to hurry; and it was some time before she woke up to fresh energy, mooring ropes were cast off, and she churned her way into mid-stream.Garth was wildly excited. Already a big grey horse in a gig had supplied a private circus for his benefit, declining to cross the bridge over the river near the wharf, and showing its utter disapproval of all bridges by dancing wildly on its hind legs, while the girl who was driving beat it in vain. A parting hoot from the steamer's siren concluded the argument, so terrifying the horse that it dropped to all fours and, in desperation, bolted across the bridge, disappearing in mad career towards the town. Already, Garth decided; the country was showing extraordinary attractions: this sort of entertainment never happened in a Toorak street. And now they were slipping down the river, between high banks where pleasant houses perched, surrounded by beautiful gardens. Boat-houses were built at the edge of the water, whence flights of steps ran up the hill: and little boats, tied to stakes, rocked lazily as the steamer approached, and, as she passed them, executed a frenzied dance as the swish of the water from the paddle-wheels churned into the reeds along the bank. Sometimes a lone fisherman sat in a boat, patiently angling. These sportsmen regarded the steamer as a necessary evil, and dangled their baits in the air until the commotion of her passing should have subsided.A road wound along the river-bank. It was partly screened from view by trees, but sometimes they caught glimpses of people riding and driving, and once they saw a flock of sheep, driven by two boys, the younger of whom looked about Garth's age. A little later came three or four merry boys and girls, on ponies, racing, with shouts of laughter, along the track. Garth drew a long breath."Isn't the country a lovely place for boys, Dad!" he said."It seems pretty jolly, old man," his father answered. "How soon do you think you'll be able to ride like that?""I expect I'll have to get bucked off a good few times first," said the small boy soberly. "But it doesn't hurt much if you choose a soft spot to fall, Doctor says. He told me no one could ride until he'd been slung off seven times!""Well, a good many people couldn't ride if they had been off seventy-seven times," his father answered. "Some people aren't born to be riders.""Do you think I am?" queried Garth anxiously."Can't tell until I see you on a pony. You ought to be all right; there's a good deal in beginning young. You will be all right if you're not afraid," said his father.Garth's small face set firmly, and instinctively he stiffened his back. In his heart he was not quite sure that he was not a little afraid. But he hoped no one was going to guess it.Round a bend came a little sea-going steamer, trim and workmanlike. She passed them, so close that a biscuit could have been thrown from deck to deck. The two crews exchanged cheery greetings; the men on the incoming ship were busy getting everything in order as they neared the end of their long voyage from Melbourne."Some day, when we want an adventure, Garth, we'll go round to Melbourne in that boat," Macleod said, watching the steamer's stern as she ploughed her way up the river. "I believe she carries passengers.""Well, you'll get the adventure if you chance it in rough weather," said a man near them. "I bin round in her an' the ol'Despatchtoo: an' when it's fine it's a jolly good way of gettin' there. But when it's rough, it's a fair cow! One trip, we was four days instead of thirty-six hours, and every one ashore give us up for lost."Wrecked?" asked Garth, wide-eyed."'M. But we wasn't. We was sheltering in a little inlet, and lucky we was to get there. We put in at Waratah Bay an' tried to land, but all the ol' boat 'ud do was to try an' climb on the wharf, there was such a sea running: so we got out again. It wasn't no picnic. We hadn't any too much food—not that most of us had big appetites. She was standin' on her head all the time, when she wasn't doin' her best to lie down' on her side an' die, an' we were bruised black an' blue from bein' chucked about. I nearly had me arm broke, from bein' pitched out of me bunk, one night.""You had a bad time," Tom said."It was a fair cow. I guess even one of them big ocean liners might have bin a bit uncomfortable in that storm—and she was about three hundred tons! Anyhow, whatever she was, she could weather a storm better than most of them—there was bigger ships than her went down in that gale. We got to Melbourne all right, if we were a few days late. I guess the owners were pretty relieved when we came up the bay: I knowwewere!"He laughed, and drew out his pipe. He was an immensely tall man, with broad, stooping shoulders. A straggling beard ornamented a face burnt to the colour of brick-dust, in which twinkled little china-blue eyes. There was something very simple and friendly about him."But you have not always had bad trips?" Aileen asked."Bless you, no, lady. When it's fine I wouldn't ask no better way of getting about; an' I bin round often when there wasn't hardly a ripple the whole way. There was two young ladies once, travelling round, an' they slept out on deck both nights. Not that I've any fancy that way, meself; gimme a good, air-tight cabin. Oh, you wouldn't ask a nicer boat than theWyrallah—her we passed just now. I had a liking for the poor ol'Despatch; but she's gone now.""Where did she go?" Garth asked."Down to the bottom, son. She was tryin' to get into the Lakes' entrance in a heavy gale, with a bad cross-sea running. It's not an easy entrance—very narrow, and a nasty bar. The current took her a bit out of her track, an' she got on to a rock, an' went down. It happened mighty quick. There was lots of people in Gippsland as was sorry for the ol'Despatch. She wasn't a beauty, but she'd tramped up and down from Melbourne many a year, and we'd got a liking for her."He pointed ahead with his pipe-stem."We're getting into the lake."The high banks had changed to flats, across which they could see a broad sheet of water. The land between narrowed to a point; and presently they came out upon the placid waters of a wide lake rippling gently in the evening sunlight. In the reeds near the point great black swans were swimming. They rose as the steamer churned past them and sailed away into the western sky, the clang of their leader's note coming more and more faintly as they became dots on the blue."Some people as calls themselves sportsmen shoot those birds," said their new acquaintance scornfully. "Sportsmen, indeed! I'd as soon go out and shoot canaries, they're that tame. And they're no sort of use when they are shot; you'd have to be mighty hungry before you'd eat one.[image]"'Some people as calls themselves sportsmen shoot those birds.'""Are they tough?" Aileen inquired."Tough—and fishy. The blacks eat 'em, but they aren't white men's food. It's a shame to kill them. But lots of these bright young chaps that come from Melbourne on a holiday reckon that anything with fur or feathers on is made for them to blaze at. I'd teach 'em a thing or two, if I had me way." The china-blue eyes were suddenly fierce. "Y'see, there's lots of things in the Bush that we get fond of, and it makes us a bit savage to have chaps like them rampaging round! I found one of 'em once trying his hardest to shoot bell-birds!""Is that very wicked?" Garth asked innocently."Well, it's worse than shooting canaries. The bell-birds live in the fern gullies: they're shy little brown things, hard to see, but they've a note just like a little bell chiming away in the tree-tops. You'd think even a Melbourne fine gentleman couldn't help liking them. But there was me gent, with his little gun, looking for scalps; and even a bell-bird's was better to him than none.""What did you say to him? Did you let him shoot them?" the lad asked."I misremember what I said, but he didn't like it, an' he got nasty, and wanted to fight. Lord, you couldn't fight anything like that! So to end it I just gave him a good spanking, and let him go. He went."Tom burst out laughing."You didn't, really?""I did, though. What else could you do with him? He reckoned he was grown-up, but he hadn't as much sense as my kid of ten. Spanking's the only thing for that sort—an' I guess he remembers the one I gave him yet. You see, he was rude.""Are all Melbourne people like that?" Aileen queried, with a twinkle in her eye."Bless you, no," said the giant, twinkling in return. "Most of 'em come to fish, and they don't do any harm: an' there's lots that like the Bush, an' wouldn't hurt anything in it. Some of 'em's that proud of it they even collect all their lunch-papers and burn 'em after a picnic; but you don't meet many as well brought up as that." He knocked the ashes out of his pipe. "Well, I think it's a fair thing to go an' have some tea." He grinned at them, and strolled off along the deck."That's an idea," said Tom. "Come on, and we'll have some too."The little saloon was crowded, so they brought their tea on deck, where nothing, Garth said, was ever so good as bread-and-butter, eaten in the sweet air that blew softly across the lake. Here and there brown-sailed fishing-boats could be seen, and sometimes the steamer slowed down while a boat ran alongside, and the crew pitched empty fish boxes down to the men in blue jerseys, in readiness for the night's haul."They'll give them back to us filled in the morning, if they have luck," said the Captain, a long and friendly man who had come down from the upper deck to make acquaintance with his passengers. "Then we ice them, and the fish will be in Melbourne to-morrow night. Not as good as fresh-caught, of course, but then you city people don't know the difference! Wait till you get fish at the hotel, I suppose you're going to Kalimna?""No—we're coming down here to live," Tom told him."You don't say!" ejaculated the Captain. Light broke upon him. "Is it you who've taken Gordon's place?""Yes.""Wonder how you'll like it." His glance rested for a moment on Aileen, dainty in her well-cut travelling clothes, her delicate face a little pale and tired. "It's not a bad little place, but I'm afraid you'll find it a bit rough. Gordon's a queer stick: hardly ever spoke to a soul. He wasn't what you'd call popular in these parts.""I hope that won't make people unfriendly towards us," said Aileen, smiling."Not much—once they know you're not like Gordon," the Captain answered. "Country people are friendly enough—when they've time—but they can't stand any one being stuck-up, and that was the name Gordon had. He liked the place, too, I believe, but he never would make any friends. He was a lonely old soul. Well, well! And so you're going farming!" Again his eye travelled over them curiously. "Been at it before, might I ask?""No—this is our first attempt," said Tom, flushing a little."Well, you've got pluck, haven't you? That's all it wants—pluck and hard work. One thing, you've a good neighbour; Nick O'Connor's a nice chap. Didn't you know him?"—as Tom's face showed no response. "That's him you were talking to awhile ago—that big chap.""Is he our neighbour? Oh, I'm glad, aren't you, Dad?" Garth exclaimed."And are you going to be a farmer, too, young man?" queried the Captain."I'm going to try," Garth said manfully. "Dad says I can help him.""I should say so—a big fellow like you. Would you like to come and see the engines?""Glory!" said Garth blissfully, and trotted off by his new friend. Half an hour later his father went in search of him, and found him on the upper deck, grasping the wheel with his thin little hands, and trembling with eager delight as the steamer answered his touch. The Captain stood by, laughing at his efforts."I'll make a sailor of him, if he finds he doesn't like farming," he said."I'll remember," Tom said, laughing. "Which is it going to be, Garth?""I like this—awfully!" Garth panted. "But I suppose one might get a bit sick of it. And you can't have a pony on a ship!""Not as a rule," said the Captain. "Well, let me know if you change your mind. I might have a vacancy for a first mate any time." He patted Garth on the head as the small boy went off with his father to the warmth of the lower deck and his big overcoat.The day was dying, and Garth began to feel a little tired: ready to sit down between his father and mother, and watch the lake shores as they glided by. They were in another lake now, the first of the chain of three that stretches inland from the sea; and their course was close to shore, underneath wooded heights and past beautiful little bays. The lake grew darker and darker. It was all very beautiful and peaceful: but, to the three strangers, it was certainly a little lonely, perhaps a little unfriendly. Home—the dear "House Beautiful" seemed very far away.There came a momentary stoppage at a little jetty under high cliffs, where three or four men with rod cases went ashore and disappeared on a steeply ascending path. Then the steamer ran on, almost under the cliffs, until the lake narrowed, and opened out again; and ahead they could see the lights of a township. On the right hand, dimly visible, a narrow pathway of water ran