Chapter 15 Chapter Ten (Part 1)

The speed of the recovery of the land is really amazing: within a week, the green grass sprouts out of the sticky mud; within two months, the baked trees gradually grow leaves .If the people here are tough and resilient, it's because there's no way out in this land unless they are; those with a weak heart or a lack of a tough streak don't last long in the Great Northwest of.But it will take years for the scars to fade away.The scarred and mottled trunks must be covered with bark to appear white, red or gray again, and some trees can no longer grow back, leaving only gray and charred black.After a few years, the decayed bones and marrow, like perishable dew, disappear with the passage of time, and are gradually covered under the dust and the fine hoofprints that come and go.The wanderers who knew the story pointed out to the wanderers who did not know the sharply defined deep groove in the mud floor that stretched from Drogheda to the west and was pulled out by makeshift corpse racks. Stories became an integral part of the oral legends of the Black Soil Plain.

In this fire, about one-fifth of Drogheda's land was damaged, and 25,000 brocade sheep were lost. For a pasture of a thousand sheep, this loss is insignificant.There is no point in complaining about the harshness of fate, or the punishment of God, those victims are willing to treat it as a natural disaster.The only thing to do is cut your losses and start over.This is not the first time this has happened, and no one can be sure that it will be the last. The Drogheda gardens, however, were bare and brown with the vigor of the flowers crippled.The gardens survived a drought year thanks to Michael Carson's water tanks, but nothing survived a fire.Not even the wisteria bloomed; and when the fire came, the tender clumps of buds that had just formed withered, the roses curled, the pansies died, and the violets turned a dark brown mass. The mess, the late cherry blossoms in the shade have faded and will not revive, the young plants are suffocated by the fire, the sweet pea vines are withered and the fragrance is gone.The water released from the tanks during the fire was replaced by that provided by the ensuing storm, so that everyone on Drogheda sacrificed their vague spare time to help Old Tom restore the garden.

Bob decided to continue his policy of manning Drogheda and hired three more stockmen.It was Mary Carson's policy not to hire non-Cleary men for permanent work, preferring to employ steady hands for flock gathering, lambing, and shearing.But Paddy feels that people work harder when they know they have a permanent job, and that permanent employment doesn't make much of a difference.For a long time, most herd workers have itchy soles and cannot stay anywhere for long. The new houses a little farther back from the creek were for family men, and old Tom got a new neat three-room cottage under a pepper bush behind the stables.Every time he entered the house he giggled with a master's delight.Meggie continued to tend the nearby paddock, and the mother was still in charge of the books.

Fee took over Paddy's correspondence with Bishop Ralph, but Fee told him nothing but the management of the ranch.Meggie was eager to get his hands on his letter, and looked at it greedily, but Fee denied her the opportunity: Fee locked his letter in an iron box as soon as she found out what it was about.With Paddy and Stu dead, Fee didn't care about anything.As for Meggie, Bishop Ralph left, and Fee forgot her promise.Meggie politely declined some invitations to dances and dinners; Fee was aware of this, but never persuaded her, or told her that she should go.Lihum O'Rourke drove here at every opportunity; Enoch Davis was always on the phone; so were Conor Carmichael and Alastair McQueen.Meggie, however, dismissed each of them with few words, intent on making them lose their interest in her.

There has been plenty of rain this summer, but not enough to cause a flood.There is always mud on the ground, and the 1,000-mile-long Barwin-Darling is deep, wide and raging.When winter came, it continued to rain sporadically, and the brown clouds flying across the sky were made of water, and the bottom was dust.So, on this path because of the recession.The number of wanderers dwindled; for wandering on this road was abysmal in the rainy season, when it was wet and cold, and pneumonia was rampant among those who could not sleep in warm shelters. Bob worried.In the long run, he said, the flock would get foot rot; the merino sheep would stay on wet ground.Definitely got hoof disease.Shearing is even more impossible.For the shearers will not touch the drenched wool; and, on the wet ground and in the cold air, many lambs will die unless the mud dries before the lambs are picked.

