Part 15

But when, in the night, the tide turned, it brought the little boat back. The pale moon that smiled over the Bush cottage where Garth lay, sleeping calmly, saw it also: a tiny thing on the great waste of waters, desolate and alone. Slowly it drifted landwards until the roar of the surf sounded near, and then it was hurried forward, towards the forsaken beach west of the piers, until a mighty roller caught it on its crest and bore it, mounting ever higher, at racing speed to the shore. It was high in the air when the great wave crashed downwards, and when its hundreds of tons of green water thundered to the sand, the skiff, bottom upwards, was dashed ashore in a swirl of white surf. Once the undertow caught it, dragging it back, but another roller flung itself down, and when its wild rush along the beach had spent itself, the little boat, battered and broken, lay half buried in the sand. The tide ebbed out, leaving it there; and a seabird, screaming by, saw it and perched upon it, calling to its mate.

In the little cottage, Garth slept on: and beside him his mother knelt, one arm flung across the warm, childish body, listening to his soft breathing: dumb with thankfulness.

*CHAPTER XVII*

*'POSSUM BECOMES A PUPIL*

"If you _could_ spare a day or two," said Tom Macleod, and looked anxiously at 'Possum. "I think it's fairly rough on you to have to save my son's life one day, and nurse his mother the next, but a woman about the place would be a tremendous comfort, and Aileen would rather have you than any one she knows. She can't lift her head."

"Well, you didn't need to drive over yourself," 'Possum said. "You had no right to leave her! If you'd sent that kid Horrors with a bit of a note, you might a' known I'd be there as quick as old Greystones 'ud bring me. How on earth is she managin', with you traipsin' over here?"

"She was asleep, and Garth is sitting with her," Tom said meekly. "She can't bear him out of her sight; and you know he's pretty handy. Then you'll come back with me, 'Possum?"

"My gracious, yes!" 'Possum answered. "I won't be five minutes--just wait till I sling some clothes into a basket. You go an' tell Dad I'm goin', will you, Mr. Macleod?" She hurried out of the room, and he heard her calling Bertha urgently.

Nick O'Connor never thought of questioning 'Possum's movements. If she said she was going anywhere, well, she was going, and that was all there was about it. Bertha was an able lieutenant to leave in charge, and it was certain that food would appear upon the table at the usual hours, which, after all, was the only thing that mattered.

Even if it had been uncertain, or dependent on his own efforts, it would have been unthinkable that 'Possum should not go to a neighbour in distress. He would; in that case, have said, "Git along; I'll look after the kids," and would have done so to the best of his ability, though the staple diet of the said kids and himself would probably have been corned beef.

"Just you keep her as long as ever the missus wants her," he said, packing 'Possum's basket into the back of the buggy. "An' if you want more help, send over for me. I could run your place all right if you want to be in the house." He brushed aside Tom's grateful disclaimer, of needing more aid with, "Well, you know where to find me if you want me." The buggy bumped away over the paddock while he watched it, Bertha silent beside him. When it turned out of sight round a clump of tea-trees, he looked down at her from his great height.

"Sure you can manage things?"

"My word!" said Bertha. "I like it. On'y you tell Bill to cut me stove-wood." She marched into the kitchen with high enterprise in her heart.

Aileen was still asleep when they reached the farm. Tom peeped into her room, and saw Garth sitting by her bedside, very upright and alert. He shook his head frantically at his father, and Tom took the hint, and withdrew.

"Well, I'll just get things straightened up," said 'Possum, receiving his report. "Then she'll be glad of a cup o' tea when she wakes."

"Don't do too much," Tom said. "Remember you had a pretty tough time yesterday."

"Me?" said 'Possum, wide-eyed. "Bless you, it was on'y another bathe for me!" She disappeared into the spare room.

So it was that Aileen, waking from a troubled sleep that was full of sinking boats and dancing water, found Garth beside her, his tremulous little smile welcoming her back to consciousness; and presently, after an unseen hurried glance and withdrawal, 'Possum came in, bearing a little tray with tea and dainty strips of golden-brown toast; and in one corner of the tray an exquisite rosebud, nodding in a vase.

