 CHAPTER XXII. Monday arrived. Last day of November and seventeenth anniversary of my birth, and I celebrated it in a manner which I capitalally enjoyed. It was the time of the annual muster at Cuma Bella, a cattle station seventeen miles eastward from Categett, and all our men were there assisting. Word had been sent that a considerable number of beasts among those yarded bore the impress of the Bossier brand on their hides, so on Sunday afternoon Uncle J.J. had also proceeded thither to be in readiness for the final drafting early on Monday morning. This left us manless, as Frank Hodden, being incapacitated with a dislocated wrist, was spending a few weeks in ghoul ghoul until he should be fit for work again. Uncle had not been gone an hour when a drover appeared to report that twenty thousand sheep would pass through on the morrow. Grass was precious. It would not do to let the sheep spread and dawdle at their drover's pleasure. There was not a man on the place. Granny was in a great stew, so I volunteered my services. At first she would not hear of such a thing, but eventually consented. With many injunctions to conduct myself with proper stiffness, I started early on Monday morning. I was clad in a cool blouse, a Holland riding-skirt and a big straw hat, was seated on a big bay horse, was accompanied by a wonderful sheep-dog, and carried a long, heavy stock-whip. I sang and cracked my stock-whip as I cantered along, quite forgetting to be reserved and proper. Presently I came upon the sheep just setting out for their day's tramp, with a black boy ahead of them, of whom I inquired which was the boss. He pointed towards a man at the rear wearing a donkey's upper hat. I made my way through the sheep in his direction, and asked if he were in charge of them. Upon being answered in the affirmative, I informed him that I was Mr. Bossier's niece, and as the men were otherwise engaged, I would see the sheep through. That's all right, miss. I will look out that you don't have much trouble," he replied, politely raising his hat, while a look of amusement played on his face. He rode away, and shouted to his men to keep the flock strictly within bounds and make good travelling. Right you are, boss," they answered, and returning to my side, he told me his name was George Ledwood, and made some remarks about the great drought and so on, while we rode in the best places to keep out of the dust and in the shade. I asked questions such as whence came the sheep, whether they were bound, and how long they had been on the road. And having exhausted these orthodox remarks, we fell a-talking in dead earnest without the least restraint. I listened with interest to stories of weeks and weeks spent beneath the sun and stars, while crossing widths of salt-bush country, mulga and mile-scrubs, of encounters with blacks in Queensland, and was favoured with a graphic description of a big strike among the shears when the narrator had been boss of the board out beyond Burke. He spoke as though well educated and a gentleman, as drovers often are. Why, then, was he on the road? I put him down as escape-grace, for he had all the winning pleasant manner of a ne'er-do-well. At lunch, an ice-blazing, dusty noon, we halted within a mile of cataget for lunch. I could have easily ridden home for mine, but preferred to have it with the drovers for fun. The men boiled the billy and made the tea, which we drank out of tin pots, with tinned fish and damper-off tin plates as the completion of the menu. Mr. Leadwood and I add a little distance from the men. Tea boiled in a billy at a bush-fire has a deliciously aromatic flavour, and I enjoyed my birthday lunch immensely. Leaving the cook to collect the things and put them in the spring-cart, we continued on our way, lazily lolling on our horses and chewing gum-leaves as we went. The last of the sheep got off the cataget run it was nearing two o'clock. Mr. Leadwood and I shook hands at parting, each expressing a wish that we might meet again some day. I turned and rode homewards. I looked back and saw the drover gazing after me. I waved my hand. He raised his hat and smiled, displaying his teeth, a gleam of white in his sun-brown face. I kissed my hand to him. He bowed low. I whistled to my dog. He resumed his way behind the crawling sheep. I cantered home quickly and dismounted at the front gate at two-thirty p.m., a dusty, heated, tired girl. Granny came out to question me regarding the sex, age, condition, and species of the sheep. What was their destination? Whether they were in search of grass or were for sale, had they spread or eaten much grass, and had the men been civil? When I had satisfactorily informed her on all these points, she bade me have something to eat, to bathe and dress, and gave me a holiday for the remainder of the day. My hair was gray with dust, so I washed all over, arrayed myself in a cool white dress, and throwing myself in a squatter's chair in the veranda, spread my hair over the back of it to dry. Copies of Gordon, Kendall, and Lawson were on my lap, but I was too physically content and comfortable to indulge in even these, my sworn friends and companions. I surrendered myself to the mere joy of being alive. How the sunlight blazed and danced in the roadway, the leaves of the gum-trees gleaming in it like myriad gems. A cloud of white, which I knew to be cockatoos, circled over the distant hilltop, nearer they wheeled until I could hear their discordant screech. The thermometer on the wall rested at a hundred and four degrees, despite the dense shade thrown on the broad old veranda by the foliage of creepers, shrubs, and trees. The gurgling rush of the creek, the scent of the flower-laden garden, and the stamp, stamp of a horse in the orchard, as he attempted to rid himself of tormenting flies, filled my senses. The warmth was delightful. Summer is heavenly, I said. Life is a joy. Aunt Helen's slender fingers looked artistic among some pretty fancy work upon which she was engaged. Bright butterflies flitted round the garden, and thousands of bees droned lazily among the flowers. I closed my eyes, my being filled with the beauty of it all. I could hear Granny's pen fly over the paper as she made out a list of Christmas supplies on a table near me. Helen, I suppose a hundred weight of currents will be sufficient? Yes, I should think so. Seven dozen yards of unbleached calico be enough? Yes, plenty. Which tea service did you order? Number two. Do you or Sibylla want anything extra? Yes, parasols, gloves, and some books. Books? Can I get them at Hordern's? Yes. Granny's voice faded on my ears. My thoughts ran on Uncle JJ. He had promised to be home in time for my birthday spread, and I was sure he had a present for me. What would it be? Something nice. He would be nearly sure to bring someone home with him from Cuma Bella, and we would have games and fun to no end. I was just seventeen, only seventeen, and had a long, long life before me wherein to enjoy myself. Oh, it was good to be alive. What a delightful place the world was. So accommodating, I felt complete mistress of it. It was like an orange. I merely had to squeeze it, and it gave forth sweets plentiously. The stream sounded far away. The sunlight blazed and danced. Granny's voice was a pleasant murmur in my ear. The cockatoos screamed over the house and passed away to the west. Summer is heavenly, and life is a joy, I reiterated. Joy! Joy! There was joy in the quit-quit of the green and crimson parrots, which swung for a moment in the rose-bush over the gate, and then whizzed on into the summer day. There was joy in the gleam of the sun and in the hum of the bees, and it throbbed in my heart. Joy! Joy! A jackass laughed his joy as he perched on the telegraph wire out in the road. Joy! Joy! Summer is a dream of delight, and life is a joy, I said in my heart. I was repeating the one thing over and over, but ah! it was a measure of happiness which allowed of much repetition. The cool murmur of the creek grew far away. I felt my poetry books slip off my knees and fall to the floor, but I was too content to bother about them. Too happy to need their consolation, which I had previously so often and so hungrily sought. Youth! Joy! Warmth! The clack of the garden gate as it swung to awoke me from a pleasant sleep. Granny had left the veranda, and on the table where she had been writing Aunt Helen was filling many vases with maidenhair fern and La France roses. A pleasant clatter from the dining-room announced that my birthday tea was in active preparation. The position of the yellow sunbeams at the far end of the wide veranda told that the dense shadows were lengthening, and that the last of the afternoon was wheeling westward. Taking this in, in an instant I straightened the piece of mosquito netting, which, to protect me from the flies—someone, auntie probably—had spread across my face, and feigned to be at asleep. By the footsteps which sounded on the stone-garden walk, I knew that Harold Beecham was one of the individuals approaching. How do you do, Mrs. Bell? Allow me to introduce my friend Archie Goodchum. Mrs. Bell, Mr. Goodchum, hasn't it been a roaster to-day, considerably over a hundred degrees in the shade—terribly hot?" Aunt Helen acknowledged the introduction, and seated her guests, saying, Harry, have you got an artistic eye? If so, you can assist me with these flowers. So might Mr. Goodchum, if he feels disposed. Harold accepted the proposal, and remarked, What is the matter with your niece? It is the first time I ever saw her quiet. Yes, she is a noisy little article, a perfect whirlwind in the house, but she is a little tired this afternoon. She has been seeing those sheep through to-day. Don't you think it would be a good lark if I get something and tickle her? said Goodchum. Yes, do, said Harold, but look out for squalls. She is a great little fizzer. Then she might be insulted. Not she, interposed Auntie, no one will enjoy the fun more than herself. I had my eyes half open beneath the net, so saw him cautiously approach with a rose-stem between his fingers. Being extremely sensitive to tickling, so soon as touched under the ear I took a flying leap from the chair, somewhat disconcerting my tormentor. He was a pleasant-looking young fellow, somewhere about twenty, whose face was quite familiar to me. He smiled so good-humoredly at me that I widely did the same in return, and he came forward with extended hand, exclaiming, at last. The others looked on in surprise, Harold remarking suspiciously, You said you were unacquainted with Miss Melvin, but