‘Possum

Chapter VI A Day in the Country

The sun was streaming through a threadbare yellow blind when Aileen Macleod awoke next morning. For a moment, dazed with sleep, she wondered what had happened—surely Julia was very late in bringing tea! Then memory came to her, and, with it, the realization that, for the first time in her life, food depended upon her own exertions. Simultaneously came the conviction that never before had she wanted morning tea so much.

She slipped out of bed. Garth and her husband were still sound asleep, but from outside came a clatter of buckets that gave hope that Horrors was astir. The thought of the bath called her. But on examination, the plunge-bath proved to possess an encrusted layer of dirt that defied cold water, and effectually robbed her of any craving to use it. The basin provided minor ablutions—the pillow-case was still damp from its midnight use, but its cleanliness, even though moist, was pleasant. Everywhere that she looked the pitiless daylight revealed dirt which the kindly candle-end had hidden the night before. She drew the skirts of her pretty dressing-gown more closely about her as she went back along the narrow passage towards the locked front door. She threw it open and went out upon the veranda.

Before her was loveliness of which she had not dreamed.

The house stood on a little hill, which sloped gently away at the back, and, in front, shelved more steeply down to where a glimpse of blue water showed. Like a river, it wound away among the hills until it was lost to sight: now narrow, now widening almost to a baby lake. Beyond were hills clothed with gum trees and wattle, stretching to the far distance; but nearer, she looked down into an exquisite fern gully, where splendid tree-ferns flung their fronded crests high into the air, and smaller fern-growths nestled about their stems. The plash of a tiny waterfall told of a stream running through it, to empty itself in the lake. Nearer, the hills were low and rounded, their fresh greenness a delight to tired city eyes.

No other houses were visible. It was as though they owned all the sweet countryside that stretched about the little cottage. On a far rise she could see knots of sheep, like dots of white wool upon the green; but before her no living thing moved, and there was only the still peace of hill and valley and curving lake. There had been fear in her heart—the fear born of inexperience and ignorance, the dread that the task she had shouldered would prove too hard for her. But it died as she looked out across the paddocks. In fancy she saw Garth running on the hills: growing strong and rosy, losing the pinched, tired look, and the blue circles under his eyes. With that dear vision in her heart, nothing else could matter.

She went back to her room. Garth was sitting up in bed, frankly bewildered.

“Hallo, Mother!” he said. “Did I go to sleep in my clothes?”

“You did,” said his mother, beginning to brush her hair with swift strokes. “You were quite too tired last night to worry about pyjamas and sheets, sonnie.”

“I don’t remember a thing about it,” said Garth. “I say, isn’t this a queer room?”

“Oh, rooms don’t count,” Aileen answered. “You won’t think about them when you see what a country we have come to. It’s just lovely, Garth. Green paddocks—and gullies—and blue water!”

“Glory!” said Garth, and tumbled out of bed: a quaint figure in crumpled shirt and trousers. He ran to the window. “Oh-h, Mother!”

“Are you two discovering Gippsland?” asked a sleepy voice.

“Yes. Get up, lazy one, and discover it too,” said Aileen.

“You forget that I explored it before kindly bringing you here,” answered her husband, turning more comfortably on his pillow. “Aren’t you grateful to me?” He suddenly regarded her with amazement. “Why are you doing your hair in that small, hard bun?”

Aileen skewered the bun in question with a final careful hairpin.

“There is going to be an amount of dust raised in this house to-day that will make up for the years during which it has never seen a spring-cleaning,” she answered. “And my hair is clean. So I screw it in a bun, and presently I shall also tie it in one of your largest handkerchiefs. Then I shall sally forth and attack our new home with a broom.”

“To do which, you must be fed,” said Tom, getting up with a quick movement and disappearing towards the bathroom.

“How he’ll hate that wet pillow-case!” Aileen murmured. Inspiration came to her, and she dived into a trunk, which, after a moment’s rummaging, revealed a large brown towel. Thrust in at the bathroom door, this induced gasping sounds of gratitude.

The newspaper tablecloth of last night did duty for breakfast also; and breakfast was eggs, boiled over a spirit-lamp, and tea, which Tom brewed in the kitchen. Garth, delighted at what he regarded as a huge picnic, trotted here and there, helping and hindering with equal enthusiasm.

