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diff --git a/old/60446-0.txt b/old/60446-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c727071..0000000 --- a/old/60446-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8415 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Norah of Billabong, by Mary Grant Bruce - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Norah of Billabong - -Author: Mary Grant Bruce - -Release Date: October 7, 2019 [EBook #60446] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NORAH OF BILLABONG *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - - - - - - - [Cover Illustration] - - - - - Stories by - MARY GRANT BRUCE - Large Crown 8vo. Fully Illustrated. Cloth Gilt. - POSSUM - - MRS. BRUCE writes with a freedom and grace which must win hosts - of readers, and there is a lovableness about her Australian - youths and maidens which makes one never tired of their healthy - and sociable views of life. - - JIM AND WALLY - - “There can be no doubt about the success of Miss Bruce . . . - real pathos which gets hold of the reader, and her effects are - obtained in a real natural way that makes them all the more - telling. She evidently knows the up-country life . . . she grips - the attention from start to finish.”—_Melbourne Argus._ - - A LITTLE BUSH MAID - - “It is a real pleasure to recommend this story to Australian - readers.”—_Perth Western Mail._ - - MATES AT BILLABONG - - “The incidents of station life, its humours, festivities, and - mishaps, are admirably sketched in this vivid - narrative.”—_Adelaide Register._ - - TIMOTHY IN BUSHLAND - - “The writer understands all about the wonders of the Australian - bush, its wild horses, kangaroos, wombats, and infinitely - various natural life.”—_Daily Telegraph._ - - GLEN EYRE - - “An admirable story, exquisitely told, full of gentle pathos, - and ringing true all through.”—_The Sportsman._ - - NORAH OF BILLABONG - - “The story is written in a refreshing and lovable manner, which - makes instant appeal.”—_Manchester Courier._ - - GRAY’S HOLLOW - - “A story always healthy and enjoyable in its sympathetic - delineation of unsophisticated nature.”—_The Scotsman._ - - FROM BILLABONG TO LONDON - - “The story has many more incidents than Mrs. Bruce’s earlier - books, and though her style is quiet and matter-of-fact, she - does succeed in infusing reality into her exciting - episodes.”—_The Melbourne Argus._ - - - - - NORAH - OF BILLABONG - - - By - MARY GRANT BRUCE - - Author of “A Little Bush Maid,” “Mates at Billabong,” - “Glen Eyre,” “Timothy in Bushland,” etc. - - - ILLUSTRATED BY J. MACFARLANE - - - W A R D , L O C K & C O . , L I M I T E D - LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO - - - - - To All the Kind People - —Little and Big— - Who asked me for “More Norah.” - - M. G. B. - - - - - CONTENTS - - I BREAKING UP - II NIGHT IN THE CITY - III THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN - IV GOING HOME - V WALLY - VI THE CUNJEE CONCERT - VII MORNING - VIII NOON - IX A LITTLE YELLOW FLAME - X MIDNIGHT - XI THE BATTLE UNDER THE STARS - XII BURNT OUT - XIII BEN ATHOL - XIV ON THE TRACK - XV THE HOUSE BY ATHOLTON - XVI BEYOND THE PLAINS - XVII THE PEAK OF BEN ATHOL - XVIII THE WURLEY IN THE ROCKS - XIX THE LAST NIGHT - XX DOWN THE MOUNTAIN - XXI BACK TO BILLABONG - - - - - NORAH OF BILLABONG - - - - - CHAPTER I - - - BREAKING UP - - When Sheelah in the morning - Comes down the way, - It needs no more adorning - To make it gay. - - —_Victor J. Daley._ - -A VERY tall boy came up the gravel path of Beresford House. It was -“breaking up” day, and an unwonted air of festivity and smartness was -evident, even to the eye of a stranger. The garden looked as though no -leaf had ever been out of place, no sacrilegious footmark ever imprinted -on the soft mould of its beds, where masses of flowers still bade -defiance to the heat of an Australian December. The paths were newly -raked; the freshly mown lawns were carpets of emerald, soft underfoot -and smooth as bowling greens. Aloft, on the square grey tower, fluttered -the school flag—a blue banner, with a device laboriously woven by the -fingers of the sewing class, and indirectly responsible for many -impositions, since it was beyond the power of the sewing class to work -with its several heads so close together as the task demanded, and yet -refrain from talking. It was a banner of great magnificence, and the -school was justly proud of it. Only the sewing class regarded it with -what might be termed a mingled eye. - -It was early afternoon—too early for guests to be seriously thinking of -arriving. A couple of motors were drawn up in the shade of a big Moreton -Bay fig; but they belonged to parents who lived at a distance, and had -come earlier in the day, to talk solemnly to the head mistress, and then -to whisk emancipated daughters away to an hotel for lunch—which -necessitated a speedy whisking back, so that the daughters might be -apparelled in white, in readiness for the afternoon’s ceremonials. In -the garden, little groups of girls might be seen already clad in festive -raiment and walking with a seemliness that in itself showed that this -day was different from all other days. They turned interested glances -upon the newcomer, who, resenting the gaze deeply, stalked on up the -path, his straw hat tilted over his brown face. Girls in general had not -come much in his way. It was distinctly embarrassing to run the gauntlet -of so many frankly curious eyes. - -“There’s some, one’s brother,” said a red-haired damsel, surveying the -stranger across a bush of New Zealand flax. “Yours, Laura?” - -“Mine?” said Laura, regretfully. “Not much—mine is fat. He’s a dear, of -course, but his figure’s something awful! I’d be frightfully proud if he -looked like that!” - -“I wonder who he belongs to,” said the red-haired girl, with a cheerful -lack of grammar. “Doesn’t he look miserable—he knows we’re talking -about him!” She giggled with wicked enjoyment. The giggle turned to a -whistle. “Gracious! Just look at young Norah Linton!” - -Two younger girls, with arms linked and heads close together, had come -into view in a distant corner of the garden, walking decorously, as -befitted their white dresses. It was the taller of the two, a -brown-faced girl of fifteen, with dark curls and extremely long slim -legs, who had caught sight of the boy walking towards the house, and had -promptly acted as though electrified. She relinquished her companion’s -arms, uttered an incoherent exclamation, and dashed wildly across the -lawn, taking the flower bed that bordered it with a flying leap. The -sound of the racing feet made the boy swing round quickly. Then a smile -broadened on his face, and his eyes twinkled. They pumped each other’s -hands enthusiastically. - -“Oh, Wally!” said Norah, breathlessly. “Oh, you old brick!” - -Wally Meadows laughed outright. - -“You don’t know what a blue funk I’ve been in,” he said. “This is a -horribly scary place to come to alone—and I’ve been picturing you made -as prim and proper as all these girls seem to be. But you’re not!” - -“Indeed, I’m not,” Norah answered. “And no more are they!” - -“Aren’t they, really?” asked Wally, much interested. “Well, they look -it; there’s a girl over there with red hair who looks nearly too good to -be true”—wherein Mr. Meadows showed as much penetration as is usually -given to man. “You don’t mean to say that they’re all accustomed to -getting across a flower bed in your fashion, Norah?” - -“Oh, I’ll get into a dreadful row if Miss Winter happened to see me, I -expect!” Norah said. “It’s against the rules, of course—but I had to -run or to yell, or I’d have missed you—and it’s riskier to yell. Oh, -Wally, I am glad to see you!” - -“So am I,” said Wally, heartily—“to see you, I mean. You’ve grown -immense, too, Norah.” - -“Yes, haven’t I? All my frocks are too short, and I know Dad will say -I’ve put my feet too far through them. Oh, Wally, have you seen Dad—and -Jim?” - -“Saw them yesterday. They ought to be here pretty soon—but my brother -motored me down, so I didn’t come with them. Norah—there’s a girl -looking at me, and if you don’t take her away I shall scream!” - -“Why, that’s Jean Yorke,” said Norah, wheeling. “She’s my chum, and -you’ve got to be extra nice to her, ’cause she is coming home with me -for the holidays.” - -“Then she deserves any one’s kind sympathy,” said Wally, solemnly. He -advanced upon Jean with outstretched hand and a smile that went far to -put that somewhat shy individual at her ease, while Norah murmured a -haphazard introduction. - -Jean was a short and rather thickset person, with blue eyes and a -freckled nose, and a square, honest face. Neither chum could have been -regarded as pretty. They were wholesome-looking girls—alike in the trim -neatness that is characteristic of the Australian schoolgirl; and alike -also in the quality of sturdy honesty that looked straight at the world -from blue eyes and grey. Jean was fair, her thick masses of hair -gathered in more tightly than Norah’s curly brown mop ever -permitted—whereat Norah was frankly envious. She was also wont to be -apologetic, because, although a year the younger, she towered over Jean -by half a head. The unfulfilled ambition of Jean’s dreams was to be tall -and slender, and Norah bore a lasting grudge against Fate for denying so -moderate a longing on her friend’s part. She watched her anxiously for -signs of growth, and at frequent intervals measured her height, while -tactfully ignoring what she herself would have called her girth. - -Across the introduction came a cold voice. - -“Your brother, I presume, Norah?” - -Both girls jumped. - -“No—only it’s all the same, Miss Winter,” Norah explained, lucidly. -“It’s Wally Meadows—my brother’s chum.” At which Wally removed his hat -and said: “How do you do?” with such fervour that it seemed that his -peace of mind hung upon Miss Winter’s answer. That severe person’s -coldness was a trifle modified as she answered, but it was Arctic again -when she turned back to Norah. - -“I saw you crossing the grass—and the flower bed!” she remarked. “Such -conduct is inexcusable, Norah—I am amazed at you. The garden is not the -hockey field, nor is the arrival of any friend to be the signal for such -conduct!” - -Norah was scarlet. - -“I’m awfully—I mean I am very—sorry, truly, Miss Winter!” she said. “I -forgot all about everything when I saw Wally. You see, he’s nearly the -same as Jim, and I hadn’t seen him for ten months! I won’t do it again. -And Jean never did it at all!” - -“I could see that for myself,” said Miss Winter, drily—whereat Jean -became even more scarlet than Norah. “However, it is too late in the -term for impositions—which is fortunate for you!” There came into the -culprit’s eye an irrepressible twinkle, and the teacher relaxed a -little. “Ah, well—it’s nearly holiday time,” she said, smiling. “But, -Norah, dear—do remember that you are over fifteen!” - -“I will, Miss Winter—I truly will,” said the criminal. “I’ll behave -beautifully—see if I don’t!——” - -The iron gate clanged, and she glanced round with the quick -instinctiveness that never leaves the bush-bred. A tall man and a lad -almost as tall came into view, and at sight of them Norah’s “behaviour” -suddenly fell away from her, and with a little cry that was half a sob, -she fled to meet them. The gravel scattered under her trim-shod feet; -her long legs twinkled with amazing swiftness. Then the big man put out -his arms to her, and she flung herself into them. - -“Oh, Daddy—Daddy!” said Norah. “Oh, Jim! Oh-h!” Words failed her. - -“My girl!” said David Linton. Over her head he looked at the teacher, -and found that she was human. He smiled at her in friendly fashion. - -“We try to teach Norah deportment,” she said, greeting him, and -laughing, while big Jim hugged his sister frankly, totally unabashed by -the amused glances from various parts of the garden. “But I am afraid -the effect isn’t very evident on breaking up day!” - -“I’m quite certain we’re demoralizing influences,” he told her. “But -what can you expect, from the Back of Beyond? We’ll try to make her -remember the deportment when we get her back to the station, Miss -Winter. At present, you must make allowances.” - -Miss Winter thawed amazingly under the influence of the quiet voice, -deep and courteous, and the Linton smile, which was a wonderfully -pleasant one. It was very frequent upon the face of her pupil, and had -at all times a tendency to upset discipline; and now the same smile -appeared, if more rarely, on the bronzed giants, father and son, who -confronted her upon the path. They were very alike—over six feet—Mr. -Linton had yet a couple of inches to the good, but Jim was overhauling -him fast—lean and broad-shouldered, with the same well-cut features and -keen eyes. Norah said that they had absorbed the good looks of the -family, leaving her none; which was partly true, although the remark -would have moved her father and brother to wrath. In their grey suits -and Panama hats, they were excellent specimens of long-limbed Australia, -and Norah gazed at them as though she could not take away the eyes that -had been hungry for so many long months. - -It was evident that neither Jim nor his father found it easy to talk -polite nothings to Miss Winter. Their eyes kept straying to the slim -figure that was the main thing in their world—Norah, who jigged -irrepressibly on one foot and broke into sudden smiles, and forgot -altogether the discipline and deportment that had been instilled into -her during three terms at Beresford House. To put her there at all had -been a proceeding much like caging a bush bird, for, until she was -fourteen, Norah had known only home and its teachings. And home was -Billabong Station, where, apart from lessons that had been a little -patchy, she had lived her father’s life—a life of open-air, of horses -and cattle, and all the station interests. Jim had been sent to the -Grammar School in Melbourne comparatively early, and Norah’s city -relatives, particularly a number of assorted aunts, were wont to deplore -that the little girl had not had the same opportunity of polish. But the -bond between David Linton and his motherless child had been too strong -to break, and the silent man had snatched at every pretext for delaying -the pang of parting. - -After all, as he told himself, half in excuse, Norah was no discredit to -home teaching. In books she might be below the average; but of the -unvoiced learning that lies beyond the world of books she had, perhaps, -rather more than falls to the ordinary schoolgirl. A big station is a -little world in itself, and the Bush teaching makes for self-control and -self-reliance, and a simple, straight outlook on the world that is not a -bad foundation of character. Lessons in deportment and manners are not -part of its curriculum: but there are a good many ideas in thought and -practice that it cultivates half unconsciously. Norah had an almost -superstitious regard for doing what Jim termed “the decent thing.” - -Moreover, her father had given her an ideal to follow. The mother who -had gone away from them so soon had never been far from his thoughts or -his slow speech: and “Brownie,” the old woman who had taken the little -dark-haired baby from her weak arms, had helped to make the picture of -“Mother” that was so real that Norah had always known and loved it. -Vaguely she knew that there was a lack in her father’s life which she -must try to fill. It had tended to make her gentle—to bring out -something that was almost protective in her nature. There is a trace of -motherliness in every girl-heart; Norah always felt that, while Dad and -Jim were very large and strong and dependable, yet it rested with her to -“look after them.” Had she put her thoughts into words it is quite -likely that the objects of her care might have felt a shade of -amusement; but as she did not, they appreciated her attentions mightily. -To them, the heart of Billabong had dropped out when Norah went away to -school. - -And school had been something of a trial. Norah’s bringing-up had been -along lines where rules of conduct are understood rather than expressed; -although she was a well-behaved damsel, in her own setting, it had not -been easy to find herself suddenly hedged in to such an extent that she -lived and breathed and ate and slept by regulation and timetable. She -realized that it was necessary to conform; but practice was a harder -matter, and the time at school had seen many “scrapes” and many -impositions. Common sense and good temper helped her through, and the -appearance of Jean Yorke upon a somewhat lonely horizon had helped in a -different way. But only Norah herself knew just how bad had been the -homesickness and the silent longing for her own old life. She knew that -Dad and Jim would be hurt by knowing, therefore she kept these matters -to herself, and diligently cultivated Jim’s prescription of “a stiff -upper lip.” - -Now it was over. There would be other years; but no year could ever be -quite like the first, especially since there was now Jean to help—Jean -being a comprehending person, whose heart had gone out to Norah since -the day of her arrival at Beresford House, three months ago. Jean came -from New Zealand, and she, too, was lonely, with the desperate -loneliness born of the fact that she would not see home or the home -people for two years. When Norah contemplated Jean’s woeful plight she -was ashamed to admit that she had been homesick on her own account. So -they “twin-souled” immediately, and made life very much easier for each -other. - -How this last week had crawled! Each night Norah had crossed out the -finished day upon her calendar with thick, red strokes that were some -relief to her pent-up feelings; always doing it just at the last moment -before turning out the light and jumping into bed, so that she might -have the friendly darkness to cover her as she buried her face in the -pillow, wriggling, with sheer physical inability to keep still as she -realized how near were home and Dad and Jim. Near—but how slow the -days! Examinations and matches were over, and the work of the school -slackening. She flung herself headlong into games and “break up” -preparations to make the slow hours pass, dividing each day into hours -and half hours—she even reduced them to minutes, but the sum total -looked too enormous! Her school work was characteristic of her turmoil -of mind. Once she rattled over the provisions of Magna Charta for the -Latin master with a fluency that paralyzed the unfortunate man, who had -merely asked her to decline an inoffensive noun; while Miss Winter gave -her up as hopeless on being informed that Thomas a’Becket Archbishop of -Canterbury, lost his life by drowning in a butt of malmsey! Norah saw -nothing incongruous in the prelate’s alleged death, and spent much of -the hour’s detention that followed in drawing a spirited picture of -it—representing a large barrel, from the yawning mouth of which -protruded two corpulent legs, clad in gaiters, and immaculately shod. -The charm of the picture was in the portion of it that was not visible. -It was unfortunate that it fell into the hands of Miss Winter, who was -handicapped by a literal mind. Altogether, the last week had been more -or less exciting and painful, and it was quite as well that it was over. - -The great bell of the school rang out sharply, and a kind of white -flicker came over the garden as the girls moved quickly in answer. It -was the signal to assemble in hall. Norah exchanged looks of longing -with Jim and Wally. Then she and Jean moved off towards the house, -endeavouring to calm spasmodic footsteps. - -A little later saw the three visitors making a gallant attempt to -dispose their long legs among the crowded rows of chairs reserved for -parents and “belongings,” while the boys sent rapid telegraphic signals -to Norah, by this time a mere speck amid the white-clad girls massed -upon the platform. The big hall was packed with visitors—proud parents, -each supremely confident that “our girl” was something quite beyond the -average; big sisters, anxious to create the impression of being far -removed from matters so juvenile as school; brothers, wearing the -colours of different schools, and assuming great boredom. Then came Miss -Winter, followed by church dignitaries and other notable people, -including two members of Parliament, who behaved as though engrossed -with affairs of State; whereat the infant classes arose and sang a -roundelay with much gusto, and the business of the day began. - -The Billabong contingent was not happy. It was uncomfortably crowded; -its view was obstructed by immense erections of millinery on the heads -of ladies immediately in front; frequently it was tickled on the back of -the neck by similar erections belonging to ladies who leaned forward, -from the rear, manœuvring for a better vision of the proceedings. It was -much embarrassed by the French play, acted by the senior class—the -embarrassment being chiefly due to fear of laughing in the wrong place. -Nor did lengthy recitations from Shakespeare appeal to it greatly, or a -song by the red-haired girl, the said song being of the type known as an -“aria,” and ungallantly condemned by Jim as “screamy enough to scare -cockatoos with!” It brightened at a physical culture display, and -applauded vigorously when a curly-haired mite essayed a recitation, -broke down in the middle, and finished, not knowing whether or not to -cry, until much cheered by the friendly clapping. The moment of the -programme—for Billabong—came when Norah, very pale and unhappy, played -a Chopin nocturne. Wally joined wildly in the succeeding applause, but -Jim and his father sat up straight, endeavouring to appear unconcerned, -but radiating pride. Norah did not dare to look at them until she was -safely back in her place. Then she shot a glance at the two tall heads; -and what she saw in their faces suddenly sent the blood leaping to her -own. - -Afterwards came the distribution of prizes—a matter which did not -greatly concern Norah, whose scholastic achievements could scarcely be -classed as other than ordinary. However, she had carried off the music -prize in her class—music being born within her, and, even in lessons, -only a joy. She was still flushed with excitement when the long ceremony -was at an end, and she was able to slip from the platform and find her -way to the waiting trio—standing tall and stiff against the wall, while -the crowd seethed in the body of the hall, and other book-laden -daughters were reunited to parents as proud as David Linton. - -“I’ll look after that,” Jim said, with a masterful little gesture, -possessing himself of Norah’s prize. “Well done, old chap!” He patted -her head with brotherly emphasis. - -“Proud to know you, ma’am,” said Wally, humbly. “Norah, I was nearly -asleep until you came on to play!” - -“And quite asleep afterwards,” grinned Jim. “Snored, Norah—I give you -my word!” - -“That’s one I owe you!” said the maligned Mr. Meadows, vengefully. “I -clapped until my horny hands were sore, Norah. Made a hideous noise!” - -“Then there were two of us,” said Norah, laughing. “I never knew old -Chopin sound so funny—catch me playing before a lot of people again! I -was scared to look at old Herr Wendt. Probably he pulled out most of his -remaining locks—I know I made at least three mistakes.” - -“It sounded all right,” said her father, and smiled at her. “Now, young -woman, this is very nice, but one can have enough of it.” A -wheat-trimmed hat brushed across his face, and he emerged in some -confusion. “How soon will you two girls be ready?” - -“Must we change?” - -“I sincerely trust not,” said Mr. Linton, appalled at the thought of -awaiting two feminine toilettes of a greater magnificence than was -familiar to him with his daughter. “Not if you have big coats—I’ve a -motor outside. Your heavy luggage has gone, I believe.” - -“Yes, it went by carrier,” said Norah, happily. “All right, Daddy, we’ll -be back in five minutes. Come on, Jean!” They disappeared, to re-emerge -presently, muffled in heavy blue coats and wearing sailor hats. -Farewells hurtled through the air. - -“Good-bye, Miss Winter. Merry Christmas!” - -“Good-bye, Carrots, dear!” This to the red-haired singer, who accepted -the greeting and the appellation cheerfully. - -“Good-bye, young Norah. Behave yourself, if you can. But you can’t!” - -“Good-bye, Jean!” - -“Good-bye, every one. Mind you all come back!” - -“Good-bye!” - -“Merry Christmas!” - -“Good-bye, school!” The note of utter thankfulness in Norah’s voice -brought a twinkle to Jim’s eyes. - -The motor chug-chugged on the path. Norah did not like motors—horses -were infinitely better, in her opinion. But this one seemed a chariot of -joy. They bundled in, pell-mell. - -“Are you all right?” queried Mr. Linton. - -“I never was so all right in my life!” said Norah, fervently. The car -slid away into the dusty haze of the white road. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - - NIGHT IN THE CITY - - Oh, the world is wondrous fair - When the tide of life’s at flood! - There is music in the air, - There is music in the blood. - And a glamour draws us on, - To the distance, rainbow-spanned. - And the road we tread upon - Is the track to Fairyland. - - —_V. J. Daley._ - -“JEAN, can you button me up?” - -“Half a minute till I get this ribbon tied,” said the lady addressed, -wrestling urgently with an obstinate bow. “There—that’s got to do! Turn -round, old girl—I can’t see. There you are.” - -“Thanks,” said Norah, shaking out her skirt. “Is my hair decent?” - -“Yes, it’s all right. Curly-haired people like you always look right.” - -“Wish I thought so,” said the owner of the curls. “Dreadful mop, I -think. Will I do, Jean?” - -“Do?” said Jean, in some bewilderment. “Why, of course—you look all -right. Why are you worrying?” - -Norah reddened slightly. - -“Well—I never had dinner in a big hotel like this before,” she said. -“Melbourne hotels are a bit different to the Cunjee one, I guess. And I -don’t want Dad and Jim to be ashamed of me.” - -“I don’t think you need bother your head,” said the more travelled Jean. -“You look nice, truly. And I shouldn’t think your father and Jim were -very hard to please.” - -“Oh, they never would say anything. But they might think—and be -disappointed if I weren’t all right. You see, it never seemed to matter -when I was only at Billabong. But after all this time at school they’ll -naturally expect me to be different.” - -“And do you think you are?” queried Jean, anxiously. - -“I don’t think I am, a bit!” Norah answered. “That’s what’s worrying me. -It won’t bother me when I get home, I expect, but this big place seems -different.” She glanced round the hotel bedroom with a quaint air of -anxiety. “I feel just exactly the same as if I’d never been at school at -all.” - -“Well, I believe that’s how your father’ll like you,” said Jean, -sapiently. - -“And——” Norah flushed more redly, and paused. - -“What?” - -“Will dinner be—difficult? You know I haven’t been anywhere like this,” -said poor Norah. “Will there be lots of knives and forks and glasses I -don’t know anything about? I don’t want to make an ass of myself, you -know!” - -Jean nodded comprehendingly. - -“Don’t you worry,” she said. “It’s all quite easy. I stayed here with -father when he brought me over from Christchurch, you know. He helped me -a bit over ordering when the waiter came round—the menu is rather mixed -until you get used to it. You tell your father to do the same. And I -really won’t know a bit more than you, so if we make mistakes we’ll make -them together, and it won’t matter!” - -“You’re a dear,” said Norah, gratefully. “I say, would you mind if I go -and find Dad now, and have a little talk to him? His room is quite -near.” - -“Of course I won’t,” said her friend. “Hurry up—it’s nearly dinner -time.” - -“I’ll come back for you,” Norah called, disappearing into the corridor. -She hesitated a moment in the unfamiliar place—all the doors looked so -exactly alike. Then from behind one came a line of a song, in Jim’s deep -voice, and Wally joined in:— - - “So we went strolling, down by the rolling— - Down by the rolling sea!” - -It made the corridor seem suddenly homelike, and Norah broke into -smiles. Beyond, her father’s number caught her eye, and she tapped at -the door. - -“May I come in, Daddy?” - -“Certainly you may!” said David Linton, with somewhat startling -emphasis, mingled with relief. “And tie this blessed evening tie!” He -submitted meekly to his daughter’s ministrations. “Ridiculous!—I’m far -too old to get into these clothes!” - -“You look beautiful,” said his daughter, fervently. “Daddy, will I do?” - -“Do? I should say so. That white thing looks very fine as far as I’m a -judge.” - -“Then that’s all right. And, Dad——” - -“Yes, my girl?” - -“I’m awfully scared of dinner!” Norah confessed. “Will you keep fierce -waiters off me, Daddy? And tell me what to say I’ll have?” - -David Linton looked at her and smiled with something like relief. He sat -down and drew her towards him. - -“Do you know,” he said, “you’ve looked so fine a young lady to-day that -I almost feared I’d lost my little Bush mate. I suppose it’s the -clothes!” - -“Daddy!” - -“But I fancy I haven’t,” said her father twinkling. “Don’t bother your -little head about dinner—we’ll see you through. I don’t quite know how -I’d have liked it if you had been self-possessed about it.” - -“Self-possessed!” uttered Norah. “Why, I’m scared to my bones! And as -for the clothes—if you’ll wait until to-morrow and let me get into a -linen collar again——!” - -“I’ll know you thoroughly when I have you back at Billabong in your -riding habit,” said her father. “But these clothes are nice, too. I’m -not quarrelling with them. You’re not sorry to come back to your old -Dad?” He paused, watching her. - -“Sorry!” said Norah. “Sorry!” And then her tongue suddenly refused to do -its duty. She put her head down on his shoulder, and drew a deep breath. -His arms tightened round her. They were silent for a minute. - -“Jim is a good mate,” said David Linton, “none better. But my little -mate’s place has always been empty. It’s been a long time, my girl.” - -“Long—to you, Daddy?” - -“One of the longest I remember. You see, I never bargained for your -spending midwinter having measles.” - -“Neither did I,” said Norah, ruefully. The memory of that inconsiderate -ailment was still a sore thing; at the time it had been almost too sore -to be borne. “It seems just ages since I saw home. Is it just the same, -Dad?” - -“I don’t think there’s any difference. Everyone has been busy putting on -a bit of extra polish for the last week; and Brownie says she’s half a -stone lighter—but she doesn’t look it; and there’s a new inmate in the -little paddock near the house calling for your immediate inspection!” - -“A new inmate?” Norah echoed. - -Jim had come in, unnoticed. He grinned down at her from the hearthrug. - -“A rather swagger inmate,” he said, nodding. “Seeing how out of form you -must be, I don’t think it will be wise to let you try him—we’ll put you -up on an old stock horse for a week or so!” - -“Will you, indeed?” said Norah, with some heat, yet laughing. “You’re -going to lend me Garryowen—you said so!” - -“Garryowen!” said the owner of that proud steed mournfully. “Poor old -Garryowen’s tail will be hopelessly out of joint. One thing, I’ll be -able to ride him myself—being of a meek disposition!” His eyes -twinkled. - -Two red spots suddenly flamed into Norah’s face. - -“Dad! You don’t mean——” She stopped, looking at him uncertainly. - -“There’s something of a pony there,” said Mr. Linton, his keen eyes -watching her through his smile. “An ownerless one—wi’ a long pedigree! -I looked eight months before I found him. His name’s Bosun, Norah, and -he wants an owner.” - -There was a mist before Norah’s eyes. She tried to speak, but her head -went down again upon the broad shoulder near her. A muffled word escaped -her, which sounded like, “Bricks!” Norah was least eloquent when most -moved. - -Jim patted her shoulder hard, and said, “Buck up, old chap!” being also -a person of few words. For there had been another pony of Norah’s—a -most dear pony, who now slept very quietly under a cairn of stones on a -rough hillside. Not one of those three, who were mates, could forget. - -From the corridor Wally’s voice came, gently consolatory. - -“I think they’ve all been kidnapped,” he was explaining. “Many a little -hungry kidnapper would think Jim quite a treat! You and I seem left -alone in this pathless forest, and probably the birds will find us, and -cover us with leaves. Don’t let it worry you—I believe the leaves are -quite comfortable!” - -“Come in, Wally, you ass!” said Jim, laughing. “He may come in, -Dad——?” - -“Apparently he’s in,” said Mr. Linton, resignedly, getting up. “Come on, -Wally—and Jean, too.” - -“We’ve been lost—at least, we were until we found each other,” said -Wally. “We came to the conclusion that none of you Billabong people were -left in this little inn. Jean would probably have cried if I hadn’t been -crying—as it was, she felt she couldn’t, which was very rough on her. -Mr. Linton, do I know you well enough——” - -“For most things,” said the squatter, laughing! - -“——To mention that I am hungry?” finished Wally, unmoved. “My last -nourishment was at twelve o’clock, and it’s nearly seven now; and -theatres in this benighted district begin before eight when they’re -pantomimes!” - -Mr. Linton uttered an exclamation. - -“I declare, I’d forgotten all about either dinner or pantomime!” he -said. “Thank you, Wally—I’m obliged to you. Where’s my coat? I hope all -the rest of you are ready.” - -“Are we going to the pantomime, Dad?” Norah’s eyes were dancing. - -“Jim says so,” said her father, laughing. “I’m in his hands.” He caught -up his coat, while Jean and Norah hugged each other in silent ecstasy. -“Now, hurry up, all of you!” - -Downstairs, the big dining-room brought back Norah’s shyness anew. She -felt suddenly very young—infinitely younger than Jim and Wally, tall -and immaculate in their evening clothes, although, as a rule, they -seemed no older than herself. She kept close to her father’s wing, -greatly envying Jean’s apparent calm. - -The huge room was crowded. It was full of tables of varying sizes, not -one of which seemed unoccupied—until a waiter, catching Mr. Linton’s -eye, hurried up and led them to a corner, where a round table was -reserved for them. It commanded an excellent view of the room, and the -sight was a little bewildering to the two schoolgirls. - -Every one seemed in evening dress—and even Norah knew she had seen no -dresses like those the women wore—rich, clinging things, in soft and -delicate colours like the inner side of flower petals. The masses of -electric light took up the leaping light of jewels on their necks and in -their hair; all up and down the room the eye caught the many-coloured -gleam, twinkling and sparkling like rainbow stars. Everywhere was -laughter and chatter and the chink of plates and glasses; and somewhere, -unseen, a string band was playing softly a waltz tune with a lilt in it -like a bird’s note. Norah forgot all about being nervous. Indeed, she -remembered nothing, being deeply occupied with gazing, until she found a -deft waiter putting soup before her. - -“That’s my order,” said her father, and smiled. “You and Jean have had -an exciting day, and you’re to eat just what I tell you.” - -By these wily means any difficulties the menu might have suggested -disappeared. Moreover, the waiter was a man of tact, and seemed to -regard it as only ordinary if his clients kept him waiting while they -put their heads together over the merits of various items with very fine -French names. - -“Experience in these things is everything,” said Jim, surveying a -peculiar substance on his plate. “I ordered something that read like a -poem, and it turns out a sort of half-bred hash! Thanks, I’ll have -beef!” So they all had beef, and finished up rather hurriedly with -jelly, which, as Wally said, could be demolished quickly; for the hands -of the clock were slipping round, and a pantomime was not a thing to be -kept waiting—especially as there was no likelihood that it would -wait!—a reflection that made the situation far more serious. Jim raced -up for coats for the girls, and they all hastened out. - -In the street the lights of Melbourne lit the sky. Far as the eye could -reach the yellow glow shone against the star-gemmed blackness. Here and -there a point of special brilliance twinkled—it was hard to tell -whether it was a tall arc light reaching up into the very heavens, or a -lonely star that had leaned down towards the friendly earth. Up and down -the Bourke Street hills the lamps formed a linked chain of diamonds on -either side, while in their midst the low gliding tram-lights were -rubies and sapphires. The big head-lights of motors made gleaming -flashes as they turned, or shot straight up the wide street, twin eyes -of a dazzling radiance—so bright that when they flashed past darkness -seemed to fall doubly dark behind them. And there were creeping bicycle -lights, and streaks of white fire, that were the lamps of motor cycles; -and red and white lights that went by in silent rubber-tyred hansoms, -noiseless save for the jingling bit and the “klop-klop” of the horse’s -hoofs upon the wooden blocks. Advertisement signs in huge electric -letters flickered into sight and disappeared again—one moment dazzling, -the next velvet black; and over picture theatres and other places of -amusement were gleaming signs of fire. And up from the city below came -the deep hum of the people that only ceases for a little when the lights -go out—that wakes again even before the pencils of Dawn come to streak -the eastern sky. - -Then a tram came by, took them on board, and in a moment they were -slipping down the hill towards a busy intersection where the post office -stood, a mighty block of buildings, with its tall clock just chiming the -quarter-hour above them. On again, through the wide, busy street, full -of hurrying theatre crowds. Barefooted newsboys ran beside the car -whenever it stopped, calling out harrowing details from the evening -papers. They passed cabs, climbing the further hill; and swift motors -slipped by them—in each Norah and Jean caught glimpses of women in -evening dress, with scarfs like trails of coloured mist. Everywhere the -shop windows were brilliantly lighted, although it was long after -closing time; and scores of people were staring through the glass at the -gorgeous displays within. - -Norah gasped at it all. It was her first experience of the City by -night, and she found it rather bewildering. - -“Does Melbourne ever stop being busy?” she uttered. - -Mr. Linton laughed. - -“Not often,” he said—“and not for long. Personally, I prefer old -Billabong. But this is all very well for a little while.” - -The car stopped at a point where an electric theatre sign blazed right -across the footpath; and they hurried down a side-street. A string of -motors and cabs had drawn up by the kerb and passengers were hastily -disembarking before a glittering theatre, with uniformed commissionaires -holding the doors open. Norah and Jean had no time to look about them; -they were hurried up a wide flight of marble stairs, and in a moment -were following Mr. Linton into darkness, for already the lights had been -turned off in the theatre, and only a dun green ray filtered from the -stage, where an old man of the sea was engaged in making unpleasant -remarks to a fairy. The orchestra was playing softly—weird music which, -Wally whispered, gave you chills up the backbone. They stumbled down -some steps to seats in the front row, and as they thankfully subsided -into them, the green sea-caves and the fierce old man suddenly vanished -in a whirl of light and a blare of joyful music; and Norah was whisked -straight into fairyland. - -In these advanced days of ours, pantomimes come very early into the -scheme of our existence. Most of us have seen one by the time we are -six; at nine we have become critical, and at twelve, bored. After that, -the pantomime may consider itself lucky if we do not term it a “pretty -rotten show.” This painful phase lasts until we are quite old—perhaps -eight and twenty. Then we begin to see fresh joys in it, and if we are -lucky, to work up quite a comforting degree of enthusiasm. At this stage -the companion we like to select must not number more years than six. -Then we feel sure of a comprehending fellow-spectator—one who will not -wither us with a bland stare when we are consumed with helpless laughter -at Harlequin, or rent with anxiety by the perils of the “principal boy.” - -But it happened that none of our party had ever been spoilt by over-much -pantomime. It was, indeed, Norah’s first experience of a theatre. Jean -had seen but little more, and Jim and Wally, big fellows as they were, -had worked and played far too hard at school to be much concerned with -going out. None of them was at all brilliant; theirs were the cheerful, -simple hearts that take work and pleasure as they come, and do not -trouble to develop either the critical or the grumbling faculty—which -are, in truth, closely related. If the boys had not the ecstatic -anticipation that seethed in Jean and Norah, at least they were prepared -to enjoy themselves very solidly. - -To Norah, it was all absolutely real, and therefore wonderful past -belief. The evening to her was, as she remarked afterwards, “one gasp.” -The hero puzzled her, since it was evident that he was not a “truly” -boy; but the heroine claimed her heart from the first, and the funny men -were droll beyond compare. Indeed, from Mr. Linton downwards, the -Billabong party succumbed to the funny men, and laughed until they ached -at their antics. The fairies were certainly a trifle buxom, compared to -the sprites of Norah’s dreams; but the Old Man of the Sea was -fascinatingly life-like and evil, and caused delightful thrills of -horror to run up and down one’s spine. And then, the gorgeousness of the -whole—the flower and bird ballets, the mysterious dances, the marches, -splendid and stately, the glitter and colour and light! And through all, -over all, the music!