Part 13

"Those people have most likely been in one of the settlements--Ramahyuck or Lake Tyers. The woman's dress looks like it: she'd never be as neat as that if she hadn't been in a mission station. They treat 'em jolly well there--give 'em decent little cottages to live in, an' just enough work to keep 'em going. But they always break out now an' then, an' one or two'll clear out to the Bush an' camp for a while. They'll go back when the cold weather comes--or before that, if they aren't pickin' up enough food. An' they don't much mind where an' how they pick it up, I can tell you."

"Why wouldn't you let Dad buy the boomerang, 'Poss?" asked Garth.

"I'd make you a better one meself," 'Possum answered. "It's really only the old men who know much about either makin' or throwin' boomerangs: none of these young ones'll bother themselves. You could throw that affair he was makin' into the air, same as you could any old stick, but it wouldn't return to you. Most people don't know the difference"--she grinned at Tom shamefacedly--"an' they get a sale for all sorts of rubbishy stuff among the summer visitors. But it's no more real black's stuff than I am. That gets harder to buy every year, because the old men who used to make the things are dying out."

They had been gliding along gently, the water growing steadily shallower. Suddenly, they came upon the end of the arm--a pool like hundreds of other pools through which they had passed, save that in each of the others there had been an outlet, and here there was none. The water ended. All round them the trees frowned down upon the still surface, where leaves and sticks floated idly, never to get away: doomed to wash into the rubbish along the shore, or to become water-logged, and finally to sink to the muddy bottom. There was something unnaturally eerie and still about the place. Even the birds had deserted it: there was no longer the happy sound of their singing and twittering. Far overhead a fish-hawk sailed lazily.

"Ugh!" said Aileen, shivering a little. "I don't like this place. Let us turn back."

So they turned and drifted into wholesome blue water, passing the blacks' little camp and the gullies and clearings that led back to the country they knew. In one gully they moored the boat and made their fire, eating their luncheon among the limbs of a fine old tree that had fallen and lay upon its side, its gnarled-boughs making splendid natural arm-chairs. The birds were very tame: one little brown honey-eater came hopping near them for crumbs, and finally perched on the toe of Tom's boot, where it remained in a quaint attitude of alert attention. Then they fished the pools, with varying success, and at last gave it up and travelled swiftly down the arm until they reached the lake itself. For the last half-mile there was little need for the engine. The current had been steadily growing in power; at length it whisked them round bend after band, until it brought them out into the open water, and set swiftly towards the Entrance, where the great grey piers guarded the lane of water that led out to the breakers.

"You wouldn't have much chance if you drifted out here without oars," 'Possum remarked. "The current joins the one that sweeps down the lakes from ever so far up, an' don't they just race out to sea! There was a party of girls in a boat--visitors--got into that current last year, an' went bobbin' along towards the Entrance. They'd been told it was risky, so they lost their heads an' dropped an oar, an' then, of course, they had no chance at all."

"Were they taken out?" Aileen asked.

"No, but it was luck they weren't. They were mighty close to the Entrance when some people in a motor-boat saw 'em an' chased 'em--just managed to stop 'em in time. They'd have been in the surf in three minutes, an' no boat could live there unless it was jolly well handled. You'll see the fishing-boats comin' in sometimes, when they've been out with the nets after a shoal of salmon, and it just is exciting! Even with four good men pullin', it's risky enough to bring a big boat through those breakers. Dad seen one turned clean over one day, an' one man was caught underneath it an' killed. An' that was a great big sea-goin' fishin'-boat, not the sort of little cockle-shell thing that people pull round on the lakes."

"Poor chap! I did not know that the fishermen went outside the entrance: I thought they only fished in the lakes," Tom remarked.

"They fish wherever they can earn a livin'," said 'Possum drily.

They came out upon the wide surface of the lake, and ran across to a bay that nearly always held fish. To-day it lived up to its reputation, and soon they were hauling out whiting and big pink schnapper, whose sides were like live opal as they came out of the water. Tom fished scientifically, with a rod that was the pride of his heart: the others bobbed cheerfully with hand lines and sinkers, and were filled with joy because their results were as good. Their basket was full when they turned homewards in the evening.

"Tell about the time when Joe got bushed, 'Possum," Garth pleaded.