out, between long grey piers, to an illimitable grey waste of water beyond; and a dull sound that had for some time been audible swelled to a roar; the thunder of the surf pounding on the entrance bar and on the Ninety-Mile Beach. They steamed past the entrance and into what seemed a little land-locked lake: paused for a moment at another jetty, and then made across to the beckoning lights on the further shore. The long journey was at an end.CHAPTER VTHE HOME-COMINGWeary, a little dazed, the three travellers stood up, collecting rugs and wraps, and moved to the rail, watching the bustle of disembarkation. Most of the township of Cuninghame seemed to have come to meet the boat; the wharf was crowded, fishermen and labourers mingling with gaily-dressed visitors—boys in flannels, and girls in pretty frocks. Across the street from the wharf, light streamed from the open doors of a brightly-lit store, throwing everything else into greater darkness.Tom Macleod leaned forward, scanning the throng intently."I wish I could see my worthy friend, Mr. Smith," he muttered."Who's Mr. Smith, Daddy?""Mr. Smith is the proud owner of a two-hoss shay he calls an express-wagon: and I hired him to meet us and drive us home, my son," Tom answered. "Thank goodness, there he is!" as a short, thick-set man came into view in the shifting crowd. "Hi! Smith! Stay here, Aileen: I'll go and get the luggage ashore." He disappeared, and they heard his voice again urgently hailing Mr. Smith, who strolled to and fro on the wharf, apparently enjoying the evening, but making no effort to find his temporary employer. Finally, a more insistent call secured his attention, and they lost sight of him.A long and dreary wait ensued. The decks had emptied; and the steamer lights were being turned out. A keen wind blew from the water: Aileen wrapped Garth in a rug, and they crouched together on a seat, too tired even to talk. The people on the wharf went home, or clustered in groups near the store, gossiping. From time to time they caught sight of Tom and Mr. Smith, crossing and re-crossing towards the street, laden with boxes and trunks. Garth was nearly asleep when at length his father appeared."You poor souls!" Tom uttered. "I'm awfully sorry to have kept you such a time, Aileen. But we couldn't get a soul to help us, and Mr. Smith isn't what you'd call a swift mover. Asleep, sonnie? Come on—we'll soon be home."Garth got to his feet stiffly, and stood, shivering, while his father and mother gathered up the rugs. Then they crossed to the wharf over a narrow gangway. In the street waited Mr. Smith, in a curious vehicle like a single-seated buggy with a very long tail, which tail was piled high with their luggage. The seat was very high, and looked—and was—exceedingly uncomfortable. Two impatient horses were making attempts to start, and Mr. Smith was repressing their energy."G'd evenin'," he said. "Back there, Blossom. You're a long way off your paddock yet. Take care how you get up, Mrs. Macleod; the step's a bit high. Afraid the kid'll have to sit on your knee. Bit of a squash, ain't it?"They settled themselves somehow; the high seat caused Aileen's feet to dangle uncomfortably until Mr. Smith obligingly produced a sack of potatoes which acted as a footstool and prevented her slipping down. Tom took Garth on his knee, and muffled him in a rug. His head went back thankfully upon his father's shoulder. Mr. Smith clicked encouragingly to the horses, and they trotted up the street, leaving the brightly-lit store behind them. On one side were dim houses, and on the other, behind a low stone wall, the lake glimmered, and the water splashed on the shingle.They turned inland presently, along a track that was hardly visible to the untrained eyes of the city people, though Mr. Smith and the horses followed it unerringly. It wound like a snake among the dim shapes of gum trees. Soon they were beyond the outlying houses of the township, and only an occasional lit window showed the existence of any inhabitants of this lonely region. Even these disappeared at last, and they drove into what seemed utter blackness.Afterwards, Aileen Macleod was amazed to find that her new home was only three miles from the township. On that first night, twisting and turning on the dark bush track, with her senses numbed by weariness and homesickness, it was an interminable drive. Garth fell asleep, but the bumping of the express wagon over unseen obstacles awoke him constantly, and he whimpered a little—too tired to be a man, in spite of his seven years."Buck up, ol' son," said Mr. Smith. "We're just about there."They stopped at a white-painted gate, only half visible to the strangers. Tom got down and fumbled with unaccustomed fastenings, while the horses fidgeted at the delay, and Aileen tried hard not to be nervous. At length it was open, and then another pause ensued while it was shut—an operation even more difficult than the opening. Tom swung himself up into the wagon again, with a muttered apology for his slowness."There ain't a decent gate on ol' Gordon's place," Mr. Smith said. "You'll have to let your boy come back with me to open it—I'd never hold these brutes once they got their heads pointed for home."They were trotting through a paddock, where, apparently, no track existed. Bump—bump—bump, they went, over hollow and rise, stick and tussock. The horses swerved and twisted among the grey tree-shapes. Once they shied so violently that Tom had to clutch Aileen to save himself from being thrown out. Something got up with a snort and lumbered off into the darkness."A bloomin' cow!" observed Mr. Smith."Do cows always lie down on the track at night?" Aileen asked."Cert'nly," said Mr. Smith, in some surprise. "The things what don't come here at night, gen'lly-as-a-rule, is horses and buggies!"A new chill crept over her. The stupid incident seemed to sum up her position. The cow was at home, and she, most emphatically, was not. Would it ever be home to her?A faint light showed through the trees ahead, and presently they were skirting a rough garden fence, as Mr. Smith announced his intention of taking them round to the back. He pulled up, with a great grinding of brakes, and shouted "Coo-ee!" loudly. Across the yard a door opened, and a boy's squat figure showed against the light."There's your man," said Mr. Smith, with something resembling a chuckle. "Come over 'ere, 'Orace, and lend a hand with these things."The boy moved slowly, hesitatingly, forward. Tom got down, and held out his hands to Garth."Come on, sonnie. Be careful, Aileen: the step is high."He lifted Garth down, and turned to help his wife. She was numbed from her cramped position, and stumbled against him, glad of his arm, for a moment."I'm all right, Tom," she said then. "Give me something to carry in.""You can take the rugs," he said, "and Garth. Don't come out again, dear; just look round the rooms to get the hang of the place. I'll hurry the things in as quickly as I can, and come to help you."Mother and little son stumbled across the uneven yard, guided by the light from the door. The squat boy brushed against them, evidently afraid. They reached a narrow veranda, across which the light streamed. It came from a kitchen: such a kitchen as Aileen had never seen. She looked into it half-timidly.It was not a very large room, and it was indescribably filthy. A fire, which seemed the only clean thing, blazed in a rusty-looking stove, which had not known blacklead since its earliest infancy. On the hearth, logs, buckets and dirty boots mingled: a very black kettle and some evil-looking saucepans stood on the stove-top and the hobs. The floor was covered with tattered linoleum, with bare spaces here and there where the ancient covering had worn away, or still lingered in ragged strands. There was a sink in one corner; a large table, the surface of which shone with blackened grease, a dresser, covered with a queer assortment of cracked and stained crockery. The walls had once been whitewashed, but the white had long disappeared beneath a coating of smoke and grime. A black frying-pan hung by the fire-place, with a toasting-fork that had been twisted out of fencing wire. Over all was a reek of vile tobacco smoke, mingled with the smell of dirt and closeness. It was very evidently the sitting-room of Horrors. The mantelpiece held a framed text, its gaudy flowers almost invisible under the speckled and misty glass. It said, "God Bless Our Home.""Mother!" said Garth, in a whisper. "Is this where we're going tolive?"She looked down at the child's white face, and woke from the disgust and horror that had swept over her."Well, it is, sonnie," she said. "But it won't look like this long. You wait until we all get busy at it, and you won't know it. Anyway, we'll forget about it to-night. Come on and explore the rest of the house."There was only one lamp, and she did not like to take it, since its dim beam was the only guide for the men as they tramped backwards and forwards from the wagon to the veranda. She looked about on the dresser, and found an end of candle stuck into a broken porter bottle, the sides of which were thick with grease. No matches were visible, so she held it to a blazing stick until it was alight. Then they entered their home.There were four main rooms, with a kind of lobby at the back, off which were bathroom and storeroom. It was a simple cottage, such as you will find in the Bush in hundreds: a big living-room, and three bedrooms of varying sizes, the largest of which would have made a servant's bedroom in the "House Beautiful"—which was, perhaps, a place that gave itself airs. Such rooms they were! The extreme filth of the kitchen had not penetrated indoors; but they were dirty enough, with dust thick in every corner, and an almost unbearable fustiness that cried eloquently for fresh air. After her first sniff of the evil atmosphere Aileen went hastily to each window, flinging them open: all save one, which, apparently, never had been opened, and declined to begin now. She struggled with it for a minute and then gave it up, glancing at her dirt-streaked hands with a little shudder of disgust.They had sent ahead of them, by steamer, a few articles of furniture, arranging with Mr. Smith to bring them out and unpack the new beds; which stood, gaunt with their naked mattresses, looking painfully clean amid the surrounding squalor. Sheets and blankets were somewhere in the mass of luggage that even now was being flung down on the dark back veranda. The other furniture was rough and untidy, and chiefly home-made: the dressing-tables were old packing-cases draped with dingy cretonne, the washstands were shelves against the wall. Mr. Gordon had evidently been a gentleman with a turn for carpentry: there were chairs made from barrels, and bookshelves composed of old laths from fruit cases, and filled with tattered and dirty books. The walls were boarded and varnished, cobwebs forming their only decoration."It's a funny house," Garth said plaintively. "Mother, could I go to bed, do you think?""Mother hasn't got a proper bed ready for you," Aileen said. "Never mind, sonnie: I'll fix you up without proper things for a while."She brought the bundle of rugs, and spread them on the smaller bed: Mr. Smith, with an admirable economy of space, had erected both in one room. Garth was fumbling wearily at his buttons, and she came to his aid quickly."We won't take all your clothes off, because your pyjamas, are hiding in one of the boxes," she told him. "But you won't mind that, to-night."Garth was past minding anything. His heavy head nodded forward as she picked him up, kneeling on the dirty floor while she unlaced his boots; then she laid him gently back on the uncovered pillow. He was asleep almost as his head touched it. Very gently, she drew the rugs over him, and turned from him, shading the candle with her hand.Tom Macleod, entering hurriedly, looked from the white face on the pillow to that of his wife, almost as white."My poor little girl!" he said.A lump rose in Aileen's throat. She choked it back with decision."If you begin to pity me I might cry, and there doesn't seem time for any diversion like that," she said, smiling bravely. "We're all right. I've put Garth to bed—-the poor man was so tired I wouldn't wait for sheets. But I would like some milk for him, Tom. Do you know if there is any?""There should be any amount—I think it's kept in the store-room," he said."And a saucepan?""Smith says he put the new pots and pans in the store-room, too—and the bread and meat and things we ordered.""Then we'll all have hot milk and bread before we start unpacking," said his wife with decision. "Would you get the lamp, Tom? I'm so tired of this illumination!" She put down the greasy bottle and looked at the candle-end with disfavour. "I'll leave it, in case Garth wakes."The store-room was more hopeful, since its window consisted of wire gauze, through which the air came freely. They found milk in what seemed to Aileen enormous quantities, most of it sour; but a bucket held the fresh supply of the evening, and a huge parcel from the store revealed butter as well as bread and groceries. They found another