"True, my girl; we are all a selfish lot, We, on the one hand, seek to hold the lands; the workings classes, for their part, will net permit needy cousins in the old country to share with them the bounties of this. If a man possess a trade or profession, he will keep all he can of it. 'Protection,' 'monopolies,' 'favoured classes,' 'locked-up' lands, and streams, and forests, all are barbarisms—un-English, un-Christian. In theory I am in favour of freedom, and fairer divisions of the good, things of this life, but in practice—well, I'd like to be left alone."
"I'm so eager to see the people, father. Won't they be delighted with this charming valley, and the neat-looking tents, with everything prepared for them?"
"They ought to be," observed Mr. Bowling, doubtfully.
"The pangs of hunger they have felt, and been oppressed by loads of care; they have had no interest in the country they have assisted to develop, nor in the undertakings in which they have been employed. Now they will have but to work; I hope they'll do it. Poor Courtenay! His work's cut out for him."
"Come and see the tents, father, before the settlers arrive. There are the Courtenays, and Jim and his wife, putting the finishing touch on everything."
The wide expanse of valley that spread beneath Heatherside—the Dowlings' abode—was strangely altered in appearance. The wattles and pine-ridges still dotted its undulating surface with clumps of trees midst sweeps of verdure; the creek, its waters still unpolluted, chattered in its willow-shaded channel. Magpies hopped and piped from the gaunt ringed timber; the grass was knee-deep, since the dead squatter's sheep had been sold or removed to the outer paddocks. Orchids and buttercups reared their heads above the meadow-like pastures, as if wondering how much higher their slender stalks must
