Garth was wildly excited. Already a big grey horse in a gig had supplied a private circus for his benefit, declining to cross the bridge over the river near the wharf, and showing its utter disapproval of all bridges by dancing wildly on its hind legs, while the girl who was driving beat it in vain. A parting hoot from the steamer's siren concluded the argument, so terrifying the horse that it dropped to all fours and, in desperation, bolted across the bridge, disappearing in mad career towards the town. Already, Garth decided; the country was showing extraordinary attractions: this sort of entertainment never happened in a Toorak street. And now they were slipping down the river, between high banks where pleasant houses perched, surrounded by beautiful gardens. Boat-houses were built at the edge of the water, whence flights of steps ran up the hill: and little boats, tied to stakes, rocked lazily as the steamer approached, and, as she passed them, executed a frenzied dance as the swish of the water from the paddle-wheels churned into the reeds along the bank. Sometimes a lone fisherman sat in a boat, patiently angling. These sportsmen regarded the steamer as a necessary evil, and dangled their baits in the air until the commotion of her passing should have subsided.
A road wound along the river-bank. It was partly screened from view by trees, but sometimes they caught glimpses of people riding and driving, and once they saw a flock of sheep, driven by two boys, the younger of whom looked about Garth's age. A little later came three or four merry boys and girls, on ponies, racing, with shouts of laughter, along the track. Garth drew a long breath.
"Isn't the country a lovely place for boys, Dad!" he said.
"It seems pretty jolly, old man," his father answered. "How soon do you think you'll be able to ride like that?"
"I expect I'll have to get bucked off a good few times first," said the small boy soberly. "But it doesn't hurt much if you choose a soft spot to fall, Doctor says. He told me no one could ride until he'd been slung off seven times!"
"Well, a good many people couldn't ride if they had been off seventy-seven times," his father answered. "Some people aren't born to be riders."
"Do you think I am?" queried Garth anxiously.
"Can't tell until I see you on a pony. You ought to be all right; there's a good deal in beginning young. You will be all right if you're not afraid," said his father.
Garth's small face set firmly, and instinctively he stiffened his back. In his heart he was not quite sure that he was not a little afraid. But he hoped no one was going to guess it.
Round a bend came a little sea-going steamer, trim and workmanlike. She passed them, so close that a biscuit could have been thrown from deck to deck. The two crews exchanged cheery greetings; the men on the incoming ship were busy getting everything in order as they neared the end of their long voyage from Melbourne.