The Wonder-Child: An Australian Story Page 8

  *CHAPTER VIII*

  *An Atheist*

  'Thou hast made them equal unto us, which have borne the burden and heatof the day.'

  Hermie put her letter and all hopes of rescue together into the kitchenfire.

  Life was an endless drab again.

  She went listlessly out, and stood on the doorstep to look at it.

  Her father did not want her, he had pushed his lunch aside, and biddenher, irritably--he who was so gentle--to leave him to himself.

  Bart, poor grave little Bart, a man at fourteen, was working about theplace. Neither he nor the young ones had gone to school while thefather had been ill. He and Roly had been all the morning beatingmonotonously at a bush fire just across the road. There was noexcitement about it, there seemed little danger; the fire burnedquietly, steadily--it had been burning for two days--but this morning ithad crept to the fences; the boys had been obliged to cut boughs andbeat at it.

  Roly sat on the fence most of the time, and sleepily kept back thecunning yellow tongues from the patch Bart had entrusted to him. Bartwalked up and down, mechanically threshing out the little licking flamesthat longed to curl round the fence.

  Sometimes he left Roly on guard, and went to do necessary work, feed thetwo calves, shed a burning tear over the dying sheep, give Tramby a fewdrops of water.

  Hermie went down to him wearily, a sun-bonnet on her head.

  'There's no danger about the fire?' She looked at it a littleapathetically.

  'Oh no; if there were three of us, we could put it all out. Roly's notmuch use, of course.'

  'Bart, what are we going to do?'

  'For water? Oh, Daly's going to let me have a big cask to-night.You've got half a bucketful still, haven't you? I didn't want to takeTramby out till it was cooler. Reminds me, I must mend the cart--thatold shaft's smashed again.'

  'And when that cask's gone?'

  'Oh, I'll go and get some from old Perry. His well's not half dry, andthere's only himself. But don't you go and be wasteful, Herm--nowashing clothes and that sort of waste.'

  'I want a bath--I want to turn on a tap, and not have to use just adipper or two. All Challis has to do is turn on a tap.' Hermie spokewith a strange bitterness.

  Bart smiled good-humouredly. 'Yes, she's a lucky little beggar,' hesaid. 'My word, if I could have the bath-water she wastes, I'd makethis poor old place look up a bit.'

  He looked round on the desolate acres, looked at them with yearningaffection. He was a quiet-natured boy; he did not call himself unhappy;he would have felt he had nothing left to ask for, had he but aplentiful water supply for the stock and crops, and better tools to workwith, and a little more strength in that young arm of his. Like hismother, he had the knack of doing the thing at hand with all his power,and already he was a far more proficient farmer than his father wouldever be.

  'What are you going to do now?' the girl asked, as he hurried away.'I'll come with you if you like.' Such a hot, patient young face hiswas, it smote her that she seldom heeded him. He looked pleased at herfaint show of interest.

  He showed her the corn, coming up bravely, the wheat patch, not droopingquite as much as it might have done. He pointed to the trees in thelittle orchard. 'In another month or two those apricots and peacheswill be about ripe,' he said; 'make a nice change, won't they?' Hiseyes dwelt lovingly on the green small fruit. 'When the droughtbreaks----'

  'Pshaw!' said the girl.

  'Oh,' the lad said cheerfully, 'it will, one of these days; then we'llgo along grand.'

  He had caught the spirit of patience, of acceptance of ills, from thesettlers about.

  'But the sheep, nothing will give them life again!' The girl's eyesburned.

  The boy had no fortitude against this; he gave a sudden wet glancetowards the far end of the selection.

  'Let's go and see how they're getting on,' he said in a low tone.

  The girl rebelled.

  'No--why?' she said. 'It only makes us miserable, and we can't help.'

  'All right, you go back,' Bart said. 'I'll have to go. I might have tolight another fire.'

  Hermie followed him.

  The sheep crept away from the house to die, once they found no water wasto be had there. They chose to lie down and cease to be at the spotwhere once had been a dam. Patches of ashes showed where Bart had piledwood over the poor carcases and burnt them up, in his wise youngknowledge that the air must be kept pure.

  None were dead to-day, though fifty seemed dying. Half a dozen brownragged little lambs filled the air with piteous outcry.

  Hermie's heart swelled.

  'Can't you do anything?' she said.

