"That's Aileen's doing," said Tom.
"Indeed it's not," Aileen said quickly. "I have only put on a little polish. But 'Possum is her own dear, honest self. She has taught me more than I could ever teach her; and not only work, but things that matter more." But she would not say what those things were.
Dr. Metcalfe came from Garth's bedroom that evening with a very contented face.
"Well?" said Tom and Aileen together.
"I've overhauled every inch of your son," said the doctor, sitting down. "And I would not have thought that eight months could make such a difference. There is absolutely no sign of the old delicacy. He's just a great, hardy young ruffian, and if you weren't growing into a bigger edition of the same thing yourself, Tom, I should advise you to be polite to him, in case he handled you roughly! Seriously, I'm enormously pleased. You must have had a hard time, but it has paid you well."
"Garth is the main thing, of course," Tom said. "But it has paid in other ways, too. Of course, we have had luck. We struck a wonderful season, and we had no trouble with drought or bush-fires, or anything else. We haven't made a fortune. But there's money in it—not enough to get excited over, but enough to make one feel easy about the future. What with the stock, the wool, the crops, and the fowl-yard and vegetable-garden, we've had a very decent season, haven't we, Aileen?"
"Yes," said Aileen solemnly. "I'm going to have a new hat!"
"You can have the best hat in Melbourne," said her husband.
"Thank you, but I won't bother," said she. "It's at Barke's, and it's three-and-elevenpence. I shall get it next time I drive in."
The doctor looked from one to another, his eyes very kindly.