For Marjory's Sake: a story of South Australian country life

Front matter

FOR MARJORY'S SAKE My Childhood in Australia: A STORY FOR MY CHILDREN. Mrs F. HUGHES, Beautifully Illustrated throughout with Original Drawings by the Author. Handsomely Bound in Pictorial Cloth Covers, price 2s. 6d. Brief Extracts from some of the Reviews. ' Mrs Hughes has a charming style, simple, easy, and vivacious. The child who reads this story will gain a new idea of vast solitudes and of the impressive aspects of nature, as well as some familiajrity with the odd fashions of the aborigines.' — Literary World. ' The little volume is interesting and amusing, and the adventures are naturally told.' — Daily Chronicle. ' In " My Childhood in Australia " there is both novelty and fresh ness of style. . . . Sensations enough to attract children of all ages.' — Manchester Guardian. ' Is in many respects an interesting work.

It describes, in lan guage simple and direct, the course of every-day life in the Anti podes, and may be read with real pleasure and profit by young and old. The book is all the better for the illustrations which stud its pages. ' — Scottish Leader. 'A delightful book of gossip by one who evidently knows Australia well. Mrs Hughes can write in a bright, cheerful style ; can sympathise with the animal creation and the natives ; can ap preciate good scenery ; and under the name of a child's book, can give us a volume enjoyable at any age.' — Liverpool Mercury. ' Children will be pleased with this little story of life in the bush. Mrs Hughes writes vividly, yet with chatty simplicity. Parents wishing to buy a pleasant surprise for little ones who are big enough to enjoy a tale, would be repaid for procuring a copy.' — Birmingham Gazette. ' Mrs Hughes' excellent book.' — European Mail. ' One of those attractive compositions that possess attractions for children of all ages.

In pleasant, gossipy, autobiographical style, the story is told of a girl's life in the bush, from the time she was three years and a haÆ&jc^A'fTtil she had attained the sage age at which she was sent to schocrfS' This is done in unpretentious but very pretty language. Numerou&aJlus^ratiQns enrich the work.' — Dublin Free titan's Journal. \ * . . - LONDON : DIGBY, LONG & Co., Publishers. 18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C. A Complete Catalogue of Novels, Travels, Biographies, Poems, Etc, free by post on application. For Marjory s Sake A STORY OF SOUTH AUSTRALIAN COUNTRY LIFE BY Mrs JOHN WATERHOUSE LONDON DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C. ©eMcatefc TO a. c. E. L CONTE TN S.

Chapter I. It Is All Over

One dull day, late in October, Mr de Lisle was driving along LeadenhaU Street in a hansom cab. No spot in London looked more dreary than this, for the murky canopy overhead was fast dissolving into rain, and the gloom was becoming alive with umbrellas and mackintoshes. Mr de Lisle had re turned during the previous week from Damascus, in which place he had held the appointment of British Consul for several years. He was already asking himself whether it would be possible to en dure the ungenial climate of his native land. By the time he reached the shipping-office, which was his destination, the rain was falling heavily, and he hesitated for a moment before getting out of his A cab. He had come out of doors chiefly because he felt depressed in the house, but he now wished himself safely back in his brother-in-law's study, surrounded by books and newspapers, and sipping fragrant tea by a roaring fire.

In after years John de Lisle received a letter bearing an Australian post-mark on just such an other day as this. He was then seated by that very study fire which figured so pleasantly in his imagination. When he had finished reading the letter he laid it aside and looked out of the window upon the grey driving rain and the soddened garden-paths, and the scene of to-day rose before his eyes. He knew then that the whim of going out on a dull afternoon was one, perhaps the first, of the links in a chain of events leading to the crisis related in the letter he had just read. Before he had decided, on the present occasion, whether or not to leave the shelter of his cab his attention was arrested by seeing a young man of nineteen or twenty, dressed in the uniform of a naval officer, tripping lightly up the steps to the shipping-office.

