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Frank Melton's Luck, Or, Off to New Zealand

Chapter XVII. The Bush Gully—The Widow's Success

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Chapter XVII. The Bush Gully—The Widow's Success.

We rode on to the gully which had been selected as our destination, and found it truly a wondrously beautiful spot. The hills on either side were very precipitious, and clothed in bush, the variegated nature of the foliage showing every shade of green and every conceivable shape, from the gracefully drooping tree fern to the stately pine. Young Sylvester led us to a spot where grew the highest tree fern he had ever seen. It stood at the bottom of the gully, and owing to the trees up the steep sides mingling their branches overhead, had, in its aspiring efforts to obtain the full benefit of sunlight, sent its stalk up to a height of at the lowest computation ninety feet. They very rarely grow to anything like this altitude, but are content with getting the few rays of light let in amongst the other trees. He also called our attention to an enormous rata tree with magnificent crimson blossoms, but a remarkably rugged stem. This tree is a parasite of the meanest class. In its youth it is a slight vine. After fixing on a tree which it deems suitable for its purpose, and about the height which it wishes to attain, it climbs up, at first tenderly embracing the object which lends it assistance, and without which it never could rise from its ropey entanglements on the Mother Earth; then, as it gathers strength, its endearments become less gentle and more grasping, until at last it crushes the life out of the victim of its early attachment, and takes its place as a tree in its own right, growing often to a great size, and presenting a majestic appearance. The timber is of a very hard nature, but the grain is gnarled and twisted.

To return to our party. After inspecting these curiosities of nature we advanced on foot up the winding gully, as the denseness of the underscrub, and the tantalizing interlacements of the supplejacks and bush-lawyers made the track impassable for horses. The notes of the melodious bell-bird, and the tui or parson-bird, with its white choker, and the twittering of the tui or parson-bird, with its white choker, and the twittering of the lively little fantail and bush robin, blended in perfect harmony with the faintly-heard distant rumbling of the stream, as it dashed over the bar of rock which impeded its course higher up. We could as yet only hear it in the distance. As we approached nearer it became a dull roar, and the birds were unheard, and bits of scenery before admired were forgotten in the entrancement of the scene before us. A wall of rock stretched across the gully to the height of nearly a hundred feet, and over this fell the foaming water, first in one solid steam till a jutting rock broke it up and divided it into several differnt falls, which in their turn were again, by a second projecting ledge, divided into thousands, nay, millions of atoms of spray, which glistened like silver in the gleaming sunlight. The rocky wall, where it was not water-worn, was draped in a fantastic manner with multitudes of delicate ferns and mosses. We vied with one another in reckless feats of climbing to secure the most desirable collections of these welcome gifts of nature for our lady friends, who were also themselves prospecting for page 71 rare specimens in the more easily accessible localities. There was something in this whole scene which had a most soothing effect on my troubled mind. I know of no better rest for any individual suffering from mental worry or overwork than a day spent in the New Zealand bush. In contemplating its awe-inspiring grandeur one forgets the comparatively paltry troubles of human life.

After a very pleasant afternoon we returned to our friend's hospitable establishment, and having refreshed ourselves with a substantial tea, we again assembled in the room which had been the scene of such varied sensations on the previous evening, and amused ourselves in a similar manner. I was already beginning to recover from the shock of discovering that my love was not returned. Yes, beginning, for it was long ere I completely recovered, but I was so far on the road to recovery that I began to consider if there could not be some means of alleviating, if not entirely removing my discomposure. It is something when one comes to consider his case not so entirely hopeless as he had at first supposed. This comfort, however, does not entirely allay the pain, for there are seasons of despondency when the affair assumes a blacker hue than before. However, I began to reason with myself that it was quite within the bounds of probability that Fanny would find out in time the true character of her admirer. These thoughts enabled me to get through the second evening much more pleasantly than the previous one, and, indeed, almost to enjoy it. I danced several times with Mrs Fortescue and dear little Alice, who could well see what was the matter with me now. Her kind womanly heart prompted her to administer comfort to me in many unobtrusive ways. I also danced with several of the other young ladies, and found that Fanny's success in captivating the elegant Mr Grosvenor was the prevailing topic of conversation. They naturally imagined that I should be a good authority on the subject, and questioned me in a manner which I found extremely distasteful.

‘Ah, ah! Mr Melton,’ remarked one young damsel, ‘we hear something about you, too. What a shame of you to try and cut out your uncle! When there are so many girls of your own age about, you surely needn't pay so much attention to one old enough to be your mother.’

‘Oh, do you think so,’ I replied. ‘The fact of the matter is, I always did take a fancy to ladies older than myself. When they are younger, there always seems to me to be an odour of pinafores and porridge about them.’

‘Please take me back to my mother, Mr Melton. I do not care to finish this dance,’ replied the deeply-offended débutante.

‘With pleasure, Miss White. I really think it would be a suitable place for you.’

I have, I believe, previously given the reader to undertand that my manner of conversation with ladies was not considered happy; and I was afterwards confidentially informed that this particular young girl considered me ‘positively the very rudest man she had ever met.’ But I must say, in extenuation, that it was not intentional rudeness. It was merely a disinclination to allow a girl of her tender years to sit on me. Metaphorically speaking it is not a pleasant sensation. In its literal sense, at times, and under some circumstances, it may be considered positively delightful, and in that case the tenderness of years, up to a certain point, could not be termed an objection.

