‘What’s the matter, papa?’ asked his daughter, Daisy, pausing with the teapot in her hand.
‘Oh, nothing much, my dear,’ he replied; only we are to have company. The firm is sending up the 444th cousin of an Irish Earl to learn sheep-farming, and I suppose I’ve got the contract to break him in. That’s all.’
‘I wish your mother could be at home, Daisy,’ he continued. ‘I never did care much about these colonial-experience fellows. They generally give a lot of trouble, especially when they’re well connected. There, read the precious letter for yourself. Pity we couldn’t put him into the hut, instead of making him one of ourselves—eh, Daisy?’
The girl laughed as she read aloud,—
‘Mr Fortescue is highly connected; and as he not only brings introductions from the London office, but 209also possesses an interest in several properties out here, we hope you will do your best to make him comfortable, and to give him that insight into the business that he seems desirous of acquiring at first hand.’
‘Why, daddy!’ she exclaimed, ‘you ought to think yourself honoured—“highly connected,” not merely “well,” remember—by such a charge! As for myself, I am all anxiety to see him.’
‘I don’t think anything of the sort, then, Daisy,’ said her father. ‘And if I could afford to do so, I should like to tell them that I consider it a piece of impertinence on their part to ask me to receive a perfect stranger, knowing how I am situated1 alone with you, how small the place is, and how roughly we live. But one can’t ride the high horse on a hundred and fifty pounds a year!’
And the Manager of Tarnpirr sighed, and stared thoughtfully into his cup.
In the general sense of the word, Daisy Barton was not a pretty girl, inasmuch as she possessed2 not one regular feature. But it was such a calm, quiet, pleasant face, out of which dark blue eyes looked so tenderly and honestly at you, that one forgot to search for details in the charm of the whole. Add to this, one of the neatest, trimmest, most loveable little figures imaginable, and you may have some faint idea of the pleasant picture she made as she sat thinking which of the two spare rooms should be got ready for the new inmate3. Mrs Barton was never at the station. 210She was a confirmed invalid4, and resided permanently5 in a far southern town. Daisy and an old Irishwoman kept house.
In due course the ‘highly connected’ one arrived, bringing with him as much luggage as sufficed to fill the extra room.
He was a tall, good-looking Englishman, and he gazed around at the small bare house with its strip of burnt-up, dusty garden, and background of sombre eucalypti6; at the squalid ‘hut;’ the sluggish7, dirty river; and the barren forlornness of everything, with a look on his face that caused Mr Barton to chuckle8, and think to himself that the new-comer’s stay would be short. The manager had expected a youngster, not a grown man of five or six and twenty, and he was rather puzzled.
This self-possessed, languid sort of gentleman, with well-cut features, long moustache, and slow, pleasant-sounding, if rather drawling, speech, wasn’t by any means the sort of creature that Mr Barton was accustomed to associate with the term ‘jackaroo,’ and its natural corollary, ‘licking into shape.’
‘A fellow with lots of money, I expect,’ he said to Daisy that night after their guest, pleading fatigue9, had retired10. ‘One of those chaps who just come out to have a look around, and then off home again with wonderful stories about the wild Australian Bush.’
‘Yaas; shouldn’t wondah, now, Mistah Barton, if you ah not quaite correct,’ laughed Daisy, mischievously11. 211‘Oh, papa, do all the folk in England talk as if they were clean knocked up?’
‘Only the highly-connected ones, my dear,’ replied her father, smiling. ‘It’s considered quite fashionable, too, amongst our own upper ten. He’ll lose it after he’s been bushed12 a few times. I shouldn’t imagine from his looks, however, that he’s got much backbone13. He’ll be away again presently—too rough a life.’
And, in fact, poor Fortescue at first often did get bushed.
Luckily for him, perhaps, a camp of blacks settled at Tarnpirr shortly after his arrival, and these made a regular income by hunting for and bringing him back. And he was very considerate.
Once, when he had been missing for three days, and Mr Barton and Daisy were half out of their minds with fright, he made the blacks who were bearing him home, tattered14 and hungry, and faint from exposure, go ahead for clean clothes and soap and water before he would put in an appearance. This incident only confirmed Mr Barton the more in his idea that he had to do with a man lacking strength of character—a dandy willing to sacrifice everything to personal outward show. His daughter thought quite otherwise.
