[image]"Then she flung herself into the water."A motor-launch came swiftly round from the lake, the two men in her talking and smoking. They saw the empty boat first, and the words died upon their lips."My goodness!" said Tom Macleod, and sprang to his engine. The launch leaped like a live thing, tearing through the water. The skiff danced past them, rocking upon the waves."Can you see them?" he asked, between his teeth."One of 'em's close," Nick said. "Steady—starboard a little. Be ready to back if I miss." He hung over the side and clutched at the fair head near the boat. "Ah—got her. It's your wife." His great shoulders quivered as he dragged her in, looking wildly ahead as he did so. A cry broke from him."There's my girl—she's got your kid. Hold on, 'Poss! Get on with you, man—starboard, starboard!"He flung Aileen into the boat, and turned again swiftly. 'Possum was paddling feebly with one hand, almost done. She met his eyes and her lips parted."Take the kid," she gasped. But he took both, catching them with his great arms, and holding them out of the water until Tom could get to his side. He caught his boy from 'Possum's tired hands and laid him in the boat beside his mother, while Nick O'Connor dragged at the girl."I believe we're too late," Tom said in a terrible voice. "Aileen! Aileen!"Her eyes opened, and in them was an agony of fear. She tried to speak, but only a whisper would come."Garth!" And Garth half turned and cuddled in to her with a little sleepy sigh.* * * * *The current fled onward, and on its breast the empty skiff danced as though the little waves were playfellows that had come to greet it and to carry it away to join their game. They rocked it gently until it neared the lake; then they grew choppy, and the skiff bobbed and swayed until it was drawn out upon the bosom of the water. It was calm there; but still the tide set seawards, carrying the skiff away and away—over the lake, hurrying, hurrying, until the great grey piers loomed ahead, with the grey waste of the sea dark between them. The roar of the breakers boomed, rising and falling. The lane of water between the piers was smooth: there were no waves; but under the surface were deep eddies, and the skiff spun and quivered over them, still drawn onward and outward towards the bar that leaped and thundered beyond the end of the piers. It reached the bar, and the breakers took it and played with it, flinging it up and down. Their curling crests tossed their spray into it; and still the little boat rode bravely, now in the hollow trough of a wave, now rising on a great curving wall of green water, and dashing forward with the tide out to sea. So, by some strange chance it passed the bar into the long, smooth ocean swells, and drifted to the horizon.But when, in the night, the tide turned, it brought the little boat back. The pale moon that smiled over the Bush cottage where Garth lay, sleeping calmly, saw it also: a tiny thing on the great waste of waters, desolate and alone. Slowly it drifted landwards until the roar of the surf sounded near, and then it was hurried forward, towards the forsaken beach west of the piers, until a mighty roller caught it on its crest and bore it, mounting ever higher, at racing speed to the shore. It was high in the air when the great wave crashed downwards, and when its hundreds of tons of green water thundered to the sand, the skiff, bottom upwards, was dashed ashore in a swirl of white surf. Once the undertow caught it, dragging it back, but another roller flung itself down, and when its wild rush along the beach had spent itself, the little boat, battered and broken, lay half buried in the sand. The tide ebbed out, leaving it there; and a seabird, screaming by, saw it and perched upon it, calling to its mate.In the little cottage, Garth slept on: and beside him his mother knelt, one arm flung across the warm, childish body, listening to his soft breathing: dumb with thankfulness.CHAPTER XVII'POSSUM BECOMES A PUPIL"If youcouldspare a day or two," said Tom Macleod, and looked anxiously at 'Possum. "I think it's fairly rough on you to have to save my son's life one day, and nurse his mother the next, but a woman about the place would be a tremendous comfort, and Aileen would rather have you than any one she knows. She can't lift her head.""Well, you didn't need to drive over yourself," 'Possum said. "You had no right to leave her! If you'd sent that kid Horrors with a bit of a note, you might a' known I'd be there as quick as old Greystones 'ud bring me. How on earth is she managin', with you traipsin' over here?""She was asleep, and Garth is sitting with her," Tom said meekly. "She can't bear him out of her sight; and you know he's pretty handy. Then you'll come back with me, 'Possum?""My gracious, yes!" 'Possum answered. "I won't be five minutes—just wait till I sling some clothes into a basket. You go an' tell Dad I'm goin', will you, Mr. Macleod?" She hurried out of the room, and he heard her calling Bertha urgently.Nick O'Connor never thought of questioning 'Possum's movements. If she said she was going anywhere, well, she was going, and that was all there was about it. Bertha was an able lieutenant to leave in charge, and it was certain that food would appear upon the table at the usual hours, which, after all, was the only thing that mattered.Even if it had been uncertain, or dependent on his own efforts, it would have been unthinkable that 'Possum should not go to a neighbour in distress. He would; in that case, have said, "Git along; I'll look after the kids," and would have done so to the best of his ability, though the staple diet of the said kids and himself would probably have been corned beef."Just you keep her as long as ever the missus wants her," he said, packing 'Possum's basket into the back of the buggy. "An' if you want more help, send over for me. I could run your place all right if you want to be in the house." He brushed aside Tom's grateful disclaimer, of needing more aid with, "Well, you know where to find me if you want me." The buggy bumped away over the paddock while he watched it, Bertha silent beside him. When it turned out of sight round a clump of tea-trees, he looked down at her from his great height."Sure you can manage things?""My word!" said Bertha. "I like it. On'y you tell Bill to cut me stove-wood." She marched into the kitchen with high enterprise in her heart.Aileen was still asleep when they reached the farm. Tom peeped into her room, and saw Garth sitting by her bedside, very upright and alert. He shook his head frantically at his father, and Tom took the hint, and withdrew."Well, I'll just get things straightened up," said 'Possum, receiving his report. "Then she'll be glad of a cup o' tea when she wakes.""Don't do too much," Tom said. "Remember you had a pretty tough time yesterday.""Me?" said 'Possum, wide-eyed. "Bless you, it was on'y another bathe for me!" She disappeared into the spare room.So it was that Aileen, waking from a troubled sleep that was full of sinking boats and dancing water, found Garth beside her, his tremulous little smile welcoming her back to consciousness; and presently, after an unseen hurried glance and withdrawal, 'Possum came in, bearing a little tray with tea and dainty strips of golden-brown toast; and in one corner of the tray an exquisite rosebud, nodding in a vase."Oh, 'Possum!" she said, "'Possum!" The tears choked her."I say, don't look like that, Missus, dear—please don't!" said poor 'Possum miserably. She put her tray on a table and caught Aileen's hand in hers, and Aileen drew the rough hand against her cheek and held it there."Now you ain't goin' to talk of it, nor to think of it, neither," 'Possum said presently. "You ain't got nothin' to worry about, 'cause it's all over, an' there's old Garth grinnin' at you, an jus' as right as pie. An' all you got to do is to get well, 'cause the Boss is that bothered about you he's right off his feed. I think if you was to let me help you sit up, you could have this." She raised her gently; and somewhat to her surprise Aileen could eat and drink a little."If only I weren't so stupidly tired," Aileen whispered, lying down. "And my head buzzes—it buzzed all night as if an engine were let loose inside it.""Course it would," said 'Possum soothingly. "But it's goin' to be all right now.""You're sure Garth is well?""Now, look here, Missus," said the girl decidedly. "If I wasn't sure, you might just jolly well know I wouldn't have him up, even to let you see him—he'd be in bed with a hot bottle, an' a jolly good go of med'cine. But you'd never think he'd had a duckin' at all. Bless you, what's an extra duckin' to a boy? Our kids is in an' out of the lake all day long."Something in the rough, homely words soothed the mother more than a hundred more polished speeches. She nestled into her pillow sleepily with a little smile, her eyes never wandering from Garth for more than a moment. But presently the heavy lids drooped, and sleep came to her: deep, refreshing sleep, this time, unbroken by the weary maze of dreams that had tortured her before. She did not stir when 'Possum and Garth tip-toed from the room."Bettern't I stay with her?" the small boy asked anxiously."No; you go out, old son. She's goin' to sleep for a long while, this time, an' what's more, she's goin' to be better when she wakes.""Sure, 'Poss?" he asked eagerly."Dead certain. An' it'll be miles nicer for her to see you with a bit of colour in your washy old cheeks than lookin' white from sittin' all day in her room. You go an' find your dad, an' tell him not to worry about her, an' give him a hand in the garden. I'll be on the listen, an' I'll call you the d'reckly minute she wakes." She watched the little fellow catch his felt hat from its peg and run out with his news."My word, he's a dear kid!" she muttered.For all her brave words to Tom, she was very tired. The shock of the child's danger had told on her: her arms and shoulders ached cruelly from the long, hard pull, and from the wild struggle to keep afloat, with Garth a dead weight upon her and the current tearing at them, sucking them away from the shore she had tried so vainly to reach. She, too, had had her dreams of horror—in which she had fought wildly to land on a shore that had continually slipped away, and had felt choking waters rising over her head. She shivered now, as the thought of them came over her, and then fought it back resolutely."Don't you be a silly ass, 'Possum O'Connor!" she told herself. "A little bit o' work's whatyouwant." Thus dealing with herself, she seized a broom, and made a furious onslaught upon the kitchen; and having valiantly routed seven hens that had come uninvited into the back yard, felt considerably better.It was afternoon when Aileen awoke—this time with light in her eyes and colour in her cheeks:—able to take the soup that 'Possum brought her, and to smile at Garth and Tom as they perched on her bed and entertained her with news of the estate, as Tom gravely called it. There was always so much to tell of the estate each day; news of garden, or fowl-run, or pigsty; fresh flowers blossoming, a panel of fencing broken down by a cow with a thirst for exploring, or a raid after calves that had escaped through the gap and distributed themselves up the most scrub-grown gully they could find. To-day the pigs had taken advantage of Horrors having opened the gate of their sty and then fallen to dreaming; with the result that Garth and his father had had a long hunt, and were considerably heated."But we got them back, all right," Garth said triumphantly. "Daddy let me go