  “It’s a wonder you ever left the country, if you are so very fond of it,” said Eileen one day to the governess. “You tell us to like it, and yet you went away to Sydney,” she went on, somewhat defiantly. Miss Gibson paused a while, and then said slowly: “It was compulsory. My father was once a very wealthy man, but a big smash came, and I was obliged to earn my living, so I went to a City College, and——” “Oh!” they all murmured, “we are sorry.” “What was the smash—a motor-car?” cried Willie, eagerly. Miss Gibson smiled. “No, Willie; speculations and other things.” “If it was a motor-car I’d never ride in one again,” declared Eva. “Oh, dear! it must be awful to be real rich once and then get poor,” said Eileen. “I don’t know how you stand it.” “It is hard for a while; but, after all, there are some things better than money.” “Name them,” said Eileen, in mock despair. “While we have health and strength and capacity for simple enjoyments left, we can never be unhappy long, and work is a great tonic.” “Oh, dear!” sighed Eileen. “It’s a funny old world, and you seem as happy as anyone, although you were rich once and have to earn your living now. It wouldn’t suit me.” That evening Eileen called a meeting, and they all talked in low tones. “We ought to get up a subscription for her.” “Oh, yes, let’s!” cried Doris, clapping her hands. She always loved anything fresh or exciting. “Let’s get it up quick!” “Has anyone got any money? A subscription’s no good without money.” “I have two shillings,” said Mollie. “And I have ninepence,” said Eva; “it’s all in pennies, but I don’t suppose that makes any difference.” “Not a bit, and I know Baby has sixpence. You’ll let us have your sixpence for nice Miss Gibson, won’t you, Baby, darling?” “Ess,” said Baby, solemnly. “That’s right, and I have one-and-ninepence——” “And I have two-and-six,” cried Willie, as he rushed off and brought it back, balancing it on his fingers. “I did mean to buy a big knife with it, like old Joe’s,” he said, as he handed it to Eileen, somewhat reluctantly, “but you can have it.” “Don’t give it if you’d rather not, Willie,” said Eileen, quickly. “Yes, take it; I might be rich myself some day, and then get poor, and I’d like someone to get up a subscription for me.” “Yes; and, besides, you can always get the loan of old Joe’s knife,” said Eileen, consolingly. “Yes; and, besides, the very next half-crown I get I’ll buy one with it, so I suppose a fellow can wait a while,” he said, trying to appear cheerful. “You’re leal dood,” said Doris. “Perhaps you ought to only give half,” said Eva, “because you see you’re a visitor here, and oughtn’t to give so much as us.” “No, half a crown or nothing,” said Willie grandly; “besides, I’m the only man that’s giving, so I ought to give most.” “How much have you got, Doris?” asked Eileen. “A penny,” she said, handing it to her. “Is that all? Where’s the threepence you had last week?” “I let it fall in the creek the day I chased the duck.” “Oh, dear, dear, you are careless!” “And de oder sixpence I give Teddy to bwing me lollies wif.” “No wonder you were so pleased about a subscription when you had nothing to give. Let’s count how much we’ve got.” And they all got slates and pencils and added up the sums. “What do you get?” asked Eileen of Willie. “Seven and seven pence,” answered Willie. “Yes, that’s right. What a pity we couldn’t make it eight shillings.” “Suppose we ask old Joe,” said Eva. “Oh, no, Miss Gibson mightn’t like it. Now we’d better write out a little speech.” “Oh, yes, let’s,” cried Doris again. “What’ll we say?” She sat back in her chair and prepared to enjoy herself. “We’ll write it out real nicely, and you’ll paint flowers round it, won’t you, Eva?” “Oh, yes, do,” shrieked Doris; “roses and pansies an’——” “Oh, no, they’re too hard,” said Eva. “Nice green leaves and berries, I think—nice red berries.” “Oh, yes!” they all cried. “Yes, yes,” shrieked Doris, “green leaves and wed berries,” and she clapped her hands loudly. “You do the writing, Mollie, and we’ll all sign our names,” continued Eileen. “Yes,” shrieked Doris again; “but what about Baby?” “Oh, I’ll hold her hand,” said Eileen. “Lovely,” cried Doris, subsiding again into her chair. So Mollie set to work to write out a speech, and they all tried to help her, and after a lot of trials and a few fights they managed one. “Let’s hear it,” said Eileen, and they sat down while Mollie read aloud.
