Part 3

Half the afternoon had waned when the train came to the end of its long journey, and they emerged from the station into a sleepy street where two-horse cabs waited to rattle them across Bairnsdale to the river. A paddle-steamer, moored to the wharf, was hooting as they approached, and late-comers were hurrying down the hill, fearful of being left behind. Having thus shown her independence by hooting, and every one being safely on board, the steamer decided not to hurry; and it was some time before she woke up to fresh energy, mooring ropes were cast off, and she churned her way into mid-stream.

Garth was wildly excited. Already a big grey horse in a gig had supplied a private circus for his benefit, declining to cross the bridge over the river near the wharf, and showing its utter disapproval of all bridges by dancing wildly on its hind legs, while the girl who was driving beat it in vain. A parting hoot from the steamer's siren concluded the argument, so terrifying the horse that it dropped to all fours and, in desperation, bolted across the bridge, disappearing in mad career towards the town. Already, Garth decided; the country was showing extraordinary attractions: this sort of entertainment never happened in a Toorak street. And now they were slipping down the river, between high banks where pleasant houses perched, surrounded by beautiful gardens. Boat-houses were built at the edge of the water, whence flights of steps ran up the hill: and little boats, tied to stakes, rocked lazily as the steamer approached, and, as she passed them, executed a frenzied dance as the swish of the water from the paddle-wheels churned into the reeds along the bank. Sometimes a lone fisherman sat in a boat, patiently angling. These sportsmen regarded the steamer as a necessary evil, and dangled their baits in the air until the commotion of her passing should have subsided.

A road wound along the river-bank. It was partly screened from view by trees, but sometimes they caught glimpses of people riding and driving, and once they saw a flock of sheep, driven by two boys, the younger of whom looked about Garth's age. A little later came three or four merry boys and girls, on ponies, racing, with shouts of laughter, along the track. Garth drew a long breath.

"Isn't the country a lovely place for boys, Dad!" he said.

"It seems pretty jolly, old man," his father answered. "How soon do you think you'll be able to ride like that?"

"I expect I'll have to get bucked off a good few times first," said the small boy soberly. "But it doesn't hurt much if you choose a soft spot to fall, Doctor says. He told me no one could ride until he'd been slung off seven times!"

"Well, a good many people couldn't ride if they had been off seventy-seven times," his father answered. "Some people aren't born to be riders."

"Do you think I am?" queried Garth anxiously.

"Can't tell until I see you on a pony. You ought to be all right; there's a good deal in beginning young. You will be all right if you're not afraid," said his father.

Garth's small face set firmly, and instinctively he stiffened his back. In his heart he was not quite sure that he was not a little afraid. But he hoped no one was going to guess it.

Round a bend came a little sea-going steamer, trim and workmanlike. She passed them, so close that a biscuit could have been thrown from deck to deck. The two crews exchanged cheery greetings; the men on the incoming ship were busy getting everything in order as they neared the end of their long voyage from Melbourne.

"Some day, when we want an adventure, Garth, we'll go round to Melbourne in that boat," Macleod said, watching the steamer's stern as she ploughed her way up the river. "I believe she carries passengers."

"Well, you'll get the adventure if you chance it in rough weather," said a man near them. "I bin round in her an' the ol' _Despatch_ too: an' when it's fine it's a jolly good way of gettin' there. But when it's rough, it's a fair cow! One trip, we was four days instead of thirty-six hours, and every one ashore give us up for lost.

"Wrecked?" asked Garth, wide-eyed.

"'M. But we wasn't. We was sheltering in a little inlet, and lucky we was to get there. We put in at Waratah Bay an' tried to land, but all the ol' boat 'ud do was to try an' climb on the wharf, there was such a sea running: so we got out again. It wasn't no picnic. We hadn't any too much food--not that most of us had big appetites. She was standin' on her head all the time, when she wasn't doin' her best to lie down' on her side an' die, an' we were bruised black an' blue from bein' chucked about. I nearly had me arm broke, from bein' pitched out of me bunk, one night."

"You had a bad time," Tom said.

