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.