“Well, well, my dear. So you had to stay to see it out? I’m sorry we couldn’t show you a better finish; but never mind, we made a fight for it—we made a fight for it.”
She brought a cushion from the sulky and put it for him to sit on by the fire. He sank slowly on it. “So,” he said quietly. “And that’s the last of Coolongolong—the last of....” His voice trailed off into silence—a silence unbroken except for the baa-ing of the sheep that had slackened, but never stopped.
“Is’t as bad as that, sir?” said Scottie.
“Ay, Mackellar—it’s the finish. I’ve plunged to the hilt on saving them. The skins won’t pay off enough to clear me, even letting the station go. But I’m sorrier for——” he was looking at Steve, but he checked himself and glanced at Ess.
“I’m sorry for yourself only, sir,” said Steve, quietly.
“Thank’ee, lad, thank’ee. That’s kindly said,” said the old boss. “Well, well, maybe they will leave me in charge as manager, when they take over Coolongolong.”
“I’m sure we a’ hope that, maist airnestly, sir,” said Scottie.
The silence fell again, and they could hear in it the faint hiss and spurt of the flames of the tiny fire.
Ess shivered, and sat closer to the warmth.
“Are you cold, Miss Ess?” said Steve.