An Outback Marriage by Banjo Paterson (the mitten read aloud TXT) 📕

as he said, “Why should I steal my brother-in-law’s sheep?” He looked at the girl alongside him, and prayed that the old story might never be resurrected. XV A Proposal and Its Results

The question whether Mick Donohoe should be prosecuted was not likely to be prejudiced by his claim of kinship. Billy the Bully would as soon prosecute his own brother-in-law as anybody else⁠—sooner, in fact. So Hugh, having reached home very crestfallen and angry, wrote a full account of the affair in his report of the station work, and asked whether he should lay an information.

Grant’s reply was brief and to the point; he seldom wrote letters, always telegraphing when possible. On this occasion the telegram said, “Prosecute at once; offer reward informers;” which, leaking out (as telegrams frequently did at the local office) put Red Mick considerably on the qui vive. The old man actually paid him the compliment of writing a letter about him later on, saying that it would be a good thing to prosecute⁠—it would give Red Mick a good scare, even if it didn’t get him into gaol. Circumstances, no doubt, justified a prosecution, and it was hard to see bow Mick could make a countermove.

But that gentleman was not without resource; an anonymous letter arrived for Hugh by the mailboy, a dirty, scrawled epistle, unsigned and undated, running as follows:⁠—

“Mr. Gordon i herd you was gone to summons Michael Donohoe for sheep stealing. You better bewar there is some seen you and that girl in the bush you will get a grate shown up and her two.”

This precious epistle was signed “A Friend,” and on first reading it Hugh laughed heartily; but the more he thought it over the less he liked it. It was all very well to put Red Mick in the dock, but it was evident that part of the defence would be, “How came you to be under the boughs of a fallen tree with an attractive young woman when Red Mick’s dogs came up with the sheep?” At the very least they would look ridiculous; and the unknown correspondent who promised them a “grate shown up” would probably take care that the story was as highly-coloured as possible. He shuddered to think what the Donohoes would say, and heartily wished he had let Red Mick alone.

He fretted for some hours, and then decided to talk it over with the girl herself. He did not care to let Red Mick think that the anonymous letter had stopped the prosecution; at the same time, he was determined to do nothing that would cause Miss Grant the least annoyance. He opened the discussion that evening while strolling about the garden.

“About this business of Red Mick’s,” he said. “I am rather worried.”

“Why?”

“Well, the trouble is this: I’ve got an anonymous letter from Red Mick or some of his people, saying that they are going to give you and me a great showing-up about being hidden in the tree together.”

“What can they say?” she asked, uncomprehendingly.

“Well, of course, they will talk about our being in the tree together⁠—and⁠—all that kind of thing, you know. They will make things as unpleasant for us as they can. They may want you to give evidence, and all that sort of thing⁠—and I thought, perhaps you mightn’t like it.”

She froze into dignity at once. “I certainly shouldn’t like it,” she said. “About being in the tree, that does not matter, of course, but I hope you will keep my name out of the affair altogether. I must ask you to do that for me.”

Then he rushed on his fate. Many a time he had pictured how he would wait till they were alone together in the garden on some glorious moonlit night, and he would take her hand, and tell her how much he loved her; and now, seeing the girl standing before him flushed with insulted dignity, he suddenly found himself gasping out, in what seemed somebody’s else’s voice, “Couldn’t we⁠—look here, Miss Grant, won’t you be engaged to me? Then it won’t matter what they say.”

He tried to take her hand, but she drew back, white to the lips.

“No, no; let me go; let me go,” she said. Then the colour came back to her face, and she drew herself up, and spoke slowly and cuttingly:

“I thank you very much for what you have just said. But I really think that I shall be able to put up with anything these people may choose to say about me. It won’t hurt me, and I shouldn’t like you to sacrifice yourself to save me from the talk of such people. Let us go back to the house, please.”

He stared helplessly at her, and could not find his voice for a moment. At last he blurted out:

“It’s not because of that. I don’t care about them any more than you do. Don’t think it’s that, Miss Grant. Why⁠—”

“Let us go back to the house, please,” she said quietly, “and don’t say anything more about it. And whatever happens, I must ask you to keep my name out of the affair altogether. You’ll do that, won’t you? Let us go back now, if you don’t mind.”

They walked back in silence. He looked at her once or twice, but her face was stern and rigid, and she would not give him even one glance. At the door she gave him her hand, with a matter-of-fact “I will say good night now,” and disappeared into her room, where she threw herself on the bed and sobbed bitterly; for the truth was that she was very, very fond of him. She, too, had built her little castles in the air as to what she would say and do when he put the momentous question. Girls do foresee these things, somehow; although they do pretend to be astonished when the time arrives.

She had pictured him saying all sorts of endearing things, and making all sorts