Rolf Boldrewood
Babes in the Bush
As the season wore on, and the rainless winter was succeeded by the hopeless spring, with drying winds and cloudless days, it seemed as if the tribulation spoken of by Andrew was indeed to be sharp, to the verge of extermination.
Not only were great losses threatened by the destruction of the stock, but the money question was commencing to become urgent. For the past year no sales of stock had been possible. Few had the means of keeping the stock they were possessed of. They were not likely to add to their responsibility by buying others, at however tempting a price. As there was no milk, there was naturally no butter, cheese, or the wherewithal to fatten the hogs for bacon. These sources of income were obliterated. Having no produce to sell, it became apparent that the articles necessary to be bought were suddenly enhanced in value. Flour rose from twelve and fifteen to fifty, seventy, finally, one hundred pounds per ton. Not foreseeing this abnormal rise, Wilfred had sold their preceding year’s crop, as usual, as soon as it reached a better price than ordinary, merely retaining a year’s supply of flour. That being exhausted, he was compelled, sorely against the grain, to purchase at these famine rates. Rice, which could be imported cheaply, was largely mingled with the flour, as a matter of economy. The bread was scarcely so palatable, but by the help of Jeanie’s admirable baking, little difference was felt.
Mr. Rockley confided that he felt deeply reluctant to charge him and other friends such high prices for the necessaries of life. The difficulties of carriage, however, were now amazing. Numbers of the draught cattle had perished, and fodder was obliged to be carried by the teams on their journeys, enhancing the cost indefinitely.
‘The fact is,’ said that unreserved merchant, ‘I am losing on all sides. The smaller farmers in my debt have no more chance of paying me, before the rain comes, than if they were in gaol. Everybody purchases the smallest quantity of goods that they can do with, and I have great difficulty in buying in Sydney at prices which will leave any margin of profit. But you come in and dine with us this evening. I’ve got a bottle of claret left, in spite of the hard times. And keep up your spirits, my boy! We shall come out of this trouble as we’ve done through others. This country wasn’t meant for faint-hearted people, was it? If all comes right, we shall be proud of having stuck to the ship manfully, eh? If not, it’s better to give three cheers when she goes down, than to whine and snivel. Come along in. I’ve done with business for the day.’
And so Wilfred, who had ridden to Yass in a state of despondency, went in and was comforted, as happened to him many a time and often, under that hospitable roof. The dinner was good though the times were bad, while Rockley’s claret was unimpeachable, as of old. Mrs. Rockley and Christabel were more than usually warm and sympathetic of manner. As he sat in the moonlight with Rockley and the ladies (who had joined them), and heard from his host tales of previous hard seasons and how they had been surmounted, he felt his heart stir with unwonted hope and a resolve to fight this fight to the end.
‘I’ve seen these seasons before,’ said the energetic optimist, ‘and I’ve always remarked that they were followed by a period of prosperity. Think of the last drought we had, and what splendid seasons followed it! This looks as bad as anything can look, but if I could get long odds, I wouldn’t mind betting that before 1840 we’re crowded with buyers, and that stock, land, and city property touch prices never reached before. Look forward, Wilfred, my boy, look forward! There’s nothing to be done without it, in a new country, take my word.’
‘You must admit that it’s hard to see anything cheering just at present.’
‘Not at all, not at all,’ said his host, lighting another cigar. ‘Christabel, go in and sing something. It’s all a matter of calculation. Say that half your cattle die – mind you, you’ve no business to let ’em die, if you can help it – hang on by your eyelids, that’s the idea – but say half of ’em do die, why, the moment the rain comes the remainder are twice as valuable as they were before, perhaps more than that, if a new district is discovered. By the way, there is a report of a new settlement down south; if it comes to anything, see what a rush there’ll be for stock, to take over on speculation. That’s the great advantage of a new country; if one venture goes wrong, there are a dozen spring up for you to choose from.’
‘Do you think it would be a good idea to take away part of the stock, and try and find a new station?’
‘I really believe it would; and if I were a young man to-morrow it’s the very thing that I would go in for. We have not explored a tenth part of the boundless – I say boundless – pasture lands of this continent. No doubt there are millions of acres untouched, as good as we have ever occupied.’
‘But are they not so far off as to be valueless?’
‘No land that will carry sheep or cattle, or grow grain, can be valueless in Australia for the next century to come. And with the increase of population, all outer territories will assume a positive value as soon as the present depression is over.’
