Lillipilly Hill (8 page)

‘Time Pa came home and chopped those blackberries out,' observed Dinny, helping Pete through the fence. ‘Ma and me can't do a thing with 'em. Don't walk on our bean plants.'

The patch of ground in front of the house had been made into a vegetable garden. There were no flowers, but a thick mat of Wandering Jew stretched on either side of the sawn-off stump that did duty as a doorstep.

‘Come on in,' invited Dinny, as Pete limped ahead of them, calling for his mother. ‘Ma won't mind.'

The house was of unpainted timber, with a shingle roof patched here and there with iron. Harriet followed Dinny through the open door into what appeared to
be the family living-room. As Harriet was to discover, the house boasted only three rooms, and this one served as dining-room, kitchen, bathroom, and parlour. A huge chimney covered most of one wall, with a rusty stove beneath it. Sacks lay here and there on the uneven wood floor, and more sacking hung over one of the two small windows. The other window was the only one in the house which had a complete pane of glass.

In front of the stove, Dinny's mother was bathing the baby in a battered tin tub. She was a small woman, not much bigger than Dinny, and stooped from continual hard work. She stared in astonishment at her daughter and the visitor—as Harriet later found out, visitors were extremely rare in the O'Brien household.

‘What's the matter, Dinny? Are you sick?'

‘No, it's Pete—he cut hisself,' explained Dinny, looking round for her brother, who, having reassured himself of his mother's presence, had retired into a corner with a handful of blackberries picked on the way home.

‘And are you going back to school? Who's this?' Mrs O'Brien asked, indicating Harriet.

‘That's Harriet Wilmot—you know, from up the hill. I told you about her. Can we have something to eat?'

‘There's bread an' dripping on the table,' said Mrs O'Brien, still looking at Harriet, studying her white pinafore and polished boots with embarrassing interest.

Dinny brought Harriet a thick slice of freshly baked bread, lavishly spread with mutton fat, and sprinkled with salt and pepper. Harriet, feeling distinctly awkward and unwelcome, gazed uncertainly at this delicacy.

‘Eat it,' commanded Dinny, between mouthfuls. ‘There's lots more for our dinner.'

Harriet did as she was bid, and found the snack quite the tastiest she had ever had.

‘I'll ask Polly to give me some when I go home,' she said. ‘It's her baking day.'

‘You'll have something better than that for your dinner, I'll be bound,' declared Mrs O'Brien matter-of-factly. ‘But I'm sure Polly Hopkins's dripping's no nicer than ours, all the same.'

‘What's the baby's name?' asked Harriet, peering at the child with polite interest. Unlike Rose-Ann, who still cherished a whole family of dolls, Harriet was not fond of babies, and this one seemed a rather meagre and unattractive specimen.

‘That's our Steve,' said Mrs O'Brien proudly, lifting the child from the tub and setting him on a
sack to dry him. ‘It's hard work thinking of names for all these boys, I can tell you. Naming Dinny was a real treat. Diana Elizabeth Agnes, she is—it was the prettiest name I could think of. It's a pity she ain't pretty to go with it.'

Dinny was quite unconcerned by this remark, but Harriet came loyally to her friend's defence.

‘Oh, but she is pretty! See how curly her hair is!'

‘Well, she'll have to do, I suppose,' said Dinny's mother. ‘I hear you Wilmots are here to stay—is that right?'

‘Yes,' answered Harriet, surprised by the directness of the question. Apparently the entire township knew of the Wilmots' affairs.

‘It's a bit lonely for your mother, I reckon. The other Mrs Wilmot used to drive round in her buggy, visiting all her friends. An' she'd spend weeks in Sydney, sometimes. But then she had no children to think of.'

Mrs O'Brien seemed ready to talk all morning, and it was with some difficulty that Harriet managed to edge away.

‘We'll be late if we don't go now,' she said. ‘Thank you very much for the bread.'

‘No trouble,' Mrs O'Brien assured her, following them to the door, with Steve tucked under one arm. ‘Come again.'

‘Ma likes to talk,' said Dinny, as they hurried back along the road. ‘Last person to visit was a swaggie, an' he never said a word. Ma must of took to you straight off—telling you my real name an' everything.'