an introduction does not seem necessary. Oh yes it is, chirped Mr. Goodchum, I haven't the slightest idea of the young lady's name. Don't know each other, ejaculated Harold, and Granny, who had appeared upon the scene, inquired stiffly what we meant by such capers, if unacquainted. Mr. Goodchum hastened to explain. I've seen the young lady on several occasions in the bank where I'm employed, and I had the good fortune to be of a little service to her one day when I was out biking. Her harness, or at least the harness on the horse she was driving, broke, and I came to the rescue with my pocket-knife and some string, thereby proving, if not ornamental, I was useful. After that I tried hard to find out who she was, but my inquiries always came to nothing. I little dreamt who Miss Melvin was, when Harry, telling me she was a gold-burn girl, asked if I knew her. Quite romantic! said Aunt Helen, smiling, and a great thankfulness overcame me that Mr. Goodchum had been unable to discover my identity until now. It was right enough to be unearthed as Miss Melvin, granddaughter of Mrs. Bossier of Categette, and great friend and intimate of the swell beechums of five Bob Downs station. At Goldburn I was only the daughter of old Dick Melvin, broken down farmer Cockatoo, well known by reason of his sprees about the commonest pubs in town. Mr. Goodchum told us it was his first experience of the country, and therefore he was enjoying himself immensely. He also mentioned that he was anxious to see some of the gullies around Categette, which, he had heard, were renowned for the beauty of their ferns. Aunt Helen, accordingly, proposed a walk in the direction of one of them, and hurried off to attend to a little matter before starting. While waiting for her, Harold happened to say it was my birthday, and Mr. Goodchum tendered me the orthodox wishes, remarking, it is surely pardonable at your time of life to ask what age you have attained to-day." Seventeen. Oh! oh! sweet seventeen, and never been kissed! But I suppose you cannot truthfully say that, Miss Melvin. Oh yes, I can. Well, you won't be able to say it much longer, he said, making a suggestive move in my direction. I ran, and he followed, granny reappearing from the dining-room just in time to see me bang the garden-gate with great force on my pursuer. What on earth is the girl doing now? I heard her inquire. However, Mr. Goodchum did not execute his threat. Instead we walked along decorously in the direction of the nearest ferns, while Harold and Aunt Helen followed, the latter carrying a sun-bonnet for me. After we had climbed some distance up a gully, Aunt Helen called out that she and Harold would rest while I did the honors of the fern grots to my companion. We went on and on, soon getting out of sight of the others. What do you say to my carving our names on a gum-tree? The bark is so nice and soft," said the bank clerk, and I seconded the proposal. I will make it allegorical, he remarked, setting to work. He was very deft with his pen-knife, and in a few minutes had carved SPM and ASG, encircling the initials by a ring and two hearts interlaced. That'll do nicely," he remarked, and turning round. While I'll get a sun-stroke, do take my hat. I demurred. He pressed the matter, and I agreed on condition he allowed me to tie his handkerchief over his head. I was wearing his hat and tying the ends of a big silk handkerchief beneath his chin, when the cracking of a twig caused me to look up and see Harold beach him with an expression on his face that startled me. Your aunt set me on with your hood," he said jerkily. You can wear it. I've been promoted," I said flippantly, raising my headgear to him and bowing. He did not laugh as he usually did at my tricks, but frowned darkly instead. We've been carving our names—at least I have," remarked Goodchum. Harold tossed my sun-bonnet on the ground and said shortly, Come on, Goodchum, we must be going. Oh, don't go, Mr. Beacham! I thought you came on purpose for my birthday tea. Auntie has made a tremendous cake. You must stay. We never dreamt of you doing anything else. I've changed my mind," he replied, striding on at such a pace that we had difficulty in keeping near him. As we resumed our own headwear, Goodchum whispered, A bulldog aunt must have stung the boss. Let's ask him. On reaching the house we found other company had arrived in the persons of young Mr. Goodjay from Cuma Bella, his sister, her governess, and a couple of Jackaroos. They were seated on the veranda, and Uncle J.J., attired in his shirt-sleeves, was appearing through the dining-room door with half a dozen bottles of homemade ginger ale in his arms. Dumping them down on the floor, he produced a couple of tauts from his shirt-pockets, saying, Who votes for a draw of beer? Everyone must feel inclined for a swig. Harry, you want some. You don't look as though the heat was good for your temper. Hello, Archie! Got up this far? Take a draw out of one of these bottles. If there had been a dozen pubs on the road I'd have drunk every one of them dry to-day. I never felt such a daddy of a thirst in me before. Good gracious Julius! exclaimed Granny as he offered the governess a pot full of beer. Miss Craddock can't drink out of that pint. Those who don't approve of my pints let them bring their own, said that mischievous Uncle J.J., who was a great hand at acting the clown when he felt that way inclined. I was dispatched for glasses, and after emptying the bottles Uncle proposed a game of tennis first, while the light lasted, and tea afterwards. This proposition being carried with acclamation we proceeded to the tennis court. Harold came, too. He had apparently altered his intention of going home immediately. There were strawberries to be had in the orchard, also some late cherries, so Uncle ordered me to go and get some. I procured a basket, and willingly agreed to obey him. Mr. Goodchum offered to accompany me, but Harold stepped forward, saying he would go, in such a resolute tragic manner that Goodchum winked audaciously, saying waggishly, behold, the hero descends into the burning mine. CHAPTER XXIII. Ah! for one hour of burning love, to his worth and age of cold respect. We walked in perfect silence. Harold not offering to carry my little basket. I did not dare lift my eyes, as something told me the face of the big man would not be pleasant to look upon just then. I twirled the ring he had given me round and round my finger. I occasionally put it on, wearing the stones on the palm side of my finger, so that it would not be taken for other than one of two or three Aunt Helen had lent me, saying I was at liberty to use them while at Categette, if it gave me any pleasure. The Categette orchard contained six acres, and being a narrow enclosure, and the cherries growing at the extreme end from the house, it took us some time to reach them. I led the way to our destination, a secluded nook where grapevines clambered up fig trees, and where the top of gooseberry bushes met the lower limbs of cherry trees. Blue and yellow lupins stood knee-high, and strawberries grew wild among them. We had not uttered a sound, and I had not glanced at my companion. I stopped. He wheeled abruptly and grasped my wrist in a manner which sent the basket whirling from my hand. I looked up at his face, which was blazing with passion, and dark with a darker tinge than nature and the sun had given it, from the shapely, swelling neck in its soft, well-turned-down collar to where the stiff black hair, wet with perspiration, hung on the wide forehead. Unhand me, sir, I said shortly, attempting to wrench myself free, but I might as well have tried to pull away from a lion. Unhand me, I repeated. For answer he took a firmer hold, in one hand seizing my arm above the elbow, and gripping my shoulder with the other so tightly, that through my flimsy covering, his strong fingers bruised me so severely, that in a calmer moment I would have squirmed and cried out with pain. How dare you touch me! He drew me so closely to him, that through his thin shirt, the only garment on the upper part of his figure, I could feel the heat of his body and his big heart beating wildly. At last, at last, I had waked this calm, silent giant into life. After many an ineffectual struggle, I had got at a little real love or passion, or call it by any name, something wild and warm and splendidly alive that one could feel, the most thrilling, electric and exquisite sensation known. I thoroughly enjoyed the situation, but did not let this appear. A minute or two passed, and he did not speak. Mr. Beecham, I'll trouble you to explain yourself. How dare you lay your hands upon me? Explain! He breathed, rather than spoke, in a tone of concentrated fury. I'll make you explain, and then I'll do what I like with you. I'll touch you as much as I think fit. I'll throw you over the fence if you don't explain to my satisfaction. What is there that I can explain? Explain your conduct with other men. How dare you receive their attentions and be so friendly with them? How dare you speak to me like that? I reserve the right of behaving as I please, without your permission. I won't have a girl with my engagement ring on her finger going on as you do. I think I have a right to complain, for I could get any amount of splendid women in every way to wear it for me, and behave themselves properly too, he said fiercely. I tossed my head defiantly, saying, Loose your hold of me, and I'll quickly explain matters to my own satisfaction and yours, Harold Beecham. He let me go, and I stepped a pace or two away from him, drew the costly ring from my finger, and with indifference and contempt tossed it to his feet, where the juice of crushed strawberries was staining the ground, and facing him, said mockingly, Now speak to the girl who wears your engagement ring, for I'll degrade myself by wearing it no more. If you think I think you as great a catch as you think yourself, just because you have a little money, you are a trifle mistake in Mr. Beecham. That is all. Ha-ha! So you thought you had a right to lecture me as your future slave. Just fancy! I never had the slightest intention of marrying you. You were so disgustingly conceited that I have been attempting to rub a little of it out of you. Marry you! Ha-ha! Ha-ha! Because the social laws are so arranged that a woman's only sphere is marriage, and because they endeavour to secure a man who can give them a little more ease, you must not run away with the idea that it is yourself they are angling for, when you are only the bothersome appendage