Читать книгу Babes in the Bush - Rolf Boldrewood - Страница 6

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‘Now, Howard, my young friend!’ said the worthy man, as they settled themselves at a small table, near a noble mantelpiece of Australian gray marble, curiously marked with the imprints of the fossil encrinite, ‘I address you as I used to do in our army days, for, with regard to money matters, I feel sure you are as young as ever. In the first place, I must render an account of my stewardship. Observe, here is the conveyance to you and your heirs for ever of the estate of Warbrok, a Crown grant to Colonel Rupert Falkland Warleigh, late of Her Majesty’s 80th Regiment, dated as far back as 1805, comprising 5174 acres, 1 rood, 3 perches, by him devised in equal shares to his sons—Randal, Clement, and Hubert. It was not entailed, as were most of the early grants. They fell away from the traditions of the family, and lived reckless, dissipated lives. Their education was neglected—perhaps not the best example exhibited to them by the old Colonel—he was always a gentleman though—what wonder the poor boys went wrong? They came to be called the “Wild Warleighs of Warbrok.” At last the end came. Hopelessly in debt, they were forced to sell. Here are their signatures, duly attested. Your purchase money, at the rate of 10s. per acre—a low price, but ready money was very scarce in the colony at the time—amounted to £2587:5s., mentioned as the consideration. Out of your draft for £3000 remained, therefore, £412:15s.; expenses and necessary farm work done, with wages to Dick Evans and his wife, have amounted to £62:7s. This includes the ploughing and sowing of a paddock—a field you would call it—of 20 acres of wheat, as the season had to be availed of. I hand you a deposit receipt for £350:8s., lodged to your credit in the Bank of New Holland, at Yass, where I advise you to place the rest of your capital, and I thereby wash my hands of you, pecuniarily, for the present.’

‘My dear old friend,’ said Effingham, ‘it is not for the first time that you have pulled me through a difficulty, though never before did we face one like this. But how comes it that I have money to receive? I thought the draft of £3000 would barely suffice to pay for the estate.’

‘You must know that I transacted this piece of business through a solicitor, a shrewd man of business, who kept my counsel, making no sign until the property was put up to auction. The terms being cash, he had a decided advantage, and it was not known until after the sale, for whom he had purchased. So the Warleighs having retired, we must see what the Effinghams will make of it.’

‘There will be no riotous living, at any rate,’ said Wilfred; ‘and now, as you have done with the Governor, please advise me as to our future course. I am the duly-appointed overseer—I believe that is the proper title—and intend to begin work this very day.’

‘Couldn’t do better. We may as well call Dick Evans into council. He was hired by me at 18s. per week, with board and lodging. For this wage he engaged to give his own and wife’s services, also those of his team and waggon. The wages are under the ordinary rate, but he explained that his horses would get fat here, and that he liked being employed on a place like Warbrok, and under an ex-officer in Her Majesty’s service. I should continue the engagement for a few months, at all events; you will find him most useful.’

‘Up to this time he has been simply perfect,’ said Wilfred. ‘It’s a pleasure to look at such an active worker—so respectful, too, in his manner.’

‘Our experience of the Light Infantry man, Howard,’ said Mr. Sternworth, ‘must prevent us from fully endorsing Wilfred’s opinion, but Dick Evans is a good man; at all country work better, indeed, than most of his class. Let us hear what he says.’

Probably anticipating some such summons he was not far off, having returned from showing Guy a flock of wild-fowl. He walked into the room and, saluting, stood at ease, as if such a thing as a chair had never been by him encountered in the whole course of existence.

‘Corporal Evans!—pshaw! that is, Dick,’ said the worthy ex-military priest, ‘I have sent for you to speak to Captain Effingham, and Mr. Wilfred, who is to be farm manager and stock overseer. I have told them that you are the very man for the place, when you behave yourself.’ Here the keen grey eyes looked somewhat sternly at Mr. Evans, who put on a look of mild surprise. ‘Are you willing to hire for six months at the same rate of wages, with two rations, at which I engaged you? You will work your team, I know, reasonably; and Mrs. Evans will wash and help the ladies in any way she can?’