However, in time, ‘Barton’s Jackaroo,’ as he was called throughout the district of the lower rivers, became a favourite, not only at Tarnpirr, but on the neighbouring runs. Even old Bridget admitted that 212‘he was a good sort ov a cratur, barrin’ the want ov a bit more life wid him.’
But he was always calm and self-possessed; and the Manager was accustomed to swear that a bush fire at his heels wouldn’t make him quicken his pace by a step.
And once Daisy, in a moment of irritation17, confided18 to her father that she felt inclined to stick a needle into his jackaroo for the sake of discovering whether that provoking air of leisurely19 languor20 was natural or assumed.
‘He’s got no backbone, my dear,’ said the Manager, laughing. ‘But try him by all means. I’ll bet you ten to one he only says what he did last week, when that old ram21 made a drive at him in the yard, and knocked him down and jumped on him.’
‘And what did he say to that?’ asked Daisy eagerly.
‘Well,’ replied Mr Barton, laughing again, ‘when he’d cleaned the mud out of his eyes and mouth, he looked surprised and said “Haw!”’
‘Oh,’ said Daisy, disappointedly. ‘But what ought he to have said to show that he had a backbone, papa?’
‘Well,’ replied her father vaguely22, ‘you know, Daisy—er—um—well, that is—um—a great many people, my dear, your father amongst them, perhaps, would be apt to say a good deal on such an occasion.’
‘I have a better opinion than ever of Mr Fortescue,’ cried Daisy indignantly at this. ‘Because he keeps his 213temper, and doesn’t go on like Long Jim or Ben the Bullocky when any little thing happens, he’s got no pluck or resolution! I own he exasperates23 one sometimes with his calm, dawdling24 ways. But if he were pushed, I shouldn’t be surprised to find more in him than he gets credit for after all!’
‘Umph!’ said Mr Barton glancing kindly25, but with rather a troubled face, at the flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes upturned to his own. And as he rode over the run that day the burden of his thoughts was that the sooner his serene-tempered jackaroo got tired of the Bush the better it would be for all of them.
. . . . . . . . . .
‘Ned, if the river ain’t a-risin’, an’ risin’ precious quick, too, call me a Dutchman! ’Arf-an-hour ago the water warn’t near them bullocks, and now it’s right agin their ’eels!’
‘Well,’ replied his mate, glancing towards the brown stream slowly spreading over the flat, ‘we’re safe enough. I’ll forgive it if it comes over this. Tell you what, though, you might catch the pony26 an’ canter up to the station, an’ tell ole Barton as there’s some water a-comin’. He might have some stock he’d like to git out o’ the road. An’ you might’s well git a lump o’ meat while you’re there.’
So Ned, of the travelling bullock team, went with the news to Tarnpirr, lower down.
But Mr Barton that very morning had been to Warrooga township, and the telegraph people had said no word of floods or heavy rain at the head of the river. 214Around Tarnpirr and district the weather had been dry for weeks, so the Manager was not in the least uneasy.
‘It’s only a bit of a fresh, Brown,’ said he. ‘It’ll soon go down again. Thanks all the same, though. Meat? Yes, of course. And now you’d better go over to the kitchen and get your dinner.’
‘Boss reckons it’s nothin’,’ said Ned, returning that evening. ‘No rain fall’d up above.’
‘We wouldn’t need shift anyhow,’ replied the other, preparing to cook the meat given them by Mr Barton, who little dreamt how welcome it would be to some people later on. ‘We’re a lot higher here than they are at the station. I saw “Barton’s Jackaroo” just now, out ridin’ with Miss Daisy. He’s a rum stick, he is.’
‘But ain’t she a little star!’ exclaimed Ned enthusiastically.
‘She are; all that!’ replied his mate. ‘Finest gall27 on the rivers. Too good by sights for any new-chum.’
