‘Some one has been playing Rip Van Winkle tricks upon us,’ said Rosamond. ‘We have been asleep a hundred years, and are come back finding all things grown old and in decay.’
‘You must not forget that the colony has been established nearly fifty years,’ said Mr. Sternworth, ‘and that these are some of the earliest settlements. They were not always placed in the most judicious sites; wherefore, as newer towns have passed them in the race for trade, these have submitted to become, as you see them, “grey with the rime of years,” and simulating decay as well as circumstances will permit.’
‘Well, I think much more highly of Australia, now that I have seen a real ruin or two,’ said Annabel decisively. ‘I always pictured the country full of hideous houses of boards, painted white, with spinach green doors and windows.’
The afternoon was well advanced as the inmates of the carriage descried the encampment which Mr. Evans had ordered, with some assistance from his military experience. So complete in all arrangements for comfort was it—not wholly disregarding the element of romantic scenery—that the girls cried aloud in admiration.
The streamlet (or creek) which afforded the needful water meandered round the base of a crag, jutting out from a forest-clothed hill. The water-hole (or basin) in the channel of the creek was larger than such generally are, and reflected brightly the rays of the declining sun. The meadow, which afforded space for the encampment, was green, and fertile of appearance. The waggon stood near the water; the four horses were peacefully grazing. At a short distance, under a spreading tree, the tent had been pitched, while before it was a wood fire, upon which Jeanie was cooking something appetising. Wilfred and his brother were strolling, gun in hand, up the creek; the cow was feeding among the rushes with great contentment; Andrew was seated, meditating, upon a box which he had brought forth from the recesses of the waggon; while Dick Evans, not far from a small fire, upon which stood a camp-kettle at boiling-point, was smoking with an air of conscious pride, as if not only the picturesque beauty, but the personages pertaining to the landscape, belonged to him individually.
‘I could not leave you more comfortably provided for,’ said their ‘guide, philosopher, and friend.’ ‘Old Dick may be trusted in all such matters as implicitly as the Duke of Wellington. I never knew him at fault yet in this kind of life.’
‘You must positively stay and have afternoon tea with us,’ exclaimed Annabel. ‘It is exactly five, and there is Dick putting a tin cupful of tea into the teapot. What extravagant people you colonists are! I never drank tea in the open air before, but it seems quite the right thing to do. I see Jeanie has made griddle-cakes, like a dear old thing. And I know there is butter. I am so hungry. You will stay, won’t you?’
‘I think, sir,’ said the ex-family coachman, looking indulgently at the special pleader, ‘that we shall have time to get back to the Red Cow Inn to-night, after a cup of tea, as the young lady wishes it. I’ll run you into town bright and early to-morrow.’
‘Very well then, Miss Annabel, I shall have the honour to accept your invitation,’ bowed the old man. ‘I go away more cheerfully than I expected, now that I leave you all so comparatively snug. It will not be for long. Be sure that I shall meet you on the threshold of Warbrok.’
The al fresco meal was partaken of with much relish, even gaiety, after which civilisation—as personified by the reverend gentleman and the carriage—departed. Annabel looked after it ruefully, while Jeanie and Mrs. Effingham took counsel together for the night. It was for the first time in the family history. Never before had the Effinghams slept, so to speak, in the open air. It was a novel adventure in their uneventful lives—a marked commencement of their colonial career. It affected them differently, according to their idiosyncrasies. Rosamond was calmly resolute, Annabel apprehensive, and Beatrice indifferent; the boys in high spirits; Mr. Effingham half in disapproval, despondently self-accusing; while Mrs. Effingham and Jeanie were so fully absorbed in the great bedding question that they had no emotions to spare for any abstract consideration whatever.