“That’s all right,” said Eileen. “No, there’s another word for ‘take,’” said Willie; “it would sound better. Let’s see, what is it now?—oh, I know!—‘except’—yes, except the money.” “No, not ‘except,’” said Mollie. “‘Accept,’ I think.” “Anyhow, there’s only the difference of a letter or two,” answered Willie, “and it sounds better. Put one of them in and chance it.” “Oh, no! we’ll have to look it up and make sure,” said Mollie with a sigh, “and if there’s anything I do hate doing it’s looking up a dictionary.” “Oh, bother the dictionary—I hate ’em, too!” said Willie. “And so do I,” agreed Eileen; “but we’ll have to look for it.” They got the dictionary and hunted till they found it. “Ah, ‘accept’—that’s it!” cried Mollie. “Anyhow, I was pretty near it,” said Willie, well pleased. “Now, write it out to-night, and to-morrow Eva can paint it.” “Oh, dear! I wish to-morrow morning was here,” said Doris, who hated waiting. So to-morrow morning Eva rose bright and early and painted a spray of very bright green leaves and very bright red berries on the card, and called them to put their names on it. Willie came first, because he was in a hurry to have a ride round the paddock before school time. He hurriedly seized a pen and ducked it into the ink. “Let’s sign, and get away,” he said, importantly. “Oh, do be careful!” said Eva. “Careful? Who’s not careful, I’d like to know,” he answered, and just then a great big blot of ink splashed on the page. “Oh, look what you’ve done!” cried Eva, almost in tears. “Oh, bother the old card!” cried Willie, in a temper, and then there was a battle-royal. “I knew you’d blot it. There! it’s all spoilt now, and I’ll have to do another one.” “What did you call me for? You knew I was in a hurry. I’m sorry I signed my old name now. Why didn’t some of the others write it for me? I haven’t got time for fooling about writing on old cards.” “You’ve got as much time as any of us, and you’re real ugly—that’s what you are.” “Oh! ugly, am I? Well, I’ve got plenty of mates, and I’m sorry I gave my half-crown now.” “All right, then; I’ll tell Eileen what you said, and she’ll give it back to you.” She jumped up to run off and find Eileen. “No, you don’t!” cried Willie, now ashamed of himself. “You know I didn’t mean it. Just like a girl—running off to tell tales, and pretendin’ you think a fellow means what he says; here, let’s see if we can’t fix it up. I’ll get the loan of old Joe’s knife, and we’ll scrape the blot out.” “No, that wouldn’t do.” “Well, what about wiping it up with blotting paper?” “No, no good; it would all smear.” “What about painting something over the blot—some more leaves or something?” “No; they’d look silly down there.” “Well, what about painting a big butterfly over it, flying up to the berries, eh? That’d look grand.” “No, I’ll have to do it all over again.” “I’m real sorry,” said Willie. “I wish I could paint, and I’d do it for you. Square dink, I would!” “Oh! never mind; I’ll do another to-day, and we’ll sign our names to-night, and we’ll have to give it to her to-morrow.” “Righto!” said Willie, as he marched off. Meanwhile Eileen had been very busy thinking. She actually hadn’t slept much the night before for thinking. Seven-and-sevenpence wasn’t much to give Miss Gibson. If she only had some more! If she could only make some money; but there was no way—yes, there was just one way that flashed into her mind as she tossed about in bed. Tomorrow Mr. Smith, the butcher from Bragan Junction, would call for killing sheep. Supposing she sold him Ronald, her big pet lamb. He would be sure to give fifteen shillings to sixteen shillings for him, and she’d give ten shillings of it to Miss Gibson. Yes, that’s what she would do. She didn’t care if Ronald were a pet and if she’d miss him. He’d only go out to the paddocks after a while, and get mixed up with the rest of the flock, and very likely be sent away to Homebush, or perhaps he’d be killed at home for their own table later on. Ugh! she couldn’t bear to think of