  'No,' he said, 'they'll have to go. I've had to give them up, dear. IfI can get water for the house for the next week, I'll be glad. Daly isrunning very short himself.'

  There were footsteps in the bush just near, a panting of breath, acurious dragging sound.

  'Floss,' said Hermie, and remembered for the first time she had not seenher little sister for hours. 'Where can she have been?'

  The child was dragging a bucket. Her face was almost purple with theheat; she had kept her eyes half closed, to shut out the almostunendurable glare, and did not know she was so close to home till shestumbled almost into Bart's arms.

  When she saw Hermie there too, she clung to the handle jealously.

  'It's not for the house,' she said, 'so don't you think it. Let italone, Bart! Bart, if you take it, I'll scratch.'

  Such a fierce little face it was!

  'I'm only going to carry it for you, Chucks,' Bart said. 'You shall dowhat you like with it.'

  'True'n honour?'

  'True and honour.'

  The little girl relinquished her hold, but kept a guarding eye on theprecious fluid.

  'Where did you get it, old girl?' Bart said.

  'Don't tell father?'

  'Why ever not?' said Hermie.

  Floss turned on her vehemently.

  'I took it,' she said. 'Don't care, I'm glad. They've got a whole cask,the greedies, and lots of money, so they can get as much as they like.They get casks from the Bore, and they're sent down in the train, andthey've got a cart to fetch it. They drink it all themselves--pigs!They don't care about the sheep.'

  'Not the Scotts, Floss--you've not been stealing the poor Scotts'water?' cried Hermie, aghast. The Scotts lived in a miserable hut onthe adjoining selection, and were the nearest neighbours.

  Flossie's eyes blazed indignantly.

  'Them!' she said. 'They've got less than us! I got it from those meanmeasuring men.'

  Hermie looked puzzled.

  'She must mean that camp of surveyors down the road,' Bart said. 'It'sa mile away at least. Why, you poor old Flossie, have you been rightdown to that camp for this little drop of water?' He put his disengagedarm over her bony little shoulders.

  Floss caught her breath, and looked unhappily into the half-full bucket.

  'The first one was fuller,' she said, 'but the s-sheep nearly knocked medown to g-get it, and they s-s-spilled it on the g-ground.' Her voiceshook with sorrow for the waste.

  'Twice,' muttered Bart, 'she's been twice, Hermie.'

  They were back among the sheep now, and Bart hardly knew what to do withsuch a drop among so many.

  'This one,' said Floss; 'look at its poor eyes--and that one lying down,and the little lambs, Bartie.'

  Bart put the bucket to the noses of the ones she touched, but had todrag it away before the poor things had half what they wanted.

  A piteous bleat went up from the others.

  'I--I think I'll just get one more,' Floss said, and almost staggered tothe bucket. 'It's quite easy to steal it now; the camp's left all byitself. Oh, I must get one more--look at that one's eyes.'

  But Bart picked her up in his arms, and started back to the house withher.

  'You'll just come and lie down quietly,' he said. 'I never saw anythin
glike your face. You'll be ill like father. Poor little Floss! poorlittle old Floss!'

  'There--there would have been half a bucket more,' said Floss, 'only Inearly fell once, and it s-s-spilled.' She was sobbing on his shoulder,sobbing heart-brokenly, hard little Floss who never cried.

  Hermie took the child from her brother at the door.

  'I'll undress her and sponge her,' she said; 'that will cool her alittle, but I quite expect she will be ill like father. Well, it is allChallis's fault.'

  In an hour Floss lay asleep, the fierce heat of her cheeks a littlefaded, and Hermie's hands were idle again.

  Miss Browne was helping Lizzie to fold the poor rags of clothes from thewash; the father still begged to be left alone; outside Bart and Rolystill threshed monotonously at the fire.

  Hermie went into the tiny bedroom that had been run up for her becausethe house was too small--the bedroom that the mother had been so pleasedto hear was built. She found herself looking in the glass at herself,looking sadly, listlessly.

  She saw a girl, thin, undeveloped, with a delicately cut face, andshadows lying like ink-smears beneath her eyes. Her womanhood wascoming, and she had no strength to meet it; at her age she should havehad rounded limbs and pleasing curves. She seemed to recognise this, asshe gazed unhappily at her angles. Her hair pleased her, for the sunwas making a glory of it; there was a nameless beauty about her facethat she recognised vaguely.

