  The letter had come at last. Ted was late, and they were all waiting for him as he rode up to “Gillong,” and when he fished a thick, square envelope out of his pocket, and handed it to Father, Mollie and Eileen thought their last hour had come. “It’s it,” whispered Mollie, and she turned and fled, with Eileen close at her heels. They couldn’t face the ordeal yet. Later on they would be called to listen to the wonderful news, but even a brief respite was welcome. “Oh, I hope they never guess!” said Mollie, anxiously. “Guess? How can they?” asked Eileen, scornfully; but, all the same, she, too, was anxious. “What on earth is this about?” said Father, as he tore the envelope open; and then he gasped. “Harry! From Harry! Good gracious! Vera, Vera,” he called to his wife. “Look at this—a letter from Harry!” “From Harry?” cried Mother, in amazement. “Harry?” “Yes, Harry! Wonders will never cease! It’s the last thing in the world I expected.” “What on earth does he say, after all these years?” Then they both read the letter. “And he’s coming here? Coming here? Well, wonders will never cease!” cried Mother. “Coming here! Dear, dear! just when things are at their worst, with the drought on and not a decent thing to give him to eat.... But fancy writing after all these years!...” “What does he say there, again?” Mother read aloud:
And there was very much more in the same strain that Mother read with exclamations of wonder and amazement. “Well, it’s the last thing I’d have thought of!” declared Father. “It’s next week he means to come,” cried Mother. “Why, we’ll have to wire him.” “So we will,” said Father. “I suppose you can manage it all right?” he asked. “About fixing up things?” “Oh, yes! we’ll manage it,” said Mother, cheerfully. “I must let the children know. Won’t they be surprised? I suppose they hardly know they have an uncle,” and she called aloud, while Father marched off to the stable, marvelling at the wonderful news, and already building castles in the air. The five children were together at the usual gum tree meeting ground when they heard the call, and they looked at each other in dismay. “Look surprised, Doris, do you hear, when Mother tells us. We must all look surprised, and, for goodness sake, ask questions—somebody and everybody. It doesn’t matter what they are, as long as we’re talking, and let’s all look astonished. Oh, dear! it’s dreadful!” wailed Mollie. “Yes, we must all help,” declared Eileen, staunchly. “Everybody must ask questions and ask all sorts of things, so as it won’t look funny.” “If only we didn’t know, and didn’t have to pretend!” wailed Eva. “If we didn’t know, there’d be no surprise,” answered Eileen, “for there’d be no letter, no uncle, or anything.” “Come on, we’d better run,” said Mollie; “there’s Mother calling again. Come on, let’s run, and we’ll be out of breath when we get up, and it won’t be so bad then if we don’t ask questions straight away.” And then they took to their heels, and Baby was puffing like a pair of bellows when they reached the house. Presently five breathless little girls stood in front of Mother, who was looking very pleased and important, as she smiled at the open letter in her hand. “I have a very, very big surprise for you, my dears. We’ve just heard from your uncle in Melbourne, and—and you’ll hardly believe it—but he’s coming to see us next week!” They never remembered quite how they got through it. They only knew that for a space there was dead silence, and then a Babel of voices as they all asked questions together, scarcely heeding Mother’s replies. They only knew that they had come through the ordeal all right, that they had all acted their parts well, and that Mother had never guessed; and as Mollie noted the look of pleasure on her Mother’s face, she was repaid for all her anxiety about the letter she had worried over so much. Then they all commenced to work and clean up the house for Uncle. They scrubbed and scoured and polished and shone, till every door-knob looked like burnished gold and the window-panes gleamed like diamonds. They swept up all round the house and garden and away outside the gate, till there was not a speck or a straw or a leaf to be seen. Dear me! the house was like a new pin, and the little room on the end verandah was transformed. The washstand out of Mother’s room was put there, and snow-white curtains on the little iron bedstead, and the strip of carpet that Mother always kept away in case of emergency was spread on the floor. A snowy cloth was on the little wooden dressing-table, and a glass vase waiting for the day that Uncle would arrive, when it would be filled with pepper leaves and berries, as there were no flowers left. They all helped; even Baby was found going round with bits of rag, polishing the already shining door-knobs, or busy, with a saucer of water and rag, “washing” the floors; and Eva and Doris even took the broom down to the bed of the creek and swept up around the favourite gum tree, and threw away twigs and sticks and bushes off the path, and did all in their power to make things spick and span for Uncle. They all laughed and sang and shouted and talked a lot those days, now that they could speak openly of Uncle’s coming. “I hope we never have a secret again as long as we live,” said Eva. “So do I,” said Eileen. “I hope it’s my first and only one. Why, I feel years older since I’ve been keeping this one.” “I’ll have no more,” declared Doris. “Me, too,” said Baby, looking solemn. “Oh, well! anyway, the worst is over,” said Mollie, cheerfully. “I don’t know whether it is or not,” declared Eileen, dubiously. “I don’t know how we’re all going to face Uncle, knowing that he knows what he knows, and we’ll all have to look so innocent, and pretend things—oh, it will be awful!