CHAPTER lI.—THE CALL OF HOPE

Otago Witness, Issue 2701, 20 December 1905, Page 65

CHAPTER lI.— THE CALL OF HOPE

The second Mrs Galbraith came from the bathroom under the house with the baby under one arm and the boy of four under the other. Polly, the small girl — a weedy thing with solemn dark eyes and a bulging forehead, wet hair plaited into rats' tails, and a nightdress much too short to cover her thin legs, — followed, dragging a bath towel on the verandah boards. The water from the bath below made a noise as it ran off, and Mrs Galbraith perceived a little stieam pouring down a bricked-in drain beside the verandah steps. She gave the boy under lier arm a half-playful shake which scattered the drops from his carroty curls and made the baby utter a fretful cry.

" There, now. Jack, sure I knew -you were up to mischief. To go and pull jp the plug, when you know I promised dad that I'd save every drop of water for the flower beds. "Xtxt time you shall bogey in the waterhole. and if you're not good the bunyip will take you/ and now

: • you've jxis-t got to go to bed, foi it's iair worn out with you that I am." . ' Jack howled, and little Polly remaiked with an air of preternatural wisdom, "Mine think it plenty rain come up when kooraji-men come back from their walkabout.' j Mrs Galbraith laughed. '' Goodness grant ' it ! But just listen to the child with Ler black-talk. You'll be a gin yourself. Polly, if yon go letting Charlotte take you sc much to the blacks' camp. All the same, I do wish that Charlotte and the j kooraji-men with hei would come back I from their walk-about in the bush." she | added M'earily. " I'd sooner have a black nure-e than none at all." "Mine think it." pursued Polly, in her quaint imitation of the aboriginal* vernacular. "Charlotte no come back for plenty long time, because debil-debil sit down close-up along-a Narrawan." " Who told you debil-debil sit down along-a Narrawan?" questioned Susan, who was collecting native legends for literary purposes. '\A~nd what for does he sit down here?" " Debil-debil always sit down where I blackfellow go bong.' 1 sapiently returned , Polly. " Old fella brother belonging to , Charlotte, he go bong along-a-camp. Blackj fellow yan along-a ironbark country. Xo rain come until debil-debil go away and blacks come back again.'" "Well, now, and where did you get all that yabber from?" asked Mrs Galbraith. I " Oora," promptly replied the child. '"All , the blacks talk to Oora. One old Kooraji woman give Oora a shark's tooth for a charm, because she &ay Oora go across Big Water where plenty shark sit down. No shark ever bite Oora." " Yes, I know," put in Susan. "The 1 blacks gave the charm to Oor? when she used to go bathing along the coast at Bundah. Oora never was frightened oJ " sharks. She always said it was because of the blacks* charm." "I'm sure I wish Oora or Polly had got a charm against the drought," said Mrs Galbraith, "for the dad is that worried about it and the cattle and other things he's getting quite cross. Goodness, it seems as if debil-debil had got a dowr on the water to-day, for there is Jack gone ' and upset the can in the nursery !" She ran along the verandah, pushing Polly before her, a? the noise of clattering tin and another diibble of water along the boards told of a fresh :atastrophe. Susan remained dreamily gazing at th*. sunset, which made the western sky look like burnished copper, and confirmed the " blacks' disagreeable prognostications. From the nursery wing -ame sounds of a tussle . and a renewal of the baby's fretful wail. Presently Mrs Galbraith reappeared, hot and tousled, rocking the baby in her arms. " " I do wish Charlotte would come back from her walk-about,"' she said again. "Of • | course it's all nonsense about debil-debil. ; j The blacks are off for a corroboree. If it I wasn't for the drought coming on, and this mustering business, I'd insist on your j father getting me a nurse from Bowen or Townsville. Three children and the dairy are too much for one pair of hands. When Oora was here it was different. She did help a bit with the children." Mrs Galbraith paced the verandah, hushing the baby against her breast. Su6an was conscious of a reproachful glance cast upon herself. | " It's no use looking at me, Patsy ; I'm j not Oora, and never shall be," she said, | with a good-humoured laugh. Susan was j almost always good-humoured, but she did! I not alloAV herself to suffer unnecessary inI conveniences, and she distinctly regarded hei father's second family as such. "You j know, dear, I gave warning that if I | were expected to act nurse or goA r erness to my half-brother and sisters, there'd be a revolt of the stepdaughter." '' Oh, I don't expect anything from you. Su, but to be a sort of example of prettiness and fine manners," returned Patsy, with equal good humour. " And I'm sure that's enough of trouble for anybody in the bush, to say nothing of writing poetry and practising the piano, and going in fenr prize competitions. We hadn't the chance of such an education in my day. But it'i all right there should be butterflies as wel": ' as bees. And so long as you keep yoiyj dad happy and satisfied " " Dad is quite satisfied with nic," put ii Susan with calm assurance. " Yes. he's quite satisfied, and I'm gLu of it. He likes his music of evenings - and he wrote poetry, toe — once." There j was a wistful note in Mrs Galbraith's voice, ' ; but the honest soul was above mean jealousy, and Susan knew that Mrs Galbraith had never grudg-ed her stepdaughters any of their advantages. ir All the same," she went on, "it does seem rather a pity you shouldn't have been the one to go to England instead of Oora — except that you're so much more to your father than Oora is. And yet," she added, "you don't take after your mother." " No, I don't take after my mother," replied Susan. " I'm like my grandmother — Lady Susan Galbraith. Isn't it a pretty name. Patsy?" " It's the same as yours." "Only it has 'lady' before it. I'm not a snob, I hope, yet I'm glad I've got some blue blood in my veins. I'm very proud of taking after my grandmother. You don't know, but dad often talks to me about her. She was beautiful $nd accom plished, and a poetess and a musician." " Oh, yes, but I do know, 1 ' Mrs Galbraith sighed, as if the burden of Lady Susan's past beauty and accomplishment's weighed somewhat heavily on her soul. She herself did not answer in any way to the description Susan had given of ' Duncan Galbraith's lady mother. The second Mrs GalbVth vac of Irish parentage—she had beeif Vatricia Cassidy. a busk superintendent's <? gLter— with the liish eyes and the Irish complexion, which were both spoiled now by sandy blight and the Australian sun. f\vo good points, however, remained to her— sound white teeth, flashing when she laughed, between full, rather coarse lips, and pretty, curly hair that escaped untidily from its fastenings. Her figure had coarsened with years and

