348 



THE AMERICAN BEE-KEEPER, 



December 



Ber complexion harmonized, as well 

 as a well tanned skin would permit, 

 with the dingy whiteness of the 

 counterpane. Only the great dark 

 eyes lent relief to the monotony of 

 her expression, and they were now 

 full of something which when read 

 aright spelt hopelessness of an ex- 

 traordinary (iegree. 



Toward the end of the afternoon 

 tl)e husband made his appearance, 

 and preceded by the matron he 

 stalked into his wife's pres^ioe. 

 For a moment he stood in the door- 

 way dazed, bewildered perhaps by 

 the half darkness. Then recogniz- 

 ing his wife he advanced toward the 

 bed. 



"Daphne, old gal, " he said, with 

 a little tremor in his voice, as he 

 bent over her, "an 'ow's it with ye 

 now? Ye looks better by a darned 

 Sight." 



She gave a little sigh before she 

 replied : 



"I'm nearly well now. Bill, bet- 

 ter*D I 'ave been by a long chalk. 

 Sit ye down, old man, an tell us 

 *ow it goes with the children an the 

 team." 



Bill sat very gingerly on the edge 

 of the bed, and as if out of compli- 

 ment to the peculiar cleanliness of 

 the place fell to scrubbing his face 

 with a flaring red cotten handker- 

 chief. 



"The kids is fit, an the team's 

 first class," he answered. 



Then, with a gesture of almost 

 awe, he assumed possession of one 

 of the thin brown hands upon the 

 coverlet. 



"My lass, 'ow dog poor yer 'ands 

 has got, to be sure; but they was al- 

 ways pretty 'ands to my thinkin." 



Daphne patted his great brown 

 paws and allowed a little wan smile 

 of gratified vanity to flicker across 

 her face. Let the woman be ever so 

 old and plain, she is never beyond 

 the reach of a compliment from the 

 man she loves. 



"An 'ow's the roads lookin out 



back?" she asked. 



"Al an no mistake, green as a 

 leaf all the way. From here to Kid- 

 geree creek there's water in every 

 hole, an the little wild flowers yer 

 used to like is that thick along the 

 track 3'er can hardly see the grass 

 for 'em. I brought yer some." On 

 the lining of bis big cabbage tree 

 bat he took a tiny bunch of bush 

 bluebells and placed them in her 

 hand. It was a critical moment for 

 both of thorn. He was acutely afraid 

 of ridicule. She, for some reason 

 she could not have explained, did 

 not know whether to laugh or cry. 



She laid the flowers on the table 

 by her bedside and then turned to 

 her husband, the better to express 

 her thanks. 



"Bill," she said softly, "you was 

 alius a good chap to me." 



''j"J^ay, nay. my lass; yovj Tnustn"'t 

 'lay that. Y^^a don't know 'ow W9 

 Qiisses yer out yonder. Things ain't 

 the same at ail without ye. Make 

 'aste an iret well an come back to 

 the kids an nie an let's get out of 

 this 'ere towi\. " 



"Bill, I slian't be"— 



"Shan't be what, lass?" 



He looked rather anxiously down 

 at her. 



"I shan't bo" — The weak voice 

 paused as if to think of a word. 

 Then she seemed to choke, and after 

 that a painful silence ensued. 



Finally she said: 



"I — I shan't be long." 



Bill icavc a sigh of relief and con- 

 tinued : 



"I'm 'avin now tires put on the 

 fore vhofls, an we've got a new 

 pair o' sl:.;( 5'li in place o' Billabong 

 an Blossom, that were too old for 

 the wo; k. \v'e've got full loadin 

 out to the Dianmiantia an back, an 

 when the trip's done there'll per- 

 haps ba a lijatter o' ±20 to jjut in the 

 stocking I'cr the kids. Get well, my 

 lass, an come back to your place on 

 the lend. The biish wind, an the 

 blue ; I:y, an the sight o' them wild 