‘Well, Mr. Chaplain, the wages is not too high,’ replied Evans, ‘but I like the place, and my horses knows the run, and does well here. You know I like to serve a gentleman, ’specially one that’s been in the service. I’ll stay on at the same rate for six months.’

‘Well, that’s settled. Now, let us have a talk about requirements. How to use the grass to the best advantage?’

‘There’s no better place in the country-side for dairying,’ said Dick, addressing himself to his clerical employer, as alone capable of understanding the bearings of the case; ‘it’s a wonderful fine season, and there’s a deal of grass going to waste. There’s stray cattle between here and the other end of the lake as will want nothing better than to clear it all off, as they’re used to do, if we’re soft enough to let ’em. Many a good pick they’ve had over these Warbrok flats, and they naturally looks for it again, ’specially as there’s a new gentleman come as don’t know the ways of the country. Now, what I should do, if I was the master, would be to buy two or three hundred mixed cattle—there’s a plenty for sale just now about Yass—and start a dairy. We might make as much butter between now and Christmas as would pay middlin’ well, and keep other people’s cattle from coming on the place and eating us out of house and home, in a manner of speakin’.’

‘Good idea, Richard,’ said Mr. Sternworth; ‘but how about the yard and cowshed? It’s nearly all down, and half-rotten. Mr. Effingham doesn’t want to engage fencers and splitters, and have all the country coming here for employment.’

‘There’s no call for that, sir,’ said the many-sided veteran. ‘I had a look at the yard this morning. If I had a man to help me for a fortnight I’ll be bound to make it cattle-proof with a load of posts and rails, that I could run out myself, only we want a maul and wedges.’

‘I’ll be your man,’ said Wilfred, ‘if that’s all that’s necessary. I may as well learn a trade without delay. Andrew can help, too, I daresay.’

‘He’s not much account,’ quoth Dick disdainfully. ‘He thinks he knows too much already. These new hands—no offence to you, sir—is more in the way than anything else. But if you’ll buckle to, sir, we’ll soon make a show.’

‘I know a stock agent who can get the exact cattle you want,’ said Mr. Sternworth. ‘He told me that Mr. O’Desmond had a hundred young cows and heifers for sale. They are known to be a fine breed of cattle.’

‘The best in the country,’ said Dick. ‘Old Harry O’Desmond never had any but right down good horses, cattle, and sheep at Badajos, and if we give a little more for them at the start it will be money saved in the end. He’s the man to give us an extra good pick, when he knows they’re for an officer and a gentleman.’

‘Our friend Richard has aristocratic notions, you observe,’ said the parson, smiling. ‘But Harry O’Desmond is just the man to act as he says. You will do well to treat with him.’

‘Only too happy,’ said Effingham. ‘Everything arranges itself with surprising ease, with your aid. Is this kind of settling made easy to go on for ever? It was almost a pity we took the voyage at all. You might have made our fortunes, it seems to me, as a form of recreation, and left us to receive the profits in England.’

‘And how am I to be paid, you heedless voluptuary, may I ask, if not by the presence of your charming family? Since I’ve seen them I wouldn’t have had the colony lose them for twice the value of the investment. Besides, seriously, if the seasons change or a decline takes place in the stock market you’ll need all your brains and Wilfred’s to keep the ship afloat. Never lose sight of the fact that this is an uncertain land, with a more uncertain climate.’

‘It’s all right if you don’t overstock, sir,’ spoke the practical Richard. ‘But Mr. Sternworth’s right. I mind the ’27 drought well. We was forced to live upon kangaroo soup, rice, and maize meal, with marshmallers and “fat hen” for a little salad. But they say the climate’s changed like, and myster than it used to be.’

‘Climates never change in their normal conditions,’ said Sternworth positively. ‘Any assertion to the contrary is absurd. What has been will be again. Let us make such provision as we can against droughts and other disasters, and leave the rest to Providence, which has favoured this land and its inhabitants so far.’

‘The fences seem dilapidated. Ought they not to be repaired at once?’ said Wilfred.

‘By degrees, all in good time,’ said the old gentleman testily. ‘We must not go deeply into “improvements,” as they are called here, lest they run away with our money at the commencement of affairs. Dick will explain to you that the cattle can be kept in bounds without fencing for a time. And now I feel half a farmer and half an exhausted parson. So I think I must refresh myself with another look at the lady part of the establishment, have a mouthful of lunch, and start for home.’

