Part 1

Produced by Al Haines.

*'POSSUM*

BY

MARY GRANT BRUCE

Author of "Glen Eyre," "Mates at Billabong," "Norah of Billabong," "Jim and Wally," etc., etc.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO

To My Mother

*CONTENTS*

I The "House Beautiful" II Breaking Bad News III Gordon's Farm IV Into the Unknown V The Home-Coming VI A Day in the Country VII The Riding of Jane VIII Rain--And a Friend IX "Maggie or Something" X 'Possum Takes Hold XI Farmers in Earnest XII Sailing XIII Amateur Surgery XIV A Boating Holiday XV Santa Claus and Clothes XVI A Little Boy XVII 'Possum Becomes a Pupil XVIII The Regatta XIX The Order of Release

*'POSSUM*

*CHAPTER I*

*THE "HOUSE BEAUTIFUL"*

The trim suburban garden blazed with flowers. Over the porch at the gate mandevillea hung in a curtain of fragrant white, and an archway over the path that wound through the close-shaven lawn was a miracle of Fortune's yellow roses--gold and rose and copper blended gloriously. There were beds aflame with "bonfire" salvia, and others gay with many-hued annuals. Gaudy tulips reared splendid heads near a great clump of arum lilies that fringed a tiny pool where little Garth Macleod's solitary goldfish swam in lonely state. Everywhere there were roses; in standards in the smooth, well-kept beds, or trained along the wide verandas, forming a screen of exquisite blossom. Their sweetness lay like a charm over the garden.

It was a hot spring afternoon. Tom Macleod, digging busily in a corner, pushed his Panama back from his flushed face, and stood erect for a moment to ease his aching back. As he did so a motor whirred to the gate, stopped, and a stout little man hurried up the path, waving a capable hand towards the shirt-sleeved worker across the lawn.

"Hullo, Doctor!" Macleod called.

"See you presently, Tom," was all the doctor vouchsafed him. He disappeared behind the roses on the veranda, and Macleod returned to his work with a furrow between his eyes that had not been there before. From time to time he cast half-impatient glances towards the house, whence no sound issued. Finally, with a hasty movement, he plunged his spade into the soil, and went with long strides across the grass--meeting, at the step, the doctor, who plunged out of the house like a plump Jack-in-the-box.

"Oh!" said Macleod vaguely. "How's the kid?"

"The kid? why, going on first-rate," said the doctor, laughing. "Can't a man stay five minutes talking to his patient's mother without your making up your mind that the kid must be dying?"

Tom Macleod grinned a little shamefacedly.

"The last three weeks have rather unsettled my nervous system, I believe," he said. "I didn't know I had one until Garth took to trying to die. You needn't be so superior, old man. I believe the little beggar shook up yours, too!"

"Well--it hasn't been too jolly a time," admitted the doctor. "One doesn't like to see a nice kid suffering: and Garth and I are old chums. Anyhow, he's better. Come and sit down; it's an extraordinary thing, but I have time for a cigarette."

He went with quick, short steps towards a bench under a drooping pepper tree, Macleod following with his long, easy stride. No two men could have been a greater contrast: the short, plump doctor, with his humorous, ugly face, which every child loved at the first glance, and the tall, lean Australian, clean-limbed and handsome--almost boyish, but for a certain worn expression, and for the lines of anxiety which his boy's illness had graven round his eyes and mouth. They lit their cigarettes and stared at each other.

"On the rare occasions when you announce that you've time to smoke, I have noticed that you generally have something to communicate--probably unpleasant," said Macleod. "What is it, old man?"

"I wish you weren't so observant," said the doctor; "it's disconcerting. Well, I _have_ something. It isn't exactly new: I hinted at it to you six months ago. Now I've got to speak plainly."

"You mean----?"

"I mean that if I had a boy like Garth I wouldn't run the risk of trying to bring him up in a city," the doctor answered. "I haven't been satisfied with the little chap for a long time. His constitution's all right--there's nothing radically the matter. But he doesn't thrive. You've seen that for yourself, Tom."