While in Yass, Wilfred consulted their good friend and adviser, Mr. Sternworth, who had indeed, by letter, when not able to visit them personally, not ceased to cheer and console during the disheartening season.
‘This is a time of trial, my dear Wilfred,’ he said, ‘that calls out the best qualities of a man, in the shape of courage, faith, and self-denial. It is the day of adversity, when we are warned not to faint. I can fully enter into your distress and anxiety, while seeing the daily loss and failure of all upon which you depended for support. It is doubly hard for you, after a term of success and progress. But we must have faith – unwavering faith – in the Supreme Ruler of events, and doubt not – doubt not for one moment, my boy – but that we shall issue unharmed and rejoicing out of this tribulation.’
Among their neighbours, unusual preparations were made to lighten the impending calamity. Unnecessary labourers were discharged. The daily work of the stations was, in great measure, done by the proprietors. The Teviots were the only domestic retainers at Benmohr; they, of course, and Dick Evans were a part of the very composition of the establishments, and not to be dispensed with. The D’Oyleys discharged their cook and stock-rider, performing these necessary duties by turns, week alternate.
Fred Churbett retained his married couple and stock-rider, declaring that he would die like a gentleman; that he could pay his way for two years more; after which, if times did not mend, he would burn the place down, commit suicide decently, and leave the onus on destiny. He could not cook, neither would he wash clothes. He would be as obstinate as the weather.
O’Desmond made full preparations for a migration in spring, if the weather continued dry and no rain fell in September. There would be a slight spring of grass then, rain or no rain. He would take advantage of it, to depart, like a patriarch of old, not exactly with his camels and she-asses, but with his cattle and brood mares, his sheep and his oxen, his men-servants and his maid-servants – well perhaps not the latter, but everything necessary to give a flavour of true colonisation to the movement. And he travelled in good style, with such observances and ceremony as surrounded Harry O’Desmond in all that he did, and made him the wonder and admiration of less favoured individuals.
He had his waggonette and four-in-hand, the horses of which, corn-fed at the commencement, would, after they got on to the grasses of the great interior levels, fare well and indeed fatten on the journey. A roomy tent, as also a smaller one for his body-servant, cook, and kitchen utensils, shielded him and his necessaries from the weather. Portable bath and dining-table, couch, and toilette requisites were available at shortest notice; while a groom led his favourite hackney, upon which he mounted whenever he desired to explore a mountain peak or an unknown valley. The cottage was handed over to the charge of the gardener and his wife, old servants of the establishment. And finally, the long-expected rain not appearing in September, he departed, like a Spanish conquistador of old, to return with tales of wondrous regions, of dusky slaves, of gold, of feather-crowned Caciques, and palm-fanned isles, or to leave his whitening bones upon mountain summit or lonely beach.
It was believed among his old friends that Harry O’Desmond would either return successful, with hardly-won territory attached to his name, or that he would journey on over the great desert, which was supposed then to form the interior of the continent, until return was hopeless.
His servants would be faithful unto death. None would ever question his order of march. And if he were not successful in founding a kingdom, to be worked as a relief province for Badajos, he would never come back at all. Some day there would be found the traces of a white man’s encampment, amid tribes of natives as yet unknown – the shreds of tents, the waggonette wheels, the scattered articles of plate, and the more ordinary utensils of the white man. From beneath a spreading tree would be exhumed the bones of the leader of the party. Such would be the memorials of a pioneer and explorer, who was never known to turn back or confess himself unsuccessful.
As to the labour question, Dick Evans and his wife were indispensable now, more than ever, as the brothers had resolved not to remain in statu quo. Wilfred had determined to organise an expedition, and to take the greater part of the herd with him. In such a case it would have been suicidal to deprive themselves of Dick’s services, as, of course, he would be only too eager to make one of the party. He cheerfully submitted to a diminution of wages, stating that as long as he and the old woman had a crust of bread and a rag to their backs they would stand by the captain and the family.
‘If we could only get through the winter,’ he said, ‘I shouldn’t have no fear but we’d box about down south with the cattle till we dropped on a run for them. There’s a lot of fine country beyond the Snowy, if we’d only got a road over the mountains to it. But it’s awful rough, and the blacks would eat up a small party like ours. I don’t hardly like the thoughts of tacklin’ it. But what I’m afraid on is, that if the winter comes on dry we’ll have no cattle to take. They’re a-gettin’ desprit low now, and the lake’s as good as dried up.’