‘It’s a murder you didn’t take to farming, sir, like Parson Rocker,’ said Dick, with sincere regret in his tones. ‘You’d ha’ showed ’em whether sojer officers can’t make money, though the folks here don’t think so.’

‘I have my own work, Richard,’ said the old gentlemen. ‘It may be that there is occasionally rather more of the church militant about me than is prudent. But the town and neighbourhood of Yass will be the better for old Harley Sternworth’s labours before we say farewell to one another.’

‘I can now leave you all with perfect confidence,’ he said after lunch, as Dick Evans brought Roanoke and the dogcart to the door. ‘The next time I come I must bring an old friend to pay his respects, but that will not be till the furniture has arrived. I foresee you will make astonishing changes, and turn The Chase into the show mansion of the district. I must bring you some of my “Souvenirs de Malmaison” and “Madame Charles.” “The Cloth of Gold” and others I see you have. I am prouder of my roses than of my sermons, I think. I don’t know which require most care in pruning. Good-bye, my dear friends!’

The roan tossed his head, and set off at such a pace along the grass-grown track which led to the main ‘down the country’ road, as the highway from Yass to Sydney was provincially termed, that it was easy to see he had been making a calculation as to the homeward route. The girls looked after the fast-receding vehicle for a while before recommencing their household tasks. Howard Effingham and his wife walked to and fro along the pleasant sun-protected colonnade of the south verandah. When they separated, little had been said which was free from praise of their tried friend, or from thankfulness to the Almighty Disposer of events, who had shown them His mercy in the day of need.

This eventful colloquy concluded, settled daily employment commenced for all the denizens of The Chase. They rose early, and each one attended to the duties allotted by special arrangement. Breakfast over, Wilfred shouldered an axe and marched off with Dick Evans to some forest tree, to be converted into posts and rails for the fast-recovering dairy-yard.

Andrew had betaken himself to the renovation of the orchard and garden with grateful persistence, as he recalled his earlier feats at the English home of the family, duly thankful for the opportunity of exercising his energies in a direction wherein he could show himself capable.

‘It’s gra-and soil,’ he was pleased to observe, ‘and I hae nae doot whatever that I shall be able to grow maist unco-omon vegetables, gin I had some food—that is, manure—to gie the puir things. The trees are sair negleckit and disjaskit, but they’ll come round wi’ care and the knife. The spring is a thocht advanced, as that auld carle Evans has gi’en me to understand. I winna say he’s no auld farrand wi’ a’ the “bush” ways, as they ca’ them, but he’s an awfu’ slave o’ Satan wi’ his tongue—just fearsome. But gin ye’ll put me a fence round this bit park, Maister Wilfred, I’ll show yon folks here that auld Andrew Cargill can grow prize kail in baith hemispheres.’

‘We are going to split some palings before we are done,’ said Wilfred, smiling at the old man’s rounding off of his sentence. ‘Then we’ll pull this old fence down and take in more ground, so that you may exercise your landscape gardening talent.’

‘This bit garden will keep my body employed and my thochts frae unprofitable wanderings, brawly, during this season o’ inexperience. Ye see, Maister Wilfred, it wadna become me, as a pairson o’ reflection, to da-ash presumptuously into a’ matters o’ practice, but they canna haud me to obsairve and gather up the ootcome of thae bush maitters, and bide my time a wee, till the day comes when I can take my place at the laird’s right hand ance mair.’

‘No one will be better pleased than I shall be, Andrew,’ said Wilfred, heartily grasping the hand of his faithful servitor. ‘I’ll no deny that he kens maist things befitting a dweller in the wilderness. The de’il’s aye guid at gifts to his ain folk. But, wae’s me, he’s lightsome and profane abune a’ belief.’

The great event of the year, after all, was the arrival of the drays with the heavy luggage and the furniture reserved from sale.

Joy and thankfulness all too deep for words greeted the welcome wains, promptly unladen, and their inestimable contents brought into the shelter of the wide verandah before unpacking.

‘I never could have believed,’ said Mrs. Effingham, ‘that anything in Australia could have had the power to afford me so much pleasure. The refurnishing of our house at The Chase never produced half such pleasure as I now feel at the prospect of seeing the old tables and chairs, the sideboard, and my dear old davenport again.’