lamp, and while Tom heated milk in a hurriedly-rinsed saucepan, Aileen spread their first meal in the dining-room, using old newspapers for a tablecloth. She woke Garth, and made him drink a cupful of milk, but he was too sleepy to eat."Never mind—the milk will do him good," Tom said, watching them. "Now come and have some yourself."They looked at each other over the paper-spread table, and to each of them came a vision of the "House Beautiful"—was it only last night that they had been in its dainty luxury! Neither spoke of it, however. Tom poured milk into a cracked cup and gave it to her."Don't be afraid. I washed the cups!" he said. "There was plenty of hot water, but nothing to dry them with—at least, nothing that you'd have cared about! So they're damp, if clean.""Bless you!" said his wife. "Did you ever wash a cup before, Tom?""Not that I know of," he said, laughing. "But it isn't really difficult, if you have brains! Is the house very awful, dear?""Well—I'm inclined to think it's as well I had no stronger light than my candle-end to inspect it," she said, forcing a laugh. "It's—well, just a bit dirty. You ordered a charwoman, didn't you, Tom?""Of course I did. At least, one doesn't order them in this part of the world: one begs them humbly. I arranged with a plump lady named O'Brien, and Smith was to bring her out as often as was necessary. But she sent him a message that she had a lady friend from Bairnsdale staying with her, and she wasn't going. There doesn't seem to be any one else; so, since Gordon left, the house has been at the tender mercy of Horrors, not that I think he gets much beyond the kitchen. The kitchen is eloquent of him.""It is, indeed," said Aileen, with a shudder. "Where is he now?""Gone to open the gate for Smith. I told him to come back quickly, but I don't fancy he's strong on being quick. I want him to help me carry things into the lobby—it's the best place to unpack. You know where to put your hands on the things we need to-night, don't you?""Oh, yes—bedclothes and sleeping things are all together in the black trunk, and so are our old clothes. They're all handy. But I can't remember where I packed soap and towels.""They'll turn up," said Tom cheerfully, "especially if you don't worry about them. All you have to think of to-night is bed, even if you go there grubby! I'm afraid you'll have a very hard day to-morrow, my girl.""It doesn't seem as if anything could be hard if I only had a sleep first," she said. "Have more hot milk, Tom."Tom drained the saucepan."I never knew what a really good thing milk was," he said. "Let's live on it largely: it's cheap, and easy to cook! I feel pounds better.""Kin I go ter bed?" said a voice at the door.It was Horrors: a curious, squat boy of fifteen, with a very red face in which small eyes looked dully at the world; with a mop of extremely tight black curls, and an expression of stupidity that proved to be quite genuine. His clothes, tightly buttoned, were of blue dungaree, and had a well-filled look which, later, they found to be due to a habit of wearing other complete suits underneath the top layer, as though prepared at any minute to leave home suddenly. He stood at the door opening from the lobby and repeated his question heavily."Kin I go ter bed?""You can't, just yet," Tom said. "I want you to help me carry in those boxes.""Awright," said Horrors sadly."Where do you sleep?" Aileen asked nim, studying her new henchman gravely."In me room.""But where? Not in the house?" with a swift fear."Over there." He jerked his head towards the outer world. It was characteristic of Horrors that he never used two words where one would do."There's a buggy-shed, with a lean-to attached that forms Horrors' sleeping-bower," Tom told his wife. "I told him to clean it out before we came.""Did," said Horrors."H'm," said Tom. "Pity you didn't clean the kitchen, too. Well, we'll get in these boxes."They carried them in, placing them so that they could be conveniently unpacked. Aileen dragged out bedclothes and garments and made the bed by the light of the candle-end, now nearly exhausted. She was not used to the task: it would not have been considered a well-made bed. But it looked rather like heaven to her when it was finished.Tom came in, to find her rooting wearily in a trunk."I wish I could have helped you," he said anxiously. "What are you looking for, now?""Soap," she said, her lip quivering in spite of herself. The hunt for soap had suddenly assumed enormous proportions—she had a vague idea that, if necessary, she must go on searching for it all night."Oh, you poor old tired thing!" her husband said. "There's an old bit of yellow in the bathroom, and here's a spare pillow-case—it will make a beautiful towel. I've got hot water in the basin—it was the dirtiest basin you ever saw, by the way. Come along." He lifted her to her feet.They washed their hands and faces together in the basin, like children, and dried them on the pillow-case. The candle-end had guttered out when Aileen went back to her room, and she undressed by a faint gleam of moonlight that filtered in through the uncurtained window. The smell of the yellow soap was her last waking memory on her first night in the new home.CHAPTER VIA DAY IN THE COUNTRYThe sun was streaming through a threadbare yellow blind when Aileen Macleod awoke next morning. For a moment, dazed with sleep, she wondered what had happened—surely Julia was very late in bringing tea! Then memory came to her, and, with it, the realization that, for the first time in her life, food depended upon her own exertions. Simultaneously came the conviction that never before had she wanted morning tea so much.She slipped out of bed. Garth and her husband were still sound asleep, but from outside came a clatter of buckets that gave hope that Horrors was astir. The thought of the bath called her. But on examination, the plunge-bath proved to possess an encrusted layer of dirt that defied cold water, and effectually robbed her of any craving to use it. The basin provided minor ablutions—the pillow-case was still damp from its midnight use, but its cleanliness, even though moist, was pleasant. Everywhere that she looked the pitiless daylight revealed dirt which the kindly candle-end had hidden the night before. She drew the skirts of her pretty dressing-gown more closely about her as she went back along the narrow passage towards the locked front door. She threw it open and went out upon the veranda.[image]"She drew the skirts of her pretty dressing-gown more closely about her and went out upon the veranda."Before her was loveliness of which she had not dreamed.The house stood on a little hill, which sloped gently away at the back, and, in front, shelved more steeply down to where a glimpse of blue water showed. Like a river, it wound away among the hills until it was lost to sight: now narrow, now widening almost to a baby lake. Beyond were hills clothed with gum trees and wattle, stretching to the far distance; but nearer, she looked down into an exquisite fern gully, where splendid tree-ferns flung their fronded crests high into the air, and smaller fern-growths nestled about their stems. The plash of a tiny waterfall told of a stream running through it, to empty itself in the lake. Nearer, the hills were low and rounded, their fresh greenness a delight to tired city eyes.No other houses were visible. It was as though they owned all the sweet countryside that stretched about the little cottage. On a far rise she could see knots of sheep, like dots of white wool upon the green; but before her no living thing moved, and there was only the still peace of hill and valley and curving lake. There had been fear in her heart—the fear born of inexperience and ignorance, the dread that the task she had shouldered would prove too hard for her. But it died as she looked out across the paddocks. In fancy she saw Garth running on the hills: growing strong and rosy, losing the pinched, tired look, and the blue circles under his eyes. With that dear vision in her heart, nothing else could matter.She went back to her room. Garth was sitting up in bed, frankly bewildered."Hallo, Mother!" he said. "Did I go to sleep in my clothes?""You did," said his mother, beginning to brush her hair with swift strokes. "You were quite too tired last night to worry about pyjamas and sheets, sonnie.""I don't remember a thing about it," said Garth. "I say, isn't this a queer room?""Oh, rooms don't count," Aileen answered. "You won't think about them when you see what a country we have come to. It's just lovely, Garth. Green paddocks—and gullies—and blue water!""Glory!" said Garth, and tumbled out of bed: a quaint figure in crumpled shirt and trousers. He ran to the window. "Oh-h, Mother!""Are you two discovering Gippsland?" asked a sleepy voice."Yes. Get up, lazy one, and discover it too," said Aileen."You forget that I explored it before kindly bringing you here," answered her husband, turning more comfortably on his pillow. "Aren't you grateful to me?" He suddenly regarded her with amazement. "Why are you doing your hair in that small, hard bun?"Aileen skewered the bun in question with a final careful hairpin."There is going to be an amount of dust raised in this house to-day that will make up for the years during which it has never seen a spring-cleaning," she answered. "And my hair is clean. So I screw it in a bun, and presently I shall also tie it in one of your largest handkerchiefs. Then I shall sally forth and attack our new home with a broom.""To do which, you must be fed," said Tom, getting up with a quick movement and disappearing towards the bathroom."How he'llhatethat wet pillow-case!" Aileen murmured. Inspiration came to her, and she dived into a trunk, which, after a moment's rummaging, revealed a large brown towel. Thrust in at the bathroom door, this induced gasping sounds of gratitude.The newspaper tablecloth of last night did duty for breakfast also; and breakfast was eggs, boiled over a spirit-lamp, and tea, which Tom brewed in the kitchen. Garth, delighted at what he regarded as a huge picnic, trotted here and there, helping and hindering with equal enthusiasm."I've made a tour of the house," Aileen said, manipulating an enormous brown tea-pot; "and I want to map out our plan of campaign. What are you going to do?""Help you, until the place is clean," said her husband, looking at her. She was an unfamiliar Aileen, in a blue overall, short and workmanlike, and with her tightly-screwed hair. Tom came to the conclusion that he liked it. "What do we do first?""Good housewives, I have always read, begin by setting their kitchen in order," she answered. "But I think I would rather have clean bedrooms first; and I propose to ignore the kitchen. It's dirtier than all the rest of the house put together, and I feel that it will keep. If we could set up the oil-stove in the lobby we could boil kettles and things there. I brought an enormous piece of cooked corned-beef, so we shan't need to cook.""First-rate idea," said Tom approvingly. "What about the kid? Does he eat corned-beef?""There's a cold chicken for him," said his mother. "Also meat jelly, in a jar: I trust it's not broken by that unholy bumping last night of Mr. Smith's express wagon. What does Horrors do to earn his living, Tom?""He's supposed to do what he is told; but under Gordon he seems to have done very much what he liked," Tom answered. "He milks three cows, and feeds pigs and calves and fowls; and cuts wood, and draws water—no, he doesn't, there are taps, praise the pigs! He's just an odd-job boy—and quite at your disposal. His not to reason why!""He might do some of the rougher work, and the scrubbing," Aileen said. She knitted her brows. "I do feel so stupid—I don't know where to begin!""I don't blame you, with a house in what my old nurse used to call a dirty uproar," said her husband. "Let's hurl everything out of one front room on to the veranda and clean things there. Then we'll clean the room, and put the clean things back into it, and then we'll sit down in the clean midst of everything and smirk at the result. We shan't be clean, ourselves, by that time, but that's a detail. If we do that every day for a week you won't know our mansion!""It sounds a good plan," said Aileen enthusiastically. "Come on, and we'll begin." She reached the door, and then turned back, laughing."I quite forgot that if we didn't clear away the breakfast things, nobody would!" she said. "I must wash up.""I'll help you, Mother," said Garth eagerly."Will you, sweetheart? Well, you can dry the things. And Tom, if you could get Horrors, you and he might begin the hurling-out of the furniture. Where is Horrors, by the way?""When I last saw him, he had eaten five eggs, and was beginning a sixth!" said her husband. "If he feels well enough, which seems doubtful, I'll get him at once. I'll fill the kettle for you. Don't go into the kitchen more than you can help, for it is in every sense a place of horrors. I saw fully five thousand cockroaches there last night.""Ugh!" shuddered Aileen."Don't worry. I'm told that it's only at night that 'the rogues come out to play,'" said he. "We'll poison