An Outback Marriage Banjo Paterson (philippa perry book .txt) đ
- Author: Banjo Paterson
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âI suppose so. His father was a gentlemanâ âthe police magistrate up here.â
âThen, why donât you like him? Is there anything wrong about him?â
Hugh straightened his leaders and steadied the vehicle over a little gully.
âThereâs nothing wrong about him,â he said, âonlyâ âhis mother was one of the Donohoesâ ânot a lady, you knowâ âand he always goes with those people; and, of course, that means he doesnât go much with us.â
âWhy not?â
âWell, you see, theyâre selectors, and they look on the station people asâ âwell, rather against them, you knowâ âsort of enemiesâ âand he has never come to the station. But there is no reason why he shouldnât.â
âHe saved my life,â said Mary Grant.
âCertainly he did,â said Hugh. âIâll say that for Blake, he fears nothing. One of the pluckiest men alive. And how did you feel? Were you much frightened?â
âYes, horribly. I have often wondered whether I should be brave, you know, and now I donât think I am. Not the least bit. But Mr. Blake seemed so strongâ âdirectly he caught hold of me I felt quite safe, somehow. If you donât mind, I would like to ask him out to the station.â
âCertainly, Miss Grant. My mother will only be too glad. She was sorry that we did not get down to meet you. The letter was delayed.â
Mary Grant laughed as she looked down at Mrs. Donohoeâs clothes. âWhat a sight I am!â she said.
âBut, after all, itâs Australia, isnât it? And I have had such adventures already! You know you will have to show me all about the station and the sheep and cattle. Will you do that?â
Hugh thought there was nothing in the world he would like better, but contented himself with a formal offer to teach her the noble art of squatting.
âYou must begin at once and tell me things. What estate are we on now?â she asked.
âThis is your fatherâs station. All you can see around belongs to him; but after the next gate we come on some land held by selectors.â
âWho are they?â
âWell,â said Hugh, a little awkwardly, âthey are relations of Mr. Blakeâs. Youâll see what an Australian farmerâs homestead is like.â
They drove through a rickety wire-and-sapling gate and across about a mile of bush, and suddenly came on a little slab house nestling under the side of a hill. At the back were the stockyards and the killing-pen, where a contrivance for raising dead cattleâ âcalled a gallowsâ âwaved its arms to the sky. In front of the house there was rather a nice little garden. At the back were a lot of dilapidated sheds, leaning in all directions. A mob of sheep was penned in a yard outside one of the sheds; and in the garden an old woman, white-haired and wrinkled, with a very short dress showing a lot of dirty stocking and slipshod elastic-sided boot, was bending over a spade, digging potatoes.
The old woman straightened herself as they drove up.
âGood daah to you, Misther Gordon,â she said. âGood daah to you, Miss.â
âGood day, Mrs. Doyle,â said Hugh. âHard work that, this weather. Howâs all the family?â
âMagâ âMargârut, I maneâ âsheâs inside. Thatâs her playinâ the pianny. She just got it up from Sydney.â
âAnd whereâs Peter?â
âPeterâs shearinâ the sheep. Heâs in that shed there beyant. Heâs the only shearer we have, so we tell him heâs the ringer of the shed. He works terrâble hard, does Peter. Heâs notâ ââ and the old woman dropped her voiceâ ââheâs not all there in the head, is Peter, you know.â
âAnd whereâs Mick?â
âMick, bad scran to him! Heâs bought a jumpinâ haarse (horse), and heâs gone to hell leppin! Down at one of the shows he is, some place. He has too much sense to work, has Mick. Wonât you come in and have a cup of tay?â
âNo, we must get on, thank you,â and Hugh and Mary drove off, watched by the old lady and the lanky-legged, shock-headed youthâ âPeter himselfâ âwho came to the door of the big shed to stare at them.
As they drove off Hugh was silent, wondering what effect the sight of the selectors might have had on Miss Grant.
She seemed to read his thoughts, and after a little while she spoke.
âSo those are Mr. Blakeâs poor relations, are they? Well, that is not his fault. My father was poor once, just as poor as those people are. And Mr. Blake saved my life.â
Hugh felt that she was half-consciously putting him in the wrong for having more or less disapproved of Mr. Blake; so he kept silence.
As the team bore them along at a flying trot, they climbed higher and higher up the range; at last, as they rounded a shoulder of the hillside, the whole valley of Kileyâs River lay beneath them, stretching away to the far blue foothills. Beyond again was a great mountain, its top streaked with snow. At their feet was a gorgeous scheme of colour, greens and greys of the grass, bright tints of willow and poplar, and the speckled forms of the cattle, so far down that they looked like pigmy stock feeding in fairy paddocks. Across the valley there came now and again, softened by distance, the song of the river; and up in the river-bend, on a spur of the hills, were white walls rising from clustered greenery.
âHow beautiful!â said the girl, half standing up in the wagonette, âand is thatâ ââ
âThatâs Kuryong, Miss Grant. Your home station.â
VIII At the HomesteadMiss Grantâs arrival at Kuryong homestead caused great excitement among the inhabitants. Mrs. Gordon received her in a motherly way, trying hard not to feel that a new mistress had come into the house; she was anxious to see whether the girl exhibited any signs of her fatherâs fiery temper and imperious disposition. The two servant-girls at the homesteadâ âgreat herculean, good-natured bush-girls, daughters of a boundary-rider, whose highest ideal of style and refinement was Kuryong drawing-roomâ âbreathed hard and stared round-eyed, like wild fillies, at the unconscious intruder. The station-handsâ âJoe, the
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