Chapters 18
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1 01 - Chapter 1 28:06
Mr.
Stamford was riding slowly, wearily, homeward, in the late atumnal twilight. along the dusty track which led to the Windigale Station. The life of a pastoral tenant of the Crown in Australia is, for the most part, free, pleasant, and devoid of the cares which assail so mortally the heart of modern man in cities. But striking exceptions to this rule are furnished periodically. A dry season in the bush vernacular supervenes. In the drear months which follow, the flower faded. The grass withereth, as in the olden, fairer days. The waters are forgotten of the footstep. The flocks and herds, which, in the years of plenty, afford so liberal an income, so untrammeled an existence to their proprietor, are apt to perish, if not removed.
Prudence and energy may serve to modify such a calamity. No human foresight can avert it. In such years, a revengeful person could desire his worst enemy to be an Australian squatter, for he would then behold him, heartily tried. Sorely tormented, a man doomed to watch his most cherished possessions daily fading before his eyes. Knightly to lay his head on his pillow, with the conviction that he was so much poorer since sunrise, he would mark him day by day. compelled to await the slow advancing march of ruin, hopeless, irrevocable, which he was alike powerless to hasten or evade. If he were a husband, and a father, his anxieties would be ingeniously heightened and complicated. The privations of poverty, the social indignities which his loved ones might be fated to undergo, would be forever in his thoughts, before his eyes.
Darkening his melancholy days, disturbing his too scanty rest. Such was the present position. Such were the prospects of Harold Stamford of Wendigo, as he rode slowly along on a favorite hackney, bloodlike, but palpably low in condition, with bent head and corrugated brow. It needed but little penetration to note that the iron had entered into his soul. Truth to tell, he had that morning received an important letter from his banker in Sydney. Not wholly unexpected. Still, it had destroyed the remnant of his last hope. Before its arrival, he had been manfully struggling against fate. He had hoped against hope. The season might change. How magical an alteration would forty-eight hours of steady rain produce.
He might be able to tide over till next shearing. The station was being worked with the strictest economy, how he grudged, indeed, the payment of their wages to the men who performed the unthankful task of cutting down the casuarina and acacia pendula, upon which the starving flocks were now in a great measure kept alive. But for that abnormal expenditure he and his boy, Hubert, gallant. High-hearted fellow, that he was, might make shift to do the station work themselves until next shearing. How they had worked, too, all of them. Had not the girls turned themselves into cooks and laundresses for weeks at a time? Had not his wife, delicate, refined Linda Carlsforth, who would have thought to see a broom in those hands, worn herself well nigh to death?
Supplementing the details of household work, when servants were inefficient, or, indeed, not to be procured? And was this to be the end of all? Of the years of patient labor, of ungrudging self-denial, of so much care and forethought, the fruit of which he had seen in the distance—a modest competence, an assured position, a well-improved freehold estate, comprising the old homestead and a portion of the fertile lands of Wendigo, once the crack station of the district, which Hubert should inherit after him. It was hard, very hard. As he came near the comfortable, roomy cottage, and marked the orchard trees, the tiny vineyard green with trailing streamers, in despite of the weary, sickening, cruel drought, his heart swelled nigh to bursting, as he thought how soon this arc of their fortunes might be reft from them.
Surely there must be some means of escape. Providence would never be so hard. God's mercy was above all. In it he would trust until the actual moment of doom. And yet, as he marked the desolate, dusty waste across which the melancholy flocks feebly paced, as he saw on every side the carcasses of animals that had succumbed to long remorseless famine, As he watched the red sun sinking below the hard, unclouded sky, a sense of despair fell like lead upon his heart, and he groaned aloud. "'Hullo, governor!' cried out a cheery voice from a clump of timber which he had approached without observing. "'You and old Sinbad look pretty well told out. I thought you were going to ride over me and the team in your very brown study, but joking apart.' Dear old Dad, you look awfully down on it.
Times are bad, and it's never going to rain again, is it? But we can't afford to have you've thrown up the sponge. Fortuna fabric, fortibus. That's our heraldic motto. Why, there are lots of chances, and any amount of fortunes. Going, begging yet, would you point out one or two of them, Master Huber? said his father, relaxing his features as he looked with an air of pride on the well-built youngster who stood with bare throat and sun-bronzed sinewy arms beside a dray upon which was a high-piled load of firewood. Well, let us see. If the worst comes to the worst, you and I must clear out, gov'nor, and take up this new Kimberley country. I've got ten years' work in me right off the reel. Here the boy raised his head and stretched his wide yet graceful shoulders.
"'And so have you, Dad. If you wouldn't fret so over what can't be helped. You'd better get home, though. Mother's been expecting you this hour. I'll be in as soon as I put on this last log. This log ought to keep them in firewood for a month.' "'You're a good boy, Hubert. I'll ride on.' Don't knock any more skin off your hands than is absolutely necessary, though, pointing to a bleeding patch about half an inch square from which the cuticle had been recently removed. A gentleman should consider his hands, even when he is obliged to work. Besides, in this weather there is a little danger of inflammation. Oh, that, said the youngster, with a fine carelessness of early manhood. Scratches don't count in the bush.
I wish my clothes would heal themselves when they get torn. It was a poor mother's everlasting stitch. Stitch! A little! And her eyes, too. Poor dear! Now, you go on, Dad, and have your bath, and make yourself comfortable before I come in. A new magazine came by post today, and the last Australasian. Laura's got such a song, too. We're going to have no end of an evening. If you'll only pull yourself together a bit, now you won't fret about this miserable season, will you? It's bad enough, of course, but it's no use lying down to it, now, is it? Right, my boy, we must all do our best, and trust in God's mercy. He has helped us hitherto. It is cowardly to despair. I thank him that I have children whom I can be proud of, whether good or ill fortune, betide.
Mr. Stamford Put spurs to his horse. The leg-weary brute threw up his head gamely, and, true to his blood, made shift to cover the remaining distance from the homestead at a brisk pace. As he rode into the stable-yard, a figure clad in a jersey, a pair of trousers, and a bathing towel, which turned out to be an eager lad of twelve, ran up to him. Give me Sinbad, father. I'm just going to the river for a swim, and I'll give him one, too. It will freshen him up. I'll scrape him up a bit of lucerne, just to taste. His chaff and corn are in the manger already. Take him, Dick. But don't stay in too long. It's getting dark, and tea will soon be ready. The boy sprang into the saddle, and, touching the old horse with his bare heels, started off on a canter over the river meadow, now comparatively cool in the growing twilight.
towards a gravelly ford in which the mountain water still ran strong and clear. With a sigh of relief, his father walked slowly forward through the garden gate and into the broad verandah of the cottage. Dropping listlessly into a great singalese cane chair, he looked round with an air of exhaustion and despondency. Below him was a well-grown orchard with rows of fruit trees, the size and spreading foliage of which Showed as well great age as the fertility of the soil. The murmuring sound of the river over the rocky shallows was plainly audible. Dark-shadowed eucalypti marked its winding course. As the wearied man lay motionless on the couch, the night air from the meadow played freshly cool against his temples.
Stars arose of wondrous southern brilliancy. Dark blue and cloudless, the sky was undimmed. Strange cries came from the woods. A solemn hush fell over all things. It was an hour unspeakably calm and solemn, restful to the spirit after the long, burdensome, heated day. Ah, me! sighed he. How many an evening I have enjoyed from this very spot at this so same hour. Is it possible that we are to be driven out? Even from this loved retreat? A sweet, girlish voice suddenly awoke him from his reverie as one of the casement windows opened and a slight youthful figure stood at his shoulder. No wonder you are a shame, you mean old daddy. Here have mother and I been exerting ourselves this hot afternoon to provide you with a superior entertainment, quite a club dinner in its way.
Attired ourselves, too, in the most attractive manner. Look at me, for instance, and what is our reward? Why, instead of going to dress sensibly, you will sit mooning here, and everything will be spoiled. My darling, I am ready for my bath, I promise you, but I am tired, and perhaps a little discouraged. I have had a long day, and seen nothing to cheer me either. Poor old father! So have we all. So has Mother. So has Hubert. So have I and Linda. But it's no use giving in, is it? Now walk off. There's a dear. You're not so very tired unless your constitution has broken down all of a sudden. It takes a good day to knock you up. That I know. But we must all put a good face on it, mustn't we? Till we're quite sure.
But the battle's lost. The Prostians may come up yet, you know. He drew the girl's face over to his own, and kissed her fondly. Laura Stamford was indeed a daughter that a father might proudly look upon, that her mother might trust to be her best aid and comfort, loving in prosperity, lightsome of heart as the bird that sings at dawn, brave in adversity, and strong to suffer for those she loved. All innocent, she of the world's hard ways, its lurid lights, its dread shadows, proud, pure, unselfish in every thought and feeling, all the strength of her nature went out in fondness for those darlings of her heart, the inmates of that cherished home, wherein they had never as yet known sorrow. The fateful passion which makes or mars all womanhood was for her as yet in the future.
What prayers had ascended to heaven, that her choice might be blessed, her happiness assured. This is the time for action. No more contemplation, she said with a mock-heroic air. The shower-bath is filled. Your evening clothes are ready in the dressing-room. Mother is putting the last touch to her cap. Andiamo! When the family met at the tea-table, a comprehensive meal which, though not claiming the rank of dinner, Furnished most of its requisites, Mr. Stamford owned that life were a broader prospect. His wife and daughters, in tasteful, though not ostentatious, evening attire, would have graced the more brilliant entertainment. The boys, cool and fresh after their swim in the river, were happy and cheerful.
Hubert, correctly attired and much benefited by his bath and toilet, had done justice to his manifest good looks. The well-cooked, neatly-served meal, with the aid of a few glasses of sound Australian risling, was highly restorative. All these permissible palliatives tended to recreate tone and allay nervous depression. The banker's letter, notwithstanding, things might not be so very bad, the squatter thought. He would go to town. He might make other arrangements. It might even rain. Yet the worst came to the worst. He might be able to change his account. If things altered for the better, there was no use desponding. If, again, all were lost, it were better to confront fate boldly. Shall I pull through, after all?
said Mr. Stamford to himself for the fiftieth time, as he looked over the morning papers at Batty's Hotel about a week after the occurrences lately referred to. In a mechanical way, his eyes and a subsection of his brain Provided him with the information that, in spite of his misfortunes, the progress of Australian civilization went on pretty much as usual. Bloods in one colony. Fires in another. The Messagerie's steamer. Caledonian. Just in. The Carthage. P. and O. Just sailed with an aristocratic passenger list. Burglars cleverly captured. Larrikins difficult of extinction. The wheat crop fare, maize only so-so. These important items registered in the brooding man's duplex acting brain after a fashion.
But in one corner of that mysterious storehouse, printing machine, signal station, what not, one thought was steadily repeating itself with bell-like regularity. What if the bank's ultimatum is no further advance, no further advance, no further advance, no... Further at, after breakfast, sadly resolved, he wended his way to the palace of finance, with the potentate of which he was to undergo so momentous an interview. Heart-sick and apprehensive as he was, he could not avoid noting with quick appreciation the sights and sounds of civilization which pressed themselves on his senses as he walked in a leisurely manner towards the bank of New Guinea. What wonders and miracles daily pass before one's eyes in a city, he said to himself, where one has been as long away from town as I have.
What a gallery of studies to a man, after a quiet bush life, is comprised in the everyday life of a large city. What processions of humanity, what light and color, what models of art, strength, industry, What endless romances in the faces of the very men and women that pass and repass so ceaselessly. Strange and how wonderful is all this. Glorious, too, the ocean-breath that fans the pale faces of the city-dwellers. What would I not give for a month's leisure and a quiet heart in which to enjoy it all? The solemn chime of a turret clock struck ten. It aroused Stamford. to a sense of the beginning of the commercial day, and his urgent necessity to face the enemy, whose outposts were so dangerously near his fortress.
The ponderously ornate outer door of the Bank of New Guinea had but just swung open as he passed in, preceding but by a second a courtly silk-coated personage. Apparently equally anxious for an early interview, he looked disappointed as he saw Stanford make his way to the manager's room. For one moment he hesitated, then said, "'If your business is not important, sir, perhaps you won't mind my going in first.' "'I'm sorry to say it is important,' he replied with his customary frankness. "'But I will promise you not to take up a minute more of Mr. Merton's valuable time. Then I can help.' The capitalist bowed gravely as Harold Stamford Passed into the fateful reception room, of which the very air seemed to him to be full of impalpable tragedies.
The manager's manner was pleasant and gentlemanlike. The weather, the state of the country, and the political situation were glanced at conversationally. There was no appearance of haste to approach the purely financial topic which lay so near the thoughts of both. Then the visitor took the initiative. I had your letter last week about my account, Mr. Merton. What is the bank going to do in my case? I came down on purpose to see you. The banker's face became grave. It was the crossing of swords, en garde, as it were, and the financial duel began. I trust, Mr. Stamford, that we shall be able to make satisfactory arrangements. You are an old constituent, and one in whom the bank has reposed the fullest confidence.
But—here the banker pushed up his hair, and his face assumed an altered expression. The directors have drawn my attention to the state of your account, and I feel called upon to speak decidedly. It must be reduced. But how am I to reduce it? You hold all my securities. It is idle to talk thus. Pardon me if I am a little brusque, but I must so windangle. Sell the old place, and clear out without a penny if I do not get time—a few months of time—from the bank. You know as well as I do that it is impossible to dispose of stations now at a reasonable price. Why, you can hardly get the value of the sheep. Look at Warden's Bunda Creek. How it was given away the other day. Fifteen thousand good sheep.
Run all fenced. Good brick house. Frontage to a— Navigable river. What did it bring? Six and three pence a head. Six and three pence. With everything given in, even to his furniture. Poor devil. Why, the U cost him twelve shillings, five years before. Sale! It was a murder, a mockery. And is Wendigum to go like that, after all my hard work? Am I and my children to be turned out penniless because the bank refuses me another year's grace? The seasons are just as sure to change as we are to have a new moon next month. I have always paid up the interest and part of the principal regularly, have I not? I have lived upon so little, too. My poor wife and children for these last long years have been so patient.
Is there no mercy, not even ordinary consideration, to be shown me? "'My dear Mr. Stamford,' said the manager kindly, "'do not permit yourself to be excited prematurely. Whatever happens, you have my fullest sympathy. If anyone receives consideration from the bank, you will do so. You have done everything that an energetic, honorable man could have done. I wish I could say the same of all our constituents. But the seasons have been against you, and you must understand that.' Although personally I would run any fair mercantile risk for your sake, even to the extent of straining my relations with the directors. I have not the power. I must obey orders, and these are precise. If a certain policy is decided upon by those who guide the affairs of this company, I must simply carry out instructions.
Yours is a hard case, a very hard case. But you are not alone. I can tell you in confidence." "'Is there nothing I can do?' pleaded the ruined man, instinctively beholding the last plank slipping from beneath his feet. "'Don't give in yet,' said Merton, kindly. "'Get one of those newly-started mortgage and agency companies to take up your account. They have been organized chiefly.' I am informed, with a view to get a share of the pastoral loan business, which is now assuming such gigantic proportions. They are enabled to make easier terms than we can afford to do, though, after all, this station-pond business is not legitimate banking. If you have any friend who would join in the security, it would, perhaps, smooth the way.
I will try, said Stamford, a ray of hope. Slender, but still definite, illumining the darkness of his soul. "'There may be a chance, and I thank you, Mr. Merton, for the suggestion, and your wish to aid me.' "'Good morning.' He took his hat and passed through the waiting-room, somewhat sternly regarded by the capitalist, who promptly arose as the inner door opened. But Harold Stamford heeded him not, and, threading the thronged atrium, re-entered once more the city pageant. novel and attractive to him in spite of his misery. Today he mechanically took the seaward direction, walking far and fast until he found himself among the smaller shops and unmistakable waterside characters of Lower George Street.
Here he remembered that there were stone stairs at which, in his boyhood's days, he had so often watched the boats return or depart on their tiny voyages. A low stone wall defended the street on that side, while permitting a view of the buildings and operations of a wharf. Beyond lay the harbor, alive with sail and steam. In his face blew freshly the salt odors of the deep. The murmuring voice of the sea wave was in his ears. The magic of the ocean stole once more into his being. In his youth he had delighted in boating. And many a day of careless, unclouded joy could he recall, passed amid the very scenes and sounds that now lay around him. Long, happy days spent in fishing when the fair wind carried the boy sailors far away through the outer bays, or even through the grand portals where the sandstone pillars have borne the fret of the South Pacific deep for uncounted centuries.
The long Beat back against the wind. The joyous return, the pleasant evening, the dreamless slumber. He remembered it all. What a heaven of bliss! Had he but known it, and what an inferno of debt, ruin, and despair seemed yawning before him now. He leaned over the old stone wall and watched mechanically the shadow of a passing squall, deep in the color of the blue waters of the bay. After a while his spirits rose insensibly. He even took comfort from the fact that after the sudden tempest had brooded ominously over the darkening water, the clouds suddenly opened. The blue sky spread itself like an azure mantle over the rejoicing firmament. The golden sun reappeared, and nature assumed the smile that is rarely far from her brow in the bright lands of the South.
"'I may have another chance yet.' Stamford said to himself, Why should I despair? Many a man now overladen with wealth has passed into a bank on such an errand as mine, uncertain whether he should return, financially, alive. Are not there Hobson, Walters, Adamson? Ever so many others who have gone through that fiery trial? I must fight the battle to the end. My Waterloo is not yet lost. The Prussians may come up. as darling Laura said. Although receiving the advice of Mr. Merton, whom he personally knew and respected, mainly in good faith, he was sufficiently experienced in the ways of the world to mingle distrust with his expectations. It was not such an unknown thing with bankers to shunt a doubtful or unprofitable constituent upon a less wary student of finance.
Might it not be so in this case? Or would not the manager of the agency company indicated, regard him in that light, how hard it was to decide. However, he would try his fortune. He could do himself no more harm. So he turned wearily from the dancing waters in the breezy bay, and retracing his steps through the crowded thoroughfare, sought the imposing Freestone Mansion, in which were located the offices of the Austral Agency Company. How these money-changing establishments house themselves, he said, and we borrowers pay for it with our heart's blood, he added bitterly. Here goes, however. He was not doomed on this occasion to any lingering preparatory torture, for in that light he had come to regard all antechamber detentions.
He accepted it as a good omen. But he was informed on sending in his card that Mr. Barrington Hope was disengaged and would be found in his private room.
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2 02 - Chapter 2 23:30
Mr.
Stamford was at once strongly prepossessed in favor of the man before whom he had come prepared to make a full statement of his affairs, and to request, to all but implore, temporary accommodation. How bald a sound it had! How unpleasant the formula! And yet Harold Stamford knew that the security was sound, the interest and principle nearly as certain, to be paid in full as anything can be in this uncertain world of ours. Still, such was the condition of the money market that he could not help feeling like a beggar. His pride rebelled against the attitude which he felt forced to take. Nevertheless, For the sake of the sweet, careworn face at home, the tender flowerets he loved so well, he braced himself for the ordeal.
Mr. Barrington Hope's appearance, not less than his manner, was reassuring. A tall, commanding figure of the true Anglo-Saxon type, his was a countenance in which opposing qualities seemed struggling for the mastery. In the glint of the gray eyes, in the sympathetic smile, In the deep, soft voice, there was a wealth of generosity, while the firm mouth and strongly set jaw betokened a sternness of purpose which boded ill for the adversary in any of the modern forms of the duello, personal or otherwise. Mr. Stamford, he said, I have heard your name mentioned by friends. What can I do for you? But if it be not a waste of time, in your case... Though you squatters are not so hard-worked in town as we slaves of the desk, we might as well lunch first, if you will give me the pleasure of your company at the Excelsior.
What do you say?" Mr. Stamford, in his misery, had taken scant heed of the hours. He was astonished to find that the morning had fled. He felt minded to decline. But in the kindly face of his possible entertainer he saw the marks of continuous mental exertion mingled with the easily recognized imprints of anxious responsibility. A feeling of sadness came over him as he looked again, of pity for the ceaseless toil to which it seemed hard that a man in the flower of his prime should be doomed, that unending mental grind of which he, in common with most men, who have lived away from cities, had so cordial an abhorrence. "'Poor fellow,' he said to himself, "'he is not more than ten years older than Hubert.
And yet what an eternity of thought seems engraven in his face. I should be sorry to see them change places, poor as we are and may be.' He thought this in the moment which he passed in fixing his eyes on the countenance of Barrington Hope. What he said was, "'I shall have much pleasure. I really did not know it was so late. My time in town, however, is scarcely so valuable as yours, so we may as well devote half an hour to the repairing of the tissue.' Mr. Stamford's wanderings in Lower George Street and the unfamiliar surroundings of the metropolis had so far overcome the poignancy of his woe as to provide him with a reasonable appetite. The cuisine of the excelsior, and the flavour of a bottle of extremely sound dalwood claret did not appeal to his senses in vain.
The well-cooked, well-served repast concluded, he felt like another man, and though distrusting his present sensations as being artificially rose-coloured, he yet regarded the possibility of life more hopefully. "'It has done me good,' he said in his heart, "'and it can't have done him any harm.' I feel better able to stand up to hard fate and her shrew blows than before. They chatted pleasantly till the return to the office, when Mr. Hope hung up his hat and apparently removed a portion of his amiability of expression at the same time. He motioned his visitor to a chair, produced a box of cigars, which, with a grotesque medieval match-box, he pushed towards him. Lighting one for himself, He leaned back in his chair and said, Now then, for business.
The squatter offered a tabulated statement, originally prepared for the bank, setting forth the exact number of the livestock on Wendigo, their sexes and ages, the position and area of the run, the number of acres bought, controlled, or secured, the amount of debt for which the bank held mortgage, the probable value of the whole property at current rates. Of all of which particulars, Mr. Hope took heed closely and carefully. Mr. Stamford became suddenly silent, and indeed broke down at one stage of the affair, in which he was describing the value of the improvements, and mentioning a comfortable cottage, standing amid a well-grown orchard on the bank of a river, with outbuildings of a superior nature grouped about.
Then Mr. Hope interposed. "'You propose to me to take up your account, which you will remove from the Bank of New Guinea. You are aware that there is considerable risk.' "'Hang it,' Mr. Stamford told himself. "'I have heard that, surely, before I know what you are going to say now. But why do you all, you financiers, like to keep an unlucky devil so on the tenter-hooks?' Mr. Hope went on quietly and rather sonorously. Yes, there has been a large amount of forced realization going on of late. Banks are tightening fast. The rainfall of the interior has been exceptionally bad. I think it probable that the Bank of New Guinea has none too good an opinion of your account. But I always back my own theory in finance.
I have great reason to believe, Mr. Stamford, that heavy rain will fall within the next month or two. I have watched the weather signs carefully of late years. I am taking, during the season, at any rate, a strong lead in wool and stock, which I expect to rise. Everything is extremely low at present, ruinously so, the season disastrously dry, but— From these very dry seasons I foretell a change which must be for the better. I have much pleasure in stating that the Austral Agency Company will take up your account, Mr. Stamford, and carry you on for two years at the same rate of interest you have been paying. Mr. Stamford made a commencement of thanking him, or at least of expressing his entire satisfaction with the new arrangement, but— Curious to relate, he could not speak.
The mental strain had been too great. The uncertain footing to which he had so long been clinging between ruin and comparative safety had rendered his brain dizzy. He had been afraid to picture the next scene of the tragedy, when the fatal fiat of the bank autocrat should have gone forth, the wrench of parting from the dear old place they had all loved so well, the unpretending But still commodious dwelling to which he had brought his fond, true wife, while yet a young mother. The garden in which they had planted so many a tree, so many a flower together. The unchecked freedom of station life, with its general tone of abundance and liberality. All these surroundings and comforts were to be exchanged.
If things were not arranged, for what? For a small house in town. For a lower, how much lower, standard of life and society, perhaps even for poverty and privation, which it would cut him to the heart to see shared by those patient exiles from their pastoral Eden. When Mr. Stamford had sufficiently recovered himself, he thanked Mr. Hope with somewhat unaccustomed fervour, for he was an undemonstrative man, reserved as to his deeper feelings. But the manager of the Austral Agency Company would not accept thanks. It may wear the appearance of a kindness, but it is not so in reality, he said. Do not mistake me. It is a hard thing to say, but if it seemed such to me, it would be my duty not to do it.
It is the merest matter of calculation. I am glad, of course, if it falls in with your convenience. Here he looked kindly at his client. For such he had become, as if he fain would have convinced him of his stern, utilitarian temperament. But, as he had remarked before, Mr. Hope's eyes and his sentiments contradicted one another. "'You have saved my home, the valued outcome of many a year's hard work. It may be my life, also. That is all. And I'm not going to thank you. Do not talk in so cold-blooded a manner. I cannot bear it.' "'My dear sir,' said Mr. Hope, with calm, half-pitying expression, "'I am afraid you are not a particularly good man of business. It is as unfair to praise me now for carrying you on for another year or two as it will be to blame me for selling you up some fine day, if I am compelled to do so.' Anyhow, it is a retreat from execution.
When shall I call again? "'Tomorrow morning, before twelve. Let us say.' I shall want you to sign a mortgage, a necessary evil, and if you bring me an exact amount of your indebtedness to the Bank of New Guinea, I will give you a cheque for it. A cheque for it! How magnificent was the sound! Mr. Stamford had drawn some tolerably large cheques in his time, which had been duly honored. But of late years, the cheque-drawing method had fallen much into abeyance. Nevertheless, he felt like Aladdin, suddenly gifted with a wonderful lamb. The sense of security and the guarantee of funds, for even their moderate and necessary expenses, appeared to open to him vistas of wealth and power, verging on oriental luxury.
He lost no time. Indeed, he just managed to gain his bank before its enormous embossed outer door was closed. When he marched into the manager's room with so radiant a countenance that the experienced centurion of finance saw plainly what had happened. "'Don't trouble yourself to speak,' he said. "'It's all written on your forehead. "'We bankers can decipher hieroglyphs, invisible to other men. "'Want my account made up? "'Securities ready to be delivered. "'Release, check, for amount in full. "'Who is the reckless entrepreneur?' The Austral Agency Company, he replied, feeling rather cooled down by this very accurate mind-reading. But you seem to know so much. You ought to know that, too. "'My dear fellow, I congratulate you,' Mr.
Merton said, getting up and shaking him warmly by the hand. "'I beg your pardon, but really, any child could see that you had been successful, and I began to think that it must have been one of Barrington Hope's long shots. A very fine fellow.' Young, but talented. In finance, operates boldly. I don't say he's wrong, mind you, but rather bold. Everything will be ready for you tomorrow morning. Look in just before 10 by the private door. Mr. Stamford did look in. How many times had he walked to those same bank doors with an aching heart, in which the dull throb of conscious care was rarely stilled? Many times had he quitted that building with a sense of temporary relief. Many times with a more acutely heightened sense of misery, and a conviction that fate had done her worst.
But never, perhaps, before had he passed those fateful portals with so marked a sense of independence and freedom as on the present occasion. He had cast away the burden of care, at any rate, for two years. Two whole years! It was an eternity in his present state of overwrought feeling. He felt like a man who, in old days, had been bound on the rack, had counted the dread contrivances for tearing muscles and straining sinews, who had endured the first preliminary wrench, and then, at a word, was suddenly loosed. Such was now his joyous relief from inward agony. From the internal throbs which rend the heart and strain to bursting the wondrous tissue which connects soul and sense, the man who had decreed all this was to him a king, nay, as a god.
And in his prayer that night, after he had entreated humbly for the welfare of wife and children in his absence, and for his own safe return to their love and tenderness, Barrington Hope came after those beloved names. included in a petition for mercy at the hands of the alt-wise. It was not a long business the clearing of scores with the Bank of New Guinea under these exceptional circumstances. Such and such was the debit balance, a sufficiently grave one in a season when it had not rained, to signify for about three years when stock was unsalable, when money was unprecedentedly tight. But not, perhaps, amounting to more than one-third of the real value of the property. Here were the mortgages, one secured upon the freehold, the other upon stock and station, furniture and effects.
Yes, admitted Mr. Stamford, looking over it. It is a comprehensive document. It includes everything on the place, the house, and all that therein is. Every hoof of stock, hacks, and harness horses. Saddles and bridles, only excepting the clothes on our backs. Good God, if we had lost all! And who knows whether we may not have to give them up yet? My dear Stamford, said the banker, you're almost too sentimental to be a squatter, though I grant you it requires a man of no ordinary power of imagination to look forward from your dusty pastures and dying sheep, as I am informed, to a season of waving grass and fat stock. Why, only this morning. I see that on Mavla, North Queensland, they have lost 80,000 sheep already.
That means they'll have a flood in three months, answered Stamford, forcing a laugh. We must have rain. This awfully sultry weather is sure to bring it on sooner or later. Ah, but when, said Mr. Martin. corrugating his brow as he mentally ran over the list of heavily-weighted station accounts to which this simple, natural phenomenon would make so stupendous a difference. If you or I could tell whether it would fall in torrents this year or next, it would be like—like spotting the winner of the Melbourne Cup before the odds began to shorten, eh, Merton? Good heavens, to think I feel in a mood to jest with my banker! That dread functionary. What is it, Lever says? That quarrelling with your wife is like boxing with your doctor.
Who knows where to plant the blow that would, maybe, be the death of you? Such is your banker's fatal strength. "'I envy you, your recovered spirits, my dear fellow,' said the overworked man of figures, with a weary smile, glancing towards a pile of papers on his table. "'Perhaps things will turn up.' Well, for you—and all of us, after all. You are not the only one, believe me, whose fate has been trembling in the balance. You don't think it's too pleasant for us, either, do you? Well, I'll send young Backwater down to Barrington Hope with these documents. You can go with him, and he will give a receipt for the check. For the rest, my congratulations and best wishes. He pressed an electric knob.
The door opened, A clerk looked in. Tell Mr. Overdue I am at liberty now. Good-bye, Stamford, and God bless you. On the previous day, Mr. Stamford had betaken himself to his hotel immediately after quitting Mr. Barrington Hope's office, and poured out his soul with fullest unreserved and a long letter to his wife, in which he had informed her of the great and glorious news, and with his usual sanguine. disposition to improve on each temporary ray of sunshine had predicted wonders in the future. What my present feelings are, even you, my darling Linda, Scherer, that you have been in every thought of my heart, can hardly realize. I know that you will say that only the present pressure is removed.
The misfortune we have all so long, so sadly dreaded, which involves The loss of our dear old home, the poverty of our children, and woe unutterable for ourselves, may yet be slowly advancing on us. You hope I will be prudent, and take nothing for granted until it shall have been proved. I am not to relax even the slightest endeavour to right ourselves, or suffer myself to be led into any fresh expense, no matter how bright, or rather pastoral. of the period, how cloudy the present outlook until rain comes, even then to remember that there is lost ground to recover, much headway to make up. My dearest, I am as sure that you have got all these warning voices ready to put into your letter as if you phonographed them, and I recognize the low, sweet tones which have ever been for me so instinct with love and wisdom.
But I feel that, on this present occasion—I hear you interpose. My dearest Harold, how often have you said so before? There is no need for any extraordinary prudence. I am confident that the season will change, or that something advantageous will happen long before this new advance is likely to be called in. Mr. Hoke. Assures me that no sudden demand will at any time be made, that all reasonable time will be given, that if the interest be but regularly paid, the company is in a position, from their control of English capital, to give better terms than any colonial institution of the same nature. I see you shake your wise, distrustful head. My dearest, you women, who are said to be gifted with so much imagination In many ways, possess but little in matters of business.
I have often told you so. This time I hope to convince you of the superior forecast of our sex. And now give my love to our darlings. Tell them I shall give practical expression to my fondness for them, for this once, only this once. Really, I must be a little extravagant. I shall probably stay down here for another week or ten days. Now that I am in town, I may just as well enjoy myself a little, and get up a reserve fund of health and strength for future emergencies. I don't complain, as you know, but I think I shall be all the better for another week's sea air. I met my cousin, Bob Grandison, in the street today, kind as usual, though he studiously avoided all allusions to business. Wanted me to stay at Chatsworth House for a few days.
I wouldn't do that. I don't care for Mrs. Grandison sufficiently, but I am going to a swell dinner there on Friday. And now, dearest, yours ever and always, fondly, lovingly, Harold Stamford. Having sent off this characteristic epistle, Mr. Stamford felt as easy in his mind as if he had provided his family with everything they could possibly want for a year. He was partially endowed with that Sheridanesque temperament. which dismissed renewed acceptances as liabilities discharged, and viewed all debentures as debts of the future, which a kindly providence might be safely trusted to find means to pay. Capable of extraordinary effort under pressure, or the excitement of emergency, personally, economical, temperate, and, above all, benevolent of intention towards every living creature, it must be admitted that Harold Stamford was instinctively prone, frankly, to enjoy the present and to take the future on trust.
Much of this joyous confidence had been knocked out of him, as he familiarly phrased it, by the austere course of events. He had for five years worked harder than any of his own servants. He had contented himself with but the bare necessities of food and clothing. Nothing had been purchased that could in any way be done without him. by that much-enduring, conscientious household, the members of which had made high resolve to do battle with remorseless nature and unmerited misfortune. And Will, indeed, had all fought, all endured, during the long, dreary, dusty summers, the cloudless, mocking, rainless winters of past years. The family garrison had stood to their guns, had not given back an inch.
The men had toiled and ridden, Watched and worked, from earliest dawn to the still starlit depths of many a midnight. The tenderly nurtured mother and her fair, proud girls had cooked the dinners, washed the clothes, faithfully performed all, even the humblest household work. With weary hands and tired eyes, for weeks and months together, still through all the uncongenial drudgery, their hearts had been firm with hope. and the pride of fulfilled duty, and now Harold Stamford told himself that the enemy was in retreat, that the siege was about to be raised.
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3 03 - Chapter 3 39:33
Mr.
Stamford, having fulfilled his home duties temporarily in this liberal and satisfactory manner, felt himself at liberty to enter upon justifiable recreations with an easy conscience. He was by no means a person of luxurious tastes. But there had been always certain dainty means, intellectually speaking, which his soul loved. These are rarely to be met with, save in large cities. It had been an abiding regret with this man that his narrow circumstances had shut him out from the inner circles of art and literature. Now he promised himself, at any rate, a taste of these long-forbidden repasts. On this memorable afternoon he betook himself only to the sea-marge, where he lay dreaming in the shade of an overhanging fig-tree during the closing hours of day.
With an unutterable luxury was it to his desert-worn soul thus to repose with the rhythmic roll of the surges in his ear, before his half-shut eyes, the wondrous, ever-changing magic mirror of the ocean. What an alteration, thought he. Had a single day wrought in his destiny. What a different person was he from the care-burdened, desponding man who had seen no possible output from the path of sorrow and disaster, at the end of which lay the grisly form of ruin, like some fell monster watching for prey. Now the airs of paradise were around him, the fresh, salt odors of the deep, the whispering breezes which fanned his cheek, which cooled his throbbing brow. How strangely contrasted were these surroundings with a shriveled, arid waste, the burning sun-blast, the endless monotony of pale-hued woodland, which he had so lately quitted.
As the low sun fell beneath the horizon verge, he watched the golden wavelet and the crimson sky mingle in one supreme color study. He heard the night wind come, moaning up from Misty unknown seas of the farthest south, where the hungry billow lay hushed to rest in eternal ice-fields, where dwelt the mystery and dread of polar wastes. Then, with a darkening eve, the pageant glided into the vestibule of night, and Mr. Stanford somewhat hastily arose, bethinking himself of the dining-hour at Chatsworth House. He had not overmuch time to spare, but— A few minutes before the appointed hour, his cab deposited him beside the Pompeian mosaic, which composed the floor of the portico. A wide, cool hall, gay with encaustic tiles, received him, thence to be ushered by the accurately costumed footman into the drawing-room, already fairly astir with the expected company.
He was not an unfamiliar guest, but his present temper Inclined him to consider more closely the curious inequalities of life, the various modes in which persons not widely differing in tastes and aspirations are socially encircled. What a contrast was there between the abounding luxury here heaped up, pressed down and running over, and the homely surroundings of his own home, from which nevertheless the danger of departure had well-nigh driven him mad. The parquet floors, the glittering treasures of the overmantels, the lounges, the dado, the friezes, the rare china, the plaques, the antique and the modern collections, each a study, the cost of which would have gone nigh to buy. Halt, Windigil.
When the hostess was informed by the imposing butler that dinner was served, and the guests filed into the dining-room Mr. Stamford was nearly as much astonished by the magnificence of the repast and the concomitance thereof as if he had for the first time in his life beheld such splendors. In earlier days, now almost forgotten, such repasts had been to him sufficiently familiar, but these latter seasons of drought and despair had wholly, or in great part, excluded all thought of the pomps and vanities of life. So he smiled to himself as he took the arm of Miss Cruet, the Passé society damsel, to whom by the fiat of Mrs. Grandison he had been allotted, to find that his first thought was a startled surprise, his second of the habitudes which came to him as by second nature, and a conviction that he must have witnessed such presentments in a former state of existence.
All was very splendid. Beyond denial. What was otherwise was aesthetically rare, and almost beyond price. Antique card furniture, medieval royal relics, a sideboard which looked like an Egyptian sarcophagus, contrasted effectively with the massiveness of the plate, the glory of the glass, and the triumph of the matchless Savra dinner service. In perfect keeping was the quiet assiduity of the attendants. The quality of the iced wines, the perfection and finish of the whole entertainment. Rather a contrast to the tea-table at Windigil, Harold Stamford said to himself, not but what I should have been able to do things like this, if I could have held on to those Kilbrank blocks for another year. Only another year.
And he sighed involuntarily. It is very fine in its way, though I should be sorry to have to go through this ordeal every evening. Grandison doesn't look too happy making conversation with that deaf old dowager on his right. He was brighter looking in the old working time when he used to drop in at Din Din, where we had a glass of whiskey, before bedtime, with a smoke and a good talk afterwards. Bob certainly read more or less then. He begins to look puffy, too. He doesn't see much of the library now, I'm afraid, except to snore in it. Here his fair neighbor, who had finished her soup and sipped her sherry, began to hint an assertion of social rights. Don't you think dear Josie looks a little pale and thin, though she is exquisitely dressed as usual?
But I always say no girls can stand the ceaseless excitement, the wild racketing of a Sydney season, can they now? To my eye, she looks very nice. Pale, if you like. But you don't expect roses and lilies with a thermometer at 80 degrees for half the year, except when it's at 100 degrees. Well, perhaps you're right. But it isn't the climate altogether in her case, I should say. It's the fearfully exciting life girls of her mind seem to lead nowadays. It's that which brings on the wrinkles. You notice her face when she turns to the light. Are women worse than they used to be, do you think, or is Josie more dissipated than the rest of her age and sex? Query, Stamford. I don't know that, though they do say that she is the fastest of a very fast set, and between you and me there have been some rather queer stories about her.
Not that I believe a word of them, but the girls nowadays do go such awful lengths, They say and do such things you don't know what to believe. Ah, well, she's young and happy, I suppose, and makes the most of her opportunities of enjoyment. My old friend, Bob Grandison, has been lucky, and his family seems to have everything they can possibly want. Everything, indeed, and more, besides. Shipley, if you please. Then I suppose you knew Mr. Grandison when he was— Not quite so well off. They say he got into society rather suddenly, but I'm afraid it doesn't do the young people quite as much good as it might. There's the eldest son. Carl, as they called him. He used to be Charlie when I first knew them.
Why, what about him? Nothing wrong, is there? He seems a fine lad. Well, nothing wrong yet. Not yet. Oh, no. Only he spends half his time at the club. Playing billiards from morning till night, and he's always going about with that horrid gambling, Captain Maelstrom. They do say, but you won't let it go further, that he was one of that party at Lou when young Wiener lost five thousand pounds and such a scandal arose out of it. Good heavens, you horrify me, a mere boy like that. It can't be true, surely not. I heard it on good authority, I assure you, and other stories, too, which I can't repeat. Really too shocking to talk about. See how impress he is with that Mrs. Lorley? What men see in that woman, I really can't think.
My old friend had both sense and right feeling once upon a time, said Stamford. He can't be so weak as to allow all this. He does all he can, poor old gentleman, but Mrs. Grandison is so absurdly vain about Carla's good looks and the fine friends he goes about with that she can't see any danger, Lord Edgar Wildgrave, and that Sir Harry Falconer, who was here last year. You know they do say that Josie broke her heart about Lord Edgar, and that makes her so reckless. But I know his father is very uneasy about him, and well he may be. I'm afraid— Ned. Bits fair to follow in his brother's footsteps. Thanks. I will take an audit. "'What a wretched state of things,' grunged Mr. Stamford, almost audibly.
