She was in a hurry to get away--English people always are--but

in the bright lexicon of the bush there is no such word as hurry.

Tracey, the blacksmith, had not by any means finished shoeing the

coach-horse yet. So Mrs. Connellan made an attempt to find out who

she was, and why she was going to Kuryong.

"You'll have a nice trip in the coach," she said. "Lier (lawyer)

Blake's going down. He's a nice feller."

"Yes?"

"Father Kelly, too. He's good company."

"Yes?"

"Are you staying long at Kuryong?"

"Some time, I expect."

"Are you going to teach the children?"

"No, I'm going to live there. My father owns Kuryong. My father is

Mr. Grant."

Mrs. Connellan was simply staggered at this colossal treasure-trove,

this majestic piece of gossip that had fallen on her like rain from

Heaven. Mr. Grant's daughter! Going out to Kuryong! What a piece

of news! Hardly knowing what she did, she shuffled out of the

room, and interrupted the singing waitress who was wiping plates,

and had just got back to "It's a vilet" when Mrs. Connellan burst

in on her.

"Maggie! Maggie! Do you know who that is? Grant's daughter! The one

that used to be in England. She must be going to Kuryong to live,

with all that luggage. What'll the Gordons say? The old lady won't

like it, will she? This'll be a bit of news, won't it?" And she

went off to tell the cook, while Maggie darted to the door to meet

Dan, and tell him.

Dan told the station-master when he went back for the next load,

and when he had finished carting the luggage he got on a horse and

went round telling everybody in the little town. The station-master

told the ganger of the four navvies who went by on their trolly

down the line to work. At the end of their four-mile length they

told the ration-carrier of Eubindal station, who happened to call

in at their camp for a drink of tea. He hurried off to the head-station

with the news, and on his way told three teamsters, an inspector

of selections, and a black boy belonging to Mylong station, whom

he happened to meet on the road. Each of them told everybody that

they met, pulling up and standing in their stirrups to discuss the

matter in all its bearings, in the leisurely style of the bush;

and wondering what she had come out for, whether the Gordons would

get the sack from Kuryong, whether she would marry Hugh Gordon,

whether she was engaged already, whether she was good-looking, how

much money she had, and how much old Grant would leave her. In fact,

before twenty-four hours were over, all the district knew of her

arrival; which possibly explains how news travels in Africa among

the Kaffirs, who are supposed to have a signalling system that

no one has yet fathomed; but the way it gets round in Australia

is just as wonderful as among the Kaffirs, in fact, for speed and

thoroughness of information we should be inclined to think that

our coloured brethren run a bad second.




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