Читать книгу Mates at Billabong - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 4

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And you and I were faithful mates.

Henry Lawson.

AFTERWARDS—when the blow was a little less heavy as Norah grew accustomed to it—they talked it over thoroughly.

Norah’s education, in the strict sense of the term, had only been carried on for about two years. In reality it had gone on all her life, spent mostly at her father’s side; but that was the kind of education that does not live between the covers of books. Together, David Linton and his daughter had worked, and played and talked—much more of the former condition than of either of the latter. All that the bush could teach her Norah knew, and in most of the work of the station—Billabong was a noted cattle-run—she was as handy as any of the men. Her father’s constant mate, every day shared with him was a delight to her. They rode together, fished, camped and explored together; it was the rarest occurrence for Mr. Linton’s movements not to include Norah as a matter of course.

Yet there was something in the quiet man that had effectually prevented any development of roughness in Norah. Boyish and offhand to a certain extent, the solid foundation of womanliness in her nature was never far below the surface. She was perfectly aware that while Daddy wanted a mate he also wanted a daughter; and there was never any real danger of her losing that gentler attribute—there was too much in her of the little dead mother for that. Brownie, the ever watchful, had seen to it that she did not lack housewifely accomplishments, and Mr. Linton was wont to say proudly that Norah’s scones were as light as her hand on a horse’s mouth. There was no doubt that the irregular side of her education was highly practical.

Two years before Fate had taken a new interest in Norah’s development, bringing as inmates of the homestead an old friend of her father’s, with his wife and son. The latter acted as Norah’s tutor, and found his task an easy one, for the untrodden ground of the little girl’s brain yielded remarkable results. To Mrs. Stephenson fell the work of gently moulding her to womanly ways—less easy this, for while Norah had no desire to be a tomboy, she was firmly of the opinion that once lessons were over, she had simply no time to stay inside the house and be proper. Still, the gentle influence told, imperceptibly softening and toning her character, and giving her a standard by which to adapt herself; and Norah was nothing if not adaptable. Then, six months previously, the old man they all loved had quietly faded out of life; and after he had gone his widow could no longer remain in the place where he had died. She pined slowly, until Dick Stephenson, the son, had taken her almost forcibly away. The unspoken fear that the parting was not merely temporary had merged into certainty. Billabong would know them no more. The question remaining was what to do with Norah.

“I want you to have the school training,” Mr. Linton said, when they talked the matter over. “You must mix with other girls—learn to see things from their point of view, and realize how many points of view there are outside Billabong. Oh, I don’t want you to think there are any better”—he laughed at the vigorous shake of the brown curls—“but the world has wider boundaries, and you must find them out. There are other things, too”—vaguely—“dancing and deportment, and—er—the use of the globes, and I think there’s a thing called a blackboard, but I’m not sure. Dick didn’t know. In fact, there’s a regulation mill, and I suppose you must go through it—I don’t feel afraid that they’ll spoil my little girl’s individuality in the process.”

“Is it a big school, Daddy?”

“Yes, I believe so. Several people I know send their girls there. And it’s a great place for sports, Norah. You’ll like that. They’re keen on hockey and cricket and all sorts of things girls never dreamed about when I was young. Possibly I may live to see you a slow bowler yet, and playing in a match! Honestly, Norah, I believe you’ll be very happy at school.”

“And what’ll you do, Daddy?”

“I don’t know,” he said, heavily. “I told you I was under sentence.”

They sat awhile in silence. It was evening, and they were on the verandah; Mr. Linton in a big basket chair, and Norah curled up at his feet in the way she loved. She could not see his face—just then she did not want to. She said nothing. The moon climbed up slowly, and the frogs were merry in the lagoon. Far off the cry of a bittern boomed across the flats.

“Well, at least we’ve got nine weeks,” Norah said at length. “Nine weeks to be mates—and Jim’ll be home next week, and he’ll be mates, too. Don’t let’s get blue about it, Daddy. It’ll be so horrid when the time comes, that it’s no good letting it spoil these nine weeks. Can’t we try to forget it?”