  'I shall never marry,' she sobbed. 'No one ever comes here but thatheavy, stupid Morty. I shall be like Miss Browne in a few more years.I'm getting untidy now--no one can be tidy in clothes like these; Inever care how I do my hair--what is the use, when there is no one tosee it? I've not been to a party or a proper picnic, like the girls inthe book, in all my life. I shouldn't know what to do, if I did go toone. No; I shall grow just like Miss Browne, and it is all Challis'sfault.'

  A portrait of the sweet-faced girl-player hung on the wall. Hermie toreit down from its place and broke it into fragments.

  'I'm just tired to death of seeing you smile!' she muttered.

  Miss Browne came in--Miss Browne, with perspiration on her face and astrand or two of her colourless hair loose. She carried an armful ofHermie's clothes from the wash. 'They are a very bad colour,' she said,'but we cannot blame Lizzie, when there was next to no water. My dear,what is the matter?'

  Hermie did not even wipe the tears from her face; she was sitting still,her hands on her knees, and letting the salt drops trickle drearily downher cheeks.

  Miss Browne took a step towards her, then paused timidly. There hadnever been much intimacy or confidence between them. Hermie, with herinnate love of daintiness and beauty and the hardness of youth, despisedwhile she pitied the poor woman.

  'Is it--anything I can help--your father--Floss--you areanxious--worried?'

  'Oh no,' said Hermie, 'I wasn't thinking of any one but myself.' Sheleaned her head back, and had a sense of pleasure in her rolling tears.'I suppose I'm not much more miserable than usual; but then I expect youare miserable--every one is, I think.'

  'But not in the middle of the day, love,' the lady-help said.

  'Why not?'

  'Oh'--vaguely--'there isn't time, as a rule. One is so busy. It is adifferent thing when you go to bed.'

  'What do you do then,' said Hermie, 'when you are miserable in bed?'

  Miss Browne thought a second. 'I think I say my prayers,' she said.

  'And if that does not cure you?'

  'I say them again.'

  'And if you are still miserable?'

  'I--I think I go to sleep then; one is generally tired.' She spokeapologetically.

  Hermie leaned her head still farther back. 'Saying prayers would nothelp me much,' she said. 'I am an atheist.'

  'What?' screamed Miss Browne.

  'An atheist,' said Hermie. 'It is very comfortable to be one. You haveonly to think about eating and sleeping. Oh dear!'

  She arose languidly and administered water to Miss Browne, who wasgasping alarmingly. 'This room is hot,' she said. 'Go and lie down inyour own. You shouldn't have made me talk, if you didn't want to hearthings. Mind that bit of loose wood at the door.'

  Miss Browne, thus dismissed, went away like a chidden child, but hereyes were full of terror, and her very knees trembled. She groped herway to the sitting-room and poured out the frightful story into Mr.Cameron's ears.

  He made his own way presently to the hot, cramped bedroom. Hermie hadlet her hair down, and was sitting on the edge of the bed surveying herpoor little prettinesses tragically in the looking-glass.

  Her father sat down on the bed beside her, and disclaimed fatigue andheadache and everything else she urged upon him.

  'What is this Miss Browne tells me, little one?' he said, and almostindulgently, so young, slight, and absurd she looked, to be questioningeternity.

  Hermie twisted her wavy hair up into a hard plain knot.

  'I only said I was an atheist,' she said, and her young lips quiveredand her eyes grew wild.

  He put his arm round her.

  'How long have you been feeling like this, childie?'

  She burst into a passion of frightened tears.

  'Since yesterday morning,' she said.

  'Tell me about it,' he whispered.

  She swallowed a few sobs. 'I'm tired of saying prayers, nothing getsbetter--nothing comes. It--it's easy enough to believe in God, if youlive in Sydney and have water laid on--and cool days and money and amother. But out here--oh, He can't expect us to believe in Him!'

  'I think a few of us do,' he said.

  'Us!' she repeated. 'You don't believe anything, do you, father? I'venever heard you say a word. I have thought for long enough you were anatheist too.'

  He took his arm away and moved to the little window; it was almost tenminutes before he turned round and came back to her.

  'Child,' he said, 'sometimes I think my mistakes are too many for me. Ihave nothing to say to you. I dare not even say, Forgive me. Poorlittle child, to have come to such rocks! I should have helped you longago. Only, you see, I had got in the habit of leaving these things tomother.'

