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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..13b54ec --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63000 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63000) diff --git a/old/63000-0.txt b/old/63000-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 506a808..0000000 --- a/old/63000-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16869 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Boy in the Bush, by David Herbert Lawrence and Mary Louisa Skinner - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Boy in the Bush - -Author: David Herbert Lawrence - Mary Louisa Skinner - -Release Date: August 21, 2020 [eBook #63000] -[Most recently updated: April 15, 2021] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOY IN THE BUSH *** - - - - -THE BOY -IN THE BUSH - -BY - -D. H. LAWRENCE - -AND - -M. L. SKINNER - -NEW YORK - -THOMAS SELTZER - -1924 - - - - -CONTENTS - -CHAPTER I. Jack Arrives in Australia -CHAPTER II. The Twin Lambs -CHAPTER III. Driving to Wandoo -CHAPTER IV. Wandoo -CHAPTER V. The Lambs Come Home -CHAPTER VI. In the Yard -CHAPTER VII. Out Back and Some Letters -CHAPTER VIII. Home for Christmas -CHAPTER IX. New Year's Eve -CHAPTER X. Shadows Before -CHAPTER XI. Blows -CHAPTER XII. The Great Passing -CHAPTER XIII. Tom and Jack Ride Together -CHAPTER XIV. Jamboree -CHAPTER XV. Uncle John Grant -CHAPTER XVI. On the Road -CHAPTER XVII. After Two Years -CHAPTER XVIII. The Governor's Dance -CHAPTER XIX. The Welcome at Wandoo -CHAPTER XX. The Last of Easu -CHAPTER XXI. Lost -CHAPTER XXII. The Find -CHAPTER XXIII. Gold -CHAPTER XXIV. The Offer to Mary -CHAPTER XXV. Trot, Trot Back Again -CHAPTER XXVI. The Rider on the Red Horse - - - - -THE BOY IN THE BUSH - - - - -CHAPTER I - -JACK ARRIVES IN AUSTRALIA - - -I - - -He stepped ashore, looking like a lamb. Far be it from me to say he was -the lamb he looked. Else why should he have been sent out of England? -But a good-looking boy he was, with dark blue eyes and the complexion of -a girl and a bearing just a little too lamb-like to be convincing. - -He stepped ashore in the newest of new colonies, glancing quickly -around, but preserving his lamb-like quietness. Down came his elegant -kit, and was dumped on the wharf: a kit that included a brand-new -pigskin saddle and bridle, nailed up in a box straight from a smart shop -in London. He kept his eye on that also, the tail of his well-bred eye. - -Behind him was the wool ship that had brought him from England. This -nondescript port was Fremantle, in West Australia; might have been -anywhere or nowhere. In his pocket he had a letter of introduction to a -well-known colonial lawyer, in which, as he was aware, was folded also a -draft on a West Australian bank. In his purse he had a five-pound note. -In his head were a few irritating memories. In his heart he felt a -certain excited flutter at being in a real new land, where a man could -be _really_ free. Though what he meant by "free" he never stopped to -define. He left everything suitably vague. - -Meanwhile, he waited for events to develop, as if it were none of his -business. - -This was forty years ago, when it was still a long, long way to -Australia, and the land was still full of the lure of promise. There -were gold and pearl findings, bush and bush-ranging, the back of beyond -and everything desirable. Much misery, too, ignored by all except the -miserable. - -And Jack was not quite eighteen, so he ignored a great deal. He didn't -pay much attention even to his surroundings, yet from the end of the -wharf he saw pure sky above, the pure, unknown, unsullied sea to -westward; the ruffled, tumbled sand glistened like fine silver, the air -was the air of a new world, unbreathed by man. - -The only prize Jack had ever won at school was for Scripture. The Bible -language exerted a certain fascination over him, and in the background -of his consciousness the Bible images always hovered. When he was moved, -it was Scripture that came to his aid. So now he stood, silent with the -shyness of youth, thinking over and over: "There shall be a new heaven -and a new earth." - -Not far off among the sand near the harbour mouth lay the township, a -place of strong, ugly, oblong houses of white stone with unshuttered -bottle-glass windows and a low white-washed wall going round, like a -sort of compound; that there was a huge stone prison with a high -whitewashed wall. Nearer the harbour, a few new tall warehouse -buildings, and sheds, long sheds, and a little wooden railway station. -Further out again, windmills for milling flour, the mill-sails turning -in the transparent breeze from the sea. Right in the middle of the -township was a stolid new Victorian church with a turret: and this was -the one thing he knew he disliked in the view. - -On the wharf everything was busy. The old wool steamer lay important in -dock, people were crowding on deck and crowding the wharf in a very -informal manner, porters were running with baggage, a chain was -clanking, and little groups of emigrants stood forlorn, looking for -their wooden chests, swinging their odd bundles done up in coloured -kerchiefs. The uttermost ends of the earth! All so lost, and yet so -familiar. So familiar, and so lost. The people like provincial people at -home. The railway running through the sand hills. And the feeling of -remote unreality. - -This was his mother's country. She had been born and raised here, and -she had told him about it, many a time, like a fable. And this was what -it was like! How could she feel she actually _belonged_ to it? Nobody -could belong to it. - -Himself, he belonged to Bedford, England. And Bedford College. But his -mind turned away from this in repugnance. Suddenly he turned desirously -to the unreality of place. - -Jack was waiting for Mr. George, the lawyer to whom his letter of -introduction was addressed. Mr. George had shaken hands with him on -deck: a stout and breezy gentleman, who had been carried away again on -the gusts of his own breeze, among the steamer crowd, and had forgotten -his young charge. Jack patiently waited. Adult and responsible people -with stout waistcoats had a habit, he knew, of being needed elsewhere. - -Mr. George! And all his mother's humorous stories about him! This -notable character of the Western lonely colony, this rumbustical old -gentleman who had a "terrific memory," who was "full of quotations" and -who "never forgot a face"--Jack waited the more calmly, sure of being -recognised again by him--was to be seen in the distance with his thumbs -hooked in his waistcoat armholes, passively surveying the scene with a -quiet, shrewd eye, before hailing another acquaintance and delivering -another sally. He had a "tongue like a razor" and frightened the women -to death. Seeing him there on the wharf, elderly, stout and decidedly -old-fashioned, Jack had a little difficulty in reconciling him with the -hearty colonial hero of his mother's stories. - -How he had missed a seat on the bench, for example. He was to become a -judge. But while acting on probation, or whatever it is called, a man -came up before him charged with wife-beating, and serious maltreatment -of his better half. A verdict of "not guilty" was returned. "Two years -hard labour," said Mr. George, who didn't like the looks of the fellow. -There was a protest. "Verdict stands!" said Mr. George. "Two years hard -labour. Give it him for _not_ beating her and breaking her head. He -should have done. He should have done. 'Twas fairly proved!" - -So Mr. George had remained a lawyer, instead of becoming a judge. A -stout, shabby, provincial-looking old man with baggy trousers that -seemed as if they were slipping down. Jack had still to get used to that -sort of trousers. One of his mother's heroes! - -But the whole scene was still outside the boy's vague, almost trancelike -state. The commotion of unloading went on--people stood in groups, the -lumpers were already at work with the winches, bringing bales and boxes -from the hold. The Jewish gentleman standing just there had a red nose. -He swung his cane uneasily. He must be well-off, to judge by his links -and watch-chain. But then why did his trousers hang so low and baggy, -and why was his waistcoat of yellow cloth--that cloth cost a guinea a -yard, Jack knew it from his horsey acquaintances--so dirty and frayed? - -Western Australia in the year 1882. Jack had read all about it in the -official report on the steamer. The colony had three years before -celebrated its fiftieth anniversary. Many people still remembered the -fiasco of the first attempt at the Swan River Settlement. Captain -Stirling brought the first boatload of prospective settlers. The -Government promised not to defile the land with convicts. But the -promise was broken. The convicts had come: and that stone -prison-building must have been the convict station. He knew from his -mother's stories. But he also knew that the convicts were now gone -again. The "Establishment" had been closed down already for ten years or -more. - -A land must have its ups and downs. And the first thing the old world -had to ship to the new world was its sins, and the first shipments were -of sinners. That was what his mother said. Jack felt a certain sympathy. -He felt a sympathy with the empty "Establishment" and the departed -convicts. He himself was mysteriously a "sinner." He felt he was born -such: just as he was born with his deceptive handsome look of innocence. -He was a sinner, a Cain. Not that he was aware of having committed -anything that seemed to himself particularly sinful. No, he was not -aware of having "sinned." He was not aware that he ever would "sin." - -But that wasn't the point. Curiously enough, that wasn't the point. The -men who commit sins and who know they commit sins usually get on quite -well with the world. Jack knew he would never get on well with the -world. He was a sinner. He knew that as far as the world went, he was a -sinner, born condemned. Perhaps it had come to him from his mother's -careless, rich, uncanny Australian blood. Perhaps it was a recoil from -his father's military-gentleman nature. His father was an officer in Her -Majesty's Army. An officer in Her Majesty's Army. For some reason, there -was always a touch of the fantastic and ridiculous, to Jack, in being an -officer in Her Majesty's Army. Quite a high and responsible officer, -usually stationed in command in one or other of Her Britannic Majesty's -Colonies. - -Why did Jack find his father slightly fantastic? Why was that gentleman -in uniform who appeared occasionally, very resplendent and somehow very -"good," why was he always unreal and fantastic to the little boy left at -home in England? Why was he even more fantastic when he wore a black -coat and genteel grey trousers? He was handsome and pleasant, and -indisputably "good." Then why, oh, why should he have appeared fantastic -to his own little boy, who was so much like him in appearance? - -"The spitten image!" one of his nurses had said. And Jack never forgave -it. He thought it meant a spat-upon image, or an image in spit. This he -resented and repudiated absolutely, though it remained vague. - -"Oh, you little sinner!" said the same nurse, half caressingly. And this -the boy had accepted as his natural appellation. He was a little sinner. -As he grew older, he was a young sinner. Now, as he approached manhood, -he was a sinner without modification. - -Not, we repeat, that he was ever able to understand wherein his -sinfulness lay. He knew his father was a "good man."--"The colonel, your -father, is such a _good man_, so you must be a _good little boy_ and -grow up like him."--"There is no better example of an English gentleman -than your father, the general. All you have to do is to grow up like -him." - -Jack knew from the start that he wouldn't. And therein lay the sin, -presumably. Or the root of the sin. - -He did not dislike his father. The general was kind and simple and -amiable. How could anyone dislike him? But to the boy he was always just -a little fantastic, like the policeman in a Punch-and-Judy show. - -Jack loved his mother with a love that could not but be intermittent, -for sometimes she stayed in England and "lived" with him, and more often -she left him and went off with his father to Jamaica or some such -place--or to India or Khartoum, names that were in his blood--leaving -the boy in the charge of a paternal Aunt. He didn't think much of the -Aunt. - -But he liked the warm, flushed, rather muddled delight of his mother. -She was a handsome, ripe Australian woman with warm colouring and soft -flesh, absolutely kindly in a humorous, off-hand fashion, warm with a -jolly sensuousness, and good in a wicked sort of way. She sat in the sun -and laughed and refused to quarrel, refused also to weep. When she had -to leave her little boy a spasm would contract her face and make her -look ugly, so the child was glad if she went quickly. But she was in -love with her husband, who was still more in love with her, so off she -went laughing sensuously across seven seas, quarrelling with nobody, -pitching her camp in true colonial fashion wherever she found herself, -yet always with a touch of sensuous luxury, Persian rugs and silk -cushions and dresses of rich material. She was the despair of the true -English wives, for you couldn't disapprove of her, she was the dearest -thing imaginable, and yet she introduced a pleasant, semi-luxurious -sense of--of what? Why, almost of sin. Not positive sin. She was really -the dearest thing imaginable. But the feeling that there was no fence -between sin and virtue. As if sin were, so to speak, the unreclaimed -bush, and goodness were only the claims that the settlers had managed to -fence in. And there was so much more bush than settlement. And the one -was as good as the other, save that they served different ends. And that -you always had the wild and endless bush all round your little claim, -and coming and going was always through the wild and innocent, but -non-moral bush. Which non-moral bush had a devil in it. Oh, yes! But a -wild and comprehensible devil, like bush-rangers who did brutal and -lawless things. Whereas the tame devil of the settlement, drunkenness -and greediness and foolish pride, he was more scaring. - -"My dear, there's tame innocence and wild innocence, and tame devils and -wild devils, and tame morality and wild morality. Let's camp in the bush -and be good." That was her attitude, always. "Let's camp in the bush and -be good." She was an Australian from a wild Australian homestead. And -she was like a wild sweet animal. Always the sense of space and lack of -restrictions, and it didn't matter _what_ you did, so long as you were -good inside yourself. - -Her husband was in love with her, completely. To him it mattered very -much what you did. So perhaps her easy indifference to English -rail-fences satisfied in him the iconoclast that lies at the bottom of -all men. - -She was not well-bred. There was a certain "cottage" geniality about -her. But also a sense of great, unfenced spaces, that put the ordinary -ladylikeness rather at a loss. A real colonial, from the newest, -wildest, remotest colony. - -She loved her little boy. But also she loved her husband, and she loved -the army life. She preferred, really, to be with her husband. And you -can't trail a child about. And she lived in all the world, and she -couldn't bear to be poked in a village in England. Not for long. And she -was used to having men about her. Mostly men. Jolly men. - -So her heart smarted for her little boy. But she had to leave him. And -he loved her, but did not dream of depending on her. He knew it as a -tiny child. He would never have to depend on anybody. His father would -pay money for him. But his father was rather jealous of him. Jealous -even of his beauty as a tiny child, in spite of the fact that the child -was the "spitten" image of the father: dark blue eyes, curly hair, -peach-bloom skin. Only the child had the easy way of accommodating -himself to life and circumstances, like his mother, and a certain -readiness to laugh, even when he was by himself. The easy laugh that -made his nurse say "You little sinner!" - -He knew he was a little sinner. It rather amused him. - -Jack's mind jolted awake as he made a grab at his hat, nearly knocking -it off, realizing that he was being introduced to two men: or that two -men were being introduced to him. They shook hands very casually, -giggling at the same time to one another in a suppressed manner. Jack -blushed furiously, embarrassed, not knowing what they were laughing at. - -Just beside him, the Jewish gentleman was effusively greeting another -Jewish gentleman. In fact, they were kissing: which made Jack curl with -disgust. But he couldn't move away, because there were bales behind him, -people on two sides, and a big dog was dancing and barking in front of -him, at something which it saw away below through a crack in the wharf -timbers. The dog seemed to be a mixture of wolf and greyhound. Queer -specimen! Later, he knew it was called a kangaroo dog. - -"Mr. A. Bell and Mr. Swallow. Mr. Jack Grant from England." This was Mr. -George introducing him to the two men, and going on without any change, -with a queer puffing of the lips: "Prh! Bah! Wolf and Hider! Wolf and -Hider!" - -This left Jack, completely mystified. And why were Mr. Bell and Mr. -Swallow laughing so convulsedly? Was it the dog? - -"You remember his father, Bell, out here in '59.--Captain Grant. Married -Surgeon-Captain Reid's youngest daughter, from Woolamooloo Station." - -The gentleman said: "Pleased to make your acquaintance," which was a -phrase that embarrassed Jack because he didn't know what to answer. -Should one say, "Thank you!"--or "The pleasure is mine!" or "So am I to -make yours!" He mumbled: "How do you do!" - -However, it didn't matter, for the two men kept the laugh between -themselves, while Mr. George took on a colonial _distrait_ look, then -blew out his cheeks and ejaculated: "Mercy and truth have met together: -righteousness and peace have kissed each other." This was said in a -matter-of-fact way. Jack knew it was a quotation from the Psalms, but -not what it was aimed at. The two men were laughing more openly at the -joke. - -Was the joke against himself? Was it his own righteousness that was -funny? He blushed furiously once more. - - - - -II - - -But Mr. George ignored the boy's evident embarrassment, and strolled off -with one of the gentlemen--whether Bell or Swallow, Jack did not -know--towards the train. - -The remaining gentleman--either Bell or Swallow--clapped the -uncomfortable youth comfortably on the shoulder. - -"New chum, eh?--Not in the know? I'll tell you."--They set off after the -other two. - -"By gad, 's a funny thing! You've got to laugh if old George is about, -though he never moves a muscle. Dry as a ship's biscuit. D'y'see the -Jews kissing? They've been at law for two years, those two blossoms. -One's name is Wolf and the other's Hider, and Mr. George is Wolf's -attorney. Never able to do anything, because you couldn't get Hider into -the open.--See the joke? Hider! Sneak Hider! Hider under the rafters! -Hider hidden! And the Wolf couldn't unearth him. Though George showed up -Wolf for what he is: a mean, grasping, contentious mongrel of a man. Now -they meet to kiss. See them? The suit ended in a mush. But that dog -there hunting a rat right under their feet--wasn't that beautiful? Old -George couldn't miss it.--'Mercy and truth have met together,' ha! ha! -However he finds his text for everything, beats me--" - -Jack laughed, and walked in a daze beside his new acquaintance. He felt -he had fallen overhead into Australia, instead of arriving naturally. - -The wood-eating little engine was gasping in front of a little train of -open carriages. Jack remarked on her tender piled high with chunks of -wood. - -"Yes, we stoke 'er with timber. We carry all we can. And if we're going -a long way, to York, when she's burned up all she can carry she stops in -the bush and we all get down, passengers and all, to chop a new supply. -See the axe there? She carries half a dozen on a long trip." - -The three men, all wearing old-fashioned whiskers, pulled out tobacco -pouches the moment they were seated, and started their pipes. They were -all stout, and their clothes were slack, and they behaved with such -absolute unconcern that it made Jack self-conscious. - -He sat rather stiffly, remembering the things his mother had told him. -Her father, Surgeon-Captain Reid, had arrived at the Swan River on a -man-of-war, on his very first voyage. He had landed with Captain -Fremantle from H. M. S. "Challenger," when that officer took formal -possession of the country in the name of His Majesty King George IV. He -had seen the first transport, the "Parmelia," prevented by heavy gales -from landing her goods and passengers on the mainland, disembark all on -Garden Island, where the men of the "Challenger" were busy clearing -ground and erecting temporary houses. That was in midwinter, June 1827: -and Jack's grandfather! Now it was midwinter, June 1882: and mere Jack. - -Midwinter! A pure blue sky and a warm, crystal air. The brush outside -green, rather dull green, the sandy country dry. It was like English -June, English midsummer. Why call it midwinter? Except for a certain -dull look of the bushes. - -They were passing the convict station. The "Establishment" had not -lasted long; from about 1850 to 1870. Not like New South Wales, which -had a purely convict origin. Western Australia was more respectable. - -He remembered his mother always praised the convicts, said they had been -a blessing to the colony. Western Australia had been too big and barren -a mouthful for the first pioneers to chew, even though they were -gentlemen of pluck and education and bit off their claims bravely. Came -the rush that followed occupation, a rush of estimable and highly -respectable British workmen. But even these were unprepared for the -hardships that awaited them in Western Australia. The country was too -much for them. - -It needed the convicts to make a real impression: the convicts with -their law, and discipline, and all their governmental outfit: and their -forced labour. Soldiers, doctors, lawyers, spiritual pastors and earthly -masters . . . and the convicts condemned to obey. This was the beginning -of the colony. - -Thought speaks! Mr. Swallow, identified as the gentleman with the long, -lean ruddy face and large nose and vague brown eye, leaned forward and -jerked his pipe stem towards the open window. - -"See that beautiful road running through the sand, sir? That road -extends to Perth and over the Causeway and away up country, branching in -all directions, like the arteries of the human body. Built by the -sappers and miners with _convict labour_, sir. Yes with _convict_ -labour. Also the bridge over which we are crossing." - -Jack looked out at the road, but was much more enchanted by the full, -soft river of heavenly blue water, on whose surface he looked eagerly -for the black swans. He didn't see any. - -"Oh yes! Oh yes! You'll find 'em wild in their native state a little way -up," said Mr. Swallow. - -Beyond the river were sheets of sand again, white sand, stretching -around on every side. - -"It must have been here that the Carpenter wept--" Jack said in his -unexpected young voice that was still slightly hoarse, as he poked his -face out of the window. - -The three gentlemen were silent in passive consternation, till Mr. -George swelled his cheeks and continued: - -"Like anything to see such quantities of sand." Then he snorted and blew -his nose. - -Mr. Bell at once recognized the Westralian joke, which had been handed -on to Jack by his mother. - -"Hit it, my son!" he cried, clapping his hands on his knees. "In the -first five minutes. Useless! Useless! A gentleman of discernment, that's -what you are. Just the sort we want in this colony--a gentleman of -discernment. A gentleman without it planted us here, fifty years ago in -the blank, blank sand. What's the consequence? Clogged, cloyed, cramped, -sand-smothered, that's what we are." - -"Not a bit of it," said Mr. Swallow. - -"Sorrow, Sin, and Sand," repeated Mr. Bell. - -Jack was puzzled and amused by their free and easy, confidential way, -which was still a little ceremonious. Slightly ceremonious, and in their -shirt-sleeves, so to speak. The same with their curious, Cockney -pronunciation, their accurate grammar and their slight pomposity. They -never said "you," merely "y'"--"That's what y'are." And their drawling, -almost sneering manner was very odd, contrasting with the shirtsleeves -familiarity, the shabby clothes and the pleasant way they had of nodding -at you when they talked to you. - -"Yes, yes, Mr. Grant," continued Mr. Bell, while Jack wished he wouldn't -Mister him--"A gentleman without discernment induced certain politicians -in the British Cabinet to invest in these vast areas. This same -gentleman got himself created King of Groperland, and came out here with -a small number of fool followers. These fool followers, for every three -quid's worth of goods they brought with them, were given forty acres of -land apiece--" - -"Of sand," said Mr. George. - -"--and a million acres of fine promises," continued Mr. Bell unmoved. -"Therefore the fool followers, mostly younger sons of good family, -anxious to own property--" - -"In parties of five females to one male--Prrrh!" snorted Mr. George. - -"--came. They were informed that the soil was well adapted to the -cultivation of tobacco! Of cotton! Of sugar! Of flax! And that cattle -could be raised to supply His Majesty's ships with salt beef--and horses -could be reared to supply the army in India--" - -"With Kangaroos and Wallabies." - -"--the cavalry, that is. So they came and were landed in the sand--" - -"And told to stick their head in it, so they shouldn't see death staring -at 'em." - -"--along with the goods they had brought." - -"A harp!" cried Mr. George. "My mother brought a harp and a Paisley -shawl and got five hundred acres for 'em--estimated value of harp being -twenty guineas. She'd better have gone straight to heaven with it." - -"Yes, sir!" continued Mr. Bell, unheeding. - -"No, sir!" broke in Mr. George. "Do you wish me unborn?" - -Mr. Bell paused to smile, then continued: - -"Mr. Grant, sir, these gentle ladies and gentlemen were dumped in the -sand along with their goods. Well, there were a few cattle and sheep and -horses. But what else? Harps. Paisley shawls. Ornamental glass cases of -wax fruit, for the mantelpiece; family Bibles and a family coach, sir. -For that family coach, sir, the bringer got a thousand acres of land. -And it ended its days where they landed it, on the beach, for there -wasn't an inch of road to drive it over, nor anywhere to drive it to. -They took off its wheels and there it lay. I myself have sat in it." - -"Ridden in his coach," smiled Mr. George. - -"My mother," continued Mr. Bell, "was a clergyman's daughter. I myself -was born in a bush humpy, and my mother died shortly after--" - -"Of chagrin! Of chagrin!" muttered Mr. George. - -"We will draw a veil over the sufferings of those years--" - -"Oh, but we made good! We made good!" put in Mr. Swallow comfortably. -"What are you grousing about? We made good. There you sit, Bell, made of -money, and grousing, anybody would think you wanted a loan of two bob." - -"By the waters of Babylon there we sat down--" said Mr. George. - -"Did we! No we didn't. We rowed up the Swan River. That's what my father -did. A sturdy British yeoman, Mr. Grant." - -"Where did he get the boat from?" asked Mr. Bell. - -"An old ship. I was a baby, sir, in a tartan frock. Remember it to this -day, sitting in my mother's lap. My father got that boat off a whaler. -It had been stove in, and wasn't fit for the sea. But he made it fit for -the river, and they rowed up the Swan--my father and a couple of -'indented' servants, as we called them. We landed in the Upper Swan -valley. I remember that camp fire, sir, as well as I remember anything." - -"Better than most things," put in Mr. George. - -"We cleared off the scrub, we lifted the stones into heaps, we planted -corn and wheat--" - -"The babe in the tartan frock steering the plough." - -"Yes, sir, later on.--Our flocks prospered, our land bore fruit, our -family flourished--" - -"On milk and honey--" - -"Oh, cry off, Swallow!" ejaculated Mr. Bell. "Your father fought flood -and drought for forty odd years. The floods of '62 broke his heart, and -the floods in '72 ruined you. And this is '82, so don't talk too loud." - -"Ruined! When was I ever ruined?" cried Mr. Swallow. "Sheep -one-hundred-and-ten per cent--for some herds, as you know, gentlemen, -throw twins and triplets. Cattle ninety per cent, horses fifty: and a -ready market for 'em all." - -"Pests," Mr. Bell was saying, "one million per cent. Rust destroys -fourteen thousand acres of wheat crop, just as the country is getting on -its feet. Dingoes breed 135 per cent, and kill sheep to match. Cattle -run wild and are no more seen. Horses cost the eyes out of your head -before you can catch 'em, break 'em, train 'em and ship 'em to the -Indian market." - -"Moth and rust! Moth and rust!" murmured Mr. George absently. - - - - -III - - -Jack, with the uncomfortable philosophy of youth, sat still and let the -verbal waters rage. Until he was startled by a question from Mr. George. - -"Well, sir, what were you sent out for?" - -This was a colonial little joke at the "Establishment" identity's -expense. But unfortunately it hit Jack too. He had been sent gut, -really, because he was too tiresome to keep at home. Too fond of "low" -company. Too often a frequenter of the stables. Too indifferent to the -higher claims of society. They feared a waster in the bud. So they -shipped the bud to the antipodes, to let it blossom there upside down. - -But Jack was not going to give himself away. - -"To go on the land, sir," he replied. Which was true.--But what had his -father said in the letter? He flushed and looked angry, his dark blue -eyes going very dark, "I was expelled from school," he added calmly. -"And I was sent down from the Agricultural College. That's why I have -come out a year before my time. But I was coming--to go on the -land--anyway--" - -He ended in a stammer. He rather hated adults: he definitely hated them -in tribunal. - -Mr. George held up his hand deprecatingly. - -"Say nothing! Say nothing! Your father made no mention of anything. Tell -us when you know us, if y'like. But you aren't called on to indict -yourself.--That was a silly joke of mine. Forget it.--You came to go on -the land, as your father informs me.--I knew your father, long before -you were born. But I knew your mother better." - -"So did I," said Mr. Swallow. "And grieved the day that ever a military -gentleman carried her away from Western Australia. She was one of our -home-grown flowers, was Katie Reid, and I never saw a Rose of England -that could touch her." - -Jack now flushed deeper than ever. - -"Though," said Mr. George slyly, "if you've got a prank up y'r sleeve, -that you can tell us about--come on with it, my son. We've none of us -forgotten being shipped to England for a schooling." - -"Oh well!" said Jack. He always said "Oh well!" when he didn't know what -to say. "You mean at the Agricultural College? Oh well!--Well, I was the -youngest there, stableboy and harness-cleaner and all that. Oh well! You -see there'd been a chivoo the night before. The lads had a grudge -against the council, because they gave us bread and cheese, and -no butter, for supper, and cocoa with no milk. And we weren't -just little nippers. We were--Oh well! Most of the chaps were men, -really--eighteen--nineteen--twenty. As much as twenty-three. I was the -youngest. I didn't care. But the chaps were different. There were many -who had failed at the big entrance exams for the Indian Civil, or the -Naval or Military, and they were big, hungry chaps, you can bet--" - -"I should say so," nodded Mr. George approvingly. - -"Well, there was a chivoo. They held me on their shoulders and I smashed -the Principal's windows." - -You could see by Jack's face how he had enjoyed breaking those windows. - -"What with?" asked Mr. George. - -"With a wooden gym club." - -"Wanton destruction of property. Prrrh!" - -"The boss was frightened. But he raised Old Harry and said he'd go up to -town and report us to the council. So he ordered the trap right away, to -catch the nine o'clock train. And I had to take the trap round to the -front door--" - -Here Jack paused. He didn't want to go further. - -"And so--" said Mr. George. - -"And so, when I stepped away from the horse's head, the Principal jerked -the reins in the nasty way he had and the horse bolted." - -"Couldn't the fellow pull her up? Man in a position like that ought to -know how to drive a horse." - -Jack watched their faces closely. On his own face was that subtle look -of innocence, which veiled a look of life-and-death defiance. - -"The reins weren't buckled into the bit, sir. No man could drive that -horse," he said quietly. - -A look of amusement tinged with misgiving spread over Mr. George's face. -But he was a true colonial. He had to hear the end of a story against -powers-that-be. - -"And how did it end?" he asked. - -"I'm sorry," said Jack. "He broke his leg in the accident." - -The three Australians burst into a laugh. Chiefly because when Jack -said, "I'm sorry," he really meant it. He was really sorry for the hurt -man. But for the hurt Principal he wasn't sorry. As soon as the -Principal was on the ground with a broken leg, Jack saw only the hurt -man, and none of the office. And his heart was troubled for the hurt -man. - -But if the mischief was to do again, he would probably do it. He -couldn't repent. And yet his feelings were genuinely touched. Which made -him comical. - -"You're a corker!" said Mr. George, shaking his head with new misgiving. - -"So you were sent down," said Mr. Bell. "And y'r father thought he'd -better ship you straight out here, eh? Best thing for you, I'll be -bound. I'll bet you never learned a ha'porth at that place." - -"Oh well! I think I learned a lot." - -"When to sow and when to reap and a latin motto attached!" - -"No, sir, not that. I learned to vet." - -"Vet?" - -"Well sir, you see, the head groom was a gentleman veterinary surgeon -and he had a weakness, as he called it. So when he was strong he taught -me to vet, and when he had his attacks, I'd go out with the cart and -collect him at a pub and bring him home under the straw, in return for -kindness shown." - -"A nice sort of school! Prrrh! Bahl" snorted Mr. George. - -"Oh, that wasn't on the curriculum, sir. My mother says there'll be -rascals in heaven, if you look for them." - -"And you keep on looking, eh?--Well--I wouldn't, if I were you. -Especially in this country, I wouldn't. I wouldn't go vetting any more -for any drunken groom in the world, if I were you. Nor breaking windows, -nor leaving reins unbuckled either. And I'll tell you for why. It -becomes a habit. You get a habit of going with rascals, and then you're -done. Because in this country you'll find plenty of scamps, and plenty -of wasters. And the sight of them is enough--nasty, low-down lot.--This -is a great big country, where an honest man can go his own way into the -back of beyond, if he likes. But the minute he begins to go crooked, or -slack, the country breaks him. It breaks him, and he's neither fit for -God nor man any more. You beware of this country, my boy, and don't try -to play larks with it. It's all right playing a prank on an old fool of -a fossil out there in England. They need a few pranks played on them, -they do. But out here--no! Keep all your strength and all your wits to -fight the bush. It's a great big country, and it needs men, _men_, not -wasters. It's a great big country, and it wants men. You can go your way -and do what you want: take up land, go on a sheep station, lumber, or -try the goldfields. But whatever you do, live up to your fate like a -man. And keep square with yourself. Never mind other people. But keep -square with _yourself._" - -Jack, staring out of the window, saw miles of dull dark-green scrub -spreading away on every side to a bright sky-line. He could hear his -mother's voice: - -"Earn a good opinion of yourself and never mind the world's opinion. You -know when there's the right glow inside you. That's the spirit of God -inside you." - -But this "right glow" business puzzled him a little. He was inclined to -believe he felt it while he was smashing the Principal's window-glass, -and while he was "vetting" with the drunken groom. Yet the words -fascinated him: "The right glow inside you--the spirit of God inside -you." - -He sat motionless on his seat, while the Australians kept on talking -about the colony.--"Have y'patience? Perseverance? Have ye that?--She -wants y' and y' offspring. And the bones y'll leave behind y'. All of y' -interests, y' hopes, y' life, and the same of y' sons and sons' sons. -An' she doesn't care if y' go nor stay, neither. Makes no difference to -her. She's waiting, drowsy. No hurry. Wants millions of yer. But she's -waited endless ages and can wait endless more. Only she must have -_men_--understand? If they're lazy derelicts and ne'er-do-wells, she'll -eat 'em up. But she's waiting for real men--British to the bone--" - -"The lad's no more than a boy, yet, George. Dry up a bit with your -_men--British to the bone._" - -"Don't toll at _me_, Bell.--I've been here since '31, so let me speak. -Came in old sailing-ship, 'Rockingham'--wrecked on coast--left nothing -but her name, township of Rockingham. Nice place to fish.--Was sent back -to London to school, '41--in another sailing-vessel and wasn't wrecked -this time. 'Shepherd,' laden colonial produce.--The first steam vessel -didn't come till '45--the 'Driver.' Wonderful advancement.--Wonderful -advancement in the colony too, when I came back. Came back a -notary.--Couple of churches, Mill Street Jetty, Grammar School opened, -Causeway built, lot of exploration done. Eyre had legged it from -Adelaide--all in my time, all in my time--" - - - - -IV - - -Jack felt it might go on forever. He was becoming stupefied. Mercifully, -the train jerked to a standstill beside a wooden platform, that was -separated from a sandy space by a picket fence. A porter put his hand to -his mouth and yelled, "Perth," just for the look of the thing--because -where else could it be? They all burst out of the train. The town stood -up in the sand: wooden houses with wooden platforms blown over with -sand. - -And Mr. George was still at it.--"Yes, Bell, wait for the salty sand to -mature. Wait for a few of _us_ to die--and decay! Mature--manure, that's -what's wanted. Dead men in the sand, dead men's bones in the gravel. -That's what'll mature this country. The people you bury in it. Only good -fertilizer. Dead men are like seed in the ground. When a few more like -you and me, Bell, are worked in--" - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE TWIN LAMBS - - -I - - -Jack was tired and a little land-sick, after the long voyage. He felt -dazed and rather unhappy, and saw as through a glass, darkly. For he -could not yet get used to the fixed land under his feet, after the long -weeks on the steamer. And these people went on as if they were wound up, -curiously oblivious of him and his feelings. A dream world, with a dark -glass between his eyes and it. An uneasy dream. - -He waited on the platform. Mr. George had again disappeared somewhere. -The train was already backing away. - -It was evening, and the setting sun from the west, where the great empty -sea spread unseen, cast a radiance in the etherealized air, melting the -brick shops and the wooden houses and the sandy places in a sort of -amethyst glow. And again Jack saw the magic clarity of this new world, -as through a glass, darkly. He felt the cool snap of night in the air, -coming strange and crude out of the jewel sky. And it seemed to him he -was looking through the wrong end of a field-glass, at a far, far -country. - -Where was Mr. George? Had he gone off to read the letter again, or to -inquire about the draft on the bank? Everyone had left the station, the -wagonette cabs had driven away. What was to be done? Ought he to have -mentioned an hotel? He'd better say something. He'd better say-- - -But here was Mr. George, with a serious face, coming straight up to say -something. - -"That vet," he said, "did he think you had a natural gift for veterinary -work?" - -"He said so, sir. My mother's father was a naval surgeon--if that has -anything to do with it." - -"Nothing at all.--I knew the old gentleman--and another silly old fossil -he was, too.--But he's dead, so well make the best of him.--No, it was -your character I wanted to get at.--Your father wants you to go on a -farm or station for twelve months, and sends a pound a week for your -board. Suppose you know--?" - -"Yes--I hope it's enough." - -"Oh, it's enough, if you're all right yourself--I was thinking of Ellis' -place. I've got the twins here now. They're kinsmen of yours, the -Ellises--and of mine, too. We're all related, in clans and cliques and -gangs, out here in this colony. Your mother belongs to the Ellis -clan.--Well, now. Ellis' place is a fine home farm, and not too far. -Only he's got a family of fine young lambs, my step-sister's children -into the bargain. And y'see, if y're a wolf in sheep's clothing--for you -look mild enough--why, I oughtn't be sending you among them. Young -lasses and boys bred and reared out there in the bush, why--. Come now, -son--y' father protected you by silence.--But you're not in court, and -you needn't heed me. Tell me straight out what you were expelled from -your Bedford school for." - -Jack was silent for a moment, rather pale about the nose. "I was -nabbed," he said in a colourless voice, "at a fight with fists for a -purse of sovereigns, laid either side. Plenty of others were there. But -they got away, and the police nabbed me for the school colours on my -cap. My father was just back from Ceylon, and he stood by me. But the -Head said for the sake of example and for the name of the school I'd -better be chucked out. They were talking about the school in the -newspapers. The Head said he was sorry to expel me." - -Mr. George blew his nose into a large yellow red-spotted handkerchief, -and looked for a few moments into the distance. - -"Seems to me you let yourself be made a bit of a cat's paw of," he said -dubiously. - -"I suppose it's because I don't care," said Jack. - -"But you ought to care.--Why don't y'?" - -There was no answer. - -"You'll have to care some day or other," the old man continued. - -"Do you know, sir, which hotel I shall go to?" asked Jack. - -"You'll go to no hotel. You'll come home with me.--But mind y'. I've got -my two young nieces, Ellis' twins, couple of girls, Ellis' daughters, -where I'm going to send you. They're at my house. And there's my other -niece, Mary, who I'm very fond of. She's not an Ellis, she's a Rath, and -an orphan, lives with her Aunt Matilda, my sister. They don't live with -me. None of 'em live with me. I live alone, except for a good, plain -cook, since my wife died.--But I tell you, they're visiting me. And I -shall look to you to behave yourself, now: both here and at Wandoo, -which is Ellis' station. I'll take you there in the morning.--But y'see -now where I'm taking you: among a pack of innocent sheep that's probably -never seen a goat to say Boh! to--or Baa! if you like--makes no -difference. We don't raise goats in Western Australia, as I'm aware -of.--But I'm telling you, if you're a wolf in sheep's clothing--. No, -you needn't say anything. You probably don't know what you are, anyhow. -So come on. I'll tell somebody to bring your bags--looks a rare jorum to -me--and we'll walk." - - - - -II - - -They walked off the timber platform into the sand, and Jack had his -first experience of "sand-groping." The sand was thick and fine and -soft, so he was glad to reach the oyster-shell path running up -Wellington Street, in front of the shops. They passed along the street -of brick cottages and two-storied houses, to Barrack Street, where Jack -looked with some surprise on the pretentious buildings that stood up in -the dusk: the handsome square red brick tower of the Town Hall, and on -the sandy hill to the left, the fine white edifice of the Roman Catholic -Church, which building was already older than Jack himself. Beyond the -Town Hall was the Church of England. "See it!" said Mr. George. "That's -where your father and mother were married. Slap-dash, military wedding, -more muslin and red jackets than would stock a shop." - -Mr. George spoke to everybody he met, ladies and gentlemen alike. The -ladies seemed a bit old-fashioned, the gentlemen all wore nether -garments at least four sizes too large for them. Jack was much piqued by -this pioneering habit. And they all seemed very friendly and easy-going, -like men in a pub at home. - -"What did the Bedford Headmaster say he was sorry to lose you for? Smart -at your books, were you?" - -"I was good at Scripture and Shakespeare, but not at the other -things.--I expect he was sorry to lose me from the football eleven. I -was the cock there." - -Mr. George blew his nose loudly, gasped, prrrhed, and said: - -"You'd better say _rooster_, my son, here in Australia--especially in -polite society. We're a trifle more particular than they are in England, -I suppose.--Well, and what else have you got to crow about?" - -If Jack had been the sulky sort, he would now have begun to get sulky. -As it was, he was tired of being continually pulled up. But he fell back -on his own peculiar callous indifference. - -"I was captain of the first football eleven," he said in his indifferent -voice, "and not bad in front of the sticks. And I took the long distance -running cup a year under age. I tell you because you ask me." - -Then Mr. George astonished Jack again by turning and planting himself in -front of him like Balaam's ass, in the middle of the path, standing with -feet apart in his big elephant trousers, snorting behind a walrus -moustache, glaring and extending a large and powerful hand. He shook -hands vigorously, saying, "You'll do, my son. You'll do for me." - -Then he resumed his walk. - - - - -III - - -"Yes, sir, you'll do for me," resumed the old man. "For I can see you're -a gentleman." - -Jack was rather taken aback. He had come to Australia to be a man, a -wild, bushy man among men. His father was a gentleman. - -"I think I'd rather be a man than a gentleman," he said. - -Mr. George stood still, feet apart, as if he had been shot. - -"What's the difference?" he cried in a falsetto, sarcastic tone. "What's -the difference? Can't be a man unless you are a gentleman. Take that -from me. You might say I'm not a gentleman. Sense of the ridiculous runs -away with me, for one thing. But, in order to be the best man I could, -I've tried to be all the gentleman I could. No hanky-pankying about -it.--You're a gentleman born.--I'm not, not _altogether._ Don't you go -trying to upset what you are. But whether you're a bush-whacker or a -lumper you can be a gentleman. A gentleman's a man who never laughs to -wound, who's honest with himself and his own judge in the sight of the -Almighty.--That's the Government House down there among the trees, river -just beyond.--That's my house, there, see. I'm going to hand you over to -the girls, once we get there. So I shan't see you again, not to talk to. -I want to tell you then, that I put my confidence in you, and you're -going to play up like a gentleman. And I want you to know, as between -gentlemen, not merely between an old man and a boy: but as between -gentlemen, if you ever need any help, or a word of advice come to me. -Come to me, and I'll do my best." - -He once more shook hands, this time in a conclusive manner. - -Jack had looked to left and right as they walked, half listening to the -endless old man. He saw sandy blocks of land beside the road, and -scattered, ugly buildings, most of them new. He made out the turrets and -gables of the Government House, in the dusk among trees, and he imagined -the wide clear river below those trees. - -Turning down an unmade road, they approached a two-storied brick house -with narrow verandahs, whose wooden supports rested nakedly on the sand -below. There was no garden, fence, or anything: just an oyster-shell -path across the sand, a pipe-clayed doorstep, a brass knocker, a narrow -wooden verandah, a few flower-pots. - -Mr. George opened the door and showed the boy into the narrow wooden -hall. There was a delicious smell of cooking. Jack climbed the thin, -flimsy stairs, and was shown into his bedroom. A four-poster bed with a -crochet quilt and frilled pillows, a mahogany chest of drawers with -swivel looking-glass, a washstand with china set complete. England all -over again.--Even his bag was there, and his brushes were set out for -him. - -He had landed! - - - - -IV - - -As he made his toilet, he heard a certain fluttering outside his door. -He waited for it to subside, and when all seemed still, opened to go -downstairs. There stood two girls, giggling and blushing, waiting arm in -arm to pounce on him. - -"Oh, isn't he _beau!_" exclaimed one of the girls, in a sort of aside. -And the other broke into a high laugh. - -Jack remained dumbfounded, reddening to the roots of his hair. But his -dark-blue eyes lingered for a moment on the two girlish faces. They were -evidently the twins. They had the same thin, soft, slightly-tanned, -warm-looking faces, a little wild, and the same marked features. But the -brows of one were level, and her fair hair, darkish fair, was all crisp, -curly round her temples, and she looked up at you from under her level -brows with queer yellow-grey eyes, shy, wild, and yet with a queer -effrontery, like a wild-cat under a bush. The other had blue eyes and a -bigger nose, and it was she who said, "Oh, isn't he _beau!_" - -The one with the yellow eyes stuck out her slim hand awkwardly, gazing -at him and saying: - -"I suppose you're cousin Jack, Beau." - -He shook hands first with one, then with the other, and could not find a -word to say. The one with the yellow eyes was evidently the leader of -the two. - -"Tea is ready," she said, "if you're coming down." - -She spoke this over her shoulder. There was the same colour in her tawny -eyes as in her crisp tawny hair, but her brows were darker. She had a -forehead, Jack decided, like the plaster-cast of Minerva. And she had -the queerest way of looking at you under her brows, and over her -shoulder. Funny pair of lambs, these. - -The two girls went downstairs arm in arm, at a run. This is quite a -feat, but evidently they were used to it. - -Jack looked on life, social life inside a house, as something to be -borne in silence. These two girls were certainly a desperate addition. -He heard them burst into the parlour, the other one repeating: - -"He's coming. Here comes Beau." - -"I thought his name was Jack. _Bow_ is it!" exclaimed a voice. - -He entered the parlour with his elbows at his sides, his starched collar -feeling very stiff. He was aware of the usual hideous room, rather barer -than at home: plush cushions on a horse-hair sofa, and a green carpet: a -large stout woman with reddish hair in a silk frock and gold chains, and -Mr. George introducing her as Mrs. Watson, otherwise Aunt Matilda. She -put diamond-ringed hands on Jack's shoulders and looked into his face, -which he thought a repellent procedure. - -"So like your father, dear boy; how's your dear mother?" - -And in spite of his inward fury of resistance, she kissed him. For she -was but a woman of forty-two. - -"Quite well, thank you," said Jack: though considering he had been at -sea for six weeks, he knew as little about his mother's health as did -Aunt Matilda herself. - -"Did y' blow y' candle out?" asked Mr. George. - -"No he didn't," answered the tawny girl. "_I'll_ go and do it." - -And she flashed away upstairs like a panther. - -"I suppose the twins introduced themselves," said Mr. George. - -"No they didn't," said the other one. - -"Only christened you Bow.--You'll be somebody or other's beau before -very long, I'll warrant.--This is Grace, Grace Ellis, you know, where -you're going to live. And her sister who's gone upstairs to blow your -candle out, is Monica.--Can't be too careful of fire in these dry -places.--Most folks say they can't tell 'em apart, but I call it -nonsense." - -"Ancien, beau, bon, cher, adjectives which precede," said the one called -Monica, jerking herself into the room, after blowing out the candle. - -"There's your father," said Mr. George. And Aunt Matilda fluttered into -the hall, while the twins betrayed no interest at all. The tawny one -stared at Jack and kept slinking about like a lean young panther to get -a different view of him. For all the world as if she was going to pounce -on him, like a cat on a bird. He, permanently flushed, kept his -self-possession in a boyish and rather handsome, if stiff, manner. - -Mr. Ellis was stout, clean-shaven, red-faced, and shabby and baggy, and -good-natured in appearance. - -"This is the young gentleman--Mr. Grant--called in Westralia Bow, so -named by Miss Monica Ellis." - -"By Miss Grace, if you please," snapped Monica. - -"Tea's ready. Tea's ready." - -They trooped into the dining room where a large table was spread. Aunt -Matilda seated herself behind the tea-kettle, Mr. George sat at the -other end, before the pile of plates and the carvers, and the others -took their places where they would. Jack modestly sat on Aunt Matilda's -left hand, so the tawny Monica at once pounced on the chair opposite. - -Entered the Good Plain Cook with a dish covered with a pewter cover, and -followed by a small, dark, ugly, quiet girl carrying the vegetable -dishes. - -"That's my niece Mary, Jack. Lives with Aunt Matilda here, who won't -spare her or I'd have her to live here with me. Now you know everybody. -What's for tea?" - -He was dangerously clashing the knife on the steel. Then lifting the -cover, he disclosed a young pig roasted in all its glory of gravy. Mary -meanwhile had nodded her head at Jack and looked at him with her big, -queer, very black eyes. You might have thought she had native blood. She -sat down to serve the vegetables. - -"Grace, there's a fly in the milk," said Aunt Matilda, who was already -pouring large cups of tea. Grace seized the milk jug and jerked from the -room. - -"Do you take milk and sugar, as your dear father used to, John?" asked -Aunt Matilda of the youth on her left. - -"Call him Bow. Bow's his name out here--John's too stiff and Jack's too -common!" exclaimed Mr. George, elbows deep in carving. - -"Bow'll do for me," put in Mrs. Ellis, who said little. - -"Mary, is there any mustard?" said Aunt Matilda. - -Jack rose vaguely to go and get it, but Aunt Matilda seized him by the -arm and pushed him back. - -"Sit still. She knows where it is." - -"Monica, come and carry the cups, there's a good girl." - -"Now which end of the pig do you like, Jack?" asked Mr. George. -"Matilda, will this do for you?" He held up a piece on the fork. Mary -arrived with a ponderous gyrating cruet-stand, which she made place for -in the middle of the table. - -"What about bread?" said Aunt Matilda. "I'm sure John eats bread with -his meat. Fetch some bread, Grace, for your cousin John." - -"Everybody did it," thought Jack in despair, as he tried to eat amid the -hustle. "No servants, nothing ever still. On the go all the time." - -"Girls going to the concert tonight?" asked Mr. George. - -"If anybody will go with us," replied Monica, with a tawny look at Jack. - -"There's Bow," said Mr. George, "Bow'll like to go." - -Under the she-lion peering of Monica, Jack was incapable of answer. - -"Let the poor boy rest," said Aunt Matilda. "Just landed after a six -thousand mile voyage, and you rush him out next minute to a concert. Let -him stop at home quietly with me, and have a quiet chat about the dear -ones he's left behind.--Aren't _you_ going to the concert with the -girls, Jacob?" - -This was addressed to Mr. Ellis, who took a gulp of tea and shook his -head mutely. - -"I'd rather go to the concert, I think," said Jack under the queer -yellow glower of Monica's eyes, and the full black moons of Mary's. - -"Good for you, my boy," said Mr. George. "Bow by name and Bow by nature. -And well set up, with three strings to his Bow already." - -Monica once more peered tawnily, and Mary glanced a black, furtive -glance. Aunt Matilda looked down on him and Grace, at his side, peered -up. - -For the first time since childhood, Jack found himself in a really -female setting. Instinctively he avoided women: but particularly he -avoided girls. With girls and women he felt exposed to some sort of -danger--as if something were going to seize him by the neck, from -behind, when he wasn't looking. He relied on men for safety. But -curiously enough, these two elderly men gave him no shelter whatever. -They seemed to throw him a victim to these frightful "lambs." In -England, there was an _esprit de corps_ among men. Man for man was a -tower of strength against the females. Here in this place men deserted -one another as soon as the women put in an appearance. They left the -field entirely to the females. - -In the first half-hour Jack realised he was thrown a victim to these -tawny and black young cats. And there was nothing to do but bear up. - -"Have you got an evening suit?" asked Grace, who was always the one to -ponder things out. - -"Yes--a sort of a one," said Jack. - -"Oh, good! Oh, put it on! Do put it on." - -"Leave the lad alone," said Mr. George. "Let him go as he is." - -"No," said Aunt Matilda. "He has his father's handsome presence. Let him -make the best of himself. I think I'll go to the concert after all." - -After dinner there was a bustle. Monica flew up to light his candle for -him, and stood there peering behind the flame when he came upstairs. - -"You haven't much time," she said, as if she were going to spear him. - -"All right," he answered, in his hoarse young voice. And he stood in -torment till she left his room. - -He was just tying his tie when there came a flutter and a tapping. Aunt -Matilda's voice saying: "Nearly time. Are you almost ready?" - -"Half a minute!" he crowed hoarsely, like an unhappy young cock. - -But the door stealthily opened, and Aunt Matilda peeped in. - -"Oh, tying his tie!" she said, satisfactorily, when she perceived that -he was dressed as far as discretion demanded. And she entered in full -blow. Behind her hovered Grace--then Monica--and in the doorway Mary. It -seemed to Jack that Aunt Matilda was the most objectionable of the lot, -Monica the brazenest, Grace the most ill-mannered, and Mary the most -repulsive, with her dark face. He struggled in discomfort with his tie. - -"Let Mary do it," said Aunt Matilda. - -"No, no!" he barked. "I can do it." - -"Come on, Mary. Come and tie John's tie." - -Mary came quietly forward. - -"Let me do it for you, Bow," she said in her quiet, insinuating voice, -looking at him with her inky eyes and standing in front of him till his -knees felt weak and his throat strangled. He was purple in the face, -struggling with his tie in the presence of the lambs. - -"He'll never get it done," said Monica, from behind the yellow glare. - -"Let me do it," said Mary, and lifting her hands decisively she took the -two ends of the tie from him. - -He held his breath and lifted his eyes to the ceiling and felt as if the -front of his body were being roasted. Mary, the devil-puss, seemed -endless ages fastening the tie. Then she twitched it at his throat and -it was done, just as he was on the point of suffocation. - -"Are those your best braces?" said Grace. "They're awfully pretty with -rose-buds." And she fingered the band. - -"I suppose you put on evening dress for the last dinner on board," said -Aunt Matilda. "Nothing makes me cry like _Auld Lang Syne_, that last -night, before you land next day. But it's fifteen years since I went -over to England." - -"I don't suppose we shall any of us ever go," said Grace longingly. - -"Unless you marry Bow," said Monica abruptly. - -"I can't marry him unless he asks me," said Grace. - -"He'll ask nobody for a good many years to come," said Aunt Matilda with -satisfaction. - -"Hasn't he got lovely eyelashes?" said Grace impersonally. - -"He'd almost do for a girl," said Monica. - -"Not if you look at his ears," said Mary, with odd decision. He felt -that Mary was bent on saving his manhood. - -He breathed as if the air around him were red-hot. He would have to get -out, or die. He plunged into his coat, pulling down his shirt-cuffs with -a jerk. - -"What funny green cuff-links," said Grace. "Are they pot?" - -"Malachite," said Jack. - -"What's malachite?" - -There was no answer. He put a white silk muffler round his neck to -protect his collar. - -"Oh, look at his initials in lavender silk!" - -At last he was in his overcoat, and in the street with the bevy. - -"Leave your overcoat open, so it shows your shirt-front as you walk," -said Grace, forcibly unbuttoning the said coat. "I think that looks so -lovely. Doesn't he look lovely, Monica? Everybody will be asking who he -is." - -"Tell them he's the son of General Grant," said Aunt Matilda, with -complete satisfaction, as she sailed at his side. - -Life is principally a matter of endurance. This was the sum of Jack's -philosophy. He put it into practice this evening. - -It was a benefit concert in the Town Hall, with the Episcopalian Choir -singing, "Angels Ever Bright and Fair," and a violinist from Germany -playing violin solos, and a lady vocalist from Melbourne singing "home" -solos, while local stars variously coruscated. Aunt Matilda filled up -the end of the seat--like a massive book-end: and the others like -slender volumes of romance were squeezed in between her and another -stout book-end. Jack had the heaving warmth of Aunt Matilda on his -right, the electric wriggle of Monica on his left, and he continued to -breathe red-hot air. - -The concert was a ludicrous continuation of shameful and ridiculous -noise to him. Each item seemed inordinately long and he hoped for the -next, which when it came, seemed worse than the last. The people who -performed seemed to him in a ghastly humiliating position. One stout -mother-of-thousands leaned forward and simply gurgled about riding over -the brow of a hill and seeing a fair city beyond, and a young knight in -silver armour riding toward her with shining face, to greet her on the -spot as his lady fair and lady dear. Jack looked at her in pained -amazement. And yet when the songs-tress from Melbourne, in a rich -contralto, began to moan in a Scotch accent: - - -"And it's o-o-oh! that I'm longing for my ain folk, -Though the-e-ey be but lowly, puir and plain folk-- -I am far across the sea -But my heart will ever be-e-e-e-e -At home in dear old Scotland with my ain folk," - - -Jack suddenly wanted to howl. He had never been to Scotland and his -father, General Grant, with his mother, was at present in Malta. And he -hadn't got any "ain folk," and he didn't want any. Yet it was all he -could do to keep the tears from showing in his eyes, as his heart fairly -broke in him. And Aunt Matilda crowded him a little more suffocatingly -on the right, and Monica wriggled more hatefully than ever on the left, -and that beastly Mary leaned forward to glance appreciatively at him, -with her low-down black eyes. And he felt as if the front of his body -was scorched. And a smouldering desire for revenge awoke deep down in -him. - -People were always trying to "do things" to you. Why couldn't they leave -you done? Dirty cads to sing "My Ain Folk," and then stare in your face -to see how it got you. - -But life was a matter of endurance, with possible revenge later on. - -When at last he got home and could go to bed, he felt he had gained a -brief respite. There was no lock to the door--so he put the arm-chair -against it, for a barricade. - -And he felt he had been once more sold. He had thought he was coming to -a wild and woolly world. But all the way out he had been forced to play -the gentlemanly son of his father. And here it was hell on earth, with -these women let loose all over you, and these ghastly concerts, and -these hideous meals, and these awful flimsy, choky houses. Far better -the Agricultural College. Far better England. - -He was sick with homesickness as he flung himself into bed. And it -seemed to him he was always homesick for some place which he had never -known and perhaps never would know. He was always homesick for somewhere -else. He always hated where he was, silently but deeply. - -Different people. The place would be all right, but for the people. - -He hated women. He hated the kind of nausea he felt after they had -crowded on him. The yellow cat-eyes of that deadly Monica! The inky eyes -of that low-down Mary! The big nose of that Grace: she was the most -tolerable. And the indecency of the red-haired Aunt Matilda, with her -gold chains. - -He flung his trousers in one direction, and the loathsome starched shirt -in another, and his underwear in another. When he was quite clear of all -his clothing he clenched his fists and reached them up, and stretched -hard, hard as if to stretch himself clear of it all. Then he did a few -thoughtless exercises, to shake off the world. He wanted the muscles of -his body to move, to shake off the contact of the world. As a dog coming -out of the water shakes himself, so Jack stood there slowly, intensely -going through his exercises, slowly sloughing the contact of the world -from his young, resistant white body. And his hair fell loose into curl, -and the alert defiance came into his eyes as he threw apart his arms and -opened his young chest. Anything, anything to forget the world and to -throw the contact of people off his limbs and his chest. Keen and savage -as a Greek gymnast, he struck the air with his arms, with his legs. - -Till at last he felt he had broken through the mesh. His blood was -running free, he had shattered the film that other people put over him, -as if snails had crawled over him. His skin was free and alive. He -glowered at the door, and made the barricade more safe. - -Then he dived into his nightshirt, and felt the world was his own again. -At least in his own immediate vicinity. Which was all he cared about for -the moment. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -DRIVING TO WANDOO - - -I - - -Jack started before dawn next morning, for Wandoo. Mr. George had -business which took him south, so he decided to carry the boy along on -the coach. Mr. Ellis also was returning home in the coach, but the -twins, those lambs, were staying behind. In the chilly dark, Jack -climbed the front of the buggy to sit on the seat beside the driver. He -was huddled in his overcoat, the happiest boy alive. For now at last he -was "getting away," as he always wanted to "get away." From what, he -didn't stop to consider, and still less did he realise _towards_ what. -Because however far you may get away from one thing, by so much do you -draw near to another. - -And this is the Fata Morgana of Liberty, or Freedom. She may lead you -very definitely away from to-day's prison. But she also very definitely -leads you towards some other prison. Liberty is a changing of prisons, -to people who seek _only_ liberty. - -Away went the buggy at a spanking trot, the driver pointing out the -phosphoric glow of the river, as they descended to the Causeway. Stars -still shone overhead, but the sky was beginning to open inland. The -buggy ran softly over the damp sand, the two horses were full of life. -There was an aroma of damp sand, and a fresh breeze from the river as -they crossed. - -Jack didn't want to talk. But the driver couldn't miss the opportunity. - -"I drives this coach backards and forrards to Albany week in week out, -years without end amen, and a good two hundred miles o' land to cover, -taking six days clear with two 'osses, and them in relays fifteen or -twenty miles, sometimes over, as on the outland reach past Wagin." - -"Ever get held up?" - -"No sir, can't say as I do. Who'd there be to hold me up in Western -Australia? And if there was, the mounted police'd soon settle 'em. -There's nobody to hold me up but my old woman, and she drives the coach -for me up Middle Swan way." - -"Can she drive?" - -"You back your life she can. Bred and born to it. Drive an' swear at the -'osses like a trooper, when she's a mind. Swear! I'd never ha' thought -it of 'er, when I rode behind 'er as a groom." - -"How?" - -"Oh, she took me in, she did, pretty. But after all, what's a lady but a -woman! Though far be it from me to say: 'What's a woman but a lady!' If -I'd gone down on my hands an' knees to her, in them days, I should have -expected her to kick me. And what does she do? Rode out of the park -gates and stopped. So she did. Turns to me. 'Grey,' she says, 'here's -money. You go to London and buy yourself clothes like what a grocer -would buy. Avoid looking like a butler or a groom. And when you've got -an outfit, dress and make yourself look like a grocer,' she said, though -I never had any connections with grocery in my life--'and go to the -office in Victoria Street and take two passages to Australia.' That was -what she said. Just Australia. When the man in the office asked me, -where to in Australia, I didn't know what to say. 'Oh, we'll go in at -the first gate,' I said. And so it was Fremantle. 'Yes,' she said, -'we're going to elope. Nice thing for me,' thinks I. But I says, 'All -right, Miss.' She was a pearl beyond price, was Miss Ethel. So she -seemed to me then. Now she's a termagant as ever was: in double 'arness, -collar-proud." - -The coachman flicked the horses. Jack looked at him in amazement. He was -a man with a whitish-looking beard, in the dim light. - -"And did she have any children?" - -"She's got five." - -"And does she regret it?" - -"At times, I suppose. But as I say to her, if anybody was took in, it -was me. I always thought her a perfect lady. So when she lets fly at me: -'Call yourself a man?' I just say to her: 'Call yourself a lady?' And -she comes round all right." - -Jack's consciousness began to go dim. He was aware of a strange dim -booming almost like guns in the distance, and the driver's voice saying, -"Frogs, sir. Way back in the days before ever a British ship came here, -they say the Dutchmen came, and was frightened off by the croaking of -the bull frogs: Couldn't make it out a-nohow!"--The horses' hoofs were -echoing on the boarded Causeway, and from the little islands alongside -came the amazing croaking, barking, booing and booming of the frogs. - - - - -II - - -When Jack looked round again it was day. And the driver's beard was -black. He was a man with a thin red face and black beard and queer grey -eyes that had a mocking sort of secret in them. - -"I thought your beard was white," said Jack. - -"Ay, with rime. With frost. Not with anything else." - -"I didn't expect hoar-frost here." - -"Well--it's not so very common. Not like the Old Country." - -Jack realised they always spoke patronisingly of the Old Country, poor -old place, as if it couldn't help being what it was. - -The man's grey eyes with the amused secret glanced quickly at Jack. - -"Not quite awake yet?" he said. - -"Oh, yes," said Jack. - -"Coming out to settle, I hope," said the driver. "We can do with a few -spruce young lads. I've got five daughters to contend with. Why there's -six A1 families in Perth, maybe you've heard, and six in the country, -and possibly six round Fremantle, and nary one of 'em but's got seven -daughters. Seven daughters----" - -Jack did not hear. He seemed to be saying, in reply to some question, -"I'm Jack Hector Grant." - -"Contrairy," the servants had called him, and "naughty little boy," his -Aunts. Insubordinate, untrustworthy. Such things they said of him. His -soul pricked from all the things, but he guessed they were not far -wrong. - -What did his mother think of him? And his father? He didn't know them -very well. They only came home sometimes, and then they seemed to him -reasonable and delightful people. The Wandering Grants, Lady Bewley had -called them. - -Was he a liar? When they called him a liar, was it true? It was. And yet -he never really _felt_ a liar. "Don't ask, and you'll get no lies told -you." It was a phrase from his nurse, and he always wanted to use it to -his hateful Aunts. "Say you're sorry! Say you're sorry!" Wasn't that -forcing him to tell lies, when he _wasn't_ sorry? His Aunts always -seemed to him despicable liars. He himself was just an ordinary liar. He -lied because he _didn't_ want them to know what he'd done, even when -he'd done right. - -So they threatened him with that loathsome "policeman." Or they dropped -him over the garden fence into the field beyond. There he sat in a sort -of Crusoe solitary confinement. A vast row of back fences, and a vast, -vast field. Himself squatting immovable, and an Aunt coming to demand -sharply through the fence: "Say you're sorry. Say you want to be a good -little boy. Say it, or you won't come in to dinner. You'll stay there -all night." - -He wasn't sorry, he didn't want to be a good little boy, therefore he -wouldn't "say it"; so he got a piece of bread and butter pushed through -the fence. And then he faced the emptiness of the field and set off, to -find himself somehow in the kitchen-garden of the manor-house. A servant -had seen him, and brought him before her ladyship, who was herself -walking in the garden. - -"Who are you, little boy?" - -"I'm Jack Hector Grant"--a pause. "Who are you?" - -"I'm Lady Bewley." - -They eyed one another. - -"And where were you wandering to, in my garden?" - -"I wasn't wand'rin'. I was walkin'." - -"Were you? Come, then, and walk with me, will you?" - -She took his hand and led him along a path. He didn't quite know if he -was a prisoner. But her hand was gentle, and she seemed a quiet, sad -lady. She stepped with him through wide-open window-doors. He looked -uneasily round the drawing-room, then at the quiet lady. - -"Where was _you_ born?" he asked her. - -"Why, you funny boy, I was born in this house." - -"My mother wasn't. She was born in Australia. And my father was born in -India. And I can't remember where I was born." - -A servant had brought in the tea-tray. The child was sitting on a -foot-stool. The lady seemed not to be listening. There was a dark cake. - -"My mother said I wasn't never to ask for cake, but if somebody was to -offer me some, I needn't say No fank you." - -"Yes, you shall have some cake," said the lady. "So you are one of the -Wandering Grants, and you don't know where you were born?" - -"But I think I was born in my mother's bed." - -"I suppose you were.--And how old are you?" - -"I'm four. How old are you?" - -"A great deal older than that.--But tell me, what were you doing in my -garden." - -"I don't know. Well, I comed by mistake." - -"How was that?" - -"'Cause I wouldn't say I was sorry I told a lie. Well, I wasn't sorry. -But I wasn't wandrin' in your garden. I was only walkin'. I was walkin' -out of the meadow where they put me----" - -----"And I says, she may have been born in a 'all, but she'll die in a -wooden shack." - -"Who? Who will?" - -"I was tellin' you about my old woman.--Look! There's a joey runnin' -there along the track." - -Jack looked, and saw a funny little animal half leaping, half running -along. - -"We call them baby 'roos, joeys, you understand, and they make the -cutest little pets you ever did imagine." - -They were still in sandy country, on a good road not far from the river, -and Jack saw the little chap jump to cover. The tall gum trees with -their brownish pale smooth stems and loose strips of bark stood tall and -straight and still, scattered like a thin forest that spread unending, -rising from a low, heath-like undergrowth. It seemed open, and yet -weird, enclosing you in its vast emptiness. This bush, that he had heard -so much of! The sun had climbed out of the mist, and was becoming gold -and powerful in a limpid sky. The leaves of the gum trees hung like -heavy narrow blades, inert and colourless, in a weight of silence. Save -when they came to a more open place, and a flock of green parrots flew -shrieking, "Twenty-eight! Twenty-eight!" At least that was what the -driver said they cried.--The lower air was still somewhat chilly from -the mist. A number of black-and-white handsome birds, that they call -magpies, flew alongside in the bush, keeping pace for a time with the -buggy. And once a wallaby ran alongside for a while on the path, a -bigger 'roo than the joey, and very funny, leaping persistently -alongside with his little hands dangling. - -It was a new country after all. It was different. A small exultance grew -inside the youth. After all, he _had_ got away, into a country that men -had not yet clutched into their grip. Where you could do as you liked, -without being stifled by people. He still had a secret intention of -doing as he liked, though what it was he would do when he could do as he -liked, he did not know. Nothing very definite. And yet something stirred -in his bowels as he saw the endless bush, and the noisy green parrots -and the queer, tame kangaroos: and no man. - -"It's dingy country down here," the coachman was saying. "Not good for -much. No good for nothing except cemetery, though Mr. George says he -believes in it. And there's nothing you can do with it, seeing as how -many gents what come in the first place has gone away for ever, lock -stock and barrel, leaving nothing but their 'claims' on the land itself, -so nobody else can touch it." Here he shook the reins on the horses' -backs. "But I hopes you settles, and makes good, and marries and has -children, like me and my old woman, sir. She've put five daughters into -the total, born in a shack, though their mother was born in Pontesbeach -Hall----" - -But Jack's mind drifted away from the driver. He was in that third -state, not uncommon to youth, which seems to intervene between reality -and dream. The bush, the coach, the wallabies, the coachdriver were not -very real to him. Neither was his own self and his own past very real to -him. There seemed to him to be another mute core to himself. Apart from -the known Jack Grant, and apart from the world as he had known it. Even -apart from this Australia which was so unknown to him. - -As a matter of fact, he had not yet come-to in Australia. He had not yet -extricated himself from England and the ship. Half of himself was left -behind, and the other half was gone ahead. So there he sat, mute and -stupid. - -He only knew he wanted something, and he resented something. He resented -having been so much found fault with. They had hated him because he -preferred to make friends among "good-for-nothings." But as he saw it, -"good-for-nothings" were the only ones that had any daring. Not -altogether tamed. He loathed the thought of harness. He hated tameness, -hated it, hated it. The thought of it made his innocent face take on a -really devilish look. And because of his hatred of harness, he hated -answering the questions that people put to him. Neither did he ask many, -for his own part. But now one popped out. - -"There _are_ policemen here, are there?" - -"Yes, sir, a good force of mounted police, a smart body of men. And -they're needed. Western Australia is full of old prisoners, black -fellers, and white ones too. The whites, born here, is called 'gropers,' -if you take me, sir. Sand-gropers. And they all need protection one from -the other. And there's half-pay officers, civil and military, and -clergy, scattered through the bush----" - -"Need protecting from one another, and yet he says there's nobody to -hold up the coach," thought Jack to himself, cynically. - -The bush had alternated with patches of wild scrub. But now came -clearings: a little wooden house, and an orchard of trees planted in -rows, with a grazing field beyond. Then more flat meadows, and ploughed -spaces, and a humpy or a shack here and there: children playing around, -and hens: then a regular homestead, with a verandah on either side, and -creepers climbing up, and fences about. - -"The soil is red!" said Jack. - -"Clay! That's clay! No more sand, except in patches, all the way to -Albany. This is Guildford where the roses grow." - -They clattered across a narrow wooden bridge with a white railing, and -up to a wooden inn where the horses were to be changed. Jack got down in -the road, and saw Mr. George and Mr. Ellis both sleepily emerge and pass -without a word into the place marked BAR. - -"I think I'll walk on a bit," said Jack, "if you'll pick me up." - -But at that moment a fleecy white head peering out of the back of the -coach cried: - -"Oh, Mr. Gwey! Oh, Mr. Gwey! They've frowed away a perfectly good cat." - -The driver went over with Jack to where the chubby arm was pointing, and -saw the body of a cat stretched by the trodden grass. It was quite dead. -They stood looking at it, Grey explaining that it was a good skin and it -certainly was a pity to waste it, and he hoped someone would find it who -would tan it before it went too far, for as for him, he could not take -it along in the coach, the passengers might object before they reached -Albany, though the weather was cooling up a bit. - -Jack laughed and went back to the coach to throw off his overcoat. He -loved the crazy inconsequence of everything. He stepped along the road -feeling his legs thrilling with new life. The thrill and exultance of -new life. And yet somewhere in his breast and throat tears were heaving. -Why? Why? He didn't know. Only he wanted to cry till he died. And at the -same time, he felt such a strength and a new power of life in his legs -as he strode the Australian way, that he threw back his head in a sort -of exultance. - -Let the exultance conquer. Let the tears go to blazes. - -When the coach came alongside, there was the old danger-look in his -eyes, a defiance, and something of the cat-look of a young lion. He did -not mount, but walked on up the hill. They were climbing the steep -Darling Ranges, and soon he had a wonderful view. There was the -wonderful clean new country spread out below him, so big, so soft, so -ancient in its virginity. And far beyond, the gleam of that strange -empty sea. He saw the grey-green bush ribboned with blue rivers, winding -to an unknown sea. And in his heart he was _determining_ to get what he -wanted. Even though he did not know what it was he wanted. In his heart -he clinched his determination to get it. To get it out of this ancient -country's virginity. - -He waited at the top of the hill. The horses came clop-clopping up. -Morning was warm and full of sun. They had rolled up the flaps of the -wagonette, and there was the beaming face of Mr. George, and the purple -face of Mr. Ellis, and the back of the head of the floss-haired child. - -Jack looked back again, when he had climbed to his seat and the horses -were breathing, to where the foot of the grey-bush hills rested in a -valley ribboned with rivers and patched with cultivation, all frail and -delicate in a dim ethereal light. - -"A land of promise! A land of promise," said Mr. George. "When I was -young I bid £1080 for 2,700 acres of it. But Hammersley bid twenty -pounds more, and got it.--Take up land, Jack Grant, take up land. Buy, -beg, borrow or steal land, but get it, sir, get it." - -"Hell have to go farther back to find it," said Mr. Ellis, from his blue -face. "He'll get none of what he sees there." - -"Oh, if he means to stay, he can jump it.--The law is always bendin' and -breakin', bendin' and breakin'." - -"Well, if he's going to live with me, Mr. George, don't put him on to -land-snatching," said Mr. Ellis. And the two men fell to a discussion of -Land Acts, Grants, Holdings, Claims, and Jack soon ceased to listen. He -thought the land looked lovely. But he had no desire to own any of it. -He never felt the possibility of "owning" land. There the land was, for -eternity. How could he own it?--Anyhow, it made no appeal to him along -those lines. - -But Mr. Ellis loved "timber" and broke the spell by pointing and saying: - -"See them trees, Jack my boy? Jarrah! Hills run one into the other way -to the Blackwood River. Hundreds of miles of beautiful jarrah timber. -The trees like this barren iron-stone formation. It's well they do, for -nothing else does." - -"There's one o' the mud-brick buildings the convicts lived in, while -they were building the road," said the driver, not to be done out of his -say. "One of the convicts broke and got away. Mostly when they went off -they was driven in by the bush. But this one never. They say he's -wanderin' yet. I say, dead." - -Mr. George was explaining the landscape. - -"Down there, Darlington. Governor Darling went down and never came back. -Went home the quick way.--Boya, native word for rock. Mahogany Creek -just above there. They'll see us coming. Kids watch from the rise, run -back and holloa. Pa catches rooster, black girl blows fire, Ma mixes -paste, yardman peels spuds,--dinner when we get there." - -"And, sir, Sam has a good brew, none better. Also, sir, though it looks -lonesome, he's mostly got company." - -"How's that?" - -"Well, sir, everyone comes for miles round to hear his missus play the -harmonium. Got it out from England, and if it doesn't break your heart -to hear it! The voice of the past! You'd love to hear it, Mr. Grant, -being new from home." - -"I'm sure I should," said Jack, thinking of the concert. - -The dinner at Mahogany Creek was as Mr. George had said. Afterwards, on -again through the bush. - -Towards the end of the afternoon the coach pulled up at a little -by-road, where stood a basket-work shay, and a tall young fellow in very -old clothes lounging with loose legs. - -"'Ere y'are!" said Grey, and walking the horses to the side of the road, -he scrambled down to pull water from a well. "Here we are!" said Mr. -Ellis from the back of the coach, where the tall youth was just -receiving the floss-haired baby between his big red hands. Fat Mr. Ellis -got down. The youth began pulling out Jack's bags and boxes, and Jack -hurried round to help him. - -"This is Tom," said Mr. Ellis. - -"Pleased to meet you," said Tom, holding out a big hand and clasping -Jack's hand hard for a moment. Then they went on piling the luggage on -the wicker shay. - -"That's the lot!" called Mr. Ellis. - -"Good-bye, Jack!" said Mr. George, leaning his grey head out of the -coach. "Be good and you'll be happy." - -Over which speech Jack puzzled mutely. But the floss-haired baby girl -was embracing his trouser legs. - -"I never knew you were an Ellis," he said to her. - -"Ay, she's another of 'em," said Mr. Ellis. - -The coach was going. Jack went over awkwardly and offered the driver a -two-shilling piece. - -"Put it back in y'r pocket, lad, y'll want it more than I shall," said -Grey unceremoniously. "The best o' luck to you, an' I mean it." - -They all packed into the shay, Jack sitting with his back to the horses, -the little girl tied in beside him, his smaller luggage bundled where it -could be stowed; and in absolute silence they drove through the silence -of the standing, motionless gum trees. Jack had never felt such silence. -At last they pulled up. Tom jumped down and drew a slip-rail, and they -passed a log fence, inside which there were many sheep, though it was -still bush. Tom got in again and they drove through bush, with -occasional sheep. Then Tom got down again--Jack could not see for what -purpose. The youth fetched an axe out of the cart and started chopping. -A tree was across the road: he was chopping at the broken part. There -came a sweet scent. - -"Raspberry jam!" said Mr. Ellis. "That's _acacia acuminata_, a beautiful -wood, good for fences, posts, pipes, walking-sticks. And they're burning -it off by the million acres." - -Tom pulled the trunk aside, and drove on again till he came to another -gate. Then they saw ahead a great clearing in the bush, and in the midst -of the clearing a "ginger-bread" house, made of wood slabs, with a -shingle roof running low all round to the verandahs. A woman in dark -homespun cloth with an apron and sunbonnet, and a young bearded man in -moleskins and blue shirt, came out with a cheery shout. - -"You get along inside and have some tea," said the young bearded man. -"I'll change the horses." - -The woman lifted down the baby, after having untied her. - -There was a door in the front of the house, a window on each side. But -they all went round under the eaves to the mud-brick kitchen behind, and -had tea. The woman hardly spoke, but she smiled and passed the tea and -nursed Ellie. When the young bearded man came in, he smiled and said: - -"I've got the mail out of the shay, Mr. Ellis." - -"That's all right," said Mr. Ellis. - -After which no one spoke again. - -When they set off once more, there was a splendid pair of greys on -either side the pole. - -"Bill and Lil," said Mr. Ellis. "My own breed. Angus lends us his for -the twenty miles to the cross roads. We've just changed them and got our -own. There's another twenty miles yet." - -It now began to rain, and gradually grew dark and cold. The bush was -dree, the dreest thing Jack had ever known. Rugs and mackintoshes were -fetched out, the baby was fastened snug in a corner out of the wet, and -the horses kept up a steady pace. And then, as Nature went to roost, Mr. -Ellis woke up and pulled out his pipe, to begin a conversation. - -"How's Ma?" - -"Great!" - -"How's Gran?" - -"Same." - -"All well?" - -"Yes." - -"He's come twenty miles," thought Jack, "and he only asks now!" - -"See the doctor in town, Dad?" asked Tom. - -"I did." - -"What'd he say?" - -"Oh, heart's wrong all right, just what Rackett said. But might live to -be older than he is. So I might too, lad." - -"So you will an' all, Dad." - -And then Mr. Ellis, as if desperate to change the conversation, pulling -hard at his pipe: - -"Jersey cow calved?" - -"Yes." - -"Bull again?" - -"No, heifer. Beauty." - -They both smiled silently. Then Tom's tongue suddenly was loose. - -"Little beauty, she is. And the Berkshire has farrowed nine little -prize-winners. Cowslip came on with 'er butter since she come on to the -barley. I cot them twins Og an' Magog peltin' the dogs with eggs, an' -them so scarce, so I wopped 'em both. That black spaniel bitch, I had to -kill her for she worried one o' the last batch o' sucking pigs, though I -don't know how she come to do such a thing. I've finished fallowin' in -the bottom meadow, an' I'm glad you're back to tell us what to get on -wif." - -"How's clearing in th' Long Mile Paddock?" - -"Only bin down there once. Sam's doin' all right." - -"Hear anything of the Gum Tree Gully clearing gang?" - -"Message from Spencer, an' y' t'go down some time--as soon's y' can." - -"Well, I want the land reclaimed this year, an' I want it gone on with. -Never know what'll happen, Tom. I'd like for you to go down there, Tom. -You c'n take th' young feller behind here with you, soon's the girls -come home." - -"What's he like?" - -"Seems a likely enough young chap. Old George put in a good word for'm." - -"Bit of a toff." - -"Never you mind, s' long's his head's not toffy." - -"Know anything?" - -"Shouldn't say so." - -"Some fool?" - -"Don't know. You find out for y'self." - -Silence. - -Jack heard it all. But if he hadn't heard it, he could easily have -imagined it. - -"Yes, you find out," he thought to himself, going dazed with fatigue and -indifference as he huddled under the blanket, hearing the horses' hoofs -clop-clop! and the rain splash on his shoulders. Sometimes the horses -pulled slow and hard in the dark, sometimes they bowled along. He could -see nothing. Sometimes there was a snort and jangle of harness, and the -wheels resounding hollow. "Bridging something," thought Jack. And he -wondered how they found their way in the utter dark, for there were no -lamps. The trees dripped heavily. - -And then, at the end of all things, Tom jumped down and opened a gate. -Hope! But on and on and on. Stop!--hope!--another gate. On and on. Same -again. And so interminably. - -Till at last some intuition seemed to communicate to Jack the presence -of home.--The rain had stopped, the moon was out. Ghostly and weird the -bush, with white trunks spreading like skeletons. There opened a -clearing, and a dog barked. A horse neighed near at hand. There were no -trees, a herd of animals was moving in the dusk. And then a dark house -loomed ahead, unlighted. The shay drove on, and round to the back. A -door opened, a woman's figure stood in the candle-light and firelight. - -"All right, Ma!" called Tom. - -"All right, dear!" called Mr. Ellis. - -"All right!" shrilled a little voice---- - -Well, here they were, in the kitchen. Mrs. Ellis was a brown-haired -woman with a tired look in her eyes. She looked a long time at Jack, -holding his hand in her one hand and feeling his wet coat with the -other. - -"You're wet. But you can go to bed when you've had your supper. I hope -you'll be all right. Tom'll look after you." - -She was hoping that he would only bring good with him. She was all -mother: and mother of her own children first. She felt kindly towards -him. But he was another woman's son. - -When they had eaten, Tom led the newcomer away out of the house, across -a little yard, threw open a door in the dark, and lit a candle stuck in -the neck of a bottle. Jack looked round at the mud floor, the windowless -window, the unlined wooden walls, the calico ceiling, and he was glad. -He was to share this cubby hole, as they called it, with the other Ellis -boys. His truckle bed was fresh and clean. He was content. It wasn't -stuffy, it was rough and remote. - -When he opened his portmanteau to get out his nightshirt he asked Tom -where he was to put his clothes. For there was no cupboard or chest of -drawers or anything. - -"On your back or under your bed," said Tom. "Or I might find y' an old -packing case, if y're decent.--But say, ol' bloke, lemme give y'a hint. -Don't y' get sidey or nosey up here, puttin' on jam an suchlike, f'r if -y'do y'll shame me in front of strangers, an' I won't stand it." - -"Jam, did you say?" - -"Yes, jam, macaroni, cockadoodle. We're plain people out here-aways, not -mantel ornaments nor dickey-toffs, an' we want no flash sparks round, -see?" - -"_I'm_ no flash spark," said Jack. "Not enough for 'em at home. It's too -much fist and too little toff, that's the matter with me." - -"C'n y' use y'r fists?" - -"Like to try me?" - -Jack shaped up to him. - -"Oh for the love o' Mike," laughed Tom, "stow the haw-haw gab! You'll do -me though, I think." - -"I'll try to oblige," said Jack, rolling into bed. - -"Here!" said Tom sharply. "Out y' get an' say y' prayers." - -"What sortta example for them kids of ours, gettin' into bed an' -forgettin' y'r prayers?" - -Jack eyed the youth. - -"You say yours?" he asked. - -"Should say I do. Gran is on ter me right cruel if I don't see to it, -_whoever_ sleeps in this cubby. They has ter say their prayers, see?" - -"All right!" said Jack laconically. - -And he obediently got up, kneeled on the mud floor, and gabbled through -his quota. Somewhere in his heart he was touched by the simple honesty -of the boy. And somewhere else he was writhing with slow, contemptuous -repugnance at the vulgar tyranny. - -But he called again to his aid that natural indifference of his, -grounded on contempt. And also a natural boyish tolerance, because he -saw that Tom had a naive, if rather vulgar, good-will. - -He gabbled through his prayers wearily, but scrupulously to the last -Amen. Then rolled again into bed to sleep till morning, and forget, -forget, forget! He depended on his power of absolute forgetting. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -WANDOO - - -I - - -Two things struggled in Jack's mind when he awoke in the morning. The -first was the brave idea that he had left everything behind, that he had -done with his boyhood and was going to enter into his own. The second -was a noise of somebody quoting Latin and clicking wooden dumb-bells. - -Jack opened his eyes. There were four beds in the cubby hole. Between -two beds stood a thin boy of about thirteen, swinging dumb-bells, and -facing two small urchins who were faithfully imitating him, except that -they did not repeat the Latin tags. They were all dressed in short -breeches loosely held up by braces, and under-vests. - -_Veni!_ up went their arms smartly,--_vidi!_ down came the dubs to -horizontal,--_vici!_ the clubs were down by their sides. - -Jack smiled to himself and dozed again. It was scarcely dawn. He was -dimly aware of the rain pattering on the shingle roof. - -"Ain't ye gettin' up this morning?" - -It was Tom standing contemplating him. The children had run out barefoot -and bare-armed in the rain. - -"Is it morning?" asked Jack, stretching. - -"Not half. We've fed th' osses. Come on." - -"Where do I wash?" - -"At the pump. Look slippy and get your clothes on. Our men live over at -Red's, we have to look sharp in the morning." - -Jack looked slippy, and went out to wash in the tin dish by the pump. -The rain was abating, but it seemed a damp performance. - -By the time he was really awake, the day had come clear. It was a fine -morning, the air fresh with the smell of flowering shrubs: silver -wattle, spirea, daphne and syringa which Ellis grew in his garden. -Already the sun was coming warm. - -The house was a low stone building with a few trees round it. But all -the life went on here at the back, here where the pump was, and the -various yards and wooden out-buildings. There was a vista of open -clearing, and a few huge gum-trees. The sky was already blue, a certain -mist lay below the great isolated trees. - -In the yard a score of motherless lambs were penned, bleating, their -silly faces looking up at Jack confidently, expecting the milk bottle. -He walked with his hands in the pockets of his old English tweeds, -feeling over-dressed and a bit out of place. Cows were tethered to posts -or standing loose about the fenced yard, and the half-caste Tim, and -Lennie, the dumb-bell boy, and a girl, were silently milking. The heavy, -pure silence of the Australian morning. - -Jack stood at a little distance. A cat whisked across the yard and ran -up a queer-looking pine-tree, a dissipated old cow moved about at -random. "Hey you!" shouted Tom impatiently, "Take hoult of that cart -toss nosin' his way inter th' chaff-house, and bring him here. An' see -to that grey's ropes: she's chewin' 'em free. Look slippy, make yourself -useful." - -There was a tone of amiability and intimacy mixed with this bossy -shouting. Jack ran to the cart toss. He couldn't help liking Tom and the -rest. They were so queer and naive, and they seemed oddly forlorn, like -waifs lost in this new country. Jack had always had a leaning towards -waifs and lost people. They were the only people whose bossing he didn't -mind. - -The children at their various tasks were singing in shrill, clear -voices, with a sort of street-arab abandon. Lennie, the boy, would break -the shrilling of the twin urchins with a sudden musical yell, from the -side of the cow he was milking. And they seemed to sing anything, songs, -poetry, nonsense, anything that came into their heads, like birds -singing variously and at random. - - -"The blue, the fresh, the ever free -I am where I would ever be -With the blue above, and the blue below--" - - -Then a yell from Lennie by the cows: - - -"And wherever thus in childhood's _our_--" - - -The twins: - - -"I never was on the dull tame shore -But I loved the great sea more and more--" - - -Again a sudden and commanding yell from Lennie. - -"I never loved a dear gazelle -To glad me with its soft black eye, -But, when it came to know me well -And love me--" - - -Here the twins, as if hypnotized, howled out-- - - -"--it was sure to die." - - -They kept up this ragged yelling in the new, soft morning, like lost -wild things. Jack laughed to himself. But they were quite serious. The -elders were dumb-silent. Only the youngsters made all this noise. Was it -a sort of protest against the great silence of the country? Was it their -young, lost effort in the noiseless antipodes, whose noiselessness seems -like a doom at last? They yelled away like wild little lost things, with -an uncanny abandon. It pleased Jack. - - - - -II - - -They had all gone silent again, and collected under the peppermint tree -at the back door, where Ma ladled out tea into mugs for everybody. Ma -was Mrs. Ellis. She still had the tired, distant look in her eyes, and a -tired bearing, and she seemed to take no notice of anybody, either when -she was in the kitchen or when she came out with pie to the group -squatting under the tree. When anyone said: "Some more tea, Ma!" she -silently ladled out the brew. Jack was not a very intent observer. But -he was-struck by Mrs. Ellis' silence and her "drawn" look. - -Tom came and hitched himself up against the trunk of the tree. Lennie -was sitting opposite on a log, holding his tin mug and eyeing the -stranger in silence. On another log sat the two urchins, sturdy, wild -little brats, barefooted, bare-legged, bare-armed, as Jack had first -seen them, their dress still consisting of a little pair of pants and a -cotton undervest: and a pair of braces. The last seemed by far the most -important garment. Lennie was clothed, or unclothed, the same, while Tom -had added a pair of boots. The bare arms out of the cotton vests were -brown and smooth, and they gave the boys and the youth a curiously naked -look. A girl of about twelve, in a dark-blue spotted pinafore and a rag -of red hair-ribbon, sat on a little stump near the twins. She was silent -like her mother--but not yet "drawn." - -"What d'ye think of Og an' Magog?" said Tom, pointing with his mug at -the twins. "Called for giants 'cos they're so small." - -Jack did not know what to think. He tried to smile benevolently. - -"An' that's Katie," continued Tom, indicating the girl, who at once -looked foolish. "She's younger'n Lennie, but she's pretty near his size. -He's another little 'un. Little an' cheeky, that's what he is. Too much -cheek for his age--which is fourteen. You'll have to keep him in his -place, I tell you straight." - -"Ef ye _ken!_" murmured Len with a sour face. - -Then, chirping up with a real street-arab pertness, he seemed to ignore -Jack as he asked brightly of Tom: - -"An' who's My Lord Duke of Early Risin', if I might be told?--For before -Gosh he sports a tidy raiment." - -"Now, Len, none o' yer lingo!" warned Tom. - -"Who is he, anyway, as you should go tellin' him to keep me in my -place?" - -"No offence intended, I'm sure," said Jack pleasantly. - -"_Taken_ though!" said Lennie, with such a black look that Jack's colour -rose in spite of himself. - -"You keep a civil tongue in your head, or I'll punch it for you," he -said. He and Lennie stared each other in the eye. - -Lennie had a beautiful little face, with an odd pathos like some lovely -girl, and grey eyes that could change to black. Jack felt a certain pang -of love for him, and in the same instant remembered that she-lioness cub -of a Monica. Perhaps she too had the same odd, lovely pathos, like a -young animal that runs alert and alone in the wood. Why did these -children seem so motherless and fatherless, so much on their own?--It -was very much how Jack felt himself. Yet he was not pathetic. - -Lennie suddenly smiled whimsically, and Jack knew he was let into the -boy's heart. Queer! Up till now they had all kept a door shut against -him. Now Len had opened the door. Jack saw the winsomeness and pathos of -the boy vividly, and loved him, too. But it was still remote. And still -mixed up in it was the long stare of that Monica. - -"That's right, you tell 'im," said Tom. "What I say here--no back chat, -an' no tales told. That's what's the motto on this station." - -"_Obey an' please my Lord Tom Noddy_," - -"_So God shall love and angels aid ye_----" said Lennie, standing -tip-toe on his log and balancing his bare feet, and repeating his rhyme -with an abstract impudence, as if the fiends of air could hear him. - -"Aw, shut up, you!" said Tom. "You've got ter get them 'osses down to -Red's. Take Jack an' show him." - -"I'll show him," said Len, munching a large piece of pie as he set off. - -"Ken ye ride, Jack?" - -Jack didn't answer, because his riding didn't amount to much. - - - - -III - - -Len unhitched four heavy horses, led them into the yard, and put the -ropes into Jack's hands. The child marched so confidently under the -noses of the great creatures, as they planted their shaggy feet. And he -was such a midget, and with his brown bare arms and bare legs and feet, -and his vivid face, he looked so "tender." Jack's heart moved with -tenderness. - -"Don't you ever wear boots?" he asked. - -"Not if I k'n help it. Them kids now, they won't neither, 'n I don't -blame 'em. Last boots Ma sent for was found all over the manure heap, so -the old man said he'd buy no more boots, an' a good job too. The only -thing as scares me is double-gees: spikes all roads and Satan's face on -three sides. Ever see double-gees?" - -Len was leading three ponderous horses. He started peering on the road, -the horses marching just behind his quick little figure. Then he found a -burr with three queer sides and a sort of face on each side with -sticking-out hair. - -He was a funny kid, with his scraps of Latin and tags of poetry. Jack -wondered that he wasn't self-conscious and ashamed to quote poetry. But -he wasn't. He chirped them off, the bits of verse, as if they were a -natural form of expression. - -They had led the horses to another stable. Len again gave the ropes to -Jack, disappeared, and returned leading a saddled stock-horse. Holding -the reins of the saddle-horse, the boy scrambled up the neck of one of -the big draft-horses like a monkey. - -"Which are you goin' to ride?" he asked Jack from the height. "I'm -taking three an' leading Lucy. You take the other three." - -So he received the three halter ropes. - -"I think I'll walk," said Jack. - -"Please y'self. You k'n open the gates easy walkin'; and comin' back -I'll do it, 'n you k'n ride Lucy an I'll ride behind pinion so's I can -slip down easy." - -Yes, Lennie was a joy. On the return journey, when Jack was in the -saddle riding Lucy, Len flew up behind him and stood on the horse's -crupper, his hands on Jack's shoulders, crying: "Let 'er go!" At the -first gate, he slid down like a drop of water, then up again, this time -sitting back to back with Jack, facing the horse's tail, and whistling -briskly. Suddenly he stopped whistling, and said: - -"Y've seen everybody but Gran an' Doc. Rackett, haven' you? He teaches -me--a rum sortta dock he is, too, never there when he's wanted. But he's -a real doctor all right: signs death certificates an' no questions -asked. Y' c'd do a murder, 'n if you was on the right side of him, y'd -never be hung. He'd say the corpse died of natural causes." - -"I didn't know a corpse died," said Jack laughing. - -"Didn't yer? Well yer know now!--Gran's as good as a corpse, an' she -don't want her die. She put on Granfer's grave: 'Left desolate, but not -without hope.' So they all thought she'd get married again. But she -never.--Did y' go to one of them English schools?" - -"Yes." - -"Ever wear a bell-topper?" - -"Once or twice." - -"Gosh!--May I never go to school, God help me. I should die of shame and -disgrace. Arrayed like a little black pea in a pod, learnin' to be -useless. Look at Rackett. School, an' Cambridge, an' comes inter money. -Wastes it. Wastes his life. Now he's teachin' me, an' th' only useful -thing he ever did." - -After a pause, Jack ventured. - -"Who is Dr. Rackett?" - -"A waster. Down and out waster. He's got a sin. I don't know what it is, -but it's wastin' his soul away." - - - - -IV - - -It was no use Jack's trying to thread it all together. It was a -bewilderment, so he let it remain so. It seemed to him, that right at -the very core of all of them was the same bewildered vagueness: Mr. -Ellis, Mrs. Ellis, Tom, the men--they all had that empty bewildered -vagueness at the middle of them. Perhaps Lennie was most on the spot. -The others just could attend to their jobs, no more. - -Jack still had no acquaintance with anyone but Tom and Len. He never got -an answer from Og and Magog. They just grinned and wriggled. Then there -was Katie. Then Harry, a fat, blue-eyed small boy. And then that -floss-haired Ellie who had come from Perth. And smaller than her, the -baby. All very confusing. - -The second morning, when they were at the proper breakfast, Dad suddenly -said: - -"Ma! D'ye know where the new narcissus bulbs are gone? I was waiting to -plant 'em till I got back." - -"I've not seen them since ye put them in the shed at the end of the -verandah, dear." - -"Well, they're gone." - -Dead silence. - -"Is 'em like onions?" asked Og, pricking up intelligently. - -"Yes. They are! Have you seen them?" asked Dad sternly. - -"I see Baby eatin' 'em, Dad," replied Og calmly. - -"What, my bulbs, as I got out from England! Why, what the dickens, Ma, -d'you let that mischievous monkey loose for? My precious narcissus -bulbs, the first I've ever had. An' besides--Ma! I'm not sure but what -they're poison." - -The parents looked at one another, then at the gay baby. There is a -general consternation. Ma gets the long, evil blue bottle of castor oil -and forcibly administers a spoonful to the screaming baby. Dad hurries -away, unable to look on the torture of the baby--the last of his name. -He goes to hunt for the bulbs in the verandah shed. Tom says, "By Gosh!" -and sits stupefied. Katie jumps up and smacks Og for telling tales, and -Magog flies at Katie for touching Og. Jack, as a visitor, unused to -family life, is a little puzzled. - -Lennie meanwhile calmly continues to eat his large mutton chop. The -floss-haired Ellie toddles off talking to herself. She comes back just -as intent, wriggles on her chair on her stomach, manages to mount, and -puts her two fists on the table, clutching various nibbled, onion-like -roots. - -"Vem's vem, ain't they, Dad? She never ate 'em. She got 'em out vis -mornin' and was suckin' 'em, so I took 'em from her an' hid 'em for -you." - -"Should Dad have said Narcissi or Narcissuses?" asked Len from over his -coffee mug, in the hollow voice of one who speaks out of his cups. - -Nobody answered. The baby was shining with castor oil. Jack sat in a -kind of stupefaction. Everybody ate mutton chops in noisy silence, -oppressively, and chewed huge doorsteps of bread. - -Then there entered a melancholy, well-dressed young fellow who looked -like a daguerreotype of a melancholy young gentleman. He sauntered in in -silence, and pulling out his chair, sat down at table without a word. -Katie ran to bring his breakfast, which was on a plate on the hearth, -keeping warm. Then she sat down again. The meal was even more -oppressive. Everybody was eating quickly, to get away. - -And then Gran opened the door leading from the parlour, and stood there -like the portrait of an old, old lady, stood there immovable, just -looking on, like some ghost. Jack's blood ran cold. The boys, pushing -back their empty plates, went quietly out to the verandah, to the air. -Jack followed, clutching his cap, that he had held all the time on his -knee. - -Len was pulling off his shirt. The boys had to wear shirts at meal -times. - -This was the wild new country! Jack's sense of bewilderment deepened. -Also he felt a sort of passionate love for the family--as a savage must -feel for his tribe. He felt he would never leave the family. He must -always be near them, always in close physical contact with them. And yet -he was just a trifle horrified by it all. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE LAMBS COME HOME - - -I - - -A month later Tom and Lennie went off with the greys, Bill and Lil, to -fetch the girls. It had been wet, so Jack had spent most of his day in -the sheds mending corn sacks. He was dressed now in thick cotton -trousers, coloured shirt, and grey woollen socks, and copper-toed boots. -When he went ploughing, by Tom's advice he wore "lasting" socks--none. - -His tweed coat hung on a nail on the wall of the cubby, his good -trousers and vest were under the mattress of his bed. The only useful -garment he had brought had been the old riding breeches of the -Agricultural College days. - -On the back of his Tom-clipped hair was an ant-heap of an old felt hat, -and so he sat, hour after hour, sewing the sacks with a big needle. He -was certainly not unhappy. He had a sort of passion for the family. The -family was almost his vice. He felt he must be there with the family, -and then nothing else mattered. Dad and Ma were the silent, unobtrusive -pillars of the house. Tom was the important young person. Lennie was the -soul of the place. Og and Magog were the mischievous life. Then there -was Harry, whom Jack didn't like, and the little girls, to be looked -after. Dr. Rackett hovered round like an uneasy ghost, and Gran was -there in her room. Now the girls were coming home. - -Jack felt he had sunk into the family, merged his individuality, and he -would never get out. His own father and mother, England, or the future, -meant nothing to him. He loved this family. He loved Tom, and Lennie, -and he wanted always to be with all of them. This was how it had taken -him: as a real passion. - -He loved, too, the ugly stone house, especially the south side, the -shady side, which was the back where the peppermint tree stood. If you -entered the front door--which nobody did--you were in a tiny passage -from which opened the parlour on one side, and the dying room on the -other. Tom called it the dying room because it had never been used for -any other purpose by the family. Old Mr. Ellis had been carried down -there to die. So had his brother Willie. As Tom explained: "The -staircase is too narrow to handle a coffin." - -Through the passage you dropped a step into the living room. On the -right from this you stepped up a step into the kitchen, and on the left, -up a step into Gran's room. Gran's room had once been the whole house: -the rest had been added on. It is often so in Australia. - -From the sitting room you went straight on to the back verandah, and -there were the four trees, and a fenced-in garden, and the yards. The -garden had gay flowers, because Mr. Ellis loved them, and a round, -stone-walled well. Alongside was the yard, marked off by the four trees -into a square: a mulberry one side the kitchen door, a pepper the other, -a photosphorum with a seat under it a little way off, and across, a -Norfolk pine and half a fir tree. - -Tom would talk to Jack about the family: a terrible tangle, they both -thought. Why, there was Gran, endless years old! Dad was fifty, and he -and Uncle Easu (dead) were her twins and her only sons. However, she had -seven daughters and, it seemed to Jack, hundreds of grandchildren, most -of them grown up with more children of their own. - -"I could never remember all their names," he declared. - -"I don't try," said Tom. "Neither does Gran. And I don't believe she -cares a tuppenny for 'em--for any of 'em, except Dad and us." - -Gran was a delicate old lady with a lace cap, and white curly hair, and -an ivory face. She made a great impression on Jack, as if she were the -presiding deity of the family. Over her head as she sat by the sitting -room fire an old clock tick-tocked. That impressed Jack, too. There was -something weird in her age, her pallor, her white hair and white cap, -her remoteness. She was very important in the house, but mostly -invisible. - -Lennie, Katie, Og and Magog, Harry, Ellie with the floss-hair and the -baby: these counted as "the children." Tom, who had had another mother, -not Ma, was different. And now the other twins, Monica and Grace, were -coming. These were the lambs. Jack, as he sat mending the sacks, -passionately in love with the family and happy doing any sort of work -there, thought of himself as a wolf in sheep's clothing, and laughed. - -He wondered why he didn't like Harry. Harry was six, rather fat and -handsome, and strong as a baby bull. But he was always tormenting Baby. -Or was it Baby tormenting Harry? - -Harry had got a picture book, and was finding out letters. Baby crawled -over and fell on the book. Harry snatched it away. Baby began to scream. -Ma interfered. - -"Let Baby have it, dear." - -"She'll tear it, Ma." - -"Let her, dear. I'll get you another." - -"When?" - -"Some day, Harry. When I go to Perth." - -"Ya.--Some day! Will ye get it Monday?" - -"Oh, Harry, do be quiet, do----" - -Then Baby and Harry tore the book between them in their shrieking -struggles, while Harry battered the cover on the baby's head. And a hot, -dangerous, bullying look would come into his eyes, the look of a bully. -Jack knew that look already. He would know it better before he had done -with Australia. - -And yet Baby adored Harry. He was her one god. - -Jack always marvelled over that baby. To him it was a little monster. It -had not lived twelve months, yet God alone knew the things it knew. The -ecstacy with which it smacked its red lips and showed its toothless gums -over sweet, sloppy food. The diabolic screams if it was thwarted. The -way it spat out "lumps" from the porridge! How on earth, at that age, -had it come to have such a mortal hatred for lumps in porridge? The way -its nose had to be held when it was given castor oil! And again, though -it protested so violently against lumps in porridge, how it loved such -abominations as plaster, earth, or the scrapings of the pig's bucket. - -When you found it cramming dirt into its mouth, and scolded it, it would -hold up its hands wistfully to have them cleaned. And it didn't mind a -bit, then, if you swabbed its mouth out with a lump of rag. - -It was a girl. It loved having a new clean frock on. Would sit gurgling -and patting its stomach, in a new smart frock, so pleased with itself. -Astounding! - -It loved bulls and stallions and great pigs, running between their legs. -And yet it yelled in unholy terror if fowls or dogs came near. Went into -convulsions over the friendly old dog, or a quiet hen pecking near its -feet. - -It was always trying to scuttle into the stable, where the horses stood. -And it had an imbecile desire to put its hand in the fire. And it adored -that blue-eyed bully of a Harry, and didn't care a straw for the mother -that slaved for it. Harry, who treated it with scorn and hate, pinching -it, cuffing it, shoving it out of its favorite positions--off the grass -patch, off the hearth-rug, off the sofa-end. But it knew exactly the -moment to retaliate, to claw his cap from his head and clutch his fair -curls, or to sweep his bread and jam on to the floor, into the dust, if -possible .... - -To Jack it was all just incredible. - - - - -II - - -But it was part of the family, and so he loved it. - -He dearly loved the cheeky Len. - -"What d'y' want ter say 'feece' for? Why can't yer say 'fyce' like any -other bloke?--and why d'y' wash y'fyce before y'wash y'hands?" - -"I like the water clean for my face." - -"What about your dirty hands, smarmin' them over it?" - -"You use a flannel or a sponge." - -"If y've got one! Y'don't find 'em growin' in th' bush. Why can't y' -learn offa me now, an' be proper. Ye'll be such an awful sukey when -y'goes out campin', y'll shame y'self. Y'should wash y'hands first. Frow -away th' water if y'not short, but y' will be. Then when y've got -y'hands all soapy, sop y' fyce up an' down, not round an' round like a -cat does. Then pop y' nut under th' pump an' wring it dry. Don't never -waste y' huckaback on it. Y'll want that f' somefin' else." - -"What else shall I want my towel for?" - -"Wroppin' up things in, meat an' damper, an't'lay down for y'meal, -against th' ants, or to put over it against th' insex." - -Then from Tom. - -"Hey, nipper knowall, dry up! I've taught you the way you should behave, -haven't I? Well, I can teach Jack Grant, without any help from you. -Skedaddle!" - -"Hope y' can! Sorry for y', havin' to try," said Len as he skedaddled. - -Tom was the head of the clan, and the others gave him leal obedience and -a genuine, if impudent homage. - -"What a funny kid!" said Jack. "He's different from the rest of you, and -his lingo's rotten." - -"He's not dif!" said Tom. "'Xactly same. Same's all of us--same's all -the nips round here. He went t' same school as Monica and Grace an' me, -to Aunt's school in th' settlement, till Dr. Rackett came. If he's any -different, he got it from _him_: he's English." - -Jack noticed they always spoke of Dr. Rackett as if he were a species of -rattlesnake that they kept tame about the place. - -"But Ma got Dad to get the Doc, 'cos she can't bear to part with Len -even for a day--to give'm lessons at home.--I suppose he's her eldest -son.--Doc needn't, he's well-to-do. But he likes it, when he's here. -When he's not, Lennie slopes off and reads what he pleases. But it makes -no difference to Len, he's real clever. And--" Tom added grinning--"he -wouldn't speak like you do neither, not for all the tin in a cow's -bucket." - -To Jack, fresh from an English Public school, Len was amazing. If he -hurt himself sharply, he sat and cried for a minute or two. Tears came -straight out, as if smitten from a rock. If he read a piece of sorrowful -poetry, he just sat and cried, wiping his eyes on his arm without -heeding anybody. He was greedy, and when he wanted to, he ate -enormously, in front of grown-up people. And yet you never minded. He -talked poetry, or raggy bits of Latin, with great sententiousness and in -the most awful accent, and without a qualm. Everything he did was right -in his own eyes. Perfectly right in his own eyes. - -His mother was fascinated by him. - -Three things he did well: he rode, bare-back, standing up, lying down, -anyhow. He rode like a circus rider. Also he boasted--heavens high. And -thirdly, he could laugh. There was something so sudden, so blithe, so -impish, so daring, and so wistful in his lit-up face when he laughed, -that your heart melted in you like a drop of water. - -Jack loved him passionately: as one of the family. - -And yet even to Lennie, Tom was the hero. Tom, the slow Tom, the rather -stupid Tom. To Lennie Tom's very stupidity was manly. Tom was so -dependable, so manly, such a capable director. He never gave trouble to -anyone, he was so complacent and self-reliant. Lennie was the -love-child, the elf. But Tom was the good, ordinary Man, and therefore -the hero. - -Jack also loved Tom. But he did not accept his manliness so absolutely. -And it hurt him a little, that the strange sensitive Len should put -himself so absolutely in obedience and second place to the good plain -fellow. But it was so. Tom was the chief. Even to Jack. - - - - -III - - -When Tom was away, Jack felt as if the pivot of all activity was -missing. Mr. Ellis was not the real pivot. It was the plain, red-faced -Tom. - -Tom had talked a good deal, in snatches, to Jack. It was the family that -bothered him, as usual. He always talked the family. - -"My grandfather came out here in the early days. He was a merchant and -lost all his money in some East India business. He married Gran in -Melbourne, then they came out here. They had a bit of a struggle, but -they made good. Then Grampa died without leaving a will: which -complicated things for Gran. Dad and Easu was twins, but Dad was the -oldest. But Dad had wandered: he was gone for years and no one knows -what he did all the time. - -"But Gran liked him best, and he was the eldest son, so she had this -place all fixed up for him when he came back. She'd a deal of trouble -getting the Reds out. All the A'nts were on their side--on the Red's -side. We always call Uncle Easu's family the Reds. And Aunt Emmie says -she's sure Uncle Easu was born first, and not Dad. And that Gran took a -fancy to Dad from the first, so she said he was the eldest. Anyhow it's -neither here nor there.--I hope to goodness I never get twins.--It runs -in the family, and of all the awful things! Though the Easu's have got -no twins. Seven sons and no girls, and no twins. Uncle Easu's dead, so -young Red runs their place. - -"Uncle Easu was a nasty scrub, anyway. He married the servant girl, and -a servant girl no better than she should be, they say. - -"He didn't make no will, either. Making no wills runs in the family, as -well as twins. Dad won't. His Dad wouldn't, and he won't neither." - -Which meant, Jack knew, that by the law of the colony the property would -come to Tom. - -"Oh. Gran's crafty all right! She never got herself talked about, -turning the Reds out! She saved up a stocking--Gran always has a -stocking. And she saved up an' bought 'em out. She persuaded them that -the land beyond this was better'n this. She worked in with 'em while Dad -was away, like the fingers on your hand: and bought that old barn of a -place over yonder for 'em, and bounced 'em into it. Gran's crafty, when -it's anyone she cares about. Now it's Len. - -"Anyhow there it was when Dad came back, Wandoo all ready for him. He -brought me wrapped in a blanket. Old Tim, our half-caste man, was his -servant and there was my old nurse. That's all there is we know about -me. I know no more, neither who I am nor where I sprung from. And Dad -never lets on. - -"He came back with a bit of money, and Gran made him marry Ma to mind -me. She said I was such a squalling little grub, and she wanted me -brought up decent. So Ma did it. But Gran never quite fancied me. - -"It's a funny thing, seeing how I come, that I should be so steady and -ordinary, and Len should be so clever and unsteady. You'd ha' thought I -should be Len and him me. - -"Who was my mother? That's what I want to know. Who was she? And Dad -won't never say. - -"Anyhow she wasn't black, so what does it matter, anyhow? - -"But it _does_ matter!"--Tom brought his fist down with a smack in the -palm of his other hand. "Nobody is ordinary to their mother, and I'm -ordinary to everybody, and I wish I wasn't." - -Funny of Tom. Everybody depended on him so, he was the hero of the -establishment, because he was so steady and ordinary and dependable. And -now even he was wishing himself different. You never knew how folks -would take themselves. - - - - -IV - - -As for the Reds, Jack had been over to their place once or twice. They -were a rough crowd of men and youths, father and mother both dead. A -bachelor establishment. When there was any extra work to be done, the -Wandoos went over there to help. And the Reds came over to Wandoo the -same. In fact they came more often to Wandoo than the Ellises went to -them. - -Jack felt the Reds didn't like him. So he didn't care for them. Red -Ellis, the eldest son, was about thirty years old, a tall, sinewy, -red-faced man with reddish hair and reddish beard and staring blue eyes. -One morning when Tom and Mr. Ellis were out mustering and tallying, Jack -was sent over to the Red house. This was during Jack's first fortnight -at Wandoo. - -Red the eldest met him in the yard. - -"Where's y'oss?" - -"I haven't one. Mr. Ellis said you'd lend me one." - -"Can y' ride?" - -"More or less." - -"What d'ye want wearin' that Hyde Park costume out here for?" - -"I've nothing else to ride in," said Jack, who was in his old riding -breeches. - -"Can't y' ride in trousers?" - -"Can't keep 'em over my knees, yet." - -"Better learn then, smart 'n'lively. Keep them down, 'n' y'socks up. -Come on then, blast ye, an' I'll see about a horse." - -They went to the stockyard, an immense place. But it was an empty desert -now, save for a couple of black-boys holding a wild-looking bay. Red -called out to them: - -"Caught Stampede, have y'? Well, let 'im go again afore y' break y' -necks. Y'r not to ride him, d'y hear?--What's in the stables, Ned?" - -"Your mare, master. Waiting for you." - -"What y' got besides, ye grinning jackasses? Find something for Mr. -Grant here, an' look slippy." - -"Oh, master, no horse in, no knowin' stranger come." - -Red turned to Jack. Easu was a coarse, swivel-eyed, loose-jointed tall -fellow. - -"Y' hear that. Th' only thing left in this yard is Stampede. Ye k'n take -him or leave him, if y'r frightened of him. I'm goin' tallyin' sheep, -an' goin' now. If ye stop around idlin' all day, y'needn't tell Uncle -'twas my fault." - -Jack hesitated. From a colonial point of view, he couldn't ride well, -and he knew it. Yet he hated Easu's insulting way. Easu went grinning to -the stable to fetch his mare, pleased with himself. He didn't want the -young Jackeroo planted on _him_, to teach any blankey thing to. - -Jack went slowly over to the quivering Stampede, and asked the blacks if -they had ever ridden him. One answered: - -"Me only fella ride 'im some time master not tomorrow. Me an' Ned catch -him in mob longa time--Try break him--no good. He come back paddock one -day. Ned wantta break him. No good. Master tell 'im let 'im go now." - -Red Easu came walking out of the stable, chewing a stalk. - -"Put the saddle on him," said Jack to the blacks. "Ill try." - -The boys grinned and scuffled round. They rather liked the job. By being -very quick and light, Jack got into the saddle, and gripped. The boys -stood back, the horse stood up, and then whirled around on his hind -legs, and round and down. Then up and away like a squib round the yard. -The boys scattered, so did Easu, but Jack, because it was natural for -his legs to grip and stick, stuck on. His bones rattled, his hat flew -off, his heart beat high. But unless the horse came down backwards on -top of him, he could stay on. And he was not really afraid. He thought: -"If he doesn't go down backwards on top of me, I shall be all right." -And to the boys he called: "Open the gate!" Meanwhile he tried to quiet -the horse. "Steady now, steady!" he said, in a low, intimate voice. -"Steady boy!" And all the time he held on with his thighs and knees, -like iron. - -He did not believe in the innate viciousness of the horse. He never -believed in the innate viciousness of anything, except a man. And he did -not want to fight the horse for simple mastery. He wanted just to hold -it hard with his legs until it soothed down a little, and he and it -could come to an understanding. But he must never relax the hold of his -hard legs, or he was dead. - -Stampede was not ready for the gate. He sprang fiercely at it as if it -had been guarded by fire. Once in the open, he ran, and bucked, and -bucked, and ran, and kicked, and bucked, and ran. Jack stuck on with the -lower half of his body like a vise, feeling as if his head would be -jerked off his shoulders. It was becoming hard work. But he knew, unless -he stuck on, he was a dead man. - -Then he was aware that Stampede was bolting, and Easu was coming along -on a grey mare. - -Now they reached the far gate, and a miracle happened. Stampede stood -still while Red came up and opened the gate. Jack was conscious of a -body of live muscle and palpitating fire between his legs, of a furious -head tossing hair like hot wire, and bits of white foam. Also he was -aware of the trembling in his own thighs, and the sensual exertion of -gripping that hot wild body in the power of his own legs. Gripping the -hot horse in a grip of sensual mastery that made him tremble strangely -with a curious quivering. Yet he dared not relax. - -"Go!" said Red. And away they went. Stampede bolted like the wind, and -Jack held on with his knees and by balance. He was thrilled, really: -frightened externally, but internally keyed up. And never for a moment -did he relax his mind's attention, nor the attention of his own tossed -body. The worst was the corkscrew bucks, when he nearly went over the -brute's head. And the moments of vindictive hate, when he would kill the -beast and be killed a thousand times, rather than be beaten. Up he went, -off the saddle, and down he came again, with a shattering jerk, down on -the front of the saddle. The balance he kept was a mystery even to -himself, his body was so flung about, by the volcano of furious life -beneath him. He felt himself shaken to pieces, his bones rattled all out -of socket. But they got there, out to the sheep paddock where a group of -Reds and black-boys stood staring in silence. - -Jack jumped off, though his knees were weak and his hands trembling. The -horse stood dark with sweat. Quickly he unbuckled the saddle and bridle -and pulled them off, and gave the horse a clap on its wet neck. Away it -went, wild again, and free. - -Jack glanced at the Reds, and then at Easu. Red Easu met his eyes, and -the two stared at one another. It was the defiance of the hostile -colonial, brutal and retrogressive, against the old mastery of the old -country. Jack was barely conscious. Yet he was not afraid, inside -himself, of the swivel-eyed brute of a fellow. He knew that Easu was not -a better man than himself, though he was bigger, older, and on his own -ground. But Jack had the pride of his own, old, well-bred country behind -him, and he would never go back on his breeding. He was not going to -yield in manliness before the colonial way of life: the brutishness, the -commonness. Inwardly he would not give in to it. But the best of it, the -colonial honesty and simplicity, that he loved. - -There are two sides to colonials, as to everything. One side he loved. -The other he refused and defied. - -These decisions are not mental, but they are critical in the soul of a -boy of eighteen. And the destiny of nations hangs on such silent, almost -unconscious decisions. - -Esau--they called him Easu, but the name was Esau--turned to a black, -and bellowed: - -"Give master your horse, and carry that bally saddle home." - -Then silently they all turned to the sheep-tallying. - - - - -V - - -Jack was still sewing sacks. It was afternoon. He listened for the sound -of the shay, though he did not expect it until nightfall at least. - -His ear, training to the Australian alertness, began to detect unusual -sounds. Or perhaps it was not his ear. The old bushman seems to have -developed a further faculty, a psychic faculty of "sensing" some unusual -disturbance in the atmosphere, and reading it. Jack was a very new -Australian. Yet he had become aware of this faculty in Tom, and he -wanted it for himself. He wanted to be able to hear the inaudible, like -a sort of clair-audience. - -All he could hear was the audible: and all he could see was the visible. -The children were playing in the yard: he could see them in the dust. -Mrs. Ellis was still at the wash-tub: he saw the steam. Katie was -upstairs: he had seen her catching a hornet in the window. The men were -out ploughing, the horses were away. The pigs were walking round -grunting, the cows and poultry were all in the paddock. Gran never made -a sound, unless she suddenly appeared on the scene like the Lord in -Judgment. And Dr. Rackett was always quiet: often uncannily so. - -It was still rainy season, but a warm, mellow, sleepy afternoon, with no -real sound at all. He got up and stood on the threshold to stretch -himself. And there, coming by the grain-shed, he saw a little cortege in -which the first individual he distinguished was Red Easu. - -"Go in," shouted Red, "and tell A'nt as Herberts had an accident, and -we're bringin' him in." - -Sure enough, they were carrying a man on a gate. - -Mrs. Ellis clicked: - -"Tt-tt-tt-tt-tt! They run to us when they're in trouble." But she went -at once to the linen closet, and on into the living room. - -Gran was sitting in a corner by a little fire. - -"Who's hurt?" she inquired testily. "Not one of the family, I hope and -pray." - -"Jack says it's Red Herbert," replied Mrs. Ellis. - -"Put him in the cubby with the boys, then." - -But Mrs. Ellis thought of her beloved boys, and hesitated. - -"Do you think it's much, Jack?" she asked. - -"They're carrying him on a gate," said Jack. "It looks bad." - -"Dear o'me!" snapped Gran, in her brittle fashion. "Why couldn't you say -so?--Well then--if you don't want to put him in the cubby, there's a bed -in my room. Put him there. But I should have thought he could have had -Tom's bed, and Tom could have slept here on the sofa." - -"Poor Tom," thought Jack. - -"Don't"--Gran banged her stick on the floor--"stand there like a pair of -sawneys! Get to work! Get to work!" - -Jack was staring at the ground and twirling his hat. Gran hobbled -forward. He noticed to his surprise that she had a wooden leg. And she -stamped it at him: - -"Go and fetch that rascal of a doctor!" she cried, in a startling loud -voice. - -Jack went. Dr. Rackett was not in his room, for Jack halloed and knocked -at every door. He peeped into the rooms, whose doors were slightly -opened. This must be the girls' room--two beds, neat white quilts, blue -bow at the window. When would they be home? Here was the family bed, -with two cots in the room as well. He came to a shut door. This must be -it. He knocked and halloed again. No sound. Jack felt as if he were -bound to come upon a Bluebeard's chamber. He hated looking in these -bedrooms. - -He knocked again, and opened the door. A queer smell, like chemicals. A -dark room, with the blind down: a few books, a feeling of dark -dreariness. But no Doctor. "So that's that!" thought Jack. - -In spite of himself his boots clattered going down, and made him -nervous. Why did the inside of the house, where he never went, seem so -secret, and rather horrible? He peeped into the dismal little drawing -room. Not there of course! Opposite was the dying room, the door wide -open. Nobody ever was there. - -Rackett was not in the house, that was certain. Jack slunk out, went to -the paddock, caught Lucy the saddle-horse; saddled her and cantered -aimlessly round, within hearing of the homestead. The afternoon was -passing. Not a soul was in sight. The gum-trees hung their sharp leaves -like obvious ghosts, with the hateful motionlessness of gum-trees. And -though flowers were out, they were queer, scentless, unspeaking sort of -flowers, even the red ones that were ragged like fire. Nothing spoke. -The distances were clear and mellow and beautiful, but soulless, and -nobody alive in the world. The silent, lonely gruesomeness of Australia -gave Jack the blues. - -It surely was milking time. Jack returned quietly to the yard. Still -nobody alive in the world. As if everyone had died. Yes, there was the -half-caste Tim in the distance, bringing up the slow, unwilling cows, -slowly, like slow dreams. - -And there was Dad coming out of the back door, in his shirt sleeves: -bluer and puffier than ever, with his usual serene expression, and his -look of boss, which came from his waistcoat and watchchain. Dad always -wore his waistcoat and watchchain, and seemed almost over-dressed in it. - -Came Og and Magog running with quick little steps, and Len slinking -round the doorpost, and Harry marching alone, and Katie dragging her -feet, and Baby crawling. Jack was glad to see them. They had all been -indoors to look at the accident. And it had been a dull, dead, empty -afternoon, with all the life emptied out of it. Even now the family, the -beloved family, seemed a trifle gruesome to Jack. - -He helped to milk: a job he was not good at. Dad even took a stool and -milked also. As usual Dad did nothing but supervise. It was a good thing -to have a real large family that made supervising worth while. So Tom -said, "It's a good thing to have nine children, you can clear some work -with 'em, if you're their Dad." That's why Jack was by no means one too -many. Dad supervised him too. - -They got the milking done somehow. Jack changed his boots, washed -himself, and put on his coat. He nearly trod on the baby as he walked -across to the kitchen in the dying light. He lifted her and carried her -in. - -Usually "tea"--which meant mutton chops and eggs and steaks as well--was -ready when they came in from milking. Today Mr. Ellis was putting -eucalyptus sticks under the kettle, making the eternally familiar scent -of the kitchen, and Mrs. Ellis was setting the table there. Usually, -they lived in the living room from breakfast on. But today, tea was to -be in the kitchen, with a silence and a cloud in the air like a funeral. -But there was plenty of noise coming from Gran's room. - -Jack had to have Baby beside him for the meal. And she put sticky hands -in his hair and leaned over and chewed and sputtered crumbs, wet crumbs -in his ear. Then she tried to wriggle down, but the evening was chill -and her hands and feet were cold and Mrs. Ellis said to keep her up. -Jack felt he couldn't stand it any longer, when suddenly she fell -asleep, the most unexpected thing in the world, and Mrs. Ellis carried -off her and Harry, to bed. - -Ah, the family! The family! Jack still loved it. It seemed to fill the -whole of life for him. He did not want to be alone, save at moments. And -yet, on an afternoon like today, he somehow realised that even the -family wouldn't last forever. What then? What then? - -He couldn't bear the thought of getting married to one woman and coming -home to a house with only himself and this one woman in it. Then the -slow and lonely process of babies coming. The thought of such a future -was dreadful to him. He didn't want it. He didn't want his own children. -He wanted this family: always this family. And yet there was something -gruesome to him about the empty bedrooms and the uncanny privacies even -of this family. He didn't want to think of their privacies. - - - - -VI - - -Three of the Reds trooped out through the sitting room, lean, red-faced, -hairy, heavy-footed, uncouth figures, for their tea. The Wandoo Ellises -were aristocratic in comparison. They asked Jack to go and help hold -Herbert down, because he was fractious. "He's that fractious!" - -Jack didn't in the least want to have to handle any of the Reds, but he -had to go. He found himself taking the two steps down into the dark -living room, and the two steps up into Gran's room beyond. - -Why need the family be so quiet in the kitchen, when there was such a -hubbub in here? Alan Ellis was holding one leg of the injured party, and -Ross Ellis the other, and they both addressed the recumbent figure as if -it were an injured horse with a _Whoa there! Steady on, now! Steady, -boy, steady!_ Whilst Easu, bending terribly over the prostrate figure, -clutched both its arms in a vice, and cursed Jack for not coming sooner -to take one arm. - -Herbert had hurt his head, and turned fractious. Jack took the one arm. -Easu was on the other side of the bed, his reddish fair beard glowing. -There was a queer power in Easu, which fascinated Jack a little. Beyond, -Gran was sitting up in bed, among many white pillows, like Red Riding -Hood's grandmother. A bright fire of wood logs was burning in the open -hearth, and four or five tallow candles smoked duskily. But a screen was -put between Gran's four-poster and Herbert's bed, a screen made of a -wooden clothes-horse covered with sheets. Jack, however, from his -position by Herbert's pillow, could see beyond the screen to Gran's -section. - -His attention was drawn by the patient. Herbert's movements were sudden -and convulsive, and always in a sudden jerking towards the right side of -the bed. Easu had given Jack the left arm to hold, and as soon as -Herbert became violent, Jack couldn't hold him. The left arm, lean and -hard as iron, broke free, and Easu jumped up and cursed Jack. - -Here was a pretty scene! With Gran mumbling to herself on the other side -the hideous sheeted screen! - -There was nothing for it but to use cool intelligence--a thing the Reds -did not possess. Jack had lost his hold again, and Easu like a reddish, -glistening demon was gripping the sick man's two arms and arching over -him. Jack called up his old veterinary experience and proceeded to -detach himself. - -He noticed first: that Herbert was far less fierce when they didn't -resist him. Second, that he stopped groaning when his eyes fell away -from the men around him. Third, that all the convulsive jerky movements, -which had thrown him out of the bed several times, were towards the -right side of the bed. - -Then why not bind him to the left? - -The left arm had again escaped his grasp, and Easu's exasperated fury -was only held in check by Gran's presence. Jack went out of the room and -found Katie. - -"Hunt me out an old sheet," he said. - -"What for?" she asked, but went off to do his bidding. - -When she came back she said: - -"Mother says they don't want to bandage Herbert, do they?" - -"I'm going to try and bind him. I shan't hurt him," he replied. - -"Oh Jack, don't let them send for me to sit with him--I hate sickness." - -"You give us a hand then with this sheet." - -Between them they prepared strong bands. Jack noosed one with sailor's -knots round Katie's hands, and fastened it to the table leg. - -"Pull!" he ordered. "Pull as hard as you can." And as she pulled, "Does -it hint, now?" - -"Not a bit," she said. - -Jack went back to the sick room. Herbert was quiet, the three brothers -were sulky and silent. They wanted above all things to get out, to get -away. You could see that. Easu glanced at Jack's hand. There was -something tense and alert about Easu, like a great, wiry bird with -enormous power in its lean, red neck and its lean limbs. - -"I thought we'd best bind him so as not to hurt him," said Jack. "I know -how to do it, I think." - -The brothers said not a word, but let him go ahead. And Jack bound the -left arm and the left leg, and put a band round the body of the patient. -They looked on, rather distantly interested. Easu released the -convulsive left arm of his brother. Jack took the sick man's hand -soothingly, held it soothingly, then slipped his hand up the hairy -fore-arm and got the band attached just above the elbow. Then he -fastened the ends to the bed-head. He felt quite certain he was doing -right. While he was busy Mrs. Ellis came in. She watched in silence, -too. When it was done, Jack looked at her. - -"I believe it'll do," she said with a nod of approval. And then, to the -cowed, hulking brothers, "You might as well go and get your tea." - -They bumped into one another trying to get through the door. Jack -noticed they were in their stocking feet. They stooped outside the door -to pick up their boots. - -"Good idea!" he thought. And he took off his own boots. It made him feel -more on the job. - -Mrs. Ellis went round the white bed-sheet screen to sit with Gran. Jack -went blowing out the reeking candles on the sick man's side of the same -screen. Then he sat on a hard chair facing the staring, grimacing -patient. He felt sorry for him, but repelled by him. Yet as Herbert -tossed his wiry, hairy free arm and jerked his hairy, sharp-featured -face, Jack wanted to help him. - -He remembered the vet's advice: "Get the creatures' confidence, lad, and -you can do anything with 'em. Horse or man, cat or canary, get the -creature's confidence, and if anything can be done, you can do it." - -Jack wanted now to proceed to get the creature's confidence. He knew it -was a matter of will: of holding the other creature's will with his own -will. But gently, and in a kindly spirit. - -He held Herbert's hard fingers softly in his own hand, and said softly: -"Keep quiet, old man, keep quiet. I'm here. I'll take care of you. You -rest. You go to sleep. I won't leave you. I'll take care of you." - -Herbert lay still as if listening. His muscles relaxed. He seemed -dreadfully tired--Jack could feel it. He was dreadfully, dreadfully -tired. Perhaps the womanless, brutal life of the Reds had made him so -tired. He seemed to go to sleep. Then he jerked awake, and the -convulsive struggling began again, with the frightful rolling of the -eyes. - -But the steady bonds that held him seemed to comfort him, and Jack -quietly took the clutching fingers again. And the sick man's eyes, in -their rolling, rested on the quiet, abstract face of the youth, with -strange watching. Jack did not move. And again Herbert's tension seemed -to relax. He seemed in an agony of desire to sleep, but the agony of -desire was so great, that the very fear of it jerked the sick man into -horrible wakefulness. - -Jack was saying silently, with his will: "Don't worry! Don't worry, old -man! Don't worry! You go to sleep. I'll look after you." - -And as he sat in dead silence, saying these things, he felt as if the -fluid of his life ran out of his fingers into the fingers of the hurt -man. He was left weak and limp. And Herbert began to go to sleep, really -to sleep. - -Jack sat in a daze, with the virtue gone out of him. And Herbert's -fingers were soft and childlike again in their relaxation. - -The boy started a little, feeling someone pat him on the shoulder. It -was Mrs. Ellis, patting him in commendation, because the patient was -sunk deep in sleep. Then she went out. - -Following her with his eyes, Jack saw another figure in the doorway. It -was Red Easu, like a wolf out of the shadow, looking in. And Jack -quietly let slip the heavy, sleeping fingers of the sick man. But he did -not move his posture. Then he was aware that Easu had gone again. - - - - -VII - - -It was late, and the noise of rain outside, and weird wind blowing. Mrs. -Ellis had been in and whispered that Dr. Rackett was not home yet--that -he had probably waited somewhere for the shay. And that she had told the -Reds to keep away. - -There was dead silence save for the weather outside, and a noise of the -fire. The candles were all blown out. - -He was startled by hearing Gran's voice: - -"Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings--" - -"She's reading," thought Jack, though there was no light to read by. And -he wondered why the old lady wasn't asleep. - -"I knew y'r mother's father, Jack Grant," came the thin, petulant voice. -"He cut off my leg. Devil of a fella wouldn't let me die when I wanted -to. Cut it off without a murmur, and no chloroform." - -The thin voice was so devilishly awake, in the darkness of the night, -like a voice out of the past piercing the inert present. - -"What did he care! What did he care! Not a bit," Gran went on. "And y're -another. You take after him. You're such another. You're a throw-back, -to your mother's father. I was wondering what I was going to do with -those great galoots in my room all night. I'm glad it's you." - -Jack thought: "Lord, have I got to sit here all night!" - -"You've got the night before you," said Gran's demonishly wakeful voice, -uncanny in its thin alertness, in the deep night. "So come round here to -the fireside an' make y'self comfortable." - -Jack rose obediently and went round the screen. After all, an arm-chair -would be welcome. - -"Well, say something," said Gran. - -The boy peered at her in the dusk, in a kind of fear. - -"Then light me a candle, for the land's sake," she said pettishly. - -He took a tin candle-stick with a tallow candle, blew the fire and made -a yellow light. She looked like a carved ivory Chinese figure, almost -grotesque, among her pillows. - -"Yes, y'r like y'r grandfather: a stocky, stubborn man as didn't say -much, but dare do anything. And never had a son.--Hard as nails the man -was." - -"More family!" thought Jack wearily, disapproving of Gran's language -thoroughly. - -"Had two daughters though, and disowned the eldest. Your mother was the -youngest. The eldest got herself into trouble and he turned her out. -Regular obstinate fool, and no bowels of compassion. That's how men are -when y' let 'em. You're the same." - -Jack was so sleepy, so sleepy, and the words of the old woman seemed -like something pricking him. - -"I'd have stood by her--but I was her age, and what could I do? I'd have -married her father if I could, for he was a widower. But he married -another woman for his second, and I went by ship to Melbourne, and then -I took poor old Ellis." - -What on earth made her say these things, he didn't know, for he was dead -sleepy, and if he'd been wide awake he wouldn't have wanted her to -unload this sort of stuff on him. But she went on, like the old demon -she was: - -"Men are fools, and women make 'em what they are. I followed your Aunt -Lizzie up, years after. She married a man in the mounted police, and he -sent the boy off. The boy was a bit weak-minded, and the man wouldn't -have him. So the lad disappeared into the bush. They say he was canny -enough about business and farming, but a bit off about people. Anyway he -was Mary's half-brother: you met Mary in Perth. Her scamp of a father -was father of that illegitimate boy. But she's an orphan now, poor -child: like that illegitimate half-brother of hers." - -Jack looked up pathetically. He didn't want to hear. And Gran suddenly -laughed at him, with the sudden daring, winsome laugh, like Lennie. - -"Y're a bundle of conventions, like y'r grandfather," she said tenderly. -"But y've got a kinder heart. I suppose that's from y'r English father. -Folks are tough in Australia: tough as whit-leather.--Y'll be tempted to -sin, but y'wont be tempted to condemn. And never you mind. Trust -yourself, Jack Grant. _Earn a good opinion of yourself_, and never mind -other folks. You've only got to live once. You know when you're spirit -glows--trust that. That's _you!_ That's the spirit of God in you. Trust -in that, and you'll never grow old. If you knuckle under, you'll grow -old." - -She paused for a time. - -"Though I don't know that I've much room to talk," she ruminated on. -"There was my son Esau, he never knuckled under, and though he's dead, -I've not much good to say of him. But then he never had a kind heart: -never. Never a woman loved Esau, though some feared him. I was not among -'em. Not I. I feared no man, not even your grand-father: except a -little. But look at Dad here now. He's got a kind heart: as kind a heart -as ever beat. And he's gone old. And he's got heart disease. And he -knuckled under. Ay, he knuckled under to me, he did, poor lad. And he'll -go off sudden, when his heart gives way. That's how it is with -kind-hearted men. They knuckle under, and they die young. Like Dad here. -He'll never make old bones. Poor lad!" - -She mused again in silence. - -"There's nothing to win in life, when all's said and done, but a good -opinion of yourself. I've watched and I know. God is y'rself. Or put it -the other way if you like: y'rself is God. So win a good opinion of -yourself, and watch the glow inside you." - -Queer, thought Jack, that this should be an old woman's philosophy. -Yourself is God! Partly he believed it, partly he didn't. He didn't know -what he believed.--Watch the glow inside you. That he understood. - -He liked Gran. She was so alone in life, amid all her children. He -himself was a lone wolf too: among the lambs of the family. And perhaps -Red Easu was a lone wolf. - -"But what was I telling you?" Gran resumed. "About your illegitimate -cousin. I followed him up too. He went back beyond Atherton, and took up -land. He's got a tidy place now, and he's never married. He's wrong in -his head about people, but all right about the farm. I'm hoping that -place'll come to Mary one day, for the child's got nothing. She's a good -child--a good child. Her mother was a niece of mine." - -She seemed to be going to sleep. But like Herbert, she roused again. - -"Y'd better marry Mary. Make up your mind to it," she said. - -And instantly he rebelled against the thought. Never. - -"Perhaps I'd ought to have said: 'The best in yourself is God,'" she -mused. "Perhaps that's more it. The best in yourself is God. But then -who's going to say what is the best in yourself. A kind man knuckles -under, and thinks it's the best in himself. And a hard man holds out, -and thinks that's the best in himself. And its not good for a kind man -to knuckle under, and it's not good for a hard-hearted man to hold out. -What's to be done, deary-me, what's to be done. And no matter what we -say, people will be as they are.--You can but watch the glow." - -She really did doze off. And Jack stole away to the other side of the -screen to escape her, leaving the candle burning. - - - - -VIII - - -He sat down thankfully on the hard chair by Herbert's side, glad to get -away from women. Glad to be with men, if it was only Herbert. Glad to -doze and feel alone: to feel alone. - -He awoke with a jerk and a cramped neck, and there was Tom peeping in. -Tom? They must be back. Jack's chair creaked as he made a movement to -get up. But Tom only waved his hand and disappeared. Mean of Tom. - -They must be back. The twins must be back. The family was replenished. -He stared with sleepy eyes, and a heavy, sleepy, sleepy head. - -And the next thing he heard was a soft, alert voice saying: "Hello, -Bow!" Queer how it echoed in his dark consciousness as he slept, this -soft "Hello, Bow!" - -There they were, both laughing, fresh with the wind and rain. Grace -standing just behind Monica, Monica's hair all tight crisp with rain, -blond at the temples, darker on the head, and her fresh face laughing, -and her yellow eyes looking with that long, meaningful look that had no -meaning, peering into his sleepy eyes. He felt something stir inside -him. - -"Hello, Bow!" she said again, putting her fingers on his sleeve, "We've -got back." And still in his sleep-stupor he stared without answering a -word. - -"You aren't awake!" she whispered, putting her cold hand suddenly on his -face, and laughing as he started back. A new look came into his eyes as -he stared startled at her, and she bent her head, turning aside. - -"Poo! Smells of stinking candles in here!" whispered Grace. - -Someone else was there. It was Red Easu in the doorway, saying in a -hoarse voice: - -"Want me to take a spell with Herbert?" - -Monica glanced back at him with a strange look. He loomed weird and -tall, with his rather long, red neck and glistening beard and quick blue -eyes. A certain sense of power came with him. - -"Hello, girls, got back!" he added to the twins, who watched him without -speaking. - -"Who's there?" said Gran's voice from the other side of the screen. "Is -it the girls back? Has Mary come with you?" - -As if in answer to the summons, Mary appeared in the doorway, wearing a -white apron. She glanced first at Jack, with her black eyes, and then at -Gran. Monica was watching her with a sideways lynx look, and Grace was -looking at everybody with big blue eyes, while Easu looked down from his -uncouth, ostrich height. - -"Hello, Gran!" said Mary, going to the other side of the screen to kiss -the old lady. The twins followed suit. - -"Want me to take a spell in here?" said Easu, jerking his thumb at the -sleeping Herbert. Easu wore black trousers hitched up high with braces -over a dark-grey flannel shirt, and leather leggings, but no boots. His -shirt-sleeves were rolled up from his sinewy brown arms. His reddish -fair hair was thick and rather long. He spoke in a deep gruff voice, -that he made as quiet as possible, and he seemed to show a gruff sort of -submissiveness to Jack, at the moment. - -"No, Easu," replied Gran, "I can't do with you, Jack Grant will manage." - -The sick man was sleeping through it all like the dead. - -"I can take a turn," said Mary's soft, low, insidious voice. - -"No, not you either, Mary. You go to 'sleep after that drive. Go, all of -you, go to bed. I can't do with you all in here. Has Dr. Rackett come?" - -"No," said Easu. - -"Then go away, all of you. I can't do with you," said Gran. - -Mary came round the screen and shook hands with Jack, looking him full -in the eyes with her black eyes, so that he was uncomfortable. She made -him more uncomfortable than Monica did. Monica had slunk also round the -screen, and was standing with one foot trailing, watching. She watched -just as closely when Mary shook hands with the embarrassed Easu. - -They all retreated silently to the door. Grace went first. And with her -big, dark-blue eyes she glanced back inquisitively at Jack. Mary went -next--she too turning in the door to give him a look and an intimate, -furtive-seeming smile. Then came Monica, and like a wolf she lingered in -the door looking back with a long, meaningful, meaningless sidelong look -before she took her departure. Then on her heels went Easu, and he did -not look back. He seemed to loom over the girls. - -"Blow the light out," said Gran. - -He went round to blow out the candle. Gran lay there like an old angel. -Queer old soul--framed by pillow frills. - -"Yourself is God!" - -Jack thought of that with a certain exultance. - -He went over and made up the fire. Then he sat in the arm-chair. Herbert -was moving. He went over to soothe him. The sick man moaned steadily for -some time, for a long time, then went still again. Jack slept in the -hard chair. - -He woke up cramped and cold, and went round to the arm-chair by the -fire. Gran was sleeping like an inert bit of ivory. He softly attended -to the fire and sat down in the arm-chair. - -He was riding a horse a long, long way, on a journey that would never -end. He couldn't stop the horse till it stopped of itself. And it would -never stop. A voice said: What has he done? And a voice answered: -Conquered the world.--But the horse did not stop. And he woke and saw -shadows on the wall, and slept again. Things had all turned to -dough--his hands were heavy with dough. He woke and looked at his hands -to see if it were so. How loudly and fiercely the clock ticked! - -Not dough, but boxing gloves. He was fighting inside a ring, fighting -with somebody who was and who wasn't Easu. He could beat Easu--he -couldn't beat Easu. Easu had knocked him down; he was lying writhing -with pain and couldn't rise, while they were counting him out. In three -more seconds he would be counted out! Horror! - -He woke, it was midnight and Herbert was writhing. - -"Did I sleep a minute, Herbert?" he whispered. - -"My head! My head! It jerks so!" - -"Does it, old man? Never mind." - -And the next thought was: "There must have been gun-powder in that piece -of wood, in the fire." - - - - -IX - - -It was half-past one, and Mary unexpectedly appeared with tray and -lighted candle, and cocoa-milk for Jack and arrowroot for Herbert. She -fed Herbert with a spoon, and he swallowed, but made no sign that he -understood. - -"How did he get the accident?" Jack whispered. - -"His horse threw him against a tree." - -"Wish Rackett would come," whispered Jack. - -Mary shook her head and they were silent. - -"How old are you, Mary?" Jack asked. - -"Nineteen." - -"I'm eighteen at the end of this month." - -"I know.--But I'm much older than you." - -Jack looked at her queer dark muzzle. She seemed to have a queer, humble -complacency of her own. - -"She"--Jack nodded his head towards Gran--"says that knuckling under -makes you old." - -Mary laughed suddenly. - -"Then I'm a thousand," she said. - -"What do you knuckle under for?" he asked. - -She looked up at him slowly, and again something quick and hot stirred -in him, from her dark, queer, humble, yet assured face. - -"It's my way," she said, with an odd smile. - -"Funny way to have," he replied, and suddenly he was embarrassed. And he -thought of Monica's dare-devil way. - -He felt embarrassed. - -"I must have my own way," said Mary, with another odd, beseeching, and -yet darkly confident smile. - -"Yourself is God," thought Jack.--But he said nothing, because he felt -uncomfortable. - -And Mary went away with the tray and the light, and he was glad when she -was gone. - - - - -X - - -The worst part of the night. Nothing happened--and that was perhaps the -worst part of it. Fortified by the powers of darkness, the slightest -sounds took on momentous importance, but nothing happened. He expected -something--but nothing came. - -Gran asleep there, in all the fixed motionlessness of her years, a queer -white clot. And young Herbert asleep or unconscious, sending wild -vibrations from his brain. - -The thought of Monica seemed to flutter subjectively in Jack's soul, the -thought of Mary objectively. That is, Monica was somehow inside him, in -his blood, like a sister. And Mary was outside him, like a black-boy. -Both of them engaging his soul. And yet he was alone, all alone in the -universe. These two only beset him. Or did he beset them? - -The oppossums made a furious bombilation as they ran up and down, back -and forth between the roof and ceiling, like an army moving. And -suddenly, shatteringly a nut would come down on the old shingle roof -from the Moreton Bay fig outside, with a crash like a gun, while the -branches dangled and clanked against the timber walls. An immense, -uncanny strider! And him alone in the lonely, uncanny, timeless core of -the night. - -Slowly the night went by. And weird things awoke in the boy's soul, -things he could never quite put to sleep again. He felt as if this night -he had entered into a dense, impenetrable thicket. As if he would never -get out. He knew he would never get out. - -He awoke again with a start. Was it the first light? Herbert was -stirring. Jack went quickly to him. - -Herbert opened dazed eyes, and mutely looked at Jack. A look of -intelligence came, and as quickly passed. He groaned, and the torment -came over him once more. Whatever was the matter with him? He writhed -and struggled, groaning--then relapsed into a cold, inert silence. It -was as if he were dying. As if he, or something in him, had decided to -die. - -Jack was terribly startled. In terror, he mixed a little brandy and -milk, and tried to pour spoonfuls down the unresisting throat. He -quickly fetched a hot stone from the fire, wrapped it in a piece of -blanket, and put it in the bed. - -Then he sat down and took the young man's hand softly in his own and -whispered intensely: "Come back, Herbert! Come back! Come back!" - -With all his will he summoned the inert spirit. He was terribly afraid -the other would die. He sat and watched with a fixed, intent will. And -Herbert relaxed again, the life came round his eyes again. - -"Oh, God!" thought Jack. "I shall die. I shall die myself. What sort of -a life have I got to live before I die? Oh, God, what sort of a life -have I got between me and when I die?" - -And it all seemed a mystery to him. The God he called on was a dark, -almost fearful mystery. The life he had to live was a kind of doom. The -choice he had was no choice. "Yourself is God." It wasn't true. There -was a terrible God somewhere else. And nothing else than this. - -Because, inside himself, he was alone, without father or mother or place -or people. Just a separate living thing. And he could not choose his -doom of living nor his dying. Somewhere outside himself was a terrible -God who decreed. - -He was afraid of the thicket of life, in which he found himself like a -solitary, strange animal. He would have to find his way through: all the -way to death. But what sort of way? What sort of life? What sort of life -between him and death? - -He didn't know. He only knew that something must be. That he was in a -strange bush, and by himself. And that he must find his way through. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -IN THE YARD - - -I - - -Ah, good to be out in the open air again! Beyond all telling good! Those -indoor rooms were like coffins. To be dead, and to writhe unreleased in -the coffin, that was what those indoor rooms were like. - -"God, when I die, let me pass right away," prayed Jack. "Lord, I promise -to live my life right out, so that when I die I pass over and don't lie -wriggling in the coffin!" - -Mary had come as soon as it was light, and found Herbert asleep and Jack -staring at him in a stupor. - -"You go to sleep now, Bow," said Mary softly, laying her hand on his -arm. - -He looked at her in a kind of horror, as if she were part of the dark -interior. He didn't want to go to sleep. He wanted to wake. He stood in -the yard and stared around stupefied at the early morning. Then he went -and hauled Lennie and the twins out of their bunks. Tom was already up. -Then he went, stripped to the waist, to the pump. - -"Pump over my nut, Lennie," he shouted, holding his head at the pump -spout. Oh, 'twas so good to shout at somebody. He must shout. - -And Lennie pumped away like a little imp. - -When Jack looked out of the towel at the day, he saw the sky fresh with -yellow light, and some red still on the horizon above the grey -gum-trees. It all seemed crisp and snappy. It was life. - -"Ain't yer goin' ter do any of yer monkey trickin' this morning?" -shouted Lennie at him. - -Jack shook his head, and rubbed his white young shoulders with the -towel. Lennie, standing by the wash-tin in his little undervest and -loose little breeches, was watching closely. - -"Can you answer me a riddle, Lennie?" asked Jack. - -"Til try," said Len briskly, and Og and Magog jumped up in gay -expectation. - -"What is God, anyhow?" asked Jack. - -"Y'd better let my father hear y'," replied Lennie, with a dangerous nod -of the head. - -"No, but I mean it. Suppose Herbert had died. I want to know what God -is." - -Jack still had the inner darkness of that room in his eyes. - -"I'll tell y'," said Len briskly. "God is a Higher Law than the -Constitution." - -Jack thought about it. A higher law than the law of the land. -Maybe!--The answer left him cold. - -"And what is self?" he asked. - -"Crikey! Stop up another night! It 'ud make ye sawney.--But I'll tell y' -what self is." - - -"Self is a wilderness of sweets. And selves -They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet -Quaff immortality and joy." - - -Len was pleased with this. But Jack heard only words. - -"Ask _me_ one, Jack! Ask _me_ one!" pleaded Og. - -"All right. What's success, Og? asked Jack, smiling. - -"Success! Success! Why, success--" - -"Success is t'grow a big bingy like a bloke from town, 'n a watch-chain -acrost it with a gold dial in y' fob, and ter be allowed ter spout as -much gab as y've got bref left over from y' indigest," cut in Lennie, -with delight. - -"That was _my_ riddle," yelled Og, rushing at him. - -"Ask me one! Ask me one, Jack! Ask me one," yelled Magog. - -"What's failure?" asked Jack, laughing. - -"T' be down on y' uppers an' hev no visible means of supportin' y'r -pants up whilst y' slog t' the' nearest pub t'cadge a beer spot," crowed -Lennie in delight, while he fenced off Og. - -Both twins made an assault and battery upon him. - -"D'ye know y'r own answers?" yelled Len at Jack. - -"No." - -The brazenness of the admission flabbergasted the twins. They stalked -off. Len drew up a three-legged stool, and sat down to milk, explaining -impatiently that success comes to those that work and don't drink. - -"But"--he reverted to his original thought--"ye've gotta work, not go -wastin' y'r feme as you generally do of a morning-boundin' about makin' -a kangaroo of y'self; tippin' y' elbows and holdin' back y' nut as if y' -had a woppin' fine drink in both hands, and gone screwed with joy afore -you drained it; lyin' flat on y' hands an' toes, an' heavin' up an' -down, up an' down, like a race-horse iguana frightened by a cat; an' -stalkin' an' stoopin' as if y'wanted ter catch a bird round a corner; or -roundin' up on imaginary things, makin' out t'hit 'em slap-bang-whizz on -the mitts they ain't got; whippin' round an' bobbin' like a cornered -billy-goat; skippin' up an' down like sis wif a rope, an' makin' a -general high falutin' ass of y'self." - -"I see you and the twins with clubs," said Jack. - -"Oh, that! That's more for music an' one-two-three-four," said Len. - -"You see I'm in training," said Jack. - -"What for? Want ter teach the old sows to start dancin' on th' corn-bin -floor?" - -"No, I want to keep in training, for if I ever have a big fight." - -"Who with?" - -"Oh, I don't know. But I love a round with the fists. I'll teach you." - -"All right. But why don't y' chuck farmin' an' go in f' prize fightin'?" - -"I wish I could. But my father said no. An' perhaps he's right. But the -best thing I know is to fight a fair round. I'll teach you, Len." - -"Huh! What's the sense! If y' want exercise, y' c'n rub that horse down -a bit cleaner than y' are doin'." - -"Stop y' sauce, nipper, or I'll be after y' with a strap!" called Tom. -"Come on, Jack. Tea! Timothy's bangin' the billy-can. And just you land -that nipper a clout." - -"Let him 'it me! Garn, let him!" cried Len, scooting up with his -milk-stool and pail and looking like David skirmishing before Goliath. -He wasn't laughing. There was a demonish little street-arab hostility in -his face. - -"Don't you like me, Len?" Jack asked, a bit soft this morning. Len's -face at once suffused with a delightful roguishness. - -"Aw, yes--if y' like!--I'll be dressin' up in Katie's skirts n' spoonin' -y' one of these bright nights." - -He whipped away with his milk-pail, like a young lizard. - - - - -II - - -"Look at Bow, he looks like an owl," said Grace at breakfast. - -"What d'y call 'im Bow for?" asked Len. - -"Like a girl, with his eyes double size," said Monica. - -"You'd better go to sleep, Jack," said Mrs. Ellis. - -"Take a nap, lad," said Mr. Ellis. "There's nothin' for y' to do this -morning." - -Jack was going stupefied again, as the sun grew warm. He didn't hear -half that was said. But the girls were very attentive to him. Mary was -not there: she was sitting with Herbert. But Monica and Grace waited on -him as if he had been their lord. It was a new experience for him: -Monica jumping up and whipping away his cup with her slim hand, to bring -it back filled, and Grace insisting on opening a special jar of jam for -him. Drowsy as he was, their attention made his blood stir. It was so -new to him. - -Mary came in from the sitting room: they were still in the kitchen. - -"Herbert is awake," she said. "He wants to be untied. Bow, do you think -he ought to?" - -Jack rose in silence and went through to Gran's room. Herbert lay quite -still, but he was himself. Only shattered and wordless. He looked at -Jack and murmured: - -"Can't y' untie me?" - -Jack went at once to unfasten the linen bands. The twins, Monica and -Grace, stood watching from the doorway. Mary was at his side to help. - -"Don't let 'em come in," said Herbert, looking into Jack's face. - -Jack nodded and went to the door. - -"He wants to be left alone," he said. - -"Mustn't we come, Bow?" said Monica, making queer yellow eyes at him. - -"Best not," he said. "Don't let anybody come. He wants absolute quiet." - -"All right." She looked at him with a heavy look of obedience, as if -making an offering. They were not going to question his authority. She -drew Grace away: both the girls humble. Jack slowly and unconsciously -flushed. Then he went back to the bed. - -"I want something," murmured Herbert wanly. "Send that other away." - -"Go away, Mary. He wants a man to attend to him," said Jack. - -Mary looked a long, dark look at Jack. Then she, too, submitted. - -"All right," she said, turning darkly away. - -And it came into his mind, with utter absurdity, that he ought to kiss -her for this submission. And he hated the thought. - -Herbert was a boy of nineteen, uncouth, and savagely shy. Jack had to do -the menial offices for him. - -The sick man went to sleep again almost immediately, and Jack returned -to the kitchen. He heard voices from outside. - -Ma and Grace were washing up at the slab. Dad was sitting under the -photosphorum tree, with Effie on one knee, cutting up tobacco in the -palm of his hand. Tom was leaning against the tree, the children sat -about. Lennie skipped up and offered a seat on a stump. - -"Sit yourself down, Bow," he said, using the nickname. "I'd be a knot -instead of a bow if I had to nurse Red Herbert." - -Monica came slinking up from the shade, and stood with her skirt -touching Jack's arm. Mary was carrying away the dishes. - -"I've been telling Tom," said Mr. Ellis, "that he can take the clearing -gang over to his A'nt Greenlow's for the shearing, an' then get back an' -clear for all he's worth, till Christmas. Y'might as well go along with -him, Jack. We can get along all right here without y', now th' girls are -back. Till Christmas, that is. We s'll want y' back for the harvest." - -There was a dead silence. Jack didn't want to go. - -"Then y' can go back to the clearing, and burn off. I need that land -reclaimed, over against the little chaps grows up and wants to be -farmers. Besides"--and he looked round at Ma--"we're a bit overstocked -in' the house just now, an' we'll be glad of the cubby for Herbert, if -he's on the mend." - -Dad resumed cutting up his tobacco in the palm of his hand. - -"Jack can't leave Herbert, Uncle," said Mary quietly, "he won't let -anybody else do for him." - -"Eh?" said Mr. Ellis, looking up. - -"Herbert won't let me do for him," said Mary. "He'll only let Bow." - -Mr. Ellis dropped his head in silence. - -"In that case," he said slowly, "in that case, we must wait a -bit.--Where's that darned Rackett put himself? This is his job." - -There was still silence. - -"Somebody had best go an', look for him," said Tom. - -"Ay," said Mr. Ellis. - -There was more silence. Monica, standing close to Jack, seemed to be -fiercely sheltering him from this eviction. And Mary, at a distance, was -like Moses' sister watching over events. It made Jack feel queer and -thrilled, the girls all concentrating on him. It was as if it put power -in his chest, and made a man of him. - -Someone was riding up. It was Red Easu. He slung himself off his horse, -and stalked slowly up. - -"Herbert dead?" he asked humorously. - -"Doing nicely," said Dad, very brief. - -"I'll go an' have a look at 'm," said Easu, sitting on the step and -pulling off his boots. - -"Don't wake him if he's asleep. Don't frighten him, whatever you do," -said Jack, anxious for his charge. - -Easu looked at Jack with an insolent stare: a curious stare. - -"Frighten him?" he said. "What with?" - -"Jack's been up with him all night," put in Monica fiercely. - -"He nearly died in the night," said Jack. - -There was dead silence. Easu stared, poised like some menacing bird. -Then he went indoors in his stocking feet. - -"Did he nearly die, Jack?" asked Tom. - -Jack nodded. His soul was feeling bleached. - -"If Dr. Rackett isn't coming--see if you can trail him up, Tom. And Len, -can you go on Lucy and fetch Dr. Mallett?" - -"'Course I can," said Len, jumping up. - -"You go and get a nap in the cubby, son," said Mr. Ellis. - -They were now all in motion. Jack followed vaguely into the kitchen. -Lennie was the centre of excitement for the moment. - -"Well, Ma, I has no socks fitta wear. If y'll fix me some, I'll go." For -he was determined to go to York in decent raiment, as he said. - -"Find me a decent shirt, Ma; _decent!_ None o' your creases down th' -front for me. 'N a starch collar, real starch." - -And so on. He was late. Lennie was always late. - -"Ma, weer's my tie--th' blue one wif gold horseshoes? Grace--there's an -angel--me boots. Clean 'em up a bit, go on--Monica! Oh, Monica! there -y'are! Fix this collar on for me, proper, do! Y're a bloke at it, so -y'are, an' I'm no good.--Gitt outta th' way, you nips--how k'n I get -dressed with you buzzin' round me feet!--Ma! Ma! come an' brush me 'air -with that dinkey nice-smellin' stuff.--There, Ma, don't your Lennie look -a dream now?--Ooha, Ma, don't kiss me, Ma, I 'ate it." - -"Lennie love, don't drop your aitches." - -"I never, Ma. I said I 'ate it. Y' kissed me, did y' or didn't y'? Well, -I '_ate_ it." - -He was gone on Lucy, like a little demon. Jack, sitting stupid on a -chair, felt part of his soul go with him. - -"Come on, Bow!" said Monica, taking him by the arm, "Come and go to -sleep. Mary will wake you if Herbert wants you." - -And she led him off to the door of the cubby, while he submitted and -Easu stood in his stocking feet on the verandah watching. - -"He saved Herbert's life," said Monica, looking up at Easu with a kind -of defiance, when she came back. - -"Who asked him," said Easu. - - - - -III - - -Tom and Jack were to leave the next day. The girls brought out a lot of -stores from the cupboard, and blankets and billies and a lantern. They -packed the sacks standing there. - -"Get y' swag f'y'selves," said Dad. "The men have everything for -themselves. Take an axe an' a gun apiece." - -"Gun! Gee! K'n I go, Dad?" - -"Shut up, Len. Destroy all the dingoes y' can. I'll give y' sixpence a -head, an' the Government gives another. Haven't y' a saddle, Jack Grant, -somewhere in a box? Because I'd be short of one off the place, if you -took one from here." - -"It must be somewhere," said Jack. - -"Get it unpacked. An' you can have Lucy to put it across. It's forty -mile from here to virgin forest: real forest. If you get strayed, ever, -all you have to do is to drop th' reins on Lucy's neck, 'n shell bring -y' in." - -The saddle came out of the dusty box. All were there in a circle to look -on. Jack expected deep admiration. But he was hurt to feel Monica -laughing derisively. Everybody was laughing, but he minded Monica most. -She could jeer cruelly. - -"Jolly good saddle," said Jack. - -"Mighty little of it," said Len. - -"What's wrong with it, Tom?" said Jack. - -"Slithery. No knee-pads, saddle bags, strap holder, scooped seat, or any -sortta comfort. It's a whale, on the wrong side." - -Lennie closely examined the London ticket. The unpacking continued in -silence, under Tom's majestic eye. Whip, yellow horse-rug, bridle, -leathers, a heavy bar bit with double rings and curb, saddle cloths, -reins, extra special blue-and-gold girths wrapped in tissue paper, -nickel cross rowell jockey spurs, and glittering steel stirrup-irons. -Cord breeches, Assam silk coat, white water-proof linen stocks, leather -gaiters, and a pair of leather gauntlets completed the amazing -disclosure. It was all a mighty gift from one of the unforgiven Aunts. - -Half way through the unpacking Tom gave a groan and walked away; but -walked back. Og and Magog stole the saddle, slung it across a bar, and -slid off and on rapturously. Monica was laughing at him disagreeably: -strange and brutal, as if she hated him: rather like Easu. And Lennie -was tittering with joy. - -"Oh, Og! Here! Y're missin' it. Leave that hog's back saddle, No. 1 -Grade--picked material--hand forged--tree mounted, guaranteed--a topper -off; see this princess palfrey bridle for you, rosettes ornamented, -periwinkle an' all. An' oh, look you! a canary belly-band f'r Dada -t'strap round th' heifer's neck when she gets first prize at the Royal -York show. Look at that crush-bone cage to put round Stampede's mouth -when the niggers catches him again. Oh, Lor' oh my----" - -"Shut up!" said Tom abruptly, catching the boy by the back of his pants -and tossing him out of the barn. "Now roll up y'r bluey"--meaning the -new rug, which was yellow. "Fix them stirrup leathers, take the bridle -off that bit an' we'll find you something decent to put the reins on. -An' kick th' rest t'gether. What a gear. Glad it's you, not me, as has -got to ride that leather, me boy. But ride on't y'll have to, for -there's nought else. Now, Monica, close down that mirth of yours. You're -not asked for it." - -"Let brotherly love continue," said Monica spitefully. "Wonder if it -will, even unto camp." - -She went, leaving Jack feeling suddenly tired. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -OUT BACK AND SOME LETTERS - - -I - - -Jack was absolutely happy, in camp with Tom. Perhaps the most completely -happy time in his life. He had escaped the strange, new complications -that life was weaving round him. Yet he had not left the beloved family. -He was with Tom: who, after all, was the one that mattered most. Tom was -the growing trunk of the tree. - -All real living hurts as well as fulfils. Happiness comes when we have -lived and have a respite for sheer forgetting. Happiness, in the vulgar -sense, is just a holiday experience. The lifelong happiness lies in -being used by life; hurt by life, driven and goaded by life, replenished -and overjoyed with life, fighting for life's sake. That is real -happiness. In the undergoing, a large part of it is pain. But the end is -like Jack's camping expedition, a time of real happiness. - -Perhaps death, after a life of real courage, is like a happy camping -expedition in the unknown, before a new start. - -It was spring in Western Australia, and a wonder of delicate blueness, -of frail, unearthly beauty. The earth was full of weird flowers, -star-shaped, needle-pointed, fringed, scarlet, white, blue, a whole -world of strange flowers. Like being in a new Paradise from which man -had not been cast out. - -The trees in the dawn, so ghostly still. The scent of blossoming -eucalyptus trees: the scent of burning eucalyptus leaves and sticks, in -the camp fire. Trailing blossoms wet with dew; the scrub after the rain; -the bitter-sweet fragrance of fresh-cut timber. - -And the sounds! Magpies calling, parrots chattering, strange birds -flitting in the renewed stillness. Then kangaroos calling to one another -out of the frail, paradisal distance. And the birr! of crickets in the -heat of the day. And the sound of axes, the voices of men, the crash of -falling timber. The strange slobbering talk of the blacks! The -mysterious night coming round the camp fire. - -Red gum everywhere! Fringed leaves dappling, the glowing new sun coming -through, the large, feathery, honey-sweet blossoms flowering in clumps, -the hard, rough-marked, red-bronze trunks rising like pillars of burnt -copper, or lying sadly felled, giving up the ghost. Everywhere scattered -the red gum, making leaves and herbage underneath seem bestrewed with -blood. - -And it was spring: the short, swift, fierce, flower-strange spring of -Western Australia, in the month of August. - -Then evening came, and the small aromatic fire was burning amid the -felled trees. Tom stood hands on hips, giving directions, while the -blackened billy-can hung suspended from a cross-bar over the fire. The -water bubbling, a handful of tea is thrown in. It sinks. It rises. -"Bring it off!" yells Tom. Jack balances the cross-stick, holding the -wobbling can, until it rests safely on the ground. Then snatching the -handle, holds the can aloft. Tea is made. - -The clearing gang had a hut with one side for the horses, the other for -the men's sleeping place. Inside were stakes driven into the ground, -bearing cross-bars with sacks fastened across, for beds. On the -partition-poles hung the wardrobes, and in a couple of boxes lay the -treasures, in the shape of watches, knives, razors, looking-glasses, -etc., safe from the stray thief. But the men were always tormenting one -another, hiding away a razor, or a strop, or a beloved watch. - -Just in front of this shelter the camp oven had been built, for baking -damper and roasting meat, and to one side was the well, a very important -necessity, built by contract, timbered, and provided with winch, rope -and bucket. - -All around the bush was dense like a forest, much denser than usual. The -slim-girthed trees grew in silent array, all alike and all asleep, with -undergrowth of scrub and fern and flowers, banksia short and sturdy with -its cone-shaped red-yellow flowers like fairy lamps, and here and there -a perfect wattle, or mimosa tree, with its pale gold flowers like little -balls of sun-dust, and here and there sandal-wood trees. Jack never -forgot the beauty of the first bushes and trees of mimosa, in a damp -place in the wild bush. Occasionally there was still an immense karri -tree, or a jarrah slightly smaller, though this was not the region for -these giants. - -And far away, unending, upslope and downslope and rock-face one far -unending dimness of these changeless trees, going on and on without -variation, open enough to let one see ahead and all around, yet dense -enough to form a monotony and a sense of helplessness in the mind, a -sense of timelessness. Strongly the gang impressed on Jack that he must -not go even for five minutes' walk out of sight of the clearing. The -weird silent timelessness of the bush impressed him as nothing else ever -did, in its motionless aloofness. "What would my father mean, out here?" -he said to himself. And it seemed as if his father and his father's -world and his father's gods withered and went to dust at the thought of -this bush. And when he saw one of the men on a red sorrel horse -galloping like a phantom away through the dim, red-trunked, silent -trees, followed by another man on a black horse: and when he heard their -far, far-off yelping "Coo-ee!" or a shot as they fired at a dingo or a -kangaroo, he felt as if the old world had given him up from the womb, -and put him into a new weird grey-blue paradise, where man has to begin -all over again. That was his feeling: that the human way of life was all -to be begun over again. - -The home that he and Tom made for themselves seemed to be a matter of -forked sticks. If you wanted an upright of any sort, drive a forked -stick into the ground, or dig it in, fork-end up. If you wanted a -cross-bar, lay a stick or a pole across two forks. Down the sides of -your house you wove brushwood. For the roof you plaited the long, -stringy strips of gum-bark. With a couple of axes and a jack-knife they -built a house fit for a savage king. Then they went out and made a -kitchen, with pegs hammered into the bole of a tree, for the frying -pans, the sawn surface of a large stump for a table, and logs to lie -back against. - -North of the clearing lay the nucleus of a settlement, with pub, -saw-mill, store, one or two homes, and a farm or two outlying. And as -they cleared the land, the teamsters carried the best of the timber on -jinkers, or dragged it with chains hitched to bullock or horse teams, to -the mill. But milling was expensive, and most of the wood was -hand-split. Jack learned to cut palings and poles, and then to split -slabs that would serve to build slab houses, or sheds. In the spare time -they would have little hunts of wallabies or bandicoots or bungarras, or -blood-rats; or they would snare opossums or stalk dingoes. - -But because he was really away in the wild, Jack felt he must write -letters home. So it is. The letters from home hardly interested him at -all. The thin sheets with their interminable writing were almost -repulsive to him. He would stow them in the barn and leave them for days -without reading them: he was "busy." And sometimes the mice nibbled -them, and in that way read them for him. He was a little ashamed of this -indifference. But he noticed other men were the same. When they got -these endless thin sheets from home, covered with ink of words, they -stowed them away in a kind of nausea, without reading more than a few -lines. And the people at home had such a pitying admonishing tone: like -the young naval lieutenant who made friends with the black aborigines by -promptly shaving them. And then letters were not profitable. A stamp -home cost sixpence, and a letter took about two months on the way. It -was always four months before you got an answer. And after you'd written -to your mother about something really important--like money--and waited -impatiently several months for the answer, when it came it never -mentioned the money, and made a mountain of a cold in your head which -you couldn't remember having had. What was the good of people at home -writing: "We are having true November weather, very cold, with fog and -sleet," when you were grilling under a fierce sun and the rush of the -intense antipodal summer. What was the good of it all? All dull as -ditchwater, and no use to anybody. He had promised his mother he would -write once a week. And his mother was his mother, he wanted to keep his -promise. Which he did for a month. But in camp, he didn't even know what -day it was, hardly what month: though the mail did come once a -fortnight, via the saw-mill.