in earlier; so I swallowed my tea and cake with all expedition, so as not to delay Mr. Hawden, who was waiting to assist me into the buggy, where the groom was in charge of the horses in the yard. He struck up a conversation with me immediately.
"Seeing your name on yer bags, an' knowin' you was belonging to the Bossiers, I ask if yer might be a daughter of Dick Melvyn, of Bruggabrong, out by Timlinbilly."
"Yes, I am."
"Well, miss, please remember me most kindly to yer pa; he was a good boss was Dick Melvyn. I hope he's doin' well. I'm Billy Haizelip, brother to Mary and Jane. You remember Jane, I s'pose, miss?"
I hadn't time to say more than promise to send his remembrances to my father, for Mr. Hawden, saying we would be in the dark, had whipped his horses and was bowling off at a great pace, in less than two minutes covering a rise which put Gool-Gool out of sight. It was raining a little, so I held over us the big umbrella, which grannie had sent, while we discussed the weather, to the effect that rain was badly needed and was a great novelty nowadays, and it was to be hoped it would continue. There had been but little, but the soil here away was of that rich loamy description which little water turns to mud. It clogged the wheels and loaded the break-blocks; and the near side horse had a nasty way of throwing his front feet, so that he deposited soft red lumps of mud in our laps at every step. But, despite these trifling drawbacks, it was delightful to be drawn without effort by a pair of fat horses in splendid harness. It was a great contrast to our poor skinny old horse at home, crawling along in much-broken harness, clumsily and much mended with string and bits of hide.
Mr. Hawden was not at all averse to talking. After emptying our tongues of the weather, there was silence for some time, which he broke with, "So you are Mrs. Bossier's grand-daughter, are you?"
"Not remembering my birth, I can't swear; but I believe myself to be that same, as sure as eggs is eggs," I replied.
He laughed. "Very good imitation of the coach-driver. But Mrs. Bossier's grand-daughter! Well, I should smile!"
"What at?"
"Your being Mrs. Bossier's grand-daughter."
"I fear, Mr. Hawden, there is a suspicion reverse of complimentary in your remark."
"Well, I should smile! Would you like to have my opinion of you?"
"Nothing would please me more. I would value your opinion above all things, and I'm sure—I feel certain—that you have formed a true estimate of me."
At any other time his conceit would have brought upon himself a fine snubbing, but today I was in high feather, and accordingly very pleasant, and resolved to amuse myself by drawing him out.
"Well, you are not a bit like Mrs. Bossier or Mrs. Bell; they are both so good-looking," he continued.
"Indeed!"
"I was disappointed when I saw you had no pretensions to prettiness, as there's not a girl up these parts worth wasting a man's affections on, and I was building great hopes on you. But I'm a great admirer of beauty," he twaddled.
"I am very sorry for you, Mr. Hawden. I'm sure it would take quite a paragon to be worthy of such affection as I'm sure yours would be," I replied sympathetically.
"Never mind. Don't worry about it. You're not a bad sort, and think a fellow could have great fun with you."
"I'm sure, Mr. Hawden, you do me too much honour. It quite exhilarates me to think that I meet with your approval in the smallest degree," I replied with the utmost deference. "You are so gentlemanly and nice that I was alarmed at first lest you might despise me altogether."
"No fear. You needn't he afraid of me; I'm not a bad sort of fellow," he replied with the greatest encouragement.
By his accent and innocent style I detected he was not a colonial, so I got him to relate his history. He was an Englishman by birth, but had been to America, Spain, New Zealand, Tasmania, etc.; by his own make out had ever been a man of note, and had played Old Harry everywhere.
I allowed him to gabble away full tilt for an hour on this subject, unconscious that I had taken the measure of him, and was grinning broadly to myself. Then I diverted him by inquiring how long since the wire fence on our right had been put up. It bore evidence of recent erection, and had replaced an old cockatoo fence which I remembered in my childhood.
"Fine fence, is it not? Eight wires, a top rail, and very stout posts. Harry Beecham had that put up by contract this year. Twelve miles of it. It cost him a lot: couldn't get any very low tenders, the ground being so hard on account of the drought. Those trees are Five-Bob Downs—see, away over against the range. But I suppose you know the places better than I do."
We were now within an hour of our destination. How familiar were many landmarks to me, although I had not seen them since I was eight years old.
A river ran on our right, occasionally a glimmer of its noisy waters visible through the shrubbery which profusely lined its banks. The short evening was drawing to a close. The white mists brought by the rain were crawling slowly down the hills, and settling in the hollows of the ranges on our left. A V-shaped rift in them, known as Pheasant Gap, came into view. Mr. Hawden said it was well named, as it swarmed with lyrebirds. Night was falling. The skreel of a hundred curlews arose from the gullies—how I love their lonely wail!—and it was quite dark when we pulled up before the front gate of Caddagat.
A score of dogs rushed yelping to meet us, the front door was thrown open, lights and voices came streaming out.
I alighted from the buggy feeling rather nervous. I was a pauper with a bad character. How would my grandmother receive me? Dear old soul, I had nothing to fear. She folded me in a great warm-hearted hug, saying, "Dear me, child, your face is cold. I'm glad you've come. It has been a terrible day, but we're glad to have the rain. You must be frozen. Get in to the fire, child, as fast as you can. Get in to the fire, get in to the fire. I hope you forgive me for not going to meet you." And there was my mother's only sister, my tall graceful aunt, standing beside her, giving me a kiss and cordial hand-clasp, and saying, "Welcome, Sybylla. We will be glad to have a young person to brighten up the old home once more. I am sorry I was too unwell to meet you. You must be frozen; come to the fire."
My aunt always spoke very little and very quietly, but there was something in her high-bred style which went right home.
I could scarcely believe that they were addressing me. Surely they were making a mistake. This reception was meant for some grand relative honouring them with a visit, and not for the ugly, useless, had little pauper come to live upon their bounty.
Their welcome did more than all the sermons I had ever heard put together towards thawing a little of the pitiless cynicism which encrusted my heart.
"Take the child inside, Helen, as fast as you can," said grannie, "while I see that the boy attends to the horses. The plaguey fellow can't be trusted any further than the length of his nose. I told him to tie up these dogs, and here they are yelp-yelping fit to deafen a person."
I left my wet umbrella on the veranda, and aunt Helen led me into the dining-room, where a spruce maid was making a pleasant clatter in laying the table. Caddagat was a very old style of house, and all the front rooms opened onto the veranda without any such preliminary as a hall, therefore it was necessary to pass through the dining-room to my bedroom, which was a skillion at the back. While auntie paused for a moment to give some orders to the maid, I noticed the heavy silver serviette rings I remembered so well, and the old-fashioned dinner-plates, and the big fire roaring in the broad white fireplace; but more than all, the beautiful pictures on the walls and a table in a corner strewn with papers, magazines, and several very new-looking books. On the back of one of these I saw "Corelli", and on another—great joy!—was Trilby. From the adjoining apartment, which was the drawing-room, came the sweet full tones of a beautiful piano. Here were three things for which I had been starving. An impulse to revel in them immediately seized me. I felt like clearing the table at a bound, seizing and beginning to read both books, and rushing in to the piano and beginning to play upon it there and then, and examine the pictures—all three things at once. Fortunately for the reputation of my