with which they would have to put up, for the sake of your property. And you must not think that because some women will marry for a home, they all will. I trust I have explained to your satisfaction, Mr. Beecham. Ha-ha! The jealous rage had died out of his face, and was succeeded by trembling in a pallor so ghastly that I began to have a little faith in descriptions of love which I had hitherto ridiculed. Are you an earnest? he asked, in a deadly calm voice. Most emphatically I am. Then all I can say is that I haven't much respect for you, Miss Melvin. I always consider that there were three classes of women—one that would marry a black fellow if he had money, another that were shameless flirts and who amused themselves by flirting and disgracing the name of women, and a third class that were pure and true, on whom a man could stake his life and whom he could worship. I thought you belonged to this class, but I've been mistaken. I know you always try to appear heartless and worthless, but I fancied it was only your youth and mischief, and imagined you were good underneath. But I have been mistaken. He repeated with quiet contempt. His face had regained its natural color, and the well-cut, pleasant mouth, clearly seen beneath the soft, drooping moustache, had hardened into a sullen line which told me he would never be first to seek reconciliation, not even to save his life. Bah! I exclaimed sarcastically. It appears that we all labor under delusions. Go and get a beautiful woman to wear your ring and your name, one that will be able to say yes and no at the right time, one who will know how to dress properly, one who wouldn't for the world do anything that other women did not also, one who will know where to buy the best groceries, and who will readily sell herself to you for your wealth. That's the sort of woman that suits men, and there are plenty of them. Procure one, and don't bother with me. I am too small and silly, and I'm nothing to recommend me. I fear it speaks little for your sense or taste that you ever thought of me. Tata, Mr. Beecham! I said over my shoulder with a mocking smile, and walked away. When about half-way down the orchard, deflection pulled me up shortly under an apple-tree. I had said what I had said, because, feeling bitter for the want of love, and because full of pain myself, I rejoiced with a sort of revenge to see the same feeling flash across another's face. But now I was cool, and forgetting myself, thought of Harold. I had led him on because his perpetually calm demeanor had excited in me a desire to test if it were possible to disturb him. I had thought him incapable of emotion, but he had proved himself a man of strong and deep emotion. Might he not also be capable of feeling, of love? He had not been mean or nasty in his rage, and his anger had been righteous. By accepting his proposal of marriage I had given him the right of expressing his objection to any of my actions of which he disapproved. I, on my part, had the liberty of trying to please him or of dissolving our engagement. Perhaps in some cases there was actually something more than wounded vanity when a man's alleged love was rejected or spurned. Harold had seemed to suffer, to really experience keen disappointment. I was clearly in the wrong, and had been unwomanly beyond a doubt, as granting that Harold Beecham was conceded, what right had I to constitute myself his judge, or to take into my own hands the responsibility of correcting him? I felt ashamed of my conduct. I was sorry to have hurt any one's feelings. Moreover, I cannot bear to be at ill will with my fellows, and am ever the first to give in after having quarreled. It is easier than sulking, and it always makes the other party so self-complacent that it is amusing as well as convenient, and—and—and. I found I was very, very fond of Harold Beecham. I crept noiselessly up the orchard. He had his back to me, and had moved to where a post of the fence was peeping out among the greenery. He had his elbow placed thereupon, and his forehead resting on his hand. His attitude expressed dejection. Maybe he was suffering the torture of a broken ideal. His right hand hung glimply by his side. I do not think he heard me approach. My heart beat quickly, and a fear that he would snub me caused me to pause. Then I nervved myself with the thought that it would be only fair if he did. I had been rude to him, and he had a right to play tit for tat if he felt so disposed. I expected my action to be spurned or ignored, so very timidly slipped my fingers into his palm. I need not have been nervous, for the strong brown hand, which had never been known to strike a cowardly blow, completely enfolded mine in a gentle caressing clasp. Mr. Beecham. Harold! I am so sorry I was so unwomanly, and said such horrible things. Will you forgive me, and let us start afresh? I murmured. All flippancy, bitterness, and amusement had died out of me. I was serious, and in earnest. This must have expressed itself in my eyes, for Harold, after gazing searchingly right there for a time, seemed satisfied, and his mouth relaxed to its habitually lovable expression as he said, Are you in earnest? Well, that is something more like the little woman. Yes, I am in earnest. Can you forgive me? There is nothing to forgive, as I am sure you didn't mean, and don't remember the blood-curdling sentiments you aired. But I did mean them in one sort of way, and didn't in another. Let us start afresh. How do you mean to start afresh? I mean for us to be chums again. Oh, chums, he said impatiently. I want to be something more. Well, I will be something more if you will try to make me, I replied. How? What do you mean? I mean you never try to make me fond of you. You have never uttered one word of love to me. Why, bless me, he ejaculated in surprise. It's a fact. I have only flirted to try and see if you cared, but you didn't care a pin. Why, bless me, didn't you say I was not show any affection yet awhile, and talk about not caring, why I have felt fit to kill you and myself many a time the last fortnight you have tormented me so, but I have managed to keep myself within bounds till now. Will you wear my ring again? Oh, no, and you must not say I am flirting if I cannot manage to love you enough to marry you, but I will try my best. Don't you love me, Sib? I've thought of nothing else but you night and day since I saw you first. Can it be possible that you don't care a straw for me? And a pained expression came upon his face. Oh, Harold, I'm afraid I very nearly love you, but don't hurry me too much. You can think me sort of secretly engaged to you if you like, but I won't take your ring. Keep it till we see how we get on. I looked for it, and finding it a few steps away gave it to him. Can you really trust me again after seeing me get in such a vile beast of a rage? I often do that, you know, he said. Believe me, Hal, I liked it so much I wish you would get in a rage again. I can't bear people who never let themselves go, or rather who have nothing in them to carry them away. They cramp and bore me. But I have a frightful temper. Satan only knows what I will do in it yet. Would you not be frightened of me? No fear, I laughed. I would defy you. A tom-tit might as well defy me, he said with amusement. Well, big as you are, a tom-tit having such superior facilities for getting about could easily defy you, I replied. Yes, unless it was caged, he said. But supposing you never got it caged, I returned. Oh, Sib, what do you mean? What could I mean? I don't know. There are always about four or five meanings in what you say. Oh, thanks, Mr. Beecham. You must be very astute. I am always thankful when I am able to dish one meaning out of my idle gavel. The glorious summer day had fallen asleep on the bosom of the horizon, and twilight had merged into dusk. As picking up the basket, Harold and I returned cherry and strawberry less to the tennis court. The players had just ceased action, and the gentlemen were putting on their coats. Harold procured his and thrust his arms into it, while we were attacked on all sides by a flood of banter. My birthday tea was a great success, and after it was done we enjoyed ourselves in the drawing-room. Uncle J.J. handed me a large box, saying it contained a present. Everyone looked on with interest while I hurriedly opened it, when they were much amused to see, nothing but a doll and materials to make it close. I was much disappointed, but Uncle said it would be more in my line to play with that than to worry about tramps and politics. I took care to behave properly during the evening, and when the goodbyes were in full swing, had an opportunity of a last word with Harold. He's stooping to hear me whisper. Now that I know you care, I will not annoy you any more by flirting. Don't talk like that. I was only mad for the moment. Enjoy yourself as much as you like. I don't want you to be like a nun. I'm not quite so selfish as that. When I look at you and see how tiny you are and how young, I feel it is brutal to bore you at all, and you don't detest me altogether for getting in such an infernal rage. No! That is the very thing I liked. Good night. Good night. He replied, taking both my hands and his. You are the best little woman in the world, and I hope we will spend all your other birthdays together. It's to be hoped you've said something to make Harry a trifle sweeter than he was this afternoon," said Goodchum. Then it was. Good night, Mrs. Basier. Good night, Harry. Good night, Archie. Good night, Mr. Goodchum. Good bye, Miss Craddock. Ta-ta, Miss Melvin. So long, J.J. Good bye, Mrs. Bell. Good bye, Miss Goodjay. Good night, Miss Melvin. Good night, Mr. Goodjay. Good night, Mrs. Basier. Good bye, Miss Melvin. Good night, all. I sat long by my writing-table that night, thinking long, long thoughts, foolish thoughts, sad ones, merry ones, old-headed thoughts, and the sweet, sweet thoughts of youth and love. It seemed to me that men were not so invincible and invulnerable as I had imagined them. It appeared they had feeling and affections after all. I laughed a joyous little laugh, saying, Hal, we are quits. When, on disrobing for the night, I discovered on my soft white shoulders and arms so susceptible to bruises, many marks, and black. It had been a very happy day for me. End of Chapter 23 Chapter 24 of My Brilliant Career The next time I saw Harold Beachum was on Sunday, the 13th of December. There was a hammock swinging under a couple of trees in an enclosure. Half shrubbery, partly orchard and vegetable garden, skirt in the road. In