‘And the piano!’ cried Annabel. ‘What a luxury to us, who have been tuneless and songless all these months! Even the morning “scales” would have been better than nothing. I shall really go in for steady practising—I know I never did before. There is nothing like being starved a little.’

‘Starving seems to agree with you in a bodily sense,’ said Rosamond, ‘if I may judge from certain alterations of dresses. But you are right in believing that it gives a wonderful relish for mental food. Look at these two lovely boxes of books. The library was sold, but here are many of our old favourites. How I shall enjoy seeing their faces again!’

‘I am certain Jeanie must have stolen a quantity of things after the sale,’ asserted Beatrice, who had been examining the externals of the packages; ‘bedding and curtains, and every kind of thing likely to be useful. I expect my room will be so like the one at the old Chase that I shall never find out the difference of a morning, till I go downstairs and see the verandahs.’

‘There are no verandahs in England,’ said Guy, who was one of the ‘fatigue party,’ as Dick expressed it. ‘They ought to take a hint from the colonies—stunning places they make on a wet day, or a hot one, I can tell you.’

‘Where shall we tek this sideboard, mem?’ said Dick Evans, with his ultra-respectful, family-servant intonation.

‘Into the dining-room, of course,’ screamed the delighted Annabel. ‘Why, every room in the house will be furnished more or less; it will be quite a palace.’

Willing hands abounded, Mr. Evans in person superintending the opening of the cases, taking care to draw nails in order to fit the boards for future usefulness, so that, very shortly, the whole English shipment was transferred to its final Australian resting-place.

Robinson Crusoe, when he had made the last successful raft-passage and transhipment from the Guinea trader before she went down, could not have been more grateful than our deported friends when the litter and the cases and Dick and Andrew were cleared off, and they were free to gloat over their precious property.

How different the rooms looked! There was an air of comfort and refinement about the well-preserved furniture which was inexpressibly comforting to the ex-dwellers in tents. The large rooms looked perhaps a shade too bare, but in warm climates an Indian non-obtrusion of upholstering is thought becoming. The well-remembered tones of the piano, which glorified an unoccupied corner of the drawing-room, echoed through that spacious apartment, now provided with a carpet almost as good as new, which Jeanie’s provident care had abstracted from the schoolroom at The Chase. The dear old round table was there, ‘out of mother’s morning-room; the engravings from father’s study, particularly those favourite ones of “The fighting Temeraire” and “Talavera”—all were here. When the climbers grew up over the verandah pillars, shading the front windows with the purple masses of the wistaria, there might be a prettier room in Sydney, but in the bush they were sure it was unsurpassed.’

Nor were Andrew and Jeanie devoid of personal interest in the arrival of the treasure-waggons. Certain garden tools and agricultural implements, dear to Andrew’s practical soul, now gladdened his eyes, also a collection of carefully packed seeds. Besides all these, a rigorously select list of necessaries in good order and preservation, once the pride of his snug cottage, came to hand. For days after this arrival of the Lares and Penates, the work of rearrangement proceeded unceasingly. Mrs. Effingham and Rosamond placed and replaced each article in every conceivable position. Annabel played and sang unremittingly. Jeanie rubbed and polished, with such anxious solicitude, that table and chair, wardrobe and sideboard, shone like new mahogany. Beatrice had possessed herself of the bookcase, and after her morning share of housekeeping work was performed, read, save at dinner, without stopping until it was time to go for that evening walk which the sisters never omitted.

Once it fell upon a day that a gentleman rode up in leisurely fashion towards the entrance gate. He was descried before he came within a hundred yards, and some trepidation ensued while the question was considered as to who should take his horse, and how that valuable animal should be provided for.

Mr. Effingham, Guy, and Wilfred were away at the stock-yard, which by this time was reported to be nearly in a state of efficiency. Andrew had disappeared temporarily. The gentleman, for such plainly was his rank, was a stalwart, distinguished-looking personage, sitting squarely, and with something of military pose in his saddle. He was mounted upon a handsome, carefully-groomed hackney. He reined up at the dilapidated garden fence, and after looking about and seeing no appearance of an entrance gate, as indeed that portal had been long blocked up by rails, gathered up his reins, and clearing the two-railed fence with practised ease, rode along the grass-grown path to the front door of the house. At the same moment Dick Evans, who had just arrived with a load of palings, appeared from the rear, and took his horse.

