# The Author's Daughter/Chapter 12

CHAPTER XII.
A PEEP AT BULLETIN AND HIGHLANDS.
Mr. Lufton had had some information with regard to the projected journey of Allan, Amy, and Isabel from Branxholm to Gundabook, and they had not been far on their way when they met him. He came to press them to make his house a resting-place for one night, as, though it.was a little out of the direct road, a night's lodging for ladies was a thing to be manoeuvred for, and he would be only too happy to return in some small measure the great hospitality he had often received from the Lindsays. Mr. Prince, the former tutor at Mr. Hammond's, was on a visit at Mr. Lufton's station at Bulletin, and he thought the young people would like to see him. The invitation was cheerfully accepted by them. Isabel in particular was very anxious to see the house that so many young ladies had declined to share with such a gentleman as Mr. Lufton. It ​was a short stage of their journey, but they could make up for it afterwards.
On their arrival they found that they were not the only visitors. A party of wandering photographers had been making a bush tour, stopping at each station and taking views and portraits at every resting-place. It was the first time that the art had penetrated so far, and consequently the artists had met with the most hospitable entertainment and obtained large orders in the district. Mr. Lufton was delighted to see them; he had long wished for a faithful representation of his primitive dwelling to send home to his relatives in England, and he rode hastily forward when he saw the apparatus standing in front of his house to welcome the proprietors of it. When the photographers saw the party approaching they were greatly struck with the beauty and grace of Amy Staunton as she appeared on horseback.
"There never could be a better . picture than that would make," said the elder of the two.
"Let us take, at least, this young lady on horse-back; the horse, too, is a pretty creature, and the tout ensemble will be beautiful. All bush ladies should have at least one portrait taken on horse-back."
"Oh! Allan," said Isabel, "is not this a ​chance? Let us be taken now all of us, and leave our likenesses with Jessie; she will be so pleased to get them."
"That is to say if they are ﬁnished in time," said Allan; "but I think it a very good opportunity."
"It must be done," said Mr. Lufton, "'and done at once." So the apparatus was adjusted, and the likeness of Amy taken on the spot.
"It should have been taken at Branxholm, though," said Allan, a little disappointed, "just by the willow-tree, instead of here on this bare plain, with only two scraggy gum-trees in the distance; but oh! it is very like you, Amy. We must have more than one for Jessie now that it is so successful I must have one for myself."
"And of course I must have one," said Mr. Lufton, "as it is on my premises that it is taken, and those two scraggy gum-trees, as you irreverently call them, are my especial landmarks."
"I wonder you don't plant," said Allan, while Isabel was settling herself for the important operation. "I'm sure you could have as fine a garden as we have, and as handsome willows too if you made use of your water privileges."
"Then you know you could always have a ​willow to hang your harp on," said Isabel, saucily; "it would be so convenient."
"You've spoiled it now," said the photographer; "did not I tell you not to speak or move till I gave you leave?"
"I could not help it," said Isabel; "I'll do better next time. But, Allan, you must tryste them to come to our place, and I hope my father and mother will get taken as well as the house, only I doubt we'll not be home to urge it. Write a letter to send by them," continued Isabel. "I suppose I've spoiled this one too, but it came into my head."
A third attempt was more successful, though it was not by any means so striking a picture as Amy's. "It will do," said Allan. "I think your Prince Charlie is rather better than Amy's Brownie; but that's maybe because one does not look so much at the horse in this picture."
"As a work of art," said the photographer,"I never did anything so much to my liking as that. I quite congratulate myself on the idea, and I think I have done justice to my subject."
Mr. Lufton declared that both idea and execution were admirable; he had never seen Amy look so charming before. After all it was only brother and sister attachment between her and Allan. She spoke of the beautiful present he ​had given her very frankly, and was delighted to see how well the habit and hat came out in the photograph. Indeed, she seemed more engrossed by the likeness being carried out in these things and on Brownie than by the representation of her own face, which was more interesting to her friends.
