"Yes?" said Katharine breathlessly.
"We shall see what is on the other side.”
"Do you think it will be very wonderful on the other side?”
"Of course! My father says we are shut off here, confined to a small space. He wants to find new land. My father always wants to find new places.”
"He sounds nice.”
"Nice!" He was scornful again. What could a little town girl know of the magnificence of his father!
She caught his excitement; she wanted to meet this man, the ex-convict who not only wanted to find new lands but set out with an expedition to do so.
She was a little disappointed in him when she saw him. He was lying in a hammock on a veranda; his shirt was open, showing a chest the colour of mahogany. His dark hair waved slightly, and his blue eyes peered out through even narrower slits than Henry's, and there were masses of wrinkles round them. They were very merry eyes, and it was a very merry face. But she had expected a giant, from Henry's talk.
Henry said: "Father, this is a girl I found. She was lost in the bush.”
He rolled himself out of the hammock.
"Well, well!" he said, and looked at her as though he knew a lot about her. Then he said: "This is an honour. We don't often get visitors on our lonely station. Go and tell your mother to have an extra place laid for our guest. Henry.”
Henry went in, and she and the man stood looking at each other, she smiling shyly.
"What is your name, little girl?" he asked.
"Katharine Masterman.”
Something queer happened to his face then; his eyes seemed to open a bit wider.
"Of Sydney?" he asked in a voice that didn't tell her anything.
"Yes. How did you know?”
"Ah!" he said mysteriously.
"You have a look of Katharine Masterman of Sydney.”
"What do you mean?”
"It did not surprise me to hear you are Katharine Masterman of Sydney.
Just that.”
"Then perhaps you know my Papa?”
"No, I cannot claim that honour. I once knew your mother.”
"She did not tell me.”
"Did she not? That was a little remiss of her, I fear. You are astonishingly like her.”
"Margery says that." % "Ah! Margery.”
"You knew Margery too?”
"Well, yes, I knew Margery." She clapped her hands. This was indeed coming among friends.
"Though," he went on, 'it is many years since I set eyes on her.”
"She did not tell me she knew you.”
"Dear me! They do not appear to have done me justice in the Masterman household. How is your mother?”
"She is well, thank you.”
"And what brothers and sisters have you?”
"James and Martin. There is Edward too, but he is only a baby.”
"Hardly reached the status of brother yet then.”
"What?" said Katharine.
"Come here and let me look at you.”
He held out a hand and took hers; his merry eyes searched her face.
"You are doubtless hungry?" he asked.
"It seems a long time since I ate," she told him.
"I'll warrant it does. They are cooking some veal in there.”
"I can smell it.”
"And the smell pleases you?”
She lifted her eyes ecstatically, which made him laugh.
Henry appeared, and said: "It won't be ready for half an hour.”
"Get a glass of something for our guest, Henry." said his father.
"And bring me a drink too.”
Henry disappeared, and when he came back carrying a tray, he was not alone; there was a woman, a pale, thin woman with an unhappy face and beautiful hair that curled and rioted about her face as if in defiance of its unhappiness.
"Esther," said the man and he talked as though it was a great joke 'this is Miss Katharine Masterman, Carolan's girl.”
Katharine wondered why the woman seemed to mind so much that she was Katharine Masterman, Carolan's girl. Katharine stood up and curtsied.
The woman said: "How... how did she get here?”
"Henry brought her. She was lost in the bush." Katharine thought it was due to her to explain.
"I rode out and I didn't realize how far I had come. And then I coo-eed and... Henry found me.”
"Your mother will be anxious." The woman looked at the man.
"You could take her back now. If you did, you could get her there before dark.”
"Why, Esther," said the man, "Miss Masterman is very hungry. It would be churlish to send her away without food.”
"Carolan will be frantic!”
"I wonder," he said, and he looked quite cruel then.
Katharine had not thought of that. She stood up.
"I must go. Mamma will be worried.”
The man stood up. He seemed to have thrown off his laziness now, and his eyes smouldered.
He said to Katharine: "Do not worry. It is too late for you to go now.
You must stay the night here. In the morning I or my son will take you back. It would be possible though to get a message to your parents that you were safe.”
She smiled. How clever of him. And how kind! For, much as she did not want Mamma worried, she did want to continue this adventure. There was more in it than being lost and found, than being hungry and smelling the good smell of roasting meat; there was more in it than meeting new people. There was something about these people that was exciting, mysterious; she sensed that as soon as the man began to talk, and more so when the woman came in. She was his wife, and Henry's mother; he was her husband; they were like Mamma and Papa, but very different too. Papa looked at Mamma when she was in the room, as though he saw no one else; and Mamma smiled at Papa, and said that he was a very clever, busy man. But these two tried not to look at each other, and when they did look it was different somehow. Then of course there was Henry quite the most exciting of the three. The man and the woman went out and left her with Henry on the veranda.
"Have you any brothers and sisters?" she asked.
"Not real brothers and sisters.”
"How can you have not real ones?”
"You can. You can have half-brothers and sisters. They have your father, but not your mother.”
It sounded very complicated.
"I've got a half-sister here. She is two years old and her name is Elizabeth. She lives here; she is the daughter of the servant.”
Katharine was puzzled. The boy looked wise, and she thought he must be clever, and as she did not like to display her ignorance in front of him she asked no more questions.
The man came back, and stretched himself out in the hammock.
"She wants to go over the Blue Mountains." said Henry.
"She believed that there are evil spirits there." Katharine blushed, and hotly denied it. That's just a native story," said the man kindly.
"I know!" said Katharine.
"She didn't... till I told her.”
"Do not be so unmannerly, Henry," said the man.
"I am sure she knew.”
"Is it unmannerly to tell the truth?”
"Very often, my boy.”
"You're a convict, aren't you?" said Katharine.
"I was.”
"Were you very wicked?”
"Very!”
Katharine laughed, because it was very comical to hear a grown man say he was very wicked.
"What did you do?" she asked.
He was a wonderful talker better than Margery and his eyes danced with merriment as he talked. Never had the Old Country become so real for her. She began to see it as Marcus had seen it nearly twenty years ago. She saw clearly the cobbled streets of London, red brick buildings and old inns with their signs creaking in the wind and blistered by the sun; she saw nearby meadows and the clustering villages of Brentford and Chiswick, Chelsea and Kensington. Link boys, crossing sweepers, barefooted and hungry, and the great, riding by in their carriages; cock-fighting and the baiting of bulls and bears out at Tothill Fields; drunken people clustered round the gin shops; the bucks so gorgeously attired, the beggars with their sores and rags; pick-pockets and fools; street criers; here and there a sedan chair.