Plain Living

Hubert had several times been offered a high price for Windāhgil Downs, but he was not disposed to sell on any terms, being bent on stocking it up and improving it, so as fully to develop its capacity. “Some day, when the projected railway from Roma comes through, we’ll have a syndicate formed to buy it,” Hubert said. “In the meantime, there’s a few thousand acres of freehold to pick up round old Windāhgil.”

“All this was very well,” said the dwellers in the old homes; “but were the young men going to stay away for ever? They might just as well be in England. Surely, now that the season had changed and everything was going on so prosperously, they could afford two or three months’ time to see their relatives.”

This view of the case was pressed upon Hubert’s attention in several of Laura’s letters. Linda went so far as to threaten that she would, in default of Hubert’s paying attention to her next letter, invent an admirer of distinguished appearance for Miss Dacre, which harrowing contingency might serve to bring back the wanderer.

But there be many important, and, indeed, indispensable duties in new country. Men are scarce. Responsibilities are heavy. Risks abound. The captain and the first mate cannot leave the ship, be the inducements ever so great, until the anchor is down. Some day, however, the commander dons his shore-going “togs,” frock coat, tall hat, gloves, and all the rest of it, and goes in for a little well-earned enjoyment.

So, as again the summer days drew near, word came that matters had so moulded themselves that Hubert and Willoughby were on the homeward track. The “home station” of Delamere and Dacre had been sold to Messrs. Jinks and Newboy with thirty-three thousand sheep at a satisfactory price (vide the Aramac Arrow), as the energetic proprietors had concluded to concentrate their capital upon their magnificent newly taken up property of Glastonbury.

Mr. Delamere was to locate himself thereon, in the absence of his partner, while Donald Greenhaugh would be left in charge of Windāhgil Downs, now pretty well in working order. Hubert and Willoughby would come down from Rockhampton by steamer to Sydney, and might be expected to be home in a month or six weeks at farthest. This promise they faithfully carried out, and by a remarkable coincidence, Mr. Barrington Hope arranged to have a short holiday, and come up to Windāhgil with them.

There is a little true happiness in the world, however hard-hearted materialists and cynical poets affect to deny the fact. There might have been an approximation in other young persons’ lives; to the state of blissful content in which the two families were steeped to the lips on the arrival of the long-absent heroes, but no conceivable satisfaction here below could have exceeded it.

The Colonel kept walking round his son, taking in every personal detail with unflagging interest for hours and hours, as Miss Dacre averred; she was positive he never took his eyes off him, except when he retired to bed, for a whole week afterwards.

Laura and Linda declared Hubert had grown bigger, taller, handsomer, older – in short, had in every way improved. Miss Dacre, when called upon to confirm the decision, seemed to have a slight difficulty in putting her opinion into suitable form, but it was understood to be on the whole favourable. At any rate, the object of all this affectionate interest had reason so to believe.

Mr. Barrington Hope was surprised to find both home stations alive and kicking – so to speak – after the terrific ordeal which they had undergone. But, as he remarked, understocking was a more scientific mode of management than most squatters would allow. It was many a year since the paddocks on either station had looked so well. As to the non-wool-bearing inhabitants, he was lost in astonishment at their brilliant appearance after the deprivation of so many of the comforts of life.

“We were sorely tempted to go away to Sydney during the worst part of the drought,” said Laura. “Father gave us leave at the end of one terrible month, when we had not tasted milk, butter, or any decent meat. But as Mr. Dacre and Hubert were living on salt beef and ‘pig’s face’ (Mesembryanthemum) when last heard from, and risking their lives as well – moreover, as Rosalind wouldn’t hear of leaving the Colonel – we determined to bear our share of discomfort also.”

“I declare I grew quite nice and thin,” said Linda, who was sometimes uneasy about a possibly redundant figure; “mine was just what the old novelists used to call ‘a slight, but rounded form.’ Laura and poor Rosalind fell off dreadfully, though. No vegetables either. We were reduced to eating an onion one day with positive relish. Father said it was medicinally necessary.”