‘I like your mother,' said Harriet thoughtfully, as they crossed the playground. There was no more time to talk, as the bell rang just then, but Harriet did not soon forget her meeting with Mrs O'Brien. Somehow the bareness and poorness of the house in the clearing ceased to matter, when she remembered Mrs O'Brien's cheerful good spirits.

On the following day, which was Saturday, Harriet paid a visit of a very different nature. This was to the Rectory, a full-dress occasion demanding white muslins and coloured sashes and cotton gloves, all of which Harriet hated, and Rose-Ann relished. As the buggy would only hold three in any comfort, Mr and Mrs Wilmot and Rose-Ann drove, while Aidan and Harriet walked.

It was a still, grey, clouded afternoon, humid and heavy with the promise of rain. The bush was completely quiet.

‘I'd much rather walk, anyway,' said Harriet with satisfaction. ‘It will make our visit shorter, too. Did Father tell you, Aidan, that Polly isn't to take us to school any more? He says we are old enough to look after ourselves, and Polly's too busy.'

Aidan frowned. Much as he disliked being escorted by a servant-girl, he had to admit that Polly's presence gave him a certain amount of protection from his tormentors, from Paddy Tolly in particular. Harriet was quite shrewd enough to read his thoughts.

‘But from Monday Charles Farmer will be back at school, and you could go some of the way with him. I know a much shorter path to school, and it goes past the church.'

‘How did you find it?' asked Aidan, with some interest.

‘Dinny showed me. It goes down the hill near the cowshed. Only it's all overgrown.'

‘We could ask Boz to clear it,' suggested Aidan.

‘We could clear it ourselves,' said Harriet sturdily. ‘It would be worth the trouble, wouldn't it?'

And Aidan had to agree that it would.

Barley Creek seemed to be totally deserted. School, store, and post office were all blank-faced and silent, and no horses were tied beneath the peppercorn tree on the little patch of grass below the church—that patch being the meeting-place of the township. In the hushed grey and green landscape, the only brightness was in the Rectory poplars, already turning gold.

‘I wonder what Charles is like,' said Harriet, as they opened the Rectory gate. Aidan, who had been thinking exactly the same thing, said nothing—more discreet than Harriet, he realized that they were within earshot of the wide-open windows. The Rectory was a grey timber house, with steep gables decorated with what looked like white wooden frills.

Harriet intensely disliked the kind of visit where she had to sit very still and straight in a high-backed chair, and speak only when she was addressed directly. Worse still was the afternoon tea-party at which she might be suddenly called upon to recite, or sing, or play the piano. So she was greatly relieved to find that the Farmers were kind, informal people, and that the children were allowed to stay out of doors while the grown-ups talked in the sitting-room.

‘Let's go in the summer-house,' said Charles, leading the way up the sloping back garden to the little wooden shelter at the top. From here one could gaze down past the house to the township, and beyond to the creek and the encircling hills.

‘Watch for spiders,' said Charles solemnly to Rose-Ann. ‘I think you might be sitting on one.'

Rose-Ann at once jumped up in great alarm, and Charles burst into hearty laughter. He was a plump, good-natured, cheerful boy, a born tease, and always ready to bubble over with amusement.

‘Rose-Ann doesn't think spiders are funny,' Aidan explained. ‘She hasn't been here long enough for that. Sit down, Rose-Ann—it was only a joke.'

‘Haven't you any sisters I could play with?' asked Rose-Ann hopefully.

‘No sisters, or brothers either,' said Charles. ‘And I must say I'm pleased you've come here to live. It's been so dull at school lately, with only Paddy and Bill to talk to. They're hopeless at cricket, too. Do you bowl or bat?' he demanded eagerly of Aidan.

‘I've not played much,' admitted Aidan.

‘You'll soon learn,' Charles assured him. ‘If you're good enough, you might be allowed to join the Barley Creek side next summer. The season's nearly over now. Our last match is with Deacon's Flat, on Saturday.'

‘Do you mean
you
play for Barley Creek?' asked Harriet in surprise. Her knowledge of cricket was even less than Aidan's, and she envisaged an eleven as being made up of tall, serious gentlemen with beards.

‘Of course I do,' said Charles airily. ‘I'm one of the opening bats, usually. Joe O'Brien's the other, when he's home. Why don't you come and watch next Saturday?'

‘We shall, if Father will take us,' said Harriet with enthusiasm.

Charles turned again to Aidan.