"Yes--I've seen it," said the father heavily. "Of course, we've kept hoping he would grow stronger. As you say, there seemed nothing really wrong, and he's pretty wiry----"

"If he hadn't been wiry I could not have pulled him through the last three weeks," Dr. Metcalf said. "You may thank your stars he's wiry."

"If he hadn't picked up this unlucky illness----"

"Well--I don't know," said the doctor. "I'm inclined to think you may yet consider it a blessing in disguise. You might have gone on pouring tonics and patent messes into him, and hoping he'd improve. You can't do it now. It's up to you and Aileen to give him every chance, if you want a strong son instead of a weakling."

"That's final?" Macleod asked.

"That's my considered opinion. I know your difficulties, old man. But I know you don't value anything in the world beyond Garth. Take him to the country; let him live out of doors, and run as wild as a rabbit; give him unlimited fresh milk--not the stuff you buy out of a can--country food, and pure air: let him wear old clothes all the time and sleep out of doors--and in a year I'd stake my professional reputation you won't know him. Keep him in a Melbourne suburb, and I won't be answerable for the consequences."

"That's pretty straight, anyhow," said Macleod.

"I mean it to be straight. I haven't known you since you were at school to mince matters with you now. And I'm fond of the kid: I want to see him grow into a decent man, with all the best that is in him given a fair chance."

"We've tried to do that," Macleod said. He looked round the glowing garden. "It's such a jolly home, and he does love it."

"It's one of the jolliest little homes I've ever seen, and it's going to hurt both of you badly to leave it," the doctor rejoined. "The trouble is, it is too jolly. You have made yourself a little Paradise inside the tallest paling fence you could build, and you've shut out all that lies outside that fence--miles on miles of teeming streets, packed and jammed with people. You're in the midst of grass and roses and things, with a sprinkler going on your tulips, or whatever those rainbow affairs are--and you don't think about the street outside, dry and baking, with a hot wind swirling the germ-laden dust about--blowing it probably upon the meat and fruit and milk you'll buy to-morrow. The air comes to you over thousands of houses, clean and dirty, and thousands of people breathe it. You've got to get where there's no second-hand air."

"Great Scott!" ejaculated Macleod. "Will you tell me how any children manage to live at all?"

"It's a special dispensation of Providence that most youngsters don't die from germs," said the doctor, laughing. "I'm aware that the infantile population of Melbourne is pretty healthy, but it's always a mystery to me how children in any big city survive their surroundings. After all, Melbourne's cleaner than most places. However, there is only one among its hordes of kids that is interesting you and me at the moment, and that's Garth. You've got to get him out of it, Tom."

"When?"

"As soon as you can make your arrangements. I know you can't do that in a moment, but, of course, he could not be moved just yet. When he is strong enough Aileen could take him somewhere until you were ready. But get him to the country. His poor little head is full of stories and make-believes: let him forget what a book looks like, and introduce him to a pony. By the way, it's going to be enormously good for you and Aileen, too."

"Is it?" Macleod asked, smiling grimly. "I'll worry along somehow, though I know mighty little of anything outside a city. But it's rough on her, poor girl. She just loathes the country--hasn't any use for scrub and bad roads, and discomfort generally. I'll never be able to get her a servant--there aren't any, I believe, once you get more than a mile from a picture theatre. And she has never had to work."

"Don't you worry your head about Aileen," said the little doctor, rising. "She has her head screwed on the right way--and women have a way of doing what they've got to do. She can imagine herself her own grandmother, fresh out from England, and tackling the Bush as all our plucky little grandmothers did. Pity there are not more like them now: we live too softly nowadays, and our backbones don't stiffen. But you'll find Aileen will come out all right. In a year you'll all be blessing me. When you come to think of it, I'm the only one to be pitied. I'm going to miss you badly." There was a twisted smile on his lips as he wrung his friend's hand. "Good-bye: my patients will be calling down maledictions on my head if I don't hurry."

Macleod saw him into his dusty motor and watched it glide down the hot street. Then he turned and went back through the scent of the garden, instinctively making his footsteps noiseless as he crossed the veranda and entered the house.