Two long and one short rings were from Drogheda, and Fee answered, turning around. "Bob, it's AML calling you." "Hello, Jimmy, I'm Bob...yes, yes... oh, yes! certificates all done?...yes, let him come see me...yes, if he's so nice, You can tell him he might get a job, but I'd like to see him; I don't want to hawk without seeing a rabbit, and I don't trust certificates... Yes, thanks, uh, uh." Bob sat down again.The new stockman is coming, and according to Jimmy, it's a good one.Worked near Longridge and Charl in the "West Queensland Plains. Good cattle dealer. Well written testimonials and a solid man. He can ride horses with four legs and one tail. He has been He has trained horses. He was a good sheep shearer before this. Jimmy said that he could shear more than a hundred sheep a day. It was this that made him a little suspicious. Why would a good sheep shearer be willing to take the wages of a stockman? It's not uncommon for a good shearer to give up his shears for a saddle. How about his lambing forks, though?

As the years passed, Bob's speech became slower and more Australian; however, to compensate for this, the sentences were shortened.He was in his late thirties, and to Meggie's great disappointment he showed no signs of being attracted to any suitable girl at the few festive events they had to attend for the sake of face.He was terribly coy in the matter, yet on the other hand he seemed utterly fascinated by the land and thought of it with all his heart.Jack and Hughie were getting older and more like him; indeed, when the three of them sat together on a hard marble bench, they would have been taken for triplets; Their most comfortable pastime at home.In fact, they'd rather camp outside in a paddock than sleep at home sprawled on their bedroom floor, fearing the bed would make them soft.Sun, wind, and drought had faded their hair, and their freckled skin had become like a mottled mahogany, and their blue eyes, with a dull, calm light, gazed into the distance, into the silvery Grass, deep wrinkles engraved around the corners of the eyes.It was impossible to tell their ages, or who was the oldest and who was the youngest.They all had Paddy's Roman nose and broad, kind faces.But they were all sturdier than Paddy, the result of years of shearing bent over and arms outstretched.But they all showed the fitness of a lean, easy-going rider.However, they do not crave women, comfort, and the joie de vivre.

"Is the new guy married?" Fee asked, drawing neat lines with a ruler and a red pen. "I don't know, I didn't ask. I'll know when he comes tomorrow." "How did he get here?" "Jimmy's going to drive him, and they've got to see those old wethers in Tankstand." "Well, hope he stays a while. If he doesn't have a family, I think he'll be gone in a few weeks. Poor people, these stockmen," said Fee. Jens and Patsy were boarding at Rivermew School; they had sworn not to spend a minute there once they reached the legal age of fourteen.They longed for the day when they would run across the paddocks with Bob, Jack, and Hughie; for the day when Drogheda would be run by the family again and outsiders would come and go as they pleased.Although they also inherited the family's enthusiasm for reading, they did not like Rivermew School at all.Books can be carried in the saddle or in the pocket of a jacket, and reading in the afternoon shade of the rue tree is much more pleasant than a classroom in a Jesuit school.Boarding school was a difficult transition period for them.The classrooms with large windows, the vast verdant playground, the bright red and purple gardens and all kinds of facilities are meaningless to them.They also have no interest in Sydney and the city's museums, concert halls and art galleries.They made friends with other ranchers' sons; in their spare time they imagined, or bluffed by boasting about the size and splendor of Drogheda, but the listeners couldn't believe their ears.Anyone west of the Burren Confluence has heard of the mighty Drogheda.

It was several weeks before Meggie saw the new stockman.His name was duly rostered as Luke O'Neill, and he was spoken to at the mansion where stockmen usually seldom go.He refused to live in the ranch novice's shed and took up the last vacant house on the other side of the creek.Another thing is that he introduced himself to Mrs. Smith, and gained the favor of this lady, although she usually didn't take the stockmen to heart.Meggie had been curious about this man long before she had met him. As she would rather keep her sorrel mare and black gelding in the stable than in the paddock, and often had to start later in the morning than the men, she often went long without seeing any of them. A hired man.However, on a summer evening, when the setting sun was like blood on the tops of the tree branches, when the long shadows were chasing smoke and no one was quietly looking forward to the night, she finally saw Luke O'Neill.She was coming back from Ballhead, crossing the river at the wading point, and he was coming from the southeast, going farther, and crossing the river at the wading point.