It was only a momentary glimpse of his face and figure which Mr de Lisle obtained, but in that moment he had recognised his favourite nephew, whose estrangement from his family Mr de Lisle had learned with pain on his return to England. ' Hal ! Hal ! ' he cried, but the young man had disappeared into the office. Regardless of the rain and the sloppy pave ments Mr de Lisle hurried after him, but at the entrance he paused. ' He will be out again directly. I had better not follow — it might look like spying ; and he would resent that. Bless him ! he always was a high spirited lad. Thank God ! he hasn't left the service.' In a few moments the young man came out, reading a letter. The porter was lighting the hall lamp, and the sailor stood for a moment under the light as if to make sure of certain words.

Mr de Lisle noted the eagerness which could not wait for privacy before the letter was torn open, and also that the handwriting was that of a woman. ' The young dog ! ' he thought. ' After eighteen months he is in love with her still. No chance of a rescue ! Well ! Well ! ' But as his kind eyes passed from the letter to the face of the reader he saw that all was not well. It must have been some very bad news which had blanched the cheeks and lips to that livid hue. ' Hal ! how very glad I am to have met you, my dear boy,' Mr de Lisle cried, seizing the young man by the arm. Hal looked at him vacantly and burst into a loud jarring laugh. ' Just in time, by Jove ! ' he cried. ' Here is Respectability waiting to shake hands with Re formed Vice ! ' ' My poor lad, you are in trouble. Come with me and tell me all about it, or not, just as you feel inclined.

I will stand by you, never fear. Gad ! I was young myself once. Your father never was, you see. Jump into my cab and let us get away from here.' The young man hesitated, but the kindness of look and tone overcame him at a moment when he was too much stunned either to think or to act for himself. He obeyed. Mr de Lisle told the cab man to drive to Portman Square as quickly as possible, at the same time giving the number of his brother-in-law's house. ' I am not going home to play the prodigal son, Uncle John!' the young man cried, starting up fiercely from his seat. Mr de Lisle put him back with a firm, strong hand. ' If your father will not receive you uncondition ally you shall be my son, by Gad. You shall not be questioned — ' ' The whole thing is told in half-a-dozen words. It is all over, and I wish you would have left me to shoot myself without any fuss,' Hal said gloomily, sinking back in his seat. ' No, my boy, we need only destroy ourselves when there is no creature left to love us.

Your old uncle will be a faithful and a patient friend if you will give him the chance. Think of it, Hal. I am a lonely man. You know why I could never marry — but I might have had a son like you to make a bright spot in my life. By , if you had been born my son, I should not have acted as your father did, though, poor man, he thought he was doing his duty.' ' How can it be a man's duty to condemn his only son without having let him speak one word in his own defence?' 1 There was the — the fact, you know. It could not have been explained away, I suppose, Hal ? ' ' If you are going to jump to conclusions — ' ' No, no ; don't be impatient. Remember I have not heard your story at first hand, or I daresay I might think as you did. I will not say that age has not modified my opinions upon the wisdom of flying in the face of society ; but I will stake my life upon it that you never de ceived anyone who trusted you.

I may go further and say that I believe you thought yourself fully justified in following the course of action which offended your father so deeply.' They shook hands in silence, and spoke no more until the cab was drawn up before the house in Portman Square. ' Wait here for me, Hal, while I speak to your father. Bygones are to be bygones on each side, — eh ! ' Without waiting for a reply Mr de Lisle alighted and went into the house. He was ab sent for about a quarter of an hour, and when he came out his face wore an expression which his nephew could not translate. ' Your father is willing to shake hands with you, but he doesn't wish to receive you as a member of his household while you are unre pentant, on account of your sisters,' Mr de Lisle said, reproducing the pompous tones which his brother-in-law had used during their interview ; and in his own hearty tones he added : ' It is a precious good job for me.