"That ain't anything to tell about," said 'Possum reprovingly. "And besides, you know already."

"Yes, but I like to hear it again," Garth begged.

"We haven't heard, at all events," Tom said. "Go on, 'Possum."

"Well, it's nothin' much," 'Possum said, reluctantly: to tell Garth stories was one thing, but it was quite another to be forced to retail them to Garth's parents. "Joe went off on his own into the Bush one afternoon--on'y four, he was--an' next thing I knew was, it was near dark, an' no Joe. Dad was out in the boat that night, so I left word for him, an' put all the other kids to bed an' made the fire safe, an' started off."

"Into the Bush?"

"Yes, of course. That's where Joe was. Well, I pounded through the jolly old scrub all night--no luck, an' I was pretty worried, 'cause Joe wasn't no more'n four. An' all me clothes got tore, an' I was scratched near to bits, an' I kept thinkin', if that was all the fun I was gettin' out of it, an' me past fourteen, how about poor old Joe?"

"But you found him, 'Possum?" Garth cried eagerly.

"Just about daybreak, I did--in an old hollow stump. Crawled in, he had, an' there he was, lyin' asleep, happy as Larry. Not any trouble for Joe. He woke up, an' I was the first thing he saw, an' he laughed all over his dear old dirty face. 'Where's me porridge, 'Poss?' he says. He always was just about the limit!"

"What about your father?" Aileen asked.

"Oh, he got home about two o'clock, an' seen the note I left, but he reckoned if I couldn't find Joe he couldn't, so he turned in. Dad never worries about things. He says everything'll come out in the wash, if you leave it long enough."

They reached the jetty, and ran gently alongside. 'Possum hopped out nimbly, in spite of her sore feet, and helped to steady the boat while Aileen followed more carefully with the fish and the empty luncheon baskets. They left Tom to put the engine to bed, aided by Garth, and went slowly up the hill.

"Christmas will be in three days," Aileen said.

"I suppose so," 'Possum answered. "It don't make much difference to us. I'll have to kill a turkey for the kids' dinner, I suppose." She paused at the gate. "I won't come in, Missus: it's late, an' I better be gettin' home."

"You must take some fish," said Aileen, quickly halving the catch and placing 'Possum's share in an old sugar-bag. "No, that's not too much at all: there are more of you to eat it. And you know Polly loves fish!" They exchanged a fishy hand-grip. "Oh, and, 'Possum, come over to see us on Christmas afternoon, won't you?"

"Seems to me I come most days," said 'Possum, laughing.

"But we want you on Christmas Day. Will you come?"

"Why, yes, I'll come--thanks," said the girl, laughing. "Catch me stayin' away, when you'll be bothered with me. Well, so long!" She limped off to where her old horse slept peacefully under the quince tree.

*CHAPTER XV*

*SANTA CLAUS AND CLOTHES*

Garth woke to a blissful Christmas morning.

The end of his bed gave ample proof that his father's dismal forebodings about Santa Claus had not been needed: a bulky stocking, with strange hollows and protuberances, ornamented one post and yielded such treasures as a new bridle, a pair of leather leggings, and a stockwhip, with other offerings showing clearly that the saint fully realized that this particular boy had moved from the city. That was good: and good it was, on his way to his bath, to meet Bran, resplendent in a new collar. But when an enormous bundle on his chair at breakfast-time revealed the very desire of his heart, a dainty, light saddle, Garth was speechless. He could only hug his father and mother again and again, and feel the saddle lovingly, and smile at them in a silence that they quite understood.

Aileen was smiling, too, at what she found on her plate: books and music, a very new aluminium saucepan, a soap-saver for the kitchen, and, tucked away under the rest, a little brooch within which a black opal gleamed mysteriously, full of dark fire. Aileen loved black opals: but she regarded them as belonging to the old times when evening dress and balls and theatres were as common as working overalls and fowl-rearing and hoeing now. She shook her head at Tom.

"You shouldn't--bless you!"

"Oh, I had to!" he said; "I couldn't help it. I haven't altogether forgotten the girl who liked pretty things."

"She's very contented to have put them away," said Aileen.