--He took out his mother's letter. - - -"You said in your letter from Colombo that you were sneezing. Do take -care in Australia in the rainy season. Ask not to be sent out in the -rain. I recollect the climate, always sunny and bright between showers. -That is what we miss so much now we are back in England, the sunny -skies. Of course, I do not want you to be a mollycoddle, but I know the -climate of Western Australia, it is very trying, particularly so in the -rainy season. I do hope and pray you are on a good station with a good -woman who will see you are not out getting drenched in those cold -downpours----" - - -Jack groaned aloud, astonished that his mother had got so far from her -own early days. How in the name of heaven had he come to mention -sneezing? Never again. He would not even say he was camping. - - -"Dear Mother: - -"I am quite well and like farming out here all right. Old Mrs. Ellis -knew your father. She says he cut off her leg. I hope Father has got rid -of his Liver, you said he was taking variolettes for it. I hope they -have done him good. Mr. Ellis says a cockles pill and a ten-mile walk -will cure anything. He says it would cure a pig's liver. But when old -Tim, the half-caste, tried to swallow the pill it came out of the gap -where his front tooth used to be, so Mrs. Ellis gave him a teaspoonful -of sulphur, which he said would make him blow up. But it didn't. I think -I was more likely to blow up because she gave me a big teaspoon of -parafin which they call kerosene out here. She is a fine doctor, far -better than the medical man who lodges here, whose name is Rackett. - -"I hope you are quite well. Give my love to all my aunts and sister and -father. I hope they are all quite well----" - - -Jack hurried this letter in confusion into its envelope, and spent -sixpence on it, knowing perfectly well it was all nonsense. - - - - -II - - -There was a pause in the clearing work, after the early hot spell, and -word from Lennie that there was to be a kangaroo hunt, and they were to -come down. An Old Man kangaroo, a king of boomers, had been seen around, -hoof-marks and paw-pad trails near the pool. - -They met at dawn, by the well: Easu with two kangaroo hounds, like -greyhounds on leash; Lennie peacocking on an enormous hairy-heeled -roadster; a "superior" young Queenslander who had been sent west because -his father found him unmanageable and who wasn't a bad sort, though his -nickname was Pink-eye Percy; Lennie's "Comseed" friend, Joe Low; Alec -Rice, the young fellow who was courting Grace; Ross Ellis, and Herbert, -who was well again, then Tom on a grey stallion, and Jack, in riding -breeches and gaiters and clean shirt, astride the famous Lucy. - -Easu was born in the saddle, he rode easy on his big roan. He waved his -hat excitedly at the group, and led off into the scrub, through the -slender, white-barked trees of the open bush. The others rode fast in -ragged order, among the thin, open trees. Jack let Lucy pick her way, -sometimes ahead, sometimes in sight of the others. They rode in silence. - -Then they came out unexpectedly into low, grey-green scrub without -trees, and crisp grey-white soil that crumbled under the hoofs of the -horses. There they were, all out in the blue and gold light, with -billows of blue-green scrub running away to right and left, towards a -rise in front. - -"Hold hard there!" sang out Easu, holding up the whip in his right hand. -He held the reins loosely in his left, and with the reins, the leash on -which the dogs were pulling. Dogs and horse he held in that left hand. - -"I want y' t' divide. Tom, y' lead on a zigzag course down north. Ross, -you work south.--And this--this fox-hunting gentleman----" He paused, -and Jack felt himself going scarlet. - -"Says thank ye, an' hopes he's a gentleman, since y've mentioned it," -put in Lennie, in his mild, inconsequential way. - -There was a laugh against Red: for there was no mistaking him for a -gentleman, in any sense of the word. However, he was too much excited by -the hunt to persevere. - -The fellows were stowing away their pipes in their pockets, and -buttoning their coats, ready for the dash. Easu, thrilled by his own -unquestioned leadership, gave the orders. All listened closely. - -"Call up! Call up! Follow my leader and find the trail. Biggest boomer -ever ye----" - -"Come!" cried Tom. - -"And I'm here!" cried Lennie. - -Away they went into the gully and through the scrub, riding light but -swift, in different directions. - -"Let go th' mare's head," yelled Tom over his shoulder. "We're coming to -timber, an' she'd best pilot herself." - -"Right!" cried Jack. - -"Don't ye kill Lucy," shrieked Lennie. "Because me heart's set on her. -Keep y' hands an' y' heels off y' horse, an' y' head on y' shoulders." - -The bolt of horsemen through the bush sent parrots screaming savagely -over the feathery tree-tops. Jack let Lucy have her way. She was light -and swift and sure-footed, old steeplechaser that she was. The slim -straight trees slipped past, the motion of the horse surging her own way -was exhilarating to a degree. - -But Tom had heard something: not the parrots, not the soft thud of the -following horses. He must have heard with his sixth sense: perhaps the -warning call of the boomer. With face set and eyes burning he swung and -urged his horse in a new direction. And like men coming in to supper -from different directions, the handful of horsemen came swish-swish -through the scrub, toward a centre. - -Lucy pricked one ear. Perhaps she too had heard something. Then she -gathers herself together and goes like the wind after the twinkling grey -quarters of Tom's stallion. Her excitement mounts to Jack's head, and he -rides like a catapult on the wind. - -Again Tom was reining in, pulling his horse almost on to its haunches. -And Jack must hold like a vice with his knees, for Lucy was pawing the -air, frantic at being held up. - -"Coo-ee!" came Tom's clear tenor, ringing through the bush. "Coo-ee! -Coo-ee! Coo-ee!" A marvellous sound, and Lucy pawing and dancing among -the scrub. - -"Coo-ee! Coo-ee! Coo-ee!" - -It seemed to Jack, this sound in the bush was like God. Like the call of -the heroic soul seeking its body. Like the call of the bodiless soul, -sounding through the immense dead spaces of the dim, open bush, strange -and heroic and inhuman. The deep long "coo," mastering the silence, the -high summons of the long "eee." The "coo" rising more imperious, and -then the "eee!" thrilling and holding aloft. Then the swift lift and -fall: "Coo-eee! Coo-eee! Coo-eee!" till the air rocks with the fierce -pulse, as if a new heart were in motion, and the shriek and scream of -the "eee!" rips in strange flashes into the far-off, far-off -consciousness. - -Much stranger than the weird yelp of the Red Indians' war-cry was this -rocking, ripping noise in the vast grey bush. - -The others were coming in from right to left, like silent phantoms -through the sunny evanescence of the bush, riding hard. Tom is displaced -by Red. A few quick words given and taken. Easu has unleashed the dogs, -slashed the long lash with a resounding crack in the air. The long lean -dogs stretch out--uncannily long, from tip to tip. Tom lets go and away. -Jack lets go and away, and unconsciously his hand goes down for the bow -of the slippery saddle. - -Lucy had the situation well in hand, which was more than Jack had. -Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud! Up, fly! _Crash!_--Hello?--All right. A -beauty! A dream of a jumper, this Lucy. But Jack wished his seat weren't -so slippery. - -They were turning into bigger timber: trees further apart, but much -bigger, and with hanging limbs. "Look out! Look out f' y' head!" Jack -kept all his eyes open, till he knew by second sight when to duck. He -watched the twinkling hind quarters of Tom's grey, among the trees. - -There was a short yapping of the dogs. Lucy was going like the wind, -Jack was riding light, but she was beginning to breathe heavily. No -longer so young as she was. How hot the sun was, in the almost shadeless -bush. And what was leading, where was the 'roo? Jack strained his eyes -almost out of his head, but could see nothing. - -They were on the edge of the hills, and the country changed continually. -No sooner were you used to scrub, than it was thin trees. No sooner did -you know that Lucy could manipulate thin trees, than you were among big -timber, with more space and dangerous boughs. Then it was salty -paper-bark country--and back to forest again: close trees, fallen logs, -blood-rat holes and sudden outcropping of dark-brown, ancient-looking -rocks with little flat crags, to be avoided. But the other men were -going full speed, and full speed you must follow, watching with all your -eyes, and riding light, and swept along in the rim. - -Up! That was over an elephant log, and down went a man at Tom's heels. -It was Grace's young man. No matter. Jack was going to look over his -shoulder when Tom again shouted "Up!" and Jack and Lennie followed over -the fallen timber. - -Suddenly they were in a great black blanket of burnt country, clear of -undergrowth or scrubs, with skeletons of black, charred trees standing -gruesome. And there, right under their noses, leapt three kangaroos, -swerving across. The baby one, Joey, was first, lithe, light, apparently -not a bit afraid, but wildly excited; then the mother doe, all out, -panting, anxious-eyed, stiffly jumping; and behind, a long way, with the -dogs like needles coming after, ran the Old Man boomer; a great big chap -making mighty springs and in varying directions. Yes, he was making a -rear-guard action for the safety of his mate and spawn. Leaping with -great leaps, as if to the end of the world, leaning forward, his little -hands curled in, his immense massive tail straight out behind him like -some immense living rudder. And seeming perfectly calm, almost -indifferent. With steady, easy, enormous springs he went this way, that -way, detouring, but making for the same ridge his doe and Joey had -passed. - -The charred ground proved treacherous, holes, smouldering trunks of -trees, smouldering hollows where trunks had been. Soon two horses were -running loose, with men limping after them. But on went the rest. Thud -and crackle went the hoofs of the galloping horses in the charcoal, as -after the dogs, after the 'roos they followed, kicking up clouds of grey -ash-mounds and red-burnt earth, jumping suddenly over the still-glowing -logs. - -The chase paused on the ridge, for the drop was sudden and steep, with -rocks and boulders cropping out. Down slid the dogs in a cloud, yelping -hard, making Easu at all costs turn to try the right, Tom to try the -left. - -They dropped awkwardly and joltingly down, between rocks, in loose -charcoal powder and loose earth. - -"Ain't that ole mare a marvel, Jack!" said Tom. "This nag is rode stiff, -all-under my knees." - -Jack's face was full of wild joy. The stones rattled, the men stood back -from the stirrups, the horses seemed to be diving. But Lucy was light -and sure. - -Down they jolted into the gully. Easu came up swearing--lost the quarry -and dogs, Jack pulled Lucy over a boulder to get out of Easu's way: a -thing he shouldn't have done. Crack! went his head against a branch, and -Jack was bruising himself on the ground before he knew where he was. - -But he was on his feet again, intently chasing Lucy. - -"Here y'are!" It was Herbert who leaned down, picked up the reins of the -scampering mare, and threw them to Jack. Jack's face was bleeding. -Lennie came up and opened his mouth in dismay. But somebody coo-eed, and -the chase was too good to lose. They are all gone. - -Jack stiffly mounted, to find himself blinded by trickling blood. Lucy -once more was stirring between his knees, stretching herself out, and he -had to let her go, fumbling meanwhile for a handkerchief which he pushed -under his hat-brim, and pulled down the old felt firmly. Wiping his eyes -with his sleeve, he found the wound staunched by the impromptu dressing. - -The scene had completely changed. Lucy was whisking him around the side -of a huge dark boulder. They were in the dry bed of the gully, on -stones. - -Lucy stopped dead, practically on her haunches, but her impetus carried -her over, and she was slithering down into a loose gravelly hole. Jack -jumped off, to find himself face to face with the biggest boomer -kangaroo he had ever imagined. It was the Old Man, sitting there at the -bottom of the gravel-hole, in the hollow of a barren she-oak, his absurd -paws drooping dejectedly before him and his silly dribbling under-jaw -working miserably. - -"He's trying to get the wind up for another fly," thought Jack, standing -there as dazed as the 'roo itself, and feeling himself very much in the -same condition. Then he wondered where the doe and Joey were, and where -all the other hunters. He hoped they wouldn't come. Lucy stood by, as -calm as a cucumber. - -Jack took a step nearer the Old Man 'roo, and instantly brought up his -fists as the animal doubled its queer front paws and hit out wildly at -him. He wanted to hit back. - -"Mind the claws!" called somebody, with a quiet chuckle, from above. - -Jack looked round, and there was Lennie and the heavy horse, the horse -head-down, tail up, feet spread, like a salamander lizard on a wall, -slithering down the grade into the hole, Lennie erect in the stirrups. -Jack gave a loud laugh. - -And the Old Man, either possessed of a sense of humour or terrified to -death, seized the nearest thing at hand--which happened to be Jack; -grabbed him, gripped him, hugged him in desperate fury, and tried to get -up his huge, flail-like hind leg, to rip up the enemy with the toe claw. -One stroke of that claw, and Jack was done. - -In terror, anger, surprise, Jack jumped at the kangaroo's throat, as far -as the animal's grip would let him. The 'roo, trying all the time to use -his hind legs, upset, so that the two went rolling on the gravel -together. Jack was in horrid proximity to the weird grey fur, clutched -by the weird-smelling, violent animal, in a sort of living earthquake, -as the kangaroo writhed and bounced to use his great, oar-like hind -legs, and Jack clung close and hit at the creature's body, hit, hit, -hit. It was like hitting living wire bands. Somebody was roaring, or -else it was his own consciousness shouting: "Don't let the hind claw get -to work."--How horrible a wild thing was, when you were mixed up with -it! The terrible nausea of its powerful, furry, violent-blooded contact. -Its unnatural, almost obscene power! Its different consciousness! Its -overpowering smell! - -The others were coming back up the stream-bed, jumping the rocks, -towards this place where Jack had fallen and Lennie had come down after -him. Easu was calling off the dogs, ferociously. Tom rushed in and got -the 'roo by the head. - -Lennie was lying on the gravel laughing so hard he couldn't stand on his -legs. - - - - -III - - -Jack wrote a letter to his old friend, the vet with the "weakness," in -England. - - -"We are out at a place back of beyond, at a place called Gum Tree -Valley, so I take up my pen to write as I have time.--Tom Ellis is here -bossing the clearing gang, and he has a lot of Aunts, whom he rightly -calls ants. One of them has a place near here, and we go to dinner on -Sundays, and to help when wanted. We stayed all last week and helped -muster in the sheep for the shearing. We rode all round their paddock -boundaries and rounded in the sheep that had strayed and got lost. They -had run off from the main--about a score of flocks--and were feeding in -little herds and groups miles apart. It's a grand sight to see them all -running before you, their woolly backs bobbing up and down like brown -water. I can tell you I know now the meaning of the Lost Sheep, and the -sort of joy you have in cursing him when you find him. - -"You told me to let you know if I heard any first hand news of gold -finding. Well, I haven't heard much. But a man rode into -Greenlow's--that's Tom's Aunt--place on Sunday, and he said to Tom: 'Are -those the Stirling Ranges?' Tom said: 'No, they're not. They're the -Darling Ranges.' He said: 'Are you sure?'"--and got very excited. The -black-fellows came and stood by and they were vastly amused, grinning -and looking away. He got out a compass and said: 'You are wrong, Mr. -Ellis, they are the Stirling Ranges.' Tom said: 'Call 'em what you -choose, chum. We call 'em Darling--and them others forty mile southwest -we call the Stirling.' The man groaned. Minnie Greenlow called us to -come in to tea, and he came along as well. His manners were awful. He -fidgetted and pushed his hat back on his head and leant forward and spat -in the fire at a long shot, and tipped his cup so that his tea swobbed -in his saucer, then drank it out of the saucer. Then he pushed the cake -back when handed to him, and leaned his head on his arms on the table -and groaned. You'd have thought he was drunk, but he wasn't, because he -said to Tom, 'Are ye sure them's not the Stirling Ranges? I can't drink -my tea for thinkin' about it.' And Tom said: 'Sure.' and then he seemed -more distracted than ever, and blew through his teeth and mopped his -head, and was upset to a degree. - -"When we had finished tea and we all went outside he said: 'Well, I -think I'll get back now. It's no use when the compass turns you down. -I'll never find it." We didn't know what he was talking about, but when -he'd got into his buggy and drove away the blacks told us: 'Master -lookin' for big lump yellow dirt--He think that very big fish, an' he -bury him long time. Cornin' back no finda him.'--While the boys were -talking who should shout to have the slip rail let down but this same -stranger and he drove right past us and away down the long paddock. When -he got to the gate there he turned round and came back and drew up by us -muttering, and said: 'Where did you tell me the Stirling Ranges -were?'--Tom pointed it out, and he said, 'So long!' and drove off. We -didn't see him again. We didn't want to. But Tom is almost sure he found -a lump of gold some time back and buried it for safety's sake and now -can't find it. - -"That's all the gold I've heard about out here. - -"Now for news. One day I went out with tucker to old Jack Moss. He's -keeping a bit of land warm for the Greenlows, shepherds sheep down -there, about forty miles from everywhere. He talked and talked, and when -he didn't talk he didn't listen to me. He looked away over the scrub and -sucked his cutty. They say he's hoarded wealth but I didn't see any -signs. He was in tatters and wore rags round his feet for boots, which -were like a gorilla's. Another day we had a kangaroo hunt. We all chased -an Old Man for miles and at last he tinned and faced us. I was so close -I had no time to think and was on him before I had time to pull up. I -jumped to the ground and grappled, and we rolled over and over down the -gully. They couldn't shoot him because of me, but they fought him off -and killed him. And then we saw his mate standing near among the stones, -on her hind legs, with her front paws hanging like a helpless woman. -Then Tom, who was tying up my cuts, called out: 'Look at her pouch! It's -plum full of little nippers!' and so it was. You never saw such a trick. -So we let her go. But we got the Old Man. - -"Another day we rode round the surveyed area here, which Mr. Ellis is -taking up for the twins Og and Magog. I asked Tom a lot of questions -about taking up land. I think I should like to try. Perhaps if I do you -will come out. You would like the horses. There are quite a lot wild. We -hunt them in and pick out the best and use them. That's how lots of -people raise their horse-flesh. They are called brumbies. Excuse me for -not ending properly, the mailman is coming along, he comes once a -fortnight. We are lucky. - - -Jack." - - - - -IV - - -To his friend, the pugilist, he wrote: - - -"Dear Pug: - -"You ask me what I think about sending Ned out here. Well, there's no -opening that I can see for a gym. But work, that's another question, -there's more than enough. I am at work at a place called Gum Tree -Valley, clearing, but we came up to Tom's Aunt's place last week, to -help, and we've been shearing. At least I haven't. I've been the chap -who tars. You splash tar on like paint when the shearers make a misfire -and gash the poor brutes and curse you. Lord, don't they curse, if the -boss isn't round. He's got a grey beard and dribbles on it, and the -flies get caught in it and buzz as if it was a spider's web. He makes -everyone work from mom till night like the Devil. Gosh, if it wasn't -that it is only for a short spell, I'd get. Don't you worry, up-country -folk know how to get your tucker's worth out of you all right Today the -Sabbath we had a rest.--I don't think! We washed our clothes. Talk about -a goodly pile! Only a rumour. For the old man fetched along his vests -and pants, and greasy overalls and aprons, his socks, his slimy hanks -and night-shirt Imagine our horror. He's Tom's Aunt's husband, and has -no sons only herds of daughters, so we had to do it. We scrubbed 'em -with horse-brushes on the stones. Jinks, but I rubbed some holes in 'em! - -"But cheer up. I'm not grumbling. I like getting experience as it is -called. - -"I mean to take up land and have a place of my own some day, then you -and Ned could visit me and we could have some fun with the gloves. -Lennie says I'm like a kangaroo shaping and punching at nothing, so I -got a cow's bladder and blew it up and tied it to a branch, and I batter -on it. Must have something to hit. You know kangaroos shape up and make -a punch. They are pretty doing that. We have a baby one, Joey, and it -takes a cup in its little hands and drinks. Honest to God it's got -hands, you never saw such a thing. - -"Kindest regards to your old woman and Ned. Lord only knows how I've -missed you, and pray that some day I will be fortunate enough to meet -you again. Until then. - -"Farewell. - -"A Merry Xmas and a Glad New Year, by the time you get this. Think of me -in the broiling heat battling with sheep, their Boss, and the flies, and -you'll think of me true. - -"Ever your sincere friend - -Jack." - - - - -V - - -As the time for returning from camp drew near, Jack dwelt more and more -on this question of the future--of taking up land. He wished so often -that life could always be a matter of camping, land-clearing, kangaroo -hunting, shearing, and generally messing about. But deep underneath -himself he knew it couldn't: not for him at least. Plenty of fellows -lived all their life messing from camp to camp and station to station. -But himself--sooner or later he would have to bite on to something. He'd -have to plunge in to that cold water of responsible living, some time or -other. - -He asked Tom about it. - -"You must make up y' mind what you want to go in for, cattle, sheep, -horses, wheat, or mixed farming like us," said Tom. "Then you can go out -to select. But it's no good before you know what you want." - -Jack was surprised to find how little information he got from the men he -mixed with. They knew their jobs: teamsters knew about teams, and jobs -on the mill; the timber workers knew hauling and sawing; township people -knew trading; the general hands knew about hunting and bush-craft and -axe handling; and farmers knew what was under their nose, but nothing of -the laws of the land, or how he himself was to get a start. - -At last he found a small holder who went out as a hired man after he had -put in the seed on his own land. And this, apparently, was how Jack -would have to start. The man brought out various grubby Government -papers, and handed them over. - -Jack had a bad time with them: Government reports, blue books, -narratives of operations. But he swotted grimly. And he made out so -'much: - - -1. Any reputable immigrant over 21 years could procure 50 acres of -unimproved rural Crown land open for selection; if between the ages of -14 and 21, 25 acres. - -2. Such land must be held by "occupation certificate," deemed -transferable only in case of death, etc. - -3. The occupation certificate would be exchanged for a grant at the end -of five years, or before that time, providing the land had been enclosed -with a substantial fence and at least a quarter cultivated. But if at -the end of the five years the above conditions, or any of them, had not -been observed, the lots should revert to the Crown. - -4. Country land was sub-divided into agricultural and pastoral, either -purchasable at the sum of 10/- an acre, or leased: the former for eight -years at the nominal sum of 1/- an acre, with the right of purchase, the -latter for one year at annual rental of 2/- per hundred acres, with -presumptive renewal; or five pounds per 1000 acres with rights. - - -Jack got all this into his mind, and at once loathed it. He loathed the -thought of an "occupation certificate." He loathed the thought of being -responsible to the Government for a piece of land. He almost loathed the -thought of being tied to land at all. He didn't want to own things; -especially land, that is like a grave to you as soon as you do own it. -He didn't want to own anything. He simply couldn't bear the thought of -being tied down. Even his own unpacked luggage he had detested. - -But he started in with this taking-up land business, so he thought he'd -try an easy way to get through with it. - - -"Dear Father, - -"I could take up land on my own account now if you sent a few hundred -pounds for that purpose per Mr. George. He would pay the deposit and -arrange it for me. I have my eye on one or two improved farms falling -idle shortly down this Gum Valley district, which is very flourishing. -When they fall vacant on account of settlers dropping them, they can be -picked up very cheap. - -"I hope you are quite well, as I am at present - -"Your affec. son - -Jack." - - -Jack spent his sixpence on this important document, and forgot all about -it. And in the dead end of the hot summer, just in the nick of time, he -got his answer: - - -Sea View Terrace, -Bournemouth. -2. 2. '83, - -Dear Jack: - -"Thank you for your most comprehensive letter of 30/11/82. It is quite -impossible for me to raise several hundreds of pounds, or for the matter -of that, one hundred pounds, in this offhand manner. I don't want to be -hard on you, but we want you to be independent as soon as possible. We -have so many expenses, and I have no intention of sinking funds in the -virgin Australian wild, at any rate until I see a way clear to getting -some return for my money, in some form of safe interest accruing to you -at my death.--You must not expect to run before you can walk. Stay where -you are and learn what you can till your year is up, and then we will -see about a jackeroo's job, at which your mother tells me you will earn -£1. a week, instead of our having to pay it for you. - -"We all send felicitations - -Your affectionate father - -G. B. Grant." - - -But this is running ahead.--It is not yet Christmas, 1882. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -HOME FOR CHRISTMAS - - -I - - -It was a red hot Christmas that year--'ot, 'ot, 'ot, all day long. Good -Lord, how hot it was!--till blessed evening. Sundown brought blessings -in its trail. After six o'clock you would sense the breeze coming from -the sea. Whispering, sighing, hesitating. Then puff! there it was. -Delicious, sweet, it seemed to save one's life. - -It had been splendid out back, but it was nice to get home again and sit -down to regular meals, have clean clothes and sheets to one's bed. To -have your ironing and cooking done for you, and sit down to dinner at a -big table with fresh, hailstorm-patterned tablecloth on it. There was a -sense almost of glory in a big, white, glossy, hailstorm table-cloth. It -lifted you up. - -Mr. Ellis had taken Gran away for the time, so the place seemed freer, -noisier. There was nothing to keep quiet for. It was holiday--_pinkie_, -the natives called it; the fierce midsummer Christmas. Everybody was -allowed to "spell" a great deal. - -Tom and Jack were roasted like Red Indians, rather uncouth, and more -manly. At first they seemed rather bumptious, thinking themselves very -much men. Jack could now ride his slippery saddle in fine style, and -handle a rope or an axe, and shoot straight. He knew jarrah, karri, -eucalyptus, sandal, wattle, peppermint, banksia, she-oaks, pines, -paper-back and gum trees; he had learned to tan a kangaroo hide, pegging -it on to a tree; he had looked far into the wilderness, and seen the -beyond, and been seized with a desire to explore it; he had made -excursions over "likely places," with hammer and pick, looking for gold. -He had hunted and brought home meat, had trapped and destroyed many -native cats and dingoes. He had lain awake at night and listened to the -more-porks, and in the early morning had heard with delight the warbling -of the timeline and thickhead thrushes that abounded round the camp, -mingled with the noises of magpies, tits, and wrens. He had watched the -manoeuvres of willy-wagtails, and of a brilliant variety of birds: -weavers, finches, parrots, honeyeaters, and pigeons. But the banded -wrens and blue-birds were his favourites in the bush world. - -Well, on such a hero as this, the young home-hussies Monica and Grace -had better not look too lightly. He was so grand they could hardly reach -him with a long pole. - -"An' how many emus did y' see?" asked Og. For lately at Wandoo they had -had a plague of emus, which got into the paddocks and ate down the -sheeps' food-stuffs, and then got out again by running at the fences and -bashing a way through. - -Jack had never seen one. - -"Never seen an emu!"--Even little Ellie shrilled in derisive amazement. -"Monica, he's _never seen an emu!_" - -Already they had snipped the tip off the high feather he had in his cap. - -But he was still a hero, and Lennie followed him round like a satellite, -while the girls were obviously _thrilled_ at having Tom and him back -again. They would giggle and whisper behind Bow's back, and wherever he -was, they were always sauntering out to stand not far off from him. So -that, of course, their thrill entered also into Jack's veins, he felt a -cocky young lord, a young life-master. This suited him very well. - -But there was no love-making, of course. They all laughed and joked -together over the milking and pail-carrying and feeding and -butter-making and cheese-making and everything, and life was a happy -delirium. - -They had waited for Tom to come home, to rob the bees. Tom hated the -bees and they hated him, but he was staunch. Veils, bonnets, gloves, -gaiters were produced, and off they all set, in great joy at their own -appearance, with gong, fire, and endless laughter. Tom was to direct -from a distance: he stood afar, "Smoking them off." Grace and Monica -worked merrily among the hives, manipulating the boxes which held the -comb, lifting them on to the milk pans to save the honey, and handing -the pans to the boys to carry in. - -"Oooh!" yelled Tom suddenly, "Oooh!" - -A cloud of angry bees was round his head. Down went his -fire-protector--a tin full of smouldering chips--down went flappers and -bellows as with a shriek he beat the air. The more he beat the darker -the venomous cloud. Crippled with terror, he ran on shaking legs. The -girls and youngsters were paralysed with joy. They swarmed after him -shrieking with laughter. His head was completely hidden by bees, but his -arms like windmills waved wildly to and fro. He dashed into the cubby, -but the bees went with him. He appeared at the window for a moment, -showing a demented face, then he jumped out, and the bees with him. -Leaping the drain gap and yelling in terror, he made for the house. The -bees swung with him and the children after. Jack and the girls stood -speechless, looking at one another. Monica had on man's trousers with an -old uniform buttoned close to her neck, workmen's socks over her shoes -and trouser-ends, and a Chinaman's hat with a veil over it, netted round -her head like a meat-safe. Jack noticed that she was funny. Suddenly, -somehow, she looked mysterious to him, and not just the ordinary image -of a girl. Suddenly a new cavern seemed to open before his eyes: the -mysterious, fascinating cavern of the female unknown. He was not -definitely conscious of this. But seeing Monica there in the long white -flannel trousers and the Chinaman's-hat meat-safe over her face, -something else awoke in him, a new awareness of a new wonder. He had but -lately stood on the inward ranges and looked inland into the blue, vast -mystery of the Australian interior. And now with another opposite vision -he saw an opposite mystery opposing him: the mystery of the female, the -young female there in her grotesque garb. - -A new awareness of Monica began to trouble him. - -"Oooh! Oooh! Ma! Ma! Ma!" Out rushed Tom straight from the kitchen door, -the bees still with him. Straight he dashed to the garden, and to the -well in the middle. He loosed the windlass and stood on the coping -screaming while the bucket clanged and clashed to the bottom. Then Tom -seized the rope, and turning his legs round it, slid silently into the -hidden, cool dark depths. - -The children shrieked with bliss, Jack and the girls rocked with -helpless laughter, convulsed by this last exit. - -The bees were puzzled. They poised buzzbee fashion above the well-head, -explored the mouth of the shaft, and rose again and hovered. Then they -began to straggle away. They melted into the hot air. - -And now the girls and Jack drew up from the well a raging and soaking -Tom. Drew him up uncertainly, wobblingly, a terrible weight on the -straining, creaking windlass. Ma and Ellie took him in hand and daubed -him a sublime blue: like an ancient Briton, Grace said. Then they gave -him bread and jam and a cup of tea. - -Then occurred another honey-bee tragedy. Ellie, who had done nothing at -all to the bees, suddenly shrieked loudly and ran pelting round, -screaming: "I've got a bee in my head! I've got a bee in my head!" -Monica caught and held her, while Jack took the bee, a big drone, out of -the silky meshes of her honey hair. And as he lifted his eyes he met the -yellow eyes of Monica. And the two exchanged a moment's look of intimacy -and communication and secret shame, so that they both went away avoiding -one another. - - - - -II - - -On New Year's Eve there was always a foregathering of the settlers at -the Wandoo homestead. They must foregather somewhere, and Wandoo was the -oldest and most flourishing place. It occupied the banks of the -so-called Avon River, which was mostly just a great dry bed of stones. -But it had plenty of fresh water in the soaks and wells, among the -scorched rocks, and these wells were fed by underground springs, not -brackish, as is so often the case. Wandoo was therefore a favoured -place. - -"What am I to wear?" said Jack, aghast, when he heard of the affair. - -"Anything," said Tom. - -"Nothing," said Len. - -"Your new riding suit," said Monica, who had begun to assume airs of -proprietorship over him.--"And you needn't say anything, young Len," she -continued venomously. "Because you've got to wear that new holland suit -Ma got you from England, and boots and socks as well." - -"It's awful. Oo-er! It's awful!" groaned Lennie. - -It was. A tight-fitting brown holland suit with pants halfway down the -shin and many pearl-buttons across the stomach, the coat with a stiff -stand-up collar and rigid seams. Harry had a similar rig, but the twins -out--did Solomon in sailor suits with gold braid and floppy legs. At -least they started in glory. - -Tom, in his father's old tennis-flannels and a neat linen jacket, looked -quite handsome. But when he saw Jack in his real pukka riding rig, he -exclaimed. - -"God Almighty, but you've got the goods!" - -"A bit too dashing?" asked Jack anxiously. - -"Not on your life! You'll do fine. Reds all go in for riding breeks and -coats as near sporting dog's yank as they k'n get'm. There's a couple o' -white washing suits o' Dad's as he's grown out of, as I'll plank up in -the loft to change into tonight. We can't come in this here cubby again. -Once we leave it, it'll be jumped by all the women and children from -round the country to put their things in." - -"Won't they go into the house?" - -"Hallelujah no! Only relations go upstairs. Quality into the dyin' room. -Yahoos anywhere, and the ladies always bag our cubby!" - -"Lor!" - -But it had to be so. For the New Year's chivoo the settlers all saved -up, and they all dressed up. By ten o'clock the place was like a fair -ground. Horses of all sorts nosing their feed-bags; conveyances of all -sorts unhitched; girls all muslin and ribbon; boys with hats on at an -angle, and boots on; men in clean shirts and brilliant ties, mothers in -frill and furbelow, with stiffly-starched little children half hidden -under sunbonnets; old dames and ancient patriarchs, young bearded -farmers, and shaven civilians ridden over from York. Children rushing -relentlessly in the heat, amid paper bags, orange peel, -concertina-playing, baskets of victuals and fruit, canvas, rubbish and -nuts all over the scorched grass. Christmas! - -Tom had asked Jack to organise a cricket eleven to play against the -Reds. The Reds were dangerous opponents, and the dandies of the day. In -riding breeches made India fashion, with cotton gaiters, and -rubber-soled shoes, white shirts, and broad-brimmed hats, they looked a -handsome colonial set. And they had a complete eleven. - -Tom was sitting on a bat bemoaning his fate. He had only five reliable -men. - -"Aw, shut up!" said Lennie. "Somebody'll turn up.--Who's comin' in at -the gate now? Ain't it the parson from York, and five gents what can -handle a bat. Hell!--ain't my name cockadoodle!" - -In top hats and white linen suits these gentlemen had ridden their -twenty-five miles for a game. What price the Reds now! - -Tom's side was in first, Easu and Ross Ellis bowling, Easu, big, loose, -easy, looked strange and _native_, as if he belonged to the natural salt -of the earth there. He seemed at home, like an emu or a yellow mimosa -tree. He was a bowler of repute. But somehow Jack could not bear to see -him palm the ball before he bowled: could not bear to watch it. Whereas -fat Ross Ellis, the other bowler, spitting on his hand and rolling the -ball in elation after getting the wicket of the best man from York, Jack -didn't mind him.--But unable to watch Easu, he walked away across the -paddock, among the squatting mothers whose terror was the flying leather -ball. - -"Your turn at the wickets, Mr. Grant," called the excited, red-faced -parson, who, Lennie declared, "Couldn't preach less or act more." - -"We're eight men out for twenty-six rounds, so smack at 'em. If ye can -get the loose end on Ross, do it. I'll be in t'other end next and stop -'em off Easu. I come in right there as th' useful block." - -Jack was excited. And when he was excited, phrases always came up in his -mind. He had the sun in his eyes, but the bat felt good. - -"If a gentleman sees bad, he ignores it. He----" - -Here comes the ball from that devil Easu! - -How's that! - -"Finds good and fans it to flame--fans it to----" - -Joe Low, that stripling, had the other wicket. - -Smack! Jack scored the first run off Easu, running for his life. - -"You can be a gentleman even if you are a bush-whacker." - -Nine wickets had fallen to Easu for twenty-seven runs, and Easu was -elated. Then the parson came forth and stood opposite Jack. He at once -whacked Ross' ball successfully, for three. Jack hitched his belt after -the run, and hit out for another. - -Smack! no need to run that time. It was a boundary. - -Lennie's voice outside yelling admiration roused his soul, as did Easu's -yelling agrily to Ross: "You give that ball to Sam, this over. You -blanky idjut!" - -Ross picked up the returning leather, and sent down a sulky grubber -which Jack naturally skied. Herbert, placed at a point in the shade, -came out to catch it, and missed. - -Somehow the parson had steadied Jack's spirit. And when, in a crisis, -Jack got his spirit steadied, it seemed to him he could get a -semi-magical grip over a situation. Almost as if he could alter the -swerve of the ball by his pure, clairvoyant will. So it seemed. And -keyed up against the weird, handsome, native Easu, as if by a magic of -will Jack held the wicket and got the runs. It was one of those subtle -battles which are beyond our understanding. And Jack won. - -But Easu got him out in the end. In the first innings, a terrific full -pitch came down crash over his head on to the middle wicket, when he had -made his first half century; that was Easu; and Easu stumped him out in -the second innings, for twenty. - -Nevertheless, the Reds were beaten by a margin of sixteen runs before -the parson and the gentlemen in top hats set off for their long and -dusty ride to York. - - - - -III - - -Jack hated the Reds with all the wholesale hatred of eighteen. There -they were, all of them, swaggering round as if the place belonged to -them, taking everything and giving nothing. Their peculiar air of -assertion was particularly maddening, in contrast with the complete lack -of assumption on the part of the other Australians. It was as if the -Reds had made up their minds, all of them, to leave a bruise on -everything they touched. They were all big men, and older than Jack. -Easu must have been over thirty, and unmarried, with a bad reputation -among the women of the colony. Yet, apparently, he could always find a -girl. That slow, laconic assurance of his, his peculiar, meaning smile -as he drifted up loose-jointed to a girl, seemed nearly always to get -through. The women watched him out of the corner of their eye. They -didn't like him. But they felt his power. And that was perhaps even more -effective. - -For he had power. And this was what Jack felt lacking in himself. Jack -had quick, intuitive understanding, and a quick facility. But he had not -Easu's power. Sometimes Easu could look really handsome, strolling -slowly across to some girl with a peculiar rolling gait that -distinguished him, and smiling that little, meaningful, evil smile. Then -he looked handsome, and as if he belonged to another race of men, men -who were like small-headed demons out to destroy the world. - -"I'm fighting him," thought Jack. "I wouldn't have a good opinion of -myself if I didn't." - -For he saw in Easu a malevolent principle, a kind of venom. - -Ross Ellis, the youngest of the Reds, was old enough to be joining the -mounted police force in a few days, and Mr. Ellis had sent up a strong -chestnut mount for him, from the coast. Easu, tall, broad, sinewy, with -sinewy powerful legs and small buttocks, was sitting close on the -prancing chestnut, showing off, his malevolence seeming to smile under -his blond beard, and his blue, rivet eyes taking in everything. All the -time he went fooling the simple farmers who had come to the sports, -raising a laugh where he could, and always a laugh of derision. - -"Tom," said Jack at last, "couldn't you boss it a bit over those Reds? -It's your place, it's _your_ house, not theirs. Go on, put them down a -bit, do." - -"Aw," said Tom. "They're older'n me, and the place by rights belongs to -them: leastways they think so. And they are crack sportsmen." - -"Why, they're not! Look at Easu parading on that police horse your -father sent up from the coast! And look at all the other cockeys getting -ready to compete against him in the riding events. They haven't a -chance, and he knows it." - -"He won't risk taking that police horse over the jumps, don't you fret." - -"No, but he has the pick of your stable, and he'll beat all the others -while you stand idling by. Why should he be cock of the walk?" - -"Why," cried Lennie breaking in, "I could beat anyfin' on Lucy. But Tom -won't let me go in against the other chaps, will you, Tom?" - -Tom smiled. He had a plain brick-red face, patient and unchanging, with -white teeth, and brown, sensitive eyes. When he smiled he had a great -charm. But he did not often smile, and his mouth was marred by the look -so many men develop in Australia, facing the bush: that lipless look, -which Jack, as he grew more used to it, came to call the suffering look. -As if they had bitten and been bitten hard, perhaps too hard. - -"Well, Nipper," he said after a moment's hesitation; "if you finds them -Waybacks has it between 'em, you stand out. But y'c'n have Lucy if you -like, an' if y' beat the _Reds_--y'c'n beat 'em." - -"That's what I mean all right!" cried Lennie, capering. "I savvy O. K. -I'll give 'em googlies and sneaks an' leg-breaks, y' see if I don't, an' -even up for 'em." - - - - -IV - - -Monica came up and took Jack's arm with sudden impulsive affection, on -this very public day. Drawing him away, she said: - -"Come and sit down a bit under the Bay Fig, Jack. I want to rest. All -these people tearing us in two from morning till night." - -Jack found himself thrilling to the girl's touch, to his own surprise -and disgust. He flushed slowly, and went on stiff legs, hoping nobody -was looking at him. Nobody was looking specially, of course. But Monica -kept hold of his arm, with her light, tense girlish hand, and he found -it difficult to walk naturally. And again the queer electric thrills -went through him, from that light blade of her hand. - -She was very lovely to-day, with a sort of winsomeness, a sort of fierce -appeal. As a matter of fact, she had been flirting dangerously with Red -Easu, till she was a bit scared. And she had been laughing and fooling -with Hal Stockley--otherwise Pink-eye Percy--whom all the girls were mad -about, but who didn't affect her seriously. Easu affected her, though. -And she didn't really like him. That was why she had come for Jack, whom -she liked very much indeed. She felt so safe and happy with him. And she -loved his delicate, English, virgin quality, his shyness and natural -purity. He was purer than she was. So she wanted to make him in love -with her. She was sure he was in love with her. But it was such a shy, -unwilling love, she was half annoyed. - -So she leaned forward to him, with her fierce young face and her queer, -yellow, glowering eyes, not far from his, and she seemed to yearn to him -with a yearning like a young leopard. Sometimes she touched his hand, -and sometimes, laughing and showing her small, pointed teeth winsomely, -she would look straight into his eyes, as if searching for something. -And he flushed with a dazed sort of delight, unwilling to be overpowered -by the new delight, yet dazed by it, even to the point of forgetting the -other people and the party, and Easu on the chestnut horse. - -But he made no move. When she touched his hand, though his eyes shone -with a queer suffused light, he would not take her hand in his. He would -not touch her. He would not make any definite response. To all she said, -he answered in simple monosyllables. And there he sat, suffused with -delight, yet making no move whatsoever. - -Till at last Monica, who was used to defending herself, was niffed. She -thought him a muff. So she suddenly rose and left him. Went right away. -And he was very much surprised and chagrined, feeling that somehow it -wasn't possible, and feeling as if the sun had gone out of the sky. - - - - -V - - -The sun really was low in the heavens. The breeze came at last from the -sea and freshened the air and lifted the sweet crushed scent of the -trampled dry grass. It was time for the last events of the sports. -Everybody was eager, revived by the approach of evening, and Jack felt -the drunkenness of new delight upon him. He was still vague, however, -and unwilling even to think of Monica, much less seek her out. - -The black-boys' event, with unbroken buckjumpers, was finishing down by -the river. Joe Low, with a serious face but sparkling eyes, went riding -by on a brumby colt he had caught and broken himself. Jack sat alone -under a tree, waiting for the flat race, in which he was entered, and -feeling sure of himself. - -Easu came dancing up on the raw chestnut that had been sent up from the -coast along with the police horse. He wore spurs, and had a long -parrot-feather in his hat. - -"Here you young Pommy Grant," he said to Jack. "Ketch hold of me bit -while I fix me girths a bit tighter, and then you c'n hold your breath -while I show them Cornseeds what." - -He had a peculiarly insolent manner towards Jack. The latter -nevertheless held the frothy chestnut while Easu swung out of the saddle -and hitched up the girth. As he bent there beside the horse, Jack -noticed his broad shoulders and narrow waist and small hard, tense hips. -Yes, he was a man. But ugh! what an objectionable one! Especially the -slight hateful smile of derision on the red face and in the light-blue, -small-pupilled eyes. - -But he dipped into the saddle again, and once more it was impossible not -to admire his seat, his close, fine, clean, small seat in the saddle. -There was no spread about him there. And the power of the long, muscular -thighs. Then once more he dismounted, leaving Jack to hold the bridle of -the chestnut whilst he himself strolled away. - -The other farmers were waiting on their horses, so serious and quiet: in -their patience and unobtrusiveness, so gentlemanly, Jack thought. So -unlike the assertive, jeering Easu. - -Lennie came up and whipped the pin out of Jack's favour. It was a -rosette of yellow ribbon, shiny as a buttercup, that Monica had made -him. - -"Here, what're you doing!" he cried. - -"Aw, shut it. Keep still!" said Lennie. - -And slipping round, he pushed the pin, point downward, into the back -saddle-pad of the chestnut Jack was holding. That wasn't fair. But Jack -let be. - -The judge called his warning, the Cornseeds lined up, along with Joe Low -and a young yellow-faced dairyman and a slender skin-hunter, and a -woolly old stockman. Easu came and took his chafing horse, but did not -mount. - -"One!" Easu swung up, standing in his stirrups, scarce touching the -saddle-seat. - -"Two! Three!" and the sharp crack of a pistol. - -Away went the scraggy brumby and Joe, and like a torrent, the dairyman -and the skin-hunter and the stockman. But the chestnut had never heard a -pistol shot before, and was jumping round wildly. - -"Blood and pace, mark you;" said the judge, waving towards the chestnut. -"Them cockeys does their best on what they got, but watch that chestnut -under Red Ellis. It's a pleasure to see good horse-flesh like them -Ellises brings up to these parts." - -Easu, seeing the field running well and far ahead, wheeled his mount on -to the track at that minute, and sat down. - -The chestnut sat up, stopped, bucked, threw Easu, and then galloped -madly away. It was all so sudden and somehow unnatural, that everybody -was stunned. Easu rose and stared, with hell in his face, after the -running chestnut. People began to laugh aloud. - -"Oh, Gawd my fathers!" murmured Tom in Jack's ear. "Think of Easu -getting a toss! Easu letting any horse get the soft side of him! Oh, my -Gawd, if I'm not sorry for Easu when that crowd o' Reds sets on to him -with their tongues to-morrow." - -"I'm jolly glad," said Jack complacently. - -"So am I," said Lennie. "An' I did it, an' I wish it had killed him. I -put a pin under the saddle-crease, Tom. Don't look at me, y'needn't. -I've had one up again 'im for a long time, for Jack's sake. D'y' know -what he did? He put Jack on that Stampede stallion, when Jack hadn't -been on our place a fortnight. So he did. An' if Jack had been killed, -who'd ha' called him a murderer? Zah, one of the blacks, told me. And -nobody durst tell you, cos they durstn't." - -"On Stampede!" exclaimed Tom, going yellow, and hell coming into his -brown eyes. "An' a new chum my father trusted to him to show him round." - -"Oh well," said Jack. - -"The sod!" said Tom: and that was final. - -Then after a moment: - -"If the Reds is going over the jumps, you go and get Lucy, Len." - -"I likes your sperrit, Tom. I was goin' to anyway, case they get that -dark 'oss." Lennie threw off his coat, hat, and tie, then sat on the -trodden brown grass to take off his boots and stockings. Thus stripped, -he stood up and hitched his braces looser, remarking: - -"Jack Grant said he'd bash Easu's head for 'im if he said anything to me -after I beat 'im over the jumps, so I was goin' to risk it anyway." - -Jack had said no such thing, but was prepared to take the hint. - -The chestnut had been caught and tied up. Down the field they could see -Easu persuading Sept to ride a smart piebald filly that had been brought -in. Sept was the thinnest of the Reds. The jumping events continued away -on the left, the sun was almost setting. - -"Hurry up there for the final!" called the judge. - -Sept came up on the delicate piebald filly which they had brought over -from their own place. She was dark chestnut, and with flames of pure -white, she seemed dazzling. - -"That's the dark 'oss I mentioned!" said Len. "Gosh, but me heart is -beatin'! It'll be a real match between me and him, for that there filly -can jump like a 'roo, I've watched 'er." - -Joe Low rode up to the jumping yard, and lifted his brumby over. The -filly danced down and followed. Lennie was in the saddle like a cat and -Lucy went over the rail without effort. - -When the rail was at five feet two, Joe Low's brumby was done. Lucy -clipped the rail and the filly cleared it. Sept brought his creature -round to the judge, with raised eyebrows. - -"No y' don't," yelled Lennie, riding down the track hell for leather, -and Lucy went over like a swallow. Sept laughed, and came down to the -rail that was raised an inch. The filly sailed it, but hit the bar. Lucy -baulked. Len swung her round and came again. A perfect over. - -Next! The filly, snorting and frothing, tore down, jibbed, and was sworn -at loudly by Easu standing near. Sept whipped and spurred her over. - -But at that rail, raised to five feet nine, she would not be persuaded, -though Lucy cleared it with a curious casual ease. The filly would not -take it. - -"Say, Mister!" called Lennie when he knew he was winner. "Raise that -barrier five inches and see us bound it." - -He made his detour, brought Lucy along on twinkling feet, and cleared it -prettily. - -The roar of delight from the crowd sent Easu mad. Jack kept an eye on -him, in case he meant mischief. But Easu only went away to where the -niggers were still trying out the buck jumpers. Taking hold of a huge -rogue of a mare, he sprang on her back and came bucking all along the -track, apparently to give a specimen of horsemanship. The crowd watched -the queer massive pulsing up and down of the man and the powerful -bucking horse, all in a whirl of long hair, like some queer fountain of -life. And there was Monica watching Easu's cruel, changeless face, that -seemed to have something fixed and eternal in it, amid all that heaving. - -Jack felt he had a volcano inside him. He knew that Stampede had been -caught again, and was being led about down there, securely roped, as -part of the show. Down there among the outlaws. - -Away ran Jack. Anything rather than be beaten by Easu. But as he ran, he -kept inside him that queer little flame of white-hot calm which was his -invincibility. - -He patted Stampede's arching neck, and told Sam to saddle him. Sam -showed the whites of his eyes, but obeyed, and Stampede took it. Jack -stood by, intense in his own cool calmness. He didn't care what happened -to him. If he was to be killed he would be killed. But at the same time, -he was not reckless. He watched the horse with mystical closeness, and -glanced over the saddle and bridle to see if they were all right. - -Then, swift and light, he mounted and knew the joy of being a horseman, -the thrill of being a real horseman. He had the gift, and he knew it. If -not the gift of sheer power, like Easu, who seemed to overpower his -horse as he rode it; Jack had the gift of adjustment. He adjusted -himself to his horse. Intuitively, he yielded to Stampede, up to a -certain point. Beyond that certain flexible point, there would be no -yielding, none, and never. - -Jack came bucking along in Easu's wake, on a much wilder horse. But -though Stampede was wild and wicked, he never exerted his last efforts. -He bucked like the devil. But he never let himself altogether go. And -Jack seemed to be listening with an inward ear to the animal, listening -to its passion. After all it was a live creature, to be mastered, but -not to be overborne. Intuitively, the boy gave way to it as much as -possible. But he never for one moment doubted his own mastery over it. -In his mastery there must be a living tolerance. This his instinct told -him. And the stallion, bucking and sitting up, seemed somehow to accept -it. - -For after all, if the horse had gone really wicked, absolutely wicked, -it would have been too much for Master Jack. What he depended on was the -bit of response the animal was capable of. And this he knew. - -He found he could sit the stallion with much greater ease than before. -And that strange, powerful life beneath him and between his thighs, -heaving and breaking like some enormous alive wave, exhilarated him with -great exultance, the exultance in the power of life. - -Monica's eyes turned from the red, fixed, overbearing face of Easu, to -the queer, abstract, radiant male face of Jack, and a great pang went -through her heart, and a cloud came over her brow. The boy balanced on -the trembling, spurting stallion, looking down at it with dark-blue, -wide, dark-looking eyes, and thinking of nothing, yet feeling so much; -his face looking soft and warm with a certain masterfulness that was -more animal than human, like a centaur, as if he were one blood with the -horse, and had the centaur's superlative horse-sense, its non-human -power, and wisdom of hot blood-knowledge. She watched the boy, and her -brow darkened and her face was fretted as if she were denied something. -She wanted to look again at Easu, with his fixed hard will that excited -her. But she couldn't. The queer soft power of the boy was too much for -her, she could not save herself. - -So they rode, the two men, and all the people watched them, as the sun -went down in the wild empty sea westward from hot Australia. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -NEW YEAR'S EVE - - -I - - -New Year's Eve was celebrated Scotch style, at Wandoo. It was already -night, and Jack and Tom had been round seeing if the visitors had -everything they wanted. Ma and a few select guests were still in the -kitchen. The cold collation in the parlour still waited majestically. -The twins and Harry were no longer visible: they had subsided on their -stomachs by the wood-pile, in the hot evening, and found refuge in -sleep; for all the world like sailors sunk dilapidated and demoralised -after a high old spree. But Ellie and Baby were at their zenith. Having -been kept out of the ruck most carefully upstairs, they were now -produced at their best. Mr. Ellis was again away in Perth, seeing the -doctor. - -Tom and Jack went into the loft and changed into clean white duck. They -came forth like new men, jerking their arms in the stiff starched -sleeves. And they proceeded to light the many Chinese lanterns hung in -the barn, till the great place was mellow with soft light. Already in -the forenoon they had scraped candle ends on the floor, and rubbed them -in. Now they rubbed in the wax a little more, to get the proper -slipperiness. - -The light brought the people, like moths. Of course the Reds were there, -brazen as brass. They too had changed into white suits, tight round the -calf and hollow at the waist, and, for the moment, with high collars -rising to their ears above the black cravats. Also they sported -elastic-sided boots of patent leather, whereas most of the other fellows -were in their heavy hob-nailed boots, nicely blacked, indeed, but -destitute of grace. With their hair brushed down in a curl over their -foreheads, and their beards brushed apart, their strong sinewy bodies -filling out the white duck, they felt absolutely invincible, and almost -they looked it. For Jack was growing blind to the rustic absurdities, -blinded by the animal force of these Australians. - -Jack sat down by Herbert, who was pleasant and mild after his illness, -always a little shy with the English boy. But the other Reds had taken -possession of the place. Their bounce and brass were astounding. Jack -watched them in wonder at their aggressive self-assertion. They were -real bounders, more crude and more bouncy than ever the Old Country -could produce. But that was Australian. The bulk of the people, perhaps, -were dumb and unassuming. But there was always a proportion of real -brassy bounders, ready to walk over you and jump in your stomach, if -you'd let them. - -Easu had constituted himself Master of the Ceremonies, and we know what -an important post that is, in a country bean-feast. Wherever he was, he -must be in the front, bossing and hectoring other people. He had -appointed his brothers "stewards." The Reds were to run the show. There -was to be but one will: the will of the big, loose-jointed, domineering -Easu, with his reddish blonde beard brushed apart and his keen eyes -spying everything with a slight jeer. - -Most of the guests, of course, were as they had been all day, in their -Sunday suits or new dungarees. Joe Low, trim in a clean cotton jacket, -sat by the great open doors very seriously blowing notes out of an old -brass cornet, that had belonged to his father, a retired sergeant of the -Foot. Near him, a half-caste Huck was sliding a bow up and down a -yellow-looking fiddle, while other musicians stood with their -instruments under their arms. Outside in the warm night bearded farmers -smoked and talked. Mamas sat on the forms round the barn, and the girls, -most of them fresh and gay in billowy cotton frocks, clustered around in -excitement. It was the great day of all the year. - -For the rest, most of the young men were leaning holding up the big -timber supports of the barn, or framing the great opening of the sliding -doors, which showed the enormous dark gap of the naked night. - -Fire-eating Easu waved energetically to Joe, who blew a blast on the -cornet. This done, the strong but "common" Australian voice of Easu, -shouted effectively: - -"Take partners. Get ready for the Grand March." - -For of course he plumed himself on doing everything in "style," -everything grand and correct, this Australian who so despised the effete -Old Country. The rest of the Reds straightaway marched to the sheepish -and awkward fellows who stood propped up against any available prop, -seized them by the arm, and rushed them up to some equally sheepish -maiden. And instead of resenting it, the poor clowns were glad at being -forced into company. They grinned and blushed, and the girls giggled and -bridled, as they coupled and arranged themselves, two by two, close -behind one another. - -A blast of music. Easu seized Monica, who was self-consciously waiting -on the arm of another young fellow. He just flung his arm round her -waist and heaved her to the head of the column. Then the procession set -off, Easu in front with his arm round Monica's waist, he shining with -his own brass and self-esteem, she looking falsely demure. After them -came the other couples, self-conscious but extremely pleased with -themselves, slowly marching round the barn. - -Jack, who had precipitated himself into the night rather than be hauled -into action by one of the Red stewards, stood and looked on from afar, -feeling out of it. He felt out in the cold. He hated Easu's common, -gloating self-satisfaction, there at the head with Monica. Red cared -nothing about Monica, really. Only she was the star of the evening, the -chief girl, so he had got her. She was the chief girl for miles around. -And that was enough for Easu. He was determined to leave his mark on -her. - -After the March, the girls went back to their Mamas, the youths to their -shoulder-supports; and following a pause, Easu again came into the -middle of the floor, and began bellowing instructions. He was so pleased -with the sound of his own voice, when it was lifted in authority. -Everybody listened with all their ears, afraid of disobeying Easu. - -When the ovation was over, the boldest of the young men made a bee-line -for the prettiest girls, and there was a hubbub. In a twinkling any girl -whom Jack would have deigned to dance with, was monopolised, only the -poorest remained. Meanwhile the stewards were busy sorting the couples -into groups. - -Jack could not dance. He had not intended to dance. But he didn't at all -like being left out entirely, in oblivion as if he did not exist. Not at -all. So he drifted towards the group of youths in the doorway. But he -slid away again as Ross Ellis plunged in, seized whom he could by the -arm, and led them off to the crude and unprepossessing maidens left -still unchosen. He felt he would resent intensely being grabbed by the -arm and hustled into a partner by one of the Reds. - -What was to be done? He seemed to be marooned in his own isolation like -some shipwrecked mariner: and he was becoming aware of the size of his -own hands and feet. He looked for Tom. Tom was steering a stout but -willing mother into the swim, and Lennie, like a faithful little tug, -was following in his wake with a gentle but squint-eyed girl. - -Jack became desperate. He looked round quickly. Mrs. Ellis was sitting -alone on a packing case. At the same moment he saw Ross Ellis bearing -down on him with sardonic satisfaction. - -Action was quicker than thought. Jack stood bowing awkwardly before his -hostess. - -"Won't you do me the honour, Mrs. Ellis?" - -"Oh, dear me! Oh dear, Jack Grant! But I believe I will. I never thought -of such a thing. But why not? Yes, I will, it will give me great -pleasure. We shall have to lead off, you know. And I was supposed to -lead with Easu, seeing my husband isn't here. But never mind, we'll lead -off, you and I, just as well." - -She rose to her feet briskly, seeming young again. Lately Jack thought -she seemed always to have some trouble on her mind. For the moment she -shook it off. - -As for him, he was panic-stricken. He wished he could ascend into -heaven; or at least as high as the loft. - -"You'll help me through, marm, won't you?" he said. 'This dance is new -to me.' - -And he bowed to her, and she bowed to him, and it was horrible. The -horrible things people did for enjoyment! - -"This dance is new to him," Mrs. Ellis passed over his shoulder to a -pretty girl in pink. "Help him through, Alice." - -Feeling a fool, Jack turned and met a wide smile and a nod. He bowed -confusedly. - -"I'm your corner," said the girl. "I'll pass it on to Monica, she'll be -your vis-à -vis." - -"Pick up partners," Easu was yelling with his domineering voice. "All in -place, please! One more couple! One more couple!" He was at the other -end of the barn, coming forward now, looking around like a general. He -was coming for his Aunt. - -"Ah!" he said, when he saw Mrs. Ellis and Jack. "You're dancing with -Jack Grant, Aunt Jane? Thought he couldn't dance." - -And he straightway turned his back on them, looking for Monica. Monica -was standing with a young man from York. - -"Monica, I want you," said Easu. "You can find a girl there," he said, -nodding from the young fellow to a half-caste girl with fuzzy hair. The -young fellow went white. But Monica crossed over to Easu, for she was a -wicked little thing, and this evening she was hating Jack Grant, the -booby. - -"One more couple not needed," howled Easu. "Top centre. Where are you, -Aunt Jane? Couple from here, lower centre, go to third set on left." - -Easu was standing near the top. He stepped backward, and down came his -heel on Jack's foot. Jack got away, but an angry light came into his -eyes. His face, however, still kept that cherubic expression -characteristic of it, and so ill-fitting his feelings. Easu was staring -over the room, and never even looked round. - -"All in place? Music!" cried the M. C. - -The music started with a crash and a bang, Mrs. Ellis had seized Jack's -arm and was leading him into the middle of the set. - -"Catch hands, Monica," she said. - -He loved Monica's thin, nervous, impulsive hands. His heart went hot as -he held them. But Monica wouldn't look at him. She looked demurely -sideways. But he felt the electric thrill that came to him from her -hands, and he didn't want to let go. - -She loosed his grasp and pushed him from her. - -"Get back to Ma," she whispered. "Corner with Alice." - -"Oh, Lor!" thought Jack. For he was cornered and grabbed and twisted by -the girl with the wide smile, before he was let go to fall into place -beside Ma, panting with a sort of exasperation. - -So it continued, grabbing and twisting and twirling, all perfectly -ridiculous and undignified. Why, oh, why did human beings do it! Yet it -was better than being left out. He was half-pleased with himself. - -Something hard and vicious dug him in the ribs. It was the elbow of -Easu, who passed skipping like a goat. - -Was Easu making a dead set at him? The devil's own anger began to rise -in the boy's heart, bringing up with it all the sullen dare-devil that -was in him. When he was roused, he cared for nothing in earth or heaven. -But his face remained cherubic. - -"Follow!" said a gentle voice. Perhaps it was all a mistake. He found -himself back by Mrs. Ellis, watching other folks prance. There he stood -and mopped his brow, in the hot, hot night. He was wet with sweat all -over. But before he could wipe his face the pink Alice had caught and -twirled him, taking him unawares. He waited alert. Nothing happened. -Actually peace for a few seconds. - -The music stopped. Perhaps it was over. Oh, enjoyment! Why did people do -such things to enjoy themselves? Only he would have liked to hold -Monica's thin, keen hands again. The thin, keen, wild, wistful Monica. -He would like to be near her. - -Easu was bawling something. Figure Number Two. He could not listen to -instructions in Easu's voice. - -They were dancing again, and he knew no more than at first what he was -doing. All a maze. A natural diffidence and a dislike of being touched -by any casual stranger made dancing unpleasant to him. But he kept up. -And suddenly he found himself with Monica folded in his arms, and she -clinging to him with sudden fierce young abandon. His heart stood still, -as he realised that not only did he want to hold her hands--he had -thought it was just that; but he wanted to hold her altogether in his -arms. Terrible and embarrassing thought! He wished himself on the moon, -to escape his new emotions. At the same time there was the instantaneous -pang of disappointment as she broke away from him. Why could she not -have stayed! And why, oh, why were they both doing this beastly dancing! - -He received a clean clear kick on the shin as he passed Easu. Dazed with -a confusion of feelings, keenest among which perhaps was anger, he -pulled up again beside Ma. And there was Monica suddenly in his arms -again. - -"You always go again," he said in a vague murmur. - -"What did you say?" she asked archly, as she floated from him, just at -the moment when Easu jolted him roughly. Across the little distance she -was watching the hot anger in the boy's confused, dark-blue eyes. - -Another pause. More beastly instructions. Different music. Different -evolutions. - -"Steady, now!" he said to himself, trying to make his way in the new -figure. But what work it was! He tried to keep his brain steady. But Ma -on his arm was heavy as lead. - -And then, with great ease and perfect abandon, in spite of her years, Ma -threw herself on his left bosom and reclined in peace there. He was -overcome. She seemed absolutely to like resting on his bosom. - -"Throw out your right hand, dear boy," she whispered, and before he knew -he had done it, Easu had seized his hand in a big, brutal, bullying -grasp, and was grinding his knuckles. And then sixteen people began to -spin. - -The startled agony of it made a different man of him. For Ma was heavy -as a log on his left side, clinging to him as if she liked to cling to -his body. He never quite forgave her. And Easu had his unprotected right -hand gripped in a vice and was torturing him on purpose with the weight -and the grind. Jack's hands were naturally small, and Easu's were big. -And to be gripped by that great malicious paw was horrible. Oh, the -tension, the pain and rage of that giddy-go-rounding, first forward, -then abruptly backwards. It broke some of his innocence forever. - -But although paralytic with rage when released, Jack's face still looked -innocent and cherubic. He had that sort of face, and that diabolic sort -of stoicism. Mrs. Ellis thought: "What a nice kind boy! but late waking -up to the facts of life!" She thought he had not even noticed Easu's -behaviour. And again she thought to herself, her husband would be -jealous if he saw her. Poor old Jacob! Aloud she said: - -"The next is the last figure. You're doing very well, Jack. You go off -round the ring now, handing the ladies first your right and then your -left hand." - -He felt no desire to hand anybody his hand. But in the middle of the -ring he met Monica, and her slim grasp took his hurt right hand, and -seemed to heal it for a moment. - -Easu grabbed his arm, and he saw three others, suffering fools gladly, -locked arm in arm, playing soldiers, as they called it. Oh, God! Easu, -much taller than Jack, was twisting his arm abominably, almost pulling -it out of the socket. And Jack was saving up his anger. - -It was over. "That was very kind of you, my dear boy," Mrs. Ellis was -saying. "I haven't enjoyed a dance so much for years." - -Enjoyed! That ghastly word! Why would people insist on enjoying -themselves in these awful ways! Why "enjoy" oneself at all? He didn't -see it. He decided he didn't care for enjoyment, it wasn't natural to -him. Too humiliating, for one thing. - -Twenty steps involved in the black skirts of Mrs. Ellis, and he was -politely rid of her. She was very nice. And by some mystery she had -really enjoyed herself in this awful mêlée. He gave it up. She was too -distant in years and experience for him to try to understand her. Did -these people never have living anger, like a bright black snake with -unclosing eyes, at the bottom of their souls? Apparently not. - - - - -II - - -There was an interval in the dancing, and they were having games. Red -was of course still bawling out instructions and directions, being the -colonel of the feast. He was in his element, playing top sawyer. - -The next game was to be "Modern Proposals." It sounded rotten to Jack. -Each young man was to make an original proposal to an appointed girl. -Great giggling and squirming even at the mention of it. - -Easu still held the middle of the floor. Jack thought it was time to -butt in. With his hands in his pockets he walked coolly into the middle -of the room. - -"You people don't know me, and I don't know you," he found himself -announcing in his clear English voice. "Supposing I call this game." - -Carried unanimously! - -The young men lined up, and Easu, after standing loose on his legs for -some time just behind Jack, went and sat down somewhat discomfited. - -Jack pushed Tom on to his knees before the prettiest girl in the -room--the prettiest strange girl, anyhow. Tom, furiously embarrassed on -his knees, stammered: - -"I say! There's a considerable pile o' socks wantin' darning in my ol' -camp. I'd go so far as to face the parson, if you'd do 'em for me." - -It was beautifully non-committal. For all the Bushies were at heart -terrified lest they might by accident contract a Scotch marriage, and be -held accountable for it. - -Jack was amused by the odd, humorous expression of the young -bush-farmers. Joe Low, scratching his head funnily, said: "I'll put the -pot on, if you'll cook the stew." But the most approved proposal was -that of a well-to-do young farmer who is now a J. P. and head of a -prosperous family. - -"Me ol' dad an' me ol' lady, they never had no daughters. They gettin' -on well in years, and they kind o' fancy one. I've gotter get 'em one, -quick an' lively. I've fifteen head o' cattle an' seventy-six sheep, -eighteen pigs an' a fallowin' sow. I've got one hundred an' ninety-nine -acres o' cleared land, and ten improved with fruit trees. I've got forty -ducks an' hens an' a flock o' geese an' no one home to feed 'em. Meet me -Sunday mornin' eight-forty sharp at the cross roads, an' I'll be there -in me old sulky to drive y'out an' show y'." - -And the girl in pink with the wide smile, answered seriously: - -"I will if Mother'll let me, Mr. Burton." - -The next girl had been looming up like a big coal-barge. She was a -half-caste, of course named Lily, and she sat aggressively forwards, her -long elbows and wrists much in evidence, and her pleasant swarthy face -alight and eager with anticipation. Oh, these Missioner half-castes! - -Jack ordered Easu forward. - -But Easu was not to be baited. He strode over, put his hand on the fuzzy -head, and said in his strong voice: - -"Hump y'r bluey and come home." - -The laugh was with him, he had won again. - - - - -III - - -They went down to the cold collation. There Jack found other arrivals. -Mary had come in via York with Gran's spinster daughters. Also the -Greenlow girls from away back, and they made a great fuss of him. The -doctor too turned up. He had been missing all day, but now he strolled -back and forth, chatting politely first to one and then another, but -vague and washed-out to a degree. - -Jack's anger coiled to rest at the supper, for Monica was very attentive -to him. She sat next to him, found him the best pieces, and shared her -glass with him, in her quick, dangerous, generous fashion, looking up at -him with strange wide looks of offering, so that he felt very manly and -very shy at the same time. But very glad to be near her. He felt that it -was his spell that was upon her, after all, and though he didn't really -like flirting with her there in the public supper room, he loved her -hand finding his under the cover of her sash, and her fingers twining -into his as if she were entering into his body. Safely under the cover -of her silk sash. He would have liked to hold her again, close, close; -her agile, live body, quick as a cat's. She was mysterious to him as -some cat-goddess, and she excited him in a queer electric fashion. - -But soon she was gone again, elusive as a cat. And of course she was in -great request. So Jack found himself talking to the little elderly Mary, -with her dark animal's _museau._ Mary was like another kind of cat: not -the panther sort, but the quiet, dark, knowing sort. She was comfortable -to talk to, also soft and stimulating. - -Jack and Mary sat on the edge of the barn, in the hot night, looking at -the trees against the strange, ragged southern sky, hearing the frogs -occasionally, and fighting the mosquitoes. Mrs. Ellis also sat on the -ledge not far off. And presently Jack and Mary were joined by the -doctor. Then came Grace and Alec Rice, sitting a little further down, -and talking in low tones. The night seemed full of low, half-mysterious -talking, in a starry darkness that seemed pregnant with the scent and -presence of the black people. Jack often wondered why, in the night, the -country still seemed to belong to the black people, with their strange, -big, liquid eyes. - -Where was Easu? Was he talking to Monica? Or to the black half-caste -Lily? It might as well be the one as the other. The odd way he had -placed his hand on Lily's black fuzzy head, as if he were master, and -she a sort of concubine. She would give him all the submission he -wanted. - -But then, why Monica? Monica in her white, full-skirted frock with its -moulded bodice, her slender, golden-white arms and throat! Why Monica in -the same class with the half-caste Lily? - -Anger against Easu was sharpening Jack's wits, and curiously detaching -him from his surroundings. He listened to the Australian voices and the -Australian accent around him. The careless, slovenly speech in the -uncontrolled, slack, caressive voices. At first he had thought the -accent awful. And it was awful. But gradually, as he got into the rhythm -of the people, he began even to sympathise with "Kytie" instead of -"Katie." There was an abandon in it all--an abandon of restrictions and -confining control. Why have control? Why have authority? Why not let -everybody do as they liked? Why not? - -That was what Australia was for, a careless freedom. An easy, -unrestricted freedom. At least out in the bush. Every man to do as he -liked. Easu to run round with Monica, or with the black Lily, or to kick -Jack's shins in the dance. - -Yes, even this. But Jack had scored it up. He was going to have his own -back on Easu. He thought of Easu with his hand on the black girl's fuzzy -head. That would be just like Easu. And afterwards to want Monica. And -Monica wouldn't really mind about the black girl. Since Easu was Easu. - -Sitting there on the barn ledge, Jack in a vague way understood it all. -And in a vague way tolerated it all. But with a dim yet fecund germ of -revenge in his heart. He was not morally shocked. But he was going to be -revenged. He did not mind Easu's running with a black girl, and -afterwards Monica. Morally he did not mind it. But physically--perhaps -pride of race--he minded. Physically he could never go so far as to lay -his hand on the darky's fuzzy head. His pride of blood was too intense. - -He had no objection at all to Lily, until it came to actual physical -contact. And then his blood recoiled with old haughtiness and pride of -race. It was bad enough to have to come into contact with a woman of his -own race: to have to give himself away even so far. The other was -impossible. - -And yet he wanted Monica. But he knew she was fooling round with Easu. -So deep in his soul formed the motive of revenge. - -There are times when a flood of realisation and purpose sweeps through a -man. This was one of Jack's times. He was not definitely conscious of -what he realised and of what he purposed. Yet, there it was, resolved in -him. - -He was trying not to hear Dr. Rackett's voice talking to Mary. Even Dr. -Rackett was losing his Oxford drawl, and taking on some of the -Australian ding-dong. But Rackett, like Jack, was absolutely fixed in -his pride of race, no matter what extraneous vice he might have. Jack -had a vague idea it was opium. Some chemical stuff. - -". . . free run of old George's books? I should say it was a doubtful -privilege for a young lady. But you hardly seem to belong to West -Australia. I think England is really your place. Do you actually want to -belong, may I ask?" - -"To Western Australia? To the _country_, yes, very much. I love the -land, the country life, Dr. Rackett. I don't care for the social life of -a town like Perth. But I should like to live all my life on a farm--in -the bush." - -"Would you now!" said Rackett. "I wonder where you get that idea from. -You are the granddaughter of an earl." - -"Oh, my grandfather is farther away from me than the moon. You would -never know _how_ far!" laughed Mary. "No, I am colonial born and bred. -Though of course there is a fascination about the English. But I hardly -knew Papa. He was a tenth child, so there wasn't much of the earldom -left to him. And then he was a busy A.D.C. to the Governor-General. And -he married quite late in life. And then Mother died when I was little, -and I got passed on to Aunt Matilda. Mother was Australian born. I don't -think there is much English in me." - -Mary said it in a queer complacent way, as if there were some peculiar, -subtle antagonism between England and the colonial, and she was ranged -on the colonial side. As if she were a subtle enemy of the father, the -English father in her. - -"Queer! Queer thing to me!" said Rackett, as if he half felt the -antagonism. For he would never be colonial, not if he lived another -hundred years in Australia. "I suppose," he added, pointing his pipe -stem upwards, "it comes from those unnatural stars up there. I always -feel they are doing something to me." - -"I don't think it's the stars," laughed Mary. "I am just Australian, in -the biggest part of me, that's all." - -Jack could feel in the statement some of the antagonism that burned in -his own heart, against his own country, his own father, his own empty -fate at home. - -"If I'd been born in this country, I'd stick to it," he broke in. - -"But since you weren't born in it, what will you do, Grant?" asked the -doctor ironically. - -"Stick to myself," said Jack stubbornly, rather sulkily. - -"You won't stick to Old England then?" asked Rackett. - -"Seems I'm a misfit in Old England," said Jack. "And I'm not going to -squeeze my feet into tight boots." - -Rackett laughed. - -"Rather go barefoot like Lennie?" he laughed. - -Jack relapsed into silence, and turned a deaf ear, looking into the -alien night of the southern hemisphere. And having turned a deaf ear to -Rackett and Mary, he heard, as if by divination, the low voice of Alec -Rice proposing in real earnest to Grace: proposing in a low, urgent -voice that sounded like a conspiracy. - -He rose to go away. But Mary laid a detaining hand on his arm, as if she -wished to include him in the conversation, and did not wish to be left -alone with Dr. Rackett. - -"Don't you sympathise with me, Jack, for wishing I had been a boy, to -make my own way in the world, and have my own friends, and size things -up for myself?" - -"Seems to me you do size things up for yourself," said Jack rather -crossly. "A great deal more than most _men_ do." - -"Yes, but I can't do things as I could if I were a man." - -"What _can_ a man do, then, more than a woman--that's worth doing?" -asked Rackett. - -"He can see the world, and love as he wishes to love, and work." - -"No man can love as he wishes to love," said Rackett. "He's nearly -always stumped, in the love game." - -"But he can _choose!_" persisted Mary. - -And Jack with his other ear was hearing Alec Rice's low voice -persisting. - -"Go on, Grace, you're not too young. You're just right. You're just the -ticket now. Go on, let's be engaged and tell your Dad and fix it up. -We're meant for one another, you know we are. Don't you think we're -meant for one another?" - -"I never thought about it that way, truly." - -"But don't you think so now? Yes, you do." - -Silence--the sort that gives consent. And the silence of a young, -spontaneous embrace. - -Jack was on tenterhooks. He wanted to be gone. But Mary was persisting, -in her obstinate voice--he wished she'd shut up too. - -"I wanted to be a sailor at ten, and an explorer at twelve. At nineteen -I wanted to become a painter of wonderful pictures." Jack wished she -wouldn't say all this. "And then I had' a streak of humility, and wanted -to be a gardener. Yet----" she laughed, "not a sort of gardener such as -Aunt Matilda hires. I wanted to grow things and see them come up out of -the earth. And see baby chicks hatched, and calves and lambs born." - -She had lifted her hand from Jack's sleeve, to his relief. - -"And marry a farmer like Tom," he said roughly. Mary received this with -dead silence. - -"And drudge your soul away like Mrs. Ellis," said Rackett. "Worn out -before your time, between babies and heavy housework. Groping on the -earth all your life, grinding yourself into ugliness at work which some -animal of a servant-lass would do with half the effort. Don't you think -of it, Miss Mary. Let the servant-lasses marry the farmers. You've got -too much in you. Don't go and have what you've got in you trampled out -of you by marrying some cocky farmer. Tom's as good as gold, but he -wants a brawny lass of his own sort for a wife. You be careful, Miss -Mary. Women can find themselves in ugly harness, out here in these -god-forsaken colonies. Worse harness than any you've ever kicked -against." - -Monica seemed to have scented the tense atmosphere under the barn, for -she appeared like a young witch, in a whirlwind. - -"Hullo, Mary! Hullo, Dr. Rackett! It's just on midnight." And she -flitted over to Grace. "Just on midnight, Grace and Alec. Are you -coming? You seem as if you were fixed here." - -"We're not fixed on the spot, but we're fixed up all right, otherwise," -said Alec, in a slight tone of resentment, as he rose from Grace's side. - -"Oh, have you and Grace fixed it up!" exclaimed Monica, with a false -vagueness and innocence. "I'm awfully glad. I'm awfully glad, Grace." - -"I am," said Grace, with a faint touch of resentment, and she rose and -took Alec's arm. - -They were already like a married couple armed against that witch. Had -she been flirting with Alec, and then pushed him over on to Grace? Jack -sensed it with the sixth sense which divines these matters. - -Monica appeared at his side. - -"It's just twelve. Come and hold my hand in the ring. Mary can hold your -other hand. Come on! Come on, Alec, as well. I don't want any strangers -next to me to-night." - -Jack smiled sardonically to himself as she impulsively caught hold of -his hand. Monica was "a circumstance over which we have no control," -Lennie said. Jack felt that he had a certain control. - -They all took hands as she directed, and moved into the barn to link up -with the rest of the chain. There in the soft light of the big chamber, -Easu suddenly appeared, without collar or cravat, his hair ruffled, his -white suit considerably creased. But he lurched up in his usual -aggressive way, with his assertive good humour, demanding to break in -between Jack and Monica. Jack held on, and Monica said: - -"You mustn't break in, you know it makes enemies." - -"Does it!" grinned Easu. And with sardonic good humour he lurched away -to an unjoined part of the ring. He carried about with him a sense of -hostile power. But Jack was learning to keep within himself another sort -of power, small and concentrated and fixed like a stone, the sort of -power that ultimately would break through the bulk of Easu's -domineering. - -The ring complete at last, they all began to sing: "Cheer, Boys, Cheer!" -and "God Bless the Prince of Wales, John Brown's Body," and "Britons, -Never, Never, Never." - -Then Easu bawled: "Midnight!" There was a moment's frightened pause. Joe -Low blasted on the cornet, his toe beating time madly all the while. -Fiddles, whistles, concertinas, Jew's harps raggedly began to try out -the tune. The clasped hands began to rock, and taking Easu's shouting -lead, they all began to sing, in the ring: - - -"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, -An' never brought to min'? -Should auld acquaintance be forgot, -And days of auld lang syne? - -"For auld lang syne, my dear, -For auld lang syne, -We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet -For days of auld lang syne." - - -They all sang heartily and with feeling. There was a queer Scottish tang -in the colony, that made the Scottish emotion dominant. Jack disliked -it. There was no auld acquaintance, or auld lang syne, at least for him. -And he didn't care for these particular cups of kindness, in one ring -with Easu, black Lily, Dr. Rackett and Monica, and all. He didn't like -the chain of emotion and supposed pathetic clanship. It was worse here -even than on shipboard. - -Why start the New Year like this? As a matter of fact he wanted to -forget most of his own Auld Acquaintance, and start something a little -different. And any rate, the emotion was spurious, the chain was -artificial, the flow was false. - -Monica seemed to take a wicked pleasure in it, and sang more emotionally -than anybody, in a sweet but smallish voice. And poor little Mary, with -her half-audible murmur, had her eyes full of tears and seemed so moved. - -Auld lang syne! - -Old Long Since. - -Why not put it in plain English? - - - - -IV - - -The celebration did not end with Auld Lang Syne. By half-past two most -of the ladies had retired, though some ardent dancers still footed the -floor, and a chaperone or two, like crumpled rag-bags, slept on their -boxes. A good number of young men and boys were asleep with Herbert on -the sacks, handkerchiefs knotted round their throats in place of -collars. The concertina, the cornet, the fiddles and the rest of the -band had gone down to demolish the remains of the cold collation, whilst -Tom, Ross, and Ned sat on the barn step singing as uproariously as they -could, though a little hoarse, for the last dancers to dance to. Someone -was whistling very sweetly. - -Where was Easu? Jack wondered as he wandered aimlessly out into the -night. Where was Easu? For Jack had it on his mind that he ought to -fight him. Felt he would be a coward if he didn't tackle him this very -night. - -But it was three o'clock, the night was very still and rich, still warm, -rather close, but not oppressive. The strange heaviness of the hot -summer night, with the stars thick in clouds and clusters overhead, the -moon being gone. Jack strayed aimlessly through the motionless, dark, -warm air, till he came to the paddock gate, and there he leaned with his -chin on his arms, half asleep. It seemed to be growing cooler, and a -dampness was bringing out the scent of the scorched grass, the essence -of the earth, like incense. There was a half-wild bush with a few pale -pink roses near the gate. He could just get their fragrance. If it were -as it should be, Monica would be here, in one of her wistful, her -fiercely wistful moments! When she looked at him with her yellow eyes -and her fierce, naive look of yearning, he was ready to give all his -blood to her. If things were as they should be, she would be clinging to -him now like that, and nestling against his breast. If things were as -they should be! - -He didn't want to go to sleep. He wanted what he wanted. He wanted the -night, the young, changeable, yearning Monica, and an answer to his own -awake young blood. He insisted on it. He would not go to sleep, he would -insist on an answer. And he wanted to fight Easu. He ought to fight -Easu. His manhood depended on it. - -He could hear the cattle stirring down the meadow. Soon it would begin -to be day. What was it now? It was night, dark night towards morning, -with a faint breathing of air from the sea. And where was he? He was in -Australia, leaning on the paddock gate and seeing the stars and the dim -shape of the gum-tree. There was a faint scent of eucalyptus in the -night. His mother was far away. England was far away. He was alone there -leaning on the paddock gate, in Australia. - -After all, perhaps the very best thing was to be alone. Better even than -having Monica or fighting Easu. Because where you are alone you are at -one with your own God. The spirit in you is God in you. And when you are -alone you are one with the spirit of God inside you. Other people are -chiefly an interruption. - -And moreover, he could never say he was lonely while he was at Wandoo, -while there were Tom and Lennie, and Monica, and all the rest. He hoped -he would have them all his life. He hoped he would never, in all his -life, say good-bye to them. - -No, he would take up land as near this homestead as possible and build a -brick house on it. And he would have a number of fine horses, better -than anyone else's, and some sheep that would pay, and a few cows. -Always milk and butter with the wheat-meal damper. - -What was that? Only a more-pork. He laid his head on his arms again, on -the gate. He wanted a place of his own, now. He would have it now if he -had any money. And marry Monica. Would he marry Monica? Would he marry -anybody? He much preferred the whole family. But he wanted a place of -his own. If he could hurry up his father. And old Mr. George. He might -persuade Mr. George to be on his side. Why was there never any money? No -money! A father ought to have some money for a son. - -What was that? He saw a dim white figure stealing across the near -distance. Pah! must have been a girl sitting out under the photosphorum -tree. When he had thought he was quite alone. - -The thought upset him. And he ought to find Easu. Obstinately he -insisted to himself that he ought to find Easu. - -He drifted towards the shed near the cubby, where Mr. Ellis kept the -tools. Somebody unknown and unauthorised had put a barrel of beer inside -the shed. Men were there drinking, as he knew they would be. - -"Have a pot, youngster?" - -"Thanks." - -He sat down on a case beside the door, and drank the rather warm beer. -His head began to drop. He knew he was almost asleep. - -Easu loomed up from the dark, coatless, hatless, with his shirt front -open, asking for a drink. He was thirsty. Easu was thirsty. How could -you be angry with a thirsty man! And he wasn't so bad after all. No, -Easu wasn't so bad after all! What did it matter! What did it all -matter, anyhow? - -Jack slipped to the ground and lay there fast asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -SHADOWS BEFORE - - -I - - -But in the morning memory was back, and the unquenched smouldering of -passion. Easu had insulted him. Easu had insulted him, and that should -never be forgiven. And he had this new, half painful, more than half -painful desire to see Monica, to be near her, to touch her hand; a sort -of necessity upon him all the while which he was not used to. It made -him restless, uneasy, and for the first time in his life, a little -melancholy. He was used to feeling angry: a steady, almost blithe sort -of anger. And beyond that he had always been able to summon up an -indifference to things, cover them with oblivion: to retreat upon -himself and insulate himself from contact. - -Now he could no longer do this, and it fretted him, made him accessible -to melancholy. The hot, hot January days, all dry flaming heat, and -flies, and mosquitoes, passed over him leaving him strange even to -himself. There was work, the drudging work of the farm, all the while. -And one just sweated. He learned to submit to it, to the sweating all -the time during the day, and the mosquitoes at night. It was like a -narcotic. The old, English alertness grew darker and darker. He seemed -to be moving, a dim consciousness and an unyielding will, in a dark -cloud of heat, in a perspiring, dissolving body. He could feel his body, -the English cool body of his being, slowly melting down and being -invaded by a new tropical quality. Sometimes, he said to himself, he was -sweating his soul away. That was how it felt: as if he were sweating his -soul away. And he let his soul go, let it slowly melt away out of his -wet, hot body. - -Any man who has been in the tropics, unless he has kept all his mind and -his consciousness focussed homewards, fixed towards the old people of -home, will know how this feels. Now Jack did not turn homewards, back to -England. He never wanted to go back. There was in him a slow, abiding -anger against this same "home." Therefore he let himself go down the -dark tide of the heat. He did not cling on to his old English soul, the -soul of an English gentleman. He let that dissolve out of him, leaving -what residuum of a man it might leave. But out of very obstinacy he hung -on to his own integrity: a small, dark, obscure integrity. - -Usually he was too busy perspiring, panting, and working to think about -anything. His mind also seemed dissolving away in perspiration and in -the curious eucalyptus solvent of the Australian air. He was too busy -and too much heat-oppressed even to think of Monica or of Easu, though -Monica was a live wire in his body. Only on Sundays he seemed to come -half out of his trance. And then everything went queer and strange, a -little uncanny. - -Dad was back again for the harvest, but his heart was no better, and a -queer frightening cloud seemed over him. And Gran, they said, was -failing. Somehow Gran was the presiding deity of the house. Her queer -spirit controlled, even now. And she was failing. She adored Lennie, but -he was afraid of her. - -"Gran's the limit," he asserted. "She's that wilful. Always the same -with them women when they gets well on in years. I clear out from her if -I can, she's that obstropulous--tells y't'wipe y'nose, pull up y'pants, -brush y'teeth, not sniff: golly, I can't stand it!" - -Sunday was the day when you really came into contact with the family. -The rule was, that each one took it in turns to get up and make -breakfast, while everybody else stayed on in bed, for a much-needed -rest. If it was your turn, you rolled out of bed at dawn when Timothy -banged on the wall, you slipped on your shirt and pants and went to the -"everlasting" fire. Raking the ashes together with a handful of sticks, -you blew a blaze and once more smelt the burning eucalyptus leaves. You -filled the black iron kettle at the pump, and set it over the flame. -Then you washed yourself. After which you carved bread and butter: tiny -bits for Gran, moderate pieces for upstairs, and doorsteps for the -cubby. After which you made the tea, and _holloa'd!_ while you poured it -out. One of the girls, with a coat over her nighty and her hair in a -chignon, would come barefoot to carry the trays, to Gran and to the -upstairs. This was just the preliminary breakfast: the Sunday morning -luxury. Just tea in bed. - -Later the boys were shouting for clean shirts and towels, and the women -were up. Proceeded the hair-cutting, nail-paring, button-sewing, and -general murmur, all under the supervision of Ma. Then down to the -sand-bagged pool for a dip. After which, clean and in clean raiment, you -went to the parlour to hear Dad read the lessons. - -The family Bible was carefully kept warm in the parlour, during the -week, under a woollen crochet mat. A crochet mat above, and a crochet -mat below. Nothing must ever stand on that book, nothing whatever. The -children were quite superstitious about it. - -Lennie, the Benjamin of his father Jacob, each Sunday went importantly -into the drawing-room, in a semi-religious silence, and fetched the -ponderous brass-bound book. He put it on the table in front of Dad. Gran -came in with her stick and her lace cap, and sat in the arm-chair near -the window. Mrs. Ellis and the children folded their hands like saints. -Mr. Ellis wiped his spectacles, cleared his throat, looked again at the -little church calendar of the lessons, found the place, and proceeded in -a droning voice. Nobody looked at him, except Mrs. Ellis. Everybody -looked another way. Gran usually gazed sideways at the floor. Tick, -tock! went the clock. It was a little eternity. - -Jack knew the Bible pretty well, as a well-brought-up nephew of his -Aunts. He had no objection to the Bible. On the contrary it supplied his -imagination with a chief stock of images, his ear with the greatest -solemn pleasure of words, and his soul with a queer heterogeneous ethic. -He never really connected the Bible with Christianity proper, the -Christianity of Aunts and clergymen. He had no use for Christianity -proper: just dismissed it. But the Bible was perhaps the foundation of -his consciousness. Do what seems good to you in the sight of the Lord. -This was the moral he always drew from Bible lore. And since the Lord, -for him, was always the Lord Almighty, Almighty God, Maker of Heaven and -Earth, Jesus being only a side-issue; since the Lord was always Jehovah -the great and dark, for him, one might do as David did, in the sight of -the Lord, or as Jacob, or as Abraham or Moses or Joshua or Isaiah, in -the sight of the Lord. The sight of the Lord was a vast strange scope of -vision, in the semi-dark. - -Gran always listened the same, leaning on her stick and looking sideways -to the ground, as if she did not quite see the stout and purple-faced -Jacob, her son, as the mouthpiece of the Word. As a matter of fact, the -way he read Scripture irritated her. She wished Lennie could have read -the lessons. But Dad was head of the house, and she was fond of him, -poor old Jacob. - -And Jack always furtively watched Gran. She frightened him, and he had a -little horror of her: but she fascinated him too. She was like Monica, -at the great distance of her years. Her lace cap was snowy white, with -little lavender ribbons. Her face was pure ivory, with fine-shaped -features, that subtly arched nose, like Monica's. Her silver hair came -over her dead-looking ears. And her dry, shiny, blue-veined hand -remained fixed over the pommel of her black stick. How awful, how -unspeakably awful, Jack felt, to be so old! No longer human. And she -seemed so little inside her clothes. And one never knew what she was -thinking. But surely some strange, uncanny, dim non-human thoughts. - -Sunday was full of strange, half-painful impressions of death and of -life. After lessons the boys would escape to the yards, and the stables, -and lounge about. Or they would try the horses, or take a gun into the -uncleared bush. Then came the enormous Sunday dinner, when everyone ate -himself stupid. - -In the afternoon Tom and Jack wandered to the loft, to the old -concertina. Up there among the hay, they squeezed and pulled the old -instrument, till at last, after much practice, they could draw forth -tortured hymnal sounds from its protesting internals. - - -"Ha-a-appy Ho-ome! Ha-appy Ho-ome! -Oh Haa-py Ho-me! Oh Haa-py Ho-me! -In Paradise with thee!" - - -Over and over again the same tune, till Tom would drop off to sleep, and -Jack would have a go at it. And this yearning sort of hymn always sent a -chill to his bowels. They were like Gran, on the brink of the grave. In -fact the word Paradise made him shudder worse than the word coffin. Yet -he would grind away at the tune. Till he too fell asleep. - -And then they would wake in the heat to the silence of the suspended, -fiercely hot afternoon. Only to feel their own sweat trickling, and to -hear the horses, the draft-horses which were in stable for the day, -chop-chopping underneath. So, in spite of sweat and heat, another go at -the fascinating concertina. - - - - -II - - -One Sunday Jack strolled in an hour early for tea. He had made a -mistake, as one does sometimes when one sleeps in the afternoon. Gran -was sitting by a little fire in the dark living room. She had to have a -little fire to look at. It was like life to her. - -"Come here, Jack Grant," she said in her thin, imperious voice. He went -on reluctant feet, for he had a dread of her years and her strange -femaleness. What did she want of him? - -"Did y'hear Mr. George get my son to promise to make a will, when y'were -in Perth?" - -"No, marm," said Jack promptly. - -"Well, take it from me, if he promised, he hasn't done it. He never -signed a paper in his life, unless it was his marriage register. And but -for my driving, he'd never have signed that. Sit down!" - -Jack sat on the edge of a chair, his heart in his boots. - -"I told you before I'd ha' married your grandfather, if he hadn't been -married already. I wonder where you'd ha' been then! Just as well I -didn't, for he wouldn't look at me after he took my leg off. Just come -here a minute." - -Jack got up and went to her side. She put her soft, dry, dead old hand -on his face and stroked it, pressing on the cheekbones. - -"Ay," she said. "I suppose those are his bones again. And my bones are -in Monica. Don't stand up, lad, take your seat." - -Jack sat down in extreme discomfort. - -"Well," she resumed, "I was very well off with old Ellis, so I won't -complain. But you've got your English father's eyes. You'd have been -better with mine. Those bones, those beautiful bones, and my sort of -eyes." - -Gran's eyes were queer and remote now. But they had been perhaps like -Monica's, only a darker grey, and with a darker, subtler cat look in -them. - -"I suppose it will be in the children's children," she resumed, her eyes -going out like a candle. "For I married old Ellis, though to this day I -never quite believe it. And one thing I do know. I won't die in the -dying room of his house. I won't do it, not if it was the custom of a -hundred families. Not if he was here himself to see me do it. I -wouldn't. Though he was kindness itself. But not if he was here himself, -and had the satisfaction of seeing me do it. A dreadful room! I'd be -frightened to death to die in it. I like me sheets sun-kissed, heat or -no heat, and no sun ever gets into that room. But it's better for a -woman to marry, even if she marries the wrong man. I allus said so. An -old maid, especially a decayed gentlewoman, is a blight on the face of -the earth." - -"Why?" said Jack suddenly. The old woman was too authoritative. - -"That's why! What do you know about it," she said contemptuously. - -"I knew a nice old lady in England, who'd never been married," he said, -thinking of a really beautiful, gentle woman, Who had kept all her -perfume and her charm, in spite of her fifty-odd years of single -blessedness. But then she had a naturally deep and religious nature, not -like this pagan old cat of a Gran. - -"_Did_ you!" said Gran, eying him severely. "What do _you_ know at your -age? I've got three unmarried daughters, and I'm ashamed of them. If I'd -married your grandfather I never should have had them. Self-centred, and -old as old boots, they are. I'd rather they'd gone wrong and died in the -bush, like your Aunt who had a child by Mary's father." - -Jack made round, English eyes of amazement at this speech. He -disapproved thoroughly. - -"You've got too much of your English father in you," she said, "and not -enough of your hard-hearted grandfather. Look at Lennie, what a -beautiful boy he is." - -There was a pause. Jack sat in a torment while she baited him. He was -full of antagonism towards her and her years. - -"But I tell you, you never realise you're old till you see your friends -slipping away. One by one they go--over the border. _That's_ what makes -you feel old. I tell you. Nothing else. Annie Brockman died the other -day. I was at school with her. She wasn't old, though _you'd_ have -thought so." - -The way Gran said this was quite spiteful. And Jack thought to himself: -"What nonsense, she was old if she was at school with Gran. If she was -as old as Gran, she was awfully old." - -"No, she wasn't old--school girls and fellows laughing in the ball room, -or breathing fast after a hard ride. You didn't know Sydney in those -days. And men grown old behind their beards for want of understanding; -because they're too dense to understand what living means. Men are -dense. Are ye listening?" - -The question came with such queer aged force that Jack started almost -out of his chair. - -"Yes, marm," he said. - -"'Yes marm!' he says!" she repeated, with a queer little grin of -amusement. "Listen to this grandfather's chit saying 'Yes marm!' to me! -Well, they'll have their way. My friends are nearly all gone, so I -suppose I shall soon be going. Not but what there's plenty of amusement -here." - -She looked round in an odd way, as if she saw ghosts. Jack would have -given his skin to escape her. - -"Listen," she said with sudden secrecy. "I want ye to do something for -me. You love Lennie, don't ye?" - -Jack nodded. - -"So do I! I'm going to help him." Her voice became sharp with secrecy. -"I've put by a stocking for him," she hissed. "At least it's not a -stocking, it's a tin box, but it's the same thing. It's up there!" She -pointed with her stick at the wide black chimney. "D'ye understand?" - -She eyed Jack with aged keenness, and he nodded, though his -understanding was rather vague. Truth to tell, nothing she said seemed -to him quite real. As if, poor Gran, her age put her outside of reason. - -"That stocking is for Lennie. Tom's mother was nobody knows who, though -I'm not going to say Jacob never married her, if Jack says he did. But -Tom'll get everything. The same as Jacob did. That's how it hits back at -me. I wanted Jacob to have the place, and now it goes to Tom, and my -little Lennie gets nothing. Alice has been a good woman, and a good wife -to Jacob: better than he deserved. I'm going to stand by her. That -stocking in there is for Lennie because he's her eldest son. In a tin -box. Y'understand?" - -And she pointed again at the chimney. - -Jack nodded, though he didn't really take it in. He had a little horror -of Gran at all times; but when she took on this witch-like -portentousness, and whispered at him in a sharp, aged whisper, about -money, hidden money, it all seemed so abnormal to him that he refused to -take it for real. The queer, aged, female spirit that had schemed with -money for the menfolk she chose, scheming to oust those she had not -elected, was so strange and half-ghoulish, that he merely shrank from -taking it in. When she pointed with her white-headed stick at the wide -black mouth of the chimney, he glanced and looked quickly away again. He -did not want to think of a hoard of sovereigns in a stocking--or a tin -box--secreted in there. He did not want to think of the subtle, -scheming, vindictive old woman reaching up into the soot, to add more -gold to the hoard. It was all unnatural to him and to his generation. - -But Gran despised him and his generation. It was as unreal to her as -hers to him. - -"Old George couldn't even persuade that Jacob of mine to sign a marriage -settlement," she continued. "And I wasn't going to force him. Would you -believe a man could be such an obstinate fool?" - -"Yes, marm," said Jack automatically. - -And Gran stamped her stick at him in sudden vicious rage. - -The stamping of the stick brought Grace, and he fled. - - - - -III - - -That evening they were all sitting in the garden. The drawing room was -thrown open, as usual on Sunday, but nobody even went in except to strum -the piano. Monica was strumming hymns now. Grace came along calling -Mary. Mary was staying on at Wandoo. - -"Mary, Gran wants you. She feels faint. Come and see to her, will you?" - -Ellie came and slipped her fat little hand into Jack's, hanging on to -him. Katie and Lennie sat surreptitiously playing cats'-cradle, on the -steps: forbidden act, on the Sabbath. The twin boys wriggled their backs -against the gate-posts and their toes into the earth, asking each other -riddles. Harry as usual aimed stones at birds. It was a close evening, -the wind had not come. And they all were uneasy, with that uncanny -uneasiness that attacks families, because Gran was not well. - -Harry was singing profanely, profaning the Sabbath. - - -"A blue jay sat on a hickory limb, -He wink at me, I wink at him. -I up with a stone, an' hit him on the shin. -Says he, Little Nigger, don' do that agin! -Clar de kitchen, ol' folk, young folk! -Oar de kitchen, ol' folk, young folk! -An' let us dance till dawn O." - - -Harry shouted out these wicked words half loud to a tune of his own that -was no tune. - -Jack did not speak. The sense of evening, Sunday evening, far away from -any church or bell, was strong upon him. The sun was slow in the sky, -and the light intensely strong, all fine gold. He went out to look. The -sunlight flooded the dry, dry earth till it glowed again, and the -gum-trees that stood up hung tresses of liquid shadow from trunks of -gold, and the buildings seemed to melt blue in the vision of light. -Someone was riding in from westward, and a cloud of pure gold-dust rose -fuming from the earth about the horse and the horseman, with a vast, -overwhelming gold glow of the void heavens above. The whole west was so -powerful with pure gold light, coming from immense space and the sea, -that it seemed like a transfiguration, and another horseman rode fuming -in a dust of light as if he were coming, small and Daniel-like, out of -the vast furnace-mouth of creation. Jack looked west, into the welter of -yellow light, in fear. He knew again, as he had known before, that his -day was not the day of all the world, there was a huger sunset than the -sunset of his race. There were vaster, more unspeakable gods than the -gods of his fathers. The god in this yellow fire was huger than the -white men could understand, and seemed to proclaim their doom. - -Out of this immense power of the glory seemed to come a proclamation of -doom. Lesser glories must crumble to powder in this greater glow, as the -horsemen rode trotting in the glorified cloud of the earth, spuming a -glory all round them. They seemed like messengers out of the great West, -coming with a proclamation of doom, the small, trotting, aureoled -figures kicking tip dust like sun-dust, and gradually growing larger, -hardening out of the sea of light. Like sun-arrivals. - -Though after all it was only Alec Rice and Tom. But they were gilded -men, dusty and sun-luminous, as they came into the yard, with their -brown faces strangely vague in shadow, unreal. - -The sun was setting, huge and liquid, and sliding down at immense speed -behind the far-off molten, wavering, long ridge towards the coast. -Fearsome the great liquid sun was, stooping fiercely down like an enemy -stooping to hide his glory, leaving the sky hovering and pulsing above, -with a sense of wings, and a sense of proclamation, and of doom. It -seemed to say to Jack: I and my race are doomed. But even the doom is a -splendour. - -Shadow lay very thin on the earth, pale as day, though the sun was gone. -Jack turned back to the house. The tiny twins were staggering home to -find their supper, their hands in the pockets of their Sunday breeches. -The pockets of everyday breeches were, for some mysterious reason, -always sewn up, so Sunday alone knew this swagger. Harry was being -called in to bed. And Len and Katie, rarely far off at meal times, were -converging towards supper too. - -Monica was still drumming listlessly on the piano, and singing in a -little voice. She had a very sweet voice, but she usually sang "small." -She was not singing a hymn, Jack became aware of this. She was singing, -rather nervously, or irritably, and with her own queer yearning pathos: - - -"Oh Jane, Oh Jane, my pretty Jane, Oh Jane, -Ah never, never look so shy. -But meet me, meet me in the moonlight, -When the dew is on the rye." - - -Someone had lighted the piano candles, and she sat there strumming and -singing in a little voice, and looking queer and lonely. His heart went -hot in his breast, and then started pounding. He crossed silently, and -stood just behind her. For some moments she would not notice him, but -went on singing the same. And he stood perfectly still close behind her. -Then at last she glanced upward at him, and his heart stood still again -with the same sense of doom the sun had given him. She still went on -singing for a few moments. Then she stopped abruptly, and jerked her -hand from the piano. - -"Don't you want to sing?" she asked sharply. - -"Not particularly." - -"What do you want then?" - -"Let us go out." - -She looked at him strangely, then rose in her abrupt fashion. She -followed him across the yard in silence, while he felt the curious sense -of doom settling down on him. - -He sat down on the step of the back-door of the barn, outside, looking -southward into the vast, rapidly darkening country, and glanced up at -her. She, rather petulantly, sat down beside him. He felt for her cool -slip of a hand, and she let it lie in his hot one. But she averted her -face. - -"Why don't you like me?" she asked petulantly. - -"But I love you," he said thickly, with shame and the sense of doom -piercing his heart. - -She turned swiftly and stared him in the face with a brilliant, oddly -triumphant look. - -"Sure?" she said. - -His heart seemed to go black with doom. But he turned away his face from -her glowing eyes, and put his arm round her waist, and drew her to him. -His whole body was trembling like a taut string, and she could feel the -painful plunging of his heart as he pressed her fast against him, -pressed the breath out of her. - -"Monica!" he murmured blindly, in pain, like a man who is in the dark. - -"What?" she said softly. - -He hid his face against her shoulder, in the shame and anguish of -desire. He would have given anything, if this need never have come upon -him. But the strange fine quivering of his body thrilled her. She put -her cheek down caressingly against his hair. She could be very tender, -very, very tender and caressing. And he grew quieter. - -He looked up at the night again, hot with pain and doom and necessity. -It had grown quite dark, the stars were out. - -"I suppose we shall have to be married," he said in a dismal voice. - -"Why?" she laughed. It seemed a very sudden and long stride to her. He -had not even kissed her. - -But he did not answer, did not even hear her question. She watched his -fine young face in the dark, looking sullen and doomed at the stars. - -"Kiss me!" she whispered, in the most secret whisper he had ever heard. -"Kiss me!" - -He turned, in the same battle of unwillingness. But as if magnetised he -put forward his face and kissed her on the mouth: the first kiss of his -life. And she seemed to hold him. And the fierce, fiery pain of pleasure -which came with that kiss sent his soul rebelling in torment to hell. He -had never wanted to be given up, to be broken by the black hands of this -doom. But broken he was, and his soul seemed to be leaving him, in the -pain and obsession of this desire, against which he struggled so -fiercely. - -She seemed to be pleased, to be laughing. And she was exquisitely sweet -to him. How could he be otherwise than caught, and broken. - -After an hour of this love-making she blackened him again, by saying -they must go in to supper. But she meant it, so in he had to go. - -Only when he was alone again in the cubby did he resume the fight to -recover himself from her again. To be free as he had been before. Not to -be under the torment of the spell of this desire. To preserve himself -intact. To preserve himself from her. - -He lay awake in his bed in the cubby and thanked God he was away from -her. Thanked God he was alone, with a sufficient space of loneliness -around him. Thanked God he was immune from her, that he could sleep in -the sanctity of his own isolation. He didn't want even to think about -her. - - - - -IV - - -Gran did not leave her room that week, and Tom talked of fetching the -relations. - -"What for?" asked Jack. - -"They'd like to be present," said Tom. - -Jack felt incredulous. - -Lennie came out of her room, sniffing and wiping his eyes with his -knuckles. - -"Poor ol' girl!" he sniffed. "She do look frail. She's almost like a -little girl again." - -"You don't think she's dying, do you, Len?" asked Jack. - -"I don't _think_, I knows," replied Len, with utmost scorn. "Sooner, or -later she's bound to go hence and be no more seen. But she'll be missed, -for many a day, she will." - -"But Tom," said Jack. "Do you think Gran will like to have all the -relations sniffling round her when she gets worse?" - -"I should think so," replied Tom. "Anyway, _I_ should like to die -respectable, whether you would or not." - -Jack gave it up. Some things were beyond him, and dying respectable was -one of them. - -"Like they do in books," said Len, seeing that Jack disapproved, and -trying to justify Tom's position. "Even ol' Nelson died proper. 'Kiss -me, 'Ardy,' he said, an' 'Ardy kissed him, grubby and filthy as he was. -He could do no less, though it was beastly." - -Still the boys were not sent for the relations until the following -Sunday, which was a rest day. Jack went to the Gum Valley Homestead, -because he knew the way. He set off before dawn. The terrific heat of -the New Year had already passed, and the dawn came fresh and lovely. He -was happy on that ride, Gran or no Gran. And that's what he thought -would be the happiest: always to ride on at dawn, in a nearly virgin -country. Always to be riding away. - -The Greenlows seemed to expect him. They had been "warned." After he had -been refreshed with a good breakfast, they were ready to start, in the -buggy. Jack rode in the buggy with them, his saddle under his seat and -the neck-rope of the horse in his hand. The hack ran behind, and nearly -jerked Jack's arms out of their sockets, with its halts and its -disinclination to trot. Almost it hauled him out of the buggy sometimes. -He would much rather have ridden the animal, but he had been requested -to take the buggy, to spare it. - -Mr. and Mrs. Greenlow scarcely spoke on the journey; it would not have -been "showing sorrow." But Jack felt they were enjoying themselves -immensely, driving in this morning air instead of being cooped up in the -house, she cooking and he with the Holy Book. The sun grew furiously -hot. But Gum Valley Croft was seven miles nearer to Wandoo than the -Ellis' Gum Tree Selection, so they drove into the yard, wet with -perspiration, just before the mid-day meal was put on to the table. Mrs. -Ellis, aproned and bare-armed, greeted them as they drove up, calling -out that they should go right in, and Jack should take the horses out of -the buggy. - -Quite a number of strange hacks were tethered here and there in the -yard, near odd, empty vehicles, sulkies dejectedly leaning forward on -empty shafts, or buggies and wagonettes sturdily important on four -wheels. Yet the place seemed strangely quiet. - -Jack came back to the narrow verandah outside the parlour door, where -Mrs. Ellis had her fuchsias, ferns, cyclamens and musk growing in pots. -A table had been set there, and dinner was in progress, the girls coming -round from the kitchen with the dishes. Grace saw Jack hesitate, so she -nodded to him. He went to the kitchen and asked doubtfully: - -"How is she?" - -"Oh, bad! Poor old dear. They're all in there to say goodbye." - -Lennie, who was sitting on the floor under the kitchen window, put his -head down on his arms and sobbed from a sort of nervousness, wailing: - -"Oh, my poor ol' Gran! Oh, poor ol' dear!" - -Jack, though upset, almost grinned. Poor Gran indeed, with that ghastly -swarm of relations. He sat there on a chair, his nerves all on edge, -noticing little things acutely, as he always did when he was strung up: -the flies standing motionless on the chopping-block just outside the -window, the smooth-tramped gravel walk, the curious surface of the mud -floor in the kitchen, the smoky rafters overhead, the oven set in brick -below the "everlasting" fire, the blackness of the pots and kettles -above the horizontal bars ... - -"Do you mind sitting in the parlour, Jack, in case they want anything?" -Mrs. Ellis asked him. - -Jack minded, but he went and sat in the parlour, like a chief lackey, or -a buffer between all the relations and the outer world. - -The house had become more quiet. Monica had gone over to the Reds with -clean overalls for the little boys, who had been bundled off there. Jack -got this piece of news from Grace, who was constantly washing more -dishes and serving more relations. A certain anger burned in him as he -heard, but he took no notice. Mary was lying down upstairs: she had been -up all night with Gran. Tom was attending to the horses. Katie and Mrs. -Ellis had gone upstairs with Baby and Ellie, and Mr. Ellis was also -upstairs. Lennie had slipped away again. So Jack had track of all the -family. He was always like that, wanting to know where they all were. - -Mrs. Greenlow came in from Gran's inner room. - -"Mary? Where's Mary?" she asked hurriedly. - -Jack shook his head, and she passed on. She had left the door of Gran's -room open, so Jack could see in. All the relations were there, horrible, -the women weeping and perspiring, and wiping tears and perspiration away -together, the men in their waistcoats and shirt-sleeves, perspiring and -looking ugly. A Methodist parson son-in-law was saying prayers in an -important monotone. - -At last Mary came, looking anxious. - -"Yes, Gran? Did you want me?" Jack heard her voice, and saw her by the -bed. - -"I felt so overcome with all these people," said Gran, in a curiously -strong, yet frightened voice. "What do they all want?" - -"They've come to see you. Come--" Mary hesitated "--to see if they can -do anything for you." - -"To frighten the bit of life out of me that I've got. But they're not -going to. Get me some beef tea, Mary, and don't leave me alone with -them." - -Mary went out for the beef tea. Then Jack saw Gran's white hand feebly -beckon. - -"Ruth!" she said. "Ruth!" - -The eldest daughter went over and took the hand, mopping her eyes. She -was the parson's wife. - -"Well, Ruth, how are you!" said Gran's high, quavering voice in a -conversational tone. - -"_I'm_ well, Mother. It's how are you?" replied Ruth dismally. - -But Gran was again totally oblivious of her. So at length Ruth dropped -away embarrassed from the bedside, shaking her head. - -Again Gran lifted her head on the pillow. - -"Where's Jacob?" - -"Upstairs, mother." - -"The only one that has the decency to leave me alone." And she subsided -again. Then after a while she asked, without lifting her head from the -pillow, in a distant voice: - -"And are the foolish virgins here?" - -"Who, mother?" - -"The foolish virgins. You know who I mean." - -Gran lay with her eyes shut as she spoke. - -There was an agitation among the family. It was the brothers-in-law who -pushed the three Miss Ellises forward. They, the poor things, wept -audibly. - -Gran opened her eyes at the sound, and said, with a ghost of a smile on -her yellow, transparent old face: - -"I hope virginity is its own reward." - -Then she remained unmoved until Mary came with the soup, which she took -and slowly sipped, as Mary administered it in a spoon. It seemed to -revive her. - -"Where's Lennie and his mother?" she asked, in a firmer tone. - -These also were sent for. Mrs. Ellis sat by the bed and gently patted -Gran's arm; but Lennie, "skeered stiff," shivered at the door. His -mother held out her hand to him, and he came in, inch by inch, watching -the fragile old Gran, who looked transparent and absolutely unreal, with -a fascination of horror. - -"Kiss me, Lennie," said Gran grimly: exactly like Nelson. - -Lennie shrank away. Then, yielding to his mother's pressure he laid his -dark, smooth head and his brown face on the pillow next to Gran's face, -but he did not kiss her. - -"There's my precious!" said Gran softly, with all the soft, cajoling -gentleness that had made her so lovely, at moments, to her men. - -"Alice, you've been good to my Jacob," she said, as if remembering -something. "There's the stocking. It's for you and Lennie." She still -managed to say the last words with a caress, though she was fading from -consciousness again. - -Lennie drew away and hid behind his mother. Gran lay still, exactly as -if dead. But the laces of her eternal cap still stirred softly, to show -she breathed. The silence was almost unbearable. - -To break it, the Methodist son-in-law sank to his knees, the others -followed his example, and he prayed in a low, solemn, extinguished -voice. When he had said Amen the others whispered it and rose from their -knees. And by one consent they glided from the room. They had had enough -deathbed for the moment. - -Mary closed the inner door when they had gone, and remained alone in the -room with Gran. - - - - -V - - -The sons-in-law all melted through the parlour and out on to the -verandah, where they helped themselves from the decanter on the table, -filling up from the canvas water-bag that swung in the draught to keep -cool. The daughters sat down by the table and wept, lugubriously and -rather angrily. The sons-in-law drank and looked afflicted. Jack -remained on duty in the parlour, though he would dearly have liked to -decamp. - -But he was now interested in the relations. They began to weep less, and -to talk in low, suppressed, vehement voices. He could only catch -bits.--"It's a question if he ever married Tom's mother. I doubt if -Tom's legitimate. I don't even doubt it, I'm sure. We've suffered from -that before. Where's the stocking? Stocking! Stocking--saved up--bought -Easu out. Mother should know better. If she's made a will--Jacob's first -marriage--children to educate and provide for. Unmarried -daughters--first claim--stocking--" And then quite plainly from Ruth: -"It's hard on our husbands if they have to support mother's unmarried -daughters." This said with dignity. - -Jack glanced at the three Miss Ellises, to see if they minded, and -inwardly he vowed that if he ever married Monica, for example, and Grace -was an unmarried sister, he'd find some suitable way of supporting her, -without making her feel ashamed. But the three Miss Ellises did not seem -to mind. They were busy diving into secret pockets among their clothing, -and fetching out secret little packages. Someone dropped the glass -stopper out of a bottle of smelling salts, and spilled the contents on -the floor. The pungent odour penetrated throughout the house. Jack never -again smelt lavender salts without having a foreboding of death, and -seeing mysterious little packets. The three Miss Ellises were -surreptitiously laying out bits and tags of black braid, crape, beading, -black doth, black lace; all black, wickedly black, on the table edge. -Smoothing them out. For as a matter of fact they kept a little shop. And -everybody was looking with interest. Jack felt quite nauseated at the -sight of these black blotches, the row of black patches. - -Mary came out of Gran's room, going to the kitchen with the cup. She did -not pass the verandah, so nobody noticed her. They were all intent on -the muttering gloom of their investigation of those scraps of mourning -patterns. - -Jack felt the door of Gran's room slowly open. Mary had left it just -ajar. He looked round and his hair rose on his head. There stood Gran, -all white save for her eyes, like a yellow figure of aged female Time, -standing with her hand on the door, looking across the parlour at the -afternoon and the preoccupied party on the verandah. Her face was -absolutely expressionless, timeless and awful. It frightened him very -much. The inexorable female! He uttered an exclamation, and they all -looked up, caught. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -BLOWS - - -I - - -Jack managed to escape. When the rooks were fluttered by the sight of -that ghostly white starling, he just ran. He ran in disgust from the -smell of lavender salts, the tags of mourning patterns, respectable -dying, and these awful people. Surely there was something rotten at the -bottom of people, he thought, to make them behave as they did. And again -came over him the feeling he had often had, that he was a changeling, -that he didn't belong to the so-called "normal" human race. Nor, by -Jupiter, did he want to. The "normal" human race filled him with -unspeakable repulsion. And he knew they would kill him if they found out -what he was. Hence that unconscious dissembling of his innocent face. - -He ran, glad to get into a sweat, glad to sweat it all out of himself. -Glad to feel the sun hot on his damp hands, and then the afternoon -breeze, just starting, cool on his wet skin. When he reached the -sand-bagged pool, he took off his clothes and spread them in the sun, -while he wallowed in the lukewarm water. Ay! if one could wash off one's -associations! If one could but be alone in the world. - -After bathing he sat in the sun awhile to dry, then dressed and walked -off to look at the lower dam pump. Tom had said it needed attending to. -And anyway it led him away from the house. - -The pump was all right. There had been a March shower that had put water -in the dam. So after looking round at the sheep, he turned away. - -Which way? Not back home. Not yet. - -The land breeze had lifted and the sea breeze had come, clearing the hot -dry atmosphere as if by magic, and replacing the furnace breath by -tender air. Which way? - -At the back of his mind was the thought of Monica not home yet from the -Reds' place, and evening coming on, another of the full golden evenings -when the light seemed fierce with declaration of another eternity, a -different eternity from ours. - -Last Sunday, on such an evening, he had kissed her. And much as he -wanted to avoid her, the desire to kiss her again drove him as if the -great yellowing light were a wind that blew him, as a butterfly is blown -twinkling out to sea. He drifted towards the trail from the Reds' place. -He walked slowly, listening to the queer evening noise of the magpies, -and the more distant screeching of flying parrots. Someone had disturbed -the parrots beyond the Black Barn gums. So as if by intuition he walked -that way, slightly off the trail. - -And suddenly he heard the sound his spirit expected to hear: Monica -crying out in expostulation, anger, and fear. It was the fear in her -voice that made his face set. His first instinct was not to intrude on -their privacy. Then again came the queer, magpie noise of Monica, this -time with an edge of real hatred to her fear. Jack pushed through the -bushes. He could smell the warm horses already. - -Yes, there was Lucy standing by a tree. And Monica, in a long skirt of -pink-sprigged cotton, with a frill at the bottom, trying to get up into -the side-saddle. While Easu, in his Sunday black reach-me-downs and -white shirt and white rubber-soled cricketing boots, every time she set -her foot in the stirrup, put his hand round her waist and spread his -fingers on her body, and lifted her down again, lifted her on one hand -in a childish and ridiculous fashion, and held her in a moment's -embrace. She, in her long cotton riding-dress with the close-fitting -bodice, did indeed look absurd, hung like a child on Easu's hand, as he -lifted her down and held her struggling against him, then let her go -once more, to mount her horse. Lucy was shifting uneasily, and Easu's -big black horse, tethered to a tree, was jerking its head with a jingle -of the bit. The girth hung loose. Easu had evidently dismounted to -adjust it. - -Monica was becoming really angry, really afraid, and really blind with -dismay, feeling for the first time her absolute powerlessness. To be -powerless drove her mad, and she would have killed Easu if she could, -without a qualm. But her hate seemed to rouse the big Easu to a passion -of desire for her. He put his two big hands round her slender body and -compassed her entirely. She gave a loud, strange, uncanny scream. And -Jack came out of the bushes, making the black horse plunge. Easu glanced -round at the horse, and saw Jack. And at the same time our hero planted -a straight, vicious blow on the bearded chin. Easu, unprepared, -staggered up against Lucy, who began to jump, while Monica, tangled in -her long skirt, fell to her knees on the ground. - -Quite a picture! Jack said it himself. Even he saw himself standing -there, like Jack the Giant-killer. And of course he saw Monica on her -knees, with tumbled hair and scarlet cheeks, unspeakably furious at -being caught, angrily hitching herself out of her long cotton -riding-skirt and pressing her cheeks to make them less red. She was -silent, with averted face, and she seemed small. He saw Easu in the -Sunday white shirt and rather tight Sunday breeches, facing round in -unspeakable disgust and fury. He saw himself in a ready-made cotton suit -and cheap brown canvas shoes, bought at the local store, standing -awaiting an onslaught. - -The onslaught did not come. Instead, Easu said, in a tone of unutterable -contempt: - -"Why, what's up with you, you little sod!" - -Jack turned to Monica. She had got on to her feet, and was pushing her -hair under her hat. - -"Monica," he said, "you'd better get home. Gran's dying." - -She looked at him, and a slow, wicked smile of amusement came over her -face. Then she broke into a queer, hollow laugh, at the bottom of which -was rage and frustration. Then her laugh rose higher. - -"Ha! Ha! Ha!" she laughed. "Ah ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! ha-ha-ha! Ah! ! -Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! ha-ha-ha! Ah! ! ! ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ah! ha-ha! Ha! -Ah! Gran's dying! Ha-ha-ha! Is she really? Oh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! No, I -don't mean it. But it seems so funny! Ah! ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ah! ha-ha-ha!" - -She smothered herself into a confused bubbling. The two men stood -aghast, shuddering at the strange, hysterical woman's laughter that went -shrilling through the bush. They were horrified lest someone else should -hear. - -Monica, in her cotton frock and long sweeping skirt, stood pushing her -handkerchief in her mouth, and trying in vain to stifle the hysterical -laughter that still shook her slender body. Occasionally a strange peal, -like mad bells, would break out. And then she ended with a passionate -sobbing. - -"I know! I know!" she sobbed, like a child. "Gran's dying, and you won't -let me go home." - -"You can go home," Jack said. "You can go home. But don't go with your -face all puffed up with crying." - -She gradually gained control of herself, and turned away to her horse. -Jack went to help her mount. She got into the saddle, and he gave her -the reins. She kept her face averted, and Lucy began to move away -slowly, towards the home track. - -Easu still stood there, planted with his feet apart, his head a little -dropped, and a furious, contemptuous, revengeful hate of the other two -in his light blue eyes. He had his head down, ready for an attack. Jack -saw this, and waited. - -"Going to take your punishment?" said Easu, in a nasty voice. - -"Ready when you are," said Jack. - -Ugh! How he hated Easu's ugly, jeering, evil eyes, how he would love to -smash them out of his head. In the long run, hate was an even keener -ecstasy than love, and the battle of hate, the fight with blood in the -eyes, an orgasm of deadly gratification keener than any passionate -orgasm of love. - -Easu slowly threw his hat on the ground. Jack did the same, and started -to pull off his coat. Easu glanced round to see if Monica was going. She -was. Her back was already turned, and Lucy was stepping gingerly through -the bushes. He lifted his chin, unknotted his tie, and threw it in his -hat. Then he unbuttoned his shirt-cuffs, and pulled off his shirt, and -hitched his belt. He was now naked to the waist. He had a very white -skin with reddish hair at the breast, and an angular kind of force. His -reddish-haired brawny arms were burnt brown-red, as was his neck. For -the rest his skin was pure white, with the dazzle of absolute health. -Yet he was ugly rather than beautiful. The queer angularity of his -brawn, the sense of hostile mechanical power. The sense of the mechanism -of power in him made him like some devil fallen into a lower grade. - -Jack's torso was rather absurdly marked by the sun-burnt scallops of his -vest-lines, for he worked a good deal in a vest. Easu always wore a -shirt and no vest. And Jack, in spite of the thinness of youth, seemed -to have softer lines and a more human proportion, more grace. And there -was a warmth in his white skin, making it much less conspicuous than the -really dazzling brilliance of Easu. Easu was a good deal bigger, but -Jack was more concentrated, and a born fighter. He fought with all his -soul. - -He shaped up to Easu, and Easu made ready, when they were interrupted by -a cry from Monica, in a high, hysterical voice. They looked up. She had -reined in her horse among the bushes, and was looking round at them with -a queer sharp, terrified face, from the distance. Her shrill voice -cried: - -"Don't forget he saved Herbert's life." - -Both men faced round and looked at her as if she had committed an -indecency. She quailed in her saddle. Easu, with a queer jerk of the -head, motioned to her to go. She sank a little forward in her saddle, -and hurriedly urged her horse through the bush, out of sight, without -ever looking round, leaving the men, as she knew, to their heart's -desire. - -They waited for a while. Then they lifted their fists again, and drew -near. Jack began the light, subtle, harmonious dancing which preceded -his attack. He always attacked, no matter whom he fought. He could not -fight unless he took the initiative. So now he danced warily, subtly -before Easu, and Easu stood ready to side-step. Easu was bigger, harder, -much more powerful than Jack, and built in hard mechanical lines: the -kind that is difficult to knock out, if you have not much weight behind -your blow. - -"Are y' insured?" sneered Easu. - -But Jack did not listen. He had always fought with people bigger and -older than himself. But he had never before had this strange lust -dancing in his blood, the lust of rage dancing for its consummation in -blows. He had known it before, as a sort of game. But now the lust bit -into his very soul, and he was quivering with accumulated desire, the -desire to hit Easu hard, hit him till he knocked him out. He wanted to -hit him till he knocked him out. - -And he knew himself deficient in brute power. So he must make up in -quickness and skill and concentration. When he did strike it must be a -fine keen blow that went deep. He had confidence in his power to do it. -Only--and this was the disturbing element--he knew there was not much -_time._ And he would rather be knocked out himself than have the fight -spoiled in the middle. - -He moved lightly and led Easu on, ducked, bobbed up again, and began to -be consummately happy. Easu could not get at him. - -"Come on!" said Easu thickly. - -So suddenly he came on, and bang! bang! went his knuckles against that -insulting chin. And he felt joy spring in his bowels. - -But he did not escape without punishment. Pat!--butt! Pat!--butt! went -Easu's swinging blows down over his back. But Jack got in two more: -Bang! Bang! He knew by the exquisite pain of his knuckles that he had -struck deep, pierced the marrow of the other with pain of defeat. - -Pat--butt! Pat--butt! came the punishment. - -But Jack was out again, dancing softly, electric joy in his bowels. Then -suddenly he sprang back at Easu, his arms swinging in strange, -vindictive sideways swoops. Ping! Pong! Ping! Pong! rapid as lightning. -Easu fell back a little dazed before this sudden rain of white blows, -but Jack followed, followed, followed, nimbly, warily, but with deadly, -flickering intent. - -Crash! Easu went down, but caught Jack a heavy smash in the face with -his right as he fell. Jack reeled away. - -And then, posed, waiting, watching, with blood running from bruised cuts -on his swelling face, one eye rapidly closing, he stood well forward, -fists in true boxing trim, and a deep gratification of joy in his dark -belly. - -Easu rose slowly, foaming at the mouth; then getting to his feet rushed -head down, in a convulsion, at his adversary. Jack stepped aside, but -not quite quick enough. He caught Easu a blow with his left under the -ear, but not in time to stop the impact. Easu's head butted right where -he wanted it to--into his enemy's stomach; though not full in the pit. -Jack fell back winded, and Red also fell again, giving Jack time to -throw back his head and whoop for a few mouthfuls of air. So that when -Red rushed in again, he was able feebly to fence and stall him off, -stepping aside and hitting again, but wofully clipping, smacking only... - -"Foul! He's winded! Foul!" yelled someone from the bushes. "Time!" - -"Not for mine," roared Easu. - -He sprang and dashed at his gasping, gulping adversary, whirling his -arms like iron piston-rods. Jack dodged the propelled whirl, but -stumbled over one of the big feet stuck out to trip him. Easu hit as he -fell, and swung a crashing left-right about the sinking, unprotected -head. And when Jack was down, kicked the prostrate body in an orgasm of -fury. - -"Foul, you swine!" screamed Rackett, springing in like a tiger. Easu, -absolutely blind with rage and hate, stared hellish and unseeing. Jack -lay crumpled on the floor. Dr. Rackett stooped down to him, as Tom and -Lennie and Alec Rice ran in. Easu went and dropped on a fallen log, -sitting blowing to get his wind and his consciousness back. He was -unconscious with fury, like some awful Thing, not like a man. - -"My God, Easu!" screamed Rackett, who had lifted the dead head of Jack -on to his knees. "If you've done for him I'll have you indicted." - -And Easu, slowly, heavily coming back to consciousness, lifted his head, -and the blue pupils of his red eyes went ugly with evil fear, his -bruised face seemed to have dropped with fear. He waited, vacant, empty -with fear. - -At length Jack stirred. There was life in him. And at once the bully -Easu began to talk wide. - -"Bloody little sod came at me bashing me jaw, when I'd never touched -him. Had to fight to defend myself. Bloody little sod!" - -Jack opened his eyes and struggled to rise. - -"Anybody counting?" he said stupidly. But he could not get up. - -"It was a foul," said Rackett. - -"Foul be blithered!" shouted Easu. "It was a free fight and no blasted -umpires asked for. If that bloody bastard wants some more, let him get -up. I'm goin' to teach him to come crowin' from England, crowin' over an -Australian." - -But Jack was on his unsteady feet. He would fight now if he died for it. - -"Teach me!" he said vaguely, and sprang like a cat out of a bag on the -astonished and rather frightened Easu. - -But something was very wrong. When his left fist rang home, it caused -such an agony that a sheer scream of pain tore from him, clearing the -mists from his brain in a strange white light. He was now fully -conscious again, super-conscious. He knew he must hit with his right, -and hit hard. He heard nothing, and saw nothing. But with a kind of -trance vision he was super-awake. - -Man is like this. He has various levels of consciousness. When he is -broken, killed at one level of consciousness, his very death leaves him -on a higher level. And this is the soul in its entirety, being -conscious, super-conscious, far beyond mentality. It hardly needs eyes -or ears. It is clairvoyant and clair-audient. And man's divinity, and -his ultimate power, is in this super-consciousness of the whole soul. -Not in brute force, not in skill or intelligence alone. But in the -soul's extreme power of knowing and then willing. On this alone hangs -the destiny of all mankind. - -Jack, uncertain on his feet, incorporate, wounded to horrible pain in -his left hand, was now in the second state of consciousness and power. -Meanwhile the doctor was warning Easu to play fair. Jack heard -absolutely without hearing. But Easu was bothered by it. - -He was flustered by Jack's unexpected uprising. He was weary and -wavering, the paroxysm of his ungovernable fury had left him, and he had -a desire to escape. His rage was dull and sullen. - -Jack was softly swaying. Easu shaped up and waited. And suddenly Jack -sprang, with all the weight of his nine stone behind him, and all the -mystery of his soul's deadly will, and planted a blow on Easu's -astonished chin with his granite right fist. Before there was any -recovery he got in a second blow, and it was a knockout. Easu crashed, -and Jack crashed after him, and both lay still. - -Dr. Rackett, watch in hand, counted. Easu stared at the darkening blue, -and sat up. An oath came out of his disfigured mouth. Dr. Rackett put -the watch in his pocket as Easu got to his feet. But Jack did not move. -He lay in a dead faint. - -Lennie, the emotional, began to cry when he saw Jack's bruised, -greenish-looking face. Dr. Rackett was feeling the pulse and the heart. - -"Take the horse, and fetch some whiskey and some water, Tom," he said. - -Tom turned to Easu, who stood with his head down and his mouth all cut, -watching, waiting to depart, undecided. - -"I'll borrow your horse a minute, Easu," he said. And Easu did not -answer. He was getting into his shirt again, and for the moment none of -him was visible save the belt of white skin round the waist. Tom pulled -up the girth of the black horse, and jumped into the saddle. Lennie -slipped up behind him, his face still wet with tears. Easu's face -emerged, disfigured, out of his white shirt, and watched them go. -Rackett attended to Jack, who still gave no signs of life. Alec Rice -stood beside the kneeling doctor, silent and impassive. - -Easu slowly buttoned his shirt cuffs and shirt-collar, with numb -fingers. The pain was just beginning to come out, and he made queer -slight grimaces with his distorted face. Slowly he got his black tie, -and holding up his chin, fastened it round his throat, clumsily. He was -not the same Easu that had set off so huge and assertive, with Monica. - -Lennie came running with a tin of water. He had slipped off the horse at -the lower dam, and found the tin which he kept secreted there. Dr. -Rackett put a wet handkerchief on Jack's still, dead face. Under the -livid skin the bruises and the blood showed terrifying, one eye already -swollen up. The queer mask of a face looked as if the soul, or the life, -had retreated from it in weariness or disgust. It looked like somebody -else's altogether. - -"He ain't dead, is he?" whimpered Lennie, terrified most of all because -Jack, with his swollen face and puffed eye, looked like somebody else. - -"No! But I wish Tom would come with that whiskey." - -As he spoke, they heard the crashing sound of the horse through the -bushes, and Tom's red, anxious face appeared. He swung out of the saddle -and dropped the reins on the ground. - -Dr. Rackett pressed the bruised chin, pressed the mouth open, and poured -a little liquor down Jack's throat. There was no response. He poured a -little more whiskey. There came a slight choking sound, and then the one -dark-blue eye opened vacant. It stared in vacancy for some moments, -while everybody stood with held breath. Then the whiskey began to have -effect. Life seemed to give a movement of itself, in the boy's body, and -the wide-open eye took a conscious direction. It stared straight into -the eyes of Easu, who stood there looking down, detached, in -humiliation, derision, and uneasiness. It stared with a queer, natural -recognition, and a faint jeering, uneasy grin was the reflex on Easu's -disfigured mask. - -"Guess he's had enough for once," said Easu, and turning, he picked up -his horse's reins, dropped into the saddle, and rode straight away. - -"Feel bad?" Dr. Rackett asked. - -"Rotten!" said Jack. - -And at last Lennie recognised the voice. He could not recognise the -face, especially with that bunged-up eye peering gruesomely through a -gradually diminished slit, Hun-like. - -Dr. Rackett smiled slightly. - -"Where's your pain?" he asked. - -Jack thought about it. Then he looked into Rackett's eyes without -answering. - -"Think you can stand?" said Rackett. - -"Try me." - -They got him to his feet. Everything began to swim again. Rackett's arm -came round him. - -"Did he knock me out?" Jack asked. The question came from his -half-consciousness: from a feeling that the battle with Easu was not yet -finished. - -"No, you knocked him out. Let's get your coat on." - -But as he shoved his arm into his coat he knew he was fainting again, -and he almost wept, feeling his consciousness and his control going. He -thought it was just his stiff, swollen, unnatural face that caused it. - -"Can y' walk?" asked Tom anxiously. - -"Don't walk on my face, do I?" came the words. But as they came, so did -the reeling, nauseous oblivion. He fainted again, and was carried home -like a sack over Tom's back. - -When he came to, he was on his bed, Lennie was feverishly pulling off -his shoes, and Dr. Rackett was feeling him all over. Dr. Rackett smelt -of drugs. But now Rackett's face was earnest and attentive, he looked a -nice man, only weak. - -Jack thought at once of Gran. - -"How's Gran?" he asked. - -"She's picked up again. The relations put her in a wax, so she came to -life again." - -"You're the one now, you look an awful sight," said Len. - -"Did anybody see me?" asked Jack, dim and anxious. - -"Only Grace so far." - -Rackett, who was busy bandaging, saw the fever of anxiety coming into -the one live eye. - -"Don't talk," he said. "Len, he mustn't talk at all. He's got to go to -sleep." - -After they had got his nightshirt on, they gave him something to drink, -and he went to sleep. - - - - -II - - -When he awoke, it was dark. His head felt enormous. It was getting -bigger and bigger, till soon it would fill the room. Soon his head would -be so big, it would fill all the room, and the room would be too small -for it. Oh, horror! He was so frightened, he cried out. - -"What's amiss?" a quick voice was asking. - -"Make a light! Make a light!" cried Jack. - -Lennie quickly lit a candle, and to Jack's agonized relief, there was -the cubby, the bed, the walls, all of natural dimensions, and Tom and -Lennie in their nightshirts standing by his bed. - -"What's a-matter, ol' dear?" Lennie asked caressively. - -"My head! I thought it was getting so big the room wouldn't hold it." - -"Aw! go on now!" said Lennie. "Y' face is a bit puffy, but y' head's -same as ever it was." - -Jack couldn't believe it. He was so sensually convinced that his head -had grown enormous, enormous, enormous. - -He stared at Lennie and Tom in dismay. Lennie stroked his hair softly. - -"There's y' ol' nut!" he said. "Tain't no bigger 'n it ever was. Just -exactly same life-size." - -Gradually Jack let himself be convinced. And at last he let them blow -the candle out. He went to sleep. - -He woke again with a frenzy working in him. He had pain, too. But far -worse than the pain was the tearing of the raging discomfort, the frenzy -of dislocation. And in his stiff swollen head, there was something he -remembered but could not drag into light. What was it? What was it? In -the frenzy of struggle to know, he went vague. - -Then it came to him, words as plain as knives. - - -"And when I die -In hell I shall lie -With fire and chains -And awful pains." - - -The Aunts had repeated this to him, as a child, when he was naughty. And -it had always struck a vague terror into his soul. He had forgotten it. -Now it came again. - - -"In hell I shall lie -With fire and chains -And awful pains." - - -He had a vivid realisation of this hell. That was where he lay at that -very moment. - -"You must be a good, loving little boy." - -He had never wanted to be a good, loving little boy. Something in his -bowels revolted from being a good, loving little boy, revolted in -nausea. "But if you're not a good, loving little boy." - - -Then when you die -In hell you will lie'--etc. - - -"Let me lie in hell, then," the bad and unloving little boy had -answered, to the shocked horror of the Aunts. And the answer had scared -even himself. - -And now the hell was on him. And still he was not a good, loving little -boy. - -He remembered his lessons: Love your enemies. - -"Do I love Easu?" he asked himself. And he writhed over in bed in -disgust. He loathed Easu. If he could crush him absolutely to powder, he -would crush him to powder. Make him extinct. - -"Lord, Lord!" he groaned. "I loathe Easu. I loathe him." - -What was amiss with him? Did he want to leave off loathing Easu? Was -that the root of his sickness and fever? - -But when he thought of Easu's figure and face, he knew he didn't want to -leave off loathing him. He _did_ loathe him, whether he wanted to or -not, and the fact to him was sacred. It went right through the core of -him. - -"Lord! Lord!" he groaned, writhing in fever. "Lord, help me to loathe -him properly. Lord, I'll kill him if you want me to; and if you don't -want me to, I won't. I'll kill him if you want me to. But if you don't -want me to, I won't care any more." - -The pledge seemed to soothe him. At the back of Jack's consciousness was -always this mysterious Lord, to whom he cried in the night. And this -Lord put commands upon him, but so darkly, Jack couldn't easily find out -what the commands were. The Aunts had always said, the command was to be -a good, loving little boy. But when he tried being a good, loving little -boy, his soul seemed to lose his Lord, and turn wicked. That was what -made him fear hell. When he seemed to lose connection with his great, -mysterious Lord, with whom he communed absolutely alone, he became aware -of hell. And he couldn't share with his Aunts that Jesus whom they -always commended. At the Sacrament, something in his soul stood cold, -and he knew this was no Sacrament to him. - -He had his own Lord. And when he could get into communication or -communion, with his own Lord, he always felt well and right again. - -Now, in his pain and battered fever, he was fighting for his Lord again. - -"Lord, I don't love Easu, and I'll kill him if you want me to. But if -you don't want me to, I won't, I won't, I won't bother any more." - -This pledge and this submission soothed him strangely. He felt he was -coming back to his own Lord. It was a pledge, and he would keep it. He -gave no pledge to love Easu. Only not to kill him, if the Lord didn't -want it; and to kill him, if the Lord did. - -"Lord, I don't love Monica. I don't love her. But if she'd give up to -me, I'd love her if you wanted me to." - -He thought about this. Somewhere, his soul burned against Monica. And -somewhere, his soul burned for her. - -But she must give up to him. She must give herself up. He demanded this -submission, as if it were a submission to his mysterious Lord. She would -never submit to the mysterious Lord direct. Like that old demon of a -Gran, who knew the Lord, and played with Him, spited Him even. Monica -would have first to submit to himself, Jack, in person, before she would -really yield before the immense Lord. And yield before the immense Lord -she must. Through him. - -"Lord!" he said, invoking the supreme power, "I love Lennie and Tom, and -I want always to love them, and I want you to back them." - -The prickles of pain entered his soul again. - -"Lord, I don't love my father, but I don't want to hurt him. Only, I -don't love him, Lord. And it's not my fault, though he's a good man, -because I wasn't born with love for him in me." - -This had been a thorn in his consciousness since he was a child. Best -get it out now. Because the fear of not loving his father had almost -made him hate him. If he ought to love him, and he couldn't love him, -then there was nothing to do but hate him, because of the hopeless -obligation. But if he needn't love him, then he needn't hate him, and -they could both be in peace. He would leave it to his Lord. - -"Perhaps I ought to love Mary," he continued. "But I don't _really_ love -her, because she doesn't realise about the Lord. She doesn't realise -there is any Lord. She thinks there's only me, and herself. But there is -the Lord. And Monica knows. But Monica is spiteful against the Lord. -Lord! Lord!" - -He ended on the old human cry of invocation: a cry which is answered, -when it comes from the extreme, passionate soul. The strange, dark -comfort and power came back to him again, and he could go to sleep once -more, with his Lord. - -When he woke in the morning, the fever had left him. Lennie was there at -dawn, to see if he wanted anything. The quick little Lennie, who always -came straight from the Lord, unless his emotions of pity got the better -of him. Then he lost his connections, and became maudlin. - -Jack wanted the family not to know. But the twins saw his disfigured -face, with horror. And Monica knew: it was she who had sent Dr. Rackett -and Tom and Alec. And Grace knew. And soon Ma came, and said: "Dear o' -me, Jack Grant, what d'y'mean by going and getting messed up like this!" -And Dad came slow and heavy, and said nothing, but looked dark and -angry. They all knew. - -But Jack wanted to be left alone. He told Tom and Dr. Rackett, and Tom -and Dr. Rackett ordered the family to leave him alone. - -It was Grace who brought his meals. Poor old Grace, with her big eyes -and rather big nose, she had a gentle heart, and more real sense than -that Monica. Jack only got to know her while he was sick, and she really -touched his heart. She was so kind, and thought so little of herself, -and had such a sad wisdom at the bottom of her. Who would have thought -it, of the pert, cheeky, nosy Grace? - -Monica slipped in, and stood staring down at him with her queer, -brooding eyes, that shone with widened pupils. Heaven knows what she was -thinking about. - -"I was awfully afraid he'd kill you," she said. "I was so frightened, -that's what made me laugh." - -"Why should I let him kill me?" said Jack. - -"How could you help it! He's much stronger and crueller than you." - -"He may be stronger, but I can match him in other ways." - -She looked at him incredulously. She did not believe him. He could see -she did not believe in that other, inward power of his, upon which he -himself depended. She thought him in every way weaker, frailer than -Easu. Only, of course, nicer. This made Jack very angry. - -"I think I punished him as much as he punished me," he said. - -"_He's_ not laid up in bed," she replied. - -Then, with her quivering, exquisite gentleness, she touched his bandaged -hand. - -"I'm awfully sorry he hurt you so," she said. "I know you'll hate _me_ -for it." - -"Why should I?" he replied coldly. - -She took up his bandaged hand and kissed it quickly, then she looked him -long and beseechingly in the eyes: or the one eye. Somehow she didn't -seem to see his caricature of a face. - -"Don't hate me for it," she pleaded, still watching him with that -strange, pleading, watchful look. - -The flame leapt in his bowels, and came into his eyes. And another flame -as she, catching the change in his eyes, softened her look and smiled -subtly, suddenly taking his wrist in a passionate, secret grasp. He felt -the hot blood suffusing him like new life. - -"Good-bye!" she said, looking back at him as she disappeared. - -And when she had gone, he remembered the watchfulness in her eyes, the -cat-like watchfulness at the back of all her winsome tenderness. There -it was, like the devil. And he turned his face to the wall, to his Lord, -and two smarting tears came under his eyes as if they were acid. - -The next day Mary came bringing his pap. She was not going to be kept -away any longer. And she would come as a ministering angel. - -He saw on her face that she was startled, shocked, and a little repelled -by his appearance. She hardly knew him. But she overcame her repulsion -at once, and became the more protective. - -"Why, how awful it must be for you!" she said. - -"Not so bad now," he said, manfully swallowing his pap. - -He could see she longed for him to have his own good-looking face again. -She could not bear this strange horror. She refused to believe this was -he. - -"I shall never forgive that cruel Easu!" she said, and the colour came -to her dark cheek. "I hope I never have to speak to him again." - -"Oh, I began it. It was my fault." - -"How could it be!" cried Mary. "That great hulking brute. How dare he -lay a finger on you!" - -Jack couldn't smile, his face was of the fixed sort. But his one good -eye had a gleam. "He dare, you see," he answered. But she turned away in -smarting indignation. - -"It makes one understand why such creatures had their hands cut off in -the old days," she said, with cold fierceness. - -"How dare he disfigure your beautiful face! How dare he!" And tears of -anger came to her eyes. - -A strangled grin caused considerable pain to Jack's beautiful face. - -"I suppose he didn't rightly appreciate my sort of looks," he said. - -"The jealous brute," said Mary. "But I hope he'll pay for it. I hope he -will. I do hope he hasn't really disfigured you," she ended on a note of -agitation. - -"No, no! Besides that doesn't matter all the world." - -"It matters all the world," she cried, with strange fierceness, "to me." - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -THE GREAT PASSING - - -I - - -Jack soon got better. Soon he was sitting in the old armchair by the -parlour fire. There was a little fire, against the damp. This was Gran's -place. But Gran did not leave her bed. - -He had been in to see her, and she frightened him. The grey, dusky skin -round the sunken mouth and sharpened nose, the eyes that were mostly -shut, and never really open, the harsh breathing, the hands lying like -old translucent stone on the bed-cover: it frightened him, and gave him -a horror of dissolution and decay. He wanted terribly to be out again -with the healthy Tom, among the horses. But not yet--he must wait yet -awhile. So he took his turn sitting by Gran, to relieve Mary, who got -little rest. And he became nervous, fanciful, frightened as he had never -been before in his life. The family seemed to abandon him as they -abandoned Gran. The cold isolation and horror of death. - -The first rains had set in. All night the water had thundered down on -the slab roof of the cubby, as if the bottom had fallen out of some well -above. Outside was cloudy still, and a little chill. A wind was -hush-sh-shing round the house. Mary was sitting with Gran, and he was in -the parlour, listening to that clock--Tick-tock! Tick-tock! He sat in -the armchair with a shawl over his shoulders, trying to read. Curiously -enough, in Australia he could not read. The words somehow meant nothing -to him. - -It was Sunday afternoon, and the smell of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, -cabbage, apple pie and cinnamon custard still seemed to taint the house. -Jack had come to loathe Sunday dinners. They seemed to him degrading. -They hung so heavy afterwards. And now he was sick, it seemed to him -particularly repulsive. The peculiar Sundayness of it. The one thing -that took him in revulsion back to England: Sunday dinner. The England -he didn't want to be taken back to. But it had been a quiet meal. Monica -and Grace and the little boy twins had all been invited to York, by Alec -Rice's parents, and they had gone away from the shadowed house, leaving -a great emptiness. It seemed to Jack they should all have stayed, so -that their young life could have united against this slow dissolution. - -Everything felt very strange. Tom and Lennie were out, Mrs. Ellis and -the children were upstairs, Mr. Ellis had gone to look at some sheep -that had got into trouble in the rain. There seemed a darkness, a chill, -a deathliness in the air. It is like that in Australia: usually so sunny -and absolutely forgetful. Then comes a dark day, and the place seems -like an immemorial grave. More gruesome than ever England was, on her -dark days. Mankind forever entombed in dissolution, in an endless grave. - - -"Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord; or who shall stand -in His holy place? -He that hath clean hands and a pure heart, -Who hath not yielded up himself unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully." - - -Jack was thinking over the words Mr. Ellis had read in the morning, as -near as he remembered them. He looked at his own hands: already they -seemed pale and soft and very clean. What had the Lord intended hands -for? So many things hands must do, and still they remain clean. Clean -hands! His left was still discoloured and out of shape. Was it unclean? - -No, it was not unclean. Not unclean like the great paw of Easu's hiking -Monica out of the saddle. - -Clean hands and a pure heart! A pure heart! Jack thought of his own, -with two heavy new desires in it: the sudden, shattering desire for -Monica, that would rip through him sometimes like a flame. And the slow, -smouldering desire to kill Easu. He had to be responsible for them both. - -And he was not going to try to pluck them out. They both belonged to his -heart, they were sacred even while they were shocking in his blood. -Only, driven back on himself, he gave the old pledge: _Lord, if you -don't want me to have Monica and kill Easu, I won't. But if you want me -to, I will._ Somewhere he was inclined to cry out to be delivered from -the cup. But that would be cowardice towards his own blood. It would be -yielding himself up to vanity, if he pretended he hadn't got the -desires. And if he swore to eradicate them, it would be swearing -deceitfully. Sometimes the hands must move in the darkest acts, if they -are to remain really clean, not deathly like Gran's now. And the heart -must beat hard in the storm of darkest desires, if it is to keep pure, -and not go pale-corrupt. - -But always subject to the will of the Lord. - - -"Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord; or who shall stand in His -holy place." - - -The Seraphim and the Cherubim knew strange, awful secrets of the Lord. -That was why they covered their faces with their wings, for the wings of -glory also had a dark side. - -The fire was burning low. Jack stooped to put on more wood. Then he blew -the red coals to make the wood catch. A yellow flame came, and he was -glad. - - -"Forsake me not, Oh God, in mine old age; when I am grey-headed; until I -have sown my strength to this generation, and Thy power to all them that -are yet to come." - - -Jack was always afraid of those times when the mysterious sayings of the -Bible invaded him. He seemed to have no power against them. And his soul -was always a little afraid, as if the walls of life grew thin, and he -could hear the great everlasting wind of the mysterious going of the -Lord, on the other side. - - -"Forsake me not, Oh, God, in mine old age; when I am grey-headed." - - -Jack wished Gran would say this, so that the Lord would stay with her, -and she would not look so awful. How could Mary _stand_ it, sitting with -her day after day. - - -"Until I have shown my strength to this generation, and Thy power to all -them that are yet to come." - - -And again his stubborn strength of life arose. What was he for, but to -show his strength to the generation, and a sign of the power of the Lord -for all them that were yet to come. - -The clock was ticking steadily in the room. But the yellow flames were -bunching up in the grate. He wondered where Gran's "stocking" really -was? But the thought of stockings, of concealed money, of people -hankering for money, always made him feel sick. - - -"There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon and -another glory of the stars. . . . There is a natural body and a -spiritual body. . . ." - -"There is one glory of the sun----" - - -But men don't all realise the same glory. In England the sun had seemed -to him to move with a domestic familiarity. It wasn't till he was out -here that he had been struck to the soul with the immense assertive -vigour and sacred handsomeness of the sun. He knew it now: the wild, -immense, fierce, untamed sun, fiercer than a glowing-eyed lion with a -vast mane of fire, crouching on the western horizon, staring at the -earth as if to pounce on it, the mouse-like earth. He had seen this -immense sun, fierce and powerful beyond all human considerations, -glaring across the southern sea, as all men may see it if they go there. - - - -"There is one glory of the sun----" - - -And it is a glory vast and fierce, of a Lord who is more than our small -lives. - - -"And another glory of the moon----" - - -That too he knew. And he had not known, till the full moon had followed -him through the empty bush, in Australia, in the night. The immense, -liquid gleam of the far-south moon, following, following with a great, -miraculous, liquid smile. That vast, white, liquid smile, so vindictive! -And himself, hurrying back to camp on Lucy, had known a terrible fear. -The fear that the broad, liquid fire of the cold moon would capture him, -capture him and destroy him, like some white demon that slowly and -coldly tastes and devours its prey. The moon had that power, he knew, to -dissolve him, tissue, heart, body and soul, dissolve him away. The -immense, gleaming, liquid, lusting white moon, following inexorably, and -the bush like white charred moon-embers. - - -"There is another glory of the moon----" - - -And he was afraid of it. "The sun is thy right hand, and the moon is thy -left hand." The two gleaming, immense living orbs, moving like weapons -in the two hands of the Lord. - - -"And there is another glory of the stars----" - - -The strange stars of the southern night, all in unfamiliar crowds and -tufts and drooping clusters, with strange black wells in the sky. He -never got used to the southern stars. Whenever he stood and looked up at -them, he felt as if his soul were leaving him, as if he belonged to -another species of life, not to man as he knew man. As if there were a -metamorphosis, a terrible metamorphosis to take place. - -"There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body." This phrase -had haunted his mind from the earliest days. And he had always had a -sort of hatred of the thing his Aunts, and the parson, and the poets, -called The Spirit, with a capital S. It had always, with him, been -connected with his Sunday clothes, and best behaviour, and a certain -exalted falseness. Part of his natural naughtiness had arisen from his -vindictive dislike and contempt of The Spirit, and things of The Spirit. - -Now it began to seem different to him. He knew, he always had known, -that the Bible really meant something absolutely different from what the -Aunts, and the parson, and even the poets meant by the Spirit, or the -spiritual body. - -Since he had seen the Great God in the roaring of the yellow sun, and -the frightening vast smile in the gleaming full-moon following him, the -new moon like a delicate weapon-thrust in the western sky, and the stars -in disarray, like a scattered flock of sheep bunching and communing -together in a strange bush, in the vast heavens, he had gradually come -to know the difference between the natural body and the spiritual body. -The natural body was like in England, where the sun rises naturally to -make day, and passes naturally at sunset, owing to the earth's -revolving; where the moon "raises her lamp above," on a dear night, and -the stars are "candles" in heaven. That is the natural body: all the -cosmos just a natural fact. And a man loves a woman so that they can -propagate their species. The natural body. - -And the spiritual body is supposed to be something thin and immaterial, -that can float through a brick wall and subsist on mere thought. Jack -had always hated this thin, wafting object. He preferred his body solid. -He loved the beautiful weight and transfigured solidity of living limbs. -He had no use whatsoever for the gossamer stuff of the supposed -"ethereal," or "pure," spirit: like evaporated alcohol. He had a natural -dislike of Shelley, and vegetarians, and socialists, and all advocates -of "spirit." He hated Blake's pictures, with people waving like the -wrong kind of sea-weed, in the sky, instead of under water. - -Hated it all. Till hating it had almost made him wicked. - -Now he had a new understanding. He had always _known_ that the Old -Testament never meant any of this Shelley stuff, this Hindu Nirvana -business. "There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body." And -his natural body got up in the morning to eat food, and tend sheep, and -earn money, and prepare for having a family; to see the sun usefully -making day and setting, owing to the earth's revolution: the new moon so -shapen because the earth's shadow fell on her; the stars being other -worlds, other lumps in space, shining according to their various -distances, coloured according to their chemical composition. Well and -good. - -That is man very cleverly finding out all about it, like a little boy -pulling his toy to pieces. - -But, willy-nilly, in this country he had another sun and another moon. -He had seen the glory of the sun and the glory of the moon, and both -these glories had had a powerful sensual effect on him. There had been a -great passional reaction in himself, in his own body. And as the strange -new passion of fear, and the sense of gloriousness burned through him, -like a new intoxication, he knew that this was his real spiritual body. -This glowing, intoxicated body, drunk with the sun and the moon, drunk -from the cup in the hand of the Lord, _this_ was his spiritual body. - -And when the flame came up in him, tearing from his bowels, in the -sudden new desire for Monica, this was his spiritual body, the body -transfigured with fire. And that steady dark vibration which made him -want to kill Easu--Easu seemed to him like the Antichrist--that was his -own spiritual body. And when he had hit Easu with his broken left hand, -and the white sheet of flame going through him had made him scream -aloud, leaving him strange and distant, but super-conscious and -powerful, this too was his spiritual body. The sun in his right hand and -the moon in his left hand. When he drank from the burning right hand of -the Lord, and wanted Monica in the same fire, it was his body spiritual -burning from the right hand of the Lord. And when he knew he must -destroy Easu, in the sheet of white pain, it was his body spiritual -transfigured from the left hand of the Lord. And when he ate and drank, -and the food tasted good, it was the dark cup of life he was drinking, -drinking the life of the dead ox from the meat. And this was the body -spiritual communing with the sacrificed body of natural life: like a -tiger glowing at evening and lapping blood. And when he rode after the -sheep through the bush, and the horse between his knees went quick and -delicate, it was the Lord tossing him in his spiritual body down the -maze of living. - -But when Easu ground down his horse and shoved it after the sheep, it -was the natural body fiendishly subjugating the spiritual body. For the -horse too is a spiritual body and a natural body, and may be ridden as -the one or as the other. And when Easu wanted Monica, it was the natural -body malignantly degrading the spiritual body. Monica also half wanted -it. - -For Easu knew the spiritual body. And like a fallen angel, he hated it, -he wanted always to overthrow it more, in this day when it is so -abjectly overthrown. Monica too knew the spiritual body: the body of -straight fire. And she too seemed to have a grudge against it. It -thwarted her "natural" will; which "natural" will is the barren devil of -to-day. - -Gran, that old witch, she also knew the spiritual body. But she loved -spiting it. And she was dying like clay. - -Mary, who was so spiritual and so self-sacrificing, she didn't know the -body of straight fire at all. Her spirit was all natural. She was so -"good," and so heavily "natural," she would put out any fire of the -glory of the burning Lord. She was more "natural" even than Easu. - -And Jack's father was the same. So good! So nice! So kind! So absolutely -well-meaning! And he would bank out the fire of the burning Lord with -shovelfuls of kindness. - -They would, none of them, none of them, let the fire bum straight. None -of them. There were no people at all who dared have the fire of the -Lord, and drink from the cup of the fierce glory of the Lord, the sun in -one hand and the moon in the other. - -Only this strange, wild, ash-coloured country with its undiminished sun -and its unblemished moon, would allow it. There was a great death -between the two hands of the Lord; between the sun and the moon. But let -there be a great death. Jack gave himself to it. - -He was almost asleep, in the half-trance of inner consciousness, when -Dad came in. Jack opened his eyes and made to rise, but Dad waved him to -sit still, while he took the chair on the other side of the fire, and -sat down inert. He seemed queer. Dad seemed queer. The same dusky look -over his face as over Gran's. And a queer, pinched, far-away look. Jack -wondered over it. And he could see Dad didn't want to be spoken to. The -clock tick-tocked. Jack went into a kind of sleep. - -He opened his eyes. Dad was very slowly, very slowly fingering the bowl -of his pipe. How quiet it was! - -Jack dozed again, and wakened to a queer noise. It was Dad's breathing: -and perhaps the falling of his pipe. He had dropped his pipe. And his -body had dropped over sideways, very heavy and uncomfortable, and he was -breathing hoarsely, unnaturally in his sleep. Save for the breathing, it -was dreadfully quiet. Jack picked up the pipe and sat down again. He -felt tired: awfully tired, for no reason at all. - -He woke with a start. The afternoon was passing, there was a shower, the -room seemed dark. The firelight flickered on Mr. Ellis' watchguard. He -wore his unbuttoned waistcoat as ever, with the gold watchchain showing. -He was very stout, and very still. Terribly still and sagging sideways, -the hoarse breathing had ceased. Jack would have liked to wake him from -that queer position. - -How quiet it was. Upstairs someone had dragged a chair, and that had -made him realise! Far away, very far away, he could hear Harry and Ellie -and Baby, playing. "There's a quiet of the sun, and another quiet of the -moon, and another quiet of the stars; for one star differs from another -in quiet. So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown a natural -body; it is raised a spiritual body." - -Was that Scripture? or wasn't it? There is a quiet of the sun. This was -the quiet of the sun. He was sitting in the cold, dead quiet of the sun. -For one star differs from another in quiet. The sun had abstained from -radiating, this was the quiet of the sun, and the strange, shadowy -crowding of the stars' differing quietness seemed to infest the weak -daylight. - -It is sown a natural body! Oh, bother the words! He didn't want them. He -wanted the sun to shine, and everything to be normal. If he didn't feel -so weak, and if it weren't raining, he'd go out to the stable to the -horses. To the hotblooded animals. - -Mr. Ellis' head hung sagging on his chest. Jack wished he would wake up -and change his position, it looked horrible. - -The inner door suddenly opened, and Mary came swiftly out. She started, -seeing Mr. Ellis asleep in the chair. Then she went to Jack's side and -took his arm, and leaned whispering in his ear. - -"Jack! She's gone! I think she's gone. I think she passed in her sleep. -We shall have to wake uncle." - -Jack stood up trembling. There was a queer smell in the room. He walked -across and touched the sleeping man on the sleeve. - -"Dad!" he said. "Dad! Mr. Ellis." - -There was no response. They both waited. Then Jack shook the arm more -vigorously. It felt very inert. Mary came across, and put her hand on -her uncle's sunken forehead, to lift his head. She gave a little scream. - -"Something's the matter with him," she said, whimpering. - - - - -II - - -Thank goodness, Dr. Rackett was upstairs. They fetched him, and Timothy -and Tom, and carried Mr. Ellis into the dying room. - -"Better leave me alone with him now," said Rackett. - -After ten minutes he came out of the dying room and closed the door -behind him. Tom was standing there. He looked at Rackett enquiringly. -Rackett shook his head. - -"Dad's not dead?" said Tom. - -Rackett nodded. - -Tom's face went to pieces for a moment. Then he composed it, and that -Australian mouth of his, almost like a scar, shut close. He went into -the dying room. - -Someone had to fetch the Methodist son-in-law from York. Jack went in -the sulky. Better die in the cart than stop in that house. And he could -drive the sulky quietly. - -The Methodist son-in-law, though he was stout and wore black, and Jack -objected to him on principle, wasn't really so bad, in his own home. His -wife Ruth of course burst into tears and ran upstairs. Her husband kept -his face straight, brought out the whiskey tantalus, and poured some for -Jack and himself. This they both drank with befitting gravity. - -"I must be in chapel in fifteen minutes; that will be five minutes -late," said the parson. "But they can't complain, under the -circumstances. Mrs. Blogg of course will stay at home. Er--is anyone -making arrangements out at Wandoo?" - -"What arrangements?" - -"Oh, seeing to things ... the personal property, too." - -"I was sent for you," said Jack. "I suppose they thought you'd see to -things." - -"Yes! Certainly! Certainly! I'll be out with Mrs. Blogg directly after -Meeting. Let me see." - -He went to a table and laboriously wrote two notes. Twisting them into -cocked hats, he handed them one after the other to Jack, saying: - -"This is to the Church of England parson. Leave it at his house. I've -made it Toosday, Toosday at half-past ten. I suppose that'll do. And -this--this is to the joiner." - -He looked at Jack meaningly, and Jack looked vague. "Joshua Jenkins, at -the joiner's shop. Third house from the end of the road. And you'll find -him in the loft over the stable, Sunday or not, if he isn't in the -house." - -It was sunset, and the single bells of the church and chapel were -sounding their last ping! ping! ping-ping! as Jack drove slowly down the -straggling street of York. People were going to church, the women in -their best shawls and bonnets, hurrying a little along the muddy road, -where already the cows were lying down to sleep, and the loose horses -straggled uncomfortably. Occasionally a muddy buggy rattled up to the -brick Church of England, people passed shadow-shape into the wooden -Presbyterian Church, or waited outside the slab Meeting House of the -Methodists. The choir band was already scraping fiddles and tooting -cornets in the church. Lamps were lighted within and one feeble lamp at -the church gate. It was a cloudy evening. Odd horsemen went trotting -through the mud, going out into the country again as night fell, rather -forlorn. - -Jack always felt queer, in York on Sundays. The attempt at Sunday seemed -to him like children's make-believe. The churches weren't real churches, -the parsons weren't real parsons, the people weren't real worshippers. -It was a sort of earnest make-believe, where people felt important like -actors. And the pub, with its extra number of lamps, seemed to feel -extra wicked. And the men riding home, often tipsy, seemed vague as to -what was real, this York acting Sunday, or their dark, rather dreary -farms away out, or some other third unknown thing. Was anything quite -real? That was what the shadows, the people, the buildings seemed all to -be asking. It was like children's games, real and not real, actual and -yet unsubstantial, and the people seemed to feel as children feel, very -earnest, very sure, very sure that they were very real, but having to -struggle all the time to keep up the conviction. If they didn't keep up -the conviction, the dark, strange Australian night might clear them and -their little town all away into some final cupboard, and leave the -aboriginal bush again. - -Joshua Jenkins the godless, was in the loft with a chisel, working by -lantern light. He peered at the twisted note, and his face brightened. - -"Two of 'em!" he exclaimed, with a certain gusto. "Well, think o' that, -think o' that! And I've not had a job o' this sort for over a month. -Well, I never, t'be sure! 