"Oh, 'Possum!" she said, "'Possum!" The tears choked her.

"I say, don't look like that, Missus, dear--please don't!" said poor 'Possum miserably. She put her tray on a table and caught Aileen's hand in hers, and Aileen drew the rough hand against her cheek and held it there.

"Now you ain't goin' to talk of it, nor to think of it, neither," 'Possum said presently. "You ain't got nothin' to worry about, 'cause it's all over, an' there's old Garth grinnin' at you, an jus' as right as pie. An' all you got to do is to get well, 'cause the Boss is that bothered about you he's right off his feed. I think if you was to let me help you sit up, you could have this." She raised her gently; and somewhat to her surprise Aileen could eat and drink a little.

"If only I weren't so stupidly tired," Aileen whispered, lying down. "And my head buzzes--it buzzed all night as if an engine were let loose inside it."

"Course it would," said 'Possum soothingly. "But it's goin' to be all right now."

"You're sure Garth is well?"

"Now, look here, Missus," said the girl decidedly. "If I wasn't sure, you might just jolly well know I wouldn't have him up, even to let you see him--he'd be in bed with a hot bottle, an' a jolly good go of med'cine. But you'd never think he'd had a duckin' at all. Bless you, what's an extra duckin' to a boy? Our kids is in an' out of the lake all day long."

Something in the rough, homely words soothed the mother more than a hundred more polished speeches. She nestled into her pillow sleepily with a little smile, her eyes never wandering from Garth for more than a moment. But presently the heavy lids drooped, and sleep came to her: deep, refreshing sleep, this time, unbroken by the weary maze of dreams that had tortured her before. She did not stir when 'Possum and Garth tip-toed from the room.

"Bettern't I stay with her?" the small boy asked anxiously.

"No; you go out, old son. She's goin' to sleep for a long while, this time, an' what's more, she's goin' to be better when she wakes."

"Sure, 'Poss?" he asked eagerly.

"Dead certain. An' it'll be miles nicer for her to see you with a bit of colour in your washy old cheeks than lookin' white from sittin' all day in her room. You go an' find your dad, an' tell him not to worry about her, an' give him a hand in the garden. I'll be on the listen, an' I'll call you the d'reckly minute she wakes." She watched the little fellow catch his felt hat from its peg and run out with his news.

"My word, he's a dear kid!" she muttered.

For all her brave words to Tom, she was very tired. The shock of the child's danger had told on her: her arms and shoulders ached cruelly from the long, hard pull, and from the wild struggle to keep afloat, with Garth a dead weight upon her and the current tearing at them, sucking them away from the shore she had tried so vainly to reach. She, too, had had her dreams of horror--in which she had fought wildly to land on a shore that had continually slipped away, and had felt choking waters rising over her head. She shivered now, as the thought of them came over her, and then fought it back resolutely.

"Don't you be a silly ass, 'Possum O'Connor!" she told herself. "A little bit o' work's what _you_ want." Thus dealing with herself, she seized a broom, and made a furious onslaught upon the kitchen; and having valiantly routed seven hens that had come uninvited into the back yard, felt considerably better.

It was afternoon when Aileen awoke--this time with light in her eyes and colour in her cheeks:--able to take the soup that 'Possum brought her, and to smile at Garth and Tom as they perched on her bed and entertained her with news of the estate, as Tom gravely called it. There was always so much to tell of the estate each day; news of garden, or fowl-run, or pigsty; fresh flowers blossoming, a panel of fencing broken down by a cow with a thirst for exploring, or a raid after calves that had escaped through the gap and distributed themselves up the most scrub-grown gully they could find. To-day the pigs had taken advantage of Horrors having opened the gate of their sty and then fallen to dreaming; with the result that Garth and his father had had a long hunt, and were considerably heated.

