The evening before the happy day the pair were seen walking together
before sundown on a vacant lot in the township, discussing, it was
supposed, the arrangements for the morrow.
It was the time of the harvest, and Philip had been engaged to
measure the work of the reapers on a number of farms. I am aware
that he asked and received 1 pound for each paddock, irrespective of
area. On the bridal morn he walked over Frank's farm with his chain
and began the measurement, the reapers, most of them broken down
diggers, following him and watching him. Old Jimmy Gillon took one
end of the chain; he said he had been a chainman when the railway
mania first broke out in Scotland, so he knew all about land
surveying. Frank was absent, but he returned while Philip was
calculating the wages payable to each reaper, and he said: "Here's
the money, master; pay the men what's coming to 'em and send 'em
away."
Frank looked very sulky, and Philip was puzzled. He knew the
blissful ceremony was to take place that day, but there was no sign
of it, nor of any bliss whatever; no wedding garments, no parson, no
bride.
The bare matter of fact was, the bride had eloped during the night.
"For young Lochinvar had come out of the West,
And an underbred, fine-spoken fellow was he."
He was a bullock-driver of superior manners and attractive
personality, and was the only man in Australia who waxed and curled
his moustaches.
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