Katherine Flinders, her orphan niece, was about Ralph’s age. Her lithe, graceful figure was the admiration of all, and once seen on a horse was a picture to live in memory. The easiest way to purchase a ticket to the nearest hospital was to speakslightingly of either-together referred to as the “Women of Barrakee”.
A combined light lunch and afternoon tea was set out on the broad veranda, where they found Martha applying the final touches. Her great face was irradiated, though not beautified, by a gigantic smile. She stood beside the table while the small party mounted the veranda steps, her figure encased by a voluminous blue dressing-gown belted at the waist by a leather strap stolen from a bridle. Her poor feet were concealed by highly polished elastic-sided brown riding-boots. Truly on this occasion she was superb.
The whites of her eyes were conspicuous. The wide grin of genuine welcome revealed many gaps in the yellowing teeth. Her greying hair was scanty. She was nearly overcome with excitement.
“Well, Martha! Not dead yet?” greeted Ralph gravely, holding out his hand. She took it in her left, her right being pressed to her vast bosom.
“Oh, Misther Ralph!” she articulated with difficulty, “Poor Martha no die till she look on you once more.”
“That’s right,” he said with a friendly smile. “I shall be very much annoyed,” he added, “if you die now.”
The squatter and his wife were content with a cup of tea, whilst their “children” ate a long-delayed lunch. Anticipating the boy’s lightest wish, the Little Lady hovered at his side, her eyes sparkling with happiness, her small finely-moulded features flushed. She and her husband were content to listen to his description of the holiday spent in New Zealand and of his last term at college.