“We can try,” said David Linton.

“Course, we won’t do it,” Norah said. “But don’t let’s talk about it. I’m going to put it out of my head as much as ever I can, and have this time for just Billabong and us. Will you, Daddy?”

“I’ll do all I can, my girlie,” said her father. “You mustn’t start off with any bad memories; we’ll have the most crowded nine weeks of our lives, and make a solemn resolve to ‘buck up.’ I’d like to plan something for this week, but, upon my word, I’m too busy to play, Norah. There’s any amount to be done.”

“But I don’t want to play,” Norah said. “Work’s good enough for me, Daddy, if I can work with you. Can’t I come, too?”

“I’ll be exceedingly glad of your help,” said her father—which was exactly what Norah wanted him to say, and went far to cheer her. She put the dismal future resolutely from her, and set out upon the present with a heart as light as possible.

It was never dull at Billabong. Always there were pets of all kinds to be seen to. Mr. Linton laid no restriction on pets if they were properly tended, and Norah had a collection as wide as it was beloved. Household duties there were, too; but these could be left if necessary—two adoring housemaids were always ready to step into the breach if “business on the run” claimed Norah’s attention. And beyond the range of the homestead altogether, there lay an enchanted region that only she and Daddy shared—the wide and stretching plains of Billabong dotted with cattle, seamed with creeks and the river, and merging at the boundary into a long low line of hills. Norah used to gaze at them from her windows—sometimes purple, sometimes blue, and sometimes misty grey, but always beautiful to the child who loved them. Others might know Billabong—visit it, ride over it, exclaim at its beauties; but Norah always felt that there were only two who really understood and cared—Daddy and herself.

Of course there was Jim—the big brother who was seventeen now, and just about to leave school. Norah was immensely proud of him, and the affection between them was a thing that never wavered. Jim loved Billabong, too; but it was only to be expected that six years of school in Melbourne would make something of a difference. He knew, in the words of the old Roman, “There is a world elsewhere.” But Norah knew no world beyond Billabong.

For all that, Jim was distinctly desirable as a brother. He had always made a tremendous chum of Norah, and the friends he brought home found they were expected to do the same. This might cause them surprise at first, but they very soon found that “the kiddie” was quite excellent as a mate, and could put them up to a good deal more than they usually knew about the Bush. Norah was invariably Jim’s first thought. He was a big, quiet fellow, very like his father; not over brilliant at books, but a first-rate sport, and without a trace of meanness in his generous nature. At school he was worshipped by the boys—was not he captain of the football team, stroke of the eight, and best all-round athlete?—and liked by the masters, who found him inclined to be careless over work but absolutely reliable in every other way. Such a fellow does not win scholarships, but he is a tower of strength to his school.

For the week preceding Jim’s return Norah and her father worked hard, clearing up various odd jobs so that their time might be free when the boy arrived. There was a quaint side to this, in that Jim would without doubt have been delighted to help in any station work, which always presented itself to him as “no end of a lark” after the strenuous life at school. But it was a point of honour with those at home to leave none of their work until the holidays and the last week was invariably the scene of many labours.

Not that there were not plenty of hands on the station. It was a big run, and gave employment in one way or another to quite a band of men. But Mr. Linton preferred to keep a very close watch over everything, and he had long realized that the best way of seeing that your business is done is to take a hand yourself. The men said, “The boss was everywhere,” and they respected him the more in that he was no kid glove employer, but was willing to share in any work that was going forward. Especially he insisted on working among the cattle, and—Norah was nearly always with him on his rides—they had a more or less accurate knowledge of every beast on the place. Outside the boundary fences they went very seldom; the nearest township, seventeen miles away, Norah regarded as merely a place where you called for the mail, and save that it meant a ride or drive with her father, she had never the slightest desire to go there.