"'I must hope, for the sake of my friend's family, that matters may be exaggerated.' "'I wish they are, with all my heart,' said the canted friend. "'They always have such delicious fruit here, haven't they? I must say they do things well at Chatsworth House.' I always enjoy a dinner here. I see Mrs. Grandison making a move. Thanks." And so Miss Crouet followed the retreating file of ladies that, headed by Mrs. Grandison's stately form, quitted the dining-room, leaving Mr. Stamford much disordered with the unpleasant nature of the ideas which he had perforce absorbed with his dinner. He could not forgive his late neighbor for introducing them into his system. Confounded, venomous, ungrateful cat, he said in his righteous rap.
How she enjoyed every mouthful of her dinner, pouring out malice at all uncharitableness the while. Serves Mrs. Grandison right, all the same. If she'd picked me out a nice girl, or a good motherly dame, I should not have heard all this scandal about her household. But what a frightful pity it seems. I must talk to Grandison about it.
At this stage, Mr. Stamford was aroused by his host's voice. "'Why, Harold, old man, where have you got to? Close up. Now the women are gone. Bring your chair next to Carlo.' He walked up as desired, the other guests having concentrated themselves in position near the head of the table, and found himself next to the heir of the house, Mr. Carlo Grantison. That young gentleman whom he had observed During dinner, talking with earnestness to a lady no longer young, but still handsome and interesting, in spite of Miss Crouet's assiduated denial of the fact, did not trouble himself to be over-agreeable to his father's old friend. He devoted himself, however, with considerable assiduity, to the decanters as they passed, and drank more wine in half an hour than Mr.
Stamford had ever known Hubert. to consume in a month. He did talk after a while, but his conversation was mainly about the last millhorned cup, upon which he admitted that he had wagered heavily, and dropped in for, to use his own expression, a beastly facer. Was not that imprudent? asked Mr. Stamford, as he looked sadly at the young man's flushed face. Don't you think it a pity to lose more than you can afford? Oh, the governor had to stand the racket, of course, he said, filling his glass, and a dashed row he made about it. Very bad form, I told him, just as if a thousand or two mattered to him. Do you know what we stood to win? Well, but you didn't win. I suppose in the bush, Mr. Stamford, you don't do much in that way, answered the young man with aristocratic hauteur.
But Maelstrom and I, sir, Harry Falconer, and another fellow, whose name I won't mention, would have pulled off forty-five thousand if that infernal first robber hadn't gone wrong the very day of the race. Think of that. He was poisoned, I believe. If I had my will, I'd hang every blessed bookmaker in the whole colony. Never mind. I'll land them next. If there were no young gentlemen who backed the favorite, there would be fewer bookmakers. replied Stanford, peaceably. But don't you think it a waste of time devoting so much of it to horse-racing? What can a fellow do? There's coursing, to be sure, and they're getting up a trotting match. I make believe to do a little work in the governor's office, you know, but I'm dead beat to get through the day as it is.
Try a year in the bush, my dear boy. You could... Soon learn to manage one of your father's stations. It would be a healthy change from town life." "'By Jove, it would be a change, indeed. Ha! Ha!' "'Right you are,' says Moses. "'But I stayed at Banuel one cheering, and I give you my word I was that sick of it all that I should have suicided if I had not been let come to town. The same everlasting grind—sheep, supers, and saltbush.'" Rides, drives, wire fences, dams, dampers, and dingoes, day after day. At night it was worse, not a pleasant thing to amuse yourself with. I used to play drops with a bookkeeper. But you could surely read. Books are easy to get up, and there are always neighbors.
I couldn't stand reading out there. Anyhow, the books we had were all dry stuff, and the neighbors were such a deuced slow lot. Things are not too lively in Sydney, but it's heaven compared with a bush. I want the governor to let me go to Europe. I should fancy Paris for a year or so. Take another glass of this Madeira. It's not an everyday wine. No. Then I will, as I see the governors toddling. In the drawing-room, matters were in a general way more satisfactory. A lady with a voice apparently borrowed from the angelic Choir was singing when they entered, and Mr. Stamford, passionately fond of music, moved near the grand piano to listen. The guests disposed themselves au plaisir. Mr. Carlo, singling out Mrs.
Lorley, devoted himself to her for the rest of the evening, with perfect indifference to the claims of the other lady guests. "'What a lovely voice Mrs. Threshton has,' said his hostess to Stamford. as soon as the notes of enchantment came to an end. "'Lovely, indeed,' echoed he. "'It is long since I have heard such a song, if ever.' "'Though my daughter Laura has a voice worth listening to.' "'But will not Miss Grandison sing?' he said after a decent interval. "'Josie has been well taught, and few girls sing better when she likes,' said her mother with a hapsed eye. "'But she is so capricious that I can't always get her to perform for us.' She has got into an argument with Count Zemoreski, that handsome young pole you see across the room, and she says she's not coming away to amuse a lot of stupid people.
Josie is quite a character, I assure you, and really the girls are so dreadfully self-willed nowadays that there is no doing anything with them. But you must miss society so much in the bush, don't you? There are very few nice men to be found there, I have heard. We are not so badly off as you suppose, Mrs. Grandison. People even there keep themselves informed of the world's doings, and value art and literature. I often think the young people devote more time to mental culture than they do in town. Indeed, I should hardly have supposed so. They can get masters so easily in town. And then again, the young folks have such chances of meeting the Best strangers, people of rank, for instance, and so on, that they never can dream of even seeing away from town.
Mr. Grandison wanted me to go into the bush when the children were young, and indeed one of his stations, Banuel, was a charming place, but I never would hear of it. A town life fulfilled all your expectations, I conclude. Yes, really, I think so. Very nearly. That is to say, Josie has such ease of manner and is so thoroughly at home with people in every rank of life that I feel certain she will make her mark some day. And your son, Carlo? Well, I don't mind telling you, as an old friend, Mr. Stamford, that Mr. Grandison is uneasy about him sometimes, says he won't settle down to anything, and is, well, not really dissipated, you know, but inclined to be fast. But I tell him— That will wear off as he gets older.
Boys will be boys. Besides, see what an advantage it is to him to be in the society of men like Captain Maelstrom, Sir Harry Falconer, and people of that step. I am not so sure of that, but I trust all will come right, my dear Mrs. Grandison. It is a great responsibility that we parents undertake. There is nothing in life but care and trouble, it seems to me, in one form or another. And now, as I hear the carriage is coming up, I will say good-night. Mr. Stamford went home to his hotel, much musing on the events of the evening. Nor was he able to sleep, indeed, during the early portion of the night, in consequence of the uneasiness which the unsatisfactory condition of his friend's family caused him.
Poor Randison, he said to himself. More than once have I envied him his easy circumstances. I suppose it is impossible for a man laden with debt and crushed with poverty to avoid that sort of thing, but I shall never do so again. With all my troubles, if I thought Hubert and Laura were likely to become like those two young people, as a natural consequence, I would not change places with him tomorrow. The boy, so early, lase, with the evil knowledge of the world, tainted with the incurable vice of gambling, Too fond of wine already, what has he to look forward to? What will he be in middle age? And the girl, selfish and frivolous, a woman of the world, when hardly out of her teens, scorning her mother's wishes, owning no law but her own pleasure, looking forward but to a marriage of wealth or rank, if her own undisciplined feelings stand not in the way.
Money is good, at any rate, as far as it softens the hard places of life. But if I thought that wealth would bring such a blight upon my household, wouldso wither the tender blossoms of hope and faith, would undermine manly endeavour and girlish races, I would spurn it from me to-morrow. I would. With which noble and sincere resolve Mr. Stamford fell asleep. Upon waking next morning, He was almost disposed to think that the strength of his disapproval as to the younger members of the Grandison family might only have been enthusiasm, artificially heightened by his host's extremely good wine. That were indeed a breach of hospitality, he said to himself. And after all, it is not, strictly speaking, my affair.
I am grown rusty and precise, it may be, from living so monotonous a life in the bush. so far removed from the higher fashionable existence. Doubtless, these things, which appear to me so dangerous and alarming, are only the everyday phenomena of a more artificial society. Let us hope for the best, that Carlo Grandeson may tone down after a few years, and that Miss Josie's frivolity may subside into mere fashionable matronhood. Mr. Stamford, finished his breakfast with an appetite which proved either his moderation in the use of the good familiar creature overnight, or a singularly happy state of the biliary secretions. He then proceeded in a leisurely way to open his letters. Glancing at the postmark, Muramah, the little country town near home, and recognizing Hubert's bold, firm handwriting, he opened it, and read as follows.
"'My dear old Dad, I have no doubt you are enjoying yourself quietly, but thoroughly, now that you have cleared off the Bank of New Guinea and got in with the Austral Agency Company. Mother says you are to give yourself all reasonable treats, and renew your youth, if possible, but not to think you have the Bank of England to draw upon just yet. I told her you were to be trusted, and I have a piece of good news for you, which will bear a little extravagance on its back.' I am very glad we were able to pay off that bank. They had no right to push you as they did. However, I suppose they can't always help it. Now for the news. If some beastly telegram has not anticipated it... We have had RAIN. Yes, RAIN in large letters.
What do you think of that? Forty-eight hours of steady RAIN. Five inches, sixty points. Didn't it come down? Cats and dogs, floods and water-spots. The drought has broken up. The river is tearing down a banker. You can see the grass grow already. All bother about feed and water put safely away for a year at least. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! I have sent most of the sheep out back. Dams all full, but none carried away. Thank goodness. I got the hill paddock fence finished, and the wieners all into it yesterday. Didn't get home till midnight. The run, like a batter pudding, soaked right down to the bedrock. We shall have more grass than we can use. Old Saville, Sable, I call him, would sell five thousand young sheep, mixed sexes.
He wants to realize, if Mr. Barrington Hope, or whatever his name is, will stand it, they would pay to buy. Wire me, if I can close. But of course, I don't expect it. I think I may safely treat myself to John Richard Green's Making of England and Motley's Rise of the Dutch Republic, so please post them. Everything looking first-rate. Laura is writing, too. Your loving son, Hubert Stamford. Next came a letter in a neat characteristic, legible hand, not angular feminine, which he well knew. Oh, darling Dad, We are all gone straight out of our senses with joy. We have had such blessed and beauteous rain. The windows of heaven have indeed been opened. Where else could such a lovely downpour come from?
All our doubts and fears are cleared away. Hubert has been working himself to death, poor boy, off before daylight and never home till twelve or one in the morning. He says that we shall have the best season known for years, and that nothing can possibly hurt the grass for a whole twelvemonth. Besides, more rain is sure to come. They always say that, though. Some water came through here and there, but it was a blessing that Hubert and the old splitter got the new roof over the kitchen before the drop broke up. The dear garden looks lovely. I have been sowing a few flower seeds, so fresh and beautiful it is already. I rode to one of the outstations with Hubert yesterday, and we got such glorious ferns coming back.
I am sorry to say, dear Mother is not over strong. The hot weather and the old trouble, no servants, have been too much for her. Do you think you could bring back a good willing girl as cook and laundress that would shift the hardest part of the work off our shoulders? And I think Linda and I could manage the housework and be thankful, too? Try your best. That's a good old death. I have been reading Middlemarch, strictly in spare time, and am getting on pretty well with my German and Italian. If you could bring up two or three books, and by all means a pretty song or two, we should have nothing left to wish for. Now that the rain has come, it seems like a new world. I intend to do great things in languages next year.
How about Mrs. Carlyle's Letters? From the review we saw in Australation, they must be deeply interesting. We expect you to return quite restored to your old self. Write longer letters, and I am always your loving daughter, Laura Stamford. So far, so good, indeed, quoth Mr. Stamford to himself. The year has turned with a vengeance. Let me see what the heralds telegrams say. Lucky, I did not look at the paper. So Hubert's letter gives me first news. Ah, another letter, handwriting unknown, formal, with the English postmark too. No bad news, I hope, though I can hardly imagine any news of importance from the old country, good or bad. Now, luckily I am outside the pale of bad news for a while, thanks to Barrington Hope and this breaking up of the drought.
What says the Herald?
From our own correspondent. Drought broken up. Heavy. Continuous rain. Six inches in 48 hours. Country underwater. Damns full. A grand season anticipated. Quite right for once. Our own correspondent. Albeit too prone to pronounce the drought broken up on insufficient data. But now accurately and carefully observant. I drink to him any fresh cup of tea. And now for the unknown correspondent. Here we have him. Mr. Stamford carefully and slowly opened his letter after examining all outward superscription and signs. Thus went the unaccustomed missive. Harold Stamford, Esquire, Wendigal Station, Mooramah, New South Wales, Australia, London, Twenty-three, Capital Court, April Fourteenth, Eighteen Aity Three.
Sir, it has become our duty to announce the fact that, consequent upon the death of your cousin, Godwin Stamford Esquire, late of Stamford Park, Berkshire, you are entitled to the sum of one hundred and seventy-three thousand four hundred and sixty-nine pounds, fourteen shillings and ninepence, with interest from date, which sum now stands to your credit in the funds. You are possibly aware that your cousin's only son, Mark Atheling Stamford, would have inherited the said sum and other moneys and property at the death of his father, had he not been unfortunately lost in his yacht, the Walrus, in a white squall in the Mediterranean a few days before the date of this letter. In his will, the late Mr.
Godwin Stamford named you as next of kin to be the legatee of this amount, in the case of the deceased. Mark Hathaway Stamford, dying without issue. We have communicated with our agent, Mr. Worthington, of Phillips Street, Sidney, from whom you will be enabled to learn all necessary particulars. We shall feel honored by your commands as to the disposal or investment of this said sum, or any part of it. All business with which you may think fit to entrust our firm shall have prompt attention. We have the honor to be— Sir, your obedient servants, Wallingford, Richards, and Stowe. Mr. Stamford read the letter carefully from end to end. Twice, indeed, with an unmoved countenance. He pushed it away.
He walked up and down the room. Then he went into the balcony of the hotel and gazed at the people in the street. He retired to his bedroom after this, whence he did not emerge for a short space. Returning to the table, he sat calmly down, gazing at his letter, and again examining the signature, the important figures, which also had the value set forth formally in writing. Yes, there was no mistake. It was not seven thousand, four hundred and sixty-nine pounds, nothing of the kind. One hundred and seventy thousand pounds, and the rest. One hundred and seventy thousand. He repeated the words over and over again in a calm and collected voice. Then the tears rushed to his eyes, and he laid his head on his hands and sobbed like a child.
For what did it all mean? Nothing less than this—that he was a rich man for life, that his wife, best beloved, tender, patient, self-sacrificing as she had always been since he took her— A fresh-hearted, beautiful girl from her father's house, where she had never known aught but the most loving care, the most elaborate comfort, would henceforth be enabled to enjoy all the old pleasures, even the luxuries of life, from which they had all been so long debarred. They could live in Sydney or Melbourne, as it pleased them best. They could even sojourn in London or Paris and travel on the continent of Europe. The girls could have all the advantages, as they are called, of the best teaching, the best society, change of scene, travel.
Great Heaven! What a vista of endless bliss seemed opening before him! But then, as he sat and thought, another aspect of the case, dimly, shadowy, of darker colors and stranger light, seemed to pass before him. Would the effect of the sudden withdrawal of all necessity for ever All reason for self-denial be favourable to the development of these tenderly cultured, generous but still youthful natures? When the cares of this world, which up to this point had served but to elevate and ennoble, were dismissed, would the deceitfulness of riches have power to check the good sea? Would the tears multiply and flourish overrunning the corn, and would the uprooting of them import another trouble? A difficulty which might be enlarged into a sorrow.
Would indolence and reckless enjoyment succeed to the resolute march along the pathway of duty? To the prayerful trust in that Almighty Father who granted strength from day to day? Would the taste for simple pleasures, which now proved so satisfying, be lost irrevocably to be succeeded, perhaps by a dangerous craving for excitement, by satiety? or indifferentism? What guarantee was there for this conservation of the healthful tone of body and mind when the mainsprings of all action, restraint and self-discipline, were in one hour relaxed or broken? Could he bear to behold the gradual degeneration which might take place, which had so manifested itself as he had witnessed, in natures perhaps not originally inferior to their own?
Long and anxiously did Harold Stamford ponder over these thoughts, with nearly as grave a face, as anxious a brow, as he had worn in his deepest troubles. At length he arose with a resolved air. He left the hotel and took his way to the office of Mr. Worthington, whom he knew well, who had been his legal advisor and the depository of all official confidences for many years past. It was he who had drawn the deed by which the slender dowry of his wife, with some moderate addition of his own, had been settled upon her. He knew that he could be trusted, implicitly with his present intentions, that the secret he intended to confide in him this day would be inviolably preserved. This, then, was the resolution at which Harold Stamford had arrived.
He would not abruptly alter the conditions of his family life. He would gradually and unostentatiously ameliorate the circumstances of the household, but he would defer to a future period the information that riches had succeeded in this dreaded and probable poverty. He would endeavor to maintain the standard of plain living and high thinking in which his family had been reared. He would preserve it in its integrity as far as lay in his power until, with characters fully formed, Tried and matured, his children would in all probability be enabled to withstand the allurements of luxury, the flatteries of a facile society, the insidious temptations of the world, the flesh and the devil. Intend upon removing such dangers from their path in life, he felt himself warranted in using the Supressio Veri, which he meditated, and he implored the blessing of God upon his endeavours to that end.
Then again, the station. It must stand apparently upon its own foundation. What pride and joy to Hubert's ardent nature for the next few years would it be to plot and plan, to labor and to endure, in order to compass the freedom of the beloved home from debt? Now that the rain had come, that the account was in good standing. He had felt so sanguine of success that it would be cruel to deprive him of the gratification he looked forward to, the privilege he so prized. And what task would employ every faculty of mind and body more worthily, more nobly, than this one to which he had addressed himself? Hubert's favorite quotation occurred to him. And how can man die better? than facing fearful odds for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods.
This he was wont to declaim when his mother, meeting him as he returned from weary rides, chilled by winter frosts, burnt black well-nigh by summer suns, had many a time and oft expostulated, telling him that he would kill himself. The tears came into the father's eyes as he thought of these things. Poor Hubert! Poor boy! How he has worked! How he means to work in the future! We must manage not to let him overdo things now. I dare say I shall be able to slacken the pace a little for him without his suspecting the real cause, as he thought of his son, sitting centaur-like on his favorite horse with his head up. His throat bare, courage in his eye, and manly resolution in his whole bearing, while to do anything that was self-sacrificing, dangerous, laborious, fully repaid by a smile from his mother, a kiss from Laura, a nod of approval from himself.
He could not help contrasting him with Carla Grandison, the product, as he surmised, of a life of ease, of a system where self-restraint had been rendered obsolete. He thought of Laura's patient labours, of her constancy to uncongenial tasks, of her fresh, unsullied bloom, and sweet, childlike nature. God forbid, he said, that they should ever know wealth if such a transformation is likely to take place in their character. I know what they are now. It shall be my aim to preserve them in their present innocence. Let them remain unspotted from the world. I must invent a way by which fair development and mental culture may be furnished. But as to taking them away from this humble retreat, where all their natural good qualities have so grown and flourished in the healthful atmosphere of home life, it were a sin to do it.
I have made up my mind. And here Mr. Stamford almost frowned as he walked along and looked as stern as it was in his nature to do. On arriving at Mr. Worthington's chambers, with a precious document carefully secured within his pocket-book, he found that gentleman engaged. He, however, sent in his card with a request to be admitted at his leisure upon business of importance, and received a reply to the effect that if he could remain for a quarter of an hour, the principal would be at liberty. The time seemed not so long with a tranquil mind. The days of the torture-chamber were over. He employed it in reconsidering the points of his argument, and when the door of Mr. Worthington's private room opened, he felt his position strengthened.
"'Sorry to detain you,' said the lawyer, "'but it is a rule of mine to take clients as they come, great and small. Haven't seen you for some time, Mr. Stamford. Had rain, I hear, in your country. That means everything—everything good.
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The eminent solicitor, than whom no man in his profession held more family confidences, not to say secrets in trust, here fixed a pair of keen gray eyes, not unkindly in expression, but marvelously direct and searching. upon his visitor. "'You have had a communication with reference to the subject of this letter,' said Mr. Stamford, placing it before him. "'Ah, Wallingford, Richards, and Stowe, first-class men in the profession. Now you mention it, I certainly have, and I congratulate you heartily upon it. I have heard generally about your affairs, Mr. Stamford.'" Losses and crosses, bad seasons, and so on. It has come at the right time, hasn't it? It certainly has, but, curiously, I have managed, with the aid of the grand change of season, to do without it.
Now I have at once an explanation, and an uncommon request to make." Mr. Worthington settled himself in his chair, and took a pinch of snuff. "'My dear sir,' said he, "'pray go on.' I am in the habit of hearing uncommon requests and curious explanations every day of my life. Perhaps I may surprise you even a little. In the first place, does anyone know of this rather exceptional legacy which I have received, or rather to which I am entitled? Mr. Worthington unlocked an escritor and opened a drawer labeled private. and took from it a letter, in the same handwriting as the one before them. Here is Wallingford's letter. It has been seen by no eye but mine. It was answered by me personally. No other living soul is aware of it.
I have reasons, connected with my family chiefly, for not desiring to permit my accession to a fortune, for such it is. To be known by them, or by the public generally, till, at any rate, a certain number of years has passed. Can this be done? Most assuredly, I can receive the money, which will then be at your disposal. No one need be a job the wiser. That's exactly what I want you to do for me, to invest the amount securely, and to let the interest accumulate for the present. At the same time, I may. Upon notice, be compelled to draw upon it. That can be easily done. The interest will be lodged in the Occidental Bank. They have no directors there, by the way, to be drawn out, if required, by check signed by you and me or my partner at my decease.
Must provide for everything, you know, if you require the whole or any part. You have but to let me know, and I can send you the firm's written guarantee that the money will be at your credit at the bank referred to on any given day. I am not likely to require the principal but the interest I may draw upon from time to time. The arrangement can be made precisely as you desire. When you authorize us on that behalf, the principal sum can be transmitted to this colony without delay. You will be able to secure 7 or 8 percent interest upon mortgage here without risk, and, as I said before, to draw, should you require, by giving reasonable notice. This course you are about to adopt is unusual, but I presume your reasons to be adequate.
It is not my business to be concerned with them further than regards their legal aspect. You have made my course easy, my dear sir, and relieved me of some anxiety. I wish now to give instructions for the addition of a codicil to my will, which is in your office. That being done, our business will be over. His truly momentous interview was at length concluded most satisfactorily as Mr. Stamford thought. He made his way back to his hotel in a serious but not unchearful state of mind, reserving till the following day a last interview with Mr. Barrington Hope. On the morrow, when he betook himself to the offices of the Austral Agency Company, he smiled as he thought. with what different feelings he had made his first entrance.
How agitated had been his mind with hope and fear! Scarcely daring to believe that he would receive other than the stereotyped answer to so many such requests, would have been happy under any other circumstances, stock and stations, unsaleable. The money market in so critical a condition. The company have decided to make no further advances for the present. At another time, probably, and so forth. He knew the formula by heart. How fortunate for him that it had been the policy of this company, shaped by the alert An enterprising financial instinct of Barrington Hope to entertain his proposal, to make the sorely needed advance, to float the sinking artisan, to risk loss and guarantee speculative transactions for the sake of extending the business of the company and gaining the confidence of the great pastoral interest.
The bold stroke carried out as to so many larger properties than poor hardly pressed. Wendigel had been successful. The daring policy, now that the rain had come, had turned out to be wisely prescient. Capitalists began to talk of a man who, comparatively young, had shown such nerve and decision in the throes of a financial crisis, such as had just passed, thank God. The oft-quoted sucker might have proceeded chiefly from a superior quality of head. But Mr. Stamford told himself that to his dying day he should always credit Barrington Hope with those attributes of the heart which were rarely granted to meaner men. At the present interview there were, of course, mutual congratulations. Had rain, I saw by the telegram, my dear sir, heartily glad for your sake, indeed, for our own.
Squatters fully appreciate the benefit their class receives by such a glorious change in the season. I wonder if they always remember their hard-worked brethren, the managers of banks and finance companies, upon whose weary brains such a weight of responsibility presses. Well, to each his sufferings, all our men condemned alike to groan, etc. We must bear our burdens as we best may. But this is very frivolous. It must be the rain, nearly six inches, enough to make anyone talk nonsense. What can I do for you at present? Mr. Stamford shortly gave a resume of Hubert's letter, and mentioned the store sheep. Certainly, by all means. If, as I assume, you will have grass to spare, buy for cash and save the discount.
Would you like to telegraph? Excuse me. He summoned a clerk. Mr. Stamford wishes this telegram sent at once. He had written, Buy store sheep at once. For cash. Draw at site. Barrington Hope. Hubert Stamford. Esquire. Mooramont. Is that right? Mr. Bowper, you will see that message sent through. The door closed. It is best not to lose time in these matters. Don't you think so? Prices are rising every hour. Sheep might be withdrawn. Mr. Stamford was quite of the same opinion, and was moreover delighted with the promptness with which the transaction was concluded. "'Shall you want more sheep before shearing? If so, don't scruple to buy.' "'Well, we shall have more grass than we know what to do with,' Hubert says, commenced Mr.
Stamford. Rather aghast at this magnificent manner of buying all before him, but I don't know whether there is not a risk of overstocking. None whatever, I should say. Take advantage of a good season when it comes. That's the modern stock policy. Some very successful men, whose names I could tell you. Always practice it. You'll consult your son when you go home and let me know, but admitting that you've bought up to your carrying capacity, and sold all but your best sheep directly after shearing. You might make all safe, as they say at sea. Our Queensland constituents are buying largely to stock up new country. As your district has a good name for wool, you would have no difficulty in quitting them at a profit."
"'That makes a difference, certainly,' said Mr. Stamford. "'To whose mind?' Long a tabula rasa as regards speculation, having been too deeply occupied in compassing mere existence. Pecuniarially speaking, Gorges' enterprises and profits commence to present themselves. I will talk it over with Hubert, and let you know. Certainly. Wire rather than write, though. In matters of importance, time is generally most precious. You are going. Good-bye. Most happy that our business intercourse has progressed so favorably. "'You must permit me, my dear Mr. Ho, to say that I feel most grateful,' said Mr. Stamford, standing up and holding out his hand. "'Deeply grateful, personally, for your kindness and courtesy, outside of any business relation whatever.
No, you must not stop me. I shall feel it to my dying day, and trust you will come and see us at our home.'" The home you saved for us, I shall always thank, whenever you visit our part of the country. The handclasp was sincere and hearty. The interview terminated. The squatter went his way musingly down narrow, not over straight, George Street, on either side of which towering freestone buildings seemed to be uprising daily, while Barrington Hope addressed himself. To a pile of letters from which he hardly raised his head until the closing of the office. As for Mr. Stamford, his day's work was done. He mechanically thought over this poor sheep question, but his face suddenly changed as he remembered in such matters he would be absolved from all anxiety or doubt in future.
What rest? Rest! All blessed rest of mind and body would be his for all time to come. Are there any disorders, sorrows, misfortunes, here below, which so surely, if gradually, eat away the heart of man as those which spring from pecuniary dearth or doubt? How the days are dimmed, how the nights are troubled, the glory of the sky, the beauty of the flower, the breath of morn, the solemn hush of midnight, nature's best gifts and treasures. How unheeded all, if not despised, are they, when exhibited before the wretched thrall of debt. To the galley-slave in old classic days, what were the purple waters of the Aegean? The honking beauty of the temple-crowned promontory, the choral dances, the flower-wreathed veins of the Greek isles, were but mockeries to the haggard rowers of the trireme as she swept by.
All too close to land. The grim jest of the old-world humorist was keenly close, that even the demons of the nethermost pit disdained to torture the luckless debtor, so wasted and dried up was every attribute of body and soul. And was he indeed the same Harold Stamford that paced this very street, wearily and so despondingly, but one poor week agone, and without the timely Aid of the Austral Agency Company," thought he. I was even then so near to safety, to triumph. I feel like the man who clung so long to a marsh-pile the long night through, in dread of drowning, and, dropping from exhaustion, found himself in four feet of water. And how wretched and despairing was I! How little hope was there in the world, apparently!
But for Linda and the children I could have found it in my heart to make a quick end, in the harbor, of the misery which was becoming unendurable. It shows that a man should never despair. There are always chances, hundreds, as poor Hubert said. But shall I ever forget Barrington Hope and his kindness? No, or may God forget me, in my need. And what a grandfellow he seems to be! Having satisfactorily finished his soliloquy, Mr. Stamford bethought himself that he would make a parting call upon his friends, the Grandisons. He was going home in a day or two now, and should be tolerably busy. He knew by experience what with commissions and other matters, which he was but too apt to put off till the last moment.
The ladies were engaged. Mr. Grandison was, however, at home, and, as it turned out, not in that cheerful frame of mind which befitted so rich a man. He had the world's goods in profusion, but, as Stamford marked his anxious brow and perturbed countenance, he saw that something had gone wrong. "'Oh, it's you, is it?' Mr. Grandison said. "'I was afraid it was a young fellow, just out from home. Got letters to us.' The Honorable Mr. Devereaux. He is not a bad chap, but I don't feel up to talking to a youngster I never saw before, and won't see again after next week. Come into my den and have a yarn, Harold. I want to talk to you. And I say, stop and have a quiet, tete-tete dinner. They're going out, Josie and her mother, to one of Ketten's recitals, as they call it.
I'm in no humor for musical humbug. I can tell you. I'm worried to die about that eldest boy of mine, Carlo. Stay, like a good fellow, and you can advise me. I'm fairly puzzled." This was a matter of charity and old friendship, besides. Stamford's heart was touched at the spectacle of his old comrade troubled and... in distress. He forgot the obtrusive magnificence, and thought of the long-past days when they rode together beneath burning sky or winter storm before one had found the road to fortune, and the other had taken the by-path, which had only ended in happiness. "'All right, Bob,' he answered. "'You shall have all the help I can offer. I'm sorry. You've caused me uneasy about the boy.
We must hope for the best, though.' Youthful imprudence is not so uncommon. "'It's worse than that,' said Mr. Grandison, palumniely, with a portentous shake of his head."
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Just as dinner was announced, the carriage behind the grand 300 guinea browns, perhaps the best pair in Sydney, rolled up to the door Mrs. Grandison and Miss Josie. fluttered down the stairs a few minutes afterwards in the full glory of evening costume. As host and guests stood in the hall, the lady of the house vouchsafed a slight explanation, mingled with faint regret that the latter was not coming with them. "'You know, Mr. Stoutford, this is one of that dear Ketnan's last recitals. We really could not afford to miss it. Especially as our friends, the Cranberries, will be there.' Lady C. sent a private message to Josie that she must go. I wanted to stop, for we really are miserable about that wicked boy, Carlo, but Josie said it couldn't make any difference to him, and why should we punish ourselves?
Because he chose to be selfish and extravagant. Mr. Stamford could not wholly assent to these philosophical propositions. He thought of what Laura's pleasure In hearing, the musical magnet would have been on the same evening that Hubert had been declared a defaulter as to play debts, and was socially, if not legally, under a cloud. He simply bowed coldly. Then he saw the pained maternal expression in Mrs. Grandison's face, in spite of her worldliness and frivolity, and his heart smote him. "'My dear Mrs. Grandison,' he said, Taking her hand, I feel for you most deeply. Then suddenly came a voice from the carriage in which Miss Josie had ensconced herself. Mama, I shall catch cold if we wait one moment longer.
Hadn't you better postpone your interesting talk with Mr. Stamford? Mrs. Grandison started, and then, recovering herself, shook Mr. Stamford's hand. You will talk it over with Robert, won't you? "'You are old friends, you know. Don't let him be too hard on poor Carlo. I'm sure he has a good heart. Pray come and see us again before you leave.' The portly form of his hostess moved off at a swifter rate than her appearance denoted. The footman banged the carriage door and the grand equipage rattled out over the mathematically accurate curves of the drive. The dinner going. Commenced to resound after a warlike and sudden fashion, and caused Mr. Stamford to betake himself hurriedly to the drawing-room.
There he found Mr. Grandison standing by the fireplace in a meditative position. Mr. Grandison turned at his friend's entrance. "'Seen Mrs. Grandison? Has she told you about it? Well, they're gone now, and we can talk it over quietly. Come in to dinner. I've no appetite. God knows.' But I want something to steady my nerves. The dinner, somewhat restricted for the occasion, was extremely good, though his host ate little, confining himself to a cutlet and some wonderful brown sherry. Not until the dessert was placed before them, and they were alone, did he begin the subject which lay so near to his heart. Of course, I know, Stamford, that young fellows like my boy can't be expected to live in a town like Sidney upon his screwy allowance.
At any rate, not if they are to be seen in good company. Therefore, I've always said to Carlo, Let me see you make your mark and live like a gentleman. That's all I ask of you, and you shan't want for a hundred or two. I hadn't got it to spend when I was his age. You know that, Harold. But if... I like my youngster to be a bit different in some things. That's my own affair, isn't it, as long as I am willing to pay for it?" Well, that's all right, you say. Take some of this claret. It won't hurt you. It's my own importation from Bordeaux. Of course, I didn't want the boy to slave in an office, nor yet to live in the bush, year after year, with nothing but station hands to talk to. If Mrs. Grammison had done what I wanted her to do— While the children were young, and lived quietly at Benniel, it might have been different.
There we could have had everything comfortable, nearly as good as here. It would have been better for me, and them, too, I expect. But she wouldn't see it, and that's why we've always lived in town. Still, interposed Stamford, though you have been well enough off to afford to live where you pleased, I can't imagine why Carlo should not keep the course and run straight. Even in Sydney, like other young men of his age. Mr. Grandison sighed and filled his glass. Some do, and some don't. That's about the size of it. I don't know why the lad shouldn't have enjoyed himself in reason like young Norman MacAllister, Jack Staunton, Neil O'Donnell, and others that we know. They've always had lots of money, too.
They've been home to the old country and knocked about by themselves, and I never heard that they've got him to rouse or overrun the constable. How my boy should have made such a fool of himself with a father that's always stuck well to him. I can't think. I'm afraid we've thought too much of his swell friends' names and families, and not enough of their principles. I've told my wife that before now." "'But what has he done?' asked Stamford. If it's a matter of a few thousands, you can settle that easily enough. Particularly now we've had rain," continued he, introducing the pleasantry as a slight relief to his friend's self-reproachful strain. Yes, of course, I can do that, thank God, rain or no rain, though it made a matter of thirty thousand profit to me on those back Delandre blocks.
More than that, I shouldn't care if the money was all. But this is how it is. I may as well bring it straight out. It seems that Carlo and Captain Maelstrom—damn him, I never liked a bone in his body—and some others were playing Lou last week with a young fellow whose father had just died and left him a lot of money. The stakes ran up high—a deal higher than the club committee would have allowed if they'd known about it. Well, just at first they had it all their own way. This young chap was a long way to the bad. Thousands, they say. Then the luck turned, and after that they never held a card. He played a bold game, and the end of it was that Carlo and the captain were ten thousand out, and, of course, neither of them able to pay up.
The captain managed to get time, but Carlo, like a fool, went straight off and said nothing about it. He was afraid to come to me, it seems. As we'd had a rob last time, so he did the very worst thing he could have done and cleared out to Tasmania. We got a letter yesterday. He's over there now. Here Mr. Grandison fairly groaned, and looked piteously in his old friend's face. "'Well, well, but after all,' said Mr. Stamford, "'of course it's bad enough, gambling, high stakes and folly generally, but if you pay up—' "'Things will be much as they were, and it will be a lesson to him.' "'I hope it may be, but the worst of it is,' went on Mr. Grandison, "'that the whole thing came out, and there was a regular exposé.
The young fellow, Newlands, made a disturbance when he wasn't paid, swore he'd horsewhip Carlo whenever he met him, and went on tremendously. Then the committee of the club took it up and talked of expelling Maelstrom and him.' for playing for stakes above the proper limit. And if the affair is raked up, it's possible they will. I paid up in full, of course, as soon as I could get to know the amount. Nolands apologized very properly, and all that, but the mischief's done. Carlo can't show his face in Sydney, for I don't know how long. All our hopes about his turning steady and settling down are disappointed. It's a round sum of money to throw away for nothing, and worse than nothing. And what to do with the boy, I don't know.
"'It certainly is a hard case for his parents,' said Mr. Stamford, thoughtfully. "'I scarcely know what to advise. A year or two on a station, or a turn at exploring in the far north, used to be thought a remedy, or, at any rate, to hold out a reasonable hope of amendment by change of scene and fresh interests. But—' But that wouldn't suit Carlo. He hates bush life, can't live away from excitement, and I'm afraid if I sent him away against his will he'd take to drinking, or do something worse still. I'm at my wit's end. He seems to have got it into his head that I'm to provide for him under any circumstances, and the consequence is he never thinks of doing anything for himself. How do you think travel would act upon him?
He has never seen the old world. The kingdoms of the earth and the glory of them. Surely that would rouse sufficient enthusiasm to counteract the meaner pleasures. Carla would never get further than Paris, if I trusted him alone. However, I shall have to try it, I suppose. The long and the short of it will be that we shall be obliged to move en famille. I can't send him by himself after what has happened. I really do think it is the best thing you can do. You can afford it easily. Station property is likely to look up for a few years now. You have excelled managers, and it will most likely benefit the other young people. I don't see any objection. Indeed, everything seems in favor of it. Of course we can do it," said his friend doubtfully.
But I didn't intend to leave for a year or two yet, until we could have entered Cecil at one of the universities, and, in fact, made other arrangements. But Carlo is the master of the situation at present. He must be, as usual, considered before everything and everybody. Well, I'm much obliged to you, Stamford. Indeed, I feel most grateful. It has been a great relief to my mind to be able to talk the matter over with you, quietly, and I really believe this idea of yours, of travel abroad, will suit everybody. Mrs. Grandison and Josie will be wild with delight. I feel sure." I hope you will have reason to be satisfied with the results of the step, and now, as it is getting late, I will say good-night.
"'Good-night, and thank you very much, old fellow. By the way, this rain has reached your part of the world, I see. I suppose your affairs are improving a bit now. Look brighter, eh?' "'I have been enabled to make satisfactory arrangements lately.' Said Stanford shortly. I have placed my account with the Austral Agency Company, and we got on very well. Ah, indeed. Rising man, that Barrington Hope. I wish. But it's no use wishing. Well, good night again. Nothing like being independent of the banks. That's always the safest line. Safest indeed, thought his guest as he walked down the gravel drive. Just in time to miss the blazing lamps and chariot wheels of Mrs. Grandison's equipage, which bore herself and her daughter back from the hall, where the maestro had been delighting the creme de la creme of fashionable musical Sydney.
Safest, indeed. But how is one to manage it with droughty seasons, and markets practically closed? I think Master Bob might have asked that question before. But his own troubles have been greater than mine. Poor fellow. Greater! Ah! a thousandfold! What bribe, indeed, would tempt me to change places with him? However, we must hope for the best, though I am afraid Carla will only substitute Batten-Batten for Bent Street. Miserable boy! The sacrifice at the altar of friendship, being duly performed, Mr. Stamford addressed himself to the arrangements necessary for his speedy return to the home. which he had quitted under such depressant conditions. How different were the sensations with which he set about preparing for departure from those which he had good reason to fear would have overshadowed his return journey?
The sad companion, Ghastly Care, had retired, indefinitely vanished, as far as human foresight could discover. All difficulties, all doubt as to ways and means, had vanished. The kind hand of providence had been specially exerted for his benefit. He hardly recognized in himself the sanguine individual that had replaced his boding, desponding entity, tortured by vain regrets and undefined dread, hopeless of succor alike from God and man. He went about his business with alacrity and a cheerful enjoyment of life that even surprised himself. He seemed to have renewed his youth. Tastes and fancies, which had long been relegated to the realm of the impossible, reappeared like the wildwood flowers of his own land after the gracious rainfall of which he had received tidings.
He was now enabled to indulge them in moderation with a clear conscience, and he savoured them with a relish akin to that of the returned traveller after perils by land and sea. Of the desert-worn pilgrim who sees again the green fields and rippling brooks of the fatherland, which he had despaired of again beholding. What a novel joy was it to him to awake at midnight, at early dawn, to realize with returning consciousness that safety, comfort, honorable independence, were to be the portion of his loved ones, henceforward and forever. What a relief to turn again to his pillow. and sank into untroubled slumber with a heart filled with gratitude, with peace unutterable. One of his first expeditions in the shopping line was to the Chief Book Mart, an establishment where he previously had been wont to linger, but for short intervals, regarding with a melancholy interest the rows of new enticing works, into the pages of which he hardly dared to look.
Now he boldly produced a list of standard authors, magazines, works of travel, science, autobiography, fiction, what not, commanded that they should be packed in a suitable case and forwarded to the railway station to his address. How he relished the actual writing of a check for the amount, how the thought of being able to enjoy them with an untroubled mind in the peaceful evenings of Windigale, caused his spirits to rise, his heart to expand. Hubert's modest commission was not forgotten, nor the less developed literary names of Morris and Ned, while at a neighboring establishment he chose a collection of music, vocal and instrumental, which would keep Laura and Linda moderately well employed for a twelfth month.