The stranger briskly dismounted, and knocked at the hall door with the air of a man who was thoroughly acquainted with the locale. He bowed low to Mrs. Effingham who opened it.

‘Permit me to make myself known as Henry O’Desmond, one of your neighbours, my dear madam,’ said he, with the high-bred air of a man of the world of fashion, who possesses also the advantage of being an Irishman. ‘I presume I am addressing Mrs. Effingham. I have anticipated the proper time for paying my respects; but there has been a matter of business named by my agent, in which I hope to be able to serve Captain Effingham. He is quite well, I trust?’

Mrs. Effingham explained that her husband had been perfectly well that morning; furthermore, if Mr. O’Desmond would give them the pleasure of his company to lunch, he would be enabled to make his acquaintance.

That gentleman bowed with an air of heartfelt gratitude, and asserted that it would give him the sincerest gratification to have such an opportunity of meeting Captain Effingham, to which he had looked forward, since hearing of the good fortune that was about to befall the district, from his respected friend the Rev. Mr. Sternworth.

Being introduced to the young ladies, Mr. O’Desmond, a handsome, well-preserved man, promptly demonstrated that he was capable of entertaining himself and them until his host should think fit to arrive. Indeed, when Mrs. Effingham, who had left the room for reasons connected with the repast, returned, having captured her husband, and superintended his toilet, she found her daughters and their guest considerably advanced in acquaintance.

‘Oh, papa,’ said Annabel, ‘Mr. O’Desmond says there’s such a lovely view about ten miles from here—a ravine full of ferns, actually full of them; and a waterfall—a real one! It is called Fern-tree Gorge; and he has invited us all to a picnic there some day.’

‘Very happy to make Mr. O’Desmond’s acquaintance,’ said Effingham, advancing with a recollection of old days strong upon him. ‘We are hardly aware yet in what consists the proper proportion of work and play in Australia; and in how much of the latter struggling colonists can indulge. We shall be very grateful for information on the subject.’

‘And right welcome you are, my dear sir, to both, especially to the latter. They’ll tell you that Harry O’Desmond is not unacquainted with work during the twenty years he has spent in this wild country. But for fun and recreation he’ll turn his back on no man living.’

‘Here is my lieutenant, and eldest son; permit me to introduce him. He is burning to distinguish himself in the practical line.’

‘Then he couldn’t have a better drill instructor than my old acquaintance, Dick Evans—wonderfully clever in all bush work, and scrupulous after his own fashion. But, see here now, I came partly to talk about cows, till the young ladies put business clean out of my head. I’m told you want to buy cattle, Mr. Wilfred; if you’ll mount your horse and take old Dick with you to-morrow morning, he’ll show you the way to Badajos, and I’ll pick you the best hundred cows this day in the country.’

This was held to be an excellent arrangement, and lunch being now proclaimed, a temporary cessation of all but society talk took place. Every one being in the highest spirits, it was quite a brilliant symposium. It was a novel luxury to be again in the society of a pleasant stranger, well read, travelled, and constitutionally agreeable. O’Desmond sketched with humour and spirit the characteristic points of their nearest neighbours; slightly satirised the local celebrities in their chief town of Yass; and finally departed, having earned for himself the reputation of an agreeable, well-bred personage; a perfect miracle of a neighbour, when ill-hap might have made him equally near and unchangeably disagreeable.

‘What a delightful creature!’ said Annabel. ‘Didn’t some one say before we left home that there were no gentlemen in Australia—only “rough colonists”? I suppose that English girls will call us “rough colonists” when we’ve been here a few years. Why, he’s like—oh, I know now—he’s the very image of the Knight of Gwynne. Fancy lighting on a facsimile of that charming old dear—of course Mr. Desmond is not nearly so old. He’s not young though, and takes great care of himself, you can see.’

‘He’s not so very old, Annabel,’ said Beatrice mischievously. ‘That is the kind of man I should advise you to marry. Not a foolish boy of five-and-twenty.’