'T never rains but it comes down cats and -dogs, seemingly. Toosday! Toosday! Toosday! Let's see--" and he -scratched his head behind the ear. "Pretty quick work that, pretty quick -work. But can be done, oh, yes, can be done. I's'll have t' send -somebody t' measure the Boss. How deep should you say he was in the -barrel? Never mind though, I'll send Sam over with the measure, come -morning. But I can start right away on the old lady. Let's see! Let's -see! Let's see! She wouldn't be-e-e--she wouldn't be over five foot two -or three now, would she?" - -"I don't know," said Jack hoarsely. "Do you mean for her coffin?" He was -filled with horror. - -"Well, I should say I do. I should say so. You don't see no -sewing-machine here, do you, for sewing her shroud. I suppose I do mean -her coffin, being joiner and carpenter, and J. P. and coroner as well -when required." - -Jack fled, horrified. But as he lit his sulky candles, and set off at a -slow trot out of the town, he laughed a bit to himself. He felt it was -rather funny. Why shouldn't it be rather funny? He hoped it would be a -bit funny when he was dead too, to relieve matters. He sat in the easy -sulky driving slowly down the washed-out road, in the dark, alien night. -The night was dark and strange. An animal ran along the road in front of -him, just discernible, at the far edge of the dim yellow candle glow. It -was a wild grey thing, running ahead into the dark. On into the dark. - -Why should one care? Beyond a certain point, one didn't care about -anything, life or death. One just felt it all. Up to a certain point, -one had to go through the mill, caring and feeling bad. One had to cry -out to the Lord, and fight the ugly brutes of life. And then for a time -it was over, and one didn't care, good or bad, Lord or no Lord. One paid -one's whack of caring and then one was let off for a time. When one was -dead, one didn't care any more. And that was death. But life too had its -own indifference, its own deep, strong indifference: as the ocean is -calm way down, under the most violent storm. - -When he got home, Tom came out to the sulky. Tom's face was set with -that queer Australian look, as if he were caught in a trap, and it -wasn't any use complaining about it. He unharnessed the horse in a -rough, flinging fashion. Jack didn't know what to say to him, so he -thought he'd better keep quiet. - -Lennie came riding in on Lucy. He slid to the ground and dragged the -mare's bridle roughly. - -"Come on, yer blasted old idjut, can't ye!" he blubbed, dragging her to -the stable door. "Blasted idjut, my Uncle Joe!" he continued, between -the sniffs and gulps of his blub-bing. "Questions! Questions! How c'n I -answer questions when I don't know myself!" A loud blub as he dragged -the saddle down on top of himself, in his frenzy of untackling Lucy. -"Rackett says to me, Len,' he says,"--blub and a loud sniff--"'y' -father's took bad and pore ol' Gran's gone,' he says"--blub! blub! -blub--"'Be off an' fetch y' Uncle Joe an' tell him to come at onst'--an' -he can go to _hell._" Lennie ended on a shout of defiance as he -staggered into the stable with the saddle. And from the dark his voice -came: "An' when I ask our Tom what's amiss wi'm' Dad," blub! blub! -"blasted idjut looks at me like a blasted owl--like a blasted owl!" And -Lennie sobbed before he sniffed and came out for the bridle. - -"Don't y' cry, Lennie," said Jack, who was himself crying for all he was -worth, under the cover of the dark. - -"I'm not crying, y' bloomin' fool, you!" shouted Len. "I'm gain' in to -see Ma, I am. Get some sense outta _her._" - -He walked off towards the house, and then came back. - -"Why don' you go in, Tom, an' see?" he cried. "What d'yer stan' there -like that for, what _do_ yer?" - -There was a dead and horrible silence, outside the stable door in the -dark. A silence that went to the core of the night, having no word to -say. - -The lights of a buggy were seen at the gate. The three waited. It was -the unmarried Aunts. One of them ran and took Len in her arms. - -"Oh, you poor little lamb!" she cried. "Oh, your poor Ma! Your Ma! Your -poor Ma!" - -"Ma's not bad! She's all right," yelped Len in a new fear. Then there -was a pause, and he became super-conscious. Then he drew away from the -Aunts. - -"Is Dad dead?" he asked in a queer, quizzical little voice, looking from -Tom to Jack, in the dim buggy light. Tom stood as if paralysed. - -Lennie at last gave a queer, animal "Whooo," like a dog dazed with pain, -and flung himself into Tom's arms. The only sounds in the night were -Tom's short, dry sobs, as he held Lennie, and the whimpering of the -Aunts. - -"Come to your poor Mother, come to comfort her," said one of the Aunts -gently. - -"Tom! Tom!" cried Lennie. "I'm skeered! I'm skeered, Tom, o' them two -corpses! I'm skeered of 'em, Tom." Tom, who was a little skeered too, -gave a short, dry bark of a sob. - -"They won't hurt you, precious!" said the Aunt. "They won't hurt you. -Come to your poor Mother." - -"No-o-o!" wailed Lennie in terror, and he flung away to Timothy's cabin, -where he slept all night. - -When the horses were fixed up, Tom and Jack went to the cubby. Tom flung -himself on the bed without undressing, and lay there in silence. Jack -did the same. He didn't know what else to do. At last he managed to say: - -"Don't take it too hard, Tom! Dad's lived his life, and he's got all you -children. We have to live. We all have to live. An' then we've got to -die." - -There was unresponsive silence for a time. - -"What's the blasted use of it all, anyhow?" said Tom. - -"There's no such thing as _use_," said Jack. "Dad lived, and he had his -life. He had his life. You'll have yours. And I shall have mine. It's -just your life, and you live it." - -"What's the _good_ of it?" persisted Tom heavily. - -"Neither good nor bad. You live your life because it's your own, and -nobody can live it for you." - -"What good is it to me?" said Tom dully, drearily. "I don't care if -people live their lives or not." - -Jack felt for the figure on the bed. - -"Shake hands, though, Tom," he said. "You are alive, and so am I. Shake -hands on it, then." - -He found the hand and got a faint response, sulky, heavy. But for very -shame Tom could not withhold all response. - -Tim came in the morning with tea and bread and butter, saying Tom was -wanted inside, and would Jack go with him to attend to the grave. Poor -Tim was very much upset, and wept and wailed unrestrainedly. Which -perhaps was good, because it spared the others the necessity to weep and -wail. - -They hitched up the old buggy, and set off with a pick and a couple of -spades. Old black Timothy on the driving-box occasionally startled Jack -by breaking forth into a new sudden wail, like a dog suddenly -remembering again. It was a fine day. The earth had already dried up, -and a hot, dry, gritty wind was blowing from inland, from the east. They -drove out of the paddocks and along an overgrown trail, then they -crossed the river, heaving and floundering through the slough, for at -this season it was no more. The excitement of the driving here made -Timothy forget to wail. - -Rounding a steep little bluff, they came to a lonely, forlorn little -enclosed graveyard, which Jack had never seen. Tim wailed, then asked -where the grave should be. The sun grew very hot. They nosed around the -little, lonely, parched acre. - -Jack could not dig, so he unharnessed the outfit and put a box of chaff -before the horses. Tim flung his spade over against a little grey -headstone, and climbed in with the pick. Even then they weren't quite -sure how big to make the grave, so Jack lay on the ground while Tim -picked out a line around him. They got a straight line with a rope. - -The soil was as hard as cement. Tim toiled and moiled, and forgot all -wailing. But he made little impression on the cement-like earth. - -"What we goin' to do?" he asked, scratching his sweating head. "What 'n -hell's name we goin't' do, sir? Gotta bury 'm Toosday, gotta." And he -looked at the blazing sun. "Gotta dig him hole sevenfut deep grave, -gotta do 't." - -He set to again. Then two of the Reds came, sent to help. But the work -was killing. The day became so hot, you forgot it, you passed into a -kind of spell. But that work was heart-breaking. - -Jack went off for dynamite, and Rackett came along, with Lennie, who -would never miss a dynamiting show. Tim wrung his wet hair like a mop. -The Reds, in their vests, were scarlet, and the vests were wet and -grimy. - -Much more fun with dynamite. Boom! Bang! Then somebody throwing out the -dirt. Somebody going for a ladder. Boom! Bang! The explosions seemed -enormous. - -"Oh, for the love o' Mike!" cried the excited Lennie. "Yell blow me ol' -grandfather sky high, if y' don't mind. For the love of Mike, don't let -me see his bones." - -But the grandfather Ellis was safe in the next grave. Rackett laid -another fuse. They all stood back. Bang! Boom! Pouf! went the dust. - - - - -III - - -Jack would have done anything to escape the funeral, but Timothy, for -some reason, kept hold of him. He wanted him to help replace the turf: -moral support rather than physical assistance. - -The two of them hid behind the pinch. At last they saw the cortege -approaching. Easu Ellis held the reins of the first team, and chewed the -end of the whip. Beside him sat Joshua Jenkins, as a mute, fearful in -black and like a scarecrow with loose danglings of crape. In the buggy -behind them, on the floor-boards, was Gran's coffin, shaking wofully, -covered with a black cloth. Joe Low drove the second buggy, which was -the second hearse, and he looked strained and anxious as the heavy -coffin bumped when the buggy dropped into holes on the track. Then came -the family shay with the chief male mourners. Then a little crowd on -foot. - -The horses were behaving badly, not liking the road. It was hot, the -vile east wind was blowing. Easu's horse jibbed at the slough of the -stream: would not take it. He was afraid the horses would jump, and toss -the coffin out of the buggy. He had to get bearers to carry Gran's poor -remains across the mud and up the pinch to their last house. The bearers -sunk almost to their knees in mud. The whole cortege was at a -standstill. - -Joe Low's horses, mortally frightened, were jumping round till they were -almost facing the horses in the mourners' shay. Easu ran to their heads. -More bearers, strong men, came forward to lift out Dad's heavy coffin. -Everybody watched in terror as they staggered through the slough of the -stream with that unnatural burden. Was it going to fall? - -No, they were through. Men were putting branches and big stones for the -foot-mourners to cross, everybody sweating and sweltering. The sporting -parson, his white surplice waving in the hateful, gritty hot wind, came -strinding over, holding his book. Then Tom, with a wooden, stupid face. -Then Lennie, cracking nuts between his teeth and spitting out the -shells, in an agony of nervousness. Then the other mourners, some -carrying a few late, weird bush-flowers, picking their way over like a -train of gruesome fowls, staggering and clutching on the stones and -boughs, landing safe on the other bank. Jack watched from a safe -distance above. - -There were two coffins, one on either side of the grave. Some of the -uncles had top hats with dangling crape. Nearly everybody was black. -Poor Len, what a black little crow he looked! The sporting parson read -the service manfully. Then he announced hymn number 225. - -Jack could feel the hollow place below, with the black mourners, simmer -with panic, when the parson in cold blood asked them to sing a hymn. But -he read the first verse solemnly, like an overture: - - -"Oh sweet and blessed country -The home of God's elect! -Oh sweet and blessed country -That eager hearts expect . . ." - - -There was a deadly pause. There was going to be no answer from the -uncomfortable congregation, under that hot sun. - -But Uncle Blogg was not to be daunted. He struck up in a rather fat, -wheezy, Methodist voice, and Aunt Ruth piped feebly. The maiden Aunts, -who had insisted on following their mother, though women were not -expected to attend, listened to this for an awful minute or two, then -they waveringly "tried" to join in. It was really only funny. And Tom in -all his misery, suddenly started to laugh. Lennie looked up at him with -wide eyes, but Tom's shoulders shook, shook harder, especially when Aunt -Minnie "tried" to sing alto. That alto he could not bear. - -The Reds were beginning to grin sheepishly and to turn their heads over -their shoulders, as if the open country would not object to their grins. -It was becoming a scandal. - -Lennie saved the situation. His voice came clear and pure, like a -chorister's, rising above the melancholy "trying" of the relations, a -clear, pure singing, that seemed to dominate the whole wild bush. - - -"Oh sweet and blessed country -That eager hearts expect. - -Jesu in mercy bring us -To that dear land of rest; -Who art with God the Father, -And Spirit ever blessed." - - -At the sound of Lennie's voice, Tom turned white as a sheet, and looked -as if he were going to die too. But the boy's voice soared on, with that -pure quality of innocence that was sheer agony to the elder brother. - - - - -IV - - -Jack, who was looking sick again, was sent away to the Greenlows' next -day. And he was glad to go, thankful to be out of it. He loathed death, -he loathed death, and Wandoo had suddenly become full of death. - -The first cool days of the year, golden and blue, were at hand. The -Greenlow girls made much of him. He rode with them after sheep, -inspecting fences, examining far-off wells. They were not bad girls at -all. They taught him to play solitaire at evening, to hold worsted, even -to spin. Real companionable girls, thankful to have a young man in the -house, spoiling him completely. Pa was home after the first day, and -acted as a sort of hairy chimpanzee chaperone, but looking over his -spectacles and hissing through his teeth was his severest form of -reproof. He didn't set Jack to wash that Sunday, but even gave him -tit-bits from the joint, so that our young hero almost knew what it was -to have a prospective father-in-law. - -Jack left Gum Tree Croft with regret. For he knew his life at Wandoo was -over. Now Dad was dead, everything was going to break up. This was -bitter to him, for it was the first place he had ever loved, ever wanted -to stay in, for ever and ever. He loved the family. He couldn't bear to -go away from them. - -"Never mind!" he said to himself. "I shall always have them in some way -or other, all my life." - -Things seemed different when he got back. There wasn't much real -difference, except a bit of raking and clearing up had been done for the -funeral. But Wandoo itself seemed to have died. For the meantime, the -homestead was as if dead. - -Grace and Monica looked unnatural in black frocks. They felt unnatural. - -Jack was told that Mr. George was having a conclave in the parlour, and -that he was to go in. - -Tom, Mrs. Ellis, and Mr. George and Dr. Rackett were there, seated round -the table, on which were some papers. Jack shook hands, and sat uneasily -in an empty chair on Dr. Rackett's side of the table. Mr. George was -explaining things simply. - -Mr. Ellis left no will. But the first marriage certificate had been -found. Tom was to inherit Wandoo, but not till he came legally of age, -in a year and a half's time. Meanwhile Mrs. Ellis could continue on the -place, and carry on as best she might, on behalf of herself and all the -children. For a year and a half. - -She heard in silence. After a year and a half she would be homeless: or -at least dependent on Tom, who was not her son. She sat silent in her -black dress. - -Tom cleared his throat and stared at the table. Then he looked up at -Jack, and, scarlet in the face, said: - -"I've been thinking, Ma, I don't want the place. You have it, for Len. I -don't want it. You have it, for Len an' the kids. I'd rather go away. -Best if that certificate hadn't never been found, if you're going to -feel you're turned out." - -He dropped his head in confusion. Mr. George held up his hand. - -"No more of that heroic talk," he said. "When Jacob Ellis stored up that -marriage certificate at the bottom of that box, he showed what he meant. -And you may feel as you say to-day, but two years hence you might repent -it." - -Tom looked up angrily. - -"I don't believe Tom would ever regret it," put in Mrs. Ellis. "But I -couldn't think of it. Len wouldn't let me, even if I wanted to." - -"Of course not," said Mr. George. "We've got to be sensible, and the -law's the law. You _can't_ alter it yet, my boy, even if you want to. -You're not of age yet. - -"So you listen to me. My plan is for you and Jack to go out into the -colony and get some experience. Sow your wild oats if you've any to sow, -or else pick up a bit of good oat-seed. One or the other. - -"My idea is for you and Jack to go up for a year to Lang's Well station, -out Roeburne way. Lang'll give you your keep and a pound a week each, -and your fare refunded if you stay a year. - -"The 'Rob Roy' sails from Geraldton about a month from now; you can get -passages on her. And I thought it would be just as well, Tom, if you and -Jack rode up through that midland country. You've a hundred connections -to; see, who'll change y'r horses for y'. And you'll see the country. -And y'll be men of travel. We want men of experience, men of a wide -outlook. Somebody's got to be the head-piece of this colony, when men -like me and the rest of us are gone. It'll be a three hundred mile ride, -but ye've nigh on a month to do it. - -"Now, what do you say, my boy? Your mother will stop on here with the -children. I'll see she gets a good man to run the place. And meanwhile -she'll be able to fix something up for herself. Oh, we shall settle all -right. I'll see your mother through all right. No fear of that. And no -fear of any deterioration to the place. I'll watch that. You bet I -will." - -Tom twisted his fingers, white at the gills, and mumbled his thanks -vaguely. - -"Jack," said Mr. George. "I know you're game. And you will look after -Tom." - -Dr. Rackett said he thought it a wise plan, and further, that if Mrs. -Ellis would consent, he would like to bear the expenses of sending -Lennie to school in England for the next three years. - -Mrs. Ellis woke from her dream to say quickly: - -"Although I thank you kindly, Dr. Rackett, I think you'll understand if -I say No." - -Her decision startled everybody. - -"Prrh! Bah!" snorted Mr. George. "There's one thing. I doubt if we could -make Lennie go. But, with your permission, Alice, well ask him. Jack, -find Lennie for us." - -"I'll not say a word," said Mrs. Ellis, nervously clutching the edge of -the table. "I won't influence him. But if he goes it'll be the death of -me. Poor old Lennie! Poor old Lennie!" - -"Prrh! Bahl That's nonsense! Nonsense!" said Mr. George angrily. "Give -the boy his chance, leave your fool emotions out, d'ye hear, Alice -Ellis." - -Mrs. Ellis sat like a martyr stubborn at the stake. Jack brought the -mistrustful Len, who stood like a prisoner at the bar. Mr. George put -the case as attractively as possible. - -Len slowly shook his head, with a grimace of distaste. - -"No, I _don't_ think!" he remarked. "Not fer mine, you bet! I stays -alongside my pore ol' Ma, here in Western Austrylia." - -Mr. George adjusted his eyeglasses severely. - -"Your mother is neither poor nor old," he said coldly. - -"I never!" broke out Lennie. - -"And this country, thank God, is called Australia, not Austrylia. When -you open your mouth you give proof enough of your need for education. I -should like to hear different language in your mouth, my son, and see -different ideas working in your head." - -Lennie, rather pale and nervous, stared with wide eyes at him. - -"You never--" he said. "You never ketch me talkin' like Jack Grant, not -if y' skin me alive." And he shifted from one foot to the other. - -"I wouldn't take the trouble to skin you, alive or dead. Your skin -wouldn't be worth it. But come. You're an intelligent boy. You need -education. You _need_ it. Your nature needs it, child. Your mother ought -to see that. Your nature needs you to be educated, well-educated. You'll -be wasted afterwards--you will. And you'll repent it. Mark me, you'll -repent it, when you're older, and your spirit, which should be trained -and equipped, is as clumsy and half-baked as any other cornseed's. -You'll be a fretful, uneasy, wasted man, you will. Your mother ought to -see that. You'll be a half-baked, quarter-educated bush-whacker, instead -of a well-equipped man." - -Len looked wonderingly at his mother. But she still sat like an -obstinate martyr at the stake, and gave him no sign. - -"Don't _he_ educate me?" asked Len, pointing to Rackett. - -"As much as you'll let him," said Mr. George. "But--" - -Lennie's face crumpled up with irritation. - -"Oh, what for do you want me to be educated?" he cried testily. "I don' -want to be like Uncle Blogg. I don' wantter be like Dr. Rackett even." -He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "'N I don' wantter be like Jack Grant -neither. I don' wantta. I don' wantta, I tell y' I don' wantta." - -"Do you think they would want to be like you?" asked Mr. George. - -Lennie looked from him to Rackett, and then to Jack. - -"Jack's not so very diff'rent," he said slowly. And he shook his head. -"But can't y' believe me," he cried. "I don' wantta go to England. I -don' wantta talk fine and be like them. Can't ye see I don't? I don' -wantta. What's the good! What's the mortal use of it, anyhow? Aren't I -right as I am?" - -"What _do_ you want to do?" - -"I wants to work. I wants to milk an' feed, and plough, and reap and lay -out irrigation, like Dad. An' I wants to look after Ma an' the kids. An' -then I'll get married and be on a place of me own with kids of me own, -an' die, like Dad, an' be done for. That's what I wants. It is." - -He looked desperately at his mother. - -Mr. George slowly shook his head, staring at the keen, beautiful, but -reluctant boy. - -"I suppose that's what we've come to," said Rackett. - -"Didn't you learn me!" cried Lennie defiantly. And striking a little -attitude, like a naive earnest actor, he repeated: - - -"'Here rests, his head upon the lap of earth, -A youth of fortune and to fame unknown. -Fair science frowned not on his humble birth, -And melancholy marked him for her own. - -"'Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, -Heaven did a recompense as largely send. -He gave to misery all he had, a tear, -He gained from heaven, 'twas all he wished, a friend." - - -"There," he continued. "That's me! An' I've got a friend already." - -"You're a little fool," said Mr. George. "Much mark of melancholy there -is on you! And do you think misery is going to thank you for your -idiotic tear? As for your friend, he's going away. And you're a fool, -putting up a headstone to yourself while you're alive still. Damn you, -you little fool, and be damned to you." - -Mr. George was really cross. He flounced his spectacles off his nose. -Len was frightened. Then he said, rather waveringly, turning to his -mother: - -"We're all right, Ma, ain't we?" - -Mrs. Ellis looked at him with her subtlest, tenderest smile. And in -Lennie's eyes burned a light of youthful indignation against these old -men. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -TOM AND JACK RIDE TOGETHER - - -These days Monica was fascinating to Jack's eyes. She wore a black -dress, and her slimness, her impulsive girlishness under this cloud were -wistful, exquisite. He would have liked to love her, soothingly, -protectively, passionately. He would have liked to cherish her, with -passion. Always he looked to her for a glance of intimacy, looked to see -if she wouldn't accept his passion and his cherishing. He wanted to -touch her, to kiss her, to feel the eternal lightning of her slim body -through the cloud of that black dress. He wanted to declare to her that -he loved her, as Alec Rice had declared to Grace; and he wanted to ask -her to marry him. To ask her to marry him at once. - -But mostly he wanted to touch her and hold her in his arms. He watched -her all the time, hoping to get one of the old, long looks from her -yellow eyes, from under her bended brows. Her long, deep, enigmatic -looks, that used to worry him so. Now he longed for her to look at him -like that. - -Or better still if she would let him see her trouble and her grief, and -love her so, with a passionate cherishing. - -But she would do neither. She kept her grief and her provocation both -out of sight, as if neither existed. Her little face remained mute and -closed, like a shut-up bud. She only spoke to him with a vague distant -voice, and she never really looked at him. Or if she did glance at him, -it was in a kind of anger, and pain, as if she did not want to be -interfered with; didn't want to be pulled down. - -He was completely puzzled. Her present state was quite incomprehensible -to him. She had nothing to reproach him with, surely. And if she had -loved him, even a little, she could surely love him that little still. -If she had so often taken his hand and clutched it, surely she could now -let him take _her_ hand, in real sympathy. - -It was if she were angry with _him_ because Dad had died. Jack hadn't -wanted Dad to die. Indeed no. He was cut up by it as if he had been one -of the family. And it was as bad a blow to his destiny as to hers. He -was as sore and sorry as anybody. Yet she kept her face shut against -him, and avoided him, as if he were to blame. - -Completely puzzled, Jack went on with his preparations for departure. He -had no choice. He was under orders from Mr. George, and with Mrs. Ellis' -approval, to quit Wandoo, to ride with Tom up to Geraldton, and to spend -at least a year on the sheep station up north. It had to be. It was the -wheel of fate. So let it be. - -And as the last day drew near, the strange volcano of anger which -slumbered at the bottom of his soul--a queer, quiescent crater of anger -which churned its deep hot lava invisible--threw up jets of silver rage, -which hardened rapidly into a black, rocky indifference. And this was -characteristic of him: an indifference which was really congealed anger, -and which gave him a kind of innocent, remote, childlike quietness. - -This was his nature. He was himself vaguely aware of the unplumbed -crater of silent anger which lay at the bottom of his soul. It was not -anger against any particular thing, or because of anything in -particular. It was just generic, inherent in him. It was himself. It did -not make him hate people, individually, unless they were hateful. It did -not make him hard or cruel. Indeed he was too yielding rather than -otherwise, too gentle and mindful of horses and cattle, for example, -unmindful of himself. Tom often laughed at him for it. If Lucy had a -will of her own, and a caprice she wanted to execute, he always let her -go ahead, take her way, as far as was reasonable. If she exceeded her -limits, his anger roused and there was no doing any more with him. But -he very rarely, very rarely got really angry. Only then in the long, -slow accumulation of hostility, as with Easu. - -But anger! A deep, fathomless well-head of slowly-moving, invisible -fire. Somewhere in his consciousness he was aware of it, and in this -awareness it was as if he belonged to a race apart. He never felt -identified with the great humanity. He belonged to a race apart, like -the race of Cain. This he had always known. - -Sometimes he met eyes that were eyes of his own outcast race. As a tiny -boy it had been so. Fairs had always fascinated him, because at the -fairs in England he met the eyes of gipsies who, in a glance, understood -him. His own people _could_ not understand. But in the black eyes of a -gipsy woman he had seen the answer, even as a boy of ten. And he had -thought: I ought to go away with her, run away with her. - -It was the anger, the deep, burning _life-anger_ which was the kinship. -Not a deathly, pale, nervous anger. But an anger of the old blood. And -it was this which had attracted him to grooms, horsey surroundings, and -to pugilists. In them was some of this same deep, generous anger of the -blood. And now in Australia too, he saw it like a secret away at the -bottom of the black, full, strangely shining eyes of the aborigines. -There it lay, the secret, like an eternal, brilliant snake. And it -established at once a kind of free-masonry between him and the blacks. -They were curiously aware of him, when he came: aware of his coming, -aware of his going. As if in him were the same great Serpent of their -anger. And they were downcast now he was going away, as if their -strength were being taken from them. Old Tim, who had taken a great -fancy to Jack, relapsed into a sort of glumness as if he too, now, were -preparing to die. - -Since Jack had come back from the Greenlows' farm, Monica had withdrawn -to a distance, a kind of luminous distance, and put a chasm between -herself and Jack. She moved mute and remote on the shining side of the -chasm. He stood on the dark side, looking across the blackness of the -gulf at her as if she were some kind of star. Surely the gulf would -close up. Surely they both would be on natural ground again. - -But no! always that incomprehensible little face with fringed lashes, -and mouth that opened with a little smile, a vulnerable little smile, as -if asking them all to be kind to her, to be pitiful towards her, and not -try to touch her. - -"Well, good-bye, Monica, for the present," he said, as he sat in the -saddle in the yard, and Tom started away riding towards the gate, -leading the bulky-looking pack-horse. - -"Good-bye. Come back!" said Monica, looking up with a queer, hard little -question come into her eyes, but her face remote as ever. - -Jack kicked his horse and started. - -"I'll come back," he said over his shoulder. But he didn't look round at -her. His heart had gone hard and hot in his breast. He was glad to be -going. - -Lennie had opened the gate. He stood there as Jack rode through. - -"Why can't I never come?" he cried. - -Jack laughed and rode on, after the faithful Tom. He was glad to go. He -was glad to leave Wandoo. He was glad to say no more good-byes, and to -feel no more pain. He was glad to be gone, since he was going, from the -unlucky place. He was glad to be gone from its doom. There was a doom -over it, a doom. And he was glad to be gone. - -The morning was still orange and green. Winter had set in at last, the -rains had begun to be heavy. They might have trouble with drenchings and -hoggings, but that, Tom said, was better than drought and sunstrokes. -And anyhow the weather this morning was perfect. - -The dark forest of karri that ran to the left of Wandoo away on the -distant horizon, cut a dark pattern on the egg-green sky. Good-bye! -Good-bye! to it. The sown fields they were riding through glittered with -tender blades of wheat. Good-bye! Good-bye! Somebody would reap it. The -bush was now full of sparks of the beautiful, uncanny flowers of Western -Australia, and bright birds started and flew. Sombre the bush was in -itself, but out of the heavy dullness came sharp scarlet, flame-spark -flowers, and flowers as lambent gold as sunset, and wan white flowers, -and flowers of a strange, darkish rich blue, like the vault of heaven -just after sundown. The scent of rain, of eucalyptus, and of the strange -brown-green shrubs of the bush! - -They rode in silence, Tom ahead with the pack-horse, and they did not -draw near, but rode apart. They were travelling due west from York, -along a bush track toward Paddy's Crossing. And as they went they drew -nearer and nearer to the dark, low fringe of hills behind which, for the -last twelve months, Jack had seen the sun setting with its great golden -glow. Trees grew along the ridge of the hills, scroll-like and -mysterious. They had always seemed to Jack like the bar of heaven. - -By noon the riders reached the ridge, and the bar of heaven was the huge -karri trees which went up aloft so magnificently. But the karri forest -ended here with a jerk. Beyond, the earth ran away down long, long -slopes, covered with scrub, down the greyness and undulation of -Australia, towards the great dimness where was the coast. The sun was -hot at noon. Jack was glad when Tom called a halt under the last trees, -facing the great, soft, open swaying of the land seaward, and they began -to make tea. - -They had hardly sat down to drink their tea, when they heard a buggy -approaching. It was the mysterious Dr. Rackett, driven by the grinning -Sam. Rackett said nothing, just greeted the youths, pulled his tin mug -and tucker from under the buggy seat, and joined in, chatting casually -as if it had all been pre-arranged. - -Tom was none too pleased, but he showed nothing. And when the tea was -finished, he made good by handing over the beast of a pack-horse to Sam. -Poor Sam sat in the back of the vehicle lugging the animal along, -jerking its reluctant neck. Rackett drove in lonely state on the driving -seat. Tom and Jack trotted quickly ahead, on the down-slope, and were -soon out of sight. They were thankful to ride free. - -Over the ridge they felt Wandoo was left behind, and they were in the -open world again, away from care. Whenever man drives his tent-pegs -deep, to stay, he drives them into underlying water of sorrow. Best ride -tentless. So thought the boys. - -They were going to a place called Paddy's Crossing, a settlement -new to Jack, but well known to Tom as the -place-where-men-went-when-they-wanted-a-private-jamboree. What a -jamboree was, Jack, being a gentleman, that is not a lady, would learn -in due course. - -As the ground came to a rolling hollow, Tom set off at a good pace, and -away they went, galloping beautifully along the soft earth trail, -galloping, galloping, putting the miles between them and Wandoo and -women and care. They both rode in a kind of passion for riding, for -hurling themselves ahead down the new road. To be men out alone in the -world, away from the women and the dead stone of trouble. - -They reached the river hours before Rackett's turn-out. Fording it they -rode into the mushroom settlement, a string of slab cabins with shingle -roofs and calico window-panes--or else shuttered-up windows. The stoves -were outside the chimney-less cabins, under brush shelters. One such -"kitchen," a fore-runner, had already a roof of flattened-out, rusty tin -cans. - -But it was a cosy, canny nook, homely, nestling down in the golden -corner of the earth, the mimosa in bloom by the river. And it was -beautifully ephemeral. As transient, as casual as the bushes themselves. - -Jack for the moment had a dread of solid houses of brick and stone and -permanence. There was always horror somewhere inside them. - -He wanted the empty, timeless Australia, with nooks like this of flimsy -wooden cabins by a river with a wattle bush. - -There was one older, white-washed cabin with vine trellises. - -"That's Paddy's," said Tom. "He grows grapes, and makes wine out of the -little black ones. But the muscats is best. I'm not keen on wine, -anyhow. Something a drop more warming." - -Jack was amazed at the good Tom. He had never known him to drink. - -"There's nobody about," said Jack, as they rode up the incline between -the straggling cabins. - -"All asleep," said Tom. - -It was not so, however, because as they crested the slope and looked -into the little hollow beyond, they saw a central wooden building, hall -or mission or church, and people crowding like flies. - -But Tom turned up to Paddy's white inn, up the side slope. He was -remorseful about having galloped the horses at the beginning of such a -long trip. The inn seemed deserted. Tom coo-eeed! but there was no -answer. - -"All shut up!" he said. "What's that paper on the door?" - -Jack got down and walked stiffly to the door, for the ride had been long -and hard and downhill, and his knees were hurting. "'Gone to the wedin -be ome soon P. O. T.'" he read. "What is P. O. T.?" he asked. - -"What I stand in need of," said the amazing Tom. - -They were just turning their horses towards the stable when, with a -racket and a canter, an urchin drove round from the yard in a -pitch-black wicker chaise, a bone-white, careworn horse slopping between -the shafts. - -"You two blokes," yelled the urchin, "'d better get on th' trail for th' -church, else Father Prendy 'll be on y' tail, I tell y'." - -"What's up?" shouted Tom. - -"I'm just off fer th' bride. Ol' Nick 'ere 'eld me up runnin' away from -me in the paddock." - -Tom grinned, the outfit swept past. Our heroes took their horses to the -stable and settled them down conscientiously. Then they set off, glad to -be on foot, down to the church. - -The crowd was buzzing. It was half-past three. Father Prendy, the old -mission priest, who looked like a dusty old piece of furniture from a -loft, was peering up the road. The black wicker buggy still made no -appearance with the bride. - -"Two o'clock's the legal limit for marriages," said Father Prendy. "But -praise God, we've half an hour yet." - -And he showed his huge watch, which said half-past one, since he had -slipped away for a moment to put back the fingers. - -The slab-building--hall, school, and church--was now a church, though -the oleographs of the Queen and the Prince Consort in Robes still glowed -on the walls, and a blackboard stood with its face to the wall, and one -of those wire things with coloured beads poked out from behind, and the -globe of the world could not be hidden entirely by the eucalyptus -boughs. - -But it was a church. A table with a white cloth and a crucifix was the -altar. Crimson-flowering gum-blossom embowered the walls, the -blackboard, the windows, but left the Queen and Prince Consort in full -isolation. Forms were ranked on the mud floor, and these forms were -densely packed with settlers dressed in all kinds of clothes. It was not -only a church, it was a wedding. Just inside the door, like a figure at -Madame Tussaud's, sat an elderly creature in greenish evening suit with -white waistcoat, and copper-toed boots, waiting apparently for the Last -Trump. On the other side was a brown-whiskered man in frock-coat, a grey -bell-topper in his hand, leaning balanced on a stick. He was shod in -white socks and carpet slippers. Later on this gentleman explained to -Jack: "I suffer from corns, and shouldn't be happy in boots." - -There was a great murmuring and staring, and shuffling and shifting as -Jack and Tom came up, as though one of them was the bride in disguise. -The wooden church buzzed like a cocoanut shell. A red-faced man seized -Tom's arm as if Tom were a long-lost brother, and Jack was being -introduced, shaking the damp, hot, trembling hand of the red-faced man, -who was called Paddy. - -"It's fair come over me, so ut has!--praise be to the saints an' may the -devil run away with them two young termagants! Father Prendy makin' them -come to this pass all at onst! For mark my words, in his own mind he's -thinkin' the wrong they've done, neither of them speakin' to confess, -till he was driven to remark on the girl's unnatural figure. And not a -soul in the world, mark you, has seen 'em speak a word to one another -for the last year in or out. But she says it's he, an' Denny Mackinnon, -he payin', I'll be bound, that black priest of a Father Prendy to come -over me an' make me render up my poor innocent Pat to the hussy, in holy -matrimony. May the saints fly away with 'em." - -He wiped away his sweat, speechless. And Denny Mackinnon, the hussy's -father--it could be no other than he--in moth-eaten scarlet coat and -overall trousers, and top-boots slashed for his bunions, and forage-cap -slashed for his increased head, stood bulging on the other side of the -door, compressed in his youthful uniform, and scarlet in the face with -the compression. He was a stout man with a black beard and a fixed, -fierce, solemn expression. Creator of this agitated occasion, he was -almost bursting with wrathful agitation as that hussy of a daughter of -his still failed to appear. By his side stood an ancient man, with a -long grey beard, anciently clad. - -Patrick, the bridegroom to be, lurked near his father. He was a thin, -pale, freckled, small-faced youth with broad, brittle shoulders and -brittle limbs, who would no doubt, in time, fill out into a burly -fellow. As it was, he was agitated and unlovely in a new ready-made suit -and a black bomb of a hard hat that wouldn't stay on, and new boots that -stank to heaven of improperly dressed kangaroo hide: one of the -filthiest of stinks. - -Poor Paddy, the father of the bridegroom, was a tall, thin, well set-up -man with trembling hands and a face like beetroot, garbed in a blue coat -with brass buttons, mole trousers, leggings, and a sideways-leaning top -hat. His tie was a flowing red with white spots. His eyes were light -blue and wickedly twinkling behind their slight wateriness. - -"What's that yer sayin' about me?" said Father Prendy, coming up rubbing -his hands, bowing to the strangers, beaming with a cheerfulness that -could outlast any delay under the sun. - -"'Twas black I was callin' ye, Father Prendy," said Paddy. "For the fine -pair of black eyes ye carry, why not? Isn't it a good drink ye'll be -havin' on me afore the day is out, eh? Isn't it a pretty penny ye're -costin' me, with your marrin' an' givin' in marriage? An' why isn't it -Danny what pays the wedding breakfast, eh?" - -"Hold your peace, Paddy, my dear. I see a wagon comin', don't I?" - -Sure enough the black wicker buggy rattling down hill, the white horse -seeming to swim, the urchin standing up, feet wide apart, elbows high -up, bending forward and urging the bone-white steed with curses -unnameable. - -"What now! What now!" murmured the priest, feeling in his pocket for his -stole. "What now!" - -"Where's Dad?" yelled the urchin, pulling the bone-white steed on its -bony haunches, in front of the church. - -Dad had gone round the corner. But he came bustling and puffing and -bursting in his skin-tight scarlet coat, that almost cut his arms off, -his own ancient father, with a long grey beard, pushing him irritably, -propelling him towards the slippery boy. As if this family, generation -by generation, got more and more behindhand in its engagements. - -"Gawd's sake!" blowed the scarlet Dad, as the old grey granddad shoved -him. - -"Hold ye breath, Dad, 'n come 'ome!" said the urchin, subsiding -comfortably on to the seat, and speaking as if he enjoyed the utmost -privacy. "Sis can't get away. She's had a baby. An' Ma says I was to -tell Mr. O'Burk as it's a foine boy, an' would Father Prendy step up, -and Pat O'Burk can come 'n see with his own eyes." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -JAMBOREE - - -"Let's get along," said Jack uncomfortably, in Tom's ear. - -"Get! Not for mine! We're in luck's way, if ever we were." - -"There's no fun under the circumstances." - -"Oh, Lord my, ain't there! What's wrong? They're all packing into the -buggy. Father Prendy's putting his watch back a few more minutes. He'll -have 'em married before you can betcher life. It's a wedding, this is, -boy!" - -The people now came crowding, nudging, whispering, giggling, stumbling -out of the church. The gentleman in the carpet slippers rakishly -adjusted his grey bell-topper over his left brow, and came swaggering -forward. - -"Major Brownlee--Mr. Jack Grant," Tom introduced them. - -"Retired and happy in the country," the Major explained, and he -continued garrulously to explain his circumstances, his history and his -family history. This continued all the way to the inn: a good half-hour, -for the Major walked insecurely on his tender feet. - -When they arrived at Paddy's white, trellised house, all was in -festivity. Paddy had thrown open the doors, disclosing the banquet -spread in the bar parlour. Large joints of baked meat, ham, tongue, -fowls, cakes and bottles and bunches of grapes and piles of apples: -these Jack saw in splendid confusion. - -"Come along in, come along in!" cried Paddy, as the Major and his young -companions hesitated under the vine-trellis. "I guess ye're the last. -Come along in--all welcome!--an' wet the baby's eye. Sure, she's a -clever girl to get a baby an' a man the same fine afternoon. A fine -child, let me tell you. Father Prendy named him for me, Paddy O'Burk -Tracy, on the spot, the minute the wedding was tied up. So yer can -please yerselves whether it's a christening ye're coming to, or a -wedding. I offer ye the choice. Come in." - -"P. O. T." thought Jack. He still did not feel at ease. Perhaps Paddy -noticed it. He came over and slapped him on the back. - -"It's yerself has brought good luck to the house, sir. Sit ye down an' -help y'self. Sit ye down an' make y'self at home." - -Jack sat down along with the rest of the heterogeneous company. Paddy -went round pouring red wine into glasses. - -"Gentlemen!" he announced from the head of the table. "We are all here, -for the table's full up. The first toast is: _The stranger within our -gates!_" - -Everybody drank but Jack. He was uncomfortably uncertain whether the -baby was meant, or himself. At the last moment he hastily drank, to -transfer the honour to the baby. - -Then came "The Bride!" then "The Groom!" then "The Priest! Father -Prendy, that black limb o' salvation!" Dozens of toasts, it didn't seem -to matter to whom. And everybody drank and laughed, and made clumsy -jokes. There were no women present, at least no women seated. Only the -women who went round the table, waiting. One! Two! Three! Four! Five! -Six! Seven! Westminster chimes from the Grandfather's clock behind Jack. -Seven o'clock! He had not even noticed them bring in the lights. Father -Prendy was on his feet blessing the bride: "at the moment absent on the -high mission of motherhood." He then blessed the bridegroom, at the -moment asleep with his head on the table. - -The table had been cleared, save for bottles, fruit, and terrible -cigars. The air was dense with smoke, bitter in the eyes, thick in the -head. Everything seemed to be tinning thick and swimmy, and the people -seemed to move like living oysters in a natural, live liquor. A girl was -sitting on Jack's chair, putting her arm surreptitiously round his -waist, sipping out of his glass. But he pushed her a little aside, -because he wanted to watch four men who had started playing euchre. - -"There's a bright moon, gentlemen. Let's go out and have a bit o' -sparrin'," said Paddy swimmingly, from the head of the table. - -That pleased Jack a lot. He was beginning to feel shut in. - -He rose, and the girl--he had never really looked at her--followed him -out. Why did she follow him? She ought to stay and clear away dishes. - -The yard, it seemed to Jack, was clear as daylight: or clearer, with a -big, flat white moon. Someone was sizing up to a little square man with -long thick arms, and the little man was probing them off expertly. -Hello! Here was a master, in his way. - -The girl was leaning up against Jack, with her hand on his shoulder. -This was a bore, but he supposed it was also a kind of tribute. He had -still never looked at her. - -"That's Jake," she said. "He's champion of these parts. Oh my, if he -sees me leanin' on y' arm like this, hell be after ye!" - -"Well, don't lean on me then," said Jack complacently. - -"Go on, he won't see me. We're in the dark right here." - -"I don't care if he sees you," said Jack. - -"You _do_ contradict yourself," said the girl. - -"Oh no, I don't!" said Jack. - -And he watched the long-armed man, and never once looked at the girl. So -she leaned heavier on him. He disapproved, really, but felt rather manly -under the burden. - -The little, square, long-armed man was oldish, with a grey beard. Jack -saw this as he danced round, like a queer old satyr, half gorilla, half -satyr, roaring, booing, fencing with a big yahoo of a young bushman, -holding him off with his unnatural long arms. Over went the big young -fellow sprawling on the ground, causing such a splother that everyone -shifted a bit out of his way. They all roared delightedly. - -The long-armed man, looking round for his girl, saw her in the shadow, -leaning heavily and laughingly on Jack's young shoulder. Up he sprang, -snarling like a gorilla, his long hairy arms in front of him. The girl -retreated, and Jack, in a state of semi-intoxicated readiness, opened -his arms and locked them round the little gorilla of a man. Locked -together, they rolled and twirled round the yard under the moon, -scattering the delighted onlookers like a wild cow. Jack was laughing to -himself, because he had got the grip of the powerful long-armed old man. -And there was no real anger in the tussle. The gorilla was an old sport. - -Jack was sitting in a chair under the vine, with his head in his hands -and his elbows on his knees, getting his wind. Paddy was fanning him -with a bunch of gum-leaves, and congratulating him heartily. - -"First chap as ever laid out Long-armed Jake." - -"What'd he jump on me for?" said Jack. "I said nothing to him." - -"What y' sayin'?" ejaculated Paddy coaxingly. "Didn't ye take his girl, -now?" - -"Take his girl? I? Not She leaned on _me_, I didn't take her." - -"Arrah! Look at that now! The brazenness of it! Well, be it on ye! Take -another drink. Will ye come an' show the boys some o' ye tricks, -belike?" - -Jack was in the yard again, shaking hands with Long-armed Jake. - -"Good on y'! Good on y'!" cried old Jake. "Ye're a cock-bird in fine -feather! What's a wench between two gentlemen! Shake, my lad, shake! I'm -Long-armed Jake, I am, an' I set a cock-bird before any whure of a hen." - -They rounded up, sparred, staved off, showed off like two amiable -fighting-cocks, before the admiring cockeys. Then they had good-natured -turns with the young farmers, and mild wrestling bouts with the old -veterans. Having another drink, playing, gassing, swaggering . . . - -Tom came bawling as if he were deaf: - -"What about them 'osses?" - -"What about 'em?" said Jack. - -"See to 'm!" said Tom. And he went back to where he came from. - -"All right, Mister, we'll see to 'm!" yelled the admiring youngsters. -"Well water 'm an' feed 'm." - -"Water?" said Jack. - -"Yes.--Show us how to double up, Mister, will y'?" - -"A' right!" said Jack, who was considerably tipsy. "When--when -I've--fed--th' 'osses." - -He set off to the stables. The admiring youngsters ran yelling ahead. -They brought out the horses and led them down to the trough. Jack -followed, feeling the moon-lit earth sway a little. - -He shoved his head in between the noses of the horses, into the cool -trough of water. When he lifted and wrung out the shower from his hair, -which curled when it was wet, he saw the girl standing near him. - -"Y' need a towel, Mister," she said. - -"I could do with one," said he. - -"Come an' I'll get ye one," she said. - -He followed meekly. She led him to an outside room, somewhere near the -stable. He stood in the doorway. - -"Here y' are!" she said, from the darkness inside. - -"Bring it me," he said from the moon outside. - -"Come in an' I'll dry your hair for yer." Her voice sounded like the -voice of a 'wild creature in a black cave. He ventured, unseeing, -uncertain, into the den, half reluctant. But there was a certain coaxing -imperiousness in her wild-animal voice, out of the black darkness. - -He walked straight into her arms. He started and stiffened as if -attacked. But her full, soft body was moulded against him. Still he drew -fiercely back. Then feeling her yield to draw away and leave him, the -old flame flew over him, and he drew her close again. - -"Dearie!" she murmured. "Dearie!" and her hand went stroking the back of -his wet head. - -"Come!" she said. "And let me dry your hair." - -She led him and sat him on a pallet bed. Then she closed the door, -through which the moonlight was streaming. The room had no window. It -was pitch dark, and he was trapped. So he felt as he sat there on the -hard pallet. But she came instantly and sat by him and began softly, -caressingly to rub his hair with a towel. Softly, slowly, caressingly -she rubbed his hair with a towel. And in spite of himself, his arms, -alive with a power of their own, went out and clasped her, drew her to -him. - -"I'm supposed to be in love with a girl," he said, really not speaking -to her. - -"Are you, dearie?" she said softly. And she left off rubbing his hair -and softly put her mouth to his. - -Later--he had no idea what time of the night it was--he went round -looking for Tom. The place was mostly dark. The inn was half dark . . . -Nobody seemed alive. But there was music somewhere. There was music. - -As he went looking for it, he came face to face with Dr. Rackett. - -"Where's Tom?" he asked. - -"Best look in the barn." - -The dim-lighted barn was a cloud of half-illuminated dust, in which -figures moved. But the music was still martial and British. Jack, always -tipsy, for he had drunk a good deal and it took effect slowly, deeply, -felt something in him stir to this music. They were dancing a jig or a -horn-pipe. The air was all old and dusty in the barn. There were four -crosses of wooden swords on the floor. Young Patrick, in his shirt and -trousers, had already left off dancing for Ireland, but the Scotchman, -in a red flannel shirt and a reddish kilt, was still lustily springing -and knocking his heels in a haze of dust. The Welshman was a little poor -fellow in old shirt and trousers. But the Englishman, in costermonger -outfit, black bell-bottom trousers and lots of pearl buttons, was going -well. He was thin and wiry and very neat about the feet. Then he left -off dancing, and stood to watch the last two. - -Everybody was drunk, everybody was arguing, according to his -nationality, as to who danced best. The Englishman in the bell-bottom -trousers knew he danced best, but spent his last efforts deciding -between Sandy and Taffy. The music jigged on. But whether it was -_British Grenadiers or Campbells Are Coming_ Jack didn't know. Only he -suddenly felt intensely patriotic. - -"I am an Englishman," he thought, with savage pride. "I am an -Englishman. That is the best on earth. Australian is English, English, -English, she'd collapse like a balloon but for the English in her. -British means English first. I'm a Britisher, but I am an Englishman! -God! I could crumple the universe in my fist, I could . . . I'm an -Englishman, and I could crush everything in my hand. And the women are -left behind. I'm an Englishman." - -Voices had begun to snarl and roar, fists were lifted. - -"Mussen quarrel!--my weddin'! Mussen quarrel!" Pat was drunkenly saying, -sitting on a box shaking his head. - -Then suddenly he sprang to his feet, and quick and sharp as a stag, -rushed to the wooden swords and stood with arms uplifted, smartly -showing the steps. The fellow had spirit, a queer, staccato spirit. - -Somebody laughed and cheered, and then they all began to laugh and -cheer, and Pat pranced faster, in a cloud of dust, and the quarrel was -forgotten. - -Jack went to look for Tom. "I'm an Englishman," he thought. "I'd better -look after him." - -He wasn't in the barn. Jack looked and looked. - -He found Tom in the kitchen, sitting in a corner, a glass at his side, -quite drunk. - -"It's time to go to bed, Tom." - -"G'on, ol' duck. I'm waitin' for me girl." - -"You won't get any girl tonight. Let's go to bed." - -"Shan't I get--? Yes shal! Yes shal!" - -"Where shall I find a bed?" - -"Plenty 'r flore space." - -And he staggered to his feet as a short, stout, red-faced, black-eyed, -untidy girl slipped across the kitchen and out of the door, casting a -black-eyed, meaningful look at the red-faced Tom, over her shoulder as -she disappeared. Tom swayed to his feet and sloped after her with -amazing quickness. Jack stood staring out of the open door, dazed. They -both seemed to have melted. - -Himself, he wanted to sleep--only to sleep. "Plenty of floor space," Tom -had said. He looked at the floor. Cockroaches running by the dozen, in -all directions: those brown, barge-like cockroaches of the south, that -trail their huge bellies, and sheer off in automatic straight lines and -make a faint creaking noise, if you listen. Jack looked at the table: an -old man already lay on it. He opened a cupboard: babies sleeping there. - -He swayed, drunk with sleep and alcohol, out of the kitchen in some -direction: pushed a swing door: the powerful smell of beer and sawdust -made him know it was the bar. He could sleep on the seat. He could sleep -in peace. - -He lurched forward and touched cloth. Something snored, started, and -reared up. - -"What y' at?" - -Jack stood back breathless--the figure subsided--he could beat a -retreat. - -Hopeless he looked in on the remains of the breakfast. Table and every -bench occupied. He boldly opened another door. A small lamp burning, and -what looked like dozens of dishevelled elderly women's awful figures, -heaped crosswise on the hugest double bed he had ever seen. - -He escaped into the open air. The moon was low. Someone was singing. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -UNCLE JOHN GRANT - - -It was day. The lie was hard. He didn't want to wake. He turned over and -was sleep again, though the lie was very hard. - -Someone pushing him. Tom, with a red, blank face was saying: - -"Wake up! Let's go before Rackett starts." - -And the rough hands pushing him crudely. He hated it. - -He sat up. He had been lying on the bottom of the buggy, with a sack -over him. No idea how he got there. It was full day. - -"Old woman's got some tea made. If y' want t' change y' bags, hop over -'n take a dip in the pool. Down th' paddock there. Here's th' bag. I've -left soap n' comb on th' splash board, an' I've seen to th' 'osses. I'm -goin' f'r a drink while you get ready." - -Tom had got a false dawn on him. He had wakened with that false energy -which sometimes follows a "drunk," and which fades all too quickly. For -he had hardly slept at all. - -So when Jack was ready, Tom was not. His stupor was overcoming him. He -was cross--and half way through his second pewter mug of beer. - -"I'm not coming," said Tom. - -"You _are_," said Jack. For the first time he felt that old call of the -blood which made him master of Tom. Somewhere, in the night, the old -spirit of a master had aroused in him. - -Tom finished his mug of beer slowly, sullenly. He put down the empty -pot. - -"Get up!" said Jack. And Tom got slowly to his feet. - -They set off, Jack leading the pack-horse. But the beer and the "night -before" had got Tom down. He rode like a sack in the saddle, sometimes -semi-conscious, sometimes really asleep. Jack followed just behind, with -the beast of a pack-horse dragging his arm out. And Tom ahead, like a -sot, with no life in him. - -Jack himself felt hot inside, and dreary, and riding was a cruel effort, -and the pack-horse, dragging his arm from its socket, was hell. He -wished he had enough saddle-tree to turn the rope round: but he was in -his English saddle. - -Nevertheless, he had decided something, in that jamboree. He belonged to -the blood of masters, not servants. He belonged to the class of those -that are sought, not those that seek. He was no seeker. He was not -desirous. He would never be desirous. Desire should not lead him humbly -by the nose. Not desire for anything. He was of the few that are -masters. He was to be desired. He was master. He was a real Englishman. - -So he jogged along, in the hot, muggy day of early winter. Heavy clouds -hung over the sky, lightning flashed beyond the purple hills. His body -was a burden and a weariness to him, riding was a burden and a -weariness, the pack-horse was hell. And Tom, asleep on his nag, like a -dead thing, was hateful to have ahead. The road seemed endless. - -Yet he had in him his new, half savage pride to keep him up, and an -isolate sort of resoluteness. - -At mid-day they got down, drank water, camped, and slept without eating. -Thank God the rain hadn't come. Jack slept like the dead till four -o'clock. - -He woke sharp, wondering where he was. The clouds looked threatening. He -got up. Yes, the horses were there. He still felt bruised, and hot and -dry inside, from the jamboree. Why in heaven did men want jamborees? - -He made a fire, boiled the billy, prepared tea, and set out some food, -though he didn't want any. - -"Get up there!" he shouted to Tom, who lay like a beast. - -"Get up!" he shouted. But the beast slept. - -"Get up, you beast!" he said, viciously kicking him. And he was -horrified because Tom got up, without any show of retaliation at all, -and obediently drank his tea. - -They ate a little food, in silence. Saddled in silence, each finding the -thought of speech repulsive. Watched one another to see if they were -ready. Mounted, and rode in repulsive silence away. But Jack had left -the pack-horse to Tom this time. And it began to rain, softly, sleepily. - -And Tom was cheering up. The rain seemed to revive him wonderfully. He -was one who was soon bowled over by a drink. Consequently he didn't -absorb much, and he recovered sooner. Jack absorbed more, and it acted -more slowly, deeply, and lastingly on him. On they went, in the rain. -Tom began to show signs of new life. He swore at the pack-horse. He -kicked his nag to a little trot, and the packs flap-flapped like shut -wings, on the rear pony. Presently he reined up, and sat quite still for -a minute. Then he broke into a laugh, lifting his face to the rain. - -"Seems to me we're off the road," he said. "We haven't passed a fence -all day, have we?" - -"No," said Jack. "But you were asleep all morning." - -"We're off the road. Listen!" - -The rain was seeping down on the bush; in the grey evening, the warm -horses smelt of their own steam. Jack could hear nothing except the wind -and the increasing rain. - -"This track must lead somewhere. Let's get to shelter for the night," -said Jack. - -"Agreed!" replied Tom magnanimously. "We'll follow on, and see what we -shall see." - -They walked slowly, pulling at the pack-horse, which was dragging at the -rope, tired with the burden that grew every minute heavier with the -rain. - -Tom reined in suddenly. - -"There is somebody behind," he said. "It's _not_ the wind." - -They sat there on their horses in the rain, and waited. Twilight was -falling. Then Jack could distinguish the sound of a cart behind. It was -Rackett in the old shay rolling along in the lonely dusk and rain, -through the trees, approaching. Black Sam grinned mightily as he pulled -up. - -"Thought I'd follow, though you are on the wrong road," said Rackett -from beneath his black waterproof. "Sam showed me the turning two miles -back. You missed it. Anyhow we'd better camp in on these people ahead -here." - -"Is there a place ahead?" asked Jack. - -"Yes," replied Rackett. "Even a sort of relation of yours, that I -promised Gran I would come and see. Hence my following on your heels." - -"Didn't know I'd any relation hereabouts," said Tom sulkily. He couldn't -bear Rackett's interfering in the family in any way. - -"You haven't. I meant Jack. But we'll get along, shall we?" - -"We're a big flood," remarked Tom. "But if they'll give us the barn, -well manage. It's getting wet to sleep out." - -They pressed ahead, the pack-horse trotting, but lifting up his head -like a venomous snake, in unwillingness. They had come into the open -fields. At last in the falling dark they saw a house and buildings. A -man hove in sight, but lurked away from them. Rackett hailed him. The -man seemed to oppose their coming further. He was a hairy, queer figure, -with his untrimmed beard. - -"Master never takes no strangers," he said. - -Rackett slipped a shilling in his hand, and would he ask his master if -they might camp in the barn, out of the rain. - -"Y' ain't the police, now, by any manner of means?" asked the man. - -"God love you, no," said Rackett. - -"We're no police," said Tom. "I'm Tom Ellis, from Wandoo, over York -way." - -"Ellis! I heared th' name. Well, master's sick, an' skeered to death o' -th' police. They're ready to drop in on the place, that they are, rot -'em, the minute he breathes his last. And he's skeered he's dyin' this -time. Oh, he's skeered o' t. So I have me doubts of all strangers. I -have me doubts, no matter what they be. Master he've sent a letter to -his only relation upon earth, to his nephew, which thank the Lord he's -writ for to come an' lay hold on the place, against he dies. If there's -no one to lay hold, the police steps in, without a word. That's how they -do it. They lets the places in grants like--lets a man have a grant--and -when the poor man dies, his place is locked up by the Government. They -takes it all." - -"Gawd's sake!" murmured Tom aside. "The man's potty!" - -"Bush mad," supplemented Rackett, who was sitting in the buggy with his -chin in his hand, intently listening to the queer, furtive, garrulous -individual. - -"Say, friend," he added aloud. "Go and ask your master if we harmless -strangers can camp in the barn out of the wet." - -"What might your names be, Mister?" asked the man. - -"Mine's Dr. Rackett. This is Tom Ellis. And this is Jack Grant. And no -harm in any of us." - -"D'y' say Jack Grant? Would that be Mr. John Grant?" asked the man, -galvanised by sudden excitement. - -"None other!" said Rackett. - -"Then he's come!" cried the man. - -"He certainly has," replied Rackett. - -"Oh, Glory, Glory! Why didn't ye say so afore? Come in. Come in all of -ye, come in! Come in, Mr. Grant! Come in!" - -They got down, gave the reins to Sam, and were ready to follow the -bearded man, looking one another in the face in amazement, and shaking -their heads. - -"Gawd Almighty, I'd rather keep out o' this!" murmured Tom, standing by -his horse and keeping the rope of the pack-horse. - -"Case of mistaken identity," said Rackett coolly. "Hang on, boys. We'll -get a night's shelter." - -A woman came out of the dilapidated stone house, clutching her hands in -distress and agitation. - -"Missus! Missus! Here he is at last. God be praised!" cried the bearded -man. She ran up in sudden effusion of welcome, but he ordered her into -the house to brighten up the fire, while he waved the way to the -stables, knowing that horse comes before man, in the bush. - -When they had shaken down in the stable, they left Sam to sleep there, -while the three went across to the house. Tom was most unwilling. - -The man was at the door, to usher them in. - -"I've broke the news to him, sir!" he said in a mysterious voice to -Jack, as he showed them into the parlour. - -"What's your Master's name?" asked Rackett. - -"Don't y' know y're at your destination?" whispered the man. "This is -Mr. John Grant's. This is the place ye're looking for." - -A melancholy room! The calico ceiling drooped, the window and front door -were hermetically sealed, an ornate glass lamp shone in murky, lonely -splendour upon a wool mat on a ricketty round table. Six chairs stood -against the papered walls. Nothing more. - -Tom wanted to beat it back to the kitchen, through which they had passed -to get to this sarcophagus, and where a fire was burning and a woman was -busy. But the man was tapping at another door, and listening anxiously -before entering. - -He went into the dark room beyond, where a candle shone feebly, and they -heard him say: - -"Your nephew's come, Mr. Grant, and brought a doctor and another -gentleman, the Lord be praised." - -"The Lord don't need to be praised on my behalf, Amos," came a querulous -voice. "And I ain't got no nephew, if I _did_ send him a letter. I've -got nobody. And I want no doctor, because I died when I left my mother's -husband's house." - -"They're in the parlour." - -"Tell 'em to walk up." - -The man appeared in the doorway. Rackett walked up, Jack followed, and -Tom hung nervously and disgustedly in the rear. - -"Here they are! Here's the gentry," said Amos. - -In the candle-light they saw a thin man in red flannel night-cap with a -blanket round his shoulders, sitting up in bed under an old green -cart-umbrella. He was not old, but his face was thin and wasted, and his -long colourless beard seemed papery. He had cunning, shifty eyes with -red rims, and looked as mad as his setting. - -Rackett had shoved Jack forward. The sick man stared at him and seemed -suddenly pleased. He held out a thin hand. Rackett nudged Jack, and Jack -had to shake. The hand seemed wet and icy, and Jack shuddered. - -"How d'you do!" he mumbled. "I'm sorry, you know; I'm not your nephew." - -"I know ye're not. But are y' Jack Grant?" - -"Yes," said Jack. - -The man under the umbrella seemed hideously pleased. - -Jack heard Tom's ill-suppressed, awful chuckle from behind. - -The sick man peered irritably at the other two. Then he nodded slowly, -under the green baldachino of the old cart-umbrella. - -"Jack Grant! Jack Grant! Jack Grant!" he murmured, to himself. He was -surely mad, obviously mad. - -"I'm right glad you've come, Cousin," he said suddenly, looking again -very pleased. "I'm surely glad you've come in time. I've a nice tidy -place put together for you, Jack, a small proposition of three thousand -acres, five hundred cleared and cropped, fifty fenced--dog-leg fences, -broke MacCullen's back putting 'em up. But I'll willingly put in five -hundred more, for a gentleman like young master. Meaning old master will -soon be underground. Well, who cares, now young master's come to light, -and the place doesn't go out of the family! I am determined the place -shall not go out of the family, Cousin Jack. Aren't you pleased?" - -"Very," said Jack soothingly. - -"Call me Cousin John. Or Uncle John if you like. I'm more like your -uncle, I should think. Shake hands, and say, _Right you are, Uncle -John._ Call me Uncle John." - -Jack shook hands once more, and dutifully, as to a crazy person, he -said: - -"Right you are, Uncle John." - -Tom, in the background, was going into convulsions. But Rackett remained -quite serious. - -Uncle John closed his eyes muttering, and fell back under the -cart-umbrella. - -"Mr. Grant," said Dr. Rackett, "I think Jack would like to eat something -after his ride." - -"All right, let him go to the kitchen with yon buck wallaby as can't -keep a straight face. Stop with me a minute yourself, Mister, if you -will." - -The two boys bundled away into the kitchen. The woman had a meal ready, -and they sat down at the table. - -"I thank my stars," said Tom impressively, "he's not my Uncle John." - -"Shut up," said Jack, because the woman was there. - -They ate heartily, the effects of the jamboree having passed. After the -meal they strolled to the door to look out, away from that lugubrious -parlour and bedroom. They found a stiff wind blowing, the sky clear with -running clouds and vivid stars in the spaces. - -"Let's get!" said Tom. It was his constant craving. - -"We can't leave Rackett." - -"We can. He pushed us in. Let's get. Why can't we?" - -"Oh well, we can't," said Jack. - -Rackett had entered the kitchen, and was eating his meal. He asked the -woman for ink. - -"There's no ink," she said. - -"Must be somewhere," said Amos, her husband. "Jack Grant's letter was -written in ink." - -"I never got a letter," said Jack, turning. - -"Eh, hark ye! How like old master over again! Ye've come, haven't ye?" - -"By accident," said Jack. "I'm not Mr. Grant's nephew." - -"Hark ye! Hark ye! It runs in the family, father to son, uncle to -nephew. All right! All right! Have it your own way," cried Amos. He had -been struggling with crazy contradictions too long. - -Tom was in convulsions. Rackett put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "It's -all right," he said. "Don't worry him. Leave it to me." And to the woman -he said, if there was no ink she was to kill a fowl and bring it to him, -and he'd make ink with lamp-black and gall. - -"You two boys had better be off to bed," he said. "You have to be off in -good time in the morning." - -"Oh, not going, not going so soon, surely! The young master's not going -so soon! Surely! Surely! Master's so weak in the head and stomach, we -can't cope with him all by ourselves," cried the old man and woman. - -"Perhaps I'll stay," said Rackett. "And Jack will come back one day, -don't you worry. Now let me make that ink." - -The boys were shown into a large, low room--the fourth room of the -house--that opened off the kitchen. It contained a big bed with clean -sheets and white crochet quilt. Jack surmised it was the old couple's -bed, and wanted to go to the barn. But Tom said, since they offered it, -there was nothing to do but to take it. - -Tom was soon snoring. Jack lay in the great feather bed feeling that -life was all going crazy. Tom was already snoring. He cared about -nothing. Out of sight, out of mind. But Jack had a fit of remembering. -His head was hot, and he could not sleep. The wind was blowing, it was -raining again. He could not sleep, he had to remember. - -It was always so with him. He could go on careless and unheeding, like -Tom, for a while. Then came these fits of reckoning and remembering. -Life seemed unhinged in Australia. In England there was a strong central -pivot to all the living. But here the centre pin was gone, and the lives -seemed to spin in a weird confusion. - -He felt that for himself. His life was all unhinged. What was he driving -at? What was he making for? Where was he going? What was his life, -anyhow? - -In England, you knew. You had your purpose. You had your profession and -your family and your country. But out here you had no profession. You -didn't do anything for your country except boast of it to strangers, and -leave it to get along as best it might. And as for your family, you -cared for that, but in a queer, centreless fashion. - -You didn't really care for anything. The old impetus of civilisation -kept you still going, but you were just rolling to rest. As Mr. Ellis -had rolled to rest, leaving everything stranded. There was no grip, no -hold. - -And yet, what Jack had rebelled against in England was the tight grip, -the fixed hold over everything. He liked this looseness and carelessness -of Australia. Till it seemed to him crazy. And then it scared him. - -Tonight everything seemed to him crazy. He didn't pay any serious -attention to Uncle John Grant: he was obviously out of his mind. But -then everything seemed crazy. Mr. Ellis' death, and Gran's death, and -Monica and Easu Ellis--it all seemed crazy as crazy. And the jamboree, -and that girl who called him Dearie! And the journey, and this mad house -in the rain. What did it all mean? What did it all stand for? - -Everything seemed to be spinning to a darkness of death. Everybody -seemed to be dancing a crazy dance of death. He could understand that -the blacks painted themselves like white bone skeletons, and danced in -the night, light skeletons dancing, in their corrobees. That was how it -was. The night, dark and fleshly, and skeletons dancing a clicketty dry -dance m it. - -Tom, so awfully upset at his father's death! And now as careless as a -lark, just spinning his way along the road, in a sort of weird dance, -dancing humorously to the black verge of oblivion. That was how it was. -To dance humorously to the black verge of oblivion. The children of -death. With a sort of horror of death around them. Wandoo suddenly grim -and grisly with the horror of death. - -Death, the great end and goal. Death, the black, void, pulsating reality -which would swallow them all up, like a black lover finally possessing -them. The great black fleshliness of the end, the huge body of death -reeling to swallow them all. And for this they danced, and for this they -loved and reared families and made farms: to provide good meat and -white, pure bones for the black, avid horror of death. - -Something of the black, aboriginal horror came over him. He realised, to -his amazement, the actuality of the great, grinning black demon of -death. The vast, infinite demon that eats our flesh and cracks our bones -in the last black potency of the end. And for this, for this demon one -seeks for a woman, to lie with her and get children for the Moloch. -Children for the Moloch! Lennie, Monica, the twins, Og and Magog! -Children for the Moloch. - -One God or the other must take them at the end. Either the dim white god -of the heavenly infinite. Or else the great black Moloch of the living -death. Devoured and digested in the living death. - -Satan, Moloch, Death itself, all had been unreal to him before. But now, -suddenly, he seemed to see the black Moloch grinning huge in the sky, -while human beings danced towards his grip, and he gripped and swallowed -them into the black belly of death. That was their end. - -Dance! Dance! Death has its deep delights! And ever-recurring. Be -careless, ironical, stoical and reckless. And go your way to death with -a will. With a dark handsomeness, and a dark lustre of fatality, and a -splendour of recklessness. Oh, God, the Lords of Death! The big, -darkly-smiling, heroic men who are Lords of Death! And they too go on -splendidly towards death, the great goal of unutterable satisfaction, -and consummated fear. - -"I am going my way the same," Jack thought to himself. "I am travelling -in a reckless, slow dance, darker and darker, into the black, hot belly -of death, where is my end. Oh, let me go gallantly, let me have the -black joy of the road. Let me go with courage, and a bit of splendour -and dark lustre, down to the great depths of death, that I am so -frightened of, but which I long for in the last consummation. Let death -take me in a last black embrace. Let me go on as the niggers go, with -the last convulsion into the last black embrace. Since I am travelling -the dark road, let me go in pride. Let me be a Lord of Death, since the -reign of the white Lords of Life, like my father, has become sterile and -a futility. Let me be a Lord of Death. Let me go that other great road, -that the blacks go." - -The bed was soft and hot, and he stretched his arms fiercely. If he had -Monica! Oh, if he had Monica! If that girl last night had been Monica! - -That girl last night! He didn't even know her name. She had stroked his -head--like--like--Mary! The association flashed into his mind. Yes, like -Mary. And Mary would be humble and caressive and protective like that. -So she would. And dark! It would be dark like that if one loved Mary. -And brief! Brief! But sharp and good in the briefness. Mary! Mary! - -He realised with amazement it was Mary he was now wanting. Not Monica. -Or was it Monica? Her slim keen hand. Her slim body like a slim cat, so -full of life. Oh, it was Monica! First and foremost, most intensely, it -was Monica, because she was really his, and she was his destiny. He -dared not think of her. - -He rolled in the bed in misery. Tom slept unmoving. Oh, why couldn't he -be like Tom, slow and untormented. Why couldn't he? Why was his body -tortured? Why was he travelling this road? Why wasn't Monica there like -a gipsy with him. Why wasn't Monica there? - -Or Mary! Why wasn't Mary in the house? She would be so soft and -understanding, so yielding. Like the girl of the long-armed man. The -long-armed man didn't mind that he had taken his girl, for once. - -Why was he himself rolling there in torment? Pug had advised him to -"punch the ball," when he was taken with ideas he wanted to get rid of. -There was no ball to punch. "Train the body hard, but train the mind -hard too." Yes, all very well. He could think, now for example, of -fighting Easu, or of building up a place and raising fine horses. But -the moment his mind relaxed for sleep, back came the other black flame. -The women! The women! The women! Even the girl of last night. - -What was a man born for? To find a mate, a woman, isn't it? Then why try -to think of something else? To have a woman--to make a home for her--to -have children.--And other women in the background, down the long, dusky, -strange years towards death. So it seemed to him. And to fight the men -that stand in one's way. To fight them. Always a new one cropping up, -along the strange dusky road of the years, where you go with your head -up, and your eyes open, and your spine sharp and electric, ready to -fight your man and take your woman, on and on down the years, into the -last black embrace of death. Death that stands grinning with arms open -and black breast ready. Death, like the last woman you embrace. Death, -like the last man you die fighting with. And he beats you. But somehow -you are not beaten, if you are a Lord of Death. - -Jack hoped he would die a violent death. He hoped he would live a -defiant, unsubmissive life, and die a violent death. A bullet, or a -knife piercing home. And the women he left behind--his women, enveloped -in him as in a dark net. And the children he left, laughing already at -death. - -And himself! He hoped never to be downcast, never to be melancholy, -never to yield. Never to yield. To be a Lord of Death, and go on to the -black arms of death, still laughing. To laugh, and bide one's time, and -leap at the right moment. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -ON THE ROAD - - -I - - -"My dear nephew, I haven't sent you a letter since the last one which I -never wrote, yet you have come in answer to the one you never got. I -wrote because I wanted you to come and receive the property, and I never -posted it because I didn't know your address, and you couldn't come if I -did, because you don't exist. Yet here you are and I think you look very -pleased to receive the property which you haven't got yet. I was so -afraid I should die sudden after this long lingering illness, but it's -you who has come suddenly and the illness hasn't begun yet. So here am I -speechless, but you are doing a lot of talking to your dear uncle who -never had a nephew. What does it matter to me if you are Jack Grant -because I am not, but took the name into the grant of land given me on -the land grant system at a shilling an acre. So like a bad shilling the -name turns up again on the register, so that the land goes back to the -grant and the Grant to the land. But a better-looking nephew I never -wish to see, being as much like me as an ape is like meat. So when I'm -dead I won't be alive to trouble you, and I'll trouble no further about -you since you might as well be dead for all I care." - -In this vein Tom ranted on the next morning, when they had set out in -the glorious early dawn. Tom never wearied of the uncle under the -umbrella. He told the tale to everybody who would listen, and wore out -Jack's ears with these long and facile pleasantries. - -They were both glad to get away from the crazy, lugubrious place. Jack -refused to give it a thought further, though he felt vaguely, at the -back of his mind, that he knew something about it already. Something -somebody had told him. - -Rackett had stayed behind, so they made no very good pace, leading the -pack-horse. But they pushed on, being already overdue at the homestead -of one of Tom's Aunts, who was expecting them. - -Once on horseback and in the open morning, Jack wished for nothing more. -Women, death, skeletons, the dance into the darkness, the future, the -past, love, home, and sorrow all disappeared in the bright well of the -daylight, as if they'd dropped into a pool. He wanted nothing more than -to ride, to jog along the track on the rather wet road, through bush and -scrub still wet with rain, in a pure Westralian air that was like a -clean beginning of everything, seeing the tiny bushman's flowers -sparking and gilding eerily in the dunness of the world. - -By mid-day they reached the highway to Geraldton, via Gingin, and camped -at the Three-mile Government well in perfect good spirits. Everything -was gone, everything was forgotten except the insouciance of the moment. -They knew the uselessness of thinking and remembering and worrying. When -worry starts biting like mosquitoes, then, if it bites hard enough, -you've got to attend. But it's like illness, avoid it, beat it back if -you can. - -They found the high-road merely a bush-track after all. If it was near a -settlement, or allotments or improved lands, it might run well for -miles. But for the most part, it was exceedingly bad, full of holes of -water, and beginning in places to be a bog. - -Tom was now at his best, out in the bush again. All his bush lore came -back to him, and he was like an animal in its native surroundings. His -charm came back too, and his confidence. He went ahead looking keenly -about, like a travelling animal, pointing out to Jack first this thing -and then the other, initiating him into bush wisdom, teaching him the -big cipher-book of the bush. And Jack learned gladly. It was so good, so -good to be away from homesteads, and women, and money, watching the -trees and the land and the marks of wild life. And Tom, a talker once he -was wound up, told the histories of settlers, their failures and -successes, and their peculiarities. It seemed to Jack there was a -surplus of weird people out there. But then, Tom said, the weird ones -usually came first, and they got weirder in the wild. - -They passed an enormous hollow tree, from which issued an old man with a -grey beard that came to his waist, dressed in rags. A grey-haired, very -ragged woman also came out, carrying a baby. Other children crawled -around. The travellers called Good-day! as they passed. - -Tom said the woman's baby was the youngest of seventeen children. The -eldest son was already grown up, a prosperous young man trading in -sandal-wood. But Dad and Mum liked the bush, and would accept nothing -for their supposed welfare, either from their sons or anyone else. - -In the middle of the afternoon they passed a sundowner trekking with a -cartful of produce down to Middle Swan. At four o'clock they camped for -half an hour, to drink a billy of tea. Before the water boiled they saw -two tramps coming down the road. The slouchers came straight up and -greeted the boys, eyeing them curiously up and down. - -"Wot cheer, mate!" said one, a ruffianly mongrel. - -"Good O! How's the goin' Gingin way?" asked Tom. - -"Plenty grass an' water this time o' the year. But look out for the -settlers this side. They ain't over hopeful." He turned to stare at -Jack. Then he continued, to Tom: "How's it y' got y' baby out?" - -"New chum," explained Tom. He spoke quietly, but his mouth had hardened. -"You blokes want anything of us?" - -"Yessir," said the spokesman, coming in close. "We wants bacca." - -"Do you?" said Tom pleasantly, and he pulled out his pouch. "I've only -got three plugs. That's one apiece for me an' the baby, an' you can have -the other to do as you likes with. But chum here doesn't keer much for -smokin', so he might give you his." - -There was a tone of finality in Tom's voice. - -"You've surely got more blasted cheek than most kids," said the fellow. -"What've ye got planted away in y' swags?" He glanced at his mate. "We -don't want to use no bally persuasion, does we, Bill?" - -Bill was of villainous but not very imposing appearance. He had weak -eyes, a dirty hairy face, and a purple mouth showing unbecomingly -through his whiskers. - -Tom calmly filled his pipe, and waving to the first tramp, gave him -sufficient to fill his cutty. The fellow took it, ignoring his mate, and -began to fill up eagerly. He sat down by the fire, and taking a hot -ember, lit up, puffing avidly. - -"The other can have my share, if he wants it," said Jack. - -"Thank you kindly," said the other with a sneer. And as he stuffed it in -his pipe: "It'll do for a start." But he was puffing almost before he -could finish his words. - -They smoked in silence round the fire for some time. Then Tom rose and -went over to the pack, as if he were going to give in to the ruffians. -One swaggy rose and followed him. - -The other tramp, taking not the slightest notice of the boy sitting -there, reached out his filthy hand and began to fill his pockets with -everything that lay near the fire: the packet of tea, a spoon, a knife. - -He had got as far as the spoon when the astonished Jack said: "Drop it!" -as if he were speaking to a dog. - -The man turned with a snarl, and made to cuff him. Jack seized his wrist -and twisted it cruelly, making him drop the spoon and shout with pain. -The other swaggy at once ran on Jack from the rear, and fell over him. -Tom rushed on the second swaggy and fell too. Over they all went in a -heap. Jack laughed aloud in the scrimmage, as he gripped the swaggy's -wrist with one hand and with the other emptied out the contents of the -pocket again. He brought out two knives, one of which didn't belong to -him. Dropping the lot for safety, he got to his feet. Tom and the second -swaggy were rolling and unlocking. That villain spied the open knife, -seized it and sprang to his feet, snarling and brandishing. - -"Come on, ye pair of----" - -Jack gave another twist to the wrist of the prisoner, who howled, and -then he kicked him three yards away. But his heart smote him, for the -kick was so bony, the tramp was thin and frail. Then, full of the black -joy of scattering such wastrels, he sprang unexpectedly on the other -tramp. The swaggy gave a yell, and fled. For a minute or two the couple -of ragged, wretched, despicable figures could be seen bolting like -running vermin down the trail. Then they were out of sight. - -Tom and Jack sat by the fire and roared with laughter, roared and roared -till the bush was startled. - -They were just packing up when someone else came down the road. It was a -young woman in a very wide skirt on a very small pony, riding as if she -were used to it. This was not the figure they expected to see. - -"Why!" cried Tom, staring. "I do believe it's Ma's niece grown up." - -It was. She was quite pleasant, but her hands were stub-fingered and -work-hardened, and her voice was common. - -"Y' didn't come along yesterday, as Ma expected," she explained, "so I -just took Tubby to see if y' was coming today. How's the twins? How's -Monica and Grace? I do wish they'd come." - -"They're all right," said Tom. - -"We heard about your Dad and your Gran. Fancy! But I wish Monica had -come with you. She was such a little demon at school. I'm fair longing -to see her." - -"She's not the only one of you that's a demon!" said Tom, in the correct -tone of banter, putting over his horse and drawing to the girl's side, -and becoming very manly for her benefit. "An' what's wrong with us, that -you aren't glad to see us?" - -"Oh, you're all right," said the cousin. "But a girl of your own age is -more fun, you know." - -"Well, I don't happen to be a girl of your own age," said Tom. "Just by -accident, I'm a man. But come on. There's some roughs about. We might -just as well get out of their way." - -He trotted alongside the damsel, leaving Jack to bring the pack-horse. -Jack didn't mind. - - - - -II - - -So they went on, receiving a rough and generous hospitality from, one or -another of Tom's or Jack's relations, of whom there were astonishingly -many, along the grand bush track to Geraldton. If they weren't direct -relations, they were relations by marriage, and it served just as well. -There were the Brockmans, there were the Browns, and Gales, and Davises, -Edgars and Conollys, Burgesses, Cooks, Logues, Cradles, Morrises, -Fitzgeralds and Glasses. Families united by some fine-drawn connection -or other; and very often much more divided than united, by some very -plain-drawn feud. Their names like brooks trickled across the land, and -you crossed and re-crossed. You would lose a name entirely: like the -Brockman name. Then suddenly it reappeared as Brackman, and "Oh yes, -we're cousins!" - -"Who isn't cousin!" thought Jack. - -Some of them had huge tracts of land fenced in. Some had little bits of -poor farms. Sometimes there were deserted farms. - -"And to think," said Tom, "that none of them is my own mother's -relations. All Dad's, or else Ma's. Mostly Ma's." - -It was queer the way he hankered after his own real mother. Jack, for -his part, didn't care a straw who was his mother's relation and who -wasn't. But you would have thought Tom lived under a Matriarchy, and -derived everything from a lost mother. - -It was not wet enough yet to be really boggy, though camping out was -damp. However, they mostly got a roof. If it wasn't a relation's, it was -a barn, or the "Bull and Horns" by Gingin. And to the boys, all that -mattered was whether they were on the right road: often a very puzzling -question; or if the heavy rain would hold off; if there was plenty of -grub; if the horses seemed tired or not quite fit; if they were going to -get through a boggy place all right; if the packs were fast; if they -made good going. The inns were "low" in every sense of the word, -including the low-pitched roof. And full of bugs, however new the -country. With red-nosed, grassy-whiskered landlords who thumbed the -glasses when there were any glasses to thumb. And there were always men -at these inns, almost always the same kind of brutal, empty roughs. - -"Look here," said Jack, "wherever we go there are these roughs, and more -roughs, and more. Where the devil do they come from, and how do they -make a living? Apart from farm labourers, I mean." - -"A lot of them are shearers," said Tom, "drifting from job to job, -according to climate. When shearing season's over here, they work on to -the south-west, where it's cooler. And then there are kangaroo and -'possum snarers. That young fellow we saw rooked of all his sugar last -night was a skin-hunter. They get half-a-crown apiece for good 'roo -skins, and it's quite a trade. The others last night were mostly -sandalwood getters. There's quite a lot of men make money collecting -bark for export, and manna-gum. That rowdy lot playing fifty-three were -a gang of well-sinkers. Then what with timber-workers, haulers, -teamsters, junkers--oh, there's all sorts. But they're mostly one sort, -swabs, rough and rowdy, an' can't keep their pants hitched up enough to -be decent. You've seen 'em. They're mostly like the dirty old braces -they wear. All the snap gone out of 'em, all the elastic perished. They -just work and booze and loaf, and work and booze. I hope I'll never get -so that I don't keep myself spruce. I hope I never will. But that's the -worst o' the life out here. Nobody hardly keeps spruce." - -Jack kept this well in mind. He too hated a man slouching along with a -discoloured face, and trousers slopping down his insignificant legs. He -loathed that look which tramps and ne'er-do-wells usually have, as if -their legs weren't there, inside their beastly bags. Despicable about -the rear and the legs. The best of the farmers, on the contrary, had -strong, sinewy legs, full of life. Easu was like that, his powerful legs -holding his horse. And Tom had good, live legs. But poor Dad had not -been very alive, inside his pants. - -"Whatever I do, I'll never go despicable and humiliated about the legs -and seat," said Jack to himself, as he pressed the stirrups with his -toes and felt the powerful elasticity of his thighs, holding the live -body of the horse between his muscles in permanent grip. And it seemed -as if the powerful animal life of the horse entered into him, through -his legs and seat, and made him strong. - -"What's a junker, Tom?" - -"A low, four-wheeled log hauler, with a long pole." - -"I thought it was a man. A swab is a man?" - -"Yes. He's any old drunk." - -"But a swaggy is a tramp?" - -"It is. It is one who humps it. If he's got a pack, it's his swag. If -he's only got a blanket and a billy, it's his bluey and his drum. And if -he's got nothing, it's Waltzing Matilda." - -"I suppose so," said Jack. "And his money is his sugar?" - -"Right-O! son!" - -"And Chink is Chinaman?" - -"No, sir. That's Chow. Chink means prison. An' a lag is a ticketer: one -who's out on lease. Now what more Child's Guide to Knowledge do you -want?" - -"I'm only getting it straight. Jam and dog both mean 'side'?" - -"Verily. Only dog is sometimes same as bully tinned meat." - -"And what's _stosh?_" - -"Landin' him one." - -Jack rode on, thinking about it. - -"What's a remittance man, really, Tom?" - -"A waster. A useless bird shipped out here to be kept south o' the line, -because he's a disgrace to England. And his family soothes their -conscience by sending him so much a month, which they call his -remittance, 'stead o' letting him starve, or work. Like Rackett. Plenty -o' money sent out to him to stink on." - -"Why don't you like Rackett?" - -"I fairly despise him, an' his money. He's absolutely useless baggage, -rotting life away. I can't abear to see him about. Old George gave me -the tip he was leaving our place, else I'd never have gone and left him -loose there." - -"He is no harm." - -"How do you know? If be hasn't got a disease of the body, he's got a -disease of the soul." - -"What disease?" - -"Dunno." - -"Does he take drugs?" - -"I reckon that's about his figure. But he's an eyesore to me, loafin', -loafin'. An' he's an eyesore to Ma, save for the bit he teaches Lennie. -An' when he starts talkin' on the high fiddle, like he does to Mary the -minute she comes down, makes you want to walk on his face." - -Poor Rackett! Jack marvelled that Tom had always been so civil. - -The two jogged along very amicably together. Tom was -hail-fellow-well-met with everybody. At the same time, he was in his own -estimation a gentleman, and a person of consideration. It was "thus far" -with him. - -But whoever came along, they all drew up. - -"Hello, mate! How's goin'? . . . Well, so long!" - -One youth was walking to Fremantle to take a job offered by his uncle, -serving in a grocery shop. The lad was in tatters. His blanket was tied -with twine, his battered billy hung on to it. But he was jubilant. And -now he is one of Australia's leading lights. Even it is said of him that -he never forgot the kindness he received on the road. - -But most of the trailers were sundowners, sloping along anyhow, -subsisting anyhow, but ready with the ingenious explanation that they -"chopped a bit," or "fenced a bit," or "trapped a bit." Perhaps they -never realised how much bigger was the bit they loafed. - -They were not bad. The bad ones were the scoundrels down from the -Never-Never, emerging in their rags and moral degradation after years on -the sheep runs or cattle stations, years of earnings spent in drink and -squalid, beastly debauchery. Some were hoarding their cheques for -coast-town consumption, like the first two rogues, and cadging and -stealing their way. - -But then there were families driving to the nearest settlement to do a -bit of shopping, or visit their relations, or fetch the doctor to "fix -up Teddy's little leg." Once there was a posse of mounted police, very -important and gallant, with horses champing and chains clinking. They -were out after a criminal supposed to have been landed on the coast by a -dago boat "from the other side." Then there was an occasional Minister -of the Gospel, on a pony, dressed in black. Jack's heart always sank -when he saw that black. He decided that priests should be white, or in -orange robes, like the Buddhist priests he had seen in Colombo, or in a -good blue, like some nuns. - -Gradually the road became a home: more a home than any homestead. - -"Let's get!" was Tom's perpetual cry, when they were fixed up in the -house of some relation, or in some inn. He only felt happy on the road. -Sometimes they went utterly lonely for many miles. Sometimes they passed -a deserted habitation. But there were always signs of life near a well. -And often there were milestones. - -"Fifty-seven miles to where?" - -"I don't know. We're leagues from Gingin. Certainly fifty-seven miles to -nowhere of any importance on the face of this earth." - -"Wonder what Gingin means?" - -"Better not ask. You never know what these natives'll be naming places -after. Usually something vile. But gin means a woman, whatever Gingin -is." - -Gradually they got further and further, geographically, mentally, and -emotionally, from Wandoo and all permanent associations. Jack was glad. -He loved the earth, the wild country, the bush, the scent. He wanted to -go on forever. Beyond the settlements--beyond the ploughed land--beyond -all fences. That was it--beyond all fences. Beyond all fences, where a -man was alone with himself and the untouched earth. - -Man escaping from Man! That's how it is all the time. The passion men -have to escape from mankind. What do they expect in the beyond? God? - -They'll never find the same God! Never again. They are trying to escape -from the God men acknowledge, as well as from mankind, the acknowledger. - -The land untouched by man. The call of the mysterious, vast, unoccupied -land. The strange inaudible calling, like the far-off call of a -kangaroo. The strange, still, pure air. The strange shadows. The strange -scent of wild, brown, aboriginal honey. - -Being early for the boat, the boys camped for twenty-four hours in a -perfectly lonely place. And in the utterly lonely evening Jack began -craving again: for Monica, for a woman, for some object for his passion -to settle on. And he knew again, as he had always known, that nowhere is -free, so long as man is passionate, desirous, yearning. His only freedom -is to find the object of his passion, and fulfil his desires and satisfy -his yearning, as far as his life can succeed. Or else, which is more -difficult, to harden himself away from all desire and craving, to harden -himself into pride, and refer himself to that other god. - -Yes, in the wild bush, God seemed another god. God seemed absolutely -another god, vaster, more calm and more deeply, sensually potent. And -this was a profound satisfaction. To find another, more terrible, but -also more deeply-fulfilling god stirring subtly in the uncontaminated -air about one. A dread god. But a great god, greater than any known. The -sense of greatness, vastness, and newness, in the air. And the strange, -dusky, gray eucalyptus-smelling sense of depth, strange depth in the -air, as of a great deep well of potency, which life had not yet tapped. -Something which lay in a man's blood as well--and in a woman's blood--in -Monica's--in Mary's--in the Australian blood. A strange, dusky, -gun-smelling depth of potency that had never been tapped by experience. -As if life still held great wells of reserve vitality, strange unknown -wells of secret life-source, dusky, of a strange, dim, aromatic sap -which had never stirred in the veins of man, to consciousness -and effect. And if he could take Monica and set the dusky, secret, -unknown sap flowing in himself and her, to some unopened life -consciousness--that was what he wanted. Dimly, uneasily, painfully he -realised it. - -And then the bush began to frighten him, as if it would kill him, as it -had killed so much man-life before, killed it before the life in man had -had time to come to realisation. - -He was glad when the road came down to the sea. There, the great, -pale-blue, strange, empty sea, on new shores with new strange sea-birds -flying, and strange rocks sticking up, and strange blue distances up the -bending coast. The sea that is always the same, always a relief, a -vastness and a soothing. Coming out of the bush, and being a little -afraid of the bush, he loved the sea with an English passion. It made -him feel at home in the same known infinite of space. - -Especially on a windy day, when the track would curve down to a -greeny-grey opalescent sea that beat slowly on the red sands, like a -dying grey bird with white wing-feathers. And the reddish cliffs with -sage-green growth of herbs, stood almost like flesh. - -Then the road went inland again, through a swamp, and to the bush. To -emerge next morning in the sun, upon a massive deep indigo ocean, -infinite, with pearl-clear horizon; and in the nearness, emerald-green -and white flashing unspeakably bright on a pinkish shore, perfectly -world-new. - -They were nearing the journey's end. Nearing the little port, and the -ship, and the world of men. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -AFTER TWO YEARS - - -I - - -A sky with clouds of white and grey, and patches of blue. A green sea -flecked with white, and shadowed golden brown. On the horizon, the sense -of a great open void, like an open valve, as if the bivalve oyster of -the world, sea and sky, were open away westward, open into another -infinity, and the people on land, inside the oyster of the world, could -look far out to the opening. - -They could see the bulk of near islands. Further off, a tiny white sail -coming down fast on the fresh great sea-wind, emanating out of the -north-west. She seemed to be coming from the beyond, slipping into the -slightly-open, living oysters of our world. - -The men on the wharf at Fremantle, watching her black hull emerge from -the flecked sea, as she sailed magically nearer, knew she would be a -cattle-boat coming in from the great Nor'-West. They watched her none -the less. - -As she hesitated, turning to the harbour, she was recognised as the old -fore-and-aft schooner "Venus"; though if Venus ever smelled like that, -we pity her lovers. Smell or not, she balanced nicely, and with a bit of -manÅ“uvring ebbed her delicate way up the wharf. - -There they are! There they are, Tom and Jack, though their own mothers -wouldn't know them! Looking terribly like their fellow-passengers: -stubby beards, long hair, greasy dirty dungarees, and a general air of -disreputable outcasts. But, no doubt, with cheques of some sort in their -pockets. - -Two years, nearer three years have gone by, since they set out from -Wandoo. It is more than three years since Jack landed fresh from -England, in this very Fremantle. And he is so changed, he doesn't even -trouble to remember. - -They don't trouble to remember anything: not yet. Back in the -Never-Never, one by one the ties break, the emotional connections snap, -memory gives out, and you come undone. Then, when you have come undone -from the great past, you drift in an unkempt nonchalance here and there, -great distances across the great hinterland country, and there is -nothing but the moment, the instantaneous moment. If you are working -your guts out, you are working your guts out. If you are rolling across -for a drink, you are rolling across for a drink. If you are just getting -into a fight with some lump of a brute, you are just getting into a -fight with some lump of a brute. If you are going to sleep in some low -hole, you are going to sleep in some low hole. And if you wake feeling -dry and hot and hellish, why, you feel dry and hot and hellish till you -leave off feeling dry and hot and hellish. There's no more to it. The -same if you're sick. You're just sick, and stubborn as hell, till your -stubbornness gets the better of your sickness. - -There are words like home, Wandoo, England, mother, father, sister, but -they don't carry very well. It's like a radio message that's so faint, -so far off, it makes no impression on you; even if you can hear it in a -shadowy way. Such a faint, unreal thing in the broadcast air. - -You have moved outside the pale, the pale of civilisation, the pale of -the general human consciousness. The human consciousness is a definitely -limited thing, even on the face of the earth. You can move into regions -outside of it. As in Australia. The broadcasting of the vast human -consciousness can't get you. You are beyond. And since the call can't -get you, the answer begins to die down inside yourself, you don't -respond any more. You don't respond, and you don't correspond. - -There is no past: or if there is, it is so remote and ineffectual it -can't work on you at all. And there is no future. Why saddle yourself -with such a spectre as the future? There is the moment. You sweat, you -rest, the bugs bite you, you thirst, you drink, you think you're going -to die, you don't care, and you know you won't die, because a certain -stubbornness inside you keeps the upper hand. - -So you go on. If you've got no work, you either get a horse or you tramp -it off somewhere else. You keep your eyes open that you don't get lost, -or stranded for water. When you're damned, infernally and absolutely -sick of everything, you go to sleep. And then if the bugs bite you, you -are beyond that too. - -But at the bottom of yourself, somewhere, like a tiny seed, lies the -knowledge that you're going back in a while. That all the unreal will -become real again, and this real will become unreal. That all that -stuff, home, mother, responsibility, family, duty, etc., it all will -loom up again into actuality, and this, this heat, this parchedness, -this dirt, this mutton, these dying sheep, these roving cattle that take -the flies by the million, these burning tin gold-camps--all this will -recede into the unreal, it will cease to be actual. - -Some men decide never to go back, and they are the derelicts, the -scarecrows and the warning. "Going back" was a problem in Jack's soul. -He didn't really want to go back. All that which lay behind, society, -homes, families, he felt a deep hostility towards. He didn't want to go -back. He was like an enemy, lurking outside the great camp of -civilisation. And he didn't want to go into camp again. - -Yet neither did he want to be a derelict. A mere derelict he would never -be, though temporary derelicts both he and Tom were. But he saw enough -of the real waster, the real out-and-out derelict, to know that this he -would never be. - -No, in the end he would go back to civilisation. But the thought of -becoming a part of the civilised outfit was deeply repugnant to him. -Some other queer hard resolve had formed in his soul. Something -gradually went hard in the centre of him. He couldn't yield himself any -more. The hard core remained impregnable. - -They had dutifully spent their year on the sheep-run Mr. George had sent -them to. But after that, it was shift for yourself. They had stuck at -nothing. Only they had stuck together. - -They had cashed their cheques in many a well-known wooden "hotel" of the -far-away coast. Oh, those wooden hotels with their uneasy verandahs, -flies, flies, flies, flies, flies, their rum or whiskey, their dirty -glasses, their flimsy partitions, their foul language, their bugs and -dirt and desolation. The brutal foul-mouthed desolation of them, with -the horses switching their tails at the hitching posts, the riders -slowly soaking, staring at the blue heat and the silent world of dust, -too far gone even to speak. Gone under the heat, the drought, the -Never-Neverness of it, the unspeakable hot desolation. And evening -coming, with men already drunk, already ripe for brawling, obscenity, -and swindling gambling. - -They had gone away chequeless, mourning their chequelessness, back on -their horses to the cable station. Then following the droves miles and -miles through the tropical, or semi-tropical bush, and over the open -country, camping by water for a week at a time, and going on. - -Then they had chucked cattle, wasted their cheques, footed it for weary, -weary miles, like the swaggies they had so despised. Clothes in rags, -boots in holes, another job; away in out-back camps with horsemen -prospectors, with well-contractors; shepherding again, with utter -wastrels of shepherds camping along with them, chucking the job, -chucking the blasted rich aristocratic squatters, with all their -millions of acres and sheep and fence and blasted outfit, all so dead -bent on making money as quick as possible, all the machinery of -civilisation, as far as possible, starting to grind and squeak there in -the beyond. They had gone off with well-sinkers, and laboured like -navvies. Chucked that, taken the road, spent the night at mission -stations, watched the blacks being saved, and got to the mining camps. - -Poor old Tom had got into deep waters. Even now he more than thought -that he was legally married to a barmaid, far away back in the sublimest -town you can imagine, back there in the blasting heat which so often -burns a man's soul away even before it burns up his body. It had burned -a hole in Tom's soul, in that town away back in the blasting heat, a -town consisting of a score or so of ready-made tin houses got up from -the coast in pieces, and put together by anybody that liked to try. -There they stood or staggered, the tin ovens that men and women lived -in; houses leaning like drunken men against stark tree-trunks, others -looking strange and forlorn with some of their parts missing, said parts -being under the seas, or elsewhere mislaid. But the absence of one -section of a wall did not spoil the house for habitation. It merely gave -you a better view of the inside happenings. Many of the tin shacks were -windowless, and even shutterless: square holes in the raw corrugated -erection. One was entirely wall-less, and this was the pub. It was just -a tin roof reared on saplings against an old tree, with a sacking screen -round the bar, through which sacking screen you saw the ghost of the -landlady and her clients, if you approached from the back. The front -view was open. - -Here sat the motionless landlady, in her cooking hot shade, dispensing -her indispensable grog, while her boss or husband rolled the barrels in. -He had a team with which he hauled up the indispensable from the coast. - -The nice-mannered Miss Snook took turn with her mama in this palace of -Circe. She was extremely "nice" in her manners, for the "boss" owned the -team, the pub, and the boarding-house at which you stayed so long as you -could pay the outrageous prices. So Miss Snook, never familiarised into -Lucy, for she wouldn't allow it, oscillated between the closed oven of -the boarding-house and the open oven of the pub. - -Father--or the "boss"--had been a barber in Sydney. Now he cooked in the -boarding-house, and drove the team. "Mother" had been the high-born -daughter of a chemist; she had ruined all her prospects of continuing in -the eastern "swim" by running away with the barber, now called "boss." -However, she took her decline in the social scale with dignity, and -allowed no familiarities. Her previous station helped her to keep up her -prices. - -"We're not, y'understand, Mr. Grant, a Provident concern, as some -foot-sloggers seem to think us. We're doing our best to provide for -Lucy, against she wants to get married, or in case she doesn't." - -She and Lucy did the washing and cleaning between them, but their -efforts were nominal. Boss' cooking left everything to be desired. The -place was a perfect Paradise. - -"We know a gentleman when we see one, Mr. Grant, and we're not going to -throw our only child away on a penniless waster." - -Jack wanted loudly to proclaim himself a penniless waster. But Tom and -he had a pact, not to say anything about themselves, or where they came -from. They were just "looking round." - -And in that heat, the plump, perspiring, cotton-clad Lucy thought that -Tom seemed more amenable than Jack. Poor Tom seemed to fall for it, and -Jack had to look on in silent disgust. - -There was even a ghastly, gruesome wedding. Neither of the boys could -bear to think of it. Even in the stupefaction of that heat, when the -brain seems to melt, and the will degenerates, and nothing but the most -rudimentary functions of the organism called man, continue to function, -even then a sense of shame overpowered them. But Tom was in a trance, -pig-headed as any of Circe's swine. He continued in the trance for about -a week after his so-called marriage. Then he woke up from the welter of -perspiration, rum, and Lucy in an amazed horror, and the boys escaped. - -The nightmare of this town--it was called "Honeysuckle"--was able to -penetrate Tom's most nonchalant mood, even when he was hundreds of -trackless miles away. The young men covered their tracks carefully. The -Snooks knew nothing but their names. But a name, alas, is a potent -entity in the wilds. - -They covered their tracks and disappeared again. But even so, an ancient -letter from Wandoo followed them to a well-digging camp. It was from -Monica to Tom, but it didn't seem to mean much to either boy. - -For almost a year Tom and Jack had never written home. There didn't seem -any reason. In his last letter Tom, suddenly having some sort of qualms, -had sent his cheque to his maiden Aunts in York, because he knew, now -Gran and Dad were gone, they'd be in shallow water. This off his -conscience, he let Wandoo go out of his mind and spirit. - -But now wandered in a letter from Aunt Lucy--dreaded name! It was a -"thank you, my dear nephew," and went on to say that though she would be -the last to repeat things she hoped trouble was not hanging over Mrs. -Ellis' head. - -Tom looked at Jack---- - -"We'd best go back," said Jack, reading his eyes. - -"Seems like it." - -So--the time had come. The "freedom" was over. They were going -back.--They caught the old ship "Venus," going south with cattle. - -To come back in body is not always to come back in mind and spirit. When -Jack saw the white buildings of Fremantle he knew his soul was far from -Fremantle. But nothing to be done. The old ship bumped against the -wharf, and was tied up. Nothing to do but to step ashore. - -They loafed off that ship with a gang of similar unkempt, unshaved, -greasy, scoundrelly returners. - -"Come an' 'ave a spot!" - -"What about it, Tom?" - -"Y'know I haven't a bean above the couple o' dollars to take me to -Perth." - -"Oh, dry it up," cried the mate. "What y'come ashore for? You're not -goin' without a spot. It's on me. My shout." - -"Shout it back in Perth, then." - -"Wot'll y'ave?" - -And through the swing doors they went. - -"Best an' bitter's mine." - - - - -II - - -Jack had not let himself be cleaned out entirely, as Tom had. Tom seemed -to want to be absolutely stumped. But Jack with deeper sense of the -world's enmity, and his own need to hold his own against it, had posted -a couple of cheques to Lennie to hold for him. Save for this he too was -cleaned out. - -The same little engine of the same little train of four years ago -shrieked her whistle. The North-West crowd drifted noisily out of the -Hotel and down the platform, packing into the third class compartment, -in such positions as happily to negotiate the spittoons. - -"Let's go forward," said Jack. "We might as well have cushions, if we're -not smoking." - -And he drew Tom forward along the train. They were going to get into -another compartment, but seeing the looks of terror on the face of the -woman and little girl already there, they refrained and went further. - -Aggressively they entered another smoking compartment. A couple of fat -tradesmen and a clergyman glowered at them. One of the tradesmen pulled -out a handkerchief, shook it, and pretended to wipe his nose. There was -perfume in the air. - -"Oh my aunt!" said Tom, putting his hand on his stomach. "Turns me right -over." - -"What?" asked Jack. - -"All this smell o' scent." - -Jack grinned to himself. But he was back in civilisation, and he -involuntarily stiffened. - -"Hello! There's Sam Ellis!" Tom leaned out of the door. "Hello, Sam! -How's things, eh?" - -The young fellow addressed looked at Tom, grinned sicklily, and turned -away. He didn't know Tom from Adam. - -"Let's have another drink!" said Tom, flabbergasted, getting out of the -train. - -Jack followed, and they started down the platform, when the train -jogged, jerked, and began to pull away. Instantly they ran for it, -caught the rail of the guard's van, and swung themselves in. The -interior was empty, so they sat down on the little boxes let in at the -side. Then the two eyed each other self-consciously, uncomfortably. They -felt uncomfortable and aware of themselves all at once. - -"Of all the ol' sweeps!" said Tom. "Tell you what, you look like a -lumper, absolutely nothing but a lumper." - -"And what do you think you look like, you distorted scavenger!" - -Tom grinned uncomfortably. - -They got out of the station at Perth without having paid any railway -fare. - -The first place they went to was Mr. George's office. Jack pushed Tom -through the door, and stood himself in the doorway fingering his greasy -felt hat. Tom dropped his, picked it up, hit it against his knee. - -Mr. George, neat in pale-grey suit and white waistcoat, glared at them -briefly. - -"Now then, my men, what can I do f' ye?" - -"Why----" began Tom, grinning sheepishly. - -"Trouble about a mining right?--mate stolen half y' gold dust?--want -stake a claim on somebody else's reserve?--Come, out with it. What d' -you want me to do for ye, man?" - -"Why----" Tom began, more foolishly grinning than ever. Mr. George -looked shrewdly at him, then at Jack. Then he sat back smiling. - -"Well, if you're not a pair!" he said. "So it was mines for the last -outfit? How'd it go?" - -"About as slow as it could," said Tom. - -"So you've not come back millionaires?" said Mr. George, a little bit -disappointed. - -"Come to ask for a fiver," said Tom. - -"You outcast!" said Mr. George. "You had me, completely. But look here, -lads, I'll stand y' a fiver apiece if y'll stop around Perth like that -all morning, an' nobody spots ye." - -"Easy!" said Tom. - -"A bigger pair o' blackguards I've seldom set eyes on.--But you have -dinner with me at the club tonight, I'll hear all about y' then. -Six-thirty sharp. An' then I'll take ye to the Government House. Y' can -wear that evening suit in the closet at my house, Jack, that you've left -there all this time. See you six-thirty then." - - - - -III - - -Dismissed, they bundled into the street. - -"Outcasts on the face value of us!" said Jack. - -Tom stopped to roar with laughter, and bumped into a pedestrian. - -"Hold hard! Keep a hand on the reins, can't yon?" exclaimed the -individual, pushing Tom off. - -Tom looked at him. It was Jimmie Short, another sort of cousin. - -"Stow it, Jimmie. Don't y' know me?" - -Jimmie took him firmly by the coat lapels and pulled him into the -gutter. - -"'f course I know ye," said Jimmie in a conciliatory tone, as to a -drunk. "Meet me in half an hour at the Miners' Refuge, eh? Three steps -and a lurch and there y' are!--Come, matey"--this to Jack--"take hold of -y' pal's arm. See ye later." - -Tom was weak with laughter at Jimmie's benevolent attitude. They were -not recognised at all, as they lurched across the road. - -They had a drink, and strolled down the long principal street of Perth, -looking in at the windows of all the shops, and in spite of the fact -that they had no money, buying each a silk handkerchief and a cake of -scented soap. The excitement of this over, they rolled away to the -riverside, to the ferry. Then again back into the town. - -At the corner of the Freemason's Hotel they saw Aunt Matilda and Mary; -Aunt Matilda huge in a tight-fitting, ruched dress of dark purple stuff, -and Mary in a black-and-white striped dress with a tight bodice and -tight sleeves with a little puff at the top, and a long skirt very full -behind. She wore also a little black hat with a wing. And Jack, with a -wickedness brought with him out of the North-West, would have liked to -rip these stereotyped clothes and corsets off her, and make her walk -down Hay Street _in puris naturalibus._ She went so trim and exact -behind the huge Mrs. Watson. It would have been good to unsheathe her. - -"Hello!" cried Tom. "There's Aunt Matilda. We've struck it rich." - -The two young blackguards followed slowly after the two women, close -behind them. Mary carried a book, and was evidently making for the -little bookshop that had a lending library of newish books. - -"Well, Mary, while you go in there I'll go and see if the chemist can't -give me something for my breathing, for its awful!" said Mrs. Watson, -standing and puffing before the bookshop. - -"Shall I come for you or you for me?" asked Mary. - -"I'll sit and wait for you in Mr. Pusey's," panted Aunt Matilda, and she -sailed forward again, after having glanced suspiciously backward at the -two ne'er-do-wells who were hesitating a few yards away. - -Mary, with her black hair in a huge bun, her hat with a wing held on by -steel pins, was gazing contemplatively into the window of the bookshop, -at the newest book. _The Book-lovers Latest!_ said a cardboard -announcement. - -"Can you help a poor chap, Miss?" said Tom, dropping his head and edging -near. - -Mary started, looked frightened, glanced at the first tramp and then at -the second, in agitation, began to fumble for her purse, and dropped her -book, spilling the loose leaves. - -Jack at once began to gather up the scattered pages of the book: an -Anthony Trollope novel. Mary, with black kid-gloved fingers, was -fumbling in her purse for a penny. Tom peeped into the purse. - -"Lend us the half-a-quid, Mary," he said. - -She looked at his face, and a slow smile of amusement dawned in her -eyes. - -"I should never have known you!" she said. - -Then as Jack rose, shoving the leaves together in the book, she looked -into his blue eyes with her brown, queer shining eyes. - -She held out her hand to him without saying a word, only looked into his -eyes with a look of shining meaning. Which made him grin sardonically -inside himself. He shook hands with her silently. - -"You look something like you did after you'd been fighting with Easu -Ellis," she said. "When are you going to Wandoo? - -"Tomorrow, I should think," said Tom. "Everybody O.K. down there?" - -"Oh I think so!" said Mary nervously. - -"What do you men want?" came a loud, panting voice. Aunt Matilda sailing -up, purple in the face. - -"Lend us half-a-quid, Mary," murmured Tom, and hastily she handed it -over. Jack had already commenced to beat a retreat. Tom sloped away as -the large lady loomed near. - -"Beggars!" she panted. "Are they begging?--How much--how much did you -give him? The disgraceful----!" - -"He made me give him half-a-sovereign, Aunt." - -Mrs. Watson had to stagger into the shop for a chair. - -The boys had a drink, and set off to the warehouse to look up Jack's -box, in which were his white shirts and other forgotten garments. - -Back in town, Jack felt a slow, sinister sense of oppression coming over -him, a sort of fear, as if he were not really free, as if something bad -were going to happen to him. - -"How am I going to get dressed to dine with Old George tonight?" -grumbled the still-careless Tom, who was again becoming tipsy. "Wherever -am I goin' to get a suit to sport?" - -"Oh, some of yer relations 'll fix you up." - -Jack had an undefinable, uncomfortable feeling that he might suddenly -come upon Monica, and she might see him in this state. He wouldn't like -the way she'd look at him. No, he wouldn't be looked at like that, not -for a hundred ponies. - -They turned their backs on the beautiful River, with its Mount Eliza -headland and wide sweeps and curves twinkling in the sun, and they -walked up William Street looking for an adventure. - -A man whom they knew from the north, in filthy denims, came out of a -boot-shop and hailed them. - -"Come an' stop one on me, maties." - -"Righto! But where's Lukey? He stood us one this morning. Seen him?" - -"Yes, I seen him.--But 'arf a mo'!" - -Scottie turned into the pawnbroker's, under the three balls, and the -boys followed. - -"If y' sees what y' didn't oughta see, keep y' mouth shut." - -"As a dead crab," assented Jack. - -"Now then, Unde! What'll y' advance on that pair o' bran new boots I've -just bought?" - -"Two bob." - -"Glory be. An' I just give twenty for 'em. Ne' mind, gimme th' ticket." - -This transaction concluded, Jack wondered what he could pawn. He pulled -out a front tooth, beautifully set in a gold plate. It had been a -parting finish to his colonial outfit, the original tooth having been -lost in a football scrum. - -"Father Abraham," he said, holding up the tooth, "I'm a gentleman -whether I look it or not. So is my friend this gentleman. He needs a -dress suit for tonight, though you wouldn't believe it. He needs a -first-class well-fitting dress suit for this evening." - -"I have first-class latest fashion gents' clothes upstairs. But a suit -like that is worth five pound to me." - -"Let me try the jacket on." - -Abraham was doubtful. But at length Tom was hustled shamefacedly into a -rather large tail-coat. It looked awful, but Jack said it would do. The -man wouldn't take a cent less than two quid deposit: and ten bob for the -loan of the suit. The boys said they would call later. - -"What'll you give me on this tooth?" asked Jack. "There's not a more -expensive tooth in Western Australia." - -"I'll lend y' five bob on that, pecos y' amuth me." - -"And well come in later for the dress suit. All right, Aaron. Hang on to -that tooth, it's irreplaceable. Treat it like a jewel. Give me the five -bob and the ticket." - -In the Miners' Refuge Jack flung himself down on a bench beside an -individual who looked tidy but smelt strongly of rum, and asked: - -"Say, mate, where can y' get a wash an' a brush-up for two?--local?" - -The fellow got up and lurched surlily to the counter, refusing to -answer. - -Jack sat on, while Tom drank beer, and a heavy depression crept over his -spirit. He had been hobnobbing with riff-raff so long, it had almost -become second nature. But now a sense of disgust and impending disaster -came over him. He would soon have to make an angry effort, and get out. -He was becoming angry with Tom, for sitting there so sloppily soaking -beer, when he knew his head was weak. - -They began to eat sandwiches, hungrily standing at the bar. Another -slipshod waster, eyeing the denim man as if he were a fish, sidled over -to him and muttered. - -"Sorry," said Scottie with a mournful expression, pulling out the -pawn-ticket, "I've just had to pawn me boots. Can't be done." - -Jack grinned. The waster then came sloping over to him. - -"Y' axed me mate a civil question just now, lad, an' I'd 'ave answered -it for 'im, but I just spotted a racin' pal o' mine an' was onter him -ter get a tip he'd promised--a dead cert f' Belmont tomorrer. Y' might -ha' seen him lettin' me inter th' know," he breathed. "Hev' a drink, -lad!" - -"Thanks!" said Jack. "This is my mate.--I'll take the shout, an' one -back, an' then we must be off. Going up country tomorrer morning." - -This seemed to push the man's mind on quicker. - -"Just from up North, aren't ye? Easy place to knock up a cheque. How'd -y' like to double a fiver?" - -"O.K.," said Tom. - -"Well here's a dead cert. Take it from me, and don't let it past yer. I -got it from a racin' pal wot's in the know. Not straight for the -punters, maybe--but straight as a die f'r me 'n my pals. Double y' -money? Not 'arf! Multiply it by ten. 'S a dead cert." - -"Name?" - -"Not so quick. Not in 'ere. Come outside, 'n I'll whisper it to y'." - -Jack paid for the drinks, and winking warningly to Tom, followed the man -outside. - -"The name o' the 'oss," the fellow said--"But tell yer wot, I'll put ye -on the divvy with a book I know--or y' c'n come wi' me. He keeps a -paper-shop in Hay Street." - -"We don't know the name of the horse yet." - -"Comin' from up North you don't know the name o' none of 'em, do yer? -He's a rank outsider. Y' oughter get twenties on 'im." - -"We've only got a quid atween us," said Tom. - -"Well, that means a safe forty--after th' race." - -"Bob on!" said Tom. "Where's the bookshop?" - -"How can we go in an' back a hoss without knowin' his name?" said Jack. - -"Oh I'll tip it y' in 'ere." - -They entered a small paper-shop, and the man said to the fellow behind -the counter: - -"These two gents's pals o' mine.--How much did y' say y'd lay, mates?" - -"Out with the name o' th' hoss first," said Tom confidentially. - -"This shop's changed hands lately," said the fat fellow behind the -counter. "I don't make books. Got no licence." - -Didn't that look straight? But the boys were no greenhorns. They walked -out of the shop again. - -In the road the stranger said: - -"The name o' th' 'oss is Double Bee. If y'll give me th' money I'll run -upstairs 'ere t' old Josh--everyone knows him for a sound book." - -"The name o' th' hoss," said Jack, "is Boots-two-Bob. An' a more -cramblin' set o' lies I never heard. Get outter this, or I'll knock y' -head off." - -The fellow went off with a yellow look. - -"Gosh!" said Tom. "We're back home right enough, what?" - -"Bon soir, as Frenchy used to say?" - -Rolling a little drearily along, they saw Jimmie Short standing on the -pavement watching them. - -"Hello, mates!" he said. "Still going strong?" - -"Fireproof!" said Tom. - -"Remember barging into me this morning? And my best girl was just coming -round the corner with her Ma! Had to mind my company, eh, boys. But come -an' have a drink now.--I seem to have seen you before to-day, haven't I? -Where was it?" - -"Don't try and think," said Tom. "Y' might do us out of a pony." - -"Righto! old golddust! Step over on to the Bar-parlour mat." - -"I'm stepping," said Tom. "'N I'm not drunk." - -"No, he's not," said Jack. - -"You bet he's not," said Jimmie. He was eyeing them curiously as if his -memory pricked him. - -"My name," said Tom, "is Ned Kelly. And if yours isn't Jimmie Miller, -what is it?" - -"Why, it's Short.--Well, I give it up. I can't seem to lay my finger on -you, Kelly." - -Tom roared with laughter. - -"What time is it?" he asked. - -"Ten past twelve." - -"We've won a pony off Old George!" said the delighted Tom. "I'm Tom -Ellis and he's Jack Grant. Now do you know us, Jimmie?" - -Jack was glad to get washed and barbered and dressed. After all, he was -sick of wasters and roughs. They were stupider than respectable people, -and much more offensive physically and morally. To hell with them all. -He wouldn't care if some tyrant would up and extirpate the breed. - -Anyhow he stepped clean out of their company. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE GOVERNOR'S DANCE - - -Three gentlemen in evening dress passing along by the low brick wall -skirting the Government House. One of the gentlemen portly and correct, -two of the gentlemen young, with burnt brown faces that showed a little -less tan below the shaving line, and limbs too strong and too rough to -fit the evening clothes. Jack's suit was on the small side, though he'd -scarcely grown in height. But it showed a big piece of white shirt-cuff -at the wrists, and seemed to reveal the muscles of his shoulders unduly. -As for Tom's quite good and quite expensive suit from the pawn-shop, it -was a little large for him. If he hadn't been so bursting with life it -would have been sloppy. But the crude animal life came so forcibly -through the black cloth, that you had to overlook the anomaly of the -clothes. Both boys wore socks of fine scarlet wool, and the new -handkerchiefs of magenta silk inside their waistcoats. The scarlet, -magenta, and red-brown of their faces made a gallant pizzicato of colour -against the black and white. Anyhow they fancied themselves, and walked -conceitedly. - -Jack's face was a little amusing. It had the kind of innocence and -half-smile you can see on the face of a young fox, which will snap holes -in your hand if you touch it. He was annoyed by his father's letter to -him for his twenty-first birthday. The general had retired, and hadn't -saved a sou. How could he, given his happy, thriftless lady. So it was a -case of "My dear boy, I'm thankful you are at last twenty-one, because -now you must look out for yourself. I have bled myself to send you this -cheque for a hundred pounds, but I know you think I ought to send you -something, so take it, but don't expect any more, for you won't get it -if you do." - -This was not really the text of the General's letter, but this was how -Jack read it. As for his mother, she sent him six terrible neckties and -awful silver-backed brushes which he hated the sight of, much love, a -few tears, a bit of absurd fond counsel, and a general wind-up of tender -doting. - -He was annoyed, because he had expected some sort of real assistance in -setting out like a gentleman on his life's career, now he had attained -his majority. But the hundred quid was a substantial sop. - -Mr. George had done them proud at the Weld Club, and got them -invitations to the ball from the Private Secretary. Oh yes, he was proud -of them, handsome upstanding young fellows. So they were proud of -themselves. It was a fine, hot evening, and nearly everybody was walking -to the function, showing off their splendour. For few people' possessed -private carriages, and the town boasted very few cabs indeed. - -Mr. George waited in the porch of the Government House for Aunt Matilda -and Mary. They had not long to wait before they saw the ladies in their -shawls, carrying each a little holland bag with scarlet initials, -containing their dancing slippers, slowly and self-consciously mounting -the steps. - -The boys braced themselves to face the introduction to the -Representation. They were uneasy. Also they wanted to grin. In Jack's -mind a picture of Honeysuckle, that tin town in the heat, danced as on -heat-waves, as he made his bows and his murmurs. He wanted to whisper to -Tom: "Ain't we in Honeysuckle?" But it would have been too cruel. - -Clutching their programmes as drowning men clutch straw, they passed on. -The primary ordeal was over. - -"Oh Lord, I'm sweating already," said Tom with a red-faced grin. "I'm -off to get me bill-head crammed." - -"Take me with you, for the Lord's sake," said Jack. - -"Y're such an owl of a dancer. An' y' have to do it proper here. You go -to Mr. George." - -"Don't desert me, you swine." - -"Go-on! Want me to take you back to Auntie?--Go-on! I'm goin' to dance -an' sit out an' hold their little white hands." - -Tom pulled a droll face, as he took his place in the line of -glove-buttoning youths who made a queue on the Governor's left hand, -where his daughter stood booking up duty dances. Jack, galvanised by the -advent of the A.D.C., ducked through the crowd to Aunt Matilda's side. - -He was always angry that he couldn't dance. The fact was, he would never -learn. He could never bring himself to go hugging promiscuous girls -round the waist and twiddling through dances with them. Underneath all -his carelessness and his appearance of "mixing," there was a savage -physical reserve which prevented his mixing at all. He could not bear -the least physical intimacy. Something inside him recoiled and stood -savagely at a distance, even from the prettiest girl, the moment she -seemed to be "coming on." To take the dear young things in his arms was -repugnant to him, it offended a certain aloof pride and a subtle -arrogance in him. Even with Tom, intimate though they were, he always -kept a certain unpassable space around him, a definite _noli me tangere_ -distance which gave the limit to all approach. It would have been -difficult to define this reserve. Jack seemed absolutely the most open -and accessible individual in the world, a perfect child. He seemed to -lay himself far too open to anybody's approach. But those who knew him -better, like Mrs. Ellis or his mother, knew the cold inward reserve, the -savage unwillingness to be touched, which was central in him, as in a -wolf-cub. There was something reserved, fierce and untouched at the very -centre of him. Something, at the centre of all his openness and his -seeming softness, that was cold, overbearing, and a little angry. This -was the old overweening English blood in him, which would never really -yield to promiscuity, or to vulgar intimacy. He seemed to mix in with -everybody at random. But as a matter of fact he had never finally mixed -in with anybody, not even with his own father and mother, not even with -Tom. And certainly not with any casual girl. Essentially, he kept -himself a stranger to everybody. - -Aunt Matilda was in green satin with a tiara of diamonds. "The devil you -know is better than the devil you don't know," was Jack's inward comment -as he approached her. - -Aloud he said: - -"Would it be right if I asked you to let me have the pleasure of taking -you in to supper later, Marm?" - -"Oh, you dear boy!" simpered Aunt Matilda. "So like y' dear father. But -you see I'm engaged on these occasions. We have to go in in order of -rank and precedence. But you can take Mary. She says she has hurt her -foot and can't dance much." - -Mary took his arm, and they went out on to the terrace. There was clear -moonlight, and trees against a shadowy, grey-blue sky, and a dark -perfume of tropical flowers. Jack felt the beauty of it and it moved -him. He waited for his soul to melt. But his soul would never melt. It -was hard and clear as the moon itself. - -"It is much better here," he said, looking at the sky. - -"Oh, it's beautiful!" said Mary. "I wanted so much to sit quietly and -talk to you. It seems so long, and you looked so wild and different this -morning. I've been so frightened, reading so much about the natives -murdering people." - -Mary was different too, but Jack didn't know wherein. - -"I don't believe there's much more danger in one place than in another," -he said, "so long as you keep yourself in hand. Shall we sit down and -have a real wongie?" - -They found a seat under the overspreading tree, and sat listening to the -night-insects. - -"You're not very glad to be back, are you?" asked Mary. - -"Yes I am," he assented, without a great deal of vigour. "What has been -happening to you all this time, Mary?" - -"The little things that are nothing," she said. "The only thing"--she -hesitated--"is that they want me to marry. And I lie awake at night -wondering about it." - -"Marry who?" asked Jack, his mind running at once to Rackett. - -They were sitting under a magnolia tree. Jack could make out the dark -shape of a great flower against the moon, among black leaves. And the -perfume was magnolia flowers. - -"Do you want me to talk about it?" she said. - -"I do." - -Jack was glancing rather fiercely down the slope of the black-and-white -garden, that sloped its lawns to the river. Mary sat very still beside -him, in a cream lace dress. - -"It's a Mr. Boyd Blessington. He is a widower with five children, but he -is an interesting man. He's got a black beard." - -"Goodness!" said Jack. "Have you accepted him?" - -"No. Not yet." - -"Why do you think of marrying him? Do you like him?" - -"For some things. He is a good man, and he wants me in a good way. He -has a beautiful library. And as he is a man of the world, there seems to -be a big world round him. Yes, he is quite somebody. And Aunt Matilda -says it is a wonderful opportunity for me. And I know it is." - -Jack mused in silence. - -"It may be," he said. "But I hardly fancy you kissing a widower of -fifty, with a black beard and five children. Lord!" - -"He's only thirty-seven. And he's a man." - -Jack thought about Monica. He wanted Monica. But he also couldn't bear -to let Mary go. This arrogance in him made him silent for some moments. -Then he turned to Mary, his head erect, and looked down sternly on her -small sinking figure in the pale lace dress. - -"Do you want him?" he asked, in a subtle tone of authority and passion. - -Mary was silent for some moments. - -"No-o!" she faltered. "Not--not----" - -Her hands lay inert in her lap. They were small, soft, dusky hands. The -flame went over him, over his will. By some curious destiny, she really -belonged to him. And Monica? He wanted Monica too. He wanted Monica -first. But Mary also was his. Hard and savage he accepted this fact. - -He took her two hands and lifted them to his lips, and kissed them with -strange, blind passion. When the flame went over him, he was blind. Mary -gave a little cry, but did not withdraw her hands. - -"I thought you cared for Rackett," he said suddenly, looking at her -closely. She shook her head, and he saw she was crying. - -He put his arm round her and gathered her in her lace dress to his -breast. She was small, but strangely heavy. Not like that whip-wire of a -Monica. But he loved her heaviness too. The heaviness of a dark magnetic -stone. He wanted that too. - -And in his mind he thought, "Why can't I have her too? She is naturally -mine." - -His soul was hard and unbending. "She is naturally mine!" he said to -himself. And he kissed her softly, softly, kissed her face and her -tears. And all the while Mary knew about Monica. And he, his soul -fierce, would not yield in either direction. He wanted to marry her, and -he wanted to marry Monica. Something was in Mary that would never be -appeased unless he married her. And something in him would never be -appeased unless he married Monica. His young, clear instinct saw both -these facts. And the inward imperiousness of his nature rose to meet -it.--"Why can't I have both these women?" he asked himself. And his -soul, hard in its temper like a sword, answered him: "You can if you -will." - -Yet he was wary enough to know he must go cautiously. Meanwhile, -determined that one day he would marry Monica and Mary both, he held the -girl soft and fast in his arms, kissing her, wanting her, but wanting -her with the slow knowledge that he must wait and travel a long way -before he could take her, yet take her he would. He wanted Monica first. -But he also wanted Mary. The soft, slow weight of her as she lay silent -and unmoving in his arms. - -They could hear the music inside. - -"I must go in for the next dance," she said in a muted tone. He kissed -her mouth and released her. Then he escorted her back to the ballroom. -She went across to Aunt Matilda, as the dance ended. And in her lace -dress, the small, heavy, dusky Mary was like a lode-stone passing among -flimsy people. She had a certain magnetic heaviness of her own, and a -certain stubborn, almost ugly kind of beauty which in its heavy -quietness, seemed like a darkish, perhaps bitter flower that rose from a -very deep root. You were sensible of a deep root going down into the -dark. - -A tall, thin, rather hollow-chested man in a perfect evening suit and -with orders on his breast, was speaking to her. He too had a faint air -of proprietorship. He had a black beard and eyeglasses. But his face was -sensitive, and delicate in its desire. It was evident he loved her with -a real, though rather social, uneasy desirous love, as if he wanted all -her answer. He was really a nice man, a bit frail and sad. Jack could -see that. But he seemed to belong so entirely to the same world as the -General, Jack's father. He belonged to the social world, and saw nothing -really outside. - -Mary too belonged almost entirely to the social world, her instinct was -strongly social. But there was a wild tang in her. And this Jack -depended on. Somewhere deep in himself he hated his father's social -world. He stood in the doorway and watched her dancing with Blessington. -And he knew that as Mrs. Blessington, with a thoughtful husband and a -good position in society, she would be well off. She would forfeit that -bit of a wild tang. - -If Jack let her. And he wasn't going to let her. He was hard and cool -inside himself. He took his impetus from the wild sap that still flows -in most men's veins, though they mostly choose to act from the tame sap. -He hated his father's social sap. He wanted the wild nature in people, -the unfathomed nature, to break into leaf again. The real rebel, not the -mere reactionary. - -He hated the element of convention and slight smugness which showed in -Mary's movements as she danced with the tall, thin reed of a man. -Anything can become a convention, even an unconventionality, even the -frenzied jazzing of the modern ballroom. And then the same element of -smugness, very repulsive, is evident, evident even in the most -scandalous jazzers. This is curious, that as soon as any movement -becomes accepted in the public consciousness, it becomes ugly and smug, -unless it be saved by a touch of the wild individuality. - -And Mary dancing with Mr. Blessington was almost smug. Only the downcast -look on her face showed that she remembered Jack. Blessington himself -danced like a man neatly and efficiently performing his duty. - -The dance ended. Aunt Matilda was fluttering her fan at him like a -ruffled cockatoo. There was a group: Mary, Blessington, Mr. George, Mr. -James Watson, Aunt Matilda's brother-in-law, and Aunt Matilda. Mr. -Blessington, with the quiet assurance of his class, managed to eclipse -Mr. George and Jim Watson entirely, though Jim Watson was a rich man. - -Jack went over and was introduced. Blessington and he bowed at one -another. "Stay in your class, you monkey!" thought Jack with some of the -sensual arrogance he had brought with him from the North-West. - -Mr. Blessington introduced him to a thin, nervous girl, his daughter. -She was evidently unhappy, and Jack was sorry for her. He took her out -for refreshments, and was kind to her. She made dark-grey startled round -eyes at him, and looked at him as if he were an incalculable animal that -might bite. And he, in manner, if not in actuality, laughed and caressed -the frail young thing to cajole some life into her. - -Mary danced with Tom, and then with somebody else. Jack lounged about, -watching with a set face that still looked innocent and amiable, keeping -a corner of his eye on Mary, but chatting with various people. He -wouldn't make a fool of himself, trying to dance. - -When Mary was free again--complaining of her foot--he said to her: - -"Come outside a bit." - -And obediently she came. They went and sat under the same magnolia tree. - -"He's not a bad fellow, your Blessington," he said. - -"He's not my Blessington," she replied, "Not yet anyhow. And he never -would be _really_ my Blessington." - -"You never know. I suppose he's quite rich." - -"Don't be horrid to me." - -"Why not?--I wish I was rich. I'd do as I liked. But you'll never marry -him." - -"Why shan't I?" - -"You just won't." - -"I shall if Aunt Matilda makes me. I'm absolutely dependent on her--and -do you think I don't feel it? I want to be free. I should be much freer -if I married Mr. Blessington. I'm tired of being as I am." - -"What would you really like to do?" - -She was silent for a time. Then she answered: - -"I should like to live on a farm." - -"Marry Tom," he said maliciously. - -"Why are you so horrid?" she said, in hurt surprise. - -He was silent for a time. - -"Anyhow you won't marry Boyd Blessington." - -"Why are you so sure? Aunt Matilda is going to England in April. And I -won't travel with her. Travel with her would be unspeakable. I want to -stay in Australia." - -"Marry Tom," he said again, in malice. - -"Why," she asked in amazement, "do you say that to me?" But he didn't -know himself. - -"A farm--" he was beginning, when a figure sailed up in the moonlight. -It was Aunt Matilda. The two young people rose to their feet. Jack was -silent and rather angry. He wanted to curl his nose and say: "It isn't -done, Marm!" But he said nothing. Aunt Matilda did the talking. - -"I thought it was your voices," she said coldly. "Why do you make -yourself conspicuous, Mary? Mr. Blessington is looking for you in all -the rooms." - -Mary was led away. Jack followed. Aunt Matilda had no sooner seen Mary -led out by Mr. Blessington for the Lancers, than she came full sail upon -Jack, as he stood lounging in the doorway. - -"Come for a little walk on the terrace, dear boy," she said. - -"Can't I have the pleasure of piloting you through this set of lancers, -Marm?" he retorted. - -She stood and smiled at him fixedly. - -"I've heard of y'r dancing, dear boy," she said, "and your father was a -beautiful dancer. This Governor is very particular. He sent his A. D. C. -to stop Jimmie Short reversing, right at the beginning of the -evening."--She eyed him with a shrewd eye. - -"Surely worse form to hurt a gentleman's feelings, than to reverse, -Marm!" retorted Jack. - -"It wasn't bad form, it was bad temper. The Governor can't reverse -himself. Ha-ha-ha! Neither can I go through a set of Lancers with you. -So come and take me out a minute." - -They went in silence down the terrace. - -"Lovely evening! Not at all too hot," he said. - -She burst into a sputter of laughter. - -"Lor! m'dear. You are amusin'!" she said. "But you won't get out of it -like that, young man. What have y' t'say f' y'self, running off with -Mary like that _twice!_" - -"You told me I could take her, Marm." - -"I didn't ask you to keep her out and get her talked about, m'dear! I'm -not a fool, my dear boy, and I'm not going to let her lose the chance of -a life-time. You want her y'self for _one night!_" She slapped her fan -crossly. "_You_ leave well enough alone, we don't want another scandal -in the family. Mr. Blessington is a good man for Mary, a God-send. For -she's heavy, she's heavy, she's heavy for any man to take up with." Aunt -Matilda said this almost spitefully. "Mr. Blessington's the very man for -her, and a wonderful match. She's got her family. She's the -granddaughter of Lord Haworth. And he has position. Besides they're -suited for one another. It's the very finger of Heaven. Don't you dare -make another scandal in the family." - -She stopped under a lamp, and was leaning forward peering at him. Her -large person exhaled a scent of artificial perfume. Jack hated perfume, -especially in the open air. And her face, with its powder and wrinkles, -in the mingled light of the lamp and the moon, made him think of a -lizard. - -"D'you want Mary yourself," she snapped, like a great lizard. "It's out -of the question. You've got to make your way. She'd have to go on -waiting for years. And you'd compromise her." - -"God forbid!" said Jack ironically. - -"Then leave her alone," she said. "If you compromise her, _I'll_ do no -more for her, mind that." - -"Just exactly what do you mean, compromise her?" he asked. - -"Get her talked about--as you're trying to," she snapped. - -He thought it over. He must anyhow appear to yield to circumstances. - -"All right," he said. "I know what you mean." - -"See you do," she retorted. "Now take me back to the ballroom." - -They returned, in a silence that was safe, if not golden. He was -inwardly more set than ever. His appearance, however, was calm and -innocent. She was much more ruffled. She wondered if she had said too -much or too little, if he were merely stupid, or really dangerous. - -He politely steered a way back to the reception room, placed her in a -chair and turned to disappear. One thing he could not stand, and that -was her proximity. - -But as she sat down, she clutched his sleeve, cackling her unendurable -laugh. - -"Sit down, then," she said. "We're friends now, aren't we?" And she -tapped his tanned cheek, that still had a bit of the peach-look, with -her feathery black fan. - -"On the contrary, Marm," he said, bowing but not taking a seat. - -"Lor', but you are an amusin' boy, m'dear!" she said, and she let go his -sleeve as she turned to survey the field. - -In that instant he slipped away from her disagreeable presence. - -He slipped behind a stout Judge from Melbourne, then past a plumed -woman, apparently of fashion, and was gone. - -What he had to do was to reconnoitre his own position. He wanted Monica -first. That was his fixed determination. But he was not going to let go -of Mary either. Not in spite of battalions of Aunt Matildas, or correct -social individuals. It was a battle. - -But he had to gauge Mary's disposition. He saw how much she was a social -thing: how much, even, she was Lord Haworth's granddaughter. And how -little she was that other thing. - -But it was a battle, a long, slow subtle battle. And he loved a fight, -even a long, invisible one. - -In the ballroom the A. D. C. pounced on him. - -When he was free again, he looked round for Mary. It was the sixteenth -dance, and she was being well nursed. When the dance was over, he went -calmly and sat between her and Aunt Matilda on a red gilt sofa. Things -were a little stiff. Even Mary was stiff. - -He looked at her programme. The next dance was a polka, and she was not -engaged. - -"You are free for this dance?" he said. - -"Yes, because of my foot," she said firmly. He could see she too was on -Aunt Matilda's side, for the moment. - -"I can dance a polka. Come and dance it with me," he said. - -"And my foot?" - -He didn't answer, merely looked her in the face. And she rose. - -They neither of them ever forgot that absurd, jogging little dance. - -"I must speak to you, Mary," he said. - -"What about?" - -"Would you really like to live on a farm?" - -"I think I should." - -The conversation was rather jerky and breathless. - -"In two years I can have a farm," he said. - -She was silent for some time. Then she looked into his eyes, with her -queer, black, humble-seeming eyes. She was thinking of all the grandeur -of being Mrs. Boyd Blessington. It attracted her a great deal. At the -same time, something in her soul fell prostrate, when Jack looked -straight into her. Something fell prostrate, and she couldn't help it. -His eyes had a queer power in them. - -"In two years I can have a farm--a good one," he said. - -She only gazed into his eyes with her queer, black, fascinated gaze. - -The dance was over. Aunt Matilda was tapping Jack's wrist with her fan -and saying: - -"Yes, Mr. Blessington, do be so good as to take Mary down to supper." - -Supper was over. It was the twentieth dance. Jack had been introduced to -a sporting girl in her late twenties. She treated him like a child, and -talked quite amusingly. Tom called her a "barrack hack." - -Mr. Blessington went by with Mary on his arm. - -"Mary," said Jack, "do you know Miss Brackley?" - -Mary stopped and was smilingly introduced. Miss Brackley at once pounced -amusingly upon Mr. Blessington. - -"I want to speak to you," Jack said once more to Mary. "Behind the -curtain of the third window." - -He glanced at the red, ponderous plush curtain he meant. Mary looked -frightened into his eyes, then glanced too. Mr. Blessington, extricating -himself, walked on with Mary. - -Jack looked round for Tom. That young man was having a drink, at the -supper extra. Jack left the Barrack Hack for a moment. - -"Tom," he said. "Will you stand by me in anything I say or do?" - -"I will," said the glistening, scarlet-faced Tom, who was away on the -gay high seas of exaltation. - -"Get up a rubber of whist for Aunt Matilda. I know she'd like one. Will -you?" - -"Before you c'n say Wiggins," replied Tom, laughing as he always did -when he was tipsy. - -"And I say, Tom, you care for Mary, don't you? Would you provide a home -for her if she was wanting one?" - -"I'd marry Mary if she'd 'ave me 'n I hadn't got a wife." - -"Shut up!" - -Tom broke into a laugh. - -"Don't go back on me, Tom." - -"Never, s'elp me bob." - -"Get a move on then, and arrange that whist." - -He sent him off with the Barrack Hack. And then he watched Mary. She -still was walking with Mr. Blessington. They were not dancing. She knew -Jack was watching her, and she was nervous. He watched her more closely. - -And at the third window she fluttered, staggered a little, let go Mr. -Blessington's arm, and turned round to gather up her skirt behind. She -pretended she had torn a hem. She pretended she couldn't move without a -pin. She asked to be steered into the alcove. She sent Mr. Blessington -away into the ladies' dressing-room, for a pin. - -And when he came back with it, she was gone. - -Jack, outside in the night, was questioning her. - -"Has Mr. Blessington proposed to you yet?" - -"No." - -"Don't let him. Would you really be happy on a farm,--even if it was -rather hard work?" - -He had to look down on her very steadfastly as he asked this. And she -was slow in answering, and the tears came into her eyes before she -murmured: - -"Yes." - -He was touched, and the same dominating dark desire came over him again. -He held her fast in his arms, fast and silent. The desire was dark and -powerful and permanent in him. - -"Can you wait for me, even two years?" he asked. - -"Yes," she murmured faintly. - -His will was steady and black. He knew he could wait. - -"In two years I shall have a farm for you to live on," he said. And he -kissed her again, with the same dark, permanent passion. - -Then he sent her off again. - -He went and found Mr. George, in the card room. There was old Aunt -Matilda, playing for her life, her diamonds twinkling but her fan laid -aside. - -"We're going to Wandoo to-morrow morning, Sir," said Jack. - -"That's right, lad," said Mr. George. - -"I say, Sir, won't you do Tom a kindness?" said Jack. "You're coming -down yourself one day this week, aren't you?" - -"Yes, I shall be down on Wednesday or Thursday." - -"Bring Mary down with you. Make her Aunt Matilda let her come. Tom's -awfully gone on her, and when he sees her with Boyd Blessington he -straightway goes for a drink. I don't think she's suited for Mr. -Blessington, do you, Sir? He's nearly old enough to be her father. And -Tom's the best fellow in the world, and Mary's the one he cares for. If -nothing puts him out and sends him wrong, there's not a better fellow in -the world." - -Mr. George blew nose, prrhed! and bahed! and was in a funk. He feared -Aunt Matilda. He was very fond of Mary, might even have married her -himself, but for the ridicule. He liked Tom Ellis. He didn't care for -men like Blessington. And he was an emotional old Australian. - -"That needs thinking about! That needs thought!" he said. - -Not the next day, but the day following that, the boys drove away from -Perth in a new sulky, with a horse bought from Jimmie Short. And Mr. -George had promised to come on the coach the day after, with Mary. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE WELCOME AT WANDOO - - -"Things change," said Jack, as he and Tom drove along in the sulky, "and -they never go back to what they were before." - -"Seems like they don't," said Tom uneasily. - -"And men change," continued Jack. "I have changed, and I shall never go -back to what I was before." - -"Oh dry up," said the nervous Tom. "You're just the blanky same." - -Both boys felt a load on their spirits, now they were actually on the -road home. They hated the load too. - -"We're going to make some change at Wandoo," said Tom. "I wish I could -leave Ma on the place. But Mr. George says she absolutely refuses to -stay, and he says I've not got to try an' force her. He sortta winked at -me, and told me I should want to be settlin' down myself. I wondered -what 'n hell he meant. Y'aven't let on nothing about that Honeysuckle -trip, have y'? I don't mean to insult you by askin', but it seemed -kinder funny like." - -"No," said Jack. "I've not breathed Honeysuckle to a soul, and never -will. You get it off your mind--it's nothing." - -"Well, then, I dunno what he meant. I told him I hadn't made a bean -anyhow. An' I asked him what 'n hell Ma was goin' ter live on. He seemed -a bit down in the mouth about 'er himself, old George did. Fair gave me -the bally hump. Wisht I was still up north, strike me lucky I do. - -"We've been gone over two years, yet I feel I've never been away, an' -yet I feel the biggest stranger in the world, comin' back to what's -supposed to be me own house. I hate havin' ter come, because o' the -bloomin' circumstances. Why 'n hell couldn't Ma have had the place for -while she lived, an' me be comin' back to her and the kids? Then I -shouldn't feel sortta sick about it. But as it is--it fair gets me beat. -Lennie'll resent me, an' Katie an' Monica'll hate havin' ter get inter a -smaller house, an' the twins an' Harry an' the little ones don' matter -so much, but I do worry over pore ol' Ma." - -There he was with a blank face, driving the pony homewards. He hadn't -worried over pore ol' Ma till this very minute, on the principle "out of -sight, out of mind." Now he was all strung up. - -"Y' know, Jack," he said, "I kinder don' want Wandoo. I kinder don' want -to be like Dad, settlin' down with a heap o' responsibilities an' kids -an' all that. I kinder don' want it." - -"What do you want?" said Jack. - -"I'd rather knock about with you for me mate, Jack, I'd a sight rather -do that." - -"You can't knock about forever," said Jack. - -"I don' know whether you can or you can't. I only know I never knew my -own mother. I only know she never lived at Wandoo. _She_ never raised me -there. I bet she lugged me through the bush. An' when all comes to all, -I'd rather do the same. I don' want Dad's property. I don' want that -Ellis property. Seems ter me bad luck. What d' yer think?" - -"I should think it depends on you," said Jack. - -"I should think it does. Anyhow shall you stop with me, an' go shares in -the blinkin' thing?" - -"I don't know," said Jack. - -He was thinking that soon he would see Monica. He was wondering how she -would be. He was wondering if she was ready for him, or if she would -have a thousand obstacles around her. He was wondering if she would want -him to plead and play the humble and say he wasn't good enough for her. -Because he wouldn't do it. Not if he never saw her again. All that -flummery of love he would not subscribe to. He would not say he adored -her, because he didn't adore her. He was not the adoring sort. He would -not make up to her, and play the humble to her, because it insulted his -pride. He didn't feel like that, and he never would feel like that, not -towards any woman on earth. Even Mary, once he had declared himself, -would fetch up her social tricks and try to bring him to his knees. And -he was not going down on his knees, not for half a second, not to any -woman on earth, nor to any man either. Enough of this kneeling flummery. - -He stood fast and erect on his two feet, that had travelled many wild -miles. And fast and erect he would continue to stand. Almost he wished -he could be clad in iron armour, inaccessible. Because the thought of -women bringing him down and making him humble himself, before they would -give themselves to him, this turned his soul black. - -Monica! He didn't love her. He didn't feel the slightest bit of -sentimental weakening towards her. Rather when he thought of her his -muscles went stiffer and his soul haughtier. It was not he who must bow -the head. It was she. - -Because he wanted her. With a deep, arrowy desire, and a long, lasting -dark desire, he wanted her. He wanted to take her apart from all the -world, and put her under his own roof. - -But he didn't want to plead with her, or weep before her, or adore her, -or humbly kiss her feet. The very thought of it made his blood curdle -and go black. Something had happened to him in the Never-Never. Before -he went over the border he might have been tricked into a surrender to -this soft and hideous thing they called love. But now, he would have -love in his own way, haughtily, passionately, and darkly, with dark, -arrowy desire, and a strange, arrowly-submissive woman: either this, or -he would not have love at all. - -He thought of Monica and sometimes the thought of her sent him black -with anger. And sometimes, as he thought of her wild, delicate, -reckless, lonely little profile, a hot tenderness swept over him, and he -felt he would envelop her with a fierce and sheltering tenderness, like -a scarlet mantle. - -So long as she would not fight against him, and strike back at him. Jeer -at him, play with Easu in order to insult him. Not that, my God, not -that. - -As for Mary, a certain hate of her burned in him. The queer heavy stupid -conceit with which she had gone off to dance with Boyd Blessington, -because he was an important social figure. Mary, wanting to live on a -farm, but at the same time absolutely falling before the social glamour -of a Blessington, and becoming conceited on the strength of it. Inside -herself, Mary thought she was very important, thought that all sorts of -eternal destinies depended on her choice and her actions. Even Jack, was -nothing more than an instrument of her divine importance. - -He had sensed this clearly enough. And it was this that made Aunt -Matilda a bit spiteful against her, when she said that Mary was "heavy" -and wouldn't easily get a man. - -But there was also the queer black look in Mary's eyes, that was outside -her conceit and her social importance. The queer, almost animal dark -glisten, that was full of fear and wonder, and vulnerability. Like the -look in the eyes of a caught wild animal. Or the look in the shining -black eyes of one of the aborigines, especially the black woman looking -askance in a sort of terror at a white man, as if a white man was a sort -of devil that might possess her. - -Where had Mary got that queer aboriginal look, she the granddaughter of -an English earl? - -"Y're real lively to-day, aintcher, Jack? Got a hundred quid for your -birthday, and my, some talk!" - -"Comes to that," said Jack, rousing himself with difficulty. "We've come -fifteen or twenty miles without you opening your mouth either." - -Tom laughed shortly and relapsed into silence. - -"Well," he said, "let's wake up now, there's the outlying paddock." He -pointed with his whip.--"And there's the house through the dip in the -valley!" Then suddenly in a queer tone: "Say, matey, don't it look -lovely from here, with all that afternoon sun falling over it like snow -. . . You think I've never seen snow: but I have, in my dream." - -Jack's heart contracted as he jumped down to open the first gate. For -him too, the strange fulness of the yellow afternoon light was always -unearthly, at Wandoo. But the day was still early, just after -dinner-time, for they had stayed the night half way. - -"Looks in good trim, eh?" said Jack. - -"So it does! All" replied Tom. "Mr. George says Ma done wonders. Made it -pay hand over fist. Y'remember that fellow, Pink-eye Percy, what come -from Queensland, and had studied agriculture an' was supposed to be a -bad egg an' all that? At that 'roo hunt, you remember? Well, he bought -land next to Wandoo, off-side from the Reds. An' Ma sortta broke wi' the -Reds over something, an' went in wi' him, an't' seems they was able to -do wonders. Anyway Old George says Ma's been able to buy a little place -near her own old home in Beverley, to go to.--But seems to me--" - -"What?" - -"Funny how little anyone tells you, Jack." - -"How?" - -"I felt I couldn't get to th' bottom of what old George was tellin' me. -I took no notice then. But it seems funny now. An' I say--" - -"What?" - -"You'd 'a thought Monica or Katie might ha' driven to the Cross Roads -for us, like we used to in Dad's days." - -"Yes, I thought one of them would have been there." - -The boys drove on, in tense silence, through the various gates. They -could see the house ahead. - -"There's Timothy," said Tom. - -The old black was holding open the yard gate. He seemed to have almost -forgotten Jack, but the emotion in his black, glistening eyes was -strange, as he stared with strange adoration at the young master. He -caught Tom's hand in his two wrinkled dark hands, as if clinging to life -itself. - -The twins ran out, waved, and ran back. Katie appeared, looking bigger, -heavier, more awkward than ever. Tom patted Timothy's hands again, then -went across and kissed Katie, who blushed with shyness. - -"Where's Ma, Katie?" - -"In the parlour." - -Tom broke away, leaving Katie blushing in front of Jack. Jack was -thinking how queer and empty the house seemed. And he felt an outsider -again. He stayed outside, sat down on the bench. - -A boy much bigger than Harry, but with the same blue eyes and curly -hair, appeared chewing a haystalk, and squatted on a stone near by. Then -Og and Magog, a bit taller, but no thinner, came and edged on to the -seat. Then Ellie, a long-legged little girl, came running to his knees. -And then what had been Baby, but was now a fat, toddling little girl, -came racing out, fearless and inconsequential as the twins had been. - -"Where's Len?" said Jack. - -"He's in the paddock seein' to th' sheep," said Harry. - -There was a queer tense silence. The children seemed to cling round Jack -for male protection. - -"We're goin' to' live nearer in to th' township now," said Harry, "in a -little wee sortta house." - -He stared with bold blue eyes, unwinking and yet not easy, straight into -Jack's eyes. - -"Well Harry," said Jack, "You've grown quite a man." - -"I hev so!" said Harry: "Quite the tyke! I ken kill birds for Ma to put -in th' pot I ken skin a kangaroo. I ken--" - -But Jack didn't hear what else, because Tom was calling him from the -doorway. He went slowly across. - -"Say, mate," said Tom in a low tone. "Stand by me. Things is not all -right." Aloud he said: "Ma wants t' see ye, Jack." - -Jack followed through the back premises, down the three steps into the -parlour. It all seemed forlorn. - -Ma sat with her face buried in her hands. Jack knitted his brows. Tom -put his hand on her shoulder. - -"What is it, Ma? What is it? I wouldn't be anything but good to yer, Ma, -ye know that. Here's Jack Grant." - -"Ye were always a good boy, Tom. I'm real glad t' see ye back. And -Jack," said Ma through her hands. - -Tom looked at Jack in dismay. Then he stooped and kissed her hair. - -"You look to me," he said. "We'll fix everything all right, for Lennie -'n everybody." - -But Ma still kept her face between her hands. - -"There's nothing t' worry about, Ma, sure there isn't," persisted the -distracted Tom. "I want y't' have everything you want, I do, you an' -Lennie an' the kids." - -Mrs. Ellis took her hands from her face. She looked pale and worn. She -would not turn to the boys, but kept her face averted. - -"I know you're as good a boy as ever lived," she faltered. Then she -glanced quickly at Tom and Jack, the tears began to run down her face, -and she threw her apron over her head. - -"God's love!" gasped the bursting Tom, sinking on a chair. - -They all waited in silence. Mrs. Ellis suddenly wiped her face on her -apron and turned with a wan smile to the boys. - -"I've saved enough to buy a little place near Beverley, which is where I -belong," she said. "So me and the children are all right. And I've got -my eye, at least Lennie's got his on a good selection east of here, -between this and my little house, for Lennie. But we want cash for that, -I'm afraid. Only it's not that. That's not it." - -"Lennie's young yet to take up land, Ma!" Tom plunged in. "Why won't he -stop here and go shares with me?" - -"He wants to get married," said the mother wanly. - -"Get married! Len! Why he's only seventeen!" - -At this very natural exclamation, Ma threw her apron over her head, and -began to cry once more. - -"He's been so good," she sobbed. "He's been so good! And his Ruth is old -enough and sensible enough for two. Better anything--" with more -sobbing--"than another scandal in the family." - -Tom rubbed his head. Gosh! It was no joke being the head of a family! - -"Well, Ma, if you wish it, what's the odds? But I'm afraid it'll have to -wait a bit. Jack'll tell you I haven't any cash. Not a stiver, Ma! Blown -out! It takes it outter yer up North. We never struck it rich." - -Mrs. Ellis, under her apron, wept softly. - -"Poor little Lennie! Poor little Lennie! He's been so good, Tom, working -day and night. And never spending a shilling. All his learning gone for -nought, Tom, and him a little slave, at his years, old and wise enough -to be his father, Tom. And he wants to get married. If we could start -him out fair! The new place has only four rooms and an out-kitchen, and -there's not enough to keep him, much less a lady wife. She's a lady -earning her bread teaching. He could go to Grace's. Alec Rice would have -him. But--" - -She had taken her apron off her face, and was staring averted at the -door leading into Gran's old room. - -The two boys listened mystified and a little annoyed. Why all this about -Lennie? Jack was wondering where Monica was. Why didn't she come? Why -wasn't she mentioned? And why was Ma so absolutely downcast, on the -afternoon of Tom's home-coming? It wasn't fair on Tom. - -"Where is Monica?" asked Jack shyly at last. - -But Mrs. Ellis only shook her head faintly and was mute, staring across -at Gran's door. - -"Lennie married!" Tom was brooding. "Y'll have to put it out of y'r mind -for a bit, Ma. Why, it wouldn't hardly be decent." - -"Let him marry if he's set on it--an' the girl's a good girl," said Mrs. -Ellis, her eyes swamping with tears again, and her voice breaking as she -rocked herself again. - -"Yes, if we could afford it," Tom hastily put in. And he raised his -stunned eyes to Jack. Jack shrugged, and looked in the empty fireplace, -and thought of the little fires Gran used to have. - -Money! Money! Money! The moment you entered within four walls it was the -word money, and your mouth full of ashes. - -And then again something hardened in his soul. All his life he had been -slipping away from the bugbear of money. It was no good. You had to turn -round and get a grip on the miserable stuff. There was nothing else for -it. Though money nauseated him, he now accepted the fact that he must -have control over money, and not try just to slip by. - -He began to repent of having judged Gran. That little old witch of a -Gran, he had hated the way she had seemed to hoard money and gloat in -the secret possession of it. But perhaps she knew, _somebody_ must -control it, somebody must keep a hand over it. Like a deadly weapon. -Money! Property! Gran fighting for them, to bequeath them to the man she -loved. - -Perhaps she too had really hated money. She wouldn't make a will. -Neither would Dad. Their secret repugnance for money and possessions. -But you had to have property, else you were down and out. The men you -loved had to have property, or they were down and out. Like Lennie! - -Poor old plucky Gran, fighting for her man. It was all a terrible muddle -anyhow. But he began to understand her motive. - -Yes, if Len had got a girl into trouble and wanted to marry her, the -best he could do would be to have money and buy himself a little place. -Otherwise, heaven knows what would happen to him. With their profound -indifference to the old values, these Australians seemed either to -exaggerate the brutal importance of money, or they wanted to waste money -altogether, and themselves along with it. This was what Gran feared: -that her best male heirs would go and waste themselves, as Jacob had -begun to waste himself. The generous ones would just waste themselves, -because of their profound mistrust of the old values. - -Better rescue Lennie for the little while it was still possible to -rescue him. Jack's mind turned to his own money. And then, looking at -that inner door, he seemed to see Gran's vehement figure, pointing -almost viciously with her black stick. She had tried so hard to drive -the wedge of her meaning into Jack's consciousness. And she had failed. -He had refused to take her meaning. - -But now with a sigh that was almost a groan, he took up the money -burden. The "stocking" she had talked about, and which he had left in -the realms of unreality, was an actuality. That witch Gran, with her -uncanny, hateful second sight, had put by a stocking for Lennie, and -entrusted the secret of it to Jack. And he had refused the secret. He -hated those affairs. - -Now he must assume the mysterious responsibility for this money. He got -up and went to the chimney, and peered into the black opening. Then he -began to feel carefully along the side of the chimney-stack inside, -where there was a ledge. His hand went deep in soot and charcoal and -grey ash. - -He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeve. - -"Gone off y'r bloomin' nut, Jack?" asked Tom, mystified. - -"Gran told me she had put a stocking for Len in here," said Jack. - -"Stocking be blowed!" said Tom testily. "We've heard that barm-stick -yarn before. Leave it alone, boy." - -He was looking at Jack's bare, brown, sinewy arm. It reminded him of the -great North-West, and the heat, and the work, and the absolute -carelessness. This money and stocking business was like a mill-stone -round his neck. He felt he was gradually being drowned in soot, as Jack -continued to fumble up inside the chimney, and the soot poured down over -the naked arm. - -"Oh, God's love, leave it alone, Jack!" he cried. - -"Let him try," said Mrs. Ellis quietly. "If Gran told him. I wonder he -didn't speak before." - -"I never really thought about it," said Jack. - -"Don't think about it now!" shouted Tom. - -Jack could feel nothing in the chimney. He looked contemplatively at the -fireplace. Something drew him to the place near Gran's arm-chair ... He -began feeling, while the other two watched him in a state of nervous -tension. Tom hated it. - -"She pointed here with her stick," said Jack. - -There was a piece of tin fastened over the side of the fireplace, and -black-leaded. - -"Mind if we try behind this?" he asked. - -"Leave it alone!" cried Tom. - -But Jack pulled it out, and the ash and dirt and soot poured down over -the hearth. Behind the sheet of thin iron was the naked stone of the -chimney-piece. Various stones were loose: that was why Gran had had the -tin sheet put over. - -He got out of the cavity behind the stones, where the loose mortar had -all crumbled, a little square dusty box that had apparently been an old -tea-caddy. It was very heavy for its size, and very dirty. He put it on -the table in front of Mrs. Ellis. Tom got up excitedly to look in. He -opened the lid. It was full to the brim of coins, gold coins and silver -coins and dust and dirt, and a sort of spider filament. He shook his -head over it. - -"Isn't that old Gran to a T!" he exclaimed, and poured out the dust and -the money on the table. - -Ma began eagerly to pick out the gold from the silver, saying: - -"I remember when she made Dad put that iron plate up. She said insects -came out and worried her." - -Ma only picked out the gold pieces, the sovereigns and half-sovereigns. -She left Tom to sort the silver crowns and half-crowns into little -piles. Jack watched in silence. There was a smell of soot and old -fire-dust, and everybody's hands were black. - -Mrs. Ellis was putting the sovereigns in piles of ten. She had a queer -sort of satisfaction, but her gloom did not really lift. Jack stayed to -know how much it was. Mentally he counted the piles of gold she made: -the pale washy gold of Australia, most of it. She counted and counted -again. - -"Two hundred and fourteen pounds!" she said in a low voice. - -"And ten in silver," said Tom. - -"Two hundred and twenty-four pounds," she said. - -"It's not the world," said Tom, "but it's worth having. It's a start, -Ma. And you can't say that isn't Lennie's." - -Jack went out and left them. He listened in all the rooms downstairs. -What he wanted to know about was Monica. He hated this family and family -money business, it smelled to him of death. Where was Monica? Probably, -to add to the disappointment, she was away, staying with Grace. - -The house sounded silent. Upstairs all was silent. It felt as if nobody -was there. - -He went out and across the yard to the stable. Lucy whinnied. Jack felt -she knew him. The nice, natural old thing: Tom would have to christen -her afresh. At least this Lucy wouldn't leave a stocking behind her when -she was dead. She was much too clean. Ah, so much nicer than that other -Lucy with her unpleasant perspiration, away in Honeysuckle. - -Jack stood a long while with the sensitive old horse. Then he went round -the out-buildings, looking for Lennie. He drifted back to the house, -where Harry was chopping something with a small hatchet. - -"Where's Monica, Harry?" he asked. - -"She's not home," said Harry. - -"Where's she gone?" - -"Dunno." - -And the resolute boy went on with his chopping. - -Tom came out, calling. "I'm going over to have a word wi' th' Reds, -Jack. Cornin' with me?" - -Tom didn't care for going anywhere alone, just now. Jack joined him. - -"Where's Monica, Tom?" he asked. - -"Ay, where is she?" said Tom, looking round as if he expected her to -appear from the thin air. - -"She's not at home, anyhow," said Jack. - -"She's gone off to Grace's, or to see somebody, I expect," said Tom, as -they walked across the yard. "And Len is out in the paddocks still. He -don't seem in no hurry to come an' meet us, neither. The little cuss! -Fancy that nipper wantin' to be spliced. Gosh, I'll bet he's old for his -age, the little old wallaby! An' that bloomin' teacher woman, Ruth, why -she's older'n me. She oughtta be ashamed of herself, kidnappin' that -nipper." - -The two went side by side across the pasture, almost as if they were -free again. They came to a stile. - -"Gosh!" said Tom. "They've blocked up this gate, 'n put a stile over, -see! Think o' that!" - -They climbed the stile and continued their way. - -"God's love, boy, didn't we land in it over our heads! Ever see Ma like -that? I never! Good for you, Jack, lad, findin' that tea-caddy. That's -how the Ellises are--ain't it the devil! 'Spect I take after my own -mother, f'r I'm not in the tea-caddyin' line. Ma's cheered up a bit. -She'll be able to start Lennie in a bit of a way, now, 'n the twins can -wait for a bit, thank goodness! My, but ain't families lively! Here I -come back to be boss of this bloomin' place, an' I feel as if I was -goin' to be shot. Say, boy, d'ye think I'm really spliced to that -water-snake in Honeysuckle? Because I s'll have to have somebody on this -outfit. Alone I will not face it. Say, matey, promise me you won't leave -me till I'm fixed up a bit. Give me your word you'll stand by me here -for a time, anyhow." - -"I'll stay for a time," said Jack. - -"Righto! an' then if I'm not copped by the Honeysuckle bird--'appen Mary -might have me, what d'you think? I shall have to have somebody. I simply -couldn't stand this place, all by my lonesome. What d'you think about -Mary? D'you think she'd like it, here?" - -"Ask her," said Jack grimly. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -THE LAST OF EASU - - -I - - -They knew that Easu was married, but they were hardly prepared for the -dirty baby crawling on the verandah floor. Easu had seen them come -through the gate, and was striding across to meet them, after bawling -something in his bullying way to someone inside the house: presumably -his wife. - -Outwardly, he was not much altered. Yet there was an undefinable change -for the worse. He was one of those men whom marriage seems to humiliate, -and to make ugly. As if he despised himself for being married. - -Easu ignored the baby as if it were not there, striding past into the -house, leading the newcomers into the parlour. It was darkened in there, -to keep out the flies; but he pulled up the blind: "t'see their blanky -fisogs." And he called out to the missus to bring glasses. - -The parlour was like most parlours. Enlarged photographs of Mr. and Mrs. -Ellis, the Red parents, in large pine frames, on the wall. A handsome -china clock under a glass case on the mantelpiece, with flanking vases -to match, on fawn-and-red woollen crochet mats. An oval, rather curvy -table in the middle of the room, with the family Bible, and the meat -under a fly-proof wire cover. The parlour was the coolest place for the -meat. - -Easu shifted the red obnoxity, wire cover and all, to the top of a -cupboard where some cups and saucers were displayed, and drew forth a -demijohn of spirit from the back of the horse-hair sofa, in front of the -window. - -Mrs. Easu came in with the glasses. She was a thin, pale-faced young -woman with big dark eyes and her hair in huge curling pins, and a -hostile bearing. She took no notice of the visitors: only let her big -what-do-_you_-want eye pass over them with distaste beneath her bald -forehead. It was her fixed belief that whoever came to the house came to -_get_ something, if they could. And they were not going to get it out of -_her._ She made an alliance with Easu so far. But her rather protruding -teeth and her vindictive mouth showed that Easu would get as many bites -as kisses. - -She set the glasses from her hands on to the table, and looked down at -Easu under her pale lashes. - -"What else d'ye want?" she asked rudely. - -"Nothing. If I want anything I'll holloa." - -They seemed to be on terms of mutual rudeness. She had been quite an -heiress: brought Easu a thousand pounds. But the way she said it--a -tharsand parnds!--as if it was something absolutely you couldn't get -beyond, made even Easu writhe. She was common, to put it commonly. She -spoke in a common way, she thought in a common way, and she acted in a -common way. But she had energy, and even a vulgar suffisance. She -thought herself as good as anybody, and a bit better, on the strength of -the tharsand parnds! - -"'S not eddication as matters, it's munney!" she said blatantly to -Lennie. "At your age y'ought t'ave somethink in th' bank." - -He of course hated the sight of her after that. She had looked at him -with a certain superciliousness and contempt in her conceited brown -eyes, because he had no money and was supposed to be clever. He never -forgave her. - -But what did she care! She jerked up her sharp-toothed mouth, and sailed -away. She wasn't going to be put down by any penniless snobs. The -Ellises! Who were the Ellises? Yes, indeed! They thought themselves so -superior. Could they draw a tharsand parnd? Pah! - -She felt a particularly spiteful, almost vindictive, scorn of Jack. He -was somebody, was he? Ha! What was he _worth?