"But what nonsense you are talking. I'm not crying," was the reply.
"But you did cry in church, and I s'pose it's because Uncle Tom is going away. If not, what did you cry for?" said Jack, a question Aunt Betty did not think fit to answer.
CHAPTER IX
A SURPRISE VISIT
Four years had passed since Tom Chance had left Tasmania, and it was with a pleasurable quickening of pulse that he found himself back in the island and walking along the hilly road from the station towards Wallaroo. He had told no one he was coming, for he had planned once or twice before to pay a flying visit which pressure of work had made him obliged to defer, so this time he had determined to take his friends by surprise. His years of absence had been full of strenuous work, and he had travelled through many parts of the huge continent, up the Murray River, to New South Wales and Queensland, and wherever he had gone his strong personality and convincing earnestness had left behind a certain quickening of church life which in many cases proved permanent. And now he was conscious of brain fag, of a need for a holiday, and had made up his mind quite suddenly to take one, and it was natural that he should spend it with his sister and in revisiting some of his Tasmanian friends. The coach had not met the train by which he arrived, and he had left his baggage at the station and was walking the eight miles which separated the railway from Wallaroo.
And he commended himself for his decision as he strode leisurely along the zig-zag road which at every turn disclosed a wider and more beautiful view, and to his eyes, tired with the arid wastes through which he had lately travelled, the blue atmosphere and exquisite colouring of the island seemed little short of Paradise.
Indeed, in all his travels, Tasmania was the spot which had wound itself most closely round his heart. And from the land his mind passed on to the faces he was so soon to see again, Clarissa's joyous welcome, and that of his friends at the farm. Children's memories were short; he could scarcely hope that Eva would remember him, and of Jack he had heard not long since that he had developed from the delightful innocence and frankness of childhood, into a somewhat bumptious schoolboy, at least such was his sister's report.
"And Betty seems rather harassed with the care of him," she had said in her last letter. "She said the other day that she so wished he could have remained under your influence as he needs a man's hand, and his father is anxious that the boy should remain under her care until he is fourteen years old, when a sister of his will be returning for good from India and promises him a home."
It was this report that had made Tom decide to sail for Tasmania at once. If he could be of service to Betty in the absence of little Jack's father, he might turn his holiday to good account. Jack had been sent to the State school some six months ago, and the society of boys older than himself had probably gone to his head like wine, and made him lose his balance, in which case a little judicious snubbing might have good effect.
So thought Tom Chance as he breasted the last steep incline from the top of which he would catch his first glimpse of the township. Another mile and he would be at home, and very much at home he felt, as he walked through the straggling street, exchanging greetings with one and another who remembered him. Then came the turn into the familiar green lane, where so often two little friends had waited for him on a Saturday afternoon; but to-day no one was in sight, but just as he reached the gate of his sister's house a child with a bright face and a long plait of dark hair down her back, came running down the path whom Tom found it difficult to recognise as the curly-headed dumpling of five that he had left behind him. But no such great difference had the four years worked upon Tom himself, and Eva stood still for a moment, regarding him with startled wonder in her eyes; then as full recognition dawned upon her she came flying towards him with open arms.