Part 12

He led the way across the untidy yard. The shed was a half-open place, tenanted by a dray, two ploughs, a harrow, sundry old iron, and a calf. The calf was tied to the wheel of the dray, and at the moment was strenuously objecting to take nourishment, which 'Possum, seated on a wheelbarrow, was endeavouring to administer by means of a baby's bottle. The efforts of the calf to withdraw were frustrated by the combined muscles of Bertha, young Bill and little Polly, who held it firmly in position and talked to it in good plain terms. The calf, however, was obdurate, and at last 'Possum gave up the attempt.

"Oh, let him go!" she said, without noticing the new-comers. "I wouldn't mind if it was on'y his feed, but it's his med'cine as well. We'll hot it up after a bit, Bill, an' try him again."

"Might as well try 'n' pour milk into a gate-post!" said young Bill, disgustedly, prodding, with a bare toe, the calf, which had lain down thankfully on its straw. "Brute! I dunno how Daisy come to have such a mis'rable little runt of a thing!"

"Jolly careless of her," said 'Possum. "Now you just turn me round, an' wheel me up easy, Bert. Don't go an' pitch me out, like you near did comin' down!"

"Let me help," said Tom, stepping forward. Every one jumped, and 'Possum turned a lively pink.

"Sorry," she said gruffly, looking at her bandaged feet, which were thrust over the edge of the wheelbarrow, "I'm lame, like the silly ass I am, so the kids have to wheel me round--that fool of a calf won't drink for Bill, but he gen'lly-as-a-rule will for me. Don't you bother, Mr. Macleod; Bert can get me up all right."

"I don't believe Bertha's half as good in the shafts of a barrow as I am!" Tom retorted. "I've been broken in ever so much longer than she has; I wouldn't trust her not to kick!" Which pleasantry reduced Bertha to suppressed giggles, until she grew alarmingly red in the face.

Tom wheeled the barrow up the steep yard, and paused at the kitchen door. It was a dark, low room, lit only by one small window; but it was spotlessly neat and clean. A rough home-made sofa, from which a coarse rug had been flung back, stood under the window.

"Is that your camp?" Tom asked, indicating the sofa. 'Possum nodded, looking more wretchedly uncomfortable than before.

"If--if you'n' missus 'ud go into the front room, I can get to it," she muttered, crimsoning.

"You can't walk, 'Possum?" Aileen put a hand on her shoulder.

"No, but I can manage." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Please do take the boss away!"

"I say!" said Tom unhappily. "It isn't fair to shunt me like that, 'Possum." He turned to the silent children. "How did she get to the barrow, Bill?"

"Crawled 'n' rolled," said young Bill briefly. "An' it hurt her like fury."

"Well, you aren't going to crawl and roll this time," said Tom, with decision. "And you can't sit in that barrow all day. Now you just behave yourself, 'Possum; I'm going to make believe you're Garth. You've no idea how handy I got as a nurse when he was ill."

Without giving her time to make any further protest he lifted her gently and carried her across to the sofa, putting her down as easily as though she had been a featherweight, and arranging the rug across her knees. He talked fluently all the time, without looking at her.

"This is a sort of hospital day for us," he said. "You've been trying to drown yourself and fill the lake with cold pork, and the Missus has been setting broken legs until her brain reeled. And Garth has been cook and bottle-washer, and what the family would have done without him I tremble to think. He even made Horrors hurry, and I guess you know what sort of a job _that_ would be, 'Possum! Horrors showed signs of swooning from overwork and brain-fag by the time Garth had finished with him. The missus will tell you all about it. Now I'm off to talk to that calf, with Bill. Come along, Bill. I don't think the calf likes a crowd any more than I do when I've medicine to take." He took the calf's rejected bottle, to which 'Possum had clung instinctively, and went out, Bill at his heels.

"Jus' fancy him carryin' me like that!" 'Possum uttered, her eyes shining. "Ain't he the limit! Oh, you were good to come, Missus!"

"Of course we had to come," Aileen said, shaking up a cushion, and putting her back upon it gently. "Wasn't our station-manager ill!"

'Possum's pale face expanded in a delighted grin.

"Oh, I'm all right," she said. "Leastways, nearly! Me laigs'll be on strike for a few days, they say."