"It was a fair cow. I guess even one of them big ocean liners might have bin a bit uncomfortable in that storm--and she was about three hundred tons! Anyhow, whatever she was, she could weather a storm better than most of them--there was bigger ships than her went down in that gale. We got to Melbourne all right, if we were a few days late. I guess the owners were pretty relieved when we came up the bay: I know _we_ were!"

He laughed, and drew out his pipe. He was an immensely tall man, with broad, stooping shoulders. A straggling beard ornamented a face burnt to the colour of brick-dust, in which twinkled little china-blue eyes. There was something very simple and friendly about him.

"But you have not always had bad trips?" Aileen asked.

"Bless you, no, lady. When it's fine I wouldn't ask no better way of getting about; an' I bin round often when there wasn't hardly a ripple the whole way. There was two young ladies once, travelling round, an' they slept out on deck both nights. Not that I've any fancy that way, meself; gimme a good, air-tight cabin. Oh, you wouldn't ask a nicer boat than the _Wyrallah_--her we passed just now. I had a liking for the poor ol' _Despatch_; but she's gone now."

"Where did she go?" Garth asked.

"Down to the bottom, son. She was tryin' to get into the Lakes' entrance in a heavy gale, with a bad cross-sea running. It's not an easy entrance--very narrow, and a nasty bar. The current took her a bit out of her track, an' she got on to a rock, an' went down. It happened mighty quick. There was lots of people in Gippsland as was sorry for the ol' _Despatch_. She wasn't a beauty, but she'd tramped up and down from Melbourne many a year, and we'd got a liking for her."

He pointed ahead with his pipe-stem.

"We're getting into the lake."

The high banks had changed to flats, across which they could see a broad sheet of water. The land between narrowed to a point; and presently they came out upon the placid waters of a wide lake rippling gently in the evening sunlight. In the reeds near the point great black swans were swimming. They rose as the steamer churned past them and sailed away into the western sky, the clang of their leader's note coming more and more faintly as they became dots on the blue.

"Some people as calls themselves sportsmen shoot those birds," said their new acquaintance scornfully. "Sportsmen, indeed! I'd as soon go out and shoot canaries, they're that tame. And they're no sort of use when they are shot; you'd have to be mighty hungry before you'd eat one.

"Are they tough?" Aileen inquired.

"Tough--and fishy. The blacks eat 'em, but they aren't white men's food. It's a shame to kill them. But lots of these bright young chaps that come from Melbourne on a holiday reckon that anything with fur or feathers on is made for them to blaze at. I'd teach 'em a thing or two, if I had me way." The china-blue eyes were suddenly fierce. "Y'see, there's lots of things in the Bush that we get fond of, and it makes us a bit savage to have chaps like them rampaging round! I found one of 'em once trying his hardest to shoot bell-birds!"

"Is that very wicked?" Garth asked innocently.

"Well, it's worse than shooting canaries. The bell-birds live in the fern gullies: they're shy little brown things, hard to see, but they've a note just like a little bell chiming away in the tree-tops. You'd think even a Melbourne fine gentleman couldn't help liking them. But there was me gent, with his little gun, looking for scalps; and even a bell-bird's was better to him than none."

"What did you say to him? Did you let him shoot them?" the lad asked.

"I misremember what I said, but he didn't like it, an' he got nasty, and wanted to fight. Lord, you couldn't fight anything like that! So to end it I just gave him a good spanking, and let him go. He went."

Tom burst out laughing.

"You didn't, really?"

"I did, though. What else could you do with him? He reckoned he was grown-up, but he hadn't as much sense as my kid of ten. Spanking's the only thing for that sort--an' I guess he remembers the one I gave him yet. You see, he was rude."

"Are all Melbourne people like that?" Aileen queried, with a twinkle in her eye.

"Bless you, no," said the giant, twinkling in return. "Most of 'em come to fish, and they don't do any harm: an' there's lots that like the Bush, an' wouldn't hurt anything in it. Some of 'em's that proud of it they even collect all their lunch-papers and burn 'em after a picnic; but you don't meet many as well brought up as that." He knocked the ashes out of his pipe. "Well, I think it's a fair thing to go an' have some tea." He grinned at them, and strolled off along the deck.

