Back To Billabong - Mary Grant Bruce
Meanwhile Bob Rainham, left alone with his host, set about the business
of his new farm in earnest, since there seemed nothing else for him to
do; and David Linton, possibly glad of the occupation, threw himself
into the work. The farm was bought on terms that seemed to Bob
very easy--he did not know that Mr. Linton stood security for his
payments--and then began the task of stocking it and of planning just
what was best to do with each paddock. The house, left bare and clean by
the last owners, was in good repair, save that the dingy white painting
of the exterior, and the varnished pine walls and ceilings within were
depressing and shabby. Mr. Linton decided that his house-warming present
to Tommy should be a coat of paint for her mansion, and soon it looked
new--dark red, with a gleaming white roof, while the rooms were painted
in pretty fresh colours. "Won't Tommy get a shock!" chuckled Bob
gleefully. The dinginess of the house had not escaped him on the
morning that they had made their first inspection, but Tommy, who loved
freshness and colours, had made no sign. Had you probed the matter,
Tommy would probably have remarked, with some annoyance, that it was not
her job to begin by grumbling.
Wally came hurtling back from Queensland at the first hint of the
influenza outbreak, and was considerably depressed at finding his twin
souls, Jim and Norah, engaged in jobs that for once he could not share.
Therefore he, too, fell back on the new farm, and found Bob knitting his
brow one evening over the question of furniture.
"I don't want to buy much," he said. "Tommy doesn't, either; we talked
it over. We'd rather do with next to nothing, and buy decent stuff by
degrees if we get on well. Tommy says she doesn't want footling little
gimcracky tables and whatnots and things, nor dressing-tables full of
drawers that won't pull out. But I've been looking at the cheap stuff in
Cunjee, and, my word, it's nasty! Still, I can't afford good things now,
and Tommy wouldn't like it if I tried to get 'em. Tommy's death on the
simple life."
"How are you on tools?" queried Wally.
"Using tools? Pretty fair," admitted Bob. "I took up carpentering at
school; it was always a bit of a hobby of mine. I'm no cabinet-maker, if
that's what you mean."
"You don't need to be," Wally answered. "Up where I come from--we were
pretty far back in Queensland--we hardly ever saw real furniture, the
stuff you buy in shops. It was all made out of packing-cases and odd
bits of wood. Jolly decent, too; you paint 'em up to match the rooms, or
stain 'em dark colours, and the girls put sort of petticoats round some
of the things."
"We began that way," said David Linton, with a half-sigh. "There was
surprisingly little proper furniture in our first house, and we were
very comfortable."
"Couldn't we begin, sir?" asked Wally eagerly. "This wet weather looks
like setting in. Bob can't do much on the farm. If we could get out
a few odd lengths of timber and some old packing cases from the
township--"
"Heavens, you don't need to do that!" exclaimed their host. "The place
is full of both; packing-cases have been arriving at Billabong since Jim
was a baby, and very few of them have gone away again. There's plenty of
timber knocking about, too. We'll go over to the farm if you like, Bob,
and plan out measurements."
"I think it's a splendid idea, thanks, sir," said Bob slowly. "Only I
don't quite see why I should bother you--"
"Oh, don't talk rubbish!" said David Linton, getting up. "I believe I'm
glad of the job--the place seems queer without Jim and Norah."
"My word!" said Wally. "Let's all turn carpenters, and give Tommy the
surprise of her life!"
They flung themselves at the work with energy. A visit to the new house,
and a careful study of each room, revealed unsuspected possibilities to
Bob, whose English brain, "brought up," as Wally said, "on a stodgy
diet of bedroom suites," had failed to grasp what might be done by handy
people with a soul above mere fashion in the matter of furniture. They
came back with a notebook bulging with measurements and heads seething
with ideas. First, they dealt with the bedrooms, and made for each a set
of long shelves and a dressing-table-cupboard--the latter a noble piece
of furniture, which was merely a packing-case, smoothed, planed and
fitted with shelves; the whole to be completed with a seemly petticoat
when Tommy should be able to detach her mind from influenza patients.
They made her, too, a little work-table, which was simply a wide, low
shelf, at which she could write or sew--planned to catch a good light
from her window, so that as she sat near it, she could see the line of
willows that marked the creek and the rolling plains that ended in the
ranges behind Billabong. Tommy's room was painted in pale green; and
when they had stained all these exciting additions dark green, Bob
heaved a great sigh, and yearned audibly for the swift recovery of
the influenza patients, so that Tommy could return and behold her new
possessions.