The outlook was gloomy indeed when even the sanguine Dick Evans could make no better forecast. But Wilfred was the sailing-master, and it did not become him to show hesitation.
‘We must do our best, and trust in God, Dick,’ he said. ‘This is a wonderful country for changes; one may come in the right direction yet.’
As for Andrew and Jeanie, they would not hear of taking any wages until times improved. They had cast in their lot with the family, and Jeanie would stay with her mistress and the girls, who were dear to her as her own children, as long as there was a roof to shelter them.
Andrew fully recognised it as a ‘season of rebuke and blasphemy.’ He who ordered the round world had, for inscrutable reasons, brought this famine upon them. Like the children of Israel, he doubted but they would have to follow the advice given in 1 Kings xviii. 5: ‘And Ahab said to Obadiah, Go into the land, unto all fountains of water, and unto all brooks; peradventure we may find grass to save the horses and mules alive, that we lose not all the beasts.’
‘And did they?’ asked Guy.
‘Nae doot; as maist like we shall do gin we use the same means as gracious Elijah. No that I’m free to testify that I conseeder the slayin’ o’ the prophets o’ Baal a’thegither a needcessity. It wad have been mair wiselike on the pairt o’ Elijah to have disestablished their kirk and garred them lippen a’ their days to the voluntary principle. But let that flee stick to the wa’; dinna doot, laddie, that ae day the heavens will be black wi’ clouds, and there will be a great rain.’
Perhaps the one of the whole party most to be pitied was Howard Effingham. With the eagerness of a sanguine nature, he had become fixed in the idea that the prosperity with which they had commenced was to be continuous. Inspired with that belief he had, as we have seen, commenced to indulge himself with the reproduction, on a small scale, of the pleasant surroundings of the old country. He had fancied that the production of cattle, cheese, butter, bacon, and cereals would go on almost automatically henceforth, with a moderate amount of exertion on Wilfred’s part and of supervision on his own. It was not in his nature to be absorbed in the money-making part of their life; but in the acclimatisation of birds, beasts, and fishes, in the organisation of the Hunt Club, in the greyhound kennel, and in the stable his interest was unfailing, and his energy wonderful.
Now, unfortunately, to his deep regret and mortification, he saw his beloved projects rendered nugatory, worthless, and in a manner contemptible, owing to this woeful season.
What was likely to become of the fish if the lake dried up, as it showed every disposition to do? How was one to go forth fowling and coursing when every spare moment was utilised for some purpose of necessity?
As for the hounds, some arrangement would have to be made about feeding and exercising these valuable animals. The horseflesh was wanting, the time was not to be spared, the meat and meal were not always forthcoming. Terrible to imagine, the kennel was commencing to be an incubus and an oppression!
In the midst of this doubt and uncertainty a letter came from a well-known sportsman, Mr. Robert Malahyde, keenest of the keen, offering to take charge of the hounds until the season became more tolerable. His district was not so unfavourably situated as the neighbourhood of Yass, and from his larger herds and pastures he would be able to arrange the ‘boiler’ part of the management more easily than Mr. Effingham.
A meeting of the subscribers was quickly called, when it was agreed that the hounds be sent to Mummumberil till the seasons changed.
As for the pheasants and partridges, which had flourished so encouragingly during the first season, the curse of the time had fallen even on them. The native cat (dasyurus) had increased wonderfully of late. Berries and grass seeds were scanty in this time of famine. In consequence, the survival of the fittest, coupled with acts of highly natural selection, ensued. The native cats selected the young of the exotic birds, but few of the adult game seemed likely to survive this drought.
CHAPTER XX
AN UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT
An expedition was to be organised in spring, and the stock removed, no matter where. It would be the only chance for their lives. As it was, the winter was fast coming upon them. Every blade of the ordinary herbage had disappeared. The nights commenced to lengthen. Frosts of unusual severity had set in. Even now it seemed as if their last hope might be destroyed and their raft dashed on the rocks ere it was floated.
But one morning Dick Evans came up to Wilfred, sadly contemplating the attenuated cows which now represented the once crowded milking-yard. He was riding his old mare, barebacked, with his folded coat for a saddle, and spoke with unusual animation.
