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Elsie's New Relations by Martha Finley

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"I want to be just such a man as you are, papa," Max said, with an
admiring, affectionate look up into his father's face, and slipping his
hand into his as he spoke.

The captain clasped the hand lovingly in his, and held it fast.

"I hope you will be a better and more talented man, my boy," he said,
"but always remember my most ardent wish is to see you a truly good man, a
Christian, serving God with all your powers."

At this moment a voice behind them said, "Good-mornin', cap'n. I'se got a
lettah hyah for you, sah."

"Ah, good-morning, Ben, and thank you for bringing it," said the captain,
turning round to receive it.

"You's bery welcom, sah," responded Ben, touching his hat respectfully,
then walking away toward Mr. Dinsmore's cottage.

"From Washington," the captain remarked, more to himself than to Max, as
he broke the seal.

Max watched him while he read, then asked, a little tremulously, "Must you
go very soon, papa?"

"Within three days, my boy. But we won't say anything about it until after
prayers, but let Mamma Vi and your sisters enjoy their breakfast in
peace."

"Yes, sir. Papa, I wish I was going with you!"

"But think how your sisters would miss you, Max."

"Yes, sir, I suppose they would. I hadn't thought of that."

"Besides, I want you to take my place to Mamma Vi as nearly as you can,"
added his father, looking smilingly at him.

"O papa, thank you!" cried the boy, his face growing bright with pleased
surprise. "I will try my very best and do all for her that I can."

"I don't doubt it, my son. And now let us go in, for it must be
breakfast-time, I think."

Lulu and Grace ran out to the veranda to meet them with a glad,
"Good-morning, papa," and holding up their faces for a kiss.

It was bestowed heartily, as he stooped and gathered them in his arms,
saying in tender tones, "Good-morning, my dear little daughters."

The breakfast bell was ringing, and they hastened to obey its summons.
They found Violet already in the dining-room, and looking sweet and fresh
as a rose, in a pretty, becoming morning dress.

The captain chatted cheerfully with her and the children while he ate,
seeming to enjoy his beefsteak, muffins and coffee; but Max scarcely
spoke, and occasionally had some difficulty in swallowing his food because
of the lump that would rise in his throat at the thought of the parting
now drawing so near.

Directly after breakfast came family worship. Then as Violet and her
husband stood together before the window looking out upon the sea, he
gave her his Washington letter to read.

She glanced over it, while he put his arm about her waist.

"O Levis, so soon!" she said tremulously, looking up at him with eyes full
of tears, then her head dropped upon his shoulder, and the tears began to
fall.

He soothed her with caresses and low-breathed words of endearment; of
hope, too, that the separation might not be a long one.

"What is it, Max?" whispered Lulu, "has papa got his orders?"

"Yes; and has to be off in less than three days," replied Max, in husky
tones, and hastily brushing away a tear.

Lulu's eyes filled, but by a great effort she kept the tears from falling.

The captain turned toward them. "We are going into the other house,
children," he said. "You can come with us if you wish."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," they said, and Grace ran to her father and put
her hand in his.

They found the Dinsmore and Travilla family all assembled in the parlor,
discussing plans for the day, all of which were upset by the captain's
news.

His ship lay in Boston harbor, and it was promptly decided that they would
all leave to-day for that city, only a few hours' distant.

As the cottages had been rented furnished, and all had for days past held
themselves in readiness for sudden departure, this would afford ample time
for the necessary packing and other arrangements.

All was presently bustle and activity in both houses. Zoe and Edward, with
no painful parting in prospect, made themselves very merry over their
packing. They were much like two children, and except when overcome by the
recollection of her recent bereavement, Zoe was as playful and frolicsome
as a kitten.

"Can I help, Mamma Vi?" asked Lulu, following Violet into her
dressing-room.

Vi considered a moment. "You are a dear child to want to help," she said,
smiling kindly upon the little girl. "I don't think you can pack your
trunk, but you can be of use here by handing me things out of the bureau
drawers and wardrobe. There are so many trunks to pack that I cannot think
of leaving Agnes to do it all."

"My dear," said the captain, coming in at that moment, "you are not to do
anything but sit in that easy-chair and give directions. I flatter myself
that I am quite an expert in this line."

"Can you fold ladies' dresses so that they will carry without rumpling?"
asked Violet, looking up at him with a saucy smile.

"Perhaps not. I can't say I ever tried that. Agnes may do that part of the
work, and I will attend to the rest."

"And may I hand you the things, papa?" asked Lulu.

"Yes, daughter," he said, "I like to see you trying to be useful."

They set to work, Violet looking on with interest. "Why, you are an
excellent packer, Levis," she remarked presently, "far better than I or
Agnes either."

"Thank you," he said, "I am very glad to be able to save you the
exertion."

"And you do it so rapidly," she said. "It would have taken me twice as
long."

"That is partly because I am much stronger, and partly the result of a
good deal of practice. And Lulu is quite a help," he added, with an
affectionate look at her.

She flushed with pleasure. "Are you going to pack the other trunks, papa?
Max's and Grade's and mine? And may I help you with them?" she asked.

"Yes, is my answer to both questions," he returned.

"Where are Max and Gracie?" asked Violet.

"I told Max to take his little sister to the beach, and take care of and
amuse her," the captain said in answer to the question.

"Don't you want to be out at play, too, Lulu?" asked Violet. "I can help
your papa."