And so the pair sat and yarned28 and watched the treacherous29 water of what was to become the biggest flood since ’64 stealthily eating its way up amongst the long grass of the sandridge, sneaking30 quietly into little hollows, then pretending to creep back again, then with a rush advancing a miniature wave further than ever. Sat and talked and watched the brown expanse broaden until the tall oaks that bordered the banks were whipping the fierce current with their slender tops, sole mark now to show where lay mid-stream.
215‘It’s a darned big lump of a fresh!’ quoth Ned doubtfully.
‘It’ll be down afore mornin’,’ replied his mate. ‘And anyhow it can’t do us real bad, seein’ what we’ve got in the loadin’. But there’s no danger ’ere on this ridge15.’
So they turned in under their tarpaulins31, and never heard how the water hissed32 at midnight as it crept, little by little, advancing, receding33, but always gaining, into their carefully covered-up fire.
. . . . . . . . . .
In the snug34 sitting-room35 at Tarnpirr, with lamps burning brightly, and curtains drawn37 against the lowering dusk, sat Herbert Fortescue and Daisy Barton, their heads pretty close together over a chessboard.
‘I’m going across to the Back Ridge out-station this afternoon,’ had said Mr Barton. ‘I sha’n’t be home before to-morrow; I want to see how Macpherson’s getting on with those weaners. Needn’t bother about the river. It’s only a fresh, or Warrooga would have sent us word.’
Alas38 for dependence39 on Warrooga with its absent trooper, and absent-minded operator, who was warned, just after Manager Barton left him, that masses of water were coming down three rivers towards Tarnpirr!
Had he but taken horse and galloped40 out the few miles, or sent, things might have happened very differently, and this story would never have been written. But as it was—
‘There!’ exclaimed Daisy, ‘my king is in trouble 216again. I feel out of sorts to-night. It’s very close. Shall we go on to the verandah?’
‘With pleasure,’ said the young man rising. ‘But it’s as dark as pitch outside. Give me your hand, please, for fear you stumble.’
Hesitating for a moment, their eyes met, and with deepening colour she placed her hand in his, and they went out through the long window into the night. It was very quiet, and the darkness felt woolly and warm. No light glimmered41 anywhere, and the only sound was the cry of a solitary42 mopoke coming from amongst the spectral43 boles of the box trees.
‘The men are in bed, I suppose,’ said Daisy, glancing towards their hut.
‘They are away on the run,’ replied Fortescue, ‘drawing fencing stuff for the new line. But it’s a wonder we don’t see the blacks’ fire.’
As they stood leaning against the garden fence a soft continuous ripple44, mingled45 with a sound like the sighing of wind through tall belars fell on their ears.
‘It’s only the river,’ said Daisy, ‘I’ve often heard it making that mournful noise when it’s rising over its banks. Shall we walk as far as the camp?’
It was a rough track, and more than once, but for the sustaining arm of her companion, Daisy would have come to grief over log or tussock.
But they got there at last, guided by a few dim sparks from expiring fires.
‘Why, it’s deserted,’ exclaimed Daisy, as they found 217themselves amongst the empty gunyahs. ‘They’re gone, dogs and all.’
‘Off on some hunting expedition, I expect,’ replied Fortescue, laughing. ‘They look at me in a comically disgusted manner of late since I left off getting bushed so regularly.’
It was too dark to see the water, but they stood for a long time listening to the swish of it as it ran full-lipped from one steep high bank to the other, telling with eerie46 mutterings and whisperings, and curious little complaining noises, and low hoarse47 threatenings of what it would presently do, and the mischief48 it would work, but in language all untranslatable by its hearers.
‘What a sweet little lady it is,’ said Fortescue to himself as, later, he sat on the edge of his bed staring straight before him into a pair of tender, steadfast49 eyes conjured50 out of the darkness. ‘I wonder if she does? I’m nearly sure of it, thank heaven! Why, she is worth coming here and roughing it like this, and being called “Barton’s Jackaroo” twenty times over for!’ and he laughed gently. ‘Fancy a prize like that hidden away amongst these solitudes51. I wonder what her father will say? Anyhow, I won’t put it off any longer. I’ll ask him to-morrow.’
With which resolution he laid down and went to sleep, still thinking on Daisy Barton.