that! No, the best thing to do would be to sell him to Mr. Smith. She’d be brave, and she’d see Mr. Smith the first thing to-morrow, and she’d tell him that she had a big fat lamb for sale. She’d be real business-like, and she’d take the money, and then she’d get away somewhere quickly, where she couldn’t see Ronald being driven off with the other sheep. She knew it would be dreadfully lonesome for a while without Ronald, but—she didn’t care. She would sell him. So when Mr. Smith came she was the first to see him. “Yes, Mr. Smith, father’s down in the gums paddock, but I have a fine big fat pet lamb I want to sell.” “Righto!” said the genial butcher. “How much?” “Oh! er—about sixteen shillings.” “Let’s have a look at him.” Eileen led the way to the little back paddock, where quite a flock of young fat sheep were grazing. “That’s him with the red ribbon round his neck.” “Righto! I’ll give you sixteen bob for him. I’ve got the silver now, and I’d better carry him down to the gums and put him with the others there. Them pets don’t like leaving home, and—but what’s wrong?” For Eileen was crying fit to kill herself. “I—I—don’t think I can let him go.” “’Pon my goodness, don’t take on like that! What! don’t want to sell him?” “N-o—o. I wanted the money to give to—to—someone for a sub—a subscription, but—they’ll have to do without.” “Righto, little woman; I won’t take him, but he’s prime,” said the butcher, casting a regretful glance at the fat lamb. “But, listen! Let me give something towards that subscription,” and he drew out a handful of silver. “Here, take five bob. I don’t want to know what it’s for. I’m not curious, but I want you to take it because I’m sure it’s a good object.” “Oh, it is, it is!” cried Eileen, “but I can’t take your money, Mr. Smith. I’d feel too mean.” “You must. I’ll be hurt if you don’t take it. There you are, real hurt, and I don’t wonder at you not being able to sell the pet; but all the same, I’d ha’ liked to have had him,” he said, as he mounted his horse and cast another regretful glance at the prime lamb. “Good luck to you, my girl!” he shouted as he rode off. Eileen stood gazing at the five shillings. “Oh, dear! I’m a great big baby—that’s what I am, and I don’t know how I’m going to tell the others. Supposing I don’t tell them. But I’ll have to; they’ll want to know where I got the five shillings. Supposing I say it was given to me in secret. Oh, no, that would never do! They’d always be asking me about it. Supposing I say I picked it up. Oh! but that would be too mean—I must let them know about the nice butcher. It wouldn’t be fair to him if I didn’t. No, I’ll race up and tell them now—now, while I feel I can. I’ll just take to my heels and run and tell them as soon as I get up there.” She was as good as her word, and ten minutes later an excited crowd had gathered round a hot, flushed Eileen, who told them hurriedly of the good kind Mr. Smith. “Ain’t he lovely?” said Doris, admiringly. “He’s a nice kind man, and I’ll pway for him to-night. We’ll all pway for him.” “Do you mean to say you meant to sell Ronald? I don’t know how ever you could think of such a thing,” cried Eva. “Oh, well! you see I couldn’t when it came to the time,” said Eileen. “I just tried my best to, and I couldn’t.” “And I shouldn’t think you could,” said Eva, in tones of finality. “But of course he’ll have to go some day,” said Mollie. “Still, all the same, I couldn’t bear to see the butcher carrying him off to kill him,” she continued, quickly. “Me, either.” “Me, either.” “Me, eder,” they all chimed in. At last the list was finished, and Mr. Smith’s five shillings was entered “from a kind, unknown friend,” and the next step was the presentation. “You’re the boss of the show, Eileen; you give it,” said Willie, “and you’ll have to make the speech, too.” “Oh, dear, I don’t know whatever to say!” said Eileen, nervously. “Go on, there’s nothing to be frightened of,” said Willie, bravely. “You’ll have to think of something. You always say you’re goin’ on the stage: this will be practice. Go on, let’s hear you before you go on the stage,” and he stuck his two thumbs in his leather belt and marched round the room. “Oh, dear! I suppose I’ll have to say