“Well, well, well,” he said to Frank, “who would have thought of seeing you out here, and do you know, my boy, I would hardly have known you, you are wonderfully changed.”
“Well,” replied Frank, laughing heartily at his uncle’s pleasantry, “seeing that I was only a year and a half old when you left England, you cannot wonder there is a little change.”
“How do you like your welcome?” Frank asked of Chisholm on the morning of the second day.
“It’s a Highland welcome, Frank; a Highland welcome.”
Chisholm thought he could not say more than that.
Old Mr Thompson was greatly amused at the mistake of Jack, the native guide, and their adventure with the other Thompsons, but he added he really believed Jack had done it on purpose, for the humour of the Australian native is of a very strange order, but none the less genuine for all that.
The house where our heroes now found themselves billeted was somewhat after the bungalow stamp—a widely-spread comfortable house, all on one flat, but it was altogether pleasant to live in. The gardens around it formed one of its principal charms; so cool they were, so green, so shady and scented.
Frank and Lyell and Fred went everywhere about the great farm; a farm so big, so wide, and wild, that it not only took days and days to ride across; but when they went out of a morning, with their horses and kangaroo hounds, they never knew what might turn up before they returned. It might be a warragh hunt (the wild dog of the interior), or a scamper after the emu or kangaroo, or they might settle down to hours and hours of quiet fishing, or try to shoot the ornithorynchus paradoxus. Then there were wild-fowl in abundance, quails and snipe and pigeons, and all were just tame enough to afford what might be called decent sport.
I have not mentioned Chisholm as taking much part in these sporting adventures, and must I tell you why? “Well, he was very fond of a game of whist, and also of smoking under the honeysuckles and the green mimosa trees; and Frank’s uncle was such a genuine old fellow, and Frank’s aunt such a delightful, and kindly, thoroughly English lady. Oh! but I feel that I am only beating about the bush, so I must confess the truth at once, though for Chisholm’s sake I’d rather have concealed it. One of Frank’s cousins there was a young and charming girl; and—and—and Chisholm had fallen over head and ears in love. It is with much reluctance I tell it; and it is strange, too, that one by one my heroes, my mighty hunters, whose hearts, like their sinewy arms, ought to have been hearts of oak or steel, should fall into the power of the saucy little god Eros. But it is the truth, and there is no getting away from it. As soon, however, as Chisholm knew and felt he was conquered at last, he confessed the same to his companions.
“But I’m not going to make any engagement, you know,” he added. “I’ve never been in love before, so I don’t know much about it; but if I’m not cured by the time we get back to old England, why then I’ll return to this lovely place just to see if Edith will know me again.”