‘Thank you, Beatrice,’ said Annabel, with dignity. ‘I’ll think over it and let you know. I don’t think it’s probable I should ever marry any one only a little older than myself. What could he know? I should laugh at him if he was angry. But Wilfred is going over to Badajos, or whatever is the name of the O’Desmond’s place, to-morrow, so he can bring us back a full, true, and particular account of everything, and whether Rosamond, or you, dear, would be the fitter helpmate for him. I’m too young and foolish at present, and might be more so—that is, foolish, not young, of course.’

‘I notice that the air of this climate seems to have a peculiar effect upon young people’s tongues,’ said the soft voice of Mrs. Effingham. ‘They seem to run faster here than in England.’

Mr. Desmond’s property, Badajos, was nearly twenty miles from Warbrok Chase. As it had been clearly settled that Wilfred should go there on the following day, arrangements had to be made. Dick must accompany him for the double purpose of confirming any selection of cattle. That veteran cheerfully endorsed the idea, averring that now the yard was all but finished, and the fencing stuff drawn in, leave of absence could be well afforded. He therefore put on a clean check shirt, and buckled a pea-jacket in front of his saddle, which he placed upon his old mare, and was ready for the road.

Provided with a stock-whip, taken from his miscellaneous possessions, with lighted pipe and trusty steed, his features wore the expression of anticipated happiness, which distinguishes the schoolboy out for a holiday. He passed Andrew Cargill with an air of easy superiority, as that conscientious labourer, raising his moistened brow as he delved at the long-untilled beds, could not refrain from a look of astonishment at this new evidence of universal capacity, as he marked Dick’s easy seat and portentous whip.

He muttered, ‘I wadna doot but that the auld graceless sorrow can ride through braes and thickets, and crack yon muckle clothes-line they ca’ a stock-wheep like ony lad. The de’il aye makes his peets o’ masterfu’ men, wae’s me.’

A difficulty arose as to Wilfred’s steed. Mr. Sternworth had declined the delicate task of remount agent. Thus The Chase was temporarily unprovided with horseflesh. However, Dick Evans was not a man to be prevented from carrying out a pleasant expedition for want of a horse to ride. Sallying out early, he had run in a lot of the ownerless animals, always to be found in the neighbourhood of unstocked pastures. Choosing from among them a sensible-looking cob, and putting Wilfred’s English saddle and bridle on him, he led him up to the garden gate, where he stood with his ordinary air of deep respectability.

‘I was just wondering how in the world I was to get a horse,’ said Wilfred. ‘I see you have one. Did you borrow, or buy, or steal one for my use?’

‘I’ve been many a year in this country, Mr. Wilfred, without tekkin’ other people’s property, and I’m too old to begin now. But there’s 2C on this chestnut pony’s near shoulder. I’m nigh sure it’s Bill Chalker’s colt, as he lost two years ago, and told me to keep him in hand, if ever I came acrost him.’

‘Then I may ride him without risk of being tried for horse-stealing, or lynched, if they affect that here,’ said Wilfred gaily. ‘I shouldn’t care to do it in England, I know.’

‘Things is quite different on the Sydney Side,’ said Mr. Evans with mild dogmatism.

Wilfred did not consider this assertion to be conclusive, but time pressing, and the ready-saddled horse inviting his approval, he compounded with his conscience by taking it for granted that people were not particular as to strayed horses. The fresh and spirited animal, which had not been ridden for months, but was (luckily for his rider) free from vice, snorted and sidled, but proceeded steadily in the main. He soon settled down to the hand of a fair average horseman.

Noticing fresh objects of interest in each flowering shrub, in the birds that flew overhead, or the strange animals that ever and again crossed their path, about each and all of which his retainer had information to offer, the time did not hang heavily on hand. They halted towards evening before a spacious enclosure, having passed through which, they came upon a roomy cottage, surrounded by a trim orchard, and backed up by farm buildings.

‘Here’s Badajos, Mr. Wilfred,’ said his guide. ‘And a better kept place there ain’t in the whole country side.’

‘Welcome to Badajos, Mr. Effingham,’ said the proprietor. ‘William, take this gentleman’s horse; you know your way, Dick. We’ll defer business till the morning. I have had the cattle yarded, ready for drafting; to-morrow you can choose the nucleus of a good herd. I shall be proud to put you in the way of cattle-farming in the only true way to succeed—by commencing with females of the right kind.’