He awoke with a start, and lay listening to noises in his room, the remnants, as he imagined, of some grotesque52 dream.
Gurglings there were, and agonised squeakings and 218scrapings, with, now and then, ploppings and splashings as of many small swimmers. Then something cold, wet and hairy, crawled over his hand.
Shaking it off with an exclamation53, he jumped out of bed, and with the shock of it, stood stock still for two minutes up to his knees in water.
Then, striking a match, he saw that his room was awash, and that all sorts of articles were floating about it, drawn hither and thither54 by the current which swelled55 and eddied56 between the old slabs57. Up a corner of blanket, touching59 the water, swarmed60 a great host of ants, tarantulas, beetles61 and crickets, whilst drowning mice, lizards62, and heaven knows what else, swam wildly round and round and gratefully hailed his bare legs as a harbour of refuge. Hastily rubbing them off, and getting into some wet clothes, he opened the window and looked out. A wan16 moon shed a feeble light upon one vast sea of turgid water. Nothing in sight but water—water, and the tops of the trees quivering above the flood! No wonder the river talked to itself last night! The scene was enough to make even a man with a backbone quail63 and feel a bit nervous.
As for Barton’s Jackaroo, his first astonishment64 over, he forgot himself so far as first to whistle, and then to swear, but very softly and tentatively, as one trying an experiment.
You see, this was a different matter altogether to being butted65 of rams66, or even being badly bushed without a drink for three days and three nights.
219Brushing off his sleeve the head of a column of sugar-ants that had effected a lodgment via the window-sill, he waded67 into the sitting-room and lit the lamp. Then, making for Daisy’s room, he called and tapped until she answered.
‘It’s me—Fortescue. Don’t be alarmed, Daisy—Miss Barton,’ said he. ‘The water’s in the house. Get up and dress, and come out as quickly as possible.’
As he finished speaking a wild yell rang through the place, and Bridget’s voice from near by exclaimed, punctuated68 by screams,—
‘Howly Mother av Moses! Ow! Blessid Vargin an’ all the saints purtect us! Ow! the divvle be wid me! but it’s drowned I am this minnit! an’ the wather up me legs, an’ niver a soul comin’ next anigh me! Och! wirras-thru! it’s a lost woman I am, wid all the mices and bastes69 atin’ away at me! Ow! ow! ow!’
With difficulty suppressing a desire to laugh, Fortescue shouted to her to get her clothes on and join him. One little cry of dismay he heard from Daisy as she lit her candle, and then he returned to the dining-room.
Here he was startled to notice a burst of dull moonlight coming in through the front of the house where already were gaps caused by the slabs being displaced and carried away by the water.
Clearly the building, old and rotten, was going to pieces.
Presently Daisy, pale, but silent and composed, entered. Taking her in his arms, he placed her on a 220sideboard, grieving the while to see how the water poured from her clothes.
‘I am afraid the whole house will go, Daisy,’ he said. ‘It’s shaky and decayed. I was thinking of making a stage on the wall-plates up there. But I’m sure now that our only hope is in a raft of some kind.’
At this moment in floundered Bridget, clasping a large bottle to her breast, and muttering at every stride objurgations, entreaties70, and fag-ends of prayers.
‘Ochone!’ she cried, ‘may the saints an’ the Howly Mother av all hould us in their kapin’ this night!’ Then, uncorking the bottle, ‘Sure, Misthur Fortyskeu, sorr, if ye are a haythen, ye might have a thry for purgathory itself. It’s better nor the other place, so it is. Here’s the howly wather, avick, that Father Dennis give me lasht chapel72 at Warrooga—if ye’ll let me sprinkle a weeshy dhrop—’
‘Come, come, Bridget; stop that nonsense!’ exclaimed Fortescue sternly, as he knocked down slabs and pulled them inside. ‘Isn’t there water enough about, without any more. Take the candle and get me some ropes—clothes-lines, saddlestraps, anything you can find!’
Bridget opened her mouth with astonishment. She had never been spoken to in such manner before. Then putting down her precious bottle, she waddled73 off.
