Under the Ti-Trees [pp. 855-860]

VUNDER THE Ti- TREES.
in this characteristic Australian valley, with its grazing cattle
and its fields of golden maize shut in by precipitous, rocky yet
wooded hills. Rest and peace for herself, and a happy home
for little Willie.
They had been gentle and kind, these homely valley people,
though they sometimes glanced curiously at her and her baby
boy. None asked for the explanation that she never volunteered. It was enough for them that the low-voiced schoolmistress had a sad face and was a devoted mother, though
looking but a girl herself. They were all human enough to
detect a history lurking in the soft, dark eyes, and to decide
privately among themselves that Willie's father, whether alive
or dead, was a ne'er-do-well. The teacher never spoke of him,
perhaps had folded his memory away with her girlish visions of
happiness; he was only a name now-only "little Willie's
father," and little Willie was her world.
The few men of that thinly populated valley seemed to
realize this. In their freest moments there was never any joking about the quiet little teacher-winsome though she was and
"too good for the place," as they averred. "Little madam"
stood on a higher level, and made them feel sheepish. But
little Willie was the pet of the valley, and not a man in it but
would have risked his life to save mother or son.
So life had run on placidly and monotonously till that race
day when the champion rider of the valley, dashing past to be
in at the fun, pulled up suddenly in front of the school-house to
watch the children filing out, while the sunshine fell on the fair
hair and black dress of their teacher. She glanced up with interest, guessing him to be the hero of the hour; he gazed back
gravely, with a sense of old memories dimly stirring within
him. For the "Rider" had not always been a rough bushman;
his childhood had been spent with people of culture and refinement in the old country, and something about this simply
dressed woman recalled associations that had been cast aside
in a wild youth. The Rider was unprecedentedly thoughtful
all that day, and was considered quite mean in the matter of
"shouting," which had hitherto been one of his most attractive
points. A week later he exhibited still more extraordinary
symptoms: he was to be seen one morning walking through the
orange plantation up to Mrs. Sims's cottage, where the schoolmistress lodged, and there he deliberately inquired for a room.
Mrs. Sims's breath was taken away; when recovered, she
used it with withering effect "as how'tis but one spare room
856
[Mar.,