Summer was very late that year, and “burning-off” operations on the rougher parts of the run had been carried on much longer than was generally possible. Norah always regarded “burning-off” as an immense picnic, and used to beg her father to take her out. Night after night found them down on the flats, getting rid of old dead trees, which up to the present had refused obstinately to burn. It was picturesque work, and Norah loved it, though she would have been somewhat embarrassed had you hinted that the picturesqueness had anything to do with its attractions.

One after another, they would light the stumps, some squat and solid, other rising thirty or forty feet into the air. Once the fires were lit, it was necessary to keep them going; moving backwards and forward among the trees, stoking, picking up fallen bits of burning timber and adding them to the fires, coaxing sullen embers into a blaze, edging the fire round a tree, so that the wind might do its utmost in helping the work—there were no idle moments for the “burners-off”. Sometimes it would be necessary to enlarge a crack or hole in a tough stump, to gain a hold for the fire. Norah always carried a light iron bar, specially made for her at the station forge, which she called her poker, and which answered half a dozen purposes equally well, and though not an ideal weapon for killing a snake, being too stiff and straight, had been known to act in that capacity also. Every scrap of loose timber on the ground would be picked up and added to the flames. Some stumps were very obstinate and resisted all blandishments to burn; but careful handling generally ensured the fate of the majority.

There are few sights more weird, or more typically Australian, than a paddock at night with burning-off in process. Low and high, the red columns of fire stand in a darkness made blacker by their lurid glow. Where the fire has taken hold fairly the flames are fierce, and showers of sparks fall like streams of gold. Sometimes a dull crack gives warning of the fall of a long dead giant; and the burning mass leans slowly over, and then comes down with a crash, while the curious bullocks, which have poked as near as they dare to the strange scene, fling round and lumber off in a heavy gallop, heads down and tails up. From stump to stump flit the little black figures of the workers, standing out clearly sometimes, by the light of a blaze so fierce that to face it is scarcely possible; or half seen in the dull glow of a smouldering tree poking vigorously—seeming as ants attacking living monsters infinitely beyond their strength. Perhaps it is there that the fascination of the work comes in—the triumph of conquering tons of inanimate matter by efforts so small. At any rate it is always hard to leave the scene of action, and certainly the first glance next morning is to see “which are down.”

Then there were days spent among the cattle—days that always meant the high-water mark of bliss to Norah. She rode astride, and her special pony, Bobs, to whom years but added perfection, loved the work as much as she did. They understood each other perfectly; if Norah carried a hunting-crop, it was merely for assistance in opening gates, for Bobs never felt its touch. A hint from her heel, or a quick word, conveyed all the big bay pony ever needed to supplement his own common sense, of which Mr. Linton used to say he possessed more than most men. The new bullocks arrived, and had to be drafted and branded—during which latter operation Norah retired dismally to the house and the socks that had to be finished in time to be Jim’s Christmas present. Then, after the branding, came a most cheerful time, putting the cattle into their various paddocks.

One day was spent in mustering sheep, an employment not at all to Norah’s taste. She was frankly glad that Billabong devoted most of its energies to cattle, and only put up with the sheep work because, since Daddy was there, it never occurred to her to do anything else but go. But she hated the slow, dusty ride, and hailed with delight a gallop that came in their way towards the end of the day, when a hare jumped up under Bob’s nose as they rode homewards from the yards. The dogs promptly gave chase; and, almost without knowing it, Norah and Bobs were in hot pursuit, with Monarch shaking the earth behind them. The average sheep dog is no match for a hare, and the quarry easily escaped into the next paddock, after a merry run. Norah pulled up, her eyes dancing.

“Don’t you know it’s useless to try to get a hare with those fellows?” asked Mr. Linton, checking the reeking Monarch, and indicating with a nod the dogs, which were highly aggrieved at their defeat.

“But I never wanted to get it,” said his daughter, in surprise. “It’s perfectly awful to get a hare; they cry just like a baby, and it makes you feel horrid.”

