Joe Wilson and His Mates [43]
ran out.
`What is it, Annie?' cried Mary.
`Oh, Mrs Wilson! Mother's asleep, and we can't wake her!'
`What?'
`It's -- it's the truth, Mrs Wilson.'
`How long has she been asleep?'
`Since lars' night.'
`My God!' cried Mary, `SINCE LAST NIGHT?'
`No, Mrs Wilson, not all the time; she woke wonst, about daylight
this mornin'. She called me and said she didn't feel well,
and I'd have to manage the milkin'.'
`Was that all she said?'
`No. She said not to go for you; and she said to feed the pigs and calves;
and she said to be sure and water them geraniums.'
Mary wanted to go, but I wouldn't let her. James and I saddled our horses
and rode down the creek.
. . . . .
Mrs Spicer looked very little different from what she did
when I last saw her alive. It was some time before we could believe
that she was dead. But she was `past carin'' right enough.
A Double Buggy at Lahey's Creek.
I. Spuds, and a Woman's Obstinacy.
Ever since we were married it had been Mary's great ambition to have a buggy.
The house or furniture didn't matter so much -- out there in the Bush
where we were -- but, where there were no railways or coaches, and the roads
were long, and mostly hot and dusty, a buggy was the great thing.
I had a few pounds when we were married, and was going to get one then;
but new buggies went high, and another party got hold of a second-hand one
that I'd had my eye on, so Mary thought it over and at last she said,
`Never mind the buggy, Joe; get a sewing-machine and I'll be satisfied.
I'll want the machine more than the buggy, for a while.
Wait till we're better off.'
After that, whenever I took a contract -- to put up a fence or wool-shed,
or sink a dam or something -- Mary would say, `You ought to knock a buggy
out of this job, Joe;' but something always turned up --
bad weather or sickness. Once I cut my foot with the adze and was laid up;
and, another time, a dam I was making was washed away by a flood
before I finished it. Then Mary would say, `Ah, well -- never mind, Joe.
Wait till we are better off.' But she felt it hard the time
I built a wool-shed and didn't get paid for it, for we'd as good as settled
about another second-hand buggy then.
I always had a fancy for carpentering, and was handy with tools.
I made a spring-cart -- body and wheels -- in spare time,
out of colonial hardwood, and got Little the blacksmith to do the ironwork;
I painted the cart myself. It wasn't much lighter than one of the tip-drays
I had, but it WAS a spring-cart, and Mary pretended to be satisfied with it:
anyway, I didn't hear any more of the buggy for a while.
I sold that cart, for fourteen pounds, to a Chinese gardener
who wanted a strong cart to carry his vegetables round through the Bush.
It was just before our first youngster came: I told Mary
that I wanted the money in case of extra expense -- and she didn't fret much
at losing that cart. But the fact was, that I was going to make another try
for a buggy, as a present for Mary when the child was born.
I thought of getting the turn-out while she was laid up,
keeping it dark from her till she was on her feet again,
and then showing her the buggy standing in the shed. But she had a bad time,
and I had to have the doctor regularly, and get a proper nurse,
and a lot of things extra; so the buggy idea was knocked on the head.
I was set on it, too: I'd thought of how, when Mary was up
and getting strong, I'd say one morning, `Go round and have a look
in the shed, Mary; I've got a few fowls for you,' or something like that --
and follow her round to watch her eyes when she saw the buggy.
I never told Mary about that -- it wouldn't have done any good.
Later on I got some good timber -- mostly scraps that were given to me --
and made a light body for a spring-cart. Galletly, the coach-builder
at Cudgeegong, had got a dozen pairs of American hickory wheels
up from Sydney, for light spring-carts, and he let me have a pair
for cost price and carriage.
`What is it, Annie?' cried Mary.
`Oh, Mrs Wilson! Mother's asleep, and we can't wake her!'
`What?'
`It's -- it's the truth, Mrs Wilson.'
`How long has she been asleep?'
`Since lars' night.'
`My God!' cried Mary, `SINCE LAST NIGHT?'
`No, Mrs Wilson, not all the time; she woke wonst, about daylight
this mornin'. She called me and said she didn't feel well,
and I'd have to manage the milkin'.'
`Was that all she said?'
`No. She said not to go for you; and she said to feed the pigs and calves;
and she said to be sure and water them geraniums.'
Mary wanted to go, but I wouldn't let her. James and I saddled our horses
and rode down the creek.
. . . . .
Mrs Spicer looked very little different from what she did
when I last saw her alive. It was some time before we could believe
that she was dead. But she was `past carin'' right enough.
A Double Buggy at Lahey's Creek.
I. Spuds, and a Woman's Obstinacy.
Ever since we were married it had been Mary's great ambition to have a buggy.
The house or furniture didn't matter so much -- out there in the Bush
where we were -- but, where there were no railways or coaches, and the roads
were long, and mostly hot and dusty, a buggy was the great thing.
I had a few pounds when we were married, and was going to get one then;
but new buggies went high, and another party got hold of a second-hand one
that I'd had my eye on, so Mary thought it over and at last she said,
`Never mind the buggy, Joe; get a sewing-machine and I'll be satisfied.
I'll want the machine more than the buggy, for a while.
Wait till we're better off.'
After that, whenever I took a contract -- to put up a fence or wool-shed,
or sink a dam or something -- Mary would say, `You ought to knock a buggy
out of this job, Joe;' but something always turned up --
bad weather or sickness. Once I cut my foot with the adze and was laid up;
and, another time, a dam I was making was washed away by a flood
before I finished it. Then Mary would say, `Ah, well -- never mind, Joe.
Wait till we are better off.' But she felt it hard the time
I built a wool-shed and didn't get paid for it, for we'd as good as settled
about another second-hand buggy then.
I always had a fancy for carpentering, and was handy with tools.
I made a spring-cart -- body and wheels -- in spare time,
out of colonial hardwood, and got Little the blacksmith to do the ironwork;
I painted the cart myself. It wasn't much lighter than one of the tip-drays
I had, but it WAS a spring-cart, and Mary pretended to be satisfied with it:
anyway, I didn't hear any more of the buggy for a while.
I sold that cart, for fourteen pounds, to a Chinese gardener
who wanted a strong cart to carry his vegetables round through the Bush.
It was just before our first youngster came: I told Mary
that I wanted the money in case of extra expense -- and she didn't fret much
at losing that cart. But the fact was, that I was going to make another try
for a buggy, as a present for Mary when the child was born.
I thought of getting the turn-out while she was laid up,
keeping it dark from her till she was on her feet again,
and then showing her the buggy standing in the shed. But she had a bad time,
and I had to have the doctor regularly, and get a proper nurse,
and a lot of things extra; so the buggy idea was knocked on the head.
I was set on it, too: I'd thought of how, when Mary was up
and getting strong, I'd say one morning, `Go round and have a look
in the shed, Mary; I've got a few fowls for you,' or something like that --
and follow her round to watch her eyes when she saw the buggy.
I never told Mary about that -- it wouldn't have done any good.
Later on I got some good timber -- mostly scraps that were given to me --
and made a light body for a spring-cart. Galletly, the coach-builder
at Cudgeegong, had got a dozen pairs of American hickory wheels
up from Sydney, for light spring-carts, and he let me have a pair
for cost price and carriage.