them when we come to attack the kitchen. They must have been great company for that boy in the long evenings—we mustn't grudge him lively society!""What's cockroaches?" asked Garth, greatly interested. "I never saw one.""I trust not," said his mother hastily. "Never mind them—we must get to work, sonnie."There were evil rags in the kitchen that had done duty as dish-towels, and which Aileen, having sniffed gingerly, lifted on the point of a stick and conveyed to the fire. There was also a dish-pan so encrusted with the remains of many washings that she decided to use a wash-hand basin. There were the shelly remnants of Horrors' breakfast—which it seemed best to leave for his own disposal. Finally, having discovered that when cockroaches are sufficiently tame and prosperous they do not always shun the daylight, she seized the kettle and, shuddering, fled, leaving both doors open, that fresh air might remove some of the more obtrusive odours of Horrors' sitting-room. Later, she found that this plan had led to the intrusion of a large family of fowls and several half-wild cats. In the hope that some of these visitors might care for eating cockroaches, she forebore to disturb them.It was a strange day for a woman who had never before done an hour's hard work. Throughout her life she had known only ease and dainty comfort; now she found herself plunged into dirt and squalour, with no skilled aid, and handicapped by utter inexperience. It was the inexperience that almost angered her as the hours went on. By nature she was practical enough—it was hurting to her pride to make stupid mistakes that must be paid for by more hard work. She scrubbed a room without thinking of cleaning the walls and ceiling—which, when examined, yielded so much grime that her fastidiousness forthwith scrubbed the defiled floor again. Tom was greatly annoyed with her when he found her on her knees, wielding the scrubbing-brush anew. But at least there was comfort in having done the job thoroughly.Horrors, as a scrubber, proved an utter failure. Tom said he "took the rough off"; but Aileen, looking at pools of filthy water which seemed to have flung up waves of dirt, decided that his methods were hopeless, and—when Tom was out of the way—went over the work again herself, and made the discovery that scrubbing is not so easy as it looks, and that it carries possibilities of backache undreamed of before. Indeed, as the day wore on, a thousand aches seemed situated in her back, and her shoulders grew so stiff that she could scarcely raise her arms. Like all enthusiastic beginners, she tried to do too much, and paid the penalty.Yet throughout the hard day she was never unhappy. The work brought its own reward in the delight of feeling cleanliness about her again; and it was something to be working together, uniting their efforts in making the new home. Garth's happy face, as he appeared from time to time at a window, full of joyful tidings of new discoveries outside, was a never-failing tonic. And Tom was the best of mates; ignorant as herself, and much more unpractical, but full of energy, and with a joke always on his lips. Garth's voice singing, as he roamed in the garden, mingled with his father's, singing also, to the accompaniment of much rattling and banging, as he unpacked and erected the new oil-stove. It made her want to sing herself—only that her back ached too much.They lunched in a scrappy fashion, very late which was foolish; and, having lunched late, let afternoon tea go altogether, which was more foolish still. They had yet to learn that hard work, without sufficient food, does not pay. Aileen was finishing bed-making, in a room that fairly smelt of cleanliness, when Tom appeared in the doorway."Six o'clock; and that's the last stroke of work you do this day," said he firmly. "Come and eat things: I've made an enormous pot of tea, and Garth has laid the table.""How lovely! and what dears you both are!" she said, turning, and smiling at him. Then suddenly the room began to turn round, slowly at first, and then faster, and she was falling through space.It seemed a very long while, though it was but a few moments, before she opened her eyes, to find herself on her bed, with Tom bending over her."What's the matter?" she asked. "I'm all right, Tom—let me get up." She struggled to rise."Lie still, dear," he said anxiously."Did I faint?—how silly of me!" she said disgustedly. "I'm so sorry; I must have frightened you.""I'm glad I caught you," he said. "Isn't there some medicine I could give you? Sal volatile, or something? Tell me where to look."Colour was coming back to her lips. She began to laugh."Oh, I don't want any medicine," she answered. "I haven't got any, either—you know I never faint, Tom. It's too stupid of me to do it now. I was only a little tired—and I think the idea of tea overcame me!""Keep quiet, then, and I'll bring you a cup," he said, disappearing. He was back in a moment, cup in hand, and made her lean against him as she drank it."That was lovely!" she said, lying back. "Oh, I've such a heavenly feeling of laziness, and of course, I must nip it in the bud! I'm all right now, Tom, and so hungry. Come along.""Sure you are?" he said, regarding her doubtfully as she got up. "Well, don't go tumbling about like that any more: it scares one." He held her arm as they went along the narrow passage to the dining-room, and kept a wary eye upon her throughout the meal. Being well aware of this, she forced herself to be extremely merry, despite thee fact that red-hot knives seemed to be running in and out of her shoulders."It's just the beautifullest place that ever was!" Garth said, blissfully looking up from his bowl of bread and milk. "There's lovely sheds, and a big bench with tools—they's rustier thanyourtools, Daddy!—and a stable, and such a jolly loft, with hay in it, and rats!""It sounds a jolly place," said his father. "Are there more rats than hay, or vice versa?""I didn't see any—-any of those things you said," answered Garth, slightly puzzled. "Do they run about?""Not as a rule," said Tom gravely. "Never mind; I dare say there are none. But are there many rats?""I only saw three, but I heard lots." Garth's tone was hopeful. "And Bran was awful excited. He couldn't get up the ladder, but he raced about down below, and barked like fun. Do you think you could carry him up to-morrow, Daddy? I tried, but it's a very steep ladder, and he wriggled.""And who said you could climb up steep ladders?" asked his mother."But I couldn't have got up into the loft if I hadn't," said her son."That seems to settle it," said Tom, beginning to laugh. "We'll have to get used to these things, I suppose.""I suppose so," Aileen agreed. "We really don't want a prim suburban son now. Only make me one promise, Garth, to keep my old mind easy—don't go near the water until Daddy has time to teach you to swim.""I did go, to-day," confessed her son, "but I won't again. You'll teach me pretty quick, won't you, Daddy? And can I go near the little creek in the gully? It's the littlest ever—I can jump across it anywhere.""Oh, we can leave you the gully," Aileen answered. "And we'll make a swimmer of you just as soon as we can. Every one finished? Then we'll go and look at our work."The house reeked pleasantly of soap and turpentine, and, so far as was possible, it shone. It had been fortunate for the workers that Mr. Gordon's furniture was both simple and scarce, and so had economized cleaning. They had arranged it to more advantage in the bare little rooms, and already they were homelike, though lacking as yet the smallest pretence at adornment. The cretonne petticoats had been ruthlessly torn from the packing-case dressing-tables, the shelves and tops of which were modestly covered, for the present, with newspapers. Gay Indian bedspreads lent a touch of colour to the prevailing dinginess of the brown walls and linoleum-covered floors of the two front rooms."Don't you feel a holy glow that we took up those linoleums?" Tom asked."When I think of what was under them, I do!" rejoined his wife grimly.The lobby was still a scene of wild unpacking; but in the third bedroom, a tiny apartment off the dining-room, the American oil-stove stood in all its bravery of black paint and bright blue enamel, the glass door of the oven shining invitingly. A copper kettle simmered over the flame: on nails on the wall hung Aileen's aluminium pots and pans. A rough shelf held an imposing stack of cookery books, flanked by a big pile of dish towels."It does look jolly!" Garth said. "When are you going to begin to cook, Mother?""As soon as I have a clean house," Aileen answered. "To-morrow we'll have to attack that awful store-room: and I foresee heart-to-heart talks with Horrors on the subject of milk buckets. His look as if they were washed about once a month. Tom, how lovely you've made the bath!"The tin sides of the bath fairly winked at them as they entered the little bathroom."Seeing that I used gallons of boiling water and about half a ton of soda to it, I should think it ought to look lovely," said Tom. "I doubled myself into the thing for so long that when I finally emerged, I thought I'd never straighten myself!" His eyes twinkled. "What a heap there is in housekeeping one never suspected! I've regarded Julia and Annie as quite ordinary people for years, but now they strike me as rather more than human!""But is you two people always going to work?" asked a small voice. "Nothin' else at all?"Garth's father and mother exchanged glances over his head."Poor man! He has never seen us do anything but play!" Aileen murmured. She patted his head. "We'll have to work a good deal, sonnie, but there will be time for quite a lot of fun, too. That has simplygotto be arranged. And to begin with, I think it's high time you showed me things outside. It's disgraceful to have come to a new home and not to have put one's nose out all day. And outside is so much lovelier than inside!""It just is—ever so much," Garth cried. "Come along! I wonder will the pigs have gone to bed!""Sure you're not too tired?" Tom asked, a little anxiously."I will be less tired if I go," she said. "He hasn't had us for a moment all day."They went out together, but at the door Tom turned back."Go on," he said, "I want my pipe: I'll catch you up."He watched them stray off into the twilight. Then he went to the forgotten tea-table, cleared it, and washed the dishes. He did it very badly, and with a great deal of mess, never having washed dishes before; but no one who saw him as he worked would have judged the work hardly. Having finished, he wiped up the mess—of which there was a good deal—with a clean towel, surveyed the result with pride, and strode forth to find his family."You've been ever so long!" Garth complained. "Whatever have you been doing, Daddy?""Just playing round," said Tom. "What a mercy the pigs aren't in bed!"
CHAPTER IV
INTO THE UNKNOWN
They said good-bye to the "House Beautiful" in the early morning, while the roses on the porch were still wet with dew. One fragrant bud brushed Aileen's shoulder as she went, and she picked it, and tucked it into her coat. If a little shiver ran through her as the door closed behind her, she gave no sign. Their cab rattled off down the familiar suburban street. Neither Tom nor Aileen looked back.
At the big station all was bustle and hurry: and soon they were in the train and slipping through the long miles of grey houses, until the just-awaking city was left far behind, and wide green paddocks and gum trees, tall and stately, surrounded them. Little townships, like beads upon a string, brought them to a halt every few miles: sometimes so close together that there seemed scarcely any break between the outlying homesteads.
"Plenty of settlement here now," Macleod said. "My mother used often to travel this road by coach, and it was a journey in the winter: the road was just a succession of bog-holes. There was one cheery spot known as the Glue-Pot. Passengers used to get out there, in a body; the women and children stood under the trees, often in pouring rain, while the men got their shoulders to the wheels and dragged and pushed the old coach through. It must have been hard on women with babies."
"Ugh!" said Aileen. "Do you know, I think our mothers were made of better stuff than we are."
"I don't," said her husband stoutly. "You aren't called upon to do what they did—you would do it if you were. But I don't think we men are anything like as good as our fathers: we're brought up softly, and we simply haven't got their muscle and endurance and pluck."
"It's just the same with you—you would do what you had to."
"I suppose we'd try. Honestly, though, we wouldn't get through as much. Every one thinks more nowadays of having a good time: the old people never took holidays, never had luxuries: worked year in and year out; had mighty few clothes, and patched them until they fell to pieces. I suppose that's partly how they made money. No, we're poor specimens compared to our fathers."
"Well,Ithink you're just as good as Grandfather, and a jolly lot better!" said an indignant small voice; and Garth hurled himself tumultuously upon his father.