childbearing, though of her numerous tffBpring only the two eldest, not counting the baby, had survived an epidemic of iengue fever. "Yes, Ido know," she repeated. "Your father did use to talk t: me about his mother when we were first married. He gave it up after a bit. I suppose he found that Lady Susans and Patsy Cassidys didn't hang together. "' It seems, Su, as if you were all that was left of Lady tSusan to please him and remind him of his

grand days. Oora's like her mother, I'm told, and you* mother didn't hang with .Lady Susan any more than I do — eh? She was like me — a bit of a bushwhacker."

Susan stiffened slightly, and answered

Yrith some tartness, but in quite a wellbred -' ; tone :

"I don't think our mother was at all y like you, Patsy, though she was brought "*' up in tlie bush. Of course, I don't remembei her, but she was part Spanish. Henriques are generally Spanish." "I thought they were Jews — I knew gome Jews calkd Henriques at Wooralba," suggested Patsy simply. " Oora is like her. > You can see the

Spanish blood in Oora," replied Susan. "Oora isn't pretty like you, but -she's fascinating. That's .where she has the .pull," said Patsy. "I expect your mother - was .fascinating." " And perhapenot as pretty as you were, 1 Patsy.," magnanimously conceded, Susan: ■"Yes, I was pretty. You mightn't, think so now — after blight and 1 dengue »nd roughing it as I've done. And the dad teas fairly jn love with me, Su/' proclaimed 3Vfrs Galbraith, with, innocent pride. "He asked me three times before I accepted him. Nobody can say that I jumped the fence. . . . And when all's said and done — -Lady Susan or not — I'm certain he •wouldn't go back on it now if he could He always says that for a bueh wife I ~ couldn't be beaten." -^. Susan smiled with eweet condescension.

"Patsy, dear, if you didn't indulge so inordinately in babes, you'd be the best stockman in the district. And you can tally up a muster, and keep the station books, and reel off the pedigrees of horses *nd bulls, and sort wool samples like any trained overseer." "Now you talk as if you despised the hush, Su, and in your heart I believe you So, though you're always saying it's so romantic."

"So it is, ,and I adore the bush — from - .-the artistic point of view. I see things "-in the- bush that you, dear- thing, haven't • notion of." "What sort of things?" , ".Oh, the Genius of it— the Spirit of the ' -Bush." • • - r "And what's that lite, Su?" asked Patsy. '.'A sort of weird, misshapen primseyal' _; monster that looks ai youxfroin out of the gum trees and tlie gidya scrub -with eyes Ahat have the whole burden f ; of creation in their depths," answered :x: x Suean dreamily. "Goodness! you are clever, Susie! Fancy getting ideas like that 'about the old gum trees! Though I declare that wherever 1 was I'd never be happy without the smell ©f the gum leaves."