—swaying, rippling; low and soft one moment, with -the violins wailing and the harp strings plucked in a chord of poignant -sweetness—the next, swelling out triumphantly, wind instruments in a -blare of vivid sound, and drums and cymbals clashing wild and stately -measures. Afterwards the wonder of the night merged in Norah’s brain to -a kind of kaleidoscopic picture, swiftly changing in colour and -magnificence; but always clear was the memory of the orchestra, weaving -magic spells of music that caught her heart in their meshes. - -She was a little breathless when the curtain fell on the first act, and -the lights flashed out over the body of the theatre. Instinctively her -hand sought her father’s. - -“Is it all over, Dad?” - -“Not much!” said Mr. Linton. “This is half-time. What do you think of -it?” - -“Oh—it’s lovely!” breathed his daughter. “Isn’t it, Jean?” - -“I should just think so!” Jean said. “Will there be more like it?” - -“Very much the same, I expect,” said the squatter, laughing. “And what -do you think of this part of the house?” - -It was not the least interesting part. The closing of the city schools -had set free hosts of pilgrims on the ways of knowledge, debarred, as a -rule, by stern necessity from such relaxations as pantomimes. Now it -seemed that parents in general had risen to a sense of their duty, for -it was clearly a “young” night. There were girls and boys in every part -of the theatre—in big parties, in twos and threes, or even singly, -accompanied by a cheery father and mother, in many cases keener to enjoy -than their charges. Everywhere were fresh young faces—girls with bright -hair and glowing cheeks, and sunburnt boys with shining collars: and -everywhere was a babel and buzz of talk and laughter as the young voices -broke loose. A procession—chiefly men—left their seats and filed out; -a proceeding which puzzled and pained Norah, who was heard to regret -audibly that they were making the mistake of thinking the theatre was -over. Wally laid a big box of chocolates on her knee, remarking that she -looked hungry—an insult received by the maligned one with fitting -scorn. At the moment Norah could scarcely have noticed the difference -between chocolates and corned beef! - -“Won’t do,” grinned Jim, watching her dancing eyes. “She’s getting too -excited, Dad—we’d better take her home to bed!” - -“I’d like to see you!” said Norah, belligerently. “Oh, my goodness, -Jean, it’s going up again!” - -“It”—which was the curtain—flashed up suddenly, as the lights went -out, and straightway Norah forgot everything but the wonderland on the -stage. She leaned forward breathlessly, half afraid of losing even a -glimpse of the marvels that were unfolded with such apparent calm. “As -if,” said Norah later, “it was as ordinary as washing-day!” - -Ever since she could remember, she had danced. But the dancing on the -stage was a new thing altogether. It was music put into motion; it was -as though the fairies had caught the spirits of joy and poetry and -youth, and turned them all into a rhythmic harmony. There was gladness -in every swaying movement; gladness and grace and beauty. “They all look -so awfully happy!” breathed Norah. But then—who would not be happy, -dancing in Fairyland? - -Only, near the end, come one thing that Norah did not like. A children’s -ballet, dressed as flowers, had just danced its way off the stage, -leaving at one side a tall tiger lily; and from the other corner a tiny -thing toddled out to meet it. A wee baby form, almost ridiculous in the -quaint tights of green that made it an orchid—a little face, peeping -out of the green peaked cap. Very daintily, a little hesitatingly, it -began to dance; the orchestra’s music softened and slackened, as if to -help the little half-afraid feet. The theatre rang with applause and -laughter. - -“They shouldn’t let it—it’s a shame!” she uttered very low. “It’s just -a baby—and it ought to be in bed! Jim do they make it do this every -night?” - -“I expect so,” Jim answered. “Bless you, old girl, I suppose they pay -the kid!” - -“Then they haven’t any business to—I don’t know what its mother’s -thinking about!” whispered Norah. “I’m perfectly certain it’s as scared -as ever it can be! It’s only a frightened little baby—I think it’s mean -to dress it up in those silly clothes and make it come out here in front -of all these people!” - -“For all you know, old chap, it likes the game,” Jim said, practically. - -“I’m sure it doesn’t—look at its eyes! I never saw anything so—so -anxious. Makes you want to pick it up and nurse it,” said his sister, a -straight young monument of indignation. “Thank goodness, it’s gone!” as -the little orchid danced off with the tiger lily. She subsided, somewhat -to Jim’s relief. He was not sure that he had liked the baby orchid -himself. - -Then came the final scene, a vision of Aladdin’s Cave, massed with every -gem known of man, and a great number more known only of the stage; and -all gorgeous and glittering beyond any mortal dreams. Rubies as big as -turkeys’ eggs, and emeralds the size of barrels; and walls and ceiling a -flashing, scintillating mass of diamonds. “Worth while having a vacuum -cleaner there,” Wally commented—“you’d only get diamond dust!” And in -this wondrous setting, a shifting panorama of moving figures, almost as -vivid as the gems themselves; fairies and sprites and marvellous -flowers, and tall, slender soldiers in gleaming coats of silver mail. -And always the music that made the magic by which everything grew real. - -Then, suddenly the curtain; and Norah came out of her trance, blinking a -little. - -“Is that the end?” - -“Quite the end,” said her father. “Come on, my girl; it’s high time you -were in bed.” He put a protecting hand on her shoulder, and piloted her -through the crowd, while Jim and Wally performed a like kind office for -the similarly dazed Jean. - -Out in Bourke Street, the cooler air blew gratefully upon Norah’s hot -face. But she was very silent as the tram took them back to the hotel; -and when she said good-night, her father scanned her face keenly. - -“Sure you’re not over-tired, Norah?” - -“Not me!” said Norah, absent-mindedly and inelegantly. “I’m all right, -Daddy.” - -“Then you’re half in the theatre yet,” said he, laughing. “Go to bed.” - -Norah went, obediently. Just as Jean was falling asleep, a voice came -from the bed across the room— - -“Wonder if any one’s tucked up that poor little orchid!” said Norah. -From Jean’s corner came a sound that might have been termed either a -grunt or a snore, according as the hearer might be more or less kindly -disposed. Norah was pondering the problem when she followed her through -the gate of sleep. - - - - -[Illustration: “I almost feared I’d lost my little Bush mate.”] - - - - - CHAPTER III - - - THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN - - Yet long ago it was promised by Someone, - Who lovingly help for the children implored, - That if only you gave one a cup of cold water, - You surely in no wise should lose your reward! - - —_John Sandes._ - -“I’VE an idea,” Mr. Linton said, putting down his morning paper. - -Four faces gave him instant attention. It was breakfast time, and plans -for the day were being discussed, a trifle lazily, as befitted people -unused to over-night dissipation. - -“We—ell,” said the squatter, and hesitated. - -“You have lovely ideas, always, Dad,” Norah told him, kindly. “Tell us.” - -“I don’t know that you’ll regard this one as lovely,” said her father. -“Still, I’d like to do it.” - -“Well, then, it’ll be done,” said Jim, with finality. “What is it, Dad?” - -“If you keep up this mystery any longer, I won’t be able to bear it, Mr. -Linton,” said Wally, much moved. “Prithee, sir——” - -David Linton smiled. - -“The mystery’s a tame one, you’ll think,” he said. “I thought of my plan -before I left home—old Brownie has been knitting a big bundle for the -Children’s Hospital, and she gave me the things to bring down. Then -there’s a letter in this paper about the hospital. It’s getting near -Christmas, you see; and I don’t suppose those little sick youngsters -have much of a good time. Would you all think it a very slow sort of -entertainment if we went to see them?” He looked round the four young -faces—a little afraid of seeing their eagerness die out. - -But Wally smiled broadly, leaning forward. - -“I think it’s a ripping idea, sir,” he said. “I guess we all like kids, -don’t we, chaps?” - -The “chaps,” who evidently included the ladies of the party, assented -with enthusiasm. - -“Tell us more, Dad,” Norah said, “I know you’ve more plan.” - -“Well—I’m open to suggestions,” her father answered. “We won’t go -empty-handed; we can take up toys and books and things. It isn’t -visiting day at the hospital. In any case, I think it would be better -not to go at a crowded time. If I telephone to the Matron, I fancy she -will let us come; and she can tell me something about the number of -children. I—I’m a shocking bad hand at preaching, you know”—he -hesitated, gaining encouragement from their friendly faces—“but—well, -we’re looking out for a pretty good time ourselves, and it wouldn’t hurt -us to share some of it.” - -“But I think it will be tremendous fun, won’t it, Jean?” Norah said. To -which Jean nodded vigorous acquiescence. - -“Then we’ll get it done at once,” said Mr. Linton. “You can put your -four wise heads together, and consult as to what we’re to take up—I -don’t know what sick youngsters like.” - -“That’s half the fun,” said Norah, happily. “Isn’t it, Jean?” And Jean -nodded. - -“Then I’ll go and telephone,” said the squatter; “by which time you -hungry people may have finished breakfast—unless you mean to make this -meal run into lunch, as doesn’t seem unlikely!” He made his escape, -Norah regretting deeply that hotel etiquette prevented her from -reprisals. - -He joined them, a little later, in the lounge, where big leather-covered -chairs and tall palms made a cool retreat in the hottest days. - -“If there’s a more exasperating institution than the Melbourne -telephone, I have yet to find it out,” said he. “I’ve been standing in -that small Black Hole of Calcutta that they call a telephone box until I -nearly died of asphyxiation, and all the response I could elicit was -from a frenzied person who sounded like a dressmaker, and wanted to know -desperately if I would have tucks on the bodice! However, I got the -hospital at last, and we can go up when we like. So that means a busy -morning. How soon can you girls be ready?” - -“Three minutes, Dad!” - -“Amazing women!” said Mr. Linton, regarding them with much respect. “I -suppose, in a year or two, Norah, you’ll keep me waiting while you put -on your hat; but at present you’re certainly an ornament to your sex in -that respect. The car will be here in a few moments, so hurry up!” - -The motor hummed up to the gate of the hospital a little later—a heavy -gate, set in a high stone wall, behind which towered grim buildings. A -neat maid admitted them to a wide corridor, with white walls and shining -floor, where the Matron, white-gowned and gentle, welcomed them. - -“No sweets, of course?” she queried, glancing at their parcels. - -“No; we were afraid to bring them.” - -The Matron nodded approval. - -“Some children can have them,” she said. “But very many cannot, and -there is no use in causing disappointments by making any difference. If -you only knew how hard it is to make the mothers understand!” - -“Poor souls!” said Mr. Linton. “I suppose they are keen to bring them -something of a treat.” - -“Yes—and one is sorry for them. But the risk to the children is very -great—only they won’t believe it, and many of them think we are -hard-hearted monsters. We always question the mothers as to what they -are bringing the children, and watch them carefully; but even so, they -manage to smuggle things past us. We had a dear little boy here in the -winter—a typhoid patient, just pulling round after a very bad time. Of -course he was on strict liquid diet, and equally, of course, he was very -hungry.” - -“Poor kid!” said Jim, sympathetically. - -“That’s what his mother thought. So she smuggled him in two large jam -tarts in her muff, and bent over him so as to hide him while he ate -them.” - -“And did they hurt him?” - -“They would have killed him. Luckily Nurse became suspicious, and caught -him, as she said, ‘on the first bite.’ She rescued every crumb from his -mouth, and nearly choked him in the process. But if she had not we -couldn’t have saved him.” - -“And what did the mother say?” - -“The mother? Oh, she said that Nurse was ’an in’uman brute,’ and nearly -fell on her, tooth and nail. You can’t teach them. Many of them are -terribly poor—but they will spend a few pence on some cheap and -dreadful sweetmeat, or a cake that looks—and often is—absolutely -poisonous, and expect to be allowed to watch a sick baby eat it. -Visiting day has many anxieties!” - -Something called the busy Matron away as they reached the first ward, -and they hesitated in the doorway. It was a long, bright room, cheery -with sunlight and gay with flowers and plants, while the red bed jackets -made bright notes of colour against the white quilts. Many of the boys -were sitting up, working or playing at boards that fitted across their -cots to serve as tables. Others were lying quietly, and very often could -be seen the structure beneath the bedclothes that speaks mutely of hip -disease. There were framed placards over many cots, stating whose gift -they had been; perhaps raised by the efforts of children, or given by -some sad mother in memory of a little child. Looking down the long rows -of bright faces it was hard to realize that they were all sick -boys—that Pain lived in the ward night and day. - -In one cot a little lad was crying softly—a tired cry, as if afraid of -disturbing others. The nurse bending over him straightened up, patted -his shoulder, said, “Be a good boy, now, Tommy!” and came to greet the -visitors. - -“You mustn’t mind the little chap who cries,” she told them. “His leg is -hurting, poor man. He won’t speak to any one.” - -The eyes that were buried deep in the pillow were the only pair that -were not turned upon the group in the doorway. The hospital children -knew nothing about the Billabong invasion; only the nurses had been told -of the unusual offer that had come over the telephone that morning. It -seemed to the Matron a little uncertain, peculiar; better, perhaps, not -to excite the children by anticipation. - -But the first glimpse of the newcomers was sufficient—the children of -the very poor are not slow brained. Something like a thrill of delight -ran through the ward. There was no mistaking these people—happy-faced -and well-dressed, and laden with fascinating parcels that could only -mean one kind of thing. The eyes were very bright, watching from the -cots. - -It was a surgical ward, and most of the inmates looked happy. Life is -not at all unbearable when you are a surgical case. To be a “medical” -means headaches, and fevers, and soaring temperatures, and other -unpleasant things. You are not allowed to eat anything interesting, and -you frequently desire only to keep extremely quiet. But the “surgicals” -know fairly well what to expect. Pain comes, of course—plenty of it; -and the daily visits of the doctors are apt to leave you a bit short of -self-control, even if you bite the pillow extremely hard in your efforts -to show that there is decent pluck in you. But after a time you forget -that. The ache in your leg, or your back, or your hip, or perhaps all -over you, becomes part of the programme, and you learn to put up with -it; and there is much of interest with other “cases” to talk to, songs -to sing, and games that the sick can play—and nurses who are often very -jolly and delightful. The nurse in this ward was little and dark and -merry, and the boys called her “Brown Eyes.” She had a knack of helping -you through almost any pain. - -She welcomed the newcomers cheerily now, though her eyes were a little -tired. Behind her the faces were alight with silent eagerness. - -“Can we talk to them?” Norah asked, shyly. - -“Why, of course!” said the nurse. “You’ll find most of them great -chatterboxes—except little Tommy there. His pain is bad to-day.” - -The boys were quite ready to talk. They told all about themselves -glibly, with a full appreciating of their value as “cases.” - -“I had a daisy of a temp’rature, I had!” said a cheerful soul of nine. -“Doctor he came three times a day. Better now.” - -“Mine’s a leg,” volunteered another. “Broke—a cart runned over me. They -brought me up from South Gippsland—sledge first, and then in the -guard’s van.” He shivered—a reminiscent shudder. “Sledge was a fair -cow!—bumped till I went an’ fainted with the pain.” He gave other -details that set Jean and Norah shuddering, too. “But the guard’s van -wasn’t half bad fun—y’see, I hadn’t never been in a train before. My -word, that guard was a kind man! Went an’ bought me oranges with his own -money!” - -“Oh, I’m near right again,” a merry-faced little Jewish lad told them. -“Had me stitches taken out this morning—an’ I never howled!” - -“Well, I did then,” said his neighbour, sturdily, “I don’t think getting -unpicked is any fun. But it don’t take long, that’s one thing.” The -other boy grinned at him in an understanding fashion. “Y’see, he’s two -years younger’n me,” he told Norah. “He’s only a bit of a nipper!” - -Tommy alone declined to make friends. He burrowed into his pillow when -they came to him, and refused to show so much as the tip of his nose. -The sound of his sorry little wail followed them over the ward. - -“Don’t mind him,” the nurse told the girls, as they turned away from the -cot, with downcast faces. “He’ll be better after a while, and then he’ll -be delighted with his presents. He’s homesick, poor mite.” They went on -down the ward. - -Jim turned back presently. He sat down near Tommy’s cot and took out a -toy watch that had beautiful qualities in the way of winding. But he did -not offer it to Tommy. Instead he sat still, dangling it from his -fingers. - -“Had a sick leg myself, once,” he remarked casually, apparently to the -watch. As might have been expected, the watch made no response; neither -did the black head burrowed in the pillow turn at all. - -“Hurt it falling off a horse,” Jim went on. “At least, the horse fell -too. Tried to jump a log on him—and he shied at a snake lying on the -top of the log.” - -The boy in the next cot was listening with all his ears. Tommy’s low -crying had stopped. - -“Big black snake,” said Jim. “Must have scared him a bit when he saw the -horse rising. At any rate he slid off like fun—and my old horse shied -badly, and went over the log in a somersault. Landed on his head, and -pitched me about fifteen yards away!” - -“Was you much hurt?” The boy in the next cot shot out an irrepressible -question. - -Jim was not in a hurry to answer. The black head was turning ever so -little towards him, but he did not seem to see. He played with the watch -in an absent-minded fashion. - -“Hurt my leg,” he said at length. “I managed to catch the old horse, -because he put his foot through the bridle, and hobbled himself; and I -got on by a log and rode home. Didn’t jump any more fences though. And -when I got home I couldn’t stand on that leg. Had to be lifted off. -Makes you feel an ass, doesn’t it?” - -The question was for the now visible Tommy, but Jim did not wait for an -answer. - -“Then I had to lie still for days,” he said. “My word, I did hate it! I -feel sorry for any chap with a sick leg. It’s so jolly hard to keep -still when you don’t feel like it.” - -Something in the low, deep voice helped the little lad in the cot, with -sore mind and body. This very large brown person understood exceedingly -well. - -“But legs get better,” said Jim. “After a while you forget all about -them, and play cricket again, and go in for no end of larks.” - -He shifted his position, still fingering the watch. - -“The man that sold me this said it would go,” he said. “It’s got works -all right, and I know it can tick, because he made it. But I’m blessed -if I can get the hang of it!” For the first time he looked squarely at -Tommy. “I suppose you couldn’t give me a hand with it?” he asked, -casually. He held out the watch. - -A small finger advanced about an inch, and the watch came nearer until -it was within touching distance. - -“Thanks, awfully,” Jim said. “I ought to be able to get it going now.” -He fumbled with the stem Tommy had indicated. “No—I can’t! I don’t know -what’s the matter with the silly thing.” - -“Me!” said Tommy, with a great effort. It was hard to speak; but harder -to lie silent, knowing quite well that you could extricate this other -fellow from his difficulties. And so well Tommy knew where that watch -ought to be wound. - -“Well, perhaps you’d better,” said Jim, with relief. He handed over the -offending watch. “I suppose it’s because mine’s a different make,” he -said, drawing out his own. “See—mine winds so-fashion. I wouldn’t mind -betting you can’t get a tick out of that one of yours.” - -“Mine?” said an infinitesimal voice. - -“Yes—it’s yours, of course. A pity you can’t make it go. Oh, by Jove, -you have!” He bent over the cot, his brown face alight with interest. -“However did you do it?” - -Five minutes later, when the Billabong party were ready to leave the -ward, Jim and his patient were deep in a discussion of watches. Once a -weak little laugh rang out from the cot, and the nurse looked round -quickly. - -“That’s the first time that poor little chap has laughed,” she said. - -Jim stood up, at last, and held out his hand. - -“They’re waiting for me,” he said. “Well, so long, old chap. Buck up!” - -Tommy shook the big hand solemnly. - -“So long,” he said. He made a great effort to speak. “Is—is you’ leg -quite well?” - -“Quite well, old man. So will yours be if you keep your pecker up. -Promise!” - -Tommy nodded. His eyes followed the tall lad out of the room. Then he -slipped his hand under his pillow for his watch, and lo, there was a -pocket knife as well. And the boy in the next cot had one, too—so that -presently they were friends. And something had taken the worst of the -ache away from his leg. - -It was Wally’s voice that guided Jim to the next ward. - -Wally had been entrusted with a number of toy balloons, and in detaching -one for an enthusiastic person of three with a broken ankle, he had let -it slip through his fingers. A draught of wind took it down the -ward—and Wally, hastily thrusting the others upon Mr. Linton, had -pursued it frantically, his feet sliding on the smooth boards. The ward -broke into a sudden shout of laughter. - -Luckily, the string was long. It kept the balloon from rising quite to -the ceiling; and just at the end of the room, Wally gave a wild leap -into the air and caught the dangling end, uttering a school war cry as -he did so. He brought it back in triumph, laughing; and the patients, -evidently considering him a kind of circus let loose for their especial -entertainment, shrieked with joy. The nurses were laughing as well, with -an eye on the door lest an inquiring matron should appear. Hospital -decorum was at a low ebb. - -“I really don’t think you’re the kind of visitor to bring to a place -like this,” laughed Mr. Linton. “Will you ever have sense, Wally?” - -“Don’t know,” said the culprit, sadly. “It doesn’t look very like it, -does it? But aren’t they a jolly set of kids!” He broke into smiles -again. “Takes such a little to make ’em happy, doesn’t it?” - -It did not seem to take much. All the watching faces were smiling and -eager; if some were white and lined with suffering they hid it bravely -with smiles. These were girls, short cropped, occasionally, and looking -just like the boys; or with long hair carefully braided to be out of the -way. There were little touches of adornment here and there—a bright -ribbon in the hair, a flower pinned to the red bed jacket; and dolls -were visible on many beds. - -But when she talked to them, Norah found that these small people were -not as care-free as the boys. They brought their worries with them to -the hospital. - -“I simply got to get home soon,” one little girl told her. She was ten, -with an old, worn face. “Daddy was here yes’day, an’ he says me mother’s -sick—an’ there’s only me to look after the kids!” - -“How many?” asked Norah. - -“Four. The youngest’s not a year old yet, an’ he’s a reg’lar handful.” - -“But you can’t look after them!” Jean protested. - -The child stared. - -“Well, I done it nearly all me life,” she said. “Mother, she goes out -washin’, an’ I run the house—y’see, I got a doctor’s c’tificate that I -needn’t go to school, ’cause of me hip, so that leaves me plenty of -time. An’ then me jolly old hip must go an’ get worse on me! An’ now -Mum’s sick.” Her lip quivered. “I don’t see how on earth they’re goin’ -to get on if I don’t go home!” she said anxiously. “Do you think you -could say somethin’ to Matron? An’ then, perhaps, she could put in a -word for me with Doctor!” - -Norah promised; it was hard to deny the pleading of the great brown -eyes. But when, later on, she found her opportunity, the Matron shook -her head. - -“Poor little soul!” she said, sadly. “She does not know that she will -never go out.” - -“Not go out?” Norah stared. - -“No; she has been here five months, and it is quite hopeless. And it is -better so—she could never be strong.” The Matron patted Norah’s -shoulder, looking gently at her aghast face. “You don’t know how many -there are for whose sake we are glad when the end comes,” she said. - -Out on the broad balconies many children were lying—there seemed no -corner in all the great building that was not full of patients. One -verandah had babies’ cradles only—such weary, old-looking babies that -Norah could scarcely bear to look at them; it was so altogether -extraordinary and terrible to her, that a baby could possibly look as -did these mites from the slums. That was the saddest part of all the -hospital. - -Then there were medical wards, into some of which they could not go; -they left their parcels with the nurses, since David Linton had planned -that every child in the hospital should have a gift from his children. -Some of these small patients were too ill to be disturbed. There were -one or two beds round which a screen was drawn significantly, and the -children near the screens were very quiet. But even where sickness or -pain was hardest, there was but little complaining, and very seldom did -a child cry. The children of the poor soon learn to suffer in silence. - -“But they don’t all suffer,” said the nurse the boys called “Brown -Eyes.” “Most of them are happy—and it hurts, sometimes, to see how many -hate to go home. You see, many of the homes are so poor and -comfortless—not even a decent bed. They dread going back, after having -been cared for here—they know their mothers haven’t time or money to -look after them properly. But there are always more waiting to come -in—we have to send them out as soon as possible.” - -The Billabong children were very silent as the motor whirred through the -busy streets, and back to the hotel. Even Wally was quiet; he stared -before him, whistling under his breath, in an absent-minded fashion. And -Norah looked at Jim’s long legs, thinking of the crippled limbs that -were so ordinary in the hospital day’s work. - -But back in the hospital the tongues wagged freely. It would be very -long before the Billabong visit was forgotten. - -“Weren’t they jolly—just!” - -“Didn’t they speak nice!” - -“That long feller with the thin face—wasn’t he a hard case?” - -“Them little girls wasn’t dressed a bit swell—they was only in print -frocks. My best dress ain’t print—it’s Jap. silk!” - -“They lef’ us lovely things. An’ the man said they was our very own. I’m -goin’ to take my doll home to Myrtle when I go out!” - -“They left brightness wherever they went,” said little “Brown Eyes”—who -was not usually poetical. “I’m not even tired to-night!” - -In the boys’ surgical ward, after the lights were out, there was still -talking—it had been a great day, and excitement yet seethed. Little -Tommy was silent. He had fallen asleep, one hand thrust beneath his -pillow, where the watch had gone to sleep, too. The other hand held his -new knife in a tight, hot clasp. There was the shadow of a smile on his -thin little face. One might fancy that he had found his way to a Dream -Country, where there were no crippled boys any more. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - - GOING HOME - - A land of open spaces, - Gaunt forest, treeless plain; - And if we once have loved it. - We must go back again. - - —_Dorothea Mackellar._ - -“WE haven’t too much time,” said Mr. Linton, looking at his watch. - -The motor was standing before the door of the hotel. Norah and Jean were -tucked into the back seat, knitting their brows over a lengthy shopping -list. It was their last day in the city. Already, visions of Billabong -and its welcome were making Norah seethe with an excitement that -promised ill for the success of her purchases. - -A clatter of feet upon the steps of the hotel, announced the arrival of -Jim and Wally. They swung themselves on board; the chauffeur did -mysterious things to the car, and in a moment they were gliding down -Bourke Street. They crossed the Yarra over Princes Bridge, where, -looking westward, the river seemed full of ships, and the wharves hummed -like a hive of bees. A big inter-State liner was nosing her way gently -up the centre of the stream, as if looking for an anchorage; they could -see the passengers clustering on her decks, glad of the end of the -journey. Something of the romance that never fails to cling about ships -made the dingy old river beautiful. - -“I remember,” said Wally, dreamily, “many a time——” - -“In your long-dead youth?” asked Jim. - -“In the early Forties, he means,” put in Mr. Linton. “Don’t disturb his -eloquence.” - -“My inborn respect for your father prevents my saying what I would like -to both of you,” said the victim. “Anyhow, I remember——” - -“Full well,” said Norah, with emotion. - -“Oh, get out, you Linton tribe!” ejaculated the harassed one. “I’m -talking to Jean.” - -“Why?” queried Jean, unexpectedly. Mirth ensued at the expense of Wally. - -“Never mind, Wally, old man,” said his host. “Mention what you -remember.” - -“I’ve nearly forgotten it now,” Wally answered, much aggrieved. “I -believe I was pretty close to being poetical—that blessed old river -always sets me thinking. Ever so many times I’ve landed there on a -Monday morning, coming down from Brisbane; and I used to be such a -homesick little shrimp. It was always a struggle to get off the old -_Bombala_. I was great chums with the captain, and he made the old boat -seem like a bit of home. Also, I never was sea-sick in her!” - -“No wonder you loved her,” said Jean, fervently. She shuddered, with -painful recollections of the voyage from New Zealand. - -“Oh, she’s an old beauty—she can’t roll, I believe,” Wally answered. -“Or if she can, she isn’t let—so it’s all the same. Anyway, I never -liked leaving her and wending my lonely way down to school. There’s the -old shop now!” - -They had swung round across St. Kilda Road, and were running up -Alexandra Avenue—on one side the river, and on the other trim gardens -leading towards the trees of the Domain and the massed green of the -Botanical Gardens. Beyond—Wally had spoken more by faith than by -sight—the grey stone of the Grammar School, mantled in ivy, stood -lonely, bereft of its usual cheerful hordes. Nearer, Government House -loomed up, its square tower crowned with a fluttering flag, silhouetted -against the summer sky; and the Queen’s Statue looked calmly towards the -city. All the rocky slopes towards the gardens were clothed with -creeping plants, now a sheet of vivid colour. A boy in a skiff was -lazily pulling up-stream, his pale blue sweater a bright spot on the -brown river; and motor boats were chugging gently down towards -Melbourne, to lie off Princes Bridge. Across the stream a woman had come -down to the water’s edge and raised an imperious hail of “Ferry!” and in -answer, a battered old boat was putting off from a little landing, -sculled by a very ancient mariner. It was all very peaceful and -leisurely—a sharp contrast to the other side of the bridge, where the -crowded wharves and shipping made the river a busy place either by day -or night. - -They turned south presently, and were soon slowing down amid the traffic -of Chapel Street—that lesser Melbourne where the shops are always -crowded, and where there are inhabitants who have never found it -necessary to take the four miles’ journey into the city itself. -Apparently it was the happy hunting ground of the baby. There were -perambulators everywhere, propelled by busy suburban mothers, intent on -bargain finding. Very often each perambulator held two babies, and -perhaps a bigger child perched precariously upon a wooden step, and -occasionally fell off. They all seemed well accustomed to shopping—the -mothers had no fears about leaving them near the doorways while they -sought the counters within. This frequently led to a glut of -perambulators and a block in the traffic, and caused great wrath on the -part of childless pedestrians—unavailing wrath, since the mothers were -out of reach and the babies blissfully unconcerned. They ate biscuits -contentedly, and favoured the world with a bland stare, except when -their presence caused a disturbance of traffic, when they appeared to -regard life as a stupendous joke, and laughed greatly. Norah found them -very fascinating, and was with difficulty withdrawn from inspecting a -cheerful pair of twins when the sterner necessities of shopping demanded -her consideration. - -To make Christmas purchases in a Christmas crowd is an exercise -demanding patience and tact, coupled with more business acumen than is -ordinarily the lot of the country-bred shopper. The Billabong tribe -found their stock of all these admirable qualities running low long -before their own vague desires were satisfied, together with Brownie’s -long list of commissions for the station. The shop was packed with busy -people, each intent on errands like their own, and, apparently, in as -great a hurry. Norah wondered if up-country express trains were waiting -for them all, so wild and eager did they seem, and if she also looked as -distraught; arriving at the conclusion that if she appeared as harassed -as she felt she would certainly attract attention, even in that hurrying -throng! - -They parted company, since it was easier to work through the crowd -singly than “to hunt in packs,” as Wally put it; and after a time Norah -emerged upon the pavement outside, a little breathless, her arms full of -parcels. Behind her could be caught glimpses of the interior—a huge -place, with tables and counters in every direction, behind which stood -hot and tired assistants endeavouring to obtain the wants of twelve -people at once. The shop seemed full of children. Upstairs was a big -display of mechanical toys and other Christmas delights, and it seemed -that half of younger Melbourne had been brought to see the fun by -devoted mothers and aunts. In one corner a gentleman who might have been -four was evidently mislaid by his guardians. He stood, a figure of -bitter woe in a white sailor suit, rending the air with his howls; and a -very tall and gorgeous shop walker, who bent double in an attempt to -soothe him, was routed with great slaughter. Then, from afar, came the -mother, thrusting her way ruthlessly through the crowd in answer to her -son’s voice. She had, presumably, heard those yells before. She gathered -him up hurriedly, and withered the shop walker with a glance, clearly -suspecting him of a wish to kidnap the lost one. The shop walker -retreated, pondering on the ways of the world. - -Near a counter devoted to what is vaguely known as haberdashery, Jean -fought vainly for the right to purchase. Norah could catch an occasional -glimpse of her square, blue-clad shoulders and the fair hair under her -sailor hat. It was all too evident that she was not happy. People -jostled her hither and thither, elbowing her away from the counter when -it seemed that success was within her grasp. The assistants had no time -for short people, when so many ladies, dressed like the Queen of Sheba, -demanded their attention. Jean was not a pushing person, and only a -person of push had any hope of catching the eye of the presiding -goddesses. So she fought unavailingly, and Norah watched her, half in -laughter and half in doubt as to whether she should go to her -assistance. - -From another part of the shop appeared Wally, shot out of the crowd in -the manner of a stone from a catapult. He was propelled past Norah, -tucked into a corner of the doorway, where she was out of the way of the -throng that met in the entrance, fighting with equal vigour for exit and -admittance. Seeing him thus fleeting from her vision, Norah gave a low -and wholly involuntary whistle—and was forthwith overcome with -confusion at her unmaidenly behaviour. Wally, however, was not given to -criticism. He accepted the signal gratefully, and turned back. - -“Thank goodness you whistled!” he uttered, pushing his straw hat off his -forehead. “I’d never have found you if you hadn’t. Great Scot, Nor., did -you ever see anything like it!” - -“Never,” said Norah, fervently. “Is it always like this?” - -“Pretty well—when it’s near Christmas. There ought to be a law to make -people who can shop early finish by the middle of December—then they’d -leave a little space for poor wretches like us, who don’t get away from -school. Thank goodness, I’m about done—though I don’t in the least know -what I’ve bought. How about you?” - -“Finished,” said Norah, with brief thankfulness. - -“Well, you ought to be,” said Wally, surveying her load. “Women were -given eight fingers and two thumbs, so that they could hang parcels on -each! I think you’ve done pretty well, young Norah. Where’s Jean?” - -“Oh, Jean’s having a horrible time!” Norah answered, much concerned for -the fate of her chum. “I wish you’d go and see if you could help her, -Wally—you see, she’s so short, and she can’t get fixed up. I’ll hold -your parcels.” - -“I feel like a knight errant,” said Wally, handing over many bundles. -“It takes no common order of courage to tackle that maëlstrom after -having escaped from it once. However, with a damsel in distress it’s got -to be, I suppose. Sure you can hold ’em all, Nor.? Where is the hapless -wight I’ve to rescue?” - -“She’s over there—you can get glimpses of her hat,” Norah said. “At the -haberdashery place.” - -“I’ve always wondered what that meant,” Wally said. “It’s got a sporting -sort of sound about it, hasn’t it? Now, I’ll find out, I suppose, and -probably my young illusions will be dashed to the ground—it really -sounds the kind of place to buy polo sticks, but I don’t fancy that’s -Jean’s business. Well, here goes! Oh, by Jove! She’s coming, Norah!” - -Jean came, very red and indignant, with a knitted brow. - -“I’ve had a perfectly awful time!” she gasped. “There isn’t an unbruised -bit of me! And I can’t get what I want—I’ve been trying for ages to buy -a belt buckle, and all the horrid woman has sold me is curling pins!” -She held out a small parcel tragically. “And I don’t even use them!” she -finished—whereat her hearers shrieked unsympathetically. - -“Oh, Wally, go and make them take them back,” Norah begged, recovering -calmness. “Go with him, Jean, and show him the buckle you want—he’ll -manage it.” - -“Not for me, thank you,” said her chum decisively. “I wouldn’t plunge in -there for forty-eight buckles! I’ll go to another shop and try. What am -I going to do with those horrible pins? They were sixpence!” - -“They mustn’t be wasted,” said Wally, with solemn joy. “I’ll buy ’em -from you, Jean, and put ’em in Jim’s sock for Christmas. He’ll be so -pleased!” He pocketed the pins and repossessed himself of his own -parcels. “I’d never have had the pluck to go and buy those things,” he -said, “but the beautiful instinct of friendship tells me that they’re -the articles for which my soul has longed for Jimmy!” - -“Take care—he’s coming!” Norah laughed. They greeted Jim with an air of -innocence that would certainly have failed to deceive any one less -heated and annoyed than that worthy. - -“What a place to be out of!” he ejaculated. “And some people go shopping -for fun! Where’s Dad?” - -“Coming,” Norah said, watching her father’s tall head in the crowd. “He -likes it about as much as you do, Jimmy, judging by his expression.” She -smiled at Mr. Linton as he fought his way up to them. “Ready, Dad?” - -“Yes, thank goodness!” said her father. “Come along—here’s the car. -Now, there’s a poor soul!” - -He stopped, looking at a little crippled hunchback in a wheeled chair; a -boy who might have been any age, from child to man, so small was he, and -yet so old and weary his face. He was gazing wistfully at the gay little -group round the big motor. A tray of matches lay across his knees; tied -to the arm of his chair was a cluster of many-coloured balloons—a -pitiful contrast to the dull hopelessness of his face. Jim whistled -softly. - -“Poor little wretch,” he said. “Can’t we buy him out, Dad?” - -“We’ll do our best—even if the populace thinks we’re the advance agents -of a circus!” replied Mr. Linton. “Go and buy his balloons, Norah.” - -“What—all of them, Dad?” - -“Yes—all of them.” - -He followed her across the footpath. The hunchback looked up at the -grave little face. - -“Balloons?” he said, half sullenly. “How many—two?” - -“I want them all,” Norah told him, smiling. - -“Not—the whole lot!” A dull red came into the boy’s white face. - -“Yes, we do. My father says so.” - -He stared at her, bewildered. - -“There—there ain’t many days I sell more’n five or six all told,” he -said. His voice shook a little. “You ain’t havin’ a loan of me, I -s’pose?” - -“No, indeed I’m not—truly,” Norah said, pitifully. “We’re going to buy -you out.” - -The boy began to unfasten the string with uncertain fingers. - -“Nothin’ like this ain’t happened to me before,” he said. “It’s—it’s a -bit of a slow game sittin’ here all day, hot or cold—an’ people starin’ -at you. I wouldn’t mind ’em so much not buyin’—but—but they look at a -cove. You’re sure you want the lot?” - -“Yes, I want them,” Norah answered—“if you’re sure you can spare them -all.” - -“Spare ’em!” he laughed. “Why, I’ll be nex’ door to a millionaire, -bringin’ off a sale like this!” He gave the string into her hand and -looked at the money Mr. Linton dropped into his match tray. - -“No—I say!” he said. “That’s too much, sir. Can’t you get change?” - -“No, thanks,” Mr. Linton said, with a smile. “Good-bye, my lad. Come on, -Norah.” - -“Good-bye,” Norah said. Near the car she suddenly turned back, fishing -hurriedly in her little purse. The boy looked up at her with a dazed -face of joy. - -“Happy Christmas!” she said. She put a shilling into his hand—and fled. -The car glided off into the jumble of traffic. - -The hunchback sat in his corner throughout the day, selling a box of -matches now and then. The busy crowds went back and forth past him, -casting curious or pitying glances at his deformity. For once, the -glances did not hurt him. Norah’s smile yet lay warm at his heart. - -“Said ‘Happy Chris’mas!’ she did,” he muttered. “I don’t believe she -never even saw me back!” - -The balloons proved rather exciting to the crowd until the next block in -the traffic gave Mr. Linton an opportunity to present them gravely to a -gaping urchin with the immediate result that his gape intensified -alarmingly, and threatened to become a permanent fixture. Then they sped -back to the city, with hasty visits here and there, to pick up parcels, -and a hurried attempt at afternoon tea in the crowded lounge of the -hotel. Their luggage was awaiting them, a big pile in the corridor, and -presently it was loaded into a cab, and the motor was following it up -the street towards the train. - -At the big station they found themselves in another crowd—a hurrying, -impatient crowd, armed with suit cases and dress baskets, and pursuing -harassed luggage porters with incoherent instructions regarding trunks -that appeared non-existent. Nobody had the slightest regard for anybody -else—to get through the throng was to court death-dealing blows from -the sharp corners of luggage, delivered with vehemence and without -apology. Bells rang continually, with distressing effect upon would-be -passengers, who ran very fast in divers directions at each ring, -imagining it to be the final summons to trains which were very likely -not even backed into the platform! Porters shouted instructions, very -much in earnest, but wholly unintelligible. The shrieks of newsboys -added to the clamour, together with the wails of many babies, protesting -against travelling so early in life. Wild-eyed mothers clutched at -wandering children, endeavouring frantically to keep them under the -maternal wing. Beyond, in the station yard, engines whistled shrilly and -shunting trains banged and rattled. - -“It’s a nice Christmassy place!” said Wally, surveying the scene. “Makes -you feel no end festive, doesn’t it? If you two girls hold each other’s -hands tightly, cling to my coat tails, and utter frequent bleats, it is -possible that we shan’t lose you!” - -“Just take care that you don’t get lost yourself,” Jim uttered. “A -trifle like you straying about in a crowd ought to have a bell on its -neck. Take Dad’s arm, won’t you?” - -“He’d better not,” said Mr. Linton, hurriedly. “I could employ more arms -than I’ve got, as it is.” His eye, roving over the throng, caught sight -of a familiar face. “Ah, there’s my porter!” he said, with relief, as -that functionary hastened up. “That’s right, Saunders—bring another man -with you. Now we needn’t worry—our compartment’s reserved.” He sat down -on an empty luggage truck and mopped his brow. “Give me Billabong!” - -Then, somehow, they were all on board, the carriage overflowing with -miscellaneous bundles; and presently the train was slipping out of the -station, and leaving the suburban roofs behind as the wide spaces and -green paddocks came in view. Further and further, until the sun went -down in a red sky and the short Australian twilight faded to dusk and a -star-lit night. - -Norah grew a little silent. She leaned back, her shoulder against her -father’s, glad of his nearness: all the dear voices of the country -calling to her, above the roar and rush of the train. The memory of her -long homesickness came over her with a rush. She could scarcely realize -that it was over, and Billabong drawing near. Until a year ago Billabong -had meant all her world—all that counted. Now she had a wider horizon. -But still home and home’s dear ones dwarfed all the rest. - -Then it was time to collect parcels hurriedly. The train stopped with a -great grinding of brakes, and they all tumbled out upon the Cunjee -platform. It was only a little place; the train seemed to pause just to -shake itself free of them, and then it puffed away into the darkness; -and Norah was pumping the hand of a big sunburnt man with a wide smile -of welcome. - -“Oh, Murty, I’m so glad to be back!” - -“It is Billabong that’s glad to have ye,” said Murty O’Toole, head -stockman, and Norah’s friend from her cradle. “Blessed hour! Ye’ve grown -into a young lady, so ye have.” - -“Indeed I haven’t,” said Norah indignantly. “I’m just the same. Isn’t it -true, Jim?” - -“She’s worse, Murty,” said her brother, laughing. “No signs of -improvement. She’s lost all respect for me. It’s very trying.” - -“Ah, g’wan wid y’!” said the Irishman. “I’ll tell y’ about him -to-morrow, Miss Norah—wanderin’ about for the last week like a lost -foal, makin’ believe he was puttin’ on extry polish for ye! There’s the -dog-cart, sir”—to Mr. Linton—“an’ another trap for the luggage.” - -“We’ll need it!” said Mr. Linton dryly. “Miss Norah doesn’t travel as -light as she used to, Murty.” He pulled his daughter’s hair. Murty, -however, remained unmoved. - -“An’ how could she?” he inquired. “Ye can’t have her growin’ up on y’ -an’ expect her to go about wid a collar an’ a toothbrush!” - -Mr. Linton sighed. - -“I don’t know how much discipline they gave Norah at school, Jean,” he -said—“but she’s sure to want an extra allowance next year, after the -spoiling I foresee she’s to get at home. I appear to be the only person -likely to keep her in order—and what am I among so many? Neither do I -see why the statement should move either of you to such ribald mirth! -Here’s Billy, and I hope he’ll be stern.” - -But the black boy who held the horses was a grinning image of delight. -He did not attempt to make any remarks; not, Jim said, that they were in -any way necessary. You could not get beyond Billy’s grin. Even the -stationmaster came up with a word of welcome. - -“It’s very exciting—getting home,” Norah said. - -Then they were in the high dog-cart; Jean and herself tucked into the -front seat beside her father, while the boys made merry at the back. The -brown cobs were making light of the fourteen-mile spin along the country -roads that were all so dear and so familiar. It was beautiful to be -behind them once more—to see their splendid heads tossing the jingling -bits, and their glossy quarters gleaming in the light of the lamps. Yet -it seemed long until they turned into the homestead paddock—and then -the mile drive, fringed with pine trees, was the longest of all. - -Lights flashed out ahead as they turned a corner; Billabong, every -window shining with welcome. And at the gate was a smiling group, and -every one seemed to want to shake hands with her at the same moment. But -behind them was Mrs. Brown, her old face half laughter and half tears, -and speech wholly beyond her. She held out shaking arms to the tall girl -who had been her baby for so long, and Norah went to them, hugging her -tightly—not very sure of speech herself. It was not every day that one -came home to Billabong. - - - - -[Illustration: “‘You ain’t havin’ a loan of me, I s’pose?’”] - - - - - CHAPTER V - - - WALLY - - But when the world went wild with Spring - What days we had! Do you forget? - - —_V. J. Daley._ - -BEFORE the homestead the lawn stretched smoothly away, its green expanse -broken here and there by a gay flower bed or a mass of shrubbery. Tall -palms tossed their feathery heads aloft, above lower growing roses and -tumbling masses of creepers. The mellow brick of the house itself was -half concealed beneath a mantle of ivy and Virginia creeper, while, on -the verandah posts, masses of tecoma and bougainvillæa made a blaze of -colour. Beyond the garden fence the water of the lagoon could be seen—a -blue gleam, studded with lazily swimming waterfowl. Further off, the -yellow grass seemed to tremble under a mist of shimmering heat. - -Jim came in from the paddocks, welcoming the silent coolness of the -house after the blazing sun of the parched outer world. No one was -visible in any of the rooms into which he poked an inquiring head. -Finally the sound of Wally’s laugh guided him to the side verandah, and -he made his way thither through the French windows of the -breakfast-room. - -It was always cool on the side verandah after the morning sun had -considerately mounted so high that a great pine tree flung its shade -across that part of the house. The verandah was very wide, with a low -trellis fencing it in from the lawn. Just now its lattice work was -covered with nasturtiums and sweet peas, which even sent intrusive -tendrils creeping across the red tiles of the floor. On the posts hung -clusters of climbing roses, so thick that all the verandah seemed a -bower, the green of the garden blending with the ferns that were planted -in tubs here and there. Rugs lay on the tiles, and here were tables, -littered with books and magazines, and big rush easy chairs and lounges, -made more inviting by red cushions. Altogether, the side verandah was a -pleasant place, and the Billabong folk were accustomed to spend a great -deal of time there in the summer days and the long, hot evenings. - -Norah and Jean were at present occupying a wide lounge, the former -curled up in a corner, sewing violently at a rent in one of Jim’s white -coats, while Jean spread herself over the remaining portion, with a book -in her hand, to which she was paying very little attention. Wally, at -full length on another couch, was discoursing on many topics, in his own -cheerful way, to the huge delight of Mrs. Brown, whose affection for him -was unbounded. A huge bowl of peas was in her lap, and Wally was resting -after the fatigue of assisting her to shell them. - -“Here’s old Jimmy!” he said, as Jim’s long form came through the French -window. “You look warm, old man. Have this couch, won’t you?” - -“Couldn’t think of turning you out, old chap,” Jim answered grinning. - -“I was always a beggar to struggle,” said Wally, thankfully settling -himself anew. “Fearful visions were in my mind of how I should bear it -if you should accept my heroic offer. Is it warm outside, Jim?” - -“Warm!” said Jim, briefly expressive. He dropped into an easy chair, -carefully casting the cushions far from him—cushions not being part of -his creed. “It’s a fierce day. I don’t envy Dad and the men, tailing -into Cunjee behind those cattle.” - -“Did you go far with them, Jim?” Norah asked. - -“No—only to the second gate. They didn’t need me at all; only Dad -wanted to give me directions about some bullocks he wants moved. We’ll -have to do that presently, Wal.” - -“Certainly,” said Wally, affably. “Judging by my feelings just now, I -don’t think I’ll be alive presently, so I can promise without any -trouble. Are there many, James, and is it far?” - -“Only two, worse luck,” Jim answered. “Two can generally be relied upon -to give more trouble than two hundred. It isn’t far, but you can be -pretty certain that they’ll make it far.” - -“Cheerful brute you are!” Wally ejaculated. “Well, I’m ready