Mere Sentiment

Front matter

BY A. J. DAWSON JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD LONDON AND NEW YORK, Edinburgh : T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty THE AUTHOR SENDS GREETINGS TO A CHILD, AND TO A FEW MEN AND WOMEN NOW ON CERTAIN OF THE WORLD'S BEACHES, AND ELSEWHERE ; EPISODES IN WHOSE LIVES ARE HEREIN TOUCHED UPON CONTENTS PAGE WATTLE-WORSHIP, I IN THE CLEAR PATCH, 1 3 THE IDEALIST CLUB, 35 QUEEN GUINIVIERE, 45 THE QUEEN OF AJASSA SIDE, .... 64 MADGE 7S A POET OF THE BUSH, I 19 NARITA, 128 magdalen wilmore's love-story, . . i43 where the sea is dead, . • j53 mother carf.y's chickens, .... 159 the threshold, WATTLE-WORSHIP Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees (If our loves remain), In an English lane, By a cornfield-side a-flutter with poppies, Hark, those two in the hazel coppice — A boy and a girl, if the good fates please, Making love, say, — The happier they !

Draw yourself up from the light of the moon, And let them pass, as they will too soon, With the bean-flowers' boon, And the blackbird's tune, And May, and June ! ' Robert Browning. MEN who liked Hatton Valyard at Oxford, said he was eccentric. Men who disliked him, then and when he left the university, affirmed that he was mad. Valyard was not liked by many people, and his own family— the Catholic Valyards of Shropshire, not the Cumberland family— positively hated him. They objected, for 'one thing, to his calling himself a Buddhist ; but that about the man which they most disliked, was his obvious and utter indifference as to whether they liked him or not. Complete as was apparently this indifference, it A was, notwithstanding, an affectation, assumed by Valyard to hide his real feeling, which was active dislike of his own people.

Yet there were people who were more than attached to Hatton Valyard — people of whom he was devotedly fond ; and to no person, and to no thing, was the man really indifferent. He spent a year in London after leaving the university, and then, one Saturday morning, his mother in Shropshire received a telegram which read thus : ' Am sailing to-day in steamer Rondo for Ceylon and the South. Good-bye ! Hatton.' For a year he flitted about amongst Buddhist temples in the East. But, though the scented brilliancy of Asia appealed strongly to the romantic side of the man's nature, he was yet unsatisfied, and found no rest. Then, after some months spent in the Samoan group, Valyard wandered on to Australia ; and in Brisbane, shortly after his arrival there, I met him. Old Vivian, the millionaire squatter of Tumal, was in town then, and knowing that he was a man of old Shropshire Catholic family, I introduced him to Valyard at the club.

Chapter I The Motherless Chicks

' Do you s'pose mother 's all the way up there already, Sonny?' ' How can I tell, child ? You 've been watching just the same's me. And you mustn't make so much noise, Els, 'cos it fwightens th' bull-fwogs.' 'But I'm so tired, Sonny. Do you think it's any good watching any more ? ' ' I don't know.' Sonny turned over on his back and gazed away up into the starlit sky, from where he lay, half-hidden in the grass beside the creek. He was wondering in his childish mind at the deep, deep blueness of everything. The early nights of summer in the South, when there is no moon and the sky is cloudless, are very wonderful in their soft, fathomless blue over 10'.) indistinct, billowy blackness. The boy was only six years old ; but he had been born in the great Bush — so silent to strangers, so full of life and sound to dwellers in it — and Nature spoke very clearly, and in many ways, to his quaint mind and heart. ' I don't know,' he repeated. ' But I think pwaps if God knew we were watching, He 'd vewy likely make mother divisible, like in the 'Wabian Nights you know, before the angels took her up there.

Old Jacky told me a coffin man would come to-mowow and take mother away ; so I shall look in the coffin, and see what the angels took. Then I '11 tell you, but — I think you 're too young, you know, Els, weally.' Elsie was not yet five years old, but, like her brother, she had been born in the Bush, of parents who were old in a sense which made it quite impossible for them to ever understand these two children of their life's autumn. And, like Sonny, too, Elsie was not an ordinary type of child, even as Bush children go. ' What time is it now, Sonny ? ' Sonny looked dreamily across the home paddock towards the Gulgong hills, over which the moon would rise shortly. ' 'Bout seven, I think ; and mother was killed 'bout half-past four. She must've gone up there long before this, Els.' ' Yes,' assented Elsie sadly. ' I 'm 'fraid she must, but I'm sure we watched all the time.