"I know. But I wanted to see her in one," he said obstinately. Whereupon Aileen, to please him, pinned the brooch in her overall, and found herself greatly enjoying it as she prepared dinner.

They jogged to church behind Roany, and exchanged greetings with a few people they knew and with many to whom they were strangers--except that every one knew that they were "the new, hard-working lot that's come to Gordon's farm," and being simple, kindly-minded Gippsland settlers, saw no reason why they should wait to be formally introduced. Then they came home to a happy Christmas dinner--everything cold, and therefore as it should be, with the thermometer at 95 deg.--after which, by mere force of habit, Aileen was about to go to work in the garden, but was restrained by Tom, who remarked that there were some things not done in decent families, and placed her forcibly in a long chair on the veranda with a new book.

'Possum came through the house presently. A feeling that something was due to a day which evidently meant far more to the Macleods than it had ever done to her, had induced her to put on her new dungaree dress, and she was stiffly uncomfortable. Dungaree obligingly fades as soon as it is washed: when new it is a rather deep hard blue, and the wearer looked hot and red-faced, and crackled as she walked. She stood in the doorway looking down at Aileen, who had put on a white frock in honour of Christmas, and, with her shining hair against the pale green canvas of her long chair, was like the spirit of spring and coolness. She put up a slim hand and took 'Possum's work-roughened one.

"I'm too lazy to get up, 'Possum," she said. "Come and sit down."

"It ain't often one sees you lazy," 'Possum answered, leaning back in a chair, and promptly sitting up again, since the position brought her great boots too baldly into view.

"I have been bullied shamefully," Aileen said, casting a severe glance at Tom, who bore it with cheerfulness. "Goodness knows my broad beans are calling for me, but I'm not allowed to go near them. What have you been doing, 'Possum?"

"Oh, the usual thing. Dad's away shearin', so I've got to be pretty busy again: and anyhow, it's about time I was; my feet are all right, an' I'm full-up of loafin'. Seems to me," said 'Possum, "that loafin's all very well for a bit, an' then it gets on your nerves. The kids have been jolly good, an' I pretend not to see a lot o' things they do or they don't do; but there's lots o' times I'd give me ears to be doin' the work myself."

"That is pride, which is a thing all you women suffer from," Tom said. "She"--indicating Aileen--"has violent attacks of it whenever I wash up, or sweep a room, or do any of the things she imagines she does better than I do. Of course, it's only a delusion on her part, because I'm really a first-class housemaid: but there it is. It's a pity, because otherwise she has rather a nice character!"

'Possum grinned. She was beginning to understand what she called Tom's "foolin'," and was no longer bewildered and slightly alarmed when he chaffed her. Nevertheless, she had not yet come to the point of chaffing in return, and so she thought it more prudent to change the subject.

"Where's Garth?" she asked.

"Garth is careering over the hills and far away on a brand-new saddle--and Jane," said Tom. "There is also a new bridle, and he has new leggings--the latter must be exceedingly uncomfortable on a day like this, but he insisted on putting them on. He's awfully pleased with himself. I don't think it's much of a Christmas for Jane; she probably prefers him bare back."

"My word, he must be proud!" 'Possum uttered. "He told me the other day he was goin' to save up for a saddle, 'cause he couldn't go askin' you to get it, with you buyin' so much fertilizer: an' he wanted to know how long it would take him. Said he'd got ninepence. I didn't know what to say to the poor little kid."

"Well, he has the saddle now, and I sincerely trust I won't have so many pairs of knickerbockers to mend," Aileen remarked. "Bare back riding may be fun for a boy, but it's destruction to his trousers!"

"Yes, ain't it?" 'Possum agreed. "I'm always preachin' to Bill, but of course he don't take any notice--you wouldn't expect him to!"

"You wouldn't let young Bill hear you say that," Tom remarked.

"Not much I wouldn't," 'Possum grinned. "Bill's too much inclined to kick over the traces as it is, without me givin' him any encouragement. I reckon I'll have me hands full with him yet."

"Poor old Bill! I see storms ahead for him," said Tom, rising and stretching his long form. "This is a hard country for men since women got the vote! I think I'll go and find Garth, and we'll compare notes on our troubles."