any time -you are, old man, though I think it would be kind to the cattle not to -disturb them until the cool of the evening!” - -“I like your kind forethought for the bullocks,” Jim told him, laughing. -“They’d appreciate it, I know. You’ll end up as a philanthropist, if -you’re not careful, Wally. Unfortunately we’ve a job with the sheep for -the time you mention, so the cattle must come first—it’s very certain -that we wouldn’t get a move out of the sheep just now.” - -Wally sighed heavily. - -“It’s a laborious life I lead,” he said, stretching his long limbs on -the couch. “I come up here with beautiful hopes of getting fat, and I -always go back about two stone lighter. Norah, I wish you wouldn’t sew -so hard; it makes a fellow ache to see you.” - -“Jim will ache if this coat isn’t ready,” said Norah, stitching -vigorously. “His coats are in a dreadful state—there isn’t one cool one -that doesn’t need mending. As far as Brownie and I can tell he seems to -have locked them away carefully whenever he tore them. Why did you do -it, Jimmy?” - -“An’ me ready an’ willin’ as ever was to mend ’em,” Brownie said; “an’ -now Miss Norah’s doin’ of it, poor lamb! Why did you, Master Jim?” - -“Blessed if I know,” said Jim, somewhat embarrassed. “I didn’t know the -jolly things weren’t all right. Sorry—but it’s ripping practice for -you, Nor., all the same. You can tell old Miss Winter I kept you up to -the mark with your needle!” - -“M-f!” said Norah, with much scorn in the terse remark. “In the -circumstances, Brownie, does he deserve a cool drink?” - -“He don’t, but I expect he’ll have to get it,” said Brownie, laughing. -She rose with the deliberate majesty that pertains to seventeen stone. -“There’s a new brew of lemonade coolin’ in the cellar, and I’ll bring a -jug along.” - -“Bless you, Brownie, you’re my best friend,” said Jim. “You needn’t -bring any for the others—they haven’t earned it.” - -“Haven’t I!” said Wally, indignantly. “Why, I’ve shelled peas until my -brain reeled! And I believe it’s hotter to be inside on a day like this -than out in the paddocks, so you needn’t be superior, James.” He -stretched himself, letting one brown hand fall on the railing of the -verandah. “I don’t think——” - -He broke off suddenly, twisted himself off the lounge, and was on his -feet with one quick movement. Jim’s stock whip dangled from the arm of -his chair; Wally snatched it and struck furiously at a lithe form that -slid off the railing with a sinuous wriggle, and fell to the ground -beneath. The boy vaulted over the trellis as it fell, and thrashed -violently among the nasturtiums below. It was all done so quickly that -the others were scarcely on their feet before he hooked the still -writhing body of a black snake out of the creepers, and tossed it out on -to the lawn. - -“You didn’t lose much time, young Wally!” said Jim, approvingly. “Fancy -that brute getting up here! Lucky you spotted him.” - -“’M,” said Wally. Something in his tone made Norah swing round sharply. - -“Wally! He didn’t bite you?” - -“He did then,” said Wally. Something of the colour had died out of his -tanned face, but his voice was steady. - -“Old man!” said Jim. Then he shut his lips tightly, and dived into his -pocket for his knife. - -Wally took the verandah steps in one stride, and was beside him. - -“I’ll do the chopping,” he said. “Lend me that, old chap. Is it sharp?” - -Jim nodded. - -“Slip round to Brownie,” he said, sharply, to Norah. “She knows where -the permanganate is—there’s some in the store, and some in the office.” -Norah’s racing feet sounded in the hall almost before he had spoken, and -he turned back to his chum. - -“Would you rather do it, old man?” he asked. - -Wally nodded, without speaking. There were two punctures plainly visible -on the lean hand he steadied on the verandah rail. - -“Parallel cuts,” said Jim. “Quick, Wal.” He flung a hasty command over -his shoulder to Jean. “The men are at the stables—tell them I want the -dog-cart with the cobs, as hard as they can tear!” - -The knife was razor-edged, and Wally did not flinch. He cut deep and -quickly, the blood spurting in the track of the blade. Jim was already -busy with a ligature on his arm, tightening it with a stick twisted -almost to breaking point. As the last cut went home, and Wally put down -the knife, Jim caught his hand and bent down to it. Wally uttered a -sharp exclamation, struggling. - -“Get out, you old idiot! I’ll suck my own blessed hand!” - -He tried to wrench his hand away, but the grasp on his wrist was iron. -Jim’s lips were on the wound, sucking it furiously. - -“Oh, Lord, I wish you wouldn’t!” said Wally, miserably. “I can do it -perfectly well myself; and you may have a scratch about your mouth. For -goodness sake, stop it, old man! What’s the good of two of us getting -the dose?” - -Jim, being otherwise engaged, did not answer. He continued his -operations strenuously, deaf to Wally’s entreaties, until Norah came -flying back with Brownie in the rear. - -“Here are the crystals, Jim!” - -The boy caught at the little bottle. Then he saw Brownie’s distressed -face, and gave them to her. - -“You get ’em ready,” he said, briefly. “I’ll go on sucking for a moment. -Hurry the men, Norah!” - -Almost by the time the permanganate crystals were worked into a paste -and rubbed into the cut about the punctures, the horses were in the -stable yard. Every man on Billabong liked the merry Queensland -boy—there were willing hands at every buckle of the harness that was -flung upon the brown cobs in breathless haste. The dog-cart, with Murty -O’Toole on the box, clattered to the front of the house—to the little -group that had been so merry when the shadow of death had suddenly fell -upon it. - -Wally’s face was a little strained. The tightness of the ligature was -telling upon him, more than the snake bite itself. But he grinned up at -Murty in his old way. - -“I’m giving you plenty of trouble, Murty,” he said. “Silly ass, to go -patting a snake at my time of life!” - -“Begob, it might happen to the owldest of us,” said Murty, consolingly. -“Ye have that bandage tied tight, Mr. Jim?” - -“He has that!” said Wally, ruefully. “Don’t you worry about Jim when it -comes to tying a ligature. My hand will drop off soon, I should say!” - -“Y’can have it loosened just f’r a minute, presently,” said Murty. “Whin -it’s been on half an hour it’s due f’r a spell. Begob, I’ll bet it hurts -y’, me boy!” - -“Oh—some,” said Wally, briefly. He glanced at his hand, swollen and -purple under the bandage Brownie had wrapped about the part that had -been bitten. “Pretty looking object, isn’t it? Well, I do think I was a -chump! That beggar must have been lying along the rail for ever so -long!” - -“Y’ had no business to go killin’ it before ye attinded to y’r hand,” -said Murty. “Much better have let him get away on us than wait. Never -mind, there ain’t much time lost, an’ y’r as healthy as a rabbit. We’ll -have y’ right as rain in no time.” - -“Oh, I guess so,” said Wally. Then Jim came plunging out, Norah and Jean -at his heels. - -“Here’s your hat, old man,” Jim said, clapping it on its owner’s head. -“The girls are coming in with us. Hurry along—we don’t want to lose any -time.” He made as though to help his chum into the dog-cart, and Wally -grinned at him. - -“What are you after?” he asked, swinging himself up with one hand. “I’m -not a dead man yet. Come on, you old nursemaid!” He waved his hat -cheerily to Brownie, whose kind old face was working with anxiety. -“Don’t go worrying, Brownie—I’ll be back for tea! May I have pikelets -if I’m a good boy?” - -“You’ll have everything I can make for you,” said poor Brownie, tears in -her eyes as she looked at the merry, defiant face. “Only come back all -right, my dear!” Murty gave the cobs their heads, and they shot down the -drive. It was but fifteen minutes from the moment Wally had put his hand -on the black intruder lying along the railing of the trellis. - -A man was waiting at each gate; there was no delay of opening and -shutting. Murty swung the horses through the narrow openings, shaving -gateposts by a hair’s breadth, but never slackening speed. Out on the -road, the brown cobs felt the unaccustomed indignity of the whip on -their backs, and resented it by trying to bolt; but the hand on their -mouths was rigid, and they came back from a gallop to a flying trot, -that spun over the long miles to Cunjee. The shining tyres flashed in -the sunlight. Now and then sparks flew from flints hard smitten by the -racing, iron-shod hoofs. - -Wally kept up a plucky attempt at chatter for awhile. Then he grew -silent, nursing his swollen arm in a fruitless effort to relieve the -agony caused by the checked circulation. Jim loosened the ligature -momentarily, after a time, and the relief was great; but it had to be -tightened again, and gradually the boy’s set lips grew white. Once he -spoke, in a low voice. - -“I say, old chap,” he said. “If things go wrong, you’ll let them know -all about it up at home, won’t you? Tell ’em it was all my own -stupidity.” - -“You shut up,” returned Jim, gruffly. “Things aren’t going wrong—we’ve -got you in loads of time.” - -“Oh, I know. I’m not expecting them to,” Wally answered. “Still, there’s -the chance. Don’t forget, old Stick-in-the-mud.” He pulled Norah’s hair -gently, and demanded to know why she was so quiet. “Something unusual to -have you civil for so long at a stretch!” he told her, laughing—to -which Norah tried to make a cheerful retort, but choked instead, and -averred that she had swallowed a fly. - -“Hard lines on the fly!” said Wally. “See—there’s your father!” - -He pointed ahead to a blur of dust on the track, which resolved itself -into Mr. Linton and two men, riding slowly behind some cattle. Murty -glanced over his shoulder at the same instant. - -“Will I pull up, Mr. Jim?” - -“Just for a moment,” Jim said, hesitating. “Dad won’t want much of an -explanation.” - -Not much was needed. The racing hoofs and the grave faces told their own -story, as Mr. Linton checked his horse beside the road. Jim was brief, -in answer to his father’s hasty question. - -“What’s wrong?” - -“Snake,” he said. “He got Wally on the hand. We’re off to Dr. Anderson.” - -“You’ve done all you can, of course?” Mr. Linton asked quickly. - -“Yes—everything. Haven’t lost any time, either.” - -“Well, Anderson’s not there,” Mr. Linton said. “I saw his motor going -out along the Mulgoa road half an hour ago. But go in; Mrs. Anderson may -know what to do, or where to send for him. Murty can go for him. -Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can catch him now; there’s no knowing where he -may have pulled up. You’ve got stimulants?” - -“Two Thermos flasks of strong black coffee,” Norah said. - -“That’s right. Don’t wait. Keep up your pecker, Wally, my boy.” The big -man smiled at Wally affectionately. “We’ll have you all right soon, my -dear lad.” - -“I guess it’ll take a tough snake to kill me,” Wally answered. “I’m all -serene, sir.” The buggy whirled away again as Mr. Linton wheeled his -horse and went off at a hard gallop. - -“Jove, old Monarch can travel!” said Wally, approvingly. A jolt shook -his swollen hand, and his lips tightened again. - -Mrs. Anderson could give but a vague idea of her husband’s movements, -nor was there any one in the township able to do more to help the -patient. Murty dashed off on a fresh horse in search of the doctor; and -the four from Billabong sat in the shade of a big oak tree and tried to -talk—three watching covertly all the time for any new symptoms on -Wally’s part. After a while his eyes grew heavy, and Norah brought a -flask of coffee, strong and black, and dosed him at short intervals. The -boy made a brave fight to help them. - -“This won’t do,” he said, after a while. “I’ll be asleep in five minutes -if I stay here. Get a pack of cards and we’ll play cribbage.” - -They played on a rug in the shade—Jim and Jean against Norah and Wally, -the latter playing with one hand and occasionally cracking a laborious -joke, almost in the midst of which his head would nod to one side. He -always recovered himself with a jerk, and, despite his drowsiness, he -played with a keen quickness that shamed the others, who made the most -egregious mistakes with a total lack of concern as to their score. It -was long before Norah could ever again bear the sight of a cribbage -board. - -Jim flung down his cards at last, his voice shaking. - -“Well, I can’t stand this,” he said. “Hang that man! Will he ever come? -Let’s walk up and down, Wal., old man.” - -They went up and down, up and down, along the garden path, in the hot -air, heavy with the scent of the doctor’s flowers—all the time fighting -the fatal drowsiness that threatened to overcome the boy they loved. -Mrs. Anderson kept the supply of coffee ready, and Wally took it -obediently whenever it was brought to him. - -“If this blessed hand would only let me do anything, I’d be all right,” -he said sleepily. “I’d give something to be able to use an axe! Norah, -asthore, will you stick hatpins into me if I get any more stupid? I’m -not going to sleep, if I have to stick them into myself!” - -Then, just as they were becoming sick with anxiety and the long -watching, came the far-off hum of a hurrying car, and presently little -Dr. Anderson swung round the corner, pulled up with a sudden jar that -would ordinarily have caused him extreme wrath, and came through his -garden at a run. He cast a swift professional eye over Wally. - -“Good children!” he said, approvingly. “Come along to the surgery, my -boy; you, too, Jim. You girls go and let the wife take care of you.” - -But Norah could not talk to any one just then. The long strain had been -too heavy a burden. She watched the three figures vanish within the -surgery door, the doctor’s hand on Wally’s shoulder, and then turned and -went blindly down a winding path. It ended in a fence. She put her head -down upon it, swallowing hard, dry sobs. Jean put an arm round her, -silent. There was not anything to say. - -Within the surgery Wally had faced the little doctor. - -“I say, sir,” he said, moistening dry lips, “you won’t let me make a -fool of myself if things get a bit beyond me, will you?” - -“I will not,” said the doctor, sturdily. “But they won’t—don’t talk -nonsense!” He was unwrapping the hand swiftly. “Catch this bottle, Jim.” - -Very long after—so it seemed to Norah and Jean—a quick step came down -the path behind them. - -“Your nice brown lad is all right,” said Mrs. Anderson, happily. “Jack -says there’s no risk now. Everything was done in time. We’ll keep him -here to-night, just to watch him, and Jim will stay with him. Mr. Linton -is waiting for you two lassies; and you can come back to-morrow, and -take Wally home for Christmas. Unless you like to leave him with me for -a month or so? I like that boy!” - -“So does Billabong,” said David Linton’s voice, not quite steady. “We -can’t spare him to any one, can we, Norah?” - -Norah shook her head. She clung to her father’s hand as they went back -to the house, where Jim waited on the verandah, his face still grave. - -“The patient sends his love, and you’re none of you to worry,” he said. -“And you’re to tell Brownie to keep the pikelets for to-morrow!” - - - - -[Illustration: “Wally snatched it and struck furiously at a lithe form -that slid off the railing with a sinuous wriggle, and fell to the ground -beneath.”] - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - - THE CUNJEE CONCERT - - And stirrup to stirrup we’ll sing as we ride, - To the lights of the township that glimmer and guide. - - —_W. H. Ogilvie._ - -“THEY should be home, Murty,” said David Linton. - -“They shud,” said Mr. O’Toole, with conviction. He removed an -exceedingly black pipe from his mouth and stared at it, pressing the -tobacco down in the bowl with a broad thumb. “Will I be saddlin’ up a -horse, do ye think, an’ takin’ afther them?” - -“Not a bit of good,” said the squatter. “They may come home by any of -three or four roads. I’d go myself if I were sure.” He knitted his brow, -staring down the twilit track. “I don’t understand it—Mr. Jim is never -late.” - -“Sure, they’re young,” said Murty, and propped his long form comfortably -against a tree. “Ye can’t never be tellin’ what the young’ll be afther -whin they gets out wid a loose leg, like. An’ Mr. Jim’s level-headed -enough. I wud not be worryin’.” - -“Mr. Jim should know better than to be away so late,” said Jim’s father, -sharply. “It’s nearly nine o’clock—and they should have been in for -dinner at half-past six. Wonder do they think a woman has nothing to do -but keep dinner hot for them! At any rate, I’ve told Mrs. Brown she’s -not to keep anything. They can manage with bread and cheese if they -can’t be in in decent time!” - -“Niver did I see the ould man in such a tear!” confided Murty, a little -later, to Mrs. Brown—who, in flagrant defiance of instructions, was -brooding over preparations for a large and satisfactory supper for the -absentees. “Him that aisy-goin’ as a rule, an’ niver lettin’ a cross -word out of him—an’ he’s walkin’ up an’ down like a caged elephint, -fairly rampin’. ’Tis anxious he is—that’s the throuble.” - -“Well may he be,” said Mrs. Brown, tearfully. “That new pony of Miss -Norah’s is that flighty and excitable—an’ he’s big an’ strong, too, an’ -I know for two pins he’d buck! See him when they went off this -mornin’—fit to jump out of his skin, an’ dancin’ little jigs all the -way down the track. It’s enough to make anybody anxious.” - -“P——f!” said Murty, with great scorn. “Miss Norah can manage Bosun as -aisy as shellin’ peas. There’s no vice in him, nayther; he’s as kind a -pony as iver I throwed a leg over. Ye’d not have the little misthress -ridin’ an old crock?” - -“I’m sure I don’t know,” said poor Brownie. “I never could make meself -feel ’eroic where Miss Norah’s concerned. All very well to be proud of -her ridin’ an’ all that—an’ you men are fair foolish over that sort of -thing—but give me the contented mind as is a continual feast! An’ I -would feel contenteder if she rode something a little less like a -jumpin’-jack than Bosun.” - -“That pony do be suitin’ Miss Norah down to the ground,” averted Murty. -“Sure, ’twas something to see her face whin she caught sight of him -first; an’ she’s that proud of him already. I did not think anny pony -would ever do as well for her as poor ould Bobs, but——” - -“Miss Norah’ll never love a pony like she loved Bobs,” Brownie said, -belligerently. - -“No—maybe not. But Bosun’ll run him close, an’ he’ll carry her real -well until she’s growed up,” Murty answered. “Sure, he’s not far off -fifteen hands, for all they call him a pony. An’ as for worryin’ about -her ridin’ him, Mrs. Brown, ma’am—well, ye may as well save y’r own -feelin’s.” - -“Well, I wish they were all home, that’s all,” said Brownie. “It -mightn’t be Miss Norah—there’s Miss Jean, too.” - -“Sure, that one can take care of herself,” Murty said, laughing. “She -ain’t one of them as talks; but I guess she won’t go fallin’ off on us, -for all that. An’ Nan is as safe a mare as there is on Billabong.” - -“Now, I heard you say Nan could shy!” retorted Brownie, whose soul -refused to be led in ways of comfort. - -“I’d not give y’ a ha’penny for the horse that couldn’t,” said Murty, -unblushingly. “Wud ye have them all rockin’ horses? But Miss Jean can -ride her all right. Now, wud ye be afther suggestin’ that it’s Garryowen -as’ll sling Mr. Jim, or ould Warder that’s goin’ to market wid Mr. -Wally? Ye pays y’r money an’ takes y’r choice!” - -“You get out!” said Brownie gloomily. “All very well for you to stand -there grinnin’ at me like a Cheshire cheese—but the master’s as anxious -as I am, an’ it’s no wonder! An’ I would bet sixpence, Murty, me fine -lad, that down inside you you’re pretty anxious too!” - -“Bosh!” said Murty, looking slightly confused. The sounds of hoofs saved -him from further defence. He turned to the kitchen doorway with -sufficient quickness to justify Brownie’s accusation. - -“’Tis the Boss,” he said, in tones of disappointment. “I’d thought ’twas -thim young ones comin’ up the thrack. Tare an’ ages! he’s lettin’ ould -Monarch out! Why wudn’t he be lettin’ me go, whin I asked him, I wonder? -Well——” He pondered a moment, and strolled away. Five minutes later -Brownie, looking out hurriedly at hearing again the sound of hoofs on -the gravel of the track, saw him cantering off in the wake of his -master. - -“Why on earth am I seventeen stone?” queried Brownie, desperately, of -the ambient air. Receiving no adequate response, she retreated to the -kitchen and wept a little into her apron; then, realizing the futility -of grief, roused herself to action and made scones of a lightness almost -ephemeral. It was some relief to her surcharged feelings. - -Christmas had come and gone, and it was New Year’s eve. Summer was -ruling in earnest; day after day saw the sun rise like a golden disc, to -be molten brass during the long, breathless day, and finally sink into a -lurid sky, a ball of liquid fire. The grass dried rapidly; paddocks that -had been green when Norah and Jean came from Melbourne were now waving -expanses of yellow. Rumours of bush fires all over the country districts -filled the newspapers. - -Despite the heat, Billabong was doing its best for its visitors. Wally’s -adventure was almost forgotten by the victim himself, since he had -suffered no further effects from the snake bite than a rather sore -hand—due, Jim said, to poor carving. No one seemed to mind the -temperature much. When the thermometer was trying to eclipse all -previous records, the house was always a cool refuge; or there was the -lagoon, where the boat rocked sleepily in the shade of the willows; or -the tree-fringed banks of the creek, where no intrusive sun rays ever -penetrated. Besides, there was so much to do that there really seemed -little time to think of the weather; long days out in the paddocks with -the cattle, mustering, or drafting, or cutting out; boundary riding, to -make sure that fences were in good order and gates secure; fishing -expeditions, rides to neighbouring stations, and long, delicious bathes -in the lagoon, which in themselves made the heat seem worth while. Jim -had established a jumping ground during his year at home—a paddock near -the homestead, where a couple of log fences and some brush hurdles made -an excellent training ground for the horses. Brownie used to stand on -the balcony, torn betwixt pride and anxiety, watching the four riders -sailing over the jumps—with sometimes a fifth, when Mr. Linton could -persuaded to add Monarch, his black thoroughbred, to the starters. The -boys entertained visions of a general hurdle race, for which the entries -should include Lee Wing, the Chinese gardener, on an ancient piebald -mare entitled Bung Eye, and Hogg, his sworn foe, on a lean mule that was -popularly supposed to be capable of kicking the eye out of a mosquito. -They even planned to enter Mrs. Brown, and declared their intention of -training her on Blossom, a Clydesdale mare of great antiquity. In this -ambition it is perhaps unnecessary to state that they had not the -support of Mrs. Brown. - -To-day the quartette had ridden into Cunjee, somewhat against their -inclination. As a rule the township made small appeal to them; they -greatly preferred the freedom of the paddocks and the wide -galloping-places of the plains. On the station, where play included work -and responsibility, there was never any dullness; the interests of each -day claimed them, giving even the girls a definite share in the daily -business. It was the life to which Norah had always been accustomed, and -which she loved with every fibre of her energetic being. That Jim and -Wally should care for it was a matter of course; to them also it was a -part of life. It had been added joy to find that Jean took to it with a -zest little, if anything, inferior to her own. Nothing was wanting, in -Norah’s eyes, to complete the perfection of holidays and Billabong. - -The necessity of despatching a telegram had caused the expedition to -Cunjee; somewhat deplored by the boys, since they were reluctantly -compelled to don coats, to which they strenuously objected in the hot -weather, and to find hats of a more respectable appearance than the -battered felt head gear they habitually wore. They rode away after an -early lunch; four cheery figures, alike in white linen coats and Panama -hats, the brims turned down to keep the sun glare from their eyes; -turning at the bend in the track to wave farewell to Mr. Linton, who -stood at the gate to watch them go. - -Cunjee was found gasping with heat, and only mildly consoled by the fact -that no such temperatures had been recorded in the memory of man. - -“Now, I always think that’s quite a help,” Jean said. “Once it’s 100° in -the shade you feel almost as bad as you’re going to feel—and you might -just as well have the satisfaction of knowing you had every excuse for -being hot, because it was 114°. That makes it so interesting that you -forget to be sorry for yourself!” - -“I like to hear you, New Zealand!” quoth Wally, with fine scorn. “Didn’t -know you ever worked up much of a temperature in those Antarctic islands -of yours!” - -“Well, we aren’t exactly singed into chips, like the Queenslanders!” -said Jean, mildly, amidst mirth on the part of Norah and Jim—while -Wally, who hailed from the vicinity of the Gulf of Carpentaria, looked -modestly unconscious. “But we can be just as warm as we want to be.” - -“Well, Cunjee is warmer than I appreciate,” Jim said. “Let’s leave the -horses at the hotel to get a feed, and we’ll go and beg afternoon tea -from Mrs. Anderson.” - -Mrs. Anderson greeted the invasion enthusiastically. - -“So lovely of you to come,” she said. “I’ve been feeling ever so dull. -And now you’ve come, you must stay. The doctor has had to go to Mulgoa, -and may not be back to-night; and I want an escort for the concert.” - -“Is there a concert?” Norah asked. - -“Didn’t you know? Ah, well, I suppose you irresponsible people don’t -read the local paper,” said their hostess, pouring out tea. “Cream, -Wally? No? How ridiculous of you, and you so thin! Yes, we’re to have a -tremendous concert. I forget what it’s in aid of, but it’s mainly local -talent, and so it’s bound to be exciting. And I can’t go by myself, and -it’s quite too hot to go out and find a companion. Personally, I think -Providence has delivered you into my hands!” - -“Afraid we can’t, thanks very much, Mrs. Anderson,” Jim told her. “We -didn’t say we’d be away.” - -“Pooh! They would know at home that you would be all right,” said Mrs. -Anderson. “You station folk never seem to worry about times and seasons, -and I always think it’s so delightful! Your father would know the others -were quite safe in your care, Jim.” - -“I hope you children are taking note of that speech,” said Jim, -laughing. “I wish I could feel as confident about it as you do, Mrs. -Anderson—but, unfortunately, my years don’t seem to convince Dad of my -common sense. I’m afraid he’d be worried if we didn’t turn up for -dinner.” - -“Rubbish!” said Mrs. Anderson. “He would know you stayed for something -or other; probably he reads the local paper, if you don’t, and is -acquainted with the dissipated intentions of Cunjee. I’m certainly not -going to let you escape now that I have you all!” - -“What do you think, Nor.?” Jim asked his sister. - -“Why, I don’t suppose he’d mind,” Norah answered. “It always seems much -the same to be out with you as with him, though it’s very imprudent of -me to let you know it.” - -“He wouldn’t mind if he knew,” Jim said, doubtfully. “Still——” - -“Oh, risk it,” said Mrs. Anderson, laughing. “Consider the claims of a -woman in distress—you can’t leave me to face a Cunjee audience alone. -Your clothes don’t matter a bit—in fact, Cunjee will probably consider -you clad as the lilies of the field.” So Jim, against his better -judgment, stayed. - -Dinner at the Andersons’ was a cheerful occasion, to which variety was -lent by the Anderson baby, who insisted on sitting on Norah’s knee, and -drummed happily on the cloth with her dessert-spoon, while Norah ate on -the catch-as-catch-can principle. Then, the baby being with difficulty -severed from the object of his adoration, they hurried to the Mechanics’ -Institute, outside which the local brass band was performing prodigies -of harmony, somewhat impeded by the fact that the euphonium was three -tones flat. - -Jim did not enjoy the concert. A shade of anxiety hung over his mind, -with the conviction that it was quite possible that their absence was -causing anxiety at the station. Thus the antics of the Cunjee comedian -who, in private life, kept a somewhat disreputable bicycle-repairing -establishment, fell flat; albeit the comedian aforesaid had bedecked -himself in spurious red whiskers and a kilt compounded of a red table -cloth, with a whitewash brush as sporran, and sang Scotch ditties with a -violent Australian twang—a combination truly awe inspiring. They -suffered from the familiar soprano, who trilled strange trills in a key -very much too high, and from the confident young baritone, who warbled a -ditty of the type more generally reserved for tenors, and took an encore -on the echo of the first faint clap. The band master played a long solo -upon the cornet, than which there is no more lonely instrument when -unsupported; and on the heels of its wailing came a young lady who -recited harrowing particulars of the death of “my chee-ild,” whom she -indicated as lying in its coffin immediately before her. She knelt by -it, and apostrophized the deceased in moving terms. She wrung her hands -over it; in fact, she pointed it out so definitely that to Norah, whose -imagination was unfortunately vivid, it assumed actual reality, and she -with difficulty restrained a cry when, in the last verse, the -elocutionist forgot her previous actions, and in the anguish of her -mood, stepped right into the coffin! At this point Norah decided -definitely that she did not like recitations. It pained her greatly to -see the young lady smirk and stroll off the stage, oblivious of her -heart-rending actions. - -Then the Shire President came forward and thanked everybody in impartial -terms, and the concert was over. Jim hurried his party out of the hall, -and as soon as possible they had said good-night to Mrs. Anderson, -resisting her offers of supper; and were in the saddle, cantering along -the homeward track. - -Five miles out of Cunjee a shadow loomed up out of the gloom, and -Garryowen gave a sudden whinney. Mr. Linton’s voice followed it. - -“Is that you, Jim?” - -Under his breath Jim uttered a low whistle. - -“Great Scott! It’s Dad!” he said. He raised his voice. “Right-oh, Dad! -Is anything wrong?” - -“There’s nothing wrong at home,” said David Linton, wheeling Monarch -beside Garryowen. “What has kept you?” - -“Went to a concert,” said Jim, briefly, feeling suddenly very small and -young. - -“We never thought you’d be anxious, Dad!” Norah said. - -“Not anxious!” said her father, explosively. Then he shot a glance at -Jean and Wally, uncomfortably silent. - -“You’ve given us a pleasant evening,” was all he said. But Jim winced as -if he had been struck, and the blood surged into his face. - -“I’m sorry,” he said curtly. - -“It was my fault, just as much, Dad,” Norah began. But her father -stopped her. - -“Jim was in charge,” he said. “There isn’t any more to be said about it. -We’d better hurry. Mrs. Brown is picturing all sorts of things.” He put -Monarch into a canter, and they rode on in silence. Two miles further on -a dim figure at the roadside turned his horse beside Wally. - -“Is it all right, ye are, all of ye?” asked Murty in a hoarse whisper. - -“Some one else out hunting the lost sheep?” Wally asked. “Yes, we’re all -right.” - -“Thin I’ll not let on to himself that I kem out,” said the Irishman. -“Wisha! he was wild!” He dropped behind the riders, vanishing into the -gloom. - -Billabong was slow in appearing; to the silent riders the miles had -never seemed longer. At last the lights came into view with Brownie’s -massive figure silhouetted against the light of the doorway. - -“Run in, you and Jean, and tell Brownie you’re all right,” Mr. Linton -said to Norah, as they pulled up. “We’ll see to the horses.” - -In the harness room, while Wally took off bridles outside, Jim’s eyes -met his father’s. Both had been thinking. - -“I’m sorry we made you anxious,” said the boy, stiffly. - -“You made me very anxious,” said David Linton. “Still——” He hesitated, -memories of his own early manhood coming back to him as the big fellow -faced him. “Perhaps I forget that you’re not a child any longer,” he -said, with an effort. “If I hurt you, Jim, I’m——” - -“Don’t!” Jim’s hand went out quickly. “I deserved a jolly sight more -than I got. But I’m sorry, Dad.” They shook hands on it, gravely. - -“Bring in those bridles, young Wally, and be quick!” sang out Mr. -Linton—and Wally appeared, his face comically relieved at the tone. -They walked over to the house—a laugh from Jim at some futile remark of -his chum’s coming to Norah’s ears as they neared the verandah, and -greatly relieving that distressed damsel, to whom it had appeared that -the skies had fallen. - -Later, when supper had been discussed cheerfully, and the household had -scattered, David Linton smoked a last pipe on the balcony, thinking. - -A slender figure in blue pyjamas came softly to him. - -“Dad—I’m sorry!” said Norah. - -“Right, mate!” said her father. He saw the quick lift of her head, but -she hesitated. - -David Linton laughed, kissing her. - -“And Jim’s all right,” he said. “Off to bed with you!” - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - - MORNING - - That loving Laughing Land, where life is fresh and clean, - Where the rivers flow all summer, and the grass is always green. - - —_Henry Lawson._ - -“NORAH!” - -“James?” said Norah, with polite inquiry. She paused with Jean, and -turned a questioning eye towards the window whence Jim’s voice had -reached her. - -Jim, in his shirt sleeves, his face obscured by lather, looked out, -razor in hand. - -“Don’t go over to the stable just now, if that’s where you two are -going,” said he. - -“Right-oh, Jimmy. For how long?” - -“Don’t quite know,” Jim said, grinning through the suds. “Dad’s having -words with one of the men, and you’d better wait until he comes over. -You mustn’t risk interrupting the flow of his eloquence.” - -“Is anything wrong?” Norah asked. - -“It’s that blithering ass, Harvey,” Jim answered. “He’s a useless loafer -at the best of times; and he’s let us in for a nice game now! Dad has -been sending him out to look round those new Queensland bullocks in the -Bush Paddock, and he’s left the slip-rails down, and they’ve all boxed -with the cattle next door, in the Far Plain.” At this point Jim’s wrath, -or an unconscious movement, led him to take a mouthful of lather, and -his head withdrew abruptly, spluttering. Incoherent sounds came from the -interior of the room. - -The girls laughed unfeelingly. - -“He’s so funny when he shaves, isn’t he?” said his sister. “Jean, it’s -an ill wind that blows nowhere!” - -“Why?” asked Jean. - -“Well, if those cattle are boxed it means a big muster,” said Norah; -“and mustering the Bush Paddock is better fun than anything else. I -don’t feel nearly as sorry as I might.” - -“More shame for you!” said a voice above their heads, at which both -girls jumped. Wally’s face emerged from the concealment of the dark -green leaves of a cherry tree. A big black cherry bobbed temptingly near -his nose, and he ate it, still keeping a severe eye upon his audience. - -“I never knew any one with your ability for appearing in unexpected -places,” said Norah, laughing. “Come down, Wally; I know quite well your -mother doesn’t let you climb!” - -“I come,” said Wally; “but more because the cherries are scarce than -because of you, young woman. Funny how few ripe ones there are this -morning.” - -“Not a bit. Jean and I have been up there,” said Norah, with calmness. -“That’s what comes of being early birds. If you’d only get up in the -morning instead of snoring in a loud voice——” - -“Never did,” said Wally, swinging his long form to earth. “’Twas Jim you -heard.” - -“Jim never snores!” said Jim’s sister. - -“Then ’twas the Boss. Or probably you weren’t up at all, and heard -yourself snoring in your sleep, which is far more likely. Certainly, the -cherries have disappeared in a manner only possible to you and Jean; but -that might have been while I swam peacefully in the lagoon. In any case, -you’re a shocking hostess!” Wally paused for breath, while Norah grinned -amiably and remarked that, at any rate, she had suited Jean! - -“Given up to greed, both of you,” said Mr. Meadows, “while I, alas, am -given up to hunger. Here comes your father, and he looks pretty wild. -Wonder if he’s sacked Harvey?” - -“We’ll want all hands to-day,” said Mr. Linton, pausing to greet them as -he came up with quick strides. “Harvey’s boxed half the cattle on the -place, and we’ll have our work cut out to get them all in, short-handed. -You see, I gave the other men permission to go to the races, and they -left about sunrise. And now Harvey’s leaving too, in haste!” - -“Did you sack him, Dad?” - -“I did,” said his father. “I don’t know that I would have done so, -though he’s a most useless man on the place, but he chose to be insolent -about it. In fact he told me just what he thought about me for -oppressing the labouring man. I wished Murty and Boone and the rest had -been there to have learned how down-trodden they are. They would have -enjoyed it!” - -“I believe Murty would have fought him,” Norah said, indignantly. - -“It’s not unlikely,” her father answered. “Murty’s a loyal old soul. -According to Harvey, they are all worms, and I am a callous tyrant, and -Jim’s a whelp!” - -“Oh, am I?” said that gentleman, with interest, looking out. “What have -I done to the noble Harvey?” - -“Well, you’ve existed. I can’t quite gather that you’ve done anything -else, and I fancy Harvey would have mentioned it if you had. At times he -seemed hard up for things to mention. Still, on the whole, he was very -eloquent. I’ve known politicians tarred with the same brush; the less -they have to say, the more fluent they become! Judging by present -indications,” said Mr. Linton, “Harvey will develop into a Prime -Minister, and probably afflict me with a special land tax. And all -because I asked him why he’d left the slip-rails down.” - -“Well, I’m glad you’ve sent him away, Dad,” Norah said. “I always -thought he had a horrid face.” - -“Oh, he’s a miserable type,” her father answered—“the kind of man that -never ought to come to the country. He’s absolutely useless, and I don’t -think he ever did a day’s work in his life—if he did, it wasn’t on -Billabong. We’ve put him at various kinds of work, and found him -worthless at each; his one idea was to ‘knock off,’ and he shone at -that. And, as you say, he’s a low-looking brute, and I shall be glad to -have him off the place. But I don’t like sacking a man.” - -“Don’t know why we ever put him on,” said Jim, through the window. - -“Well, he said he hadn’t a penny, and wanted work. One doesn’t like to -send a man away without giving him a chance. But I’m sorry I kept -Harvey. However, he’s off, or he will be shortly, so we needn’t bother -our heads about him. The bullocks are likely to need all our energies. -Jean, can I rely on your assistance?” - -Jean nodded vigorously. It was clear that the prospect afforded her -undiluted joy. - -“That’s right. And Wally?” Wally grinned, disdaining further answer. - -“Then,” said Mr. Linton, “as I presume I can count on Jim and Norah——” - -“Not that they’re much use,” said Wally, despondently. A large boot -hurtled from Jim’s window, took him in the rear, and he uttered a -startled yell. Recovering his composure, he possessed himself of the -missile and proceeded to swarm up the bare trunk of a tall palm, going -up hand over hand, much like a monkey on a stick. Arrived at the crown -of leaves, he clung with his legs while he tied the boot firmly in with -the laces. - -“Bring that down, Wally, you reptile,” sang out Jim. He made a dash for -the garden, one foot encased in a sock, and, seizing a hoe, prodded -vainly upwards in the climber’s direction. - -“Not if I know it,” said Wally, happily. “Looks lovely up here—like -some strange tropic blossom. Orchid Kangaroohides Jamesobium -Wallistylis. Exquisite new species, flowering once a century. Look out, -Jimmy, I’m going to slide.” - -“Are you?” said Jim with vigour. His eye, roving round in search of a -weapon, had caught sight of a fragment of barbed wire—the remains of a -device of Hogg, the gardener, to keep greedy ’possums from devouring his -rosebuds. It was but a moment’s work to seize it and coil it round the -palm trunk in a long spiral. He stood back, grinning. - -“Better not slide too suddenly, old man!” he said, pleasantly. - -Wally had already begun to move, but he checked himself quickly. There -were not many intonations in his chum’s voice that he did not -understand. He leaned sideways and surveyed the trunk, his face -lengthening involuntarily. - -“Oh!” he said, and paused, apparently seeking for inspiration. “Beast!” - -Jim sat down in a leisurely fashion on the grass and nursed his unshod -foot. - -“It’s a nice morning,” he remarked, conversationally. “Garden looks -jolly well before the sun gets hot, doesn’t it? Tropic blossoms well -out, and all that—including the climbing novelties! And there’s -breakfast,” as the gong sounded. “What a pity to leave it all!” He -gathered himself up, slowly. “So long!” - -“Brute!” said Wally, with fervour. - -“Aren’t you happy?” asked Jim, surprise in his tone. “You ought to -be—I’ve never seen you look so nice! Will you bring me my boot, young -Wally?” - -“I will not,” said the victim, firmly. “Not if I stay here for a week!” - -“The barbed wire will last longer than that,” said Jim, grinning. “Does -it strike you, Dad, that the climbing novelty looks dry?” - -“It’s more evident that it’s annoyed with you,” said David Linton, -laughing. “Better bring him his boot, Wally—it’s his game, I think.” - -“Never!” said the captive. - -“Told you he was dry,” said Jim. “Look at that purple flush—doesn’t -that indicate a need of cooling down?” He disappeared behind a clump of -laurustinus, and returned armed with a coil of hose. - -Norah gave a fresh burst of laughter. “Oh, Jimmy, you won’t!” she cried. - -“Will I not?” grinned her brother, turning on the tap. A light shower of -drops spattered the trunk near the victim’s head—with due regard for -the safety of the dangling boot. - -“My hat, Jimmy, when I get within reach of you——,” said Wally, -laughing. “Put that down, you fiend, and fight fair!” - -“Bless you, I’m not fighting,” said Jim blandly. “I’m watering the -garden!” - -“Yes, you’re Daddy’s useful little son, I know,” returned Mr. Meadows. -“I’ll deal with you when I get down!” - -“Told you water was necessary,” said Jim to his audience, two-thirds of -which had collapsed on the grass, helpless. “Parched, that’s what he is. -Turn on that tap a little harder, Dad, and I’ll give him a really nice -tropic downpour!” - -Mr. Meadows capitulated. - -“Take off your beastly barbed wire,” he said, his tone expressing -anything but pious resignation. “And put on your beastly great boot!” -The boot descended with some force, and caught Jim on the shoulder as he -stooped over his spiked entanglement. “Nice shot—there’s some balm in -Gilead!” said Wally. He slid down, arriving at the ground with some -force, and immediately gave chase to Jim, who had gathered up his -property and fled. - -“No one would think there was any work waiting on this place!” said Mr. -Linton, laughing. “Come to breakfast, all of you—hurry up, Norah!” - -Wally joined them in the breakfast-room, somewhat dishevelled. - -“He’ll be in in a moment—he’s putting on the boot!” he said. “Isn’t he -an uncivilized ostrich? I don’t know how you brought him up in his -youth, sir, but he’s no credit to you. I’d sooner have old Lee Wing, -pigtail and all.” - -“You look a little damp, Wally,” Norah said, kindly. “I hope you won’t -take cold!” To which the injured one returned merely a baleful glance, -before devoting himself to his porridge. - -Jim slipped in unobtrusively, wearing an air of bland composure. - -“We’ll take lunch out, I suppose, Dad?” - -“Yes, I sent Brownie a message some time ago,” said his father. “You’ll -have to run up the horses after breakfast, Jim, and when you’ve caught -ours turn the others out into the big paddock.” - -Jim glanced up inquiringly. It was an unusual command. - -“I wouldn’t trust that beggar, Harvey,” his father said, answering the -glance. “If the horses were close at hand the temptation to borrow one -to get as far as Cunjee might be too strong; but he couldn’t catch one -in the big paddock. It won’t take long to put them back when we come -in.” - -“You’re not going to send him in to the township then?” - -“I’m not,” said Mr. Linton, firmly. “He came carrying his swag, and he -can carry it away—after the flood of bad language and insolence I had -from him this morning, I really don’t feel any obligation to have him -driven in. The walk may give him time to get a little sense—not that -you could put sense into a man of the Harvey type by any known means.” - -“Well, it won’t hurt him—and I don’t see who would have driven him, -anyhow,” Jim said. “Are you letting him have any tucker?” - -“Oh, yes; I said he could get some from the kitchen.” - -“Then he’s got nothing to grumble at,” Jim declared. “Not that that is -in the least likely to keep him from grumbling. I expect it wouldn’t be -a bad precaution to lock up pretty carefully at the stables, Dad.” - -“Certainly, lock up everything,” his father answered. “I’d have been -glad to see him fairly off the place, as Murty and Boone are away—still -Hogg and Lee Wing are about, so there’s really no need—and we can’t -afford the time.” - -“Lee Wing would be sufficient guardian for any place,” said Wally, who -cherished an undying affection for the stolid Chinaman, who did not -return the feeling at all. It was not certain that Lee Wing loved any -one, though Norah was wont to declare that he wrote sonnets to a girl in -China. So far as Australia was concerned, his heart seemed to be given -to his onions, and he regarded Wally with a dubious eye. - -Mrs. Brown came in, favouring the company impartially with her wide and -beaming smile. - -“Will you be boilin’ the billy, sir?” - -“Yes, decidedly,” said Mr. Linton. “It is going to be hot enough to make -tea a necessity, I fancy. And Wally is aching to carry the billy—aren’t -you, my boy?” - -“Personally,” said Jim, “I should have thought it was the breakfast he’s -eaten, on top of about a hundredweight of cherries. Give him some more -coffee, Norah—he looks pensive!” - -“That’s because he has had two cups already—and I don’t allow him -three, as a rule,” said Norah, callously. “However, he’s had a hard -morning, so I’ll be weak—and so will be the coffee. Pass his cup, -Jean.” - -“I don’t know why I come to stay with the Linton tribe,” said Wally, -surrendering his cup and sighing heavily. “I’m not appreciated, and it’s -blighting my young life. Mrs. Brown, may I stay with you to-day and hold -your hand?” - -“You can’t. I got a fair amount to do with it,” rejoined Brownie. “Not -but I will say, Master Wally, you’re the good-temperedest ever I see! -And gimme a boy as laughs!” - -“Well, I’ve thrown myself at your feet often enough, but you won’t pick -me up!” said Wally, much aggrieved. “Some day I will wed another, and -then you’ll know what you’ve lost!” At which Mrs. Brown bridled, and -said, “Ah, go along now, do!” and aimed a destructive blow at him with -her apron. Murmuring something about lunch, she retreated to the -kitchen. - -“I’ll go and run up the horses,” said Jim, pushing back his chair. -“Young Wally, see that you have the saddles out by the time I get them -in, and bring the bridles down to the yards.” - -“Be it thine to command,” said Wally, with meekness. “Mine to obey—when -I’m ready.” - -“Better make it convenient