_ That was the point. How -much _munney_ did he reckon he'd got? "If yer want me ter think anythink -of yer, yer mun show me yer bank-book," she said. - -Easu listened and grinned, and said nothing to all this. But she had a -fiery temper of her own, and they went for one another like two devils. -She wasn't going to be daunted, she wasn't. She had her virtues too. She -had no method, but she was clean. The place was forever in a muddle, but -she was always cleaning it, almost vindictively, as if the shine on the -door-knob reflected some of the tharsand parnd. Even the baby was turned -out and viciously cleaned once a day. But in the intervals it groped -where it would. As for herself, she was a sight this morning, with her -hair in huge iron waving-pins, and her forehead and her teeth both -sticking out. She looked a sight to shudder at. But wait. Wait till she -was dressed up and turning out in the buggy, in a coat and skirt of -thick brown cord silk with orange and black braiding, and a hugely -feathered hat, with huge floating ostrich feathers, an orange one and a -brown one. And her teeth sticking out and a huge brooch of a lump of -gold set with pearls and diamonds, and a great gold chain. And the baby, -in a silk cape with pink ribbons, and a frilled silk bonnet of alternate -pink and white ruches, mercilessly held against her chains and brooches! -Wait! - -Therefore when Jack glanced at her from a strange distance, she tossed -her bald forehead with the curling-irons, and thought to herself: "You -can look, Master Jack Nobody. And you can look again, next Sunday, when -I've got my proper things on. _Then_ you'll see who's got the munney!" - -She seemed to think that her Sunday gorgeousness absolutely obliterated -the grimness of her week of curling pins. "Six days shall thou labour in -thy curling-irons." She lived in them. They kept her hair out of the way -and saved her having to do it up all the time. - -And it may be that Easu never really looked at her in her teeth and -pins. That was not the real Sarah Ann. The real Sarah Ann swayed with -ostrich feathers; brown silk, brown and orange feathers, reddish hair, -brown eyes, pale skin, and a stiff, militant, vulgar bearing that wasn't -going to let anybody put it over _her._ "They can't put me down, whoever -they are!" she asserted. "I consider myself equal to the best, and -perhaps a little better." - -This Easu heard and saw with curious gratification. This was his Sarah -Ann. - -None the less, he was no fool. He saw the baffled, surprised look Jack -turned upon this grisly young woman in curlers and teeth, as if he could -not quite enter her in the class of human beings. And Easu was enough of -an Ellis to know what that look meant. It was a silent "Good God!" And -no man, when his wife enters the room, cares to hear another man's -horrified ejaculation: "Good God!" at the sight of her. - -Easu wanted his wife to be common. Nevertheless, with the anomalousness -of human beings, it humiliated him and put acid in his blood. - -"Have a jorum!" said Easu to Tom. - -"I s'd think you're not goin' to set down drinkin' at this time of day," -she said, in her loud, common, interfering voice. - -"What's the time of the day to you?" asked Easu acidly, as he filled -Tom's glass. - -"We can't stop. Mall be expecting us back," said Tom. - -Easu silently filled Jack's glass, and the wife went out, banging the -door. Immediately she fell upon the baby and began to vituperate the -little animal for its dirt. The men couldn't hear themselves speak. - -But Easu lifted up his chin and poured the liquor down his throat. He -had shaved his beard, and had only three days of yellowish stubble. He -smacked his lips as he set down his glass, and looked at the two boys -with a sarcastic, gloating look. - -"Find a few changes, eh?" he observed. - -"Just a few." - -"How's the place look?" - -"All right." - -"Make a pile up North?" - -"No." - -Easu grinned slowly. - -"Thought you didn't need to, eh?" he asked maliciously. - -"Didn't worry myself," said Tom. - -"Jack Grant come in for a fortune?" Easu asked, looking at Jack. - -"No," said Jack coldly. There was something about Easu's vulgar, -taunting eyes, which he couldn't stand. - -"Oh, you 'aven't!" The pleased sneer was unbearable. - -"How's Ma?" asked Easu. - -"All right," said Tom, surprised. - -"Don't see much of her now," said Easu. - -"No, I saw the gate was blocked up," said Tom. - -"Looks like she blocked the wrong gate up." - -"How?" - -"How? Well don't you think she'd better have blocked up the gate over to -Pink-eye Percy's place?"--Easu was smiling with thin, gloating lips. - -"Why?" - -"Why? Don't y' know?" - -"What?" - -"Don't ye know about Monica?" - -Jack's blood stood still for a moment, and death entered his soul again, -to stay. - -"No. What?" - -"Didn't Old George say nothing to y' in Perth?" - -"No!" said Tom, becoming sullen and dangerous. - -"Well, that's funny now! And Aunt Alice said nothing?" - -"No! What about?" - -Easu was smiling gloatingly, in silence, as if he had something very -good. - -"Well that's funny now! Think of your getting right here, and not having -heard a thing! I shouldn't have thought it possible." - -Tom was going white under his tan. - -"What's amiss, Red?" he said curtly. - -"To think as you haven't heard! Why it was the talk of the place. Ross -heard all about it in Perth. Didn't you come across him there? He's been -in the Force quite a while now." - -"No! What was it he heard about?" - -"Why, about Monica." - -"What about her?" - -"D'y' mean to say you don't know?" - -"I tell you I don't know." - -"Well!" and Easu smiled with curious, poisonous satisfaction. "I don't -know as I want to be the one to tell you." - -There was a moment's dead silence. The sun was setting. - -"What have you got to say?" asked Tom, his face set and blank, and his -mouth taking on the lipless, Australian look. - -"Funny thing nobody has told you. Why it happened six or seven months -since." - -This was received in dead silence. - -"She went off with Percy when the baby was a month old." - -Again there was nothing but dead silence. - -"Mean she married Pink-eye Percy?" asked Tom, in a muffled tone. - -"I dunno about marryin' him. They say he's got a wife or two already: -legal and otherwise. All I know is they cleared out a month after the -baby was born, and went down south." - -Still dead silence from the other two. The room was full of golden -light. Jack was looking at the fly-dirts and the lamp-black on the -ceiling. He was sitting in a horse-hair arm-chair, and the broken -springs were uncomfortable, and the horse-hair scratched his wrist. -Otherwise he felt vacant, and in a deathly way, remote. - -"You're minding what you're saying?" came Tom's empty voice. - -"Minding what I'm saying!" echoed Easu rejoicingly. "I didn't want to -tell you. It was you who asked me." - -"Was the baby Percy's baby?" asked Jack. - -"I should say so," Easu replied, stumbling. "I never asked her, myself. -They were all thick with Percy at that time, and I was married with a -family of my own. Why I've not been over to Wandoo for--for--for close -on two years, I should think." - -"That's what was wrong with Ma!" Tom was saying, in a dull voice, to -himself. - -"I wonder Old George or Mary didn't prepare ye," said Easu. "They both -came down before the baby came. But seemingly Old George couldn't do -nothing. Percy confessing he was married, and trying to say he wasn't to -blame. However, he's run off with Monica all right. Ma had a letter from -her from Albany, to say there was no need to worry, Percy was playin' -the gentleman." - -"She never cared for him," Jack cried. - -"I dunno about that. Seems she's been mad about him all the time. Maybe -she waited for you to come back. I dunno! I tell you, I've never been -over to Wandoo for nigh on two years." - -Jack could not bear any more. The golden light had gone out of the room, -the sun was under the ridge--that ridge---- - -"Let's get, Tom!" said Jack rising to his feet. - -They stumbled out of the house, and went home in silence, through the -dusk. Again the world had caved in, and they were walking through the -ruins. - -Ma was upstairs when they got home, but Katie had got the tea on the -table, and Lennie was in. He was a tall, thin, silent, sensitive youth. - -"Hullo, you two wanderin' Jews!" he said. - -"Hello, Len!" - -"Come an' 'ave y' teas." - -Lennie was like the head of the house. They ate their meal in silence. - - - - -II - - -Tom and Jack and Lennie still slept in the cubby, but Og and Magog had -moved indoors. The three of them lay in the dark, without sleeping. - -"Say, young Len," said Tom at length, "what was you after, letting -Monica get mixed up with that Pink-eye Percy?" - -"Me? What was I after? How could I be after 'er every minute. She -snapped my 'ead off if I looked at 'er. What for did you an' Jack stop -away all that time, an' never write a word to nobody? Blame me, all -right! But you go 'avin' 'igh jinks in the Never-Never, and nobody says -a word to you. You never did nothing wrong, did you? An' _you_ kep' an -eye on the fam'ly, didn't you? An' it's only me to blame. 'F course! -'Twould be! But what about yourselves?" - -This outburst was received in silence. Then a queer, sullen snake reared -its head haughtily in Jack's soul. - -"I shouldn't have thought she'd have cared for Percy," said he. - -"No more would nobody," replied Len. "You never know what women's up to. -Give me a steady woman, Lord, I pray. Because for the last year Monica -wasn't right in 'er mind, that's what I say. It wasn't Percy's fault. It -was she made 'im. She made 'im as soft as grease about 'er. Percy's not -bad, he's not. But women can make him as soft as grease. An' I knows -what that means myself. Either there shouldn't be no men an' women, or -they should be kept apart till they're pitched into the same pen, to -breed." - -Tom, with Honeysuckle Lucy on his conscience, said never a word. - -"Is it true that Percy's got a wife already out east?" asked Jack. - -"He say he has. But he wrote to find out if she was dead. At first he -said he wasn't to blame. Then he said he was, but he couldn't marry her. -An' Monica like a wild cat at us all. She would let nobody write an' -tell you. She went over to Reds, but Easu had just got married, an' -Sarah Ann threatened to lay her out. Then she turned on Percy. I tell -you, she skeered me. The phosphorus came out of her eyes like a -wildcat's. She's bewitched or something. Or else possessed of a devil. -That's what I think she is. Though I needn't talk, for maybe I am -myself. Oh, mates, leave me alone, I'm sick of it all. Lemme go to -sleep." - -"What did she go over to Easu's for?" - -"God knows. She'd been nosing round with Easu, till Ma got mad and put a -stop to it. But that's a good while since. A good while afore Easu -married the lovely Sarah Ann, with her rows o' cartridges on her -forehead. Oh Cripes, _marriage!_ Leave m'alone, I tell you." - -"Funny she should go to Easu's, if she was struck on Percy," said Jack. - -"Don't make me think of it, sonny!" came Len's voice. "She went round -like a cat who's goin' t' have kittens, an' nobody knew what was amiss -with her. Oh Jehosaphat! Talk about bein' born in sin. I should think we -are. But say, Jack! Do you suppose the Lord gets awful upset, whether -Monica has a baby or not? I don't believe He does. An' I don't believe -Jesus either turns a hair. I don't believe. He turns half a hair. Yet we -get into all this stew. Tell you what, makes a chap sick of bein' a -humain bein'. Wish I grew feathers, an' was an emu." - -"Don't you bother," said Jack. - -"Not me," said Len. "I don't bother! Anyhow I know all about the parsley -bed, 'n I don't care, I'd rather know an' have done with it. 'S got to -come some time. I'm a collar-horse, I am, like ol' Rackett said. All -right, let me be one. Let me be one, an' pull me guts out. Might just as -well do that, as be a sick outlaw like Rackett, or a softy like Percy. -Leave m'alone! I've got the collar on, an' the load behind, an' I'll -pull it out if I pulls me guts out. That's the past, present an' future -of Lennie." - -"Where is Rackett?" - -"Hanged if I know. Don't matter where he is. He wanted to educate me an' -make a gentleman of me. Else I'd be nothing but a cart-'oss, he said. -Well, I am nothing but a cart-'oss. But if I enjoys pullin' me guts out, -let me. I enjoys it all right." - -Tom lay in silence in the dark, and felt scared. He hated having to face -things. He hated taking a long view. Sufficient unto the day is the evil -thereof, was his profound conviction. He hated even to look round the -next corner. - -"Say, Jack," came Lennie's voice again. "You always turns up like a -silver lining. I got your cheques all right. Fifty-seven pound. That's -only a pair o' socks, that is, compared to Gran's store. I had to have a -laugh over that stockin', you're the angel that stood in Jacob's doorway -an' looked like a man, you are. I'd love it if you'd come an' live with -me an' Ruthie." - -But Jack was thinking his own thoughts. It had come over him that it was -Easu who had betrayed Monica. The picture of her wandering across like a -cat that is going to have kittens, to the Red's place, and facing that -fearful, common Sarah Ann, and Easu grinning and looking on, made his -spirit turn to steel. Pink-eye Percy was not the father of that baby. -Percy was as soft as wax. Monica would never have fallen for him. She -had simply made use of him. The baby was Easu's. - -"Was the baby a girl or a boy?" he asked. - -"A girl." - -"Did it look like Percy?" - -"Not it. It didn't have any of Percy's goo-goo brown eyes or anything. -Ma said it was the spitten image of Harry when he was born." - - - - -III - - -Jack decided what he would do. In the morning he would take the new -horse and set off south, to Albany. He would see Monica and ask her. -Anyhow he would see her. - -He was up at dawn, saddling his horse. He told Tom of his plan, and Tom -merely remarked: - -"It's up to you, mate." - -Tom was relapsing at once into the stiff-faced, rather taciturn -Australian he had been before. The settled life on the farm at once -pulled him to earth, the various calamities had brought him down with a -bump. - -So Jack rode off almost unnoticed, with a blanket strapped behind his -saddle, and a flat water-bottle, a pistol in his belt, and a hatchet and -a little bag of food tied to the front saddle-strings. Something made -him turn his horse past the place where he had fought Easu, and along -the bush trail to the Reds' place. - -The sun had come up hot out of a pink, dusty dawn. In an hour it would -be blazing like a fiend out of the bare blue heavens. Meanwhile it was -still cool, there was still a faint coolness on the parched dry earth, -whose very grass was turning into yellowish dust. Jack jogged along -slowly, at a slow morning jog-trot. He was glad to be in the saddle -again. - -As he came down the track, he saw the blue smoke rising out of the -chimneys of Easu's house, and a dark movement away in one of the home -paddocks. He got down for the gates, then rode on, over to the paddock -fence, and sat there on his horse, watching Easu and Herbert and three -blacks, sorting out some steers from a bunch of about thirty cattle. -They were running the steers through a gate to a smaller enclosure. - -There was a good deal of yelling and shouting and running and confusion, -as the bunch of young cattle, a mixed little mob of all colours, blacks -and black-and-white and red and red-and-white, tossed and swayed, the -young cows breaking away and running nimbly on light feet, excited by -the deep, powerful lowing of the stock bull, which had wandered up to -the outer corner of the fence under a group of ragged gum-trees, and -there stood bellowing at the excitement that was going on in the next -paddock. - -Jack kept an eye on the bull, as he sat on his uneasy horse outside the -shut gate, watching. Near by, two more horses stood saddled and waiting. -One of them was Easu's big black mare with the two white forefeet. The -other was a thin roan, probably Herbert's horse. - -Herbert was quite a man now: tall and thin and broad, with a rather -small red face and dull fairish hair that stood up straight from his -brow. He was the only one of the brothers left with Easu. He was patient -and didn't pay any attention to that scorpion of a Sarah Ann. Sam and -Ross had cleared out at the first sight of her. - -It was Herbert who did most of the running. Easu, who stood with his -feet apart, did most of the bossing--he was never happy unless he was -bossing, and finding fault with somebody--and the blacks did most of the -halloaing. Easu didn't move much. He seemed to have gone heavier, and -where he stood, with his feet apart and his bare arm waving, he seemed -stuck, as if he were inert. This was unlike him. He was always stiffish, -but he used to be quick. Now he seemed slow and wooden in his movements, -his body had gone inert, the life had gone out of it, and he could only -shout and jeer. He used to have a certain flame of life, that made him -handsome, even if you hated him. A certain conceit and daring, inside -all his bullying. Now the flame had gone, the conceit and daring had -sunk, he was only ugly and defeated, common, and a little humiliated. He -was getting fat, and it didn't suit him at all. - -He had glanced round, when Jack rode up, and it was evident that he -hated the intrusion. Herbert had waved his arm. Herbert still felt a -certain gratitude--and the blacks had all stopped for a moment to stare. -But Easu shouted them on. - -At last the sorting out was done, and the bars put up. The bull went -bellowing along the far fence. Herbert came striding to the gate, his -smallish red face shining, and Jack got down to greet him. The two shook -hands, and Herbert said: - -"Glad to see you back." - -He was the first to say he was glad to see Jack back. Even Len had not -said it. The two men stood exchanging awkward sentences beside the -horse. - -Easu too came through the gate. He looked grudgingly at Jack and at -Jack's horse. Jack thought how ugly he was, now his face had gone fatter -and his mouth with its thin, jeering line looked mean. The alert -bird-look had gone, he was heavy, and consumed with grudging. His very -healthiness looked heavy, a bit dead. His light blue eyes stared and -pretended to smile, but the smile was a grudging sneer. - -"Where'd you get y' 'oss?" - -"From Jimmie Short, in Perth." - -"Bit long in the barrel. Making a trip, are y'?" - -And Easu looked with his pale-blue eyes straight and sneering into -Jack's eyes, and smiled with his grudging, mean mouth. Jack noticed that -Easu had begun to belly, inside his slack black trousers. He was no -longer the spruce, straight fellow. Easu saw the glance, and was again -humiliated. He himself hated his growing belly. He looked a second time, -into Jack's eyes, furtively, before he said: - -"Find out if it was right what I was tellin' y'?" - -Jack was ready for the insult, and did not answer. He turned to Herbert -asking about Joe Low, who had been a pal of Herbert's. Joe Low also was -married, and had gone down Busselton way. Jack asked for his directions, -saying perhaps he might be able to call on him. - -"What, are y' goin' south?" put in Easu. - -Jack looked at him. It was impossible not to see the slack look of -defeat in Easu's face. Something had defeated him, leaving him all -sneering and acid and heavy. Again Jack did not answer. - -"What did you say?" Easu persisted, advancing a little insolently. - -"What about?" - -"I asked if y' was goin' south." - -"That's my business, where I'm going." - -"Of course it is," said Easu with a sneer and a grin. "You don't think -anyone wants to get ahead of you, do you?" He stood with a faint, -sneering smile on his face, malevolent with impotence. "You'll do Percy -a lot o' hurt, I'll bet. I wouldn't like to be Percy, when you turn up." -And he looked with a grin at Herbert. Herbert grinned faintly in echo. - -"I should think, whatever Percy is, he wouldn't want to be you," said -Jack, going white at the gills with anger, but speaking with calm -superiority, because he knew that enraged Easu most. - -"What's that?" cried Easu, the grin flying out of his face at once, and -leaving it stiff and dangerous. - -"I should think Percy wouldn't want to be you, let him be what he may in -himself," said Jack, in the cold, clear, English voice which he knew -infuriated Easu unbearably. - -Easu searched Jack's face intently with his pale-blue eyes. - -"How's that?" he asked curtly. - -Jack stared at the red, heavy face with the smallish eyes, and thought -to himself: "You pig! You intolerable white fat pig!" But aloud he said -nothing. - -Easu smiled a defeated grin, and strode away heavily to his horse. He -unhitched, swung heavily into the saddle, and moved away, then at a -little distance reined in to hear what Jack and Herbert were talking -about. He couldn't go. - -Herbert was giving Jack directions, how to find Joe Low down Busselton -way. Then he sent various items of news to his old pal. But he asked -Jack no questions, and was careful to avoid any kind of enquiry -concerning Jack's business. - -Easu sat on his black horse a little way off, listening. He had a rope -and an axe tied to his saddle. Presumably he was going into the bush. -Herbert was asking questions about the North-West, about the cattle -stations and the new mines. He talked as if he would like to talk all -day. And Jack answered freely, laughing easily and making a joke of -everything. They spoke of Perth, and Jack told how Tom and he had been -at the Governor's ball a few nights ago, and what a change it was from -the North-West, and how Tom enjoyed himself. Herbert listened, -impressed. - -"Gosh! That's something to rag old Tom about!" he said. - -"_When you've done gassing there!_" called Easu. - -Jack turned and looked at him. - -"You don't have to wait," he said easily, as if to a servant. - -There was really something about Easu now that suggested a servant. He -went suddenly yellow with anger. - -"What's that?" he said, moving his horse a few paces forward. - -And Jack, also white at the gills, but affecting the same ease, repeated -distinctly and easily, as if to a man-servant: - -"We're talking, you don't have to wait." - -There was no answer to this insult. Easu remained stock motionless on -his horse for a few moments. Was he going to have to swallow it? - -Jack turned laughing to Herbert, saying: - -"I've got several things to tell you about old Tom." - -But he glanced up quickly. Easu was kicking his horse, and it was -dancing before it would take a direction. Herbert gave a loud, -inarticulate cry. Jack turned quickly to his own horse, to put his foot -in the stirrup. Just as quickly he refrained, swung round, drew his -pistol, and cocked it. Easu, once more a horseman, was kicking his -restive horse forward, holding the small axe in his right hand, the -reins in his left. His face was livid, and looked like the face of one -returning from the dead. He came bearing down on Jack and Herbert, like -Death returning from the dead, the axe held back at arm's length, ready -for the swing, half urging, half holding his horse, so that it danced -strangely nearer. Jack stood with the pistol ready, his back to his own -horse, that was tossing its head nervously. - -"Look out!" cried Herbert, suddenly jumping at the bit of Jack's horse, -in terror, and making it start back, with a thudding of hoofs. - -But Jack did not move. He stood with his pistol ready, his eyes on Easu. -Easu's horse was snaffling and jerking, twisting, trying to get round, -and Easu was forcing it slowly forward. He had on his death-face. He -held the axe at arm's length, backward, and with his pale-blue, fixed -death-eyes he watched Jack, who stood there on the ground. So he -advanced, waiting for the moment to swing the axe, fixing part of his -will on the curvetting horse, which he forced on. - -Jack, in a sort of trance, fixed Easu's death-face in the middle of the -forehead. But he was watching with every pore of his body. - -Suddenly he saw him begin to heave in the stirrups, and on that instant -he fired at the mystic place in Easu's forehead, under his old hat, at -the same time springing back. And in that self-same instant he saw two -things: part of Easu's forehead seemed to shift mystically open, and the -axe, followed by Easu's whole body, crashed at him as he sprang back. He -went down in the universal crash, and for a moment his consciousness was -dark and eternal. Then he wriggled to his feet, and ran, as Herbert was -running, to the black horse, which was dancing in an agony of terror, -Easu's right foot having caught in the stirrup, the body rolling -horribly on the ground. - -He caught the horse, which was shying off from Herbert, and raised his -right hand to take the bridle. To his further horror and astonishment, -he saw his hand all blood, and his fore-finger gone. But he clutched the -bridle of the horse with his maimed hand, then changed to his left hand, -and stood looking in chagrin and horror at the bloody stump of his -finger, which was just beginning, in a distant sort of way, to hurt. - -"My God, he's dead!" came the high, hysterical yell from Herbert, on the -other side of the horse, and Jack let go the bridle again, to look. - -It was too obvious. The big, ugly, inert bulk of Easu lay crumpled on -the ground, part of the forehead shot away. Jack looked twice, then -looked away again. A black had caught his horse, and tied it to the -fence. Another black was running up. A dog came panting excitedly up, -sniffing and licking the blood. Herbert, beside himself, stood helpless, -repeating: "He's dead! He's dead! My God, he's dead! He is." - -Then he gave a yell, and swooped at the dog, as it began to lick the -blood. - -Jack, after once more looking round, walked away. He saw his pistol -lying on the ground, so he picked it up and put it in his belt, although -it was bloody, and had a cut where the axe had struck it. Then he walked -across to his horse, and unhitched the bridle from the fence. But before -he mounted, he took his handkerchief and tied it round his bleeding -hand, which was beginning to hurt with a big aching hurt. He knew it, -and yet he hardly heeded it. It was hardly noticeable. - -He got into the saddle, and rode calmly away, going on his journey -southward just the same. The world about him seemed faint and -unimportant. Inside himself was the reality and the assurance. Easu was -dead. It was a good thing. - -He had one definite feeling. He felt as if there had been something -damming life up, as a great clot of weeds will dam a stream and make the -water spread marshily and dead over the surrounding land. He felt he had -lifted this clod out of the stream, and the water was flowing on clear -again. - -He felt he had done a good thing. Somewhere inside himself he felt he -had done a supremely good thing. Life could flow on to something beyond. -Why question further? - -He rode on, down the track. The sun was very hot, and his body was -re-echoing with the pain from his hand. But he went on calmly, -monotonously, his horse travelling in a sort of sleep, easy in its -single-step. He didn't think where he was going, or why; he was just -going. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -LOST - - -At evening he was still riding. But his horse lagged, and would not be -spurred forward. Darkness came with swift persistence. He was looking -anxiously for water, a burning thirst had made him empty his bottle. - -As if directed by God, he felt the horse rousing up and pressing eagerly -forward. In a few minutes it stopped. Darkness had fallen. He found the -horse nosing a timber-lined Government well. - -He got down and awkwardly drew water, for the well was low. He drank and -the horse drank. Then with some difficulty he unsaddled, tied the reins -round a sapling and removed the bit. The horse snorted, nosed round, and -began to crop in the dark. Jack sat on the ground and looked up at the -stars. Then he drank more water, and ate a piece of bread and dry -cheese. - -Then he began to go to sleep. He saw Easu coming at him with the axe. -Ugh, how good it was Easu was dead. Dead, to go in the earth to manure -the soil. Hadn't Old George said it? The land wanted dead men dug into -it, to manure it. Men like Easu, dead and turned to manure. And men like -old Dad Ellis. Poor old Dad. - -Jack thought of Monica, Monica with her little flower-face. All messed -up by that nasty dog of an Easu. He should be twice dead. Jack felt she -was a little repulsive too. To let herself be pawed over and made sticky -by that heavy dog of an Easu! Jack felt he could never follow where Easu -had been messing. Monica was no good now. She had taken on some of -Easu's repulsiveness. - -Aunt Matilda had said, "Another scandal in the family!" Well, the death -of Easu should make a good scandal. - -How lonely it was in the bush! How big and weapon-like the stars were. -One great star very flashing. - -"I have dipped my hand in blood!" he thought to himself. And looking at -his own bloody, hurting hand, in the starlight, he didn't realise -whether it was Easu's blood or his own. - -"I have dipped my hand in blood! So be it. Let it be my testament." - -And he lifted up his hand to the great flashing star, his wounded hand, -saying aloud: - -"Here! Here is my hand in blood! Take it then. There is blood between us -forever." - -The blood was between him and his mysterious Lord, forever. Like a sort -of pledge, or baptism, or a sacrifice: a bond between them. He was -speaking to his mysterious Lord. - -"There is blood between us forever," he said to the star. - -But the sound of his own hoarse, rather deep voice, reminded him of his -surroundings. He looked round. He heard his horse, and called to it. It -nickered in the loneliness, still cropping. He started up to see if it -was all right, to stroke it and speak to it. The bush was very lonely. - -"Hello, you!" he said to it. "In the midst of life we are in death. -There's death in the spaces between the stars. But somehow it seems all -right. I like it. I like to be lord of Death. Who do they call the lords -of Death? I am a lord of Death." - -He patted the horse's neck as he talked. - -"I can't bear to think of Monica messy with Easu," he said. "But I -suppose it's my destiny. I suppose it means I am a lord of death. I hope -if I have any children they'll have that look in their eyes, like -soldiers from the dark kingdom. I don't want children that aren't -warriors. I don't want little love children for my children. When I -beget children I want to sow dragon's teeth, and warriors will spring -up. Easu hadn't one grain nor spark of a warrior in him. He was -absolutely a groping civilian, a bully. That's why he wanted to spoil -Monica. She is the wife for a fighting man. So he wanted to spoil her.... -Funny, my father isn't a fighting man at all. He's an absolute -civilian. So he became a general. And I'm not a civilian. I know the -spaces of death between the stars, like spaces in an Egyptian temple. -And at the end of life I see the big black door of death, and the -infinite black labyrinth beyond. I like to think of going in, and being -at home and one of the masters in the black halls of death, when I am -dead. I hope I die fighting, and go into the black halls of death as a -master: not as a scavenger servant, like Easu, or a sort of butler, like -my father. I don't want to be a servant in the black house of death. I -want to be a master." - -He sat down again, with his back to the tree, looking at the sharp -stars, and the fume of stars, and the great black gulfs between the -stars. His hand and arm were aching and paining a great deal. But he -watched the gulfs between the stars. - -"I suppose my Lord meant me to be like this," he said. "Think if I had -to be tied up and a gentleman, like that Blessington. Or a lawyer like -Old George. Or a politician dropping his aitches, like that Mr. Watson. -Or empty and important like that A. D. C. Or anything that's successful -and goes to church and sings hymns and has supper after church on the -best linen table cloth! What Lord is it that likes these people? What -God can it be that likes success and Sunday dinners? Oh God! It must be -a big, fat, rusty sort of God. - -"My God is dark and you can't see him. You can't even see his eyes, they -are so dark. But he sits and bides his time and smiles, in the spaces -between the stars. And he doesn't know himself what he thinks. But -there's deep, powerful feelings inside him, and he's only waiting his -time to upset this pigsty full of white fat pigs. I like my Lord. I like -his dark face, that I can't see, and his dark eyes, that are so dark you -can't see them, and his dark hair that is blacker than the night on his -forehead, and the dark feelings he has, which nobody will ever be able -to explain. I like my Lord, my own Lord, who is not Lord of pigs." - -He slept fitfully, feverishly, with dreams, and rose at daylight to -drink water, and dip his head in water. His horse came, he tended it and -with great difficulty got the saddle on. Then he left it standing, and -when he came again, it wasn't where he had left it. - -He called, and it whinnied, so he went into the scrub for it. But it -wasn't where the sound of whinnying came from. He went a few more steps -forward, and called. The scrub wasn't so very thick either, yet you -couldn't see that horse. He was sure it was only a couple of yards away. -So he went forward, coaxing, calling. But nothing . . . Queer! - -He looked round. The track wasn't there. The well wasn't there. Only the -silent, vindictive, scattered bush. - -He couldn't be lost. That was impossible. The homestead wasn't more than -twenty miles away--and the settlement. - -Yet, as he tramped on, through the brown, heath-like undergrowth, past -the ghost-like trunks of the scattered gum-trees, over the fallen, -burnt-out trunks of charred trees, past the bushes of young gum-trees, -he gradually realised he was lost. And yet it was impossible. He would -come upon a cabin, or pick up the track of a woodcutter, or a 'roo -hunter. He was so near to everywhere. - -There is something mysterious about the Australian bush. It is so -absolutely still. And yet, in the near distance, it seems alive. It -seems alive, and as if it hovered round you to maze you and circumvent -you. There is a strange feeling, as if invisible, hostile things were -hovering round you and heading you off. - -Jack stood still and coo-eed! long and loud. He fancied he heard an -answer, and he hurried forward. He felt light-headed. He wished he had -eaten something. He remembered he had no water. And he was walking very -fast, the sweat pouring down him. Silly this. He made himself go slower. -Then he stood still and looked around. Then he coo-eed! again, and was -afraid of the Tinging sound of his own cry. - -The changeless bush, with scattered, slender tree-trunks everywhere. You -could see between them into the distance, to more open bush: a few brown -rocks: two great dead trees as white as bone: burnt trees with their -core charred out: and living trees hanging their motionless clusters of -brown, dagger-like leaves. And the permanent soft blue of the sky -overhead. - -Nothing was hidden. It was all open and fair. And yet it was haunted -with a malevolent mystery. You felt yourself so small, so tiny, so -absolutely insignificant, in the still, eternal glade. And this again is -the malevolence of the bush, that it reduces you to your own absolute -insignificance, go where you will. - -Jack collected his wits and began to make a plan. - -"First look at the sky, and get your bearing." Then he would go -somewhere straight west from the Reds. The sun had been in his eyes as -he rode last evening. - -Or had he better go east, and get back? There were scores of empty -miles, uninhabited, west. It was settled, he would go east. Perhaps -someone would find his horse, and come to look for him. - -He walked with the sun straight bang in his eyes. It was very hot, and -he was tired. He was thirsty, his arm hurt and throbbed. Why did he -imagine he was hungry? He was only thirsty. And so hot! He took off his -coat and threw it away. After a while his waistcoat followed. He felt a -little lighter. But he was an intolerable burden to himself. - -He sat down under a bush and went fast asleep. How long he slept he did -not know. But he woke with a jerk, to find himself lying on the ground -in his shirt and trousers, the sun still hot in the heavens, and the -mysterious bush all around. The sun had come round and was burning his -legs. What was the matter? Fear, that was the first thing. The great, -resounding fear. Then, a second, he was terribly thirsty. For a third, -his arm was aching horribly. He took off his shirt and made a sling of -it, to carry his arm in. - -For a fourth thing, he realised he had killed Easu, and something was -gnawing at his soul. - -He heard himself sob, and this surprised him very much. It even brought -him to his senses. - -"Well!" he thought. "I have killed Easu." It seemed years and years ago. -"And the bush has got me, Australia has got me, and now it will take my -life from me. Now I am going to die. Well, then, so be it. I will go out -and haunt the bush, like all the other lost dead. I shall wander in the -bush throughout eternity, with my bloody hand. Well, then, so be it. I -shall be a lord of death hovering in the bush, and let the people who -come beware." - -But suddenly he started to his feet in terror and horror. The face of -death had really got him this time. It was as if a second wakening had -come upon him, and his life, which had been sinking, suddenly flared up -in a frenzy of struggle and fear. He coo-eeed! again and again, and once -more plunged forward in mad pursuit of an echo. - -He might certainly run into a 'roo hunter's camp, any minute. The place -was alive with them, great big boomers! Their silly faces! Their silly -complacency, almost asking to be shot. There were a lot of wallabies out -here too. You might make a fortune hunting skins. - -Christ! how one could want water. - -But no matter. On and on! His soul dropped to its own sullen level. If -he was to die, die he would. But he would hold out through it all. - -On and on in a persistent dogged stupor. Why give in? - -Then suddenly he dropped on a log, in weariness. Suddenly he had thought -of Monica. Why had she betrayed him? Why had they all betrayed him, -betrayed him and the thing he wanted from life. He leaned his head down -on his arms and wept hoarsely and dryly, and went silent again even as -he sat, realising the futility of weeping. His heart, the heart he wept -from, went utterly dark. He had no more heart of torn sympathy. That was -gone. Only a black, deep male volition. And this was all there was left -of him. He would carry the same in to death. Young or old, death sooner -or later, he would carry just this one thing into the further darkness, -his deep, black, undying male volition. - -He must have slept. He was in great misery, his mouth like an open -sepulchre, his consciousness dull. He was hardly aware that it was late -afternoon, hot and motionless. The outside things were all so far away. -And the blackness of death and misery was thick, but transparent, over -his eyes. - -He went on, still obstinately insisting that ahead there was something, -perhaps even water, though hope was dead in him. It was not hope, it was -heavy volition that insisted on water. - -The sling dragged on his neck, he threw it away, and walked with his -hand against his breast. And his braces dragged on him. He didn't want -any burden at all, none at all. He stopped, took off his braces and -threw them away, then his sweat-soaked undervest. He didn't want these -things. He didn't want them. He walked on a bit. - -He hesitated, then came for a moment to his senses. He was going to -throw away his trousers too. But it came to him: "Don't be a fool, and -throw away your clothes, man. You know men do it who are lost in the -bush, and then they are found naked, dead." - -He looked vaguely round for the vest and braces he had just thrown away. -But it was half an hour since he had flung them down. His consciousness -tricked him, obliterating the interval. He could not believe his eye. -They had ghostlily disappeared. - -So he rolled his trousers on his naked hips, and pressed his hurt hand -on his naked breast, and set off again in a sort of fear. His hat had -gone long ago. And all the time he had this strange desire to throw all -his clothes away, even his boots, and be absolutely naked, as when he -was born. And all the time something obstinate in him combated the -desire. He wanted to throw everything away, and go absolutely naked over -the border. And at the same time, something in him deeper than himself -obstinately withstood the desire. He wanted to go over the border. And -something deeper even than his consciousness, refused. - -So he went on, scarcely conscious at all. He himself was in the middle -of a vacuum, and pressing round were visions and agonies. The vacuum was -perhaps the greatest agony, like a death-tension. But the other agonies -were pressing on its border: his dry, cardboard mouth, his aching body. -And the visions pressed on the border too. A great lake of ghostly white -water, such as lies in the valleys where the dead are. But he walked to -it, and it wasn't there. The moon was shining whitely. - -And on the edge of the aching void of him, a wheel was spinning in his -brain like a prayer-wheel. - - -"Petition me no petitions, Sir, to-day; -Let other hours be set apart for business. -Today it is our pleasure to be drunk -And this our queen . . ." - - -Water! Water! Water! Was water only a visionary thing of memory, -something only achingly, wearyingly, thought and thought and thought, -and never substantiated? - - -"A Briton even in love should be -A subject not a slave . . ." - - -The wheel of words went round, the wheel of his brain, on the edge of -the vacuum. What did that mean? What was a Briton? - - -"A Briton even in love should be -A subject not a slave." - - -The words went round and round and were absolutely meaningless to him. - -And then out of the dark another wheel was pressing and turning. - - -"How fast has brother followed brother -From sunshine to the sunless land." - - -Away on the hard dark periphery of his consciousness, the wheel of these -words was turning and grinding. - -His mind was turning helplessly, but his feet walked on. He realised in -a weird, mournful way that he was shut groping in a dark unfathomable -cave, and that the walls of the cave were his own aching body. And he -was going on and on in the cave, looking for the fountain, the water. -But his body was the aching, ghastly, jutting walls of the cave. And it -made this weary grind of words on the outside. And he had need to -struggle on and on. - -In little flickers he tried to associate his dark cave-consciousness -with his grinding body. Was it night, was it day? - -But before he had decided that it was night, the two things had gone -apart again, and he was groping and listening to the grind. - - -"But hushed be every thought that springs -From out the bitterness of things. -Those obstinate questionings -Of sense and outward things -Falling from us, vanishing." - - -He was so weary of the outward grind of words. He was stumbling as he -walked. And waiting for the walls of the cave to crash in and bury him -altogether. And the spring of water did not exist. - -"Blank misgivings of a creator moving about in a world not realised." - -This phrase almost united his two consciousnesses. He was going to crash -into this creator who moved about unrealised. Other people had gone, and -other things. Monica, Easu, Tom, Mary, Mother, Father, Lennie. They were -all like papery, fallen leaves blowing about outside in some street. -Inside here there were no people at all, none at all. Only the Creator -moving around unrealised. His Lord. - -He stumbled and fell, and in the white flash of falling knew he hurt -himself again, and that he was falling forever. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -THE FIND - - -I - - -The subconscious self woke first, roaring in distant wave-beats, -unintelligible, unmeaning, persistent, and growing in volume. It had -something to do with birth. And not having died. "I have not let my soul -run like water out of my mouth." - -And as the roaring and beating of the waves increased in volume, tiny -little words emerged like flying-fish out of the black ocean of -consciousness. "Ye must be born again," in little silvery, twinkling -spurts like flying-fish which twinkle silver and spark into the utterly -dark sea again. They were gone and forgotten before they were realised. -They had merged deep in the sea again. And the roar of dark -consciousness was the roar of death. The kingdom of death. And the lords -of death. - -"Ye must be born again." But the twinkling words had disappeared into -the lordly powerful darkness of death. And the baptism is the blackness -of death between the eyes, that never lifts, forever, neither in life -nor death. You may be born again. But when you emerge, this time you -emerge with the darkness of death between your eyes, as a lord of death. - -The waves of dark consciousness surged in a huge billow, and broke. The -boy's eyes were wide open, and his voice was saying: - -"Is that you, Tom!" - -The sound of his voice paperily rustling these words was so surprising -to him that he instantly went dark again. He heard no answer. - -But those surging dark waves pressed him again and again, and again his -eyes were open. They recognised nothing. Something was being done to him -on the outside of him. His own throat was moving. And life started again -with a sharp pain. - -"What was it?" - -The question sparked suddenly out of him. Someone was putting a metal -rim to his lips, there was liquid in his mouth. He put it out. He didn't -want to come back. His soul sank again like a dark stone. - -And at the very bottom it took a command from the Lord of Death, and -rose slowly again. - -Someone was tilting his head, and pouring a little water again. He -swallowed with a crackling noise and a crackling pain. One had to come -back. He recognised the command from his own Lord. His Lord was the Lord -of Death. And he, Jack, was dark-anointed and sent back. Returned with -the dark unction between his brows. So be it. - -He saw green leaves hanging from a blue sky. It was still far off. And -the dark was still better. But the dark green leaves were also like a -triumphal banner. He tries to smile, but his face is stiff. The faintest -irony of a smile sets in its stiffness. He is forced to swallow again, -and know the pain and tearing. Ah! He suddenly realised the water was -good. He had not realised it the other times. He gulped suddenly, -everything forgotten. And his mind gave a sudden lurch towards -consciousness. - -"Is that you, Tom?" - -"Yes. Feel better?" - -He saw the red mistiness of Tom's face near. Tom was faithful. And this -time his soul swayed, as if it too had drunk of the water of -faithfulness. - -He drank the water from the metal cup, because he knew it came from -Tom's faithfulness. - -Gradually Jack revived. But his burning bloodshot eyes were dilated with -fever, and he could not keep hold of his consciousness. He realised that -Tom was there, and Mary, and somebody he didn't for a long time -recognise as Lennie; and that there was a fire, and a smell of meat, and -night was again falling. Yes, he was sure night was falling. Or was it -his own consciousness going dark? He didn't know. Perhaps it was the -everlasting dark. - -"What time is it?" he asked. - -"Sundown," said Tom. "Why?" - -But he was gone again. It was no good trying to keep a hold on one's -consciousness. The ache, the nausea, the throbbing pain, the swollen -mouth, the strange feeling of cracks in his flesh, made him let go. - -Tom was there and Mary. He would leave himself to Tom's faithfulness and -Mary's tenderness, and Lennie's watchful intuition. The mystery of death -was in that bit of deathless faithfulness which was in Tom. And Mary's -tenderness, and Lennie's intuitive care, both had a touch of the mystery -and stillness of the death that surrounds us darkly all the time. - - - - - -II - - -They got Jack home, but he was very ill. His life would seem to come -back. Then it would sink away again like a stone, and they would think -he was going. The strange oscillation. Several times, Mary watched him -almost die. Then from the very brink of death, he would come back again, -with a strange, haunted look in his blood-shot eyes. - -"What is it, Jack?" she would ask him. But the eyes only looked at her. - -And Lennie, standing there silently watching, said: - -"He's had about enough of life, that's what it is." - -Mary, blanched with fear, went to find Tom. - -"Tom," she said, "he's sinking again. Lennie says it's because he -doesn't want to live." - -Tom silently threw down his tool, and walked with her into the house. It -was obvious he was sinking again. - -"Jack!" said Tom in a queer voice, bending over him. "Mate! Mate!" He -seemed to be calling him into camp. - -Jack's expressionless, fever-dilated, blood-shot eyes opened again. The -whites were almost scarlet. - -"Y' aren't desertin' us, are y'?" said Tom, in a gloomy, reproachful -tone. "Are y' desertin' us, mate?" - -It was the Australian, lost but unbroken on the edge of the wilderness, -looking with grim mouth into the void, and calling to his mate not to -leave him. Man for man, they were up against the great dilemma of white -men, on the edge of the white man's world, looking into the vaster, -alien world of the undawned era, and unable to enter, unable to leave -their own. - -Jack looked at Tom and smiled faintly. In some subtle way, both men knew -the mysterious responsibilities of living. Tom was almost -fatalistic-reckless. Yet it was a recklessness which knew that the only -thing to do was to go ahead, meet death that way. He could see nothing -but meeting death ahead. But since he was a man, he would go ahead to -meet it, he would not sit and wait. - -Jack smiled faintly, and the courage came back to him. He began to -rally. - -The next morning, he turned to Mary and said: - -"I still want Monica." - -Mary dropped her head and did not answer. She recognised it as one of -the signs that he was going to live. And she recognised the unbending -obstinacy in his voice. - -"I shall come for you too in time," he said to her, looking at her with -his terrible scarlet eyes. - -She did not answer, but her hand trembled as she went for his medicine. -There was something prophetic and terrible in his sallow face and -burning, blood-shot eyes. - -"Be still," she murmured to him. "Only be still." - -"I shan't ever really drop you," he said to her. "But I want Monica -first. That's my way." - -He seemed curiously victorious, making these assertions. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -GOLD - - -I - - -The boy Jack never rose from that fever. It was a man who got up again. -A man with all the boyishness cut away from him, all the childishness -gone, and a certain unbending recklessness in its place. - -He was thin, and pale, and the cherubic look had left his face forever. -His cheeks were longer, leaner, and when he got back his brown-faced -strength again, he was handsome. But it was not the handsomeness, any -more, that would make women like Aunt Matilda exclaim involuntarily: -"Dear boy!" They would look at him twice, but with misgiving, and a -slight recoil. - -It was his eyes that had changed most. From being the warm, emotional -dark-blue eyes of a boy, they had become impenetrable, and had a certain -fixity. There was a touch of death in them, a little of the fixity and -changelessness of death. And with this, a peculiar power. As if he had -lost his softness in the otherworld of death, and brought back instead -some of the relentless power that belongs there. And the inevitable -touch of mockery. - -As soon as he began to walk about, he was aware of the change. He walked -differently, he put his feet down differently, he carried himself -differently. The old drifting, diffident, careless bearing had left him. -He felt his uprightness hard, bony. Sometimes he was aware of the -skeleton of himself. He was a hard skeleton, built upon the solid bony -column of the back-bone, and pitched for balance on the great bones of -the hips. But the plumb-weight was in the cage of his chest. A skeleton! - -But not the dead skeleton. The living bone, the living man of bone, -unyielding and imperishable. The bone of his forehead like iron against -the world, and the blade of his breast like an iron wedge held forward. -He was thin, and built of bone. - -And inside this living, rigid man of bone, the dark heart heavy with its -wisdom and passions and emotions and its correspondences. It was living, -softly and intensely living. But heavy and dark, plumb to the earth's -center. - -During his convalescence, he got used to this man of bone which he had -become, and accepted his own inevitable. His bones, his skeleton was -isolatedly itself. It had no contact. Except that it was forged in the -kingdom of death, to be durable and effectual. Some strange Lord had -forged his bones in the dark smithy where the dead and the unborn came -and went. - -And this was his only permanent contact: the contact with the Lord who -had forged his bones, and put a dark heart in the midst. - -But the other contacts, they ware alive and quivering in his flesh. His -passive but enduring affection for Tom and Lennie, and the strange -quiescent hold he held over Mary. Beyond these, the determined molten -stirring of his desire for Monica. - -And the other desires. The desire in his heart for masterhood. Not -mastery. He didn't want to master anything. But to be the dark lord of -his own folk: that was a desire in his heart. And the concurrent -knowledge that, to achieve this, he must be master too of gold. Not gold -for the having's sake. Not for the spending's sake. Nor for the sake of -the power to hire services, which is the power of money. But the mastery -of gold, so that gold should no longer be like a yellow star to which -men hitched the wagon of their destinies. To be Master of Gold, in the -name of the dark Lord who had forged his bones neither of gold nor -silver nor iron, but of the white glisten of knife. Masterhood, as a man -forged by the Lord of Hosts, in the innermost fires of life and death. -Because, just as a red fire burning on the hearth is a fusion of death -into what was once live leaves, so the creation of man in the dark is a -fusion of life into death, with the life dominant. - -The two are never separate, life and death. And in the vast dark kingdom -of afterwards, the Lord of Death is Lord of Life, and the God of life -and creation is Lord of Death. - -But Jack knew his Lord as the Lord of Death. The rich, dark mystery of -death, which lies ahead, and the dark sumptuousness of the halls of -death. Unless Life moves on to the beauty of the darkness of death, -there is no life, there is only automatism. Unless we see the dark -splendour of death ahead, and travel to be lords of darkness at last, -peers in the realms of death, our life is nothing but a petulant, -pitiful backing, like a frightened horse, back, back to the stable, the -manger, the cradle. But onward ahead is the great porch of the entry -into death, with its columns of bone-ivory. And beyond the porch is the -heart of darkness, where the lords of death arrive home out of the -vulgarity of life, into their own dark and silent domains, lordly, -ruling the incipience of life. - - - - -II - - -At the trial Jack said, in absolute truth, he shot Easu in self-defence. -He had not the faintest thought of shooting him when he rode up to the -paddock: nor of shooting anybody. He had called in passing, just to say -good-day. And then he had fired at Easu because he knew the axe would -come down in his skull if he didn't. - -Herbert gave the same deposition. The shot was entirely in self-defence. - -So Jack was free again. There had been no further mention of Monica, -after Jack had said he was riding south to see her, because he had -always cared for her. No one hinted that Easu was the father of her -child, though Mrs. Ellis knew and Old George knew. - -Afterwards Jack wondered why he had called at the Reds' place that -morning. Why had he taken the trail past where he and Easu had fought? -He had intended to see Easu, that was why. But for what unconscious -purpose, who shall say? The death was laid at the door of the old feud -between Jack and Red. Only Old George knew the whole, and he, subtle and -unafraid, pushed justice as it should go, according to his own sense of -justice, like a real Australian. - -Meanwhile he had been corresponding with Monica and Percy. They were in -Albany, and on the point of sailing to Melbourne, where Percy would -enter some business or other, and the two would live as man and wife. -Monica was expecting another child. At this news, Mr. George wanted to -let them go, and be damned to them. But he talked to Mary, and Mary said -Jack would want Monica, no matter what happened. - -"When he wants a thing really, he can't change," said Mary gloomily. "He -is like that." - -"An obstinate young fool that's never had enough lickings," said Old -George. "Devil's blood of his mother's devil of an obstinate father. But -very well then, let him have her, with a couple of babies for a dowry. -Make himself the laughing stock of the colony." - -So he wrote to Monica: "If you care about seeing Jack Grant again, you'd -better stop in this colony. He sticks to it he wants to see you, being -more of a fool than a knave, unlike many people in Western Australia." - -She being obstinate like the rest, stayed on in Albany, though Percy, -angry and upset, sailed on to Melbourne. He said she could join him if -she liked. He stayed till her baby was born, then went because he didn't -want to face Jack. - -Jack arrived by sea. He was still not strong enough to travel by land. -He got a vessel going to Adelaide, that touched at Albany. - -Monica, thinner than ever, with a little baby in her arms, and her -flower-face like a chilled flower, was on the dock to meet him. He saw -her at once, and his heart gave a queer lurch. - -As he came forward to meet her, their eyes met. Her yellow eyes looked -straight into his, with the same queer, panther-like scrutiny, and the -eternal question. She was a question, and she had got to be answered. It -made her fearless, almost shameless, whatever she did. - -But with Percy, the fear had nipped her, the fear that she should go -forever unanswered, as if life had rejected her. - -This nipped look and her strange yellow flare of question as she peered -at him under her brows, like a panther, made Jack's cheeks slowly -darken, and the life-blood flow into him stronger, heavier. He knew his -passion for her was the same. Thank God he met her at last. - -"You're awfully thin," she said. - -"So are you," he answered. - -And she laughed her quick, queer, breathless little laugh, showing her -pointed teeth. She had seen the death-look in his eyes and it was her -answer, a bitter answer enough. She stopped to put straight the tiny -bonnet over her little baby's face, with a delicate, remote movement. He -watched her in silence. - -"Where do you want to go?" she asked him, without looking at him. - -"With you," he said. - -Then she looked at him again, with the dry-eyed question. But she saw -the unapproachable death-look there in his eyes, at the back of their -dark-blue, dilated emotion and passion. And her heart gave up. She -looked down the pier, as if to walk away. He carried his own bag. They -set off side by side. - -She lived in a tiny slab cottage in a side lane. But she called first at -a neighbour's house, for her other child. It was a tiny, toddling thing -with a defiant stare in its pale-blue eyes. Monica held her baby on one -arm, and led this tottering child by the other. Jack walked at her side -in silence. - -The cottage had just two rooms, poorly furnished. But it was clean, and -had bright cotton curtains and a sofa-bed, and a pale-blue convolvulus -vine mingling with a passion vine over the window. - -She laid the baby down in its cradle, and began to take off the bonnet -of the little girl. She had called it Jane. - -Jack watched the little Jane as if fascinated. The infant had curly -reddish hair, of a lovely fine texture and a beautiful tint, something -like raw silk with threads of red. Her eyes were round and bright blue, -and rather defiant, and she had the delicate complexion of her kind. She -fingered her mother's brooch, like a little monkey touching a bit of -glittering gold, as Monica stooped to her. - -"Daddy gone!" she said in her chirping, bird-like, quite emotionless -tone. - -"Yes, Daddy gone!" replied Monica, as emotionlessly. - -The child then glanced with unmoved curiosity at Jack. She kept on -looking and looking at him, sideways. And he watched her just as -sharply, her sharp, pale-blue eyes. - -"Him more Daddy?" she asked. - -"I don't know," replied Monica, who was suckling her baby. - -"Yes," said Jack in a rather hard tone, smiling with a touch of mockery. -"I'm your new father." - -The child smiled back at him a faint, mocking little grin, and put her -finger in her mouth. - -The day passed slowly in the strange place, Monica busy all the time -with the children and the house. Poor Monica, she was already a drudge. -She was still careless and hasty in her methods, but clean, and -uncomplaining. She kept herself to herself, and did what she had to do. -And Jack watched, mostly silent. - -At last the lamp was lighted, the children were both in bed. Monica -cooked a little supper over the fire. - -Before he came to the fable, Jack asked: - -"Is Jane Easu's child?" - -"I thought you knew," she said. - -"No one has told me. Is she?" - -Monica turned and faced him, with the yellow flare in her eyes, as she -looked into his eyes, challenging. - -"Yes," she said. - -But his eyes did not change. The remoteness at the back of them did not -come any nearer. - -"Shall you hate her?" she asked, rather breathlessly. - -"I don't know," he said slowly. - -"Don't!" she pleaded, in the same breathlessness. "Because I rather hate -her." - -"She's too little to hate," said Jack. - -"I know," said Monica rather doubtfully. - -She put the food on the table. But she herself ate nothing. - -"Aren't you well? You don't eat," he asked. - -"I can't eat just now," she said. - -"If you have a child to suckle, you should," he replied. - -But she only became more silent, and her hands hung dead in her lap. -Then the baby began to cry, a thin, poor, frail noise, and she went to -soothe it. - -When she came back, Jack had left the table and was sitting in Percy's -wooden arm-chair. - -"Percy's child doesn't seem to have much life in it," he said. - -"Not very much," she replied. And her hands trembled as she cleared away -the dishes. - -When she had finished, she moved about, afraid to sit down. He called -her to him. - -"Monica!" he said with a little jerk of his head, meaning she should -come to him. - -She came rather slowly, her queer, pure-seeming face looking like a -hurt. She stood with her thin hands hanging in front of her apron. - -"Monica!" he said, rising and taking her hands. "I should still want you -if you had a hundred children. So we won't say any more about that. And -you won't oppose me when there's anything I want to do, will you?" - -She shook her head. - -"No, I won't oppose you," she said, in a dead little voice. - -"Let me come to you, then," he said. "I should have to come to you if -you went to Melbourne or all round the world.' And I should be glad to -come," he added whimsically, with the warmth of his old smile coming -into his eyes. "I suppose I should be glad to come, if it was in hell." - -"But it isn't hell, is it?" she asked, wistfully and a little defiantly. - -"Not a bit," he said. "You've got too much pluck in you to spoil. You're -as good to me as you were the first time I knew you. Only Easu might -have spoiled you." - -"And you killed him," she said quickly, half in reproach. - -"Would you rather he'd killed me?" he asked. - -She looked a long time into his eyes, with that watchful, searching look -that used to hurt him. Now it hurt him no more. - -She shook her head, saying: - -"I'm glad you killed him. I couldn't bear to think of him living on, and -sneering--sneering!--I was always in love with you, really." - -"Ah, Monica!" he exclaimed softly, teasingly, with a little smile. And -she flushed, and flashed with anger. - -"If you never knew, it was your own fault!" she jerked out. - -"_Really_," he said, quoting and echoing the word as she had said it, -and smiling with a touch of raillery at her, before he added: - -"You always loved me really, but you loved the others as well, -unreally." - -"Yes," she said, baffled, defiant. - -"All right, that day is over. You've had your unreal loves. Now come and -have your real one." - -In the next room Easu's child was sleeping in its odd little way, a -sleep that was neither innocent nor not innocent, queer and naively -"knowing," even in its sleep. Jack watched it as he took off his things: -this little inheritance he had from Easu. An odd little thing. With an -odd, loveless little spirit of its own, cut off and not daunted. He -wouldn't love it, because it wasn't lovable. But its odd little -dauntlessness and defiance amused him, he would see it had fair play. - -And he took Monica in his arms, glad to get into grips with his own fate -again. And it was good. It was better, perhaps, than his passionate -desirings of earlier days had imagined. Because he didn't lose and -scatter himself. He gathered, like a reaper at harvest gathering. - -And Monica, who woke for her baby, looked at him as he slept soundly and -she sat in bed suckling her child. She saw in him the eternal stranger. -There he was, the eternal stranger, lying in her bed sleeping at her -side. She rocked her baby slightly as she sat up in the night, still -rocking in the last throes of rebellion. The eternal stranger, whom she -feared, because she could never finally possess him, and never finally -know him! He would never _belong_ to her. This had made her rebel so -terribly against the thought of him. Because she would have to belong to -_him._ Now he had arrived again before her like a doom, a doom she still -fought against, but could no longer withstand. Because the emptiness of -the other men, Easu, Percy, all the men she knew, was worse than the -doom of this man who would never give her his ultimate intimacy, but who -would be able to hold her till the end of time. There was something -enduring and changeless in him. But she would never hold _him_ entirely. -Never! She would have to resign herself to this. - -Well, so be it. At least it relieved her of the burden of responsibility -for life. It took away from her, her own strange and fascinating female -power, which she couldn't bear to part with. But at the same time she -felt saved, because her own power frightened her, having brought her to -a brink of nothingness that was like madness. The nothingness that -fronted her with Percy was worse than submitting to this man beside her. -After all, this man was magical. - -She put her child in its cradle, and returning waked the man. He put out -his hand quickly for her, as if she were a new, blind discovery. She -quivered and thrilled, and left it to him. It was his mystery, since he -would have it so. - - - - -III - - -They were married in Albany, and stayed there another month waiting for -a ship. Then they sailed away, all the family, away to the North-West. -They did not go to Perth: they did not go to Wandoo. Only Jack saw Mr. -George in Fremantle, and waved to him Good-bye as the ship proceeded -North. - -Then came two months of wandering, a pretty business with a baby and a -toddling infant. The second month, Percy's baby suddenly died in the -heat, and Monica hardly mourned for it. As Jack looked at its pinched -little dead face, he said: _You are better dead._ And that was true. - -The little Jane, however, showed no signs of dying. The knocking about -seemed to suit her. Monica remained very thin. It was a sort of -hell-life to her, this struggling from place to place in the heat and -dust, no water to wash in, sleeping anywhere like a lost dog, eating the -food that came. Because she loved to be clean and good-looking and in -graceful surroundings. What fiend of hell had ordained that she must be -a sort of tramp-woman in the back of beyond? - -She did not know, so it was no good asking. Jack seemed to know what he -wanted. And she was his woman, fated to him. There was no more to it. -Through the purgatory of discomfort she had to go. And he was good to -her, thoughtful for her, in material things. But at the centre of his -soul he was not thoughtful for her. He just possessed her, mysteriously -owned her, and went ahead with his own obsessions. - -Sometimes she tried to rebel. Sometimes she wanted to refuse to go any -further, to refuse to be a party to his will. But then he suddenly -looked so angry, and so remote, looked at her with such far-off, cold, -haughty eyes, that she was frightened. She was afraid he would abandon -her, or ship her back to Perth, and put her out of his life forever. - -Above all things, she didn't want to be shipped back to Perth. Here in -the wild she could have taken up with another man. She knew that. But -she knew that if she did, Jack would just put her out of his life -altogether. There would be no return. His passion for her would just -take the form of excluding her forever from his being. Because passion -can so reverse itself, and from being a great desire that draws the -beloved towards itself, it can become an eternal revulsion, excluding -the once-beloved forever from any contact at all. - -Monica knew this. And whenever she tried to oppose him, and the deathly -anger rose in him, she was pierced with a fear so acute she had to hold -on to some support, to prevent herself sinking to the ground. It was a -strange fear, as if she were going to be cast out of the land of the -living, among the unliving that slink like pariahs outside. - -Afterwards she was puzzled. Why had he got this power over her? Why -couldn't she be a free woman, to go where she chose, and be a complete -thing in herself? - -She caught at the idea. But it was no good. When he went away -prospecting for a week or more at a time, she would struggle to regain -her woman's freedom. And it would seem to her as if she had got it: she -was free of him again. She was a free being, by herself. - -But then, when he came back, tired, sunburnt, ragged, and still -unsuccessful: and when he looked at her with desire in his eyes, the -living desire for her; she was so glad, suddenly, as if she had -forgotten, or as if she had never known what his desire of her meant to -her. She was so glad, she was weak with gladness instead of fear. And -if, in perverseness, she still tried to oppose him, in the light of her -supposedly regained freedom; and she saw the strange glow of desire for -her go out of his eyes, and the strange loveliness, to her, of his -wanting to have her near, in the room, giving him his meal or sitting -near him outside in the shade of the evening; then, when his face -changed, and took on the curious look of aloofness, as if he glistened -with anger looking down on her from a long way off; then she felt all -her own world turn to smoke, and her own will mysteriously evaporated, -leaving her only wanting to be wanted again, back in his world. Her -freedom was worth less than nothing. - -Still often, when he was gone, leaving her alone in the little cabin, -she was glad. She was free to spread her own woman's aura round her, she -was free to delight in her own woman's idleness and whimsicality, free -to amuse herself half teasing, half loving that little odd female of a -Jane. And sometimes she would go to the cabins of other women, and -gossip. And sometimes she would flirt with a young miner or prospector -who seemed handsome. And she would get back her young, gay liveliness -and freedom. - -But when the man she flirted with wanted to kiss her, or put his arm -round her waist, she found it made her go cold and savagely hostile. It -was not as in the old days, when it gave her a thrill to be seized and -kissed, whether by Easu, by Percy or Jack, or whatever man it was she -was flirting with. Then, there had been a spark between her and many a -man. But now, alas, the spark wouldn't fly. The man might be ever so -good-looking and likeable, yet when he touched her, instead of the spark -flying from her to him, immediately all the spark went dead in her. And -this left her so angry, she could kill herself, or so wretched, she -couldn't even cry. - -That little goggle-eyed imp of a Jane, in spite of her one solitary year -of age, seemed somehow to divine what was happening inside her mother's -breast, and she seemed to chuckle wickedly. Monica always felt that the -brat knew, and that she took Jack's side. - -Jane always wanted Jack to come back. When he was away, she would toddle -about on her own little affairs, curiously complacent and impervious to -outer influences. But if she heard a horse coming up to the hut, she was -at the door in a flash. And Monica saw with a pang, how steadily intent -the brat was on the man's return. Somehow, from Jane, Monica knew that -Jack would go with other women. Because of the spark that flashed to him -from that brat of a baby of Easu's. - -And at evening, Jane hated going to bed if Jack hadn't come home. She -would be a real little hell-monkey. It was as if she felt the house -wasn't safe, wasn't real, till he had come in. - -Which annoyed Monica exceedingly. Why wasn't the mother enough for the -child? - -But she wasn't. And when Jane was in bed, Monica would take up the -uneasiness of the manless house. She would sit like a cat shut up in a -strange room, unable to settle, unable really to rest, and hating the -night for having come and surprised her in her empty loneliness. Her -loneliness might be really enjoyable during the day. But after nightfall -it was empty, sterile, a mere oppression to her. She wished he would -come home, if only so that she could hate him. - -And she felt a flash of joy when she heard his footstep on the stones -outside, even if the flash served only to kindle a great resentment -against him. And he would come in, with his burnt, half-seeing face, -unsuccessful, worn, silent, yet not uncheerful. And he spoke his few -rather low words, from his chest, asking her something. And she knew he -had come back to her. But where from, and what from, she would never -know entirely. - -She had always known where Percy had been, and what he had been doing. -She felt she would always have known, with Easu. But with Jack she never -knew. And sometimes this infuriated her. But it was no good. He would -tell her anything she asked. And then she felt there was something she -couldn't ask about. - -The months went by. He staked his claim, and worked like a navvy. He was -a navvy, nothing but a navvy. And she was a navvy's wife, in a hut of -one room, in a desert of heat and sand and grey-coloured bush, sleeping -on a piece of canvas stretched on a low trestle, eating on a tin plate, -eating sand by the mouthful when the wind blew. Percy's baby was dead -and buried in the sand: another sop to the avid country. And she herself -was with child again, and thin as a rat. But it was his child this time, -so she had a certain savage satisfaction in it. - -He went on working at his claim. It was now more than a year he had -spent at this game of looking for gold, and he had hardly found a cent's -worth. They were very poor, in debt to the keeper of the store. But -everybody had a queer respect for Jack. They dared not be very familiar -with him, but they didn't resent him. He had a good aura. The other men -might jeer sometimes at his frank but unapproachable aloofness, his -subtle delicacy, and his simple sort of pride. Yet when he was spoken -to, his answer was so much in the spirit of the question, so frank, that -you couldn't resent him. In ordinary things he was gay and completely -one of themselves. The self that was beyond them he never let intrude. -Hence their curious respect for him. - -Because there was something unordinary in him. The biggest part of -himself he kept entirely to himself, and a curious sombre steadfastness -inside him made shifty men uneasy with him. He could never completely -mix in, in the vulgar way, with men. He would take a drink with the -rest, and laugh and talk half an hour away. Even get a bit tipsy and -talk rather brilliantly. But always, always at the back of his eyes was -this sombre aloofness, that could never come forward and meet and -mingle, but held back, apart, waiting. - -They called him, after his father, the General. But never was a General -with so small an army at his command. He was playing a lone hand. The -mate he was working with suddenly chucked up the job, and travelled -away, and the General went on alone. He moved about the camp at his -ease. When he sat in the bar drinking his beer with the other men, he -was really alone, and they knew it. But he had a good aura, so they felt -a certain real respect for his loneliness. And when he was there, they -talked and behaved as if in the aura of a certain blood-purity, although -he was in rags, for Monica hated sewing and couldn't bear, simply -couldn't bear, to mend his old shirts and trousers. And there was no -money to buy new. - -He held on. He did not get depressed or melancholy. When he got -absolutely stumped, he went away and did hired work for a spell. Then he -came back to the goldfield. He was now nothing but a miner. The miner's -instinct had developed in him. He had to wait for his instinct to -perfect itself. He knew that. He knew he was not a man to be favoured by -blind luck. Whatever he won, he must win by mystic conquest. - -If he wanted gold he must master it in the veins of the earth. He knew -this. And for this reason he gave way neither to melancholy nor to -impatience. "If I can't win," he said to himself, "it's because I'm not -master of the thing I'm up against." - -"If I can't win, I'll die fighting," he said to himself. "But in the end -I will win." - -There was nothing to do but to fight, and fight on. This was his creed. -And a fighter has no use for melancholy and impatience. - -He saw the fight his boyhood had been, against his Aunts, and school and -college. He didn't want to be made _quite_ tame, and they had wanted to -tame him, like all the rest. His father was a good man and a good -soldier: but a tame one. He himself was not a soldier, nor even a good -man. But also he was not tame. Not a tame dog, like all the rest. - -For this reason he had come to Australia, away from the welter of -vicious tameness. For tame dogs are far more vicious than wild ones. -Only they can be brought to heel. - -In Australia, a new sort of fight. A fight with tame dogs that were -playing wild. Easu was a tame dog, playing the wolf in a mongrel, -back-biting way. Tame dogs escaped and became licentious. That was -Australia. He knew that. - -But they were not all quite tame. Tom, the safe Tom, had salt of wild -savour still in his blood. And Lennie had his wild streak. So had -Monica. So, somewhere had the _à terre_ Mary. Some odd freakish -wildness of the splendid, powerful, wild old English blood. - -Jack had escaped the tamers: they couldn't touch him now. He had escaped -the insidious tameness, the slight degeneracy, of Wandoo. He had learned -the tricks of the escaped tame dogs who played at licentiousness. And he -had mastered Monica, who had wanted to be a domestic bitch playing wild. -He had captured her wildness, to mate his own wildness. - -It was no good playing wild. If he had any real wildness in him, it was -dark, and wary, and collected, self-responsible, and of unbreakable -steadfastness: like the wildness of a wolf or a fox, that knows it will -die if it is caught. - -If you had a tang of the old wildness in you, you ran with the most -intense wariness, knowing that the good tame dogs are really turning -into licentious, vicious tame dogs. The vicious tame dogs, pretending to -be wild, hate the real clean wildness of an unbroken thing much more -than do the respectable tame people. - -No, if you refuse to be tamed, you have to be most wary, most subtle, on -your guard all the time. You can't afford to be licentious. If you are, -you will die in the trap. For the world is a great trap set wide for the -unwary. - -Jack had learned all these things. He refused to be tamed. He knew that -the dark kingdom of death ahead had no room for tame dogs. They merely -were put into the earth as carrion. Only the wild, untamed souls walked -on after death over the border into the porch of death, to be lords of -death and masters of the next living. This he knew. The tame dogs were -put into the earth as carrion, like Easu and Percy's poor little baby, -and Jacob Ellis. He often wondered if that courageous old witch-cat of a -Gran had slipped into the halls of death, to be one of the ladies of the -dark. The lords of death, and the ladies of the dark! He would take his -own Monica over the border when she died. She would sit unbroken, a -quiet, fearless bride in the dark chambers of the dead, the dead who -order the goings of the next living. - -That was the goal of the afterwards, that he had at the back of his -eyes. But meanwhile here on earth he had to win. He had to make room -again on earth for those who are not unbroken, those who are not tamed -to carrion. Some place for those who know the dark mystery of being -royal in death (so that they can enact the shadow of their own royalty -on earth). Some place for the souls that are in themselves dark and have -some of the sumptuousness of proud death, no matter what their fathers -were. Jack's father was tame, as kings and dukes to-day are almost -mongrelly tame. But Jack was not tame. And Easu's weird baby was not -tame. She had some of the eternal fearlessness of the aristocrat whose -bones are pure. But a weird sort of aristocrat. - -Jack wanted to make a place on earth for a few aristocrats-to-the-bone. -He wanted to conquer the world. - -And first he must conquer gold. As things are, only the tame go out and -conquer gold, and make a lucrative tameness. The untamed forfeit their -gold. - -"I must conquer gold!" said Jack to himself. "I must open the veins of -the earth and bleed the power of gold into my own veins, for the -fulfilling of the aristocrats-of-the-bone. I must bring the great stream -of gold flowing in another direction, away from the veins of the tame -ones, into the veins of the lords of death. I must start the river of -the wealth of the world rolling in a new course, down the sombre, quiet, -proud valleys of the lords of death and the ladies of the dark, the -aristocrats of the afterwards." - -So he talked to himself, as he wandered alone in his search, or sat on -the bench with a pot of beer, or stepped into Monica's hot little hut. -And when he failed he knew it was because he had not fought intensely -enough, and subtly enough. - -The bad food, the climate, the hard life gave him a sort of fever and an -eczema. But it was no matter. That was only the pulp of him paying the -penalty. The powerful skeleton he was, was powerful as ever. The pulp of -him, his belly, his heart, his muscle seemed not to be able to affect -his strength, or at least his power, for more than a short time. -Sometimes he broke down. Then he would think what he could do with -himself, do for himself, for his flesh and blood. And what he _could_ -do, he would do. And when he could do no more, he would go and lie down -in the mine, or hide in some shade, lying on the earth, alone, away from -anything human. Till the earth itself gave him back his power. Till the -powerful living skeleton of him resumed its sway and serenity and fierce -power. - -He knew he was winning, winning slowly, even in his fight with the -earth, his fight for gold. It was on the cards he might die before his -victory. Then it would be death, he would have to accept it. He would -have to go into death, and leave Monica and Jane and the coming baby to -fate. - -Meanwhile he would fight, and fight on. The baby was near, there was no -money. He had to stay and watch Monica. She, poor thing, went to bed -with twins, two boys. There was nothing hardly left of her. He had to -give up everything, even his thoughts, and bend his whole life to her, -to help her through, and save her and the two quite healthy baby boys. -For a month he was doctor and nurse and housewife and husband, and he -gave himself absolutely to the work, without a moment's failing. Poor -Monica, when she couldn't bear herself, he held her hips together with -his arm, and she clung to his neck for life. - -This time he almost gave up. He almost decided to go and hire himself -out to steady work, to keep her and the babies in peace and safety. To -be a hired workman for the rest of his days. - -And as he sat with his eyes dark and unchanging, ready to accept this -fate, since this his fate must be, came a letter from Mr. George with an -enclosure from England, and a cheque for fifty pounds, a legacy from one -of the Aunts, who had so benevolently died at the right moment. He -decided his dark Lord did not intend him to go and hire himself out for -life, as a hired labourer. He decided Monica and the babies did not want -the peace and safety of a hired labourer's cottage. Perhaps better die -and be buried in the sand, and leave their skeletons like white -messengers in the ground of this Australia. - -So he went back to his working. And three days later struck gold, so -that there was gold on his pick-point. He was alone, and he refused at -first to get excited. But his trained instinct knew that it was a rich -lode. He worked along the van, and felt the rich weight of the -yellow-streaked stuff he fetched out. The light-coloured softish stuff. -He sat looking at it in his hand, and the glint of it in the dark -earth-rock of the mine, in the light of the lamp. And his bowels leaped -in him, knowing that the white gods of tameness would wilt and perish as -the pale gold flowed out of their veins. - -There would be a place on earth for the lords of death. His own Lord had -at last spoken. - -Jack sent quickly for Lennie to come and work with him. For Lennie, with -a wife and a child, was struggling vary hard. - -Lea and Tom both came. Jack had not expected Tom. But Tom lifted his -brown eyes to Jack and said: - -"I sortta felt I couldn't stand even Len being mates with you, an' me -not there. I was your first mate. Jack. I've never been myself since I -parted with you." - -"All right," laughed Jack. "You're my first mate." - -"That's what I am. General," said Tom. - -Jack had showed Monica some of the ore, and told her the mine seemed to -be turning out fairly. She was getting back her own strength, that those -two monstrous young twins had almost robbed from her entirely. Jack was -very careful of her. He wanted above all things that she should become -really strong again. - -And she, with her rare vitality, soon began to bloom once more. And as -her strength came back she was very much taken up with her babies. These -were the first she had enjoyed. The other two she had never really -enjoyed. But with these she was as fussy as a young cat with her -kittens. She almost forgot Jack entirely. Left him to be busy with Tom -and Lennie and his mine. Even the gold failed to excite her. - -And she had rather a triumph. She was able to be queenly again with Tom -and Lennie. As a girl, she had always been a bit queenly with the rest -of them at Wandoo. And she couldn't bear to be humiliated in their eyes. - -Now she needn't. She had the General for her husband, she had his twins. -And he had gold in his mine. Hadn't she a perfect right to be queenly -with Tom and Lennie? She even got into the habit, right at the -beginning, of speaking of Jack as "the General" to them. - -"Where's the General? Didn't he come down with you?" she would snap at -them, in her old sparky fashion. - -"He's reviewing his troops," Lennie sarcastically answered. - -Whereupon Jack appeared in the door, still in rags. And it was Lennie -who mended his shirt for him, when it was torn on the shoulder and -showed the smooth man underneath. Monica still couldn't bring herself to -these fiddling bothering jobs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -THE OFFER TO MARY - - -I - - -They worked for months at the mine, and still it turned out richly. -Though they kept as quiet as possible, the fame spread. They had a -bonanza. They were all three going to be rich, and Jack was going to be -very rich. In the light of his luck, he was "the General" to everybody. - -And in the midst of this flow of fortune, came another, rather comical -windfall. Again the news was forwarded by Mr. George, along with a word -of congratulation from that gentleman. The forwarded letter read: - - -"Dear Sir, - -This come hopping to find you well as it leaves me at prisent thanks be -to almity God. You dear uncle Passed Away peaceful on Satterday nite And -though it be not my place to tell you of it I am Grateful to have the -oppertunity to offer my umble Respecs before the lord and Perlice I take -up my pen with pleashr to inform you that He passed without Pain and -even Drafts as he aloud the umberrela to be put down and the Book read. - -The 24 salm and I kep the ink and paper by to rite of his sudden dismiss -but he lingered long years after the bote wint so was onable to Inform -you before he desist the doctor rote a butiful certicket of death saying -he did of sensible decay but I don no how he brote himself to rite it as -the pore master was wite as driven snow and no blemish. And being his -most umble and Dutiful servants we could not ave brout ourself to hever -ave rote as he was sensible Pecos god knows the pore sole was not. Be -that as it may we burned him proud under the prisent arrangements of -town councel the clerk who was prisent xpects the docters will he mad up -the nite you was hear in the cimetary and pending your Return Holds It -In Bond as Being rite for us we are Yor Respectable servants to Oblige -Hand Commend. - -Emma and Amos Lewis." - - -Jack and Tom roared with laughter over this epistle, that brought back -so vividly the famous trip up North. - -"Gloryanna, General, you've got your property at Coney Hatch all right," -said Tom. - -There was a letter from Mr. George saying that the defunct John Grant -was the son of Jack's mother's eldest sister, that he had been liable -all his life to bouts of temporary insanity, but that in a period of -sanity he had signed the will drawn up by Doctor Rackett, when the two -boys called at the place several years before, and that the will had -been approved. So that Jack, as legal heir and nearest male relative, -could now come down and take possession of the farm. - -"I don't want that dismal place," said Jack. "Let it go to the Crown. -I've no need of it now." - -"Don't be a silly cuckoo!" said Tom. "You saw it of a wet night with -Ally Sloper in bed under a green cart umbrella. Go an' look at it of a -fine day. An' then if you don't want it, sell it or lease it, but don't -let the Crown rake it in." - -So in about a fortnight's time Jack rather reluctantly left the mine, -with its growing heaps of refuse, and departed from the mining -settlement which had become a sort of voluntary prison for him, and went -west to Perth. He was already a rich man and notorious in the colony. He -rode with two pistols in his belt, and that unchanging aloof look on his -face. But he carried himself with pride, rode a good horse, wore -well-made riding breeches and a fine bandanna handkerchief loose round -his neck, and looked, with a silver studded band round his broad felt -hat, a mixture of gold miner, a gentleman settler, and a bandit chief. -Perhaps he felt a mixture of them all. - -Mr. George received him with a great welcome. And Jack was pleased to -see the old man. But he refused absolutely to go to the club or to the -Government House, or to meet any of the responsible people of the town. - -"I don't want to see them, Mr. George. I don't want to see them." - -And poor Old George, his nose a bit out of joint, had to submit to -leaving Jack alone. - -Jack had his old room in Mr. George's house. The Good Plain Cook was -still going. And Aunt Matilda, rather older, stouter, with more lines in -her face, came to tea with Mary and Miss Blessington. Mary had not -married Mr. Blessington. But she had remained friends with the odd -daughter, who was now a self-contained young woman, shy, thin, -well-bred, and delicate. Mr. Blessington had not married again. In Aunt -Matilda's opinion, he was still waiting for Mary. And Mary had refused -Tom's rather doubtful offer. Tom was still nervous about Honeysuckle. So -there they all were. - -When Jack shook hands with Mary, he had a slight shock. He had forgotten -her. She had gone out of his consciousness. But when she looked up at -him with her dark, clear, waiting eyes, as if she had been watching and -waiting for him afar off, his heart gave a queer dizzy lurch. He had -forgotten her. They say the heart has a short memory. But now, as a dark -hotness gathered in his heart, he realised that his blood had not -forgotten her. He had only forgotten her with his head. His blood, with -its strange submissiveness and its strange unawareness of time, had kept -her just the same. - -The blood has an eternal memory. It neither forgets nor moves on ahead. -But it is quiescent and submits to the mind's oversway. - -He had a certain blood-connection with Mary. He had utterly forgotten -it, in the stress and rage of other things. And now, the moment she -lifted her eyes to him, and he saw her dusky, quiet, heavy permanent -face, the dull heat started in his breast again, and he remembered how -he had told her he would come for her again. - -Since his twins were born and he had been so busy with the mine, and he -had Monica, he had not given any thought to women. But the moment he saw -Mary and met her eyes, the dark thought struck home in him again: I want -Mary for my other woman. He didn't want to displace Monica. Monica was -Monica. But he wanted this other woman too. - -Aunt Matilda dear-boyed him more than ever. But now he was not a dear -boy, he didn't feel a dear boy, and she was put out. - -"Dear boy! and how does Monica stand that drying climate?" - -"She is quite well again, Marm." - -"Poor child! Poor child! I hope you will bring her into a suitable home -here in Perth, and have the children suitably brought up. It is so -fortunate for you your mine is so successful. Now you can build a home -here by the river, among us all, and be charming company for us, like -your dear father." - -Mary was watching him with black eyes, and Miss Blessington with her -wide, quick, round, dark-grey eyes. There was a frail beauty about that -odd young woman; frail, highly-bred, sensitive, with an uncanny -intelligence. - -"No, Marm," said Jack cheerfully. "I shall not come and live in Perth." - -"Dear boy, of course you will! You won't forsake us and take your money -and your family and your attractive self far away to England? No, don't -do that. It is just what your dear father did. Robbed us of one of our -sweetest girls, and never came back." - -"No, I shan't go to England either," smiled Jack. - -"Then what will you do?" - -"Stay at the mine for the time being." - -"Oh, but the mine won't last forever. And dear boy, don't waste your -talents and your charm mining, when it is no longer necessary! Oh, do -come down to Perth, and bring your family. Mary is pining to see your -twins: and dear Monica. Of course we all are." - -Jack smiled to himself. He would no longer give in a hair's breadth to -any of these dreary world-people. - -"À la bonne heure!" he said, using one of his mother's well-worn tags. -But then his mother could rattle bad colloquial French, and he couldn't. - -Mary asked him many questions about the mine and Monica, and Hilda -Blessington listened with lowered head, only occasionally fixing him -with queer searching eyes, like some odd creature not quite human. Jack -was something of a hero. And he was pleased. He wanted to be a hero. - -But he was no hero any more for Aunt Matilda. Now that the cherub look -had gone forever, and the shy, blushing, blurting boy had turned into a -hard-boned, healthy young man, with a half haughty aloofness and a -little reckless smile that made you feel uncomfortable, she was driven -to venting some venom on him. - -"That is the worst of the colonies," she said from her bluish powdered -face. "Our most charming, cultured young men go out to the back of -beyond, and they come home quite--quite--" - -"Quite what, Marm?" - -"Why I was going to say uncouth, but that's perhaps a little strong." - -"I should say not at all," he answered. He disliked the old lady, and -enjoyed baiting her. Great stout old hen, she had played -cock-o'-the-walk long enough. - -"How many children have you got out there?" she suddenly asked, rudely. - -"We have only the twins of my own," he answered. "But of course there is -Jane." - -"Jane! Jane! Which is Jane?" - -"Jane is Easu's child. Monica's first." - -Everybody started. It was as if a bomb had been dropped in the room. -Miss Blessington coloured to the roots of her fleecy brown hair. Mary -studied her fingers, and Aunt Matilda sat in a Queen Victoria statue -pose, outraged. - -"What is she like?" asked Mary softly, looking up. - -"Who, Jane? She's a funny little urchin. I'm fond of her. I believe -she'd always stand by me." - -Mary looked at him. It was a curious thing to say. - -"Is that how you think of people--whether they would always stand by you -or not?" she asked softly. - -"I suppose it is," he laughed. "Courage is the first quality in life, -don't you think? And fidelity the next." - -"Fidelity?" asked Mary. - -"Oh, I don't mean automatic fidelity. I mean faithful to the living -spark," he replied a little hastily. - -"Don't you try to be too much of a spark, young man," snapped Aunt -Matilda, arousing from her statuesque offence in order to let nothing -pass by her. - -"I promise you I won't try," he laughed. - -Mary glanced at him quickly--then down at her fingers. - -"I think fidelity is a great problem," she said softly. - -"Pray, why?" bounced Aunt Matilda. "You give your word, and you stick to -it." - -"Oh, it's not just simple word-faithfulness, Mrs. Watson," said Jack. He -had Mary in mind. - -"Well, I suppose I have still to live and learn," said Aunt Matilda. - -"What's that you have still to live and learn, Matilda?" said Mr. -George, coming in again with papers. - -"This young man is teaching me lessons about life. Courage is the first -quality in life, if you please." - -"Well, why not?" said Old George amiably. "I like spunk myself." - -"Courage to do the _right thing!_" said Aunt Matilda. - -"And who's going to decide which is the right thing?" asked the old man, -teasing her. - -"There's no question of it," said Aunt Matilda. - -"Well," said the old lawyer, rubbing his head, "there often is, my dear -woman, a very big question!" - -"And fidelity is the second virtue," said Mary, looking up at him with -trustful eyes, enquiringly. - -"A man's no good unless he can keep faith," said the old man. - -"But what is it one must remain faithful to?" came the quiet cool voice -of Hilda Blessington. - -"Do you know what old Gran Ellis said?" asked Jack. "She said a man's -own true self is God in him. She was a queer old bird." - -"His _true_ self," said Aunt Matilda. "His true self! And I should say -old Mrs. Ellis was a doubtful guide to young people, judging from her -own family." - -"She made a great impression on me, Marm," said Jack politely. - -Mr. George had brought the papers referring to the new property. Jack -read various documents, rather absently. Then the title deeds. Then he -studied a fascinating little green-and-red map, "delineating and setting -forth," with "easements and encumbrances," whatever they were. There was -a bank-book showing a balance of four hundred pounds nineteen shillings -and sixpence, in the West Australian Bank. - -Jack told about his visit to Grant Farm, and the man under the umbrella. -They all laughed. - -"The poor fellow had a bad start," said Mr. George. "But he was a good -farmer and a good business man, in his right times. Oh, he knew who he -was leaving the place to, when Rackett drew up that will." - -"Gran Ellis told me about him," said Jack. "She told me about all the -old people. She told me about my mother's old sister. And she told me -about the father of this crazy man as well, but--" - -Mr. George was looking at him coldly and fiercely. - -"The poor fellow's father," said the old man, "was an Englishman who -thought himself a swell, but wasn't too much of a high-born gentleman to -abandon a decent girl and go round to the east side and marry another -woman, and flaunt round in society with women he hadn't married." - -Jack remembered. It was Mary's father: seventh son of old Lord Haworth. -What a mix-up! How bitter Old George sounded! - -"It seems to have been a mighty mix-up out hare, fifty years ago, sir," -he said mildly. - -"It was a mix-up then--and is a mix-up now." - -"I suppose," said Jack, "if the villain of a gentleman had never -abandoned my Aunt--I can't think of her as an Aunt--he'd never have gone -to Sydney, and his children that he had there would never have been -born." - -"I suppose not," said Mr. George drily. But he started a little and -involuntarily looked at Mary. - -"Do you think it would have been better if they had never been born?" -Jack asked pertinently. - -"I don't set up to judge," said the old man. - -"Does Mrs. Watson?" - -"I certainly think it would be better," said Mrs. Watson, "if that poor -half-idiot cousin of yours had never been born." - -"I've got Gran Ellis on my mind," said Jack. "She was funny, what she -condemned and what she didn't. I used to think she was an old terror. -But I can understand her better now. She was a wise woman, seems to me." - -"Indeed!" said Aunt Matilda. "I never put her and wisdom together." - -"Yes, she was wise. I can see now. She knew that sins are as vital a -part of life as virtues, and she stuck up for the sins that are -necessary to life." - -"What's the matter with you, Jack Grant, that you go and start -moralising?" said Old George. - -"Why sir, it must be that my own sinful state is dawning on my mind," -said Jack, "and I'm wondering whether to take Mrs. Watson's advice and -repent and weep, etc., etc. Or whether to follow old Gran Ellis' lead, -and put a sinful feather in my cap." - -"Well," said Old George, smiling, "I don't know. You talk about courage -and fidelity. Sin usually means doing something rather cowardly, and -breaking your faith in some direction." - -"Oh I don't know, sir. Tom and Lennie are faithful to me. But that -doesn't mean they are not free. They are free to do just what they like, -so long as they are faithful to the spark that is between us. As I am -faithful to them. It seems to me, Sir, one is true to one's _word_ in -_business_, in affairs. But in life one can only be true to the spark." - -"I'm afraid there's something amiss with you, son, that's set you off -arguing and splitting hairs." - -"There is. Something is always amiss with most of us. Old Gran Ellis was -a lesson to me, if I'd known. Something is always wrong with the lot of -us. And I believe in thinking before I act." - -"Let us hope so," said Mr. George. "But it sounds funny sort of thinking -you do." - -"But," said Hilda Blessington, with wide, haunted eyes, "what is the -spark that one must be faithful to? How are we to be sure of it?" - -"You just feel it. And then you act upon it. That's courage. And then -you always live up to the responsibility of your act. That's -faithfulness. You have to keep faith in all kinds of ways. I have to -keep faith with Monica and the babies, and young Jane, and Lennie and -Tom and dead Gran Ellis: and--and more--yes, more." - -He looked with clear hard eyes at Mary, and at the young girl. They were -both watching him, puzzled and perturbed. The two old people in the -background were silent but hostile. - -"Do you know what I am faithful to?" he said, still to the two young -women, but letting the elders hear. "I am faithful to my own inside, -when something stirs in me. Gran Ellis said that was God in me. I know -there's a God outside of me. But he tells me to go my own way, and never -be frightened of people and the world, only be frightened of _Him._ And -if I felt I really wanted two wives, for example, I would have them and -keep them both. If I really wanted them, it would mean it was the God -outside of me bidding me, and it would be up to me to obey, world or no -world." - -"You describe exactly the devil driving you," said Aunt Matilda. - -"Doesn't he!" laughed Mr. George, who was oddly impressed. "I hope there -isn't a streak of madness in the family." - -"No, there's not. The world is all so tame, it's a bit imbecile, in my -opinion. Really a dangerous idiot. If I do want two wives--or even -three--I _do._ Why should I mind what the idiot says." - -"Sounds like _you'd_ gone cracked, out there in that mining settlement," -said Mr. George. - -"If I said I wanted two fortunes instead of one, you wouldn't think it -cracked," said Jack, with a malicious smile. - -"No, only greedy," said Old George. - -"Not if I could use them. And the same if I have real use for two -wives--or even three--" said Jack, grinning, but with a queer bright -intention, at Hilda Blessington. "Well, three wives would be three -fortunes for my blood and spirit." - -"You are not allowed to say such things, even as a joke," said Aunt -Matilda, with ponderous disapproval. "It is no joke to _me._" - -"Surely I say them in dead earnest," persisted Jack mischievously. He -was aware of Mary and Hilda Blessington listening, and he wanted to -throw a sort of lasso over them. - -"You'll merely find yourself in gaol for bigamy," said Mr. George. - -"Oh," said Jack, "I wouldn't risk that. It would really be a Scotch -marriage. Monica is my legal wife. But what I pledged myself to, I'd -stick to, as I stick to Monica, I'd stick to the others the same." - -"I won't hear any more of this nonsense," said Aunt Matilda, rising. - -"Nonsense it is," said Old George testily. - -Jack laughed. Their being bothered amused him. He was a little surprised -at himself breaking out in this way. But the sight of Mary, and the -sense of a new, different responsibility, had struck it out of him. His -nature was ethical, inclined to be emotionally mystical. Now, however, -the sense of foolish complacency and empty assurance in Aunt Matilda, -and in all the dead-certain people of this world struck out of him a -hard, sharp, non-emotional opposition. He felt hard and mischievous, -confronting them. Who were they, to judge and go on judging? Who was -Aunt Matilda, to judge the dead fantastic soul of the fierce Gran? The -Ellises, the Ellises, they all had some of Gran's fierce pagan -uneasiness about them, they were all a bit uncanny. That was why he -loved them so. - -And Mary! Mary had another slow, heavy, mute mystery that waited and -waited forever, like a lode-stone. And should he therefore abandon her, -abandon her to society and a sort of sterility? Not he. She was his. -His, and no other man's. She knew it herself. He knew it. Then he would -fight them all. Even the good Old George. For the mystery that was his -and Mary's. - -Let it be an end of popular goodness. Let there be another deeper, -fiercer, untamed sort of goodness, like in the days of Abraham and -Samson and Saul. If Jack was to be good he would be good with these -great old men, the heroic fathers, not with the saints. The Christian -goodness had gone bad, decayed almost into poison. It needed again the -old heroic goodness of untamed men, with the wild great God who was -forever too unknown to be a paragon. - -Old George was a little afraid of Jack, uneasy about him. He thought him -not normal. The boy had to be put in a category by himself, like a -madman in a solitary cell. And at the same time, the old man was -delighted. He was delighted with the young man's physical presence. -Bewildered by the careless, irrational things Jack would say, the old -bachelor took off his spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes again and -again, as if he were going blind, and as if he were losing his old -dominant will. - -He had been a dominant character in the colony so long. And now this -young fellow was laughing at him and stealing away his power of -resistance. - -"Don't make eyes at me, sir," said Jack, laughing. "I know better than -you what life means." - -"You do, do you? Oh you do?" said the old man. And he laughed too. -Somehow it made him feel warm and easy. "A fine crazy affair it would be -if it were left to you." And he laughed loud at the absurdity. - - - - -II - - -Jack persuaded Mary to go with Mr. George and himself to look at Grant -Farm. Mary and the old lawyer went in a buggy, Jack rode his own horse. -And it seemed to him to be good to be out again in the bush and forest -country. It was rainy season, and the smell of the earth was delicious -in his nostrils. - -He decided soon to leave the mine. It was running thin. He could leave -it in charge of Tom. And then he must make some plans for himself. -Perhaps he would come and live on the Grant Farm. It was not too far -from Perth, or from Wandoo, it was in the hills, the climate was balmy -and almost English, after the goldfields, and there were trees. He -really rejoiced again, riding through strong, living trees. - -Sometimes he would ride up beside Mary. She sat very still at Mr. -George's side, talking to him in her quick, secret-seeming way. Mary -always looked as if the things she was saying were secrets. - -And her upper lip with its down of fine dark hair, would lift and show -her white teeth as she smiled with her mouth. She only smiled with her -mouth: her eyes remained dark and glistening and unchanged. But she -talked a great deal to Mr. George, almost like lovers, they were so -confidential and so much in tune with tone another. It was as if Mary -was happy with an old man's love, that was fatherly, warm, and sensuous, -and wise and talkative, without being at all dangerous. - -When Jack rode up, she seemed to snap the thread of her communication -with Mr. George, her ready volubility failed, and she was a little -nervous. Her eyes, her dark eyes, were afraid of the young man. Yet they -would give him odd, bright, corner-wise looks, almost inviting. So -different from the full, confident way she looked at Mr. George. So -different from Monica's queer yellow glare. Mary seemed almost to peep -at him, while her dark face, like an animal's muzzle with its slightly -heavy mouth, remained quite expressionless. - -It amused him. He remembered how he had kissed her, and he wondered if -she remembered. It was impossible, of course, to ask her. And when she -talked, it was always so seriously. That again amused Jack. She was so -voluble, especially with Mr. George, on all kinds of deep and difficult -subjects. She was quite excited, just now about authoritarianism. She -was being drawn by the Roman Catholic Church. - -"Oh," she was saying, "I am an authoritarian. Don't you think that the -whole natural scheme is a scheme of authority, one rank having authority -over another?" - -Mr. George couldn't quite see it. Yet it tickled his paternal male -conceit of authority, so he didn't contradict her. And Jack smiled to -himself. "She runs too much to talk," he thought. "She runs too much in -her head." She seemed, indeed, to have forgotten quite how he kissed -her. It seemed that "questions of the day" quite absorbed her. - -They came through the trees in the soft afternoon sunshine. Jack -remembered the place well. He remembered the Jamboree, and that girl who -had called him Dearie! His first woman! And insignificant enough; but -not bad. He thought kindly of her. She was a warm-hearted soul. But she -didn't belong to his life at all. He remembered too how he had kicked -Tom. The faithful Tom! Mary would never marry Tom, that was a certainty. -And it was equally certain, Tom would never break his heart. - -Jack was thinking to himself that he would build a new house on this -place, and ask Mary to live in the old house. That was a brilliant idea. - -But as he drove up, he thought: "The first money you spend on this -place, my boy, will be on a brand new five-barred white gate." - -Emma and Amos came out full of joy. They too were a faithful old pair. -Jack handed Mary down. She wore a dark-blue dress and white silk gloves. -It was so like her, to put on white silk gloves. But he liked the touch -of them, as he handed her down. Her small, short, rather passive hands. - -He and she walked round the place, and she was very much interested. A -new place, a new farm, a new undertaking always excited her, as if it -was she who was making the new move. - -"Don't you think _that_ will be a good place for the new house," he was -saying to her. "Down there, near that jolly bunch of old trees. And the -garden south of the trees. If you dig in that flat you'll find water, -sure to." - -She inspected the place most carefully, and uttered her mature -judgments. - -"You'll have to help think it out," he said. "Monica's as different as -an opossum. Would you like to build yourself a house here, and tend to -things? I'll build you one if you like. Or give you the old one." - -She looked at him with glowing eyes. - -"Wouldn't that be splendid!" she said. "Oh, wouldn't that be splendid! -If I had a house and a piece of land of my own! Oh yes!" - -"Well I can easily give it you," he said. "Just whatever you like." - -"Isn't that lovely!" she exclaimed. - -But he could tell she was thinking merely of the house and the bit of -land, and herself a sort of Auntie to his and Monica's children. She was -fairly jumping into old-maidom, both feet first. Which was not what he -intended. He didn't want her as an Auntie for his children. - -They went back to the house, and inspected there. She liked it. It was a -stone one-storey house with a great kitchen and three other rooms, all -rather low and homely. The dead cousin had wanted his house to be -exactly like the houses of other respectable farmers. And he had not -been prevented. - -The place was a bit tumble-down, but clean. Emma was baking scones, and -the sweet smell of scorched flour filled the house. Mary lit the lamp in -the little parlour, and set it on the highly-polished but rather -ricketty rosewood table, next the photograph album. The family Bible had -been removed to the bedroom. But the old man had a photograph album, -like any other respectable householder. - -Mary drew up one of the green-rep chairs, and opened the book. Jack, -looking over her shoulder, started a little as he saw the first -photograph: an elderly lady in lace cap and voluminous silken skirts was -seated reading a book, while negligently leaning with one hand on her -chair was a gentleman, with long white trousers and old-fashioned coat -and side-whiskers, obviously having his photograph taken. - -This was the identical photograph which held place of honour in Jack's -mother's album; being the photograph of her father and mother. - -"See!" said Jack. "That's my grandfather and grand-mother. And he must -have been the man who took Gran Ellis' leg off. Goodness!" - -Mary gazed at them closely. - -"He looks a domineering man!" she said. "I hope you're not like him." - -Jack didn't feel at all like him. Mary turned over, and they beheld two -young ladies of the Victorian period. Somebody had marked a cross, in -ink, over the head of one of the young ladies. They must be his own -Aunts, both of them many years older than his own mother, who was a late -arrival. - -"Do you think that was his mother?" said Mary, looking up at Jack, who -stood at her side. "She was beautiful." - -Jack studied the photograph of the young woman. She looked like nobody's -mother on earth, with her hair curiously rolled and curled, and a great -dress flouncing round her. And her beauty was so photographic and -abstract, he merely gazed seeking for it. - -But Mary, looking up at him, saw his silent face in the glow of the -lamp, his rather grim mouth closed ironically under his moustache, his -open nostrils, and the long, steady, self-contained look of his eyes -under his lashes. He was not thinking of her at all, at the moment. But -his calm, rather distant, unconsciously imperious face was something -quite new and startling, and rather frightening to her. She became -intensely aware of his thighs standing close against her, and her heart -went faint. She was afraid of him. - -In agitation, she was going to turn the leaf. But he put his -work-hardened hand on the page, and turned back to the first photograph. - -"Look!" he said. "_He_----" pointing to his grandfather, "disowned -her----" turning to the Aunt marked with a cross, "----and she died an -outcast, in misery, and her son burrowed here, half crazy. Yet their two -faces are rather alike. Gran Ellis told me about them." - -Mary studied them. - -"They are both a bit like yours," she said, "their faces." - -"Mine!" he exclaimed. "Oh no! I look like my father's family." - -He could see no resemblance at all to himself in the handsome, -hard-mouthed, large man, with the clean face and the fringe of fair -whiskers, and the black cravat, and the overbearing look. - -"Your eyes are set in the same way," she said. "And your brows are the -same. But your mouth is not so tight." - -"I don't like what I heard of him, anyhow," said Jack. "A puritanical -surgeon! Turn over." - -She turned over and gave a low cry. There was a photograph of a young -elegant with drooping black moustachios, and mutton-chop side whiskers, -and large, languid, black eyes, leaning languidly and swinging a cane. -Over the top was written, in a weird handwriting: _The Honourable George -Rath, blasted father of_ - - -[Illustration] - - -This skull and cross-bones was repeated on the other margins of the -photograph. - -"Oh!" said Mary, covering her face with her hands. - -Jack's face was a study. Mary had evidently recognised the photograph of -her father as a young man. Yet Jack could not help smiling at the skull -and cross-bones, in connection with the Bulwer Lytton young elegant, and -the man under the green umbrella. - -"My God!" he thought to himself. "All that happens in a generation! From -that sniffy young dude to that fellow here who made this farm, and Mary -with her face in her hands!" - -He could not help smiling to himself. - -"Had you seen that photograph before?" he asked her. - -She, unable to answer, kept her face in her hands. - -"Don't worry," he said. "We're all more or less that way. We're none of -us perfect." - -Still she did not answer. Then he went on, almost without thinking, as -he studied the rather fetching young gentleman with the long black hair -and bold black eyes, and the impudent, handsome, languid lips: - -"You're a bit like him, too. You're a bit like him in the look of your -eyes. I bet he wasn't tall either. I bet he was rather small." - -Mary took her hands from her face and looked up fierce and angry. - -"You have no feeling," she said. - -"I have," he replied, smiling slightly. "But life seems to me too rummy -to get piqued about it. Think of him leaving a son like the fellow I saw -under the umbrella! Think of it! Such a dandy! And that his son! And -then having you for a daughter when he was getting quite on in years. Do -you remember him?" - -"How can you talk to me like that?" she said. - -"But why? It's life. It's how it was. Do you remember your father?" - -"Of course I do." - -"Did he dye his whiskers?" - -"I won't answer you." - -"Well, don't then. But this man under the umbrella here--you should have -seen him--was your half-brother and my cousin. It makes us almost -related." - -Mary left the room. In a few minutes Mr. George came in. - -"What's wrong with Mary?" he asked, suspiciously, angrily. Jack shrugged -his shoulders, and pointed to the photograph. The old man bent over and -stared at it: and laughed. Then he took the photograph out of the book, -and put it in his pocket. - -"Well, I'm damned!" he said. "Signs himself skull and cross-bones! Think -of that now!" - -"Was the Honourable George a smallish-built man?" asked Jack. - -"Eh!" The old man started. Then startled, he began to remember back. -"Ay!" he said. "He was. He was smallish-built, and the biggest little -dude you ever set eyes on. Something about his backside always reminded -me of a woman. But all the women were wild about him. Ay, even when he -was over fifty, Mary's mother was wild in love with him. And he married -her because she was going to be a big heiress. But she died a bit too -soon, an' he got nothing, nor Mary neither, because she was his -daughter." The old man made an ironic grimace. "He only died a few years -back, in Sydney," he added. "But I say, that poor lass is fair cut up -about it. We'd always kept it from her. I feel bad about her." - -"She may as well get used to it," said Jack, disliking the old man's -protective sentimentalism. - -"Eh! Get used to it! Why? How can she get used to it?" - -"She's got to live her own life some time." - -"How d'y' mean, live her own life? She's never going to live _that_ sort -of a life, as long as I can see to it!" He was quite huffed. - -"Are you going to leave her to be an old maid?" said Jack. - -"Eh? Old maid? No! She'll marry when she wants to." - -"You bet," said Jack with a slow smile. - -"She's a child yet," said Mr. George. - -"An elderly child--poor Mary!" - -"Poor Mary! Poor Mary! Why poor Mary? Why so?" - -"Just poor Mary," said Jack, slowly smiling. - -"I don't see it. Why is she poor? You're growing into a real young -devil, you are." And the old man glanced into the young man's eyes in -mistrust, and fear, and also in admiration. - -They went into the kitchen, the late tea was ready. It was evident that -Mary was waiting for them to come in. She had recovered her composure, -but was more serious than usual. Jack laughed at her, and teased her. - -"Ah, Mary," he said, "do you still believe in the Age of Innocence?" - -"I still believe in good feeling," she retorted. - -"So do I. And when good feeling's comical, I believe in laughing at it," -he replied. - -"There's something wrong with you," she replied. - -"Quoth Aunt Matilda," he echoed. - -"Aunt Matilda is very often right," she said. - -"Never, in my opinion. Aunt Matilda is a wrong number. She's one of -life's false statements." - -"Hark at him!" laughed Old George. - -As soon as the meal was over, he rose, saying he would see to his horse. -Mary looked up at him as he put his hat on his head and took the -lantern. She didn't want him to go. - -"How long will you be?" she asked. - -"Why, not long," he answered, with a slight smile. - -Nevertheless he was glad to be out and with his horse. Somehow those -others made a false atmosphere, Mary and Old George. They made Jack's -soul feel sarcastic. He lingered about the stable in the dim light of -the lantern, preparing himself a bed. There were only two bedrooms in -the house. The old couple would sleep on the kitchen floor, or on the -sofa. He preferred to sleep in the stable. He had grown so that he did -not like to sleep inside their fixed, shut-in houses. He did not mind a -mere hut, like his at the camp. But a shut-in house with fixed furniture -made him feel sick. He was sick of the whole pretence of it. - -And he knew he would never come to live on this farm. He didn't want to. -He didn't like the atmosphere of the place. He felt stifled. He wanted -to go North, or West, or North-West once more. - -Suddenly he heard footsteps: Mary picking her way across. - -"Is your horse all right?" she asked. "I was afraid something was wrong -with him. And he is so beautiful. Or is it a mare?" - -"No," he said. "It is a horse. I don't care for a mare, for riding." - -"Why?" - -"She has so many whims of her own, and wants so much attention paid to -her. And then ten to one you can't trust her. I prefer a horse to ride." - -She saw the rugs spread on the straw. - -"Who is going to sleep here?" she asked. - -"Why--but----" - -He cut short her expostulations. - -"Oh, but do let me bring you sheets. Do let me make you a proper bed!" -she cried. - -But he only laughed at her. - -"What's a _proper_ bed?" he said. "Is this an improper one, then?" - -"It's not a comfortable one," she said with dignity. - -"It is for me. I wasn't going to ask you to sleep on it too, was I, -now?" - -She went out and stood looking at the Southern Cross. - -"Weren't you coming indoors again?" she asked. - -"Don't you think it's nicer out here? Feels a bit tight in there. I say, -Mary, I don't think I shall ever come and live on this place." - -"Why not?" - -"I don't like it." - -"Why not?" - -"It feels a bit heavy--and a bit tight to me." - -"What shall you do then?" - -"Oh, I don't know. I'll decide When I'm back at the camp. But I say, -wouldn't you like this place? I'll give it you if you would. You're next -of kin really. If you'll have it, I'll give it you." - -Mary was silent for some time. - -"And what do you think you'll do if you don't live here?" she asked. -"Will you stay always on the goldfields?" - -"Oh dear no! I shall probably go up to the Never-Never, and raise -cattle. Where there aren't so many people, and photo albums, and good -old Georges and Aunt Matildas and all that." - -"You'll be yourself, wherever you are." - -"Thank God for that, but it's not quite true. I find I'm less myself -down here, with all you people." - -Again she was silent for a time. - -"Why?" she asked. - -"Oh, that's how it makes me feel, that's all." - -"Are you more yourself on the goldfields?" she asked rather -contemptuously. - -"Oh yes." - -"When you are getting money, you mean?" - -"No. But I've got so that Aunt Matilda-ism and Old-Georgism don't agree -with me. They make me feel sarcastic, they make me feel out of sorts all -over." - -"And I suppose you mean Mary-ism too," she said. - -"Yes, a certain sort of Mary-ism does it to me as well. But there's a -Mary without the ism that I said I'd come back for.--Would you like this -place?" - -"Why?" - -"To cultivate your Mary-ism. Or would you like to come to the -North-West?" - -"But why do you trouble about me?" - -"I've come back for you. I said I'd come back for you. I am here." - -There was a moment of tense silence. - -"You have married Monica, now," said Mary in a low voice. - -"Of course I have. But the leopard doesn't change his spots when he goes -into a cave with a she-leopard. I said I'd come back for you as well, -and I've come." - -A dead silence. - -"But what about Monica?" Mary asked, with a little curl of irony. - -"Monica?" he said. "Yes, she's my wife, I tell you. But she's not my -only wife. Why should she be? She will lose nothing." - -"Did she say so? Did you tell her?" Mary asked insidiously. - -Slowly an anger suffused thick in his chest, and then seemed to break in -a kind of explosion. And the curious tension of his desire for Mary -snapped with the explosion of his anger. - -"No," he said. "I didn't tell her. I had to ask you first. Monica is -thick with her babies now. She won't care where I am. That's how women -are. They are more creatures than men are. They're not separated out of -the earth. They're like black ore. The metal's in them, but it's still -part of the earth. They're all part of the matrix, women are, with their -children clinging to them." - -"And men are pure gold?" said Mary sarcastically. - -"Yes, in streaks. Men are the pure metal, in streaks. Women never are. -For my part, I don't want them to be. They _are_ the mother-rock. They -are the matrix. Leave them at that. That's why I want more than one -wife." - -"But why?" she asked. - -He realised that, in his clumsy fashion, he had taken the wrong tack. -The one thing he should never have done, he had begun to do: explain and -argue. Truly, Mary put up a permanent mental resistance. But he should -have attacked elsewhere. He should have made love to her. Yet, since she -had so much mental resistance, he had to make his position clear.--Now -he realised he was angry and tangled. - -"Shall we go in?" he said abruptly. - -And she returned with him in silence back to the house. Mr. George was -in the parlour, looking over some papers. Jack and Mary went in to him. - -"I have been thinking, Sir," said Jack, "that I shall never come and -live on this place. I want to go up to the North-West and raise cattle. -That'll suit me better than wheat and dairy. So I offer this place to -Mary. She can do as she likes with it. Really, I feel the property is -naturally hers." - -Now Old George had secretly cherished this thought for many years, and -it had riled him a little when Jack calmly stepped into the inheritance. - -"Oh, you can't be giving away a property like this," he said. - -"Why not? I have all the money I want. I give the place to Mary. I'd -much rather give it to her than sell it. But if she won't have it, I'll -ask you to sell it for me." - -"Why! Why!" said Old George fussily, stirring quite delighted in his -chair, and looking from one to the other of the young people, unable to -understand their faces. Mary looked sulky and unhappy, Jack looked -sarcastic. - -"I won't take it, anyhow," exclaimed Mary. - -"Eh? Why not? If the young millionaire wants to throw it away----" said -the old man ironically. - -"I won't! I won't take it!" she repeated abruptly. - -"Why--what's amiss?" - -"Nothing! I won't take it." - -"Got a proud stomach from your aristocratic ancestors, have you?" said -Old George. "Well, you needn't have; the place is your father's son's -place, you needn't be altogether so squeamish." - -"I wouldn't take it if I was starving," she asserted. - -"You're in no danger of starving, so don't talk," said the old man, -testily. "It's a nice little place. I should enjoy coming out here and -spending a few months of the year myself. Should like nothing better." - -"But I won't take it," said Mary. - -Jack went grinning off to his stable. He was angry, but it was the kind -of anger that made him feel sarcastic. - -Damn her! She was in love with him. She had a passion for him. What did -she want? Did she want him to make love to her, and run away with her, -and abandon Monica and Jane and the twin babies?--No doubt she would -listen to such a proposition hard enough. But he was never going to make -it her. He had married Monica, and he would stick to her. She was his -first and chief wife, and whatever happened, she should remain it. He -detested and despised divorce; a shifty business. But it was nonsense to -pretend that Monica was the beginning and end of his marriage with -woman. Woman was the matrix, the red earth, and he wanted his roots in -this earth. More than one root, to keep him steady and complete. Mary -instinctively belonged to him. Then why not belong to him completely? -Why not? And why not make a marriage with her too? The legal marriage -with Monica, his own marriage with Mary. It was a natural thing. The old -heroes, the old fathers of red earth, like Abraham in the Bible, like -David even, they took the wives they needed for their own completeness, -without this nasty chop-and-change business of divorce. Then why should -he not do the same? - -He would have all the world against him. But what would it matter, if he -were away in the Never-Never, where the world just faded out? Monica -could have the chief house. But Mary should have another house, with -garden and animals if she wanted them. And she should have her own -children: his children. Why should she be only Auntie to Monica's -children? Mary, with her black, glistening eyes and her short, dark, -secret body, she was asking for children. She was asking him for his -children, really. He knew it, and secretly she knew it; and Aunt -Matilda, and even Old George knew it, somewhere in themselves. And Old -George was funny. He wouldn't really have minded an affair between Jack -and Mary, provided it had been kept dark. He would even have helped them -to it, so long as they would let nothing be known. - -But Jack was too wilful and headstrong, and too proud, for an intrigue. -An intrigue meant a certain cringing before society, and this he would -never do. If he took Mary, it was because he felt she instinctively -belonged to him. Because, in spite of the show she kept up, her womb was -asking for him. And he wanted her for himself. He wanted to have her and -to answer her. And he would be judged by nobody. - -He rose quickly, returning to the house. Mary and the old man were in -the kitchen, getting their candles to go to bed. - -"Mary," said Jack, "come out and listen to the night-bird." - -She started slightly, glanced at him, then at Mr. George. - -"Go with him a minute, if you want to," said the old man. - -Rather unwillingly she went out of the door with Jack. They crossed the -yard in silence, towards the stable. She hesitated outside, in the thin -moonlight. - -"Come to the stable with me," he said, his heart beating thick, and his -voice strange and low. - -"Oh Jack!" she cried, with a funny little lament; "you're married to -Monica! I can't! You're Monica's." - -"Am I?" he said. "Monica's mine, if you like, but why am I all hers? -She's certainly not all mine. She belongs chiefly to her babies just -now. Why shouldn't she? She's their red earth. But I'm not going to shut -my eyes. Neither am I going to play the mild Saint Joseph. I don't feel -that way. At the present moment I'm not Monica's, any more than she is -mine. So what's the good of your telling me? I shall love her again, -when she is free. Everything in season, even wives. Now I love you -again, after having never thought of it for a long while. But it was -always slumbering inside me, just as Monica is asleep inside me this -minute. The sun goes, and the moon comes. A man isn't made up of only -one thread. What's the good of keeping your virginity! It's really mine. -Come with me to the stable, and then afterwards come and live in the -North-West, in one of my houses, and have your children there, and -animals or whatever you want." - -"Oh God!" cried Mary. "You must really be mad. You don't love me, you -can't, you must love Monica. Oh God, why do you torture me!" - -"I don't torture you. Come to the stable with me. I love you too." - -"But you love Monica." - -"I shall love Monica again, another time. Now I love you. I don't -change. But sometimes it's one, then the other. Why not?" - -"It can't be! It can't be!" cried Mary. - -"Why not? Come into the stable with me, with me and the horses." - -"Oh don't torture me! I hate my animal nature. You want to make a slave -of me," she cried blindly. - -This struck him silent. Hate her animal nature? What did she mean? Did -she mean the passion she had for him? And make a slave of her? How? - -"How make a slave of you?" he asked. "What are you now? You are a sad -thing as you are. I don't want to leave you as you are. You are a slave -now, to Aunt Matilda and all the conventions. Come with me into the -stable." - -"Oh, you are cruel to me! You are wicked! I can't. You know I can't." - -"Why can't you? You can. I am not wicked. To me it doesn't matter what -the world is. You _really_ want me, and nothing but me. It's only the -outside of you that's afraid. There is nothing to be afraid of, now we -have enough money. You will come with me to the North-West, and be my -other wife, and have my children, and I shall depend on you as a man has -to depend on a woman." - -"How selfish you are! You are as selfish as my father, who betrayed your -mother's sister and left this skull-and-cross-bones son," she cried. -"No, it's dreadful, it's horrible. In this horrible place, too, -proposing such a thing to me. It shows you have no feelings." - -"I don't care about feelings. They're what people have because they feel -they ought to have them. But I know my own real feelings. I don't care -about your feelings." - -"I know you don't," she said. "Good-night!" She turned abruptly and -hurried away in the moonlight, escaping to the house. - -Jack watched the empty night for some minutes. Then he turned away into -the stable. - -"That's that!" he said, seeing his little plans come to nought. - -He went into the stable and sat down on his bed, near the horses. How -good it was to be with the horses! How good animals were, with no -"feelings" and no ideas. They just straight felt what they felt, without -lies and complications. - -Well, so be it! He was surprised. He had not expected Mary to funk the -issue, since the issue was clear. What else was the right thing to do? -Why, nothing else! - -It seemed to him so obvious. Mary obviously wanted him, even more, -perhaps, than he wanted her. Because she was only a part thing, by -herself. All women were only parts of some whole, when they were by -themselves: let them be as clever as they might. They were creatures of -earth, and fragments, all of them. All women were only fragments; -fragments of matrix at that. - -No, he was not wrong, he was right. If the others didn't agree, they -didn't, that was all. He still was right. He still hated the nauseous -one-couple-in-one-cottage domesticity. He hated domesticity altogether. -He loathed the thought of being shut up with one woman and a bunch of -kids in a house. Several women, several houses, several bunches of kids: -it would then be like a perpetual travelling, a camp, not a home. He -hated homes. He wanted a camp. - -He wanted to pitch his camp in the wilderness: with the faithful Tom, -and Lennie, and his own wives. Wives, not wife. And the horses, and the -come-and-go, and the element of wildness. Not to be tamed. His men, men -by themselves. And his women never to be tamed. And the wilderness still -there. He wanted to go like Abraham under the wild sky, speaking to a -fierce wild Lord, and having angels stand in his doorway. - -Why not? Even if the whole world said No! Even then, why not? - -As for being ridiculous, what was more ridiculous than men wheeling -perambulators and living among a mass of furniture in a tight house? - -Anyhow it was no good talking to Mary at the moment. She wasn't a piece -of the matrix of red earth. She was a piece of the upholstered world. -Damn the upholstered world! He would go back to the goldfields, to Tom -and Lennie and Monica, back to camp. Back to camp, away from the -upholstery. - -No, he wasn't a man who had finished when he had got one wife. - -And that damned Mary, by the mystery of fate, was linked to him. - -And damn her, she preferred to break that link, and turn into an -upholstered old maid. Of all the hells! - -Then let her marry Blessington and a houseful of furniture. Or else -marry Old George, and gas to him while he could hear. She loved gassing. -Talk, talk, talk, Jack hated a talking woman. But Mary would rather sit -gassing with Old George than be with him, Jack. Of all the surprising -hells! - -At least Tom wasn't like that. And Monica wasn't. But Monica was wrapped -up in her babies, she seemed to swim in a sea of babies, and Jack had to -let her be. And she too had a hankering after furniture. He knew she'd -be after it, if he didn't prevent her. - -Well, it was no good preventing people, even from stuffed plush -furniture and knick-knacks. But he'd keep the brake on. He would do -that. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -TROT, TROT BACK AGAIN - - -But as he rode back to Perth, with Mary rather stiff and silent, and Mr. -George absorbed in his own thoughts; and as they greeted people on the -road, and passed by settlements; and as they saw far off the pale-blue -sea with a speck of a steamer smoking, and the dim fume of Perth down at -sea-level, he thought to himself: "I had better be careful. I had better -be wary. The world is cold and cautious, it has cold blood, like ants -and centipedes. They, all the men in the world, they hardly want one -wife, let alone two. And they would take any excuse to destroy me. They -would like to destroy me, because I am not cold and like an ant, as they -are. Mary would like me to be killed. Look at her face. She would feel a -real deep satisfaction if my horse threw me against those stones and -smashed my skull in. She would feel vindicated. And Old George would -think it served me right. And practically everybody would be glad. Not -Tom and Len. But practically everybody else. Even Monica, though she is -my wife. Even she feels a judgment ought to descend upon me. Because I'm -not what she wants me to be. Because I'm not as she thinks I ought to -be. And because she can't get beyond me. Because something inside her -knows she can't get past me. Therefore, in one corner of her she hates -me, like a scorpion lurking. If I'm unaware, and put my hand unthinking -in that corner, she'll sting me and hope to kill me. How curious it is! -And since I have found the gold it is more emphatic than before. As if -they grudged me something. As if they grudged me my very being. Because -I'm not one of them, and just like they are, they would like me -destroyed. It has always been so ever since I was born. My Aunts, my own -father. And my mother didn't want me destroyed as they secretly did, but -even my mother would not have tried to prevent them from destroying me. -Even when they like me, as Old George does, they grudge their own -liking, they take it back whenever they can. He defended me over Easu -because he thought I was defending Monica, and going the good way of the -world. Now he scents that I am going my own way, he feels as if I were a -sort of snake that should be put out of existence. That's how Mary feels -too: and Mary loves me, if loving counts for anything. Tom and Len don't -wish me destroyed. But if they saw the world destroying me they'd -acquiesce. Their fondness for me is only passive, not active. I believe, -if I ransacked earth and heaven, there's nobody would fight for me as I -am, not a soul, except that little Jane of Easu's. The others would -fight like cats and dogs for me _as they want me to be._ But for me as I -am, they think I ought to be destroyed. - -"And I, I am a fool, talking to them, giving myself away to them, as to -Mary. Why, Mary ought to go down on her knees before the honour, if I -want to take her. Instead of which she puffs herself up, and spits venom -in my face like a cobra. - -"Very well, very well. Soon I can go out of her sight again, for I -loathe the sight of her. I can ride down Hay Street without yielding a -hair's breadth to any man or woman on earth. And I can ride out of Perth -without leaving a vestige of myself behind, for them to work mischief -on. - -"God, but it's a queer thing, to know that they all want to destroy me -as I am, even out here in this far-off colony. I thought it was only my -Aunts, and my father because of his social position. But it is -everybody. Even, passively, my mother, and Tom and Len. Because inside -my soul I don't conform: can't conform. They would all like to kill the -non-conforming me. Which is me myself. - -"And at the same time they all love me exceedingly the moment they think -I am in line with them. The moment they think I am in line with them, -they're awfully fond of me. Monica, Mary, Old George, even Aunt Matilda, -they're almost all of them in love with me then, and they'd give me -anything. If I asked Mary to sin with me as something I shouldn't do, -but I went down on my knees and asked for it, unable to help myself, -she'd give in to me like anything. And Monica, if I was willing to be -forgiven, would forgive me with unction. - -"But since I refuse the sin business, and I never go down on my knees; -and since I say that my way is better than theirs, and that I should -have my two wives, and both of them know that it is an honour for them -to be taken by me, an honour for them to be put into my house and -acknowledged there, they would like to kill me. It is I who must grovel, -I who must submit to judgment. If I would but submit to their judgment, -I could do all the wicked things I like, and they would only love me -better. But since I will never submit to them, they would like to -destroy me off the face of the earth, like a rattlesnake. - -"They shall not do it. But I must be wary. I must not put out my hand to -ask them for anything, or they will strike my hand like vipers out of a -hole. I must take great care to ask them for nothing, and to take -nothing from them. Absolutely I must have nothing from them, not so much -as to let them carry the cup of tea for me, unpaid. I must be very -careful. I should not have let that brown snake of a Mary see I wanted -her. As for Monica, I married her, so that makes them all allow me -certain rights, as far as she is concerned. But she has her rights too, -and the moment she thinks I trespass on them, she will unsheath her -fangs. - -"As for me, I refuse their social rights, they can keep them. If they -will give me no rights, to the man I am, to me as I am, they shall give -me nothing. - -"God, what am I going to do? I feel like a man whom the -snake-worshipping savages have thrown into one of their snake-pits. All -snakes, and if I touch a single one of them, it will bite me. Man or -woman, wife or friend, every one of them is ready for me since I am -rich. Daniel in the den of lions was a comfortable man in comparison. -These are all silent, damp, creeping snakes, like that yellow-faced Mary -there, and that little whip-snake of a Monica, whom I have loved. 'Now -they bite me where I most have sinned,' says old Don Rodrigo, when the -snakes of the Inferno bite him. So they shall not bite me. God in -heaven, no, so they shall not bite me. Snakes they are, and the world is -a snake-pit into which one is thrown. But still they shall not bite me. -As sure as God is God, they shall not bite me. I will crush their heads -rather. - -"Why did I want that Mary? How unspeakably repulsive she is to me now! -Why did I ever want Monica so badly? God, I shall never want her again. -They shall not bite me as they bit Don Rodrigo, or Don Juan. My name is -John, but I am no Don. God forbid that I should take a title from them. - -"And the soft, good Tom and Lennie, they shall live their lives, but not -with my life. - -"Am I not a fool! Am I not a pure crystal of a fool! I thought they -would love me for what I am, for the man I am, and they only love me for -the me as they want me to be. They only love me because they get -themselves glorified out of me. - -"I thought at least they would give me a certain reverence, because I am -myself and because I am different, in the name of the Lord. But they -have all got their fangs full and surcharged with insult, to vent it on -me the moment I stretch out my hand. - -"I thought they would know the Lord was with me, and a certain new thing -with me on the face of the earth. But if they know the Lord is with me, -it is only so that they can intensify and concentrate their poison, to -drive Him out again. And if they guess a new thing in me, on the face of -the earth, it only makes them churn their bile and secrete their malice -into a poison that would corrode the face of the Lord. - -"Lord! Lord! That I should ever have wanted them, or even wanted to -touch them! That ever I should have wanted to come near them, or to let -them come near me. Lord, as the only boon, the only blessedness, leave -me intact, leave me utterly isolate and out of the reach of all men. - -"That I should have wanted! That I should have wanted Monica so badly! -Well, I got her, and she saves her fangs in silent readiness for me, for -the me as I am, not the me that is hers. That I should have wanted this -Mary, whom I now despise. That I should have thought of a new little -world of my own! - -"What a fool! To think of Abraham, and the great men in the early days. -To think that I could take up land in the North, a big wild stretch of -land, and build my house and raise my cattle and live as Abraham lived, -at the beginning of time, but myself at another, late beginning. With my -wives and the children of my wives, and Tom and Lennie with their -families, my right hand and my left hand, and absolutely fearless. And -the men I would have work for me, because they were fearless and hated -the world. Each one having his share of the cattle, and the horses, at -the end of the year. Men ready to fight for me and with me, no matter -against what. A little world of my own, in the North-West. And my -children growing up like a new race on the face of the earth, with a new -creed of courage and sensual pride, and the black wonder of the halls of -death ahead, and the call to be lords of death, on earth. With my Lord, -as dark as death and splendid with lustrous doom, a sort of spontaneous -royalty, for the God of my little world. The spontaneous royalty of the -dark Overlord, giving me earth-royalty, like Abraham or Saul, that can't -be quenched and that moves on to perfection in death. One's last and -perfect lordliness in the halls of death, when slaves have sunk as -carrion, and only the serene in pride are left to judge the unborn. - -"A little world of my own! As if I could make it with the people that -are on earth to-day! No, no, I can do nothing but stand alone. And then, -when I die, I shall not drop like carrion on the earth's earth. I shall -be a lord of death, and sway the destinies of the life to come." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -THE RIDER ON THE RED HORSE - - -Jack was glad to get away from Perth, to ride out and leave no vestige -of his soul behind, for them to work mischief on. He saddled his horse -before dawn, and still before sun was up, he was trotting along beside -the river. He loved the world, the early morning, the sense of newness. -It was natural to him to like the world, the trees, the sky, the -animals, and even, in a casual way, people. It was his nature to like -the casual people he came across. And, casually, they all liked him. It -was only when he approached nearer, into intimacy, that he had a -revulsion. - -In the casual way of life he was good-humored, and could get on with -almost everybody. He took them all at their best, and they responded. -For on the whole, people are glad to be taken at their best, on trust. - -But when he went further, the thing broke down. Casually, he could get -on with anybody. Intimately, he could get on with nobody. In intimate -life, he was quiet and unyielding, often oppressive. In the casual way, -he was most yielding and agreeable. Therefore it was his friends who -suffered most from him. - -He knew this. He knew that Monica and Lennie suffered from his aloofness -and a certain arrogance, in intimate life. So friendly with everybody, -he was. And at the centre, not really friendly even with his wife and -his dearest friends. Withheld, unyielding, exacting even in his silence, -he kept them in a sort of suspense. - -As he rode his bright bay stallion on the soft road, he became aware of -this. Perhaps his horse was the only creature with which he had the -right relation. He did not love it, but he harmonised with it. As if, -between them, they made a sort of centaur. It was not love. It was a -sort of understanding in power and mastery and crude life. A harmony -even more than an understanding. As if he himself were the breast and -arms and head of the ruddy, powerful horse, and it, the flanks and -hoofs. Like a centaur. It had a real joy in riding away with him to the -bush again. He knew by the uneven, springy dancing. And he had perhaps a -greater joy. The animal knew it in the curious pressure of his knees, -and the soft rhythm of the bit. Between them, they moved in a sort of -triumph. - -The red stallion was always glad when Jack rode alone. It did not like -company, particularly human company. When Jack rode alone, his horse had -a curious bubbling, exultant movement. When he rode in company, it went -in a more suppressed way. And when he stopped to talk to people, in his -affable, rather loving manner, the horse became irritable, chafing to go -on. He had long ago realised that the bay could not bear it when he -reined in and stayed chatting. His voice, in its amiable flow, seemed to -irritate the animal. And it did not like Lennie. Lucy, the old mare, -loved Lennie. Most horses liked him. But Jack's stallion got a bit -wicked, irritable with him. - -And when Jack had made a fool of himself, as with Mary, and felt -tangled, he always craved to get on his horse Adam, to be put right. He -would feel the warm flow of life from the horse mount up him and wash -away in its flood the human entanglements in his nerves. And sometimes -he would feel guilty towards his horse Adam, as if he had betrayed the -natural passion of the horse, giving way to the human travesty. - -Now, in the morning before sunrise, with the red horse bubbling with -exultance between his knees, his soul turned with a sudden jerk of -realisation away from his fellow-men. He really didn't want his -fellow-men. He didn't want that amiable casual association with them, -which took up so large a part of his life. It was a habit and a bluff on -his part. Also it was part of his nature. A certain real amiability in -him, and a natural kindly disposition towards his fellow-men combated -inside him with a repudiation of the whole trend of modern human life, -the emotional, spiritual, ethical, and intellectual trend. Deep inside -himself, he fought like a wild-cat against the whole thing. And yet, -because of a naturally amiably disposed, even benevolent nature in -himself, he took any casual individual into his warmth, and was -bosom-friends for the moment. Until, inevitably, after a short time the -individual betrayed himself a unit of the universal human trend, and -then Jack recoiled in anger and revulsion again. - -This was a sort of dilemma. Monica, and Tom, and Lennie, who knew him -intimately, knew the absoluteness of his repudiation of mankind and -mankind's direction in general. They knew it to their cost, having -suffered from it. Therefore the anomaly of his casual intimacies and his -casual bosom-friend-ships was considerably puzzling and annoying to -them. He seemed to them false to himself, false to the other thing he -was trying to put across. Above all, it seemed false to _them_, his -real, old friends, towards whom he was so silently exacting and -overbearing. - -This morning, after his fiasco with Mary, he vaguely realised himself. -He vaguely realised that he had to make a change. The casual intimacies -were really a self-betrayal. But they made his life easy. It was the -easiest way for him to encounter people. To suppress for the time being -his deepest self, his thoughts, his feelings, his vital repudiation of -the way of human life now, and to play at being really pleasant and -ordinary. He liked to think that most people, casually and -superficially, were nice. He hated having to withdraw. - -But now, after the fiasco with Mary, he realised again his necessity to -withdraw. To pass people by. They were all going in the opposite -direction to his own. Then he was wrong to rein up and pretend a -bosom-friendship for half an hour. As he did so, he was only being borne -down stream, in the old, deadly direction, against himself. - -Even his horse knew it: even old Adam. He pressed the animal's sides -with his legs, and made a silent pact with him: not to make this -compromise of amiability and casual friendship, not forever to be -reining up and allowing himself to be carried backwards in the weary -flood of the old human direction. To forfeit the casual amiabilities, -and go his way in silence. To have the courage to turn his face right -away from mankind. His soul and his spirit had already turned away. Now -he must turn away his face, and see them all no more. - -"I never want to see their faces any more," he said aloud to himself. -And his horse between his thighs danced and began to canter, as the sun -came sparkling up over the horizon. Jack looked into the sun, and knew -that he must turn his own face aside forever from the people of his -world, not look at them or communicate with them again, not any more. -Cover his own face with shadow, and let the world pass on its way, -unseen and unseeing. - -And he must know as he knew his horse, not face to face, never any more -face to face, but communicating as he did with his stallion Adam, from a -pressure of the thighs and knees. The arrows of the Archer, who is also -a centaur. - -Vision is no good. It is no good seeing any more. And words are no good. -It is useless to talk. We must communicate with the arrows of sightless, -wordless knowledge, as Jack communicated with his horse, by a pressure -of the thighs and knees. - -The sun had risen gold above the far-off ridge of the bush. Jack drew up -at an inn by the side of the road, to eat breakfast. He left his horse -at the hitching-post near the door, and went into the bar parlour. There -was a smell of mutton chops frying, and he was hungry. - -As he sat eating, he heard his horse neighing fiercely. He pricked his -ears. Again Adam's powerful neigh, and far off a high answering call of -a mare. He went out quickly to the door of the inn. Adam stood by the -post, his feet apart, his ears erect, his head high up, looking with -flashing eyes back down the road. How beautiful he was! in the -newly-risen sun shining bright almost as fire, every fibre of him on the -alert, tall and overweening. And down the road, a grey horse, cloud -colour, running eagerly forwards, its rider, a young lady, flushing -scarlet and trying to hold up her mare. It was no good. The mare's -shrill, wild neigh came answering the stallion's, and the lady rider was -powerless to hold her creature back. Strong, like bells in his deep -chest, came the stallion's call once more. And lifting her head as she -ran on swift, light feet, the mare sang back. - -The girl was Hilda Blessington. Jack took his horse and quickly ran him, -rearing and flaming, round to the stable. There he shut him up, though -his feet were thudding madly on the wooden floor, and his powerful -neighing shook the place with a sound like fire. - -The grey mare came running straight to the stable, carrying its -helpless, scarlet-flushing rider. Jack lifted the girl down, and held -the mare. There was a terrific thudding from the stable. - -"I'll put her in the paddock, shall I?" said Jack. - -"I think you'd better," she said. - -He looked uneasily at the stable, whence came a sound of something going -smash. The shut-up stallion sounded like an enclosed thunderstorm. - -"Shall I put them both in the paddock?" said Jack. "It seems the -simplest thing to do." - -"Yes," she murmured in confusion. "Perhaps you'd better." - -She was rather frightened. The duet of neighing was terrific, like the -bells of some wild cathedral going at full clash. The landlord of the -inn came running up. Jack was just slipping the mare's saddle off. - -"Steady! Steady!" he said. Then to the landlord: "Take her to the -paddock and turn her loose. I'm going to turn the horse loose with her." - -The landlord dragged the frantic grey animal away, while she screamed -and reared and pranced. - -Jack ran to the stable door, calling to his horse. He opened carefully. -The first thing he saw was the blazing eyes of the stallion. The horse -had broken the halter, and had his nose and his wild eyes at the door, -prepared to charge. Jack called to him again, and managed to get in -front of him and close the door behind him. The animal was listening to -two things at once, thinking two things at once. He was quivering in -every fibre, in a state almost of madness. Yet he stood quite still -while Jack slipped off the loosened saddle. - -Then again he began to jump. Already he had smashed in one side of the -stall, and had a bleeding fetlock. Jack got hold of the broken halter, -and opened the door. The horse, like a great ruddy thunderbolt, sprang -out of the stable, jerking Jack with him. The man, with a flying jump, -got on the bright, brilliant bare back of the stallion, and clung there -as the creature, swerving on powerful haunches past the terrified Hilda, -ran with a terrific, splendid neighing towards the paddock, moving -rhythmic and handsome. - -There was the grey mare at the gate, inside, neighing back, and the -landlord keeping guard. The men had to be very quick, the one to open -the gate, the other to slip down. - -Jack left the broken halter-rope dangling from his horse's head--it was -broken quite short--and went back into the yard. - -"What a commotion!" he said laughingly, to the flushed, deeply -embarrassed girl. "But you won't mind if your grey mare gets a foal to -my horse?" - -"Oh no," she said. "I shall like it." - -"Why not?" said he. "They'll be all right. There's the landlord and -another fellow there with them. Will you come in? Have you had -breakfast? Come and eat something." - -She went with him into the bar parlour, where he sat down again to eat -his half-cold mutton chops. She was silent and embarrassed, but not -afraid. The colour still was high in her young, delicate cheeks, but her -odd, bright, round, dark-grey eyes were fearless above her fear. She had -really a great dread of everything, especially of the social world in -which she had been brought up. But her dread had made her fearless. -There was something slightly uncanny about her, her quick, rabbit-like -alertness and her quick, open defiance, like some unyielding animal. She -was more like a hare than a rabbit: like a she-hare that will fight all -the cats that are after her young. And she had a great capacity for -remaining silent and remote, like a quaint rabbit unmoving in a corner. - -"Were you riding this way by accident?" he asked her. - -"No," she said quickly. "I hoped I might see you. Mary said you were -leaving early in the morning." - -"Why did you want to see me?" he asked, amused. - -"I don't know. But I did." - -"Well, it was a bit of a hubbub," he laughed. - -She glanced at him sharply, warily, on the defensive, and then laughed -as well, with a funny little chuckle. - -"Why did you leave so suddenly?" she asked. - -"No, it wasn't sudden. I'd had enough." - -"Enough of what?" - -"Everything." - -"Even of Mary?" - -"Chiefly of Mary." - -She eyed him again sharply, wonderingly, searchingly, then again gave -her odd little chuckle of a laugh. - -"Why 'chiefly of Mary'?" she asked. "I think she's so nice. She'd make -me such a good step-mother." - -"Do you want one?" he asked. - -"Yes, I do rather. Then my father would want to get rid of me. I should -be in the way." - -"And do you want to be got rid of?" - -"Yes, I do rather." - -"What for?" - -"I want to go right away." - -"Back to England?" - -"No. Not that. Never there again. Right away from Perth. Into the -unoccupied country. Into the North-West." - -"What for?" - -"To get away." - -"What from?" - -"Everything. Just everything." - -"But what would you find when you'd got away?" - -"I don't know. I want to try. I want to try." - -She had such an odd, definite decisiveness and self-confidence, he was -very much amused. She seemed the queerest, oddest, most isolated bird he -had ever come across. Exceedingly well-bred, with all the charm of pure -breeding. By nature, timorous like a hare. But now, in her queer state -of rebellion, like a hare that is perfectly fearless, and will go its -own way in determined singleness. - -"You must come and see Monica and me when we move to the North-West. -Would you like to?" - -"Very much. When will that be?" - -"Soon. Before the year is out. Shall I tell Monica you're coming? She'd -be glad of another woman." - -"Are you sure you want me?" - -"Quite." - -"Are you sure everybody will want me? I shan't be in the way? Tell me -quite frankly." - -"I'm sure everybody will want you. And you can't be in the way, you are -much too wary." - -"I only seem it." - -"Do come, though." - -"I should love to." - -"Well, do. When could you come?" - -"Any time. Tomorrow if you wish. I am quite independent. I have a -certain amount of money, from my mother. Not much, but enough for all I -want. And I am of age. I am quite free.--And I think if I went, father -would marry Mary. I wish he would." - -"Why?" - -"Then I should be free." - -"But free what for?" - -"Anything. Free to breathe. Free to live. Free not to marry. I know they -want to get me married. They've got their minds fixed on it. And I'm -afraid they'll force me to do it, and I don't want it." - -"Marry who?" - -"Oh, nobody in particular. Just somebody, don't you know." - -"And don't you want to marry?" asked Jack, amused. - -"No. No, I don't. Not any of the people I meet. No! Not that sort of -man. No. Never!" - -He burst into a laugh, and she, glancing in surprise at his amusement, -suddenly chuckled. - -"Don't you like men?" he asked, still laughing. - -"No. I don't. I dislike them very much." - -Her quick, cool, alert manner of statement amused him more than anything. - -"Not any men at all?" - -"No. Not yet. And I dislike the idea of marriage. I just hate it. I -don't think I'd mind men so much, if it weren't' for marriage in the -background. I can't do with marriage." - -"Might you like men without marriage?" he asked, laughing. - -"I don't know," she said, with her odd precision. "So far it's all just -impossible. I can't stand it. All that sort of thing is impossible to -me. No, I don't care for men at all." - -"What sort of thing is just impossible?" he asked. - -"Men! Particularly a man. Impossible!" - -Jack roared with laughter at her. She seemed rather to like being -laughed at. And her odd, cool, precise intensity tickled him to death. - -"You want to be virgin in the virgin bush?" he asked. - -She glanced at him quickly. - -"Something like that," she said, with her little chuckle. "I think later -on, not now, not now--" she shook her head--"I might like to be a man's -second or third wife: if the other two were living. I would never be the -first. Never. You remember you talked about it." - -She looked at him with her round, bright, odd eyes, like an elf or some -creature of the border-land, and as he roared with laughter, she smiled -quickly and with an odd, mischievous response. - -"What you said the other night, when Aunt Matilda was so angry, made me -think of it.--She hates you," she added. - -"Who, Aunt Matilda? Good job." - -"Yes, very good job! Don't you think she's _terrible?_" - -"I do," said Jack. - -"I'm glad you do. I can't stand her. I like Mr. George. But I don't care -for it when he seems to like _me._" - -Jack roared with laughter again, and again, from some odd corner of -herself, she smiled. - -"Why do you laugh?" she said. But the infection of laughter made her -give a little chuckle. - -"It's all such a real joke," he said. - -"It is," she answered. "Rather a bad joke." - -Slowly he formed a dim idea of her precise life, with a rather tyrannous -father who was fond of her in the wrong way, and brothers who had -bullied her and jeered at her for her odd ways and appearance, and her -slight deafness. The governess who had mis-educated her, the loneliness -of the life in London, the aristocratic but rather vindictive society in -England, which had persecuted her in a small way, because she was one of -the odd border-line people who don't and _can't_, really belong. She -kept an odd, bright, amusing spark of revenge twinkling in her all the -time. She felt that with Jack she could kindle her spark of revenge into -a natural sun. And without any compunction, she came to tell him. - -He was tremendously amused. She was a new thing to him. She was one who -knew the world, and society, better than he did, and her hatred of it -was purer, more twinkling, more relentless in a quiet way. Her way was -absolutely relentless, and absolutely quiet. She had gone further along -that line than himself. And her fearlessness was of a queer, uncanny -quality, hardly human. She was a real border-line being. - -"All right," he said, making a pact with her. "By Christmas we'll ask -you to come and see us in the North-West." - -"By Christmas! It's a settled thing?" she said, holding up her -forefinger with an odd, warning, alert gesture. - -"It's a settled thing," he replied. - -"Splendid!" she answered. "I believe you'll keep your word." - -"You'll see I shall." - -She rose. The horses, quieted down, were caught and saddled and brought -round. She glanced from her blue-grey mare to his red stallion, and gave -her odd, squirrel-like chuckle. - -"What a _contretemps_," she said. "It's like the sun mating with the -moon." She gave him a quick, bright, odd glance: some of the coolness of -a fairy. - -"Is it!" he exclaimed, as he lifted her into the saddle. She was slim -and light, with an odd, remote reserve. - -He mounted his horse. - -"We go different ways for the moment," she said. - -"Till Christmas," he answered. "Then the moon will come to the sun, eh? -Bring the mare with you. Shell probably be in foal." - -"I certainly will. Goodbye, till Christmas. Don't forget. I shall expect -you to keep your word." - -"I will keep my word," he said. "Goodbye till Christmas." - -He rode away, laughing and chuckling to himself. If Mary had been a -fiasco, this was a real joke. A real, unexpected joke. - -His horse travelled with quick, strong, rhythmic movement, inland, away -from the sea. At the last ridge he turned and saw the pale-blue ocean -full of light. Then he rode over the crest and down the silent grey -bush, in which he had once been lost. - - - - -THE END - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOY IN THE BUSH *** - -***** This file should be named 63000-0.txt or 63000-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - https://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/0/0/63000/ - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Boy in the Bush</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: David Herbert Lawrence<br /> -Mary Louisa Skinner</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 21, 2020 [eBook #63000]<br /> -[Most recently updated: April 15, 2021]</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOY IN THE BUSH ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/boy_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - - -<h2>THE BOY<br /> -IN THE BUSH</h2> - -<h5>BY</h5> - -<h3>D. H. LAWRENCE</h3> - -<h5>AND</h5> - -<h3>M. L. SKINNER</h3> - -<h5>NEW YORK</h5> - -<h4>THOMAS SELTZER</h4> - -<h5>1924</h5> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> - -<p>CHAPTER</p> -<p>I. <a href="#CHAPTER_I">Jack Arrives in Australia</a><br /> -II. <a href="#CHAPTER_II">The Twin Lambs</a><br /> -III. <a href="#CHAPTER_III">Driving to Wandoo</a><br /> -IV. <a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Wandoo</a><br /> -V. <a href="#CHAPTER_V">The Lambs Come Home</a><br /> -VI. <a href="#CHAPTER_VI">In the Yard</a><br /> -VII. <a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Out Back and Some Letters</a><br /> -VIII. <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Home for Christmas</a><br /> -IX. <a href="#CHAPTER_IX">New Year's Eve</a><br /> -X. <a href="#CHAPTER_X">Shadows Before</a><br /> -XI. <a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Blows</a><br /> -XII. <a href="#CHAPTER_XII">The Great Passing</a><br /> -XIII. <a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">Tom and Jack Ride Together</a><br /> -XIV. <a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Jamboree</a><br /> -XV. <a href="#CHAPTER_XV">Uncle John Grant</a><br /> -XVI. <a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">On the Road</a><br /> -XVII. <a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">After Two Years</a><br /> -XVIII. <a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">The Governor's Dance</a><br /> -XIX. <a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">The Welcome at Wandoo</a><br /> -XX. <a href="#CHAPTER_XX">The Last of Easu</a><br /> -XXI. <a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Lost</a><br /> -XXII. <a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">The Find</a><br /> -XXIII. <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">Gold</a><br /> -XXIV. <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">The Offer to Mary</a><br /> -XXV. <a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">Trot, Trot Back Again</a><br /> -XXVI. <a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">The Rider on the Red Horse</a></p> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h3>THE BOY IN THE BUSH</h3> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - -<h4>JACK ARRIVES IN AUSTRALIA</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>He stepped ashore, looking like a lamb. Far be it from me to say he was -the lamb he looked. Else why should he have been sent out of England? -But a good-looking boy he was, with dark blue eyes and the complexion of -a girl and a bearing just a little too lamb-like to be convincing.</p> - -<p>He stepped ashore in the newest of new colonies, glancing quickly -around, but preserving his lamb-like quietness. Down came his elegant -kit, and was dumped on the wharf: a kit that included a brand-new -pigskin saddle and bridle, nailed up in a box straight from a smart shop -in London. He kept his eye on that also, the tail of his well-bred eye.</p> - -<p>Behind him was the wool ship that had brought him from England. This -nondescript port was Fremantle, in West Australia; might have been -anywhere or nowhere. In his pocket he had a letter of introduction to a -well-known colonial lawyer, in which, as he was aware, was folded also a -draft on a West Australian bank. In his purse he had a five-pound note. -In his head were a few irritating memories. In his heart he felt a -certain excited flutter at being in a real new land, where a man could -be <i>really</i> free. Though what he meant by "free" he never stopped to -define. He left everything suitably vague.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, he waited for events to develop, as if it were none of his -business.</p> - -<p>This was forty years ago, when it was still a long, long way to -Australia, and the land was still full of the lure of promise. There -were gold and pearl findings, bush and bush-ranging, the back of beyond -and everything desirable. Much misery, too, ignored by all except the -miserable.</p> - -<p>And Jack was not quite eighteen, so he ignored a great deal. He didn't -pay much attention even to his surroundings, yet from the end of the -wharf he saw pure sky above, the pure, unknown, unsullied sea to -westward; the ruffled, tumbled sand glistened like fine silver, the air -was the air of a new world, unbreathed by man.</p> - -<p>The only prize Jack had ever won at school was for Scripture. The Bible -language exerted a certain fascination over him, and in the background -of his consciousness the Bible images always hovered. When he was moved, -it was Scripture that came to his aid. So now he stood, silent with the -shyness of youth, thinking over and over: "There shall be a new heaven -and a new earth."</p> - -<p>Not far off among the sand near the harbour mouth lay the township, a -place of strong, ugly, oblong houses of white stone with unshuttered -bottle-glass windows and a low white-washed wall going round, like a -sort of compound; that there was a huge stone prison with a high -whitewashed wall. Nearer the harbour, a few new tall warehouse -buildings, and sheds, long sheds, and a little wooden railway station. -Further out again, windmills for milling flour, the mill-sails turning -in the transparent breeze from the sea. Right in the middle of the -township was a stolid new Victorian church with a turret: and this was -the one thing he knew he disliked in the view.</p> - -<p>On the wharf everything was busy. The old wool steamer lay important in -dock, people were crowding on deck and crowding the wharf in a very -informal manner, porters were running with baggage, a chain was -clanking, and little groups of emigrants stood forlorn, looking for -their wooden chests, swinging their odd bundles done up in coloured -kerchiefs. The uttermost ends of the earth! All so lost, and yet so -familiar. So familiar, and so lost. The people like provincial people at -home. The railway running through the sand hills. And the feeling of -remote unreality.</p> - -<p>This was his mother's country. She had been born and raised here, and -she had told him about it, many a time, like a fable. And this was what -it was like! How could she feel she actually <i>belonged</i> to it? Nobody -could belong to it.</p> - -<p>Himself, he belonged to Bedford, England. And Bedford College. But his -mind turned away from this in repugnance. Suddenly he turned desirously -to the unreality of place.</p> - -<p>Jack was waiting for Mr. George, the lawyer to whom his letter of -introduction was addressed. Mr. George had shaken hands with him on -deck: a stout and breezy gentleman, who had been carried away again on -the gusts of his own breeze, among the steamer crowd, and had forgotten -his young charge. Jack patiently waited. Adult and responsible people -with stout waistcoats had a habit, he knew, of being needed elsewhere.</p> - -<p>Mr. George! And all his mother's humorous stories about him! This -notable character of the Western lonely colony, this rumbustical old -gentleman who had a "terrific memory," who was "full of quotations" and -who "never forgot a face"—Jack waited the more calmly, sure of being -recognised again by him—was to be seen in the distance with his -thumbs hooked in his waistcoat armholes, passively surveying the scene with -a quiet, shrewd eye, before hailing another acquaintance and delivering -another sally. He had a "tongue like a razor" and frightened the women -to death. Seeing him there on the wharf, elderly, stout and decidedly -old-fashioned, Jack had a little difficulty in reconciling him with the -hearty colonial hero of his mother's stories.</p> - -<p>How he had missed a seat on the bench, for example. He was to become a -judge. But while acting on probation, or whatever it is called, a man -came up before him charged with wife-beating, and serious maltreatment -of his better half. A verdict of "not guilty" was returned. "Two years -hard labour," said Mr. George, who didn't like the looks of the fellow. -There was a protest. "Verdict stands!" said Mr. George. "Two years hard -labour. Give it him for <i>not</i> beating her and breaking her head. He -should have done. He should have done. 'Twas fairly proved!"</p> - -<p>So Mr. George had remained a lawyer, instead of becoming a judge. A -stout, shabby, provincial-looking old man with baggy trousers that -seemed as if they were slipping down. Jack had still to get used to that -sort of trousers. One of his mother's heroes!</p> - -<p>But the whole scene was still outside the boy's vague, almost trancelike -state. The commotion of unloading went on—people stood in groups, the -lumpers were already at work with the winches, bringing bales and boxes -from the hold. The Jewish gentleman standing just there had a red nose. -He swung his cane uneasily. He must be well-off, to judge by his links -and watch-chain. But then why did his trousers hang so low and baggy, -and why was his waistcoat of yellow cloth—that cloth cost a guinea a -yard, Jack knew it from his horsey acquaintances—so dirty and -frayed?</p> - -<p>Western Australia in the year 1882. Jack had read all about it in the -official report on the steamer. The colony had three years before -celebrated its fiftieth anniversary. Many people still remembered the -fiasco of the first attempt at the Swan River Settlement. Captain -Stirling brought the first boatload of prospective settlers. The -Government promised not to defile the land with convicts. But the -promise was broken. The convicts had come: and that stone -prison-building must have been the convict station. He knew from his -mother's stories. But he also knew that the convicts were now gone -again. The "Establishment" had been closed down already for ten years or -more.</p> - -<p>A land must have its ups and downs. And the first thing the old world -had to ship to the new world was its sins, and the first shipments were -of sinners. That was what his mother said. Jack felt a certain sympathy. -He felt a sympathy with the empty "Establishment" and the departed -convicts. He himself was mysteriously a "sinner." He felt he was born -such: just as he was born with his deceptive handsome look of innocence. -He was a sinner, a Cain. Not that he was aware of having committed -anything that seemed to himself particularly sinful. No, he was not -aware of having "sinned." He was not aware that he ever would "sin."</p> - -<p>But that wasn't the point. Curiously enough, that wasn't the point. The -men who commit sins and who know they commit sins usually get on quite -well with the world. Jack knew he would never get on well with the -world. He was a sinner. He knew that as far as the world went, he was a -sinner, born condemned. Perhaps it had come to him from his mother's -careless, rich, uncanny Australian blood. Perhaps it was a recoil from -his father's military-gentleman nature. His father was an officer in Her -Majesty's Army. An officer in Her Majesty's Army. For some reason, there -was always a touch of the fantastic and ridiculous, to Jack, in being an -officer in Her Majesty's Army. Quite a high and responsible officer, -usually stationed in command in one or other of Her Britannic Majesty's -Colonies.</p> - -<p>Why did Jack find his father slightly fantastic? Why was that gentleman -in uniform who appeared occasionally, very resplendent and somehow very -"good," why was he always unreal and fantastic to the little boy left at -home in England? Why was he even more fantastic when he wore a black -coat and genteel grey trousers? He was handsome and pleasant, and -indisputably "good." Then why, oh, why should he have appeared fantastic -to his own little boy, who was so much like him in appearance?</p> - -<p>"The spitten image!" one of his nurses had said. And Jack never forgave -it. He thought it meant a spat-upon image, or an image in spit. This he -resented and repudiated absolutely, though it remained vague.</p> - -<p>"Oh, you little sinner!" said the same nurse, half caressingly. And this -the boy had accepted as his natural appellation. He was a little sinner. -As he grew older, he was a young sinner. Now, as he approached manhood, -he was a sinner without modification.</p> - -<p>Not, we repeat, that he was ever able to understand wherein his -sinfulness lay. He knew his father was a "good man."—"The colonel, -your father, is such a <i>good man</i>, so you must be a <i>good little -boy</i> and grow up like him."—"There is no better example of an -English gentleman than your father, the general. All you have to do is -to grow up like him."</p> - -<p>Jack knew from the start that he wouldn't. And therein lay the sin, -presumably. Or the root of the sin.</p> - -<p>He did not dislike his father. The general was kind and simple and -amiable. How could anyone dislike him? But to the boy he was always just -a little fantastic, like the policeman in a Punch-and-Judy show.</p> - -<p>Jack loved his mother with a love that could not but be intermittent, -for sometimes she stayed in England and "lived" with him, and more often -she left him and went off with his father to Jamaica or some such -place—or to India or Khartoum, names that were in his -blood—leaving the boy in the charge of a paternal Aunt. He didn't -think much of the Aunt.</p> - -<p>But he liked the warm, flushed, rather muddled delight of his mother. -She was a handsome, ripe Australian woman with warm colouring and soft -flesh, absolutely kindly in a humorous, off-hand fashion, warm with a -jolly sensuousness, and good in a wicked sort of way. She sat in the sun -and laughed and refused to quarrel, refused also to weep. When she had -to leave her little boy a spasm would contract her face and make her -look ugly, so the child was glad if she went quickly. But she was in -love with her husband, who was still more in love with her, so off she -went laughing sensuously across seven seas, quarrelling with nobody, -pitching her camp in true colonial fashion wherever she found herself, -yet always with a touch of sensuous luxury, Persian rugs and silk -cushions and dresses of rich material. She was the despair of the true -English wives, for you couldn't disapprove of her, she was the dearest -thing imaginable, and yet she introduced a pleasant, semi-luxurious -sense of—of what? Why, almost of sin. Not positive sin. She was -really the dearest thing imaginable. But the feeling that there was no -fence between sin and virtue. As if sin were, so to speak, the unreclaimed -bush, and goodness were only the claims that the settlers had managed to -fence in. And there was so much more bush than settlement. And the one -was as good as the other, save that they served different ends. And that -you always had the wild and endless bush all round your little claim, -and coming and going was always through the wild and innocent, but -non-moral bush. Which non-moral bush had a devil in it. Oh, yes! But a -wild and comprehensible devil, like bush-rangers who did brutal and -lawless things. Whereas the tame devil of the settlement, drunkenness -and greediness and foolish pride, he was more scaring.</p> - -<p>"My dear, there's tame innocence and wild innocence, and tame devils and -wild devils, and tame morality and wild morality. Let's camp in the bush -and be good." That was her attitude, always. "Let's camp in the bush and -be good." She was an Australian from a wild Australian homestead. And -she was like a wild sweet animal. Always the sense of space and lack of -restrictions, and it didn't matter <i>what</i> you did, so long as you were -good inside yourself.</p> - -<p>Her husband was in love with her, completely. To him it mattered very -much what you did. So perhaps her easy indifference to English -rail-fences satisfied in him the iconoclast that lies at the bottom of -all men.</p> - -<p>She was not well-bred. There was a certain "cottage" geniality about -her. But also a sense of great, unfenced spaces, that put the ordinary -ladylikeness rather at a loss. A real colonial, from the newest, -wildest, remotest colony.</p> - -<p>She loved her little boy. But also she loved her husband, and she loved -the army life. She preferred, really, to be with her husband. And you -can't trail a child about. And she lived in all the world, and she -couldn't bear to be poked in a village in England. Not for long. And she -was used to having men about her. Mostly men. Jolly men.</p> - -<p>So her heart smarted for her little boy. But she had to leave him. And -he loved her, but did not dream of depending on her. He knew it as a -tiny child. He would never have to depend on anybody. His father would -pay money for him. But his father was rather jealous of him. Jealous -even of his beauty as a tiny child, in spite of the fact that the child -was the "spitten" image of the father: dark blue eyes, curly hair, -peach-bloom skin. Only the child had the easy way of accommodating -himself to life and circumstances, like his mother, and a certain -readiness to laugh, even when he was by himself. The easy laugh that -made his nurse say "You little sinner!"</p> - -<p>He knew he was a little sinner. It rather amused him.</p> - -<p>Jack's mind jolted awake as he made a grab at his hat, nearly knocking -it off, realizing that he was being introduced to two men: or that two -men were being introduced to him. They shook hands very casually, -giggling at the same time to one another in a suppressed manner. Jack -blushed furiously, embarrassed, not knowing what they were laughing -at.</p> - -<p>Just beside him, the Jewish gentleman was effusively greeting another -Jewish gentleman. In fact, they were kissing: which made Jack curl with -disgust. But he couldn't move away, because there were bales behind him, -people on two sides, and a big dog was dancing and barking in front of -him, at something which it saw away below through a crack in the wharf -timbers. The dog seemed to be a mixture of wolf and greyhound. Queer -specimen! Later, he knew it was called a kangaroo dog.</p> - -<p>"Mr. A. Bell and Mr. Swallow. Mr. Jack Grant from England." This was Mr. -George introducing him to the two men, and going on without any change, -with a queer puffing of the lips: "Prh! Bah! Wolf and Hider! Wolf and -Hider!"</p> - -<p>This left Jack, completely mystified. And why were Mr. Bell and Mr. -Swallow laughing so convulsedly? Was it the dog?</p> - -<p>"You remember his father, Bell, out here in '59.—Captain Grant. -Married Surgeon-Captain Reid's youngest daughter, from Woolamooloo -Station."</p> - -<p>The gentleman said: "Pleased to make your acquaintance," which was a -phrase that embarrassed Jack because he didn't know what to answer. -Should one say, "Thank you!"—or "The pleasure is mine!" or "So am I -to make yours!" He mumbled: "How do you do!"</p> - -<p>However, it didn't matter, for the two men kept the laugh between -themselves, while Mr. George took on a colonial <i>distrait</i> look, then -blew out his cheeks and ejaculated: "Mercy and truth have met together: -righteousness and peace have kissed each other." This was said in a -matter-of-fact way. Jack knew it was a quotation from the Psalms, but -not what it was aimed at. The two men were laughing more openly at the -joke.</p> - -<p>Was the joke against himself? Was it his own righteousness that was -funny? He blushed furiously once more.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>But Mr. George ignored the boy's evident embarrassment, and strolled off -with one of the gentlemen—whether Bell or Swallow, Jack did not -know—towards the train.</p> - -<p>The remaining gentleman—either Bell or Swallow—clapped the -uncomfortable youth comfortably on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>"New chum, eh?—Not in the know? I'll tell you."—They set -off after the other two.</p> - -<p>"By gad, 's a funny thing! You've got to laugh if old George is about, -though he never moves a muscle. Dry as a ship's biscuit. D'y'see the -Jews kissing? They've been at law for two years, those two blossoms. -One's name is Wolf and the other's Hider, and Mr. George is Wolf's -attorney. Never able to do anything, because you couldn't get Hider into -the open.