We will drive straight to the Langham Hotel when you have spoken to your father, and henceforward you will kindly understand that I have adopted you.' ' It seems very ungracious to ask the question,' the young man said, after a moment's pause, ' but do you intend to leave me free? If I accept your kindness I shall not forget that I owe you duty, but I cannot take anything from anybody as the price of my freedom of action.' ' You think it is nothing for nothing all the world over,' said his uncle, a little sadly. ' If ever I interfere with you, Hal, I give you leave to remind me that I told you to-day that it is you who are doing me a service in consenting to be adopted. I may grow. cross and crochety as I get older, but I will swear that you shall have no serious cause to regret doing what I ask of you.' ' I will trust you,' Hal said, and for the first time the gloom of his face lightened a little.

Even in his most desperate misery he felt the comfort of having one faithful heart to care for him. His uncle's kindness nerved him for the interview with his father, a tall, stern-looking, iron-grey-hued man, who looked as if he had been about fifty years old when he was born, and was never likely to look any older. The son met his father with a grave, manly dignity, which was not without its effect. ' I am sorry,' the elder man condescended to say, ' if my decision appears to you harsh — ' ' I accept your conditions, sir,' the son rejoined, in a tone which put an end to any attempt at discussion of the subject. ' My uncle is waiting for me. May I see my sisters?' Two pale, timid, little girls were brought down by a prim governess from an upper region, and after a few questions and answers this ordeal was over, and Hal drove away with his uncle, leaving a pang in his father's heart which the latter was too proud to acknowledge until the son should own himself to be in the wrong.

It is to be feared that for some weeks Mr de Lisle was obliged to be satisfied with the know ledge that virtue is its own reward. Grief is proverbially selfish, and this poor stricken fellow was completely absorbed in his trouble. It was long before he knew how much his uncle had given up to watch over and comfort an appar ently ungrateful sufferer. But the day came when the ice of his reserve gave way, and he told the whole story to his uncle, and from that day forward the mysterious agencies which bind up wounded human hearts began to heal him of his grievous hurt. Then it was that Mr de Lisle began to reap the harvest of kindness which he had sowed. During the whole of their future lives an ideal friendship existed between the uncle and the nephew, the older man finding his happiness in promoting the interests of the younger, and the nephew learning that in acts of kind and tender consideration for the uncle to whom he owed so much affection lay the true cure for his own deep wound. With his father he remained on terms of cold civility.

Chapter II In South Australia, And

'PARTLY INTRODUCTORY. The Black Swamp lies between the Toonka river and the Corti creek, and the land which undulates between and round the margin of these waters, and which borders the marshy ground, holds the richest pasturage south of the city of Adelaide. In 1862 all this land was under cultivation for wheat-farming, or cleared for grazing cattle and sheep. Eleven years before Roland Trevor and his wife, then newly married, had chosen for their future home a rich spot in the elbow of the gully, watered by the Corti creek and sheltered by high hills from the north and east winds.' Here they followed the bent of their special energies and abilities for several peaceful years. The care of her three children in time filled Mrs Trevor's hands, yet she found leisure for reading the books which her IO husband liked, for pursuing her musical studies, and for working in her garden early and late.

In a very few years Glenbrook, as they called their new home, was transformed, by the diligence and taste of its owners, from a pretty but rough nook into a paradise of roses and blossoming shrubs. Gradually, too, Mr Trevor was becoming the largest landowner in the district. His mobs of fat cattle for the market were so frequently seen on the road to Adelaide as to arouse a faint feeling of jealousy in the breasts of the less prudent stock owners in the neighbourhood ; but this unworthy feeling was soon dispelled by Mr Trevor's unfailing geniality and willingness to help his neighbours in any emergency. For the first five years of their married life the Trevors lived almost in solitude, as far as com panionship with persons of their own class was concerned. They were happy years for both, and all the leisure of each was devoted to developing and ripening their mutual tastes.

