The Wonder-Child: An Australian Story

by Ethel Sybil Turner

  *CHAPTER XVI*

  *The Rosery*

  They cling in the moonlight, they kiss each other. "Child, my child!" and "Mother, mother!"'

  Bart was on Wilgandra Station to meet them--Bart, healthy-looking andsinewy, if thin; he wore white flannel trousers, a white linen coat, anda new straw hat with a new fly-veil attached. Mrs. Cameron had lookedwhen her husband cried, 'There's Bart,' with eyes that expected to seean out-at-elbow lad, possibly barefoot, probably ill-developed. Butthere was nothing she would have changed.

  'Of course they all wanted to come to meet you,' the boy said, when thefirst glad greetings were over, and the great panting, shrieking trainhad become just a quiet black thread climbing the side of the next rise.'But I didn't want to crowd the buggy.'

  'The buggy!' his father said. 'I was just going into the hotel to getone. I'm glad you thought to order it.'

  'It's Mr. Stevenson's,' Bart said. 'He sent it down this morning for meto meet you in,' and he led them with much satisfaction to the handsomeroomy sociable he had in waiting. Their own solitary equipage, theshabby cart drawn by Tramby and driven by young Daly, was in readinessfor the many boxes.

  Once, in carrying the luggage to the cart, Bart and his father foundthemselves alone on the station for a moment. Bart gave a laughingglance from his father's to his own apparel.

  'Isn't it a lark?' he said. 'I feel quite shy of myself, don't you?'

  'Do the girls look nice?' Cameron said anxiously.

  'Spiffin,' said Bart, 'and Miss Browne's got a new dress, and evencurled her hair. I say, have you told mother about Miss Browne?'

  'Yes, she is quite prepared.'

  'And she knows about the selection?'

  'She knows about the selection.'

  'We've--we've been tidying up a bit, dad. I think you'll find it's abit--er--tidier.' There was a flush on the boy's cheek, a look ofsuppressed excitement in his eyes. 'Let's get on now; the horse doesn'tlike to stand, and everything's in.'

  They drove up the road that wound out of civilised Wilgandra away toparts where the bush took on its wild character again, and rolled eitherside of them in unbroken severity and loneliness for miles.

  But it was early winter now, and the thankful land lay smiling andhappy-eyed beneath a cooler sky. Even the newest clearings flauntedrich carpets of grass, green as grass only springs where a bush fire haspurged the ground for it. The air was fragrant with the bush scentsthat rise after rain. A cool, quiet breeze swayed the boughs of theocean-waste of trees, here and there it lifted the long string ofwarm-coloured bark--autumn's royal rags--that hung from the silveredtrunks.

  Cameron was driving, and mechanically turned the horse's head at theplace where he had always turned for the sliprails of his selection.

  And there were no sliprails!

  He turned an astonished glance at Bart, but the boy's eyes only danced.

  'I'll get down and open the gate,' he said demurely, and jumped downwhile his father stared at the neat white gate with The Rosery paintedon in black letters. Could this be Dunks' selection that stretchedbefore the head of the horse that bore them slowly along? This thegrey, dreary place that had cast its colour over the souls of those wholooked at it. A drive ran up from the gate to the house, not a smooth,red gravelled drive by any means, but it was cleared and stumped now allits length and width, and went with pleasant windings between the trees.

  A low white two-rail fence divided the bush and sheep ground from theland about the house; the small orchard showed freshly ploughed up andtrenched between the trees; a vegetable garden was laid out, and thepeas and beans were above the ground already. The flower-beds near thehouse were dug and weeded, as if they had been beds in the BotanicalGardens; and dahlias, little sunflowers, and cosmea of all shades made agay mass of colour. The pixies' hands had even attacked the cottage;Cameron himself had given it a coat of red paint that had much alteredits forlorn aspect; these new hands had carried the coat of paint evenover the dreary galvanised iron roof, had 'picked out' the chimneys, andwindows, and verandah-posts with white, added a seven-foot verandah allround, and knocked a French window into the walls here and there.

  'Why,' cried Challis, 'it's the sweetest, darlingest little place I eversaw! Oh, I never want to go away from it again!'

  Mrs. Cameron was looking with eyes full of pleased surprise.

  'Why, Jim,' she said, 'why, dearest, it is really very nice, very niceindeed, so peaceful-looking. You did not prepare me for anything likethis.'

  Cameron swallowed a lump in his throat.

  'I didn't prepare myself,' he began; but his wife's hand was flutteringto the fastening of the sociable door, and her ears were no longer forhim, for Hermie and Roly were running out to meet her.

