Part 8

"Well, so am I," said his wife, laughing. "But after all, it's in the bringing-up. We must just be grateful for having neighbours who are willing to take pity on our ignorance. And we're going to learn, Tom."

"There is certainly plenty to learn," he said, grimly. "However, we'll try. They're bricks, anyhow. Now I think it's time we found a good camping-place, and boiled the billy--and the first thing I've to learn is how to make a fire out of damp wood!"

They wandered home towards evening, tired, but content. Something of the homesickness that had lain like a cloud on Aileen's mind had passed away. Life did not seem so much a thing bounded by the four walls of a kitchen. Whether the long, peaceful day in the Bush had helped, or the tonic of 'Possum's cheery, practical voice, she did not know. But she felt better.

As she came through the yard a low snarl greeted her from a box. The three "setty" hens resented any one's passing by their seclusion.

"Hopeful old souls, those," said Tom, laughing. "They're sitting on a half-brick and a hard clod, and I think they expect to hatch out a half-acre allotment and a town hall. Goodness knows how long they have been doing it. No wonder they're bad-tempered."

"Well, we mean to give them eggs to sit on to-morrow," was Aileen's response. "I suppose 'Possum knows how to move them--I should have thought it as much as one's life was worth. Do hens bite deep, Tom?"

"I don't know," he said. "But I guess you'll know to-morrow!"

Meanwhile, Miss Maggie (or something) O'Connor, known as 'Possum, had collected her ewes and driven them slowly homeward through a long afternoon, during which they endeavoured unceasingly to return to their lambs, and bleated woe at being denied. It was dusk when the last entered the home paddock, leaping high in the gateway after the idiotic manner of sheep. 'Possum rode slowly down the hill to her home.

As she took the saddle off the old grey horse, her father came up.

"Well?" he said. "Ewes all right?"

"Yes. Travelled jolly badly."

"Sure to. See the Macleods?"

"'M." 'Possum nodded. "Goin' to take the plough over to-morrow."

"That's right. Nice people, aren't they?"

"Yes, they're nice." She moved towards the house, and then stopped. "But, Lor!--who ever let 'em out!" she said.

*CHAPTER X*

*'POSSUM TAKES HOLD*

'Possum arrived next morning with the old grey horse in a dray which contained, besides herself, a small, silent brother, a plough, and a box of eggs.

"They're me best Wyandottes' aigs," she explained. "Oh, yes, you can pay me for 'em. Will we set the hens now, Mrs. Macleod?"

They went off to the shed, the invariable storehouse of Bush lumber--containing much rubbish and many treasures. Among the latter were three small empty cases upon which 'Possum pounced.

"Do first-rate," she said.

She found her way, as if by instinct, to the tool-shed: and Garth and Aileen watched her as she split an old fruit-case into laths, nailing them on the open sides of her boxes, an inch apart. Larger pieces she reserved for doors, hanging them in position by short strips of leather cut from an old boot.

"Just you keep old boots like that," she said, tenderly regarding the green and mouldy relic she had disinterred from a rubbish-heap. "Never know when you won't want a bit of leather on a farm: and gen'lly-as-a-rule, when you most want it, it ain't there. Now that's all right. Any straw?"

Garth knew where there was straw, and fled for it delightedly: and 'Possum made a nest in each box, securing the straw from escaping by keeping it in place with bits of brick. It was all done very quickly. She carried a box to a quiet corner of the fowl-yard--and turned to remonstrate at finding Aileen bearing the second in the rear.

"I say--you oughtn't to do that!"

"Yes, I ought. It's my job," said Aileen, panting, but smiling.

"But you ain't used to it," said 'Possum unhappily.

"Then the sooner I get used to it, the better!" Aileen returned for the third box, but, being easily beaten by her determined assistant, had to content herself by bringing the eggs in her wake.

"Thirteen to each," said 'Possum, disposing the eggs swiftly in the nests. "There--look nice, don't they? Always makes me feel almost like setting myself. Now for them old hens. D'you want to learn to handle 'em, Missus?" It was clear that she abandoned "Mrs. Macleod" with relief.

Never had Aileen wanted anything less. The infuriated old hens filled her with such forebodings as might be felt on approaching an angry hyena.

"Yes, please," she said, with an effort.

"Then you get a pair of old gloves. Got any leather gardening gloves?"

"Oh, yes--run for them, Garth."