"But we got them back, all right," Garth said triumphantly. "Daddy let me go pig-sticking with a long bit of tea-tree, and you should have seen them run! It was awful fun, but I never got near them!"

"I don't reckon you would--much!" said 'Possum. "Now, how about tea?"

"Ah, do have it in here!" Aileen begged. "If you don't mind, that is?" A supposition which induced mirth on the part of her hearers.

So they nursed her back to quietness of mind, which brought healing to her tired body, filling her days with laughter and the interests of the farm, until the dreams left her and she ceased to look at Garth with a shudder of remembrance. They kept her busy, as soon as she could sit up, finding urgent requirements of patches and buttons, and a hundred little things that only she could understand and arrange. "Best thing for her," said 'Possum, and they saw that her words were true.

Messengers came from 'Possum's home very often--Bill or little Joe riding over with news of the farm and inquiries for the Missus. Bertha was doin' fine, they said. "Never puts her nose outside the kitchen, an' my word! she cooks a treat!" was Bill's verdict. "Yes, the house looks all right--why wouldn't it? Dad was busy all day harvestin' at Mackenzie's, but he came home at night. An' the wool was sold, an' Dad said to tell Mr. Macleod it was the best price he'd had for years, so Mr. Macleod's wool, bein' along with it, must have brought him luck." After which recitals Bill and Joe would consume enormous quantities of tea and cake and reluctantly take the track for home. They confided to Garth that Bert was a pretty good cook, an' all that, but it wasn't like havin' 'Poss.

In a few days Aileen was able to get up--too weak to work, but glad to be about once more, even if being "about" meant only sitting still. Then came 'Possum to her, with a request.

"If you wouldn't mind," she said, and flushed scarlet, "I thought it 'ud be such a chance for me, when I was knockin' about here, an' you not busy, if you'd put me up to a few things."

"What sort of things, 'Possum?" Aileen asked.

"Oh, just odd things. You know--like the way you have the house. I don't know a thing, except how to cook, after a fashion, and land what I've cooked on the table; an' that's after a fashion, too. You have everything so pretty an' nice: I'd like to learn how."

"You would be just the easiest person to teach." Aileen told her.

"Would I?" 'Possum's face was eager. "I'd try not to be too much of a duffer. It's like me old dungarees. Before you come, I thought they were all right; now I can't stand 'em, except just for rough work. I think it 'ud be nice if I could get like that about other things--if I could feel as if I couldn't stand food slung on the table anyhow, or rooms all messy an' hideous. Then I could teach the kids."

"But once you feel like that, it leaves very little for me to teach you," she said. "Your mind is dainty in itself, so you like everything about you to be dainty."

'Possum drew a long breath.

"That's the nicest thing ever I had said to me in me life," she said softly. "I _will_ try, Missus--like fury. An' there's another thing; on'y it's givin' you a lot of bother----"

"Rubbish!" said Aileen, laughing. "What is it, 'Possum, dear?"

But this was harder to say. 'Possum made several false starts before the words came at last.

"It's--well, you know, I know I speak jolly rough. Since you come I have tried to keep me voice softer----"

"I know," Aileen said.

"Did you? I'm so glad. But I make awful mistakes, I know. Even the kids tell me that--they've had more schoolin'. But the trouble is, they pick up things from me. If you could just drop on me now an' then when I say anything all wrong? I know I ain't got enough grammar to keep meself warm. But I'd try an' get better. I truly would."

"And you wouldn't mind being told little things? They're _such_ little things, really, 'Possum."

"Mind?" said 'Possum. "Oh, I'd give me ears if you'd teach me. Like as if I was Garth I've heard you tell him when he pernounced a word skew-whiff!"

"Then I will tell you," Aileen said. "I know you'll make it easy for me--because I will be dreadfully afraid of hurting you, 'Possum."

"Lor'!" said 'Possum. "You couldn't hurt me, not if you tried with a meat-axe!"

Aileen laughed.