Then Allan got his portrait taken, and last of all Mr. Lufton, and as a ﬁnal proceeding the whole party was photographed, with Mr. Prince standing at the door to welcome them to Bulletin Station. The derivation of the name Mr. Lufton hoped would be lost in the spelling he had given it, for he had tried hard, but ineffectually, to change it altogether; but in old time there had been a precious waterhole close to the site of the house, and some kind Christian had fastened an old soup-and-bouilli tin (which had been emptied, perhaps, in the Katherine Stewart Forbes, or some such early-dated colonial arrival) to a saplin that grew near by a strong piece of twine.
The waterhole and the bouilli-tin had been a landmark on the overland route from New South Wales when the country had been ﬁrst stocked, and many a pipe had been smoked and quart-pot of tea boiled near those scraggy gum-trees by the rough-and-ready overlanders in old times. ​The name, therefore, was so pertinaciously adhered to after the original cause of it had long been worn out, that all Mr. Lufton could do was to alter the spelling, and his mother and sisters at home thought it rather a euphonious and almost classical name compared to others in Australia that they had heard mentioned.
Mr. Prince, since the departure of the Hammonds, had led a wandering life among the neighbouring sheepfarmers, who were very glad of the company of an idle educated man who liked a little sport, and who could take a hand at picquet or whist in the evenings. Mr. Prince had heard a good deal about the Lindsays and their guest, but had never happened to meet them before. He was struck with the tall, handsome, powerful young Scotchman, with his capacious forehead, his gracious expression, and his great natural dignity. If Amy .had improved in her appearance since her arrival at Branxholm, Allan had also gained much. As his mind had opened and his thoughts had been directed to other things than the daily work which he still did faithfully and well, his expression had softened, and his whole countenance and bearing had become less countriﬁed. But Allan always looked best at home in his own house among his own avocations; and now when Mr. Lufton was ​full of the little attentions of hospitality to his fair guests, pressing upon them every sort of refreshment, and sure that they were dreadfully tired; and when Mr. Prince, who had been captivated by that indescribable air and manner which he had seen once in his life and suffered from too, eagerly entered into conversation with Amy about her father and his writings, and books, and publishers, and particular editions, Allan sat in the background with nothing to do, and nothing to say.
He had hitherto been the only person to whom Amy had talked of her father. It had been to them a sacred subject, approached reverently and tenderly; but here was this stranger common talk of it, quoting a passage now and then, shewing the delicate sense of humour, the playful and exquisite wit, the harmless satire that the old Palladium critic had been noted for, and Amy did not seem hurt or displeased, but, on the contrary, enjoyed it. Mr. Lufton grew more animated than Allan had ever seen him before. Mr. Twyford, the elder photographer, if he did not know much of books, had an extraordinary memory for personal anecdotes, chiefly about well-known colonial people. No name could be mentioned about which he had not a. good story to tell, and he told it pointedly and ​tersely. Amy enjoyed spending an evening with a scholar like Mr. Prince, and Mr. Lufton was very pleasant in his own house, and the photographers were new people to her. She recollected Mr. Hubbard's scorn of photography as a mere mechanical art, and was surprised to see so much love of nature and artistic feeling in those who practised it. Above all, she enjoyed the fun of her new situation, and laughed very heartily at all the jokes she heard. Wit and humour were not the specialities of the Lindsay family; they were good-humoured and clear-sighted, but they were not ready in repartee, and scarcely understood it when they heard it. Isabel had more turn for saying smart things than the others; but her wit had been looked on as rather impertinent, and was not encouraged in the family. But on the other hand there was an atmosphere of sincerity and good will in the household that many more polished homes could not boast of. After the ﬁrst week Amy had no fear of offending any one— she never needed to hint at anything she wished—they did not understand hints—but the more plainly she spoke the better they liked it. Allan wished to learn to speak well, and asked her to tell him whenever he made a mistake or used an ungraceful Scotticism, and he never was offended with her for pointing out ​his errors. She had lived in such immunity from censure since her father's death, her opinions were always so much deferred to and her actions always considered so right and proper, that she wondered if she had not grown brusque and awkward and abrupt in her manner, and thought she could perceive if these strangers thought so. But when do youth and beauty and high spirits fail to give perfect satisfaction to an lover like Mr. Lufton, or to a listener like the unsuccessful scholar, or to artists of any sort?