A new piano the girls must have, but not yet, not all at once, whispered Prudence. He must not show his hand too suddenly, all in good time, and as a young professional of the period ran his fingers lightly over the notes of a lovely Erard semi-grand. Mr. Stamford almost waltzed out of the shop to the seductive strains of Aufwiederstein. His last and frowning exploit was to procure after. Perhaps rather more personal exertion and loss of dignity than were expended on the foregoing transactions, the services of a well-recommended capable female domestic, whose scruples at going so far into the bush he combated by a liberal rate of wages and a promise to pay her return fare if she remained for twelve months in his service.
After all this, Mr. Stamford paid a farewell visit to Mr. Barrington Hope, with whom he arranged for sharing supplies. And finally, at the close of an exciting day, he found himself in the mail train, in a state of high contentment, in charity with all men, and honestly grateful to that almighty ruler who had uplifted him from those dark depths, at the remembrance of which he still shuddered. At a reasonably early hour on the following day, the unpretending architecture of Muramah, emerged from the forest hills which encompassed that rising township, and there was Hubert, sure enough, with the well-worn buggy and the good old horses still high in bone, though, like himself, much improved in spirits and demeanor.
Why, governor, quoth that young man, after an affectionate greeting in the gradual absorption. Into the recesses of the buggy of the tolerably heavy, miscellaneous luggage of his parent, You're quite another man. Let me look at you. Fashionable and distinguished-looking, I declare. Thought you were a gentleman from England. Mother and the girls won't know you. I suppose it's the rain in Mr. Barrington. What's his name? Hope or faith? Isn't it? He seems to have lots of the latter requisite, doesn't he? We ought to have made his acquaintance years ago, and this is the new servant, I suppose. Very glad to see you, Mary Jane. Not Mary Jane. Isabella? Well, that sounds nicer. Country looks grand, doesn't it?
Old Morimars quite another place. But I can't take my eyes off you, governor. You look ten years younger. I feel so, my boy, I assure you. Things have gone well. I needn't tell you. I've found Mr. Hobie most satisfactory person to do business with, and of course the rain has crowned everything. Satisfactory? I should think he was the smartest man I ever worked with. I closed with Old Seville and bought six thousand riverine ewes, bred at Brungall, sent a wire to him, had his answer, and nailed them before dark. I believe I could make a half-a-crown profit ahead from a whole lot. That's something like business, if you like. And you're sure you'll have grass enough for them? And our own, too? It doesn't do to run risks, you know, Hubert.
"'Grass,' retorted the young man scornfully, "'wait till you see the old place. Now that the stock are all off the frontage, the prairie grass and treefold are coming up like a hayfield. Why, we shan't be able to see the sheep in it at shearing time. Don't the old horses go differently? They're picking up hand over hand, though of course they've not had time to lay on flesh yet. The sheep are quicker about it, and they look wonderful.' "'You'd hardly know the dry flocks. We're not far from the river now. It's just crossable again. Wait till you come to the outer gate. But it's all alike. I feel almost too happy. If I hadn't had a good lot of hardish work just at first, I think I should have gone off my head.' Harold Stanford put his hand on the boy's shoulder and looked with loving pride into his clear eyes and bold, frank brow.
God, in his mercy, be thanked for our prosperity, my son," he said. May he keep us in health of body and mind, and long preserve us to each other. I feel also as if my cup was almost too full. May he aid us to enjoy and use wisely the benefits he has conferred on us. The young man turned and groaned his father's hand silently. Great Heaven, thought Mr. Stamford to himself, as he noted the clear, bronzed Cheek, the manly, frank impression, the muscular frame of his first-born, the whole figure in state with the splendid health and graceful vigor of early manhood, when developed to maturity amid the wholesome influences of a country life. What a contrast does he present to Carlo Grandison! Surely I am wise in shielding him from the disturbing forces, the crowding temptations, with which wealth besets mankind.
I dislike every aspect of deception, but surely the postponing, the dangerous knowledge which would relieve these children from all necessity for self-denial, is a justifiable exercise of my discretion as the head of the household. It will—it must, I feel convinced, be for their ultimate advantage. By the time the train of reflection induced by this consideration had come to an end, the river was forded. Tolerably high, indeed. So much so as to cause the new domestic some natural misgivings, but the strong-temperate horses breasted the swirling current and landed them safely, under Hubert's experienced guidance, upon the pebbly beach of the farther shore. "'So far, so good,' said the charioteer.
"'We couldn't have done that yesterday, and it's not every pair of horses that would fancy all that rushing and bubbling of this dream.' Don't you remember Mr. Round nearly making a mess of it last year, at night, in this very place, with the governess and all the children, too? He had a pretty bad quarter of an hour after he broke his pole. Now look at that grass. That's something like, isn't it? Mr. Stamford had seen such things before in his pastoral experience. Not for the first time did he look upon the marvelous transformation wrought in dry country by 48 hours rain. But he could not avoid an exclamation of surprise when he gazed around him. Was this the same place, the same country even, which he had driven over so lately to catch the train, with the selfsame pair of horses, too?
Then the river trickled in a thin rivulet from one pond to another in the wide, half-dry bed of the stream. Then the dusty banks were lined with dead sheep. The black-soiled alluvial flat was innocent of grass, in root or stock or living herbage, as the trampled dust of a stockyard. Now, a thick green carpet of various verdure covered all the great meadow as far as eye could see, and brought its bright green border to the very verge of the sand and shingle of the river shore. The half-flood, which had resulted from the rainfall nearer the source, had swept away the carcasses of the sheep and cattle, and deposited all satinine souvenirs of the drought amid the reed-beds of the lower Mooramah. All was spring-like and splendidly luxuriant, though as yet but in the later autumn season.
It was a new land, a new climate, a region recovered from the waste.
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6 06 - Chapter 6 21:10
In ten minutes Mr. Stamford was deposited safely at the home which he had quitted with such gloomy forebodings, such dreadful doubt and uncertainty. Then he had asked himself, Should he be enabled to call it his own on returning? Was not Ruin's knell already sounding in his ears? A few short weeks had elapsed at how different was the outlook. When he beheld again the true and tender wife, the loving daughters, the joyful children, his heart swelled nigh to Burstyn. An unspoken prayer went up to heaven, that he might ever remain, worthy of the unselfish love, the trusting faith which had been his since first he had acquired a household of his own. How unworthy are the best of men of such treasures, the purest, the richest, which are granted to mortal man!
When his affairs were at the worst, had he not always known Where, to receive, wise counsel, tender consolation, heartfelt sympathy. When a ray of sunshine broke through the cloud-rack which environed his fortunes, had not a double brilliancy been added to it by those loving hearts which took their color so readily from his every mood? Now all was joy, peace, magical transformation. The storm-clouds had passed over. The menacing powers had vanished like evil dreams. All was hope and sanguine trust in the future. He was a monarch, restored to his throne, a leader once more in front of his faithful band—the head of a household which care and pain in certain forms could never more approach. "'So, father, you have deigned to return to us,' said Mrs.
Stamford, smiling the bright Loving welcome which had never failed her husband. We began to think that the pleasures and palaces were becoming too much for the home, sweet home, side of the question. Didn't we, Laura? But how wonderfully well you look, darling! We are all ready to go on pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Barrington Hope, as it seems he has wrought all these miracles. "'Yes, indeed, dear old Dad,' cried Laura. I would have put up his image in my bedroom and done a little private worship if I had had the least idea of what he was like. But you never vouchsafe any sketch of his personal appearance. You haven't brought a photo, have you? That would be something. Mr. Barrington Hope is a very fine man, Pussy, as you will see.
Probably one of these days. A good deal out of the common in every respect. Young is he? queried Linda, who, having climbed on her father's knee, was patting his face and smoothing his hair. He isn't a horrid old man, or married. Good gracious, we never thought of that, did we? Oh, don't say he is bald or gray or unromantic. Laura and I would never get over it. We have fixed on him for our hero. Like Guy in The Air of Redcliffe. Surely, some one said he was young. He is a good deal more, like Philip, but there is nothing of the prig about him, as I feared there was about that estimable young man, replied her father. But what does his personal appearance matter, I should like to know? But it does.
It matters everything. returned the enthusiastic damsel. Oh, he can't be plain. Surely not. After all he has done for us, you mustn't knock down the romance we have all been building up. He is a very fine man, a few years older than Hubert. That is all. I can't give any inventory of his features, but he is tall and distinguished-looking. Isn't that enough? Oh, splendid! Here," Linda clapped her hands in childish glee. Fate is too kind. Our preserver is all that we could wish. Nothing was wanted but that. We are the happiest family in New South Wales—in the world! Amen, said Mr. Stamford. Now you may unlock my portmanteau, and turn out a few presents I have brought my little girls. I shall be ready for lunch when it comes in.
I may venture to remark. Beauscher is still king, I perceive. In accordance with his well-studied program, Mr. Stamford informed his family, in general terms, that the arrangements he had made with Mr. Barrington Hope were of a satisfactory description. That gentleman had behaved most liberally and courteously in all respects, the rain having so fortunately arrived on the top. of all this had enabled him even to improve on his first terms, which were nearly all that could be wished. They would, therefore, be warranted in allowing themselves a few indulgences, such as, had the season continued dry, could not have been so much as thought of. After lunch, or rather dinner, the midday meal being of that unfashionable description, Mr.
Stamford and Hubert took a long drive round the run. The appearance of the pastors, as also of the sheep they encountered, was such as to draw forth exclamations of surprise and delight from their possessor. "'I never remember such a season since the year I bought the run,' he remarked to his son. "'You were quite a little fellow then, and Laura hardly able to walk. It puts me quite in mind of—' Old times of the happy days which I thought had fled forever. Well, please, goodness, governor, we'll knock something out of the old place this year that will make up for past losses. Sheep are rising fast, and as we can't help having a fine lambing and a good clip, you'll see what will break in. We must put up a new wash-pen, though, and enlarge the shed a bit.
It won't cost much, as I put a first-rate man on. He's a Swede, been a ship's carpenter, and the quickest worker, when he understands what you want done that I ever saw. Not one of your cabinet-making humbugs who are all day mortising a gatehead. I'll draw in all the rough stuff, and you'll see how soon we'll knock it up. All right, my boy. Any improvements in reason, only we mustn't spend all our money before we make it. Trust me for that, Dad. You won't find me spending a penny that can be saved. We shall want no extra hands till shearing time. All the paddocks are right and tight, so the sheep will shepherd themselves, and do all the better, too. How jolly it is to have no bother about water, isn't it?
And what a bit of luck! "'We had that dam in the hill paddock finished just before the rain came.' "'Nothing like doing things at the right time, Hubert,' replied Mr. Stanford, with an air of oracular wisdom. "'You had half a mind to leave that same dam till next year.' "'Well, I must confess, I hadn't much heart to go shoveling and picking that gravelly clay, hard as I am, with the weather so hot, too, and looking as if rain was never coming again.' But you were right to have it done, and now we have the benefit of it. Got a pretty fat paddock of oats in two. It's coming up splendidly. How did you manage that without a team? I had to carry us for a week or two. He was short of cash, and wanted to spell his bullets.
Besides, we ripped over the ploughing in no time. Then I made it brush harrow and finished it with the station horses. The main thing was to get in the sea the first break of dry weather, and now we shall have a stack that will last us two years at least. Well done, my boy. Dry seasons will come again some day. We must prepare for them, though everything looks so bright, or rather so delightfully cloudy, just now. We shall have to invent a fresh set of proverbs to suit Australia, shall we not? Instead of... Using our old-fashioned English ones? Yes, indeed. Can anything be more ludicrous than save up for a rainy day? Look ahead, in case of a dry season, should be our motto. This carrier was rather a smart chap, and understood similes.
Will that bullock go steady on the near side? I asked him the other day. Oh, he's right, he said. Right as rain. That was something like, wasn't it? By the by, Dad, you didn't forget those books of mine, did you? No, my son. I bought a few more in addition. In fact, there's a box of books coming up by the train. A box of books! Hurrah! What times we shall have when the evenings get longer? But I say, Dad, isn't that rather extravagant? You'll have the matter on to you if you begin to buy books by the box. They will have to last some time, Hubert. You will find a good deal of stiff reading among them. But if things go well generally, I won't stunt you in books. We must charge them to the RAIN account this time.
I suppose we can save out something else, but I really have found it hard, the last year or two, to do without a new book now and then. It's so tantalizing to see the names and read the reviews when you're not able to get them. But of course, it couldn't be helped when things look so bad. I have a notion, Hubert, that things will never look so bad again. However, we must not be led away by temporary good fortune. Perseverance is, after all, the great secret of success. Without that, mere cleverness is misleading and even mischievous. It was so far fortunate for Mr. Stamford, and it certainly made his allotted task the easier, that he had always been somewhat reticent as to business details. They were subjects concerning which he disliked conversation extremely, so that although he confided in his wife and family as to every change in their pecuniary position, he was wont to ignore special explanation.
Much more the repetition of detail. When he announced, therefore, in general terms, from time to time, to his family, that things were going well, and that Mr. Barrington Hope's financial plan, coupled with that extraordinary advance in the value of pastoral property occasioned by the rain, enabled him to raise the standard of their housekeeping. They were satisfied, and did not press for further information. Now commenced for Harold Stanford the ideal country life towards which he had always aspired, but from which, latterly, he had been further removed than ever. He enjoyed the advantages of the dweller away from cities without the drawbacks which so often tend to render that idyllic life monotonous and depressing.
He had daily outdoor exercise in sufficient quantity, to produce the wholesome, half-tired feeling so necessary to repose. At the same time, he was entirely freed from dominant and engrossing dread, a state of mind which had, for years, past-coloured so large a portion of his waking thoughts, how hard it had been to fall asleep with endless plans coursing through his tired brain, having for their central idea the admitted fact of bankruptcy, How are they to act? What was there to support the family while he sought for employment? Employment? Too! To what occupation could he betake himself now that middle age was reached and much of the vigor and activity of manhood departed? He had acquired experience.
There was a grim irony in the expression. Of what use would it be to him without capital? A managership of the station of another? True, that might be possibly attained after weeks and months of effort, or years, as the case might be. He was familiar with the appearance of saddened men who haunted the offices of stock agents and merchants, the waiting-rooms of bankers, the steps of clubs whence their more prosperous comrades walked forth redolent of solvency. He had noticed such men growing shabbier, more hopeless of aspect as the months rolled on. He had heard them alluded to with contemptuous pity as poor old so-and-so, not up to much now, younger and smarter men, to be had, etc. He had wondered whether such might be his fate, whether with his fall he should drag down those beloved ones who, whatever might be the trials they had undergone together, had always enjoyed the fullest personal freedom and independence.
Such dreary reflections had been his companions in the past, daily, hourly, as well under the light of the sun as in the night watches, when silence lends to every reproach of conscience, every signal of danger, a troubled force and distinctness. In those terrible years of doubt and dread, of ruin and despair, what tragedies had been enacted for his eyes among his friends and comrades Dwellers in the same region, dependent upon the same seasons, betrayed by the same natural causes. But the other men had not, like him, been shielded by the soft, encircling influence of a happy home. A logical mind, a sanguine spirit, combined with a philosophical habit, had perhaps proved his safeguard. However, that might be, and Harold Stamford was the last man to boast to himself.
Or to others his bark had battled with the angry waters while others had become dismal wrecks, or had foundered suddenly and irrevocably. Despair had written its tale in the chronicles of the district, in reckless deep drinking, in suicide, in brain ruin. All these things had he seen and known of. From these and other evils, not less deadly, but of slower effect, had he been preserved. When he looked around and saw himself on a pinnacle of prosperity, safe in the possession of all that he held most dear, the lands he had so loved, the life of labour and of leisure so happily apportioned, which he had so fully appreciated, the assured position of respect and consideration, which it is not Immortal man wholly to undervalue.
He could with difficulty restrain his feelings. His heart swelled in thankfulness to that supreme ruler who had so mercifully ordered all matters concerning him and his, and again he vowed so to shape his future life that he might be held in some degree worthy of the blessings which had been showered upon him all unworthy. This adjustment of ways and means He found nearly as difficult in its way as the former trial. He often smiled to himself as he found what an amount of conscientious reluctance to accept the unwanted plenty he was compelled to combat. Did he affect a surprise of a few rare plants for his flower-loving wife? She would calculate the railway charges and ask gravely if he was sure he could afford it.
Did he order a new riding-habit for Laura, a hat or a summer dress for Linda? They were sure they could make the old ones do for another season. It was interesting to watch the conflict between the natural girlish eagerness for the new and desirable, and the inner voice which had so long cried, refrain, refrain, and had sorely cried household. However, in spite of their virtuous resistance, By the exercise of a little diplomacy, Harold Stamford had his way. The garden was dug over, the trees were pruned, the parterre refilled with choice varieties of the old-loved flowers that the drought had slain. Even a bush house and a fernery were managed, put up indeed by the man who had been temporarily retained as gardener, and whom Mrs.
Stamford, Deeply as she appreciated the enjoyment of once more beholding trim alleys and well-tended beds could not help regarding, in the light of a superfluity. Then there was the American Buggy, a wonderful vehicle, in which so many journeys had been made over roads that were rough or smooth, ways that were short or long as need was, wherein all the family had been closely packed in the days of their childhood, Still strong and serviceable, but woefully deficient in paint and varnish. This family friend, a friend in need had it been, found its way to the coachmaker's. Whence it issued resplendent, nearly as distinguished in appearance, Mrs. Stamford conceded. As when, in the earlier days of their wedded life, they had been secretly proud of their handsome carriage and well-matched, fast-trotting pair.
It quite brought back, she averred, the old days of love in a cottage with all their precious memories. Gradually and unobtrusively was the master of the establishment enabled to compass these and other desirable repairs and refittings. All things that had become shabby were dismissed or replaced after the same piecemeal manner. As time wore on, the process ceased to alarm his wife or children. More especially as, aided by the bounteous season and Hubert's ceaseless energy, the general prosperity of the station was marked and gratifying. The increase of the stock was unexampled. The anxious, toilsome period of cheering was passed successfully. The new wash-pen answered beyond the most sanguine anticipation.
The clip was heavy, and got up so as almost to resemble raw silk, a pardonable exaggeration, so free from dust, and all contamination had sleepless vigilance and care on Hubert's part turned it out. The crock was as high as the fence, Morris, a bird, and the haystack, consequently a colossal and imposing pile of fragrant fodder. The spring was sufficiently showery to lay the dust and keep the matted grass green at the roots. Water was abundant, both outback as well as on the frontage. All went merry as a marriage bell, and when the last high-piled wagon load had moved slowly away, on which was imprinted, Windigo, First Coming, Three Forty Eighth. With other suggestive and satisfactory legends, Mr.
Stamford put his arm round his wife's waist and remarked, My dear, I think a trip to Sydney would do you and the girl so much good. As I am compelled to see Mr. Hope on business, we may as well all go together.
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The thrill of pleasure with which this proposal was received showed itself in the flushing cheeks and brightened eyes of Laura and her sister, while upon Mrs. Stamford's features an almost pathetic expression appeared. as of a revelation of joy, sudden and unhoped for. "'You are so kind, Harold. But, oh, are you prudent? Think of the expense—new dresses—new everything—indeed, why it seems an age since I saw Sidney.' "'Think of the clip, Mrs. Stemford,' retorted her husband. "'Think of the lambs—think of the fat sheep ready for market.'" Your journey to town will be the merest trifle of expenditure compared to what we can lawfully and reasonably afford. I speak in sober earnest. Besides, the intercolonial exhibition is open.
The girls may never have such another chance. Hubert must stay at home for fear of bushfires. He shall have his holiday when we return. So, girls, the great Wendigal migration is settled. The departure for the metropolis of a family that has long dwelt in the bush or a veritable far-country division of Australian life is an event of no ordinary magnitude. Not that the conditions of their rural life are so widely different from those in England. There is the country town within reasonable distance, to which visits are by no means infrequent. There reside the clergyman. Lawyers, doctors, bankers, teachers, and tradespeople, the chief component parts of rural society, as in England. There are also various retired noncombatants, decayed gentry, and others, the poor and proud section, as in Europe.
The squirearchy is represented by large-acred wealthy personages. who have either acquired or inherited estates, exceeding ten- or twentyfold in value those of average proprietors, as in Europe. These great people are frequently absent, but contribute fairly by a higher scale of expenditure, often comprising picture-galleries and valuable collections of alger d'art, generally to the mental advancement of the neighborhood. It is not to be supposed, either, that they are for the most part uneducated or unrefined. It follows, therefore, that even when deprived of access to metropolitan luxuries, the families of rural colonists are not wholly without intellectual privileges, invariable as has been the custom of the British novelists to depict them as living a rude, unpolished, and wholly unlettered life.
In ordinary seasons, it is the custom for squatters of a certain rank to visit the sea coast with their families once a year, if not oftener. The pleasures of city life are then moderately partaken of. Fresh ideas are acquired. Old tastes are indulged. Friendships are contracted, repaired or revived. Mental and physical benefits unspecified are acquired, and after a few weeks' absence the country family returns, much contented with their experiences, but perfectly resigned to await the changing year's recurrence ere such another momentous journey takes place. But when, as at Windego, a succession of untoward seasons brings the family arc well-nigh to wreck and ruin, it is obvious that no such holiday-making can be thought of.
Certainly not this year, perhaps not next year, says Peterfamilius. Sorrowfully, but firmly. Then, doubtless, all the reserves are called up. Steady, instructive reading must take the place of travel. Old acquaintances, whose minds, so to speak, have been read through and through, and dogs-eared besides, must perforce be endured through lack of charmingly new Fresh, romantically respectable strangers. The old dresses are turned and returned, freshly trimmed, and their terms of service lengthened by every economical device, pathetic in the patience and true homely virtue displayed. But though all these substitutes and makeshifts are availed of, the time does pass, a little wearily and monotonously.
But now the route was given. The delightful signal had sounded. The sudden change of ideas necessitated by the announcement of Mr. Stamford was at first bewildering to his wife, and nearly in an equal degree to his daughters. Calculation and arrangement were required, much forecasting as to where they were to go first, when they could possibly be ready to start. Maternal doubts as to what poor Hubert would do in their absence as the maids would necessarily return to their friends. These weighty considerations absorbed so much time and thought that it was generally agreed to be a species of miracle by which the family found themselves safely packed in the wagonette one memorable Monday on the way to Moorma railway station, the luggage having been sent on in the early morning.
Poor dear Hubert! It seems so selfish to leave him at home by himself," said Laura. I think one of us ought to have stayed to keep house for him. It's not too late now, said Linda. Which is it to be? Shall we toss up? I'm quite ready, if I lose. No, I will stay, said Laura. I'm the eldest. I think I will stop after all, said Mrs. Stanford. "'You two girls are due for a little enjoyment, and it does not matter so much about me.' "'You will do nothing of the sort,' said Mr. Stamford, with rather more emphasis than usual. "'Your mother wants a change as much as any of us. It's very good of you girls to be ready to remain, and it pleases me, my dears. But Hubert is man enough to look after himself, as well as the station, for a month or two.
When our holiday is up, his will begin.' "'As if I would have let anybody stop,' said Hubert, "'let alone the dear Mater. Bless her own heart! And how am I going to do when I go to the Never-Never country, do you suppose? And I must have a turn there some day, if you all call me up so.' "'I hope you never will go to that dreadful new country,' said Mrs. Stamford, half tearfully. "'Didn't you read that shocking account of the poor fellow who died of thirst?' By the telegraph line the other day? Besides that nice young Belford who was killed by the blacks? Accidents will happen, said Hubert. The British Empire wouldn't be what it is if every mother kept a boy at home so that she could see him while she knitted his warm socks.
Winding it is pain fairly now, but there's no fortune to be made here, is there, governor? "'I didn't know that you were growing discontented with your lot, my boy,' said the father, looking admiringly at his first-born. "'But there's time enough to think about all that. I'll see when we are all settled at home again. There goes the bell. We must take our places. God bless you, my boy.' The following morning found the Stamford family comfortably deposited in one of the hotels which in Sydney combined proximity to the sea with perfect—' Accessibility from all city centers. Bath and breakfast had removed all traces of fatigue or traveling discomfort. Laura, with her sister, was standing at a window which overlooked the sea, wild with delight at the unaccustomed glory of the ocean.
Oh, what a lovely, lovely sight, cried Linda. Look at that glorious bay, with those white-winged boats flying across it like seagulls. It's an old simile, I know. But it always sounds nice. Look at the rocks and promontories, beaches and islands. And there. A great ocean liner is moving majestically along, as if she was going to steam up to the veranda. Wouldn't it be nice if she did? I wonder what the people would be like. Oh, I shall expire with joy and wonder if I stay here much longer.
Then put on your bonnet and come to George Street with me. said Mrs. Stanford. I want to do a little quiet shopping before lunch. Laura can stay with her father. He is going to take her to see the Grandisons. Oh, how nice! I haven't seen a real shop, said Linda, like Palmas and David Bowers, you know, since I was a little girl. That will tone the excitement down a little, or give it a new direction. Oh, I do feel so happy. Do you think it will last, Mother?" It can't be any better in England or Fairyland. The world does not offer anything superior to my present feeling of perfect—yes, perfect happiness. Don't let us go to the opera for a week yet. Till I have had time to subside. I feel like a glass of champagne.
I should epiphess. Alpha! La-la-la! La-la-la! La-la-la! La-la-la! And here the excited girl waltzed into her bedroom to the tune of The Venetia. When Mrs. Stamford and her youngest daughter departed on their shopping expedition, the latter declaring that she felt the greatest difficulty in restraining herself from bursting into song from pure gladsomeness of heart, her father betook himself in a cab with Laura to Mr. Grandison's house, where he proposed to leave her with her cousin Josie, Till his return in the evening. Laura was little less inwardly delighted with her general surroundings than Linda, but not being so highly demonstrative she forbore to testify her pleasure by bodily movement.
Yet was her heart filled with innocent joy and honest admiration as she surveyed the unwanted scene. As their carriage wound slowly up one of the steep ascents by which, on leaving the city proper, The more fashionable suburbs are reached. Her dark eyes sparkled and her fair cheek glowed while she pointed out the fresh combination of sea and shore. "'Oh, father,' she said, "'when you look on this, does it not seem strange that anyone should choose to live away from the sea?' "'I should spend half my time on the beach. What change will beauty, what new wonders arise, even from this tiny outlook?' Nothing can be more delicious than this harbor, with gardens and lawns down to the very ends of the promontories.
The dear little bays, too, like fairy pictures, with smooth shores and a big rock with an archway here and there. And, oh, the heads, grand and majestic! Are they not? Frowning above the restless deep-link eternal ocean portals? I can see billows, I declare. How vast and awe-striking! I am really thankful we haven't been to Sydney all these bad seasons. A day like this is worth a year of common life. That's an extravagant price to pay for a day's pleasure, said her father fondly, as he watched the fire of enthusiasm glow in the girl's bright eyes, which seemed to dilate and sparkle at intervals, as if the glory of the grand vision had been transfused into her very blood. You will count your years as other people count their money, much more carefully as you grow older.
But I trust, Pet, that you will have long years of happiness before you, and that this is not the only one of Earth's precious things that you will enjoy." "'What a divine pleasure travel must be,' said she, gazing steadfastly before her, as if looking out on a new world of wonder and enchantment." Think of seeing, with one's own very eyes, the cities and battlefields of the earth, the shrines of the dead, immortal past. Oh, to see Rome and Venice, Athens and the Greek Isles, even dear old England, with Saxon ruins and Norman castles. I wonder it does not kill people. Happiness is rarely fatal, though the sensation of sudden joy is often overpowering. remarked Mr. Stamford, with a quiet smile, as he recalled his own recent experience.
But I hope you and Linda will qualify yourselves by study for an intelligent appreciation of the marvels of the old world. That is, he added, in the event of your being fortunate enough to get there. We columnists have a great deal to learn in art and literature, as Lord Kimberley was pleased to say the other day. We must show that we are not altogether without a glimmering of taste and attainment. "'That is a fixed British idea about all colonists,' said Laura, with indignation. "'I suppose Lord Kimberley thinks we do nothing but chop down trees and gallop about all day long. Well, one mustn't boast, but we have been getting on with our French and Italian lately, and Linda's sketches show something more than amateur work, I think.' When they drew up at Chatsworth, and the cabman was opening the gold and bronze-colored iron gates, Laura's ecstasies broke out anew.
"'Oh, father, do look! Did you ever see such a beautiful place? Look at the gravel. Look at the flowers. Look at the sea which makes a background for the whole picture. Look at that purple mass of Bougainvillea covering all one side of the house. Why, the lawn is like a big billiard table.' It is a morsel of fairyland. How happy they must be in such a lovely home! "'Hmph!' said Mr. Stamford. "'Perhaps the less we say about that, the better. The people that live in the best houses do not always lead the pleasantest lives, but it certainly is a showplace.' It was truly difficult to overpraise the Chatsworth House and grounds. Nature had been bountiful, and every beauty was heightened, every trifling defect.
corrected by art. The gravel of which the drive was composed was in itself a study. Its dark red color, its perfect condition, daily raked and rolled as it was to the smoothness of a board. Rare shrubs and massed flowers bordered the accurately defined tiled edges. The bright blue blossoms of the jacaranda, the scarlet stars of the hibiscus, The broad purple and green leaves of the coleus, the waving, restless spires of the pine, the rustling, delicate banana fronds, all these, and a host of tropical plants, which the mild Sydney winter suffers to flourish in the open air, were here. Fountains, tennis-grounds, and shaded walks, all were to be found in the tiny Domingue, every yard of which had been measured and calculated so as to produce the largest amount of effect and convenience.
The hothouse and greenhouses were under the care of an autocratic Scotch gardener, who treated Mr. Grandison's suggestions with silent contempt, and obeyed or defied Mrs. Grandison's orders as to fruit or flowers, entirely as it seemed good to him. Mrs. Grandison was at home. The footman admitted so much. as he asked the country cousins into a morning room, a most grand apartment to their eyes. Nevertheless, Mrs. Grandison's countenance, she was there alone, were a clouded and dissatisfied expression. She relaxed considerably, though with an effort, as her visitors were announced, and came forward to greet them warmly enough. "'So glad to see you, Mr. Stamford. It was nice of you to bring Laura.' Why, you look as fresh as a rose, child.
How do you manage to have such a complexion in a hot district? I tell Josie she is getting as pale as a ghost, and yellow, too. The fact is, she goes out too much, and the Sydney climate is enough to age anyone. She hasn't been down to breakfast yet—not a girl—but she was at the Morton's Ball last night. Mrs. Watchtower took her, and she didn't get home till past four o'clock. "'I suppose Grandinson's in town?' said Mr. Stamford. "'Oh, yes. He goes in regularly every day, though I often tell him I don't know what he has to do. He lunches at his club. You'll find him there at one o'clock. He says it's dull enough there, but nothing to what it would be if he stopped at home. Not very complimentary, is it?
But men are all alike. They like to get away from their wives and families.' "'I brought mine with me, you see, this time, so I don't fall under your disapproval.' "'Oh, I do think you're pretty good, as men go, though there's no knowing. But, Laura, you'd better go up to Josie's room, if you want to have a talk, or else you may have to wait. Now, Mr. Stamford, when will you all come and dine? Today you'll be tired. Tomorrow or next day, which shall it be?' "'And we'll have somebody to make it a little lively for the girls?' "'Thank you. I think the day after tomorrow.' "'If it is equally convenient,' said Stamford. "'And now I must go, as I have some business to attend to. I will leave Laura, with your permission, and call for her as I return in the afternoon.' "'Oh, yes, by all means.
Josie will enjoy a long talk with her.' What a fine girl she has grown, and so handsome, too. She wants dressing a bit. But how does she manage to get all that fine bloom in the bush? I thought Windiga was a hot place, yet Laura looks as fresh as a milkmaid. She is a good girl, and has had very little dissipation. We lead very simple lives in the bush. You know, my daughters are very unsophisticated as yet. That's all very well, but being simple doesn't give beauty or style, and Laura seems to have a very fair share of both. You let her come to the assembly ball next week that all the girls are talking about, and see what a sensation she'll make. If there's a ball while we are down, I should not think of denying the girls a legitimate pleasure, though Linda is rather young yet.
But I think you flatter, Laura. Not a bit. It's her fresh... Natural manner that will strike everybody, and the way all her face seems to speak without words. Her eyes are perfectly wonderful. Why didn't you tell us she was such a beauty, and had a charming manner? To my mind, it's rather a disadvantage than otherwise. The beauty, not the manner, of course, said Mr. Danford, philosophically. I beg you won't inform her of the fact, though I really don't think she'd believe you, my dear Mrs. Grandison. But I must go now, so good-bye for the present." "'It is nearly lunchtime now,' said Mrs. Scranderson. "'You may as well stay and go to town afterwards.' But Mr. Stamford pleaded urgent private affairs, and notwithstanding the temptress, who began to look forward to a lonely male with the two girls chatting in the bedroom, and was fain to fall back on even a middle-aged squatter.
He sought his cab. Mr. Stamford looked at his watch. It wanted more than half an hour to one o'clock. He bade his cabman drive briskly, and was landed at the palatial offices of the Austral Agency Company in reasonable time. He dashed into Barrington Hope's sanctuary with something like boyish enthusiasm. That gentleman raised his head from a pile of accounts. And to Mr. Stamford's eyes looked even more careworn and fagged than at his last visit. "'How are you, Mr. Stamford?' he said, with a sudden brightening up of the weary features. "'But I needn't ask. You're a different man from what you were when our acquaintance commenced. And no wonder. Talk about physicians. Rain is the king of them all.
Tell me a healer, a preserver like him. What a grand season you have had.' To be sure. The precursor of many others, I hope. The Windigil wool brought a high price, didn't it? Splendidly got up. Everyone said so. Bought for the French market. It made a character for the brand. If one was wanted. But all this is gossip. You wanted to say something on business? Not now, said Mr. Stamford. Sufficient for the day. And so on. We only reached Sydney this morning. But I have a piece of very particular business. "'I want you to come down and dine with us, en famille, at Batty's this evening. Brought my wife and daughters down. They're anxious to make your acquaintance.' "'Delighted, I'm sure. I hope the ladies will find Sidney amusing.
There's nothing going on particularly except a bachelor's ball next week, of which I happen to be a steward. Perhaps you will allow me to send you invitations?' "'I can answer for their being accepted.' said Mr. Stamford, as far as my daughters are concerned. Their parents are rather old to do more than look on, but I will promise to do that energetically. And now I will not bother you longer. You have a stiff bit of work before you there. Don't knock yourself up, that's all. There's such a thing as overdoing these confounded figure columns, and when a cogwheel goes, nature's workshop provides no duplicate." I understand you, said Hope. Pressing his hand with a quick gesture to his forehead, I have felt rather run down lately.
The business has been increasing at a tremendous rate, too. I must take a holiday before long, though I don't quite see my way. "'Come and see us at Windigill,' said Mr. Stamford warmly. "'The fresh bush air and a gallop on horseback will set you right again. That's all you want. We must talk about it.' In the meantime, adieu, and Mr. Stamford vanished. He reached his hotel in time for lunch, where he found Mrs. Stamford and Linda, who had returned from their expedition into the heart of the kingdom of Finery. Linda declared that she had never comprehended the subject before, never was aware that she knew nothing, so to speak, of this all-engrossing subject, so important in all its details to womanhood.
I can quite imagine people "'With lots of money going to any lengths in the way of dress,' she said. "'The variety is so charming, and the milliners are so persuasive. How did that dear little girl at Farmer's try to get me to take that silk dress, didn't she, mother?' "'I was afraid she would succeed at one time, my dear. You appeared to be hesitating.' "'I should have liked it, of course. Such a lovely lilac. It suited my complexion perfectly.' she said, but I knew my allowance wouldn't stand it, and you have been so good, my dear old dad, I don't want you and mother to think I can't resist temptation. Act on steady principles through life, my dear, and you will never regret it. I don't say the silk dresses and other suitable vanities may not come in time, but not just yet—not yet for my little girls.
And now for the reward of merit. Mr. Hope is coming to dine with us this evening, so you and Laura must entertain him, flisctly. Oh, what a delightful surprise! Sidney is full of him. Of course, I knew we should see him some time or other, but perhaps not for ever so long, unless he called. I wonder if he will be like my impression of him. Does Laura know of it? Not until I go for her, unless you would like to send her a telegram. But I think she will have full time for preparation. What a pity it will be if they keep her at Chatsworth. They are sure to want to. But don't you give in if they do ever so much. There will be the less necessity for that, my dear Linda, as we are all to dine there on the day after tomorrow.
They can feast their eyes on Laura and all the family then. That's surprise number two, a real dinner party. It will be my first... Invitation to one. I hope I shall behave well and not upset my wine-glass and do anything dreadful. I shall be looking at the butler or the hostess or the attractive guests I know and break something. I think I shall begin to practice calm dignity tonight, Mother. Don't you think it a good opportunity? If my little girl remembers what she has always been taught, said the fond mother, looking at the girlish, eager face, bright with the hues of early womanhood, and will not think about herself or the effect she is likely to produce. She will do very well. I don't think we shall have cause to be ashamed of her.
And now for a little luncheon. My appetite is really quite surprising. After lunch, Mr. Stamford betook himself to the Archaic Club. where it was tolerably certain his friend would be found for an hour or two. By the way, how very few married men return to their homes, even those of abounding leisure, before it is time to dress for dinner. They will sit yawning at a club when they have nothing to do, where they care for nobody and don't go in for reading or even play billiards until the late afternoon when there is just time to catch a cab or train to reach home in the gathering twilight. How, then, can these things be? The solution of this and other social problems must be left to the coming philosophical student, who will analyze and depict the causes of all seeming anomalies.
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Mr. Stamford, on inquiring of the club porter, found that his friend was at home, so to speak, and had not been more than ten minutes in an apartment very unostentatiously furnished, which was devoted to the reception of strangers. when Mr. Grandison entered. "'Are you club magnates afraid that strangers may run away with a chair or two, or a spare sofa, that you are so confoundedly parsimonious in the furniture line?' inquired Stamford. "'I have more than once considered the question, when I have been kicking my heels here and at the Junior Pioneers, and that is the conclusion I have arrived at.'" It must be so. Surely there must be a legend of a dried-out squatter being driven to spout an armchair or a table cover.
Isn't that it? You're in famous spirits, herald old man, said the capitalist, who was by no means overjoyous of demeanor. It's the rain that's done it, I suppose. Pon my soul, you're right about this room. It isn't fit for a gentleman to be put into. I must bring it before the committee. How are Mrs. Stamford and the girls? Brought them down? Yes. We are at Batty's. I took Laura to Chatsworth this morning. I'm going out now to call for her. I saw Mrs. Grandison. She was kind enough to ask us to dine on Thursday. That's all right. Now I'll tell you what I'll do. The Melfaeton will be here in five minutes, and we'll go out home together. I want to have a talk with you. Things are not going altogether right in the family, and I want another good yarn with you.
You know what I told you about Carlo? Well, he's done worse since then. Pretty near broke my heart, and his mother's. And here Mr. Grandison looked so worried and hopeless that his friend felt himself to be grossly selfish, and that he found himself in such good spirits. "'I'm very sorry to hear it, Bob, my dear fellow,' said he, with real concern. "'But worse! How can he have done worse?' "'He has done worse, much worse. He has married, and married badly, too, by Jingo,' and here Mr. Grandison could no longer contain himself. "'I hate to talk about it,' said he, after a pause, "'but it's one of those things that must be faced.' And, of course, you and I are too old friends to mind telling each other the whole truth.
But the fact is, the confounded young fool has gone and married a barmaid. You don't say so, said Mr. Stamford. Starting back as from a blow, but gradually bringing his mind to bear on the question, and wondering how the consequences and complication of such an inconceivable step in the case of an eldest son would end. Carla, a married man? And to a barmaid, too. Surely there must be some mistake. How in the world did it happen? How could it happen? he asked. I suppose it could happen, because it did, answered his friend, gloomily. Unfortunately, it's only too true. The fact is that while he was living in Tasmania—you know he had just gone there when you were in Sydney last—he After that card scrape he got into here.
He was living an idle, aimless life. He did that here, for that matter, so that there was no need for him to complain about it so bitterly. I sent him a very fair allowance, and thought he was well out of harm's way. He used to write his mother long letters. I thought he was on the way to be reformed. Here, Mr. Grandison lit a cigar. What happened then? After that he wanted me to give him an allowance, and let him go to Europe. I wish to heaven I had done so now. But why didn't you? Because I couldn't trust him. I knew if I let him go on that understanding he would overdraw his allowance, gamble on a large scale at some of those foreign places, Baden-Baden or Hamburg, blow his brains up then, perhaps.