"No, ma'am, thank you," the child answered in a quick, emphatic way. "I'd
a great deal rather be with papa to-day than playing."

He gave her a pleased look and smile, and Violet said, "That is nice,
Lulu; I am very glad his children love him so."

"Indeed we do, Mamma Vi! every one of us!" exclaimed Lulu. "Papa knows we
do. Don't you, papa?"

"Yes, I am quite sure of it," he said. "And that my wife is fond of me
also," with a smiling glance at her, "and altogether it makes me a very
happy man."

"As you deserve to be," said Violet, gayly. "Please, sir, will you allow
me to fold my dresses?"

"No, for here comes Agnes," as the maid entered the room, "who, I dare
say, can do it better. Come, Lulu, we will go now to your room."

Violet stayed where she was to direct and assist Agnes, and Lulu was glad,
because she wanted to be alone with her father for a while.

When her trunk was packed he turned to leave the room, but she detained
him. "Papa," she said, clinging to his hand, "I--I want to speak to you."

He sat down and drew her to his side, putting an arm about her waist.
"Well, daughter, what is it?" he asked kindly, stroking the hair back from
her forehead with the other hand.

"Papa, I--I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for----" she stammered, her
eyes drooping, her cheeks growing crimson.

"Sorry for your former naughtiness and rebellion?" he asked gently, as she
paused, leaving her sentence unfinished.

"Yes, papa, I couldn't bear to let you go away without telling you so
again."

"Well, daughter, it was all forgiven long ago, and you have been a pretty
good girl most of the time since that first sad week."

"Papa, I do want to be good," she said earnestly, "but somehow the badness
will get the better of me."

"Yes; each one of us has an evil nature to fight against," he said, "and
it will get the better of us unless we are very determined and battle with
it, not in our own strength only, but crying mightily for assistance to
Him who has said, 'In me is thine help.'

"We must watch and pray, my child. The Bible bids us keep our hearts with
all diligence, and set a watch at the door of our lips that we sin not
with our tongues. Also to pray without ceasing. We need to cry often to
God for help to overcome the evil that is in our own hearts, and the
snares of the world and the devil, 'who goeth about as a roaring lion
seeking whom he may devour.'"

"Papa," she said, looking up into his face, "do you find it hard to be
good sometimes?"

"Yes, my child; I have the same battle to fight that you have, and I am
the more sorry for you because I know by experience how difficult it
sometimes is to do right."

"And you have to help me by punishing me when I'm naughty, and making me
do as I ought?"

"Yes, and my battle is sometimes for patience with a naughty, disobedient
child."

"I think you were very patient with me that time you kept me shut up so
long in this room," she said. "If I'd been in your place I'd have got a
good switch and whipped my little girl till I made her obey me at once."

"Do you think that would have been the better plan?"

"No, sir. I think you'd have had to 'most kill me before I'd have given
up, but if I'd been in your place I couldn't have had patience to wait."

"You need to cultivate the grace of patience, then," he said gravely. "Now
come with me to Max's room, and let us see if we can pack up his goods and
chattels."

"Papa, I almost think I could pack it myself after watching you pack all
these others."

"Possibly; but I shall do it more quickly, with you to help in getting all
the things together."

Every one was ready in due season for departure, and that night the two
cottages that for months past had been so full of light and life, were
dark, silent and deserted.

Arriving in Boston, the whole party took rooms at one of the principal
hotels. There they spent the night, but the greater part of the next day
was passed on board the captain's vessel.

The day after the parting came; a very hard one for him, his young wife
and children. Little feeble Gracie cried herself sick, and Violet found it
necessary to put aside the indulgence of her own grief in order to comfort
the nearly heart-broken child, who clung to her as she might have done to
her own mother.

Max and Lulu made no loud lament, but their quiet, subdued manner and sad
countenances told of deep and sincere sorrow, and, in truth, they often
felt ready to join in Gracie's oft-repeated cry, "Oh, how can I do without
my dear, dear papa?"

But they were with kind friends. Every one in the party showed them
sympathy, pretty presents were made them, and they were taken to see all
the sights of the city likely to interest them.

Grandma Elsie particularly endeared herself to them at this time by her
motherly tenderness and care, treating them as if they were her own
children.

Their father had given each two parting gifts, a handsome pocket Bible,
with the injunction to commit at least one verse to memory every day, and
a pretty purse with some spending money in it; for he knew they would
enjoy making purchases for themselves when visiting the city stores with
the older people.

So they did; and Lulu, who was generous to a fault, had soon spent her all
in gifts for others; a lovely new doll for Gracie, some books for Max, a
bottle of perfumery for "Mamma Vi," and a toy for Walter.

Violet was much pleased with the present to herself as an evidence of
growing affection. She received it with warm thanks and a loving embrace.
"My dear child, it was very kind in you to think of me!" she said. "It
makes me hope you have really given me a little place in your heart,
dear."

"Oh, yes, Mamma Vi, indeed I have!" cried the little girl, returning the
embrace. "Surely we ought all to love you when you love our dear father so
much, and he loves you, too."

"Certainly," said Max, who was standing by; "we couldn't help loving so
sweet and pretty a lady if she was nothing at all to us and we lived in
the same house with her, and how can we think she's any less nice and
sweet just because she's married to our father?"

"And how can I help loving you because you are the children of my dear
husband?" responded Violet, taking the boy's hand and pressing it warmly
in hers.