"Don't be late for tea, or 'Possum and I will eat all the Christmas cake!" Aileen called after him. "You'll feel that more than anything I can do with my old vote!" He flung a laughing rejoinder at her, and vanished round the corner of the veranda.

For a few minutes after his footsteps died away Aileen was silent. She was wondering how to make her gifts to 'Possum without hurting the girl's feelings. Underneath the queer, abrupt exterior she knew there lay a sensitiveness so easily wounded that only the most delicate handling would succeed--and 'Possum's independence was a sturdy growth. She might resent the presents altogether: for a moment Aileen grew almost sorry that she had prepared them, now that the time came for them to be given.

"I believe I've got stage-fright," she thought.

'Possum opened the way herself.

"I wish we bothered more about Christmas--the way you do," she said. "It'd be nice for the kids. I remember we used to keep it up before Mother died. But now we never bother."

"I love Christmas," said Aileen, "especially since I had Garth. He makes a great difference, because he believes in every bit of it, particularly Santa Claus! And it's such fun, preparing presents, even if you spend very little on them: it's the doing it that is the fun." She hesitated. "I wanted you to be in our Christmas, Possum."

"Jolly good of you," said 'Possum gruffly. "But I'm not much good to any one."

"That isn't for you to say," Aileen rejoined. "Come into my room, 'Possum." She led the way.

"I say!" said 'Possum, entering. "Oh, ain't that pretty!"

There was a dainty pink frock on the bed, with white cuffs and collar: very simply and plainly made, but well cut in every line. Near it was underwear: plain also, but good, and beautifully ironed. A pair of black shoes accompanied neat black stockings: a straw hat, swathed with palest pink muslin, lay on the pillow. There was even a pretty handkerchief on the frock. Nothing had been forgotten.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it! Why, it's like the inside of a shell! I never seen such a lovely colour. But you do always have pretty things, Missus."

"I'm glad you like it," Aileen said. "Because it isn't mine, 'Possum. I made it for you."

'Possum flushed to the roots of her hair, staring at her.

"Me!" she said at last. "I say, you're gammoning, aren't you, Missus?"

"No, I'm not," Aileen said. "I've had terrible work keeping those things out of your sight--and it has been such fun making them!" She watched the flushed face uneasily. "You're not cross with me, 'Possum?"

"Cross with you!" 'Possum uttered. "Well, I _would_ be a beast. But I'd rather not take them, thank you very much, all the same."

"But why?" Aileen flushed in her turn.

There was a pause.

"I'm not the sort as wears those sort of clothes," 'Possum burst out at last. "I'm just a workin' hand, same as a man: this old dungaree's my style, not lovely things like that. It's no good me thinkin' I could pretend I was a lady--an' them's only a lady's things." Her voice broke, and she stood staring at her rough boots.

"Aren't you just a dear old stupid!" Aileen said softly. "We're all working-hands, and we wear old clothes at our work because any other things would be silly. But you haven't been just a working-hand to us: you've been more like a godsend. You put heart into me, when I hadn't any. I didn't love making those things because you had helped us, but because you're my friend."

'Possum's eyes glowed suddenly.

"Me your friend!" she said. "I'd sooner be that than any blessed thing on earth. But I ain't fit."

"You might let me pick my own friends without sitting on me!" Aileen said, laughing. "Ah, 'Possum dear, don't be a duffer! You can't refuse to be friends, for if you do I shall go over and sit in your kitchen, and talk to you, and be extremely in the way; and you simply won't be able to shake me off. 'Possum, be nice to me: I do want to see you in those clothes!"

'Possum gave a long sigh. It was the sigh of capitulation. She picked up the dress and held it against her cheek.

"It's just the loveliest ever!" she said. "And I just can't say thank you, but I reckon you know. Will I put them on an' come over to-morrow, Missus?"

"No--I can't wait for to-morrow!" Aileen cried. "You're going to look so nice that I've got to see you at once! I'll go and get tea, 'Possum, and you can put them on."

"What--now!" 'Possum's tone was doubtful, but her eyes were eager.

"Yes. Hurry!"

"I wouldn't put them lovely things on unless I had just had a bath," 'Possum declared. "I had one last night, but that's not the same. I reckon it 'ud be a sin to put 'em on after these hot ol' things. New dungaree's such smelly stuff, an' these just smell of freshness, the way all your things do!"