"That's an idea," said Tom. "Come on, and we'll have some too."

The little saloon was crowded, so they brought their tea on deck, where nothing, Garth said, was ever so good as bread-and-butter, eaten in the sweet air that blew softly across the lake. Here and there brown-sailed fishing-boats could be seen, and sometimes the steamer slowed down while a boat ran alongside, and the crew pitched empty fish boxes down to the men in blue jerseys, in readiness for the night's haul.

"They'll give them back to us filled in the morning, if they have luck," said the Captain, a long and friendly man who had come down from the upper deck to make acquaintance with his passengers. "Then we ice them, and the fish will be in Melbourne to-morrow night. Not as good as fresh-caught, of course, but then you city people don't know the difference! Wait till you get fish at the hotel, I suppose you're going to Kalimna?"

"No--we're coming down here to live," Tom told him.

"You don't say!" ejaculated the Captain. Light broke upon him. "Is it you who've taken Gordon's place?"

"Yes."

"Wonder how you'll like it." His glance rested for a moment on Aileen, dainty in her well-cut travelling clothes, her delicate face a little pale and tired. "It's not a bad little place, but I'm afraid you'll find it a bit rough. Gordon's a queer stick: hardly ever spoke to a soul. He wasn't what you'd call popular in these parts."

"I hope that won't make people unfriendly towards us," said Aileen, smiling.

"Not much--once they know you're not like Gordon," the Captain answered. "Country people are friendly enough--when they've time--but they can't stand any one being stuck-up, and that was the name Gordon had. He liked the place, too, I believe, but he never would make any friends. He was a lonely old soul. Well, well! And so you're going farming!" Again his eye travelled over them curiously. "Been at it before, might I ask?"

"No--this is our first attempt," said Tom, flushing a little.

"Well, you've got pluck, haven't you? That's all it wants--pluck and hard work. One thing, you've a good neighbour; Nick O'Connor's a nice chap. Didn't you know him?"--as Tom's face showed no response. "That's him you were talking to awhile ago--that big chap."

"Is he our neighbour? Oh, I'm glad, aren't you, Dad?" Garth exclaimed.

"And are you going to be a farmer, too, young man?" queried the Captain.

"I'm going to try," Garth said manfully. "Dad says I can help him."

"I should say so--a big fellow like you. Would you like to come and see the engines?"

"Glory!" said Garth blissfully, and trotted off by his new friend. Half an hour later his father went in search of him, and found him on the upper deck, grasping the wheel with his thin little hands, and trembling with eager delight as the steamer answered his touch. The Captain stood by, laughing at his efforts.

"I'll make a sailor of him, if he finds he doesn't like farming," he said.

"I'll remember," Tom said, laughing. "Which is it going to be, Garth?"

"I like this--awfully!" Garth panted. "But I suppose one might get a bit sick of it. And you can't have a pony on a ship!"

"Not as a rule," said the Captain. "Well, let me know if you change your mind. I might have a vacancy for a first mate any time." He patted Garth on the head as the small boy went off with his father to the warmth of the lower deck and his big overcoat.

The day was dying, and Garth began to feel a little tired: ready to sit down between his father and mother, and watch the lake shores as they glided by. They were in another lake now, the first of the chain of three that stretches inland from the sea; and their course was close to shore, underneath wooded heights and past beautiful little bays. The lake grew darker and darker. It was all very beautiful and peaceful: but, to the three strangers, it was certainly a little lonely, perhaps a little unfriendly. Home--the dear "House Beautiful" seemed very far away.

There came a momentary stoppage at a little jetty under high cliffs, where three or four men with rod cases went ashore and disappeared on a steeply ascending path. Then the steamer ran on, almost under the cliffs, until the lake narrowed, and opened out again; and ahead they could see the lights of a township. On the right hand, dimly visible, a narrow pathway of water ran out, between long grey piers, to an illimitable grey waste of water beyond; and a dull sound that had for some time been audible swelled to a roar; the thunder of the surf pounding on the entrance bar and on the Ninety-Mile Beach. They steamed past the entrance and into what seemed a little land-locked lake: paused for a moment at another jetty, and then made across to the beckoning lights on the further shore. The long journey was at an end.