What killed mother, Sonny ? ' ' 'Sumption, child. You wouldn't understand if I twied to tell you. Evwybody beautiful has it when they get old. I 'spect Vi '11 have it just th' same, an' you when you gwow up ; only you 're not so pwetty, so I don't s'pose you '11 have it so bad.' ' H'm ! Sonny ! I 'spose Vi 's our mother now, isn't she ? ' ' Good gracious, no, child ! Vi 's always our sister. She can't be anybody's mother till she 's been mawied, an' got a homestead of her own, like this. I 'spect she '11 look after me an' father, and do things for us as if she was mother. Then, bimeby, she '11 mawy Cousin Tom, an' they '11 go 'way somewhere an' live by them selves.' ' Oh— Sonny ! ' Yes ! ' ' I heard father say, long time ago, before Mother went to bed, that Vi was going to marry Mr. Farley.

He said so to mother, and he said it would straighten something up, and — I forgot to tell you, but I wondered, 'cos Vi hates Mr. Farley. She told me so.' 'Yes, I know.' Sonny was sitting up now, and thoughtfully stroking the grass at his side. 'But that's a mistake, Els. You see Cousin Tom 's vewy poor. He 's hardly got any horses or anything, and father wanted Vi to mawy Mr. Farley 'cos Mr. Farley's wich. But she won't all the same, 'cos Cousin Tom won't let her, an' she doesn't want to. Besides, mother L said so, when I went to say good-bye to her, this afternoon. She hated Mr. Farley too, only she didn't like to say so; but she was cwying, and talking about it, so of course Father and me said Vi should mawy Cousin Tom. I pwomised mother myself.' ' Oh, then I s'pose that 's what Vi was crying about when we came out.' ' No, child.

She wants to mawy Cousin Tom. She was cwying 'cos mother was killed. People what 's gwown up always do that, to show they 're so'wy.' ' Oh ! Sonny, I 'm so tired ! It 's no use waiting to see mother ; she must 've gone up now. Let 's go back home, and see Vi.' So, slowly, and hand in hand, the two children trudged through the long grass, up the side of the creek, across the rise of the home-paddock, to the great back verandah of Coorimal, the homestead of their father's sheep-run. Violet Carey, John Carey's oldest daughter, and sister to Elsie and Sonny, was sitting in the shadow of the verandah. Her little brown hands covered her face, and through the fingers of them tears were trickling on to her wrists. Violet, aged twenty years, had been practically mistress of Coorimal for eighteen months or more, and for weeks had known that her mother could not live more than a very little while.

But the end which had come that afternoon seemed just as sad, and made the girl feel just as lonely, as though she had never dreamed of its coming. She loved her father, ' Near-enough-John-Carey,' as some of the district settlers called him ; and the two had always been on happy terms enough. But good natured John Carey was little more than a much respected and loved friend. The woman who lay dead in the house had been Violet's mother in that word's fullest sense. Only a month before, her father had intimated to her in his easy-going way, that Herbert Farley, the well-to-do owner of an adjoining station called Farleydale, would sooner or later ask her to marry him. ' He 's one of the richest men this side of Mudgee, Vi,' her father had said ; ' and will be a splendid husband for you ; so mind you treat him kindly.

Besides which, I may tell you that if Farley did not become my son-in-law he would very quickly become my successor at Coorimal here, for it 's mortgaged up to the hilt to him, and there's been a sort of understanding between us all along, that things would be straightened up this way.' Near-enough-John-Carey's relations with his daughter had never been such as to make the discussion of a matter of this kind possible ; and beyond a few tears, and a murmured ' Father ! ' the girl had said nothing to show her feeling regarding her father's plan for the disposal of her heart and hand. ' Queer creatures girls are, to be sure,' the father had said to himself, after having explained this little matter to Violet. ' It 's all the same ; a death a christening, a wedding, a handsome present, a kiss, or a scolding — it all runs to tears.