Presently Daisy slipped into the water, saying,—
‘I can’t sit there and watch you working away by yourself,’ and she helped to hold the slabs, whilst he and Bridget secured them with lashings.
221Four, ten feet long, tied at the ends, and upon them cross-pieces, and upon these the long dining-room table. This was the raft; and while Fortescue tied and knotted and fastened, he talked of how he had once been cast away in a yacht, and had then learned many things. And the pair, listening to his cheery voice, took courage, albeit74 the water now was waist high.
The seasoned pine timber floated like a cork71, and to his satisfaction Fortescue found that with their combined weight it was still well out of the water. He was just considering whether it might be possible to secure a few valuables and important papers, when an ominous75 creaking caught his ear, and the house began to quiver bodily.
Hurriedly jumping on board and seizing a long thin slab58, he pushed off. And what a wild sight it was outside, as the frail76 craft shot clear of everything into the flood!
The water ran like brown oil, swift but waveless, bearing with it logs, great trees, posts and rails, planks77, heaps of straw, débris of every description, whilst into the still, warm air ascended78 a stern hum like the sound of some mighty79 engine. It was like the sound of the river purring with satisfaction at the fulfilling of its last night’s promises.
Looking back, they saw through the open front the lamp, like some welcoming beacon80, burning steadily81 across the waters. Even as they gazed, there was a faint crash heard, and the light disappeared. The house had gone, and in another moment its fragments drifted by 222them. Round and round they swept, now threatened by some huge uptorn tree whose bristling82 roots came nigh transfixing them, now nearly dashed against the topmost limbs of a standing83 one, taking all Fortescue’s strength and skill to avoid a collision.
Presently they saw, on either hand, long strings84 of sheep swimming down the current with plaintive85 bleatings to their death; heard, too, shrill86 neighings and bellowings of drowning cattle and horses.
Round and round they swept, although they knew it not, towards the raging central current, where disaster was inevitable87; whilst Daisy sat with white face, mute, and almost hopeless, and Bridget crouched88, one arm around a table leg, mumbling89 over her beads90; and Barton’s Jackaroo, the man without a backbone, toiled91 steadily and watchfully92, still finding time, at intervals93, to throw a word of cheer to his helpless companions.
Crash! and a log overtaking them and hitting them end-on, sent the raft spinning; whilst to his dismay Fortescue felt the slabs begin to loose and spread. Decidedly, a few more knocks like that, and they would all find themselves in the water.
‘I’m afraid, Herbert, it’s going to pieces,’ whispered Daisy, who had crept close to where he knelt.
It was the first time she had ever used that name when addressing him, and her voice sounded so inexpressibly sweet that, without even glancing at Bridget, he turned and took the girl in his arms and kissed her, a caress94 which she, thinking her end at hand, and loving him, returned.
223Smash! and they are amongst the stout95 upper branches of what must be a giant tree. But, in place of pushing off, Fortescue hugs and pulls, and calls upon the women to help him, which they do until the raft is moored96, so to speak, hard and fast between forks and branches, the only ones visible now over all that brown, bare waste of water with silver patches of moonlight here and there upon it.
It was a grateful thing to be at rest, even so precariously97, after all the twisting and twirling they had come through; and Bridget, rising stiffly and shaking herself, with the fear of present death gone out of her soul, said,—
‘Praise the saints! Sure, Misther Fortyskeu, sorr, we oughter to be thankful for gettin’ this far wid clane shkins, so we ought! Sorra a one ov me ’ll go any furder if I can help it! Is the wather raisin’ yet, does ye think, sorr?’
‘I’m afraid it is, Bridget,’ said Fortescue, as he sat on a stout limb supporting Daisy beside him. ‘I hope, though, it won’t rise over the top of this tree.’ But, disquieted98 by the idea, he presently got into the water and tightened99 the lashings of the raft as well as he was able.
It was a long, dreary100 night, especially after the moon went down. Fortunately it was warm and fine. Indeed, throughout that trying time of flood, curiously101 enough, not a single point of rain fell in that region. They talked of many things, these two, nestling snugly102 in a great fork of the giant apple-tree, but their chief 224subject was the old, old story; whilst Bridget, just below them, alternately invoked103 heavenly succour and lamented104 earthly losses.
