Garth loved the gullies. Now that Mother and Daddy were so busy all day there was much time on his hands. A small boy of seven cannot always help, no matter how willing he may be; there were times when all his jobs—and they were many—were done, and he was free to wander off into the paddocks, where the cool fern-glades were storehouses of wonder for the little city lad. Books were forbidden him nowadays; but his brain held old stories of fairies and elves and gnomes, and it was easy to people this new country with them all.
Best of all he loved the days when 'Possum worked upon the little farm. 'Possum never was too busy for a small boy. Her day's work was a generous one, for she came early—rising at no one knew what unearthly hour to finish her home-tasks first—and stayed late, riding away in the dusk with her blue skirt flapping against the side of the old grey; and she was a swift, tireless worker, with a rare ability for using her head as well as her hands, so that she never made two strokes where one would suffice. But she managed to include Garth in most things. If she were ploughing, he knew that by waiting at the end of the furrow he could have a few words with her as he watched the fascinating business of turning the big disc-plough; and if the going were good, there might even be the wild joy of sitting in its curved iron seat, and holding the reins while 'Possum turned the horses. Always at the end of the day he was there to help her take them out of the plough; and then, each mounted on a broad bare back, with the harness jingling, they would jog home together to the stable, and he would help to rub down the horses and feed them. 'Possum always let him help. It was one of the things Garth liked best about her.
He was fast turning into a country boy. All the dull business of putting in the crops was a gloriously interesting matter to him—partly because it was so interesting to Daddy, and because Daddy was learning, even as he was. They watched together for the first shoots of the oats, the tiny tender leaves of the field-peas, and the slender spears of the maize; and Garth was a proud boy because it was he who first found the potatoes sending green messages above the brown soil he had helped to prepare. Later, 'Possum showed them how to "hill" them, so as to protect the tender stems: just as she taught them the points of the new calves that were now running in the paddocks, turning from good veal into better beef, and of the sheep that dotted the rises. Her father showed Tom how to buy them: or rather, he bought them while Tom looked on, vainly trying to see why a beast should be good value at 30*s*., and another, looking—to him—very like the first, should be ruination at 35*s*. Nick O'Connor, for all his kindliness, was not good at explaining. But 'Possum knew almost as much as her father about stock, and her knowledge was always at their disposal: so that light gradually broke upon Tom, and with it an added interest in his new work. Garth listened with all his ears, and picked up crumbs of information. Already he knew a Hereford from a Shorthorn, and could tell you which was likely to turn into the best beef.
But there were times when 'Possum laid aside business, and became simply the best mate imaginable. Sometimes it would be when she had come especially early, and so could squeeze a spare hour out of the tail of the day: sometimes on a Sunday afternoon she would appear, and take possession of Garth, and they would vanish into the Bush. 'Possum taught him all her own learning: how to find all manner of birds' nests, for which she would climb like a monkey; where the wallaby and wombat hid by day, and which were the holes that might hide her namesakes, the 'possums. She had queer stories of the Bush fairies, and taught him to recognize the rings their dancing left in the grass, where mushrooms would come up in the autumn. They came back from these rambles laden with treasures: yams, dug with sharp sticks, which 'Possum cooked in the fashion of the blacks; clumps of rare fern; strange fungi; cool mosses; birds' eggs of delicate hues. 'Possum would never take more than one egg from a nest. "Don't you reckon a bird's got feelin's, same's you?" she would ask the abashed Garth.
She was always a little shy of Tom, even while she taught him his new trade of farmer. There was a twinkle in his eye that was disconcerting moreover, his manners were so good, and his politeness so invariable, that she never got over an uneasy feeling that he might be laughing at her. She liked him very much, and referred to him in her own mind as "a real gent." But the shyness was always there.
She worshipped Aileen frankly. Something in the dainty sweetness of Garth's mother appealed to the Bush girl who had never known daintiness. Not a line of the slender body in the fresh print frocks was lost upon her: not a ripple of the smooth, shining hair. Even in the midst of hard country work Aileen's well-groomed look never left her—partly because of the extreme simplicity of her dress; and it was this quality of fresh neatness that captivated 'Possum most. It never occurred to her that it would be possible to imitate it. Torn and shapeless dungaree frocks were her portion in life, and though she hated them she regarded them as inevitable.
Already Aileen's poultry farm was flourishing. The three bad-tempered hens had applied themselves to their duties with such concentration that three dozen half-fledged chicks now followed them about. Others had been set to rear turkeys and ducks, and these, too, flourished; although the unpleasant propensity of young turkeys for expiring without warning had done much to age Garth, who fed them once an hour with clockwork regularity. The fowls purchased from Mother Coffey had done well. Garth knew all their nests which was saying something, as the Bush fowl changes her nest frequently, in the hope of finding a corner sufficiently well concealed to prevent prying humans from robbing her of her eggs. In the store-room kerosene tins in steadily increasing numbers held eggs, put by in waterglass to sell in the winter; and meanwhile the hotels and stores, and the summer visitors, demanded all that could be spared, and paid good prices for vegetables, at which Tom and Aileen worked early and late. 'Possum did the marketing, with her own goods, unwillingly accepting a small commission. "I won't let you do it unless we pay you," Aileen had said. "And think of the wretched prices I should get! I should never have courage to ask half the money you make people pay!"
"I'm gettin' more meself than I ever did," 'Possum had answered. "Look how you've learnt me to get things up dossy, to sell—strawb'ries an' gooseb'ries in little nests of leaves, an' veg'tables lookin' pretty enough to put in vawses in a parlour! I used to dump me things in anyhow. It's no wonder they fall over themselves to buy things like you send 'em in. Flowers, too; it never even entered me head that summer visitors 'ud like 'em—an' they rush me for 'em! I do think I was a silly ass all these years!"
Melbourne seemed to have faded away. Sometimes, even yet, a pang of homesickness swept over Aileen; but for the most part she was too busy and too interested in her new rife to spare time for hankering after vanished fleshpots. Outside occupations had taught her the folly of cooping herself too much in the house. Work, too, had grown easier as method developed; she was just as "house-proud" as ever, and the little cottage shone throughout, but it no longer claimed all her time. Garth was an excellent helper, and Tom always willing to lend a hand; and a woman had been found to give a day weekly to washing and scrubbing. Even Horrors was responding to training which had demanded the patience of Job, and could be trusted to wash dishes and scour saucepans, getting himself extremely wet in the process, but arriving, in the fullness of time, at cleanliness. Cooking was simple, for they lived mainly on their own produce, and had appetites that required no tempting. They took many meals in the open: grilling chops over a fire in the Bush, boiling the billy, and making the most ordinary meal into a picnic. "Saves a heap of washing-up, and it's healthy," said Tom.
It was certainly healthy. Already the simple life had set its seal on them all. Garth had grown and broadened, and his brown face and clear eyes were sufficient proof of the wisdom of Dr. Metcalfe's advice. Aileen, Tom declared, grew younger and prettier every day, and was herself astonished at her muscular development; while Tom, lean and bronzed, and hard as nails, showed the perfect physical condition of a young colt. They rose early, and went to bed early: worked hard, lived in the open air, and had appetites that would have alarmed the Julia of old days. Interests which had meant much to them once upon a time were now small matters beside the rain that came when the crops were just needing it, the price of eggs and vegetables, or the calf that strayed away into the scrub and remained lost for three days. It was Garth who found it, at last, and his pride was all but sinful—not that he had found it, but because he managed to follow its tracks along the bed of a creek!