something,” said Eileen. “Let’s see, now,” and she walked round and round and rehearsed speech after speech. “How’ll we give her the money?” asked Willie, all of a sudden. “I never thought of that,” said Eileen. “No, of course you didn’t. It takes a man to think of those things. It’s a good thing for you I’m here. Why, that’s the very first thing you should have thought of.” “No, not the first,” said Eileen. “What, then?” he demanded. “Collecting the money, of course.” “Oh, any fool would know that!” answered Willie; “so you’re not so smart as you think.” “We’d better put it on a little tray,” said Eva. “Or a little bag,” said Mollie. “Oh, no, loose! Let’s have it loose,” said Willie, “so’s it’ll look a lot and we can hear it clink.” “Do you think so?” asked Mollie. “I think we ought to have it in a little purse, like a purse of sovereigns.” “Only, of course, it won’t be sovereigns,” said Eileen. “You have a little muslin bag, Mollie—just the very thing.” “So I have—just the very thing,” and she ran off to get it. “You can see the money through it, too; it will be just right,” she cried, as she returned with it. “Here, let’s put it in,” cried Willie, and he stuffed the silver and copper in. “It’s real nice and fat, too. My word, she’ll think she’s getting a fortune,” he went on, delightedly. “Good thing I thought of the bag.” “You thought of the bag?” cried Eileen, in sarcastic tones. “Why, you wanted it given up loose, all scattered over a tray.” “Anyway, only for me you wouldn’t ha’ thought anything about how you were going to give it to her and you’d ha’ been scooping it up out of your hands and very likely letting it fall all over the floor if I hadn’t spoken about it, so there!” After a great many more arguments and a great deal of talking, everything was decided on at last. That evening, while Miss Gibson was sitting quietly correcting exercise books, the deputation waited on her, and she received the surprise of her life. In they marched, with Eileen at their head, who made a sweeping bow, and the others tried to follow suit. Baby was so much taken with the proceeding that she kept on bowing and ducking for the rest of the evening. She bowed to each and every one of them. She marched off to the kitchen and bowed to old Joe, till he asked her if she had turned silly, and she bowed to all the pictures and chairs; and, in fact, enjoyed herself immensely. “Dear Miss Gibson, we wish you to—to——” “Accept,” whispered Mollie. “Accept this little token—a little picture and a small bag of money, which we wish was much bigger, and all our good wishes,” said Eileen, with another sweeping bow. “Really, children, this is a surprise—a little picture and a bag of money——” “Yes, you see, ’cause you lived in the country once——” began Doris, while all the others chimed in to explain matters. “And we all hope you’ll be rich again some day, and if you put the little bag of money in the bank it might be a help in years to come.” “Yes, and, besides, we might all be real poor ourselves some day, and have no one to help us,” chimed in Willie. “And we all like you very much for telling us all the nice things about the country, and we’ll never forget you,” said Eva. “And if you’d rather buy lollies, ’undreds and thousan’s, or anything you like with it, you can,” said Doris. Then Baby returned from the kitchen, where she had visited Joe, and bowed solemnly to them all, and sent them into shrieks of laughter. “So I have an unknown friend?” said Miss Gibson, reading the list. “Yes, it’s Smith, the butcher at Bragan Junction,” cried Willie. “Didn’t know he knew you, did you?” “Willie, stop at once!” cried Eileen, and then she told the story to Miss Gibson; “and he doesn’t know who the subscription’s for, or nothing about it; it’s just because he’s kind that he gave it, and he wasn’t a bit inquisitive, and if ever I get real rich I’ll send him a nice present,” she continued. So the evening passed merrily away, and Miss Gibson was much touched by the evidence of kindness and thoughtfulness on the part of the children, and the little picture, with its vivid green leaves and bright berries, was put away among her treasures. |
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