James got down and started taking the horses out --as if it was an everyday occurrence.I saw the double-barrel gun sticking out from under the seat.He'd stopped to wash the buggy,and I suppose that's what made him grumpy.Mary stood on the verandah,with her eyes twice as big as usual,and breathing hard --taking the buggy in.
James skimmed the harness off,and the horses shook themselves and went down to the dam for a drink.`You'd better look under the seats,'growled James,as he took his gun out with great care.
Mary dived for the buggy.There was a dozen of lemonade and ginger-beer in a candle-box from Galletly --James said that Galletly's men had a gallon of beer,and they cheered him,James (I suppose he meant they cheered the buggy),as he drove off;there was a `little bit of a ham'from Pat Murphy,the storekeeper at Home Rule,that he'd `cured himself'--it was the biggest I ever saw;there were three loaves of baker's bread,a cake,and a dozen yards of something `to make up for the children',from Aunt Gertrude at Gulgong;there was a fresh-water cod,that long Dave Regan had caught the night before in the Macquarie river,and sent out packed in salt in a box;there was a holland suit for the black boy,with red braid to trim it;and there was a jar of preserved ginger,and some lollies (sweets)(`for the lil'boy'),and a rum-looking Chinese doll and a rattle (`for lil'girl')from Sun Tong Lee,our storekeeper at Gulgong --James was chummy with Sun Tong Lee,and got his powder and shot and caps there on tick when he was short of money.And James said that the people would have loaded the buggy with `rubbish'if he'd waited.
They all seemed glad to see Joe Wilson getting on --and these things did me good.
We got the things inside,and I don't think either of us knew what we were saying or doing for the next half-hour.
Then James put his head in and said,in a very injured tone,--`What about my tea?I ain't had anything to speak of since I left Cudgeegong.
I want some grub.'
Then Mary pulled herself together.
`You'll have your tea directly,'she said.`Pick up that harness at once,and hang it on the pegs in the skillion;and you,Joe,back that buggy under the end of the verandah,the dew will be on it presently --and we'll put wet bags up in front of it to-morrow,to keep the sun off.
And James will have to go back to Cudgeegong for the cart,--we can't have that buggy to knock about in.'
`All right,'said James --`anything!Only get me some grub.'
Mary fried the fish,in case it wouldn't keep till the morning,and rubbed over the tablecloths,now the irons were hot --James growling all the time --and got out some crockery she had packed away that had belonged to her mother,and set the table in a style that made James uncomfortable.
`I want some grub --not a blooming banquet!'he said.And he growled a lot because Mary wanted him to eat his fish without a knife,`and that sort of Tommy-rot.'When he'd finished he took his gun,and the black boy,and the dogs,and went out 'possum-shooting.
When we were alone Mary climbed into the buggy to try the seat,and made me get up alongside her.We hadn't had such a comfortable seat for years;but we soon got down,in case any one came by,for we began to feel like a pair of fools up there.
Then we sat,side by side,on the edge of the verandah,and talked more than we'd done for years --and there was a good deal of `Do you remember?'in it --and I think we got to understand each other better that night.
And at last Mary said,`Do you know,Joe,why,I feel to-night just --just like I did the day we were married.'
And somehow I had that strange,shy sort of feeling too.
The Writer Wants to Say a Word.
In writing the first sketch of the Joe Wilson series,which happened to be `Brighten's Sister-in-law',I had an idea of making Joe Wilson a strong character.Whether he is or not,the reader must judge.
It seems to me that the man's natural sentimental selfishness,good-nature,`softness',or weakness --call it which you like --developed as I wrote on.
I know Joe Wilson very well.He has been through deep trouble since the day he brought the double buggy to Lahey's Creek.
I met him in Sydney the other day.Tall and straight yet --rather straighter than he had been --dressed in a comfortable,serviceable sac suit of `saddle-tweed',and wearing a new sugar-loaf,cabbage-tree hat,he looked over the hurrying street people calmly as though they were sheep of which he was not in charge,and which were not likely to get `boxed'with his.Not the worst way in which to regard the world.
He talked deliberately and quietly in all that roar and rush.
He is a young man yet,comparatively speaking,but it would take little Mary a long while now to pick the grey hairs out of his head,and the process would leave him pretty bald.
In two or three short sketches in another book I hope to complete the story of his life.