Some hours later Violet accidentally overheard part of a conversation
between her little sister Rose and Lulu.

"Yes," Rosie was saying, "mamma gives me fifty cents a week for spending
money."

"Ah, how nice!" exclaimed Lulu. "Papa often gives us some money, but not
regularly, and Max and I have often talked together about how much we
would like to have a regular allowance. I'd be delighted, even if it
wasn't more than ten cents."

Violet had been wishing to give the children something, and trying to find
out what would be most acceptable, so was greatly pleased with the hint
given her by this little speech of Lulu's.

The child came presently to her side to bid her good-night. Violet put an
arm around her, and kissing her affectionately, said, "Lulu, I have been
thinking you might like to have an allowance of pocket money, as Rosie
has. Would you?"

"O Mamma Vi! I'd like it better than anything else I can think of!" cried
the little girl, her face sparkling with delight.

"Then you shall have it and begin now," Violet said, taking out her purse
and putting two bright silver quarters into Lulu's hand.

"Oh, thank you, mamma, how good and kind in you!" cried the child.

"Max shall have the same," said Violet, "and Gracie half as much for the
present. When she is a little older it shall be doubled. Don't you want
the pleasure of telling Max, and taking this to him?" she asked, putting
another half dollar into Lulu's hand.

"Oh yes, ma'am! Thank you very much!"

Max was on the farther side of the room--a good-sized parlor of the hotel
where they were staying--very much absorbed in a story-book; Lulu
approached him softly, a gleeful smile on her lips and in her eyes, and
laid his half dollar on the open page.

"What's that for?" he asked, looking round at her.

"For you; and you're to have as much every week, Mamma Vi says."

"O Lu! am I, really?"

"Yes; I too; and Gracie's to have a quarter."

"Oh, isn't it splendid!" he cried, and hurried to Violet to pour out his
thanks.

Grandma Elsie, seated on the sofa by Violet's side, shared with her the
pleasure of witnessing the children's delight.

Our friends had now spent several days in Boston, and the next morning
they left for Philadelphia, where they paid a short visit to relatives.
This was their last halt on the journey home to Ion.




CHAPTER VI.

"--to the guiltless heart, where'er we roam,
No scenes delight us like our much-loved home."
--Robert Hillhouse.


Elsie and her children had greatly enjoyed their summer at the North, but
now were filled with content and happiness at the thought of soon seeing
again their loved home at Ion, while Max and Lulu looked forward with
pleasing anticipations and eager curiosity to their first sight of it,
having heard various glowing descriptions of it from "Mamma Vi" and Rosie.

Their father, too, had spoken of it as a home so delightful that they
ought to feel the liveliest gratitude for having been invited to share its
blessings.

It was looking very beautiful, very inviting, on the arrival of our
travellers late in the afternoon of a warm, bright October day.

The woods and the trees that bordered the avenue were in the height of
their autumn glory, the gardens gay with many flowers of the most varied
and brilliant hues, and the lengthening shadows slept on a still green
and velvety lawn.

As their carriage turned into the avenue, Elsie bent an affectionate,
smiling look upon Max and Lulu, and taking a hand of each, said in
sweetest tones, "Welcome to your new home, my dears, and may it prove to
you a very, very happy one."

"Thank you, ma'am," they both responded, Max adding, "I am very glad,
Grandma Elsie, that I am to live with you and Mamma Vi."

"I, too," said Lulu; "and in such a pretty place. Oh, how lovely
everything does look!"

The air was delightful, and doors and windows stood wide open. On the
veranda a welcoming group was gathered. Elsie's brother and sister--Horace
Dinsmore, Jr., of the Oaks, and Mrs. Rose Lacey from the Laurels--and her
cousins Calhoun and Arthur Conly; while a little in the rear of them were
the servants, all--from old Uncle Joe, now in his ninety-fifth year, down
to Betty, his ten-year-old great-granddaughter--showing faces full of
eager delight.

They stood back respectfully till greetings had been exchanged between
relatives and friends, then pressed forward with their words of welcome,
sure of a shake of the hand and kind word from each member of the family.

Mr. Dinsmore held little Gracie in his arms. She was much fatigued and
exhausted by the long journey.

"Here is a patient for you, Arthur," he said, "and I am very glad you are
here to attend to her."

"Yes," said Violet, "her father charged me to put her in your care."

"Then let her be put immediately to bed," said Arthur, after a moment's
scrutiny of the child. "Give her to me, uncle, and I will carry her
up-stairs."

"To my room," added Violet.

But the child shrunk from the stranger, and clung to Mr. Dinsmore.

"No, thank you, I will take her up myself," he said. "I am fully equal to
it," and he moved on through the hall and up the broad stairway, Violet
and the doctor following.

The others presently scattered to their rooms to rid themselves of the
dust of travel and dress for the evening.

"Well, little wife, is it nice to be at home again?" Edward asked, with a
smiling look at Zoe, as they entered their apartments.

"Yes, indeed!" she cried, sending a swift glance around the neat and
tastefully furnished room, "especially such a home, and to be shared with
such nice people; one in particular who shall be nameless," she added,
with an arch look and smile.

"One who hopes you will never tire of his company, as he never expects to
of yours," returned Edward, catching her in his arms and snatching a kiss
from her full red lips.