"Very well. Then we'll cut out 'Lor'!' for the future, 'Possum, shall We?"

'Possum stared.

"Ain't I a silly chump?" she said. "I might a known it was wrong, 'cause you never say it. Right-oh, Missus!" And it said something for her determination that no one ever heard her say it again.

It was speech that was the only stumbling-block. Little daintinesses of living came to her naturally, with only a hint, just as daintiness of person had come. Her eye for colour was sure, and she had a natural instinct for arranging flowers and for brightening a room that developed daily under Aileen's gentle tuition. Beginning with perfect cleanliness as the basis of perfection, it was easy to work up and up, learning a little more each day--and 'Possum never had to be told a thing twice. But her unchecked speech was a harder matter, and often the cheeks of both girls burned, until the idea came to Aileen to make a joke of it, when they got on much better. Tom, privately consulted, suggested making 'Possum read aloud, for which she proved to have a natural aptitude, and the exercise taught her more than many lessons.

"You know," she said, one day, "Mother wasn't rough. I was only a bit of a nipper when she died----"

She pulled up, observing Aileen's face.

"Kid, I suppose I should say," she said, grinning broadly. Aileen burst out laughing.

"Try, 'little girl,'" she suggested.

"H'm," said 'Possum critically. "Doesn't sound very satisfyin', does it? Well, I was, anyhow; but I remember a lot about her, an' I know she always had the house dossy----"

Pause.

"Pretty, I mean; an' things more like you have 'em--_them_, an' her voice was soft an' gentle. But I was only eleven, an' there was a good lot to do, an' I got careless, 'specially with her not there to tell me anything. All the same, I knew things weren't the way she'd like to have them, and it worried me, when I had time to think of it. I'm afraid," she added, honestly, "that that got to be not very often. When you're always wonderin' how you're goin' to get all your jobs done, you can't worry an awful lot over things like that."

"Indeed, you can't. I often wonder how you managed everything--and you such a wee thing," Aileen said. "I think your mother knew and was pleased, 'Possum."

"Do you, truly?" 'Possum asked wistfully. "I used to wonder if she did. I never could feel that she'd got far away, 'cause she didn't want to go. But once I said that to the woman Dad got to look after us, an' she hit me a clip on the ear, an' said I was a wicked little wretch to talk like that."

Aileen's eyes blazed.

"Oh, it was she who was wicked!" she cried. "How could she!"

"If you'd known her, you wouldn't have asked how," 'Possum said grimly. "She was a fair terror, she was. At least"--she stopped and pondered, searching in her mind for an expression at once forcible and refined--"she was a very ... disagreeable person!"

Aileen fell into peals of laughter.

"Oh, it won't do, 'Possum--do say 'a fair terror!'" she begged.

"Well, I guess I'll have to," 'Possum grinned. "Somehow, when you say things, they sound just what you want 'em to say. But unless I make my remarks pretty strong they sound as silly as a wet hen!" With which pearl of speech the conversation came to an abrupt conclusion.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*THE REGATTA*

Cuninghame wore an air of unwonted festivity. There were flags flying from the stores and hotels, and from many of the private houses; little pennons fluttering at the mastheads of the sailing-boats that were dotted all along the shore. All over the lagoon could be seen other boats, arriving: yachts, motor-launches, smart skiffs, skiffs that were not smart, and ancient tubs bound from every little lake settlement or lonely farm. For this was the day on which Cuninghame burst into clouds of glory, and drew unto itself crowds that turned it into something between a whirlpool and an excited ant-heap. It is only on one day in the year that Cuninghame holds its regatta, and the occasion is one to be treated with respect.