“I’ve made a tour of the house,” Aileen said, manipulating an enormous brown tea-pot; “and I want to map out our plan of campaign. What are you going to do?”

“Help you, until the place is clean,” said her husband, looking at her. She was an unfamiliar Aileen, in a blue overall, short and workmanlike, and with her tightly-screwed hair. Tom came to the conclusion that he liked it. “What do we do first?”

“Good housewives, I have always read, begin by setting their kitchen in order,” she answered. “But I think I would rather have clean bedrooms first; and I propose to ignore the kitchen. It’s dirtier than all the rest of the house put together, and I feel that it will keep. If we could set up the oil-stove in the lobby we could boil kettles and things there. I brought an enormous piece of cooked corned-beef, so we shan’t need to cook.”

“First-rate idea,” said Tom approvingly. “What about the kid? Does he eat corned-beef?”

“There’s a cold chicken for him,” said his mother. “Also meat jelly, in a jar: I trust it’s not broken by that unholy bumping last night of Mr. Smith’s express wagon. What does Horrors do to earn his living, Tom?”

“He’s supposed to do what he is told; but under Gordon he seems to have done very much what he liked,” Tom answered. “He milks three cows, and feeds pigs and calves and fowls; and cuts wood, and draws water—no, he doesn’t, there are taps, praise the pigs! He’s just an odd-job boy—and quite at your disposal. His not to reason why!”

“He might do some of the rougher work, and the scrubbing,” Aileen said. She knitted her brows. “I do feel so stupid—I don’t know where to begin!”

“I don’t blame you, with a house in what my old nurse used to call a dirty uproar,” said her husband. “Let’s hurl everything out of one front room on to the veranda and clean things there. Then we’ll clean the room, and put the clean things back into it, and then we’ll sit down in the clean midst of everything and smirk at the result. We shan’t be clean, ourselves, by that time, but that’s a detail. If we do that every day for a week you won’t know our mansion!”

“It sounds a good plan,” said Aileen enthusiastically. “Come on, and we’ll begin.” She reached the door, and then turned back, laughing.

“I quite forgot that if we didn’t clear away the breakfast things, nobody would!” she said. “I must wash up.”

“I’ll help you, Mother,” said Garth eagerly.

“Will you, sweetheart? Well, you can dry the things. And Tom, if you could get Horrors, you and he might begin the hurling-out of the furniture. Where is Horrors, by the way?”

“When I last saw him, he had eaten five eggs, and was beginning a sixth!” said her husband. “If he feels well enough, which seems doubtful, I’ll get him at once. I’ll fill the kettle for you. Don’t go into the kitchen more than you can help, for it is in every sense a place of horrors. I saw fully five thousand cockroaches there last night.”

“Ugh!” shuddered Aileen.

“Don’t worry. I’m told that it’s only at night that ‘the rogues come out to play,’” said he. “We’ll poison them when we come to attack the kitchen. They must have been great company for that boy in the long evenings—we mustn’t grudge him lively society!”

“What’s cockroaches?” asked Garth, greatly interested. “I never saw one.”

“I trust not,” said his mother hastily. “Never mind them—we must get to work, sonnie.”

There were evil rags in the kitchen that had done duty as dish-towels, and which Aileen, having sniffed gingerly, lifted on the point of a stick and conveyed to the fire. There was also a dish-pan so encrusted with the remains of many washings that she decided to use a wash-hand basin. There were the shelly remnants of Horrors’ breakfast—which it seemed best to leave for his own disposal. Finally, having discovered that when cockroaches are sufficiently tame and prosperous they do not always shun the daylight, she seized the kettle and, shuddering, fled, leaving both doors open, that fresh air might remove some of the more obtrusive odours of Horrors’ sitting-room. Later, she found that this plan had led to the intrusion of a large family of fowls and several half-wild cats. In the hope that some of these visitors might care for eating cockroaches, she forebore to disturb them.