—See the joke? Hider! Sneak Hider! Hider under the rafters! -Hider hidden! And the Wolf couldn't unearth him. Though George showed up -Wolf for what he is: a mean, grasping, contentious mongrel of a man. Now -they meet to kiss. See them? The suit ended in a mush. But that dog -there hunting a rat right under their feet—wasn't that beautiful? Old -George couldn't miss it.—'Mercy and truth have met together,' ha! ha! -However he finds his text for everything, beats me—"</p> - -<p>Jack laughed, and walked in a daze beside his new acquaintance. He felt -he had fallen overhead into Australia, instead of arriving naturally.</p> - -<p>The wood-eating little engine was gasping in front of a little train of -open carriages. Jack remarked on her tender piled high with chunks of -wood.</p> - -<p>"Yes, we stoke 'er with timber. We carry all we can. And if we're going -a long way, to York, when she's burned up all she can carry she stops in -the bush and we all get down, passengers and all, to chop a new supply. -See the axe there? She carries half a dozen on a long trip."</p> - -<p>The three men, all wearing old-fashioned whiskers, pulled out tobacco -pouches the moment they were seated, and started their pipes. They were -all stout, and their clothes were slack, and they behaved with such -absolute unconcern that it made Jack self-conscious.</p> - -<p>He sat rather stiffly, remembering the things his mother had told him. -Her father, Surgeon-Captain Reid, had arrived at the Swan River on a -man-of-war, on his very first voyage. He had landed with Captain -Fremantle from H. M. S. "Challenger," when that officer took formal -possession of the country in the name of His Majesty King George IV. He -had seen the first transport, the "Parmelia," prevented by heavy gales -from landing her goods and passengers on the mainland, disembark all on -Garden Island, where the men of the "Challenger" were busy clearing -ground and erecting temporary houses. That was in midwinter, June 1827: -and Jack's grandfather! Now it was midwinter, June 1882: and mere Jack.</p> - -<p>Midwinter! A pure blue sky and a warm, crystal air. The brush outside -green, rather dull green, the sandy country dry. It was like English -June, English midsummer. Why call it midwinter? Except for a certain -dull look of the bushes.</p> - -<p>They were passing the convict station. The "Establishment" had not -lasted long; from about 1850 to 1870. Not like New South Wales, which -had a purely convict origin. Western Australia was more respectable.</p> - -<p>He remembered his mother always praised the convicts, said they had been -a blessing to the colony. Western Australia had been too big and barren -a mouthful for the first pioneers to chew, even though they were -gentlemen of pluck and education and bit off their claims bravely. Came -the rush that followed occupation, a rush of estimable and highly -respectable British workmen. But even these were unprepared for the -hardships that awaited them in Western Australia. The country was too -much for them.</p> - -<p>It needed the convicts to make a real impression: the convicts with -their law, and discipline, and all their governmental outfit: and their -forced labour. Soldiers, doctors, lawyers, spiritual pastors and earthly -masters . . . and the convicts condemned to obey. This was the beginning -of the colony.</p> - -<p>Thought speaks! Mr. Swallow, identified as the gentleman with the long, -lean ruddy face and large nose and vague brown eye, leaned forward and -jerked his pipe stem towards the open window.</p> - -<p>"See that beautiful road running through the sand, sir? That road -extends to Perth and over the Causeway and away up country, branching in -all directions, like the arteries of the human body. Built by the -sappers and miners with <i>convict labour</i>, sir. Yes with <i>convict</i> -labour. Also the bridge over which we are crossing."</p> - -<p>Jack looked out at the road, but was much more enchanted by the full, -soft river of heavenly blue water, on whose surface he looked eagerly -for the black swans. He didn't see any.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes! Oh yes! You'll find 'em wild in their native state a little way -up," said Mr. Swallow.</p> - -<p>Beyond the river were sheets of sand again, white sand, stretching -around on every side.</p> - -<p>"It must have been here that the Carpenter wept—" Jack said in his -unexpected young voice that was still slightly hoarse, as he poked his -face out of the window.</p> - -<p>The three gentlemen were silent in passive consternation, till Mr. -George swelled his cheeks and continued:</p> - -<p>"Like anything to see such quantities of sand." Then he snorted and blew -his nose.</p> - -<p>Mr. Bell at once recognized the Westralian joke, which had been handed -on to Jack by his mother.</p> - -<p>"Hit it, my son!" he cried, clapping his hands on his knees. "In the -first five minutes. Useless! Useless! A gentleman of discernment, that's -what you are. Just the sort we want in this colony—a gentleman of -discernment. A gentleman without it planted us here, fifty years ago in -the blank, blank sand. What's the consequence? Clogged, cloyed, cramped, -sand-smothered, that's what we are."</p> - -<p>"Not a bit of it," said Mr. Swallow.</p> - -<p>"Sorrow, Sin, and Sand," repeated Mr. Bell.</p> - -<p>Jack was puzzled and amused by their free and easy, confidential way, -which was still a little ceremonious. Slightly ceremonious, and in their -shirt-sleeves, so to speak. The same with their curious, Cockney -pronunciation, their accurate grammar and their slight pomposity. They -never said "you," merely "y'"—"That's what y'are." And their -drawling, almost sneering manner was very odd, contrasting with the -shirtsleeves familiarity, the shabby clothes and the pleasant way they -had of nodding at you when they talked to you.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, Mr. Grant," continued Mr. Bell, while Jack wished he -wouldn't Mister him—"A gentleman without discernment induced -certain politicians in the British Cabinet to invest in these vast -areas. This same gentleman got himself created King of Groperland, and -came out here with a small number of fool followers. These fool -followers, for every three quid's worth of goods they brought with them, -were given forty acres of land apiece—"</p> - -<p>"Of sand," said Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"—and a million acres of fine promises," continued Mr. Bell -unmoved. "Therefore the fool followers, mostly younger sons of good -family, anxious to own property—"</p> - -<p>"In parties of five females to one male—Prrrh!" snorted Mr. -George.</p> - -<p>"—came. They were informed that the soil was well adapted to the -cultivation of tobacco! Of cotton! Of sugar! Of flax! And that cattle -could be raised to supply His Majesty's ships with salt beef—and -horses could be reared to supply the army in India—"</p> - -<p>"With Kangaroos and Wallabies."</p> - -<p>"—the cavalry, that is. So they came and were landed in the -sand—"</p> - -<p>"And told to stick their head in it, so they shouldn't see death staring -at 'em."</p> - -<p>"—along with the goods they had brought."</p> - -<p>"A harp!" cried Mr. George. "My mother brought a harp and a Paisley -shawl and got five hundred acres for 'em—estimated value of harp -being twenty guineas. She'd better have gone straight to heaven -with it."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir!" continued Mr. Bell, unheeding.</p> - -<p>"No, sir!" broke in Mr. George. "Do you wish me unborn?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Bell paused to smile, then continued:</p> - -<p>"Mr. Grant, sir, these gentle ladies and gentlemen were dumped in the -sand along with their goods. Well, there were a few cattle and sheep and -horses. But what else? Harps. Paisley shawls. Ornamental glass cases of -wax fruit, for the mantelpiece; family Bibles and a family coach, sir. -For that family coach, sir, the bringer got a thousand acres of land. -And it ended its days where they landed it, on the beach, for there -wasn't an inch of road to drive it over, nor anywhere to drive it to. -They took off its wheels and there it lay. I myself have sat in it."</p> - -<p>"Ridden in his coach," smiled Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"My mother," continued Mr. Bell, "was a clergyman's daughter. I myself -was born in a bush humpy, and my mother died shortly after—"</p> - -<p>"Of chagrin! Of chagrin!" muttered Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"We will draw a veil over the sufferings of those years—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, but we made good! We made good!" put in Mr. Swallow comfortably. -"What are you grousing about? We made good. There you sit, Bell, made of -money, and grousing, anybody would think you wanted a loan of two bob."</p> - -<p>"By the waters of Babylon there we sat down—" said Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"Did we! No we didn't. We rowed up the Swan River. That's what my father -did. A sturdy British yeoman, Mr. Grant."</p> - -<p>"Where did he get the boat from?" asked Mr. Bell.</p> - -<p>"An old ship. I was a baby, sir, in a tartan frock. Remember it to this -day, sitting in my mother's lap. My father got that boat off a whaler. -It had been stove in, and wasn't fit for the sea. But he made it fit for -the river, and they rowed up the Swan—my father and a couple of -'indented' servants, as we called them. We landed in the Upper Swan -valley. I remember that camp fire, sir, as well as I remember -anything."</p> - -<p>"Better than most things," put in Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"We cleared off the scrub, we lifted the stones into heaps, we planted -corn and wheat—"</p> - -<p>"The babe in the tartan frock steering the plough."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir, later on.—Our flocks prospered, our land bore fruit, -our family flourished—"</p> - -<p>"On milk and honey—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, cry off, Swallow!" ejaculated Mr. Bell. "Your father fought flood -and drought for forty odd years. The floods of '62 broke his heart, and -the floods in '72 ruined you. And this is '82, so don't talk too loud."</p> - -<p>"Ruined! When was I ever ruined?" cried Mr. Swallow. "Sheep -one-hundred-and-ten per cent—for some herds, as you know, -gentlemen, throw twins and triplets. Cattle ninety per cent, horses fifty: -and a ready market for 'em all."</p> - -<p>"Pests," Mr. Bell was saying, "one million per cent. Rust destroys -fourteen thousand acres of wheat crop, just as the country is getting on -its feet. Dingoes breed 135 per cent, and kill sheep to match. Cattle -run wild and are no more seen. Horses cost the eyes out of your head -before you can catch 'em, break 'em, train 'em and ship 'em to the -Indian market."</p> - -<p>"Moth and rust! Moth and rust!" murmured Mr. George absently.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>Jack, with the uncomfortable philosophy of youth, sat still and let the -verbal waters rage. Until he was startled by a question from Mr. -George.</p> - -<p>"Well, sir, what were you sent out for?"</p> - -<p>This was a colonial little joke at the "Establishment" identity's -expense. But unfortunately it hit Jack too. He had been sent gut, -really, because he was too tiresome to keep at home. Too fond of "low" -company. Too often a frequenter of the stables. Too indifferent to the -higher claims of society. They feared a waster in the bud. So they -shipped the bud to the antipodes, to let it blossom there upside down.</p> - -<p>But Jack was not going to give himself away.</p> - -<p>"To go on the land, sir," he replied. Which was true.—But what -had his father said in the letter? He flushed and looked angry, his dark -blue eyes going very dark, "I was expelled from school," he added calmly. -"And I was sent down from the Agricultural College. That's why I have -come out a year before my time. But I was coming—to go on the -land—anyway—"</p> - -<p>He ended in a stammer. He rather hated adults: he definitely hated them -in tribunal.</p> - -<p>Mr. George held up his hand deprecatingly.</p> - -<p>"Say nothing! Say nothing! Your father made no mention of anything. Tell -us when you know us, if y'like. But you aren't called on to indict -yourself.—That was a silly joke of mine. Forget it.—You came to -go on the land, as your father informs me.—I knew your father, long -before you were born. But I knew your mother better."</p> - -<p>"So did I," said Mr. Swallow. "And grieved the day that ever a military -gentleman carried her away from Western Australia. She was one of our -home-grown flowers, was Katie Reid, and I never saw a Rose of England -that could touch her."</p> - -<p>Jack now flushed deeper than ever.</p> - -<p>"Though," said Mr. George slyly, "if you've got a prank up y'r sleeve, -that you can tell us about—come on with it, my son. We've none of us -forgotten being shipped to England for a schooling."</p> - -<p>"Oh well!" said Jack. He always said "Oh well!" when he didn't know -what to say. "You mean at the Agricultural College? Oh well!—Well, -I was the youngest there, stableboy and harness-cleaner and all that. Oh -well! You see there'd been a chivoo the night before. The lads had a -grudge against the council, because they gave us bread and cheese, and -no butter, for supper, and cocoa with no milk. And we weren't just -little nippers. We were—Oh well! Most of the chaps were men, -really—eighteen—nineteen—twenty. As much as -twenty-three. I was the youngest. I didn't care. But the chaps were -different. There were many who had failed at the big entrance exams for -the Indian Civil, or the Naval or Military, and they were big, hungry -chaps, you can bet—"</p> - -<p>"I should say so," nodded Mr. George approvingly.</p> - -<p>"Well, there was a chivoo. They held me on their shoulders and I smashed -the Principal's windows."</p> - -<p>You could see by Jack's face how he had enjoyed breaking those -windows.</p> - -<p>"What with?" asked Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"With a wooden gym club."</p> - -<p>"Wanton destruction of property. Prrrh!"</p> - -<p>"The boss was frightened. But he raised Old Harry and said he'd go up to -town and report us to the council. So he ordered the trap right away, to -catch the nine o'clock train. And I had to take the trap round to the -front door—"</p> - -<p>Here Jack paused. He didn't want to go further.</p> - -<p>"And so—" said Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"And so, when I stepped away from the horse's head, the Principal jerked -the reins in the nasty way he had and the horse bolted."</p> - -<p>"Couldn't the fellow pull her up? Man in a position like that ought to -know how to drive a horse."</p> - -<p>Jack watched their faces closely. On his own face was that subtle look -of innocence, which veiled a look of life-and-death defiance.</p> - -<p>"The reins weren't buckled into the bit, sir. No man could drive that -horse," he said quietly.</p> - -<p>A look of amusement tinged with misgiving spread over Mr. George's face. -But he was a true colonial. He had to hear the end of a story against -powers-that-be.</p> - -<p>"And how did it end?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry," said Jack. "He broke his leg in the accident."</p> - -<p>The three Australians burst into a laugh. Chiefly because when Jack -said, "I'm sorry," he really meant it. He was really sorry for the hurt -man. But for the hurt Principal he wasn't sorry. As soon as the -Principal was on the ground with a broken leg, Jack saw only the hurt -man, and none of the office. And his heart was troubled for the hurt -man.</p> - -<p>But if the mischief was to do again, he would probably do it. He -couldn't repent. And yet his feelings were genuinely touched. Which made -him comical.</p> - -<p>"You're a corker!" said Mr. George, shaking his head with new -misgiving.</p> - -<p>"So you were sent down," said Mr. Bell. "And y'r father thought he'd -better ship you straight out here, eh? Best thing for you, I'll be -bound. I'll bet you never learned a ha'porth at that place."</p> - -<p>"Oh well! I think I learned a lot."</p> - -<p>"When to sow and when to reap and a latin motto attached!"</p> - -<p>"No, sir, not that. I learned to vet."</p> - -<p>"Vet?"</p> - -<p>"Well sir, you see, the head groom was a gentleman veterinary surgeon -and he had a weakness, as he called it. So when he was strong he taught -me to vet, and when he had his attacks, I'd go out with the cart and -collect him at a pub and bring him home under the straw, in return for -kindness shown."</p> - -<p>"A nice sort of school! Prrrh! Bahl" snorted Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"Oh, that wasn't on the curriculum, sir. My mother says there'll be -rascals in heaven, if you look for them."</p> - -<p>"And you keep on looking, eh?—Well—I wouldn't, if I were -you. Especially in this country, I wouldn't. I wouldn't go vetting any -more for any drunken groom in the world, if I were you. Nor breaking -windows, nor leaving reins unbuckled either. And I'll tell you for why. -It becomes a habit. You get a habit of going with rascals, and then -you're done. Because in this country you'll find plenty of scamps, and -plenty of wasters. And the sight of them is enough—nasty, low-down -lot.—This is a great big country, where an honest man can go his -own way into the back of beyond, if he likes. But the minute he begins -to go crooked, or slack, the country breaks him. It breaks him, and he's -neither fit for God nor man any more. You beware of this country, my -boy, and don't try to play larks with it. It's all right playing a prank -on an old fool of a fossil out there in England. They need a few pranks -played on them, they do. But out here—no! Keep all your strength -and all your wits to fight the bush. It's a great big country, and it -needs men, <i>men</i>, not wasters. It's a great big country, and it -wants men. You can go your way and do what you want: take up land, go on -a sheep station, lumber, or try the goldfields. But whatever you do, -live up to your fate like a man. And keep square with yourself. Never -mind other people. But keep square with <i>yourself.</i>"</p> - -<p>Jack, staring out of the window, saw miles of dull dark-green scrub -spreading away on every side to a bright sky-line. He could hear his -mother's voice:</p> - -<p>"Earn a good opinion of yourself and never mind the world's opinion. You -know when there's the right glow inside you. That's the spirit of God -inside you."</p> - -<p>But this "right glow" business puzzled him a little. He was inclined to -believe he felt it while he was smashing the Principal's window-glass, -and while he was "vetting" with the drunken groom. Yet the words -fascinated him: "The right glow inside you—the spirit of God inside -you."</p> - -<p>He sat motionless on his seat, while the Australians kept on talking -about the colony.—"Have y'patience? Perseverance? Have ye -that?—She wants y' and y' offspring. And the bones y'll leave behind -y'. All of y' interests, y' hopes, y' life, and the same of y' sons and -sons' sons. An' she doesn't care if y' go nor stay, neither. Makes no -difference to her. She's waiting, drowsy. No hurry. Wants millions of yer. -But she's waited endless ages and can wait endless more. Only she must have -<i>men</i>—understand? If they're lazy derelicts and ne'er-do-wells, -she'll eat 'em up. But she's waiting for real men—British to the -bone—"</p> - -<p>"The lad's no more than a boy, yet, George. Dry up a bit with your -<i>men—British to the bone.</i>"</p> - -<p>"Don't toll at <i>me</i>, Bell.—I've been here since '31, so let -me speak. Came in old sailing-ship, 'Rockingham'—wrecked on -coast—left nothing but her name, township of Rockingham. Nice place -to fish.—Was sent back to London to school, '41—in another -sailing-vessel and wasn't wrecked this time. 'Shepherd,' laden colonial -produce.—The first steam vessel didn't come till '45—the -'Driver.' Wonderful advancement.—Wonderful advancement -in the colony too, when I came back. Came back a notary.—Couple -of churches, Mill Street Jetty, Grammar School opened, Causeway built, -lot of exploration done. Eyre had legged it from Adelaide—all in -my time, all in my time—"</p> - - - - -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>Jack felt it might go on forever. He was becoming stupefied. Mercifully, -the train jerked to a standstill beside a wooden platform, that was -separated from a sandy space by a picket fence. A porter put his hand to -his mouth and yelled, "Perth," just for the look of the thing—because -where else could it be? They all burst out of the train. The town stood -up in the sand: wooden houses with wooden platforms blown over with -sand.</p> - -<p>And Mr. George was still at it.—"Yes, Bell, wait for the salty -sand to mature. Wait for a few of <i>us</i> to die—and decay! -Mature—manure, that's what's wanted. Dead men in the sand, dead men's -bones in the gravel. That's what'll mature this country. The people you -bury in it. Only good fertilizer. Dead men are like seed in the ground. -When a few more like you and me, Bell, are worked in—"</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - -<h4>THE TWIN LAMBS</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>Jack was tired and a little land-sick, after the long voyage. He felt -dazed and rather unhappy, and saw as through a glass, darkly. For he -could not yet get used to the fixed land under his feet, after the long -weeks on the steamer. And these people went on as if they were wound up, -curiously oblivious of him and his feelings. A dream world, with a dark -glass between his eyes and it. An uneasy dream.</p> - -<p>He waited on the platform. Mr. George had again disappeared somewhere. -The train was already backing away.</p> - -<p>It was evening, and the setting sun from the west, where the great empty -sea spread unseen, cast a radiance in the etherealized air, melting the -brick shops and the wooden houses and the sandy places in a sort of -amethyst glow. And again Jack saw the magic clarity of this new world, -as through a glass, darkly. He felt the cool snap of night in the air, -coming strange and crude out of the jewel sky. And it seemed to him he -was looking through the wrong end of a field-glass, at a far, far -country.</p> - -<p>Where was Mr. George? Had he gone off to read the letter again, or to -inquire about the draft on the bank? Everyone had left the station, the -wagonette cabs had driven away. What was to be done? Ought he to have -mentioned an hotel? He'd better say something. He'd better say—</p> - -<p>But here was Mr. George, with a serious face, coming straight up to say -something.</p> - -<p>"That vet," he said, "did he think you had a natural gift for veterinary -work?"</p> - -<p>"He said so, sir. My mother's father was a naval surgeon—if that -has anything to do with it."</p> - -<p>"Nothing at all.—I knew the old gentleman—and another silly -old fossil he was, too.—But he's dead, so well make the best of -him.—No, it was your character I wanted to get at.—Your father -wants you to go on a farm or station for twelve months, and sends a pound -a week for your board. Suppose you know—?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—I hope it's enough."</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's enough, if you're all right yourself—I was thinking -of Ellis' place. I've got the twins here now. They're kinsmen of yours, -the Ellises—and of mine, too. We're all related, in clans and -cliques and gangs, out here in this colony. Your mother belongs to the -Ellis clan.—Well, now. Ellis' place is a fine home farm, and not -too far. Only he's got a family of fine young lambs, my step-sister's -children into the bargain. And y'see, if y're a wolf in sheep's -clothing—for you look mild enough—why, I oughtn't be sending -you among them. Young lasses and boys bred and reared out there in the -bush, why—. Come now, son—y' father protected you by -silence.—But you're not in court, and you needn't heed me. Tell me -straight out what you were expelled from your Bedford school for."</p> - -<p>Jack was silent for a moment, rather pale about the nose. "I was -nabbed," he said in a colourless voice, "at a fight with fists for a -purse of sovereigns, laid either side. Plenty of others were there. But -they got away, and the police nabbed me for the school colours on my -cap. My father was just back from Ceylon, and he stood by me. But the -Head said for the sake of example and for the name of the school I'd -better be chucked out. They were talking about the school in the -newspapers. The Head said he was sorry to expel me."</p> - -<p>Mr. George blew his nose into a large yellow red-spotted handkerchief, -and looked for a few moments into the distance.</p> - -<p>"Seems to me you let yourself be made a bit of a cat's paw of," he said -dubiously.</p> - -<p>"I suppose it's because I don't care," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"But you ought to care.—Why don't y'?"</p> - -<p>There was no answer.</p> - -<p>"You'll have to care some day or other," the old man continued.</p> - -<p>"Do you know, sir, which hotel I shall go to?" asked Jack.</p> - -<p>"You'll go to no hotel. You'll come home with me.—But mind y'. -I've got my two young nieces, Ellis' twins, couple of girls, Ellis' -daughters, where I'm going to send you. They're at my house. And there's -my other niece, Mary, who I'm very fond of. She's not an Ellis, she's a -Rath, and an orphan, lives with her Aunt Matilda, my sister. They don't -live with me. None of 'em live with me. I live alone, except for a good, -plain cook, since my wife died.—But I tell you, they're visiting -me. And I shall look to you to behave yourself, now: both here and at -Wandoo, which is Ellis' station. I'll take you there in the -morning.—But y'see now where I'm taking you: among a pack of -innocent sheep that's probably never seen a goat to say Boh! to—or -Baa! if you like—makes no difference. We don't raise goats in -Western Australia, as I'm aware of.—But I'm telling you, if you're -a wolf in sheep's clothing—. No, you needn't say anything. You -probably don't know what you are, anyhow. So come on. I'll tell somebody -to bring your bags—looks a rare jorum to me—and we'll -walk."</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>They walked off the timber platform into the sand, and Jack had his -first experience of "sand-groping." The sand was thick and fine and -soft, so he was glad to reach the oyster-shell path running up -Wellington Street, in front of the shops. They passed along the street -of brick cottages and two-storied houses, to Barrack Street, where Jack -looked with some surprise on the pretentious buildings that stood up in -the dusk: the handsome square red brick tower of the Town Hall, and on -the sandy hill to the left, the fine white edifice of the Roman Catholic -Church, which building was already older than Jack himself. Beyond the -Town Hall was the Church of England. "See it!" said Mr. George. "That's -where your father and mother were married. Slap-dash, military wedding, -more muslin and red jackets than would stock a shop."</p> - -<p>Mr. George spoke to everybody he met, ladies and gentlemen alike. The -ladies seemed a bit old-fashioned, the gentlemen all wore nether -garments at least four sizes too large for them. Jack was much piqued by -this pioneering habit. And they all seemed very friendly and easy-going, -like men in a pub at home.</p> - -<p>"What did the Bedford Headmaster say he was sorry to lose you for? Smart -at your books, were you?"</p> - -<p>"I was good at Scripture and Shakespeare, but not at the other -things.—I expect he was sorry to lose me from the football eleven. I -was the cock there."</p> - -<p>Mr. George blew his nose loudly, gasped, prrrhed, and said:</p> - -<p>"You'd better say <i>rooster</i>, my son, here in Australia—especially -in polite society. We're a trifle more particular than they are in -England, I suppose.—Well, and what else have you got to crow about?"</p> - -<p>If Jack had been the sulky sort, he would now have begun to get sulky. -As it was, he was tired of being continually pulled up. But he fell back -on his own peculiar callous indifference.</p> - -<p>"I was captain of the first football eleven," he said in his indifferent -voice, "and not bad in front of the sticks. And I took the long distance -running cup a year under age. I tell you because you ask me."</p> - -<p>Then Mr. George astonished Jack again by turning and planting himself in -front of him like Balaam's ass, in the middle of the path, standing with -feet apart in his big elephant trousers, snorting behind a walrus -moustache, glaring and extending a large and powerful hand. He shook -hands vigorously, saying, "You'll do, my son. You'll do for me."</p> - -<p>Then he resumed his walk.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>"Yes, sir, you'll do for me," resumed the old man. "For I can see you're -a gentleman."</p> - -<p>Jack was rather taken aback. He had come to Australia to be a man, a -wild, bushy man among men. His father was a gentleman.</p> - -<p>"I think I'd rather be a man than a gentleman," he said.</p> - -<p>Mr. George stood still, feet apart, as if he had been shot.</p> - -<p>"What's the difference?" he cried in a falsetto, sarcastic tone. -"What's the difference? Can't be a man unless you are a gentleman. Take -that from me. You might say I'm not a gentleman. Sense of the ridiculous -runs away with me, for one thing. But, in order to be the best man I -could, I've tried to be all the gentleman I could. No hanky-pankying -about it.—You're a gentleman born.—I'm not, not -<i>altogether.</i> Don't you go trying to upset what you are. But -whether you're a bush-whacker or a lumper you can be a gentleman. A -gentleman's a man who never laughs to wound, who's honest with himself -and his own judge in the sight of the Almighty.—That's the -Government House down there among the trees, river just -beyond.—That's my house, there, see. I'm going to hand you over to -the girls, once we get there. So I shan't see you again, not to talk to. -I want to tell you then, that I put my confidence in you, and you're -going to play up like a gentleman. And I want you to know, as between -gentlemen, not merely between an old man and a boy: but as between -gentlemen, if you ever need any help, or a word of advice come to me. -Come to me, and I'll do my best."</p> - -<p>He once more shook hands, this time in a conclusive manner.</p> - -<p>Jack had looked to left and right as they walked, half listening to the -endless old man. He saw sandy blocks of land beside the road, and -scattered, ugly buildings, most of them new. He made out the turrets and -gables of the Government House, in the dusk among trees, and he imagined -the wide clear river below those trees.</p> - -<p>Turning down an unmade road, they approached a two-storied brick house -with narrow verandahs, whose wooden supports rested nakedly on the sand -below. There was no garden, fence, or anything: just an oyster-shell -path across the sand, a pipe-clayed doorstep, a brass knocker, a narrow -wooden verandah, a few flower-pots.</p> - -<p>Mr. George opened the door and showed the boy into the narrow wooden -hall. There was a delicious smell of cooking. Jack climbed the thin, -flimsy stairs, and was shown into his bedroom. A four-poster bed with a -crochet quilt and frilled pillows, a mahogany chest of drawers with -swivel looking-glass, a washstand with china set complete. England all -over again.—Even his bag was there, and his brushes were set out for -him.</p> - -<p>He had landed!</p> - - - - -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>As he made his toilet, he heard a certain fluttering outside his door. -He waited for it to subside, and when all seemed still, opened to go -downstairs. There stood two girls, giggling and blushing, waiting arm in -arm to pounce on him.</p> - -<p>"Oh, isn't he <i>beau!</i>" exclaimed one of the girls, in a sort of -aside. And the other broke into a high laugh.</p> - -<p>Jack remained dumbfounded, reddening to the roots of his hair. But his -dark-blue eyes lingered for a moment on the two girlish faces. They were -evidently the twins. They had the same thin, soft, slightly-tanned, -warm-looking faces, a little wild, and the same marked features. But the -brows of one were level, and her fair hair, darkish fair, was all crisp, -curly round her temples, and she looked up at you from under her level -brows with queer yellow-grey eyes, shy, wild, and yet with a queer -effrontery, like a wild-cat under a bush. The other had blue eyes and a -bigger nose, and it was she who said, "Oh, isn't he <i>beau!</i>"</p> - -<p>The one with the yellow eyes stuck out her slim hand awkwardly, gazing -at him and saying:</p> - -<p>"I suppose you're cousin Jack, Beau."</p> - -<p>He shook hands first with one, then with the other, and could not find a -word to say. The one with the yellow eyes was evidently the leader of -the two.</p> - -<p>"Tea is ready," she said, "if you're coming down."</p> - -<p>She spoke this over her shoulder. There was the same colour in her tawny -eyes as in her crisp tawny hair, but her brows were darker. She had a -forehead, Jack decided, like the plaster-cast of Minerva. And she had -the queerest way of looking at you under her brows, and over her -shoulder. Funny pair of lambs, these.</p> - -<p>The two girls went downstairs arm in arm, at a run. This is quite a -feat, but evidently they were used to it.</p> - -<p>Jack looked on life, social life inside a house, as something to be -borne in silence. These two girls were certainly a desperate addition. -He heard them burst into the parlour, the other one repeating:</p> - -<p>"He's coming. Here comes Beau."</p> - -<p>"I thought his name was Jack. <i>Bow</i> is it!" exclaimed a voice.</p> - -<p>He entered the parlour with his elbows at his sides, his starched collar -feeling very stiff. He was aware of the usual hideous room, rather barer -than at home: plush cushions on a horse-hair sofa, and a green carpet: a -large stout woman with reddish hair in a silk frock and gold chains, and -Mr. George introducing her as Mrs. Watson, otherwise Aunt Matilda. She -put diamond-ringed hands on Jack's shoulders and looked into his face, -which he thought a repellent procedure.</p> - -<p>"So like your father, dear boy; how's your dear mother?"</p> - -<p>And in spite of his inward fury of resistance, she kissed him. For she -was but a woman of forty-two.</p> - -<p>"Quite well, thank you," said Jack: though considering he had been at -sea for six weeks, he knew as little about his mother's health as did -Aunt Matilda herself.</p> - -<p>"Did y' blow y' candle out?" asked Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"No he didn't," answered the tawny girl. "<i>I'll</i> go and do it."</p> - -<p>And she flashed away upstairs like a panther.</p> - -<p>"I suppose the twins introduced themselves," said Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"No they didn't," said the other one.</p> - -<p>"Only christened you Bow.—You'll be somebody or other's beau -before very long, I'll warrant.—This is Grace, Grace Ellis, you -know, where you're going to live. And her sister who's gone upstairs to -blow your candle out, is Monica.—Can't be too careful of fire in -these dry places.—Most folks say they can't tell 'em apart, but I -call it nonsense."</p> - -<p>"Ancien, beau, bon, cher, adjectives which precede," said the one called -Monica, jerking herself into the room, after blowing out the candle.</p> - -<p>"There's your father," said Mr. George. And Aunt Matilda fluttered into -the hall, while the twins betrayed no interest at all. The tawny one -stared at Jack and kept slinking about like a lean young panther to get -a different view of him. For all the world as if she was going to pounce -on him, like a cat on a bird. He, permanently flushed, kept his -self-possession in a boyish and rather handsome, if stiff, manner.</p> - -<p>Mr. Ellis was stout, clean-shaven, red-faced, and shabby and baggy, and -good-natured in appearance.</p> - -<p>"This is the young gentleman—Mr. Grant—called in Westralia -Bow, so named by Miss Monica Ellis."</p> - -<p>"By Miss Grace, if you please," snapped Monica.</p> - -<p>"Tea's ready. Tea's ready."</p> - -<p>They trooped into the dining room where a large table was spread. Aunt -Matilda seated herself behind the tea-kettle, Mr. George sat at the -other end, before the pile of plates and the carvers, and the others -took their places where they would. Jack modestly sat on Aunt Matilda's -left hand, so the tawny Monica at once pounced on the chair opposite.</p> - -<p>Entered the Good Plain Cook with a dish covered with a pewter cover, and -followed by a small, dark, ugly, quiet girl carrying the vegetable -dishes.</p> - -<p>"That's my niece Mary, Jack. Lives with Aunt Matilda here, who won't -spare her or I'd have her to live here with me. Now you know everybody. -What's for tea?"</p> - -<p>He was dangerously clashing the knife on the steel. Then lifting the -cover, he disclosed a young pig roasted in all its glory of gravy. Mary -meanwhile had nodded her head at Jack and looked at him with her big, -queer, very black eyes. You might have thought she had native blood. She -sat down to serve the vegetables.</p> - -<p>"Grace, there's a fly in the milk," said Aunt Matilda, who was already -pouring large cups of tea. Grace seized the milk jug and jerked from the -room.</p> - -<p>"Do you take milk and sugar, as your dear father used to, John?" asked -Aunt Matilda of the youth on her left.</p> - -<p>"Call him Bow. Bow's his name out here—John's too stiff and Jack's -too common!" exclaimed Mr. George, elbows deep in carving.</p> - -<p>"Bow'll do for me," put in Mrs. Ellis, who said little.</p> - -<p>"Mary, is there any mustard?" said Aunt Matilda.</p> - -<p>Jack rose vaguely to go and get it, but Aunt Matilda seized him by the -arm and pushed him back.</p> - -<p>"Sit still. She knows where it is."</p> - -<p>"Monica, come and carry the cups, there's a good girl."</p> - -<p>"Now which end of the pig do you like, Jack?" asked Mr. George. -"Matilda, will this do for you?" He held up a piece on the fork. Mary -arrived with a ponderous gyrating cruet-stand, which she made place for -in the middle of the table.</p> - -<p>"What about bread?" said Aunt Matilda. "I'm sure John eats bread with -his meat. Fetch some bread, Grace, for your cousin John."</p> - -<p>"Everybody did it," thought Jack in despair, as he tried to eat amid the -hustle. "No servants, nothing ever still. On the go all the time."</p> - -<p>"Girls going to the concert tonight?" asked Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"If anybody will go with us," replied Monica, with a tawny look at -Jack.</p> - -<p>"There's Bow," said Mr. George, "Bow'll like to go."</p> - -<p>Under the she-lion peering of Monica, Jack was incapable of answer.</p> - -<p>"Let the poor boy rest," said Aunt Matilda. "Just landed after a six -thousand mile voyage, and you rush him out next minute to a concert. Let -him stop at home quietly with me, and have a quiet chat about the dear -ones he's left behind.—Aren't <i>you</i> going to the concert with -the girls, Jacob?"</p> - -<p>This was addressed to Mr. Ellis, who took a gulp of tea and shook his -head mutely.</p> - -<p>"I'd rather go to the concert, I think," said Jack under the queer -yellow glower of Monica's eyes, and the full black moons of Mary's.</p> - -<p>"Good for you, my boy," said Mr. George. "Bow by name and Bow by nature. -And well set up, with three strings to his Bow already."</p> - -<p>Monica once more peered tawnily, and Mary glanced a black, furtive -glance. Aunt Matilda looked down on him and Grace, at his side, peered -up.</p> - -<p>For the first time since childhood, Jack found himself in a really -female setting. Instinctively he avoided women: but particularly he -avoided girls. With girls and women he felt exposed to some sort of -danger—as if something were going to seize him by the neck, from -behind, when he wasn't looking. He relied on men for safety. But -curiously enough, these two elderly men gave him no shelter whatever. -They seemed to throw him a victim to these frightful "lambs." In -England, there was an <i>esprit de corps</i> among men. Man for man was a -tower of strength against the females. Here in this place men deserted -one another as soon as the women put in an appearance. They left the -field entirely to the females.</p> - -<p>In the first half-hour Jack realised he was thrown a victim to these -tawny and black young cats. And there was nothing to do but bear up.</p> - -<p>"Have you got an evening suit?" asked Grace, who was always the one to -ponder things out.</p> - -<p>"Yes—a sort of a one," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Oh, good! Oh, put it on! Do put it on."</p> - -<p>"Leave the lad alone," said Mr. George. "Let him go as he is."</p> - -<p>"No," said Aunt Matilda. "He has his father's handsome presence. Let him -make the best of himself. I think I'll go to the concert after all."</p> - -<p>After dinner there was a bustle. Monica flew up to light his candle for -him, and stood there peering behind the flame when he came upstairs.</p> - -<p>"You haven't much time," she said, as if she were going to spear -him.</p> - -<p>"All right," he answered, in his hoarse young voice. And he stood in -torment till she left his room.</p> - -<p>He was just tying his tie when there came a flutter and a tapping. Aunt -Matilda's voice saying: "Nearly time. Are you almost ready?"</p> - -<p>"Half a minute!" he crowed hoarsely, like an unhappy young cock.</p> - -<p>But the door stealthily opened, and Aunt Matilda peeped in.</p> - -<p>"Oh, tying his tie!" she said, satisfactorily, when she perceived -that he was dressed as far as discretion demanded. And she entered in -full blow. Behind her hovered Grace—then Monica—and in the -doorway Mary. It seemed to Jack that Aunt Matilda was the most -objectionable of the lot, Monica the brazenest, Grace the most -ill-mannered, and Mary the most repulsive, with her dark face. He -struggled in discomfort with his tie.</p> - -<p>"Let Mary do it," said Aunt Matilda.</p> - -<p>"No, no!" he barked. "I can do it."</p> - -<p>"Come on, Mary. Come and tie John's tie."</p> - -<p>Mary came quietly forward.</p> - -<p>"Let me do it for you, Bow," she said in her quiet, insinuating voice, -looking at him with her inky eyes and standing in front of him till his -knees felt weak and his throat strangled. He was purple in the face, -struggling with his tie in the presence of the lambs.</p> - -<p>"He'll never get it done," said Monica, from behind the yellow -glare.</p> - -<p>"Let me do it," said Mary, and lifting her hands decisively she took the -two ends of the tie from him.</p> - -<p>He held his breath and lifted his eyes to the ceiling and felt as if the -front of his body were being roasted. Mary, the devil-puss, seemed -endless ages fastening the tie. Then she twitched it at his throat and -it was done, just as he was on the point of suffocation.</p> - -<p>"Are those your best braces?" said Grace. "They're awfully pretty with -rose-buds." And she fingered the band.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you put on evening dress for the last dinner on board," said -Aunt Matilda. "Nothing makes me cry like <i>Auld Lang Syne</i>, that last -night, before you land next day. But it's fifteen years since I went -over to England."</p> - -<p>"I don't suppose we shall any of us ever go," said Grace longingly.</p> - -<p>"Unless you marry Bow," said Monica abruptly.</p> - -<p>"I can't marry him unless he asks me," said Grace.</p> - -<p>"He'll ask nobody for a good many years to come," said Aunt Matilda with -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>"Hasn't he got lovely eyelashes?" said Grace impersonally.</p> - -<p>"He'd almost do for a girl," said Monica.</p> - -<p>"Not if you look at his ears," said Mary, with odd decision. He felt -that Mary was bent on saving his manhood.</p> - -<p>He breathed as if the air around him were red-hot. He would have to get -out, or die. He plunged into his coat, pulling down his shirt-cuffs with -a jerk.</p> - -<p>"What funny green cuff-links," said Grace. "Are they pot?"</p> - -<p>"Malachite," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"What's malachite?"</p> - -<p>There was no answer. He put a white silk muffler round his neck to -protect his collar.</p> - -<p>"Oh, look at his initials in lavender silk!"</p> - -<p>At last he was in his overcoat, and in the street with the bevy.</p> - -<p>"Leave your overcoat open, so it shows your shirt-front as you walk," -said Grace, forcibly unbuttoning the said coat. "I think that looks so -lovely. Doesn't he look lovely, Monica? Everybody will be asking who he -is."</p> - -<p>"Tell them he's the son of General Grant," said Aunt Matilda, with -complete satisfaction, as she sailed at his side.</p> - -<p>Life is principally a matter of endurance. This was the sum of Jack's -philosophy. He put it into practice this evening.</p> - -<p>It was a benefit concert in the Town Hall, with the Episcopalian Choir -singing, "Angels Ever Bright and Fair," and a violinist from Germany -playing violin solos, and a lady vocalist from Melbourne singing "home" -solos, while local stars variously coruscated. Aunt Matilda filled up -the end of the seat—like a massive book-end: and the others like -slender volumes of romance were squeezed in between her and another -stout book-end. Jack had the heaving warmth of Aunt Matilda on his -right, the electric wriggle of Monica on his left, and he continued to -breathe red-hot air.</p> - -<p>The concert was a ludicrous continuation of shameful and ridiculous -noise to him. Each item seemed inordinately long and he hoped for the -next, which when it came, seemed worse than the last. The people who -performed seemed to him in a ghastly humiliating position. One stout -mother-of-thousands leaned forward and simply gurgled about riding over -the brow of a hill and seeing a fair city beyond, and a young knight in -silver armour riding toward her with shining face, to greet her on the -spot as his lady fair and lady dear. Jack looked at her in pained -amazement. And yet when the songs-tress from Melbourne, in a rich -contralto, began to moan in a Scotch accent:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And it's o-o-oh! that I'm longing for my ain folk,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Though the-e-ey be but lowly, puir and plain folk—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">I am far across the sea</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">But my heart will ever be-e-e-e-e</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At home in dear old Scotland with my ain folk,"</span></p> - - -<p>Jack suddenly wanted to howl. He had never been to Scotland and his -father, General Grant, with his mother, was at present in Malta. And he -hadn't got any "ain folk," and he didn't want any. Yet it was all he -could do to keep the tears from showing in his eyes, as his heart fairly -broke in him. And Aunt Matilda crowded him a little more suffocatingly -on the right, and Monica wriggled more hatefully than ever on the left, -and that beastly Mary leaned forward to glance appreciatively at him, -with her low-down black eyes. And he felt as if the front of his body -was scorched. And a smouldering desire for revenge awoke deep down in -him.</p> - -<p>People were always trying to "do things" to you. Why couldn't they leave -you done? Dirty cads to sing "My Ain Folk," and then stare in your face -to see how it got you.</p> - -<p>But life was a matter of endurance, with possible revenge later on.</p> - -<p>When at last he got home and could go to bed, he felt he had gained a -brief respite. There was no lock to the door—so he put the arm-chair -against it, for a barricade.</p> - -<p>And he felt he had been once more sold. He had thought he was coming to -a wild and woolly world. But all the way out he had been forced to play -the gentlemanly son of his father. And here it was hell on earth, with -these women let loose all over you, and these ghastly concerts, and -these hideous meals, and these awful flimsy, choky houses. Far better -the Agricultural College. Far better England.</p> - -<p>He was sick with homesickness as he flung himself into bed. And it -seemed to him he was always homesick for some place which he had never -known and perhaps never would know. He was always homesick for somewhere -else. He always hated where he was, silently but deeply.</p> - -<p>Different people. The place would be all right, but for the people.</p> - -<p>He hated women. He hated the kind of nausea he felt after they had -crowded on him. The yellow cat-eyes of that deadly Monica! The inky eyes -of that low-down Mary! The big nose of that Grace: she was the most -tolerable. And the indecency of the red-haired Aunt Matilda, with her -gold chains.</p> - -<p>He flung his trousers in one direction, and the loathsome starched shirt -in another, and his underwear in another. When he was quite clear of all -his clothing he clenched his fists and reached them up, and stretched -hard, hard as if to stretch himself clear of it all. Then he did a few -thoughtless exercises, to shake off the world. He wanted the muscles of -his body to move, to shake off the contact of the world. As a dog coming -out of the water shakes himself, so Jack stood there slowly, intensely -going through his exercises, slowly sloughing the contact of the world -from his young, resistant white body. And his hair fell loose into curl, -and the alert defiance came into his eyes as he threw apart his arms and -opened his young chest. Anything, anything to forget the world and to -throw the contact of people off his limbs and his chest. Keen and savage -as a Greek gymnast, he struck the air with his arms, with his legs.</p> - -<p>Till at last he felt he had broken through the mesh. His blood was -running free, he had shattered the film that other people put over him, -as if snails had crawled over him. His skin was free and alive. He -glowered at the door, and made the barricade more safe.</p> - -<p>Then he dived into his nightshirt, and felt the world was his own again. -At least in his own immediate vicinity. Which was all he cared about for -the moment.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h4> - -<h4>DRIVING TO WANDOO</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>Jack started before dawn next morning, for Wandoo. Mr. George had -business which took him south, so he decided to carry the boy along on -the coach. Mr. Ellis also was returning home in the coach, but the -twins, those lambs, were staying behind. In the chilly dark, Jack -climbed the front of the buggy to sit on the seat beside the driver. He -was huddled in his overcoat, the happiest boy alive. For now at last he -was "getting away," as he always wanted to "get away." From what, he -didn't stop to consider, and still less did he realise <i>towards</i> what. -Because however far you may get away from one thing, by so much do you -draw near to another.</p> - -<p>And this is the Fata Morgana of Liberty, or Freedom. She may lead you -very definitely away from to-day's prison. But she also very definitely -leads you towards some other prison. Liberty is a changing of prisons, -to people who seek <i>only</i> liberty.</p> - -<p>Away went the buggy at a spanking trot, the driver pointing out the -phosphoric glow of the river, as they descended to the Causeway. Stars -still shone overhead, but the sky was beginning to open inland. The -buggy ran softly over the damp sand, the two horses were full of life. -There was an aroma of damp sand, and a fresh breeze from the river as -they crossed.</p> - -<p>Jack didn't want to talk. But the driver couldn't miss the -opportunity.</p> - -<p>"I drives this coach backards and forrards to Albany week in week out, -years without end amen, and a good two hundred miles o' land to cover, -taking six days clear with two 'osses, and them in relays fifteen or -twenty miles, sometimes over, as on the outland reach past Wagin."</p> - -<p>"Ever get held up?"</p> - -<p>"No sir, can't say as I do. Who'd there be to hold me up in Western -Australia? And if there was, the mounted police'd soon settle 'em. -There's nobody to hold me up but my old woman, and she drives the coach -for me up Middle Swan way."</p> - -<p>"Can she drive?"</p> - -<p>"You back your life she can. Bred and born to it. Drive an' swear at the -'osses like a trooper, when she's a mind. Swear! I'd never ha' thought -it of 'er, when I rode behind 'er as a groom."</p> - -<p>"How?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, she took me in, she did, pretty. But after all, what's a lady but a -woman! Though far be it from me to say: 'What's a woman but a lady!' If -I'd gone down on my hands an' knees to her, in them days, I should have -expected her to kick me. And what does she do? Rode out of the park -gates and stopped. So she did. Turns to me. 'Grey,' she says, 'here's -money. You go to London and buy yourself clothes like what a grocer -would buy. Avoid looking like a butler or a groom. And when you've got -an outfit, dress and make yourself look like a grocer,' she said, though -I never had any connections with grocery in my life—'and go to the -office in Victoria Street and take two passages to Australia.' That was -what she said. Just Australia. When the man in the office asked me, -where to in Australia, I didn't know what to say. 'Oh, we'll go in at -the first gate,' I said. And so it was Fremantle. 'Yes,' she said, -'we're going to elope. Nice thing for me,' thinks I. But I says, 'All -right, Miss.' She was a pearl beyond price, was Miss Ethel. So she -seemed to me then. Now she's a termagant as ever was: in double 'arness, -collar-proud."</p> - -<p>The coachman flicked the horses. Jack looked at him in amazement. He was -a man with a whitish-looking beard, in the dim light.</p> - -<p>"And did she have any children?"</p> - -<p>"She's got five."</p> - -<p>"And does she regret it?"</p> - -<p>"At times, I suppose. But as I say to her, if anybody was took in, it -was me. I always thought her a perfect lady. So when she lets fly at me: -'Call yourself a man?' I just say to her: 'Call yourself a lady?' And -she comes round all right."</p> - -<p>Jack's consciousness began to go dim. He was aware of a strange dim -booming almost like guns in the distance, and the driver's voice saying, -"Frogs, sir. Way back in the days before ever a British ship came here, -they say the Dutchmen came, and was frightened off by the croaking of -the bull frogs: Couldn't make it out a-nohow!"—The horses' hoofs were -echoing on the boarded Causeway, and from the little islands alongside -came the amazing croaking, barking, booing and booming of the frogs.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>When Jack looked round again it was day. And the driver's beard was -black. He was a man with a thin red face and black beard and queer grey -eyes that had a mocking sort of secret in them.</p> - -<p>"I thought your beard was white," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Ay, with rime. With frost. Not with anything else."</p> - -<p>"I didn't expect hoar-frost here."</p> - -<p>"Well—it's not so very common. Not like the Old Country."</p> - -<p>Jack realised they always spoke patronisingly of the Old Country, poor -old place, as if it couldn't help being what it was.</p> - -<p>The man's grey eyes with the amused secret glanced quickly at Jack.</p> - -<p>"Not quite awake yet?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Coming out to settle, I hope," said the driver. "We can do with a few -spruce young lads. I've got five daughters to contend with. Why there's -six A1 families in Perth, maybe you've heard, and six in the country, -and possibly six round Fremantle, and nary one of 'em but's got seven -daughters. Seven daughters——"</p> - -<p>Jack did not hear. He seemed to be saying, in reply to some question, -"I'm Jack Hector Grant."</p> - -<p>"Contrairy," the servants had called him, and "naughty little boy," his -Aunts. Insubordinate, untrustworthy. Such things they said of him. His -soul pricked from all the things, but he guessed they were not far -wrong.</p> - -<p>What did his mother think of him? And his father? He didn't know them -very well. They only came home sometimes, and then they seemed to him -reasonable and delightful people. The Wandering Grants, Lady Bewley had -called them.</p> - -<p>Was he a liar? When they called him a liar, was it true? It was. And yet -he never really <i>felt</i> a liar. "Don't ask, and you'll get no lies told -you." It was a phrase from his nurse, and he always wanted to use it to -his hateful Aunts. "Say you're sorry! Say you're sorry!" Wasn't that -forcing him to tell lies, when he <i>wasn't</i> sorry? His Aunts always -seemed to him despicable liars. He himself was just an ordinary liar. He -lied because he <i>didn't</i> want them to know what he'd done, even when -he'd done right.</p> - -<p>So they threatened him with that loathsome "policeman." Or they dropped -him over the garden fence into the field beyond. There he sat in a sort -of Crusoe solitary confinement. A vast row of back fences, and a vast, -vast field. Himself squatting immovable, and an Aunt coming to demand -sharply through the fence: "Say you're sorry. Say you want to be a good -little boy. Say it, or you won't come in to dinner. You'll stay there -all night."</p> - -<p>He wasn't sorry, he didn't want to be a good little boy, therefore he -wouldn't "say it"; so he got a piece of bread and butter pushed through -the fence. And then he faced the emptiness of the field and set off, to -find himself somehow in the kitchen-garden of the manor-house. A servant -had seen him, and brought him before her ladyship, who was herself -walking in the garden.</p> - -<p>"Who are you, little boy?"</p> - -<p>"I'm Jack Hector Grant"—a pause. "Who are you?"</p> - -<p>"I'm Lady Bewley."</p> - -<p>They eyed one another.</p> - -<p>"And where were you wandering to, in my garden?"</p> - -<p>"I wasn't wand'rin'. I was walkin'."</p> - -<p>"Were you? Come, then, and walk with me, will you?"</p> - -<p>She took his hand and led him along a path. He didn't quite know if he -was a prisoner. But her hand was gentle, and she seemed a quiet, sad -lady. She stepped with him through wide-open window-doors. He looked -uneasily round the drawing-room, then at the quiet lady.</p> - -<p>"Where was <i>you</i> born?" he asked her.</p> - -<p>"Why, you funny boy, I was born in this house."</p> - -<p>"My mother wasn't. She was born in Australia. And my father was born in -India. And I can't remember where I was born."</p> - -<p>A servant had brought in the tea-tray. The child was sitting on a -foot-stool. The lady seemed not to be listening. There was a dark cake.</p> - -<p>"My mother said I wasn't never to ask for cake, but if somebody was to -offer me some, I needn't say No fank you."</p> - -<p>"Yes, you shall have some cake," said the lady. "So you are one of the -Wandering Grants, and you don't know where you were born?"</p> - -<p>"But I think I was born in my mother's bed."</p> - -<p>"I suppose you were.—And how old are you?"</p> - -<p>"I'm four. How old are you?"</p> - -<p>"A great deal older than that.—But tell me, what were you doing -in my garden."</p> - -<p>"I don't know. Well, I comed by mistake."</p> - -<p>"How was that?"</p> - -<p>"'Cause I wouldn't say I was sorry I told a lie. Well, I wasn't sorry. -But I wasn't wandrin' in your garden. I was only walkin'. I was walkin' -out of the meadow where they put me——"</p> - -<p>——"And I says, she may have been born in a 'all, but she'll -die in a wooden shack."</p> - -<p>"Who? Who will?"</p> - -<p>"I was tellin' you about my old woman.—Look! There's a joey -runnin' there along the track."</p> - -<p>Jack looked, and saw a funny little animal half leaping, half running -along.</p> - -<p>"We call them baby 'roos, joeys, you understand, and they make the -cutest little pets you ever did imagine."</p> - -<p>They were still in sandy country, on a good road not far from the river, -and Jack saw the little chap jump to cover. The tall gum trees with -their brownish pale smooth stems and loose strips of bark stood tall and -straight and still, scattered like a thin forest that spread unending, -rising from a low, heath-like undergrowth. It seemed open, and yet -weird, enclosing you in its vast emptiness. This bush, that he had heard -so much of! The sun had climbed out of the mist, and was becoming gold -and powerful in a limpid sky. The leaves of the gum trees hung like -heavy narrow blades, inert and colourless, in a weight of silence. Save -when they came to a more open place, and a flock of green parrots flew -shrieking, "Twenty-eight! Twenty-eight!" At least that was what the -driver said they cried.—The lower air was still somewhat chilly from -the mist. A number of black-and-white handsome birds, that they call -magpies, flew alongside in the bush, keeping pace for a time with the -buggy. And once a wallaby ran alongside for a while on the path, a -bigger 'roo than the joey, and very funny, leaping persistently -alongside with his little hands dangling.</p> - -<p>It was a new country after all. It was different. A small exultance grew -inside the youth. After all, he <i>had</i> got away, into a country that -men had not yet clutched into their grip. Where you could do as you liked, -without being stifled by people. He still had a secret intention of -doing as he liked, though what it was he would do when he could do as he -liked, he did not know. Nothing very definite. And yet something stirred -in his bowels as he saw the endless bush, and the noisy green parrots -and the queer, tame kangaroos: and no man.</p> - -<p>"It's dingy country down here," the coachman was saying. "Not good for -much. No good for nothing except cemetery, though Mr. George says he -believes in it. And there's nothing you can do with it, seeing as how -many gents what come in the first place has gone away for ever, lock -stock and barrel, leaving nothing but their 'claims' on the land itself, -so nobody else can touch it." Here he shook the reins on the horses' -backs. "But I hopes you settles, and makes good, and marries and has -children, like me and my old woman, sir. She've put five daughters into -the total, born in a shack, though their mother was born in Pontesbeach -Hall——"</p> - -<p>But Jack's mind drifted away from the driver. He was in that third -state, not uncommon to youth, which seems to intervene between reality -and dream. The bush, the coach, the wallabies, the coachdriver were not -very real to him. Neither was his own self and his own past very real to -him. There seemed to him to be another mute core to himself. Apart from -the known Jack Grant, and apart from the world as he had known it. Even -apart from this Australia which was so unknown to him.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, he had not yet come-to in Australia. He had not yet -extricated himself from England and the ship. Half of himself was left -behind, and the other half was gone ahead. So there he sat, mute and -stupid.</p> - -<p>He only knew he wanted something, and he resented something. He resented -having been so much found fault with. They had hated him because he -preferred to make friends among "good-for-nothings." But as he saw it, -"good-for-nothings" were the only ones that had any daring. Not -altogether tamed. He loathed the thought of harness. He hated tameness, -hated it, hated it. The thought of it made his innocent face take on a -really devilish look. And because of his hatred of harness, he hated -answering the questions that people put to him. Neither did he ask many, -for his own part. But now one popped out.</p> - -<p>"There <i>are</i> policemen here, are there?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir, a good force of mounted police, a smart body of men. And -they're needed. Western Australia is full of old prisoners, black -fellers, and white ones too. The whites, born here, is called 'gropers,' -if you take me, sir. Sand-gropers. And they all need protection one from -the other. And there's half-pay officers, civil and military, and -clergy, scattered through the bush——"</p> - -<p>"Need protecting from one another, and yet he says there's nobody to -hold up the coach," thought Jack to himself, cynically.</p> - -<p>The bush had alternated with patches of wild scrub. But now came -clearings: a little wooden house, and an orchard of trees planted in -rows, with a grazing field beyond. Then more flat meadows, and ploughed -spaces, and a humpy or a shack here and there: children playing around, -and hens: then a regular homestead, with a verandah on either side, and -creepers climbing up, and fences about.</p> - -<p>"The soil is red!" said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Clay! That's clay! No more sand, except in patches, all the way to -Albany. This is Guildford where the roses grow."</p> - -<p>They clattered across a narrow wooden bridge with a white railing, and -up to a wooden inn where the horses were to be changed. Jack got down in -the road, and saw Mr. George and Mr. Ellis both sleepily emerge and pass -without a word into the place marked BAR.</p> - -<p>"I think I'll walk on a bit," said Jack, "if you'll pick me up."</p> - -<p>But at that moment a fleecy white head peering out of the back of the -coach cried:</p> - -<p>"Oh, Mr. Gwey! Oh, Mr. Gwey! They've frowed away a perfectly good -cat."</p> - -<p>The driver went over with Jack to where the chubby arm was pointing, and -saw the body of a cat stretched by the trodden grass. It was quite dead. -They stood looking at it, Grey explaining that it was a good skin and it -certainly was a pity to waste it, and he hoped someone would find it who -would tan it before it went too far, for as for him, he could not take -it along in the coach, the passengers might object before they reached -Albany, though the weather was cooling up a bit.</p> - -<p>Jack laughed and went back to the coach to throw off his overcoat. He -loved the crazy inconsequence of everything. He stepped along the road -feeling his legs thrilling with new life. The thrill and exultance of -new life. And yet somewhere in his breast and throat tears were heaving. -Why? Why? He didn't know. Only he wanted to cry till he died. And at the -same time, he felt such a strength and a new power of life in his legs -as he strode the Australian way, that he threw back his head in a sort -of exultance.</p> - -<p>Let the exultance conquer. Let the tears go to blazes.</p> - -<p>When the coach came alongside, there was the old danger-look in his -eyes, a defiance, and something of the cat-look of a young lion. He did -not mount, but walked on up the hill. They were climbing the steep -Darling Ranges, and soon he had a wonderful view. There was the -wonderful clean new country spread out below him, so big, so soft, so -ancient in its virginity. And far beyond, the gleam of that strange -empty sea. He saw the grey-green bush ribboned with blue rivers, winding -to an unknown sea. And in his heart he was <i>determining</i> to get what -he wanted. Even though he did not know what it was he wanted. In his heart -he clinched his determination to get it. To get it out of this ancient -country's virginity.</p> - -<p>He waited at the top of the hill. The horses came clop-clopping up. -Morning was warm and full of sun. They had rolled up the flaps of the -wagonette, and there was the beaming face of Mr. George, and the purple -face of Mr. Ellis, and the back of the head of the floss-haired child.</p> - -<p>Jack looked back again, when he had climbed to his seat and the horses -were breathing, to where the foot of the grey-bush hills rested in a -valley ribboned with rivers and patched with cultivation, all frail and -delicate in a dim ethereal light.</p> - -<p>"A land of promise! A land of promise," said Mr. George. "When I was -young I bid £1080 for 2,700 acres of it. But Hammersley bid twenty -pounds more, and got it.—Take up land, Jack Grant, take up land. Buy, -beg, borrow or steal land, but get it, sir, get it."</p> - -<p>"Hell have to go farther back to find it," said Mr. Ellis, from his blue -face. "He'll get none of what he sees there."</p> - -<p>"Oh, if he means to stay, he can jump it.—The law is always -bendin' and breakin', bendin' and breakin'."</p> - -<p>"Well, if he's going to live with me, Mr. George, don't put him on to -land-snatching," said Mr. Ellis. And the two men fell to a discussion of -Land Acts, Grants, Holdings, Claims, and Jack soon ceased to listen. He -thought the land looked lovely. But he had no desire to own any of it. -He never felt the possibility of "owning" land. There the land was, for -eternity. How could he own it?—Anyhow, it made no appeal to him along -those lines.</p> - -<p>But Mr. Ellis loved "timber" and broke the spell by pointing and -saying:</p> - -<p>"See them trees, Jack my boy? Jarrah! Hills run one into the other way -to the Blackwood River. Hundreds of miles of beautiful jarrah timber. -The trees like this barren iron-stone formation. It's well they do, for -nothing else does."</p> - -<p>"There's one o' the mud-brick buildings the convicts lived in, while -they were building the road," said the driver, not to be done out of his -say. "One of the convicts broke and got away. Mostly when they went off -they was driven in by the bush. But this one never. They say he's -wanderin' yet. I say, dead."</p> - -<p>Mr. George was explaining the landscape.</p> - -<p>"Down there, Darlington. Governor Darling went down and never came back. -Went home the quick way.—Boya, native word for rock. Mahogany Creek -just above there. They'll see us coming. Kids watch from the rise, run -back and holloa. Pa catches rooster, black girl blows fire, Ma mixes -paste, yardman peels spuds,—dinner when we get there."</p> - -<p>"And, sir, Sam has a good brew, none better. Also, sir, though it looks -lonesome, he's mostly got company."</p> - -<p>"How's that?"</p> - -<p>"Well, sir, everyone comes for miles round to hear his missus play the -harmonium. Got it out from England, and if it doesn't break your heart -to hear it! The voice of the past! You'd love to hear it, Mr. Grant, -being new from home."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure I should," said Jack, thinking of the concert.</p> - -<p>The dinner at Mahogany Creek was as Mr. George had said. Afterwards, on -again through the bush.</p> - -<p>Towards the end of the afternoon the coach pulled up at a little -by-road, where stood a basket-work shay, and a tall young fellow in very -old clothes lounging with loose legs.</p> - -<p>"'Ere y'are!" said Grey, and walking the horses to the side of the road, -he scrambled down to pull water from a well. "Here we are!" said Mr. -Ellis from the back of the coach, where the tall youth was just -receiving the floss-haired baby between his big red hands. Fat Mr. Ellis -got down. The youth began pulling out Jack's bags and boxes, and Jack -hurried round to help him.</p> - -<p>"This is Tom," said Mr. Ellis.</p> - -<p>"Pleased to meet you," said Tom, holding out a big hand and clasping -Jack's hand hard for a moment. Then they went on piling the luggage on -the wicker shay.</p> - -<p>"That's the lot!" called Mr. Ellis.</p> - -<p>"Good-bye, Jack!" said Mr. George, leaning his grey head out of the -coach. "Be good and you'll be happy."</p> - -<p>Over which speech Jack puzzled mutely. But the floss-haired baby girl -was embracing his trouser legs.</p> - -<p>"I never knew you were an Ellis," he said to her.</p> - -<p>"Ay, she's another of 'em," said Mr. Ellis.</p> - -<p>The coach was going. Jack went over awkwardly and offered the driver a -two-shilling piece.</p> - -<p>"Put it back in y'r pocket, lad, y'll want it more than I shall," said -Grey unceremoniously. "The best o' luck to you, an' I mean it."</p> - -<p>They all packed into the shay, Jack sitting with his back to the horses, -the little girl tied in beside him, his smaller luggage bundled where it -could be stowed; and in absolute silence they drove through the silence -of the standing, motionless gum trees. Jack had never felt such silence. -At last they pulled up. Tom jumped down and drew a slip-rail, and they -passed a log fence, inside which there were many sheep, though it was -still bush. Tom got in again and they drove through bush, with -occasional sheep. Then Tom got down again—Jack could not see for what -purpose. The youth fetched an axe out of the cart and started chopping. -A tree was across the road: he was chopping at the broken part. There -came a sweet scent.</p> - -<p>"Raspberry jam!" said Mr. Ellis. "That's <i>acacia acuminata</i>, a -beautiful wood, good for fences, posts, pipes, walking-sticks. And they're -burning it off by the million acres."</p> - -<p>Tom pulled the trunk aside, and drove on again till he came to another -gate. Then they saw ahead a great clearing in the bush, and in the midst -of the clearing a "ginger-bread" house, made of wood slabs, with a -shingle roof running low all round to the verandahs. A woman in dark -homespun cloth with an apron and sunbonnet, and a young bearded man in -moleskins and blue shirt, came out with a cheery shout.</p> - -<p>"You get along inside and have some tea," said the young bearded man. -"I'll change the horses."</p> - -<p>The woman lifted down the baby, after having untied her.</p> - -<p>There was a door in the front of the house, a window on each side. But -they all went round under the eaves to the mud-brick kitchen behind, and -had tea. The woman hardly spoke, but she smiled and passed the tea and -nursed Ellie. When the young bearded man came in, he smiled and said:</p> - -<p>"I've got the mail out of the shay, Mr. Ellis."</p> - -<p>"That's all right," said Mr. Ellis.</p> - -<p>After which no one spoke again.</p> - -<p>When they set off once more, there was a splendid pair of greys on -either side the pole.</p> - -<p>"Bill and Lil," said Mr. Ellis. "My own breed. Angus lends us his for -the twenty miles to the cross roads. We've just changed them and got our -own. There's another twenty miles yet."</p> - -<p>It now began to rain, and gradually grew dark and cold. The bush was -dree, the dreest thing Jack had ever known. Rugs and mackintoshes were -fetched out, the baby was fastened snug in a corner out of the wet, and -the horses kept up a steady pace. And then, as Nature went to roost, Mr. -Ellis woke up and pulled out his pipe, to begin a conversation.</p> - -<p>"How's Ma?"</p> - -<p>"Great!"</p> - -<p>"How's Gran?"</p> - -<p>"Same."</p> - -<p>"All well?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"He's come twenty miles," thought Jack, "and he only asks now!"</p> - -<p>"See the doctor in town, Dad?" asked Tom.</p> - -<p>"I did."</p> - -<p>"What'd he say?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, heart's wrong all right, just what Rackett said. But might live to -be older than he is. So I might too, lad."</p> - -<p>"So you will an' all, Dad."</p> - -<p>And then Mr. Ellis, as if desperate to change the conversation, pulling -hard at his pipe:</p> - -<p>"Jersey cow calved?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Bull again?"</p> - -<p>"No, heifer. Beauty."</p> - -<p>They both smiled silently. Then Tom's tongue suddenly was loose.</p> - -<p>"Little beauty, she is. And the Berkshire has farrowed nine little -prize-winners. Cowslip came on with 'er butter since she come on to the -barley. I cot them twins Og an' Magog peltin' the dogs with eggs, an' -them so scarce, so I wopped 'em both. That black spaniel bitch, I had to -kill her for she worried one o' the last batch o' sucking pigs, though I -don't know how she come to do such a thing. I've finished fallowin' in -the bottom meadow, an' I'm glad you're back to tell us what to get on -wif."</p> - -<p>"How's clearing in th' Long Mile Paddock?"</p> - -<p>"Only bin down there once. Sam's doin' all right."</p> - -<p>"Hear anything of the Gum Tree Gully clearing gang?"</p> - -<p>"Message from Spencer, an' y' t'go down some time—as soon's y' -can."</p> - -<p>"Well, I want the land reclaimed this year, an' I want it gone on with. -Never know what'll happen, Tom. I'd like for you to go down there, Tom. -You c'n take th' young feller behind here with you, soon's the girls -come home."</p> - -<p>"What's he like?"</p> - -<p>"Seems a likely enough young chap. Old George put in a good word -for'm."</p> - -<p>"Bit of a toff."</p> - -<p>"Never you mind, s' long's his head's not toffy."</p> - -<p>"Know anything?"</p> - -<p>"Shouldn't say so."</p> - -<p>"Some fool?"</p> - -<p>"Don't know. You find out for y'self."</p> - -<p>Silence.</p> - -<p>Jack heard it all. But if he hadn't heard it, he could easily have -imagined it.</p> - -<p>"Yes, you find out," he thought to himself, going dazed with fatigue and -indifference as he huddled under the blanket, hearing the horses' hoofs -clop-clop! and the rain splash on his shoulders. Sometimes the horses -pulled slow and hard in the dark, sometimes they bowled along. He could -see nothing. Sometimes there was a snort and jangle of harness, and the -wheels resounding hollow. "Bridging something," thought Jack. And he -wondered how they found their way in the utter dark, for there were no -lamps. The trees dripped heavily.</p> - -<p>And then, at the end of all things, Tom jumped down and opened a gate. -Hope! But on and on and on. Stop!—hope!—another gate. On and -on. Same again. And so interminably.</p> - -<p>Till at last some intuition seemed to communicate to Jack the presence -of home.—The rain had stopped, the moon was out. Ghostly and weird -the bush, with white trunks spreading like skeletons. There opened a -clearing, and a dog barked. A horse neighed near at hand. There were no -trees, a herd of animals was moving in the dusk. And then a dark house -loomed ahead, unlighted. The shay drove on, and round to the back. A -door opened, a woman's figure stood in the candle-light and firelight.</p> - -<p>"All right, Ma!" called Tom.</p> - -<p>"All right, dear!" called Mr. Ellis.</p> - -<p>"All right!" shrilled a little voice——</p> - -<p>Well, here they were, in the kitchen. Mrs. Ellis was a brown-haired -woman with a tired look in her eyes. She looked a long time at Jack, -holding his hand in her one hand and feeling his wet coat with the -other.</p> - -<p>"You're wet. But you can go to bed when you've had your supper. I hope -you'll be all right. Tom'll look after you."</p> - -<p>She was hoping that he would only bring good with him. She was all -mother: and mother of her own children first. She felt kindly towards -him. But he was another woman's son.</p> - -<p>When they had eaten, Tom led the newcomer away out of the house, across -a little yard, threw open a door in the dark, and lit a candle stuck in -the neck of a bottle. Jack looked round at the mud floor, the windowless -window, the unlined wooden walls, the calico ceiling, and he was glad. -He was to share this cubby hole, as they called it, with the other Ellis -boys. His truckle bed was fresh and clean. He was content. It wasn't -stuffy, it was rough and remote.</p> - -<p>When he opened his portmanteau to get out his nightshirt he asked Tom -where he was to put his clothes. For there was no cupboard or chest of -drawers or anything.</p> - -<p>"On your back or under your bed," said Tom. "Or I might find y' an old -packing case, if y're decent.—But say, ol' bloke, lemme give y'a -hint. Don't y' get sidey or nosey up here, puttin' on jam an suchlike, f'r -if y'do y'll shame me in front of strangers, an' I won't stand it."</p> - -<p>"Jam, did you say?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, jam, macaroni, cockadoodle. We're plain people out here-aways, not -mantel ornaments nor dickey-toffs, an' we want no flash sparks round, -see?"</p> - -<p>"<i>I'm</i> no flash spark," said Jack. "Not enough for 'em at home. -It's too much fist and too little toff, that's the matter with me."</p> - -<p>"C'n y' use y'r fists?"</p> - -<p>"Like to try me?"</p> - -<p>Jack shaped up to him.</p> - -<p>"Oh for the love o' Mike," laughed Tom, "stow the haw-haw gab! You'll do -me though, I think."</p> - -<p>"I'll try to oblige," said Jack, rolling into bed.</p> - -<p>"Here!" said Tom sharply. "Out y' get an' say y' prayers."</p> - -<p>"What sortta example for them kids of ours, gettin' into bed an' -forgettin' y'r prayers?"</p> - -<p>Jack eyed the youth.</p> - -<p>"You say yours?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Should say I do. Gran is on ter me right cruel if I don't see to it, -<i>whoever</i> sleeps in this cubby. They has ter say their prayers, -see?"</p> - -<p>"All right!" said Jack laconically.</p> - -<p>And he obediently got up, kneeled on the mud floor, and gabbled through -his quota. Somewhere in his heart he was touched by the simple honesty -of the boy. And somewhere else he was writhing with slow, contemptuous -repugnance at the vulgar tyranny.</p> - -<p>But he called again to his aid that natural indifference of his, -grounded on contempt. And also a natural boyish tolerance, because he -saw that Tom had a naive, if rather vulgar, good-will.</p> - -<p>He gabbled through his prayers wearily, but scrupulously to the last -Amen. Then rolled again into bed to sleep till morning, and forget, -forget, forget! He depended on his power of absolute forgetting.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> - -<h4>WANDOO</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>Two things struggled in Jack's mind when he awoke in the morning. The -first was the brave idea that he had left everything behind, that he had -done with his boyhood and was going to enter into his own. The second -was a noise of somebody quoting Latin and clicking wooden dumb-bells.</p> - -<p>Jack opened his eyes. There were four beds in the cubby hole. Between -two beds stood a thin boy of about thirteen, swinging dumb-bells, and -facing two small urchins who were faithfully imitating him, except that -they did not repeat the Latin tags. They were all dressed in short -breeches loosely held up by braces, and under-vests.</p> - -<p><i>Veni!</i> up went their arms smartly,—<i>vidi!</i> down came -the dubs to horizontal,—<i>vici!</i> the clubs were down by their -sides.</p> - -<p>Jack smiled to himself and dozed again. It was scarcely dawn. He was -dimly aware of the rain pattering on the shingle roof.</p> - -<p>"Ain't ye gettin' up this morning?"</p> - -<p>It was Tom standing contemplating him. The children had run out barefoot -and bare-armed in the rain.</p> - -<p>"Is it morning?" asked Jack, stretching.</p> - -<p>"Not half. We've fed th' osses. Come on."</p> - -<p>"Where do I wash?"</p> - -<p>"At the pump. Look slippy and get your clothes on. Our men live over at -Red's, we have to look sharp in the morning."</p> - -<p>Jack looked slippy, and went out to wash in the tin dish by the pump. -The rain was abating, but it seemed a damp performance.</p> - -<p>By the time he was really awake, the day had come clear. It was a fine -morning, the air fresh with the smell of flowering shrubs: silver -wattle, spirea, daphne and syringa which Ellis grew in his garden. -Already the sun was coming warm.</p> - -<p>The house was a low stone building with a few trees round it. But all -the life went on here at the back, here where the pump was, and the -various yards and wooden out-buildings. There was a vista of open -clearing, and a few huge gum-trees. The sky was already blue, a certain -mist lay below the great isolated trees.</p> - -<p>In the yard a score of motherless lambs were penned, bleating, their -silly faces looking up at Jack confidently, expecting the milk bottle. -He walked with his hands in the pockets of his old English tweeds, -feeling over-dressed and a bit out of place. Cows were tethered to posts -or standing loose about the fenced yard, and the half-caste Tim, and -Lennie, the dumb-bell boy, and a girl, were silently milking. The heavy, -pure silence of the Australian morning.</p> - -<p>Jack stood at a little distance. A cat whisked across the yard and ran -up a queer-looking pine-tree, a dissipated old cow moved about at -random. "Hey you!" shouted Tom impatiently, "Take hoult of that cart -toss nosin' his way inter th' chaff-house, and bring him here. An' see -to that grey's ropes: she's chewin' 'em free. Look slippy, make yourself -useful."</p> - -<p>There was a tone of amiability and intimacy mixed with this bossy -shouting. Jack ran to the cart toss. He couldn't help liking Tom and the -rest. They were so queer and naive, and they seemed oddly forlorn, like -waifs lost in this new country. Jack had always had a leaning towards -waifs and lost people. They were the only people whose bossing he didn't -mind.</p> - -<p>The children at their various tasks were singing in shrill, clear -voices, with a sort of street-arab abandon. Lennie, the boy, would break -the shrilling of the twin urchins with a sudden musical yell, from the -side of the cow he was milking. And they seemed to sing anything, songs, -poetry, nonsense, anything that came into their heads, like birds -singing variously and at random.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The blue, the fresh, the ever free</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am where I would ever be</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With the blue above, and the blue below—"</span></p> - - -<p>Then a yell from Lennie by the cows:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And wherever thus in childhood's <i>our</i>—"</span></p> - - -<p>The twins:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"I never was on the dull tame shore</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But I loved the great sea more and more—"</span></p> - - -<p>Again a sudden and commanding yell from Lennie.</p> - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"I never loved a dear gazelle</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To glad me with its soft black eye,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But, when it came to know me well</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And love me—"</span></p> - - -<p>Here the twins, as if hypnotized, howled out—</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"—it was sure to die."</span></p> - - -<p>They kept up this ragged yelling in the new, soft morning, like lost -wild things. Jack laughed to himself. But they were quite serious. The -elders were dumb-silent. Only the youngsters made all this noise. Was it -a sort of protest against the great silence of the country? Was it their -young, lost effort in the noiseless antipodes, whose noiselessness seems -like a doom at last? They yelled away like wild little lost things, with -an uncanny abandon. It pleased Jack.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>They had all gone silent again, and collected under the peppermint tree -at the back door, where Ma ladled out tea into mugs for everybody. Ma -was Mrs. Ellis. She still had the tired, distant look in her eyes, and a -tired bearing, and she seemed to take no notice of anybody, either when -she was in the kitchen or when she came out with pie to the group -squatting under the tree. When anyone said: "Some more tea, Ma!" she -silently ladled out the brew. Jack was not a very intent observer. But -he was-struck by Mrs. Ellis' silence and her "drawn" look.</p> - -<p>Tom came and hitched himself up against the trunk of the tree. Lennie -was sitting opposite on a log, holding his tin mug and eyeing the -stranger in silence. On another log sat the two urchins, sturdy, wild -little brats, barefooted, bare-legged, bare-armed, as Jack had first -seen them, their dress still consisting of a little pair of pants and a -cotton undervest: and a pair of braces. The last seemed by far the most -important garment. Lennie was clothed, or unclothed, the same, while Tom -had added a pair of boots. The bare arms out of the cotton vests were -brown and smooth, and they gave the boys and the youth a curiously naked -look. A girl of about twelve, in a dark-blue spotted pinafore and a rag -of red hair-ribbon, sat on a little stump near the twins. She was silent -like her mother—but not yet "drawn."</p> - -<p>"What d'ye think of Og an' Magog?" said Tom, pointing with his mug at -the twins. "Called for giants 'cos they're so small."</p> - -<p>Jack did not know what to think. He tried to smile benevolently.</p> - -<p>"An' that's Katie," continued Tom, indicating the girl, who at once -looked foolish. "She's younger'n Lennie, but she's pretty near his size. -He's another little 'un. Little an' cheeky, that's what he is. Too much -cheek for his age—which is fourteen. You'll have to keep him in his -place, I tell you straight."</p> - -<p>"Ef ye <i>ken!</i>" murmured Len with a sour face.</p> - -<p>Then, chirping up with a real street-arab pertness, he seemed to ignore -Jack as he asked brightly of Tom:</p> - -<p>"An' who's My Lord Duke of Early Risin', if I might be told?—For -before Gosh he sports a tidy raiment."</p> - -<p>"Now, Len, none o' yer lingo!" warned Tom.</p> - -<p>"Who is he, anyway, as you should go tellin' him to keep me in my -place?"</p> - -<p>"No offence intended, I'm sure," said Jack pleasantly.</p> - -<p>"<i>Taken</i> though!" said Lennie, with such a black look that Jack's -colour rose in spite of himself.</p> - -<p>"You keep a civil tongue in your head, or I'll punch it for you," he -said. He and Lennie stared each other in the eye.</p> - -<p>Lennie had a beautiful little face, with an odd pathos like some lovely -girl, and grey eyes that could change to black. Jack felt a certain pang -of love for him, and in the same instant remembered that she-lioness cub -of a Monica. Perhaps she too had the same odd, lovely pathos, like a -young animal that runs alert and alone in the wood. Why did these -children seem so motherless and fatherless, so much on their own?—It -was very much how Jack felt himself. Yet he was not pathetic.</p> - -<p>Lennie suddenly smiled whimsically, and Jack knew he was let into the -boy's heart. Queer! Up till now they had all kept a door shut against -him. Now Len had opened the door. Jack saw the winsomeness and pathos of -the boy vividly, and loved him, too. But it was still remote. And still -mixed up in it was the long stare of that Monica.</p> - -<p>"That's right, you tell 'im," said Tom. "What I say here—no back -chat, an' no tales told. That's what's the motto on this station."</p> - -<p>"<i>Obey an' please my Lord Tom Noddy</i>,"</p> - -<p>"<i>So God shall love and angels aid ye</i>——" said Lennie, -standing tip-toe on his log and balancing his bare feet, and repeating his -rhyme with an abstract impudence, as if the fiends of air could hear -him.</p> - -<p>"Aw, shut up, you!" said Tom. "You've got ter get them 'osses down to -Red's. Take Jack an' show him."</p> - -<p>"I'll show him," said Len, munching a large piece of pie as he set -off.</p> - -<p>"Ken ye ride, Jack?"</p> - -<p>Jack didn't answer, because his riding didn't amount to much.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>Len unhitched four heavy horses, led them into the yard, and put the -ropes into Jack's hands. The child marched so confidently under the -noses of the great creatures, as they planted their shaggy feet. And he -was such a midget, and with his brown bare arms and bare legs and feet, -and his vivid face, he looked so "tender." Jack's heart moved with -tenderness.</p> - -<p>"Don't you ever wear boots?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Not if I k'n help it. Them kids now, they won't neither, 'n I don't -blame 'em. Last boots Ma sent for was found all over the manure heap, so -the old man said he'd buy no more boots, an' a good job too. The only -thing as scares me is double-gees: spikes all roads and Satan's face on -three sides. Ever see double-gees?"</p> - -<p>Len was leading three ponderous horses. He started peering on the road, -the horses marching just behind his quick little figure. Then he found a -burr with three queer sides and a sort of face on each side with -sticking-out hair.</p> - -<p>He was a funny kid, with his scraps of Latin and tags of poetry. Jack -wondered that he wasn't self-conscious and ashamed to quote poetry. But -he wasn't. He chirped them off, the bits of verse, as if they were a -natural form of expression.</p> - -<p>They had led the horses to another stable. Len again gave the ropes to -Jack, disappeared, and returned leading a saddled stock-horse. Holding -the reins of the saddle-horse, the boy scrambled up the neck of one of -the big draft-horses like a monkey.</p> - -<p>"Which are you goin' to ride?" he asked Jack from the height. "I'm -taking three an' leading Lucy. You take the other three."</p> - -<p>So he received the three halter ropes.</p> - -<p>"I think I'll walk," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Please y'self. You k'n open the gates easy walkin'; and comin' back -I'll do it, 'n you k'n ride Lucy an I'll ride behind pinion so's I can -slip down easy."</p> - -<p>Yes, Lennie was a joy. On the return journey, when Jack was in the -saddle riding Lucy, Len flew up behind him and stood on the horse's -crupper, his hands on Jack's shoulders, crying: "Let 'er go!" At the -first gate, he slid down like a drop of water, then up again, this time -sitting back to back with Jack, facing the horse's tail, and whistling -briskly. Suddenly he stopped whistling, and said:</p> - -<p>"Y've seen everybody but Gran an' Doc. Rackett, haven' you? He teaches -me—a rum sortta dock he is, too, never there when he's wanted. But -he's a real doctor all right: signs death certificates an' no questions -asked. Y' c'd do a murder, 'n if you was on the right side of him, y'd -never be hung. He'd say the corpse died of natural causes."</p> - -<p>"I didn't know a corpse died," said Jack laughing.</p> - -<p>"Didn't yer? Well yer know now!—Gran's as good as a corpse, an' -she don't want her die. She put on Granfer's grave: 'Left desolate, but not -without hope.' So they all thought she'd get married again. But she -never.—Did y' go to one of them English schools?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Ever wear a bell-topper?"</p> - -<p>"Once or twice."</p> - -<p>"Gosh!—May I never go to school, God help me. I should die of -shame and disgrace. Arrayed like a little black pea in a pod, learnin' to -be useless. Look at Rackett. School, an' Cambridge, an' comes inter money. -Wastes it. Wastes his life. Now he's teachin' me, an' th' only useful -thing he ever did."</p> - -<p>After a pause, Jack ventured.</p> - -<p>"Who is Dr. Rackett?"</p> - -<p>"A waster. Down and out waster. He's got a sin. I don't know what it is, -but it's wastin' his soul away."</p> - - - - -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>It was no use Jack's trying to thread it all together. It was a -bewilderment, so he let it remain so. It seemed to him, that right at -the very core of all of them was the same bewildered vagueness: Mr. -Ellis, Mrs. Ellis, Tom, the men—they all had that empty bewildered -vagueness at the middle of them. Perhaps Lennie was most on the spot. -The others just could attend to their jobs, no more.</p> - -<p>Jack still had no acquaintance with anyone but Tom and Len. He never got -an answer from Og and Magog. They just grinned and wriggled. Then there -was Katie. Then Harry, a fat, blue-eyed small boy. And then that -floss-haired Ellie who had come from Perth. And smaller than her, the -baby. All very confusing.</p> - -<p>The second morning, when they were at the proper breakfast, Dad suddenly -said:</p> - -<p>"Ma! D'ye know where the new narcissus bulbs are gone? I was waiting to -plant 'em till I got back."</p> - -<p>"I've not seen them since ye put them in the shed at the end of the -verandah, dear."</p> - -<p>"Well, they're gone."</p> - -<p>Dead silence.</p> - -<p>"Is 'em like onions?" asked Og, pricking up intelligently.</p> - -<p>"Yes. They are! Have you seen them?" asked Dad sternly.</p> - -<p>"I see Baby eatin' 'em, Dad," replied Og calmly.</p> - -<p>"What, my bulbs, as I got out from England! Why, what the dickens, Ma, -d'you let that mischievous monkey loose for? My precious narcissus -bulbs, the first I've ever had. An' besides—Ma! I'm not sure but what -they're poison."</p> - -<p>The parents looked at one another, then at the gay baby. There is a -general consternation. Ma gets the long, evil blue bottle of castor oil -and forcibly administers a spoonful to the screaming baby. Dad hurries -away, unable to look on the torture of the baby—the last of his name. -He goes to hunt for the bulbs in the verandah shed. Tom says, "By Gosh!" -and sits stupefied. Katie jumps up and smacks Og for telling tales, and -Magog flies at Katie for touching Og. Jack, as a visitor, unused to -family life, is a little puzzled.</p> - -<p>Lennie meanwhile calmly continues to eat his large mutton chop. The -floss-haired Ellie toddles off talking to herself. She comes back just -as intent, wriggles on her chair on her stomach, manages to mount, and -puts her two fists on the table, clutching various nibbled, onion-like -roots.</p> - -<p>"Vem's vem, ain't they, Dad? She never ate 'em. She got 'em out vis -mornin' and was suckin' 'em, so I took 'em from her an' hid 'em for -you."</p> - -<p>"Should Dad have said Narcissi or Narcissuses?" asked Len from over his -coffee mug, in the hollow voice of one who speaks out of his cups.</p> - -<p>Nobody answered. The baby was shining with castor oil. Jack sat in a -kind of stupefaction. Everybody ate mutton chops in noisy silence, -oppressively, and chewed huge doorsteps of bread.</p> - -<p>Then there entered a melancholy, well-dressed young fellow who looked -like a daguerreotype of a melancholy young gentleman. He sauntered in in -silence, and pulling out his chair, sat down at table without a word. -Katie ran to bring his breakfast, which was on a plate on the hearth, -keeping warm. Then she sat down again. The meal was even more -oppressive. Everybody was eating quickly, to get away.</p> - -<p>And then Gran opened the door leading from the parlour, and stood there -like the portrait of an old, old lady, stood there immovable, just -looking on, like some ghost. Jack's blood ran cold. The boys, pushing -back their empty plates, went quietly out to the verandah, to the air. -Jack followed, clutching his cap, that he had held all the time on his -knee.</p> - -<p>Len was pulling off his shirt. The boys had to wear shirts at meal -times.</p> - -<p>This was the wild new country! Jack's sense of bewilderment deepened. -Also he felt a sort of passionate love for the family—as a savage -must feel for his tribe. He felt he would never leave the family. He must -always be near them, always in close physical contact with them. And yet -he was just a trifle horrified by it all.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h4> - -<h4>THE LAMBS COME HOME</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>A month later Tom and Lennie went off with the greys, Bill and Lil, to -fetch the girls. It had been wet, so Jack had spent most of his day in -the sheds mending corn sacks. He was dressed now in thick cotton trousers, -coloured shirt, and grey woollen socks, and copper-toed boots. When -he went ploughing, by Tom's advice he wore "lasting" socks—none.</p> - -<p>His tweed coat hung on a nail on the wall of the cubby, his good -trousers and vest were under the mattress of his bed. The only useful -garment he had brought had been the old riding breeches of the -Agricultural College days.</p> - -<p>On the back of his Tom-clipped hair was an ant-heap of an old felt hat, -and so he sat, hour after hour, sewing the sacks with a big needle. He -was certainly not unhappy. He had a sort of passion for the family. The -family was almost his vice. He felt he must be there with the family, -and then nothing else mattered. Dad and Ma were the silent, unobtrusive -pillars of the house. Tom was the important young person. Lennie was the -soul of the place. Og and Magog were the mischievous life. Then there -was Harry, whom Jack didn't like, and the little girls, to be looked -after. Dr. Rackett hovered round like an uneasy ghost, and Gran was -there in her room. Now the girls were coming home.</p> - -<p>Jack felt he had sunk into the family, merged his individuality, and he -would never get out. His own father and mother, England, or the future, -meant nothing to him. He loved this family. He loved Tom, and Lennie, -and he wanted always to be with all of them. This was how it had taken -him: as a real passion.</p> - -<p>He loved, too, the ugly stone house, especially the south side, the -shady side, which was the back where the peppermint tree stood. If you -entered the front door—which nobody did—you were in a tiny -passage from which opened the parlour on one side, and the dying room on -the other. Tom called it the dying room because it had never been used for -any other purpose by the family. Old Mr. Ellis had been carried down -there to die. So had his brother Willie. As Tom explained: "The -staircase is too narrow to handle a coffin."</p> - -<p>Through the passage you dropped a step into the living room. On the -right from this you stepped up a step into the kitchen, and on the left, -up a step into Gran's room. Gran's room had once been the whole house: -the rest had been added on. It is often so in Australia.</p> - -<p>From the sitting room you went straight on to the back verandah, and -there were the four trees, and a fenced-in garden, and the yards. The -garden had gay flowers, because Mr. Ellis loved them, and a round, -stone-walled well. Alongside was the yard, marked off by the four trees -into a square: a mulberry one side the kitchen door, a pepper the other, -a photosphorum with a seat under it a little way off, and across, a -Norfolk pine and half a fir tree.</p> - -<p>Tom would talk to Jack about the family: a terrible tangle, they both -thought. Why, there was Gran, endless years old! Dad was fifty, and he -and Uncle Easu (dead) were her twins and her only sons. However, she had -seven daughters and, it seemed to Jack, hundreds of grandchildren, most -of them grown up with more children of their own.</p> - -<p>"I could never remember all their names," he declared.</p> - -<p>"I don't try," said Tom. "Neither does Gran. And I don't believe she -cares a tuppenny for 'em—for any of 'em, except Dad and us."</p> - -<p>Gran was a delicate old lady with a lace cap, and white curly hair, and -an ivory face. She made a great impression on Jack, as if she were the -presiding deity of the family. Over her head as she sat by the sitting -room fire an old clock tick-tocked. That impressed Jack, too. There was -something weird in her age, her pallor, her white hair and white cap, -her remoteness. She was very important in the house, but mostly -invisible.</p> - -<p>Lennie, Katie, Og and Magog, Harry, Ellie with the floss-hair and the -baby: these counted as "the children." Tom, who had had another mother, -not Ma, was different. And now the other twins, Monica and Grace, were -coming. These were the lambs. Jack, as he sat mending the sacks, -passionately in love with the family and happy doing any sort of work -there, thought of himself as a wolf in sheep's clothing, and laughed.</p> - -<p>He wondered why he didn't like Harry. Harry was six, rather fat and -handsome, and strong as a baby bull. But he was always tormenting Baby. -Or was it Baby tormenting Harry?</p> - -<p>Harry had got a picture book, and was finding out letters. Baby crawled -over and fell on the book. Harry snatched it away. Baby began to scream. -Ma interfered.</p> - -<p>"Let Baby have it, dear."</p> - -<p>"She'll tear it, Ma."</p> - -<p>"Let her, dear. I'll get you another."</p> - -<p>"When?"</p> - -<p>"Some day, Harry. When I go to Perth."</p> - -<p>"Ya.—Some day! Will ye get it Monday?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, Harry, do be quiet, do——"</p> - -<p>Then Baby and Harry tore the book between them in their shrieking -struggles, while Harry battered the cover on the baby's head. And a hot, -dangerous, bullying look would come into his eyes, the look of a bully. -Jack knew that look already. He would know it better before he had done -with Australia.</p> - -<p>And yet Baby adored Harry. He was her one god.</p> - -<p>Jack always marvelled over that baby. To him it was a little monster. It -had not lived twelve months, yet God alone knew the things it knew. The -ecstacy with which it smacked its red lips and showed its toothless gums -over sweet, sloppy food. The diabolic screams if it was thwarted. The -way it spat out "lumps" from the porridge! How on earth, at that age, -had it come to have such a mortal hatred for lumps in porridge? The way -its nose had to be held when it was given castor oil! And again, though -it protested so violently against lumps in porridge, how it loved such -abominations as plaster, earth, or the scrapings of the pig's bucket.</p> - -<p>When you found it cramming dirt into its mouth, and scolded it, it would -hold up its hands wistfully to have them cleaned. And it didn't mind a -bit, then, if you swabbed its mouth out with a lump of rag.</p> - -<p>It was a girl. It loved having a new clean frock on. Would sit gurgling -and patting its stomach, in a new smart frock, so pleased with itself. -Astounding!</p> - -<p>It loved bulls and stallions and great pigs, running between their legs. -And yet it yelled in unholy terror if fowls or dogs came near. Went into -convulsions over the friendly old dog, or a quiet hen pecking near its -feet.</p> - -<p>It was always trying to scuttle into the stable, where the horses stood. -And it had an imbecile desire to put its hand in the fire. And it adored -that blue-eyed bully of a Harry, and didn't care a straw for the mother -that slaved for it. Harry, who treated it with scorn and hate, pinching -it, cuffing it, shoving it out of its favorite positions—off the -grass patch, off the hearth-rug, off the sofa-end. But it knew exactly the -moment to retaliate, to claw his cap from his head and clutch his fair -curls, or to sweep his bread and jam on to the floor, into the dust, if -possible ....</p> - -<p>To Jack it was all just incredible.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>But it was part of the family, and so he loved it.</p> - -<p>He dearly loved the cheeky Len.</p> - -<p>"What d'y' want ter say 'feece' for? Why can't yer say 'fyce' like any -other bloke?—and why d'y' wash y'fyce before y'wash y'hands?"</p> - -<p>"I like the water clean for my face."</p> - -<p>"What about your dirty hands, smarmin' them over it?"</p> - -<p>"You use a flannel or a sponge."</p> - -<p>"If y've got one! Y'don't find 'em growin' in th' bush. Why can't y' -learn offa me now, an' be proper. Ye'll be such an awful sukey when -y'goes out campin', y'll shame y'self. Y'should wash y'hands first. Frow -away th' water if y'not short, but y' will be. Then when y've got -y'hands all soapy, sop y' fyce up an' down, not round an' round like a -cat does. Then pop y' nut under th' pump an' wring it dry. Don't never -waste y' huckaback on it. Y'll want that f' somefin' else."</p> - -<p>"What else shall I want my towel for?"</p> - -<p>"Wroppin' up things in, meat an' damper, an't'lay down for y'meal, -against th' ants, or to put over it against th' insex."</p> - -<p>Then from Tom.</p> - -<p>"Hey, nipper knowall, dry up! I've taught you the way you should behave, -haven't I? Well, I can teach Jack Grant, without any help from you. -Skedaddle!"</p> - -<p>"Hope y' can! Sorry for y', havin' to try," said Len as he -skedaddled.</p> - -<p>Tom was the head of the clan, and the others gave him leal obedience and -a genuine, if impudent homage.</p> - -<p>"What a funny kid!" said Jack. "He's different from the rest of you, and -his lingo's rotten."</p> - -<p>"He's not dif!" said Tom. "'Xactly same. Same's all of us—same's -all the nips round here. He went t' same school as Monica and Grace an' me, -to Aunt's school in th' settlement, till Dr. Rackett came. If he's any -different, he got it from <i>him</i>: he's English."</p> - -<p>Jack noticed they always spoke of Dr. Rackett as if he were a species of -rattlesnake that they kept tame about the place.</p> - -<p>"But Ma got Dad to get the Doc, 'cos she can't bear to part with Len -even for a day—to give'm lessons at home.—I suppose he's her -eldest son.—Doc needn't, he's well-to-do. But he likes it, when -he's here. When he's not, Lennie slopes off and reads what he pleases. -But it makes no difference to Len, he's real clever. And—" Tom -added grinning—"he wouldn't speak like you do neither, not for all -the tin in a cow's bucket."</p> - -<p>To Jack, fresh from an English Public school, Len was amazing. If he -hurt himself sharply, he sat and cried for a minute or two. Tears came -straight out, as if smitten from a rock. If he read a piece of sorrowful -poetry, he just sat and cried, wiping his eyes on his arm without -heeding anybody. He was greedy, and when he wanted to, he ate -enormously, in front of grown-up people. And yet you never minded. He -talked poetry, or raggy bits of Latin, with great sententiousness and in -the most awful accent, and without a qualm. Everything he did was right -in his own eyes. Perfectly right in his own eyes.</p> - -<p>His mother was fascinated by him.</p> - -<p>Three things he did well: he rode, bare-back, standing up, lying down, -anyhow. He rode like a circus rider. Also he boasted—heavens high. -And thirdly, he could laugh. There was something so sudden, so blithe, so -impish, so daring, and so wistful in his lit-up face when he laughed, -that your heart melted in you like a drop of water.</p> - -<p>Jack loved him passionately: as one of the family.</p> - -<p>And yet even to Lennie, Tom was the hero. Tom, the slow Tom, the rather -stupid Tom. To Lennie Tom's very stupidity was manly. Tom was so -dependable, so manly, such a capable director. He never gave trouble to -anyone, he was so complacent and self-reliant. Lennie was the -love-child, the elf. But Tom was the good, ordinary Man, and therefore -the hero.</p> - -<p>Jack also loved Tom. But he did not accept his manliness so absolutely. -And it hurt him a little, that the strange sensitive Len should put -himself so absolutely in obedience and second place to the good plain -fellow. But it was so. Tom was the chief. Even to Jack.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>When Tom was away, Jack felt as if the pivot of all activity was -missing. Mr. Ellis was not the real pivot. It was the plain, red-faced -Tom.</p> - -<p>Tom had talked a good deal, in snatches, to Jack. It was the family that -bothered him, as usual. He always talked the family.</p> - -<p>"My grandfather came out here in the early days. He was a merchant and -lost all his money in some East India business. He married Gran in -Melbourne, then they came out here. They had a bit of a struggle, but -they made good. Then Grampa died without leaving a will: which -complicated things for Gran. Dad and Easu was twins, but Dad was the -oldest. But Dad had wandered: he was gone for years and no one knows -what he did all the time.</p> - -<p>"But Gran liked him best, and he was the eldest son, so she had this -place all fixed up for him when he came back. She'd a deal of trouble -getting the Reds out. All the A'nts were on their side—on the Red's -side. We always call Uncle Easu's family the Reds. And Aunt Emmie says -she's sure Uncle Easu was born first, and not Dad. And that Gran took a -fancy to Dad from the first, so she said he was the eldest. Anyhow it's -neither here nor there.—I hope to goodness I never get -twins.—It runs in the family, and of all the awful things! Though the -Easu's have got no twins. Seven sons and no girls, and no twins. Uncle -Easu's dead, so young Red runs their place.</p> - -<p>"Uncle Easu was a nasty scrub, anyway. He married the servant girl, and -a servant girl no better than she should be, they say.</p> - -<p>"He didn't make no will, either. Making no wills runs in the family, as -well as twins. Dad won't. His Dad wouldn't, and he won't neither."</p> - -<p>Which meant, Jack knew, that by the law of the colony the property would -come to Tom.</p> - -<p>"Oh. Gran's crafty all right! She never got herself talked about, -turning the Reds out! She saved up a stocking—Gran always has a -stocking. And she saved up an' bought 'em out. She persuaded them that -the land beyond this was better'n this. She worked in with 'em while Dad -was away, like the fingers on your hand: and bought that old barn of a -place over yonder for 'em, and bounced 'em into it. Gran's crafty, when -it's anyone she cares about. Now it's Len.</p> - -<p>"Anyhow there it was when Dad came back, Wandoo all ready for him. He -brought me wrapped in a blanket. Old Tim, our half-caste man, was his -servant and there was my old nurse. That's all there is we know about -me. I know no more, neither who I am nor where I sprung from. And Dad -never lets on.</p> - -<p>"He came back with a bit of money, and Gran made him marry Ma to mind -me. She said I was such a squalling little grub, and she wanted me -brought up decent. So Ma did it. But Gran never quite fancied me.</p> - -<p>"It's a funny thing, seeing how I come, that I should be so steady and -ordinary, and Len should be so clever and unsteady. You'd ha' thought I -should be Len and him me.</p> - -<p>"Who was my mother? That's what I want to know. Who was she? And Dad -won't never say.</p> - -<p>"Anyhow she wasn't black, so what does it matter, anyhow?</p> - -<p>"But it <i>does</i> matter!"—Tom brought his fist down with a -smack in the palm of his other hand. "Nobody is ordinary to their mother, -and I'm ordinary to everybody, and I wish I wasn't."</p> - -<p>Funny of Tom. Everybody depended on him so, he was the hero of the -establishment, because he was so steady and ordinary and dependable. And -now even he was wishing himself different. You never knew how folks -would take themselves.</p> - - - - -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>As for the Reds, Jack had been over to their place once or twice. They -were a rough crowd of men and youths, father and mother both dead. A -bachelor establishment. When there was any extra work to be done, the -Wandoos went over there to help. And the Reds came over to Wandoo the -same. In fact they came more often to Wandoo than the Ellises went to -them.</p> - -<p>Jack felt the Reds didn't like him. So he didn't care for them. Red -Ellis, the eldest son, was about thirty years old, a tall, sinewy, -red-faced man with reddish hair and reddish beard and staring blue eyes. -One morning when Tom and Mr. Ellis were out mustering and tallying, Jack -was sent over to the Red house. This was during Jack's first fortnight -at Wandoo.</p> - -<p>Red the eldest met him in the yard.</p> - -<p>"Where's y'oss?"</p> - -<p>"I haven't one. Mr. Ellis said you'd lend me one."</p> - -<p>"Can y' ride?"</p> - -<p>"More or less."</p> - -<p>"What d'ye want wearin' that Hyde Park costume out here for?"</p> - -<p>"I've nothing else to ride in," said Jack, who was in his old riding -breeches.</p> - -<p>"Can't y' ride in trousers?"</p> - -<p>"Can't keep 'em over my knees, yet."</p> - -<p>"Better learn then, smart 'n'lively. Keep them down, 'n' y'socks up. -Come on then, blast ye, an' I'll see about a horse."</p> - -<p>They went to the stockyard, an immense place. But it was an empty desert -now, save for a couple of black-boys holding a wild-looking bay. Red -called out to them:</p> - -<p>"Caught Stampede, have y'? Well, let 'im go again afore y' break y' -necks. Y'r not to ride him, d'y hear?—What's in the stables, -Ned?"</p> - -<p>"Your mare, master. Waiting for you."</p> - -<p>"What y' got besides, ye grinning jackasses? Find something for Mr. -Grant here, an' look slippy."</p> - -<p>"Oh, master, no horse in, no knowin' stranger come."</p> - -<p>Red turned to Jack. Easu was a coarse, swivel-eyed, loose-jointed tall -fellow.</p> - -<p>"Y' hear that. Th' only thing left in this yard is Stampede. Ye k'n take -him or leave him, if y'r frightened of him. I'm goin' tallyin' sheep, -an' goin' now. If ye stop around idlin' all day, y'needn't tell Uncle -'twas my fault."</p> - -<p>Jack hesitated. From a colonial point of view, he couldn't ride well, -and he knew it. Yet he hated Easu's insulting way. Easu went grinning to -the stable to fetch his mare, pleased with himself. He didn't want the -young Jackeroo planted on <i>him</i>, to teach any blankey thing to.</p> - -<p>Jack went slowly over to the quivering Stampede, and asked the blacks if -they had ever ridden him. One answered:</p> - -<p>"Me only fella ride 'im some time master not tomorrow. Me an' Ned -catch him in mob longa time—Try break him—no good. He come -back paddock one day. Ned wantta break him. No good. Master tell 'im let -'im go now."</p> - -<p>Red Easu came walking out of the stable, chewing a stalk.</p> - -<p>"Put the saddle on him," said Jack to the blacks. "Ill try."</p> - -<p>The boys grinned and scuffled round. They rather liked the job. By being -very quick and light, Jack got into the saddle, and gripped. The boys -stood back, the horse stood up, and then whirled around on his hind -legs, and round and down. Then up and away like a squib round the yard. -The boys scattered, so did Easu, but Jack, because it was natural for -his legs to grip and stick, stuck on. His bones rattled, his hat flew -off, his heart beat high. But unless the horse came down backwards on -top of him, he could stay on. And he was not really afraid. He thought: -"If he doesn't go down backwards on top of me, I shall be all right." -And to the boys he called: "Open the gate!" Meanwhile he tried to quiet -the horse. "Steady now, steady!" he said, in a low, intimate voice. -"Steady boy!" And all the time he held on with his thighs and knees, -like iron.</p> - -<p>He did not believe in the innate viciousness of the horse. He never -believed in the innate viciousness of anything, except a man. And he did -not want to fight the horse for simple mastery. He wanted just to hold -it hard with his legs until it soothed down a little, and he and it -could come to an understanding. But he must never relax the hold of his -hard legs, or he was dead.</p> - -<p>Stampede was not ready for the gate. He sprang fiercely at it as if it -had been guarded by fire. Once in the open, he ran, and bucked, and -bucked, and ran, and kicked, and bucked, and ran. Jack stuck on with the -lower half of his body like a vise, feeling as if his head would be -jerked off his shoulders. It was becoming hard work. But he knew, unless -he stuck on, he was a dead man.</p> - -<p>Then he was aware that Stampede was bolting, and Easu was coming along -on a grey mare.</p> - -<p>Now they reached the far gate, and a miracle happened. Stampede stood -still while Red came up and opened the gate. Jack was conscious of a -body of live muscle and palpitating fire between his legs, of a furious -head tossing hair like hot wire, and bits of white foam. Also he was -aware of the trembling in his own thighs, and the sensual exertion of -gripping that hot wild body in the power of his own legs. Gripping the -hot horse in a grip of sensual mastery that made him tremble strangely -with a curious quivering. Yet he dared not relax.</p> - -<p>"Go!" said Red. And away they went. Stampede bolted like the wind, and -Jack held on with his knees and by balance. He was thrilled, really: -frightened externally, but internally keyed up. And never for a moment -did he relax his mind's attention, nor the attention of his own tossed -body. The worst was the corkscrew bucks, when he nearly went over the -brute's head. And the moments of vindictive hate, when he would kill the -beast and be killed a thousand times, rather than be beaten. Up he went, -off the saddle, and down he came again, with a shattering jerk, down on -the front of the saddle. The balance he kept was a mystery even to -himself, his body was so flung about, by the volcano of furious life -beneath him. He felt himself shaken to pieces, his bones rattled all out -of socket. But they got there, out to the sheep paddock where a group of -Reds and black-boys stood staring in silence.</p> - -<p>Jack jumped off, though his knees were weak and his hands trembling. The -horse stood dark with sweat. Quickly he unbuckled the saddle and bridle -and pulled them off, and gave the horse a clap on its wet neck. Away it -went, wild again, and free.</p> - -<p>Jack glanced at the Reds, and then at Easu. Red Easu met his eyes, and -the two stared at one another. It was the defiance of the hostile -colonial, brutal and retrogressive, against the old mastery of the old -country. Jack was barely conscious. Yet he was not afraid, inside -himself, of the swivel-eyed brute of a fellow. He knew that Easu was not -a better man than himself, though he was bigger, older, and on his own -ground. But Jack had the pride of his own, old, well-bred country behind -him, and he would never go back on his breeding. He was not going to -yield in manliness before the colonial way of life: the brutishness, the -commonness. Inwardly he would not give in to it. But the best of it, the -colonial honesty and simplicity, that he loved.</p> - -<p>There are two sides to colonials, as to everything. One side he loved. -The other he refused and defied.</p> - -<p>These decisions are not mental, but they are critical in the soul of a -boy of eighteen. And the destiny of nations hangs on such silent, almost -unconscious decisions.</p> - -<p>Esau—they called him Easu, but the name was Esau—turned to -a black, and bellowed:</p> - -<p>"Give master your horse, and carry that bally saddle home."</p> - -<p>Then silently they all turned to the sheep-tallying.</p> - - - - -<h4>V</h4> - - -<p>Jack was still sewing sacks. It was afternoon. He listened for the sound -of the shay, though he did not expect it until nightfall at least.</p> - -<p>His ear, training to the Australian alertness, began to detect unusual -sounds. Or perhaps it was not his ear. The old bushman seems to have -developed a further faculty, a psychic faculty of "sensing" some unusual -disturbance in the atmosphere, and reading it. Jack was a very new -Australian. Yet he had become aware of this faculty in Tom, and he -wanted it for himself. He wanted to be able to hear the inaudible, like -a sort of clair-audience.</p> - -<p>All he could hear was the audible: and all he could see was the visible. -The children were playing in the yard: he could see them in the dust. -Mrs. Ellis was still at the wash-tub: he saw the steam. Katie was -upstairs: he had seen her catching a hornet in the window. The men were -out ploughing, the horses were away. The pigs were walking round -grunting, the cows and poultry were all in the paddock. Gran never made -a sound, unless she suddenly appeared on the scene like the Lord in -Judgment. And Dr. Rackett was always quiet: often uncannily so.</p> - -<p>It was still rainy season, but a warm, mellow, sleepy afternoon, with no -real sound at all. He got up and stood on the threshold to stretch -himself. And there, coming by the grain-shed, he saw a little cortege in -which the first individual he distinguished was Red Easu.</p> - -<p>"Go in," shouted Red, "and tell A'nt as Herberts had an accident, and -we're bringin' him in."</p> - -<p>Sure enough, they were carrying a man on a gate.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ellis clicked:</p> - -<p>"Tt-tt-tt-tt-tt! They run to us when they're in trouble." But she went -at once to the linen closet, and on into the living room.</p> - -<p>Gran was sitting in a corner by a little fire.</p> - -<p>"Who's hurt?" she inquired testily. "Not one of the family, I hope and -pray."</p> - -<p>"Jack says it's Red Herbert," replied Mrs. Ellis.</p> - -<p>"Put him in the cubby with the boys, then."</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Ellis thought of her beloved boys, and hesitated.</p> - -<p>"Do you think it's much, Jack?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"They're carrying him on a gate," said Jack. "It looks bad."</p> - -<p>"Dear o'me!" snapped Gran, in her brittle fashion. "Why couldn't you say -so?—Well then—if you don't want to put him in the cubby, -there's a bed in my room. Put him there. But I should have thought he could -have had Tom's bed, and Tom could have slept here on the sofa."</p> - -<p>"Poor Tom," thought Jack.</p> - -<p>"Don't"—Gran banged her stick on the floor—"stand there like -a pair of sawneys! Get to work! Get to work!"</p> - -<p>Jack was staring at the ground and twirling his hat. Gran hobbled -forward. He noticed to his surprise that she had a wooden leg. And she -stamped it at him:</p> - -<p>"Go and fetch that rascal of a doctor!" she cried, in a startling loud -voice.</p> - -<p>Jack went. Dr. Rackett was not in his room, for Jack halloed and knocked -at every door. He peeped into the rooms, whose doors were slightly opened. -This must be the girls' room—two beds, neat white quilts, blue -bow at the window. When would they be home? Here was the family bed, -with two cots in the room as well. He came to a shut door. This must be -it. He knocked and halloed again. No sound. Jack felt as if he were -bound to come upon a Bluebeard's chamber. He hated looking in these -bedrooms.</p> - -<p>He knocked again, and opened the door. A queer smell, like chemicals. A -dark room, with the blind down: a few books, a feeling of dark -dreariness. But no Doctor. "So that's that!" thought Jack.</p> - -<p>In spite of himself his boots clattered going down, and made him -nervous. Why did the inside of the house, where he never went, seem so -secret, and rather horrible? He peeped into the dismal little drawing -room. Not there of course! Opposite was the dying room, the door wide -open. Nobody ever was there.</p> - -<p>Rackett was not in the house, that was certain. Jack slunk out, went to -the paddock, caught Lucy the saddle-horse; saddled her and cantered -aimlessly round, within hearing of the homestead. The afternoon was -passing. Not a soul was in sight. The gum-trees hung their sharp leaves -like obvious ghosts, with the hateful motionlessness of gum-trees. And -though flowers were out, they were queer, scentless, unspeaking sort of -flowers, even the red ones that were ragged like fire. Nothing spoke. -The distances were clear and mellow and beautiful, but soulless, and -nobody alive in the world. The silent, lonely gruesomeness of Australia -gave Jack the blues.</p> - -<p>It surely was milking time. Jack returned quietly to the yard. Still -nobody alive in the world. As if everyone had died. Yes, there was the -half-caste Tim in the distance, bringing up the slow, unwilling cows, -slowly, like slow dreams.</p> - -<p>And there was Dad coming out of the back door, in his shirt sleeves: -bluer and puffier than ever, with his usual serene expression, and his -look of boss, which came from his waistcoat and watchchain. Dad always -wore his waistcoat and watchchain, and seemed almost over-dressed in -it.</p> - -<p>Came Og and Magog running with quick little steps, and Len slinking -round the doorpost, and Harry marching alone, and Katie dragging her -feet, and Baby crawling. Jack was glad to see them. They had all been -indoors to look at the accident. And it had been a dull, dead, empty -afternoon, with all the life emptied out of it. Even now the family, the -beloved family, seemed a trifle gruesome to Jack.</p> - -<p>He helped to milk: a job he was not good at. Dad even took a stool and -milked also. As usual Dad did nothing but supervise. It was a good thing -to have a real large family that made supervising worth while. So Tom -said, "It's a good thing to have nine children, you can clear some work -with 'em, if you're their Dad." That's why Jack was by no means one too -many. Dad supervised him too.</p> - -<p>They got the milking done somehow. Jack changed his boots, washed -himself, and put on his coat. He nearly trod on the baby as he walked -across to the kitchen in the dying light. He lifted her and carried her -in.</p> - -<p>Usually "tea"—which meant mutton chops and eggs and steaks as -well—was ready when they came in from milking. Today Mr. Ellis was -putting eucalyptus sticks under the kettle, making the eternally -familiar scent of the kitchen, and Mrs. Ellis was setting the table -there. Usually, they lived in the living room from breakfast on. But -today, tea was to be in the kitchen, with a silence and a cloud in the -air like a funeral. But there was plenty of noise coming from Gran's -room.</p> - -<p>Jack had to have Baby beside him for the meal. And she put sticky hands -in his hair and leaned over and chewed and sputtered crumbs, wet crumbs -in his ear. Then she tried to wriggle down, but the evening was chill -and her hands and feet were cold and Mrs. Ellis said to keep her up. -Jack felt he couldn't stand it any longer, when suddenly she fell -asleep, the most unexpected thing in the world, and Mrs. Ellis carried -off her and Harry, to bed.</p> - -<p>Ah, the family! The family! Jack still loved it. It seemed to fill the -whole of life for him. He did not want to be alone, save at moments. And -yet, on an afternoon like today, he somehow realised that even the -family wouldn't last forever. What then? What then?</p> - -<p>He couldn't bear the thought of getting married to one woman and coming -home to a house with only himself and this one woman in it. Then the -slow and lonely process of babies coming. The thought of such a future -was dreadful to him. He didn't want it. He didn't want his own children. -He wanted this family: always this family. And yet there was something -gruesome to him about the empty bedrooms and the uncanny privacies even -of this family. He didn't want to think of their privacies.</p> - - - - -<h4>VI</h4> - - -<p>Three of the Reds trooped out through the sitting room, lean, red-faced, -hairy, heavy-footed, uncouth figures, for their tea. The Wandoo Ellises -were aristocratic in comparison. They asked Jack to go and help hold -Herbert down, because he was fractious. "He's that fractious!"</p> - -<p>Jack didn't in the least want to have to handle any of the Reds, but he -had to go. He found himself taking the two steps down into the dark -living room, and the two steps up into Gran's room beyond.</p> - -<p>Why need the family be so quiet in the kitchen, when there was such a -hubbub in here? Alan Ellis was holding one leg of the injured party, and -Ross Ellis the other, and they both addressed the recumbent figure as if -it were an injured horse with a <i>Whoa there! Steady on, now! Steady, -boy, steady!</i> Whilst Easu, bending terribly over the prostrate figure, -clutched both its arms in a vice, and cursed Jack for not coming sooner -to take one arm.</p> - -<p>Herbert had hurt his head, and turned fractious. Jack took the one arm. -Easu was on the other side of the bed, his reddish fair beard glowing. -There was a queer power in Easu, which fascinated Jack a little. Beyond, -Gran was sitting up in bed, among many white pillows, like Red Riding -Hood's grandmother. A bright fire of wood logs was burning in the open -hearth, and four or five tallow candles smoked duskily. But a screen was -put between Gran's four-poster and Herbert's bed, a screen made of a -wooden clothes-horse covered with sheets. Jack, however, from his -position by Herbert's pillow, could see beyond the screen to Gran's -section.</p> - -<p>His attention was drawn by the patient. Herbert's movements were sudden -and convulsive, and always in a sudden jerking towards the right side of -the bed. Easu had given Jack the left arm to hold, and as soon as -Herbert became violent, Jack couldn't hold him. The left arm, lean and -hard as iron, broke free, and Easu jumped up and cursed Jack.</p> - -<p>Here was a pretty scene! With Gran mumbling to herself on the other side -the hideous sheeted screen!</p> - -<p>There was nothing for it but to use cool intelligence—a thing the -Reds did not possess. Jack had lost his hold again, and Easu like a -reddish, glistening demon was gripping the sick man's two arms and arching -over him. Jack called up his old veterinary experience and proceeded to -detach himself.</p> - -<p>He noticed first: that Herbert was far less fierce when they didn't -resist him. Second, that he stopped groaning when his eyes fell away -from the men around him. Third, that all the convulsive jerky movements, -which had thrown him out of the bed several times, were towards the -right side of the bed.</p> - -<p>Then why not bind him to the left?</p> - -<p>The left arm had again escaped his grasp, and Easu's exasperated fury -was only held in check by Gran's presence. Jack went out of the room and -found Katie.</p> - -<p>"Hunt me out an old sheet," he said.</p> - -<p>"What for?" she asked, but went off to do his bidding.</p> - -<p>When she came back she said:</p> - -<p>"Mother says they don't want to bandage Herbert, do they?"</p> - -<p>"I'm going to try and bind him. I shan't hurt him," he replied.</p> - -<p>"Oh Jack, don't let them send for me to sit with him—I hate -sickness."</p> - -<p>"You give us a hand then with this sheet."</p> - -<p>Between them they prepared strong bands. Jack noosed one with sailor's -knots round Katie's hands, and fastened it to the table leg.</p> - -<p>"Pull!" he ordered. "Pull as hard as you can." And as she pulled, "Does -it hint, now?"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit," she said.</p> - -<p>Jack went back to the sick room. Herbert was quiet, the three brothers -were sulky and silent. They wanted above all things to get out, to get -away. You could see that. Easu glanced at Jack's hand. There was -something tense and alert about Easu, like a great, wiry bird with -enormous power in its lean, red neck and its lean limbs.</p> - -<p>"I thought we'd best bind him so as not to hurt him," said Jack. "I know -how to do it, I think."</p> - -<p>The brothers said not a word, but let him go ahead. And Jack bound the -left arm and the left leg, and put a band round the body of the patient. -They looked on, rather distantly interested. Easu released the -convulsive left arm of his brother. Jack took the sick man's hand -soothingly, held it soothingly, then slipped his hand up the hairy -fore-arm and got the band attached just above the elbow. Then he -fastened the ends to the bed-head. He felt quite certain he was doing -right. While he was busy Mrs. Ellis came in. She watched in silence, -too. When it was done, Jack looked at her.</p> - -<p>"I believe it'll do," she said with a nod of approval. And then, to the -cowed, hulking brothers, "You might as well go and get your tea."</p> - -<p>They bumped into one another trying to get through the door. Jack -noticed they were in their stocking feet. They stooped outside the door -to pick up their boots.</p> - -<p>"Good idea!" he thought. And he took off his own boots. It made him feel -more on the job.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ellis went round the white bed-sheet screen to sit with Gran. Jack -went blowing out the reeking candles on the sick man's side of the same -screen. Then he sat on a hard chair facing the staring, grimacing -patient. He felt sorry for him, but repelled by him. Yet as Herbert -tossed his wiry, hairy free arm and jerked his hairy, sharp-featured -face, Jack wanted to help him.</p> - -<p>He remembered the vet's advice: "Get the creatures' confidence, lad, and -you can do anything with 'em. Horse or man, cat or canary, get the -creature's confidence, and if anything can be done, you can do it."</p> - -<p>Jack wanted now to proceed to get the creature's confidence. He knew it -was a matter of will: of holding the other creature's will with his own -will. But gently, and in a kindly spirit.</p> - -<p>He held Herbert's hard fingers softly in his own hand, and said softly: -"Keep quiet, old man, keep quiet. I'm here. I'll take care of you. You -rest. You go to sleep. I won't leave you. I'll take care of you."</p> - -<p>Herbert lay still as if listening. His muscles relaxed. He seemed -dreadfully tired—Jack could feel it. He was dreadfully, dreadfully -tired. Perhaps the womanless, brutal life of the Reds had made him so -tired. He seemed to go to sleep. Then he jerked awake, and the -convulsive struggling began again, with the frightful rolling of the -eyes.</p> - -<p>But the steady bonds that held him seemed to comfort him, and Jack -quietly took the clutching fingers again. And the sick man's eyes, in -their rolling, rested on the quiet, abstract face of the youth, with -strange watching. Jack did not move. And again Herbert's tension seemed -to relax. He seemed in an agony of desire to sleep, but the agony of -desire was so great, that the very fear of it jerked the sick man into -horrible wakefulness.</p> - -<p>Jack was saying silently, with his will: "Don't worry! Don't worry, old -man! Don't worry! You go to sleep. I'll look after you."</p> - -<p>And as he sat in dead silence, saying these things, he felt as if the -fluid of his life ran out of his fingers into the fingers of the hurt -man. He was left weak and limp. And Herbert began to go to sleep, really -to sleep.</p> - -<p>Jack sat in a daze, with the virtue gone out of him. And Herbert's -fingers were soft and childlike again in their relaxation.</p> - -<p>The boy started a little, feeling someone pat him on the shoulder. It -was Mrs. Ellis, patting him in commendation, because the patient was -sunk deep in sleep. Then she went out.</p> - -<p>Following her with his eyes, Jack saw another figure in the doorway. It -was Red Easu, like a wolf out of the shadow, looking in. And Jack -quietly let slip the heavy, sleeping fingers of the sick man. But he did -not move his posture. Then he was aware that Easu had gone again.</p> - - - - -<h4>VII</h4> - - -<p>It was late, and the noise of rain outside, and weird wind blowing. -Mrs. Ellis had been in and whispered that Dr. Rackett was not home -yet—that he had probably waited somewhere for the shay. And that -she had told the Reds to keep away.</p> - -<p>There was dead silence save for the weather outside, and a noise of the -fire. The candles were all blown out.</p> - -<p>He was startled by hearing Gran's voice:</p> - -<p>"Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings—"</p> - -<p>"She's reading," thought Jack, though there was no light to read by. And -he wondered why the old lady wasn't asleep.</p> - -<p>"I knew y'r mother's father, Jack Grant," came the thin, petulant voice. -"He cut off my leg. Devil of a fella wouldn't let me die when I wanted -to. Cut it off without a murmur, and no chloroform."</p> - -<p>The thin voice was so devilishly awake, in the darkness of the night, -like a voice out of the past piercing the inert present.</p> - -<p>"What did he care! What did he care! Not a bit," Gran went on. "And y're -another. You take after him. You're such another. You're a throw-back, -to your mother's father. I was wondering what I was going to do with -those great galoots in my room all night. I'm glad it's you."</p> - -<p>Jack thought: "Lord, have I got to sit here all night!"</p> - -<p>"You've got the night before you," said Gran's demonishly wakeful voice, -uncanny in its thin alertness, in the deep night. "So come round here to -the fireside an' make y'self comfortable."</p> - -<p>Jack rose obediently and went round the screen. After all, an arm-chair -would be welcome.</p> - -<p>"Well, say something," said Gran.</p> - -<p>The boy peered at her in the dusk, in a kind of fear.</p> - -<p>"Then light me a candle, for the land's sake," she said pettishly.</p> - -<p>He took a tin candle-stick with a tallow candle, blew the fire and made -a yellow light. She looked like a carved ivory Chinese figure, almost -grotesque, among her pillows.</p> - -<p>"Yes, y'r like y'r grandfather: a stocky, stubborn man as didn't say -much, but dare do anything. And never had a son.—Hard as nails the -man was."</p> - -<p>"More family!" thought Jack wearily, disapproving of Gran's language -thoroughly.</p> - -<p>"Had two daughters though, and disowned the eldest. Your mother was the -youngest. The eldest got herself into trouble and he turned her out. -Regular obstinate fool, and no bowels of compassion. That's how men are -when y' let 'em. You're the same."</p> - -<p>Jack was so sleepy, so sleepy, and the words of the old woman seemed -like something pricking him.</p> - -<p>"I'd have stood by her—but I was her age, and what could I do? I'd -have married her father if I could, for he was a widower. But he married -another woman for his second, and I went by ship to Melbourne, and then -I took poor old Ellis."</p> - -<p>What on earth made her say these things, he didn't know, for he was dead -sleepy, and if he'd been wide awake he wouldn't have wanted her to -unload this sort of stuff on him. But she went on, like the old demon -she was:</p> - -<p>"Men are fools, and women make 'em what they are. I followed your Aunt -Lizzie up, years after. She married a man in the mounted police, and he -sent the boy off. The boy was a bit weak-minded, and the man wouldn't -have him. So the lad disappeared into the bush. They say he was canny -enough about business and farming, but a bit off about people. Anyway he -was Mary's half-brother: you met Mary in Perth. Her scamp of a father -was father of that illegitimate boy. But she's an orphan now, poor -child: like that illegitimate half-brother of hers."</p> - -<p>Jack looked up pathetically. He didn't want to hear. And Gran suddenly -laughed at him, with the sudden daring, winsome laugh, like Lennie.</p> - -<p>"Y're a bundle of conventions, like y'r grandfather," she said -tenderly. "But y've got a kinder heart. I suppose that's from y'r -English father. Folks are tough in Australia: tough as -whit-leather.—Y'll be tempted to sin, but y'wont be tempted to -condemn. And never you mind. Trust yourself, Jack Grant. <i>Earn a good -opinion of yourself</i>, and never mind other folks. You've only got to -live once. You know when you're spirit glows—trust that. That's -<i>you!</i> That's the spirit of God in you. Trust in that, and you'll -never grow old. If you knuckle under, you'll grow old."</p> - -<p>She paused for a time.</p> - -<p>"Though I don't know that I've much room to talk," she ruminated on. -"There was my son Esau, he never knuckled under, and though he's dead, -I've not much good to say of him. But then he never had a kind heart: -never. Never a woman loved Esau, though some feared him. I was not among -'em. Not I. I feared no man, not even your grand-father: except a -little. But look at Dad here now. He's got a kind heart: as kind a heart -as ever beat. And he's gone old. And he's got heart disease. And he -knuckled under. Ay, he knuckled under to me, he did, poor lad. And he'll -go off sudden, when his heart gives way. That's how it is with -kind-hearted men. They knuckle under, and they die young. Like Dad here. -He'll never make old bones. Poor lad!"</p> - -<p>She mused again in silence.</p> - -<p>"There's nothing to win in life, when all's said and done, but a good -opinion of yourself. I've watched and I know. God is y'rself. Or put it -the other way if you like: y'rself is God. So win a good opinion of -yourself, and watch the glow inside you."</p> - -<p>Queer, thought Jack, that this should be an old woman's philosophy. -Yourself is God! Partly he believed it, partly he didn't. He didn't know -what he believed.—Watch the glow inside you. That he understood.</p> - -<p>He liked Gran. She was so alone in life, amid all her children. He -himself was a lone wolf too: among the lambs of the family. And perhaps -Red Easu was a lone wolf.</p> - -<p>"But what was I telling you?" Gran resumed. "About your illegitimate -cousin. I followed him up too. He went back beyond Atherton, and took up -land. He's got a tidy place now, and he's never married. He's wrong in -his head about people, but all right about the farm. I'm hoping that -place'll come to Mary one day, for the child's got nothing. She's a good -child—a good child. Her mother was a niece of mine."</p> - -<p>She seemed to be going to sleep. But like Herbert, she roused again.</p> - -<p>"Y'd better marry Mary. Make up your mind to it," she said.</p> - -<p>And instantly he rebelled against the thought. Never.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I'd ought to have said: 'The best in yourself is God,'" she -mused. "Perhaps that's more it. The best in yourself is God. But then -who's going to say what is the best in yourself. A kind man knuckles -under, and thinks it's the best in himself. And a hard man holds out, -and thinks that's the best in himself. And its not good for a kind man -to knuckle under, and it's not good for a hard-hearted man to hold out. -What's to be done, deary-me, what's to be done. And no matter what we -say, people will be as they are.—You can but watch the glow."</p> - -<p>She really did doze off. And Jack stole away to the other side of the -screen to escape her, leaving the candle burning.</p> - - - - -<h4>VIII</h4> - - -<p>He sat down thankfully on the hard chair by Herbert's side, glad to get -away from women. Glad to be with men, if it was only Herbert. Glad to -doze and feel alone: to feel alone.</p> - -<p>He awoke with a jerk and a cramped neck, and there was Tom peeping in. -Tom? They must be back. Jack's chair creaked as he made a movement to -get up. But Tom only waved his hand and disappeared. Mean of Tom.</p> - -<p>They must be back. The twins must be back. The family was replenished. -He stared with sleepy eyes, and a heavy, sleepy, sleepy head.</p> - -<p>And the next thing he heard was a soft, alert voice saying: "Hello, -Bow!" Queer how it echoed in his dark consciousness as he slept, this -soft "Hello, Bow!"</p> - -<p>There they were, both laughing, fresh with the wind and rain. Grace -standing just behind Monica, Monica's hair all tight crisp with rain, -blond at the temples, darker on the head, and her fresh face laughing, -and her yellow eyes looking with that long, meaningful look that had no -meaning, peering into his sleepy eyes. He felt something stir inside -him.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Bow!" she said again, putting her fingers on his sleeve, "We've -got back." And still in his sleep-stupor he stared without answering a -word.</p> - -<p>"You aren't awake!" she whispered, putting her cold hand suddenly on his -face, and laughing as he started back. A new look came into his eyes as -he stared startled at her, and she bent her head, turning aside.</p> - -<p>"Poo! Smells of stinking candles in here!" whispered Grace.</p> - -<p>Someone else was there. It was Red Easu in the doorway, saying in a -hoarse voice:</p> - -<p>"Want me to take a spell with Herbert?"</p> - -<p>Monica glanced back at him with a strange look. He loomed weird and -tall, with his rather long, red neck and glistening beard and quick blue -eyes. A certain sense of power came with him.</p> - -<p>"Hello, girls, got back!" he added to the twins, who watched him without -speaking.</p> - -<p>"Who's there?" said Gran's voice from the other side of the screen. "Is -it the girls back? Has Mary come with you?"</p> - -<p>As if in answer to the summons, Mary appeared in the doorway, wearing a -white apron. She glanced first at Jack, with her black eyes, and then at -Gran. Monica was watching her with a sideways lynx look, and Grace was -looking at everybody with big blue eyes, while Easu looked down from his -uncouth, ostrich height.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Gran!" said Mary, going to the other side of the screen to kiss -the old lady. The twins followed suit.</p> - -<p>"Want me to take a spell in here?" said Easu, jerking his thumb at the -sleeping Herbert. Easu wore black trousers hitched up high with braces -over a dark-grey flannel shirt, and leather leggings, but no boots. His -shirt-sleeves were rolled up from his sinewy brown arms. His reddish -fair hair was thick and rather long. He spoke in a deep gruff voice, -that he made as quiet as possible, and he seemed to show a gruff sort of -submissiveness to Jack, at the moment.</p> - -<p>"No, Easu," replied Gran, "I can't do with you, Jack Grant will -manage."</p> - -<p>The sick man was sleeping through it all like the dead.</p> - -<p>"I can take a turn," said Mary's soft, low, insidious voice.</p> - -<p>"No, not you either, Mary. You go to 'sleep after that drive. Go, all of -you, go to bed. I can't do with you all in here. Has Dr. Rackett come?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Easu.</p> - -<p>"Then go away, all of you. I can't do with you," said Gran.</p> - -<p>Mary came round the screen and shook hands with Jack, looking him full -in the eyes with her black eyes, so that he was uncomfortable. She made -him more uncomfortable than Monica did. Monica had slunk also round the -screen, and was standing with one foot trailing, watching. She watched -just as closely when Mary shook hands with the embarrassed Easu.</p> - -<p>They all retreated silently to the door. Grace went first. And with her -big, dark-blue eyes she glanced back inquisitively at Jack. Mary went -next—she too turning in the door to give him a look and an intimate, -furtive-seeming smile. Then came Monica, and like a wolf she lingered in -the door looking back with a long, meaningful, meaningless sidelong look -before she took her departure. Then on her heels went Easu, and he did -not look back. He seemed to loom over the girls.</p> - -<p>"Blow the light out," said Gran.</p> - -<p>He went round to blow out the candle. Gran lay there like an old angel. -Queer old soul—framed by pillow frills.</p> - -<p>"Yourself is God!"</p> - -<p>Jack thought of that with a certain exultance.</p> - -<p>He went over and made up the fire. Then he sat in the arm-chair. Herbert -was moving. He went over to soothe him. The sick man moaned steadily for -some time, for a long time, then went still again. Jack slept in the -hard chair.</p> - -<p>He woke up cramped and cold, and went round to the arm-chair by the -fire. Gran was sleeping like an inert bit of ivory. He softly attended -to the fire and sat down in the arm-chair.</p> - -<p>He was riding a horse a long, long way, on a journey that would never -end. He couldn't stop the horse till it stopped of itself. And it would -never stop. A voice said: What has he done? And a voice answered: -Conquered the world.—But the horse did not stop. And he woke and saw -shadows on the wall, and slept again. Things had all turned to -dough—his hands were heavy with dough. He woke and looked at his -hands to see if it were so. How loudly and fiercely the clock ticked!</p> - -<p>Not dough, but boxing gloves. He was fighting inside a ring, fighting -with somebody who was and who wasn't Easu. He could beat Easu—he -couldn't beat Easu. Easu had knocked him down; he was lying writhing -with pain and couldn't rise, while they were counting him out. In three -more seconds he would be counted out! Horror!</p> - -<p>He woke, it was midnight and Herbert was writhing.</p> - -<p>"Did I sleep a minute, Herbert?" he whispered.</p> - -<p>"My head! My head! It jerks so!"</p> - -<p>"Does it, old man? Never mind."</p> - -<p>And the next thought was: "There must have been gun-powder in that piece -of wood, in the fire."</p> - - - - -<h4>IX</h4> - - -<p>It was half-past one, and Mary unexpectedly appeared with tray and -lighted candle, and cocoa-milk for Jack and arrowroot for Herbert. She -fed Herbert with a spoon, and he swallowed, but made no sign that he -understood.</p> - -<p>"How did he get the accident?" Jack whispered.</p> - -<p>"His horse threw him against a tree."</p> - -<p>"Wish Rackett would come," whispered Jack.</p> - -<p>Mary shook her head and they were silent.</p> - -<p>"How old are you, Mary?" Jack asked.</p> - -<p>"Nineteen."</p> - -<p>"I'm eighteen at the end of this month."</p> - -<p>"I know.—But I'm much older than you."</p> - -<p>Jack looked at her queer dark muzzle. She seemed to have a queer, humble -complacency of her own.</p> - -<p>"She"—Jack nodded his head towards Gran—"says that knuckling -under makes you old."</p> - -<p>Mary laughed suddenly.</p> - -<p>"Then I'm a thousand," she said.</p> - -<p>"What do you knuckle under for?" he asked.</p> - -<p>She looked up at him slowly, and again something quick and hot stirred -in him, from her dark, queer, humble, yet assured face.</p> - -<p>"It's my way," she said, with an odd smile.</p> - -<p>"Funny way to have," he replied, and suddenly he was embarrassed. And he -thought of Monica's dare-devil way.</p> - -<p>He felt embarrassed.</p> - -<p>"I must have my own way," said Mary, with another odd, beseeching, and -yet darkly confident smile.</p> - -<p>"Yourself is God," thought Jack.—But he said nothing, because he -felt uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>And Mary went away with the tray and the light, and he was glad when she -was gone.</p> - - - - -<h4>X</h4> - - -<p>The worst part of the night. Nothing happened—and that was perhaps -the worst part of it. Fortified by the powers of darkness, the slightest -sounds took on momentous importance, but nothing happened. He expected -something—but nothing came.</p> - -<p>Gran asleep there, in all the fixed motionlessness of her years, a queer -white clot. And young Herbert asleep or unconscious, sending wild -vibrations from his brain.</p> - -<p>The thought of Monica seemed to flutter subjectively in Jack's soul, the -thought of Mary objectively. That is, Monica was somehow inside him, in -his blood, like a sister. And Mary was outside him, like a black-boy. -Both of them engaging his soul. And yet he was alone, all alone in the -universe. These two only beset him. Or did he beset them?</p> - -<p>The oppossums made a furious bombilation as they ran up and down, back -and forth between the roof and ceiling, like an army moving. And -suddenly, shatteringly a nut would come down on the old shingle roof -from the Moreton Bay fig outside, with a crash like a gun, while the -branches dangled and clanked against the timber walls. An immense, -uncanny strider! And him alone in the lonely, uncanny, timeless core of -the night.</p> - -<p>Slowly the night went by. And weird things awoke in the boy's soul, -things he could never quite put to sleep again. He felt as if this night -he had entered into a dense, impenetrable thicket. As if he would never -get out. He knew he would never get out.</p> - -<p>He awoke again with a start. Was it the first light? Herbert was -stirring. Jack went quickly to him.</p> - -<p>Herbert opened dazed eyes, and mutely looked at Jack. A look of -intelligence came, and as quickly passed. He groaned, and the torment -came over him once more. Whatever was the matter with him? He writhed -and struggled, groaning—then relapsed into a cold, inert silence. It -was as if he were dying. As if he, or something in him, had decided to -die.</p> - -<p>Jack was terribly startled. In terror, he mixed a little brandy and -milk, and tried to pour spoonfuls down the unresisting throat. He -quickly fetched a hot stone from the fire, wrapped it in a piece of -blanket, and put it in the bed.</p> - -<p>Then he sat down and took the young man's hand softly in his own and -whispered intensely: "Come back, Herbert! Come back! Come back!"</p> - -<p>With all his will he summoned the inert spirit. He was terribly afraid -the other would die. He sat and watched with a fixed, intent will. And -Herbert relaxed again, the life came round his eyes again.</p> - -<p>"Oh, God!" thought Jack. "I shall die. I shall die myself. What sort of -a life have I got to live before I die? Oh, God, what sort of a life -have I got between me and when I die?"</p> - -<p>And it all seemed a mystery to him. The God he called on was a dark, -almost fearful mystery. The life he had to live was a kind of doom. The -choice he had was no choice. "Yourself is God." It wasn't true. There -was a terrible God somewhere else. And nothing else than this.</p> - -<p>Because, inside himself, he was alone, without father or mother or place -or people. Just a separate living thing. And he could not choose his -doom of living nor his dying. Somewhere outside himself was a terrible -God who decreed.</p> - -<p>He was afraid of the thicket of life, in which he found himself like a -solitary, strange animal. He would have to find his way through: all the -way to death. But what sort of way? What sort of life? What sort of life -between him and death?</p> - -<p>He didn't know. He only knew that something must be. That he was in a -strange bush, and by himself. And that he must find his way through.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h4> - -<h4>IN THE YARD</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>Ah, good to be out in the open air again! Beyond all telling good! Those -indoor rooms were like coffins. To be dead, and to writhe unreleased in -the coffin, that was what those indoor rooms were like.</p> - -<p>"God, when I die, let me pass right away," prayed Jack. "Lord, I promise -to live my life right out, so that when I die I pass over and don't lie -wriggling in the coffin!"</p> - -<p>Mary had come as soon as it was light, and found Herbert asleep and Jack -staring at him in a stupor.</p> - -<p>"You go to sleep now, Bow," said Mary softly, laying her hand on his -arm.</p> - -<p>He looked at her in a kind of horror, as if she were part of the dark -interior. He didn't want to go to sleep. He wanted to wake. He stood in -the yard and stared around stupefied at the early morning. Then he went -and hauled Lennie and the twins out of their bunks. Tom was already up. -Then he went, stripped to the waist, to the pump.</p> - -<p>"Pump over my nut, Lennie," he shouted, holding his head at the pump -spout. Oh, 'twas so good to shout at somebody. He must shout.</p> - -<p>And Lennie pumped away like a little imp.</p> - -<p>When Jack looked out of the towel at the day, he saw the sky fresh with -yellow light, and some red still on the horizon above the grey -gum-trees. It all seemed crisp and snappy. It was life.</p> - -<p>"Ain't yer goin' ter do any of yer monkey trickin' this morning?" -shouted Lennie at him.</p> - -<p>Jack shook his head, and rubbed his white young shoulders with the -towel. Lennie, standing by the wash-tin in his little undervest and -loose little breeches, was watching closely.</p> - -<p>"Can you answer me a riddle, Lennie?" asked Jack.</p> - -<p>"Til try," said Len briskly, and Og and Magog jumped up in gay -expectation.</p> - -<p>"What is God, anyhow?" asked Jack.</p> - -<p>"Y'd better let my father hear y'," replied Lennie, with a dangerous nod -of the head.</p> - -<p>"No, but I mean it. Suppose Herbert had died. I want to know what God -is."</p> - -<p>Jack still had the inner darkness of that room in his eyes.</p> - -<p>"I'll tell y'," said Len briskly. "God is a Higher Law than the -Constitution."</p> - -<p>Jack thought about it. A higher law than the law of the land. -Maybe!—The answer left him cold.</p> - -<p>"And what is self?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Crikey! Stop up another night! It 'ud make ye sawney.—But I'll -tell y' what self is."</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Self is a wilderness of sweets. And selves</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quaff immortality and joy."</span></p> - - -<p>Len was pleased with this. But Jack heard only words.</p> - -<p>"Ask <i>me</i> one, Jack! Ask <i>me</i> one!" pleaded Og.</p> - -<p>"All right. What's success, Og? asked Jack, smiling.</p> - -<p>"Success! Success! Why, success—"</p> - -<p>"Success is t'grow a big bingy like a bloke from town, 'n a watch-chain -acrost it with a gold dial in y' fob, and ter be allowed ter spout as -much gab as y've got bref left over from y' indigest," cut in Lennie, -with delight.</p> - -<p>"That was <i>my</i> riddle," yelled Og, rushing at him.</p> - -<p>"Ask me one! Ask me one, Jack! Ask me one," yelled Magog.</p> - -<p>"What's failure?" asked Jack, laughing.</p> - -<p>"T' be down on y' uppers an' hev no visible means of supportin' y'r -pants up whilst y' slog t' the' nearest pub t'cadge a beer spot," crowed -Lennie in delight, while he fenced off Og.</p> - -<p>Both twins made an assault and battery upon him.</p> - -<p>"D'ye know y'r own answers?" yelled Len at Jack.</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>The brazenness of the admission flabbergasted the twins. They stalked -off. Len drew up a three-legged stool, and sat down to milk, explaining -impatiently that success comes to those that work and don't drink.</p> - -<p>"But"—he reverted to his original thought—"ye've gotta work, -not go wastin' y'r feme as you generally do of a morning-boundin' about -makin' a kangaroo of y'self; tippin' y' elbows and holdin' back y' nut as -if y' had a woppin' fine drink in both hands, and gone screwed with joy -afore you drained it; lyin' flat on y' hands an' toes, an' heavin' up an' -down, up an' down, like a race-horse iguana frightened by a cat; an' -stalkin' an' stoopin' as if y'wanted ter catch a bird round a corner; or -roundin' up on imaginary things, makin' out t'hit 'em slap-bang-whizz on -the mitts they ain't got; whippin' round an' bobbin' like a cornered -billy-goat; skippin' up an' down like sis wif a rope, an' makin' a -general high falutin' ass of y'self."</p> - -<p>"I see you and the twins with clubs," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Oh, that! That's more for music an' one-two-three-four," said Len.</p> - -<p>"You see I'm in training," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"What for? Want ter teach the old sows to start dancin' on th' corn-bin -floor?"</p> - -<p>"No, I want to keep in training, for if I ever have a big fight."</p> - -<p>"Who with?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I don't know. But I love a round with the fists. I'll teach -you."</p> - -<p>"All right. But why don't y' chuck farmin' an' go in f' prize -fightin'?"</p> - -<p>"I wish I could. But my father said no. An' perhaps he's right. But the -best thing I know is to fight a fair round. I'll teach you, Len."</p> - -<p>"Huh! What's the sense! If y' want exercise, y' c'n rub that horse down -a bit cleaner than y' are doin'."</p> - -<p>"Stop y' sauce, nipper, or I'll be after y' with a strap!" called Tom. -"Come on, Jack. Tea! Timothy's bangin' the billy-can. And just you land -that nipper a clout."</p> - -<p>"Let him 'it me! Garn, let him!" cried Len, scooting up with his -milk-stool and pail and looking like David skirmishing before Goliath. -He wasn't laughing. There was a demonish little street-arab hostility in -his face.</p> - -<p>"Don't you like me, Len?" Jack asked, a bit soft this morning. Len's -face at once suffused with a delightful roguishness.</p> - -<p>"Aw, yes—if y' like!—I'll be dressin' up in Katie's skirts -n' spoonin' y' one of these bright nights."</p> - -<p>He whipped away with his milk-pail, like a young lizard.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>"Look at Bow, he looks like an owl," said Grace at breakfast.</p> - -<p>"What d'y call 'im Bow for?" asked Len.</p> - -<p>"Like a girl, with his eyes double size," said Monica.</p> - -<p>"You'd better go to sleep, Jack," said Mrs. Ellis.</p> - -<p>"Take a nap, lad," said Mr. Ellis. "There's nothin' for y' to do this -morning."</p> - -<p>Jack was going stupefied again, as the sun grew warm. He didn't hear -half that was said. But the girls were very attentive to him. Mary was -not there: she was sitting with Herbert. But Monica and Grace waited on -him as if he had been their lord. It was a new experience for him: -Monica jumping up and whipping away his cup with her slim hand, to bring -it back filled, and Grace insisting on opening a special jar of jam for -him. Drowsy as he was, their attention made his blood stir. It was so -new to him.</p> - -<p>Mary came in from the sitting room: they were still in the kitchen.</p> - -<p>"Herbert is awake," she said. "He wants to be untied. Bow, do you think -he ought to?"</p> - -<p>Jack rose in silence and went through to Gran's room. Herbert lay quite -still, but he was himself. Only shattered and wordless. He looked at -Jack and murmured:</p> - -<p>"Can't y' untie me?"</p> - -<p>Jack went at once to unfasten the linen bands. The twins, Monica and -Grace, stood watching from the doorway. Mary was at his side to help.</p> - -<p>"Don't let 'em come in," said Herbert, looking into Jack's face.</p> - -<p>Jack nodded and went to the door.</p> - -<p>"He wants to be left alone," he said.</p> - -<p>"Mustn't we come, Bow?" said Monica, making queer yellow eyes at him.</p> - -<p>"Best not," he said. "Don't let anybody come. He wants absolute -quiet."</p> - -<p>"All right." She looked at him with a heavy look of obedience, as if -making an offering. They were not going to question his authority. She -drew Grace away: both the girls humble. Jack slowly and unconsciously -flushed. Then he went back to the bed.</p> - -<p>"I want something," murmured Herbert wanly. "Send that other away."</p> - -<p>"Go away, Mary. He wants a man to attend to him," said Jack.</p> - -<p>Mary looked a long, dark look at Jack. Then she, too, submitted.</p> - -<p>"All right," she said, turning darkly away.</p> - -<p>And it came into his mind, with utter absurdity, that he ought to kiss -her for this submission. And he hated the thought.</p> - -<p>Herbert was a boy of nineteen, uncouth, and savagely shy. Jack had to do -the menial offices for him.</p> - -<p>The sick man went to sleep again almost immediately, and Jack returned -to the kitchen. He heard voices from outside.</p> - -<p>Ma and Grace were washing up at the slab. Dad was sitting under the -photosphorum tree, with Effie on one knee, cutting up tobacco in the -palm of his hand. Tom was leaning against the tree, the children sat -about. Lennie skipped up and offered a seat on a stump.</p> - -<p>"Sit yourself down, Bow," he said, using the nickname. "I'd be a knot -instead of a bow if I had to nurse Red Herbert."</p> - -<p>Monica came slinking up from the shade, and stood with her skirt -touching Jack's arm. Mary was carrying away the dishes.</p> - -<p>"I've been telling Tom," said Mr. Ellis, "that he can take the clearing -gang over to his A'nt Greenlow's for the shearing, an' then get back an' -clear for all he's worth, till Christmas. Y'might as well go along with -him, Jack. We can get along all right here without y', now th' girls are -back. Till Christmas, that is. We s'll want y' back for the harvest."</p> - -<p>There was a dead silence. Jack didn't want to go.</p> - -<p>"Then y' can go back to the clearing, and burn off. I need that land -reclaimed, over against the little chaps grows up and wants to be farmers. -Besides"—and he looked round at Ma—"we're a bit overstocked -in' the house just now, an' we'll be glad of the cubby for Herbert, if -he's on the mend."</p> - -<p>Dad resumed cutting up his tobacco in the palm of his hand.</p> - -<p>"Jack can't leave Herbert, Uncle," said Mary quietly, "he won't let -anybody else do for him."</p> - -<p>"Eh?" said Mr. Ellis, looking up.</p> - -<p>"Herbert won't let me do for him," said Mary. "He'll only let Bow."</p> - -<p>Mr. Ellis dropped his head in silence.</p> - -<p>"In that case," he said slowly, "in that case, we must wait a -bit.—Where's that darned Rackett put himself? This is his job."</p> - -<p>There was still silence.</p> - -<p>"Somebody had best go an', look for him," said Tom.</p> - -<p>"Ay," said Mr. Ellis.</p> - -<p>There was more silence. Monica, standing close to Jack, seemed to be -fiercely sheltering him from this eviction. And Mary, at a distance, was -like Moses' sister watching over events. It made Jack feel queer and -thrilled, the girls all concentrating on him. It was as if it put power -in his chest, and made a man of him.</p> - -<p>Someone was riding up. It was Red Easu. He slung himself off his horse, -and stalked slowly up.</p> - -<p>"Herbert dead?" he asked humorously.</p> - -<p>"Doing nicely," said Dad, very brief.</p> - -<p>"I'll go an' have a look at 'm," said Easu, sitting on the step and -pulling off his boots.</p> - -<p>"Don't wake him if he's asleep. Don't frighten him, whatever you do," -said Jack, anxious for his charge.</p> - -<p>Easu looked at Jack with an insolent stare: a curious stare.</p> - -<p>"Frighten him?" he said. "What with?"</p> - -<p>"Jack's been up with him all night," put in Monica fiercely.</p> - -<p>"He nearly died in the night," said Jack.</p> - -<p>There was dead silence. Easu stared, poised like some menacing bird. -Then he went indoors in his stocking feet.</p> - -<p>"Did he nearly die, Jack?" asked Tom.</p> - -<p>Jack nodded. His soul was feeling bleached.</p> - -<p>"If Dr. Rackett isn't coming—see if you can trail him up, Tom. And -Len, can you go on Lucy and fetch Dr. Mallett?"</p> - -<p>"'Course I can," said Len, jumping up.</p> - -<p>"You go and get a nap in the cubby, son," said Mr. Ellis.</p> - -<p>They were now all in motion. Jack followed vaguely into the kitchen. -Lennie was the centre of excitement for the moment.</p> - -<p>"Well, Ma, I has no socks fitta wear. If y'll fix me some, I'll go." For -he was determined to go to York in decent raiment, as he said.</p> - -<p>"Find me a decent shirt, Ma; <i>decent!</i> None o' your creases down -th' front for me. 'N a starch collar, real starch."</p> - -<p>And so on. He was late. Lennie was always late.</p> - -<p>"Ma, weer's my tie—th' blue one wif gold horseshoes? -Grace—there's an angel—me boots. Clean 'em up a bit, go -on—Monica! Oh, Monica! there y'are! Fix this collar on for me, -proper, do! Y're a bloke at it, so y'are, an' I'm no good.—Gitt -outta th' way, you nips—how k'n I get dressed with you buzzin' -round me feet!—Ma! Ma! come an' brush me 'air with that dinkey -nice-smellin' stuff.—There, Ma, don't your Lennie look a dream -now?—Ooha, Ma, don't kiss me, Ma, I 'ate it."</p> - -<p>"Lennie love, don't drop your aitches."</p> - -<p>"I never, Ma. I said I 'ate it. Y' kissed me, did y' or didn't y'? Well, -I '<i>ate</i> it."</p> - -<p>He was gone on Lucy, like a little demon. Jack, sitting stupid on a -chair, felt part of his soul go with him.</p> - -<p>"Come on, Bow!" said Monica, taking him by the arm, "Come and go to -sleep. Mary will wake you if Herbert wants you."</p> - -<p>And she led him off to the door of the cubby, while he submitted and -Easu stood in his stocking feet on the verandah watching.</p> - -<p>"He saved Herbert's life," said Monica, looking up at Easu with a kind -of defiance, when she came back.</p> - -<p>"Who asked him," said Easu.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>Tom and Jack were to leave the next day. The girls brought out a lot of -stores from the cupboard, and blankets and billies and a lantern. They -packed the sacks standing there.</p> - -<p>"Get y' swag f'y'selves," said Dad. "The men have everything for -themselves. Take an axe an' a gun apiece."</p> - -<p>"Gun! Gee! K'n I go, Dad?"</p> - -<p>"Shut up, Len. Destroy all the dingoes y' can. I'll give y' sixpence a -head, an' the Government gives another. Haven't y' a saddle, Jack Grant, -somewhere in a box? Because I'd be short of one off the place, if you -took one from here."</p> - -<p>"It must be somewhere," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Get it unpacked. An' you can have Lucy to put it across. It's forty -mile from here to virgin forest: real forest. If you get strayed, ever, -all you have to do is to drop th' reins on Lucy's neck, 'n shell bring -y' in."</p> - -<p>The saddle came out of the dusty box. All were there in a circle to look -on. Jack expected deep admiration. But he was hurt to feel Monica -laughing derisively. Everybody was laughing, but he minded Monica most. -She could jeer cruelly.</p> - -<p>"Jolly good saddle," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Mighty little of it," said Len.</p> - -<p>"What's wrong with it, Tom?" said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Slithery. No knee-pads, saddle bags, strap holder, scooped seat, or any -sortta comfort. It's a whale, on the wrong side."</p> - -<p>Lennie closely examined the London ticket. The unpacking continued in -silence, under Tom's majestic eye. Whip, yellow horse-rug, bridle, -leathers, a heavy bar bit with double rings and curb, saddle cloths, -reins, extra special blue-and-gold girths wrapped in tissue paper, -nickel cross rowell jockey spurs, and glittering steel stirrup-irons. -Cord breeches, Assam silk coat, white water-proof linen stocks, leather -gaiters, and a pair of leather gauntlets completed the amazing -disclosure. It was all a mighty gift from one of the unforgiven Aunts.</p> - -<p>Half way through the unpacking Tom gave a groan and walked away; but -walked back. Og and Magog stole the saddle, slung it across a bar, and -slid off and on rapturously. Monica was laughing at him disagreeably: -strange and brutal, as if she hated him: rather like Easu. And Lennie -was tittering with joy.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Og! Here! Y're missin' it. Leave that hog's back saddle, No. 1 -Grade—picked material—hand forged—tree mounted, -guaranteed—a topper off; see this princess palfrey bridle for you, -rosettes ornamented, periwinkle an' all. An' oh, look you! a canary -belly-band f'r Dada t'strap round th' heifer's neck when she gets first -prize at the Royal York show. Look at that crush-bone cage to put round -Stampede's mouth when the niggers catches him again. Oh, Lor' oh -my——"</p> - -<p>"Shut up!" said Tom abruptly, catching the boy by the back of his pants -and tossing him out of the barn. "Now roll up y'r bluey"—meaning the -new rug, which was yellow. "Fix them stirrup leathers, take the bridle -off that bit an' we'll find you something decent to put the reins on. -An' kick th' rest t'gether. What a gear. Glad it's you, not me, as has -got to ride that leather, me boy. But ride on't y'll have to, for -there's nought else. Now, Monica, close down that mirth of yours. You're -not asked for it."</p> - -<p>"Let brotherly love continue," said Monica spitefully. "Wonder if it -will, even unto camp."</p> - -<p>She went, leaving Jack feeling suddenly tired.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h4> - -<h4>OUT BACK AND SOME LETTERS</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>Jack was absolutely happy, in camp with Tom. Perhaps the most completely -happy time in his life. He had escaped the strange, new complications -that life was weaving round him. Yet he had not left the beloved family. -He was with Tom: who, after all, was the one that mattered most. Tom was -the growing trunk of the tree.</p> - -<p>All real living hurts as well as fulfils. Happiness comes when we have -lived and have a respite for sheer forgetting. Happiness, in the vulgar -sense, is just a holiday experience. The lifelong happiness lies in -being used by life; hurt by life, driven and goaded by life, replenished -and overjoyed with life, fighting for life's sake. That is real -happiness. In the undergoing, a large part of it is pain. But the end is -like Jack's camping expedition, a time of real happiness.</p> - -<p>Perhaps death, after a life of real courage, is like a happy camping -expedition in the unknown, before a new start.</p> - -<p>It was spring in Western Australia, and a wonder of delicate blueness, -of frail, unearthly beauty. The earth was full of weird flowers, -star-shaped, needle-pointed, fringed, scarlet, white, blue, a whole -world of strange flowers. Like being in a new Paradise from which man -had not been cast out.</p> - -<p>The trees in the dawn, so ghostly still. The scent of blossoming -eucalyptus trees: the scent of burning eucalyptus leaves and sticks, in -the camp fire. Trailing blossoms wet with dew; the scrub after the rain; -the bitter-sweet fragrance of fresh-cut timber.</p> - -<p>And the sounds! Magpies calling, parrots chattering, strange birds -flitting in the renewed stillness. Then kangaroos calling to one another -out of the frail, paradisal distance. And the birr! of crickets in the -heat of the day. And the sound of axes, the voices of men, the crash of -falling timber. The strange slobbering talk of the blacks! The -mysterious night coming round the camp fire.</p> - -<p>Red gum everywhere! Fringed leaves dappling, the glowing new sun coming -through, the large, feathery, honey-sweet blossoms flowering in clumps, -the hard, rough-marked, red-bronze trunks rising like pillars of burnt -copper, or lying sadly felled, giving up the ghost. Everywhere scattered -the red gum, making leaves and herbage underneath seem bestrewed with -blood.</p> - -<p>And it was spring: the short, swift, fierce, flower-strange spring of -Western Australia, in the month of August.</p> - -<p>Then evening came, and the small aromatic fire was burning amid the -felled trees. Tom stood hands on hips, giving directions, while the -blackened billy-can hung suspended from a cross-bar over the fire. The -water bubbling, a handful of tea is thrown in. It sinks. It rises. -"Bring it off!" yells Tom. Jack balances the cross-stick, holding the -wobbling can, until it rests safely on the ground. Then snatching the -handle, holds the can aloft. Tea is made.</p> - -<p>The clearing gang had a hut with one side for the horses, the other for -the men's sleeping place. Inside were stakes driven into the ground, -bearing cross-bars with sacks fastened across, for beds. On the -partition-poles hung the wardrobes, and in a couple of boxes lay the -treasures, in the shape of watches, knives, razors, looking-glasses, -etc., safe from the stray thief. But the men were always tormenting one -another, hiding away a razor, or a strop, or a beloved watch.</p> - -<p>Just in front of this shelter the camp oven had been built, for baking -damper and roasting meat, and to one side was the well, a very important -necessity, built by contract, timbered, and provided with winch, rope -and bucket.</p> - -<p>All around the bush was dense like a forest, much denser than usual. The -slim-girthed trees grew in silent array, all alike and all asleep, with -undergrowth of scrub and fern and flowers, banksia short and sturdy with -its cone-shaped red-yellow flowers like fairy lamps, and here and there -a perfect wattle, or mimosa tree, with its pale gold flowers like little -balls of sun-dust, and here and there sandal-wood trees. Jack never -forgot the beauty of the first bushes and trees of mimosa, in a damp -place in the wild bush. Occasionally there was still an immense karri -tree, or a jarrah slightly smaller, though this was not the region for -these giants.</p> - -<p>And far away, unending, upslope and downslope and rock-face one far -unending dimness of these changeless trees, going on and on without -variation, open enough to let one see ahead and all around, yet dense -enough to form a monotony and a sense of helplessness in the mind, a -sense of timelessness. Strongly the gang impressed on Jack that he must -not go even for five minutes' walk out of sight of the clearing. The -weird silent timelessness of the bush impressed him as nothing else ever -did, in its motionless aloofness. "What would my father mean, out here?" -he said to himself. And it seemed as if his father and his father's -world and his father's gods withered and went to dust at the thought of -this bush. And when he saw one of the men on a red sorrel horse -galloping like a phantom away through the dim, red-trunked, silent -trees, followed by another man on a black horse: and when he heard their -far, far-off yelping "Coo-ee!" or a shot as they fired at a dingo or a -kangaroo, he felt as if the old world had given him up from the womb, -and put him into a new weird grey-blue paradise, where man has to begin -all over again. That was his feeling: that the human way of life was all -to be begun over again.</p> - -<p>The home that he and Tom made for themselves seemed to be a matter of -forked sticks. If you wanted an upright of any sort, drive a forked -stick into the ground, or dig it in, fork-end up. If you wanted a -cross-bar, lay a stick or a pole across two forks. Down the sides of -your house you wove brushwood. For the roof you plaited the long, -stringy strips of gum-bark. With a couple of axes and a jack-knife they -built a house fit for a savage king. Then they went out and made a -kitchen, with pegs hammered into the bole of a tree, for the frying -pans, the sawn surface of a large stump for a table, and logs to lie -back against.</p> - -<p>North of the clearing lay the nucleus of a settlement, with pub, -saw-mill, store, one or two homes, and a farm or two outlying. And as -they cleared the land, the teamsters carried the best of the timber on -jinkers, or dragged it with chains hitched to bullock or horse teams, to -the mill. But milling was expensive, and most of the wood was -hand-split. Jack learned to cut palings and poles, and then to split -slabs that would serve to build slab houses, or sheds. In the spare time -they would have little hunts of wallabies or bandicoots or bungarras, or -blood-rats; or they would snare opossums or stalk dingoes.</p> - -<p>But because he was really away in the wild, Jack felt he must write -letters home. So it is. The letters from home hardly interested him at -all. The thin sheets with their interminable writing were almost -repulsive to him. He would stow them in the barn and leave them for days -without reading them: he was "busy." And sometimes the mice nibbled -them, and in that way read them for him. He was a little ashamed of this -indifference. But he noticed other men were the same. When they got -these endless thin sheets from home, covered with ink of words, they -stowed them away in a kind of nausea, without reading more than a few -lines. And the people at home had such a pitying admonishing tone: like -the young naval lieutenant who made friends with the black aborigines by -promptly shaving them. And then letters were not profitable. A stamp -home cost sixpence, and a letter took about two months on the way. It -was always four months before you got an answer. And after you'd written -to your mother about something really important—like money—and -waited impatiently several months for the answer, when it came it never -mentioned the money, and made a mountain of a cold in your head which -you couldn't remember having had. What was the good of people at home -writing: "We are having true November weather, very cold, with fog and -sleet," when you were grilling under a fierce sun and the rush of the -intense antipodal summer. What was the good of it all? All dull as -ditchwater, and no use to anybody. He had promised his mother he would -write once a week. And his mother was his mother, he wanted to keep his -promise. Which he did for a month. But in camp, he didn't even know what -day it was, hardly what month: though the mail did come once a -fortnight, via the saw-mill.—He took out his mother's letter.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"You said in your letter from Colombo that you were sneezing. Do take -care in Australia in the rainy season. Ask not to be sent out in the -rain. I recollect the climate, always sunny and bright between showers. -That is what we miss so much now we are back in England, the sunny -skies. Of course, I do not want you to be a mollycoddle, but I know the -climate of Western Australia, it is very trying, particularly so in the -rainy season. I do hope and pray you are on a good station with a good -woman who will see you are not out getting drenched in those cold -downpours——"</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Jack groaned aloud, astonished that his mother had got so far from her -own early days. How in the name of heaven had he come to mention -sneezing? Never again. He would not even say he was camping.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Dear Mother:</p> - -<p>"I am quite well and like farming out here all right. Old Mrs. Ellis -knew your father. She says he cut off her leg. I hope Father has got rid -of his Liver, you said he was taking variolettes for it. I hope they -have done him good. Mr. Ellis says a cockles pill and a ten-mile walk -will cure anything. He says it would cure a pig's liver. But when old -Tim, the half-caste, tried to swallow the pill it came out of the gap -where his front tooth used to be, so Mrs. Ellis gave him a teaspoonful -of sulphur, which he said would make him blow up. But it didn't. I think -I was more likely to blow up because she gave me a big teaspoon of -parafin which they call kerosene out here. She is a fine doctor, far -better than the medical man who lodges here, whose name is Rackett.</p> - -<p>"I hope you are quite well. Give my love to all my aunts and sister and -father. I hope they are all quite well——"</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Jack hurried this letter in confusion into its envelope, and spent -sixpence on it, knowing perfectly well it was all nonsense.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>There was a pause in the clearing work, after the early hot spell, and -word from Lennie that there was to be a kangaroo hunt, and they were to -come down. An Old Man kangaroo, a king of boomers, had been seen around, -hoof-marks and paw-pad trails near the pool.</p> - -<p>They met at dawn, by the well: Easu with two kangaroo hounds, like -greyhounds on leash; Lennie peacocking on an enormous hairy-heeled -roadster; a "superior" young Queenslander who had been sent west because -his father found him unmanageable and who wasn't a bad sort, though his -nickname was Pink-eye Percy; Lennie's "Comseed" friend, Joe Low; Alec -Rice, the young fellow who was courting Grace; Ross Ellis, and Herbert, -who was well again, then Tom on a grey stallion, and Jack, in riding -breeches and gaiters and clean shirt, astride the famous Lucy.</p> - -<p>Easu was born in the saddle, he rode easy on his big roan. He waved his -hat excitedly at the group, and led off into the scrub, through the -slender, white-barked trees of the open bush. The others rode fast in -ragged order, among the thin, open trees. Jack let Lucy pick her way, -sometimes ahead, sometimes in sight of the others. They rode in silence.</p> - -<p>Then they came out unexpectedly into low, grey-green scrub without -trees, and crisp grey-white soil that crumbled under the hoofs of the -horses. There they were, all out in the blue and gold light, with -billows of blue-green scrub running away to right and left, towards a -rise in front.</p> - -<p>"Hold hard there!" sang out Easu, holding up the whip in his right hand. -He held the reins loosely in his left, and with the reins, the leash on -which the dogs were pulling. Dogs and horse he held in that left hand.</p> - -<p>"I want y' t' divide. Tom, y' lead on a zigzag course down north. Ross, -you work south.—And this—this fox-hunting gentleman——" He paused, -and Jack felt himself going scarlet.</p> - -<p>"Says thank ye, an' hopes he's a gentleman, since y've mentioned it," -put in Lennie, in his mild, inconsequential way.</p> - -<p>There was a laugh against Red: for there was no mistaking him for a -gentleman, in any sense of the word. However, he was too much excited by -the hunt to persevere.</p> - -<p>The fellows were stowing away their pipes in their pockets, and -buttoning their coats, ready for the dash. Easu, thrilled by his own -unquestioned leadership, gave the orders. All listened closely.</p> - -<p>"Call up! Call up! Follow my leader and find the trail. Biggest boomer -ever ye——"</p> - -<p>"Come!" cried Tom.</p> - -<p>"And I'm here!" cried Lennie.</p> - -<p>Away they went into the gully and through the scrub, riding light but -swift, in different directions.</p> - -<p>"Let go th' mare's head," yelled Tom over his shoulder. "We're coming to -timber, an' she'd best pilot herself."</p> - -<p>"Right!" cried Jack.</p> - -<p>"Don't ye kill Lucy," shrieked Lennie. "Because me heart's set on her. -Keep y' hands an' y' heels off y' horse, an' y' head on y' shoulders."</p> - -<p>The bolt of horsemen through the bush sent parrots screaming savagely -over the feathery tree-tops. Jack let Lucy have her way. She was light -and swift and sure-footed, old steeplechaser that she was. The slim -straight trees slipped past, the motion of the horse surging her own way -was exhilarating to a degree.</p> - -<p>But Tom had heard something: not the parrots, not the soft thud of the -following horses. He must have heard with his sixth sense: perhaps the -warning call of the boomer. With face set and eyes burning he swung and -urged his horse in a new direction. And like men coming in to supper -from different directions, the handful of horsemen came swish-swish -through the scrub, toward a centre.</p> - -<p>Lucy pricked one ear. Perhaps she too had heard something. Then she -gathers herself together and goes like the wind after the twinkling grey -quarters of Tom's stallion. Her excitement mounts to Jack's head, and he -rides like a catapult on the wind.</p> - -<p>Again Tom was reining in, pulling his horse almost on to its haunches. -And Jack must hold like a vice with his knees, for Lucy was pawing the -air, frantic at being held up.</p> - -<p>"Coo-ee!" came Tom's clear tenor, ringing through the bush. "Coo-ee! -Coo-ee! Coo-ee!" A marvellous sound, and Lucy pawing and dancing among -the scrub.</p> - -<p>"Coo-ee! Coo-ee! Coo-ee!"</p> - -<p>It seemed to Jack, this sound in the bush was like God. Like the call of -the heroic soul seeking its body. Like the call of the bodiless soul, -sounding through the immense dead spaces of the dim, open bush, strange -and heroic and inhuman. The deep long "coo," mastering the silence, the -high summons of the long "eee." The "coo" rising more imperious, and -then the "eee!" thrilling and holding aloft. Then the swift lift and -fall: "Coo-eee! Coo-eee! Coo-eee!" till the air rocks with the fierce -pulse, as if a new heart were in motion, and the shriek and scream of -the "eee!" rips in strange flashes into the far-off, far-off -consciousness.</p> - -<p>Much stranger than the weird yelp of the Red Indians' war-cry was this -rocking, ripping noise in the vast grey bush.</p> - -<p>The others were coming in from right to left, like silent phantoms -through the sunny evanescence of the bush, riding hard. Tom is displaced -by Red. A few quick words given and taken. Easu has unleashed the dogs, -slashed the long lash with a resounding crack in the air. The long lean -dogs stretch out—uncannily long, from tip to tip. Tom lets go and -away. Jack lets go and away, and unconsciously his hand goes down for the -bow of the slippery saddle.