pig-sticking with a long bit of tea-tree, and you should have seen them run! It was awful fun, but I never got near them!""I don't reckon you would—much!" said 'Possum. "Now, how about tea?""Ah, do have it in here!" Aileen begged. "If you don't mind, that is?" A supposition which induced mirth on the part of her hearers.So they nursed her back to quietness of mind, which brought healing to her tired body, filling her days with laughter and the interests of the farm, until the dreams left her and she ceased to look at Garth with a shudder of remembrance. They kept her busy, as soon as she could sit up, finding urgent requirements of patches and buttons, and a hundred little things that only she could understand and arrange. "Best thing for her," said 'Possum, and they saw that her words were true.Messengers came from 'Possum's home very often—Bill or little Joe riding over with news of the farm and inquiries for the Missus. Bertha was doin' fine, they said. "Never puts her nose outside the kitchen, an' my word! she cooks a treat!" was Bill's verdict. "Yes, the house looks all right—why wouldn't it? Dad was busy all day harvestin' at Mackenzie's, but he came home at night. An' the wool was sold, an' Dad said to tell Mr. Macleod it was the best price he'd had for years, so Mr. Macleod's wool, bein' along with it, must have brought him luck." After which recitals Bill and Joe would consume enormous quantities of tea and cake and reluctantly take the track for home. They confided to Garth that Bert was a pretty good cook, an' all that, but it wasn't like havin' 'Poss.In a few days Aileen was able to get up—too weak to work, but glad to be about once more, even if being "about" meant only sitting still. Then came 'Possum to her, with a request."If you wouldn't mind," she said, and flushed scarlet, "I thought it 'ud be such a chance for me, when I was knockin' about here, an' you not busy, if you'd put me up to a few things.""What sort of things, 'Possum?" Aileen asked."Oh, just odd things. You know—like the way you have the house. I don't know a thing, except how to cook, after a fashion, and land what I've cooked on the table; an' that's after a fashion, too. You have everything so pretty an' nice: I'd like to learn how.""You would be just the easiest person to teach." Aileen told her."Would I?" 'Possum's face was eager. "I'd try not to be too much of a duffer. It's like me old dungarees. Before you come, I thought they were all right; now I can't stand 'em, except just for rough work. I think it 'ud be nice if I could get like that about other things—if I could feel as if I couldn't stand food slung on the table anyhow, or rooms all messy an' hideous. Then I could teach the kids.""But once you feel like that, it leaves very little for me to teach you," she said. "Your mind is dainty in itself, so you like everything about you to be dainty."'Possum drew a long breath."That's the nicest thing ever I had said to me in me life," she said softly. "Iwilltry, Missus—like fury. An' there's another thing; on'y it's givin' you a lot of bother——""Rubbish!" said Aileen, laughing. "What is it, 'Possum, dear?"But this was harder to say. 'Possum made several false starts before the words came at last."It's—well, you know, I know I speak jolly rough. Since you come I have tried to keep me voice softer——""I know," Aileen said."Did you? I'm so glad. But I make awful mistakes, I know. Even the kids tell me that—they've had more schoolin'. But the trouble is, they pick up things from me. If you could just drop on me now an' then when I say anything all wrong? I know I ain't got enough grammar to keep meself warm. But I'd try an' get better. I truly would.""And you wouldn't mind being told little things? They'resuchlittle things, really, 'Possum.""Mind?" said 'Possum. "Oh, I'd give me ears if you'd teach me. Like as if I was Garth I've heard you tell him when he pernounced a word skew-whiff!""Then I will tell you," Aileen said. "I know you'll make it easy for me—because I will be dreadfully afraid of hurting you, 'Possum.""Lor'!" said 'Possum. "You couldn't hurt me, not if you tried with a meat-axe!"Aileen laughed."Very well. Then we'll cut out 'Lor'!' for the future, 'Possum, shall We?"'Possum stared."Ain't I a silly chump?" she said. "I might a known it was wrong, 'cause you never say it. Right-oh, Missus!" And it said something for her determination that no one ever heard her say it again.It was speech that was the only stumbling-block. Little daintinesses of living came to her naturally, with only a hint, just as daintiness of person had come. Her eye for colour was sure, and she had a natural instinct for arranging flowers and for brightening a room that developed daily under Aileen's gentle tuition. Beginning with perfect cleanliness as the basis of perfection, it was easy to work up and up, learning a little more each day—and 'Possum never had to be told a thing twice. But her unchecked speech was a harder matter, and often the cheeks of both girls burned, until the idea came to Aileen to make a joke of it, when they got on much better. Tom, privately consulted, suggested making 'Possum read aloud, for which she proved to have a natural aptitude, and the exercise taught her more than many lessons."You know," she said, one day, "Mother wasn't rough. I was only a bit of a nipper when she died——"She pulled up, observing Aileen's face."Kid, I suppose I should say," she said, grinning broadly. Aileen burst out laughing."Try, 'little girl,'" she suggested."H'm," said 'Possum critically. "Doesn't sound very satisfyin', does it? Well, I was, anyhow; but I remember a lot about her, an' I know she always had the house dossy——"Pause."Pretty, I mean; an' things more like you have 'em—them, an' her voice was soft an' gentle. But I was only eleven, an' there was a good lot to do, an' I got careless, 'specially with her not there to tell me anything. All the same, I knew things weren't the way she'd like to have them, and it worried me, when I had time to think of it. I'm afraid," she added, honestly, "that that got to be not very often. When you're always wonderin' how you're goin' to get all your jobs done, you can't worry an awful lot over things like that.""Indeed, you can't. I often wonder how you managed everything—and you such a wee thing," Aileen said. "I think your mother knew and was pleased, 'Possum.""Do you, truly?" 'Possum asked wistfully. "I used to wonder if she did. I never could feel that she'd got far away, 'cause she didn't want to go. But once I said that to the woman Dad got to look after us, an' she hit me a clip on the ear, an' said I was a wicked little wretch to talk like that."Aileen's eyes blazed."Oh, it was she who was wicked!" she cried. "How could she!""If you'd known her, you wouldn't have asked how," 'Possum said grimly. "She was a fair terror, she was. At least"—she stopped and pondered, searching in her mind for an expression at once forcible and refined—"she was a very ... disagreeable person!"Aileen fell into peals of laughter."Oh, it won't do, 'Possum—do say 'a fair terror!'" she begged."Well, I guess I'll have to," 'Possum grinned. "Somehow, when you say things, they sound just what you want 'em to say. But unless I make my remarks pretty strong they sound as silly as a wet hen!" With which pearl of speech the conversation came to an abrupt conclusion.CHAPTER XVIIITHE REGATTACuninghame wore an air of unwonted festivity. There were flags flying from the stores and hotels, and from many of the private houses; little pennons fluttering at the mastheads of the sailing-boats that were dotted all along the shore. All over the lagoon could be seen other boats, arriving: yachts, motor-launches, smart skiffs, skiffs that were not smart, and ancient tubs bound from every little lake settlement or lonely farm. For this was the day on which Cuninghame burst into clouds of glory, and drew unto itself crowds that turned it into something between a whirlpool and an excited ant-heap. It is only on one day in the year that Cuninghame holds its regatta, and the occasion is one to be treated with respect.New Year's Day had been fixed originally for the great event: but the Clerk of the Weather had been singularly tactless, and had ushered in the New Year with such deluges of rain that hurried telegrams had been sent to Sale and Bairnsdale and other district towns, postponing the regatta; and hundreds of would-be excursionists had unpacked their luncheon-baskets and remained at home. But to-day was to make amends for all disappointments. Rain had fallen, just enough to clear the air and secure the very perfection of autumn weather, while laying the dust on the roads for the folk who rode and drove. The sands were dry and firm: the hummocks shone white against the sky, across the lagoon. There was just enough breeze for sailing—enough to dot the lake with tiny wavelets, gleaming and dancing in the sun. Just to look at that blue, restless surface was enough to set the heart dancing, too.The Macleods came early, since Garth's impatience was a thing not to be gainsaid. He had never seen a regatta, and the stories told him by the young O'Connors had set him dreaming of nothing else for weeks past. Soon after breakfast he arrayed himself, emerging from his room shining and speckless in white duck, with white sand-shoes and bare brown legs, and a white felt hat held in readiness. After which, his attitude began with sublime patience, which collapsed after a time and merged into trenchant inquiries as to why people couldn't be ready as soon as he was, and lugubrious certainty that they were missing all the best of the fun. Eventually they found themselves driving into the township quite an hour earlier than they had thought of starting, while Horrors, on Jane, jogged in the rear, and wondered how soon he might begin to eat the enormous packet of lunch with which he had been provided.Early as they were, the O'Connors were before them. It was a day of which no young O'Connor was willing to miss a minute. What was it to them that the regatta itself did not really begin—save for a few sailing races, which nobody noticed—until one o'clock? Was there not all the unusual stir and bustle of the town to see?