Books: Mates at Billabong

M >> Mary Grant Bruce (1878 1958). >> Mates at Billabong

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Cecil turned to Norah.

"May I have this?"

"Sorry," Norah said, "I always dance with Jim first."

"P'f!" said Cecil, lightly. "That old brother-and-sister idea is
exploded."

"Not with Jimmy and me," Norah answered. "Why don't you ask Mary? She
can dance awfully well."

"No, thank you," said Cecil, with elevated nose. "I'll watch."

Wally had approached Mrs. Brown, and bowed low.

"Ours, I think?"

"Now, Master Wally, me dancin' days are over," said Brownie. "Go an'
get one of the girls, now, dearie, do!"

"A girl!--when I can get you?" Wally ejaculated. "Not much I" He tucked
her hand into his arm and led her off in triumph.

"Promen-ayde y'r partners!"

Dave turned and nodded to Andy Ferguson, who, with fiddle tucked
lovingly under his chin, was waiting for his signal. He broke into a
march--the time a little shaky, the tune a little old, for the hand that
held the bow was old and shaky, too; but still a march, with a swing to
it that set the feet going at once. The dancers promenaded round the
room in a long procession, led proudly by Wally and Mrs. Brown. At one
end a few men, disappointed in obtaining partners, clustered by the
wall; near them stood Mr. Linton, watching in his grave, pleasant way
that was so like Jim's, with Cecil at his elbow, his delicate face dull
and expressionless. Round and round marched the couples.

"Circular waltz, please!"

The music swung into a waltz without a break, and simultaneously the
march broke into the dance as every man seized his partner by the waist
and began to revolve solemnly and silently. Cecil gaped.

"What on earth is a circular waltz?"

"Blest if I know for certain," replied his uncle, laughing. "Much like
any other waltz--but you mustn't use the middle of the floor. Watch
young Boone."

Dave was keeping an eagle eye on the dancers. For the most part they
were content to gyrate near the wall; but should any more daring couple
approach the unoccupied space in the middle of the room, they were
instantly detected and commanded to return. As Cecil looked, Wally, who
was dancing with a broad grin of sheer happiness on his face, swung his
ponderous partner right across the centre--and was greeted by the
vigilant M.C. with the stern injunction--"Keep circle!" Quite oblivious
that this outbreak had anything to do with him, while Mrs. Brown,
feeling the most miserable of sinners, was far too breathless to
explain, Wally presently repeated his offence, whereupon Boone pulled
him up gravely, and pointed out his enormity to him. The culprit
grinned the more widely, promised amendment, nodded vigorously, and
danced off, Mrs. Brown remaining speechless throughout. Mr. Linton
smothered a laugh in his beard.

Presently the music came to an end. Old Andy put his fiddle down and
looked along the loft with a happy little smile. The dancers stopped,
and Mr. Boone's voice rose sonorously.

"Seats, please!"

At this, each man rushed with his partner to the side of the loft
previously tenanted by the ladies, and deposited her on the long forms
ranged there. Then the men retreated hastily to the other side.

There was no conversation, nor had there been any through the dance. It
seemed that the poetry of motion must suffice for enjoyment.

Norah and Jim, who had been dancing vigorously, pulled up near the
others.

"Did you see me get hauled over the coals?" asked Wally gleefully. He
had placed Mrs. Brown on a seat, and followed the example of his sex in
retreating.

"Rather--we were in fits, behind you!" said Jim. "Was Dave cross?"

"Oh, quite mild; took my assurance that I didn't know I was sinning,
and forgave me like a man and a brother. And why shouldn't a fellow
cross that floor?"

"Goodness knows; but it's a rule. They dance very strictly, and in many
ways more correctly than we do."

"There are two lovely couples," said Wally, gleefully. "They hold each
other firmly round the neck, and they revolve on the space of a
threepenny bit. It's beautiful. May I try that way with you, Norah?"

