"
"All right, Mrs Mac," said Harry, cheerfully. "Good night, Mrs
Mac."
"Good night, Harry, an' God go with ye, for the creeks are risen
after last night's storm." And Harry drove on and left her to think
over it.
She thought over it in a way that would have been unexpected to Harry,
and would have made him uneasy, for he was really good-natured. She
sat down on a stool by the fire, and presently, after thinking over it
a bit, two big, lonely tears rolled down the lonely woman's fair, fat,
blonde cheeks in the firelight.
"An' to think of Old Jack," she said. "The very last man in the
world I'd dreamed of turning on me. But--but I always thought Old
Jack was goin' a bit ratty, an' maybe I was a bit hard on him. God
forgive us all!"
Had Harry Chatswood seen her then he would have been sorry he did it.
Swagmen and broken-hearted new chums had met worse women than Mother
Mac.
But she pulled herself together, got up and bustled round. She put on
more wood, swept the hearth, put a parcel of fresh steak and
sausages--brought by the coach--on to a clean plate on the table, and
got some potatoes into a dish; for Chatswood had told her that her
first and longest and favourite stepson was not far behind him with
the bullock team. Before she had finished the potatoes she heard the
clock-clock of heavy wheels and the crack of the bullock whip coming
along the dark bush track.
But the very next morning a man riding back from Croydon called, and
stuck his head under the veranda eaves with a bush greeting, and she
told him all about it.
Pages:
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90