</p> - -<p>Lucy had the situation well in hand, which was more than Jack had. -Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud! Up, fly! <i>Crash!</i>—Hello?—All -right. A beauty! A dream of a jumper, this Lucy. But Jack wished his seat -weren't so slippery.</p> - -<p>They were turning into bigger timber: trees further apart, but much -bigger, and with hanging limbs. "Look out! Look out f' y' head!" Jack -kept all his eyes open, till he knew by second sight when to duck. He -watched the twinkling hind quarters of Tom's grey, among the trees.</p> - -<p>There was a short yapping of the dogs. Lucy was going like the wind, -Jack was riding light, but she was beginning to breathe heavily. No -longer so young as she was. How hot the sun was, in the almost shadeless -bush. And what was leading, where was the 'roo? Jack strained his eyes -almost out of his head, but could see nothing.</p> - -<p>They were on the edge of the hills, and the country changed continually. -No sooner were you used to scrub, than it was thin trees. No sooner did -you know that Lucy could manipulate thin trees, than you were among big -timber, with more space and dangerous boughs. Then it was salty -paper-bark country—and back to forest again: close trees, fallen -logs, blood-rat holes and sudden outcropping of dark-brown, ancient-looking -rocks with little flat crags, to be avoided. But the other men were -going full speed, and full speed you must follow, watching with all your -eyes, and riding light, and swept along in the rim.</p> - -<p>Up! That was over an elephant log, and down went a man at Tom's heels. -It was Grace's young man. No matter. Jack was going to look over his -shoulder when Tom again shouted "Up!" and Jack and Lennie followed over -the fallen timber.</p> - -<p>Suddenly they were in a great black blanket of burnt country, clear of -undergrowth or scrubs, with skeletons of black, charred trees standing -gruesome. And there, right under their noses, leapt three kangaroos, -swerving across. The baby one, Joey, was first, lithe, light, apparently -not a bit afraid, but wildly excited; then the mother doe, all out, -panting, anxious-eyed, stiffly jumping; and behind, a long way, with the -dogs like needles coming after, ran the Old Man boomer; a great big chap -making mighty springs and in varying directions. Yes, he was making a -rear-guard action for the safety of his mate and spawn. Leaping with -great leaps, as if to the end of the world, leaning forward, his little -hands curled in, his immense massive tail straight out behind him like -some immense living rudder. And seeming perfectly calm, almost -indifferent. With steady, easy, enormous springs he went this way, that -way, detouring, but making for the same ridge his doe and Joey had -passed.</p> - -<p>The charred ground proved treacherous, holes, smouldering trunks of -trees, smouldering hollows where trunks had been. Soon two horses were -running loose, with men limping after them. But on went the rest. Thud -and crackle went the hoofs of the galloping horses in the charcoal, as -after the dogs, after the 'roos they followed, kicking up clouds of grey -ash-mounds and red-burnt earth, jumping suddenly over the still-glowing -logs.</p> - -<p>The chase paused on the ridge, for the drop was sudden and steep, with -rocks and boulders cropping out. Down slid the dogs in a cloud, yelping -hard, making Easu at all costs turn to try the right, Tom to try the -left.</p> - -<p>They dropped awkwardly and joltingly down, between rocks, in loose -charcoal powder and loose earth.</p> - -<p>"Ain't that ole mare a marvel, Jack!" said Tom. "This nag is rode stiff, -all-under my knees."</p> - -<p>Jack's face was full of wild joy. The stones rattled, the men stood back -from the stirrups, the horses seemed to be diving. But Lucy was light -and sure.</p> - -<p>Down they jolted into the gully. Easu came up swearing—lost the -quarry and dogs, Jack pulled Lucy over a boulder to get out of Easu's way: -a thing he shouldn't have done. Crack! went his head against a branch, and -Jack was bruising himself on the ground before he knew where he was.</p> - -<p>But he was on his feet again, intently chasing Lucy.</p> - -<p>"Here y'are!" It was Herbert who leaned down, picked up the reins of the -scampering mare, and threw them to Jack. Jack's face was bleeding. -Lennie came up and opened his mouth in dismay. But somebody coo-eed, and -the chase was too good to lose. They are all gone.</p> - -<p>Jack stiffly mounted, to find himself blinded by trickling blood. Lucy -once more was stirring between his knees, stretching herself out, and he -had to let her go, fumbling meanwhile for a handkerchief which he pushed -under his hat-brim, and pulled down the old felt firmly. Wiping his eyes -with his sleeve, he found the wound staunched by the impromptu dressing.</p> - -<p>The scene had completely changed. Lucy was whisking him around the side -of a huge dark boulder. They were in the dry bed of the gully, on -stones.</p> - -<p>Lucy stopped dead, practically on her haunches, but her impetus carried -her over, and she was slithering down into a loose gravelly hole. Jack -jumped off, to find himself face to face with the biggest boomer -kangaroo he had ever imagined. It was the Old Man, sitting there at the -bottom of the gravel-hole, in the hollow of a barren she-oak, his absurd -paws drooping dejectedly before him and his silly dribbling under-jaw -working miserably.</p> - -<p>"He's trying to get the wind up for another fly," thought Jack, standing -there as dazed as the 'roo itself, and feeling himself very much in the -same condition. Then he wondered where the doe and Joey were, and where -all the other hunters. He hoped they wouldn't come. Lucy stood by, as -calm as a cucumber.</p> - -<p>Jack took a step nearer the Old Man 'roo, and instantly brought up his -fists as the animal doubled its queer front paws and hit out wildly at -him. He wanted to hit back.</p> - -<p>"Mind the claws!" called somebody, with a quiet chuckle, from above.</p> - -<p>Jack looked round, and there was Lennie and the heavy horse, the horse -head-down, tail up, feet spread, like a salamander lizard on a wall, -slithering down the grade into the hole, Lennie erect in the stirrups. -Jack gave a loud laugh.</p> - -<p>And the Old Man, either possessed of a sense of humour or terrified to -death, seized the nearest thing at hand—which happened to be Jack; -grabbed him, gripped him, hugged him in desperate fury, and tried to get -up his huge, flail-like hind leg, to rip up the enemy with the toe claw. -One stroke of that claw, and Jack was done.</p> - -<p>In terror, anger, surprise, Jack jumped at the kangaroo's throat, as far -as the animal's grip would let him. The 'roo, trying all the time to use -his hind legs, upset, so that the two went rolling on the gravel -together. Jack was in horrid proximity to the weird grey fur, clutched -by the weird-smelling, violent animal, in a sort of living earthquake, -as the kangaroo writhed and bounced to use his great, oar-like hind -legs, and Jack clung close and hit at the creature's body, hit, hit, -hit. It was like hitting living wire bands. Somebody was roaring, or -else it was his own consciousness shouting: "Don't let the hind claw get -to work."—How horrible a wild thing was, when you were mixed up with -it! The terrible nausea of its powerful, furry, violent-blooded contact. -Its unnatural, almost obscene power! Its different consciousness! Its -overpowering smell!</p> - -<p>The others were coming back up the stream-bed, jumping the rocks, -towards this place where Jack had fallen and Lennie had come down after -him. Easu was calling off the dogs, ferociously. Tom rushed in and got -the 'roo by the head.</p> - -<p>Lennie was lying on the gravel laughing so hard he couldn't stand on his -legs.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>Jack wrote a letter to his old friend, the vet with the "weakness," in -England.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"We are out at a place back of beyond, at a place called Gum Tree -Valley, so I take up my pen to write as I have time.—Tom Ellis is -here bossing the clearing gang, and he has a lot of Aunts, whom he rightly -calls ants. One of them has a place near here, and we go to dinner on -Sundays, and to help when wanted. We stayed all last week and helped -muster in the sheep for the shearing. We rode all round their paddock -boundaries and rounded in the sheep that had strayed and got lost. They -had run off from the main—about a score of flocks—and were -feeding in little herds and groups miles apart. It's a grand sight to see -them all running before you, their woolly backs bobbing up and down like -brown water. I can tell you I know now the meaning of the Lost Sheep, and -the sort of joy you have in cursing him when you find him.</p> - -<p>"You told me to let you know if I heard any first hand news of gold -finding. Well, I haven't heard much. But a man rode into -Greenlow's—that's Tom's Aunt—place on Sunday, and he said to -Tom: 'Are those the Stirling Ranges?' Tom said: 'No, they're not. They're -the Darling Ranges.' He said: 'Are you sure?'"—and got very excited. -The black-fellows came and stood by and they were vastly amused, grinning -and looking away. He got out a compass and said: 'You are wrong, Mr. -Ellis, they are the Stirling Ranges.' Tom said: 'Call 'em what you choose, -chum. We call 'em Darling—and them others forty mile southwest -we call the Stirling.' The man groaned. Minnie Greenlow called us to -come in to tea, and he came along as well. His manners were awful. He -fidgetted and pushed his hat back on his head and leant forward and spat -in the fire at a long shot, and tipped his cup so that his tea swobbed -in his saucer, then drank it out of the saucer. Then he pushed the cake -back when handed to him, and leaned his head on his arms on the table -and groaned. You'd have thought he was drunk, but he wasn't, because he -said to Tom, 'Are ye sure them's not the Stirling Ranges? I can't drink -my tea for thinkin' about it.' And Tom said: 'Sure.' and then he seemed -more distracted than ever, and blew through his teeth and mopped his -head, and was upset to a degree.</p> - -<p>"When we had finished tea and we all went outside he said: 'Well, I -think I'll get back now. It's no use when the compass turns you down. -I'll never find it." We didn't know what he was talking about, but when -he'd got into his buggy and drove away the blacks told us: 'Master -lookin' for big lump yellow dirt—He think that very big fish, an' he -bury him long time. Cornin' back no finda him.'—While the boys were -talking who should shout to have the slip rail let down but this same -stranger and he drove right past us and away down the long paddock. When -he got to the gate there he turned round and came back and drew up by us -muttering, and said: 'Where did you tell me the Stirling Ranges -were?'—Tom pointed it out, and he said, 'So long!' and drove off. We -didn't see him again. We didn't want to. But Tom is almost sure he found -a lump of gold some time back and buried it for safety's sake and now -can't find it.</p> - -<p>"That's all the gold I've heard about out here.</p> - -<p>"Now for news. One day I went out with tucker to old Jack Moss. He's -keeping a bit of land warm for the Greenlows, shepherds sheep down -there, about forty miles from everywhere. He talked and talked, and when -he didn't talk he didn't listen to me. He looked away over the scrub and -sucked his cutty. They say he's hoarded wealth but I didn't see any -signs. He was in tatters and wore rags round his feet for boots, which -were like a gorilla's. Another day we had a kangaroo hunt. We all chased -an Old Man for miles and at last he tinned and faced us. I was so close -I had no time to think and was on him before I had time to pull up. I -jumped to the ground and grappled, and we rolled over and over down the -gully. They couldn't shoot him because of me, but they fought him off -and killed him. And then we saw his mate standing near among the stones, -on her hind legs, with her front paws hanging like a helpless woman. -Then Tom, who was tying up my cuts, called out: 'Look at her pouch! It's -plum full of little nippers!' and so it was. You never saw such a trick. -So we let her go. But we got the Old Man.</p> - -<p>"Another day we rode round the surveyed area here, which Mr. Ellis is -taking up for the twins Og and Magog. I asked Tom a lot of questions -about taking up land. I think I should like to try. Perhaps if I do you -will come out. You would like the horses. There are quite a lot wild. We -hunt them in and pick out the best and use them. That's how lots of -people raise their horse-flesh. They are called brumbies. Excuse me for -not ending properly, the mailman is coming along, he comes once a -fortnight. We are lucky.</p> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">Jack."</p></blockquote> - - - - -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>To his friend, the pugilist, he wrote:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Dear Pug:</p> - -<p>"You ask me what I think about sending Ned out here. Well, there's no -opening that I can see for a gym. But work, that's another question, -there's more than enough. I am at work at a place called Gum Tree -Valley, clearing, but we came up to Tom's Aunt's place last week, to -help, and we've been shearing. At least I haven't. I've been the chap -who tars. You splash tar on like paint when the shearers make a misfire -and gash the poor brutes and curse you. Lord, don't they curse, if the -boss isn't round. He's got a grey beard and dribbles on it, and the -flies get caught in it and buzz as if it was a spider's web. He makes -everyone work from mom till night like the Devil. Gosh, if it wasn't -that it is only for a short spell, I'd get. Don't you worry, up-country -folk know how to get your tucker's worth out of you all right Today the -Sabbath we had a rest.—I don't think! We washed our clothes. Talk -about a goodly pile! Only a rumour. For the old man fetched along his vests -and pants, and greasy overalls and aprons, his socks, his slimy hanks -and night-shirt Imagine our horror. He's Tom's Aunt's husband, and has -no sons only herds of daughters, so we had to do it. We scrubbed 'em -with horse-brushes on the stones. Jinks, but I rubbed some holes in 'em!</p> - -<p>"But cheer up. I'm not grumbling. I like getting experience as it is -called.</p> - -<p>"I mean to take up land and have a place of my own some day, then you -and Ned could visit me and we could have some fun with the gloves. -Lennie says I'm like a kangaroo shaping and punching at nothing, so I -got a cow's bladder and blew it up and tied it to a branch, and I batter -on it. Must have something to hit. You know kangaroos shape up and make -a punch. They are pretty doing that. We have a baby one, Joey, and it -takes a cup in its little hands and drinks. Honest to God it's got -hands, you never saw such a thing.</p> - -<p>"Kindest regards to your old woman and Ned. Lord only knows how I've -missed you, and pray that some day I will be fortunate enough to meet -you again. Until then.</p> - -<p>"Farewell.</p> - -<p>"A Merry Xmas and a Glad New Year, by the time you get this. Think of me -in the broiling heat battling with sheep, their Boss, and the flies, and -you'll think of me true.</p> - -<p>"Ever your sincere friend</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">Jack."</p></blockquote> - - - - -<h4>V</h4> - - -<p>As the time for returning from camp drew near, Jack dwelt more and more -on this question of the future—of taking up land. He wished so often -that life could always be a matter of camping, land-clearing, kangaroo -hunting, shearing, and generally messing about. But deep underneath -himself he knew it couldn't: not for him at least. Plenty of fellows -lived all their life messing from camp to camp and station to station. -But himself—sooner or later he would have to bite on to something. -He'd have to plunge in to that cold water of responsible living, some time -or other.</p> - -<p>He asked Tom about it.</p> - -<p>"You must make up y' mind what you want to go in for, cattle, sheep, -horses, wheat, or mixed farming like us," said Tom. "Then you can go out -to select. But it's no good before you know what you want."</p> - -<p>Jack was surprised to find how little information he got from the men he -mixed with. They knew their jobs: teamsters knew about teams, and jobs -on the mill; the timber workers knew hauling and sawing; township people -knew trading; the general hands knew about hunting and bush-craft and -axe handling; and farmers knew what was under their nose, but nothing of -the laws of the land, or how he himself was to get a start.</p> - -<p>At last he found a small holder who went out as a hired man after he had -put in the seed on his own land. And this, apparently, was how Jack -would have to start. The man brought out various grubby Government -papers, and handed them over.</p> - -<p>Jack had a bad time with them: Government reports, blue books, -narratives of operations. But he swotted grimly. And he made out so -'much:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>1. Any reputable immigrant over 21 years could procure 50 acres of -unimproved rural Crown land open for selection; if between the ages of -14 and 21, 25 acres.</p> - -<p>2. Such land must be held by "occupation certificate," deemed -transferable only in case of death, etc.</p> - -<p>3. The occupation certificate would be exchanged for a grant at the end -of five years, or before that time, providing the land had been enclosed -with a substantial fence and at least a quarter cultivated. But if at -the end of the five years the above conditions, or any of them, had not -been observed, the lots should revert to the Crown.</p> - -<p>4. Country land was sub-divided into agricultural and pastoral, either -purchasable at the sum of 10/- an acre, or leased: the former for eight -years at the nominal sum of 1/- an acre, with the right of purchase, the -latter for one year at annual rental of 2/- per hundred acres, with -presumptive renewal; or five pounds per 1000 acres with rights.</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Jack got all this into his mind, and at once loathed it. He loathed the -thought of an "occupation certificate." He loathed the thought of being -responsible to the Government for a piece of land. He almost loathed the -thought of being tied to land at all. He didn't want to own things; -especially land, that is like a grave to you as soon as you do own it. -He didn't want to own anything. He simply couldn't bear the thought of -being tied down. Even his own unpacked luggage he had detested.</p> - -<p>But he started in with this taking-up land business, so he thought he'd -try an easy way to get through with it.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Dear Father,</p> - -<p>"I could take up land on my own account now if you sent a few hundred -pounds for that purpose per Mr. George. He would pay the deposit and -arrange it for me. I have my eye on one or two improved farms falling -idle shortly down this Gum Valley district, which is very flourishing. -When they fall vacant on account of settlers dropping them, they can be -picked up very cheap.</p> - -<p>"I hope you are quite well, as I am at present</p> - -<p>"Your affec. son</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">Jack."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Jack spent his sixpence on this important document, and forgot all about -it. And in the dead end of the hot summer, just in the nick of time, he -got his answer:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">Sea View Terrace,<br /> -Bournemouth.<br /> -2. 2. '83,</p> - -<p>Dear Jack:</p> - -<p>"Thank you for your most comprehensive letter of 30/11/82. It is quite -impossible for me to raise several hundreds of pounds, or for the matter -of that, one hundred pounds, in this offhand manner. I don't want to be -hard on you, but we want you to be independent as soon as possible. We -have so many expenses, and I have no intention of sinking funds in the -virgin Australian wild, at any rate until I see a way clear to getting -some return for my money, in some form of safe interest accruing to you -at my death.—You must not expect to run before you can walk. Stay -where you are and learn what you can till your year is up, and then we will -see about a jackeroo's job, at which your mother tells me you will earn -£1. a week, instead of our having to pay it for you.</p> - -<p>"We all send felicitations</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;">Your affectionate father</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">G. B. Grant."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>But this is running ahead.—It is not yet Christmas, 1882.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h4> - -<h4>HOME FOR CHRISTMAS</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>It was a red hot Christmas that year—'ot, 'ot, 'ot, all day long. -Good Lord, how hot it was!—till blessed evening. Sundown brought -blessings in its trail. After six o'clock you would sense the breeze coming -from the sea. Whispering, sighing, hesitating. Then puff! there it was. -Delicious, sweet, it seemed to save one's life.</p> - -<p>It had been splendid out back, but it was nice to get home again and sit -down to regular meals, have clean clothes and sheets to one's bed. To -have your ironing and cooking done for you, and sit down to dinner at a -big table with fresh, hailstorm-patterned tablecloth on it. There was a -sense almost of glory in a big, white, glossy, hailstorm table-cloth. It -lifted you up.</p> - -<p>Mr. Ellis had taken Gran away for the time, so the place seemed -freer, noisier. There was nothing to keep quiet for. It was -holiday—<i>pinkie</i>, the natives called it; the fierce midsummer -Christmas. Everybody was allowed to "spell" a great deal.</p> - -<p>Tom and Jack were roasted like Red Indians, rather uncouth, and more -manly. At first they seemed rather bumptious, thinking themselves very -much men. Jack could now ride his slippery saddle in fine style, and -handle a rope or an axe, and shoot straight. He knew jarrah, karri, -eucalyptus, sandal, wattle, peppermint, banksia, she-oaks, pines, -paper-back and gum trees; he had learned to tan a kangaroo hide, pegging -it on to a tree; he had looked far into the wilderness, and seen the -beyond, and been seized with a desire to explore it; he had made -excursions over "likely places," with hammer and pick, looking for gold. -He had hunted and brought home meat, had trapped and destroyed many -native cats and dingoes. He had lain awake at night and listened to the -more-porks, and in the early morning had heard with delight the warbling -of the timeline and thickhead thrushes that abounded round the camp, -mingled with the noises of magpies, tits, and wrens. He had watched the -manoeuvres of willy-wagtails, and of a brilliant variety of birds: -weavers, finches, parrots, honeyeaters, and pigeons. But the banded -wrens and blue-birds were his favourites in the bush world.</p> - -<p>Well, on such a hero as this, the young home-hussies Monica and Grace -had better not look too lightly. He was so grand they could hardly reach -him with a long pole.</p> - -<p>"An' how many emus did y' see?" asked Og. For lately at Wandoo they had -had a plague of emus, which got into the paddocks and ate down the -sheeps' food-stuffs, and then got out again by running at the fences and -bashing a way through.</p> - -<p>Jack had never seen one.</p> - -<p>"Never seen an emu!"—Even little Ellie shrilled in derisive -amazement. "Monica, he's <i>never seen an emu!</i>"</p> - -<p>Already they had snipped the tip off the high feather he had in his -cap.</p> - -<p>But he was still a hero, and Lennie followed him round like a satellite, -while the girls were obviously <i>thrilled</i> at having Tom and him back -again. They would giggle and whisper behind Bow's back, and wherever he -was, they were always sauntering out to stand not far off from him. So -that, of course, their thrill entered also into Jack's veins, he felt a -cocky young lord, a young life-master. This suited him very well.</p> - -<p>But there was no love-making, of course. They all laughed and joked -together over the milking and pail-carrying and feeding and -butter-making and cheese-making and everything, and life was a happy -delirium.</p> - -<p>They had waited for Tom to come home, to rob the bees. Tom hated the -bees and they hated him, but he was staunch. Veils, bonnets, gloves, -gaiters were produced, and off they all set, in great joy at their own -appearance, with gong, fire, and endless laughter. Tom was to direct -from a distance: he stood afar, "Smoking them off." Grace and Monica -worked merrily among the hives, manipulating the boxes which held the -comb, lifting them on to the milk pans to save the honey, and handing -the pans to the boys to carry in.</p> - -<p>"Oooh!" yelled Tom suddenly, "Oooh!"</p> - -<p>A cloud of angry bees was round his head. Down went his -fire-protector—a tin full of smouldering chips—down went -flappers and bellows as with a shriek he beat the air. The more he beat the -darker the venomous cloud. Crippled with terror, he ran on shaking legs. -The girls and youngsters were paralysed with joy. They swarmed after him -shrieking with laughter. His head was completely hidden by bees, but his -arms like windmills waved wildly to and fro. He dashed into the cubby, -but the bees went with him. He appeared at the window for a moment, -showing a demented face, then he jumped out, and the bees with him. -Leaping the drain gap and yelling in terror, he made for the house. The -bees swung with him and the children after. Jack and the girls stood -speechless, looking at one another. Monica had on man's trousers with an -old uniform buttoned close to her neck, workmen's socks over her shoes -and trouser-ends, and a Chinaman's hat with a veil over it, netted round -her head like a meat-safe. Jack noticed that she was funny. Suddenly, -somehow, she looked mysterious to him, and not just the ordinary image -of a girl. Suddenly a new cavern seemed to open before his eyes: the -mysterious, fascinating cavern of the female unknown. He was not -definitely conscious of this. But seeing Monica there in the long white -flannel trousers and the Chinaman's-hat meat-safe over her face, -something else awoke in him, a new awareness of a new wonder. He had but -lately stood on the inward ranges and looked inland into the blue, vast -mystery of the Australian interior. And now with another opposite vision -he saw an opposite mystery opposing him: the mystery of the female, the -young female there in her grotesque garb.</p> - -<p>A new awareness of Monica began to trouble him.</p> - -<p>"Oooh! Oooh! Ma! Ma! Ma!" Out rushed Tom straight from the kitchen door, -the bees still with him. Straight he dashed to the garden, and to the -well in the middle. He loosed the windlass and stood on the coping -screaming while the bucket clanged and clashed to the bottom. Then Tom -seized the rope, and turning his legs round it, slid silently into the -hidden, cool dark depths.</p> - -<p>The children shrieked with bliss, Jack and the girls rocked with -helpless laughter, convulsed by this last exit.</p> - -<p>The bees were puzzled. They poised buzzbee fashion above the well-head, -explored the mouth of the shaft, and rose again and hovered. Then they -began to straggle away. They melted into the hot air.</p> - -<p>And now the girls and Jack drew up from the well a raging and soaking -Tom. Drew him up uncertainly, wobblingly, a terrible weight on the -straining, creaking windlass. Ma and Ellie took him in hand and daubed -him a sublime blue: like an ancient Briton, Grace said. Then they gave -him bread and jam and a cup of tea.</p> - -<p>Then occurred another honey-bee tragedy. Ellie, who had done nothing at -all to the bees, suddenly shrieked loudly and ran pelting round, -screaming: "I've got a bee in my head! I've got a bee in my head!" -Monica caught and held her, while Jack took the bee, a big drone, out of -the silky meshes of her honey hair. And as he lifted his eyes he met the -yellow eyes of Monica. And the two exchanged a moment's look of intimacy -and communication and secret shame, so that they both went away avoiding -one another.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>On New Year's Eve there was always a foregathering of the settlers at -the Wandoo homestead. They must foregather somewhere, and Wandoo was the -oldest and most flourishing place. It occupied the banks of the -so-called Avon River, which was mostly just a great dry bed of stones. -But it had plenty of fresh water in the soaks and wells, among the -scorched rocks, and these wells were fed by underground springs, not -brackish, as is so often the case. Wandoo was therefore a favoured -place.</p> - -<p>"What am I to wear?" said Jack, aghast, when he heard of the affair.</p> - -<p>"Anything," said Tom.</p> - -<p>"Nothing," said Len.</p> - -<p>"Your new riding suit," said Monica, who had begun to assume airs of -proprietorship over him.—"And you needn't say anything, young Len," -she continued venomously. "Because you've got to wear that new holland suit -Ma got you from England, and boots and socks as well."</p> - -<p>"It's awful. Oo-er! It's awful!" groaned Lennie.</p> - -<p>It was. A tight-fitting brown holland suit with pants halfway down the -shin and many pearl-buttons across the stomach, the coat with a stiff -stand-up collar and rigid seams. Harry had a similar rig, but the twins -out—did Solomon in sailor suits with gold braid and floppy legs. At -least they started in glory.</p> - -<p>Tom, in his father's old tennis-flannels and a neat linen jacket, looked -quite handsome. But when he saw Jack in his real pukka riding rig, he -exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"God Almighty, but you've got the goods!"</p> - -<p>"A bit too dashing?" asked Jack anxiously.</p> - -<p>"Not on your life! You'll do fine. Reds all go in for riding breeks and -coats as near sporting dog's yank as they k'n get'm. There's a couple o' -white washing suits o' Dad's as he's grown out of, as I'll plank up in -the loft to change into tonight. We can't come in this here cubby again. -Once we leave it, it'll be jumped by all the women and children from -round the country to put their things in."</p> - -<p>"Won't they go into the house?"</p> - -<p>"Hallelujah no! Only relations go upstairs. Quality into the dyin' room. -Yahoos anywhere, and the ladies always bag our cubby!"</p> - -<p>"Lor!"</p> - -<p>But it had to be so. For the New Year's chivoo the settlers all saved -up, and they all dressed up. By ten o'clock the place was like a fair -ground. Horses of all sorts nosing their feed-bags; conveyances of all -sorts unhitched; girls all muslin and ribbon; boys with hats on at an -angle, and boots on; men in clean shirts and brilliant ties, mothers in -frill and furbelow, with stiffly-starched little children half hidden -under sunbonnets; old dames and ancient patriarchs, young bearded -farmers, and shaven civilians ridden over from York. Children rushing -relentlessly in the heat, amid paper bags, orange peel, -concertina-playing, baskets of victuals and fruit, canvas, rubbish and -nuts all over the scorched grass. Christmas!</p> - -<p>Tom had asked Jack to organise a cricket eleven to play against the -Reds. The Reds were dangerous opponents, and the dandies of the day. In -riding breeches made India fashion, with cotton gaiters, and -rubber-soled shoes, white shirts, and broad-brimmed hats, they looked a -handsome colonial set. And they had a complete eleven.</p> - -<p>Tom was sitting on a bat bemoaning his fate. He had only five reliable -men.</p> - -<p>"Aw, shut up!" said Lennie. "Somebody'll turn up.—Who's comin' in -at the gate now? Ain't it the parson from York, and five gents what can -handle a bat. Hell!—ain't my name cockadoodle!"</p> - -<p>In top hats and white linen suits these gentlemen had ridden their -twenty-five miles for a game. What price the Reds now!</p> - -<p>Tom's side was in first, Easu and Ross Ellis bowling, Easu, big, loose, -easy, looked strange and <i>native</i>, as if he belonged to the natural -salt of the earth there. He seemed at home, like an emu or a yellow mimosa -tree. He was a bowler of repute. But somehow Jack could not bear to see -him palm the ball before he bowled: could not bear to watch it. Whereas -fat Ross Ellis, the other bowler, spitting on his hand and rolling the -ball in elation after getting the wicket of the best man from York, Jack -didn't mind him.—But unable to watch Easu, he walked away across the -paddock, among the squatting mothers whose terror was the flying leather -ball.</p> - -<p>"Your turn at the wickets, Mr. Grant," called the excited, red-faced -parson, who, Lennie declared, "Couldn't preach less or act more."</p> - -<p>"We're eight men out for twenty-six rounds, so smack at 'em. If ye can -get the loose end on Ross, do it. I'll be in t'other end next and stop -'em off Easu. I come in right there as th' useful block."</p> - -<p>Jack was excited. And when he was excited, phrases always came up in his -mind. He had the sun in his eyes, but the bat felt good.</p> - -<p>"If a gentleman sees bad, he ignores it. He——"</p> - -<p>Here comes the ball from that devil Easu!</p> - -<p>How's that!</p> - -<p>"Finds good and fans it to flame—fans it to——"</p> - -<p>Joe Low, that stripling, had the other wicket.</p> - -<p>Smack! Jack scored the first run off Easu, running for his life.</p> - -<p>"You can be a gentleman even if you are a bush-whacker."</p> - -<p>Nine wickets had fallen to Easu for twenty-seven runs, and Easu was -elated. Then the parson came forth and stood opposite Jack. He at once -whacked Ross' ball successfully, for three. Jack hitched his belt after -the run, and hit out for another.</p> - -<p>Smack! no need to run that time. It was a boundary.</p> - -<p>Lennie's voice outside yelling admiration roused his soul, as did Easu's -yelling agrily to Ross: "You give that ball to Sam, this over. You -blanky idjut!"</p> - -<p>Ross picked up the returning leather, and sent down a sulky grubber -which Jack naturally skied. Herbert, placed at a point in the shade, -came out to catch it, and missed.</p> - -<p>Somehow the parson had steadied Jack's spirit. And when, in a crisis, -Jack got his spirit steadied, it seemed to him he could get a -semi-magical grip over a situation. Almost as if he could alter the -swerve of the ball by his pure, clairvoyant will. So it seemed. And -keyed up against the weird, handsome, native Easu, as if by a magic of -will Jack held the wicket and got the runs. It was one of those subtle -battles which are beyond our understanding. And Jack won.</p> - -<p>But Easu got him out in the end. In the first innings, a terrific full -pitch came down crash over his head on to the middle wicket, when he had -made his first half century; that was Easu; and Easu stumped him out in -the second innings, for twenty.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, the Reds were beaten by a margin of sixteen runs before -the parson and the gentlemen in top hats set off for their long and -dusty ride to York.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>Jack hated the Reds with all the wholesale hatred of eighteen. There -they were, all of them, swaggering round as if the place belonged to -them, taking everything and giving nothing. Their peculiar air of -assertion was particularly maddening, in contrast with the complete lack -of assumption on the part of the other Australians. It was as if the -Reds had made up their minds, all of them, to leave a bruise on -everything they touched. They were all big men, and older than Jack. -Easu must have been over thirty, and unmarried, with a bad reputation -among the women of the colony. Yet, apparently, he could always find a -girl. That slow, laconic assurance of his, his peculiar, meaning smile -as he drifted up loose-jointed to a girl, seemed nearly always to get -through. The women watched him out of the corner of their eye. They -didn't like him. But they felt his power. And that was perhaps even more -effective.</p> - -<p>For he had power. And this was what Jack felt lacking in himself. Jack -had quick, intuitive understanding, and a quick facility. But he had not -Easu's power. Sometimes Easu could look really handsome, strolling -slowly across to some girl with a peculiar rolling gait that -distinguished him, and smiling that little, meaningful, evil smile. Then -he looked handsome, and as if he belonged to another race of men, men -who were like small-headed demons out to destroy the world.</p> - -<p>"I'm fighting him," thought Jack. "I wouldn't have a good opinion of -myself if I didn't."</p> - -<p>For he saw in Easu a malevolent principle, a kind of venom.</p> - -<p>Ross Ellis, the youngest of the Reds, was old enough to be joining the -mounted police force in a few days, and Mr. Ellis had sent up a strong -chestnut mount for him, from the coast. Easu, tall, broad, sinewy, with -sinewy powerful legs and small buttocks, was sitting close on the -prancing chestnut, showing off, his malevolence seeming to smile under -his blond beard, and his blue, rivet eyes taking in everything. All the -time he went fooling the simple farmers who had come to the sports, -raising a laugh where he could, and always a laugh of derision.</p> - -<p>"Tom," said Jack at last, "couldn't you boss it a bit over those Reds? -It's your place, it's <i>your</i> house, not theirs. Go on, put them down a -bit, do."</p> - -<p>"Aw," said Tom. "They're older'n me, and the place by rights belongs to -them: leastways they think so. And they are crack sportsmen."</p> - -<p>"Why, they're not! Look at Easu parading on that police horse your -father sent up from the coast! And look at all the other cockeys getting -ready to compete against him in the riding events. They haven't a -chance, and he knows it."</p> - -<p>"He won't risk taking that police horse over the jumps, don't you -fret."</p> - -<p>"No, but he has the pick of your stable, and he'll beat all the others -while you stand idling by. Why should he be cock of the walk?"</p> - -<p>"Why," cried Lennie breaking in, "I could beat anyfin' on Lucy. But Tom -won't let me go in against the other chaps, will you, Tom?"</p> - -<p>Tom smiled. He had a plain brick-red face, patient and unchanging, with -white teeth, and brown, sensitive eyes. When he smiled he had a great -charm. But he did not often smile, and his mouth was marred by the look -so many men develop in Australia, facing the bush: that lipless look, -which Jack, as he grew more used to it, came to call the suffering look. -As if they had bitten and been bitten hard, perhaps too hard.</p> - -<p>"Well, Nipper," he said after a moment's hesitation; "if you finds them -Waybacks has it between 'em, you stand out. But y'c'n have Lucy if you -like, an' if y' beat the <i>Reds</i>—y'c'n beat 'em."</p> - -<p>"That's what I mean all right!" cried Lennie, capering. "I savvy O. K. -I'll give 'em googlies and sneaks an' leg-breaks, y' see if I don't, an' -even up for 'em."</p> - - - - -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>Monica came up and took Jack's arm with sudden impulsive affection, on -this very public day. Drawing him away, she said:</p> - -<p>"Come and sit down a bit under the Bay Fig, Jack. I want to rest. All -these people tearing us in two from morning till night."</p> - -<p>Jack found himself thrilling to the girl's touch, to his own surprise -and disgust. He flushed slowly, and went on stiff legs, hoping nobody -was looking at him. Nobody was looking specially, of course. But Monica -kept hold of his arm, with her light, tense girlish hand, and he found -it difficult to walk naturally. And again the queer electric thrills -went through him, from that light blade of her hand.</p> - -<p>She was very lovely to-day, with a sort of winsomeness, a sort of fierce -appeal. As a matter of fact, she had been flirting dangerously with Red -Easu, till she was a bit scared. And she had been laughing and fooling -with Hal Stockley—otherwise Pink-eye Percy—whom all the girls -were mad about, but who didn't affect her seriously. Easu affected her, -though. And she didn't really like him. That was why she had come for Jack, -whom she liked very much indeed. She felt so safe and happy with him. And -she loved his delicate, English, virgin quality, his shyness and natural -purity. He was purer than she was. So she wanted to make him in love -with her. She was sure he was in love with her. But it was such a shy, -unwilling love, she was half annoyed.</p> - -<p>So she leaned forward to him, with her fierce young face and her queer, -yellow, glowering eyes, not far from his, and she seemed to yearn to him -with a yearning like a young leopard. Sometimes she touched his hand, -and sometimes, laughing and showing her small, pointed teeth winsomely, -she would look straight into his eyes, as if searching for something. -And he flushed with a dazed sort of delight, unwilling to be overpowered -by the new delight, yet dazed by it, even to the point of forgetting the -other people and the party, and Easu on the chestnut horse.</p> - -<p>But he made no move. When she touched his hand, though his eyes shone -with a queer suffused light, he would not take her hand in his. He would -not touch her. He would not make any definite response. To all she said, -he answered in simple monosyllables. And there he sat, suffused with -delight, yet making no move whatsoever.</p> - -<p>Till at last Monica, who was used to defending herself, was niffed. She -thought him a muff. So she suddenly rose and left him. Went right away. -And he was very much surprised and chagrined, feeling that somehow it -wasn't possible, and feeling as if the sun had gone out of the sky.</p> - - - - -<h4>V</h4> - - -<p>The sun really was low in the heavens. The breeze came at last from the -sea and freshened the air and lifted the sweet crushed scent of the -trampled dry grass. It was time for the last events of the sports. -Everybody was eager, revived by the approach of evening, and Jack felt -the drunkenness of new delight upon him. He was still vague, however, -and unwilling even to think of Monica, much less seek her out.</p> - -<p>The black-boys' event, with unbroken buckjumpers, was finishing down by -the river. Joe Low, with a serious face but sparkling eyes, went riding -by on a brumby colt he had caught and broken himself. Jack sat alone -under a tree, waiting for the flat race, in which he was entered, and -feeling sure of himself.</p> - -<p>Easu came dancing up on the raw chestnut that had been sent up from the -coast along with the police horse. He wore spurs, and had a long -parrot-feather in his hat.</p> - -<p>"Here you young Pommy Grant," he said to Jack. "Ketch hold of me bit -while I fix me girths a bit tighter, and then you c'n hold your breath -while I show them Cornseeds what."</p> - -<p>He had a peculiarly insolent manner towards Jack. The latter -nevertheless held the frothy chestnut while Easu swung out of the saddle -and hitched up the girth. As he bent there beside the horse, Jack -noticed his broad shoulders and narrow waist and small hard, tense hips. -Yes, he was a man. But ugh! what an objectionable one! Especially the -slight hateful smile of derision on the red face and in the light-blue, -small-pupilled eyes.</p> - -<p>But he dipped into the saddle again, and once more it was impossible not -to admire his seat, his close, fine, clean, small seat in the saddle. -There was no spread about him there. And the power of the long, muscular -thighs. Then once more he dismounted, leaving Jack to hold the bridle of -the chestnut whilst he himself strolled away.</p> - -<p>The other farmers were waiting on their horses, so serious and quiet: in -their patience and unobtrusiveness, so gentlemanly, Jack thought. So -unlike the assertive, jeering Easu.</p> - -<p>Lennie came up and whipped the pin out of Jack's favour. It was a -rosette of yellow ribbon, shiny as a buttercup, that Monica had made -him.</p> - -<p>"Here, what're you doing!" he cried.</p> - -<p>"Aw, shut it. Keep still!" said Lennie.</p> - -<p>And slipping round, he pushed the pin, point downward, into the back -saddle-pad of the chestnut Jack was holding. That wasn't fair. But Jack -let be.</p> - -<p>The judge called his warning, the Cornseeds lined up, along with Joe Low -and a young yellow-faced dairyman and a slender skin-hunter, and a -woolly old stockman. Easu came and took his chafing horse, but did not -mount.</p> - -<p>"One!" Easu swung up, standing in his stirrups, scarce touching the -saddle-seat.</p> - -<p>"Two! Three!" and the sharp crack of a pistol.</p> - -<p>Away went the scraggy brumby and Joe, and like a torrent, the dairyman -and the skin-hunter and the stockman. But the chestnut had never heard a -pistol shot before, and was jumping round wildly.</p> - -<p>"Blood and pace, mark you;" said the judge, waving towards the chestnut. -"Them cockeys does their best on what they got, but watch that chestnut -under Red Ellis. It's a pleasure to see good horse-flesh like them -Ellises brings up to these parts."</p> - -<p>Easu, seeing the field running well and far ahead, wheeled his mount on -to the track at that minute, and sat down.</p> - -<p>The chestnut sat up, stopped, bucked, threw Easu, and then galloped -madly away. It was all so sudden and somehow unnatural, that everybody -was stunned. Easu rose and stared, with hell in his face, after the -running chestnut. People began to laugh aloud.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Gawd my fathers!" murmured Tom in Jack's ear. "Think of Easu -getting a toss! Easu letting any horse get the soft side of him! Oh, my -Gawd, if I'm not sorry for Easu when that crowd o' Reds sets on to him -with their tongues to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"I'm jolly glad," said Jack complacently.</p> - -<p>"So am I," said Lennie. "An' I did it, an' I wish it had killed him. I -put a pin under the saddle-crease, Tom. Don't look at me, y'needn't. -I've had one up again 'im for a long time, for Jack's sake. D'y' know -what he did? He put Jack on that Stampede stallion, when Jack hadn't -been on our place a fortnight. So he did. An' if Jack had been killed, -who'd ha' called him a murderer? Zah, one of the blacks, told me. And -nobody durst tell you, cos they durstn't."</p> - -<p>"On Stampede!" exclaimed Tom, going yellow, and hell coming into his -brown eyes. "An' a new chum my father trusted to him to show him round."</p> - -<p>"Oh well," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"The sod!" said Tom: and that was final.</p> - -<p>Then after a moment:</p> - -<p>"If the Reds is going over the jumps, you go and get Lucy, Len."</p> - -<p>"I likes your sperrit, Tom. I was goin' to anyway, case they get that -dark 'oss." Lennie threw off his coat, hat, and tie, then sat on the -trodden brown grass to take off his boots and stockings. Thus stripped, -he stood up and hitched his braces looser, remarking:</p> - -<p>"Jack Grant said he'd bash Easu's head for 'im if he said anything to me -after I beat 'im over the jumps, so I was goin' to risk it anyway."</p> - -<p>Jack had said no such thing, but was prepared to take the hint.</p> - -<p>The chestnut had been caught and tied up. Down the field they could see -Easu persuading Sept to ride a smart piebald filly that had been brought -in. Sept was the thinnest of the Reds. The jumping events continued away -on the left, the sun was almost setting.</p> - -<p>"Hurry up there for the final!" called the judge.</p> - -<p>Sept came up on the delicate piebald filly which they had brought over -from their own place. She was dark chestnut, and with flames of pure -white, she seemed dazzling.</p> - -<p>"That's the dark 'oss I mentioned!" said Len. "Gosh, but me heart is -beatin'! It'll be a real match between me and him, for that there filly -can jump like a 'roo, I've watched 'er."</p> - -<p>Joe Low rode up to the jumping yard, and lifted his brumby over. The -filly danced down and followed. Lennie was in the saddle like a cat and -Lucy went over the rail without effort.</p> - -<p>When the rail was at five feet two, Joe Low's brumby was done. Lucy -clipped the rail and the filly cleared it. Sept brought his creature -round to the judge, with raised eyebrows.</p> - -<p>"No y' don't," yelled Lennie, riding down the track hell for leather, -and Lucy went over like a swallow. Sept laughed, and came down to the -rail that was raised an inch. The filly sailed it, but hit the bar. Lucy -baulked. Len swung her round and came again. A perfect over.</p> - -<p>Next! The filly, snorting and frothing, tore down, jibbed, and was sworn -at loudly by Easu standing near. Sept whipped and spurred her over.</p> - -<p>But at that rail, raised to five feet nine, she would not be persuaded, -though Lucy cleared it with a curious casual ease. The filly would not -take it.</p> - -<p>"Say, Mister!" called Lennie when he knew he was winner. "Raise that -barrier five inches and see us bound it."</p> - -<p>He made his detour, brought Lucy along on twinkling feet, and cleared it -prettily.</p> - -<p>The roar of delight from the crowd sent Easu mad. Jack kept an eye on -him, in case he meant mischief. But Easu only went away to where the -niggers were still trying out the buck jumpers. Taking hold of a huge -rogue of a mare, he sprang on her back and came bucking all along the -track, apparently to give a specimen of horsemanship. The crowd watched -the queer massive pulsing up and down of the man and the powerful -bucking horse, all in a whirl of long hair, like some queer fountain of -life. And there was Monica watching Easu's cruel, changeless face, that -seemed to have something fixed and eternal in it, amid all that heaving.</p> - -<p>Jack felt he had a volcano inside him. He knew that Stampede had been -caught again, and was being led about down there, securely roped, as -part of the show. Down there among the outlaws.</p> - -<p>Away ran Jack. Anything rather than be beaten by Easu. But as he ran, he -kept inside him that queer little flame of white-hot calm which was his -invincibility.</p> - -<p>He patted Stampede's arching neck, and told Sam to saddle him. Sam -showed the whites of his eyes, but obeyed, and Stampede took it. Jack -stood by, intense in his own cool calmness. He didn't care what happened -to him. If he was to be killed he would be killed. But at the same time, -he was not reckless. He watched the horse with mystical closeness, and -glanced over the saddle and bridle to see if they were all right.</p> - -<p>Then, swift and light, he mounted and knew the joy of being a horseman, -the thrill of being a real horseman. He had the gift, and he knew it. If -not the gift of sheer power, like Easu, who seemed to overpower his -horse as he rode it; Jack had the gift of adjustment. He adjusted -himself to his horse. Intuitively, he yielded to Stampede, up to a -certain point. Beyond that certain flexible point, there would be no -yielding, none, and never.</p> - -<p>Jack came bucking along in Easu's wake, on a much wilder horse. But -though Stampede was wild and wicked, he never exerted his last efforts. -He bucked like the devil. But he never let himself altogether go. And -Jack seemed to be listening with an inward ear to the animal, listening -to its passion. After all it was a live creature, to be mastered, but -not to be overborne. Intuitively, the boy gave way to it as much as -possible. But he never for one moment doubted his own mastery over it. -In his mastery there must be a living tolerance. This his instinct told -him. And the stallion, bucking and sitting up, seemed somehow to accept -it.</p> - -<p>For after all, if the horse had gone really wicked, absolutely wicked, -it would have been too much for Master Jack. What he depended on was the -bit of response the animal was capable of. And this he knew.</p> - -<p>He found he could sit the stallion with much greater ease than before. -And that strange, powerful life beneath him and between his thighs, -heaving and breaking like some enormous alive wave, exhilarated him with -great exultance, the exultance in the power of life.</p> - -<p>Monica's eyes turned from the red, fixed, overbearing face of Easu, to -the queer, abstract, radiant male face of Jack, and a great pang went -through her heart, and a cloud came over her brow. The boy balanced on -the trembling, spurting stallion, looking down at it with dark-blue, -wide, dark-looking eyes, and thinking of nothing, yet feeling so much; -his face looking soft and warm with a certain masterfulness that was -more animal than human, like a centaur, as if he were one blood with the -horse, and had the centaur's superlative horse-sense, its non-human -power, and wisdom of hot blood-knowledge. She watched the boy, and her -brow darkened and her face was fretted as if she were denied something. -She wanted to look again at Easu, with his fixed hard will that excited -her. But she couldn't. The queer soft power of the boy was too much for -her, she could not save herself.</p> - -<p>So they rode, the two men, and all the people watched them, as the sun -went down in the wild empty sea westward from hot Australia.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h4> - -<h4>NEW YEAR'S EVE</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>New Year's Eve was celebrated Scotch style, at Wandoo. It was already -night, and Jack and Tom had been round seeing if the visitors had -everything they wanted. Ma and a few select guests were still in the -kitchen. The cold collation in the parlour still waited majestically. -The twins and Harry were no longer visible: they had subsided on their -stomachs by the wood-pile, in the hot evening, and found refuge in -sleep; for all the world like sailors sunk dilapidated and demoralised -after a high old spree. But Ellie and Baby were at their zenith. Having -been kept out of the ruck most carefully upstairs, they were now -produced at their best. Mr. Ellis was again away in Perth, seeing the -doctor.</p> - -<p>Tom and Jack went into the loft and changed into clean white duck. They -came forth like new men, jerking their arms in the stiff starched -sleeves. And they proceeded to light the many Chinese lanterns hung in -the barn, till the great place was mellow with soft light. Already in -the forenoon they had scraped candle ends on the floor, and rubbed them -in. Now they rubbed in the wax a little more, to get the proper -slipperiness.</p> - -<p>The light brought the people, like moths. Of course the Reds were there, -brazen as brass. They too had changed into white suits, tight round the -calf and hollow at the waist, and, for the moment, with high collars -rising to their ears above the black cravats. Also they sported -elastic-sided boots of patent leather, whereas most of the other fellows -were in their heavy hob-nailed boots, nicely blacked, indeed, but -destitute of grace. With their hair brushed down in a curl over their -foreheads, and their beards brushed apart, their strong sinewy bodies -filling out the white duck, they felt absolutely invincible, and almost -they looked it. For Jack was growing blind to the rustic absurdities, -blinded by the animal force of these Australians.</p> - -<p>Jack sat down by Herbert, who was pleasant and mild after his illness, -always a little shy with the English boy. But the other Reds had taken -possession of the place. Their bounce and brass were astounding. Jack -watched them in wonder at their aggressive self-assertion. They were -real bounders, more crude and more bouncy than ever the Old Country -could produce. But that was Australian. The bulk of the people, perhaps, -were dumb and unassuming. But there was always a proportion of real -brassy bounders, ready to walk over you and jump in your stomach, if -you'd let them.</p> - -<p>Easu had constituted himself Master of the Ceremonies, and we know what -an important post that is, in a country bean-feast. Wherever he was, he -must be in the front, bossing and hectoring other people. He had -appointed his brothers "stewards." The Reds were to run the show. There -was to be but one will: the will of the big, loose-jointed, domineering -Easu, with his reddish blonde beard brushed apart and his keen eyes -spying everything with a slight jeer.</p> - -<p>Most of the guests, of course, were as they had been all day, in their -Sunday suits or new dungarees. Joe Low, trim in a clean cotton jacket, -sat by the great open doors very seriously blowing notes out of an old -brass cornet, that had belonged to his father, a retired sergeant of the -Foot. Near him, a half-caste Huck was sliding a bow up and down a -yellow-looking fiddle, while other musicians stood with their -instruments under their arms. Outside in the warm night bearded farmers -smoked and talked. Mamas sat on the forms round the barn, and the girls, -most of them fresh and gay in billowy cotton frocks, clustered around in -excitement. It was the great day of all the year.</p> - -<p>For the rest, most of the young men were leaning holding up the big -timber supports of the barn, or framing the great opening of the sliding -doors, which showed the enormous dark gap of the naked night.</p> - -<p>Fire-eating Easu waved energetically to Joe, who blew a blast on the -cornet. This done, the strong but "common" Australian voice of Easu, -shouted effectively:</p> - -<p>"Take partners. Get ready for the Grand March."</p> - -<p>For of course he plumed himself on doing everything in "style," -everything grand and correct, this Australian who so despised the effete -Old Country. The rest of the Reds straightaway marched to the sheepish -and awkward fellows who stood propped up against any available prop, -seized them by the arm, and rushed them up to some equally sheepish -maiden. And instead of resenting it, the poor clowns were glad at being -forced into company. They grinned and blushed, and the girls giggled and -bridled, as they coupled and arranged themselves, two by two, close -behind one another.</p> - -<p>A blast of music. Easu seized Monica, who was self-consciously waiting -on the arm of another young fellow. He just flung his arm round her -waist and heaved her to the head of the column. Then the procession set -off, Easu in front with his arm round Monica's waist, he shining with -his own brass and self-esteem, she looking falsely demure. After them -came the other couples, self-conscious but extremely pleased with -themselves, slowly marching round the barn.</p> - -<p>Jack, who had precipitated himself into the night rather than be hauled -into action by one of the Red stewards, stood and looked on from afar, -feeling out of it. He felt out in the cold. He hated Easu's common, -gloating self-satisfaction, there at the head with Monica. Red cared -nothing about Monica, really. Only she was the star of the evening, the -chief girl, so he had got her. She was the chief girl for miles around. -And that was enough for Easu. He was determined to leave his mark on -her.</p> - -<p>After the March, the girls went back to their Mamas, the youths to their -shoulder-supports; and following a pause, Easu again came into the -middle of the floor, and began bellowing instructions. He was so pleased -with the sound of his own voice, when it was lifted in authority. -Everybody listened with all their ears, afraid of disobeying Easu.</p> - -<p>When the ovation was over, the boldest of the young men made a bee-line -for the prettiest girls, and there was a hubbub. In a twinkling any girl -whom Jack would have deigned to dance with, was monopolised, only the -poorest remained. Meanwhile the stewards were busy sorting the couples -into groups.</p> - -<p>Jack could not dance. He had not intended to dance. But he didn't at all -like being left out entirely, in oblivion as if he did not exist. Not at -all. So he drifted towards the group of youths in the doorway. But he -slid away again as Ross Ellis plunged in, seized whom he could by the -arm, and led them off to the crude and unprepossessing maidens left -still unchosen. He felt he would resent intensely being grabbed by the -arm and hustled into a partner by one of the Reds.</p> - -<p>What was to be done? He seemed to be marooned in his own isolation like -some shipwrecked mariner: and he was becoming aware of the size of his -own hands and feet. He looked for Tom. Tom was steering a stout but -willing mother into the swim, and Lennie, like a faithful little tug, -was following in his wake with a gentle but squint-eyed girl.</p> - -<p>Jack became desperate. He looked round quickly. Mrs. Ellis was sitting -alone on a packing case. At the same moment he saw Ross Ellis bearing -down on him with sardonic satisfaction.</p> - -<p>Action was quicker than thought. Jack stood bowing awkwardly before his -hostess.</p> - -<p>"Won't you do me the honour, Mrs. Ellis?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, dear me! Oh dear, Jack Grant! But I believe I will. I never thought -of such a thing. But why not? Yes, I will, it will give me great -pleasure. We shall have to lead off, you know. And I was supposed to -lead with Easu, seeing my husband isn't here. But never mind, we'll lead -off, you and I, just as well."</p> - -<p>She rose to her feet briskly, seeming young again. Lately Jack thought -she seemed always to have some trouble on her mind. For the moment she -shook it off.</p> - -<p>As for him, he was panic-stricken. He wished he could ascend into -heaven; or at least as high as the loft.</p> - -<p>"You'll help me through, marm, won't you?" he said. 'This dance is new -to me.'</p> - -<p>And he bowed to her, and she bowed to him, and it was horrible. The -horrible things people did for enjoyment!</p> - -<p>"This dance is new to him," Mrs. Ellis passed over his shoulder to a -pretty girl in pink. "Help him through, Alice."</p> - -<p>Feeling a fool, Jack turned and met a wide smile and a nod. He bowed -confusedly.</p> - -<p>"I'm your corner," said the girl. "I'll pass it on to Monica, she'll be -your vis-à -vis."</p> - -<p>"Pick up partners," Easu was yelling with his domineering voice. "All in -place, please! One more couple! One more couple!" He was at the other -end of the barn, coming forward now, looking around like a general. He -was coming for his Aunt.</p> - -<p>"Ah!" he said, when he saw Mrs. Ellis and Jack. "You're dancing with -Jack Grant, Aunt Jane? Thought he couldn't dance."</p> - -<p>And he straightway turned his back on them, looking for Monica. Monica -was standing with a young man from York.</p> - -<p>"Monica, I want you," said Easu. "You can find a girl there," he said, -nodding from the young fellow to a half-caste girl with fuzzy hair. The -young fellow went white. But Monica crossed over to Easu, for she was a -wicked little thing, and this evening she was hating Jack Grant, the -booby.</p> - -<p>"One more couple not needed," howled Easu. "Top centre. Where are you, -Aunt Jane? Couple from here, lower centre, go to third set on left."</p> - -<p>Easu was standing near the top. He stepped backward, and down came his -heel on Jack's foot. Jack got away, but an angry light came into his -eyes. His face, however, still kept that cherubic expression -characteristic of it, and so ill-fitting his feelings. Easu was staring -over the room, and never even looked round.</p> - -<p>"All in place? Music!" cried the M. C.</p> - -<p>The music started with a crash and a bang, Mrs. Ellis had seized Jack's -arm and was leading him into the middle of the set.</p> - -<p>"Catch hands, Monica," she said.</p> - -<p>He loved Monica's thin, nervous, impulsive hands. His heart went hot as -he held them. But Monica wouldn't look at him. She looked demurely -sideways. But he felt the electric thrill that came to him from her -hands, and he didn't want to let go.</p> - -<p>She loosed his grasp and pushed him from her.</p> - -<p>"Get back to Ma," she whispered. "Corner with Alice."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Lor!" thought Jack. For he was cornered and grabbed and twisted by -the girl with the wide smile, before he was let go to fall into place -beside Ma, panting with a sort of exasperation.</p> - -<p>So it continued, grabbing and twisting and twirling, all perfectly -ridiculous and undignified. Why, oh, why did human beings do it! Yet it -was better than being left out. He was half-pleased with himself.</p> - -<p>Something hard and vicious dug him in the ribs. It was the elbow of -Easu, who passed skipping like a goat.</p> - -<p>Was Easu making a dead set at him? The devil's own anger began to rise -in the boy's heart, bringing up with it all the sullen dare-devil that -was in him. When he was roused, he cared for nothing in earth or heaven. -But his face remained cherubic.</p> - -<p>"Follow!" said a gentle voice. Perhaps it was all a mistake. He found -himself back by Mrs. Ellis, watching other folks prance. There he stood -and mopped his brow, in the hot, hot night. He was wet with sweat all -over. But before he could wipe his face the pink Alice had caught and -twirled him, taking him unawares. He waited alert. Nothing happened. -Actually peace for a few seconds.</p> - -<p>The music stopped. Perhaps it was over. Oh, enjoyment! Why did people do -such things to enjoy themselves? Only he would have liked to hold -Monica's thin, keen hands again. The thin, keen, wild, wistful Monica. -He would like to be near her.</p> - -<p>Easu was bawling something. Figure Number Two. He could not listen to -instructions in Easu's voice.</p> - -<p>They were dancing again, and he knew no more than at first what he was -doing. All a maze. A natural diffidence and a dislike of being touched -by any casual stranger made dancing unpleasant to him. But he kept up. -And suddenly he found himself with Monica folded in his arms, and she -clinging to him with sudden fierce young abandon. His heart stood still, -as he realised that not only did he want to hold her hands—he had -thought it was just that; but he wanted to hold her altogether in his -arms. Terrible and embarrassing thought! He wished himself on the moon, -to escape his new emotions. At the same time there was the instantaneous -pang of disappointment as she broke away from him. Why could she not -have stayed! And why, oh, why were they both doing this beastly -dancing!</p> - -<p>He received a clean clear kick on the shin as he passed Easu. Dazed with -a confusion of feelings, keenest among which perhaps was anger, he -pulled up again beside Ma. And there was Monica suddenly in his arms -again.</p> - -<p>"You always go again," he said in a vague murmur.</p> - -<p>"What did you say?" she asked archly, as she floated from him, just at -the moment when Easu jolted him roughly. Across the little distance she -was watching the hot anger in the boy's confused, dark-blue eyes.</p> - -<p>Another pause. More beastly instructions. Different music. Different -evolutions.</p> - -<p>"Steady, now!" he said to himself, trying to make his way in the new -figure. But what work it was! He tried to keep his brain steady. But Ma -on his arm was heavy as lead.</p> - -<p>And then, with great ease and perfect abandon, in spite of her years, Ma -threw herself on his left bosom and reclined in peace there. He was -overcome. She seemed absolutely to like resting on his bosom.</p> - -<p>"Throw out your right hand, dear boy," she whispered, and before he knew -he had done it, Easu had seized his hand in a big, brutal, bullying -grasp, and was grinding his knuckles. And then sixteen people began to -spin.</p> - -<p>The startled agony of it made a different man of him. For Ma was heavy -as a log on his left side, clinging to him as if she liked to cling to -his body. He never quite forgave her. And Easu had his unprotected right -hand gripped in a vice and was torturing him on purpose with the weight -and the grind. Jack's hands were naturally small, and Easu's were big. -And to be gripped by that great malicious paw was horrible. Oh, the -tension, the pain and rage of that giddy-go-rounding, first forward, -then abruptly backwards. It broke some of his innocence forever.</p> - -<p>But although paralytic with rage when released, Jack's face still looked -innocent and cherubic. He had that sort of face, and that diabolic sort -of stoicism. Mrs. Ellis thought: "What a nice kind boy! but late waking -up to the facts of life!" She thought he had not even noticed Easu's -behaviour. And again she thought to herself, her husband would be -jealous if he saw her. Poor old Jacob! Aloud she said:</p> - -<p>"The next is the last figure. You're doing very well, Jack. You go off -round the ring now, handing the ladies first your right and then your -left hand."</p> - -<p>He felt no desire to hand anybody his hand. But in the middle of the -ring he met Monica, and her slim grasp took his hurt right hand, and -seemed to heal it for a moment.</p> - -<p>Easu grabbed his arm, and he saw three others, suffering fools gladly, -locked arm in arm, playing soldiers, as they called it. Oh, God! Easu, -much taller than Jack, was twisting his arm abominably, almost pulling -it out of the socket. And Jack was saving up his anger.</p> - -<p>It was over. "That was very kind of you, my dear boy," Mrs. Ellis was -saying. "I haven't enjoyed a dance so much for years."</p> - -<p>Enjoyed! That ghastly word! Why would people insist on enjoying -themselves in these awful ways! Why "enjoy" oneself at all? He didn't -see it. He decided he didn't care for enjoyment, it wasn't natural to -him. Too humiliating, for one thing.</p> - -<p>Twenty steps involved in the black skirts of Mrs. Ellis, and he was -politely rid of her. She was very nice. And by some mystery she had -really enjoyed herself in this awful mêlée. He gave it up. She was too -distant in years and experience for him to try to understand her. Did -these people never have living anger, like a bright black snake with -unclosing eyes, at the bottom of their souls? Apparently not.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>There was an interval in the dancing, and they were having games. Red -was of course still bawling out instructions and directions, being the -colonel of the feast. He was in his element, playing top sawyer.</p> - -<p>The next game was to be "Modern Proposals." It sounded rotten to Jack. -Each young man was to make an original proposal to an appointed girl. -Great giggling and squirming even at the mention of it.</p> - -<p>Easu still held the middle of the floor. Jack thought it was time to -butt in. With his hands in his pockets he walked coolly into the middle -of the room.</p> - -<p>"You people don't know me, and I don't know you," he found himself -announcing in his clear English voice. "Supposing I call this game."</p> - -<p>Carried unanimously!</p> - -<p>The young men lined up, and Easu, after standing loose on his legs for -some time just behind Jack, went and sat down somewhat discomfited.</p> - -<p>Jack pushed Tom on to his knees before the prettiest girl in the -room—the prettiest strange girl, anyhow. Tom, furiously embarrassed -on his knees, stammered:</p> - -<p>"I say! There's a considerable pile o' socks wantin' darning in my ol' -camp. I'd go so far as to face the parson, if you'd do 'em for me."</p> - -<p>It was beautifully non-committal. For all the Bushies were at heart -terrified lest they might by accident contract a Scotch marriage, and be -held accountable for it.</p> - -<p>Jack was amused by the odd, humorous expression of the young -bush-farmers. Joe Low, scratching his head funnily, said: "I'll put the -pot on, if you'll cook the stew." But the most approved proposal was -that of a well-to-do young farmer who is now a J. P. and head of a -prosperous family.</p> - -<p>"Me ol' dad an' me ol' lady, they never had no daughters. They gettin' -on well in years, and they kind o' fancy one. I've gotter get 'em one, -quick an' lively. I've fifteen head o' cattle an' seventy-six sheep, -eighteen pigs an' a fallowin' sow. I've got one hundred an' ninety-nine -acres o' cleared land, and ten improved with fruit trees. I've got forty -ducks an' hens an' a flock o' geese an' no one home to feed 'em. Meet me -Sunday mornin' eight-forty sharp at the cross roads, an' I'll be there -in me old sulky to drive y'out an' show y'."</p> - -<p>And the girl in pink with the wide smile, answered seriously:</p> - -<p>"I will if Mother'll let me, Mr. Burton."</p> - -<p>The next girl had been looming up like a big coal-barge. She was a -half-caste, of course named Lily, and she sat aggressively forwards, her -long elbows and wrists much in evidence, and her pleasant swarthy face -alight and eager with anticipation. Oh, these Missioner half-castes!</p> - -<p>Jack ordered Easu forward.</p> - -<p>But Easu was not to be baited. He strode over, put his hand on the fuzzy -head, and said in his strong voice:</p> - -<p>"Hump y'r bluey and come home."</p> - -<p>The laugh was with him, he had won again.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>They went down to the cold collation. There Jack found other arrivals. -Mary had come in via York with Gran's spinster daughters. Also the -Greenlow girls from away back, and they made a great fuss of him. The -doctor too turned up. He had been missing all day, but now he strolled -back and forth, chatting politely first to one and then another, but -vague and washed-out to a degree.</p> - -<p>Jack's anger coiled to rest at the supper, for Monica was very attentive -to him. She sat next to him, found him the best pieces, and shared her -glass with him, in her quick, dangerous, generous fashion, looking up at -him with strange wide looks of offering, so that he felt very manly and -very shy at the same time. But very glad to be near her. He felt that it -was his spell that was upon her, after all, and though he didn't really -like flirting with her there in the public supper room, he loved her -hand finding his under the cover of her sash, and her fingers twining -into his as if she were entering into his body. Safely under the cover -of her silk sash. He would have liked to hold her again, close, close; -her agile, live body, quick as a cat's. She was mysterious to him as -some cat-goddess, and she excited him in a queer electric fashion.</p> - -<p>But soon she was gone again, elusive as a cat. And of course she was in -great request. So Jack found himself talking to the little elderly Mary, -with her dark animal's <i>museau.</i> Mary was like another kind of cat: -not the panther sort, but the quiet, dark, knowing sort. She was -comfortable to talk to, also soft and stimulating.</p> - -<p>Jack and Mary sat on the edge of the barn, in the hot night, looking at -the trees against the strange, ragged southern sky, hearing the frogs -occasionally, and fighting the mosquitoes. Mrs. Ellis also sat on the -ledge not far off. And presently Jack and Mary were joined by the -doctor. Then came Grace and Alec Rice, sitting a little further down, -and talking in low tones. The night seemed full of low, half-mysterious -talking, in a starry darkness that seemed pregnant with the scent and -presence of the black people. Jack often wondered why, in the night, the -country still seemed to belong to the black people, with their strange, -big, liquid eyes.</p> - -<p>Where was Easu? Was he talking to Monica? Or to the black half-caste -Lily? It might as well be the one as the other. The odd way he had -placed his hand on Lily's black fuzzy head, as if he were master, and -she a sort of concubine. She would give him all the submission he -wanted.</p> - -<p>But then, why Monica? Monica in her white, full-skirted frock with its -moulded bodice, her slender, golden-white arms and throat! Why Monica in -the same class with the half-caste Lily?</p> - -<p>Anger against Easu was sharpening Jack's wits, and curiously detaching -him from his surroundings. He listened to the Australian voices and the -Australian accent around him. The careless, slovenly speech in the -uncontrolled, slack, caressive voices. At first he had thought the -accent awful. And it was awful. But gradually, as he got into the rhythm -of the people, he began even to sympathise with "Kytie" instead of -"Katie." There was an abandon in it all—an abandon of restrictions -and confining control. Why have control? Why have authority? Why not let -everybody do as they liked? Why not?</p> - -<p>That was what Australia was for, a careless freedom. An easy, -unrestricted freedom. At least out in the bush. Every man to do as he -liked. Easu to run round with Monica, or with the black Lily, or to kick -Jack's shins in the dance.</p> - -<p>Yes, even this. But Jack had scored it up. He was going to have his own -back on Easu. He thought of Easu with his hand on the black girl's fuzzy -head. That would be just like Easu. And afterwards to want Monica. And -Monica wouldn't really mind about the black girl. Since Easu was Easu.</p> - -<p>Sitting there on the barn ledge, Jack in a vague way understood it all. -And in a vague way tolerated it all. But with a dim yet fecund germ of -revenge in his heart. He was not morally shocked. But he was going to be -revenged. He did not mind Easu's running with a black girl, and -afterwards Monica. Morally he did not mind it. But physically—perhaps -pride of race—he minded. Physically he could never go so far as to -lay his hand on the darky's fuzzy head. His pride of blood was too -intense.</p> - -<p>He had no objection at all to Lily, until it came to actual physical -contact. And then his blood recoiled with old haughtiness and pride of -race. It was bad enough to have to come into contact with a woman of his -own race: to have to give himself away even so far. The other was -impossible.</p> - -<p>And yet he wanted Monica. But he knew she was fooling round with Easu. -So deep in his soul formed the motive of revenge.</p> - -<p>There are times when a flood of realisation and purpose sweeps through a -man. This was one of Jack's times. He was not definitely conscious of -what he realised and of what he purposed. Yet, there it was, resolved in -him.</p> - -<p>He was trying not to hear Dr. Rackett's voice talking to Mary. Even Dr. -Rackett was losing his Oxford drawl, and taking on some of the -Australian ding-dong. But Rackett, like Jack, was absolutely fixed in -his pride of race, no matter what extraneous vice he might have. Jack -had a vague idea it was opium. Some chemical stuff.</p> - -<p>". . . free run of old George's books? I should say it was a doubtful -privilege for a young lady. But you hardly seem to belong to West -Australia. I think England is really your place. Do you actually want to -belong, may I ask?"</p> - -<p>"To Western Australia? To the <i>country</i>, yes, very much. I love the -land, the country life, Dr. Rackett. I don't care for the social life of -a town like Perth. But I should like to live all my life on a farm—in -the bush."</p> - -<p>"Would you now!" said Rackett. "I wonder where you get that idea from. -You are the granddaughter of an earl."</p> - -<p>"Oh, my grandfather is farther away from me than the moon. You would -never know <i>how</i> far!" laughed Mary. "No, I am colonial born and bred. -Though of course there is a fascination about the English. But I hardly -knew Papa. He was a tenth child, so there wasn't much of the earldom -left to him. And then he was a busy A. D. C. to the Governor-General. And -he married quite late in life. And then Mother died when I was little, -and I got passed on to Aunt Matilda. Mother was Australian born. I don't -think there is much English in me."</p> - -<p>Mary said it in a queer complacent way, as if there were some peculiar, -subtle antagonism between England and the colonial, and she was ranged -on the colonial side. As if she were a subtle enemy of the father, the -English father in her.</p> - -<p>"Queer! Queer thing to me!" said Rackett, as if he half felt the -antagonism. For he would never be colonial, not if he lived another -hundred years in Australia. "I suppose," he added, pointing his pipe -stem upwards, "it comes from those unnatural stars up there. I always -feel they are doing something to me."</p> - -<p>"I don't think it's the stars," laughed Mary. "I am just Australian, in -the biggest part of me, that's all."</p> - -<p>Jack could feel in the statement some of the antagonism that burned in -his own heart, against his own country, his own father, his own empty -fate at home.</p> - -<p>"If I'd been born in this country, I'd stick to it," he broke in.</p> - -<p>"But since you weren't born in it, what will you do, Grant?" asked the -doctor ironically.</p> - -<p>"Stick to myself," said Jack stubbornly, rather sulkily.</p> - -<p>"You won't stick to Old England then?" asked Rackett.</p> - -<p>"Seems I'm a misfit in Old England," said Jack. "And I'm not going to -squeeze my feet into tight boots."</p> - -<p>Rackett laughed.</p> - -<p>"Rather go barefoot like Lennie?" he laughed.</p> - -<p>Jack relapsed into silence, and turned a deaf ear, looking into the -alien night of the southern hemisphere. And having turned a deaf ear to -Rackett and Mary, he heard, as if by divination, the low voice of Alec -Rice proposing in real earnest to Grace: proposing in a low, urgent -voice that sounded like a conspiracy.</p> - -<p>He rose to go away. But Mary laid a detaining hand on his arm, as if she -wished to include him in the conversation, and did not wish to be left -alone with Dr. Rackett.</p> - -<p>"Don't you sympathise with me, Jack, for wishing I had been a boy, to -make my own way in the world, and have my own friends, and size things -up for myself?"</p> - -<p>"Seems to me you do size things up for yourself," said Jack rather -crossly. "A great deal more than most <i>men</i> do."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but I can't do things as I could if I were a man."</p> - -<p>"What <i>can</i> a man do, then, more than a woman—that's worth -doing?" asked Rackett.</p> - -<p>"He can see the world, and love as he wishes to love, and work."</p> - -<p>"No man can love as he wishes to love," said Rackett. "He's nearly -always stumped, in the love game."</p> - -<p>"But he can <i>choose!</i>" persisted Mary.</p> - -<p>And Jack with his other ear was hearing Alec Rice's low voice -persisting.</p> - -<p>"Go on, Grace, you're not too young. You're just right. You're just the -ticket now. Go on, let's be engaged and tell your Dad and fix it up. -We're meant for one another, you know we are. Don't you think we're -meant for one another?"</p> - -<p>"I never thought about it that way, truly."</p> - -<p>"But don't you think so now? Yes, you do."</p> - -<p>Silence—the sort that gives consent. And the silence of a young, -spontaneous embrace.</p> - -<p>Jack was on tenterhooks. He wanted to be gone. But Mary was persisting, -in her obstinate voice—he wished she'd shut up too.</p> - -<p>"I wanted to be a sailor at ten, and an explorer at twelve. At nineteen -I wanted to become a painter of wonderful pictures." Jack wished she -wouldn't say all this. "And then I had' a streak of humility, and wanted -to be a gardener. Yet——" she laughed, "not a sort of gardener -such as Aunt Matilda hires. I wanted to grow things and see them come up -out of the earth. And see baby chicks hatched, and calves and lambs -born."</p> - -<p>She had lifted her hand from Jack's sleeve, to his relief.</p> - -<p>"And marry a farmer like Tom," he said roughly. Mary received this with -dead silence.</p> - -<p>"And drudge your soul away like Mrs. Ellis," said Rackett. "Worn out -before your time, between babies and heavy housework. Groping on the -earth all your life, grinding yourself into ugliness at work which some -animal of a servant-lass would do with half the effort. Don't you think -of it, Miss Mary. Let the servant-lasses marry the farmers. You've got -too much in you. Don't go and have what you've got in you trampled out -of you by marrying some cocky farmer. Tom's as good as gold, but he -wants a brawny lass of his own sort for a wife. You be careful, Miss -Mary. Women can find themselves in ugly harness, out here in these -god-forsaken colonies. Worse harness than any you've ever kicked -against."</p> - -<p>Monica seemed to have scented the tense atmosphere under the barn, for -she appeared like a young witch, in a whirlwind.</p> - -<p>"Hullo, Mary! Hullo, Dr. Rackett! It's just on midnight." And she -flitted over to Grace. "Just on midnight, Grace and Alec. Are you -coming? You seem as if you were fixed here."</p> - -<p>"We're not fixed on the spot, but we're fixed up all right, otherwise," -said Alec, in a slight tone of resentment, as he rose from Grace's side.</p> - -<p>"Oh, have you and Grace fixed it up!" exclaimed Monica, with a false -vagueness and innocence. "I'm awfully glad. I'm awfully glad, Grace."</p> - -<p>"I am," said Grace, with a faint touch of resentment, and she rose and -took Alec's arm.</p> - -<p>They were already like a married couple armed against that witch. Had -she been flirting with Alec, and then pushed him over on to Grace? Jack -sensed it with the sixth sense which divines these matters.</p> - -<p>Monica appeared at his side.</p> - -<p>"It's just twelve. Come and hold my hand in the ring. Mary can hold your -other hand. Come on! Come on, Alec, as well. I don't want any strangers -next to me to-night."</p> - -<p>Jack smiled sardonically to himself as she impulsively caught hold of -his hand. Monica was "a circumstance over which we have no control," -Lennie said. Jack felt that he had a certain control.</p> - -<p>They all took hands as she directed, and moved into the barn to link up -with the rest of the chain. There in the soft light of the big chamber, -Easu suddenly appeared, without collar or cravat, his hair ruffled, his -white suit considerably creased. But he lurched up in his usual -aggressive way, with his assertive good humour, demanding to break in -between Jack and Monica. Jack held on, and Monica said:</p> - -<p>"You mustn't break in, you know it makes enemies."</p> - -<p>"Does it!" grinned Easu. And with sardonic good humour he lurched away -to an unjoined part of the ring. He carried about with him a sense of -hostile power. But Jack was learning to keep within himself another sort -of power, small and concentrated and fixed like a stone, the sort of -power that ultimately would break through the bulk of Easu's -domineering.</p> - -<p>The ring complete at last, they all began to sing: "Cheer, Boys, Cheer!" -and "God Bless the Prince of Wales, John Brown's Body," and "Britons, -Never, Never, Never."</p> - -<p>Then Easu bawled: "Midnight!" There was a moment's frightened pause. Joe -Low blasted on the cornet, his toe beating time madly all the while. -Fiddles, whistles, concertinas, Jew's harps raggedly began to try out -the tune. The clasped hands began to rock, and taking Easu's shouting -lead, they all began to sing, in the ring:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An' never brought to min'?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Should auld acquaintance be forgot,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And days of auld lang syne?</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For auld lang syne, my dear,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For auld lang syne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For days of auld lang syne."</span></p> - - -<p>They all sang heartily and with feeling. There was a queer Scottish tang -in the colony, that made the Scottish emotion dominant. Jack disliked -it. There was no auld acquaintance, or auld lang syne, at least for him. -And he didn't care for these particular cups of kindness, in one ring -with Easu, black Lily, Dr. Rackett and Monica, and all. He didn't like -the chain of emotion and supposed pathetic clanship. It was worse here -even than on shipboard.</p> - -<p>Why start the New Year like this? As a matter of fact he wanted to -forget most of his own Auld Acquaintance, and start something a little -different. And any rate, the emotion was spurious, the chain was -artificial, the flow was false.</p> - -<p>Monica seemed to take a wicked pleasure in it, and sang more emotionally -than anybody, in a sweet but smallish voice. And poor little Mary, with -her half-audible murmur, had her eyes full of tears and seemed so moved.</p> - -<p>Auld lang syne!</p> - -<p>Old Long Since.</p> - -<p>Why not put it in plain English?</p> - - - - -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>The celebration did not end with Auld Lang Syne. By half-past two most -of the ladies had retired, though some ardent dancers still footed the -floor, and a chaperone or two, like crumpled rag-bags, slept on their -boxes. A good number of young men and boys were asleep with Herbert on -the sacks, handkerchiefs knotted round their throats in place of -collars. The concertina, the cornet, the fiddles and the rest of the -band had gone down to demolish the remains of the cold collation, whilst -Tom, Ross, and Ned sat on the barn step singing as uproariously as they -could, though a little hoarse, for the last dancers to dance to. Someone -was whistling very sweetly.</p> - -<p>Where was Easu? Jack wondered as he wandered aimlessly out into the -night. Where was Easu? For Jack had it on his mind that he ought to -fight him. Felt he would be a coward if he didn't tackle him this very -night.</p> - -<p>But it was three o'clock, the night was very still and rich, still warm, -rather close, but not oppressive. The strange heaviness of the hot -summer night, with the stars thick in clouds and clusters overhead, the -moon being gone. Jack strayed aimlessly through the motionless, dark, -warm air, till he came to the paddock gate, and there he leaned with his -chin on his arms, half asleep. It seemed to be growing cooler, and a -dampness was bringing out the scent of the scorched grass, the essence -of the earth, like incense. There was a half-wild bush with a few pale -pink roses near the gate. He could just get their fragrance. If it were -as it should be, Monica would be here, in one of her wistful, her -fiercely wistful moments! When she looked at him with her yellow eyes -and her fierce, naive look of yearning, he was ready to give all his -blood to her. If things were as they should be, she would be clinging to -him now like that, and nestling against his breast. If things were as -they should be!</p> - -<p>He didn't want to go to sleep. He wanted what he wanted. He wanted the -night, the young, changeable, yearning Monica, and an answer to his own -awake young blood. He insisted on it. He would not go to sleep, he would -insist on an answer. And he wanted to fight Easu. He ought to fight -Easu. His manhood depended on it.</p> - -<p>He could hear the cattle stirring down the meadow. Soon it would begin -to be day. What was it now? It was night, dark night towards morning, -with a faint breathing of air from the sea. And where was he? He was in -Australia, leaning on the paddock gate and seeing the stars and the dim -shape of the gum-tree. There was a faint scent of eucalyptus in the -night. His mother was far away. England was far away. He was alone there -leaning on the paddock gate, in Australia.</p> - -<p>After all, perhaps the very best thing was to be alone. Better even than -having Monica or fighting Easu. Because where you are alone you are at -one with your own God. The spirit in you is God in you. And when you are -alone you are one with the spirit of God inside you. Other people are -chiefly an interruption.</p> - -<p>And moreover, he could never say he was lonely while he was at Wandoo, -while there were Tom and Lennie, and Monica, and all the rest. He hoped -he would have them all his life. He hoped he would never, in all his -life, say good-bye to them.</p> - -<p>No, he would take up land as near this homestead as possible and build a -brick house on it. And he would have a number of fine horses, better -than anyone else's, and some sheep that would pay, and a few cows. -Always milk and butter with the wheat-meal damper.</p> - -<p>What was that? Only a more-pork. He laid his head on his arms again, on -the gate. He wanted a place of his own, now. He would have it now if he -had any money. And marry Monica. Would he marry Monica? Would he marry -anybody? He much preferred the whole family. But he wanted a place of -his own. If he could hurry up his father. And old Mr. George. He might -persuade Mr. George to be on his side. Why was there never any money? No -money! A father ought to have some money for a son.</p> - -<p>What was that? He saw a dim white figure stealing across the near -distance. Pah! must have been a girl sitting out under the photosphorum -tree. When he had thought he was quite alone.</p> - -<p>The thought upset him. And he ought to find Easu. Obstinately he -insisted to himself that he ought to find Easu.</p> - -<p>He drifted towards the shed near the cubby, where Mr. Ellis kept the -tools. Somebody unknown and unauthorised had put a barrel of beer inside -the shed. Men were there drinking, as he knew they would be.</p> - -<p>"Have a pot, youngster?"</p> - -<p>"Thanks."</p> - -<p>He sat down on a case beside the door, and drank the rather warm beer. -His head began to drop. He knew he was almost asleep.</p> - -<p>Easu loomed up from the dark, coatless, hatless, with his shirt front -open, asking for a drink. He was thirsty. Easu was thirsty. How could -you be angry with a thirsty man! And he wasn't so bad after all. No, -Easu wasn't so bad after all! What did it matter! What did it all -matter, anyhow?</p> - -<p>Jack slipped to the ground and lay there fast asleep.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h4> - -<h4>SHADOWS BEFORE</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>But in the morning memory was back, and the unquenched smouldering of -passion. Easu had insulted him. Easu had insulted him, and that should -never be forgiven. And he had this new, half painful, more than half -painful desire to see Monica, to be near her, to touch her hand; a sort -of necessity upon him all the while which he was not used to. It made -him restless, uneasy, and for the first time in his life, a little -melancholy. He was used to feeling angry: a steady, almost blithe sort -of anger. And beyond that he had always been able to summon up an -indifference to things, cover them with oblivion: to retreat upon -himself and insulate himself from contact.</p> - -<p>Now he could no longer do this, and it fretted him, made him accessible -to melancholy. The hot, hot January days, all dry flaming heat, and -flies, and mosquitoes, passed over him leaving him strange even to -himself. There was work, the drudging work of the farm, all the while. -And one just sweated. He learned to submit to it, to the sweating all -the time during the day, and the mosquitoes at night. It was like a -narcotic. The old, English alertness grew darker and darker. He seemed -to be moving, a dim consciousness and an unyielding will, in a dark -cloud of heat, in a perspiring, dissolving body. He could feel his body, -the English cool body of his being, slowly melting down and being -invaded by a new tropical quality. Sometimes, he said to himself, he was -sweating his soul away. That was how it felt: as if he were sweating his -soul away. And he let his soul go, let it slowly melt away out of his -wet, hot body.</p> - -<p>Any man who has been in the tropics, unless he has kept all his mind and -his consciousness focussed homewards, fixed towards the old people of -home, will know how this feels. Now Jack did not turn homewards, back to -England. He never wanted to go back. There was in him a slow, abiding -anger against this same "home." Therefore he let himself go down the -dark tide of the heat. He did not cling on to his old English soul, the -soul of an English gentleman. He let that dissolve out of him, leaving -what residuum of a man it might leave. But out of very obstinacy he hung -on to his own integrity: a small, dark, obscure integrity.</p> - -<p>Usually he was too busy perspiring, panting, and working to think about -anything. His mind also seemed dissolving away in perspiration and in -the curious eucalyptus solvent of the Australian air. He was too busy -and too much heat-oppressed even to think of Monica or of Easu, though -Monica was a live wire in his body. Only on Sundays he seemed to come -half out of his trance. And then everything went queer and strange, a -little uncanny.</p> - -<p>Dad was back again for the harvest, but his heart was no better, and a -queer frightening cloud seemed over him. And Gran, they said, was -failing. Somehow Gran was the presiding deity of the house. Her queer -spirit controlled, even now. And she was failing. She adored Lennie, but -he was afraid of her.</p> - -<p>"Gran's the limit," he asserted. "She's that wilful. Always the same -with them women when they gets well on in years. I clear out from her if -I can, she's that obstropulous—tells y't'wipe y'nose, pull up -y'pants, brush y'teeth, not sniff: golly, I can't stand it!"</p> - -<p>Sunday was the day when you really came into contact with the family. -The rule was, that each one took it in turns to get up and make -breakfast, while everybody else stayed on in bed, for a much-needed -rest. If it was your turn, you rolled out of bed at dawn when Timothy -banged on the wall, you slipped on your shirt and pants and went to the -"everlasting" fire. Raking the ashes together with a handful of sticks, -you blew a blaze and once more smelt the burning eucalyptus leaves. You -filled the black iron kettle at the pump, and set it over the flame. -Then you washed yourself. After which you carved bread and butter: tiny -bits for Gran, moderate pieces for upstairs, and doorsteps for the cubby. -After which you made the tea, and <i>holloa'd!</i> while you poured it -out. One of the girls, with a coat over her nighty and her hair in a -chignon, would come barefoot to carry the trays, to Gran and to the -upstairs. This was just the preliminary breakfast: the Sunday morning -luxury. Just tea in bed.</p> - -<p>Later the boys were shouting for clean shirts and towels, and the women -were up. Proceeded the hair-cutting, nail-paring, button-sewing, and -general murmur, all under the supervision of Ma. Then down to the -sand-bagged pool for a dip. After which, clean and in clean raiment, you -went to the parlour to hear Dad read the lessons.</p> - -<p>The family Bible was carefully kept warm in the parlour, during the -week, under a woollen crochet mat. A crochet mat above, and a crochet -mat below. Nothing must ever stand on that book, nothing whatever. The -children were quite superstitious about it.</p> - -<p>Lennie, the Benjamin of his father Jacob, each Sunday went importantly -into the drawing-room, in a semi-religious silence, and fetched the -ponderous brass-bound book. He put it on the table in front of Dad. Gran -came in with her stick and her lace cap, and sat in the arm-chair near -the window. Mrs. Ellis and the children folded their hands like saints. -Mr. Ellis wiped his spectacles, cleared his throat, looked again at the -little church calendar of the lessons, found the place, and proceeded in -a droning voice. Nobody looked at him, except Mrs. Ellis. Everybody -looked another way. Gran usually gazed sideways at the floor. Tick, -tock! went the clock. It was a little eternity.</p> - -<p>Jack knew the Bible pretty well, as a well-brought-up nephew of his -Aunts. He had no objection to the Bible. On the contrary it supplied his -imagination with a chief stock of images, his ear with the greatest -solemn pleasure of words, and his soul with a queer heterogeneous ethic. -He never really connected the Bible with Christianity proper, the -Christianity of Aunts and clergymen. He had no use for Christianity -proper: just dismissed it. But the Bible was perhaps the foundation of -his consciousness. Do what seems good to you in the sight of the Lord. -This was the moral he always drew from Bible lore. And since the Lord, -for him, was always the Lord Almighty, Almighty God, Maker of Heaven and -Earth, Jesus being only a side-issue; since the Lord was always Jehovah -the great and dark, for him, one might do as David did, in the sight of -the Lord, or as Jacob, or as Abraham or Moses or Joshua or Isaiah, in -the sight of the Lord. The sight of the Lord was a vast strange scope of -vision, in the semi-dark.</p> - -<p>Gran always listened the same, leaning on her stick and looking sideways -to the ground, as if she did not quite see the stout and purple-faced -Jacob, her son, as the mouthpiece of the Word. As a matter of fact, the -way he read Scripture irritated her. She wished Lennie could have read -the lessons. But Dad was head of the house, and she was fond of him, -poor old Jacob.</p> - -<p>And Jack always furtively watched Gran. She frightened him, and he had a -little horror of her: but she fascinated him too. She was like Monica, -at the great distance of her years. Her lace cap was snowy white, with -little lavender ribbons. Her face was pure ivory, with fine-shaped -features, that subtly arched nose, like Monica's. Her silver hair came -over her dead-looking ears. And her dry, shiny, blue-veined hand -remained fixed over the pommel of her black stick. How awful, how -unspeakably awful, Jack felt, to be so old! No longer human. And she -seemed so little inside her clothes. And one never knew what she was -thinking. But surely some strange, uncanny, dim non-human thoughts.</p> - -<p>Sunday was full of strange, half-painful impressions of death and of -life. After lessons the boys would escape to the yards, and the stables, -and lounge about. Or they would try the horses, or take a gun into the -uncleared bush. Then came the enormous Sunday dinner, when everyone ate -himself stupid.</p> - -<p>In the afternoon Tom and Jack wandered to the loft, to the old -concertina. Up there among the hay, they squeezed and pulled the old -instrument, till at last, after much practice, they could draw forth -tortured hymnal sounds from its protesting internals.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Ha-a-appy Ho-ome! Ha-appy Ho-ome!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oh Haa-py Ho-me! Oh Haa-py Ho-me!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In Paradise with thee!"</span></p> - - -<p>Over and over again the same tune, till Tom would drop off to sleep, and -Jack would have a go at it. And this yearning sort of hymn always sent a -chill to his bowels. They were like Gran, on the brink of the grave. In -fact the word Paradise made him shudder worse than the word coffin. Yet -he would grind away at the tune. Till he too fell asleep.</p> - -<p>And then they would wake in the heat to the silence of the suspended, -fiercely hot afternoon. Only to feel their own sweat trickling, and to -hear the horses, the draft-horses which were in stable for the day, -chop-chopping underneath. So, in spite of sweat and heat, another go at -the fascinating concertina.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>One Sunday Jack strolled in an hour early for tea. He had made a -mistake, as one does sometimes when one sleeps in the afternoon. Gran -was sitting by a little fire in the dark living room. She had to have a -little fire to look at. It was like life to her.</p> - -<p>"Come here, Jack Grant," she said in her thin, imperious voice. He went -on reluctant feet, for he had a dread of her years and her strange -femaleness. What did she want of him?</p> - -<p>"Did y'hear Mr. George get my son to promise to make a will, when y'were -in Perth?"</p> - -<p>"No, marm," said Jack promptly.</p> - -<p>"Well, take it from me, if he promised, he hasn't done it. He never -signed a paper in his life, unless it was his marriage register. And but -for my driving, he'd never have signed that. Sit down!"</p> - -<p>Jack sat on the edge of a chair, his heart in his boots.</p> - -<p>"I told you before I'd ha' married your grandfather, if he hadn't been -married already. I wonder where you'd ha' been then! Just as well I -didn't, for he wouldn't look at me after he took my leg off. Just come -here a minute."</p> - -<p>Jack got up and went to her side. She put her soft, dry, dead old hand -on his face and stroked it, pressing on the cheekbones.</p> - -<p>"Ay," she said. "I suppose those are his bones again. And my bones are -in Monica. Don't stand up, lad, take your seat."</p> - -<p>Jack sat down in extreme discomfort.</p> - -<p>"Well," she resumed, "I was very well off with old Ellis, so I won't -complain. But you've got your English father's eyes. You'd have been -better with mine. Those bones, those beautiful bones, and my sort of -eyes."</p> - -<p>Gran's eyes were queer and remote now. But they had been perhaps like -Monica's, only a darker grey, and with a darker, subtler cat look in -them.</p> - -<p>"I suppose it will be in the children's children," she resumed, her eyes -going out like a candle. "For I married old Ellis, though to this day I -never quite believe it. And one thing I do know. I won't die in the -dying room of his house. I won't do it, not if it was the custom of a -hundred families. Not if he was here himself to see me do it. I -wouldn't. Though he was kindness itself. But not if he was here himself, -and had the satisfaction of seeing me do it. A dreadful room! I'd be -frightened to death to die in it. I like me sheets sun-kissed, heat or -no heat, and no sun ever gets into that room. But it's better for a -woman to marry, even if she marries the wrong man. I allus said so. An -old maid, especially a decayed gentlewoman, is a blight on the face of -the earth."</p> - -<p>"Why?" said Jack suddenly. The old woman was too authoritative.</p> - -<p>"That's why! What do you know about it," she said contemptuously.</p> - -<p>"I knew a nice old lady in England, who'd never been married," he said, -thinking of a really beautiful, gentle woman, Who had kept all her -perfume and her charm, in spite of her fifty-odd years of single -blessedness. But then she had a naturally deep and religious nature, not -like this pagan old cat of a Gran.</p> - -<p>"<i>Did</i> you!" said Gran, eying him severely. "What do <i>you</i> -know at your age? I've got three unmarried daughters, and I'm ashamed of -them. If I'd married your grandfather I never should have had them. -Self-centred, and old as old boots, they are. I'd rather they'd gone wrong -and died in the bush, like your Aunt who had a child by Mary's father."</p> - -<p>Jack made round, English eyes of amazement at this speech. He -disapproved thoroughly.</p> - -<p>"You've got too much of your English father in you," she said, "and not -enough of your hard-hearted grandfather. Look at Lennie, what a -beautiful boy he is."</p> - -<p>There was a pause. Jack sat in a torment while she baited him. He was -full of antagonism towards her and her years.</p> - -<p>"But I tell you, you never realise you're old till you see your friends -slipping away. One by one they go—over the border. <i>That's</i> what -makes you feel old. I tell you. Nothing else. Annie Brockman died the other -day. I was at school with her. She wasn't old, though <i>you'd</i> have -thought so."</p> - -<p>The way Gran said this was quite spiteful. And Jack thought to himself: -"What nonsense, she was old if she was at school with Gran. If she was -as old as Gran, she was awfully old."</p> - -<p>"No, she wasn't old—school girls and fellows laughing in the ball -room, or breathing fast after a hard ride. You didn't know Sydney in those -days. And men grown old behind their beards for want of understanding; -because they're too dense to understand what living means. Men are -dense. Are ye listening?"</p> - -<p>The question came with such queer aged force that Jack started almost -out of his chair.</p> - -<p>"Yes, marm," he said.</p> - -<p>"'Yes marm!' he says!" she repeated, with a queer little grin of -amusement. "Listen to this grandfather's chit saying 'Yes marm!' to me! -Well, they'll have their way. My friends are nearly all gone, so I -suppose I shall soon be going. Not but what there's plenty of amusement -here."</p> - -<p>She looked round in an odd way, as if she saw ghosts. Jack would have -given his skin to escape her.</p> - -<p>"Listen," she said with sudden secrecy. "I want ye to do something for -me. You love Lennie, don't ye?"</p> - -<p>Jack nodded.</p> - -<p>"So do I! I'm going to help him." Her voice became sharp with secrecy. -"I've put by a stocking for him," she hissed. "At least it's not a -stocking, it's a tin box, but it's the same thing. It's up there!" She -pointed with her stick at the wide black chimney. "D'ye understand?"</p> - -<p>She eyed Jack with aged keenness, and he nodded, though his -understanding was rather vague. Truth to tell, nothing she said seemed -to him quite real. As if, poor Gran, her age put her outside of reason.</p> - -<p>"That stocking is for Lennie. Tom's mother was nobody knows who, though -I'm not going to say Jacob never married her, if Jack says he did. But -Tom'll get everything. The same as Jacob did. That's how it hits back at -me. I wanted Jacob to have the place, and now it goes to Tom, and my -little Lennie gets nothing. Alice has been a good woman, and a good wife -to Jacob: better than he deserved. I'm going to stand by her. That -stocking in there is for Lennie because he's her eldest son. In a tin -box. Y'understand?"</p> - -<p>And she pointed again at the chimney.</p> - -<p>Jack nodded, though he didn't really take it in. He had a little horror -of Gran at all times; but when she took on this witch-like -portentousness, and whispered at him in a sharp, aged whisper, about -money, hidden money, it all seemed so abnormal to him that he refused to -take it for real. The queer, aged, female spirit that had schemed with -money for the menfolk she chose, scheming to oust those she had not -elected, was so strange and half-ghoulish, that he merely shrank from -taking it in. When she pointed with her white-headed stick at the wide -black mouth of the chimney, he glanced and looked quickly away again. He -did not want to think of a hoard of sovereigns in a stocking—or a tin -box—secreted in there. He did not want to think of the subtle, -scheming, vindictive old woman reaching up into the soot, to add more -gold to the hoard. It was all unnatural to him and to his generation.</p> - -<p>But Gran despised him and his generation. It was as unreal to her as -hers to him.</p> - -<p>"Old George couldn't even persuade that Jacob of mine to sign a marriage -settlement," she continued. "And I wasn't going to force him. Would you -believe a man could be such an obstinate fool?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, marm," said Jack automatically.</p> - -<p>And Gran stamped her stick at him in sudden vicious rage.</p> - -<p>The stamping of the stick brought Grace, and he fled.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>That evening they were all sitting in the garden. The drawing room was -thrown open, as usual on Sunday, but nobody even went in except to strum -the piano. Monica was strumming hymns now. Grace came along calling -Mary. Mary was staying on at Wandoo.</p> - -<p>"Mary, Gran wants you. She feels faint. Come and see to her, will -you?"</p> - -<p>Ellie came and slipped her fat little hand into Jack's, hanging on to -him. Katie and Lennie sat surreptitiously playing cats'-cradle, on the -steps: forbidden act, on the Sabbath. The twin boys wriggled their backs -against the gate-posts and their toes into the earth, asking each other -riddles. Harry as usual aimed stones at birds. It was a close evening, -the wind had not come. And they all were uneasy, with that uncanny -uneasiness that attacks families, because Gran was not well.</p> - -<p>Harry was singing profanely, profaning the Sabbath.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"A blue jay sat on a hickory limb,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He wink at me, I wink at him.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I up with a stone, an' hit him on the shin.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Says he, Little Nigger, don' do that agin!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Clar de kitchen, ol' folk, young folk!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oar de kitchen, ol' folk, young folk!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An' let us dance till dawn O."</span></p> - - -<p>Harry shouted out these wicked words half loud to a tune of his own that -was no tune.</p> - -<p>Jack did not speak. The sense of evening, Sunday evening, far away from -any church or bell, was strong upon him. The sun was slow in the sky, -and the light intensely strong, all fine gold. He went out to look. The -sunlight flooded the dry, dry earth till it glowed again, and the -gum-trees that stood up hung tresses of liquid shadow from trunks of -gold, and the buildings seemed to melt blue in the vision of light. -Someone was riding in from westward, and a cloud of pure gold-dust rose -fuming from the earth about the horse and the horseman, with a vast, -overwhelming gold glow of the void heavens above. The whole west was so -powerful with pure gold light, coming from immense space and the sea, -that it seemed like a transfiguration, and another horseman rode fuming -in a dust of light as if he were coming, small and Daniel-like, out of -the vast furnace-mouth of creation. Jack looked west, into the welter of -yellow light, in fear. He knew again, as he had known before, that his -day was not the day of all the world, there was a huger sunset than the -sunset of his race. There were vaster, more unspeakable gods than the -gods of his fathers. The god in this yellow fire was huger than the -white men could understand, and seemed to proclaim their doom.</p> - -<p>Out of this immense power of the glory seemed to come a proclamation of -doom. Lesser glories must crumble to powder in this greater glow, as the -horsemen rode trotting in the glorified cloud of the earth, spuming a -glory all round them. They seemed like messengers out of the great West, -coming with a proclamation of doom, the small, trotting, aureoled -figures kicking tip dust like sun-dust, and gradually growing larger, -hardening out of the sea of light. Like sun-arrivals.</p> - -<p>Though after all it was only Alec Rice and Tom. But they were gilded -men, dusty and sun-luminous, as they came into the yard, with their -brown faces strangely vague in shadow, unreal.</p> - -<p>The sun was setting, huge and liquid, and sliding down at immense speed -behind the far-off molten, wavering, long ridge towards the coast. -Fearsome the great liquid sun was, stooping fiercely down like an enemy -stooping to hide his glory, leaving the sky hovering and pulsing above, -with a sense of wings, and a sense of proclamation, and of doom. It -seemed to say to Jack: I and my race are doomed. But even the doom is a -splendour.</p> - -<p>Shadow lay very thin on the earth, pale as day, though the sun was gone. -Jack turned back to the house. The tiny twins were staggering home to -find their supper, their hands in the pockets of their Sunday breeches. -The pockets of everyday breeches were, for some mysterious reason, -always sewn up, so Sunday alone knew this swagger. Harry was being -called in to bed. And Len and Katie, rarely far off at meal times, were -converging towards supper too.</p> - -<p>Monica was still drumming listlessly on the piano, and singing in a -little voice. She had a very sweet voice, but she usually sang "small." -She was not singing a hymn, Jack became aware of this. She was singing, -rather nervously, or irritably, and with her own queer yearning pathos:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Oh Jane, Oh Jane, my pretty Jane, Oh Jane,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ah never, never look so shy.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But meet me, meet me in the moonlight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When the dew is on the rye."</span></p> - - -<p>Someone had lighted the piano candles, and she sat there strumming and -singing in a little voice, and looking queer and lonely. His heart went -hot in his breast, and then started pounding. He crossed silently, and -stood just behind her. For some moments she would not notice him, but -went on singing the same. And he stood perfectly still close behind her. -Then at last she glanced upward at him, and his heart stood still again -with the same sense of doom the sun had given him. She still went on -singing for a few moments. Then she stopped abruptly, and jerked her -hand from the piano.</p> - -<p>"Don't you want to sing?" she asked sharply.</p> - -<p>"Not particularly."</p> - -<p>"What do you want then?"</p> - -<p>"Let us go out."</p> - -<p>She looked at him strangely, then rose in her abrupt fashion. She -followed him across the yard in silence, while he felt the curious sense -of doom settling down on him.</p> - -<p>He sat down on the step of the back-door of the barn, outside, looking -southward into the vast, rapidly darkening country, and glanced up at -her. She, rather petulantly, sat down beside him. He felt for her cool -slip of a hand, and she let it lie in his hot one. But she averted her -face.</p> - -<p>"Why don't you like me?" she asked petulantly.</p> - -<p>"But I love you," he said thickly, with shame and the sense of doom -piercing his heart.</p> - -<p>She turned swiftly and stared him in the face with a brilliant, oddly -triumphant look.</p> - -<p>"Sure?" she said.</p> - -<p>His heart seemed to go black with doom. But he turned away his face from -her glowing eyes, and put his arm round her waist, and drew her to him. -His whole body was trembling like a taut string, and she could feel the -painful plunging of his heart as he pressed her fast against him, -pressed the breath out of her.</p> - -<p>"Monica!" he murmured blindly, in pain, like a man who is in the -dark.</p> - -<p>"What?" she said softly.</p> - -<p>He hid his face against her shoulder, in the shame and anguish of -desire. He would have given anything, if this need never have come upon -him. But the strange fine quivering of his body thrilled her. She put -her cheek down caressingly against his hair. She could be very tender, -very, very tender and caressing. And he grew quieter.</p> - -<p>He looked up at the night again, hot with pain and doom and necessity. -It had grown quite dark, the stars were out.</p> - -<p>"I suppose we shall have to be married," he said in a dismal voice.</p> - -<p>"Why?" she laughed. It seemed a very sudden and long stride to her. He -had not even kissed her.</p> - -<p>But he did not answer, did not even hear her question. She watched his -fine young face in the dark, looking sullen and doomed at the stars.</p> - -<p>"Kiss me!" she whispered, in the most secret whisper he had ever heard. -"Kiss me!"</p> - -<p>He turned, in the same battle of unwillingness. But as if magnetised he -put forward his face and kissed her on the mouth: the first kiss of his -life. And she seemed to hold him. And the fierce, fiery pain of pleasure -which came with that kiss sent his soul rebelling in torment to hell. He -had never wanted to be given up, to be broken by the black hands of this -doom. But broken he was, and his soul seemed to be leaving him, in the -pain and obsession of this desire, against which he struggled so -fiercely.</p> - -<p>She seemed to be pleased, to be laughing. And she was exquisitely sweet -to him. How could he be otherwise than caught, and broken.</p> - -<p>After an hour of this love-making she blackened him again, by saying -they must go in to supper. But she meant it, so in he had to go.</p> - -<p>Only when he was alone again in the cubby did he resume the fight to -recover himself from her again. To be free as he had been before. Not to -be under the torment of the spell of this desire. To preserve himself -intact. To preserve himself from her.</p> - -<p>He lay awake in his bed in the cubby and thanked God he was away from -her. Thanked God he was alone, with a sufficient space of loneliness -around him. Thanked God he was immune from her, that he could sleep in -the sanctity of his own isolation. He didn't want even to think about -her.</p> - - - - -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>Gran did not leave her room that week, and Tom talked of fetching the -relations.</p> - -<p>"What for?" asked Jack.</p> - -<p>"They'd like to be present," said Tom.</p> - -<p>Jack felt incredulous.</p> - -<p>Lennie came out of her room, sniffing and wiping his eyes with his -knuckles.</p> - -<p>"Poor ol' girl!" he sniffed. "She do look frail. She's almost like a -little girl again."</p> - -<p>"You don't think she's dying, do you, Len?" asked Jack.</p> - -<p>"I don't <i>think</i>, I knows," replied Len, with utmost scorn. -"Sooner, or later she's bound to go hence and be no more seen. But she'll -be missed, for many a day, she will."</p> - -<p>"But Tom," said Jack. "Do you think Gran will like to have all the -relations sniffling round her when she gets worse?"</p> - -<p>"I should think so," replied Tom. "Anyway, <i>I</i> should like to die -respectable, whether you would or not."</p> - -<p>Jack gave it up. Some things were beyond him, and dying respectable was -one of them.</p> - -<p>"Like they do in books," said Len, seeing that Jack disapproved, and -trying to justify Tom's position. "Even ol' Nelson died proper. 'Kiss -me, 'Ardy,' he said, an' 'Ardy kissed him, grubby and filthy as he was. -He could do no less, though it was beastly."</p> - -<p>Still the boys were not sent for the relations until the following -Sunday, which was a rest day. Jack went to the Gum Valley Homestead, -because he knew the way. He set off before dawn. The terrific heat of -the New Year had already passed, and the dawn came fresh and lovely. He -was happy on that ride, Gran or no Gran. And that's what he thought -would be the happiest: always to ride on at dawn, in a nearly virgin -country. Always to be riding away.</p> - -<p>The Greenlows seemed to expect him. They had been "warned." After he had -been refreshed with a good breakfast, they were ready to start, in the -buggy. Jack rode in the buggy with them, his saddle under his seat and -the neck-rope of the horse in his hand. The hack ran behind, and nearly -jerked Jack's arms out of their sockets, with its halts and its -disinclination to trot. Almost it hauled him out of the buggy sometimes. -He would much rather have ridden the animal, but he had been requested -to take the buggy, to spare it.</p> - -<p>Mr. and Mrs. Greenlow scarcely spoke on the journey; it would not have -been "showing sorrow." But Jack felt they were enjoying themselves -immensely, driving in this morning air instead of being cooped up in the -house, she cooking and he with the Holy Book. The sun grew furiously -hot. But Gum Valley Croft was seven miles nearer to Wandoo than the -Ellis' Gum Tree Selection, so they drove into the yard, wet with -perspiration, just before the mid-day meal was put on to the table. Mrs. -Ellis, aproned and bare-armed, greeted them as they drove up, calling -out that they should go right in, and Jack should take the horses out of -the buggy.</p> - -<p>Quite a number of strange hacks were tethered here and there in the -yard, near odd, empty vehicles, sulkies dejectedly leaning forward on -empty shafts, or buggies and wagonettes sturdily important on four -wheels. Yet the place seemed strangely quiet.</p> - -<p>Jack came back to the narrow verandah outside the parlour door, where -Mrs. Ellis had her fuchsias, ferns, cyclamens and musk growing in pots. -A table had been set there, and dinner was in progress, the girls coming -round from the kitchen with the dishes. Grace saw Jack hesitate, so she -nodded to him. He went to the kitchen and asked doubtfully:</p> - -<p>"How is she?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, bad! Poor old dear. They're all in there to say goodbye."</p> - -<p>Lennie, who was sitting on the floor under the kitchen window, put his -head down on his arms and sobbed from a sort of nervousness, wailing:</p> - -<p>"Oh, my poor ol' Gran! Oh, poor ol' dear!"</p> - -<p>Jack, though upset, almost grinned. Poor Gran indeed, with that ghastly -swarm of relations. He sat there on a chair, his nerves all on edge, -noticing little things acutely, as he always did when he was strung up: -the flies standing motionless on the chopping-block just outside the -window, the smooth-tramped gravel walk, the curious surface of the mud -floor in the kitchen, the smoky rafters overhead, the oven set in brick -below the "everlasting" fire, the blackness of the pots and kettles -above the horizontal bars ...</p> - -<p>"Do you mind sitting in the parlour, Jack, in case they want anything?" -Mrs. Ellis asked him.</p> - -<p>Jack minded, but he went and sat in the parlour, like a chief lackey, or -a buffer between all the relations and the outer world.</p> - -<p>The house had become more quiet. Monica had gone over to the Reds with -clean overalls for the little boys, who had been bundled off there. Jack -got this piece of news from Grace, who was constantly washing more -dishes and serving more relations. A certain anger burned in him as he -heard, but he took no notice. Mary was lying down upstairs: she had been -up all night with Gran. Tom was attending to the horses. Katie and Mrs. -Ellis had gone upstairs with Baby and Ellie, and Mr. Ellis was also -upstairs. Lennie had slipped away again. So Jack had track of all the -family. He was always like that, wanting to know where they all were.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Greenlow came in from Gran's inner room.</p> - -<p>"Mary? Where's Mary?" she asked hurriedly.</p> - -<p>Jack shook his head, and she passed on. She had left the door of Gran's -room open, so Jack could see in. All the relations were there, horrible, -the women weeping and perspiring, and wiping tears and perspiration away -together, the men in their waistcoats and shirt-sleeves, perspiring and -looking ugly. A Methodist parson son-in-law was saying prayers in an -important monotone.</p> - -<p>At last Mary came, looking anxious.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Gran? Did you want me?" Jack heard her voice, and saw her by the -bed.</p> - -<p>"I felt so overcome with all these people," said Gran, in a curiously -strong, yet frightened voice. "What do they all want?"</p> - -<p>"They've come to see you. Come—" Mary hesitated "—to see if -they can do anything for you."</p> - -<p>"To frighten the bit of life out of me that I've got. But they're not -going to. Get me some beef tea, Mary, and don't leave me alone with -them."</p> - -<p>Mary went out for the beef tea. Then Jack saw Gran's white hand feebly -beckon.</p> - -<p>"Ruth!" she said. "Ruth!"</p> - -<p>The eldest daughter went over and took the hand, mopping her eyes. She -was the parson's wife.</p> - -<p>"Well, Ruth, how are you!" said Gran's high, quavering voice in a -conversational tone.</p> - -<p>"<i>I'm</i> well, Mother. It's how are you?" replied Ruth dismally.</p> - -<p>But Gran was again totally oblivious of her. So at length Ruth dropped -away embarrassed from the bedside, shaking her head.</p> - -<p>Again Gran lifted her head on the pillow.</p> - -<p>"Where's Jacob?"</p> - -<p>"Upstairs, mother."</p> - -<p>"The only one that has the decency to leave me alone." And she subsided -again. Then after a while she asked, without lifting her head from the -pillow, in a distant voice:</p> - -<p>"And are the foolish virgins here?"</p> - -<p>"Who, mother?"</p> - -<p>"The foolish virgins. You know who I mean."</p> - -<p>Gran lay with her eyes shut as she spoke.</p> - -<p>There was an agitation among the family. It was the brothers-in-law who -pushed the three Miss Ellises forward. They, the poor things, wept -audibly.</p> - -<p>Gran opened her eyes at the sound, and said, with a ghost of a smile on -her yellow, transparent old face:</p> - -<p>"I hope virginity is its own reward."</p> - -<p>Then she remained unmoved until Mary came with the soup, which she took -and slowly sipped, as Mary administered it in a spoon. It seemed to -revive her.</p> - -<p>"Where's Lennie and his mother?" she asked, in a firmer tone.</p> - -<p>These also were sent for. Mrs. Ellis sat by the bed and gently patted -Gran's arm; but Lennie, "skeered stiff," shivered at the door. His -mother held out her hand to him, and he came in, inch by inch, watching -the fragile old Gran, who looked transparent and absolutely unreal, with -a fascination of horror.</p> - -<p>"Kiss me, Lennie," said Gran grimly: exactly like Nelson.</p> - -<p>Lennie shrank away. Then, yielding to his mother's pressure he laid his -dark, smooth head and his brown face on the pillow next to Gran's face, -but he did not kiss her.</p> - -<p>"There's my precious!" said Gran softly, with all the soft, cajoling -gentleness that had made her so lovely, at moments, to her men.</p> - -<p>"Alice, you've been good to my Jacob," she said, as if remembering -something. "There's the stocking. It's for you and Lennie." She still -managed to say the last words with a caress, though she was fading from -consciousness again.</p> - -<p>Lennie drew away and hid behind his mother. Gran lay still, exactly as -if dead. But the laces of her eternal cap still stirred softly, to show -she breathed. The silence was almost unbearable.</p> - -<p>To break it, the Methodist son-in-law sank to his knees, the others -followed his example, and he prayed in a low, solemn, extinguished -voice. When he had said Amen the others whispered it and rose from their -knees. And by one consent they glided from the room. They had had enough -deathbed for the moment.</p> - -<p>Mary closed the inner door when they had gone, and remained alone in the -room with Gran.</p> - - - - -<h4>V</h4> - - -<p>The sons-in-law all melted through the parlour and out on to the -verandah, where they helped themselves from the decanter on the table, -filling up from the canvas water-bag that swung in the draught to keep -cool. The daughters sat down by the table and wept, lugubriously and -rather angrily. The sons-in-law drank and looked afflicted. Jack -remained on duty in the parlour, though he would dearly have liked to -decamp.</p> - -<p>But he was now interested in the relations. They began to weep less, and -to talk in low, suppressed, vehement voices. He could only catch -bits.—"It's a question if he ever married Tom's mother. I doubt if -Tom's legitimate. I don't even doubt it, I'm sure. We've suffered from -that before. Where's the stocking? Stocking! Stocking—saved -up—bought Easu out. Mother should know better. If she's made a -will—Jacob's first marriage—children to educate and provide -for. Unmarried daughters—first claim—stocking—" And then -quite plainly from Ruth: "It's hard on our husbands if they have to support -mother's unmarried daughters." This said with dignity.</p> - -<p>Jack glanced at the three Miss Ellises, to see if they minded, and -inwardly he vowed that if he ever married Monica, for example, and Grace -was an unmarried sister, he'd find some suitable way of supporting her, -without making her feel ashamed. But the three Miss Ellises did not seem -to mind. They were busy diving into secret pockets among their clothing, -and fetching out secret little packages. Someone dropped the glass -stopper out of a bottle of smelling salts, and spilled the contents on -the floor. The pungent odour penetrated throughout the house. Jack never -again smelt lavender salts without having a foreboding of death, and -seeing mysterious little packets. The three Miss Ellises were -surreptitiously laying out bits and tags of black braid, crape, beading, -black doth, black lace; all black, wickedly black, on the table edge. -Smoothing them out. For as a matter of fact they kept a little shop. And -everybody was looking with interest. Jack felt quite nauseated at the -sight of these black blotches, the row of black patches.</p> - -<p>Mary came out of Gran's room, going to the kitchen with the cup. She did -not pass the verandah, so nobody noticed her. They were all intent on -the muttering gloom of their investigation of those scraps of mourning -patterns.</p> - -<p>Jack felt the door of Gran's room slowly open. Mary had left it just -ajar. He looked round and his hair rose on his head. There stood Gran, -all white save for her eyes, like a yellow figure of aged female Time, -standing with her hand on the door, looking across the parlour at the -afternoon and the preoccupied party on the verandah. Her face was -absolutely expressionless, timeless and awful. It frightened him very -much. The inexorable female! He uttered an exclamation, and they all -looked up, caught.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h4> - -<h4>BLOWS</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>Jack managed to escape. When the rooks were fluttered by the sight of -that ghostly white starling, he just ran. He ran in disgust from the -smell of lavender salts, the tags of mourning patterns, respectable -dying, and these awful people. Surely there was something rotten at the -bottom of people, he thought, to make them behave as they did. And again -came over him the feeling he had often had, that he was a changeling, -that he didn't belong to the so-called "normal" human race. Nor, by -Jupiter, did he want to. The "normal" human race filled him with -unspeakable repulsion. And he knew they would kill him if they found out -what he was. Hence that unconscious dissembling of his innocent face.</p> - -<p>He ran, glad to get into a sweat, glad to sweat it all out of himself. -Glad to feel the sun hot on his damp hands, and then the afternoon -breeze, just starting, cool on his wet skin. When he reached the -sand-bagged pool, he took off his clothes and spread them in the sun, -while he wallowed in the lukewarm water. Ay! if one could wash off one's -associations! If one could but be alone in the world.</p> - -<p>After bathing he sat in the sun awhile to dry, then dressed and walked -off to look at the lower dam pump. Tom had said it needed attending to. -And anyway it led him away from the house.</p> - -<p>The pump was all right. There had been a March shower that had put water -in the dam. So after looking round at the sheep, he turned away.</p> - -<p>Which way? Not back home. Not yet.</p> - -<p>The land breeze had lifted and the sea breeze had come, clearing the hot -dry atmosphere as if by magic, and replacing the furnace breath by -tender air. Which way?</p> - -<p>At the back of his mind was the thought of Monica not home yet from the -Reds' place, and evening coming on, another of the full golden evenings -when the light seemed fierce with declaration of another eternity, a -different eternity from ours.</p> - -<p>Last Sunday, on such an evening, he had kissed her. And much as he -wanted to avoid her, the desire to kiss her again drove him as if the -great yellowing light were a wind that blew him, as a butterfly is blown -twinkling out to sea. He drifted towards the trail from the Reds' place. -He walked slowly, listening to the queer evening noise of the magpies, -and the more distant screeching of flying parrots. Someone had disturbed -the parrots beyond the Black Barn gums. So as if by intuition he walked -that way, slightly off the trail.</p> - -<p>And suddenly he heard the sound his spirit expected to hear: Monica -crying out in expostulation, anger, and fear. It was the fear in her -voice that made his face set. His first instinct was not to intrude on -their privacy. Then again came the queer, magpie noise of Monica, this -time with an edge of real hatred to her fear. Jack pushed through the -bushes. He could smell the warm horses already.</p> - -<p>Yes, there was Lucy standing by a tree. And Monica, in a long skirt of -pink-sprigged cotton, with a frill at the bottom, trying to get up into -the side-saddle. While Easu, in his Sunday black reach-me-downs and -white shirt and white rubber-soled cricketing boots, every time she set -her foot in the stirrup, put his hand round her waist and spread his -fingers on her body, and lifted her down again, lifted her on one hand -in a childish and ridiculous fashion, and held her in a moment's -embrace. She, in her long cotton riding-dress with the close-fitting -bodice, did indeed look absurd, hung like a child on Easu's hand, as he -lifted her down and held her struggling against him, then let her go -once more, to mount her horse. Lucy was shifting uneasily, and Easu's -big black horse, tethered to a tree, was jerking its head with a jingle -of the bit. The girth hung loose. Easu had evidently dismounted to -adjust it.</p> - -<p>Monica was becoming really angry, really afraid, and really blind with -dismay, feeling for the first time her absolute powerlessness. To be -powerless drove her mad, and she would have killed Easu if she could, -without a qualm. But her hate seemed to rouse the big Easu to a passion -of desire for her. He put his two big hands round her slender body and -compassed her entirely. She gave a loud, strange, uncanny scream. And -Jack came out of the bushes, making the black horse plunge. Easu glanced -round at the horse, and saw Jack. And at the same time our hero planted -a straight, vicious blow on the bearded chin. Easu, unprepared, -staggered up against Lucy, who began to jump, while Monica, tangled in -her long skirt, fell to her knees on the ground.</p> - -<p>Quite a picture! Jack said it himself. Even he saw himself standing -there, like Jack the Giant-killer. And of course he saw Monica on her -knees, with tumbled hair and scarlet cheeks, unspeakably furious at -being caught, angrily hitching herself out of her long cotton -riding-skirt and pressing her cheeks to make them less red. She was -silent, with averted face, and she seemed small. He saw Easu in the -Sunday white shirt and rather tight Sunday breeches, facing round in -unspeakable disgust and fury. He saw himself in a ready-made cotton suit -and cheap brown canvas shoes, bought at the local store, standing -awaiting an onslaught.</p> - -<p>The onslaught did not come. Instead, Easu said, in a tone of unutterable -contempt:</p> - -<p>"Why, what's up with you, you little sod!"</p> - -<p>Jack turned to Monica. She had got on to her feet, and was pushing her -hair under her hat.</p> - -<p>"Monica," he said, "you'd better get home. Gran's dying."</p> - -<p>She looked at him, and a slow, wicked smile of amusement came over her -face. Then she broke into a queer, hollow laugh, at the bottom of which -was rage and frustration. Then her laugh rose higher.</p> - -<p>"Ha! Ha! Ha!" she laughed. "Ah ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! ha-ha-ha! Ah! ! -Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! ha-ha-ha! Ah! ! ! ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ah! ha-ha! Ha! -Ah! Gran's dying! Ha-ha-ha! Is she really? Oh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! No, I -don't mean it. But it seems so funny! Ah! ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ah! -ha-ha-ha!"</p> - -<p>She smothered herself into a confused bubbling. The two men stood -aghast, shuddering at the strange, hysterical woman's laughter that went -shrilling through the bush. They were horrified lest someone else should -hear.</p> - -<p>Monica, in her cotton frock and long sweeping skirt, stood pushing her -handkerchief in her mouth, and trying in vain to stifle the hysterical -laughter that still shook her slender body. Occasionally a strange peal, -like mad bells, would break out. And then she ended with a passionate -sobbing.</p> - -<p>"I know! I know!" she sobbed, like a child. "Gran's dying, and you won't -let me go home."</p> - -<p>"You can go home," Jack said. "You can go home. But don't go with your -face all puffed up with crying."</p> - -<p>She gradually gained control of herself, and turned away to her horse. -Jack went to help her mount. She got into the saddle, and he gave her -the reins. She kept her face averted, and Lucy began to move away -slowly, towards the home track.</p> - -<p>Easu still stood there, planted with his feet apart, his head a little -dropped, and a furious, contemptuous, revengeful hate of the other two -in his light blue eyes. He had his head down, ready for an attack. Jack -saw this, and waited.</p> - -<p>"Going to take your punishment?" said Easu, in a nasty voice.</p> - -<p>"Ready when you are," said Jack.</p> - -<p>Ugh! How he hated Easu's ugly, jeering, evil eyes, how he would love to -smash them out of his head. In the long run, hate was an even keener -ecstasy than love, and the battle of hate, the fight with blood in the -eyes, an orgasm of deadly gratification keener than any passionate -orgasm of love.</p> - -<p>Easu slowly threw his hat on the ground. Jack did the same, and started -to pull off his coat. Easu glanced round to see if Monica was going. She -was. Her back was already turned, and Lucy was stepping gingerly through -the bushes. He lifted his chin, unknotted his tie, and threw it in his -hat. Then he unbuttoned his shirt-cuffs, and pulled off his shirt, and -hitched his belt. He was now naked to the waist. He had a very white -skin with reddish hair at the breast, and an angular kind of force. His -reddish-haired brawny arms were burnt brown-red, as was his neck. For -the rest his skin was pure white, with the dazzle of absolute health. -Yet he was ugly rather than beautiful. The queer angularity of his -brawn, the sense of hostile mechanical power. The sense of the mechanism -of power in him made him like some devil fallen into a lower grade.</p> - -<p>Jack's torso was rather absurdly marked by the sun-burnt scallops of his -vest-lines, for he worked a good deal in a vest. Easu always wore a -shirt and no vest. And Jack, in spite of the thinness of youth, seemed -to have softer lines and a more human proportion, more grace. And there -was a warmth in his white skin, making it much less conspicuous than the -really dazzling brilliance of Easu. Easu was a good deal bigger, but -Jack was more concentrated, and a born fighter. He fought with all his -soul.</p> - -<p>He shaped up to Easu, and Easu made ready, when they were interrupted by -a cry from Monica, in a high, hysterical voice. They looked up. She had -reined in her horse among the bushes, and was looking round at them with -a queer sharp, terrified face, from the distance. Her shrill voice -cried:</p> - -<p>"Don't forget he saved Herbert's life."</p> - -<p>Both men faced round and looked at her as if she had committed an -indecency. She quailed in her saddle. Easu, with a queer jerk of the -head, motioned to her to go. She sank a little forward in her saddle, -and hurriedly urged her horse through the bush, out of sight, without -ever looking round, leaving the men, as she knew, to their heart's -desire.</p> - -<p>They waited for a while. Then they lifted their fists again, and drew -near. Jack began the light, subtle, harmonious dancing which preceded -his attack. He always attacked, no matter whom he fought. He could not -fight unless he took the initiative. So now he danced warily, subtly -before Easu, and Easu stood ready to side-step. Easu was bigger, harder, -much more powerful than Jack, and built in hard mechanical lines: the -kind that is difficult to knock out, if you have not much weight behind -your blow.</p> - -<p>"Are y' insured?" sneered Easu.</p> - -<p>But Jack did not listen. He had always fought with people bigger and -older than himself. But he had never before had this strange lust -dancing in his blood, the lust of rage dancing for its consummation in -blows. He had known it before, as a sort of game. But now the lust bit -into his very soul, and he was quivering with accumulated desire, the -desire to hit Easu hard, hit him till he knocked him out. He wanted to -hit him till he knocked him out.</p> - -<p>And he knew himself deficient in brute power. So he must make up in -quickness and skill and concentration. When he did strike it must be a -fine keen blow that went deep. He had confidence in his power to do it. -Only—and this was the disturbing element—he knew there was not -much <i>time.</i> And he would rather be knocked out himself than have the -fight spoiled in the middle.</p> - -<p>He moved lightly and led Easu on, ducked, bobbed up again, and began to -be consummately happy. Easu could not get at him.</p> - -<p>"Come on!" said Easu thickly.</p> - -<p>So suddenly he came on, and bang! bang! went his knuckles against that -insulting chin. And he felt joy spring in his bowels.</p> - -<p>But he did not escape without punishment. Pat!—butt! -Pat!—butt! went Easu's swinging blows down over his back. But Jack -got in two more: Bang! Bang! He knew by the exquisite pain of his knuckles -that he had struck deep, pierced the marrow of the other with pain of -defeat.</p> - -<p>Pat—butt! Pat—butt! came the punishment.</p> - -<p>But Jack was out again, dancing softly, electric joy in his bowels. Then -suddenly he sprang back at Easu, his arms swinging in strange, -vindictive sideways swoops. Ping! Pong! Ping! Pong! rapid as lightning. -Easu fell back a little dazed before this sudden rain of white blows, -but Jack followed, followed, followed, nimbly, warily, but with deadly, -flickering intent.</p> - -<p>Crash! Easu went down, but caught Jack a heavy smash in the face with -his right as he fell. Jack reeled away.</p> - -<p>And then, posed, waiting, watching, with blood running from bruised cuts -on his swelling face, one eye rapidly closing, he stood well forward, -fists in true boxing trim, and a deep gratification of joy in his dark -belly.</p> - -<p>Easu rose slowly, foaming at the mouth; then getting to his feet rushed -head down, in a convulsion, at his adversary. Jack stepped aside, but -not quite quick enough. He caught Easu a blow with his left under the -ear, but not in time to stop the impact. Easu's head butted right where -he wanted it to—into his enemy's stomach; though not full in the pit. -Jack fell back winded, and Red also fell again, giving Jack time to -throw back his head and whoop for a few mouthfuls of air. So that when -Red rushed in again, he was able feebly to fence and stall him off, -stepping aside and hitting again, but wofully clipping, smacking only...</p> - -<p>"Foul! He's winded! Foul!" yelled someone from the bushes. "Time!"</p> - -<p>"Not for mine," roared Easu.</p> - -<p>He sprang and dashed at his gasping, gulping adversary, whirling his -arms like iron piston-rods. Jack dodged the propelled whirl, but -stumbled over one of the big feet stuck out to trip him. Easu hit as he -fell, and swung a crashing left-right about the sinking, unprotected -head. And when Jack was down, kicked the prostrate body in an orgasm of -fury.</p> - -<p>"Foul, you swine!" screamed Rackett, springing in like a tiger. Easu, -absolutely blind with rage and hate, stared hellish and unseeing. Jack -lay crumpled on the floor. Dr. Rackett stooped down to him, as Tom and -Lennie and Alec Rice ran in. Easu went and dropped on a fallen log, -sitting blowing to get his wind and his consciousness back. He was -unconscious with fury, like some awful Thing, not like a man.</p> - -<p>"My God, Easu!" screamed Rackett, who had lifted the dead head of Jack -on to his knees. "If you've done for him I'll have you indicted."</p> - -<p>And Easu, slowly, heavily coming back to consciousness, lifted his head, -and the blue pupils of his red eyes went ugly with evil fear, his -bruised face seemed to have dropped with fear. He waited, vacant, empty -with fear.</p> - -<p>At length Jack stirred. There was life in him. And at once the bully -Easu began to talk wide.</p> - -<p>"Bloody little sod came at me bashing me jaw, when I'd never touched -him. Had to fight to defend myself. Bloody little sod!"</p> - -<p>Jack opened his eyes and struggled to rise.</p> - -<p>"Anybody counting?" he said stupidly. But he could not get up.</p> - -<p>"It was a foul," said Rackett.</p> - -<p>"Foul be blithered!" shouted Easu. "It was a free fight and no blasted -umpires asked for. If that bloody bastard wants some more, let him get -up. I'm goin' to teach him to come crowin' from England, crowin' over an -Australian."</p> - -<p>But Jack was on his unsteady feet. He would fight now if he died for -it.</p> - -<p>"Teach me!" he said vaguely, and sprang like a cat out of a bag on the -astonished and rather frightened Easu.</p> - -<p>But something was very wrong. When his left fist rang home, it caused -such an agony that a sheer scream of pain tore from him, clearing the -mists from his brain in a strange white light. He was now fully -conscious again, super-conscious. He knew he must hit with his right, -and hit hard. He heard nothing, and saw nothing. But with a kind of -trance vision he was super-awake.</p> - -<p>Man is like this. He has various levels of consciousness. When he is -broken, killed at one level of consciousness, his very death leaves him -on a higher level. And this is the soul in its entirety, being -conscious, super-conscious, far beyond mentality. It hardly needs eyes -or ears. It is clairvoyant and clair-audient. And man's divinity, and -his ultimate power, is in this super-consciousness of the whole soul. -Not in brute force, not in skill or intelligence alone. But in the -soul's extreme power of knowing and then willing. On this alone hangs -the destiny of all mankind.</p> - -<p>Jack, uncertain on his feet, incorporate, wounded to horrible pain in -his left hand, was now in the second state of consciousness and power. -Meanwhile the doctor was warning Easu to play fair. Jack heard -absolutely without hearing. But Easu was bothered by it.</p> - -<p>He was flustered by Jack's unexpected uprising. He was weary and -wavering, the paroxysm of his ungovernable fury had left him, and he had -a desire to escape. His rage was dull and sullen.</p> - -<p>Jack was softly swaying. Easu shaped up and waited. And suddenly Jack -sprang, with all the weight of his nine stone behind him, and all the -mystery of his soul's deadly will, and planted a blow on Easu's -astonished chin with his granite right fist. Before there was any -recovery he got in a second blow, and it was a knockout. Easu crashed, -and Jack crashed after him, and both lay still.</p> - -<p>Dr. Rackett, watch in hand, counted. Easu stared at the darkening blue, -and sat up. An oath came out of his disfigured mouth. Dr. Rackett put -the watch in his pocket as Easu got to his feet. But Jack did not move. -He lay in a dead faint.</p> - -<p>Lennie, the emotional, began to cry when he saw Jack's bruised, -greenish-looking face. Dr. Rackett was feeling the pulse and the heart.</p> - -<p>"Take the horse, and fetch some whiskey and some water, Tom," he -said.</p> - -<p>Tom turned to Easu, who stood with his head down and his mouth all cut, -watching, waiting to depart, undecided.</p> - -<p>"I'll borrow your horse a minute, Easu," he said. And Easu did not -answer. He was getting into his shirt again, and for the moment none of -him was visible save the belt of white skin round the waist. Tom pulled -up the girth of the black horse, and jumped into the saddle. Lennie -slipped up behind him, his face still wet with tears. Easu's face -emerged, disfigured, out of his white shirt, and watched them go. -Rackett attended to Jack, who still gave no signs of life. Alec Rice -stood beside the kneeling doctor, silent and impassive.</p> - -<p>Easu slowly buttoned his shirt cuffs and shirt-collar, with numb -fingers. The pain was just beginning to come out, and he made queer -slight grimaces with his distorted face. Slowly he got his black tie, -and holding up his chin, fastened it round his throat, clumsily. He was -not the same Easu that had set off so huge and assertive, with Monica.</p> - -<p>Lennie came running with a tin of water. He had slipped off the horse at -the lower dam, and found the tin which he kept secreted there. Dr. -Rackett put a wet handkerchief on Jack's still, dead face. Under the -livid skin the bruises and the blood showed terrifying, one eye already -swollen up. The queer mask of a face looked as if the soul, or the life, -had retreated from it in weariness or disgust. It looked like somebody -else's altogether.</p> - -<p>"He ain't dead, is he?" whimpered Lennie, terrified most of all because -Jack, with his swollen face and puffed eye, looked like somebody else.</p> - -<p>"No! But I wish Tom would come with that whiskey."</p> - -<p>As he spoke, they heard the crashing sound of the horse through the -bushes, and Tom's red, anxious face appeared. He swung out of the saddle -and dropped the reins on the ground.</p> - -<p>Dr. Rackett pressed the bruised chin, pressed the mouth open, and poured -a little liquor down Jack's throat. There was no response. He poured a -little more whiskey. There came a slight choking sound, and then the one -dark-blue eye opened vacant. It stared in vacancy for some moments, -while everybody stood with held breath. Then the whiskey began to have -effect. Life seemed to give a movement of itself, in the boy's body, and -the wide-open eye took a conscious direction. It stared straight into -the eyes of Easu, who stood there looking down, detached, in -humiliation, derision, and uneasiness. It stared with a queer, natural -recognition, and a faint jeering, uneasy grin was the reflex on Easu's -disfigured mask.</p> - -<p>"Guess he's had enough for once," said Easu, and turning, he picked up -his horse's reins, dropped into the saddle, and rode straight away.</p> - -<p>"Feel bad?" Dr. Rackett asked.</p> - -<p>"Rotten!" said Jack.</p> - -<p>And at last Lennie recognised the voice. He could not recognise the -face, especially with that bunged-up eye peering gruesomely through a -gradually diminished slit, Hun-like.</p> - -<p>Dr. Rackett smiled slightly.</p> - -<p>"Where's your pain?" he asked.</p> - -<p>Jack thought about it. Then he looked into Rackett's eyes without -answering.</p> - -<p>"Think you can stand?" said Rackett.</p> - -<p>"Try me."</p> - -<p>They got him to his feet. Everything began to swim again. Rackett's arm -came round him.</p> - -<p>"Did he knock me out?" Jack asked. The question came from his -half-consciousness: from a feeling that the battle with Easu was not yet -finished.</p> - -<p>"No, you knocked him out. Let's get your coat on."</p> - -<p>But as he shoved his arm into his coat he knew he was fainting again, -and he almost wept, feeling his consciousness and his control going. He -thought it was just his stiff, swollen, unnatural face that caused it.</p> - -<p>"Can y' walk?" asked Tom anxiously.</p> - -<p>"Don't walk on my face, do I?" came the words. But as they came, so did -the reeling, nauseous oblivion. He fainted again, and was carried home -like a sack over Tom's back.</p> - -<p>When he came to, he was on his bed, Lennie was feverishly pulling off -his shoes, and Dr. Rackett was feeling him all over. Dr. Rackett smelt -of drugs. But now Rackett's face was earnest and attentive, he looked a -nice man, only weak.</p> - -<p>Jack thought at once of Gran.</p> - -<p>"How's Gran?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"She's picked up again. The relations put her in a wax, so she came to -life again."</p> - -<p>"You're the one now, you look an awful sight," said Len.</p> - -<p>"Did anybody see me?" asked Jack, dim and anxious.</p> - -<p>"Only Grace so far."</p> - -<p>Rackett, who was busy bandaging, saw the fever of anxiety coming into -the one live eye.</p> - -<p>"Don't talk," he said. "Len, he mustn't talk at all. He's got to go to -sleep."</p> - -<p>After they had got his nightshirt on, they gave him something to drink, -and he went to sleep.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>When he awoke, it was dark. His head felt enormous. It was getting -bigger and bigger, till soon it would fill the room. Soon his head would -be so big, it would fill all the room, and the room would be too small -for it. Oh, horror! He was so frightened, he cried out.</p> - -<p>"What's amiss?" a quick voice was asking.</p> - -<p>"Make a light! Make a light!" cried Jack.</p> - -<p>Lennie quickly lit a candle, and to Jack's agonized relief, there was -the cubby, the bed, the walls, all of natural dimensions, and Tom and -Lennie in their nightshirts standing by his bed.</p> - -<p>"What's a-matter, ol' dear?" Lennie asked caressively.</p> - -<p>"My head! I thought it was getting so big the room wouldn't hold it."</p> - -<p>"Aw! go on now!" said Lennie. "Y' face is a bit puffy, but y' head's -same as ever it was."</p> - -<p>Jack couldn't believe it. He was so sensually convinced that his head -had grown enormous, enormous, enormous.</p> - -<p>He stared at Lennie and Tom in dismay. Lennie stroked his hair softly.</p> - -<p>"There's y' ol' nut!" he said. "Tain't no bigger 'n it ever was. Just -exactly same life-size."</p> - -<p>Gradually Jack let himself be convinced. And at last he let them blow -the candle out. He went to sleep.</p> - -<p>He woke again with a frenzy working in him. He had pain, too. But far -worse than the pain was the tearing of the raging discomfort, the frenzy -of dislocation. And in his stiff swollen head, there was something he -remembered but could not drag into light. What was it? What was it? In -the frenzy of struggle to know, he went vague.</p> - -<p>Then it came to him, words as plain as knives.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And when I die</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In hell I shall lie</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With fire and chains</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And awful pains."</span></p> - - -<p>The Aunts had repeated this to him, as a child, when he was naughty. And -it had always struck a vague terror into his soul. He had forgotten it. -Now it came again.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"In hell I shall lie</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With fire and chains</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And awful pains."</span></p> - - -<p>He had a vivid realisation of this hell. That was where he lay at that -very moment.</p> - -<p>"You must be a good, loving little boy."</p> - -<p>He had never wanted to be a good, loving little boy. Something in his -bowels revolted from being a good, loving little boy, revolted in -nausea. "But if you're not a good, loving little boy."</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then when you die</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In hell you will lie'—etc.</span></p> - - -<p>"Let me lie in hell, then," the bad and unloving little boy had -answered, to the shocked horror of the Aunts. And the answer had scared -even himself.</p> - -<p>And now the hell was on him. And still he was not a good, loving little -boy.</p> - -<p>He remembered his lessons: Love your enemies.</p> - -<p>"Do I love Easu?" he asked himself. And he writhed over in bed in -disgust. He loathed Easu. If he could crush him absolutely to powder, he -would crush him to powder. Make him extinct.</p> - -<p>"Lord, Lord!" he groaned. "I loathe Easu. I loathe him."</p> - -<p>What was amiss with him? Did he want to leave off loathing Easu? Was -that the root of his sickness and fever?</p> - -<p>But when he thought of Easu's figure and face, he knew he didn't want to -leave off loathing him. He <i>did</i> loathe him, whether he wanted to or -not, and the fact to him was sacred. It went right through the core of -him.</p> - -<p>"Lord! Lord!" he groaned, writhing in fever. "Lord, help me to loathe -him properly. Lord, I'll kill him if you want me to; and if you don't -want me to, I won't. I'll kill him if you want me to. But if you don't -want me to, I won't care any more."</p> - -<p>The pledge seemed to soothe him. At the back of Jack's consciousness was -always this mysterious Lord, to whom he cried in the night. And this -Lord put commands upon him, but so darkly, Jack couldn't easily find out -what the commands were. The Aunts had always said, the command was to be -a good, loving little boy. But when he tried being a good, loving little -boy, his soul seemed to lose his Lord, and turn wicked. That was what -made him fear hell. When he seemed to lose connection with his great, -mysterious Lord, with whom he communed absolutely alone, he became aware -of hell. And he couldn't share with his Aunts that Jesus whom they -always commended. At the Sacrament, something in his soul stood cold, -and he knew this was no Sacrament to him.</p> - -<p>He had his own Lord. And when he could get into communication or -communion, with his own Lord, he always felt well and right again.</p> - -<p>Now, in his pain and battered fever, he was fighting for his Lord again.</p> - -<p>"Lord, I don't love Easu, and I'll kill him if you want me to. But if -you don't want me to, I won't, I won't, I won't bother any more."</p> - -<p>This pledge and this submission soothed him strangely. He felt he was -coming back to his own Lord. It was a pledge, and he would keep it. He -gave no pledge to love Easu. Only not to kill him, if the Lord didn't -want it; and to kill him, if the Lord did.</p> - -<p>"Lord, I don't love Monica. I don't love her. But if she'd give up to -me, I'd love her if you wanted me to."</p> - -<p>He thought about this. Somewhere, his soul burned against Monica. And -somewhere, his soul burned for her.</p> - -<p>But she must give up to him. She must give herself up. He demanded this -submission, as if it were a submission to his mysterious Lord. She would -never submit to the mysterious Lord direct. Like that old demon of a -Gran, who knew the Lord, and played with Him, spited Him even. Monica -would have first to submit to himself, Jack, in person, before she would -really yield before the immense Lord. And yield before the immense Lord -she must. Through him.</p> - -<p>"Lord!" he said, invoking the supreme power, "I love Lennie and Tom, and -I want always to love them, and I want you to back them."</p> - -<p>The prickles of pain entered his soul again.</p> - -<p>"Lord, I don't love my father, but I don't want to hurt him. Only, I -don't love him, Lord. And it's not my fault, though he's a good man, -because I wasn't born with love for him in me."</p> - -<p>This had been a thorn in his consciousness since he was a child. Best -get it out now. Because the fear of not loving his father had almost -made him hate him. If he ought to love him, and he couldn't love him, -then there was nothing to do but hate him, because of the hopeless -obligation. But if he needn't love him, then he needn't hate him, and -they could both be in peace. He would leave it to his Lord.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I ought to love Mary," he continued. "But I don't <i>really</i> -love her, because she doesn't realise about the Lord. She doesn't realise -there is any Lord. She thinks there's only me, and herself. But there is -the Lord. And Monica knows. But Monica is spiteful against the Lord. -Lord! Lord!"</p> - -<p>He ended on the old human cry of invocation: a cry which is answered, -when it comes from the extreme, passionate soul. The strange, dark -comfort and power came back to him again, and he could go to sleep once -more, with his Lord.</p> - -<p>When he woke in the morning, the fever had left him. Lennie was there at -dawn, to see if he wanted anything. The quick little Lennie, who always -came straight from the Lord, unless his emotions of pity got the better -of him. Then he lost his connections, and became maudlin.</p> - -<p>Jack wanted the family not to know. But the twins saw his disfigured -face, with horror. And Monica knew: it was she who had sent Dr. Rackett -and Tom and Alec. And Grace knew. And soon Ma came, and said: "Dear o' -me, Jack Grant, what d'y'mean by going and getting messed up like this!" -And Dad came slow and heavy, and said nothing, but looked dark and -angry. They all knew.</p> - -<p>But Jack wanted to be left alone. He told Tom and Dr. Rackett, and Tom -and Dr. Rackett ordered the family to leave him alone.</p> - -<p>It was Grace who brought his meals. Poor old Grace, with her big eyes -and rather big nose, she had a gentle heart, and more real sense than -that Monica. Jack only got to know her while he was sick, and she really -touched his heart. She was so kind, and thought so little of herself, -and had such a sad wisdom at the bottom of her. Who would have thought -it, of the pert, cheeky, nosy Grace?</p> - -<p>Monica slipped in, and stood staring down at him with her queer, -brooding eyes, that shone with widened pupils. Heaven knows what she was -thinking about.</p> - -<p>"I was awfully afraid he'd kill you," she said. "I was so frightened, -that's what made me laugh."</p> - -<p>"Why should I let him kill me?" said Jack.</p> - -<p>"How could you help it! He's much stronger and crueller than you."</p> - -<p>"He may be stronger, but I can match him in other ways."</p> - -<p>She looked at him incredulously. She did not believe him. He could see -she did not believe in that other, inward power of his, upon which he -himself depended. She thought him in every way weaker, frailer than -Easu. Only, of course, nicer. This made Jack very angry.</p> - -<p>"I think I punished him as much as he punished me," he said.</p> - -<p>"<i>He's</i> not laid up in bed," she replied.</p> - -<p>Then, with her quivering, exquisite gentleness, she touched his bandaged -hand.</p> - -<p>"I'm awfully sorry he hurt you so," she said. "I know you'll hate -<i>me</i> for it."</p> - -<p>"Why should I?" he replied coldly.</p> - -<p>She took up his bandaged hand and kissed it quickly, then she looked him -long and beseechingly in the eyes: or the one eye. Somehow she didn't -seem to see his caricature of a face.</p> - -<p>"Don't hate me for it," she pleaded, still watching him with that -strange, pleading, watchful look.</p> - -<p>The flame leapt in his bowels, and came into his eyes. And another flame -as she, catching the change in his eyes, softened her look and smiled -subtly, suddenly taking his wrist in a passionate, secret grasp. He felt -the hot blood suffusing him like new life.</p> - -<p>"Good-bye!" she said, looking back at him as she disappeared.</p> - -<p>And when she had gone, he remembered the watchfulness in her eyes, the -cat-like watchfulness at the back of all her winsome tenderness. There -it was, like the devil. And he turned his face to the wall, to his Lord, -and two smarting tears came under his eyes as if they were acid.</p> - -<p>The next day Mary came bringing his pap. She was not going to be kept -away any longer. And she would come as a ministering angel.</p> - -<p>He saw on her face that she was startled, shocked, and a little repelled -by his appearance. She hardly knew him. But she overcame her repulsion -at once, and became the more protective.</p> - -<p>"Why, how awful it must be for you!" she said.</p> - -<p>"Not so bad now," he said, manfully swallowing his pap.</p> - -<p>He could see she longed for him to have his own good-looking face again. -She could not bear this strange horror. She refused to believe this was -he.</p> - -<p>"I shall never forgive that cruel Easu!" she said, and the colour came -to her dark cheek. "I hope I never have to speak to him again."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I began it. It was my fault."</p> - -<p>"How could it be!" cried Mary. "That great hulking brute. How dare he -lay a finger on you!"</p> - -<p>Jack couldn't smile, his face was of the fixed sort. But his one good -eye had a gleam. "He dare, you see," he answered. But she turned away in -smarting indignation.</p> - -<p>"It makes one understand why such creatures had their hands cut off in -the old days," she said, with cold fierceness.</p> - -<p>"How dare he disfigure your beautiful face! How dare he!" And tears of -anger came to her eyes.</p> - -<p>A strangled grin caused considerable pain to Jack's beautiful face.</p> - -<p>"I suppose he didn't rightly appreciate my sort of looks," he said.</p> - -<p>"The jealous brute," said Mary. "But I hope he'll pay for it. I hope he -will. I do hope he hasn't really disfigured you," she ended on a note of -agitation.</p> - -<p>"No, no! Besides that doesn't matter all the world."</p> - -<p>"It matters all the world," she cried, with strange fierceness, "to -me."</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h4> - -<h4>THE GREAT PASSING</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>Jack soon got better. Soon he was sitting in the old armchair by the -parlour fire. There was a little fire, against the damp. This was Gran's -place. But Gran did not leave her bed.</p> - -<p>He had been in to see her, and she frightened him. The grey, dusky skin -round the sunken mouth and sharpened nose, the eyes that were mostly -shut, and never really open, the harsh breathing, the hands lying like -old translucent stone on the bed-cover: it frightened him, and gave him -a horror of dissolution and decay. He wanted terribly to be out again -with the healthy Tom, among the horses. But not yet—he must wait yet -awhile. So he took his turn sitting by Gran, to relieve Mary, who got -little rest. And he became nervous, fanciful, frightened as he had never -been before in his life. The family seemed to abandon him as they -abandoned Gran. The cold isolation and horror of death.</p> - -<p>The first rains had set in. All night the water had thundered down on -the slab roof of the cubby, as if the bottom had fallen out of some well -above. Outside was cloudy still, and a little chill. A wind was -hush-sh-shing round the house. Mary was sitting with Gran, and he was in -the parlour, listening to that clock—Tick-tock! Tick-tock! He sat in -the armchair with a shawl over his shoulders, trying to read. Curiously -enough, in Australia he could not read. The words somehow meant nothing -to him.</p> - -<p>It was Sunday afternoon, and the smell of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, -cabbage, apple pie and cinnamon custard still seemed to taint the house. -Jack had come to loathe Sunday dinners. They seemed to him degrading. -They hung so heavy afterwards. And now he was sick, it seemed to him -particularly repulsive. The peculiar Sundayness of it. The one thing -that took him in revulsion back to England: Sunday dinner. The England -he didn't want to be taken back to. But it had been a quiet meal. Monica -and Grace and the little boy twins had all been invited to York, by Alec -Rice's parents, and they had gone away from the shadowed house, leaving -a great emptiness. It seemed to Jack they should all have stayed, so -that their young life could have united against this slow dissolution.</p> - -<p>Everything felt very strange. Tom and Lennie were out, Mrs. Ellis and -the children were upstairs, Mr. Ellis had gone to look at some sheep -that had got into trouble in the rain. There seemed a darkness, a chill, -a deathliness in the air. It is like that in Australia: usually so sunny -and absolutely forgetful. Then comes a dark day, and the place seems -like an immemorial grave. More gruesome than ever England was, on her -dark days. Mankind forever entombed in dissolution, in an endless grave.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord; or who shall stand</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in His holy place?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">He that hath clean hands and a pure heart,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Who hath not yielded up himself unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully."</span></p> - - -<p>Jack was thinking over the words Mr. Ellis had read in the morning, as -near as he remembered them. He looked at his own hands: already they -seemed pale and soft and very clean. What had the Lord intended hands -for? So many things hands must do, and still they remain clean. Clean -hands! His left was still discoloured and out of shape. Was it unclean?</p> - -<p>No, it was not unclean. Not unclean like the great paw of Easu's hiking -Monica out of the saddle.</p> - -<p>Clean hands and a pure heart! A pure heart! Jack thought of his own, -with two heavy new desires in it: the sudden, shattering desire for -Monica, that would rip through him sometimes like a flame. And the slow, -smouldering desire to kill Easu. He had to be responsible for them both.</p> - -<p>And he was not going to try to pluck them out. They both belonged to his -heart, they were sacred even while they were shocking in his blood. -Only, driven back on himself, he gave the old pledge: <i>Lord, if you -don't want me to have Monica and kill Easu, I won't. But if you want me -to, I will.</i> Somewhere he was inclined to cry out to be delivered from -the cup. But that would be cowardice towards his own blood. It would be -yielding himself up to vanity, if he pretended he hadn't got the -desires. And if he swore to eradicate them, it would be swearing -deceitfully. Sometimes the hands must move in the darkest acts, if they -are to remain really clean, not deathly like Gran's now. And the heart -must beat hard in the storm of darkest desires, if it is to keep pure, -and not go pale-corrupt.</p> - -<p>But always subject to the will of the Lord.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord; or who shall stand in His -holy place."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>The Seraphim and the Cherubim knew strange, awful secrets of the Lord. -That was why they covered their faces with their wings, for the wings of -glory also had a dark side.</p> - -<p>The fire was burning low. Jack stooped to put on more wood. Then he blew -the red coals to make the wood catch. A yellow flame came, and he was -glad.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Forsake me not, Oh God, in mine old age; when I am grey-headed; until I -have sown my strength to this generation, and Thy power to all them that -are yet to come."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Jack was always afraid of those times when the mysterious sayings of the -Bible invaded him. He seemed to have no power against them. And his soul -was always a little afraid, as if the walls of life grew thin, and he -could hear the great everlasting wind of the mysterious going of the -Lord, on the other side.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Forsake me not, Oh, God, in mine old age; when I am grey-headed."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Jack wished Gran would say this, so that the Lord would stay with her, -and she would not look so awful. How could Mary <i>stand</i> it, sitting -with her day after day.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Until I have shown my strength to this generation, and Thy power to all -them that are yet to come."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>And again his stubborn strength of life arose. What was he for, but to -show his strength to the generation, and a sign of the power of the Lord -for all them that were yet to come.</p> - -<p>The clock was ticking steadily in the room. But the yellow flames were -bunching up in the grate. He wondered where Gran's "stocking" really -was? But the thought of stockings, of concealed money, of people -hankering for money, always made him feel sick.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon and -another glory of the stars. . . . There is a natural body and a -spiritual body. . . ."</p> - -<p>"There is one glory of the sun——"</p></blockquote> - - -<p>But men don't all realise the same glory. In England the sun had seemed -to him to move with a domestic familiarity. It wasn't till he was out -here that he had been struck to the soul with the immense assertive -vigour and sacred handsomeness of the sun. He knew it now: the wild, -immense, fierce, untamed sun, fiercer than a glowing-eyed lion with a -vast mane of fire, crouching on the western horizon, staring at the -earth as if to pounce on it, the mouse-like earth. He had seen this -immense sun, fierce and powerful beyond all human considerations, -glaring across the southern sea, as all men may see it if they go there.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"There is one glory of the sun——"</p></blockquote> - - -<p>And it is a glory vast and fierce, of a Lord who is more than our small -lives.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"And another glory of the moon——"</p></blockquote> - - -<p>That too he knew. And he had not known, till the full moon had followed -him through the empty bush, in Australia, in the night. The immense, -liquid gleam of the far-south moon, following, following with a great, -miraculous, liquid smile. That vast, white, liquid smile, so vindictive! -And himself, hurrying back to camp on Lucy, had known a terrible fear. -The fear that the broad, liquid fire of the cold moon would capture him, -capture him and destroy him, like some white demon that slowly and -coldly tastes and devours its prey. The moon had that power, he knew, to -dissolve him, tissue, heart, body and soul, dissolve him away. The -immense, gleaming, liquid, lusting white moon, following inexorably, and -the bush like white charred moon-embers.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"There is another glory of the moon——"</p></blockquote> - - -<p>And he was afraid of it. "The sun is thy right hand, and the moon is thy -left hand." The two gleaming, immense living orbs, moving like weapons -in the two hands of the Lord.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"And there is another glory of the stars——"</p></blockquote> - - -<p>The strange stars of the southern night, all in unfamiliar crowds and -tufts and drooping clusters, with strange black wells in the sky. He -never got used to the southern stars. Whenever he stood and looked up at -them, he felt as if his soul were leaving him, as if he belonged to -another species of life, not to man as he knew man. As if there were a -metamorphosis, a terrible metamorphosis to take place.</p> - -<p>"There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body." This phrase -had haunted his mind from the earliest days. And he had always had a -sort of hatred of the thing his Aunts, and the parson, and the poets, -called The Spirit, with a capital S. It had always, with him, been -connected with his Sunday clothes, and best behaviour, and a certain -exalted falseness. Part of his natural naughtiness had arisen from his -vindictive dislike and contempt of The Spirit, and things of The Spirit.</p> - -<p>Now it began to seem different to him. He knew, he always had known, -that the Bible really meant something absolutely different from what the -Aunts, and the parson, and even the poets meant by the Spirit, or the -spiritual body.</p> - -<p>Since he had seen the Great God in the roaring of the yellow sun, and -the frightening vast smile in the gleaming full-moon following him, the -new moon like a delicate weapon-thrust in the western sky, and the stars -in disarray, like a scattered flock of sheep bunching and communing -together in a strange bush, in the vast heavens, he had gradually come -to know the difference between the natural body and the spiritual body. -The natural body was like in England, where the sun rises naturally to -make day, and passes naturally at sunset, owing to the earth's -revolving; where the moon "raises her lamp above," on a dear night, and -the stars are "candles" in heaven. That is the natural body: all the -cosmos just a natural fact. And a man loves a woman so that they can -propagate their species. The natural body.</p> - -<p>And the spiritual body is supposed to be something thin and immaterial, -that can float through a brick wall and subsist on mere thought. Jack -had always hated this thin, wafting object. He preferred his body solid. -He loved the beautiful weight and transfigured solidity of living limbs. -He had no use whatsoever for the gossamer stuff of the supposed -"ethereal," or "pure," spirit: like evaporated alcohol. He had a natural -dislike of Shelley, and vegetarians, and socialists, and all advocates -of "spirit." He hated Blake's pictures, with people waving like the -wrong kind of sea-weed, in the sky, instead of under water.</p> - -<p>Hated it all. Till hating it had almost made him wicked.</p> - -<p>Now he had a new understanding. He had always <i>known</i> that the Old -Testament never meant any of this Shelley stuff, this Hindu Nirvana -business. "There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body." And -his natural body got up in the morning to eat food, and tend sheep, and -earn money, and prepare for having a family; to see the sun usefully -making day and setting, owing to the earth's revolution: the new moon so -shapen because the earth's shadow fell on her; the stars being other -worlds, other lumps in space, shining according to their various -distances, coloured according to their chemical composition. Well and -good.</p> - -<p>That is man very cleverly finding out all about it, like a little boy -pulling his toy to pieces.</p> - -<p>But, willy-nilly, in this country he had another sun and another moon. -He had seen the glory of the sun and the glory of the moon, and both -these glories had had a powerful sensual effect on him. There had been a -great passional reaction in himself, in his own body. And as the strange -new passion of fear, and the sense of gloriousness burned through him, -like a new intoxication, he knew that this was his real spiritual body. -This glowing, intoxicated body, drunk with the sun and the moon, drunk -from the cup in the hand of the Lord, <i>this</i> was his spiritual body.</p> - -<p>And when the flame came up in him, tearing from his bowels, in the -sudden new desire for Monica, this was his spiritual body, the body -transfigured with fire. And that steady dark vibration which made him -want to kill Easu—Easu seemed to him like the Antichrist—that -was his own spiritual body. And when he had hit Easu with his broken left -hand, and the white sheet of flame going through him had made him scream -aloud, leaving him strange and distant, but super-conscious and -powerful, this too was his spiritual body. The sun in his right hand and -the moon in his left hand. When he drank from the burning right hand of -the Lord, and wanted Monica in the same fire, it was his body spiritual -burning from the right hand of the Lord. And when he knew he must -destroy Easu, in the sheet of white pain, it was his body spiritual -transfigured from the left hand of the Lord. And when he ate and drank, -and the food tasted good, it was the dark cup of life he was drinking, -drinking the life of the dead ox from the meat. And this was the body -spiritual communing with the sacrificed body of natural life: like a -tiger glowing at evening and lapping blood. And when he rode after the -sheep through the bush, and the horse between his knees went quick and -delicate, it was the Lord tossing him in his spiritual body down the -maze of living.</p> - -<p>But when Easu ground down his horse and shoved it after the sheep, it -was the natural body fiendishly subjugating the spiritual body. For the -horse too is a spiritual body and a natural body, and may be ridden as -the one or as the other. And when Easu wanted Monica, it was the natural -body malignantly degrading the spiritual body. Monica also half wanted -it.</p> - -<p>For Easu knew the spiritual body. And like a fallen angel, he hated it, -he wanted always to overthrow it more, in this day when it is so -abjectly overthrown. Monica too knew the spiritual body: the body of -straight fire. And she too seemed to have a grudge against it. It -thwarted her "natural" will; which "natural" will is the barren devil of -to-day.</p> - -<p>Gran, that old witch, she also knew the spiritual body. But she loved -spiting it. And she was dying like clay.</p> - -<p>Mary, who was so spiritual and so self-sacrificing, she didn't know the -body of straight fire at all. Her spirit was all natural. She was so -"good," and so heavily "natural," she would put out any fire of the -glory of the burning Lord. She was more "natural" even than Easu.</p> - -<p>And Jack's father was the same. So good! So nice! So kind! So absolutely -well-meaning! And he would bank out the fire of the burning Lord with -shovelfuls of kindness.</p> - -<p>They would, none of them, none of them, let the fire bum straight. None -of them. There were no people at all who dared have the fire of the -Lord, and drink from the cup of the fierce glory of the Lord, the sun in -one hand and the moon in the other.</p> - -<p>Only this strange, wild, ash-coloured country with its undiminished sun -and its unblemished moon, would allow it. There was a great death -between the two hands of the Lord; between the sun and the moon. But let -there be a great death. Jack gave himself to it.</p> - -<p>He was almost asleep, in the half-trance of inner consciousness, when -Dad came in. Jack opened his eyes and made to rise, but Dad waved him to -sit still, while he took the chair on the other side of the fire, and -sat down inert. He seemed queer. Dad seemed queer. The same dusky look -over his face as over Gran's. And a queer, pinched, far-away look. Jack -wondered over it. And he could see Dad didn't want to be spoken to. The -clock tick-tocked. Jack went into a kind of sleep.</p> - -<p>He opened his eyes. Dad was very slowly, very slowly fingering the bowl -of his pipe. How quiet it was!</p> - -<p>Jack dozed again, and wakened to a queer noise. It was Dad's breathing: -and perhaps the falling of his pipe. He had dropped his pipe. And his -body had dropped over sideways, very heavy and uncomfortable, and he was -breathing hoarsely, unnaturally in his sleep. Save for the breathing, it -was dreadfully quiet. Jack picked up the pipe and sat down again. He -felt tired: awfully tired, for no reason at all.</p> - -<p>He woke with a start. The afternoon was passing, there was a shower, the -room seemed dark. The firelight flickered on Mr. Ellis' watchguard. He -wore his unbuttoned waistcoat as ever, with the gold watchchain showing. -He was very stout, and very still. Terribly still and sagging sideways, -the hoarse breathing had ceased. Jack would have liked to wake him from -that queer position.</p> - -<p>How quiet it was. Upstairs someone had dragged a chair, and that had -made him realise! Far away, very far away, he could hear Harry and Ellie -and Baby, playing. "There's a quiet of the sun, and another quiet of the -moon, and another quiet of the stars; for one star differs from another -in quiet. So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown a natural -body; it is raised a spiritual body."</p> - -<p>Was that Scripture? or wasn't it? There is a quiet of the sun. This was -the quiet of the sun. He was sitting in the cold, dead quiet of the sun. -For one star differs from another in quiet. The sun had abstained from -radiating, this was the quiet of the sun, and the strange, shadowy -crowding of the stars' differing quietness seemed to infest the weak -daylight.</p> - -<p>It is sown a natural body! Oh, bother the words! He didn't want them. He -wanted the sun to shine, and everything to be normal. If he didn't feel -so weak, and if it weren't raining, he'd go out to the stable to the -horses. To the hotblooded animals.</p> - -<p>Mr. Ellis' head hung sagging on his chest. Jack wished he would wake up -and change his position, it looked horrible.</p> - -<p>The inner door suddenly opened, and Mary came swiftly out. She started, -seeing Mr. Ellis asleep in the chair. Then she went to Jack's side and -took his arm, and leaned whispering in his ear.</p> - -<p>"Jack! She's gone! I think she's gone. I think she passed in her sleep. -We shall have to wake uncle."</p> - -<p>Jack stood up trembling. There was a queer smell in the room. He walked -across and touched the sleeping man on the sleeve.</p> - -<p>"Dad!" he said. "Dad! Mr. Ellis."</p> - -<p>There was no response. They both waited. Then Jack shook the arm more -vigorously. It felt very inert. Mary came across, and put her hand on -her uncle's sunken forehead, to lift his head. She gave a little scream.</p> - -<p>"Something's the matter with him," she said, whimpering.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>Thank goodness, Dr. Rackett was upstairs. They fetched him, and Timothy -and Tom, and carried Mr. Ellis into the dying room.</p> - -<p>"Better leave me alone with him now," said Rackett.</p> - -<p>After ten minutes he came out of the dying room and closed the door -behind him. Tom was standing there. He looked at Rackett enquiringly. -Rackett shook his head.</p> - -<p>"Dad's not dead?" said Tom.</p> - -<p>Rackett nodded.</p> - -<p>Tom's face went to pieces for a moment. Then he composed it, and that -Australian mouth of his, almost like a scar, shut close. He went into -the dying room.</p> - -<p>Someone had to fetch the Methodist son-in-law from York. Jack went in -the sulky. Better die in the cart than stop in that house. And he could -drive the sulky quietly.</p> - -<p>The Methodist son-in-law, though he was stout and wore black, and Jack -objected to him on principle, wasn't really so bad, in his own home. His -wife Ruth of course burst into tears and ran upstairs. Her husband kept -his face straight, brought out the whiskey tantalus, and poured some for -Jack and himself. This they both drank with befitting gravity.</p> - -<p>"I must be in chapel in fifteen minutes; that will be five minutes -late," said the parson. "But they can't complain, under the -circumstances. Mrs. Blogg of course will stay at home. Er—is anyone -making arrangements out at Wandoo?"</p> - -<p>"What arrangements?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, seeing to things ... the personal property, too."</p> - -<p>"I was sent for you," said Jack. "I suppose they thought you'd see to -things."</p> - -<p>"Yes! Certainly! Certainly! I'll be out with Mrs. Blogg directly after -Meeting. Let me see."</p> - -<p>He went to a table and laboriously wrote two notes. Twisting them into -cocked hats, he handed them one after the other to Jack, saying:</p> - -<p>"This is to the Church of England parson. Leave it at his house. I've -made it Toosday, Toosday at half-past ten. I suppose that'll do. And -this—this is to the joiner."</p> - -<p>He looked at Jack meaningly, and Jack looked vague. "Joshua Jenkins, at -the joiner's shop. Third house from the end of the road. And you'll find -him in the loft over the stable, Sunday or not, if he isn't in the -house."