*CHAPTER V*

*THE HOME-COMING*

Weary, a little dazed, the three travellers stood up, collecting rugs and wraps, and moved to the rail, watching the bustle of disembarkation. Most of the township of Cuninghame seemed to have come to meet the boat; the wharf was crowded, fishermen and labourers mingling with gaily-dressed visitors--boys in flannels, and girls in pretty frocks. Across the street from the wharf, light streamed from the open doors of a brightly-lit store, throwing everything else into greater darkness.

Tom Macleod leaned forward, scanning the throng intently.

"I wish I could see my worthy friend, Mr. Smith," he muttered.

"Who's Mr. Smith, Daddy?"

"Mr. Smith is the proud owner of a two-hoss shay he calls an express-wagon: and I hired him to meet us and drive us home, my son," Tom answered. "Thank goodness, there he is!" as a short, thick-set man came into view in the shifting crowd. "Hi! Smith! Stay here, Aileen: I'll go and get the luggage ashore." He disappeared, and they heard his voice again urgently hailing Mr. Smith, who strolled to and fro on the wharf, apparently enjoying the evening, but making no effort to find his temporary employer. Finally, a more insistent call secured his attention, and they lost sight of him.

A long and dreary wait ensued. The decks had emptied; and the steamer lights were being turned out. A keen wind blew from the water: Aileen wrapped Garth in a rug, and they crouched together on a seat, too tired even to talk. The people on the wharf went home, or clustered in groups near the store, gossiping. From time to time they caught sight of Tom and Mr. Smith, crossing and re-crossing towards the street, laden with boxes and trunks. Garth was nearly asleep when at length his father appeared.

"You poor souls!" Tom uttered. "I'm awfully sorry to have kept you such a time, Aileen. But we couldn't get a soul to help us, and Mr. Smith isn't what you'd call a swift mover. Asleep, sonnie? Come on--we'll soon be home."

Garth got to his feet stiffly, and stood, shivering, while his father and mother gathered up the rugs. Then they crossed to the wharf over a narrow gangway. In the street waited Mr. Smith, in a curious vehicle like a single-seated buggy with a very long tail, which tail was piled high with their luggage. The seat was very high, and looked--and was--exceedingly uncomfortable. Two impatient horses were making attempts to start, and Mr. Smith was repressing their energy.

"G'd evenin'," he said. "Back there, Blossom. You're a long way off your paddock yet. Take care how you get up, Mrs. Macleod; the step's a bit high. Afraid the kid'll have to sit on your knee. Bit of a squash, ain't it?"

They settled themselves somehow; the high seat caused Aileen's feet to dangle uncomfortably until Mr. Smith obligingly produced a sack of potatoes which acted as a footstool and prevented her slipping down. Tom took Garth on his knee, and muffled him in a rug. His head went back thankfully upon his father's shoulder. Mr. Smith clicked encouragingly to the horses, and they trotted up the street, leaving the brightly-lit store behind them. On one side were dim houses, and on the other, behind a low stone wall, the lake glimmered, and the water splashed on the shingle.

They turned inland presently, along a track that was hardly visible to the untrained eyes of the city people, though Mr. Smith and the horses followed it unerringly. It wound like a snake among the dim shapes of gum trees. Soon they were beyond the outlying houses of the township, and only an occasional lit window showed the existence of any inhabitants of this lonely region. Even these disappeared at last, and they drove into what seemed utter blackness.

Afterwards, Aileen Macleod was amazed to find that her new home was only three miles from the township. On that first night, twisting and turning on the dark bush track, with her senses numbed by weariness and homesickness, it was an interminable drive. Garth fell asleep, but the bumping of the express wagon over unseen obstacles awoke him constantly, and he whimpered a little--too tired to be a man, in spite of his seven years.

"Buck up, ol' son," said Mr. Smith. "We're just about there."

