The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 40
Chapter XLVIII. — Looking Ahead
Chapter XLVIII.
Looking Ahead.
It was a lovely day in spring, and the air felt warm and balmy on the hills. One of those glorious New Zealand days which rouse the body and elate the spirits and tend "to drive dull care away." A day when all one asks is a swinging canter for half-a-dozen miles oves some breezy down, or a stiff, sharp, springing walk over the hills. A day that makes one feel better and more at peace with the world, and thankful to the Great Creator for all His mercies. A sort of day the full significance of which rarely strikes the thousands of dwellers and toilers in the townships; but which comes with all the sweet force of nature to the country settler. For has he not passed through the tempestuous weather of winter—the rain and hail and storm and wind? Has he not been out on the hills or plain, when some bitterly bleak south-easter was blowing, piercing his clothes and chilling him to the bone, yet compelled to face it in order to give a look to the stock? Or has he not been caught in some sudden storm, when the downpour of rain, in a few moments, has drenched him to the skin, and caused his poor horse to turn its back for a time its fury? To such as he, a day like the present one is truly enjoyable; and both Charley and Philip were again in the saddle, thoroughly enjoying it.
"I tell you what it is, Manning," Charley was saying as they passed the Maori pah, "that piece of ground of yours will carry any amount of stock when you get it in trim, and if I were you I would take up the whole of those hills as far as the black spur."
Here Charley swung his whip in a careless sort of manner, embracing in the sweep some five or six thousand acres of ground.
"Too much bush," replied Philip, looking carefully at the hills. "I don't think it would pay to clear and sow down."
"You will excuse my saying, Manning," said Charley, "that you don't know anything about it. I find that the best feed on Terua is in the gullies, which I have cleared of bush and sown down. People have made a great mistake by being too frightened of the bush. You try and pass those hills through the Land Court, and tackle them. I intend to have eight or nine parties of bush contractors at work this year at Terua."
"No doubt you will, Charley," replied Philip thinkingly, still looking at the hills, and wondering in his own mind how he was to find the necessary means to get his thousand acres in order. With his limited income, even that would have to be a work of time, and if he took to himself a wife, he would have very little money to spare for station improvements.
[We may at once tell the reader, that the hills were never taken up, but remain to this day, in exactly the same state as when Philip and Charley last rode beneath them. The two occasionally look at them even now, but they have quite enough to do to look after Terua itself; by which statement we make the further confession that, in consequence of his marriage with Mary Easthope, our friend Philip acquired an interest in that run, much to his own good fortune, and the happiness of a certain young lady at Ashton, who, in course of time, went to reside at Terua, and who was pleased to have her old friends paying somewhat lengthy visits to the homestead].
"No, Charley," continued Philip, "I think it will be best for me to keep to the reserve. I shall have quite enough to do to get that into grass and stock it. You must give a look to my shepherd occasionally, like a good fellow."
"I don't think he requires much looking after," answered Charley," although, I suppose, if poor Henry had been here, he would have condemned many of his proceedings. You are lucky in not having a fellow like Olson."
"Is Olson as stupid as ever?" asked Philip.
"Quite," replied Charley, "you should go out and see him. He is laid up with rheumatism."
"Still in his hut?"
"Yes," replied Charley, "he doesn't intend to leave there until we carry him out feet foremost. What is more, I intend to let him have his way; only I have built another whare at the other end of his boundary, and sent Alex, out to it."
"Are you getting the wild sheep down?" asked Philip.
"Pretty well," replied Charley, "but there are still a few in the bush. I believe that there are wild sheep all through these hills, and that it will take years to get them in."
Then the two rode slowly home, along the river bank, past the ferry, and the little public-house, which still flourished in its dingy way, and which still sent its victims to destruction; along the road (where Beeton had formerly stopped to take his last look at Terua; through the entrance gates (the pines had shot up into big trees now), across the paddocks, and then home. The little homestead looked more cheerful than when Charley took possession of it. The garden had been attended to, and looked neat and orderly. No litter encumbered the verandah, and inside, the rooms bore the unmistakeable air of being occupied by people of refinement.
Charley had pointed out to Philip the lines of the new house which was to be built close to the homestead, and, indeed, would form an addition to it, but an addition that would throw the original building quite into the shade.
"The sawyers are only just cutting the timber," Charley had said.
"Does Mr. Easthorpe know?" Philip had asked.
"The letter you brought with you contained his consent," replied Charley, looking a bit shy and awkward. And Charley had replied in the affirmative, whereby Philip knew that that gentleman had given his consent to Charley's marriage with Kate Goring. Whereupon Philip placed one hand upon Charley's shoulder, and the two young men had looked into each other's eyes, and had quietly shaken hands, and each knew that their paths in life would be close together during the rest of their days.