  Such a rushing into arms, such kissings, such a choking of laughter andtears! Mrs. Cameron held Hermie to her and from her, and to her again,and marvelled to find her almost a woman.

  'My pretty girl, my pretty girl!' she said, the fond tears starting, andHermie blushed herself into even lovelier colour than before.

  Challis kissed her sister and clung to her a moment, then stood away shyand pink, almost crying. Hermie's hair was done 'on top,' her dress waslong, so long; she was very pretty and sweet-looking; but oh, therewould never be any whispering and whispering in bed--she was far toogrown up for that.

  Roly came up to the sister and submitted the edge of his left ear to herkiss. He looked at her critically.

  'Did the Queen cry when you came away?' he said.

  'I didn't notice,' said Challis. 'She was in the garden when I went tosay good-bye, and she waved her handkerchief when I got back to thehouse--perhaps she had been crying into it.'

  'Floss, Floss! I want my baby,' the mother's voice was saying.

  Hermie looked about her distressed.

  'Will you take no notice just yet, darling?' she said. 'She isvery--shy, but she won't be able to stay away long; she's hidingsomewhere.'

  'Well, look here,' Roly said, 'I suppose she'll be wanting to come outhere and see you----'

  'Who?' said Challis, who also was looking longingly for the little girlshe was going to put to bed at night.

  'That Queen-woman, of course,' said Roly. 'Look here, you can tell herstraight before she comes I'm not going to take my tent down for her.You can let her have Miss Browne's bedroom, and you can't see it fromthat window. Miss Browne's got a cheek. Wanted me to take it down justfor you and mother, cos she says it's untidy.'

  'Why, we're dying to see the tent, aren't we, mother?' Challis said.

  Mrs. Cameron's arm went round her boy's shoulder, and her lips down tohis round, closely cropped head. He dodged skilfully.

  'Come and see the tent,' he said. Then a gush of gentler feeling cameup in his little boy-heart, and he moved up to her again and rubbed hishead on her arm. 'If you like,' he said, 'I'll let you sleep out in itto-night, but not her,' and he pointed a finger at Challis; 'she'd getmessing about and trying to tidy up.'

  He dragged them round to the back of the cottage, where the tent stood,a most dilapidated spread of ragged canvas.

  'Look here,' the owner said, nearly bursting with pride, 'up there,that's the fly, keeps it cool. I can sit in it on the hottest day.'

  'No one else could,' laughed Bart.

  Roly took no heed of the depreciation.

  'See that? That's my water-bag; hang it in a draught, and it's as coolas you like.'

  'No,' said Bart again, 'only as _you_ like.'

  'See this? Keep my meat in it, flies can't get in, hang it up out ofthe way. Here's my gridiron--here's my frying-pan.'

  'Why,' cried Hermie, 'Miss Browne's been looking for the frying-pan allthe morning!'

  'Let her cook her things in the oven,' said Roly. 'See this? It's mybunk, made it myself--just legs of trees, and you stretch canvas on it.No sheets for me, only this blue blanket----'

  The blanket moved convulsively,
a little brown bare foot was stickingout of one end of it, a strand of straight light hair showed at theother.

  'Flossie!' the mother cried, and made a rush at the bunk.

  The small girl sat up.

  'Go away!' she said. 'Go away! I won't be kissed. I'm not your girl.Keep your old dolls for yourself.'

  'Flossie,' cried the mother, 'Flossie!' and tried to gather her up as ifshe had been two instead of seven, and tried to kiss her; but Flosscovered her face tightly with her bony little hands.

  'Floss,' said Cameron, 'don't be ridiculous. Kiss your mother, and whyare you not dressed?'

  Hermie was looking ready to cry. Had she not herself put the child aclean white frock on, and tried to curl her hair and seen her into shoesand stockings? And here was the naughty little thing barefoot, and in aragged print frock!

  'Kiss your mother,' Cameron said sternly, the surprised pain on hiswife's face angering him against the child.

  Floss turned a sullen little face to her mother, but her lips did notmove.

  'Now kiss Challis,' the father said; for the mother, stooping over thechild, had hidden it from him that he had only been half obeyed. Challiscame forward to put a loving arm round the ragged shoulder. But Flossstruggled to the ground, dived under the bunk, dragged at one of thetent-pegs, and was out and flying off to the bush like a wild rabbitbefore any one could stop her.

  'Go and fetch her back, Bart,' Cameron said, extreme annoyance in histone.