“Good heavens, if I had had the least idea that matters were so bad,” said Mr. Hope, glancing at Laura with a look of the tenderest compassion, “I should have insisted upon everybody migrating to Sydney, and come up in person to take charge, or done something desperate. I should indeed.”

“That would have been a last resource,” said Hubert, laughing. “Fancy the Austral Agency Company, with the manager ruralising at such a time! That would have caused a financial earthquake, which would have been more serious than the absence of milk and butter and a short supply of vegetables. Never mind, it was only a temporary inconvenience – much to be lamented, doubtless – but everybody looks very nice, notwithstanding.”

“I suppose we can put up with the old place for a few weeks longer?” interposed Mr. Stamford. “After Christmas, as we’ve all been such good boys and girls, I think we’re due for another trip to Sydney. I want to see the pantomime, for one. Miss Dacre requires change of air. I’m not sure that the climate of Tasmania or Melbourne wouldn’t brace us all up after the rather – well, not particularly exciting life we’ve had for the last year.”

“Oh! you dear old father,” said Linda; “you’re a man of the most original ideas and splendid ingenuity. You’ve divined our inmost thoughts intuitively.”

With such a prospect before them, the members of both families endured the unmistakably warm weather which generally precedes Christmas with philosophical composure. Indeed, so extremely contented were they with the existing state of affairs, that Linda vowed it was hardly worth while going away at all. This unnaturally virtuous state of mind was, however, combated by the majority, who possibly had reasons of their own for desiring to wander for a season far from their usual surroundings, for early in the first week of the new year the Mooramah Independent, and Warroo, Eyall, and Bundaburhamah Advertiser contained this wildly interesting announcement: —

“MARRIAGES

“On the 3rd January, by the Rev. Edward Chalfont, at St. John’s Church, Mooramah, Hubert, eldest son of Harold Stamford, Esq., of Windāhgil, to Rosalind, only daughter of Lieutenant-Colonel Rupert Dacre, of Wantabalree, late of H.M. 83rd Regiment. At the same time and place, Barrington, second son of Commander Collingwood Hope, R.N., to Laura, eldest daughter of Harold Stamford, Esq., of Windāhgil.”

These momentous events were not wholly unexpected. It may be imagined how the church at Mooramah was crowded on that day. It was not a particularly small one either, having been built mainly through the exertions of an energetic young clergyman, who did not allow himself to be discouraged by the fact that a considerable debt thereon still remained unpaid. So there was not a seat, or half a seat, to be had inside, while a much larger congregation than usual stood around the porch and entrance doors. School children strewed flowers on the pathway of the happy brides, and none of the usual ceremonies were omitted.

As it had not rained for three months, and apparently was not likely to do so for three more, the old-word proverb, “happy is the bride that the sun shines on,” received most literal fulfilment. However, the near prospect of ocean breeze and plashing wavelets sustained them amid the too ardent sun rays. Hubert, as a local celebrity, came in for a certain amount of guarded approval, and, in spite of the misgivings with which his Napoleonic policy had been regarded, it was conceded that “he looked twice the man” since his departure for foreign parts. Rosalind Dacre quietly, though becomingly, dressed, on that account was thought to have scarcely paid due and befitting regard to her serious and sacred duty as a bride. But as to Laura, there was no thought of dispraise or any, the faintest, doubt. Universally admired and beloved, the flower of a family not less popular than respected in the district, each one in that crowded building seemed to take a personal pride in her day of maiden triumph. Barrington Hope, radiantly happy and enjoying the prestige of a distinguished stranger, also received the highest compliments of the spectators by being declared to be worthy of the belle of Mooramah.

The happy couples departed by train to Melbourne, en route for Tasmania, that favoured isle where the summer of Britain is reproduced with the improved conditions of assured fine weather, and a less inconvenient proximity to the Pole. There annually do the desert-worn pilgrims from the tropic north and central wastes of the Australian continent resort for coolness, greenery, and agreeable society, as to the garden of Armida. Thus, in those rare intervals when they were not engaged in gazing on the perfections of their brides, were Hubert Stamford and Barrington Hope enabled to indulge in a little pioneer talk, and to listen to far-off echoes from the wild scenes which the former had so lately quitted.