"Now don't," she said, pushing him away, "just wait till I've washed the
dust from my face. Here come our trunks," as two of the men servants
brought them in, "and you must tell me what dress to put on."

"You look so lovely in any and every one of the dozen or more that I have
small choice in the matter," laughed the young husband.

"What gross flattery!" she exclaimed. "Well, then, I suppose I'll have to
choose for myself. But you mustn't complain if I do that some time when
you don't want me to."

The two Elsies had lingered a little behind the others--the old servants
had so many words of welcome to say to them--the younger one in especial,
because she had been so far and so long away.

And the babe must be handed about from one to another, kissed and blessed
and remarked upon as to his real or fancied resemblance to this or that
older member of the family.

"It do 'pear pow'ful strange, Miss Elsie, dat you went away young lady and
come back wid husband and baby," remarked Aunt Dicey. "And it don't seem
but yistiday dat you was a little bit ob a gal."

"Yes, I have come back a great deal richer than I went," Elsie returned,
with a glance of mingled love and joy, first at her husband, then at her
infant son. "I have great reason to be thankful."

At that moment Mrs. Travilla became aware that Max and Lulu were lingering
near, as if not knowing exactly what to do with themselves.

"Ah, my dears," she said, turning to them with a kind and pleasant look,
"has no one attended to you? Come with me, and I will show you your
rooms."

They followed her up the stairs, and each was shown into a very pleasant
room furnished tastefully and with every comfort and convenience.

Lulu's had two doors, one opening into the hall, the other into her
mamma's bedroom.

Elsie explained this, adding, "So, if you are in want of anything or
should feel frightened or lonely in the night, you can run right in to the
room where you will find your mamma and Gracie."

"Yes, ma'am, that is very nice; and oh, what a pretty room! How kind and
good you are to me! and to my brother and sister, too!" cried Lulu, her
eyes shining with gratitude and pleasure.

"I am very glad to be able to do it," Elsie said, taking the little
girl's hand in one of hers and smoothing her hair caressingly with the
other--for Lulu had taken off her hat. "I want to be a mother to you, dear
child, and to your brother and sister, since my dear daughter is too young
for so great care and responsibility. I love you all, and I want you to
come freely to me with all your troubles and perplexities, your joys and
sorrows, just as my own children have always done. I want you to feel that
you have a right to do so, because I have invited you."

She bent down and kissed Lulu's lips, and the little girl threw her arms
about her neck with impulsive warmth, saying, "Dear Grandma Elsie, I love
you and thank you ever so much! And I mean to try ever so hard to be
good," she added, with a blush and hanging her head shamefacedly. "I know
I'm often very naughty; papa said I gave him more anxiety than Max and
Gracie both put together; and I'm afraid I can't be good all the time, but
I do mean to try hard."

"Well, dear, if you try with all your might, asking help from on high, you
will succeed at last," Elsie said. "And now I will leave you to wash and
dress. I see your trunk has been brought up and opened, so that you will
have no difficulty."

With that she passed on into Violet's rooms to see how Gracie was. She
found her sleeping sweetly in Violet's bed, the latter bending over her
with a very tender, motherly look on her fair young face.

"Is she not a darling, mamma?" she whispered, turning her head at the
sound of her mother's light footstep.

"She is a very engaging child," replied Elsie. "I think we are all fond of
her, but you especially."

"Yes, mamma, I love her for herself--her gentle, affectionate
disposition--but still more because she is my husband's child, his dear
baby girl, as he so often called her."

"Ah, I can understand that," Elsie said, with a loving though rather sad
look and smile into Violet's azure eyes, "for I have often felt just so in
regard to my own children. What does Arthur say about her?"

"That she is more in need of rest and sleep than anything else at present.
He will see her again to-morrow, and will probably be able then to give me
full directions in regard to her diet and so forth."

"You will come down to supper? you will not think it necessary to stay
with her yourself?" Elsie said inquiringly.

"Oh, no, mamma! I shall dress at once. I should not like to miss being
with you all," Violet answered, moving away from the bedside. "Ah!" with
sudden recollection, "I have been quite forgetting Max and Lulu."

"I have seen them to their rooms," her mother said, "and now I must go and
attend to Rosie and Walter, and to my own toilet."

"Dear mamma, thank you!" Violet said heartily.

"My dear, I consider them quite as much my children, and therefore my
especial charge, as yours, perhaps a trifle more," Elsie returned with
sprightly look and tone as she left the room.

Agnes was in attendance on her young mistress, and was presently sent to
ask if Lulu was in need of help, and to say that her mamma would like to
see her before she went down-stairs.

"I don't need anything till I'm ready to have my sash tied," answered
Lulu, "and then I'll come in to Mamma Vi and you to have it done. She was
very good to send you, Agnes, and you to come."

"La! chile, it's jus' my business to mind Miss Wilet," returned Agnes.
"An' she's good to eberybody, ob cose--always was."

"What did you want to see me for, Mamma Vi?" asked Lulu, as she presently
entered her young stepmother's dressing-room.

"Just to make sure that your hair and dress are all right, dear. You know
we have company to-night, and I am particularly anxious that my little
Lulu shall look her very best."

The child's face flushed with pleasure. She liked to be well and
becomingly dressed, and it was gratifying to have Mamma Vi care that she
should be. Mrs. Scrimp was so different; she had never cared whether
Lulu's attire was tasteful and becoming or quite the reverse, but always
roused the child's indignation by telling her it was all sufficient if she
were only neat and clean.

