‘It’s gra-and soil,’ he was pleased to observe, ‘and I hae nae doot whatever that I shall be able to grow maist unco-omon vegetables, gin I had some food—that is, manure—to gie the puir things. The trees are sair negleckit and disjaskit, but they’ll come round wi’ care and the knife. The spring is a thocht advanced, as that auld carle Evans has gi’en me to understand. I winna say he’s no auld farrand wi’ a’ the “bush” ways, as they ca’ them, but he’s an awfu’ slave o’ Satan wi’ his tongue—just fearsome. But gin ye’ll put me a fence round this bit park, Maister Wilfred, I’ll show yon folks here that auld Andrew Cargill can grow prize kail in baith hemispheres.’
‘We are going to split some palings before we are done,’ said Wilfred, smiling at the old man’s rounding off of his sentence. ‘Then we’ll pull this old fence down and take in more ground, so that you may exercise your landscape gardening talent.’
‘This bit garden will keep my body employed and my thochts frae unprofitable wanderings, brawly, during this season o’ inexperience. Ye see, Maister Wilfred, it wadna become me, as a pairson o’ reflection, to da-ash presumptuously into a’ matters o’ practice, but they canna haud me to obsairve and gather up the ootcome of thae bush maitters, and bide my time a wee, till the day comes when I can take my place at the laird’s right hand ance mair.’
‘No one will be better pleased than I shall be, Andrew,’ said Wilfred, heartily grasping the hand of his faithful servitor. ‘I’ll no deny that he kens maist things befitting a dweller in the wilderness. The de’il’s aye guid at gifts to his ain folk. But, wae’s me, he’s lightsome and profane abune a’ belief.’
The great event of the year, after all, was the arrival of the drays with the heavy luggage and the furniture reserved from sale.
Joy and thankfulness all too deep for words greeted the welcome wains, promptly unladen, and their inestimable contents brought into the shelter of the wide verandah before unpacking.
‘I never could have believed,’ said Mrs. Effingham, ‘that anything in Australia could have had the power to afford me so much pleasure. The refurnishing of our house at The Chase never produced half such pleasure as I now feel at the prospect of seeing the old tables and chairs, the sideboard, and my dear old davenport again.’
‘And the piano!’ cried Annabel. ‘What a luxury to us, who have been tuneless and songless all these months! Even the morning “scales” would have been better than nothing. I shall really go in for steady practising—I know I never did before. There is nothing like being starved a little.’
‘Starving seems to agree with you in a bodily sense,’ said Rosamond, ‘if I may judge from certain alterations of dresses. But you are right in believing that it gives a wonderful relish for mental food. Look at these two lovely boxes of books. The library was sold, but here are many of our old favourites. How I shall enjoy seeing their faces again!’
‘I am certain Jeanie must have stolen a quantity of things after the sale,’ asserted Beatrice, who had been examining the externals of the packages; ‘bedding and curtains, and every kind of thing likely to be useful. I expect my room will be so like the one at the old Chase that I shall never find out the difference of a morning, till I go downstairs and see the verandahs.’