But Mrs. Dunks began to talk to him, and her apron was at her eyes nearly all the time. He learned that Dunks was the best of men, and only weak. If once they could get from this neighbourhood and his bad companions to Forbes, where her own people were, he would surely reform. He learned that Mrs. Dunks had nine children, all under fourteen; that she was in a consumption, and only the air of Forbes could cure her. It seemed to him that he could not turn round to this fragile, heavily burdened creature, look into her fever-bright, anxious eyes, and tell her he would not give her this chance to end her days among her own people.
So he looked at all the young life again, and the sheer sun, bursting out of the wattles, and was glad to be persuaded that a little paint and a bit of timber would make the house quite new again.
'Do you think,' he said, and turned round to the woman, 'that you could give me possession of the place in a month?'
And the woman burst into thankful tears, and told him they would be gone to-morrow.
'I've packed up for going eighteen times this year,' she said through her tears. 'I've got my hand well in.'
Dunks was away in the township, the youngest baby was lying in her arms looking up at her with pure eyes, and the pale wraith death, whom she ever felt beside her, had kept her conscience tender.
'Did—did you say the agent told you two hundred and fifty?' she faltered.
Cameron thought of his children and braced himself up.
'He did,' he said firmly, 'and I cannot possibly give you a penny-piece more. I consider it is a very fair price.'
'But—but——' the woman began again.