four or five
strangers have just come and asked to stay for the night, and as one of
the girls is away, I have to get them beds. I am writing about Sybylla. I
am truly grieved to hear she is such a source of grief and annoyance to
you. The girl must surely be ill or she would never act as you describe.
She is young yet, and may settle down better by and by. We can only
entrust her to the good God who is ever near. Send her up to me as soon
as you can. I will pay all expenses. The change will do her good, and if
her conduct improves, I will keep her as long as you like. She is young
to mention in regard to marriage, but in another year she will be as old
as I was when I married, and it might be the makings of her if she
married early. At any rate she will be better away from Possum Gully, now
that she is growing into womanhood, or she may be in danger of forming
ties beneath her. She might do something good for herself up here: not
that I would ever be a matchmaker in the least degree, but Gertie will
soon be coming on, and Sybylla, being so very plain, will need all the
time she can get.

Your loving mother,

L. Bossier.

My mother gave me this letter to read, and, when I had finished perusing
it, asked me would I go. I replied coldly:

"Yes. Paupers and beggars cannot be choosers, and grandmother might as
well keep me at Caddagat as at Possum Gully"--for my grandmother
contributed greatly to the support of our family.

As regards scenery, the one bit of beauty Possum Gully possessed was its
wattles. Bowers of grown and scrubs of young ones adorned the hills and
gullies in close proximity to the house, while groves of different
species graced the flats. Being Sunday, on this afternoon I was at
liberty for a few hours; and on receiving the intelligence contained in
the letter, I walked out of the house over a low hill at the back into a
gully, where I threw myself at the foot of a wattle in a favourite clump,
and gave way to my thoughts.

So mother had been telling my grandmother of my faults--my grandmother
whom I loved so dearly. Mother might have had enough honour and motherly
protection to have kept the tale of my sins to herself. Though this
intelligence angered, it did not surprise me, being accustomed to mother
telling every neighbour what a great trial I was to her--how discontented
I was, and what little interest I took in my work. It was the last part
of the letter which finished up my feelings. Oh hea