  “Oh, dear, I wish something nice would happen!” sighed Eileen. “It’s a terrible long time since anything real nice happened.” “Yes, not since Uncle came,” said Eva. “Oh, wha—what about the baby?” gasped Doris, in amazement. “Oh, yes, of course—the baby—well, the baby’s all right, but, still, I want some real fun. I’m sick of everything again, and I know the Garlands are great, and we’re lucky to have them; but I’d like something real different and real surprising to happen.” “Yes, I wish something exciting would happen, too,” said Mollie. “Something real nice and exciting——” “Yes, not Mrs. Grey getting sick, or anything like that,” said Eva. “Oh, no, Mrs. Grey getting sick is not the kind of fun—er, I mean excitement—I want,” said Eileen; “that was right enough for a time, but I want real fun now.” “So do I,” said Mollie. “And so do I,” said Eva. “And me, too,” agreed Doris. “I want some real fun—not Mrs. Gray, or the baby, or old Rose, or anything else.” “Me, too,” chimed in Baby, who was beginning to feel quite grown up since the other baby came. “Pity somethin’ wouldn’t happen to the twins or something,” said Doris. “Not too bad—only somethin’ or other, I don’t know what.” “But, of course, nothing will happen,” said Eileen, dismally. “No, of course it won’t,” agreed Eva. “No, it never does,” went on Eileen. “It’s the same old thing over and over. Go to bed, get up, have your meals; go to bed again, get up, have your meals,” she repeated like a parrot, and she might have kept on repeating it for another hour or two, only that they saw the mailman coming in the distance, and they wondered if he would bring any letters; but “of course he wouldn’t,” Eileen said; he never did bring letters to them, only once in a blue moon, so what was the use of wondering about him or looking for him or anything else. “If he don’t bwing letters I—I don’t know what I’ll do,” said Doris. “I wish—I wish a letter’d come to take us away to some place we never heard of,” she went on, not knowing what to wish for. “Oh, yes, and it might be worse than here!” answered Eileen. “A lot of good that will do you!” “I don’t know what I’d like,” said Mollie, “but something where we could have plenty of laughing and talking and great fun.” “I wish we had another noo uncle,” sighed Doris. “He was the best ’sprise we ever had. Pity we hadn’t some more.” “Oh, you’d soon get sick of uncles,” grumbled Eileen. “There might be a letter from Uncle to-day,” said Mollie, brightly. “It’s a long while since we heard from him. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if there was one from him to-day.” “I’ll bet there won’t be,” croaked Eileen, “so don’t be thinking there might, because you’ll only be disappointed.” Mother opened the mail-bag, and out dropped some square thick envelopes. “Oh, letters!” called Mother, and there was a scramble to see whom they were for. “Mother and Dadda, Miss Gibson, and the Misses Hudson, and one for Willie, in the same writing,” she cried. “I hope it’s not a bill for that whip of mine,” said Willie, as he tried to appear careless about getting a letter. “A likely thing a bill would come in an envelope like that,” said Eileen, sharply. Then there was excitement indeed, for the letters were invitations to a party at “Myall,” and not merely a party, but a plain and fancy dress party. There was great excitement at “Gillong,” as they discussed their dresses and “characters.” “I think I’ll go as a Cowboy,” said Willie, as he swaggered round. “Oh, no; go as something nice,” said Eileen. “Nice? What do you call nice?” asked Willie. “There’s nothing nicer than a cowboy. You ought to see ’em at the pictures.” “Oh, no! Go as Lord Somebody, or Sir Someone, or somebody grand. You can be an old cowboy any day.” “No, thanks, I don’t want to be any of your grand chaps. I might be a footballer, or a cricketer, or a stockman; but none of your grand men that wear silk and satin. Ugh! And I might be a Red Indian yet. Yes, that’s what I’ll be—a Red Indian,” he cried, excitedly. “Oh! it will be fun rigging it up. Let’s come and make a start at it now. I’ll have feathers all over my head, and I’ll get the loan of that dingo skin of your Mum’s, and—oh, it