"It's something to have a champion, isn't it?" said Aileen, laughing. "Sonnie, this is where I tuck you up for a sleep," at which Garth protested that he had never been less tired in his life, but nevertheless submitted to being rolled up in a rug with his head on his mother's knee; where presently sleep came to him, and he lay peacefully while the train raced through the fertile paddocks that were once a desolate swamp, climbed the Haunted Hills laboriously, rattled down the other side, and so came upon wide plains where great bullocks ceased grazing to look lazily at the iron monster that came daily to disturb their solitude.
Half the afternoon had waned when the train came to the end of its long journey, and they emerged from the station into a sleepy street where two-horse cabs waited to rattle them across Bairnsdale to the river. A paddle-steamer, moored to the wharf, was hooting as they approached, and late-comers were hurrying down the hill, fearful of being left behind. Having thus shown her independence by hooting, and every one being safely on board, the steamer decided not to hurry; and it was some time before she woke up to fresh energy, mooring ropes were cast off, and she churned her way into mid-stream.
Garth was wildly excited. Already a big grey horse in a gig had supplied a private circus for his benefit, declining to cross the bridge over the river near the wharf, and showing its utter disapproval of all bridges by dancing wildly on its hind legs, while the girl who was driving beat it in vain. A parting hoot from the steamer's siren concluded the argument, so terrifying the horse that it dropped to all fours and, in desperation, bolted across the bridge, disappearing in mad career towards the town. Already, Garth decided; the country was showing extraordinary attractions: this sort of entertainment never happened in a Toorak street. And now they were slipping down the river, between high banks where pleasant houses perched, surrounded by beautiful gardens. Boat-houses were built at the edge of the water, whence flights of steps ran up the hill: and little boats, tied to stakes, rocked lazily as the steamer approached, and, as she passed them, executed a frenzied dance as the swish of the water from the paddle-wheels churned into the reeds along the bank. Sometimes a lone fisherman sat in a boat, patiently angling. These sportsmen regarded the steamer as a necessary evil, and dangled their baits in the air until the commotion of her passing should have subsided.
A road wound along the river-bank. It was partly screened from view by trees, but sometimes they caught glimpses of people riding and driving, and once they saw a flock of sheep, driven by two boys, the younger of whom looked about Garth's age. A little later came three or four merry boys and girls, on ponies, racing, with shouts of laughter, along the track. Garth drew a long breath.
"Isn't the country a lovely place for boys, Dad!" he said.
"It seems pretty jolly, old man," his father answered. "How soon do you think you'll be able to ride like that?"
"I expect I'll have to get bucked off a good few times first," said the small boy soberly. "But it doesn't hurt much if you choose a soft spot to fall, Doctor says. He told me no one could ride until he'd been slung off seven times!"
"Well, a good many people couldn't ride if they had been off seventy-seven times," his father answered. "Some people aren't born to be riders."
"Do you think I am?" queried Garth anxiously.
"Can't tell until I see you on a pony. You ought to be all right; there's a good deal in beginning young. You will be all right if you're not afraid," said his father.
Garth's small face set firmly, and instinctively he stiffened his back. In his heart he was not quite sure that he was not a little afraid. But he hoped no one was going to guess it.
Round a bend came a little sea-going steamer, trim and workmanlike. She passed them, so close that a biscuit could have been thrown from deck to deck. The two crews exchanged cheery greetings; the men on the incoming ship were busy getting everything in order as they neared the end of their long voyage from Melbourne.
"Some day, when we want an adventure, Garth, we'll go round to Melbourne in that boat," Macleod said, watching the steamer's stern as she ploughed her way up the river. "I believe she carries passengers."
"Well, you'll get the adventure if you chance it in rough weather," said a man near them. "I bin round in her an' the ol'Despatchtoo: an' when it's fine it's a jolly good way of gettin' there. But when it's rough, it's a fair cow! One trip, we was four days instead of thirty-six hours, and every one ashore give us up for lost.
"Wrecked?" asked Garth, wide-eyed.
"'M. But we wasn't. We was sheltering in a little inlet, and lucky we was to get there. We put in at Waratah Bay an' tried to land, but all the ol' boat 'ud do was to try an' climb on the wharf, there was such a sea running: so we got out again. It wasn't no picnic. We hadn't any too much food—not that most of us had big appetites. She was standin' on her head all the time, when she wasn't doin' her best to lie down' on her side an' die, an' we were bruised black an' blue from bein' chucked about. I nearly had me arm broke, from bein' pitched out of me bunk, one night."
"You had a bad time," Tom said.
"It was a fair cow. I guess even one of them big ocean liners might have bin a bit uncomfortable in that storm—and she was about three hundred tons! Anyhow, whatever she was, she could weather a storm better than most of them—there was bigger ships than her went down in that gale. We got to Melbourne all right, if we were a few days late. I guess the owners were pretty relieved when we came up the bay: I knowwewere!"
He laughed, and drew out his pipe. He was an immensely tall man, with broad, stooping shoulders. A straggling beard ornamented a face burnt to the colour of brick-dust, in which twinkled little china-blue eyes. There was something very simple and friendly about him.
"But you have not always had bad trips?" Aileen asked.
"Bless you, no, lady. When it's fine I wouldn't ask no better way of getting about; an' I bin round often when there wasn't hardly a ripple the whole way. There was two young ladies once, travelling round, an' they slept out on deck both nights. Not that I've any fancy that way, meself; gimme a good, air-tight cabin. Oh, you wouldn't ask a nicer boat than theWyrallah—her we passed just now. I had a liking for the poor ol'Despatch; but she's gone now."
"Where did she go?" Garth asked.
"Down to the bottom, son. She was tryin' to get into the Lakes' entrance in a heavy gale, with a bad cross-sea running. It's not an easy entrance—very narrow, and a nasty bar. The current took her a bit out of her track, an' she got on to a rock, an' went down. It happened mighty quick. There was lots of people in Gippsland as was sorry for the ol'Despatch. She wasn't a beauty, but she'd tramped up and down from Melbourne many a year, and we'd got a liking for her."
He pointed ahead with his pipe-stem.
"We're getting into the lake."
The high banks had changed to flats, across which they could see a broad sheet of water. The land between narrowed to a point; and presently they came out upon the placid waters of a wide lake rippling gently in the evening sunlight. In the reeds near the point great black swans were swimming. They rose as the steamer churned past them and sailed away into the western sky, the clang of their leader's note coming more and more faintly as they became dots on the blue.
"Some people as calls themselves sportsmen shoot those birds," said their new acquaintance scornfully. "Sportsmen, indeed! I'd as soon go out and shoot canaries, they're that tame. And they're no sort of use when they are shot; you'd have to be mighty hungry before you'd eat one.
[image]"'Some people as calls themselves sportsmen shoot those birds.'"
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"'Some people as calls themselves sportsmen shoot those birds.'"
"Are they tough?" Aileen inquired.
"Tough—and fishy. The blacks eat 'em, but they aren't white men's food. It's a shame to kill them. But lots of these bright young chaps that come from Melbourne on a holiday reckon that anything with fur or feathers on is made for them to blaze at. I'd teach 'em a thing or two, if I had me way." The china-blue eyes were suddenly fierce. "Y'see, there's lots of things in the Bush that we get fond of, and it makes us a bit savage to have chaps like them rampaging round! I found one of 'em once trying his hardest to shoot bell-birds!"
"Is that very wicked?" Garth asked innocently.
"Well, it's worse than shooting canaries. The bell-birds live in the fern gullies: they're shy little brown things, hard to see, but they've a note just like a little bell chiming away in the tree-tops. You'd think even a Melbourne fine gentleman couldn't help liking them. But there was me gent, with his little gun, looking for scalps; and even a bell-bird's was better to him than none."
"What did you say to him? Did you let him shoot them?" the lad asked.
"I misremember what I said, but he didn't like it, an' he got nasty, and wanted to fight. Lord, you couldn't fight anything like that! So to end it I just gave him a good spanking, and let him go. He went."
Tom burst out laughing.
"You didn't, really?"
"I did, though. What else could you do with him? He reckoned he was grown-up, but he hadn't as much sense as my kid of ten. Spanking's the only thing for that sort—an' I guess he remembers the one I gave him yet. You see, he was rude."
"Are all Melbourne people like that?" Aileen queried, with a twinkle in her eye.
"Bless you, no," said the giant, twinkling in return. "Most of 'em come to fish, and they don't do any harm: an' there's lots that like the Bush, an' wouldn't hurt anything in it. Some of 'em's that proud of it they even collect all their lunch-papers and burn 'em after a picnic; but you don't meet many as well brought up as that." He knocked the ashes out of his pipe. "Well, I think it's a fair thing to go an' have some tea." He grinned at them, and strolled off along the deck.
"That's an idea," said Tom. "Come on, and we'll have some too."
The little saloon was crowded, so they brought their tea on deck, where nothing, Garth said, was ever so good as bread-and-butter, eaten in the sweet air that blew softly across the lake. Here and there brown-sailed fishing-boats could be seen, and sometimes the steamer slowed down while a boat ran alongside, and the crew pitched empty fish boxes down to the men in blue jerseys, in readiness for the night's haul.
"They'll give them back to us filled in the morning, if they have luck," said the Captain, a long and friendly man who had come down from the upper deck to make acquaintance with his passengers. "Then we ice them, and the fish will be in Melbourne to-morrow night. Not as good as fresh-caught, of course, but then you city people don't know the difference! Wait till you get fish at the hotel, I suppose you're going to Kalimna?"
"No—we're coming down here to live," Tom told him.
"You don't say!" ejaculated the Captain. Light broke upon him. "Is it you who've taken Gordon's place?"
"Yes."
"Wonder how you'll like it." His glance rested for a moment on Aileen, dainty in her well-cut travelling clothes, her delicate face a little pale and tired. "It's not a bad little place, but I'm afraid you'll find it a bit rough. Gordon's a queer stick: hardly ever spoke to a soul. He wasn't what you'd call popular in these parts."
"I hope that won't make people unfriendly towards us," said Aileen, smiling.
"Not much—once they know you're not like Gordon," the Captain answered. "Country people are friendly enough—when they've time—but they can't stand any one being stuck-up, and that was the name Gordon had. He liked the place, too, I believe, but he never would make any friends. He was a lonely old soul. Well, well! And so you're going farming!" Again his eye travelled over them curiously. "Been at it before, might I ask?"
"No—this is our first attempt," said Tom, flushing a little.
"Well, you've got pluck, haven't you? That's all it wants—pluck and hard work. One thing, you've a good neighbour; Nick O'Connor's a nice chap. Didn't you know him?"—as Tom's face showed no response. "That's him you were talking to awhile ago—that big chap."
"Is he our neighbour? Oh, I'm glad, aren't you, Dad?" Garth exclaimed.
"And are you going to be a farmer, too, young man?" queried the Captain.
"I'm going to try," Garth said manfully. "Dad says I can help him."
"I should say so—a big fellow like you. Would you like to come and see the engines?"
"Glory!" said Garth blissfully, and trotted off by his new friend. Half an hour later his father went in search of him, and found him on the upper deck, grasping the wheel with his thin little hands, and trembling with eager delight as the steamer answered his touch. The Captain stood by, laughing at his efforts.