"Am I all right?" she asked.

"Pretty nearly; we will have you quite so in a minute," Violet answered.
"Tie her sash Agnes, and smooth down the folds of her dress."

"Mamma Vi, is that strange lady any relation to you?" asked Lulu.

"Yes, she is my aunt, mamma's sister."

"She is pretty, but not nearly so pretty as Grandma Elsie."

"No; I have always thought no one else could be half so beautiful as
mamma."

"Why, Mamma Vi, you are yourself!" exclaimed Lulu in a tone of honest
sincerity that made Violet laugh.

"That is just your notion, little girl," she said, giving the child a
kiss.

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Booker prize shortlist drops early frontrunners
Latest news and features from guardian.co.uk, the world's leading liberal voice

Extract: The Whales by Evie Wyld

Christos Tsiolkas and David Mitchell, both much-tipped when they appeared on the award longlist, have been overlooked in the six finalists

Listen to Claire Armitstead and Sarah Crown discuss the Booker shortlist on a special edition of the Guardian Books Podcast

It headed the most controversial Man Booker prize longlist in years, but Christos Tsiolkas's The Slap has failed to make the final cut for the literary award, as has David Mitchell's much-tipped fifth novel, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet.

Judges overlooked Australian novelist Tsiolkas's tale of the consequences when a child is slapped at a suburban barbecue – which is either "unbelievably misogynistic" or "riveting from beginning to end", depending on who's asked – and Mitchell, twice shortlisted for the prize in the past, to select a shortlist which ranges from two-time former winner Peter Carey's Parrot and Olivier in America to Emma Donoghue. The Irish writer has also stirred up debate with her Josel Fritzl-inspired Room, the story of a boy and his mother imprisoned in a tiny room for years.

Orange prize winner Andrea Levy's The Long Song, about the last years of slavery in Jamaica; Howard Jacobson's The Finkler Question, a cerebral comedy about grief and Anglo-Jewishness; experimental novelist Tom McCarthy's C, which tells the story of Serge Carrefax, a first world war radio operator who escapes from a German prison camp; and South African writer Damon Galgut's tale of a young man travelling through Greece, India and Africa, In a Strange Room, complete the six-strong shortlist for the £50,000 prize, announced this morning.

"It's been a great privilege and an exciting challenge for us to reduce our longlist of 13 to this shortlist of six outstandingly good novels," said chair of judges Andrew Motion, the former poet laureate. "In doing so, we feel sure we've chosen books which demonstrate a rich variety of styles and themes – while in every case providing deep individual pleasures."

The panel of judges had previously read 138 books to select the 13 titles for their longlist, with Martin Amis's new novel The Pregnant Widow and Ian McEwan's venture into comic fiction Solar both overlooked and Carey the only previous Booker winner on the longlist.

His inclusion on the shortlist today for Parrot and Olivier in America, a reimagining of Democracy in America author Alexis de Tocqueville's visit to the New World, gives him the chance of becoming the first ever writer to win the Booker three times, having previously taken it in 1988 for Oscar and Lucinda and 2001 for True History of the Kelly Gang.

"The omission of both David Mitchell and Christos Tsiolkas from the shortlist is a real shock. While both writers might rightly feel aggrieved at being overlooked, I imagine it took some wrangling amongst the judges to reduce one of the best longlists in years to six," said Jonathan Ruppin at independent book chain Foyles, who, while praising all six books for their "lightness of touch which means the reader doesn't get bogged down in something worthy or dull", predicted that Room was the most likely title to go on to win the award.

Waterstone's tipped C to take the prize, with fiction buying manager Simon Burke calling it "a challenging yet dazzling novel". "The news that David Mitchell has not made the shortlist will cause great wailing and gnashing of teeth across the bookworld, but perhaps is a useful reminder of the independence and unpredictability of the Booker," he said. "But this is still a hugely varied and exciting list, worthy of the Booker brand. Carey and Levy have to be strong contenders, but our money is on Tom McCarthy. The more people that read [C] the better."

The bookies agreed, with William Hill immediately installing McCarthy as 2/1 favourite to win the prize. "There has been a considerable media buzz around all of the books on the shortlist, and literary punters have staked more money in total on Tom McCarthy to win than any of the other authors, so he is a worthy favourite," said spokesman Graham Sharpe. Donoghue and Galgut came in second at the bookmaker, both at 3/1, with one customer so sure that In A Strange Room would win that they placed £400 on Galgut at 7/1, the largest single bet on the prize "for a few years", said Sharpe.

Carey came in fourth, at 5/1, with Levy at 7/1 and Jacobson the 8/1 outside to take the prize.

The opinion-splitting novels picked for this year's longlist have helped make it the most popular since 2001, with Tsiolkas's novel selling the most copies, followed by Donoghue's. The winner, who will join a roster of former winners including Margaret Atwood, Roddy Doyle and JM Coetzee, will be announced on 12 October. Last year's winner Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel is the fastest-selling Booker winner ever, with sales of around half-a-million copies to date.

The Man Booker shortlist in full:

Peter Carey's Parrot and Olivier in America

Emma Donoghue's Room

Damon Galgut's In a Strange Room

Howard Jacobson's The Finkler Question

Andrea Levy's The Long Song

Tom McCarthy's C

To buy all six Booker shortlisted titles for only £65 (save £37.94) with free UK p&p visit the Guardian Bookshop or call 0330 333 6846.


