They said good-bye to the "House Beautiful" in the early morning, while the roses on the porch were still wet with dew. One fragrant bud brushed Aileen's shoulder as she went, and she picked it, and tucked it into her coat. If a little shiver ran through her as the door closed behind her, she gave no sign. Their cab rattled off down the familiar suburban street. Neither Tom nor Aileen looked back.
At the big station all was bustle and hurry: and soon they were in the train and slipping through the long miles of grey houses, until the just-awaking city was left far behind, and wide green paddocks and gum trees, tall and stately, surrounded them. Little townships, like beads upon a string, brought them to a halt every few miles: sometimes so close together that there seemed scarcely any break between the outlying homesteads.
"Plenty of settlement here now," Macleod said. "My mother used often to travel this road by coach, and it was a journey in the winter: the road was just a succession of bog-holes. There was one cheery spot known as the Glue-Pot. Passengers used to get out there, in a body; the women and children stood under the trees, often in pouring rain, while the men got their shoulders to the wheels and dragged and pushed the old coach through. It must have been hard on women with babies."
"Ugh!" said Aileen. "Do you know, I think our mothers were made of better stuff than we are."
"I don't," said her husband stoutly. "You aren't called upon to do what they did—you would do it if you were. But I don't think we men are anything like as good as our fathers: we're brought up softly, and we simply haven't got their muscle and endurance and pluck."
"It's just the same with you—you would do what you had to."
"I suppose we'd try. Honestly, though, we wouldn't get through as much. Every one thinks more nowadays of having a good time: the old people never took holidays, never had luxuries: worked year in and year out; had mighty few clothes, and patched them until they fell to pieces. I suppose that's partly how they made money. No, we're poor specimens compared to our fathers."
"Well, I think you're just as good as Grandfather, and a jolly lot better!" said an indignant small voice; and Garth hurled himself tumultuously upon his father.
"It's something to have a champion, isn't it?" said Aileen, laughing. "Sonnie, this is where I tuck you up for a sleep," at which Garth protested that he had never been less tired in his life, but nevertheless submitted to being rolled up in a rug with his head on his mother's knee; where presently sleep came to him, and he lay peacefully while the train raced through the fertile paddocks that were once a desolate swamp, climbed the Haunted Hills laboriously, rattled down the other side, and so came upon wide plains where great bullocks ceased grazing to look lazily at the iron monster that came daily to disturb their solitude.
Half the afternoon had waned when the train came to the end of its long journey, and they emerged from the station into a sleepy street where two-horse cabs waited to rattle them across Bairnsdale to the river. A paddle-steamer, moored to the wharf, was hooting as they approached, and late-comers were hurrying down the hill, fearful of being left behind. Having thus shown her independence by hooting, and every one being safely on board, the steamer decided not to hurry; and it was some time before she woke up to fresh energy, mooring ropes were cast off, and she churned her way into mid-stream.