IN NO MAN’S LAND.

New Zealand Mail, 8 February 1900, Page 11

IN NO MAN’S LAND.

BY A. B. PATERSON, "BANJO.” Author of "The Alan From Snowy River.”

CHAPTER VII

THE NEW GOVERNESS

Things were unsettled at the old ' station when Gliarlie Gordon’s letter arrived announcing Miss Harriott’s engagement as governess. Old Hilly the Bully had just paid them an unexpected visit. . ’ Hugh was away when his uncle arrived, so tlie old man rode round all the paddocks with the head stockman and found fault with the way the sheep and cattle were looking, and “sacked” ; two boundary riders, whom he found 1 smoking in their huts instead of being ; out on tlieir horses riding round their ' paddock fences. In the evening he re- ■ turned hot and tired, and' prepared to ■ make himself thoroughly disagreeable; I and, as ill-luck would have it, he experienced ample provocation without ; the slightest delay. One of the men had shot a wild turkey, and had sent the bird to the kitchen to be cooked for tlie house. At dinner it came in steaming hot,, rich and brown, looking [ most toothsome. The mouths of the Gang watered, an„d they nudged one another furtively aud looked expeetanty a t their grand-uncle, who with great : dignity started to carve the turkey. He cut into it, and a weird, unholy smell arose that filled the room and drifted out mto the garden. The old gentleman sniffed at the turkey once or twice and then, looking around at the Gang. i£al IS wo,-kP” he Eaid ’ “ S ° me ° f y ° Ur Gang lookod virtuously indignant ana said notling. -*"*s7 i “ ter V, osed in her soft 211' - Wllljr aham” she said, “I’m mom cu Xpe ? ts t 0 en 'i°Y the turkey SJ- W u hey u d °- Why do Y™ supwitli it?” ° ud Haut to play tricks He <T E^ UP f k ’ theil - ? ” he roared, stood by. d t 0 the maid servant who tti?beSy Il bird?? at,S th ° ™ atter with horror b e I ,„ rouild 6 Y es goggled with terror at W " as , j p oechless from sheer bu™ fter h r^i° Id i Billy speak to her; she didn’t- know 9 w\ gasped out that [ ‘‘Cli 0 , what had happened, she gaid. ° vo y turkey as ever I see,” plj«^Lit^f 1 0 l ii ted •* k V’ ge spoon and w£i r tbe of the turftreenish mass ri,., e f V 1<: - ud of a sticky fish-like smell -rf ave forth an ancient it critically IIo y pe , e . red , at it and ed-to hia feet Suddenly hojumpkg < thTspooa rS! ”“r e ro , ared ’ t’randish--5% Piper! ‘ She^fn^?® 1 ’ 8 ’ by the to crop out ai£ e 5 f , or gotten to take Stfe’ *$*SS ■p££&srr J u ggy at once 1 !;? 0 , 011 ’ ordered the y .moonlight- Vitbm,f e ?i art ? d f° r town feribj GotXn’! w ( tkis trouMe came sw engaged" 8 saying that he ga tf? s s & ■ £ ngo . tha t a S'dsh m a ? peared very without fSnd?« Uld , bc , travelling t *° maa like, she & ° r relations; and i Her S . tha wortt. mad ° Up hor t? 6 ViPfißS? in matters femi. k/v ; y,) eatly esteemed by the

old lady. She concluded 1 that some quite impossible person had touched Charley’s susceptible feelings, and so she took her daughter Mary with her as support in case of emergency, and together they walked down to the garden gate to meet the coach, that could be seen in the distance like a toy chari-ot-making .its way. up the read from Riley’s. ‘ Its solitary, passengec was quite as eager HpVsee; Mrs Gordon and her daughter as they were to see her. - ’She did not know what an Australian lady squatter might be like, and she half expected! to meet a female Boer —a lady in bluchered boots and a red petticoat, with perhaps a pipe in her mouth. She was greatly relieved to see two tall, refined ladylike women walking down to meet the coach. Both mother and daughter were slight, but the old lady’s face was clear cut and aquiline, with an unmistakable resemblance to her son Charley; while the daughter was fuller and rounder of face with olive complexion, red lips and lustrous lazy Spanish eyes. When the coach stopped! Miss Hariott got down from the box, and advanced to shake hands. The old lady had nerved herself to be very distant until she knew something of the stranger. She had not the faintest idea >vhat sort of woman to expect, and when she saw a slim, brown-haired, lady-like girl in a faultless tailor-made costume, she wished for one brief moment, that she had put on her best dress. Then she went forward! with just a shade of the grande dame in her manner, quite prepared to patronise the new comer; but the girl’s quiet assured air rather nonplussed her. Before long she had her in the house and 1 there ensued a long series of questions and answers the old lady quietly and conversationally putting the girl through as severe a crossexamination as evei’ a witness had to face, but it did not take long to satisfy her that the girl was obviously what she made herself out to be, but it remained a mystery why such a girl, who should llave hadi P le «ty of friends, should have chosen to come out alone to a terra inegonitia like Australia. Still there she was, cool and confident—lookup? the old lady straight in the face with her brown eyes, and obviously considering that there was no need for further explanations;, so at least the old lady gave up puzzling her head about the matter, and handed the newcomer over to Mary, who carried her off to show her her room and help her unpack. - ■

The noblest study of mankind is man, but the most fascinating study of wol mankind is another woman’s wardrobe and the Australian girl found something to marvel at in the. quality of the visn toEs apparel. . Dainty little shoes, tailor-made jackets, fashionable short riding habits, mannish looking ridin°' boots, silk under garments,' beautiful jewelleiy—all were taken-out of their packages and' duly admired. Tlie girl had 1 an outfit more suitable for an empress than-a governess. Every article she possessed seemed to he absolutelv of the best of its kind. As each successive treasure was produced Mary’s eyes grew round with astonishment ; and when, out of a travelling bag, there appeared a complete dressing-table outfit of silverware, silver-backed hair brushes, silver manicure set, silver handglass, and so fort-li, Mary Gordon drew a . 1 (, r , -S breath of wonder and admiration.

