Page 469 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

stings a woman’s fine sense like an injustice. Burgess had
prepared a feast, and the ‘Society’ of Port Arthur was pres-
ent. Father Flaherty, Meekin, Doctor Macklewain, and Mr.
and Mrs. Datchett had been invited, and the dining-room
was resplendent with glass and flowers.
‘I’ve a fellow who was a professional gardener,’ said Bur-
gess to Sylvia during the dinner, ‘and I make use of his
talents.’
‘We have a professional artist also,’ said Macklewain,
with a sort of pride. ‘That picture of the ‘Prisoner of Chillon’
yonder was painted by him. A very meritorious production,
is it not?’
‘I’ve got the place full of curiosities,’ said Burgess; ‘quite a
collection. I’ll show them to you to-morrow. Those napkin
rings were made by a prisoner.’
‘Ah!’ cried Frere, taking up the daintily-carved bone,
‘very neat!’
‘That is some of Rex’s handiwork,’ said Meekin. ‘He is
very clever at these trifles. He made me a paper-cutter that
was really a work of art.’
‘We will go down to the Neck to-morrow or next day,
Mrs. Frere,’ said Burgess, ‘and you shall see the Blow-hole.
It is a curious place.’
‘Is it far?’ asked Sylvia.
‘Oh no! We shall go in the train.’
‘The train!’
‘Yes—don’t look so astonished. You’ll see it to-morrow.
Oh, you Hobart Town ladies don’t know what we can do
here.’

For the Term of His Natural Life