I suppose, as a matter of fact, she 's as proud as ever she knows how, at the notion of being mistress of Farleydale. Anyhow, it '11 save me ; and, by gad, it 's a blessing he took such a fancy to her.' Now, Violet's thoughts flew straight to her cousin, Tom Lindall, as soon as Farley's name was mentioned by her father. But she could not put her thoughts into words though her very life depended on it, for Tom Lindall was nothing to her but a cousin. ' Nothing more,' she murmured to herself insistingly. But Violet's mother had known better ; and perhaps Lindall himself, fighting the rabbit pest and the ti-tree scrub on a selection out back from Farleydale, would have placed a rather different estimate upon himself, and his relation to his gold-haired cousin. Mrs. Carey had never gone so far as to say she wished her daughter to marry any man ; but in her feverish desire that her husband's plan of marrying Violet to Mr. Farley should not be carried out, she had from her bed of sickness put forward the claims of Tom Lindall. 'An upright and honourable young fellow, John,' she had said to her husband ; ' if he is poor.

Let him win the child if he can, and if she wants him ; but promise me, John dear, you will never try to force her to take that American. I am certain he is Promise me, John dear ! ' 'Yes, yes, dear. She shall marry her Cousin Tom, if she likes, and go out back. The girl shall never be forced to anything. Of course not. Certainly not.' ' No, mother. Don't you be afwaid ; Vi shall mawy Cousin Tom. I '11 look after it myself; me an' Els, you know.' ' Bless the child ! I believe you will: ' Of course I shall — I 've pwomised: And not very long afterwards, the doctor had told Sonny that his mother was dead ; and the child having gravely communicated the tidings to little Elsie, the two had wandered down to the creek-side, to sit and watch for the coming of the angels who were to take their mother.

Chapter II Lose

A FRIEND A MONTH had passed since the death of John Carey's wife, and Sonny and Elsie were growing accustomed to life at the homestead without their mother. Like many another English farmer, who, having proved himself financially a failure in the old country, has taken up a sheep-run in Aus tralia, the owner of Coorimal was experiencing the fatal consequence of over-borrowing, under working, and mismanaging a New South Wales sheep-station. But for the assistance of his moneyed American neighbour, Herbert Farley, Coorimal would long since have passed out of John Carey's hands and become the property of the Commercial Banking Company. And now, since Mrs. Carey's death, Farley had given the Englishman very clearly to understand that the next few months must bring to him, Farley, either a financial settlement — a thing he knew to be impossible ; the possession of Coorimal ; or — and this seemed to both men by far the easiest and most satisfactory alternative — Carey's daughter, Violet.

Tom Lindall had ridden in from his out back selection to spend a couple of days at Coorimal, before making certain changes in his life ; and on a sunshiny afternoon, just a month after her mother's death, Violet stood on the homestead verandah talking with her cousin. For some little time Sonny and Elsie had been sitting close to where Lindall and Violet stood, and now, at a signal from the elder, the two children rose and walked gravely out into the sunshine, and across the paddock, towards their favourite haunt under the bank of the creek. ' You see, Els,' observed Sonny, in an explana tory tone, ' you 're such a vewy little girl, and it bothers them to have childwen about now, when Cousin Tom 's going away.' ' Why does it bother them, Sonny ? ' ' Because they want to talk, and gwowed-up people never talk pwope'ly when there's other people about.

And Vi's not so likely to mawy Cousin Tom if we don't let 'em talk, you know. We 've got to look after that.' ' Yes. Sonny, what 's Cousin Tom want to go away for ? We like him, and if he 's going to marry Vi, why can't he come and live here so 's to see us every day? Lass likes him too, an' she hates Mr. Farley's much as we do.' Lass was a great, fawn-skin-dappled kangaroo-dog without whom the children were never seen. ' You wouldn't understand, child,' said Sonny, as, their dog between, the two children stretched themselves in the grass beside the creek. ' I told you Cousin Tom is vewy poor, and he can't mawy Vi till he's got a homestead. Well, the wabbits an' dingoes an' things are awful out back of Farley dale, so Cousin Tom 's going to leave there. Now, he 's going to the diggings at Captain's Flat, and when he 's been there a year nearly, he 's going to come back in time for Chwismas, and mawy Vi.