"No, you mayn't," laughed Norah; "at least, not here. They might think
we were imitating them."

"Curious penetration on their parts!" rejoined Wally. "Well, can you
tell me why lots of the men hold one arm behind their backs?"

"In my young days that was quite ordinary," Mr. Linton put in. "I
always danced that way--and I was remarkably run after," he added,
modestly. Whereat Wally meekly assured him that he thought the practice
a highly desirable one, and had serious thoughts of adopting it
himself.

"I've been looking at the programme nailed up for the musicians," said
Cecil. "There are some dances I never saw--Varsoviana, Circassian
Circle, and Caledonians."

"In the Varsoviana," said Mr. Linton, retrospectively, "I used to
shine."

"Well, they beat US," said his son. "We can't dance 'em; but we look
on. The first two are round dances, and the Caledonians is a square. I
suppose they'd be all right, only they're not taught now."

"And there are no two-steps," said Cecil, in a tone of personal injury.

Jim laughed outright.

"It'd be so much simpler for you if you'd remember you're at what's
commonly known as 'a bush hop'," he said. "You can't expect the last
adornments of a city spree. Anyway, they get more honest fun out of
this than most people do at a Melbourne or Sydney ball."

Cecil looked patient.

"May I have the next dance, Norah?"

"I'm sorry, truly, Cecil, but I've promised it to Murty."

"Oh!" said Cecil. "The next?"

"That's Mick Shanahan's," said Norah, laughing. "But you may have the
one after that if you like."

"I must be thankful for small mercies, I suppose," said he,
unthankfully.

"Won't you dance with any one else?"

"No, thanks, I don't care to." The tone was final.

"Well, I'm going to collar Sarah or die!" said Wally, manfully. "I'll
probably die, anyway, 'cause Fred has his eye on her. Still, here
goes!"

The musicians gave a preliminary blast, on which followed a shout from
the M.C.

"Select y'r partners for the lancers!"

At the word there was a general stampede. Youths who had been timid
before, grown bolder now, dashed towards the long row of girls. Where
more than one arrived simultaneously, there was no argument; the man
who failed to speak first shot off to find another damsel. In a moment
every available fair one had been secured firmly, and the dancers
awaited further commands.

Wally had not waited for permission from Mr. Boone. At the first sound
of the music he had darted towards Sarah, arriving beside the lady with
"the natural friz" a yard in front of Fred Anderson.

It was not etiquette to refuse to dance, and the fact that he was "the
Boss's" guest, if only a boy, carried weight. Sarah rose, with a rueful
glance at her disappointed swain. The two disconsolate faces moved
Wally to compassion.

"I say--I'm awfully sorry," he said. "'Fraid I got ahead of you
unfairly, Fred--perhaps you'll excuse me this time, Sarah? You don't
mind? Well, you'll give me the next, won't you? Thanks, awfully." He
relinquished her to the beaming Fred, and returned, partnerless, to Mr.
Linton and Cecil.

Then it was a marvellous sight to behold young Dave Boone! With Mrs.
Brown on his arm, he "took the floor" at the head of the room, seeing
that the dancers were correctly sorted out in sets; and thence
proceeded to dance and instruct the room simultaneously, in a manner
truly amazing. With what agility did he "set to partner" and "swing
corner," with his eagle eye all the time scanning the sets to make sure
no one mixed up the commands!--how ably bear his part in "First lady and
second gent.," not even put out of step by the necessity of telling the
further end of the room that it was going wrong!--how splendidly issue
the edict to "chassee-crossee" and "gent. solo," finding time, even in
the press of his double occupation, to propel his panting partner in
the way she should go! His voice rang out over the room, indicating
each figure as it came--there was no excuse for making any mistake in a
square dance when Mr. Boone was in command. And all the while he danced
with a wholehearted energy and a face of absolute gravity. No one,
watching him, could have possibly imagined that this was a pastime.

