So they nursed her back to quietness of mind, which brought healing to her tired body, filling her days with laughter and the interests of the farm, until the dreams left her and she ceased to look at Garth with a shudder of remembrance. They kept her busy, as soon as she could sit up, finding urgent requirements of patches and buttons, and a hundred little things that only she could understand and arrange. "Best thing for her," said 'Possum, and they saw that her words were true.
Messengers came from 'Possum's home very often—Bill or little Joe riding over with news of the farm and inquiries for the Missus. Bertha was doin' fine, they said. "Never puts her nose outside the kitchen, an' my word! she cooks a treat!" was Bill's verdict. "Yes, the house looks all right—why wouldn't it? Dad was busy all day harvestin' at Mackenzie's, but he came home at night. An' the wool was sold, an' Dad said to tell Mr. Macleod it was the best price he'd had for years, so Mr. Macleod's wool, bein' along with it, must have brought him luck." After which recitals Bill and Joe would consume enormous quantities of tea and cake and reluctantly take the track for home. They confided to Garth that Bert was a pretty good cook, an' all that, but it wasn't like havin' 'Poss.
In a few days Aileen was able to get up—too weak to work, but glad to be about once more, even if being "about" meant only sitting still. Then came 'Possum to her, with a request.
"If you wouldn't mind," she said, and flushed scarlet, "I thought it 'ud be such a chance for me, when I was knockin' about here, an' you not busy, if you'd put me up to a few things."
"What sort of things, 'Possum?" Aileen asked.
"Oh, just odd things. You know—like the way you have the house. I don't know a thing, except how to cook, after a fashion, and land what I've cooked on the table; an' that's after a fashion, too. You have everything so pretty an' nice: I'd like to learn how."
"You would be just the easiest person to teach." Aileen told her.
"Would I?" 'Possum's face was eager. "I'd try not to be too much of a duffer. It's like me old dungarees. Before you come, I thought they were all right; now I can't stand 'em, except just for rough work. I think it 'ud be nice if I could get like that about other things—if I could feel as if I couldn't stand food slung on the table anyhow, or rooms all messy an' hideous. Then I could teach the kids."
"But once you feel like that, it leaves very little for me to teach you," she said. "Your mind is dainty in itself, so you like everything about you to be dainty."
'Possum drew a long breath.