“No, we couldn’t possibly work it; even if we employed a man it could hardly be carried on, and wages and keep would eat up the profits. Properties are hard to sell just now, Mr. Briggs says; people are afraid of the difficult life on the hill farms, with the constant struggle against rabbits and bracken. He thinks he could let the land to one of the neighbours: the Merritts need more land, he says, now that the railway has come and they can get their produce away more easily. He advises us to let the paddocks, retaining the house and the few acres round it. With very great care I think we could live on the income we should get. But it would mean looking at every penny twice.”
“Well, you know best, Mother, darling. What could we do if we didn’t let the land to Mr. Merritt?”
“I think we have very little choice. Selling is out of the question, for the present, at any rate. We might try to let the whole property, with the house; if we could do that I might get some work in Melbourne that would add to our income. But work is hard to get, for anyone of my age; and I should hardly know what to do with you.”
“I think that’s a perfectly hateful idea!” Robin sat up with a jerk. “You mean to go slaving in some beastly shop or office, I suppose—wearing yourself out altogether! Don’t you think we could manage to stay on here, Mother? We could live on awfully little—I can shoot rabbits and catch fish, and we hardly need any clothes out in this lonely place! And it would be so lovely to be together again—just you and I. You know how we used to ache to be by ourselves somewhere, in the holidays.”
“Do you think I don’t want it as much as you do? I have thought of nothing else. Oh, I think we may venture to try it, Robin—even if it were only for a year or two. I wouldn’t want you to stay here too long: when you are eighteen I should like you to learn typewriting and shorthand, so that you would have a profession to fall back upon.”
“I don’t seem to care what we do in a couple of years,” Robin said, laughing. “But at present I want to stay here, in this jolly old place, and feel that it’s our very own, and that no one can turn us out of it. It is such a dear old house, and we could make it so pretty. We’ll have a scrumptious garden, Mummie: I can do the digging, and you’ll supply the brains. I don’t see why we shouldn’t sell vegetables, because of course we can never eat all we grow!”
“That might be an idea,” said Mrs. Hurst, thoughtfully. “Now that the railway is here it would be easy to send fresh vegetables into Baroin once a week.”
“We’ll make heaps of money,” said Robin, with the gay confidence of nearly sixteen. “And rabbits, Mummie—isn’t it a mercy that Father taught me to shoot, and that we have his gun? Nice young bunnies ought to be very saleable—and think of the skins! they are worth ever so much. Danny can teach me to prepare them. We’ll have to do without Danny. I suppose?”
“Yes—we have no chance of keeping a boy. The cows must be sold. I thought we would keep the little Jersey: she has a beautiful calf a week old. She will give us more butter than we need, but I can sell it at the store in the village.”
“Well, I can milk her,” said Robin.