“Never fear, dame,” answered the farmer. “In a year or two we shall have a good road between this and the port, and a coach-and-four may be running on it.”
At length the last range was passed, and they reached a broad open valley, with a fine extent of level ground. In the distance rose a hill, with a sparkling river flowing near it, and thickly wooded heights. Further on beyond, it appeared a bold range of mountains, their highest peaks capped with snow.
“This is, indeed, a beautiful scene,” exclaimed Lucy.
“That’s our home, Miss,” said the farmer, pointing to the hill. “If your eyes could reach as far, you would just see the roof of your new house among the trees. We shall come well in sight of it before long.”
The waggon now moved on faster, as the fern had been cut away or trampled down, and the horses seemed to know that they were getting near home.
Mr Pemberton and the farmer’s sons came down to welcome them, and to conduct them up to the house.
Lucy was surprised to find what progress had already been made. The whole of it was roofed over, and the room she was to occupy was completely finished. The building was not very large. It consisted of a central hall, with two bed-rooms on either side, and a broad verandah running entirely round it; behind it were some smaller detached buildings for the kitchen and out-houses. In front and on one side a space was marked off for a flower garden, beyond which, extending down the side of the hill to the level ground, was a large space which Mr Pemberton said he intended for the orchard and kitchen garden. On that side of the house were sheds for the waggons and horses, though now occupied by the native labourers.
“They consider themselves magnificently lodged,” said Mr Pemberton. “And they deserve it, for they worked most industriously, and enabled me to put up the house far more rapidly than I had expected. I believe, however, that they would have preferred the native wahré, with the heat and smoke they delight in, to the larger hut I have provided for them, and I have been sometimes afraid they would burn it down with the huge fire they made within.”
Farmer Greening’s cottage, which was a little way round on the other side of the hill, was built on a similar plan to Mr Pemberton, but it was not so far advanced.
“You must blame me, Mrs Greening, for this,” said Mr Pemberton. “Your husband insisted on helping me with my house before he would begin yours, declaring that he should have the advantage of having mine as a model. I hope, therefore, that you will take up your abode with us till yours is finished, as Harry and I can occupy the tent in the meantime.”