It was only on Allan's brow that there was a slight cloud. Isabel was delighted, and could put in an observation now and then, but Allan was silent. At last Mr. Prince expressed a regret that he had never seen Branxholm and the irrigation that Louis Hammond had spoken so much I of, and asked Allan how he had managed to make so small a stream of such great service, and that started the young Scotchman on a theme that he understood both theoretically and practically, and he tried to show Mr. Lufton at how little cost of money he could make as fine a place of Bulletin.
"Where is the use of it?" said Mr. Lufton. "All the improvements Mr. Hammond made are thrown away, for he has left the place, and the overseer cares nothing about the look of it. ​Perhaps if your sister had taken pity on him instead of on Copeland, the garden might have been kept in order, but it is now a wilderness of weeds. It is a ﬁne place, however; don't you think so, Miss Isabel? and he's greatly in need of a housekeeper. I hear McCallum has not given up visiting at Branxholm."
"It's not me he comes to see I can tell you, Mr. Lufton. He always preaches to me" that I'll never fill Jessie's shoes, and I certainly have no wish to take up with old ones that she has rejected. Mr. McCallum wearies me to death, but I'll say that for him, that he wears the willow for a decent length of time, and Jessie may feel complimented."
"Then is it Miss Staunton," said Lufton, "that is the object?"
"Can a man not come to have a chat with my father or mother but Amy or me are to have the credit of it?" said Isabel. "Mc Callum comes to have the pleasure of missing Jessie, and he likes to take toddy with my father besides, and that is a thing I cannot bear in him."
"Where do you mean to put up to-morrow night?" asked Mr. Lufton.
"Jessie and George went on to Gordon's the first night, but we have lost some ground coming by Bulletin, so we will likely take three days ​to our journey, will we not, Allan ?" said Isabel.
"What do you say to camping out in the scrub, girls?" said Allan. "You were so set on this journey that you were prepared to run all risks, and you know I have got a blanket for you in case of the worst."
"Oh! you will not think of such a as that I have a great mind to go to Gundabook myself and will accompany you. So we will ask for a night's quarters at my friend's Mrs. Troubridge's."
"That is off our road," said Allan, decidedly.
"Not much, and the road is better, and Mrs. Troubridge is dying to see Miss Staunton. She told me she would be so glad if you could make a halt there when I mentioned your intended journey to her last week."
"It is very kind of her," said Amy; "but I suppose we cannot accept of it, can we, Allan?"
There was a little tone of regret in her voice. She did not very much like the idea of camp— ing out, and she wished to see some more new people; and Mrs. Troubridge had been very much liked and much spoken of by both Louis Harnmond and Mr. Lufton. "If you Wish it very much, Amy, it could be done; only Mrs. Troubridge might be very glad to ​see you, and not care for the company of Isabel or me," said Allan.
"Oh! she is not at all like Mrs. Hammond— the frankest, liveliest person possible. She said she should be delighted to see you all," said Mr. Lufton, eagerly.
"Then by leaving a long stretch for the third day we can manage it," said Allan.
"But what of the work we have to do for you," said Mr. Twy'ford, "if you go away and leave us?"
"You know what I want done. Mr. Prince will show you the best views; but be sure not to take anything unless the weather is favourable. You can have my horses, and ride about the country, and if you like to take a run to Branxholm you can do some work there for Mr. Lindsay before I return, which will be in the course of a wee," said Mr. Lufton.
"I wish we were at home to direct where the views should be taken," said Allan; "but I will note down the aspects that you think best, Amy."
"And if there is no chance of your being at home," said Mr. Twyford, "I should like to take a vignette of Miss Staunton to-morrow morning."
"Certainly," said Allan; "the face is too small ​in what you took to-day, and as we are not going far, we need not start early."
