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diff --git a/old/60447-0.txt b/old/60447-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b703673..0000000 --- a/old/60447-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8343 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Twins of Emu Plains, 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: The Twins of Emu Plains - -Author: Mary Grant Bruce - -Release Date: October 7, 2019 [EBook #60447] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TWINS OF EMU PLAINS *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - - - - - - - [Cover Illustration] - - - - - ─────────────────────────────────── - - MARY GRANT BRUCE’S - VERY POPULAR STORIES - Published by - WARD, LOCK & CO., LTD. - Uniform with this volume. - ——— - A LITTLE BUSH MAID - TIMOTHY IN BUSHLAND - MATES AT BILLABONG - FROM BILLABONG TO LONDON - GLEN EYRE - NORAH OF BILLABONG - GRAY’S HOLLOW - JIM AND WALLY - ’POSSUM - DICK - DICK LESTER OF KURRAJONG - BACK TO BILLABONG - THE STONE AXE OF BURKAMUKK - BILLABONG’S DAUGHTER - THE HOUSE OF THE EAGLES - - ─────────────────────────────────── - - - - -[Illustration: “‘It’s all right,’ Jean assured him. ‘No one knows you are - here.’” - (Page 233.) - _The Twins of Emu Plains_] [_Frontispiece_] - - - - - THE TWINS - OF EMU PLAINS - - - BY - MARY GRANT BRUCE - - ILLUSTRATED - - W A R D , L O C K & C O . , L I M I T E D - LONDON AND MELBOURNE - - - - - Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London - - - - - CONTENTS - - CHAP. PAGE - I THE PLEASANT MADNESS OF THE TWINS. 7 - II MIDNIGHT. . . . . . 17 - III THE LAST DAYS OF TERM. . . 29 - IV A LETTER FROM HOME. . . . 43 - V HELEN HAS AN IDEA. . . . 54 - VI EMU PLAINS. . . . . 71 - VII THE TWINS’ SURPRISE-PACKET. . 83 - VIII GETTING ON TERMS. . . . 93 - IX THE PROGRAMME. . . . . 105 - X MIXED INSTRUCTIONS. . . . 114 - XI THE PATH OF KNOWLEDGE. . . 131 - XII RESPONSIBILITIES. . . . 146 - XIII A JERSEY BULL. . . . . 163 - XIV GENTLEMEN ADVENTURERS. . . 180 - XV SUNDAY AFTERNOON. . . . 198 - XVI THE TWINS TAKE A HOLIDAY. . . 210 - XVII THE TURNING OF THE LONG LANE. . 232 - XVIII CONCLUSION. . . . . 244 - - - - - CHAPTER I - THE PLEASANT MADNESS OF THE TWINS - - -THE final struggle in the tennis match between Merriwa and Kooringal -schools was raging, and the very air about the court at Merriwa was -vibrant with excitement. The western side, which gave the best view, -without the sun in one’s eyes, was, by traditional use, given over to -the supporters of the visiting team; and there the Kooringals massed in -a solid phalanx, under their green and mauve flag, and screamed as one -individual at the doughty strokes of their champions. Opposite them were -the long lines of the Merriwiggians, with dark-blue favours that matched -their silken banner, and with voices no less jubilant when a well-placed -School stroke got past the said champions’ defence. At either end of the -court the seats of the mighty bore the impressive forms of “teachers, -parents, and guardians”; some watching the play as eagerly as any Fourth -Form youngster, while others were so lost to a sense of their -opportunities as to while away the time in discussing the latest Russian -pianist or the result of the State Elections. Afternoon tea had already -occurred; even now, in the pavilion, could be heard the clatter of -crockery as the maids packed up—a faint and far-away sound, that -contrasted oddly with the simmering excitement round the tennis-court. - -The game had been very level, but, on the whole, Kooringal felt its star -in the ascendant. So far, indeed, the match was a tie, but there was -good cause for the visitors’ comfortable feeling of security, for the -Merriwa pair for the finals were not seriously considered as champions. -Their place in the team was due only to the fact that Merriwa was short -of tennis players. Now they had to meet the Kooringal cracks, a year -older, and winners on many a hard-foughten field. It was small wonder if -the Merriwiggians settled themselves to watch the finals with hearts -inclined to sink. - -They felt rather worse at the end of the first sett, and through their -ranks ran a feeling of “I-told-you-so!” Jean and Josephine Weston, their -players, had shown from the first that they were oppressed by the -magnitude of their task. They played carefully, without any dash, afraid -to take any liberties with the tall pair across the net, who seemed so -huge and so confident. By luck, rather than by play, they had managed to -win four games to six: that it was luck no one knew more clearly than -Jean and Jo. They exchanged depressed looks when “Game and sett!” was -called at the end. It had been a “love” game, thanks to the appalling -series of balls Eva Severne had served: unplayable, malevolent streaks -of grey light, which had merely touched the ground in the extreme -corners of their courts before disappearing into the landscape. Jean and -Jo had “swiped” at them unavailingly; useful exercise, but in no way -affecting the balls. - -“We’re not going to be even amusement to them!” Jean remarked, as they -crossed over to change ends. “Isn’t it perfectly awful, Jo! And I never -tried so hard in my life!” - -“Neither did I,” Jo answered. “And, of course, the more I try, the worse -I play. Look here, Jean, it isn’t a bit of use trying—to play a careful -game, I mean. This isn’t a time to be careful. I’m going to be -desperate!” - -“Oh, are you?” Jean met her twin’s eyes with an answering flash. “Well, -I suppose the only thing is to be desperate too. We’ll just slog.” - -“Right! And there’s another thing—Mona Burton isn’t playing nearly as -well as that terrible Severne girl. She’s muffed a good few balls.” - -“That’s why the sett was 6-4!” said Jean drily. “Well, we’ll give her -all we can. Your serve, Jo—slog them in!” - -Jo slogged accordingly, and had the satisfaction of seeing her first -ball hit the top of the net. In ordinary moments this would have induced -a careful second service, and Eva Severne moved up closer to the net in -anticipation. Instead, Jo set her teeth and sent the second ball with -even more fervour than the first. It went true, and Eva was never even -near it. - -The twins grinned at each other as they crossed. - -“Go on being desperate!” Jean said. “It pays!” - -Which may or may not have been why within two minutes the Merriwiggians -were tumultuously applauding a “love” game as emphatic as that which -only a few moments earlier had been delightedly acclaimed by the ranks -of Kooringal! - -The sett ran to a swift and exciting conclusion. The twins’ play was -occasionally erratic, but never for a moment dull: they had decided upon -ways of desperation, and they fled wildly from one place to another, -hitting at everything, possible or impossible; occasionally achieving -what seemed to be impossible, by reason of amazing agility. They were a -lithe and active pair, built on economical lines that suggested that -wire and whipcord were largely used in their composition. Certainly, -both whipcord and wire were in evidence in their strokes. There was no -special science in their method, but it was good, hard-hitting play; and -as they always played together, they knew exactly what to expect of each -other, and never overlapped. - -The Kooringal pair were taken aback. The first sett had made them feel -confident of an easy victory. Mona Burton knew that she was not playing -well, but then Eva seemed to be on her usual superb pinnacle of -self-confidence, and would be sure to pull them through. She had not -worried, even when she had “muffed” a few strokes. But in the second -sett the small pair of Merriwiggians seemed to be transformed into a -couple of inspired imps, who bounded and twisted and ran—_how_ they -ran, thought Mona, who was inclined to plumpness, and preferred a game -conducted mainly from the back line! Nothing came amiss to them, and -they served balls that seemed to Mona to be compounded of quicksilver -and electricity. Even the redoubtable Eva was nonplussed; the opening -games had not prepared her for anything like this. Her own play showed -distinct signs of being “rattled”: she missed strokes that would -ordinarily have been easy to her, and her service lost a good deal of -its “bite.” Silence—dismayed silence—fell upon the ranks of Kooringal, -while among the Merriwiggians rapture and amazement mounted until the -sett came to a triumphant conclusion at 6-3! - -“Can you make it last?” Helen Forester, the Merriwa captain, managed to -whisper to Jean, as the twins changed ends with their opponents. - -Jean gave a rapturous gurgle. - -“_I_ don’t know,” she answered. “We’re both quite mad, of course. It -would be an awful lark, if only it weren’t so terrible!” She caught her -twin’s eye and they grinned at each other. In Jo’s glance there was -something of a look familiar to Jean: she had seen it often when they -were mustering young cattle with their father, and an excited bullock -had needed determination and hard riding to bring him round to the main -mob. The twins loved such jobs, and Jo used to gallop after a fugitive -with her jaw set in a firm line, but her eyes alight with laughter. So -she looked now: the immaculate, white-clad girls in the other court -might have been a pair of unruly steers, bent on breaking away, and the -racquet she swung loosely, a stock-whip ready for use, as she waited for -Eva’s service. The familiar look gave Jean fresh courage. Terrible the -game might be, but it was certainly also a lark! - -Possibly, had they been girls bred to games, with years of school-life -behind them, and the importance of tennis tournaments ground into their -beings by tradition and experience, the twins might have been unable to -tackle that last sett with the cheery courage that somehow communicated -itself to the tense onlookers. They would have been crushed by the -importance of their task; and in that case they would most certainly -have gone under. But Jean and Jo Weston had had only a year of a -Melbourne school, and behind that lay a lifetime of the lonely country, -where games were mere incidents, and where recreation meant, for the -most part, sharing their father’s work on the station. Even after a year -of school, tennis—even tournament tennis—was only a game to the twins. -They had taken to it with quick natural aptitude, and being unusually -tough and wiry, with eye and hand trained by the use of stock-whip and -rifle, they had soon found themselves in the front rank, with the -consequent responsibility of match play. That, if they could but adopt -the view-point of their school-mates, was rather terrible. Jean and Jo -obediently echoed them, and said it was terrible. But at the back of -their minds was the conviction that it was only a game after all. - -They had played the first sett with a due sense of responsibility. In -the second, they had cast responsibility to the winds, and had been -merely desperate. It had paid, and there was no question as to which -method was the more enjoyable. Therefore, there seemed to the twins no -reason why they should not continue to be cheerfully insane. They did -better when they were insane, and it was so very much more pleasant! - -Eva Severne made a desperate effort to recapture the Kooringal lead in -that last sett. There were times when she played so brilliantly that no -mere insanity on the part of the twins could enable them to meet her -balls. But Mona Burton was manifestly weighed down by the madness of the -flitting pair opposite, who never by any chance were where you might -expect them to be, and who seemed capable of acrobatic feats worthy of a -circus. They never looked worried; in fact, they laughed a great deal, -until the spectators caught the infection, and rocked with laughter -themselves. It was a delirious game, full of amazing incidents, in which -the inferior players scored simply by desperate hitting and by taking -chances that no one would, in sober moments, have dreamed of taking. -Nine times out of ten, the system—if system it could be called—would -have failed. But this happened to be the tenth time. Luck held, and -impossibilities happened. Finally, a smashing half-volley from Eva, on -its way to annihilate Jo, was intercepted by Jean, who executed a leap -into mid-air only comparable to the jump of a performing flea! The ball -seemed to wobble in the air for a moment, and then dropped weakly on the -far side of the net. Eva and Mona, rushing madly to reach it, collided -violently; the spent ball dropped: and, amid a gale of laughter from all -round the court, and a crescendo of delirium from the ranks of Merriwa, -the sett ended in victory for the twins at 6-3! - -Jean and Jo, laughing and half-apologetic, shook hands with their -opponents. - -“Of course, it’s the most amazing luck!” Jean said. “You’re simply miles -beyond us, really: we haven’t a scrap of science.” - -“I don’t believe you have,” said Eva, regarding them with an amazed air. -“But I hope we’ll meet some one scientific next time, that’s all! You’re -so hopelessly unexpected!” - -“The win was unexpected, at any rate,” Jo laughed. “We looked on -ourselves as utterly beaten at the end of the first sett, so we just -went Berserk. It was great fun!” - -“Fun—to you!” Mona Burton was still panting. “I feel as if I should -never get my breath again. Never—never—never did I play at such a -rate! Do you ever get tired, you two wild things?” - -“Oh, not often,” Jo answered. “And it was far too exciting to think of -getting tired.” Then suddenly they were swamped in a wild surge of -school-fellows, their hands pumped, their backs patted. Delighted -juniors bore their blazers, holding them proudly while they donned them, -and uttering incoherent murmurs of joy. Amidst the general delirium two -majestic figures detached themselves from the throng at the far end of -the court. The crowd melted like magic at their approach, and presently -Jean and Jo, blushing like poppies, found themselves receiving the -dignified congratulations of the two principals. - -“A most interesting game—and a truly energetic one!” said Miss -Atchison, of Kooringal, in the measured tones that made her least remark -seem like an anthem. “Miss Dampier tells me you are twins—and not -sixteen yet. You should play well when you are a year older.” - -“Oh, but it was only luck,” the twins assured her. “You wouldn’t really -call our play tennis!” - -“Well, it was too good for us!” said Eva Severne, laughing. Then Miss -Atchison and Miss Dampier drifted away into the throng of parents and -visitors, who were beginning to think of trams and motors, and the girls -closed once more round the twins. Every one discussed points of the -play, and most people seemed to concur in the view that the twins were -mad. But it was, as Helen Forester said, a pleasant madness. - -The Kooringal boarders formed up presently, and marched away, still -bearing their banner proudly. - -“Just you wait until next year!” said Eva Severne, shaking a threatening -fist merrily at the twins. - -“Yes, next year!” echoed Mona. “I shall have left then, but I hope we -shall have somebody less fat to meet you.” She sighed. “Certainly, no -one who plays against you should be fat!” - -“We may be fat ourselves!” said the twins—a remark greeted with -derisive cheers. “At any rate we’ll work up ever so much science.” - -“Sure you’ll be here next year?” asked a Kooringal girl. - -“Oh, certain. Two more years of school, at least—perhaps three. So -there’s lots of tennis ahead,” Jo uttered, happily. “Next year we must -take it up in earnest and learn all the technical part. Then I suppose -we’ll find out why your balls go straight through one’s racquet, Eva!” - -“I wish they had done so a bit more to-day!” said Eva ruefully. “Well, -it’s time we took our battered remnant to the tram. Good-bye—and it was -a very jolly game, even if you did beat us!” - -The Merriwiggians escorted them to the gate, and they marched down the -road, in excellent formation for “battered remnants.” Then the school -closed round the Weston twins, and, lifting them shoulder-high, carried -them up the path to the house, asserting loudly and more or less -tunefully, that they were jolly good fellows. The sudden appearance at a -window of Miss Dampier disorganized the procession, and those -responsible for the twins dropped them. Miss Dampier disappeared as -quickly as she had come. She was that pearl among women, a headmistress -who realized that teachers should occasionally have no official -existence. - -Jean and Jo picked themselves up, remarking that the consequences of -winning a match seemed to be more strenuous than the game itself! They -turned scared eyes on an attempt to revive the procession, and, ducking -under admiring arms, fled to their dormitory. No one was there, and they -sat down and looked at each other. In each look there was a sudden -access of respect. - -“Well, I didn’t think you had it in you!” remarked Jean. - -“I didn’t either,” responded Jo. - - - - - CHAPTER II - MIDNIGHT - - -‟WAKE up, Nita!” - -Nita Anderson grunted and buried her dark head yet deeper in the pillow. - -“The bell hasn’t gone yet,” she murmured. “Do go away and stop playing -the goat!” - -“Well, if I do, you’ll get no supper,” said the caller, not ceasing to -be energetic. “Why, no self-respecting person goes to sleep at all -before a supper, and here you are, snoring like a hog!” - -“I _don’t_ snore!” said Nita indignantly. She cast a wrathful glance at -her accuser. - -“Thought that would fetch you!” said that damsel gaily. “But you can’t -be certain, and now you’ll never know! Hurry up, or all the éclairs will -be gone before you get there.” She capered off, and Nita, with a huge -yawn, jumped out of bed and sought for her kimono. - -There were about a dozen girls in the room to which she found her way -presently. As a rule, midnight suppers were conducted in muffled tones, -the only illumination a candle-end, and enjoyment was heightened by the -knowledge that at any moment the dread form of a too-inquisitive -governess, or even of Miss Dampier herself, might appear. It lent zest -to the flavour of even a shop-made sausage-roll when you knew that you -might not, as Ellen Webster put it dramatically, “be spared to finish -it.” But to-night was different, by time-honoured custom. It was just at -the end of term, for one thing: for another, it was match night, and -every one knew that on match night Miss Dampier and the staff made a -practice of sleeping with such soundness that no untoward noises, such -as the popping of ginger-beer or lemonade bottles, or the clatter of -strange crockery hastily assembled as goblets, could shake their dreams. -Supper arrived almost openly on such nights, in proud hampers from home, -or tempting-looking parcels from the big shops in Melbourne: not -smuggled in in greasy paper bags, the contents of which were apt to -become flattened and crumby long before they were eaten. And, in -addition to sleeping soundly, no governess thought of alluding, next -morning, to heavy eyes or lessons half-prepared. Miss Dampier always -inculcated tact in her staff, especially in the last days of term. - -There were four beds in the dormitory that Nita entered. One, smoothed -over and spread with newspapers, served as supper-table, while on a -chest of drawers were ranged the drinks: coffee, that had once been -iced, and was now faintly lukewarm—the night was a hot one in -December—raspberry vinegar, and a collection of “soft drinks” in -bottles. Each girl was supposed to bring her own tooth-glass; but there -had been a more surreptitious supper two nights before, at which several -of these useful articles had been broken, so that to-night there were -deficiencies which had to be filled by such substitutes as the cups of -thermos flasks. As may be imagined, a thermos cup is sadly insufficient -as a vessel for fizzy drinks; and bitter was the lot of those who -depended on them. - -On her knees upon the floor, Helen Forester was laboriously dissecting a -large cold fowl. Her only weapon was a penknife, backed by brute force. - -“This is a horrible job!” she observed to the company at large, raising -a flushed countenance. “I should like to wipe my heated brow, only my -hands are too greasy. Nita, you’re great on physiology—do come and tell -me where this animal’s joints are.” - -“Get his side-fixings off,” counselled Nita, coming to her assistance. -“You hold one leg and wing firmly, and I’ll hold the others, and we’ll -pull. Something’s sure to come apart!” - -Something did. Nita surveyed the dismembered bird with satisfaction. - -“There!” she said. “That’s much simpler. Now you just go ahead and dig -in here and there till you weaken the general resistance of the -creature, and I’ll get the leg-joints apart.” - -“It sounds simple, but when you come to reality you need an axe!” said -Helen. “I suppose if one scrapes the bones until there’s nothing left on -them one needn’t bother about getting inside?” - -“Indeed, there’s the stuffing—or should be,” said Nita, wrestling -gallantly with the leg-joint. At which Helen groaned, and fell to work -anew with her inadequate weapon. - -“Father would shudder at the carving, but there’s nothing wrong with the -result,” she remarked placidly, sometime later. “After all, every one -seems to have got some, and I believe that it really needs a genius to -feed twelve people off one fowl!” - -“Few could do it,” agreed Nita. “No one is sufficiently grateful to us, -of course, but——” - -There was a chorus of dissent. - -“We _loved_ watching you!” said Grace Farquhar, in her soft drawl. - -“I haven’t a doubt of it,” Helen laughed. “Well, it’s something to have -been able to provide a circus before supper. Will anyone give me a -méringue? Thanks, Jo. Have one yourself.” - -“I’ve had all that’s prudent, thanks,” Jo Weston answered. “Méringues -soon go to your head after you’ve been in strict training for tennis. -Did you get an éclair, Nita?” - -“I did—thanks to you,” Nita laughed. “Nothing but the vision of missing -them would have dragged me from my pillow. I know your mother’s éclairs, -you see. When are you going to learn to make them, Jo?” - -“Mother might teach me in these hols., she said,” responded Jo. “But -she’s not very keen on teaching us while we’re at school. She says we’re -to learn all the cookery and domestic science stuff we can from Miss -Smith, and she’ll see what it amounts to after we leave. Then she’ll -round off the corners.” She laughed. “Personally, I think she’ll find us -_all_ corners. Mother hasn’t got any degrees and letters after her name, -like the worshipful Smithy, but when it comes to running a house -practically, I think she’d leave her cold!” - -“Oh, but who would expect Smithy to be practical?” demanded Grace. “She -looks so exquisite, and she wears such fetching uniforms, and she’s -terribly impressive; but you always have the feeling at the back of your -mind that she’d expire if the gas-stove wouldn’t act!” - -“Yes—I’d love to see her reduced to the cooking outfit my grandmother -had in the bush,” said Helen. “Colonial oven—did any one of you ever -see one?” - -There was a chorus of “No.” - -“Just a big oven, built in between bricks; you put a fire underneath and -another on top. Then you had a couple of bars across the fire, and -balanced your saucepans on that. No pretty aluminium saucepans in those -days; just big heavy iron pots.” - -“Gracious!” said the chorus. - -“You ought to have heard my grandmother’s remarks on restaurant food,” -remarked Helen. “She used to expect to hear of Father’s death any minute -after she found that he had to get his lunch in Town every day. Say, -girls, I’m glad we don’t have to live up to our grandmothers. Mine used -to make all the family clothes—by hand, if you please, and you should -just have seen the tucks!—and do all the cooking, when they didn’t have -maids, and run the house, and doctor her own family and half the -district for fifty miles round, and take an odd turn at harvesting, or -bush-fire fighting, or cattle-mustering, or——” - -“Oh, they _couldn’t_, Helen! It simply wouldn’t happen!” - -“But it did! They fought blacks too sometimes on their own, when the -grandfathers were away; and they doctored injured cattle, and taught -their kiddies, and lots of ’em spun their own wool and knitted it. And -they kept up their accomplishments—painting, and music: Grannie played -the harp like fun, even when she was old. And they hadn’t any -labour-saving devices at all. What if any of us found ourselves up -against a job like that!” - -“I’d be sorry for the person who expected _me_ to keep up -accomplishments while I made the family clothes by hand!” said Nita -firmly. “That would be sufficient accomplishment for _me_, thank you. -Anyhow, I agree we’re not what our grandmothers were. What are you going -to do when you leave, Grace?” - -“Oh, I’m going to the Gallery,” Grace said. “If I can’t paint I can’t do -anything. Later on, if I show signs of its being worth while, they’ll -let me go to England to study. What about you?” - -“Tennis, principally, I think,” said Nita, laughing. “I haven’t thought -of anything else. Golf too, I suppose. _And_ dances. I’m going to have a -good time for a while, anyhow. Don’t ask me to be serious, because it -simply can’t occur!” - -“Hear, hear!” said several pyjama’d figures, with relieved accents. -There were others to whom the breaking of the school chain meant only “a -good time.” No one wanted to be serious. - -“Well, I’m going to learn to run the house,” Helen said. “Mother says -so, and what she says generally happens. But we’re going to Ceylon for a -year first if we can depot Rex.” - -“Who’s Rex?” - -“My little brother. He hasn’t been strong, and the doctor doesn’t want -him to go to Ceylon. But he is a bit young for school—only nine. Aunt -Ada was to have taken charge of him, but now she is going to England -herself. However, I suppose we’ll find a home for him somewhere.” - -“Ceylon for a year—how gorgeous!” said Jean Weston. - -“Yes; I’m going to learn to plant tea,” laughed Helen. “If we have luck -we may go on to India: Father has cousins in Bombay. But there will be a -wonder-year, at any rate. What are you going to do, Jean? Of course I -know you’re not leaving yet.” - -“Thank goodness, no!” Jean answered. “We wanted to go to school from the -time we were ten, and we didn’t go until we were over fourteen, so it -would be too awful to have only a year. We’re to be left to accumulate -learning until we’re eighteen, I believe!” - -“You won’t be fit to know!” said Gladys Armstrong solemnly. - -“That depends on how much we accumulate. Thank goodness Father isn’t a -bit keen on exams for us. We’re to learn French thoroughly, so’s we can -talk it if we ever get to France, and we’re to have a good sound -education without any frills, and all the domestic science Smithy can -pack into us. That’s Father’s idea: Mother stuck out for a few extras. -And they both want us to play all the games we can, barring football!” - -“They sound extremely satisfactory parents,” said Grace, laughing. - -“You ask Helen—_she_ knows them!” returned Jo defiantly. - -“Why, they’re darlings: everybody knows _that_!” said Helen. “Mr. Weston -gave us—the twinses and Nita and me—a most gorgeous time when he came -to Town to sell his wool. Didn’t he, Nita?” - -“Rather!” responded that damsel. “I wish he had wool to sell once a -month!” - -“I’m afraid he won’t have much next year,” Jean said. “The drought is -pretty bad up our way; Mother’s letters seem a bit worrified.” - -“I wish Miss Dampier could hear your new English,” said Ellen Webster. - -“Well, if you say ‘horrified’ why shouldn’t you say ‘worrified,’ I’d -like to know?” Jo demanded. The twins always answered for each other. - -“You might say ‘horrid’ to match ‘worried’ instead,” remarked Nita. “Why -not? Some day, when I’m not busy, I think I’ll make a new dictionary. I -know heaps of lovely words that no dictionary-maker ever dreams of -putting in.” She yawned. “But seriously, Jean, I hope your father isn’t -having a bad time. My uncle is up in your part of the country, and he -seems to be pretty hard hit by the drought.” - -“Oh, Father is sure to be feeling it,” Jean said. “But I ’spect it will -be like other bad times: they come and go, you know, and everybody jogs -along just the same. Father always says one good year makes up for -several bad ones. But of course it makes you pretty blue to be living in -the middle of the drought, and seeing the sheep and cattle grow poorer -and poorer every day. I know what _that’s_ like. So Mother’s letters -can’t be very cheery.” - -“Jean and I were looking forward to new saddles and riding-kit these -hols.,” Jo remarked. “Now I suppose they won’t be able to manage them -for us. But it never lasts long. Father will preach economy, and look -glum when the bills come in, and of course we’ll economize, somehow—but -he’d be awfully wild if he found Mother doing without anything she -really wanted! And then the rain will come, and everything will be all -right again.” - -“You’re a cheery old optimist,” Gladys said, laughing. - -“Well, isn’t life cheery? Things always come right again, if you give -them time—Mother says so, at any rate. We always have good times, don’t -we, Jo?” And Jo grinned at her twin, and said “Rather!” - -“My father says,” observed Grace, “that you often get just what you’re -looking out for—if you make sure you’re going to have a bad time, it -comes, and if you make up your mind that everything will be delightful, -then that comes too.” She sighed. “I’ve tried to work out that theory -when I was going to the dentist—planned in my own mind that I was going -to have something between a pantomime and a picnic. It was, too, I -think, for the dentist. But not for me!” She sighed again. - -Every one laughed, with a painful absence of sympathy. - -“All the same, I believe in your father’s idea, though I think you tried -it pretty high,” remarked Helen. “I do think if you believe in your luck -it’s more likely to come than if you make up your mind that nothing will -go right. It’s the same with people: if you’re quite sure they are -decent, well they generally turn out decent.” - -“That’s what Father says!” cried Jo. “He always believes every one’s all -right.” - -“Then, when you get let down by some one who isn’t all right,” said -Grace—“well, you come with a bump!” - -“That’s true, I suppose. But Father says he hasn’t had many bumps, and -on the whole he’d rather have had them than give up believing in people. -Anyhow, I believe in every one—except Miss Smith!” - -“Well, go on believing—but keep your eyes about you next year, as -well,” said Helen, laughing. “You two will be seniors next year, and if -you’re not awfully careful you’ll be prefects before it’s over. A lot of -seniors are leaving, and Miss Dampier will be so hard up for prefects -that she may have to promote even graceless children like you!” - -“Good—gracious!” said the twins, in tones of horror. - -“It’s true. You can’t expect for ever to blush unseen in the murky -obscurity of the Middle School—’specially when you win tennis matches. -Miss Dampier has her eagle eye on you.” - -“But—but——” gasped Jean, “we shan’t be sixteen until next year! And -you’re eighteen, Helen.” - -“Well, I was a prefect when I was sixteen,” said the Captain, drawing -her dainty embroidered kimono round her. “So were Nita and Ellen. And -you two are higher in the school for your age than I was.” - -“Yes, but you’ve often told us that, being twins, we’ve only sense -enough for one real person divided between us!” said Jo, amidst -laughter. - -“That’s one of the ways in which one hatches sense in the young,” said -Helen. “I’ve told you lots of other things, for your souls’ good. -Captains have to.” She smiled at them very kindly; they looked such -scared children, so ridiculously alike, in their pyjamas, with their -hair tumbling about their flushed faces. “Oh, you’ll be terrors to the -wicked juniors when you’re prefects, because they’ll never know which of -you they’re talking to! Fancy being quite certain you’d dodged one of -the Powers That Be, and then seeing her double stalk out before you!” - -“I see a vision!” remarked Ellen Webster solemnly. “Two years hence, you -and Nita and I will re-visit the old school and tread the familiar -paths, once desecrated by the pelting feet of graceless twinses. And lo! -we will see droves of demure juniors, damsels without guile——” - -“There ain’t none such!” said Nita. - -“—and older damsels of staid, not to say cowed, aspect; and at the -head, two goddess-like figures— - - ‘So like they were, men never - Saw twins so like before’— - -bearing badges of office, and walking statelily Even the Fifth, that -band without reverence, will tremble at their gaze. Slowly, -majestically——” - -The orator’s voice died away in a pained gurgle. One twin seized her -suddenly from the rear, and tilted her backwards, while the other -pressed to her face a large, wet sponge. It was almost dry when the -ensuing struggle was over, and most of the water it had contained was -distributed evenly over Ellen and the twins. - -“Ugh!” said Ellen, abandoning all oratory. “You little fiends!” She -wriggled in her wet pyjamas. - -“It’s a nice warm night for a bath!” said Nita, weak from laughing. - -“Yes, but this only feels clammy. You two, prefects! You’ll never be -anything but disgraces!” - -She glared at the twins, capering safely in the distance, soaked and -cheerful. Certainly, there was nothing about them that suggested -prefectorial dignity. They danced in a manner only possible in those who -have no responsibility. - -“I believe you’re right,” laughed Helen. “Anyhow, it’s a good thing it’s -match night, or you’d certainly have had Miss Dampier in here. And you -three are far too wet to sit up any longer: come and clear up the wreck. -Who’s going to dispose of the chicken-bones?” - - - - - CHAPTER III - THE LAST DAYS OF TERM - - -‟YOU didn’t truly mean it, Helen—last night? About being prefects?” - -The twins had sought Helen Forester in her study, finding her in the -throes of packing up. In itself this was a distressing sight, and -induced seriousness. Every one had been proud of the Captain’s pretty -room, with its dainty furniture. The big, comfortable couch looked bare, -stripped of its Indian rug and the dark-blue cushions embroidered with -the School badge. Gone were the photographs—hockey and tennis teams, -girls, past and present, Cingalese pictures, and views of Helen’s own -people, and of her home in the Western District. Gone, too, were the -trophies of her five years at school: silver cups, won in many a -hard-fought fight with other schools and other Merriwa champions. Their -places looked bare and dismal. In the middle of the room a packing-case -yawned widely to receive everything. - -Helen, mounted on a table, was detaching a racquet from the wall. She -balanced herself on one foot, and the table creaked ominously. - -“Sit on the other edge, will you?” she asked with some anxiety. The -twins sprang to her aid, and she brought down the racquet in safety. -Then she sat on the table and looked at them. - -“Mean it? Why, yes, of course I meant it. You can see for yourself, -kiddies. There were twelve of us at supper last night, and you were the -youngest. Seven of us are leaving. That’s a big loss out of the seniors, -isn’t it?” - -“But there are other seniors,” said Jean, hopefully. “Ethel Tarrant -wasn’t there, nor Janie Frith, nor Doris Harvey.” - -“Yes, but look at them. Ethel thinks of nothing in the world but music. -She lives with her head in a cloud composed of Chopin and Debussy and -Bach. Janie Frith is far too delicate to be counted on, and will never -be a prefect. And Doris is queer and prickly, and won’t take part in -anything. Not one of them plays games. No, as far as I can see, you two -will have to make up your minds to it—not at once, but in six months’ -time. You’ll do it, too, all right, because you love the School.” - -“Oh—if loving the School were all——” The twins hesitated. - -“Why, it’s ninety per cent. You two care awfully for the School, and -you’ll never let it down. The honour of the School means a heap to you, -and it will mean more. You know how high we stand, and what is expected -of us. Merriwa isn’t a new thing: lots of our mothers were here before -us, and we’ve got traditions as well as present honour.” - -“But that makes it all the worse!” Jean said. “Of course, Mother was -here, and she told us about the School from the time we could walk. -She’s terribly proud of it. She regards us as about six, and she’ll be -horrified if she thinks there is a chance of slumping to people like us -for prefects!” - -“Well, you have got to see that it isn’t a slump.” The Captain swung the -dusty racquet slowly to and fro, looking at them thoughtfully. “You’ll -be sixteen; I was only that when I got my prefect’s badge——” - -“Oh, but you——!” broke in the twins. - -“Oh, of course, I know I was a marvel!” The tall girl laughed at their -eager faces. “Just between you and me, I wasn’t a marvel in the least. I -was fairly harum-scarum, and the idea of responsibility appalled me. I -thought the girls would just yell with laughter at the idea of my being -a prefect.” - -“They certainly will at us!” said Jo, ruefully. - -“Well, they didn’t—much. And they stop laughing after a while, as -you’ll find. You don’t want to get fussed or worried—only go straight -ahead. If you get it into everybody’s mind that certain things are done, -just as certain things aren’t done, simply because it’s the -School—well, you won’t have much trouble. You two have a tremendous -start, because your mother was here before you, and because you grew up -with the School in your bones. Just remember that.” - -“Why, I thought it was the other way round!” Jean said. - -“Oh, you owls, how can it be? Who’s likely to do best for the -School—you, brought up on its traditions, or young Pearlie Alexander, -who’s not quite happy that her people didn’t send her to Kooringal, -’cause she thinks it’s a shade smarter than Merriwa? And smartness, to -her type, simply means richer fathers and bigger motors. If she went to -Kooringal and thought Eversleigh College had a few more Rolls-Royces -pulling up before it, she’d want to go there. What does the school -itself matter to the Pearlie type? They make me tired!” She laughed. “I -can say what I like about her because she’s leaving!” - -The twins laughed in sympathy. - -“Well, it’s comforting to think you don’t believe we’d make a hopeless -mess of it,” Jo said. “We’ll try to believe it too, but it’s difficult. -And the most difficult of all will be to make the School believe it!” - -Helen slipped off the table and inserted the racquet into a crevice in -the packing-case. - -“Oh, the School won’t worry you much,” she said. “Don’t start off with -thinking about all your problems at once; take each day’s work as it -comes, and leave to-morrow’s to look after itself. Remember, you’re not -going to be prefects all at once, either, so you’ve time to hatch out a -good manner!” - -“If ever I see Jo with a prefectorial manner I’ll cease to believe that -she’s my twin!” uttered Jean. - -“What about yourself?” demanded Jo. - -“If I could roll the ridiculous pair of you out into one large prefect I -believe I’d have an excellent one!” said Helen, laughing. “Stop worrying -over six months hence, and help me pack my books; there’s an empty box -in the corner by the fire-place. Oh, and remember, too, Ellen Webster -will be Captain, and a jolly good captain she’ll be. Keep your eye on -her, and pick up points.” - -“Right-oh!” said the twins, falling upon the empty box and transporting -it to the book-case. “What goes in first, Helen?” - -“The fat ones—line the box with paper, though.” - -“Rather. If we’d known about this prefect idea we’d have spent all this -term watching you. I’d have followed you about with a note-book.” - -“Then thank goodness you didn’t know! At least I’ve had my last term in -peace,” laughed Helen. “And when poor old Ellen finds you trailing her -with lifted pencil, don’t tell her it was I who put you on to watch her, -or my memory will be blackened for ever. By the way, twinses, you’ll -find it quite helpful to talk to Miss Dampier if you’re in -difficulties.” - -The twins looked more round-eyed than ever. - -“Does one really talk to her—ever?” queried Jean. “I merely quake in my -shoes when I meet her.” - -“Oh, one doesn’t take her actual problems, unless it’s absolutely -necessary. But a talk about things in general helps one on a lot. She’s -awfully human when you get to know her, really, and you’ve no idea how -much she understands. Of course I began by thinking she was just one’s -natural enemy, but I grew out of it. You will, too. She remembers your -mother, too—she was a junior mistress in her time—and so she expects -things of you.” - -“It seems to be a big responsibility to be born with the School in one’s -family, so to speak,” said Jo. - -“Well it is, in a way. But responsibility’s a jolly good thing for every -one,” the Captain remarked. “Now, that’s enough sermonizing, and I’m -sick of packing. Thanks ever so for doing the books. I’ve got leave to -take five girls down to St. Kilda to bathe—will you two come?” - -The twins gave an ecstatic yelp of acquiescence. - -“Then go and collect Gladys and Nita: I’ve collected Ellen already. -Hurry them up—we’ll all meet here in ten minutes.” - -Bathing was always a joy, but it generally took place in large parties, -under the supervision of two house-mistresses, so anxious for the safety -of the non-swimmers that discipline was very strict. Even Nita, who was -like a fish in the water, was wont to say that it made her nervous to -feel that Miss Morrison was ranging to and fro on the gallery like a -panther, holding her breath when a girl dived, and emitting a bursting -sigh of relief when her head at length popped into sight. But at the end -of the term, when rules and regulations were relaxing, parties of senior -girls known to swim well were sometimes allowed to go down without a -mistress in charge, if at least two prefects were among their number. -Invitations to these swims were much prized, and the twins felt that -even if the cares and responsibilities of age were descending upon them, -so also were some of its delights, as they fled about the business of -“collecting” Gladys and Nita. - -Ten minutes later the cheerful band hurried down the wide garden path, -followed by the envious glances of girls who lay here and there under -the pepper-trees enduring the hot afternoon as best they might. Someone -begged Jo lazily to bring her back a strawberry ice, a dismal pleasantry -which evoked groans from its hearers. Outside, the pavement felt sticky -underfoot with the heat. Little eddies of winds swirled here and there, -scattering dead leaves and scraps of dusty paper. On the shady side of -the street a few tired children toiled home from school, swinging straps -of books; but there were not many people to be seen. Even the tram which -the girls boarded presently was nearly empty, and the conductor seemed -almost too tired to collect their fares. He perched on his tiny seat at -the back of the car, glanced with a covetous eye at their rubber -bathing-bags, and remarked audibly to himself that it was better to be -born lucky than rich! - -The esplanade at St. Kilda lay grilling under the heat, the yellow sand -of the beach contrasting sharply with the wilted green of the strip of -garden and lawn that lies between the roadway and the shore. Beyond -gleamed a grey expanse of sea, its surface not marked by the tiniest -wave until it broke in lazy ripples on the beach, where hundreds of -children were bathing and paddling. The sands were churned into hills -and hollows by innumerable feet: greasy lunch-papers littered them, with -crumpled bags that had once held cakes and fruit. Rows of deck-chairs -bore the forms of slumbering grown-ups; here and there a mother roused -herself to shout to Tommy and Winnie that they were going too far into -the water and had better come out, now, and behave. Babies crawled -everywhere, fighting, falling over, and eating sand and strange -treasure-trove of the littered beach. As the girls watched, one crawled -straight into the sea, laughing gleefully at the warm touch of the -shallow water. A half-naked little brother pursued it, shouting threats -and dragged it up the sand, fulfilling his promise of a smack. The baby -howled distressfully, and the mother stirred to say, “Now, Willie, -whatcher doin’? Couldn’t yer let ’er alone for ’arf a minute?” She gave -the annoyed baby a cake, and the baby ceased howling, and fell upon it -wolfishly, its joy in it not at all disturbed by the fact that between -bites it generally fell into the sand. Willie also seized a cake, and -departed, with the puzzled air of one who, having done his duty, -receives no commendation. The mother slumbered again. - -“Don’t you hate city beaches?” Jo asked; and Jean nodded. - -“Think of Anderson’s Inlet beside this,” said Nita, “up at the Eagle’s -Rest, with the tide coming in and filling all those jolly rock-pools. -Clean, hard sand that you can gallop a horse along; and such bathing. -It’s like soda-water to bathe in at night, all sparkle and foam, and you -just tingle all over after it!” - -“I know,” Gladys said. “I was nearly washed out by a wave on those rocks -one day: it came unexpectedly when I’d just been taking photographs, a -sort of lone wave that rushed in ever so much farther than any of its -mates. I had to hang on like grim death, and it washed the rock clear of -everything but me. Camera, book, lunch-basket—they all went off to the -Antarctic: and I had five miles to walk home, soaked to the skin. It -_was_ jolly!” - -“It sounds jolly,” said Helen, laughing. “It’s almost hard to believe -there are waves like that when you’re looking at that tame sea in front -of us—it looks as if it were made of grey oil.” - -“Grey oil or not, it’s all we’ve got to-day, and I won’t have it -abused,” Ellen Webster said. “Come on, girls; we’re wasting precious -time.” She led the way along the pier that led out to the baths. - -There were scores of bobbing heads in the water within. At the shallow -end the sea seemed full of small girls, splashing about within their -depths; and every inch of the rope that stretched across from side to -side, where the water was three feet deep, was occupied by clinging -hands, whose owners swung themselves up and down in the waves with -shrieks of delight. The shallower the water, the more incessant were the -screams of the bathers. Farther out they became quieter, though wild -yells rose from one place where a band of mermaids played a kind of -water-polo with a huge ball. In the deep water at the extreme end, peace -reigned: only a few strong swimmers were to be seen there, moving -quietly along, or floating lazily. A big, black-backed gull perched on a -water-worn post, crusted with barnacles, and gazed at the scene, -probably reflecting that nothing so queer was likely to meet his vision -again between there and the South Pole. - -A railed gallery ran round the baths, overlooking the water. -Dressing-boxes opened from it, trails of wet foot-marks leading from -them to the flights of steps that gave access to the sea. The gallery -was crowded with onlookers, among whom forms in bathing-suits, wet and -dry, edged swiftly, with due regard for bare feet among the many shod. -Occasionally a soaked bather, hurrying to dress, cannoned into an -immaculate damsel in a crisp frock, greatly to the destruction of her -crispness. The crowd of spectators was thickest near a spring-board -jutting out over the deep water, where a girl capered gaily, making the -board leap up and down until it fairly bucked her off. She turned a -double somersault in mid-air before she struck the water. - -“That’s Alice Pearce,” said Nita. “I heard she’d broken six -spring-boards this season. It must be an expensive amusement.” - -“Wouldn’t you just _love_ to be able to dive like that, Jo?” Jean -murmured; and her twin breathed, “Rather!” - -They had some difficulty in finding vacant dressing-boxes; every one -seemed occupied, and sometimes by the wet and dry together. Finally they -were lucky in finding three, in which a party of Kooringal girls were -dressing after their bathe; and having inherited these damp and darksome -abodes, were quickly ready for the water. Making for the nearest steps, -they dived in, swam out to a raised platform in the middle of the deep -part of the baths, and sat on it for a moment to rest. - -“Glorious, isn’t it!” ejaculated Helen. “Look at those girls!”