"And then the romance of the bush," ' Susan went^ on; "the adventures, the pathos, the tragedies. And', oh, Patsy, there was one here this afternoon." "What? A tragedy?" " Yes. A tramp ; a man who came to ask for a ration. Such a handsome man. I'm certain he was a gentleman. I should think he must have been a university man. , He talked about the old Greeks and"Monte Carlo . . . talked about them and the diggings." Mrs Galhraith • looked puzzled. "The, old Greeks and Monte Carlo . . .

Kid the diggings?" "Of course there's, no connection — in Dne sense. It was the way he talked — the Idea. ... It was like my Spirit of the Bush. He spoke of the Wheel of Destiny and of the President of the Immortals looking on while angels and devils — at the diggings — played with men's souls for their stakes." "My word ! Are you sure he wasn't a * bit touched?" " ~No, no ; he was quite sane, only fate driven; despairing — his whole life a tragic iailure. I could see..that it was terrible to him to beg for food. And I noticed how he looked at the house, and at — at everything." Susai? had been going to say "afc me," but checked herself. " I knew," 6he went on, " that he was just thirsting for refinement and civilisation. I'd have liked to play to him, I'd have liked to read Browning to him *' "I expect he'd rather have a good dinner," observed Mrs Galbraith, eyeing Susan shrewdly. "Ah Hong might have given him a bit of cooked' meat with some vege-

tables." " " I offered it him, and he said he'd rather boil his own billy and make his damper.

But I did a dreadful thing, Patsy. I gave 3»im two of dad's cigare." ' "I bet that's just what Duncan himself j^ould have done.- Ah, you're tar-marked ,with Lady Susan — the two of you. I T7ould have let him have a twist of tobacco r— it would have lasted him longer." " And he'd have hated you. You should have seen how he looked — at the cigars." "Oh! at the cigars!" "Patsy, didn't dad say he was wanting Bomebody to herd the weaners or look After Ironbark Bore?" f "He wouldn't put a sundowner at that." "The man says he's a good hand) at cattle. He was" at- the diggings — Yellaroi diggings — he said, and lost everything."' "He couldn't have had much." Mrs Galbraith tenderly removed her infant from one arm to the othei\ " There, I think she's really off. I'll lay her in her cot," and she carried off the baby to the nursery, but returned presently to the verandah, where Susan was swinging hereeli again in the hammock, and exclaimed excitedly : " Duncan's come ; your dad's at the slip j^ails. I saw him from the children's winlow talking to that tramp. What a queer

thing ! Perhaps he's going to give the man a job. You were quite right, Susan ; he does look a gentleman." Susan ran to the end ot the verandah, from which she had had her first view of the tramp. She could see her father quite plainly in that wonderfully ethereal light which lasts for perhaps a quarter of an hour after the sun sets, before night drops her curtain with the startling suddenness common to Australia. Duncan Galbraith was a fine-looking, lean old man, with a reddish-grey beard, sitting his big tired chestnut as if he were a part of the animal. Boss and bushman were written on every line of him. He had his stockwhip coiled over one shoulder, the end of it trailing on the ground, and now he raised it and gave a reverberating crack of the thong, which set the dogs at the head station barking, roused up the children, and brought Tommy George, the black boy, running out to take his master's horse. Mr Galbraith seemed, however, in no hurry. He was talking to the stranger, who now took out some papers from his pouch and handed them up to the horseman. Mr Galbraith read the papers, and after some apparently slight discussion, returned them to the tramp. Susan heard her father call out with an air of finality as he spurred the chestnut to a walk, "All right ! That seems good enough. Come along up to the house." And! the tramp followed him, stepping briskly up the slope, till the two disappeared round: th© kitchen, building. Presently Susan ran through to the back verandah, where Mrs Galbraith stood, already greeting her "old man," as. she called him, in her twangy Australian accents, flavoured with just a suspicion of the brogue.

"And how are you, Duncan? And have you got the cattle all right?" Mr Galbraith had dismounted, and was showing the black boy a sore place on the chestnut's wither. "You, Tommy George, pour little drop of water long-a that fella sore"," and turned to his wife.

