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Updated: May 4, 2025
No, no; I was not leaving home behind, I was flying homeward now. Home, home to Caddagat, home to ferny gullies, to the sweet sad rush of many mountain waters, to the majesty of rugged Borgongs; home to dear old grannie, and uncle and aunt, to books, to music; refinement, company, pleasure, and the dear old homestead I love so well.
God bless your pleasant face." I watched him out of sight. One of my brothers one of God's children under the Southern Cross. Did these old fellows really believe in the God whose name they mentioned so glibly? I wondered. But I am thankful that while at Caddagat it was only rarely that my old top-heavy thoughts troubled me.
"I hope you will he comfortable here, child. You need not dress for dinner while you are here; we never do, only on very special occasions." "Neither do we at Caddagat," I replied. "Now, child, let me have a good look at you without your hat." "Oh, please don't!" I exclaimed, covering my face with my hands. I am so dreadfully ugly that I cannot bear to have anyone look at me."
It was right enough to be unearthed as Miss Melvyn, grand-daughter of Mrs Bossier of Caddagat, and great friend and intimate of the swell Beechams of Five-Bob Downs station. At Goulburn I was only the daughter of old Dick Melvyn, broken-down farmer-cockatoo, well known by reason of his sprees about the commonest pubs in town.
With stacks of love to all at home, and a whole dray-load for yourself, from your loving sister, Sybylla. Remember me to Goulburn, drowsing lazily in its dreamy graceful hollow in the blue distance. Caddagat, 29th Sept., 1896 Dear Everard, Thank you very much for the magazines and "An Australian Bush Track". I suppose you have quite forgotten us and Caddagat by this time.
Where now was Harold Beecham and the thirty or more station hands, who but one short month before had come and gone at his bidding, hailing him boss? It was all over! My pleasant life at Caddagat was going into the past, fading as the hills which surrounded it were melting into a hazy line of blue. My Journey
Father was admitted into swelldom merely by right of his position. His pedigree included nothing beyond a grandfather. My mother, however, was a full-fledged aristocrat. She was one of the Bossiers of Caddagat, who numbered among their ancestry one of the depraved old pirates who pillaged England with William the Conqueror.
The steel of my mother's letter entered my soul. Why had she not expressed a little regret at the thing she was imposing on me? Instead, there was a note of satisfaction running through her letter that she was able to put an end to my pleasant life at Caddagat. She always seemed to grudge me any pleasure.
A. If he manages to pull through these seasons he will be second to none but Tyson in point of wealth. Q. Is Five-Bob a very pretty place? A. Yes; one of the show places of the district. Q. Does he often come to Caddagat? A. Yes, he often drops in. Q. What makes his hair so black and his moustache that light colour? A. You'll have to study science to find that out. I'm sure I can't tell you.
Oh, it was good to be alive! At Caddagat I was as much out of the full flood of life for which I craved as at Possum Gully, but here there were sufficient pleasant little ripples on the stream of existence to act as a stop-gap for the present. He
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