to be ready quickly,” warned Jim. -“Otherwise——” - -He left the sentence dramatically unfinished, and, finding a halfpenny -lying on the mantelshelf, deftly inserted it into his friend’s collar as -he passed him. Wally choked over his coffee, and fled in hot pursuit, -clutching at his backbone as he went. - -“Aren’t they cheerful babies!” said Norah, laughing. “I guess I’ll be -grey-haired long before they grow up. Come on, Jeanie—I’ll race you -getting ready!” The sound of their flying feet echoed down the corridor. - - - - -[Illustration: “‘Bless you, I’m not fighting—I’m watering the -garden!’”] - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - - NOON - - Ah, . . . I remember - The muster of cattle away outback, - The thunder of hoofs and the stock-whip’s crack, - The panting breaths on the warm sweet breeze, - The tossing horns by Rosella trees, - And the whirl of dust, and the hot hide’s reek! - - —_M. Forrest._ - -“ALL aboard!” - -“Are you girls ready? Hurry up.” From the direction of the garden came a -faint hail, which might have been taken to mean anything. - -“Curious things, girls,” said Jim sapiently. Wally and he were leaning -over a fence, five horses ready behind them. “When young Norah’s alone, -she gets dressed as quickly as you or me; but now she has Jean, they -spend ages in getting togged up. And they don’t look any different, no -matter how long they take.” - -“No,” agreed the other masculine observer. “They always look jolly nice, -anyhow. I never can make out what they do, to keep ’em so long.” - -“Oh, tie each other’s hair ribbons, and swap neckties, and things like -that,” said Jim, vaguely. “Nobody ever knows what girls are up to. Of -course, Norah never seemed quite like a girl until she went to school. -But you can see there’s a difference now.” - -“Well—a little,” Wally answered. “But she’s up to all sorts of larks -yet, thank goodness.” - -“Well, I should say so,” said Jim, staring. “They’d have to boil Norah -before they made her prim; and that’s a comfort. I rather fancy she must -have had a pretty woeful time when she went to school first.” - -“Pretty rough on her,” Wally agreed. “She’ll be growing up next, I -suppose—worse luck.” - -“Norah—oh, rot,” said Jim, firmly. “She’s only a kid yet—and will be -for ages. Don’t you go and put ideas like that into her head, Wal.” - -“Me?” rejoined his chum. “What do you take me for? But she’ll get ’em -put in at school, you’ll see, quick enough.” And Jim glowered, muttering -something unkindly about school and its by-paths of learning. - -“Well, I wish they’d hurry up, anyhow,” he said. “Wonder what’s keeping -them.” - -From behind them came a faint snore, and he swung round. Jean and Norah -were already mounted, their heads drooping on their horses’ necks, in -attitudes of extreme boredom. They gave the impression of having sat -there for many hours, and finally succumbed to fatigue and slumber. The -boys burst into laughter. - -“Well, of all the idiots,” said Jim, ungallantly. “How did you get -there?” - -“Came round the back of the stables,” laughed Norah, waking up. “You two -old gossips were muttering away with your heads over the rail—I believe -we could have stolen all the horses without your knowing anything about -it. It’s just extraordinary how boys will gossip—Jean and I never get -lost in our own eloquence, like you and Wally. What were you being -eloquent about?” - -“Never you mind,” said her brother, shooting an amused look at his chum. -“Matters of State too high for your little minds. But you’re not going -to ride Warder, are you, Norah?” - -“No,” said Norah, slipping off Wally’s mount. “I knew it was no good -trying to be quiet if I got on Bosun, bless him!” She patted the brown -pony’s neck, and fished a lump of sugar out of her pocket for him. - -Mr. Linton came hurriedly over from the house. - -“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” he said, taking Monarch’s bridle. “I -had to give Brownie some directions; and Hogg is in tears because -something’s wrong with the longest hose—I left him trying to mend it -with bicycle solution and strips of rubber cut from one of Brownie’s old -goloshes, which she nobly sacrificed on the altar of the garden.” - -“There are always excitements in being out of reach of shops,” Jim said. -“I hope it’s not the hose I used this morning?” - -“Oh, no; your skin’s safe this time!” said his father, laughing. “That -was a shorter one. I don’t like the big one being out of order, in case -of fire; not that a fire at the house is likely—but it’s as well to be -prepared. Stirrups all right, Jean?” - -“Yes, thank you,” Jean answered. Nan, staid stock horse though she was -supposed to be, was impatient to get away, and Jean was walking her -round in a circle, pursued by Wally with anxious inquiries as to whether -she were qualifying for the circus ring. Bosun’s eagerness to start had -been manifested so strongly that Norah had at length given up trying to -restrain him, and was some distance across the paddock, the pony -fretting and sidling, and trying to break into a canter. - -Mr. Linton and Jim mounted, and they all cantered after Norah. She gave -Bosun his head as they came up to her—a liberty he acknowledged by -executing two or three tremendous bounds in mid-air. - -“Mind him, my girl,” her father cautioned. “Don’t let him get his head -down; he’s quite happy enough to buck this morning.” - -“I’ll watch him, Daddy,” Norah panted. The big pony was reefing and -pulling double. She patted his arched neck. “Steady, you old -image—steady!” and Bosun came back to a jerky canter, still longing for -unchecked freedom to put his head down, kick up his heels and race -across the paddock without any handicap of saddle and bridle and rider. -For Jim’s weight he had some respect—but this new featherweight, to -whom he was not yet accustomed, was a different matter; it was difficult -to realize that she had wrists like steel and a curious comprehension of -his moods and high spirits. Yet already Bosun understood that his new -rider was not at all afraid of him; and that is the best foundation of -friendship between rider and horse. - -The gate into the bush paddock was on flat country—the end of the wide -plain on which Billabong homestead was built; but within a few chains -after entering the paddock the ground began to slope upwards until the -flat had given place to a range of low hills, sparsely timbered, and -interspersed with green and quiet gullies, where thick bracken grew. A -week or so back cattle had been grazing all through the hills; big, -scraggy Queensland bullocks, new arrivals from “up north,” and still -wild and shy. Now, thanks to the vagaries of Harvey, there were none to -be seen. They had scattered into the next paddock, where the grass was -shorter and sweeter, and “boxed” thoroughly with the other cattle -already running there. - -“It’s maddening,” said David Linton, scanning the hills with keen eyes. -“I came out here ten days ago, and the bullocks were settling down -splendidly—not half as wild as they were when we drafted them into this -paddock. Now they won’t want to come back, off the clover they are on -now. I’d like Harvey to have the job of mustering them alone on foot!” -Jim whistled. - -“Jolly for the bullocks—to say nothing of Harvey,” he said, laughing. - -“Jollity for Harvey isn’t part of my idea,” his father responded. “But -the bullocks would be dying of senile decay before he completed the job, -I’m afraid; and I’d rather fatten them while they’re young.” - -“I expect you would,” Jim agreed. “Well, I don’t believe there’s a hoof -left in this paddock, anyhow, Dad.” - -“Doesn’t look like it,” Mr. Linton answered. “We’ll scatter a bit and -ride round. Jean had better keep fairly close to me; the rest of you -know where the slip-rails are, and we can all meet there. Be as quick as -you can, all of you.” - -So they scattered into the timber, Jim taking a line to the extreme -left, with Norah nearest to him, then Wally, and, on the right, Mr. -Linton and Jean. Jean had not quite the appearance of having been “born -in the saddle,” as had the others, who had certainly ridden almost as -soon as they had walked; nevertheless, she could be depended upon to -give a very good account of herself on Nan, who combined a cheerful -spirit with great common sense, after the manner of stock horses, and -was quite capable of correcting any mistakes made by a rider unversed in -the ways of cattle. Jean’s experience had been chiefly gained after -sheep in far-off New Zealand, and to muster cattle is very different -work. - -But, like many other silent people, Jean was observant, and even since -coming to Billabong she had picked up a good few points about cattle and -their ways—not a difficult matter where station matters, and the stock -generally, entered largely into the life of every day. She was, -moreover, greatly afraid of making mistakes, and not at all above asking -questions where she needed guidance—two excellent characteristics in a -“new chum.” The man of the Bush is nearly always tolerant to beginners, -and kind in “showing ’em how.” The one individual for whom he has no -time and no mercy is the ignoramus who is cocksure. - -Jean was not exactly a beginner—she had ridden by her father’s side in -New Zealand much too often for that. Her blue eyes were alight with -keenness as they trotted through the timber—now swinging into a canter -where the going was clearer, or pulling up when a stretch of crab-holey -ground threatened risk to horses’ legs. It was very pleasant in the -chequered shadows of the trees, and in the deep gullies where the -night-dews still spangled fern and tussock, and the wild convolvuli -nodded blue and white bells as if in greeting. Pleasant to give a good -horse his head—to let him swing in and out amid the timber, dodging -low-hanging limbs by instinct, and skirting the rough barked trunks -closely. Pleasant to smell the sweet bush scents; to catch the strong -beat of wings overhead where black swans sailed southwards towards the -reed-fringed lagoon; or the shrill scream of parrakeets, swooping into a -wild cherry tree in a green, flashing, chattering crowd. Pleasant, too, -to think of school—very far away, with shuttered windows and great -empty classrooms, with dust lying thick on the desks that were symbols -of hated toil! Quite possibly the caretaker did not permit dust to -linger at all. But it was undeniably cheering to picture it. - -A white blur in a deep gully caught Jean’s eye as they rode, and she -called to Mr. Linton. - -“Is that a bullock lying down?” - -“Good girl!” said her host, approvingly. “Yes, it’s a beast down, and I -should say he can’t get up. Perhaps you’d better not come down, lassie; -just keep straight along this ridge, and I’ll catch you up presently.” -He turned his big black’s head down into the gully. - -It was ten minutes before he rejoined her—by which time Jean had come -to a standstill, partly because she was uncertain as to which way to go, -and partly because of a queer sound that might have been a stock-whip -crack, but sounded somehow different. She looked inquiringly at Mr. -Linton as he rode up. His face was grave and angry. - -“Poor brute! I had to put him out of his misery,” he said. “He’d been -caught in a little landslip and fallen, and his leg was broken. Come on, -Jean, we’re not far from the slip-rails, and the others will be -waiting.” - -Norah and Jim and Wally were sitting on a log near the rails, letting -their horses have a mouthful of grass. They mounted as the late-comers -rode up. - -“We didn’t find a hoof,” Jim said. A glance at his father’s face had -told him that something was wrong, and he brought Garryowen beside -Monarch as they rode into the next paddock, over the rails that Harvey -had flung down the day before. “Did I hear a shot?” he asked, dropping -his voice. - -Mr. Linton nodded. - -“Yes,” he said, curtly. “A beast down in a gully—leg broken. I was very -glad I’d brought my revolver; it’s always best to bring it in country -like this, when you never know if it will be necessary to put an injured -beast out of pain. The sickening part of it is, that the job should have -been done a week ago.” - -“A week!” Jim whistled. - -“I should say so. The poor brute must have lain there in agony for a -good many days—the ground about him was ploughed up with his struggles, -and the leg was in a fearful state. He was nearly dead; the bullet only -hastened things a very little.” - -“And Harvey’s been out here every day,” uttered Jim. - -“Yes—with nothing to do but ride round and see that those cattle were -all right. Of course he couldn’t have helped the accident, but he could -have saved that poor helpless brute days of agony. It’s quite near one -of the tracks, too; there can be no excuse for missing it.” - -“I don’t think Mr. Harvey ever did much riding round,” Jim said. “Going -to sleep under a log is more his form.” - -“Or if he did see it he wouldn’t bother his head about it,” his father -answered. “Well, I’m not likely to see Harvey again, thank goodness, and -that is fortunate for him!” In which, as it happened, David Linton was -very far from the truth. - -There were plenty of cattle to be seen in the paddock they had now -entered. The ground was gently undulating, with clumps of trees here and -there, and in two or three places a blue flash that spoke of water. -Bullocks were feeding in every direction—some quiet and half fat, while -others were raking, long-horned fellows, gaunt and shy, who threw up -their heads and their heels and lumbered off at a gallop at sight of the -intruders. This had generally the effect of making the quieter bullocks -gallop too, and Mr. Linton groaned at the spectacle of so much good beef -deteriorating by unseemly and violent exercise. - -“I had cherished foolish hopes of cutting them out here and coaxing them -back to their own home,” he said. “But there’s not a chance of that—it -will have to be a general muster.” - -“Where do we take them, Mr. Linton?” Jean asked. It was evident that she -did not share any of her host’s troubles—her face was eager and merry, -her eyes dancing as they met Norah’s, who, needless to say, was equally -cheerful over the prospect before them. Mr. Linton laughed as he looked -from one to the other. - -“Pretty sympathizers you are for a worried man,” he said. “I believe -you’re in league with Harvey—are you sure you didn’t bribe him to leave -down the rails? Does it matter at all to you that I drafted out these -bullocks very carefully not long ago—and that now I’ve the job all over -again?” - -“It would matter to me horribly if I were at school and heard about it -in a letter,” said Norah, laughing. “I would be awfully worried and -cross over it—to think of you having such a time! And I would tell Jean -all about it, and she’d be cross and worried, too. But as it is—when -we’re both here, and can relieve you of quite half your anxiety by -helping——!” Whereat Jim and Wally became a prey to great laughter, in -which Jean and Norah joined after a fruitless attempt to ignore them -haughtily. - -“Since it’s no use to expect decent sympathy from you, you can certainly -do all the helping you like,” said Mr. Linton, smiling broadly. “We’ll -muster all the cattle down towards the far end of the paddock, and take -them out through the gate there—we might have a pretty hard job if we -tried to take them through the Bush Paddock. Wally, my lad, just canter -back and put up those slip-rails, will you? Jean, you can’t get bushed -in this paddock, because there isn’t enough timber; we can’t get out of -sight of each other for any length of time. Now we’ll each take a line -and get hold of the bullocks in front of us, and hope as hard as we can -that they’ll go quietly. I believe much is said to be done by hoping, -though I don’t know what happens if the cattle are hoping to stay where -they are!” - -It was soon distressingly evident that such was indeed the high ambition -of the bullocks. They were very contented on the short, sweet clover and -rye grass; they saw no reason whatever to justify being driven towards -some unknown region. For a good many weeks they had been on the roads, -these long-horned Queenslanders, travelling through regions that were -all unknown. Most of them had been very comfortless—bare roads where -scarcely a picking could be obtained, or through runs where fierce -stockmen and unpleasant dogs were jealously indignant if they took so -much as a bite of grass or failed to cover each day the prescribed -number of miles for travelling stock. Now they had come at last into a -peaceful haven, where clover grew thickly, and a creek flowed for their -special benefit. Was it to be expected that they should tamely leave it? -On the whole, the bullocks thought that it was not, and that whoever was -so weak as to expect it must be taught by painful experience the -futility of so hoping. - -The half-fat cattle went readily enough. The tracks were familiar to -them—the crack of a stock-whip was sufficient to start them lazily -along the way towards the gate. They had grown philosophic as they -attained weight; it was known to them now that when mounted people, with -dogs, express an inclination for bullocks to move in a particular -direction, it is as well to be acquiescent and move. But the -Queenslanders had learned no such lesson, or, if they had learned it, it -had been forgotten since they had exchanged the roads for Billabong. -Tracks meant nothing to them; they galloped madly hither and thither, -made off for the farthest corners of the paddock, with tails wildly -streaming in the air, and dodged back with a persistence calculated to -reduce the most patient drover to wrath and evil words. Their spirits -infected some of the staider cattle, and they also fled to the four -winds, with a lumbering agility wonderful in such mountains of beef. It -was quite too hot a day for such pranks, and their owner groaned as they -fled. - -“You can see the condition simply evaporating from them,” he declared. - -The heat did not seem to affect the Oueenslanders at all. But the horses -were soon sweating and the riders almost as hot, while the dogs became -almost useless, and sneaked off to the creek to wallow luxuriously in -the fern-fringed pools. Wally looked after them eagerly. - -“Lucky brutes,” he uttered, “wish I could follow their example.” - -He was tailing behind a dozen bullocks—eight of the quieter section and -four of the “stores.” For once they seemed inclined to go quietly, and -Wally began to breathe more freely, with visions of handing them over to -augment the little mob he could see Jim bringing alone, away to the -right. Then came a sudden descent before him, where a little hill ran -down into a grassy hollow. The Oueenslanders began to trot down it; then -the slope proved too much for them, and the trot broke into a canter and -merged to a stretching gallop, striking across the plain. There was no -chance of catching them—Wally could only bring up the rear, sending the -spurs into old Warder in his fruitless hope of heading them before they -should reach Jim’s mob, and upset their serenity. - -The cattle had all the best of it. Here and there one dropped out of the -chase, panting, or broke back to try to reach the open country they were -leaving; but the leaders made for Jim’s little mob, even as the swallows -homeward fly. They scattered it hither and thither; heels flew up, and -hoofs pounded, as they tore in different directions, and not one the -right one. Jim’s eloquence failed him. He could only give Garryowen his -head in somewhat vague pursuit, since it could not be definitely said -which beast to pursue. - -“Hard to know which has most call on a fellow’s time,” Jim muttered -grimly as he galloped. - -Further across the paddock, Jean was having troubles of her own. The -width from fence to fence was all too great for five to guard; although -Mr. Linton had said she could not get lost—which she knew very well—it -was lonely enough in the wide space, catching only an occasional glimpse -of fellow-musterers to right and left across the undulating ground. The -bullocks had no sense of chivalry; they treated her with scorn and -derision, and her hopes of being of definite use in the muster faded -swiftly. - -It seemed easy enough to bring along the bullocks directly in front, but -when Jean came to put the instruction into practice it was not nearly so -simple. Some went quite calmly, insomuch that swift affection kindled -for them in her breast; others merely looked at her, walked a few steps, -and began feeding again. Pressed more closely and shouted at very -energetically, they departed in divers ways, making it quite impossible -to pursue them all. She could only hope that they came in the path of -the other musterers and meet their due fate. Finally, a big spotted -brute, with a great raking pair of horns, doubled when, in her -ignorance, she failed to “keep wide” near him, and slipping past her, -made for the open paddock behind her. Jean dug her heels into Nan with -all her energy, wishing to her heart that they were spurred—a wish -slightly unfair to the brown mare, who was only too ready to do her -best. They fled in hot pursuit. - -The bullock had made all possible use of his start, and he redoubled his -speed as the hoofs pounded in the rear. A rise ahead prevented his -seeing any fence. He pictured safety in the way he was going, could he -but outstrip pursuit—safety and peace, and good grass, away from -worrying humans and the rattle of stock-whip cracks. So he topped the -rise and raced on; and behind him came the brown mare, entirely beyond -Jean’s control now. Nan knew precisely what should be the duty of any -self-respecting stock horse, and she was very certain that no -featherweight upon her back should prevent her from doing it. She swung -outward just at the right moment—a movement which very nearly disposed -of Jean, who felt the saddle fleeting from under her, and only saved -herself by grabbing at the pommel. It taught her caution. She realized -that she could not at all tell what this determined steed was going to -do. Therefore she sat very tightly and kept a hand close to the kindly -pommel as they raced past the bullock. And it was as well she did. - -Nan swung in sharply, and headed the bullock off. For a moment it seemed -as if he would race away diagonally across the paddock. Then he propped -uncertainly in his gallop for a moment, and immediately the brown mare -propped too, turning “on a sixpence” in a way that would certainly have -disposed of Jean but for her timely grip. As it was, she went forward -upon Nan’s neck, losing both stirrups as she went—and had barely -wriggled back into the saddle with a violent effort when the bullock was -ready for further action. He uttered a low bellow, moving his head -uncertainly. - -“Shoo! Shoo!” cried Jean, wildly. “Get along! Oh, I wish I was a man, or -a dog, or a stock-whip!” - -Something in the shrill voice checked the bullock, or else the sight of -the brown mare, eager to do battle again, made him realize the vanity of -bovine wishes. He turned sharply, and raced back along the way he had -come, with Jean in hot pursuit—atop of Nan, clinging for dear life, -with both feet out of the stirrups—Jean, oblivious of all save the joy -of conquest, and uttering spasmodic and breathless shouts of “Shoo!” The -bullock raced as though the end of the world were approaching for him. -Ahead was a group of other cattle; he shot into the midst of them and -pulled up, uttering an indignant bellow. - -Nan slackened, visibly uneasy at the dangling stirrups, which had, -indeed, acted as flails, beating her with great ardour throughout the -race. Jean managed to pull her up, and to get her feet in again. Pride -rested on her crimson brow. - -“Oh, I hope Norah saw!” she uttered. - -Then, from some unseen part of the paddock she saw a riderless horse top -a ridge and race towards her. - -“Oh!” said Jean, “oh! it’s Bosun!” Her voice was a little wail of -distress. She dug her heel into Nan, and cantered out to meet the -runaway, her heart in her mouth. - -It was not Bosun, however, but Warder, Wally’s mount. He came to a -standstill as the brown mare and her rider appeared across his path, and -looked considerably ashamed of himself, since it is no part of the duty -of a stock horse to run from his rider, should misfortune overtake that -luckless wight. Then from the same direction came Jim, galloping, with a -broad grin on his face. He changed his course and came round when he saw -the two horses close together. - -“Good girl, Jean!” he sang out. “I’ll catch him.” And Jean swelled with -joy at the carelessly given word of praise. - -Warder stood quietly enough while Jim came gently on Garryowen, speaking -soothing words until he was near enough to grasp his rein. - -“Thought I’d have a lovely chase after him,” Jim said. - -“Is Wally hurt? Warder didn’t buck with him, did he?” Jean asked -anxiously. - -“Not he—Warder’s no buckjumper,” returned Jim. “No—the silly old -mule—it was all his fault!” - -“Whose—Wally’s?” Jean asked, as he paused. - -Jim laughed. - -“No, Warder’s,” he said. “Put his foot into a crab-hole and turned a -somersault—neatest thing you ever saw! Wal. shot about a hundred yards; -luckily he landed on a soft spot, for he’s not hurt. There he is, lazy -beggar; he ought to be coming to meet us.” - -Wally held no such view. He was stretched at full length on the grass, -his felt hat pulled over his face. As they rode up he came slowly into a -sitting position. - -“Bless you, Jimmy! Much trouble?” - -“Don’t bless me,” Jim said. “Jean had him nearly caught.” At which Jean -flushed with embarrassment and pride, and said something entirely -incoherent. - -“Come along, you lazy rubbish! I say!” said Jim, in sudden alarm, -“you’re not hurt, really, are you, old man?” - -“Not a bit,” grinned his chum, jumping up. “Merely lazy, as you -truthfully remark, and besides, you were so busy that there didn’t seem -any need for me to be more than ornamental.” He dodged a flick from -Jim’s stock-whip, and swung himself into the saddle. - -Far across the paddock they could see Norah in hot pursuit of a bullock. -Bosun was hardly trained after stock yet; so far he lacked the amazing -instinct that comes to horses, making them understand precisely what a -bullock will do next—often some time before the bullock himself knows. -The brown pony was only too willing to gallop; that was simple; but he -was weak in the delicate science of checking and heading a beast, of -propping and swinging so as to anticipate every froward impulse in his -bovine brain. It made Norah’s task no easy one, for the bullock was a -big, determined Queenslander, with a set desire for peace and freedom. -There was no chance of using a stock-whip, since Bosun was far too -excited to permit such a liberty. She could only gallop and try to head -him, and shout—her clear voice came ringing across the grass. Finally -determination in the pursuer proved stronger than the same quality in -the pursued, and the bullock gave in. He turned and trotted sulkily -back, with Bosun dancing behind him. - -So they galloped and shouted and raced through the long hot morning -until they were all hoarse and tired, with tempers just a little frayed -at the edges. Even Jean and Norah were of opinion that there may be less -fun in mustering than they had dreamed. Bosun was a distinctly tiring -proposition in such work as this, his lack of training, coupled with his -excitability, making him anything but easy to ride. Many times a bullock -got away from Norah because she had been unable to turn her pony—since -Bosun saw no reason why he should not sail on to the end of the paddock -when once he got going. On one occasion he did actually get out of hand, -and bolted a long way, scattering the cattle in his mad career. -Altogether it was a strenuous morning, and they were all very thankful -when persistent effort succeeded in getting all the bullocks together -and through the gate, and so across the next paddock to a set of yards -built for just such emergencies, to save driving stock the long distance -back to the homestead. - -“Eh, but I’m thirsty,” said Wally, slipping Warder’s bridle over a post -and turning to take Bosun. “Norah, you look jolly tired.” - -“I’m all right,” Norah answered. “I only want tea, and buckets of it. -But this fellow makes your arms ache; he’s been trying to bolt all the -time. I’d have been more use riding an old cow, I believe.” - -“Don’t you talk rubbish,” said Jim, leading Nan and Garryowen up to the -fence. “But I tell you what, old girl, you’re going to ride my neddy -after lunch. He’s quite a stock horse now, and won’t be nearly so hard -on your arms.” - -“Well, I don’t like shirking,” Norah said, looking doubtfully at Bosun. -“He’s such a beauty, too, Jimmy—only he doesn’t understand yet.” - -“Of course he doesn’t—you can’t expect it,” said her brother. “You -wouldn’t care for it if he went like an old sheep, naturally. He’ll be -all right after a little regular work with the cattle. Anyhow, you want -a rest.” - -“And you’re sure you’re not too heavy for Bosun?” said Bosun’s owner, -doubtfully, looking at Jim’s long figure. - -“I thought that had something to do with it,” Jim grinned. “Don’t you -worry, my child; I won’t squash your pretty pet!” To which Norah -responded by turning up an already tilted nose, and proceeding to unpack -the lunch valise, which had bumped somewhat cruelly on Warder’s saddle -all the morning, considerably to the detriment of the hard-boiled eggs. - -Lunch was simple; they boiled the billy at a little fire in a green -hollow where there was no grass dry enough to risk burning, and drank -great quantities of tea in the shade of a big she-oak tree. At first -Norah and Jean declared that they were too hot to eat; but they revived -considerably after the first fragrant cup, and found Brownie’s -sandwiches very good. Then Jim emptied the inconsiderable remains of the -tea over the fire and stamped it out carefully, separating the embers; -and the two boys took the horses for the drink that could not be allowed -them until they had cooled down. After which the girls professed -themselves ready to start; but Mr. Linton ordered half an hour’s -“smoke-oh,” with a keen eye on two faces that were quite too sun-kissed -to look pale, but were certainly a little weary. So they all lay flat in -the shade, and all but the squatter went to sleep almost immediately, -while he sat propped against the she-oak trunk and smoked lazily. The -half-hour had stretched almost to an hour before he woke them. - -“Come on, you sleepy-heads!” he said, smiling at them. “Time to get -busy.” - -“Ugh-h—I’m stiff!” uttered Wally, wriggling, with an agonized -countenance. “I think I’ve been tied in a tight knot, judging by my -feelings.” A small twig caught him neatly on the back of the neck, and, -forgetting his stiffness, he sprang up and gave chase to Jim, who was -already at the horses. - -“Oh, I’m so hideously hot!” Norah grumbled. - -“Or hotly hideous?” called out Jim, who looked provokingly cool. - -“Both, I think. All the same, that was a nice sleep. Don’t you feel -better, Jean?” - -“Heaps,” said Jean, who was busy in removing burrs and fragments of -grass from her divided skirt. “At least, I will feel heaps better after -I’ve got over feeling as horrible as I do just now.” She pushed the hair -away from her eyes. “If only one could have a bathe!” - -“We’ll have one to-night, in the lagoon,” Norah told her. - -“You won’t have much chance of anything to-night except supper and bed, -if we’re not quick,” said Mr. Linton. “Come along—you’ve rubbed that -pony long enough, Jim. Get in behind those bullocks.” - -He took his place at the drafting gate at the end of the race—the -narrow lane, high fenced, connecting the big yard, where the cattle had -been put, with two smaller yards. The boys whistled to the dogs and -slipped in through the fence, urging the bullocks down the race. There -Mr. Linton, with a quick turn of the gate, directed their further -progress—the Queenslanders into one yard, the older bullocks into the -other. Norah and Jean, debarred by the distinction of sex from active -participation in these joys, took up a commanding position on the cap of -the fence, occasionally emitting a warning yell when a bullock turned -back at the very moment when he should have been entering the race. - -Drafting cattle is far more pleasant work after a shower of rain. Even -mud is better to work in than dust, which rises, and chokes and blinds -you, and annoys the bullocks, and makes the entrance to the race -puzzlingly obscure. Luckily these yards were not very often used, and -had a thin carpet of grass, otherwise the job would have been a more -difficult and lengthy one. As it was, when the cattle were finally -divided into their respective mobs, and the boys came out of the yard, -their features were somewhat indefinite, thanks to the coating of dust -that covered each cheerful countenance. - -Mr. Linton rammed home into its socket the peg that secured the drafting -gate, and rejoined his assistants. They mounted—Norah this time on -Garryowen—and Jim let out the Queensland cattle, which immediately made -off in the direction of water. Withdrawn from the creek, not without -difficulty, they were hustled into the Far Plain and driven along the -way they had come that morning, with no chance of nibbling the sweet -green clover that was provokingly soft under their feet. - -Near the slip-rails Mr. Linton turned to Norah. - -“We won’t have any more trouble,” he said, “they’re tired, and will go -through into the Bush Paddock quietly. You and Jean can cut back if you -like, and let out the others.” - -“All right, Daddy,” said Norah, happily. “And bring them along into this -paddock?” - -“Yes, it will save time. You’ll find they’ll be only too ready to come.” - -So Jean and Norah cantered back over the springy turf. The sun was -setting, and the trees sent long shadows far across the paddock. A -little breeze had sprung up from the west, swelling gradually to a cool -wind, that fanned their hot faces—it was quite easy to forget the heat -and burden of the day. - -The big yard gate swung open—it was one of Mr. Linton’s “notions” that -there should be no gate on Billabong that should not open easily, -without forcing a rider to dismount. The cattle came out gladly, -stringing across towards the clover of their own home, Jean and Norah -behind them, happy in the certainty of really being able to render -service. Just as the last slow beast had wandered through the open -gateway, the three masculine workers came cantering back. - -“Well done!” said Mr. Linton, with approval. “Did they give you any -bother?” - -“Not a bit, Dad.” - -“That’s right. But I’m afraid it’s going to be too dark for that bathe, -Jean.” - -“Can’t be helped,” said that lady, philosophically. “There are tubs!” - -“And there’s tea!” said Wally, thankfully. “I don’t know which I want -more at this moment.” - -“I do, then,” said Norah, surveying him with critical eyes. “There isn’t -a doubt!” - - “Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men - May read strange matters,” - -quoted Mr. Linton, smiling. “Not fair to jibe at you, Wally, old man, -when you earned your stripes in a good cause.” - -Wally put his hand up to his face, where little runners of perspiration -had made streaks in the grimy surface. - -“I’m used to ingratitude,” he declared. “I’ve a good mind to make a -non-washing vow, like those Indian Johnnies and keep off soap and water -for seven years!” - -“Then you’ll certainly have your meals out in the back yard!” Norah -assured him. They shook their tired horses out of a walk and cantered -home across the paddocks through the gathering dusk. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - - A LITTLE YELLOW FLAME - -There’s rest and peace and plenty here, and eggs and milk to spare; -The scenery is calm and sane, and wholesome is the air; -The folk are kind, the cows behave like cousins unto me— -But, please the Lord, on Monday morn I’m leaving Arcady. - - —_Victor J. Daley._ - -AS she had predicted, Mrs. Brown had not found idleness during the -morning hours. The individual who is popularly supposed to supply -mischief for unoccupied hands could never be said to number Brownie -among his clients. Jim was wont to say that she was a tiringly busy -person—with a twinkle in his eye. Her huge form moved with a quite -amazing lightness, and she was rarely to be seen sitting still. On the -infrequent occasions that she subsided into a chair she produced wool -and needles from some unseen receptacle about her person, and knitted as -though her life depended on it. - -There had, however, been no time during this long, hot morning for such -gentle arts as knitting. Brownie was short-handed, the races having -taken away some of her helpers; in addition, it was baking day, and that -in itself was sufficient for any ordinary woman. The bread had gone into -the great brick oven comparatively early. By the time it came out there -were other things ready to go in—mammoth cakes and pies, and kindred -delicacies. No oven cooks with the perfection of a brick one. Brownie -never allowed its heat to be wasted on the days that it was lit for the -bread baking. Then “her hand being in,” she proceeded to compound lesser -matters—little cakes, cream puffs, rolls, whatever might be calculated -to appeal to the healthy appetites that would return to her that -evening. “They do take some cookin’ for, they do—bless them,” she -mused. - -She was outside the kitchen, rooting in the dark recesses of the brick -oven with an instrument resembling a fish slice made into a Dutch hoe, -when an unfamiliar step sounded on the gravel behind her. At the moment -her occupation was quite too engrossing to be relinquished for any step. -She did not turn until her explorations had been crowned with success, -and she had backed away from the oven door, bearing on her weapon a -delicately-browned pie. She deposited it carefully on a little table -placed handily, shut the oven door, and faced round. - -“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “I thought you’d gone, Harvey.” - -“Wasn’t any ’urry,” said Harvey, a short, weedy individual with a crafty -face. “Boss said I could ’ave some tucker.” - -“He thought you was goin’ to get it hours ago,” said Brownie. “What have -you been doin’, hangin’ about like this?” - -“Haven’t been doin’ anything,” the man answered sulkily. “Been campin’ -on me bed; there’s no points in tearin’ off in this sort of weather. It -don’t hurt you, I suppose?” - -Brownie stared at the insolent face much as she might have regarded some -weird curiosity among the lower animals. - -“No,” she said, after prolonged contemplation, during which Harvey had -shuffled uneasily. “It don’t hurt me at all; only I happen to be in -charge of the place, and it’s my business to see Mr. Linton’s orders -carried out. So I think the best thing you can do, an’ the most -comferable for all concerned, is to take yourself off as soon as -possible.” - -“Oh, I’m goin’—don’t you fret,” Harvey said. “Wouldn’t stay on the -beastly place, not if I was paid. A nice name I’ll give Linton in the -township—an’ the Melbourne registry offices, too! He’ll know all about -it when he wants to engage new men.” - -“You poor little thing!” said Brownie, pityingly. “Funny now, to see you -that full of malice an’ bad temper—and to know how little notice any -one’ll take of you! All the districk knows the sort of employer Mr. -Linton is—he don’t never need to send to Melbourne for his hands. Why,” -said Brownie, becoming oratorical in her emotion, “there’s alwuz men -just fallin’ over themselves to get work on Billabong—an’ better men -than you’ll ever be! You go an’ talk just as much as you like—it’ll -never hurt my boss. But I wouldn’t advise you to get into Master Jim’s -way—him bein’ handy with his hands!” - -“That pup!” muttered Harvey, malevolently; “why, ’e’s only a kid; I -guess I could manage him pretty easy if I wanted to.” - -“If you want any tucker off me, I’d advise you to keep a civil tongue in -your head,” warned Brownie. “Master Jim ain’t to be discussed by you, -not near my kitchen anyhow. If you ask me, I’ll tell you straight I -don’t think you’re fit to menshin his name!” - -Harvey took a step nearer, almost threateningly. But Brownie had handled -too many insolent swagmen in her day to be in the least afraid of this -undersized little man, with the rat face. - -“Now, don’t you be foolish, Harvey,” she advised. “I’m not likely to be -scared of you, or any one like you; and if I was, there’s old Hogg just -over the fence in the garden, an’ Lee Wing in the onions, an’ they’d put -you into the lagoon as soon as look at you if they caught you givin’ me -any cheek. That sort of thing don’t go down on Billabong.” - -Harvey’s answering snarl might have signified anything unpleasant. -Brownie regarded him reflectively. - -“Fact is,” she remarked confidentially, “I’m really a bit sorry for you. -I don’t know what kind of a mother you had, but it’s me certain belief -that she never spanked you half enough as a boy. You don’t strike me as -having had much spanking, an’ I’m not too sure as you wouldn’t be the -better for it now. What’s the good of goin’ on like this?