  Eileen had been overjoyed at the thought of staying in Sydney, and she commenced school duties with a will. She was almost a beginner in many of the subjects that Marcia was proficient in, but she was naturally bright, and soon acquired a knowledge of everything. On Saturday afternoons they played tennis, and on Sundays they had long walks, and Eileen used to write home glowing accounts of how she spent her time. But learning music was her one trial. “It’s such a good chance,” Mrs. Hudson had said, “for Eileen to get a good foundation.” So the young visiting teacher at the College had Eileen placed on his list, and after a few lessons he marked her down as a “non-trier.” Up the country she used to play by “ear” on an old piano that had long since seen its best days, and now scales and such like were doubly trying. “No, Miss Eileen, not that way. Wrong! Wrong!” the teacher would cry, impatiently, as wrong notes were struck or hands were placed in the wrong position; and Eileen, who simply hated the humdrum, hammering exercises, would grow sullen and wade through the rest of the lesson. Things reached a climax after about a month of lessons. “No, Miss Eileen, you’re no better now than when you commenced. It’s agonising to have to listen to you. No time, no expression—you simply have no ‘soul,’ no ear for tone, no——” But Eileen turned on him with flashing eyes. “No soul,” “No ear,” rankled in her mind. “I’ve got as much soul and as much ear as you have!” she cried. “You think yourself, with your old music, don’t you? Well, let me tell you that there’s plenty of cleverer people than you that don’t know a note of music, and if I can’t play I can do lots of other things—yes, I can!—and I’d like to see you up the country, trying to ride a horse, and see where your ‘soul’ and ‘ear’ would come in.” She banged up her music and jumped up from the piano. The teacher was simply petrified. To be spoken to like that by a little country girl! Preposterous! “Really, Miss Eileen, you forget yourself.” “No, I don’t,” answered Eileen, “but I’m just sick to death of ‘soul’ and ‘tone’ and ‘finish’ and ‘melody,’ and all the rest of it, and I would just like to see you up the country on a horse—and not old Brownie, either!” and she marched out of the room before the time was up. “Really, a most extraordinary girl,” murmured the teacher, as he sat there and waited for his next pupil. He was only newly appointed to the teaching staff, and did not have the knack of imparting sympathy and enthusiasm to his pupils. “I hate that old musical box,” said Eileen that evening to Marcia. “What old box?” asked Marcia, perplexedly. “The music teacher, with all the musical letters to his name,” went on Eileen, calmly. “Why?” asked Marcia, opening her eyes very wide. “I think he’s beautiful, and he has such glorious dark eyes.” “Ugh! dash his old eyes—they’re as silly as the rest of him. He sits there goggling and screwing and beating time like an old—old Jack-in-the-box,” concluded Eileen. “Oh, Eileen! I don’t believe I can ever take another lesson from him,” laughed Marcia. “I’ll laugh when I see him ‘goggling and screwing’——” “Yes, and bending down when the music’s soft, and sitting up straight and flapping his hands when the music’s loud. Ugh! it sickens me; I’m sorry I commenced to learn.” “Oh, Eileen! you are funny,” laughed Marcia again. “And all the girls think he’s lovely; why, I’m just dying to tell them what you’ve said, only it might get back to his ears.” “Oh, it doesn’t matter!” said Eileen, with her head high in the air. “I told him this morning what I thought of him.” “You—told—him—this—morning—what—you—thought—of—him!” gasped Marcia. “Yes,” answered Eileen, and then she detailed the conversation. “And you left him before the lesson was over?” cried Marcia. “Yes, I left him sitting there, gasping.” “Oh, Eileen! you are brave; I’d never have done it. I’m real nervous at my lesson.” “Pshaw! I’m never nervous, and I’m never going to be, either. I mean to be an actress some day, you know, and it won’t do for me to be nervous. Thank goodness, actresses don’t have to know music, and if I have a dozen children I’ll never let one of them learn a note unless they want to. Playing by ear’s good enough for me, and it’ll be good enough for my children.” Then Marcia went off into another peal of laughter. “Oh, Eileen, I wish you’d stay here for ever!” she cried. “I’ll miss you dreadfully when you’re gone. But I do wish you’d try hard at your music.” “Oh, I suppose I’ll have to! But I’m more satisfied now that I’ve said all that about ‘soul’ and ‘ear.’” About a week later Eileen got a most unaccountable fit of home-sickness. She had received long letters telling her about the clover paddocks, and the dew glistening on them first thing in the morning, and how fat the horses were; and all of a sudden Sydney grew distasteful. Sitting at her desk, the thought of those long green stretches would come to her; the thought of the green-clothed gullies, with the children racing up and down on their ponies; the thought of the big blue gums along the creek, waving long brown strips of bark wildly in the wind, and the big fire of myall logs burning brightly in the Gillong dining-room at night, and the gleaming white frost on the corn cobs in the cultivation paddock shining under the rays of the wintry sun. And one day she put her head on the desk and burst into tears. She wanted to be there straight away. After all, there was no place like home, and she wanted to go right up and mount her horse and race all over the paddocks. The teacher was astonished. “But there’s nothing to stop you from going home, is there?” she asked kindly. “N—no!” blurted Eileen, “but I didn’t want to go until now, and it just came on real sudden, like a bad tooth-ache, and I couldn’t help c-crying. I’m—I’—m not coming back to school any more. I’ll get ready and go straight home.” There was consternation in the Taylor household when they heard of Eileen’s resolution. “No, I’ve been real happy with you, Mrs. Taylor, and I’ll miss you all dreadfully, but I’m real home-sick—you know, I think country people suffer from home-sickness,” she went on apologetically, “and I just can’t wait another day. Every time I hear the thud of a horse’s hoof it makes me lonely, and you’ve all been real kind—and—I’ll always like you—but—all the same, I must go home.” Mrs. Taylor just knew how she felt, and helped her to pack up, and was as kind as her Mother, and Marcia was almost heart-broken. “You must come back again as soon as you can, Eileen. Oh, dear! I won’t have half the fun now that you’ve gone. No one to talk to about people and the music teacher or anything else.” Then Mrs. Taylor fell to worrying about Willie. She wondered was her little boy home-sick, too, and didn’t like to say; and she wrote him a very long letter, and told him to be sure and come straight away if he felt like it, and how she thought he ought to come home now in any case, and how she missed him. And the heartless little Willie, when he received it, grunted and said, “Just like a woman!” Then he sat down and wrote her a long letter to satisfy her, and to let her see “once and for all” that her little boy was not in the least home-sick, or even likely to be. And one afternoon Eileen boarded the North-West train, and with many promises of letter-writing and much fluttering of pocket handkerchiefs and farewell messages she was whirled away to the far North-West Bushland. And the same train that brought her home carried Willie’s letter back to his Mother:
Willie’s mother, when she received this, shook her head and said, “Well, well, I suppose I had better let him stay; he seems so happy, but I do wish he missed me a bit,” she added with a sigh. “He’s too young yet to understand things,” laughed Dad, as he re-read the letter. “So Willie’s just got into double figures, and he thinks he has had enough schooling, and wants to start money-making. Well, well, boys will be boys,” and he pocketed the letter to show to some of his cronies at the Club, while Mother spent the best part of the morning hunting for it to show it to Auntie Grace, never dreaming that it had already gone the rounds of the Club, where it had raised many a hearty laugh, as seasoned business men recalled again their lost youth and young ideas. |
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