—the gay shops, decked for the occasion with brave displays of fruit and sweets and cakes, to tempt hungry picnickers; the gallant array of boats, glistening with new paint and varnish, and as bright as "elbow-grease" would make them: the crowds arriving from all the countryside by land and water—people they knew, to greet and by whom to be greeted—schoolfellows, curiously unfamiliar in their best clothes—school teachers, even more curiously human and approachable, and not at all suggesting the week-day discipline of desk and ruler? Not a yard of the esplanade was without its excitements. There were the summer visitors from the houses that were shuttered and gloomy all the winter, and from the tiny cottages under the hummocks across the lagoon, owned by people from Sale and Bairnsdale, who lived a camping existence from Christmas until Easter, with the breakers pounding almost at their back doors. These considered themselves part and parcel of the place, as indeed they were, and looked with something of disparagement at the folk from Melbourne and Sydney who filled the hotels, and who might never come again, and who, at the best, lived a luxurious and pampered life, and did not know the joys of a picnic existence, with no servants and no worries—every one working in the same way, and every one ready for every kind of fun, from big surf-bathing parties or moonlight swims in the lake, to rushing over the hummocks in a body to lend a hand with the hauling of a shoal of salmon brought in through the breakers. Then there were other visitors—blacks from the Lake Tyers Mission Station; principally lithe young men keen on taking part in the regatta, with a sprinkling of older men, and a few young women and boys. They moved here and there among the crowd on noiseless bare feet.Never had the O'Connor family looked so resplendent. Nick, to begin with, was a majestic figure in his best suit, with a "boiled" shirt, and a tartan tie which appeared only on great occasions. Bertha and Polly were in fresh washing frocks, and the boys in suits of blue-striped galatea, very smart and summer-like. But 'Possum, in Aileen's Christmas gift of the dress that was like the inside of a shell, tall and slender, her face half-eager and half-shy, was an unfamiliar figure at whom many people turned to glance. Never before had 'Possum been to a regatta, and her inward excitement was almost as keen as Garth's. "The kids always went," she had told Aileen. "I didn't. The old dungarees didn't seem to fit in."To-day no one "fitted in" better than 'Possum: and Nick O'Connor found himself casting glances of pride at his brood, while mothers from "up the lake" gazed upon the O'Connor tribe with blank amazement, and came to the conclusion that Nick must have found a gold-mine on the farm. "Not that the whole lot of them dresses ain't cheaper than my Albert's plush," said one matron, regarding her son's green sailor suit of that opulent material, with its lace collar. "But it ain't exactly that—on'y they look like toffs!"They all lunched together at the buggies, in the shade of some gum trees—hurriedly, for the children wanted to see the steamers come in from Sale and Bairnsdale, with their big crowds of excursionists. The first far-off hoot came just as they had finished, and they hurried to the packed wharf. Across the lagoon, at the Entrance wharf, the steamer was discharging a throng of the people to whom regattas are nothing, but the open sea and the Ninety-Mile Beach everything—townsfolk, weary of the long summer, and longing for the sands and the clean breeze from the ocean. They pressed up the steps leading to the hummocks, a black swarm. Then the steamer came slowly across the little strip of water to Cuninghame, her decks still dark with people. She was gaily decked with flags, and on her bows could be seen girls in light summer frocks, like a fluttering garden. Faint at first, but gradually growing louder and louder, a band was playing a swinging waltz: the music chimed in with the plash of the water as the boat slackened speed and churned her way to the wharf. Impatient boys sprang ashore without waiting for the gangway to be lowered; then the great plank came down and the excursionists trooped across it, gay and chattering; some laden with rugs and luncheon-hampers, while others had prudently saved time by lunching on board during the long trip through the lakes—a plan fraught with danger, since people were crowded like sardines in a tin, and an unwary movement of a neighbour was apt to send tea-cups flying. But then no one ever minded such insignificant occurrences on a lake excursion. When you rise at six o'clock, drive some miles to a boat that starts at eight, with a five hours' water-journey each way, for the sake of three hours on the beach,—what is a spilt tea-cup?The regatta went along merrily, after the manner of regattas: wildly interesting to those directly concerned, and of mild excitement to outsiders. There were yacht races, in which the boats departed into the horizon, and were promptly forgotten by the spectators; fishermen's boat-races, which drew a crowd at the finish; and skiff-races, which, being shorter, held the attention all the time, and evoked great cheering from the backers of the competitors. Tom entered for one of the latter combats, but was ignominiously defeated by a young fisherman and a black fellow from Lake Tyers, behind whom he paddled in meekly, much to Garth's disgust."I don't believe they played fair!" said the small boy gloomily."Don't you say that!" said his father sharply, and then relented at the amazed face."It doesn't do, old man," Tom continued. "When a fellow is beaten, he takes his gruel like a decent chap; and he doesn't abuse the other fellow. Do you imagine, too, that your old city-bred father had any chance against men who have been on the lakes all their lives?""Well, you used to be in the eight at Trinity College," said Garth sadly."When I was young. And pulling in a racing-shell isn't the same as in one of these tubs—as you will find out later on. Cheer up, old chap; there's a small boy's foot-race coming off, I hear."There was, and Garth, being a long-legged person of great fleetness, won it: and was immediately stricken with remorse at having beaten little Joe, to whom he apologized for the year's seniority that gave him the victory. Joe was philosophic, and forgot races and defeat altogether when Garth suggested that they should adjourn to one of the stores and find out what sweets those emporiums stocked. They reappeared later with bulging cheeks and impeded utterance, and took up positions as spectators with renewed joy.Two sides were playing water-polo—scrambling in ten feet of water for a gaily-painted bladder, which ducked and bobbed in the waves like a live thing. It was an exciting game, and caused helpless mirth among the spectators, when a confident player, racing with the ball for goal, found his leg grasped by an opponent who had dived below him, and was dragged, spluttering and furious, under the surface; or when the assailant, rising triumphant with the ball, felt another leap bodily upon him, so that they disappeared together, while the ball rocked gaily away. Luck and pluck counted almost equally in it, and the victory was apt to go to those who had swallowed least salt water. Then came a race for men mounted astride on barrels, who propelled them through the water with their hands and feet; which was easy enough when the movements were careful, but the excitement of the finish caused the riders to paddle frantically, whereupon their steeds rolled over promptly, and there were wild scenes of catching and remounting, while a boy, who had prudently gone slowly, paddled in alone as the winner—unnoticed by the other competitors, who continued to scramble and tussle for their slippery steeds, filling the air with the tumult of their remarks, while the spectators rocked with laughter. Finally it was brought home to them, through the gentle medium of a megaphone, that the race had been over for some time, when they dispersed, much crestfallen. The crowd, very happy, sought further diversion."You've got to go in for the umbrella race, 'Possum," said Tom."Not me!" said 'Possum firmly."You must," Tom rejoined. "I've borrowed the lightest little dinghy you ever saw for you, and the biggest umbrella. It belongs to old Pa Smith, and it's like a tent.""I say!" ejaculated 'Possum, staring. Pa Smith was known to disapprove of borrowing or of lending. He was a dour old man, farming a good piece of land near the township; and no person in the district was less likely to do another a favour. Hence 'Possum's amazement."How ever did you manage it?" she gasped."Bless you, he never raised an objection," said Tom cheerfully. "Take Pa Smith the right way, and he'll eat out of your hand.""You will have to race now, 'Possum," Aileen said, laughing. "Do!""I wouldn't win," said 'Possum, after the manner of bashful young ladies."I suppose you wouldn't, if any one beat you; but they mightn't," said Tom. "Here's Polly, longing to cox you. You can't refuse, 'Possum—it isn't decent, when I've risked all I have for you in getting that umbrella!""All right," said 'Possum, capitulating, while Garth uttered "Hooray!" "Thanks, awfully, Mr. Macleod. When does it start?""Pretty soon," Tom answered. "You might as well get into the dinghy and practise, as those girls are doing." He nodded towards some small boats out on the lake, in which fair maidens, apparently at the mercy of wind and tide, were endeavouring to use large umbrellas as sails, with varying success. Small boys in boats hovered near, cheering and jeering their efforts in a manner which filled the umbrella-maidens with embarrassment and wrath. Their threats of vengeance floated across to the onlookers.'Possum established Polly at the tiller, and paddled away from the wharf. The dinghy was certainly light, and the umbrella, rolled and laid along a thwart, looked huge; but she found, on approaching the others, that they were just as well equipped; and Flossie Parker, who had a great reputation in this branch of sport, had a dinghy that was considerably lighter. 'Possum sighed, and hoped faintly that her umbrella was smaller.She shipped her oars, and unfurled Pa Smith's property. It was a majestic umbrella, with an ivory crutch-handle that made it easy to hold, and lessened the chance of having it wrenched by a puff of wind from her grasp. Again, a spasm of wonder floated across her mind, that Pa Smith should ever have parted, even temporarily, with his well-loved possession. It was so unlike Pa Smith. However, it was merely another instance of Mr. Macleod's remarkable power of getting what he wanted; and 'Possum had ceased to wonder at that. So she said, "Now, look where you're goin', Polly, 'cause you can be quite sure that a lot of other people won't!" and spread her umbrella to catch the wind.It was a fitful breeze, that occasionally sent them spinning along, and sometimes dropped altogether, leaving them to wallow on the water unaided. At such moments Polly's anguish was painful to behold."What'll we do if it does that in the race, 'Poss?" she wailed."Why, bless you, if it does, won't every one be in the same box?" 'Possum answered. But Polly looked unconvinced and anxious, and her brow only cleared when a fresh puff sent them gaily on.There were only five competitors altogether. Two others arrived on the scene, but on comparing their heavy boats and small umbrellas with those of the other girls, they prudently withdrew, much to 'Possum's relief: the lagoon was not wide enough for a large number of starters. They dodged about here and there, occasionally colliding, and apologizing with much forced politeness, while under their breath they reviled their coxswains. Most of these latter were small girls chosen for their light weight rather than for their ability; but Flossie Parker's was of proved skill, and had steered her to victory in many a hard-fought contest. Flossie's umbrella was red, and of a mighty size. "Still, I'm blessed if I think it has the acreage of Pa Smith's!" thought 'Possum, comparing them.A shout from the starter's boat brought them into line near the head of the lagoon."The finish is the line between those two boats ahead—near the far jetty," said the starter, who looked careworn. "Shut your umbrellas. When I fire the pistol, you open 'em and get along. Any one touching her oars is disqualified. First over the line wins. Bumping not allowed. Now then, are you all ready? Right-oh. Go!"The pistol's sharp crack cut across the sudden silence. It was followed by five simultaneous snaps, as the umbrellas shot into the air and were unfurled. They spread wide to catch the breeze.Nothing occurred. There was, at the moment, no breeze. The five competitors wriggled and jerked their sails, and held them at various angles to woo the difficult zephyr, but the zephyr obstinately remained away. The boats began to drift out of line. Loud cheers