—just a -useless waster! Whatever on earth do you think you’re goin’ to make of -your poor little life?” - -“Ah, get out!” said Harvey, not at all impressed by this impassioned -oration. “What’s it got to do with you or any one else?” - -“Very little,” said Brownie, majestically. “You ain’t likely to be in -danger of any one here breakin’ their hearts with worryin’ over you, -anyhow. Deary me! I hope Providence is with them turnovers in the oven, -or else they’ll be burnt black on me!” She waddled hurriedly into the -kitchen and rescued the tarts—not too late. Rising with some difficulty -from shutting the stove door, she found Harvey behind her. - -“You’ll have to be off, Harvey, you know,” she said, firmly. “I ain’t -got time to talk to you, even if I wanted to, which I don’t; an’ Mr. -Linton’d be annoyed if he came home an’ found you still encumberin’ the -place. Take my advice an’ try an’ get another good job, an’ stick to it -this time. You’re young yet, you know, an’ there’s no reason why you -shouldn’t turn over a new leaf an’ do well.” (“Only, his face is agin -it!” she murmured to herself.) - -“Aw, don’t go preachin’,” Harvey muttered. “There ain’t no chance for a -poor beggar of a workin’ bloke in this country——” - -“Don’t you talk that kind of silly nonsense to me,” returned Brownie, -warmly. “If ever a country was God’s own country for a man not afraid to -use his hands, an’ with pluck to tackle the land, it’s Australia! I got -three sons on the land—an’ if I had thirty-three I’d put ’em all there! -But unless the Angel Gabriel came along an’ took you by the back of the -neck an’ shoved you, you’d never work—an’ I think even Gabriel ’ud have -his hands full. There, I ain’t got time for you. Your tucker’s here; I -got it ready early this morning.” - -“Can’t I stop an’ have dinner?” he whined. - -Brownie hesitated. - -“No, you can’t,” she said at length. “Dinner’s not for an hour, and Mr. -Linton left pertikler directions that I was to have your tucker ready -so’s not to keep you from makin’ a start. He wanted you to get off the -place, an’ I won’t take the responsibility of keepin’ you when you ought -to have been gone hours ago. There’s enough tucker there for three -meals—the meat’ll only go bad on you, in this weather, if you don’t use -it.” She thrust the parcel of food—a generous bundle—into his hands. -“I’ll give you a bottle of milk, too, if you like,” she added. - -“Milk be darned!” said Harvey, savagely. “I’ll let the districk know you -turned me out without a meal!” - -“The districk’ll be interested,” responded Brownie, with great -composure. “Now, be off, or I’ll call the men—an’ Hogg’s temper’s none -too good these warm days!” - -Harvey’s snarl was not a pleasant addition to an unpleasant countenance. - -“Mark my words, I’ll——” he began. - -“Mark my words, you’ll find the hose turned on you if you don’t go out -of here politely!” said Brownie, her good-tempered old face flushing. -“Get along with you, an’ don’t be a silly young man!” She turned her -back upon him decisively, and opened the oven door with a snap. Harvey -stood still for a moment, his evil features working furiously. Then he -shambled out of the kitchen and across the yard, pursued hotly by Puck, -the Irish terrier, who barked at his heels in extreme wrath. - -“Wonderful how that blessed dog hates vermin!” uttered Brownie. She -watched Harvey until he was out of sight—seeing him pick up his swag -outside the gate and shuffle away down the track. Even the swag was -typical of him—badly rolled and lumpy, with ends sticking out of the -straps in various places. Puck came back presently, apparently -disheartened by this species of quarry, that was not even sporting -enough to show fight; and presently a bend in the tree-fringed track hid -the shambling figure. - -“A good riddance!” uttered Brownie, turning from the window. “Wonder if -he favoured his pa or his ma?” Ruminating on this important point, she -returned to cleaner matters. - -Harvey, however, did not go far. - -It was very hot, and his swag, although it contained little enough, was -heavy upon his weedy shoulders. Even the bundle of food bothered him. It -took up his free hand, and made it hard to keep away the flies that -buzzed persistently about his face and crawled into the corners of his -eyes in maddening fashion. He tried balancing it upon his stick across -his shoulders, but the pressure of the stick hurt him, and the parcel -kept slipping about, and nearly fell more than once. He abused it with -peevish anger, including the heat, and Mr. Linton and Billabong -generally in his condemnation. Finally, he stopped and kicked the dust -reflectively. - -“Blessed if I start in this darned heat!” he uttered. - -He looked about him. To return to the house was clearly unsafe. He -scowled, remembering Brownie’s determined face, and her evident resolve -to rid Billabong of his presence. Ahead, there was very little cover for -a few miles, and Harvey was rapidly sure that he did not intend to walk -so far in the heat. Clumps of box trees were scattered about, but a man -sheltering in their shade was easily visible from the house, and he had -no mind to be visible. Where could a lone wayfarer dispose of his -unobtrusive presence? - -Looking back, a little to the west of the stables, a thick clump of -low-growing trees caught his eye—lemon gums, planted by Mr. Linton as -shade in a little paddock where a few horses could be turned out when it -was necessary to keep them close at hand. They grew in a corner, hedged -in on two sides by a close-growing barrier of hawthorn. It was a -tempting place, cool and shady. A man might lie there unseen of any one, -although it was but a few chains’ distance from the stables. - -Harvey glanced round. No one was in sight. Behind him the homestead -slumbered peacefully, its red roofs peeping from the mass of orchard -green. That abominable dog had retreated, much to his relief. Puck -always caused him to feel uneasy sensations in the calves of his legs -when he rent the air behind him with yelps. It occurred vividly to -Harvey that it would have been gratifying to have been able to kill Puck -before he went away. Then he left the track, and hurried across the long -grass to the little clump of trees. - -He reached it unseen, and flung himself on the grass, dropping his swag -and bundle thankfully, and tucking himself as far back into the shade of -the hedge as the hawthorn spikes would allow. It was the only green -thing; the lemon gums looked dry and parched, and the long grass of the -little paddock was quite hard and yellow. Still, it was a good nook for -a lazy man; the trees hid him from the stables and the house, and the -hedge from any other point of view. He stretched out luxuriously—and -then jumped up with a nervous start, as an old kerosene tin, nearly -hidden under the hedge, rattled and banged as his boot caught it. Harvey -told the kerosene tin just what he thought of it, flinging it further -away in childish anger. Then he lay down again, and went to sleep, his -mean little face half hidden under his battered hat. - -When he awoke it was long past the usual dinner hour, and he was hungry. -He unpacked Brownie’s parcel, abusing her in a muttered snarl as he did -so, and fell to work eagerly on the provisions. Then he dived into the -recesses of his swag, and produced a whisky bottle which he had already -visited several times during the morning, and washed the meal down with -the raw spirit. He tried to sleep again, but sleep would not come, so he -propped himself against the trunk of a lemon gum and smoked cigarettes -during the hot afternoon, occasionally seeking solace from the bottle. -After a time the latter gave out, which annoyed him greatly; he flung it -into the hedge, and continued to smoke. - -As long as the whisky lasted Harvey had no complaint to make about his -day, which was, indeed, a picnic of the kind his soul most desired. He -considered that a man not compelled to work, and supplied with food, -whisky and cigarettes, has very little more to ask in this troublesome -world. It was regrettable that, even to obtain these, it had been -necessary to perform something even faintly resembling work. Still, work -did not exist on his present horizon; his cheque would last a little -while, and beyond that he did not trouble to think—at least, while the -whisky yet remained to him. - -But when the bottle ran dry his contented mood rapidly fell away from -him. He had been dreaming gentle, whisky-assisted day-dreams of suddenly -rising to fame and fortune—the means he most favoured consisted in -buying a horse out of a costermonger’s barrow, for, say, 2_s._ 11_d._ -and training it in secret until he won the Melbourne Cup with it. It -made him very happy, but he could not dream it unassisted; and the -bottle was empty, leaving him not quite sober, yet a very long way from -drunk—an unpleasant position. Instead of such joyous visions, cheerless -spectres came to him—work, and policemen, and bosses; all three equally -distasteful. He went over and over the recital of his woes—of Mr. -Linton, bloated capitalist and slave-driver, rolling in wealth and -grinding the poor beneath his large boot; of himself, Harvey, toiling -heavily for a pittance, his lot unredeemed by kindness or fair -treatment. Put in that way, it made quite a pathetic case. Harvey grew -sorrier for himself with every minute and more and more convinced of the -injustice of his lot. That Mr. Linton worked harder than any man he -employed, and that he himself had not made the smallest effort to earn -his wages, mattered to him not at all. The squatter represented the -hated class that owned money, while he had none; and the fact was -sufficient condemnation in Harvey’s eyes. He passed from the stage of -whining to that of showing his teeth—somewhat hampered by the fact that -no one was near to be impressed by the exhibition. - -He had worked himself into a sullen fury by the time the sun suddenly -dipped behind the western pines, and he realized that it was late—that -he should have been on the track long ago. It made another item in his -list of grievances. Harvey hated walking—the fourteen miles to Cunjee -seemed a hundred as he sat on the grass and thought about it. Still, he -did not dare to remain until the others should come home—willing enough -to hurt them, could he find a secret chance, he was as little anxious to -face Mr. Linton and Jim as he was to meet Murty and the stockmen, whose -criticisms, he felt, would be pointed. - -He lit a cigarette, letting the match drop carelessly, and a little -trail of fire sprang up in the grass in quick answer. Harvey put it out -with a casual blow from his hat; even he knew a man must not play tricks -with matches in summer. And then the whisky, working on his own evil -mind, put a thought into him, and he bit off the end of his cigarette in -sudden excitement. - -It was a mad thought, but he toyed with it as he sat there, smoking -fiercely, until it did not seem so mad after all. Other men had been -punished for oppressing the poor. Other squatters had known what it -meant to offend the working man—had seen their sheep go unshorn, their -lambs undocked, their bullocks left untended. Other swagmen had done -what was in his brain to do—had left a fire carefully smouldering near -a station boundary so that it should get away into the long grass. It -had always seemed to him a particularly smart thing to do—the sort of -thing to serve a squatter jolly well right, and prove to him that he was -not going to ride rough-shod over every one. There would be exquisite -enjoyment in administering just such a lesson to Billabong’s owner. Yet, -how to do it? - -He was not devoid of cunning. Risk to his own skin was the only thing -that really mattered to him. He turned over in his mind various plans, -and rejected all of them because he could not quite see his way out. -Once started in the long, dry grass, a fire would travel like a flash. -There would be no time for the man who lit it to make his escape, for -the alarm would have been given before he had gone half a mile. He could -not even plead an escaped spark from a camp fire. He had no billy, and -with the thermometer at 110 degrees in the shade, there was no possible -excuse for a man to light a fire, unless he wanted to brew tea. And -short shrift would be given to the “swaggie” careless with pipe and -matches in such weather, with the grass like a yellow crop over the -sun-baked district. It was really very difficult to be an incendiary, -with a due regard for your skin. - -Then the old kerosene tin he had kicked away earlier in the afternoon -caught his eye, and he gave a low, triumphant whistle. There was an old -trick; he had heard of it in Gippsland, if a man wanted to light his cut -scrub before the law allowed him to burn it. You put a candle, alight, -under a tin, and then rode away, leaving the little sheltered flame to -burn slowly down until it came to the tinder-like grass. By that time -you were probably inspecting cattle at a farm ten miles off, so that no -one could say you had been near your own property to start the fire. It -was a very happy way of proving an alibi, and, whatever the neighbours -might think, particularly if your burn had spread to their paddocks and -involved them in loss, the police could say nothing to you. - -“Why not?” - -Harvey asked himself the question quite cheerfully. He had a candle. It -had occurred to him that the one in his room might be useful, so he had -packed it in his swag. The tin appeared to have been put there by a -thoughtful Fate. Everything was playing into his hands. Already it was -almost sunset. The candle was nearly new, and it would burn long enough -to let him get a long distance away. Even if the cracks of the old tin -should show a faint glow, no one would notice it behind the clump of gum -trees. And once burned to the grass—well, the grass would do the rest. - -He took out the candle, and made a little hole in the ground to act as a -socket, pressing it tightly into position. Round it he cut the tall tops -of the grass, so that the blaze should not come too soon, laying them -round the base—a carefully-prepared little mat of tinder. Then he -rolled up his swag and made quite ready to start. - -He lit the candle. The flame burned steadily in the still, hot air. -Then, gently, he inverted the kerosene tin over it, peeping through a -hole in the side to make sure that the little yellow flame was still -alight. It seemed a little weak—perhaps there was not enough air. So he -slipped a stick under one edge, tilting it very slightly, yet enough to -admit a breath. He nodded, pleased with his improvement. - -“I guess that’ll about fix you, Mr. David Linton!” he muttered. - -There was a hole in the hawthorn hedge near him. He pushed his swag -through and crawled after it. No one was in sight. He cast a hurried -look round. Then he rose and almost ran from the spot—from the rusty -kerosene tin and the little yellow flame. The twilight shrouded him—a -mean figure, slinking in the shadow of the hedge. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - - MIDNIGHT - - When the north wind moans thro’ the blind creek courses, - And revels with harsh, hot sand, - I loose the horses, the wild red horses, - I loose the horses, the mad red horses, - And terror is on the land! - - —_Marie E. J. Pitt._ - -DUSK fell, and the stars came out to ride in a blue-black sky, before -the sound of horses’ feet, galloping, floated to the quiet house at -Billabong. Mrs. Brown came out on the verandah, one hand at her ear, -listening. - -“Here they are—an’ thank goodness!” she uttered. “I’m never easy in me -mind when they’re out on them young horses—not as anything ever -happens, but who’s to say it isn’t goin’ to? It’s always a relief, like, -to see them come scrimmagin’ in!” - -Hogg, a dim figure in the gloom of a big clump of hydrangea, merely -grunted. Norah considered that a serious realization of the claims of -his name had induced Hogg to practise grunting. It was a fine art with -him, and capable of innumerable shades of expression. - -Just now he was hunting snails—his dour face occasionally revealed in -an almost startling manner by gleams from the tiny lantern he carried. - -“Watter will always bring them,” he remarked. - -“Eh?” asked Brownie, sharply. - -“Ay. The place was free a week back—an’ noo they’re crawlin’ all -through it—rapacious beasts!” - -“What on earth are you saying, man?” demanded Brownie, bristling. - -“Tes the snails, Mistress Broon. Whiles, ’a wes thinkin’ there wes none; -but sin’ ’a’ve been soakin’ this pairt o’ the gairden they’ve made ma -life a burrden. ’A ken fine there’s nae gairdener wull get to heaven gin -he has to deal much in life wi’ snails!” said Hogg, desperately. - -“Nasty beasts!” said Brownie sympathetically. She shuddered as a -crunching sound came from under Hogg’s boot, and fled indoors; and the -Scotchman worked on, pondering upon the peculiar and painful -susceptibilities of women. “It makes ma heart glad to scrunch ’em!” he -reflected, demolishing half a dozen of his enemies with a massive boot. - -The riders trotted into the stable yard, tired, but cheerful. - -“Coming home was the best part of the day,” said Norah, happily, -slipping off and beginning to unbuckle Bosun’s breastplate, leaving -Garryowen to Jim. Garryowen had carried her like a bird; but Norah had a -fancy for letting her own property go. - -“I think you can put Bosun in the stable to-night,” her father said; -“Monarch and Garryowen, too; they deserve a bit of hard feed.” - -“And don’t Nan and Warder?” protested Jean. - -“Yes—but they aren’t used to it,” said Mr. Linton, laughing. “These -three are pampered babies, and the others are matter-of-fact old -stagers.” - -“Nan’s a dear!” said Jean, indignantly. She caressed the brown mare’s -long nose. - -“I’ll slip over after tea and feed them,” Jim said. “They’re a bit hot -now.” - -“Very well,” his father answered, leading Monarch into the dark recesses -of the stable and returning for Bosun. “Better leave the others in the -yard, too, until you come over; then you can give them some chaff, just -to set Jean’s mind at rest.” He pulled that lady’s hair gently. “Make -haste, we’ve kept poor Brownie unconscionably late.” - -Brownie showed no signs of having been delayed. She met them smilingly, -and called Wally “poor dear!” when he simulated extreme fatigue. Tea was -a mighty meal, and before it was over Norah and Jean felt their eyelids -drooping. It was still very hot in the house. Outside, a wind began to -blow fitfully from the west. - -“Go to bed, both of you!” ordered Mr. Linton, as they rose from the -table and went out through the long windows upon the verandah. “You’re -both knocked up. What’s that light moving?” - -“That’s Hogg, snail hunting,” Jim answered. - -“I’ll be fined for working him overtime some day,” said his father. -“Most of them are only too glad to knock off, but Hogg’s a demon to -work.” - -“This isn’t work, it’s sport!” grinned Jim. - -“I should think Hogg’s dreams would be haunted by the screams of -slaughtered snails!” Wally said. “Wonder how many of their scalps he’s -entitled to wear at his saddle bow—slain in gentle and joyous combat! -He’s a mighty hunter.” He yawned, cavernously. “Jim, if you want me to -help you feed those horses before I go to sleep you’d better hurry.” - -“Come on,” Jim said, swinging himself over the low railing of the -verandah. “Then I’ll race you to bed, if you like. Good-night, kids!” - -“Kid yourself,” said Norah, in great scorn. “Jean, first into the bath -gets it!” Uttering this mystic prediction, she kissed her father -hastily, and fled upstairs, with Jean toiling in her wake. Sounds of -much splashing kept the bathrooms lively for some time. Then Billabong, -clean, refreshed and profoundly sleepy, tumbled into bed and became -oblivious of the world. - - * * * * * - -Norah woke from a confused dream of Hogg, mounted on an immense -Queensland bullock, and chasing a battalion of snails down Mount -Kosciusko. Variety was lent to the vision by the fact that Kosciusko had -become an active volcano, and was in wild eruption behind the Scotchman, -who was silhouetted blackly against a background of burning lava. _And -the snails were screaming._ - -For a moment she did not think she could be awake. The ridiculous dream -had been vivid, and still the glow filled her room. Then again came the -sound she had dreamed, and Norah was suddenly broad awake, and, flinging -herself out of bed, fled to the window. She uttered a cry, and tugged at -Jean frantically. - -“Whatever’s the matter?” asked Jean sleepily. - -“Quick, tell Jim! Call him! Oh, hurry, Jean, the stables are on fire. -I’m going—the horses!” She was groping for shoes and flinging on a -coat. Then she tore downstairs, shouting as she went. From the stables, -as she stumbled out upon the verandah, came again the sound of her -dreams, and she caught her breath in a sob. For no one who has ever -heard it can forget the horror of a horse’s scream. - -The stables were burning fiercely. One end, the westward end, that held -the buggy house and harness rooms, was a sheet of flame; but the fire -had not yet fairly seized upon the whole, although the door of the loose -boxes showed trails of smoke coming from within. She could hear the -trampling of hoofs, jostling, terrified, and then a long whinny of utter -fear, rising again to a scream. Sobbing, she wrestled with the stiff -bolt of the door. - -Across the garden came a shout—Jim’s voice. - -“Come away from that, Norah! Come back, dear. They’ll trample over the -top of you.” He was running desperately towards the little figure -against the lit building. - -“They’re burning!” said Norah, sobbing. The fastening yielded, and she -flung one door back, unable to see anything for the dense smoke. She -called the horses by name, pushing open the lower door, and had barely -time to jump aside when Monarch and Bosun bolted out, frantic with fear. -Further back, the scream came once more. - -“Oh, it’s Garryowen!” Norah gasped, “and his door’s shut; and if I don’t -go in, Jim will.” She took a long breath, a child’s fear fighting -against pity and love. Then she put her arm up, as if to guard her eyes, -and stumbled into the smoke. - -Within, it was almost impossible to breathe. Fierce little shoots of -fire came through cracks in the wall that showed a mass of flame beyond; -and the heat was choking and deadly. Already the roof was burning; the -hay in the loft above had caught, and the flames were shooting fifty -feet above the stables. In his box, Jim’s big bay thoroughbred was -rearing and kicking, mad with terror. Even when Norah had managed to -open his door, he would not come out to face the unknown horrors. She -called him, trying to steady her voice—knowing that to venture within -his box in his maddened state was little short of suicide. From outside -she could hear Jim’s voice, shouting for her, sharp with anxiety. - -“Oh, I’ll have to leave him!” Norah sobbed. “The fire’s coming through -the roof. Oh, Garry, dear, do come out!” - -Above the loose box the ceiling split open for about a yard, and a -shower of burning fragments came down. They struck Garryowen on the -quarter—and the great horse, screaming, plunged through the open door -and out like a whirlwind to the glimpse of star-lit sky that showed -through the further doorway. Behind him Norah staggered feebly, brushing -burning particles from her hair—holding one hand across her mouth in -the vain effort to keep out the choking smoke. Within sight of safety, -consciousness left her; she tripped, falling face downward on the wooden -blocks. - -Jean’s terrified voice at his door had awakened Jim almost before Norah -had flown downstairs. The glow in his room did not put the fear into his -heart that flashed there at the stammering words— - -“Norah’s gone over!” - -“Norah—she mustn’t!” the boy gasped. He flung himself past Jean, -shouting to her to warn the rest of the house, and raced across to the -burning stables. At the gate of the yard Monarch and Bosun almost were -upon him—they swerved in their maddened gallop, missing him by a hair’s -breadth as he ran. But there was no sign of the little sister. - -He peered through the smoke wildly, calling to her. For all that he -knew, his own horse was already out, safe in some dark corner of the -yard; that Norah had gone into the burning building did not enter his -head. He searched for her, shouting her name more and more loudly. A -sudden terror came upon him lest the horses should have knocked her down -as they rushed out—he sprang to the open doors, in sick fear of finding -her hurt—senseless. But nothing was visible—nothing but the rolling -clouds of flame-shot smoke. He paused, irresolute. - -Then he heard Norah’s voice at Garryowen’s box, and even as he leapt -forward, amazed and despairing, came a clatter of hoofs on the wooden -pavement, as the bay horse bolted out in his last wild dash for safety. -His shoulder just brushed Jim as he plunged through the doorway, but the -touch was enough to send the boy staggering back, almost falling. He -recovered himself with an effort, dashing into the stable. - -Beyond him, above Garryowen’s loose box, the roof split gradually, and -the roar of inrushing flames filled his ears. They lit up the dark -interior, for a moment even stronger than the cruel smoke. Then he saw -Norah at his feet. He picked her up, holding her with her face pressed -against him to save her from the burning fragments that filled the -air—staggering out, grim and determined, with his breath coming in -choking gasps. Then his father’s voice rang in his ears, and he saw -Wally’s face dimly and felt their hands as they drew him and his burden -to safety. - -He put Norah down on the grass gently, a limp, unconscious figure. A -voice he did not recognize as belonging to him was gasping something -about water, and he heard Wally’s swift feet, that seemed to go and come -all at once——. They were splashing water on Norah’s face, but she did -not move; and suddenly he heard a dry sob break from his father, more -terrible in its agony than any sound could ever be again. Perhaps it was -in answer to it that Norah’s eyes flickered a little and presently they -opened more widely—red-rimmed eyes, half blind—and she smiled at them -faintly. Her smoke-grimed lips moved in words that sounded like “all -right.” - -Jim got to his feet and moved over to the fence, his shoulders shaking -as he gripped the pickets. - -“I thought she was dead,” he said; “I was jolly well sure she was dead.” - -Voices and shouting were coming from the men’s hut. Behind him a long, -thundering crash echoed to the sky as the stable roof fell in. Then his -father’s hand was on his shoulder. - -“Steady, old chap,” said David Linton, “she’s all right. Get to the hose -in the garden quickly, Jim. The house has caught.” - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - - THE BATTLE UNDER THE STARS - - This is the homestead—the still lagoon - Kisses the foot of the garden fence, - Shimmering under a silver moon - In a midnight silence, cold and tense. - - —_W. H. Ogilvie._ - -SARAH, the housemaid, was at the big bell of the station, ringing it -wildly. Long after every man and woman on Billabong was awake and busy, -Sarah continued to ring. She said afterwards that it seemed to ease her! - -A flying fragment from the burning loft had been carried by the wind -across the gardens to the oldest part of the homestead—wooden rooms -that were now used as storerooms and out-offices. In five minutes they -were blazing fiercely. - -Jim and Wally had raced for the garden fence, vaulting it, and landing -in the midst of a bed of pansies. - -“Lucky for us they weren’t roses!” gasped Wally, picking himself up out -of the soft soil. “A fellow wants to have on more than pyjamas for this -sort of a lark!” They tore on, ploughing over Hogg’s most cherished -flower beds. - -“Where is that blessed hose?” Jim uttered, wrathfully. He dived into -various dark corners where taps existed. Then he stopped, frowning. - -“Hogg was mending it. Confound the delay!” he said. “Start with the -little one, Wal.; you know, it’s near that palm you were climbing. I’ll -find Hogg.” Shouting, he ran round the corner of the house, and collided -violently with the gardener, hurrying to meet him with the great rubber -coil in his hands. The shock sent them both staggering, and Hogg sat -down abruptly. - -“Ye took me—fair i’ the wind!” he gasped. “Run on, laddie. A’ll get ma -breath presently.” - -Flames were shooting from half the windows upstairs when Jim at length -got his hose to work. The fire had caught the wooden balcony, spreading -from it to the upper rooms, and downstairs the kitchen was burning, and -the back verandah had caught. Mr. Linton, running over after carrying -Norah far out of the way of heat, and leaving her in Jean’s care, saw -how the flames were being sucked into the house through the wide-open -back door. - -“Won’t do!” he muttered. Dashing in through the smoke, and gripping the -almost red-hot door-handle with his felt hat, he managed to slam the -door. He staggered off the verandah just as the flooring collapsed. - -Black Billy, his eyes apparently starting out of his sable face, was at -his elbow. - -“Run round and shut the front door, if it’s open, Billy!” Mr. Linton -said, coughing. - -“Plenty!” murmured Billy. He disappeared round the corner of the house, -a black streak of fear. - -On the eastern side the window of Mr. Linton’s office stood open. The -squatter swung himself through it with the lightness of a boy, and ran -to his desk, which stood open, its roll-top flung back. It held papers -that must not be risked—he thrust them into his overcoat pockets -hurriedly; then, spreading the cloth from a little table on the floor, -he emptied the drawers upon it, working by the dancing glow of the -flames that lit up all the surroundings. Already the heat and smoke were -almost unbearable. - -“The safe’s fireproof,” he muttered, glancing towards its -corner—“that’s a comfort, anyhow!” - -The room was becoming untenable. Clouds of smoke rolled in from the -windows and crept, snake fashion, under the door. On the side of the -room nearest the fire the plaster began to crack, and the paper -shrivelled on the wall. It was difficult to breathe—David Linton’s -panting gasps seemed to choke him. He knew he could do no more. He added -to the heap on the table cloth the portrait that always stood upon his -desk—Jim and Norah’s mother, sweet and young, smiling from her silver -frame. Then he gathered all into a bundle and groped his way to the -window. - -Every available hose was already at work. The hiss of the water, falling -on the flames, sounded like snakes angry at being disturbed. Beneath the -office window, flames were licking at the wall; the woodwork at one side -was blazing and crackling. David Linton hesitated, one hand on the -sill—it was hot, and his load made him awkward. - -From the garden came Jim’s shout. - -“Half a minute, Dad! Don’t try to get out yet!” - -The stream of water from his hose played suddenly upon the burning -woodwork, splashing on the sill, and sprinkling the man who stood -waiting. Above him the flames died out sullenly. Jim played on the hot -bricks of the wall for a moment, in fear less already the fire in the -house should be finding its way into the office—then he shouted again, -deflecting the stream, and Mr. Linton climbed out, bringing his bundle -carefully after him. He carried it across the garden, nodding at his -son. - -Behind the house, Murty O’Toole and Brownie had organized a bucket -brigade. - -“I can’t carry buckets up to much,” Brownie observed, “but I can pump a -treat!” She worked the force-pump manfully, never ceasing, though the -heat from the burning house made the metal portions of the pump too hot -to touch, and her plump old face was crimson, and her breathing -pitifully distressed. Sarah and Mary were in the line, passing the -brimming buckets to the men with the easy swing of young bush-trained -muscles. Mr. Linton, arriving at a run, shook his head. - -“There’s not a hope of saving this part,” he cried. “We’d better -concentrate on the front. Brownie, you’re not to work like that—go over -to the pepper trees and look after Norah. No—I’d rather you did——” as -Brownie hesitated, unwillingly. “It would really be a relief to me to -know you were with her—she said she had no burns, but I don’t see how -she can have escaped without any.” Even at that moment a twinkle came to -his eye, for at the hint Brownie uttered a dismayed exclamation, and -fled away across the yard to her nursling. With Norah needing her, the -house might burn, indeed! - -“We’ll save what we can from the front rooms, Murty,” the squatter went -on, leading the way with rapid strides. “Some of you get to work with -the buckets—there are four of them hosing. It’s a mercy the water -pressure’s good.” - -They flung open the French windows in the front of the house. Already -every room was filled with smoke; the men dashed in and out, holding -their breath—bringing out silver and pictures and books first—the -things that no insurance money could replace. Jim, from his post near -the tap, smiled a trifle to see his father’s first load—his own silver -cups, trophies of his years at school. Stopping at the edge of the lawn, -Mr. Linton bowled them down the sloping grass, and hastened back for -more. - -From the window of the drawing-room came Dave Boone and Black Billy, -staggering under the piano. At the edge of the verandah Billy’s end -slipped and jarred heavily upon the kerb, the strings setting up a -demoniacal jangle. Billy uttered a yell of terror, and bolted down the -lawn, being recalled with great difficulty by Mr. Boone, who expressed a -harassed wish to “break his useless black neck.” But the dusky one -firmly refused to touch the piano again. - -“That pfeller debbil-debbil!” he said. “Baal me hump him any more.” He -rescued the drawing-room fire-irons with heroic determination, while Mr. -Linton came to the assistance of the bereft Mr. Boone, whose wrath was -tending towards apoplexy. - -Lee Wing held the nozzle of one hose firmly directed upon a dangerous -point. He was a peculiar spectacle. The prudence characteristic of the -gentle Chinaman had induced him to put on as many clothes as possible -before leaving his hut, and he was attired in at least three suits. They -were uncomfortable, but he had the consolation of knowing where they -were; and a spark might send his hut up in smoke at any moment. Upon his -bullet head were four hats, each pulled down firmly. His pockets bulged -with miscellaneous possessions, his pigtail floated behind him. If the -worst should come to the worst, Lee Wing was clearly prepared to start -back to China. - -His hereditary enemy, Hogg, worked not far off. As a rule the feud -between the gardeners did not slumber, but just now they were as -brothers. Hogg’s mind was too full of woe over the destruction of his -garden to be troubled by what he was wont to call contemptuously the -Yaller Peril, and Lee Wing, his trim expanse of vegetables well out of -harm’s way, felt something resembling pity for his competitor, whose -flower beds were mere highways for trampling feet. Even as they looked, -Billy dashed out of the house carrying a heavy carved box—Jim’s -handiwork—and dropped it upon a delicate rose bush with a loud, -satisfied grunt. At the spectacle of slaughter Hogg gave a heavy groan -and a sudden involuntary movement of the hand that held the nozzle of -his hose. It turned the stream of water from its course—a matter of -which Hogg, gazing open-mouthed at the destruction of his hopes, was -quite unconscious, until a wrathful shout brought him back to earth with -a start. Then he realized that he was hosing Jim vigorously, deaf to his -very justifiable remarks. - -“What on earth are you up to?” sang out the dripping Jim. He burst out -laughing at the Scotchman’s dismayed face. “I’m not sorry for the bath, -Hogg, but the house needs it more!” - -“Losh!” gasped Hogg, gazing at his handiwork—paralysed past any -possibility of apologizing. He swung the stream of water again to the -fire, muttering horrified ejaculations in broad Scotch. - -The stable had almost burned itself out. A dull, red glow came from the -smoking bed of coals that smouldered angrily between the broken and -blackened brick walls. One of these had fallen, with a crash that echoed -round the hills; the others still stood, black holes gaping in them -where windows had been, like staring eyes that watched the ruin of the -pride of Billabong—for there had been no such stables in the district. -Harvey’s little plan had hit even harder than that ingenious gentleman -had anticipated. - -Beyond the fences the cattle stood in interested groups, fascinated by -the fire; further off were the horses, thrilled with more fear than the -stolid bullocks, but unable to tear themselves from the mysterious glow. -But Monarch and Garryowen and Bosun were away at the farthest corner of -the homestead paddock, quivering and starting yet, their hearts still -pounding at the memory of the terrible moments in the burning stable; -and on Garryowen’s quarter were round, burnt patches, while half of his -tail was singed off. Yet pain was not so dreadful to the big -thoroughbred as Fear—fear that he could not understand, that had come -to him in the darkness, and was yet knocking at his heart. - -At the house the fire was slackening. Billabong was built of solid -brick, so that there was not a great deal of inflammable material for -the flames to fasten upon; and they had been discovered soon—not -allowed, as in the stables, to obtain a firm hold. The defence had been -prompt and thorough. David Linton blessed the forethought, coupled with -the love of his garden, that had made him equip the homestead with water -laid on from the river as well as with many tanks. They had needed it -all. - -He was at the hose now, having relieved Jim, to whom the business of -standing still and holding a nozzle had been no light penance, despite -the necessity of the proceeding. One of the men had taken Wally’s place, -and the boys had dashed off on a tour of the homestead, to look for any -possibility of a further outbreak. David Linton looked at what remained -of his house, his mouth stern—going back in memory to the time of its -building, and the old, perfect companionship that had been by his side. -Now the rooms that he and his wife had planned were black, smoking -ruins, and the roses she had planted were shrivelled masses on the wall. -There was no part of the house that did not have its memories of her, so -vivid that often it seemed to him that he saw her yet, flitting about -its wide corridors and the rooms that even until now had borne the magic -of her touch. All the years the home had helped him to fight his -loneliness and his longing. Now——. He stared at it with eyes suddenly -grown old. - -Then across the grass came a little odd figure—Norah, still grimy with -smoke, and very shaky, with Brownie’s arm near her to help, and Jean not -far off. Norah, her coat open over her blue pyjamas, and her hair, in -her own phrase, “all anyhow,” about her, and her grey eyes swimming as -she looked from the house to her father’s face. David Linton put down -the hose and held out his hand to her silently, and Norah clung to him. - -“Oh, Daddy, poor old Daddy!” she whispered. - -Jim came round the corner with long strides; even odder than Norah, for -he had not waited to put any overcoat over his pyjamas, and he had been -drenched and dried, and blackened and torn, until he resembled a -scarecrow in an advanced stage of disrepair. He gripped his father’s -free hand. - -“It’s not so bad, Dad!” he said, cheerily. “Lots of the old place left. -We’ll all build it up again, Dad!” - -David Linton smiled at his children, suddenly. - -“Right, mates!” he said. “We’ll build it up again!” - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - - BURNT OUT - - And the creek of life goes wandering on, - Wandering by; - And bears for ever its course upon - A song and a sigh. - - —_Henry Lawson._ - -A DROVER on the road with store cattle miles away saw the glow in the -sky that night, and reported it next morning to a farmer driving in to -Cunjee; and before noon half the township seemed to be out at the -station. - -Little Dr. Anderson, in his motor, was the first to appear. He found the -Billabong inhabitants straying about the ruins to see what remained to -them. The overseer’s cottage and the men’s hut had given them shelter -for the remnant of the night after the fire had been finally -extinguished, except Mr. Linton and Jim, who remained on guard until -morning. - -Within, the devastation was only partial. Most of the rooms in front -were practically untouched, though all had been damaged by water. The -back of the house had suffered most; little but the walls were left. Jim -brought a long ladder for further explorations, for the stairs were -unsafe, being burnt through in two places. He found that the rooms -belonging to his father, Norah and himself bore traces of flood rather -than of fire. The walls were cracked with heat, but otherwise they were -intact. But the water had done its worst, and he groaned over the -spectacle of Norah’s pretty room, its red carpet a vision of discoloured -slush, and the white furniture stained and blistered. All its little -adornments were lying in confused heaps, swept down by the water. It was -a gruesome sight. - -Within the wardrobe and chest of drawers, however, clothes were unhurt. -Jim took up a rope and lowered bundles down to his father, so that when -Norah and Jean awoke, very late in the morning, it was to find clean -raiment laid out for them by Brownie, and breakfast waiting for them in -Mrs. Evans’s neat little kitchen. - -“Isn’t it a mercy?” Jean confided to Norah. “Last night it didn’t seem -to matter at all running round before all Billabong in a nighty and a -coat, but I went to sleep wondering how they’d look in the daytime!” - -Brownie and the maids were the most to be pitied, for they had lost -everything but a few cherished possessions, snatched up as they ran out -of the house. Mary and Sarah were not hard to clothe—but Mrs. Brown was -a different proposition. The united wardrobes of Mrs. Evans and Mrs. -Willis, the men’s cook, contrived something in the nature of a rig-out -by dint of ripping out gathers and tucks and using innumerable safety -pins. “I’m covered, if not clothed!” said Brownie, “an’ thankful to be -anything!” - -Mr. Linton had resolutely put away his trouble, and was inspecting the -remains with a keen, businesslike face. - -“It’s a matter of restoring rather than rebuilding,” he told Dr. -Anderson, who was spluttering with indignation still, more than an hour -after his arrival. “The insurance should cover the damage, I fancy; and -the back of the house can be built after more modern notions, which -won’t be a disadvantage. The stables? No—they will go up again -precisely as they were. And the place will look the same, in the main; -we don’t want it altered. It will look abominably new, of course; our -old mantle of ivy and virginia creeper is destroyed, and the walls will -be bare for a long while. Poor old Hogg is mourning over his dead roses -and the general havoc in his garden. - -“Well, you take it calmly!” said the little doctor, explosively. - -David Linton shrugged his shoulders. - -“No good doing anything else,” he answered. “And, after all, I have such -immense cause for thankfulness in getting Norah out of that confounded -place unhurt, that nothing else really matters. It’s a nuisance, of -course, and what I’m to do with the youngsters’ holidays I don’t know; -it’s pretty rough on them. But—good Lord, Anderson! I want to go and -feel the child whenever I look at her, to make sure that she’s really -all right! It seems incredible—I never saw so hideously close a shave!” - -“Norah’s absolutely matter of fact over it,” the doctor said. “I rebuked -her in my best professional manner for doing such a mad thing, and she -looked at me in mild surprise, and remarked, ‘Why, if I hadn’t, Jim -would have gone!’ It seemed to finish the argument as far as she was -concerned. Wonder if your fellows have got Harvey?” - -“Oh, they’re bound to get him,” the squatter answered. “And I wouldn’t -care to be Harvey when they do.” - -Murty O’Toole had commenced detective operations with break of day. He -had not ceased to abuse himself for failing to be at the stables in time -to help. - -“A set of useless images,” said he, in profound scorn. “Slapin’ an’ -snorin’ like so manny fat pigs—an’ Miss Norah an’ Masther Jim on the -shpot! Bad luck to the heat an’ the races!—ivery man jack of us was -aslape almost before we was in bed, ’twas that tired we was. But that’s -no excuse!” Murty refused to be comforted, and only derived faint solace -from the determination to find out the cause of the fire. - -It did not require sleuth-hound abilities. The little paddock had burned -in patches, for here and there were green expanses of clover that had -checked the fire, and the hawthorn hedge had helped to stop it at the -boundary; but the west wind had taken it straight across to the stables, -and in the morning light the brown, burnt ground led Murty quickly to -the clump of lemon gums. Behind them a kerosene tin stood, inverted, and -the burn began there. When the stockman picked it up the blackened -square of charred grass beneath it showed out sharply. - -“That ain’t the kind of thing that happens wid an accident,” said Murty -between his teeth. He looked further. - -Behind the burnt ground, the place where a man had lain was easily -visible in the long grass. There were cigarette butts in plenty, and a -little further away an empty cigarette box. Murty pounced upon it in -triumph. - -“Humph!” he said. “Harvey smokes that brand—an’ no wan else on -Billabong.” - -Then the whisky bottle, half hidden in the hedge, caught his eye, and he -picked it up. He was sure now. The smell of fresh spirit was still in -it; and he had seen the bottle in Harvey’s room two days before. And, -with that, black rage came over Murty’s honest heart, and for five -minutes his remarks about the absent Harvey might have withered that -individual’s soul, had he indeed possessed such a thing. Then Murty -replaced his evidence, and went for Mr. Linton. - -He led the men away from the homestead an hour later, each as keen and -as enraged as himself. - -“Mind, boys, you’ve promised not to hurt him,” David Linton said, “He’ll -get all that’s coming to him—but I won’t have the station take the law -into its hands. We can’t be absolutely certain.” The men were certain: -but they had promised, unwillingly enough. They went down the paddock at -a hand-gallop, with set, angry faces. - -Wally had ridden into Cunjee, to send telegrams and letters, and with an -amazing list to be telephoned to Melbourne shops, since the township -could not rise to great heights in the way of personal effects, -saddlery, or even groceries. Billabong was, in patches, blankly -destitute. Not a decent saddle was left, save those belonging to the -men: buggies, harness, tools, horse feed—all had gone in the -destruction of the stables. Norah and Jean were completely hatless, -their head gear having been downstairs; and as Jim was wont to keep most -of his every-day possessions in a downstairs bathroom where he shaved -and dressed, he had nothing left but his best clothes, and a Panama -sternly reserved, as a rule, for trips to Melbourne. - -“Nice sort of a Johnny you look, to be wandering round ther—ruined -ancestral hall!” Wally told him derisively. “You might be a bright young -man on the stage. It’s hardly decent and filial for you to think so much -of personal adornment at a time like this!” Further eloquence was -checked by sudden action on the part of his friend, who was too unhappy -over his own grandeur to bear meekly any jibes on its account. He had -headed the telephone list with urgent messages for riding breeches and -leggings, and a felt hat of the kind his soul desired. There was -something little short of appalling to Jim in finding himself suddenly -without any old clothes! - -Following Dr. Anderson came riders from other stations, policemen from -two or three scattered townships, and many other people anxious to help, -so that the fences near the homestead were soon thickly occupied with -horses “hung up” in every patch of shade. There was, of course, nothing -to do. Nor could Billabong even maintain its reputation for hospitality, -since it had been left almost without provisions. The storeroom -containing the main quantities of groceries, as well as the meat house, -had been amongst the first parts of the house to catch. Bags of flour -could be seen, burst open, in the ruins, and thick masses of what looked -like very badly-burned toffee, and had been sugar. The men’s hut had fed -the exiles, and further supplies would be brought out from Cunjee by -Evans in his buggy—the only vehicle, except the station carts and -drays, left on Billabong. - -“It’s really rather like being cast on a desert island,” said Jean. - -Norah laughed. - -“I guess it’s like that to all the people who have come out,” she said. -“Just fancy, Jean, we can’t even give them a cup of tea. There’s milk, -and that’s all there is. Isn’t it awful?” - -But the visitors had not come to be fed. They condoled, and looked round -the ruins, and made strong and unavailing comments, and then, in the -Australian fashion, offered all they had, from their houses to their -buggies, to fill in any deficiencies. Invitations to find shelter at -neighbouring places poured in upon Mr. Linton and his family. The -squatter would not leave the homestead, but he considered the question -of sending Jean and Norah to spend a week in Mrs. Anderson’s friendly -care, finally referring the matter to the girls themselves, and finding -them so horrified at the idea that he promptly withdrew it. - -“I don’t want to crowd Evans’s cottage out altogether,” he said, half -apologetically. - -“Well, Mrs. Evans has a spare room, and she lets us wash up, and I’m -going to bath the baby to-night!” said Norah. “And she wants us to -stay—and Jim and Wally and you are going to sleep in the tents, anyhow. -Oh, Daddy, don’t send us away. I would hate it so!” - -“All right, all right, you needn’t go!” rejoined her father, laughing. -“But it will be very dull for Jean: you can’t ride or drive, and the -cottage isn’t as comfortable in this heat as Billabong.” - -But Jean reassured him, hastily. She had no desire to migrate to a world -of strangers. - -“It is hot, though, Daddy, that’s a fact,” said Norah. “I was -thinking——” She broke off, watching him a little doubtfully. - -“When you think in that tone, I have generally no chance of escape,” -said he. “What is it this time?” - -“Well, there’s another little tent.” Norah hesitated, half laughing. -“Jim would put it up and fix up bunks for us. Couldn’t we come and join -your camp down there?” She pointed towards the lagoon, where Jim had -already taken two small tents and was hunting about for ridge poles. The -bank looked cool and shady, fringed with groves of wattles and big box -trees. “We could keep our things up at Mrs. Evans’s cottage, and dress -there: but it would be lovely to sleep in a tent. That little room is -certainly hot.” - -Mr. Linton pondered. The lagoon was only a hundred yards from the -cottage. Certainly, there was no great objection to the plan. And Norah -was still bearing traces of the previous night, in white cheeks and -heavy eyes: it was hard to refuse her anything in reason. - -“Well, you may,” he said, “if you can arrange matters with Jim.” - -“Oh, can we, Daddy? You are the blessedest——!” said Norah. Suddenly he -was alone. Two strenuous figures in blue frocks descended upon the -hapless Jim. - -“Whatever’s the matter?” Jim asked, looking up as they raced down upon -him. “Not another fire? And aren’t you two hot enough without doing -Sheffield handicaps across here?” He had borrowed a pair of blue -dungaree trousers from the wardrobe of Mr. Evans, and was, in -consequence, much happier. - -“Want you to put us up a tent,” Norah said, cheerfully. “You don’t mind, -do you, Jimmy?” - -Jim whistled. “What does Dad say?” - -“Says we can if you’ll fix it. You will, Jimmy, won’t you? We’ll help -you ever so. It would be so lovelier than sleeping in a hot little -room!” - -“Oh, all right,” said her easy-going brother. “You’ll have to make -yourselves scarce in the mornings, you know—this is our bathing place.” - -“Yes, we know. We’ll do whatever you say,” said Norah, with amazing -meekness. “You’re a brick, Jimmy. Shall we carry down the tent? I know -where it is.” - -“No, you won’t,” said Jim, severely. “You can’t try to commit suicide -over-night and then make yourself a beast of burden in the morning. Wal. -and I can bring it when he comes out; he ought to be back soon. Just you -sit down in the shade and think of your sins.” - -“That won’t keep me busy,” Norah retorted. But she did as she was told, -and they sat peacefully under a big weeping willow until Mrs. Evans -summoned them to dinner. - -After lunch there was nothing to be done at the homestead. Mr. Linton -had gone to Cunjee in Dr. Anderson’s motor to transact much business and -talk on the telephone to Melbourne insurance people and building -contractors. Wally appeared about three o’clock, hot and dusty, and -reported the condition of the township. - -“Every one’s talking fire,” he said. “The police and half the men are -out after Harvey. I’ve never seen Cunjee so excited—it seems quite -appropriate that they’ve still got the Christmas decorations in the -streets! They’re considerably withered, of course, but it seems to -indicate that something’s in the air. I guess Harvey will have a lively -time when they catch him.” - -“Wish I could be in at the death,” said Jim, grimly. His father’s wish -had kept him from joining the pursuit, but he had stayed unwillingly. - -“Yes, it wouldn’t be bad fun, would it? Wonder is they haven’t got him -already. He must be pretty well planted,” Wally said. “He’s certainly -the man you’ve got to thank: if he’d a clear conscience he’d be in -Cunjee now, instead of nobody knows where. Whew—w, it is hot! Come and -have a swim, Jim.” - -“No swim for you yet awhile,” Jim told him, grimly. “You’ve got to come -and fix camp.” - -“Me?” asked Wally, blankly. “Of all the unsympathetic, slave-driving -wretches——” - -“Yes, that’s so,” grinned his chum. “All the same, you’ve got to come.” - -“I felt there was something in the wind,” said Wally, lugubriously. “I -left you as beautiful as a tailor’s block, and looking very like one, -only woodener, in your best suit; and I find you in dungarees and a -shirt, and hideously happy. It isn’t fair, and me so hot. Isn’t he a -brute, Norah?” - -“Not this time,” laughed Norah. “You see, it’s our tent you’ve got to -fix. Go on, and we’ll get a billy from Mrs. Evans and brew afternoon tea -for you down by the lagoon.” - -So they spent the hot hours in the shade, while the boys made the little -camp ship-shape, their tent and that of Mr. Linton close together near -the bank, and the girls’ a little way off in a clump of young wattles. -Jim fixed up bunks in bushman fashion, with saplings run through bags -endways, and supported on crossed sticks. - -“You won’t want any mattresses on those,” he said: “they’re fit for -anyone. What about blankets, Norah?” - -“Brownie’s been drying the ones you amateur firemen soaked last night,” -said his sister, unkindly. “They’re all water-marked, of course, but -they’re quite good enough for camping.” - -“First rate,” Jim agreed. “We’ll get ’em. Come along, Wally.” - -“More toil!” groaned that gentleman, who had been working with the -cheerful keenness he put into all his doings. “Why did I come here?” - -“Poor dear, then!” said a cheerful, fat voice. The creaking of a -wheelbarrow accompanied it, and preceded Mrs. Brown, who came into view -wheeling a load of bedclothes. - -“Brownie, you shouldn’t, you bad young thing!” exclaimed Wally. He -dashed to take the barrow, and was routed ignominiously. - -“Never you mind—I can manage me own little lot,” said Brownie, -cheerfully. She pulled up, panting a little. “Lucky for me it was all -down hill; I don’t know as I could have managed to get it up a rise.” - -“You oughtn’t to have wheeled that load at all,” Jim said, with an -excellent attempt at sternness. It appeared to afford Brownie great -amusement, and she chuckled audibly. - -“Bless you, it pulled me here!” she answered. “I come down at no end of -a pace. Now haven’t you got it all just as nice as it can be. Makes me -nearly envious!” - -“We’ll fix up a tent for you, if you like,” Jim told her. “Just say the -word.” - -“Not for me, thank you,” said Brownie, hastily. “This open-air sleeping -notion is all very well for them as likes it—but I’m used to four walls -an’ a winder. I like something you can lock—an’ where can you lock a -tent, Master Jim?—tell me that!” She propounded this unanswerable query -with an air of triumph. “Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to any bunk to put -me into it, bunks not bein’ built on my lines. I’d hate to come down in -the night, like that there Philistine idol in the Bible.” - -“Why, you wouldn’t have far to fall!” said Jim, laughing. - -“Thank you, but any distance is far enough when you’re my weight,” -Brownie responded, with dignity. “Now, Miss Norah an’ Miss Jean, seein’ -as how I’ve got my breath again, I think we’d better start bedmaking.” - -“Don’t you bother, Brownie; we can fix up our own,” Jim said, -politely—and greatly hoping that his politeness would have no effect. -It had none. - -“Humph!” said Mrs. Brown. “Handy you may be with tools an’ horses, -Master Jim, but I never yet did see the man or boy that was handy with -bedmaking. I’ve noticed that bedclothes seem to paralyse a man’s common -sense when he starts to make a bed; he don’t seem to be able to realize -what relation they have to the mattress. Generally he fights with them -quite desperate, and gets them nearly tied in knots before the job’s -done. So just you two lie there peaceful, an’ me an’ the young ladies -will do it in two twos.” - -The boys’ bedmaking ambition was of no soaring nature, and they were -very content to “lie peaceful,” watching the sun dip behind the trees -that fringed the lagoon. Then came Mr. Linton, who nodded approval of -the workmanlike camp. - -“First rate!” he said, warmly. “For destitute and burnt-out people, we -shan’t fare too badly.” - -“Rather not!” Jim answered. “How did you get on, Dad?” - -“Oh, all right. Telephone was as indistinct as usual, but I managed to -say a good deal of what I wanted through it. There will be an insurance -man down to-morrow.” Mr. Linton smiled at the bedmakers, who came out of -the last tent and settled down under the trees thankfully. “They’ve -found Harvey,” he concluded. - -“Found the brute, have they?” Jim exclaimed. “What did he have to say, -Dad? Did they hurt him?” - -“Harvey had had luck,” said Mr. Linton, slowly. “He’d hurt himself -first.” - -“How? Tell us, Dad.” - -“Well, they hunted most of the day before they got him. They had every -road searched before noon, the police were in communication with all the -townships in the district, and there was no sign of him. Then the men -left the roads and went across country, hunting up the river and along -any creek, and through scrub. But I don’t think Mr. Harvey would have -trusted himself in scrub without a horse.” - -“Not he!” Jim agreed. - -“Murty found him. He was riding across the Duncans’ big plain, and -thought he heard a coo-ee; but there was no cover anywhere, and he -couldn’t see a man wherever he looked. But he rode about, and found him -at last in a little bit of a hollow. Murty said you might have ridden -past it a hundred times and never have seen anyone. Harvey had shouted -once, but when he saw that it was Murty he was afraid to call again, and -tried to lie low.” - -“Couldn’t he walk?” - -“He broke his leg last night,” Mr. Linton answered. “The poor wretch has -had a pretty bad time. He was jumping over a log, he says, and came down -with one leg in a crab-hole, and it twisted, and threw him down. He -didn’t know it was broken at first, but he found he couldn’t use it. So -he crawled away from the log, being afraid of snakes, and got a couple -of hundred yards into the paddock. Since then he’s kept still.” - -“What—out in the open?” Jim asked. - -“Yes; not a scrap of cover. And think of the day it’s been—it was 112° -in the shade in Cunjee—and Harvey wasn’t in the shade. He told Murty he -was badly thirsty before he got hurt, and had been looking for water. -His leg is in a bad state, and he must have had a terrible day. Murty -came in for the doctor, and we went for him in the car—of course, Murty -could do nothing on horseback. Harvey was a bit delirious by the time we -got to him. Anderson says he’ll be three months in hospital.” - -“Whew-w!” whistled Wally. “Three months!” - -“Then he’ll have three munce to reflect on the error of his ways!” said -Brownie, implacably. “Oh, I know me feelings aren’t Christian, an’ I -don’t set a good example to the young; but what did he want to go and do -it for?” - -“Break his leg? But did he want to?” Jim grinned. - -“You know very well I don’t mean his wretched little leg,” Brownie said, -testily. “He never had no call to burn us all out. Now he’s broke his -leg, an’ you’ll think he’s an object of sympathy an’ compassion, an’ -nex’ thing Miss Norah’ll be visitin’ him in the ’Ospital an’ holdin’ his -hand an’ givin’ him jelly!” - -“By gad, she won’t!” uttered Norah’s father, with satisfying emphasis. -“There are limits, Brownie. But it’s all very well for you to talk—if -you’d seen the poor little weed you’d have been sorry for him.” - -“Not me!” Brownie answered, truculently. “I only got to think of Miss -Norah in that horrid stable, an’ every soft feelin’ leaves me, like a -moulting hen.” Brownie’s similes were apt to be mixed, and nobody marked -them. “Does he say why he did it? He’s got nerve enough to stick out -that he never lit it at all!” - -“Oh, no, he hasn’t—not now,” said Mr. Linton. “He admitted it to Murty -meekly enough, and Murty says he was awfully taken aback at hearing the -amount of the damage; he said he only thought of burning the grass. -Whether his concern is for my loss or the possible results to himself, -I’m not clear. I don’t regard him as exactly a philanthropist.” - -Brownie snorted wrathfully as they rose to go up to the cottage. The sun -had set, and Mrs. Evans was calling from the hill. - -“I don’t give him credit for no decent motives at all,” she said. “He’s -bad right through—an’ don’t you ask me to be sorry for him—he’ll have -three munce takin’ it easy in ’Ospital, livin’ on the fat of the land -an’ doin’ no work—an’ that’ll just suit Harvey! I got no patience with -that sort of worm in sheep’s clothing!” She subsided, muttering darkly, -and Wally offered her his arm up the hill, while Jim wheeled the barrow. - -Brownie dropped her voice as they neared the cottage. - -“Ah, well,” she said—and paused. “I don’t suppose them gaol ’Ospitals -is exackly dens of luxury. If you an’ Master Jim, Master Wally, think as -how a little strong soup or meat jelly might go in to that poor, wicked, -depraved little wretch——?” - -“Fattening him for the slaughter, eh, Brownie?” asked Wally, gravely. - -“Yes, that’s it,” said the fierce Mrs. Brown, accepting the suggestion -with ardour. “P’r’aps he mightn’t get what he deserves if he looked pale -an’ thin at his trile!” She mused over the matter. “Wonder if they feed -’em on skilly when they’re in ’Ospital,” she pondered. “An’ a leg like -that. Well, well, we’re all ’uman, after all, an’ likely his mother -never did much by him—he looks as if he had growed up casual! You find -out about that soup, Master Wally.” And Wally nodded, his eyes kindly as -he smiled at the broad, motherly face. - -“Makes you feel a bit small, though,” he confided to Jim later on. -“Because I’m not in the least sorry for Harvey. I think he deserved all -he got, and more, and these beggars don’t mind gaol. Suppose I’m a -hard-hearted brute!” - -“Well, I’m another,” Jim responded. “When I think of young Norah—and -the horses! I guess my poor old Garryowen had about as bad a time as -Harvey. Says he never thought of the house! Well, he lit the grass three -hundred yards from it, with a west wind blowing—that’s all! When I can -work up any sorrow for Harvey I’ll let you know!” And the stern and -unmoved pair sought the lagoon for a final swim before “turning in.” - - - - -[Illustration: “‘Brownie, you shouldn’t, you bad young thing!’”] - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - - BEN ATHOL - - There are stars of gold on the Wallaby Track, - And silver the moonbeams glisten, - The great Bush sings to us, out and back. - And we lie in her arms and listen. - - —_W. H. Ogilvie._ - -A WEEK went by—a week of blinding heat, ending in a cool change, -accompanied by a gale of wind that almost blew the tents and their -occupants into the lagoon. Then the weather settled to glorious -conditions, neither hot nor cold—long days of sunshine, and nights -chilly enough to make the campers enjoy a fire by the water’s edge while -they fished for their breakfast. - -But, on the whole, it was dull. The new saddles had not arrived from -Melbourne, so that riding was out of the question. In any case it was -deemed wiser not to ride Monarch and Garryowen and Bosun too soon. Norah -and Jim had them yarded each day, and they caught and handled them, -dressing Garryowen’s burns, and petting all three—talking to them and -leading them about while they hunted for the milk-thistles horses love. -Gradually the quivering nerves steadied down, and the memory of their -terror faded. But Garryowen would never face fire again; a tiny blaze -was too much for him, and even smoke sent him into a panic. Even -kindness could not make him forget the moments when he had been a rat in -a burning trap. - -They fished and walked—moderately; walking was not a Billabong -characteristic; and helped Mrs. Evans and Brownie, and worshipped the -Evans baby—that is to say, Jean and Norah did, and Jim and Wally -pretended not to; and they watched Hogg glowering as he worked in his -ruined garden, and wished business did not detain Mr. Linton during -nearly every hour of the day. It was hard to settle to anything. -Possibly they were feeling a natural reaction after the strain of the -night of the fire. But as none of the four would have known what -reaction meant, no one suggested it. - -They were all in the boat one exquisite evening, floating lazily among -the water lilies on the lagoon, and pretending to fish—a transparent -pretence, since frequent snagging on the lily stems had made every -angler disgusted, and had brought all the lines out of the water. Then -Mr. Linton appeared on the bank and they pulled in and took him on -board, giving him the place of honour in the stern. - -“This is the most peaceful thing I’ve done since we became a -burnt-offering,” he said, as they drifted away from the shore. He lit -his pipe and leaned back contentedly. “Well—business is done!” - -“Thank goodness!” from Norah. - -“I quite agree with you,” said her father. “To be burnt out is bad -enough, but it’s an added penance to be forced to put in time as I’ve -been doing. I’m sick of the sight of insurance people, and policemen, -and architects, and contractors!” - -“Have you made all arrangements, Dad?” Jim asked. - -“So far as I can. But the men I want to employ can’t begin rebuilding -for three weeks at least, possibly a month; and then the job will be a -long one.” - -“Then I won’t see it before I go back to school!” came from Norah, -disgustedly. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” - -“No; and I’m sorry, too,” said her father. “But it can’t be helped. The -fire has done unpleasant things to your holidays, my girl.” - -“Just you wait until I begin growling!” Norah said, laughing. “I’m -having lovely holidays, truly, only I’m disappointed that I can’t see -the house.” - -“Well, I’ve a plan,” said David Linton, slowly. - -Norah sat up so briskly that the boat rocked violently. - -“Have a little sense, Nor.!” came from Jim. “Sit still, or you’ll be -smacked and turned out!” - -“Get out yourself!” said his sister, inelegantly. “When Dad has a plan -in that voice it is time to sit up! Tell us, Dad.” - -Mr. Linton laughed. - -“How about Ben Athol?” he asked. - -“Ben Athol!” Jim whistled. “By Jove, Dad, that’s an idea!” - -“Oh!” said Norah. “Didn’t I tell you it was time to sit up!” - -Ben Athol towered from the low ranges to the north of Billabong, beyond -the stations and out to the wild country that was No Man’s Land because -of its steepness and inaccessibility. “Old hands” told stories of well -grassed valleys in the ranges, where stock might be pastured; of a -mountain river, flowing clear as crystal all the year round, in a way -very unlike the usual habit of Australian rivers. But comparatively few -white men knew anything about the country between the hills. Blacks were -reputed to camp there—some miserable, scattered families, who came into -the townships as winter approached to beg for food and blankets, -sometimes to hang about all through the cold months, a thievish, filthy -pest. - -Snow lay for the winter months upon the brow of Ben Athol. In spring, -when the warm sun melted the great white cap, it slid away gradually, -and the big peak stood out, dark blue among the lesser hills. Always it -seemed to Norah like a friend. - -For two years they had talked of climbing it. But the expedition -required some organizing, for it was three days’ ride even to the last -township that nestled at the foot of the hills. Then came a day’s stiff -climbing for horses, after which it was only possible to proceed on -foot, if one wanted to reach the peak. Few were adventurous enough to -want to do so. - -“Well, I think we may as well go,” said Mr. Linton, when his excited -family calmed down. “I have been turning over various plans in my mind -for the last few days, for we can’t stop here; it’s too dismal to look -at the old place. We’re all in good form, fit for such a ride. I don’t -quite know about Jean.” - -“Oh, please,” said Jean, in a small shriek. “I can, quite easily. Truly, -Mr. Linton.” - -“I’m sure she’s all right, Dad,” Norah put in. “She wasn’t a bit stiff -after that long day we had in the Far Plain.” - -“Well, that was a pretty fair test,” Mr. Linton remarked. “Anyhow, we -can’t start for a few days, so you had better ride a good deal, to get -into form. The saddles will be out to-day. But we shan’t use them for -the trip—new saddles aren’t advisable for a journey like that—we’d -probably have the horses with sore backs.” - -“Rather,” Jim said. “I’m never really friends with a saddle until it has -been re-stuffed.” - -“Oh, they are like new boots—they must get accustomed to a horse,” Mr. -Linton answered. “We’ll have to exchange with the men. Murty will see -that the new ones are looked after. We’ll use the old ones from to-day, -so that you girls can find out which are the most comfortable for you.” - -“All right,” nodded Norah. “When do you think we’ll start, Dad?” - -“This is Thursday—we’ll get away on Monday morning,” her father -replied. “We’ll take Billy, to lead a packhorse and make himself -generally useful. It will not be necessary to carry a great amount of -provisions, because we can lay in a stock of food at the various -townships as we go. Atholton is the last one, at the foot of the ranges, -and I’ve sent a note to the storekeeper there, telling him to have -various things ready for us. Until then we need only have a day’s -rations. We’ll take a tent for you girls——” - -“Oh, need you, Dad? Can’t we put up a wurley?” Norah begged. - -“No,” said Mr. Linton, firmly. “We don’t know if we’ll always be in -timber to make wurleys, and it’s as well to be prepared for bad weather. -That little tent is no trouble to take, and, as it’s waterproof, it will -make an excellent covering for the pack. We’ll take some fishing tackle. -They say the fishing in that mountain stream is very good. For the rest, -Norah, you and I will have a heart-to-heart talk with Brownie. I believe -it will make the old soul quite happy to have to cook for an expedition -again.” - -The time until Monday seemed all a cheerful bustle of preparation. Jean -and Norah rode each day, generally with Wally in attendance, since Jim -and his father had much to do together. There were jobs of moving cattle -from one paddock to another; of riding round the Queensland bullocks, -now settling down contentedly in the Bush Paddock, and only becoming -excited when the three riders tried to count them; of inspecting the -fences, with sharp eyes alert for a broken panel or a sagging wire. No -one at Billabong need ever ride aimlessly; there was always work of this -kind—work that the three regarded as the best possible fun. And always -they talked of next week’s expedition, and made quite a hundred thousand -plans in connection with it. Jean had never been camping out in her -life, and, considering how calm a person she was ordinarily, it became -almost alarming to behold her state of simmering excitement. - -Mr. Linton sternly hunted his flock to bed early on Sunday evening, and -dawn, had scarcely broken next morning when they were astir, Norah and -Jean running hurriedly to the Cottage to dress, while Murty dismantled -their little tent, and had it, with the bags that formed their bunks, -neatly packed and made ready for transport. Breakfast was despatched -hastily by all but Mr. Linton, who declined altogether to bestir himself -unduly, and demanded of his excited charges if they had visions of -catching a train? Finally, they were all in the saddle, the horses -fidgeting and dancing with excitement—save the packhorse, who looked -upon the world with an embittered gaze, and Black Billy’s scrawny -piebald, old Bung Eye, who was supposed to be proof against any kind of -excitement whatever. - -“Now do come back safe an’ sound, all of you!” Brownie begged. “Me -nerves have had enough to bear lately; I don’t want any broken heads or -cracked legs. An’ if you find a gold mine out there, then I’ll give -notice, if you please, sir, an’ take out a miner’s right, an’ go off -makin’ me fortune!” - -“Anybody in this party finding a gold mine is hereby ejected summarily!” -said Mr. Linton, promptly. “The penalty would be too heavy to make the -find worth while.” - -“We’ll live and die poor, but we’ll keep you, Brownie!” Jim told her. - -“Me own prospects don’t seem to matter much to you, do they?” retorted -Brownie, enjoying herself hugely. Occasionally it gave her immense -delight to toy with the fiction of leaving Billabong—knowing very well -indeed, as did they all, that a team of bullocks would scarcely have -been strong enough to tear her away. “Often I says to meself that I -might end me days as a prospector—there’s no knowin’ how much gold is -lyin’ about in them ranges for the pickin’ up.” - -“If it’s there, Brownie, I will bring you a necklace of nuggets with my -own fair hands,” said Wally. “Steady, you brute!” - -Brownie beamed over the portion of the speech addressed to her. - -“Thank you—an’ take care of that horse, dearie, for I know he ain’t -safe,” she said anxiously—to the great delight of Jim, and Wally’s no -small embarrassment. The men grinned widely. - -“The halters is in the pack, sir, an’ likewise the hobbles,” said Murty. -“If y’ don’t be watchin’ that black image of a haythen on Bung Eye, -he’ll put the wrong hobbles on Bosun—there’s a small, little pair I -made special for the pony. He’ll get his feet out of nearly anny other -hobbles on the place.” - -“Thank you, Murty!” from Norah. Murty beamed. - -“A good ride to ye all,” he said, “an’ don’t be afther breakin’ your -neck on thim ridges, Miss Norah. ’Tis the only neck like it on -Billabong, an’ we can’t spare it, at all.” - -“We’ll take care of her, Murty,” said her father. - -“Bedad,” said Murty, “I have not forgotten that wan time ’twas y’rsilf -did not take care of y’rsilf in that very same place! How am I to be -thinkin’ anny of ye safe afther that misfortunate time?” - -David Linton laughed. - -“Ah, Monarch and I have learned sense now,” he said. “He won’t get rid -of me in the same way again.” - -“Divil a wan of me knows!” said Murty, darkly. “Well—that ye may come -home wid whole bones, annyhow! Is it gettin’ up a search party we’ll be -if ye’re not back this day week, sir?” - -“Certainly not!” said the squatter. “If we find Brownie’s gold mine, -there’s no prophesying when I shall get my party away from it!” - -“Then ye’ll find hersilf an’ me joggin’ out in the old dray to meet ye,” -Murty averred. He took his hand from Bosun’s bridle, and stepped back. -Good-byes floated to the little group by the cottage as the riders -cantered down the track. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - - ON THE TRACK - -A homely-looking folk they are, these people of my kin— -Their hands are hard as horse shoes, but their hearts come through the - skin. - - —_V. J. Daley._ - -THEY camped that night half a mile off the road, in a paddock belonging -to a station Mr. Linton knew well. - -“Henderson would give me leave if I asked him—so I won’t,” he said. -“It’s a short stage, but that’s advisable, seeing that it’s our first -day out, and that it has been uncommonly warm. And we’re sure of good -water in the creek over yonder.” - -So they found some slip-rails and rode into the paddock and across the -long grass to the creek, a fairly large stream for that time of the -year, fringed with a thick dark green belt of wattles. The horses were -short-hobbled and allowed to graze, and the camp was pitched quickly. - -The tent for the girls was put up in a little grove of trees, near which -the bank of the creek sloped down to an excellent place for bathing—a -deep hole with a little stretch of clean grass growing over a sunken log -at the water’s edge—a place, as Norah said, simply planned to stand on -while you were drying. Most Australian creeks are unkind in this -respect—either the bank is inaccessibly steep, or the few available -places are so muddy that the difficulty after a bathe is to keep clean. - -“We’ll fish there before you bathe,” Jim told Norah, regarding the hole -hopefully. “If there aren’t blackfish there I’m very much mistaken.” - -“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Norah told him, unkindly. “Don’t leave -any fish-hooks in our pool, that’s all.” - -“You’ll get no fish for tea if you don’t practise civility!” Jim -grinned. “I’m worn to a shred putting up your blessed tent, and there’s -really no reason why I should allow you to be impolite. Why don’t you -take pattern by Jean? Her manners are lovely!” - -“I wish my family heard you say so!” said the lady referred to, -longingly. - -“Don’t they appreciate you? I’m like that!” Wally said. “I often think -I’ll die without any one finding out my true worth.” - -“Jolly good job for you if they don’t, old man!” quoth Jim, retreating -hastily, and cannoning with violence into his father as he dodged round -a gum tree. Explanations ensued, and the party settled down to fish, -soon catching enough to make tea a memorable meal. Then they lay about -on the grass and talked until it was bedtime—a period which came early, -though no one would admit any sense of fatigue. - -It was a still, hot night—so hot that the girls slept with the tent -flap tied back, and were openly envious of the men of the party, who -disdained to erect a “wurley,” and slept bushman fashion out in the -open, with their blankets spread in a soft spot, and their saddles for -pillows. Black Billy disappeared along the creek, camping in some select -nook after his blackfellow heart. Then silence fell upon the camp, and -all that could be heard was a mopoke, steadily calling in a dead tree, -throughout the night. - -Norah was the first to awaken. It was daylight, but only faintly; -looking through the opening of the tent she could see the sun coming -slowly over the edge of the horizon, flushing all the eastern sky with -gleams of pink and gold. A little breeze blew gently. She slipped -quietly from her bunk, put on a light overcoat and went out barefooted -into the sweetness of the morning. - -There was an old moss-grown log near the tent, and she sat down upon it. -Just beyond the belt of trees that marked the creek, the yellow paddock -stretched away, unbroken by any fence, so far as her eye could reach. -She could see grazing cattle here and there, and a few half-grown steers -were standing in a little knot and staring towards the camp with -curious, half-frightened eyes. From further down the bank came the chink -of hobbles, and the chime of the bell on old Bung Eye’s neck. Near the -tent her father lay sleeping; a few yards away were Jim and Wally, far -off in the land of dreams. The clean bush scent lay over everything; the -scent of tree and leaf and rich black earth, where the night-dew still -lingers. Just below her the creek rippled softly, and the splash of a -leaping fish sent a swirl across the wide pool. Norah sighed from very -joy of the place, and the beauty of the morning, and the certainty of a -happy day ahead. - -Then she became aware that some one was awake—in the curious way in -which we become conscious that the thoughts of another have entered into -our solitary places. She looked round, and beheld one intent eye -regarding her from the end of the roll of blankets that represented -Wally. For a moment the eye and Norah continued to watch each other; at -which point Norah suddenly realized that it was faintly possible that -Wally might feel a shade of embarrassment, and modestly withdrew her -gaze. She did Mr. Meadows great injustice. He yawned widely, sat up, and -wriggled out of his blankets. Then, discovering that Jim’s mouth was -slightly open, he proceeded to place within it three dandelions, which -accomplished, he fled while his unconscious victim was waking up and -spluttering. Wally sat down on the log beside Norah, with a face like an -unusually lean cherub. - -“You’re a horrid boy!” said that damsel, laughing. “Dandelions taste -abominably—at least that milky stuff in them does.” - -“Never tried it,” said Wally. “What funny things you seem to have lived -on!” - -“Poor old Jimmy!” said Norah, disregarding this insinuation, and bending -a glance of pity on Jim, who was coughing violently, and evidently -prepared for battle. Mr. Linton had wakened, and was regarding his son -with curiosity. - -“It’s a pneumonia cough, I should say, sir,” explained Wally, -considerately, from the log. “Nasty lungy sound, hasn’t it. Shall I get -you some water, my poor dear?” At this point the outraged Jim arose and -hurled himself upon his tormentor, who dodged him round a bush until Jim -managed to pick up a thorn with his foot, when he retired to a log for -purposes of investigation. - -“Wait till I get you in the creek, young Wally!” he growled. - -“Not too many larks,” commanded Mr. Linton, who had also cast off his -blankets. “We’ve got to get away as early as we can, so as to have a -long spell in the hottest part of the day.” He shook himself vigorously. -“I think I’m too old for sleeping without a mattress.” - -“So am I,” said Wally, who was sitting cross-legged on Norah’s log. -“That bit of ground looked the softest I could see, but it found out -every bone I have before I’d been there an hour. It would be a -tremendous advantage to be fat! I was afraid at last that my hip bone -would come right through, so I got up and scraped a little hole for it. -Then I was much more comfortable, except when I wriggled in my sleep and -failed to hit the hole.” - -“Well, I’ve had a lovely night!” Norah averred. - -“I should think so—sleeping in the lap of gilded luxury—at least in a -beautiful sacking bunk!” said Wally, indignantly. “Then you get up at -your elegant leisure and jeer at those whose lodging was on the cold, -cold ground! Women were ever thus!” He choked, dramatically, and rose. -“James, if you’ve finished operating, are you ready to come and bathe?” - -“I must wake Jean,” said Norah, disappearing within the tent. Then they -scattered up and down the creek for their swim—not a matter to be -dawdled over, for even in the summer morning the water was very cold. -Jim returned, fresh and glowing, before the girls were ready to vacate -the tent, and proceeded to loosen its fastenings in a way that caused -them great anguish of mind, since it threatened to collapse bodily upon -them. The last stages of their toilet were performed hastily, and -without dignity. - -“Can’t be helped,” said Jim, imperturbably, as they emerged, wrathful. -“Got to strike camp, and this is my job.” He brought the tent to earth -with a quick movement. “Help me to fold this up, Nor.” - -“Where’s Wally?” Norah asked, complying. - -“I left him diving for the soap,” Jim grinned. “He was pretty cold, and -didn’t seem exactly happy; but I couldn’t wait. Here he comes. Did you -get it, Wal.?” - -“I did—no thanks to you!” said Wally, whose teeth were still inclined -to chatter, while his complexion was a fine shade of blue. “He’s just -the champion mean exhibit of the party, Jean. I was nearly dry, out on -the bank, and threw the soap at him in pure friendliness; and the brute -actually dodged! Dodged! And then he wouldn’t dive for it: fact is, I -believe he’s forgotten how to dive. So I had to go in again after it!” - -“Any mud at the bottom?” asked Jim, grinning. - -“About a foot of soft slush. I loathe you!” said Wally. He proceeded to -roll up blankets vigorously, still slightly azure of hue. - -Billy had the horses already saddled, and when breakfast was over the -pack was quickly adjusted and a start made. They travelled through -country that became rapidly wilder and more rugged. A wire fence bounded -each side of the road, which was a track scarcely fit for wheeled -traffic. The paddocks on both sides were part of big station properties, -on which the homesteads were far back; so that they scarcely saw a house -throughout the day, except when now and then they passed through sleepy -little townships, where dogs barked furiously at them and children ran -out to stare at the riders. They were typical bush children, who -scarcely ever saw a stranger—lean, sun-dried youngsters, as wild and -shy as hares, and quite incapable of giving an answer when addressed. -They paused in one township to buy stores, and Norah dashed to the post -office to send a postcard to Brownie, assuring her that so far they were -safe. - -The post office was a quaint erection, especially when considered in the -light of a Government building. Had it not been for this mark of -distinction, it would probably have been termed a shed. It was a little, -ramshackle lean-to, against the side of a shop that was equally falling -to decay. There was no door—only a slit barely two feet wide, through -which Norah entered, wondering, as she did so, if the township contained -any inhabitants as fat as Brownie, and if so, how they contrived to -transact their postal business. It was very certain that Brownie could -not have entered through the slit unless hydraulic pressure had been -applied to her. - -Within was emptiness. The sole furnishing of the office was a small -shelf against the wall; above it, a trap-door. This artistic simplicity -was complicated by the appearance of a head in the trap-doorway, after -Norah had tapped vigorously five or six times. - -“I clean forgot the office,” said the owner of the head—a tall, -freckled damsel, with innumerable curling pins bristling in her -“fringe.” She favoured Norah with a wide and cheerful smile. “Fact is, I -was out in the garden lookin’ at your lot. Ain’t your horses just -corkin’!” - -“They’re . . . not bad.” Norah hesitated. “I want a postcard, please.” - -“Not bad!” said the Government official, disregarding her request. She -propped her elbows on the ledge within, evidently ready for -conversation, and put her face as far through the trap-doorway as nature -or its designer would permit. “Well, I reckon they’re fair ringers! That -big black ’ud take a lot of beatin’, I’ll bet. Is it your Pa ridin’ -him?” - -“Yes,” Norah answered. “Can I——” - -“Goin’ far?” asked the postmistress. “You all look pretty workmanlike, -don’t y’ now? Where d’ y’ come from, if it’s a fair question?” - -“From this side of Cunjee. And we’re going up Ben Athol. I want——” - -“Up Ben Athol! You’re never!” - -“Well, we’re going to try. Can I have——” - -“I never heard of any one but drovers an’ blackfellers goin’ up there,” -said the postmistress, gaping. “You two kids’ll never do it, will y’, do -y’ think? I wonder at your Pa lettin’ you. Rummy, ain’t it, what people -’ll do for fun!” - -“They’ll be calling me in a moment,” said poor Norah. “Let me have a -postcard, please.” She held out her penny firmly. - -“Oh, all right,” said the postmistress, unwillingly. Without removing -her face from the little window she fished in an unseen receptacle and -extracted a card, which she poked through to Norah. - -“There’s no pen here,” said that harassed person investigating. “Can I -have one—and some ink?” - -“Right-oh!” said, the official. “This chap’s a bit scratchy, but the -office is clean out of nibs. There is another—but it’s worse. This -one’ll write all right when you get used to it. I say, is them divided -skirts comf’table to ride in?” - -Norah assented, stretching out her hand for the ink. - -“I read in the paper that ladies was riding astride,” said the -postmistress, apparently soul-hungry for companionship. “But me father -won’t let me get a pattron an’ try an’ make one. Yours don’t seem to -mind.” - -“He won’t let me ride any other way,” said Norah, writing busily. - -“Go on! Well, ain’t men different!” said the postmistress. “Never know -where you have them, do you? Is those long fellers your brothers?” - -Norah nodded, feeling at the moment, unequal to detailed explanation. - -“Thought so. An’ you’re re’ly goin’ to try old Ben Athol! Wonder if -you’ll ever get there,” the postmistress pondered. Her freckled face -suddenly widened to a smile. “Look at that blackfeller, now! Well, if he -ain’t a trick!” - -Billy was jogging up the street on old Bung Eye, smoking vigorously. -Behind him, taking the fullest advantage of a long halter, the packhorse -led, very bored by Life. The township children shouted and ran, but -nothing affected Billy’s serenity. He passed out of sight, and the -Postmistress, oblivious of further possible wishes on the part of her -customer, quitted her little office and rushed outside to gaze after -him. In this pleasurable occupation she was not alone, since three parts -of the township was hanging over its front fence, gazing likewise. - -From the street came Jim’s whistle, for the third time—this time with -something peremptory in its note. - -“Coming!” Norah called. She dropped her card into the slit marked -“Letters,” and ran out, receiving voluble farewells from the -postmistress as she fled. - -“Good-bye!” Norah called. She swung herself upon Bosun’s back, and -trotted down the street with Jim. Already the others were some distance -ahead. - -The postmistress came in, regretfully, as the dust of their going died -away. - -“Wonder who they were?” she pondered. “Well, at least, there’s the -postcard!” She opened the letter box, and drew out the documentary -evidence, receiving not much information from Norah’s hastily-scrawled -lines. She turned the card over. - -“Well, I’m blessed!” she gasped. Keen disappointment was in her voice. -She pondered for a moment and then hurried out, locking the office door -firmly, and affixing to it a battered notice, which read: “Closed for -dinner.” The fact that she had already dined did not trouble the free -and independent soul of the postmistress. - -Half an hour later the sound of galloping hoofs on the road behind them -made the Billabong party look round. A cloud of dust resolved itself -into the vision of the postmistress, mounted on a raking chestnut, and -somewhat bulky in appearance, by reason of the fact that she had slipped -on a habit skirt over her other apparel. - -“She’s waving,” said Norah, much puzzled. “Let’s pull up.” - -They waited. The postmistress arrived with a wide and friendly smile. - -“Thought I’d never catch you up!” she panted. “Blessed if you didn’t -forget to put any address on that postcard you wrote!” She produced the -card, a good deal crumpled by the vicissitudes of travel. - -“Well, I am a duffer!” ejaculated Norah. “But how awfully good of you to -come after us!” - -“It was indeed,” said Mr. Linton, warmly. He produced a pencil, and -Norah scribbled the address and handed the card back. “Uncommonly kind -and thoughtful. We’re very much obliged to you. I hope it didn’t give -you very much trouble?” - -“Not a bit!” said the postmistress, genially. She read the address with -care, and tucked the card into her bodice. “Fact is,” she said, “I was -just dead keen to know it meself! Well, I must be gettin’ back—me -office is shut up, an’ the coach is nearly due. So long!” She wheeled -the chestnut, galloping back to the township. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - - THE HOUSE BY ATHOLTON - - The little feet that run to me, - The little hands that strive - To touch me at the heart, and find - The heart in me alive. - - O God! if hands and feet should fail! - If Death his mist should fling - Between my heart and the touch of - The little living thing! - - —_R. Crawford._ - -IT was late in the afternoon of the third day, and in a cloud of thick -dust the riders were hurrying along the road towards Atholton. Ahead -they could see the scattered roofs of the little township, showing white -among the trees; but everything was obscured by the dust that swirled -and eddied, now tearing away before them in a cloud sixty feet high, or -seeming to stand still all around them, blinding any vision for more -than a few yards. Behind a leaden sky glowered through the dust clouds, -or was revealed, darkly purple, when they rose for an instant to swirl -and scurry, and grow dense again, as the shrieking wind came in a fresh -gust. - -Three days of gradually mounting heat had worked up to a tempestuous -change. All day, riding had been anything but pleasant. Even in early -morning the air had been still and heavy, after a night of breathless -heat. They had left camp not long after sunrise, intending to rest -during the middle of the day; but the weather had tried the horses; they -had travelled badly, sweating before they had gone a mile, so that -progress was slow. Mr. Linton had cut the noon “spell” ruthlessly short. - -“We’ll have to hurry,” he said, glancing uneasily at the sullen sky. -“This means a big storm, and it’s very doubtful if we can escape it, -even now. As far as I remember there’s no shelter at all between here -and Atholton, and there is too much big timber along the track to be -safe in a storm. Billy, you travel the slowest—cut along!” - -Billy proceeded to “cut,” not unwillingly. He hated storms, even as a -cat, and firmly believed that thunder was the noise of innumerable -“debbil-debbils,” let loose dangerously near the inhabitants of earth, -and at any moment likely to fall on the just and the unjust. He mounted -Bung Eye and jogged off along the track, the packhorse toiling in the -rear. Ten minutes later saw the rest of the party in pursuit. - -From the first it was evident that the ride would be a race with the -storm. Mr. Linton made all the haste that was possible for the horses; -but the way was long and the heat so breathless that it seemed cruel to -urge the poor brutes along. A purple cloud came up out of the west, and -spread up and up; then a murky haze obscured the sun, yet brought no -lessening of heat. Finally came a low sighing of faraway wind, and long -before it struck them they could see distant tree-tops swaying and -bending before the fury of the blast. They came to a sharp turn in the -road, facing eastwards. - -“Thank goodness, there’s Atholton!” uttered Mr. Linton, pointing at the -roofs far ahead. “We may get off with dry skins if we gallop.” - -They shook up the horses. Even as they did so, the beginning of the -storm was upon them in a furious gust of wind that gathered up the loose -summer dust of the road and carried it high into the air. It was -impossible to see more than a few yards ahead except between the gusts. -They rode blindly, trusting to their horses, and fairly sure that on -such an afternoon there would be no other obstacles of traffic on the -lonely bush track. On either side the thick timber creaked and groaned -in the wind, and occasionally a sharp crack told of a limb or a treetop -breaking under the strain. Then the horses bounded as a sharp crackle of -thunder came out of the west and ran round the sky in a heavy, echoing -roll, followed by a vivid flash of lightning. Heavy drops began to fall, -splashing into the thick dust underfoot. - -“Gad! There’s a house!” said Mr. Linton thankfully. “Make for the gate, -Jim.” - -A hundred yards ahead a white cottage stood near the track, in the midst -of a pleasant orchard. As they clattered up to the road gate, a woman -came out upon the verandah and waved to them energetically, beckoning -them in. Garryowen propped at the gate, and Jim swung it open. The sky -seemed to split with another thunderclap as they rode through, and then -came rain, like a curtain, blotting out everything behind them. - -The woman rushed down to the little garden gate as they raced to it. - -“Let the young ladies come in here—quick! There’s a shed over there for -the horses.” - -“Off you get, girls!” Mr. Linton said. Jean and Norah slipped to the -ground, yielding their bridles into ready hands, and ran up the garden -path behind their hostess. The rain was pelting upon the iron roof of -the little cottage with a noise like musketry. - -“I don’t think you’re very wet,” panted the woman. She darted into the -house, returning with towels, and rubbed them down as they stood on the -verandah, despite their protests. - -“We’re truly all right,” Norah told her. “Thank you ever so much. But -what luck! Five minutes later and we’d have been soaked to the skin but -for your house. And it isn’t a joke to get everything wet through when -you’re camping, as we are, and travelling as light as possible.” - -“I should think not,” said their hostess—a tall woman, whitefaced and -delicate in appearance, with tired grey eyes, that had black half -circles beneath them. “Fact is, I’ve been looking out for you—the -storekeeper in the township was telling me Mr. Linton’s party was to -come through Atholton this evening. I’ve been thinking about you all the -afternoon, wondering if the storm would catch you.” - -“You were very good,” Jean told her, shyly. - -“Oh, I don’t know. There isn’t so much to think about in these -places—one’s glad of any excitement. I’d have been more excited if I’d -known it wasn’t only men riding. It’s a big ride for you two girls.” - -“We’re used to it,” said Norah. “It’s been lovely, until to-day; that -has certainly been a bit hot. It’s hot still, isn’t it?” - -“Close as ever it can be,” said the woman. “But the rain’ll cool it.” -She peeped round the corner of the verandah, putting her head into the -rain. “They’re all right in the shed, horses and all. Will you go into -the house and sit down and rest?” - -“I think it’s nice out here,” Norah said, hesitatingly. - -“Well, it is better than inside—the house is heated right through,” -said the woman. “Wooden houses cool quickly, but they heat like an oven, -don’t they? I’ll bring out chairs.” She disappeared—her movements were -curiously quick—and came out laden. They sat on the verandah, with the -pelting rain beating all round them, and a sense of wet coolness -gradually coming over the hot atmosphere. - -She was anxious to talk—this gaunt, hungry-eyed woman of the Bush. She -went from one subject to another almost feverishly, asking them a -hundred questions—of home, of school, of the life that was so busy -hundreds of miles away from her lonely home in the timber. And always -her eyes wandered restlessly, as if she were seeking. Once she failed to -answer a question, staring before her with a strained look that was half -expectancy and half despair. Then she came back to attention with a -start, and begged their pardon. - -“I—I was listening,” she said. “I didn’t quite hear what you were -saying.” - -The storm began to wear itself out after a while, and she took them into -the house, saying that they would be glad of a wash and brush up while -she made some tea. She showed them into a neat little bedroom, and -brought a brimming can of hot water. - -“Just you make yourselves quite at home,” she said. “Don’t hurry; I’ll -call you when I got tea made.” She went out, closing the door. - -It was a bright little room, with a cheap blue paper on the walls, and -crisp, fresh curtains at the window. Everything was poor, but spotlessly -clean. - -“Isn’t it nice?” Jean said. “It smells of lavender and things!” - -“And as if the window were always open,” said Norah, approvingly. “I -like it—and I like her, too. Don’t you, Jean?” - -“Yes—I do,” Jean said, slowly. “She—she’s a bit queer though, isn’t -she?” - -“She’s got a scared sort of look,” Norah said, trying to find words. -“Perhaps she’s had a lot of trouble. Ever so many women in the Bush do, -I think. But I like her eyes, though they’re so tired.” - -“They’re mother-y sort of eyes,” said Jean, her thoughts suddenly flying -to her own mother, in far-off New Zealand. “I wonder if that’s her -little girl?” - -A photograph smiled at them from a cheap frame on the wall—a little -laughing child, taken in the stiff, conventional manner of the country -photographer, yet dimpling into merriment as if at some suddenly happy -thought. - -“Oh!” said Norah. “What a dear little youngster! Isn’t she a darling!” -She faced round as the door opened, and their hostess came in, bringing -clean towels. “We’re just in love with this,” she said, indicating the -photograph. “Is she your little girl?” - -The woman put down the towels in silence. Her face was working, and -before the misery in her eyes Jean and Norah shrank back aghast. There -was a moment’s dreadful silence. Then she spoke in a strained, unnatural -voice. - -“She was—once,” she said. “But she’s dead. We lost her. She’s dead. -Dead!” Suddenly she was gone, the door slamming behind her. - -The girls looked at each other dumbly, horror-stricken. - -“Oh, I say!” said Jean, presently. “Oh, weren’t we idiots! I’m so sorry -we asked her.” - -“Poor thing!” Norah said, her voice a shade unsteady. “Oh, poor thing! -Did you see how terrible her eyes were?” - -Jean nodded. “There couldn’t be anything more awful than to have a -kiddie like that, and then for it to die,” she said. “No wonder she -looks so—so hungry. I wish we hadn’t asked her.” - -“So do I,” Norah said. “It must have hurt her dreadfully—and she’s been -very kind to us. But how could we guess?” - -“I