‘How do you like the school? I've been there four years, and I'm used to it. But I suppose it must look rather odd to you, after being at school in London.'

‘It's all right,' said Aidan. ‘I wish I could go to the Grammar School sooner, though.'

‘Whatever for?' demanded Charles. ‘You'll have to work much harder there. And you won't be able to go fishing or exploring or hunting rabbits after school. I shot four rabbits yesterday.'

‘Aidan doesn't do any of those things, anyway,' explained Harriet, adding wistfully: ‘But I would like to.'

‘Girls make too much noise when you're after rabbits or fish,' said Charles. ‘I could take you exploring, though. I know where a platypus lives, and there's a whole family of bush cats up in the hill behind O'Brien's place.'

‘Harriet wouldn't be allowed,' said Rose-Ann.

‘What's a platypus?' asked Harriet.

‘It has feet like a duck, and fur, and it swims in the creek. And I know where the bunyip lives, too. A bunyip,' he went on, addressing the wide-eyed Rose-Ann, ‘is huge and black, and it howls like this—'

He threw back his head and emitted a cry so blood-curdling that Rose-Ann turned quite pale.

‘There are no such things as bunyips,' said Harriet triumphantly. ‘Polly says so.'

‘No one's ever
seen
one,' admitted Charles. ‘All the same, Bill Mackenzie's absolutely sure that one lives in the cave on Maloney's Hill—he's heard it.'

‘Bill Mackenzie would say anything,' said Aidan scornfully.

‘Don't you like him, then?' asked Charles curiously. ‘He's awfully slow, but he wouldn't hurt a fly.'

‘I don't like any of them,' muttered Aidan.

Puzzled, Charles stood up.

‘Come on, I'll show you my pet bandicoot. His name's Sniffy.'

Sniffy proved to be a rather disappointing creature, being sound asleep in a dark corner underneath the house, and most unwilling to be disturbed. All that was visible was a mound of greyish fur and the tip of a long snout. But Rose-Ann was content to linger and gaze at him, and even plucked up courage to pat his unresponsive back.

Aidan disappeared into the house, and Charles and Harriet were left alone in the quiet garden.

‘What's your brother so bad-tempered about?' inquired Charles. ‘He doesn't seem to like anything.'

Harriet explained about Paddy Tolly and his friends, adding in conclusion: ‘So you see, all the others are waiting to see what Aidan will do. Only I think he'll just do nothing. He hates fighting.'

‘I'd punch Paddy myself, if it would help,' said Charles cheerfully. ‘But that wouldn't make any difference. Aidan will have to do it. He's nearly as big as Paddy, and Paddy's a coward, anyway. There wouldn't be much fighting, really.'

Harriet stared thoughtfully at the lace gables and at a row of magpies spaced at exactly equal intervals along the ridge-pole.

‘Something will have to be done soon,' she declared. ‘If Aidan tells Father that he absolutely hates this school, then Father might decide we ought to go back to London after all. We're to give it a six months' trial, you see, and it matters much more about Aidan than about Rose-Ann and me.'

Charles sincerely wanted to help. He liked Harriet, and although he privately considered Aidan more than a little foolish, he still hoped that the other boy might prove to be a good companion. Charles loved company, and friends of his own age were scarce in Barley Creek.

‘I think you ought to stay,' he said. ‘I can't see why anyone would want to go back to London after this. I don't remember much about it myself, but I'm
sure it was awfully dull. If I arranged things so that Aidan just
had
to fight Paddy, would that help? I'm certain he'd beat Paddy easily, and then all the others would think a lot of Aidan, and he'd soon get to like the school.'

‘It sounds quite a good idea,' said Harriet gratefully. ‘Do you think you can do it?'

‘Just leave it to me,' said Charles confidently, and Harriet went in to tea feeling that she had found a staunch ally.

Next morning, as she dressed for church, Harriet began to have a few misgivings.

‘Rose-Ann,' she said to her sister, who was lacing her boots with an air of intense concentration, ‘has Aidan ever fought anyone before?'

‘Before when?' asked Rose-Ann in surprise.

‘Oh, no time in particular,' said Harriet hastily. ‘I was only wondering.'

‘I've never heard him talk about any fights he had,' said Rose-Ann. ‘You know how he loathes scenes, and ugly things. If you're ready, could you do my boots for me? I can't make them go right.'