John Tincroft, bachelor and benedict

by George E. Sargent

And something better than this. And we, who have the advantage of knowing more than the name of the young Helen, may quite believe that she would not have committed herself to the care and fond affection of one of whom, in higher and nobler and more enduring qualities, she had any reason to doubt.

We will not have any more love scenes—in this part of our story at least; so all I have to observe in relation to Walter's courtship is, that after having for two years acquitted himself with satisfaction to the Sedley of that ilk, he one day craved an audience with his employer, and boldly proposed himself as a suitor for Helen's hand, Helen herself having consented.

At first the ex-lawyer was astounded at the audacity of his steward. But he soon summoned wisdom enough to reflect that before many years could pass away, his daughter would be alone in the world, with considerable property, of a kind which would require a stronger hand than a woman's to manage; that there was no one else in the field, nor likely to be, in the solitude of that bush life to which Helen had become so accustomed, that perhaps she was fitted for no other kind of life. That the girl, moreover, had her own notions of what was convenient, proper, right, and so forth, and had been accustomed to have her way pretty much as she pleased—which, being a good way, had been all the better for him; that if she had taken a liking to the young fellow, she had a right to please herself, all the more that he (the father) had taken a liking to him also; and that, to sum up all, he did not know how Sedley Station would get on without Wilson to manage it. And so the bargain was struck, and the knot was tied.

And now we must get over our Australian ground as rapidly as possible, for we have a strong longing to see John Tincroft once more in the flesh. So we have only to say, in the first place, that after Walter's sober, quiet sort of wedding, his father-in-law, becoming increasingly infirm, withdrew altogether from any interference in the management of his property, and gradually sank into a torpid state of existence, which terminated in death about two years from the date of his daughter's marriage. He was reverently laid in the small graveyard of Sedley Station; and then, in right of his wife, Wilson entered into full possession of the estate, which was her lawful inheritance. Before this time, a little Helen had appeared upon the scene, and Mrs. Wilson was comforted for her father's death in the new duties of a mother.

At about the same time the affairs of the colony almost suddenly put on a new phase of prosperity, in consequence of which the district around Sedley Station began to increase in population. One after another, purchasers of Government lands, technically calling themselves squatters, settled down on their farms, built themselves houses, established out-stations, and turned to account the stock-feeding capability of the bush. In all this advancing prosperity, Walter Wilson had his share. He increased his flocks and herds, and gradually brought his home farm into a state of cultivation previously unknown. In carrying out his plans, and following up his various successes, it was necessary to add to the number of his hands on the settlement, and to enlarge his establishment generally.

All this, however, was a work of time, and we must pass over some intervening years, merely explaining that though in the particulars just mentioned Walter Wilson was reckoned a fortunate man, he had one source of dissatisfaction with his lot. He hadn't a son to succeed him; indeed, he had but one child, and that child was, as we have said, a daughter.

"If I had been a poor man in the old country, as I should have been if I had stopped there," said Walter to himself one day, "I should have had more mouths to feed than bread to feed them with, I suppose."

But the complaining mood passed away at the first sight of his wife's peaceful countenance, and at the first contact of his little Helen's rosy lips with his weather-beaten cheek.

Did Walter, in these days, ever think of his old home? Most likely he did; but he very seldom spoke of it. Even to his wife, he maintained a studied reserve. He had friends in England, some of whom had not used him well; but he had forgiven them, he hoped. So he stated once; and as Helen Wilson was not very curious, and was perfectly satisfied with her husband's love, she asked for nothing more from him.

At length Walter Wilson's one unsatisfied wish was gratified. Fourteen years had passed away since the birth of his daughter, and now a son was given to him. A fine thriving, bouncing boy, the happy father pronounced this precious gift to be, when he first daintily held it in his strong arms, and kissed it again and again before he could be persuaded to restore it to the nurse, who had been borrowed for the time from the nearest settlement, where her services had been in request a short time before.