"Gives you great pluck, to have gloves on," remarked 'Possum. "Not that they'll peck you, if you're quick--but sometimes you ain't quick enough. Now, you watch."

She stooped before the box where the three hens clustered angrily, greeting her with hisses and snarls. For a moment she watched, then her hand shot out swiftly and grasped the nearest hen by the neck. Quick as she was, the second hen was quicker--a red mark showed on the brown hand as she rose with the struggling captive.

"Got me," she said cheerfully. "But it don't hurt. See, Missus--I just slip me hand under her, but I don't let go her neck. Then she travels nice an' easy, but she can't use her old beak. Come an' we'll put her on the aigs."

Snarling and struggling, the hen was gently deposited upon the nest, and the door secured. 'Possum covered the box with an old sack.

"There:--she'll get quiet enough when she can't see. Some people swears by settin' 'em at night, but it don't matter when they're as setty as these fellers. Like to try your hand with the next one, Missus?"

Aileen did her best. She plunged her hand at the second hen, but missed it, thanks to warlike action on its part; and the hen arose, bestowing a hearty peck on her glove as it passed, and fled into the open, uttering loud squawks. 'Possum grabbed the third as it was about to follow.

"That's the worst of catchin' 'em in daylight," she remarked. "They see too much of what you're after. Well, we'll have to leave her, Missus. She'll go back after awhile. D'you think you could get her to-night?"

"Yes, if it takes me all night!" said 'Aileen sturdily. Her attempt had failed, but it had taught her that the task held no especial terrors. "My husband will help me."

"Oh, you'll be all right," said 'Possum, securing her captive, and draping a sack over her wrathful protests. "Sit on them aigs, now, you silly old cuckoo, an' get busy! Well, that's that. Now, about buyin' them fowls?"

They discussed ways and means, and 'Possum made brief notes on the back of an old envelope--a laborious task.

"I'll get 'em," she said at length. "An' I must get along. I seen the Boss in the paddock as I come down, an' fixed up about them crops. Ploughin' to-morrow. So long, Missus--I'll be back this afternoon with them fowls. Come along, Joe."

"But your dinner--won't you stay?" Aileen protested.

"Got it in the cart," said 'Possum, indicating a newspaper parcel. "Catch young Joe starting out without his dinner! Thanks very much, all the same." She clicked to the grey horse, and he shambled off reluctantly.

It was some hours later when she returned, her arrival heralded by the voices of many birds. Ducks added their quackings to the notes of the hens; and a turkey's long neck protruded from a hole in a box, gazing on the scene with meek bewilderment. Aileen and Garth met the cart at the yard gate.

"You did get them!" said Aileen delightedly.

"You bet," said 'Possum briefly. "And they're good, too: you'll make plenty out of those chaps, 'cause I got 'em real cheap. Ol' Mother Coffey's anxious to get 'em off her hands: she's stiff as a poker with rheumatics. Them turkeys is a real bargain. They had her beat altogether, 'cause turkeys stray most awful, an' she couldn't get across the flats to yard 'em in." The simple joy of Miss O'Connor in the affliction of Mrs. Coffey was touching to behold.

"Well, let them go--and come and have some tea," Aileen said. "You must need it."

"I could do with a go of tea, but I can't let these fellers go without cuttin' a wing of each," said 'Possum. "Mother Coffey ain't got no garden to keep 'em out of, but 'you wouldn't care to have them rampagin' over yours. Got a strong pair o' scissors?".

They watched little Joe hold each bird while his sister deftly cut one wing as short as possible.

"Why not two wings?" Garth asked.

"'Cause they can fly as well as anything if you leave 'em both the same. They can balance, then. But you watch that chap."

"That chap" was a handsome young pullet, apparently maddened by her trials. She stared wildly for a moment when released: then, perceiving a quince tree, decided that safety lay in its branches, and endeavoured to fly thither. Her spring carried her a little way into the air: then, lacking one wing, she overbalanced and fell sideways, with terrified squawks. Reaching the ground, she bolted for shelter into Bran's kennel: and, being greeted with an amazed and indignant yap from Bran, who was already there, fluttered backwards in a state of horrified panic, and, shrieking her woes, fled down the hill-side and was lost to sight. The onlookers gave themselves up to laughter.

"Will she ever come back, do you think?"

"Oh, she'll come back all right when she feels a bit lonely," 'Possum rejoined. "Why, she ain't goin' to keep away from a place where she's had all that fun!"

