face emboldened me to add: 'I was just thinking last
night--thinking about my life as I looked at the sky where the sunset had
been, and--somehow, I found I was decided.' Then, as if to justify if
possible the exceeding lameness of my explanation: 'You see, Mrs.
Perkins, I've got the hang of the shorthand pretty well now,' I added.

She nodded sympathetically. 'Well, I'm sure you'll succeed, Nick, I'm
sure you will; for you're a good lad, and very persevering. The main
thing is being a good lad, Nick; that's the main thing. It's sad for
you, having lost your parents, and--and everything. But when you go
away, Nick, just try to think of me as if I were your mother, will
you? I'll be thinking quite a lot of you, you know. Don't you go and
fancy there's nobody cares about you. We shall all be thinking a lot
about you. And, Nick, if ever you find yourself in any trouble, if you
begin to feel you're going wrong in any way, if you feel like doing
anything you know is wrong, or if you feel downhearted and lonesome--you
just get into a train and come to Dursley, Nick. Come straight
here to me, and tell me everything about it, and--and I think I'll be
able to help you. I'll try, anyhow; and you'll know I should want to.
And if it isn't easy to come tell me just the same; write and tell me
all about it. Promise me that, Nick.'

I promised her. She held out her white, thin hand and clasped my hard
hand in it; and I went off to my mowing very conscious of my eyes
because they smarted and pricked, but little indebted to them because
they failed to show me anything more definite than a blur of greenery
at my feet, and a blur of sunlight above.

A fortnight elapsed before I did really leave that place; but for me
most of the emotion of leaving, of parting with my kindly employers
and friends, and with pretty, peaceful Dursley, was epitomised in that
little conversation on the verandah with Mrs. Perkins. I know now that
there are many other sweet and kindly women in the world. At that time
no one among them had ever been so sweet and kind to me.

XIII

When I stepped out of the train at Redfern Station in Sydney, I
carried all my worldly belongings in a much worn carpet-bag which had
been given me by Mr. Perkins. Its weight did not at all suggest to me
the need of obtaining a porter's services, and hardly would have done
so even if I had been accustomed to engaging assistance of the sort.
Stepping out with my bag into the bus