"I've seen Boone looking infinitely more cheerful when fighting a bush
fire!" said Mr. Linton.

"Talk about a conjurer!" was Cecil's astonished comment. "I never saw
one man do so many things at once!"

The music ceased at last, and the "Seats, please!" marked the temporary
termination of the labours of the M.C. Murty brought Norah back to her
father, thanked her gravely, and made off.

"What happened to you, Wally?" queried Jim, restoring a blushing damsel
in blue to her form and rejoining his relations. "Did Sarah turn you
down?"

"I resigned gracefully in favour of Fred," Wally said. "He looked
murderous, and Sarah looked woe-begone, so it seemed the best plan. But
she's mine for the next--and ill befall the caitiff that disputes my
claim!"

"No one'd dare!" said Jim, hastily. "I'm after Brownie, myself."

"Ah, Jim, be steady with her," said Norah. "It's a polka!"

"I'll be steady as old Time," Jim told her, smiling. True to his
promise, when the music began he danced mildly and moderately, and
Brownie emerged from the ordeal in far better order than might have
been expected.

After that the evening flew. Dance after dance went by in rapid
succession--for the guests were out to dance, and where no time is
wasted in talking much may be done with a few hours. Cecil steadfastly
declined any partner but Norah, and as that maiden had no mind to spare
him more than two, his evening was dull, since his sense of humour was
not equal to finding any fun in the entertainment. He was the object of
considerable curiosity among the visitors, and was generally voted
"stuck-up," and "too big for his boots." As for Jim and Wally, they
flung themselves cheerfully into the business of the night, and even
succeeded in making most of their partners talk, albeit this was a
daring proceeding, and not looked upon with favour by the M.C. They
were too popular, however, to come in for any real criticism, and being
regarded by the majority of the men as "just kids," were allowed to do
very much as they liked.

Supper was a majestic meal, spread on long tables in a big tent. Mr.
Linton led the way to it with Mrs. Brown, followed by Mick Shanahan,
who conveyed Norah much in the way he danced with her--as if she were a
piece of eggshell china, and apt to crack with careless handling. There
was no "head of the table"; every one sat in the place that seemed
good, and tongues flew as fast as the knives and forks. At the end Mr.
Linton made a little speech.

"My friends," he said, "it's a great pleasure to Billabong to see you
all here. I hope you'll keep it up till morning, and come again next
year; you're always welcome. However, it is time my daughter went to
bed." (Dissent, and cries of "Not her!") "Before she goes, though, I
would like to see one more dance. I move that our old friend Andy
Ferguson play the 'Royal Irish.'"

There was frantic applause, and supper adjourned hastily, while every
one hurried back to the loft; in the midst old Andy, his quavering
voice a little raised in excitement, his fiddle held firmly in one
hand. "Too old to work," some called him, wondering why David Linton
kept the old fencer, when younger men were always wanting work on
Billabong; and now, as he faced the long room with his faded blue eyes
a little misty, Andy looked an old man indeed. But the pride of work
was in him, and his master knew it--knew how the gnarled hands ceased to
tremble when they grasped the adze and mattock, just as there was now
no quiver in them as he raised the brown fiddle and cuddled it under
his chin. Age would seize on Andy only when he could work and play no
more. The light came back into his eyes as he saw the boys and girls
waiting for the music--his music.

He drew the bow lovingly across the strings, and swung into the Irish
dance the old, common tune with the little gay lilt to it that grips
the heart and makes the feet beat time, and has the power to wake old
memories across the years. There were no memories to wake in the happy
young hearts in the loft at Billabong that night. But Andy looked over
the heads of the dancers at his master, meeting his eyes as man to man,
and each knew that the mind of the other had gone back to days long
dead.