"We could make washstands," said Mr. Linton, when they had fitted out
the two remaining bedrooms. "But washstands are depressing things, and
would take up a good deal of space in these little rooms. You have a
good water supply, Bob; why not have built-in basins with taps, and lay
on water through the bedrooms?"
Bob whistled.
"My aunt! Is that really possible?"
"Quite, I should say. It wouldn't take elaborate plumbing, and the pipes
could discharge into an irrigation drain for your vegetable garden. It
would save Tommy ever so much work in carrying water, too. There's a
fearsome amount of water carried in and out of bedrooms, and I can't see
why pipes shouldn't do the work. It need not cost you much--just a shelf
across a corner, with an enamelled basin let in."
"Save you buying jugs and basins," said Wally. "Great money-saving
idea!"
"Rather," said Bob. "Is there anyone in Cunjee who can plumb?"
"Oh, yes; there's a handy man who can do the whole thing. We'll get Jim
to go and see him tomorrow."
They left this job to the handy man, who proved equal to all demands,
and went on themselves to higher flights. Kitchen and pantry were
already fitted with shelves, but they built in a dresser, and found a
spare corner, where they erected a linen press warranted to bring tears
of joy to the eye of any housewife. Round the little dining-room and
sitting-room they ran a very narrow shelf, just wide enough to carry
flowers and ornaments, and they made wide, low window seats in each
room. Then, becoming bold by success, they turned to cabinet making,
and built into the dining-room a sideboard, which was only a glorified
edition of the kitchen dresser, but looked amazingly like walnut, aided
by a little stain; and for both sitting-rooms made low cupboards,
with tops wide enough to serve as little tables. Even the verandah was
furnished with wide shelf tables and a cupboard, and with low and broad
seats.
"And it's all done by kindness--and packing cases!" said Jim, surveying
the result with admiration.
"Indeed, I'm afraid a lot of your father's good timber has gone into
it," said Bob half ruefully. "He was awfully good about it, and the
supply of just-what-you-want timber on Billabong seemed inexhaustible."
"No, you really used very little good stuff," David Linton said. "It's
chiefly packing cases, truly, Jim. But we had plenty of time to plane it
up and make it look decent. Bob ran an electric light into the workshop
and we worked every night. I believe it's kept us from getting influenza
from sheer boredom, with all you people away."
"They'll soon be home," Jim said cheerfully. "Influenza's dying out, I
believe. No fresh cases for three days, and all the patients are getting
better. The little Andersons are up and about. By the way, Dad, couldn't
we bring those kiddies out to Billabong for a change?"
"Why, of course," his father answered. "Tell Mrs. Anderson to come too,
or, if she won't leave her husband, Brownie will be delighted at the
chance of getting two children to look after again. Are the cooks quite
cheery, Jim?"
"As cheery as possible," Jim answered. "They got off early to-day, and I
took them and Sister and the Anderson youngsters out for a run. Did 'em
all good. I'm coming home to-night, and they don't want me to-morrow,
because they're going to afternoon tea with some one or other. Flighty
young things, those cooks! So I can help you carpenters or do any odd
jobs."
"We've lots," said Wally, who was putting a finishing coat of dark green
enamel to a rod destined as a towel rail for Tommy's room. "Simple jobs,
suitable for your understanding. Take care, Jimmy, I've a wet paint
brush, and you have a good suit on! I want to put shelves from floor to
ceiling of the bathroom, because the walls are rough and unlined, and
nothing on earth will make it a beautiful room. So Tommy may as well
store there all the things she doesn't want anywhere else. And you can
make her a medicine cupboard. I shan't have time to look at any of you
unskilled labourers, for I'm going to build her a draining-rack for
plates and things over the kitchen sink. And I can tell you, that takes
brains!"
"Then it's not your job!" said Jim definitely.
"Isn't it? I'll show you, you old Bond Street fashion plate!" Wally
stretched his long form, simply attired in a khaki shirt and dungaree
trousers, much be-splashed by paint, and looked scornfully at his neatly
dressed friend. "You needn't think, because you come here dressed like
the lilies of the field and fresh from motoring girls round the country,
that--"
"My hat!" said Jim justly incensed. "And I after cleaning out and
whitewashing the hospital fowl-houses all the morning! Young Wally, you
need some one to sit on your head." He took off his coat slowly.
"Ten to one," said Wally hastily, "if we had time to look into the
matter we'd find you'd whitewashed the fowls as well! These Army
Johnnies are so beastly impractical!" He gathered up his brushes and
fled, pursued by his chum. Sounds of warfare came faintly from the
distance.
