I was delighted at the prospect of throwing off the leaden shackles of Barney’s Gap, but there was a little regret mingled with my relief.  The little boys had not been always bold.  Did I express a wish for a parrot-wing or water-worn stone, or such like, after a time I would be certain, on issuing from my bedroom, to find that it had been surreptitiously laid there, and the little soft-eyed fellows would squabble for the privilege of bringing me my post, simply to give me pleasure.  Poor little Lizer, and Rose Jane too, copied me in style of dress and manners in a way that was somewhat ludicrous but more pathetic.

They clustered round to say good-bye.  I would be sure to write.  Oh yes, of course, and they would write in return and tell me if the bay mare got well, and where they would find the yellow turkey-hen’s nest.  When I got well I must come back, and I wouldn’t have as much work to do, but go for more rides to keep well, and so on.  Mrs M’Swat very anxiously impressed it upon me that I was to explain to my mother that it was not her (Mrs M’Swat’s) fault that I “ailed” from overwork, as I had never complained and always seemed well.

With a kindly light on his homely sunburnt face, M’Swat said, as he put me on the train: 

“Sure, tell yer father he needn’t worry over the money.  I’ll never be hard on him, an’ if ever I could help ye, I’d be glad.”

“Thank you; you are very good, and have done too much already.”

“Too much!  Sure, damn it, wot’s the good er bein’ alive if we can’t help each other sometimes.  I don’t mind how much I help a person if they have a little gratitood, but, damn it, I can’t abear ingratitood.”

“Good-bye, Mr M’Swat, and thank you.”

“Good-bye, me gu-r-r-r-l, and never marry that bloke of yours if he don’t git a bit er prawperty, for the divil’s in a poor match.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Back at Possum Gully

They were expecting me on the frosty evening in September, and the children came bounding and shouting to meet me, when myself and luggage were deposited at Possum Gully by a neighbour, as he passed in a great hurry to reach his own home ere it got too dark.  They bustled me to a glowing fire in no time.

My father sat reading, and, greeting me in a very quiet fashion, continued the perusal of his paper.  My mother shut her lips tightly, saying exultingly, “It seems it was possible for you to find a worse place than home”; and that little speech was the thorn on the rose of my welcome home.  But there was no sting in Gertie’s greeting, and how beautiful she was growing, and so tall!  It touched me to see she had made an especial dainty for my tea, and had put things on the table which were only used for visitors.  The boys and little Aurora chattered and danced around me all the while.  One brought for my inspection some soup-plates which had been procured during my absence; another came with a picture-book; and nothing would do them but that I must, despite the darkness, straightaway go out and admire a new fowl-house which “Horace and Stanley built all by theirselves, and no one helped them one single bit.”