It was a trim house of one story, with a square hall where tall palms gave an effect of green coolness. An embroidered curtain screened a turn into a passage where, through an open door, could be heard the sound of a low voice reading. A childish call cut across the soft tones.

"Is that you, Daddy?"

"That's me," said Macleod cheerfully, if ungrammatically. "Are you sure you ought not to be asleep?" He entered the room and smiled down at his little son.

"A fellow can't sleep all day," Garth said. "'Sides, I needn't sleep so much now. Doctor says I'm nearly well, Daddy."

"That's good news," said his father heartily. "We'll have you out in the garden soon, and getting fat. The tulips are blossoming, Garth, and your poor old goldfish is awfully lonesome. He says even Bran doesn't go near him now."

"Bran is too busy nursing his master," said Garth's mother, looking at the rough head of the Irish terrier curled up on a chair beside the boy's bed. "We'll all get out together in a few days, and find out all the beautiful things that have happened in the garden since we were there. Won't it be lovely, Tom?"

She leaned back until her head touched her husband--a tall, pale girl, with lovely features and a mass of fair hair that glinted like Garth's when the sunlight fell on it, and eyes as blue as violets. Her long hands, blue-veined and delicate, lay idly in her lap, one finger keeping open the book from which she had been reading. She was like an exquisite piece of china--fragile, to all outward appearance, and dainty; graceful in every line. Tom Macleod looking down at her, felt as he had felt ten year' ago, before they married, that he must let no wind blow upon her roughly.

Now he had to tell her that they must go away, away from the ordered comfort of city life, which was all that she had ever known, to whatever the country had in store for them. Even for himself, always a townsman, the prospect carried something of dread, as do all unfamiliar prospects. But he knew that, whatever hardships the Bush holds for a man, it is hardest on a woman.

Garth was chattering away, oblivious of his father's grave face.

"Doctor says I can talk as much as I like," he proclaimed happily. "And he says I'll be perflickly well in a little bit, and then Mother can take me down to the sea. And she says she will, didn't you, Mother? And then you can come down for week-ends, Daddy. Or do you think the Office would give you a holiday, like it did the time we went to Black Rock?"

"It might," said his father.

"Do make it," Garth begged. "It would be so lovely, Daddy--and you could teach me to swim." His little thin face, for which the brown eyes were so much too large, was alight with eagerness. "Bran'll come too--he loves going away, doesn't he? D'you know, Daddy, I think Bran was just cut out for a country dog! He's so awful interested when he gets away from the streets."

"I'm not sure that that's not very good taste on Bran's part," said Macleod: and at something in his tone his wife looked up sharply. "What do you think about it yourself, Garth?"

"Oh, I just love the country," Garth answered. "You get so tired with streets--they all look alike, nothing but motors and dust. The Gardens are jolly, of course, and so's Fawkner Park; but they're not the same as the real country. D'you remember the time we went to Gippsland for the holidays? Wasn't it lovely? I always felt when we went out walking that we might meet anything whatever--fairies, or Bunyips, or--or all sorts of things!"

"But you never did, I suppose?"

"N-no," Garth admitted. "But I used to pretend I did, and that was fun. And I truly did see some rabbits and a wallaby, only the people at the farm weren't a bit pleased when I told them about the rabbits. Mr. Brown said he'd rather see a gorilla on any of _his_ land. Isn't it a pity rabbits are such damageous things, Daddy? Anyhow, I used to pretend that all the really bad fairies had got locked up inside rabbits, to do as much mischief as ever they could, until they got good again. But Mr. Brown said that if ever he heard of a rabbit getting good he'd eat his hat."

"Seeing that Brown told me he'd just spent two hundred pounds netting his land against rabbits, you couldn't expect him to love them," Macleod said.

"Two hundred pounds is an awful lot of money, isn't it?" Garth asked innocently. "But you've got heaps more than that, haven't you, Daddy?"