will be fun!” “No, you won’t be a Red Indian,” cried Eileen. “No one will dance with you.” “Dance with me?” echoed Willie. “I don’t want ’em to dance. I want to have some fun. I thought you were all wishing for fun, and now it’s coming you want to dress up in fine clothes. Ugh!” “What about Little Lord Fauntleroy? Oh, Willie, you’d look pretty!” “Little Lord Fauntleroy!” gasped Willie. “Ugh! Do you think I want to look pretty? Do you think a man wants to look pretty? Ugh!” For the next week excitement and disorder held sway at “Gillong,” for there was so much trouble in choosing costumes. One day Eva would decide on “Flower Girl,” another on “Erin” or “Rule, Britannia,” or some other character; and they were all the same, till Mother and the governess were nearly distracted. “I don’t think I’ll go,” said Eileen one evening. “Why?” they all asked in chorus. “Because I don’t know what to be, and it’s too much trouble deciding. And, besides, it’s silly going in fancy dress, fixing up everything; and I’d rather go in a real pretty silk dress and nice silk stockings and pretty shoes and a fan, and all sorts of nice things; and I’m not rich enough for that, so I’ll stay at home.” “Oh, nonsense!” cried Mollie. “It’s lovely to be going in fancy dress.” “Oh, its all right for you—you’ve decided!” “Well, why don’t you decide?” “I can’t. Every day makes it harder, and I get more mixed; so I’ll just give the lot up and stay at home;” and she looked very disconsolate. “What about a gipsy?” asked someone. “Or a queen, or a mermaid, or—oh, lots of things!” “Now, look here, Eileen; you’ll have to decide,” said Mollie, firmly. “Let’s fix it up now.” So, after a great deal of talk, she decided on “Gipsy Queen.” Then there was work getting their dresses ready. Mollie was “Night,” and the soft black dress, with the half-moon and stars cut out of silver paper, suited her splendidly. Across her red-gold hair she had a black velvet band, with a quaint little half-moon slanting across it. The “Gipsy Queen” looked fine in her red dress, with slashes of gold paper and touches of black velvet, and coins and berries placed cunningly here and there. In the make-ups everyone helped, and the tags off tobacco were even pressed into service. Even old Joe would sit at the kitchen table after tea and cut out hundreds of stars and other shapes out of silver and gold paper; and many the argument he and Willie had over correct sizes, etc., and how many stars were in the sky, and thousands of other things; and, of course, the arguments were never decided, because they were both sure that they were right, and left it at that. Eva was “Flower Girl,” and had a pretty white muslin frock, decked with flowers, and carried a wand (made by Old Joe) wreathed with flowers. Doris was “Winter,” and looked radiant in her red dress, bordered with wadding for fur, and a little white wadding cap trimmed with red berries. Baby was “Red Riding Hood,” and fancied herself in her little blue frock and white pinafore and red cape and hood; only when she had been at the party a while she grew tired of the cape and hood, and threw it off, and was just plain Baby in her little blue frock for the rest of the evening. At the last Willie had decided to go as a “Scout,” and his mother had to hurriedly post him a suit from Sydney; and Mollie fixed up one of Frank’s felt hats for him, and he was very pleased with his “rig out,” as he called it. Two days before the party a letter came from Frank to say that he was coming home for a short holiday. “Just a week or ten days,” he wrote, “and I am looking forward to it. What a lot we will have to talk about! Tell Doris and Baby I’ll expect them to give me a picnic under the old picnic tree.” They were all silent for a while, overjoyed at the great news, and then their tongues were loosened, and a babel of voices filled the air. “Well, if it’s not the very best thing that could happen,” cried Eileen. “I’ve been wishing that Frank could be here to see us in our fancy dresses, and now he’ll be here. Hooray!” “Oh, dear, dear! whatever’ll he go as?” cried Doris. “I wish he’d be old Father Christmas.” “Father Christmas, indeed!” cried Eileen. “I fancy I