"I'll make a sailor of him, if he finds he doesn't like farming," he said.
"I'll remember," Tom said, laughing. "Which is it going to be, Garth?"
"I like this—awfully!" Garth panted. "But I suppose one might get a bit sick of it. And you can't have a pony on a ship!"
"Not as a rule," said the Captain. "Well, let me know if you change your mind. I might have a vacancy for a first mate any time." He patted Garth on the head as the small boy went off with his father to the warmth of the lower deck and his big overcoat.
The day was dying, and Garth began to feel a little tired: ready to sit down between his father and mother, and watch the lake shores as they glided by. They were in another lake now, the first of the chain of three that stretches inland from the sea; and their course was close to shore, underneath wooded heights and past beautiful little bays. The lake grew darker and darker. It was all very beautiful and peaceful: but, to the three strangers, it was certainly a little lonely, perhaps a little unfriendly. Home—the dear "House Beautiful" seemed very far away.
There came a momentary stoppage at a little jetty under high cliffs, where three or four men with rod cases went ashore and disappeared on a steeply ascending path. Then the steamer ran on, almost under the cliffs, until the lake narrowed, and opened out again; and ahead they could see the lights of a township. On the right hand, dimly visible, a narrow pathway of water ran out, between long grey piers, to an illimitable grey waste of water beyond; and a dull sound that had for some time been audible swelled to a roar; the thunder of the surf pounding on the entrance bar and on the Ninety-Mile Beach. They steamed past the entrance and into what seemed a little land-locked lake: paused for a moment at another jetty, and then made across to the beckoning lights on the further shore. The long journey was at an end.
CHAPTER V
THE HOME-COMING
Weary, a little dazed, the three travellers stood up, collecting rugs and wraps, and moved to the rail, watching the bustle of disembarkation. Most of the township of Cuninghame seemed to have come to meet the boat; the wharf was crowded, fishermen and labourers mingling with gaily-dressed visitors—boys in flannels, and girls in pretty frocks. Across the street from the wharf, light streamed from the open doors of a brightly-lit store, throwing everything else into greater darkness.
Tom Macleod leaned forward, scanning the throng intently.
"I wish I could see my worthy friend, Mr. Smith," he muttered.
"Who's Mr. Smith, Daddy?"
"Mr. Smith is the proud owner of a two-hoss shay he calls an express-wagon: and I hired him to meet us and drive us home, my son," Tom answered. "Thank goodness, there he is!" as a short, thick-set man came into view in the shifting crowd. "Hi! Smith! Stay here, Aileen: I'll go and get the luggage ashore." He disappeared, and they heard his voice again urgently hailing Mr. Smith, who strolled to and fro on the wharf, apparently enjoying the evening, but making no effort to find his temporary employer. Finally, a more insistent call secured his attention, and they lost sight of him.
A long and dreary wait ensued. The decks had emptied; and the steamer lights were being turned out. A keen wind blew from the water: Aileen wrapped Garth in a rug, and they crouched together on a seat, too tired even to talk. The people on the wharf went home, or clustered in groups near the store, gossiping. From time to time they caught sight of Tom and Mr. Smith, crossing and re-crossing towards the street, laden with boxes and trunks. Garth was nearly asleep when at length his father appeared.
"You poor souls!" Tom uttered. "I'm awfully sorry to have kept you such a time, Aileen. But we couldn't get a soul to help us, and Mr. Smith isn't what you'd call a swift mover. Asleep, sonnie? Come on—we'll soon be home."
Garth got to his feet stiffly, and stood, shivering, while his father and mother gathered up the rugs. Then they crossed to the wharf over a narrow gangway. In the street waited Mr. Smith, in a curious vehicle like a single-seated buggy with a very long tail, which tail was piled high with their luggage. The seat was very high, and looked—and was—exceedingly uncomfortable. Two impatient horses were making attempts to start, and Mr. Smith was repressing their energy.
"G'd evenin'," he said. "Back there, Blossom. You're a long way off your paddock yet. Take care how you get up, Mrs. Macleod; the step's a bit high. Afraid the kid'll have to sit on your knee. Bit of a squash, ain't it?"
They settled themselves somehow; the high seat caused Aileen's feet to dangle uncomfortably until Mr. Smith obligingly produced a sack of potatoes which acted as a footstool and prevented her slipping down. Tom took Garth on his knee, and muffled him in a rug. His head went back thankfully upon his father's shoulder. Mr. Smith clicked encouragingly to the horses, and they trotted up the street, leaving the brightly-lit store behind them. On one side were dim houses, and on the other, behind a low stone wall, the lake glimmered, and the water splashed on the shingle.
They turned inland presently, along a track that was hardly visible to the untrained eyes of the city people, though Mr. Smith and the horses followed it unerringly. It wound like a snake among the dim shapes of gum trees. Soon they were beyond the outlying houses of the township, and only an occasional lit window showed the existence of any inhabitants of this lonely region. Even these disappeared at last, and they drove into what seemed utter blackness.
Afterwards, Aileen Macleod was amazed to find that her new home was only three miles from the township. On that first night, twisting and turning on the dark bush track, with her senses numbed by weariness and homesickness, it was an interminable drive. Garth fell asleep, but the bumping of the express wagon over unseen obstacles awoke him constantly, and he whimpered a little—too tired to be a man, in spite of his seven years.
"Buck up, ol' son," said Mr. Smith. "We're just about there."
They stopped at a white-painted gate, only half visible to the strangers. Tom got down and fumbled with unaccustomed fastenings, while the horses fidgeted at the delay, and Aileen tried hard not to be nervous. At length it was open, and then another pause ensued while it was shut—an operation even more difficult than the opening. Tom swung himself up into the wagon again, with a muttered apology for his slowness.
"There ain't a decent gate on ol' Gordon's place," Mr. Smith said. "You'll have to let your boy come back with me to open it—I'd never hold these brutes once they got their heads pointed for home."
They were trotting through a paddock, where, apparently, no track existed. Bump—bump—bump, they went, over hollow and rise, stick and tussock. The horses swerved and twisted among the grey tree-shapes. Once they shied so violently that Tom had to clutch Aileen to save himself from being thrown out. Something got up with a snort and lumbered off into the darkness.
"A bloomin' cow!" observed Mr. Smith.
"Do cows always lie down on the track at night?" Aileen asked.
"Cert'nly," said Mr. Smith, in some surprise. "The things what don't come here at night, gen'lly-as-a-rule, is horses and buggies!"
A new chill crept over her. The stupid incident seemed to sum up her position. The cow was at home, and she, most emphatically, was not. Would it ever be home to her?
A faint light showed through the trees ahead, and presently they were skirting a rough garden fence, as Mr. Smith announced his intention of taking them round to the back. He pulled up, with a great grinding of brakes, and shouted "Coo-ee!" loudly. Across the yard a door opened, and a boy's squat figure showed against the light.
"There's your man," said Mr. Smith, with something resembling a chuckle. "Come over 'ere, 'Orace, and lend a hand with these things."
The boy moved slowly, hesitatingly, forward. Tom got down, and held out his hands to Garth.
"Come on, sonnie. Be careful, Aileen: the step is high."
He lifted Garth down, and turned to help his wife. She was numbed from her cramped position, and stumbled against him, glad of his arm, for a moment.
"I'm all right, Tom," she said then. "Give me something to carry in."
"You can take the rugs," he said, "and Garth. Don't come out again, dear; just look round the rooms to get the hang of the place. I'll hurry the things in as quickly as I can, and come to help you."
Mother and little son stumbled across the uneven yard, guided by the light from the door. The squat boy brushed against them, evidently afraid. They reached a narrow veranda, across which the light streamed. It came from a kitchen: such a kitchen as Aileen had never seen. She looked into it half-timidly.
It was not a very large room, and it was indescribably filthy. A fire, which seemed the only clean thing, blazed in a rusty-looking stove, which had not known blacklead since its earliest infancy. On the hearth, logs, buckets and dirty boots mingled: a very black kettle and some evil-looking saucepans stood on the stove-top and the hobs. The floor was covered with tattered linoleum, with bare spaces here and there where the ancient covering had worn away, or still lingered in ragged strands. There was a sink in one corner; a large table, the surface of which shone with blackened grease, a dresser, covered with a queer assortment of cracked and stained crockery. The walls had once been whitewashed, but the white had long disappeared beneath a coating of smoke and grime. A black frying-pan hung by the fire-place, with a toasting-fork that had been twisted out of fencing wire. Over all was a reek of vile tobacco smoke, mingled with the smell of dirt and closeness. It was very evidently the sitting-room of Horrors. The mantelpiece held a framed text, its gaudy flowers almost invisible under the speckled and misty glass. It said, "God Bless Our Home."
"Mother!" said Garth, in a whisper. "Is this where we're going tolive?"
She looked down at the child's white face, and woke from the disgust and horror that had swept over her.
"Well, it is, sonnie," she said. "But it won't look like this long. You wait until we all get busy at it, and you won't know it. Anyway, we'll forget about it to-night. Come on and explore the rest of the house."
There was only one lamp, and she did not like to take it, since its dim beam was the only guide for the men as they tramped backwards and forwards from the wagon to the veranda. She looked about on the dresser, and found an end of candle stuck into a broken porter bottle, the sides of which were thick with grease. No matches were visible, so she held it to a blazing stick until it was alight. Then they entered their home.
There were four main rooms, with a kind of lobby at the back, off which were bathroom and storeroom. It was a simple cottage, such as you will find in the Bush in hundreds: a big living-room, and three bedrooms of varying sizes, the largest of which would have made a servant's bedroom in the "House Beautiful"—which was, perhaps, a place that gave itself airs. Such rooms they were! The extreme filth of the kitchen had not penetrated indoors; but they were dirty enough, with dust thick in every corner, and an almost unbearable fustiness that cried eloquently for fresh air. After her first sniff of the evil atmosphere Aileen went hastily to each window, flinging them open: all save one, which, apparently, never had been opened, and declined to begin now. She struggled with it for a minute and then gave it up, glancing at her dirt-streaked hands with a little shudder of disgust.
They had sent ahead of them, by steamer, a few articles of furniture, arranging with Mr. Smith to bring them out and unpack the new beds; which stood, gaunt with their naked mattresses, looking painfully clean amid the surrounding squalor. Sheets and blankets were somewhere in the mass of luggage that even now was being flung down on the dark back veranda. The other furniture was rough and untidy, and chiefly home-made: the dressing-tables were old packing-cases draped with dingy cretonne, the washstands were shelves against the wall. Mr. Gordon had evidently been a gentleman with a turn for carpentry: there were chairs made from barrels, and bookshelves composed of old laths from fruit cases, and filled with tattered and dirty books. The walls were boarded and varnished, cobwebs forming their only decoration.
"It's a funny house," Garth said plaintively. "Mother, could I go to bed, do you think?"
"Mother hasn't got a proper bed ready for you," Aileen said. "Never mind, sonnie: I'll fix you up without proper things for a while."
She brought the bundle of rugs, and spread them on the smaller bed: Mr. Smith, with an admirable economy of space, had erected both in one room. Garth was fumbling wearily at his buttons, and she came to his aid quickly.
"We won't take all your clothes off, because your pyjamas, are hiding in one of the boxes," she told him. "But you won't mind that, to-night."