arose from the shore, with pleasant shouts of encouragement, under which the cheeks of the fair starters burned."Mighty funny, I don't think!" snapped Flossie Parker. "I suppose they fancy they're jolly clever. Blow the old wind!" a pious remark which was made on general principles, since, at the moment, there was no wind to blow."Push 'er, Flossie! Get out an' push, why don't yer?" The cheering words floated across from the wharf; and Flossie screamed an angry answer."I say, Poll, be ready," said 'Possum, in a low tone. "The breeze is coming." She had glanced over her shoulder, seeing a ruffle on the surface of the lake.No one else saw it quite as quickly, and when the puff struck them it found some of the competitors not ready. Two boats promptly collided, and disentangled themselves with difficulty. It is not the easiest matter to guide a boat describing an erratic course in the water under a wobbly umbrella, especially when coxswains of tender years lose their heads; and the two boats in question lost much ground, and never quite made it up. The other three went away gallantly, 'Possum a length ahead. Miss Parker had been taken by surprise, but her natural instinct was quick, and she was speedily in pursuit. The third competitor, a stout girl with a green umbrella and a very light dinghy, kept level with her. Loud howls came from the shore, over which could be distinctly heard the shrill pipe of little Joe, who threw his head back and vociferated, "Go it, 'Poss!" without ceasing for an instant. Afterwards it was doubtful whether little Joe had seen all of the race, but it was quite certain that he had never ceased to yell!The breeze died away, but with the strange perversity of summer breezes it gave a tiny last flicker which seemed especially for the benefit of Miss Parker. "It was that small she caught it all in her umbrella!" said Possum, afterwards. It took her ahead, while the two other leading boats were motionless; to the anguish of Polly, she floated slowly past them. The smile of the runner who sees victory flickered about her mouth. "When I get me nose in front, they don't often see more than me heels again," was her reflection.Again the little wind ruffled the lake and quivered towards them. Polly, rigid, with her hand on the tiller, was as ready as 'Possum. The three boats slipped forward, coming nearer and nearer to the line across the water that marked the goal. There was a steady roar from the shore—cheers, laughter, and advice, mingled inextricably."'Possum's beat," said Nick O'Connor sadly. "Bother that Parker girl!"The breeze dropped again to short puffs. 'Possum rose to her feet suddenly, holding the umbrella high over her tall head, at a cunning angle; and suddenly her boat shot forward. She was level with Flossie before the latter's boat began to move, then she drew ahead slowly, and inch by inch they crept on, while the howls from the shore grew more and more frantic. Miss Parker tried every trick of umbrella generalship that she knew, but she could not quite make up the distance. 'Possum's boat touched the line half a length ahead."Well, I'm blessed!" said Flossie sourly. "I don't know how you managed that!""No more do I," 'Possum answered. "Just luck. Now then, Polly, you behave yourself." For Polly, given wholly up to triumph, was threatening to turn somersaults in the stern."H'm," said Flossie, regarding the ecstatic Polly. "How old's she?""Seven," 'Possum answered."Oh!" Flossie shrugged her shoulders. "Mine's near twice as old, an' weighs twice as much.""Pity she doesn't steer twice as well, isn't it?" remarked 'Possum composedly. Sourness to herself might be borne patiently, but when it touched Polly it was another matter. Polly, however, having no fine scruples, did not hesitate to fight her own battles."An' your dinghy only weighs half what ours does!" she shrilled. "Beat yer—smarty!""Be quiet, Polly!" 'Possum said sharply. She took the paddles and turned the boat towards the shore. Polly, utterly unabashed, glared angrily at Miss Parker as they drew away, but was reduced to a lamentable state of mind by the conduct of Flossie's coxswain, who put but her tongue at her with gestures of scorn and derision. Polly would gladly have retaliated in kind but for wholesome fear of her sister, who had been known to fall severely on such natural exhibitions of distaste for a foe. She endeavoured to content herself by tilting her nose in the air as far as Nature would permit; but it was an unsatisfying reprisal, and cast a gloom over her until they neared the shore and caught sight of little Joe's face of ecstasy."Knew you'd win, 'Poss! Knew you'd win!" he shouted, capering up and down. 'Possum looked sheepish."Behave, Joe, can't you?" she said."Good girl, 'Possum—we're proud to know you," Tom said, mooring the dinghy to a ring on the wharf. "Just give me that umbrella, will you?"He took the umbrella and turned to pass through the crowd. But a new event was beginning, and he found it impossible to get through, for the wharf was already thronged, and fresh people were endeavouring to arrive at a point where they could see. Tom gave up the attempt, and turned to his party."Better stay where we are," he said. "It's the greasy pole: and the natural savagery of all good people is bringing every one to gloat over the sufferings of their fellow-men. Can you see, Aileen?""Beautifully, thanks," said Aileen cheerfully. "I'm glad we're not going to miss this.""Your character's deteriorating," said Tom, with gloom. "Here, Garth, hop up on my shoulder." He swung the small boy up and turned to the edge of the wharf.A long sapling had been lashed to the wharf, projecting out over the water. Its smooth surface shone from a liberal allowance of soft soap, and a small flag was thrust into a hole bored in its far end. As they watched, the first competitor appeared—a tall boy, in an old shirt and trousers. He started gingerly along the pole, and made excellent progress until he was half-way. Then his feet suddenly slid from under him, and he sat down abruptly, the pole quivering and bounding under his weight. He clawed wildly at the slippery surface. Then the water received him kindly.He rose to the surface amid the shrieks of the delighted populace, and struck out for the steps, as the next competitor, a Melbourne schoolboy in a bathing-suit, appeared on the pole. Unfortunately, his career was even shorter. His first step was rash, his second even wilder: he slid for a moment, and then the end came quickly. Just below him the first lad was swimming. The Melbourne boy fell on him bodily, and they disappeared together in a whirlpool of spray. Those of the onlookers who had room at this point sat down on the wharf and held their aching sides.The fun grew fast and furious as, one after another, valiant men and boys started along the pole, and, sooner or later, plunged, gasping and struggling, into, the depths. Some got as far as half-way, others succumbed in the first three steps, but all alike went down, and the various methods of their falling were sufficient to keep the spectators in roars of laughter. Finally a black boy achieved a meteoric progress, shuffling sideways along the pole so swiftly that it seemed he gave his feet no time to slip until almost at the very end, where the pole narrowed in what Tom termed an inhuman fashion. Then he shot into space: but, even in falling, he grasped the flag, and brought it proudly with him from the bottom of the lake."Oh, wasn't it lovely!" Garth gasped. His peals of laughter had rung out even above the joyful shouts all round him. "Oh, I wish they'd do it all over again!""Do you!" said a wet and greasy competitor, striding wrathfully past in search of his clothes. Then he met the dancing eyes and grinned in friendly fashion, and disappeared among the crowd.Tom put his son down, and tucked the handle of Pa Smith's umbrella under his arm, holding it against his side."I'll see you presently," he said to Aileen. "Must go and return this." He moved away with the throng.Where the goods store blocked part of the end of the wharf, a wrathful voice fell on his ear."If the Gov'n'ment 'ud give us a policeman or two in this township it 'ud be better for honest people! Thieves! the place is full of them!""Aw, I wouldn't say that, Mr. Smith," said the soothing voice of Nick O'Connor."You mightn't, but I would. An' so'd you, if you had your property lifted as soon as you turned your back!""Go on, now!" said Nick sympathetically. "You don't mean——""I mean there's a pack o' thieves here. Me good umbrella that I left in the trap——""It ain't gone, surely?""Yes it is. My word, if I could lay me hands on whoever took it! I've had that umbrella these fifteen years.""Mighty good luck it didn't split with 'Possum," said Tom to himself. He grinned, flattening his body against the wall of the shed."You don't say!" Nick was murmuring. "I wouldn't have thought any one 'ud go stealin' an umbrella. But with all these blacks about, you never can tell.""Me father used to shoot blacks for stealin'," boomed Mr. Smith. "I dunno why they'd object if you did that now. A pack of idle, useless, thievin'——""Well, you don't know for certain it was them," said Nick. "Look here, now—are you sure you didn't leave it at home?""Do you take me for a fool?" demanded the wrathful Mr. Smith."Not me. But the best of us is careless sometimes. Well, are you sure you hunted all over the trap?""It wasn't on the seat, where I left it. It wouldn't have walked underneath, would it?""You never can tell," Nick said wisely. His mild eye, travelling round, encountered Tom's, and, struck by something in his child-like expression, examined him yet further. The end of an ivory crutch-handle, tucked tightly under Tom's arm, caught and held his glance, and for a moment he looked unutterable things. Then he bestowed his attention anew upon Pa Smith, moving a little so as to interpose his person between him and Tom. He felt a grateful dig as Tom slipped past him."It's funny how almost any one'll make mistakes," he said. Out of the tail of his eye he beheld a tall figure hurrying down the street towards the tree where Pa Smith's buggy stood in a patch of shade. "Say we go an' look in your buggy again for that little parrysole of yours, Mr. Smith. Then, if it ain't there, we'll go on up to the hotel an' get a little something to console you."On the way to the buggy they met Tom sauntering back, apparently at peace with all men. He grinned at Nick cheerfully as they passed—Nick's gentle voice acting as accompaniment to the loud wailing of the bereaved Mr. Smith. It changed to blank amazement as they, neared the buggy, where an ivory-handle lay conspicuously protruding from under the seat."Well, I'm hanged!" said Mr. Smith."Didn't I tell you the best of us makes mistakes?" murmured Nick."It was great luck winning that race," said 'Possum next day, "But the one thing I never will understand to me dying moment is how you managed to make old Pa Smith lend you that umbrella, Mr. Macleod. An' he never raised a single objection, you said?""Not one," Tom answered. He paused. "I wonder," he said reflectively, "if that might be because I never asked him!"
[image]"Then she flung herself into the water."
[image]
[image]
"Then she flung herself into the water."
A motor-launch came swiftly round from the lake, the two men in her talking and smoking. They saw the empty boat first, and the words died upon their lips.
"My goodness!" said Tom Macleod, and sprang to his engine. The launch leaped like a live thing, tearing through the water. The skiff danced past them, rocking upon the waves.