The long floor echoed under the dancers' feet--up and down, swing in the
centre, hands across; the pace was always a good one when Andy Ferguson
played the "Royal Irish." One foot tapped out the time, and his grey
head nodded in sympathy with it. They called to him now and again,
"Bravo, Andy! Good man, Andy! Keep it going!" and he smiled at the
friendly voices, watching them with the keenness of the Irishman for a
light foot in a dance.

Just before him, Mrs. Brown, dancing with Jim, was footing it in and
out of the figures like a girl, holding her skirts quaintly on either
side as she advanced and retired, and came back to sweep a curtsey that
shamed the quick bow of the younger generation, while the tall lad she
had nursed waited for her with a grave gentleness that sat prettily on
his broad shoulders. Near, too, the old man's eyes dwelt lovingly on
Norah, whose eyes were dancing in time with her feet as Wally pranced
her madly up and down, his own brown face glowing.... just for a moment
Andy saw "the little mistress" who had known her baby for so brief a
time fourteen years before; her face looked at him through her child's
grey eyes. He looked across at his master again, a little wistfully.

The tune broke into "St. Patrick's Day," and Murty O'Toole gave a
sudden involuntary shout, his hand above his head, Mick Shanahan echoed
it; the Irish music was in their blood, and the old man with the brown
fiddle had power to make them boys again. He, too, had gone back on the
lilt of the tune; back to his own green country, where the man with the
fiddle has his kingdom always, and the lads and lasses are his
subjects. There was a girl with blue Irish eyes, coming to meet him on
St. Patrick's morning... the tune wavered ever so little then, as his
heart cried out to her. Then the dream passed, and he knew that he was
a boy no more, but old Andy Ferguson, playing for the boys and girls in
the loft at Billabong. The bow moved faster and faster yet--only a good
pair could see him right through the "Royal Irish." They were panting
when he dropped his hand at last and stood looking at them a little
vaguely. Then they crowded round him, thanking him. Even the Cunjee
musicians were saying that he could beat them all, and Miss Norah had
put her hand into his, and was patting his arm. There was a mist before
him--he could not see them all, though he knew his triumph.

"'Tis wid the kindness of all of y'," he murmured. "So good to me y'
all are!"

David Linton's hand was on his shoulder.

"Come on, old friend," he said, gently; "we're getting old and we're
tired, you and I." He led him away, Norah still holding his hand.
Behind them the music broke out again, cheerily, and the flying feet
made the loft echo until the dawn.

CHAPTER X

CHRISTMAS

O mellow air! O sunny light!
O Hope and Youth that pass away,
Print thou in letters of delight
Upon each heart one glorious day!
G. ESSEX EVANS.

Norah woke up early.

Close outside her open windows a magpie in the magnolia tree was
carolling as though he knew it was a special morning, and that he had a
special message to deliver. The linen blinds were rolled tight up, and
she could see him near one of the great creamy blossoms, each big
enough for his bath; his black and white coat very spruce and smart,
his head thrown back in utter enjoyment of his own song. Norah smiled
at him sleepily from her pillow.

"Nice old chap!" she said; and then she remembered.

"Oh!--Christmas." She gave a little happy laugh, for to-day was going to
be such a very good day. There was something that had taxed all her
patience; it was so hard to keep the secret until Christmas. Norah was
not a very patient person by nature, and she was glad that the need for
it was almost over.

She turned over lazily, and then burst out laughing as something caught
her eye at the foot of the bed--a huge football stocking, assuming
extraordinary shapes by reason of strange packages within it, while
from the top a monkey on a stick grinned at her. Norah jumped up and
brought the stocking back to bed for examination, weak with laughter
when she had finished. A big box of chocolates; a scarlet Christmas
cracker; a very flowery mug of thickest china, with "Love the Giver" on
it, and tied to the handle a label with "For a Good Little Girl" in the
best handwriting of Wally, who evidently considered it not sufficiently
adorned by nature; a live frog in a glass-covered box; a huge bundle,
which took her many minutes to unwrap, and was finally found to contain
a tiny pig of Connemara marble; a Christmas pudding the size of a golf
ball; and finally, in the very toe, a minute bottle labelled "Castor
Oil; Seasonable at Any Time."