Garth was past minding anything. His heavy head nodded forward as she picked him up, kneeling on the dirty floor while she unlaced his boots; then she laid him gently back on the uncovered pillow. He was asleep almost as his head touched it. Very gently, she drew the rugs over him, and turned from him, shading the candle with her hand.
Tom Macleod, entering hurriedly, looked from the white face on the pillow to that of his wife, almost as white.
"My poor little girl!" he said.
A lump rose in Aileen's throat. She choked it back with decision.
"If you begin to pity me I might cry, and there doesn't seem time for any diversion like that," she said, smiling bravely. "We're all right. I've put Garth to bed—-the poor man was so tired I wouldn't wait for sheets. But I would like some milk for him, Tom. Do you know if there is any?"
"There should be any amount—I think it's kept in the store-room," he said.
"And a saucepan?"
"Smith says he put the new pots and pans in the store-room, too—and the bread and meat and things we ordered."
"Then we'll all have hot milk and bread before we start unpacking," said his wife with decision. "Would you get the lamp, Tom? I'm so tired of this illumination!" She put down the greasy bottle and looked at the candle-end with disfavour. "I'll leave it, in case Garth wakes."
The store-room was more hopeful, since its window consisted of wire gauze, through which the air came freely. They found milk in what seemed to Aileen enormous quantities, most of it sour; but a bucket held the fresh supply of the evening, and a huge parcel from the store revealed butter as well as bread and groceries. They found another lamp, and while Tom heated milk in a hurriedly-rinsed saucepan, Aileen spread their first meal in the dining-room, using old newspapers for a tablecloth. She woke Garth, and made him drink a cupful of milk, but he was too sleepy to eat.
"Never mind—the milk will do him good," Tom said, watching them. "Now come and have some yourself."
They looked at each other over the paper-spread table, and to each of them came a vision of the "House Beautiful"—was it only last night that they had been in its dainty luxury! Neither spoke of it, however. Tom poured milk into a cracked cup and gave it to her.
"Don't be afraid. I washed the cups!" he said. "There was plenty of hot water, but nothing to dry them with—at least, nothing that you'd have cared about! So they're damp, if clean."
"Bless you!" said his wife. "Did you ever wash a cup before, Tom?"
"Not that I know of," he said, laughing. "But it isn't really difficult, if you have brains! Is the house very awful, dear?"
"Well—I'm inclined to think it's as well I had no stronger light than my candle-end to inspect it," she said, forcing a laugh. "It's—well, just a bit dirty. You ordered a charwoman, didn't you, Tom?"
"Of course I did. At least, one doesn't order them in this part of the world: one begs them humbly. I arranged with a plump lady named O'Brien, and Smith was to bring her out as often as was necessary. But she sent him a message that she had a lady friend from Bairnsdale staying with her, and she wasn't going. There doesn't seem to be any one else; so, since Gordon left, the house has been at the tender mercy of Horrors, not that I think he gets much beyond the kitchen. The kitchen is eloquent of him."
"It is, indeed," said Aileen, with a shudder. "Where is he now?"
"Gone to open the gate for Smith. I told him to come back quickly, but I don't fancy he's strong on being quick. I want him to help me carry things into the lobby—it's the best place to unpack. You know where to put your hands on the things we need to-night, don't you?"
"Oh, yes—bedclothes and sleeping things are all together in the black trunk, and so are our old clothes. They're all handy. But I can't remember where I packed soap and towels."
"They'll turn up," said Tom cheerfully, "especially if you don't worry about them. All you have to think of to-night is bed, even if you go there grubby! I'm afraid you'll have a very hard day to-morrow, my girl."
"It doesn't seem as if anything could be hard if I only had a sleep first," she said. "Have more hot milk, Tom."
Tom drained the saucepan.
"I never knew what a really good thing milk was," he said. "Let's live on it largely: it's cheap, and easy to cook! I feel pounds better."
"Kin I go ter bed?" said a voice at the door.
It was Horrors: a curious, squat boy of fifteen, with a very red face in which small eyes looked dully at the world; with a mop of extremely tight black curls, and an expression of stupidity that proved to be quite genuine. His clothes, tightly buttoned, were of blue dungaree, and had a well-filled look which, later, they found to be due to a habit of wearing other complete suits underneath the top layer, as though prepared at any minute to leave home suddenly. He stood at the door opening from the lobby and repeated his question heavily.
"Kin I go ter bed?"
"You can't, just yet," Tom said. "I want you to help me carry in those boxes."
"Awright," said Horrors sadly.
"Where do you sleep?" Aileen asked nim, studying her new henchman gravely.
"In me room."
"But where? Not in the house?" with a swift fear.
"Over there." He jerked his head towards the outer world. It was characteristic of Horrors that he never used two words where one would do.
"There's a buggy-shed, with a lean-to attached that forms Horrors' sleeping-bower," Tom told his wife. "I told him to clean it out before we came."
"Did," said Horrors.
"H'm," said Tom. "Pity you didn't clean the kitchen, too. Well, we'll get in these boxes."
They carried them in, placing them so that they could be conveniently unpacked. Aileen dragged out bedclothes and garments and made the bed by the light of the candle-end, now nearly exhausted. She was not used to the task: it would not have been considered a well-made bed. But it looked rather like heaven to her when it was finished.
Tom came in, to find her rooting wearily in a trunk.
"I wish I could have helped you," he said anxiously. "What are you looking for, now?"
"Soap," she said, her lip quivering in spite of herself. The hunt for soap had suddenly assumed enormous proportions—she had a vague idea that, if necessary, she must go on searching for it all night.
"Oh, you poor old tired thing!" her husband said. "There's an old bit of yellow in the bathroom, and here's a spare pillow-case—it will make a beautiful towel. I've got hot water in the basin—it was the dirtiest basin you ever saw, by the way. Come along." He lifted her to her feet.
They washed their hands and faces together in the basin, like children, and dried them on the pillow-case. The candle-end had guttered out when Aileen went back to her room, and she undressed by a faint gleam of moonlight that filtered in through the uncurtained window. The smell of the yellow soap was her last waking memory on her first night in the new home.
CHAPTER VI
A DAY IN THE COUNTRY
The sun was streaming through a threadbare yellow blind when Aileen Macleod awoke next morning. For a moment, dazed with sleep, she wondered what had happened—surely Julia was very late in bringing tea! Then memory came to her, and, with it, the realization that, for the first time in her life, food depended upon her own exertions. Simultaneously came the conviction that never before had she wanted morning tea so much.
She slipped out of bed. Garth and her husband were still sound asleep, but from outside came a clatter of buckets that gave hope that Horrors was astir. The thought of the bath called her. But on examination, the plunge-bath proved to possess an encrusted layer of dirt that defied cold water, and effectually robbed her of any craving to use it. The basin provided minor ablutions—the pillow-case was still damp from its midnight use, but its cleanliness, even though moist, was pleasant. Everywhere that she looked the pitiless daylight revealed dirt which the kindly candle-end had hidden the night before. She drew the skirts of her pretty dressing-gown more closely about her as she went back along the narrow passage towards the locked front door. She threw it open and went out upon the veranda.
[image]"She drew the skirts of her pretty dressing-gown more closely about her and went out upon the veranda."
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"She drew the skirts of her pretty dressing-gown more closely about her and went out upon the veranda."
Before her was loveliness of which she had not dreamed.
The house stood on a little hill, which sloped gently away at the back, and, in front, shelved more steeply down to where a glimpse of blue water showed. Like a river, it wound away among the hills until it was lost to sight: now narrow, now widening almost to a baby lake. Beyond were hills clothed with gum trees and wattle, stretching to the far distance; but nearer, she looked down into an exquisite fern gully, where splendid tree-ferns flung their fronded crests high into the air, and smaller fern-growths nestled about their stems. The plash of a tiny waterfall told of a stream running through it, to empty itself in the lake. Nearer, the hills were low and rounded, their fresh greenness a delight to tired city eyes.
No other houses were visible. It was as though they owned all the sweet countryside that stretched about the little cottage. On a far rise she could see knots of sheep, like dots of white wool upon the green; but before her no living thing moved, and there was only the still peace of hill and valley and curving lake. There had been fear in her heart—the fear born of inexperience and ignorance, the dread that the task she had shouldered would prove too hard for her. But it died as she looked out across the paddocks. In fancy she saw Garth running on the hills: growing strong and rosy, losing the pinched, tired look, and the blue circles under his eyes. With that dear vision in her heart, nothing else could matter.
She went back to her room. Garth was sitting up in bed, frankly bewildered.
"Hallo, Mother!" he said. "Did I go to sleep in my clothes?"
"You did," said his mother, beginning to brush her hair with swift strokes. "You were quite too tired last night to worry about pyjamas and sheets, sonnie."
"I don't remember a thing about it," said Garth. "I say, isn't this a queer room?"
"Oh, rooms don't count," Aileen answered. "You won't think about them when you see what a country we have come to. It's just lovely, Garth. Green paddocks—and gullies—and blue water!"
"Glory!" said Garth, and tumbled out of bed: a quaint figure in crumpled shirt and trousers. He ran to the window. "Oh-h, Mother!"
"Are you two discovering Gippsland?" asked a sleepy voice.
"Yes. Get up, lazy one, and discover it too," said Aileen.
"You forget that I explored it before kindly bringing you here," answered her husband, turning more comfortably on his pillow. "Aren't you grateful to me?" He suddenly regarded her with amazement. "Why are you doing your hair in that small, hard bun?"
Aileen skewered the bun in question with a final careful hairpin.
"There is going to be an amount of dust raised in this house to-day that will make up for the years during which it has never seen a spring-cleaning," she answered. "And my hair is clean. So I screw it in a bun, and presently I shall also tie it in one of your largest handkerchiefs. Then I shall sally forth and attack our new home with a broom."
"To do which, you must be fed," said Tom, getting up with a quick movement and disappearing towards the bathroom.
"How he'llhatethat wet pillow-case!" Aileen murmured. Inspiration came to her, and she dived into a trunk, which, after a moment's rummaging, revealed a large brown towel. Thrust in at the bathroom door, this induced gasping sounds of gratitude.
The newspaper tablecloth of last night did duty for breakfast also; and breakfast was eggs, boiled over a spirit-lamp, and tea, which Tom brewed in the kitchen. Garth, delighted at what he regarded as a huge picnic, trotted here and there, helping and hindering with equal enthusiasm.
"I've made a tour of the house," Aileen said, manipulating an enormous brown tea-pot; "and I want to map out our plan of campaign. What are you going to do?"
"Help you, until the place is clean," said her husband, looking at her. She was an unfamiliar Aileen, in a blue overall, short and workmanlike, and with her tightly-screwed hair. Tom came to the conclusion that he liked it. "What do we do first?"
"Good housewives, I have always read, begin by setting their kitchen in order," she answered. "But I think I would rather have clean bedrooms first; and I propose to ignore the kitchen. It's dirtier than all the rest of the house put together, and I feel that it will keep. If we could set up the oil-stove in the lobby we could boil kettles and things there. I brought an enormous piece of cooked corned-beef, so we shan't need to cook."
"First-rate idea," said Tom approvingly. "What about the kid? Does he eat corned-beef?"