"Well, there's the bathroom," Aileen said, laughing. "I'll leave a towel in there. Run along!" She gathered up the new things in her arms. "Don't forget the shoes, 'Possum!" she cried, and hurried off.

It was half an hour later that Tom Macleod, coming in from the paddocks with Garth at his heels, stopped abruptly at the sight of two figures standing near the window. A stranger had called, he reflected; he looked hard at the tall girl in pink standing by his wife, wondering who she was. Then she turned, and he saw that it was 'Possum.

But a new 'Possum. The pink dress fell in soft folds, hiding the angularities that the dungaree horrors always accentuated. Its extra length made her yet more tall and slender, and the colour was reflected in her cheeks, while the light in her eyes had never been there before. The white collar fell away from a neck that was brown, but very shapely. Her fair hair was parted a little at the side, and brushed until it shone like Aileen's. Now that the old felt hat was removed, it showed a crisp little wave that made amends for its shortness.

For a moment Tom forgot his manners, and stared. Then, as a hot wave of colour surged into 'Possum's face, he recovered himself, and came into the room, making a casual remark upon the lucerne crop--even as he spoke, it seemed incredible that the pink vision before him and the girl who had ploughed the ground and helped to put in the crop were the same person. He tried to make the remark sound ordinary, but Garth interrupted him. Garth, as his parents afterwards remarked, had small occasion for tact.

"I say, 'Possum, I didn't know you!" cried the small boy. "Isn't she swagger! Mother, doesn't she look ripping! 'Possum, weren't you awfully s'prised?"

"I just was," said 'Possum. Even her voice seemed different: it was somehow softer. When she smiled down at Garth she was very winning.

"Well, as these matters have been mentioned so boldly, I don't see why I should stand out," said Tom. "I won't, either! 'Possum, you look nicer than nice, and pink's your colour. Isn't it, Aileen? Carried unanimously. Is tea ready?"

Tea was ready, and they made it a merry meal--longer than usual, because no work was to be done on Christmas Day, save by the luckless Horrors, who could be heard, bucket-laden, clanking his way towards the cow-yard. 'Possum did not talk much. But her face was so happy that words did not matter!

She went with Aileen into her room when it was time to change into the old dungaree and go home: poor little Cinderella! Aileen thought, wondering if she had done well to be fairy godmother. There seemed no prospect of any Prince waiting for the Cinderella of the Bush.

"I was wonderin'," said 'Possum, and hesitated--"if you'd very much mind me leavin' these things here. You see, if I take 'em home I'll never wear 'em, an' they'll get grubby an' crushed. But if I could put 'em on sometimes when I come over--not to feel such a pig when you make me come into tea, say. Then they'd be a terrible comfort to me! I do love 'em so, but it's here I want to wear 'em. If I take 'em home I'd take 'em out every day an' look at 'em, but I'd never put 'em on, for fear of spoilin' 'em."

"But, 'Possum, it's only cheap print," Aileen protested. "It will wash beautifully. Why should you be so particular about it?"

"Well, you see, it's all I got," 'Possum returned. "Oh, I simply couldn't bear to spoil 'em, Missus!"

Aileen pondered.

"Of course you can leave them here," she said. "That's quite easy. But, 'Possum, why should it be your only pretty dress? Can't you buy some print, and bring it to me, and we will make it together? You've no idea how easy it is, with a few lessons. Then you could keep your dungarees for work, but put on fresh frocks in the evening, or when you went out."

"Print costs money," said 'Possum.

"But your father----"

"Dad 'ud take a fit if I asked him for any," said the girl. "He thought he was doin' a tremenjous thing when he give me this dungaree the other day."

"Well, you have your own money. You earn it thoroughly enough. Surely you could spend a few shillings of that."

'Possum drew a long breath. Then she put the temptation from her.

"I don't reckon it's mine: it's the kids'," she said. ("It was as though she had said, 'Get thee behind me, Satan!'" said Aileen to Tom later on.) "I couldn't touch it. That bit o' money's a big comfort to me."

"Bill is twelve, and you can't let him go to the Cup by himself until he's grown-up--and you're saving for it now!" said Aileen. "Oh, 'Possum, be sensible!"