"Oh, you NICE donkeys!" said the recipient of these varied gifts, lying
back and investigating the chocolates. A sound at the window made her
look up, and Jim's laughing face peeped round the curtain.

"Like 'em?"

"They're lovely," said Norah, fervently. "Come in, Jimmy, you old
duffer. Merry Christmas!"

Jim came in, immensely tall and lean in his pyjamas, and sat down on
the bed.

"Merry Christmas, old kid!" he said, and kissed her. "Taken your oil?"

"Pudding first--and chocolates," said Norah, solemnly, indicating the
box. "Take lots, Jim, they're beauties. How did you get that thing into
my room?"

"Waited until I could hear your cheerful snores, and then sneaked in by
the window," said her brother, dodging a chocolate. "My best stocking;
I think I was jolly good to lend it to you--you'll kindly notice that
the frog's box tore a hole in it, and take steps accordingly! It's a
ripping morning--but it's going to be hot. Do you know what time it is?"

"I don't," said Norah.

"Five o'clock," said Jim; "isn't it ridiculous!--and you wide awake and
playing with pigs and frogs! I'm off to bed again for a bit--besides,
young Wally's bursting to know how you liked your sock. Go to sleep
again, old chap."

"I'll try," said Norah, obediently, snuggling down, "Take some
chocolates to Wally--and the castor oil!"

At the moment Norah was quite convinced that sleep was the last thing
possible for her, and merely laid down to please Jim, just as she would
cheerfully have endeavoured to jump over the moon had he expressed any
wish in that direction. Thus she was considerably surprised on waking
up two hours later to hear the dressing gong pealing through the house.
Further off came the cheerful voices of Jim and Wally on their way to
the lagoon. Cecil preferred the bath in the house, saying that he
considered it cleaner, which remark had incensed Norah at the time. But
they were learning not to worry about Cecil's remarks, but to regard
him with a kind of mild toleration, as one who "could not help it."

Norah tore in haste to the bath, and returning made a speedy toilet;
breakfast was to be half an hour later than usual, but still there was
much to do. Her gifts to the men's quarters had gone over the night
before, in charge of Mrs. Willis; still there were parcels for the
girls in the house, together with the envelopes containing cheques for
them, which Mr. Linton always gave into Norah's care, and of course
Brownie's gifts, besides the nearer and dearer excitement of the
breakfast table. To the latter she attended first, scattering parcels
at each plate before any one else arrived on the scene. Then she raced
off, just escaping in the hall Jim, who immediately put his hands
behind him and began to whistle with great carelessness. Jim was a man
of tact.

Mrs. Brown, narrowly watching some fried potatoes, heard flying
footsteps, and turned to receive Norah bodily.

"Merry Christmas, Brownie, dear!" said the breathless one. She hung
over the stout shoulders a tiny shawl of softest white wool.

"It's only a shawl-let," Norah explained, "just for when you feel the
summer evenings get cool, you know."

"An' you made it, my precious!"

"Why, of course," said Norah, lifting her brows; "do you think I'd buy
it, when you taught me to knit? Ah, Brownie, I'm having such a good
time!"

"Look at me!" said Mrs. Brown, sitting down in rapture, and forgetting
her frying pan entirely. "This lovely shawl--an' your Pa's cheque--and
here's even Master Wally brung me down a cap, an' Master Jim--don't 'e
always think!--a frame with the photer 'e took of you an' your Pa, an'
it's sollud silver, no less, if you'll believe me, an' then it's none
too good for the photer, but the dear lamb knew wot I'd like more than
anything on earth! Of all the loving--kindest children--" At this point
Brownie's feelings overcame her, and she sniffed and, inhaling a threat
of burnt potato, rushed to conceal her emotions over the stove.

