“Mr Fraser!”
The old man looked up, wondering at the “Mr.”
“What is it, Gerrard?”
“I am going to ask your daughter to marry me.”
Fraser could not help a smile. “There's no beating about the bush with you, Tom Gerrard.” Then he put out his hand, and said with grave kindness: “You are the one man whom I should like to see her marry.”
“Thank you,” and the younger man's face flushed with pleasure.
Then Fraser, like the tactful man he was, said not a word more on the matter.
“Look here, Gerrard, what is the use of your coming any further with me when you have so much to do? Get back, my son—and I wish you luck. Give Kate my love, and tell her I said so,” and then shaking hands with his friend, he struck into a smart canter.
Gerrard rode slowly home. Kate, Jim, and Mary were engaged in making a seine in the cool back verandah. Kate looked up with a smile, surprised and pleased to see him back so soon.
“Will you come with me and shoot some guinea-fowl, Miss Fraser?” Then he hurriedly turned to Jim: “You need not come, Jim. Go on with the seine.”