As Wilfred followed his entertainer into the house, he felt unaffectedly surprised at the appearance of elegance mingled with comfort which characterised the establishment. The rooms were not large, but arranged with an attention of detail which he had not expected to find in a bush dwelling. The furniture was artistically disposed. Books and periodicals lay around. High-class engravings, with a few oil-paintings, which recalled Wilfred Effingham’s past life, hung on the walls. Couches and lounges, of modern fashion, looked inviting, while a Broadwood piano stood in the corner of the drawing-room, into which he followed his host.

‘I am a bachelor, more’s the pity,’ said Mr. O’Desmond; ‘but there’s no law against a little comfort in the wilderness. Will you take some refreshment now? Or would you like to be shown to your room?’

Wilfred accepted the latter proposal. In a very comfortable chamber he proceeded to divest himself of the traces of the road, after a leisurely and satisfactory fashion. He had barely regained the drawing-room, when a gong sounded with a melodiously reminiscent clang.

The dinner was after the fashion of civilised man. Soup and fish, fresh from a neighbouring stream, with meritorious entrées and entremets, showed skill beyond that of an ordinary domestic. While the host, who had sufficiently altered his attire for comfort, without committing the bêtise of out-dressing a guest, as he recommended a dry sherry, or passed the undeniable claret, seemed an embodied souvenir of London, Paris, Vienna, of that world of fortune and fashion which Wilfred was vowed to forsake for ever. Next morning the sun and Mr. W. Effingham arose simultaneously. Dick Evans had anticipated both, and was standing at ease near the stable.

‘This place is worth looking at, sir. You don’t see nothing to speak of out of order—tidy as a barrack-yard.’

Wonderfully trim and orderly was the appearance of all things. The enclosure referred to was neatly gravelled, and showed not a vagrant straw. The garden was dug, raked, and pruned into orderly perfection. The servants’ quarters, masked by a climber-covered trellis, were ornamental and unostentatious. The dog-kennels, tenanted by pointers, greyhounds, collies, and terriers, were snug and spacious. The stables were as neat as those of a London dealer. It was a show establishment.

‘Mr. O’Desmond’s servants must be attached to him, to work so well,’ said Wilfred.

‘Humph!’ replied the veteran, ‘he makes ’em toe the line pretty smart, and quite right too,’ he added, with a grim setting of his under jaw. ‘He was in the colony afore there was many free men in it. Shall we walk down to the milking-yard, sir?’

The full-uddered shorthorn cows, with their fragrant breath and mild countenances, having been admired in their clean, paved milking-yard, a return was made towards the cottage. As they neared the garden, O’Desmond rode briskly up to the stable door, and dismounting, threw the reins to a groom, who stood ready as a sentinel.

‘The top of the morning to you, Mr. Effingham; I trust you slept well? I have had a canter of a few miles, which will give me an appetite for breakfast. I rode over to the drafting-yards, to make sure that the cattle were there, according to orders. Everything will be in readiness, so that you can drive easily to Warbrok to-night. You can manage that, Dick, can you not?’

‘Easy enough, if you’ll send a boy with us half-way, Mr. O’Desmond,’ replied Dick. ‘You see, sir, Mr. Effingham’s rather new to cattle-driving, and if the young heifers was to break back, we might lose some of them.’

‘Quite right, Dick; you are always right where stock are concerned—that is, the driving of them,’ he added. ‘I look to you to stay with Mr. Effingham till his dairy herd is established. I shall then have the pleasure of adding his name to that of the many gentlemen in this district whose fortunes I have helped to make.’

‘Quite true, sir,’ assented Dick heartily. ‘The Camden sheep and the Badajos cattle and horses are known all over the country by them as are judges. But you don’t want me to be praising on ’em up—they speak for themselves.’

Breakfast over, as faultless a repast as had been the dinner, it became apparent that Mr. O’Desmond held punctuality nearly in as high esteem as comfort. His groom stood ready in the yard with his own and Wilfred’s horses saddled, the shining thorough-bred, which he called his hackney, offering a strong contrast to the unkempt though well-conditioned animal which his guest bestrode.