"No chill?" Aileen asked. "Are you truly all right, 'Possum, dear?"

It was not often that a word of endearment came in 'Possum's way. Her eyes, as she raised them to the tall girl bending over her, had something of the utter devotion of a dog.

"Lor, I dunno how to be ill!" she answered. "Don't you bother about me, Missus. If it wasn't for me silly old laigs I'd be as right as pie. I was a bit tired, but I slep' in this morning--never opened an eye till eight o'clock! Nice state the place 'ud get into if I was to do that often."

"And your father?"

"Oh, he's pretty right. Looks a bit washed out, but he's gone off to Coffey's to try an' get another pig. Did they tell you 'about it? Wasn't it rotten luck losin' that other one? He was a real good pig, too!"

"We might have lost you," Aileen said. She bent and kissed the girl lightly on the forehead. A swift wave of colour dyed 'Possum's face, and she caught Aileen's hand and held it tightly for a moment.

"Now we're going to have tea with you, and I'm going to help Bertha get it," said Aileen cheerfully.

"It ain't fit for you--we on'y got enamel cups," said 'Possum unhappily. "An' goodness on'y knows what there is to eat. To-day's bakin' day, by rights, but of course nothin's got done. Have we got any butter, Bert?"

"You've probably pounds and pounds, but I brought some over, just because I was so painfully proud of its colour!" said Aileen, beginning to unpack her basket swiftly. "It wouldn't 'come' last night; I churned it until my arm wouldn't churn any more, and then I hung it in the well all night, and attacked it again at six o'clock this morning. Then it came quite meekly. It's the only way to deal with it in summer, isn't it?" The butter emerged, firm and yellow, from a wrapping of wet cloths and cabbage leaves. "Put that meat in the safe, Bertha, like a good girl--it's a great day for flies. Polly, that's cake; you unwrap it, and if you don't say it's a good cake, I won't be friends with you. Now we'll have scones to try my butter. What have you eaten to-day, 'Possum?"

"Well, I ain't had much feelin' of fancyin' anything," 'Possum admitted. "I tried me porridge, but it was too hot; this ain't much of a day for hot things, is it? You can't eat much on a blazin' day like this."

"She won't eat nothin'," said Bertha, in a high, miserable voice. "I tried an' tried, an' fried her an aig, an' it wasn't any good. Leastways, the aig was good, but she wouldn't eat it. I dunno what to do with her."

"We brought you some of my jelly, and you've just got to eat it," said Garth happily. The jelly glass came from its jar of wet salt, with its contents clear and golden and quivering. 'Possum's eyes rested on it hungrily.

"Now!" said Garth. He demanded a teaspoon of Bertha, and advanced upon the sofa, jelly in hand, and looking ridiculously like his father. "Just you behave yourself, and eat this!"

"It's lovely!" 'Possum whispered to him gratefully.

Aileen, after the first glance, did not look at the sofa. 'Possum never liked eating with an audience--but Garth did not count. He leaned against her, chattering in his eager little voice; and the jelly was disappearing. So Aileen busied herself with Bertha and Polly, making tea and buttering scones. Everything was ready when Tom loomed in the doorway, with young Bill at his heels.

"Bill and I think you people don't understand calves," Tom announced. "You don't take them properly. That fellow leaned up against us, and kissed us, and drank his bottle like any other nice, well-behaved baby. Now Bill and I want ours--don't we, Bill?"

Bill chuckled deeply, casting adoring glances at this cheerful person, who might be "a gent," but nevertheless treated him as a man and a brother. Garth brought the jelly-glass triumphantly to the table.

"She's eaten every bit!" he cried.

"That's lovely!" said Aileen, and smiled at her. "Now she's going to eat my sponge cake and tell me if it isn't good." She took it to 'Possum's side, with a cup of tea, and turned an empty box into a bedside table; and they were all very merry, and ate enormously, while 'Possum nibbled her cake and watched Aileen's smallest movement, and sighed now and then with a content that not even bandaged, aching feet could take away.

"You will take care of yourself, won't you, 'Possum?" Aileen said, when the time came for good-byes. They had all washed up together, and Tom had insisted on sweeping the kitchen, to the great anguish of mind of the sisters O'Connor. "Don't try to walk too soon; and promise to get Bertha to rub you twice a day. You will, Bertha, won't you?"