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Mr Grosvenor had indulged in a warm bath since his morning's misfortune, and it had improved his appearance wonderfully. He devoted himself most assiduously to Fanny. On the next morning we received a message from uncle that he particularly wished us all to return, so the horses were caught. Fanny asked Alice to give up her seat in the waggon and take her horse. I was delighted at this until I heard that Grosvenor had arranged to drive back with us under the excuse of desiring to see Mr Melton on some particular business. There were great lamentations when this peremptory order of uncle's became known, for our friends were most convivial people, and, when they succeeded in getting a party together in their house, they liked to keep them for a week or so. However, they all knew that uncle's commands had to be carried out, so after pressing invitations to come again soon we left their roof.

When we reached home we found uncle in a very grumpy humour. Work was behindhand, cattle had strayed, and a hundred other real and fancied annoyances had occurred. As Mrs Fortescue was present he could not hold the promised conversation with me (for I felt certain that I was the cause of the bulk of his displeasure). He therefore confined himself to a few rather more sarcastic remarks than usual on things in general, and dances in particular. Mrs Fortescne endeavoured to mend matters with her usual tact.

‘Oh, Mr Melton, we missed you so last night. Why did you return home before us?’

He brightened up wonderfully. ‘Business must be attended to, Mrs Fortescue. Can't all be away together. Things have got into a middle as it is. Always do when any of us are absent.’

‘Ah, well, what if they do? You can soon get them straight again. It's a poor heart that never rejoices. You worry yourself too much, Mr Melton. But I forgot, I have a crow to pluck with you. I thought to have the pleasure of several dances with you, but you never came to ask me, even when I was sitting out, and you knew I was disengaged.’

‘Your programme was full of Frank's initials. He ought to have kept his engagements.’

‘But if you hadn't been so hasty I would have made him erase some of them, for he could no more dance than he could fly.’

Uncle's good humour was speedily restored, for the simple-minded old gentleman was easily led by a little ingenious flattery, especially from the lips of a lady, though hard to turn by other means.

Grosvenor, with a cuteness of observation natural to him, soon noticed this point in uncle's character, and by means of it wound himself quickly into his good graces, for before the evening was over he was asked to send for his things and remain a week or so with us. This invitation was, of course, gladly accepted, though hesitatingly at first, to avoid showing too much anxiety. To let us know he was held in considerable request, he pleaded that he had several other engagements, which must, however, stand over for the present.

I had said little to uncle about Grosvenor's conduct on board, and my firm conviction that he was not what he pretended to be, for I knew very well it would not have altered his already formed opinion of him. He would have considered the facts misrepresented, for, like his daughter and many more of us, he would hear no evil of page 73 anyone to whom he had taken a fancy. He was a man of very pronounced likes and dislikes, obstinate in the extreme in his own views of men and things. He naturally considered that no man could be a better judge of character or less easily imposed on than himself. Of the sort of men whom he employed to do his work he undoubtedly was a good judge, for he was upheld by them as a boss whom they could not get round. Yet he had an exalted notion of what a gentleman should be, and if a person could manage to convince him that he was well-born, and would talk about the word and honour of a gentleman, he had a very good chance of getting on his blind side, for in this faith of his order he was simple as a child.

After he had been with us a few days, our visitor informed the old gentleman that he had a large property at home which his aunt had left him, showing a copy of her will, and also that his father was very infirm, and at his death the estate and title would fall into his possession, but that this was all as nothing to him, unless he could secure the one thing he wished of all others—the hand of Miss Fanny. This, of course, did not excite much surprise on the part of uncle, and after several questions and answers he at length consented. The ardent lover wished the marriage to be solemnized at a very early date, but here uncle showed his sense, for he was most obdurate in his condition that at least a year should first elapse in order that they might become better acquainted. This delay I believe he insisted on principally on account of remembering Mr Bowden's often-expressed, unfavourable opinion of the young man, for although uncle had very little respect for the opinions of his fellow-men in general, yet those of his most intimate friend often caused him to pause and deliberate over the matter in dispute, though his own pre-formed convictions generally carried the day. This delay was some comfort to me, for many things might happen in a year. Meanwhile, Grosvenor continued to strengthen his position in the favour of Fanny and her father. Alice said very little either way, but was not nearly so prepossessed on his account. Charlie, of course, joined me in cordially detesting him, and got many rebukes from his father and sister for his rude remarks on the new chum's riding, for he rarely went out for an ordinary ride without something happening.

‘We shan't be troubled with him long,’ remarked Charlie to me one day, ‘for I'll bet he breaks his neck before he has been here a month. If I could only get him on Bucking Billy there would be an inquest at once, but he's too cute.’

I had to remonstrate with the thoughtless youth, and tell him not to lay himself open to a charge of manslaughter. That, much as I hated the gentleman in question, I did not wish a cousin of mine to plan his decease in that cool way.

‘Don't you, now,’ he said simply. ‘I thought you'd be only too glad to get quit of him. You'll never get Fanny while he is alive.’

‘How do you know I want Fanny, you scamp?’

‘Oh, I ain't as big a fool as I look! I can see you moping round like a blooming morepork when he is about, and I know what it means,’ he answered, scampering off to avoid just retribution.

Nothing else of importance occurred during Grosvenor's stay, and at the end of a fortnight he said he really must return to Auckland to see a lawyer on some important business.

Uncle appeared to be progressing favourably in the esteem of the page 74 fair widow. He seemed now to understand her better, and to pay his addresses in a less confident, and therefore more acceptable manner. By her apparent fancy for me she had taught the old gentleman to consider her a lady not to be too lightly won, and when by his manner he acknowledged this fact, she gracefully at last consented to become Mrs Melton. She speedily added to the conquest already obtained by removing all Charlie's prejudices against step-mothers. The girls were already so attached to her, that they rejoiced to hear she was to become a second mother to them.

Uncle was quite as urgent as Grosvenor had been for an early date to be fixed for the consummation of his bliss, but he met a decided refusal to his request, as the good lady bargained successfully for twelve months more freedom before she again entered the bonds of matrimony.