CHAPTER XXII - And Last

by Ethel Turner

　　"She seemed a thing that could not feel

　　The touch of earthly years."

　　"No motion has she now—no force;

　　She neither hears nor sees;

　　Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,

　　With rocks and stones and trees."

　　They went home again, the six of them, and Esther, who, all herdays, "would go the softlier, sadlier" because of the price thathad been paid for the life of her little sweet son. The very airof Yarrahappini seemed to crush them and hang heavy on their souls.

　　So when the Captain, who had hurried up to see the last of his poorlittle girl, asked if they would like to go home, they all said"Yes."

　　There was a green space of ground on a hill-top behind the cottage,and a clump of wattle trees, dark-green now, but gold-crownedand gracious in the spring.

　　This is where they left little Judy. All around it Mr. Hassal hadwhite tall palings put; the short grave was in the shady corner ofit.

　　The place looked like a tiny churchyard in a children's countrywhere there had only been one death.

　　Or a green fair field, with one little garden bed.

　　Meg was glad the little mound looked to the east; the suns diedbehind it—the orange and yellow and purple suns she could notbear to watch ever again while she lived.

　　But away in the east they rose tenderly always, and the light creptup across the sky to the hill-top in delicate pinks and tremblingblues and brightening greys, but never fiery, yellow streaks, thatmade the eyes ache with hot tears.

　　There was a moon making it white and beautiful when they saidgood-bye to it on the last day.

　　They plucked a blade or two of grass each from the fresh turfs,and turned away. Nobody cried; the white stillness of the far moon,the pale, hanging stars, the faint wind stirring the wattles; heldback their tears till they had closed the little gate behind themand left her alone on the quiet hill-top. Then they went-backto Misrule, each to pickup the thread of life and go on with theweaving that, thank God, must be done, or hearts would breakevery day.

　　Meg had grown older; she would never be quite so young again asshe had been before that red sunset sank into her soul.

　　There was a deeper light in her eyes; such tears as she had weptclear the sight till life becomes a thing more distinct andfar-reaching.

　　Nellie and she went to church the first Sunday after their return.Aldith was a few pews away, light-souled as ever, dressed in gayattire, flashing smiling, coquettish glances across to the Courtneys'pew, and the Grahams sitting just behind.

　　How far away Meg had grown from her! It seemed years since shehad been engrossed with the latest mode in hat trimming, the dipof "umbrella" skirts, and the best method of making the handswhite. Years since she had tried a trembling 'prentice hand atflirtations. Years, almost, since she had given the little blueribbon at Yarrahappini, that was doing more good than shedreamed of.

　　Alan looked at her from his pew—the little figure in its sorrowfulblack, the shining hair hanging in a plait no longer frizzed at theend, the chastened droop of the young lips, the wistful sadnessof the blue eyes. He could hardly realize it was the littlescatterbrain girl who had written that letter, and stolen awaythrough the darkness to meet his graceless young brother.

　　He clasped her hand when church was over; his grey eyes, with thequick moisture in them, made up for the clumsy stumbling words ofsympathy he tried to speak.

　　"Let us be friends always, Miss Meg," he said, as they parted atthe Misrule gate.

　　"Yes, let us," said Meg.

　　And the firm, frank friendship became a beautiful thing in both theirlives, strengthening Meg and making the boy gentler.

　　Pip became his laughing, high-spirited self again, as even the mostloving boy will, thanks to the merciful making of young hearts; buthe used to get sudden fits of depression at times, and disappear allat once, in the midst of a game of cricket or football, or fromthe table when the noise was at its highest.

　　Bunty presented to the world just as grimy a face as of old, andhands even more grubby, for he had taken a mechanical turn of late,and spent his spare moments in manufacturing printing machines—socalled—and fearful and wonderful engines, out of an old stove andsome pots and rusty frying-pans rescued from the rubbish heap.

　　But he did not tell quite so many stories in these days; that deepsunset had stolen even into his young heart, and whenever he feltinclined to say "I never, 'twasn't me, 'twasn't my fault," a tangleof dark curls rose before him, just as they had lain that night whenhe had not dared to move his eyes away from them.

　　Baby's legs engrossed her very much at present, for she had justbeen promoted from socks to stockings, and all who remember theoccasion in their own lives will realize the importance of it to her.

　　Nell seemed to grow prettier every day. Pip had his hands full withtrying to keep her from growing conceited; if brotherly rubs andsnubs availed anything, she ought to have been as lowly minded asif she had had red hair and a nose of heavenward bent.

　　Esther said she wished she could buy a few extra years, a sternbrow, and dignity in large quantities from some place or other—theremight be some chance, then, of Misrule resuming its baptismaland unexciting name of The River House.

　　But, oddly enough, no one echoed the wish.

　　The Captain never smoked at the end of the side veranda now:the ill-kept lawn made him see always a little figure in a pinkfrock and battered hat mowing the grass in a blaze of sunlight.Judy's death made his six living children dearer to his heart,though he showed his affection very little more.

　　The General grew chubbier and more adorable every day he lived.It is no exaggeration to say that they all worshipped him nowin his little kingly babyhood, for the dear life had been twicegiven, and the second time it was Judy's gift, and pricelesstherefore.

　　My pen has been moving heavily, slowly, for these last twochapters; it refuses to run lightly, freely again just yet,so I will lay it aside, or I shall sadden you.

　　Some day, if you would care to hear it, I should like to tellyou of my young Australians again, slipping a little spaceof years.

　　Until then, farewell and adieu.