I should let him go. But I can understand your very natural reluctance. Yes, he's a bad boy, Stamford. There's no denying. But he's my eldest son, my first child. My God, how I remember all the love and fondness. Poor Mary and I lavished on him. How we fretted ourselves to death when he had any childish complaint. The agony we were in when he was away from home one night. We thought he was lost. and to think he should have repaid us for all our care and love, perhaps foolish indulgence, like this—like this! It's very bitter. It's hard to bear. Dashed if I didn't envy our gardener last week, whose son was apprenticed to a blacksmith. I did, by Jove. What's all the money to us now?" "'It is hard, my dear fellow,' said Stamford, touched by his friends evidently Distress and hopeless air.
I pity you from my heart. But are things so very bad? Can nothing be done? Well, they might be worse. The girl's character is good, I believe. She is a dairyman's daughter, with no education, and that's all the harm I know of her. She has a pretty face." Carla met her at a roadside inn, near where he was lodging. He writes over and says he was so confoundedly dull and miserable that he'd made up his mind he'd either marry the girl, if she'd have him, or shoot himself. She did have him. So this is the end of all our slaving and striving for his benefit, and to give him a chance of keeping in the first flight of the best society the colony could show. He goes and throws himself away like this. And we have a daughter-in-law that doesn't know an H when she sees it, I suppose, and if ever she comes here, which isn't likely, perhaps can't tell a finger-glass from a flower-pot.
At this dreadful picture evoked from his inner consciousness, Mr. Grandison groaned again, and made as if he could tear his hair were such gestures of grief permissible in a member of a fashionable club. Mr. Stamford did not really know for the moment what to say to console the unhappy father, who, unless his son had died, could hardly have been in a position of more hopeless sorrow. No doubt some fathers would have been sufficiently spartan to have preferred an honorable death to an undesirable marriage, but, except in business matters, he was not a hard man. Stamford knew that such Lacedaemonium Severity was alien to his nature. He set himself to suggest consolatory ideas, as the London-built Phaeton drew up to the close steps.
It's a bad enough affair, doubtless. I won't say I don't think so. I should have felt all you do in my own case. Here, Mr. Stamford inwardly scoffed at the possibility of Hubert's acting in this manner under any possible circumstances. But it's no use taking too sombre a view. The girl is good-looking and honest, which is much. She will, doubtless to prove with opportunities. If she has any strength of character, she will probably keep Carlos straight for the future. We have known such things happen before. It's a desperate remedy, but occasionally efficacious. "'Desperate? You may say so,' replied Mr. Grandison testily. "'Take the other side of the question. Suppose she turns out a flirt.' Or scold, or both, runs away from him, or he from her.
Leaving three or four half-bred brats to worry me in my old age? What then? With the expression of these gloomy apprehensions as to the probable matrimonial fate of the heir apparent of Chatsworth and many a fair acre of plain and woodland, the Phaeton entered the massive and ornate portals of Chatsworth House, and crunched the immaculate gravel, while the Lord of All sat with folded arms and darkened brow, indifferent as a captive to outer grandeur. Here we are. Come in, Harold, old man, he said, as the wheels almost grazed the portico. By George, I could find it in my heart to sit down and cry on our own doorstep, but we have to live and see it out, I suppose. Didn't you say you were going to take Laura back?
Better stay and dine. Keep me company. There's a good fellow. I'm low enough. God knows. Harold Stamford would have agreed to this proposal at once. So touched was he by his old friend's woe-begone appearance and desponding words, but he recalled his own engagement. This he pleaded successfully, adding, "'You'll have the whole family here on Thursday.' "'All right. If you can't, you can't. Here, He called out to the coachman who was driving away from the front. Don't go away yet. I want you to take Mr. Stamford and his daughter home. You may as well go back to Batty's in comfort. And this pair doesn't get half-work enough. They'll be making a bolt of it one of these days, like Carlo, if I don't look out.
Ha! Ha! Mr. Grandison's laugh was not pleasant to hear. His friend followed him into the drawing-room in silence. Here sat the three ladies, who were apparently not in bad spirits. Mrs. Grandison had chased from her brow the marks of care which were so apparent at an earlier period of the day, and was joining, apparently without effort, in the vivacious discourse of the two young ladies. Miss Josie had contrived to arise and apparel herself after the fashion of the period, and though showing some of the pallor produced by a round of gaiety in a semi... Tropical climate was, on the whole, sufficiently attractive. "'So this is Laura,' said Mr. Grandison, as he advanced and warmly greeted the young lady in question.
"'Why, what a woman you've grown, and a handsome one, too, or I mistake much. Why, Chosey, we must send you up to the banks of the Warrawara, or wherever Wendigill is. Near Mooramah, isn't it Stamford?' "'Pon my soul. I forget where my own stations are sometimes.' "'You won't catch me going into the bush, Father,' said Miss Josie, in a rather sharp tone of voice. "'That is, not farther than North Shore. It certainly agrees with some people, and Laura here might play the part of patience without dressing. But Sydney is my home, and I don't mean to stir from it. It's the worst day's work I ever did in my life when I brought you all to live here.' said her father. "'I wish to heaven we had continued to live at the old bush cottage you were born in, my lady.' "'I don't see what difference that would have made, Robert,' said his wife.
"'But I do,' said the master of the house. "'You and your children would never have learned the habits of fashionable folly and reckless extravagance in which your lives are spent. We might have been satisfied with a more natural existence, aye, and a happier life.' "'If you only come home early to say disagreeable things, my dear Robert, I must say that I like the old way best,' said Mrs. Grandison with dignity. "'I would say a great many more things of the same sort,' replied he, "'if I could persuade myself that they would do any good. But it is too late now. We have sown the wind and must reap the whirlwind.' This form of discussion tended to render things generally rather uncomfortable. It would have been difficult to direct the conversation into a more conventional channel had not Mr.
Grandison abruptly left the room. "'I can't think. What has put Robert out so this afternoon?' said his wife. "'Of course, he keeps worrying himself about that dreadful affair of Carlos. Wicked boy. He told you about that, Mr. Stamford. I know.' I've cried my eyes out, and I shall never be the same woman again. I know. But what is the use of making your life one long misery for the sake of a selfish, disobedient son? He never considered us. I firmly believe, since he was a boy at school. Then why, as Josie says, should we consider him? I am not going to grieve over him any longer. He has chosen his path. He's a selfish, stupid, unprincipled fellow. said Josie, with an air of cold decision. He has done everything he could to disgrace himself and us.
I am not going to spoil my life on his account, and I shall never mention his name or that of the servant girl he has chosen to bring into the family. "'I think you are too hard. I do indeed, Josie,' said her mother. "'Though he deserves very little at our hands, you are not—' His mother, my dear, and you don't know how it feels, but I can't think we should deny ourselves anything in society for his sake, just at the beginning of the gay season in Sydney, too. Laura, who had looked extremely grave throughout the discussion, now felt inclined to smile at Mrs. Grandison's distressful finale. She rose, and looked at her father to explain the absolute necessity for their departure. "'We shall see you all here at dinner on Thursday, then.' Mind that," said their hostess.
"'And, Laura, put on your best bib in Tucker. I'll have some of our show young men to meet you.' "'I'm sure I don't know where you'll find them, Mother,' said Josie disdainfully. "'Since the Lorenzo went to Fiji, there hasn't been a man in Sydney fit to look at.' The coachman's temper was not improved by the length of time during which he had been kept waiting. One of the highly-conditioned, irregularly exercised horses had indeed revenged himself by pawing and scraping, the result of which was a hole in the gravel, which caused the head gardener to use a much stronger expression when he saw it, then, still mindful of Kirk and Minister, he was in the habit of employing. As they went spinning down the incline to Double Bay, in the easy, well-hung carriage, her father said, Wouldn't you like to have a drag like this, my dear, to put your husband down at his office in, if you were married and lived in Sydney?
That means if I were somebody else altogether, replied Laura, with a slight blush. I can't say how I might act then, but if you ask me whether I would change places with the poor people in the splendid house we have just left, I say, with the country mouse. Give me my hollow tree. and liberty, or rather our love and affection for each other. I don't think anything could happen to alter that. Do you, father? Mr. Stanford answered by a quick decided movement rather than by words. It is to be hoped no one in that fashionable suburb observed the action, but even so the faultlessly aristocratic appearance of the equipage in which the offender sat would have sufficed to condone the offense. A comparatively short time saw them at Hyde Park.
Too short, indeed. It seemed to Laura, eager to enjoy the very beauty of the scene. The splendors of the dying day, the roll of the surge upon the outer shore, the rising ocean breeze, all these seemed to the keen and cultured sense of the enthusiastic maiden but portions of a wondrous panorama, of which each hour furnished a fresh presentiment. Linda, from the balcony, beheld them arrive instead, and waved her handkerchief in token of welcome and approval. "'Oh, Laura! I was beginning to think you were never coming. What kept you so late? You will hardly have time to dress for dinner, and I do so want you to look well.' "'Why should you want me to look well? I fancied I was looking rather nice—that is, for a country cousin, as Josie says.' "'What?' almost shouted Linda.
"'Hasn't father told you?' "'I see he hasn't. Isn't it just like him? If the Duke of Edinburgh and Lord Wolseley were coming to dinner, he'd forget all about it, and yet he thinks he's a good father.' "'So he is,' said Laura, and I won't have him run down. What is a dreadful secret? Has the aide-de-camp come to ask us to dinner—a government house?' "'No.' But without joking, Laura, it is a matter of importance. That is, we should have thought so at Windigap. Mr. Barrington Hope is coming to Dunn. Is he? said Laura coolly. Linda afterwards said it was unnatural calmness. Then suppose you ask the maid to turn on the gas directly. We must put on our best bibs and tuckers, as Mrs. Grandison says.
Mr. Barrington Hope arrived in due time, accurately apparelled and looking, as most men do, to great advantage in evening costume. Though much above the ordinary height, his breadth of shoulder and justness of proportion prevented any appearance of incongruity. Evidently, one of those persons who wisely dismiss the problems of the day with their ordinary garb His features wore an entirely different expression, so closely allied to careless ease that Mr. Stamford could hardly believe he saw before him the anxious brain-worker of the morning. As the two men stood together on the balcony, overlooking the bay, with its evening crowd of water-wayfarers and pleasure-seekers, the elder said, "'How wonderful an image of rest and peace a calm sea presents, especially at this hour.' There are hard work and deep thoughts frequently upon blue water, but I confess I can never connect them all together.
My own feeling, quite, said Hope. I am passionately fond of the sea, but few people have less time for indulging such a taste. I always feel it to be the true home of the lotus-eater. In calm or storm, by rock or bay, there is rest for the soul when on the deep. If I were safely embarked for Europe and clear of the heads, I should almost expire of joy, I really believe. But why do you not take a holiday, a run to Fiji, San Francisco, Gaul, anywhere? All places strange and foreign are equally good for change. Or to the moon, laughed the young man, nearly as much chance of getting to one as the other. However, I will think it over and arrange. Depend on it. You should not delay. I am something of a physiognomist, and I see reasons for a foreign tour.
Why not make an application? Urgent private affairs. They could not be more truthfully described. But here come my young people. Mrs. Stamford and her daughters now appeared. With her usual prompt kindness, she advanced upon hearing her husband commence a formal Introduction, and held on her hand to the young man. "'You are well known to us by name, Mr. Hope. I have great pleasure, believe me, in making your acquaintance. I trust some day that we may be able to see you at Windigill. You will be indeed welcome to our country home.' Mr. Hope." Bowed with an air as if disclaiming all title to unusual indulgence, but his eyes strayed from the kind face of the speaker to that of Laura Stamford, to whom with Linda he was now presented.
Both these young ladies, in spite of an air of calm repose, were inwardly somewhat agitated at beholding a personage in whose favour they had heard so much. Prone, like most damsels of the romantic age, to invest the probable hero with striking attributes, they had yet fallen short of a correct estimate of Barrington Hope's appearance. Connecting him in more or less degree with his mercantile profession, they had expected, perhaps a look of greater age, a more concentrated regard, or care-encumbered continence. When, therefore, they were confronted by one of the best-looking, best-dressed men in the metropolis, separated as to air and manner, apparently from any commonplace pecuniary labors, they could hardly believe their eyes.
Linda was inwardly gnashing her teeth and reproaching the author of her being, in that he was such an inefficient hand at description. Would not anyone have imagined, Laura? she said afterwards, That Mr. Hope was a hard-headed sort of person. Clever figures and all that. And good to us. And now, quite suddenly, we are brought face to face with a magnificent man, the finest man I ever saw in my life. Isn't it a shame, a crying shame, Laura? Isn't what a crying shame? That Mr. Hope is asked to dine, or that we couldn't write and request his photograph before the original burst upon us? In all his glory? Do you think you would have liked to behave differently? I am sure I can't tell, but it was such a surprise.
I might have fainted and disgraced myself. But you are such a cold-blooded creature, Laura. I sometimes think you have no heart. "'Hm,' said Laura. "'That is a matter of opinion. I do not profess to wear my heart upon my sleeve, but there is an article of the kind, somewhere deep down, I dare say.' What do I think about Mr. Hope? I think him very nice. He is well informed, though he did not parade his knowledge. Understands the science of music, and plays with taste. I don't know what I can say more about him at present. What a prosaic list of qualities. It might have been read out of a book, but didn't you like him a great deal? How could I like anyone a great deal the first day I met him? Do you think I resemble Miss Morton's heroines, who meet a perfectly unknown young man, and in an hour have told him all their family affairs, and inmost thoughts—that kind of transparent simplicity is not in my line.
But you do like him, Laura. Say you do, really. Of course, I like a handsome, agreeable man who has been of the greatest use and benefit to the family, as I like any pleasant acquaintance. Further than that, I declined to commit myself. And now let me go to sleep. How you can go to sleep entirely astonishes me. Oh, wasn't it a delightful dinner? I felt so nice. I am sure I looked the essence of propriety and country pride in experience. Do you think he could discover that we had seen very little society, Laura?" If he was not a very unobservant man, he might easily have made out so much, I should say. That is, if he troubled himself to study us so deeply, what can it matter? It was not only on that memorable evening that Barrington Hope produced a favourable impression upon the youthful portion of the Stamford family.
Mrs. Stamford was charmed with him. His manner was so easy, yet so deferential and so respectful to her and her daughters. Well informed as to the European politics of the day, he inferentially, in an argument with Mr. Stamford, showed himself to be widely read. He was familiar with the latest songs, the very last waltz. He sang a duet with Laura, and even played an accompaniment which showed more than theoretical knowledge of the science of music. When he made his adieus somewhat early in the evening, every voice was musical in his phrase. "'He's a delightful creature,' said Linda. "'All my fancy painted him, and more. How different he is from most of the men one meets. So free from conceit, and yet he knows so much, doesn't he?
And what a good touch he has on the piano. But men always play better than we do when they play at all.' When are we going to see him again? He's to send us tickets for the bachelor's ball, said Laura. We shall meet him there, of course. What a grand affair it is to be. I shall catch a fever and die before the day arrives, said Linda plaintively. The happiness will be too great to be realized. Oh, oh dear, oh dear! How shall we pass the intervening days? Luckily, our dresses will take up a good deal of our thoughts and spare time. Do you think he dances well, Laura? Mr. Hope appears to do many things well. I don't suppose he showed us all his good qualities in one evening. He is a man of the world, and doesn't have all his goods in the shop window at once.
What a horrid idea, Laura. You haven't have as much sentiment as I have. I hope he hasn't. Many more accomplishments. I don't care for a man being perfect. Perhaps he has a bad temper. Underneath, men with soft voices often have. I didn't notice any uncommon softness of the voice. I thought he spoke naturally, which is the great thing after all, with men or women, either. But after we go to the ball, you will most likely discover that there are other men in the world. I don't care. I am quite certain. There are very few nicer ones, if any. I think you must admire him yourself, Laura. You are so guarded about him, and I am shocked. He has taken offence to you. Nonsense, Linda. Really, you are old enough to talk more sensibly.
How can anyone form any liking or otherwise in a single evening? What? Not love at first sight? exclaimed Linda, jumping up in an excited manner. Do you disbelieve wholly in that? What does Disraeli say in that lovely Venetia of his? There is no love but love at first sight, or first love. I forget which. They are different things, answered Laura. But Disraeli ought to have more sense than to write in a way to turn silly girls' heads. I think your novel reading will have to be restricted. Linda, before long, I must really speak to mother. "'It's too late now, Laura. I've read all sorts of things, but they don't do girls any harm. Bad companions do, if you like. They are destructive, but we never had any friends that we were ashamed of, and so you don't like Mr.
Hope.' "'I didn't say that,' answered Laura. "'But really, you're as persistent as an interviewer, Linda,' and she quitted the room. In spite of Linda's repeated assertions that the week preceding the ball never would come to an end, the despised days passed away, perhaps too quickly indeed for some people. A picnic in the harbour, the detail of which was arranged by Mr. Hope, and which everyone enjoyed ecstatically, as Linda avowed, perhaps aided the flight of time. A visit to the theatre, where the London Comedy Company was performing. also tended to prevent undue concentration of thought. And, oh, wonder of wonders and joy of joys, was not the intercolonial exhibition that Aladdin's palace of art and industry, daily open, daily enjoyed, to the very acme of novel excitement?
How delicious was it to stroll around the fountain in the afternoon of each day while the music of the Austrian band Rose to the lofty roof, or floated dreamlike amid the aisles and courts, to sit silently absorbing delicious sounds amid the strange beauty and variety of the scene, to wander amid the heaped-up riches of the curiosities of every land under the sun, encountering well-known friends unexpectedly, or exchanging the pleasantries of the hour with gay acquaintances. Such were the resources Thrown open to the erstwhile dwellers of the Wendigo. Small surprise need therefore be aroused by Linda's next declaration, that the ball would be upon them all too swiftly, and find them unprepared.
Strangely sweet sorrows and sighs of youth. Joys in disguise are they for the most part.
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Although the ball bore the name of the bachelors, it was generally known to be an entertainment got up by the unmarried members of the leading clubs. As was their wont, no expense would be spared. Invitations had been comparatively restricted. Many had been disappointed, who had made certain of the privilege. All this, of course, made the happy possessors of the tickets still more gratified by their good fortune. The finest hall in the city had been secured for the occasion. The ornamentation was said to be unparalleled, the supper without precedent for style and expensiveness. A celebrated European band, then on a tour through Australia, had been engaged. Sailors from a man-of-war anchored in the harbor were kindly lent to hold a rope which served to divide the ballroom.
It was questionable whether so truly magnificent a ball had ever been given in Sydney, or perhaps would be given again. The weather was evidently set fair. There would be no deduction from comfort on that account. It was weeks since a great society entertainment had been given. The Haubeaule of Sydney was manifestly fluttered. Some of the younger feminine members openly stated that, after tasting to the full of its delights, they would be ready to lie down and die. At length the long-expected day arrived, on the night of which The fondly anticipated bachelor's ball was to take place. All feminine adult Sidney, that is to say, the fortunate section which was entitled to the Entrez, was moved to its center.
No statistics are to hand, of the number of dressmakers who temporarily became of unsound mind because of the terrific call on their fingers and brains, tempers and tongues. Nevertheless, according to the doctrine of averages, There must have been a certain number of the managers and of the young persons whose passage to an early grave was thereby accelerated. Mrs. Stanford, wisely forecasting, had carried out arrangements for her own and the girls' dresses at a comparatively early period, had got them home with all necessary alterations and trimmings decided upon long before the real crush of the thoughtless began, or the panic of the dangerously late set in. Simple as were the materials, few the ornaments, and unobtrusive the accordance with the prevailing fashion, the full measure of satisfactory fitting was not completed without several interviews and diverse alterations.
The sum total of her milliner's bill astonished, even alarmed, Mrs. Stamford. But her husband, when giving her carte blanche, had intimated that he did not wish trifling economies to be studied, that his wife and daughters must look their best. All the world was to be there, and as it was to be a rare occasion, they had better take full advantage of it. When the hour sounded, Laura had been dressed and finished to the last lace, and had indeed been sitting quietly reading, awaiting the arrival of their carriage. But Linda could not contain her impatience. She walked up and down the sitting-room, spreading out her dress occasionally, and requesting her mother to say, if it was straight, whether her flowers were exactly in their places, whether it would not have been better for her to have worn another colour.
This conversation was varied by wondering whether she would get any partners or have to sit on a seat the whole evening, whether Mr. Hope would find them out. or be so occupied with his duties as steward that he would not observe them or have time to dance with them. To which inquiries her parents either were unable to reply satisfactorily or said she would see when she got there. Do you know Laura? she suddenly added. Impartially speaking, you are really a pretty girl. I am sure if I were a stranger I should think so. I should indeed. Your features are not perfection, except your eyes, I mean. I don't think anyone could say they were not first class, but you have a very taking look when you are interested about anything, and then you are tallish and slight, not too tall either.
You could look dignified, too, if you liked, which is a great advantage to a woman, while I am afraid I never could. If I were to set my mouth and knit my brows and say, "'Sir, I fail to understand you,' people would only laugh and pat me on the back. It would never freeze the blood in their veins, or anything of that sort. Now, father, dearest father, as the wanderer in the play says, "'Don't you think Laura looks perfectly splendid to-night?' "'Bless her heart,' said Mr. Stamford.' Answering the question while he gazed at his eldest daughter with fond admiration. She looks like a—like a queen in a book, like a princess in the Arabian Nights, like her father's own dear girl. I trust she will enjoy herself as much as she deserves, and you too, Linda, darling.
Laura Stamford, without doubt, did look a most perfect incarnation of innocent, girlish beauty. And, indeed, when is a maiden more likely to present that appearance than on the night of the first ball of note and in courtance to which she has been bitten? Her cheek slightly flushed with the excitement of untasted pleasure, her eyes sparkling with innocent excitement, her red-rose lips, her rounded arms, her ivory neck, her slender, supple form, her free, elastic step. If these attributes Do not, in combination, make up the wondrous, God-given, crowning gift of beauty, then have the grateful eyes of mankind never been gladdened with the vision. Father is perfectly just in his opinion of dear Laura's appearance tonight," said Mrs.
Stamford, with a mother's guarded approval. "'And my little girl here, too, looks extremely nice. I might say more were I not afraid of making her vain.' I can only tell her not to be anxious about herself, to trust to the course of events, and all will go well. We must have a grand talk over it all tomorrow morning. Here comes the carriage at last, I am thankful to say," said Laura, as the grand London-maid Barouche rolled up to the door, while the footman rang the bell sufficiently long to make a nervous inmate conclude it to be a fire. "'Movele up and run down, my dears. We must not keep three hundred guineas' worth of horse-flesh waiting at night,' said her father. Mrs. Grandison and Josie were in the carriage.
The former made room beside her for Mrs. Stamford, saying, "'You girls must sit together, on the back seat. It's large enough to hold four of you. Now there's no crinoline, at least, none to speak of. Perhaps Mr. Stamford won't mind sitting on the box.' Once upon a time, two people would have filled this carriage. How did you get on with your dresses, girls? Mine and Josie's only came late in the afternoon. After that, infamous Madame Rosciretti promised to have them fitted on and everything done in the way of trimmings yesterday. However, she threw herself on my mercy, as she said the Government House people had come down upon her at the last moment. "'I don't believe a word of it,' said Josie.
"'However, I have made up my mind to have my dresses made at Justine's in future. She is dearer, but she has twice as much originality. What have you got on, Laura?' "'Nothing very wonderful. We went to Mother's old dressmaker, Madame Schlesinger, that she used to have when she was first married. She is behind the times, I dare say, but a ball is a ball, with Linda and me.' We shall enjoy ourselves, I dare say, if we are much disfigured. This time we shall gradually advance to a knowledge of high millinery. You'll see when you go into the room how the other women are dressed," said Josie authoritatively. If you are doubting, it will make you so miserable that you'll be more careful next time.
I would have come down and given you a hint or two, but I make it a rule never to stir out "'On the day of a ball, and all yesterday I was too busy.' "'It is very kind of you,' said Laura warmly, "'and we were uncertain about several things. But it doesn't matter particularly.' "'Laura must make up by freshness and youth what she wants in style,' said Mrs. Grandison, good-humouredly. "'I dare say she and Linda will do very well.' Though I really believe Josie's will be the best dress in the room, and indeed it ought to be. Mr. Grandison's check, and—it was a large one—didn't nearly pay for it. Laura is only a year younger than I am, Mama," said Josie rather sharply. One would think I was getting quite an old hag.
I wonder if all the best men are going. Is that good-looking Mr. Hope sure to be there? Yes. said Linda. He told us he was one of the committee. Further conversation was rendered difficult by the dashing of the carriage into the line. The string of bulwarked carriages, of which they now formed a part, compelled them to proceed at a walk until the foremost vehicles drove up and deposited their occupants. The novelty of making a part of such an astonishing procession Almost roused Linda's spirits to the point of expressing the admiration of everything which she felt. But, recalling her mother's advice and the responsibility of decorous demeanor now cast upon her, she refrained, at great personal cost and self-denial.
She was awarded, in turn, by the arrival of the carriage at the magic portal, from the interior of which a blaze of lamps in fairy splendor was visible. A few moments— saw them safely ushered into the dressing-room, provided with all accessories needful for repairing temporary damage or partial disarray. Small stay, however, was made here, and after Josie had gazed at herself in the mirrors from every conceivable point, and had herself adjusted by her obedient mother in several different modes, they bent their steps towards the main entrance to the ballroom, where they found Mr. Stamford awaiting them. By a curious coincidence, Mr. Barrington Hope chanced to come that way, when, giving his arm to Mrs.
Stamford and Laura, he walked up to the top of the enormous room, leaving Mr. Stamford to bring up the rear with Mrs. Grandison and the two girls. The latter lady lost no time in locating herself next to the wife of a well-known member of Parliament, and at no great distance from the wife and daughter of the governor. She signed to Mrs. Stamford to sit next to her, and being thus within the vice-regal circle, as it were, considered the seating and rendezvous part of the business to be settled for the night. Mr. Barrington Hope immediately possessed himself at Laura's card, upon which he inscribed his name for two waltzes, and said something about an extra as well. Josie was surrounded by several of the jeunesse who appropriated a large share of the dances not marked engaged.
Of these there were several unnamed, and yet not open. When questioned, she declined to give the names of her partners, merely remarking that she reserved them for friends. As for Linda, she sat down in a state of wonder and admiration at the whole splendid array, to her astonished gaze, supernal in glory and dazzling in brilliancy. The magnificent and lofty hall, the crowd of well-dressed men and women, the glass-like floor, the melodious crash of the band, which filled the room with the music of the spheres, as it seemed to her. The hall, divided by a rope, held by picturesque cars, modeled upon the lines of the nautical melodrama, the swing and sway of the immortal dance-music of Johann Strauss, which had for some time commenced.
The uniforms of the naval and military officers, all these wonders and splendors, for a time, obscured in her mind the fact that nobody had as yet asked her to dance. She had suddenly become aware of this fact, and was subsiding into a plaintive and resigned condition, a prey to dismal anticipations, when Mr. Hope suddenly appeared in company of a naval lieutenant, whom he begged leave to introduce. Linda bowed with acquiescence, and the next moment was whirling around with a joyous throng, conscious that she danced well, feeling herself to be one of the leading performers, and quite on a par with all individuals of her age and sex. The young officer danced well, as do naval men generally. He talked easily and agreeably with that happy mixture of brusquery and refinement which renders the service so irresistible.
Linda apparently came up to his standard of a nice girl and a desirable partner, since he begged leave to put down his name for two more dances. He also brought up some brother officers, including a stout doctor and a small but preternaturally cool and amusing midshipman, so that when Mr. Hope came for his dance, he was nearly crowded out by the naval brigade, who quite encompassed Linda, to the exclusion of the most irreproachable civilians. If Linda was a success, it seemed that Laura was destined to achieve a genuine triumph. Shortly after her first dance with Barrington Hope, there appeared to be an unusual amount of interest displayed in the vicinity of Mrs. Grandison, who, of course, was extensively known in the Grand Monde.
A variety of entertaining conversation was indulged in with that lady. Generally ending with a respectful request for an introduction to the young lady in white. The good-natured matron did not grudge the girl her meed of praise. Still, she occasionally remarked without satisfaction that the great guns of the fashionable world, the inheritors of wealth and estates of proverbial grandeur, the traveled and fastidious elegance, contented themselves with a passing notice or a laughing exchange of badinage with Josie while they struggled for Laura's card, and searched closely the lower figures of the programme, uncertain as she declared it to be that her party would remain to conclude it. Mr. Grandison, who has stayed rather late at the club over a seductive hand of whist, Now came up in time to glance at things generally.
He was extremely complimentary as to the appearance of his young friends, and declared that Laura had been voted the belle of the ball by several of the leading authorities of the club, against whose decision there was manifestly no appeal. "'There's a sort of freshness, and, well, I hardly know what to call it,' he said, "'about girls that come from the country that fetches the men of taste.' The town girls are better millinered, and so on, but they can't get the color and the innocent look, the, ah, dewdrop, early morning sort of brightness, continued Mr. Grandison, who had refreshed liberally with the Heidsieck Dry Monopoly, which the club imported and was becoming poetical. That's what there is no standing against, dash it.
Stamford, old fellow. Laura's cut him all down tonight, white dress, rose in her hair, and so on. It's the real thing when the complexion will stand it. There's not a girl here tonight who's a patch on her. I heard Donald McIntosh say so himself. This stupendous announcement produced no reply for the moment. That the bachelor eligible, par excellence, the man of estates and establishments, who had traveled, had taken an English University degree, distinguished equally for tennis play as for parliamentary influence, who was generally an invited member of the vice-regal party at public demonstrations and amusements, that he should have awarded the Golden Pippin to the unknown provincial damsel, struck Mrs.
Grandison dumb with astonishment, and caused Josie to turn paler with envy than even her ordinary complexion warranted. When Mrs. Grandison recovered herself, she said, "'Upon my word, Mr. Grandison, you're determined to make the girl vain, though she is dancing now and can't hear. One would think you hadn't a daughter of your own.' "'Not but what Laura does look very nice,' Mrs. Stamford. "'Only it seems to me the champagne's very good to-night.' "'What do people come to a ball for?' returned her husband, gallantly. Come over to the supper-table and have a glass yourself, my dear. Stamford, you bring my wife, and Josie, I'll take Mrs. Stamford, and we'll drink Laura's health. After that, it's time to go home.
Struck two, and the best of the fun's over. "'I've had enough,' said Josie, who had sat out the last two dances. "'For my part, I begin to hate balls. They get stupider every time, I think. And—oh, how tired I am!' So, in ten minutes afterwards, Mr. Stamford and his wife marched down the room and carried off their daughters to the great and sincere grief of their prospective partners.
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Donald McIntosh, who indeed made himself most agreeable. But her natural tendencies lay in the direction of sympathetic consideration for others, when, therefore, she remarked the tired look on her mother's face, and, moreover, instantly remembered that they were to be conveyed homeward in the Grandison's carriage. She had once declared her willingness to depart, telling her despairing partner that she must really go. Mrs. Grandison and her mother were waiting for her. "'If I persuade Mrs. Grandison to wait for the next waltz, may I say I have your permission?' eagerly inquired Mr. McIntosh. "'No, indeed no!' said Laura, looking at Mrs. Stanford's resigned yet weary countenance, the lines on which she could read so well.
"'No, thank you. I must say good-bye. I really must not consent to stay on any terms whatever. Please to take me to my mother.' Mr. McIntosh bowed low and made his most impressive adieu, after which he betook himself to the supper-room and declined dancing for the short time for which he remained among the revelers. Latish, but not unreasonably near to lunch-time, the Stamford family showed up to breakfast after the bowl. Everyone was tolerably fresh, the slight pallor. The darkened lines under the eyes of Laura and Linda only communicated an added charm to their youthful countenances. Mrs. Stanford looked heartily restored, but after the first cup of tea rallied and enjoyed a rechauffee of the Great Knights entertainment.
"'Whatever happens, ich hab gelpt und gelpt,' said Linda, who had a turn for German literature. I did not believe such happiness was to be found on earth, and to find that I am only nineteen, too. I shall die early, or else it will consume me. "'You certainly seem to be having a very pleasant time of it with your naval friends,' assented Laura. "'People's views on the area of existence must be enlarging. But it certainly was the most transcendent ball. I feel almost humiliated at having enjoyed it so much.' "'I begin to think we must not have many dances of that sort,' said Mrs. Stamford. "'I'm afraid they are too exciting. You girls won't find Windy Hill dull and prosaic after this.' "'Not at all,' said Laura, taking her mother's hand affectionately.
"'We shall have souvenirs that will last us a year, that is all. Next to coming to town, the going back to dear—' Peaceful, happy old Windyville is the greatest pleasure I can imagine in life. Won't it be delightful, said Linda, taking over all our experiences, then reading up the lovely books we're taking home? I always wonder how anyone can call the bush dull. It will be a perfect Elysium of rest after all this fierce excitement. And when are we to go home? inquired Mr. Stamford. Tentatively, at the end of the week. Oh, no, no! Out of the question, called out both the girls. Mr. Fitzsos said, cleared Glinda, that they were going to have a déjeuner and a dance on board the Eurydice on Monday, and if I didn't go, the ship would turn over and sink like the Austral.
Mr. McIntosh mentioned something about a matinee musicale, which was to be at Government House on Tuesday," said Laura, at which Mademoiselle Clarinet was to give her celebrated recitals out of Lohengrin. It would be a pity to miss that. He felt sure he would have tickets sent us. "'There's to be a tennis-party at the Walton's,' said Linda. "'On Wednesday. They have an asphalt.'" "'Cold! And the winners of the last tournament are to be there, besides Miss Constance Gray, who is the champion Melbourne player. I want to see if I have any of my old phone left.' "'Mr. Hope is going to drive four-and-hand to the picnic at Botany Heads on Thursday,' said Laura carelessly. "'He said he could easily take us all, and I was to have the box seat.
It would be almost a pity not to go.' Don't you think?" Exactly so, said Mr. Stanford. And we're all to dine in Chatsworth on Friday, so it looks as if the week was pretty well discounted in advance. Well, Saturday, for recovery. On Sunday, we'll all go to the cathedral. On Monday—mind, Monday week—we start for home. If all the picnics, parties, and pleasure promises of Sydney were to be left unfurnished and unfulfilled.
"'I am sure, girls, you should think your father the best of living parents,' said Mrs. Stamford. "'I don't know how we can be grateful enough to him. I wanted a day's shopping before our departure, and this will give us time to finish up comfortably. I was dreadfully afraid that we should have to leave town this week.' Laura and Linda laughed outright at this. "'Why, mother,' said Linda, We couldn't do that without breaking our words, being ungrateful, and doing everything that you have brought us up not to do. Could we, Laura? I promised faithfully to go to the Stats on board the Eurydice. She's anchored in Neutral Bay. And Mr. Fitzers said he'd send a boat specially for us. It would be disgraceful to throw him over.
And who gave you leave to promise and vow, Miss Linda? "'In the absence of your parents, may I ask?' said Mr. Stamford. "'You don't seem to understand that, unless we are consulted, all your undertakings are vain.' "'Oh, but I knew you would approve,' said Linda. "'Besides, Mr. Fitzsays was so respectful and nice, perfectly timid, in fact, that I thought it would be unladylike to refuse, and we have never seen a man of war.' "'A ship, I mean.' "'What a lot we shall have to tell Hubert, shall we not, mother?' "'If you tell him everything, you'll have a great historiade, or confession, whatever you call it, to make,' said Laura, if one may judge by the amount of chattering I saw going on. "'Some people may not chatter, but do a great deal of serious—' "'Hm.
Friendship-making, in the same time,' retorted Linda. "'But I don't mind. I'm so happy.' Everything's delightful. I had no idea the world was such a nice place.
Although matters could not be expected to keep up to the degree of high pressure, indicated an unusual and highly satisfactory amount of recreation was transacted during the remainder of the reprieve allowed by Fate and Mr. Stamford. The dance on board the Eurydice came off with Linda. Enjoyed the supreme and exquisite felicity of being taken off from the pier in a barge with twelve rowers and the Eurydice flag flying, the crew being dominated by an implacable midshipman of the sternest demeanor. They were received with all due formality and ceremony at the gangway, and being thereafter marshalled about by Lieutenant Fitzhurst before envious comrades. Linda's joy was complete. The dance, as most naval entertainments are, was wonderfully organized and truly successful.
Epilodied heroes were plentiful, and even the Commodore himself graciously explained the rudiments of nautical science for Laura and her mother. The happy day ended with a romantic return sail, with a favoring breeze under a silver moon over the mystical motionless deep. It was fairyland once more possible in this world below. The happy girls could hardly realize that they were the same people who had been but one little year ago, mourning the unkind season, sadly contending with the wrath of Heaven and the wrongs of Earth. The matinee musicale, honored by Vicerigal patronage, was also transacted with all the society population of Sydney in full array and punctual attendance. Here, Mr. Donald McIntosh, a distinguished amateur, held preeminent sway.
His marked attentions to Laura caused her to be the observed of all observers, a circumstance which, however, did not interfere with her frankly expressed enjoyment of the musical luxuries. Why, Laura! said her cousin. If you go on in this way, you and Linda will have all the Sydney girls mobbing you, or petitioning for your rustication without delay. You have fascinated the sailors, and not contented with that. You seem only to have to hold up your hand to have that difficult, delightful Mr. McIntosh, the least susceptible man in Sydney, at your feet. Then there is Mr. Hope. Neglecting his business and driving four in hand, as I hear to this picnic. All for your sake. What is your charm, may I ask?
I don't quite understand you, Josie, she answered, which, perhaps, was pardonably insincere. We are enjoying ourselves very much, and everybody is extremely kind. I should think so, indeed, replied Miss Josie, scornfully. As for the great picnic, Everybody was there. The day was lovely, the sea calm, the sky of the glowing azure, which the Southland only boasts, the road perfect. The rival foreign hand drags, including Mr. Hope's chestnuts, combine to produce a perfectly faithful presentment of the ideal life which Linda had previously concluded to be limited to society novels and the, perhaps, mythical personages depicted therein. There was even a royal duke among the guests, though when he was pointed out to her, Laura committed the error of mistaking for him a well-known officer of police in attendance, whose aristocratic figure and distinguished bearing at once decided her in her quest for royalty.
However, the slight mistake was soon rectified, and the day burned itself into her maiden consciousness as one of those seasons of enjoyment which rarely fulfill anticipation. But, if so, continue to illumine the halls of memory until life's latest hour. This is our farewell to the sea for a while, thought Laura. I can't help feeling melancholy. What a lovely haze spreads over the ocean in the distance. How strange to think that it is nearly a hundred years since Cook sailed into these silent headlands. What a new world he was preparing. It was more than a discovery. Almost a creation. Oh, day of days! Oh, whispering breeze! Oh, soft blue sky! Can the earth hold anything more lovely? The pleasures in palaces having come to an end, the fatal Monday made its unwelcome appearance.
As the Stamford's day of departure was known, there was an unwanted influx of afternoon visitors at their rooms, Besides a dropping fire of cards, notes, and messages expressive of different shades of regret. "'Oh, dear! I had no idea Sydney was such a nice place,' exclaimed Linda, as the twilight hour approached, and the stream of friends and acquaintances ceased to flow. "'I could not have believed there were so many delightful people in the world. Why will writers say so many?' Unpleasant things about society. It seems full of polite, graceful, affectionate persons. As for the malignant and wicked people that all the books rave about, where are they? We have not seen them, certainly, or even heard of them.
Have we, Laurel?" I believe not. Yes. No," answered Laurel absently. But who said anybody was wicked? Nobody, of course," explained Linda. I only meant that in every book you read there are pages and pages devoted to descriptions of ingeniously wicked people who seem as common in every city as bookmakers at a racecourse, whereas I said we never see any of them, or here, either. See whom? inquired Laura, who was looking out thoughtfully over the harbour. Do you mean anyone who called this afternoon? What nonsense you are talking, Laura. I really believe you must be thinking of something, or rather somebody else. I wonder whom it can be. Certainly you have received a good deal of attention, mocked attention, as Mrs.
Granderson always says. How cross Josie looked when she said it. First of all, Mr. Barrington Hope, then Mr. McIntosh, then Mr. Who was that nice man from New Zealand? Really, Linda, you are altogether too ridiculous. Am I to be called to account about every one of my partners? If so, you had better get my ball programs. I have kept them all, and ask everybody's intentions right down the list. I don't mean partners, Laura. I have plenty of them, I am thankful to say. But people didn't come every other day to the house. Besides waylaying anyone, Everywhere, and making a fuss over father and poor dear mother. They drew the line at that. I feel more and more convinced, Linda, that you have not quite finished packing, remarked Laura calmly.
The tea-bell will ring directly, and we shall have no more time then. Do think a little. I saw your cerise silk in our room, I feel sure, just now. Oh, my lovely cerise silk! "'To think I should have forgotten it,' said Linda, quite diverted from her line of cross-questioning. "'But where will it go? I haven't the faintest notion. My trunk is full—more than full! And press down. It wouldn't hold another handkerchief.' "'Be a good girl, and promise to talk sensibly, and I may spare you a place in mine,' said Laura, smiling at her victory. "'I am just going to fold and put away my last dress.'" "'You are always so kind, Laura. I did not mean to tease you, but I really do feel anxious about Mr. Macintosh.
Suppose he was only amusing himself with you all the time.' "'Then you will be able to console yourself with the idea that you have seen at least one wicked person,' said Laura, with great good humour. "'And so your knowledge of the great world will be expanded. But I will venture to contradict the charge as far as he is concerned.' But remember on what terms I provide a place for your forlorn dress. Besides, I want to write one or two good-bye notes. Although Laura was outwardly calm and self-possessed, she was not wholly unmoved by certain considerations which Linda's badinage had suggested. A loss of perception played her false upon a subject on which women, even when inexperienced, commonly judge correctly.
Both Mr. Barrington Hope and Mr. McIntosh were seriously interested in her good opinion of them. The latter gentleman had indeed been so persistent and pressing that she had been compelled with great gentleness, yet with firmness, to discourage his advances. This step she took with a certain reluctance, more, perhaps, because she had not finally resolved as to her state of feeling, than because she in any way disliked him. Dislike him? No! Who could, indeed, dislike Donald McIntosh? Was he not handsome, accomplished, manly, possessed? Moreover, of all the subtle graces of manner that almost invariably attach themselves to a man, be he good, bad, or indifferent as to morals or brains, who has seen the world, as the phrase runs, who has met his fellow-creatures all his life?
Under the highly-favoured circumstances of an assured position and ample means, he certainly had been most assiduous, most respectful, most flatteringly impressed in his manner, bestowing that unconcealed admiration which gratifies the vanity of womanhood, at the same time that it is apt to arouse the ire of the virgins, both wise and foolish, who are less prominently noticed. Then his position As it is called, he possessed that social distinction, that untitled rank, which is perhaps as clearly defined as freely yielded or firmly refused in a colony as in England. He was a great country gentleman. Such a man as in Britain, a hundred years ago, would have periodically gone up to London in his family carriage attended by outriders and driven by postilions.
Here in the colonies he was known as a man of good family, who had inherited large estates, besides pastoral possessions of even greater value, lands in city and suburbs, houses in fashionable squares, all derived from well-considered investments in those early days, when every hundred pounds in cash, sometimes even a tenth of that proverbial sum, so invested, bore fruit fiftyfold or a thousandfold, As the case might be. Then there was his magnificent place, Glendark, of which everybody had heard. Such a drawing-room, such suites of apartments, gardens and stables, conservatories and fountains, picture-gallery and statuary, what not. Had he not entertained the governor and Lady Delmore there?
Everybody said it was like a nobleman's house in England, or, at any rate, one of those beautiful old country seats. which are the glory of the parent land. His horses, too—his carriages—what a four-in-hand team had he driven at the picnic they had all gone to—and all this at her feet! Was there a girl in Sydney, as far as anyone could judge, that would not—she could not say a jump-head, even in her thoughts—but willingly accept him? What a chorus of congratulations or detractions, both equally gratifying, would not the announcement of her engagement arouse. Thus far the world, the natural, impulsive feeling of the human heart, unchecked by the calm voice of reason, the warnings of the inner soul.
On the other hand was he, So fitted in character and mentally fashioned as to accord with the tone of her mind, with the principles in which from childhood she had been reared, did they agree an opinion on subjects which were to her vitally important? Were their tastes mainly in accord, and, if differing, was his disposition such as would lead her to suppose that he would modify his predilections to suit her wishes? She could not say. She did not know. Her ignorance of his character was complete. All that she could possibly assure herself that she knew concerning Donald McIntosh was what the world said of him, and no more—that he was brave, generous, courteous, and rich. So much she admitted.
But her experience had been merely of the outer husk of his nature. The varnish with which the natural man is concealed from his fellows was flawless and brilliant. All might be in accordance with the fair-seeming attractive exterior. On the other hand, much might be hidden beneath, the revelation of which would constitute the difference to Laura Stamford between joy and peace, hope and happiness upon earth, or misery complete and unending hopeless despair. It was a terrible risk to run, an uncertainty altogether too momentous to encounter at present. Dismissing the subject of Mr. McIntosh's interests and prospects, there was, and she blushed even when naming his name in her own heart, there was Barrington Hope.
He had little to offer in any way comparable to the other in what most people would consider the essentials of matrimonial success. A hard-worked man, Compelled to tax his every mental faculty to the uttermost in order to meet the demands of his occupation. From one point of view, no doubt, his position was high. No man of his age had, perhaps, the same rank and consideration in finance. But the magnificence of seigneury was not his. Never probably would be. In spite of his birth, which was equal to that of any magnate of the land, No girl of the period, no matron who knew the world, would think for a moment of comparing the social status of the two men. In his favor, there were arguments of weight.
She knew him to be a man of refined tastes, of literary culture, of high moral principle, of fastidious delicacy of tone and taste. It may be that Laura Stamford only thought she knew these things, that she committed the feminine mistake of taking for granted that the hero of her girlish romance was perfection. It may be confessed here that Barrington Hope was the first man who had had power to stir those mysterious passion-currents which sleep so calmly in the heart of youth, poissons, as they are, when fully aroused to hurry the possessor to destruction or despair. But she was, for her age, A calm observer, having, moreover, a full measure of the sexes' intuitive discernment. In all their light or serious conversation, she had marked in the mind of Barrington Hope the signs of high and lofty purpose, of a chivalrous nature, an inborn generosity only controlled by the voice of conscience and the dictates of an enforced prudence.
And did he love her? As in her heart she told herself she deserved to be loved? Of that all-important fact she could not yet assure herself. But, patient ever, and modestly doubtful of all things which concerned her personal influence, Laura decided that she could well afford to await the direction of circumstances. Her home duties were still paramount in her steadfast mind. She had no immediate wish that they should be cast aside for objects purely personal. There was yet much to do at Windigil. Linda was scarcely capable of assuming the responsibilities of housekeeping, and should she make default, she knew upon whose shoulders the burden would fall. The younger brothers and Hubert, who had hardly been separated from her thoughts for an hour since childhood, all the love and gentle tendance due to them were not to be uprooted and flung away to wither like weeds out of the garden-pan.
No, the time might come when she, Laura Stamford, like other girls, would go forth from her father's house, bidding farewell to the loved ones of her youth, of her life, part of her very souls, as they were. But there was no necessity for haste. She must take time for careful choice, for sober counsel. She had never been wont to do anything of importance hastily. She would not furnish so bad a precedent. Now. So, in spite of Linda's desponding protestations, that they never would be actually completely and finally packed up, the fated evening came, which, witness, a devoted cab, overladen with such an array of luggage as caused Mr. Stamford to exclaim and the hall porter to smile. On the preceding Sunday, everyone had gone dutifully to church, but In the afternoon, Linda's devotional feelings must have been somewhat intermixed with ideas of an audible nature, judging from audible scraps of conversation, as carried on by Lieutenant Fitzers, R.N., and his comrades, who had thought it only decent and fitting, as they observed, to make their adieu to Miss Linda Stamford before she went back to Western Australia.
or Riverina, or whatever faraway place, in the bush, they had heard she was bound for. Mr. Hope did not arrive on that afternoon, although Mr. McIntosh did, but, having something to say to Mr. Stamford, presumably on business, he came in time to accompany them to the railway station, and to receive a warm invitation from that gentleman to visit them at Wendigo, directly he could get leave of absence.
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Linda began to look out of the window at least two miles from the Muroma Railway Station. A few seconds before the train stopped, she discovered Hubert on the platform. Waving his hand to her, he was at the window in a moment, receiving, indeed, personal tokens of her welcome. long before the guard could open the door and collect the tickets. "'Oh, I am so glad to see you again, dearest, dearest Hubert,' exclaimed Linda. "'You have no idea how nice and large Morimau looks. I am sure I shall never stay away from dear old Windigil for a year. I don't feel prepared at all, do you, Laura? I am sure we are both immensely improved, though. Don't you think so, Hubert?' "'You must wait till you are at home again, and I can turn you round and examine you both carefully,' said Hubert.
"'There are too many people here at present. I think Mother looks splendid, and the Governor gets younger every time he sees Sidney. I shall have to go soon, or our ages will be reversed.' "'Poor dear old Hubert,' said Laura, looking at her brother's sunburned face and spare muscular figure. "'I'm sure you've been working yourself to death while we were away, with nobody to stop you. Never mind, we'll soon make a difference, if we don't talk you to death the first week.' "'I can hear all you've got to say,' said Hubert. "'But just now let us get the luggage counted and ready for Jerry to put in the spring cot. Then we'll rattle home in the buggy. Don't the whole horses look, well?' "'Splendid,' said Linda."
They have beautiful coats, too, which I did not expect. They're not quite so aristocratic in demeanour as Mr. Grandis' carriage horses, but they can trot about double as fast, I dare say. They look very different to what they did this time last year," said Hubert, running his eye over the middle-sized, well-bred, wiry pair. Do you remember poor old whalebone tumbling down? Whipcourt was nearly as bad. As we were driving to church from sheer weakness? Oh, yes," said Linda. We had to tie up the pull of the buggy with our pocket-handkerchiefs. Oh, dear, he looks as if he could pull one's arms off now. Once barely off, behind the fourteen-mile-an-hour buggy horses, spinning along the smooth bush road, the best wheel track.
In the world, in good weather, and in a dry country—that is, its normal state. The spirits of the party rose several degrees. Mr. Stamford and his wife were calmly happy at the idea of returning to their quiet home life, having had enough of the excitement of city and suburb for a while. The girls were continually exclaiming. As each new turn of the road brought them within sight of well-remembered spots and familiar points of the landscape, while Hubert, much too happy to talk, kept looking at his relatives one by one with an air of intense, overflowing affection. "'It's worth all the loneliness to have you back again,' he said, patting his mother's cheek. "'But it was horribly dismal for a time.' I felt as if I could have left the run in charge of the boundary riders only for shame, and run down to Sydney myself.
Fortunately, Laura wrote so regularly that I seemed to know what you were doing and saying, as well as almost everything you thought. I wrote too, I'm sure, said Linda, with an injured air. Well, you were more spasmodic, though I was very glad to get your letters, too. I acquired a deal of information about the Queen's Navy, in which department I was weak. However, I suppose it's as well to know everything." "'I'm sure you're most ungrateful,' potted Linda, "'if you only knew how hard it is to write. Oh, ho!' quoting from Lord Sandwich's lines, "'To all you ladies now on land, we men at sea indict.'" But first I'd have you understand how hard it is to write. "'You are too clever altogether, Hubert,' said Linda, with rather a conscious laugh.
"'You must have been taking lessons in mind-reading, or some such fluff, in our absence. But, oh, there are some of the Wendigal sheep. How well they look! I'd almost forgotten there were such dear creatures in the world.' If it were not for them and their fleeces, there would not be any trips to Sydney, or bachelor's balls or picnics," said Mr. Stamford. So keep up a proper respect for the merino interest, and all belonging to it. They never look better than they do now," said Hubert. The season has been a trifle dry since you left, but I think they are all the better for it. And did not the wool bring a capital price? he continued. I see you sold it all in Sydney. Two and a penny, and two and threepence for the Hoggett.
Bales. The washpin was paid for over and over again. However, I have a plan in my head for getting it up better still next year." That's right, my boy," said his father. Stick well to your business, and it will stick to you. A homely proverb, but full of wisdom. How does the garden look? Not so bad. I had it made pretty decent for mother to look at. I kept all the new plants watered. They grow splendidly, and I managed, with a little help, to get up a bush house in case mother brought up any new ferns or coleus naughties. The very thing I am wishing for, my dear boy," said his mother. I was just wondering how I could manage. I did get a few pot plants and ferns. A few, said Mr. Samford. Making believe to Brown, you showed a correct estimate of your mother's probable weakness.
However, Hubert, I don't know that you could have spent your leisure time more provostably. Home sweet home, sang Linda, as they drove up to the well-known white gate. How lovely the garden looks, and everything about them. The dear old place is flourishing. Even the turkeys have grown up since we left. I feel as if I could go round and kiss everything. The very post of the verandah. That is the advantage of going away. I really think it is one's duty to do so. It makes you value your home so when you come back." "'I shall have no curiosity about the great world for a year at least,' said Laura. "'It will take us nearly that time to read all the new books, and to properly enjoy the garden. I am going to have a firmery of my own.
I bought the fern world out of my own money, and somebody—I forget who it was—promised to send me some rare New Zealand and South Sea Island ferns. After all, the pleasures of country life are the best, I really do believe.' They are so calm and peaceful, and yet satisfying. That first meal, lunch, or dinner, as it might happen to be, in the old familiar room, was an unmixed delight to all. The two servants, having just returned, had exerted themselves to prepare a somewhat recherche repast for the family, to whom they were attached, and whose return they hailed with honest expressions of welcome. The cookery and arrangements generally met with special commendation, while, in the intervals of talking, laughing, and sudden exclamations of delight, Linda repeated her conviction that she had never enjoyed eating and drinking so much since she left Windingham.
Immediately after this necessary performance, Hubert and Mr. Stamford betook themselves to one of the outlying portions of the run, where the son was anxious for his father to behold the success of a new dam lately constructed. This piece of engineering had thrown back the water of a creek nearly two miles, thus affording permanent sustenance for a large flock of sheep. These wingers were formerly obliged to come into the frontage. You remember, Gov'nor, where they were always mixing with the other sheep. The water dried up regularly about this time. Now they can stay here till next sharing, and I think the country suits them better, too." They are looking uncommonly well, said Mr. Stamford, running his eye over a flock of fine, well-grown young sheep, which were just moving out to grass after their noonday rust.
They ought to cut a first-rate fleece this year. Yes, and the wool is so clean," said Hubert. There is nothing like having your sheep within fences. No running about with dogs and shepherds. They don't get half the dust and sand into their fleeces. But I'm afraid this is about the last improvement Windigal wants doing to it. It's getting too settled and finished. How I should like to tackle a big, wild, half-stocked run, in new country, with no fencing done, and all the wallet to make." "'You must bide your time, my boy,' said Mr. Stamford, with a serious face. "'It will come some day, in another year or two, perhaps. You mustn't be in too great a hurry to leave us all. Wendigo is not such a bad place.'" On the contrary, it's getting too good altogether.
There's only half enough work, and next to no management required. Why, you could do all the work yourself, Governor, with a steady working overseer." Thank you, my boy, for the compliment," said Mr. Stamford, taking off his hat. Oh, you know what I mean, father. So don't pretend you don't. I'm not growing cheeky because things have gone well lately. There's only enough managing to keep you in exercise. It will half break my heart to go away. But what's the use of settling down on a small, comfortable place like this? And how can I feel that I'm doing the best for the family when I hear of fellows like Puss and Grantley and Philipson taking up that new country beyond the Ba'ku by the thousand square miles?
Splendid dams covered with blue grass and mitchell grass. Grand water, too. When you come upon it, think what all that country will be worth in a few years. I understand you, my boy," said the proud father, while a sudden emotion stirred in his heart as he remembered the days of his own youth, when he, too, had nourished the same high thoughts of adventure and discovery, and had played his part amid the dangers and privations of frontier life. You can talk it over with Mr. Hope. We'll see what can be done. "'I suppose,' said Hubert, after a while, "'when you've been up a week or ten days, "'and I've talked over everything with Mother and the girls, "'from the regatta to the last new wall step, "'I may as well take my holiday.
"'I haven't had one for three years. "'I begin to forget what the sea looks like.' And I think a month in the biggest smoke and a few new ideas will do me no harm. Have your holiday, by all means, and enjoy it too, my boy. Thank God. It is not a question of money now. I have the fullest belief in the sanitary value, mentally, of a trip to the metropolis now and then. Thank you, father. I'm sure it will brush me up a little. Besides, I want to go to the land's office. For certain reasons. I want, above all, to have a good talk with this Mr. Barrington Hope that I've heard so much about. You'll find him an uncommon sort of person. The more you see of him, the more you like of him, I feel certain.
He is just the man I should like you to make a friend of. Try and get him to return with you, if he can spare the time." After the tea-things were cleared away, and the large, steadfast, satisfactory table was left free for reading, writing, or needlework, for all of which purposes it was equally well adapted, what a season of rational enjoyment set in! The book-box had been opened before. The beautiful new uncut volumes, the titles of which were received with exclamations of joy, were placed upon a table. The collection of new music was inspected. Linda going there and then to the piano and dashing off a waltz, making, besides, a running commentary upon half a dozen songs which she and Laura were going to learn directly there was a minute to spare.
Mr. Stamford took his accustomed chair and devoted himself to the Sydney Morning Herald. Mrs. Stamford resumed the needlework, which is apparently a species of Penelope's web for all mothers of families, while Hubert and Laura somewhat apart from the rest, kneeling on their chairs as if they had been children again, made a cursory examination of the new books, exclaiming from time to time at passages or illustrations. "'I feel inclined not to go to Sydney till after I've read most of these books,' said Hubert. "'Only that would make it so late. But it seems a pity to leave such a lot of splendid reading.' Certainly, there's the public library in Sydney, but I hardly ever go in there, because I find it so hard to get out again.
I did stay there once till the lamps were lit. I had gone in for a few minutes after breakfast. What a queer idea," said Laura, laughing outright. How strange it must have felt to have lost a whole day in Sydney. Never mind, Hubert. There are a good many young men to whom it would not occur to spend a whole day in a library, public or private. Everything in moderation, though. You must have another station at your back before you can read all day long. Please, God, we'll have that, too," replied he with a cheery smile, or else the new country will be taken up very fast. I don't think Windigil will see me after next cheering, that is, if the governor doesn't forbid it." "'You don't care about breaking our hearts, you naughty boy,' said his sister, pressing her cheek against his as they looked over the same boat.
"'What are we all to do when you are gone? You don't think how lonely and miserable the place will be.' "'Are you going to stay here all your life, Laura?' "'If you will, I will. But—' Don't think I shall not feel the parting bitterly. I quite tremble to think of it, how miserable I was when you were in Sydney. But what is a man to do? A few years of self-denial and hard life now will make things easy for the rest of our days. I am the working head of the family now. Father is not the man he used to be. And if I take life too easily for the next few years, all these great opportunities will be gone, and we shall regret it all the rest of our lives. But the risk, sighed Laura, the wild country, blacks, thirst, fever, and ague.
Every paper brings news of some poor fellow losing his life out there. What should we do if you were taken? Remember how many lives you carry about with you. You set a great value on Hubert Stamford, he said jokingly, while something in his eyes showed a deeper feeling. Other people wouldn't think any great loss had taken place if I dropped, but men still go to sea, though wrecks occur. Think how nice it will be when I return. Bronzed and illustrious, a gallant explorer, with a whole countryside taken up for Stamford and Son, with runs to keep and to sell, and to give away, if we like. I'm afraid you won't be stopped. You are an obstinate boy, though no one would think it. I think I shall take possession of the piano and sing you that lovely vaux-lead, though I'm afraid my voice is weak after the night journey.
Laura had taken a few lessons in Sidney very wisely. Her naturally sweet, pure voice and correct intonation were therefore much aided by her later instruction. You have improved, said her brother. I never expected you to turn out such a prima donna, though there is a tone in your voice that always makes me wish to cry, as if that would be the height of enjoyment. "'You brought up a duet for me, didn't you? Well, we won't try tonight. You're rather tired, I can see. We'll attack it some morning, after breakfast, when we're fresh.' From this day forward, life flowed on with uninterrupted felicity for the Wendigo household. It was nearly a week before the excitement passed away of enjoying all the treasures and novelties brought from the metropolis.
The weather even became favorable. to the new development of the garden, in which Mr. Stamford and his wife were principally interested. Genial showers refreshed the soil, always inclined to be thirsty in that region, so that Mrs. Stamford's ferns and flowers, and plants with part-colored leaves, as well as her husband's new varieties of vegetables, shrubs, and fruit-trees, all partook of the beneficence of the season. As for Hubert and his sisters, they rode and drove about By day, whenever the weather was favorable, indeed, sometimes when it was not. They read steadily at the new books by night, and by that means, and a few visits to old friends in the neighborhood filled up every spare moment in a mode of life each day of which was consciously and unaffectedly happy.
In addition to these quasi-pastoral occupations, one day brought the exciting news that a new proprietor Indeed, a new family was about to arrive in the district. Now the owner of a sheep-station distant from Windigale, about twenty miles, had for some months, indeed since the change of season, cherished hopes of selling out to advantage. An astute, unscrupulous speculator, he had purchased sheep largely at low prices, directly the weather broke, had crowded onto Wantobory, All the stock it could hold. And more had sent the rest of his cheap purchase on the road. This means, in Australia, traveling for grass to a distant undefined point in a neighboring colony, whence, at any time, they could be ordered back, subsisting at free quarters on other men's pastures till shearing.
He then offered Wanta Bulry for sale. at the high market price of the day, describing it as a magnificent pastoral property with a stock of sheep of the highest quality and breeding, puffed up the grass, the improvements, the homestead, the water supply, directly and indirectly, and, having done all this, awaited quietly the usual victim provided with cash and deficient in experience. In Australia, As in other countries, probably, it is a fact patent to observers of human nature that the weak points of any particular locality are rarely obtruded upon the incoming proprietor or tenant. He is, in a general way, prone to spend money on a liberal scale for the first two or three years. The interests of other proprietors are, in a way, identical.
Assuming that the newly-arrived purchaser has made an indifferent bargain—that is, has misunderstood wholly the value of his investment, or bought in total ignorance the peculiar drawbacks of the district. It is rarely that any one volunteers to enlighten him. Such information, if unfavorable, might tend to depreciate the value of property locally. It was none of their business. Every one had enough to do to look after their own affairs. They might want to sell out themselves some day. Besides, after all, the seasons might prove wet for years to come, in which case a tide of general prosperity would set in, quite sufficient to float Colonel Dackers, as well as the other partially stranded argosies of the period.
This was the mode of reasoning which mostly obtained around Muramah, possibly not wholly unknown in other centres, More or less connected with financial operations. Even an experienced Australian pastoralist may be placed at considerable disadvantage when he comes to inspect station property in a region previously unknown to him. He may underrate or overestimate the changes in pasture produced in varying seasons. He may be wholly ignorant of probable or latent disease. Summer's heat or winter's cold. May surprise him by their diverse results. Such men may make, have indeed made, the most astonishing mistakes in purchasing stations in unfamiliar country. How much more so the wholly inexperienced, newly-arrived buyer from Europe or Hindustan, ignorant of the very alphabet of pastoral science.
He is, indeed, delivered over as a prey. The net is, in a manner, Spread for him. Unless he be clearly warned, and indeed vigorously frightened away from this all-tempting enclosure, he is very apt to be enmeshed. After his entanglement, from which, except by the blindest chance, he rarely emerges save from dispoiled plumage and drooping crest, he can hear from his two reticent neighbors doleful tales of loss and distress, a portion of which Information would have been sufficient to deter him from, as he now believes, so suicidal an investment. To do the Stamfords justice, they were not the sort of people likely to stand by and see an injustice perpetrated without protest. Colonel Dacker, on arriving in the district, had called at Windigill, and, informing Mr.
Stamford that he felt disposed to buy Wantebalring, which was then offered for sale with so many sheep. So much purchased land, etc., had asked his opinion of the policy of the purchase. Hubert and his father looked at one another for a moment. Then the younger man burst out. "'I think it's a confounded shame that any gentleman coming to a fresh district should be taken in, utterly deceived. In a purchase like this of Wantobory, it is known.'" To every child within fifty miles of the place is overstocked by nearly one-half. The reason the run looked so well is that a lot of sheep that were travelling have just been put on. They haven't had time to eat down the grass yet. If a dry season comes, they'll die like flies."
"'You must be careful when making statements to Mr. Dilerson's prejudice,' said his father. "'We are not on good terms with him. That should be.' Perhaps considered by Colonel D'Acri. At the same time, I endorse every word you have said. I know I hate the fellow like poison, said Hubert. He's mean and dishonest, and deserves to be had up for false representation to vote, but I would say the same if he were my own brother. The sale of Wantevary, with the stock at present on it. Under the advertisement of a fairly stark run is a deception and a robbery. I give Colonel Duckery leave to repeat my words to Mr. Deverson or his friends. "'I gather, from what you say,' said the Colonel, "'that the stock upon want of balry is in excess of what it would be safe to de pasture in ordinary seasons, that the buyer would probably, in the event of an unfavourable season, be at a disadvantage.'" Such a disadvantage that he would lose twenty or thirty thousand sheep to begin with, replied Hubert, and even under the most favourable circumstances the place could never carry its present stock.
Yet the sheep, look very well, are indeed fit for market, as I am informed by the person the agents recommended me to consult. This is the finest season we have had for five years. It is the best time of year also. said Hubert. Any run about here would carry double its ordinary stock for a few months, till winter, for instance. If a third mole sheep were put on now, say, on to this run, neither sheep nor run would exhibit much difference until the autumn was well over." "'And what would happen then?' asked the colonel. "'Then they would merely begin to starve, become weak and die.' Thousand after thousand, while all the survivors would be impoverished and lessened in value. "'Good heavens!' said the astonished soldier.
"'I never imagined such deceit could be practised in a pastoral community. It amounts to obtaining money under false pretenses.' "'Not legally,' said Mr. Stamford. "'But every word which my son has told you is substantially true.' One to Balry." With its present stock is nothing better than a trap skilfully set to catch the unwary purchaser. Mr. Dealerson is, so to speak, an enemy of ours, but I will do Hubert the justice to say that a friend acting similarly would have fared no better at his hands. Well, forewarned is forearmed, said the colonel. I feel deeply indebted to you, but your conduct has been in marked contrast to that of all the other residents to whom I have spoken on the subject.
"'Unfortunately, there is too much caution or apathy in matters of this sort,' said Mr. Stamford.
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12 12 - Chapter 12 26:22
Chapter Twelve About a week after this conversation, Hubert dropped the local paper he was reading in the evening with such a sudden exclamation that his mother and sisters lived up in mild astonishment. "'Well, on gom'd, as Dan Peggy has it,' he said at Linde. Nothing will ever surprise me again, as long as there is such a crop of fools in the world. No wonder that rogues like Deleason flourish. After all I said, too, listen to this headed important sale of station. We have much pleasure in noticing that our energetic and popular neighbour, Mr. Deleason, has completed the sale of his well-known station, Wantabowry, with Fifty-four thousand, six hundred sheep, of a superior character to Colonel Dacher, a gentleman lately arrived from England.
Furniture, stores, station, horses, and cattle given in. The price is said to be satisfactory. Well, the devil helps some people," said Hubert. How that poor gentleman could have run into the snare blindfold after the Talking to father and I gave him. I can't make out. Mark my words, he's a dead man, financially, unless it's going to rain for years. "'Dealison is a very astute man,' remarked Mr. Stamford, musingly. "'As a persuasive talker, he has few equals. Fine, frank, engaging manner, too. Bold and ready-witted. I think I can see how he managed it.' "'Well, I can't see.' Can't make it out at all," said Hubert, unless he is a mesmerist. No doubt he made the most of being on bad terms with Wendigal.
He would break up that old story of the disputed sheep, tell it his own way, get that fellow Osprey, who always goes about with him, to back him up. Also make small concessions, such as furniture and working plant. Talk about the house and garden. That would be attractive to a new arrival. And if Colonel Dacquery is at all impulsive—and I think he is—he has thus landed him. I wonder what the Colonel will think of Dillerson about three years from this time. I'll tell him what I think of him the next time we meet in public, said Hubert, squaring his shoulders, while a dangerous light came into his eyes. If he could be tempted into giving me the lie, I should like to have the pleasure of thrashing him.
Gently, my boy," said Mr. Stanford, we must not set up ourselves as the redressers of wrongs for Lower Morimau. Few people are in a position to discharge the duties of that appointment. I honor your righteous indignation all the same, and trust you will always retain an honest scorn of wrong and wrongdoers. I should hope so," said Laura. I can't imagine Hubert holding his tongue discreetly or passing by on the other side. There are a good many Levites in this part of the world, I am afraid. Oh, my gracious," said Linda, who was reading a closely-written letter. Think of these. Isn't his name Colonel John Dacquery, late of the Seventy-fifth Regiment? There is one redeeming feature about the affair at all events.
"'What can that be?' said Laura and Hubert, both together. "'Why, there's a distressed damsel in the case. If I didn't know better, I should think that Hubert must have heard about her. Listen to this.' And she read aloud. "'I hear that you are about to have delightful neighbours. I was told that Colonel D'Aquire was going to settle in your neighbourhood. He has bought one to Balry Station.' Young Groves told me last night he is a widower, handsome and middle-aged, but I don't mean him. He has an only daughter, also a son. Think of that. Jane Robinson met her in Mrs. Preston's, where she is staying. She says she is most sweet, handsome, though not objectionable in the beauty girl line, clever, sensible, distinguished-looking, etc., Take care of Hubert.
If you don't want to lose him for good and all, that's from Nellie Conway. Oh, isn't that lovely? And here, Linda held the letter along and danced for joy. I doubt see what difference it makes, said Hubert, flumely, except that there are three people to be ruined instead of one. You girls are always thinking of marriage and giving in marriage. Now, don't be provoking, Hubert. said Laura, coaxingly. We know somebody who is not always thinking about cattle and sheep. Now listen to me. How long will it take for Mr. Dillerson to ruin them? About three years, said Hubert. Depends on the terms. Of course he's got all the Colonel's cash. But he would take long-dated bills rather than let him slip. Say, three.
Three and a half. That's the very outside month. That means that we are to have the society and companionship of the very nice girl for three or four years," said Laura. We can ask her here for the last six months. You know, I really think, Hubert, it won't turn out such a bad investment for the colonel after all. "'You'd better marry him, out of pity,' said Hubert. Get father to endorse his bills, and that will effectually finish up the Stamford family as well. Stock, lock, and barrel. "'I'll complete the tragedy by marrying Mr. Dealerson,' said Linda, whom I shall afterwards poison, then come, on to the stage and repent, in white satin, in my last agonies, having by mistake taken some out of the same glass.
What a charming melodrama, who says—' There are no Australian romances possible in real life. "'No, but nonsense apart,' said Laura. "'I intend to make a friend of Miss Dack.' "'She will be rather lonely. There are no decent people within twenty miles of Wantabawry. You must drive us over to call. Directly we hear that they have arrived at the station. It is a pleasant house, and the garden is lovely, to give Mr. Dillerson his due.' "'You girls generally manage to persuade everybody to do as you like,' said Hubert, making believe to be sulky still, but putting his arm round Laura's waist. "'It's a pity you didn't tackle the Colonel about not buying the beastly place. Instead of Fah and me, he'd have dropped it like a shot, most likely.' "'Don't you worry yourself any more about it,' said Linda.
"'You have been faithful to the Colonel.' As Mrs. Christensen always says, and done the honest and disagreeable. Now let it rest. You're bordering on a levote, retorted her brother. However, it was always the fashionable side. About a fortnight after the return of the family party, when most of the books had been read, when all the songs had been sung, when every conceivable incident that had happened in Sydney had been described and dilated on, After every new phase of intellectual growth in the three young minds had been stated and reviewed, Hubert Stamford relinquished his charge of Windigil, and departed for the metropolis on his long-expected holiday. Not without tears shed by his female relatives did he leave Windigil, that true and sacred home in every sense of the word—a family-abiding place consecrated by fervent, unselfish love.
which had grown and deepened since childhood's hour with every opening year. How could they think without a sudden pang of the possibility of an accident, of one of the everyday mischances in this age of rushing, resistless forces, harnessed to the car of man's feverish need, depriving them forever of the sight of that pleasant face, those frank, kind eyes, that manly form? Such might happen. Had happened. Therefore there were averted heads, fast-falling tears, as the signal sounded, and the punctual pitiless steam giant bore away the hope of Windigill from the little platform at Muramah. Poor dear Hubert, said Linda, sneezing violently, and then wiping her eyes. It seems ridiculous to cry, when he's going away to enjoy himself so much, and deserves it so well, but somehow I'll...
One can't help it. There is a great relief in tears. I think they are specially adapted to the feminine temperament. A nice comforting sort of protest against circumstances. Dear me, how lonely we shall be tonight! I really believe Father was afraid he would give way, too, as Nurse Allen used to say, said Laura, and that was the reason he declined to come. Never mind. We shall have a telegram tomorrow. He must have been much more lonely when we departed. Fancy you or me at home, Linda, and all the rest of the family away. When Hubert Stamford had got over the first feeling of parting with those whom he loved better than his own life, the change of place and scene, which the fast-speeding mail-train, rapidly furnished, commenced to raise his youthful spirits.
After all— C'est ne que le premier pas qui compte. Ah, but that first step. Some people never can accomplish it, for things good as well as evil, and a whole world of delights and dangers remain unexplored. In Hubert Stamford's case, the initiatory stage was now accomplished. The journey, more or less eventful to home-keeping youths, the first really accredited visit to the metropolis since his manhood, with all things made easy for him, was now about to take place. Imagination commenced to conjure up the various wonders and witcheries which he was about to encounter, as well as the campaign of business which he hoped to plan out and engineer, definitely, if not finally. Much revolving these pleasing and, in a sense, profitable thoughts, the night became reasonably far advanced.
It then occurred to him that, as he intended to have a long day before him in Sydney, he might as well prepare for it by an orthodox allowance of sleep. So, commending himself and those never-forgotten idols of his heart to the mercy of the all-wise, all-seeing father of this wondrous world, he wrapped himself in his rug and fell asleep. When he woke, the train was speeding down the long incline which divides the mountain world of rock and dell-drifted peak and alpine summit from the lowlands of the Nepean River. A few more miles, another hour, farms and homesteadings, orangeries and orchards, vineyards and cornfields, alternated with wide pastures, dank with river fogs and morning dew, darksome jungles of eucalyptus, which the acts of the woodman had as yet spared.
Yet another terminus. Suburbs. Smoke. A distant view of the great sea. A turmoil of railway sheds, carriages, tramcars, and cabs. Sidney. Comfortably established at Batty's Hotel, to the management of which he had taken the trouble to telegraph for a room, and received with that pleasing welcome, accorded to the guest who is known to spend liberally and pay promptly, Hubert found the situation, as he surveyed the harbor from the balcony with after-breakfast feelings, to be one of measureless content mingled with sanguine anticipation. Oh, precious springtime of life! Blessed reflex of the golden days of Arcady! What might we not have done with thy celestial hours, strewn with diamonds and rubies more precious than the fabled valley of the Arabian Voyager?
Had we but have divined their value. For how much is it now too late? The side-bearer, slow, passionless, pitiless, has passed on. The irrevocable, winged hours have fled. Opportunity, fleet nymph, with haunting eyes and shining hair, has disappeared in the recesses of the charmed forest, and we, gazing hopelessly on the shore of life's ocean, hear from afar the hollow murmur of the maelstrom of fate, the rhythmic cadence of the tideless waves of eternity. Hubert Stamford, more fortunate, had all the world before him. Moreover, nothing to do but elect, with the aid of a sufficiency of cash, leisure, and introductions, to what particular pleasures he should devote the cheerful day. It revolved in his mind several kinds of entertainments, of which he would like to partake, but...
Finally resolved to present himself at the office of the Ostril Agency Company, having a great desire to see the wonderful Barringdon Hope, of whom he had heard so much as all sounded him as to a Queensland stock speculation. He would leave a card for Mr. Grandison at his club. If no engagement turned up, he would take a steamer to Manly Beach, and afterwards go to the theatre. Having mapped out the day to his satisfaction, Hubert betook himself to the Austral Agency Company's offices, by the splendour of which he was much struck, and sent in his card. He was not suffered to remain long in the outer office, but was promptly ushered into the manager's room and confronted with the head of the department in person.
Doubtless, it was a mutual pleasure. Hubert was impressed with the autocrat's appearance, the manner, as well as the reserve of power which in every word and gesture Barrington Hope displayed. The latter, on the other hand, did full justice to the bold, sincere countenance, the manly, muscular figure of his younger visitor. Reading between the lines, he saw their written quenchless energy and love of adventure, yet shrewd forecast. This youngster is not like other men. Mr. Hope said to himself after the first direct, searching gaze. He only wants opportunity, encouragement, and the backing up of capital to become a successful speculator. He has enterprise, undying pluck, persistent energy, and still sufficient apprehensiveness to shield him from disaster.
We must send him along. He will do well for himself and the company. His complexion and features are different. But how like he is to his sister. Much of this he may have thought, but merely said, Mr. Hubert Stamford, I am sincerely glad to make your acquaintance. Having had the pleasure of knowing your family, I was really anxious to meet you. I venture to predict that we shall become friends and allies. I trust you left all well at Windigil, and that the season continues favorable. Perfectly well, thank you, said Hubert. My father desired to be particularly remembered to you. My sisters have not yet left off, describing their pleasant visit to Sydney. The season is a trifle dry, but otherwise everything that can be desired.
Thanks very much. Tell your sisters when you write that a great melancholy fell upon me when they left. We had been so much together in town, fortunately for me. "'I have been waiting for an opportunity to thank you for the assistance you gave us at a very critical time,' said Hubert. "'My father has, I dare say, told you all we thought about it, but I always determined to speak for myself on the subject.' "'It was a speculation, a purely business risk, which I undertook,' replied Mr. Hope. "'I told your father so at the time, that it has resulted so favourably is of course most satisfactory.' I see your point. All the same, it was more than fortunate for us, and for Windingale, that you happened to take that precise commercial risk at that particular time.
It is, besides, more agreeable to work financially with some people than others. And now will you come and lunch with me, so that we may have a talk? I am really sorry, said Mr. Hope. Looking at his watch, but shall not have five minutes to spare till five o'clock, when I should like to consult you on a business matter. If, afterwards, you will dine with me at the club, at Seven Sharp. I will talk as much as you like. That will do, as well. Indeed better, said Hubert, as the day will be over, which is a great advantage if one is to enjoy oneself. I have a call or two to make, so adieu for the present. Making a direct point for the club, which Mr. Grandison ornamented, Hubert was fortunate in discovering that gentleman just emerging from the strangers' room with an elderly gentleman, whom Hubert recognized as Colonel Dacker.
"'How are you, Hubert, my boy?' said Grandison. "'What a man you've grown. Nothing like bush hair. Father quite well, mother and the girls. Glad to hear it. Let me introduce you to Colonel Dacker, soon to be a neighbor of yours at Wontabalry.' "'I'm very sorry for it,' blurted out Hubert. "'That is, in one sense, as I told Colonel Dacry before, I said thing, and think now that he made a bad bargain. That apart, I am, of course, delighted to hear that he is coming, with his family to live so near us.' "'Oh, indeed, I didn't know you had met before.' The colonel bowed, and looking slightly embarrassed, for a veteran. before so youthful a soldier as Hubert said, "'I ought to thank Mr. Stamford and his father for their sincere and kindly advice about my purchase.
I did not take it wholly, and indeed acted on my own judgment and that of other friends in buying want of ballery, but I shall always feel grateful for their well-meant counsel.' "'Why, how is this, Hubert?' said Mr. Grandison, with an important air. "'You seem to have been very decided on the subject.' My friend Bartle, under whose financial advice Colonel Dacker acted, says he is credibly informed that it is a most paying purchase, and Dillerson says it is the best bargain of the day. For him, no doubt. But Dillerson is a liar and a rogue, said Hubert bluntly. I will tell him so to his face, if ever I meet him. As for Bartle, he keeps Dillerson's account, and perhaps may not wish to offend a good customer.
The Colonel has been deceived and robbed, that's all, and having said enough, perhaps more than is polite, I shall not speak another word about the affair, except to assure Colonel Dacre that all Windigil is at his service in the way of neighbourly assistance. Thanks very much, said the Colonel, looking rather crestfallen. But have you heard? Hubert felt quite ashamed of his savage sentence as he remarked the old gentleman's humility of tone. "'The price I have sold the fat sheep at?' "'No,' replied Hubert. "'I can't say that I have. But, assuming that the wool does as well, you are still in dangerous position with an overcrowded rung. However, I sincerely trust that it may be otherwise.' "'And so do I,' said Mr.
Granderson.' But you've done your duty, my boy, and Providence must do the rest. Colonel Dacre is coming to lunch with me. Here's the statement. Jump in, and you will see Mrs. Grandison and Josie, besides, another young lady that you haven't before met. I asked Mr. Hope to lunch, said Hubert, but as he can't come, I am free. And so, if Colonel Dacre isn't offended by my plain speaking, I shall be most happy. At luncheon, Mrs. Grandison appeared with a fair Josie, who welcomed Hubert so warmly that he began to think he was mistaken in the opinion he had previously formed of both these ladies. Certainly, in his boyhood, they had expressed remarkably little interest in his welfare. But being slow to think evil, he took himself severely to task, and decided that Mrs.
Grandison was a warm-hearted matron, and Josie a very attractive-looking girl. At that moment a young lady entered the room and apologized to Mrs. Grandison in so sweet a voice and with so much natural grace of manner for being late that his too-susceptible heart was immediately led captive. Miss Josie's charms receded to a register below zero, where they remained as unalterably fixed as the set fare in an aneroid barometer in a drought. Allow me to introduce our cousin, Mr. Hubert Stamford. said the elder lady. Miss Stacker, I think you are to be neighbours in the bush. I am happy to meet Mr. Stamford, said the young lady, bestowing a gaze on Hubert so honest, kindly, and yet questioning, that his subjection was complete.
Though, from what Papa tells me, it is not his fault that we are not in some other district. I was acting against my own interest, against all our interests. Hubert said, rather nervously. Believe me that the whole family were most anxious to have you as neighbours, so you must give me credit for honesty of intention. I shall never doubt that. From all I hear, said Miss Dagger, Papa is rather sanguine. I am afraid. And perhaps I am not sufficiently so, said Hubert. It's all over now. Let us find a pleasanter subject. When do you think of going up? Oh, next week, at farthest. Are we not, Papa? The colonel nodded. I am enthusiastically fond of the country. I hear there is such a nice cottage, quite a pretty garden, a flowing stream, a mountain, cows and pigs and chickens, a fair library.
In fact, almost an English home. You'll admit that, I hope, Mr. Stamford. I'll admit anything, said Hubert. The homestead's the best in the district. My mother and sisters will be chowned to put you. Au fait, in all matters of Bush housekeeping. And now, Josie, are you going to the opera on Thursday night? And would you like a cavalier? We were thinking of it, said she. Mother was doubtful, and father doesn't care about opera. If you can get someone else, I have no doubt Mrs. Stofford would be glad to act as chaperon, and Miss Dagree and I would go, if she would like it. "'Oh, above all things,' said that young lady, "'I am always ready to hear opera, "'and I hear you have a very good company here.
"'I was stupid enough when I left England "'to think I should never hear Italian opera again. "'I feel ashamed. "'We are not quite barbarians, "'nor yet copper-coloured,' said Josie, "'though I am afraid we Sydney girls "'can't boast of our complexions. "'I am quite ready to make recantation "'of all my airs,' said Miss Dacre. I suppose need not be done publicly in a white sheet. I am divided between that and writing to the Times. "'I believe you will make the best bushwoman possible,' said the colonel, with an admiring glance. "'Only we both have so much to unlearn. I didn't expect to see a room like this, for instance, or such appointments,' he continued, raising a glass of claret pensively to his lips.
"'It's rather a bad thing for us, Pappy, as we have to live in the real bush, don't you think? We must forget it all as soon as possible.' "'It won't make the least difference to you, my dear,' said Mrs. Grandison. "'If you had seen Hubert's sisters here, you would have been well astonished to see such girls come out of the bush. For some reasons I begin really to think it would be better for all of us to live there.' Here she glanced reflectively at Josie, who looked scarcely as self-possessed as usual. "'I shall not say another word about Bush matters,' said Hubert. "'They will keep. When Miss Dackeray comes up, she will judge for herself. If my opinion is requested, I shall be happy to give it, but shall not volunteer advice.
Will your brother travel up with you, Miss Dackeray?' Willoughby went to stay a few days with a ship friend who lives near her. Penrith. I think it is, but he is quite as enthusiastic as I am about beginning life in earnest. He will be in town again on Friday. Come and dine with us. On Saturday, then, Hubert, said Mrs. Rendison, and I'll ask Mr. Hopin one or two of your rue-bush pioneers. Josie, can't you get a couple of young ladies for Hubert's benefit? And to show Mr. Dacker? "'I don't think Hubert wants any more young ladies,' said Josie mischievously. "'But I'll ask the Flamington girls to come in. One of them plays marvellously, and the other sings.
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The Mrs. Flemington came and performed such musical feats as were expected of them, and Miss Dacker admitted that she had not heard a voice unprofessional for years to equal Mae Flemington's. She wondered indeed what she could have been thinking of to imagine that when she came to Australia all artistic luxuries were to be banished from her thoughts. The fact is, she said, we are frightfully narrow and prejudiced in England. We know a great deal about France, Germany, and the continent, generally, because we are always running backwards and forwards. But of our own countrymen in Australia and New Zealand, we know next to nothing. I was going to say as little as about Tembuktu, but we do really know something about Africa, because the missionaries tell us, and we have returned evangelists from Boribula, Gaia, even from Fiji and New Zealand, but of Australia.
We know nothing. When you go home again, Miss Dacca, said Hubert, you will be able to do battle for us, I see. We must make you agent general on ambassadors. Any such post is vacant. I am sure you will do us justice." Indeed I shall, but I feel ashamed of the ludicrous notions which I brought out with me. No one would think of going down to Yorkshire and saying, I suppose you have nothing newer in songs than the days when we went gypsying, or asking the Edinburgh people if they had ever seen a bicycle. But really, men and women. who have had advantages, as they are called, do come here, five weeks from England, and expect to see you living a sort of Fenimore Cooper life, cutting down trees, trailing your enemies, and sleeping in wigwams or huts only once removed.
Perhaps a portion of these is natural enough," said Hubert. We are a long way from town. No, it is not natural, said Miss Dagger. Because have not so many of our friends come out for generations past? And then for us to think that their sons and daughters were to grow up as Claude's and Belle's so large? It will all come right in time," said Hubert. It doesn't hurt us. If it pleases them, always accepting people here, he bowed, whom we don't want to have wrong impressions about us. Wait till you get fairly settled at Montefiore, Miss Dackeray. and you'll lose a few more illusions. "'Oh, but I don't want to lose all of them,' replied the young lady. "'Some of them are so nice that I want to retain them in full freshness.
I am going to keep pigs and poultry and send wonderful hams to England to show our people what we can do. I am going to be a great walker and write letters about my impressions to the magazines. I am sure they will do good.' Then I shall have a good collection of books, and grow quite learned, besides making myself acquainted with all the people round about, and doing good among the poor. I am certain there is great field for an energetic person like myself. True, replied Hubert reflectively. Australians are rarely energetic, and your programme is excellent. I fully agree with all your plans and ideas. But I am only afraid there may be difficulties in the way of carrying them out. You really are most disappointing people, you colonists.
Here, Hubert held up his finger, warningly. Oh, I forgot. I am not to call you colonists, but to talk to you as if you were like everybody else. Is not that so? Well, but you do disappoint me. There is an air of guarded, toleration, or mild disapproval. Which I observe among all of you when I begin to talk of carrying out reforms. You are very polite, I admit. But tell me now, why should I not? Surely one does not come all this way to do only what everyone else does. Josie laughed. Hubert looked sympathetic, but did not offer an explanation. Then Mrs. Grandison took up the running. My dear, you are quite right in wishing to do everything in your power in the way of good. It is what every girl ought to strive after.
It would keep them out of mischief, and so on. But where you English people, when you first come out, not afterwards, differ a little from us is that you are all going to set us benighted colonists right, and to improve us in a great many ways. You say, I only want to do my duty. just as one would do in England. But the idea is that you can improve things ever so much. Well, perhaps there may be a feeling that a good deal appears to be left undone, but the intention is to do our duty in that state of life, etc. Quite true, assented Mrs. Grandison. But remember what you said, that so many of the best people of the old country had come out here, May not they and their children have worked to some purpose with results like the Miss Flemington's music and singing?
Well, that does seem probable, but a great deal remains undone. You must admit that, surely. I am afraid many of us are not up to the mark in our duties, but the same kind of persons would perhaps have done no better in an English county. But I could show you people who pass their lives in doing good. who hardly do anything else, in fact. "'And for what is not done,' said Hubert, who had been regarding Mrs. Grandison's defence of Australian institutions with a slightly surprised air, "'there is commonly some reason, though not visible to a newly-arrived young lady like yourself.' "'Thank you, Mr. Stamford. But why did you not call me a new chum while you were about it? I know you all look down on us.' "'We do not call ladies new chums,' said Hubert, gravely, bowing slightly at the same time.
"'And I really must decline any more passages of arms about my native land. I hope you will like it. And us two, on further acquaintance, I will hand you over to my sisters, who will argue the point with you at any length. And if you can inoculate each other with your different opinions, it will be mutually advantageous.' With which diplomatic recommendation, Mr. Hubert Stamford looked at his watch and bowed himself out. "'I mustn't be late for this appointment with Barrington, how?' he told himself. "'It is important enough, and though I could sit and argue with that nice, fresh, enthusiastic Miss Dacker all day, yet business is business.' From which latter proverb it may be inferred that Mr.
Stamford, Jr., Although by no means averse to the proper and gallant attendance upon ladies, which every man of his age should hold to be a part of his likely devoir, was yet in the main a practical youth, likely in the long run to win his spurs in the modern turning of pastoral commerce. After thinking over the points of the coming conference, he signalled to a handsome cabbie, and was taken up by that modern benefactor of the late, the imprudent, and the unlucky. and whirled swiftly to the offices of the Austral Agency Company. Here Mr. Hope had arranged to meet a Mr. Delamere, who was anxious to acquire a pastoral property in the new country, Queensland, just opened, and in every man's mouth.
This gentleman had but lately arrived from England. In a kind of way, he was consigned to the company by one of the English directors, who happened to be his uncle. Mr. Delamere, Sr. had known the colonies in former years, and being fully aware that high hope and lofty purpose, even when combined with an available capital, do not altogether make up for total inexperience of all Australian pastoral matters, had besought the manager of the Melbourne branch of the Austral Agency Company to advise the cadet of his house. I am aware, my dear Thornton. he wrote, that in a general way it is thought better that a newly-arrived young gentleman should work out his own destiny in Australia, that after repeated falls and losses he learns to run alone, and may be trusted henceforth to move more circumspectly than if he had been shepherded from the first.
But I dissent from this theory. The falls are often serious. After some losses there is nothing left. I prefer a partner, such a one as I had myself thirty years ago, if possible. There ought to be a few well-bred youngsters knocking about who know everything that can be known about stations and stock, but are held back for want of capital. Such a one could supply the experience, while Frank Delamere would find the capital. The old joke used to be that in two or three years the new arrival had acquired all the experience and the colonists all the cash. This reads smartly, but is false enough, like many bon mots, both in the old world and the new. Where was there ever a better man than my old overseer, Jacques Maxwell?
Afterwards a partner, and now deservedly pastoral magnate. He could work twice as hard as I ever did. He knew station life ab Ovo. He was honest to a fault. He, but I always prose when I get on this topic. It is enough to say that I had sufficient sense to form this estimate of his character and act upon it, whereby, as Captain Cuttle has it, I am now riding from Graylin Manor, near Glastonbury Thorn, instead of being a white slave in a counting-house, or the half-pay pauper generally known as a retired military officer. Therefore, a convenient, if illogical, expression. I charge you to procure a good steady partner for Frank, who will see that his ten thousand, perhaps more, if need be, is not wasted or pillaged before he cuts his wisdom teeth as a bushman.
Draw at sight when investments are made with your consent. Yours ever sincerely, Robert Delamere. This was the business on which the three men met on this day at the Austral Agency Company's office. Before this momentous interview, a certain amount of preliminary work had been done. Letters and wires had circulated freely between Windigel, Sidney, and Melbourne, from which city the newly-fledged intending purchaser had recently been summoned. Permission had been reluctantly granted by Mr. Stamford, who foresaw years of separation from the sun and air, who had never cost him an anxious moment as to his conduct. The affair was tearfully discussed by Mrs. Stamford and the girls, who thought life would no longer be worth living at Windigil when Hubert's merry voice and unfailing good spirits were withdrawn.
Why do people want to change and alter things, to go away and bring sorrow and misery and destruction—no, I mean desolation—on those they love, demanded Linda. And we are also happy here. It seems cruel of Hubert to take it into his head to go to Queensland, all among blacks and fever and sunstroke and everything. Here she got to the end of her list of probable disasters, and, though sensible that her climax was not effective, was fain to conclude. Don't you think it's too bad, mother? We shall feel dear Hubert's absence deeply, bitterly, I grant. said the fond mother, but he is animated by the very natural desire of all high-spirited young men to improve the fortunes of the family, and to distinguish himself in a career which is open to all.
"'But the danger, mother,' said Laura, in a low voice. "'You remember poor young Talbot, whom the blacks killed last month, and Mr. Haldane, who died of fever. Suppose—oh, suppose—' Suppose the house fell down and killed us all, said Mr. Stanford, rather testily, for the purpose of hiding his own inward disquiet, which, though not expressed, was as deeply felt as that of his wife and daughters. It's no use talking in that way, as if a young man had never gone out into the world before. Boys go to sea and into the army every day of the year. People must make up their minds to it. It is a grand opportunity." Mr. Hope says, and may not occur again. I shall hate Mr. Hope, said Linda. If he has endued Huber to go into this speculation along with someone no one knows into a country which half the people, it seems to me, never come back from.
But I suppose those mercantile men don't care. It mustn't be unjust, Linda, interposed Laura. Whatever Mr. Hope has done has been in Huber's interest. We may feel sure. He has always been most friendly to the family, and you must remember that Hubert has been lately always pining to go to Queensland and talking about wasting his life here in this old settled district. "'What's the use of being miserable if you can't be unjust to someone?' retorted Melinda. "'If you felt as deeply as I do, Laura, you wouldn't talk in that cold-blooded light. I can see the whole thing.' Mr. Hope and his company are anxious to establish a great station property out in Twinsland, or Kimberley, or King George's Sound, or wherever it is, and they have pitched upon poor Hubert as a likely victim for the sacrifice.
That's the whole thing. They're regular mollucks, and Mr. Hope is the officiating high priest, nothing else. I wonder how he'd look with a garland of oak leaves, like the Druid in Norma. Here, Linda's feelings, brought to a climax by a smile, which she detected on Laura's countenance at her, melange of metaphors, became too much for her, and pressing her handkerchief to her eyes, she retreated to her bedroom. All the high contracting parties having sent in unqualified assent, it but remained for Mr. Hope to introduce the young men to each other, the representatives of the parent land and that greater Britain, which has now in the South and West attained such vast proportions, also to reduce to writing the terms of an agreement by which the two men bound themselves to work together for their joint benefit as graziers, explorers, stock and station proprietors, for the fixed term of five years.
Mr. Delamere was to place to the credit of the new firm of Delamere and Stamford the sum of ten thousand pounds, which would be amply sufficient for the purchase of stock. the taking up, or even securing, at second hand, the requisite areas of crown lands in new or partially settled country. Hubert Stamford, on the other hand, did agree and contract to personally manage and conduct the details of the joint concern. To superintend the management of stock, the hiring of station-hands, the purchase of stores, and whatever work, either of exploration, travel, or management, might be found necessary, for which he was, in consideration of such personal knowledge and experience of the management of stock and stations by him acquired, to be placed and held to be the possessor of one-third share of the said property and of the profits of said stock and stations.
These provisions and declarations were embodied in an agreement, which was drawn up by the company solicitor and submitted by him to Mr. Worthington for inspection and approval. That gentleman, as instructed, wrote to Mr. Stamford, Sr., who, it would appear, made some subsequent communication to him, inasmuch as Mr. Hope received a letter, signed Worthington, Wardell, and Co., which briefly but clearly stated that his friend and client, Mr. Stamford of Windigill, approved generally of the terms of the agreement entered into by his son and Mr. Dalamere, and that he was quite willing that he should enter into such an arrangement, and that Mr. Hope of the Oskrell Agency Company had his full confidence and trust.
But that he desired his son to place a proportionate sum of ready money to the credit of the firm, and not to enter it wholly upon the outlay of another, and therefore that he had placed in Mr. Worthington's hands securities to the value of five thousand pounds, which sum they were ready to pay over on Mr. Hope's order to that effect. Upon the receipt of this letter, Mr. Hope at once proposed that the share of the profits to which Mr. Hubert Stamford was entitled under the agreement should be altered to one half, inasmuch as his superior knowledge and experience would be in value to the interest of the other moiety of the ten thousand pounds to be advanced by Mr. Delamere, and would thus equalize matters.
This was at once agreed to. on the part of Mr. Delamere and the Melbourne manager of the company, acting in his interests, upon which the agreement was signed, sealed, and delivered. Nothing now remained but for Hubert to pay a farewell visit to Windigale for the purpose of settling up what personal business he might have, to take leave of the family, and then to journey into a far country after the fashion of the princes, prodigals, and younger sons of historic ages. Place and time being appointed for the newly joined partners to meet and take ship for their destination, Hubert Stanford commenced all requisite preparation for a start at Hallmark's. He had no further heart for the pleasures of Sidney.
The ordinary distractions of a young man palled upon him. He felt like a general, whose army is about to march for the imminent battle, like a soldier picked for a forlorn hope or an advanced guard. The meaner pleasures revolted him. Balls and picnics, theaters and concerts, were but the straws and debris of life's ocean. The Argosy, which carried his fortunes, was about to sail, with canvas spread and streamers flying. Would she return gold-laden, or would the cold ocean engulf her as so many other fairer barks, which— Youth at the prow and pleasure at the helm had sailed away through the Injuns-Aquoir, and returned nevermore. Was it to be so with him? Might it be a proved success, a wider experience with the praise of all men, the joyful tears and triumph of those who loved him, or that other thing?
Who could tell? He could only resolve to do, and to dare, worthily, whatever might befall For their dear sakes. Miss Dacker, with her father and brother, had left town for Montalbari, being anxious to be settled in their new abode. The Colonel, distrusting more deeply, day by day, the wisdom of his purchase, had become restless and uneasy. He wanted to see with his own eyes how things went on, and to justify himself, if possible, for the investment at which more than one disinterested critic had shaken his head. Willoughby Dacker, an ardent, inexperienced youngster who thought Australian squatter-life made up wholly of galloping about on horseback and lying under shady trees eating tropical fruits, was also impatient to be in the thick of the half-Arab life he pictured to himself.
Rosalind Dacker, though the chief doubter and dissentient, was yet eager to see with her own eyes this land of promise Which was, according to Hubert, to fail so woefully in performance, and also to put in practice her own ideas of the gentle life as possible in Australia, at the same time to comfort her father and aid in household management. For all these reasons the Dacher family had departed, and Hubert Calling at their hotel, found to his surprise and slight dissatisfaction that they had gone the day before, a note of the Colonel's alone, remaining, and souvenir, in which he thanked him for his well-meant, valuable advice, and trusted they would meet in the neighborhood of their respective stations.
For some unexplained reason, Hubert read this trivial note several times, and then, tearing it up in a reflective manner, walked slowly towards his own hostelry. When do you think of leaving, Hubert? said Mr. Hope, as they were talking over districts and markets, land laws and tenures, railways and syndicates, all more or less bearing on the great pastoral central idea, when shall you go home? On Friday, I think. I am getting tired of town, and everything is fully arranged. Everything is settled that needs settling, and nothing more can be done until you young men manage to get pretty far back and make your first deal in new country. It's a gloriously exciting and adventurous kind of life, this starting to take up new country.
I often wish I'd taken to it myself, in youth, instead of this branch of the business. Living in town seems a pleasant life enough," said Hubert. You have all sorts of things that we people in the bush have to do without. "'And we need them all,' said the older man. "'This office life is one eternal grind, month after month.' Year after year, but I don't wish to complain. I suppose all men get hyped sometimes. I never do, laughed Hubert. The day's never long enough for me, but I suppose I soon should, if I lived all the year round in town. It's been so much in the open air that saves one. But what don't you clear out Windygill for change? Come home with me, the governor and my mother. "'Are always expecting you to send them word your coming?' "'I wish to heaven I could,' said the man of the city, looking enviously at Hubert's cheery countenance and unworn features, but I can't find the time at present.
However, I promise to turn up at Muramaw. Isn't that your railway town? Sometime before Christmas. I shall count the days till I can, I assure you.' "'I shall be away, then.' "'I am sorry to say,' said Hubert. "'I should.' "'Like to have taken you all over the place. There are one or two decent views, and rides and drives no end. However, the girls and the young brothers know them as well as I do. You must get them to do the honors. Oh, I forgot, too. You can drive them over to the Dappers. But you mustn't put it off too long. Still, they can't be ruined within a year of eighteen months, anyhow.' And perhaps not then. said Mr. Hope, with a smile. Friends might intervene judiciously. You know, it won't be Mr.
Dilersen's fault if they pull through. However— No, hang him. However, there must be Dilersens in the world, I suppose. They act as a kind of foil to honest men, and serve as transparencies to show roguery in all its glory. Well, good-bye. Till then. We made meet before Denimere and I stopped for the Never Never country. When Hubert Stamford, behold his sisters and his younger brother, who had driven to Morimont to meet him, he felt more like a stranger and pilgrim than he ever expected to feel in that familiar spot. He was there with them, but not of them, as it were. He was to stay a month or so at Windigo. Only a month. At the dear old place where he had lived ever since he could remember anything, he was to go over all the familiar scenes once more, and then to leave it, certainly for years, perhaps forever.
After the first warm greeting, the girls looked inquiringly at him. The tears came into Laura's eyes. Oh, how happy we are to see you, our own dear Hubert! But to think you are going away so soon nearly breaks my heart. she said. "'He looks wonderfully well. Town life, not too much. Always refines people,' said Linda, with an air of tender criticism. "'But I think there's a hard look about his eyes. I suppose it's making up his mind to this grand new speculation. You see exactly the same Hubert Stamford that went away, you little analysing duffer. But is it my fault that I have had to move with the rest of the world?' "'Do you want me to stay at home and become a superior sort of cockatoo? And are you and Laura, if it is to come to that, prepared to remain at Windigil for the rest of your lives?' "'I wish I could,' groaned Laura.
"'But as you say, we must move with the rest of the world. Still, these separations are heartbreaking. You needn't mind us overmuch, dear. But we are women, remember, and you must let us have our cry out.' It does us good, and relieves the overcharged heart. Very well, I consent. But you must manage it all today. Tomorrow must be sunshine, and only blue sky appear till I depart. But there's a whole month or more yet. Think of that. We can be ever so happy all that time. Now, to change the subject, have you seen anything of the Daggers?" That means Miss Dagger, I suppose, said Linda. Oh, yes, we went to call almost directly we heard they were up, said we thought they might want something. That was how we described our curiosity.
And what did you think of her? She's a dear, sweet creature, and Laura and I have agreed that if you don't fall in love with her, your taste isn't as good as we believed it to be. She's very nice, said Hubert, with society nonchalance. But I've got something else to do besides falling in love for the next three or four years. Besides, she mightn't condescend to a humble colonist like me. But tell me, Laura, what was there about her that you were struck with, chiefly? Several things, said Laura, reflectively. She is a high-caste, cultured girl in every respect. Though she is so fresh and natural and plain in all her ways that people who are always looking out for the airs and graces of the Lady Clara Verdevere species might be disappointed in her.
All that I can understand and generally agree with," said Hebert. What's next? She is awfully energetic," continued Burra. Of course, there are plenty of girls in this country that are, but she never seems to have any notion of repose from the time she gets up, which is early, till bedtime. She reads and writes and does her housekeeping, and walks and rides and drives, and what she calls visits the poor. Oh, there is quite a good story about that, which I must tell you. All with unvarying industry." She is a newly imported broom, said Hubert. and naturally sweeps with effectiveness. It will slow down a little with time, but it's a fault on the right side. Tell us the story, Laura dear.
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14 14 - Chapter 14 31:02
Well, said Laura, putting on a Scheherazade expression of continence, it appears that Miss Daiquiri, having been used to be good to the poor of the village near where they lived in England, could not get on without them. Much to her surprise, she found them scarce in the neighborhood of Wantabalry. Mr. Dealerson did not believe in poor people, and generally fed out, blocked, or bought out small holders. At length, in one of her rides, she came upon an old couple living in a miserable hut. The man, feeble and half-blind, both apparently destitute, their one little girl was barefooted and in rags, They told a pitiful story of having been deceived in the matter of a free selection, which of course she couldn't understand, and deserted by their children.
Charmed by their evident poverty and artless expressions of gratitude, she gave them what silver she had and promised them employment. Her intention was good, said Hubert. I can guess the kind of people they were, but it speaks well for her kindness of heart. Nothing could be kinder, I am sure, but I grieve to say she rushed into a declamation, she confessed, about the hardness of columnist hearts. Who would let so deserving a couple almost die of hunger in a land of plenty? As to that, said Hubert, very few people suffer from hunger in Australia, except when they decline work. Even then they manage to live on their friends. How did the story end? Well, she formed a plan for Persuedo, these delightful poor, to migrate to Wantabalry, where they were to be fed and furnished with light work.
Fortunately for her peace of mind, when she told her father and brother, they made inquiries among the neighbors. Then they found out that the old man was one of the most artful and successful sheep-stealers in the district, and had even been tried for graver crimes. The money she gave him he invested in rum, under the influence of which he beat his wife and turned his little daughter out of doors. And what effect has this discovery of her philanthropy? For, of course, it was old Jimmy Doolan, a man the police have been trying to get hold of for years, as slippery as a fox and as savage as a wolf. She had to recant. to admit that perhaps, on the whole, the characters of people were known and appreciated by those amongst whom they lived.
Still, she said there was a want of systematic benevolence in the neighborhood, and that she would rather be deceived occasionally than sink into a state of cold indifferentism towards her fellow-creatures. "'Eats really quite pathetic,' said Hubert. One feels drawn towards a girl of such tendencies as if she were a nice child. It seems hard that a few years of colonial experience should deprive her of such tender illusions. I don't think anything will tone her down into anything uninteresting, if you mean that," said Linda. She has too much high principle and refinement. She will learn to act judiciously in time, as Mother does. For instance," said Laura, she's always bestowing father's substance upon some poor creature or other, but she finds out the right sort of people and the proper when and where.
Before long, a return visit occurred from Montembray, from which place Willoughby Dacker drove his sister to Winding Hill, about a week after the conversation above recorded. The brother and sister made their appearance in a vehicle of unpretending appearance, being, indeed, no other than the spring-cart, which was given in ostentatiously by Mr. Dealerson, along with furniture and other station requisites. Willoughby, having managed a rig-up leading harness, had accomplished a tandem with two of the best-looking horses on the station, so that the turnout was not wholly plebeian. Much mutual delight was expressed by the girls, and various experiences interchanged which had occurred since their last meeting.
The young men went off together to put up the horses, and took advantage of the opportunity to have a little sheep-talk. How are you getting on so far? said Hubert. Shaking down a bit, I suppose. Does your father approve of bush life? Oh, he finds himself most comfortable, answered Willoughby. He has a snug morning room with a fire, and plenty of books and papers. He says he never expected to enjoy himself so much in the bush. He takes a great interest in the garden, too. The fruit trees and vines are really something to look at. I don't doubt it, said Hubert. The house and grounds, stabling and out-offices, are about the best in the district. Well, I hope you'll all live there many years to enjoy them.
"'I am so too,' said Willoughby. "'But excuse me if I say that you don't seem to expect it. "'Now why is it that, as everything is so good in its way, "'the sheep well-bred, everybody says, "'and looking so well now that you regard the investment as a bad one, "'you are not alone in that opinion either, "'though the other neighbours don't speak so honestly.' My prophecy of evil make not come off. After all, this is an uncertain country as to weather, and weather with us is everything. But if the rain holds off, you'll see what I mean. You have about two-thirds too many sheep on the run. That is all. What can we do? Well, nothing, just at present. In a general way, so of surplus stock as soon as you can do so profitably.
But in a dry season everybody wishes to sell, and few can, to buy, except at the lowest prices. However, I'll put you up to the likeliest dodges when the time comes. Thanks very much. I can't help Feeling anxious from time to time, when I think that our all is embarked in this undertaking, I thought it was so safe and solid, and never dreamed that there could be such a swindle worked. When all looked fair outside, the governor was rash, I must say. It's a way of his. But we must find our way out of the scrape. Now we're in it. That's the only thing to be done. and not to lose heart. There are always chances and changes with stock in Australia. Fortunes are always to be made, and to be lost, it seems.
You are just going to invest in Queensland, I hear. Isn't that a long way off? It's never too far off, if the country's good, said Hubert. Runs are cheap there now, but they are always rising in value. I intend to send "'A lot of our windigill sheep out there as soon as we get settled.' "'If we hadn't spent all our money,' said the young Englishman regretfully, "'we might have bought a run there too. However, it can't be helped, as we said before. I shall be glad to hear from you when you get there. Any information I can give shall be at your service, as well as all possible assistance,' said Hubert warmly always depended on that. But it's early in the day to talk about such things. We shall see more clearly what to do as the occasion arises, and now we had better join the ladies.
It was settled after a rather animated discussion that the visitors were not to return to Wantabalry that night. In vain they pleaded household tasks, station exigencies, the anxiety which Colonel Dacker was certain to experience at their absence. All these reasons were treated as mere excuses. There couldn't be much housekeeping for one person, especially as they had, for a wonder, a decent cook. The station could wait. The less work done among the sheep at present, the better. While it was extracted in cross-examination that Colonel Dacker had told them that if they did not return, he should conclude they had stayed At Windy Hill. So the truce was definitely arranged. The horses turned into the river paddock.
The young men went out for a drive in Hubert's buggy to inspect a dam at the back, concerning which young Dacker had expressed some interest, while the three girls, after a ramble in the garden, settled down to a good steady afternoon's needlework and an exhaustive discussion of bush life and Australian matters generally. What a famous, light-running, easy track this is of yours," said Dacker, as they spun over the smooth, sandy bush track, whalebone and whipcord, an exceptionally fast pair of horses slipping along at half-speed. Yes," said Hubert. It's the best thing of the kind that's made. I believe I want this to take out with me to the new country. I think it is economical to have a vehicle of this sort.
There are many bits of station work that a buggy comes in for, and you save horse flesh. I wonder you don't get one for your sister. Well, we found the tax car at the station, and Rosalind's such a terrific economist that she wouldn't hear us buying a carriage, as she calls it, for her. But I really must go in for a buggy, if it's only on the governor's account. He's not so young as he was, and riding knocks him about. I can see. But how fast your horses are. I didn't think Australian horses went in for trotting much. None of ours do. Australian horses, and men and women too, as I think I have mentioned before, remarked Hubert with suspicious mildness. Resemple those in other parts of the world, though the contrary is assertive.
Some are good, others bad. Some of them, the horses I now allude to, can trot, others cannot. This pair, for instance—here he tightened his reins and in some imperceptible fashion gave a signal, which they answered to by putting up their heads and bursting into sixty miles an hour. Can do a mile a very fair time for non-professionals. So I see. replied the young Englishman. I wish I was not so hasty in forming impressions. However, I shall be cured of that in time. But it is awfully trying to hold your tongue when everything is new and exciting, and to talk cautiously is foreign to the dark of nature. Experientia does it, as we used to say at school, laughed Hubert. You'll be chaffing new arrivals in a couple of years yourself.
The regulation period is about that time, and I don't think you'll take so long as some people. That's a compliment to my general intelligence, said Dagger. I suppose I ought to feel grateful, but one can't help a slight feeling of soreness. You know, that after being regularly educated for a colonial life, as I was, and coached in all the necessary carpentering, blacksmithing, Agriculture and so on, I should find myself so utterly ignorant and helpless here. "'Come, come,' said Hubert. "'You do yourself injustice. It won't take more than a year to make a smart bushman of you, I can see, but I suppose it's something like going into a strange country to hunt. You remember that when Mr. Sawyer went to the shires he felt under a disadvantage at first.' Yes, but—you wouldn't—or McIntosh or any of the other fellows I've seen.
That's what makes me so savage with myself. You'd know your way about. People wouldn't discover, unless you told them that you had lived in England all your days, while we fellows who came out here, certainly thinking ourselves as good all round as anyone we were likely to find, are always exposing our ignorance. getting laughed at or taken in, and are marked for emigrants and tiros as far as we can be seen. "'I observe your point, and it is a little aggravating,' replied Hubert. "'But after all, it is a compliment to our mother country that we make it our business from childhood to know all about her history and traditions, manners and customs, from a thousand accurate chronicles.' Our usages, modelled upon hers, and religiously, painted down by our parents, are identical, or as nearly so as we can make them, but our country and our trifling, yet marked departures from English standards have found few close observers, accurate descriptions, and fewer narrators still.
There is hardly any way of Getting acquainted with us, except by actual experience. "'It looks like it,' assented his friend reluctantly. "'But I mourn over the fond illusions Rosalind and I are doomed to lose before we complete our apprenticeship, hope we may acquire others not less satisfactory. The outlook of wantaburring at present might be brighter, too, if what you told my father comes to pass.' It may not happen after all, or it may be parried and averted. All manner of chances may arise in your interest. So do not think of desponding, said Hubert. One of the special characteristics of Australians is that they never despair. Never know when they are beat in fact, said Ducker, with a returning smile.
Well, that is genuine English treat, at any rate, so I must support the credit of my country. The dam was inspected, and the principle of the bywash explained to Dacre, who showed an aptitude and readiness to comprehend the necessary detail which favorably impressed Hubert. The free horses pulled more on the homeward track than coming out, and elicited high commendation. They certainly ought to be Superb govs, and this is the poetry of motion. Dacker exclaimed, as, sending out their eight legs as if they belonged to one horse, the well-matched pair made the light yet strong vehicle spin over the level road with an ease and velocity which no two-wheeled trap ever approached. I shall be unhappy till I set up a buggy and a pair of trotters.
All the good resolutions to spin nothing that could be helped made at the beginning of the month, notwithstanding. It's false economy to go without a buggy, said Hubert. Tell your father I said so, and that is easily demonstrable. It saves horse flesh, enables you to carry feed in a dry season, and has other useful and agreeable qualities. The tea— for which they were just in time to dress was an agreeable, not to say hilarious meal. The Miss Stamfords, it would seem, had been admitting their visitor into all kinds of occult mysteries of domestic management, how they arranged when they were short of a servant, without a cook or a housemaid, or, indeed, as occasionally happened, though not for any protracted period, when they had no servant at all.
Miss Dacker was astonished to find what a complete and practical knowledge of these soft-appearing, graceful damsels displayed with many branches of household lore, and how many hints they were able to offer for her acceptance, all of which tended to lighten the labours of Bush Housekeeping, which she had already found burdensome. From Mrs. Stamford, on opening the relief question, it was discovered that she had various humble friends and pensioners, all of whom she helped, after a fashion which encouraged them to be industrious and self-supporting. Others again received advice in the management of their families, the treatment of their children, the choice of trades for their sons, and of service for their daughters.
In a number of humble homes, and by all the neighboring settlers, this gentle, low-voiced woman was regarded as the Chatelaine of the manor, the good angel of the neighborhood, the personage to whom all deferred, whose virtues all imitated at a distance, and whom to disappoint or to pain was a matter more deeply regretted than the actual shortcoming which had led to reproof. And all this work had been done. This sensible system of true Christian benevolence and aid was in full flow and operation, without one word being said by the agents themselves, which gave a hint of the energy, contrivance, and self-denial manifestly necessary for such results. All things were done silently, unobtrusively.
No one spoke of them, or seemed to think them other than matters of course. This was a phase of colonial life which struck the eager critic of the new land with something like dismay. Was it possible in this strange country that there might be yet other instances of human love and charity, efficiently performed with equally thoroughness and absence of demonstration? If so, had she not been making herself somewhat ridiculous in assuming hurriedly that there were so many niches in Australian temples Sacred to heroic effort which were unfilled before she arrived? In spite of the slight feeling of soreness which the knowledge caused her, the general influence of the symposium, separated as she had been for some weeks from companions of her own sex and social standing, was unusually exhilarating.
Her natural genial temperament led her, therefore, to laugh secretly at her own miscalculation and discomfiture as a very good and choice joke indeed. However, she was less explanatory than her brother had been, preferring inferential admission after the manner of her sex. This concession to the wisdom of the colonists exhibited itself in unaffected good-humour and affectionate cordiality towards her comparatively recent friends. She joined cheerily in all the amusements and occupations of the evening. She sang and played Praising the performances of the Stamford girls and the new songs they had brought back with them from the metropolis. She talked flowers and greenhouse with her hostess, and had a slight political tilt with Mr.
Stamford. In all these subjects, she exhibited sound teaching as well as a careful theoretical training. Nothing could be more modest and less assertive than her general manner, at the same time that a wider range of thought Consequent upon European travel and extended social experience was unconsciously apparent. When the Windigale family retired for the night, Mr. Stamford expressed his opinion to his wife, in the sanctity of the matrimonial chamber, that he had never met a finer girl in his life before, and that he was delighted that they should have such a neighbor, while Hubert, in the smoking-room, Whether he had retired with his young friend at a late period of the evening, may have meditated upon the command to love thy neighbour as thyself, but forbore to commit himself by unguarded expression.
On the next day, after a mirthful and consolatory breakfast, a trifle later than usual, inasmuch as the three maidens sat talking so late that the morning slumbers were prolonged, The new neighbours departed. Fresh expressions of approval and surprise were exhibited by this English guest at the home-baked bread. The butter, the honey, the incomparable, home-cured bacon, and other triumphs of domestic economy. I have enjoyed myself as I never expected to do in the bush, she said. I thought there would be nothing but devotion to duty, stern butter, of the voice of God. I never dreamed that so much of the poetry of life was attainable. You have taught me a lesson. This was in confidence to Laura at parting, for which I shall be all the better, henceforth.
I am not too old or too conceited to learn at any rate. "'You have nothing very much to learn,' replied Laura. "'We may be mutually advantageous to one another. That's all. If we make an agreement to put as much friendship,' and as little ceremony into our intercourse as possible. It will not be long before we come over to stay a night at Wontabalry before poor Hubert starts for Queensland. I grieve to say, and then you must comfort us in our loneliness. Popple will be quite charmed to see you again. If you had heard all the fine things he said about you and Linda, you would have thought he was looking out for a step-mama for me. But he is purely theoretical in that department, I am thankful to say.
And now, good-bye, and au revoir. The promised visit was made, and a renewal of friendship and good offices ratified while the days passed on, and the period of Hubert's stay with his family drew near to a close. The long-expected, long-dreaded day arrived for his departure to the land of adventure, and, alas, of danger. It could not be concealed. All preparations for the momentous event were at length completed, and once more the family assembled at the railway terminus at Muramaw to bid farewell to the son and brother, the mainstay, the Hope of Windigil. Deep and unaffected was the grief, although outward manifestations were heroically suppressed. The warning bell sounded. The last adieu were said, and as the train moved off, relentless, irrevocable as fate, the fair summer day gloamed while the family party drove sadly back to their home, from which the sunshine seemed to have been suddenly withdrawn.
Such are the partings in this world of checkered joy and sorrow, of light and shadow, what prayers were that night offered up to the all-wise dispenser of events for the safety The success, the return, ah, me, of the absent wayfarer. For him might the fervid sunbeams of the inner deserts be tempered. For him might the fierce denizens of the wild be placated. For him might the terrible uncertainty of flood and field be guided for good. The sisters wept themselves to sleep in each other's arms, while the mother's face was sad. with unuttered grief, and the father's brow grave for many a day after this long-remembered parting. The time, the healer, brought to them, as to others, the successive stages of calm resignation, of renewed hope.
The post brought tidings of a safely concluded voyage, of accomplished land travel, at longer intervals of promising investment, of successful exploration, of permanent settlement in the land of promise, of the occupation of pastures new in a region richly gifted by nature, and needing but the gradual advance of civilization to be promoted to a profitable and acknowledged status. Lastly, a dispatch arrived of an eminently satisfactory nature from Mr. Barrington Hope, confirming the latest advices from the wandering air. Mr. Hubert Stamford had more than justified all the expectations formed of his energy and business aptitude. He had purchased, at a comparatively small outlay, a lightly stocked and very extensive station upon the border of the settled country.
Leaving Mr. Delamere and a manager of proved ability in charge, he had pushed on, and after a toilsome journey, happily accomplished without accident or loss, Had discovered and taken up, under the Queensland regulations which are most favorable to pioneers, an immense tract of well-watered pastoral country of the best quality. They had received from their correspondence the highest commendation of the value of the property now secured and registered in the name of Delamere and Stamford. Windigal Downs was a proverb in the mouths of the pioneer squatters of the colony. And the Laura and Linda Rivers were duly marked upon the official map of the Surveyor General's Office as permanent and important watercourses.
The Austral Agency Company had the fullest confidence in the prospects of the firm, and any reasonable amount of capital would be forthcoming for necessary expenses in stocking up and legally occupying the magnificent tract of pastoral country referred to. A private letter accompanied this formally worded official communication, informing Mr. and Mrs. Stamford that the writer proposed to avail himself of their kind invitation to visit Windigil at Christmas, when he would be enabled to utilize a long-promised leave of absence for a few weeks. It may be imagined, but can with difficulty be even sketched faintly, With what feelings of joy and gratitude this precious intelligence was received at Windigill, the happiness, too deep for words, of the parents, the wild, ecstatic triumph of the sisters, the elation of the servants and station hands, which communicated itself to the inhabitants of the surrounding sub-district, all of whom were included in the general glory of the event, and unfeignedly happy at the news of Hubert's brilliant success.
He deserves it all. I never thought but he'd come to good, and show him all the way, if he got a chance, was the general comment of the humbler partisans. He was always the poor man's friend, was Master Hewitt, and now he's going to be at the top of the tree, and it's where he ought to be. He's a good sort, and always was. There wasn't a young man within a day's ride of Moramah, as was fit to be named in the same day with him. Oh, Laura! Isn't it splendid, delicious, divine?" exclaimed Linda, dancing round her sister and mother with inexpressible delight. Mr. Stamford had retired to compose his fillings in the garden. "'Oh, dear, this world's a splendid place of abode, after all, though I've had terrible doubts lately.
Wasn't it fortunate we had strength of mind to let dear darling Hubert go, though it nearly broke our hearts?' I was certain some of my heart-strings cracked. Really, I was. But now I feel better than ever. Quite young indeed. Oh, how grateful we ought to be! You were not the only one who suffered, were you, dear? said Laura, looking dreamily into the distance beyond the gleaming river, now indeed reduced to nearly its old dimensions. Our prayer has been answered. Some day we shall see our hero returning. Bringing his sheaves with him. "'Oh, happy day! Mother, what shall we do to relieve our feelings? I feel as if I could not bear it unless we did something. Suppose we drive over to Waterbury,' suggested Linda, "'Faughd always enjoys a chat with the Colonel, and that dear good Rosalind is always so nice and sympathising about Hubert.
I wonder if she cares for him the least little bit.' But she'd die before she'd let anybody know, and Hubert was so disagreeable he refused to give me the least hint. What do you think, mother? I think nothing at all, my dear child. In all these matters it is the wisest course neither to think nor to speak prematurely, but I dare say your father would drive us over if we asked him and we could stay a night there. As you say, a chat with the colonel always does him good.
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15 15 - Chapter 15 29:20
So at Windy Hill and Wattebalry, the calm, uneventful bush life went on as usual, that life so peaceful, so wholesome for the spirit, so chiefly free from the sharp cares and anxieties of city existence, Where the eye is refreshed daily with nature pictures, at once grand and consoling. The early morn, so fair and fresh, when the sun first glorifies the pale mists of dawn, changing all the Orient with magic suddenness to opaline hues and golden flame. The green gloom, the august solitude of the boundless forest, the glowing sunshine which pierces even its inmost recesses at midday, The wavering shadows born of the inconstant breeze. The tender eve, when a solemn hush falls alike on stream and valley, on mountain-side or wildwood glade, and all the ancient majesty of night awes the senses.
For the Windigil family, the placid days came and went, blightened as of old by the regularity of customary home duties, by books and music, by walks along the rippling river. By rides and drives through the winding forest paths, occasional expeditions to Watibauri made salutary change for all. As the summer months wore on, as the days lengthened and the midday heat became intense, as the fiercer sun-rays commenced to wither the bush herbage. Of the river, meadows, the many-hued wild flowers of heath and hill, as the water-courses Fed by spring showers, commenced to trickle faintly. There was a tendency to complain of the tyrant summer, and yet to long for the Christmas-tide as a period of mirth and enjoyment, this year invested with a special charm.
For had not a telegram from some unknown, unknowable place, and costing quite a small fortune, arrived, which stated that Hubert, the Bien-Ami, would return at Christmas? Actually, return? Like the prodigal, as Linda said, only that it was the reverse in everything except the coincidence of its being from a far country. The coincidence being so very slight, Linda, said her mother, perhaps it would have been as well to refrain from scriptural parallel altogether. Don't you think so, Miss Dacker? I had given up expecting him after his last letter, in which he said there were— Insuperable difficulties in the way. He has managed to surmount the insuperable, apparently," said Linda. Hubert always was a wonderful boy for accomplishing things, just at the last moment.
I don't think I ever knew him beaten by anything he made up his mind to do, though he used to leave things rather too long. That is one of Hubert's worst points, or rather, Most pronounced weaknesses," said Laura. He won't be wise in time, except on what he thinks are occasions of importance. It seems a defect with people of energy and resource. For instance, I can't imagine Hubert saying he will cross a river or accomplish a journey, and failing to carry out his purpose, whatever happened. He is one of those people who seem made for difficulties. But difficulties which come upon the unprepared are apt to be disastrous," said Miss Dapter. For my part, I am strongly in favour of taking every imaginable precaution before the time of need.
The principle is good, but it doesn't apply to Hubert, said Linda, still unconvinced. Difficulties and impossibilities only stimulate his resources, which are innumerable. When another man would lie down and die, he would be quite in his element. Ordering, inventing, combining, and finally pulling through triumphantly. It must be interesting to watch such a tour de force, said Miss Thacker. But I prefer the general ship, which surveys the field, and places the battle in advance. Hit or miss, conquerors find their Moscow some day. Hubert has made a glorious campaign this time. said Laura. What a day of days it will be when he shows his brown face at Muramar again. Doesn't it seem an age since he went away, Rosalind?
I am sure Papa and Willoughby will be very glad to see him again, said she. I know they wish to have his advice about the sheep and the season. They are getting quite anxious. No, the engine did not break down. The steamer with the Chinese name from the far north The Lai Wang Fu did not founder or take fire. The floods did not sweep away the railway bridges. There was not even an earthquake. All these phenomena and abnormal occurrences were, in Linda's opinion, almost certain to happen because Hubert was coming home to spend Christmas with the family, and Envy's fate would be certain to interfere. Everything had gone so prosperously hitherto that Destiny must be propitiated by sacrifice. Mr. Barrington Hope was coming up also, as he had looked forward to a holiday.
Of course he would be disappointed, and so on. Wonderful to relate, a few days before Christmas, again the family trap was in requisition, driven by one of the boys. The door of the first-class carriage opened, and a bronzed Indian officer-looking man stepped out. The boys at first did not know him, but when a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman who followed him proposed to send a porter for their luggage, the younger boy shouted out, "'Why, it's Hubert! Hubert! What a lark! We didn't know him! Why, you have changed! You're ever so much thinner, and your eyes are larger, and your face browner! What have you done to yourself? We've come for you and Mr. Hope. Is this him?' Yes, this is he, Master Morris.
Your grandma appears to have stood still, though you have grown such a big fellow. See about the luggage and have it put in the buggy. It will hold it all unless it has got smaller. Well, how are mother and father and Laura and Linda and Water King and everybody? Why didn't they come? Well, they thought they'd be hugging it before all the people, and they'd better wait and do it at home. So they sent me and Val with the buggy. You'd better drive. That is my intention, Morris. I prefer to drive, though I know you can handle the rains. But tell me about Windigo. What is the grass like? Had much rain? Only enough for sprinkling the garden these three months. I heard old Jerry, the shepherd, tell Paddy Nolan that he thought he was going to set in dry.
The west wind was always blowing. Weave! Lots of feet, yet. Old Jerry is a good judge of the weather at Morimah. He's been watching it these fifty years, and how are they at Waterbolery? Very poor. I'm a-starving. What? said Hubert, and then laughing at the boy's strictly pastoral ideas, he said, "'You mean the sheep in the paddocks, I suppose?' "'Yes, of course. They're getting as bare as your hand.' What they'll do with all those sheep in another month or two nobody knows. Half of them'll die before winter. You seem to take a practical view of things, Morris, said Mr. Hope. Are matters as bad as all that? Well, I'm about a good deal, and I can't help staying. It's a pity, though. They're so nice, all of them.
Hubert at home again, after all the doubts, fears, delays. Morris had not exaggerated the amount of hugging. As he disrespectfully expressed it, which the returning hero had to undergo, and which would probably have created a stoppage on Muramah platform. Mr. Hope stood by with a tolerant air, and even made some light remark to Miss Dacker as to their being left out of the extremely warm greetings which prevailed. A very short time, however, was suffered to elapse before all due apologies were made to their guests. and the cordiality of Laura's manner, perhaps, caused Barrington Hope to overlook any overweening measure of love bestowed upon the long-absent brother. How her eyes sparkled! How her cheek glowed!
How she seemed to devour the young fellow with her eyes, he said to himself. And he argued favorably, knowing something of womankind, of the probable devotion to her husband. Should she ever condescend to endow mortal man with that supreme and sacred title? It was in vain to expect much general conversation that day. If the visitors had been less sympathetic persons, they might easily have been agreed at the predominance of Hubert's personal adventures, opinions, and experiences in all subsequent intercourse. For the moment, everybody thought him much altered and changed, wasted even in frame. Sunburned, blackened by exposure, but on the whole improved. There was a determination in his expression which had not so habitually marked his features before.
A look is of a man who has confronted the grim hazards of the waste, who has dared the odds which in the desert land of the savage are arrayed against him, dared them only to conquer. It was the face of the conscript after the campaign and the battlefield, If there was less than the old measure of schoolboy gaiety and frolicsome spirits, there was an added infusion of the dignity of the man. Then his adventures, he must relate some of them. Even Miss Dacker joined in this request. Like the knife-grinder, story he had none to tell, but could not escape owning to having been laid up in a bark hut with fever and ague that had pulled him down so. Nearly drowned in crossing a flooded river, had a brush with the blacks who rose up from the tall grass all round him, horse-speared under him, and so on.
All this, though Hubert made light of it with characteristic modesty, seemed to his hearers of the nature of thrilling and exciting romance. Hubert must feel like a troubadour of the Middle Ages, said Linda. Reciting before the Lady of the Castle and her maidens, it must have been an awful temptation to improvise situations, and I dare say they did. Fancy if we had no books, and were dependent entirely upon wandering minstrels. It mightn't be altogether such a bad thing, Miss Linda, said Barrington Hope. A handsome young troubadour would be more entertaining than a dry book, or even an indifferent novel. It wouldn't be such a bad trade for the unemployed," said Laura, but I suspect neither their manners nor their education would be found suitable.
Some of the swagmen in Queensland would fill the requirements so far," said Hubert. I have seen more than one honourable on the tramp. Only it would not do to trust them too near the sideboard. What a pathetic picture! said Miss Dacre, fancy the son of a pair trudging along the road, with his knapsack on his back, actually begging from door to door. It is not regarded as begging in outside country, said Hubert. It is the recognised mode of locomotion for labourers and artisans. And can they not procure steady employment? said Miss Dacker in a tone of deep anxiety. Surely it only needs someone to take an interest in them and give them good advice. Now, don't smile in that provoking way, Mr. Stamford, or I shall think you have brought back, unimpaired, one of your least amiable treats.
Forgive me, Miss Dacker, for presuming on my part to hint that you do not appear to be cured of what I supposed you would have learned by this time to distrust. An unlimited trust in your less favoured fellow-creatures. The men of whom I speak live at free quarters when they travel, are occasionally received on equal terms, and are paid, when they condescend to do work, at the ordinary high rate of wages, fees from thirty shillings to two pounds per week, with board and lodging. And are they not encouraged to save this? They could soon put by quite a small fortune. Their misfortune is that they never do save. They invariably gamble or drink, generally the latter, till all is gone. Once lapsed, they follow the habits of the uneducated working man with curious fidelity.
What a terrible condition! What a terrible country where such things can take place. On the contrary, it is the best land attainable by the confirmed prodigal. In England, I take it, the dissipated, improvident men of their order go rapidly and thoroughly to the bad, passing swiftly out of knowledge. Here they have intervals of wholesome labour and compulsory sobriety, which recruit the Constitution and give them opportunity for repentance, if they ever do repent. While this conversation was proceeding, Mr. Stamford and Barrington Hope had been having a quiet semi-business talk, and this being concluded, Miss Dacker was persuaded to open the piano, after which Mr. Hope gave them some of the latest porciful, more so, fresh from Beirut, where he had a musical correspondent, having spent there some of the days of his youth.
Music now absorbed all attention for the rest of the evening. Everybody being more or less of an amateur, and even Hubert showing that he had not been wholly without the region of sweet sounds by bringing back and displaying two new songs. Who played the accompaniments for you, Hubert? said Linda. Somebody did, or you couldn't have loved them so well. Do you suppose there are no ladies in the Never Never country? said he. Quite a mistake. People of culture abound. The next day was judged by common consent to be spent at Wattebalree. Miss Dacker was anxious to get home, and would by no means consent to stay another day at Windigil. Mr. Hope thought he would like to see Wattebalree, of which celebrated station he had heard so much, and to pay his respects to the colonel.
So it was arranged that Hubert should drive Miss Dacker and Linda While Laura went under Mr. Hope's guidance in the Windigill trap. Mr. and Mrs. Stamford elected to stay at home to take care of the house and talk quietly over Hubert's return, personal appearance, prospects, and generally interesting belongings. Arrived at Wanda Balry, the Colonel met them with his usual courteous and hospitable manner. He congratulated Hubert on his safe return from Queensland, and hoped he had not taken up all the good country, as it seemed to him that other people would have to migrate if the season did not improve. "'Not for another year or two, Colonel. At any rate,' said Hubert, cheerily, "'You've plenty of water here, and Willoughby must do a little travelling.
Anything's better than throwing up the sponge.' "'I see little else for it,' said the colonel. who had come to wear an anxious expression. Miss Stacker grew grave as she marked her father's face, but she controlled herself with an effort, as it seemed to Hubert, and telling Linda to go into the drawing-room and admire her flowers followed her guests. The men remained outside and lounged into the stable-yard, where the horses and traps were being arranged, looking about them, and chatting on indifferent subjects before going to the house. "'What a pretty situation you have here,' said Hope. "'The accomplished Mr. Dealersom, of whom I have heard so much, must have been a man of taste. How picturesquely the creek winds round the point near that splendid willow.
The elevation is just sufficient, and the flat seems made on purpose for a few fields and the fruit-garden. The view of the distant mountain range completes the landscape. Capital stapling, too.' Oh, confound him, growled Willoughby. He was sharp enough to see that a smart homestead like this was just the thing to catch new chum buyers. It's not bad in its way, but I hate the whole thing so, when I think of the price we shall have to pay for it, that I could burn the house down with pleasure. I don't know so much about that, said Hope. It doesn't do to be hasty in realizing in stock matters any more than in purchasing. You and Hubert had better have a good talk over accounts before I leave, and if you can suggest anything, perhaps we may manage to tie it over for a while.
He's quite a rising man of business, I assure you. I wish to heaven the governor had remained in Sydney with my sister, and sent me out to Queensland with him," said the young man. But it's too late to think of that now. We must make the best of it. But I won't stand grumbling here all day, Mr. Hope. Come in, and we'll see if there's any lunch to be had. Sufficient for the day, and so on. Hubert had found his way into the drawing-room before this colloquy had ended, and was looking over a collection of Venetian photographs which Miss Dacker had collected during their last visit to that city of the sea. I wonder if I shall ever see the line of St. Mark again, she said. I feel as if we were in another planet.
It is difficult to say where we shall all be in a few years' time," said Hubert. I am not going to stay here all my life, but you won't run away from Australia just yet, Miss Stacker. I should think not, she replied cheerfully. Matters don't look like it at present. The doubt in my mind is whether we shall ever be able to leave it. I don't say that I am dissatisfied, but I should like to see the old world again before I die. When Willoughby has made his fortune, or other things come to pass, you will be able to go home and do all sorts of fascinating travel," said Hubert. We must look forward. "'I feel certain you are not laughing at me, Mr. Stamford,' she said. Fixing her eyes upon him with a wistful expression, "'But if I did not know you so well, I should suspect it.' "'Nothing, of course, is farther from my thoughts,' said the young man, meeting the gaze with equal directness.
"'But I really see no reason to doubt you. Seeing Europe, within the next five years, so many changes take place in this Australian world of ours.' "'Hardly such a change as that,' she replied. smiling apparently at the absurdity of the idea. And now I think I hear the luncheon bell. You must have thought I meant to starve you all. That no intention of this kind had actuated the fair hostess was made apparent as they were ushered into the dining-room, a large and handsome apartment wherein the furniture and appointments were in keeping with the general plan of the house. Everybody was in capital spirits. Youth and Hope were in the ascendant in the majority of the party, and as their conversation became general, everybody seemed as joyous as it was to Balry, with the best paying and the most fortunate station in the district.
"'What a lovely place this is altogether,' said Lyndon. "'Mr. Daylison must have some good in him after all.' If Father and Hubert had not been so prejudiced against him, he might have married and settled in the district. I believe he's not so bad looking. I should never have come to see you, for one, said Hubert. If you had been the lucky girl, they carried off such a prize. But I should like to have condemned him to work out this place with its present stock in a dry season. That would have been a truly appropriate punishment for his iniquities. The ancients used to think of fitting fellows in another world in their own line, but the sabers of shop. Willoughby, did you get any snipe this spring?
Made two or three capital bags, but they went off as soon as the weather got dry. Heirs are getting plentiful too, and I was going to get up a couple of greyhounds, but all that sort of thing's knocked on the head now. Oh, nonsense! You mustn't give up your shooting. Never allow your business to interfere with your pleasure. We have little enough recreation in Australia. You should have seen the brown quail in the Mitchell grass in our new country. I used to put up bevies of them looking like partridges. I must take some setters up next time. Isn't the heat very dreadful up there? Enquired Miss Dachery. Rather tropical, said Hubert. But there is a freshness in the air that carries you through.
The mosquitoes and sand-flies are perhaps the worst evils, but with a good pise house, which you could shut up and keep cool, They might be greatly reversed. Then the Blacks. They seem nearly as bad as the North American Indians. Not quite. I suspect setting for a red cloud would have given us a deal more trouble. Not but would we have to be careful. The best way, I find, is to treat them with perfect justice, to keep your word with them for good or evil. They learn to respect you in the end. After a while we shall have no trouble with them. During the afternoon, which was devoted to nothing in particular, a very agreeable arrangement, which leaves guests at liberty to amuse themselves as they feel inclined, Hubert found himself in Miss Dacker's company at the end of the lower walk of the orchard, which followed the winding bank of the creek.
The bank was high at this particular spot, having been partially worn away by floodwaters, leaving a wide, low shore at the opposite side. A deep pool had been formed, which now gleamed and sparkled in lowered sun rays. A grand weeping willow, self-planted, perhaps in the earliest days of the occupation of the station, shaded it with trailing green streamers. Walter Balre is certainly the show-station of the district," said Hubert. "'You are fortunate in some respects, nay, having so pleasant a home in which to make your first Australian experiences.' "'I have been very happy here,' said she. "'But that will make it all the more painful to leave, as I fear we shall be obliged to do at no distant period.
I do not so much care for my own sake.' But it will be discouraging to Willoughby, and my father is certain to feel the change more than any of us. "'Matters look bad, and we are going to have another dry season, I believe,' replied Hubert. "'I don't like these westerly winds, and clouds coming up with no rain. Still, there is hope.' "'But had we not a drought two years before, just before my father made this purchase?' Quite true, but of late years, unfortunately, that has been no reason why another should not follow in quick succession. It is rather unfair of madre nature, but there is no help for it. And what shall you do at Windiger? For I suppose we shall all be in the same boat. I shall persuade my father to start every sheep he has, with the exception of the best flock, for my new country.
The one to Bullring, sheep, had better take the road, too. I must have a talk to Willoughby. Oh, I do so wish you would, Mr. Stamford. I am sure he and Papa are grown very troubled about our prospects. Willoughby and I can bear all that may come, but it will be a terrible blow to poor Papa. Miss Dacher, if you will permit me to confide in you, I have been concocting a little plot. If carried out, it may— I say only it may—perhaps serve to improve the aspect of things. If you thought the colonel would like to consult with me and Willoughby about the coming difficulty, I should be very glad to make the attempt. Nothing would give my father more pleasure, and indeed tend to relieve his mind, I feel certain.
He has been anxious to consult you, Mr. Stamford, but hardly likes to begin the subject. We must have a council of war, then, which will include Mr. Barrington Hope. He is a tower of strength, as I know by experience, and it's a good piece of luck, his being here now. We should be grateful to you all the days of our lives, you may be sure, whatever happens, for the interest you have always shown in our welfare. If your advice had been taken in the first instance, all would have been well. And here the young lady looked at Hubert with such an approving expression of countenance that he felt as if he could throw up the new country and devote himself to the Sisyphean task of getting Wantabalry out of debt.
If only she would promise to repay him by an occasional smile such as this one, the memory of which he felt certain would haunt him for an indefinite period. I can't, of course, guarantee success. But I think I see my way towards lightening the ship and getting steerage way on her. This nautical simile had probably been derived from his late maritime experiences, and was perhaps not altogether appropriate, but Miss Dacker was evidently not by any means in a critical frame of mind, for she again looked approvingly at him, and then led the way to the veranda, where Laura and Willoughby Mr. Hope and Linda were apparently having such an animated conversation that they seemed to be trying who could make the most noise.
The principal contention was whether a town or country life was the more wholesome and enjoyable. Laura and Willoughby were in favor of rural felicity, while Linda and Mr. Hope brought all the arguments they could think of in favor of cities. Greater stimulation of intellect, removal of prejudice, leaning towards Altruism. In fact, higher general development of the individual. When Miss Dacre arrived, she, being appealed to, in the capacity of referee, unhesitatingly gave her decision in favour of a country life, stating her arguments so clearly that she completely turned the scale, besides causing Hubert the keenest enjoyment by, as he supposed, thus laying bare her own predilections. After this contest of wits, the Colonel appeared on the scene, having returned from his usual afternoon's ride, and Hubert, with some address, managed to interest him in a discussion on station management and the probable profits of agriculture, listening with deference to his senior's ideas and suggestions.
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16 16 - Chapter 16 27:23
Before the Windigale party returned on the following day, a council of war was held, at the conclusion of which the colonel's face assumed a very different expression from that which it habitually wore. The four men met in his study where the accounts, assets, and liabilities were laid before the financial authority, who scanned them with keen and practiced eye. After would appear to the others, and especially to Willoughby and his father, an astonishingly short examination, he raised his head and asked these pertinent questions. I see your next bill, twelve thousand, four hundred and thirty-seven pounds, "'Fourteen shillings, 10. D. Ball's due in March,' he said. "'After that there is nothing more to be met but station expenses for another year, against which there will, of course, be the wool clip.
You have fifty-four thousand seven hundred and eighty-six sheep, more or less, on the run, is that so?' "'Half of which ought to die this winter,' Hubert says. "'Oh, yes, they're all in the paddocks,' replied the younger Dacre, in a tone of reckless despair, while the Colonel's face set with steadfast resolve. It showed by the twitching of his lips how severe was the repression of feeling, how tense the strain of anxiety. "'Never mind about that just yet,' said Barrington Hope. "'We'll see into the available assets first. About this next bill, Colonel, how do you propose to meet it?' By the sale of sheep, I suppose, there is no other way, and if this drought comes to pass, I am informed they will be next to valueless.
How is the next one, of equal amount, and another still, to be paid? In such a case I see nothing but ruin staring me in the face. Good God, that I should have brought my poor children to such a pass. Here, the brave soldier who had fought with cheerful courage on more than one battlefield, when comrades lay dead and dying around him, who had been the first man across the breach when the rebel artillery were mowing down his regiment like swaths of meadow-grass at Delhi, appeared quite unmanned.
It will never do to give up the fight before the end of the day, Colonel, said Mr. Hope gently. As a military man, you must know That reserves may come up at any moment. I will promise to give you a decided answer at the end of our colloquy, but we must move according to the rules of war. You must pardon me, my dear sir, said the colonel, with a faint smile. I trust not to embarrass the court again. But the fact is, I am a child in commercial affairs, and the probable loss of my children's whole fortune touches me too acutely. Have you? Any advice to offer, Hubert? queried Hope. I understand we are all here on terms of friendly equality. "'Yes, I have,' said the young man, with an air of decision.
"'You can judge of its value. All the Windigil sheep, with the exception of a couple of blocks of studs, start for our Queensland country in January. The dry belt, likely to be affected by the coming drought, is a narrow one.' Not more than two hundred miles wide, and as the sheep are fairly strong now, though they won't remain so, they should cross that with trifling loss. Donald Greenhop, a first-class man, has agreed to get in charge. Sheep are sheep over there now for stocking up new country, and we can sell to advantage what we do not want for Windigill Downs. The larger the number, Sent in one overland journey like this, the smaller the expense of droving per haight. I propose that Wattebalree should be cleared in the same way.
Willoughby can go in charge of his own sheep, and we can share the expense. "'I see nothing to prevent your idea from being carried out,' said Mr. Hope. "'I am aware that sheep of good quality, as the Wattebalree sheep proverbially are.' are scarce, and saleable at higher rates. In the new country, the main thing will be to have a first-class road overseer. Greenhouse has been out with an exploring party over all that country, said Hubert, and as a head driver is worth his weight in gold. A sober, steady fellow, too, and a good hand with men. No better bushman anywhere.
"'I am ready to stop next week,' said Willoughby, with a fire of ardent youth in his kindling eye. "'I never expected to have such a chance, but,' and here his face became grave and thoughtful, "'what do you say, father? Will you and Rosalind be able to get on without me?' "'We must try, my boy. The time will pass heavily. I doubt not.' But,' and here he walked over to Huber and put his hand on his firm shoulder. Your father did not grudge you in the path of honorable ambition, nor can I be more selfish. God bless you both, my boys, and bring you safe back once more to gladden our hearts. It seems to me as if Providence had decided this issue, and that I have little hand in it. I wish now to understand, Colonel Dacre, said Hogue.
If, upon their arrival in Queensland, you will place twenty thousand sheep in our hands for sale, at such prices, as may be then ruling, and whether by the terms of your mortgage to Mr. Dealerson, who has, of course, taken care to tie you up as tightly as he could, you have the power of disposing of so many. It so happens that I have permission to reduce the stock—I believe that's the expression—by just such a number. said the colonel, more cheerfully, and I most willingly invest you with the power of disposing of them. Then I will take upon myself to state that the Austral Agency Company will guarantee to take up your bill next coming due, and to provide you with funds to carry you over the next shearing, when we may perhaps make a more complete and satisfactory arrangement.
The colonel gazed at Mr. Hope with an expression as of one not fully realizing the effect of the words he heard with his outward ears. Then, suddenly stepping forward, he stretched out his hand, and, taking that of the younger man, wrung it silently. He retreated to his chair, where he sat down with an expression of relief too deep for words. He then left, apparently all further Transactions of the interview in the hands of the coming race. They began to go into detail a little, as if about un fait accompli. Hubert, more particularly, talking rapidly in order to cover any appearance of awkwardness on the part of his host. And now, he said, that by doing this traveling business, we hate, so to speak, Instead of standing to lose on the double event of a dry season and a panic in the money market more than any of us can afford.
If the weather breaks in February, of course, we needn't have started, but we can't lose anything, as our sheep will be regularly run after when we get them over, and at high prices too. They talk of maiden ewes being worth a pound from the shares, and Anything else, fifteen shillings, while if it holds dry for three or four months here, cheap will have to be given away, or next thing to it. I suppose I shall have to hire a lot of shepherds, said Willoughby. That would be a nuisance, won't it?
If I were you, I'd leave all that to Greenham. He's accustomed to these fellows, and knows how to talk to them on the road, which you don't. "'You'd better ostensibly be second in command of the expedition. You won't have much responsibility, and we'll be able to pick up heaps of experience. All you will have to find will be your own horses.' "'He'll arrange everything else, and keep the accounts of rations and wages, which you and I can settle when you get there.' "'I suppose there's a strong probability of a drought setting in,' said Mr. Hope. "'If not,' You will be rather premature. The more I see of the weather signs, the more certain I am that we are on the edge of another drought, perhaps worse than the last, said Hubert.
You'll see that a great many people will hang on, expecting it to break up, then making sure of getting tail end of the tropical rains, and generally trusting to the doctrine of chances until their sheep Get too weak to travel, and then—'And what then?' asked Willoughby. "'I haven't had the pleasure of witnessing a dry season as yet.' Huber smiled grimly. "'You will thank your stars the waterbury shape cleared out in time. You would never have forgotten it as long as you lived. Some squatters will lose half their stock, some two-thirds, some even more.' A man told me he lost a hundred thousand sheep in the last drought, but he could afford it. If it's going to be so bad, what will your governor and mine do with the sheep we leave behind?
For we must leave some. They will have all the grass and water to themselves, which will give them a chance, and then, if it gets very cruel, they must cut scrub and oak for them. Cut the trees down?" said Wilby, with astonishment. I never heard of such a thing. "'You'll find out everything in time,' said Hubert. "'The brave old oak has an antipodean signification here. I don't know what we should do without him in a dry time. I've no sheep kept in good condition that hadn't seen grass for eighteen months.' Before the drive back, which took place after lunch, In the midst of pathetic leave-takings between the Windigale girls and Miss Dacri, the latter young lady took an opportunity of expressing to Hubert her sincere gratitude for his organization of the opportune alliance, which was, so to speak, to raise the siege of Wontabalray.
"'It has made dearest Papa quite young again,' she said. For weeks he has not been able to sleep at night, but used to get up and go wandering up and down the garden. I really began to fear for his reason, and now he seems quite a different man. I am so happy myself at the change for the better that I cannot feel properly sorry that dear Willoughby is going away from us." "'He is going among friends, at any rate, Miss Dacca,' said Hubert. Pressing the young lady's hand warmly in the agitation of the moment. He will be well looked after. Rely upon it. I feel certain it will be for everybody's benefit in the long run. I shall always think that you and that good genius, Mr. Hope, have stood between us and Rowan, said she, and here her bright, steadfast eyes were somewhat dimmed.
If Papa does not say all that is in his heart, Believe me that we are not ungrateful. Nothing could ever lead me to think that," said Hubert, meeting her eyes with a glance which expressed more than that simple sentence, if freely translated. Whatever happens, I am more than repaid by your approval. By this time, Whalebone and Whipcord, harnessed up and having their heads turned homeward, began to exhibit Signs of impatience, which caused Linda to call out to Hubert that she was sure Whipcord would throw himself down and break the pole if they didn't start at once, which appalling contingency cut short the interview to Hubert's secret indignation. This expressed itself in letting them out with a will and quitting Guantabalry at the rate of fourteen miles an hour.
Some people would have felt nervous at proceeding along a winding narrow bush road, well furnished with stumps, at such an express train rate, but the sure hand and steady eye of Hubert Stamford. In combination with the light miles and regular, if speedy movement of the well-matched horses engendered the most absolute confidence in his driving. What do you think of bush life, generally, Mr. Hope? said Laura. After the first rush of the excitable goers had steadied into a twelve-mile-an-hour trot. And how do you like Wantobalry? I think the Wantobalry people perfect in their own way, worthy to be neighbors of Windigill. He added with a slight inclination of his head, a man could live there very happily, with one fair spirit to be his minister.
If Miss Dacker would condescend to the office, it's a lovely veranda to read in. It would be like the days of Faliba while it lasted. "'And why should it not last?' demanded Laura. "'The bush appears to me the place of all others where the feelings and emotions are the most permanent and deep-seated.' Barrington Hope fixed his eyes upon her as she spoke, with a gaze wistful and almost melancholy in its earnestness. "'Can anything endure that is fair, joyous?' dreamlike in this uncertain life of ours, he said. Is the ideal existence realized for most of us, or, if so, does it continue? You are more fortunate than I in your experiences, if such is your belief. Surely you have no reason to talk of despondency, said she, turning towards him her bright face, in which the summertime seemed idealized.
You, who have made a success in your profession, and whom everybody talks of with, I won't say admiration. It might make you conceited, but high approval. I have done fairly well, I suppose, he said. I may take it as the natural consequence of twenty years' hard, unrelieved work. I have coined my brain, my very heart's blood, for it. I will not say but that I have had My reward and improved success and high consideration. But at times a feeling comes over me of unrest and of doubt, well-nigh despair, as to the reality of human happiness, the value of success, against which I can scarcely defend myself. You have been working too hard lately. Reaction has set in. In old days, Hubert used to suffer so.
Occasionally doubting whether life was worth living, etc., but with men it is generally a temporary ailment. You must take life easily for the next few weeks, and like the old farm laborer in the village church, think about nothing. Linda and I must cultivate part singing and improve our acquaintance with Wagner now that we have the benefit of your criticism. It is a passing weakness, I suppose, he said, still. You would wonder at its intensity. But I didn't come here to bore you with my whims and fancies. One thing I shall carry away as a pleasant souvenir—that Hubert and I have been able to lighten the load on poor old Colonel Dacker's heart. "'I am charmed beyond measure,' said Laura. Hubert told me something, though he is such a close creature when he is speaking about himself that I could get next to nothing out of him.' Willoughby will be able to get the sheep away to Queensland, I suppose, with ours, and they may not be ruined after all.
They will have a struggle, but I really believe the station will pull through with Hubert's assistance and advice. If anything serious does happen at Wanda Balry, it will not be for want of all the aid that an energetic young friend can furnish. I can see as much as that. And so can I, said Laura. He could find no better or sweeter reason if he looked for a century. Linda and Hubert, according to their want and usage, were embarked in such an animated argument that it is probable they did not hear this last confidential reference. More especially as, perhaps for the greater convenience of separate converse, the speaker's voices had become somewhat lowered, and Hubert's attention was partly taken up with his horses.
The twenty miles were accomplished in less than two hours. The horses, in as hard condition upon the now partially dried summer grasses as if they had been stabled, apparently treated the drive as the merest trifle trotting off down the paddock when released from harness, apparently as free from fatigue as if they had not gone a mile. "'I must say, your bush horses surprise me,' said Mr. Hope. "'They are like Arabs of the desert.' For speed and hardihood. These two are little out of the common, said Hubert. Not plentiful here, or anywhere else. The Merry Christmas-tide was nearly spent, a season fully enjoyed in those newer Englands which are growing fast and blooming fair beneath the Southern Cross, in despite of the red summer sun and brown crisp pastures, a blessed time of rest from toil, Surcease of sorrow, gathering of friends and kinsfolk.
Barrington Hope had thoroughly enjoyed his holiday, more, he averred, than on any previous vacation of his life. There had been walks, drives, and rides, picnics to the limestone caves in the vicinity, where vast halls were explored by the light of torches. Stalactites brought home in triumph. And wondrous depths of gloom and primeval chaos penetrated. Fishing parties on the river, where, although the water trickled faintly over the gravelly shallows, the wide reaches were deep and sport-permitting. Occasional visits to Muramaw Township, their communication with the outer world, helped to fill up the term and drive away the dreadful thought. Uppermost in the hearts of the Windigil family, that Hubert was soon to lead them for the far-north land.
As soon as Christmas was well over the serious work of the year, only interrupted by this truce of God, began again with even greater energy. The industrial battle, never long pertermitted in Australia, raged curiously. So there was great mustering on Windigil and Wontabalry. Counting of sheep, and tar-branding of the same, with the traveling tea, hiring of shepherds and knockabout men, purchase of rations, tools, horses, drays, harness, hobbles, bales, bales, bales, bales, as Linda quoted. In short, the Thousand and One Road Requisites for a Long Overland Journey. Towards the end of January, Mr. Donald Reno arrived. Riding one serviceable horse and leading another, whereon, disposed over a pack-saddle, was all his worldly wealth deposited.
A keen-eyed, mild-voiced, Scottish-Australian, sun-bronzed and lean as an Arab, who looked as if the desert sun had dried all superfluous moisture out of his wiry frame. He superintended the preparations at Windigil, In a quiet, superior sort of way, occasionally offering suggestions, but chiefly leaving Hubert to manage matters as he thought fit. He also found time to go over to Wattebori, where he remained a week, meeting with apparently greater exercise for his generalship. At length the great day of departure arrived. The first flock of two thousand took the road through the North Windigil Gate. Followed by a second, at a decent interval, until the whole thirty thousand sheep passed out. Next day, the advanced guard of the Wontobalry contingent showed themselves, Greenhalgh having decided to keep a day's march between them.
Forty thousand of these came by. The fat and saleable sheep of both stations had been retained. After these had been sold in the autumnal markets, there would be but A small and manageable balance on either station. The colonel came as far as Windigill, and even a stage further, with his daughter, to see his boy off. They were dreadfully downhearted and saddened in appearance as they called at Windigill on their homeward route, but cheered up a little under the attentions of sympathizing friends. Hubert had remained behind, not choosing to follow for another week. He was already beginning to assume the air of a large operator and successful explorer. Greener can do all that business as well or better than I can, he said.
It's no use paying a man and doing the work yourself. I could catch them up easily before they kept a banditon. Then we might have had Willoughby for another week, said Miss Datter with a slightly reproachful air. I don't suppose it would have made much difference, admitted Hubert. But it is perhaps as well that he made the start with the sheep. He has a larger lot to look after. I don't know but that it's as well to have the wrench at once and get it over, like a double tooth, you know. It's the most philosophical way to look at it, said the girl, smiling through her tears, and no time can tell the comfort It has been to us to know that matters are in a comparatively favourable train. I must not weary you with protestations, but Papa and I can never adequately express our gratitude.
That could be done easily enough, thought the young man, but he said, "'At prison it's only a case of good intentions. We must wait to see how they turn out.' How will you and the Colonel get on by yourselves? Better than I at first thought. Willoughby left us our working overseer, who will do excellently to look after a smaller number of sheep. It will just give Papa exercise and occupation to help him to manage them, he says. Laura and Linda must be good neighbors, and perhaps Mr. Stamford would come over now and then and indulge Papa, with a game of whist. "'I will undertake everything,' said Hubert, "'for our people. But you and the Colonel must reciprocate. If both families make common cause till Johnny comes marching home—I mean Willoughby—you will find that time passed more quickly than you anticipate.' Those last days of a pleasant holiday time—what an element of sadness forbades them.
How swiftly they fly! Ah, me! The flowers fade, the sky clouds over as if at the touch of an untoward magician. The land of fairy recedes. The region of plain prose, of arduous effort, and heroic but dreary self-abnegation looms painfully near. Much, however, of the sombre aspect of the inevitable is relieved in early youth by the kindly glamour of high hope, and the ardent Imagination of the as yet successful aspirant. For him, the forest gloom is but the high road to the castle of the enchanted princess. The sternest tourney is more than recompensed by the smiles of his queen of beauty. The burning summer day, the drear winter night, but aids to fortune and accessories to boundless wealth. So for Barrington Hope and Hubert Stamford, The tranquil days came and went, scarce tinged with melancholy, till the fateful morn of departure arrived.
Before noon, Windy Hill was left desolate and forsaken of its heroes. Hubert fared forth along the northwest trail, bound for the sea-like plains of the lower Barrow, where the wild orange flowers bloom on their lonely sand islands, bright with glossy-leaved shrubs, where the emu Rears her brood undisturbed under the sad-hued maow that waves her slender streamers and whispers ghost-like at midnight to the pitiless desert moon. Mr. Barrington Hope, on the other hand, betook himself by rail to the metropolis, the plunge once more with the eagerness of a strong swimmer into the great ocean of speculative finance, which there heaves and seethes away. But before he departed, He had transacted a rather important interview, in which Laura Stamford was the person chiefly interested.
Had, indeed, promised to revisit Winding Hill before the winter ended.
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17 17 - Chapter 17 46:59
Read it by Matt Carrad. Chapter 17 Local critics were not lacking around Mooramaw as in other places. They failed not to make unfavorable comments upon Hubert's decided course of action. They were pleased to say That young man was going too fast, was leading his father into hazardous speculations. All this new country that such a fuss was made about was too far off to pay interest upon the capital for years and years to come. The Austral Agency Company had better mind what they were about, or they would drop something serious if they went on backing every boy that wanted to take up outside country. Instead of making the most of what his family had and helping his parents at home. As for young Dacker, he would most likely get his sheep eaten by the blacks and himself speared, as he knew nothing about the bush and hardly could tell the difference between a broken-mouthed ewe and a wiener.
Besides, the season might turn around, after all. There was plenty of time for rain yet. Most likely it would come in February, as it had. Often done before, traveling sheep was a most expensive game, and you were never done putting your hand in your pocket. Thus argued the unambitious, stay-at-home, easy-going section of society, which obtains in rural Australia, in almost the same proportion and degree that it does in English counties. In the older settled portions of the land one may discern the same tendency to overcrowding the given area with unnecessary adults, procuring but a bare subsistence, narrowing with each generation, as in Britain, where sons of proprietors are too often contented to sink somewhat in the social scale rather than forego the so-called comforts of civilized life.
The poorly paid curate, the Irish Squireen, Jacques, the laird's brother, and the French, auberule. So cordially hated by the peasantry before the Revolution are examples of this class, and in the older settled portions of Australia are to be found far too many men of birth and breeding who are contented to abide in the enjoyment of the small amenities of country-town life, to sink down to the positions of yeomen, farmers, and tenants, rather than turn their faces to the broad desert. As their fathers did before them, and carve out for themselves, even at the cost of peril and privation, a heritage worthy of a race of sea-kings and conquerors. Hubert Stamford did not belong, by any means, to the contended mediocrities.
Welloughby-Dacker was a kindred spirit, so the two young men fared cheerfully forth across the dusty, thirsty zone, beyond which lay the promised land. Hard work and wearisome it was, Innocents, but held nothing to daunt strong men in the full vigor of early manhood. The days were hot, and Willoughby's English skin peeled off in patches for the first week or two from the exposed portions of his person. But cooler airs came before midnight, and the appetites of both after long days in the saddle were surprising. The sheep, being in good condition at starting, bore the forced marches, which were necessary. Fairly well. Donald Greenhall seemed to know every creek, watercourse, and spring in the whole country, and on one fine day, Willoughby pulled up his horse and, in a tone of extreme surprise, exclaimed, "'Why, this grass!' pointing to a fine green tuft of the succulent Bromus mituli.