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The Marxist Miliband

Evie Wyld, whose debut novel After the Fire, a Still Small Voice won the 2009 John Llewellyn Rhys prize, has written a short story, The Whales, exclusively for Booktrust, where she is currently writer-in-residence. Here we join Jimmy, Elaine, Terry and Yvonne, deep in the bush after five days of walking. The conclusion will appear on the Booktrust website tomorrow

There are four of them footslogging single file along the trail. They sweat and wave their sticks at the flies, spitting the salt off their lips and feeling the rub of their backpacks, hot on their shoulders. A storm bird knows about them from miles off and lets out a wop-wop-wop, getting higher and louder as it goes. Jimmy watches Elaine look up at the gum-treed sky. He follows her gaze. No, he thinks. The bird is wrong; overhead is blue without a wash of cloud.

The crack of dry bark, the whistle of whip birds and sometimes a thundering in the undergrowth – a wombat, a pademelon – it all makes Jimmy feel younger. He can feel the muscles in his thighs working, can feel them thank him for not being stood at the assembly line six hours a day.

Five days of walking and now they are deep in the bush. In another day, they'll turn east, head for the sea, where if they make good time, they'll see the humpbacks heading south towards the Antarctic, their new calves in tow. There'll be a party that night, between the four of them. Terry the young bow-legged one from further down the line with a touch of the idiot about him, Yvonne his frizz-plaited, heavy cousin who runs accounts and her friend Elaine who is nothing to do with the factory and who returns his glances, smiling. Not a bad lot really, especially the girls.

Three days down the coast and they'll arrive home about ready for that soft bed and the meal without char-grit from the campfire, or the dog food pong of tinned meat. It's been good so far. He thinks of what was waiting for him if he hadn't gone bush this week – all those monkey-wrenches wanting to be set. It's been time to move on for a while, he sees that now. Only he'll wait and see what comes of Elaine and the damp hair that ringlets at the back of her neck.

Later in the day he spots a bower bird's chapel. Even this far in, the bird has found a blue toothbrush and bits of turquoise plastic to frame its humpy. He takes a photo, so that the side of Elaine's brown leg slides up the view finder.

'They only collect blue stuff', he says, mainly to Elaine. He feels the roots of his fingers strain as he reigns himself in, his stiff hands reminding him not to overdo it. Steady on.

Chances are, Elaine already knows more than him about bower birds – she told him she's walked the bush for six years, since she left varsity, this last two with Yvonne for company and he only knows from camping out when money gets bad. But he wants to show something to her. Elaine squats next to him and traces an arc with one finger in the dirt, looking at the toothbrush. She is smiling with her eyebrows pulled in.

'It's to impress the female – then she'll come down and he'll do a sexy dance.' As he explains, he wiggles his tail a little in a sexy dance and Elaine smiles wider.

Terry who has been leaning over them to get a look, gyrates around his walking stick. What his mating dance lacks in accuracy it makes up for in energy and the other three look on in silence while he makes the noise of a boombox with his lips pressed together. Jimmy's fingers stretch out towards the ground in embarrassment as he keeps his bad eye – the eye that he thinks of as his secret eye – on Elaine.

'You're a disgustin' specimen, Terry', says the stone-buttocked Yvonne. Terry quickens his hips and points, wiggling himself towards her.

Yvonne stands stiff and still like a wary buffalo. 'Never been the brightest crayon in the box', she says and they all push past him, smiles held down. Jimmy looks back to see him finish in a bunny squat and a flick of his head.

'Yeah!' says Terry loudly, arms raised and both thumbs up to the tops of the trees like they are his audience.

'Yeah' and he finds a cigarette in his back pocket, lights it and considers its glowing end before following on.

There'd been a night of heavy breathing when Elaine and Jimmy faced each other in their swags. They hadn't touched but they'd looked hard in the dark, seeing the glints of each other's tongues, teeth and eyes. There is a luxury in not touching, Jimmy thinks, in not just going with your gut; they don't have all the time in the world but they have this time, which won't end for another few days.

He looks forward to it, imagines the beach in an old film kind of a way. The last night when they will open the wine they've lugged all this way – they'll cool the bottles in a rock pool for a couple of hours, while they see what the beach has for them. He's a beach person at heart, it's where his childhood is at and he can't wait to show off about it. Terry's brought along his spearfishing gear and says he reckons on a good spot up at the point. Jimmy imagines striding into camp, a jewfish slung over one shoulder, a clutch of softly ticking crays hung from their whiskers in his other fist. When the moon's up and the salty wine is drunk, their fingers warm and sticky with sand and cray brains, he'll rub his foot over hers. He'll put his wrists either side of her jaw, so as not to touch her with his prawny fingers and he'll plant a long warm kiss on her mouth, one that shows them both that this is the start of things. He could think about staying on at the factory, him who hasn't stayed in one spot for more than six months at a time since he was 16. Or else, Elaine could come with him, go feral together up the coast. He gets the feeling there's not much holding her to the city anymore. He looks down at himself and he speaks softly to his hands You're orright you bung-eyed bastard. You're an okay sort after all.