"It's a good thing some of us are sane," said Mr. Linton laughing.
"Nearly finished, Bob?"
He was painting a shelf-table, screwed to the wall within a space at
the end of the verandah, which they had completely enclosed with wire
mosquito netting. Bob was hanging the door of this open-air room in
position, a task requiring judgment, as the floor of the verandah was
old and uneven.
"Nearly, sir," he mumbled, his utterance made difficult by the fact
of having several screws in his mouth. He worked vigorously for a few
moments, and then stood back to survey his job. "This is going to be
a great little room--though it's hard just now to imagine that it will
ever be warm enough for it."
"Just you wait a few months until we get a touch of hot weather, and
the mosquitoes come out!" said David Linton. "Then you and Tommy will
thankfully entrench yourselves in here at dusk, and listen to the
singing hordes dashing themselves against the netting in the effort to
get at you!"
"That's the kind of thing they used to tell me on the Nauru," Bob said
laughing; "but I didn't quite expect it from you, Mr. Linton!"
The squatter chuckled.
"Well, indeed, it's no great exaggeration in some years," he said. "They
can be bad enough for anything, though it isn't always they are. But an
open-air room is never amiss, for if there aren't mosquitoes a lamp will
attract myriads of other insects on a hot night. That looks all right,
Bob; you've managed that door very well."
"First rate!" said Jim and Wally approvingly, returning arm in arm.
"You're great judges!" David Linton rejoined, looking at the pair. "Have
you returned to work, may I ask, or are you still imitating the lilies
of the field?"
"Jim is; he couldn't help it," said Wally. "But I have been studying
that oak tree out in the front, Mr. Linton. It seems to me that a
seat built round it would be very comforting to weary bones on warm
evenings--"
Bob gathered up his tools with decision in each movement.
"Wally has come to that state of mind in which he can't look at anything
on the place without wanting to build something out of a packing case
in it, or round it, or on top of it!" he said. "When the sheep come I'll
have to keep you from them, or you'll be building shelves round them!"
"Why, you're nearly as bad yourself!" grinned Wally.
"I know I am, and that's why I've got to stop. I'm going to leave nice
little chisels and spokeshaves and smoothing planes, and mend up the
pigsty; it needs it badly, and so does the cow-shed. And then I've
got to think of ploughing, and cutting that drain across the flat, and
generally earning my living."
"Don't you worry," said David Linton. "You couldn't have done much
outside in this wet weather, and at least your house is half-furnished.
And we'll help you through with the other things."
"You're all just bricks," said Bob, his fair skin flushing--"only I
begin to feel as if I were fed with a spoon. I can't always expect to
have my work done for me."
"You haven't shown much wish to leave it for anyone else," Jim said
drily. "Neither you nor Tommy strikes this district as a loafer. Just
stop talking bosh, old man, and think what Tommy's going to say to her
mansion."
"Say?" queried Mr. Linton. "Why, she'll point out to us all the places
where she wants shelves!"
"Shelves?" yelled the three as one man.
"Yes, certainly. There was never a woman born who had enough. Don't lose
sight of your tools, Bob, for you'll go on putting up shelves as long
as you've an inch of wall to put them on. Come along, boys, and we'll go
home."
CHAPTER XIII
THE HOME ON THE CREEK
"I think it's the loveliest home that ever was!" said Tommy solemnly.
"Well, indeed, it takes some beating," Wally agreed.
"Creek Cottage"--the name was of Tommy's choosing--was ready for
occupation, and they had just finished a tour of it. There was nothing
in it that was not fresh and bright and dainty--like Tommy herself.
The rooms were small, but they had good windows, where the crisp, short
curtains were not allowed to obscure the view. There were fresh mattings
and linoleums on the floors, and the home-made furniture now boasted,
where necessary, curtains of chintz or cretonne, that matched its
colouring. Norah and Tommy had spent cheery hours over those draperies.
The curtains for Tommy's "suite" had been Norah's gift--of dark-green
linen, embroidered in dull blue silks; and in the corner there was a
little sofa with cushions of the same. Tommy had purred--was, in fact,
still purring--over that home-made furniture, and declared it superior
to any that money could buy. She had also suggested new ideas for
shelves.
They had not troubled furniture shops much. Save for a few comfortable
arm-chairs, there was nothing solid and heavy in the house; but it was
all pleasant and home-like, and the little rooms, bright with books
and pictures and flowers, had about them the touch of welcome and
restfulness that makes the difference between a home and a mere house.