don’t half like going out,” said Jean. “I wish we could slip away.” - -“We couldn’t do that,” Norah said, shaking her head. “Come on. We’d -better hurry, because Dad and the boys will be over. The rain has nearly -stopped.” - -They found the rest of their party in the kitchen, when they made their -way out presently, considerably refreshed. Their hostess was bustling -about, setting out cups and saucers. She met their half-nervous glances -quite cheerfully. - -“Perhaps you two would butter some scones for me,” she said. She smiled -at them—a kindly look that told them they had nothing to worry about. -And Norah and Jean took the task thankfully. - -“Now what are you going to do?” - -Their hostess asked the question of Mr. Linton across the empty teapot. -It was a large teapot, but it had been filled and emptied twice. Now -every one was feeling better. - -“You can’t go camping to-night,” she went on. “The ground will be -soaking and you’d get your death of cold. Besides, it may rain again; I -don’t believe it’s all over yet.” - -“Oh, camping is out of the question,” Mr. Linton answered. “We’ll have -to find shelter in the township, that’s all. I suppose there’s an -hotel?” - -“If you call it one,” said the woman, sniffing. “Sort of bush shanty, I -should call it—and not too good a specimen at that. Very rough style, -and not too clean—and that’s putting a pretty fine point upon it. You -couldn’t possibly take these children there.” She nodded in a friendly -way at Jean and Norah. - -“H’m—that’s awkward,” said the squatter. “Are there any farms about -that would take us in?” - -“I don’t know of any. Most of the people about here have small houses -and they’re pretty crowded.” She hesitated. “If you gentlemen could -manage at the hotel, I’d be very glad to have the girls here.” - -“That’s very good of you,” Mr. Linton said, hesitating in his turn. She -read the shade of doubt in his eyes. - -“You know my husband, I think,” she said; “he’s Jack Archdale, that used -to be boundary rider at the Darrells’ station.” - -“Why, of course!” said Mr. Linton. “And you—weren’t you teaching in the -State school at Mulgoa? I seem to remember hearing of Archdale’s -wedding.” - -“Yes, Mr. Darrell gave us a great wedding,” said Mrs. Archdale, smiling. -“Five years ago, nearly; we came up here soon after.” Her face clouded -momentarily, as if remembering. “Jack’s doing contract work; he’ll be in -after a while. So, will you trust your belongings to me, Mr. Linton?” - -“Only too gladly,” said the squatter, in a voice of relief. “It’s -exceptionally lucky for us, Mrs. Archdale. One has to take risks of -finding rowdy bush inns when one goes for wild expeditions, but I -confess I’m glad not to have to take the girls there. I’m greatly -obliged to you.” - -“Oh, it’s a real treat to me,” she said. “It’s lonely here; I don’t seem -to make great friends with the township people, and Jack’s away all day; -and you can’t be always scrubbing and cleaning a house of this size, to -keep yourself occupied. You don’t know how glad I’ve been of a talk with -them already—and they took pity on my questions!” She flashed a smile -across at Norah that suddenly made her tired face quite like that of the -little laughing child in the photograph. “You won’t mind staying with -me?” she asked, a little wistfully. - -“We’ll be awfully glad to,” Norah said. As a rule, she was a little shy -of strangers, but there was something about this woman that made her -feel more like a friend; and Norah was desperately sorry for the brave -heart behind the haggard eyes. - -It was a little hard to say good-bye to Mr. Linton and the boys, seeing -them ride off to the township in the clean, rainwashed dusk. But they -found plenty to do in helping their hostess, although she would have had -them sit still and do nothing. And there was an odd fascination about -her—about her quick voice and quick movements, and quaint, unexpected -streaks of merriment, that set them laughing very often. Archdale was a -big, silent fellow, who evidently worshipped his wife’s very shadow. His -eyes scarcely left her as she flitted about the kitchen preparing the -evening meal. The photograph that they had seen was in every room—a big -enlargement of it in Mrs. Archdale’s bedroom. It even smiled from over -the polished tins upon the kitchen mantelpiece, and sometimes Norah saw -the father’s eyes wander to it sadly. - -After tea they talked on the front verandah, having made a joint -business of the washing up. Jack Archdale went to bed soon. He had had a -long day’s work in the heat. But his wife kept Jean and Norah up a -little longer, always talking. A strong restlessness never left her. It -was evidently hard for her to sit still, and to keep silent a harder -thing yet. Still, she made them so merry when she talked that they -forgot that they were tired, and were sorry when at last she packed them -off to the fragrant little bedroom with the blue walls. - -“I do like her,” Jean said. They were tucked into bed together, the -moonlight coming in through the open window, and making a white ray -across the sheet. - -“She’s just a dear,” Norah agreed. “But, oh! hasn’t she sorry eyes! -Don’t you wish one could make her forget?” - -“My word!” said Jean, with emphasis. “But no mother ever could forget -losing a little kiddie, I expect. And she hasn’t got any others.” - -There came a tap at the half-open door, and Mrs. Archdale came in. She -sat down on Norah’s side of the bed, which was nearest the door. The -moonlight fell on her face, showing it quite colourless. - -“You’re quite comfortable?” she asked. “That’s right. I thought I’d like -to see. I like some one to tuck up. I thought I’d come and—and tuck you -up.” - -Something in her voice kept them silent. But Norah put out a -half-nervous hand, and Mrs. Archdale took it and held it. - -“And—and tell you about her,” she said. - -Then she was silent again. Outside in the paddocks a curlew was calling -wearily across the timber. - -“I’m sure I must have frightened you this afternoon,” she said at last. -“I was dreadfully ashamed of myself.” - -“Please, don’t!” Norah whispered. “We shouldn’t have asked you.” - -“Why not? If I can’t stand being asked, I have no business to keep the -pictures about. Only—you see it was on just such a day as this that we -lost her—fearfully hot, and ending in a big thunderstorm. Just like -to-day—and whenever one comes, I go nearly mad. I can’t keep still, and -all the time I’m listening and looking. I know it’s terribly foolish, -but I can’t help it. Jack knows; he always understands, and he doesn’t -go away from me these days unless he can’t get out of it.” - -She stopped, and they felt her shivering. - -“You see, we lost her in the scrub,” she said, dully. - -“What!” - -“She slipped away into the timber. She was only just three, and no -little child has much chance in the Bush. How would they have? It’s so -big and lonely, and cruel—oh, how I hate it! We hunted—we were hunting -so soon! and all the district turned out, and we got the black trackers. -But it was so hot—and then the big storm came up, and when it was over -there were no tracks.” - -She ceased, looking out of the window—so long silent that it seemed -that she had forgotten them. - -“So we never found her,” she said at length, quite calmly. “The Bush -just took her and swallowed her up. We looked for weeks; long and long -after all the other people had given it up—and they didn’t give up -soon—Jack and I were hunting. All day long, and often all night too; -calling and calling, as long as we thought that she could answer. And -after that we hunted, only we did not call. And then, like a fool, I got -brain fever, and while I was ill the big Bush fires came and burnt all -that part of the scrub. It’s fifteen months ago, now.” - -Jean was sobbing softly. But Norah could only cling to the hard, -work-worn hand she held, very tightly. - -“I often think how lucky mothers are who see their kiddies die,” the -tired voice went on. “They know they helped them as much as was -possible, and they have their graves to look after. I haven’t got -anything—no grave, and no memories. Then I think of her lost and -wandering in that horrible green prison—tired and frightened, and -calling me; and I don’t know how much she suffered. Why, it scares men -to get lost in the Bush—and my little Babs was only three. If I -knew—if I knew that she died easily. It isn’t fair on a mother not to -know, when she was such a baby thing. It isn’t fair.” - -She had quite forgotten them now. It was as if she was talking to -herself. - -“Jack wants to go away from here,” she said. “But I can’t go. I can’t -go. I always keep thinking that some day when I am walking through the -scrub I might find—something. And then at least I would have the little -grave. It would be easier than having just nothing. Jack doesn’t like me -to go looking, now. But I have to keep on. When you’ve put your baby to -bed every night for three years—kissed her and played with her—how she -used to laugh!—and heard her say her little prayers, and tucked her in, -you can’t settle down to leaving her alone at night out in the timber. -You just can’t do it.” - -Again the voice ceased, and she sat staring out of the open window. -After a long while she got up, still holding Norah’s hand. - -“Good-night,” she said. “Perhaps I oughtn’t to have told you. But I had -to, somehow. If it hadn’t been this kind of a day I could have told you -lots of funny little things she used to do.” And with that dreadful -little speech on her lips she went away. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - - BEYOND THE PLAINS - - The little feet have left the house, - The little voice is still; - Without, the wan, wind-weary boughs; - Within, the will - To go and hear the wee feet tread - Within the garden of the dead. - - —_R. Crawford._ - -THERE were no traces of storm when the girls awoke next morning. Mrs. -Archdale came in with tea as soon as she heard their voices. Her face -was quite smiling and happy. - -“Very likely that dear old ‘Brownie’ of yours would say I shouldn’t give -you early tea,” she observed. “And I’m sure she’d be right. But I do -love it myself, and I’ve only got you for one morning, so I had to bring -it! Jack says I’ll ruin my system with tea, and all I can say is, it’s a -beautiful ending for a system!” - -No one quarrelled with the tea or with the wafers of buttered toast that -accompanied it. Mrs. Archdale talked briskly while the girls ate. - -“It’s just a perfect morning,” she said. “Blue sky and a little breeze, -and everything so clean and beautiful! You will have a lovely ride into -the ranges. I’ve often threatened to make Jack take me up Ben Athol, but -he regards me as quite insane when I mention it. But I should love to -go.” - -“Come with us,” Norah cried. - -She shook her head. - -“Oh, I couldn’t leave my old man,” she said. “We never go very far away -from each other now. Some day I will persuade him to go, and perhaps -we’ll find the remains of your camp. But the blacks won’t have left much -of it.” - -“Are there many blacks?” Jean asked, wide-eyed. - -“No, very few. Two or three families, I believe. They used to be in one -of the aboriginal settlements, and sometimes they go back there in the -cold weather; but they won’t stay there when the spring comes, and they -say two or three camp in the hills all the year round. Sometimes they -come down to Atholton and hang about the township for a week or two -begging for food and old clothes; but they are a perfect nuisance, and -they’d steal your very clothes-lines! So everybody hunts them, and after -a while they clear out.” - -“Do they come out here?” - -“It’s a bit far from the township for them to come much,” Mrs. Archdale -answered. “One young darkey, who calls himself Braggan Dudley, visits us -occasionally, and tries to sell us very badly-made boomerangs; and his -old mother makes rush baskets rather well. I buy the baskets, and scorn -the boomerangs. But last time Mr. Braggan came he helped himself to one -of Jack’s hats. Unfortunately for him, Jack happened along at the -moment, and made things lively for him with his stock-whip; so I don’t -fancy we shall see much of the gentleman in future. Not that you can -tell—they have cheek enough for anything.” - -“I hope we’ll run across some of them,” Jean said. “I haven’t seen any -Australian blacks.” - -“Don’t get excited over the prospect,” Mrs. Archdale told her. “They may -have been worth seeing when they dressed in paint—not that they often -wore so much as that!—and roamed the forest before the white people -came; but in their present state of half civilization they are as -miserable a set as you could imagine. I haven’t met any that are not -whining, thieving, pitiful creatures—filthy beyond imagination, too, -most of them. There used to be a woman in the ranges of a rather better -type—she had been employed as a housemaid on one of the stations, and -had learned some decent ways, though, of course, she ran off and married -a blackfellow. But she must have gone back to one of the settlements, I -fancy; at any rate I haven’t heard anything of her for two years or -more. I’d like to know what became of Black Lucy; she wasn’t at all a -bad sort.” - -Mr. Linton, arriving with the boys at an early hour, had more to say on -the subject of the blacks. - -“Green—the storekeeper—tells me it won’t be safe to leave our camp -unprotected,” he said. “Those wandering natives are a perfect -nuisance—there’s nothing they won’t steal. That ends Master Billy’s -chance of getting to the top of the peak. He’ll have to stay and mind -camp, poor chap. Still, he’ll think himself terribly important, and if -any of his dusky brethren should come along he’ll quite enjoy hunting -them off; so he’s not altogether to be pitied. - -“Was the hotel bad?” Norah inquired. - -“Don’t allude to the hotel!” Wally said. “We’ve had a busy night, and -we’re all soured—and sore!” - -“Oh, you poor souls!” Norah said. “Did they feed you decently?” At which -Jim and Wally gave vent to a simultaneous groan, charged with bitter -recollection. - -“It was pretty dreadful,” said Mr. Linton, laughing. “I think we’re -fairly certain to want an early lunch!” - -They said good-bye to Mrs. Archdale reluctantly, with many thanks and -promises to see her on the return journey. She held Norah’s hand a -little, looking at her wistfully. The others had ridden on down the -hill. - -“Would you mind if I gave you a kiss?” she asked, hesitating over each -word. “I haven’t kissed any one but Jack since—since . . .” Her voice -trailed off into silence. - -Norah bent down from the saddle quickly, and the poor woman flushed at -the touch of the fresh young lips. She stood looking down the track long -after the riders had vanished into the timber. - -Atholton was not an exciting city. It consisted of a few scattered -houses, most of them bark-roofed, since the cartage of roofing iron to -this remote district was an expensive matter. No railway was within -sixty miles, and communication with the outer world was by means of a -coach, which ran twice a week. The _Peak Hotel_ was the high-sounding -appellation of the inn, where Mr. Linton and the boys had suffered many -things. The Atholton inhabitants referred to it briefly as The Pub. -There was a store, combining various matters; within its small compass -could be found groceries, drapery, bread, meat, saddlery, and the post -office; while at a pinch the storekeeper would undertake a commission -for a plough, a tombstone or a piano. The only other business -establishment was a blacksmith’s shop, where just now the smith was busy -in shrinking a tyre for the wheel of a bullock dray. The bullocks, a -fine team of ten polled Angus, were drooping their black heads wearily -outside, the heavy yokes falling forward on their necks. Their driver -propped his long form against the doorpost, and exchanged district news -with the smith. - -At the store Black Billy might be seen adjusting to the pack-saddle a -bundle done up in sacking, and containing provisions. The storekeeper -came out as the party rode up; after the manner of Bush storekeepers, -all agog to talk. - -“’Mornin’, Miss Linton,” he said, addressing Jean and Norah impartially. -“Lovely day you’ve got for your ride, now—haven’t you? All the same, I -wouldn’t mind bettin’ you’ll be pretty tired before you get up to the -peak of old Ben Athol.” - -“Oh, I don’t know,” Norah said. “We don’t mind getting a bit tired.” - -“In a good cause?” finished the storekeeper, chuckling at his own -lightsome play of words. “Well, some have one idea of a lark, and some -have another; I can’t see much meself in climbing up that stony old -hill, but it’s all a matter of taste. And how did you get on at Mrs. -Archdale’s?” - -“She was very kind to us,” Norah answered, warmly. - -“Not a kinder woman in the districk,” said the storekeeper, producing a -fragment of black and ancient tobacco, and proceeding to cut up some. -“Pity she’s gone a bit queer. I was tellin’ your Pa last night how rummy -she’s got since their youngster died, an’ I believe I fair worried him -about you. But, of course, Mrs. Archdale’s all right—she’s only a bit -queer on that point.” - -“I don’t call her queer,” Jean burst out, indignantly. “She can’t help -thinking about her little girl, of course.” - -“But she’s just awfully nice!” Norah seconded. “And she was as good to -us as ever she could be.” - -“There, now, I told your Pa she would be,” said the storekeeper, quite -unmoved. “Keeps that little home of hers like a new pin, too, don’t she? -Of course, Mrs. Archdale’s a cut above the ordinary—had a bit of -education, and all that. And, as you say, no one could blame her for -frettin’ about that poor little kid. Such a jolly little youngster she -was—always had a laugh for you. I can tell you the whole districk was -cut up over that youngster’s loss—an’ it wasn’t for want of huntin’ -that the poor little body was never found. Of course, that’s what’s on -her mother’s nerves.” - -“One can’t wonder at that,” said Mr. Linton. - -“No, of course you can’t. Bad enough for a child to die; but not to be -able to give it decent burial makes it mighty rough—especially on a -woman. Not the first, by a long way, that has never been found in these -ranges, they’re that thick an’ full of gullies; but the wonder was we -didn’t get little Babs Archdale. All the districk was out. There wasn’t -a yard of scrub unbeaten for ten mile, I don’t think.” - -“Poor little baby!” said Norah, very low. - -“Ay. An’ the mother—my word, I don’t reckon any of us as were huntin’ -’ll ever forget Mrs. Archdale’s face. She’s not the kind as shows her -feelin’s very ready; an’ that made it all the worse. Poor soul! Poor -soul! An’ after we’d had to give up, and the black trackers had gone -back, an’ every one knew it was hopeless, she an’ Jack kept on looking, -night an’ day I dunno at last what old Jack was most afraid of—not -findin’ her or findin’ her. Twas a relief to every one when we heard the -mother had gone down with fever. She was ravin’ for weeks.” - -The storekeeper dropped his voice, looking round. - -“An’ there’s a yarn,” he said. “I dunno if it’s true. Some people say it -is. Half her time Mrs. Archdale’s off in the scrub alone; an’ the yarn -is that she’s got a little cross stuck up in the ground in some gully, -an’ ‘Babs’ carved on it; an’ she keeps flowers there, like as if it was -really her little kiddie’s grave. An’ they say she goes down there an’ -just sits still an’ looks at it. I dunno. Old Jack can’t know anything -about it, or he’d never leave her; but it ain’t the kind of thing you -like to think of a woman doin’—not a woman you like. An’ all this -districk thinks the world of Mrs. Archdale.” - -Norah rode beside her father, and they were silent long after they had -bidden the storekeeper good-bye and left the roofs of Atholton low among -the timber as they mounted into the hills. She looked up at him at last. - -“Oh, Dad,” she said; “if only any one could help her!” - -“Ay,” said David Linton. “But that’s beyond human power, my little -girl.” - -“I think she liked having us, Dad,” Norah said, half shyly. “That’s -nothing, of course, unless it kept her from thinking. Can we go back -there for another night on our way home?” - -“If you like, dear,” he said. “But you’d rather camp, wouldn’t you?” - -“I don’t think so—not if she’d like us. She asked me if she could kiss -me, Dad.” - -“Did she?” Mr. Linton said. “Poor lonely soul! It would really be better -if Archdale took her out of the district altogether—if she’d go. But -that would be the difficulty, I expect. I could give him a good billet -on Billabong if he’d take it. I’ll be looking for a storekeeper next -month.” - -“Oh, I wish he would,” Norah exclaimed. “But I don’t think Mrs. Archdale -would ever leave here She feels she’s a bit nearer that poor dead baby, -perhaps.” - -Above them they could catch glimpses of the track as it rose spirally -into the hills. Atholton nestled back into the very foot of the ranges. -Scarcely half a mile from its last house the flat country ended, and the -hills, tier on tier, rose ahead. Indeed, only for a little while was -there any real track. A few isolated mountain farms were perched on tiny -flats among the ridges, but as soon as the last of these was passed the -wheel track, rough as it was, ended abruptly, and there was only a rough -Bush path. Sheep had made it originally, and it had been widened by -drovers bringing down stock; but at best it was narrow and uneven, and -often the scrub grew so closely on either side, that it was only -possible for two to ride abreast. - -It was too exquisite a day to be sad. Later the sun would be hot, but -now the jewels of last night’s rain still hung, trembling, on leaf and -bough, and caught the sunlight in liquid flashes. As they rode brushing -the dewy branches, they seemed to shake loose the hundred scents of the -Bush, and the sharp fragrance was like a refreshing draught. There were -not many wild flowers left, but there was no sameness in the scrub, that -showed varying shades of colour—tender green of young branches; -grey-green and blue-grey of the gum trees, shading to bronze in the -distance; on the topmost boughs of young saplings translucent leaves -that showed against the sunlight, yellow and red, and glowing crimson. -Overhead a sky of perfect blue, deep and pure, wherein sailed piled -masses of white cloud, flushed with pink where the rays fell. And all -about them birds that sang and chirped and whistled, flitting busily in -the green recesses of the scrub; such tame birds that it was evident -that few humans came this way to break into the peace and safety of -their hills. - -“I guess we’ve had our last canter for a day or two,” Jim said. “Nothing -but climbing now. How’s the pack standing it Billy?” - -“Plenty!” said the sable retainer, vaguely. “Baal that pfeller -slip—Boss packed him on.” His grin suddenly was a streak of light in -the darkness of his countenance. - -But for the deep whisperings of the Bush it was a land of silence. They -had mounted above the last of the hill farms; no longer the faint -bleating of sheep came to their ears, or a cattle call sounding through -the timber. Here and there they caught glimpses of a steer, poking -through the scrub in search of the sparse native grass; but presently -there were no more fences, and they had climbed into the country that -was No Man’s Land. - -No one would have had it. Even the easily pleased rabbit would have -found scant pickings on the stony soil. The scrub became scanty and -gnarled—the winds that blew across the face of the ranges in winter -twisted the saplings into queer, bent shapes, and whirled the very earth -from their roots. The horses, unused to such unkind ground, slipped and -stumbled on the sandstone outcropping here and there. Sometimes there -were gullies where the growth was dense—often the site of some old -landslip, or a deep cleft between two hills; and sometimes the sound of -falling water carried their eyes to where a spring, concealed in some -rocky hollow, sent a miniature fall drip-dripping down a steep -slope—its margin daintily green, with little plants striving for a hold -among the stones. - -They camped for lunch early, seizing a patch of deep shade, where a -great blue gum grew out of a gully—the only big tree visible among the -sparse scrub. A huge boulder had sheltered it as a sapling, protecting -it until it had won strength sufficient to outgrow the kindly refuge, -and fling its great head towards the sky. The boulder lay at its feet -now, and the riders camped in its shadow. Near at hand a spring trickled -softly into a rainwashed hole, which brimmed over, sending a silver -thread of water down among the stones below. There was little or no -grass for the horses; but for this halt they had carried a small ration -of hard feed for each horse, and the sweating steeds welcomed it -eagerly. The night camp was to be made on a flat further up, where, the -storekeeper had told Mr. Linton, they would find grass. - -Through the afternoon they climbed steadily. Soon it was easier to walk -than to ride, since riding was no quicker—and to lean forward grasping -a handful of your horse’s mane to ease the strain on his back, and -prevent yourself slipping over his tail, is not an especially -fascinating pastime, when pursued for any lengthy period. So they led -the horses, stumbling over the rocky pathway—though stumbling was a -somewhat exciting matter, as, if you fell, your steed would probably -walk upon you, since you would be apt to roll back under his fore feet. -It was a tiring day, even though the fresh mountain air helped them to -forget the sun, beating down hotly upon their shoulders. They enjoyed it -all—the English race, all the world over, has a way of taking its -pleasure strenuously. No one thought of wanting the way made easier. - -Then, just as Mr. Linton was casting somewhat uneasy glances at the -weary horses, and wondering how much more acrobatic ability would be -demanded of them, they came to a belt of deeper scrub, where moisture -was suddenly perceptible in the soil that for hours had been arid and -dry. For a few moments they climbed through it, in single file, and then -a turn in the narrow track led them out upon a little plateau lying in a -nook among the hills. Not more than fifty yards square, it showed green -against the rugged slopes beyond. Water, unseen, trickled musically, and -a few trees were dotted about. - -“Whew-w!” whistled Jim. “What a ripping place to camp!” - -“Couldn’t be better,” his father said, with relief. - -“I’m going to stay here for a week!” Wally declared, casting his hat -upon the ground. - -“Then you’ll be living on gum leaves most of the time!” retorted Jim. -“Perhaps you might get a monkey-bear if you were lucky.” - -“I could stand devilled bear very well indeed, just now,” responded his -friend. “Never met such hungry air in my life—in the words of the poet, -there’s nothing in the world I couldn’t chew!” - -“Well, that may be the poet’s opinion, but you’re not going to chew -anything here until camp is fixed,” said Mr. Linton, laughing. “Jean has -us all beaten—her saddle is the first off.” - -“Jean will get beastly unpopular if she’s not careful,” said Wally, -favouring the energetic Jean with as much of a scowl as his cheerful -countenance would permit. “These horribly-good people nearly always come -to a bad end, and nobody loves them!” A tirade that left Jean quite -unmoved, as she inquired of Mr. Linton if Nan were to be hobbled? - -Besides the tent, there was a “wurley” to be put up to-night. The boys -were inclined to scorn this at first, but found later on that they were -glad of its shelter, for the keen mountain air was very different to the -milder temperature of the plains, and their stock of blankets was not -large. They built it of interlaced boughs, thick with leaves, and when -finished it looked most inviting. By that time Jean and Norah had tea -ready, and the camp fire was glowing redly in a rocky corner. - -They sat about it afterwards, singing every chorus they could remember, -to a spirited accompaniment by Wally on the penny whistle. The whistle -was pitched in a higher key than Nature had rendered possible for most -of the singers—a circumstance which did not at all impair the -cheerfulness of the quartet, though Mr. Linton threatened to flee into -the fastnesses of the bush if the “obbligato” were not discontinued. -Black Billy, washing cups at the spring, and gathering kindling wood for -the morning fire, grinned all the time in sympathy with the freshness -and merriment of the young voices. They rang out cheerily, their echoes -dying away on the lonely slopes. Never had such sounds disturbed the -brooding silence of old Ben Athol. - -To David Linton, lying awake in his “wurley” in the moonlight, gazing -dreamily out at a star that trembled in the west, it seemed that the -last chorus still lingered on the night air:— - - “Wrap me up in my stock-whip and blanket, - And say a poor buffer lies low—lies low, - Where the dingoes and crows can’t molest me, - On the plains where the coolibars grow.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - - THE PEAK OF BEN ATHOL - - By rolling plain and rocky shelf, - With stock-whip in his hand, - He reached at last, oh, lucky elf, - The Town of Come-and-help-yourself, - In Rough-and-ready Land. - - —_A. B. Paterson._ - -“OH!” said Jean, despairingly. “I wish to goodness I hadn’t been born -fat!” - -“Very possibly you were not,” Jim’s voice said. “Don’t lay all the blame -on your parents; it seems to me more an acquired habit on your part.” -His cheerful face came over the edge of a boulder, and peeped down upon -her. - -“’Tisn’t my fault at all!” said Jean, indignantly. “You know very well I -hardly ever eat butter or potatoes, and I love them both. We’re all fat; -and Dad and Mother are the fattest!” - -“It must be the New Zealand air,” said Jim, regarding her with interest. -“Perhaps, if we turned you out into a poor paddock for a while, you’d -come down in condition. Not that I’d advise it, because we like you as -you are—but I hate to see you worried.” - -“Oh, don’t be an ass!” responded the harassed Jean. “This isn’t a time -for polite conversation—I want to get over that horrid old rock. And -I’m so hot!” - -“Well, didn’t I hear your bleat of woe, and come back to help you, -though I was making for the peak like the gentleman in ‘Excelsior,’ you -ungrateful woman?” asked Jim. He swung his long legs over the boulder, -and came scrambling down to where she stood. “Poor old thing! It’s -pretty steep, isn’t it?” - -“I’m not a poor old thing, and I won’t be pitied,” retorted Jean with -indignation. “I haven’t got long legs like all of you, but I can climb -hills, for all that. I only want a leg-up over this boulder.” - -“Of course you do,” said Jim, in his best soothing manner—which was -wont to have anything but a soothing effect. “Lend me your foot, Miss -Yorke, and be prepared to put some spring into your portly frame. One, -two, three—up you go!” He hoisted her deftly, and with a quick movement -Jean had scrambled to the top of the rock. - -It was one of a hundred similar sandstone boulders scattered over the -side of the hill. Sometimes, by dodging through crevices and under -jutting points of rock, it was possible to avoid them; but often they -lay so thickly that to skirt them was impossible except by a detour too -long to be practicable. There was not much vegetation to be seen. Grass -was practically non-existent, but tough young gums grew here and there -among the rocks, with twisted stems, finding a foothold in some -mysterious manner by thrusting deep twining roots into the crevices. -There leafage was too sparse and stunted to give any real shade, and the -sun beat down with blinding force; though it was not yet noon, the rocks -were hot under the touch. - -Ahead, straggling forms could be seen pushing their way upward. Wally -and Norah were in the lead, by virtue of long legs and tough muscles; -then came Mr. Linton, with whom Jim had been climbing until he heard -Jean’s small “bleat” of distress, and turned back to help her. The camp -was far below: for a long time they had lost even the faint curl of the -smoke of their fire, where Billy had been left disgustedly washing up -the breakfast things, and with strict orders to remain on guard -throughout the day. - -Mr. Linton and the boys carried valises strapped across their shoulders, -containing food and water. Already it had been found necessary to -husband the latter, since climbing on such a day was thirsty work, and -the supply of water bottles was not large. To brew tea at the Peak was -considered out of the question; that was a luxury to be anticipated on -getting back to the camp. Even now, Jean looked longingly at Wally’s -diminishing burden, and solaced herself indifferently by chewing an -exceedingly dry gum leaf, which tasted very strongly of eucalyptus, and -made her, if anything, thirstier than before. - -There were scarcely any small birds in this high region—cover was too -scarce, and food supply correspondingly low. Once they caught sight of -an eagle-hawk, sailing leisurely across a path of blue sky, visible -between two hills; and, even as they looked, his wings ceased to beat, -he hovered, motionless, for a moment, and then fell like a stone, -swooping on some prey descried in a distant gully. Occasionally there -were holes that looked like rabbit-burrows, and sometimes an opening -that marked the entrance to a wombat hole: but of wild life they saw -nothing, save here and there a lizard sunning itself on a patch of warm -rock, and sliding off with incredible rapidity at the unfamiliar sound -of voices. - -“As for the blacks,” said Jean, resentfully, “I believe it was only a -yarn about them—or they’re all gone. We haven’t seen even a trace of a -camp.” - -“Well, there’s a good deal of room for a camp or so to exist without our -coming across them,” Jim answered, wisely. “But I think it’s quite -likely there are none left—why on earth should they stay in country -like this when they can be fed and housed decently at one of the -settlements? Of course, the gentle black is a peculiar sort of chap, and -hates to be shut up within four walls. Still, I think this sort of thing -would scare even a native back to civilization.” - -“Well, I’m sorry,” Jean made answer. “I did want to see some.” - -“There’s old King Billy at the Darrells’ station,” Jim told her, kindly. -“He lives there, and reckons he owns it. If you like, we’ll get him -trotted out for your inspection. He’s our Billy’s father, and I’ve no -doubt he’d be glad to call on his loving son, especially if he thought -his screw had just been paid.” Which handsome offer did very little to -appease Jean’s longings, even when Jim supplemented it with a further -proposal to make the monarch appear in war-paint and utter horrifying -tribal yells. After having been acquainted with William, junior, it was -difficult to expect any romantic attributes in his royal father. - -Ben Athol was a deceptive mountain. Often the summit seemed quite near, -as if but a few yards more would land them at their destination. This -was cheering, and led them to climb with great ardour, each striving to -be first over the toppling edge that appeared to be the margin of the -crest. But when it was surmounted, it was found to be only a shoulder, -and the actual Peak loomed high above them yet. This occurred so often -that it moved Wally to wrath and eloquence. - -“I never saw anything rummier than the anatomy of this blessed hill,” he -said. “It’s got as many shoulders as an octopus ought to have, only -they’re all on the same side! I think we’ll be climbing it like this -till the end of time, and never getting any forarder. Do you think it -would pay to cut round and try to climb up its chest instead?” - -Jim said, “Don’t be personal!” and patted him on the shoulder with such -friendly force that the orator, who chanced to be sitting on the extreme -edge of a boulder, slid off, and continued sliding until he found Mother -Earth—which happened with some force. This led to reprisals, and by the -time that the combatants, somewhat dusty, had adjusted their -differences, the remainder of the expedition was some distance up the -Peak. - -It was the Peak itself, and the last pull was a steep one. All the -ground was heaped with stones, great and small. To dodge them was out of -the question, and every foot of the way had to be climbed. There were no -trees here, though on the very summit a few clung amid the rocks. It was -hot work, crawling, climbing, slipping—the rough sandstone grazing the -hands that clung to it and the knees as they scrambled across. But it -was the top. Jean and Norah raced for the last few yards—a contest -abruptly ended by the latter’s catching her foot in a crevice and -falling headlong. Jean arrived at the Peak by herself, and looked round -in some astonishment, to behold her chum rising from the earth and -ruefully surveying a hole in her skirt. - -“Oh—I’m sorry!” said the victor, laughing and flushed. “Are you hurt, -old girl?” - -“Only my feelings—and my skirt!” laughed Norah, inspecting a grazed -hand as a matter of lesser moment. “It’s a good thing we packed needles -and cotton.” She came up beside Jean, and caught her breath in quick -ecstasy. “Jeanie! what a view!” - -The ranges lay beneath them, rolling east and west. Darkly green, their -clothing of timber hid all ruggedness and inequalities, and only that -waving expanse of foliage rippled softly from their feet. Here and there -a peak, higher than its fellows, reared its crest, or a giant tree flung -a proud head skywards; but there was little to break the softly-rounded -masses of green. But out beyond the hills, the plains lay extended, mile -on mile, spreading away illimitably. Dark lines winding sinuously over -their bosoms showed the timber bordering the courses of creeks and -rivers. Once a sun ray caught a glint of blue where a lake rippled -thousands of feet below. On one lonely plain a belt of pines made a dark -mass, easily distinguishable, even at so great a distance. On all was -silence—so profound that it was easy to imagine that the green country -lying below was as desolate and uninhabited as the rugged Peak where -they stood. - -David Linton, coming up silently, looked out long over the country he -loved, one hand on Norah’s shoulder. Then he sat down on a boulder and -lit his pipe, still watching and silent, as the blue smoke trailed away. - -The boys arrived hastily, flushed and panting. - -“Beat you!” gasped Wally. - -“Dead heat, you old fraud!” Jim retorted. - -“Be quiet, you duffers,” said Norah, affectionately. “Come here and look -across the world!” - -So they looked—and were impressed even into silence for three minutes, -which is a remarkable tribute to be exacted by any landscape from any -boy. Then Nature reasserted itself. - -“I could drink in that view for hours,” said Wally, with fervour, “if I -weren’t so thirsty!” He undid his bundle in haste, and looked longingly -at the water bottle. “May we all moisten our lips just once, Mr. -Linton—one little moist?” - -“We’d better take stock,” responded that gentleman, coming out of his -reverie, and proceeding to unstrap his load. “Jim, how much have you got -left?” - -They inspected the supply, which was found to be barely sufficient to -assist in washing down luncheon. This once settled, they threw care to -the winds, and demolished all, since going down hill would be a quicker -matter, and the heat less than on the journey up. “Horses travel well -when there’s water ahead, so perhaps I may expect the same from you!” -remarked Mr. Linton, to the just indignation of his party, who averred -that his willingness to allow the water to be finished proceeded solely -from anxiety to have no load to carry down. - -It was still hot when they left the summit. Resting there was scarcely a -comfortable business; there was little shade, and the rocks were uneasy -places for repose. “Better to have another spell on the way down, when -we strike a good place,” said the leader; and the others chorussed their -agreement. So they went down, slipping and sliding on the -boulders—digging their heels into a patch of earth whenever one was -discovered soft enough to act as foothold. It was not without risk, for -the Peak was steep, and a false step among the stones would probably -have resulted unpleasantly. David Linton was free from minor anxieties -concerning his irresponsible clan, holding the happy-go-lucky Australian -belief that worrying does not pay; still, he breathed more freely when -the descent of the Peak itself was accomplished, and a slightly easier -slope lay before them. Broken legs are at all times awkward—but to -carry a broken leg down a mountain side is not a performance to be -lightly contemplated. - -He pulled up an hour later. - -“Well, I have no idea as to the views of the clan,” he remarked. “But I -am going to have a spell. It is borne in upon me that I am getting old, -and that I have not had a smoke for a long time.” - -“You’re not old, at all, but we’ll all have a spell,” Norah responded. -They had halted in a shady spot, where native grass tried to grow, and -there were stones of a convenient shape to serve as seats. The Peak -loomed far above them, grim and remote, although they were yet on its -side. They had climbed down so far that the view all round was blotted -out, since now they were below the level of the timber-crowned hills -that clustered round Ben Athol. Already the fierceness of the sun had -gone, and there was even a breath of chill in the shady stillness where -they rested. - -They lay on the ground or found stony seats, and for half an hour talked -lazily or did not talk at all, as the spirit moved them. Jim and his -father were deep in a discussion of bullocks. Suddenly Norah, who had -been industriously biting the tough grass stems, as an aid to thought, -scrambled to her feet. - -“I want to go and explore,” she said. “Who will come?” - -“Me,” said Jean and Wally, simultaneously, and with painful disregard of -the King’s English. - -“Not I, I think,” said her father. “I want to finish my pipe.” - -“Then I’ll keep you company,” Jim said. “Don’t get lost, you kids!” - -“Kid yourself!” remarked Wally. “Then we’ll meet back at the camp, sir?” - -“Yes, I suppose so. Don’t get far off the track, Wally,” said Mr. -Linton; “and take care of my daughters!” He smiled at Jean. - -“I’ll keep ’em well in order, sir,” said Wally. “Observe, children, Papa -has put you under my charge!” Whereat Norah tilted her nose -disdainfully, and they scrambled off among the rocks. - -The prohibition against getting far from the path made exploration -limited—not that there was much to be gained by exploring, since one -part of the hill seemed precisely the same as another. Very rarely, a -lean mountain sheep appeared, to scurry off among the timber in bleating -affright at the strange apparitions; but in general the scrub and the -rocks were monotonously alike, and travelling, once off the sheep track, -was considerably more difficult. So they made their way back to it, -resolving that exploration was a mistaken ideal, and journeyed down hill -cheerfully. - -Wally paused when they were beginning to think that the camp must be -close at hand. - -“Cease your foolish persiflage!” said he, severely. “I’ve an idea.” - -“Never!” said Jean, with open incredulity. “Where?” - -“It’s this,” said Wally. “Somewhere in my bones it is borne in upon me -that young Billy is asleep. Let’s see if we can’t take him by surprise.” - -“All right,” Norah said, twinkling. “But why you should think poor old -Billy is snoring at the post of Duty is more than I can say, unless -you’re thinking that in similar circumstances you’d be sleeping -yourself!” - -“There may be something in that,” said Wally, regarding the supposition -with due consideration. “If Billy has kept awake all day he’s a hero and -a martyr, and I should like to crown him with a chaplet of ‘prickly -Moses,’ laurel leaves being unobtainable. Anyhow, let us creep upon him, -and make him think he’s attacked by sable warriors, clad principally in -ferocity.” - -They went on softly, in single file. The path was easier, as the slope -became less acute; an hour earlier, quiet walking would have been -impossible, owing to shifting stones that had a way of rattling down -hill at a touch; but now they could prowl, soft-footed, through the -scanty undergrowth. It was, perhaps, five minutes later when the first -glimpse of the green plateau came into view, and at a signal from Wally -they stole forward noiselessly, halting in the shadow of the scrub that -fringed its edge. - -It was immediately evident that Wally’s instinct had been entirely -correct. Black Billy had succumbed to the heat, or the soporific effect -of the eucalyptus scents, or his own loneliness—or, very possibly, to a -combination of all three. He lay on his back under a little tree, his -battered old felt hat pulled over his eyes, and his skinny limbs flung -carelessly in the abandonment of sleep. His mouth was wide-open, and -snores proceeded from him steadily. - -“Sweet child,” said Wally admiringly. “Nothing lovelier than a sleeping -cherub, is there? What did I tell you, young Norah Linton? Grovel.” - -“I grovel,” whispered Norah, laughing. “Poor old Billy, he must have -been horribly dull.” - -“Not he, lazy young nigger. Plenty to eat and nothing to do is a -blackfellow’s heaven,” responded Wally, in an energetic whisper. “Hold -on until I collect my breath for a yell.” - -Norah caught his arm. - -“Wally! Look there.” - -From behind the tent suddenly emerged a figure, looking round -cautiously. As she straightened up they could see her face plainly—a -black woman, shapeless and bent as in the manner of all black “gins,” -when their first youth is passed. Her broad face, hideous in its dark -ugliness, shone with the peculiar polish of black skins. She was dressed -in rags, principally of sacking, amidst which could be seen the remnant -of an old print frock that had once been red; a man’s felt hat covered -her matted hair ineffectually, since here and there stray locks stuck -out of holes in the crown. - -“Great Scott,” Wally whistled. “And that young beggar, Billy, snoring. -Well, Jean, there’s your noble savage, anyhow, and I hope you like her.” - -“Why, she got a picaninny,” Norah whispered eagerly. - -As the woman moved they could see a tiny form clinging to her skirts on -the other side. She faced round presently, and they saw the small -aboriginal—a queer mite, in rags of sacking also, and a piece of the -same elegant material tied over its head. - -No one could have said off-hand that it was boy or girl—it was merely -picaninny. Elfish eyes looked out from a tangle of black hair under the -sacking. One little dark hand clung to the black gin’s skirts; the other -grasped a tiny boomerang that was evidently a toy. There was something -uncanny in its perfect silence and caution of the little thing. - -“Rum little beggar!” Wally whispered. “Fine Australian native in the -making! Jean, are you impressed?” - -“The woman’s awful,” Jean murmured back. “But the baby’s a jolly little -chap. I wonder if he’s a boy or girl”—a confusion of genders which sent -Wally off into a fit of silent laughter that was almost alarming, since -it made him apoplectic in appearance. - -“Do be quiet!” Norah whispered. “She’s certain to hear you.” - -But the black gin was quite unsuspicious of the watching eyes. She poked -about the camp, here and there picking up some trifle and concealing it -somewhere about her rags. Billy’s recumbent form she avoided carefully, -and her eyes never left him for more than a moment. She wandered softly -about the tent, longing, yet fearing, to untie the flap and make more -detailed investigations. And always at her side trotted the picaninny, -clinging to her skirt and entirely unconcerned by the adventure, except -in its silence and stealthy movements. - -Presently, however, it stopped suddenly, released its hold, and sat down -on the ground with a comically knitted brow. The gin looked