Read Ebook: Australia Revenged by Boomerang

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 2322 lines and 70114 words, and 47 pages

ciently confined to prevent them from being too far apart. Through the opening could be seen the full stretch of the carefully-tended garden, backed by a comfortable house with a verandah running round it. On the lawn, a couple of dogs were lying lazily; hanging in the verandah was an aviary and the noisy twittering of its occupants reached the ears of the two in the summer-house. Their eyes dwelt lovingly on the scene before them, with a sense of rest, for happiness and contentment seemed to be in the air.

An elderly man in shirt-sleeves was busily engaged in pruning some fruit trees. As he paused in his work to wipe his perspiring brow he formed a picture of contentment in complete harmony with the scene of which he was a part. This was Oliver Whyte, the owner of the house and garden, which he had christened, in true Australian fashion, "The Mia-Mia." He was a man of about sixty, short and thick-set in appearance with a tendency to corpulence. His character was written in his fine open face, clean-shaven save for a ring of white hair that set his honest countenance in an oval frame; was felt as one listened to the tones of his rough, good-natured voice. He was joined by an elderly woman, who despite her grey hair and heavy build, was as active as many a younger maid. Her voice had a genuine and pleasant ring in it and her face always wore a cheerful, contented smile. She was beloved by all who came in contact with her, for she was the embodiment of the word motherly. The dogs rose and stretched themselves and lazily rubbed their noses against her skirt, as she passed from one flower bed to another, snipping a dead leaf here and picking a faded blossom there. This was Mrs. Whyte or, as Oliver fondly calls her, "the missus."

Forty years before, Oliver Whyte, a young man in his prime, set out with two companions for the sunny shores of Australia. He had served his time as a carpenter, and his employers had cause to regret the loss of a fine workman when Whyte became fired with the ambition of travel at the time when the glorious accounts of the richness of Australia attracted the energetic youth of Britain. Arriving in Melbourne in '52, when the gold fever was at its height, he and his companions lost no time in finding their way to the fields in search of the precious metal. He spent twelve months in rough living and hard labour then, to realize it was not as easy to make a fortune as he imagined. But he was a good artizan and, men of his stamp being scarce, he returned to Melbourne and started working at his trade. In vain he tried to persuade his mates to follow suit, but the gold-fever had taken too strong a hold upon them. Wages were very high in Melbourne, and he had no difficulty in earning ten and even fifteen pounds a week. In a few months' time he was able to start in business on his own account and, as Melbourne had by this time been acknowledged as the capital town, he invested all his savings in land which could then be had at low rates. When he had made a fair business he sent home for the girl with whom he had "kept company," and on her arrival they were married in Melbourne. Years went by, his business extended, and his land increased in value fifty-fold, and Oliver Whyte was rapidly becoming a wealthy man.

The fact that no children blessed their union was a great trouble to the Whytes. But when his wife began to fret over it Whyte would answer in his cheery fashion, "Never mind, missus, we shall have to get one of somebody else's."

One day, when they were at their mid-day meal, a letter in a strange hand-writing was brought to them, in which they were begged to come at once to the Melbourne Hospital where a woman named Johnson wished to see them.

"Johnson! Johnson!" said Whyte. "The only Johnson I ever knew, was my mate, Bill Johnson, whom I left on the 'fields.'"

"Maybe this is his wife, Olly."

"We'll go at once and see her."

Straightway the honest couple set out for the hospital and, on arriving there, were taken to the bedside of a dying woman.

"Are you Olly Whyte?" asked the woman, feebly.

"Yes, that's me," said Whyte.

"My name is Johnson and Bill told me that if anything went wrong I was to look out for Olly Whyte, and he would help me."

"Are you Bill's wife, then? Where is he?"

"Dead, two years ago, and I am going to join him."

"Poor old Bill!" said Whyte, feelingly.

"I've got a little girl," murmured the poor woman. "She ain't been brought up first class, but if you would look after her I'd die happy."

"Where is she?" said Mrs. Whyte, speaking for the first time. "Of course we will do so."