this I was gently swinging, to and fro, and very much enjoying an interesting book and some delicious gooseberries, and seeing Harold approaching pretended to be asleep, to see if he would kiss me. I could know he was not that style of man. After tethering his horse to the fence and vaulting himself over it, he shook me and informed me I was as sound asleep as a log and had required no end of waking. My hair tumbled down. I accused him of disarranging it and ordered him to repair the damage. He couldn't make out what was the matter with it, only that it looks a bit doddy. Men are queer creatures I returned. They have the most wonderful brains in some ways, but in little things they are as stupid as owls. It is no trouble to them to master geology, mineralogy, anatomy, and other things, the very name of which gives me a headache. They can see through politics, mature mighty water reservoir schemes, and manage five stations at once, but they couldn't sew a button on or fix one's hair to save their life. I cannot imagine how the news had escaped me, for the story with which Harold Beecham surprised and startled me on that long hot afternoon had been common talk for some time. He had come to Categette purposely to explain his affairs to me and stated as his reason for not having done so earlier that he had waited until the last moment thinking he might pull himself up. Business to me is a great mystery into which I have not the slightest desire to penetrate. I have no brains in that direction, so will not attempt to correctly reproduce all that Harold Beecham told me on that afternoon while leaning against a tree at my feet and looking down at me as I reclined in the hammock. There was great mention of bogus bonds, bad investments, liabilities and assets, and personal estates, and of a thing called an official asigné, whatever that is, voluntary sequestration, and a jargon of such terms that were enough to nither a barcou lawyer. The gist of the matter, as I gathered it, was that Harold Beecham looked upon as such a lucky beggar and envied as a pet of fortune, had been visited by an unprecedented run of crushing misfortunes. He had not been as rich in sound and position as the public had imagined him to be. The failure of a certain bank two or three years previously had given him a great shaking. The tick plague had ruined him as regarded his Queensland property, and the drought had made matters nearly as bad for him in New South Wales. The burning of his wool last year, and the failure of the agents in whose hands he had placed it, this had pushed him farther into the mire, and now the recent going bung of a building society, his sole remaining prop, had run him entirely ashore. He had sequestrated his estate, and as soon as practicable was going through the courts as an insolvent. The personal estate allowed him, from the debris of his wealth, he intended to settle on his aunts, and he hoped it might be sufficient to support them. Himself he had the same prospects as the boundary riders on five bob downs. I had nothing to say. Not that Harold was a much to be pitied man when one contrasted his lot with that of millions of his fellows as deserving as he, but on the other hand, considering he had been reared in wealth and as the master of it since his birth, to be suddenly rendered equal with a labourer was pretty hard lines. Oh Harold, I am so sorry for you. I managed to stammer at last. Don't worry about me. There's many a poor devil crippled and ill, though rolling in millions, who would give all his wealth to stand in my boots today. He said, drawing his splendid figure to its full height, while a look of stern pride settled on the strong features. Harold Beecham was not a whimpering cur. He would never tell anyone his feelings on this subject. But such a sudden reverse of fortune, tearing from him even his home, must have been a great blow to him. Sib, I have been expecting this for some years. Now that it is done with, it is a sort of grim relief. The worst of all is that I have had to give up all hope of winning you. That is the worst of all. If you didn't care for me when I was thought to be in a position to give you all that girls like, you could never look at me now that I am a pauper. I only hope you will get some fellow who will make you as happy as I would have tried to had you let me. I sat and wondered at this marvelous self-containment of the man before me. With this crash impending, just imagine the worry he must have gone through, but never had the least suspicion that he was troubled found betrayal on his brow. Good-bye, Sib, he said. Though I am a nobody now, if I could ever be of use to you, please don't be afraid to ask me. I remember him ringing the limp hand I mechanically stretched out to him, and then slowly revolting the fence. The look of him riding slowly along with his broad shoulders drooping despondently, waked me to my senses. I had been fully engrossed with the intelligence of Harold's misfortune, that I was of sufficient importance to concern him in any way had not entered my head. But it suddenly dawned on me that Harold had said that I was, and he was not in the habit of uttering idle nothings. While fortune smiled on him I had played with his manly love, but now that she frowned had let him go without even a word of friendship. I had been poor myself and knew what awaited him in the world. He would find that they who fond on him most would be first to turn their backs on him now. He would be rudely disillusioned regarding the fables of love and friendship, and would become cynical, bitter, and skeptical of there being any disinterested good in human nature. Suffering the cold heart-weariness of this state myself, I felt anxious at any price to save Harold Beecham from a like fate. It would be a pity to let one so young be embittered in that way. There was a short cut across the paddocks to a point of the road where he would pass, and with these thoughts flashing through my mind, hapless and with flying hair, I ran as fast as I could, scrambling up on the fence in a breathless state just as he had passed. Hal! Hal! I called. Come back! Come back! I want you! He turned his horse slowly. Well, Sib, what is it? Oh, Hal! Dear Hal! I was thinking too much to say anything, but you surely don't think I'd be so mean as to care a pen, whether you are rich or poor, only for your own sake. If you really want me, I will marry you when I am twenty-one, if you are as poor as a crow. It is too good to be true. I thought you didn't care for me, Sibilla. What do you mean? Just as I say, I replied, and without further explanation, jumping off the fence, I ran back as fast as I had come. When halfway home, I stopped, turned, looked, and saw Harold cantering smartly homewards and heard him whistling a merry tune as he went. After all, men are very weak and simple in some ways. I laughed long and sardonicly, apostrophizing myself thus. Sibilla Penelope Melvin, your conceit is marvelous and unparalleled, so you actually imagine that you were of sufficient importance to assist a man through life. A strong healthy young man, too, standing six feet three-and-a-half in his socks, a level-headed businessman, a man of high connections, spotless character, and influential friends, an experienced bushman, a man of sense, and above all, a man, a man I, the world, was made for men. Ha-ha! You, Sibilla, thought this. You, a chit in your teens, an ugly, poor, useless, unimportant little handful of human flesh, and above or rather below all, a woman, only a woman. It would indeed be a depraved and forsaken man who would need your services as a stay in support. Ha-ha! The conceit of you. End of Chapter 24, Recording by Linda McDaniel and Lane to Georgia, July 2009. Chapter 25 of My Brilliant Career. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda McDaniel. My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin. Chapter 25 Because The beach-hams were vacating Five Bob almost immediately, before Christmas. Granny, Aunt Helen, and Uncle J.J. went down to say goodbye to the ladies, who were very heartbroken about being uprooted from Five Bob, but they approved of their nephews settling things at once and starting on a clean sheet. They intended taking up their residence, hiding themselves they termed it, in Melbourne. Harold would be detained in Sydney sometime during the settling of his affairs, after which he intended to take anything that turned up. He had been offered the management of Five Bob by those in authority, but could not bring himself to accept manager's ship where he had been master. His great desire, now that Five Bob was no longer his, was to get as far away from old associations as possible. He had seen his aunts off, superintended the muster of all stock on the place, dismissed all the female and most of the male employees, and surrendered the reins of government, and as Harold Augustus Beacham, boss of Five Bob, on Monday, the 21st of September, 1896, was leaving the district forever. On Sunday, the 20th of December, he came to bid us goodbye, and to arrive at an understanding with me concerning what I had said to him the Sunday before. Granny, strange to say, never suspected that there was likely to be anything between us. Harold was so undemonstrative, and had always come and gone as he liked at Cadogan. She overlooked the possibility of his being a lover, and in our intercourse allowed us almost the freedom of sister and brother or cousins. On this particular afternoon, after we had talked to Granny for a little while, knowing that he wished to interview me, I suggested that he should come up to the orchard with me and get some gooseberries. Without demure from anybody we set off, and were scarcely out of hearing before Harold asked me had I really meant what I said. Certainly, I replied, that is, if you really care for me, and think it wise to choose me of all my sex, ere he put it in words I read his answer in the clear brown eyes bent upon me. Sib, you know what I feel and would eek, but I think it would be mean of me to allow you to make such a sacrifice. I knew I was not dealing with a booby, but with a sensible, clear-sighted man, and so studied to express myself in a way which would not for an instant give him the impression that I was promising to marry him because what I don't know and it doesn't matter much. How? Don't you think it is a little selfish of you to want to throw me over just because you have lost your money? You are young, healthy, have good character and influential connections, and plenty of good practical ability and sense, so surely you will know no such thing as failure if you meet the world bravely. Go and be the man you are, and if you fail, when I am twenty-one, I will marry you, and we will help each other. I am young and strong, and am used to hard work, so poverty will not alarm me in the least. If you want me, I want you. Sib, you are such a perfect little brick that I couldn't be such a beggarly cur as to let you do that. I knew you were as true as steel under your funny little whims and contrariness, and could you really love me now that I am poor? I replied with vigor. Do you think I am that sort that cares for a person only because he has a little money? Why? That is the very thing I am always preaching against. If a man was a lord or a millionaire, I would not have him if I loved him not, but I would marry a poor cripple if I loved him. It wasn't because you owned five bob downs that I liked you, but because you have a big heart in which one would have room to get warm, and because you are true, and because you are kind and big, and here I could feel my voice getting shaky, and being afraid I would make a fool of myself by crying, I left off. Sib, I will try and fix matters up a bit, and will claim you in that time if I have a home. Claim me home or not if you are so disposed, but I will make this condition. Do not tell anyone we are engaged, and remember you are perfectly free. If you see a woman you like more than me, promise me on your sacred word that you will have none of those idiotic unjust ideas of keeping true to me. Promise. Yes, I will promise. He said easily, thinking men, no doubt, as many a one before him, has thought that he would never be called upon to fulfill his word. I will promise in return that I will not look at another man in a matrimonial way until the four years are up, so you need not be jealous and worry yourself. For how you can trust me, can you not? Taking my hand in his and looking at me with a world of love in his eyes, which moved me in spite of myself, he said, I could trust you in every way to the end of the world. Thank you, Harold. What we have said is agreed upon. That is, of course, as things appear now. If anything turns up to disturb this arrangement, it is not irrevocable in the least degree, and we can lay out more suitable plans. Four years will not be long, and I will be more sensible at the end of that time. That is, of course, if I ever have any sense. We will not write or have any communication, so you will be perfectly free if you see anyone you like better than me to go in and win. Do you agree? Certainly. Any little thing like that you can settle according to your fancy. I'm set up as long as I get you one way or another. That's all I want. It was a bit tough being cleared out from all the old ways, but if I have you to stand by me, it will be a great start. Say what you said last Sunday again, Sib. Say you will be my wife. I had expected him to put it that way, and believing in doing all or nothing had laid out that I would put my hand in his and promise what he asked. But now the word wife finished me up. I was very fond of Harold, fond to such an extent that had I a fortune I would gladly have given it all to him. I felt capable of giving him a life of servitude, but I loved him. Big, manly, lovable, wholesome Harold, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot he was good in my sight, but lacking in that power over me which would make me desirous of being the mother of his children. As for explaining my feelings to him, ha! he would laughingly call them one of my funny little whims. With his orthodox, practical, plain, common-sense view of these things he would not understand me. What was there to understand? Only that I was queer and different from other women. But he was waiting for me to speak. I had put my hand to the plow and could not turn back. I could not use the word wife, but I put my hand in his, looked at him steadily, and said, Harold, I mean what I said last Sunday. If you want me, if I am of any use to you, I will marry you when I attain my majority. He was satisfied. He baited us good-bye early that afternoon as he intended departing from Five Bob when the morrow was young, and had two or three little matters to attend to previous to his departure. I accompanied him a little way, he walking and leading his horse, we parted beneath the old willow tree. Goodbye, Harold, I mean all that I have said. I turned my face upwards. He stooped and kissed me once, only once. One light, gentle, diffident kiss. He looked at me long and intently without saying a word, then mounted his horse, raised his hat, and rode away. I watched him depart along the white dusty road, looking like a long snake in the glare of the summer sun, until it, and he who had travelled thereon, disappeared among the mess-mate, and hickory trees forming the horizon. I stood gazing at the hills in the distance, on which the blue dreaming mists of evening were gathering, until tears stole down my cheeks. I was not given to weeping. What brought them? I hardly knew. It was not because Harold was leaving, though I would miss him much. Was it because I was disappointed in love? I persuaded myself that. I loved Harold as much as I could ever love anyone, and I could not forsake him now that he needed me, but I did not want to marry, and I wished that Harold had asked anything of me but that, because I don't know what, and presently felt ashamed of being such a selfish coward that I grudged to make a little sacrifice of my own inclinations to help a brother through life. I used to feel sure that Harry meant to come up to the scratch, but I suppose he's had plenty to keep him going lately without bothering his head about a youngster in short frocks and a pigtail, remarked Uncle J.J. that night. Well, Sabilla, poor Harry has gone. We will all, even you included, miss him very much. I am sure. I used to think that he cared for you. It may be that he has not spoken to us on account of his financial failure, and it may be that I made a mistake, said Aunt Helen, when she was bidding me good night. I held my peace. This concludes the reading of Chapter 25, recording by Linda McDaniel, Atlanta, Georgia, July 2009. Chapter 26 of My Brilliant Career. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bologna Times. My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin. Chapter 26. Boast Not Thyself of Tomorrow. We felt the loss of the beach-hums very, very much. It was sad to think of five bob, pleasant, hospitable five bob, as shut up, with no one but a solitary caretaker there pending the settling of the beach-hums in solvency. With flowers running to seed, unheeded, in the wide, old garden, grass yellowing on the lawns, fruit wasting in wane loads, and the great orchard, kennels, stables, fowl houses, and cowyards empty and deserted. But more than all, we missed the quiet, sunburnt, gentlemanly, young giant, whose pleasant countenance and strapping figure were always welcome at Cadagat. Fortunately, Christmas preparations gave us no rest for the soles of our feet, and thus we had little time to moan about such things. In addition, Uncle J.J. was preparing for a trip, and fussed so that the whole place was kept in a state of ferment. We had fun, feasting, and company, to no end on Christmas Day. There were bank clerks and young fellows out of offices from Google, Jack-a-roos, and governesses, and great force from neighbouring holdings, and we had a merry time. On Boxing Day, Uncle J.J. set out on a tour to New Zealand, intending to combine business with pleasure, as he meant to bring back some stud stock if he could make a satisfactory bargain. Boxing Day had fallen on a Saturday that year, and the last of our guests departed on Sunday morning. It was the first time we had had any quietude for many weeks, so in the afternoon I went out to swing in my hammock and meditate upon things in general. Taking with me a bountiful supply of figs, apricots, and mulberries, I laid myself out for a deal of enjoyment in the cool, dense shade under the leafy kurajan and cedar trees. To begin with, Harold Beecham was gone, and I missed him at every turn. I need not worry about being engaged to be married, as four years was a long, long time. Before that Harold might take a fancy to someone else, and leave me free, or he might die, or I might die, or we both might die, or fly, or cry, or sigh, or do one thing or another, and in the meantime that was not the only thing to occupy my mind. I had much to contemplate with joyful anticipation. Towards the end of February, a great shooting and camping party, organized by Granny, was to take place. Aunt Helen, Granny, Frank Hodin, myself, and a number of other ladies and gentlemen were going to have ten days or a fortnight in tents among the blue hills in the distance, which held many treasures in the shape of lyrebirds, musk, ferns, and such scenery as would make the thing perfection. After this, Auntie and I were to have our three months' holiday in Sydney, where, with Everard Gray in the capacity of a showman, we were to see everything, from Manly to Paramatta, the Cyclorama to the Zoo, the theatres to the churches, the restaurants to the jails, and from Anthony Hordern's to Patti's Market. Who knows what might happen then? Everard had promised to have my talents tested by good judges. Might it not be possible for me to attain one of my ambitions? Enter the musical profession? Joyful dream. Might I not be able to yet assist Harold in another way than matrimony? Yes, life was a pleasant thing to me now. I forgot all my wild, unattainable ambitions and the little pleasures of everyday life. Such a thing as writing never entered my head. I occasionally dreamt out a little yarn which, had it appeared on paper, would have brimmed over with pleasure and love, and fact have been redolent of life as I found it. It was nice to live in comfort, and among ladies and gentlemen, people who knew how to conduct themselves properly, and who paid one every attention without a bit of fear of being twitted with laying the jam on. I ate another fig and apricot, a mulberry or two, and it was interrupted in the perusal of my book by the clatter of galloping hoofs approaching along the road. I climbed onto the fence to see who it could be who was coming at such a breakneck pace. He pulled the rain opposite me, and I recognized a man from Dogtrap. He was in his shirt sleeves, his horse was all in a lather, and its garland nostrils were wide open, and its sides heaving rapidly. I'd say, Miss, hunt