Elaine breaks off from the group to take a pee in the scrub. She squats behind a paperbark and laughs. She's been hip deep in croc water, has woken up feeling a huntsman, as big as both of her hands put together, tangling with her feet in her swag. But the idea that the group might hear the sound of her pissing makes it so that she can't go. Eventually, she manages and makes a wet stain on the gum leaves. She pulls her shorts back up and a twig cracks not far up ahead. Shadows rise and fall as something heavy moves away. She catches up with the others at a jog.

Jimmy, that trunk of a man with his duff eye and his bear hands and her pal Yvonne are arguing about a fish. The argument is snapper versus flathead, but in what capacity Elaine is not sure. Terry is unusually quiet for a conversation involving food and he walks a little way from Jimmy and Yvonne.

'Stone lighter?' he asks quietly.

'It was a pee', she says, but her face flushes anyway.

'Right', says Terry and he smiles a weird smile. Elaine accidentally catches his eye.

By five o'clock they reach a small billabong. They strip down to their underwear and jump in like kids, laughing, drowning each other with splashing. Terry tries to duck the girls under, Jimmy dives for yabbies and opens his eyes in the bourbon-coloured water. The white legs of the other three bicycle in the open water. When he comes up for air, he can see that Yvonne is pleased with her breasts and bobs them gently up and down making small waves to the bank.

Jimmy looks a long time at Elaine and she looks back. There is a water level smile between them. He is aware of the ripples that come from his heartbeat and he sees how Elaine's canines creep over her bottom lip. Her hair is dark now, but in the light you can see into it. Where the sun hasn't caught her, her skin is like the damp underside of a leaf.

Elaine thinks she's some wonderful creature. The water holds her in on all sides, she feels good in her skin. The billabong is black from the tea trees that line the bank and when she flicks her legs to the surface she's a pale fish. She pauses before she puts her head under – a brief worry about spluttering and snotting in front of Jimmy, but then she thinks of the beach and the sea to come and she duck dives.

The dark water lifts her hair up and spreads it out, it pushes around her cheeks and taps on her eyelids as she reaches out for the leafy mud of the billabong floor, but even though she goes deep, her hands touch nothing. She kicks up for air and sends a flume of mist from her mouth. She smiles widely at Jimmy who floats on his back like an otter, hands clasped over his chest, dreaming of something.

Frogs and magpies are loud and someone finds a leech and then another and another and there's shrill laughing.

Terry shouts, 'It's eatin' the fuckin' kidneys out of me!' then, 'You girls want me to check under your bras?'

Even though everyone has had a leech before and every person has treated that leech with salt or the tip of a cigarette, quietly, without fear, they all pretend this is the first time they've been bitten and they wallow in the hysteria, enjoying it like gobble-mouthed kids.

Out of the water, damp shirts wrapped around them like towels, Jimmy burns a fat one off Elaine's shoulder. She looks at him sideways and curls a bit of paper bark around her finger.

'Ta', she says, as Jimmy passes her the cigarette which they share puffs from. He looks at her with his good eye. It creases in the corner.

The four of them set up camp a little way from the water hole, away from the leeches. Terry makes a small tepee out of kindling and rings stones around it to stop the fire spreading. Once it's lit they hang over a billy and drink tea while they watch the bats turning circles in the creeping darkness. Yvonne stirs up a thick damper and they bake it in a pan over the fire, to be eaten with a warmed tin of bean stew and rice pudding for afters. The birds are mostly quiet and the cicadas and frogs rev themselves up, as everyone slaps on Rid against the mosquitoes.

'Reckon we'll beat those whales, the way we're moving', Terry says cleaning his bowl with a licked finger.

'Fuckin' A.' Yvonne brings out a flask of bourbon to swill down the pudding with. She takes a long unflinching pull of it before passing it round and beginning a murder story.

'There's this girl went missing not far from Tully – all the kids hitchhike out there…' The dark gets deeper and everyone settles in, enjoying the creep of it. Elaine thinks that there's nothing you can't fix by putting your cheek to the land and feeling it settle. She studies the landscape of Jimmy's face. He is unashamedly enthralled by Yvonne's story. His funny eye looks directly at Elaine but doesn't see her. The lines on his forehead have dirt ground in. He's older than Elaine and she wonders what it is he's been doing all the time he's been alive.

In the silence, after Yvonne's concluding remark 'They only ever found her thumb', Terry farts, a loud one and everyone groans.

'Well, that's put that to bed', he says and they all unroll their swags around the fire and climb in for the night. Jimmy feels the hot weight of Elaine's foot on his and his fingers twitch on their own. Elaine sees Terry's wet eyes, tangerine from the fire and spreads her toes out. She stays awake for as long as possible, making up script after script of how it will go with Jimmy once they reach the sea. She replays the swim at waterhole until she's unsure if she's made parts of it up. She finally falls asleep with her heartbeat high in her chest.

Jimmy wakes long before dawn with a pressure like a stone on his bladder. He swears quietly and rolls out of his swag to ease the ache against a tree. In the undergrowth to his right, something scrabbles. He catches a strong scent and sees a wet snout or eye in the dark. A rumble in the brush and it's gone. Probably a pig or a dingo, but he's glad to get back to the group, where the coals in the fire are still orange. He checks each sleeper. Terry is spread at a diagonal, mouth open, not snoring but making noise. Yvonne sleeps on her front clutching the loose material of her swag, not letting it get away. Elaine is on her side and a brown arm has slithered free. Her hair makes a perfect ring around her ear. As he watches she produces a little noise, a tiny pop from her lips as they're opened with breath. Sleep speaking, thinks Jimmy as he burrows back into his swag, careful not to jog her feet with his, but careful also that they are touching.