Mr. and Mrs. Stamford, with Linda, remained for a few days longer before they took wing for the metropolis, leaving behind the Colonel and Willoughby, who elected to remain at home in charge of both stations. They arrived in Sydney just in time to take leave of their friends, the Grandisons. Chatsworth had been let for a term of years, and preparations were complete for their going to live upon one of the station properties.

“The fact is, my dear fellow,” said Mr. Grandison, “that my wife and I have resolved to take these younger children up into the bush and live there quietly with them till their education is finished. We must try if possible to bring them up in an atmosphere untainted by fashionable folly and excitement. It has been the ruin (at least, I think so) of the older ones. Now that Josie has married – ”

“What! Josie married?” exclaimed Mr. Stamford. “I never heard of it. You astonish me!”

“Married, indeed,” said Mrs. Grandison, who now joined them; “and a pretty match she has made of it. Not that there’s anything against the young man – he’s two or three years younger than she is – except that he’s rather stupid, and hasn’t an idea of anything, except billiards and betting, that I can discover. As he’s only a clerk in an insurance office, he has just enough to keep himself and not a penny for a wife, unless what her parents give her.”

“The sort of young fellow I never shall be able to take the slightest interest in,” said Mr. Grandison; “not bad-looking, I suppose, but quite incapable of raising himself a single step by his own exertions, or aspiring to anything beyond a sufficiency of cigars and an afternoon lounge in George Street.”

“Of course you tried to prevent the marriage,” said Mrs. Stamford; “but it’s too late now to do anything but make the best of it, for poor Josie’s sake.”

Mr. Grandison turned away his head as his wife said, in a tone of deep feeling, “The silly girl went and was married before the Registrar. She knew we could not approve of it, and took that means of being beforehand with us. Her father won’t see her yet; but of course she’ll have an allowance, and we must help them if he keeps steady. But it nearly broke our hearts, you may believe.”

“We see all these things too late,” said her husband, with a sigh, which he tried bravely to repress. “If we had brought our children up with other ideas, or placed before them higher objects of ambition, a different result might have been reached. Over and over again have I cursed the day when we left the bush for good – for good, indeed! – and came to live in this city of shams. Not worse than other places, I believe; but all this artificial town life, while not too good for older people, is ruin and destruction for young ones. What a fortunate man you’ve been, Stamford, though, in our selfish grief, I’ve forgotten to congratulate you.”

“It is the goodness of God,” he replied, warmly grasping the hand which was silently held out to him. “My children have never given me a moment’s anxiety. We have been sheltered, too, from the temptations of the world, and so far from the ‘deceitfulness of riches.’ I can never be sufficiently thankful.”

“That won’t last long,” said Mr. Grandison, with an effort to be cheerful. “People tell me that Windāhgil Downs is going to be the finest sheep property west of the Barcoo, and Hubert’s reputation as a pioneer is in everybody’s mouth now. He managed to pull the Colonel’s investment out of the fire. Well paid for it too, by all I hear! Give our love to Laura. She must live in Sydney, I suppose, now she’s married a business man. A rising fellow, Barrington Hope, and one of the smartest operators we have. Heigho! time’s up. We shall meet again some day I hope, when I have a better story to tell you.”

Mrs. Stamford was sincerely grieved to hear of this latest misfortune of the Grandison family. She could hardly forgive Josie for the insincerity and ingratitude with which she had acted. “However,” said the kindly matron in continuation, “perhaps it is not so bad as they are disposed to think. They’re dreadfully disappointed, of course. If the young man’s character is good, he may get on, and of course Mr. Grandison will help them by and by. It will do Josie good to have a house of her own to look after, and to be obliged to save and contrive. The girl’s heart is not naturally bad, I believe; but she has been spoilt by over-indulgence and extravagance ever since she was a baby. A poor marriage may be the best thing that ever happened to her. Oh! Harold, should we not be deeply grateful for the mercy of Providence in so ordering our lives that until lately we have never had any money to spare, and self-denial has been compulsory?”