New Year's Day had been fixed originally for the great event: but the Clerk of the Weather had been singularly tactless, and had ushered in the New Year with such deluges of rain that hurried telegrams had been sent to Sale and Bairnsdale and other district towns, postponing the regatta; and hundreds of would-be excursionists had unpacked their luncheon-baskets and remained at home. But to-day was to make amends for all disappointments. Rain had fallen, just enough to clear the air and secure the very perfection of autumn weather, while laying the dust on the roads for the folk who rode and drove. The sands were dry and firm: the hummocks shone white against the sky, across the lagoon. There was just enough breeze for sailing--enough to dot the lake with tiny wavelets, gleaming and dancing in the sun. Just to look at that blue, restless surface was enough to set the heart dancing, too.

The Macleods came early, since Garth's impatience was a thing not to be gainsaid. He had never seen a regatta, and the stories told him by the young O'Connors had set him dreaming of nothing else for weeks past. Soon after breakfast he arrayed himself, emerging from his room shining and speckless in white duck, with white sand-shoes and bare brown legs, and a white felt hat held in readiness. After which, his attitude began with sublime patience, which collapsed after a time and merged into trenchant inquiries as to why people couldn't be ready as soon as he was, and lugubrious certainty that they were missing all the best of the fun. Eventually they found themselves driving into the township quite an hour earlier than they had thought of starting, while Horrors, on Jane, jogged in the rear, and wondered how soon he might begin to eat the enormous packet of lunch with which he had been provided.

Early as they were, the O'Connors were before them. It was a day of which no young O'Connor was willing to miss a minute. What was it to them that the regatta itself did not really begin--save for a few sailing races, which nobody noticed--until one o'clock? Was there not all the unusual stir and bustle of the town to see?--the gay shops, decked for the occasion with brave displays of fruit and sweets and cakes, to tempt hungry picnickers; the gallant array of boats, glistening with new paint and varnish, and as bright as "elbow-grease" would make them: the crowds arriving from all the countryside by land and water--people they knew, to greet and by whom to be greeted--schoolfellows, curiously unfamiliar in their best clothes--school teachers, even more curiously human and approachable, and not at all suggesting the week-day discipline of desk and ruler? Not a yard of the esplanade was without its excitements. There were the summer visitors from the houses that were shuttered and gloomy all the winter, and from the tiny cottages under the hummocks across the lagoon, owned by people from Sale and Bairnsdale, who lived a camping existence from Christmas until Easter, with the breakers pounding almost at their back doors. These considered themselves part and parcel of the place, as indeed they were, and looked with something of disparagement at the folk from Melbourne and Sydney who filled the hotels, and who might never come again, and who, at the best, lived a luxurious and pampered life, and did not know the joys of a picnic existence, with no servants and no worries--every one working in the same way, and every one ready for every kind of fun, from big surf-bathing parties or moonlight swims in the lake, to rushing over the hummocks in a body to lend a hand with the hauling of a shoal of salmon brought in through the breakers. Then there were other visitors--blacks from the Lake Tyers Mission Station; principally lithe young men keen on taking part in the regatta, with a sprinkling of older men, and a few young women and boys. They moved here and there among the crowd on noiseless bare feet.

Never had the O'Connor family looked so resplendent. Nick, to begin with, was a majestic figure in his best suit, with a "boiled" shirt, and a tartan tie which appeared only on great occasions. Bertha and Polly were in fresh washing frocks, and the boys in suits of blue-striped galatea, very smart and summer-like. But 'Possum, in Aileen's Christmas gift of the dress that was like the inside of a shell, tall and slender, her face half-eager and half-shy, was an unfamiliar figure at whom many people turned to glance. Never before had 'Possum been to a regatta, and her inward excitement was almost as keen as Garth's. "The kids always went," she had told Aileen. "I didn't. The old dungarees didn't seem to fit in."

To-day no one "fitted in" better than 'Possum: and Nick O'Connor found himself casting glances of pride at his brood, while mothers from "up the lake" gazed upon the O'Connor tribe with blank amazement, and came to the conclusion that Nick must have found a gold-mine on the farm. "Not that the whole lot of them dresses ain't cheaper than my Albert's plush," said one matron, regarding her son's green sailor suit of that opulent material, with its lace collar. "But it ain't exactly that--on'y they look like toffs!"