"Can you see them?" he asked, between his teeth.
"One of 'em's close," Nick said. "Steady—starboard a little. Be ready to back if I miss." He hung over the side and clutched at the fair head near the boat. "Ah—got her. It's your wife." His great shoulders quivered as he dragged her in, looking wildly ahead as he did so. A cry broke from him.
"There's my girl—she's got your kid. Hold on, 'Poss! Get on with you, man—starboard, starboard!"
He flung Aileen into the boat, and turned again swiftly. 'Possum was paddling feebly with one hand, almost done. She met his eyes and her lips parted.
"Take the kid," she gasped. But he took both, catching them with his great arms, and holding them out of the water until Tom could get to his side. He caught his boy from 'Possum's tired hands and laid him in the boat beside his mother, while Nick O'Connor dragged at the girl.
"I believe we're too late," Tom said in a terrible voice. "Aileen! Aileen!"
Her eyes opened, and in them was an agony of fear. She tried to speak, but only a whisper would come.
"Garth!" And Garth half turned and cuddled in to her with a little sleepy sigh.
* * * * *
The current fled onward, and on its breast the empty skiff danced as though the little waves were playfellows that had come to greet it and to carry it away to join their game. They rocked it gently until it neared the lake; then they grew choppy, and the skiff bobbed and swayed until it was drawn out upon the bosom of the water. It was calm there; but still the tide set seawards, carrying the skiff away and away—over the lake, hurrying, hurrying, until the great grey piers loomed ahead, with the grey waste of the sea dark between them. The roar of the breakers boomed, rising and falling. The lane of water between the piers was smooth: there were no waves; but under the surface were deep eddies, and the skiff spun and quivered over them, still drawn onward and outward towards the bar that leaped and thundered beyond the end of the piers. It reached the bar, and the breakers took it and played with it, flinging it up and down. Their curling crests tossed their spray into it; and still the little boat rode bravely, now in the hollow trough of a wave, now rising on a great curving wall of green water, and dashing forward with the tide out to sea. So, by some strange chance it passed the bar into the long, smooth ocean swells, and drifted to the horizon.
But when, in the night, the tide turned, it brought the little boat back. The pale moon that smiled over the Bush cottage where Garth lay, sleeping calmly, saw it also: a tiny thing on the great waste of waters, desolate and alone. Slowly it drifted landwards until the roar of the surf sounded near, and then it was hurried forward, towards the forsaken beach west of the piers, until a mighty roller caught it on its crest and bore it, mounting ever higher, at racing speed to the shore. It was high in the air when the great wave crashed downwards, and when its hundreds of tons of green water thundered to the sand, the skiff, bottom upwards, was dashed ashore in a swirl of white surf. Once the undertow caught it, dragging it back, but another roller flung itself down, and when its wild rush along the beach had spent itself, the little boat, battered and broken, lay half buried in the sand. The tide ebbed out, leaving it there; and a seabird, screaming by, saw it and perched upon it, calling to its mate.
In the little cottage, Garth slept on: and beside him his mother knelt, one arm flung across the warm, childish body, listening to his soft breathing: dumb with thankfulness.
CHAPTER XVII
'POSSUM BECOMES A PUPIL
"If youcouldspare a day or two," said Tom Macleod, and looked anxiously at 'Possum. "I think it's fairly rough on you to have to save my son's life one day, and nurse his mother the next, but a woman about the place would be a tremendous comfort, and Aileen would rather have you than any one she knows. She can't lift her head."
"Well, you didn't need to drive over yourself," 'Possum said. "You had no right to leave her! If you'd sent that kid Horrors with a bit of a note, you might a' known I'd be there as quick as old Greystones 'ud bring me. How on earth is she managin', with you traipsin' over here?"
"She was asleep, and Garth is sitting with her," Tom said meekly. "She can't bear him out of her sight; and you know he's pretty handy. Then you'll come back with me, 'Possum?"
"My gracious, yes!" 'Possum answered. "I won't be five minutes—just wait till I sling some clothes into a basket. You go an' tell Dad I'm goin', will you, Mr. Macleod?" She hurried out of the room, and he heard her calling Bertha urgently.
Nick O'Connor never thought of questioning 'Possum's movements. If she said she was going anywhere, well, she was going, and that was all there was about it. Bertha was an able lieutenant to leave in charge, and it was certain that food would appear upon the table at the usual hours, which, after all, was the only thing that mattered.
Even if it had been uncertain, or dependent on his own efforts, it would have been unthinkable that 'Possum should not go to a neighbour in distress. He would; in that case, have said, "Git along; I'll look after the kids," and would have done so to the best of his ability, though the staple diet of the said kids and himself would probably have been corned beef.
"Just you keep her as long as ever the missus wants her," he said, packing 'Possum's basket into the back of the buggy. "An' if you want more help, send over for me. I could run your place all right if you want to be in the house." He brushed aside Tom's grateful disclaimer, of needing more aid with, "Well, you know where to find me if you want me." The buggy bumped away over the paddock while he watched it, Bertha silent beside him. When it turned out of sight round a clump of tea-trees, he looked down at her from his great height.
"Sure you can manage things?"
"My word!" said Bertha. "I like it. On'y you tell Bill to cut me stove-wood." She marched into the kitchen with high enterprise in her heart.
Aileen was still asleep when they reached the farm. Tom peeped into her room, and saw Garth sitting by her bedside, very upright and alert. He shook his head frantically at his father, and Tom took the hint, and withdrew.
"Well, I'll just get things straightened up," said 'Possum, receiving his report. "Then she'll be glad of a cup o' tea when she wakes."
"Don't do too much," Tom said. "Remember you had a pretty tough time yesterday."
"Me?" said 'Possum, wide-eyed. "Bless you, it was on'y another bathe for me!" She disappeared into the spare room.
So it was that Aileen, waking from a troubled sleep that was full of sinking boats and dancing water, found Garth beside her, his tremulous little smile welcoming her back to consciousness; and presently, after an unseen hurried glance and withdrawal, 'Possum came in, bearing a little tray with tea and dainty strips of golden-brown toast; and in one corner of the tray an exquisite rosebud, nodding in a vase.
"Oh, 'Possum!" she said, "'Possum!" The tears choked her.
"I say, don't look like that, Missus, dear—please don't!" said poor 'Possum miserably. She put her tray on a table and caught Aileen's hand in hers, and Aileen drew the rough hand against her cheek and held it there.
"Now you ain't goin' to talk of it, nor to think of it, neither," 'Possum said presently. "You ain't got nothin' to worry about, 'cause it's all over, an' there's old Garth grinnin' at you, an jus' as right as pie. An' all you got to do is to get well, 'cause the Boss is that bothered about you he's right off his feed. I think if you was to let me help you sit up, you could have this." She raised her gently; and somewhat to her surprise Aileen could eat and drink a little.
"If only I weren't so stupidly tired," Aileen whispered, lying down. "And my head buzzes—it buzzed all night as if an engine were let loose inside it."
"Course it would," said 'Possum soothingly. "But it's goin' to be all right now."
"You're sure Garth is well?"
"Now, look here, Missus," said the girl decidedly. "If I wasn't sure, you might just jolly well know I wouldn't have him up, even to let you see him—he'd be in bed with a hot bottle, an' a jolly good go of med'cine. But you'd never think he'd had a duckin' at all. Bless you, what's an extra duckin' to a boy? Our kids is in an' out of the lake all day long."
Something in the rough, homely words soothed the mother more than a hundred more polished speeches. She nestled into her pillow sleepily with a little smile, her eyes never wandering from Garth for more than a moment. But presently the heavy lids drooped, and sleep came to her: deep, refreshing sleep, this time, unbroken by the weary maze of dreams that had tortured her before. She did not stir when 'Possum and Garth tip-toed from the room.
"Bettern't I stay with her?" the small boy asked anxiously.
"No; you go out, old son. She's goin' to sleep for a long while, this time, an' what's more, she's goin' to be better when she wakes."
"Sure, 'Poss?" he asked eagerly.
"Dead certain. An' it'll be miles nicer for her to see you with a bit of colour in your washy old cheeks than lookin' white from sittin' all day in her room. You go an' find your dad, an' tell him not to worry about her, an' give him a hand in the garden. I'll be on the listen, an' I'll call you the d'reckly minute she wakes." She watched the little fellow catch his felt hat from its peg and run out with his news.
"My word, he's a dear kid!" she muttered.
For all her brave words to Tom, she was very tired. The shock of the child's danger had told on her: her arms and shoulders ached cruelly from the long, hard pull, and from the wild struggle to keep afloat, with Garth a dead weight upon her and the current tearing at them, sucking them away from the shore she had tried so vainly to reach. She, too, had had her dreams of horror—in which she had fought wildly to land on a shore that had continually slipped away, and had felt choking waters rising over her head. She shivered now, as the thought of them came over her, and then fought it back resolutely.
"Don't you be a silly ass, 'Possum O'Connor!" she told herself. "A little bit o' work's whatyouwant." Thus dealing with herself, she seized a broom, and made a furious onslaught upon the kitchen; and having valiantly routed seven hens that had come uninvited into the back yard, felt considerably better.
It was afternoon when Aileen awoke—this time with light in her eyes and colour in her cheeks:—able to take the soup that 'Possum brought her, and to smile at Garth and Tom as they perched on her bed and entertained her with news of the estate, as Tom gravely called it. There was always so much to tell of the estate each day; news of garden, or fowl-run, or pigsty; fresh flowers blossoming, a panel of fencing broken down by a cow with a thirst for exploring, or a raid after calves that had escaped through the gap and distributed themselves up the most scrub-grown gully they could find. To-day the pigs had taken advantage of Horrors having opened the gate of their sty and then fallen to dreaming; with the result that Garth and his father had had a long hunt, and were considerably heated.
"But we got them back, all right," Garth said triumphantly. "Daddy let me go pig-sticking with a long bit of tea-tree, and you should have seen them run! It was awful fun, but I never got near them!"