Then an old friend, Mrs Harding by name, the widowed daughter of Mrs Trevor's late guardian, came to live in a neat cottage on the borders of the Black Swamp. At the same time came a lady and gentleman, Mr and Mrs Barnes, to live at Summer hill Farm, about two miles from Glenbrook, with three children, a boy of fifteen who had just left school, and two younger girls. The Trevors felt sorry that their woodland privacy must be invaded by strangers ; but further acquaintance with them proved that Mr and Mrs Barnes were highly sympathetic and delightful companions. The children were also charming and well-bred. A year passed by happily, and then came the be ginning of trouble. Mr Barnes returned from a business visit to Adelaide feeling very ill. There was no doctor within seven miles of Toonka ; the neighbourhood had, hitherto, been too healthy to support one.

By the time the medical man arrived the case was hopeless. ' Suppressed scarlet fever,' he called it, ordering that the children should be sent away from the house at once. This was an opportunity for friends to help. The Trevors housed the three children, Mrs Harding nursed the sick man till he died, and for the next five weeks she did her utmost to keep alive the body that caged the wife's broken heart. But it was of no use, the will to live was gone ; and the two who could not live without each other were buried side by side in a little cemetery in the scrub. Theirs were the first graves that were dug in that burying-ground. Mrs Trevor wished formally to adopt the children, but her husband, more wisely, decided against her wish. He said that they must be left free to choose for themselves.

Meanwhile he took great pains to educate the boy, whose name was Solomon (his godfather had been a Jew), in practical farming in all its branches. Mrs Trevor did her best to educate the girls, and they, in return, helped her with the care of her three little children. Five years more went by, bringing a full share of trouble and petty vexation, and also of subdued happiness. Then happened the event which Mr Trevor had foreseen. Solomon thought he could undertake the entire management of Summerhill Farm, with occasional help and advice from Mr Trevor, if his sisters, Marjory and Sally, now aged eighteen and sixteen respectively, would undertake the management of the house and the dairy. His wish was considered reasonable. Mr Trevor was pleased by his desire to be independent and to make a home for his sisters ; he begged his wife to leave the judg ment of the young people perfectly free at this important 'point of their career.

Mrs Trevor had known all along that this parting must come sooner or later. Marjory thought that she ought to do as Solomon wished, though she felt that her own education must be left in an elementary condition by the move. Sally was unwilling to leave her second mother, but she could not bear to be parted from Marjory, and finally the three went together to live at Summer hill Farm. Between the two homesteads, but nearer to Summerhill than to Glenbrook, and, like the latter place, nestling in an especially favoured gully, stood a small, but compact and valuable property known as Cooli, which had lately changed owners. A week before the day on which the story of Marjory and Sally Barnes began to have special significance, Cooli had been bought by one Mr Maguire, who was Australian born, but of Irish parentage.

In these days it was the hospitable custom of the country to introduce a newcomer to his neighbours by means of an evening party, and this duty almost always fell upon the Trevors as being the leading people in the neighbour hood. On the afternoon before the dance, Mrs Hard ing, with Marjory and Sally Barnes, rode to Glen brook to help Mrs Trevor with the evening's preparations. ' Has anybody seen this Mr Maguire ? ' asked Mrs Harding, while she bustled round the tea table, — for most of the guests came from a distance and were expected to tea. ' Yes. I know him,' Sally said. * You sly little puss ! Why didn't you say so before ? ' ' How was I to know that anyone would care to hear it ?' Sally asked. Mrs Harding peered suspiciously at the girl's conscious face. ' What is he like ? ' Marjory asked, feeling no little surprise.