  'It was to be expected,' Mrs. Cameron said, but she looked a littlewhite. 'We mustn't force her; you must let me lay siege to the fortressmy own way.'

  They went into the cottage, and Miss Browne showed herself--Miss Browne,with her usual strands of hair in little tight curls round her forehead,and a ready-made blouse and skirt of white pique vainly endeavouring toaccommodate itself to her figure.

  'Oh dear!' she said, 'most ashamed, most grieved, Floss, peculiardisposition, soon come round, hope a pleasant journey, hot, dusty, mustbe hungry, Roly, ashamed, grieved, most untidy tent, unwilling to takeit down, like to wash and take hats off, bedroom, show the way, dinner,hoped they would like it, not what they were accustomed to, holes incurtains, had not had time to mend them, must excuse table, afraid not agood manager, ignorant many things.'

  'Everything is very nice,' Mrs. Cameron said. 'I am quite sure you havealways done your best. Mr. Cameron has told me how hard you haveworked, and you must let me thank you for it. There, there, I am afraidyou have overtired yourself preparing for us. Don't trouble any more,we are going to shake down into place at once, Challis and I, and forgetwe have ever been away.'

  'Oh, my love,' said Miss Browne, 'my dear, oh, my love!' and went awayinto the kitchen, and wept happily all the time she helped Lizzie todish up the dinner.

  'Be quick,' said Roly, as the travellers went to a bedroom to take offtheir hats, 'there's fowls for dinner. It's Bluey, and Speckle, andWhitey. Whitey'll be the fattest, he was mine.'

  'Oh dear,' said Hermie, as she shut the bedroom door, 'I wish he hadn'tsaid that. Now father won't eat any. He never eats meat at all, but helikes poultry unless any one says anything like that. He says he likesto think of dinner just as dinner, and hates to remember the things haveonce been walking about. Now it won't be roast fowl at all to him, butjust Whitey.'

  'I don't think he heard,' said Challis; 'he was looking at the roses onthe dinner-table, and saying, "I hope they didn't break my Souvenir deTerese Levet when they plucked these."'

  Hermie laughed.

  'Dear old dad!' she said. 'Mother, I don't know how he could have doneso long without you if it had not been for his roses.'

  'I must go down and see them,' the mother said, and tossed her bonnetoff hastily. 'See, he is already going out to them. Is there timebefore dinner, darling? Plainly he can't wait any longer.'

  She went through the long window on to the verandah, and caught him up.

  Challis was taking off her hat, brushing her hair, removing the signs oftravel with a dainty deftness born of so frequent journeys. Hermie'seyes followed her everywhere. They saw a girl not tall for her fourteenyears, slender, not over strong-looking. Soft light hair fell away downher back, curlless, waveless. The greyish, hazel eyes were full of quietshining, the face was thin, yet soft and childish, the mouth sensitive,a little sad.

  'Oh,' she said, 'the smell of the soap, Hermie! I can see the otherbedroom so well--the Wilgandra one, and your bed was near the fireplace,and mine had white tassels on, and there was a pink vase on thewashstand for our tooth-brushes.'

  Hermie looked in slight bewilderment at the pieces of common householdsoap that her sister held; she did not realise that the girl had seenand smelt nothing but scented since she went away, and that this plainyellow piece was pungent with the old days.

  'Where am I going to sleep, Hermie?' said the little girl, and her heartthrobbed with the hope that Hermie would cry, 'With me, of course.'

  'Bart is going to sleep out in the tent with Roly,' Hermie said, hangingup the well-cut little travelling-coat with a sigh for its style.'You'll have his room.'

  'Where do you sleep?' Challis ventured.

  'Dad and Bart built me a little room across there,' said Hermie.

  'And Floss?'

  'Her cot is in Miss Browne's room.'

  Challis was glad bed-time was still some hours off; she had never yetslept in a room all to herself, but did not like to tell Hermie so.

  Roly banged at the door. 'There you go,' he said, 'grabbing everything,Hermie. She wants to come out and finish looking at the tent.'

  'Finish looking at your grandmother!' laughed Hermie, then blushedvexedly. That was such a favourite phrase of Bart's she unconsciouslyfell into it herself; but what would Challis think of such slang,Challis, who was used to the conversation of cultured, travelled people?Challis, who looked such a little lady in her well-cut English-lookingclothes, and spoke with the clipped, clear pronunciation her mother hadinsisted upon all these years?

  Challis, of course, would think her a boor, an uneducated, unrefinedAustralian back-blocks girl. Well, whose fault was it if she was?' Sheturned to her sister coldly. 'If you have finished we may as well go.'