down, an -impatient frown on her heavy features. The little creature was evidently -concerned with a thorn or splinter its bare black foot had picked up; it -was searching for it, twisting itself to try to get a view of its -case-hardened sole. The gin cautioned it with uplifted finger, and -leaving it on the ground, stole off on a further tour of exploration. - -The black baby was evidently very cross. It frowned and twisted over its -foot, and seemed to be telling the splinter, under its breath, its -unbiassed opinion of it. Meanwhile, the lubra was lying flat on her face -beside the tent, groping under the canvas with one hand, and her soul -apparently charged with hope. Norah and Jean watched her, choking with -laughter, since, so far as they knew, she could only encounter a bunk. - -“You’ll have to take steps if she tries another spot, Wally,” Norah -whispered. - -“Right-oh!” was the noiseless response, given somewhat absently. Wally -was watching the picaninny. He turned to Norah in a moment. - -“That’s a rum little blackfellow,” he said. “See its foot; I’ve never -seen a darky with a foot like that, and we used to live amongst ’em in -Queensland. They’re all just as flat-footed as a—a platypus. But look -at the instep that rum little black coon has got; it’s as high an instep -as I’ve ever seen, and the foot’s quite pretty.” - -Norah looked as desired. The dusky baby was still contorting on the -grass, fishing vigorously in its foot for the offending splinter. Its -face was turned towards them, but bent so intently over its task that -they could scarcely see it. There was no doubt that the small foot was -pretty—a slender foot, with arched instep, incongruous enough, sticking -out of the sacking rags. - -Then, as they watched, success rewarded the picaninny’s efforts. The -hard little fingers, with talonlike nails, found the head of the -splinter, and drew it carefully out. The child looked up triumphantly, a -smile breaking out suddenly and illuminating all its dark face. And at -sight of the smile Norah gave a great start, and cried out aloud: - -“Wally—did you see! It isn’t a picaninny at all! It’s Mrs. Archdale’s -baby!” - - - - -[Illustration: “The little creature was evidently concerned with a thorn -or splinter its bare black foot had picked up.”] - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - - THE WURLEY IN THE ROCKS - - And yet there is no refuge - To shield me from distress. - Except the realm of slumber - And great forgetfulness. - - —_Henry Kendall._ - -QUICK as they were, the black woman was quicker. - -She was lying full length on her face when Norah’s startled voice rang -out across the camp. Almost with the first word she was on her feet, -twisting to an erect position with a quick movement curious in one so -ungainly. Like a flash, also, the child was running to her, screaming -with sudden terror. The gin caught her up with a swift clutch, and in -three strides had gained the shelter of the scrub. - -“Oh, Wally, run!” Norah cried. - -But Wally was running. His long legs took him across the grass so -swiftly that he seemed to gain the scrub almost at the same instant as -the lubra. Behind him came Jean and Norah, scarlet with excitement. They -pulled up sharply. - -There was no sign of any one. The spring that had its source near the -plateau trickled out at the side, and the scrub grew more densely than -anywhere else. It seemed to have swallowed up their quarry. Not even a -broken or trembling branch or a mark in the bushes told where she had -gone. They listened, their hearts thumping heavily. - -Then, from the left, came the sound of a breaking twig, and Wally turned -in its direction, and went crashing through the undergrowth, the girls -at his heels. For a moment he feared that he was on the wrong track; -then, with a great throb of relief, he caught a glimpse of a faded red -print skirt, and ran wildly on. - -Once he looked back with a quick call. - -“Don’t get bushed if we miss each other. I’ll coo-ee!” - -“Right!” Norah had no breath for more. - -They ran madly through the scrub, dodging, twisting, scrambling among -the saplings and bushes. The stones were the worst; they cropped out of -the ground, often with a coating of dry lichen or dead leaves disguising -their outlines, and it was almost impossible to dodge them, running at -top speed, in the gloom of the trees. A dozen times the pursuers tripped -and went sprawling over the unseen and unyielding obstacles, only to -pick themselves up, bruised and shaken, to run harder than ever, to make -up for lost time. - -The black gin always kept before them. Sometimes they caught a glimpse -of her red skirt, and once Wally saw her across a little cleared space, -fleeing silently, with the child clasped to her breast; but generally -she was out of sight, and they could only follow her by sound. She ran -with all the stealthy cunning of her race, her bare feet making little -noise when contrasted with the crashing of her pursuers, who shouted to -her loudly and unavailingly to stop. Nor did she ever run in a straight -line—like a hare she twisted and doubled, though always as if she had -some definite end in view, for, despite her tortuous course, she always -kept to the same direction. The child uttered no sound; the woman ran as -though she had no burden. - -Norah fell behind presently; not only was the pace too much for her, but -she feared to leave Jean, who was lagging far in the rear. She waited -for her to catch up, and they jogged on together, listening anxiously -for Wally’s voice. - -Wally had set his teeth, suddenly indignant at being outpaced for so -long by a woman—“a black one at that!” he uttered, forgetting that no -woman, save a black one, would have had the slightest chance of keeping -ahead. The pride of the schoolboy, to whom none of his mates had been -able to show the way on the football field, surged up in him, and he -flung himself forward, shouting. He knew he had lost sight of Norah and -Jean—and they must not be left to run the danger of getting “bushed.” -The chase must end. - -He was gaining yard by yard—the pad of flying bare feet came closer and -closer. Then he heard a heavy fall, and a loud, piteous cry—a child’s -cry—that sent the honest blood surging to his heart. He was almost upon -the black woman as she picked herself up, clinging to the child—and -then she doubled suddenly, twisting herself through a gap between two -great boulders. Not quite quickly enough; had the boy been a dozen yards -further off he might never have seen where she disappeared. But he was -on her heels, following. Then he knew that the chase was over. - -They were in a tiny triangular space, nearly filled by a “wurley” formed -by roofing in the stones with boughs, and leaving a few upright ones as -a doorway. The boulders hemmed it in. The place was hardly larger than a -dog kennel at Billabong—searchers might have passed it a hundred times, -never guessing that there was any space left among the masses of rock. -It had evidently been inhabited a long while, for the ground was beaten -hard, and it reeked with the “blackfellow” odour that is worse than the -majority of smells. The black gin dived into the tiny hut, and faced -about; Wally could see her fierce eyes gleaming—could hear her breath, -loud, panting gasps. He was panting himself; the “Coo-ee!” he uttered, -turning towards the direction where he had last seen the girls, quavered -a little. He sent it echoing through the bush twice before an answer -came. Then the boy’s heart gave a throb of relief as Jean and Norah came -into view. - -“Got ’em!” he said, indicating the “wurley” with a jerk of his hand. -“Moses! can’t that lady run! I’d like to enter her for the Oaks! Are you -girls all right?” - -They nodded. - -“Is it—is the kiddie——?” - -“Blest if I know!” said Wally, laughing. “You said so, and so I ran. If -it isn’t some one else’s youngster, then the lady in here has a mighty -uneasy conscience on some other score, that’s all. But if you’ve given -me that little jog-trot for nothing, young Norah——!” He broke off, -endeavouring to look threatening. - -“Why, I saw it laugh!” said Norah. “And it was the face of that -photograph and Mrs. Archdale’s face rolled into one!” - -“Never saw Mrs. Archdale with a face as black as that,” Wally rejoined. -“You aren’t complimentary, Nor. Let’s have a look at them, anyway.” - -But the black gin cowered back in her den, and refused to move. -Persuasion and threats alike were unavailing. Finally Wally shrugged his -shoulders. - -“Awfully sorry to pull your house about your ears, ma’am,” he said. “But -if you won’t come out, it’ll have to be. Look out, you girls—I shall -stir up awful smells!” - -He fulfilled his prediction as he pulled away the interlacing -boughs—hygienic principles are not in vogue in an aboriginal “wurley.” -It was pitifully scanty—a moment’s work sufficed to reveal the lubra -and the child she grasped firmly. She tried to hold its face against -her—but the baby wriggled free at the strange voices, facing the grave -young faces. - -Now that they were so close only a glance was needed to show that this -was no black picaninny. A dark stain covered the child’s face and its -legs and arms: but through it the features were those of the baby who -had laughed to them from the blue wall of the little room at Mrs. -Archdale’s. And there was no fear in the wide, dark eyes that met -theirs—but rather an unspoken greeting, as though instinct told her -that she was once more among her own kind. Norah held out her hand to -her; but the black gin cowered back, holding the little body yet more -closely. - -“Mine,” she said; “that pfeller picaninny mine!” - -“_Qui s’excuse s’accuse_,” said Wally, in his best French. “We never -said she wasn’t, old lady—’twas your own guilty mind. That feller Mrs. -Archdale’s picaninny, Black Mary.” - -“Mine,” she said, sullenly, fear glowing in her eyes. “Baal you take -her?” - -“Baal I’ll leave her?” retorted Wally. “You give it me that picaninny, -one time, quick!” He swung round at a step behind him. “Thank goodness, -here’s Billy! I don’t think I’m much good at international -complications.” - -Billy grasped the situation in a few words. Then he addressed a flood of -guttural remarks to the black gin, who shrank visibly from him, and -answered him, trembling. He turned to Wally. - -“That pfeller, Lucy,” he said, briefly. “She bin marry mine cousin, Dan. -S’pos’n’ she have picaninny, it tumble-down (died) one-three time. So -Dan he gone marry Eva.” He told the small tragedy of Black Lucy, -unconcernedly, and the lubra listened, nodding. - -“So that pfeller Lucy plenty lonely,” went on Billy. “Then, s’pos’n him -meet li’l white picaninny down along a scrub, him collar that pfeller. -That all. Every pfeller lubra want picaninny,” finished Billy in a bored -voice, as if marvelling at the ways of womenkind. - -There was a long pause. At last Wally spoke, hurriedly. - -“Well—she knows we’ve got to take the kiddie, anyhow, doesn’t she?” - -“Mine bin tell her that,” said Billy. “She bin say not.” - -The black woman broke in, in a high, shrill voice. - -“Not take her. That li’l pfeller, picaninny belongin’ to me.” - -“Picaninny’s mother’s wanting her,” Norah said her voice pitying. - -“Mine!” said the black woman, uncertainly—“mine!” She held the child -closer, rocking her to and fro; and the children stared at her, not -knowing how to solve the problem. - -Billy had no illusions. He grasped the gin’s arm, and jerked her to her -feet. - -“Baal you be a fool?” he said, roughly. “S’pos’n’ p’liceman come, you -bin find yourself in lock-up, plenty quick! P’lice bin lookin’ for you -this long time ’cause you bin steal picaninny.” - -She winced and shivered, looking at him with great stupid eyes, like an -injured animal’s. - -“You come and see my father,” said Norah, gently, putting one hand on -her arm; and somewhat to their surprise, the gin came, making no further -outcry, but holding the child to her. So they went back through the -scrub. Billy led them swiftly, making but a short distance, in a -straight line, of the long and tortuous race that the fugitive had led -them. It seemed a very few minutes before they saw the canvas of the -tent shining white through the trees, and heard voices beyond. - -Quite suddenly, the black gin stopped. For a moment she held the child -to her so savagely that the little thing cried out in pain. She muttered -over her. - -“My li’l pfeller picaninny!” she said. “Mine!” She turned to Norah. - -“Mine bin good to her,” she said, thickly. “Baal mine ever beat that -one!” Just for an instant she stood looking at them in dumb agony. Then -she put the child down with a swift gentleness, and, turning, fled into -the gloom of the Bush. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - - THE LAST NIGHT - - The gray gums by the lonely creek, - The star-crowned heights, - The wind-swept plain, the dim blue peak, - The cold white light, - The solitude spread near and far - Around the camp-fire’s tiny star, - The horse bells’ melody remote, - The curlew’s melancholy note - Across the night. - - —_G. Essex Evans._ - -“WELL, she’s a queer little atom,” said David Linton, surveying the -treasure trove. “Strong and healthy, too, I should say, if one could see -anything for stains and dirt. She’s inconceivably dirty. Has she made -any remarks on the situation?” - -“She seems to approve of you, at any rate, Nor.,” said Jim. “What on -earth are you going to do with her?” - -“Bath her,” said Norah promptly. “Thank goodness, Mrs. Archdale isn’t -going to see her looking like that!” - -“I don’t fancy the poor soul would worry over that point of view,” said -her father. “But bath her, by all means—you’ll certainly require to do -so, as she’ll have to be in your tent all night.” - -“A mercy we’ve got the washing-up tin,” remarked Norah, looking with -approval at a half kerosene tin which had formed a somewhat disputed -part of their pack; “and ammonia—I’d never get her clean without it. -Brownie put in a bottle in case of insect stings.” - -“You’ll need it all,” Jim said, grimly. “Will she speak, Nor.?” - -“She won’t say a word so far,” Norah answered. “I wonder if she has -forgotten how? A baby like that would forget nearly everything in a year -and a quarter, wouldn’t she?” - -The child stood in the midst of the group, one hand clinging tightly to -Norah’s finger. She had said nothing since she had been suddenly left -among the strangers. As the black woman rushed away from her she had -made an instinctive movement to follow her, but Billy had been too -quick, his hand falling on her tiny shoulder before she had taken two -steps. At his touch the little thing had given a terrified start, and -then, moved by some hidden instinct, had fled to Norah, whose hands were -held out to her. Since then she had not relinquished her grip on Norah’s -finger. She gazed from one to the other with great, unwinking eyes. - -“Perhaps she hasn’t forgotten her name,” Jean suggested. “Try her.” - -So Norah knelt down before the ragged little figure. - -“Babs!” she said softly. “Babs!” - -The baby looked at her. Something like a gleam of recognition came into -her eyes. But beyond that she would give no sign, and at last Norah gave -up the attempt. - -“I’d better bath her now,” she said; “her hair must be quite dry before -she goes to sleep. Billy, you boil the billy quick as you can.” - -“What on earth are you going to dress her in?” Jim asked. “You can’t put -those rags on her again.” - -“I should think not!” his sister answered, eyeing the malodorous tatters -disgustedly. “Jean and I will fix up something.” - -“You had better fix it up out of a blanket, then,” her father observed. -“I don’t suppose she has encountered water for fifteen months—and we -don’t want her to take a chill.” - -“All right,” said Jean, nodding wisely. “I’ve got an idea, and we have -needles and thread.” - -“Then we can leave it to you two,” said Mr. Linton, with relief. - -“You can,” said Norah. “Only keep the supply of hot water going!” - -They needed all they could get, and the soap was at a low ebb and the -ammonia bottle empty before they made little Babs Archdale clean. At -first she objected strenuously to the process, and her screams rent the -air, and she struggled furiously, so that it took both attendants of the -bath to hold her, and much soap went in her eyes. But once her hair was -washed and tucked up out of her way, she suddenly became good, and -submitted happily to their ministrations, revelling in the warm soapy -water. - -They stripped her rags off with gingerly movements, and Jean carried -them on a stick into the scrub. All the child’s skin was stained with -some dark juice and grimed with the dirt of long months; but it yielded -to the scrubbing, and Babs emerged from the final rinsing water a very -different being from the grubby picaninny who had gone in—the white -skin of her shining little body a startling contrast to the deep -sun-brown of her face and arms and legs. Norah rolled her in a towel and -tossed her upon a bunk in the tent, rubbing and patting her gently, in -sheer happiness over the slender, sweet-smelling little form. Out of the -final towelling, Babs sat up, glowing and dimpling. She broke into -sudden, happy laughter. - -“Oh, you darling!” Norah said, catching her up. “Jean, isn’t she just -lovely? Babs! Oh, I do want your mother to see you!” - -Babs looked at her, opened her mouth, and then closed it. - -“Muvver!” she said, quite clearly. “Muvver!” At which Norah and Jean, -unable to contain their emotions, hugged each other very heartily—to -the great delight of Babs, who sat upon the bed like a piebald Cupid and -dimpled into laughter again at this strange pair. - -Over the tangled curls both girls worked despairingly, while Babs -submitted with a stoicism that said much for her sojourn as an -aboriginal. - -Norah stopped at last, and put down the comb. - -“I think we’re a pair of duffers,” she said. “We might work all night at -that mop, and it wouldn’t be right—indeed, I believe most of it will -have to be cut off. But can’t you imagine how Mrs. Archdale will just -love doing it!” - -“Well, it’s clean, at any rate,” said Jean philosophically. “And that’s -the main thing.” - -It was a quaint little figure that they led out for inspection; and the -boys roared with laughter, to the great disgust of the object of their -mirth, who tucked her damp head into Norah’s neck and refused to face -the audience for some time. Finally she condescended to sit on David -Linton’s knee and inspect his watch—and brought down rounds of -delighted applause by suddenly bending forward and “blowing” in the -time-honoured fashion for the case to be opened. - -“Jean, may I employ you as a tailor?” Wally asked, solemnly. - -The small person was attired in a fearful and wonderful garment -contrived by Jean out of a soft blanket—coming high round her neck, and -ending in brief trouser legs, from which the bare, brown knees emerged. -Over it she wore a linen coat of Norah’s—the sleeves turned back almost -to the shoulders, and a world too wide for the tiny arms that seemed to -be lost within them. But there was no doubt that Babs was happy and -comfortable, albeit not clad according to the dictates of fashion. - -“It’s peculiar, isn’t it?” said Jean, surveying her handiwork. “Most of -it is sewn together on her, and she’ll have to be unpicked for her next -bath. Don’t you think I was clever to manage to get the pink stripes -right down the front?” - -“You’re a genius!” Wally said, greatly impressed. “There is, however, a -sterner side to it. Do I not recognize my blanket?” - -“You do,” said Jean. “It happened to be the softest. Anyway, you’ve got -another, and it’s going to be a hot night.” - -“A fair exchange isn’t any robbery,” said Norah, with striking -originality. “The other part of Babs’ attire is in the scrub, if you’d -care for it!” - -“I scorn you both,” said Wally. “It’s an abominable thing to be made a -philanthropist against one’s will!” He fell to tickling Babs’ brown toes -with a stem of grass, to the great delight of the mite. - -She was quite friendly with them all by the time tea was ready, when she -displayed an appetite that would, Wally averred, have shamed a -hippopotamus, and ate until she bulged visibly, and Norah had fearful -visions of her exploding. Nothing, apparently, came amiss to her, and -her cheerful desire to eat anything whatever led to harrowing -conjectures as to what could have been her principal diet during her -life in the scrub. - -“Kangaroo rat and wallaby, most likely,” Jim remarked; “varied with -fish, in various stages of preservation, and nice succulent tree-grubs!” - -“Be quiet, you disgusting creature!” said Wally, in extreme horror. “You -spoil my appetite.” He helped himself to a mammoth slice of cake. - -“Looks like it!” Jim grinned. “Well, Babs can’t furnish you with details -of her late guardian’s menu, I suppose; but I wouldn’t mind betting it -didn’t vary much from my ideas.” - -“Bless her!” said Norah, fatuously. “We’ll give her everything we’ve got -that’s nice now to make up.” She tempted Babs with a chocolate, and Babs -swiftly fell before the temptation. - -“I think you’d better call a halt,” observed Mr. Linton. “That child has -eaten as much as any two of the party—and she’ll be asleep in about a -minute. You ought to put her to bed, Norah—we shall want to make an -early start for Atholton.” - -Babs was nearly asleep by the time Norah had tucked her into her bunk. -She clung to her finger still, and drowsily put her face up to be -kissed—a forgotten instinct, coming back as consciousness slipped away. -And all through the night she nestled to her closely, one little hand -clinging to her sleeve. Norah did not sleep much. She did not want to; -it seemed to her that she dare not cease protecting the tiny dreaming -mite for this last night—to keep her safe for the morrow, that meant -such bewilderment of joy for the forlorn hearts in the little cottage by -Atholton. At the thought she thrilled with an eagerness that left her -almost trembling. Even the short few hours seemed long to wait—thinking -of Babs Archdale’s mother. - -“But it’s only one more night!” she whispered. “You’ll know soon.” She -smiled in the moonlight, raising herself a trifle to watch the little -face nestling near her. - -David Linton slept across the tent doorway this night. - -“Just as well,” he said. “I wouldn’t risk to-morrow for the Archdales -for all Billabong!” - -And out in the gloom of the scrub, where the moonlight scarcely filtered -through the tracery of boughs to the boulder-strewn ground, a woman -crouched, lonely, in her ruined wurley among the rocks. Sometimes she -muttered angrily; sometimes her wild eyes, fiercely stupid, closed in -sleep, and then her hands moved restlessly, seeking for a little body -that no longer lay against her breast. She was outcast, loathsome, a -pariah; every man’s hand would be against her, and only the wild hills -left to her for refuge. But perhaps the calm stars, that see so many -lonely mothers, looked down pityingly upon this black mother, who had -been lonely, too. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - - DOWN THE MOUNTAIN - - Oh, little body, nestled on my heart! - - —_M. Forrest._ - -THEY fixed a saddle-pad for Babs in front of Norah, and she rode proudly -into Atholton. The horses did not make her afraid at all; indeed, she -welcomed them with shouts of glee, appearing a little doubtful as to -whether they were pets or things to eat—but in either case greatly to -be desired. And when she was mounted before Norah, with one hand -clutching a lock of old Warder’s mane and the other holding Norah’s -finger, she had nothing left to wish for. She chuckled at frequent -intervals; any object along the track, from a kookaburra to a lizard, -moved her to little shouts of laughter, though it was painfully certain -that she wished to devour the lizard. “I never saw such a merry baby,” -said Jean. - -Gradually words came back to her. At first they caught fragments of -native dialect, chiefly unintelligible; but, with the talk about her, -and the kind voices that spoke to her, English words returned brokenly -to the baby tongue. She answered quite soon to her own name, looking up -whenever she heard “Babs” with a quaint, elfish half smile; and before -breakfast was over she had made a hesitating attempt at “Norah”—finding -the “r” altogether too hard a stumbling block. Her vocabulary was not -large, but she made the most of it. And all the time as they rode down -Ben Athol, Norah taught her one word—leaning forward, holding her -closely, one arm round the quicksilver little body. One word, over and -over again—_Mother, Mother, Mother_. - -Norah never could have told much about the way down. It was steep, she -knew, and stony; she was glad old Warder was surefooted, since to him -was left most of the responsibility of the track. There were birds -singing everywhere, in the Bush and in her own heart; there was blue sky -overhead, and a little breeze that just redeemed the day from heat. It -could not have been otherwise than a perfect day. But for Norah there -was no view beyond the mat of black curls against her breast; no thought -beyond the one that surged and sang within her. An old verse beat in her -happy brain—“For this thy brother was dead and is alive again; and was -lost and is found.” - -“Contented, my girl?” David Linton asked, riding beside her. - -“I’m happy,” Norah answered, and smiled up at the tall man on the great -black horse. “I’m not quite contented yet. But I will be, soon.” Then -Babs developed a determination to ride Monarch, and lurched forward so -suddenly that she only saved her by a spasmodic grip that included some -of Babs, as well as her clothing—to the no small indignation of Babs. - -“Don’t be ambitious quite so early, my lass,” said Jim, gravely, -regarding the scarlet and wrathful picaninny with a judicial air. “Time -enough to hitch your waggon to a star when you’re a bit older.” Hearing -which profound reflection, and understanding no syllable of it, but -deciding that she liked the voice in which it was proffered, Babs -promptly transferred her affections to Garryowen, and was with -difficulty restrained from transferring herself as well. Norah evaded -both difficulties by seizing advantage of a tiny stretch of flat ground -and, cantering across it, thereby so entrancing her passenger that she -was never again satisfied with anything so ordinary as a walking -pace—which was unfortunate, as to canter down Ben Athol demanded -four-footed agility usually withheld from all but circus horses. There -was no lack of excitement in riding with Babs Archdale. - -They lunched on the lower slopes of the mountain—cutting the spell -short, since Norah’s restlessness to be gone made it impossible for her -to sit still. Then, still in the early afternoon, they saw the roofs of -Atholton below them, half hidden in the timber. - -On the flat, just where the hills ended, they shook up their horses and -cantered quickly over the half-mile that lay between them and the -village. Scarcely any one was in sight; Atholton slumbered peacefully, -oblivious of intruders. The storekeeper, shirt-sleeved and with pipe in -mouth, lounged on his verandah, and greeted them jovially as they came -up, Jim and his father in the lead. - -“Got back, have you?” he said. “And had a good trip, by the looks of -you!” His eye travelled back to Norah. “Didn’t knock you up, Miss -Linton——” His voice stopped abruptly on a note of amazement. Staring, -he was silent, and his pipe clattered from his mouth to the ground. -“Why!” he gasped. “Good Lord—you’ve got little Babs Archdale!” - -“Let us have a frock of some kind for her—quick as you can, Green,” -said David Linton. “Anything will do.” - -“I’ll take her in,” said Norah, slipping from the saddle, and carrying -into the shop the extraordinary vision in the suit and blanket. They -emerged in a few moments, the blanket hidden by a brief dress of blue -print; and Babs reluctantly consented to allow the strange man to lift -her up to Norah again. Mr. Green found his tongue, with some difficulty. - -“I never heard of such a thing in all me born days!” he said. “Gad! to -think of Mrs. Archdale——” He stared after them, open-mouthed, as they -clattered off, swinging round the bend of the track. The sound of the -cantering hoofs echoed in the still afternoon air as Mr. Green, leaving -his store to its own devices, hurried off to tell the township. - -Near the cottage David Linton pulled up. - -“There are too many of us,” he said. “You three youngsters found her—go -and give her back!” Jim and he moved into the shade of a big messmate -tree, and the others rode on. - -The little white cottage was fresh and inviting, the garden gay with -flowers. The front door stood open; at any moment they looked to see -Mrs. Archdale’s tall figure come out upon the verandah. Suddenly Norah -found she was trembling, and that the cottage wavered mistily before -her. - -At the garden gate they got down, and Wally tied up the horses. There -was no sign of any one. But Babs gave them no time to wonder. The gate -was ajar, and she flung herself at it, uttering shrill little squeals of -joy, and raced up the path. - -“I say—catch her!” Wally said. “The shock may be too much for Mrs. -Archdale.” - -Babs was battering at the steps of the high verandah as Norah caught -her. She wriggled fiercely in her arms. - -“Down!” she said. “Want down!” - -“Wait a minute, darling!” Norah begged her. “Wally, you go on—find her. -I—I’m going to howl!” She sat down on the step, desperately ashamed of -the sobs that shook her; and Jean, in no better case, patted her back -very hard. - -Perhaps Wally was not very sure of himself either. He cleared his throat -as he stood at the door, after knocking, not sorry that no answering -step came at once. Presently he came back to the girls. - -“There’s no one about,” he said. “I’ve been round to the kitchen. Wonder -where they are?” - -“Let’s come and look,” Norah answered, doubtfully sure of herself once -more. Wally picked up Babs, who wriggled and squeaked on his shoulder, a -quicksilver embodiment of excitement that she could not voice in words, -since words were all too slow. So they went through the silent house. - -There was no sign of any one. In the little blue room the bed was dainty -and fresh, with crisp linen, and roses smiled a welcome from the table; -and the fire burned low in the kitchen stove, where a kettle bubbled -busily. But the house was empty. They looked into Mrs. Archdale’s room, -half afraid to find her ill; but she was not there; and Babs went into a -fresh ecstasy of excitement at the vision of her own picture, which -laughed down at her from the wall. - -“Babs!” she cried, and pointed a brown forefinger; “Babs!” - -“You blessed kid,” said Wally, in perplexity, “I wish you could tell us -where to look for your mother.” - -“Muvver!” said the lady addressed. She wriggled ecstatically, and -grasped a handful of Wally’s hair, to his extreme agony. A fresh effort -of memory came to her. “Dad,” she said, half inquiringly, and drummed -her heels upon her bearer’s chest. - -At the back of the house the little kitchen garden stretched to the -brush fence. Beyond came a narrow, timbered paddock, and then the deep -green of the scrub—the unbroken curtain that had fallen behind the baby -on Wally’s shoulder more than a year ago. They came out of the back door -and stood looking towards it doubtfully. - -Then from the scrub they saw Mrs. Archdale coming slowly. No one might -say what dreadful pilgrimage had led her into its silent heart. She -stumbled as she walked, bent as though her body had given way under the -stress of agony of mind too great to be borne. Even across the shining -grass it was plain that she did not know where she walked—that all that -her eyes could see was the dark maze of the Bush, where a little child -had wandered, and called to her. A fallen log lay across her path, and -she sat down upon it, burying her face in her hands. - -“Oh, Wally, go and tell her,” Norah said. “I’m such an idiot—I’m going -to howl again. Let me have Babs—I’ll bring her.” She followed Wally -slowly down the path, with Babs patting her tear-stained cheek gently, -saying, “Poor, poor,” in a little crooning voice. - -Mrs. Archdale raised her head as the swift steps came to her across the -grass, and looked at the tall lad for a moment without recognition. Then -she collected herself with an effort that was pitiful in its violence, -and smiled at him. - -“Why, you’ve got back!” - -Wally nodded, seeking desperately for words. His brown face was flushed -and eager. - -“I——” he said, and stopped. “We——. Mrs. Archdale.” Words fled from -him altogether, and he pushed his hat back with a despairing gesture. -“I’ve got something to tell you; and I’m such a fool at telling it.” - -“Nothing wrong?” she asked him swiftly. “Not little Norah?” - -“No—nothing wrong. Everything’s all right; everything’s perfect!” he -told her. He put out a lean, boyish hand, and gripped hers strongly. “We -saw you—coming away from the scrub.” - -“Don’t!” She flushed, miserably. - -“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” said poor Wally, his task almost beyond -him. “I only want to say you needn’t ever go there again. She—she isn’t -there, Mrs. Archdale!” - -“Are you mad?” The colour died out of her face, and for a moment the -agony of her eyes robbed the boy of speech. - -“I mean it,” he said, faltering. “If it was all—all wrong, Mrs. -Archdale? If your little kiddie had never died?” Something choked his -voice; he could only look at her with honest, pitying eyes. But the -mother’s eyes were keen. - -“You know something!” she said; “there is something!” Her voice rose to -a wailing cry. “Tell me, for God’s sake!” - -Across the grass came a voice that rang shrilly sweet. - -“Muvver!” - -Babs came running with swift bare feet; behind her, Norah, half afraid, -yet wholly unable to restrain her once the remembered voice had raised -its mother cry. At the sight of the baby form, with outstretched arms, -the mother uttered a low, incredulous sob—a sound so piteous that Wally -turned away sharply, lest he should see her face. Her feet would not -carry her to meet her baby. She fell on her knees on the grass, and Babs -flung herself bodily upon her, soft and sweet, and quivering with love. - -There came a clatter of hoofs. Jack Archdale, riding home, had pulled up -to speak to Mr. Linton and Jim; and suddenly he broke from them like a -madman, and, not waiting for gates, put his horse at the log fence of -his paddock, cleared it, and raced to the house. He flung the bridle -over a post, and ran wildly to them—past Jean and Norah, sitting -together on a stump, not able to speak, and speechless himself, to where -his wife crouched over their child; Babs, who stroked her mother’s cheek -gently, crooning in her funny little voice: “Poor—poor!” - -Norah felt Wally’s hand upon her shoulder. - -“Come on,” he said. “I guess we’d better get back to the horses.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - - BACK TO BILLABONG - - And thro’ the night came all old memories flocking, - White memories like the snowflakes round me whirled; - “All’s well!” I said. “The mothers still sit rocking - The cradles of the world!” - - —_W. H. Ogilvie._ - -“SO you’ll come?” David Linton asked. - -“Yes, and glad to.” Jack Archdale pulled at his pipe, which would not -draw. He took it out of his mouth, shook it, and put it back again with -a shrug. It needed a grass stalk to clean the stem; but that is a -performance that demands two hands, and one hand was given over to Babs, -who sat on her mother’s knee on the next step of the verandah, -imprisoning her father’s big finger in her moist little grasp. So the -pipe went out, its owner deriving what comfort he might from holding it -in his mouth. - -“I never want to see the place again,” Archdale went on. “I’d have left -it long ago but for the one thing. Now I’d go to-morrow if I could. -Wouldn’t we, Mary?” - -Mrs. Archdale nodded. Babs had one forefinger tucked into her neck, and -nothing else mattered very much just then. - -“Do you see, Jack?” she asked, smiling at him. “It’s her old trick; she -always put her little finger into my collar. She hasn’t forgotten -anything.” They bent together over the baby form, and forgot the world. - -“I’ll have to sell off here,” Archdale said, straightening up, -presently. “That won’t take very long, though. Then whenever you’re -ready for me, sir——?” - -“Any time next month,” the squatter answered. “The storekeeper goes on -the first, and I suppose Mrs. Brown will want a few days to have the -cottage put in order for you. She has violent ideas on disinfecting; not -that I’m quite sure what she wants to disinfect, but it seems to make -her happy.” - -“But come soon,” Norah said eagerly. “I want to see Babs again before I -go back to school.” - -“I guess,” said Jack Archdale,—“I guess what you and Mr. Wally want -about Babs is likely to happen, if ever I can manage it. You’ve got a -sort of mortgage on her now, haven’t they, Mary?” To which Wally, who -was lying full length on the grass with Jim, near the verandah, was -understood to mutter, “Bosh!” - -“Maybe it’s bosh; I don’t know,” Archdale said, drawing hard at his cold -pipe. “But that’s the way we look at it. I—we . . . Well, it’s no -darned good tryin’ to say anything.” - -“It was only a bit of luck,” Wally mumbled, greatly embarrassed. - -“Any one would have found her,” said Norah, incoherently. “We just -happened to.” - -“I don’t know,” Mrs. Archdale said, her cheek against Bab’s black curls. -“I suppose I may be foolish—but it seems to me it was a bit because you -cared so much. It—it seemed to hurt you, just like it did Jack and me.” - -“And lots of people would never have noticed that the kid wasn’t really -a picaninny,” Archdale put in. He put his great hand down and took Bab’s -little bare foot in it, looking at it with eyes half misty, half proud. -“Well, thank the Lord, you wasn’t born flat-footed, my kid!” he -said—and Babs chuckled greatly. - -She climbed down from her mother’s knee presently, and after falling -over Jim and Wally, and treating each with impartial affection, toddled -off round the corner of the house, on a voyage of discovery. It was -curious to see how little she had forgotten, and what joy she found in -the old familiar places. Archdale watched her go, and with the last -flutter of the scanty blue frock heaved his long form up from the step, -and followed slowly. - -“It don’t seem safe to let her get out of one’s sight,” he said as he -went. “I wouldn’t trust that black gin not to be hanging round in the -timber.” - -Mrs. Archdale followed them both with her eyes. - -“Jack swears he’ll tell the police if old Black Lucy shows up,” she -said. “But I don’t want him to. It wouldn’t do any good—and I’m too -happy now to care. She had lost all her kiddies, poor thing—and, after -all, she took care of my baby.” - -“You would have been sorry for her if you’d seen her,” Norah said. “I -know you would.” - -“Well, after all, you can’t judge them by our standards,” said the -squatter. “They are only overgrown children, and we haven’t left them so -much that we can blame them altogether for seizing at a chance of -happiness. Probably old Black Lucy’s family owned Billabong, and can’t -quite see why I should hold it now; and certainly she would find it hard -to understand why her babies should all die while other women keep their -children.” - -“To be broken-hearted with loneliness—and then to find a little child -wandering alone in the scrub—oh, I don’t know that I blame her,” said -Bab’s mother, wistfully. “You—you’d really think it was sent to you. I -only lost one, and I thought my trouble was greater than I could bear. -And she had lost three!” - -“Yes—but you can’t quite look at it that way,” Mr. Linton said. “The -blacks don’t regard a child’s life quite as we do.” - -“Don’t they?” Mary Archdale asked, doubtfully. “Perhaps not.” She -pondered over it, and shook her head, at last. “Oh, I don’t believe your -colour makes much difference to you when you’ve lost your baby!” Her -voice broke—just for a moment she was back in the wilderness of pain, -where she had wandered for so many weary months. - -Then, round the corner, came her husband, with Babs perched high on his -shoulder—triumphant in her elevation, yet with her tangled black head -nodding sleepily, and the sandman’s dust making her eyelids droop. - -“Some one’s sleepy,” Archdale said, smiling at his wife. “Coming, -mother?” - -“I’ll put her to bed,” she said, rising and stretching her arms to the -little daughter. Archdale put Babs tenderly upon the grass. - -“I guess there’s two of us in that contract,” he said. “Say good-night, -Babs.” - -They watched her with quick curiosity to see if the command would be -intelligible. It was long since Babs had said “good-night.” But some -far-off echo was awake in the childish brain, and she obeyed -mechanically; moving from one to the other with drowsy, soft kisses and -drowsier “Dood nights”—until the last was said, and she turned to her -father again and held up little brown arms to him. He picked her up, -with infinite gentleness in his strength. One arm went round his wife’s -shoulders as they disappeared into the silent welcome of the lighted -house. - - * * * * * - -Outside the slow moon climbed into a starry sky, and for a while no one -spoke. Far off, a bittern boomed in some unseen marsh—the eerie note -that makes loneliness more lonely, and warm companionship the more -comforting, by contrast. Then two mopokes began to call to each other -across a belt of scrub, and a fox barked sharply. The fragrant peace of -the summer night lay gently upon the blossoming garden. - -Norah leaned back against her father’s knee, with Jean close at hand. It -was to Jean that Mr. Linton spoke presently. There were many times when, -between him and Norah, speech was not necessary. - -“Well, you’re not having anything resembling the holidays I planned for -you, Jean,” he said. “All the same, they have not been without -incident!” - -“It’s lovely!” Jean breathed. “Thank goodness, they’re not over yet!” - -For to-night they were to sleep in Mrs. Archdale’s little blue room. The -men of the party, scorning the excitements of the hotel, were to camp -near the scrub; already preparations were made, and the white tent -glimmered faintly in the moonlight. To-morrow would begin the ride back -to Billabong. - -“I heard from Town to-day,” the squatter observed. A sheaf of letters -had awaited him at Atholton. “They will be able to begin work on the -house next week, so the rebuilding won’t be so long drawn-out an affair -as I feared.” - -“That’s a mercy, anyhow,” Jim said, fervently. “I’ll be jolly glad not -to see those blackened walls. Seems to hurt you, somehow. But how does -that affect your plans, Dad?” - -“What plans?” Norah asked. - -“Well, Jim and I, as the only level-headed members of this irresponsible -party, have been planning,” said her father. “Billabong being unfit for -habitation, and two young ladies, to say nothing of one Queensland -gentleman, on our hands, justly expecting an agreeable vacation——” - -“Dad, how beautifully you talk!” said Norah. - -“Such wealth of language!” breathed Jim. - -“Diogenes revivified! Or was it Demosthenes?” said Wally, uncertainly. - -“Diogenes inhabited a tub, if I remember rightly,” said Mr. Linton, -laughing. “As far as I can see, I am likely to be driven to somewhat -similar expedients, until I have a house again. However—not that any of -you deserve my kind explanations, except Jean, who probably wouldn’t -deserve them either but that she’s too shy to voice her thoughts in the -way you do.” - -Jean giggled assentingly. - -“H’m,” said Mr. Linton, gazing at her severely “I thought so. If ever -there was an unfortunate brow-beaten, burnt-out man, he sits here! Well, -to come to the point—if you’ll all let me—Jim and I came to the -conclusion that we must migrate somewhere for the remainder of the -holidays. We thought of the seaside—Queenscliff or Point Lonsdale, or -possibly the Gippsland Lakes. That was to be a matter for general -consideration. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t adhere, in the main, -to the plan. But since the workmen will be at the station, we’ll have to -choose a spot not far away, as I must be most of my time at home. I can -go backwards and forwards, and Brownie can go with you to keep a -watchful eye on your pranks.” - -“H’m!” said Jim thoughtfully. “That’s pretty rotten for you, isn’t it?” - -Nobody spoke for a few minutes. Then Wally said. - -“What’s the matter with Billabong?” - -Jean conquered her shyness with a tremendous effort, sitting up -abruptly. - -“If you’re going away for me, Mr. Linton,” she said, speaking very fast, -and plucking grass with great determination of purpose, “please don’t. I -don’t want to be taken anywhere.” - -“But, my dear child,” David Linton said, “I can’t have you all in tents. -And there isn’t any house. You didn’t come for your holidays to rough -it.” - -“There isn’t any roughing it,” said Norah, quickly. “If Jean and Wally -don’t mind——” - -“Mind!” said Wally. “Why, I’ll feel like a motherless foal if you take -me away, and go about bleating!” - -“Well, there you are!” said Norah, inelegantly, but very earnestly. “Oh, -Dad—let us all stay! We don’t want to go away. You don’t want us to go, -do you?” - -“Why, no; I don’t,” said her father, in perplexity. “As a matter of -fact, I’d far rather be at home; indeed, I couldn’t be away for more -than a very few days at a time. But the whole place will be upset, and I -can’t see much fun for you youngsters in being there. It doesn’t seem -quite fair to you.” - -Jim began to laugh. - -“It’s uncommonly difficult to plan for people who don’t want to be -planned for, isn’t it, Dad?” he said. “Such a waste of noble effort! I -believe we may as well give it up—they don’t seem to hanker after -fleshpots!” - -“Well, are you any better?” asked his father, laughing. “This was to be -your holiday, too. You know you’ve put in a year of fairly hard work on -the place, and I think you’re about due for a spell.” - -“Me?” said Jim, in blank amazement. “Why, I haven’t killed myself with -work—at least, I didn’t think so!” He grinned widely. “But I’m glad to -know my valiant efforts impressed you. Anyhow, you needn’t make plans so -far as I’m concerned; the old place is good enough for me, and if the -other chaps don’t want to go away, I’m certain I don’t!” - -“You see, Dad,” said Norah, earnestly, “we’ve got the tents—and perhaps -we might put up a bigger one, in case of bad weather, and make a really -ship-shape camp down by the lagoon, and just have our meals at the -cottage. And everything will be so interesting at the house—and we’d -have the horses!” - -“It’s really all your own fault, sir,” Wally told him. “You’ve given us -the taste for tent life, and you can’t blame us for becoming nomads. -There’s already something of the Arab sheikh about Jean, and any one -would mistake Jim for a dervish! Fancy shaking down to a boarding house -at Queenscliff after this!” He waved a brown hand towards the dim -outline of scrub, seen faint against the starlit velvet of the sky. - -“It would be awful!” said Jean, with such fervour that every one -laughed. - -“And we can’t leave you, Dad,” Norah said. “It would spoil everything. I -don’t believe you’d enjoy it, and certainly I wouldn’t call it really -holidays unless we were with you. It seems all wrong to go away—not a -bit like being mates. And we’re always mates.” - -David Linton found her hand looking for his in the dusk, and gripped it -tightly. - -“Very good mates, I think,” he said. “Well—if you’ve all agreed, I’m -not likely to want to hunt you into exile. Only remember, it will not be -quite like home—tents are a poor substitute.” - -“But—it’s Billabong!” said Norah, happily. - - THE END - WARD, LOCK & CO., LTD., LONDON. - - - - - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - -Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. 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