  It was very quiet up at the house the next afternoon. Mother and the children had gone down to see the overseer’s wife at Jenkin’s old place. The children liked the overseer’s wife; she always made nice little hot cakes when she saw them coming, and she always had some English papers with big pictures in them, and she had boxes of sea-shells that she let them play with every time they went. They always knew just what was going to happen. First she would come out and welcome them all—and she was nice and plump and had rosy cheeks and nice blue eyes—and then when she had a little talk she would introduce the papers to the children, and then the wonderful sea-shells, which they never got tired of admiring, and they would empty them out and run their fingers through them, and wonder when they would go to the wonderful far-off beaches and play with the glistening shells and stones. They almost forgave the overseer’s wife for not having any children for them to play with, while they played with the shells. And then she and Mother would talk such a lot, that they would try and make believe that it was just as good as having the Jenkins back. Only Mollie was at home, and she hurried about her work and set the table for tea, darkened the dining-room to keep it cool, and then, with one last look round, she hurried out and tied her shady hat on. “Now everything is ready, I’ll slip down and tell Uncle.” Mollie had another secret, and it was harder to tell and try and fix up than the letter. Then down the track to the river she sped. “I do hope he’ll understand it all,” was the burden of her thoughts as she sped on, lest her courage should fail her. Down under the oak trees Uncle was reading a book, and he looked round with surprise at Mollie’s flushed face. “Oh, Uncle! I want to talk to you. I’ve got a lot more to tell you, but I couldn’t say it when the others were about.” Then she poured forth Frank’s story into Uncle’s listening ear. “And, Uncle, he goes about his work when his heart’s not in it, and people up here will be saying that he’s slow and dull, when all the time he’s not in his right place. He’s a round peg in a square hole, or a square peg in a round hole, or some such thing, and he’s helping to fight the drought and do the work he hates, and never complains, because he says he’d be a cad if he did, and all the time he’s dying to be an electrical engineer. He’s saving his money, but he doesn’t get much wages, and I believe he’ll be too tired whenever the time does come for him to go away—but if he only has a chance, Uncle—a chance while he’s young and dying to get to work, he’d be clever; I’m sure he would.” Mollie’s cheeks were flaming now, and her eyes were shining again. “He’s never told anyone but me, Uncle—and I’ve thought about it ever since. When I see the big Brown and Smith boys going about here and thinking they’re smarter than Frank—because they never think of anything else, and only live for land and stock—I get that wild, Uncle, to think that Frank might never have the chance to show them how smart he could be—but you won’t tell him I’ve told you, because he would be so annoyed. I want you to pretend you’ve found out for yourself and give him a chance, Uncle—or tell him you will later on. Oh, if he only knew that there was a chance of his getting to his loved studies, and a chance to make a name for himself later on, this work wouldn’t be half so hard, because he’d have something to live for—and if you will help him, Uncle, tell him soon, please,” Mollie rattled on; “tell him to-night if you can, because there’s a big sheep draft to-morrow, and I know he hates them, and if you tell him it will help and cheer him through the heat and dust of the day.” “Well, well, Mollie, you’ve given me something to think about. So Frank wants to be an electrical engineer, does he? Well—well——” Then Uncle gazed away into space, and sat so long silent that Mollie became anxious. “It’s awfully mean of us to trouble you so much, Uncle, because you have money—but—but you’ll never be sorry for helping Frank—and——” “Well, well, Mollie, so that’s his dream, is it? I had dreams, too, when I was a youngster, and I had no one to help me. I’m rich now, but my dream has never been realised—but—the boy must have his chance; we must get the square peg out of the round hole—and we must do it soon!” “Oh, Uncle!” was all Mollie could gasp, and then almost before she was aware of it she had thrown her arms round his neck and kissed him; then sped away through the trees towards home, with a great, singing gladness in her heart. And Uncle, left alone, threw his book down and gazed into space. “God bless you, little Mollie,” he murmured. “You’re smoothing the way for others. Frank must have his chance; I knew he was out of his groove here—and I’ll tell him to-night to cheer him—through the heat and dust of the day.... Ah! Jean! Jean! if only you’d been true and cheered me through the heat and dust of the years!” Late that night, when the moon was shedding its glory over the Gillong garden, and glinting on the shining pepper leaves, Mollie stole out to where she saw a figure pacing to and fro among the moonbeams and shadows. “Oh, Mollie! Mollie! Mollie!” cried Frank; “you’d never guess what’s happened! My dream’s coming true—at last! Uncle Harry is going to send me away after Christmas to learn the engineering! What do you think, Mollie—he said he knew I was out of my groove here, and he’s sending me off next year! Oh, Mollie! Mollie! I can’t believe it’s true.” The boy’s voice was jerky, as he told the wonderful news. “To think it’s nearly all over, Mollie—all the tons and tons of work that I’ve hated! Oh, Mollie! I’m glad you came! I felt I couldn’t wait till morning to tell you.” Loyal little Mollie commenced to tell him how glad she was, but she burst out crying and told him between her sobs how much they would miss him. “You’re the only brother we’ve ever had, Frank, except little Jim, and we hardly remember him.” For little Jim had come and gone like the glint of a star, and only a little white cross on his tiny grave under the wilga tree in the paddock told that a little life had been kindled for a space, and was then wafted to its long home. But deep in the mother’s heart was a wild abiding desire for her only son that not even the presence of five little girls could quite banish. “It’ll be so lonely without you, Frank. I don’t know whatever we will do—we’ll all miss you always.” Then Frank tried to comfort her. “But I’ll come back sometimes, Mollie, and when I’m rich you must all come and live with me. Oh! and I’ll write to you often, Mollie, and you must try not to miss me too much, because I’m going to work hard and get on, and then——” For to Frank everything seemed possible, once the great desire of his heart was about to be gratified, and Mollie did her best to try and think of the good times ahead. |
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