It was a strange day for a woman who had never before done an hour’s hard work. Throughout her life she had known only ease and dainty comfort; now she found herself plunged into dirt and squalour, with no skilled aid, and handicapped by utter inexperience. It was the inexperience that almost angered her as the hours went on. By nature she was practical enough—it was hurting to her pride to make stupid mistakes that must be paid for by more hard work. She scrubbed a room without thinking of cleaning the walls and ceiling—which, when examined, yielded so much grime that her fastidiousness forthwith scrubbed the defiled floor again. Tom was greatly annoyed with her when he found her on her knees, wielding the scrubbing-brush anew. But at least there was comfort in having done the job thoroughly.

Horrors, as a scrubber, proved an utter failure. Tom said he “took the rough off”; but Aileen, looking at pools of filthy water which seemed to have flung up waves of dirt, decided that his methods were hopeless, and—when Tom was out of the way—went over the work again herself, and made the discovery that scrubbing is not so easy as it looks, and that it carries possibilities of backache undreamed of before. Indeed, as the day wore on, a thousand aches seemed situated in her back, and her shoulders grew so stiff that she could scarcely raise her arms. Like all enthusiastic beginners, she tried to do too much, and paid the penalty.

Yet throughout the hard day she was never unhappy. The work brought its own reward in the delight of feeling cleanliness about her again; and it was something to be working together, uniting their efforts in making the new home. Garth’s happy face, as he appeared from time to time at a window, full of joyful tidings of new discoveries outside, was a never-failing tonic. And Tom was the best of mates; ignorant as herself, and much more unpractical, but full of energy, and with a joke always on his lips. Garth’s voice singing, as he roamed in the garden, mingled with his father’s, singing also, to the accompaniment of much rattling and banging, as he unpacked and erected the new oil-stove. It made her want to sing herself—only that her back ached too much.

They lunched in a scrappy fashion, very late which was foolish; and, having lunched late, let afternoon tea go altogether, which was more foolish still. They had yet to learn that hard work, without sufficient food, does not pay. Aileen was finishing bed-making, in a room that fairly smelt of cleanliness, when Tom appeared in the doorway.

“Six o’clock; and that’s the last stroke of work you do this day,” said he firmly. “Come and eat things: I’ve made an enormous pot of tea, and Garth has laid the table.”

“How lovely! and what dears you both are!” she said, turning, and smiling at him. Then suddenly the room began to turn round, slowly at first, and then faster, and she was falling through space.

It seemed a very long while, though it was but a few moments, before she opened her eyes, to find herself on her bed, with Tom bending over her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “I’m all right, Tom—let me get up.” She struggled to rise.

“Lie still, dear,” he said anxiously.

“Did I faint?—how silly of me!” she said disgustedly. “I’m so sorry; I must have frightened you.”

“I’m glad I caught you,” he said. “Isn’t there some medicine I could give you? Sal volatile, or something? Tell me where to look.”

Colour was coming back to her lips. She began to laugh.

“Oh, I don’t want any medicine,” she answered. “I haven’t got any, either—you know I never faint, Tom. It’s too stupid of me to do it now. I was only a little tired—and I think the idea of tea overcame me!”

“Keep quiet, then, and I’ll bring you a cup,” he said, disappearing. He was back in a moment, cup in hand, and made her lean against him as she drank it.

“That was lovely!” she said, lying back. “Oh, I’ve such a heavenly feeling of laziness, and of course, I must nip it in the bud! I’m all right now, Tom, and so hungry. Come along.”

“Sure you are?” he said, regarding her doubtfully as she got up. “Well, don’t go tumbling about like that any more: it scares one.” He held her arm as they went along the narrow passage to the dining-room, and kept a wary eye upon her throughout the meal. Being well aware of this, she forced herself to be extremely merry, despite thee fact that red-hot knives seemed to be running in and out of her shoulders.

“It’s just the beautifullest place that ever was!” Garth said, blissfully looking up from his bowl of bread and milk. “There’s lovely sheds, and a big bench with tools—they’s rustier than your tools, Daddy!—and a stable, and such a jolly loft, with hay in it, and rats!”

“It sounds a jolly place,” said his father. “Are there more rats than hay, or vice versa?”

“I didn’t see any—-any of those things you said,” answered Garth, slightly puzzled. “Do they run about?”

“Not as a rule,” said Tom gravely. “Never mind; I dare say there are none. But are there many rats?”

“I only saw three, but I heard lots.” Garth’s tone was hopeful. “And Bran was awful excited. He couldn’t get up the ladder, but he raced about down below, and barked like fun. Do you think you could carry him up to-morrow, Daddy? I tried, but it’s a very steep ladder, and he wriggled.”

