  “Well, of all the things that could ever happen, this is far and away the best, and I’ll never grumble again,” said Eileen. “To think we’re all going to Sydney for a holiday. Oh, it’s nearly too good to be true! When did he tell you, Mamma?” “Only last night, and I shouldn’t have told you so soon, for I know you’ll do nothing but talk about it for the next month; but I couldn’t resist telling you,” said Mother. Uncle had left that morning. He had changed his plans, and had stayed longer at Gillong than he had intended, and before he left he had made Mrs. Hudson promise that she would bring the children down to Sydney for the remainder of the summer. “I will take a cottage,” he said. “You all need a change of air, Vera, and will come back with renewed energy to cope with bush life.” And at last Mother had consented. Oh, the preparation and excitement at Gillong for the next few weeks! Mrs. Grey, the overseer’s wife, came down and insisted on helping. She brought with her a sheaf of fashion books and patterns, and cut out little frocks of the very latest design, and took them home and ran them up on her new machine. She also helped and gave hints about everything, for she had spent a good deal of time in Sydney. And, oh! the questions she was plied with by the eager children! “Do you get sea-sick going to Mosman?” asked Eva. “Because that’s where Uncle’s going to take the cottage; and it’d be terrible if we were sea-sick every time we went to town.” “I’m dying to see the crowds and crowds of people,” said Eileen. “But it’ll be hard not to talk to them. Up here people would think you funny if you didn’t speak to them, even if they are strangers.” “I wish we could take the sticks,” sighed Doris. “Pretty sights they’d be!” said Eileen. “You couldn’t ride them down there. You’ll be able to ride boats and trams instead.” So the stick horses were laid away, rolled up in paper, till their little owners returned. Already Eileen felt quite the “lady,” as she was fitted for her new frocks, and talked nothing but Sydney. “Did you hear we’re going to spend the rest of the summer in Sydney, Teddy?” she remarked, carelessly, to the mailman, as he drank his tea. “In Sydney?” gasped Ted. “Bli’ me, I never heard a word about it.” “Yes, we’re going the week after next,” she replied, coolly, as though going to Sydney were the most usual thing in the world. “Mamma and all of us, and later Dadda and Frank are coming for a while.” “Bli’ me!” gasped Ted again. “The bloomin’ family’s going! Well, this is news! I suppose that’s why I’ve been carrying so many parcels for you lately,” he said, a light suddenly dawning on him. “Where are you goin’ to stay down there?” “Oh, Uncle’s taking a cottage!” put in Eva. “Oh, that big swell cove that was staying here? Bli’ me, your luck’s in!” “We’ll tell you all about it when we come back, Teddy,” said Doris. “And I’ll bring you home sea-shells and all sorts of pretty things.” “Right you are, little ’un!” said Ted, as he finished his tea and commenced to fill his pipe. “I’ll tell you what you can get me, if you don’t mind—some real good sorts of straps; you know the sort,” he said, turning to Eileen, “same as them I strap the bags on with. Last time I sent to one of them Sydney firms they sent bad buckles. Here, I’ll give you the money now,” and he pulled out a pound note. “Oh, Teddy! it’ll do when we come back,” said Eileen, not taking the proffered note. “They won’t be near that much.” “No, take the note now and give us the change when you come back. ‘Pay as you go’—that’s Teddo’s motto.” And every mail day Teddo’s list of requirements grew bigger, until it seemed as though the pound note would not meet them; and Eileen would jot them in her little notebook. “You see, you know me, and know just what I want,” he would say, apologetically. “I’ll tell you what I would like,” he said one day after he had fixed and patted and arranged the mailbags ever so many times—“a tie like that your Uncle used to wear; sort o’ black with little silvery streaks in it.” “Oh, but, Teddy, that was real dear!” said Eileen, quickly. “Oh, I don’t mind price!” he answered; “when Teddo sets his heart on anything, he don’t mind paying up.” “Righto!” said Eileen, making a note. So the time flew away, and one day, to their surprise, Enid Davis dashed up in the big new car from the station. “Why, we thought you had gone for the summer,” said the children, in amazement. “No, we’re home for a month or so,” she answered, “and I felt a bit lonely, so I popped down here.” “Oh, well! I’m afraid we won’t be company much longer,” said Eileen, as she straightened herself in her chair and put on the “real lady style,” as Mollie said afterwards. “Why—how is that? I love coming here,” answered Enid. “Oh, we’ve decided to spend the rest of the summer in Sydney!” “Oh!” Enid looked astonished, but was too polite to say so. “That will be nice,” she went on. “Yes, it’s just as well to enjoy yourself while you’re young,” said Eileen, calmly. She always felt a bit jealous of Enid’s fine clothes and pleasant times. “Our Uncle is going to the Continent later on, and he is anxious for us to spend a little time with him in Sydney.” “Oh, yes! Dadda met your Uncle at the railway, and said he was such a nice man.” “Yes, we think a lot of him,” answered Eileen. “So your Dadda met him?” she asked, eagerly, for she was glad to know that Enid’s father had seen their nice Uncle. “Yes, they had dinner together just before the down train left, and Dadda said he was sorry he was not at home while your Uncle was here, because they could have had some nice chats.” “Oh, Uncle was kept pretty busy chatting with us,” answered Eileen. But Mollie hastily added that it would have been real nice for the two men to have met often. “We’re going back to Sydney in about six weeks’ time,” said Enid. “Perhaps we’ll meet down there.” “Yes, if we’re not too busy sight-seeing,” put in Eileen. “Oh, we’d love to see you!” said Mollie. “Yes, we’d love it,” chimed in Doris, as she stroked Enid’s pretty silky dress. “And I’ll give you some pretty sea-shells if you haven’t got any.” “Oh, thank you, Doris! I’d love to have some if you can spare them.” They talked on for an hour or so, and Enid rose to go. “So it’s next week you’re going?” “Yes, Monday, and this is Friday; so we haven’t much time,” said Mollie. “I’m glad she knows we’re going,” said Eileen, as the car hooted away. “Oh, Eileen; you’re not a bit nice to Enid!” said Mollie. “I always think she’s showing off,” put in Eileen. “Well, she’s not, then. It’s you that’s jealous,” replied Mollie. “Jealous? I don’t think!” snapped Eileen. The next day Mr. Davis called and asked to be allowed to send his car to take them to the railway on Monday, as Enid had told him of their anticipated trip, and, to the children’s delight, the car was accepted. “Won’t it be beautiful,” screamed Eileen, “to be bowling along in that grand new car, and won’t the people at the railway look? I’m sorry I said that about Enid now, because I’m sure she asked her Dadda to lend it.” And so on Monday a car-load of merry, excited young people, and Mother looking pleased and excited, too, were bowled away to the big iron horse that was to land them in the wonderful city. |
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