out the men quickly, will ye? he said hurriedly. There's a tremendous fire on Wyambeet, and a shorthanded. I'm going on to knock them up. It'd been belong. Hold hard, I replied. We haven't a man on the place, only Joe Slokom, and I heard him say he would ride down the river and see what the smoke was about. So he will be there. Mr. Hardin and the others have gone out for the day. You go back to the fire at once. I'll rouse them up at Birrbelong. Right you are, Miss. Here's a couple of letters. My own milk flung a shoe and went dead lame at Dogtrap, and while I was settling another, Mrs. Butler stuffed them in my pocket. He tossed them over the fence, and, whaling his mount, galloped the way he had come. The letters fell, a dress upwards, on the ground, one to myself and one to Granny, both in my mother's handwriting. I left them where they lay. The main substance of mother's letters to me was a hope that I was a better girl to my Granny than I had been to her, a sentiment which did not interest me. Where are you off to? inquired Granny, as I rushed through the house. I explained. What horse are you going to take? Old Tadpole, he's the only one available. Well, you be careful, and don't push him too quickly up that pinch by Flea Creek, or he might drop dead with you. He's so fat and old. All right, I replied, snatching a bridle and running up the orchard, where Old Tadpole had been left in case of emergency. I clapped a side saddle on his back, a hat on my head, jumped on just as I was, and galloped for my life in the direction of Bimbalon, seven miles distant. I eased my horse a little going up Flea Creek pinch, but with this delay reached my destination in half an hour, and sent the men galloping in the direction of the fire. I lingered for afternoon tea, and returned at my leisure. It was sundown when I got inside of Catagat. Knowing the men would not be home for some time, I rode across the paddock to yard the cows. I drove them home and penned the calves, unsettled my horse, and returned him to the orchard, then stood up on the hillside and enjoyed the scene. It had been a fearfully hot day, with a blasting, draught-breathed wind, but the wind had dropped asleep with the sunlight, and now the air had cooled. The blue smoke wreathed hill and hollow like a beautyous veil. I had traversed drop-baked land that afternoon, but in the immediate vicinity of Catagat House there was no evidence of an unkind season. Irrigation had draped the place with beauty, and I stood ankle-deep in clover. Oh, how I loved the old, irregularly built house, with here and there a patch of its low-iron roof, peeping out of a mass of greenery, flowers, and fruit, the place where I was born, home. Save for the murmur of the creek, the evening was wrapped in silence, sweet-breathed, balmy-browed, summer-quietude. I stretched out my hand, and stained my fingers, next my lips and teeth, with the sweet dark fruit of a mulberry tree beside me. The shadows deepened. I picked up my saddle, and, carrying it housewards, put it in its place in the harness-room, among the fig and apricot trees, laden to breaking-point with ripe and ripening fruit. The two servant girls had departed on their Christmas holiday that morning, so Granny and Auntie were the only members of the family at home. I could not see or hear them anywhere, so, presuming they were out walking, I washed my hands, lit a lamp, and sat down to my tea, where it had been left for me on the dining table. I remembered, wonderful aberration from my usual thoughtlessness, that the book I had left in the hammock had a beautiful cover, which the dew would spoil, so I left my tea to bring it in. Two little white squares struck my eye in the gathering dusk. I picked them up also, and, bringing them to the light, opened the one addressed to me, and read, No doubt what I have to write will not be very palatable to you, but it is time you gave a pleasuring, and began to meet the responsibilities of life. Your father is lazier, if anything, and drinks more than ever. He has got himself into great debt and difficulties, and would have been sold off again. But for Peter Meswet, you will remember Peter Meswet? Well, he has been good enough to lend your father five hundred pounds at four percent, which means twenty pounds per year interest. Your father would have no more idea of meeting this amount than a cat would have, but now I am coming to the part of the matter which concerns you. Out of friendship to your father, Mr. Meswet is good enough to accept your services as governess to his children in lieu of interest on the money. I have told him you will be in Jarnag on Friday the 8th of January, 1897, where he will meet you. Be careful to remember the date. I am sorry I could not give you more notice, but he wants his children to commence school as soon as possible, and he deserves every consideration in the matter. Perhaps you will not find it as pleasant as Katakat, but he has been very good, and offers you a fair number of holidays, and what he will give you is equal to twenty pounds. That is a lot in these times when he could easily get so many better girls than you are in every way for half the money, and make your father pay the interest, and thereby be ten pounds in pocket. You will have to help Mrs. Meswet with the work and so on, but that will do you good, and I hope you will try hard to give every satisfaction. I have also written to your grandmother. That letter wiped away every vestige of my appetite for the dainties before me. Meswet, send me to Meswet. I could not believe it. It must be a nightmare. Meswet! Certainly I had never been there, but all those who had gave graphic descriptions of the total ignorance of Mrs. Meswet, why, the place was quite tabooed on account of its squalor and dirt. The steal of my mother's letter entered my soul. Why had she not expressed a little regret at the thing she was imposing on me? Instead, there was a note of satisfaction running through her letter that she was able to put an end to my pleasant life at Katakat. She always seemed to grudge me any pleasure. I bitterly put it down as accruing from the curse of ugliness, as, when mentioning Gertie, it was ever, I have let Gertie go to such and such an entertainment. We could not very well afford it, but the poor little girl does not have many pleasures for her years. I was smaller than Gertie, and only eleven months older, but to me it was, you must think of something besides pleasure. The lot of ugly girls is not joyful, and they must be possessed of nature's very absurdly sanguine, indeed, ever to hope for any enjoyment in life. It was cruel, base, horrible of my mother to send me to the swats. I would not go, not for fifty pounds a day. I would not go. I would not, not for any consideration. I stamped about in a fever of impatience, until Granny appeared, when I handed both letters to her, and breathlessly awaited her verdict. Well, child, what do you say? Say, I won't go. I can't. I won't. Oh, Granny, don't send me there. I would rather die. My dear child, I would not be willing to part with you under any circumstances, but I cannot interfere between a mother and her child. I would not have allowed anyone to do it with me, and believe in acting the same towards any other mother, even though she is my own daughter. However, there is time to get a reply before you would have to start, so I will write and see what can be done. The dear old lady, with her prompt business-like propensities, sat down and wrote there and then. I wrote also, pleaded with my mother against her decree, begged her to leave me at Catagat, and assured her I could never succeed at the swats. I did not sleep that night, so arose the times to await the first traveler, whom I asked to post the letters. We got an answer to them sooner than we expected, at least Granny did. Mother did not deign to write to me, but in her letter to Granny I was described as an abominably selfish creature who would not consider her little brothers and sisters. I would never be any good. All I thought of was idleness and ease. Most decidedly I could not get out of going to the swats, as mother had given her word. I am sorry for you, said Granny, but it cannot be helped. You can stay there for two or three years, and then I can have you here again. I was inconsolable and would not listen to reason. Ah, that Uncle JJ had been at home to rescue me from this. Then Aunt Helen brought her arguments to bear upon me, and persuaded me to think it was necessary for the benefit of my little brothers and sisters that I should take up this burden, which I knew would be too much for me. It was a great wrench to be torn away from Categette, from refinement and comfort, from home. As the days till my departure melted away, how I wished that it were possible to set one's weight against the grim wheel of time and turn it back. Nights I did not sleep, but drenched my pillow with tears. Ah, it was hard to leave Granny and Aunt Helen, whom I worshipped, and turned my back on Categette. I suppose it is only a fancy, born of the wild deep love I bear it, but to me the flowers seem to smell more sweetly there, and the shadows, how they creep and curl. Oh, so softly and caressingly, around the quaint old place, as the great sun sets amid the blue peaks, and the never-ceasing rush of the crystal fern banked stream. I see and hear it now, and the sinking sun as it turns to a sheet of flame, the mirror hanging in the backyard in the laundry veranda, before which the station hands were wont to comb and wash themselves. Oh, the memories that crowd upon me, me thinks I can smell the roses that clamor up the veranda posts and peep over the garden gate, as I write, my eyes grow misty, so that I cannot see the paper. The day for my departure arrived, hot, 110 degrees in the shade. It was a Wednesday afternoon. Frank Hodden was to take me as far as gull-gull that evening, and see me on to the coach next day. I would arrive in Yarnung about twelve or one o'clock on Thursday night, where, according to arrangement, Mr. Meswat would be waiting to take me to a hotel, thence to his home next day. My trunks and other belongings were stowed in the buggy, to which the fat horses were harnessed. They stood beneath a dense shade of a splendid courage on, and lazily flipped the flies off themselves, while Frank Hodden held them rands and waited for me. I rushed frantically round the house, taking a last look at nooks and pictures dear to me, and then Aunt Helen pressed my hand and kissed me, saying, The house will be lonely without you, but