‘I believe we’re right for the winter after all, sir. I never thought to see this, though old Tom told me he’d know’d it happen once afore.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I took a big walk this morning to see if I could find tracks of this old varmint. I thought she might be dead, but I warn’t satisfied, so I took a regular good cruise. I found some tracks by the lake, where I hadn’t been for some time, and there sure enough I finds my lady, as snug as a wallaby in a wheat patch. Look how she’s filled herself, sir.’
Wilfred replied that the old mare appeared to have found good quarters.
‘When I got to the lake, sir, I was reg’lar stunned. It was as dry as a bone, but through the mud there was a crop of “fat hen” comin’ up all over, miles and miles of it, as thick as a lucerne field on the Hunter. The old mare was planted in a patch where it was pretty forrard. But it’s growin’ so’s you can see it, and there’ll be feed enough in a week or two for all our cattle and every hoof within twenty miles of the lake.’
‘Wonderful news, Dick; and this “fat hen,” as you call it, is good and wholesome food for stock?’
‘Can’t beat it, sir; first-chop fattening stuff; besides, there’s rushes and weeds growin’ among it. You may pound it, we’ll have no more trouble with the cattle for the winter, and they’ll be in good fettle to start south in the spring.’
This was glorious news. It was duly related at the breakfast-table, and after that meal Wilfred and Guy betook themselves to the lake. There they beheld one of Nature’s wondrous transformations.
The great lake lay before them, dry to its farthermost shore. The headlands stood out, frowning in gloomy protest against the conversion of their shining sea into a tame green meadow. Such, in good sooth, had it actually become. Through the moist but rapidly hardening mud of the lake-surface millions of plants were pushing themselves with vigour and luxuriance, caused by the richness of the ooze from which they sprang. Far as the eye could see, a green carpet was spread over the lately sombre-coloured expanse. The leaves of the most forward plants were rounded and succulent, while nothing could be more grateful to the long-famished cattle than the full and satisfying mouthfuls which were in parts of the little bays already procurable.
Even now, guided by the mysterious instinct which sways the hosts of the brute creation so unerringly, small lots had established themselves in secluded spots, showing by their improved appearance how unusual had been the supply of provender.
‘What a wonderful thing,’ said Guy; ‘who would ever have thought of the old lake turning into a cabbage-garden like this? Dick says this stuff makes very good greens if you boil it. Why, we can let Churbett and the Benmohr people send their cattle over if it keeps growing – as Dick says – till it’s as high as your head. But how in the world did this seed get here? That’s what I want to know. The lake hasn’t been dry for ten years, that’s certain, I believe. Well, now, did this seed – tons of it – lie in the mud all that time; and if not, how was it to be sowed, broadcast, after the water dried up?’
‘Who can tell?’ said Wilfred. ‘Nature holds her secrets close. I am inclined to think this seed must have been in the earth, and is now vivified by the half-dry mud. However it may be, it is a crop we shall have good cause to remember.’
‘I hope it will pull us through the winter and that’s all,’ said Guy. ‘I mustn’t be done out of my trip down south. I want to find a new country, and make all our fortunes in a large gentlemanlike way, like Mr. St. Maur told us of. You don’t suppose he goes milking cows and selling cheese and bacon.’
‘You mustn’t despise homely profits, Guy,’ said the elder. ‘Some of the largest proprietors began that way, and you know that “Laborare est orare,” as the old monks said.’
‘Oh yes, I know that,’ said the boy; ‘but there’s all the difference between Columbus discovering America, or Cortez when he climbed the tree in Panama and saw two oceans, and being the mate of a collier. I must have a try at this exploring before I’m much older. There’s such a lot of country no one knows about yet.’
‘You will have your chance, old fellow, and your triumph, like others, I hope. But remember that obedience goes before command, and that Captain Cook was a boy in a collier before he became a finder of continents.’
Wilfred found it necessary to ride over to Benmohr to arrange definitely about the time of departure. He had nearly reached the well-known gate when a horseman rode forward from the opposite direction. He was well mounted, and led a second horse, upon which was a pack-saddle. Both animals were in better condition than was usual in this time of tribulation.
Effingham was about to pass the stranger, whose bronzed features, half concealed by a black beard, he did not recall, when he reined his horses suddenly.
‘You don’t remember me, Mr. Effingham. I am on my way to the old place. I’ve got something to tell you.’