You see he '11 get plenty of money at th' diggings.' ' Oh ! Where 's Captain's Flat, Sonny ? ' ' Captain's Flat ? Oh — er — I don't know. Out Merriman's Creek way somewhere. I know it's two hundred miles, 'cos I heard Cousin Tom telling father 'bout it' Late that evening, when Sonny and Elsie were sleeping quietly in their big bedroom at the back of the homestead, Tom Lindall and Violet were leaning in the moonlight over the verandah rail outside the window of the children's room ; and talking. From very different causes, Tom Lindall had reached as awkward a position, in some respects, as that of his uncle, John Carey. In one particular he was better off, and that was in the matter of being free from debts or obligations of any kind. But after two years' hard fighting on his lonely selection in the back country, he found himself poorer in every way than when he began.

And now he had regretfully determined to throw up his selection. And all this while, he had been working in the hope of winning a home which he could have asked Violet to share. And now, he was telling her that on the following day he was to leave the district on a vague prospecting ex pedition, such as any Murrumbigee sundowner might undertake. And singing in his head, and forcing themselves every moment to his lips, were the words, ' I love you ! I love you ! ' Yet he must say nothing, for he had nothing but his heart to lay at his lady-love's feet. So he smoked instead ; out there where the sheen of the moon's soft light fell over trailing passion-vines, the stockyardfence, and the tall, gaunt trees beyond, making everything alike pure and beautiful. He smoked, and talked of the surfaces of things, save when now and then the man burst through in a sentence end, to retire awkwardly with a men tally whispered warning of, 'Skate fast, friend!' ' So you see, Vi, since waiting only made bad worse, and the rabbits and dingoes had all the fun, leaving me to pay the piper, I decided to leave them to it, and try my luck at the diggings.

I had no capital, so I should have found it difficult to do that even, but for Farley's help. I told him about it, and he panned out very white indeed. He took my selection off my hands, giving me a good deal more than I had hoped to get for it, and he's helped me with all sorts of hints and advice. He wanted me to go to West Australia, but I thought Captain's Flat was good enough for a first trial ; and, Vi, if hard work can win it, I '11 force something out of the place. Anyhow, Farley 's a really good fellow, and I shan't forget what he 's done for me.' ' Yes, Tom. I 'm awfully glad he 's been so good to you.' And then the girl paused, reviling herself inwardly for having up to this time disliked the American. 'Vi!' ' Yes, Tom.' ' Whatever happens, I shall be back at Coorimal in time for next Christmas.

And then — Oh! I want to tell you heaps of things.' The girl's head bent lower. ' You won't forget all about me when I 'm away, Vi ? You '11 — you '11 wait and listen to what I have to tellwhen I come back? Now I must let you go in. I know it's late.; Vi dear, you won't forget, will you?' ' Good night, Tom ! No, I — won't forget' And a few hours afterwards, Tom Lindall rode away with his two pack-horses towards Merriman's Creek. He had said good-bye to Sonny and Elsie early in the evening, for the full heat of summer was upon the country, and Tom wanted to be well on his way before sunrise, in order that he might spare his horses during a good part of the day ; when heavy clusters of wattle-blossom would quiver and rustle breathlessly in the heat waves, and the very sun-loving carpet-snakes would wriggle under fallen logs to escape the dazzling brightness of noonday.

Chapter III Hear Good News

Herbert Farley, the gentleman whom Tom Lindall called 'white'; for disliking whom Violet had reviled herself ; and in cordially hating whom Sonny and Elsie had the whole-souled sympathy of their friend Lass ; — Herbert Farley was a man who rarely failed in anything. One might say of him that he never lacked resource ; or one might say he was never hampered by scruples or principles. Whatever one said, the fact remained that he very rarely failed. Two years before Sonny's mother died, Farley made up his mind that he would marry Sonny's sister, Violet. He had been barely four years in the colony then, but already he was a power to be reckoned with from Merriman's Creek to Gulgong. And those who reckoned with him found the American generally courteous, always inflexible, a past master in whatever tactics he adopted, and in all transactions either an open winner, or a man who gained by losing.

