  And now the trouble was to square Ted, the mailman. He jogged up about four o’clock the next day, with his packhorse and mailbags, and the girls hovered round while he had a cup of tea and told all the news. Strange to say, Ted seemed to stay longer than ever that day, and Mother would persist in talking to him and asking him questions, and Mollie and Eileen were nearly distracted. There was no chance of giving him the letter while Mother was there, so they tried to get Ted away out to his horses. “My word, your horses look well, Ted! You must feed them very well,” said Eileen. “Yes, a mailman wants good horses,” he answered, well pleased. “That’s one thing about me, I always look after my nags. Why, I’d rather go short myself than see ’em hungry!” “Fancy!” said Mollie. “Yes, as long as Ted’s on the line, you’ll never see poor mail horses. I couldn’t be like some of them other chaps you see knocking round, with horses like bags of bones; I always say the gee-gees first.” “Fancy!” said Mollie again, not taking a bit of interest in Ted’s rambling. “Do you remember old Dave, Mrs., that used to run this mail last year? Why, he was always eight or ten hours late. Recollect?” “Yes, indeed, I do,” said Mother, coming out to view Ted’s wonderful “nags,” much to the little girls’ disgust, for another day she would not bother. “We’ll never get it away,” whispered Eileen. “Let’s have a stroll,” said Mollie, as she saw Ted drawing out pipe and tobacco, preparatory to filling his pipe before he continued his journey. So the two of them strolled round the “bend,” to wait till Ted came along. “Of all the bad luck,” grumbled Mollie. “Another day Mother wouldn’t see Ted at all, and we could have just given him the letter without any trouble.” “It’s always the way,” sighed Eileen. Then they heard the welcome thud of horses’ hoofs and the clink of harness and buckles as Ted appeared. “Oh, Ted! here’s a letter we want you to post, please,” cried Mollie, “and here’s a penny for the stamp; and, Ted, don’t tell anyone at home about this, please—because—because it’s a secret, and if a reply comes, Ted——” “Hello! what’s the game?” asked Ted, suspiciously. “No ‘game’ at all,” said Eileen, indignantly. “It’s a business letter.” “It’s not a boy you’re writing to on the sly, is it?” asked Ted, with a wink. “No, we don’t write to boys,” snapped Eileen. “It’s a very important letter, Ted, and there’s nothing wrong about it. It’s—it’s for a good cause.” “Oh! a charity affair?” said Ted. “Righto, give’s it here. I’ll post him for you all right.” “Oh! and, Ted, a reply might come, addressed to the Misses Hudson——” “Mrs. Hudson—your Mother?” “No, to the Miss Hudsons—us—you know. I suppose it will be M-i-s-s-e-s, so we want you to keep it back, and give it into my hands,” said Mollie. “Righto! give it into your hands,” repeated Ted, as he pocketed the letter. “And when do you expect the blooming reply?” “Oh, we don’t know, Ted! It might be a week, or it might be a month——” Ted whistled. “Whey! Righto, I’ll watch for it, and give it into your hands when it does come. You can stake your life on Teddo!” “Oh, thanks so much, Ted! I’m sure we can trust you. And, Ted, if you don’t mind, we’d like you to take this sixpence and have a drink with it—from the five of us, because we’re all in this letter.” “Chase the ducks!” exclaimed Ted in surprise. “Keep your sixpence, little Missie, and thank you, all the same; you’re little bricks!” “But we’d like you to take it, Ted; we would, really.” “We’d love you to take it, Ted,” put in Eileen. “Run away and play,” cried Ted. “If Teddo can’t do a favour without taking drinking silver, he ought to be shot! So long; you can trust your life with Teddo.” For the shock-headed “Teddo” was a good-natured lad, and many a one “on the line” had reason to be grateful to him. “Thank you so much, Teddy,” they all cried. “Thanks so much.” “That’s all right!” answered Ted, riding off. “So long.” “So long, Teddy,” called out Eileen, and they watched him till he disappeared from view round the next “bend.” “Queer little cusses!” muttered Teddy to himself. “I wonder what’s their little game. Nothing wrong, though, I’ll be bound.” As soon as Teddy was lost to view the girls had misgivings. “I wonder ought we have sent it,” said Mollie. “Oh, well! it’s too late to cry about it now,” answered Eileen, who was also feeling a bit “scared.” “I do hope it’s all right,” said Mollie, anxiously. “I wonder whatever he’ll think.” “Goodness knows!” declared Eileen, solemnly, shaking her head. “I do hope he’s not a grumpy old man. What a terrible thing it would be, Mollie, if he sent it back to Mamma and Dadda!” “Oh, dear! I never thought of that,” cried Mollie. And then they were joined by the other children, who had overheard the last remarks, and who looked very woe-begone. “I hope he don’t send us to gaol,” said Eva, and Doris burst into tears. “I wish we never wrote the ole letter; I wish we never had an ole uncle.” “Oh, he might never get it!” said Eileen, hopefully. “Oh, I hope he does!” answered Mollie, quickly, who was beginning to get over her misgivings. “Now, no more crying; let’s laugh instead, and—remember—not one word about this! Let’s try and forget it for a week, whatever.” “Yes, mum’s the word,” said Eileen, solemnly. “Yes, mum’s the word,” declared Eva. And then, led by Mollie, they all went back home, singing and laughing. In a big private office, with oak fittings and crimson carpets, in the suite of offices of Langdon and Ross, Melbourne, a tall man, with iron-grey hair and keen, dark eyes, read the letter a fortnight later. “Bless their hearts! Little Bush Nieces! Want a loan! Pay back every penny when they grow up! Keep our secret! Try and make me happy! Come and see us soon! By Jove! they’re original, right enough. Bless the children! Robert’s five little girls, and they’re lonely—and they think I don’t know what loneliness is, because I’ve got plenty of money and have travelled a lot. Ah! little girls, you have yet to learn that money and travel can’t always banish loneliness. Five little Bush girls!” he mused, laying down the letter, and leaning his head on his hands. Then that very keen business man who had only just returned from the Continent, and was preparing to go off again very soon, did something very unusual for him. He sat for a whole hour, thinking! and then seized pen and paper and wrote for the rest of the morning, and his private secretary and clerk wondered what on earth had come to the head of the firm; and when the letter was finished, he sealed and stamped it, and marched down to the Post Office and posted it himself, and the big office with the oak fittings and crimson carpets saw no more of him that day, and his big sheaf of correspondence was left till the following morning. |
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