`So you've ridden over to show them the way, Aileen,' he said, as the girls came in; `very good of you it was.I was afraid you'd forgotten the way.'
`I never forget the way to a friend's place, George,' she said, `and you've been our best friend while these naughty boys have left mother and me so long by ourselves.But you've been away yourself.'
`Only four months,' he said; `and after a few more trips I shan't want to go away any more.'
`That will be a good day for all of us,' she said.`You know, Gracey, we can't do without George, can we? I felt quite deserted, I can tell you.'
`He wouldn't have gone away at all if you'd held up your little finger, you know that, you hard-hearted girl,' said Grace, trying to frown.
`It's all your fault.'
`Oh! I couldn't interfere with Mr.Storefield's business,' said Aileen, looking very grave.`What kind of a country was it you were out in?'
`Not a bad place for sheep and cattle and blacks,' said poor George, looking rather glum; `and not a bad country to make money or do anything but live in, but that hot and dry and full of flies and mosquitoes that I'd sooner live on a pound a week down here than take a good station as a present there.That is, if I was contented,' he went on to say, with a sort of a groan.
There never was a greater mistake in the world, I believe, than for a man to let a woman know how much he cares for her.
It's right enough if she's made up her mind to take him, no odds what happens.
But if there's any half-and-half feeling in her mind about him, and she's uncertain and doubtful whether she likes him well enough, all this down-on-your-knees business works against you, more than your worst enemy could do.I didn't know so much about it then.
I've found it out since, worse luck.And I really believe if George had had the savey to crack himself up a little, and say he'd met a nice girl or two in the back country and hid his hand, Aileen would have made it up with him that very Christmas, and been a happy woman all her life.
When old Mrs.Storefield came in she put us through our facings pretty brisk -- where we'd been, what we'd done? What took us to Melbourne, --how we liked it? What kind of people they were? and so on.
We had to tell her a good lot, part of it truth, of course, but pretty mixed.
It made rather a good yarn, and I could see Grace was listening with her heart as well as her ears.Jim said generally we met some very nice people in Melbourne named Jackson, and they were very kind to us.
`Were there any daughters in the family, Jim?' asked Grace.
`Oh! yes, three.'
`Were they good-looking?'
`No, rather homely, particularly the youngest.'
`What did they do?'
`Oh! their mother kept a boarding-house.We stayed there.'
I don't think I ever knew Jim do so much lying before; but after he'd begun he had to stick to it.He told me afterwards he nearly broke down about the three daughters; but was rather proud of making the youngest the ugliest.
`I can see Gracey's as fond of you as ever she was, Dick,' says he;`that's why she made me tell all those crammers.It's an awful pity we can't all square it, and get spliced this Christmas.
Aileen would take George if she wasn't a fool, as most women are.
I'd like to bring Jeanie up here, and join George in the carrying business.
It's going to be a big thing, I can see.You might marry Gracey, and look after both places while we were away.'
`And how about Kate?'
`The devil take her! and then he'd have a bargain.I wish you'd never dropped across her, and that she wasn't Jeanie's sister,' blurts out Jim.
`She'll bring bad luck among us before she's done, I feel, as sure as we're standing here.'
`It's all a toss up -- like our lives; married or lagged, bushwork or roadwork (in irons), free or bond.We can't tell how it will be with us this day year.'
`I've half a mind to shoot myself,' says Jim, `and end it all.I would, too, only for mother and Aileen.What's the use of life that isn't life, but fear and misery, from one day's end to another, and we only just grown up?
It's d----d hard that a chap's brains don't grow along with his legs and arms.'
We didn't ride home till quite the evening.Grace would have us stay for tea;it was a pretty hot day, so there was no use riding in the sun.
George saddled his horse, and he and Grace rode part of the way home with us.
He'd got regular sunburnt like us, and, as he could ride a bit, like most natives, he looked better outside of a horse than on his own legs, being rather thick-set and shortish; but his heart was in the right place, like his sister's, and his head was screwed on right, too.
I think more of old George now than I ever did before, and wish I'd had the sense to value his independent straight-ahead nature, and the track it led him, as he deserved.
Jim and I rode in front, with Gracey between us.She had on a neat habit and a better hat and gloves than Aileen, but nothing could ever give her the seat and hand and light, easy, graceful way with her in the saddle that our girl had.All the same she could ride and drive too, and as we rode side by side in the twilight, talking about the places I'd been to, and she wanting to know everything (Jim drew off a bit when the road got narrow), I felt what a fool I'd been to let things slide, and would have given my right hand to have been able to put them as they were three short years before.
At last we got to the Gap; it was the shortest halt from their home.
George shook hands with Aileen, and turned back.
`We'll come and see you next ----' he said.
`Christmas Eve!' said Aileen.
`Christmas Eve let it be,' says George.
`All right,' I said, holding Grace's hand for a bit.And so we parted --for how long, do you think?