"I don't reckon you would—much!" said 'Possum. "Now, how about tea?"
"Ah, do have it in here!" Aileen begged. "If you don't mind, that is?" A supposition which induced mirth on the part of her hearers.
So they nursed her back to quietness of mind, which brought healing to her tired body, filling her days with laughter and the interests of the farm, until the dreams left her and she ceased to look at Garth with a shudder of remembrance. They kept her busy, as soon as she could sit up, finding urgent requirements of patches and buttons, and a hundred little things that only she could understand and arrange. "Best thing for her," said 'Possum, and they saw that her words were true.
Messengers came from 'Possum's home very often—Bill or little Joe riding over with news of the farm and inquiries for the Missus. Bertha was doin' fine, they said. "Never puts her nose outside the kitchen, an' my word! she cooks a treat!" was Bill's verdict. "Yes, the house looks all right—why wouldn't it? Dad was busy all day harvestin' at Mackenzie's, but he came home at night. An' the wool was sold, an' Dad said to tell Mr. Macleod it was the best price he'd had for years, so Mr. Macleod's wool, bein' along with it, must have brought him luck." After which recitals Bill and Joe would consume enormous quantities of tea and cake and reluctantly take the track for home. They confided to Garth that Bert was a pretty good cook, an' all that, but it wasn't like havin' 'Poss.
In a few days Aileen was able to get up—too weak to work, but glad to be about once more, even if being "about" meant only sitting still. Then came 'Possum to her, with a request.
"If you wouldn't mind," she said, and flushed scarlet, "I thought it 'ud be such a chance for me, when I was knockin' about here, an' you not busy, if you'd put me up to a few things."
"What sort of things, 'Possum?" Aileen asked.
"Oh, just odd things. You know—like the way you have the house. I don't know a thing, except how to cook, after a fashion, and land what I've cooked on the table; an' that's after a fashion, too. You have everything so pretty an' nice: I'd like to learn how."
"You would be just the easiest person to teach." Aileen told her.
"Would I?" 'Possum's face was eager. "I'd try not to be too much of a duffer. It's like me old dungarees. Before you come, I thought they were all right; now I can't stand 'em, except just for rough work. I think it 'ud be nice if I could get like that about other things—if I could feel as if I couldn't stand food slung on the table anyhow, or rooms all messy an' hideous. Then I could teach the kids."
"But once you feel like that, it leaves very little for me to teach you," she said. "Your mind is dainty in itself, so you like everything about you to be dainty."
'Possum drew a long breath.
"That's the nicest thing ever I had said to me in me life," she said softly. "Iwilltry, Missus—like fury. An' there's another thing; on'y it's givin' you a lot of bother——"
"Rubbish!" said Aileen, laughing. "What is it, 'Possum, dear?"
But this was harder to say. 'Possum made several false starts before the words came at last.
"It's—well, you know, I know I speak jolly rough. Since you come I have tried to keep me voice softer——"
"I know," Aileen said.
"Did you? I'm so glad. But I make awful mistakes, I know. Even the kids tell me that—they've had more schoolin'. But the trouble is, they pick up things from me. If you could just drop on me now an' then when I say anything all wrong? I know I ain't got enough grammar to keep meself warm. But I'd try an' get better. I truly would."
"And you wouldn't mind being told little things? They'resuchlittle things, really, 'Possum."
"Mind?" said 'Possum. "Oh, I'd give me ears if you'd teach me. Like as if I was Garth I've heard you tell him when he pernounced a word skew-whiff!"
"Then I will tell you," Aileen said. "I know you'll make it easy for me—because I will be dreadfully afraid of hurting you, 'Possum."
"Lor'!" said 'Possum. "You couldn't hurt me, not if you tried with a meat-axe!"
Aileen laughed.
"Very well. Then we'll cut out 'Lor'!' for the future, 'Possum, shall We?"
'Possum stared.
"Ain't I a silly chump?" she said. "I might a known it was wrong, 'cause you never say it. Right-oh, Missus!" And it said something for her determination that no one ever heard her say it again.
It was speech that was the only stumbling-block. Little daintinesses of living came to her naturally, with only a hint, just as daintiness of person had come. Her eye for colour was sure, and she had a natural instinct for arranging flowers and for brightening a room that developed daily under Aileen's gentle tuition. Beginning with perfect cleanliness as the basis of perfection, it was easy to work up and up, learning a little more each day—and 'Possum never had to be told a thing twice. But her unchecked speech was a harder matter, and often the cheeks of both girls burned, until the idea came to Aileen to make a joke of it, when they got on much better. Tom, privately consulted, suggested making 'Possum read aloud, for which she proved to have a natural aptitude, and the exercise taught her more than many lessons.
"You know," she said, one day, "Mother wasn't rough. I was only a bit of a nipper when she died——"
She pulled up, observing Aileen's face.
"Kid, I suppose I should say," she said, grinning broadly. Aileen burst out laughing.
"Try, 'little girl,'" she suggested.
"H'm," said 'Possum critically. "Doesn't sound very satisfyin', does it? Well, I was, anyhow; but I remember a lot about her, an' I know she always had the house dossy——"
Pause.
"Pretty, I mean; an' things more like you have 'em—them, an' her voice was soft an' gentle. But I was only eleven, an' there was a good lot to do, an' I got careless, 'specially with her not there to tell me anything. All the same, I knew things weren't the way she'd like to have them, and it worried me, when I had time to think of it. I'm afraid," she added, honestly, "that that got to be not very often. When you're always wonderin' how you're goin' to get all your jobs done, you can't worry an awful lot over things like that."
"Indeed, you can't. I often wonder how you managed everything—and you such a wee thing," Aileen said. "I think your mother knew and was pleased, 'Possum."
"Do you, truly?" 'Possum asked wistfully. "I used to wonder if she did. I never could feel that she'd got far away, 'cause she didn't want to go. But once I said that to the woman Dad got to look after us, an' she hit me a clip on the ear, an' said I was a wicked little wretch to talk like that."
Aileen's eyes blazed.
"Oh, it was she who was wicked!" she cried. "How could she!"
"If you'd known her, you wouldn't have asked how," 'Possum said grimly. "She was a fair terror, she was. At least"—she stopped and pondered, searching in her mind for an expression at once forcible and refined—"she was a very ... disagreeable person!"
Aileen fell into peals of laughter.
"Oh, it won't do, 'Possum—do say 'a fair terror!'" she begged.
"Well, I guess I'll have to," 'Possum grinned. "Somehow, when you say things, they sound just what you want 'em to say. But unless I make my remarks pretty strong they sound as silly as a wet hen!" With which pearl of speech the conversation came to an abrupt conclusion.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE REGATTA
Cuninghame wore an air of unwonted festivity. There were flags flying from the stores and hotels, and from many of the private houses; little pennons fluttering at the mastheads of the sailing-boats that were dotted all along the shore. All over the lagoon could be seen other boats, arriving: yachts, motor-launches, smart skiffs, skiffs that were not smart, and ancient tubs bound from every little lake settlement or lonely farm. For this was the day on which Cuninghame burst into clouds of glory, and drew unto itself crowds that turned it into something between a whirlpool and an excited ant-heap. It is only on one day in the year that Cuninghame holds its regatta, and the occasion is one to be treated with respect.
New Year's Day had been fixed originally for the great event: but the Clerk of the Weather had been singularly tactless, and had ushered in the New Year with such deluges of rain that hurried telegrams had been sent to Sale and Bairnsdale and other district towns, postponing the regatta; and hundreds of would-be excursionists had unpacked their luncheon-baskets and remained at home. But to-day was to make amends for all disappointments. Rain had fallen, just enough to clear the air and secure the very perfection of autumn weather, while laying the dust on the roads for the folk who rode and drove. The sands were dry and firm: the hummocks shone white against the sky, across the lagoon. There was just enough breeze for sailing—enough to dot the lake with tiny wavelets, gleaming and dancing in the sun. Just to look at that blue, restless surface was enough to set the heart dancing, too.
The Macleods came early, since Garth's impatience was a thing not to be gainsaid. He had never seen a regatta, and the stories told him by the young O'Connors had set him dreaming of nothing else for weeks past. Soon after breakfast he arrayed himself, emerging from his room shining and speckless in white duck, with white sand-shoes and bare brown legs, and a white felt hat held in readiness. After which, his attitude began with sublime patience, which collapsed after a time and merged into trenchant inquiries as to why people couldn't be ready as soon as he was, and lugubrious certainty that they were missing all the best of the fun. Eventually they found themselves driving into the township quite an hour earlier than they had thought of starting, while Horrors, on Jane, jogged in the rear, and wondered how soon he might begin to eat the enormous packet of lunch with which he had been provided.
Early as they were, the O'Connors were before them. It was a day of which no young O'Connor was willing to miss a minute. What was it to them that the regatta itself did not really begin—save for a few sailing races, which nobody noticed—until one o'clock? Was there not all the unusual stir and bustle of the town to see?—the gay shops, decked for the occasion with brave displays of fruit and sweets and cakes, to tempt hungry picnickers; the gallant array of boats, glistening with new paint and varnish, and as bright as "elbow-grease" would make them: the crowds arriving from all the countryside by land and water—people they knew, to greet and by whom to be greeted—schoolfellows, curiously unfamiliar in their best clothes—school teachers, even more curiously human and approachable, and not at all suggesting the week-day discipline of desk and ruler? Not a yard of the esplanade was without its excitements. There were the summer visitors from the houses that were shuttered and gloomy all the winter, and from the tiny cottages under the hummocks across the lagoon, owned by people from Sale and Bairnsdale, who lived a camping existence from Christmas until Easter, with the breakers pounding almost at their back doors. These considered themselves part and parcel of the place, as indeed they were, and looked with something of disparagement at the folk from Melbourne and Sydney who filled the hotels, and who might never come again, and who, at the best, lived a luxurious and pampered life, and did not know the joys of a picnic existence, with no servants and no worries—every one working in the same way, and every one ready for every kind of fun, from big surf-bathing parties or moonlight swims in the lake, to rushing over the hummocks in a body to lend a hand with the hauling of a shoal of salmon brought in through the breakers. Then there were other visitors—blacks from the Lake Tyers Mission Station; principally lithe young men keen on taking part in the regatta, with a sprinkling of older men, and a few young women and boys. They moved here and there among the crowd on noiseless bare feet.