The sun was meeting his eyes, so she saw him before he saw her.He rode a great chestnut horse with a black mane, black tail, and black hooves.She knows the horse very well, as it is her job to recycle the work horses.She was wondering why it was so rare to see this unique animal these days.Guys don't like it and never ride it without a helping hand.It was evident that the new stockman hadn't given it much thought; of course, that meant he could ride it.He was a poor horse with a reputation for slamming his rider to the ground, and for having a habit of biting his rider's head when he dismounted.

You can tell a man's height when he is on horseback, for the Australian stockman uses a small English saddle that reduces the height of the rear bow and pommel of the American stockman's saddle; Bend over, keep your body straight.The newcomers seemed tall, but often people were just tall in the torso with disproportionately short legs, so Meggie took her judgments with a grain of salt.But, unlike most stockmen, he preferred white shirts and white chaps to gray flannel and gray denim.A bit of a dandy, she passed judgment, which was ridiculous.If he is not afraid of trouble and always does laundry, then good luck to him. "Hello, ma'am!" he cried, as they met, taking off his old gray felt hat and slapping it on the back of the head like a prodigal again. Meggie stepped back.His smiling blue eyes looked at her with unabashed admiration. "Oh, you must not be the mistress, then you must be the daughter of the house," said he. "I'm Luke O'Neill." Meggie mumbled a few words, unwilling to look at him any more.She was too flustered and angry to think of an appropriate, light-hearted conversation.Oh, this is so unfair!How could anyone else have the same eyes and face as Father Ralph!The way he looked at her, though, was not the same as Ralph God you: the smile was your own, not burning with love for her.Meggie had seen love in Father Ralph's eyes the first time she had seen him squatting in the hustle and bustle of Gilly Station Square.She looked into his eyes, not him!What a cruel joke he was, a punishment. Luke O'Neill did not find his same thoughts.They crossed the stream splashing, and in spite of the rain they walked furiously.He let his unruly sorrel horse ride alongside Meggie's demure mare.She is a beauty, yes!Look at that hair!All men in the Cleary family had red hair, and this little fellow had red hair too.If only she would look up and give him a chance to see her face!Just then, she raised her head.Seeing her face, he frowned in bewilderment.She didn't seem to dislike him, which was true, but she seemed to be trying to see something and couldn't see it, or seemed to see something and wished she hadn't.Anyway, it's something like that.Not much, it seemed to upset her.Luke was not good at being weighed and weighed by women, who found weaknesses. Naturally, he was fascinated by her sunset-blond hair and soft eyes, but it was only her unhappiness and disappointment that made him come. Interested.She was still looking at him, her cherry mouth slightly opened, because of the hot weather, the sweat on her upper lip and forehead glistened, and her golden-red eyebrows were raised because she was wondering what to look for. He grinned, showing the same great white teeth as Father Ralph's; but the smile was not Father Ralph's. "Did you know that you look like a child? You do!" She looked away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare at you. You remind me of someone, that's all." "Look at it all you want; it's better than looking at your cap, though that might be better. Who do I remind you of?" "Not a remarkable person. It's just strange to see someone so familiar and yet so unfamiliar." "What's your name, young Miss Cleary?" "Meggie." "Meggie . Call it that. What's Meggie short for—Megret?" "No, it's Meghan." "Oh, that's a much more respectable name! I'll call you Meghan." "No, no!" she said hastily. "I hate this name!" But he just laughed. "You're too much of a character, young Miss Megham. You know, if I wanted to call you Eustacia, Sophronia, or Augusta, that's what I'd call you." ." They have reached the paddock.He slid off his black horse and a blow to its open-mouthed head subdued it.He stood there, apparently waiting for her to offer him her hand so he could dismount her.But she nudged the sorrel mare with her heel, and continued down the road. "You don't let the pretty lady stay with the plain old stockman?" he called after her. "Of course not!" she replied without even turning around. Oh, this is so unfair!Even the way he stood on his legs was like Father Ralph's; the same height, the same broad shoulders, the same narrow hips, and, in spite of the different occupation, more or less the same air.Father Ralph walked like a dancer, and Luke O'Neill like an athlete.His curly hair was just as thick and black, his eyes were blue and blue, his nose was fine and straight, and his mouth was