So the matter was settled. Mr. Luﬂon was elated that he had this opportunity of introducing Miss Staunton to his best friend, and of showing the young lady the better society that he could introduce her into. Mrs. Troubridge had been an Adelaide belle some ten years before the date of this story, the liveliest of the lively, a most determined and successful ﬂirt. Why, after ﬁve or six years of skirmishing with a dozen of hearts, she had ﬁnally married a grave middle-aged man like Mr. Troubridge, had been a wonder to all her acquaintances, and especially to all her old admirers. He was not so handsome as several of them, not so clever as most of them, and, though in comfortable circumstances, was not so rich as two or three of those who had either been refused or trifled with. Perhaps the desire to marry and settle down (86 ranger, as the French say, comes upon fast young women as it does upon fast young men at a particular epoch in their existence, and the man who steps in at that time is pretty sure of success, however unsuitable he may have been in other respects before the feminine mind is made up. Nothing astonishes men so much as the matrimonial choice made by their female friends and acquaintances, and particularly ​in those instances where the choice has been from a wide circle of admirers; and when Miss Orme exchanged a fair amount of balls and parties, combined with frequent opportunities of shopping and familiar visiting, and a house in Adelaide where papa was in easy circumstances and hospitably inclined, and where there was a large and pleasant family of brothers and sisters, for a sheep station in a remote and almost unapproachable district where there were few comers and goers, and for the company of a good—hearted and tolerably sensible but very unromantic husband, every one had something to say about the unsuitableness of the sphere she had chosen.
The cares of a young family were exacting, still Mrs. Troubridge would have ridden about a great deal if there had been any neighbour to visit or any friend to accompany her on her rides. When she could prevail on a sister or young lady friend to come out to Richlands for a three or six months' visit she used to ride with her to great distances, and, after the fashion of the fox who had lost his tail, she used to recommend bush life to her visitor, and beg her to take compassion on poor Mr. Lufton and give her a neighbour. He was only thirty-eight, and though not rich, he was getting on; he was of very domestic habits and very fond of ladies' society. ​Mr. Lufton had, however, proposed to two of Mrs. Troubridge's sisters and to three of Mrs. Troubridge's young lady visitors without a favourable answer, and for a short while after each refusal the poor fellow felt as though he was doomed to a life of single blessedness. Apparently he had never come in at the critical time in any young lady's life; indeed, the objects of his affection were generally girls in their teens, who had no idea of giving up all amusement and society for him. He was little in stature, his hair and whiskers were rather red, and he was a bad dancer. The many refusals he had met with had made him rather a butt among Mrs. Troubridge's circle of acquaintance. That lady's real dislike to the bush was seen through her affected recommendation of it; and the wish to be a neighbour within twenty—nine or thirty miles of that lady could not compensate for the distance from every other pleasant friend and acquaintance. Still, in spite of so many refusals, Mr. Lufton was desirous of winning a young and a pretty wife, and had never proposed to any one whom he did not consider to be both.
Mrs. Troubridge had heard much of the Rose of Branxholm, and of the beauty and reﬁnement of that singularly planted ﬂower, and would have welcomed the whole family of the Lindsays to ​her house for the sake of seeing the only person about whom she could teaze Mr. Lufton since her youngest sister's marriage.
When she saw Amy she was as much charmed with her as Mr. Lufton had expected; she received her with the most cordial hospitality, and spoke frankly and kindly to her friends. Mr. Troubridge, who, after Mr. Hammond's departure, had been very glad to call at Hugh Lindsay's on his way to or from Adelaide, was pleased that they would take advantage of his house on their long journey, and entered into a conversation with Allan about some pastoral fights he had that some one was interfering with. He knew if there were young ladies in the house there was no getting a word of sense out of Mr. Lufton, and he was glad to bring out the Government regulations and to explain the boundaries of his run to a shrewd fellow like young Lindsay, whose opinion on the subject was at any time worth twice as much as Lufton's.
