But later, before starting for the capital, Daisy and he had a long talk, during which a conspiracy was hatched.
Mr Barton bade his jackaroo a kindly good-bye; and if he felt any surprise at the non-renewal of his suit, he never showed it.
He was expecting, with almost feverish impatience, a letter from the firm in answer to his own report, with details of the disaster at Tarnpirr. And when at length it arrived, after what seemed a long delay, and he found that, instead of the reproaches and curt dismissal he was prepared for, it contained sympathy and an appointment to a large station on the Darling Downs, words were wanting to express his utter astonishment, and his deep contrition for the bad opinion he had formed of his employers.
‘Never mind, Daisy,’ he cried. ‘They say the owner will be there himself to receive us on our arrival. I can thank him then in person.’
‘Dear me, how nice that will be!’ replied Daisy, demurely.
[228]
]‘And, only fancy,’ he went on, ‘they request us to take our servant—that’s Bridget, of course—with us! I’m to find out, too, if those carriers lost much, and, if so, to compensate them.’
‘How very good and thoughtful they must be,’ answered Daisy—but this time with moist eyes.
I will not insult the reader’s penetration by asking him to guess who the owner of that Downs station was.
It will be sufficient to remark that Mr and Mrs Fortescue have only just returned from their wedding trip to the Continent; and that it will be very long indeed ere they forget that memorable night in ’90 upon which the waters came to Tarnpirr, and caused ‘Barton’s Jackaroo’ to show what he was made of.