The lady had fruit brought out. In all our wanderings they were amongst those whose acquaintance—alas! too short—will always be remembered with pleasure.
Time passes rapidly. The gipsies’ instruments are put up. The kind Norwegian lady gave Esmeralda a bouquet of flowers from her garden. There was much in this present, which drew us still closer, in our appreciation of her friendly thought. The heroine of our book receives a bouquet of flowers! It is not thrown down at her feet, with the grandiose air of “There, take it!” It is given her by one whose amiable spirit had our sympathy, and for whom we felt at that moment we could have risked much. She had given the bouquet to the heroine of our wanderings—Esmeralda, the true, not the fictitious, heroine of this book!
The young gentleman who spoke English expressed in English terms their good wishes. They were thoroughly good people, with all the refinement, and gentleness of those best feelings, which should predominate in our nature. As we went out of sight, in passing a turn of the road, we saw them in the distance, waving their handkerchiefs in parting adieux.
It was now midday; the sun was intensely hot. Our animals, who could stand almost anything, seemed oppressed with the heat. We had, we believe, just left “Lomen.” There were enclosures on both sides the road; no convenient place to give us shade and rest. We must push on. Each day, as we wandered on, we never knew where we should dine or sleep.
The district we now passed through was well cultivated. Many gaards on each side the road. The peasants were busy with their harvest. Even their anxiety to make provision for the winter of life did not prevent them from running, at times, with excited and unwonted energy, to the road fences to see us go by.
At one place, we observed a tall peasant running down a steep declivity; in his hurry he had left one of his shoes behind, one on and the other off. “Here comes neck or nothing,” said Esmeralda, as he nearly took a header down a steep rock.
Still we had to keep on. Small patches of hops, we noticed at some of the gaards, perhaps a few perches; never, we remember, more than a rood. Yet they seemed to grow luxuriantly. Trailing in their rich foliage, and blossoms, they are always an interesting feature in any scene. Now and then, we noticed hemp. There was a well-to-do appearance in this district.
We had gone some distance in the heat of the sun, travel-worn, and dusty; at last we descended a steep declivity, and on our left we perceived a rough piece of open ground, covered with scattered trees and bushes, sloping to a dingle. A cool, clear stream, rippled near an old mill, and crossed the road. The road descended, and again as rapidly ascended. All was secluded.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Now, where is the kettle? so hungry are we,
Surely our supper the next thing must be;
The fire already is blazing up high,
And asking for rashers of bacon to fry;
The damper is perfect, the pannikin’s found,
And all laid out on the banqueting-ground;
When everything’s ready, I have not a doubt
A monarch might envy our “camping out.”
Bush Flowers from Australia.