And best of all - sure that although there may have been
more imposing or less unconventional feasts elsewhere that Christmas day,
yet nowhere in all this old round world of ours could there have been a
happier, merrier, healthier-hearted gathering. No one was bored. No one
wished himself elsewhere. All were sure of their welcome. All were
light-hearted and at ease; although no one so far forgot himself as to
pour his hop-beer into the saucer in a lady's presence, for, low be it
spoken, although the missus had a glass tumbler, there were only two on
the run, and the men-folk drank the Christmas healths from cups, and
enamel at that; for a Willy-Willy had taken Cheon unaware when he was
laden with a tray containing every glass and china cup fate had left us,
and, as by a miracle, those two glasses had been saved from the wreckage.
But enamel cups were no hardships to the bush-folk, and besides, nothing
inconvenienced us that day - excepting perhaps doing justice to further
triumphs at afternoon tea; and all we had to wish for was the company of
Dan and the Fizzer.
To add to the general comfort, a gentle north-west breeze blew all through
the day, besides being what Bett-Bett called a "shady day," cloudy and
cool; and to add to the general rejoicing, before we had quite done with
"Clisymus" an extra mail came in per black boy - a mail sent out to us by
the "courtesy of our officers" at the Katherine, "seeing some of the
packages felt like Christmas."
It came to us on the verandah. Two very full Mailbags borne by two very
empty black boys, and in an incredibly short space of time there were two
very full black boys, and two very empty mail-bags; for the mail was our
delayed mail, and exactly what we wanted; and the boys had found all they
wanted at Cheon's hospitable hands.
But even Christmas days must come to an end; and as the sun slipped down
to the west, Mac and Tam "reckoned it was time to be getting a move on ";
and as they mounted amid further Christmas wishes, with saddle-pouches
bursting with offerings from Cheon for "Clisymus supper," a strange
feeling of sadness crept in among us, and we wondered where "we would all
be next Christmas." Then our Christmas guests rode out into the forest,
taking with them the sick Mac, and as they faded from our sight we knew
that the memory of that Christmas day would never fade out of our lives;
for we bush-folk have long memories and love to rest now and then beside
the milestones of the past.
CHAPTER XXIV
A Day or two after Christmas, Dan came in full of regrets because he had
"missed the celebrations," and gratified Cheon's heart with a minute and
detailed account of the "Clisymus" at Pine Creek. Then the homestead
settled down to the stagnation of the Wet, and as the days and weeks
slipped by, travellers came in and went on, and Mac and Tam paid us many
visits, as with the weeks we slipped through a succession of
anniversaries.
"A year to-day, Mac, since you sent those telegrams!" we said, near the
beginning of those weeks; and, all mock gravity, Mac answered "Yes! And
blocked that Goer!... Often wondered what happened to her!"
"A year to-day, gentlemen," I added a few days later, "since you flung
that woman across the Fergusson"; and as Mac enjoyed the reminiscence,
the Maluka said: "And forgot to fling the false veneer of civilisation
after her."
A few days later again we were greeting Tam at the homestead. "Just a
year ago, Tam," we said, "you were..." but Tam's horse was young and
untutored, and, getting out of hand, carried Tam away beyond the
buildings. "A Tam-o'-Shanter fleeing," the Maluka once more murmured.
Then Dan filled in the days, until one evening just at sundown, when we
said:
"A year this sundown, Dan, since we first sampled one of your dampers,"
and, chuckling, Dan reviewed the details of that camp, and slipped thence
into reviewing education. "Somebody's learned a thing or two since
then," he chuckled: "don't notice people catching cows and milking 'em
round these parts quite so often."
In the morning came the Quiet Stockman's turn. "There's a little brown
filly in the mob I'm just beginning on, cut out for the missus," he said,
coming to the house on his way to the stockyard, and we went with him to
see the bonnie creature.
"She's the sort that'll learn anything," Jack said, his voice full of
admiration. "If the missus'll handle her a bit, I'll learn her
everything a horse can learn."
"Gypsy" he had named her, and in a little while the pretty creature was
"roped" and standing quietly beneath Jack's caressing hand. "Now,
missus," he said - and then followed my first lesson in "handling," until
the soft brown muzzle was resting contentedly in my hand. "She'll soon
follow you," Jack said eagerly, "you ought to come up every day "; and
looking up at the glowing, boyish face, I said quietly:
"Just a year to-day, Jack, since you met us by the roadside," and the
strong young giant looked down with an amused light in his eyes. "Just a
year," he said, with that quiet smile of his; and that quiet smile, and
that amused "Just a year" were more eloquent than volumes of words, and
set Dan "reckoning" that somebody else's been learning a thing or two
besides book learning.
But the Dandy was waiting for some tools from the office, and as we went
with him he, too, spoke of the anniversaries.