</p> - -<p>It was sunset, and the single bells of the church and chapel were -sounding their last ping! ping! ping-ping! as Jack drove slowly down the -straggling street of York. People were going to church, the women in -their best shawls and bonnets, hurrying a little along the muddy road, -where already the cows were lying down to sleep, and the loose horses -straggled uncomfortably. Occasionally a muddy buggy rattled up to the -brick Church of England, people passed shadow-shape into the wooden -Presbyterian Church, or waited outside the slab Meeting House of the -Methodists. The choir band was already scraping fiddles and tooting -cornets in the church. Lamps were lighted within and one feeble lamp at -the church gate. It was a cloudy evening. Odd horsemen went trotting -through the mud, going out into the country again as night fell, rather -forlorn.</p> - -<p>Jack always felt queer, in York on Sundays. The attempt at Sunday seemed -to him like children's make-believe. The churches weren't real churches, -the parsons weren't real parsons, the people weren't real worshippers. -It was a sort of earnest make-believe, where people felt important like -actors. And the pub, with its extra number of lamps, seemed to feel -extra wicked. And the men riding home, often tipsy, seemed vague as to -what was real, this York acting Sunday, or their dark, rather dreary -farms away out, or some other third unknown thing. Was anything quite -real? That was what the shadows, the people, the buildings seemed all to -be asking. It was like children's games, real and not real, actual and -yet unsubstantial, and the people seemed to feel as children feel, very -earnest, very sure, very sure that they were very real, but having to -struggle all the time to keep up the conviction. If they didn't keep up -the conviction, the dark, strange Australian night might clear them and -their little town all away into some final cupboard, and leave the -aboriginal bush again.</p> - -<p>Joshua Jenkins the godless, was in the loft with a chisel, working by -lantern light. He peered at the twisted note, and his face brightened.</p> - -<p>"Two of 'em!" he exclaimed, with a certain gusto. "Well, think o' that, -think o' that! And I've not had a job o' this sort for over a month. -Well, I never, t'be sure! 'T never rains but it comes down cats and -dogs, seemingly. Toosday! Toosday! Toosday! Let's see—" and he -scratched his head behind the ear. "Pretty quick work that, pretty quick -work. But can be done, oh, yes, can be done. I's'll have t' send -somebody t' measure the Boss. How deep should you say he was in the -barrel? Never mind though, I'll send Sam over with the measure, come -morning. But I can start right away on the old lady. Let's see! Let's -see! Let's see! She wouldn't be-e-e—she wouldn't be over five foot -two or three now, would she?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," said Jack hoarsely. "Do you mean for her coffin?" He was -filled with horror.</p> - -<p>"Well, I should say I do. I should say so. You don't see no -sewing-machine here, do you, for sewing her shroud. I suppose I do mean -her coffin, being joiner and carpenter, and J. P. and coroner as well -when required."</p> - -<p>Jack fled, horrified. But as he lit his sulky candles, and set off at a -slow trot out of the town, he laughed a bit to himself. He felt it was -rather funny. Why shouldn't it be rather funny? He hoped it would be a -bit funny when he was dead too, to relieve matters. He sat in the easy -sulky driving slowly down the washed-out road, in the dark, alien night. -The night was dark and strange. An animal ran along the road in front of -him, just discernible, at the far edge of the dim yellow candle glow. It -was a wild grey thing, running ahead into the dark. On into the dark.</p> - -<p>Why should one care? Beyond a certain point, one didn't care about -anything, life or death. One just felt it all. Up to a certain point, -one had to go through the mill, caring and feeling bad. One had to cry -out to the Lord, and fight the ugly brutes of life. And then for a time -it was over, and one didn't care, good or bad, Lord or no Lord. One paid -one's whack of caring and then one was let off for a time. When one was -dead, one didn't care any more. And that was death. But life too had its -own indifference, its own deep, strong indifference: as the ocean is -calm way down, under the most violent storm.</p> - -<p>When he got home, Tom came out to the sulky. Tom's face was set with -that queer Australian look, as if he were caught in a trap, and it -wasn't any use complaining about it. He unharnessed the horse in a -rough, flinging fashion. Jack didn't know what to say to him, so he -thought he'd better keep quiet.</p> - -<p>Lennie came riding in on Lucy. He slid to the ground and dragged the -mare's bridle roughly.</p> - -<p>"Come on, yer blasted old idjut, can't ye!" he blubbed, dragging her to -the stable door. "Blasted idjut, my Uncle Joe!" he continued, between -the sniffs and gulps of his blub-bing. "Questions! Questions! How c'n I -answer questions when I don't know myself!" A loud blub as he dragged -the saddle down on top of himself, in his frenzy of untackling Lucy. -"Rackett says to me, Len,' he says,"—blub and a loud sniff—"'y' -father's took bad and pore ol' Gran's gone,' he says"—blub! blub! -blub—"'Be off an' fetch y' Uncle Joe an' tell him to come at -onst'—an' he can go to <i>hell.</i>" Lennie ended on a shout of -defiance as he staggered into the stable with the saddle. And from the dark -his voice came: "An' when I ask our Tom what's amiss wi'm' Dad," blub! -blub! "blasted idjut looks at me like a blasted owl—like a blasted -owl!" And Lennie sobbed before he sniffed and came out for the bridle.</p> - -<p>"Don't y' cry, Lennie," said Jack, who was himself crying for all he was -worth, under the cover of the dark.</p> - -<p>"I'm not crying, y' bloomin' fool, you!" shouted Len. "I'm gain' in to -see Ma, I am. Get some sense outta <i>her.</i>"</p> - -<p>He walked off towards the house, and then came back.</p> - -<p>"Why don' you go in, Tom, an' see?" he cried. "What d'yer stan' there -like that for, what <i>do</i> yer?"</p> - -<p>There was a dead and horrible silence, outside the stable door in the -dark. A silence that went to the core of the night, having no word to -say.</p> - -<p>The lights of a buggy were seen at the gate. The three waited. It was -the unmarried Aunts. One of them ran and took Len in her arms.</p> - -<p>"Oh, you poor little lamb!" she cried. "Oh, your poor Ma! Your Ma! Your -poor Ma!"</p> - -<p>"Ma's not bad! She's all right," yelped Len in a new fear. Then there -was a pause, and he became super-conscious. Then he drew away from the -Aunts.</p> - -<p>"Is Dad dead?" he asked in a queer, quizzical little voice, looking -from Tom to Jack, in the dim buggy light. Tom stood as if paralysed.</p> - -<p>Lennie at last gave a queer, animal "Whooo," like a dog dazed with pain, -and flung himself into Tom's arms. The only sounds in the night were -Tom's short, dry sobs, as he held Lennie, and the whimpering of the -Aunts.</p> - -<p>"Come to your poor Mother, come to comfort her," said one of the Aunts -gently.</p> - -<p>"Tom! Tom!" cried Lennie. "I'm skeered! I'm skeered, Tom, o' them two -corpses! I'm skeered of 'em, Tom." Tom, who was a little skeered too, -gave a short, dry bark of a sob.</p> - -<p>"They won't hurt you, precious!" said the Aunt. "They won't hurt you. -Come to your poor Mother."</p> - -<p>"No-o-o!" wailed Lennie in terror, and he flung away to Timothy's cabin, -where he slept all night.</p> - -<p>When the horses were fixed up, Tom and Jack went to the cubby. Tom flung -himself on the bed without undressing, and lay there in silence. Jack -did the same. He didn't know what else to do. At last he managed to say:</p> - -<p>"Don't take it too hard, Tom! Dad's lived his life, and he's got all you -children. We have to live. We all have to live. An' then we've got to -die."</p> - -<p>There was unresponsive silence for a time.</p> - -<p>"What's the blasted use of it all, anyhow?" said Tom.</p> - -<p>"There's no such thing as <i>use</i>," said Jack. "Dad lived, and he had -his life. He had his life. You'll have yours. And I shall have mine. It's -just your life, and you live it."</p> - -<p>"What's the <i>good</i> of it?" persisted Tom heavily.</p> - -<p>"Neither good nor bad. You live your life because it's your own, and -nobody can live it for you."</p> - -<p>"What good is it to me?" said Tom dully, drearily. "I don't care if -people live their lives or not."</p> - -<p>Jack felt for the figure on the bed.</p> - -<p>"Shake hands, though, Tom," he said. "You are alive, and so am I. Shake -hands on it, then."</p> - -<p>He found the hand and got a faint response, sulky, heavy. But for very -shame Tom could not withhold all response.</p> - -<p>Tim came in the morning with tea and bread and butter, saying Tom was -wanted inside, and would Jack go with him to attend to the grave. Poor -Tim was very much upset, and wept and wailed unrestrainedly. Which -perhaps was good, because it spared the others the necessity to weep and -wail.</p> - -<p>They hitched up the old buggy, and set off with a pick and a couple of -spades. Old black Timothy on the driving-box occasionally startled Jack -by breaking forth into a new sudden wail, like a dog suddenly -remembering again. It was a fine day. The earth had already dried up, -and a hot, dry, gritty wind was blowing from inland, from the east. They -drove out of the paddocks and along an overgrown trail, then they -crossed the river, heaving and floundering through the slough, for at -this season it was no more. The excitement of the driving here made -Timothy forget to wail.</p> - -<p>Rounding a steep little bluff, they came to a lonely, forlorn little -enclosed graveyard, which Jack had never seen. Tim wailed, then asked -where the grave should be. The sun grew very hot. They nosed around the -little, lonely, parched acre.</p> - -<p>Jack could not dig, so he unharnessed the outfit and put a box of chaff -before the horses. Tim flung his spade over against a little grey -headstone, and climbed in with the pick. Even then they weren't quite -sure how big to make the grave, so Jack lay on the ground while Tim -picked out a line around him. They got a straight line with a rope.</p> - -<p>The soil was as hard as cement. Tim toiled and moiled, and forgot all -wailing. But he made little impression on the cement-like earth.</p> - -<p>"What we goin' to do?" he asked, scratching his sweating head. "What 'n -hell's name we goin't' do, sir? Gotta bury 'm Toosday, gotta." And he -looked at the blazing sun. "Gotta dig him hole sevenfut deep grave, -gotta do 't."</p> - -<p>He set to again. Then two of the Reds came, sent to help. But the work -was killing. The day became so hot, you forgot it, you passed into a -kind of spell. But that work was heart-breaking.</p> - -<p>Jack went off for dynamite, and Rackett came along, with Lennie, who -would never miss a dynamiting show. Tim wrung his wet hair like a mop. -The Reds, in their vests, were scarlet, and the vests were wet and -grimy.</p> - -<p>Much more fun with dynamite. Boom! Bang! Then somebody throwing out the -dirt. Somebody going for a ladder. Boom! Bang! The explosions seemed -enormous.</p> - -<p>"Oh, for the love o' Mike!" cried the excited Lennie. "Yell blow me ol' -grandfather sky high, if y' don't mind. For the love of Mike, don't let -me see his bones."</p> - -<p>But the grandfather Ellis was safe in the next grave. Rackett laid -another fuse. They all stood back. Bang! Boom! Pouf! went the dust.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>Jack would have done anything to escape the funeral, but Timothy, for -some reason, kept hold of him. He wanted him to help replace the turf: -moral support rather than physical assistance.</p> - -<p>The two of them hid behind the pinch. At last they saw the cortege -approaching. Easu Ellis held the reins of the first team, and chewed the -end of the whip. Beside him sat Joshua Jenkins, as a mute, fearful in -black and like a scarecrow with loose danglings of crape. In the buggy -behind them, on the floor-boards, was Gran's coffin, shaking wofully, -covered with a black cloth. Joe Low drove the second buggy, which was -the second hearse, and he looked strained and anxious as the heavy -coffin bumped when the buggy dropped into holes on the track. Then came -the family shay with the chief male mourners. Then a little crowd on -foot.</p> - -<p>The horses were behaving badly, not liking the road. It was hot, the -vile east wind was blowing. Easu's horse jibbed at the slough of the -stream: would not take it. He was afraid the horses would jump, and toss -the coffin out of the buggy. He had to get bearers to carry Gran's poor -remains across the mud and up the pinch to their last house. The bearers -sunk almost to their knees in mud. The whole cortege was at a -standstill.</p> - -<p>Joe Low's horses, mortally frightened, were jumping round till they were -almost facing the horses in the mourners' shay. Easu ran to their heads. -More bearers, strong men, came forward to lift out Dad's heavy coffin. -Everybody watched in terror as they staggered through the slough of the -stream with that unnatural burden. Was it going to fall?</p> - -<p>No, they were through. Men were putting branches and big stones for the -foot-mourners to cross, everybody sweating and sweltering. The sporting -parson, his white surplice waving in the hateful, gritty hot wind, came -strinding over, holding his book. Then Tom, with a wooden, stupid face. -Then Lennie, cracking nuts between his teeth and spitting out the -shells, in an agony of nervousness. Then the other mourners, some -carrying a few late, weird bush-flowers, picking their way over like a -train of gruesome fowls, staggering and clutching on the stones and -boughs, landing safe on the other bank. Jack watched from a safe -distance above.</p> - -<p>There were two coffins, one on either side of the grave. Some of the -uncles had top hats with dangling crape. Nearly everybody was black. -Poor Len, what a black little crow he looked! The sporting parson read -the service manfully. Then he announced hymn number 225.</p> - -<p>Jack could feel the hollow place below, with the black mourners, simmer -with panic, when the parson in cold blood asked them to sing a hymn. But -he read the first verse solemnly, like an overture:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Oh sweet and blessed country</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The home of God's elect!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oh sweet and blessed country</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That eager hearts expect . . ."</span></p> - - -<p>There was a deadly pause. There was going to be no answer from the -uncomfortable congregation, under that hot sun.</p> - -<p>But Uncle Blogg was not to be daunted. He struck up in a rather fat, -wheezy, Methodist voice, and Aunt Ruth piped feebly. The maiden Aunts, -who had insisted on following their mother, though women were not -expected to attend, listened to this for an awful minute or two, then -they waveringly "tried" to join in. It was really only funny. And Tom in -all his misery, suddenly started to laugh. Lennie looked up at him with -wide eyes, but Tom's shoulders shook, shook harder, especially when Aunt -Minnie "tried" to sing alto. That alto he could not bear.</p> - -<p>The Reds were beginning to grin sheepishly and to turn their heads over -their shoulders, as if the open country would not object to their grins. -It was becoming a scandal.</p> - -<p>Lennie saved the situation. His voice came clear and pure, like a -chorister's, rising above the melancholy "trying" of the relations, a -clear, pure singing, that seemed to dominate the whole wild bush.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Oh sweet and blessed country</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That eager hearts expect.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Jesu in mercy bring us</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To that dear land of rest;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who art with God the Father,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And Spirit ever blessed."</span></p> - - -<p>At the sound of Lennie's voice, Tom turned white as a sheet, and looked -as if he were going to die too. But the boy's voice soared on, with that -pure quality of innocence that was sheer agony to the elder brother.</p> - - - - -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>Jack, who was looking sick again, was sent away to the Greenlows' next -day. And he was glad to go, thankful to be out of it. He loathed death, -he loathed death, and Wandoo had suddenly become full of death.</p> - -<p>The first cool days of the year, golden and blue, were at hand. The -Greenlow girls made much of him. He rode with them after sheep, -inspecting fences, examining far-off wells. They were not bad girls at -all. They taught him to play solitaire at evening, to hold worsted, even -to spin. Real companionable girls, thankful to have a young man in the -house, spoiling him completely. Pa was home after the first day, and -acted as a sort of hairy chimpanzee chaperone, but looking over his -spectacles and hissing through his teeth was his severest form of -reproof. He didn't set Jack to wash that Sunday, but even gave him -tit-bits from the joint, so that our young hero almost knew what it was -to have a prospective father-in-law.</p> - -<p>Jack left Gum Tree Croft with regret. For he knew his life at Wandoo was -over. Now Dad was dead, everything was going to break up. This was -bitter to him, for it was the first place he had ever loved, ever wanted -to stay in, for ever and ever. He loved the family. He couldn't bear to -go away from them.</p> - -<p>"Never mind!" he said to himself. "I shall always have them in some way -or other, all my life."</p> - -<p>Things seemed different when he got back. There wasn't much real -difference, except a bit of raking and clearing up had been done for the -funeral. But Wandoo itself seemed to have died. For the meantime, the -homestead was as if dead.</p> - -<p>Grace and Monica looked unnatural in black frocks. They felt -unnatural.</p> - -<p>Jack was told that Mr. George was having a conclave in the parlour, and -that he was to go in.</p> - -<p>Tom, Mrs. Ellis, and Mr. George and Dr. Rackett were there, seated round -the table, on which were some papers. Jack shook hands, and sat uneasily -in an empty chair on Dr. Rackett's side of the table. Mr. George was -explaining things simply.</p> - -<p>Mr. Ellis left no will. But the first marriage certificate had been -found. Tom was to inherit Wandoo, but not till he came legally of age, -in a year and a half's time. Meanwhile Mrs. Ellis could continue on the -place, and carry on as best she might, on behalf of herself and all the -children. For a year and a half.</p> - -<p>She heard in silence. After a year and a half she would be homeless: or -at least dependent on Tom, who was not her son. She sat silent in her -black dress.</p> - -<p>Tom cleared his throat and stared at the table. Then he looked up at -Jack, and, scarlet in the face, said:</p> - -<p>"I've been thinking, Ma, I don't want the place. You have it, for Len. I -don't want it. You have it, for Len an' the kids. I'd rather go away. -Best if that certificate hadn't never been found, if you're going to -feel you're turned out."</p> - -<p>He dropped his head in confusion. Mr. George held up his hand.</p> - -<p>"No more of that heroic talk," he said. "When Jacob Ellis stored up that -marriage certificate at the bottom of that box, he showed what he meant. -And you may feel as you say to-day, but two years hence you might repent -it."</p> - -<p>Tom looked up angrily.</p> - -<p>"I don't believe Tom would ever regret it," put in Mrs. Ellis. "But I -couldn't think of it. Len wouldn't let me, even if I wanted to."</p> - -<p>"Of course not," said Mr. George. "We've got to be sensible, and the -law's the law. You <i>can't</i> alter it yet, my boy, even if you want to. -You're not of age yet.</p> - -<p>"So you listen to me. My plan is for you and Jack to go out into the -colony and get some experience. Sow your wild oats if you've any to sow, -or else pick up a bit of good oat-seed. One or the other.</p> - -<p>"My idea is for you and Jack to go up for a year to Lang's Well station, -out Roeburne way. Lang'll give you your keep and a pound a week each, -and your fare refunded if you stay a year.</p> - -<p>"The 'Rob Roy' sails from Geraldton about a month from now; you can get -passages on her. And I thought it would be just as well, Tom, if you and -Jack rode up through that midland country. You've a hundred connections -to; see, who'll change y'r horses for y'. And you'll see the country. -And y'll be men of travel. We want men of experience, men of a wide -outlook. Somebody's got to be the head-piece of this colony, when men -like me and the rest of us are gone. It'll be a three hundred mile ride, -but ye've nigh on a month to do it.</p> - -<p>"Now, what do you say, my boy? Your mother will stop on here with the -children. I'll see she gets a good man to run the place. And meanwhile -she'll be able to fix something up for herself. Oh, we shall settle all -right. I'll see your mother through all right. No fear of that. And no -fear of any deterioration to the place. I'll watch that. You bet I -will."</p> - -<p>Tom twisted his fingers, white at the gills, and mumbled his thanks -vaguely.</p> - -<p>"Jack," said Mr. George. "I know you're game. And you will look after -Tom."</p> - -<p>Dr. Rackett said he thought it a wise plan, and further, that if Mrs. -Ellis would consent, he would like to bear the expenses of sending -Lennie to school in England for the next three years.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ellis woke from her dream to say quickly:</p> - -<p>"Although I thank you kindly, Dr. Rackett, I think you'll understand if -I say No."</p> - -<p>Her decision startled everybody.</p> - -<p>"Prrh! Bah!" snorted Mr. George. "There's one thing. I doubt if we could -make Lennie go. But, with your permission, Alice, well ask him. Jack, -find Lennie for us."</p> - -<p>"I'll not say a word," said Mrs. Ellis, nervously clutching the edge of -the table. "I won't influence him. But if he goes it'll be the death of -me. Poor old Lennie! Poor old Lennie!"</p> - -<p>"Prrh! Bahl That's nonsense! Nonsense!" said Mr. George angrily. "Give -the boy his chance, leave your fool emotions out, d'ye hear, Alice -Ellis."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ellis sat like a martyr stubborn at the stake. Jack brought the -mistrustful Len, who stood like a prisoner at the bar. Mr. George put -the case as attractively as possible.</p> - -<p>Len slowly shook his head, with a grimace of distaste.</p> - -<p>"No, I <i>don't</i> think!" he remarked. "Not fer mine, you bet! I stays -alongside my pore ol' Ma, here in Western Austrylia."</p> - -<p>Mr. George adjusted his eyeglasses severely.</p> - -<p>"Your mother is neither poor nor old," he said coldly.</p> - -<p>"I never!" broke out Lennie.</p> - -<p>"And this country, thank God, is called Australia, not Austrylia. When -you open your mouth you give proof enough of your need for education. I -should like to hear different language in your mouth, my son, and see -different ideas working in your head."</p> - -<p>Lennie, rather pale and nervous, stared with wide eyes at him.</p> - -<p>"You never—" he said. "You never ketch me talkin' like Jack Grant, -not if y' skin me alive." And he shifted from one foot to the other.</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't take the trouble to skin you, alive or dead. Your skin -wouldn't be worth it. But come. You're an intelligent boy. You need -education. You <i>need</i> it. Your nature needs it, child. Your mother -ought to see that. Your nature needs you to be educated, well-educated. -You'll be wasted afterwards—you will. And you'll repent it. Mark me, -you'll repent it, when you're older, and your spirit, which should be -trained and equipped, is as clumsy and half-baked as any other cornseed's. -You'll be a fretful, uneasy, wasted man, you will. Your mother ought to -see that. You'll be a half-baked, quarter-educated bush-whacker, instead -of a well-equipped man."</p> - -<p>Len looked wonderingly at his mother. But she still sat like an -obstinate martyr at the stake, and gave him no sign.</p> - -<p>"Don't <i>he</i> educate me?" asked Len, pointing to Rackett.</p> - -<p>"As much as you'll let him," said Mr. George. "But—"</p> - -<p>Lennie's face crumpled up with irritation.</p> - -<p>"Oh, what for do you want me to be educated?" he cried testily. "I don' -want to be like Uncle Blogg. I don' wantter be like Dr. Rackett even." -He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "'N I don' wantter be like Jack Grant -neither. I don' wantta. I don' wantta, I tell y' I don' wantta."</p> - -<p>"Do you think they would want to be like you?" asked Mr. George.</p> - -<p>Lennie looked from him to Rackett, and then to Jack.</p> - -<p>"Jack's not so very diff'rent," he said slowly. And he shook his head. -"But can't y' believe me," he cried. "I don' wantta go to England. I -don' wantta talk fine and be like them. Can't ye see I don't? I don' -wantta. What's the good! What's the mortal use of it, anyhow? Aren't I -right as I am?"</p> - -<p>"What <i>do</i> you want to do?"</p> - -<p>"I wants to work. I wants to milk an' feed, and plough, and reap and lay -out irrigation, like Dad. An' I wants to look after Ma an' the kids. An' -then I'll get married and be on a place of me own with kids of me own, -an' die, like Dad, an' be done for. That's what I wants. It is."</p> - -<p>He looked desperately at his mother.</p> - -<p>Mr. George slowly shook his head, staring at the keen, beautiful, but -reluctant boy.</p> - -<p>"I suppose that's what we've come to," said Rackett.</p> - -<p>"Didn't you learn me!" cried Lennie defiantly. And striking a little -attitude, like a naive earnest actor, he repeated:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'Here rests, his head upon the lap of earth,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A youth of fortune and to fame unknown.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fair science frowned not on his humble birth,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And melancholy marked him for her own.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heaven did a recompense as largely send.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He gave to misery all he had, a tear,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He gained from heaven, 'twas all he wished, a friend."</span></p> - - -<p>"There," he continued. "That's me! An' I've got a friend already."</p> - -<p>"You're a little fool," said Mr. George. "Much mark of melancholy there -is on you! And do you think misery is going to thank you for your -idiotic tear? As for your friend, he's going away. And you're a fool, -putting up a headstone to yourself while you're alive still. Damn you, -you little fool, and be damned to you."</p> - -<p>Mr. George was really cross. He flounced his spectacles off his nose. -Len was frightened. Then he said, rather waveringly, turning to his -mother:</p> - -<p>"We're all right, Ma, ain't we?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ellis looked at him with her subtlest, tenderest smile. And in -Lennie's eyes burned a light of youthful indignation against these old -men.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h4> - -<h4>TOM AND JACK RIDE TOGETHER</h4> - - -<p>These days Monica was fascinating to Jack's eyes. She wore a black -dress, and her slimness, her impulsive girlishness under this cloud were -wistful, exquisite. He would have liked to love her, soothingly, -protectively, passionately. He would have liked to cherish her, with -passion. Always he looked to her for a glance of intimacy, looked to see -if she wouldn't accept his passion and his cherishing. He wanted to -touch her, to kiss her, to feel the eternal lightning of her slim body -through the cloud of that black dress. He wanted to declare to her that -he loved her, as Alec Rice had declared to Grace; and he wanted to ask -her to marry him. To ask her to marry him at once.</p> - -<p>But mostly he wanted to touch her and hold her in his arms. He watched -her all the time, hoping to get one of the old, long looks from her -yellow eyes, from under her bended brows. Her long, deep, enigmatic -looks, that used to worry him so. Now he longed for her to look at him -like that.</p> - -<p>Or better still if she would let him see her trouble and her grief, and -love her so, with a passionate cherishing.</p> - -<p>But she would do neither. She kept her grief and her provocation both -out of sight, as if neither existed. Her little face remained mute and -closed, like a shut-up bud. She only spoke to him with a vague distant -voice, and she never really looked at him. Or if she did glance at him, -it was in a kind of anger, and pain, as if she did not want to be -interfered with; didn't want to be pulled down.</p> - -<p>He was completely puzzled. Her present state was quite incomprehensible -to him. She had nothing to reproach him with, surely. And if she had -loved him, even a little, she could surely love him that little still. -If she had so often taken his hand and clutched it, surely she could now -let him take <i>her</i> hand, in real sympathy.</p> - -<p>It was if she were angry with <i>him</i> because Dad had died. Jack -hadn't wanted Dad to die. Indeed no. He was cut up by it as if he had been -one of the family. And it was as bad a blow to his destiny as to hers. He -was as sore and sorry as anybody. Yet she kept her face shut against -him, and avoided him, as if he were to blame.</p> - -<p>Completely puzzled, Jack went on with his preparations for departure. He -had no choice. He was under orders from Mr. George, and with Mrs. Ellis' -approval, to quit Wandoo, to ride with Tom up to Geraldton, and to spend -at least a year on the sheep station up north. It had to be. It was the -wheel of fate. So let it be.</p> - -<p>And as the last day drew near, the strange volcano of anger which -slumbered at the bottom of his soul—a queer, quiescent crater of -anger which churned its deep hot lava invisible—threw up jets of -silver rage, which hardened rapidly into a black, rocky indifference. And -this was characteristic of him: an indifference which was really congealed -anger, and which gave him a kind of innocent, remote, childlike quietness.</p> - -<p>This was his nature. He was himself vaguely aware of the unplumbed -crater of silent anger which lay at the bottom of his soul. It was not -anger against any particular thing, or because of anything in -particular. It was just generic, inherent in him. It was himself. It did -not make him hate people, individually, unless they were hateful. It did -not make him hard or cruel. Indeed he was too yielding rather than -otherwise, too gentle and mindful of horses and cattle, for example, -unmindful of himself. Tom often laughed at him for it. If Lucy had a -will of her own, and a caprice she wanted to execute, he always let her -go ahead, take her way, as far as was reasonable. If she exceeded her -limits, his anger roused and there was no doing any more with him. But -he very rarely, very rarely got really angry. Only then in the long, -slow accumulation of hostility, as with Easu.</p> - -<p>But anger! A deep, fathomless well-head of slowly-moving, invisible -fire. Somewhere in his consciousness he was aware of it, and in this -awareness it was as if he belonged to a race apart. He never felt -identified with the great humanity. He belonged to a race apart, like -the race of Cain. This he had always known.</p> - -<p>Sometimes he met eyes that were eyes of his own outcast race. As a tiny -boy it had been so. Fairs had always fascinated him, because at the -fairs in England he met the eyes of gipsies who, in a glance, understood -him. His own people <i>could</i> not understand. But in the black eyes of a -gipsy woman he had seen the answer, even as a boy of ten. And he had -thought: I ought to go away with her, run away with her.</p> - -<p>It was the anger, the deep, burning <i>life-anger</i> which was the -kinship. Not a deathly, pale, nervous anger. But an anger of the old blood. -And it was this which had attracted him to grooms, horsey surroundings, and -to pugilists. In them was some of this same deep, generous anger of the -blood. And now in Australia too, he saw it like a secret away at the -bottom of the black, full, strangely shining eyes of the aborigines. -There it lay, the secret, like an eternal, brilliant snake. And it -established at once a kind of free-masonry between him and the blacks. -They were curiously aware of him, when he came: aware of his coming, -aware of his going. As if in him were the same great Serpent of their -anger. And they were downcast now he was going away, as if their -strength were being taken from them. Old Tim, who had taken a great -fancy to Jack, relapsed into a sort of glumness as if he too, now, were -preparing to die.</p> - -<p>Since Jack had come back from the Greenlows' farm, Monica had withdrawn -to a distance, a kind of luminous distance, and put a chasm between -herself and Jack. She moved mute and remote on the shining side of the -chasm. He stood on the dark side, looking across the blackness of the -gulf at her as if she were some kind of star. Surely the gulf would -close up. Surely they both would be on natural ground again.</p> - -<p>But no! always that incomprehensible little face with fringed lashes, -and mouth that opened with a little smile, a vulnerable little smile, as -if asking them all to be kind to her, to be pitiful towards her, and not -try to touch her.</p> - -<p>"Well, good-bye, Monica, for the present," he said, as he sat in the -saddle in the yard, and Tom started away riding towards the gate, -leading the bulky-looking pack-horse.</p> - -<p>"Good-bye. Come back!" said Monica, looking up with a queer, hard little -question come into her eyes, but her face remote as ever.</p> - -<p>Jack kicked his horse and started.</p> - -<p>"I'll come back," he said over his shoulder. But he didn't look round at -her. His heart had gone hard and hot in his breast. He was glad to be -going.</p> - -<p>Lennie had opened the gate. He stood there as Jack rode through.</p> - -<p>"Why can't I never come?" he cried.</p> - -<p>Jack laughed and rode on, after the faithful Tom. He was glad to go. He -was glad to leave Wandoo. He was glad to say no more good-byes, and to -feel no more pain. He was glad to be gone, since he was going, from the -unlucky place. He was glad to be gone from its doom. There was a doom -over it, a doom. And he was glad to be gone.</p> - -<p>The morning was still orange and green. Winter had set in at last, the -rains had begun to be heavy. They might have trouble with drenchings and -hoggings, but that, Tom said, was better than drought and sunstrokes. -And anyhow the weather this morning was perfect.</p> - -<p>The dark forest of karri that ran to the left of Wandoo away on the -distant horizon, cut a dark pattern on the egg-green sky. Good-bye! -Good-bye! to it. The sown fields they were riding through glittered with -tender blades of wheat. Good-bye! Good-bye! Somebody would reap it. The -bush was now full of sparks of the beautiful, uncanny flowers of Western -Australia, and bright birds started and flew. Sombre the bush was in -itself, but out of the heavy dullness came sharp scarlet, flame-spark -flowers, and flowers as lambent gold as sunset, and wan white flowers, -and flowers of a strange, darkish rich blue, like the vault of heaven -just after sundown. The scent of rain, of eucalyptus, and of the strange -brown-green shrubs of the bush!</p> - -<p>They rode in silence, Tom ahead with the pack-horse, and they did not -draw near, but rode apart. They were travelling due west from York, -along a bush track toward Paddy's Crossing. And as they went they drew -nearer and nearer to the dark, low fringe of hills behind which, for the -last twelve months, Jack had seen the sun setting with its great golden -glow. Trees grew along the ridge of the hills, scroll-like and -mysterious. They had always seemed to Jack like the bar of heaven.</p> - -<p>By noon the riders reached the ridge, and the bar of heaven was the huge -karri trees which went up aloft so magnificently. But the karri forest -ended here with a jerk. Beyond, the earth ran away down long, long -slopes, covered with scrub, down the greyness and undulation of -Australia, towards the great dimness where was the coast. The sun was -hot at noon. Jack was glad when Tom called a halt under the last trees, -facing the great, soft, open swaying of the land seaward, and they began -to make tea.</p> - -<p>They had hardly sat down to drink their tea, when they heard a buggy -approaching. It was the mysterious Dr. Rackett, driven by the grinning -Sam. Rackett said nothing, just greeted the youths, pulled his tin mug -and tucker from under the buggy seat, and joined in, chatting casually -as if it had all been pre-arranged.</p> - -<p>Tom was none too pleased, but he showed nothing. And when the tea was -finished, he made good by handing over the beast of a pack-horse to Sam. -Poor Sam sat in the back of the vehicle lugging the animal along, -jerking its reluctant neck. Rackett drove in lonely state on the driving -seat. Tom and Jack trotted quickly ahead, on the down-slope, and were -soon out of sight. They were thankful to ride free.</p> - -<p>Over the ridge they felt Wandoo was left behind, and they were in the -open world again, away from care. Whenever man drives his tent-pegs -deep, to stay, he drives them into underlying water of sorrow. Best ride -tentless. So thought the boys.</p> - -<p>They were going to a place called Paddy's Crossing, a settlement -new to Jack, but well known to Tom as the -place-where-men-went-when-they-wanted-a-private-jamboree. What a -jamboree was, Jack, being a gentleman, that is not a lady, would learn -in due course.</p> - -<p>As the ground came to a rolling hollow, Tom set off at a good pace, and -away they went, galloping beautifully along the soft earth trail, -galloping, galloping, putting the miles between them and Wandoo and -women and care. They both rode in a kind of passion for riding, for -hurling themselves ahead down the new road. To be men out alone in the -world, away from the women and the dead stone of trouble.</p> - -<p>They reached the river hours before Rackett's turn-out. Fording it they -rode into the mushroom settlement, a string of slab cabins with shingle -roofs and calico window-panes—or else shuttered-up windows. The -stoves were outside the chimney-less cabins, under brush shelters. One such -"kitchen," a fore-runner, had already a roof of flattened-out, rusty tin -cans.</p> - -<p>But it was a cosy, canny nook, homely, nestling down in the golden -corner of the earth, the mimosa in bloom by the river. And it was -beautifully ephemeral. As transient, as casual as the bushes themselves.</p> - -<p>Jack for the moment had a dread of solid houses of brick and stone and -permanence. There was always horror somewhere inside them.</p> - -<p>He wanted the empty, timeless Australia, with nooks like this of flimsy -wooden cabins by a river with a wattle bush.</p> - -<p>There was one older, white-washed cabin with vine trellises.</p> - -<p>"That's Paddy's," said Tom. "He grows grapes, and makes wine out of the -little black ones. But the muscats is best. I'm not keen on wine, -anyhow. Something a drop more warming."</p> - -<p>Jack was amazed at the good Tom. He had never known him to drink.</p> - -<p>"There's nobody about," said Jack, as they rode up the incline between -the straggling cabins.</p> - -<p>"All asleep," said Tom.</p> - -<p>It was not so, however, because as they crested the slope and looked -into the little hollow beyond, they saw a central wooden building, hall -or mission or church, and people crowding like flies.</p> - -<p>But Tom turned up to Paddy's white inn, up the side slope. He was -remorseful about having galloped the horses at the beginning of such a -long trip. The inn seemed deserted. Tom coo-eeed! but there was no -answer.</p> - -<p>"All shut up!" he said. "What's that paper on the door?"</p> - -<p>Jack got down and walked stiffly to the door, for the ride had been long -and hard and downhill, and his knees were hurting. "'Gone to the wedin -be ome soon P. O. T.'" he read. "What is P. O. T.?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"What I stand in need of," said the amazing Tom.</p> - -<p>They were just turning their horses towards the stable when, with a -racket and a canter, an urchin drove round from the yard in a -pitch-black wicker chaise, a bone-white, careworn horse slopping between -the shafts.</p> - -<p>"You two blokes," yelled the urchin, "'d better get on th' trail for th' -church, else Father Prendy 'll be on y' tail, I tell y'."</p> - -<p>"What's up?" shouted Tom.</p> - -<p>"I'm just off fer th' bride. Ol' Nick 'ere 'eld me up runnin' away from -me in the paddock."</p> - -<p>Tom grinned, the outfit swept past. Our heroes took their horses to the -stable and settled them down conscientiously. Then they set off, glad to -be on foot, down to the church.</p> - -<p>The crowd was buzzing. It was half-past three. Father Prendy, the old -mission priest, who looked like a dusty old piece of furniture from a -loft, was peering up the road. The black wicker buggy still made no -appearance with the bride.</p> - -<p>"Two o'clock's the legal limit for marriages," said Father Prendy. "But -praise God, we've half an hour yet."</p> - -<p>And he showed his huge watch, which said half-past one, since he had -slipped away for a moment to put back the fingers.</p> - -<p>The slab-building—hall, school, and church—was now a church, -though the oleographs of the Queen and the Prince Consort in Robes still -glowed on the walls, and a blackboard stood with its face to the wall, and -one of those wire things with coloured beads poked out from behind, and the -globe of the world could not be hidden entirely by the eucalyptus -boughs.</p> - -<p>But it was a church. A table with a white cloth and a crucifix was the -altar. Crimson-flowering gum-blossom embowered the walls, the -blackboard, the windows, but left the Queen and Prince Consort in full -isolation. Forms were ranked on the mud floor, and these forms were -densely packed with settlers dressed in all kinds of clothes. It was not -only a church, it was a wedding. Just inside the door, like a figure at -Madame Tussaud's, sat an elderly creature in greenish evening suit with -white waistcoat, and copper-toed boots, waiting apparently for the Last -Trump. On the other side was a brown-whiskered man in frock-coat, a grey -bell-topper in his hand, leaning balanced on a stick. He was shod in -white socks and carpet slippers. Later on this gentleman explained to -Jack: "I suffer from corns, and shouldn't be happy in boots."</p> - -<p>There was a great murmuring and staring, and shuffling and shifting as -Jack and Tom came up, as though one of them was the bride in disguise. -The wooden church buzzed like a cocoanut shell. A red-faced man seized -Tom's arm as if Tom were a long-lost brother, and Jack was being -introduced, shaking the damp, hot, trembling hand of the red-faced man, -who was called Paddy.</p> - -<p>"It's fair come over me, so ut has!—praise be to the saints an' -may the devil run away with them two young termagants! Father Prendy makin' -them come to this pass all at onst! For mark my words, in his own mind he's -thinkin' the wrong they've done, neither of them speakin' to confess, -till he was driven to remark on the girl's unnatural figure. And not a -soul in the world, mark you, has seen 'em speak a word to one another -for the last year in or out. But she says it's he, an' Denny Mackinnon, -he payin', I'll be bound, that black priest of a Father Prendy to come -over me an' make me render up my poor innocent Pat to the hussy, in holy -matrimony. May the saints fly away with 'em."</p> - -<p>He wiped away his sweat, speechless. And Denny Mackinnon, the hussy's -father—it could be no other than he—in moth-eaten scarlet coat -and overall trousers, and top-boots slashed for his bunions, and forage-cap -slashed for his increased head, stood bulging on the other side of the -door, compressed in his youthful uniform, and scarlet in the face with -the compression. He was a stout man with a black beard and a fixed, -fierce, solemn expression. Creator of this agitated occasion, he was -almost bursting with wrathful agitation as that hussy of a daughter of -his still failed to appear. By his side stood an ancient man, with a -long grey beard, anciently clad.</p> - -<p>Patrick, the bridegroom to be, lurked near his father. He was a thin, -pale, freckled, small-faced youth with broad, brittle shoulders and -brittle limbs, who would no doubt, in time, fill out into a burly -fellow. As it was, he was agitated and unlovely in a new ready-made suit -and a black bomb of a hard hat that wouldn't stay on, and new boots that -stank to heaven of improperly dressed kangaroo hide: one of the -filthiest of stinks.</p> - -<p>Poor Paddy, the father of the bridegroom, was a tall, thin, well set-up -man with trembling hands and a face like beetroot, garbed in a blue coat -with brass buttons, mole trousers, leggings, and a sideways-leaning top -hat. His tie was a flowing red with white spots. His eyes were light -blue and wickedly twinkling behind their slight wateriness.</p> - -<p>"What's that yer sayin' about me?" said Father Prendy, coming up rubbing -his hands, bowing to the strangers, beaming with a cheerfulness that -could outlast any delay under the sun.</p> - -<p>"'Twas black I was callin' ye, Father Prendy," said Paddy. "For the fine -pair of black eyes ye carry, why not? Isn't it a good drink ye'll be -havin' on me afore the day is out, eh? Isn't it a pretty penny ye're -costin' me, with your marrin' an' givin' in marriage? An' why isn't it -Danny what pays the wedding breakfast, eh?"</p> - -<p>"Hold your peace, Paddy, my dear. I see a wagon comin', don't I?"</p> - -<p>Sure enough the black wicker buggy rattling down hill, the white horse -seeming to swim, the urchin standing up, feet wide apart, elbows high -up, bending forward and urging the bone-white steed with curses -unnameable.</p> - -<p>"What now! What now!" murmured the priest, feeling in his pocket for his -stole. "What now!"</p> - -<p>"Where's Dad?" yelled the urchin, pulling the bone-white steed on its -bony haunches, in front of the church.</p> - -<p>Dad had gone round the corner. But he came bustling and puffing and -bursting in his skin-tight scarlet coat, that almost cut his arms off, -his own ancient father, with a long grey beard, pushing him irritably, -propelling him towards the slippery boy. As if this family, generation -by generation, got more and more behindhand in its engagements.</p> - -<p>"Gawd's sake!" blowed the scarlet Dad, as the old grey granddad shoved -him.</p> - -<p>"Hold ye breath, Dad, 'n come 'ome!" said the urchin, subsiding -comfortably on to the seat, and speaking as if he enjoyed the utmost -privacy. "Sis can't get away. She's had a baby. An' Ma says I was to -tell Mr. O'Burk as it's a foine boy, an' would Father Prendy step up, -and Pat O'Burk can come 'n see with his own eyes."</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h4> - -<h4>JAMBOREE</h4> - - -<p>"Let's get along," said Jack uncomfortably, in Tom's ear.</p> - -<p>"Get! Not for mine! We're in luck's way, if ever we were."</p> - -<p>"There's no fun under the circumstances."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Lord my, ain't there! What's wrong? They're all packing into the -buggy. Father Prendy's putting his watch back a few more minutes. He'll -have 'em married before you can betcher life. It's a wedding, this is, -boy!"</p> - -<p>The people now came crowding, nudging, whispering, giggling, stumbling -out of the church. The gentleman in the carpet slippers rakishly -adjusted his grey bell-topper over his left brow, and came swaggering -forward.</p> - -<p>"Major Brownlee—Mr. Jack Grant," Tom introduced them.</p> - -<p>"Retired and happy in the country," the Major explained, and he -continued garrulously to explain his circumstances, his history and his -family history. This continued all the way to the inn: a good half-hour, -for the Major walked insecurely on his tender feet.</p> - -<p>When they arrived at Paddy's white, trellised house, all was in -festivity. Paddy had thrown open the doors, disclosing the banquet -spread in the bar parlour. Large joints of baked meat, ham, tongue, -fowls, cakes and bottles and bunches of grapes and piles of apples: -these Jack saw in splendid confusion.</p> - -<p>"Come along in, come along in!" cried Paddy, as the Major and his young -companions hesitated under the vine-trellis. "I guess ye're the last. -Come along in—all welcome!—an' wet the baby's eye. Sure, she's -a clever girl to get a baby an' a man the same fine afternoon. A fine -child, let me tell you. Father Prendy named him for me, Paddy O'Burk -Tracy, on the spot, the minute the wedding was tied up. So yer can -please yerselves whether it's a christening ye're coming to, or a -wedding. I offer ye the choice. Come in."</p> - -<p>"P. O. T." thought Jack. He still did not feel at ease. Perhaps Paddy -noticed it. He came over and slapped him on the back.</p> - -<p>"It's yerself has brought good luck to the house, sir. Sit ye down an' -help y'self. Sit ye down an' make y'self at home."</p> - -<p>Jack sat down along with the rest of the heterogeneous company. Paddy -went round pouring red wine into glasses.</p> - -<p>"Gentlemen!" he announced from the head of the table. "We are all here, -for the table's full up. The first toast is: <i>The stranger within our -gates!</i>"</p> - -<p>Everybody drank but Jack. He was uncomfortably uncertain whether the -baby was meant, or himself. At the last moment he hastily drank, to -transfer the honour to the baby.</p> - -<p>Then came "The Bride!" then "The Groom!" then "The Priest! Father -Prendy, that black limb o' salvation!" Dozens of toasts, it didn't seem -to matter to whom. And everybody drank and laughed, and made clumsy -jokes. There were no women present, at least no women seated. Only the -women who went round the table, waiting. One! Two! Three! Four! Five! -Six! Seven! Westminster chimes from the Grandfather's clock behind Jack. -Seven o'clock! He had not even noticed them bring in the lights. Father -Prendy was on his feet blessing the bride: "at the moment absent on the -high mission of motherhood." He then blessed the bridegroom, at the -moment asleep with his head on the table.</p> - -<p>The table had been cleared, save for bottles, fruit, and terrible -cigars. The air was dense with smoke, bitter in the eyes, thick in the -head. Everything seemed to be tinning thick and swimmy, and the people -seemed to move like living oysters in a natural, live liquor. A girl was -sitting on Jack's chair, putting her arm surreptitiously round his -waist, sipping out of his glass. But he pushed her a little aside, -because he wanted to watch four men who had started playing euchre.</p> - -<p>"There's a bright moon, gentlemen. Let's go out and have a bit o' -sparrin'," said Paddy swimmingly, from the head of the table.</p> - -<p>That pleased Jack a lot. He was beginning to feel shut in.</p> - -<p>He rose, and the girl—he had never really looked at -her—followed him out. Why did she follow him? She ought to stay and -clear away dishes.</p> - -<p>The yard, it seemed to Jack, was clear as daylight: or clearer, with a -big, flat white moon. Someone was sizing up to a little square man with -long thick arms, and the little man was probing them off expertly. -Hello! Here was a master, in his way.</p> - -<p>The girl was leaning up against Jack, with her hand on his shoulder. -This was a bore, but he supposed it was also a kind of tribute. He had -still never looked at her.</p> - -<p>"That's Jake," she said. "He's champion of these parts. Oh my, if he -sees me leanin' on y' arm like this, hell be after ye!"</p> - -<p>"Well, don't lean on me then," said Jack complacently.</p> - -<p>"Go on, he won't see me. We're in the dark right here."</p> - -<p>"I don't care if he sees you," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"You <i>do</i> contradict yourself," said the girl.</p> - -<p>"Oh no, I don't!" said Jack.</p> - -<p>And he watched the long-armed man, and never once looked at the girl. So -she leaned heavier on him. He disapproved, really, but felt rather manly -under the burden.</p> - -<p>The little, square, long-armed man was oldish, with a grey beard. Jack -saw this as he danced round, like a queer old satyr, half gorilla, half -satyr, roaring, booing, fencing with a big yahoo of a young bushman, -holding him off with his unnatural long arms. Over went the big young -fellow sprawling on the ground, causing such a splother that everyone -shifted a bit out of his way. They all roared delightedly.</p> - -<p>The long-armed man, looking round for his girl, saw her in the shadow, -leaning heavily and laughingly on Jack's young shoulder. Up he sprang, -snarling like a gorilla, his long hairy arms in front of him. The girl -retreated, and Jack, in a state of semi-intoxicated readiness, opened -his arms and locked them round the little gorilla of a man. Locked -together, they rolled and twirled round the yard under the moon, -scattering the delighted onlookers like a wild cow. Jack was laughing to -himself, because he had got the grip of the powerful long-armed old man. -And there was no real anger in the tussle. The gorilla was an old sport.</p> - -<p>Jack was sitting in a chair under the vine, with his head in his hands -and his elbows on his knees, getting his wind. Paddy was fanning him -with a bunch of gum-leaves, and congratulating him heartily.</p> - -<p>"First chap as ever laid out Long-armed Jake."</p> - -<p>"What'd he jump on me for?" said Jack. "I said nothing to him."</p> - -<p>"What y' sayin'?" ejaculated Paddy coaxingly. "Didn't ye take his girl, -now?"</p> - -<p>"Take his girl? I? Not She leaned on <i>me</i>, I didn't take her."</p> - -<p>"Arrah! Look at that now! The brazenness of it! Well, be it on ye! Take -another drink. Will ye come an' show the boys some o' ye tricks, -belike?"</p> - -<p>Jack was in the yard again, shaking hands with Long-armed Jake.</p> - -<p>"Good on y'! Good on y'!" cried old Jake. "Ye're a cock-bird in fine -feather! What's a wench between two gentlemen! Shake, my lad, shake! I'm -Long-armed Jake, I am, an' I set a cock-bird before any whure of a hen."</p> - -<p>They rounded up, sparred, staved off, showed off like two amiable -fighting-cocks, before the admiring cockeys. Then they had good-natured -turns with the young farmers, and mild wrestling bouts with the old -veterans. Having another drink, playing, gassing, swaggering . . .</p> - -<p>Tom came bawling as if he were deaf:</p> - -<p>"What about them 'osses?"</p> - -<p>"What about 'em?" said Jack.</p> - -<p>"See to 'm!" said Tom. And he went back to where he came from.</p> - -<p>"All right, Mister, we'll see to 'm!" yelled the admiring youngsters. -"Well water 'm an' feed 'm."</p> - -<p>"Water?" said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Yes.—Show us how to double up, Mister, will y'?"</p> - -<p>"A' right!" said Jack, who was considerably tipsy. "When—when -I've—fed—th' 'osses."</p> - -<p>He set off to the stables. The admiring youngsters ran yelling ahead. -They brought out the horses and led them down to the trough. Jack -followed, feeling the moon-lit earth sway a little.</p> - -<p>He shoved his head in between the noses of the horses, into the cool -trough of water. When he lifted and wrung out the shower from his hair, -which curled when it was wet, he saw the girl standing near him.</p> - -<p>"Y' need a towel, Mister," she said.</p> - -<p>"I could do with one," said he.</p> - -<p>"Come an' I'll get ye one," she said.</p> - -<p>He followed meekly. She led him to an outside room, somewhere near the -stable. He stood in the doorway.</p> - -<p>"Here y' are!" she said, from the darkness inside.</p> - -<p>"Bring it me," he said from the moon outside.</p> - -<p>"Come in an' I'll dry your hair for yer." Her voice sounded like the -voice of a 'wild creature in a black cave. He ventured, unseeing, -uncertain, into the den, half reluctant. But there was a certain coaxing -imperiousness in her wild-animal voice, out of the black darkness.</p> - -<p>He walked straight into her arms. He started and stiffened as if -attacked. But her full, soft body was moulded against him. Still he drew -fiercely back. Then feeling her yield to draw away and leave him, the -old flame flew over him, and he drew her close again.</p> - -<p>"Dearie!" she murmured. "Dearie!" and her hand went stroking the back of -his wet head.</p> - -<p>"Come!" she said. "And let me dry your hair."</p> - -<p>She led him and sat him on a pallet bed. Then she closed the door, -through which the moonlight was streaming. The room had no window. It -was pitch dark, and he was trapped. So he felt as he sat there on the -hard pallet. But she came instantly and sat by him and began softly, -caressingly to rub his hair with a towel. Softly, slowly, caressingly -she rubbed his hair with a towel. And in spite of himself, his arms, -alive with a power of their own, went out and clasped her, drew her to -him.</p> - -<p>"I'm supposed to be in love with a girl," he said, really not speaking -to her.</p> - -<p>"Are you, dearie?" she said softly. And she left off rubbing his hair -and softly put her mouth to his.</p> - -<p>Later—he had no idea what time of the night it was—he went -round looking for Tom. The place was mostly dark. The inn was half dark... -Nobody seemed alive. But there was music somewhere. There was music.</p> - -<p>As he went looking for it, he came face to face with Dr. Rackett.</p> - -<p>"Where's Tom?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Best look in the barn."</p> - -<p>The dim-lighted barn was a cloud of half-illuminated dust, in which -figures moved. But the music was still martial and British. Jack, always -tipsy, for he had drunk a good deal and it took effect slowly, deeply, -felt something in him stir to this music. They were dancing a jig or a -horn-pipe. The air was all old and dusty in the barn. There were four -crosses of wooden swords on the floor. Young Patrick, in his shirt and -trousers, had already left off dancing for Ireland, but the Scotchman, -in a red flannel shirt and a reddish kilt, was still lustily springing -and knocking his heels in a haze of dust. The Welshman was a little poor -fellow in old shirt and trousers. But the Englishman, in costermonger -outfit, black bell-bottom trousers and lots of pearl buttons, was going -well. He was thin and wiry and very neat about the feet. Then he left -off dancing, and stood to watch the last two.</p> - -<p>Everybody was drunk, everybody was arguing, according to his -nationality, as to who danced best. The Englishman in the bell-bottom -trousers knew he danced best, but spent his last efforts deciding -between Sandy and Taffy. The music jigged on. But whether it was -<i>British Grenadiers or Campbells Are Coming</i> Jack didn't know. Only he -suddenly felt intensely patriotic.</p> - -<p>"I am an Englishman," he thought, with savage pride. "I am an -Englishman. That is the best on earth. Australian is English, English, -English, she'd collapse like a balloon but for the English in her. -British means English first. I'm a Britisher, but I am an Englishman! -God! I could crumple the universe in my fist, I could . . . I'm an -Englishman, and I could crush everything in my hand. And the women are -left behind. I'm an Englishman."</p> - -<p>Voices had begun to snarl and roar, fists were lifted.</p> - -<p>"Mussen quarrel!—my weddin'! Mussen quarrel!" Pat was drunkenly -saying, sitting on a box shaking his head.</p> - -<p>Then suddenly he sprang to his feet, and quick and sharp as a stag, -rushed to the wooden swords and stood with arms uplifted, smartly -showing the steps. The fellow had spirit, a queer, staccato spirit.</p> - -<p>Somebody laughed and cheered, and then they all began to laugh and -cheer, and Pat pranced faster, in a cloud of dust, and the quarrel was -forgotten.</p> - -<p>Jack went to look for Tom. "I'm an Englishman," he thought. "I'd better -look after him."</p> - -<p>He wasn't in the barn. Jack looked and looked.</p> - -<p>He found Tom in the kitchen, sitting in a corner, a glass at his side, -quite drunk.</p> - -<p>"It's time to go to bed, Tom."</p> - -<p>"G'on, ol' duck. I'm waitin' for me girl."</p> - -<p>"You won't get any girl tonight. Let's go to bed."</p> - -<p>"Shan't I get—? Yes shal! Yes shal!"</p> - -<p>"Where shall I find a bed?"</p> - -<p>"Plenty 'r flore space."</p> - -<p>And he staggered to his feet as a short, stout, red-faced, black-eyed, -untidy girl slipped across the kitchen and out of the door, casting a -black-eyed, meaningful look at the red-faced Tom, over her shoulder as -she disappeared. Tom swayed to his feet and sloped after her with -amazing quickness. Jack stood staring out of the open door, dazed. They -both seemed to have melted.</p> - -<p>Himself, he wanted to sleep—only to sleep. "Plenty of floor -space," Tom had said. He looked at the floor. Cockroaches running by the -dozen, in all directions: those brown, barge-like cockroaches of the south, -that trail their huge bellies, and sheer off in automatic straight lines -and make a faint creaking noise, if you listen. Jack looked at the table: -an old man already lay on it. He opened a cupboard: babies sleeping -there.</p> - -<p>He swayed, drunk with sleep and alcohol, out of the kitchen in some -direction: pushed a swing door: the powerful smell of beer and sawdust -made him know it was the bar. He could sleep on the seat. He could sleep -in peace.</p> - -<p>He lurched forward and touched cloth. Something snored, started, and -reared up.</p> - -<p>"What y' at?"</p> - -<p>Jack stood back breathless—the figure subsided—he could beat -a retreat.</p> - -<p>Hopeless he looked in on the remains of the breakfast. Table and every -bench occupied. He boldly opened another door. A small lamp burning, and -what looked like dozens of dishevelled elderly women's awful figures, -heaped crosswise on the hugest double bed he had ever seen.</p> - -<p>He escaped into the open air. The moon was low. Someone was singing.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h4> - -<h4>UNCLE JOHN GRANT</h4> - - -<p>It was day. The lie was hard. He didn't want to wake. He turned over and -was sleep again, though the lie was very hard.</p> - -<p>Someone pushing him. Tom, with a red, blank face was saying:</p> - -<p>"Wake up! Let's go before Rackett starts."</p> - -<p>And the rough hands pushing him crudely. He hated it.</p> - -<p>He sat up. He had been lying on the bottom of the buggy, with a sack -over him. No idea how he got there. It was full day.</p> - -<p>"Old woman's got some tea made. If y' want t' change y' bags, hop over -'n take a dip in the pool. Down th' paddock there. Here's th' bag. I've -left soap n' comb on th' splash board, an' I've seen to th' 'osses. I'm -goin' f'r a drink while you get ready."</p> - -<p>Tom had got a false dawn on him. He had wakened with that false energy -which sometimes follows a "drunk," and which fades all too quickly. For -he had hardly slept at all.</p> - -<p>So when Jack was ready, Tom was not. His stupor was overcoming him. He -was cross—and half way through his second pewter mug of beer.</p> - -<p>"I'm not coming," said Tom.</p> - -<p>"You <i>are</i>," said Jack. For the first time he felt that old call of -the blood which made him master of Tom. Somewhere, in the night, the old -spirit of a master had aroused in him.</p> - -<p>Tom finished his mug of beer slowly, sullenly. He put down the empty -pot.</p> - -<p>"Get up!" said Jack. And Tom got slowly to his feet.</p> - -<p>They set off, Jack leading the pack-horse. But the beer and the "night -before" had got Tom down. He rode like a sack in the saddle, sometimes -semi-conscious, sometimes really asleep. Jack followed just behind, with -the beast of a pack-horse dragging his arm out. And Tom ahead, like a -sot, with no life in him.</p> - -<p>Jack himself felt hot inside, and dreary, and riding was a cruel effort, -and the pack-horse, dragging his arm from its socket, was hell. He -wished he had enough saddle-tree to turn the rope round: but he was in -his English saddle.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, he had decided something, in that jamboree. He belonged to -the blood of masters, not servants. He belonged to the class of those -that are sought, not those that seek. He was no seeker. He was not -desirous. He would never be desirous. Desire should not lead him humbly -by the nose. Not desire for anything. He was of the few that are -masters. He was to be desired. He was master. He was a real Englishman.</p> - -<p>So he jogged along, in the hot, muggy day of early winter. Heavy clouds -hung over the sky, lightning flashed beyond the purple hills. His body -was a burden and a weariness to him, riding was a burden and a -weariness, the pack-horse was hell. And Tom, asleep on his nag, like a -dead thing, was hateful to have ahead. The road seemed endless.</p> - -<p>Yet he had in him his new, half savage pride to keep him up, and an -isolate sort of resoluteness.</p> - -<p>At mid-day they got down, drank water, camped, and slept without eating. -Thank God the rain hadn't come. Jack slept like the dead till four -o'clock.</p> - -<p>He woke sharp, wondering where he was. The clouds looked threatening. He -got up. Yes, the horses were there. He still felt bruised, and hot and -dry inside, from the jamboree. Why in heaven did men want jamborees?</p> - -<p>He made a fire, boiled the billy, prepared tea, and set out some food, -though he didn't want any.</p> - -<p>"Get up there!" he shouted to Tom, who lay like a beast.</p> - -<p>"Get up!" he shouted. But the beast slept.</p> - -<p>"Get up, you beast!" he said, viciously kicking him. And he was -horrified because Tom got up, without any show of retaliation at all, -and obediently drank his tea.</p> - -<p>They ate a little food, in silence. Saddled in silence, each finding the -thought of speech repulsive. Watched one another to see if they were -ready. Mounted, and rode in repulsive silence away. But Jack had left -the pack-horse to Tom this time. And it began to rain, softly, sleepily.</p> - -<p>And Tom was cheering up. The rain seemed to revive him wonderfully. He -was one who was soon bowled over by a drink. Consequently he didn't -absorb much, and he recovered sooner. Jack absorbed more, and it acted -more slowly, deeply, and lastingly on him. On they went, in the rain. -Tom began to show signs of new life. He swore at the pack-horse. He -kicked his nag to a little trot, and the packs flap-flapped like shut -wings, on the rear pony. Presently he reined up, and sat quite still for -a minute. Then he broke into a laugh, lifting his face to the rain.</p> - -<p>"Seems to me we're off the road," he said. "We haven't passed a fence -all day, have we?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Jack. "But you were asleep all morning."</p> - -<p>"We're off the road. Listen!"</p> - -<p>The rain was seeping down on the bush; in the grey evening, the warm -horses smelt of their own steam. Jack could hear nothing except the wind -and the increasing rain.</p> - -<p>"This track must lead somewhere. Let's get to shelter for the night," -said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Agreed!" replied Tom magnanimously. "We'll follow on, and see what we -shall see."</p> - -<p>They walked slowly, pulling at the pack-horse, which was dragging at the -rope, tired with the burden that grew every minute heavier with the -rain.</p> - -<p>Tom reined in suddenly.</p> - -<p>"There is somebody behind," he said. "It's <i>not</i> the wind."</p> - -<p>They sat there on their horses in the rain, and waited. Twilight was -falling. Then Jack could distinguish the sound of a cart behind. It was -Rackett in the old shay rolling along in the lonely dusk and rain, -through the trees, approaching. Black Sam grinned mightily as he pulled -up.</p> - -<p>"Thought I'd follow, though you are on the wrong road," said Rackett -from beneath his black waterproof. "Sam showed me the turning two miles -back. You missed it. Anyhow we'd better camp in on these people ahead -here."</p> - -<p>"Is there a place ahead?" asked Jack.</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Rackett. "Even a sort of relation of yours, that I -promised Gran I would come and see. Hence my following on your heels."</p> - -<p>"Didn't know I'd any relation hereabouts," said Tom sulkily. He couldn't -bear Rackett's interfering in the family in any way.</p> - -<p>"You haven't. I meant Jack. But we'll get along, shall we?"</p> - -<p>"We're a big flood," remarked Tom. "But if they'll give us the barn, -well manage. It's getting wet to sleep out."</p> - -<p>They pressed ahead, the pack-horse trotting, but lifting up his head -like a venomous snake, in unwillingness. They had come into the open -fields. At last in the falling dark they saw a house and buildings. A -man hove in sight, but lurked away from them. Rackett hailed him. The -man seemed to oppose their coming further. He was a hairy, queer figure, -with his untrimmed beard.</p> - -<p>"Master never takes no strangers," he said.</p> - -<p>Rackett slipped a shilling in his hand, and would he ask his master if -they might camp in the barn, out of the rain.</p> - -<p>"Y' ain't the police, now, by any manner of means?" asked the man.</p> - -<p>"God love you, no," said Rackett.</p> - -<p>"We're no police," said Tom. "I'm Tom Ellis, from Wandoo, over York -way."</p> - -<p>"Ellis! I heared th' name. Well, master's sick, an' skeered to death o' -th' police. They're ready to drop in on the place, that they are, rot -'em, the minute he breathes his last. And he's skeered he's dyin' this -time. Oh, he's skeered o' t. So I have me doubts of all strangers. I -have me doubts, no matter what they be. Master he've sent a letter to -his only relation upon earth, to his nephew, which thank the Lord he's -writ for to come an' lay hold on the place, against he dies. If there's -no one to lay hold, the police steps in, without a word. That's how they -do it. They lets the places in grants like—lets a man have a -grant—and when the poor man dies, his place is locked up by the -Government. They takes it all."</p> - -<p>"Gawd's sake!" murmured Tom aside. "The man's potty!"</p> - -<p>"Bush mad," supplemented Rackett, who was sitting in the buggy with his -chin in his hand, intently listening to the queer, furtive, garrulous -individual.</p> - -<p>"Say, friend," he added aloud. "Go and ask your master if we harmless -strangers can camp in the barn out of the wet."</p> - -<p>"What might your names be, Mister?" asked the man.</p> - -<p>"Mine's Dr. Rackett. This is Tom Ellis. And this is Jack Grant. And no -harm in any of us."</p> - -<p>"D'y' say Jack Grant? Would that be Mr. John Grant?" asked the man, -galvanised by sudden excitement.</p> - -<p>"None other!" said Rackett.</p> - -<p>"Then he's come!" cried the man.</p> - -<p>"He certainly has," replied Rackett.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Glory, Glory! Why didn't ye say so afore? Come in. Come in all of -ye, come in! Come in, Mr. Grant! Come in!"</p> - -<p>They got down, gave the reins to Sam, and were ready to follow the -bearded man, looking one another in the face in amazement, and shaking -their heads.</p> - -<p>"Gawd Almighty, I'd rather keep out o' this!" murmured Tom, standing by -his horse and keeping the rope of the pack-horse.</p> - -<p>"Case of mistaken identity," said Rackett coolly. "Hang on, boys. We'll -get a night's shelter."</p> - -<p>A woman came out of the dilapidated stone house, clutching her hands in -distress and agitation.</p> - -<p>"Missus! Missus! Here he is at last. God be praised!" cried the bearded -man. She ran up in sudden effusion of welcome, but he ordered her into -the house to brighten up the fire, while he waved the way to the -stables, knowing that horse comes before man, in the bush.</p> - -<p>When they had shaken down in the stable, they left Sam to sleep there, -while the three went across to the house. Tom was most unwilling.</p> - -<p>The man was at the door, to usher them in.</p> - -<p>"I've broke the news to him, sir!" he said in a mysterious voice to -Jack, as he showed them into the parlour.</p> - -<p>"What's your Master's name?" asked Rackett.</p> - -<p>"Don't y' know y're at your destination?" whispered the man. "This is -Mr. John Grant's. This is the place ye're looking for."</p> - -<p>A melancholy room! The calico ceiling drooped, the window and front door -were hermetically sealed, an ornate glass lamp shone in murky, lonely -splendour upon a wool mat on a ricketty round table. Six chairs stood -against the papered walls. Nothing more.</p> - -<p>Tom wanted to beat it back to the kitchen, through which they had passed -to get to this sarcophagus, and where a fire was burning and a woman was -busy. But the man was tapping at another door, and listening anxiously -before entering.</p> - -<p>He went into the dark room beyond, where a candle shone feebly, and they -heard him say:</p> - -<p>"Your nephew's come, Mr. Grant, and brought a doctor and another -gentleman, the Lord be praised."</p> - -<p>"The Lord don't need to be praised on my behalf, Amos," came a querulous -voice. "And I ain't got no nephew, if I <i>did</i> send him a letter. I've -got nobody. And I want no doctor, because I died when I left my mother's -husband's house."</p> - -<p>"They're in the parlour."</p> - -<p>"Tell 'em to walk up."</p> - -<p>The man appeared in the doorway. Rackett walked up, Jack followed, and -Tom hung nervously and disgustedly in the rear.</p> - -<p>"Here they are! Here's the gentry," said Amos.</p> - -<p>In the candle-light they saw a thin man in red flannel night-cap with a -blanket round his shoulders, sitting up in bed under an old green -cart-umbrella. He was not old, but his face was thin and wasted, and his -long colourless beard seemed papery. He had cunning, shifty eyes with -red rims, and looked as mad as his setting.</p> - -<p>Rackett had shoved Jack forward. The sick man stared at him and seemed -suddenly pleased. He held out a thin hand. Rackett nudged Jack, and Jack -had to shake. The hand seemed wet and icy, and Jack shuddered.</p> - -<p>"How d'you do!" he mumbled. "I'm sorry, you know; I'm not your nephew."</p> - -<p>"I know ye're not. But are y' Jack Grant?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Jack.</p> - -<p>The man under the umbrella seemed hideously pleased.</p> - -<p>Jack heard Tom's ill-suppressed, awful chuckle from behind.</p> - -<p>The sick man peered irritably at the other two. Then he nodded slowly, -under the green baldachino of the old cart-umbrella.</p> - -<p>"Jack Grant! Jack Grant! Jack Grant!" he murmured, to himself. He was -surely mad, obviously mad.</p> - -<p>"I'm right glad you've come, Cousin," he said suddenly, looking again -very pleased. "I'm surely glad you've come in time. I've a nice tidy -place put together for you, Jack, a small proposition of three thousand -acres, five hundred cleared and cropped, fifty fenced—dog-leg fences, -broke MacCullen's back putting 'em up. But I'll willingly put in five -hundred more, for a gentleman like young master. Meaning old master will -soon be underground. Well, who cares, now young master's come to light, -and the place doesn't go out of the family! I am determined the place -shall not go out of the family, Cousin Jack. Aren't you pleased?"</p> - -<p>"Very," said Jack soothingly.</p> - -<p>"Call me Cousin John. Or Uncle John if you like. I'm more like your -uncle, I should think. Shake hands, and say, <i>Right you are, Uncle -John.</i> Call me Uncle John."</p> - -<p>Jack shook hands once more, and dutifully, as to a crazy person, he -said:</p> - -<p>"Right you are, Uncle John."</p> - -<p>Tom, in the background, was going into convulsions. But Rackett remained -quite serious.</p> - -<p>Uncle John closed his eyes muttering, and fell back under the -cart-umbrella.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Grant," said Dr. Rackett, "I think Jack would like to eat something -after his ride."</p> - -<p>"All right, let him go to the kitchen with yon buck wallaby as can't -keep a straight face. Stop with me a minute yourself, Mister, if you -will."</p> - -<p>The two boys bundled away into the kitchen. The woman had a meal ready, -and they sat down at the table.</p> - -<p>"I thank my stars," said Tom impressively, "he's not my Uncle John."</p> - -<p>"Shut up," said Jack, because the woman was there.</p> - -<p>They ate heartily, the effects of the jamboree having passed. After the -meal they strolled to the door to look out, away from that lugubrious -parlour and bedroom. They found a stiff wind blowing, the sky clear with -running clouds and vivid stars in the spaces.</p> - -<p>"Let's get!" said Tom. It was his constant craving.</p> - -<p>"We can't leave Rackett."</p> - -<p>"We can. He pushed us in. Let's get. Why can't we?"</p> - -<p>"Oh well, we can't," said Jack.</p> - -<p>Rackett had entered the kitchen, and was eating his meal. He asked the -woman for ink.</p> - -<p>"There's no ink," she said.</p> - -<p>"Must be somewhere," said Amos, her husband. "Jack Grant's letter was -written in ink."</p> - -<p>"I never got a letter," said Jack, turning.</p> - -<p>"Eh, hark ye! How like old master over again! Ye've come, haven't -ye?"</p> - -<p>"By accident," said Jack. "I'm not Mr. Grant's nephew."</p> - -<p>"Hark ye! Hark ye! It runs in the family, father to son, uncle to -nephew. All right! All right! Have it your own way," cried Amos. He had -been struggling with crazy contradictions too long.</p> - -<p>Tom was in convulsions. Rackett put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "It's -all right," he said. "Don't worry him. Leave it to me." And to the woman -he said, if there was no ink she was to kill a fowl and bring it to him, -and he'd make ink with lamp-black and gall.</p> - -<p>"You two boys had better be off to bed," he said. "You have to be off in -good time in the morning."</p> - -<p>"Oh, not going, not going so soon, surely! The young master's not going -so soon! Surely! Surely! Master's so weak in the head and stomach, we -can't cope with him all by ourselves," cried the old man and woman.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I'll stay," said Rackett. "And Jack will come back one day, -don't you worry. Now let me make that ink."</p> - -<p>The boys were shown into a large, low room—the fourth room of the -house—that opened off the kitchen. It contained a big bed with clean -sheets and white crochet quilt. Jack surmised it was the old couple's -bed, and wanted to go to the barn. But Tom said, since they offered it, -there was nothing to do but to take it.</p> - -<p>Tom was soon snoring. Jack lay in the great feather bed feeling that -life was all going crazy. Tom was already snoring. He cared about -nothing. Out of sight, out of mind. But Jack had a fit of remembering. -His head was hot, and he could not sleep. The wind was blowing, it was -raining again. He could not sleep, he had to remember.</p> - -<p>It was always so with him. He could go on careless and unheeding, like -Tom, for a while. Then came these fits of reckoning and remembering. -Life seemed unhinged in Australia. In England there was a strong central -pivot to all the living. But here the centre pin was gone, and the lives -seemed to spin in a weird confusion.</p> - -<p>He felt that for himself. His life was all unhinged. What was he driving -at? What was he making for? Where was he going? What was his life, -anyhow?</p> - -<p>In England, you knew. You had your purpose. You had your profession and -your family and your country. But out here you had no profession. You -didn't do anything for your country except boast of it to strangers, and -leave it to get along as best it might. And as for your family, you -cared for that, but in a queer, centreless fashion.</p> - -<p>You didn't really care for anything. The old impetus of civilisation -kept you still going, but you were just rolling to rest. As Mr. Ellis -had rolled to rest, leaving everything stranded. There was no grip, no -hold.</p> - -<p>And yet, what Jack had rebelled against in England was the tight grip, -the fixed hold over everything. He liked this looseness and carelessness -of Australia. Till it seemed to him crazy. And then it scared him.</p> - -<p>Tonight everything seemed to him crazy. He didn't pay any serious -attention to Uncle John Grant: he was obviously out of his mind. But -then everything seemed crazy. Mr. Ellis' death, and Gran's death, and -Monica and Easu Ellis—it all seemed crazy as crazy. And the jamboree, -and that girl who called him Dearie! And the journey, and this mad house -in the rain. What did it all mean? What did it all stand for?</p> - -<p>Everything seemed to be spinning to a darkness of death. Everybody -seemed to be dancing a crazy dance of death. He could understand that -the blacks painted themselves like white bone skeletons, and danced in -the night, light skeletons dancing, in their corrobees. That was how it -was. The night, dark and fleshly, and skeletons dancing a clicketty dry -dance m it.</p> - -<p>Tom, so awfully upset at his father's death! And now as careless as a -lark, just spinning his way along the road, in a sort of weird dance, -dancing humorously to the black verge of oblivion. That was how it was. -To dance humorously to the black verge of oblivion. The children of -death. With a sort of horror of death around them. Wandoo suddenly grim -and grisly with the horror of death.</p> - -<p>Death, the great end and goal. Death, the black, void, pulsating reality -which would swallow them all up, like a black lover finally possessing -them. The great black fleshliness of the end, the huge body of death -reeling to swallow them all. And for this they danced, and for this they -loved and reared families and made farms: to provide good meat and -white, pure bones for the black, avid horror of death.</p> - -<p>Something of the black, aboriginal horror came over him. He realised, to -his amazement, the actuality of the great, grinning black demon of -death. The vast, infinite demon that eats our flesh and cracks our bones -in the last black potency of the end. And for this, for this demon one -seeks for a woman, to lie with her and get children for the Moloch. -Children for the Moloch! Lennie, Monica, the twins, Og and Magog! -Children for the Moloch.</p> - -<p>One God or the other must take them at the end. Either the dim white god -of the heavenly infinite. Or else the great black Moloch of the living -death. Devoured and digested in the living death.</p> - -<p>Satan, Moloch, Death itself, all had been unreal to him before. But now, -suddenly, he seemed to see the black Moloch grinning huge in the sky, -while human beings danced towards his grip, and he gripped and swallowed -them into the black belly of death. That was their end.</p> - -<p>Dance! Dance! Death has its deep delights! And ever-recurring. Be -careless, ironical, stoical and reckless. And go your way to death with -a will. With a dark handsomeness, and a dark lustre of fatality, and a -splendour of recklessness. Oh, God, the Lords of Death! The big, -darkly-smiling, heroic men who are Lords of Death! And they too go on -splendidly towards death, the great goal of unutterable satisfaction, -and consummated fear.</p> - -<p>"I am going my way the same," Jack thought to himself. "I am travelling -in a reckless, slow dance, darker and darker, into the black, hot belly -of death, where is my end. Oh, let me go gallantly, let me have the -black joy of the road. Let me go with courage, and a bit of splendour -and dark lustre, down to the great depths of death, that I am so -frightened of, but which I long for in the last consummation. Let death -take me in a last black embrace. Let me go on as the niggers go, with -the last convulsion into the last black embrace. Since I am travelling -the dark road, let me go in pride. Let me be a Lord of Death, since the -reign of the white Lords of Life, like my father, has become sterile and -a futility. Let me be a Lord of Death. Let me go that other great road, -that the blacks go."</p> - -<p>The bed was soft and hot, and he stretched his arms fiercely. If he had -Monica! Oh, if he had Monica! If that girl last night had been Monica!</p> - -<p>That girl last night! He didn't even know her name. She had stroked his -head—like—like—Mary! The association flashed into his mind. Yes, like -Mary. And Mary would be humble and caressive and protective like that. -So she would. And dark! It would be dark like that if one loved Mary. -And brief! Brief! But sharp and good in the briefness. Mary! Mary!</p> - -<p>He realised with amazement it was Mary he was now wanting. Not Monica. -Or was it Monica? Her slim keen hand. Her slim body like a slim cat, so -full of life. Oh, it was Monica! First and foremost, most intensely, it -was Monica, because she was really his, and she was his destiny. He -dared not think of her.</p> - -<p>He rolled in the bed in misery. Tom slept unmoving. Oh, why couldn't he -be like Tom, slow and untormented. Why couldn't he? Why was his body -tortured? Why was he travelling this road? Why wasn't Monica there like -a gipsy with him. Why wasn't Monica there?</p> - -<p>Or Mary! Why wasn't Mary in the house? She would be so soft and -understanding, so yielding. Like the girl of the long-armed man. The -long-armed man didn't mind that he had taken his girl, for once.</p> - -<p>Why was he himself rolling there in torment? Pug had advised him to -"punch the ball," when he was taken with ideas he wanted to get rid of. -There was no ball to punch. "Train the body hard, but train the mind -hard too." Yes, all very well. He could think, now for example, of -fighting Easu, or of building up a place and raising fine horses. But -the moment his mind relaxed for sleep, back came the other black flame. -The women! The women! The women! Even the girl of last night.</p> - -<p>What was a man born for? To find a mate, a woman, isn't it? Then why try -to think of something else? To have a woman—to make a home for -her—to have children.—And other women in the background, down -the long, dusky, strange years towards death. So it seemed to him. And to -fight the men that stand in one's way. To fight them. Always a new one -cropping up, along the strange dusky road of the years, where you go with -your head up, and your eyes open, and your spine sharp and electric, ready -to fight your man and take your woman, on and on down the years, into the -last black embrace of death. Death that stands grinning with arms open -and black breast ready. Death, like the last woman you embrace. Death, -like the last man you die fighting with. And he beats you. But somehow -you are not beaten, if you are a Lord of Death.</p> - -<p>Jack hoped he would die a violent death. He hoped he would live a -defiant, unsubmissive life, and die a violent death. A bullet, or a -knife piercing home. And the women he left behind—his women, -enveloped in him as in a dark net. And the children he left, laughing -already at death.</p> - -<p>And himself! He hoped never to be downcast, never to be melancholy, -never to yield. Never to yield. To be a Lord of Death, and go on to the -black arms of death, still laughing. To laugh, and bide one's time, and -leap at the right moment.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></h4> - -<h4>ON THE ROAD</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>"My dear nephew, I haven't sent you a letter since the last one which I -never wrote, yet you have come in answer to the one you never got. I -wrote because I wanted you to come and receive the property, and I never -posted it because I didn't know your address, and you couldn't come if I -did, because you don't exist. Yet here you are and I think you look very -pleased to receive the property which you haven't got yet. I was so -afraid I should die sudden after this long lingering illness, but it's -you who has come suddenly and the illness hasn't begun yet. So here am I -speechless, but you are doing a lot of talking to your dear uncle who -never had a nephew. What does it matter to me if you are Jack Grant -because I am not, but took the name into the grant of land given me on -the land grant system at a shilling an acre. So like a bad shilling the -name turns up again on the register, so that the land goes back to the -grant and the Grant to the land. But a better-looking nephew I never -wish to see, being as much like me as an ape is like meat. So when I'm -dead I won't be alive to trouble you, and I'll trouble no further about -you since you might as well be dead for all I care."</p> - -<p>In this vein Tom ranted on the next morning, when they had set out in -the glorious early dawn. Tom never wearied of the uncle under the -umbrella. He told the tale to everybody who would listen, and wore out -Jack's ears with these long and facile pleasantries.</p> - -<p>They were both glad to get away from the crazy, lugubrious place. Jack -refused to give it a thought further, though he felt vaguely, at the -back of his mind, that he knew something about it already. Something -somebody had told him.</p> - -<p>Rackett had stayed behind, so they made no very good pace, leading the -pack-horse. But they pushed on, being already overdue at the homestead -of one of Tom's Aunts, who was expecting them.</p> - -<p>Once on horseback and in the open morning, Jack wished for nothing more. -Women, death, skeletons, the dance into the darkness, the future, the -past, love, home, and sorrow all disappeared in the bright well of the -daylight, as if they'd dropped into a pool. He wanted nothing more than -to ride, to jog along the track on the rather wet road, through bush and -scrub still wet with rain, in a pure Westralian air that was like a -clean beginning of everything, seeing the tiny bushman's flowers -sparking and gilding eerily in the dunness of the world.</p> - -<p>By mid-day they reached the highway to Geraldton, via Gingin, and camped -at the Three-mile Government well in perfect good spirits. Everything -was gone, everything was forgotten except the insouciance of the moment. -They knew the uselessness of thinking and remembering and worrying. When -worry starts biting like mosquitoes, then, if it bites hard enough, -you've got to attend. But it's like illness, avoid it, beat it back if -you can.</p> - -<p>They found the high-road merely a bush-track after all. If it was near a -settlement, or allotments or improved lands, it might run well for -miles. But for the most part, it was exceedingly bad, full of holes of -water, and beginning in places to be a bog.</p> - -<p>Tom was now at his best, out in the bush again. All his bush lore came -back to him, and he was like an animal in its native surroundings. His -charm came back too, and his confidence. He went ahead looking keenly -about, like a travelling animal, pointing out to Jack first this thing -and then the other, initiating him into bush wisdom, teaching him the -big cipher-book of the bush. And Jack learned gladly. It was so good, so -good to be away from homesteads, and women, and money, watching the -trees and the land and the marks of wild life. And Tom, a talker once he -was wound up, told the histories of settlers, their failures and -successes, and their peculiarities. It seemed to Jack there was a -surplus of weird people out there. But then, Tom said, the weird ones -usually came first, and they got weirder in the wild.</p> - -<p>They passed an enormous hollow tree, from which issued an old man with a -grey beard that came to his waist, dressed in rags. A grey-haired, very -ragged woman also came out, carrying a baby. Other children crawled -around. The travellers called Good-day! as they passed.</p> - -<p>Tom said the woman's baby was the youngest of seventeen children. The -eldest son was already grown up, a prosperous young man trading in -sandal-wood. But Dad and Mum liked the bush, and would accept nothing -for their supposed welfare, either from their sons or anyone else.</p> - -<p>In the middle of the afternoon they passed a sundowner trekking with a -cartful of produce down to Middle Swan. At four o'clock they camped for -half an hour, to drink a billy of tea. Before the water boiled they saw -two tramps coming down the road. The slouchers came straight up and -greeted the boys, eyeing them curiously up and down.</p> - -<p>"Wot cheer, mate!" said one, a ruffianly mongrel.</p> - -<p>"Good O! How's the goin' Gingin way?" asked Tom.</p> - -<p>"Plenty grass an' water this time o' the year. But look out for the -settlers this side. They ain't over hopeful." He turned to stare at -Jack. Then he continued, to Tom: "How's it y' got y' baby out?"</p> - -<p>"New chum," explained Tom. He spoke quietly, but his mouth had hardened. -"You blokes want anything of us?"</p> - -<p>"Yessir," said the spokesman, coming in close. "We wants bacca."</p> - -<p>"Do you?" said Tom pleasantly, and he pulled out his pouch. "I've only -got three plugs. That's one apiece for me an' the baby, an' you can have -the other to do as you likes with. But chum here doesn't keer much for -smokin', so he might give you his."</p> - -<p>There was a tone of finality in Tom's voice.</p> - -<p>"You've surely got more blasted cheek than most kids," said the fellow. -"What've ye got planted away in y' swags?" He glanced at his mate. "We -don't want to use no bally persuasion, does we, Bill?"</p> - -<p>Bill was of villainous but not very imposing appearance. He had weak -eyes, a dirty hairy face, and a purple mouth showing unbecomingly -through his whiskers.</p> - -<p>Tom calmly filled his pipe, and waving to the first tramp, gave him -sufficient to fill his cutty. The fellow took it, ignoring his mate, and -began to fill up eagerly. He sat down by the fire, and taking a hot -ember, lit up, puffing avidly.</p> - -<p>"The other can have my share, if he wants it," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Thank you kindly," said the other with a sneer. And as he stuffed it in -his pipe: "It'll do for a start." But he was puffing almost before he -could finish his words.</p> - -<p>They smoked in silence round the fire for some time. Then Tom rose and -went over to the pack, as if he were going to give in to the ruffians. -One swaggy rose and followed him.</p> - -<p>The other tramp, taking not the slightest notice of the boy sitting -there, reached out his filthy hand and began to fill his pockets with -everything that lay near the fire: the packet of tea, a spoon, a knife.</p> - -<p>He had got as far as the spoon when the astonished Jack said: "Drop it!" -as if he were speaking to a dog.</p> - -<p>The man turned with a snarl, and made to cuff him. Jack seized his wrist -and twisted it cruelly, making him drop the spoon and shout with pain. -The other swaggy at once ran on Jack from the rear, and fell over him. -Tom rushed on the second swaggy and fell too. Over they all went in a -heap. Jack laughed aloud in the scrimmage, as he gripped the swaggy's -wrist with one hand and with the other emptied out the contents of the -pocket again. He brought out two knives, one of which didn't belong to -him. Dropping the lot for safety, he got to his feet. Tom and the second -swaggy were rolling and unlocking. That villain spied the open knife, -seized it and sprang to his feet, snarling and brandishing.</p> - -<p>"Come on, ye pair of——"</p> - -<p>Jack gave another twist to the wrist of the prisoner, who howled, and -then he kicked him three yards away. But his heart smote him, for the -kick was so bony, the tramp was thin and frail. Then, full of the black -joy of scattering such wastrels, he sprang unexpectedly on the other -tramp. The swaggy gave a yell, and fled. For a minute or two the couple -of ragged, wretched, despicable figures could be seen bolting like -running vermin down the trail. Then they were out of sight.</p> - -<p>Tom and Jack sat by the fire and roared with laughter, roared and roared -till the bush was startled.</p> - -<p>They were just packing up when someone else came down the road. It was a -young woman in a very wide skirt on a very small pony, riding as if she -were used to it. This was not the figure they expected to see.</p> - -<p>"Why!" cried Tom, staring. "I do believe it's Ma's niece grown up."</p> - -<p>It was. She was quite pleasant, but her hands were stub-fingered and -work-hardened, and her voice was common.</p> - -<p>"Y' didn't come along yesterday, as Ma expected," she explained, "so I -just took Tubby to see if y' was coming today. How's the twins? How's -Monica and Grace? I do wish they'd come."</p> - -<p>"They're all right," said Tom.</p> - -<p>"We heard about your Dad and your Gran. Fancy! But I wish Monica had -come with you. She was such a little demon at school. I'm fair longing -to see her."</p> - -<p>"She's not the only one of you that's a demon!" said Tom, in the correct -tone of banter, putting over his horse and drawing to the girl's side, -and becoming very manly for her benefit. "An' what's wrong with us, that -you aren't glad to see us?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, you're all right," said the cousin. "But a girl of your own age is -more fun, you know."</p> - -<p>"Well, I don't happen to be a girl of your own age," said Tom. "Just by -accident, I'm a man. But come on. There's some roughs about. We might -just as well get out of their way."</p> - -<p>He trotted alongside the damsel, leaving Jack to bring the pack-horse. -Jack didn't mind.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>So they went on, receiving a rough and generous hospitality from, one or -another of Tom's or Jack's relations, of whom there were astonishingly -many, along the grand bush track to Geraldton. If they weren't direct -relations, they were relations by marriage, and it served just as well. -There were the Brockmans, there were the Browns, and Gales, and Davises, -Edgars and Conollys, Burgesses, Cooks, Logues, Cradles, Morrises, -Fitzgeralds and Glasses. Families united by some fine-drawn connection -or other; and very often much more divided than united, by some very -plain-drawn feud. Their names like brooks trickled across the land, and -you crossed and re-crossed. You would lose a name entirely: like the -Brockman name. Then suddenly it reappeared as Brackman, and "Oh yes, -we're cousins!"</p> - -<p>"Who isn't cousin!" thought Jack.</p> - -<p>Some of them had huge tracts of land fenced in. Some had little bits of -poor farms. Sometimes there were deserted farms.</p> - -<p>"And to think," said Tom, "that none of them is my own mother's -relations. All Dad's, or else Ma's. Mostly Ma's."</p> - -<p>It was queer the way he hankered after his own real mother. Jack, for -his part, didn't care a straw who was his mother's relation and who -wasn't. But you would have thought Tom lived under a Matriarchy, and -derived everything from a lost mother.</p> - -<p>It was not wet enough yet to be really boggy, though camping out was -damp. However, they mostly got a roof. If it wasn't a relation's, it was -a barn, or the "Bull and Horns" by Gingin. And to the boys, all that -mattered was whether they were on the right road: often a very puzzling -question; or if the heavy rain would hold off; if there was plenty of -grub; if the horses seemed tired or not quite fit; if they were going to -get through a boggy place all right; if the packs were fast; if they -made good going. The inns were "low" in every sense of the word, -including the low-pitched roof. And full of bugs, however new the -country. With red-nosed, grassy-whiskered landlords who thumbed the -glasses when there were any glasses to thumb. And there were always men -at these inns, almost always the same kind of brutal, empty roughs.</p> - -<p>"Look here," said Jack, "wherever we go there are these roughs, and more -roughs, and more. Where the devil do they come from, and how do they -make a living? Apart from farm labourers, I mean."</p> - -<p>"A lot of them are shearers," said Tom, "drifting from job to job, -according to climate. When shearing season's over here, they work on to -the south-west, where it's cooler. And then there are kangaroo and -'possum snarers. That young fellow we saw rooked of all his sugar last -night was a skin-hunter. They get half-a-crown apiece for good 'roo -skins, and it's quite a trade. The others last night were mostly -sandalwood getters. There's quite a lot of men make money collecting -bark for export, and manna-gum. That rowdy lot playing fifty-three were -a gang of well-sinkers. Then what with timber-workers, haulers, teamsters, -junkers—oh, there's all sorts. But they're mostly one sort, -swabs, rough and rowdy, an' can't keep their pants hitched up enough to -be decent. You've seen 'em. They're mostly like the dirty old braces -they wear. All the snap gone out of 'em, all the elastic perished. They -just work and booze and loaf, and work and booze. I hope I'll never get -so that I don't keep myself spruce. I hope I never will. But that's the -worst o' the life out here. Nobody hardly keeps spruce."</p> - -<p>Jack kept this well in mind. He too hated a man slouching along with a -discoloured face, and trousers slopping down his insignificant legs. He -loathed that look which tramps and ne'er-do-wells usually have, as if -their legs weren't there, inside their beastly bags. Despicable about -the rear and the legs. The best of the farmers, on the contrary, had -strong, sinewy legs, full of life. Easu was like that, his powerful legs -holding his horse. And Tom had good, live legs. But poor Dad had not -been very alive, inside his pants.</p> - -<p>"Whatever I do, I'll never go despicable and humiliated about the legs -and seat," said Jack to himself, as he pressed the stirrups with his -toes and felt the powerful elasticity of his thighs, holding the live -body of the horse between his muscles in permanent grip. And it seemed -as if the powerful animal life of the horse entered into him, through -his legs and seat, and made him strong.</p> - -<p>"What's a junker, Tom?"</p> - -<p>"A low, four-wheeled log hauler, with a long pole."</p> - -<p>"I thought it was a man. A swab is a man?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. He's any old drunk."</p> - -<p>"But a swaggy is a tramp?"</p> - -<p>"It is. It is one who humps it. If he's got a pack, it's his swag. If -he's only got a blanket and a billy, it's his bluey and his drum. And if -he's got nothing, it's Waltzing Matilda."</p> - -<p>"I suppose so," said Jack. "And his money is his sugar?"</p> - -<p>"Right-O! son!"</p> - -<p>"And Chink is Chinaman?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir. That's Chow. Chink means prison. An' a lag is a ticketer: one -who's out on lease. Now what more Child's Guide to Knowledge do you -want?"</p> - -<p>"I'm only getting it straight. Jam and dog both mean 'side'?"</p> - -<p>"Verily. Only dog is sometimes same as bully tinned meat."</p> - -<p>"And what's <i>stosh?</i>"</p> - -<p>"Landin' him one."</p> - -<p>Jack rode on, thinking about it.</p> - -<p>"What's a remittance man, really, Tom?"</p> - -<p>"A waster. A useless bird shipped out here to be kept south o' the line, -because he's a disgrace to England. And his family soothes their -conscience by sending him so much a month, which they call his -remittance, 'stead o' letting him starve, or work. Like Rackett. Plenty -o' money sent out to him to stink on."</p> - -<p>"Why don't you like Rackett?"</p> - -<p>"I fairly despise him, an' his money. He's absolutely useless baggage, -rotting life away. I can't abear to see him about. Old George gave me -the tip he was leaving our place, else I'd never have gone and left him -loose there."</p> - -<p>"He is no harm."</p> - -<p>"How do you know? If be hasn't got a disease of the body, he's got a -disease of the soul."</p> - -<p>"What disease?"</p> - -<p>"Dunno."</p> - -<p>"Does he take drugs?"</p> - -<p>"I reckon that's about his figure. But he's an eyesore to me, loafin', -loafin'. An' he's an eyesore to Ma, save for the bit he teaches Lennie. -An' when he starts talkin' on the high fiddle, like he does to Mary the -minute she comes down, makes you want to walk on his face."</p> - -<p>Poor Rackett! Jack marvelled that Tom had always been so civil.</p> - -<p>The two jogged along very amicably together. Tom was -hail-fellow-well-met with everybody. At the same time, he was in his own -estimation a gentleman, and a person of consideration. It was "thus far" -with him.</p> - -<p>But whoever came along, they all drew up.</p> - -<p>"Hello, mate! How's goin'? . . . Well, so long!"</p> - -<p>One youth was walking to Fremantle to take a job offered by his uncle, -serving in a grocery shop. The lad was in tatters. His blanket was tied -with twine, his battered billy hung on to it. But he was jubilant. And -now he is one of Australia's leading lights. Even it is said of him that -he never forgot the kindness he received on the road.</p> - -<p>But most of the trailers were sundowners, sloping along anyhow, -subsisting anyhow, but ready with the ingenious explanation that they -"chopped a bit," or "fenced a bit," or "trapped a bit." Perhaps they -never realised how much bigger was the bit they loafed.</p> - -<p>They were not bad. The bad ones were the scoundrels down from the -Never-Never, emerging in their rags and moral degradation after years on -the sheep runs or cattle stations, years of earnings spent in drink and -squalid, beastly debauchery. Some were hoarding their cheques for -coast-town consumption, like the first two rogues, and cadging and -stealing their way.</p> - -<p>But then there were families driving to the nearest settlement to do a -bit of shopping, or visit their relations, or fetch the doctor to "fix -up Teddy's little leg." Once there was a posse of mounted police, very -important and gallant, with horses champing and chains clinking. They -were out after a criminal supposed to have been landed on the coast by a -dago boat "from the other side." Then there was an occasional Minister -of the Gospel, on a pony, dressed in black. Jack's heart always sank -when he saw that black. He decided that priests should be white, or in -orange robes, like the Buddhist priests he had seen in Colombo, or in a -good blue, like some nuns.</p> - -<p>Gradually the road became a home: more a home than any homestead.</p> - -<p>"Let's get!" was Tom's perpetual cry, when they were fixed up in the -house of some relation, or in some inn. He only felt happy on the road. -Sometimes they went utterly lonely for many miles. Sometimes they passed -a deserted habitation. But there were always signs of life near a well. -And often there were milestones.</p> - -<p>"Fifty-seven miles to where?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know. We're leagues from Gingin. Certainly fifty-seven miles to -nowhere of any importance on the face of this earth."</p> - -<p>"Wonder what Gingin means?"</p> - -<p>"Better not ask. You never know what these natives'll be naming places -after. Usually something vile. But gin means a woman, whatever Gingin -is."</p> - -<p>Gradually they got further and further, geographically, mentally, and -emotionally, from Wandoo and all permanent associations. Jack was glad. -He loved the earth, the wild country, the bush, the scent. He wanted to -go on forever. Beyond the settlements—beyond the ploughed -land—beyond all fences. That was it—beyond all fences. Beyond -all fences, where a man was alone with himself and the untouched earth.</p> - -<p>Man escaping from Man! That's how it is all the time. The passion men -have to escape from mankind. What do they expect in the beyond? God?</p> - -<p>They'll never find the same God! Never again. They are trying to escape -from the God men acknowledge, as well as from mankind, the acknowledger.</p> - -<p>The land untouched by man. The call of the mysterious, vast, unoccupied -land. The strange inaudible calling, like the far-off call of a -kangaroo. The strange, still, pure air. The strange shadows. The strange -scent of wild, brown, aboriginal honey.</p> - -<p>Being early for the boat, the boys camped for twenty-four hours in a -perfectly lonely place. And in the utterly lonely evening Jack began -craving again: for Monica, for a woman, for some object for his passion -to settle on. And he knew again, as he had always known, that nowhere is -free, so long as man is passionate, desirous, yearning. His only freedom -is to find the object of his passion, and fulfil his desires and satisfy -his yearning, as far as his life can succeed. Or else, which is more -difficult, to harden himself away from all desire and craving, to harden -himself into pride, and refer himself to that other god.</p> - -<p>Yes, in the wild bush, God seemed another god. God seemed absolutely -another god, vaster, more calm and more deeply, sensually potent. And -this was a profound satisfaction. To find another, more terrible, but -also more deeply-fulfilling god stirring subtly in the uncontaminated -air about one. A dread god. But a great god, greater than any known. The -sense of greatness, vastness, and newness, in the air. And the strange, -dusky, gray eucalyptus-smelling sense of depth, strange depth in the -air, as of a great deep well of potency, which life had not yet tapped. -Something which lay in a man's blood as well—and in a woman's -blood—in Monica's—in Mary's—in the Australian blood. A -strange, dusky, gun-smelling depth of potency that had never been tapped by -experience. As if life still held great wells of reserve vitality, strange -unknown wells of secret life-source, dusky, of a strange, dim, aromatic -sap which had never stirred in the veins of man, to consciousness -and effect. And if he could take Monica and set the dusky, secret, -unknown sap flowing in himself and her, to some unopened life -consciousness—that was what he wanted. Dimly, uneasily, painfully he -realised it.</p> - -<p>And then the bush began to frighten him, as if it would kill him, as it -had killed so much man-life before, killed it before the life in man had -had time to come to realisation.</p> - -<p>He was glad when the road came down to the sea. There, the great, -pale-blue, strange, empty sea, on new shores with new strange sea-birds -flying, and strange rocks sticking up, and strange blue distances up the -bending coast. The sea that is always the same, always a relief, a -vastness and a soothing. Coming out of the bush, and being a little -afraid of the bush, he loved the sea with an English passion. It made -him feel at home in the same known infinite of space.</p> - -<p>Especially on a windy day, when the track would curve down to a -greeny-grey opalescent sea that beat slowly on the red sands, like a -dying grey bird with white wing-feathers. And the reddish cliffs with -sage-green growth of herbs, stood almost like flesh.</p> - -<p>Then the road went inland again, through a swamp, and to the bush. To -emerge next morning in the sun, upon a massive deep indigo ocean, -infinite, with pearl-clear horizon; and in the nearness, emerald-green -and white flashing unspeakably bright on a pinkish shore, perfectly -world-new.</p> - -<p>They were nearing the journey's end. Nearing the little port, and the -ship, and the world of men.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></h4> - -<h4>AFTER TWO YEARS</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>A sky with clouds of white and grey, and patches of blue. A green sea -flecked with white, and shadowed golden brown. On the horizon, the sense -of a great open void, like an open valve, as if the bivalve oyster of -the world, sea and sky, were open away westward, open into another -infinity, and the people on land, inside the oyster of the world, could -look far out to the opening.</p> - -<p>They could see the bulk of near islands. Further off, a tiny white sail -coming down fast on the fresh great sea-wind, emanating out of the -north-west. She seemed to be coming from the beyond, slipping into the -slightly-open, living oysters of our world.</p> - -<p>The men on the wharf at Fremantle, watching her black hull emerge from -the flecked sea, as she sailed magically nearer, knew she would be a -cattle-boat coming in from the great Nor'-West. They watched her none -the less.</p> - -<p>As she hesitated, turning to the harbour, she was recognised as the old -fore-and-aft schooner "Venus"; though if Venus ever smelled like that, -we pity her lovers. Smell or not, she balanced nicely, and with a bit of -manÅ“uvring ebbed her delicate way up the wharf.</p> - -<p>There they are! There they are, Tom and Jack, though their own mothers -wouldn't know them! Looking terribly like their fellow-passengers: -stubby beards, long hair, greasy dirty dungarees, and a general air of -disreputable outcasts. But, no doubt, with cheques of some sort in their -pockets.</p> - -<p>Two years, nearer three years have gone by, since they set out from -Wandoo. It is more than three years since Jack landed fresh from -England, in this very Fremantle. And he is so changed, he doesn't even -trouble to remember.</p> - -<p>They don't trouble to remember anything: not yet. Back in the -Never-Never, one by one the ties break, the emotional connections snap, -memory gives out, and you come undone. Then, when you have come undone -from the great past, you drift in an unkempt nonchalance here and there, -great distances across the great hinterland country, and there is -nothing but the moment, the instantaneous moment. If you are working -your guts out, you are working your guts out. If you are rolling across -for a drink, you are rolling across for a drink. If you are just getting -into a fight with some lump of a brute, you are just getting into a -fight with some lump of a brute. If you are going to sleep in some low -hole, you are going to sleep in some low hole. And if you wake feeling -dry and hot and hellish, why, you feel dry and hot and hellish till you -leave off feeling dry and hot and hellish. There's no more to it. The -same if you're sick. You're just sick, and stubborn as hell, till your -stubbornness gets the better of your sickness.</p> - -<p>There are words like home, Wandoo, England, mother, father, sister, but -they don't carry very well. It's like a radio message that's so faint, -so far off, it makes no impression on you; even if you can hear it in a -shadowy way. Such a faint, unreal thing in the broadcast air.</p> - -<p>You have moved outside the pale, the pale of civilisation, the pale of -the general human consciousness. The human consciousness is a definitely -limited thing, even on the face of the earth. You can move into regions -outside of it. As in Australia. The broadcasting of the vast human -consciousness can't get you. You are beyond. And since the call can't -get you, the answer begins to die down inside yourself, you don't -respond any more. You don't respond, and you don't correspond.</p> - -<p>There is no past: or if there is, it is so remote and ineffectual it -can't work on you at all. And there is no future. Why saddle yourself -with such a spectre as the future? There is the moment. You sweat, you -rest, the bugs bite you, you thirst, you drink, you think you're going -to die, you don't care, and you know you won't die, because a certain -stubbornness inside you keeps the upper hand.</p> - -<p>So you go on. If you've got no work, you either get a horse or you tramp -it off somewhere else. You keep your eyes open that you don't get lost, -or stranded for water. When you're damned, infernally and absolutely -sick of everything, you go to sleep. And then if the bugs bite you, you -are beyond that too.</p> - -<p>But at the bottom of yourself, somewhere, like a tiny seed, lies the -knowledge that you're going back in a while. That all the unreal will -become real again, and this real will become unreal. That all that -stuff, home, mother, responsibility, family, duty, etc., it all will -loom up again into actuality, and this, this heat, this parchedness, -this dirt, this mutton, these dying sheep, these roving cattle that take -the flies by the million, these burning tin gold-camps—all this will -recede into the unreal, it will cease to be actual.</p> - -<p>Some men decide never to go back, and they are the derelicts, the -scarecrows and the warning. "Going back" was a problem in Jack's soul. -He didn't really want to go back. All that which lay behind, society, -homes, families, he felt a deep hostility towards. He didn't want to go -back. He was like an enemy, lurking outside the great camp of -civilisation. And he didn't want to go into camp again.</p> - -<p>Yet neither did he want to be a derelict. A mere derelict he would never -be, though temporary derelicts both he and Tom were. But he saw enough -of the real waster, the real out-and-out derelict, to know that this he -would never be.</p> - -<p>No, in the end he would go back to civilisation. But the thought of -becoming a part of the civilised outfit was deeply repugnant to him. -Some other queer hard resolve had formed in his soul. Something -gradually went hard in the centre of him. He couldn't yield himself any -more. The hard core remained impregnable.</p> - -<p>They had dutifully spent their year on the sheep-run Mr. George had sent -them to. But after that, it was shift for yourself. They had stuck at -nothing. Only they had stuck together.</p> - -<p>They had cashed their cheques in many a well-known wooden "hotel" of the -far-away coast. Oh, those wooden hotels with their uneasy verandahs, -flies, flies, flies, flies, flies, their rum or whiskey, their dirty -glasses, their flimsy partitions, their foul language, their bugs and -dirt and desolation. The brutal foul-mouthed desolation of them, with -the horses switching their tails at the hitching posts, the riders -slowly soaking, staring at the blue heat and the silent world of dust, -too far gone even to speak. Gone under the heat, the drought, the -Never-Neverness of it, the unspeakable hot desolation. And evening -coming, with men already drunk, already ripe for brawling, obscenity, -and swindling gambling.</p> - -<p>They had gone away chequeless, mourning their chequelessness, back on -their horses to the cable station. Then following the droves miles and -miles through the tropical, or semi-tropical bush, and over the open -country, camping by water for a week at a time, and going on.</p> - -<p>Then they had chucked cattle, wasted their cheques, footed it for weary, -weary miles, like the swaggies they had so despised. Clothes in rags, -boots in holes, another job; away in out-back camps with horsemen -prospectors, with well-contractors; shepherding again, with utter -wastrels of shepherds camping along with them, chucking the job, -chucking the blasted rich aristocratic squatters, with all their -millions of acres and sheep and fence and blasted outfit, all so dead -bent on making money as quick as possible, all the machinery of -civilisation, as far as possible, starting to grind and squeak there in -the beyond. They had gone off with well-sinkers, and laboured like -navvies. Chucked that, taken the road, spent the night at mission -stations, watched the blacks being saved, and got to the mining camps.</p> - -<p>Poor old Tom had got into deep waters. Even now he more than thought -that he was legally married to a barmaid, far away back in the sublimest -town you can imagine, back there in the blasting heat which so often -burns a man's soul away even before it burns up his body. It had burned -a hole in Tom's soul, in that town away back in the blasting heat, a -town consisting of a score or so of ready-made tin houses got up from -the coast in pieces, and put together by anybody that liked to try. -There they stood or staggered, the tin ovens that men and women lived -in; houses leaning like drunken men against stark tree-trunks, others -looking strange and forlorn with some of their parts missing, said parts -being under the seas, or elsewhere mislaid. But the absence of one -section of a wall did not spoil the house for habitation. It merely gave -you a better view of the inside happenings. Many of the tin shacks were -windowless, and even shutterless: square holes in the raw corrugated -erection. One was entirely wall-less, and this was the pub. It was just -a tin roof reared on saplings against an old tree, with a sacking screen -round the bar, through which sacking screen you saw the ghost of the -landlady and her clients, if you approached from the back. The front -view was open.</p> - -<p>Here sat the motionless landlady, in her cooking hot shade, dispensing -her indispensable grog, while her boss or husband rolled the barrels in. -He had a team with which he hauled up the indispensable from the coast.</p> - -<p>The nice-mannered Miss Snook took turn with her mama in this palace of -Circe. She was extremely "nice" in her manners, for the "boss" owned the -team, the pub, and the boarding-house at which you stayed so long as you -could pay the outrageous prices. So Miss Snook, never familiarised into -Lucy, for she wouldn't allow it, oscillated between the closed oven of -the boarding-house and the open oven of the pub.</p> - -<p>Father—or the "boss"—had been a barber in Sydney. Now he -cooked in the boarding-house, and drove the team. "Mother" had been the -high-born daughter of a chemist; she had ruined all her prospects of -continuing in the eastern "swim" by running away with the barber, now -called "boss." However, she took her decline in the social scale with -dignity, and allowed no familiarities. Her previous station helped her to -keep up her prices.</p> - -<p>"We're not, y'understand, Mr. Grant, a Provident concern, as some -foot-sloggers seem to think us. We're doing our best to provide for -Lucy, against she wants to get married, or in case she doesn't."</p> - -<p>She and Lucy did the washing and cleaning between them, but their -efforts were nominal. Boss' cooking left everything to be desired. The -place was a perfect Paradise.</p> - -<p>"We know a gentleman when we see one, Mr. Grant, and we're not going to -throw our only child away on a penniless waster."</p> - -<p>Jack wanted loudly to proclaim himself a penniless waster. But Tom and -he had a pact, not to say anything about themselves, or where they came -from. They were just "looking round."</p> - -<p>And in that heat, the plump, perspiring, cotton-clad Lucy thought that -Tom seemed more amenable than Jack. Poor Tom seemed to fall for it, and -Jack had to look on in silent disgust.</p> - -<p>There was even a ghastly, gruesome wedding. Neither of the boys could -bear to think of it. Even in the stupefaction of that heat, when the -brain seems to melt, and the will degenerates, and nothing but the most -rudimentary functions of the organism called man, continue to function, -even then a sense of shame overpowered them. But Tom was in a trance, -pig-headed as any of Circe's swine. He continued in the trance for about -a week after his so-called marriage. Then he woke up from the welter of -perspiration, rum, and Lucy in an amazed horror, and the boys escaped.</p> - -<p>The nightmare of this town—it was called "Honeysuckle"—was -able to penetrate Tom's most nonchalant mood, even when he was hundreds of -trackless miles away. The young men covered their tracks carefully. The -Snooks knew nothing but their names. But a name, alas, is a potent -entity in the wilds.</p> - -<p>They covered their tracks and disappeared again. But even so, an ancient -letter from Wandoo followed them to a well-digging camp. It was from -Monica to Tom, but it didn't seem to mean much to either boy.</p> - -<p>For almost a year Tom and Jack had never written home. There didn't seem -any reason. In his last letter Tom, suddenly having some sort of qualms, -had sent his cheque to his maiden Aunts in York, because he knew, now -Gran and Dad were gone, they'd be in shallow water. This off his -conscience, he let Wandoo go out of his mind and spirit.</p> - -<p>But now wandered in a letter from Aunt Lucy—dreaded name! It was a -"thank you, my dear nephew," and went on to say that though she would be -the last to repeat things she hoped trouble was not hanging over Mrs. -Ellis' head.</p> - -<p>Tom looked at Jack——</p> - -<p>"We'd best go back," said Jack, reading his eyes.</p> - -<p>"Seems like it."</p> - -<p>So—the time had come. The "freedom" was over. They were going -back.—They caught the old ship "Venus," going south with cattle.</p> - -<p>To come back in body is not always to come back in mind and spirit. When -Jack saw the white buildings of Fremantle he knew his soul was far from -Fremantle. But nothing to be done. The old ship bumped against the -wharf, and was tied up. Nothing to do but to step ashore.</p> - -<p>They loafed off that ship with a gang of similar unkempt, unshaved, -greasy, scoundrelly returners.</p> - -<p>"Come an' 'ave a spot!"</p> - -<p>"What about it, Tom?"</p> - -<p>"Y'know I haven't a bean above the couple o' dollars to take me to -Perth."</p> - -<p>"Oh, dry it up," cried the mate. "What y'come ashore for? You're not -goin' without a spot. It's on me. My shout."</p> - -<p>"Shout it back in Perth, then."</p> - -<p>"Wot'll y'ave?"</p> - -<p>And through the swing doors they went.</p> - -<p>"Best an' bitter's mine."</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>Jack had not let himself be cleaned out entirely, as Tom had. Tom seemed -to want to be absolutely stumped. But Jack with deeper sense of the -world's enmity, and his own need to hold his own against it, had posted -a couple of cheques to Lennie to hold for him. Save for this he too was -cleaned out.</p> - -<p>The same little engine of the same little train of four years ago -shrieked her whistle. The North-West crowd drifted noisily out of the -Hotel and down the platform, packing into the third class compartment, -in such positions as happily to negotiate the spittoons.</p> - -<p>"Let's go forward," said Jack. "We might as well have cushions, if we're -not smoking."</p> - -<p>And he drew Tom forward along the train. They were going to get into -another compartment, but seeing the looks of terror on the face of the -woman and little girl already there, they refrained and went further.</p> - -<p>Aggressively they entered another smoking compartment. A couple of fat -tradesmen and a clergyman glowered at them. One of the tradesmen pulled -out a handkerchief, shook it, and pretended to wipe his nose. There was -perfume in the air.</p> - -<p>"Oh my aunt!" said Tom, putting his hand on his stomach. "Turns me right -over."</p> - -<p>"What?" asked Jack.</p> - -<p>"All this smell o' scent."</p> - -<p>Jack grinned to himself. But he was back in civilisation, and he -involuntarily stiffened.</p> - -<p>"Hello! There's Sam Ellis!" Tom leaned out of the door. "Hello, Sam! -How's things, eh?"</p> - -<p>The young fellow addressed looked at Tom, grinned sicklily, and turned -away. He didn't know Tom from Adam.</p> - -<p>"Let's have another drink!" said Tom, flabbergasted, getting out of the -train.</p> - -<p>Jack followed, and they started down the platform, when the train -jogged, jerked, and began to pull away. Instantly they ran for it, -caught the rail of the guard's van, and swung themselves in. The -interior was empty, so they sat down on the little boxes let in at the -side. Then the two eyed each other self-consciously, uncomfortably. They -felt uncomfortable and aware of themselves all at once.</p> - -<p>"Of all the ol' sweeps!" said Tom. "Tell you what, you look like a -lumper, absolutely nothing but a lumper."</p> - -<p>"And what do you think you look like, you distorted scavenger!"</p> - -<p>Tom grinned uncomfortably.</p> - -<p>They got out of the station at Perth without having paid any railway -fare.</p> - -<p>The first place they went to was Mr. George's office. Jack pushed Tom -through the door, and stood himself in the doorway fingering his greasy -felt hat. Tom dropped his, picked it up, hit it against his knee.</p> - -<p>Mr. George, neat in pale-grey suit and white waistcoat, glared at them -briefly.</p> - -<p>"Now then, my men, what can I do f' ye?"</p> - -<p>"Why——" began Tom, grinning sheepishly.</p> - -<p>"Trouble about a mining right?—mate stolen half y' gold -dust?—want stake a claim on somebody else's reserve?—Come, out -with it. What d' you want me to do for ye, man?"</p> - -<p>"Why——" Tom began, more foolishly grinning than ever. Mr. -George looked shrewdly at him, then at Jack. Then he sat back smiling.</p> - -<p>"Well, if you're not a pair!" he said. "So it was mines for the last -outfit? How'd it go?"</p> - -<p>"About as slow as it could," said Tom.</p> - -<p>"So you've not come back millionaires?" said Mr. George, a little bit -disappointed.</p> - -<p>"Come to ask for a fiver," said Tom.</p> - -<p>"You outcast!" said Mr. George. "You had me, completely. But look here, -lads, I'll stand y' a fiver apiece if y'll stop around Perth like that -all morning, an' nobody spots ye."</p> - -<p>"Easy!" said Tom.</p> - -<p>"A bigger pair o' blackguards I've seldom set eyes on.—But you -have dinner with me at the club tonight, I'll hear all about y' then. -Six-thirty sharp. An' then I'll take ye to the Government House. Y' can -wear that evening suit in the closet at my house, Jack, that you've left -there all this time. See you six-thirty then."</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>Dismissed, they bundled into the street.</p> - -<p>"Outcasts on the face value of us!" said Jack.</p> - -<p>Tom stopped to roar with laughter, and bumped into a pedestrian.</p> - -<p>"Hold hard! Keep a hand on the reins, can't yon?" exclaimed the -individual, pushing Tom off.</p> - -<p>Tom looked at him. It was Jimmie Short, another sort of cousin.</p> - -<p>"Stow it, Jimmie. Don't y' know me?"</p> - -<p>Jimmie took him firmly by the coat lapels and pulled him into the -gutter.</p> - -<p>"'f course I know ye," said Jimmie in a conciliatory tone, as to a -drunk. "Meet me in half an hour at the Miners' Refuge, eh? Three steps -and a lurch and there y' are!—Come, matey"—this to -Jack—"take hold of y' pal's arm. See ye later."</p> - -<p>Tom was weak with laughter at Jimmie's benevolent attitude. They were -not recognised at all, as they lurched across the road.</p> - -<p>They had a drink, and strolled down the long principal street of Perth, -looking in at the windows of all the shops, and in spite of the fact -that they had no money, buying each a silk handkerchief and a cake of -scented soap. The excitement of this over, they rolled away to the -riverside, to the ferry. Then again back into the town.</p> - -<p>At the corner of the Freemason's Hotel they saw Aunt Matilda and Mary; -Aunt Matilda huge in a tight-fitting, ruched dress of dark purple stuff, -and Mary in a black-and-white striped dress with a tight bodice and -tight sleeves with a little puff at the top, and a long skirt very full -behind. She wore also a little black hat with a wing. And Jack, with a -wickedness brought with him out of the North-West, would have liked to -rip these stereotyped clothes and corsets off her, and make her walk -down Hay Street <i>in puris naturalibus.</i> She went so trim and exact -behind the huge Mrs. Watson. It would have been good to unsheathe her.</p> - -<p>"Hello!" cried Tom. "There's Aunt Matilda. We've struck it rich."</p> - -<p>The two young blackguards followed slowly after the two women, close -behind them. Mary carried a book, and was evidently making for the -little bookshop that had a lending library of newish books.</p> - -<p>"Well, Mary, while you go in there I'll go and see if the chemist can't -give me something for my breathing, for its awful!" said Mrs. Watson, -standing and puffing before the bookshop.</p> - -<p>"Shall I come for you or you for me?" asked Mary.</p> - -<p>"I'll sit and wait for you in Mr. Pusey's," panted Aunt Matilda, and she -sailed forward again, after having glanced suspiciously backward at the -two ne'er-do-wells who were hesitating a few yards away.</p> - -<p>Mary, with her black hair in a huge bun, her hat with a wing held on by -steel pins, was gazing contemplatively into the window of the bookshop, -at the newest book. <i>The Book-lovers Latest!</i> said a cardboard -announcement.</p> - -<p>"Can you help a poor chap, Miss?" said Tom, dropping his head and edging -near.</p> - -<p>Mary started, looked frightened, glanced at the first tramp and then at -the second, in agitation, began to fumble for her purse, and dropped her -book, spilling the loose leaves.</p> - -<p>Jack at once began to gather up the scattered pages of the book: an -Anthony Trollope novel. Mary, with black kid-gloved fingers, was -fumbling in her purse for a penny. Tom peeped into the purse.</p> - -<p>"Lend us the half-a-quid, Mary," he said.</p> - -<p>She looked at his face, and a slow smile of amusement dawned in her -eyes.</p> - -<p>"I should never have known you!" she said.</p> - -<p>Then as Jack rose, shoving the leaves together in the book, she looked -into his blue eyes with her brown, queer shining eyes.</p> - -<p>She held out her hand to him without saying a word, only looked into his -eyes with a look of shining meaning. Which made him grin sardonically -inside himself. He shook hands with her silently.</p> - -<p>"You look something like you did after you'd been fighting with Easu -Ellis," she said. "When are you going to Wandoo?</p> - -<p>"Tomorrow, I should think," said Tom. "Everybody O.K. down there?"</p> - -<p>"Oh I think so!" said Mary nervously.</p> - -<p>"What do you men want?" came a loud, panting voice. Aunt Matilda sailing -up, purple in the face.</p> - -<p>"Lend us half-a-quid, Mary," murmured Tom, and hastily she handed it -over. Jack had already commenced to beat a retreat. Tom sloped away as -the large lady loomed near.</p> - -<p>"Beggars!" she panted. "Are they begging?—How much—how much -did you give him? The disgraceful——!"</p> - -<p>"He made me give him half-a-sovereign, Aunt."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Watson had to stagger into the shop for a chair.</p> - -<p>The boys had a drink, and set off to the warehouse to look up Jack's -box, in which were his white shirts and other forgotten garments.</p> - -<p>Back in town, Jack felt a slow, sinister sense of oppression coming over -him, a sort of fear, as if he were not really free, as if something bad -were going to happen to him.</p> - -<p>"How am I going to get dressed to dine with Old George tonight?" -grumbled the still-careless Tom, who was again becoming tipsy. "Wherever -am I goin' to get a suit to sport?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, some of yer relations 'll fix you up."</p> - -<p>Jack had an undefinable, uncomfortable feeling that he might suddenly -come upon Monica, and she might see him in this state. He wouldn't like -the way she'd look at him. No, he wouldn't be looked at like that, not -for a hundred ponies.</p> - -<p>They turned their backs on the beautiful River, with its Mount Eliza -headland and wide sweeps and curves twinkling in the sun, and they -walked up William Street looking for an adventure.</p> - -<p>A man whom they knew from the north, in filthy denims, came out of a -boot-shop and hailed them.</p> - -<p>"Come an' stop one on me, maties."</p> - -<p>"Righto! But where's Lukey? He stood us one this morning. Seen him?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I seen him.—But 'arf a mo'!"</p> - -<p>Scottie turned into the pawnbroker's, under the three balls, and the -boys followed.</p> - -<p>"If y' sees what y' didn't oughta see, keep y' mouth shut."</p> - -<p>"As a dead crab," assented Jack.</p> - -<p>"Now then, Unde! What'll y' advance on that pair o' bran new boots I've -just bought?"</p> - -<p>"Two bob."</p> - -<p>"Glory be. An' I just give twenty for 'em. Ne' mind, gimme th' -ticket."</p> - -<p>This transaction concluded, Jack wondered what he could pawn. He pulled -out a front tooth, beautifully set in a gold plate. It had been a -parting finish to his colonial outfit, the original tooth having been -lost in a football scrum.</p> - -<p>"Father Abraham," he said, holding up the tooth, "I'm a gentleman -whether I look it or not. So is my friend this gentleman. He needs a -dress suit for tonight, though you wouldn't believe it. He needs a -first-class well-fitting dress suit for this evening."</p> - -<p>"I have first-class latest fashion gents' clothes upstairs. But a suit -like that is worth five pound to me."</p> - -<p>"Let me try the jacket on."</p> - -<p>Abraham was doubtful. But at length Tom was hustled shamefacedly into a -rather large tail-coat. It looked awful, but Jack said it would do. The -man wouldn't take a cent less than two quid deposit: and ten bob for the -loan of the suit. The boys said they would call later.</p> - -<p>"What'll you give me on this tooth?" asked Jack. "There's not a more -expensive tooth in Western Australia."</p> - -<p>"I'll lend y' five bob on that, pecos y' amuth me."</p> - -<p>"And well come in later for the dress suit. All right, Aaron. Hang on to -that tooth, it's irreplaceable. Treat it like a jewel. Give me the five -bob and the ticket."</p> - -<p>In the Miners' Refuge Jack flung himself down on a bench beside an -individual who looked tidy but smelt strongly of rum, and asked:</p> - -<p>"Say, mate, where can y' get a wash an' a brush-up for two?—local?"</p> - -<p>The fellow got up and lurched surlily to the counter, refusing to -answer.</p> - -<p>Jack sat on, while Tom drank beer, and a heavy depression crept over his -spirit. He had been hobnobbing with riff-raff so long, it had almost -become second nature. But now a sense of disgust and impending disaster -came over him. He would soon have to make an angry effort, and get out. -He was becoming angry with Tom, for sitting there so sloppily soaking -beer, when he knew his head was weak.</p> - -<p>They began to eat sandwiches, hungrily standing at the bar. Another -slipshod waster, eyeing the denim man as if he were a fish, sidled over -to him and muttered.</p> - -<p>"Sorry," said Scottie with a mournful expression, pulling out the -pawn-ticket, "I've just had to pawn me boots. Can't be done."</p> - -<p>Jack grinned. The waster then came sloping over to him.</p> - -<p>"Y' axed me mate a civil question just now, lad, an' I'd 'ave answered -it for 'im, but I just spotted a racin' pal o' mine an' was onter him -ter get a tip he'd promised—a dead cert f' Belmont tomorrer. Y' might -ha' seen him lettin' me inter th' know," he breathed. "Hev' a drink, -lad!"</p> - -<p>"Thanks!" said Jack. "This is my mate.—I'll take the shout, an' -one back, an' then we must be off. Going up country tomorrer morning."</p> - -<p>This seemed to push the man's mind on quicker.</p> - -<p>"Just from up North, aren't ye? Easy place to knock up a cheque. How'd -y' like to double a fiver?"</p> - -<p>"O.K.," said Tom.</p> - -<p>"Well here's a dead cert. Take it from me, and don't let it past yer. I -got it from a racin' pal wot's in the know. Not straight for the -punters, maybe—but straight as a die f'r me 'n my pals. Double y' -money? Not 'arf! Multiply it by ten. 'S a dead cert."</p> - -<p>"Name?"</p> - -<p>"Not so quick. Not in 'ere. Come outside, 'n I'll whisper it to y'."</p> - -<p>Jack paid for the drinks, and winking warningly to Tom, followed the man -outside.</p> - -<p>"The name o' the 'oss," the fellow said—"But tell yer wot, I'll -put ye on the divvy with a book I know—or y' c'n come wi' me. He -keeps a paper-shop in Hay Street."</p> - -<p>"We don't know the name of the horse yet."</p> - -<p>"Comin' from up North you don't know the name o' none of 'em, do yer? -He's a rank outsider. Y' oughter get twenties on 'im."</p> - -<p>"We've only got a quid atween us," said Tom.</p> - -<p>"Well, that means a safe forty—after th' race."</p> - -<p>"Bob on!" said Tom. "Where's the bookshop?"</p> - -<p>"How can we go in an' back a hoss without knowin' his name?" said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Oh I'll tip it y' in 'ere."</p> - -<p>They entered a small paper-shop, and the man said to the fellow behind -the counter:</p> - -<p>"These two gents's pals o' mine.—How much did y' say y'd lay, -mates?"</p> - -<p>"Out with the name o' th' hoss first," said Tom confidentially.</p> - -<p>"This shop's changed hands lately," said the fat fellow behind the -counter. "I don't make books. Got no licence."</p> - -<p>Didn't that look straight? But the boys were no greenhorns. They walked -out of the shop again.</p> - -<p>In the road the stranger said:</p> - -<p>"The name o' th' 'oss is Double Bee. If y'll give me th' money I'll run -upstairs 'ere t' old Josh—everyone knows him for a sound book."</p> - -<p>"The name o' th' hoss," said Jack, "is Boots-two-Bob. An' a more -cramblin' set o' lies I never heard. Get outter this, or I'll knock y' -head off."</p> - -<p>The fellow went off with a yellow look.</p> - -<p>"Gosh!" said Tom. "We're back home right enough, what?"</p> - -<p>"Bon soir, as Frenchy used to say?"</p> - -<p>Rolling a little drearily along, they saw Jimmie Short standing on the -pavement watching them.</p> - -<p>"Hello, mates!" he said. "Still going strong?"</p> - -<p>"Fireproof!" said Tom.</p> - -<p>"Remember barging into me this morning? And my best girl was just coming -round the corner with her Ma! Had to mind my company, eh, boys. But come -an' have a drink now.—I seem to have seen you before to-day, haven't -I? Where was it?"</p> - -<p>"Don't try and think," said Tom. "Y' might do us out of a pony."</p> - -<p>"Righto! old golddust! Step over on to the Bar-parlour mat."</p> - -<p>"I'm stepping," said Tom. "'N I'm not drunk."</p> - -<p>"No, he's not," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"You bet he's not," said Jimmie. He was eyeing them curiously as if his -memory pricked him.</p> - -<p>"My name," said Tom, "is Ned Kelly. And if yours isn't Jimmie Miller, -what is it?"</p> - -<p>"Why, it's Short.—Well, I give it up. I can't seem to lay my -finger on you, Kelly."</p> - -<p>Tom roared with laughter.</p> - -<p>"What time is it?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Ten past twelve."</p> - -<p>"We've won a pony off Old George!" said the delighted Tom. "I'm Tom -Ellis and he's Jack Grant. Now do you know us, Jimmie?"</p> - -<p>Jack was glad to get washed and barbered and dressed. After all, he was -sick of wasters and roughs. They were stupider than respectable people, -and much more offensive physically and morally. To hell with them all. -He wouldn't care if some tyrant would up and extirpate the breed.</p> - -<p>Anyhow he stepped clean out of their company.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4> - -<h4>THE GOVERNOR'S DANCE</h4> - - -<p>Three gentlemen in evening dress passing along by the low brick wall -skirting the Government House. One of the gentlemen portly and correct, -two of the gentlemen young, with burnt brown faces that showed a little -less tan below the shaving line, and limbs too strong and too rough to -fit the evening clothes. Jack's suit was on the small side, though he'd -scarcely grown in height. But it showed a big piece of white shirt-cuff -at the wrists, and seemed to reveal the muscles of his shoulders unduly. -As for Tom's quite good and quite expensive suit from the pawn-shop, it -was a little large for him. If he hadn't been so bursting with life it -would have been sloppy. But the crude animal life came so forcibly -through the black cloth, that you had to overlook the anomaly of the -clothes. Both boys wore socks of fine scarlet wool, and the new -handkerchiefs of magenta silk inside their waistcoats. The scarlet, -magenta, and red-brown of their faces made a gallant pizzicato of colour -against the black and white. Anyhow they fancied themselves, and walked -conceitedly.</p> - -<p>Jack's face was a little amusing. It had the kind of innocence and -half-smile you can see on the face of a young fox, which will snap holes -in your hand if you touch it. He was annoyed by his father's letter to -him for his twenty-first birthday. The general had retired, and hadn't -saved a sou. How could he, given his happy, thriftless lady. So it was a -case of "My dear boy, I'm thankful you are at last twenty-one, because -now you must look out for yourself. I have bled myself to send you this -cheque for a hundred pounds, but I know you think I ought to send you -something, so take it, but don't expect any more, for you won't get it -if you do."</p> - -<p>This was not really the text of the General's letter, but this was how -Jack read it. As for his mother, she sent him six terrible neckties and -awful silver-backed brushes which he hated the sight of, much love, a -few tears, a bit of absurd fond counsel, and a general wind-up of tender -doting.</p> - -<p>He was annoyed, because he had expected some sort of real assistance in -setting out like a gentleman on his life's career, now he had attained -his majority. But the hundred quid was a substantial sop.</p> - -<p>Mr. George had done them proud at the Weld Club, and got them -invitations to the ball from the Private Secretary. Oh yes, he was proud -of them, handsome upstanding young fellows. So they were proud of -themselves. It was a fine, hot evening, and nearly everybody was walking -to the function, showing off their splendour. For few people' possessed -private carriages, and the town boasted very few cabs indeed.</p> - -<p>Mr. George waited in the porch of the Government House for Aunt Matilda -and Mary. They had not long to wait before they saw the ladies in their -shawls, carrying each a little holland bag with scarlet initials, -containing their dancing slippers, slowly and self-consciously mounting -the steps.</p> - -<p>The boys braced themselves to face the introduction to the -Representation. They were uneasy. Also they wanted to grin. In Jack's -mind a picture of Honeysuckle, that tin town in the heat, danced as on -heat-waves, as he made his bows and his murmurs. He wanted to whisper to -Tom: "Ain't we in Honeysuckle?" But it would have been too cruel.</p> - -<p>Clutching their programmes as drowning men clutch straw, they passed on. -The primary ordeal was over.</p> - -<p>"Oh Lord, I'm sweating already," said Tom with a red-faced grin. "I'm -off to get me bill-head crammed."</p> - -<p>"Take me with you, for the Lord's sake," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Y're such an owl of a dancer. An' y' have to do it proper here. You go -to Mr. George."</p> - -<p>"Don't desert me, you swine."</p> - -<p>"Go-on! Want me to take you back to Auntie?—Go-on! I'm goin' to -dance an' sit out an' hold their little white hands."</p> - -<p>Tom pulled a droll face, as he took his place in the line of -glove-buttoning youths who made a queue on the Governor's left hand, -where his daughter stood booking up duty dances. Jack, galvanised by the -advent of the A.D.C., ducked through the crowd to Aunt Matilda's side.</p> - -<p>He was always angry that he couldn't dance. The fact was, he would never -learn. He could never bring himself to go hugging promiscuous girls -round the waist and twiddling through dances with them. Underneath all -his carelessness and his appearance of "mixing," there was a savage -physical reserve which prevented his mixing at all. He could not bear -the least physical intimacy. Something inside him recoiled and stood -savagely at a distance, even from the prettiest girl, the moment she -seemed to be "coming on." To take the dear young things in his arms was -repugnant to him, it offended a certain aloof pride and a subtle -arrogance in him. Even with Tom, intimate though they were, he always -kept a certain unpassable space around him, a definite <i>noli me tangere</i> -distance which gave the limit to all approach. It would have been -difficult to define this reserve. Jack seemed absolutely the most open -and accessible individual in the world, a perfect child. He seemed to -lay himself far too open to anybody's approach. But those who knew him -better, like Mrs. Ellis or his mother, knew the cold inward reserve, the -savage unwillingness to be touched, which was central in him, as in a -wolf-cub. There was something reserved, fierce and untouched at the very -centre of him. Something, at the centre of all his openness and his -seeming softness, that was cold, overbearing, and a little angry. This -was the old overweening English blood in him, which would never really -yield to promiscuity, or to vulgar intimacy. He seemed to mix in with -everybody at random. But as a matter of fact he had never finally mixed -in with anybody, not even with his own father and mother, not even with -Tom. And certainly not with any casual girl. Essentially, he kept -himself a stranger to everybody.</p> - -<p>Aunt Matilda was in green satin with a tiara of diamonds. "The devil you -know is better than the devil you don't know," was Jack's inward comment -as he approached her.</p> - -<p>Aloud he said:</p> - -<p>"Would it be right if I asked you to let me have the pleasure of taking -you in to supper later, Marm?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, you dear boy!" simpered Aunt Matilda. "So like y' dear father. But -you see I'm engaged on these occasions. We have to go in in order of -rank and precedence. But you can take Mary. She says she has hurt her -foot and can't dance much."</p> - -<p>Mary took his arm, and they went out on to the terrace. There was clear -moonlight, and trees against a shadowy, grey-blue sky, and a dark -perfume of tropical flowers. Jack felt the beauty of it and it moved -him. He waited for his soul to melt. But his soul would never melt. It -was hard and clear as the moon itself.</p> - -<p>"It is much better here," he said, looking at the sky.</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's beautiful!" said Mary. "I wanted so much to sit quietly and -talk to you. It seems so long, and you looked so wild and different this -morning. I've been so frightened, reading so much about the natives -murdering people."</p> - -<p>Mary was different too, but Jack didn't know wherein.</p> - -<p>"I don't believe there's much more danger in one place than in another," -he said, "so long as you keep yourself in hand. Shall we sit down and -have a real wongie?"</p> - -<p>They found a seat under the overspreading tree, and sat listening to the -night-insects.</p> - -<p>"You're not very glad to be back, are you?" asked Mary.</p> - -<p>"Yes I am," he assented, without a great deal of vigour. "What has been -happening to you all this time, Mary?"</p> - -<p>"The little things that are nothing," she said. "The only -thing"—she hesitated—"is that they want me to marry. And I -lie awake at night wondering about it."</p> - -<p>"Marry who?" asked Jack, his mind running at once to Rackett.</p> - -<p>They were sitting under a magnolia tree. Jack could make out the dark -shape of a great flower against the moon, among black leaves. And the -perfume was magnolia flowers.</p> - -<p>"Do you want me to talk about it?" she said.</p> - -<p>"I do."</p> - -<p>Jack was glancing rather fiercely down the slope of the black-and-white -garden, that sloped its lawns to the river. Mary sat very still beside -him, in a cream lace dress.</p> - -<p>"It's a Mr. Boyd Blessington. He is a widower with five children, but he -is an interesting man. He's got a black beard."</p> - -<p>"Goodness!" said Jack. "Have you accepted him?"</p> - -<p>"No. Not yet."</p> - -<p>"Why do you think of marrying him? Do you like him?"</p> - -<p>"For some things. He is a good man, and he wants me in a good way. He -has a beautiful library. And as he is a man of the world, there seems to -be a big world round him. Yes, he is quite somebody. And Aunt Matilda -says it is a wonderful opportunity for me. And I know it is."</p> - -<p>Jack mused in silence.</p> - -<p>"It may be," he said. "But I hardly fancy you kissing a widower of -fifty, with a black beard and five children. Lord!"</p> - -<p>"He's only thirty-seven. And he's a man."</p> - -<p>Jack thought about Monica. He wanted Monica. But he also couldn't bear -to let Mary go. This arrogance in him made him silent for some moments. -Then he turned to Mary, his head erect, and looked down sternly on her -small sinking figure in the pale lace dress.</p> - -<p>"Do you want him?" he asked, in a subtle tone of authority and passion.</p> - -<p>Mary was silent for some moments.</p> - -<p>"No-o!" she faltered. "Not—not——"</p> - -<p>Her hands lay inert in her lap. They were small, soft, dusky hands. The -flame went over him, over his will. By some curious destiny, she really -belonged to him. And Monica? He wanted Monica too. He wanted Monica -first. But Mary also was his. Hard and savage he accepted this fact.</p> - -<p>He took her two hands and lifted them to his lips, and kissed them with -strange, blind passion. When the flame went over him, he was blind. Mary -gave a little cry, but did not withdraw her hands.</p> - -<p>"I thought you cared for Rackett," he said suddenly, looking at her -closely. She shook her head, and he saw she was crying.</p> - -<p>He put his arm round her and gathered her in her lace dress to his -breast. She was small, but strangely heavy. Not like that whip-wire of a -Monica. But he loved her heaviness too. The heaviness of a dark magnetic -stone. He wanted that too.</p> - -<p>And in his mind he thought, "Why can't I have her too? She is naturally -mine."</p> - -<p>His soul was hard and unbending. "She is naturally mine!" he said to -himself. And he kissed her softly, softly, kissed her face and her -tears. And all the while Mary knew about Monica. And he, his soul -fierce, would not yield in either direction. He wanted to marry her, and -he wanted to marry Monica. Something was in Mary that would never be -appeased unless he married her. And something in him would never be -appeased unless he married Monica. His young, clear instinct saw both -these facts. And the inward imperiousness of his nature rose to meet -it.—"Why can't I have both these women?" he asked himself. And his -soul, hard in its temper like a sword, answered him: "You can if you -will."</p> - -<p>Yet he was wary enough to know he must go cautiously. Meanwhile, -determined that one day he would marry Monica and Mary both, he held the -girl soft and fast in his arms, kissing her, wanting her, but wanting -her with the slow knowledge that he must wait and travel a long way -before he could take her, yet take her he would. He wanted Monica first. -But he also wanted Mary. The soft, slow weight of her as she lay silent -and unmoving in his arms.</p> - -<p>They could hear the music inside.</p> - -<p>"I must go in for the next dance," she said in a muted tone. He kissed -her mouth and released her. Then he escorted her back to the ballroom. -She went across to Aunt Matilda, as the dance ended. And in her lace -dress, the small, heavy, dusky Mary was like a lode-stone passing among -flimsy people. She had a certain magnetic heaviness of her own, and a -certain stubborn, almost ugly kind of beauty which in its heavy -quietness, seemed like a darkish, perhaps bitter flower that rose from a -very deep root. You were sensible of a deep root going down into the -dark.</p> - -<p>A tall, thin, rather hollow-chested man in a perfect evening suit and -with orders on his breast, was speaking to her. He too had a faint air -of proprietorship. He had a black beard and eyeglasses. But his face was -sensitive, and delicate in its desire. It was evident he loved her with -a real, though rather social, uneasy desirous love, as if he wanted all -her answer. He was really a nice man, a bit frail and sad. Jack could -see that. But he seemed to belong so entirely to the same world as the -General, Jack's father. He belonged to the social world, and saw nothing -really outside.</p> - -<p>Mary too belonged almost entirely to the social world, her instinct was -strongly social. But there was a wild tang in her. And this Jack -depended on. Somewhere deep in himself he hated his father's social -world. He stood in the doorway and watched her dancing with Blessington. -And he knew that as Mrs. Blessington, with a thoughtful husband and a -good position in society, she would be well off. She would forfeit that -bit of a wild tang.</p> - -<p>If Jack let her. And he wasn't going to let her. He was hard and cool -inside himself. He took his impetus from the wild sap that still flows -in most men's veins, though they mostly choose to act from the tame sap. -He hated his father's social sap. He wanted the wild nature in people, -the unfathomed nature, to break into leaf again. The real rebel, not the -mere reactionary.</p> - -<p>He hated the element of convention and slight smugness which showed in -Mary's movements as she danced with the tall, thin reed of a man. -Anything can become a convention, even an unconventionality, even the -frenzied jazzing of the modern ballroom. And then the same element of -smugness, very repulsive, is evident, evident even in the most -scandalous jazzers. This is curious, that as soon as any movement -becomes accepted in the public consciousness, it becomes ugly and smug, -unless it be saved by a touch of the wild individuality.</p> - -<p>And Mary dancing with Mr. Blessington was almost smug. Only the downcast -look on her face showed that she remembered Jack. Blessington himself -danced like a man neatly and efficiently performing his duty.</p> - -<p>The dance ended. Aunt Matilda was fluttering her fan at him like a -ruffled cockatoo. There was a group: Mary, Blessington, Mr. George, Mr. -James Watson, Aunt Matilda's brother-in-law, and Aunt Matilda. Mr. -Blessington, with the quiet assurance of his class, managed to eclipse -Mr. George and Jim Watson entirely, though Jim Watson was a rich man.</p> - -<p>Jack went over and was introduced. Blessington and he bowed at one -another. "Stay in your class, you monkey!" thought Jack with some of the -sensual arrogance he had brought with him from the North-West.</p> - -<p>Mr. Blessington introduced him to a thin, nervous girl, his daughter. -She was evidently unhappy, and Jack was sorry for her. He took her out -for refreshments, and was kind to her. She made dark-grey startled round -eyes at him, and looked at him as if he were an incalculable animal that -might bite. And he, in manner, if not in actuality, laughed and caressed -the frail young thing to cajole some life into her.</p> - -<p>Mary danced with Tom, and then with somebody else. Jack lounged about, -watching with a set face that still looked innocent and amiable, keeping -a corner of his eye on Mary, but chatting with various people. He -wouldn't make a fool of himself, trying to dance.</p> - -<p>When Mary was free again—complaining of her foot—he said to -her:</p> - -<p>"Come outside a bit."</p> - -<p>And obediently she came. They went and sat under the same magnolia -tree.</p> - -<p>"He's not a bad fellow, your Blessington," he said.</p> - -<p>"He's not my Blessington," she replied, "Not yet anyhow. And he never -would be <i>really</i> my Blessington."</p> - -<p>"You never know. I suppose he's quite rich."</p> - -<p>"Don't be horrid to me."</p> - -<p>"Why not?—I wish I was rich. I'd do as I liked. But you'll never -marry him."</p> - -<p>"Why shan't I?"</p> - -<p>"You just won't."</p> - -<p>"I shall if Aunt Matilda makes me. I'm absolutely dependent on -her—and do you think I don't feel it? I want to be free. I should be -much freer if I married Mr. Blessington. I'm tired of being as I am."</p> - -<p>"What would you really like to do?"</p> - -<p>She was silent for a time. Then she answered:</p> - -<p>"I should like to live on a farm."</p> - -<p>"Marry Tom," he said maliciously.</p> - -<p>"Why are you so horrid?" she said, in hurt surprise.</p> - -<p>He was silent for a time.</p> - -<p>"Anyhow you won't marry Boyd Blessington."</p> - -<p>"Why are you so sure? Aunt Matilda is going to England in April. And I -won't travel with her. Travel with her would be unspeakable. I want to -stay in Australia."</p> - -<p>"Marry Tom," he said again, in malice.</p> - -<p>"Why," she asked in amazement, "do you say that to me?" But he didn't -know himself.</p> - -<p>"A farm—" he was beginning, when a figure sailed up in the -moonlight. It was Aunt Matilda. The two young people rose to their feet. -Jack was silent and rather angry. He wanted to curl his nose and say: "It -isn't done, Marm!" But he said nothing. Aunt Matilda did the talking.</p> - -<p>"I thought it was your voices," she said coldly. "Why do you make -yourself conspicuous, Mary? Mr. Blessington is looking for you in all -the rooms."</p> - -<p>Mary was led away. Jack followed. Aunt Matilda had no sooner seen Mary -led out by Mr. Blessington for the Lancers, than she came full sail upon -Jack, as he stood lounging in the doorway.</p> - -<p>"Come for a little walk on the terrace, dear boy," she said.</p> - -<p>"Can't I have the pleasure of piloting you through this set of lancers, -Marm?" he retorted.</p> - -<p>She stood and smiled at him fixedly.</p> - -<p>"I've heard of y'r dancing, dear boy," she said, "and your father was a -beautiful dancer. This Governor is very particular. He sent his A. D. C. -to stop Jimmie Short reversing, right at the beginning of the -evening."—She eyed him with a shrewd eye.</p> - -<p>"Surely worse form to hurt a gentleman's feelings, than to reverse, -Marm!" retorted Jack.</p> - -<p>"It wasn't bad form, it was bad temper. The Governor can't reverse -himself. Ha-ha-ha! Neither can I go through a set of Lancers with you. -So come and take me out a minute."</p> - -<p>They went in silence down the terrace.</p> - -<p>"Lovely evening! Not at all too hot," he said.</p> - -<p>She burst into a sputter of laughter.</p> - -<p>"Lor! m'dear. You are amusin'!" she said. "But you won't get out of it -like that, young man. What have y' t'say f' y'self, running off with -Mary like that <i>twice!</i>"</p> - -<p>"You told me I could take her, Marm."</p> - -<p>"I didn't ask you to keep her out and get her talked about, m'dear! I'm -not a fool, my dear boy, and I'm not going to let her lose the chance of -a life-time. You want her y'self for <i>one night!</i>" She slapped her fan -crossly. "<i>You</i> leave well enough alone, we don't want another scandal -in the family. Mr. Blessington is a good man for Mary, a God-send. For -she's heavy, she's heavy, she's heavy for any man to take up with." Aunt -Matilda said this almost spitefully. "Mr. Blessington's the very man for -her, and a wonderful match. She's got her family. She's the -granddaughter of Lord Haworth. And he has position. Besides they're -suited for one another. It's the very finger of Heaven. Don't you dare -make another scandal in the family."</p> - -<p>She stopped under a lamp, and was leaning forward peering at him. Her -large person exhaled a scent of artificial perfume. Jack hated perfume, -especially in the open air. And her face, with its powder and wrinkles, -in the mingled light of the lamp and the moon, made him think of a -lizard.</p> - -<p>"D'you want Mary yourself," she snapped, like a great lizard. "It's out -of the question. You've got to make your way. She'd have to go on -waiting for years. And you'd compromise her."</p> - -<p>"God forbid!" said Jack ironically.</p> - -<p>"Then leave her alone," she said. "If you compromise her, <i>I'll</i> do -no more for her, mind that."</p> - -<p>"Just exactly what do you mean, compromise her?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Get her talked about—as you're trying to," she snapped.</p> - -<p>He thought it over. He must anyhow appear to yield to circumstances.</p> - -<p>"All right," he said. "I know what you mean."</p> - -<p>"See you do," she retorted. "Now take me back to the ballroom."</p> - -<p>They returned, in a silence that was safe, if not golden. He was -inwardly more set than ever. His appearance, however, was calm and -innocent. She was much more ruffled. She wondered if she had said too -much or too little, if he were merely stupid, or really dangerous.</p> - -<p>He politely steered a way back to the reception room, placed her in a -chair and turned to disappear. One thing he could not stand, and that -was her proximity.</p> - -<p>But as she sat down, she clutched his sleeve, cackling her unendurable -laugh.</p> - -<p>"Sit down, then," she said. "We're friends now, aren't we?" And she -tapped his tanned cheek, that still had a bit of the peach-look, with -her feathery black fan.</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, Marm," he said, bowing but not taking a seat.</p> - -<p>"Lor', but you are an amusin' boy, m'dear!" she said, and she let go his -sleeve as she turned to survey the field.</p> - -<p>In that instant he slipped away from her disagreeable presence.</p> - -<p>He slipped behind a stout Judge from Melbourne, then past a plumed -woman, apparently of fashion, and was gone.</p> - -<p>What he had to do was to reconnoitre his own position. He wanted Monica -first. That was his fixed determination. But he was not going to let go -of Mary either. Not in spite of battalions of Aunt Matildas, or correct -social individuals. It was a battle.</p> - -<p>But he had to gauge Mary's disposition. He saw how much she was a social -thing: how much, even, she was Lord Haworth's granddaughter. And how -little she was that other thing.</p> - -<p>But it was a battle, a long, slow subtle battle. And he loved a fight, -even a long, invisible one.</p> - -<p>In the ballroom the A. D. C. pounced on him.</p> - -<p>When he was free again, he looked round for Mary. It was the sixteenth -dance, and she was being well nursed. When the dance was over, he went -calmly and sat between her and Aunt Matilda on a red gilt sofa. Things -were a little stiff. Even Mary was stiff.</p> - -<p>He looked at her programme. The next dance was a polka, and she was not -engaged.</p> - -<p>"You are free for this dance?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, because of my foot," she said firmly. He could see she too was on -Aunt Matilda's side, for the moment.</p> - -<p>"I can dance a polka. Come and dance it with me," he said.</p> - -<p>"And my foot?"</p> - -<p>He didn't answer, merely looked her in the face. And she rose.</p> - -<p>They neither of them ever forgot that absurd, jogging little dance.</p> - -<p>"I must speak to you, Mary," he said.</p> - -<p>"What about?"</p> - -<p>"Would you really like to live on a farm?"</p> - -<p>"I think I should."</p> - -<p>The conversation was rather jerky and breathless.</p> - -<p>"In two years I can have a farm," he said.</p> - -<p>She was silent for some time. Then she looked into his eyes, with her -queer, black, humble-seeming eyes. She was thinking of all the grandeur -of being Mrs. Boyd Blessington. It attracted her a great deal. At the -same time, something in her soul fell prostrate, when Jack looked -straight into her. Something fell prostrate, and she couldn't help it. -His eyes had a queer power in them.</p> - -<p>"In two years I can have a farm—a good one," he said.</p> - -<p>She only gazed into his eyes with her queer, black, fascinated gaze.</p> - -<p>The dance was over. Aunt Matilda was tapping Jack's wrist with her fan -and saying:</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Blessington, do be so good as to take Mary down to supper."</p> - -<p>Supper was over. It was the twentieth dance. Jack had been introduced to -a sporting girl in her late twenties. She treated him like a child, and -talked quite amusingly. Tom called her a "barrack hack."</p> - -<p>Mr. Blessington went by with Mary on his arm.</p> - -<p>"Mary," said Jack, "do you know Miss Brackley?"</p> - -<p>Mary stopped and was smilingly introduced. Miss Brackley at once pounced -amusingly upon Mr. Blessington.</p> - -<p>"I want to speak to you," Jack said once more to Mary. "Behind the -curtain of the third window."</p> - -<p>He glanced at the red, ponderous plush curtain he meant. Mary looked -frightened into his eyes, then glanced too. Mr. Blessington, extricating -himself, walked on with Mary.</p> - -<p>Jack looked round for Tom. That young man was having a drink, at the -supper extra. Jack left the Barrack Hack for a moment.</p> - -<p>"Tom," he said. "Will you stand by me in anything I say or do?"</p> - -<p>"I will," said the glistening, scarlet-faced Tom, who was away on the -gay high seas of exaltation.</p> - -<p>"Get up a rubber of whist for Aunt Matilda. I know she'd like one. Will -you?"</p> - -<p>"Before you c'n say Wiggins," replied Tom, laughing as he always did -when he was tipsy.</p> - -<p>"And I say, Tom, you care for Mary, don't you? Would you provide a home -for her if she was wanting one?"</p> - -<p>"I'd marry Mary if she'd 'ave me 'n I hadn't got a wife."</p> - -<p>"Shut up!"</p> - -<p>Tom broke into a laugh.</p> - -<p>"Don't go back on me, Tom."</p> - -<p>"Never, s'elp me bob."</p> - -<p>"Get a move on then, and arrange that whist."</p> - -<p>He sent him off with the Barrack Hack. And then he watched Mary. She -still was walking with Mr. Blessington. They were not dancing. She knew -Jack was watching her, and she was nervous. He watched her more closely.</p> - -<p>And at the third window she fluttered, staggered a little, let go Mr. -Blessington's arm, and turned round to gather up her skirt behind. She -pretended she had torn a hem. She pretended she couldn't move without a -pin. She asked to be steered into the alcove. She sent Mr. Blessington -away into the ladies' dressing-room, for a pin.</p> - -<p>And when he came back with it, she was gone.</p> - -<p>Jack, outside in the night, was questioning her.</p> - -<p>"Has Mr. Blessington proposed to you yet?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Don't let him. Would you really be happy on a farm,—even if it -was rather hard work?"</p> - -<p>He had to look down on her very steadfastly as he asked this. And she -was slow in answering, and the tears came into her eyes before she -murmured:</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>He was touched, and the same dominating dark desire came over him again. -He held her fast in his arms, fast and silent. The desire was dark and -powerful and permanent in him.</p> - -<p>"Can you wait for me, even two years?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she murmured faintly.</p> - -<p>His will was steady and black. He knew he could wait.</p> - -<p>"In two years I shall have a farm for you to live on," he said. And he -kissed her again, with the same dark, permanent passion.</p> - -<p>Then he sent her off again.</p> - -<p>He went and found Mr. George, in the card room. There was old Aunt -Matilda, playing for her life, her diamonds twinkling but her fan laid -aside.</p> - -<p>"We're going to Wandoo to-morrow morning, Sir," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"That's right, lad," said Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"I say, Sir, won't you do Tom a kindness?" said Jack. "You're coming -down yourself one day this week, aren't you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I shall be down on Wednesday or Thursday."</p> - -<p>"Bring Mary down with you. Make her Aunt Matilda let her come. Tom's -awfully gone on her, and when he sees her with Boyd Blessington he -straightway goes for a drink. I don't think she's suited for Mr. -Blessington, do you, Sir? He's nearly old enough to be her father. And -Tom's the best fellow in the world, and Mary's the one he cares for. If -nothing puts him out and sends him wrong, there's not a better fellow in -the world."</p> - -<p>Mr. George blew nose, prrhed! and bahed! and was in a funk. He feared -Aunt Matilda. He was very fond of Mary, might even have married her -himself, but for the ridicule. He liked Tom Ellis. He didn't care for -men like Blessington. And he was an emotional old Australian.</p> - -<p>"That needs thinking about! That needs thought!" he said.</p> - -<p>Not the next day, but the day following that, the boys drove away from -Perth in a new sulky, with a horse bought from Jimmie Short. And Mr. -George had promised to come on the coach the day after, with Mary.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></h4> - -<h4>THE WELCOME AT WANDOO</h4> - - -<p>"Things change," said Jack, as he and Tom drove along in the sulky, "and -they never go back to what they were before."</p> - -<p>"Seems like they don't," said Tom uneasily.</p> - -<p>"And men change," continued Jack. "I have changed, and I shall never go -back to what I was before."</p> - -<p>"Oh dry up," said the nervous Tom. "You're just the blanky same."</p> - -<p>Both boys felt a load on their spirits, now they were actually on the -road home. They hated the load too.</p> - -<p>"We're going to make some change at Wandoo," said Tom. "I wish I could -leave Ma on the place. But Mr. George says she absolutely refuses to -stay, and he says I've not got to try an' force her. He sortta winked at -me, and told me I should want to be settlin' down myself. I wondered -what 'n hell he meant. Y'aven't let on nothing about that Honeysuckle -trip, have y'? I don't mean to insult you by askin', but it seemed -kinder funny like."</p> - -<p>"No," said Jack. "I've not breathed Honeysuckle to a soul, and never -will. You get it off your mind—it's nothing."</p> - -<p>"Well, then, I dunno what he meant. I told him I hadn't made a bean -anyhow. An' I asked him what 'n hell Ma was goin' ter live on. He seemed -a bit down in the mouth about 'er himself, old George did. Fair gave me -the bally hump. Wisht I was still up north, strike me lucky I do.</p> - -<p>"We've been gone over two years, yet I feel I've never been away, an' -yet I feel the biggest stranger in the world, comin' back to what's -supposed to be me own house. I hate havin' ter come, because o' the -bloomin' circumstances. Why 'n hell couldn't Ma have had the place for -while she lived, an' me be comin' back to her and the kids? Then I -shouldn't feel sortta sick about it. But as it is—it fair gets me -beat. Lennie'll resent me, an' Katie an' Monica'll hate havin' ter get -inter a smaller house, an' the twins an' Harry an' the little ones don' -matter so much, but I do worry over pore ol' Ma."</p> - -<p>There he was with a blank face, driving the pony homewards. He hadn't -worried over pore ol' Ma till this very minute, on the principle "out of -sight, out of mind." Now he was all strung up.</p> - -<p>"Y' know, Jack," he said, "I kinder don' want Wandoo. I kinder don' want -to be like Dad, settlin' down with a heap o' responsibilities an' kids -an' all that. I kinder don' want it."</p> - -<p>"What do you want?" said Jack.</p> - -<p>"I'd rather knock about with you for me mate, Jack, I'd a sight rather -do that."</p> - -<p>"You can't knock about forever," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"I don' know whether you can or you can't. I only know I never knew my -own mother. I only know she never lived at Wandoo. <i>She</i> never raised -me there. I bet she lugged me through the bush. An' when all comes to all, -I'd rather do the same. I don' want Dad's property. I don' want that -Ellis property. Seems ter me bad luck. What d' yer think?"</p> - -<p>"I should think it depends on you," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"I should think it does. Anyhow shall you stop with me, an' go shares in -the blinkin' thing?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," said Jack.</p> - -<p>He was thinking that soon he would see Monica. He was wondering how she -would be. He was wondering if she was ready for him, or if she would -have a thousand obstacles around her. He was wondering if she would want -him to plead and play the humble and say he wasn't good enough for her. -Because he wouldn't do it. Not if he never saw her again. All that -flummery of love he would not subscribe to. He would not say he adored -her, because he didn't adore her. He was not the adoring sort. He would -not make up to her, and play the humble to her, because it insulted his -pride. He didn't feel like that, and he never would feel like that, not -towards any woman on earth. Even Mary, once he had declared himself, -would fetch up her social tricks and try to bring him to his knees. And -he was not going down on his knees, not for half a second, not to any -woman on earth, nor to any man either. Enough of this kneeling flummery.</p> - -<p>He stood fast and erect on his two feet, that had travelled many wild -miles. And fast and erect he would continue to stand. Almost he wished -he could be clad in iron armour, inaccessible. Because the thought of -women bringing him down and making him humble himself, before they would -give themselves to him, this turned his soul black.</p> - -<p>Monica! He didn't love her. He didn't feel the slightest bit of -sentimental weakening towards her. Rather when he thought of her his -muscles went stiffer and his soul haughtier. It was not he who must bow -the head. It was she.</p> - -<p>Because he wanted her. With a deep, arrowy desire, and a long, lasting -dark desire, he wanted her. He wanted to take her apart from all the -world, and put her under his own roof.</p> - -<p>But he didn't want to plead with her, or weep before her, or adore her, -or humbly kiss her feet. The very thought of it made his blood curdle -and go black. Something had happened to him in the Never-Never. Before -he went over the border he might have been tricked into a surrender to -this soft and hideous thing they called love. But now, he would have -love in his own way, haughtily, passionately, and darkly, with dark, -arrowy desire, and a strange, arrowly-submissive woman: either this, or -he would not have love at all.</p> - -<p>He thought of Monica and sometimes the thought of her sent him black -with anger. And sometimes, as he thought of her wild, delicate, -reckless, lonely little profile, a hot tenderness swept over him, and he -felt he would envelop her with a fierce and sheltering tenderness, like -a scarlet mantle.</p> - -<p>So long as she would not fight against him, and strike back at him. Jeer -at him, play with Easu in order to insult him. Not that, my God, not -that.</p> - -<p>As for Mary, a certain hate of her burned in him. The queer heavy stupid -conceit with which she had gone off to dance with Boyd Blessington, -because he was an important social figure. Mary, wanting to live on a -farm, but at the same time absolutely falling before the social glamour -of a Blessington, and becoming conceited on the strength of it. Inside -herself, Mary thought she was very important, thought that all sorts of -eternal destinies depended on her choice and her actions. Even Jack, was -nothing more than an instrument of her divine importance.</p> - -<p>He had sensed this clearly enough. And it was this that made Aunt -Matilda a bit spiteful against her, when she said that Mary was "heavy" -and wouldn't easily get a man.</p> - -<p>But there was also the queer black look in Mary's eyes, that was outside -her conceit and her social importance. The queer, almost animal dark -glisten, that was full of fear and wonder, and vulnerability. Like the -look in the eyes of a caught wild animal. Or the look in the shining -black eyes of one of the aborigines, especially the black woman looking -askance in a sort of terror at a white man, as if a white man was a sort -of devil that might possess her.</p> - -<p>Where had Mary got that queer aboriginal look, she the granddaughter of -an English earl?</p> - -<p>"Y're real lively to-day, aintcher, Jack? Got a hundred quid for your -birthday, and my, some talk!"</p> - -<p>"Comes to that," said Jack, rousing himself with difficulty. "We've come -fifteen or twenty miles without you opening your mouth either."</p> - -<p>Tom laughed shortly and relapsed into silence.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, "let's wake up now, there's the outlying paddock." He -pointed with his whip.—"And there's the house through the dip in the -valley!" Then suddenly in a queer tone: "Say, matey, don't it look -lovely from here, with all that afternoon sun falling over it like snow -. . . You think I've never seen snow: but I have, in my dream."</p> - -<p>Jack's heart contracted as he jumped down to open the first gate. For -him too, the strange fulness of the yellow afternoon light was always -unearthly, at Wandoo. But the day was still early, just after -dinner-time, for they had stayed the night half way.</p> - -<p>"Looks in good trim, eh?" said Jack.</p> - -<p>"So it does! All" replied Tom. "Mr. George says Ma done wonders. Made it -pay hand over fist. Y'remember that fellow, Pink-eye Percy, what come -from Queensland, and had studied agriculture an' was supposed to be a -bad egg an' all that? At that 'roo hunt, you remember? Well, he bought -land next to Wandoo, off-side from the Reds. An' Ma sortta broke wi' the -Reds over something, an' went in wi' him, an't' seems they was able to -do wonders. Anyway Old George says Ma's been able to buy a little place -near her own old home in Beverley, to go to.—But seems to me—"</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"Funny how little anyone tells you, Jack."</p> - -<p>"How?"</p> - -<p>"I felt I couldn't get to th' bottom of what old George was tellin' me. -I took no notice then. But it seems funny now. An' I say—"</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"You'd 'a thought Monica or Katie might ha' driven to the Cross Roads -for us, like we used to in Dad's days."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I thought one of them would have been there."</p> - -<p>The boys drove on, in tense silence, through the various gates. They -could see the house ahead.</p> - -<p>"There's Timothy," said Tom.</p> - -<p>The old black was holding open the yard gate. He seemed to have almost -forgotten Jack, but the emotion in his black, glistening eyes was -strange, as he stared with strange adoration at the young master. He -caught Tom's hand in his two wrinkled dark hands, as if clinging to life -itself.</p> - -<p>The twins ran out, waved, and ran back. Katie appeared, looking bigger, -heavier, more awkward than ever. Tom patted Timothy's hands again, then -went across and kissed Katie, who blushed with shyness.</p> - -<p>"Where's Ma, Katie?"</p> - -<p>"In the parlour."</p> - -<p>Tom broke away, leaving Katie blushing in front of Jack. Jack was -thinking how queer and empty the house seemed. And he felt an outsider -again. He stayed outside, sat down on the bench.</p> - -<p>A boy much bigger than Harry, but with the same blue eyes and curly -hair, appeared chewing a haystalk, and squatted on a stone near by. Then -Og and Magog, a bit taller, but no thinner, came and edged on to the -seat. Then Ellie, a long-legged little girl, came running to his knees. -And then what had been Baby, but was now a fat, toddling little girl, -came racing out, fearless and inconsequential as the twins had been.</p> - -<p>"Where's Len?" said Jack.</p> - -<p>"He's in the paddock seein' to th' sheep," said Harry.</p> - -<p>There was a queer tense silence. The children seemed to cling round Jack -for male protection.</p> - -<p>"We're goin' to' live nearer in to th' township now," said Harry, "in a -little wee sortta house."</p> - -<p>He stared with bold blue eyes, unwinking and yet not easy, straight into -Jack's eyes.</p> - -<p>"Well Harry," said Jack, "You've grown quite a man."</p> - -<p>"I hev so!" said Harry: "Quite the tyke! I ken kill birds for Ma to put -in th' pot I ken skin a kangaroo. I ken—"</p> - -<p>But Jack didn't hear what else, because Tom was calling him from the -doorway. He went slowly across.</p> - -<p>"Say, mate," said Tom in a low tone. "Stand by me. Things is not all -right." Aloud he said: "Ma wants t' see ye, Jack."</p> - -<p>Jack followed through the back premises, down the three steps into the -parlour. It all seemed forlorn.</p> - -<p>Ma sat with her face buried in her hands. Jack knitted his brows. Tom -put his hand on her shoulder.</p> - -<p>"What is it, Ma? What is it? I wouldn't be anything but good to yer, Ma, -ye know that. Here's Jack Grant."</p> - -<p>"Ye were always a good boy, Tom. I'm real glad t' see ye back. And -Jack," said Ma through her hands.</p> - -<p>Tom looked at Jack in dismay. Then he stooped and kissed her hair.</p> - -<p>"You look to me," he said. "We'll fix everything all right, for Lennie -'n everybody."</p> - -<p>But Ma still kept her face between her hands.</p> - -<p>"There's nothing t' worry about, Ma, sure there isn't," persisted the -distracted Tom. "I want y't' have everything you want, I do, you an' -Lennie an' the kids."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ellis took her hands from her face. She looked pale and worn. She -would not turn to the boys, but kept her face averted.</p> - -<p>"I know you're as good a boy as ever lived," she faltered. Then she -glanced quickly at Tom and Jack, the tears began to run down her face, -and she threw her apron over her head.</p> - -<p>"God's love!" gasped the bursting Tom, sinking on a chair.</p> - -<p>They all waited in silence. Mrs. Ellis suddenly wiped her face on her -apron and turned with a wan smile to the boys.</p> - -<p>"I've saved enough to buy a little place near Beverley, which is where I -belong," she said. "So me and the children are all right. And I've got -my eye, at least Lennie's got his on a good selection east of here, -between this and my little house, for Lennie. But we want cash for that, -I'm afraid. Only it's not that. That's not it."</p> - -<p>"Lennie's young yet to take up land, Ma!" Tom plunged in. "Why won't he -stop here and go shares with me?"</p> - -<p>"He wants to get married," said the mother wanly.</p> - -<p>"Get married! Len! Why he's only seventeen!"</p> - -<p>At this very natural exclamation, Ma threw her apron over her head, and -began to cry once more.</p> - -<p>"He's been so good," she sobbed. "He's been so good! And his Ruth is old -enough and sensible enough for two. Better anything—" with more -sobbing—"than another scandal in the family."</p> - -<p>Tom rubbed his head. Gosh! It was no joke being the head of a family!</p> - -<p>"Well, Ma, if you wish it, what's the odds? But I'm afraid it'll have to -wait a bit. Jack'll tell you I haven't any cash. Not a stiver, Ma! Blown -out! It takes it outter yer up North. We never struck it rich."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ellis, under her apron, wept softly.</p> - -<p>"Poor little Lennie! Poor little Lennie! He's been so good, Tom, working -day and night. And never spending a shilling. All his learning gone for -nought, Tom, and him a little slave, at his years, old and wise enough -to be his father, Tom. And he wants to get married. If we could start -him out fair! The new place has only four rooms and an out-kitchen, and -there's not enough to keep him, much less a lady wife. She's a lady -earning her bread teaching. He could go to Grace's. Alec Rice would have -him. But—"</p> - -<p>She had taken her apron off her face, and was staring averted at the -door leading into Gran's old room.</p> - -<p>The two boys listened mystified and a little annoyed. Why all this about -Lennie? Jack was wondering where Monica was. Why didn't she come? Why -wasn't she mentioned? And why was Ma so absolutely downcast, on the -afternoon of Tom's home-coming? It wasn't fair on Tom.</p> - -<p>"Where is Monica?" asked Jack shyly at last.</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Ellis only shook her head faintly and was mute, staring across -at Gran's door.</p> - -<p>"Lennie married!" Tom was brooding. "Y'll have to put it out of y'r mind -for a bit, Ma. Why, it wouldn't hardly be decent."</p> - -<p>"Let him marry if he's set on it—an' the girl's a good girl," said -Mrs. Ellis, her eyes swamping with tears again, and her voice breaking as -she rocked herself again.</p> - -<p>"Yes, if we could afford it," Tom hastily put in. And he raised his -stunned eyes to Jack. Jack shrugged, and looked in the empty fireplace, -and thought of the little fires Gran used to have.</p> - -<p>Money! Money! Money! The moment you entered within four walls it was the -word money, and your mouth full of ashes.</p> - -<p>And then again something hardened in his soul. All his life he had been -slipping away from the bugbear of money. It was no good. You had to turn -round and get a grip on the miserable stuff. There was nothing else for -it. Though money nauseated him, he now accepted the fact that he must -have control over money, and not try just to slip by.</p> - -<p>He began to repent of having judged Gran. That little old witch of a -Gran, he had hated the way she had seemed to hoard money and gloat in -the secret possession of it. But perhaps she knew, <i>somebody</i> must -control it, somebody must keep a hand over it. Like a deadly weapon. -Money! Property! Gran fighting for them, to bequeath them to the man she -loved.</p> - -<p>Perhaps she too had really hated money. She wouldn't make a will. -Neither would Dad. Their secret repugnance for money and possessions. -But you had to have property, else you were down and out. The men you -loved had to have property, or they were down and out. Like Lennie!</p> - -<p>Poor old plucky Gran, fighting for her man. It was all a terrible muddle -anyhow. But he began to understand her motive.</p> - -<p>Yes, if Len had got a girl into trouble and wanted to marry her, the -best he could do would be to have money and buy himself a little place. -Otherwise, heaven knows what would happen to him. With their profound -indifference to the old values, these Australians seemed either to -exaggerate the brutal importance of money, or they wanted to waste money -altogether, and themselves along with it. This was what Gran feared: -that her best male heirs would go and waste themselves, as Jacob had -begun to waste himself. The generous ones would just waste themselves, -because of their profound mistrust of the old values.</p> - -<p>Better rescue Lennie for the little while it was still possible to -rescue him. Jack's mind turned to his own money. And then, looking at -that inner door, he seemed to see Gran's vehement figure, pointing -almost viciously with her black stick. She had tried so hard to drive -the wedge of her meaning into Jack's consciousness. And she had failed. -He had refused to take her meaning.</p> - -<p>But now with a sigh that was almost a groan, he took up the money -burden. The "stocking" she had talked about, and which he had left in -the realms of unreality, was an actuality. That witch Gran, with her -uncanny, hateful second sight, had put by a stocking for Lennie, and -entrusted the secret of it to Jack. And he had refused the secret. He -hated those affairs.