you must brighten up, and I'm sure you will not find things half as bad as you expect them. I looked back as I went out the front gate, and I saw her throw herself into a chair on the veranda, and cover her face with her hands. My beautiful noble Aunt Helen, I hope she missed me just a little, felt just one pang of parting, for I have not got over that parting yet. Granny gave me a warm embrace, and many kisses. I climbed onto the front seat of the buggy beside my escort. He whipped the horses, a cloud of dust, a whir of wheels, and we were gone, gone from Katagat. We crossed the singing stream, on either bank, great bushes of black-worn, last native flower of the season, put forth their wealth of magnificent, creamy blown, its rich perfume floating far on the hot summer air. How the sunlight blazed and danced and flickered on the familiar and dearly loved landscape, over a rise and the house was lost to view, then goodbye to the crystal creek. The trees of five bobbed-downs came with an eye-range far away on our left. What married nights I had spent there amid music, flowers, youth, light, love, and summer warm, when the tide of life seemed full. Where now was Harold Beecham, and the thirty or more station hands, who but one short month before had come and gone at his bidding, hailing him, boss. It was all over. My pleasant life at Katagat was going into the past, fading as the hills which surrounded it were melting into a hazy line of blue. End of Chapter 26 The coach was a big vehicle, something after the style of the bus, the tilt and seats running parallel with the wheels. At the rear end, instead of the door, was a great tailboard on the principle of a spring cart. This was let down, and after we scrambled over it into our seats, it was fixed half-mast, all the luggage piled thereon, and firmly roped into position. When this was completed to anyone on the ground, only the heads of passengers were visible above the pile. Had the coach capsized, we would have been in a nice fix, as the only means of exit was by crawling up through the back of the box seat, which rose breast high and awkward feet. Frank Horden and I parted good friends. I leant out and waved my handkerchief, until a bend of the road hit him from sight. It was noon. The thermometer registered 112 degrees in the shade, and the dust was simply awful. It rose in such thick grey clouds that often it was impossible to discern the team of five, which pulled us, and there was danger of colliding with passing vehicles. We were very much crowded. There were 16 passengers. When we settled down and got started, I discovered that I was the only representative of my sex, and that I was sandwiched between a perky youth in his teens and a Chinaman, while a black fellow and a man with a red beard sat opposite. A member of parliament farther up to seat, who had been patronizing New Year's Day races in a portion of his electorate, bawled loudly to his companion about the doings at the house. In the perky youth, I discovered a professional jockey, and when he found that I was a daughter of Dick Melvin, the one-time great horse breeder, he became very friendly. He gave me a couple of apples out of his tin box under the seat, from whence he also produced his whip for my inspection, and was good enough to say, if you can't stand the stink of that blooming chow, miss, just change seats with me. I've knocked about so that I can easy stand some tough smells without much inconvenience. I cautioned him to talk lower for fear of hurting the Chinaman's feelings. This amused him immensely. He laughed very much, and leaning over to the red-bearded man repeated the joke. I say, this young lady is afraid I might hurt the chow's feelings. Golly, fancier bloom and chow having any. The other man also thought at a great joke. I changed seats with the jockey, which put me beside a young gentleman of a literary turn of mind, with whom I had some conversation about books, when the dust, rumple of the wheels, and turf talk of my other neighbour permitted. They were all very kind to me, gave me fruit, procured me drinks of water, and took turns in nursing a precious hat, for which on account of the crush, no safe place could be found among the other luggage. Before we had gone half our journey the horses knocked up. All the men were forced to walk up hills for miles and miles in the dust and heat, which did not conduce to their own ability, and many and costly were the remarks and jokes made upon the driver. He wore out two whips upon his team, until the labour and excessive heat sent the perspiration rolling into rivulets down his face, leaving muddy tracks in the thick coating of dust there. The jockey assisted with his loaded instrument of trade. Some of the passengers thrashed with sticks, and all swore under their breath, while a passing bullock driver used his whip with such deadly effect that the sweat which poured up the poor beasts was mingled with blood. Why the juice, don't you have proper horses, demanded the red-bearded passenger. The man explained that a ministerial party had chartered his best team to go on tour of inspection to a mine. A brother-coachment had been stuck up the horses and borrowed a couple from him, whereupon he was forced to do with animals which had been turned out for a spell, and the heat and overloading accounted for a good part at the contra-teams. However, we managed to catch our train that had to rush for it without waiting for refreshments. Nice articles we looked, our hair grey with dust, and our faces grimy. The men took charge of me as carefully as though I had been specially consigned to their care. One procured my ticket, another secured me a seat, while the third took charge of my luggage, and they were just as thoughtful when we had to change trains. Off we went, Granny had packed me quite a large box full of dainties. I produced it, the men provided drinks, and we had quite a pleasant picnic with all the windows down to catch a little air. I loved the rush and roar of the train, and wished on this occasion that it might go on and on forever, never giving me time to think or stop. But alas, at 1.20 we pulled up at Ya Nang, where a man came inquiring for a young lady named Melvin. My fellow passengers collected my belongings, and I got out. Goodbye, gentlemen, thank you very much for your kindness. Goodbye, Miss, you're welcome. Some of us might meet again yet. Ta-ta! A shriek, a jerk, and the great train rushed on into the night, leaving me there on the insignificant little platform, feeling how lonely and unhappy no one knew or cared. Mr. Miss Watt shouldered most of my luggage. I took the remainder, and we trudged off in the dark without a word on either side. The publican had given Miss Watt the key, so that we might enter without disturbing the household, and he escorted me to a bedroom where I tumbled into bed with expedition. End of Chapter 27 My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin Chapter 28 To Life Part 1 It is indelibly imprinted on my memory in a manner which royal joy, fame, pleasure, and excitement beyond the dream of poets could never efface. Not though I should be cursed with a life of five-score years, I will paint it truthfully, letter for letter, as it was. It was twenty-six miles from Ya Nang to Barney's Gap, as McSwatt's place was named. He had brought a light-wagon net and appeared to convey me thither. As we drove along, I quite liked my master. Of course we were of calibre, too totally unlike ever to be congenial companions, but I appreciated his sound common sense in the little matters within his range, and his bluntly straightforward, fairly good-natured manner. He was an utterly ignorant man, with small ideas according to the sphere which he fitted, and which fitted him. But he was a man for a that and a that. He and my father had been boys together. Years and years ago McSwatt's father had been blacksmith on my father's station, and the little boys had played together. And, in spite of their then difference in station, had formed a friendship which lived and bore fruit at this hour. I wish that their youthful relations had been inimical, not friendly. We left the pub in Yarnung at nine, and arrived at our destination somewhere about two o'clock in the afternoon. I had waxed quite cheerful, and began to look upon the situation in a sensible light. It was necessary that I should stand up to the guns of life at one time or another, and why not now? McSwatt's might not be so bad after all. Even if they were dirty, they would surely be willing to improve if I exercised tact in introducing a few measures. I was not afraid of work and would do many things. But all these ideas were knocked on the head, like a dairyman's surplus calves. When on entering Barney's Gap we descended a rough road to the house, which was built in a narrow galley between two steep stony hills, which destitute of grass rose like green walls of rock, imparting a desolate and prison-like aspect. Six dogs, two pet lambs, two or three pigs, about twenty fowls, eight children, which seemed a dozen. And Mrs. McSwatt bundled out through the back door at our approach. Those children, not through poverty, McSwatt made a boast of his substantial banking account. But on account of ignorance and slatterliness were the dirtiest urchins I have ever seen, and were so ragged that those parts of them which should have been covered were exposed to view. The majority of them had red hair and wide-hanging open mouths. Mrs. McSwatt was a great, fat, ignorant, pleasant-looking woman, shockingly dirty and untidy. Her tremendous, flabby, stockingless ankles bulged over her unlaced, hobnail boots. Her dress was torn and unbuttoned at the throat, displaying one of the dirtiest necks I have seen. It did not seem to worry her that the infant she hold under her arm like a roll of cloth howled killingly, while the other little ones clung to her skirts, attempting to hide their heads in its folds like so many emus. She greeted me with a smacking kiss, consigned the baby to the charge of the eldest child, a big girl of fourteen, and ceasing upon my trunks as though they were featherweight, with heavy clod-hopping steps disappeared into the house with them. Returning, she invited me to enter, and following in her wake I was followed by the children through the dirtiest passage into the dirtiest room. To sit upon the dirtiest chair, to gaze upon the other dirtiest furniture of which I had ever seen. One wild, horrified glance at the dirt, squalor and total benightedness that met me on every side, and