From Squire to Squatter Part 42

However, our young squatters were not the men to sit down to cry over spilt milk.

The damage was repaired, and the broken dams were made new again. And these last were sadly wanted before the summer went past. For it was unusually hot, the sun rising in a cloudless sky, blazing down all day steadily, and setting without even a ray being intercepted by a cloud.

Bush fires were not now infrequent. While travelling in a distant part of the selection, far to the west, in company with Craig, whom he had come to visit, they were witnesses to a fire of this sort that had caught a distant forest. Neither pen nor pencil could do justice to such a scene. Luckily it was separated from the Burley estate by a deep ravine. One of the strangest sights in connection with it was the wild stampede of the panic-stricken kangaroos and bush horses.

To work in the fields was now to work indeed. Bob's complexion and Archie's were "improved" to a kind of brick-red hue, and even Harry got wondrously tanned.

There was certainly a great saving in clothes that year, for excepting light, broad-brimmed hats, and shirts and trousers, nothing else was worn by the men.

But the gardens were cool in the evening, in spite of the midday glare of the sun, and it was delightful to sit out in the open for an hour or two and think and talk of the old country; while the rich perfume of flowers hung warm in the air, and the holy stars shimmered and blinked in the dark blue of the sky.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

"I'LL WRITE A LETTER HOME."

The summer wore away, autumn came, the harvest was made good, and in spite of the drought it turned out well; for the paddocks chosen for agricultural produce seldom lacked moisture, lying as they did on the low lands near the creek, and on rich ground reclaimed from the scrub.

Our Bushmen were congratulating themselves on the success of their farming; for the banking account of all three was building itself, so to speak, slowly, but surely.

Archie was now quite as wealthy as either of his companions; for his speculations, instigated by his friend Winslow, had turned out well; so his stock had increased tenfold, and he had taken more pasture to the westward and north, near where Bob's and Harry's sheep now were; for Craig's advice had been acted on.

None too soon though; for early in the winter an old shepherd arrived in haste at the homesteading to report an outbreak of inflammatory catarrh among the flocks still left on the lower pastures.

The events that quickly followed put Archie in mind of the "dark days"

at Burley Old Farm, when fat beasts were dying in twos and threes day after day. Sheep affected with this strange ailment lived but a day or two, and the only thing to do was to kill them on the very first symptoms of the ailment appearing. They were then just worth the price of their hides and tallow.

Considering the amount of extra work entailed, and the number of extra hands to be hired, and the bustle and stir and anxiety caused by the outbreak, it is doubtful if it would not have been better to bury them as they fell, skin and all.

This was one of the calamities which Winslow had pointed out to Archie as likely to occur. But it was stamped out at last. The sheep that remained were sent away to far-off pastures; being kept quite separate, however, from the other flocks. So the cloud pa.s.sed away, and the squatters could breathe freely again, and hope for a good lambing season, when winter pa.s.sed away, and spring time came once more.

"Bob," said Archie one evening, as they all sat round the hearth before retiring to bed, "that fire looks awfully cosy, doesn't it? And all the house is clean and quiet--oh, so quiet and delightful that I really wonder anyone could live in a city or anywhere near the roar and din of railway trains! Then our farm is thriving far beyond anything we could have dared to expect. We are positively getting rich quickly, if, indeed, we are not rich already. And whether it be winter or summer, the weather is fine, glorious sometimes. Indeed, it is like a foretaste of heaven, Bob, in my humble opinion, to get up early and wander out of doors."

"Well," said Bob, "small reason to be ashamed to say that, my boy."

"Hold on, Bob, I'm coming to the part I'm ashamed of; just you smoke your pipe and keep quiet. Well, so much in love am I with the new country that I'm beginning to forget the old. Of course I'll always-- always be a true Englishman, and I'd go back to-morrow to lay down my life for the dear old land if it was in danger. But it isn't, it doesn't want us, it doesn't need us; it is full to overflowing, and I daresay they can do without any of us. But, Bob, there is my dear old father, mother, Elsie, and Rupert. Now, if it were only possible to have them here. But I know my father is wedded to Burley, and his life's dream is to show his neighbours a thing or two. I know too that if he starts machinery again he will be irretrievably lost."

