[126]
]One time, indeed, she had been tempted to take a Thursday instead, as the weather looked threatening on the Wednesday; but after a little deliberation, she thought it would be better to keep to her rule. And on the Thursday she had almost gone there was a collision between the river boat and one going to Balmain,—no one hurt certainly, but then, as she very truly remarked, there might have been. There had never been a collision in the memory of any of the family, for she questioned each and all, on a Wednesday.
The man in corduroy trousers still came to see her, and they still only talked of their marriage as the “far-off divine event” of their lives; in all probability they would be talking of it just the same ten years hence. They were not like the usual happy-go-lucky, improvident Australians of their class, who married first, and wondered where the bread and meat were coming from second.
Malcolm was a Scotchman, and was saving up to buy a house of his own—he did not believe in lining landlords’ pockets with his earnings. It would, with the strip of land he wanted, be four hundred odd pounds, and he had already saved £75. Martha had £15 in the bank, but then hers would have to go in furniture and clothing. Pip calculated [127] ]that Malcolm would be seventy-two, and Martha a gay young thing of sixty-nine, by the time the house was built and furnished; but Martha was more hopeful, and did not leave such a margin for the “strikes” Malcolm seemed to revel in.
Now this particular Wednesday, Martha had asked, as a great favour, that Poppet might go with her to town. The little girl was her favourite among all the children, and her warm heart quite ached to see the child moping as she had done since Bunty’s disappearance. Every day, while the nursery tea-things were being washed up, Poppet used to stand beside her, with big mournful eyes, wondering “if just this minute Bunty was climbing a mast; if he was very tired of salt meat and weevily biscuits; if his feet got very cold swilling the decks down; if—if—if——”
Martha’s brother had been a sailor, so Martha knew more about life on board ship than any one else in the house; hence her great attraction.
Esther, after a consultation with Meg, gave permission; the child was fretting herself thin and pale, and any change did her good.
Of course when Poppet was dressed and standing on the verandah, engaged in the vexatious task of [128] ]pulling her gloves over her little brown hands, Peter wanted to come too.
“You’re a thneak, Poppet, going and having pleathure, and me thtuck here doing nothing,” he said. “I’m coming too.”
“In that dirty old suit, and mud on the end of your nose?” said Poppet, with the virtuous tone a spotless white frock, whole stockings, and clean boots made justifiable.
“Of courth I can wath my noth, and the thuit ithn’t dirty if you bruth it.” He took out a crumpled ball of handkerchief, dipped one corner in the gold-fish bowl inside the hall door, and polished his small nose with great energy. “There, ith it off?”