Tom came up as the last of the fowls was released. Under 'Possum's advice he had spent the day in the cultivation paddock, with Roany harnessed to a sledge, picking up logs and roots which, would be in the way of the plough.

"That paddock looked quite clear: but I've a stack of wood that will last us for a fortnight, and an appetite to match it," he said. "That's a great lot of fowls! Are they what the fortune is to be made out of, 'Possum?"

"Some of it," said 'Possum. "The rest's coming out of that lucerne crop."

They went in to tea--and for the first time they saw 'Possum awkward. Outside, in the saddle, driving the heavy dray, or dealing with tools and fowls, she was simple, capable, and thoroughly at home; but the sitting-room, with its pleasant litter of books and papers and the music open on the piano, was evidently a strange world to her, and she became silent and ill at ease. The patched and faded blue dungaree, and the rough men's boots, which had fitted into the working scene, were suddenly all wrong: she looked at Aileen's dainty print frock, and felt the difference she could not put into words. It was in Aileen as well. Outside, she had been shy and awkward, ashamed of her own ignorance and helplessness: here, she was on her own ground, as she had been in the drawing-room of the "House Beautiful"; the perfect hostess, courteous and sweet-mannered. But all her tact failed, for a while, to loosen the mantle of shyness in which the unhappy 'Possum was wrapped.

Help came through little Joe. Nothing on earth could make Joe shy, though he was a gentleman of few words. Here, however, was tea, which he needed: with large fresh scones and a big cake which Mr. Macleod--a man of understanding, evidently--was cutting into generous, plummy slices. Cake did not often come in little Joe's way, and he greeted it with a wide smile.

"Ain't that scrummy, 'Poss?" he said, indicating the cake with a grubby finger.

"Be quiet!" said 'Possum in an agonized whisper. "Behave yourself!"

Joe's mouth drooped at the corners.

"Can't I have some?"

"But of course you can: and it is scrummy!" said Tom cheerfully. "I know, because I helped to make it! Don't you mind 'Possum, Joe: she can boss us when it comes to ploughing, but not when it's eating cake." He smiled at the girl over the small boy's head. "Have a scone, 'Possum."

'Possum accepted a scone unhappily, and held it as if doubtful of how to eat it, sitting miserably on the extreme edge of her chair, and grasping her cup with a clutch born of despair. Visions of flight stole across her: she wondered if it would look queer if she said that the old grey horse would not stand, and so might escape for home. But the grey was certainly asleep, with his nose against a post: and little Joe was sitting up to the table, eating scones and cake together with perfect contentment. Wild horses--let alone the old grey--would have found it difficult to move little Joe.

"Can't 'Poss come an' sit at the table too?" queried Joe suddenly, with his mouth full. "It's comf't'fler: an' she'll spill her tea, to a dead cert., if she sits over there!"

"Joe!" burst from his sister. "Haven't you any manners?"

"Well, you always say you like sittin' up to a table," Joe defended himself. "Come along."

Aileen laughed delightedly.

"It's not a bit of good to hope that small brothers will behave the way one expects them to, 'Possum," she said, pitying the girl's scarlet face. "Never mind, he's full of good sense. Come, and we will all sit up to the table; it is comf't'fler."

"I always told you it was," Tom said, drawing up his chair with joy. "I never could see why people should be condemned to do circus performances, balancing cups and plates, when there was a good sound table near. Good man, Joe. Pass him the scones, Garth."

'Possum's hot flush died away. These people were comprehending, even if their room was "sweller" than any room she had ever seen: and now that she was at the table her blucher boots and patched skirt were hidden, and that was a comfort. She wondered if she ought to have removed her hat: but the certainty that her short yellow hair would be standing on end--it always did--made her feel safe in having kept it on. She decided that she might as well eat, and bit into her scone gingerly. It was a good scone, and the tea was good, but very hot--and she was thirsty. She poured some into her saucer and blew upon it to cool it--and then turned a hotter scarlet than ever, finding Garth's eyes on her curiously, and realizing that she was the only one so employed.

"Cake, Garth?" said Tom. He secured his son's attention to his plate, giving him a warning glance. "Aileen, you've made this tea awfully hot."

"More milk?" queried Aileen.

"No, thanks: it's very good." He poured some deliberately into his saucer, and blew upon it--and gave inward thanks that 'Possum did not perceive Garth's glance of utter bewilderment. Over the saucer he met the girl's eyes calmly. "How long do you think it will take to plough that paddock, 'Possum?"

"Oh, a few days," 'Possum answered. "The rain will have made it easier work: the ground was jolly hard before that." She had regained her calmness; the trick of the useful saucer was evidently familiar to Melbourne tea-tables.

"And can you plough it all?"

"Well, I sh'd hope so," 'Possum said. "I bin ploughing since I was thirteen--you've only to sit on the seat and keep the horses straight. It's a bit hard on hills, but it's easy as wink on plain ground."

"'Possum ploughs straighter furrers than Dad!" volunteered Joe. "You ask any one!"

"Keep quiet!" said his sister.

"Well, you do." He turned to Tom, secure of a sympathetic hearing. "An' 'Poss never does what Dad did--he was ploughin' on the side of a hill, an' he let the ol' plough topple over, and him an' the plough went rollin' down like fun. You orter seen him!" The memory induced deep chuckles. "C'n I have some more cake?"

"Joe, you ain't got no manners!" said his sister miserably.

"I got cake," said Joe, with great cheerfulness.

Tom and Aileen burst out laughing.

"Don't worry about him, 'Possum," said Aileen. "Do have another cup. And I want to know how many of you there are at home."

"Well, there's Dad," said 'Possum, bestowing a glance of great scorn on her brother. "Mother died when Joe was a baby. Joe's six, even if he ain't got no manners, an' Polly's seven, an' Bill's ten, and Bertha's twelve. The twins 'ud be fourteen, on'y they died on us when they were kids."

"And who looks after the children?"

"Why, I do--on'y mostly they looks after themselves."

"But who cooks and looks after the house?"

"Me an' Bertha. I used to do it all till Bertha lef' school: she's quick, an' she passed all her exams., an' got her certif'cate last year. Now she helps, an' I will say she's as handy as a pocket in a shirt. Never saw a kid take to cookin' like Bert. That's all she cares about--as long as she can dodge round in the kitchen she never wants to put her nose outside."

"But you did it all until last year?" Aileen asked in amazement. "And brought up the children?"

"With a bit of ploughing thrown in!" came from Tom.

'Possum flushed. She was not quite sure that they were not laughing at her. But their faces were very kind.

"Well, y' see, there wasn't any one else," she said. "Dad was too busy on the place. He got a woman at first, but she was always drunk, an' stole things, an' hit us, an' bossed us round. I tol' Dad I'd run the house if he'd send her away, so he did. My word, we was glad! She never passed any of the kids without givin' them a clip on the ear for luck!" Her head went up. "An' they're good kids, mind y'--'cept Joe!"

Joe grinned happily.

"But how did you manage everything?"

"Oh, I dunno. It wasn't hard. Kids in the Bush look after themselves a lot, y' know. They get handy in no time. Bill's cut all the wood for me since he was seven, an' he an' Bert milked before they wont to school. Bill an' Polly's goin' still, of course. I had to leave school when Mother died, an' I was on'y eleven then, so I hadn't learned much. I was always a fool, too!"

"A fool!" said Tom. "Good Heavens!"

"Oh, I was--true. I never could make head or tail of books. More I tried, the stupider I got. Sums, too: ain't they silly things? But I used to wish I'd had time to learn a bit more, 'cause I did want to bring the kids up decent. Mother was very partic'lar. But I jolly well seen to it that _they_ went to school reg'lar. Joe's goin' next year. I s'pose I oughter sent him this year, but he was the baby, so he's got a bit spoilt."

The queer, disjointed speech stopped, and 'Possum disappeared behind her tea-cup.

"And what does your father do?"

"Dad? Oh, he looks after the place, an' goes to sales, an' does a bit of dealin'. Dad's a great judge of stock," said 'Possum proudly. "He does a lot of odd jobs of shearin' too--he used to be ringer in a shed on the Murray before he married Mother. He makes the place pay, all right--lucky he does, with all of us to buy clothes and tucker for! An' he potters round an' talks to men over the back gate. Men always have a heap to talk about, don't they?"

"They do," said Aileen promptly, sending a laughing glance at Tom. "It is their nature to."

"Well, you can't blame 'em," said 'Possum. "But I do think it's a good thing women aren't like that."

"But they are!" wailed Tom.

"Not in the Bush, anyhow. They simply wouldn't have time. It's a funny thing--no matter how busy a man is, he's always got time to prop up a gate an' yarn if any other man comes along. But a woman just can't--she'd think of the dinner not cooked, an' the spuds not dug, an' the washin' up not done, an' like as not no wood for the fire if she didn't cut it herself, an' the kids' pants not patched. An' they're all things that can't be left, 'cause men expects to be fed, an' if you leave pants when they begin to need patchin', there's mighty soon no pants to patch. Joe's pants, anyhow--an' Bill's."

"Did you do all the sewing, 'Possum?"

"Most of it," said 'Possum--"'cept what I just couldn't do, an' Dad had to buy those at the store. Then when Bert an' Polly started goin' to school I made him buy their dresses--I couldn't have 'em laughed at for being howlin' frights! There's always something very bad about the clothes I make: y' see, I never learned how, prop'ly. I just clamp 'em together somehow. It don't matter so much when no one ever sees them."

She flushed a little.

"I make all me own," she said. "It don't matter about me--an' I'd wear out anything but dungaree with the rough work outside. Dad's away a good bit, y' see, so then I have to run the place; an' when you're doin' odd bits of ploughin' or fencin' or scrub-cuttin', you can't bother about clothes. I know mine are pretty rum."

"I think you manage them wonderfully," said Aileen, her eyes suddenly dim. "You make me ashamed of doing so little."

"Lor', we all think this is awful rough on you!" exclaimed 'Possum. "You ain't used to it--an' I know this place was a fair pigsty. I saw it once, an' it was a disgrace." Her eyes wandered to the door.

"Would you like to see how I have arranged it?" Aileen asked, fathoming the glance.

"My word, wouldn't I!" 'Possum jumped up eagerly. "I think this is the nicest room I ever saw! Would it be botherin' you, Missus?"

"I'd like to," said Aileen. She led the way out of the sitting-room.

It smote her heart to see the girl's frank delight in the little rooms. To her, fresh from the "House Beautiful," they seemed unutterably small and poky: but to 'Possum they were visions of bewildering splendour. Most of all, to Aileen's astonishment, she admired the bright new bedsteads.

"They _are_ pretty," she said. "There ain't one in our house that ain't home-made, mattresses and all. Dad made 'em out of packin'-cases. I taught the kids some of their letters off 'Johnson's Whiskey' brand on the end o' mine. An' you have such pretty things on 'em." She touched the Indian coverlets lightly. "Fancy a tiny little chap with a grand bed like this! Do all the people in Melbourne have this kind, Missus?"

"A good many, I think," Aileen said. "But I dare say they are not one bit more comfortable than yours, 'Possum."

"No, but they're awful pretty!" 'Possum said. "You must feel so jolly nice when you wake up in 'em. An' everything is just as pretty as the beds." Her glance travelled over the fresh curtains, the pretty cretonnes on the box-tables, and the pictures on the walls. "It's the loveliest house I ever was in, since you came."

"Don't you know any of the houses in the township, 'Possum?"

'Possum shook her head.

"Never go there, 'nless I can't help meself. It's five miles from us, y' see, an' I'm too busy, gen'lly-as-a-rule: an' I don't like goin'. They laugh at me, 'cause me clothes are queer, an' me hair's short. Well, I just hadn't time to keep it tidy, so I got Dad to cut it. But Bert's and Polly's is awful pretty hair. Polly's is that curly you couldn't think. So they can laugh. I got to go in the summer, when there's veg'tables an' things to sell, but I just get me business done an' cut straight home again. I say, I must be gettin' home now: it's gettin' awful late."

A sudden thought struck Aileen as she followed the girl out to the yard.

"Are you coming every day to plough, 'Possum? Then, wouldn't you like to sleep here and save yourself the trouble of going home each night?"

'Possum's shyness returned in full blast.

"'Fraid I couldn't," she said, her voice abrupt. "I got me own work at home, an' some one must keep an eye on the kids. Thanks awfully." Then her face grew suddenly wistful. "Not but I'd like ever so to sleep in one of them lovely beds!" she added. "Well, I'll just fix up that third ol' setty hen for you, while I'm thinkin' of it, an' then I'll make tracks for home."

She fell upon the hen swiftly, and transferred it to the eggs. Joe, recalled with difficulty from the hay-loft, appeared with his person largely concealed under straw, and had to submit to a vigorous brushing-down by his sister. Then they jogged off together in the twilight.

*CHAPTER XI*

*FARMERS IN EARNEST*