As they rode briskly along the winding forest track, Wilfred, observing the quality of his host’s hackney, the silver brightness of his bit and stirrup-irons, the correctness of his general turn-out, remembering also the completeness of the establishment and the character of the hospitality he had enjoyed, doubted within himself whether, in course of time, the owner of Warbrok Chase might ever attain to such a pinnacle of colonial prosperity.

‘How incredible this would all appear to some of my English friends!’ he thought. ‘I can hardly describe it without the fear of being supposed to exaggerate.’

‘Here we are,’ said O’Desmond, reining up, and dismounting at a substantial stock-yard, while a lad instantly approached and took his horse. ‘I have ordered the heifers and young cows to be placed in this yard. We can run them through before you. You can make your choice, and reject any animals below the average.’

‘They look rather confused at present,’ answered Wilfred; ‘but I suppose Dick here understands how to separate them.’

‘I’ll manage that, never you fear, sir—that is, if you and Mr. O’Desmond have settled about the price.’

‘I may state now,’ remarked that gentleman, ‘that the price, four pounds per head, mentioned to me on your account by your agent is a liberal one, as markets go. I shall endeavour to give you value in kind.’

‘It’s a good price,’ asserted Dick; ‘but Mr. O’Desmond’s cattle are cheaper at four pounds all round than many another man’s about here at fifty shillings. If he lets me turn back any beast I don’t fancy, we’ll take away the primest lot of cattle to begin a dairy with as has travelled the line for years.’

‘I will give you my general idea of the sort of cattle I prefer,’ said Wilfred, not minded to commence by leaving the whole management in any servant’s hands, ‘then you can select such as appear to answer the description.’

‘All right, sir,’ quoth Mr. Evans, mounting the fence. ‘I suppose you want ’em large-framed cattle, good colours, looking as if they’d run to milk and not to beef, not under three, and not more than five year old, and putty quiet in their looks and ways.’

‘That is exactly the substance of what I was going to say to you,’ said Wilfred, with some surprise. ‘It will save me the trouble of explaining.’

‘We may as well begin, sir,’ said Dick, addressing himself to the proprietor. Then, in quite another tone, ‘Open the rails, boys; look sharp, and let ’em into the drafting-yards.’

The cattle were driven through a succession of yards after such a fashion that Wilfred was enabled to perceive how the right of choice could be exercised. By the time the operation was concluded he felt himself to be inducted into the art and mystery of ‘drafting.’ Also, he respected himself as having appreciably helped to select and separate the one hundred prepossessing-looking kine which now stood in a separate yard, recognised as his property.

‘You will have no reason to be dissatisfied with your choice,’ said O’Desmond. ‘They look a nice lot. I always brand any cattle before they leave my yard. You will not object to a numeral being put on them before they go? It will assist in their identification in case of any coming back.’

‘Coming back!—come back twenty miles?’ queried Wilfred, with amazement. ‘How could they get back such a distance?’

‘Just as you would—by walking it, and a hundred to the back of that. So I think, say, No. 1. brand—they are A1 certainly—will be a prudent precaution.’

‘Couldn’t do a better thing,’ assented Dick. ‘We’ll brand ’em again when we go home, sir; but if we lost ’em anyway near the place, they’d be all here before you could say Jack Robinson.’

A fire was quickly lighted, the iron brands were heated, the cows driven by a score at a time into a narrow yard, and for the first time in his life Wilfred saw the red-hot iron applied to the hide of the live animal. The pain, like much evil in this world, if intense, was brief; the cows cringed and showed disapproval, but soon appeared to forget. The morning was not far advanced when Wilfred Effingham found himself riding behind a drove, or ‘mob’ (as Dick phrased it), of his own cattle.

‘There goes the best lot of heifers this day in the country,’ said the old man, ‘let the others be where they may. Mr. O’Desmond’s a rare man for givin’ you a good beast if you give him a fair price; you may trust him like yourself, but he’s a hard man and bitter enough if anybody tries to take advantage of him.’

‘And quite right too, Dick. I take Mr. O’Desmond to be a most honourable man, with whom I shouldn’t care to come to cross purposes.’

‘No man ever did much good that tried that game, sir. He’s a bad man to get on the wrong side of.’