see him!” “Yes, an’ he’d be a mate for me, then,” said Doris. “He could have a red coat with fur on it and berries, and he’d look real nice.” “Pity I didn’t know he was coming sooner,” said Willie. “I’d have saved postage on my suit. He could have brought it up.” “So he could,” they agreed. “What a pity!” “Oh, it’s all right,” said Willie, lordly. “A fellow doesn’t have much use for money up here.” They danced round Frank when he arrived, and all wanted to tell him all the news at once. They admired him, and said he looked “lovely” and “beautiful,” and all kinds of nice things, till Frank laughingly declared he’d grow too shy to talk. But he was a different Frank to the boy who had left “Gillong” only about eight months ago. He was so alert and bright and keen, and his eyes were dancing as he talked and laughed. For he had found his niche, and was working hard at his heart’s desire: and Mollie thought gratefully of “Uncle,” who had put it in his power to take up the work he liked. “I’m getting on fine, Mollie,” he confided later on, “and I’m sure as the time goes on that I’ll reach the top. Oh, it’s fine to be at something that you like—something that you can put all your energies into and use your brain power. Sometimes I think of the long, long days that used to seem so hopeless, and I shudder. But it’s great to be back among it all again for a while, and I’ll enjoy every minute of my holiday.” They showed Frank their dresses, and there was much whispering and laughing among them. “Guess what this used to be once,” cried Eileen, holding up Doris’s jaunty little “winter” cap. “Couldn’t in a lifetime,” laughed Frank. “The wadding out of the old tea cosy,” she cried. “And Baby’s red cape and hood are made from an old cloak Mamma had when she was a girl. Do you see this wand? Well, old Joe made it, and we covered it with gold paper.” “Marvellous!” cried Frank. “What a pity I wasn’t here sooner to rig myself out in something.” “I’ll tell you what—go as a Red Indian,” cried Willie. “I wanted to, but couldn’t manage it.” But Frank decided he would go in plain clothes. The new baby came in for a lot of attention, too. “Well, little chap, I wonder what you’ll want to be when you grow up,” said Frank, leaning over his little cart. “I wonder will you be fond of bush life, or will you have a hankering after other things.” The new baby smiled up at him, as though it didn’t care what became of it in the future. “Anyhow, I’ll keep an eye on you and find out what you do want, and see that you get it.” Frank meant it, for in his heart was a great gladness, and life seemed worth while. He grew quite excited over the prospect of the party, too. “Won’t Enid be surprised?” said Eva. “Won’t she be glad, too? You look lovely, Frank, and that suit of yours is beautiful. I bet you’ll be the nicest-looking grown-up boy there, and I’m real glad you’re here to come with us. What a pity you’re not a poet, Frank,” she concluded. “A poet? One of those chaps that forgets to have his meals?” cried Frank, teasingly. “No, a real nice, clever poet, and write big books of poems, and have pretty pictures in them. You know, I could paint the pictures later on, because I’m going to be an artist.” “Oh, well, I’ll think about it,” laughed Frank, “and perhaps we’ll bring out a book in conglomeration—Eva Hudson and Frank Lynton.” “Wouldn’t it be lovely?” she gasped. “Oh! let’s talk about the party,” pleaded Doris. “Don’t be an old poet, ’cause it’s real hard gettin’ words to go, an’ you’d be always writin’ and writin’, an’ you’d never have time for games or anything. A party’s better’n poems a lot.” They all fell to wondering what the Garlands would wear. “Of course there’ll only be Colin and Meta there, I suppose, unless Edith goes to look on.” “No, they’re all going,” said Mollie. “Even the twins.” “What! the twins going? Oh, that’ll be better than ever!” they cried. “The twins will give us some fun. Oh, Frank, you’ll love the twins!” “I’m not too sure about that,” said Frank. “It’s the best news I ever heard,” cried Doris, dancing round. “The twins will be there. The dear, darlin’, bold, noisy, darlin’ twins.” |
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