It was even so. They had struck the rain line, marked as with a measuring tape." Henceforth all was peace and plenty with the rejoicing flocks, which grew strong and even fat as they fed onward through a land of succulent herbage and full-fed streams. "'Well, Willoughby, old man, what do you think of this?' asked Hubert one evening as they sat on a log before their tent and watched the converging flocks feeding into camp. Marked also the fantastic summits of isolated volcanic peaks which stood like watch-towers amid a grass ocean waving billowy in the breeze. Do you think we did wail to cut the painter? How do you suppose all these sheep would have looked at Windigill and want a ball ring? They've had no rain yet, said Willoughby.
In that letter I got at the last township we passed, the governor said there hadn't been a shower since I left. It's nearly three months now, and we should hardly have had a sheep to our name by this time. There'll be some awful losses in the district, said Hubert. Men will put off clearing out till too late. My own idea is that this will be a worse drought all down the Wallroom than the last one. Our people will make shift to feed the few sheep we have left, thank goodness, And we have enough here to stop more than one run or two, either. Windigil Downs will carry a hundred thousand sheep, if it will ten. All we have to do now is to breed up. That's plain sailing. I wish we had some wantabalry downs ready to take you up, said Willoughby, regretfully.
If we hadn't those beastly bills yet to pay, we might have done something in that way, too. Wait till we've settled a beat. and have landed the sheep all safe," said Hubert. That will be stage the first. After we see that, we must go on better. Barrington Hope is a good backer, and outside country is to be had cheap just now. Events, in that sort of contrary way which occasionally obtains in this world, went forward to justify the bold policy of this confident young man, who quietly ignored his elders. and to confound the wise represented by the cautious crookers who stayed at home and disparaged him. There had occurred a drought of crushing severity but three years since, and only one good—that is, rainy season—had intervened, so rendering unlikely and in a sense unreasonable and outrageous, As one exasperated impeacher of providence averred that another year of famine should so soon succeed.
Nevertheless, the rain came not. The long, hot summer waned. Autumn lingered with sunny days and cold nights. Winter, too, with hard frosts, with black, wailing winds that seemed to mourn over the dead earth and its dumbly dying tribes. But no rain! No rain! The havoc which then devastated all the great district watered by the waroo and its tributaries was piteous and terrible to behold. Rich and poor, small and great, owners of stock fared alike. A herd of five thousand head of cattle died on Muragomorang to the last beast. Eight thousand at Wondo. John Stokes, Angus Campbell, Patrick Murphy, Struggling farmers lost every milch cow, every sheep, every horse. They were too short of cash to travel.
Their small pastures of a few hundred acres were as dust and ashes, too careless to provide a stock of hay and straw, settling all when prices were good, and chancing it. They lost hoof and horn. Mammoth squatters were short. Fifty thousand cheap. Seventy thousand. A hundred thousand. Smaller grazers, with fifteen or twenty thousand, lost two-thirds, three-fourths, four-fifths, as the case may be. Ruin and desolation overspread the land, wagon-loads of bales stripped from the skins of starved sheep. Dead wool, as it was familiarly called, were seen unseasonably moving along the roads in all directions. From all this death and destruction, Hubert's family and the Wantobalry people had been preserved, as they now gratefully remembered, by his prompt yet well-considered action.
Harold Stamford, as he watched his stud flocks, fairly nourished and thriving from constant change of pasture, which the empty paddocks permitted, thanked God, in his heart, for the son who had always been the mainstay of his father's house. While the colonel was never weary of invoking blessings on Hubert's head, and wishing that it had been his lot to have been presented with a commission in the imperial army in which so bold and cool a subaltern would have been certain to have distinguished himself. Better as it is, father," said Miss Dacker. He might have sold out and lost his money in a bad station. Except for the honor and glory, I think squatting is the better profession after all. If Willoughby only turns out successful, I shall think Australia the finest country in the world.
We shall have to live in it, my darling, for a long time, as far as I see, so we may as well think so," said the colonel. Suppose we drive over to Windigill and have another rubber of whist. Stamford plays a sound game, though he's too slow with his trumps, and Laura has quite a talent for it, such a memory, too. Many games of whist were played. Much quiet interchange of hopes and fears, discussions of small events and occurrences, such as make up the sum of rural daily life, had taken place between the two families ere the famine year ended. It left a trail of ruin, not wholly financial. Old properties had been sold. High hopes laid low, never to arise, strong hearts broken. Mourning and lamentation and woe had followed each month.
And still nature showed no sign of relenting pity. Through all this devastation, the life of the dwellers at Windigil had been comparatively tranquil, if not demonstratively joyous, yet free from serious mishap or anxiety. The tidings from the far country were eminently satisfactory, and as regular as circumstances would permit. Wendigale Downs was quoted as one of the crack stations of North Queensland, and in order to devote his whole attention to that principality in embryo, Hubert had sold his share in the first station purchased to Willoughby on long credit. All the Wontobolry sheep were there, and doing splendidly. Mr. Delamere and Willoughby were sworn friends, and whenever Hubert could give a chance to come in, Delamere would take his place at Windigale Downs and leave Willoughby in charge at the home station.
Added to this, Mr. Hope had taken over the Wanda Bolyry account, and saw no difficulty in providing for future payment and working expenses. This was good news in every sense of the word. The colonel became so exceedingly cheerful and sanguine that his daughter again asserted that he must be thinking of a stepmother for her, in which behalf She implored Laura and Linda to continue their complacence towards him, lest he should in despair go farther afield, and so be appropriated by some enterprising daughter of Heth. That is all very well, said Linda. I suppose it's a quiet way of lorning us off, but here we are living in a kind of pastoral nunnery, with no society to speak of, and nothing to do.
The atmosphere is pervaded with bouquet de merino, for though ours are all right, I feel certain I can catch the perfume of Mr. Dordell's dead sheep across the river. Now, why shouldn't I take compassion on the Colonel? I like mature men, and can bear boys. I should rather enjoy ordering a superior girl like you about. Wouldn't it be grand, Laura? I have no doubt Rosalind will grant you her full permission," said Laura, if you think such a little chit as you is likely to attract a man like Colonel Dacker. Little chit in date, said Linda indignantly. That's the very reason. It would be my youth and freshness in general stupidity, in the ways of the world, that would attract him. Oh, dear, I think of the white satin, too.
I should look so lovely in white satin with a haunted-in-lace veil and a train. Then Linda began to walk up and down the room in a stately manner, which created a burst of laughter and general hilarity. Now that Fortune had taken it into her head to be kind, she, like other personages of her sex, became almost demonstrative in her attentions. Every letter from Queensland contained news of a gratifying and exhilarating nature. Hubert had heard of some forfeited country, of which he had informed Willoughby, who, having gone out with the requisite number of sheep, blackfellows, and shepherds, had taken it up. He expected in a year or so to sell a portion of it, there being about a thousand square miles altogether, and thus helped to clear off the Watabalry account.
As soon as they got it into working order, they would sell Delamere in Dakers home station with 20,000 sheep, and put all their capital into Glastonbury, as Mr. Delamere had chosen to name the new property.
Hubert had several times been offered a high price for Windingill Downs, but he was not disposed to sell on any terms, being bent on stocking it up and improving it, so as— fully to develop its capacity. Some day, when the projected railway from Roma comes through, we'll have a syndicate born to buy it, Hubert said. In the meantime, there's a few thousand acres of freehold to pick up round old Windy Hill. All this was very well, said the dwellers in the new homes, but were the young men going to stay away forever? They might just as well be in England, surely now that the season Had changed, and everything was going on so prosperously, they could afford two or three months' time to see their relatives.
This view of the case was pressed upon Hubert's attention in several of Laura's letters. Linda was so far as to threaten that she would, in default of Hubert's paying attention, to her next letter, invent an admirer of distinguished appearance for Miss Dacker, which harrowing contingency might serve to bring back the launderer. But there be many important, and indeed indispensable duties in the new country. Men are scarce. Responsibilities are heavy. Risks abound. The captain and the first mate cannot leave the ship, be the inducements ever so great, until the anchor is down. Some day, however, the commander dons his shore-going togs, frog-coat, tall hat, Gloves, and all the rest of it, and goes in for a little well-earned enjoyment.
So, as again the summer days drew near, word came that matters had so molded themselves that Hubert and Willoughby were on the homeward track. The home station of Delamere and Dacre had been sold to Mr. Jinks and Newboy with Thirty-three Thousand sheep at a satisfactory price. Vede, the Aramac Arrow, As the energetic proprietors had concluded to concentrate their capital upon their magnificent, newly-taken-up property of Glastonbury. Mr. Delamere was to locate himself thereon, in the absence of his partner, while Donald Greenhall would be left in charge of Windingale Downs, now pretty well in working order. Hubert and Willoughby would come down from Rockhampton by steamer, to Sydney, and might be expected to be home in a month or six weeks at farthest.
This promise they faithfully carried out, and by a remarkable coincidence Mr. Barrington Hope arranged to have a short holiday and come up to Windigale with them. There is a little true happiness in the world, however hard-hearted materialists and cynical poets affect to deny the fact. There might have been an approximation in other young persons' lives, to the state of blissful content in which the two families were steeped to the lips on the arrival of the long-absent heroes, but no conceivable satisfaction here below could have exceeded it. The colonel kept walking round his son, taking in every personal detail with unflagging interests, for hours and hours, as Miss Dacker averred. She was positive he never took his eyes off him except when he retired to bed for a whole week afterwards.
Laura and Linda declared Hubert had grown bigger, taller, handsomer, older—in short, had in every way improved. Miss Dacker, when called upon to confirm the decision, seemed to have a slight difficulty in putting her opinion into suitable form, but it was understood to be, on the whole, favorable. At any rate, the object of all this affectionate interests had reason so to believe. Mr. Barrington Hope was surprised to find both home stations alive and kicking, so to speak, after the terrific ordeal which they had undergone. But, as he remarked, understocking was a more scientific mode of management than most squatters would allow. It was many a year since the paddocks on either station had looked so well.
As to the non-wole-bearing inhabitants, he was lost in astonishment at their brilliant appearance after the deprivation of so many of the comforts of life. "'We were sorely tempted to go away to Sydney during the worst part of the drought,' said Laura. "'Father gave us leave at the end of one terrible month,' when we had not tasted milk, butter, or any decent meat. But as Mr. Dacker and Hubert were living on salt beef and pig's face, Mesembryanthemum, when last heard from, and risking their lives as well. Moreover, as Rosalind wouldn't hear of leaving the Colonel, we determined to bear our share of discomfort also. I declare I do quite nice and thin, said Linda, who was sometimes uneasy about a possibly redundant figure.
Mine was just what the old novelist used to call a slight but rounded form. Laura and poor Rosalind fell off dreadfully, though no vegetables either. We were reduced to eating an onion one day with positive relish. Father said it was medicinally necessary. Good heavens, if I had had the least idea that matters were so bad, said Mr. Hope, glancing at Laura with a look of the tenderest. Compassion. I should have insisted upon everybody migrating to Sydney and come up in person to take charge or done something desperate. I should indeed. That would have been a last resource, said Hubert, laughing. Fancy the Austral Agency Company with the manager ruralising at such a time. That would have caused a financial earthquake, which...
would have been more serious than the absence of milk and butter, and a short supply of vegetables. Never mind, it was only a temporary inconvenience. Much to be lamented, doubtless, but everybody looks very nice, notwithstanding. I suppose we can put up with the old place for a few weeks longer, interposed Mr. Stamford. After Christmas, as we've all been such good boys and girls, I think we're due for another trip to Sydney. I want to see the pantomime, for one. Miss Dacker requires change of air. I'm not sure that the climate of Tasmania or Melbourne wouldn't brace us all up after the rather, well, not particularly exciting life we've had for the last year. Oh, you dear old father, said Linda, you're a man of the most original ideas and splendid ingenuity.
You've divined our inmost thoughts intuitively. With such a prospect before them, the members of both families endured the unmistakably warm weather which generally precedes Christmas with philosophical composure. Indeed, so extremely contented were they with the existing state of affairs that Linda vowed it was hardly worthwhile going away at all. This unnaturally virtuous state of mind was, however, combated by the majority. who possibly had reasons of their own for desiring to wander for a season far from their usual surroundings. For early in the first week of the new year, the Muramah Independent and Wauru Isle and Bundabrahama Advertiser contained this wildly interesting announcement. Marriages.
On the third January, by the Rev. Edward Chalfont at St. John's Church, Muramah, Hubert, eldest son of Harold Stamford, Esq. of Windigill, to Rosalind, only daughter of Lieutenant Colonel Rupert Dacker, of Wantoborri, late of Her Majesty's Eighty-Third Regiment. At the same time and place, Barrington, second son of Commander Collingwood Hope, Royal Navy, to Laura, eldest daughter of Harold Stamford, Esq. of Windigill. These momentous events were not wholly unexpected. It may be imagined how the church at Muramah was crowded on that day. It was not a particularly small one either, having been built mainly through the exertions of an energetic young clergyman, who did not allow himself to be discouraged by the fact that a considerable debt thereon still remained unpaid.
So there was not a seat, or half a seat, to be had inside. While a much larger congregation than usual stood around the porch and entrance doors. School children strewed flowers on the pathway of the happy brides, and none of the usual ceremonies were omitted. As it had not rained for three months, and apparently was not likely to do so for three more, the old-world proverb, Happy is the bride that the sun shines on, received most literal fulfillment. However, The near prospect of ocean breeze and plashing wavelets sustained them amid the too ardent sun rays. Hubert, as a local celebrity, came in for a certain amount of guarded approval, and, in spite of the misgivings with which his Napoleonic policy had been regarded, it was concluded that he looked twice the man since his departure for foreign parts.
Rosalind Dacre, Quietly, though becomingly dressed, on that account was thought to have scarcely paid due and befitting regard to her serious and sacred duty as a bride. But as to Laura, there was no thought of disbrace, or any, the faintest doubt. Universally admired and beloved, the flower of a family not less popular than respected in the district. Each one in that crowded building seemed to take a personal pride in her day of maiden triumph. Barrington Hope, radiantly happy in enjoying the prestige of a distinguished stranger, also received the highest compliments of the spectators by being declared to be worthy of the Belle of Muramah. The happy couples departed by train to Melbourne en route for Tasmania, that favored isle where the summer of Britain is reproduced with improved conditions of assured fine weather, A less inconvenient proximity to the Pole.
There, annually do the desert-worn pilgrims from the tropic north and central wastes of the Australian continent resort for coolness, greenery, and agreeable society as to the Garden of Armida. Thus, in those rare intervals, when they were not engaged in gazing on the perfections of their brides, Were Hubert Stamford and Barrington Hope enabled to indulge in a little pioneer talk, and to listen to far-off echoes from the wild scenes which the former had so lately quitted? Mr. and Mrs. Stamford, with Linda, remained for a few days longer before they took wing for the metropolis, leaving behind the colonel and Willoughby, who elected to remain at home in charge of both stations. They arrived in Sydney, just in time to take leave of their friends, the Grandisons.
Chatsworth had been let for a term of years, and preparations were complete for their going to live upon one of the station properties. The fact is, my dear fellow, said Mr. Grandison, that my wife and I have resolved to take these younger children up into the bush and live there quietly with them till their education is finished. We must try, if possible, to bring them up in an atmosphere untainted by fashionable folly and excitement. It has been the ruin, at least I think so, of the older ones. Now that Josie has married—what Josie married? exclaimed Mr. Samford. I never heard of it. You astonish me. Married, indeed, said Mrs. Grandison, who now joined them, and a pretty match she has made of it.
Not that there's anything against the young man. He's two or three years younger than she is, except that he's rather stupid and hasn't an idea of anything except billiards and betting that I can discover. As he's only a clerk in an insurance office, he has just enough to keep himself and not a penny for a wife, unless what her parents give her. The sort of young fellow I never shall be able to take the slightest interest in, said Mr. Grandison. Not bad-looking, I suppose, but quite incapable of raising himself a single step by his own exertions, or aspiring to anything beyond a sufficiency of cigars in an afternoon lounge in George Street. Of course you tried to prevent the marriage, said Mrs.
Stamford, but it's too late now to do anything but make the best of it, for poor Josie's sake. Mr. Grandison turned away his head, as his wife said, in a tone of deep feeling. The silly girl went and was married before the registrar. She knew we could not approve of it, and took that means of being beforehand with us. Her father won't see her yet, but of course she'll have an allowance, and we must help them if he keeps steady. But it nearly broke our hearts. You may believe. We see all these things too late, said her husband with a sigh, which he tried bravely to repress. If we had brought our children up with other ideas, or placed before them higher objects of ambition, a different result might have been reached, over and over again.
Have I cursed the day when we left the bush for good? For good, indeed, and came to live in this city of Shams, no worse than other places, I believe, but all this artificial town-life. While not too good for older people is ruin and destruction for young ones. What a fortunate man you've been, Stamford, though, in our selfish grief, I've forgotten to congratulate you. It is the goodness of God, he replied, warmly grasping the hand which was silently held out to him. My children have never given me a moment's anxiety. We have been sheltered, too. From the temptations of the world, and so far from the deceitfulness of riches, I can never be sufficiently thankful. "'That won't last long,' said Mr.
Grandison, with an effort to be cheerful. "'People tell me that Windigal Downs is going to be the finest sheep property west of the Barcoo, and Hubert's reputation as a pioneer is in everybody's mouth now. He managed to pull the Colonel's investment out of the fire.' Well paid for it, too, by all I hear. Give our love to Laura. She must live in Sydney, I suppose. Now she's married a businessman. A rising fellow, Barrington Hope, and one of the smartest operators we have. Hi ho! Time's up. We shall meet again some day, I hope, when I have a better story to tell you. Mrs. Stamford was sincerely grave to hear of this latest misfortune of the Grandison family. She could hardly forgive Josie for the insincerity and ingratitude with which she had acted.
However, said the kindly matron in continuation, perhaps it is not so bad as they are disposed to think. They're dreadfully disappointed, of course. If the young man's character is good, he may get on, and of course Mr. Grandison will help them by and by. It will do Josie good to have a house of her own to look after. and to be obliged to save and contrive. The girl's heart is not naturally bad, I believe, but she has been spoiled by over-indulgence and extravagance ever since she was a baby. A poor marriage may be the best thing that ever happened to her. Oh, Harold, should we not be deeply grateful for the mercy of Providence in so ordering our lives that until lately we have never had any money to spare and self-denial?
has been compulsory. "'Hm,' said Mr. Stamford, musingly. "'No doubt. Too much money is one form of danger, of moral death, which the devil must regard with great, great complacency. Few people take that view, though.' "'I am very glad we have never been tried in that way,' said Mrs. Stamford, simply looking up into her husband's face. I have pitied you, darling, when I have seen you tormented and anxious about money matters, but we have always been very happy among ourselves, even when things were at their worst. There is no chance now, I suppose, of our affairs going wrong. These Queensland stations are quite safe. Quite safe, my dearest wife, answered Harold Stamford, with a pang of remorse at his heart, as he imprinted a kiss on the falling face.
which had never looked into his save with truth and love shining in her clear eyes. Safe as a bank, or suppose we say as Australian Debitgers. I don't mind affirming that nothing, humanely speaking, could materially injure our investments now. I am glad to hear that, for the dear children's sake, she answered. If their future is secured, that is everything. Before the close of the summer, a naval squadron cruising in Australian waters, strange to say, happened to need partial refitting in Sydney Harbour, and entering that picturesque haven anchored as usual in Farm Cove. In one of the delicious sea-girdled nooks of Neutral Bay, it so chanced that Mr. Stamford had rented a furnished villa for the season.
The ladies were wont to use the telescope, In close inspection of any strange vessel that approached. Wonderful to relate, it appeared that the frigate, which on a previous occasion had been the ocean home of Lieutenant Fitzhurst, was even now among the graceful war hawks, which, after battling with storm and tempest, were, so to speak, furling their pinions under Linda's excited gaze. There may or may not be a new system of marine telegraphy, but— The fact comes within my experience that naval men have exceptionally prompting means of discovery upon arrival in port whether the ladies of their acquaintance are in town, and if so, where they abide. It so chanced, therefore, that upon the following afternoon a gig left HMS Vengeful, and with eight able seamen pulled straight for the Derrenbach jetty.
Landing the lieutenant and a brother officer who, making their call in due form, betrayed great anxiety for the health of Mr. and Mrs. Stamford and the young ladies during their long absence from Sydney. They were also politely astonished at the news of Mrs. Stamford's and Hubert's marriages. Indeed, the recital of the family news, presumably as conveyed by Linda to Mr. Fitzhurst, in full, During an examination of the greenhouse lasted so long that Mrs. Stamford looked several times from the window, and the gallant tars in the boat referred to the protracted absence of their superior officers in unqualified Saxon terms. What more is left to tell? It would appear that there might have been a previously implied, if unspoken, confession between the young people.
Reference being permitted to Stamford and satisfactory credentials for coming. It was arranged that an engagement should be officially allowed, hope being cautiously held out by that wary diplomatist, that, in the event of the coveted step being attained, the full concession might be thought about, which decision gave unqualified satisfaction, Linda being, as she averred, willing to wait for years, Indeed, rather glad on the whole that separation and delay were necessary so that she might have time to think over and thoroughly enjoy her unparalleled happiness. With the autumn came the returning travellers. Hubert declaring that he dared not stay away another week from the downs. Frightful consequences might happen.
Mr. Hope and Laura, preparing to inhabit the comfortable abode, which, for a few years to come, they had agreed to would be commensurate with their means. Something was said about Mrs. Hubert Stamford, remaining at Wantobolry with her father while her husband went forth again on his task of subduing the waste. But that young woman replied promptly with the opening words of an ancient family record, "'Where thou goest, I will go.' In reference to the possibly rude architecture of their abode, she declared that if Hubert had only a packing-case to live in, She, being his wife, thought it her duty to live there with him. After this, of course, there was no more to be said, and the Catathon, sailing soon afterwards for the uttermost northern port, had in her passenger list the names of Mr.
and Mrs. Hubert Stamford and Serpent. From this time forth, the star of Stamford family was manifestly in the ascendant. For not only did their undertakings flourish, and the sons and daughters of the house grow in favor with God and man, but everyone bound to them by the ties of kindred or friendship prospered exceedingly. The debt on Wantebawry was cleared off in due time, while the Glastonbury thorn seemed to have taken deep root in the northern wilds of the far land to which it had been carried, and to bring a blessing upon the dwellers around its sacred stem. The colonel lived rather a solitary existence at the home station, after Willoughby had departed again for the north, but he got into the way of going to Sydney for the summer, where the Australian club afforded him congenial society with a certainty of comradeship at the nightly whist table.
Mr. and Mrs. Hubert Stamford returned after a year's absence, the latter, though having lost something of her English freshness of complexion, By no means delicate of health, and very proud of the infant herald, whose steadfast eyes and bold brow marked him out as a future pioneer. Neither were sorry to abide with the colonel for a season, and Hubert threw out hints about the far north, being too hot for any white woman, although Rosalind would rather die than admit it. She's the pluckiest little woman in the world, I believe, he said. Didn't she wash and cook for me and Donald the whole month we were without a servant? I believe she'd have kept the station accounts, too, if we'd have let her.
But I don't want to run risks. Mr. and Mrs. Stamford, being more impartial observers, were of opinion that a change would be beneficial to both the young people. Hubert was too thin to satisfy the maternal eye. She believed that he had never Properly got over that horrid fever and ague attack. And of course, Hubert would never give in, but really, as the boy had done so well, wouldn't it be a nice time for them to run home for a year or two? The station was settling down, and as Mr. Greenough had been taken into partnership, surely he could manage things for a time. It would benefit Hubert in every way, and as he had never been home, Of course, they would like him to see a little of the world.
Something of this sort may have occurred to Mr. Stamford, but he had refrained in order to permit his more cautious helpmate to propose the extravagant notion. He shook his head oracularly, said he would think over it, and, if it was decided, mind, if after due consideration it turned out to be feasible, he thought it would do Barrington and Laura a great deal of good. too. Barrington would knock himself up if they didn't mind. He was such a terribly constant worker, and so conscientious that he did not permit himself the relaxation that other men in his position would have claimed. "'What a splendid idea!' exclaimed Mrs. Stamford. "'My dear Harold, you always seem to hit upon the exact thing we have all been thinking of, but have hesitated about mentioning.' It will be the saving of Barrington, and, as for Laura, the great dream of her life will be fulfilled.
I know she almost pined for Rome and Florence, but she told me once she did not think they could afford it for some years to come. "'I can afford it, though,' said Mr. Stamford, with pardonable exultation. Things have prospered with us lately, and what have we to think of in this world but our children's happiness?' Barrington shall have a cheque for a thousand the day their passage is taken. As for Hubert, he can draw one for himself now, thank God, without interviewing his banker. Mrs. Stamford was an economical and intelligent woman as to her household accounts, but she had the vague idea of business common to her sense. She knew in a general way from her son and husband that the stations were all paying and improving in value, So she accepted the situation without further inquiry.
When her husband, therefore, spoke of drawing so large a check for travelling expenses, she was not alarmed, as she would once have been, at the idea of paying a tenth part of the amount, but regarded the apparent profusion of money in the family as a consequence of the higher standard of pastoral property which they had been so wonderfully guided to reach. Hitherto has the Lord helped us." She quoted softly to herself. "'May his mercy be around our paths and shield those who are dear to us from every evil.' The news that a trip to the old country was not only possible but considered expedient, and in a sense necessary, came with the effect of a delightful surprise upon both couples. Hubert had, in a hazy, contemplated way, been revolving the idea but had not thought it likely that it could be arranged in less than three or four years.
But now, brought face to face with the idea, he found it to be unexpectedly practicable.
There was no very complicated work or management necessary for two or three years. Donald Greenhall, who had now a fourth share, was fully able to superintend the ordinary station work. Fencing Branding the increase and selling the fat stock were operations which he could conduct as well as, in a sense, better than Hubert could himself. In case anything happened to him, and such things have occurred ere now, disastrously for the absentee partner, there was Willoughby, with whom he could leave a power of attorney on the spot. All that was wanted was to increase the cattle herd from five thousand head to twenty, and that would not half-stock the runs. The sheep, of course, were right. One man of experience could see to that process nearly as well as another.
Barrington Hope, too, urged by his wife, who was fully of opinion that he worked too hard, also that a purely sedentary life was drawing fresh lines upon his brow and prematurely aging him, pressed firmly his claim for a lengthened vacation. To that end, A relieving manager was appointed to take his place during his absence. When he found that Mr. Stamford's liberality was about to take such a pleasing form, he was indeed surprised as well as gratified. That gentleman felt it necessary to make a slight explanation as to his private means, but he merely mentioned that he was now possessed of certain family funds not available at the time of their first acquaintance, and could therefore well afford the outline.
As for Laura, it seemed as if the old days of nursery tales had come back. The fairy godmother had arisen and gifted her with a precise form of happiness, previously as impossible as a slice of the moon. It had long been the wish in her heart to behold, to wander amid those historic relics, those wondrous art creations, those hallowed spots with which her reading and her imaginative faculty had rendered her so familiar. It was her favorite dream for middle life. When years of self-denial and steady industry had wrought out the coveted independence, then the journey into the land of ancient fame, of wonder, mystery, and romance, was to be their reward. But to think of its being vouchsafed to them in their youth before the stern council of middle age, with its slower heart-currents, had warned them that the years were slowly advancing, Fated to carry with them the best treasures of life.
And, oh, gracious destiny, and the full tide of youthful feeling, of the joyous, exulting sense of happiness born of the unworn heart of youth, now to bestow on them these all-priceless luxuries. It was more than wonderful. It was magical. Who were they to have so much undeserved happiness showered upon them? Hubert and Rosalind would join them, perhaps depart in England for a while, but they would roam the continent together. They could in company gaze upon the dead giantess, Rome, the city by the sea, even Venice. Resting under the shade of German pine forests, they could listen to weird legends beneath the shadow of the Hortz Mountains. Oh, joy, glory, peace, unspeakable. What an astonishing change!
in their life history, and to think that in less than a month, so it had been ordered, they would be saying farewell to the land of their birth. It was felt by the colonel and Willoughby to be an unfair stroke of destiny that Rosalind, the cheap joy and glory of their life, should be spirited away to Europe. But her father also considered that, when in Queensland she was virtually as far from his canon, While the pleasures and advantages procurable from the former locality bore no comparison with the latter. There was an unspoken wish also on the part of the elder relatives that the Australian contingent should enjoy the inestimable advantage of beholding with their own eyes the wonders of the other hemisphere, of forming an alliance by personal experience with the glory and the loveliness, the literature and art of the ancient world, To endure in memory's treasure-house till life's latest hour.
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Barrington Hope could hardly realize the fact, till he found himself actually on board of a mail steamer, that he would have no business cares for the next two years—a whole elysium of rest and recreation. For this respite, from the figure-and-fact mill, Laura was deeply grateful, sensible as she had been for some months past, that the calculating machine was working under occasional effort. When the Hubert Stamfords and Hopes bestowed themselves on board the Lahore, the last triumph of the Peninsular and Oriental Company, one would have thought all Sidney was coming to say farewell, Such was the congregation on the deck and in the magnificent saloon of that noble vessel. Of course, the Colonel and Willoughby, Mr.
and Mrs. Stamford, and all their Sidney friends, turned out on purpose to see them off, as the phrase is, according to British etiquette on such occasions. Other people, friends, and relatives, had come to say farewell to their wives and daughters, sons and sweethearts. Thus many a saddened countenance and tearful eye were to be noted as the great steamer moved slowly astern and then glided at half-speed down the harbor. Other safe and pleasant voyage, of fast friends and congenial acquaintances made on board and parted from with regret, what need to speak? Of the entrance to Fairyland, which the first few months sojourn in the dear old island, so closely resembles for home-returning Australians.
Of the stories of information acquired, of the intoxicating luxury of mere existence under such conditions, of the transcending of all anticipation and belief, Barrington Hope and Laura remained in Europe for the full term of their holiday two years. But six months ere that period closed, Hubert and his wife became impatient to return to their life-task in the Southland, too satiated with mere sensuous enjoyment to remain longer. "'We are young and strong, thank God,' said Hubert. "'It's not as though we did not see our way to be back here again within a reasonable time. But my work lies in Australia.' And I can't settle to this kind of easygoing life just yet. When Windigil Downs is in thorough working order and fully stocked, we can treat ourselves to a run home every five years or so without feeling uneasy about the seasons or anything else.
So we'll just take our passage by the next boat and wake them up at Morima once more. I'm ready, dearest, said his wife. "'With you, I think our work is only half done, and the sooner we commence life in earnest, the better. We've seen picture galleries enough to last us for the next few years, and I begin to pine for sight of my dear old father and Willoughby, poor boy. I wonder how they are getting on at Wantobalry.' Once more, the family circles were replenished, irradiated by the old love and tenderness In the persons of the wanderers, once more grateful hearts were full to overflowing, and humble thanks were offered up to the supreme power which had permitted their happy reunion, in spite of perils by land and sea.
The thousand chances of danger and death which had irrevocably marred less fortunate households. All had gone well in their absence. Linda and her sailor love had been made mutually happy, and through the exercise of judicious local interest, Captain Fitzhurst, as he was now proudly styled by mankind and his adoring bride, had secured a colonial appointment involving naval duty, but not forbidding the occupation of one of those delightful marine residences of which Sidney boasts so many perfect specimens. Donal Greenhalgh had amply justified the confidence bestowed on him. The stations were growing and flourishing to the fullest extent of sanguine expectation. Willoughby had developed into a stalwart bushman, properly bronzed and duly experienced in all pastoral lore.
The seasons out back had been good. Nothing was wanting of all the conditions of permanent prosperity. Of all the members of the two families so happily united and thankfully enjoying their unwonted success, universally admired and envied, Mr. Stamford alone seemed to be laden with care, at times abstracted and preoccupied, silent and grave amidst the family hilarity, at whist, striking out confusing lines of play for which no precedent could be found. Such was his departure in general behaviour from the ordinary, cheerful and equable habit, that his wife and children commenced seriously to fear that the unwanted prosperity had turned his head, or that old anxieties had induced morbid action of the brain.
The colonel shook his head as he delicately alluded to the melancholy fact in a walk with Rosalind. It would grieve him to the heart. Didn't think, really, he could stay on at Watabauri. That a man who could lead from a weak suit and play the Queen of Hearts when the King was still in petto must be suffering from incipient softening of the brain was patent to him. The fact was that Mr. Stamford had come to the conclusion that the time had arrived when it was necessary to make a clean breast of his secret, and he did not like the idea at all. When the matter was buried in his own breast and in that of Mr. Worthington, than whom his own iron safe was not more reticent of office secrets, it did not, like other hidden deeds, appear so frightful.
But now, after all these years, to be compelled to tell his wife and children, who believed that they shared every thought of his heart, that he had carefully, willfully, Artfully concealed from them the knowledge of their true position. He could hardly stand up and face the idea. What if his children should resent this want of all confidence? Would his wife think that all her love and trust deserved a different return? Mr. Stamford wiped his heated brow and thought the position unendurable. Still, the motive was a good one, a pure one, even practical. And how had it worked? The result might not have directly proceeded from the means employed, but still everything had followed for which he had hoped and prayed.
His children had not shrunk from any test of self-denial, of fortitude, of continuous industry rendered necessary by the apparent narrowness of their fortunes. True, they were at the same time actuated by filial reverence and family love, swayed by the tenets of that religious teaching which from their infancy had been unwaveringly inculcated. But could these influences have been sufficiently strong to counteract the strong currents of ease and pleasure, the soft zephyrs of flattery, the clinging weight of indolence, all urging towards the wreck-strewn shore of self-indulgence, when once the fatal knowledge should be acquired? That all cared for the morrow was superfluous? Who shall say? Had not the fate of his friend's family, the melancholy failure of even his modest aspirations for social distinction, been as a beacon, light, and a warning?
As it was, every noble feeling, every desire to spare no effort, either of mind or body, which could tend to raise the fortunes and to lighten the hearts of those so dear to him, had been stimulated and intensified in his son and heir by the sharp urgency and weight of the alternative. His daughters had emulated their mother's virtues, and with uncomplaining patience had endured isolation, monotony, plain living, and sparing apparel. For this they had had their reward, doubtless, but would all these fragrant flowers of the soul Have thriven and bloomed in the ungenial soil of luxury and the indolence born of unwanted, uncounted wealth? Whatever had been his sin of omission or commission, could he barely be chargeable with apathy as to the welfare of his children?
For them, and in their interest, he has driven in every conscious hour from that of their birth until now. For them he had toiled and endured hardness, had hoped and prayed, for their welfare in this world and the next was his every waking thought engaged. Other than these, had he no pleasure worthy of a name in the latter years of the life now approaching, slowly but still approaching, the inevitable close. He had, it was true, chosen an unusual mode, but withal an intelligible, Course of Action. Looking at the question in all its points, and pushing the reasoning on either side to its conclusion, Mr. Stamford began to find his position more tenable than he had expected. After all, he had only done in life what most people did in death—reserved the distribution of his fortune until a later period for the eventual benefit of his children.
Thus fortified, Mr. Stamford, having made up his mind, As the phrase runs, resolved to communicate the terrible secret fully and finally to his assembled family that very evening, being averse to spoiling another night's rest with a burden of thought, the weight of which had become so oppressive. It happened that the Colonel and Willoughby were at Windingale, so Mr. Stamford rightly judged, that it would save all after-trouble of explanation if he made his budget speech When nearly all concerned were present. Partly in deference to the colonel's habitudes and those of the European travelers, the fashion of a late dinner had been revived at Wendigill. Everybody had been unusually cheerful. The never-failing fund of continental or English experiences had been drawn upon over the walnuts and the wine, or rather, when grapes and peaches were receiving attention.
Hubert had been laughingly threatening Rosalind with a dozen more years of Queensland life, when Mr. Stamford stood up and remarked that—the time has arrived when he felt it his duty to make a statement which had been, for reasons of his own, postponed, perhaps unnecessarily so. However, it deeply concerned the interests of all present. Directly or indirectly, and, as he said before, the time had come for him to explain—he might say, disclose the, ah, ah, affair. Here, Mr. Stamford, who was not a fluent speaker, became aware that, though he had not furnished a particularly accurate termination to his last sentence, he had, at all events, sufficiently puzzled—not to say alarmed. his audience. He therefore filled his glass and sifted slowly, while Mrs.
Demford looked wistfully at him. Laura gazed with fully opened eyes, in which might be observed a slight glimmer of dread. Hubert waited calmly for the next words, and Mr. Hope and the Colonel politely preserved a studied indifference. Rosalind took the cue from her husband, and betrayed no uneasiness by word or gesture. "'My dearest wife, my children, my friends,' the speaker proceeded, "'what I have to tell you is rather of a pleasing than of an alarming nature. The only awkwardness of my position arises from uncertainty as to whether I ought to have said what I do now several years ago. I can truly assert that it is the only secret I ever kept from my dear wife, or even from my children, since they arrived at years of discretion.' Here, everybody's face expressed different degrees of amazement.
The orator continued. The leading fact is that I am a much richer man than is generally supposed. Hear, hear, from the colonel. In a year we all remember well, as you will see, by the date of this letter I was left one hundred and seventy thousand pounds, or thereabouts, by a relative. You do not forget the dry year in which we were so nearly ruined? We recovered our position chiefly through the well-considered, safe, yet liberal action of my dear Saint-Noir, Barrington Hope. The gratitude I felt for the way in which he then acted, strictly consonant as it was with the proper business principles, is still warm and fresh in my recollection. Here, Laura's eyes, sparkled. Immediately after this comparative good fortune, I received this letter, which told me of a bequest beyond all hope or expectation.
It rendered me a rich—a very rich man, as fortunes go in Australia. Circumstances which then came under my observation caused me to doubt whether a sudden accession of wealth would act beneficially. Upon the as yet unformed characters of my darling children. Up to that period their dispositions, their principles, had been all the fondest parent could have wished. Why, then, run the risk of an alteration, necessarily for the worse? Would they so continue under a total change of conditions and prospects? I felt doubtful, judging from analogy. So deeply was the danger to them. At such a critical period of their lives borne in upon me that I took time to consider my course of action. Finally, after deep thought and earnest prayer, I resolved to withhold the important intelligence to permit them to remain in ignorance of aught, but a gradual relief from threatened ruin.
In short, I elected to live our own life, gradually modified and developed, Until, in course of time, their characters had acquired maturity, with that strength to resist all ordinary temptation, which I hoped and trusted the coming years would bring. My secret was none to but one man, our trusted legal adviser and friend, Mr. Worthington. Meanwhile, I proposed judiciously to improve our mode of living, and to provide by degrees such indulgences as befitted our apparent position. You can judge whether I have kept the promise which I then made to myself, whether our cherished ideal of plain living and high thinking has been reached. Here Mrs. Stamford approached her husband and placed her hand in his, amid the silent astonishment which pervaded the company.
I have only known to say that all things shape themselves in every respect as I could have wished. I am the happiest and proudest father this day in Australia. I can trust my beloved children in ripened manhood and womanhood with the full knowledge of their altered position, and I ask their forgiveness, and that of my dearest wife, for the apparent want of confidence involved in this, my first and last secret, as far as they are concerned. Here, Mr. Stamford resumed his seat. and looked round vainly for any sign of descent. Before other comment was possible, his wife turned towards him with a countenance expressive of the purest tenderness, the most loving and perfect confidence. "'My darling husband,' she said, "'you lay too much stress on the reserve necessary for your purpose.
As the head of the family, you had a perfect right to give or withhold the information.' Have you not always considered the best interests of us all? You might have taken me into your confidence, perhaps, but no child of ours would dream of questioning your action in this or any other matter. Could we have been happier with all the money in the world? And so say all of us, my dear old governor," said Hubert, walking round to his father's chair and shaking his hand warmly, a proceeding which was quickly followed by Barrington Hope, Willoughby and Colonel Dacker. I should never have stuck to my collar or been half the fellow if I had thought years ago that work or play was optional with us, would never have tackled the things that now I feel proud and happy to have carried through, never had such a little wife, most likely, either.
In her name, in all our names, I thank you from my heart for what she did. Laura's arms had been, for some moments, round her father's neck. Her feelings were too deep for words. Her tears were those of relief and gratitude. The colonel made an opportune diversion by expressing a hope that his esteemed friend's whist would now undergo a beneficial change. His sudden deterioration of form had, he confessed, caused him, the colonel, great uneasiness, even alarm. Now that the murder was out— and his breast unburdened of its dreadful secret, he felt confident they would return to their former most enjoyable social relations. As a friend, a father, and an antagonist in the King of Games, he begged to be permitted to congratulate him most warmly and sincerely.
End of Plain Living by Rolf Boulderwood