"Not as big a heap as I would like," his father answered. He walked across the room and stood looking out of the window, his eye wandering over the well-kept garden. A lucky legacy had enabled him to buy his home just before his marriage: now he wished with all his heart that he had not spent so much, in the years that followed, in making it nearer and nearer to their hearts' desire. They had built a room here, a veranda there: had installed electric light and cooking power, electric fans and electric irons--had filled the house with every modern device for ease and comfort. His salary was good: there was no need for economy. He had lavished it on the garden they loved, until its high walls enclosed, in truth, a little paradise. Their personal tastes had been expensive: stalls at the theatres, little dinners at the Savoy, races, dances, bridge parties, had all been commonplaces in their happy, careless life. Best of all had he loved to dress Aileen beautifully. "When a fellow has the loveliest wife in Australia, it's up to him to see that she's decently rigged out," he would say, bringing home a fur coat, a costly sunshade, a piece of exquisite lace. He hardly knew how much his own clothes, quietly good, had cost him: Garth had been the best turned out boy in the neighbourhood. Their servants, well-paid and lightly-worked, had kept the household machinery moving silently on oiled wheels. There had seemed not one crumpled petal in the rose-leaves that strewed their path.

The trained nurse entered softly, bearing on a little brass tray Garth's tea-service--dainty china, painted with queer, long-necked cats.

"This is the first day I've felt really int'rested in tea," Garth proclaimed cheerfully, wriggling up on his pillows. His mother moved quickly to help him, slipping a wrap round the thin little shoulders. Then a gong chimed softly from the hall, and she turned to her husband. Her fingers lay on his shoulder for a moment.

"Tea, Tom."

"Oh, all right," he said, and turned from the window. "So long, old son--eat a big tea."

"I'll eat a 'normous one, if Nurse will only give it to me," Garth said, eyeing his tray hungrily. "Mind you do, too, Daddy. And come back soon."

"I will," Macleod said. He smiled at the eager face as he followed his wife from the room.

*CHAPTER II*

*BREAKING BAD NEWS*

It was one of Aileen Macleod's whims that she liked to brew her own tea. A copper kettle bubbled busily over a spirit lamp on the tray as they entered the drawing-room, and her husband flung himself into an arm-chair and watched the slim, beautiful hands busy with the silver tea-caddy and the quaint, squat teapot. Neither spoke until she came to his side with his cup.

"I beg your pardon, dear," he said, trying to rise. She kept him back, a hand on his shoulder.

"You've been working: why shouldn't I bring you your tea?" she said, smiling at him.

"Because I ought to be looking after you," he rejoined. He was on his feet with a quick movement, took her by the shoulders laughingly, and put her into a big chair, bringing tea and hot cakes to a tiny table beside her.

"There!" he said. "No: you want another cushion. Now lie back, sweetheart, and rest; you're ever so much more tired than you'll admit, even to yourself."

"Being tired doesn't matter, now," she said. "Nothing matters, now that Garth is safe. But it's nice to be bullied." She smiled at him, with a little restful movement, then took up her cup. Over it she looked at him questioningly.

"Dr. Metcalfe _is_ quite satisfied, Tom? What were you and he talking about for so long?"

"Oh, he's quite satisfied with the boy's progress," Macleod answered. "He says you and he can go away quite soon. We--we were just yarning." Something tied his tongue; she looked so tired, and yet so peaceful. He would not tell her just yet.

Aileen opened her lips to speak and then closed them again. They talked idly of the garden, the tulips that were just blossoming, and the new roses, until tea was over and a silent-footed maid had removed the tray. Macleod lit a cigarette, and lay back in his chair.

"Tell me, Tom," she said quietly. "I know there is something more."

He was silent for a moment, looking at her. She was very pale, her breath coming quickly.

"Don't bother about anything now," he said. "We've got the little chap back; and you're dog-tired. You mustn't worry about anything."

"Don't you see--when I don't know, I think it's Garth!" Her voice broke, almost in a cry. "Tell me--quick!"

He was on his knees beside her in a flash.

"What a fool I am!--it's all right, my girl. Garth's quite safe. Only we've got to go away--to leave all this and take him to the Bush. He'll grow strong if we do. But I didn't know how to tell you."

His wife gave a long sigh, and put her face down on his shoulder.

"Oh-h!" she said. "I thought it was something that really mattered!"