"My oath!" said Bertha, firmly. "No matter what she says!"

"That's quite right," said Aileen, laughing. "And hide her clothes, Bertha, if she tries to get about before she should!"

"I'll plant 'er boots," said Bertha. "That'll fix 'er!"

Young Bill had helped Tom to put in Roany, and the buggy waited, with the O'Connor family in extended order to bid them good-bye: 'Possum watching from her window, while Bertha helped to stow the empty basket under the seat and tuck in the dust-rug; and Polly was at the gate of the yard, her curls shining in the sun, and ahead, Bill, on a bare-backed pony, careered across the paddock to let down the sliprails. It was something like a Royal Progress; and from the shed came a loud "Ma-a-a-a!" as though in farewell. It was the calf!

*CHAPTER XIV*

*A BOATING HOLIDAY*

"Dad!"

"Yes?" Tom Macleod paused in his task of staking peas, and looked inquiringly at his little son.

"It's a lovely day," Garth said, conversationally. "Isn't it?"

"It is. Did you come out to tell me that?"

"Well, not exactly," Garth hesitated. "Only, it _is_ a nice day. And mother and I were thinking we hadn't had any fish for ages. And we thought it wouldn't be any wonder if the motor got indigestion again, through not being used!"

Macleod grinned.

"You and mother are a pair of old conspirators, and I am your unhappy victim!" he said. "This means, I suppose, that I am to stop earning both your livings and play about in a silly motor-boat all day!"

"You know it isn't a silly boat--it's a beauty!" Garth protested. "And it isn't waste of time, 'cause we'll catch such a lot of fish that it'll save the butcher's bill no end. And there's meat-pies to take out for lunch: mother made 'em yesterday, and they're lovely!"

"I never heard a more convincing set of reasons," Tom said. "Well, if I don't come I suppose you and mother will go off by your wild lones, and eat all the pies, so I suppose I'd better be meek. I say, though, what about bait?"

"'Possum and I caught a lovely lot of shrimps yesterday," said his son demurely.

"Oh, did you? I'd like to know was it the sight of your shrimps that made mother make the pies, or the sight of the pies that sent you after shrimps?"

"It wasn't neither, truly," Garth answered. "She made 'em while I was away. She says it was a brain-wave!"

"I have noticed mother have that species of brain-wave before," said Tom, staking vigorously. "Well, I'll come; but I must finish this row first. Even to catch fish and eat pies I won't leave my precious peas to trail in the dust. Peas are money, young Garth!"

"I'll help you," Garth said eagerly. "If I hand you stakes you'll get on ever so quicker."

"True for you," said his father. They worked together until they came to the end of the row, and Tom stood up, glad to stretch his aching back.

"People with long cheap backs like mine ought never to be asked to double them up," he remarked.

A grey horse and a flapping blue skirt came into view, mounting the hill towards the house.

"There's 'Possum!" Garth-cried. "I wonder would she come with us? May I ask her, Dad?"

"Yes, of course," Tom answered. Garth shot across to the garden gate, and he followed more slowly.

'Possum had lost all outward traces of her accident, except that she walked a little stiffly, and was not yet capable of any hard work. She did as much as possible in the saddle; but for the most part her father had suddenly put down his foot where work for her was concerned--the result of a conversation with Aileen--and the girl was experiencing a most unusual holiday. It almost troubled her: leisure had so little come her way. Now, her father performed all her rough tasks; and Bertha and young Bill gathered the fruit and vegetables, and prepared them for market, while Polly and little Joe tended the fowls, fed the broods of baby chickens, and gathered the eggs. As a kind of favour, 'Possum was permitted to market her produce--with Bill or Bertha as attendant, to jump in and out of the cart and carry the loads into the houses. 'Possum did not enjoy it. "I ain't used to being a lady," she said.

She fell back thankfully on the Macleods; and there were few days when she did not ride up to the cottage on the hill--to potter about the farm with Tom and Garth, and look at the crops and the stock, or to watch Aileen as she worked in the garden or in the house. Aileen was busy with a good deal of sewing in those days, most of which she was careful to conceal when she heard 'Possum's step. One day 'Possum surprised her in the act of working at some pale pink print, and laid her hand gently on the stuff. "Your things is always so pretty," she said wistfully. Whereat Aileen smiled, and remarked vaguely that pink was a good washing colour.

