CHAPTER VI
A dip in the creek, and a careful if hasty toilet, produced a complete change of ideas. The morning was almost too fine, the leaves of the great poplars were unstirred, which gave an unnaturally calm and eerie appearance to the landscape. This was not dispelled by the red sun shedding a theatrical glare over the snow-peaks and shoulders of the mountain range.
“My holiday’s over, Sheila!” said he, moving from the fire front to the table upon which was such an appetising display that he wished he had gone to bed a little earlier. However, the savour of the devilled turkey reassured him, and he felt more drawn towards the menu which was to form the sustaining meal of the day. “Now, what do you think of the weather? Shall I have a safe journey to the station?”
“Well, you may, and you may not, sir. We all think there’s a big storm coming; if it’s wind, it may blow a tree down on the coach and horses; if it rains hard, there’ll be a flood, which will rise the Kiewah and the Little River in a few hours, so as they can’t be crossed under a week.”
“That’s a bad look out!” said the traveller, making good time with the scrambled eggs and toast, which succeeded the devilled turkey, “but we’ll have to go straight at it, as your friend and philosopher, Gordon, has it. By the way, I bought a copy at the post-office store, so I can read it on the way down and think of you when I come to the lines ‘Kindness in another’s trouble,’ and so on.”
“Oh! I daresay,” replied the girl, “a lot you’ll think about me when you’re on the road to Melbourne and wherever else you’re bound for. But we’ll all remember you here, never fear! And if you ever come back, you’ll see how glad all hands will be to welcome you.”
“You’re only too good to me, but why should the other people have this sort of feeling towards me?”
“Well, one reason is that you never put on any side, as they call it. You’ve been free and easy with them, without being too familiar. The country people hereabouts, and in the bush generally, may be rough, and haven’t seen much, but they know a gentleman when they see one, and besides, there’s another reason—” And here she seemed to hesitate.
“And what might that be?”
“Well, it came out somehow, I don’t know how, that when you were ‘pinched’ (that is, nearly arrested and tried for being ‘in’ with the O’Haras and Little-River-Jack in the cattle racket), that you wouldn’t give them away; never let on that you’d been with them in the claim, or seen cattle in their yard or anything.”