When Mrs. Troubridge first saw Allan's tall figure and handsome, intelligent countenance, she thought her neighbour's chance was a small one, but again when she saw Allan absorbed in that stupid pastoral dispute of Mr. Troubridge's with that fellow Crabtree, and looking, as she thought, ​clownish and awkward, while Mr. Lufton was giving out the same small talk which he had before presented to ﬁve in her hearing, but which to Amy was quite new and original, for she listened with apparent pleasure, she thought his star was at last in the ascendant. A child, to be sure!—Lufton had always liked chits in pinafores;—but a lovely child, an author's daughter, and a very charming musician. She would be a delightful neighbour as Mra Lufton if her old friend could win her; the children were taking to her at once. A project entered her head that it would be very nice to get Miss Staunton to come to her as a governess and companion Though Amy was very young, Mra Troubridge's children were all under eight, and there could be no doubt that they could learn from her all they required to know. This would rescue the poor girl from the Vandals amongst whom she had been thrown, and also give herself a permanent and,pleasant companion, and Mr. Lufton great opportunities for seeing Amy beyond what young Lindsay could have.
Amy liked Mrs. Troubridge's manner very much. It was new to her be a little fussed over—to have a practised and tasteful hand adjusting her collar and assisting her to arrange her hair. And when Mrs. Troubridge followed ​the girls to their room for the night to see that everything was comfortable for them, there was a nicety about the arrangements that was different from things at Branxholm, though they were greatly improved since Amy's first introduction there. After Isabel, who was tired and sleepy, had gone to bed, Amy, who was tired and excited, sat up a little, half undressed, while her hostess spoke to her about her father and his writings. Books were the only amusement that Mrs. Troubridge had in the bush; she cey read the lightest and trashiest of lterature; but even novel reading gives one the character of having a somewhat cultivated mind in remote country districts. She offered Amy any number of green, red, and yellow volumes to read, and Amy thankfully accepted the offer. Then she glanced, but not unkindly, in an under-tone at the uncongenial household into which Mrs. Hammond's inhospitality had thrown her. Amy gave a little sigh; old trains of thought been awakened during the last two days, and the idea that she would never be able to lead such a life as her father had meant for her struck sadly on her heart.
Next Mrs. Troubridge made her proposal that she should live with her as a friend, but at the same time receive a salary for teaching her three ​little ones. Amy started to full consciousness when she heard this—the kindness, the generosity, the forbearance, that every one at Branxholm had shown her, pressed upon her grateful heart. Did any one really love and respect her father's memory or her father's as Allan Lindsay did? Could she be as much loved, as useful, and as independently situated anywhere as at Branxholm? Mrs. Lindsay's motherly care might not be so demonstrative, but it was as real as Mrs. Troubridge's could be.
"I cannot leave my good friends; indeed, I have no wish to do so," said Amy.
"But you have been so differently situated, and you are completely buried there," said Mrs. Troubridge, forgetting that her home was more remote from civilization and more dull in many ways than the stirring household of the Lindsays. "My children would be so fond of you, and you would feel more independent."
"I scarcely think so," said Amy. "You cannot tell how good they all are to me; and as for salary, Mr. Lindsay insists on my taking one from him."
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Troubridge, who had not thought that the close-fisted Scotchman would have been so liberal. "That, perhaps, alters the case."
​"No, it is not that; but I cannot leave my friends. You must not press me to do so ungrateful an action," said Amy.
"I shall not say another word about it; but I must have a visit from you soon. I will call on Mrs. Lindsay after you have returned, and persuade her to let you come to Richlands for six weeks; it will be a change for you, and I shall enjoy your visit of all things. You agree to that, at any rate." And Mrs. Troubridge kissed Amy affectionately, and bade her good night.
The weather on the following morning looked lowering; the air felt thick and oppressive even at the early hour they took for their start. Mrs. Troubridge thought they should delay their expedition till they saw how the day was going to turn out; but they knew they had a long stretch for the horses, and thought they had better rest at midday. A great part of this day's journey lay through a most particularly Australian very ugly and barren tract of land. Allan knew as much about Bay of Biscay land, about various kinds of scrub, and about honeysuckle country and tea-tree swamps as Lufton did, and his surmises about the quality of the soil and the hopefulness or hopelessness of its ever being able to carry a paying number of sheep were quite as reasonable and ​more scientific than those of the elder Australian. He also watched the weather warily, and looked well to the horses, and the girls felt that they depended on his care on this day, though on the former Mr. Lufton had been more full of little attentions. But when they got into the mallee scrub the dreariness of the journey and the threatening appearance of the sky depressed the party. Mile after mile they went on in 'a narrow track bounded on each side by a scrub too high to see over, and too dense to push through, the dull, dead-alive green of the leaves looking duller than ever against the grey sky.
