Part 15

“The one with her hair all over her head,” I answered.

“Where else should it be?” asked Mitchell. “But I'll just have a peep and see who it is. There's no harm in that.”

He crept up to the tent and cautiously moved the flap. Alf's candle was alight; he lay on his back in his bunk with his arms under his head, calmly smoking. We withdrew.

“They must have heard us,” said Mitchell; “and she's slipped out under the tent at the back, and through the fence into the scrub.”

Mitchell's respect for Alf increased visibly.

But we began to hear ominous whispers from the young married couples, and next Saturday night, which was pay-night, we decided to see it through. We did not care to speak to Alf until we were sure. He stayed in camp, as he often did, on Saturday evening, while the others went up town. Mitchell and I returned earlier than usual, and leaned on the fence at the back of Alf's tent.

We were scarcely there when we were startled by a “rat-tat-tat” as of someone knocking at a door. Then an old woman's voice INSIDE the tent asked: “Who's there?”

“It's me,” said Alf's voice from the front, “Mr. O'Briar from Perth.”

“Mary, go and open the door!” said the old woman. (Mitchell nudged me to keep quiet.)

“Come in, Mr. O'Breer,” said the old woman. “Come in. How do you do? When did you get back?”

“Only last night,” said Alf.

“Look at that now! Bless us all! And how did you like the country at all?”

“I didn't care much for it,” said Alf. We lost the thread of it until the old woman spoke again.

“Have you had your tea, Mr. O'Breer?”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. O'Connor.”

“Are you quite sure, man?”

“Quite sure, thank you, Mrs. O'Connor.” (Mitchell trod on my foot.)

“Will you have a drop of whisky or a glass of beer, Mr. O'Breer?”

“I'll take a glass of beer, thank you, Mrs. O'Connor.”

There seemed to be a long pause. Then the old woman said, “Ah, well, I must get my work done, and Mary will stop here and keep you company, Mr. O'Breer.” The arrangement seemed satisfactory to all parties, for there was nothing more said for a while. (Mitchell nudged me again, with emphasis, and I kicked his shin.)

Presently Alf said: “Mary!” And a girl's voice said, “Yes, Alf.”

“You remember the night I went away, Mary?”

“Yes, Alf, I do.”

“I have travelled long ways since then, Mary; I worked hard and lived close. I didn't make my fortune, but I managed to rub a note or two together. It was a hard time and a lonesome time for me, Mary. The summer's awful over there, and livin's bad and dear. You couldn't have any idea of it, Mary.”

“No, Alf.”

“I didn't come back so well off as I expected.”

“But that doesn't matter, Alf.”

“I got heart-sick and tired of it, and couldn't stand it any longer, Mary.”