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