Never had the O'Connor family looked so resplendent. Nick, to begin with, was a majestic figure in his best suit, with a "boiled" shirt, and a tartan tie which appeared only on great occasions. Bertha and Polly were in fresh washing frocks, and the boys in suits of blue-striped galatea, very smart and summer-like. But 'Possum, in Aileen's Christmas gift of the dress that was like the inside of a shell, tall and slender, her face half-eager and half-shy, was an unfamiliar figure at whom many people turned to glance. Never before had 'Possum been to a regatta, and her inward excitement was almost as keen as Garth's. "The kids always went," she had told Aileen. "I didn't. The old dungarees didn't seem to fit in."
To-day no one "fitted in" better than 'Possum: and Nick O'Connor found himself casting glances of pride at his brood, while mothers from "up the lake" gazed upon the O'Connor tribe with blank amazement, and came to the conclusion that Nick must have found a gold-mine on the farm. "Not that the whole lot of them dresses ain't cheaper than my Albert's plush," said one matron, regarding her son's green sailor suit of that opulent material, with its lace collar. "But it ain't exactly that—on'y they look like toffs!"
They all lunched together at the buggies, in the shade of some gum trees—hurriedly, for the children wanted to see the steamers come in from Sale and Bairnsdale, with their big crowds of excursionists. The first far-off hoot came just as they had finished, and they hurried to the packed wharf. Across the lagoon, at the Entrance wharf, the steamer was discharging a throng of the people to whom regattas are nothing, but the open sea and the Ninety-Mile Beach everything—townsfolk, weary of the long summer, and longing for the sands and the clean breeze from the ocean. They pressed up the steps leading to the hummocks, a black swarm. Then the steamer came slowly across the little strip of water to Cuninghame, her decks still dark with people. She was gaily decked with flags, and on her bows could be seen girls in light summer frocks, like a fluttering garden. Faint at first, but gradually growing louder and louder, a band was playing a swinging waltz: the music chimed in with the plash of the water as the boat slackened speed and churned her way to the wharf. Impatient boys sprang ashore without waiting for the gangway to be lowered; then the great plank came down and the excursionists trooped across it, gay and chattering; some laden with rugs and luncheon-hampers, while others had prudently saved time by lunching on board during the long trip through the lakes—a plan fraught with danger, since people were crowded like sardines in a tin, and an unwary movement of a neighbour was apt to send tea-cups flying. But then no one ever minded such insignificant occurrences on a lake excursion. When you rise at six o'clock, drive some miles to a boat that starts at eight, with a five hours' water-journey each way, for the sake of three hours on the beach,—what is a spilt tea-cup?
The regatta went along merrily, after the manner of regattas: wildly interesting to those directly concerned, and of mild excitement to outsiders. There were yacht races, in which the boats departed into the horizon, and were promptly forgotten by the spectators; fishermen's boat-races, which drew a crowd at the finish; and skiff-races, which, being shorter, held the attention all the time, and evoked great cheering from the backers of the competitors. Tom entered for one of the latter combats, but was ignominiously defeated by a young fisherman and a black fellow from Lake Tyers, behind whom he paddled in meekly, much to Garth's disgust.
"I don't believe they played fair!" said the small boy gloomily.
"Don't you say that!" said his father sharply, and then relented at the amazed face.
"It doesn't do, old man," Tom continued. "When a fellow is beaten, he takes his gruel like a decent chap; and he doesn't abuse the other fellow. Do you imagine, too, that your old city-bred father had any chance against men who have been on the lakes all their lives?"
"Well, you used to be in the eight at Trinity College," said Garth sadly.
"When I was young. And pulling in a racing-shell isn't the same as in one of these tubs—as you will find out later on. Cheer up, old chap; there's a small boy's foot-race coming off, I hear."
There was, and Garth, being a long-legged person of great fleetness, won it: and was immediately stricken with remorse at having beaten little Joe, to whom he apologized for the year's seniority that gave him the victory. Joe was philosophic, and forgot races and defeat altogether when Garth suggested that they should adjourn to one of the stores and find out what sweets those emporiums stocked. They reappeared later with bulging cheeks and impeded utterance, and took up positions as spectators with renewed joy.
Two sides were playing water-polo—scrambling in ten feet of water for a gaily-painted bladder, which ducked and bobbed in the waves like a live thing. It was an exciting game, and caused helpless mirth among the spectators, when a confident player, racing with the ball for goal, found his leg grasped by an opponent who had dived below him, and was dragged, spluttering and furious, under the surface; or when the assailant, rising triumphant with the ball, felt another leap bodily upon him, so that they disappeared together, while the ball rocked gaily away. Luck and pluck counted almost equally in it, and the victory was apt to go to those who had swallowed least salt water. Then came a race for men mounted astride on barrels, who propelled them through the water with their hands and feet; which was easy enough when the movements were careful, but the excitement of the finish caused the riders to paddle frantically, whereupon their steeds rolled over promptly, and there were wild scenes of catching and remounting, while a boy, who had prudently gone slowly, paddled in alone as the winner—unnoticed by the other competitors, who continued to scramble and tussle for their slippery steeds, filling the air with the tumult of their remarks, while the spectators rocked with laughter. Finally it was brought home to them, through the gentle medium of a megaphone, that the race had been over for some time, when they dispersed, much crestfallen. The crowd, very happy, sought further diversion.
"You've got to go in for the umbrella race, 'Possum," said Tom.
"Not me!" said 'Possum firmly.
"You must," Tom rejoined. "I've borrowed the lightest little dinghy you ever saw for you, and the biggest umbrella. It belongs to old Pa Smith, and it's like a tent."
"I say!" ejaculated 'Possum, staring. Pa Smith was known to disapprove of borrowing or of lending. He was a dour old man, farming a good piece of land near the township; and no person in the district was less likely to do another a favour. Hence 'Possum's amazement.
"How ever did you manage it?" she gasped.
"Bless you, he never raised an objection," said Tom cheerfully. "Take Pa Smith the right way, and he'll eat out of your hand."
"You will have to race now, 'Possum," Aileen said, laughing. "Do!"
"I wouldn't win," said 'Possum, after the manner of bashful young ladies.
"I suppose you wouldn't, if any one beat you; but they mightn't," said Tom. "Here's Polly, longing to cox you. You can't refuse, 'Possum—it isn't decent, when I've risked all I have for you in getting that umbrella!"
"All right," said 'Possum, capitulating, while Garth uttered "Hooray!" "Thanks, awfully, Mr. Macleod. When does it start?"
"Pretty soon," Tom answered. "You might as well get into the dinghy and practise, as those girls are doing." He nodded towards some small boats out on the lake, in which fair maidens, apparently at the mercy of wind and tide, were endeavouring to use large umbrellas as sails, with varying success. Small boys in boats hovered near, cheering and jeering their efforts in a manner which filled the umbrella-maidens with embarrassment and wrath. Their threats of vengeance floated across to the onlookers.
'Possum established Polly at the tiller, and paddled away from the wharf. The dinghy was certainly light, and the umbrella, rolled and laid along a thwart, looked huge; but she found, on approaching the others, that they were just as well equipped; and Flossie Parker, who had a great reputation in this branch of sport, had a dinghy that was considerably lighter. 'Possum sighed, and hoped faintly that her umbrella was smaller.
She shipped her oars, and unfurled Pa Smith's property. It was a majestic umbrella, with an ivory crutch-handle that made it easy to hold, and lessened the chance of having it wrenched by a puff of wind from her grasp. Again, a spasm of wonder floated across her mind, that Pa Smith should ever have parted, even temporarily, with his well-loved possession. It was so unlike Pa Smith. However, it was merely another instance of Mr. Macleod's remarkable power of getting what he wanted; and 'Possum had ceased to wonder at that. So she said, "Now, look where you're goin', Polly, 'cause you can be quite sure that a lot of other people won't!" and spread her umbrella to catch the wind.
It was a fitful breeze, that occasionally sent them spinning along, and sometimes dropped altogether, leaving them to wallow on the water unaided. At such moments Polly's anguish was painful to behold.
"What'll we do if it does that in the race, 'Poss?" she wailed.
"Why, bless you, if it does, won't every one be in the same box?" 'Possum answered. But Polly looked unconvinced and anxious, and her brow only cleared when a fresh puff sent them gaily on.
There were only five competitors altogether. Two others arrived on the scene, but on comparing their heavy boats and small umbrellas with those of the other girls, they prudently withdrew, much to 'Possum's relief: the lagoon was not wide enough for a large number of starters. They dodged about here and there, occasionally colliding, and apologizing with much forced politeness, while under their breath they reviled their coxswains. Most of these latter were small girls chosen for their light weight rather than for their ability; but Flossie Parker's was of proved skill, and had steered her to victory in many a hard-fought contest. Flossie's umbrella was red, and of a mighty size. "Still, I'm blessed if I think it has the acreage of Pa Smith's!" thought 'Possum, comparing them.
A shout from the starter's boat brought them into line near the head of the lagoon.
"The finish is the line between those two boats ahead—near the far jetty," said the starter, who looked careworn. "Shut your umbrellas. When I fire the pistol, you open 'em and get along. Any one touching her oars is disqualified. First over the line wins. Bumping not allowed. Now then, are you all ready? Right-oh. Go!"
The pistol's sharp crack cut across the sudden silence. It was followed by five simultaneous snaps, as the umbrellas shot into the air and were unfurled. They spread wide to catch the breeze.
Nothing occurred. There was, at the moment, no breeze. The five competitors wriggled and jerked their sails, and held them at various angles to woo the difficult zephyr, but the zephyr obstinately remained away. The boats began to drift out of line. Loud cheers arose from the shore, with pleasant shouts of encouragement, under which the cheeks of the fair starters burned.