  'Mother did not often go to church,' said Hermie discontentedly. 'Idon't remember her talking religion much.'

  'She breathed it instead,' he said; 'she is the best woman in the world,never forget that, Hermie. When we were first married I was full of theyoung university man's talk--brain at war with established doctrines.She never came over weakly to me, as some women might have done, shenever kept spotlessly aloof, indeed, she conceded me freely many of mypoints. But she managed to make it plain to me that all these questionsmattered very little--Christ, and prayer, and love, and doing ourbest--those were her rocks, and waves of dogma washing for ever on themcould not move them.'

  'Did she ever read any of those books of yours--those on the top shelf?'whispered Hermie.

  'Ah,' said Cameron, 'you have been reading those, have you? Oh yes, shewas never afraid to read anything that was written, but shedistinguished between faith and creed. She said she did not try toexplain or understand God, only to believe in Him. She is quite right.It is the hard names, the popular orthodoxies, the iron creeds, thattake the soul and heart and warmth out of religion. When you werelittle, she did nothing more than show you God as your Father, andChrist as your Saviour, to be tenderly loved and obeyed, and gone to forrefuge and comfort.'

  'No,' said Hermie.

  'No; it was her way. She wanted the love of God to be a living thing toyou all--a glad, warm, spontaneous thing, like the love you bore us,only deeper. She would have no lines and rules and analyses of it whileyou were small. It was not a thing she actually spoke about very often,but white hours, find room for themselves at times--on plain Mondays andSaturdays as often as on quiet Sundays, and she had a way of making theinfluence of them run, clear, fresh, pleasant streams through themud-flats of life. Can you realise in any degree what it is to me tofind her daughter with such thoughts, Herm
ie?' His voice was very low.Hermie pulled the pin from the plain tight knob, and let all her hairhide her flushed face again.

  'If--if only I had known you thought like this!' she muttered.

  'Yes,' he said; 'it is a thing I shall never be able to put away from mymind again, that I did not let you know. A man gets in the way ofkeeping quiet things like these to himself, but I should not haveforgotten I had children. I knew Miss Browne was a good woman, whateverher faults, and I felt that I might leave you to her. Don't think I amexcusing myself.'

  'It was not your fault, darling, darling,' Hermie said, and clung tohim; 'but think how miserable we are--all of us, even poor little Floss!How can He forget us like this?'

  Cameron's blue eyes looked out at the blue sky.

  'Not to understand, only to believe. He does not lead us always throughgreen pastures. The severe and daily discipline makes us shrink, nodoubt. But we have to go on.'

  'Oh, darling, I do love you, I do love you!' wept the girl.

  'Tie up your hair, childie, and we will go down and sit among the roses,if any are still alive. I am quite strong enough to walk.'

  He opened the door, and they went out together, and neither looked atthe sky. But here had gathered a brave cloud host, and there anothercontingent came, determined, black-browed, strenuously fighting thelong-victorious sun, desperately clinging together. And over thefainting earth flashed its lights, and through the heavens tore thesudden thunder of its guns.

  And the battle was to it.

  Down came the sweet torrents of the rain, and the cracked, piteous earthlay breathlessly glad and still beneath it. You heard the calves callto their mothers, the surprised whinny of the horses seeking shelter.You saw the sheep struggling to their feet and lapping the wet grasswith swollen tongues.

  You heard the birds making all sorts of new little cries and noises, asthey flew wildly for shelter--birds many of them that had been born andgrown to make nests for themselves, and never known the strangephenomenon of rain.

  You heard the hisses and splutters of the bush fires, as the evil spiritwent out of them.

  You saw a lad come up from them, his beating bough still in his hand,the lines of his young grave face all broken up, and the glad tearsbursting out, to meet the deluge of rain that beat in his face.

  You saw a small girl rushing out half dressed and heedless of thetorrent, for the exquisite pleasure of seeing the sheep drink.

  You saw a woman with thin, blown hair and a drab complexion saying herprayers in her bedroom.

  Down where the roses were just recalled to life, Hermie was clinging toher father, both wet through with the sweet blinding rain.

  'Oh, you didn't believe me, did you?' she cried. 'As if I could--as ifI could! It was just that the dust had got into my heart and choked me.Oh, darling, I never really meant that dreadful thing! Dearest, youdon't think I meant it, do you?' Her tears were gushing out in streams.

  'I never believed it for one moment,' he said, and kissed her, and ledher back to the house.