And he made up his mind to marry Violet Carey. A very casual glance round had told him two things : John Carey was drifting serenely towards hopeless financial entanglement ; his daughter Violet was fond of, and loved by, one Tom Lindall, an optimistic, open-hearted, iron-sinewed young Englishman, who was about to court inevitable failure on a way back selection, with a view to winning by his own hands and without capital, a home for Violet should she be willing to share it with him. At the end of two years, Farley held the father and Coorimal in the hollow of his hand ; the lover he had enabled to proceed to a goldfield two hundred miles away, with what he, Farley, mentally called ' about enough capital to comfortably starve on ' ; and now he prepared himself to sound the girl's inclinations.

Having removed its defences, he proceeded to take possession of the fortress. For a month or two before Mrs. Carey's death, Farley had accustomed Violet to receiving from him one or two calls in each week. Now, on one pretext or another, he managed to ride over to the Coorimal homestead almost every day, and to become a serious affliction in the lives of Sonny, Elsie, and the dog Lass. ' It 's widicklous,' said Sonny to his little sister. ' I 've a good mind to tell him so, too. I pwomised mother, you know, Els ! ' 'Yes.' The younger child stared solemnly at her brother. 'But, Sonny! People can't marry other people if other people don't want them to ; and Cousin Tom 's coming back in time for Christmas.' ' Of course. Yes. But till he does come back, Els, we must take care of Vi.' And while these two small match-makers dis cussed the situation with all that unquestioning confidence in their own ability to shape the ends of destiny, which surely is childhood's choicest gift, their sister Violet sat on the verandah of the homestead, talking to the American, and doing her best to be pleasant and hospitable to her father's friend.

Farley had ceased to plead business with John Carey as an excuse for calling at Coorimal, and now, when he rode up to the house in the afternoon, he did not ask if John Carey were at home or not. He simply took his seat in the long, shaded living room, or on the verandah, and paid steady court to the girl whom he meant to make his wise. ' Sometimes, do you know,' he said, as he leaned forward to take a cup of tea from Violet Carey's hand, ' I feel half-afraid of boring you when I ride over in the afternoon.' The girl smiled a grave denial. ' But yet I feel lost if I don't come. You see — Well, it is lonely for me at Farleydale, and I begin to think of how bright and pretty you make a home ; and then it 's only four miles, and — I 'm not right in thinking you are some times sorry to see me, am I ? ' 'Why, Mr. Farley, of course I shouldn't be sorry to see any friend of father's.' Their eyes met.

Farley was watching the girl closely, carefully. There was a bright flush on her face as she spoke, and her hand shook slightly when, two minutes afterwards, she held it out to wish her guest ' Good-bye.' As Farley's grey horse sidled out between the slip-rails and into the apple-tree scrub beyond, its rider muttered the single word, ' Damn ! ' Half an hour afterwards, in dismount ing at Farleydale, his thoughtful face set itself in lines of decision, and he said quietly, ' Some thing must be done with that fool of a cousin, and — at once.' Though he had cleared his course of all tangible obstacles, Farley's shrewdness told him plainly that Tom Lindall's influence with Violet, even in absence, was an item of opposition which it would be better to undermine or remove, before playing any of his trump cards.

Still he told himself that a little time, and a little more failure in Tom's life, would do much towards the removal of this little obstacle. So he waited, and John Carey's sanguine mind almost ceased to be occupied by thoughts of his precarious financial position. Two months of dry Australian autumn passed, and news reached Coorimal from Captain's Flat, of a stroke of fortune which had come to Tom Lindall. He had struck a vein of what appeared to be rather unusually richly yielding soil, and already the sense of achievement had introduced a certain change in his manner of addressing Violet Carey ; a change which caused the girl to blush and smile to herself, as she read the letter in which he told of his find. Her eyes lighted up and a happy ring came into her voice, when, in answer to friendly inquiries anent her cousin's welfare, she imparted this good news to Herbert Farley.