"If the station Jessie and George are on is at all like this," said Amy, "I do not wonder at his rejoicing at the sight of the vineyards and wheatfields at home."
"Oh! it is not so bad as this; no, nothing like so bad. It is Opener and better watered, though not so well watered as We could wish," said Lufton.
"Is all the back country in Australia like this?" asked Amy. "Is it only near the coast that you have good land?"
"Oh! there is good and bad all through, but the interior is all too dry. A great deal can be done by stocking and well-sinking, but this can never be such a country as the United States," said Allan.
​"Why not?" said Mr. Lufton, waxing patriotic.
"I don't think there is better land in the world than that you have round Branxholm, or I have at Bulletin"
"Very likely," said Allan; "but with so little rain, such a want of navigable rivers and of coal, it is impossible that we can ever rival "I never expect such an admission from you, Allan," said Mr. Luffon, reproachfully, "after the lecture you gave me about not making the best of Bulletin"
"Perhaps it is one of our advantages that we have this dry climate to fight with;' said Allan "Things would be too easy for us if we had twice as much rain, and perhaps the climate would be less healthy."
"But you do not deny that Australia is a very good pls I don't think you have any cause to complain of it," said Mr. Luftom
"No, indeed," said Allan; "but what I meant was that we never could have so large a population here as in Europe or America The great bulk of the land must be kept in pasture; some of it, such as this, is not fit for pasture at all The English price of wool fixes the point at which sheep-farming ceases to pay, and I suppose ​ere long the English price of wheat will determine how much wheat shall be groom."
"I wonder what is to determine the point of our halting-pls," said Mr. Lufto "There seems an opener piece of country right ahead. where the horses could pick up something."
"We had better stop there and have something to ea It is well that Mrs. Troubridge supplied us with so much cold tea, for there is so much wind here, that if we atempted to light a fire, to make fresh tea, we should set the whole country in a blaze. I am sorry for you, Amy, because you dislike cold tea so muck That is one bush taste she has no acquired, Mr. Lufton."
"Can we not manage to boil a little water in the billy you are carrying, Allan, and make some tea for Miss Staunton I' said Lufton, when they had alighted, and hobbled the horses, and taken out their provisions. "See, here is a pretty clear space. You can watch on one side, and I will guard on the other. There is no risk of fire when people are looking after it."
"Don't take all that trouble for me. I can drink water. I do not really care about tea," said Amy.
"But I know you do, and we can manage it," said Mr. Lufton.
​"I do not think we can; the wind is too strong, and the risk too great," said Allan.
"Nonsense, Allan. None but the brave deserve the fair; and for the sake of Miss Staunton's tea, you will see how I can encounter all risks;" and Lufton began to clear a spot for his fire, and gathered some dry brushwood to light.
"Don't," said Amy; "if Allan says it is not safe, I am sure it is not."
"If Allan has no pluck that is not to prevent me from having it," said Lufton, persisting in his intention. Now was the time to show Amy that the devotion of a lover like himself was something far beyond the brotherly and cautious kindness she met with from Allan. But when . he had lighted the ﬁre, he found that the young Scotchman had spoken truly. The wind increased in force, and shifted from one quarter to another, and it needed the exertions of the whole party to keep it from Spreading; the danger grew more imminent every moment. Fortunately Isabel Lindsay was not troubled with nerves, and Amy kept hers in tolerable check; but long before the water in the tin vessel, known by the name of a hilly, was near the boiling-point, even Mr. Lufton was convinced that it must be sacriﬁced to extinguish the ﬁre so foolishly and rashly lighted. The precious water that had ​been carried for more than twenty miles was thus wasted, and there was nothing left for any one to drink but the despised cold tea. Mr. Lufton's attempt at distinguishing himself By his gallantry had proved, failure, but Amy's good humour under the disappointment made him admire her all the more.