  Challis followed her meekly.

  'Flossie,' said the mother, going into a bedroom when it was eighto'clock at night, and the rebel had come in and put herself to bed,'I've just been unpacking my box and found this for Hermie. Do youthink it is pretty?'

  She held up the daintiest of hats.

  Flossie looked at it, then squeezed her eyes up tight.

  'Don't want to see it,' she said.

  'We are unpacking the boxes,' the mother said; 'I thought you might liketo put your dressing-gown on and come and watch.'

  'Don't want to watch,' said Floss; 'haven't got any dressing-gown.'

  Mrs. Cameron was standing in the bedroom doorway. She held out a box offascinating doll's tea-things.

  'Those are rather pretty, aren't they?' she said. 'We almost decided ona blue set, but then these little pink flowers seemed so fresh-lookingwe took it.'

  Flossie sent a devouring gaze to the beautiful boxful through the barsof her cot. Then she squeezed her eyes up tightly again.

  'Wouldn't look at them,' she said.

  The mother went away, and the darkness deepened in the room, and Flosslay gazing with hard eyes at a patch of light thrown from theliving-room lamp upon the ceiling.

  Her heart swelled more and more; she pictured miserable scenes in which,while the rest of the family flaunted about in silk, she, Floss, wasattired in rags and had crusts only to eat.

  'Only,' she muttered to herself, 'I won't eat them, and then I'll die,and p'r'aps she'll be sorry.'

  There was a movement in the room.

  'I think I'll lie down quietly on your bed for an hour, Miss Browne,'the mother's voice was saying; 'it will do my head good. Yes, thankyou, I have the bottle of lavender water here; I never travel withoutgetting a bad head.'

  Miss Brow
ne shook up the pillows and left her; this idea of makingcapital out of the headache was her own. 'Flossie never can bear anyone to suffer,' she said. 'I always remember when I first came here,and she was only about three, some one cut a snake in half along theroad. And what must the child do but rush from us and pick up onehalf--by the mercy of God, the tail half! You remember, Hermie? Bart,my love, you can't have forgotten that shocking day? She came runningback to us crying dreadfully, and with that horrible thing in her hands."Mend it, mend it!" she sobbed "oh, poor sing, poor sing, mend ittwick!"'

  So Mrs. Cameron went to lie on the bed far from Floss, and to sighoccasionally, once or twice to moan, as indeed she could, for herheadache was severe.

  At the sighs there were restless movements in the cot; at the first moanthe little figure climbed over the rail.

  'I don't mind bathing your head,' she said, her voice a little unsteady.'Is it hurting you much?'

  'Yes,' sighed the mother, 'it is very bad.'

  Floss dipped her handkerchief in the water-jug, and kept laying itsoftly on the aching forehead. For ten minutes Mrs. Cameron allowedherself to be thus ministered to, and presently the child sat down onthe bed, almost within the arm that yearned to circle her. 'Would youlike me to fan it?' she whispered. 'Fanning is good.'

  'I would rather you laid your little hand on it,' said the mother.

  The little hand lay there instantly.

  'I think a kiss on it would do it more good than anything else,'whispered the mother, 'just a little one, sweetheart, sweetheart.'

  'I couldn't,' quavered Floss. 'I promised faithfly and somenley.'

  'Promised who?'

  'Me.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'When you say, "See my finger wet, see it dry, cut my throat suresever Idie," you've got to keep to it.'

  'And you promised yourself like that that you wouldn't kissme--me--mamma, who has been away for years and years breaking her heartfor her little baby.'

  'Oh,' gasped Floss, the fortress nearly down, 'but we might have gotdropsy, truly, dropsy and deafness, me and Roly; May Daly's mother saysso; you gen'ally get them after measles.'

  'But you didn't, you didn't, Tiny. I prayed and prayed over the seas toGod to take care of you all for me, and I knew He would. See how welland strong you all are! But ah, I never thought Tiny would break myheart like this.'

  Her voice quivered--fell away; Floss, putting up an uncertain handthrough the darkness, found the cheek above her quite wet.

  'Mother!' she cried, and was face downward in a minute sobbingrelievedly on her mother's breast.

  When they had lain together happy and quiet for a little time, themother stirred to go, for Miss Browne must come to bed.

  Floss gave her a final hug. 'I do love you,' she said.

  'My baby,' murmured the mother. Floss shook back her straight hair andclimbed off the bed and got into her own.

  'But I'm not going to let that Challis off,' she said. 'I'll just haveto take it out of her.'