“Then why did you go after it?”

“Why?” asked Norah, opening her eyes. “Well, I knew the dogs couldn’t catch it—and I believe you wanted a gallop nearly as much as I did, Daddy!” They laughed at each other, and let the impatient horses have their heads across the cleared paddock to the homestead.

There a letter awaited them.

Norah coming in to dinner in a white frock, with her curls unusually tidy, found her father looking anything but pleased over a closely covered sheet of thin notepaper.

“I wish to goodness women would write legibly,” he said, with some heat. “No one on earth has any right to write on both sides of paper as thin as this—and then across it! No one but your Aunt Eva would do it—she always had a passion for small economies, together with one for large extravagances. Amazing woman! Well, I can’t read half of it, but what she wants is unhappily clear.”

“She isn’t coming here, Daddy?”

“Saints forbid!” ejaculated Mr. Linton, who had a lively dread of his sister—a lady of much social eminence, who disapproved strongly of his upbringing of Norah. “No, she doesn’t mention such an extreme course, but there’s something almost as alarming. She wants to send Cecil here for Christmas.”

“Cecil! Oh, Daddy!” Norah’s tone was eloquent.

“Says he’s been ill,” said her father, glancing at the letter in a vain effort to decipher a message written along one edge. “He’s better, but needs change, and she seems to think Billabong will prove a sanatorium.” He looked at Norah with an expression of dismay that was comical. “I shouldn’t have thought we’d agree with that young man a bit, Norah!”

“I’ve never seen him, of course,” Norah said, unhappily, “but Jim says he’s pretty awful. And you didn’t like him yourself, did you, Daddy?”

“On the rare occasions that I’ve had the pleasure of meeting my nephew I’ve always thought him an unlicked cub,” Mr. Linton answered. “Of course it’s eighteen months since I saw him; possibly he may have changed for the better, but at that time his bumptiousness certainly appeared to be on the increase. He had just left school then—he must be nearly twenty now.”

“Oh—quite old,” said Norah, “What is he like?”

“Pretty!” said Mr. Linton, wrinkling his nose. “As pretty as his name—Cecil—great Scott! I wonder if he’d let me call him Bill for short! Bit of a whipper-snapper, he seemed; but I didn’t take very much notice of him—saw he was plainly bored by his uncle from the Bush, so I didn’t worry him. Well, now he’s ours for a time your aunt doesn’t limit—more than that, if I can make a guess at these hieroglyphics, I’ve got to send a telegram to say we’ll have him on Saturday.”

“And this is Wednesday—oh, Dad!” expostulated Norah.

“Can’t be helped,” her father said. “We’ve got to go through with it; if the boy has been ill he must certainly have all the change we can give him. But I’m doubtful. Eva says he’s had a ‘nervous breakdown,’ and I rather think it’s a complaint I don’t believe in for boys of twenty.”

The dinner gong sounded. Amid its echoes Norah might have been heard murmuring something about “nervous grandmother.”

“H’m,” said her father, laughing; “I don’t think he’ll find much sympathy with his more fragile symptoms in Billabong—we must try to brace him up, Norah. But whatever will Jim say I wonder!”

“He’ll be too disgusted for words,” Norah answered. “Poor old Jimmy! I wonder how they’ll get on. D’you suppose Cecil ever played football?”

“From Cecil’s appearance I should say he devoted his time to wool-work,” said Mr. Linton. “However, it may not turn out as badly as we think, and it’s no use meeting trouble halfway, is it? Also, we’ve to remember that he’ll be our guest.”

“But that’s the trouble,” said Norah, laughing. “It wouldn’t be half so bad if you could laugh at him. I’ll have to be so hugely polite!”

“You’ll probably shock him considerably, in any case,” said her father. “Cecil’s accustomed to very prim young ladies, and it’s not at all unlikely that he’ll try to reform you!”

“I wish him luck!” said Norah. But there was a glint in her eyes which boded ill for Cecil’s reformatory efforts.