The kitchen was Tommy's especial pride--it was cool and spotless, with
fresh-painted walls and ceilings, and shining white tiles round the
white sink--over which Wally's draining-rack sat in glory. Dazzling
tin-ware decorated the walls, and the dresser held fresh and pretty
china. For weeks it had been a point of honour for no one to visit
Cunjee without bringing Tommy a gift for the kitchen--meat fork, a set
of skewers, a tin pepper castor; offerings wrapped in many coverings of
tissue paper, and presented with great solemnity, generally at dinner.
The last parcel had been from Mr. Linton, and had eclipsed all the
others--an alarum clock, warranted to drive the soundest sleeper from
her bed. Bob declared it specially designed to ensure his getting fed at
something approaching a reasonable hour.
A wide verandah ran round the whole house, and rush lounges and deck
chairs stood about invitingly--Tommy had insisted that there should
be plenty of seating accommodation on the verandah for all the Linton
party, since they filled the little rooms to an alarming extent.
Near where they stood the drawing-room opened out by a French window.
Something caught Tommy's eye, and she dived into the room--to return,
laughing with new treasure-trove--a sink brush and saucepan-scrubber,
tied up with blue ribbon.
"Your doing?" she asked, brandishing them.
"Not mine." Wally shook his head. "I don't do frivolous things like
that. But I heard Jim wheedling blue ribbon out of Norah this morning,
and I don't fancy he has much use for it ordinarily. You'd better ask
him."
"It's like both of you--you nice stupids!" she said.
"What?--the pot-scrub! That's not polite of you, Miss Rainham; and so
untrue, where I'm concerned." Wally sat down on the arm of a lounge and
regarded her with a twinkle. "What's old Bob doing?"
Tommy laughed happily.
"I think whenever we don't know where Bob is, he's safe to be out
looking at either the sheep or the pigs," she said. "He just loves them;
and he says he can see them growing."
There was a hint of Spring in the air, and more than a hint of good
grass in the green paddocks stretching away from the house. By the creek
the willows were putting out long, tender shoots that would soon be a
thick curtain. The lucerne patch that stretched along its bank was dense
and high. The Rainhams had been delayed in taking possession of Creek
Cottage; a severe cold had smitten Tommy just at the end of her labours
in the hospital, and, being thoroughly tired out, it had been some time
before she could shake off its effects. Mr. Linton and Norah had put
down their feet with joint firmness, declaring that in no circumstances
should she begin housekeeping until she was thoroughly fit; so the
Rainhams had remained at Billabong. Tommy was petted and nursed in a
way she had not known since Aunt Margaret had died, while Bob worked
feverishly at his farm, riding over every day from Billabong, with a
package of Brownie's sandwiches in his pocket, and returning at
dusk, dirty and happy. Bob was responding to Australian conditions
delightfully, and was only discontented because he could not make his
farm all that he wanted it to be within the first week.
Therein, however, he had unexpected help. The Cunjee district was a
friendly one; station owners and farmers alike looked kindly on
the young immigrant who turned so readily to work after four years'
fighting. Moreover, Tommy's work in the hospital was well known; the
general opinion being that "anything might be expected from young
Norah Linton, but you wouldn't think a bit of a new-chum kid like Bob
Rainham's sister would turn to and cook for a crowd, and she hardly off
the ship!" So the district laid its heads together and consulted Mr.
Linton; with the result that one morning Bob found himself unexpectedly
accompanied to work by his host. It was nothing unusual for Jim or
Wally, or both, to go with him. He was cutting a drain, which they
declared to be a job for which they had a particular fancy. But to-day
he found Monarch saddled with the other horses, and Mr. Linton, not only
ready to start, but hurrying them off; and there was no lunch to carry,
Norah airily declaring that since she and Tommy were to be deserted
they declined to be downtrodden, and would motor over with a hamper and
picnic at Creek Cottage. There was a mysterious twinkle in Norah's eye;
Bob scented something afoot, and tried--in vain--to pump her on the
matter. He rode away, his curiosity unsatisfied.
But when they rode up the homestead paddock at his farm, he gave a long
whistle.
"What on earth--?" he began amazedly.
There were men in sight everywhere, and all working. Eight or nine
ploughs were moving across the paddocks destined for cultivation;
already wide strips of freshly turned earth showed that they had been
some time at work. On the flat where Bob had begun his drain was a line
of men, and some teams with earth-scoops, cutting a deep channel. There
were even men digging in the garden; and the sound of axes came faintly
from a belt of scrub that Bob was planning to clear--some day. He gaped
at them.
