“If you would—­oh, if you would!” Meg breathed rather than said.  Then Judy galloped up and they rode home three abreast.  It was such happiness to her all the hot, long days that followed; to a girl just entering life there can be no purer, deeper feeling of pleasure than that brought by the knowledge that she is influencing for good some man or woman older than herself, more sin-worn and earth-wearied.  Poor little Meg!  Her tender rose dreams had pictured her big protege a man among men again, holding up his head once more, taking his place in the world, going back to the old country, and claiming the noble lady her fertile imagination had pictured; waiting so patiently for him; and all this because she, Meg Woolcot, had stepped into his life and pointed the way he should go.

And then she went to swing in a hammock on the back veranda, and all her castles came tumbling about her ears, dealing her sharp, bitter blows.  There was a thick creeper of passion-fruit vines behind her, and through it she could hear Tettawonga talking to the cook.

“Marse Gillet on the burst agen,” he said, and chuckled through the side of his lips where his pipe did not rest.

Meg sat up in horror.  Since she had been at Yarrahappini she had heard the phrase applied to too many of the station hands:  not to know that it meant a reckless drinking bout.

“Lor’!  I’m not surprised,” the woman said, “he’s been too sober late days to keep it up; s’pose he’s been trying to last the visitors out, but found it too much.  Who’s got the keys?”

“Mis’ Hassal,” he said, “you to helpin’ her—­ba`al good for stores to-day, Marse Gillet—­he, he, ha, ha!”

So that was what had happened to him all these three days she had not seen him!  She had heard he had ridden over to the next station on business for Mr. Hassal, but had not dreamed such ’a thing had overtaken him.  The fifth day she had seen him in the distance, once coming out of the storeroom and looking exactly like himself, only his shoulders stooped a little more, and once smoking outside his own door.

The sixth day was the picnic.

Just as light-hearted and merry as the others she could not feel, with this disappointment at her heart, this shaken trust in human nature.

How weak he was, she thought, how ignoble!

All her pity was swept away in a young, large indignation.

She had hardly shaken hands when they had met in the morning, and all the long drive she was persistently cold towards him.

After lunch the party became scattered.  Judy took the General and went over to the belt of trees; Pip and Bunty occupied themselves with catching locusts; Baby and Nell gathered wild flowers.  Meg knelt down to collect the spoons and forks:  and put the untouched food back into the baskets away from the ants.

“I will do this—­you look hot, Miss Meg; sit down quietly,” Mr. Gillet said.