As was usual when in her presence, the American's keen grey eyes were fixed on her face as she spoke ; and whilst missing neither the enthusiasm in her voice and look, nor its special significance to him, he yet introduced considerable geniality into his tones as he said : ' H'm ! Well, now, I call that real good news, and in so short a time too. He'll be buying up all we poor squatters, Miss Carey, before long.' Then lowering his voice slightly he added, ' I hope gold-fever won't be as bad a thing all round, for your cousin as — as it is for some men.' ' But, Mr. Farley, why should finding gold be bad for Tom ? ' Feminine loyalty was glinting through maidenly modesty. ' I don't reckon it will ; but you see finding gold sometimes means finding fever; and that occasionally causes — well, now, it causes a heap of things.

It makes a man forget most things that don't show colour, and gold 's a more impor tant thing to him than ever his digestion was, or his immortal soul. And you know, Miss Carey, it's real bad business to neglect your digestion, and any parson will tell you the other thing wants taking care of.' The girl smiled brightly. ' Oh ! Tom isn't a bit like that, Mr. Farley. He isn't a miser, and I don't think he knows what his digestion is.' ' No ? Happy man ! And I don't suppose he knows what a whisky cocktail is. Ah, well then, there 's nothing to fear, Miss Carey.' The man paused abruptly, and stroked the head of a kangaroo-dog at his feet. ' Do you know, I think I '11 ride over to Captain's Flat this week, and have a look at your cousin's claim. I want to do some business in Hill End, anyhow, and who knows but I might find a little gold my self.

We want it badly enough about here — as you may have heard from your father.' Farley's voice dropped over these last few words, but his eyes were still fixed on the girl's face. The chance shot, whether politic or not, had told. Violet Carey's eyes grew moist, and her voice had a little tremor in it when she responded to the American's ' Au revoir ! ' At a time when her mind had been full of gladness about the poor man's good fortune, she was suddenly reminded of her father's expressed wishes regarding herself and the rich man. ' Tom,' she murmured softly to herself, as, when Farley had ridden away, she stood leaning against the verandah rail where the passion vine climbed and nestled ; ' Tom, I wish you could have stayed at Coorimal ; but — oh ! there is no gold at Coorimal. He said gold made people — forget.' Then she raised her eyes and smiled gaily at the afternoon sunshine. ' But not Tom.

People are not Tom, are they? Why, what 's the matter, Sonny ? ' ' Oh, nothing.' The child looked disconsolately up at his sister from the other end of the verandah. ' Only, I s'pose you know it 's vewy wude to talk to yourself, pa'ticklaly if you 're gwowed up!'

Chapter IV In The Calm Which Comes, Etc

Farley's decision to go to Captain's Flat was formed and given expression to within the space of about two minutes. It was acted upon within twenty-four hours ; and when John Carey ven tured on a mild comment of surprise at his wealthy neighbour's sudden curiosity, he was answered by a cold stare, and a sharply worded reminder of the fact that he had taken as yet no step towards meeting his obligations to the American. ' And your daughter, Carey,' added Farley, ' seems more inclined to favour gold fossickers than men of her father's business. But perhaps I may look to your nephew, Lindall, for a settlement of our little accounts.' The good-humoured smile faded quickly from the Englishman's face, giving place to very apparent anxiety, as he said : ' Nonsense, Farley. The girl doesn't know her own mind.

They 're all alike in that way. But Violet 's not a fool, and she's an obedient daughter. She'll never say No to you when the time comes.' So Farley rode away to Captain's Flat, where Tom Lindall was working twelve hours a day to win something to offer Violet Carey — Violet Carey, a slip of a girl whom he, Farley, loved and wanted for his wife. 'And I'll have her, too,' he muttered as he rode along. In his mind he called her 'a slip of a girl,' but at that moment the man's face was set very rigidly, and unalterable determination showed in its every line. To him, at different times, and in different places, had come already more than the average variety of experiences which come to men ; but he loved this big-eyed, slim-figured English girl with all the strength he possessed. It stirred him right through all his coldness, the part of him which calculated and succeeded, and it reached that part of him which he would have called ' bed-rock ' — the bare man, who was nearly all passion, and ab solutely all unscrupulous.