"How are you, Patsy, old girl? Kiddies all right? We've had a job with the cattle. I've come back for rations and an extra hand for the weaners. Hulloa, Su, my dear, . All right, eh? Look here, fetch the grog into the office verandah — two glasses. And you, Wolfe, come inside for a minute, will you, and have a nip?" Wolfe ! So that was the tramp's name. Susan saw him leaning in his proud, dejected "■ attitude against the palings. He came slowly forward at Mr Galbraith's ".address, and waited at the verandah steps. Susan 'bought the decanter of whisky from the dining room, with water and glasses, and "put the tray on a table against the partition wall of the lean-to at - the end "of the hack verandah. The office was in the lean-to, and through the open door could be seen a desk with a copying press beside it, and the station ledgers and log. When her husband, was away Mrs Galfilled in the log. The door into the parlour, which was in the middle of the house, from front to back, stood open too, and again Susan noticed the longing gleam in the tramp's eyes as they glanced towards the pretty rooms, with their open French windows on to the garden, muslin curtains, cool chintzes, books, flowers, and, in one, the open piano. He took off his battered felt hat at sight of her, and she ! felt they were already old acquaintances. j and that he was grateful to her, though, of course, she had nothing to do with his engagement as odd hand. For she was sure that her father hadi engaged the sundowner; probably he had been, like herself, attracted to him at the onset, impulsiveness being a quality father and daughter : had in common. She knew, too, that the [ taking of a "nip" was the usual ratification of an agreement in Australia.

Mr Galbraith kissed Tiis wife, and gave his daughter an affectionat-e pat on the arm. Suean didn't like being embraced before the " hands," even by her father ; but Mrs Galbraith showed no objection to such open signs of affection. The two children from the nursery had run out in their nightgowns, and were clinging to the buttons of his' breeches.

"Be off with you, kiddies! I'll talk to you by-and-bye. Come along, Wolfe. Patsy, this is James Wolfe. Going to let him help herd the weaners, and if he shapes he can have a try at the Ironbark bore. You remember Murrell, of Goondi, on the Burdekin. Wolfe was with Murrell at one of his bores. Got a recommendation from him. Let's see, how longdid you say it was since you were with Mr Murrell, Wolfe?"

" Just a year — sir." He brought out the last wor<? with a certain unaccustomedness.

" Then went off in the rush to Yellaroi, Not much of a diggings, eh?"

" There's gold — plenty of it, I believe, in the ranges behind Yellaroi," replied the man in a reticent manner.

"Is there ? I wonder, as you were on the spot, that you didn't try your luck. But it's hard graft fossicking. I tried it myself once, and came to the conclusion that there's more to be made out of sheep and cattle. Claim at Yellaroi turned out no good, I suppose?"

"It was disappointing," replied the man in the same reserved tone.

"Ah, well, I always say that in the ordinary rushes — except for perhaps one man in a hundred — it's only John. Chinaman who can make a living off a goldfield, and John Chinaman would make a living — and, my word ! a good one, too — off a patch of poison bush. Well, it's settled, then, Wolfe. I engage you for a week to see how you shape — £1 a week and rations. To-morrow I'll start you with the weaners. Here's a nip on it. Good luck to you." Mr Galbraith handed the man a stiff peg. "Water? Glad to see you don't take it neat. Snake juice is the devil in the lrosh."

Mr Galbraith drank his own peg standing. Wolfe put a good dash of water with his. He raised his glass and looked at his new master, the dark flush that mounted to his forehead showing dully in the twilight. " Thank you. I'm very much obliged — 6ir.'

Mr Galbraith lemaiked that he jibbed

at the "sir," and laughed in the hearty, tolerant way that made him sc popular with his hands — perhaps all the more so because every one of them knew that, as they put it, he was "game to draw a revolver on any cove what gave him sauce." " Hey ! not over used to being bossed. But 1 take no cheek, mind. By the way, d'ye know the Palmer diggings'?" The man hesitated again. Dusk was falling rapidly, yet the red flush or his face seemed to deepen as he answered : " I was there for a short time lately." " I suppose you didn't happen to come across anyone " It was now Mr Galbraith's turn to hesitate, and a new note, harsh and yet shaky, came into his voice. " You haven't met a digger of my name, have you — Galbraith — Henry Galbraith?" " No," replied the tramp. " I've never known anybody called Galbraith — on the diggings or elsewhere." " Ah, well, it doesn't matter." The Boss sighed. "Good-night, Wolfe. You've got your rations, you say? Well, you can have a shakedown at the hut. We make a pretty early start to-morrow. I must see what horse I can give you. Don't mind a bit of a spieler, eh?" " I'm a good hand at horses," replied the stranger. " That's all right. Here, Tommy George, you fetch up yarraman when sun get vp — the outla-w, mine think it, fox- this fellow Wolfe." " Yowi, maesa." Tommy- George had sneaked up in hope of a nip, and Mr Galbraith poured one for him into a pannikin that hung on a nail beside the- store keys. Wolfe, lifting his hat, went away. {To be continued.)