So away they posted, up King Street, down [136] ]Macquarie Street, and away down the broad, beautiful, shady walk in the Domain.
There was not time to “do” the Gardens thoroughly, so they only walked rapidly up some of the paths, paused for a moment to look at the blue harbour beyond the low sea wall, and then walked three times solemnly and backwards around the wishing-tree near the entrance gates.
“What did you wish, Martha?” Poppet said, as they walked up again towards the statue of Captain Cook, where they were to meet Malcolm. “I hope you wished about Bunty.”
But Martha had been selfish enough to desire fervently that Malcolm should never go on strike again.
“Oh, you never get your wish if you tell what it is,” she said evasively.
“Don’t you?” said Poppet anxiously. “Oh dear, and I was nearly telling mine. You can’t guess in the slightest, Martha, can you? You have no idea, have you, Martha?”
“Not the slightest,” said Martha of the warm heart,—“not the least little bit, Miss Poppet.”
“And you always get your wish, Martha?”
“Oh, of course.”
Years after, Poppet’s faith in that wonderful wishing-tree was unshaken.