It took more than another glance to enable him to recognise the speaker, and then it was a half-instinctive guess that prompted him to connect the bold black eyes and swarthy countenance with Hubert Warleigh.
‘The same,’ said the horseman. ‘I saw you did not know me; most likely took me for a station overseer or a gentleman. I was a swagman when you saw me last, so I’m getting on, you see.’
‘I beg you a thousand pardons,’ said Wilfred, shaking his hand cordially. ‘I did not know you at first sight; the beard alters your appearance, you must admit. I hope you are coming to stay with us. My father will be delighted to see you. He often speaks of you.’
‘I thank him, and you too. If my father had been like him, I should have been a different man. But I had better tell you my business before we go farther. They say you are going to shift the cattle; is that true?’
‘We start almost at once. But we haven’t settled the route.’
‘That’s just as well. I’ve found a grand country-side away to the south, and came to show you the way – that is, if you believe my story.’
‘Look here,’ cried Wilfred excitedly, ‘come with me to Benmohr to-night, and we’ll talk it over with Argyll and Hamilton. We must hold a council over it. It’s near sundown, and I intended to stay there.’
Hubert Warleigh drew back. ‘I don’t know either of them to speak to. The fact is, I have lived so much more in the men’s huts than the masters’ until the last few months, that I don’t fancy going anywhere unless I’m asked.’
‘Come as my friend,’ said Wilfred impetuously. ‘It is time you took your proper position. Besides, you are the bearer of good tidings – of news which may be the saving of us all.’
He allowed himself to be persuaded. So the two young men rode up to the garden gate, at which portal they were met by Argyll. Ardmillan and Neil Barrington were playing quoits on the brown lawn. Fred Churbett (of course) was reading in the verandah.
‘Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Hubert Warleigh,’ said Wilfred. ‘He has just come in from a journey, and I have prevailed on him to accompany me.’
‘Most happy to see you, Mr. Warleigh,’ said Argyll, with cordial gravity. (He knew all about ‘Gyp’ Warleigh, and had probably said contemptuous things, but accepted Wilfred’s lead, and followed suit.) ‘The man will take your horses. Effingham, you know your way to the barracks.’
Hubert Warleigh followed his newly-acquired comrade into the building, where the appearance of matters indicated that some of the other habitués had been recently adorning themselves. Mrs. Teviot, however, promptly appeared on the scene with half-a-dozen towels, and supplies of warm water.
‘Weel, Maister Effingham, this is a sair time and a sorrowfu’. To think o’ a’ the gentlemen gangin’ clean awa’, and a’ the milch kye, puir things, into thae waste places o’ the yearth, and maybe deein’ o’ drouth or hunger, and naebody to hae a crack wi’ but thae fearsome saavages ‘It’s very hard upon all of us, Mrs. Teviot, but if it won’t rain, what are we to do? We can’t stay at home and let the cattle die. You know the Israelites used to take away their beasts in time of famine, and they seem to have had them pretty often.’
‘How do you do, Mrs. Teviot?’ said Warleigh. ‘How’s Wullie this dry weather? I suppose you forget me staying a night in the hut with old Tom Glendinning, three or four years ago.’
‘Gude sake, laddie!’ said the old woman in a tone of deep surprise, ‘and is that you, clothed and in your right mind, like the puir body in the Book? And has some one casten oot your deevil? Oh, hinnie! but I’m a prood woman the day to see your father’s son tak’ his place amang gentlefolk ance mair. The Lord guide ye and strengthen ye in the richt path! Man, ye lookit sae douce and wiselike, hoo was I to ken ye, the rantin’ dare-deevil that ye were syne?’
‘I have been living among the blacks, Mrs. Teviot,’ said the prodigal, with a transient glance of humour in his deep eye; ‘perhaps that may have improved me. But I am going to try to be a gentleman again, if I don’t find it too dull.’
‘Aweel! The denner is dishen’ up the noo; dinna wait to preen yersels ower muckle,’ added the good old dame as she vanished.
In despite of her warning, her old acquaintance produced several articles of raiment from the large valise, which had been unstrapped from his led horse, and proceeded to change his dress. When they walked into the house Wilfred thought he had rarely seen a handsomer man.
His clear, bronzed complexion, his classically cut features, his large dark eyes, with, what was then more uncommon than is the case now, a bushy, coal-black beard, made the effect of his countenance picturesque and striking in no ordinary degree.
His tall and powerful frame, developed by toil and exercise into the highest degree of muscular strength, was perfect in its symmetry as that of a gladiator. His very walk showed the effect of years of woodcraft, with the hunter’s lightness of footstep, and firm, elastic tread. As he entered the dining-room there was a look of surprise, even admiration, visible on every face.
‘Mr. Warleigh,’ said Argyll, ‘allow me to make my friends known to you. Hamilton, my partner – Ardmillan – Forbes – Neil Barrington – Fred Churbett. Now, you are all acquainted. Dinner and Mrs. Teviot won’t admit of further formalities.’
In despite of his former preferences for humble companionship, and his depreciation of his own manners and habitudes, Wilfred was pleased and interested by the unaffected bearing of his protégé during the dinner ceremony. He well knew all the men present by reputation, though they had no previous acquaintance with him, except, perhaps, as a stock-rider on a cattle-camp.
Without attempting to assume equality of language or mingle in discussion, for which his lack of education unfitted him, he yet bore himself in such self-possessed if unpretending fashion as impressed both guests and entertainers.
When the dinner was cleared away, and pipes were lit, in accordance with the custom of bachelor households (O’Desmond’s always honourably excepted), Wilfred Effingham thought the time favourable for opening the serious business of the evening.
‘I take it for granted,’ he said, ‘that we are all agreed to start for “fresh fields and pastures new” in a few days. Equally certain that we have not settled the route. Is that not so? Then let me take this occasion of stating that Mr. Warleigh has arrived from the farthest out station on the south, and that he is in possession of valuable information as to new country.’
‘By Jove!’ said Argyll, ‘that is the very thing we were discussing when you rode up, and are as far from a decision as ever. If Mr. Warleigh can give us directions, we ought to be able to keep a course moderately well – I mean with the aid of an azimuth compass.’
‘Argyll would undertake to find the road to Heaven with that compass of his,’ said Ardmillan.
When the laugh had subsided, which arose from this allusion to a well-known habit of Argyll’s, who always carried a compass with him – even to church, it was asserted – and was wont to state that no one but an idiot could possibly lose his way in Australia who had sense enough to comprehend the points of that invaluable instrument – Hubert Warleigh said quietly, ‘I’m afraid the road to my country is a good deal like the road to h – ll, that is, in the way of being the most infernal bad line for scrub, mountain, and deep rivers I ever tackled, and that’s saying a good deal. But I promised Captain Effingham to do him a good turn when I got the chance, and when I heard of this dry season I came prepared to show the way, if he liked to send his stock over, and go myself. As you all seem to be in the same box, equally hard up, I don’t mind acting as guide. We’ll be all the better for going as a strong party, as the blacks are treacherous beggars and the tribes strong.’
‘The road, you say, is as bad as bad can be,’ said Hamilton. ‘I suppose the good country makes up for it when you get there?’
‘I’ve seen all the best part of New South Wales,’ said the explorer. ‘I never saw anything that was a patch on it before. Open forest country, rivers running from the Snowy Mountains to the sea, splendid lakes, and a regular rainfall.’
‘The last is better than all,’ said Hamilton. ‘One feels tired of working up to a decent thing, and then having it knocked down by a change of season. I, for one, will take the plunge. I am ready to start at once for this interesting country, where the rivers don’t dry up, the grass grows at least once a year, and rain is not a triennial phenomenon.’
‘The same here! – and – I, and I,’ came from the other proprietors.
‘I suppose there’s room enough for all of us; we needn’t tread on each other’s toes when we reach the land of promise?’ said Ardmillan.
‘Enough for the whole district of Yass and something to spare,’ said their guest. ‘I was only over a portion of it, but I could see no end of open country from the hill-tops. It’s a place that will bear heavy stocking – thickly grassed and no waste country to speak of. After you leave the mountains, which are barren and rough enough, you drop down all of a sudden upon thinly-timbered downs – marshy in places, but grass up to your eyes everywhere.’
‘I like that notion of marshes,’ said Fred Churbett pensively. ‘I feel as I should enjoy the melody of the cheerful frog again. His voice has been so long silent in the land that I should hail him as a species of nightingale, always supposing that he was girt by his proper surroundings of the “sword-grass and the oat-grass and the bulrush by the pool.”’
