He only thought of me and the children!Oh!my poor,dear,kind,dead husband!'She broke down again and sobbed,and her sister comforted her,while Andy and I stared at Wellington meeting Blucher on the field of Waterloo.I thought the artist had heaped up the dead a bit extra,and I thought that I wouldn't like to be trod on by horses,even if I was dead.
`Don't you mind,'said Miss Standish,`she'll be all right presently,'and she handed us the `Illustrated Sydney Journal'.This was a great relief,--we bumped our heads over the pictures.
Mrs Baker made Andy go on again,and he told her how the Boss broke down near Mulgatown.Mrs Baker was opposite him and Miss Standish opposite me.
Both of them kept their eyes on Andy's face:he sat,with his hair straight up like a brush as usual,and kept his big innocent grey eyes fixed on Mrs Baker's face all the time he was speaking.
I watched Miss Standish.I thought she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen;it was a bad case of love at first sight,but she was far and away above me,and the case was hopeless.I began to feel pretty miserable,and to think back into the past:I just heard Andy droning away by my side.
`So we fixed him up comfortable in the waggonette with the blankets and coats and things,'Andy was saying,`and the squatter started into Mulgatown.It was about thirty miles,Jack,wasn't it?'he asked,turning suddenly to me.He always looked so innocent that there were times when I itched to knock him down.
`More like thirty-five,'I said,waking up.
Miss Standish fixed her eyes on me,and I had another look at Wellington and Blucher.
`They were all very good and kind to the Boss,'said Andy.
`They thought a lot of him up there.Everybody was fond of him.'
`I know it,'said Mrs Baker.`Nobody could help liking him.
He was one of the kindest men that ever lived.'
`Tanner,the publican,couldn't have been kinder to his own brother,'said Andy.`The local doctor was a decent chap,but he was only a young fellow,and Tanner hadn't much faith in him,so he wired for an older doctor at Mackintyre,and he even sent out fresh horses to meet the doctor's buggy.Everything was done that could be done,I assure you,Mrs Baker.'
`I believe it,'said Mrs Baker.`And you don't know how it relieves me to hear it.And did the publican do all this at his own expense?'
`He wouldn't take a penny,Mrs Baker.'
`He must have been a good true man.I wish I could thank him.'
`Oh,Ned thanked him for you,'said Andy,though without meaning more than he said.
`I wouldn't have fancied that Ned would have thought of that,'said Mrs Baker.
`When I first heard of my poor husband's death,I thought perhaps he'd been drinking again --that worried me a bit.'
`He never touched a drop after he left Solong,I can assure you,Mrs Baker,'said Andy quickly.
Now I noticed that Miss Standish seemed surprised or puzzled,once or twice,while Andy was speaking,and leaned forward to listen to him;then she leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands behind her head and looked at him,with half-shut eyes,in a way I didn't like.
Once or twice she looked at me as if she was going to ask me a question,but I always looked away quick and stared at Blucher and Wellington,or into the empty fireplace,till I felt that her eyes were off me.
Then she asked Andy a question or two,in all innocence I believe now,but it scared him,and at last he watched his chance and winked at her sharp.
Then she gave a little gasp and shut up like a steel trap.
The sick child in the bedroom coughed and cried again.Mrs Baker went to it.
We three sat like a deaf-and-dumb institution,Andy and I staring all over the place:presently Miss Standish excused herself,and went out of the room after her sister.She looked hard at Andy as she left the room,but he kept his eyes away.
`Brace up now,Jack,'whispered Andy to me,`the worst is coming.'
When they came in again Mrs Baker made Andy go on with his story.
`He --he died very quietly,'said Andy,hitching round,and resting his elbows on his knees,and looking into the fireplace so as to have his face away from the light.Miss Standish put her arm round her sister.
`He died very easy,'said Andy.`He was a bit off his head at times,but that was while the fever was on him.He didn't suffer much towards the end --I don't think he suffered at all.He talked a lot about you and the children.'(Andy was speaking very softly now.)`He said that you were not to fret,but to cheer up for the children's sake.
It was the biggest funeral ever seen round there.'
Mrs Baker was crying softly.Andy got the packet half out of his pocket,but shoved it back again.
`The only thing that hurts me now,'says Mrs Baker presently,`is to think of my poor husband buried out there in the lonely Bush,so far from home.It's --cruel!'and she was sobbing again.
`Oh,that's all right,Mrs Baker,'said Andy,losing his head a little.
`Ned will see to that.Ned is going to arrange to have him brought down and buried in Sydney.'Which was about the first thing Andy had told her that evening that wasn't a lie.Ned had said he would do it as soon as he sold his wool.
`It's very kind indeed of Ned,'sobbed Mrs Baker.`I'd never have dreamed he was so kind-hearted and thoughtful.I misjudged him all along.
And that is all you have to tell me about poor Robert?'
`Yes,'said Andy --then one of his `happy thoughts'struck him.
`Except that he hoped you'd shift to Sydney,Mrs Baker,where you've got friends and relations.He thought it would be better for you and the children.He told me to tell you that.'
`He was thoughtful up to the end,'said Mrs Baker.`It was just like poor Robert --always thinking of me and the children.We are going to Sydney next week.'
Andy looked relieved.We talked a little more,and Miss Standish wanted to make coffee for us,but we had to go and see to our horses.
We got up and bumped against each other,and got each other's hats,and promised Mrs Baker we'd come again.
`Thank you very much for coming,'she said,shaking hands with us.
`I feel much better now.You don't know how much you have relieved me.