—as two -swimmers flashed by, using a powerful trudgeon stroke. “They’re -practising for the swimming carnival. Now, I wonder did she mean to do -that?” she added, as Jo tumbled off the platform in a casual manner, and -disappeared. - -“Don’t know,” Jean answered, laughing. “I’ll go and see!” She tumbled -in, in the same fashion, and fell squarely upon her twin, who was just -rising to the surface. They vanished together, to reappear, presently, -having apparently had a heated altercation under water. - -“With all the sea to jump into, she had to choose the exact spot I was -using!” grumbled Jo, laughing. - -“That’s because you’re twinses, and have everything alike,” said Nita. -“Come on—let’s go out to the deep end. I’ll race you!” She went off, -with swift overarm strokes. Nita was the champion swimmer of the private -schools, and Merriwa was justly proud of her. Therefore they reviled her -as they panted after her, finally reaching the deep end to find her -placidly floating on her back. - -“Old leviathan!” grumbled Helen affectionately, turning on her back near -her. - -“I splash horribly, but I get there—some time or other,” panted Gladys. -“Nita, how do you manage to swim as fast as a porpoise, which you -resemble, and never make a bubble of splash?” - -“All done by kindness!” said Nita, lazily. - -“Let’s lean on you, Nita, darling!” The twins arrived on either side of -her, and leant, heavily and suddenly. Nita went under for an instant, -and reappearing, with a roll which in truth was like that of a porpoise, -ducked them both, in a thorough and scientific manner. Every one seemed -to become involved in the process, and the sea was churned by the throes -of the Merriwiggians. Ellen Webster was the first to emerge from the -turmoil. She swam to the nearest steps, and sat upon the lowest, drawing -her knees up to her chin. - -“You look like a witch brooding over the deep!” Gladys told her. Ellen -was small, with rather sharp features and twinkling eyes, and the insult -held a certain amount of truth. - -“If I were to say what _you_ all look like it would need a vocabulary -unbefitting a vice-captain!” retorted Ellen. “Remember, young ladies, -you are not allowed out without a keeper so that you may indulge in -unseemly horse-play! Your conduct is sadly lacking in either deportment -or——” - -“She’s drowning in her own eloquence!” remarked Nita. “Come, and we’ll -save her, girls!” They made a rush at the orator, who tried to escape up -the steps, but being caught by what Jo termed “the hind leg,” was -ignominiously hauled back into the water, where she became the victim of -all known methods of rescuing the apparently drowned. Then, not because -the sea had lost any of its charm, but because time was slipping away, -they swam back to the dressing-boxes, making as quick a toilet as their -soaked hair would permit. - -“Rubber caps are a delusion and a snare if you once happen to go under -water,” remarked Helen disgustedly as they walked along the pier to the -shore. “Ugh! another drop has slid down my back!” - -“Can’t be helped.” Gladys shook her own lank and dripping locks. -“Anyhow, we’re all alike—except the twinses. They have an altogether -unfair advantage!” - -The twins grinned. They had worn their hair close-cropped until they -came to school, following an attack of fever in which, like good twins, -they had indulged together, and their hair had been compulsorily shorn. -It was growing again now, but the growth was slow, and their dark locks -clustered about their necks in curls that refused to reach their -shoulders. It made them look younger than they were, and had the effect -of enhancing a resemblance to each other that the School declared little -short of criminal. Even Miss Dampier often had distressing doubts as to -whether she were dealing at the moment with Jean or Jo. The twins were -quick to recognize any signs of doubt as to their identity, and had -never been known to relieve such doubts unless compelled by authority. - -“Never mind,” said Ellen Webster. “We’ll soon be hot enough to welcome -anything dripping down our backs. Who says ices?” - -Every one said ices, with one voice. They sauntered to the café perched -half-way down the big pier, and voiced their demands, following the ices -with tea and many cakes, regardless of consequences. Then Helen, with -the recklessness of one about to leave, ordered raspberries and cream -all round; and at length, sustained and refreshed, the Merriwiggians -turned their steps homeward. The crowd on the pier was beginning to -thin: people were going home to tea, and only the fishing enthusiasts, -who sit on the edge of the pier and angle perpetually for fish that -never bite, showed no signs of moving. On the beach mothers were -collecting children, wet, sandy, and tired. The trams were crowded, and -the girls obtained places with difficulty, “strap-hanging” until they -changed from the beach tram into the one that took them close to the -School. - -“It’s been lovely,” Jo said, as the iron gate of Merriwa closed behind -them. “And I don’t want tea one bit!” - -Nobody did. There was, indeed, a general shudder at the bare idea of a -meal. - -“We’ve got to face it, anyhow,” said Helen. “And you’d better all take -notice that we’ve only about five minutes to change!” - -The urgency of this discovery mastered any more personal feelings. They -scattered to their rooms, in a wild endeavour to achieve the -well-groomed appearance that Miss Dampier was unfeeling enough to -demand, in all circumstances. A junior, still in the flush of -hero-worship that surrounds tennis championships, hailed the twins as -they reached their door. - -“Letter for you in the rack. Shall I get it for you?” - -“Oh, do, there’s a good kid!” Jo gasped, struggling with buttons as she -ran. “Give it to us at tea—we haven’t time to sneeze!” - -The letter lay between them throughout tea, while they gallantly tried -to obey Ellen Webster’s whispered injunction at the door—“Assume an -appetite, though you have it not!” Luckily, the night was hot enough to -cause a general disinclination for food, and no one in authority paid -any special attention to the lack of interest in the meal manifested by -the bathing party. Jean and Jo cast longing glances at their letter, -wishing that the time of release would come, and set them free to read -it. - -It was a rather thick letter, addressed in their father’s firm writing -in the style in which he always addressed them—“Miss J. Weston.” Mother -might give them the individual Jean or Josephine, or lump them together -as “The Misses Weston,” but Father held that these distinctions, with -twins, were merely waste of time, since anything he had to say was sure -to be said to both. A letter from him was rather a rarity, and the twins -puzzled a little over it as tea dragged slowly on. - -“Queer that Father should write, when we’ll be home in three days,” Jo -said. “I wonder what he’s writing about.” - -“Thank goodness, there’s Miss Dampier standing up for grace, so we can -cut off and read it,” Jean answered, getting to her feet. The School -rose, and after grace was said, filed out of the long room. As the twins -passed Miss Dampier, she beckoned to them. - -“You have had your father’s letter?” she asked. They fancied her face -was rather grave. - -“We got it just before tea,” Jean answered. “We haven’t had time to read -it yet.” - -“I heard from him, also,” the Head remarked. “Come and see me in the -study when you have read yours.” - -Something in her tone sent swift alarm into the twins’ faces. - -“Oh, they’re quite well—don’t worry,” Miss Dampier said hastily. “Run -along to your room and read your letter quietly.” - - - - - CHAPTER IV - A LETTER FROM HOME - - -THE twins did not lose a moment. They edged through the crowd of girls, -dodged one or two laughing queries about their bathe, and, gaining the -staircase, fled up to their eyrie on the second floor. It was a little -room, with a big window, and a deep window-seat from which could be seen -the Bay and the big liners going up and down on their way backwards and -forwards across the world. The twins loved their window-seat, and -generally read their home-letters in it. But when they had read this one -they faced each other with eyes wide with dismay. - -Father had gone straight to his point. That was like Father: he never -wasted time. - - “MY DEAR LITTLE GIRLS,— - - “I had meant to keep the news I have to give you until you came - home. But it occurs to me that it is better to let you know at - once. - - “This has been a very bad year for me, as you know—not that you - have known everything, for Mother and I haven’t believed in - worrying you unnecessarily. You’re only kiddies, and we hoped - the bad times would pass. But they haven’t passed. The drought - has hit me very hard: I bought stock dear last year, and had to - sell them for next to nothing this year, because I hadn’t feed - for them. The stock I have still are as poor as crows, and I am - only keeping them alive by buying feed. - - “I might have managed, however, but for an extra bit of bad - luck. Before things got very bad I lent an old friend a big sum - of money, expecting it to be paid back last month; and the long - and the short of it is, that he’s as hard hit as I am, and - hasn’t got it to pay back. Goodness knows if he’ll ever be able - to pay. - - “So I’ve got to retrench, and I only wish I could do it all - myself, instead of involving Mother and you children. But that’s - just what I can’t do. We shall have to spend just as little - money as possible, and it will mean sending away the servants, - living very simply, and—I must take you two from school. I hate - to say it, but there’s no help for it. School costs me close on - £300 a year, and I can’t spare it. Besides, we’ll need your - help. I know you’ll save Mother in the house as much as you can, - and I think you should be able to teach Billy for a year or so. - That will save a governess. Possibly you’ll even give me a hand - on the place now and then, for I must do with as little outside - labour as I can. I expect I can reckon on you two when I need a - couple of extra hands, mustering.” - -Jo gulped at this point. “Isn’t he a darling?” she said irrelevantly. - - “Well, that’s all, and I’m afraid it’s an awful bombshell for - you, little chaps. It might have been better to wait to tell - you, but we have always faced things, and I thought you might - prefer to tell your mates yourselves, instead of having to write - explanations and good-byes. I’m writing to tell Miss Dampier. I - shall always be sorry that Mother’s old School had only a year’s - chance at you: the School that turned out Mother has a big thing - to its credit, and I was awfully glad to send you there. It is a - bitter disappointment to us both to have to take you away. I - wish I’d been able to manage better for you, kiddies. - - “Your loving - “FATHER.” - -“Oh, poor old chap!” said Jean. “Poor old chap!” - -“Oh, isn’t it just rotten luck for him!” said Jo. “My word, Jean, we’ll -have to buck up and help him!” - -Which remarks Miss Dampier would certainly have condemned on principle -as unladylike. But it is doubtful if Father would have found any fault. - -“Mother simply isn’t fit to do much work, of course,” said Jean. “I -wonder what we can do, Jo. Do you suppose we can run things for her?” - -“We’ll have a jolly hard try,” responded her twin. “After all, we ought -to be able to do a good bit. But—Jean—_Sarah_? Can you imagine Mother -without Sarah!” - -Sarah had been part and parcel of the Weston household as long as the -twins could remember. There had never been a time when she had not ruled -unquestioned in the kitchen: tall, lean to the point of scragginess, -dour and short of speech, but with a heart of gold that belonged -entirely to her mistress. Housemaids came and went, after the manner of -housemaids, but Sarah was as the fixed stars. When sickness came she was -a tower of strength: nothing came amiss to her, and she would sit up all -night as tirelessly as she would work all day. Mrs. Weston was not -strong, and Sarah watched over her as a warlike hen watches a delicate -chick. It was unthinkable that Mother should be without her. - -“But—but he said, ‘the servants.’ And there’s only Sarah and Amy.” - -“Then he _must_ mean Sarah. Well, I guess it will take a team of -bullocks to drag her away!” - -“Father wouldn’t keep her unless he could pay her,” Jean said. “My -goodness, how poor he must have got!” - -“And I ate three ices this afternoon,” said Jo, contritely. “I wish I -hadn’t been such a greedy pig!” - -“I did, too,” said Jean. “Why didn’t we get the letter a post earlier, -and we needn’t have spent all that money going to bathe!” - -“Well, it’s gone now,” Jo said, mournfully. “Anyhow, I suppose it’s only -a drop in the bucket,” she sighed. “And I know he was hoping to be able -to get a motor for Mother next year. Now I suppose it’s doubtful if -we’ll even be able to keep the ponies.” - -“The _ponies_?” Jean exclaimed. “You don’t mean to say you think they’ll -have to go? Why, Jo—I just couldn’t imagine you without Pilot!” - -Jo blinked something away rapidly. - -“I can’t quite imagine myself,” she said dolefully. “Or you without -Punch: it’s just as awful. But Father will simply _have_ to keep -Cruiser, Jean, ’cause he couldn’t work the place without him. That’s one -comfort, at any rate.” - -“Unless his awful sense of duty makes him sell Cruiser and ride some old -crock,” Jean said. “It would be just like him to do that. But we’ll make -mother put her foot down about it—he won’t do it if he realizes how -we’d all hate to see him riding any horse except Cruiser.” - -Jo nodded agreement. - -“I wonder Mother didn’t write,” she said. “But I suppose she’s pretty -busy: and she’s just waiting to talk it all out when we get home. How do -you think we’ll get on at teaching Billy?” - -Jean laughed. - -“Oh, there will be a good deal of wool flying, now and then,” she said. -“Billy hasn’t been exactly all jam for the governesses—he won’t be keen -on obeying a mere pair of sisters. Perhaps it would have been as well if -we’d had a bit of experience as prefects first.” She hesitated, looking -out across the Bay at the sunset sky, against which the tall masts of a -wheat-ship showed black and slender. “And only this afternoon we were -scared blue at the very idea of becoming prefects!” - -“Well, it needn’t scare us now,” Jo said, drily. “Oh, Jean, it’s going -to be hateful to leave!” - -“Yes, isn’t it?” Jean said. “And it’s hateful to have to tell every -one—so we’d better get it over as soon as we can. Let’s go and see Miss -Dampier, and then tell the girls.” - -“All right,” Jo answered. “And if young Pearlie Alexander patronizes us -I’ll—I’ll—well, I’ll cease to be a perfect lady immediately!” - -“You’ll have to begin by being one, first,” responded her twin. “And so -far, there hasn’t been any sign of it!” At which they managed to laugh, -and so took not uncheerful countenances to the study where Miss Dampier -sat reading the evening paper. - -The Head was not at all cheery. She was to be bereft of so many of her -seniors that next year’s discipline presented something of a problem to -her; in addition, she was genuinely fond of the twins and of their -mother, and sympathized very heartily in their difficulties. She spoke -so kindly that Jo and Jean found her suddenly more human than they had -ever imagined that she could be, and talked freely to her of their -disappointment and their hopes and fears for the future. It came upon -both with a shock of horror, later on, that they had used slang -expressions several times, and that the Head had never seemed to notice -it! - -She dismissed them at length, and they went slowly down the passage that -led to the senior girls’ studies. No preparation was done on the last -nights of term; already the holiday spirit had infected every one. From -the big schoolroom came the notes of a piano and a shouted chorus that -showed that the junior school was making merry. Several of the studies -they passed were in darkness, their doors ajar, their owners released -from the tedium of nightly toil. Helen Forester’s door was also ajar, -but light streamed from it, and the sound of many voices. The twins -looked in. - -“Hullo, you two!” Nita Anderson greeted them. “We thought you had -succumbed to the mingled effects of bathing and ice-cream. And then an -awestruck junior reported that you had gone to Miss Dampier’s room. -Anything wrong?” - -“Pretty awfully wrong—for us,” Jo said. “We’ve got to leave school!” - -“Oh—_twinses_!” Helen Forester’s voice was a cry of distress. She -crossed the room quickly, putting an arm round each. “Not—not your -mother?” - -“Oh, no. Mother’s all right,” Jean answered “It’s just horrid old -money.” Her face was flushed, but she kept her head up, looking bravely -at the concerned faces round her. “Father’s been awfully hard hit by the -drought—he kept things from us as long as ever he could, hoping they’d -pull round, and they haven’t. The stock haven’t anything to eat, and -he’s buying feed.” - -She stopped, on the verge of further revelations. Suddenly she realized -that her father would not like her to speak of the friend to whom he had -lent money, and who had failed to return it. - -“Got to cut down expenses.” Jo took up the story. “School-bills are -simply awful, of course, ’specially for people as fond of ices as we -are! House-expenses, too—we’re going to be cooks and bottlewashers, and -teach Billy in the intervals. Billy doesn’t respect us at all, so I -don’t know how _that’s_ going to answer. But we shan’t have a dull -moment.” - -She stopped abruptly: so far she had rattled on, but she knew that her -voice would not carry her much farther. She was desperately afraid of -pity. But no one pitied them. - -“Well, you are bricks!” Helen said, cheerily. “Such a chance: we always -talk, or think, about doing things for our people, but it generally ends -in their doing everything for us, in the same old way. Now you two are -really going to do things. You’ll have no end of fun.” - -Her eyes sought Ellen Webster’s, saying silently, “Back me up!” Ellen -responded promptly. - -“Woe is me!” she said, dismally. “Here are you off to Ceylon, Helen, and -all the others to frivol or be artistic, and who is going to support me? -I’d depended on the twinses. They were going to be kept under my eagle -eye and gradually hatched into the perfect prefect! Now they’ll be -fully-fledged housekeepers, and they’ll look down on me as a little -schoolgirl. It isn’t fair!” - -This point of view had very naturally failed to present itself to Jean -and Jo. It had not occurred to them that any one could possibly feel -aggrieved at their going. Being only human, they found it cheering. - -“But we don’t want to go a bit——” they began. - -“Oh, you think you don’t. But wait until you’ve been home a few months, -running things, and see how you’d feel at the idea of coming back—back -to being put in your place by Smithy, and asked at short notice for the -subjunctive of a hideous irregular French verb, or made to walk in a -crocodile every day! Catch either of you giving up your independence, -once you’ve got it!” - -“But we shan’t be independent—you seem to forget there’s Mother.” - -“No—but I know you two!” said Ellen darkly. “I’ve been vice-captain for -a year, and I pity your hapless parents!” - -“Yes, poor things!” Nita agreed. “Of course, they won’t be hapless for -ever—the drought will break, and stock will go up with a rush, and -they’ll become horribly rich——” - -“This isn’t a story,” said Jo, regarding her sternly. “It’s real life.” - -“Well, that’s what I’m talking about,” said Nita, much injured. “This is -the way it happens in the best circles. I wish you wouldn’t interrupt me -just as I get thrilling. Where was I?—oh, yes, horribly rich, and then -they’ll send the twinses to France and Switzerland, to finish off, and -they’ll be touring the world when they ought to be thinking of Junior -Public Exams. Their characters will be ruined, of course, but they’ll -have a gorgeous time!” - -“Yes,” said Grace. “Then they’ll come home and find me painting for a -crust, in a torn overall, and they’ll charitably give me -three-and-elevenpence for my landscapes——” - -“And sell them at a jumble sale!” put in Nita cruelly. - -“Oh, I suppose so. That’s how great charitable reputations are worked -up. And they’ll look at me through lorgnettes, and say to themselves, -‘Dear me, and to think we were at school with that old thing! Hasn’t she -grown into a perfect haybag?’ Because, being purse-proud and ignorant, -they won’t know an artistic figure when they see it. And they’ll ask me -what has become of that queer, gawky Nita Anderson, and I shall reply, -‘Oh, quite dropped out of decent society—she’s taken to golf!’” - -The soft drawl ceased abruptly, as the outraged Nita picked up the -artistic one in her muscular arms and deposited her on the sofa, where -she sat upon her, to keep her quiet, she explained. When the tumult -caused by this interlude had subsided—it had managed to include most of -those present—the twins were so weak with laughter that their troubles -seemed faint and far-off things. The cheery chaff went on—they were -somehow the centre of it, and they knew that every one else was trying -to “buck them up.” It was only decent to respond; “blues” were for -private consumption only, and must not be allowed to darken end-of-term -gatherings. So the twins became as cheerful as anyone, and put away -resolutely the spectres of drought and unpaid bills and household -worries. Later on, these would have their place; to-night was to-night, -and every one must be merry. - -Bed-time came, and, one by one, the girls drifted away until there were -only Helen and Ellen Webster left. The twins were perched, cross-legged, -on each end of the Chesterfield couch, and Ellen looked at them, her -queer, elfin face, with its sharp features, settling into its accustomed -gravity. - -“Well, I’ve ragged all the evening, but I’m going to be serious for two -minutes,” she said: “just long enough to say I’m horribly sorry you’re -going.” - -“Thanks,” the twins said, nodding at her. “But we’d never have made -decent prefects, Ellen—truly.” - -“I’ve my own opinion about that. But apart from being prefects, I’m -going to miss you. You don’t seem to consider I’ve a thought apart from -prefecting!” - -“Well, we’re going to miss you. Oh, my goodness, how we’re going to miss -every one!” Jo breathed. “Even the irregular verbs and the crocodile. -We’ve had an awful lot of fun this year!” - -“I don’t look forward to nearly so much as I’ve had,” sighed Ellen. “You -two cheerful lunatics will be gone, for one thing: so will Helen, whom I -mustn’t call a lunatic, because she’s Captain, but who is very cheerful. -And nearly all the old set will be gone, and I’ll be left like a pelican -on the housetop. But it’s worst of all for you, because you’ll have -worries as well. I just wanted you to know I was sorry.” - -“You’ve all been jolly good,” Jean said. “I don’t suppose we realize the -worries yet. Of course we’ve never been rich, but we’ve had all we -wanted. That’s one way of being rich, I expect. But it’s going to be -horrid to think Father and Mother have worries we can’t help.” - -“But you _are_ going to help. Look at all you’ll be saving them.” - -“Yes, but that doesn’t seem like making money. If only we could keep -Sarah for Mother—’cause Sarah understands all about her, and she’s as -good as a nurse if she’s ill. I wouldn’t care how hard we worked, if -only we could keep Sarah. But it’s no use wishing. No one is much good -when they aren’t even sixteen yet,” finished Jo, with an utter lack of -grammar and a woe-begone expression. - -“No—as far as making money goes, you can’t expect to be marvels,” Ellen -agreed. “But do remember that you’re helping when you save, because that -will help you yourselves—ever so much.” - -“You’re going to help in dozens of ways, and most of all by bucking them -up,” said Helen firmly. “No worries can be half so bad with you cheery -twinses about. You’ve just got to go home and be Knights of the Cheerful -Countenance, and that’s something a long way better than money. And -don’t forget that bad times don’t last for ever—especially if you make -up your mind not to regard them as bad. Now, just uncurl yourselves from -those sofa-ends and go off to bed, or Miss Dampier will ask if I’ve -already ceased to be Captain!” - -[Illustration: “The twins loved their window-seat, and generally read - their home-letters in it.” - _The Twins of Emu Plains_] [_Page 43_] - - - - - CHAPTER V - HELEN HAS AN IDEA - - -‟TWINSES, are you awake?” - -“Yes,” said Jean and Jo, together. - -They had awakened early, and had lain for an hour discussing their -father’s news, and trying to face all that it meant for them. Last night -had been a kind of whirl, in which it was difficult to realize anything; -but in the quiet of the summer morning it was easier to look steadily at -the future. They had re-read Mr. Weston’s letter, with a fresh rush of -pity for the pain that lay between its lines. Dimly they realized what -it had cost him to write it. It made them ache to make things easier for -him. - -Helen’s voice broke across a wild vision on the part of Jo, in which she -had just discovered a gold-mine in one of the back paddocks, and had so -put an end for ever to financial shortage. Jean was as thrilled as she -over this dazzling prospect, and they both started violently at the -interruption. - -Helen came in, very tall and impressive in her kimono, with two long -plaits of fair hair. - -“I thought you’d be awake,” she said, sitting down on the edge of a bed. -“I’ve had a gorgeous idea, and I simply couldn’t wait any longer to tell -you about it.” - -“What is it?” burst from the twins. - -“Well, you know, you mustn’t be offended. But you’ve got too much sense -to be that. You made me think of it by saying you wished you could make -some money to help your father.” - -“Try us!” said Jo briefly. - -“Well, it’s my young brother, Rex. You know I told you the other day -that he was rather a problem to us—we don’t know what to do with him -when we go to Colombo. Mother has been at her wits’ end for a place to -depot him. He had a bad illness eight months ago, and we don’t want to -send him to boarding-school until he’s twelve. Not that he isn’t strong -enough; but he just wants a bit of extra care—or Mother thinks he does, -which comes to the same thing. She would like him to run wild for a year -or two, with just enough teaching to keep him from being too much of a -dunce.” - -“Yes?” said the twins. - -“Well—we’re not short of money, you know, but it’s one of the places -where money doesn’t help one much. Mother said in her last letter that -she and Father wouldn’t care what they paid if only they could get the -sort of home they want for him. But they just couldn’t come across -anything, and they’ve been ever so worried, for Father simply _must_ -start for Colombo this month.” - -“Jolly rough on your mother,” said Jo sympathetically. “I wish we could -help, Helen: I know Mother would take Rex like a shot, only I suppose -I’d better not tell her now, with things as mixed as they are. If we -were even going to keep Sarah——” - -“But that’s just it!” Helen cried excitedly. “I want you to take him. -Only you’ll have to make Mr. and Mrs. Weston put their pride in their -pocket and let us pay for him.” - -The twins’ faces expressed blank amazement. - -“Pay? For a friend? Well, you _are_ queer, Helen!” - -“Oh, don’t be horrid and difficult!” Helen begged. “Don’t you see that’s -the only thing that makes it possible even for me to speak of it? We -must pay for him somewhere: if we can’t find the sort of place we want -we’ll probably have to send him to some boarding-house in the hills with -a governess that we don’t know anything about—a horrible arrangement, -and as far as payment goes it would cost ever so much more. But to send -him to you people would be just ideal for us: Mother would know that -Mrs. Weston would mother the little chap, and Mr. Weston would keep him -straightened up, and you two could teach him—you’re going to teach -Billy, and you might just as well have another pupil. Mother would go -off to Colombo feeling as if she hadn’t a care in the world if Rex were -at your place!” - -“Well, we’d love to have him,” said Jean. “But—to be _paid_——” - -“You were saying only last night how you wanted to earn money,” Helen -interrupted. “Well, does it matter from whom you earn it? If you were -trained nurses, do you mean to say you would only go to strangers? I -think it’s just splendid if we can manage to help each other, and make -things simpler all round.” - -She glared triumphantly upon the twins, who sat in puzzled silence. She -was Captain, and her words sounded very like sense: but all their -instincts of hospitality and friendship were at war with her proposal. - -“Think!” said the artful one. “You needn’t even ask your father and -mother—they’d never turn us down, once you’d made the arrangement. Such -a chance for you to help them—to say nothing of us! Why, it would mean -that you could keep old Sarah—and think what a difference that would -make! Even if you aren’t sixteen you can manage it.” - -The twins drew a long breath. It was a dazzling prospect. Hard times -with Sarah seemed only a circumstance to hard times without that rock of -defence. - -“I wonder—I wonder if Father would be awfully wild!” Jo pondered. - -“Not he—once it was done. Your father has too much sense: how do you -think _he_ feels about parting Mrs. Weston from Sarah?” - -“Why, I guess it’s a nightmare to him,” said Jo. - -“Well, you’ve got it in your power to spare him that, at any rate.” - -Jean caught at her twin’s hand. - -“Oh, Jo, let’s do it!” she begged. “It’s only silly pride if we don’t, -as Helen says. And we’ll do our level best to give him a good time and -look after him. It will be lovely for Billy, too—he’s always wanted a -mate.” - -“It would be altogether lovely,” said Jo,—“if only horrid old money -didn’t come into it. But I agree with you—we’d be stupid not to take -such a chance.” - -“Oh, thank goodness!” said Helen. “Mother will feel simply years -younger. Now look here, twinses: I’m to meet her in town this afternoon, -so you had better write her a letter, and then she and I can fix -everything up.” - -“All right,” said Jo. “Dig out a dictionary, will you, Jean?—we mustn’t -spoil our chances by putting in bad spelling!” - -“If you spelt every other word wrong it wouldn’t worry Mother just now,” -Helen said, laughing. “It’s mothering and a jolly home she wants for -Rex, not higher flights of knowledge!” - -“There are no higher flights about my spelling!” said Jo, with decision. -“You ask Miss Allpress!” - -Whereupon the twins politely hinted that solitude would be helpful to -them, and applied themselves to composition; the result being a document -over which Mrs. Forester smiled in a Melbourne tea-room that afternoon. - - “DEAR MRS. FORESTER,— - - “Helen says you want a home for Rex, and she thinks you would - let him come to us. We think it is perfectly awful to take money - for having him, which we would love to do without any money at - all, but Helen says it must not be. So, as Father is having hard - times with the drought and other things, and we must leave - school and teach Billy, what would you think about trusting Rex - to us? Mother and Father would act as parents to him, we are - sure, and we would try to make him happy.” (“I _like_ the - division of duties!” murmured Mrs. Forester.) “We do not know if - we are any good at teaching, but we are up to Junior Public - work, and we are going to teach Billy, so he and Rex could have - lessons together. We would do our best, and each of us could - teach the subjects she was best at; as, for instance, I cannot - do French at all, while Jean is a whale at it, and she hates - mathematics, which I love. We can both teach him riding, - swimming, and gym. work, and see that he baths himself - thoroughly, and cleans his teeth. Mother and Father do not know - anything about our proposal, and we know they will hate taking - money, so we thought we would fix it up without them, if you - approve, which Helen says she thinks you will. We would give him - the best time we could, if you let us have him, and take - tremendous care of him, and Billy would love a mate. Wishing you - a happy Christmas, we are, - - “Yours sincerely, - JEAN and JO WESTON.” - -(Jo had said she didn’t think Christmas wishes were correct in a letter -that was strictly business. But Jean had contended that civility always -paid, and that kind wishes were only civil. She had carried her point, -after heated discussion.) - -“They sound a most cheerful pair,” Mrs. Forester said, folding up the -letter and putting it carefully away in her hand-bag. “I haven’t seen -them for years.” - -“Oh, they’re priceless!” said her daughter. “Thank goodness they didn’t -leave during my time—but I’m sorry for Ellen. They’re so cheery, and -absolutely straight; the sort of people who are a good influence in the -school, without having the least idea of it. You’ll let Rex go, won’t -you, Mother?” - -“I must consult your father first. But so far as I am concerned, I think -it is a splendid opportunity. To get him with people we know—and -especially people like the Westons—well, it’s just a wonderful chance. -Even if he learned nothing at all, I should go away happily if I could -leave him with the Westons. I’ll see Father to-night, and talk it over -with him. Now I wonder how much those stiff-necked people will let us -pay for him?” - -“They will try to make it about sixpence a week, unless you’re firm,” -said Helen. - -“Yes. And boarding-school, with holiday expenses as well, would cost -about £150, and it wouldn’t be a quarter as satisfactory. Well, I must -try to clinch a bargain with the girls before they see their parents, -and bind them down to take a decent sum. Poor John Weston! I’m very -sorry he’s so hard-hit. It’s hard on the girls, too. You say they told -all the school?” - -“Oh, yes—with their proud little noses well in the air. Every one was -awfully nice to them though, and no one pitied them except young Pearlie -Alexander, who reeks of money. And Jean looked at her and said, ‘Oh, but -it’s so horribly boring to stay at school after you’re sixteen!’—with -such an air that Pearlie actually believed her, and felt quite crushed. -All the small fry have been weeping on their necks—the juniors all love -them. Lots of girls might have their heads turned, but the twinses are -sublimely unconscious of being regarded with affection by the school. Jo -merely remarked to me that it was queer how decent everybody was to -people in a hole!” - -“Are they very good-natured and easy-going, Helen? Or will they be firm -with Rex?” - -“They have heaps of sense,” Helen said slowly. “Of course they haven’t -been tried out at school yet, but I should think, from their way with -the juniors, that they wouldn’t stand any nonsense.” - -“Rex needs firmness,” Mrs. Forester said, a little anxiously. “He has -got rather out of hand lately—Father has had to be away so much, and I -have been busy preparing the house for being shut up. He has had no -lessons since Miss Green left.” - -“Well, there will be Mr. Weston. I don’t suppose he is likely to let -Master Rex think he can do as he likes.” - -“Not if he has time to be bothered with him. However, Rex is less likely -to get his own way in a household like the Westons’ than with a -governess in a boarding-house; and we were beginning to face that -possibility. If the twins are sensible with him, he will be all right—I -mean, if they don’t pet him. Not that Rex is altogether pettable!” - -“You needn’t worry about that,” Helen said decidedly. “They have a -little brother of their own—I fancy the ways of small boys are quite -well known to them.” - -“Yes, that’s a great help,” her mother said. “Well, I shan’t -worry—except as to the possibility of Mr. and Mrs. Weston putting a -veto on the proposal altogether.” - -So Helen carried back a hopeful message to the anxiously awaiting twins; -and next evening they rushed into her study with excited faces, waving a -letter. - -“It’s all settled, Helen! What a nice mother you’ve got!” - -“I’ve suspected it for some years,” remarked Helen, laughing. “What has -she done now?” - -“Listen! It sounds too splendid to be true. - - “‘MY DEAR JEAN AND JO,— - - “‘Your letter has relieved my mind of a very pressing problem. - Of course, I understand that you wrote without referring to your - parents, but I hope that when they realize how much Mr. Forester - and I would value the arrangement they will not refuse their - consent. We shall be delighted to leave Rex with you; I trust - you won’t find him a great nuisance—he has had rather too much - of his own way lately, and needs a firm hand. - - “‘When I hear from your mother I will write more fully about - him. Just now, I would like to arrange the business side with - you girls—we wish to pay at the rate of £150 a year for the - privilege of leaving Rex with you all. And I am making so - certain that Mr. and Mrs. Weston won’t refuse that I have ceased - making inquiries for a governess or any other way of arranging - for him. - - “‘Will you tell your mother that while we are deeply sorry that - hard times should come to our old friends, we find it hard not - to feel a selfish gladness that they make possible an - arrangement which ensures such a home for our small boy? - - “‘Yours very sincerely, - “‘_Elaine Forester_.’ - -“So there!” said Jo. “Isn’t it scrumptious!” - -“But—a hundred and fifty pounds!” ejaculated Jean. “It isn’t worth -it—three pounds a week for a bit of a shrimp like that!” - -“That’s rubbish!” said Helen inelegantly. “We might easily have had to -pay much more, so, you see, you’re saving us goodness knows how much. -And the peace of mind you’ll be giving us is worth thousands!” - -“That may be, but we don’t charge for peace of mind,” said Jo, laughing. -“It’s given in, like the coupon with the pound of tea. And it really is -a ridiculous sum to pay for a little chap.” - -“Father’s fixed it,” said Helen stubbornly. “You’d better talk to -him—if you really feel you must. I wouldn’t advise it, because he would -simply wipe the floor with you; when Father fixes a thing it usually -remains so. And when you have finished arguing with Father there will be -Mother to tackle. And you can argue and argue, and at the end the sum -will still be £150!” - -“I don’t think you’re a bit nice!” said the twins in chorus. - -“I’m ever so much nicer than Father will be if you try to upset his -figures.” - -“But what about _our_ father? He’ll certainly want to upset them.” - -“He can’t if you’ve accepted the arrangement. It isn’t fair to Father: -he has written down the Rex page of his ledger as closed, and now he’s -off in full cry after income-tax arrangements or tea-plantation figures, -and you want to take him from them and drag him back to considering Rex -again. And he’s _so_ busy; there’ll be nothing left of him by the time -we sail. Please—please don’t worry him any more, twinses!” - -She looked so appealing that the twins gave way. - -“Well, I only hope Father won’t be very angry,” said Jo. - -“Tell him if he tries to alter our very sensible and business-like -arrangement that Father will make the £150 into £200!” said Helen, -laughing. “That should reduce him to order. And when he’s had Rex for a -while he’ll think that even £200 wasn’t much!” - -At the moment no one had much time to worry over private affairs, -however urgent; for it was the last evening of the term, and half -Melbourne was coming to the speech-night. The big schoolroom was gay -with flags and flowers, with pot-plants massed upon the little stage at -one end; and every one was getting into white frocks, while here and -there were the anxious faces of the harassed individuals responsible for -items on the programme. The twins had long looked forward to having -their father and mother down for the great occasion, but a worried -little note from Mrs. Weston had said plainly that at the moment the -expense of coming could not be faced. It took away half the joy of the -evening that the two dear faces were not to be among the long rows of -parents who were coming to beam upon excited daughters. Still, there was -no help for it, as the twins realized: and Helen had wisely kept them so -busy that they had no time to think. Now, although the evening could not -be all that they had hoped, it was still their first speech-night; and -to-morrow there would be home, with Mrs. Forester’s wonderful letter to -show. The twins found it quite beyond their power to feel gloomy. - -Tea was a more or less sketchy meal, at which a junior teacher presided, -and Miss Dampier made only a fleeting appearance. No one really wanted -to eat; there were still odds and ends of packing to be done, farewells -to be said, final touches to be put to preparations for the evening. -Moreover, from time immemorial there had been Miss Dampier’s supper for -the boarders after the guests had gone, and it was a supper which made -tea beforehand seem a mere excrescence. So girls drifted in and out as -they liked, and the artistes of the evening brought books or music to -the table, studying the fingering of the Moonlight Sonata, or Portia’s -remarks on Mercy, while they absently consumed weak tea. - -Day-girls concerned with the programme began to arrive soon, and there -was much dressing and undressing in studies and bedrooms, with anguished -appeals for forgotten burnt-cork and other aids to a good -stage-appearance: for there was a little play to be given, and in the -eyes of the cast Beethoven and Shakespeare were unimportant details -beside it. The twins made a brief but glorious appearance in the play, -as Corsican bandits—slim figures in tunics and gym. knickers, with -enormous slouch-hats concealing their darkened features and corked -moustaches, Neapolitan scarves knotted about their necks, and with -crimson silk sashes, in which were stuck a very arsenal of lethal -weapons, ranging from ancient duelling-pistols to Gurkha kukris and -Canary Island daggers—the species of outfit, in brief, without which no -self-respecting Corsican may be found. They fought, were slain, died -with artistic gurgles, and were dragged out by the heels; and the junior -school, with sighs of rapture, mourned openly that Merriwa was to know -them no more. - -They appeared in different guise later on, in soft white frocks, their -curls clustering about faces scrubbed to a fine rosy polish—the -burnt-cork had taken some getting off. On this occasion it was their -fate to ascend the daïs modestly and receive prizes at the hands of the -Distinguished Person presiding—Jean an award for the French at which, -as has been previously stated, she was “a whale,” while Jo, to her own -amazement, found herself the owner of Miss Smith’s prize for cookery. -Her bewilderment at this was so profound that she almost forgot to bow, -and was only recalled to a sense of her position by a dig in the back -from the Domestic Economy prize-winner, who was behind her. - -“Who’d have thought it!” she ejaculated inelegantly, regaining her seat. -“Will you ever forget Smithy’s remarks on the sausage-rolls that I mixed -up with sugar?” - -“Oh, but that’s ever so long ago,” Gladys said. “I know—it’s that -Angels’ Food affair you compounded last cooking-day. You said yourself -it was poetic!” - -“Yes, but I also said it was a fluke!” rejoined the artist. “And I -thought no one knew that better than Smithy!” - -She was still regarding with astonishment the huge leather-bound copy of -“Mrs. Beeton” that Miss Smith had presented as a tribute to the Angels’ -Food, when her name was again called, this time with Jean’s. Jo dumped -“Mrs. Beeton” on her neighbour’s knee, and the twins went up together to -receive little silver cups that were to remind them of the tennis -victory of that week. This time the junior school let itself loose. It -had been—unfortunately—not permitted to them to applaud the -spectacular decease of the Corsican bandits, since it had occurred at a -moment when applause would have wrecked the progress of the drama; and -French and cookery, while all very well in their way, made no special -appeal to the hordes of juniors. But the tennis cups were a different -matter—had they not palpitated _en masse_ throughout that last wild set -when the twins had snatched victory from the jaws of Kooringal? -Wherefore they made the long room ring with the noise of their -enthusiasm, clapping until their hard young hands rang again. The twins -stood, flushing, a little taken aback by the warmth of their reception. -Then they dived for cover among the applauding ranks. - -“Such dear things!” murmured the Distinguished Person, looking after -them with a twinkle in her distinguished eye. “And they were such -_lovely_ bandits! Tell me, Miss Dampier, do you ever manage to tell them -apart?” - -“Sometimes,” the Head admitted. “Not always, by any means—for their -first three months at school I never knew whether I was speaking to Jean -or Jo. Even now, if possible, I begin by saying the name of the one I -want, in a determined tone; the wrong twin won’t respond, to me, though -I believe they take an awful joy in doing so among their mates, out of -school. But there are many occasions when I am reduced to saying ‘dear’; -and I am always in doubt as to whether the twin I am addressing isn’t -well aware that my affection is only an insufficient cloak for -ignorance!” - -The Distinguished Person bestowed a geography prize upon a quaking -junior. - -“I wonder does their mother ever confuse them?’ she pondered. - -“Oh, quite often, she has told me. The only person who never fails to -know them apart is a small brother who bluntly says that he fails to see -any likeness between them!” - -“Dear me!” said the Distinguished One faintly. “How uncanny!” She gave -away the next prize with a bewildered air that the recipient imagined -was inspired by the spectacle of so much learning. - -Visitors, distinguished and otherwise, vanished at the end of the -prize-giving. Day-girls bade farewell to the boarders, exulting in the -thought that to them the morrow would bring release from early rising -and racing for trains and trams. Jean and Jo were the centre of a -cheerful crowd—sorrow at parting lost in the overwhelming joy of the -Christmas holidays. Their arms ached with shaking hands when the last -farewells had been said, and they found themselves trooping with the -other boarders to Miss Dampier’s supper. - -It was at these farewell suppers that Miss Dampier showed that she fully -understood the impossibility of making a decent tea on speech-night, and -the consequent need of later nourishment. The nourishment she provided -was of a kind that made the most irresponsible junior wonder if up till -now she had not misjudged her head mistress. Moreover, she presided with -a pleasant tact, bidding every one help herself, and restricting her -conversation to teachers and seniors until it was evident that even the -hungriest could eat no more. Then she moved about among her guests, with -an understanding word for each; and those who were not coming back found -themselves singled out for a special little chat and a few words that -lay warm at their hearts long after they had gone away. - -“Somehow, I don’t feel as if it were really good-bye to you, twinses,” -she said; and Jean and Jo found nothing strange in the unfamiliar sound -of the familiar school nickname on the Head’s lips. “It’s more as though -you were going home on a visit—a long one, perhaps, but it may happen -that you will come back.” - -“Oh—we’d love to, Miss Dampier. Do you think there’s really any -chance?” - -“One never knows. Luck turns quickly in Australia.” - -“O—o—oh!” said the twins, and looked longingly at each other. School -had never seemed so desirable as on this last night. It was a gay and -delightful place, with not even the spectre of an irregular verb or an -early-morning bell: full of pleasant people and understanding teachers. -They caught at the hope of returning to it. - -“Oh, we’d love to come back!” - -“Well, there would always be a big welcome for you. Tell your mother I -had counted upon having you to help me next term.” She smiled at them, -knowing she had summed up in those few words the answers to a dozen -questions that the mother would have asked. “And I know you’ll help her -through.” She drifted away through the throng, her grey head, with its -exquisitely dressed hair, towering above every one. - -The twins were going by a very early train; all their good-byes had to -be said that night. Helen Forester came up with them to their little -bedroom. - -“Got all your packing done?” - -“Oh, yes. The trunks have gone down.” - -“It seems queer to think it’s the last night,” Helen said. “And to-day I -was Captain, and to-morrow I’ll be—oh, very small potatoes! What fun -it’s all been! Oh, you ought to be coming back, twinses!” - -“Perhaps we shall, some day. Miss Dampier seemed to think so,” Jean -said. “After all, we’re not so awfully old!” - -Helen looked at the eager faces framed in the short curls. - -“No, you’re not so awfully old,” she said. “Especially to have -responsibilities. Don’t grow up too soon, kiddies.” - -“Gracious!” ejaculated Jo. “And you’ve given us the biggest -responsibility of all, you blessed old darling! Aren’t you nervous about -trusting us with Rex?” - -Helen laughed. - -“Why, I think to-night proves that you’re, together, an association -capable of dealing with any small boy,” she said. “One of you has a -prize for learning, and the other for cooking, and joint cups for -hard-hitting! What more could anyone want? Rex ought to come back to us -re-modelled in mind and body.” - -“Oh—Helen!” protested the twins. - -Helen put an arm about each. - -“Don’t spoil him—that’s the only thing I’m afraid of,” she said. -“Good-bye, twinses dear: I’m so glad I was at school with you, ’cause -you’re a nice old pair!” She dropped a kiss on each face, and was gone. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - EMU PLAINS - - -‟FOR the first time,” said John Weston, “I’m not keen on going in to -meet my daughters.” - -“Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said his wife briskly. - -“Well, I am. And that’s why.” - -“I never heard such nonsense,” Mrs. Weston said. “If every one in -Australia who had had bad luck on top of a drought were to go about -feeling ashamed, a nice place Australia would be! No one could have -foreseen all the losses you have had. You certainly have no right to -blame yourself.” - -“Oh, I know all that,” said her husband, laughing rather grimly. “You -needn’t ruffle up all your feathers, you fierce old mother-hen! But the -youngsters may not realize it all; and anyway, it hurts a bit to meet -them as a failure, and not as the person who has generally been regarded -as a providing agency that always could be relied on. I feel as if I had -let them down badly; and it isn’t a pleasant feeling, Mary. I get it -every time Sarah glares at me.” - -“But she isn’t glaring because we have lost money—only because we won’t -let her stay without wages.” - -“Oh, well, of course that’s rank insanity,” said her husband. “I wish I -hadn’t any pride, for your sake; it makes me squirm whenever I think of -your being without Sarah. But—one can’t do that.” - -“I do wish you wouldn’t worry your dear old head about it,” said Mrs. -Weston comfortably. “If I can’t manage, with two able-bodied daughters -to help me, I should be the one to be ashamed. And we _are_ going to -manage, and very happily too. I quite look forward to running the house -with the girls. They are such cheery souls—they’ll always make the best -of things.” - -“Well, they get that from their mother,” said the big man, looking down -at her with many things expressed in his grey eyes. “To hear you talk, -one would think that all this trouble I’ve landed you in for was just a -picnic.” - -“If you want to make me really cross,” said his wife, looking at the -moment as if nothing on earth could ruffle her, “you will continue to -stand there and talk nonsense. I don’t worry when Billy tears his -trousers, because I know that little boys _will_ tear their trousers, -whether one worries or not; and I’m not going to worry when bad luck -comes along, because one can’t expect good luck always. But I shall -worry if you go about looking miserable: and it will be much harder for -the girls. So you mustn’t.” - -“Bless you!” said John Weston, his face suddenly grown younger. “Well, I -suppose I’d better start.” He stooped to kiss her. “Where’s Billy?” - -Billy answered for himself, characteristically. The gravel on the path -by the window rattled under racing feet, and he came in through the -window, crossing the sill with a swift, lithe movement. - -“Didn’t touch the curtains, Mother—truly! I’ve been down at the creek, -and I was afraid Father would be gone.” - -“I nearly am,” said his father. “Are you ready, or will you have to -clean up?” - -“I’m pretty clean,” said Billy, looking down at himself. He was a -slender, lightly built little fellow, with an elf-like face—with small -features, and very bright brown eyes. Like his sisters’, his hair -curled, but his was inclined to be red. Billy despised boys with curly -hair, and would have had his shorn almost to the skin, had his mother -permitted. “Do I need to put on another coat, Mother?” - -“Certainly you need, my son. You’ll find a clean holland coat on your -bed.” - -“Hurry up, old man,” said his father. The injunction was lost on Billy. -He dashed from the room, pounded down the hall, and returned in an -astonishingly short space of time, spruce and merry. His father was -already in the buggy. Billy dropped a hurried kiss on top of his -mother’s head, and raced out to join him. - -They drove in a high express-waggon, which had ample room behind for -luggage: the two-wheeled “jinker,” or Mrs. Weston’s light hooded buggy, -were no use when girls with trunks and suit-cases had to be brought -home. A heavy pair of iron-grey horses bowled them along at a good round -pace. They were horses accustomed to any sort of work: singly or -together they went in the buggy, the plough, the cart; they might draw a -disc-harrow to-day, and take a turn at rounding up cattle to-morrow. -They were splendidly matched, and though just now they were in poor -condition, they held themselves as proudly as thoroughbreds, as they -trotted along. John Weston had bred them himself, and he loved the -gentle, honest animals. His face was gloomy now as he watched them. All -the district knew the big greys, and lately he had had a good offer for -them. It was the kind of offer he would have laughed at a year ago. But -now—money had become a big thing: Prince and Captain might have to go. - -“May I drive, Father?” - -Billy’s voice brought him out of a reverie. - -“All right, Son.” He gave the reins into the eager brown hands, and made -him hold them correctly, watching him as they spun along. Billy took -them successfully over a rather narrow culvert, kept a wary eye upon a -noisy motor-van, which did not trouble the greys at all, and presently -dodged between a timber-waggon and a farm-cart in a way that brought a -gruff word of praise to his father’s lips. This brought upon Billy the -pride that goes before destruction, and in an effort to show how near he -could drive to a hawker’s van he very nearly removed its wheel—bringing -upon them the wrath of the hawker, with shouted inquiries as to whether -they desired to retain the whole of the road. Somewhat chastened in -spirit, Billy drove with great care, and gave other traffic a wide -berth: so that they arrived in the township without further -misadventure. - -It was sale-day, and the little town was busy. Farmers’ buggies and -motors thronged the streets; the shops were crowded with the cheery, -brown-faced country women, who knew precisely what they wanted to buy, -and were not to be deceived by the most tempting “bargain-lines” -displayed at “alarming sacrifices” by the drapers. Little boys, in -little tweed suits, and little girls, with well-frizzed hair, -accompanied their mothers; while babies were as the sands of the sea in -number. The fences surrounding the sale-yards were black with men; more -sellers than buyers, for there were few men in the district with grass -left for their stock. There were many hearty greetings for John Weston -as he drove up the street. - -“Getting the girls back, John?” - -“Yes. And you’re in to meet Tom, I suppose?” - -“Yes—he comes by this train. Now the house will wake up again!” - -The speaker was a short, stout man with a round, good-humoured face, who -sat in a motor outside the station. He was Evan Holmes, of Holmdale, the -largest station in the district. Like all the other landowners, he had -felt the drought; but, unlike them, he had a well-grassed property in -Gippsland, where there was no drought, and he had sent his stock there -until better conditions should come to the northern areas. Therefore his -good-humour was unfailing, and no lines of worry had creased his brow. -John Weston and he had been to school together, and, so far as was -possible, he had stood by his old friend, sending some of his best -cattle to Gippsland with his own. He looked up now and spoke concerning -these. - -“Heard from McIntyre this morning, John. He says your stock are doing -splendidly.” - -“Well, that’s something to be thankful for, at any rate,” said Weston. - -“Wonderful season, down there. They grumble, of course, and say it’s -dry—but compared to here——!” The speaker swept a hand round the dry -landscape. “Green feed—strawberry clover, and all the rest of it: -running creeks. I sometimes wonder we don’t all move down there.” - -“This part is good enough for me,” said his friend. “We don’t get a -drought every year.” - -“That’s true. And you can’t beat it when we don’t. A man likes his own -country, especially when he was born and brought up in it, as you and I -were. Oh, well, bad times pass: everything comes right, if you give it -long enough. How do the girls like coming home?” - -“They write as if it were a huge joke: but of course I knew they -wouldn’t grumble, whatever they might feel. The only thing that seemed -to worry them was that their mother and I wouldn’t go down for the -breaking-up.” - -“Yes, that would worry the twins,” said Mr. Holmes. “Tom was a bit -disgusted that I couldn’t get down for his, too: but my wife went. -She’ll be home on Christmas Eve, but Tom wouldn’t stay: he always makes -for home as quickly as he can. There’s the train now”—as a far-off -whistle was heard. “Let my man hold your horses—he’s brought the cart -in for some boxes. Here, Joe!” He whistled to a man who was lounging -near the entrance-gate. John Weston got down from his high seat, and -they went in together to the platform, where Billy was already dancing -with impatience. - -There was no difficulty in finding Jean and Jo. They had secured an open -doorway, and, in complete defiance of railway regulations, were -projecting their persons as far as possible into space, that they might -the more quickly reach home. They uttered a composite shout at the sight -of their father and Billy, and further defied the regulations by -swinging themselves down from the train before it had come to a -standstill. A wail from the station-master floated by them unheeded. -They darted up the platform together and flung themselves upon their -father. - -“Do you behave like that in Melbourne?” he demanded, laughing, an arm -round each. - -“Gracious, no! we’re models of deportment,” Jo answered. “But then -you’re not in Melbourne, and you’ve a terribly demoralizing effect, -Father. Oh, there’s the baby! and he’s grown _yards_!” She hugged Billy. - -“Baby yourself!” quoth Billy, indignantly. He hopped about them on one -foot. “Give us something to carry—here, I’ll take that!” He grasped a -suit-case. - -“You can’t carry that, Billy darling—it’s too heavy,” Jean objected. -“Take the umbrellas.” - -“Umbrellas!” snorted her brother. “Boys don’t cart umbrellas round.” -Gripping the suit-case, he staggered off, unheeding feminine -remonstrances. - -“How are you, Tom?” Mr. Weston detached himself from his daughters to -greet a stout youth who had followed them from the train. “Glad to see -you back, though you’ve come to a dry country.” - -“It’s the best place I know, anyhow,” said Tom Holmes, shaking hands all -round, and bestowing a shy grin upon the twins. “And we’ll get rain some -time or other, and then every one’ll have a few thumping seasons and -forget the drought. I wish Dad would let me cut school and stay at home -to help him: I’ll never do a bit of good at school, and I do love -messing about at home.” - -“Lazy young dog!” said his father cheerfully. “Another year’s lessons -won’t hurt you.” - -Tom groaned dramatically. - -“Latin!” he said, with a resigned shrug. “And maths! I try to stick -arithmetic, so’s I’ll be able to work out interest on mortgages”—he -grinned at his father—“but I’m blessed if I can see the use of Euclid -or Horace or Virgil on a cattle-station. I seem to spend half my time -over Virgil, but I never learn a word that’ll be handy in a tight corner -with bullocks!” - -“Ah, that’s specialized knowledge, and comes later on,” said his father, -laughing. “Come along, now, and gather up your luggage: we’ve got to -have dinner at the hotel. Any use asking you and the girls to join us, -John?” - -“No, thanks; my wife will be looking out for us. I never can get the -girls home quickly enough.” They said good-bye, and presently the twins -were installed on the seat of the express-waggon, their father between -them, while Billy perched on top of the heap of luggage at the back. Jo -had the reins: it was an understood thing that she always drove when -they came home. She wheeled the greys out of the crowded yard, dodging -among motors, carts, and buggies, and in a few moments they were -spinning along the dusty road towards home. - -“Whew-w!” said Jean. “_Isn’t_ everything dry!” - -The familiar landscape was dreary in its barrenness. Nothing green was -visible, save the line of trees that marked the nearly dry bed of the -creek. The paddocks were brown stretches, almost bare: little swirls of -dust rose here and there as the hot breeze blew over them. They passed -crops—sad little crops of oats that had come into ear while only about -a foot high, and were now not worth the labour of cutting. - -Scarcely any stock could be seen. A few dusty brown sheep picked up a -scant living in the paddocks near the creek, and here and there were -hungry-looking cows, only kept alive by hand-feeding, and apparently -getting short rations of that. Everywhere dust lay thick: on the fences, -on the dried-up grass by the roadside, on the dull green leaves of the -hawthorn hedges past which they drove. It was clear that many weeks had -gone by since a shower of rain had fallen to wash the all-covering dust -away. - -“Yes—you never saw the country looking like this before,” said John -Weston sadly. - -“No, indeed. It comes home to you with a sort of a bang,” Jo agreed. -“Poor old Dad!” She put her hand on his for a brief moment. - -“Wait until you see the stock,” he said sadly. “That’s what hurts: to -ride out among them day after day, watching them getting poorer and -poorer, and to feel you can’t do anything to help them. I’m almost -ashamed to go out now—they seem to look at me as if they expected me to -help. Of course, most of them have gone—the cattle, I mean. Some I -sold, the rest have gone down to Gippsland. Holmes says they’re doing -well enough there.” - -“What about the garden, Dad?” Jean asked. - -“Oh, we’ve still a garden, thank goodness—you see, the windmill pumps -the water up from the spring, and it’s one of those obliging servants -that works all the twenty-four hours and never asks for pay. So we can -still keep the vegetables and your mother’s garden going. But we’ll have -to do it ourselves: I’ve been compelled to let the Chinaman go. Sorry, -too: he had the place in splendid order.” - -“We’ll work,” said Jo cheerfully. “I’m very handy with a hoe.” She -grinned across her father at Jean. “‘Member our old gardens, Jean?” - -“Rather!” said Jean. “We had awful bursts of industry, and made them -lovely, and planted all sorts of seeds, and then some evil influence -came along——” - -“Generally Dad, with a job among the cattle,” remarked Jo. - -“Why, you monkey——!” protested Mr. Weston. - -“Just so,” Jean went on. “And so we would forget them, and the weeds -would grow faster than the seeds, and presently there’d be nothing left -of our poor gardens, ’cause Hop Sing would come along and dig them all -up. Then we’d make another start!” - -“Well, you’d better not grow vegetables on those principles,” said Mr. -Weston, laughing, “or it will be a bad look-out for our dinners. Not -that I’m going to let you do much work of that kind. I suppose I’ll be -glad enough of some help with weeding now and then—my back isn’t as -young as it was—but you’ll have plenty to do without that.” He sighed -heavily. “That’s the worst of it all—so much is going to fall on your -mother and you two; and I can’t help it. If only I could keep old -Sarah—and it’s going to take a team of bullocks to shift her! She wants -to stay without pay, bless her—says she’s got enough saved up for her -old age. But of course we can’t allow that.” - -“Of course you couldn’t,” agreed the twins demurely. They exchanged, -behind their father’s back, ecstatic glances, which greatly puzzled -Billy. “But you mustn’t worry, Dad: we’re awfully strong, and we won’t -let Mother do too much. It’s all going to be great fun!” - -“I hope you’ll continue to think so,” said their father dryly. “You’re -dear kiddies, anyhow, and we’ll all try to make things easy for each -other. Mother’s the one who has to be spared in every way: I know you’ll -always remember that. Doing without Sarah is going to be harder for her -than any of us can guess—not that she ever says so. But I know.” - -“Yes, of course,” agreed Jean, with a queer little giggle that brought -an inquiring look from her father. It was not quite like Jean to giggle -at such a moment. Probably, he reflected, she was over-excited at -getting home. - -“I’m going to milk with Dad!” announced Billy, proudly, from his perch -in the rear. “I’ve been practising, and I’ve milked old Strawberry three -times!” - -“Good old Billikens!” said Jo, turning to give him a sisterly pat. “Is -it hard?” - -“Men don’t find those things hard,” said Billy loftily. “You girls will -have to be up to give us early tea before we start!” - -“It shall be done,” said Jo meekly. “Any other orders?” - -“I’ll let you know if there’s anything else,” replied Billy, preserving -an unruffled masculine dignity. “Dad’s going to start teaching me all -about the stock soon. He says I can be useful to him in no end of ways.” - -“Yes—but lessons have got to come first, old son,” remarked his father. - -“Oh, lessons! _They_ won’t take long,” remarked Billy airily. Plainly it -could be seen that he regarded the prospect of education under his -sisters as a huge joke. - -“You little know,” said Jean darkly. “We mean to turn you out a -beautiful specimen of Higher Education before we’ve done with you. -Manners and Deportment will be taught—sternly taught, young Billy!—and -also Respect for Teachers——” - -“Oh, _will_ you?” responded Billy. He tipped his prospective -instructor’s hat over her eyes, and scrambled off across the luggage to -avoid reprisals. They were just turning in towards the big gate that -opened into the homestead paddock. Billy swung himself to the ground -before the buggy had stopped, and, racing ahead of the greys, flung open -the gate with a flourish. Looking at him, his hat pushed back on his -curly head, his brown face glowing, and his eyes alight with laughter -and mischief, it was difficult to imagine him as either a station-hand -in the making or a docile pupil—especially in Deportment. - -“You’ll have your hands full with him, I’m afraid,” remarked Mr. Weston. - -“Oh, Billy will be all right,” said Jo confidently. Something in the -certainty of her voice gave comfort to the harassed man at her side. - -“I believe everything will seem more all right, now that you two have -come home,” he said. “It’s high time you did—we’re almost forgetting -how to laugh.” - -“Well, no one could forget how to laugh with Jean about——” said Jo. - -“Or with Jo,” put in Jean. - -“Because she’s such a perfect ass!” finished the twins, in complete -unison. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - THE TWINS’ SURPRISE-PACKET - - -MOTHER was at the gate to meet them—a slender, pretty woman, looking -not so much older than her tall daughters. She disappeared under their -onslaught, emerging from a bear’s hug presently, dishevelled, but -cheery. - -“Well, you dear things,” she said. “It’s good to get you home. And -you’ve had _such_ a hot journey—you’ll want baths, but you must have -some tea first. And here’s Sarah.” - -Sarah had come out to the gate, contrary to her usual habit. Generally -she prepared to be sought in her kitchen, a spotless place where she -reigned supreme amid the glory of a shining stove, gleaming brass taps, -and tables and dressers scrubbed to a whiteness that was almost past -belief. But to-day she chose to come out; and there was something in the -hard old face that made the twins suddenly rush at her and hug her -almost as thoroughly as they had hugged their mother. Sarah had not any -words for them. She held them tightly and looked over their heads at -their mother and father with a half-defiant question in her eyes. Mrs. -Weston could not meet her piteous look. She put her hand gently on her -shoulder, going past her on her way to the house. - -“Come on, children,” she called. “Tea is ready. Sarah made it as soon as -we heard the buggy coming over the bridge. And I’m sure you are both -ready for it.” - -The twins rushed to the bathroom, to remove the more recent layers of -journey grime, and in a few moments they were all in the big comfortable -dining-room, where afternoon tea was on a scale calculated to soothe -hungry travellers. So far there was no sign that they had come to a -poverty-stricken home. The room was just as well-kept as ever, with big -bowls of flowers here and there: the glass and silver were shining, the -table-linen was as exquisite as they had always known it. Mother was -just as dainty as ever, in the soft blue dress that was the colour of -her eyes. Everything was simply home: home, as they had pictured it a -thousand times, away at school. - -But when they looked more closely, the change was there—in the faces of -their mother and father. Mr. Weston’s eyes were deeply sunken, with dark -shadows under them, and threads of grey were thickly sown in his crisp -dark hair; and there were lines in their mother’s face that were new, -and an unfamiliar hint of repression about her mouth. Both tried to talk -as though nothing was the matter: there were a hundred questions to be -asked and answered, and the revelation that the twins had actually -brought home prizes elicited satisfactory expressions of awe and respect -on the part of their family. But through all the cheery chatter there -was an under-current of something wrong—something kept down. It was -like a shadow lurking in a corner of the room. - -Sarah came in presently to take away the tea-things. She looked -approvingly at an empty plate which had held scones, and with less -good-will at others not entirely cleared of cakes. The twins glanced at -their mother inquiringly as the door closed behind her. It was not usual -for Sarah to appear in the dining-room. Mrs. Weston understood the -glance. - -“Amy has gone, you know, girls,” she said placidly, taking up her -knitting. “She didn’t want to go until after Christmas; but Mrs. Holmes -needed a housemaid, and it was too good a place for her to lose: I -persuaded her to go.” - -“Of course,” said the twins hurriedly. There fell an awkward silence. - -“Mother and I have made up our minds that it’s best to let you know just -how we stand,” said Mr. Weston, speaking as a man speaks who faces a -disagreeable task. “It’s only fair, seeing that you youngsters are so -much affected by our bad luck. We’re not going to be permanently ruined, -so you needn’t worry too much: unless the drought stretches out -indefinitely I’ll pull round all right, once the rain comes. You know, -droughts with us generally mean extra good seasons afterwards: the -ground has had a rest, and grass and crops come on splendidly.” - -Jean and Jo nodded acquiescence. They understood the ways of droughts. - -“Well—I’ll be right enough if I don’t have to sacrifice more of my -stock. The few I have left on the place ought to be able to scratch up a -living: those I’ve sent to Gippsland will be our salvation, if only I -can hang on to them. If I am forced to sell, things will be very bad, -for of course stock are fetching the very lowest prices. I could have -gone on without making any special change in our way of living but for -the money I told you about—the sum I lent. I lent it to a good -friend—he’d done me more than one good turn years ago—and I don’t -regret it. Mother says she doesn’t, either.” - -“Then nobody does,” said Jo, and Jean nodded vehemently. - -“I knew you’d say so,” said Father, and smiled at them. “Still—that’s -our trouble. It leaves me horribly short of ready money. The place is -bringing in nothing whatever: the small income I have, apart from it, -isn’t nearly enough to pay household expenses, school bills, a governess -for Billy, a big wages-list, and a dozen other things. So there was -nothing for it but to cut down expenses in every way, and bring you home -to help.” - -“We’re jolly glad you did,” said the twins. - -“Oh, we knew we could depend on you. Still, we’re awfully sorry. If you -could, we’d like you to go on with some decent reading, and with your -music—you’re such kids, to be leaving off studies altogether, and we -hate it for you; but we quite realize that you won’t have much time. -Sarah is to go after Christmas, and there will be loads for you to do, -with Billy’s teaching thrown in, and we don’t want life to be all work -for you.” - -“We won’t make it all work,” said Mother gently. “We’ll try to have lots -of fun mixed in.” - -“Why, we couldn’t help it,” said Jean laughing. - -“I know you’ll look after your mother,” said Mr. Weston. “I feel pretty -desperate at letting Sarah go, for she’s a standby in everything, and -she takes such care of Mother if she’s sick.” - -“I decline to be sick—ever!” said Mother firmly. At which her husband -ran his fingers through his hair, and looked at her with an air of -desperation that would have been almost comical if it had not been so -miserable. - -“I’m afraid of that very thing,” he said. “You’ll hang on and hang on, -long after you should give in, if you do get seedy. Sarah would know at -a glance, and put you firmly to bed; but the girls and I won’t be as -quick to see. If I were sure that you would be sensible, and take care -of yourself, I wouldn’t be half so worried. But yourself is the one -person about whom you haven’t any sense!” - -“Now, don’t meet trouble half-way,” said Mrs. Weston. “We’re going to -manage very comfortably, girls. I can get a good woman from the township -for a day each week, for washing and rough cleaning, and the rest will -be quite easy to us. And if I do feel sick, I promise to stay in bed and -call loudly for nourishment. So——” - -“Jean,” said Jo, “if I don’t tell I shall burst.” - -“Me too,” said Jean. - -“Then why don’t you tell?” - -“I was waiting for you. You’re five minutes older.” - -“I wish you always remembered it!” said Jo severely. “Well, we’ll tell -together. You see——” - -“There’s nothing wrong, is there, girls?” queried Mrs. Weston anxiously. -“You’re not ill, Jo?” - -“Do I look it?” asked Jo. “No, but we’ve been fixing up a bit of -business on our own. We do hope you won’t mind.” - -“You simply mustn’t mind,” said Jean. “It was so dreadful to think we -couldn’t earn any money to help you——” - -“And when you’re fifteen and a half there doesn’t seem _any_ way to earn -money. And we were tearing our hair about it at school——” - -“And Helen—er—one of the senior girls happened to hear——” - -“The tearing of the hair?” asked Mr. Weston solemnly. - -“Yes, it made an awful row. Like tearing calico. And she started -thinking, and so she came up in her kimono early next morning——” - -“And offered us her little brother!” Jean finished triumphantly. She -glared at her father and mother as if defying them to make any protest. - -“It seems more like a way out of the other girl’s difficulties than -yours,” remarked Mr. Weston, much puzzled. “Did you mention to her that -you had a little brother of your own? Or perhaps you offered Billy in -exchange?” - -Billy, who had been sitting in a corner of the big sofa in unwonted -silence, snorted indignantly. - -“No, we didn’t. But we took hers.” - -“My dear girls, what _do_ you mean?” asked Mrs. Weston. - -“Why, I thought we’d made it quite clear,” said Jean, rather aggrieved. -“You see, they want to get rid of her little brother——” - -“That sounds as if he were pretty beastly, but he’s not,” said Jo. “Only -they’re all going away to Colombo, and——” - -“And he can’t go, ’cause of the climate, and——” - -“My beloved daughters,” remarked Mr. Weston, “if you would only speak -one at a time, and say what you really _do_ mean, we’d know more about -it. You first, Jo—you’re the eldest.” - -“Well, but we told you, didn’t we? They’re going to Colombo, and they -can’t take him, ’cause he’s only nine, and not very strong. And they -were wondering what on earth to do with him—they didn’t want to send -him to school. They were at their wits’ end. And then they thought of -us. And we’ve made an arrangement—that is, if you approve, only you -simply _can’t_ disapprove, or it’ll put them in the most frightful -fix—that we’re to take him, and look after him and teach him with -Billy, for——You tell them, Jean.” - -“For £150 a year!” said Jean solemnly. - -They ceased, and looked for the effect of their bomb. It was all they -could have desired. - -“Whew-w-w!” whistled their father. - -“My dear little girls!” Mrs. Weston put down her work and stared at -them. “You aren’t joking?” - -“As if we’d joke about anything so amazing as £150 a year!” uttered Jo. - -“But who is it?” - -“We don’t want to tell you until you’ve consented,” said Jo. They had -decided in the train to keep the identity of the new pupil a secret, -believing that Mr. and Mrs. West on would find it easier to accept a -stranger than a friend’s son. “It’s all right, of course; they’re nice -people. Say we may have him, Dad. You simply can’t refuse.” - -“But can you teach him?” - -“They don’t want him to have many lessons. They only want him to learn a -little, and play about and get strong—and to be made to mind his -manners. _You_’ve got to do that part of the job, Dad.” - -Billy got down from the sofa and came forward, his eyes dancing. - -“Do you mean to say,” he demanded, “that you’re going to bring a boy -here—a real boy, that I can play with and go about with? I never -thought sisters were so much good before! Oh, Mother, say you’ll have -him!” - -“Yes, and if you do, Sarah needn’t go, need she?” exploded Jo. “That’s -the loveliest part of it—we can keep Sarah to look after Mother.” - -“By—Jove!” said John Weston, very slowly. His eyes met his wife’s with -a passion of relief in them. - -“But it’s too much to pay for a child,” she objected. - -“They won’t pay less,” Jean said. “If they had to send him away with a -governess it would cost them more. And they’re _longing_ for him to come -here. They’re counting on your not saying No.” - -“I’m not going to say it,” said John Weston. “If you think you can stand -another small boy about, dear—it will mean we can keep Sarah.” - -Mrs. Weston had taken up her knitting, but there were tears falling on -it, and she dropped three stitches. Suddenly the twins’ arms were round -her. - -“Oh, don’t cry, darling! We’re going to look after you, but we know we -can’t do it as well as Sarah.” - -“Was ever anyone so looked after?” Mrs. Weston smiled through her tears. -“I don’t know why I’m crying, only you’re such darlings. Yes, we’ll have -your boy, and we’ll keep Sarah——” - -“And bless you both,” said John Weston, putting his arms round all his -feminine belongings. “Billy, go and tell Sarah we want her. By the way, -Jo, who is he?” - -“Rex Forester—only you’re not to mind that.” - -“George Forester’s boy!—whew-w! I wish it wasn’t a friend’s son.” - -“But it’s that that makes them so happy about it. Mrs. Forester wrote us -a lovely letter, and she’s writing to Mother. They’re just frightfully -relieved.” The feelings of the twins overcame them, and they jazzed -frantically together round the room—a demonstration that brought them -into violent collision with Sarah, who entered silently, with Billy, -flushed and excited, at her heels. - -“Sarah, will you stay with us?” Mrs. Weston asked. - -Sarah blinked rapidly thrice. - -“Will I stay?” - -“Miss Jean and Miss Jo are to have a pupil,” Mrs. Weston said. “A little -boy, to teach with Master Billy. It gives us a little more money, -so—will you stay with us, old friend?” - -Sarah uttered a loud sniff. - -“I wouldn’t have gone,” she declared stoutly. “Not if it was ever so. -What’s wages, between you and me? and who’d know how to treat your -brownkities, when they come?” She put her apron to her eyes. “And why -them poor lambs should have to teach some ’orrid little boy, just to -keep me on the place, _I_ dunno, seein’ I’d never have gone!” - -“I can’t afford Amy too, you know, Sarah,” said Mrs. Weston. - -“I’m not conshis of havin’ ever said I needed a second pair of ’ands to -’elp me run a place like this,” said Sarah stiffly. “The work ain’t -nothing. Many a time ’ave I said to myself, with Amy talkin’ about her -boys and the new way of doin’ her ’air, that I’d rather be on me own.” -Suddenly her hard old face worked, and her voice trembled. “I couldn’t -never have gone!” she cried loudly, and turned swiftly from the room. -They heard her sobbing as she went. - -“Go after her, girls,” Mrs. Weston said, crying softly herself. “Tell -her all about it. She has been breaking her heart for a month.” - -Left alone, John Weston looked long at his wife. - -“I seem to remember Sarah once remarking that you’d never know where you -were with them twins!” he said. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - GETTING ON TERMS - - -REX FORESTER arrived three days after Christmas. The twins drove in to -meet him, well charged with pity. A little boy of nine, whose family has -just sailed in a body for Colombo, may be expected to be an object for -anyone’s compassion, and Jean and Jo fully expected a tear-stained and -disconsolate individual. - -Instead, there stepped from the train a perfectly self-possessed young -gentleman. Nothing was awry about him, and no tear seemed likely to find -a lodging on his cheek. His light suit was unspotted by a journey that -reduced most small boys to monuments of grime; his sailor hat sat -jauntily upon his well-brushed head. He wore spectacles, which gave him -a curious air of dignity. Very fair was he, with large blue eyes and a -skin of milk and roses. Nature seemed to have destined him to sing in a -choir; and as there was no such opening for him at Emu Plains, the twins -may be excused for wondering what on earth they were going to do with -him. They also wondered what Billy would think of him. - -They had shopping to do in the township, so Jo drove into the little -main street and held the horses while Jean transacted the commissions. -Rex declined to get down, saying he would rather stay in the buggy—a -mode of conveyance which interested him a good deal, since he had had no -experiences save of motors. He had expected a motor, and had been -frankly amazed at the high, light buggy into which he was expected to -climb. - -“I didn’t know anyone used these things,” he said. “Not—well, not our -sort of people, you know.” - -“Oh, you’ll find quite a lot here and there,” Jo told him. “Some even -prefer them. No nasty smell of petrol, like motors have.” - -“Oh, not decent cars,” Rex answered, in a pained way. “I suppose some -smell of petrol, though I really don’t know. But not good cars.” - -“And is yours a good car?” - -“Ours? Oh, we’ve got three. Yes, they’re all good. I can drive a bit. Is -it hard to drive horses?” - -“Not when you’re used to it,” said Jo. “Or to ride them, either. Can you -ride, by the way?” - -“No, I never tried riding. We’ve been in town since I was a little -kiddie. Helen said she supposed I’d learn at Emu Plains.” - -“Oh, of course you’ll have to—we all learned to ride about the time we -learned to walk,” Jo told him. “It’s half the fun of the bush.” - -“Is there much fun in the bush?” asked the small boy doubtfully. - -“Depends on what you call fun,” Jo answered briskly. “Of course, if -you’re mad keen on picture-shows and theatres and going down to St. -Kilda, you may find it a bit slow. We have riding and driving, and we go -for picnics, and there’s ripping bathing in the river, and there always -seems something to do about the place. Billy—that’s my young -brother—is awfully glad you’re coming. He has never had a mate of his -own size.” - -“How old is he?” asked Rex, forbearing to make any comment on the list -of country attractions. - -“Eight, but he’s as big as you, I think. He’s hoping very much that he -is, anyway. He rides pretty well, and he can swim fairly. Dad thinks it -would be a good plan to teach you both to box.” - -“I’d like that,” Rex said eagerly. “My father was going to have me -taught, but I got sick after I’d only had one lesson. I don’t have to -wear my specs. to box, and that’s a pull. Specs. are an awful nuisance.” - -“Jolly hard on you to have to wear them,” said Jo sympathetically. “But -perhaps you won’t have to always.” - -“I hope to goodness I shan’t,” said the small boy. “A fellow does look -such an ass in them. And other chaps rag you about them.” He set his -teeth and looked ferocious. “That’s one of the reasons why I want to -learn to box!” - -“So that you can take it out of them—good idea!” agreed Jo. “Here’s -Jean, all bundles. Got everything, Jean?” - -“I sincerely hope so,” said her twin, who looked hot. “The shop’s -crowded, and the smell of half-dead Christmas decorations is awful.” She -glanced down her list. “Yes, that’s all, except the mail. Drive up, and -I’ll meet you at the post-office.” - -“Can’t we go somewhere and have an ice, or a drink?” suggested Rex, as -they drove up the little street. “I’m awfully hot. Is there any place?” - -Jo hesitated. In the old days when money had not seemed to matter, she -and Jean had never failed to sample the ice-creams and other delights of -hot weather supplied by the little fruit-shop. But the twins had talked -this matter over, and had agreed that such luxuries must now be cut out -of their programme. It was somewhat disconcerting to find that their -pupil looked on them as one of the ordinary aids to existence. She -temporized. - -“Well—it won’t be long before we get home,” she said. “Can’t you wait?” - -“Oh do let’s come—it won’t take two minutes,” Rex begged. “Look, -there’s quite a jolly place over there and it’s got an ‘Ice-Cream’ sign -hanging out.” - -Jo yielded, with a sigh. They had agreed not to take any more -pocket-money from their father, and Christmas had made a very -considerable hole in their slender funds. Still, there seemed no way -out. She beckoned to Jean as her twin came out of the post-office. - -“Jean—take Rex across to Fielding’s, and have an ice with him.” - -Jean’s heated countenance expressed reproach, mingled with surprise. She -had not time to reply, however, before Rex broke in. - -“Oh, but you’ve got to come too,” he said. - -“No! thanks—don’t want any,” Jo returned. - -“Oh! that’s rubbish—you’ve got to come. Can’t you get anyone to hold -the horses?” - -“Well, I won’t, if you don’t, Jo,” said Jean firmly. To depart from a -rule so recently formed was bad enough, but it was ten times worse to be -expected to do it without one’s faithless twin. Mingled with her -feelings was a guilty consciousness that she wanted that ice very badly -indeed. “Jimmy Fielding will hold the horses. Come on.” - -“Oh, all right,” Jo said, capitulating. “After all,” she added to -herself, “it’s only threepence a head.” - -But it turned out to be rather more than that. After the ices, Rex -ordered raspberry vinegar before the twins could interfere; and then it -occurred to him that peaches would enliven the journey home, and he -secured a bag full of rosy-cheeked freestones. He picked them up and -stood aside, cheerfully unconcerned, while Jo paid the bill. Rex had -plenty of money in his pockets, but it did not occur to him that others -might not be as well off. Older people always paid for him when they -shopped together—why not the twins? - -The superhuman politeness of their pupil continued during the drive -home, scarcely modified even by the consumption of peaches that freely -dripped with juice. He asked a great many questions, but did not appear -at all interested in any answers. One gathered the impression that he -considered it bad manners to sit in silence, and that questions were the -easiest way out. The twins, however, were somewhat paralyzed by the -rapid-fire nature of his conversation, and found their own supply of -small-talk quite unequal to his. It was something of a relief to them -when they reached the homestead, and saw their young charge taken over -by Billy. - -“Wonder what Billy’s thinking?” Jo laughed, as she perched on the end of -the table where their mother was sewing. - -“What do _you_ think?” was Mrs. Weston’s rejoinder. - -“He’s quite amazing,” Jo answered. “Isn’t he, Jean? Frightfully -grown-up, and I should think he’s had rather too much of his own way all -his life.” - -“His manners are lovely,” Jean said. “You should have seen him eating -peaches, Mother—they were the really-drippy sort that ordinary people -like Jo and me can only eat with comfort in a bath, or in the middle of -a fifty-acre paddock; but he managed it without turning a hair, and I -don’t think there’s one spot on his coat!” - -“Remarkably prehensile action with his tongue,” grinned Jo. “I’m going -to practise it—in private. The weird part was that it hardly interfered -with his remarks at all!” - -“It would take years of practice before _I_ could eat a peach and talk -at the same time—except to you,” said Jean. “It’s one of those -occasions when the strain of society is a bit too much. But Rex isn’t -like any small boy I ever met.” - -“I’m rather leaning back against the fact that he’s Helen’s brother,” Jo -remarked. “Anyone belonging to Helen _must_ be all right. And of course -he’s had lots of drawbacks.” - -“He does not seem quite a natural small boy,” said Mrs. Weston. “But -Billy will make him natural, if it’s humanly possible. So don’t worry, -girls.” - -Meanwhile, Billy and Rex, having looked each other over after the -fashion of young puppies who meet for the first time, had strolled -together into the orchard. They kept some distance apart, and exchanged -sidelong glances, looking very much as if they wished to growl. -Conversation flagged. Billy paused presently under a laden apricot tree. - -“Have one?” he asked, jerking his head upwards. - -“Yes, thanks,” Rex answered. They browsed awhile in silence. - -“Not many good ones left near the ground,” remarked Billy. “Come on up -the tree.” - -Rex hesitated. - -“Don’t think I care about climbing trees.” - -“Not like climbing trees!” uttered Billy. “Whyever not?” - -“Oh—I’m not keen on it.” - -“But—_fruit_ trees!” Billy’s eyes were round. “How on earth are you -going to get fruit if you never climb?” - -“Well—I can buy it.” - -“You can’t buy it more’n once a week, if you’re livin’ with us,” -affirmed Billy. “An’ fruit in shops isn’t half as good as fruit picked -off trees. Besides, every one climbs.” - -“Well, I don’t, so that’s flat.” - -Billy surveyed him with amazement. Courtesy to guests had been preached -to him, but this was a serious matter. There surged over his mind the -utter impossibility of living with a boy who refused to climb. - -“I believe you’re afraid!” he burst out. - -Rex went scarlet. - -“’Fraid, yourself. Don’t you dare say I’m afraid.” - -“Well, if you aren’t afraid, come on after me.” - -Billy swung his lithe young body into the lower branches of the tree, -and went up, hand over hand, until he reached a favourite nook near the -top. He hooked his leg over a branch and looked down, tauntingly. - -“There!—why, it’s as easy as easy. Even old Sarah can climb an apricot -tree—any muff can! And you’re afraid!” - -“I’m not afraid,” retorted Rex furiously. - -He gave an awkward little run at the tree and succeeded, with a -scramble, in gaining the lower branches. It was very plain that he was -unused to climbing. He clung rather desperately to the trunk and turned -an angry face upward to Billy, who unfeelingly roared with laughter. - -“That’s right—hang on like fury, or you’ll tumble out again! Come on up -here and have an apricot—all the ripe ones are high up.” - -Rex set his teeth and tried to copy his tormentor’s easy upward swing. -It looked the simplest thing, but, somehow, it was harder than it -looked. He missed his grasp at a branch, slipped, and fell with a -resounding bump. The ground was hard beneath the tree, and, though he -fell only a few feet, Rex felt considerably shaken and damaged. He -jumped up—rather to the relief of Billy, who promptly laughed anew. - -“Well, you _are_ a muff! Fancy falling out of a tree like that. Did you -ever try to climb before?” - -“No, I never!” rejoined Rex, red with rage. “It’s all very well for you -to laugh, when you’ve been climbing trees all your life. Anyhow, I -wouldn’t have silly ginger curls like yours for something. Does your -mother put them in curl-papers every night?” - -The bitterness of this insult sent the blood to Billy’s face. - -“No, she doesn’t—an’ I’ll fight you if you say that again!” - -Every vestige of his society manner had departed from Rex. He danced -about on the grass, chanting derisively. - -“Yah, Curly! Who’s got ginger curls? Silly old Curly—won’t the boys -laugh at him when he goes to school!” - -“Not as much as they’ll laugh at you if you try to climb!” retorted -Billy, at the top of his voice. But Rex apparently did not hear. He -danced and yelled with unabated vigour. - -“Curly, Curly Weston! Curly, Curly Weston! Who goes to bed in -curl-papers every night?” - -“I’ll teach you!” said Billy fiercely. He came down the tree like an -avalanche, dropping from bough to bough until he landed on the grass. -His fists were clenched at his sides. It would have been difficult to -say which face was the redder. - -“Will you fight?” - -“I don’t fight girls with silly curls,” said Rex—and realizing that he -had made an unexpected burst of poetry, was correspondingly uplifted, -and chanted wildly, “I—don’t—fight—girls— With—sil-ly—curls” again -and again, ducking to avoid a sudden blow from Billy. Then another, -better aimed, caught him on the shoulder, and from that instant neither -manners nor melody remained to Master Rex Forester. He became primitive -boy. Hammer and tongs they fought each other under the tree—slipping on -squashed apricots, stumbling and recovering, exchanging thudding blows -with their hard young fists. - -From the shelter of an apple-tree by the gate Mr. Weston, who had come -to make his guest’s acquaintance, watched them, a twinkle in his eye. - -“I suppose I ought to interfere,” he murmured, smiling under his -moustache. “But—I don’t know. There certainly doesn’t seem much of the -city polish left about that youngster: and a little blood-letting is a -pretty good way to friendship. I think I’ll let them be. Anyhow, Billy’s -getting the worst of it, so my feelings as a host won’t be too badly -hurt.” He drew back into the shelter of the tree, watching. - -Billy was certainly getting the worst of it. He was slightly smaller -than Rex, and had very little idea of fighting; while the solitary -boxing-lesson of which Rex had spoken had not failed to leave some -impression on that hero. There was a trace of science in his hitting: a -faint trace, it is true, but it was more than enough for Billy. Billy’s -muscles were hard, and his blows were of the sledge-hammer type—the -drawback being that they so seldom got home. He was almost on the point -of admitting that he had had enough when a swing from Rex’s left arm -landed on the point of his nose. Blood followed, in quantities -sufficiently terrifying to an eight-year-old. It was not altogether -surprising if a few tears came too. - -Billy was desperately ashamed of crying. He leaned against a tree, -endeavouring to staunch the bleeding—thankful that, for once in a way, -he had a handkerchief, and trusting that his suppressed sobs would be -unnoticed by his conqueror. He knew he was beaten: it would be only a -moment, he supposed, before the insulting chant about his curls would -begin again. - -It did not come, however. Gradually the bleeding slackened, and he -became sufficiently master of himself to face the world again. He turned -from his friendly tree, his face doggedly ashamed, ready to meet -whatever insults his victor might devise. - -There were none, it seemed, that he was to be called upon to meet. Rex -lay full-length in the grass, his face buried in his arms. His shoulders -were shaking: there was obvious evidence that Billy was not the only one -to cry. And suddenly it came to little Billy Weston that this conqueror, -with his smooth hair and his grown-up manner, was only a lonely little -boy whose mother was very far away. - -He paused a moment, awkwardly. Then he went over and knelt beside him, -putting a nervous hand on his shoulder. - -“I say. Rex, I’m awful sorry. I was a pig.” - -“Well, so was I,” came in muffled tones. - -“No, but you’re a visitor. Anyhow, you licked me. M-made me blub, too.” - -The last was an heroic effort, and it brought Rex round to a sitting -position. - -“Did I?” he uttered. His own face was tear-stained, and a fine bruise -was rapidly developing near his eye. “Well, I blubbed, too. I—I guess -it’s a bit queer, being away from every one you know.” - -“Well, we’re no better than each other,” said Billy quaintly. “Let’s be -pals.” - -They shook hands solemnly. Mr. Weston slipped away, chuckling as he -went. - -“I wouldn’t take any notice of anything peculiar in the boys’ -appearance,” he told his wife and the twins. “They’ve been making -friends, and it’s a process involving bruises. But it’s all right.” He -told the story. - -Billy guided Rex by devious paths to the bathroom presently, there to -remove as much evidence of warfare as could be treated with soap and -water. They appeared at tea with extremely red and shiny faces, coloured -here and there with bruises, and, in Billy’s case, with a nose -resembling a beetroot in shape and colour. No one took any apparent -notice of these defects. The twins plied their pupil with food—for -which he had little appetite—and Mrs. Weston asked him kindly if he had -enjoyed his afternoon. - -“I’ve had a very nice time, thank you, Mrs. Weston,” responded Rex -politely. “We’ve been in the orchard.” - -“Ah, it’s nice there,” said John Weston gravely. His eyes met his son’s -for a moment, and Billy flushed at something he saw in them. - -“Do I look rum?” he demanded of Rex when, released from society, they -wandered out into the garden. - -“Pretty, rum,” Rex said, regarding him critically. “Do I?” - -“Yes, rather. I wonder would anyone guess we’d been fighting?” - -“I shouldn’t wonder if they did. Would they be wild?” - -“Well, they told me to behave nicely to you—especially at first.” - -“They told me that, too, at home.” - -They grinned at each other, comprehendingly. - -“Oh, well,” said Billy. “Girls an’ grown-ups can’t possibly understand -everything about boys!” - -[Illustration: “‘I say, Rex, I’m awful sorry. I was a pig.’ ‘Well, so was - I,’ came in muffled tones.” - _The Twins of Emu Plains_] [_Page 103_] - - - - - CHAPTER IX - THE PROGRAMME - - -‟ARE you young people aware,” asked Mr. Weston severely, “that it is now -up to you to map out the whole duty of pupil-teachers?” - -“Parents of high-grade pupil-teachers,” remarked Jo with equal severity, -“don’t use such expressions as ‘up to you.’ They employ only the _best_ -English.” - -“It has been sufficiently exhausting to act as the parent of low-grade -twins without beginning to live up to them as high-grade -pupil-teachers,” said her father, laughing. “However, I’ll try, being of -a meek spirit. Will you, my children, address yourselves to the problem -of framing a suitable scheme of educational training for——” - -“Oh, Daddy, do say something like ‘that blessed kid,’ to finish with, -and then I’ll know it’s you!” cried Jean. - -“I meant to,” said Mr. Weston with a sigh of relief. “I couldn’t have -kept it up a second longer. Well, what are you going to do about it, -anyhow?” - -“We’ve been trying to work out a scheme for a week,” Jo said. “There’s -such a lot to be thought of. Mrs. Forester said specially that she -didn’t want him to have too many lessons—three hours a day would be -quite enough for him. Is that enough for Billy?” - -“Well, Billy could stand more. But three hours will do for the present,” -said Mrs. Weston, who was knitting in her armchair by the window, -profiting by the last gleam of daylight. The long summer day was over, -and a cool breeze had begun to blow across the scorched, bare plains. -Rex and Billy, wearied by battle, were already in bed, in their corner -of the verandah, sleeping peacefully. The twins had tucked them up, and -were now ready for a family conclave. - -“Well—lessons, three hours. We’ve got to fit that in with our own -work,” said Jean. “You see, we’re going to do most of the housework. We -mean to get up at five in the summer, and get most of it done before -breakfast. That leaves Sarah pretty free. Of course, we don’t want -Mother to do anything at all.” - -“A nice sort of person I should soon become!” said Mrs. Weston, -laughing. “Disgracefully fat and hopelessly lazy! It seems hard that you -should deliberately conspire to ruin an excellent character like mine!” - -“Oh, we know well enough you’ll always be busy, darling,” Jo said, -laughing. “You can have the mending of all Billy’s trousers, for one -thing: and that’s about enough to keep you busy. But we don’t want you -to have any definite housework. We’ve talked it all out with Sarah, and -arranged everything. She insists on turning out one room every day—so -we’re going to get it all ready for turning out, and do the rest of the -housework. It’ll be quite easy, because nothing will ever get dirty or -untidy.” - -“My poor lambs!” murmured Mrs. Weston, gazing at this picture of -youthful optimism. - -“Well, you know, Mother, not really bad.” Both the twins laughed. “We do -really mean to try to keep things tidy. We’re going round a bit at -night, putting everything away before we go to bed—things that don’t -seem to matter a bit at night do look so horribly untidy in the morning. -And we’re going to plan the work so as to get method. Smithy—Miss -Smith, I mean—used always to preach about that. Do you think it takes -long to grow method?” - -“A lifetime isn’t enough for some people,” Mrs. Weston said. “But if you -really try I think yours will soon develop. There are already signs of -healthy sprouting!” She smiled at them—the smile a little tremulous. -They were so young, and so tremendously in earnest. - -“That’s comforting,” Jean said. “Now there’s another important thing. Do -you think it’s our duty to teach the boys together? Us together, I -mean—not the boys, of course.” - -“A class of two isn’t exactly huge,” said their father. “It would be -rather over-engined with two teachers, I think.” - -“That’s what we thought,” Jean cried eagerly. “It would be silly—we’d -be falling over each other. So we mapped out a programme, each of us -taking an hour and a half at a time, and we’ll each give the lessons -we’re best at ourselves. English isn’t mine, you’ll notice! Then the one -who isn’t teaching can be free for other jobs.” - -“Here’s the programme,” Jo said. She displayed it triumphantly—a -lengthy document, with spaces beautifully ruled in red ink, mapping out -a week’s work. Mr. and Mrs. Weston studied it together. - -“‘Drill—15 minutes’?” queried Mr. Weston presently. - -“Oh, that’s physical jerks—you know, calisthenics,” Jo explained. -“We’ll begin with that every morning. They were very keen about it at -school. Miss Dampier says it gets all the brain-machinery going well.” - -“Good idea,” said their father, relapsing into silence. - -“Isn’t there a good deal of time for ‘Reading’?” asked Mrs. Weston. -“They’re very small for such long lessons.” - -“Oh—that’s not only the boys,” Jean said. “We’re going to read to -them—jolly books, like those ‘High Roads’ series, that teach you all -about history and geography and literature without letting you guess -that you’re being taught. We had a lot of them ourselves, and Mrs. -Forester has sent dozens in Rex’s trunk. They’ll get absolutely full of -knowledge without an effort on their own parts!” - -“Why wasn’t I taught like that!” groaned Mr. Weston. “My ‘High Roads’ -were paved with flint—these lucky young dogs will have theirs strewn -with rose-leaves. Well, it seems a pretty comprehensive schedule, -twinses. I hope you’ll be able to live up to it.” - -“We mean to have a jolly good try,” Jo said. “I expect we’ll slump -sometimes, but we’re really going to do our best. Now, where do you come -in, Dad?” - -“Is it me?” queried Mr. Weston blankly. “What have I to do with your -fell schemes?” - -“Rex isn’t a fell scheme, and you have lots to do with him,” said his -relentless daughter. “You see, it was specially mentioned that he needs -manly influence. Well, we can’t supply that!” - -“I’m not so sure,” remarked the hapless man, gazing at the determined -young faces. “Still, I’m willing to do all I can. What would you -suggest?” - -“Well—boxing for one thing: and of course he has to be taught to ride. -We can all take a turn at that, but we think he ought to begin with you, -Dad, ’cause he’ll have more confidence with a man than he would with -us.” - -“Can do,” said Mr. Weston. “I’ll give him half an hour on old Merrilegs -after breakfast every morning—if I possibly can. Boxing after tea; then -they can wash off the results and sleep off the soreness! Anything -else?” - -“Well—no other accomplishments. But he can go about with you and Billy, -can’t he, Dad?—when you have time, of course. We don’t want them always -with us, or getting into mischief alone.” - -“Billy is very anxious to learn to manage the place,” said Mr. Weston, -with a twinkle in his eye. “I think he has visions of relieving me of -any work after a year or two—like you two with your mother. I’ve -promised to teach him all I can, but of course there’s very little to -show him just now, with the whole place a desert, and most of the stock -away. When Rex can ride I can take them both out with me. Meanwhile, -I’ll do what I can to instruct him in country ways; and it’s not a bad -thing to teach them to use their eyes. Quite remarkable, how many people -can look at things without seeing them. To come down to actual deeds, -Billy is earnestly learning to use an axe, and to milk. Rex can share -those lessons.” - -“For goodness’ sake, don’t let him chop his feet off!” begged Mrs. -Weston. - -“Not if I can avoid it,” said her husband. “The axe Billy is using isn’t -sharp enough to cut anything in particular, so I don’t think you need -worry. But will young Rex want to learn such unfashionable things as -chopping and milking?” - -“Oh, I think he’ll want to join in anything that Billy does,” Jean said. -“And if you tell him to do them as a matter of course, he’ll hardly -refuse, even if it’s a shock to him. Then there’s swimming.” - -“Am I the swimming teacher too?” demanded Mr. Weston. “For I warn you, I -shan’t have time.” - -“Oh, no—we can teach him. We thought of going to bathe every afternoon, -and he’ll soon learn. I think that’s all,” said Jean, wrinkling her -brows. “Or can you think of anything else we ought to teach him?” - -“I think you’ve a fairly complete scheme—for a boy who has to go slow. -Rex will certainly say that he has enough to do.” - -“It doesn’t appear that there is any job for me in the scheme,” remarked -Mrs. Weston. “In fact, I think you’re steadily planning to make me into -a fine lady. I don’t think I quite like it.” - -She found herself suddenly hugged by both twins. - -“Bless you, you’ve got jobs all the time!” said Jo. “He’s only nine, and -he can’t possibly do without mothering. It’s the biggest job of all. And -we’ll all come to you with our difficulties, as we always do, and you’ll -get us all out.” - -“So long as you all do that I shan’t feel too much on the shelf,” said -her mother. “And I’m appointing myself one job that you needn’t put down -on the schedule—the last half-hour at night for the boys. That is mine, -and nobody must take it, please. Also it seems to me that the schedule -and the oddments and the hundred-and-one things that aren’t written down -won’t leave my twinses much time, so I want it to be clearly understood -that in case of necessity I can take over the lessons occasionally. I’m -not going to have your poor old noses perpetually at the grindstone.” - -“We’re not going to feel it a grind,” declared Jean. “And, Mother, there -won’t be much mending for Rex, for Mrs. Forester has sent up just the -sensiblest things for him: scout blouses and whipcord breeches, and all -sorts of hard-wearing things that look as if they couldn’t possibly -tear!” - -“You don’t know small boys as well as I do!” returned Mrs. Weston, -laughing. - -“Well—you’ll see. And there are ever so many things, and all perfectly -new. But nothing very swagger: our poor old Billy won’t feel that he’s -too much in the shade.” - -“I was afraid when we met him that Billy would be hopelessly out of it,” -said Jo. “He was such a dreadfully superior young man. And he still -shows signs of being superior—but not as much. And they went off to bed -arm in arm—which was far more than I had dared to hope for, the very -first night.” - -“There’s nothing like a good, honest fight,” said her father, laughing. -“If you had seen those urchins in the orchard, going at each other, -hammer and tongs, you’d have known that there was no question of -superiority about either of them. After all, Rex’s polish is only -skin-deep; there’s normal small boy under it. And one small boy is very -like another.” - -“I’m rather troubled about one thing,” Jean said. “It doesn’t seem to me -that Rex can possibly keep his polish up here. Billy will certainly rub -it off, even if Jo and I don’t. It just couldn’t exist in a place like -Emu Plains.” - -“It could not,” her father nodded agreement. - -“Well—when the Foresters come back from Colombo and find only -unpolished Rex—it sounds rather like unpolished rice—do you think -they’ll be horrified? For all we know Mrs. Forester has spent nine -laborious years in putting that polish on.” - -“That’s an awful idea!” said Jo anxiously. - -“Only, Helen isn’t a bit polished,” Jean said. “She’s almost rugged at -times, especially when you duck her in the baths. Of course her manners -are lovely when she wants them to be; but then every Captain of the -School has to have lovely manners for use if required—not as a habit. -Rex’s polish isn’t like that. He fairly wallows in it.” - -“He won’t wallow long,” said Mr. Weston. “Not if I know Billy.” - -“Well—will Mrs. Forester mind?” - -“She will not,” said Mrs. Weston, coming into the discussion with a note -of decision in her clear voice. “If Mrs. Forester finds that -much-too-pretty little boy grown into a brown, noisy, healthy ruffian -like Billy, with horny hands and tough muscles, she won’t worry one -little bit as to where his polish has gone. The mother who sent her son -up here with scout suits and whipcord breeches doesn’t want him kept in -cotton-wool. We can’t be always sure of making no mistakes, twinses -dear: but I think if we have to decide between living up to the polish -or the breeches, it will certainly be best to let the polish go. Elaine -Forester won’t miss it after her boy has been for a year on Emu Plains!” - -Later, on her way back from bidding good-night to the twins, in their -end of the verandah, Mrs. Weston paused near the boys’ beds. Billy -always slept under her window: to-night the second little bed was drawn -near his, and the sleek, fair head showed close to the ruddy curls in -the moonlight. Billy lay, as always, with one arm flung above his head. -He did not stir when his mother stooped to kiss him, tucking the sheet -more closely round him. But when she bent above the other bed, Rex -tossed round uneasily, and spoke in his sleep. - -“Mother!” he muttered. The word was almost a cry. - -“Go to sleep, little sonnie,” Mrs. Weston said gently. She put her lips -to the smooth cheek, and Rex settled down with a little satisfied sigh. - -A vision came across Mrs. Weston of that other mother, whose ship was -bearing her relentlessly away from her son. - -“I’ll take care of him for you,” she murmured. And when she leaned from -her window later on for the look she always gave Billy before blowing -out her light, her caressing eyes lingered as long on the fair head as -on the ruddy mass of despised curls. - - - - - CHAPTER X - MIXED INSTRUCTIONS - - -WITH the first days of January the twins’ programme may be said to have -got fairly into its stride. It worked smoothly enough. An alarum-clock, -placed on an empty kerosene-tin between their beds, shrieked a wild -summons at five every morning—on the first occasion each twin had dived -to seize and silence it, with the result that their heads had banged -together with sufficient violence to banish sleep very effectually. -After that, they put the kerosene-tin near the foot of the beds, a plan -that had the additional advantage of making them leap from their pillows -without any chance of yielding to the temptation, familiar to us all, of -“just one minute more.” Then came a quick cold shower and a hurried -dressing, after which one twin attacked the drawing-room and the other -the dining-room; it was a point of honour to have both rooms done before -early morning tea, always ready in the kitchen soon after six. They had -had visions of taking in their mother’s morning cup; but they soon -realized that this was a privilege too dear to Sarah’s heart to be -deputed to anyone. Therefore the twins contented themselves with taking -their own tea very cheerfully in the kitchen with Sarah, who imagined -that she concealed, under a grumpy manner, the fact that she delighted -in their presence. - -Billy and Rex used to appear in the kitchen also, demanding nourishment. -Rex had willingly agreed to the plan of learning to milk and to use an -axe. He never attempted to hint that he cared either for cows or for -chopping; but it had very soon become evident that he was keenly anxious -to be as strong as other boys of his age, and he welcomed any chance of -developing his muscles. They would hurriedly swallow cups of weak tea, -and, their hands full of scones, trot off to the paddock near the house, -where the three milkers, which were all that the drought had left of Mr. -Weston’s herd, awaited them. It was never hard to yard the milkers, for -there was scarcely anything left for them to eat in the paddock. Down by -the river there was still some dry, stick-like grass, on which they -browsed for forms’ sake during the day; but green feed welcomed them at -milking-times—lucerne, from the little patch that was irrigated through -the efforts of a windmill which brought from the spring enough water for -household purposes, and a little extra. The cows needed no bell to -summon them when the hours for lucerne drew near. - -The girls’ room had two long windows, opening upon the verandah where -their beds were placed. It was a cheery place, with little to indicate -that it was used as anything but a sitting-room: the stained floor -boasted a couple of good rugs, easily moved when necessary, and there -was an old sofa, disreputable, but astonishingly comfortable when once -you had learned to accommodate your person to the places where its -springs were broken. Two or three inviting chairs were scattered about; -there was a business-like writing-table with the drawers on the east -sacred to Jo, and the western ones Jean’s property. A rather good -Japanese screen hid the dressing-table—not that the twins had much use -for a dressing-table, since their bobbed curls demanded little more than -hard brushing, and their frocks were of the type that is easiest to slip -on hastily. Tennis-racquets and hockey-sticks were displayed upon the -wall, and there were many school photographs, as well as those of the -home-folk. A long, low cupboard ran along one wall. To its kindly -recesses was due the fact that the twins’ room was nearly always tidy. -“It’s a mercy we’ve got it!” Jean would say, tossing old shoes, or -battered hats, or half-soiled aprons into its capacious interior. “And -Mother’s such a brick—she never dreams of looking inside it!” - -“Mother’s an awfully understanding person,” Jo would answer. “She says -if it weren’t for Sarah she wouldn’t have any reputation for tidiness -herself!” - -For Mother never failed to understand. Perhaps it was because her own -gay youth was not so very far behind her; perhaps because of her great -love for these cheery, curly-haired twins, with their merry faces. She -knew—somehow—when the famous programme did not seem to run smoothly: -when the housework developed unexpected difficulties, or the teaching -faculty seemed suddenly deficient. Then she would make an appearance, as -if accidentally, and things would smooth out. Her sovereign prescription -on these occasions was open air. Generally, she would take over the -small boys, and the twins would find themselves suddenly despatched on -an errand to the township, or, best of all, sent out in the paddocks -with their father. For though Emu Plains might be scorched and bare, and -the stock weak and starved, so that riding out on the run had lost -something of its joy, it still remained the chief of all pleasures. - -But it was not often that the programme failed to work. After early tea -the twins made a triumphal progress from one room to another, sweeping -and dusting. They generally sang, too, loudly and cheerily, what their -voices lacked being made up in enthusiasm. They swept verandahs, and -made beds, and trimmed lamps, and gathered what flowers the drought had -spared, which were not many. The work, like the songs, was made into a -duet, so far as was possible, for the twins hated to work apart. When -they dusted a room together they did it in a kind of drill, each taking -one half—the work calculated so that they finished at the same moment. -They swept the wide verandah, that ran round three sides of the house, -in a concerted movement, beginning at opposite ends and making a race of -it until they met in the middle, at the steps leading down from the -front door. This lent great excitement to the job, and Mr. Weston had -even been known to appear near the finish, to cheer on the panting -combatants. - -Most of the housework was done before breakfast, and then odd jobs took -up the time until nine o’clock, when Rex and Billy were supposed to be -in readiness on the verandah, with scrubbed hands and faces, and persons -displaying as little dust as possible, considering that the persons were -those of small boys. Rex had, by this time, undergone his -riding-lessons, and his appearance was fairly certain, since Mr. Weston -used to dismiss him at five minutes to nine, telling him to hurry up and -get ready for school. But Billy was a will-o’-the-wisp creature, and -rules and regulations meant little to him. He was never openly defiant: -he was merely oblivious of time and space, when engaged in any of the -thousand-and-one “ploys” in which his soul delighted; and against that -bland armour of forgetfulness the twins’ wrath fell blunted. “I never -really _meant_ not to be there,” he used to say, with wide, innocent -eyes, after an indignant twin, wailing his name disconsolately, had run -him to earth in the orchard, or the stables, or on the river-bank. “It -isn’t truly nine yet, is it?” When assured in pungent tones that it was -long after nine, he would exclaim, “My word, I must hurry up, -then!”—and would take to his heels; so that when his teacher, heated in -more ways than one, arrived on the verandah, it was to find him awaiting -her, washed and brushed, and with a disarming twinkle in his eye. The -pursuing twin invariably twinkled in response. - -“He’s awful, of course,” they would say. “But we were young, once, -ourselves!” - -Rex, so far, committed no breaches of discipline. When alone with Billy -there were signs that his polish was, after all, merely skin-deep, and -was even wearing off in places; but with the other members of the family -he maintained a calm correctness of demeanour that the twins found -almost painful. He drilled painstakingly, in a solid fashion; the twins -sighed over his heavy movements, even while they rebuked Billy, who -loved to prance through his “physical jerks” like the light-footed elf -he was. To lessons Rex brought a dull hatred that somewhat astonished -the twins, since it was evident from the first that he was by no means -deficient in brains. Only when he dealt with figures was he at all -happy, and as Jean put it, resentfully, “he just wallows in sums.” Jean -herself having a constitutional dislike to adding even two and two, -mathematics were always left to her twin, so that her share of the -lessons was rather wearying. - -“There must be a reason for it,” she puzzled, one day. “I wonder if he -had very frowsy governesses.” - -“We’ll ask him,” Jo declared. - -They did, and the boy’s heavy eyes kindled as he was gradually induced -to describe his former lessons. His governess had been one of the old -school, severe and correct; she exacted absolute stillness and -obedience, and led the weary feet of her small pupil along the dullest -paths of old-fashioned learning. He used to learn by heart long passages -of heavy history and geography books and repeat them to her with very -little idea of their meaning. In the same way he would learn poetry, and -repeat it, parrot-fashion. All lessons were beastly, he said, but poetry -was not quite so beastly as others, because it had rhymes, and was not -quite so hard to learn. But it never meant anything. You could tell a -story better without worrying about rhymes, if that was all you wanted. - -“But poetry’s gorgeous!” expostulated Billy, open-eyed. - -“Aw, what’s gorgeous?” Rex demanded. “I never saw any sense in it.” - -“But it is. Look at fighting yarns like ‘Horatius,’ and things like -that!” - -“Oh, I know that ‘Horatius’ thing. It’s one of the worst,” declared Rex, -loftily—“there’s such miles of it.” - -“Say a bit, Rex,” said Jean. - -It was lesson-time, and they were all in the schoolroom. Rex began at -once, obediently. - - “But the Consul’s brow was sad. - And the Consul’s speech was low, - And darkly looked he at the wall, - And darkly at the foe. - - “‘Their van will be upon us - Before the bridge goes down; - And if they once may win the bridge - What hope to save the town?’” - -He said it in a queer, lifeless, sing-song voice, with not the smallest -shade of expression. The end of each line was a recognized -stopping-place, where he halted heavily. It was evident that the brave -old lines conveyed nothing to him. Jo shuddered. - -“Hold on!” she said. “Why did you begin there, Rex?” - -“That’s where it began in my book.” - -“And don’t you know anything of the part that goes before?” - -“No. Is there any?” - -“But there’s lots, and it’s the jolliest lines!” cried Billy excitedly. -“All about the Etruscan Army marching, and coming down on Rome, and all -that. Didn’t you never have it?” - -“No,” said Rex. “Thank goodness, I didn’t. I reckon I had quite enough.” - -“Well—!” said the twins explosively. They looked at each other in -bewilderment. “Horatius” had been part of their lives since they were -very small people. - -“Jo,” said Jean, “let’s have the ‘Horatius’ play.” - -“And no lessons?” - -Jean nodded. - -“It isn’t wasting time, if we can make him see it.” She turned to the -bewildered small boy. “Rex, you like stories?” - -“Rather!” - -“Well, that’s a simply ripping story, if you get it the right way. Will -you try and forget that you know a bit of it, and that you don’t like -it? and we’ll make a game of it for school this morning.” - -“But you _can’t_ make that stuff into a game!” - -“Can’t we!” laughed Jean. “Billy, you’ve got all your soldiers, haven’t -you?” - -“Rather!” gasped Billy. “D’you really mean to get them? And no lessons?” - -“Really and truly!” laughed Jean. “And bring any blocks you’ve got. -Clear the table, and we’ll go back to Ancient Rome!” - -She darted to the store-room, returning presently with half-a-dozen -packets of matches. - -“Must be careful of these, because they’ve got to go back,” she said, -stripping off the paper wrappings. “I know Billy hasn’t enough blocks -left, now. Come along, Rex, and we’ll build Rome.” - -They built it at one end of the table, a wobbly oblong, enclosed by -strong matchbox walls. There were turrets and towers here and there, -made of cotton-reels. Without, ran the Tiber, a noble river of yellow -ribbon, wide, and doubtless deep. A bridge spanned it—a high-walled -bridge, long and narrow. From the bridge you came out upon a wide plain, -the rest of the table: it was easy to see it was a plain, because it was -flat, and there were trees on it, and cattle, contributed by an ancient -Noah’s Ark. It was all workmanlike and comprehensible, and something -like interest kindled in Rex’s eye. - -“Atlas, please, Billy,” Jean said. “You know, the Ancient History -Atlas.” - -She showed them the scene of the story. - -“Now you’ve got to get that in your head, Rex, and remember it’s all -real.” Rapidly she sketched the story of the downfall of the Tarquins. - -“They’d been kings of Rome, but they were absolute wasters, and at last -the Romans were just fed up with them, and they kicked them out. Served -them jolly well right, too; the Romans were terribly proud, and the -Tarquins weren’t fit to have in a decent city. And they cleared out to a -place called Clusium—here it is—and asked Lars Porsena, the Etruscan -king, for help.” - -“Was he a swine, too?” asked Rex. - -“No, I don’t think so. But he was fierce and warlike, and all those old -States were jealous of Rome, because she was so powerful. They were all -anxious for a chance to take her down.” - -“Who’s ‘her’?” queried Rex. - -“Oh, they spoke of Rome as ‘she.’ Well, you can just imagine this mouldy -Tarquin crowd coming to Lars Porsena and telling him all sorts of yarns -about the way the Romans had treated them, and saying what a great man -he was, and that they were jolly well sure he’d never see them in a -hole. I don’t suppose Lars Porsena believed half they said, but he was -quite willing to have a war. All those chiefs were. They reckoned -fighting was the only game fit for a man.” - -“So it is,” quoth Billy, in martial tones. - -“And Lars Porsena was awfully keen on his army. He was the biggest man -of that part of the country, and he could command all the fighting men -from ever so many cities. And he sent his messengers everywhere to -muster them all at Clusium. And they came, as hard as they could -pelt—armies and armies of them, until he had ten thousand cavalry and -eighty thousand infantry. Just you picture that, young Rex—all in -glittering armour, and with splendid flags, and simply gorgeous horses.” - -“Whew-w!” whistled Rex. “But this isn’t really ‘Horatius,’ is it?” - -“Yes, of course it is. It’s the only ‘Horatius.’ Just you forget that -you ever learned it as a lesson—it’s a fighting yarn, and old Macaulay -told it in a top-hole way. You’ve got to listen to it all presently; Jo -must read it, ’cause she reads better than I do, and it’s just all -music.” - -“It’s not music when I say it,” Rex said, with a grin. - -“No, ’cause you say it as if you were a lump of dough, and you come down -with a ‘wop’ at the end of each line. You don’t make any sense of it. -You listen to Jo—and when she comes to the name of any place, I’ll show -it to you on the atlas. Well, Lars Porsena mustered all his -crowd—ninety thousand—and then he consulted his tame prophets, and -asked them what he’d better do. There were thirty of them, and they were -very tame—they always said what they were wanted to say. They knew the -king wanted horribly to go to fight Rome, so they told him it was all -right, and he must go ahead and bring all the spoils of Rome back with -him. So off they went, and as soon as they got to the Roman country they -began to burn villages and kill the people. Now you read, Jo.” - -Jo read well, and her clear young voice made the most of the singing -words. The other three heads bent over the atlas, following up the story -of the great muster and then of the fierce swoop on Rome. Rex was -politely interested, at first. Then the story caught him, and his eyes -kindled; he sat up, staring at Jo. - - “And nearer fast and nearer - Doth the red whirlwind come: - And louder still, and still more loud. - From underneath that rolling cloud, - Is heard the trumpets’ war-note proud. - The trampling and the hum. - And plainly and more plainly - Now through the gloom appears. - Far to left and far to right. - In broken gleams of dark-blue light, - The long array of helmets bright. - The long array of spears!” - -“My word!” gasped Rex. “Wouldn’t you have given something to see it!” - -“We’ll make it,” said Jean, delightedly. “Have a rest, Jo, and we’ll get -the soldiers.” - -Billy had played with soldiers since he was a very small boy, and it had -been a hobby of his family’s to keep him supplied with fresh regiments. -Out they came from their boxes: horse, foot, and artillery; -ambulance-waggons, ammunition carts, and all the paraphernalia of -battle. - -“We can’t make it correctly, of course,” Jo said. “They didn’t have our -weapons, and we don’t have their armour. But we can make a gorgeous and -glittersome march; and you can just imagine that it’s all ancient -Etruscan, just as you’ve got to imagine that that yellow ribbon is the -Tiber, all muddy and foaming with flood-water, and that the match-boxes -are really the great stone walls of Rome.” - -Beyond doubt, it was a noble march. They headed across the plain towards -Rome: Cavalry in the lead. Horse Guards and Life Guards, Lancers and -Dragoons. They were brave with bright paint and glittering cuirasses, -and with waving scarlet pennons. Then came guns, with teams of six -horses, their officers galloping alongside; and there were machine-guns -and other artillery, cunningly drawn by means of attaching a cavalryman -to each with a scrap of flower-wire. It was hugely realistic. Then the -“four-score thousand” came marching in solid formation: Highlanders and -Fusiliers, men in khaki and men in scarlet coats, with banners here and -there. There were officers standing in the empty ambulance-waggons, -directing the march. Aeroplanes taxied on either side, loaded with men; -the carts were full of bundles that were certainly ammunition and food. -One mounted officer carried a splendid silken Union Jack, and near it a -tiny model of a motor bore a seated soldier—once the driver of an -ambulance-waggon. On one side of the car rode a Lifeguardsman; on the -other, a rather undersized Cavalryman, one from a boxful which Billy, in -his secret heart, despised, since neither in general splendour nor in -correctness of detail did they come up to most of his army. - -“Who are those fellows?” Rex asked; and Billy answered him, from the -poem. - - “‘Fast by the royal standard, - O’erlooking all the war, - Lars Porsena of Clusium - Sat in his ivory car——’ - -an’ that’s Mamilius an’ False Sextus on his right an’ left. Doesn’t -False Sextus look a mean little toad? I wish Lars Porsena looked -prouder—but that driver is the only one I’ve got that’s made to sit -down.” - -“We’ll gild his helmet,” said Jo. “That will make him look awfully -proud.” She produced gold paint from a cupboard, and endowed the -Etruscan leader with a helmet of pure gold, to the immense delight of -the small boys. - -“They laid waste all the country as they came,” Jean said. “You can see -the cattle clearing out.” She withdrew the Noah’s Ark cows to the -friendly shelter of the trees. “But it will avail them nothing—see, -there are a couple of cavalrymen galloping out on the wing to head them -off. They’ll be steak before night!” she added, gloomily. “Now we’ll fix -Rome—you can just imagine how anxious the people are there.” - -She manned the walls of Rome with soldiers—a detachment of Seaforth -Highlanders, made in a lying-down position, firing rifles towards the -advancing Etruscans. Within the city walls were massed the casualties of -five years—all the damaged and legless warriors resulting from natural -accidents since Billy had first taken to military operations. Billy -never had the heart to throw away what he termed a “wounded”; and when -they were packed together, supporting each other’s tottering forms, they -made an imposing enough crowd in the streets of Rome. Jo read on as they -placed the men in position; and the little boy who had known in -“Horatius” only the dullest of dull lessons felt something of the tense -anxiety of the doomed city at the steady march of the Etruscan hordes. - -“Get Horatius and his mates—quick, Jean!” cried Billy. - -Jean brought three tall Guardsmen from a box and placed them on the -bridge. They were officers, each with his sword at the “carry”: stiffly -standing at attention they stared before them, looking loftily at the -advancing hosts. - -“Aren’t they dauntless!” breathed Billy. “Come on, Jean—here’s the -Fathers and the Commons!” - -These were kneeling riflemen—Jean placed them at the foot of the slope -leading up to the main bridge, where they might easily be supposed to be -working for their lives. Jo read: - - “And Fathers mixed with Commons - Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, - And smote upon the planks above - And loosed the props below.” - -“Now the chiefs spurring, Jean!” - -Jean took out the last three soldiers. They were Scots Greys, survivors -of a well-loved set. Two of the chargers had wooden legs, deftly placed -in position by Mr. Weston; but, though mended, they were still gallant -and debonair, and they pranced out in front of the advancing army gaily, -even as Aunus, Seius and Picus had pranced in the brave days of old. - -“Now you’ve got them all, Rex,” Jean said. “Is it still dull?” - -“Dull!” uttered Rex. “Why, you’d never think they were only toys—just -wee little bits of lead and paint! They look so awful real. My word, I -wouldn’t ’ve like to ’ve been in Rome!” - -Jo read slowly: - - “Meanwhile the Tuscan army, - Right glorious to behold, - Came, flashing back the noonday light, - Rank behind rank, like surges bright - Of a broad sea of gold. - Four hundred trumpets sounded - A peal of warlike glee, - As that great host, with measured tread, - And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, - Rolled slowly towards the bridge’s head, - Where stood the dauntless three.” - -She stopped. Rex looked up at her with shining eyes. - -“Oh, go on!” he begged—“go on! That’s never the stuff I used to say!” - -Jo read on, putting all her heart into her task. It had somehow become -the most important thing in the world, for the moment, that this little -lad, who seemed to have missed so much, should get the same joy from the -poem that they had had. She wanted intensely that he should see it as -clearly as did Billy, who knelt on his chair beside the table, staring -at the soldiers. Billy knew every word of the story, but it was always -new to him. - -And there was soon no doubt that Rex was ensnared. There came to Jo the -feeling dear above all others to the preacher and the actor—the -knowledge that the audience is caught and held. She felt him thrill to -the words: she knew, when she reached some verse more than usually -musical, that every line went home to him. He ceased to look at the -glittering array on the table; it had served its purpose in fixing the -scene for ever in his brain, but she felt his great eyes upon her all -the time. It was as though she were reading to Rex, and to Rex alone, -knowing that in reading she was giving him a precious possession that -could never be taken away from him. - -They followed the fighting for the bridge, Billy’s eyes ecstatic over -the downfall of Astur; they heard the destroyed bridge crash into the -flooded Tiber and sweep away with the torrent, leaving Horatius alone to -face the taunts of his enemies. Jo heard Rex draw his breath sharply as -the Roman turned his back upon the invitation to surrender, looking -across the swollen river to the dear glimpse of his home. Her voice grew -low. - - “Oh, Tiber! Father Tiber! - To whom the Romans pray, - A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms, - Take thou in charge this day!” - -She felt her lips unsteady. Even to her it was more real than ever -before. She had a sudden vision of the wife who waited in that white -porch for her fighting man, holding his baby to her heart. There was -tense silence in the room. Then she steadied herself, and the story drew -to its triumphant close. - -Billy straightened himself with a jerk that shook the table and sent the -Etruscan army into a heap. But the matchbox walls of Rome, although they -quivered, stood firm and steadfast. - -“Well!” said Rex, with a great sigh. “If that’s poetry, I want it every -day!” He raised pleading eyes to Jo. “If you aren’t tired, would it -bother you awfully to read it all over again?” - - - - - CHAPTER XI - THE PATH OF KNOWLEDGE - - -AFTER that, lessons went more easily, because both teachers and pupil -understood each other better. Rex had a good deal of the quick intuition -and clear brain that had made his sister a successful Captain of -Merriwa. He realized that it was only a different method of teaching -that had transformed “Horatius” from a dull lesson into something -startlingly alive. The words had been the same all the time, only he had -not had the wit to read them until his eyes were opened. Possibly, he -reasoned, other branches of learning might have possibilities; they -might not all be mere devices for embittering one’s young life. - -His books, too, were different. To tell the truth, Mrs. Forester had -been rather horrified when she had realized the weary path her young son -had trod—a discovery not made until Helen, fresh from school, had -helped her to arrange Rex’s outfit for Emu Plains. Helen had gasped in -amazement over Rex’s books. - -“But these aren’t all he has, surely, Mother? Wherever did you get -them?” - -“I didn’t get them,” Mrs. Forester had answered. “Miss Green had them. -She brought them with her. I believe I bought them from her: she told me -most of them were difficult to obtain now.” - -“I should think they would be. Poor little kid—just fancy having to -wade through these! Why, they’re fit for boys of fifteen, if they’re fit -for anything at all—only they’re not! Every one ought to be scrapped. -Look at the tiny print, and the weary, long paragraphs. And to drag a -little nine-year-old through them!” - -“I do feel rather ashamed,” Mrs. Forester had admitted, after an -examination of Miss Green’s ancient literature. “They are really -dreadful, aren’t they? She came with high recommendations, and I thought -it wouldn’t matter if she were a bit old-fashioned—I was so much away -from home that it seemed better not to have a very young governess to -leave in charge of Rex.” - -“And didn’t he tell you he hated his lessons?” - -“Well, he did. But then so had you and Wilfred and Arthur before him,” -Mrs. Forester had said, twinkling. Helen had laughed. - -“I suppose poor old Rex has paid the penalty of our grumbles—although I -know the other boys and I never had books like that. Well, you’ll let me -send up all the things he ought to have, won’t you, Mother?”—and Mrs. -Forester had thankfully consented. - -So Rex found his new lessons taken from books that were easy to read and -pleasant to look at and to handle—books that made history a succession -of fascinating stories, and Geography something more than a weary -catalogue of place-names and products; and there was something new -called Literature, so like story-telling that it seemed impossible that -it should be really a lesson. He found new peep-holes into learning that -were extraordinarily interesting. Punctuation, under Miss Green, had -meant a collection of horrible things called “stops,” traps to catch the -unwary, for which there was neither rhyme nor reason. With the twins, -they became kind little bridges over which you stepped into -understanding just how a sentence should go: some places required big -bridges, like a full-stop, or lesser bridges, like a semi-colon, and -others only tiny foot-bridges, which were commas: but always when you -crossed them, the sense of what you read was waiting meekly for you, -instead of being a will-o’-the-wisp thing that dodged away from you and -hid itself in the mazes of a paragraph. Once you had mastered them it -was impossible to read poetry badly, and the lines sang to you as they -were meant to sing. Maps, with Miss Green, had been the dreariest -species of jigsaw puzzles; now they became pictures that helped you to -make stories wonderfully alive. When you had a twin reading you the -story of how Hawke chased the French fleet into Quiberon Bay, the full -thrill of the story came home if you followed his course on the map, -tracing his rush through the quicksands and shallows and roaring -breakers, his only pilot-light the flash of the enemy guns. “It would -seem just any old bay, if you didn’t see it,” Rex said. “But when the -map makes you understand what an awful passage it was—and he did it at -night, and in a howling gale!—well, it just makes you squiggle down the -back!” - -And that is an amount of success which does not fall to all -teachers—perhaps not to many. - -Lessons ended at twelve, and there was an interval to recruit exhausted -nature before the dinner-gong sounded at half-past twelve. At half-past -two came bathing-parade, an institution for which the boys were never -late. They mustered in the verandah, with light coats flung on over -infinitesimal swimming-suits; and being joined by the twins, went, -helter-skelter, down the hill to the river. The stream was lower than -the twins ever remembered to have seen it, and in most places very -little current ran; but the bathing-pool was still good. It was formed -by a wide bend in the river; on the far side the bank rose high and -steep, but the bank near the house shelved gently down to the water’s -edge, in a little beach of fine sand. Mr. Weston had the pool always -kept clear of snags, and it was fenced in, so that the cattle could not -drink there. Trees overhung part of it: there were always shade and -coolness there, even in the hottest days. A hut, built in bush-fashion -of interlaced tea-tree poles, and overgrown with clematis and -sarsaparilla, formed a dressing-room, if needed. - -The Weston children had learned to swim almost as babies. They could -scarcely remember a time when they had not rolled in and out of the -water as they chose. But Rex could not swim, and, to handicap him -further, he had an instinctive dread of the water. When a tiny boy he -had fallen into a creek, and had been nearly drowned; and now, even to -enter running water meant a rather painful effort for him. The twins had -been warned of this, and they took him very gently. - -“You’re not going to learn to swim at all just yet,” they told him, on -his first day, as the small boy stood on the sand, looking as if he -would have shivered but for the heat of the day. - -“But I want to learn to swim,” Rex protested. “I’ve got to. I can’t go -to school with other fellows if I can’t swim.” - -“No, of course you can’t,” Jean said. “Don’t you worry, old chap; we’ll -make a regular Annette Kellermann of you before we’ve done with you. But -we won’t be in a hurry. You’ve got to learn this old pool first. Rule I -is that you don’t go beyond that rope.” - -She pointed to a cord stretched across the water. - -“Now, just you remember that the water is never more than three feet -deep on this side of that cord; and the bottom is all good, firm sand, -with no holes or snags. That’s quite deep enough for you to practise -strokes in when you feel like it. Plenty of time. We’ll sail Billy’s -yacht first.” - -Billy’s yacht was a noble craft built by Mr. Weston, and home-rigged. In -a favourable wind she sailed well, but had a disconcerting habit of -suddenly turning turtle with no apparent reason. Her builder stated that -it must be due to some mysterious flaw in her original plan, but, as no -one knew what the original plan was, this theory was scarcely helpful. -Jo’s explanation was that she had really meant to be a submarine, and -had occasional uncontrollable impulses towards this ambition. Whatever -the reason might be, this curious habit of the yacht’s lent considerable -excitement to sailing her. - -The boys played with the boat in the shallow water during the first -bathing days, Billy heroically stifling his longing for deep water so -that Rex might not feel himself an outsider; and gradually the boy lost -his first nervous terror of the cool touch of the river. Then, as the -twins saw that he was gaining confidence, they proposed a new game. They -brought to the river one afternoon a huge rubber ball, at the sight of -which Billy yelled with joy. - -“Water-polo!” he shouted. “Wherever did you get it!” - -He gave the ball a mighty kick, and it rose high in the air, to fall in -the deepest part of the pool. Billy was after it like a flash. He darted -across the pool with swift strokes, and then, turning on his back, -kicked the ball before him as he swam out again. Rex watched him -enviously. - -“Wish I could do that,” he muttered. - -“So you will, soon,” Jo said. “Come along, and we’ll have water-tennis; -you and Billy can keep the ball on the shallow side, and Jean and I will -go out in the deep part. It’s no end of fun.” - -It was indeed a glorious game for a blazing January day. At first Rex -kept prudently near the bank; but as the excitement of keeping the ball -going backwards and forwards grew upon him, he forgot himself more and -more, and a few splashing tumbles gave him increased confidence, since -he found that he always emerged safely. Soon he was as keen as Billy, -laughing, shouting, and racing hither and thither after the elusive -ball. Backwards and forwards across the rope it flew, a wet and slippery -thing that never took the direction it might reasonably be expected to -take; and after it plunged and splashed and scrambled and flopped the -small boys, yelling with glee. The twins bobbed about in the deep water, -like cheery young seals, returning the boys’ erratic services, and -keeping a keen eye on the movements of their pupil. - -“Working like a charm,” Jo said, nodding sagely. - -“Yes, isn’t it?” responded her fellow-plotter. “Look at him!—he went -right under then, and never minded a bit. He’ll be like a dabchick -soon.” - -And indeed, after three days of water-tennis, Rex revolted against the -limitations of the non-swimmer. The ball had bobbed away from him at an -unexpected angle into deep water; he flopped after it, missed his -footing, and went under. Scarcely had his head disappeared when a twin -was by his side, her hand on his arm. Rex came up, shaking the water -from his eyes, and bursting into a flood of incoherent speech. - -“Why, you’re not frightened, Rex?” demanded Jo, the twin in question. -“You weren’t really in deep water, you know.” - -“Frightened? No, of course I’m not frightened,” said Rex crossly. “I’m -wild, that’s all! It’s just too silly, not being able to swim—I’d have -had that ball as easy as wink if I could have swum two strokes. Do teach -me, Jo!” - -“My, rather!” said Jo delightedly. “Here you go—I’ll hold you.” She -swung him off his feet, her hands under his chest. “Now kick away: hands -too. I won’t let you down.” - -Rex kicked manfully, thrashing the water until the splashing almost hid -his teacher and himself. Gradually Jo induced him to calm his movements, -and they progressed up and down beside the rope. - -“Don’t try to go too quickly—you aren’t trying to increase your number -of strokes per minute, you’re learning to swim. Bring your hands well -back—remember you’re using them and the soles of your feet to push you -through the water—that’s right, now you’re doing better. Slowly does -it—now, don’t you begin to feel you’re shoving yourself along?” - -“I’m not really, am I?” Rex panted. - -“Yes, of course you are; do you think I’d walk about in the water -carrying a great lump like you?” demanded his instructor, pithily. “Not -much; and soon you’ll be doing all the work for yourself, and I’ll only -be keeping one finger under your chin; and then I’ll forget you, when I -want to scratch my nose, and take it away; and you’ll never notice, -’cause you’ll be swimming along merrily by yourself. All that keeps most -people from swimming is the idea that it’s dreadful to go under the -water; now you’ve found out that it’s really quite pleasant and homely -under there, and you won’t mind a bit. And I’ll write to your mother and -tell her you’ve developed into a young human porpoise, and she’ll be -ever so proud! And now I think we’ll have a rest,” Jo finished, panting -herself. “Stick your feet down: you’re only within your depth.” - -“Like it. Rex?” demanded Billy, swimming happily on the other side of -the rope. - -“Rather. Only I don’t know that I’ll ever go by myself.” - -“You’ll swim by yourself just as soon as you believe that you can,” -stated Jo. “You know all the movements now—that comes of practising -them on land. It’s only a question of believing you can swim—and there -you’ll be!” - -“I’m an awful hen in the water, you know, Jo.” - -“Now, that’s the very thing you’re _not_ to believe,” Jo said, -positively. “The fellow who thinks he’s a hen in anything will act like -a hen—and I simply decline to teach hens! But we aren’t going to hurry -you, old chap: we’ll have a few days of practising like this before we -let you go alone, and then it will only be inside the rope, and facing -towards the bank, so that you’ll know you’ve only to put your feet down -and bob your head up, if you go under. So don’t worry.” - -“You’re an awful brick, Jo!” said the small boy gratefully. - -“I’m not—I’m a high-class instructor!” said Jo, laughing. “Come on, and -we’ll have some more tennis.” - -They practised tennis and swimming alternately during that day and the -next, Jo and Jean taking turns in supporting their kicking pupil. On the -way up to the house, and at intervals throughout the day, he was to be -seen vigorously employing the breast-stroke; he was even discovered face -downwards across a log in the paddock, practising with his feet as well -as his arms, and gasping heavily. - -“There’s nothing in it, you know,” he said in his old-fashioned manner -to Billy. “Any ass could do the movements. Then why can’t I swim?” - -“But p’rhaps you can,” said Billy, grinning. “Jo says you can do -anything if you only believe you can. You’d better practise believing, -instead of breast-stroke!” - -“I believe I’d better,” said Rex solemnly. - -Billy awoke next morning earlier than usual. He fancied he had heard a -step: and yet there was no sound in the house. He leaned on his elbow, -and looking across towards Rex’s bed, saw that it was empty. - -This was unusual, for Rex loved his bed, and, as a rule, it was hard to -withdraw him from it. Billy was mildly surprised. There was another -sound, inside their room, and he went to the window and peeped in. Rex, -in his little coat and sandals, a towel over his arm, was just going out -into the passage. - -“Great Scott!” said Billy. “He’s off to bathe by himself!” - -A moment’s reflection showed him that this was a proceeding that should -not be allowed. He hesitated a moment over the point of calling Jean and -Jo: then he decided that he could deal with it himself. He slipped on -his bathing-knickers and coat, and trotted down the hill after Rex, just -as the twin’s alarum-clock brought them painfully from their beds. - -Ambition had been striving within Rex for four-and-twenty hours. He -wanted to swim alone: he felt within himself that he _could_ swim, if -only he might try without anyone there to witness his preliminary -struggles. Overnight he had made up his mind to go down alone to the -river, if only he could awake early enough. He had gone to sleep -urgently repeating, “I’m going to wake up at four”; he had given himself -four hard knocks on the head, a plan which—so he had heard—never -failed to rouse you at the time indicated by the number of knocks. And -whether the fact was due to one of these charms, or to his own -determination, he had certainly waked up in the early dawn. - -Bathing did not seem half so tempting then as in the heat of the day, -although it had been a hot night, and he had lain with only a sheet as -covering. Still, his mind was made up, and it was an obstinate enough -little mind; so, after a few moments’ hesitation, he got up noiselessly, -and slipped away. - -He ran down the hill as hard as he could, trying to get hot enough to be -anxious for the cool touch of the water. But he was not very thoroughly -warmed when he reached the river; and it looked lonely and dark under -its overhanging trees. He flung off his sandals and coat without giving -himself time to think, and ran in. - -Whew-w! it was cold. At the first touch of the still water his courage -almost melted. This would not do, he knew. Stooping, he splashed water -over his head and face, as the twins had taught him, and then flung -himself full-length in the shallows, knowing that once he was wet all -over, one terror would have passed. That was better. He stood up and -waded sturdily out towards the rope—just as Billy gained the bank and -dived into the dressing-hut for purposes of observation. - -Rex turned when he reached the rope and faced the bank from which he had -come, telling himself, over and over, that if he did go under he was -only within his depth. It was a comforting thought, but it needed -constant repetition, or it seemed to slip away from him—so dark and -unpleasant seemed the water. It was not at all like the warm, cheery -pool in which they frolicked daily after dinner. There was no small -effort of heroism, at length, in his sudden, clumsy dive forward. - -He went under, lost his head for a moment, and came up, gasping and -spluttering, all his courage gone, for a moment. Then he realized that -he had not tried to swim at all—that from the first his feet had been -seeking for the bottom. “Silly ass I am!” he remarked—and dived forward -again, kicking vigorously. - -Hurrah! he was swimming. One, two, three—yes, that was certainly three -strokes, and he was almost in the shallows. Another, and his knees -touched the bottom. He turned on his back, digging his hands into the -oozy sand, and kicked in an ecstasy of triumph. The rope was really -quite a decent distance away, and he had swum from it—he, Rex Forester, -who had always been scared of water! It was almost beyond belief. - -“Won’t Jo yell!” he said aloud. “I—I think I’ll swim out to the rope -again.” - -He rose and waded a few steps, and cast himself forward again. It was -quite easy this time: he made a huge splashing, but certainly the rope -was getting nearer. Then almost within reach of it, he missed his stroke -and tried to clutch the rope, losing his head for a moment. The impetus -of his kick carried him forward, under the rope. There was nothing but -deep water before him, and he did not know how to turn. Terror seized -him, and he went under. - -He rose, choking, clawing at the air. Then a leg, lean and brown and -scarred, came beside him, and, as he clutched it, a cool voice spoke -cheerily. - -“My word, that was bonza!” said Billy. “Told you you’d swim. Hang on to -my leg and turn now, and I’ll give you a start and race you in.” - -Rex grasped him, panting. Billy, on his back, was holding the taut rope -with both hands and stiffening his young body in the water, kicking -gently towards him. He drew him quietly back until the rope was within -his reach. A faint sigh of relief escaped the rescuer as Rex caught the -cord and pulled himself in until his feet were on the bottom once more. - -“You’re a nice sort of chap, scooting off to go swimming all alone,” -said Billy, bobbing up and down cheerily beside him. “Anyhow, now you -know that you can swim all right, and we’ll have no end of larks.” - -“I can’t,” Rex shivered, his teeth chattering. “I’d have drowned if you -hadn’t come.” - -“Not you!” Billy’s voice was reassuring. “You only thought you couldn’t -swim for a moment. Come along and we’ll swim in.” - -“I don’t think I will,” Rex quivered. “I’ll just wade in.” - -“Ah, don’t,” Billy begged. “You can’t say that, after the way you were -swimming about before I came in. Have a go, now—I’ll be just behind -you.” - -Thus adjured, Rex gripped his waning courage in both hands and plunged -in again. This time it was quite easy: in a moment he was near the bank -and Billy was crowing gently beside him, triumphant. - -“That’s top-hole. Cold?” - -“Rather!” chattered Rex. - -“I’ll tell you what, then—come and have a race on the bank to get warm, -and we’ll have another practice afterwards.” - -They splashed out and tore round the dry slopes like a couple of young -puppies. The sun was well up now: already it was warm with the promise -of a blazing day. In a few minutes they were glowing with heat. Down the -bank again and into the water, tumbling over each other in the shallows; -then they swam out to the rope, and back again, and round and round in a -circle, Rex’s confidence developing at every stroke. He tingled with the -joy that comes with the first knowledge that deep water has lost its -mystery and terror and has become merely a playfellow. - -“I believe I could swim right across, now!” he said, looking longingly -at the deep side. - -“Yes, but you better hadn’t—it must be nearly cow-time,” said Billy -prudently. “Come along home, or the girls will be hunting for us.” - -They trotted home gently, hugging the prospect of surprising the twins. -A knowledge of the early-morning habits of those energetic damsels -enabled them to slip into their room unperceived, and when they appeared -presently in the kitchen, ready for milking, their hats concealing their -damp heads, no one suspected them of anything more than being rather -later than usual. Faint surprise was excited by their appetites, which -seemed remarkable for the early morning, even for small boys. - -“Them’s the two to eat,” remarked Sarah, looking after them as they ran -off to milk, their hands full of food. “Here was me thinkin’ I’d enough -scones to do breakfast—but they’ve made ’em look silly. Well, you’d -sooner see ’em eatin’ than not eatin’.” - -“Yes, and Rex is looking ever so much better already,” said Jo, with -satisfaction. - -“H’m,” sniffed Sarah, who adored Billy and viewed with distrust and -suspicion any small boy so completely unlike him. “I dunno that you’ll -ever make a man of him. He’s built wrong. Think he’ll ever swim?” - -“Oh, yes—after a bit,” Jo said. “One can’t expect too much all at -once.” - -They had agreed between themselves that it would be extremely unwise to -try to hurry Rex’s development in the water; and as they followed the -boys down to the river that afternoon they reminded each other of his -disadvantages, deciding that for a week or two they would not think of -allowing him to try to swim alone. - -“I’d rather wait a month than risk him losing his nerve,” Jo remarked, -as they neared the river-bank. “It’s one thing to paddle round with -someone holding you, and quite another to find yourself with nothing but -cold water as a support. And he’s such a scared little kid. We’d never -forgive ourselves if——” - -She broke off, gaping. They had come within sight of the pool; and -there, beside the rope, the “scared little kid” was swimming solemnly, -his earnest face, with very tightly-shut lips, held stiffly away from -the water, his eyes anxiously watching for them, to make sure they -missed no detail of his prowess. At the sight of their amazed faces he -uttered a kind of triumphant snort, and promptly sank—emerging a second -later, grinning broadly. Beside him, Billy swung upon the rope, chanting -a gleeful song. - -“Well—I—never!” gasped the twins, in unison. - -“We couldn’t wait for you,” called Billy patronizingly. “You’re so jolly -slow at teaching a chap to swim!” - - - - - CHAPTER XII - RESPONSIBILITIES - - -MOTHER had gone to Melbourne, much against her will, to see the -dentist—that useful person who secures for many Bush mothers their only -chance of a holiday to the city. But on this occasion Mrs. Weston was -not in the least grateful for the trip. In better times, when a visit to -Town meant pretty clothes, theatres and smart restaurants, the necessity -for a few painful hours in the dentist’s chair never seemed a high price -to pay. But now, with so little money to spare that her beloved twins -had to work at home, the journey was merely a nuisance, and she resented -having to spend so much upon herself—after the fashion of mothers. -Melbourne was hot, dusty, and empty of all the people she knew: they -were all at the seaside or in the cool shelter of the hills. Mrs. Weston -harried the dentist until he consented to hurry through her treatment, -and thankfully sent a telegram to Emu Plains to announce her speedy -return. - -Tom Holmes brought the telegram out, driving his father’s car. A long -trail of dust marked his dash up the track through the grassless -paddock. The twins, just returned from bathing, met him on the verandah. - -“Lucky people—you look disgustingly cool,” said the stout youth, -pushing his broad Panama back from his hot forehead. “How do you manage -it?” - -“Swimming,” said Jean, shaking her damp curls. “There’s still water in -the bathing-pool, though very little in the other part of the river.” - -“Well, it’ll soon be the only place in this district that isn’t solid -dust, if we don’t get rain before long,” declared Tom. “Our billabong -and creek are bone-dry, and the river’s only a trickle. Father says -he’ll have to send every hoof off the place—not that he’s got many -left.” - -“The whole country looks awful,” Jo said. “It doesn’t seem possible that -there was ever thick green grass on those bare paddocks—or that there -ever would be any again. How are your horses, Tom?” - -“Poor as crows, except two or three that we keep in the stable. Of -course, there are hardly any here now; they’ve all gone away for change -of air,” said Tom, laughing rather bitterly. “Well, I’m generally keen -enough on being at home, but I’m beginning to feel I can stand a change -of scene myself; it gives a fellow the blues to see nothing but dust and -half-starved stock. For once in my life I’d rather drive the car than -ride; one gets about the country more quickly. That reminds me. I -thought I’d bring out your mail. There’s a wire for you.” - -“Father’s out, so we’d better open it—I expect it’s from Mother,” Jo -said. “Yes; and she’ll be home to-morrow, Jean—hooray! It seems an age -since she went away, and it’s only four days. Thanks, ever so, Tom. Do -you feel like tea? Or a lemon squash?” - -“If I’m to be strictly truthful,” said Tom, “I feel like both. A squash -would make me less like a sandy desert, and then I’d enjoy some tea. At -present, tea would be wasted on me: it would merely hiss when it struck -me, and immediately vanish in steam!” - -“Poor boy!” laughed Jo. “Come along, and we’ll brew the squash before -tea comes in. Thank goodness Father planted lemon-trees near the spring; -they haven’t the least idea there’s a drought on. Would you like a wash -first, Tom?” - -“I was afraid I looked like that,” said Tom unhappily. “Yes, please. -Bathroom on the verandah?” - -“Yes. And you really didn’t look like it, only I thought it might make -you feel a bit happier. Is it necessary to say, ‘Don’t waste the water,’ -or would you be insulted?” - -“I should think I would,” declared Tom; “we’ve got a drought of our own, -haven’t we?” He strode off, returning presently to find a brimming -tumbler awaiting him in the cool dimness of the shaded dining-room. - -“That’s gorgeous!” he declared, putting down the empty glass. “I had a -drink from the tap in the bathroom first, because, of course, no drink -is really long enough in weather like this, and——” - -“You shouldn’t have drunk that water,” stated Jean anxiously. “It isn’t -drinking-water. Now we ought to sterilize you.” - -“Any water’s drinking-water in weather like this,” said Tom, unmoved. -“Besides, it will get thoroughly boiled when I go out into the heat -again, so why worry? Water is always purified if you submit it to a high -enough temperature—and goodness knows the thermometer is doing its best -to break records to-day. How’s your pupil-teaching going, Jean?” - -“Oh, well enough,” Jean answered. “We’re beginning to feel we’re making -some progress. At first we were very scared of our job, but we are -plucking up courage now. Rex is getting much more like an ordinary boy, -and that’s a comfort. We were afraid he’d never be ordinary, but it’s -surprising to see how soon polish like his disappears among plain and -honest folk!” - -“Is that what you are?” Tom demanded, round-eyed. - -“Yes—very plain and honest. Don’t you dare to say we’re not, Tom -Holmes!” - -“All right,” said Tom, meekly; “I won’t; only just you remember it -wasn’t me that said you were plain. And what about the riding-lessons? -Is the kid shaping well at that?” - -“Oh, rather. Father says he took to it from the start like a duck to -water. He goes cantering round the home-paddock now on old Merrilegs, -with Billy on one of our ponies. Sits well too, and he has good hands. -He tried to jump a log the other day, and came to grief, but he didn’t -mind.” - -“He wasn’t hurt?” - -“Oh, no. You see, Merrilegs has ideas of his own about jumping, now: he -thinks he’s too old, and it takes Billy all he knows to get him over a -log. So, when Rex rode him at this one—it was only a wee little log—he -just propped. And Rex shot over the log all right, except that the pony -didn’t go with him. Rex was awfully disgusted, but he wasn’t hurt.” - -“And, of course, Billy yelled with laughter?” - -“Well, that’s what Billy _would_ do,” said Jo. “All the same, I think -it’s very likely that Master Rex will go off by himself some fine -morning and get Merrilegs over that log—just as he did with swimming.” -She told the story of the boys’ early-morning bathe, and Tom nodded -approvingly. - -“Shows he’s got something in him. Well, I went to school with the other -Forester boys, and they certainly weren’t the kind of chaps to be beaten -by anything.” - -“And, of course, his sister Helen is the same. Why, she was Captain of -Merriwa!” said Jo, as though that assertion implied every possible -virtue. “Only, Rex hasn’t had a fair chance, between illnesses and being -handed over to a prim old governess who did her best to make an Early -Victorian young lady of him. He was like nothing earthly when he came, -but there’s a good deal of commonplace small boy cropping out now, thank -goodness!” - -“And how about you two?” demanded Tom, with a grin. “How’s work suiting -you?” - -“Oh, work’s all right,” said Jo shortly. - -Not even Jean knew how her twin longed in secret for the school-life -they had lost. School had always been a glad prospect ahead of them, for -Mrs. Weston had loved her years at Merriwa and she had brought up the -twins in happy anticipation of just as good a time when their own turn -should come. And it had been all, and more, that they had hoped. -Lessons, thanks to their mother’s good grounding, had been not too -difficult: out of school hours the time had been all too brief for the -packed interests, the jolly friendships, the long, intimate talks. Their -first year had gone in a happy whirl: they had looked forward to others -as good. And now it was all over. - -Not that Jo was discontented with home-life. It was not in her nature to -be discontented with anything for more than five minutes at a time. She -loved her home, and there was plenty of interest in each day’s work and -play, besides the solid satisfaction of knowing that she and her twin -were doing something really worth while—something that helped to lift -the burden from her father’s shoulders. But they were not yet sixteen: -and sometimes there came over her a wave of longing for the care-free -days when there had been no worries, no responsibilities. “We were just -kids, last year,” she thought, sometimes. “It’s a bit sudden to be -grown-up.” - -Then she would wonder if Jean thought the same. But, whatever Jean -thought, she made no sign. - -Something of this longing for the life of last year came over Jo at -Tom’s careless question. She looked at him half-resentfully: he was so -unconscious of any real worries, although he grumbled cheerfully at the -heat and the drought. They really touched him very little: he would go -back to school, bored at going, feeling certain that before he returned -the drought would be broken and the country smiling again. He was a year -and a half older than they, and yet he was only a child, playing: and -they were workers—— - -She gave herself a mental shake. - -“Well, you are a pig, Jo Weston!” she addressed herself silently. -“Jealous and bad-tempered, and altogether piggish! Be ashamed of -yourself!”—and forthwith smiled cheerfully at the unconscious Tom. - -“Work’s really rather a lark when you get going,” she stated -unconcernedly. “We get a lot of fun out of it.” - -“Well, you both look as if you were always on the grin,” said Tom. -“Goodness knows, there’s not much laughing going on at our place. -Father’s always growling at the drought, and Mother says she’s tired of -looking at bare paddocks and she means to have a flat in Town. And -Father says he’d rather be shot than live in a flat. So there it is, and -I’m beginning to think it won’t be so bad to go back to school, though -the bare idea of swotting over Latin gives me the creeps. Hullo, Sarah! -how are you?” - -“I’ve been better, and I’ve been worse,” said Sarah, non-committally, -putting down a loaded tea-tray. “And how’s yourself, Master Tom?” - -“Oh, first-rate,” Tom said. “Is it hot enough for you, Sarah?” - -“That’s one of them questions as ought to be put down by an Ack of -Parlyment,” said Sarah testily. “I druv into the township with Miss Jean -yesterday, an’ it was just as ’ot as ’ot: an’ every one arsked the same -thing, no matter what shop I went into. A body knows she ain’t lookin’ -’er best with ’er face the colour of a tomato an’ perspiration droppin’ -off ’er forehead, an’ it sort of rubs it in to be arsked all the time, -‘Is it ’ot enough for you?’ Anyone lookin’ at me with ’alf an eye could -see it was a good deal more’n ’ot enough for me. But they kep’ on -arskin’, all the same.” - -“Sorry,” said Tom, laughing. “Stupid of me, Sarah—but when it’s as hot -as this all one’s brain turns to dough.” - -“Oh, ’ot!” said Sarah, with scorn. “It makes me tired to hear every one -growlin’ about the ’eat, and sayin’ there was never such a drought.” - -“But you said yourself it was hot yesterday,” protested the bewildered -Tom. - -“Well, I did; an’ it _was_ ’ot. But I don’t go growlin’ all the time. -Summers ain’t nothing to what they was: I tell you, in my young days -’eat was ’eat, an’ drought was drought, an’ no mistake. Just you think -what summers was twenty years ago—oh, well, of course you can’t”—as -her hearers shouted with laughter—“but any’ow, you can take my word for -it we knew what temp’rashur was! Soarin’ well above the ’undred for a -fortnight on end. An’ droughts lasted years. Nowadays, every one thinks -they’re killed if they get a few days’ ’eat, an’ a bit of a drought like -this makes ’em think the world’s comin’ to an end.” - -“Oh, I don’t know about that, Sarah. But it’s bad enough.” - -“Aw, bad!” sniffed Sarah. “Them old droughts was bad, if you like, when -the ground was as bare as Collins Street, an’ all the sheep got boiled -down for tallow. An’ there wasn’t the grumblin’ then that there is now.” - -“Gammon!” said Tom unexpectedly. “Don’t tell me people didn’t growl, -Sarah. Why, anyone on the land will growl even in a good season, let -alone a bad one. Did you ever know a man on the land who was satisfied -with the weather?” - -“Well, no, I don’t suppose I did,” admitted Sarah, gazing with some -amazement at her opponent. “Farmers an’ sich especially: you can’t -please ’em with weather, not if you made it to order. But what I do say -is, that it’s no good grumblin’ an’ grousin’, even if there is a bit of -a drought. Keep smilin’, an’ it’ll rain some day.” With which philosophy -Sarah collected her temporarily scattered forces and withdrew. - -“She didn’t say that, at all, of course,” remarked Tom. “At least, I -don’t think she did, but Sarah’s so eloquent, when she gets going, that -I’m really not sure. I’d love to take her last bit of advice home to -Father and give it to him when he was being really excited about the -drought. ‘Keep smilin’, an’ it’ll rain some day!’ But I’d wish to be -well out of his reach when I delivered it.” - -“You’d think Sarah was such a Tartar, just to listen to her, wouldn’t -you?” laughed Jean, pouring out tea. “And she’s really so mild she’d eat -out of your hand. She’s been teaching us the proper way to turn out -rooms, and polish floors, and to keep the silver, in the hope of making -us what she calls ‘house-proud.’ She says no woman is any good unless -she’s house-proud.” - -“Whatever’s that?” asked the bewildered masculine hearer. - -“Oh, being mad keen on one’s house, and having everything ‘just-so.’ -It’s really rather fun, too, only poor old Sarah’s so quaint over it; -she shows us how to do a thing with heaps of ‘elbow-grease,’ and then -she sighs over our doing it at all, and begs us to go and rub cold cream -on our hands or they’ll never be as nice as Mother’s! Which they -certainly never will,” added Jean, placing a brown paw on the table near -her twin’s. “And then she goes and hurriedly cooks something we like for -tea. But if we thank her she only looks down her nose and mutters -something, and, if you didn’t know her well, you’d think she was -offended at being thanked at all. But she’s a darling when you do happen -to know her.” - -There was a pounding of horses’ feet in the paddock, and Jo ran to the -window. . - -“Father and the boys are coming!” she cried. “They’ve been out to one of -the back paddocks. Look at Rex, Tom—doesn’t he ride decently, for a -new-chum?” - -There was a cloud of dust, out of which the forms of the riders were -looming indistinctly. Old grey Merrilegs came along at a smooth, easy -canter, his rider bumping a little, but clearly happy. Mr. Weston rode a -little to the right, on a big, good-looking bay, and Billy scampered in -front on Punch, Jean’s pony. He rode as if he were part of the little -black he was on: his hands down, his head up, all his merry face flushed -with excitement. - -“Rex’ll never ride like Billy,” said Tom, watching him. - -“Oh, but Billy has been on a horse ever since he was six months old and -Father used to take him out in front of him,” Jo said. “Billy can’t help -riding. But Rex is not bad, now, is he?” - -“No, indeed, he’s not. And with goggles, too—I always think glasses -must be terribly hampering to a kid,” remarked Tom. “Oh, he’ll do, if -only you people can keep him for a bit. It would be no end of a pity if -he wasn’t able to follow up his big brothers at Grammar: they’ve been -such good all-round men.” - -“He’s going to be just as good as they are,” declared Jo hotly. “When he -gets stronger he’ll probably be able to leave off the glasses -altogether—the oculist said so. And his muscles are developing -already.” - -“Yes, and he can box, too,” chimed in Jean. “Father gives them lessons -every night, and he says Rex will have a punch like the kick of a mule!” - -“And you’re just like a pair of old hens with a turkey-chick,” grinned -Tom. “You know what delicate little squeakers they are at first—have to -be fed every hour, and all that sort of thing. And then, suddenly, they -get big and strong and turn into proud gobblers! Take care, or that’s -what young Rex will be doing—and proud gobblers have no sort of a time -when they go to school.” - -The twins laughed, but they accepted the big fellow’s warning meekly -enough. - -“We’re going to be awfully careful, really. He’s such a nice kid—when -he isn’t polished—that it would be easy to spoil him; and then, it does -feel as if he really were our own turkey-chick. And we keep remembering -how small he is, and that his mother’s thousands of miles away. But -we’re trying hard to keep our feelings to ourselves, when he’s about: -and Father has promised to come down on us heavily if he sees any signs -of molly-coddling. So perhaps there’s hope.” The twins, who had rendered -these remarks in a composite fashion peculiarly their own, paused, and -looked anxiously at Tom, who suddenly loomed before them as a possible -Grammar School senior what time Rex might be joining as a palpitating -junior. - -Tom nodded, aware of his masculine superiority. - -“Oh, if Mr. Weston’s keeping an eye on him he won’t go far wrong,” he -said—and then Sarah stalked in, tall and grim, with a loaded tray. - -“I made the biggest pot of tea,” she explained, “seein’ as ’ow they’ll -all be dusty and thirsty. They’ll be in in a minute; they’re washin’ -themselves up now.” - -“Thanks, Sarah dear,” said Jean. “Oh, and, Sarah—Mother’s coming home -to-morrow.” - -Sarah’s dour face suddenly softened. - -“That’s good news!” she said. “Some’ow the place is just an ’owlin’ -desert when she’s away. Did she say if the dentist ’ad ’urt her much?” - -“She didn’t say—there’s only a telegram,” Jean answered. - -“I wish she ’ad,” said Sarah anxiously. She left the room, evidently -dissatisfied with the deficiencies of telegrams. They heard her joyfully -informing Mr. Weston, in the hall, of the news. - -“Mother coming home!—that’s great!” he said, coming in. “You’re the -mail-man, I suppose, Tom—many thanks. We didn’t expect her so soon. -Yes, I’ll be glad of tea, twinses: it’s awfully hot and dusty in the -paddocks, and my two boundary-riders must be as thirsty as I am. Here -they come”—as the boys clattered up the hall. “Any news, Tom?” - -“Nothing that I know of—barring drought,” Tom answered. - -“That’s not news now, worse luck!” Mr. Weston said. “It’s what you might -call ancient history turned into an established fact. Well, I heard some -news, and it isn’t good news, either: a man who was mending a fence next -ours told me there are big fires at Gulgong Flat, fifteen miles away. -Several poor souls have been burned out, and a lot of damage done. Of -course, with such a season, it’s a wonder that we have not had fires in -the district before this: had there been more grass to carry them they -would certainly have come, for the whole country is as dry as a stick.” - -“Father was saying a good many fires have started, but they have been -quickly got under,” Tom remarked. - -“Yes—that’s one advantage of a drought. Fires won’t run over bare -ground, and most of the paddocks are bare enough. Even the roadsides -have been eaten right out by travelling stock. But there is plenty of -lightly timbered country about Gulgong Flat, and of course fire will -travel very fast in that. We can only hope they will get it under before -it comes our way.” - -“Well, Emu Plains is safe enough, Mr. Weston,” said Tom. - -“The house is, of course. There’s scarcely any chance of danger here, -for there’s no grass to carry a fire up to us, and no timber to speak -of. But I don’t want my back paddocks burned out—that’s about all the -grass I’ve got left; and I can’t afford to lose fencing. We may have to -move the cattle in a hurry, if the fire spreads; the boys and I rode -round them to-day, and drove them out of the timber, to accustom them to -the move, in case it has to be made.” - -“It was grand fun,” said Rex. “And, Jean—I jumped a log, and I didn’t -fall off!” - -“Didn’t I tell you you would?” said Jean, smiling at him. “How are the -cattle, Father?” - -“Well, they’re holding their own, and that’s about all one can say,” her -father answered. “The water is good, of course: that helps a lot. -Goodness knows, there can’t be much nourishment in the sort of grass -that’s left, but, somehow, they are managing to pick up a living. I -suppose, some day, if rain doesn’t come, they’ll decide that it really -isn’t worth while, and they’ll lie down and die. But there’s always hope -that rain will come.” - -“Then we’ll all go and sit and watch the grass grow and the cattle get -fat,” said Jo. “Won’t it be fun, Rex?” - -“Will they really get fat while you look at them?” asked the small boy, -round-eyed behind his spectacles. - -“Rather,” said Tom. “Of course, there are a few shy ones, which don’t -like getting fat in front of people, and they make for the scrub!” - -“I don’t think that’s true!” said Rex solemnly. At which everybody -laughed, and Jean offered him a cake, which he ate in puzzled silence, -pondering on the queer ways of country folk. They were very jolly, Rex -thought, and he had quite made up his mind that when he was grown-up he -would own a station and manage it himself. But there was no doubt that -they were sometimes difficult to understand, and occasionally they -talked a language all their own, full of words that were quite -unfamiliar to him. He had mental notes of several queer expressions he -would ask the twins to explain: Why bullocks were “poor as crows,” and -why a crow was poor, anyhow; and what it was that cattle held when they -were said “to hold their own,” and how did they hold anything? Rex had -ridden that afternoon round more cattle than he had ever been near -before, but none of them were attempting to hold things, their own or -anyone else’s. He longed to catch a twin by herself, that he might ask -her. Other people might—and did—laugh at him; but never the twins. - -Tom said good-bye presently, and they all went out to the gate with him, -after the friendly Bush fashion, and watched him disappear in a cloud of -dust. The twins hurried back to take out the tea-tray. - -In the kitchen they came suddenly upon Sarah, who straightened up -guiltily at their approach. But the twins had seen, for a moment, a -bowed head, her face hidden in her hands; and as she turned from them to -stir a saucepan which obviously contained only hot water they saw that -she was pale, with heavy rings under her eyes. Jean looked a minute, and -then put down her tray. - -“What’s the matter, Sarah?” - -“There ain’t nothing the matter,” Sarah said. “What would there be?” - -“I don’t know,” said Jean. “But there’s something, all the same. Tell -us, Sarah dear—let’s help.” - -“Well, I’ve just a little ’eadache,” admitted the gaunt handmaiden. - -“It must be a pretty big headache, to make you look like that,” Jo said. -“You might as well tell us, Sarah, old thing.” - -“It’s me rubbishy old neuralgy,” Sarah said, capitulating. “I do get it -’ot an’ strong, an’ that’s a fack. Comes all over me ’ead. I been tryin’ -to beat it all day, but it’s near got me down. It’s like a red-’ot knife -goin’ in an’ out of me left eye.” - -“Why, you poor old dear!” cried the twins. “Why didn’t you tell us?” - -“Oh, I ’ates makin’ a fuss,” said the sufferer. “I did ’ave thoughts of -goin’ to tell you, when I seen you come back from bathin’: an’ then Mr. -Tom came, an’ on top of ’im the news of the Missus comin’ ’ome. An’ I -can’t go an’ get sick just as she comes. So I determined not to be. But -the pain seems a bit ahead of the determination: I expect it got a -start.” - -“Well, you’re just going to lie down now,” Jean said firmly. “Real -lie-down—dress and shoes off: and you’re not to come out again -to-night, or to-morrow, or until you’re better. I’ll come in ten minutes -with a cup of tea and some aspirin.” - -“But the tea!” groaned Sarah. “I got a potato pie made, but, of course, -it ain’t time to put it in. Lemme stay till I’ve washed up after -tea——” - -The twins each took an arm, and propelled her, gently but firmly, -towards the door. - -“I guess we’ll manage the pie,” Jo said, with the firmness possible to a -cookery prize-winner. “Now, we’re coming in ten minutes, Sarah, and just -you be lying down, or there’ll be awful trouble.” - -They found her, pale, but protesting, when they visited her room, and -having administered tea and aspirin, bathed her throbbing brows with -eau-de-Cologne. - -“That’s lovely,” she admitted. “My word, it’s great to be lyin’ -down—but I do ’ate leavin’ everything to you. It don’t seem fair, when -you’ve all the work you ’ave.” - -“Now, will you just be a sensible old thing and not talk rubbish!” Jean -said, giving a final dab with her little sponge. “What do you think -Mother would say to us if she came home and found you doing the work and -looking like a demented ghost?” - -“Demented I was beginnin’ to feel, an’ no mistake,” said poor Sarah -wearily. “You really won’t do any more than you ’ave to, will you, me -dears?” - -“We won’t start cleaning the kitchen, if that’s what you mean,” said Jo, -laughing. “Go to sleep, if you can, and forget about everything until -you wake up better.” They tiptoed out, closing the door gently, and -softly danced down the passage to the kitchen. - -[Illustration: “‘Oh, we’re quite all right,’ Jo replied. ‘It’s really - great fun, Father, and we’re enjoying it. And we _do_ want to have things - nice for Mother.’” - _The Twins of Emu Plains_] [_Page 166_] - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - A JERSEY BULL - - -‟HOW’S Sarah?” demanded Mr. Weston, coming into the kitchen next morning -with a bucket of milk in either hand. - -“Well, she’s better,” Jean answered, turning from a pan of fried -potatoes. “She says the neuralgia has quite gone. But you can see that -she has had an awful night—the poor old soul is so white, with big -black rings under her eyes. We couldn’t dream of letting her get up.” - -“And she’s really too tired to fight us about it,” said Jo, who was -compounding a stew. “She says she feels as if she could sleep all day, -and of course it’s the best thing for her. So we’ve given her some tea -and toast, and darkened her room, and we’re not going near her until -dinner-time.” - -“That’s right—sleep is probably all the treatment she needs,” Mr. -Weston said. “But it’s a bit hard on you, twinses. Do you think you can -manage?” - -“Well, rather!” said his daughters cheerfully. “We’re going to have no -end of a day. Mother’s not going to dream, when she comes in, that there -isn’t a staff of liveried servants!” - -“So I should think,” said Father dryly. “What time did you two get up?” - -“Oh—five-ish,” said Jean, with studied carelessness. - -“Rather more ‘ish’ than five, I fancy. Truth now, twinses.” - -“Well, it’s going to be hot, so we thought we might as well start early. -And it truly was after half-past four.” - -“H’m!—not much after,” said Mr. Weston, laughing. “However, I don’t -mind, if you’ll take a rest after lunch. See here, girls; I’ve got -business in Barrabri, and I want to be at the sales, besides meeting -Mother’s train: I intended driving in after breakfast. Suppose I take -the boys with me? a holiday won’t do them any harm, and you’ll have no -dinner to get—except for yourselves. That, I know, means that you’ll -dine on scraps off a corner of the kitchen table, but I believe women -like that sort of thing!” - -“Father, you are just the most scrumptious person!” ejaculated Jean. - -“We won’t say we’d love to get rid of you all, but yes—well, it would -be rather gorgeous to have the day to ourselves,” Jo agreed. “We want to -make cakes, and have everything as nice as nice. Bless you! Did you say -you would like to hurry away after breakfast?” - -“I didn’t say so, but of course I will,” said Mr. Weston, laughing. -“Never say I’m not a well-trained parent!” - -“I’ll never say you’re not an understanding one,” Jean said. “Breakfast -will be ready whenever you and the boys are. Won’t the urchins be -delighted at a day in Barrabri!” - -“We want a lot of stores, Father,” said Jo. “Luckily Sarah has them down -on the kitchen slate, or we wouldn’t know what was needed. I’ll make a -list presently.” - -“Do—and put down what sort of sweets you like. I don’t believe you’ve -had any for a month.” - -“No sweets until rain comes,” said Jean determinedly. - -“Who says so?” - -“We do.” - -“Well, I haven’t said it yet,” remarked Mr. Weston, with a twinkle. -“However, we won’t discuss the point; it’s too hot. I’ll be ready in ten -minutes, if that will do, girls.” - -Breakfast over, and the boys arrayed in garments suitable for a day in -Barrabri—“and what’s more important, for meeting Mother, so just you -keep clean, young Billy!” warned his sisters—the remaining housework -was swiftly accomplished, and the twins retired to the kitchen. There -was a savoury odour of hot scones when Mr. Weston put his head in half -an hour later. - -“I’m off, girls,” he said. “Sure you have put everything on the list?” - -“Why, I hope so,” said Jean, taking floury hands from a yellow -mixing-bowl, and endeavouring fruitlessly to rub her eye with her elbow. -“Aren’t the flies awful! The list is so long that you won’t want any -additions to it, Father. Whatever you do, bring the seventy-pound bag of -sugar; there are only a few pounds in the house, and we have to make jam -to-morrow.” - -“I won’t forget,” Father nodded. “Poor little cooks, you do look hot! -Josephine, my daughter, are you trying to bake yourself?” - -“It happens without any trying, in this weather,” Jo answered. She was -kneeling in front of the open oven, which gave back her voice with a -hollow sound. “I wish they’d taught us at school _why_ a cake suddenly -rises in the middle and explodes! It looks weird, and I’m sure it won’t -be wholesome.” Shutting the oven-door carefully, she scrambled to her -feet. “It is so simple to cook things in class, with gas-stoves and Miss -Smith—this oven seems to have the Equator in the middle and the North -Pole at one side!” - -“Don’t you worry,” said Father consolingly. “It smells tremendously -good, and the scones are splendid.” He looked at his daughters, a little -wrinkle in his brow. “Don’t work too hard, twinses. Mother will be vexed -if she finds you knocked up.” - -“Oh, we’re quite all right,” Jo replied. “It’s really great fun, Father, -and we’re enjoying it. And we _do_ want to have things nice for Mother. -It would be so horrid for her to come home from Melbourne to find -everything at sixes and sevens just because Sarah was sick.” - -“She won’t do that,” said Father—“you have the house like a new pin. -Well, I must go: there’s plenty to do in Barrabri before Mother’s train -gets in.” He closed the door with a cheery farewell; and immediately -re-opened it. - -“By Jove, I nearly forgot something! That Jersey bull I sold to Joe -Harrison is in the stock-yard, and he’ll send for him during the day. -Don’t go into the yard, for he’s a nasty-tempered beast. You can tell -Harrison’s man where he is; and give the man a cup of tea when he comes, -and something to eat, for he’ll have had a twelve-mile ride.” - -“All right,” said the twins, together. - -“Thanks,” said Father. He smiled at them in the way that made it feel -most uplifting to be able to do anything for him. “Now, don’t forget to -eat some lunch yourselves. We’ll be back before four o’clock.” - -“We’ll have the kettle boiling; Mother will want her tea badly,” Jean -said. They went out upon the kitchen verandah to watch him get into the -buggy, where Billy and Rex were awaiting him, swishing with the whip at -the clustering flies. “Take great care of yourself!” they called. It was -always their good-bye to him. - -Outside, the blazing February sun beat down on the dust-coloured -paddocks, above which a heat-haze shimmered. The road ran right and left -beyond the homestead fences, here and there a little cloud of dust -showing where a horseman rode slowly. A deeper cloud marked the passage -of a flock of starving sheep, on their way to be trucked to -Gippsland—many of them doomed to die from sheer weakness on the road -before ever they should see the train. In the fruit trees outside the -kitchen window locusts shrilled ceaselessly, and grey miners—greediest -of birds—hopped and pecked, uttering long, screaming cries. The twins -took advantage of the break in their work to refresh themselves with a -cool drink from the canvas water-bag hanging under the shade of a great -walnut-tree, Jo obligingly holding the cup for Jean, whose hands were -too encumbered by flour to do so for herself. Then they dived anew into -the hot kitchen. - -It was an hour later that Jo was carrying a freshly baked cake across to -the larder—a cool room, looking south, under the walnut-tree. She -regarded her cake with a motherly eye as she went. It had baked a trifle -peculiarly as to shape; still, it bore indications of being an excellent -cake. The odour it exhaled was tempting enough to the hungry cook, and -sent her thoughts in the hopeful direction of lunch. She put her burden -carefully on a shelf, and came back across the verandah. - -A low sound met her ear; a long, growling bellow, which had come at -intervals during the morning. The Jersey bull was resenting his -imprisonment in the stock-yard, and venting his ill-temper by making -unpleasant remarks and pawing up the ground in one corner. Jo stopped to -glance in the direction of the yard. - -As she did so, the bull found a weak spot in the fence. He put his great -head under, and lifted; and the top rail shot into the air. It left a -gap that was far too much temptation for a wrathful Jersey. Jo uttered a -startled exclamation as the big brown beast suddenly rose in the air, -jumping lazily over the broken fence. He stood irresolutely for a -moment, and then trotted up the road, keeping close beside the fence, -and bellowing morosely as he went. - -Jo’s voice brought her twin hurriedly out to her side. - -“Good gracious!” Jean exclaimed. “The wicked old horror! Whatever can we -do?” - -“We can’t let him go,” Jo said. “Mr. Harrison’s man must have him, or -Father wouldn’t get the money for him. And anyhow, he isn’t safe, Jean; -he simply mustn’t be left on the road. Why, he might meet some children. -You never know who may be on that track.” - -“I don’t believe we could yard him again,” Jean said doubtfully. “Father -said yesterday that it took him all his time to handle him: his temper’s -abominable. Mother has wanted Father to sell him for ever so long, -’cause he isn’t to be trusted.” - -“If only a man would come along!” Jo uttered. - -They ran to the fence and looked up and down the road. No one was in -sight: the lane the bull had taken was a quiet one, and it was empty -save for his fast-retreating form. He trotted briskly, hugging the fence -and uttering his long, growling bellow. The twins looked at each other -blankly. - -“He’s worth such a lot of money, too!” Jean said. “Father’s going to get -ever so much for him. It’s perfectly awful, Jo!” - -Jo was thinking. - -“There are men at Moncrieff’s, of course,” she said. “But he’d be out of -sight long before we could get them, and once he gets to the cross-roads -we wouldn’t be able to tell which way he went. Besides, he might jump -into any paddock; you know, Father said that no fence would stop him -except the stock-yard. And if he did any damage he might get shot. A -policeman shot a stray bull in Barrabri last month.” She wrinkled her -forehead. “Jean, I don’t see how we’re to hold up our heads if anything -happens to him—he was left in our charge!” - -“Well, he’s left it now,” said Jean dolefully. “And Father would know we -couldn’t stop him. He wouldn’t be angry.” - -“Why, of course he wouldn’t: he’d never say a word about it to us. And -that would make it all the worse, because we’d know how bad he felt -about it,” Jo answered. “Jean, it’s no use talking, while the old beast -gets further and further away every minute. I’m going after him!” - -“After Father?” - -“No, stupid, after the Jersey! I believe I can stop him, on Pilot. At -least, I’m going to try!” - -“You aren’t going to do any such thing, Jo Weston!” said Jean -desperately. “You’ll get killed, and Father would be furious!” - -“I won’t get killed at all,” said Jo, laughing. “And I’d never have any -peace of mind if I didn’t go, and the old beast killed some poor little -youngster by the roadside. And neither would you, and you know it!” - -“Then we’ll both go,” said Jean decidedly. - -“We can’t—some one must stay with Sarah and the house. And I’m the -eldest!” - -“Five minutes!” said her twin, resentfully. “That’s not fair, Jo!” - -“No, it isn’t, I know,” admitted Jo, hugging her penitently. “I didn’t -mean it, Jeanie darling. But you know Pilot is just a bit handier with -cattle than Punch is, and I’m used to him—I know I’d better go. Oh, we -mustn’t waste time arguing about it. You run and get Pilot, and I’ll fly -into my riding things.” And Jean, silenced, but inwardly protesting, -ran. - -The ponies were in the little paddock near the house. They were -accustomed to being caught in the open; even if Pilot felt puzzled at -being bridled by the wrong twin he made no objection. By the time Jo, in -coat and breeches, came running from the house, he was ready; a -handsome, eager little black pony, dancing with impatience and with -disgust at the swarming flies. Jo swung herself into the saddle. - -“Do be careful, old girl!” Jean called. - -“Of course I will,” Jo answered briskly. “Put the sliprails of the yard -down, in case I bring him back, will you, Jeanie?” - -She waved her hand gaily, and in another moment was galloping up the -road. - -Far ahead, the Jersey bull was only a little dot upon the wayside. He -was travelling fast, and probably his temper was, as yet, none the -better for the exercise. Jo shuddered to think of what might happen if -he encountered any of the Bush children, who are, as a rule, fearless of -any animals. Little children would very certainly not think of getting -out of his way. - -She dug her heel into Pilot, giving him his head: and the black pony, -glad to be out again, after long days in the paddock, answered promptly. -His long stride soon lessened the distance separating them from the blur -of dust ahead. From the house, Jean watched them anxiously, until a bend -in the road hid them from sight. Then she turned with a little sigh, and -hurried back to the neglected kitchen, resolving to have all the work -done before Jo’s return. But it was certainly hard to be the one to stay -at home. - -It was near a little clump of trees that Jo first came up with the -Jersey. The shade had tempted him to pause; he stood under a wattle, his -angry head low, until the sound of galloping hoofs startled him. Quite -well he knew that hoofs would come; but he had not the smallest -intention of waiting for them. As Pilot and his rider came into view he -went off again, this time at a heavy gallop. - -“Bother the old thing!” said Jo, pulling up. “We’ll let him run a bit, -Pilot: he’ll stop much sooner then.” - -She waited until the bull dropped once more into a jog-trot. Then she -cantered on, keeping this time on the opposite side of the road, in the -somewhat vain hope of inducing the fugitive to think she was merely out -for a ride, with no intention whatever of interfering with his -excursions. But the bull knew the pony, and he was not easy to deceive; -he quickened his pace whenever the hoofs came nearer, and so the miles -steadily increased between them and the Emu Plains homestead, now far -out of sight. Jo set her teeth at last. - -“Well, this may go on all day,” she said. “We’ve simply got to head him, -Pilot. Come on, boy!” - -Pilot was very willing. He was galloping before the bull realized it. -There was a minute of uncertainty, and then the pony forged steadily -ahead, still keeping on the far side of the road—not turning until they -were a hundred yards in the lead. Then Jo swung round suddenly, pulling -up across the bull’s path. The Jersey came on steadily. She swung her -light stock-whip free, with a sharp crack, and, shouting, rode to meet -him. - -The bull was in much too evil a frame of mind to care for a girl on a -small black pony. He bellowed defiance, keeping close to the fence, and -scattering the dust as he came. The stock-whip spoke again, the lash -falling across his face; but it was not the heavy thong to which he was -accustomed, and, while it made him angrier, it did not turn him in the -least. He put his head down and charged, making a savage thrust with his -cruel little horns at the pony, missing Jo’s leg by a hair’s breadth. -Pilot danced aside; and then they were once more in the rear, and the -broad, brown back, with the switching, angry tail, seemed to fill the -road in front of them. - -“Well, you are an old pig!” said Jo, in heartfelt accents, to the bull. -“Come on. Pilot!” They galloped in pursuit again. - -An hour later, they were still pursuing. Four times they had managed to -head the bull, and each time he had beaten them, becoming, with each -victory, more and more unmanageable. Only a man on a good horse could -have turned him now, for all his wicked fury was aroused, and from being -merely bad-tempered he was actively vicious. Twice, Pilot’s quickness -alone had saved Jo from disaster. Now, she was very tired, and her arm -felt almost useless, so cruelly did it ache from trying to use the -stock-whip. Tears were not usual with the twins; but Jo was not far off -them. - -“We’ll never get him back, Pilot!” she said miserably. - -They rounded a bend in the road, and ahead a little cottage came into -view. At sight of it Jo caught her breath. Out in the road before it, -two little blue figures were playing happily in the dusty grass. - -No one else was in sight: before her loomed only the bull, bearing -steadily down on the children. Jo forgot her weariness; forgot -everything but those little, helpless figures. Next moment Pilot was -going at racing pace—up the road, past the galloping bull, on and on, -his rider shouting as she bent forward on his neck. “Run! Get inside the -fence!” - -They were very little children; too young to understand or to be afraid. -They looked up at the flying pony with wide, interested eyes, never -thinking of moving; unheeding Jo’s wild cries to run within the shelter -of the garden fence so near to them. The sound of the racing hoofs and -the wild cries brought a man to the cottage door—and in a moment he -also was shouting, running wildly; knowing himself too far off to be of -any use. - -The bull was very close as Jo flung herself from Pilot’s back, leaving -him, with a little dry sob, to shift for himself. She caught a child in -each hand and raced for the garden gate, as the bull, bellowing, put -down his head and charged. - -It was so near a thing that the father, running madly down the path, -held his breath in despair; so near that Jo felt the bull’s hot breath -as she flung herself at the gate. Had it been latched, all had been over -with them; but the children had left it unfastened—it gave as they -touched it, and in a second they were through. Jo freed one hand to bang -it behind them. She heard the latch click—heard the thud of the bull’s -shoulder as he came heavily upon the stout gate-post. Then her foot -caught, and all three went down in a heap. - -The man who came, racing, picked her up even before he looked at the -badly frightened children. His breath came and went in gasps—even as -Jo’s did. - -“Well!” he said, and stopped at that. - -“I’m sorry,” Jo said apologetically. “Father would be awfully annoyed if -he knew that horrid old Jersey had given anyone a fright!” - -“It’s thanks to you I’ve got my two kids,” said the man, gasping. -“There, that’ll do, Jimmy—you’re not hurt, lad. I—I never saw anything -like it. Sure you’re all right, Miss Weston?” - -“I’m all right, I think,” Jo said. Suddenly she felt queer, and sat down -on the grass. “I’ll just sit here a moment. How did you know my name?” - -“Bless you, I know the pony,” he said, looking at Pilot, standing -quietly by the road. The bull was already a hundred yards away, trotting -steadily. “I’ll go and catch him.” He went out and secured Pilot, -putting his bridle over a post, in the shade of a grevillea tree. - -“You’re sure he’s all right?” Jo questioned anxiously. - -“Right as rain.” The man’s ruddy face was still queerly white. “If I’m -not mistaken that’s the bull I was going to take to Harrison’s this very -day. Was you bringing him yourself?” - -“I?” said Jo. “Good gracious, no! I didn’t even know that Mr. Harrison -lived in this direction. The bull was left in our charge, and he got -out. I was trying to get him back.” - -“You!—you mite of a thing!” said the man, staring. “Well, he’s brought -himself not far from Harrison’s, and saved me a nice, hot ride—but it’s -you that’ve had the worst of it. Just you come in, and my missus’ll make -you a cup of tea while I take after the old brute. I’ll have him in his -new paddock inside of half an hour. Sure you’re all right?” he queried, -anxiously. - -“I’m all right, thanks,” Jo said, getting up stiffly. - -“You’ll be better when you’ve had a cup of tea. I’ll give the pony a -feed while you’re resting, and you can ride back comfortable when he’s -had it. Come along, now.” He swung a child aloft on each shoulder. “My -missus’ll have something to say to you when she hears about this!—the -very pluckiest——” - -His voice stopped uncertainly, and Jo, suddenly aware that she was very -tired, followed him up the garden path. - -The wife proved to be not excitable—which was, perhaps, as well for Jo. -Her motherly eyes took in the girl’s strained face at a glance—she had -quietly established her on an old sofa in the kitchen before her husband -had finished the story. Even then, she said little. She caught the -babies to her for a moment: then, putting them aside, brought water and -bathed Jo’s face and hands, and presently had a cup of tea beside -her—the universal medicine of the Bush. As she put it down she stooped -suddenly, and kissed the girl’s hand. - -“There ain’t no sayin’ ‘thank you’ for what you’ve done for us,” she -said. - -When her husband came back, within an hour, he brought with him a man -who greeted Jo as an old friend. She had drunk five cups of tea, and was -feeling rested, and both babies were sitting on top of her. Jo adored -babies. - -“Why, Dr. Lawrence!” she said. - -The Barrabri doctor patted her on the head. - -“Tim Conlan’s been telling me all about you, young lady,” said he. “Nice -hot day you’ve chosen to chase a bad-tempered bull twelve miles! How are -you, Mrs. Conlan? and the youngsters? You all look very fit. Look here, -twin—which are you? I never know!” - -“Jo,” said that lady meekly. - -“I’ve only your word for it,” said the doctor, laughing. “Anyhow, Conlan -and I have agreed that you’re not going to ride back in this heat. He -was going to drive you; but he ran across me, and I’m going past your -place in the car. You come home with me, and Conlan will bring your pony -over in a day or two. Will that do?” - -“Oh, that’s giving Mr. Conlan an awful lot of trouble,” Jo protested. -Whereat Tim Conlan uttered a kind of smothered snort, and Dr. Lawrence -laughed. - -“I think Mr. Conlan will be annoyed if you talk to him about trouble,” -he said. “Well, that’s settled. Feel well enough to start now?” - -“Oh, yes,” said Jo, giving in. “I would like to get back before Mother -and Father get home—Mother’s coming back from Town to-day. And poor old -Jean will be awfully anxious. She wanted to come after the bull too, but -there was no one to look after Sarah—she’s sick.” - -“I thought it was curious to see one of you without the other,” said the -doctor. “Be thankful you haven’t got twins, Mrs. Conlan, that you can’t -tell apart!” - -“I’m thankful I’ve got any children at all this day!” said Mrs. Conlan, -with a smothered sob. - -The doctor’s swift little car made short work of the miles to Emu -Plains, where they found a distraught Jean, on the point of setting out -on Punch, in search of her twin. - -“I simply couldn’t stand it!” she said. “How did I know if that old -beast of a bull hadn’t killed you? I had awful visions of you lying on -the road, hurt, in all the heat—I just couldn’t face Father and Mother -when I didn’t know where you were. And Sarah’s well enough to be up, so -I was coming.” - -“Poor old Jean!” said Jo. “I guess you had all the worst of it.” - -The doctor stayed to tea, partly that he might give Mrs. Weston a word -of warning. - -“She’s had rather a shock,” he said, when Jo was out of the room. “Of -course, she thinks she’s all right, being fifteen, and Jo into the -bargain, but I’d advise you to take care of her for a few days, and make -her lie down a bit, and go to bed early. No need whatever to fuss, but -just keep your eye on her. She’s had a heavy strain, finishing with a -sudden call on every ounce of physical and mental strength she -possessed. Conlan said it was almost a miracle that they escaped—only -extraordinary quickness did it.” - -So Jo found herself gently taken care of, for a few days, which -embarrassed her greatly. She rather wondered that she felt listless and -heavy-eyed; and her sleep was broken by bad dreams, in which she was -perpetually snatching babies from the jaws of unpleasant prehistoric -animals, rather like Chinese dragons. Always after one of these dreams -it seemed that Mother was beside her, soothing her with a gentle voice. -Mother had taken to sleeping on the verandah near them, declaring it was -too hot in the house. Jo found herself very glad of her nearness. And -after a few days the dreams went away, and she was a mere twin again, -much to her relief. - -Tim Conlan had brought Pilot back, and had found speech difficult when -he talked to Jo’s parents. - -“I never saw the man who’d ’ve done it,” he said. “Not in me life. The -brute wasn’t twenty yards away, and he was fair wicked: them little kids -of mine wouldn’t ’ve had the ghost of a show. All he wanted was -something to kill, and he’d ’ve done them in but for that little slip of -a girl.” He was silent a moment, his rugged face working. Like Jo, he -had had bad dreams since. - -“Well, I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to pay her back,” he said. -“There’s no payment for that sort of thing. But if I can do her, or any -of her people, a good turn, any time in me life—well, me missus an’ me -would walk barefoot fifty mile to do it, an’ glad of the chance.” - -“There’s no question of payment, as you say,” Mr. Weston answered. -“We’re thankful it was our girl who saved them. Remember, the bull was -mine—I’d never have forgiven myself if he’d hurt them. I’ve been -wishing to goodness I’d shot the brute instead of selling him.” - -“Oh, well, that’s simple waste,” said Tim Conlan, amazed. “You gotter -remember he’s a real good Jersey!” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - GENTLEMEN ADVENTURERS - - -‟MOTHER, could Rex and I go for a picnic?” Billy’s eager face showed at -the dining-room window. Behind him Rex peeped in, more sober, but -evidently just as anxious. - -“A picnic?” Mrs. Weston said, bewildered. “What, all by yourselves?” - -“Well, there’s no one to go with us,” Billy said. “The Lawrences are -coming out to play tennis, and _we_ can’t play when big people are -there. You know it’s always a case of picking the balls up, for Rex and -me, and a bit of extra cake is all we get out of it! And we’d love a -ride. Couldn’t we take some lunch and go out? It would be no end of -fun.” - -“But is Rex safe? You know, he has never gone far without Father.” - -“Oh, abso-lutely!” said Billy, with evident pride in the long word. “He -really rides quite decently now, don’t you, Rexona?” - -“I’ll give you a hiding if you call me that,” stated his guest. - -“Sorry—it was a slip,” Billy said, grinning. “Forgot you didn’t like -soap. But he can ride all right, Mother; Father says so. And we’d be -awfully careful, and keep our weather-eye out for snakes, and all that -sort of thing. Anyhow, the ground’s so bare you can see a snake half a -mile off. Oh, do let’s go!” - -“What do you say, girls?” Mrs. Weston asked. - -“I don’t think they could damage themselves, do you, Jean?” Jo asked. - -“No, I don’t think so,” her twin answered. “They’re really quite safe, -if they promise to be sensible. I’d rather you didn’t jump, Rex, when -you’re by yourselves.” - -“All right, I won’t,” Rex promised eagerly. - -“Then may we go, Mother?” - -“Well, you must ask Father. I couldn’t let you go without his consent.” - -“But may we say you say we may?” - -“Is that a poem?” asked Rex solemnly, “or just a ‘hidden-word’ -competition?” - -“Oh, be quiet, donkey!” said Billy, joining in the general laugh. “You -know what I mean, Mother—may we?” - -“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Weston. “If you’ll really promise to be careful.” -Then, as the racing feet of the petitioners carried them out of earshot, -“You really think it’s safe, girls?” - -“I don’t see how they can get into any trouble,” Jean said: “Rex can -ride quite decently, and Merrilegs is so steady. And they can swim—not -that there’s enough water in the river to drown them, even if they -couldn’t.” - -“And I do like to see Rex getting independent,” added Jo. “He’s twice -the boy he was, in that respect. They’ll feel just like men, going off -together on their own account, bless them!” - -“Father says we may!” shrilled a high, ecstatic voice from afar off: and -in a moment Rex was back at the window, flushed and eager. - -“It’s all right, Mrs. Weston! And Billy’s gone to run the ponies up, and -he says, please, twins, will you fix up some grub for us—lots of grub, -please? I’m off to help him.” He was gone, like an arrow. - -“Come along, Jo,” said Jean, laughing. “Good old thick sandwiches, with -the crust left on, I suppose. It’s a mercy we made extra cake!” - -They stood together at the yard gate, twenty minutes later, to watch the -pair ride away, each boy with a respectable parcel of lunch tied to his -saddle. Their Scout blouses bulged in a peculiar way that suggested -apples. They dug their heels into their ponies’ sides, and departed at -full gallop, uttering demoniacal yells after the approved fashion of Red -Indians. - -“Nice kids!” said Jo inelegantly. “Hurry up, Jean; I’ve got a frock to -iron, and there’s heaps to do. The Lawrences said they’d be out early.” - -It was Saturday, and the spell of heat still lay upon the land. -Everywhere was the thick blue haze that told of far-off bush-fires; -although the Gulgong Flat fires had been checked, there had been other -outbreaks, and there were miles of burnt country where charred logs and -trees were smouldering; ready, should a wind spring up, to send burning -fragments far enough to start a fresh blaze. Day after day the water -shrank in the creeks and rivers, and the little remnant of dried grass -grew less and less; day after day the worry-lines deepened on the faces -of the men who saw their sheep and cattle grow weaker and weaker. The -household at Emu Plains was cheery enough, to all outward seeming, for -Mr. and Mrs. Weston had determined that the shadow should not lie -heavily on the boys and girls there, if they could keep it from them -awhile yet. But at night, when the children were in bed, they talked -long together; and often it was hard next morning to follow the Scout -prescription,—“Keep smiling!”—which they had adopted as the rule of -the house. - -There was no shadow resting on the small boys’ solitary picnic. Beyond -doubt, it was a great adventure to ride out alone into the wide paddocks -where a hundred interesting things might happen. They were Red Indians -first; braves armed with deadly weapons and intent on scalps: they rode -stealthily in the timber, keeping a keen look-out for palefaces and -wolves; ejaculating “Hist!” when a leaf rustled, and stalking the sound -in single file, prepared for anything, from a grizzly bear to a hostile -Choctaw. Then a fox slipped away into the open, and on the instant they -were pig-stickers, bursting out of the Indian jungle. They raced after -him across a bare plain, Merrilegs hopelessly outdistanced by the -swifter Punch, until an unexpected turn on the part of the quarry gave -Rex a chance of cutting across and getting in the lead, where he -remained until the fox dived under a fence to safety. This was triumph, -and he exulted openly. - -“Yah! Beat you!” - -“He beat both of us,” said Billy, laughing. - -“Yes, but I was nearest to him when he got away. Good old Merrilegs!” -boasted Rex, patting his ancient steed. - -They ate their lunch in a shady hollow near the river. It was a noble -lunch, with a solid foundation of sandwiches and cake, and such added -details as mince-pies, dried figs and prunes, and a package of toffee! - -“There’s no mistake, the girls do know how to pack a lunch!” said the -sated Billy, lying back on the ground. A large lump of toffee impeded, -but by no means prevented, speech. - -“They’re great!” agreed Rex, similarly employed. “D’you know, I used to -hate girls!” - -“Don’t you now?” - -“Not like I used to, since I knew Jean and Jo. They’ve made me think -better of girls!” said the philosopher of nine. “The sort I used to see -at home were awful! They were all pretty old—about seventeen or -eighteen—and they used to put powder on their noses. And some of ’em -wanted to kiss me. Now that’s a thing Jean and Jo have never done!” - -“I s’pecs they don’t think you’d be up to much to kiss,” said Billy, -grinning. “I don’t, either!” - -“Nobody wants you to, smarty!” returned Master Forester. “I was awfully -afraid they would, though. But they’re so jolly and so sensible. They -really don’t seem to me like girls at all!” - -“Well, they’ve really got as much sense as if they were boys,” Billy -agreed. “I thought I’d be able to do as I jolly well liked when I heard -they were going to teach me. But——” he paused, with a grin. - -“But you don’t, do you?” - -“Not much!” said Billy. “And all the same, they never get exactly wild. -I don’t know how it is. They’ve got a queer way of just expecting you to -be decent, and so it just happens.” - -“Yes, and they’re never bossy,” Rex remarked. “Old Miss Green, now—she -just _was_ bossy. She used to finish up everything with, ‘Now, Rex, obey -me instantly!’” He imitated Miss Green’s high falsetto squeak. - -“And so you never did, I suppose?” - -“Well, not if I could help it!” - -“And didn’t you get into rows?” - -“Oh—not much.” Rex shrugged his thin little shoulders. “She hardly ever -told Mother, and if she did, I didn’t get much done to me, ’cause I was -nearly always sick.” He paused, and his face grew red. “You know, I -didn’t mind taking advantage of that then. It didn’t seem to matter, -with old Miss Green. But if I did it now, with the twins, I’d feel -awfully low-down.” - -“I should think you would,” agreed Billy. “But then, you aren’t sick -now, ever, so it wouldn’t be any good.” - -“No. But I guess I wouldn’t do it, anyhow,” said Rex, reddening more -deeply. - -This was as far as soul-analysis would reasonably take small boys, and -they fell silent, pitching dry grass-roots sleepily at the little brown -lizards that ran over some big stones near them. Presently they grew -tired of inaction, and went roaming along the river-bank. Rex had long -ago fought down his fear of climbing; they “shinned up” wattle-trees in -search of gum, and practised gymnastics on the low, swinging branches of -other trees. Then a rabbit darted out of a hole near by, and they chased -it wildly, dodging hither and thither among the stones: the chase coming -to an end when the rabbit found another hole, and whisked down it with a -final twist of his white tail. They wandered aimlessly back towards the -ponies and Rex almost trod on a big black snake, which lay sunning -itself in a dusty patch. He jumped back, with a little cry. It was the -first snake he had seen, and he had all the town boy’s dread of the evil -thing. - -“Watch-him-while-I-get-a-stick!” said Billy, all in one word. - -He darted aside, and in a moment came racing back with a stick. The -snake was just slipping away through the grass; Billy brought down the -stick with a quick blow that broke its back. - -“Run, Billy! Oh, do run!” Rex cried, shrinking back from the creature -that thrashed wildly round on the ground. He caught at Billy’s sleeve. -“You’ll only be killed. Do run!” - -“Run!” ejaculated Billy, in huge scorn. “Whatever for? He can’t move, -bless you. He’s done—his back’s broken.” - -“You never broke it, did you?” - -“Rather! He’d be a mile away by now if I hadn’t.” - -“But you couldn’t break it with a little hit like that!” - -“Oh, well, I s’pose you know all about it!” Billy uttered. “Think I -never killed a snake before? How many’ve you killed yourself, I’d like -to know? That chap’s never going to bite any one again, anyhow!” - -“But he’s not dead! He’s moving!” - -Indeed, “moving” was a mild term to apply to the struggles of the black -snake. - -“’Course he’s moving, you little silly!” said Billy, in superb scorn. -“But he isn’t getting anywhere, is he? Only his head ’n’ his tail’s -moving: ’n’ that’s only what’s called nerfs. Nerfs are things that keep -wriggling long after a snake’s dead.” - -“But he isn’t safe!” - -“Well, he isn’t if you go near the business end of him,” Billy answered, -keenly pleased with his mastery of the situation. Rex could beat him at -boxing, but when it came to dealing with a snake, he, too, was evidently -a prey to “nerfs.” “Only no one but an idjit goes near a snake’s head, -even if he’s dead. Father puts his heel on the heads of the snakes he -kills, but he made me promise not to. That chap’s back’s broken, an’ he -couldn’t never move from where he is till he died. ’Course, it would be -cruel not to finish killing him: I’d have finished ever so long ago if -you hadn’t kept grabbing at me!” - -His stick sang in the air again, and came down just behind the snake’s -head. - -“That’s done for a lot of his ole nerfs!” said Billy, darkly. He -continued the slaying of the reptile, with the thoroughness dear to -every boy. - -“’Tisn’t hard. You have a hit and see if it is. You only got to keep -your hair on an’ hit straight.” - -“Can I really?” Rex asked. Gingerly he took the stick and whacked the -unpleasant remnant of the snake. - -“It isn’t hard, is it? Do you think I killed a bit of him?” he asked, -his face glowing. - -“Oh, I s’pecs you did,” admitted Billy, who felt he could afford to be -generous. “Now you can say you aren’t quite a new-chum any more. Next -snake we meet you’ll have to tackle on your own!” - -“Shall I, really? I believe I’d be scared.” - -“Not you. It’s dead easy. Why, I killed my first when I was six, and -you’re nine!” They moved on, Rex feeling that the sum of his out-back -experiences had been considerably developed. - -The ponies awaited them under a shady light-wood tree, drooping sleepy -heads in the hot afternoon stillness. They saddled them and rode on, -looking for new worlds to conquer. - -“Where’ll we go?” Rex said. - -“I d’no. There’s so much smoke about that every place looks the same,” -Billy answered. He suddenly broke out in youthful impatience of the long -drought. “My word, I’ll be glad when we get rain! It just is sickenin’, -seeing the place all burnt up to a cinder with heat and dryness! By -rights there ought to be green grass everywhere, all thick ’n’ long, ’n’ -simply scrumptious to gallop over. I’ve seen it on these flats many a -time so high I could tie it over Merrilegs’ neck!” - -“Go on! Is that a yarn?” - -“No, it isn’t. It’s plain truth. An’ everywhere you could see cattle and -sheep, thick as anything, an’ all rolling fat. ’Cept the stores, of -course.” - -“What’s stores?” - -“Cattle that aren’t fat,” said Billy, in blank amazement at such -ignorance. “They’re stores when you buy ’em first, an’ then you put ’em -on good paddocks an’ watch ’em fatten. Then you sell ’em for heaps of -money.” - -“Is that how your father gets his living?” - -“Yes, of course it is.” - -“Then how does he get a living now?” - -“He doesn’t,” said Billy simply. - -“Well, but . . . but . . . he’s going _on_ living, isn’t he, silly?” - -“Oh, well, you don’t expect him to turn up his toes an’ die as soon as a -drought comes,” Billy said, laughing. “Of course, every one has money in -Banks and things. That’s what Banks are for. You stick money in ’em when -times are good, and then there’s something to live on when they’re bad.” - -“And do the Banks just shell it out when you want it?” - -“You bet they do. Why, they wouldn’t dare to keep it—the police would -get them. It isn’t really their money—it’s the money people have put -in. They’d just better try to stick to it, an’ I bet they’d see!” - -“Well, I don’t see what the Banks get out of it,” Rex said doubtfully. -“Who pays ’em?” - -“Blessed if I know,” Billy answered, without any sympathy for the -difficulties of financial institutions. “I s’pecs they’ve got their own -ways of making a living. The one in Barrabri must be jolly fond of -Father, ’cause I heard Mr. Holmes say to him, ‘Don’t you worry, old man: -the Bank will stick to you.’ But I know Father reckons he hasn’t got -enough money in it, an’ that’s why we’re so jolly poor now.” - -“Are you poor?” queried Rex, round-eyed. - -“Oh, horrid poor,” Billy answered lightly. “But it doesn’t seem to -matter much: we have lots of fun, I say, Rex, s’pose we ride round the -back paddock where we went with Father that day, an’ have a look at the -bullocks. I s’pect he’d be glad to know how they are; I heard him say he -must go out there next week, so we might save him the trouble.” - -“Right-oh!” Rex agreed. - -They shook the ponies into a canter, and, after following the winding of -the river for a time, struck across the paddock to a gate. Passing -through this, they found themselves in the back paddock of the Emu -Plains run. It was a wide stretch of plain, sloping gently back to the -river that formed Mr. Weston’s southern boundary, and at present it -represented almost all the grazing land on which he could still run -cattle. There was coarse grass on it, rough and poor: still, it meant -something of a living for cattle, dry as it was, for the water in the -river was good, and good water helps stock to live on very poor fare. - -There were very few cattle in sight on the plain, and the boys trotted -across to the timber near the river, where they knew they would find the -bullocks sheltering from the fierce sun. It was not very easy to -distinguish anything, so thick was the smoke-haze. Dense as it had been -all day, in this corner of the run it was worse than anywhere else. - -“My word, you’d think the fires were close!” Billy uttered. “Let’s go -over to the corner by Moncrieff’s, Rex, and see if we can see any sign -of ’em.” - -“What if we did?” queried Rex. - -“Well, it’d mean we’d have to fly round,” said Billy, speaking as one -might speak of an earthquake, without any real belief that such a thing -might happen. “Fight it, if we could: but I don’t s’pose we could do -anything to stop it. We’d have to get the cattle out, and get word to -Father. It would be rather a lark, if it didn’t do much damage. They’ve -never let me go out if there was a fire, an’ I’ve always wanted to.” He -broke off, peering through the haze: then he spoke excitedly. “Rex, I’m -not sure, but I could nearly swear I saw flames! Did you see anything? -Over there in Moncrieff’s.” He pointed to the southeast. - -“I don’t see anything but smoke,” said Rex, straining his eyes. - -“Neither do I, now, but I’ll swear I saw a flash of flames—high up. -Let’s gallop over and see!” - -They raced over the dry grass, keeping just outside the timber. The -boundary fence loomed up presently out of the haze, and then Billy -uttered a cry. - -“My word, it is burning, Rex! Look—can’t you see men working at it?” - -There were red flashes of fire coming out of the smoke-drift in the next -paddock, and, as they looked, a burning tree sent a tongue of flame -skyward. Here and there they could make out the forms of men, beating -out the fire in the grass. It was difficult to see how much fire there -was: but presently a blazing stick fell from the top of a tree, and, -caught by a sudden eddy of wind high up, sailed towards them for a -moment and then dropped, a blaze springing up the moment it touched the -grass. A man on a smart pony came tearing across to it, and beat it out. -Then he caught sight of the two little figures at the fence and galloped -to them. - -“It’s Mr. Moncrieff!” Billy exclaimed. - -“Is that you, Billy?” The man peered at them with smoke-reddened eyes. -“Is your father about?” - -“No; he’s at home, Mr. Moncrieff,” Billy said. “Is the fire very bad?” - -“Bad enough. We’re holding it at present, and, luckily, what wind there -is is helping us. But we may not be able to keep it back—if the wind -changed to the east your place will go like smoke. I’d have moved your -cattle, only we can’t spare a hand.” He looked at them doubtfully. “Are -you boys by yourselves? I suppose you couldn’t get the cattle out?” - -“We’ll jolly well try,” cried Billy. “Oh, Mr. Moncrieff, keep it back if -you can—it’s all the grass Father’s got left!” - -“I know that well enough,” the neighbour said. “Every one of us would -keep it off your father’s place if work will do it. But it’s most likely -it will beat us. Shift the stock if you can, Billy, and get word to your -father as soon as you do it: we want all the help we can get. My word, -there’s another blaze starting——!” He wheeled his pony and went off at -full gallop. - -“Come on, Rex!” Billy said, pulling his pony round. - -“What have we got to do?” Rex kicked Merrilegs into a gallop, racing -beside him. - -“Get the cattle out of the paddock, through that gate we came through. -You know how we mustered ’em with Father that day we came out? Well, -we’ve got to do the same, and as hard as we can lick, ’cause the fire -may be here any minute. If it does, I don’t know what we ought to do,” -said poor Billy, feeling suddenly that he was only a very small boy. -“Cut for the gate ourselves, I suppose: we mustn’t get trapped in the -timber. Ride all you know, Rex, an’ yell like the mischief! I’ll go in -near the river, an’ you keep towards this edge of the timber. Drive ’em -in front of you, an’ try to edge ’em out on the plain if you can, like -we did with Father.” - -The cattle were standing about among the trees, uneasy with the smoke -and with the all-pervading smell of fire. To them suddenly appeared two -small demons on ponies, who rushed at them, shouting and waving -threatening arms. Hither and thither through the trees the demons -rushed, and the noise of their yelling was as the noise of ten. It was -no use to try to evade them: no use to slink into the shelter of a clump -of bushes, or to pretend to gallop clumsily off for a few yards in the -hope of persuading them that you were an obedient bullock. Both were bad -demons: but the smaller one was infinitely the more horrible of the two, -for he was like a will-o’-the-wisp among the trees, and he rode a black -pony that was a demon in itself, and just as alive as its rider to the -ways of bullocks. The other invader was slower, but he had a high, -shrill voice that was very terrible, and his eyes seemed to be of glass, -and reflected the light in a most alarming manner. The bullocks decided -that their only salvation lay in flight. The infection of their terror -spread quickly among them, and the timber was soon full of the sound of -frightened bellowing and pounding hoofs, with the high shrill cries of -the boys sounding over all. - -“Keep looking behind you,” Billy panted, meeting Rex for a moment. -“Don’t let any of ’em break back if you can help it.” He shot off again, -yelling at a bullock that had dropped from a gallop into a jog-trot: and -the bullock shook his head in terror and galloped anew. - -As for Rex, Merrilegs had taken possession of him. Every horse on Emu -Plains was thoroughly trained to stock work, and Merrilegs was the -oldest of them all. What he lacked in speed he made up in cunning: he -had an uncanny fore-knowledge of what a beast would do, and his -twistings and turnings and sudden rushes were more like the work of a -dog than a horse. A hundred times Rex was nearly off, saving himself -only by desperate clutching at the pommel: a hundred times he barely -saved his leg from the trunk of a tree, or ducked just in time to avoid -an overhanging limb. At first he was sick with fear: and then the wild -excitement of the moment took hold of him, and he forgot himself -altogether, and let Merrilegs take him where he would. The pony did the -work: the boy clung to the pommel and drummed with his heels on the lean -grey sides, and yelled! - -In their inexperience and comparative helplessness the little fellows -accomplished what men, with quieter methods, might have failed to do. -They actually started a stampede among the cattle; and the quick sense -of overmastering fear leaped from beast to beast until every bullock in -the paddock was on the run. They burst out of the timber in a whirlwind, -converging to a point on the plain where they could see their galloping -leaders. Behind them Rex and Billy raced, with scarlet faces and very -little voices left. - -“Can you keep ’em going?” Billy gasped. “I’ll get round ’em and open the -gate.” - -He shot off to one side, crouching low on his pony’s neck; and for a -moment Rex felt blank terror. What should he do, if the cattle turned -and came charging back to the shelter of the timber? What power had he -to stop them? Luckily, the problem was not given to him to solve. Billy -kept well away from the cattle, swinging round them in a wide -half-circle; and Merrilegs dropped to a canter, keeping them moving in -the right direction, while Rex continued to utter mechanical yells in a -kind of cracked yelp. Billy swung the gate open to its fullest extent, -and then came racing back as he had gone, well out from the bullocks, -until he could swing in behind them and push them on. - -To the bullocks the open gate and the sun-dried plain beyond offered -respite from the demons in the rear. They jostled each other through the -opening, and lumbered away at full gallop, spreading out as they went. - -“We’ve done it, Rex!” Billy gasped: “an’ I never thought we would. -_They_ can’t be burnt anyhow.” His face was scarlet, and his hat was -gone, but his eyes were dancing. He held the gate for Rex to pass -through. “I say, do you think you can hurry home an’ take word to -Father? I’m going back to help.” - -“Not to the fire?” - -“Rather. Some one ought to be there to help keep it off Emu Plains. You -can get home all right, can’t you, Rex? Merrilegs will take you.” - -“I can get home all right,” Rex said. “But you—will you be safe, -Billy?” - -“’Course I will.” - -“But you said they didn’t let you go to fires.” - -“I’m letting myself go to this one,” Billy returned. “Think I’m going -home now—to sit down an’ have tea? My word, no—I’m goin’ back with the -men!” - -“Couldn’t I come too?” - -“We can’t both go—some one must take word to Father. Oh, do go, Rex!” -Billy begged. - -“You haven’t even got your hat!” said poor Rex, in a final protest. - -“I know where I dropped it—I’ll get it. Cut along, old chap!” He -latched the gate as he spoke, and, swinging round, went off at a hard -gallop, Punch’s little hoofs drumming over the baked ground. Rex looked -after him enviously, feeling suddenly lonely. Then it came to him that -after all he had a job of importance: was he not a despatch-rider? If -you cannot be in the firing-line, it is at least something to bear -despatches. The small boy cheered, and sent Merrilegs galloping for -home. - -It was a queer version of the usually spic-and-span Master Forester who -came, a little later, on the tennis-party at home. Afternoon tea was in -progress, and Jo was just handing her father a cup when the little boy -came up the path. He was still scarlet-faced, and his fair hair drooped -in a lank lock over his forehead: there was an angry red mark from brow -to chin where a branch of a sapling had struck him, swinging back after -the rush of a bullock. One sleeve of his blouse hung in tatters, and -there was a big triangular tear in his trousers, while his stockings, in -rags, hung round his ankles. His knees were scarred and cut. But he was -undeniably happy. - -Mrs. Weston was the first to catch sight of him. - -“Good gracious!” she ejaculated. “Whatever is the matter, Rex?” - -Every one was looking at him. He stammered a little as he tried to -speak. - -“There’s a fire,” he said. “Near your back paddock, Mr. Weston. I ’specs -it’s in it by now!” - -“Good heavens!” uttered John Weston, putting down his cup hurriedly. -“The cattle!” - -“Oh, we’ve got the cattle out,” Rex said, doing his best to speak -unconcernedly. “Billy and me. We had a great time. They’re all right—I -think we got them all.” - -“Where is Billy?” put in Billy’s mother sharply. - -“He’s fighting the fire. There’s a lot of men there. Billy went back to -help them. He told me to come and tell you. They’re going to do their -level best to keep it out of your paddock.” - -“John!” Mrs. Weston’s voice was a cry. - -“He’ll be all right, dear,” Mr. Weston said. “The men will take care of -him. I’ll go out at once. Jump on Merrilegs, Jean, and run up Cruiser -for me while I change: I won’t be five minutes.” He went off across the -grass with long strides, turning just for a moment to Rex. “Good boy, -Rex: you’re a real man!” he said. - -“Sit down, Rex dear,” Mrs. Weston said. - -The despatch-rider sat down. Other bearers of despatches, he knew, from -the stories he had read, finished with great excitement: generally their -horses dropped dead in the last furlong, or they themselves swooned on -delivering their message. But Merrilegs was already tearing off, with -Jean on his back: and he himself had no desire to swoon: no desire for -anything, indeed, except for tea. He eyed Mr. Weston’s untasted cup -wolfishly, and licked his dry lips. There was no sort of polish left to -him. - -“My word, I’d like that cup of tea!” he said. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - SUNDAY AFTERNOON - - -‟JUST as close a shave as anything could be,” John Weston said. “It came -into our paddock and burned about a chain of fencing: and then the wind -changed. It had been chopping about a bit, they said: not much of it: -but suddenly it blew steadily from the west. And so we’ve still got our -grass, Mary girl!” - -“Thank goodness!” she said. “And thanks to every one who worked for us!” - -“Yes, indeed,” said her husband. “Half the district seemed to be there -when I got out; it’s queer how the news of a fire will travel quickly in -some directions. Some one passing in a motor saw it in Moncrieff’s, and -sent the word along. That big fellow Conlan—Jo’s friend—was there, -working like a tiger. Was Billy very done?” - -“Yes, absolutely. The man who brought him home said he had almost to -hold him on his pony: he was just dead with sleep and fatigue. He drank -two cups of hot milk and was asleep before he had fairly swallowed the -second. I undressed him and put him to bed without even washing his dear -old dirty face; and he’s asleep yet.” - -“Poor little chap!” The man’s voice was very tender. “They said he -worked splendidly, galloping from place to place to beat out fires from -flying embers: they wouldn’t let him beat near the main fire, much to -his disgust. Mary, how on earth those kiddies managed to get the cattle -out beats me! Moncrieff said it seemed no time after they went after -them that Billy was back, saying all the bullocks were out.” - -“As far as I can gather from Rex they just got them on the run and kept -them running,” Mrs. Weston said. “Rex mentioned that they both yelled -like fury: and certainly he has no voice left to-day. You must be very -tired, John.” - -“I’m not: I’m too thankful,” he said. - -It was noon, and he had just ridden in, after having spent the night at -the fire: for although the most acute danger was over, trees were still -blazing in Moncrieff’s paddock, and a change of wind might have carried -sparks into the dry grass on Emu Plains. It would be necessary to watch -until the last tree was burned out. - -“I thought the twins might go out and keep guard this afternoon, while I -have a sleep,” he went on. “They would like to be in it: and there’s no -hard work required, only watchfulness. I’ll go out again to-night. -Conlan’s chopping down two of the worst trees.” - -“What—is he still working?” Mrs. Weston asked. - -“Can’t hunt him away. He says he has nothing particular to do—he has a -farm of his own, you know, and does odd work occasionally for Harrison. -I believe the poor chap thinks he’s working off a bit of his debt to Jo. -As things stand, Mary, it’s a very lucky fire for us. It means that we -have a big break of burned country between us and further danger. It has -done Moncrieff good, too—cleared up a very dirty paddock, all over -fallen trees and rubbish—a harbour for rabbits. He had no stock there, -so he’s lost nothing except a little fencing. Moncrieff is jubilant.” - -“Perhaps the luck is turning,” his wife said, smiling. - -John Weston sighed. - -“It’s taken a long time to turn,” he said; “and there’s no sign yet. -Half the district will be ruined if rain doesn’t come while there’s -still warmth enough to bring on the grass. It’s over a year since we had -a good rain. Do you know, I almost thought it was coming this morning: -it was very cloudy, and there was a sort of feel of rain in the air. But -it blew over, as it’s done hundreds of times.” - -“I know,” said Mrs. Weston. “I was up at daylight, looking out for you: -and I was almost hopeful. But my toe wasn’t aching!” - -Her husband laughed. - -“Your old toe!” - -“But it always ached for rain, John!” - -“Then it’s had such a long spell it must have forgotten to ache,” said -he. “For which you should be thankful.” - -“I’m not,” she replied. “It’s better to have my toe aching because of -rain coming than the whole of me—mind and body—aching because rain -doesn’t come. You’ll see me dancing with joy if my toe ever aches -again.” - -Mrs. Weston’s private barometer was a standing joke to her family. As a -girl, her toe had been broken in an accident: and ever since, when rain -was coming, it ached, more or less. Now, however, it had not manifested -itself for over a year, and its queer warnings had been almost -forgotten. - -“May I see the dance soon!” said her husband, almost solemnly. “By the -way, that fellow Conlan was giving me a chance of buying sheep last -night.” - -“And feed with them?” Mrs. Weston queried, drily. - -“Feed? Well, yes, as it happens. It would be rather a chance, if one had -ready money—and pluck. A cousin of his named Murphy, a queer old chap, -has just been left a property in Ireland, and he’s anxious to clear out -at once and go back to take possession of it. He rents a place ten miles -away, on Reedy Creek, where he runs sheep. His lease has only a couple -of months to run, and he’s willing to forfeit that, or to give it in to -any one who’ll buy his sheep. Dirt cheap, too, they are. But, of course, -no one’s buying stock now, especially for ready money, which is what old -Murphy wants. In two months’ time this country will be like the Sahara, -unless we get rain.” - -“What a chance—if rain should come!” said his wife. - -“Rather. But it would be simply a gamble: of course the sheep are as -poor as crows, Conlan says. They can scratch up a sort of a living, but -they couldn’t travel. That’s the sort of gamble a man can face if he has -a good fat balance in the Bank: not unless. Conlan was very sorry. He -brought me the offer first.” - -“What did you tell him?” - -“Told him I guessed he had as much ready money as I had, just now. He -grinned at that, and said, ‘Well, indeed, I bought a pair of Injinrubber -ducks for the Missus last week, but it took some scratching up to raise -the cash!’ I told him to go to Holmes about Murphy’s sheep. But I don’t -suppose even Evan Holmes has any spare cash now.” - -He rose, yawning. - -“Well, I must see to some things,” he said. “I’ll lie down after dinner, -and have a sleep. I don’t suppose Sarah has enough wood to go on with -for the kitchen stove.” - -“Oh, yes, she has,” his wife answered, with a smile. “The twins got it. -They chopped mightily. Jean remarked that she hoped you wouldn’t notice -any logs, or you would certainly think a dog had gnawed them off! And -they milked.” - -“Did they, indeed?” her husband said. “Good old twinses! I quite forgot -that the little chaps were still asleep.” - -“Oh, Rex isn’t. But he was late: the twins wouldn’t call him. He was -very disgusted to find that they had done the outside work, and at once -went and chopped another barrow-load of wood! I think he would have -liked to milk again, but Jean pointed out that the cows wouldn’t have -been of the same opinion!” - -A quaint figure came round the corner of the verandah: Billy, in his -pyjamas, with his ruddy curls ruffled all over his head, and with his -face startlingly dirty. He came towards his father, rubbing blackened -fists into his sleepy eyes. - -“Is the fire out?” he asked. - -“All that matters is out,” John Weston said. - -“Did we get burned out, Father?” - -“No, we didn’t. And I’m proud of you, old son.” John Weston sat down, -drawing the boy into his arms; and Billy snuggled down on his knee, -cuddling his sleepy head into his father’s neck. Over the rumpled curls -the father and mother smiled at each other. - -Round the corner came the twins, with Rex between them. - -“Father! Is everything all right?” - -“Quite all right,” Mr. Weston said. He held out his hand to Rex. - -“I’ve got to thank you, old chap. You and Billy did men’s work -yesterday.” - -Rex flushed to the roots of his fair hair. - -“Indeed, it wasn’t me, Mr. Weston. It was all Billy!” - -“Bosh!” said Billy briefly, without raising his head. - -“No, it wasn’t all Billy—though I’ll admit Billy did his share. Billy -couldn’t have moved those cattle single-handed. I’m blessed if I know -how you got them out as it is.” - -“I didn’t think we had any chance myself,” said Billy, sitting up -suddenly, “with no dogs, and no stock-whips, nor nothing. So we just -went mad ’n’ yelled. And then the jolly old bullocks went mad, too, an’ -put their tails in the air an’ galloped. So we got ’em out quite easy. -It was no end of fun, if we hadn’t been anxious about the grass.” - -“You’re good kids,” said Mr. Weston, laughing. “I must say I’d like to -have seen that muster. Billy, my son, have you any idea how dirty your -face is?” - -“No, really, is it?” Billy asked, greatly surprised. He caught sight of -his blackened hands. “Why—look!” He held them out for his family’s -benefit. The family shouted with laughter. - -“Your face matches them, sonnie,” said his mother. “Go and look at -yourself; and then be off to the bathroom as fast as you can. Dinner -will be ready as soon as you are.” - -At dinner it transpired that Mrs. Weston would like to see the scene of -the fire, and that the boys were much aggrieved at the idea of not going -out: so it was decided to give the ponies a rest, and Jo drove the whole -party out in the big express-waggon, leaving Mr. Weston to sleep in the -silent house, in charge of Sarah. They offered to take Sarah too, but -the gaunt handmaiden received the invitation with a snort. - -“What ’ud I do, picnickin’ on a burnt log? An’ no one to look after the -master if he wanted anything. No, thanks. You’d better boil the billy -out there; if there’s men workin’ they’d be glad of a drink of tea. I’ll -fix it—you go on an’ get ready.” And when the iron-greys were -harnessed, she came out with a huge billy and a package of food almost -as huge. She held the gate open as they drove through—tall, erect, and -bony, in her stiffly-starched print dress, her hair screwed back from -her knobby forehead. - -“Good-bye, Sarah, old girl!” sang out Billy. “Wish you were coming!” - -“I know when I’m well orf!” responded Sarah, loftily. But her eyes were -very tender. - -There was no buggy track across the paddock: the express-waggon bumped -and rattled over the bare, uneven ground, and the water splashed from -under the lid of the billy with such persistence that it seemed as if -there would be very little left to boil by the time they reached their -journey’s end. The cattle were all back in their feeding-ground—the -gate into the next paddock tied back, in case a fire should spring up. -They looked sleepily at the rattling buggy, failing to recognize, in the -small boys sitting in the back, with dangling legs, the two demons who, -only yesterday, had chased them through the timber with horrid yells. - -Moncrieff’s paddock stretched away to the east, blackened and bare. -Smoke rose lazily from the charred timber on the ground, but only one -burning tree still stood erect. There was a steady sound of chopping -near its base, where could be seen a man, whose axe rose and fell with -machine-like regularity. As Jo pulled up the horses, a warning crack -came from the tree, and he stepped quickly backwards, looking up. Slowly -the tree swayed to one side, seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then -toppled lazily over, coming to earth with a crash. It broke into three -pieces, showers of sparks and burning fragments rising from it. The -greys leaped beneath Jo’s restraining hand; and then, deciding that they -had made a mistake, settled to calmness again. - -“That’s Mr. Conlan,” Jo said. “Isn’t he a brick, working here like -this—and on Sunday, too! And there’s Mr. Moncrieff. We must send them -home—if they’ll go. Come on, Jean, and we’ll get the horses out.” - -They unharnessed the greys and tied them in a patch of shade, while -Billy and Rex hunted for sticks to boil the billy. Moncrieff came riding -towards them as they returned to the buggy. - -“Good-day, Mrs. Weston. Nice and hot, as usual, isn’t it?” - -“It was hotter for you, yesterday, Mr. Moncrieff, I believe,” Mrs. -Weston answered, laughing. “You have had a great burn.” - -“Yes, thoroughly satisfactory, since it didn’t finish by getting the Emu -Plains grass,” said Moncrieff, a burly man with a keen, rugged face. “I -certainly was afraid that it was going to. It has done me hundreds of -pounds worth of good, in clearing up my paddock.” - -“We’ve come to relieve you, Mr. Moncrieff,” Jean said. “Father sent us -out. We’re to stay until he comes, so you mustn’t wait, after you’ve had -a cup of tea.” - -“I won’t wait for that, then, if you don’t mind, Miss Jean,” Moncrieff -said. “I’ll not be sorry to get a sleep, for I’ve been on the go for two -nights now. My wife will have tea for me when I get home.” He yawned -openly, looking at them with tired blue eyes, inflamed from the smoke. -“Great kid you’ve got there,” he said, nodding towards Billy, busily -gathering sticks a little way off. “I never saw anything quicker than he -was last night. Well, I’ll be going.” He lifted his hat—they saw a long -red burn across his hand as he did so—and, wheeling his pony, rode -away. - -“Run and tell Mr. Conlan to come for some tea, Billy,” Jean called -presently. “The billy’s boiling.” - -Tim Conlan was busy with the tree he had felled, piling the lighter -pieces about the heavier, that all might burn quickly. He came in a few -moments greeting them all cheerfully, with a special smile for Jo. - -“You’re to bathe your eyes before you have tea, Mr. Conlan,” Mrs. Weston -said. She produced a bottle of boracic lotion and an eye-bath, and -showed him how to use it. - -“Smarts like fury, but it makes ’em better, don’t it?” said the big man, -with tears streaming down his cheeks, making curious patterns in the -smoky dust that covered his face. “If you don’t mind, I’ll slip over to -the river for a wash: I’ll feel more comfortable-like.” - -“Have one cup of tea first, Mr. Conlan,” suggested Jo, handing him a -brimming cup. “Then you can really have tea when you come back!” - -The big man grinned, and obeyed her. - -“That’s too big a temptation for a thirsty man to resist, Miss Weston. -My word, it’s good!” He drained it at a draught, and then went off with -great strides to the river: returning presently much freshened. - -“That’s more respectable—though I don’t think my old woman would think -I looked respectable, if she could see me. Fire-fighting isn’t clean and -tidy work,” he said, laughing. Suddenly his eye fell on Jean, who was -proffering him a plate of scones: and then wavered to Jo, who was -handing him tea. “Holy Ann!” he ejaculated. “I say, excuse me, but which -of you is which?” - -The twins, who were dressed alike in blue print frocks, chuckled. - -“This is my sister!” they said, together, each indicating the other. The -girls at school used to say that only twins could have made remarks with -the absolute unanimity of Jean and Jo. It happened without any previous -preparation, as though the two bodies were informed by one mind. Rex and -Billy shouted with laughter. - -“Well, I’ve met one of you—and good reason I have to know it,” said the -bewildered man. “But I’m hanged if I can say which it is. Do _you_ know -them apart, Mrs. Weston?” - -“Well, nearly always,” said that lady. “I have my moments of -uncertainty, but they seldom last long.” - -“You’ve a right to brand them!” murmured Mr. Conlan, gazing -distressfully. - -“When they were smaller, I used to put different coloured ribbons on -them,” Mrs. Weston said, laughing. “But I regret to say that they used -to change the ribbons!” - -“They look as if they might do that,” remarked Tim. “Take pity on me, -and tell me which is the one I know!” - -“Make a guess, Mr. Conlan!” sang out Billy delightedly. “I don’t believe -you’re game!” - -Thus adjured, Tim Conlan favoured each twin with a searching glance, and -then, indicating Jo with an accusing forefinger, said, “You’re her!” - -“Good guess!” said Billy approvingly. - -“Well, ’tis no credit to me,” remarked Tim, at length accepting -nourishment at the hands of the laughing twins. “’Tis only that I -noticed she’d a scar on her hand, the day she was at my place: and, by -good luck, I remembered to look for it!” - -He ate a vast meal, punctuated by many cups of tea. Though he had been -up all night, and working hard for twenty-four hours, he disclaimed any -idea of being tired. He kept a wary eye on the smouldering fires, until -the twins sent Billy and Rex to patrol them: then he allowed his long -limbs to relax, lit his pipe, and “yarned” in the manner dear to the -bushman. All the time he covertly watched Jean and Jo. They strolled -across to the fires presently, and he watched them go, with a little -smile. - -“They’re wonderful alike,” he said. “But I’ve got ’em placed now. Their -hair don’t grow quite the same way, an’ my Miss Jo has a tiny mole near -her eye.” He ran over half a dozen other differences: some that Mrs. -Weston herself could not remember noticing. “I’ll not mix them up -again,” he finished. And he never did. - -“I wish the Boss could have seen his way to buyin’ old man Murphy’s -sheep,” he said, as he was preparing for his long ride home. “They’re -dirt cheap, and no mistake: if only rain comes they’ll be easy money for -the man who buys them.” - -“Yes—but if rain does not come, Mr. Conlan?” - -“Oh, rain’s sure to come some day,” said Tim, with the easy optimism of -his Irish blood. “And there’s two months’ feed, of a sort, where they -are. It’d be worth the risk, if a man only had the money. Murphy’s -pretty near ready to give them away, for cash!” - -“But cash is what no one has.” - -“More’s the pity, for it’s a real bargain. I’d like Mr. Weston to have -been the one to make a pile out of ’em. But of course no one’s buyin’ -sheep now, nor cattle either, barrin’ the chaps down Gippsland way. He’d -truck ’em there, only they’d never stand the trip.” He put his bridle -over his horse’s head. “Well, I’ll say good-bye, Mrs. Weston.” - -She put her hand into his. - -“I can’t thank you enough for helping us.” - -“I’ve done nothing,” he said. “Nothing that any neighbour wouldn’t be -glad to do. An’ where Miss Jo’s concerned—well, you can guess it’s a -relief to me to try an’ work off a bit of my debt.” - -“There is no debt, Mr. Conlan. Jo would be the first to tell you so.” - -“Isn’t there?” he said. “Well, I see it pretty plain every time I look -at them little kids of mine.” He swung his long form to the saddle, and -she watched him ride carefully over the burnt ground to say good-bye to -the others; she noticed that, though he shouted cheerily to the boys -from his horse, he dismounted when he spoke to the twins. Then he jumped -the broken fence and cantered off, leaving them to patrol the dying -fires. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - THE TWINS TAKE A HOLIDAY - - -‟REX, it’s a perfectly dreadful copy!” - -Rex shuffled his feet uneasily. - -“Well, I can’t make it any better.” - -“That’s just nonsense,” Jean said. “It’s almost the last page in your -copy-book, and it’s quite the worst copy you’ve done. You just haven’t -tried.” - -“Did try,” said Rex sullenly. - -“I don’t see how you expect me to believe that.” - -“Don’t care if you don’t believe it!” said Rex, under his breath: not so -low, however, but Jean caught the words. She looked at him steadily, and -the small boy had the grace to redden. - -“That’s impertinence,” she said. “You mustn’t think that you can speak -to me like that, or that you can show me that sort of copy. Write the -next one, please.” She pushed the hair from her forehead with a tired -gesture. “Now, Billy—let me see yours.” - -Billy was laboriously finishing, the end of a very pink tongue appearing -at the corner of his mouth as he made his way along the last line. He -completed the final word, and, seizing his blotting-paper, banged it -down on his copy, smudging it hopelessly. The bang brought an angry -growl from Rex. - -“Can’t you keep from jolting? How d’you expect a fellow to write a -copy?” - -“Oh—Billy!” Jean said. - -What could be seen of Billy’s copy showed that it was rather worse than -Rex’s. It was scrawled carelessly throughout, with an easy disregard of -the finer flights of penmanship provided by the copy-book maker. - -“Well, I couldn’t help smudging it, could I?” - -“Yes, of course you could if you’d tried,” Jean said. “But it wasn’t -decently written before you smudged it. You haven’t even looked at the -copy after the first line.” - -“Yes, I did. What else would I look at?” - -“Why, you’ve looked at your own disgraceful writing. You’ve spelt -‘glitters’ with one ‘t’ in the second line, and copied it throughout, -with every other mistake. I believe you boys have just been larking -while I was out of the room. I won’t trust you again.” - -This was bitter, and the sulkiness deepened on each rebellious face. - -“Write another,” Jean said. “I won’t pass work like that. And this time -I must watch you.” - -Under this infliction both boys wrote with deliberate slovenliness, and -the second copies were rather worse than the first. Billy had recorded -that “All is not gold that gliters” in the first; now he stated -“Honistey is the best pollicy,” and stuck to the assertion throughout -five lines; while Rex scrawled his quickly, and, having made a huge blot -in the middle of the page, devoted himself to turning it into a -fat-bodied spider by the addition of sundry hairy legs. Jean flushed as -she took the books. - -“I suppose you’re both seeing how far you can go,” she said. “I don’t -know what has come to you both; as a rule you don’t seem to want to -behave like little pigs. Well, you’ll write another copy after school. -Get the geography books, Billy.” - -It was a sultry morning in March, and from the first the day had begun -badly. The twins’ alarum-clock had failed to do its duty, and instead of -jumping up at five they had slumbered peacefully until Sarah, outwardly -amazed, but inwardly rather pleased, had brought tea to their bedsides -at half-past six. Sarah considered that they got up far too early, and -worked far too much; she chuckled to herself because they had had an -extra allowance of sleep with, in the end, tea in bed—as she would -willingly have brought it to them every morning. But the twins were -horrified at the failure of their programme. For once their cheerfulness -failed them, and they may be said to have got out of bed on the wrong -side. - -Possibly the weather had something to do with it. February had closed in -a blaze of still heat, and March showed no signs of bringing better -weather. Not in the memory of man had such steady heat been known in the -district; the men talked of it when they met in Barrabri, and shook -their heads over the near approach of ruin to many. It was “sticky” -weather; humid sultriness, not like their usual dry heat; people longed -for a breeze, even a hot wind, rather than these endless days when even -the lightest of clothing seemed to cling to the prickly skin, and -perspiration made it almost impossible to handle a pen or to use a -needle. - -“I never remember such a season,” Evan Holmes said. “We’re used to -decent, clean hot weather here, that nobody minds; but this is like -living in a perpetual vapour-bath. Everybody’s temper is getting on -edge!” - -The nights were not much better. Often, at sundown, clouds rolled up, -and growls of thunder were heard, bringing hopes of rain: then it would -all disperse, and the still, clammy heat would do its best to make sleep -an impossibility. The twins, generally asleep five minutes after they -were in bed, found themselves, to their disgust, tossing and turning in -unaccustomed wakefulness. It was small wonder if they overslept -themselves when the alarum-clock failed to act. - -Everything seemed to go wrong that morning—partly because they tried to -carry out the programme in full, not realizing that a lost hour and a -half takes too much catching. Older people would have shrugged and let -some things go, for once; the twins, being young and stiff-necked, -refused to do so, would not take time to eat a reasonable breakfast, -and, by the time lessons began, were thoroughly on edge. - -The boys, too, had had an unfortunate morning. They had been late, and -had rushed the cows up to the milking-shed—bringing a sharp word of -reproof from Mr. Weston. Then old Strawberry, infuriated by the -clustering flies, had kicked just as Rex had almost finished milking -her, and had knocked over half a bucket of milk, most of which -bespattered Rex. Billy had unfeelingly howled with laughter, and even -Mr. Weston had smiled, though he was annoyed at the loss of the -milk—milk was getting scarce as the lucerne crop shrank and the remnant -of feed in the paddock dwindled. Rex himself had been astonished at the -wave of hot anger that swept over him, and at the dull resentment that -followed it. He did not generally feel like that, even if things did go -awry. Certainly the clerk of the weather was responsible for much that -morning. - -Billy’s troubles had come to him after breakfast, when he was sent to -clean his father’s brown boots, and absent-mindedly began operations -with the tin containing blacking. Mr. Weston had found him gazing at the -ruin in a dreamy fashion, which lent the final spark to his father’s -just wrath. He lost his temper—in itself an occurrence so rare as to be -amazing, and Billy departed hurriedly from the scene, tingling both in -mind and body. - -It was clearly an unlucky day, and the boys were in no mood for lessons, -especially when they found that Jean was busy cleaning the lamps and was -only too glad to leave them to write copies alone. The pens were unruly, -and stuck to their moist hands; it was ever so much pleasanter to make -paper darts and throw them, than laboriously to inscribe obvious truths -like “All is not gold that glitters.” As if people didn’t know that! And -then Jean had been “snarly,” and it was horribly easy, this morning, to -be snarly in response. - -The geography lesson fared little better. It was rather a dull -lesson—or possibly Jean, being oppressed by unusual dignity, did not -feel equal to making it bright. The boys were frankly bored, and Rex -remarked, in an audible undertone, that it was just like Miss Green’s -sort of lesson! Somehow, the remark stung Jean more than open rudeness. -She found tears very near her eyes. - -Mother came in quietly, looking at the flushed, resentful faces, but -apparently noticing nothing. She brought with her, as always, a sense of -restfulness. No one would have guessed that she had been sitting on the -verandah, listening to the stumbling feet on the path of -knowledge—waiting for the exact moment to interfere. It was near Jo’s -time for taking over the schoolroom; and Jo, she knew, was polishing -linoleum, having resisted any suggestion to leave it until another day: -rubbing hard, with one eye on the clock, and with a red spot on -otherwise white cheeks. - -“Father wants a telegram sent, Jean,” she said. “And he wants the -afternoon mail brought out. I think you and Jo had better ride into -Barrabri, and have lunch at the Bank or at the Lawrences’; they have -been asking you a long while. Then you can get the mail, and ride out -when it is cooler. I’ll take over the boys.” - -“Sure you want to. Mother? Jo could go by herself.” But Jean had flushed -with anticipation. The prospect of a holiday was very tempting. - -“Oh, I’d rather you went