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Updated: May 18, 2025
Very likely it was in August or September, three or four months after Ted's departure. At all events my mind was still much occupied by thoughts of the outside world and of my future. Some one had told me that a Sydney artist, a Mr. Rawlence, had permission to land on the island, as he wished to sketch there. But he had not been much about the house or the yards, and I had not seen him.
Æstheticism of a pronounced sort was becoming the fashion of the day in London; and, as I presently found, Mr. Rawlence followed the fashions of London and Paris closely. Indeed, I gathered that at one time he had settled down, determined to live and to end his days in one or other of those Old World capitals.
But let me make sure of your important news before we are interrupted. So I told my story as well as I could, and Mr. Rawlence was in the act of expressing his kindly interest therein, when I heard steps and voices on the stairs below. 'If you're not otherwise engaged you must stay till these fellows go, Nick, said my host. 'We haven't half finished our talk, you know.
Perkins, and one to Mr. Rawlence, the Sydney artist, to tell him of my present position, and to say that I had made a start upon shorthand. His kindly and encouraging reply was, I think, the first letter I ever received through the post. But I now began to write letters by the score, addressed to imaginary correspondents, and based in style upon my studies of correspondence in various books.
Perhaps that is not quite possible, in the light of subsequently acquired knowledge and experience. This much I can say: there was no hint at this time of any wavering or diminution in the almost worshipful regard I felt for Mr. Rawlence. Seen in his own chosen setting, he was the most magnificent person I had met.
It almost oppressed me with a sense of my own temerity in venturing to visit any one who maintained such state. 'This is what it means to be a famous artist, I told myself, well assured now, in my innocence, that Mr. Rawlence must be very famous. 'Every one else probably knew it before, I thought.
He clearly was disappointed about something; but yet I thought that never since the days when my father was with me had I heard any one speak more pleasantly, or seen any one smile in kindlier fashion. Later, I realised that no one I had met since my father's death possessed anything resembling the sort of manner, address, intonation, or mental attitude of this Mr. Rawlence.
And, before Ted came, I had been unable to descry any future outside the Orphanage. I do not remember the exact period that elapsed between Ted's departure and the visit of the artist, Mr. Rawlence. But it must have been early winter when Ted was at Myall Creek, because my fifteenth birthday fell at about that time; and it was spring when Mr. Rawlence came, for I know the wattle was in bloom then.
Pioneering is picturesque enough in fiction. In fact, it permits of no leisure and no idealisation; and without those things Mr. Rawlence paused with outstretched hands, shrugging shoulders, and the smile of one who should say 'You understand, of course. My modest contribution was in three words, delivered with emphatic gestures of acquiescence 'That's just it. 'Exactly, resumed the artist.
Rawlence could hardly have expected an answer from me; but part of his charm was that he made it seem, while he talked and I listened, that we were jointly discussing the subject of his monologue, and that he was much interested by my views. He had that air; his smile and his manner made one feel that.
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