“What lovely things,” she said. “How is it you have to work when vou have got such beautiful things?” Tlie English girl gave a little sad laugh.

“It seems strange, doesn’t it,” she Said ‘ ic i^ ne doesn,t Eke to talk of oneself like a lodging-house keeper that has seen better days, but I suppose you ought to know it, so, if you like, I will tell you all about myself.” ‘Don’t talk about it if you would rather not,” said Mary Gordon.

“Oh you might just as well know it all, said the young lady. “It won’t be very exciting, I am afraid. Ive lived in England all my life till now. My father and mother both died wlien I was- very young—quite a little child and I was brought up by Aunt Enen, mother’s sister. She was a name-sake of yours. She married a Air Gordon, but I don’t suppose he was any relation of yours.” “No.” said Alary Gordon; “I don’t think we have any relations in England, except some that we hear from every now r and again.”

“Well, I’m glad he wasn’t a relation of yours, because I think he must have' treated my aunt very badly while he was alive. Aunt never would speak cf r? 1 I believe he died soou after I went to live with her. I never saw him that I remember. But Aunt Ellen had a great deal of money of lier own., and we travelled all over the place to the Continent, - and Egypt and everywhere—and when I came out I went to everything—all the balls and the races—and oh! I did enjoy myself. Have you ever been in England “No,” said the Australian girl. “I hope to go some day, but I haven’t been yet.”

Oh, you must go. You can’t believe what it is till you see it. It is just the best of everything,” and her quick face lit fip, and her eyes brightened as she spoke of her past splendour as an afigel might speak of a lost paradise. “And then after a while my aunt lost her money in sLares or sometmng, and we were quite poor, and lived in a little place in Devonshire, and then she died and I Had to do

something for myseif. A lot of our friends offered to take me.as companion but you know how dreadful that would be > j° to all the old places as a dependent, where I used to enjoy myself loc^t 191 ’ 1 couldn’t bear it. So at fW 1 Pa T or at least it came to cnat. I made up my mind to come ,” ero and earn my own living. I didn’t see v?hy : I /shouldn't. ■ T Maiy Gordon looked' admiringly at rrn c*! 10 ' Vi it G ui . ck *« appreciate the urage of the girl in coming so 'far among strangers. “Had you no friends here?” she said. T Ju l°’ I dld n , ot kx- nv anybody, but I did not see why I should not come. * wTi-F 0 imd ge *- *heir own living—” Gordon' ei ' eUt f ° V womcn ” saicl Mary “You’re right. Indeed it is different for women. I ansv.ered all sorts of advertisements, and I tried to get on the stage, and I presented some letters of introduction, but everyone seemed o think I must have done something desperately wicked to be actually trying o get my own living without some one to look after me. They didn’t say so, but I could sec it. And ,1 u sen t to be too civil to them, I’m r.riaid, she went ui, with a snap of white «.eeth and a hardening of the firm under jaw. I didn’t like bemg patronised and all that, so I really didnt get any help at all. If I had been dressed in shabby clothes and old boots I daresay people would have done, moie for me, but they all seemed to tmme i was going governessino- foxamusement. Quite a mistake, I assure you. And then at last I got that engagement up in Queensland, and I was on my way there when I met your brother. Of course you know how mv engagement fell to the ground, and ho sent me down here. And really it is the only one kind thing that anyone has done for me since I have been trying to work for myself. Oh, if I ever get wealthy again"—and here she paused, and her eyes blazed at the recollection of some past misadventures—“if I ever get money again I’ll use some of it to make some people sorry they weren’t more considerate to me!” Clearly- the young lady was of a combative disposition, and Mary Gordon hastened to change the subject. ’I m afraid you’ll find it very dull here, she said. “There are no neighbours at all, except Poss and Binfie, tuo young fellows on the next -station. Ihe people m the town are just the publicans and storekeeper, and all the selectors around us are a very wild lot of people. Yery few strangers come that we can have in the house. They are nearly al cattle and sheep buyers, and either they are too nervous to say a word, cr they talk about horses. They always come just after meal times, too and we have to get everything laid on tne .tamo again—sometimes we have ten meals a day in this house. And the swagmen come all day long, and mother or I have to go out and give them something to eat; and of course there is. plenty, to do .In- the house. Im going away for a change now that you have come, but before I go I will show you everything, so you will know what the place is like. I’ll leave you to nnisn unpacking now and I’ll eo and find the children and bring them up \° \' e introduced to you. Tnere will be lunch m a few minutes, and I’ll try and have them mustered for inspection by the time it comes in.” (To be continued.)