‘Twinty wan poun’ notes undther me head in the bolsther, an’ me too hurried an’ flurried to remimber ’em! Sure, it’s clane roond I am afther this noight, bad cess to it! But for Father Dennis’s wather—may glory be his bed whin his toime comes—it’s at the bottom wid the sheep and craturs I’d be afore now, so it is! May the saints above sind the blessed light an’ the masther wid a ship to us! Ochone! Miss Daisy, me darlin’, I knows it’s hard on ye too. An’ for ye too, sorr—God forgive me thinkin’ ye wasn’t quite so smart as ye moight be!’
Dawn at last, bright and clear, with presently a brilliant sun.
To his relief, Fortescue saw by the marks on the tree that the water was falling. By noon the raft was suspended high and dry. But still a lamentable106 procession of sheep and household débris, with an occasional horse or bullock, hurried along the swift central stream, at whose very verge107 a merciful Providence108 had arrested the raft. Presently Fortescue was lucky enough to secure a pumpkin109 out of the dozens floating about, and the three divided and ate it with an appetite. Slowly the shadows lengthened110. Other tree tops, dishevelled and dirty with driftage, began to appear around them. The water was falling rapidly. But were they to pass 225another night there? Fortescue began to fear so, and was even setting about the construction of a platform out of the raft, when a loud ‘Coo-ee-e-e!’ made him start. ‘Coo-ee-e-e!’ in answer; and then a small boat pulled by two men came through the branches of the big tree.
‘Hoorar!’ shouted one. ‘We was afraid it was all up with yees! But where’s the Boss?’
‘My father went to the out-station yesterday,’ replied Daisy.
‘Oh, then he’s right enough,’ said the man. ‘Bet your life, miss, he ain’t very far away this minute! He’s seed, afore now, what the “bit of a fresh” turned to. Hand us down the lady fust, guv’nor.’
But old Bridget, being lowest, and in a hurry, suddenly let herself drop fairly on the speaker’s shoulders, fetching him down, and nearly capsizing the boat. Then, to his infinite astonishment, she got her arms round his neck and hugged him, and would have served his mate the same way, but he sprang into the tree and avoided her.
‘Ten foot under water, by this,’ replied the carrier, ‘seein’ it was up to the naves112 afore we left. We knowed nothin’ till we feels it in our blankets. Then up we jumps, and, behold113 you, we’re on a hiland about twenty foot round, an’ the flood a-roarin’ like billyho. As luck ’ll ’ave it, Tom, there, has this boat in his loadin’, takin’ her to a storekeeper at Overflow—I 226expect he’s a-thinkin’ on her just now. So we hiked her out, paddles an’ all, gits some tucker, an’ steers114 for Tarnpirr, knowin’ as you was a lot lower ’n we, an’ no boat. Well, when we sees nothin’ but water where the house shud ha’ been, we reckoned you’d all been swep’ away, so comes along on chance, cooeyin’ pretty often. By jakers, guv’nor, if you hadn’t ’appened to have savee enough to chuck that thing together, you’d all a’ been gone goosers sure enough! I don’t b’lieve there’s one single solitary ’oof left on the run, not exceptin’ our bullocks an’ saddle ’orses.’
The castaways now made a much-needed meal off damper and some of the Tarnpirr mutton, and voted it a wonderful improvement on raw pumpkin, even with love for its sauce.
Before they had pulled a mile towards Warrooga, they met Mr Barton with some residents in the police boat. He had been nearly frantic115 with anxiety since, on returning home, he encountered the water, and, galloping116 back, had with great difficulty reached the township.
. . . . . . . . . .
‘What’s the use?’ replied Mr Barton despondently117, when, that same evening, Fortescue asked him for Daisy. ‘I’m a ruined man, and, like most such, selfish, and I want to keep my little girl. So far as I can gather, there’s not an animal of any description left alive on Tarnpirr. Pastoral firms make no allowances; they’ll say I ought to have cleared everything off before the flood came, and they’ll sack me at a minute’s notice. 227Of course, if the people here had done as they should, I might have saved most of the sheep, if not all. No; I don’t like to disappoint you, after having behaved so nobly and pluckily—and I must say now that I never did you justice—but I think, Mr Fortescue, you’d better choose a wife elsewhere; I do, indeed.’