I trembled in every limb with suppressed emotion and the frantic longing to get back to catagat which possessed me. One instant showed me that I could never, never live here. Have you had your dinner? My future mistress inquired in a rough, uncultivated voice. I replied in the negative. Sure, you'll be dying of hunger, but I'll have it in a twinkling. She threw a crumpled and disgustingly filthy cloths three-cornered ways onto the dusty table and clapped thereon a couple of dirty knives and forks, a pair of cracked plates, two polar cups and chip sauces. Next came a plate of salt meat, red with salt pita, and another dark dry sodden bread. She then disappeared to the kitchen to make the tea, and in her absence two of the little boys commenced to fight. One clutched the tablecloth and overwent the whole display with a bang. Meat dishbroken and meat on the dusty floor, while the cats and fowls ever on the alert for such occurrences made the most of their opportunities. Mrs. McSwatt returned carrying the tea, which was spilling by the way. She gave those boys each a clout on the head, which dispersed them roaring like the proverbial town bull, and alarming for the safety of their eardrums. I wondered if their mother was aware of their having eardrums. She grabbed the meat and wiping it on her greasy apron, carried it around in her hand until she found a plate for it. And by that time the children had collected the other things. A cup was broken and another, also a poly, was put in its stead. Mr. McSwatt now appeared enough to take in a nip out of a rum bottle, which she produced from a cupboard in the corner. He invited me to sit up to dinner. There was no milk. McSwatt went in entirely for sheep, keeping only a few cows for domestic purposes. These, on account of the drought, had been dry for some months. Mrs. McSwatt apologized for the lack of sugar, stating she was quite out of it and had forgotten to send for a fresh sallow. You damned fool to miss such a chance when I was going to town with a wagonette. I mightn't be going again for months. But sugar don't count much. Themers can't do without a useless luxury like that for a spell. We'll never make much of a show at getting on in the world. Concluded Mr. McSwatt sententiously. The children sat in a row, and with mouths open and interest in their big wandering eyes, gazed at me unwinkingly, till I felt I must rush away somewhere and shriek to relieve the feeling of overstrained hysteria, which was overcoming me. I contained myself sufficiently, however, to ask if this was all the family. All but Peter. Where's Peter Marianne? He went to the Red Hill to look after some sheep and won't be back till dark. Peter's grown up, remarked one little boy with evident pride in this member of the family. Yes, Peter's twenty-one, and he's a mustache and shaves, said the eldest girl, in a manner indicating that she expected me to be struck dumb with surprise. She'll be surprised when she sees Peter, said a little girl in an audible whisper. Mrs. McSwatt vouchsafed the information that three had died between Peter and Liza, and this was how the absent son came to be so much older than his brothers and sisters. So you have had twelve children, I said. Yes, she replied, laughing fatally, as though it were a joke. The boys found a beast nest in a tree and have been robin' it in this morning, continued Mrs. McSwatt. Yes, we have ample exemplification of that, I responded. It was honey here and honey there and honey everywhere. It was one of the many varieties of dirt on the horrible foul-smelling tablecloth. It was on the floor, the door, the chairs, the children's heads and the cups. Mrs. McSwatt remarked contentedly that it always took a couple of days to wear off of things. After dinner I asked for a bottle of ink and some paper, and scrawled a few lines to Granny and my mother, merely reporting my safe arrival at my destination. I determined to take time to collect my thoughts before petitioning for release from Barney's Gap. I requested my mistress to show me where I was to sleep, and she conducted me to a fairly respectable little bedroom, of which I was to be the sole occupant, unless I felt lonely and would like Rose Jane to sleep with me. I looked at pretty, soft-eyed, dirty little Rose Jane, and assured her kind-hearted mother I would not be the least lonely, as the sickening despairing loneliness which filled my heart was not of a nature to be cured by having as a bedmate a frowsy wild child. Upon being left alone, I barred my door and threw myself on the bed to cry. Weep wild hot tears that scalded my cheeks and sobs that shook my whole frame and gave me a violent pain in the head. Oh, how coarse and grating were the sounds to be heard around me! Lack, no, not lack, but utter freedom from the first instincts of cultivation was to be heard even in the great heavy foothalls and the rasping, sharp voices which fell on my ears. So different had I been listening in a room at Categettes to my granny's brisk, pleasant voice, and Helen's low refined accents, and I own such a one to see and feel these differences. However, I pulled together in a little while and called myself a fool for crying. I would write to Granny and Mother explaining matters, and I felt sure they would heed me as they had no idea what the place was like. I would have only a little while to wait patiently, then I would be among all the pleasures of Categette again, and how I would revel in them, more than ever after a taste of a place like this, for it was worse than I had imagined it could be, even in the nightmares which had haunted me concerning it before leaving Categette. The house was of slabs, unlined, and with a very low iron roof, and having no sign of a tree near it, the heat was unendurable. It was reflected from the rocks on either side and concentrated in this spot like an oven, being a hundred and twenty-two degrees in the veranda now. I wondered why McSwatt had built in such a hole, but it appears it was the nearness of the point to water which recommended it to his judgment. With a comforting idea that I would not have long to bear this, I bathed my eyes and walked away from the house to try and find a cooler spot. The children saw me depart, but not return. To judge from a discussion of myself which I heard in the dining room, which adjoined my bed-chamber. Peter came home and the children clustered around to tell the news. Did she come? Yes. What's she like? Oh, a rail little bit of a thing, not as big as Lizard. And Peter, she has teeny little hands as wide as snow, like that woman in the picture, Margot off the tee. Yes, Peter, chimed in another voice, and her feet are that little that she don't make no noise when she walks. It ain't only because the feet are little, but because she's got them beautiful shoes like what's in pictures," said another. Her hair is tied with two great chunks of ribbing, one up on her head and another near the bottom. Better than that bit of red ribbing what Lizard keeps in the box. Age in the time she might go to town some day. Yes, said the voice of Mrs. McSwot. Her hair is near to her knees and as flat as thick as your arm. And when she read a couple of letters in a minute, you could scarcely see her hand move, it was that wonderfully quick. And she uses them big words what you couldn't understand without being educated. She has three broochers and a necktie better than your best one what she keeps to go see Susie Duffy in. And Lizard giggled slightly. You shut up about Susie Duffy or I'll whack his upper side of the ear," said Peter angrily. She ain't like Mar. She's fat up here and goes in and she'd break in the middle, Peter. Great sisters, she must be a flyer, said Peter. I'll bet she'll make you sit up, Jimmy. I'll make her sit up," retorted Jimmy who came next to Lizard. She thinks she's a toff, but she's only old Melbourne's data that Pa has to give money to. Peter said another. Her face ain't got them freckles on like yours. And it ain't dark like Lizard's. It's real white and pinky around here. I bet she won't make me knuckle down to her no matter what colour she is," returned Peter in a surly tone. No doubt it was this idea which later in the afternoon induced him to swagger forward to shake hands with me, with a flash insolently on his face. I took pains to be especially nice to him, treating him with deference and making remarks upon the extreme heat of the weather with such pleasantness that he was nonplussed and looked relieved when able to escape. I smiled to myself and apprehended no further trouble from Peter. The table for tea was set exactly as it had been before, and was lighted by a couple of tallow candles made from bad fat, and their odour was such as my jockey-travelling companion of the day before would have described as a tough smell. Give us a tune on the piano, said Mrs. McSwatter after the meal, when the dishes had been cleared away by Lizard and Rose Jane. The tea and scraps, of which there was any amount, remained on the floor to be picked up by the fails in the morning. The children lay on the old sofa and on the chairs, where they always slept at night until their parents retired, when there was an all-round ball as they awakened and bundled into bed, dirty as they were, and very often with their clothes on. I acceded to Mrs. McSwatter's request with alacrity, thinking that while forced to remain here I would have one comfort and spare time at the piano. I opened the instrument, brushed a little off the dust from the keys with my pocket handkerchief, and struck the opening chords of Kowalski's Marchi Hongrois. I have heard of piano sounded like a tin dish, but this was not as pleasant as a tin dish by long chalks. Every note that I struck stayed down not to rise. And when I got them up, the jarring, clanging, discordant clatter they produced beggars' description. It was as bright as possibility of distinguishing any tune on the thing. Worthless to begin with, it had stood in the dust, heat, and wind so long that every sign that I had once made music had asserted it. I closed it with a feeling of such keen disappointment that I had difficulty in suppressing tears. When at play, inquired Mr. McSwatter, no, the keys stayed down. Then rose Jane, go you and pick him up while she tries again. I tried again, rose Jane fishing up the keys as I went along. I perceived instantly that not one had the least ear for music or idea what it was. So I beat on the demented piano with both hands and often with all fingers at once, and the bigger row I made, the better they liked it.