"There's a cold chicken for him," said his mother. "Also meat jelly, in a jar: I trust it's not broken by that unholy bumping last night of Mr. Smith's express wagon. What does Horrors do to earn his living, Tom?"
"He's supposed to do what he is told; but under Gordon he seems to have done very much what he liked," Tom answered. "He milks three cows, and feeds pigs and calves and fowls; and cuts wood, and draws water—no, he doesn't, there are taps, praise the pigs! He's just an odd-job boy—and quite at your disposal. His not to reason why!"
"He might do some of the rougher work, and the scrubbing," Aileen said. She knitted her brows. "I do feel so stupid—I don't know where to begin!"
"I don't blame you, with a house in what my old nurse used to call a dirty uproar," said her husband. "Let's hurl everything out of one front room on to the veranda and clean things there. Then we'll clean the room, and put the clean things back into it, and then we'll sit down in the clean midst of everything and smirk at the result. We shan't be clean, ourselves, by that time, but that's a detail. If we do that every day for a week you won't know our mansion!"
"It sounds a good plan," said Aileen enthusiastically. "Come on, and we'll begin." She reached the door, and then turned back, laughing.
"I quite forgot that if we didn't clear away the breakfast things, nobody would!" she said. "I must wash up."
"I'll help you, Mother," said Garth eagerly.
"Will you, sweetheart? Well, you can dry the things. And Tom, if you could get Horrors, you and he might begin the hurling-out of the furniture. Where is Horrors, by the way?"
"When I last saw him, he had eaten five eggs, and was beginning a sixth!" said her husband. "If he feels well enough, which seems doubtful, I'll get him at once. I'll fill the kettle for you. Don't go into the kitchen more than you can help, for it is in every sense a place of horrors. I saw fully five thousand cockroaches there last night."
"Ugh!" shuddered Aileen.
"Don't worry. I'm told that it's only at night that 'the rogues come out to play,'" said he. "We'll poison them when we come to attack the kitchen. They must have been great company for that boy in the long evenings—we mustn't grudge him lively society!"
"What's cockroaches?" asked Garth, greatly interested. "I never saw one."
"I trust not," said his mother hastily. "Never mind them—we must get to work, sonnie."
There were evil rags in the kitchen that had done duty as dish-towels, and which Aileen, having sniffed gingerly, lifted on the point of a stick and conveyed to the fire. There was also a dish-pan so encrusted with the remains of many washings that she decided to use a wash-hand basin. There were the shelly remnants of Horrors' breakfast—which it seemed best to leave for his own disposal. Finally, having discovered that when cockroaches are sufficiently tame and prosperous they do not always shun the daylight, she seized the kettle and, shuddering, fled, leaving both doors open, that fresh air might remove some of the more obtrusive odours of Horrors' sitting-room. Later, she found that this plan had led to the intrusion of a large family of fowls and several half-wild cats. In the hope that some of these visitors might care for eating cockroaches, she forebore to disturb them.
It was a strange day for a woman who had never before done an hour's hard work. Throughout her life she had known only ease and dainty comfort; now she found herself plunged into dirt and squalour, with no skilled aid, and handicapped by utter inexperience. It was the inexperience that almost angered her as the hours went on. By nature she was practical enough—it was hurting to her pride to make stupid mistakes that must be paid for by more hard work. She scrubbed a room without thinking of cleaning the walls and ceiling—which, when examined, yielded so much grime that her fastidiousness forthwith scrubbed the defiled floor again. Tom was greatly annoyed with her when he found her on her knees, wielding the scrubbing-brush anew. But at least there was comfort in having done the job thoroughly.
Horrors, as a scrubber, proved an utter failure. Tom said he "took the rough off"; but Aileen, looking at pools of filthy water which seemed to have flung up waves of dirt, decided that his methods were hopeless, and—when Tom was out of the way—went over the work again herself, and made the discovery that scrubbing is not so easy as it looks, and that it carries possibilities of backache undreamed of before. Indeed, as the day wore on, a thousand aches seemed situated in her back, and her shoulders grew so stiff that she could scarcely raise her arms. Like all enthusiastic beginners, she tried to do too much, and paid the penalty.
Yet throughout the hard day she was never unhappy. The work brought its own reward in the delight of feeling cleanliness about her again; and it was something to be working together, uniting their efforts in making the new home. Garth's happy face, as he appeared from time to time at a window, full of joyful tidings of new discoveries outside, was a never-failing tonic. And Tom was the best of mates; ignorant as herself, and much more unpractical, but full of energy, and with a joke always on his lips. Garth's voice singing, as he roamed in the garden, mingled with his father's, singing also, to the accompaniment of much rattling and banging, as he unpacked and erected the new oil-stove. It made her want to sing herself—only that her back ached too much.
They lunched in a scrappy fashion, very late which was foolish; and, having lunched late, let afternoon tea go altogether, which was more foolish still. They had yet to learn that hard work, without sufficient food, does not pay. Aileen was finishing bed-making, in a room that fairly smelt of cleanliness, when Tom appeared in the doorway.
"Six o'clock; and that's the last stroke of work you do this day," said he firmly. "Come and eat things: I've made an enormous pot of tea, and Garth has laid the table."
"How lovely! and what dears you both are!" she said, turning, and smiling at him. Then suddenly the room began to turn round, slowly at first, and then faster, and she was falling through space.
It seemed a very long while, though it was but a few moments, before she opened her eyes, to find herself on her bed, with Tom bending over her.
"What's the matter?" she asked. "I'm all right, Tom—let me get up." She struggled to rise.
"Lie still, dear," he said anxiously.
"Did I faint?—how silly of me!" she said disgustedly. "I'm so sorry; I must have frightened you."
"I'm glad I caught you," he said. "Isn't there some medicine I could give you? Sal volatile, or something? Tell me where to look."
Colour was coming back to her lips. She began to laugh.
"Oh, I don't want any medicine," she answered. "I haven't got any, either—you know I never faint, Tom. It's too stupid of me to do it now. I was only a little tired—and I think the idea of tea overcame me!"
"Keep quiet, then, and I'll bring you a cup," he said, disappearing. He was back in a moment, cup in hand, and made her lean against him as she drank it.
"That was lovely!" she said, lying back. "Oh, I've such a heavenly feeling of laziness, and of course, I must nip it in the bud! I'm all right now, Tom, and so hungry. Come along."
"Sure you are?" he said, regarding her doubtfully as she got up. "Well, don't go tumbling about like that any more: it scares one." He held her arm as they went along the narrow passage to the dining-room, and kept a wary eye upon her throughout the meal. Being well aware of this, she forced herself to be extremely merry, despite thee fact that red-hot knives seemed to be running in and out of her shoulders.
"It's just the beautifullest place that ever was!" Garth said, blissfully looking up from his bowl of bread and milk. "There's lovely sheds, and a big bench with tools—they's rustier thanyourtools, Daddy!—and a stable, and such a jolly loft, with hay in it, and rats!"
"It sounds a jolly place," said his father. "Are there more rats than hay, or vice versa?"
"I didn't see any—-any of those things you said," answered Garth, slightly puzzled. "Do they run about?"
"Not as a rule," said Tom gravely. "Never mind; I dare say there are none. But are there many rats?"
"I only saw three, but I heard lots." Garth's tone was hopeful. "And Bran was awful excited. He couldn't get up the ladder, but he raced about down below, and barked like fun. Do you think you could carry him up to-morrow, Daddy? I tried, but it's a very steep ladder, and he wriggled."
"And who said you could climb up steep ladders?" asked his mother.
"But I couldn't have got up into the loft if I hadn't," said her son.
"That seems to settle it," said Tom, beginning to laugh. "We'll have to get used to these things, I suppose."
"I suppose so," Aileen agreed. "We really don't want a prim suburban son now. Only make me one promise, Garth, to keep my old mind easy—don't go near the water until Daddy has time to teach you to swim."
"I did go, to-day," confessed her son, "but I won't again. You'll teach me pretty quick, won't you, Daddy? And can I go near the little creek in the gully? It's the littlest ever—I can jump across it anywhere."
"Oh, we can leave you the gully," Aileen answered. "And we'll make a swimmer of you just as soon as we can. Every one finished? Then we'll go and look at our work."
The house reeked pleasantly of soap and turpentine, and, so far as was possible, it shone. It had been fortunate for the workers that Mr. Gordon's furniture was both simple and scarce, and so had economized cleaning. They had arranged it to more advantage in the bare little rooms, and already they were homelike, though lacking as yet the smallest pretence at adornment. The cretonne petticoats had been ruthlessly torn from the packing-case dressing-tables, the shelves and tops of which were modestly covered, for the present, with newspapers. Gay Indian bedspreads lent a touch of colour to the prevailing dinginess of the brown walls and linoleum-covered floors of the two front rooms.
"Don't you feel a holy glow that we took up those linoleums?" Tom asked.
"When I think of what was under them, I do!" rejoined his wife grimly.
The lobby was still a scene of wild unpacking; but in the third bedroom, a tiny apartment off the dining-room, the American oil-stove stood in all its bravery of black paint and bright blue enamel, the glass door of the oven shining invitingly. A copper kettle simmered over the flame: on nails on the wall hung Aileen's aluminium pots and pans. A rough shelf held an imposing stack of cookery books, flanked by a big pile of dish towels.
"It does look jolly!" Garth said. "When are you going to begin to cook, Mother?"
"As soon as I have a clean house," Aileen answered. "To-morrow we'll have to attack that awful store-room: and I foresee heart-to-heart talks with Horrors on the subject of milk buckets. His look as if they were washed about once a month. Tom, how lovely you've made the bath!"
The tin sides of the bath fairly winked at them as they entered the little bathroom.
"Seeing that I used gallons of boiling water and about half a ton of soda to it, I should think it ought to look lovely," said Tom. "I doubled myself into the thing for so long that when I finally emerged, I thought I'd never straighten myself!" His eyes twinkled. "What a heap there is in housekeeping one never suspected! I've regarded Julia and Annie as quite ordinary people for years, but now they strike me as rather more than human!"
"But is you two people always going to work?" asked a small voice. "Nothin' else at all?"
Garth's father and mother exchanged glances over his head.
"Poor man! He has never seen us do anything but play!" Aileen murmured. She patted his head. "We'll have to work a good deal, sonnie, but there will be time for quite a lot of fun, too. That has simplygotto be arranged. And to begin with, I think it's high time you showed me things outside. It's disgraceful to have come to a new home and not to have put one's nose out all day. And outside is so much lovelier than inside!"
"It just is—ever so much," Garth cried. "Come along! I wonder will the pigs have gone to bed!"
"Sure you're not too tired?" Tom asked, a little anxiously.
"I will be less tired if I go," she said. "He hasn't had us for a moment all day."
They went out together, but at the door Tom turned back.
"Go on," he said, "I want my pipe: I'll catch you up."
He watched them stray off into the twilight. Then he went to the forgotten tea-table, cleared it, and washed the dishes. He did it very badly, and with a great deal of mess, never having washed dishes before; but no one who saw him as he worked would have judged the work hardly. Having finished, he wiped up the mess—of which there was a good deal—with a clean towel, surveyed the result with pride, and strode forth to find his family.
"You've been ever so long!" Garth complained. "Whatever have you been doing, Daddy?"
"Just playing round," said Tom. "What a mercy the pigs aren't in bed!"