Archie paused, and the kangaroo looked up into his face as much as to say, "Go on, I'm all attention."

"Well, Bob, if I make a pile here and go home, I'll just get as fond of Burley as I was when a boy, and I may lose my pile too. It seems selfish to speak so, but there is no necessity for it. So I mean to try to get father to emigrate. Do you think such a thing is possible, Bob?"

"It's the same with men as with trees, Archie. You must loosen the ground about them, root by root must be carefully taken up if you want to transplant them, and you must take so much of the old earth with them that they hardly know they are being moved. Sarah, bring the coffee.

As for my own part, Archie, I am going back; but it is only just to see the old cottage, the dear old woods, and--and my mother's grave."

"Yes," said Archie, thoughtfully. "Well, root by root you said, didn't you?"

"Ay, root by root."

"Then I'm going to begin. Rupert and Elsie will be the first roots.

Roup isn't over strong yet. This country will make a man of him. Bob and you, Harry, can go to bed as soon as you like. I'm going out to think and walk about a bit. Stick another log or two on the fire, and as soon as you have all turned in I'll write a letter home. I'll begin the uprooting, though it does seem cruel to snap old ties."

"Well," said Harry, "thank goodness, I've got no ties to snap. And I think with you, Archie, that the old country isn't a patch on the new.

Just think o' the London fogs. You mind them, Sarah."

"I does, 'Arry."

"And the snow."

"And the slush, 'Arry."

"And the drizzle."

"And the kitchen beetles, boy. It would take a fat little lot to make me go back out o' the sunshine. Here's the coffee."

"Keep mine hot, Sarah."

Away went Archie out into the night, out under the stars, out in the falling dew, and his kangaroo went jumping and hopping after him.

The sky was very bright and clear to-night, though fleece-shaped, snow-white clouds lay low on the horizon, and the moon was rising through the distant woods, giving the appearance of some gigantic fire as its beams glared red among the topmost branches.

There was the distant howling or yelling of dingoes, and the low, half-frightened bleat of sheep, and there was the rippling murmur of the stream not far off, but all else was still.

It was two hours before Archie found his way back. The kangaroo saw him to the door, then went off to curl up in the shed till the hot beams of the morning sun should lure him forth to breakfast.

And all alone sat Archie, by the kitchen table, writing a letter home by the light of candles made on the steading.

It was very still now in the house--only the ticking of the clock, the occasional whirr of some insect flying against the window, anxious to come into the light and warmth and scratching of the young man's pen.

Surely the dog knew that Archie was writing home, for presently he got slowly up from his corner and came and leant his head on his master's knee, in that wise and kindly way collies have of showing their thoughts and feelings. Archie must leave off writing for a moment to smooth and pet the honest "bawsent" head.

Now it would be very easy for us to peep over Archie's shoulder and read what he was writing, but that would be rude; anything rather than rudeness and impoliteness. Rather, for instance, let us take a voyage across the wide, terribly wide ocean, to pay a visit to Burley Old Farm, and wait till the letter comes.

"I wonder," said Elsie with a gentle sigh, and a long look at the fire, "when we may expect to hear from Archie again. Dear me, what a long, long time it is since he went away! Let me see, Rupert, it is going on for six years, isn't it?"

"Yes. Archie must be quite a man by now."

"He's all right," said the Squire.

"That he is, I know," said Uncle Ramsay.

"He's in G.o.d's good hands," said the mother, but her gla.s.ses were so moist she had to take them off to wipe them; "he is in G.o.d's good hands, and all we can do now is to pray for him."

Two little taps at the green-parlour door and enter the maid, not looking much older, and not less smart, than when last we saw her.

"If you please, sir, there's a gentleman in the study as would like to see you."

"Oh," she added, with a little start, "here he comes!"

And there he came certainly.