perfectly shaped.However, he was different from Father Ralph in one thing: Father Ralph was like a devil's gum, so tall, so white, and so imposing; while he was like a blue gum, but also so tall, so white , so majestic. Since that first encounter, Meggie has always been attentive to opinions and rumors about Luke O'Neill.Bob and the boys were happy with his work, and seemed to get on well with him; apparently, he wasn't lazy, so Bob said.Even Fay brought up his name in conversation one night when remarking that he was a very handsome man. "Does he remind him of anyone?" Meggie asked lazily, sprawled out on the rug, reading a book. Fee considered the question for a while. "Well, I think, he's a bit like Father de Bricassart. Same build, same complexion, but not particularly similar. As men, they're very different. "Meggie, I wish you could sit in a chair and read like a lady! Just because you're wearing breeches, you mustn't forget to be dignified." "Pfft!" said Meggie. "As if someone saw it!" That's how things went.They have similarities, but the men behind these two faces are so completely different.Only Meggie agonized over this, for she had one of them and was angry at discovering the charm of the other.She found out that he was a favorite in the kitchen, and how he could afford to wear extravagant white shirts and trousers to the paddock; The magic of the coaxable man subdued. "Oh, what a handsome Irishman he is!" exclaimed Minnie, fascinated. "He's an Australian," said Meggie angrily. "Maybe born here, dear Miss Meggie. But a name like O'Neill means he's as Irish as Paddy's dirty, gluttonous men. Miss Meggie, I have nothing against you." With respect to your kind and pious father, may he rest in peace and rejoice with the angels. If Mr. Luke was not Irish, how could he have black hair and blue eyes? In ancient times, the O'Neill family And the King of Ireland." "The O'Connors, I suppose," said Meggie playfully. Minnie's small round eyes twinkled. "Oh, Miss Meggie, that's a big country." "Look at your nonsense! It's about the size of Drogheda! Anyway, O'Neill is a surname from Orange, you can't fool me." An ancient European city in what is now southeastern France. -- Annotation "Let's just say that. But it's an old Irish surname, and it's been there before the people of Orange even thought of it. It's a surname in Northern Ireland, so Orange has so much It's a fair number of names, isn't it? But, my dear Miss Meggie, what about the O'Neill and O'Neill Moore families who later owned Temple Boy." Meggie dropped the argument, the Fenian pugnacity that Minnie had had before was long gone, and she couldn't even utter the word "Orange" in one breath. ①The legendary ancient Irish warrior. -- Annotation About a week later she ran into Luke O'Neill on the other side of the creek.She suspected that he was lying when he said he was waiting for her; but she did not know how she would treat him if he was lying. "Hello, Meghan." "Hello," she said, looking straight between the sorrel mare's ears. "There's a shearing shed dance next Sunday at Blaine y Poole. Would you like to come with me?" "Thank you for having me, but I can't dance. It won't be fun." "I'll teach you, no trouble at all, so it doesn't matter. If I take the master's sister, Bob will always lend me the old Rolls-Royce if he doesn't lend me the new Rolls-Royce." Me?" "I said, I don't want to go!" She gritted her teeth and said. "You said you couldn't dance, and I said I'd teach you. You never said you could dance. You didn't want to go with me, so I presume you're against dancing, not me. Do you want to break your word? " She was furious and glared at him, but he just smiled at her. "You are so spoiled, little Meghan, and the time has come that you cannot let yourself be willful." "I'm not spoiled!" "Don't talk nonsense, tell me something else! Aren't you an only child, with so many brothers around you, with all this land and money, and a nice house and servants? I know, the estate Owned by the Catholic Church, but the Clearys are not short of money." That's the difference between them!She thought triumphantly; this was what had troubled her ever since she met him.Father Ralph was never deluded by appearances, and this man lacked that sensitivity; this man had no inner sense of what lay beneath the surface.He lives on horseback, and he has no idea of ​​its intricacies or pains. The startled Bob produced the keys to the new Rolls-Royce without saying a word; he stared at Luke for a moment without saying anything, and then he grinned. "I never thought Meggie was going to the ball, but take her, Luke, and you're welcome to take her! I bet she'd love the ball, poor little beggar. She never goes out the door. We should have thought of taking her, but somehow, never did." "Why don't you, Jack, and Hughie go?" Luke asked; obviously he didn't want to accompany them. Bob shook his head and said in horror, "No, thank you. We're not very good at dancing."