The morning is hot and blue from the outset. After tea and a tidy up, they set off, aiming to reach the sea before sunset. Jimmy looks forward to a swim in the bubbling salt, a proper clean down with no bloodsuckers. Terry starts to talk about food almost immediately,

'Lamb chops.' He says confidently to Yvonne. 'That's gotta be the best type of food; lamb chops with the whole grill piece; onions, mushrooms, boiled spuds – no tomatoes though, I'm so over tomatoes.' Yvonne rolls her eyes at him.

'Couldn't give a rat's ring, Terry,' but she hands him a date and a piece of chocolate. Elaine enjoys her feeling of emptiness. Her spit tastes of eucalyptus, she feels new, like the air and blood in her has been filtered out and changed for something better.

After midday, there's a yell from Terry up ahead.

'Get a look at this!' The other three catch up to find him crouching in a small clearing surrounded by stay-a-while and they peer over his shoulder. There's a dead butcher bird on the ground and following the line of Terry's finger into one of the thorny bushes, they see its larder. A small mouse impaled through the neck, stiff and dry, missing parts of its hind quarters, a large Christmas beetle, upside down with the thorn square through the middle and last, still twitching, its legs up and angry, barely impaled through its leaking abdomen, a mouse spider.

'Christssake' whispers Jimmy stepping back.

'How the poor bastard got it up here, I can't figure,' Terry says, pushing the bird with his foot to reveal the green ants starting on its wing. The mouse spider's fangs, black and thick and shiny are up and ready to strike. It waves its legs in the air. Terry picks up a twig to poke it with, but Yvonne knocks it out of his hand.

'Don't be a bum, Terry. I'm not carrying yer fat dead lump out of here if you get bitten. You can count on that.' Jimmy takes a photograph, in which Terry insists on including his own hand, so as get the scale of the thing.

They start to walk on, but Elaine stays behind a beat or two looking at the spider; its fangs reaching for her, legs pointing.

'The sky is falling, the sky is falling!' Yvonne shrieks in a chicken voice as thunder mumbles in the distance. Elaine looks again at the sky, but it's still clear. The thunder is a long way off, but you can smell it in the air, which is heavy and hot. The tips of the trees sway in the sky, but there's no breeze down on the bush floor.

A goanna clings to a Moreton Bay fig above them but nobody sees it.

Jimmy touches the side of Elaine's hand with his little finger and as he does, the leaves to the side of her snaffle and a striped snake comes streaking out of the ground, hitting her on the boot. She barks loudly and kicks trying to get her foot away. The snake's fangs are deeply embedded in the leather of her boot and she shakes her leg hard while around her the others dip and weave and try to help and point their sticks. Jimmy thinks he has control of the situation when he holds Elaine's arm and beats at the snake with his walking stick, accidentally cracking her on the shin. The snake is dislodged, but instead of bolting back into the undergrowth, it turns again and bites Elaine, once, twice, three times and a fourth; calf, back of the knee, thigh, deeply, deeply again on her inner thigh. It's snap-quick and Jimmy doesn't have time to understand and still has Elaine by the arm so she doesn't get away. Finally, Terry gets it – a blow to the eye – and it's stunned. He stomps on the head, but it still twitches, so he beats it with his stick, smashing, till it changes colour, loses its stripes. It is still, but the bush crackles and carries on.

Elaine is tight-lipped and white. Yvonne cries softly into her cupped hands, the small beeps of a bird. Terry shoes leaves over the corpse of the snake and Jimmy still holds Elaine's arm, his grip hard from not knowing what to do, from doing the wrong thing. There is blood, Elaine thinks how it looks like she's got her period and then thinks she'd love a piece of liquorice from her backpack. She starts to turn around, to take her pack off, but her legs have lost their hardness and she is sliding back into Jimmy who is stiff and still.

'Jesus H Christ,' whispers Terry. He looks at the snake and away, prodding it rhythmically with his stick. 'Jimmy,' he says. 'Jesus, Jimmy.'

'S'just a nip,' says Elaine.

As she slides to the ground with the help of Jimmy who has become flesh again, Elaine thinks about the liquorice and then about how it was a tiger. A big dose of tiger and she's starting to feel it now, it feels like it bit her in the artery of her groin. The big one. The one where all the blood lives.

Yvonne straightens herself. She helps Elaine's pack off her back and slides it behind her back to prop her up. She pulls out her poncho and arranges it over Elaine's wounded leg, to keep it out of sight and then snaps the men into action.

'Hot water - get a fire on. Get the first aid.' She looks at the two men who are twisting their fingers. 'C'mon s'only a fuckin' snake bite, let's get it sorted and get on with it.' She's right and Jimmy says so. He says, 'Only a snake bite.' Smiling at Elaine, but what they all think, Jimmy, Terry, Yvonne and Elaine is but it's tiger. And we are deep in. Deep.

• To read the conclusion of the story, visit the Booktrust website from Tuesday 7 September.

• Evie Wyld works in the independent Review Bookshop in Peckham. She is taking part in a live-streamed book club Q&A from the shop at 7.30pm on Thursday 9 September. To find out how to submit questions for the event, visit the Booktrust website


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