They stopped at a white-painted gate, only half visible to the strangers. Tom got down and fumbled with unaccustomed fastenings, while the horses fidgeted at the delay, and Aileen tried hard not to be nervous. At length it was open, and then another pause ensued while it was shut--an operation even more difficult than the opening. Tom swung himself up into the wagon again, with a muttered apology for his slowness.

"There ain't a decent gate on ol' Gordon's place," Mr. Smith said. "You'll have to let your boy come back with me to open it--I'd never hold these brutes once they got their heads pointed for home."

They were trotting through a paddock, where, apparently, no track existed. Bump--bump--bump, they went, over hollow and rise, stick and tussock. The horses swerved and twisted among the grey tree-shapes. Once they shied so violently that Tom had to clutch Aileen to save himself from being thrown out. Something got up with a snort and lumbered off into the darkness.

"A bloomin' cow!" observed Mr. Smith.

"Do cows always lie down on the track at night?" Aileen asked.

"Cert'nly," said Mr. Smith, in some surprise. "The things what don't come here at night, gen'lly-as-a-rule, is horses and buggies!"

A new chill crept over her. The stupid incident seemed to sum up her position. The cow was at home, and she, most emphatically, was not. Would it ever be home to her?

A faint light showed through the trees ahead, and presently they were skirting a rough garden fence, as Mr. Smith announced his intention of taking them round to the back. He pulled up, with a great grinding of brakes, and shouted "Coo-ee!" loudly. Across the yard a door opened, and a boy's squat figure showed against the light.

"There's your man," said Mr. Smith, with something resembling a chuckle. "Come over 'ere, 'Orace, and lend a hand with these things."

The boy moved slowly, hesitatingly, forward. Tom got down, and held out his hands to Garth.

"Come on, sonnie. Be careful, Aileen: the step is high."

He lifted Garth down, and turned to help his wife. She was numbed from her cramped position, and stumbled against him, glad of his arm, for a moment.

"I'm all right, Tom," she said then. "Give me something to carry in."

"You can take the rugs," he said, "and Garth. Don't come out again, dear; just look round the rooms to get the hang of the place. I'll hurry the things in as quickly as I can, and come to help you."

Mother and little son stumbled across the uneven yard, guided by the light from the door. The squat boy brushed against them, evidently afraid. They reached a narrow veranda, across which the light streamed. It came from a kitchen: such a kitchen as Aileen had never seen. She looked into it half-timidly.

It was not a very large room, and it was indescribably filthy. A fire, which seemed the only clean thing, blazed in a rusty-looking stove, which had not known blacklead since its earliest infancy. On the hearth, logs, buckets and dirty boots mingled: a very black kettle and some evil-looking saucepans stood on the stove-top and the hobs. The floor was covered with tattered linoleum, with bare spaces here and there where the ancient covering had worn away, or still lingered in ragged strands. There was a sink in one corner; a large table, the surface of which shone with blackened grease, a dresser, covered with a queer assortment of cracked and stained crockery. The walls had once been whitewashed, but the white had long disappeared beneath a coating of smoke and grime. A black frying-pan hung by the fire-place, with a toasting-fork that had been twisted out of fencing wire. Over all was a reek of vile tobacco smoke, mingled with the smell of dirt and closeness. It was very evidently the sitting-room of Horrors. The mantelpiece held a framed text, its gaudy flowers almost invisible under the speckled and misty glass. It said, "God Bless Our Home."

"Mother!" said Garth, in a whisper. "Is this where we're going to _live_?"

She looked down at the child's white face, and woke from the disgust and horror that had swept over her.

"Well, it is, sonnie," she said. "But it won't look like this long. You wait until we all get busy at it, and you won't know it. Anyway, we'll forget about it to-night. Come on and explore the rest of the house."

There was only one lamp, and she did not like to take it, since its dim beam was the only guide for the men as they tramped backwards and forwards from the wagon to the veranda. She looked about on the dresser, and found an end of candle stuck into a broken porter bottle, the sides of which were thick with grease. No matches were visible, so she held it to a blazing stick until it was alight. Then they entered their home.