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Updated: September 5, 2025
I watched him turn and go, noiselessly closing the garden gate after him, and shall I confess it? my heart has always felt light whenever I think of that swagger's blessing.
It was no time for ceremony, so we women retreated for a few minutes into the store-room, whilst F and Mr. A made the swagger's toilette, getting so interested in their task as even to part his dripping hair out of his eyes. He had no swag, poor fellow, having lost his roll of red blankets in one of the treacherous bog-holes across the range. That man was exactly like a lost, starving dog.
Whether it was the three days of rest, warmth, and good food which unlocked the swagger's heart, or not, I do not pretend to decide; but that evening, over a pipe in the kitchen, he confided to Mr. A that he had been working his way down to the sea-coast from a station where he had been employed, very far back in the hill ranges.
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