“H’m,” said Mr. Stamford, musingly; “no doubt, no doubt! Too much money is one form of danger, of moral death, which the devil must regard with great, great complacency. Few people take that view, though.”

“I am very glad we have never been tried in that way,” said Mrs. Stamford, simply, looking up into her husband’s face. “I have pitied you, darling, when I have seen you tormented and anxious about money matters, but we have always been very happy among ourselves, even when things were at their worst. There is no chance now, I suppose, of our affairs going wrong? These Queensland stations are quite safe!”

“Quite safe, my dearest wife,” answered Harold Stamford, with a pang of remorse at his heart, as he imprinted a kiss on the fond face which had never looked into his save with truth and love shining in her clear eyes. “‘Safe as a bank,’ or suppose we say as Australian debentures. I don’t mind affirming that nothing, humanly speaking, could materially injure our investments now.”

“I am glad to hear that, for the dear children’s sake,” she answered. “If their future is secured, that is everything.”

Before the close of the summer, a naval squadron cruising in Australian waters, strange to say, happened to need partial refitting in Sydney Harbour, and, entering that picturesque haven, anchored as usual in Farm Cove. In one of the delicious sea-girdled nooks of Neutral Bay, it so chanced that Mr. Stamford had rented a furnished villa for the season. The ladies were wont to use the telescope in close inspection of any strange vessel that approached. Wonderful to relate, it appeared that the frigate which on a previous occasion had been the ocean home of Lieutenant Fitzurse was even now among the graceful war-hawks which, after battling with storm and tempest, were, so to speak, furling their pinions under Linda’s excited gaze.

There may or may not be a new system of marine telegraphy, but the fact comes within my experience that naval men have exceptionally prompt means of discovery, upon arrival in port, whether the ladies of their acquaintance are in town, and if so, where they abide.

It so chanced, therefore, that, upon the following afternoon, a gig left H.M.S. Vengeful, and with eight able seamen pulled straight for the Dirrāhbah jetty, landing the lieutenant and a brother officer, who, making their call in due form, betrayed great anxiety for the health of Mr. and Mrs. Stamford and the young ladies during their long absence from Sydney. They were also politely astonished at the news of Miss Stamford’s and Hubert’s marriages. Indeed, the recital of the family news (presumably) as conveyed by Linda to Mr. Fitzurse in full, during an examination of the green-house, lasted so long that Mrs. Stamford looked several times from the window, and the gallant tars in the boat referred to the protracted absence of their superior officers in unqualified Saxon terms.

What more is left to tell? It would appear that there might have been a previously implied, if unspoken confession between the young people. Reference being permitted to Stamford père, and satisfactory credentials forthcoming, it was arranged that an “engagement” should be officially allowed, hope being cautiously held out by that wary diplomatist that, in the event of the coveted “step” being attained, the full concession might be thought about. Which decision gave unqualified satisfaction, Linda being, as she averred, willing to wait for years; indeed rather glad on the whole, that separation and delay were necessary, so that she might have time to think over and thoroughly enjoy her unparalleled happiness.

With the autumn came the returning travellers, Hubert declaring that he dared not stay away another week from the Downs; frightful consequences might happen; Mr. Hope and Laura preparing to inhabit the comfortable abode which, for a few years to come, they had agreed, would be commensurate with their means. Something was said about Mrs. Hubert Stamford remaining at Wantabalree with her father while her husband went forth again on his task of subduing the waste. But that young woman replied promptly, with the opening words of an ancient family record, “Where thou goest, I will go.” In reference to the possibly rude architecture of their abode, she declared “that if Hubert had only a packing case to live in, she, being his wife, thought it her duty to live there with him.”

After this, of course, there was no more to be said, and the Catterthun, sailing soon afterwards for the uttermost northern port, had in her passenger list the names of Mr. and Mrs. Hubert Stamford and servant.

From this time forth the star of Stamford family was manifestly in the ascendant; for not only did their undertakings flourish and the sons and daughters of the house “grow in favour with God and man,” but everyone bound to them by the ties of kindred or friendship prospered exceedingly. The debt on Wantabalree was cleared off in due time, while the “Glastonbury Thorn” seemed to have taken deep root in the northern wilds of the far land to which it had been carried, and to bring a blessing upon the dwellers around its sacred stem. The Colonel lived rather a solitary existence at the home station after Willoughby had departed again for the north, but he got into the way of going to Sydney for the summer, where the Australian Club afforded him congenial society, with a certainty of comradeship at the nightly whist table.