——” “Oh, yes!” agreed Eva, “I believe my face will burn off with shame.” “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” declared Mollie, stoutly, although she, too, was quailing at the thought of the ordeal. “Oh, but the pretence!” said Eva. “Well, it’s for a good cause,” answered Mollie. “Why, look how bright Father and Mother have been since they got that letter. Oh, whatever we do, we must never let them know! We’ll just have to act again, and pretend for all we’re worth, when Uncle comes.” “Oh, we’ll face it when the time comes—never fear!” said Eileen; “but the thought of it is worse than—worse than——” “Castor oil,” said Doris. “Yes, castor oil,” agreed Eileen, as she couldn’t think of anything worse at the moment. The great day arrived at last, and they were nearly sick with excitement. Everything was in readiness. The pet lambs all had new red strings round their necks, the stick horses had been “fed” early, and were tied up with narrow strips of bright blue print; the porter-bottle “dog” had a new ribbon, and Rose was decked out in her best finery; so nothing remained to be done but to wait. Father had borrowed the station buggy and driven to Bragan Junction to meet him, and they knew they would soon hear the “top-top-top” of the horses’ hoofs on the creek bridge. “My, but ain’t he a swell!” said Old Joe, as a tall man, dressed in grey, alighted from the buggy at the gate. Old Joe had been with the family for years, and so was privileged. “My! but ain’t he?” gasped Eileen, unconsciously lapsing into Joe’s style. Mother had hurried forward to greet him, and for an instant Mollie’s heart sank. How could they ever approach this tall, stylish man, who looked so smart and alert, and so well groomed from the crown of his hat to the sole of his boot; and to think that they had written to him and asked him to come! Dear me! he was the smartest and most business-like man she had ever seen, and he looked rather stern and severe, too, although his eyes lit up with a smile as he shook hands with Mother. They wished for an instant that he was just the ordinary, every-day, common or garden variety kind of a man; but it couldn’t be helped—they’d have to face the inevitable. And then he glanced towards them. “And these are your little girls, Vera?” “Yes; come along, children, and meet your Uncle.” They all came forward bravely, and were introduced to their new uncle; and he was a real “sport,” and never let on that he had even heard of them before. He asked their names and ages, as though there were no such thing in the world as a letter. They soon gained courage, and returned his smiles. “I suppose you are real little bush girls?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye. Mother answered, “Yes, real little bush girls,” and then they laughed outright, because they knew what he meant. Oh! all the talk there was at “Gillong” that night! Long after the children had gone to bed the two brothers sat out on the verandah and talked of many things, while the kindly moonlight cast a glamour over the parched, dried earth, making the white road gleam like a silver band. It wasn’t until the second day that they had a chance of a confidential talk with Uncle, and then they had a meeting at the usual meeting-ground—the old gum tree, and sat round, solemn and important looking. “Well, children, we had better discuss this proposition of a loan.” The children looked more important and solemn than ever. “Oh, yes!” said Mollie, anxiously; “of course, we don’t know much about money, and all that, but we do know that we want it badly.” “And about how many hundreds do you think you will require?” Uncle was enjoying the meeting immensely. “Oh, dear! we don’t know—do we, Mollie?” asked Eileen, anxiously. “You see, we don’t know much about it.” “You see,” put in Mollie, eagerly; “Mother and Father and Frank have to work so hard, and have so much worry, and we’re always having such bad luck, and we thought if we only had more money things would be ever so much easier——” “Yes, money can oil the wheels,” agreed Uncle. “Yes, oil the wheels,” repeated Eileen, “and there are plenty of rusty ones about here.” “Yes, things are about at a standstill,” said Mollie, “and of course it would have to be to Father you would lend money, and I suppose he won’t want to take it, because he’ll think it will be such a long time before he can pay it all back; but we will pay you back—in time; but, of course, we can’t let Father know we mean to pay. We’ll work and work till we pay back every penny. In about two years’ time I’ll be able to go out as ladyhelp, and if Eileen could get some education she could go out as governess later on, and we’d both save up to pay you back. Oh, Uncle! you don’t know how we’d save and scrape, if we can only get money now——” “And I have three pet lambs that I’ll sell when the drought breaks,” said Eileen, “and that will be a help towards it.” “And Dadda gave me old Jennie’s foal, and I’ll sell it when it grows up,” said Eva, eagerly; “and then I’ll go out to work, too.” “You are clever little girls,” said Uncle, gravely. “Don’t you think you would rather be something else than ladyhelps and governesses?” “Oh, yes!” cried Mollie, “but we’ll do anything to make money if you will only help us now.” “Yes, and later on I might be an actress,” said Eileen, calmly. “Would you like that?” asked Uncle. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind! It would be an easy way of making a living, and I’d have plenty of fun and chocolates, and pretty dresses.” “Some day I’d like to be a rich lady,” said Doris, “and I’d give all little girls a real nice time.” “Me be pitty lady,” said Baby. And then they all laughed. “Uncle, we want to thank you for writing to us, and thank you for coming. You’ve made everything brighter already, and Mother and Father are so much happier-looking since you came, and they don’t seem to be always thinking of the old drought and hard times and debts——” Uncle let them go on, for just then he couldn’t speak. But by-and-by he turned to the little group of upturned faces, and addressed them very quietly. “My dear little children, you have thanked me, and now I wish to thank you.” “Thank us!” they exclaimed. “Yes, for many things.... Later on you will understand, but I’m very glad you sent me that letter, because I may be able to do some good for your Father before it is too late. I think you may safely leave the matter with me. I managed that letter to your Father all right, didn’t I?” “Oh, yes, Uncle—beautifully!” “Well, leave this to me, and don’t bother your young heads about repaying me. I’ll see to that. Father and I will fix that up....” “Oh, Uncle, you are good! But we will feel so mean if we don’t pay you something,” blurted out Mollie. “No, don’t you worry about money and debts. Be happy, careless children as long as you can.” |
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