To-day 'Possum professed herself as very willing to join the fishing party: and they set off happily, laden with baskets and quart-pot, to the boat-shed, where Tom dealt mysteriously with the motor. The launch was only a tiny one, fitted up by Mr. Gordon for his fishing expeditions: five or six people filled it comfortably, and it drew so little water that it could be run into the shallowest of bays and creeks. Tom settled 'Possum and Aileen comfortably in the stern, and Garth took up his usual position, as far out of the bow as he could hang his small person with safety. Bran whined distressfully on the shore. Ordinary boating-trips were permitted him; but to bring leaping fish into the boat upset all his calmness, and sent him into such paroxysms of barking that when fishing was part of the programme he had been condemned to remain at home. Garth sorrowed over it, and talked severely to him on the subject of gaining more sense: orations which Bran heard with respect, but which had so far produced no effect.

"Orders, please, ma'am," Tom said, looking up from the digestive apparatus of the little engine. "Where do you want to go?"

"I want to explore this arm of the lake," Aileen replied promptly. "You know, we have never been up to the end, and we've always planned to do so. We might get some fishing in the pools, 'Possum says; and if we don't, we could go down to the lake itself after lunch and fish in earnest. Does that meet with your worshipful approval?"

"Sounds very jolly," Tom said. "All right, then, we'll go exploring first. Ready?"

They slid away from the little jetty, and turned up the arm of the lake. It was like a river pushing itself in among the hills. Near its outlet it was wide, and on stormy days there was a choppy sea at its mouth; but as it wound its sinuous course inland it grew smooth and tranquil and even narrower, save that now and then at a sudden turn it broadened into a deep and quiet pool. Then it would wind away again, each time seeming the last, until at length it narrowed to nothing, and the blue water vanished in a tangle of driftwood and rubbish brought by the slow tide to the end of its tortuous journey.

They swung round bend after bend. Gum and wattle trees bordered the water: and sometimes they came to a little clearing, where a settler's cottage stood, trim and neat in its setting of orchard and garden, with fowls pecking contentedly near the homestead fences, and perhaps barefooted children running about. One such clearing led to 'Possum's home, though the trees hid the house; they passed the little jetty where lay the sailing boat which had so nearly cost two lives--little the worse apparently for its long immersion. Two fishermen had towed it in next day and righted it--empty of all spare gear, but without damage. 'Possum gave a little shudder as she looked at it.

"No more sailing for me just yet awhile!" she uttered. "I seem to have lost me taste for it!"

They went on and on, winding and twisting through the forest, which grew thicker and thicker. Often it seemed certain that they had come to the end, as they entered a pool with no apparent outlet; but, as they glided farther, the water opened before them in another bend, and yet another, and another. Deep fern gullies came down to the water's edge, dark and beautiful, and full of the chiming of bell-birds: and sometimes they heard the quick swish and crack of the stockwhip bird. They landed in one gully, where 'Possum said she had twice seen lyre-birds: and by great good luck, and patiently sitting on a log for twenty minutes, they actually caught a glimpse of a pair of the queer, shy birds, dancing solemnly on a mound, uttering strange sounds.

"They're copyin'--they're just born mimics," 'Possum whispered. "Listen--they've heard a sawmill somewhere!" And indeed the sounds were nothing but the harsh rip of a saw through timber. They changed in a moment to the yap of a dog: which so enchanted Garth that he fell bodily off the log, and the lyre-birds promptly disappeared.

"Well, you are a goat!" said Tom.

"I just am," Garth admitted penitently: "I don't know what made me overbalance. I'm sorry."

"Well, you hadn't much log to lie on," Tom said, relenting as he looked at the tiny limb where the small boy had been perched. "Can't be helped, at all events."

"You had jolly good luck to see 'em at all," 'Possum said. "I been about the Bush all me life, an' I haven't seen 'em half a dozen times. But that gully's always a haunt for birds--nobody hardly ever goes there. Look--there's a blue wren."