“And who said you could climb up steep ladders?” asked his mother.

“But I couldn’t have got up into the loft if I hadn’t,” said her son.

“That seems to settle it,” said Tom, beginning to laugh. “We’ll have to get used to these things, I suppose.”

“I suppose so,” Aileen agreed. “We really don’t want a prim suburban son now. Only make me one promise, Garth, to keep my old mind easy—don’t go near the water until Daddy has time to teach you to swim.”

“I did go, to-day,” confessed her son, “but I won’t again. You’ll teach me pretty quick, won’t you, Daddy? And can I go near the little creek in the gully? It’s the littlest ever—I can jump across it anywhere.”

“Oh, we can leave you the gully,” Aileen answered. “And we’ll make a swimmer of you just as soon as we can. Every one finished? Then we’ll go and look at our work.”

The house reeked pleasantly of soap and turpentine, and, so far as was possible, it shone. It had been fortunate for the workers that Mr. Gordon’s furniture was both simple and scarce, and so had economized cleaning. They had arranged it to more advantage in the bare little rooms, and already they were homelike, though lacking as yet the smallest pretence at adornment. The cretonne petticoats had been ruthlessly torn from the packing-case dressing-tables, the shelves and tops of which were modestly covered, for the present, with newspapers. Gay Indian bedspreads lent a touch of colour to the prevailing dinginess of the brown walls and linoleum-covered floors of the two front rooms.

“Don’t you feel a holy glow that we took up those linoleums?” Tom asked.

“When I think of what was under them, I do!” rejoined his wife grimly.

The lobby was still a scene of wild unpacking; but in the third bedroom, a tiny apartment off the dining-room, the American oil-stove stood in all its bravery of black paint and bright blue enamel, the glass door of the oven shining invitingly. A copper kettle simmered over the flame: on nails on the wall hung Aileen’s aluminium pots and pans. A rough shelf held an imposing stack of cookery books, flanked by a big pile of dish towels.

“It does look jolly!” Garth said. “When are you going to begin to cook, Mother?”

“As soon as I have a clean house,” Aileen answered. “To-morrow we’ll have to attack that awful store-room: and I foresee heart-to-heart talks with Horrors on the subject of milk buckets. His look as if they were washed about once a month. Tom, how lovely you’ve made the bath!”

The tin sides of the bath fairly winked at them as they entered the little bathroom.

“Seeing that I used gallons of boiling water and about half a ton of soda to it, I should think it ought to look lovely,” said Tom. “I doubled myself into the thing for so long that when I finally emerged, I thought I’d never straighten myself!” His eyes twinkled. “What a heap there is in housekeeping one never suspected! I’ve regarded Julia and Annie as quite ordinary people for years, but now they strike me as rather more than human!”

“But is you two people always going to work?” asked a small voice. “Nothin’ else at all?”

Garth’s father and mother exchanged glances over his head.

“Poor man! He has never seen us do anything but play!” Aileen murmured. She patted his head. “We’ll have to work a good deal, sonnie, but there will be time for quite a lot of fun, too. That has simply got to be arranged. And to begin with, I think it’s high time you showed me things outside. It’s disgraceful to have come to a new home and not to have put one’s nose out all day. And outside is so much lovelier than inside!”

“It just is—ever so much,” Garth cried. “Come along! I wonder will the pigs have gone to bed!”

“Sure you’re not too tired?” Tom asked, a little anxiously.

“I will be less tired if I go,” she said. “He hasn’t had us for a moment all day.”

They went out together, but at the door Tom turned back.

“Go on,” he said, “I want my pipe: I’ll catch you up.”

He watched them stray off into the twilight. Then he went to the forgotten tea-table, cleared it, and washed the dishes. He did it very badly, and with a great deal of mess, never having washed dishes before; but no one who saw him as he worked would have judged the work hardly. Having finished, he wiped up the mess—of which there was a good deal—with a clean towel, surveyed the result with pride, and strode forth to find his family.

“You’ve been ever so long!” Garth complained. “Whatever have you been doing, Daddy?”

“Just playing round,” said Tom. “What a mercy the pigs aren’t in bed!”