Mr. and Mrs. Hubert Stamford returned after a year’s absence, the latter, though having lost something of her English freshness of complexion, by no means delicate of health, and very proud of the infant Harold, whose steadfast eyes and bold brow marked him out as a future pioneer. Neither were sorry to abide with the Colonel for a season, and Hubert threw out hints about “the far north” being too hot for any white woman, although Rosalind would rather die than admit it. “She’s the pluckiest little woman in the world, I believe,” he said. “Didn’t she wash and cook for me and Donald the whole month we were without a servant? I believe she’d have kept the station accounts too, if we’d have let her. But I don’t want to run risks.”

Mr. and Mrs. Stamford, being more impartial observers, were of opinion that a change would be beneficial to both the young people. Hubert was too thin to satisfy the maternal eye. She believed that he had never properly got over that horrid fever and ague attack. “And of course Hubert would never give in; but really as the boy had done so well, wouldn’t it be a nice time for them to run home for a year or two? The station was settling down, and as Mr. Greenhaugh had been taken into partnership, surely he could manage things for a time? It would benefit Hubert in every way, and as he had never been ‘home,’ of course they would like him to see a little of the world.”

Something of this sort may have occurred to Mr. Stamford, but he had refrained in order to permit his more cautious helpmate to propose the extravagant notion. He shook his head oracularly, said he would think over it, and if it was decided – mind, if after due consideration it turned out to be feasible – he thought it would do Barrington and Laura a great deal of good too. Barrington would knock himself up if they didn’t mind. He was such a terribly constant worker, and so conscientious that he did not permit himself the relaxation that other men in his position would have claimed.

“What a splendid idea!” exclaimed Mrs. Stamford; “my dear Harold, you always seem to hit upon the exact thing we have all been thinking of but have hesitated about mentioning. It will be the saving of Barrington, and as for Laura, the great dream of her life will be fulfilled. I know she almost pines for Rome and Florence, but she told me once she did not think they could afford it for some years to come.”

“I can afford it, though,” said Mr. Stamford, with pardonable exultation. “Things have prospered with us lately. And what have we to think of in this world but our children’s happiness? Barrington shall have a cheque for a thousand the day their passage is taken. As for Hubert, he can draw one for himself now, thank God! without interviewing his banker.”

Mrs. Stamford was an economical and intelligent woman as to her household accounts, but she had the vague idea of “business” common to her sex. She knew in a general way from her son and husband that the stations were all paying and improving in value. So she accepted the situation without further inquiry. When her husband, therefore, spoke of drawing so large a cheque for travelling expenses, she was not alarmed as she would once have been at the idea of paying a tenth part of the amount, but regarded the apparent profusion of money in the family as a consequence of the higher standard of pastoral property which they had been so wonderfully guided to reach. “Hitherto has the Lord helped us,” she quoted softly to herself. “May His mercy be around our paths and shield those who are dear to us from every evil!”

The news that a trip to the old country was not only possible but considered expedient, and in a sense necessary, came with the effect of a delightful surprise upon both couples. Hubert had, in a hazy, contemplative way been revolving the idea, but had not thought it likely that it could be arranged in less than three or four years. But now, brought face to face with the idea, he found it to be unexpectedly practicable. There was no very complicated work or management necessary for two or three years. Donald Greenhaugh, who had now a fourth share, was fully able to superintend the ordinary station work. Fencing, branding the increase and selling the fat stock, were operations which he could conduct as well as – in a sense better – than Hubert could himself. In case “anything happened to him” – and such things have occurred ere now, disastrously for the absentee partner – there was Willoughby, with whom he could leave a power of attorney, on the spot. All that was wanted was to increase the cattle herd from five thousand head to twenty, and that would not half stock the runs. The sheep of course were right. One man of experience could see to that process nearly as well as another.