Sarah and Mary felt delighted with the pretty collars Mrs. Stephenson
had chosen for Norah in Melbourne; the daughter of the house
encountered Jim returning from the back regions, with a broad smile on
his brown face. Jim's invariable gift to Lee Wing was a felt hat, and
as the Celestial still wore the one first given, eight Christmases
before, it was popularly supposed that the intermediate half-dozen went
to support his starving relatives in China! Lee Wing had never
mentioned the existence of any starving relatives, but Wally said it
was well known that all Chinese gardeners had them--speaking, as Norah
remarked, as though it was a new complaint, like measles or mumps!

"You didn't give Wing another hat, Jim?" queried his sister.

"I did, though," returned Jim, firmly. "Asked him at midwinter what
he'd have, and he grinned and said, 'Allee same hat!' So he got it--a
lovely green one!"

"Jim!--not green! For Lee Wing!"

"There weren't any other colours left," said Jim; "next year it would
have had to be pale blue! He took it with a heavenly smile, and looked
at it all over inside and out; then he looked down at his feet, and I
beheld his toe sticking out of his boot. He didn't say 'Thank you' at
all. What he did say was 'Nex'-Clis'mas-socks,' all in one word, and
you couldn't have widened his smile without shifting his ears further
back!"

"Merry Christmas, Norah, asthore!" said a cheerful voice, and Norah
turned to greet Wally. So Wally had to hear the story of Lee Wing all
over again, and they were laughing over it when Mr. Linton came out on
the verandah, pausing in the doorway a moment to look at the slender
figure in the blue frock, with white collar and tie, and the tall lads
in white flannels beside her.

Three greetings flashed at him simultaneously as he came into view.

"Merry Christmas, every one!" he said, one hand on his small daughter's
shoulder. "Going to be a hot Christmas, too, I believe. Where's Cecil?"

"Coming," said that gentleman, exchanging good wishes with a languid
air. "Sorry to be late, but I couldn't open the bathroom door."

Wally started.

"Good gracious, was it you in there?" he asked anxiously. "I thought it
was Norah--and we wanted her out of the way at the moment, so I
barricaded the door! Then I saw her afterwards, so I reckoned she'd got
out all right, and I never bothered to take down the barricade. I'm
awfully sorry!"

Every one laughed but Cecil, who saw nothing humorous in having been
obliged to climb through the bathroom window, and said so with point.

"I'm a fearful ass, truly," said Wally, with contrition. "Norah, you've
no need to laugh like a hyena--you ought to have been there, if you
weren't!"

"That's why I laugh," Norah explained kindly. "Never mind, it's
Christmas--and there's breakfast!"

It was the gong, but not breakfast. Mrs. Brown knew better than to send
in the porridge with the gong on Christmas morning. Instead, the table
was heaped with parcels, a goodly pile by every plate.

"What an abominable litter!" said Mr. Linton, affecting displeasure.
"Norah, kindly oblige me by getting those things out of your way. How
are you going to eat breakfast?"

"You're as bad as I am, Daddy!"

"Dear me!" said her father. "I seem to be. Well, yours is decidedly the
most untidy, so you had better begin."

They watched the eager face as Norah turned to her bundles. Books from
Cecil and his mother; warm slippers made by Brownie; a halter
exquisitely plaited from finest strips of hide by Murty O'Toole, the
sight of which brought the whole gathering to Norah's side; from Wally
a quaint little bronze inkstand, and from Jim the daintiest horse rug
that Melbourne could produce, made to fit Bobs, with a big scarlet B in
one corner, and Norah's monogram in the other. "Not that he needs it
just now," Jim explained, as Norah hugged him--"but a store's no sore,
as Brownie'd say!" Last, a tiny velvet case, which concealed a brooch--a
thin bar of gold with one beautiful pearl. Norah did not need the slip
of paper under it to know it came from Dad.

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