The night was wearing on, and early hours were the rule at the Moa’s Nest; so old Lee slowly rose, pipe in hand, and made his customary round, stopping here and there for a few whiffs, till he was satisfied that sheep and cattle were well folded, horses bedded down, dogs loose and watchful; though no enemies were ever dreaded there—the old settler being on the best of terms with neighbour and native.
On returning, he encountered Mr Meadows a few yards from the door.
“The young folks seemed as though they could well spare me, friend Lee,” he said; “so I strolled out to finish my pipe with you. Youth lasts but a while: let them enjoy the happy season. We are getting older than when we first met, ten years ago, friend Lee; and things have prospered with you.”
“Ay,” said the settler; “thank Providence, they have; for it’s a sore job to work early and late, and see the toil all wasted. I’ve prospered well here, parson; and if things go on so, I shall die a rich man. I wish they prospered as well with you.”
“They prosper well enough, Martin Lee. I’ve my own little home, and the people in my district are kind and hospitable when I visit them; and, somehow, this half-civilised sort of existence suits me better than the life at the old home. I have never regretted my large town curacy, and I hope I never shall.”
They stood silent for a few moments.
“Your bonnie English bud is breaking into a fair and sweet-scented rose, Martin Lee,” said Mr Meadows at last.
“What—Katie? Yes, yes, God bless her! But it gets to be a worrying time, parson, when the lads come wooing; and, though I took no heed to it, that young fellow Bray went out looking as if he’d like to make an end of us all.”
“Be charitable, friend Lee—be charitable. The young man was hot and bitter and disappointed; and no wonder. A night’s rest will do him much good, poor lad. Let’s pity, and not condemn.”
“Very well,” said old Lee, smiling; “and now let’s go in.”