"What does it mean?"
"It's a bee," said Wally kindly. "A busy bee, improving each shining
hour."
Bob turned a puzzled, half-distressed face to Mr. Linton.
"I say, sir--what is it?"
"It's just that, my boy," said David Linton. "The district had a fancy
to help you--Cunjee thinks a heap of soldiers, you see. So a lot of the
fellows got together and planned to put in a day on the creek, doing odd
jobs."
"I say," said poor Bob flushing scarlet, "I never heard such a
thing--and I hardly know any of them. Whatever am I to say to them,
sir?"
"I wouldn't say much at all," said David Linton laughing. "You'll only
embarrass them if you do. Just take a hand in any job you like, and
carry on--as we're all going to do."
"There's one man you know, anyhow," said Jim grinning. He pointed out
old Joe Howard, the nearest to them among the ploughmen.
"Heavens!" ejaculated Bob. "You don't mean to tell me old Joe has come
of his own accord!"
"Couldn't keep him away," Jim said. "He remarked that you were a very
decent young feller, and he'd taught you how to work, so he might as
well lend an 'and. It's like old Joe's cheek, but he'll claim for ever
that he made you a worker."
"Oh, let him," said Bob. "It doesn't hurt me, and it may amuse him." His
gaze travelled across the busy paddocks. "Well--I'm just staggered," he
said. "The least I can do is to get to work quickly."
They turned the horses out and scattered; Bob to cutting scrub--it was
the job he liked least, so it seemed to him the decent thing to tackle
it--Jim to the drain construction, while Wally joined the band of
workers in the garden, since he knew Tommy's plans concerning it; and
Mr. Linton attacked a fence that needed repairs. In the middle of the
morning came the Billabong motor, driven by Norah, with Brownie and a
maid in the tonneau with Tommy, and hampers packed wherever possible. A
cart with other supplies had been driven over by Evans in the very early
morning, since Billabong had undertaken the feeding of the workers for
the day. The Rolls-Royce picked its way delicately round the paddocks,
while the girls carried drinks and huge slabs of cake to the different
bands of workers--this being the time for "smoke-oh." Then they hurried
back to the cottage, where Brownie and Maria were busy unpacking hampers
on the verandah, and Brownie was preparing to carve great joints of beef
and mutton and pork in readiness for the hungry horde that would descend
on them at dinner time.
It was all ready when the men trooped up from the paddocks--squatters
and stockmen, farmers, horse breakers, bush workers of every degree;
all dirty and cheery, and filled with a mighty hunger. Soap and water
awaited them at the back; then they came round to sit on the edge of the
long verandahs, balancing heaped plates on their knees, and making short
work of Brownie's provisions. Jokes and cheery talk filled the air.
Tommy, carrying plates shyly at first, found herself the object of much
friendly interest. "Little Miss Immigrant," they called her, and vied
with each other in making her feel that they were all welcoming her. But
they did not waste much time over dinner--soon one after another got
up and sauntered away, lighting his pipe, and presently there were
straggling lines of figures going back to work across the paddocks.
After which Norah and Tommy bullied Bob into eating something--he had
been far too anxious to wait on his hungry "bee" to think of feeding
himself, and then the ladies of the party lunched with the ardour of the
long-delayed, and fell upon the colossal business of dish-washing.
Afternoon tea came early, by which time nearly all the ploughing was
done, and the brown ribbon of the new drain stretched, wide and deep,
across the flat. The girls took the meal round the paddocks, this time
with Bob to carry the steaming billies of tea; it gave him a chance to
thank his helpers, when it was difficult to say whether the thanker or
the thanked were the more embarrassed. Soon after "cow time" loomed for
some of the workers, and whatever waits in Australia, it must not be
the cow; so that here and there a man shouldered his tools, and, leaving
them at the shed, caught his horse and rode away--apologizing to Bob, if
he happened to meet him, for going so early, with the brief apology of
the dairy farmer, "Gotter get home an' milk." But the majority worked on
until dusk came down and put an end to their efforts, and then came up
for their horses, singing and laughing.
Bob stood at the gate, bareheaded, as they rode away. By this time he
had no words at all. He wished from the bottom of his heart that he
could tell them what good fellows he thought them; but he could only
stand, holding the gate for them with Tommy by his side; and it may
be that the look on each tired young face moved "the bee" more than
eloquence would have done. They shouted cheery good-byes as they went.
"Good luck, Miss Immigrant! Good luck, Captain!" And the dusk swallowed
them up, leaving only the sound of the cantering hoofs.