Gerald O’More had also sustained a change. His manner was more subdued, and his spirits, though ready as of old to respond to the call of mirth, did not seem to be so irrepressible. He had altered somewhat in figure and face, having lost the fulness which marks the newly-arrived colonist, and along with the British fairness of complexion, sacrificed to the Australian sun, had put away the half-inquiring, half-critical tone of manner that characterises the immigrant Briton for his first year in Australia. He now ranked as the soldier who had shared in the toil, the bivouac, the marches of the campaign; no longer a recruit or supernumerary.
‘He has never been so jolly since poor Hubert’s death,’ whispered Guy to Rosamond in their first confidential talk. ‘He thought it was his fault that the poor chap wasn’t able to defend himself. But he’ll get over it in time. A better-hearted fellow couldn’t be. He’s a stunning bushman now, and a tiger to work.’
‘What’s “a tiger to work”?’ asked Rosamond, laughing. ‘I must make you pay a forfeit for inelegant expressions, as I used to do in old school-days.’
‘I should never have known half as much,’ said the boy, as he turned to his sister with a look of deepest love and admiring respect, ‘if it hadn’t been for you, Rosamond. How early you used to get up on those winter mornings, and how Blanche and I and Selden hated the sound of that bell! But there’s nothing like it,’ he added with a tone of manly decision. ‘I polished off a fellow about the date of the battle of Crecy in great style the other day. You would have been quite proud of me.’
‘You keep up your reading, then, dear Guy, and don’t forget your classics, though you are in the bush? When you go to England, some day, you must show our friends that we do more than gallop after cattle and chop down trees in Australia.’
‘Oh, we have great reading at night, I can tell you; only those tallow candles are such a nuisance. I’ve got a new friend, a Cambridge fellow, just out from home, on the other side of me, and he’s a regular encyclopædia. So, between him and the Benmohr people, I shan’t rust much.’
‘I am delighted to hear it. I hope you will have an Oxford man on your other side, as you call it. A literary atmosphere is everything for young people. Who is your other neighbour?’
‘Jack Donnelly, and not half a bad fellow either. Though his father can’t read or write, he knows Latin, but not Greek, and he’s awfully fond of reading. You should hear the arguments he and Cavendish have—the Cambridge man, I mean.’
‘What do they argue about?’
‘Oh, everything—England and Ireland, Conservative and Democratic government, native Australians and Britishers. They’re always at it. Jack’s a clever fellow, and very quick; awfully good-looking too. You should see him ride. Cavendish says he’ll make his mark some day—he’s full of ambition.’