"Mighty funny, I don't think!" snapped Flossie Parker. "I suppose they fancy they're jolly clever. Blow the old wind!" a pious remark which was made on general principles, since, at the moment, there was no wind to blow.
"Push 'er, Flossie! Get out an' push, why don't yer?" The cheering words floated across from the wharf; and Flossie screamed an angry answer.
"I say, Poll, be ready," said 'Possum, in a low tone. "The breeze is coming." She had glanced over her shoulder, seeing a ruffle on the surface of the lake.
No one else saw it quite as quickly, and when the puff struck them it found some of the competitors not ready. Two boats promptly collided, and disentangled themselves with difficulty. It is not the easiest matter to guide a boat describing an erratic course in the water under a wobbly umbrella, especially when coxswains of tender years lose their heads; and the two boats in question lost much ground, and never quite made it up. The other three went away gallantly, 'Possum a length ahead. Miss Parker had been taken by surprise, but her natural instinct was quick, and she was speedily in pursuit. The third competitor, a stout girl with a green umbrella and a very light dinghy, kept level with her. Loud howls came from the shore, over which could be distinctly heard the shrill pipe of little Joe, who threw his head back and vociferated, "Go it, 'Poss!" without ceasing for an instant. Afterwards it was doubtful whether little Joe had seen all of the race, but it was quite certain that he had never ceased to yell!
The breeze died away, but with the strange perversity of summer breezes it gave a tiny last flicker which seemed especially for the benefit of Miss Parker. "It was that small she caught it all in her umbrella!" said Possum, afterwards. It took her ahead, while the two other leading boats were motionless; to the anguish of Polly, she floated slowly past them. The smile of the runner who sees victory flickered about her mouth. "When I get me nose in front, they don't often see more than me heels again," was her reflection.
Again the little wind ruffled the lake and quivered towards them. Polly, rigid, with her hand on the tiller, was as ready as 'Possum. The three boats slipped forward, coming nearer and nearer to the line across the water that marked the goal. There was a steady roar from the shore—cheers, laughter, and advice, mingled inextricably.
"'Possum's beat," said Nick O'Connor sadly. "Bother that Parker girl!"
The breeze dropped again to short puffs. 'Possum rose to her feet suddenly, holding the umbrella high over her tall head, at a cunning angle; and suddenly her boat shot forward. She was level with Flossie before the latter's boat began to move, then she drew ahead slowly, and inch by inch they crept on, while the howls from the shore grew more and more frantic. Miss Parker tried every trick of umbrella generalship that she knew, but she could not quite make up the distance. 'Possum's boat touched the line half a length ahead.
"Well, I'm blessed!" said Flossie sourly. "I don't know how you managed that!"
"No more do I," 'Possum answered. "Just luck. Now then, Polly, you behave yourself." For Polly, given wholly up to triumph, was threatening to turn somersaults in the stern.
"H'm," said Flossie, regarding the ecstatic Polly. "How old's she?"
"Seven," 'Possum answered.
"Oh!" Flossie shrugged her shoulders. "Mine's near twice as old, an' weighs twice as much."
"Pity she doesn't steer twice as well, isn't it?" remarked 'Possum composedly. Sourness to herself might be borne patiently, but when it touched Polly it was another matter. Polly, however, having no fine scruples, did not hesitate to fight her own battles.
"An' your dinghy only weighs half what ours does!" she shrilled. "Beat yer—smarty!"
"Be quiet, Polly!" 'Possum said sharply. She took the paddles and turned the boat towards the shore. Polly, utterly unabashed, glared angrily at Miss Parker as they drew away, but was reduced to a lamentable state of mind by the conduct of Flossie's coxswain, who put but her tongue at her with gestures of scorn and derision. Polly would gladly have retaliated in kind but for wholesome fear of her sister, who had been known to fall severely on such natural exhibitions of distaste for a foe. She endeavoured to content herself by tilting her nose in the air as far as Nature would permit; but it was an unsatisfying reprisal, and cast a gloom over her until they neared the shore and caught sight of little Joe's face of ecstasy.
"Knew you'd win, 'Poss! Knew you'd win!" he shouted, capering up and down. 'Possum looked sheepish.
"Behave, Joe, can't you?" she said.
"Good girl, 'Possum—we're proud to know you," Tom said, mooring the dinghy to a ring on the wharf. "Just give me that umbrella, will you?"
He took the umbrella and turned to pass through the crowd. But a new event was beginning, and he found it impossible to get through, for the wharf was already thronged, and fresh people were endeavouring to arrive at a point where they could see. Tom gave up the attempt, and turned to his party.
"Better stay where we are," he said. "It's the greasy pole: and the natural savagery of all good people is bringing every one to gloat over the sufferings of their fellow-men. Can you see, Aileen?"
"Beautifully, thanks," said Aileen cheerfully. "I'm glad we're not going to miss this."
"Your character's deteriorating," said Tom, with gloom. "Here, Garth, hop up on my shoulder." He swung the small boy up and turned to the edge of the wharf.
A long sapling had been lashed to the wharf, projecting out over the water. Its smooth surface shone from a liberal allowance of soft soap, and a small flag was thrust into a hole bored in its far end. As they watched, the first competitor appeared—a tall boy, in an old shirt and trousers. He started gingerly along the pole, and made excellent progress until he was half-way. Then his feet suddenly slid from under him, and he sat down abruptly, the pole quivering and bounding under his weight. He clawed wildly at the slippery surface. Then the water received him kindly.
He rose to the surface amid the shrieks of the delighted populace, and struck out for the steps, as the next competitor, a Melbourne schoolboy in a bathing-suit, appeared on the pole. Unfortunately, his career was even shorter. His first step was rash, his second even wilder: he slid for a moment, and then the end came quickly. Just below him the first lad was swimming. The Melbourne boy fell on him bodily, and they disappeared together in a whirlpool of spray. Those of the onlookers who had room at this point sat down on the wharf and held their aching sides.
The fun grew fast and furious as, one after another, valiant men and boys started along the pole, and, sooner or later, plunged, gasping and struggling, into, the depths. Some got as far as half-way, others succumbed in the first three steps, but all alike went down, and the various methods of their falling were sufficient to keep the spectators in roars of laughter. Finally a black boy achieved a meteoric progress, shuffling sideways along the pole so swiftly that it seemed he gave his feet no time to slip until almost at the very end, where the pole narrowed in what Tom termed an inhuman fashion. Then he shot into space: but, even in falling, he grasped the flag, and brought it proudly with him from the bottom of the lake.
"Oh, wasn't it lovely!" Garth gasped. His peals of laughter had rung out even above the joyful shouts all round him. "Oh, I wish they'd do it all over again!"
"Do you!" said a wet and greasy competitor, striding wrathfully past in search of his clothes. Then he met the dancing eyes and grinned in friendly fashion, and disappeared among the crowd.
Tom put his son down, and tucked the handle of Pa Smith's umbrella under his arm, holding it against his side.
"I'll see you presently," he said to Aileen. "Must go and return this." He moved away with the throng.
Where the goods store blocked part of the end of the wharf, a wrathful voice fell on his ear.
"If the Gov'n'ment 'ud give us a policeman or two in this township it 'ud be better for honest people! Thieves! the place is full of them!"
"Aw, I wouldn't say that, Mr. Smith," said the soothing voice of Nick O'Connor.
"You mightn't, but I would. An' so'd you, if you had your property lifted as soon as you turned your back!"
"Go on, now!" said Nick sympathetically. "You don't mean——"
"I mean there's a pack o' thieves here. Me good umbrella that I left in the trap——"
"It ain't gone, surely?"
"Yes it is. My word, if I could lay me hands on whoever took it! I've had that umbrella these fifteen years."
"Mighty good luck it didn't split with 'Possum," said Tom to himself. He grinned, flattening his body against the wall of the shed.
"You don't say!" Nick was murmuring. "I wouldn't have thought any one 'ud go stealin' an umbrella. But with all these blacks about, you never can tell."
"Me father used to shoot blacks for stealin'," boomed Mr. Smith. "I dunno why they'd object if you did that now. A pack of idle, useless, thievin'——"
"Well, you don't know for certain it was them," said Nick. "Look here, now—are you sure you didn't leave it at home?"
"Do you take me for a fool?" demanded the wrathful Mr. Smith.
"Not me. But the best of us is careless sometimes. Well, are you sure you hunted all over the trap?"
"It wasn't on the seat, where I left it. It wouldn't have walked underneath, would it?"
"You never can tell," Nick said wisely. His mild eye, travelling round, encountered Tom's, and, struck by something in his child-like expression, examined him yet further. The end of an ivory crutch-handle, tucked tightly under Tom's arm, caught and held his glance, and for a moment he looked unutterable things. Then he bestowed his attention anew upon Pa Smith, moving a little so as to interpose his person between him and Tom. He felt a grateful dig as Tom slipped past him.
"It's funny how almost any one'll make mistakes," he said. Out of the tail of his eye he beheld a tall figure hurrying down the street towards the tree where Pa Smith's buggy stood in a patch of shade. "Say we go an' look in your buggy again for that little parrysole of yours, Mr. Smith. Then, if it ain't there, we'll go on up to the hotel an' get a little something to console you."
On the way to the buggy they met Tom sauntering back, apparently at peace with all men. He grinned at Nick cheerfully as they passed—Nick's gentle voice acting as accompaniment to the loud wailing of the bereaved Mr. Smith. It changed to blank amazement as they, neared the buggy, where an ivory-handle lay conspicuously protruding from under the seat.
"Well, I'm hanged!" said Mr. Smith.
"Didn't I tell you the best of us makes mistakes?" murmured Nick.
"It was great luck winning that race," said 'Possum next day, "But the one thing I never will understand to me dying moment is how you managed to make old Pa Smith lend you that umbrella, Mr. Macleod. An' he never raised a single objection, you said?"
"Not one," Tom answered. He paused. "I wonder," he said reflectively, "if that might be because I never asked him!"