She thought it strange that Sally had not mentioned the fact of having met the man to her. ' Oh ! fat and good-natured-looking,' said Sally carelessly. ' But where did you see him, Sally ? ' Mrs Hard ing asked, a little reassured by this portrait. Her self being of the leanest proportions, she found it difficult to believe that a man who could be de scribed as fat could possibly pose as the hero of a girl's romance. ' He comes from Yarrandilla, you know,' Sally replied. ' He was always at Mrs Lawson's. We used to have great fun with him. He can be made to laugh at the weakest jokes. I believe he thinks he has a pleasant laugh, and he likes to show it off.' ' Instead of saying spiteful things, miss,' cried Mrs Harding, ' you had better make yourself use ful. I want some eggs to make an omelette for tea, and the girl says she can't get up into the loft.

A parcel of rubbish, I say. She could climb up fast enough if it was to get anything for herself.' Sally went obediently in search of the desired eggs, and mounted without difficulty into the loft. She felt very tired, having been up since five o'clock in the morning, in order to get the day's work done at Summerhill before she started with Marjory for Glenbrook. She forgot that she had been sent to find eggs, and instead of looking, she sat down upon the scattered hay to think of Marjory's astonished face when she had owned to knowing Mr Maguire. Sally's conscience was not quite easy in regard to several details of her visit to Mrs Lawson and her daughters. Mrs Trevor had disapproved of the visit in the first place, and Sally knew that she had had only too much reason for her disapprobation.

By-and-by the weary girl lay back on the hay, her short frock drawn over her head to keep the grass seeds and straw from her hair. ' I will show him once for all that I won't stand any more of his nonsense, and that I never meant anything but fun when I asked him to buy Cooli,' was her last waking thought. An hour later Mr Trevor and Captain Webster were putting their horses in the stable, when the firmer was called in haste to the house. 'Leave your horse for the man,' Mr Trevor called as he hurried away. ' He is sure to be back directly.' " Here is a child asleep! " But Webster was accustomed to waiting upon himself, and seeing hay in the loft above his head he climbed up to throw some down into the manger. ' Here is a child, asleep ! ' he thought. ' One of the little Trevors, I suppose.' A gap in the weather-board wall let in a great red shaft of western light upon the sleeping girl.

Webster standing beside her saw that she was not a child. ' What a piquant creature ! ' he thought. ' And what a freckled little face. I should like to see the eyes that lurk behind those curly black lashes. She looks pretty asleep — very pretty.' He laughed a little as he moved away softly. There was something quaint and unusual in this little adventure ; the picture stayed long in his mind. ' I daresay I shall be disappointed if I see her awake,' he thought. That rich sunset light gave most of the charm, I daresay.' He fed his horse and went back to the house. Here he was introduced to Mrs Harding and to Marjory. He wondered whether he ought to mention having seen a young lady asleep in the hayloft. He did not do so, however, and the tea was ready before Sally was missed. Webster heard nothing about the mysterious disappear ance of the girl until after she was found ; and B she declined to make her appearance at the table when she heard that tea was half over. ' Bring me a cup of tea and a bit of bread-and butter to the bedroom, if you like,' she said to her sister. ' I don't want anything.

It is time to begin to dress.' After tea there was a general retirement to bed rooms in order to make toilets suitable to an evening party. Mr Trevor found an outgrown dress suit of his own for Webster, who was a slighter man than himself. ' What sort of captain is this ? ' Sally asked, sur veying herself in her white frock before the looking glass. It was the first she had ever worn which quite touched the ground. ' He is a naval officer,' Marjory replied. ' He is in command of a merchant ship now. He says it pays better — ' ' How low and disgusting ! ' Sally cried. ' He is not worthy to be in the navy.' ' But Mr Trevor says it is the finest ship that has ever been here. Fancy! it sails and steams, both—' 'Now then!' cried Mrs Harding's voice, 'I've got to be up at daylight to milk my cows, but I'm not going without my share of the dancing.' Upon this plain hint there was a general move to the barn.