Seeing that Barton was irritable118, and rather inclined to hug his misfortune, Fortescue, perhaps wisely, said no more just then, and apparently119 took his dismissal with a good grace.
But later, before starting for the capital, Daisy and he had a long talk, during which a conspiracy120 was hatched.
Mr Barton bade his jackaroo a kindly good-bye; and if he felt any surprise at the non-renewal of his suit, he never showed it.
He was expecting, with almost feverish121 impatience122, a letter from the firm in answer to his own report, with details of the disaster at Tarnpirr. And when at length it arrived, after what seemed a long delay, and he found that, instead of the reproaches and curt36 dismissal he was prepared for, it contained sympathy and an appointment to a large station on the Darling Downs, words were wanting to express his utter astonishment, and his deep contrition123 for the bad opinion he had formed of his employers.
‘Never mind, Daisy,’ he cried. ‘They say the owner will be there himself to receive us on our arrival. I can thank him then in person.’
228‘And, only fancy,’ he went on, ‘they request us to take our servant—that’s Bridget, of course—with us! I’m to find out, too, if those carriers lost much, and, if so, to compensate125 them.’
‘How very good and thoughtful they must be,’ answered Daisy—but this time with moist eyes.
I will not insult the reader’s penetration126 by asking him to guess who the owner of that Downs station was.
It will be sufficient to remark that Mr and Mrs Fortescue have only just returned from their wedding trip to the Continent; and that it will be very long indeed ere they forget that memorable127 night in ’90 upon which the waters came to Tarnpirr, and caused ‘Barton’s Jackaroo’ to show what he was made of.
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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inmate
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invalid
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permanently
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eucalypti
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sluggish
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chuckle
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fatigue
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retired
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mischievously
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bushed
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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14
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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15
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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16
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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17
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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18
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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19
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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20
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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21
ram
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| (random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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22
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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23
exasperates
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| n.激怒，触怒( exasperate的名词复数 )v.激怒，触怒( exasperate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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24
dawdling
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| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
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25
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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26
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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27
gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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28
yarned
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| vi.讲故事（yarn的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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29
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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30
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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31
tarpaulins
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| n.防水帆布，防水帆布罩( tarpaulin的名词复数 ) | |
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32
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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33
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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34
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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35
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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36
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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37
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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38
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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39
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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40
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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41
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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43
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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44
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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45
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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46
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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47
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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48
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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49
steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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50
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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51
solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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52
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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53
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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54
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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55
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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56
eddied
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| 起漩涡，旋转( eddy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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58
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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59
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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60
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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61
beetles
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| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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62
lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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63
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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64
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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65
butted
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| 对接的 | |
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66
rams
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| n.公羊( ram的名词复数 )；(R-)白羊（星）座；夯；攻城槌v.夯实（土等）( ram的第三人称单数 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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67
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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69
bastes
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| v.打( baste的第三人称单数 )；粗缝；痛斥；（烤肉等时）往上抹[浇]油 | |
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70
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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71
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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72
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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73
waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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75
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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76
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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77
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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78
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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80
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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81
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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82
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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83
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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84
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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85
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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86
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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87
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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88
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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90
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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91
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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92
watchfully
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| 警惕地，留心地 | |
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93
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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94
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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96
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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97
precariously
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| adv.不安全地；危险地；碰机会地；不稳定地 | |
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98
disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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100
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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101
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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102
snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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103
invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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104
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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106
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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107
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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108
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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109
pumpkin
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| n.南瓜 | |
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110
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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112
naves
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| n.教堂正厅( nave的名词复数 )；本堂；中央部；车轮的中心部 | |
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113
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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114
steers
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| n.阉公牛，肉用公牛( steer的名词复数 )v.驾驶( steer的第三人称单数 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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115
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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116
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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117
despondently
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| adv.沮丧地，意志消沉地 | |
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118
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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119
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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120
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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121
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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122
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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123
contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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124
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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125
compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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126
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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127
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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