That night the widow of Whyte's old mate, Bill Johnson, died and the house of Whyte had an additional inmate in the shape of a tousled-haired little girl, removed from a tenement in Little Bourke Street, one of the lowest slums in Melbourne. When Amy Johnson found herself in the midst of these novel surroundings, and experienced the delights of new and warm clothing and of plenty of good things to eat, and the disagreeables of having her face and hands washed oftener than she thought necessary, her equilibrium was completely upset. But time and careful handling soon made her forget her old ways. As she grew up, she developed startling qualities of mind and body, united to a loveable disposition, that she soon filled the gap in the home of the old couple. At the age of eight she was sent to school, where she early distinguished herself and became a great favourite with the teacher, as with her schoolfellows. Her life was one of sunny happiness, the more so because she was completely unspoiled. Though she never knew trouble, she could yet sympathize with it, and she returned the idolization of her adopted parents with a love and consideration that caused them to bless the day that saw them on their errand of mercy to Melbourne Hospital.

Meanwhile, the occupants of the summer-house in Brixton were passing the time in lover-like reminiscences.

"Do you remember the first time we met, Amy?" said Reginald Morris, as he fondly stroked her hand.

"I can remember every incident of the voyage, though it's three years ago. I thought it was going to be a disagreeable voyage for me, and I was seriously thinking of landing at Adelaide, when I made the acquaintance of your dear old dad, and that changed the whole purpose of my life. I can see him now as he came up to me with his frank smile and said in his cheery voice: 'My name is Oliver Whyte, sir.' My heart went out to him after his hearty greeting, and we soon became fast friends. Then he introduced me to his dear old wife, and a pert little kid--"

"Take that for your impertinence," interrupted Amy, boxing his ears lightly.

"I mean a smart young lady. I can see her now, and she captured my heart on the spot and, try how I will, I cannot get it back."

"Well it was a fair exchange, for you took mine in return," she answered, with a blush.

"Six months from to-day, Amy?"

"Yes, Reg. Six months before I have to give up all my pleasures, sacrifice all my pets and put myself at the mercy of a tyrant."

Reg stooped to kiss the lips again that chaffed him so prettily, when the doorway was darkened by the figure of Oliver Whyte, who said in an amused tone of enquiry:

"I suppose you are too busy to go and say good-bye to Mr. Northmore, Reg? He's waiting to see you, for he sails to-morrow."

"Come Amy, let's go to him together," said Reg rising and, tucking Amy's arm under his own, he entered the house and greeted a young man waiting there:

"Hullo, Jack, how are you?"

"I'm jolly, old chap. And Miss Amy, I trust you are well."

"No, I'm not, Mr. Northmore, he's been worrying me again. Never get engaged: it's too wearing. If it were not for the fact that one can wreak revenge when one is married I don't think any girl could stand it."

"Well, Reg does not seem to dread the coming vengeance."

"How do you do, Mr. Northmore. I am so sorry you are going to leave us so soon," said Mrs. Whyte, entering at this moment.

"Business, Mrs. Whyte, business. I am not so fortunate as our friend here. I came only on a visit, which I have enjoyed very much. I am due at Cape Town in a fortnight."

"Amy, do you think you can find our friend Northmore some refreshment," said Whyte, as he joined them.

"I'll try, dad. Come on, Reg, I shall want your help," and they both skipped out of the room.

"That's the way they go on all day long," said Whyte to Northmore, "just like two kittens."

"They are to be married shortly, are they not?"

"Yes, in six months. It's hardly fair to keep Reg waiting any longer. They've been engaged three years now."

"I am glad Reg is going to settle down, and with such an excellent partner."

"Yes, you're right, Northmore. I don't think a happier pair, or one more suited to each other could be found in a year's travel."

"Reg is a wonder, too. It is not every man who can boast of having made a fortune for himself at twenty-four."

"Ah, I intended asking you about that. He is so modest and reticent about himself. He says he did it by accident and could not help himself."

"Come this way," said Amy in a playful way, opening the door, and leading Reg by the ear. He was carrying a tray of glasses and completely at her mercy. "This is how I intend to lead my husband."

"Amy, I'm shocked," said Mrs. Whyte, laughing heartily.

"So am I, mother," said Reg, putting down the tray, and gently releasing her fingers.

Then the conversation became general. In the midst of it the postman's knock was heard, and letters for Reg and Amy were brought in, which proved to contain invitations to the annual ball given by the Brixton Bachelors.

"Oh! Reg, dear, will you go?" cried Amy.

"That rests with you."

"Then we'll accept," said Amy, decisively.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet