LITMIR.BIZ

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resent most bitterly what she called her father’s “wicked will,” consented, at her husband’s earnest request, to take charge of and educate Mary Rayner’s orphan child.

      “It will be a disgrace to us, Elizabeth, if we send the poor child to strangers,” Westonley had said to her, almost sternly. “Tom, although he is a bachelor, would be overjoyed if we let her go to him.”

      “He is most unfitted to have the care of a child,” said Mrs Westonley, icily; “from his conversation I should imagine he would be a most decidedly improper person.”

      “But he means well, you know; but, like your poor father, he’s a bit too outspoken and rough. And… and Elizabeth, we have no children of our own, and you will get to love the poor little one.”

      “I will make no guarantee as to conferring my affections upon a child whose disposition may prove to be utterly unworthy of the tuition and Christian training I have undertaken to give her—at your request,” was the acidulous reply.

      Westonley groaned inwardly, but made no answer.

      A few months after this conversation, Tom Gerrard made a short visit to Marumbah Downs to see Westonley and his dead sister’s child. He had just returned from the little bay near Cape Howe, where the Cassowary had been castaway, and where his father, mother, and Dr Rayner had been buried, together with all the other passengers and members of the crew whose bodies had been washed ashore. After dinner, he, Westonley, and his step-sister, were discussing Captain Gerrard’s will, when just then there came in a neighbour of Westonley’s—a squatter named Brooke—who was one of the executors. Mrs Westonley received him rather coldly, and when Tom Gerrard began describing to him the situation of the place where his father and mother were interred, she listened with an ill-concealed impatience.

      “Well! Mrs Westonley,” said Brooke, stretching out his spurred and booted feet, “your father and mother died together—as they lived, hand in hand, and heart to heart.”

      “The late Mrs Gerrard was not my mother.”

      There was a dead silence, and then Tom Gerrard rose, and looked his step-sister in the face with undisguised and bitter contempt.

      “No, thank God! she was not, but she was mine, I am proud to say.”

      Then he held out his hand to Westonley, “Good-bye, Ted, I’m leaving.”

      “For heaven’s sake, Tom!… Elizabeth, you forget yourself! Oh, I say, Brooke, don’t let him go.”

      But Tom Gerrard, his heart aflame with anger, pushed Brooke and his brother-in-law aside, went to the stables, saddled his horse, and rode off to the Marumbah township, fifteen miles away, and next morning Westonley received a note.

      “Dear old Ted,—You and I will always be the same old pals. I know you will be kind to Mary’s little one, and will write to me from time to time, as I shall to you. But I can’t forgive Lizzie. You will say I write in anger. I do. And yet I am a man quick to forgive an ordinary affront, even from a woman. You understand, old boy. TOM.”

      And so for many years, Tom Gerrard kept away from Marumbah, till his step-sister and Westonley wrote, and urged him to visit them.

      CHAPTER III

      Breakfast was served punctually at eight o’clock, and Tom Gerrard, whose equanimity was now quite restored, took his seat opposite his sister with a smiling face, and in a few minutes, under the sunshine of his genial manner, Mrs Westonley, much against her own inclination, began to thaw, and presently found herself chatting quite pleasantly with him.

      “I’ve sprung myself on you two or three days before you expected me, Lizzie, but I’m sure you don’t mind.”

      “Indeed no, Thomas. I am very glad I wish Edward was here, but the mailman may bring me a letter from him this morning. He said in his last letter he would be sure to return home by Saturday, and to-day is Thursday. But what brought you here so quickly, Thomas?”

      “Well, I was very lucky in getting a passage in one of the new Dutch mail steamers, instead of having to wait for the slow old Eagle so I reached Melbourne a week earlier than I expected. Then at Melbourne I caught the steamer for Port Albert, just as she was leaving. At Port Albert, instead of waiting two days for the coach for Marumbah, I bought a couple of horses, a gun, and some other gear, and came the ninety odd miles comfortably, instead of being shaken to pieces in one of Cobb’s awful coaches.”

      “But what an unnecessary expense, Thomas. The two horses–”

      “Oh! the whole thing, gun and all included, didn’t run into fifty pounds.”

      “Fifty pounds! Oh, Thomas! And your coach fare would have been but three pounds! You really are dreadfully extravagant.”

      “Not at all, Lizzie. I shall not lose much in the end. Ted will buy the horses, and all the gear from me. I think I can jew him into giving me something for them, even if it is only thirty quid.”

      “Thirty what?”

      “Thirty quid—thirty pounds. Now my dear old Lizzie, don’t pretend to be shocked at the word ‘quid.’ You know you’ve heard all the colonial expressions—and poor dad used them pretty frequently.”

      “Indeed he did, Thomas—too frequently, I’m afraid.”

      “Ah, well, Lizzie my dear, it doesn’t matter now. By-the-way, doesn’t little Mary breakfast with you?”

      “Oh yes, usually; but this morning I told Janet to give her her breakfast in her bedroom, then after she has made herself presentable she can join us. I’m sure she and that dreadful boy Jim will get you to inspect their ‘cubby house’ down on the river bank in the course of the day. Sometimes Edward makes me quite cross by the way he yields to their stupid whims. He actually spent a whole day in helping them build their precious cubby house.”

      Gerrard laughed: “Good old Ted—just as much of a boy as he was twenty years ago! But who is this youngster Jim?”

      “Oh, I quite forgot to tell you about him when we wrote to you. He is another of Edward’s extravagances. You will remember that when the Cassowary was lost, the only survivors were one seaman and a child of four years of age. Well, about eight months ago, when Edward was travelling to Sydney in the Balclutha, he—as he always does—made the acquaintance of every seaman on board. One of them, a quartermaster, turned out to be the man who had been washed on shore from the Cassowary. Of course Edward was very much interested, and the man, whom he says is a very respectable steady person, told him that he had taken care of the child, who was his fellow-survivor. Well, the end of it was that Edward went to see the boy, and brought him home with him. He will do those extraordinary things.”

      “Who were the boy’s parents?”

      “No one knows. Coll, the quartermaster, said that there were a great number of steerage passengers on board, and that he remembers seeing a young woman and her husband with this child, whom they called Jim, but what was their name was never ascertained. It was believed that they were newly-arrived emigrants, for no inquiries were made from any quarter about them, and so Coll, who seems to be a very kind man, took the child to his own home, although he has quite a large family, and actually did not want to part with him. Of course, Edward, as usual, went to extremes, and gave the Coll family fifty pounds.”

      “It was a generous action, Lizzie,” said Gerrard gravely, “and shows him to be a good fellow—and a Christian.”

      Mrs Westonley looked at her step-brother in surprise. “But, Thomas, you don’t seem to understand. These Coll people are really very poor—the father, I suppose, earns about seven pounds a month as quartermaster, and there are nine children. I think it was ridiculous of Edward giving them any money at all, considering the fact that he was lightening their cares by taking this boy, Jim, off their hands.”

      “Ah! Lizzie, we don’t know. They may have been very fond of the kid—in fact they must have been, or they would not have kept him for six years, when they could have sent him to the Government Orphanage at Parramatta.”

      “I

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