</p> - -<p>Now he must assume the mysterious responsibility for this money. He got -up and went to the chimney, and peered into the black opening. Then he -began to feel carefully along the side of the chimney-stack inside, -where there was a ledge. His hand went deep in soot and charcoal and -grey ash.</p> - -<p>He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeve.</p> - -<p>"Gone off y'r bloomin' nut, Jack?" asked Tom, mystified.</p> - -<p>"Gran told me she had put a stocking for Len in here," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Stocking be blowed!" said Tom testily. "We've heard that barm-stick -yarn before. Leave it alone, boy."</p> - -<p>He was looking at Jack's bare, brown, sinewy arm. It reminded him of the -great North-West, and the heat, and the work, and the absolute -carelessness. This money and stocking business was like a mill-stone -round his neck. He felt he was gradually being drowned in soot, as Jack -continued to fumble up inside the chimney, and the soot poured down over -the naked arm.</p> - -<p>"Oh, God's love, leave it alone, Jack!" he cried.</p> - -<p>"Let him try," said Mrs. Ellis quietly. "If Gran told him. I wonder he -didn't speak before."</p> - -<p>"I never really thought about it," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Don't think about it now!" shouted Tom.</p> - -<p>Jack could feel nothing in the chimney. He looked contemplatively at the -fireplace. Something drew him to the place near Gran's arm-chair ... He -began feeling, while the other two watched him in a state of nervous -tension. Tom hated it.</p> - -<p>"She pointed here with her stick," said Jack.</p> - -<p>There was a piece of tin fastened over the side of the fireplace, and -black-leaded.</p> - -<p>"Mind if we try behind this?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Leave it alone!" cried Tom.</p> - -<p>But Jack pulled it out, and the ash and dirt and soot poured down over -the hearth. Behind the sheet of thin iron was the naked stone of the -chimney-piece. Various stones were loose: that was why Gran had had the -tin sheet put over.</p> - -<p>He got out of the cavity behind the stones, where the loose mortar had -all crumbled, a little square dusty box that had apparently been an old -tea-caddy. It was very heavy for its size, and very dirty. He put it on -the table in front of Mrs. Ellis. Tom got up excitedly to look in. He -opened the lid. It was full to the brim of coins, gold coins and silver -coins and dust and dirt, and a sort of spider filament. He shook his -head over it.</p> - -<p>"Isn't that old Gran to a T!" he exclaimed, and poured out the dust and -the money on the table.</p> - -<p>Ma began eagerly to pick out the gold from the silver, saying:</p> - -<p>"I remember when she made Dad put that iron plate up. She said insects -came out and worried her."</p> - -<p>Ma only picked out the gold pieces, the sovereigns and half-sovereigns. -She left Tom to sort the silver crowns and half-crowns into little -piles. Jack watched in silence. There was a smell of soot and old -fire-dust, and everybody's hands were black.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ellis was putting the sovereigns in piles of ten. She had a queer -sort of satisfaction, but her gloom did not really lift. Jack stayed to -know how much it was. Mentally he counted the piles of gold she made: -the pale washy gold of Australia, most of it. She counted and counted -again.</p> - -<p>"Two hundred and fourteen pounds!" she said in a low voice.</p> - -<p>"And ten in silver," said Tom.</p> - -<p>"Two hundred and twenty-four pounds," she said.</p> - -<p>"It's not the world," said Tom, "but it's worth having. It's a start, -Ma. And you can't say that isn't Lennie's."</p> - -<p>Jack went out and left them. He listened in all the rooms downstairs. -What he wanted to know about was Monica. He hated this family and family -money business, it smelled to him of death. Where was Monica? Probably, -to add to the disappointment, she was away, staying with Grace.</p> - -<p>The house sounded silent. Upstairs all was silent. It felt as if nobody -was there.</p> - -<p>He went out and across the yard to the stable. Lucy whinnied. Jack felt -she knew him. The nice, natural old thing: Tom would have to christen -her afresh. At least this Lucy wouldn't leave a stocking behind her when -she was dead. She was much too clean. Ah, so much nicer than that other -Lucy with her unpleasant perspiration, away in Honeysuckle.</p> - -<p>Jack stood a long while with the sensitive old horse. Then he went round -the out-buildings, looking for Lennie. He drifted back to the house, -where Harry was chopping something with a small hatchet.</p> - -<p>"Where's Monica, Harry?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"She's not home," said Harry.</p> - -<p>"Where's she gone?"</p> - -<p>"Dunno."</p> - -<p>And the resolute boy went on with his chopping.</p> - -<p>Tom came out, calling. "I'm going over to have a word wi' th' Reds, -Jack. Cornin' with me?"</p> - -<p>Tom didn't care for going anywhere alone, just now. Jack joined him.</p> - -<p>"Where's Monica, Tom?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Ay, where is she?" said Tom, looking round as if he expected her to -appear from the thin air.</p> - -<p>"She's not at home, anyhow," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"She's gone off to Grace's, or to see somebody, I expect," said Tom, as -they walked across the yard. "And Len is out in the paddocks still. He -don't seem in no hurry to come an' meet us, neither. The little cuss! -Fancy that nipper wantin' to be spliced. Gosh, I'll bet he's old for his -age, the little old wallaby! An' that bloomin' teacher woman, Ruth, why -she's older'n me. She oughtta be ashamed of herself, kidnappin' that -nipper."</p> - -<p>The two went side by side across the pasture, almost as if they were -free again. They came to a stile.</p> - -<p>"Gosh!" said Tom. "They've blocked up this gate, 'n put a stile over, -see! Think o' that!"</p> - -<p>They climbed the stile and continued their way.</p> - -<p>"God's love, boy, didn't we land in it over our heads! Ever see Ma like -that? I never! Good for you, Jack, lad, findin' that tea-caddy. That's -how the Ellises are—ain't it the devil! 'Spect I take after my own -mother, f'r I'm not in the tea-caddyin' line. Ma's cheered up a bit. -She'll be able to start Lennie in a bit of a way, now, 'n the twins can -wait for a bit, thank goodness! My, but ain't families lively! Here I -come back to be boss of this bloomin' place, an' I feel as if I was -goin' to be shot. Say, boy, d'ye think I'm really spliced to that -water-snake in Honeysuckle? Because I s'll have to have somebody on this -outfit. Alone I will not face it. Say, matey, promise me you won't leave -me till I'm fixed up a bit. Give me your word you'll stand by me here -for a time, anyhow."</p> - -<p>"I'll stay for a time," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Righto! an' then if I'm not copped by the Honeysuckle bird—'appen -Mary might have me, what d'you think? I shall have to have somebody. I -simply couldn't stand this place, all by my lonesome. What d'you think -about Mary? D'you think she'd like it, here?"</p> - -<p>"Ask her," said Jack grimly.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a></h4> - -<h4>THE LAST OF EASU</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>They knew that Easu was married, but they were hardly prepared for the -dirty baby crawling on the verandah floor. Easu had seen them come -through the gate, and was striding across to meet them, after bawling -something in his bullying way to someone inside the house: presumably -his wife.</p> - -<p>Outwardly, he was not much altered. Yet there was an undefinable change -for the worse. He was one of those men whom marriage seems to humiliate, -and to make ugly. As if he despised himself for being married.</p> - -<p>Easu ignored the baby as if it were not there, striding past into the -house, leading the newcomers into the parlour. It was darkened in there, -to keep out the flies; but he pulled up the blind: "t'see their blanky -fisogs." And he called out to the missus to bring glasses.</p> - -<p>The parlour was like most parlours. Enlarged photographs of Mr. and Mrs. -Ellis, the Red parents, in large pine frames, on the wall. A handsome -china clock under a glass case on the mantelpiece, with flanking vases -to match, on fawn-and-red woollen crochet mats. An oval, rather curvy -table in the middle of the room, with the family Bible, and the meat -under a fly-proof wire cover. The parlour was the coolest place for the -meat.</p> - -<p>Easu shifted the red obnoxity, wire cover and all, to the top of a -cupboard where some cups and saucers were displayed, and drew forth a -demijohn of spirit from the back of the horse-hair sofa, in front of the -window.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Easu came in with the glasses. She was a thin, pale-faced young -woman with big dark eyes and her hair in huge curling pins, and a -hostile bearing. She took no notice of the visitors: only let her big -what-do-<i>you</i>-want eye pass over them with distaste beneath her bald -forehead. It was her fixed belief that whoever came to the house came to -<i>get</i> something, if they could. And they were not going to get it out -of <i>her.</i> She made an alliance with Easu so far. But her rather -protruding teeth and her vindictive mouth showed that Easu would get as -many bites as kisses.</p> - -<p>She set the glasses from her hands on to the table, and looked down at -Easu under her pale lashes.</p> - -<p>"What else d'ye want?" she asked rudely.</p> - -<p>"Nothing. If I want anything I'll holloa."</p> - -<p>They seemed to be on terms of mutual rudeness. She had been quite an -heiress: brought Easu a thousand pounds. But the way she said it—a -tharsand parnds!—as if it was something absolutely you couldn't get -beyond, made even Easu writhe. She was common, to put it commonly. She -spoke in a common way, she thought in a common way, and she acted in a -common way. But she had energy, and even a vulgar suffisance. She -thought herself as good as anybody, and a bit better, on the strength of -the tharsand parnds!</p> - -<p>"'S not eddication as matters, it's munney!" she said blatantly to -Lennie. "At your age y'ought t'ave somethink in th' bank."</p> - -<p>He of course hated the sight of her after that. She had looked at him -with a certain superciliousness and contempt in her conceited brown -eyes, because he had no money and was supposed to be clever. He never -forgave her.</p> - -<p>But what did she care! She jerked up her sharp-toothed mouth, and sailed -away. She wasn't going to be put down by any penniless snobs. The -Ellises! Who were the Ellises? Yes, indeed! They thought themselves so -superior. Could they draw a tharsand parnd? Pah!</p> - -<p>She felt a particularly spiteful, almost vindictive, scorn of Jack. He -was somebody, was he? Ha! What was he <i>worth?</i> That was the point. How -much <i>munney</i> did he reckon he'd got? "If yer want me ter think -anythink of yer, yer mun show me yer bank-book," she said.</p> - -<p>Easu listened and grinned, and said nothing to all this. But she had a -fiery temper of her own, and they went for one another like two devils. -She wasn't going to be daunted, she wasn't. She had her virtues too. She -had no method, but she was clean. The place was forever in a muddle, but -she was always cleaning it, almost vindictively, as if the shine on the -door-knob reflected some of the tharsand parnd. Even the baby was turned -out and viciously cleaned once a day. But in the intervals it groped -where it would. As for herself, she was a sight this morning, with her -hair in huge iron waving-pins, and her forehead and her teeth both -sticking out. She looked a sight to shudder at. But wait. Wait till she -was dressed up and turning out in the buggy, in a coat and skirt of -thick brown cord silk with orange and black braiding, and a hugely -feathered hat, with huge floating ostrich feathers, an orange one and a -brown one. And her teeth sticking out and a huge brooch of a lump of -gold set with pearls and diamonds, and a great gold chain. And the baby, -in a silk cape with pink ribbons, and a frilled silk bonnet of alternate -pink and white ruches, mercilessly held against her chains and brooches! -Wait!</p> - -<p>Therefore when Jack glanced at her from a strange distance, she tossed -her bald forehead with the curling-irons, and thought to herself: "You -can look, Master Jack Nobody. And you can look again, next Sunday, when -I've got my proper things on. <i>Then</i> you'll see who's got the -munney!"</p> - -<p>She seemed to think that her Sunday gorgeousness absolutely obliterated -the grimness of her week of curling pins. "Six days shall thou labour in -thy curling-irons." She lived in them. They kept her hair out of the way -and saved her having to do it up all the time.</p> - -<p>And it may be that Easu never really looked at her in her teeth and -pins. That was not the real Sarah Ann. The real Sarah Ann swayed with -ostrich feathers; brown silk, brown and orange feathers, reddish hair, -brown eyes, pale skin, and a stiff, militant, vulgar bearing that wasn't -going to let anybody put it over <i>her.</i> "They can't put me down, -whoever they are!" she asserted. "I consider myself equal to the best, and -perhaps a little better."</p> - -<p>This Easu heard and saw with curious gratification. This was his Sarah -Ann.</p> - -<p>None the less, he was no fool. He saw the baffled, surprised look Jack -turned upon this grisly young woman in curlers and teeth, as if he could -not quite enter her in the class of human beings. And Easu was enough of -an Ellis to know what that look meant. It was a silent "Good God!" And -no man, when his wife enters the room, cares to hear another man's -horrified ejaculation: "Good God!" at the sight of her.</p> - -<p>Easu wanted his wife to be common. Nevertheless, with the anomalousness -of human beings, it humiliated him and put acid in his blood.</p> - -<p>"Have a jorum!" said Easu to Tom.</p> - -<p>"I s'd think you're not goin' to set down drinkin' at this time of day," -she said, in her loud, common, interfering voice.</p> - -<p>"What's the time of the day to you?" asked Easu acidly, as he filled -Tom's glass.</p> - -<p>"We can't stop. Mall be expecting us back," said Tom.</p> - -<p>Easu silently filled Jack's glass, and the wife went out, banging the -door. Immediately she fell upon the baby and began to vituperate the -little animal for its dirt. The men couldn't hear themselves speak.</p> - -<p>But Easu lifted up his chin and poured the liquor down his throat. He -had shaved his beard, and had only three days of yellowish stubble. He -smacked his lips as he set down his glass, and looked at the two boys -with a sarcastic, gloating look.</p> - -<p>"Find a few changes, eh?" he observed.</p> - -<p>"Just a few."</p> - -<p>"How's the place look?"</p> - -<p>"All right."</p> - -<p>"Make a pile up North?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>Easu grinned slowly.</p> - -<p>"Thought you didn't need to, eh?" he asked maliciously.</p> - -<p>"Didn't worry myself," said Tom.</p> - -<p>"Jack Grant come in for a fortune?" Easu asked, looking at Jack.</p> - -<p>"No," said Jack coldly. There was something about Easu's vulgar, -taunting eyes, which he couldn't stand.</p> - -<p>"Oh, you 'aven't!" The pleased sneer was unbearable.</p> - -<p>"How's Ma?" asked Easu.</p> - -<p>"All right," said Tom, surprised.</p> - -<p>"Don't see much of her now," said Easu.</p> - -<p>"No, I saw the gate was blocked up," said Tom.</p> - -<p>"Looks like she blocked the wrong gate up."</p> - -<p>"How?"</p> - -<p>"How? Well don't you think she'd better have blocked up the gate over to -Pink-eye Percy's place?"—Easu was smiling with thin, gloating -lips.</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"Why? Don't y' know?"</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"Don't ye know about Monica?"</p> - -<p>Jack's blood stood still for a moment, and death entered his soul again, -to stay.</p> - -<p>"No. What?"</p> - -<p>"Didn't Old George say nothing to y' in Perth?"</p> - -<p>"No!" said Tom, becoming sullen and dangerous.</p> - -<p>"Well, that's funny now! And Aunt Alice said nothing?"</p> - -<p>"No! What about?"</p> - -<p>Easu was smiling gloatingly, in silence, as if he had something very -good.</p> - -<p>"Well that's funny now! Think of your getting right here, and not having -heard a thing! I shouldn't have thought it possible."</p> - -<p>Tom was going white under his tan.</p> - -<p>"What's amiss, Red?" he said curtly.</p> - -<p>"To think as you haven't heard! Why it was the talk of the place. Ross -heard all about it in Perth. Didn't you come across him there? He's been -in the Force quite a while now."</p> - -<p>"No! What was it he heard about?"</p> - -<p>"Why, about Monica."</p> - -<p>"What about her?"</p> - -<p>"D'y' mean to say you don't know?"</p> - -<p>"I tell you I don't know."</p> - -<p>"Well!" and Easu smiled with curious, poisonous satisfaction. "I don't -know as I want to be the one to tell you."</p> - -<p>There was a moment's dead silence. The sun was setting.</p> - -<p>"What have you got to say?" asked Tom, his face set and blank, and his -mouth taking on the lipless, Australian look.</p> - -<p>"Funny thing nobody has told you. Why it happened six or seven months -since."</p> - -<p>This was received in dead silence.</p> - -<p>"She went off with Percy when the baby was a month old."</p> - -<p>Again there was nothing but dead silence.</p> - -<p>"Mean she married Pink-eye Percy?" asked Tom, in a muffled tone.</p> - -<p>"I dunno about marryin' him. They say he's got a wife or two already: -legal and otherwise. All I know is they cleared out a month after the -baby was born, and went down south."</p> - -<p>Still dead silence from the other two. The room was full of golden -light. Jack was looking at the fly-dirts and the lamp-black on the -ceiling. He was sitting in a horse-hair arm-chair, and the broken -springs were uncomfortable, and the horse-hair scratched his wrist. -Otherwise he felt vacant, and in a deathly way, remote.</p> - -<p>"You're minding what you're saying?" came Tom's empty voice.</p> - -<p>"Minding what I'm saying!" echoed Easu rejoicingly. "I didn't want to -tell you. It was you who asked me."</p> - -<p>"Was the baby Percy's baby?" asked Jack.</p> - -<p>"I should say so," Easu replied, stumbling. "I never asked her, myself. -They were all thick with Percy at that time, and I was married with a -family of my own. Why I've not been over to Wandoo for—for—for -close on two years, I should think."</p> - -<p>"That's what was wrong with Ma!" Tom was saying, in a dull voice, to -himself.</p> - -<p>"I wonder Old George or Mary didn't prepare ye," said Easu. "They both -came down before the baby came. But seemingly Old George couldn't do -nothing. Percy confessing he was married, and trying to say he wasn't to -blame. However, he's run off with Monica all right. Ma had a letter from -her from Albany, to say there was no need to worry, Percy was playin' -the gentleman."</p> - -<p>"She never cared for him," Jack cried.</p> - -<p>"I dunno about that. Seems she's been mad about him all the time. Maybe -she waited for you to come back. I dunno! I tell you, I've never been -over to Wandoo for nigh on two years."</p> - -<p>Jack could not bear any more. The golden light had gone out of the room, -the sun was under the ridge—that ridge——</p> - -<p>"Let's get, Tom!" said Jack rising to his feet.</p> - -<p>They stumbled out of the house, and went home in silence, through the -dusk. Again the world had caved in, and they were walking through the -ruins.</p> - -<p>Ma was upstairs when they got home, but Katie had got the tea on the -table, and Lennie was in. He was a tall, thin, silent, sensitive youth.</p> - -<p>"Hullo, you two wanderin' Jews!" he said.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Len!"</p> - -<p>"Come an' 'ave y' teas."</p> - -<p>Lennie was like the head of the house. They ate their meal in -silence.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>Tom and Jack and Lennie still slept in the cubby, but Og and Magog had -moved indoors. The three of them lay in the dark, without sleeping.</p> - -<p>"Say, young Len," said Tom at length, "what was you after, letting -Monica get mixed up with that Pink-eye Percy?"</p> - -<p>"Me? What was I after? How could I be after 'er every minute. She -snapped my 'ead off if I looked at 'er. What for did you an' Jack stop -away all that time, an' never write a word to nobody? Blame me, all -right! But you go 'avin' 'igh jinks in the Never-Never, and nobody says -a word to you. You never did nothing wrong, did you? An' <i>you</i> kep' an -eye on the fam'ly, didn't you? An' it's only me to blame. 'F course! -'Twould be! But what about yourselves?"</p> - -<p>This outburst was received in silence. Then a queer, sullen snake reared -its head haughtily in Jack's soul.</p> - -<p>"I shouldn't have thought she'd have cared for Percy," said he.</p> - -<p>"No more would nobody," replied Len. "You never know what women's up to. -Give me a steady woman, Lord, I pray. Because for the last year Monica -wasn't right in 'er mind, that's what I say. It wasn't Percy's fault. It -was she made 'im. She made 'im as soft as grease about 'er. Percy's not -bad, he's not. But women can make him as soft as grease. An' I knows -what that means myself. Either there shouldn't be no men an' women, or -they should be kept apart till they're pitched into the same pen, to -breed."</p> - -<p>Tom, with Honeysuckle Lucy on his conscience, said never a word.</p> - -<p>"Is it true that Percy's got a wife already out east?" asked Jack.</p> - -<p>"He say he has. But he wrote to find out if she was dead. At first he -said he wasn't to blame. Then he said he was, but he couldn't marry her. -An' Monica like a wild cat at us all. She would let nobody write an' -tell you. She went over to Reds, but Easu had just got married, an' -Sarah Ann threatened to lay her out. Then she turned on Percy. I tell -you, she skeered me. The phosphorus came out of her eyes like a -wildcat's. She's bewitched or something. Or else possessed of a devil. -That's what I think she is. Though I needn't talk, for maybe I am -myself. Oh, mates, leave me alone, I'm sick of it all. Lemme go to -sleep."</p> - -<p>"What did she go over to Easu's for?"</p> - -<p>"God knows. She'd been nosing round with Easu, till Ma got mad and put a -stop to it. But that's a good while since. A good while afore Easu -married the lovely Sarah Ann, with her rows o' cartridges on her -forehead. Oh Cripes, <i>marriage!</i> Leave m'alone, I tell you."</p> - -<p>"Funny she should go to Easu's, if she was struck on Percy," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Don't make me think of it, sonny!" came Len's voice. "She went round -like a cat who's goin' t' have kittens, an' nobody knew what was amiss -with her. Oh Jehosaphat! Talk about bein' born in sin. I should think we -are. But say, Jack! Do you suppose the Lord gets awful upset, whether -Monica has a baby or not? I don't believe He does. An' I don't believe -Jesus either turns a hair. I don't believe. He turns half a hair. Yet we -get into all this stew. Tell you what, makes a chap sick of bein' a -humain bein'. Wish I grew feathers, an' was an emu."</p> - -<p>"Don't you bother," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Not me," said Len. "I don't bother! Anyhow I know all about the parsley -bed, 'n I don't care, I'd rather know an' have done with it. 'S got to -come some time. I'm a collar-horse, I am, like ol' Rackett said. All -right, let me be one. Let me be one, an' pull me guts out. Might just as -well do that, as be a sick outlaw like Rackett, or a softy like Percy. -Leave m'alone! I've got the collar on, an' the load behind, an' I'll -pull it out if I pulls me guts out. That's the past, present an' future -of Lennie."</p> - -<p>"Where is Rackett?"</p> - -<p>"Hanged if I know. Don't matter where he is. He wanted to educate me an' -make a gentleman of me. Else I'd be nothing but a cart-'oss, he said. -Well, I am nothing but a cart-'oss. But if I enjoys pullin' me guts out, -let me. I enjoys it all right."</p> - -<p>Tom lay in silence in the dark, and felt scared. He hated having to face -things. He hated taking a long view. Sufficient unto the day is the evil -thereof, was his profound conviction. He hated even to look round the -next corner.</p> - -<p>"Say, Jack," came Lennie's voice again. "You always turns up like a -silver lining. I got your cheques all right. Fifty-seven pound. That's -only a pair o' socks, that is, compared to Gran's store. I had to have a -laugh over that stockin', you're the angel that stood in Jacob's doorway -an' looked like a man, you are. I'd love it if you'd come an' live with -me an' Ruthie."</p> - -<p>But Jack was thinking his own thoughts. It had come over him that it was -Easu who had betrayed Monica. The picture of her wandering across like a -cat that is going to have kittens, to the Red's place, and facing that -fearful, common Sarah Ann, and Easu grinning and looking on, made his -spirit turn to steel. Pink-eye Percy was not the father of that baby. -Percy was as soft as wax. Monica would never have fallen for him. She -had simply made use of him. The baby was Easu's.</p> - -<p>"Was the baby a girl or a boy?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"A girl."</p> - -<p>"Did it look like Percy?"</p> - -<p>"Not it. It didn't have any of Percy's goo-goo brown eyes or anything. -Ma said it was the spitten image of Harry when he was born."</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>Jack decided what he would do. In the morning he would take the new -horse and set off south, to Albany. He would see Monica and ask her. -Anyhow he would see her.</p> - -<p>He was up at dawn, saddling his horse. He told Tom of his plan, and Tom -merely remarked:</p> - -<p>"It's up to you, mate."</p> - -<p>Tom was relapsing at once into the stiff-faced, rather taciturn -Australian he had been before. The settled life on the farm at once -pulled him to earth, the various calamities had brought him down with a -bump.</p> - -<p>So Jack rode off almost unnoticed, with a blanket strapped behind his -saddle, and a flat water-bottle, a pistol in his belt, and a hatchet and -a little bag of food tied to the front saddle-strings. Something made -him turn his horse past the place where he had fought Easu, and along -the bush trail to the Reds' place.</p> - -<p>The sun had come up hot out of a pink, dusty dawn. In an hour it would -be blazing like a fiend out of the bare blue heavens. Meanwhile it was -still cool, there was still a faint coolness on the parched dry earth, -whose very grass was turning into yellowish dust. Jack jogged along -slowly, at a slow morning jog-trot. He was glad to be in the saddle -again.</p> - -<p>As he came down the track, he saw the blue smoke rising out of the -chimneys of Easu's house, and a dark movement away in one of the home -paddocks. He got down for the gates, then rode on, over to the paddock -fence, and sat there on his horse, watching Easu and Herbert and three -blacks, sorting out some steers from a bunch of about thirty cattle. -They were running the steers through a gate to a smaller enclosure.</p> - -<p>There was a good deal of yelling and shouting and running and confusion, -as the bunch of young cattle, a mixed little mob of all colours, blacks -and black-and-white and red and red-and-white, tossed and swayed, the -young cows breaking away and running nimbly on light feet, excited by -the deep, powerful lowing of the stock bull, which had wandered up to -the outer corner of the fence under a group of ragged gum-trees, and -there stood bellowing at the excitement that was going on in the next -paddock.</p> - -<p>Jack kept an eye on the bull, as he sat on his uneasy horse outside the -shut gate, watching. Near by, two more horses stood saddled and waiting. -One of them was Easu's big black mare with the two white forefeet. The -other was a thin roan, probably Herbert's horse.</p> - -<p>Herbert was quite a man now: tall and thin and broad, with a rather -small red face and dull fairish hair that stood up straight from his -brow. He was the only one of the brothers left with Easu. He was patient -and didn't pay any attention to that scorpion of a Sarah Ann. Sam and -Ross had cleared out at the first sight of her.</p> - -<p>It was Herbert who did most of the running. Easu, who stood with his -feet apart, did most of the bossing—he was never happy unless he was -bossing, and finding fault with somebody—and the blacks did most of -the halloaing. Easu didn't move much. He seemed to have gone heavier, and -where he stood, with his feet apart and his bare arm waving, he seemed -stuck, as if he were inert. This was unlike him. He was always stiffish, -but he used to be quick. Now he seemed slow and wooden in his movements, -his body had gone inert, the life had gone out of it, and he could only -shout and jeer. He used to have a certain flame of life, that made him -handsome, even if you hated him. A certain conceit and daring, inside -all his bullying. Now the flame had gone, the conceit and daring had -sunk, he was only ugly and defeated, common, and a little humiliated. He -was getting fat, and it didn't suit him at all.</p> - -<p>He had glanced round, when Jack rode up, and it was evident that he -hated the intrusion. Herbert had waved his arm. Herbert still felt a -certain gratitude—and the blacks had all stopped for a moment to -stare. But Easu shouted them on.</p> - -<p>At last the sorting out was done, and the bars put up. The bull went -bellowing along the far fence. Herbert came striding to the gate, his -smallish red face shining, and Jack got down to greet him. The two shook -hands, and Herbert said:</p> - -<p>"Glad to see you back."</p> - -<p>He was the first to say he was glad to see Jack back. Even Len had not -said it. The two men stood exchanging awkward sentences beside the -horse.</p> - -<p>Easu too came through the gate. He looked grudgingly at Jack and at -Jack's horse. Jack thought how ugly he was, now his face had gone fatter -and his mouth with its thin, jeering line looked mean. The alert -bird-look had gone, he was heavy, and consumed with grudging. His very -healthiness looked heavy, a bit dead. His light blue eyes stared and -pretended to smile, but the smile was a grudging sneer.</p> - -<p>"Where'd you get y' 'oss?"</p> - -<p>"From Jimmie Short, in Perth."</p> - -<p>"Bit long in the barrel. Making a trip, are y'?"</p> - -<p>And Easu looked with his pale-blue eyes straight and sneering into -Jack's eyes, and smiled with his grudging, mean mouth. Jack noticed that -Easu had begun to belly, inside his slack black trousers. He was no -longer the spruce, straight fellow. Easu saw the glance, and was again -humiliated. He himself hated his growing belly. He looked a second time, -into Jack's eyes, furtively, before he said:</p> - -<p>"Find out if it was right what I was tellin' y'?"</p> - -<p>Jack was ready for the insult, and did not answer. He turned to Herbert -asking about Joe Low, who had been a pal of Herbert's. Joe Low also was -married, and had gone down Busselton way. Jack asked for his directions, -saying perhaps he might be able to call on him.</p> - -<p>"What, are y' goin' south?" put in Easu.</p> - -<p>Jack looked at him. It was impossible not to see the slack look of -defeat in Easu's face. Something had defeated him, leaving him all -sneering and acid and heavy. Again Jack did not answer.</p> - -<p>"What did you say?" Easu persisted, advancing a little insolently.</p> - -<p>"What about?"</p> - -<p>"I asked if y' was goin' south."</p> - -<p>"That's my business, where I'm going."</p> - -<p>"Of course it is," said Easu with a sneer and a grin. "You don't think -anyone wants to get ahead of you, do you?" He stood with a faint, -sneering smile on his face, malevolent with impotence. "You'll do Percy -a lot o' hurt, I'll bet. I wouldn't like to be Percy, when you turn up." -And he looked with a grin at Herbert. Herbert grinned faintly in echo.</p> - -<p>"I should think, whatever Percy is, he wouldn't want to be you," said -Jack, going white at the gills with anger, but speaking with calm -superiority, because he knew that enraged Easu most.</p> - -<p>"What's that?" cried Easu, the grin flying out of his face at once, and -leaving it stiff and dangerous.</p> - -<p>"I should think Percy wouldn't want to be you, let him be what he may in -himself," said Jack, in the cold, clear, English voice which he knew -infuriated Easu unbearably.</p> - -<p>Easu searched Jack's face intently with his pale-blue eyes.</p> - -<p>"How's that?" he asked curtly.</p> - -<p>Jack stared at the red, heavy face with the smallish eyes, and thought -to himself: "You pig! You intolerable white fat pig!" But aloud he said -nothing.</p> - -<p>Easu smiled a defeated grin, and strode away heavily to his horse. He -unhitched, swung heavily into the saddle, and moved away, then at a -little distance reined in to hear what Jack and Herbert were talking -about. He couldn't go.</p> - -<p>Herbert was giving Jack directions, how to find Joe Low down Busselton -way. Then he sent various items of news to his old pal. But he asked -Jack no questions, and was careful to avoid any kind of enquiry -concerning Jack's business.</p> - -<p>Easu sat on his black horse a little way off, listening. He had a rope -and an axe tied to his saddle. Presumably he was going into the bush. -Herbert was asking questions about the North-West, about the cattle -stations and the new mines. He talked as if he would like to talk all -day. And Jack answered freely, laughing easily and making a joke of -everything. They spoke of Perth, and Jack told how Tom and he had been -at the Governor's ball a few nights ago, and what a change it was from -the North-West, and how Tom enjoyed himself. Herbert listened, -impressed.</p> - -<p>"Gosh! That's something to rag old Tom about!" he said.</p> - -<p>"<i>When you've done gassing there!</i>" called Easu.</p> - -<p>Jack turned and looked at him.</p> - -<p>"You don't have to wait," he said easily, as if to a servant.</p> - -<p>There was really something about Easu now that suggested a servant. He -went suddenly yellow with anger.</p> - -<p>"What's that?" he said, moving his horse a few paces forward.</p> - -<p>And Jack, also white at the gills, but affecting the same ease, repeated -distinctly and easily, as if to a man-servant:</p> - -<p>"We're talking, you don't have to wait."</p> - -<p>There was no answer to this insult. Easu remained stock motionless on -his horse for a few moments. Was he going to have to swallow it?</p> - -<p>Jack turned laughing to Herbert, saying:</p> - -<p>"I've got several things to tell you about old Tom."</p> - -<p>But he glanced up quickly. Easu was kicking his horse, and it was -dancing before it would take a direction. Herbert gave a loud, -inarticulate cry. Jack turned quickly to his own horse, to put his foot -in the stirrup. Just as quickly he refrained, swung round, drew his -pistol, and cocked it. Easu, once more a horseman, was kicking his -restive horse forward, holding the small axe in his right hand, the -reins in his left. His face was livid, and looked like the face of one -returning from the dead. He came bearing down on Jack and Herbert, like -Death returning from the dead, the axe held back at arm's length, ready -for the swing, half urging, half holding his horse, so that it danced -strangely nearer. Jack stood with the pistol ready, his back to his own -horse, that was tossing its head nervously.</p> - -<p>"Look out!" cried Herbert, suddenly jumping at the bit of Jack's horse, -in terror, and making it start back, with a thudding of hoofs.</p> - -<p>But Jack did not move. He stood with his pistol ready, his eyes on Easu. -Easu's horse was snaffling and jerking, twisting, trying to get round, -and Easu was forcing it slowly forward. He had on his death-face. He -held the axe at arm's length, backward, and with his pale-blue, fixed -death-eyes he watched Jack, who stood there on the ground. So he -advanced, waiting for the moment to swing the axe, fixing part of his -will on the curvetting horse, which he forced on.</p> - -<p>Jack, in a sort of trance, fixed Easu's death-face in the middle of the -forehead. But he was watching with every pore of his body.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he saw him begin to heave in the stirrups, and on that instant -he fired at the mystic place in Easu's forehead, under his old hat, at -the same time springing back. And in that self-same instant he saw two -things: part of Easu's forehead seemed to shift mystically open, and the -axe, followed by Easu's whole body, crashed at him as he sprang back. He -went down in the universal crash, and for a moment his consciousness was -dark and eternal. Then he wriggled to his feet, and ran, as Herbert was -running, to the black horse, which was dancing in an agony of terror, -Easu's right foot having caught in the stirrup, the body rolling -horribly on the ground.</p> - -<p>He caught the horse, which was shying off from Herbert, and raised his -right hand to take the bridle. To his further horror and astonishment, -he saw his hand all blood, and his fore-finger gone. But he clutched the -bridle of the horse with his maimed hand, then changed to his left hand, -and stood looking in chagrin and horror at the bloody stump of his -finger, which was just beginning, in a distant sort of way, to hurt.</p> - -<p>"My God, he's dead!" came the high, hysterical yell from Herbert, on the -other side of the horse, and Jack let go the bridle again, to look.</p> - -<p>It was too obvious. The big, ugly, inert bulk of Easu lay crumpled on -the ground, part of the forehead shot away. Jack looked twice, then -looked away again. A black had caught his horse, and tied it to the -fence. Another black was running up. A dog came panting excitedly up, -sniffing and licking the blood. Herbert, beside himself, stood helpless, -repeating: "He's dead! He's dead! My God, he's dead! He is."</p> - -<p>Then he gave a yell, and swooped at the dog, as it began to lick the -blood.</p> - -<p>Jack, after once more looking round, walked away. He saw his pistol -lying on the ground, so he picked it up and put it in his belt, although -it was bloody, and had a cut where the axe had struck it. Then he walked -across to his horse, and unhitched the bridle from the fence. But before -he mounted, he took his handkerchief and tied it round his bleeding -hand, which was beginning to hurt with a big aching hurt. He knew it, -and yet he hardly heeded it. It was hardly noticeable.</p> - -<p>He got into the saddle, and rode calmly away, going on his journey -southward just the same. The world about him seemed faint and -unimportant. Inside himself was the reality and the assurance. Easu was -dead. It was a good thing.</p> - -<p>He had one definite feeling. He felt as if there had been something -damming life up, as a great clot of weeds will dam a stream and make the -water spread marshily and dead over the surrounding land. He felt he had -lifted this clod out of the stream, and the water was flowing on clear -again.</p> - -<p>He felt he had done a good thing. Somewhere inside himself he felt he -had done a supremely good thing. Life could flow on to something beyond. -Why question further?</p> - -<p>He rode on, down the track. The sun was very hot, and his body was -re-echoing with the pain from his hand. But he went on calmly, -monotonously, his horse travelling in a sort of sleep, easy in its -single-step. He didn't think where he was going, or why; he was just -going.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a></h4> - -<h4>LOST</h4> - - -<p>At evening he was still riding. But his horse lagged, and would not be -spurred forward. Darkness came with swift persistence. He was looking -anxiously for water, a burning thirst had made him empty his bottle.</p> - -<p>As if directed by God, he felt the horse rousing up and pressing eagerly -forward. In a few minutes it stopped. Darkness had fallen. He found the -horse nosing a timber-lined Government well.</p> - -<p>He got down and awkwardly drew water, for the well was low. He drank and -the horse drank. Then with some difficulty he unsaddled, tied the reins -round a sapling and removed the bit. The horse snorted, nosed round, and -began to crop in the dark. Jack sat on the ground and looked up at the -stars. Then he drank more water, and ate a piece of bread and dry -cheese.</p> - -<p>Then he began to go to sleep. He saw Easu coming at him with the axe. -Ugh, how good it was Easu was dead. Dead, to go in the earth to manure -the soil. Hadn't Old George said it? The land wanted dead men dug into -it, to manure it. Men like Easu, dead and turned to manure. And men like -old Dad Ellis. Poor old Dad.</p> - -<p>Jack thought of Monica, Monica with her little flower-face. All messed -up by that nasty dog of an Easu. He should be twice dead. Jack felt she -was a little repulsive too. To let herself be pawed over and made sticky -by that heavy dog of an Easu! Jack felt he could never follow where Easu -had been messing. Monica was no good now. She had taken on some of -Easu's repulsiveness.</p> - -<p>Aunt Matilda had said, "Another scandal in the family!" Well, the death -of Easu should make a good scandal.</p> - -<p>How lonely it was in the bush! How big and weapon-like the stars were. -One great star very flashing.</p> - -<p>"I have dipped my hand in blood!" he thought to himself. And looking at -his own bloody, hurting hand, in the starlight, he didn't realise -whether it was Easu's blood or his own.</p> - -<p>"I have dipped my hand in blood! So be it. Let it be my testament."</p> - -<p>And he lifted up his hand to the great flashing star, his wounded hand, -saying aloud:</p> - -<p>"Here! Here is my hand in blood! Take it then. There is blood between us -forever."</p> - -<p>The blood was between him and his mysterious Lord, forever. Like a sort -of pledge, or baptism, or a sacrifice: a bond between them. He was -speaking to his mysterious Lord.</p> - -<p>"There is blood between us forever," he said to the star.</p> - -<p>But the sound of his own hoarse, rather deep voice, reminded him of his -surroundings. He looked round. He heard his horse, and called to it. It -nickered in the loneliness, still cropping. He started up to see if it -was all right, to stroke it and speak to it. The bush was very lonely.</p> - -<p>"Hello, you!" he said to it. "In the midst of life we are in death. -There's death in the spaces between the stars. But somehow it seems all -right. I like it. I like to be lord of Death. Who do they call the lords -of Death? I am a lord of Death."</p> - -<p>He patted the horse's neck as he talked.</p> - -<p>"I can't bear to think of Monica messy with Easu," he said. "But I -suppose it's my destiny. I suppose it means I am a lord of death. I hope -if I have any children they'll have that look in their eyes, like -soldiers from the dark kingdom. I don't want children that aren't -warriors. I don't want little love children for my children. When I -beget children I want to sow dragon's teeth, and warriors will spring -up. Easu hadn't one grain nor spark of a warrior in him. He was -absolutely a groping civilian, a bully. That's why he wanted to spoil -Monica. She is the wife for a fighting man. So he wanted to spoil her.... -Funny, my father isn't a fighting man at all. He's an absolute -civilian. So he became a general. And I'm not a civilian. I know the -spaces of death between the stars, like spaces in an Egyptian temple. -And at the end of life I see the big black door of death, and the -infinite black labyrinth beyond. I like to think of going in, and being -at home and one of the masters in the black halls of death, when I am -dead. I hope I die fighting, and go into the black halls of death as a -master: not as a scavenger servant, like Easu, or a sort of butler, like -my father. I don't want to be a servant in the black house of death. I -want to be a master."</p> - -<p>He sat down again, with his back to the tree, looking at the sharp -stars, and the fume of stars, and the great black gulfs between the -stars. His hand and arm were aching and paining a great deal. But he -watched the gulfs between the stars.</p> - -<p>"I suppose my Lord meant me to be like this," he said. "Think if I had -to be tied up and a gentleman, like that Blessington. Or a lawyer like -Old George. Or a politician dropping his aitches, like that Mr. Watson. -Or empty and important like that A.D.C. Or anything that's successful -and goes to church and sings hymns and has supper after church on the -best linen table cloth! What Lord is it that likes these people? What -God can it be that likes success and Sunday dinners? Oh God! It must be -a big, fat, rusty sort of God.</p> - -<p>"My God is dark and you can't see him. You can't even see his eyes, they -are so dark. But he sits and bides his time and smiles, in the spaces -between the stars. And he doesn't know himself what he thinks. But -there's deep, powerful feelings inside him, and he's only waiting his -time to upset this pigsty full of white fat pigs. I like my Lord. I like -his dark face, that I can't see, and his dark eyes, that are so dark you -can't see them, and his dark hair that is blacker than the night on his -forehead, and the dark feelings he has, which nobody will ever be able -to explain. I like my Lord, my own Lord, who is not Lord of pigs."</p> - -<p>He slept fitfully, feverishly, with dreams, and rose at daylight to -drink water, and dip his head in water. His horse came, he tended it and -with great difficulty got the saddle on. Then he left it standing, and -when he came again, it wasn't where he had left it.</p> - -<p>He called, and it whinnied, so he went into the scrub for it. But it -wasn't where the sound of whinnying came from. He went a few more steps -forward, and called. The scrub wasn't so very thick either, yet you -couldn't see that horse. He was sure it was only a couple of yards away. -So he went forward, coaxing, calling. But nothing . . . Queer!</p> - -<p>He looked round. The track wasn't there. The well wasn't there. Only the -silent, vindictive, scattered bush.</p> - -<p>He couldn't be lost. That was impossible. The homestead wasn't more than -twenty miles away—and the settlement.</p> - -<p>Yet, as he tramped on, through the brown, heath-like undergrowth, past -the ghost-like trunks of the scattered gum-trees, over the fallen, -burnt-out trunks of charred trees, past the bushes of young gum-trees, -he gradually realised he was lost. And yet it was impossible. He would -come upon a cabin, or pick up the track of a woodcutter, or a 'roo -hunter. He was so near to everywhere.</p> - -<p>There is something mysterious about the Australian bush. It is so -absolutely still. And yet, in the near distance, it seems alive. It -seems alive, and as if it hovered round you to maze you and circumvent -you. There is a strange feeling, as if invisible, hostile things were -hovering round you and heading you off.</p> - -<p>Jack stood still and coo-eed! long and loud. He fancied he heard an -answer, and he hurried forward. He felt light-headed. He wished he had -eaten something. He remembered he had no water. And he was walking very -fast, the sweat pouring down him. Silly this. He made himself go slower. -Then he stood still and looked around. Then he coo-eed! again, and was -afraid of the Tinging sound of his own cry.</p> - -<p>The changeless bush, with scattered, slender tree-trunks everywhere. You -could see between them into the distance, to more open bush: a few brown -rocks: two great dead trees as white as bone: burnt trees with their -core charred out: and living trees hanging their motionless clusters of -brown, dagger-like leaves. And the permanent soft blue of the sky -overhead.</p> - -<p>Nothing was hidden. It was all open and fair. And yet it was haunted -with a malevolent mystery. You felt yourself so small, so tiny, so -absolutely insignificant, in the still, eternal glade. And this again is -the malevolence of the bush, that it reduces you to your own absolute -insignificance, go where you will.</p> - -<p>Jack collected his wits and began to make a plan.</p> - -<p>"First look at the sky, and get your bearing." Then he would go -somewhere straight west from the Reds. The sun had been in his eyes as -he rode last evening.</p> - -<p>Or had he better go east, and get back? There were scores of empty -miles, uninhabited, west. It was settled, he would go east. Perhaps -someone would find his horse, and come to look for him.</p> - -<p>He walked with the sun straight bang in his eyes. It was very hot, and -he was tired. He was thirsty, his arm hurt and throbbed. Why did he -imagine he was hungry? He was only thirsty. And so hot! He took off his -coat and threw it away. After a while his waistcoat followed. He felt a -little lighter. But he was an intolerable burden to himself.</p> - -<p>He sat down under a bush and went fast asleep. How long he slept he did -not know. But he woke with a jerk, to find himself lying on the ground -in his shirt and trousers, the sun still hot in the heavens, and the -mysterious bush all around. The sun had come round and was burning his -legs. What was the matter? Fear, that was the first thing. The great, -resounding fear. Then, a second, he was terribly thirsty. For a third, -his arm was aching horribly. He took off his shirt and made a sling of -it, to carry his arm in.</p> - -<p>For a fourth thing, he realised he had killed Easu, and something was -gnawing at his soul.</p> - -<p>He heard himself sob, and this surprised him very much. It even brought -him to his senses.</p> - -<p>"Well!" he thought. "I have killed Easu." It seemed years and years ago. -"And the bush has got me, Australia has got me, and now it will take my -life from me. Now I am going to die. Well, then, so be it. I will go out -and haunt the bush, like all the other lost dead. I shall wander in the -bush throughout eternity, with my bloody hand. Well, then, so be it. I -shall be a lord of death hovering in the bush, and let the people who -come beware."</p> - -<p>But suddenly he started to his feet in terror and horror. The face of -death had really got him this time. It was as if a second wakening had -come upon him, and his life, which had been sinking, suddenly flared up -in a frenzy of struggle and fear. He coo-eeed! again and again, and once -more plunged forward in mad pursuit of an echo.</p> - -<p>He might certainly run into a 'roo hunter's camp, any minute. The place -was alive with them, great big boomers! Their silly faces! Their silly -complacency, almost asking to be shot. There were a lot of wallabies out -here too. You might make a fortune hunting skins.</p> - -<p>Christ! how one could want water.</p> - -<p>But no matter. On and on! His soul dropped to its own sullen level. If -he was to die, die he would. But he would hold out through it all.</p> - -<p>On and on in a persistent dogged stupor. Why give in?</p> - -<p>Then suddenly he dropped on a log, in weariness. Suddenly he had thought -of Monica. Why had she betrayed him? Why had they all betrayed him, -betrayed him and the thing he wanted from life. He leaned his head down -on his arms and wept hoarsely and dryly, and went silent again even as -he sat, realising the futility of weeping. His heart, the heart he wept -from, went utterly dark. He had no more heart of torn sympathy. That was -gone. Only a black, deep male volition. And this was all there was left -of him. He would carry the same in to death. Young or old, death sooner -or later, he would carry just this one thing into the further darkness, -his deep, black, undying male volition.</p> - -<p>He must have slept. He was in great misery, his mouth like an open -sepulchre, his consciousness dull. He was hardly aware that it was late -afternoon, hot and motionless. The outside things were all so far away. -And the blackness of death and misery was thick, but transparent, over -his eyes.</p> - -<p>He went on, still obstinately insisting that ahead there was something, -perhaps even water, though hope was dead in him. It was not hope, it was -heavy volition that insisted on water.</p> - -<p>The sling dragged on his neck, he threw it away, and walked with his -hand against his breast. And his braces dragged on him. He didn't want -any burden at all, none at all. He stopped, took off his braces and -threw them away, then his sweat-soaked undervest. He didn't want these -things. He didn't want them. He walked on a bit.</p> - -<p>He hesitated, then came for a moment to his senses. He was going to -throw away his trousers too. But it came to him: "Don't be a fool, and -throw away your clothes, man. You know men do it who are lost in the -bush, and then they are found naked, dead."</p> - -<p>He looked vaguely round for the vest and braces he had just thrown away. -But it was half an hour since he had flung them down. His consciousness -tricked him, obliterating the interval. He could not believe his eye. -They had ghostlily disappeared.</p> - -<p>So he rolled his trousers on his naked hips, and pressed his hurt hand -on his naked breast, and set off again in a sort of fear. His hat had -gone long ago. And all the time he had this strange desire to throw all -his clothes away, even his boots, and be absolutely naked, as when he -was born. And all the time something obstinate in him combated the -desire. He wanted to throw everything away, and go absolutely naked over -the border. And at the same time, something in him deeper than himself -obstinately withstood the desire. He wanted to go over the border. And -something deeper even than his consciousness, refused.</p> - -<p>So he went on, scarcely conscious at all. He himself was in the middle -of a vacuum, and pressing round were visions and agonies. The vacuum was -perhaps the greatest agony, like a death-tension. But the other agonies -were pressing on its border: his dry, cardboard mouth, his aching body. -And the visions pressed on the border too. A great lake of ghostly white -water, such as lies in the valleys where the dead are. But he walked to -it, and it wasn't there. The moon was shining whitely.</p> - -<p>And on the edge of the aching void of him, a wheel was spinning in his -brain like a prayer-wheel.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Petition me no petitions, Sir, to-day;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Let other hours be set apart for business.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Today it is our pleasure to be drunk</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And this our queen . . ."</span></p> - - -<p>Water! Water! Water! Was water only a visionary thing of memory, -something only achingly, wearyingly, thought and thought and thought, -and never substantiated?</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"A Briton even in love should be</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A subject not a slave . . ."</span></p> - - -<p>The wheel of words went round, the wheel of his brain, on the edge of -the vacuum. What did that mean? What was a Briton?</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"A Briton even in love should be</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A subject not a slave."</span></p> - - -<p>he words went round and round and were absolutely meaningless to him.</p> - -<p>And then out of the dark another wheel was pressing and turning.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"How fast has brother followed brother</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From sunshine to the sunless land."</span></p> - - -<p>Away on the hard dark periphery of his consciousness, the wheel of these -words was turning and grinding.</p> - -<p>His mind was turning helplessly, but his feet walked on. He realised in -a weird, mournful way that he was shut groping in a dark unfathomable -cave, and that the walls of the cave were his own aching body. And he -was going on and on in the cave, looking for the fountain, the water. -But his body was the aching, ghastly, jutting walls of the cave. And it -made this weary grind of words on the outside. And he had need to -struggle on and on.</p> - -<p>In little flickers he tried to associate his dark cave-consciousness -with his grinding body. Was it night, was it day?</p> - -<p>But before he had decided that it was night, the two things had gone -apart again, and he was groping and listening to the grind.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"But hushed be every thought that springs</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From out the bitterness of things.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Those obstinate questionings</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of sense and outward things</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Falling from us, vanishing."</span></p> - - -<p>He was so weary of the outward grind of words. He was stumbling as he -walked. And waiting for the walls of the cave to crash in and bury him -altogether. And the spring of water did not exist.</p> - -<p>"Blank misgivings of a creator moving about in a world not realised."</p> - -<p>This phrase almost united his two consciousnesses. He was going to crash -into this creator who moved about unrealised. Other people had gone, and -other things. Monica, Easu, Tom, Mary, Mother, Father, Lennie. They were -all like papery, fallen leaves blowing about outside in some street. -Inside here there were no people at all, none at all. Only the Creator -moving around unrealised. His Lord.</p> - -<p>He stumbled and fell, and in the white flash of falling knew he hurt -himself again, and that he was falling forever.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a></h4> - -<h4>THE FIND</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>The subconscious self woke first, roaring in distant wave-beats, -unintelligible, unmeaning, persistent, and growing in volume. It had -something to do with birth. And not having died. "I have not let my soul -run like water out of my mouth."</p> - -<p>And as the roaring and beating of the waves increased in volume, tiny -little words emerged like flying-fish out of the black ocean of -consciousness. "Ye must be born again," in little silvery, twinkling -spurts like flying-fish which twinkle silver and spark into the utterly -dark sea again. They were gone and forgotten before they were realised. -They had merged deep in the sea again. And the roar of dark -consciousness was the roar of death. The kingdom of death. And the lords -of death.</p> - -<p>"Ye must be born again." But the twinkling words had disappeared into -the lordly powerful darkness of death. And the baptism is the blackness -of death between the eyes, that never lifts, forever, neither in life -nor death. You may be born again. But when you emerge, this time you -emerge with the darkness of death between your eyes, as a lord of death.</p> - -<p>The waves of dark consciousness surged in a huge billow, and broke. The -boy's eyes were wide open, and his voice was saying:</p> - -<p>"Is that you, Tom!"</p> - -<p>The sound of his voice paperily rustling these words was so surprising -to him that he instantly went dark again. He heard no answer.</p> - -<p>But those surging dark waves pressed him again and again, and again his -eyes were open. They recognised nothing. Something was being done to him -on the outside of him. His own throat was moving. And life started again -with a sharp pain.</p> - -<p>"What was it?"</p> - -<p>The question sparked suddenly out of him. Someone was putting a metal -rim to his lips, there was liquid in his mouth. He put it out. He didn't -want to come back. His soul sank again like a dark stone.</p> - -<p>And at the very bottom it took a command from the Lord of Death, and -rose slowly again.</p> - -<p>Someone was tilting his head, and pouring a little water again. He -swallowed with a crackling noise and a crackling pain. One had to come -back. He recognised the command from his own Lord. His Lord was the Lord -of Death. And he, Jack, was dark-anointed and sent back. Returned with -the dark unction between his brows. So be it.</p> - -<p>He saw green leaves hanging from a blue sky. It was still far off. And -the dark was still better. But the dark green leaves were also like a -triumphal banner. He tries to smile, but his face is stiff. The faintest -irony of a smile sets in its stiffness. He is forced to swallow again, -and know the pain and tearing. Ah! He suddenly realised the water was -good. He had not realised it the other times. He gulped suddenly, -everything forgotten. And his mind gave a sudden lurch towards -consciousness.</p> - -<p>"Is that you, Tom?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Feel better?"</p> - -<p>He saw the red mistiness of Tom's face near. Tom was faithful. And this -time his soul swayed, as if it too had drunk of the water of -faithfulness.</p> - -<p>He drank the water from the metal cup, because he knew it came from -Tom's faithfulness.</p> - -<p>Gradually Jack revived. But his burning bloodshot eyes were dilated with -fever, and he could not keep hold of his consciousness. He realised that -Tom was there, and Mary, and somebody he didn't for a long time -recognise as Lennie; and that there was a fire, and a smell of meat, and -night was again falling. Yes, he was sure night was falling. Or was it -his own consciousness going dark? He didn't know. Perhaps it was the -everlasting dark.</p> - -<p>"What time is it?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Sundown," said Tom. "Why?"</p> - -<p>But he was gone again. It was no good trying to keep a hold on one's -consciousness. The ache, the nausea, the throbbing pain, the swollen -mouth, the strange feeling of cracks in his flesh, made him let go.</p> - -<p>Tom was there and Mary. He would leave himself to Tom's faithfulness and -Mary's tenderness, and Lennie's watchful intuition. The mystery of death -was in that bit of deathless faithfulness which was in Tom. And Mary's -tenderness, and Lennie's intuitive care, both had a touch of the mystery -and stillness of the death that surrounds us darkly all the time.</p> - - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>They got Jack home, but he was very ill. His life would seem to come -back. Then it would sink away again like a stone, and they would think -he was going. The strange oscillation. Several times, Mary watched him -almost die. Then from the very brink of death, he would come back again, -with a strange, haunted look in his blood-shot eyes.</p> - -<p>"What is it, Jack?" she would ask him. But the eyes only looked at her.</p> - -<p>And Lennie, standing there silently watching, said:</p> - -<p>"He's had about enough of life, that's what it is."</p> - -<p>Mary, blanched with fear, went to find Tom.</p> - -<p>"Tom," she said, "he's sinking again. Lennie says it's because he -doesn't want to live."</p> - -<p>Tom silently threw down his tool, and walked with her into the house. It -was obvious he was sinking again.</p> - -<p>"Jack!" said Tom in a queer voice, bending over him. "Mate! Mate!" He -seemed to be calling him into camp.</p> - -<p>Jack's expressionless, fever-dilated, blood-shot eyes opened again. The -whites were almost scarlet.</p> - -<p>"Y' aren't desertin' us, are y'?" said Tom, in a gloomy, reproachful -tone. "Are y' desertin' us, mate?"</p> - -<p>It was the Australian, lost but unbroken on the edge of the wilderness, -looking with grim mouth into the void, and calling to his mate not to -leave him. Man for man, they were up against the great dilemma of white -men, on the edge of the white man's world, looking into the vaster, -alien world of the undawned era, and unable to enter, unable to leave -their own.</p> - -<p>Jack looked at Tom and smiled faintly. In some subtle way, both men knew -the mysterious responsibilities of living. Tom was almost -fatalistic-reckless. Yet it was a recklessness which knew that the only -thing to do was to go ahead, meet death that way. He could see nothing -but meeting death ahead. But since he was a man, he would go ahead to -meet it, he would not sit and wait.</p> - -<p>Jack smiled faintly, and the courage came back to him. He began to -rally.</p> - -<p>The next morning, he turned to Mary and said:</p> - -<p>"I still want Monica."</p> - -<p>Mary dropped her head and did not answer. She recognised it as one of -the signs that he was going to live. And she recognised the unbending -obstinacy in his voice.</p> - -<p>"I shall come for you too in time," he said to her, looking at her with -his terrible scarlet eyes.</p> - -<p>She did not answer, but her hand trembled as she went for his medicine. -There was something prophetic and terrible in his sallow face and -burning, blood-shot eyes.</p> - -<p>"Be still," she murmured to him. "Only be still."</p> - -<p>"I shan't ever really drop you," he said to her. "But I want Monica -first. That's my way."</p> - -<p>He seemed curiously victorious, making these assertions.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4> - -<h4>GOLD</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>The boy Jack never rose from that fever. It was a man who got up again. -A man with all the boyishness cut away from him, all the childishness -gone, and a certain unbending recklessness in its place.</p> - -<p>He was thin, and pale, and the cherubic look had left his face forever. -His cheeks were longer, leaner, and when he got back his brown-faced -strength again, he was handsome. But it was not the handsomeness, any -more, that would make women like Aunt Matilda exclaim involuntarily: -"Dear boy!" They would look at him twice, but with misgiving, and a -slight recoil.</p> - -<p>It was his eyes that had changed most. From being the warm, emotional -dark-blue eyes of a boy, they had become impenetrable, and had a certain -fixity. There was a touch of death in them, a little of the fixity and -changelessness of death. And with this, a peculiar power. As if he had -lost his softness in the otherworld of death, and brought back instead -some of the relentless power that belongs there. And the inevitable -touch of mockery.</p> - -<p>As soon as he began to walk about, he was aware of the change. He walked -differently, he put his feet down differently, he carried himself -differently. The old drifting, diffident, careless bearing had left him. -He felt his uprightness hard, bony. Sometimes he was aware of the -skeleton of himself. He was a hard skeleton, built upon the solid bony -column of the back-bone, and pitched for balance on the great bones of -the hips. But the plumb-weight was in the cage of his chest. A skeleton!</p> - -<p>But not the dead skeleton. The living bone, the living man of bone, -unyielding and imperishable. The bone of his forehead like iron against -the world, and the blade of his breast like an iron wedge held forward. -He was thin, and built of bone.</p> - -<p>And inside this living, rigid man of bone, the dark heart heavy with its -wisdom and passions and emotions and its correspondences. It was living, -softly and intensely living. But heavy and dark, plumb to the earth's -center.</p> - -<p>During his convalescence, he got used to this man of bone which he had -become, and accepted his own inevitable. His bones, his skeleton was -isolatedly itself. It had no contact. Except that it was forged in the -kingdom of death, to be durable and effectual. Some strange Lord had -forged his bones in the dark smithy where the dead and the unborn came -and went.</p> - -<p>And this was his only permanent contact: the contact with the Lord who -had forged his bones, and put a dark heart in the midst.</p> - -<p>But the other contacts, they ware alive and quivering in his flesh. His -passive but enduring affection for Tom and Lennie, and the strange -quiescent hold he held over Mary. Beyond these, the determined molten -stirring of his desire for Monica.</p> - -<p>And the other desires. The desire in his heart for masterhood. Not -mastery. He didn't want to master anything. But to be the dark lord of -his own folk: that was a desire in his heart. And the concurrent -knowledge that, to achieve this, he must be master too of gold. Not gold -for the having's sake. Not for the spending's sake. Nor for the sake of -the power to hire services, which is the power of money. But the mastery -of gold, so that gold should no longer be like a yellow star to which -men hitched the wagon of their destinies. To be Master of Gold, in the -name of the dark Lord who had forged his bones neither of gold nor -silver nor iron, but of the white glisten of knife. Masterhood, as a man -forged by the Lord of Hosts, in the innermost fires of life and death. -Because, just as a red fire burning on the hearth is a fusion of death -into what was once live leaves, so the creation of man in the dark is a -fusion of life into death, with the life dominant.</p> - -<p>The two are never separate, life and death. And in the vast dark kingdom -of afterwards, the Lord of Death is Lord of Life, and the God of life -and creation is Lord of Death.</p> - -<p>But Jack knew his Lord as the Lord of Death. The rich, dark mystery of -death, which lies ahead, and the dark sumptuousness of the halls of -death. Unless Life moves on to the beauty of the darkness of death, -there is no life, there is only automatism. Unless we see the dark -splendour of death ahead, and travel to be lords of darkness at last, -peers in the realms of death, our life is nothing but a petulant, -pitiful backing, like a frightened horse, back, back to the stable, the -manger, the cradle. But onward ahead is the great porch of the entry -into death, with its columns of bone-ivory. And beyond the porch is the -heart of darkness, where the lords of death arrive home out of the -vulgarity of life, into their own dark and silent domains, lordly, -ruling the incipience of life.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>At the trial Jack said, in absolute truth, he shot Easu in self-defence. -He had not the faintest thought of shooting him when he rode up to the -paddock: nor of shooting anybody. He had called in passing, just to say -good-day. And then he had fired at Easu because he knew the axe would -come down in his skull if he didn't.</p> - -<p>Herbert gave the same deposition. The shot was entirely in self-defence.</p> - -<p>So Jack was free again. There had been no further mention of Monica, -after Jack had said he was riding south to see her, because he had -always cared for her. No one hinted that Easu was the father of her -child, though Mrs. Ellis knew and Old George knew.</p> - -<p>Afterwards Jack wondered why he had called at the Reds' place that -morning. Why had he taken the trail past where he and Easu had fought? -He had intended to see Easu, that was why. But for what unconscious -purpose, who shall say? The death was laid at the door of the old feud -between Jack and Red. Only Old George knew the whole, and he, subtle and -unafraid, pushed justice as it should go, according to his own sense of -justice, like a real Australian.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile he had been corresponding with Monica and Percy. They were in -Albany, and on the point of sailing to Melbourne, where Percy would -enter some business or other, and the two would live as man and wife. -Monica was expecting another child. At this news, Mr. George wanted to -let them go, and be damned to them. But he talked to Mary, and Mary said -Jack would want Monica, no matter what happened.</p> - -<p>"When he wants a thing really, he can't change," said Mary gloomily. "He -is like that."</p> - -<p>"An obstinate young fool that's never had enough lickings," said Old -George. "Devil's blood of his mother's devil of an obstinate father. But -very well then, let him have her, with a couple of babies for a dowry. -Make himself the laughing stock of the colony."</p> - -<p>So he wrote to Monica: "If you care about seeing Jack Grant again, you'd -better stop in this colony. He sticks to it he wants to see you, being -more of a fool than a knave, unlike many people in Western Australia."</p> - -<p>She being obstinate like the rest, stayed on in Albany, though Percy, -angry and upset, sailed on to Melbourne. He said she could join him if -she liked. He stayed till her baby was born, then went because he didn't -want to face Jack.</p> - -<p>Jack arrived by sea. He was still not strong enough to travel by land. -He got a vessel going to Adelaide, that touched at Albany.</p> - -<p>Monica, thinner than ever, with a little baby in her arms, and her -flower-face like a chilled flower, was on the dock to meet him. He saw -her at once, and his heart gave a queer lurch.</p> - -<p>As he came forward to meet her, their eyes met. Her yellow eyes looked -straight into his, with the same queer, panther-like scrutiny, and the -eternal question. She was a question, and she had got to be answered. It -made her fearless, almost shameless, whatever she did.</p> - -<p>But with Percy, the fear had nipped her, the fear that she should go -forever unanswered, as if life had rejected her.</p> - -<p>This nipped look and her strange yellow flare of question as she peered -at him under her brows, like a panther, made Jack's cheeks slowly -darken, and the life-blood flow into him stronger, heavier. He knew his -passion for her was the same. Thank God he met her at last.</p> - -<p>"You're awfully thin," she said.</p> - -<p>"So are you," he answered.</p> - -<p>And she laughed her quick, queer, breathless little laugh, showing her -pointed teeth. She had seen the death-look in his eyes and it was her -answer, a bitter answer enough. She stopped to put straight the tiny -bonnet over her little baby's face, with a delicate, remote movement. He -watched her in silence.</p> - -<p>"Where do you want to go?" she asked him, without looking at him.</p> - -<p>"With you," he said.</p> - -<p>Then she looked at him again, with the dry-eyed question. But she saw -the unapproachable death-look there in his eyes, at the back of their -dark-blue, dilated emotion and passion. And her heart gave up. She -looked down the pier, as if to walk away. He carried his own bag. They -set off side by side.</p> - -<p>She lived in a tiny slab cottage in a side lane. But she called first at -a neighbour's house, for her other child. It was a tiny, toddling thing -with a defiant stare in its pale-blue eyes. Monica held her baby on one -arm, and led this tottering child by the other. Jack walked at her side -in silence.</p> - -<p>The cottage had just two rooms, poorly furnished. But it was clean, and -had bright cotton curtains and a sofa-bed, and a pale-blue convolvulus -vine mingling with a passion vine over the window.</p> - -<p>She laid the baby down in its cradle, and began to take off the bonnet -of the little girl. She had called it Jane.</p> - -<p>Jack watched the little Jane as if fascinated. The infant had curly -reddish hair, of a lovely fine texture and a beautiful tint, something -like raw silk with threads of red. Her eyes were round and bright blue, -and rather defiant, and she had the delicate complexion of her kind. She -fingered her mother's brooch, like a little monkey touching a bit of -glittering gold, as Monica stooped to her.</p> - -<p>"Daddy gone!" she said in her chirping, bird-like, quite emotionless -tone.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Daddy gone!" replied Monica, as emotionlessly.</p> - -<p>The child then glanced with unmoved curiosity at Jack. She kept on -looking and looking at him, sideways. And he watched her just as -sharply, her sharp, pale-blue eyes.</p> - -<p>"Him more Daddy?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"I don't know," replied Monica, who was suckling her baby.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Jack in a rather hard tone, smiling with a touch of mockery. -"I'm your new father."</p> - -<p>The child smiled back at him a faint, mocking little grin, and put her -finger in her mouth.</p> - -<p>The day passed slowly in the strange place, Monica busy all the time -with the children and the house. Poor Monica, she was already a drudge. -She was still careless and hasty in her methods, but clean, and -uncomplaining. She kept herself to herself, and did what she had to do. -And Jack watched, mostly silent.</p> - -<p>At last the lamp was lighted, the children were both in bed. Monica -cooked a little supper over the fire.</p> - -<p>Before he came to the fable, Jack asked:</p> - -<p>"Is Jane Easu's child?"</p> - -<p>"I thought you knew," she said.</p> - -<p>"No one has told me. Is she?"</p> - -<p>Monica turned and faced him, with the yellow flare in her eyes, as she -looked into his eyes, challenging.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said.</p> - -<p>But his eyes did not change. The remoteness at the back of them did not -come any nearer.</p> - -<p>"Shall you hate her?" she asked, rather breathlessly.</p> - -<p>"I don't know," he said slowly.</p> - -<p>"Don't!" she pleaded, in the same breathlessness. "Because I rather hate -her."</p> - -<p>"She's too little to hate," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"I know," said Monica rather doubtfully.</p> - -<p>She put the food on the table. But she herself ate nothing.</p> - -<p>"Aren't you well? You don't eat," he asked.</p> - -<p>"I can't eat just now," she said.</p> - -<p>"If you have a child to suckle, you should," he replied.</p> - -<p>But she only became more silent, and her hands hung dead in her lap. -Then the baby began to cry, a thin, poor, frail noise, and she went to -soothe it.</p> - -<p>When she came back, Jack had left the table and was sitting in Percy's -wooden arm-chair.</p> - -<p>"Percy's child doesn't seem to have much life in it," he said.</p> - -<p>"Not very much," she replied. And her hands trembled as she cleared away -the dishes.</p> - -<p>When she had finished, she moved about, afraid to sit down. He called -her to him.</p> - -<p>"Monica!" he said with a little jerk of his head, meaning she should -come to him.</p> - -<p>She came rather slowly, her queer, pure-seeming face looking like a -hurt. She stood with her thin hands hanging in front of her apron.</p> - -<p>"Monica!" he said, rising and taking her hands. "I should still want you -if you had a hundred children. So we won't say any more about that. And -you won't oppose me when there's anything I want to do, will you?"</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>"No, I won't oppose you," she said, in a dead little voice.</p> - -<p>"Let me come to you, then," he said. "I should have to come to you if -you went to Melbourne or all round the world.' And I should be glad to -come," he added whimsically, with the warmth of his old smile coming -into his eyes. "I suppose I should be glad to come, if it was in hell."</p> - -<p>"But it isn't hell, is it?" she asked, wistfully and a little defiantly.</p> - -<p>"Not a bit," he said. "You've got too much pluck in you to spoil. You're -as good to me as you were the first time I knew you. Only Easu might -have spoiled you."</p> - -<p>"And you killed him," she said quickly, half in reproach.</p> - -<p>"Would you rather he'd killed me?" he asked.</p> - -<p>She looked a long time into his eyes, with that watchful, searching look -that used to hurt him. Now it hurt him no more.</p> - -<p>She shook her head, saying:</p> - -<p>"I'm glad you killed him. I couldn't bear to think of him living on, and -sneering—sneering!—I was always in love with you, really."</p> - -<p>"Ah, Monica!" he exclaimed softly, teasingly, with a little smile. And -she flushed, and flashed with anger.</p> - -<p>"If you never knew, it was your own fault!" she jerked out.</p> - -<p>"<i>Really</i>," he said, quoting and echoing the word as she had said -it, and smiling with a touch of raillery at her, before he added:</p> - -<p>"You always loved me really, but you loved the others as well, -unreally."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, baffled, defiant.</p> - -<p>"All right, that day is over. You've had your unreal loves. Now come and -have your real one."</p> - -<p>In the next room Easu's child was sleeping in its odd little way, a -sleep that was neither innocent nor not innocent, queer and naively -"knowing," even in its sleep. Jack watched it as he took off his things: -this little inheritance he had from Easu. An odd little thing. With an -odd, loveless little spirit of its own, cut off and not daunted. He -wouldn't love it, because it wasn't lovable. But its odd little -dauntlessness and defiance amused him, he would see it had fair play.</p> - -<p>And he took Monica in his arms, glad to get into grips with his own fate -again. And it was good. It was better, perhaps, than his passionate -desirings of earlier days had imagined. Because he didn't lose and -scatter himself. He gathered, like a reaper at harvest gathering.</p> - -<p>And Monica, who woke for her baby, looked at him as he slept soundly and -she sat in bed suckling her child. She saw in him the eternal stranger. -There he was, the eternal stranger, lying in her bed sleeping at her -side. She rocked her baby slightly as she sat up in the night, still -rocking in the last throes of rebellion. The eternal stranger, whom she -feared, because she could never finally possess him, and never finally -know him! He would never <i>belong</i> to her. This had made her rebel so -terribly against the thought of him. Because she would have to belong to -<i>him.</i> Now he had arrived again before her like a doom, a doom she -still fought against, but could no longer withstand. Because the emptiness -of the other men, Easu, Percy, all the men she knew, was worse than the -doom of this man who would never give her his ultimate intimacy, but who -would be able to hold her till the end of time. There was something -enduring and changeless in him. But she would never hold <i>him</i> -entirely. Never! She would have to resign herself to this.</p> - -<p>Well, so be it. At least it relieved her of the burden of responsibility -for life. It took away from her, her own strange and fascinating female -power, which she couldn't bear to part with. But at the same time she -felt saved, because her own power frightened her, having brought her to -a brink of nothingness that was like madness. The nothingness that -fronted her with Percy was worse than submitting to this man beside her. -After all, this man was magical.</p> - -<p>She put her child in its cradle, and returning waked the man. He put out -his hand quickly for her, as if she were a new, blind discovery. She -quivered and thrilled, and left it to him. It was his mystery, since he -would have it so.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>They were married in Albany, and stayed there another month waiting for -a ship. Then they sailed away, all the family, away to the North-West. -They did not go to Perth: they did not go to Wandoo. Only Jack saw Mr. -George in Fremantle, and waved to him Good-bye as the ship proceeded -North.</p> - -<p>Then came two months of wandering, a pretty business with a baby and a -toddling infant. The second month, Percy's baby suddenly died in the -heat, and Monica hardly mourned for it. As Jack looked at its pinched -little dead face, he said: <i>You are better dead.</i> And that was true.</p> - -<p>The little Jane, however, showed no signs of dying. The knocking about -seemed to suit her. Monica remained very thin. It was a sort of -hell-life to her, this struggling from place to place in the heat and -dust, no water to wash in, sleeping anywhere like a lost dog, eating the -food that came. Because she loved to be clean and good-looking and in -graceful surroundings. What fiend of hell had ordained that she must be -a sort of tramp-woman in the back of beyond?</p> - -<p>She did not know, so it was no good asking. Jack seemed to know what he -wanted. And she was his woman, fated to him. There was no more to it. -Through the purgatory of discomfort she had to go. And he was good to -her, thoughtful for her, in material things. But at the centre of his -soul he was not thoughtful for her. He just possessed her, mysteriously -owned her, and went ahead with his own obsessions.</p> - -<p>Sometimes she tried to rebel. Sometimes she wanted to refuse to go any -further, to refuse to be a party to his will. But then he suddenly -looked so angry, and so remote, looked at her with such far-off, cold, -haughty eyes, that she was frightened. She was afraid he would abandon -her, or ship her back to Perth, and put her out of his life forever.</p> - -<p>Above all things, she didn't want to be shipped back to Perth. Here in -the wild she could have taken up with another man. She knew that. But -she knew that if she did, Jack would just put her out of his life -altogether. There would be no return. His passion for her would just -take the form of excluding her forever from his being. Because passion -can so reverse itself, and from being a great desire that draws the -beloved towards itself, it can become an eternal revulsion, excluding -the once-beloved forever from any contact at all.</p> - -<p>Monica knew this. And whenever she tried to oppose him, and the deathly -anger rose in him, she was pierced with a fear so acute she had to hold -on to some support, to prevent herself sinking to the ground. It was a -strange fear, as if she were going to be cast out of the land of the -living, among the unliving that slink like pariahs outside.</p> - -<p>Afterwards she was puzzled. Why had he got this power over her? Why -couldn't she be a free woman, to go where she chose, and be a complete -thing in herself?</p> - -<p>She caught at the idea. But it was no good. When he went away -prospecting for a week or more at a time, she would struggle to regain -her woman's freedom. And it would seem to her as if she had got it: she -was free of him again. She was a free being, by herself.</p> - -<p>But then, when he came back, tired, sunburnt, ragged, and still -unsuccessful: and when he looked at her with desire in his eyes, the -living desire for her; she was so glad, suddenly, as if she had -forgotten, or as if she had never known what his desire of her meant to -her. She was so glad, she was weak with gladness instead of fear. And -if, in perverseness, she still tried to oppose him, in the light of her -supposedly regained freedom; and she saw the strange glow of desire for -her go out of his eyes, and the strange loveliness, to her, of his -wanting to have her near, in the room, giving him his meal or sitting -near him outside in the shade of the evening; then, when his face -changed, and took on the curious look of aloofness, as if he glistened -with anger looking down on her from a long way off; then she felt all -her own world turn to smoke, and her own will mysteriously evaporated, -leaving her only wanting to be wanted again, back in his world. Her -freedom was worth less than nothing.</p> - -<p>Still often, when he was gone, leaving her alone in the little cabin, -she was glad. She was free to spread her own woman's aura round her, she -was free to delight in her own woman's idleness and whimsicality, free -to amuse herself half teasing, half loving that little odd female of a -Jane. And sometimes she would go to the cabins of other women, and -gossip. And sometimes she would flirt with a young miner or prospector -who seemed handsome. And she would get back her young, gay liveliness -and freedom.</p> - -<p>But when the man she flirted with wanted to kiss her, or put his arm -round her waist, she found it made her go cold and savagely hostile. It -was not as in the old days, when it gave her a thrill to be seized and -kissed, whether by Easu, by Percy or Jack, or whatever man it was she -was flirting with. Then, there had been a spark between her and many a -man. But now, alas, the spark wouldn't fly. The man might be ever so -good-looking and likeable, yet when he touched her, instead of the spark -flying from her to him, immediately all the spark went dead in her. And -this left her so angry, she could kill herself, or so wretched, she -couldn't even cry.</p> - -<p>That little goggle-eyed imp of a Jane, in spite of her one solitary year -of age, seemed somehow to divine what was happening inside her mother's -breast, and she seemed to chuckle wickedly. Monica always felt that the -brat knew, and that she took Jack's side.</p> - -<p>Jane always wanted Jack to come back. When he was away, she would toddle -about on her own little affairs, curiously complacent and impervious to -outer influences. But if she heard a horse coming up to the hut, she was -at the door in a flash. And Monica saw with a pang, how steadily intent -the brat was on the man's return. Somehow, from Jane, Monica knew that -Jack would go with other women. Because of the spark that flashed to him -from that brat of a baby of Easu's.</p> - -<p>And at evening, Jane hated going to bed if Jack hadn't come home. She -would be a real little hell-monkey. It was as if she felt the house -wasn't safe, wasn't real, till he had come in.</p> - -<p>Which annoyed Monica exceedingly. Why wasn't the mother enough for the -child?</p> - -<p>But she wasn't. And when Jane was in bed, Monica would take up the -uneasiness of the manless house. She would sit like a cat shut up in a -strange room, unable to settle, unable really to rest, and hating the -night for having come and surprised her in her empty loneliness. Her -loneliness might be really enjoyable during the day. But after nightfall -it was empty, sterile, a mere oppression to her. She wished he would -come home, if only so that she could hate him.</p> - -<p>And she felt a flash of joy when she heard his footstep on the stones -outside, even if the flash served only to kindle a great resentment -against him. And he would come in, with his burnt, half-seeing face, -unsuccessful, worn, silent, yet not uncheerful. And he spoke his few -rather low words, from his chest, asking her something. And she knew he -had come back to her. But where from, and what from, she would never -know entirely.</p> - -<p>She had always known where Percy had been, and what he had been doing. -She felt she would always have known, with Easu. But with Jack she never -knew. And sometimes this infuriated her. But it was no good. He would -tell her anything she asked. And then she felt there was something she -couldn't ask about.</p> - -<p>The months went by. He staked his claim, and worked like a navvy. He was -a navvy, nothing but a navvy. And she was a navvy's wife, in a hut of -one room, in a desert of heat and sand and grey-coloured bush, sleeping -on a piece of canvas stretched on a low trestle, eating on a tin plate, -eating sand by the mouthful when the wind blew. Percy's baby was dead -and buried in the sand: another sop to the avid country. And she herself -was with child again, and thin as a rat. But it was his child this time, -so she had a certain savage satisfaction in it.</p> - -<p>He went on working at his claim. It was now more than a year he had -spent at this game of looking for gold, and he had hardly found a cent's -worth. They were very poor, in debt to the keeper of the store. But -everybody had a queer respect for Jack. They dared not be very familiar -with him, but they didn't resent him. He had a good aura. The other men -might jeer sometimes at his frank but unapproachable aloofness, his -subtle delicacy, and his simple sort of pride. Yet when he was spoken -to, his answer was so much in the spirit of the question, so frank, that -you couldn't resent him. In ordinary things he was gay and completely -one of themselves. The self that was beyond them he never let intrude. -Hence their curious respect for him.</p> - -<p>Because there was something unordinary in him. The biggest part of -himself he kept entirely to himself, and a curious sombre steadfastness -inside him made shifty men uneasy with him. He could never completely -mix in, in the vulgar way, with men. He would take a drink with the -rest, and laugh and talk half an hour away. Even get a bit tipsy and -talk rather brilliantly. But always, always at the back of his eyes was -this sombre aloofness, that could never come forward and meet and -mingle, but held back, apart, waiting.</p> - -<p>They called him, after his father, the General. But never was a General -with so small an army at his command. He was playing a lone hand. The -mate he was working with suddenly chucked up the job, and travelled -away, and the General went on alone. He moved about the camp at his -ease. When he sat in the bar drinking his beer with the other men, he -was really alone, and they knew it. But he had a good aura, so they felt -a certain real respect for his loneliness. And when he was there, they -talked and behaved as if in the aura of a certain blood-purity, although -he was in rags, for Monica hated sewing and couldn't bear, simply -couldn't bear, to mend his old shirts and trousers. And there was no -money to buy new.</p> - -<p>He held on. He did not get depressed or melancholy. When he got -absolutely stumped, he went away and did hired work for a spell. Then he -came back to the goldfield. He was now nothing but a miner. The miner's -instinct had developed in him. He had to wait for his instinct to -perfect itself. He knew that. He knew he was not a man to be favoured by -blind luck. Whatever he won, he must win by mystic conquest.</p> - -<p>If he wanted gold he must master it in the veins of the earth. He knew -this. And for this reason he gave way neither to melancholy nor to -impatience. "If I can't win," he said to himself, "it's because I'm not -master of the thing I'm up against."</p> - -<p>"If I can't win, I'll die fighting," he said to himself. "But in the end -I will win."</p> - -<p>There was nothing to do but to fight, and fight on. This was his creed. -And a fighter has no use for melancholy and impatience.</p> - -<p>He saw the fight his boyhood had been, against his Aunts, and school and -college. He didn't want to be made <i>quite</i> tame, and they had wanted -to tame him, like all the rest. His father was a good man and a good -soldier: but a tame one. He himself was not a soldier, nor even a good -man. But also he was not tame. Not a tame dog, like all the rest.</p> - -<p>For this reason he had come to Australia, away from the welter of -vicious tameness. For tame dogs are far more vicious than wild ones. -Only they can be brought to heel.</p> - -<p>In Australia, a new sort of fight. A fight with tame dogs that were -playing wild. Easu was a tame dog, playing the wolf in a mongrel, -back-biting way. Tame dogs escaped and became licentious. That was -Australia. He knew that.</p> - -<p>But they were not all quite tame. Tom, the safe Tom, had salt of wild -savour still in his blood. And Lennie had his wild streak. So had -Monica. So, somewhere had the <i>à terre</i> Mary. Some odd freakish -wildness of the splendid, powerful, wild old English blood.</p> - -<p>Jack had escaped the tamers: they couldn't touch him now. He had escaped -the insidious tameness, the slight degeneracy, of Wandoo. He had learned -the tricks of the escaped tame dogs who played at licentiousness. And he -had mastered Monica, who had wanted to be a domestic bitch playing wild. -He had captured her wildness, to mate his own wildness.</p> - -<p>It was no good playing wild. If he had any real wildness in him, it was -dark, and wary, and collected, self-responsible, and of unbreakable -steadfastness: like the wildness of a wolf or a fox, that knows it will -die if it is caught.</p> - -<p>If you had a tang of the old wildness in you, you ran with the most -intense wariness, knowing that the good tame dogs are really turning -into licentious, vicious tame dogs. The vicious tame dogs, pretending to -be wild, hate the real clean wildness of an unbroken thing much more -than do the respectable tame people.</p> - -<p>No, if you refuse to be tamed, you have to be most wary, most subtle, on -your guard all the time. You can't afford to be licentious. If you are, -you will die in the trap. For the world is a great trap set wide for the -unwary.</p> - -<p>Jack had learned all these things. He refused to be tamed. He knew that -the dark kingdom of death ahead had no room for tame dogs. They merely -were put into the earth as carrion. Only the wild, untamed souls walked -on after death over the border into the porch of death, to be lords of -death and masters of the next living. This he knew. The tame dogs were -put into the earth as carrion, like Easu and Percy's poor little baby, -and Jacob Ellis. He often wondered if that courageous old witch-cat of a -Gran had slipped into the halls of death, to be one of the ladies of the -dark. The lords of death, and the ladies of the dark! He would take his -own Monica over the border when she died. She would sit unbroken, a -quiet, fearless bride in the dark chambers of the dead, the dead who -order the goings of the next living.</p> - -<p>That was the goal of the afterwards, that he had at the back of his -eyes. But meanwhile here on earth he had to win. He had to make room -again on earth for those who are not unbroken, those who are not tamed -to carrion. Some place for those who know the dark mystery of being -royal in death (so that they can enact the shadow of their own royalty -on earth). Some place for the souls that are in themselves dark and have -some of the sumptuousness of proud death, no matter what their fathers -were. Jack's father was tame, as kings and dukes to-day are almost -mongrelly tame. But Jack was not tame. And Easu's weird baby was not -tame. She had some of the eternal fearlessness of the aristocrat whose -bones are pure. But a weird sort of aristocrat.</p> - -<p>Jack wanted to make a place on earth for a few aristocrats-to-the-bone. -He wanted to conquer the world.</p> - -<p>And first he must conquer gold. As things are, only the tame go out and -conquer gold, and make a lucrative tameness. The untamed forfeit their -gold.</p> - -<p>"I must conquer gold!" said Jack to himself. "I must open the veins of -the earth and bleed the power of gold into my own veins, for the -fulfilling of the aristocrats-of-the-bone. I must bring the great stream -of gold flowing in another direction, away from the veins of the tame -ones, into the veins of the lords of death. I must start the river of -the wealth of the world rolling in a new course, down the sombre, quiet, -proud valleys of the lords of death and the ladies of the dark, the -aristocrats of the afterwards."</p> - -<p>So he talked to himself, as he wandered alone in his search, or sat on -the bench with a pot of beer, or stepped into Monica's hot little hut. -And when he failed he knew it was because he had not fought intensely -enough, and subtly enough.</p> - -<p>The bad food, the climate, the hard life gave him a sort of fever and an -eczema. But it was no matter. That was only the pulp of him paying the -penalty. The powerful skeleton he was, was powerful as ever. The pulp of -him, his belly, his heart, his muscle seemed not to be able to affect -his strength, or at least his power, for more than a short time. -Sometimes he broke down. Then he would think what he could do with -himself, do for himself, for his flesh and blood. And what he <i>could</i> -do, he would do. And when he could do no more, he would go and lie down -in the mine, or hide in some shade, lying on the earth, alone, away from -anything human. Till the earth itself gave him back his power. Till the -powerful living skeleton of him resumed its sway and serenity and fierce -power.</p> - -<p>He knew he was winning, winning slowly, even in his fight with the -earth, his fight for gold. It was on the cards he might die before his -victory. Then it would be death, he would have to accept it. He would -have to go into death, and leave Monica and Jane and the coming baby to -fate.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile he would fight, and fight on. The baby was near, there was no -money. He had to stay and watch Monica. She, poor thing, went to bed -with twins, two boys. There was nothing hardly left of her. He had to -give up everything, even his thoughts, and bend his whole life to her, -to help her through, and save her and the two quite healthy baby boys. -For a month he was doctor and nurse and housewife and husband, and he -gave himself absolutely to the work, without a moment's failing. Poor -Monica, when she couldn't bear herself, he held her hips together with -his arm, and she clung to his neck for life.</p> - -<p>This time he almost gave up. He almost decided to go and hire himself -out to steady work, to keep her and the babies in peace and safety. To -be a hired workman for the rest of his days.</p> - -<p>And as he sat with his eyes dark and unchanging, ready to accept this -fate, since this his fate must be, came a letter from Mr. George with an -enclosure from England, and a cheque for fifty pounds, a legacy from one -of the Aunts, who had so benevolently died at the right moment. He -decided his dark Lord did not intend him to go and hire himself out for -life, as a hired labourer. He decided Monica and the babies did not want -the peace and safety of a hired labourer's cottage. Perhaps better die -and be buried in the sand, and leave their skeletons like white -messengers in the ground of this Australia.</p> - -<p>So he went back to his working. And three days later struck gold, so -that there was gold on his pick-point. He was alone, and he refused at -first to get excited. But his trained instinct knew that it was a rich -lode. He worked along the van, and felt the rich weight of the -yellow-streaked stuff he fetched out. The light-coloured softish stuff. -He sat looking at it in his hand, and the glint of it in the dark -earth-rock of the mine, in the light of the lamp. And his bowels leaped -in him, knowing that the white gods of tameness would wilt and perish as -the pale gold flowed out of their veins.</p> - -<p>There would be a place on earth for the lords of death. His own Lord had -at last spoken.</p> - -<p>Jack sent quickly for Lennie to come and work with him. For Lennie, with -a wife and a child, was struggling vary hard.</p> - -<p>Lea and Tom both came. Jack had not expected Tom. But Tom lifted his -brown eyes to Jack and said:</p> - -<p>"I sortta felt I couldn't stand even Len being mates with you, an' me -not there. I was your first mate. Jack. I've never been myself since I -parted with you."</p> - -<p>"All right," laughed Jack. "You're my first mate."</p> - -<p>"That's what I am. General," said Tom.</p> - -<p>Jack had showed Monica some of the ore, and told her the mine seemed to -be turning out fairly. She was getting back her own strength, that those -two monstrous young twins had almost robbed from her entirely. Jack was -very careful of her. He wanted above all things that she should become -really strong again.</p> - -<p>And she, with her rare vitality, soon began to bloom once more. And as -her strength came back she was very much taken up with her babies. These -were the first she had enjoyed. The other two she had never really -enjoyed. But with these she was as fussy as a young cat with her -kittens. She almost forgot Jack entirely. Left him to be busy with Tom -and Lennie and his mine. Even the gold failed to excite her.</p> - -<p>And she had rather a triumph. She was able to be queenly again with Tom -and Lennie. As a girl, she had always been a bit queenly with the rest -of them at Wandoo. And she couldn't bear to be humiliated in their eyes.</p> - -<p>Now she needn't. She had the General for her husband, she had his twins. -And he had gold in his mine. Hadn't she a perfect right to be queenly -with Tom and Lennie? She even got into the habit, right at the -beginning, of speaking of Jack as "the General" to them.</p> - -<p>"Where's the General? Didn't he come down with you?" she would snap at -them, in her old sparky fashion.</p> - -<p>"He's reviewing his troops," Lennie sarcastically answered.</p> - -<p>Whereupon Jack appeared in the door, still in rags. And it was Lennie -who mended his shirt for him, when it was torn on the shoulder and -showed the smooth man underneath. Monica still couldn't bring herself to -these fiddling bothering jobs.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4> - -<h4>THE OFFER TO MARY</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>They worked for months at the mine, and still it turned out richly. -Though they kept as quiet as possible, the fame spread. They had a -bonanza. They were all three going to be rich, and Jack was going to be -very rich. In the light of his luck, he was "the General" to everybody.</p> - -<p>And in the midst of this flow of fortune, came another, rather comical -windfall. Again the news was forwarded by Mr. George, along with a word -of congratulation from that gentleman. The forwarded letter read:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Dear Sir,</p> - -<p>This come hopping to find you well as it leaves me at prisent thanks be -to almity God. You dear uncle Passed Away peaceful on Satterday nite And -though it be not my place to tell you of it I am Grateful to have the -oppertunity to offer my umble Respecs before the lord and Perlice I take -up my pen with pleashr to inform you that He passed without Pain and -even Drafts as he aloud the umberrela to be put down and the Book read.</p> - -<p>The 24 salm and I kep the ink and paper by to rite of his sudden dismiss -but he lingered long years after the bote wint so was onable to Inform -you before he desist the doctor rote a butiful certicket of death saying -he did of sensible decay but I don no how he brote himself to rite it as -the pore master was wite as driven snow and no blemish. And being his -most umble and Dutiful servants we could not ave brout ourself to hever -ave rote as he was sensible Pecos god knows the pore sole was not. Be -that as it may we burned him proud under the prisent arrangements of -town councel the clerk who was prisent xpects the docters will he mad up -the nite you was hear in the cimetary and pending your Return Holds It -In Bond as Being rite for us we are Yor Respectable servants to Oblige -Hand Commend.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">Emma and Amos Lewis."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Jack and Tom roared with laughter over this epistle, that brought back -so vividly the famous trip up North.</p> - -<p>"Gloryanna, General, you've got your property at Coney Hatch all right," -said Tom.</p> - -<p>There was a letter from Mr. George saying that the defunct John Grant -was the son of Jack's mother's eldest sister, that he had been liable -all his life to bouts of temporary insanity, but that in a period of -sanity he had signed the will drawn up by Doctor Rackett, when the two -boys called at the place several years before, and that the will had -been approved. So that Jack, as legal heir and nearest male relative, -could now come down and take possession of the farm.</p> - -<p>"I don't want that dismal place," said Jack. "Let it go to the Crown. -I've no need of it now."</p> - -<p>"Don't be a silly cuckoo!" said Tom. "You saw it of a wet night with -Ally Sloper in bed under a green cart umbrella. Go an' look at it of a -fine day. An' then if you don't want it, sell it or lease it, but don't -let the Crown rake it in."</p> - -<p>So in about a fortnight's time Jack rather reluctantly left the mine, -with its growing heaps of refuse, and departed from the mining -settlement which had become a sort of voluntary prison for him, and went -west to Perth. He was already a rich man and notorious in the colony. He -rode with two pistols in his belt, and that unchanging aloof look on his -face. But he carried himself with pride, rode a good horse, wore -well-made riding breeches and a fine bandanna handkerchief loose round -his neck, and looked, with a silver studded band round his broad felt -hat, a mixture of gold miner, a gentleman settler, and a bandit chief. -Perhaps he felt a mixture of them all.</p> - -<p>Mr. George received him with a great welcome. And Jack was pleased to -see the old man. But he refused absolutely to go to the club or to the -Government House, or to meet any of the responsible people of the town.</p> - -<p>"I don't want to see them, Mr. George. I don't want to see them."</p> - -<p>And poor Old George, his nose a bit out of joint, had to submit to -leaving Jack alone.</p> - -<p>Jack had his old room in Mr. George's house. The Good Plain Cook was -still going. And Aunt Matilda, rather older, stouter, with more lines in -her face, came to tea with Mary and Miss Blessington. Mary had not -married Mr. Blessington. But she had remained friends with the odd -daughter, who was now a self-contained young woman, shy, thin, -well-bred, and delicate. Mr. Blessington had not married again. In Aunt -Matilda's opinion, he was still waiting for Mary. And Mary had refused -Tom's rather doubtful offer. Tom was still nervous about Honeysuckle. So -there they all were.</p> - -<p>When Jack shook hands with Mary, he had a slight shock. He had forgotten -her. She had gone out of his consciousness. But when she looked up at -him with her dark, clear, waiting eyes, as if she had been watching and -waiting for him afar off, his heart gave a queer dizzy lurch. He had -forgotten her. They say the heart has a short memory. But now, as a dark -hotness gathered in his heart, he realised that his blood had not -forgotten her. He had only forgotten her with his head. His blood, with -its strange submissiveness and its strange unawareness of time, had kept -her just the same.</p> - -<p>The blood has an eternal memory. It neither forgets nor moves on ahead. -But it is quiescent and submits to the mind's oversway.</p> - -<p>He had a certain blood-connection with Mary. He had utterly forgotten -it, in the stress and rage of other things. And now, the moment she -lifted her eyes to him, and he saw her dusky, quiet, heavy permanent -face, the dull heat started in his breast again, and he remembered how -he had told her he would come for her again.</p> - -<p>Since his twins were born and he had been so busy with the mine, and he -had Monica, he had not given any thought to women. But the moment he saw -Mary and met her eyes, the dark thought struck home in him again: I want -Mary for my other woman. He didn't want to displace Monica. Monica was -Monica. But he wanted this other woman too.</p> - -<p>Aunt Matilda dear-boyed him more than ever. But now he was not a dear -boy, he didn't feel a dear boy, and she was put out.</p> - -<p>"Dear boy! and how does Monica stand that drying climate?"</p> - -<p>"She is quite well again, Marm."</p> - -<p>"Poor child! Poor child! I hope you will bring her into a suitable home -here in Perth, and have the children suitably brought up. It is so -fortunate for you your mine is so successful. Now you can build a home -here by the river, among us all, and be charming company for us, like -your dear father."</p> - -<p>Mary was watching him with black eyes, and Miss Blessington with her -wide, quick, round, dark-grey eyes. There was a frail beauty about that -odd young woman; frail, highly-bred, sensitive, with an uncanny -intelligence.</p> - -<p>"No, Marm," said Jack cheerfully. "I shall not come and live in Perth."</p> - -<p>"Dear boy, of course you will! You won't forsake us and take your money -and your family and your attractive self far away to England? No, don't -do that. It is just what your dear father did. Robbed us of one of our -sweetest girls, and never came back."</p> - -<p>"No, I shan't go to England either," smiled Jack.</p> - -<p>"Then what will you do?"</p> - -<p>"Stay at the mine for the time being."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but the mine won't last forever. And dear boy, don't waste your -talents and your charm mining, when it is no longer necessary! Oh, do -come down to Perth, and bring your family. Mary is pining to see your -twins: and dear Monica. Of course we all are."</p> - -<p>Jack smiled to himself. He would no longer give in a hair's breadth to -any of these dreary world-people.</p> - -<p>"À la bonne heure!" he said, using one of his mother's well-worn tags. -But then his mother could rattle bad colloquial French, and he couldn't.</p> - -<p>Mary asked him many questions about the mine and Monica, and Hilda -Blessington listened with lowered head, only occasionally fixing him -with queer searching eyes, like some odd creature not quite human. Jack -was something of a hero. And he was pleased. He wanted to be a hero.</p> - -<p>But he was no hero any more for Aunt Matilda. Now that the cherub look -had gone forever, and the shy, blushing, blurting boy had turned into a -hard-boned, healthy young man, with a half haughty aloofness and a -little reckless smile that made you feel uncomfortable, she was driven -to venting some venom on him.</p> - -<p>"That is the worst of the colonies," she said from her bluish powdered -face. "Our most charming, cultured young men go out to the back of -beyond, and they come home quite—quite—"</p> - -<p>"Quite what, Marm?"</p> - -<p>"Why I was going to say uncouth, but that's perhaps a little strong."</p> - -<p>"I should say not at all," he answered. He disliked the old lady, and -enjoyed baiting her. Great stout old hen, she had played -cock-o'-the-walk long enough.</p> - -<p>"How many children have you got out there?" she suddenly asked, rudely.</p> - -<p>"We have only the twins of my own," he answered. "But of course there is -Jane."</p> - -<p>"Jane! Jane! Which is Jane?"</p> - -<p>"Jane is Easu's child. Monica's first."</p> - -<p>Everybody started. It was as if a bomb had been dropped in the room. -Miss Blessington coloured to the roots of her fleecy brown hair. Mary -studied her fingers, and Aunt Matilda sat in a Queen Victoria statue -pose, outraged.</p> - -<p>"What is she like?" asked Mary softly, looking up.</p> - -<p>"Who, Jane? She's a funny little urchin. I'm fond of her. I believe -she'd always stand by me."</p> - -<p>Mary looked at him. It was a curious thing to say.</p> - -<p>"Is that how you think of people—whether they would always stand -by you or not?" she asked softly.</p> - -<p>"I suppose it is," he laughed. "Courage is the first quality in life, -don't you think? And fidelity the next."</p> - -<p>"Fidelity?" asked Mary.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I don't mean automatic fidelity. I mean faithful to the living -spark," he replied a little hastily.</p> - -<p>"Don't you try to be too much of a spark, young man," snapped Aunt -Matilda, arousing from her statuesque offence in order to let nothing -pass by her.</p> - -<p>"I promise you I won't try," he laughed.</p> - -<p>Mary glanced at him quickly—then down at her fingers.</p> - -<p>"I think fidelity is a great problem," she said softly.</p> - -<p>"Pray, why?" bounced Aunt Matilda. "You give your word, and you stick to -it."</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's not just simple word-faithfulness, Mrs. Watson," said Jack. He -had Mary in mind.</p> - -<p>"Well, I suppose I have still to live and learn," said Aunt Matilda.</p> - -<p>"What's that you have still to live and learn, Matilda?" said Mr. -George, coming in again with papers.</p> - -<p>"This young man is teaching me lessons about life. Courage is the first -quality in life, if you please."</p> - -<p>"Well, why not?" said Old George amiably. "I like spunk myself."</p> - -<p>"Courage to do the <i>right thing!</i>" said Aunt Matilda.</p> - -<p>"And who's going to decide which is the right thing?" asked the old man, -teasing her.</p> - -<p>"There's no question of it," said Aunt Matilda.</p> - -<p>"Well," said the old lawyer, rubbing his head, "there often is, my dear -woman, a very big question!"</p> - -<p>"And fidelity is the second virtue," said Mary, looking up at him with -trustful eyes, enquiringly.</p> - -<p>"A man's no good unless he can keep faith," said the old man.</p> - -<p>"But what is it one must remain faithful to?" came the quiet cool voice -of Hilda Blessington.</p> - -<p>"Do you know what old Gran Ellis said?" asked Jack. "She said a man's -own true self is God in him. She was a queer old bird."</p> - -<p>"His <i>true</i> self," said Aunt Matilda. "His true self! And I should -say old Mrs. Ellis was a doubtful guide to young people, judging from her -own family."</p> - -<p>"She made a great impression on me, Marm," said Jack politely.</p> - -<p>Mr. George had brought the papers referring to the new property. Jack -read various documents, rather absently. Then the title deeds. Then he -studied a fascinating little green-and-red map, "delineating and setting -forth," with "easements and encumbrances," whatever they were. There was -a bank-book showing a balance of four hundred pounds nineteen shillings -and sixpence, in the West Australian Bank.</p> - -<p>Jack told about his visit to Grant Farm, and the man under the umbrella. -They all laughed.</p> - -<p>"The poor fellow had a bad start," said Mr. George. "But he was a good -farmer and a good business man, in his right times. Oh, he knew who he -was leaving the place to, when Rackett drew up that will."</p> - -<p>"Gran Ellis told me about him," said Jack. "She told me about all the -old people. She told me about my mother's old sister. And she told me -about the father of this crazy man as well, but—"</p> - -<p>Mr. George was looking at him coldly and fiercely.</p> - -<p>"The poor fellow's father," said the old man, "was an Englishman who -thought himself a swell, but wasn't too much of a high-born gentleman to -abandon a decent girl and go round to the east side and marry another -woman, and flaunt round in society with women he hadn't married."</p> - -<p>Jack remembered. It was Mary's father: seventh son of old Lord Haworth. -What a mix-up! How bitter Old George sounded!</p> - -<p>"It seems to have been a mighty mix-up out hare, fifty years ago, sir," -he said mildly.</p> - -<p>"It was a mix-up then—and is a mix-up now."</p> - -<p>"I suppose," said Jack, "if the villain of a gentleman had never -abandoned my Aunt—I can't think of her as an Aunt—he'd never -have gone to Sydney, and his children that he had there would never have -been born."</p> - -<p>"I suppose not," said Mr. George drily. But he started a little and -involuntarily looked at Mary.</p> - -<p>"Do you think it would have been better if they had never been born?" -Jack asked pertinently.</p> - -<p>"I don't set up to judge," said the old man.</p> - -<p>"Does Mrs. Watson?"</p> - -<p>"I certainly think it would be better," said Mrs. Watson, "if that poor -half-idiot cousin of yours had never been born."</p> - -<p>"I've got Gran Ellis on my mind," said Jack. "She was funny, what she -condemned and what she didn't. I used to think she was an old terror. -But I can understand her better now. She was a wise woman, seems to me."</p> - -<p>"Indeed!" said Aunt Matilda. "I never put her and wisdom together."</p> - -<p>"Yes, she was wise. I can see now. She knew that sins are as vital a -part of life as virtues, and she stuck up for the sins that are -necessary to life."</p> - -<p>"What's the matter with you, Jack Grant, that you go and start -moralising?" said Old George.</p> - -<p>"Why sir, it must be that my own sinful state is dawning on my mind," -said Jack, "and I'm wondering whether to take Mrs. Watson's advice and -repent and weep, etc., etc. Or whether to follow old Gran Ellis' lead, -and put a sinful feather in my cap."</p> - -<p>"Well," said Old George, smiling, "I don't know. You talk about courage -and fidelity. Sin usually means doing something rather cowardly, and -breaking your faith in some direction."</p> - -<p>"Oh I don't know, sir. Tom and Lennie are faithful to me. But that -doesn't mean they are not free. They are free to do just what they like, -so long as they are faithful to the spark that is between us. As I am -faithful to them. It seems to me, Sir, one is true to one's <i>word</i> in -<i>business</i>, in affairs. But in life one can only be true to the -spark."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid there's something amiss with you, son, that's set you off -arguing and splitting hairs."</p> - -<p>"There is. Something is always amiss with most of us. Old Gran Ellis was -a lesson to me, if I'd known. Something is always wrong with the lot of -us. And I believe in thinking before I act."</p> - -<p>"Let us hope so," said Mr. George. "But it sounds funny sort of thinking -you do."</p> - -<p>"But," said Hilda Blessington, with wide, haunted eyes, "what is the -spark that one must be faithful to? How are we to be sure of it?"</p> - -<p>"You just feel it. And then you act upon it. That's courage. And then -you always live up to the responsibility of your act. That's -faithfulness. You have to keep faith in all kinds of ways. I have to -keep faith with Monica and the babies, and young Jane, and Lennie and -Tom and dead Gran Ellis: and—and more—yes, more."</p> - -<p>He looked with clear hard eyes at Mary, and at the young girl. They were -both watching him, puzzled and perturbed. The two old people in the -background were silent but hostile.</p> - -<p>"Do you know what I am faithful to?" he said, still to the two young -women, but letting the elders hear. "I am faithful to my own inside, -when something stirs in me. Gran Ellis said that was God in me. I know -there's a God outside of me. But he tells me to go my own way, and never -be frightened of people and the world, only be frightened of <i>Him.</i> And -if I felt I really wanted two wives, for example, I would have them and -keep them both. If I really wanted them, it would mean it was the God -outside of me bidding me, and it would be up to me to obey, world or no -world."</p> - -<p>"You describe exactly the devil driving you," said Aunt Matilda.</p> - -<p>"Doesn't he!" laughed Mr. George, who was oddly impressed. "I hope there -isn't a streak of madness in the family."</p> - -<p>"No, there's not. The world is all so tame, it's a bit imbecile, in my -opinion. Really a dangerous idiot. If I do want two wives—or even -three—I <i>do.</i> Why should I mind what the idiot says."</p> - -<p>"Sounds like <i>you'd</i> gone cracked, out there in that mining -settlement," said Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"If I said I wanted two fortunes instead of one, you wouldn't think it -cracked," said Jack, with a malicious smile.</p> - -<p>"No, only greedy," said Old George.</p> - -<p>"Not if I could use them. And the same if I have real use for two -wives—or even three—" said Jack, grinning, but with a queer -bright intention, at Hilda Blessington. "Well, three wives would be three -fortunes for my blood and spirit."</p> - -<p>"You are not allowed to say such things, even as a joke," said Aunt -Matilda, with ponderous disapproval. "It is no joke to <i>me.</i>"</p> - -<p>"Surely I say them in dead earnest," persisted Jack mischievously. He -was aware of Mary and Hilda Blessington listening, and he wanted to -throw a sort of lasso over them.</p> - -<p>"You'll merely find yourself in gaol for bigamy," said Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"Oh," said Jack, "I wouldn't risk that. It would really be a Scotch -marriage. Monica is my legal wife. But what I pledged myself to, I'd -stick to, as I stick to Monica, I'd stick to the others the same."</p> - -<p>"I won't hear any more of this nonsense," said Aunt Matilda, rising.</p> - -<p>"Nonsense it is," said Old George testily.</p> - -<p>Jack laughed. Their being bothered amused him. He was a little surprised -at himself breaking out in this way. But the sight of Mary, and the -sense of a new, different responsibility, had struck it out of him. His -nature was ethical, inclined to be emotionally mystical. Now, however, -the sense of foolish complacency and empty assurance in Aunt Matilda, -and in all the dead-certain people of this world struck out of him a -hard, sharp, non-emotional opposition. He felt hard and mischievous, -confronting them. Who were they, to judge and go on judging? Who was -Aunt Matilda, to judge the dead fantastic soul of the fierce Gran? The -Ellises, the Ellises, they all had some of Gran's fierce pagan -uneasiness about them, they were all a bit uncanny. That was why he -loved them so.</p> - -<p>And Mary! Mary had another slow, heavy, mute mystery that waited and -waited forever, like a lode-stone. And should he therefore abandon her, -abandon her to society and a sort of sterility? Not he. She was his. -His, and no other man's. She knew it herself. He knew it. Then he would -fight them all. Even the good Old George. For the mystery that was his -and Mary's.</p> - -<p>Let it be an end of popular goodness. Let there be another deeper, -fiercer, untamed sort of goodness, like in the days of Abraham and -Samson and Saul. If Jack was to be good he would be good with these -great old men, the heroic fathers, not with the saints. The Christian -goodness had gone bad, decayed almost into poison. It needed again the -old heroic goodness of untamed men, with the wild great God who was -forever too unknown to be a paragon.</p> - -<p>Old George was a little afraid of Jack, uneasy about him. He thought him -not normal. The boy had to be put in a category by himself, like a -madman in a solitary cell. And at the same time, the old man was -delighted. He was delighted with the young man's physical presence. -Bewildered by the careless, irrational things Jack would say, the old -bachelor took off his spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes again and -again, as if he were going blind, and as if he were losing his old -dominant will.</p> - -<p>He had been a dominant character in the colony so long. And now this -young fellow was laughing at him and stealing away his power of -resistance.</p> - -<p>"Don't make eyes at me, sir," said Jack, laughing. "I know better than -you what life means."</p> - -<p>"You do, do you? Oh you do?" said the old man. And he laughed too. -Somehow it made him feel warm and easy. "A fine crazy affair it would be -if it were left to you." And he laughed loud at the absurdity.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>Jack persuaded Mary to go with Mr. George and himself to look at Grant -Farm. Mary and the old lawyer went in a buggy, Jack rode his own horse. -And it seemed to him to be good to be out again in the bush and forest -country. It was rainy season, and the smell of the earth was delicious -in his nostrils.</p> - -<p>He decided soon to leave the mine. It was running thin. He could leave -it in charge of Tom. And then he must make some plans for himself. -Perhaps he would come and live on the Grant Farm. It was not too far -from Perth, or from Wandoo, it was in the hills, the climate was balmy -and almost English, after the goldfields, and there were trees. He -really rejoiced again, riding through strong, living trees.</p> - -<p>Sometimes he would ride up beside Mary. She sat very still at Mr. -George's side, talking to him in her quick, secret-seeming way. Mary -always looked as if the things she was saying were secrets.</p> - -<p>And her upper lip with its down of fine dark hair, would lift and show -her white teeth as she smiled with her mouth. She only smiled with her -mouth: her eyes remained dark and glistening and unchanged. But she -talked a great deal to Mr. George, almost like lovers, they were so -confidential and so much in tune with tone another. It was as if Mary -was happy with an old man's love, that was fatherly, warm, and sensuous, -and wise and talkative, without being at all dangerous.</p> - -<p>When Jack rode up, she seemed to snap the thread of her communication -with Mr. George, her ready volubility failed, and she was a little -nervous. Her eyes, her dark eyes, were afraid of the young man. Yet they -would give him odd, bright, corner-wise looks, almost inviting. So -different from the full, confident way she looked at Mr. George. So -different from Monica's queer yellow glare. Mary seemed almost to peep -at him, while her dark face, like an animal's muzzle with its slightly -heavy mouth, remained quite expressionless.</p> - -<p>It amused him. He remembered how he had kissed her, and he wondered if -she remembered. It was impossible, of course, to ask her. And when she -talked, it was always so seriously. That again amused Jack. She was so -voluble, especially with Mr. George, on all kinds of deep and difficult -subjects. She was quite excited, just now about authoritarianism. She -was being drawn by the Roman Catholic Church.</p> - -<p>"Oh," she was saying, "I am an authoritarian. Don't you think that the -whole natural scheme is a scheme of authority, one rank having authority -over another?"</p> - -<p>Mr. George couldn't quite see it. Yet it tickled his paternal male -conceit of authority, so he didn't contradict her. And Jack smiled to -himself. "She runs too much to talk," he thought. "She runs too much in -her head." She seemed, indeed, to have forgotten quite how he kissed -her. It seemed that "questions of the day" quite absorbed her.</p> - -<p>They came through the trees in the soft afternoon sunshine. Jack -remembered the place well. He remembered the Jamboree, and that girl who -had called him Dearie! His first woman! And insignificant enough; but -not bad. He thought kindly of her. She was a warm-hearted soul. But she -didn't belong to his life at all. He remembered too how he had kicked -Tom. The faithful Tom! Mary would never marry Tom, that was a certainty. -And it was equally certain, Tom would never break his heart.</p> - -<p>Jack was thinking to himself that he would build a new house on this -place, and ask Mary to live in the old house. That was a brilliant idea.</p> - -<p>But as he drove up, he thought: "The first money you spend on this -place, my boy, will be on a brand new five-barred white gate."</p> - -<p>Emma and Amos came out full of joy. They too were a faithful old pair. -Jack handed Mary down. She wore a dark-blue dress and white silk gloves. -It was so like her, to put on white silk gloves. But he liked the touch -of them, as he handed her down. Her small, short, rather passive hands.</p> - -<p>He and she walked round the place, and she was very much interested. A -new place, a new farm, a new undertaking always excited her, as if it -was she who was making the new move.</p> - -<p>"Don't you think <i>that</i> will be a good place for the new house," he -was saying to her. "Down there, near that jolly bunch of old trees. And the -garden south of the trees. If you dig in that flat you'll find water, -sure to."</p> - -<p>She inspected the place most carefully, and uttered her mature -judgments.</p> - -<p>"You'll have to help think it out," he said. "Monica's as different as -an opossum. Would you like to build yourself a house here, and tend to -things? I'll build you one if you like. Or give you the old one."</p> - -<p>She looked at him with glowing eyes.</p> - -<p>"Wouldn't that be splendid!" she said. "Oh, wouldn't that be splendid! -If I had a house and a piece of land of my own! Oh yes!"</p> - -<p>"Well I can easily give it you," he said. "Just whatever you like."</p> - -<p>"Isn't that lovely!" she exclaimed.</p> - -<p>But he could tell she was thinking merely of the house and the bit of -land, and herself a sort of Auntie to his and Monica's children. She was -fairly jumping into old-maidom, both feet first. Which was not what he -intended. He didn't want her as an Auntie for his children.</p> - -<p>They went back to the house, and inspected there. She liked it. It was a -stone one-storey house with a great kitchen and three other rooms, all -rather low and homely. The dead cousin had wanted his house to be -exactly like the houses of other respectable farmers. And he had not -been prevented.</p> - -<p>The place was a bit tumble-down, but clean. Emma was baking scones, and -the sweet smell of scorched flour filled the house. Mary lit the lamp in -the little parlour, and set it on the highly-polished but rather -ricketty rosewood table, next the photograph album. The family Bible had -been removed to the bedroom. But the old man had a photograph album, -like any other respectable householder.</p> - -<p>Mary drew up one of the green-rep chairs, and opened the book. Jack, -looking over her shoulder, started a little as he saw the first -photograph: an elderly lady in lace cap and voluminous silken skirts was -seated reading a book, while negligently leaning with one hand on her -chair was a gentleman, with long white trousers and old-fashioned coat -and side-whiskers, obviously having his photograph taken.</p> - -<p>This was the identical photograph which held place of honour in Jack's -mother's album; being the photograph of her father and mother.</p> - -<p>"See!" said Jack. "That's my grandfather and grand-mother. And he must -have been the man who took Gran Ellis' leg off. Goodness!"</p> - -<p>Mary gazed at them closely.</p> - -<p>"He looks a domineering man!" she said. "I hope you're not like him."</p> - -<p>Jack didn't feel at all like him. Mary turned over, and they beheld two -young ladies of the Victorian period. Somebody had marked a cross, in -ink, over the head of one of the young ladies. They must be his own -Aunts, both of them many years older than his own mother, who was a late -arrival.</p> - -<p>"Do you think that was his mother?" said Mary, looking up at Jack, who -stood at her side. "She was beautiful."</p> - -<p>Jack studied the photograph of the young woman. She looked like nobody's -mother on earth, with her hair curiously rolled and curled, and a great -dress flouncing round her. And her beauty was so photographic and -abstract, he merely gazed seeking for it.</p> - -<p>But Mary, looking up at him, saw his silent face in the glow of the -lamp, his rather grim mouth closed ironically under his moustache, his -open nostrils, and the long, steady, self-contained look of his eyes -under his lashes. He was not thinking of her at all, at the moment. But -his calm, rather distant, unconsciously imperious face was something -quite new and startling, and rather frightening to her. She became -intensely aware of his thighs standing close against her, and her heart -went faint. She was afraid of him.</p> - -<p>In agitation, she was going to turn the leaf. But he put his -work-hardened hand on the page, and turned back to the first photograph.</p> - -<p>"Look!" he said. "<i>He</i>——" pointing to his grandfather, -"disowned her——" turning to the Aunt marked with a -cross, "——and she died an outcast, in misery, and her son -burrowed here, half crazy. Yet their two faces are rather alike. Gran Ellis -told me about them."</p> - -<p>Mary studied them.</p> - -<p>"They are both a bit like yours," she said, "their faces."</p> - -<p>"Mine!" he exclaimed. "Oh no! I look like my father's family."</p> - -<p>He could see no resemblance at all to himself in the handsome, -hard-mouthed, large man, with the clean face and the fringe of fair -whiskers, and the black cravat, and the overbearing look.</p> - -<p>"Your eyes are set in the same way," she said. "And your brows are the -same. But your mouth is not so tight."</p> - -<p>"I don't like what I heard of him, anyhow," said Jack. "A puritanical -surgeon! Turn over."</p> - -<p>She turned over and gave a low cry. There was a photograph of a young -elegant with drooping black moustachios, and mutton-chop side whiskers, -and large, languid, black eyes, leaning languidly and swinging a cane. -Over the top was written, in a weird handwriting: <i>The Honourable George -Rath, blasted father of</i></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> -<img src="images/figure01.jpg" width="150" alt="" /> -</div> - - -<p>This skull and cross-bones was repeated on the other margins of the -photograph.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Mary, covering her face with her hands.</p> - -<p>Jack's face was a study. Mary had evidently recognised the photograph of -her father as a young man. Yet Jack could not help smiling at the skull -and cross-bones, in connection with the Bulwer Lytton young elegant, and -the man under the green umbrella.</p> - -<p>"My God!" he thought to himself. "All that happens in a generation! From -that sniffy young dude to that fellow here who made this farm, and Mary -with her face in her hands!"</p> - -<p>He could not help smiling to himself.</p> - -<p>"Had you seen that photograph before?" he asked her.</p> - -<p>She, unable to answer, kept her face in her hands.</p> - -<p>"Don't worry," he said. "We're all more or less that way. We're none of -us perfect."</p> - -<p>Still she did not answer. Then he went on, almost without thinking, as -he studied the rather fetching young gentleman with the long black hair -and bold black eyes, and the impudent, handsome, languid lips:</p> - -<p>"You're a bit like him, too. You're a bit like him in the look of your -eyes. I bet he wasn't tall either. I bet he was rather small."</p> - -<p>Mary took her hands from her face and looked up fierce and angry.</p> - -<p>"You have no feeling," she said.</p> - -<p>"I have," he replied, smiling slightly. "But life seems to me too rummy -to get piqued about it. Think of him leaving a son like the fellow I saw -under the umbrella! Think of it! Such a dandy! And that his son! And -then having you for a daughter when he was getting quite on in years. Do -you remember him?"</p> - -<p>"How can you talk to me like that?" she said.</p> - -<p>"But why? It's life. It's how it was. Do you remember your father?"</p> - -<p>"Of course I do."</p> - -<p>"Did he dye his whiskers?"</p> - -<p>"I won't answer you."</p> - -<p>"Well, don't then. But this man under the umbrella here—you should -have seen him—was your half-brother and my cousin. It makes us almost -related."</p> - -<p>Mary left the room. In a few minutes Mr. George came in.</p> - -<p>"What's wrong with Mary?" he asked, suspiciously, angrily. Jack shrugged -his shoulders, and pointed to the photograph. The old man bent over and -stared at it: and laughed. Then he took the photograph out of the book, -and put it in his pocket.</p> - -<p>"Well, I'm damned!" he said. "Signs himself skull and cross-bones! Think -of that now!"</p> - -<p>"Was the Honourable George a smallish-built man?" asked Jack.</p> - -<p>"Eh!" The old man started. Then startled, he began to remember back. -"Ay!" he said. "He was. He was smallish-built, and the biggest little -dude you ever set eyes on. Something about his backside always reminded -me of a woman. But all the women were wild about him. Ay, even when he -was over fifty, Mary's mother was wild in love with him. And he married -her because she was going to be a big heiress. But she died a bit too -soon, an' he got nothing, nor Mary neither, because she was his -daughter." The old man made an ironic grimace. "He only died a few years -back, in Sydney," he added. "But I say, that poor lass is fair cut up -about it. We'd always kept it from her. I feel bad about her."</p> - -<p>"She may as well get used to it," said Jack, disliking the old man's -protective sentimentalism.</p> - -<p>"Eh! Get used to it! Why? How can she get used to it?"</p> - -<p>"She's got to live her own life some time."</p> - -<p>"How d'y' mean, live her own life? She's never going to live <i>that</i> -sort of a life, as long as I can see to it!" He was quite huffed.</p> - -<p>"Are you going to leave her to be an old maid?" said Jack.</p> - -<p>"Eh? Old maid? No! She'll marry when she wants to."</p> - -<p>"You bet," said Jack with a slow smile.</p> - -<p>"She's a child yet," said Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"An elderly child—poor Mary!"</p> - -<p>"Poor Mary! Poor Mary! Why poor Mary? Why so?"</p> - -<p>"Just poor Mary," said Jack, slowly smiling.</p> - -<p>"I don't see it. Why is she poor? You're growing into a real young -devil, you are." And the old man glanced into the young man's eyes in -mistrust, and fear, and also in admiration.</p> - -<p>They went into the kitchen, the late tea was ready. It was evident that -Mary was waiting for them to come in. She had recovered her composure, -but was more serious than usual. Jack laughed at her, and teased her.</p> - -<p>"Ah, Mary," he said, "do you still believe in the Age of Innocence?"</p> - -<p>"I still believe in good feeling," she retorted.</p> - -<p>"So do I. And when good feeling's comical, I believe in laughing at it," -he replied.</p> - -<p>"There's something wrong with you," she replied.</p> - -<p>"Quoth Aunt Matilda," he echoed.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Matilda is very often right," she said.</p> - -<p>"Never, in my opinion. Aunt Matilda is a wrong number. She's one of -life's false statements."</p> - -<p>"Hark at him!" laughed Old George.</p> - -<p>As soon as the meal was over, he rose, saying he would see to his horse. -Mary looked up at him as he put his hat on his head and took the -lantern. She didn't want him to go.</p> - -<p>"How long will you be?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Why, not long," he answered, with a slight smile.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless he was glad to be out and with his horse. Somehow those -others made a false atmosphere, Mary and Old George. They made Jack's -soul feel sarcastic. He lingered about the stable in the dim light of -the lantern, preparing himself a bed. There were only two bedrooms in -the house. The old couple would sleep on the kitchen floor, or on the -sofa. He preferred to sleep in the stable. He had grown so that he did -not like to sleep inside their fixed, shut-in houses. He did not mind a -mere hut, like his at the camp. But a shut-in house with fixed furniture -made him feel sick. He was sick of the whole pretence of it.</p> - -<p>And he knew he would never come to live on this farm. He didn't want to. -He didn't like the atmosphere of the place. He felt stifled. He wanted -to go North, or West, or North-West once more.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he heard footsteps: Mary picking her way across.</p> - -<p>"Is your horse all right?" she asked. "I was afraid something was wrong -with him. And he is so beautiful. Or is it a mare?"</p> - -<p>"No," he said. "It is a horse. I don't care for a mare, for riding."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"She has so many whims of her own, and wants so much attention paid to -her. And then ten to one you can't trust her. I prefer a horse to ride."</p> - -<p>She saw the rugs spread on the straw.</p> - -<p>"Who is going to sleep here?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Why—but——"</p> - -<p>He cut short her expostulations.</p> - -<p>"Oh, but do let me bring you sheets. Do let me make you a proper bed!" -she cried.</p> - -<p>But he only laughed at her.</p> - -<p>"What's a <i>proper</i> bed?" he said. "Is this an improper one, then?"</p> - -<p>"It's not a comfortable one," she said with dignity.</p> - -<p>"It is for me. I wasn't going to ask you to sleep on it too, was I, -now?"</p> - -<p>She went out and stood looking at the Southern Cross.</p> - -<p>"Weren't you coming indoors again?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Don't you think it's nicer out here? Feels a bit tight in there. I say, -Mary, I don't think I shall ever come and live on this place."</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"I don't like it."</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"It feels a bit heavy—and a bit tight to me."</p> - -<p>"What shall you do then?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I don't know. I'll decide When I'm back at the camp. But I say, -wouldn't you like this place? I'll give it you if you would. You're next -of kin really. If you'll have it, I'll give it you."</p> - -<p>Mary was silent for some time.</p> - -<p>"And what do you think you'll do if you don't live here?" she asked. -"Will you stay always on the goldfields?"</p> - -<p>"Oh dear no! I shall probably go up to the Never-Never, and raise -cattle. Where there aren't so many people, and photo albums, and good -old Georges and Aunt Matildas and all that."</p> - -<p>"You'll be yourself, wherever you are."</p> - -<p>"Thank God for that, but it's not quite true. I find I'm less myself -down here, with all you people."</p> - -<p>Again she was silent for a time.</p> - -<p>"Why?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's how it makes me feel, that's all."</p> - -<p>"Are you more yourself on the goldfields?" she asked rather -contemptuously.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes."</p> - -<p>"When you are getting money, you mean?"</p> - -<p>"No. But I've got so that Aunt Matilda-ism and Old-Georgism don't agree -with me. They make me feel sarcastic, they make me feel out of sorts all -over."</p> - -<p>"And I suppose you mean Mary-ism too," she said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, a certain sort of Mary-ism does it to me as well. But there's a -Mary without the ism that I said I'd come back for.—Would you like -this place?"</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"To cultivate your Mary-ism. Or would you like to come to the -North-West?"</p> - -<p>"But why do you trouble about me?"</p> - -<p>"I've come back for you. I said I'd come back for you. I am here."</p> - -<p>There was a moment of tense silence.</p> - -<p>"You have married Monica, now," said Mary in a low voice.</p> - -<p>"Of course I have. But the leopard doesn't change his spots when he goes -into a cave with a she-leopard. I said I'd come back for you as well, -and I've come."</p> - -<p>A dead silence.</p> - -<p>"But what about Monica?" Mary asked, with a little curl of irony.</p> - -<p>"Monica?" he said. "Yes, she's my wife, I tell you. But she's not my -only wife. Why should she be? She will lose nothing."</p> - -<p>"Did she say so? Did you tell her?" Mary asked insidiously.</p> - -<p>Slowly an anger suffused thick in his chest, and then seemed to break in -a kind of explosion. And the curious tension of his desire for Mary -snapped with the explosion of his anger.</p> - -<p>"No," he said. "I didn't tell her. I had to ask you first. Monica is -thick with her babies now. She won't care where I am. That's how women -are. They are more creatures than men are. They're not separated out of -the earth. They're like black ore. The metal's in them, but it's still -part of the earth. They're all part of the matrix, women are, with their -children clinging to them."</p> - -<p>"And men are pure gold?" said Mary sarcastically.</p> - -<p>"Yes, in streaks. Men are the pure metal, in streaks. Women never are. -For my part, I don't want them to be. They <i>are</i> the mother-rock. They -are the matrix. Leave them at that. That's why I want more than one -wife."</p> - -<p>"But why?" she asked.</p> - -<p>He realised that, in his clumsy fashion, he had taken the wrong tack. -The one thing he should never have done, he had begun to do: explain and -argue. Truly, Mary put up a permanent mental resistance. But he should -have attacked elsewhere. He should have made love to her. Yet, since she -had so much mental resistance, he had to make his position clear.—Now -he realised he was angry and tangled.</p> - -<p>"Shall we go in?" he said abruptly.</p> - -<p>And she returned with him in silence back to the house. Mr. George was -in the parlour, looking over some papers. Jack and Mary went in to him.</p> - -<p>"I have been thinking, Sir," said Jack, "that I shall never come and -live on this place. I want to go up to the North-West and raise cattle. -That'll suit me better than wheat and dairy. So I offer this place to -Mary. She can do as she likes with it. Really, I feel the property is -naturally hers."</p> - -<p>Now Old George had secretly cherished this thought for many years, and -it had riled him a little when Jack calmly stepped into the inheritance.</p> - -<p>"Oh, you can't be giving away a property like this," he said.</p> - -<p>"Why not? I have all the money I want. I give the place to Mary. I'd -much rather give it to her than sell it. But if she won't have it, I'll -ask you to sell it for me."</p> - -<p>"Why! Why!" said Old George fussily, stirring quite delighted in his -chair, and looking from one to the other of the young people, unable to -understand their faces. Mary looked sulky and unhappy, Jack looked -sarcastic.</p> - -<p>"I won't take it, anyhow," exclaimed Mary.</p> - -<p>"Eh? Why not? If the young millionaire wants to throw it away——" -said the old man ironically.</p> - -<p>"I won't! I won't take it!" she repeated abruptly.</p> - -<p>"Why—what's amiss?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing! I won't take it."</p> - -<p>"Got a proud stomach from your aristocratic ancestors, have you?" said -Old George. "Well, you needn't have; the place is your father's son's -place, you needn't be altogether so squeamish."</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't take it if I was starving," she asserted.</p> - -<p>"You're in no danger of starving, so don't talk," said the old man, -testily. "It's a nice little place. I should enjoy coming out here and -spending a few months of the year myself. Should like nothing better."</p> - -<p>"But I won't take it," said Mary.</p> - -<p>Jack went grinning off to his stable. He was angry, but it was the kind -of anger that made him feel sarcastic.</p> - -<p>Damn her! She was in love with him. She had a passion for him. What did -she want? Did she want him to make love to her, and run away with her, -and abandon Monica and Jane and the twin babies?—No doubt she would -listen to such a proposition hard enough. But he was never going to make -it her. He had married Monica, and he would stick to her. She was his -first and chief wife, and whatever happened, she should remain it. He -detested and despised divorce; a shifty business. But it was nonsense to -pretend that Monica was the beginning and end of his marriage with -woman. Woman was the matrix, the red earth, and he wanted his roots in -this earth. More than one root, to keep him steady and complete. Mary -instinctively belonged to him. Then why not belong to him completely? -Why not? And why not make a marriage with her too? The legal marriage -with Monica, his own marriage with Mary. It was a natural thing. The old -heroes, the old fathers of red earth, like Abraham in the Bible, like -David even, they took the wives they needed for their own completeness, -without this nasty chop-and-change business of divorce. Then why should -he not do the same?</p> - -<p>He would have all the world against him. But what would it matter, if he -were away in the Never-Never, where the world just faded out? Monica -could have the chief house. But Mary should have another house, with -garden and animals if she wanted them. And she should have her own -children: his children. Why should she be only Auntie to Monica's -children? Mary, with her black, glistening eyes and her short, dark, -secret body, she was asking for children. She was asking him for his -children, really. He knew it, and secretly she knew it; and Aunt -Matilda, and even Old George knew it, somewhere in themselves. And Old -George was funny. He wouldn't really have minded an affair between Jack -and Mary, provided it had been kept dark. He would even have helped them -to it, so long as they would let nothing be known.</p> - -<p>But Jack was too wilful and headstrong, and too proud, for an intrigue. -An intrigue meant a certain cringing before society, and this he would -never do. If he took Mary, it was because he felt she instinctively -belonged to him. Because, in spite of the show she kept up, her womb was -asking for him. And he wanted her for himself. He wanted to have her and -to answer her. And he would be judged by nobody.</p> - -<p>He rose quickly, returning to the house. Mary and the old man were in -the kitchen, getting their candles to go to bed.</p> - -<p>"Mary," said Jack, "come out and listen to the night-bird."</p> - -<p>She started slightly, glanced at him, then at Mr. George.</p> - -<p>"Go with him a minute, if you want to," said the old man.</p> - -<p>Rather unwillingly she went out of the door with Jack. They crossed the -yard in silence, towards the stable. She hesitated outside, in the thin -moonlight.</p> - -<p>"Come to the stable with me," he said, his heart beating thick, and his -voice strange and low.</p> - -<p>"Oh Jack!" she cried, with a funny little lament; "you're married to -Monica! I can't! You're Monica's."</p> - -<p>"Am I?" he said. "Monica's mine, if you like, but why am I all hers? -She's certainly not all mine. She belongs chiefly to her babies just -now. Why shouldn't she? She's their red earth. But I'm not going to shut -my eyes. Neither am I going to play the mild Saint Joseph. I don't feel -that way. At the present moment I'm not Monica's, any more than she is -mine. So what's the good of your telling me? I shall love her again, -when she is free. Everything in season, even wives. Now I love you -again, after having never thought of it for a long while. But it was -always slumbering inside me, just as Monica is asleep inside me this -minute. The sun goes, and the moon comes. A man isn't made up of only -one thread. What's the good of keeping your virginity! It's really mine. -Come with me to the stable, and then afterwards come and live in the -North-West, in one of my houses, and have your children there, and -animals or whatever you want."</p> - -<p>"Oh God!" cried Mary. "You must really be mad. You don't love me, you -can't, you must love Monica. Oh God, why do you torture me!"</p> - -<p>"I don't torture you. Come to the stable with me. I love you too."</p> - -<p>"But you love Monica."</p> - -<p>"I shall love Monica again, another time. Now I love you. I don't -change. But sometimes it's one, then the other. Why not?"</p> - -<p>"It can't be! It can't be!" cried Mary.</p> - -<p>"Why not? Come into the stable with me, with me and the horses."</p> - -<p>"Oh don't torture me! I hate my animal nature. You want to make a slave -of me," she cried blindly.</p> - -<p>This struck him silent. Hate her animal nature? What did she mean? Did -she mean the passion she had for him? And make a slave of her? How?</p> - -<p>"How make a slave of you?" he asked. "What are you now? You are a sad -thing as you are. I don't want to leave you as you are. You are a slave -now, to Aunt Matilda and all the conventions. Come with me into the -stable."</p> - -<p>"Oh, you are cruel to me! You are wicked! I can't. You know I can't."</p> - -<p>"Why can't you? You can. I am not wicked. To me it doesn't matter what -the world is. You <i>really</i> want me, and nothing but me. It's only the -outside of you that's afraid. There is nothing to be afraid of, now we -have enough money. You will come with me to the North-West, and be my -other wife, and have my children, and I shall depend on you as a man has -to depend on a woman."</p> - -<p>"How selfish you are! You are as selfish as my father, who betrayed your -mother's sister and left this skull-and-cross-bones son," she cried. -"No, it's dreadful, it's horrible. In this horrible place, too, -proposing such a thing to me. It shows you have no feelings."</p> - -<p>"I don't care about feelings. They're what people have because they feel -they ought to have them. But I know my own real feelings. I don't care -about your feelings."</p> - -<p>"I know you don't," she said. "Good-night!" She turned abruptly and -hurried away in the moonlight, escaping to the house.</p> - -<p>Jack watched the empty night for some minutes. Then he turned away into -the stable.</p> - -<p>"That's that!" he said, seeing his little plans come to nought.</p> - -<p>He went into the stable and sat down on his bed, near the horses. How -good it was to be with the horses! How good animals were, with no -"feelings" and no ideas. They just straight felt what they felt, without -lies and complications.</p> - -<p>Well, so be it! He was surprised. He had not expected Mary to funk the -issue, since the issue was clear. What else was the right thing to do? -Why, nothing else!</p> - -<p>It seemed to him so obvious. Mary obviously wanted him, even more, -perhaps, than he wanted her. Because she was only a part thing, by -herself. All women were only parts of some whole, when they were by -themselves: let them be as clever as they might. They were creatures of -earth, and fragments, all of them. All women were only fragments; -fragments of matrix at that.</p> - -<p>No, he was not wrong, he was right. If the others didn't agree, they -didn't, that was all. He still was right. He still hated the nauseous -one-couple-in-one-cottage domesticity. He hated domesticity altogether. -He loathed the thought of being shut up with one woman and a bunch of -kids in a house. Several women, several houses, several bunches of kids: -it would then be like a perpetual travelling, a camp, not a home. He -hated homes. He wanted a camp.</p> - -<p>He wanted to pitch his camp in the wilderness: with the faithful Tom, -and Lennie, and his own wives. Wives, not wife. And the horses, and the -come-and-go, and the element of wildness. Not to be tamed. His men, men -by themselves. And his women never to be tamed. And the wilderness still -there. He wanted to go like Abraham under the wild sky, speaking to a -fierce wild Lord, and having angels stand in his doorway.</p> - -<p>Why not? Even if the whole world said No! Even then, why not?</p> - -<p>As for being ridiculous, what was more ridiculous than men wheeling -perambulators and living among a mass of furniture in a tight house?</p> - -<p>Anyhow it was no good talking to Mary at the moment. She wasn't a piece -of the matrix of red earth. She was a piece of the upholstered world. -Damn the upholstered world! He would go back to the goldfields, to Tom -and Lennie and Monica, back to camp. Back to camp, away from the -upholstery.</p> - -<p>No, he wasn't a man who had finished when he had got one wife.</p> - -<p>And that damned Mary, by the mystery of fate, was linked to him.</p> - -<p>And damn her, she preferred to break that link, and turn into an -upholstered old maid. Of all the hells!</p> - -<p>Then let her marry Blessington and a houseful of furniture. Or else -marry Old George, and gas to him while he could hear. She loved gassing. -Talk, talk, talk, Jack hated a talking woman. But Mary would rather sit -gassing with Old George than be with him, Jack. Of all the surprising -hells!</p> - -<p>At least Tom wasn't like that. And Monica wasn't. But Monica was wrapped -up in her babies, she seemed to swim in a sea of babies, and Jack had to -let her be. And she too had a hankering after furniture. He knew she'd -be after it, if he didn't prevent her.</p> - -<p>Well, it was no good preventing people, even from stuffed plush -furniture and knick-knacks. But he'd keep the brake on. He would do -that.</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a></h4> - -<h4>TROT, TROT BACK AGAIN</h4> - - -<p>But as he rode back to Perth, with Mary rather stiff and silent, and Mr. -George absorbed in his own thoughts; and as they greeted people on the -road, and passed by settlements; and as they saw far off the pale-blue -sea with a speck of a steamer smoking, and the dim fume of Perth down at -sea-level, he thought to himself: "I had better be careful. I had better -be wary. The world is cold and cautious, it has cold blood, like ants -and centipedes. They, all the men in the world, they hardly want one -wife, let alone two. And they would take any excuse to destroy me. They -would like to destroy me, because I am not cold and like an ant, as they -are. Mary would like me to be killed. Look at her face. She would feel a -real deep satisfaction if my horse threw me against those stones and -smashed my skull in. She would feel vindicated. And Old George would -think it served me right. And practically everybody would be glad. Not -Tom and Len. But practically everybody else. Even Monica, though she is -my wife. Even she feels a judgment ought to descend upon me. Because I'm -not what she wants me to be. Because I'm not as she thinks I ought to -be. And because she can't get beyond me. Because something inside her -knows she can't get past me. Therefore, in one corner of her she hates -me, like a scorpion lurking. If I'm unaware, and put my hand unthinking -in that corner, she'll sting me and hope to kill me. How curious it is! -And since I have found the gold it is more emphatic than before. As if -they grudged me something. As if they grudged me my very being. Because -I'm not one of them, and just like they are, they would like me -destroyed. It has always been so ever since I was born. My Aunts, my own -father. And my mother didn't want me destroyed as they secretly did, but -even my mother would not have tried to prevent them from destroying me. -Even when they like me, as Old George does, they grudge their own -liking, they take it back whenever they can. He defended me over Easu -because he thought I was defending Monica, and going the good way of the -world. Now he scents that I am going my own way, he feels as if I were a -sort of snake that should be put out of existence. That's how Mary feels -too: and Mary loves me, if loving counts for anything. Tom and Len don't -wish me destroyed. But if they saw the world destroying me they'd -acquiesce. Their fondness for me is only passive, not active. I believe, -if I ransacked earth and heaven, there's nobody would fight for me as I -am, not a soul, except that little Jane of Easu's. The others would fight -like cats and dogs for me <i>as they want me to be.</i> But for me as I -am, they think I ought to be destroyed.</p> - -<p>"And I, I am a fool, talking to them, giving myself away to them, as to -Mary. Why, Mary ought to go down on her knees before the honour, if I -want to take her. Instead of which she puffs herself up, and spits venom -in my face like a cobra.</p> - -<p>"Very well, very well. Soon I can go out of her sight again, for I -loathe the sight of her. I can ride down Hay Street without yielding a -hair's breadth to any man or woman on earth. And I can ride out of Perth -without leaving a vestige of myself behind, for them to work mischief -on.</p> - -<p>"God, but it's a queer thing, to know that they all want to destroy me -as I am, even out here in this far-off colony. I thought it was only my -Aunts, and my father because of his social position. But it is -everybody. Even, passively, my mother, and Tom and Len. Because inside -my soul I don't conform: can't conform. They would all like to kill the -non-conforming me. Which is me myself.</p> - -<p>"And at the same time they all love me exceedingly the moment they think -I am in line with them. The moment they think I am in line with them, -they're awfully fond of me. Monica, Mary, Old George, even Aunt Matilda, -they're almost all of them in love with me then, and they'd give me -anything. If I asked Mary to sin with me as something I shouldn't do, -but I went down on my knees and asked for it, unable to help myself, -she'd give in to me like anything. And Monica, if I was willing to be -forgiven, would forgive me with unction.</p> - -<p>"But since I refuse the sin business, and I never go down on my knees; -and since I say that my way is better than theirs, and that I should -have my two wives, and both of them know that it is an honour for them -to be taken by me, an honour for them to be put into my house and -acknowledged there, they would like to kill me. It is I who must grovel, -I who must submit to judgment. If I would but submit to their judgment, -I could do all the wicked things I like, and they would only love me -better. But since I will never submit to them, they would like to -destroy me off the face of the earth, like a rattlesnake.</p> - -<p>"They shall not do it. But I must be wary. I must not put out my hand to -ask them for anything, or they will strike my hand like vipers out of a -hole. I must take great care to ask them for nothing, and to take -nothing from them. Absolutely I must have nothing from them, not so much -as to let them carry the cup of tea for me, unpaid. I must be very -careful. I should not have let that brown snake of a Mary see I wanted -her. As for Monica, I married her, so that makes them all allow me -certain rights, as far as she is concerned. But she has her rights too, -and the moment she thinks I trespass on them, she will unsheath her -fangs.</p> - -<p>"As for me, I refuse their social rights, they can keep them. If they -will give me no rights, to the man I am, to me as I am, they shall give -me nothing.</p> - -<p>"God, what am I going to do? I feel like a man whom the -snake-worshipping savages have thrown into one of their snake-pits. All -snakes, and if I touch a single one of them, it will bite me. Man or -woman, wife or friend, every one of them is ready for me since I am -rich. Daniel in the den of lions was a comfortable man in comparison. -These are all silent, damp, creeping snakes, like that yellow-faced Mary -there, and that little whip-snake of a Monica, whom I have loved. 'Now -they bite me where I most have sinned,' says old Don Rodrigo, when the -snakes of the Inferno bite him. So they shall not bite me. God in -heaven, no, so they shall not bite me. Snakes they are, and the world is -a snake-pit into which one is thrown. But still they shall not bite me. -As sure as God is God, they shall not bite me. I will crush their heads -rather.</p> - -<p>"Why did I want that Mary? How unspeakably repulsive she is to me now! -Why did I ever want Monica so badly? God, I shall never want her again. -They shall not bite me as they bit Don Rodrigo, or Don Juan. My name is -John, but I am no Don. God forbid that I should take a title from them.</p> - -<p>"And the soft, good Tom and Lennie, they shall live their lives, but not -with my life.</p> - -<p>"Am I not a fool! Am I not a pure crystal of a fool! I thought they -would love me for what I am, for the man I am, and they only love me for -the me as they want me to be. They only love me because they get -themselves glorified out of me.</p> - -<p>"I thought at least they would give me a certain reverence, because I am -myself and because I am different, in the name of the Lord. But they -have all got their fangs full and surcharged with insult, to vent it on -me the moment I stretch out my hand.</p> - -<p>"I thought they would know the Lord was with me, and a certain new thing -with me on the face of the earth. But if they know the Lord is with me, -it is only so that they can intensify and concentrate their poison, to -drive Him out again. And if they guess a new thing in me, on the face of -the earth, it only makes them churn their bile and secrete their malice -into a poison that would corrode the face of the Lord.</p> - -<p>"Lord! Lord! That I should ever have wanted them, or even wanted to -touch them! That ever I should have wanted to come near them, or to let -them come near me. Lord, as the only boon, the only blessedness, leave -me intact, leave me utterly isolate and out of the reach of all men.</p> - -<p>"That I should have wanted! That I should have wanted Monica so badly! -Well, I got her, and she saves her fangs in silent readiness for me, for -the me as I am, not the me that is hers. That I should have wanted this -Mary, whom I now despise. That I should have thought of a new little -world of my own!</p> - -<p>"What a fool! To think of Abraham, and the great men in the early days. -To think that I could take up land in the North, a big wild stretch of -land, and build my house and raise my cattle and live as Abraham lived, -at the beginning of time, but myself at another, late beginning. With my -wives and the children of my wives, and Tom and Lennie with their -families, my right hand and my left hand, and absolutely fearless. And -the men I would have work for me, because they were fearless and hated -the world. Each one having his share of the cattle, and the horses, at -the end of the year. Men ready to fight for me and with me, no matter -against what. A little world of my own, in the North-West. And my -children growing up like a new race on the face of the earth, with a new -creed of courage and sensual pride, and the black wonder of the halls of -death ahead, and the call to be lords of death, on earth. With my Lord, -as dark as death and splendid with lustrous doom, a sort of spontaneous -royalty, for the God of my little world. The spontaneous royalty of the -dark Overlord, giving me earth-royalty, like Abraham or Saul, that can't -be quenched and that moves on to perfection in death. One's last and -perfect lordliness in the halls of death, when slaves have sunk as -carrion, and only the serene in pride are left to judge the unborn.</p> - -<p>"A little world of my own! As if I could make it with the people that -are on earth to-day! No, no, I can do nothing but stand alone. And then, -when I die, I shall not drop like carrion on the earth's earth. I shall -be a lord of death, and sway the destinies of the life to come."</p> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a></h4> - -<h4>THE RIDER ON THE RED HORSE</h4> - - -<p>Jack was glad to get away from Perth, to ride out and leave no vestige -of his soul behind, for them to work mischief on. He saddled his horse -before dawn, and still before sun was up, he was trotting along beside -the river. He loved the world, the early morning, the sense of newness. -It was natural to him to like the world, the trees, the sky, the -animals, and even, in a casual way, people. It was his nature to like -the casual people he came across. And, casually, they all liked him. It -was only when he approached nearer, into intimacy, that he had a -revulsion.</p> - -<p>In the casual way of life he was good-humored, and could get on with -almost everybody. He took them all at their best, and they responded. -For on the whole, people are glad to be taken at their best, on trust.</p> - -<p>But when he went further, the thing broke down. Casually, he could get -on with anybody. Intimately, he could get on with nobody. In intimate -life, he was quiet and unyielding, often oppressive. In the casual way, -he was most yielding and agreeable. Therefore it was his friends who -suffered most from him.</p> - -<p>He knew this. He knew that Monica and Lennie suffered from his aloofness -and a certain arrogance, in intimate life. So friendly with everybody, -he was. And at the centre, not really friendly even with his wife and -his dearest friends. Withheld, unyielding, exacting even in his silence, -he kept them in a sort of suspense.</p> - -<p>As he rode his bright bay stallion on the soft road, he became aware of -this. Perhaps his horse was the only creature with which he had the -right relation. He did not love it, but he harmonised with it. As if, -between them, they made a sort of centaur. It was not love. It was a -sort of understanding in power and mastery and crude life. A harmony -even more than an understanding. As if he himself were the breast and -arms and head of the ruddy, powerful horse, and it, the flanks and -hoofs. Like a centaur. It had a real joy in riding away with him to the -bush again. He knew by the uneven, springy dancing. And he had perhaps a -greater joy. The animal knew it in the curious pressure of his knees, -and the soft rhythm of the bit. Between them, they moved in a sort of -triumph.</p> - -<p>The red stallion was always glad when Jack rode alone. It did not like -company, particularly human company. When Jack rode alone, his horse had -a curious bubbling, exultant movement. When he rode in company, it went -in a more suppressed way. And when he stopped to talk to people, in his -affable, rather loving manner, the horse became irritable, chafing to go -on. He had long ago realised that the bay could not bear it when he -reined in and stayed chatting. His voice, in its amiable flow, seemed to -irritate the animal. And it did not like Lennie. Lucy, the old mare, -loved Lennie. Most horses liked him. But Jack's stallion got a bit -wicked, irritable with him.</p> - -<p>And when Jack had made a fool of himself, as with Mary, and felt -tangled, he always craved to get on his horse Adam, to be put right. He -would feel the warm flow of life from the horse mount up him and wash -away in its flood the human entanglements in his nerves. And sometimes -he would feel guilty towards his horse Adam, as if he had betrayed the -natural passion of the horse, giving way to the human travesty.</p> - -<p>Now, in the morning before sunrise, with the red horse bubbling with -exultance between his knees, his soul turned with a sudden jerk of -realisation away from his fellow-men. He really didn't want his -fellow-men. He didn't want that amiable casual association with them, -which took up so large a part of his life. It was a habit and a bluff on -his part. Also it was part of his nature. A certain real amiability in -him, and a natural kindly disposition towards his fellow-men combated -inside him with a repudiation of the whole trend of modern human life, -the emotional, spiritual, ethical, and intellectual trend. Deep inside -himself, he fought like a wild-cat against the whole thing. And yet, -because of a naturally amiably disposed, even benevolent nature in -himself, he took any casual individual into his warmth, and was -bosom-friends for the moment. Until, inevitably, after a short time the -individual betrayed himself a unit of the universal human trend, and -then Jack recoiled in anger and revulsion again.</p> - -<p>This was a sort of dilemma. Monica, and Tom, and Lennie, who knew him -intimately, knew the absoluteness of his repudiation of mankind and -mankind's direction in general. They knew it to their cost, having -suffered from it. Therefore the anomaly of his casual intimacies and his -casual bosom-friend-ships was considerably puzzling and annoying to -them. He seemed to them false to himself, false to the other thing he -was trying to put across. Above all, it seemed false to <i>them</i>, his -real, old friends, towards whom he was so silently exacting and -overbearing.</p> - -<p>This morning, after his fiasco with Mary, he vaguely realised himself. -He vaguely realised that he had to make a change. The casual intimacies -were really a self-betrayal. But they made his life easy. It was the -easiest way for him to encounter people. To suppress for the time being -his deepest self, his thoughts, his feelings, his vital repudiation of -the way of human life now, and to play at being really pleasant and -ordinary. He liked to think that most people, casually and -superficially, were nice. He hated having to withdraw.</p> - -<p>But now, after the fiasco with Mary, he realised again his necessity to -withdraw. To pass people by. They were all going in the opposite -direction to his own. Then he was wrong to rein up and pretend a -bosom-friendship for half an hour. As he did so, he was only being borne -down stream, in the old, deadly direction, against himself.</p> - -<p>Even his horse knew it: even old Adam. He pressed the animal's sides -with his legs, and made a silent pact with him: not to make this -compromise of amiability and casual friendship, not forever to be -reining up and allowing himself to be carried backwards in the weary -flood of the old human direction. To forfeit the casual amiabilities, -and go his way in silence. To have the courage to turn his face right -away from mankind. His soul and his spirit had already turned away. Now -he must turn away his face, and see them all no more.</p> - -<p>"I never want to see their faces any more," he said aloud to himself. -And his horse between his thighs danced and began to canter, as the sun -came sparkling up over the horizon. Jack looked into the sun, and knew -that he must turn his own face aside forever from the people of his -world, not look at them or communicate with them again, not any more. -Cover his own face with shadow, and let the world pass on its way, -unseen and unseeing.</p> - -<p>And he must know as he knew his horse, not face to face, never any more -face to face, but communicating as he did with his stallion Adam, from a -pressure of the thighs and knees. The arrows of the Archer, who is also -a centaur.</p> - -<p>Vision is no good. It is no good seeing any more. And words are no good. -It is useless to talk. We must communicate with the arrows of sightless, -wordless knowledge, as Jack communicated with his horse, by a pressure -of the thighs and knees.</p> - -<p>The sun had risen gold above the far-off ridge of the bush. Jack drew up -at an inn by the side of the road, to eat breakfast. He left his horse -at the hitching-post near the door, and went into the bar parlour. There -was a smell of mutton chops frying, and he was hungry.</p> - -<p>As he sat eating, he heard his horse neighing fiercely. He pricked his -ears. Again Adam's powerful neigh, and far off a high answering call of -a mare. He went out quickly to the door of the inn. Adam stood by the -post, his feet apart, his ears erect, his head high up, looking with -flashing eyes back down the road. How beautiful he was! in the -newly-risen sun shining bright almost as fire, every fibre of him on the -alert, tall and overweening. And down the road, a grey horse, cloud -colour, running eagerly forwards, its rider, a young lady, flushing -scarlet and trying to hold up her mare. It was no good. The mare's -shrill, wild neigh came answering the stallion's, and the lady rider was -powerless to hold her creature back. Strong, like bells in his deep -chest, came the stallion's call once more. And lifting her head as she -ran on swift, light feet, the mare sang back.</p> - -<p>The girl was Hilda Blessington. Jack took his horse and quickly ran him, -rearing and flaming, round to the stable. There he shut him up, though -his feet were thudding madly on the wooden floor, and his powerful -neighing shook the place with a sound like fire.</p> - -<p>The grey mare came running straight to the stable, carrying its -helpless, scarlet-flushing rider. Jack lifted the girl down, and held -the mare. There was a terrific thudding from the stable.</p> - -<p>"I'll put her in the paddock, shall I?" said Jack.</p> - -<p>"I think you'd better," she said.</p> - -<p>He looked uneasily at the stable, whence came a sound of something going -smash. The shut-up stallion sounded like an enclosed thunderstorm.</p> - -<p>"Shall I put them both in the paddock?" said Jack. "It seems the -simplest thing to do."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she murmured in confusion. "Perhaps you'd better."</p> - -<p>She was rather frightened. The duet of neighing was terrific, like the -bells of some wild cathedral going at full clash. The landlord of the -inn came running up. Jack was just slipping the mare's saddle off.</p> - -<p>"Steady! Steady!" he said. Then to the landlord: "Take her to the -paddock and turn her loose. I'm going to turn the horse loose with her."</p> - -<p>The landlord dragged the frantic grey animal away, while she screamed -and reared and pranced.</p> - -<p>Jack ran to the stable door, calling to his horse. He opened carefully. -The first thing he saw was the blazing eyes of the stallion. The horse -had broken the halter, and had his nose and his wild eyes at the door, -prepared to charge. Jack called to him again, and managed to get in -front of him and close the door behind him. The animal was listening to -two things at once, thinking two things at once. He was quivering in -every fibre, in a state almost of madness. Yet he stood quite still -while Jack slipped off the loosened saddle.</p> - -<p>Then again he began to jump. Already he had smashed in one side of the -stall, and had a bleeding fetlock. Jack got hold of the broken halter, -and opened the door. The horse, like a great ruddy thunderbolt, sprang -out of the stable, jerking Jack with him. The man, with a flying jump, -got on the bright, brilliant bare back of the stallion, and clung there -as the creature, swerving on powerful haunches past the terrified Hilda, -ran with a terrific, splendid neighing towards the paddock, moving -rhythmic and handsome.</p> - -<p>There was the grey mare at the gate, inside, neighing back, and the -landlord keeping guard. The men had to be very quick, the one to open -the gate, the other to slip down.</p> - -<p>Jack left the broken halter-rope dangling from his horse's head—it -was broken quite short—and went back into the yard.</p> - -<p>"What a commotion!" he said laughingly, to the flushed, deeply -embarrassed girl. "But you won't mind if your grey mare gets a foal to -my horse?"</p> - -<p>"Oh no," she said. "I shall like it."</p> - -<p>"Why not?" said he. "They'll be all right. There's the landlord and -another fellow there with them. Will you come in? Have you had -breakfast? Come and eat something."</p> - -<p>She went with him into the bar parlour, where he sat down again to eat -his half-cold mutton chops. She was silent and embarrassed, but not -afraid. The colour still was high in her young, delicate cheeks, but her -odd, bright, round, dark-grey eyes were fearless above her fear. She had -really a great dread of everything, especially of the social world in -which she had been brought up. But her dread had made her fearless. -There was something slightly uncanny about her, her quick, rabbit-like -alertness and her quick, open defiance, like some unyielding animal. She -was more like a hare than a rabbit: like a she-hare that will fight all -the cats that are after her young. And she had a great capacity for -remaining silent and remote, like a quaint rabbit unmoving in a corner.</p> - -<p>"Were you riding this way by accident?" he asked her.</p> - -<p>"No," she said quickly. "I hoped I might see you. Mary said you were -leaving early in the morning."</p> - -<p>"Why did you want to see me?" he asked, amused.</p> - -<p>"I don't know. But I did."</p> - -<p>"Well, it was a bit of a hubbub," he laughed.</p> - -<p>She glanced at him sharply, warily, on the defensive, and then laughed -as well, with a funny little chuckle.</p> - -<p>"Why did you leave so suddenly?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"No, it wasn't sudden. I'd had enough."</p> - -<p>"Enough of what?"</p> - -<p>"Everything."</p> - -<p>"Even of Mary?"</p> - -<p>"Chiefly of Mary."</p> - -<p>She eyed him again sharply, wonderingly, searchingly, then again gave -her odd little chuckle of a laugh.</p> - -<p>"Why 'chiefly of Mary'?" she asked. "I think she's so nice. She'd make -me such a good step-mother."</p> - -<p>"Do you want one?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I do rather. Then my father would want to get rid of me. I should -be in the way."</p> - -<p>"And do you want to be got rid of?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I do rather."</p> - -<p>"What for?"</p> - -<p>"I want to go right away."</p> - -<p>"Back to England?"</p> - -<p>"No. Not that. Never there again. Right away from Perth. Into the -unoccupied country. Into the North-West."</p> - -<p>"What for?"</p> - -<p>"To get away."</p> - -<p>"What from?"</p> - -<p>"Everything. Just everything."</p> - -<p>"But what would you find when you'd got away?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know. I want to try. I want to try."</p> - -<p>She had such an odd, definite decisiveness and self-confidence, he was -very much amused. She seemed the queerest, oddest, most isolated bird he -had ever come across. Exceedingly well-bred, with all the charm of pure -breeding. By nature, timorous like a hare. But now, in her queer state -of rebellion, like a hare that is perfectly fearless, and will go its -own way in determined singleness.</p> - -<p>"You must come and see Monica and me when we move to the North-West. -Would you like to?"</p> - -<p>"Very much. When will that be?"</p> - -<p>"Soon. Before the year is out. Shall I tell Monica you're coming? She'd -be glad of another woman."</p> - -<p>"Are you sure you want me?"</p> - -<p>"Quite."</p> - -<p>"Are you sure everybody will want me? I shan't be in the way? Tell me -quite frankly."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure everybody will want you. And you can't be in the way, you are -much too wary."</p> - -<p>"I only seem it."</p> - -<p>"Do come, though."</p> - -<p>"I should love to."</p> - -<p>"Well, do. When could you come?"</p> - -<p>"Any time. Tomorrow if you wish. I am quite independent. I have a -certain amount of money, from my mother. Not much, but enough for all I -want. And I am of age. I am quite free.—And I think if I went, father -would marry Mary. I wish he would."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"Then I should be free."</p> - -<p>"But free what for?"</p> - -<p>"Anything. Free to breathe. Free to live. Free not to marry. I know they -want to get me married. They've got their minds fixed on it. And I'm -afraid they'll force me to do it, and I don't want it."</p> - -<p>"Marry who?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, nobody in particular. Just somebody, don't you know."</p> - -<p>"And don't you want to marry?" asked Jack, amused.</p> - -<p>"No. No, I don't. Not any of the people I meet. No! Not that sort of -man. No. Never!"</p> - -<p>He burst into a laugh, and she, glancing in surprise at his amusement, -suddenly chuckled.</p> - -<p>"Don't you like men?" he asked, still laughing.</p> - -<p>"No. I don't. I dislike them very much."</p> - -<p>Her quick, cool, alert manner of statement amused him more than anything.</p> - -<p>"Not any men at all?"</p> - -<p>"No. Not yet. And I dislike the idea of marriage. I just hate it. I -don't think I'd mind men so much, if it weren't' for marriage in the -background. I can't do with marriage."</p> - -<p>"Might you like men without marriage?" he asked, laughing.</p> - -<p>"I don't know," she said, with her odd precision. "So far it's all just -impossible. I can't stand it. All that sort of thing is impossible to -me. No, I don't care for men at all."</p> - -<p>"What sort of thing is just impossible?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Men! Particularly a man. Impossible!"</p> - -<p>Jack roared with laughter at her. She seemed rather to like being -laughed at. And her odd, cool, precise intensity tickled him to death.</p> - -<p>"You want to be virgin in the virgin bush?" he asked.</p> - -<p>She glanced at him quickly.</p> - -<p>"Something like that," she said, with her little chuckle. "I think later -on, not now, not now—" she shook her head—"I might like to be a -man's second or third wife: if the other two were living. I would never be -the first. Never. You remember you talked about it."</p> - -<p>She looked at him with her round, bright, odd eyes, like an elf or some -creature of the border-land, and as he roared with laughter, she smiled -quickly and with an odd, mischievous response.</p> - -<p>"What you said the other night, when Aunt Matilda was so angry, made me -think of it.—She hates you," she added.</p> - -<p>"Who, Aunt Matilda? Good job."</p> - -<p>"Yes, very good job! Don't you think she's <i>terrible?</i>"</p> - -<p>"I do," said Jack.</p> - -<p>"I'm glad you do. I can't stand her. I like Mr. George. But I don't care -for it when he seems to like <i>me.</i>"</p> - -<p>Jack roared with laughter again, and again, from some odd corner of -herself, she smiled.</p> - -<p>"Why do you laugh?" she said. But the infection of laughter made her -give a little chuckle.</p> - -<p>"It's all such a real joke," he said.</p> - -<p>"It is," she answered. "Rather a bad joke."</p> - -<p>Slowly he formed a dim idea of her precise life, with a rather tyrannous -father who was fond of her in the wrong way, and brothers who had -bullied her and jeered at her for her odd ways and appearance, and her -slight deafness. The governess who had mis-educated her, the loneliness -of the life in London, the aristocratic but rather vindictive society in -England, which had persecuted her in a small way, because she was one of -the odd border-line people who don't and <i>can't</i>, really belong. She -kept an odd, bright, amusing spark of revenge twinkling in her all the -time. She felt that with Jack she could kindle her spark of revenge into -a natural sun. And without any compunction, she came to tell him.</p> - -<p>He was tremendously amused. She was a new thing to him. She was one who -knew the world, and society, better than he did, and her hatred of it -was purer, more twinkling, more relentless in a quiet way. Her way was -absolutely relentless, and absolutely quiet. She had gone further along -that line than himself. And her fearlessness was of a queer, uncanny -quality, hardly human. She was a real border-line being.</p> - -<p>"All right," he said, making a pact with her. "By Christmas we'll ask -you to come and see us in the North-West."</p> - -<p>"By Christmas! It's a settled thing?" she said, holding up her -forefinger with an odd, warning, alert gesture.</p> - -<p>"It's a settled thing," he replied.</p> - -<p>"Splendid!" she answered. "I believe you'll keep your word."</p> - -<p>"You'll see I shall."</p> - -<p>She rose. The horses, quieted down, were caught and saddled and brought -round. She glanced from her blue-grey mare to his red stallion, and gave -her odd, squirrel-like chuckle.</p> - -<p>"What a <i>contretemps</i>," she said. "It's like the sun mating with -the moon." She gave him a quick, bright, odd glance: some of the coolness -of a fairy.</p> - -<p>"Is it!" he exclaimed, as he lifted her into the saddle. She was slim -and light, with an odd, remote reserve.</p> - -<p>He mounted his horse.</p> - -<p>"We go different ways for the moment," she said.</p> - -<p>"Till Christmas," he answered. "Then the moon will come to the sun, eh? -Bring the mare with you. Shell probably be in foal."</p> - -<p>"I certainly will. Goodbye, till Christmas. Don't forget. I shall expect -you to keep your word."</p> - -<p>"I will keep my word," he said. "Goodbye till Christmas."</p> - -<p>He rode away, laughing and chuckling to himself. If Mary had been a -fiasco, this was a real joke. A real, unexpected joke.</p> - -<p>His horse travelled with quick, strong, rhythmic movement, inland, away -from the sea. At the last ridge he turned and saw the pale-blue ocean -full of light. Then he rode over the crest and down the silent grey -bush, in which he had once been lost.</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>THE END</h4> - -<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOY IN THE BUSH ***</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 63000-h.htm or 63000-h.zip</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/0/0/63000/</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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