Webster asked Mrs Harding to give him the first dance, and the lady, with beaming smiles, con sented, seeling that the Captain was a man of sense and penetration. The dance was a quadrille, and the principal guest of the evening, Mr Maguire, was dancing in the same set with Webster and his partner. Maguire was a stout, good-looking man, ap parently about thirty, with Irish blue eyes, hair and whiskers of a warm brown inclining to red, carrying himself with an air of self-approval which Webster called swagger. But before the dance was over, Webster, though not quite favourably impressed by Maguire, admitted to himself that the good humoured, musical laugh which came so readily, and the buoyant animal spirits, which were evidenced by every movement of his active, well-knit frame, were infectious. 'What an ass the fellow is to laugh so incess antly ! ' thought Webster, but he was unable to help laughing sympathetically, though he had not heard the joke.

He saw smiles on every face near him. When the quadrille was ended Webster sought among the dancers for the face which had charmed him in the perfect repose of sleep. His eyes travelled over the passing couples, but a few moments served to show that she was not among them. But a survey of the tiers of seats that ran round the room conveyed his eyes to the face he sought. She was leaning one soft round elbow upon the seat above her, the red drapery throwing her plump, childish figure into strong relief. Webster looked critically at her face, now radiant with excitement, and he owned to himself that it was a face which defied criticism. Her features were unformed, yet full of promise ; at present a certain dewy freshness constituted their chief charm, but as he gazed she seemed to become mesmerically aware of the direction of his eyes, and she turned upon him the most brilliant green grey eyes he had ever seen.

Webster was almost startled by their beauty and their curious magnetic effect upon himself. For the moment he forgot that his interest in women was dead. Maguire made his way towards the objects of Webster's attentions. A minute or two later Webster was standing near enough to the two to hear what they said. ' You might give me just one flower, Miss Sally,' Maguire pleaded. ' I will give it to you on one condition,' said Sally coquettishly. ' There is nothing that you can ask of me that I will not do,' cried Maguire. ' She had better ask him to make a fool of him self!' thought Webster. ' Will you wear this for the rest of the evening if I give you a rosebud ? Remember rosebuds are very precious and very scarce now. See, you shall have this one.' She pointed to a hard, green bud growing on the same stalk with the only rose in her posy, and, as his face fell a little, she unrolled a tissue paper fool's cap, which she had got out of a cracker a few minutes before.

If was decorated with absurd ornaments, and two long fluttering streamers trailed from the back. ' Oh ! I say, that's too bad ! Why do you want me to make a jackass of myself? I'll do anything hard or disagreeable — but as for wearing that thing in a company of strangers ! Everyone in the room would be laughing at me — and, by Jove ! you would lead off the laugh, I know. No, no, I can't go quite that length.' ' Very well ! you need not say so much about it. In spite of all your protestations to-night — and at Mrs Lawson's — I knew you would refuse to do the first thing I asked of you.' Webster felt a grim pleasure in seeing Maguire discomfited, but he did not admire the taste shown by Sally in the matter. ' She is very colonial,' he thought. ' She is not so very pretty, after all.' ' But really,' Maguire protested, lowering his voice, ' I thought I had proved my sincerity by buying Cooli, just to be near you.' ' I don't want to hear any more,' Sally declared aloud. ' You won't please me, even in a trifle, for fear of being laughed at.' ♦ But look here, Sally, you have come to an age when — ' ' When I usually have a handle put to my name,' she interrupted.

Mr Maguire laughed good-naturedly. ' It is of no use trying to bandy words with you, Miss Sally,' he said. ' I am sure to get the worst of it. Forgive me, and dance this polka with me.' ' Wait a minute then,' Sally said, with apparent relenting, ' my shoe is coming off. Stand in front of me, please, while I put it on.' Maguire obeyed, turning his back to shield her from the eyes of the passers-by. Webster saw Sally stoop down and adroitly pin the fool's cap to his coat-tail. At the same moment she felt the magnetism of his glance, and looking up, she met fully the look of sorrowful disgust he fixed upon her. The spoiled and flattered girl received a severe shock. Allowances had always been made for Sally by all her friends at Toonka. She was excused for all sorts of naughtiness because of her youth.