"My girl!" said Macleod huskily. For a while they did not move. Then she put him away from her gently, and looked at him with steady eyes.

"I suppose I shall wake up some morning--perhaps to-morrow morning--to realize that it's quite large and important," she said. "But at present it seems the smallest thing, because all that really counts is that Garth is safe. Tell me all about it, Tom."

"Metcalfe won't answer for him if we keep him in town," he said. "If we take him right into the country for a few years he will grow into a strong boy. Therefore, as the Americans say, it's country for ours."

"Of course. What will happen?"

"We'll sell or let this place," he said, watching her face keenly for some sign that the blow was telling. But there was no change in its eager interest, and he went on.

"I must send in my resignation at the office. They'll be nice about it, of course: probably they'd always try to find a berth for me, though it would not be as good as this one. That will leave us with the little bit of private income we have and whatever we get out of the house. We might live on that, after a fashion. But if we've got to go into the country, I'd rather see if we can't make something out of the land."

"But we don't know anything about it."

"Not a thing," Macleod agreed. "But I don't believe it's so awfully complicated: surely a man of reasonable common sense can learn. And look at the alternative--living in some beastly cottage in a township, with not a thing to do. I don't think I could stand it."

"I'm sure I couldn't," said his wife. "Of course you'll learn--look at all the stupid people who do well out of land. Quite stupid people: and your worst enemy can't say you haven't got brains, Tom!"

"I make you my best bow," said her husband solemnly. "You're very encouraging, ma'am! I'll try to live up to your high estimate of me. But what seems to matter more is that I think I've got enough muscle."

For the first time a shadow of doubt came into her eyes.

"I don't want you to be worked to death," she said. "Will it be very hard for you, Tom?"

He broke into a short laugh.

"Hard for _me_! Do you think it matters the least little bit about me? But it maddens me to think what it's going to mean for you. Do you realize that it means no more fun, as we've always counted fun? no more outings or gaiety, no pretty clothes? any sort of a home, and mighty little comfort? We--we won't have much money, Aileen."

"We'll have enough to--to _live_, won't we?" she asked. "To buy food, I mean?"

"Oh, there'll be enough for that. But we'll have to scrimp in a hundred ways. I don't know that we can even keep a servant for you, though I don't suppose, for that matter, that there are any to be had in the Bush. I wouldn't mind that so much if I could help you: but I'll have my own work outside, and it will keep me going. I've never let you work, Aileen," he ended wistfully.

"No, you haven't," she said; looking at him gently. "If ever a woman was thoroughly spoilt it's your wife!"

"I couldn't have had the face to marry you, if it had meant that you would have to work," he answered. "How could I, when you'd never done any work in your life?"

"I don't know that that is a very creditable record for a woman," she said reflectively. "I've often thought my life was too soft a one; only you have made it so easy to be lazy, Tom."

"You're not lazy," he defended her hotly. "Look at all you have on hand--your music, the garden, the home--do you think it's only servants that have made us our 'House Beautiful?' You've charities, and Women's Leagues--and Garth. It seems to me you're always busy."

"They're all very pretty things to play at," she said, laughing. "All except Garth: he is a solid reality. Now I'm going to discover ever so many other realities. Don't worry about me, Tom, dear. It's going to be an Awfully Big Adventure, but we'll get through somehow."

She smiled up at him. Something like a great weight lifted from Macleod's heart.

"You aren't afraid?" he asked.

Her face grew grave, and for a moment she did not answer.

"I never knew what fear really meant until Garth was ill," she said, at length. "One says one is afraid of lots of things; but you get right to the terrible depths of fear when you think your child is dying. And it teaches you that nothing else matters. Now that Garth has come back, and I can hold him again, nothing else even seems serious. I suppose a month ago I might have felt scared at the idea of cooking and scrubbing, but now I feel as if I could do it, and sing. You understand, don't you?"

"Yes, I understand," he answered. "It's hard to imagine anything else troubling us, if the kid's safe. But will we feel like that in a year's time? in six months? The sharp edge of thankfulness will have worn off then, but the cooking and scrubbing will remain."

She nodded.