"Oh!--the lovely thing!" Aileen breathed.

He was certainly a lovely thing--a proud little person of black and enamel-blue, with a blue cap and a deep-blue tail nearly as long as his whole body. He was very busy, strutting happily about the ground or fluttering from twig to twig with a rapid flight that made him look like a glancing jewel. Finally he perched on a bough and broke into a little song as exquisite as himself: and then dashed off in a great hurry to find his mate.

"What a jolly little chap!" Garth uttered.

"He's a dear, ain't he?" 'Possum said. "An' his little mate's as plain as he's pretty, but she's a dear, too. Look--there's a couple of honey-eaters!" She pointed out a pair of dainty black and yellow birds, hanging head downwards under a patch of eucalyptus blossom. They had long, curved, slender beaks, in and out of which darted busy tongues ending in little brushes that swept the honey from the flowers.

"But they're exquisite!" Aileen uttered. "I didn't know we had anything so lovely."

"There's dozens of different sorts of honey-eaters, an' they're all lovely," 'Possum said. "Some day we'll go out, will we, Missus, an' spend a whole day watchin' birds?"

"I would love to," Aileen said.

"Bert came home from school once, an' said they'd been reading a bit o' poitry by some bloke that said Australian birds hadn't any songs," 'Possum said, with disgust. "Well, I s'pose a bloke has to be clever to write poitry, but I don't reckon he knew much about Australia. I wouldn't ask anything better than our own of magpie singin' in the early morning, or the thrush, or that little blue wren, or any of the warblers--an' there's dozens an' dozens of others.. Even the ol' butcher-bird can sing a fair treat. I reckon he was a silly bloke, don't you?"

Aileen ventured a mild defence of the poet.

"I don't think he meant that we have no songbirds," she said. "I think he only tried to say that some of our handsomest birds were songless."

'Possum tilted her nose.

"Well, people that make up poitry have a right to be careful," she said severely. "Kids in schools pay an awful lot of attention to what they say, an' it's up to them not to lead 'em wrong!" After which Aileen defended no more.

They went back to the boat, and journeyed on, presently coming on a new sight for the Macleods. A blacks' camp stood on a natural clearing near a creek that ran down into the lake-arm: a rough "wurley," built of interlaced boughs, with a bit of sacking hanging down for a door. Hot as the day was, a little fire smouldered between two big stones. The only person visible, at first, was a tiny black baby, tumbling about on the ground without a rag of clothing; but as Tom stopped the engine, the sacking over the door was lifted, and a man and a woman came out. They were young, and the woman was not bad-looking, and her dress was fairly neat; but the man was an evil-looking creature, ragged and slouching, with a furtive, unpleasant gaze.

The woman picked up the baby, and they came down to the water's edge, looking curiously at the boat and its occupants. The man held out a rough boomerang he was making, and offered it for sale.

"I've no money with me," Tom said. "Would you like it, Garth? I can tell him to come to the house to be paid, if you would."

"Don't you!" said 'Possum, in a quick whisper. "It ain't worth buyin'--those fellers don't know how to make a decent boomerang. They're on'y sham things, made to catch silly visitors----" She pulled herself up, and turned scarlet. Tom laughed.

"Bless you, 'Possum, I always get truth from you," he said. He shook his head at the man. "No, thanks," he said; and the black fellow looked surlier than ever. The woman uttered a quick jabber of words that included something about "bacca."

"Oh, they can have that," Tom said. He took a piece of tobacco from his pocket and tossed it to the man, who caught it deftly, his heavy face lightening for a moment. Then the boat chugged her way onward, and they lost sight of the little clearing.

"'Fraid I was a bit rude that time," said 'Possum. "But if you once let one of those fellers come to your house, you're never free of them. They'll turn up at any hour and want tucker and baccy; an' what's more, they'll tell their friends, and you'll have them callin' too. And they'd steal the very clothes off your back. Nothin's safe from them--the washin' out on the line, an' the chickens, an' the things in the shed. They're a caution when they take to hangin' round a place."

"But won't they come in any case?" asked Aileen.

"Oh, they may, of course. But they're queer people; if once they're told to call at a place they seem to think they've got a hold on it for keeps, an' they'll come back for years an' years."

"Where do they live, 'Possum?"