together. And the boys and I will quite enjoy -ourselves.” She looked at them with a little smile. “You won’t give me a -bad time, will you, boys?” - -Both urchins flushed. - -“We’ve been rather brutes this morning,” Rex said frankly. “Haven’t we, -Billy?” - -“Perfect swine!” agreed Billy. “I’m blessed if I know why. I say, Jean, -I’m sorry!” - -“So’m I, Jean,” from Rex. “An’ I’ll do that extra copy my very best.” - -“Oh, bother the extra copy!” Jean said. “I expect I was cross, too. -Every one’s cross but you, Mother, and you’re a miracle! Have you told -Jo?” - -“No—get her yourself. Be off, both of you!” And Jean was gone like a -flash. - -Mrs. Weston looked hard at the two boys. - -“I want you two to remember,” she said, “that Jean and Jo aren’t very -old; not so tremendously older than you two. But they are responsible -for your lessons, and it isn’t quite playing the game for you to make -lesson-time hard for them. Please don’t.” She smiled at the downcast -little faces. “Now come along: this room is really too hot. We’ll go out -on the south verandah, and you two can cut up French beans for dinner, -and I’ll read you a history story. Run and get the beans from Sarah.” - -Billy hesitated. - -“Mother, could we get the ponies ready first for the girls?” - -Mrs. Weston patted his head. - -“Yes—good idea. But hurry up.” - -So when Jean and Jo came out presently, dressed for riding, they found -Mrs. Weston in a rocking-chair on the verandah. A table near her bore a -tray of glasses and a tall jug full of cool lemonade; and close at hand, -under a pepper-tree, Pilot and Punch awaited them, groomed and saddled, -and each in charge of a small boy. - -“Oh, you little bricks!” Jean said. “That _is_ a let-off—I was looking -forward to a blazing walk down the paddock after the ponies. Bless you!” -They drank their lemonade thankfully, and set off, while Mrs. Weston and -the boys established themselves on the verandah, and the preparation of -beans went on contentedly to the accompaniment of “Westward Ho!” - -To be on a horse was always a tonic for either Jean or Jo. Even in the -blaze of noonday they enjoyed the ride to Barrabri. It was a journey -they always liked to make on horseback, since it was then possible to go -across country for most of the way, cutting through the corner of the -Emu Plains run, and then crossing a wide tract of rough country known as -the Barrabri Common. There were gullies in the Common, up and down which -it was necessary to scramble, following narrow cattle-tracks; and there -were logs to jump, and, in ordinary seasons, watercourses, so that a -gallop there presented something between a steeple-chase and an -obstacle-race, and was tremendous fun. Now, alas! the watercourses were -dry and the galloping ground, instead of being well-grassed, was bare, -dusty earth; but still the Common was shady, and more interesting than -the long, straight roads, where passing motors made conditions anything -but pleasant for other folk. - -They reached the township in good time, finding it wrapped in mid-day -calm; and, having sent their telegram, made their way to the doctor’s -house, where Eva and Maisie Lawrence greeted them with delight, mingled -with amazement at their heroism in taking a long ride on such a hot day. - -“But it’s always hot now,” Jo said; “so if we didn’t go out in heat we -should never go out at all. And anyhow, I believe you’ve been playing -tennis!” She glanced at the girl’s rubber-soled shoes. - -“Well, we have, though we know it’s mad,” Maisie said, laughing. “Tom -Holmes was over, and he never thinks it’s too hot to play, so he fairly -dragged us out. He wouldn’t stay to lunch, though. He heard about this -escaped prisoner, and he thought he’d do a bit of detective work.” - -“But who is the escaped prisoner?” - -“Oh, haven’t you heard? He was being moved from one gaol to another, and -he gave the slip to the policeman who was in charge of him. I forget -what he was; a burglar or something—nothing so thrilling as a murderer! -He got away two stations up the line, and he’s supposed to have been -seen making across country this way. A whole lot of policemen are after -him.” - -“Why, how exciting!” exclaimed Jo. “Poor wretch—I wonder if he’s got a -wife and children?” - -Eva Lawrence laughed. - -“You are a funny old soul, Jo,” she said; “you always think of queer, -sentimental things. All the more shame for him to be a criminal if he -_has_ got a wife and children. But I believe he’s quite a young man.” - -“Who’s that? the runaway?” Dr. Lawrence asked, coming in. “Why, how are -you, twins? did you actually ride in, on such a day! Well, I have to go -out, to earn my living, but otherwise I would sit in a bath all day and -drink iced things! Yes, the prisoner’s quite a young man. He was a bank -clerk, and managed to get away with about £5,000, and he’s got a pretty -long sentence to serve. He’ll get more when they catch him.” - -“Perhaps they won’t get him,” Jean said. - -“Oh, there’s very little chance of that. Nowadays an escaped criminal -can be so easily tracked in the country; it’s all so opened-up, and the -telegraph and telephone are everywhere. If ever people find out that -you’re a criminal, Jean, and you want to escape, hide in a big city; -don’t try a district like this, where every strange face is noticed.” - -“I’ll remember,” Jean said, twinkling. “But couldn’t he get into the -ranges, Doctor? It’s lonely and rough enough in the country back of our -place.” - -“But how would a man live? There’s mighty little game there, even if he -dared carry a gun; and scarcely any houses. And criminals have such -appetites, you know!” - -Jean laughed. - -“Yes, I suppose that would be the difficulty, unless he had friends,” -she said. - -“Oh, given friends, a man could hide in the ranges well enough, unless -they brought the black-trackers up,” the doctor said. “Very few people -know much about that part of the district; the only men who ever go -there are odd station-hands, looking for lost cattle. Anyhow, this man -comes from the other side of Melbourne, so he’s not likely to try the -ranges. I’d give him, at the outside, two days’ run; then they’ll find -him under a culvert or a haystack, or he’ll have sense enough to come in -and give himself up.” - -“Wouldn’t you just hate to do that!” Jo ejaculated. “It would make you -feel so small!” - -“Well, I don’t know. There’s a certain amount of dignity in it; more, -anyway, than in being dragged by the heels from under a haystack. No one -can look dignified with straws in his hair! Poor wretch, I expect he’s -feeling sorry for himself now. Liberty must look pretty good to you when -you see a sudden chance of escaping from a constable; but I’ll guarantee -he doesn’t know what to do with his liberty now he’s got it. Rather like -Dead Sea apples—rosy enough on the outside, but dust and ashes when you -bite them. However, there’s lunch, and I’m glad I’m not an escaped -gaol-bird, especially if it’s been in the ice-chest—come along, girls!” - -Lunch _had_ been in the ice-chest; the twins, enjoying crisp salad and -firm, quivering jelly, openly envied the township opportunities of -combating the hot weather. - -“You just don’t know how lucky you are!” Jo said. “We have all sorts of -bush dodges, of course; Coolgardie drip-safes and holes in the ground, -and all that sort of thing; but, especially since this horrible sticky -weather began, nothing seems to make much difference. The butter’s -always oil, and everything else is warm and flabby. I’d love to take a -pat of this butter home to Mother! Her appetite has gone to simply -nothing.” - -“You can have the butter!” said Mrs. Lawrence, laughing. “But why not -send your mother in to us for a week? We should love to have her, and -we’d take great care of her.” - -“She wouldn’t leave home, I’m afraid,” Jo said. “Father wants her to go -down to the Harlands’, at the Lakes’ Entrance, but she won’t go. I -expect it’s because she doesn’t like to leave Father, when he’s so -worried over the drought.” - -“She’d be wiser to go,” said the doctor, gravely. “No one knows how long -this drought is going to hold out. And your mother has had a long spell -of it now.” - -They lounged in the darkened drawing-room after lunch: Maisie and Eva -played snatches from the new musical comedy, and there were English -illustrated papers to look at, full of pictures of snow and ice, which -seemed like a fairy-tale in the throbbing heat. Afternoon tea came in -early, to suit the twins; and when it was over they said good-bye, and -walked down to the post-office to get the mail before going to the -stables for the ponies. As they came out of the post-office, the -Barrabri policeman detached himself from a knot of men and came to meet -them. He wore a look of unusual importance. - -“Good afternoon, Miss Weston.” He looked straight between them, a method -of greeting with which the twins were familiar among those who were -puzzled by their uncanny resemblance. “You came in this morning, didn’t -you? Did you happen to see any unusual character about?” - -“No,” said the twins. “We didn’t notice anyone.” - -“Not a man, for instance?” - -“No one we didn’t know,” Jean answered. “Is it the escaped prisoner, Mr. -Ransome?” - -The constable nodded. - -“Oh, he won’t be escaped long, Miss Weston. There’s some very smart men -lookin’ for him. Of course there’ll be a search out your way, but I was -just wondering if you’d seen anyone suspicious. Well, not as he looks -suspicious; I believe he’s rather a nice-lookin’ young feller. P’raps, -if he’d looked more like a criminal the chap in charge of him would ’a’ -been more suspicious himself, instead of bein’ caught nappin’. I bet -he’s pretty sorry now. Well, it’s a lesson to us!” - -“I suppose so,” said Jo, feeling rather sorry for future “prisoners and -captives.” “Have you any idea which way he went?” - -“Well, he’s given us the slip altogether at present,” admitted the -policeman. “Oh, we’ll get him, right enough. Well, you keep your eyes -open, Miss Weston—a delicate-lookin’ feller in a grey suit. Did you -come by the road this morning?” - -“No—through the paddocks, and across the Common.” - -“You’d ’a’ been more likely to see him there—he won’t be troublin’ the -highroads much,” said the constable. “Oh, well, good afternoon, Miss -Weston.” He smiled between them and strode off, his chest well out, and -his step martial; and the twins, themselves feeling a little important, -went in search of their ponies, and rode out of the township. - -At first they were on the alert to scan every unfamiliar face—not that -unfamiliar faces were plentiful in Barrabri, where the twins knew -everybody. They were like a person who, having encountered a snake, sees -one in every bush. Twice they turned down cross-roads in pursuit of a -suspicious figure: the first turning out to be a grizzled rabbiter, and -the second, Tom Holmes, who, covered with dust, was returning from a -long afternoon spent fruitlessly as a sleuth-hound. Tom’s return to -school had been delayed, owing to an untimely attack of chicken-pox; an -undignified disease, which had caused him bitter shame. His period of -quarantine had almost expired, and he was off on Monday, he explained; -it would have been some set-off to a fool complaint like chicken-pox if -he could have captured a criminal off his own bat! - -“But I had my usual luck,” he said wrathfully. “Never saw a sign of him -all the afternoon, and finished up by letting my horse get a box-thorn -in his fetlock! He’s dead lame, and I’ve had to leave him at the -stables. Tried to get a horse in the township, and couldn’t, so I’ve got -to walk home!” - -“Teach you to let poor prisoners alone!” said Jean unsympathetically. -“Why do you want to hunt the poor fellow down?” - -Tom stared. - -“Why ever not?” he demanded. - -“Well, he’s got plenty of people after him.” - -“He ought to have kept his hands off other people’s money.” - -“Oh, well, that’s not our business,” Jean said. - -“But, good gracious!” ejaculated Tom, “you said you came down this road -because you thought I was him! What did you mean to do if I had been?” - -“Oh, I don’t know,” Jean said, laughing. “Look at him, I suppose. -Criminals don’t come our way every day, you know!” - -“We certainly wouldn’t have laid violent hands on him, remarking, ‘Come -and be killed!’ anyhow!” said Jo. - -“Well, I should say you wouldn’t—kids like you! But you’d have gone in -for Ransome, I suppose?” - -“Oh, that’s the last thing we’d have thought of doing!” Jean assured -him. - -“Well, girls are beyond me!” said Tom heavily. He said good-bye, -evidently considering them unworthy of his further attention; and set -off on his dusty tramp home. - -Their excursions and discussions had made the twins late, and they -abandoned further ideas of chasing suspicious characters for purposes of -inspection, and cantered briskly across the Common. The thunderous -clouds, so usual now towards evening, were rolling up over the western -sky, and the heat was breathless; when, in pity for the ponies, they -reined in to a walk, they almost gasped in the still, heavy air. They -were thankful when at length the roofs of the Emu Plains homestead -showed through the trees. - -The paddock through which they were riding was next to the homestead -block. A creek ran through one corner, its banks thickly fringed with -scrub; and in a little nook near the dividing fence there was an old -hut, built long ago by men on a timber-felling contract. It was half in -ruins now, held together by the sarsaparilla and clematis that festooned -it; the children used it sometimes as a place to picnic. Something -moving near it caught Jean’s eye, and she brought Punch to a standstill. - -“Do you see anything there, Jo? Down by the old hut?” - -Jo looked. - -“No,” she said. “There couldn’t be anything. Oh, you are an old duffer, -Jeanie; you’ve got that escaped man on the brain!” - -“Well, I did see something,” Jean persisted. “And there are no sheep or -cattle in this paddock at all, so it couldn’t have been a beast. Let’s -ride down and see, Jo.” - -“I think it’s mad,” said Jo. “You really couldn’t have seen anything.” - -“Well, it won’t take us more than three minutes to go and see,” Jean -said. “Come on, old girl.” - -She turned Punch from the gate and cantered towards the creek, followed -by her twin—who, however she might protest, never thought of not -joining in. They drew up near the hut. - -There was no sign of anything there, and everything was very quiet. Jean -was just about to turn her pony when something caught her eye—a freshly -broken stalk of bracken. - -“That didn’t break itself, Jo,” she said, pointing to it. “Hold Punch a -moment: I’m going to have a peep in.” - -“You’re not to get off,” Jo said quickly. - -“Well, I’ll peep in, anyhow.” She rode up to the doorway of the hut. The -pony shied violently. - -“Jo!—there’s a man there. He’s lying down.” - -“Then you come away,” said Jo decidedly. - -“He looks queer: I think he’s sick.” - -“Drunk, more likely. Don’t be a donkey, Jean—you know Father would be -wild with us if——” She stopped uncertainly, looking at her twin. A low -moan had come from the hut. There was something very pitiful in the -sound. - -“I say,” Jean called clearly: “are you ill?” - -There was no answer, but presently the low sound came again. The twins -rode to the doorway, controlling their frightened ponies, and looked in. - -The man lay quite near the doorway. There were tracks in the dust that -seemed to show that he had crawled there, and had then collapsed. His -face was partly turned towards them—a delicate face, begrimed with -dust, but showing traces of refinement. It was very white under the -dust, and his lips were bloodless. - -“And he’s got a grey suit!” said Jo. - -The lad—he seemed little more than a boy—opened his eyes slowly and -looked out. At first his gaze saw only the ponies’ legs: then the eyes -slowly travelled upwards until they rested on the two faces—and saw -nothing but pity in them. He tried to speak, but only one word came -clearly—“Water!” - -“Oh, he’s thirsty, Jo!” Jean cried. - -She was off her pony in a moment. There were old tins about the hut, -relics of the contractors; not ideal vessels for a sick man’s use, but -there was no choice. Jean fled down to the creek, where a little runnel -of water yet trickled over mossy stones; she rinsed and filled the tin, -and hurried back with it—to find Jo bending over the man in the grey -suit. - -“His head’s hurt, Jean, and I think his leg is too. I’ll help him—you -hold the tin.” - -Even with Jo’s help it was not easy to give him the drink he longed for; -the tin was awkward, and they splashed a good deal of it over his face -and neck. But they managed to get it to his craving lips at last, and he -drank deeply. They laid him down again, and his eyes closed. - -“He’s had an awful bump on the head, Jean—look!” Jo said. “And -see—he’s been trying to get one boot off.” She touched his leg -gingerly, and the lad winced. - -“I believe we ought to get that boot off,” Jean said—and then started, -for an unmistakable sound of acquiescence had come from their patient. - -“We’ll do it,” Jean said, answering the sound. “I hope we shan’t hurt -you much.” - -That they hurt him was evident, for the ankle was cruelly swollen, and -to draw the boot off was quite impossible. Neither twin had a knife, but -it occurred to them that the patient might be better equipped, and they -searched his pockets, with the result that an excellent knife came to -light. With this they gradually cut the boot to pieces, and slit the -sock. The ankle was puffed and swollen, and beginning to turn black. - -“Now, I wonder if that’s broken!” Jo pondered. “They taught us in -first-aid to waggle it, didn’t they?” - -She “waggled” it, very badly afraid of damaging it further, and prodded -it here and there, while its owner lay motionless, with set lips. - -“I don’t believe it’s broken, Jean. There’s no sign of grating or -anything. I fancy it’s just a very bad sprain.” She bathed it, using the -torn sock as a sponge, and finally as a cold-water bandage, while Jean -bathed his head with her handkerchief. It seemed to give him relief; -something of the pain died out of his face. - -“Whatever are we going to do with him?” Jo queried, when they had -finished. - -“We’ll have to tell Father,” Jean answered. “And if we do, Father will -have to tell the police.” - -There came from the half-conscious lad a sharp, protesting sound. - -“It’s awful,” Jo said. “I simply couldn’t bear to let the police have -him! He—he looks so young, and not really wicked. But Father is -different; he’d be sterner. Besides, he’d get into bad trouble himself -if he didn’t give him up.” - -“But we can’t leave him here. He’s too ill.” - -The patient made a great effort to speak. - -“I’m all right. Don’t tell——” His voice became indistinct, but they -caught the muttered word, “police.” The twins looked at each other. - -“We might leave him until the morning,” Jean said—and there was an -answering sound of gratitude from the patient. “After all, I don’t -suppose he could be moved to-night, and it’s so hot he might as well be -here as—as in gaol,” she finished, dropping her voice. - -“I’m—not going—to gaol,” said the patient indistinctly. - -“You don’t understand,” said Jean, speaking as one would to a baby. -“They’re looking for you everywhere: I’m afraid we can’t hide you. But -we won’t say anything to-night, if you’d like to stay here.” - -The patient grunted. - -“And we’ll bring you food early in the morning,” added Jo, who had been -rapidly turning over ways and means in her mind. “Do you think there’s -anything wrong with you besides your head and ankle?” - -The grunt said “No.” - -“Well, we’ll just leave you to-night, and if there’s any way we can help -you in the morning, we’ll do it.” - -They collected a few armfuls of bracken and put them against the wall of -the hut for a bed, helping the lad to move there; Jean bathed his head -again, and made a wet bandage for it of his other sock, and they put two -full tins of water near him. Then they remembered that they were -bringing home a surprise for Rex and Billy in the shape of two slabs of -chocolate, and, with some regret, gave him these. He lay with closed -eyes, but they felt that he was dimly conscious of all they did. Once he -muttered something that sounded like “Thanks.” - -They left him at last, and cantered rapidly homewards, conscious that -they were very late. No one seemed to mind, however; the breathless heat -was sufficient excuse for anything. Even Sarah sat on the kitchen -verandah, fanning herself with the milk-skimmer. The twins handed over -the mail-bag and ran off to change for tea—not sorry for a chance to -discuss their amazing find. - -“You know, I don’t see what we really can do,” Jo said. “He couldn’t be -hidden down there for more than a few days, even if we could get food to -him.” - -“I suppose not.” Jean looked perplexed. “Anyhow, let’s do our best, Jo. -He looks so young and miserable. Perhaps, if he escaped, he might never -steal again.” - -“Why, I’d help him to escape, quick enough—if I could see how,” Jo -said, with calm disregard of the law. “But that’s the trouble. And we -mustn’t land Father in a hole—if we can help it, that is.” - -“No,” agreed her twin. “Not if we can help it.” - -It was distressingly clear that if the choice came between -inconveniencing their father or the patient, Mr. Weston might have to go -to the wall. - -“Perhaps we could keep him fed for a few days, and then let him take his -chance of escaping,” Jo pondered. “But we just couldn’t hand him over to -the police, Jeanie.” - -“And what if the police come out here and question us?” - -This was a horrible possibility which had not occurred to Jo. She -thought a moment. - -“We’ll make for the bathing-pool!” said she. - -“They can’t question us if we’re swimming round in bathing-suits!” - -Mr. Weston had carried the mail-bag out to the verandah, where his wife -lay back in a long chair. For once, her busy fingers were idle, and she -was very pale. - -“Two for you, Mary,” he said, sorting the letters. “The usual assortment -of bills and agents’ circulars for me, I suppose.” He tore open an -envelope, and fell silent, while Mrs. Weston became immersed in her own -letters. Presently she heard him give a stifled exclamation. She looked -up inquiringly. He was staring at the page in his hand, amazement on his -face. - -“What is it, John?” she asked. - -“The most unexpected thing!” he answered, his voice shaking. “Ahearne -has paid up!” - -“Not the borrowed money!” - -“Every penny. Poor old chap, he’s glad to be able to do it. He’s had a -legacy; some old aunt in Sydney has died, leaving him enough to clear -away his difficulties.” Mr. Weston held out a pink slip of paper. -“There’s his cheque—we haven’t seen so much money for ages, Mary-girl!” - -Mrs. Weston took the cheque and turned it over slowly, looking at the -figures on it. It seemed an incredible thing. - -“I’m glad for his sake, too,” she said. “He was unhappier about the -money than we were, John.” - -“I know he was. But I’ll never regret having lent it to him, even if it -did land us in a hole. He’s a good friend.” - -He stood up, straightening his shoulders as if a weight had fallen from -them. - -“Well, that clears away some difficulties,” he said. “I’ll put it in the -Bank to-morrow. It won’t put us on our feet, of course, but it will help -our credit; and we’ll want all the credit with the Bank that we can get, -even if the drought does break.” - -“I suppose we shall,” his wife said, slowly. Then she was silent; and -all through the evening she said little, looking before her with -brooding eyes. Her husband watched her anxiously. When the children had -gone to bed, he spoke. - -“Is anything wrong, Mary?” - -“No,” she said—“there’s nothing wrong. But I want you to do something -for me, John. I don’t want it put into the Bank—that money of Mr. -Ahearne’s.” - -“Not put into the Bank!” he said. “But why, Mary? What else do you want -to do with it?” - -“I want you to buy Murphy’s sheep,” she said. - -“Murphy’s sheep!” He looked at her with amazed eyes. “But, Mary—it’s an -utter gamble!” - -“There’s a month’s grass with them yet. I met Tim Conlan on Saturday, -and he told me they were not sold, and that Murphy would take even less -for them. And, John—nothing but a gamble will put us on our feet now, -even if the drought does break.” - -“I know,” he said heavily: “I know. And of course, if it breaks, sheep -will go up like sky-rockets—every one will be wanting to buy. But—look -at it!” He swept his hand vaguely towards the hot darkness, seeing, as -plainly as in daylight, the bare, scorched land. “How do we know it will -break this year!” - -Mrs. Weston looked at him, and a little whimsical smile came at the -corners of her mouth. - -“My toe is aching,” she said. “It has ached for three days!” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - THE TURNING OF THE LONG LANE - - -IT was barely dawn next morning when the twins’ alarum-clock roused -them. They sprang up, dressed with swift movements, and tiptoed to the -larder. No one else was astir. - -“Whatever we do, we mustn’t wake Sarah!” - -“No—and we mustn’t take what will be noticed too much,” Jean said. -“Here’s a tin of sheep’s tongue, and another of sardines.” She rummaged -among the spare foodstuffs that are to be found in every station -store-room. “A pot of peach jam, Jean—I hope he likes peach; and a tin -of tomatoes. There’s a jar of anchovy paste here.” - -“No—make him too thirsty,” objected Jo. “He can’t crawl up and down the -bank for water, with that ankle. Look, I’ll pack butter into this little -pot—it’s got a screw-top, and he can put it in a tin of water if it -gets too soft. We must take a spare billy and a cup—oh, and grab a -tin-opener! And a knife.” - -“Right!” whispered her twin. “Plenty of bread, thank goodness: Sarah -baked yesterday. No wonder she was cooked at night, poor old dear! I -believe we can spare him some cake.” They progressed to the meat-safe -under the walnut-tree, and abstracted some cold beef. A bottle of milk -finished their depredations, and they set off, laden, across the -paddock. The house still slumbered peacefully. - -So, apparently, did their patient when they appeared at the door of the -hut; but he woke with a terrified start. - -“It’s all right,” Jean assured him. “No one knows you are here. How are -you?” - -“Better,” he whispered. Speech seemed difficult to him; he lay quietly -while they bathed his injuries. They gave him milk, which he drank -thirstily, but he refused food. - -“We’ll bring you more milk as soon as we can,” Jean said. “It was no use -bringing more now, because it would only go sour—it’s going to be -another blazing day. Sour milk would be bad for you, so finish that -soon.” She spoke in the tone of an understanding mother to a fractious -child, and he looked at her gratefully for a moment. Then his heavy lids -drooped over his eyes again. - -“It’s hard to believe he’s a criminal; he looks such a boy,” Jean said, -as they hurried home. “Oh, I do hope the police won’t come this way. I -feel as if I’d do anything to keep him out of their clutches!” - -“So do I,” Jo said. “After all, the police have so many criminals that -they could easily spare one! And if he gets a chance now he may live a -good life for ever after. But I do wonder, Jean, if he oughtn’t to have -a doctor.” - -“But that means the police!” Jean cried. “Dr. Lawrence never could visit -him without letting the police know.” She thought a moment. “I’ll tell -you what, Jo: we’ll see how he is this evening, and if he’s not better -we’ll get Sarah to see him. She’s as good as a doctor, and we could -swear her to secrecy.” The phrase struck her with a pleasant flavour of -conspiracy and mystery: she repeated it to herself, ending with a little -chuckle. - -“It really is fun, Jo! To think of the police scouring the country for -that poor fellow, and you and I have him planted in that hut! Don’t you -wish we could tell them at school!” - -“Rather!” Jo agreed. “Wouldn’t there be excitement! By the way, I wonder -if we’re likely to get into a jolly row!” - -“Well, there’s a pretty good chance, I suppose,” Jean said. “But it’s -worth it. Goodness me, Jo, there’s Father!” - -Mr. Weston, in riding-breeches and shirt, was in full view, going to the -house-paddock, a bridle over his arm. The twins ducked guiltily behind a -bush, waiting until a high fence hid him; then they rose and bolted to -the garden, and climbed over its pittosporum hedge with the kindly aid -of an overhanging pepper-tree. They gained the house without being -seen—it was only a little after five o’clock; and were soon hard at -work. Presently Sarah appeared. - -“Tea’s ready,” she informed them. “Yes, it’s early, but the Master’s -wanting breakfast; he’s off to Reedy Creek, after some sheep. I thought -you would ’ave your tea in the dining-room with ’im an’ see that he eats -somethin’; there was mighty little eaten in this ’ouse yesterday!” - -“Too hot to eat, Sarah,” said Jo. - -“Too ’ot _not_ to eat,” responded Sarah. “People’s gotter keep up their -strength in weather like this. Just you go an’ bully the Master, now: he -told me to give ’im just some bre’n’butter, but I’ve done ’im some bacon -the way ’e likes it. You two go an’ be firm with ’im.” - -They found their father rather ruefully contemplating the bacon-dish, -and induced him to eat by representing Sarah’s wounded feelings should -he send it out untouched. - -“I suppose I’d better; but it’s too early to eat,” he said. “And later -it will be too hot, so Sarah’s cookery doesn’t get a fair chance. -However, I’ve a twenty-mile ride, so it really would be wiser to have -something.” - -“Are you going to buy sheep, Father?” Jo asked, pouring out tea. - -“I believe I am. It’s a gamble, of course—but they’re very cheap, and I -need not move them for a month. Your mother will tell you about it. It’s -going to be a worse day than yesterday, I believe: I’m going to get back -as soon as I can, and get the trip over. Take care of your mother, -girls: she was awfully done yesterday.” - -“We’ll take her a nice little breakfast-tray before she gets up,” Jean -said. “Perhaps she may eat something if we do. I’ll make her an omelette -à la Smithy.” - -“Do,” he said, smiling at her. “And have one for me when I come back. -I’ll need it after spending as much money as I’ve got to spend this -morning!” He pushed his chair back. “Well, Cruiser’s had his feed by -now, I expect: I’ll be off.” - -Jean’s brow had a little furrow as she gathered up the breakfast dishes. - -“Poor darling!” she said. “Jo, did you notice how grey he’s getting?” - -“Do you wonder?” Jo said. “Oh, I do wish we could get a few more small -boys to teach!” - -It was a day of blistering heat. Lessons were voted impossible, and -teachers and pupils spent the morning in the river, accompanied, for -once, by Mrs. Weston, whom the twins conveyed carefully on Merrilegs. -The bathe refreshed her, and afterwards she sat in the shade and laughed -to watch their porpoise-like gambols at water-polo. But she was restless -and uneasy, and before they were ready to come out she mounted the grey -pony and rode back to the house, declaring that her stock-riding days -were not so far behind her that she should need assistance now. - -As she neared the garden, she saw her husband coming. He was riding up -the track slowly, his head bent down. She turned and rode to meet him, -laughing at his astonished face. - -“You!” he said. “Whatever are you out for, on such a day?” - -“Oh, I’ve been with the children,” she answered. “I couldn’t rest, John: -I had to know. Did you get the sheep?” - -“Yes, I got them,” he said. “But, Mary, what is it? Aren’t you well? Why -are you troubling about it?” - -“I’m all right,” she said. “But I wanted you desperately to buy those -sheep, and I couldn’t rest until I knew. I don’t know why—perhaps -because my silly toe still aches! Tell me about them, dear. Was Murphy -glad to sell?” - -“Oh, Murphy’s gone!” her husband answered. - -“Couldn’t wait any longer: he cleared out two days ago, and I believe he -sails for the old country to-day. He left the sheep in the agents’ hands -to sell, if possible: if they were not sold when the lease of his place -expired they were to put them in the yards and let them go for what -they’d fetch. The agents didn’t expect to get rid of them: neither did -Murphy himself. But he said, ‘Is it a mob of sheep will be keeping me -from Ireland? Begob, it is not!’—and went.” - -“And they’re really ours?” - -“Really and truly—signed, sealed, and delivered. I saw them -first—they’re not bad sheep, considering—and then fixed up the deal -with the agents, in Reedy Creek. They’ve got my cheque, and I’ve got -their receipt. Now, are you satisfied, you worrying woman!” He smiled -down upon her from Cruiser’s back. - -“Yes, I’m satisfied,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll be sorry afterwards, but -I’ve faith in my old toe!” - -“I hope we shan’t all be sorry afterwards,” he said gravely. “But it’s a -big thing, Mary-girl.” He helped her to the ground. “Go on to the house -while I let the horses go: it’s far too hot for you to be out.” - -The long day dragged to evening—an evening that brought little relief -from the overpowering heat. There was something almost malignant in the -heavy air. Even Billy and Rex were subdued by it: they lay on the floor -in their room, in the minimum of clothing, and would not face the short -journey to the river, declaring that one couldn’t actually _live_ in the -water, and that one felt worse on coming out. The twins tried to read, -and found it impossible to keep their attention on a book: slept, lying -on the floor, and awoke in a bath of perspiration, acutely sorry they -had slept. Mrs. Weston would not come into the house. She lay on a -lounge on the verandah, pretending to read; but whenever her husband -looked at her, her eyes were fixed upon the western sky, where the sun, -a ball of lurid fire, was sinking into the bank of dull cloud that -waited for it every evening. - -Sarah—who had ironed all the afternoon with steady persistency—made no -attempt to induce people to eat what she termed a “proper” meal. She -marched through the house towards evening with a tray of sandwiches and -a huge jug of cold coffee—the said coffee having been immersed, in -bottles, in the underground tank. Jean and Jo nibbled their sandwiches, -and then, taking a bottle of milk with them, slipped away to the hut by -the creek. - -It was evident that their patient was ill. He lay in the stifling little -hut, his breath coming in gasps, his face deadly white. But he was more -alive now: he looked at them with more recognition, and muttered thanks -as they bathed his head and foot; and he drank the milk greedily. They -conferred together in low tones. - -“I’m sure he needs a doctor,” Jean said. - -“We’ll get Sarah,” said Jo. - -“Don’t get anyone,” begged the patient, unexpectedly. “I’m all -right—want sleep—brute of a headache—sorry!” He closed his eyes and -seemed to sleep. They watched him for a little while, and then, as he -made no movement, they set off home. - -“He’ll simply have to be moved,” said Jean. “It’s enough to kill him, to -be in that awful little hut. We couldn’t risk another day of it for -him.” - -“Yes,” Jo agreed. She heaved a sigh. “Better to let the police have him -than for him to die—and he looks awful to-night. But who wouldn’t look -awful, to have spent to-day in that hut!” - -“Oh, we’ll beg and beg Father!” said Jean. “Perhaps he’ll take the risk -and not tell the police. No one would think of looking for the prisoner -in the homestead; as far as that went, he’d be safer than in the hut.” - -“But if we have to get the doctor?” - -“I forgot the doctor,” Jean admitted gloomily. “He’s a magistrate -himself: he’d simply _have_ to tell. Well, we’ve done our best, Jo: we -can’t do any more. And look here: we’d better tell Father at once, for -he’ll have to be brought up to the house before dark, and Sarah couldn’t -do it—Father would have to help.” - -“Yes, that’s true,” Jo said. “There’s Father, coming across from the -lucerne patch. Let’s go and tell him.” - -Mr. Weston heard their story in utter astonishment. - -“Well, if you aren’t the most amazing twins!” he ejaculated. “And I was -assuring a very hot policeman at Reedy Creek, only this morning, that no -strangers had been out our way! I’ll go down at once. No, I’m not angry: -I don’t see what else you could have done. Tell Sarah to get a room -ready, but don’t say anything to your mother: she isn’t well enough to -be worried. Do you think we can move him on a pony?” - -“I don’t know,” Jean said. “But if you can’t, how can you?” - -“That’s just what I don’t know: we can’t get a buggy down to that -corner.” He thought for a moment. “Look, Jean: send Sarah out here to -me, and you go on getting the room ready. I’ll need Sarah’s help to lift -him. Jo, get Merrilegs and bring him down to the hut. You’d better go -first: I don’t want to startle the poor wretch.” - -So it was that Mrs. Weston, moving restlessly about the garden, caught -sight of a queer little procession: Jo, slowly leading the grey pony, on -whose bare back was a white-faced young man with his head tied up in a -sock, and one foot curiously wrapped in its fellow. On one side her -husband supported him, and on the other, Sarah: he wobbled rather -painfully between them. - -“It’s all right, Mother darling,” said Jean’s voice behind her. “It’s -only our prisoner!” She explained briefly. “And oh, Mother!—do you -think we’ll have to give him up to the police?” - -“I don’t see how we can get out of it,” her mother said. “But the main -thing is, to get him better. Poor fellow! what a dreadful day he must -have had!” She hurried to the verandah to meet him, all her weariness -forgotten. - -It was half an hour later when she came out to the anxious twins on the -verandah. - -“He’s asleep,” she said. “We have fixed him up comfortably, and I hope -he’ll sleep all night; Father means to camp near his room. Poor -fellow—he’s only a boy! But we must tell the police, twinses dear; -Father says there’s no help for it. We’ll get the doctor in the morning -and let the police know.” - -The twins sighed heavily. - -“I suppose it’s got to be,” Jean said. “It’s hard: but I don’t think he -can have a wife and children, as I was afraid he had—he’s too young.” - -“He certainly is,” said Mrs. Weston, smiling. - -“And, perhaps, after he’s served his sentence he’ll be a reformed -character, and Father will give him a job.” - -“And he’ll marry Sarah!” finished Billy, who, with Rex, had been hugely -interested in the prisoner. - -“And meanwhile, we’ll look out for our valuables!” said Mr. Weston, who -had come out, unperceived—darkness had fallen suddenly. “Sorry, -twinses, when he’s your pet criminal—but really, it’s as well to be -careful. However, he’s helpless enough to-night, poor wretch!” - -“I’m thankful he’s out of that horrid little hut,” Jo said. “We were -awfully keen on taking care of him; but the job got a bit too big for -us. Of course, in books, he’d get better and escape in the night, -leaving a note of thanks on the pin-cushion!” - -“And taking the spoons with him!” finished her father, callously. “No, -he won’t do any escaping: his head and his ankle will see to that.” He -drew a long breath. “My word, isn’t it hot! Are you all right, Mary? I -can hardly see you, it’s so dark—but you’re very quiet.” - -Mrs. Weston did not answer him for a moment. She stood up and moved a -few steps into the darkness. - -“John—I smell rain!” she said. - -Something in her voice made him suddenly anxious. He came quickly and -put his arm round her. - -“Sure you’re all right, dear?” - -She did not seem to notice the question. Her face was raised to the -western sky. - -“Listen!” she said. “It’s coming—it’s coming, John! I’ve been feeling -it for three days. I know it’s coming—now!” - -A scorching breath of wind swept across their faces. Then, as they stood -in tense silence, a great flash of lightning cut across the blackness of -the night: and suddenly big drops fell around them. They heard them -splash heavily on the iron roof of the verandah: they felt them through -their thin clothes on their heated bodies. The boys gave a great shout, -springing forward, and suddenly Sarah came running through the house. - -“Did ye hear it?” she was saying. “Are ye there, ma’am?—did ye hear -it?” - -Then it was on them in a sudden torrent—blinding, rushing rain. They -heard it drumming on the baked earth, beating furiously on the echoing -roof. In a moment they were soaked to the skin, but no one noticed it: -they stood together on the lawn, with faces upraised to the wonder of -it, afraid to speak. It seemed to hiss round them, beating through the -hot air. Then, as the thirsty ground grew damp, the smell of it came up -to them: the unforgettable smell of rain after long drought. Another -vivid flash of lightning showed them standing together, with Sarah -peering anxiously from the verandah. - -“Come in!” she cried. “Make her come in, sir! Are ye all gone mad?” - -“I think so,” John Weston said. His arm was round his wife: he picked -her up suddenly and carried her to the verandah. “There you are, -Sarah—take care of her,” he said. “She’s soaking wet—soaking wet, -thank God! Go in, kiddies!” He turned and strode out into the storm. - -“Come in yourself, sir!” Sarah cried. “Aren’t ye wet enough?” - -“I don’t think I’ll be wet enough if it goes on for a week!” he said. He -felt Billy beside him, catching at his hand. “Go in, Sonnie—it’s enough -for one of us to be mad!” - -“I’m goin’ to stay with you!” Billy uttered. “I’ll get wet with you. I’m -wet already!” - -His father put his arm round the thin little shoulders in the soaked -shirt. - -“Ah, well, then, we’ll go in together, old Son,” he said gently. “Go and -change now, all of you.” - -He stood awhile on the verandah, looking out into the storm. The -lightning flashed, and thunder followed it in long rattling peals: but -the drumming of the rain never ceased, and every drop was music to him. -Presently he turned and went through the hall to his wife’s room. - -She lay on a couch near the window, listening to the roar on the roof. -Her face was very pale, but she smiled up at him. - -“Well!” she said. “And you bought Murphy’s sheep to-day!” - -He bent down and kissed her foot. - -“Thanks to your old toe!” he said. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - CONCLUSION - - -JOHN WESTON slept but little that night. It was as though he were afraid -to close his eyes for fear the rain might stop. Too well he knew that -the breaking of the drought could be no affair of a thunderstorm! many -inches of rain must fall before they could hope to recover from the long -months of heat and dryness. He woke every half-hour, dreading to find -the rain had stopped; but always there was the steady drumming on the -roof—no music had ever been so sweet to him. He would go to the window -and look out into the blackness: sometimes he went out to the verandah, -and walked up and down, all his being rejoicing in the rain, just as the -thirsty earth was rejoicing. There was splashing now, mingled with the -steady pelting on the roof: splashing from leaking spouting, untried for -a year; splashing of deluged trees, discharging their burden of water on -the ground; splashing of a miniature torrent, running past the house on -the gravel path. And towards morning the ceaseless downpour began to -conquer the heat, and cold fresh air seemed to rush to greet him when he -came out of the still, stifling house. He flung on a coat, and then -tiptoed round the verandah to put blankets on the children. Jean woke as -he covered her. - -“Is it still raining, Father?” she asked sleepily. She could just see -his face in the growing dawn. - -“Still raining, thank God!” he said. “Go to sleep, little daughter.” He -watched her for a moment as she turned over, snuggling her face into the -pillow. When he tiptoed away he took the alarum-clock with him. There -should be no programme that morning. - -Daylight showed leaden skies and a drenched landscape. Not for a moment -did the rain cease; it fell as though determined to make up long -arrears. The fowls, many of which had never seen rain, cowered under any -available shelter, draggled and miserable: the ducks paddled about -happily, swam in the big pools that had formed in the hollows by the -gates, and quacked their complete approval of the weather. Every garden -path, its surface baked to the hardness of cement, was a torrent. The -underground tank gave back a thunderous echo as the water from the roof -rushed into it. Already the garden looked freshened and more green, -washed clean from the coating of dust that had covered everything; the -dahlias and chrysanthemums lifted revived heads, sparkling under their -veil of moisture, and spoke mutely of blossoms to come. The boys had -dashed out early, clad in shirt and trousers, and now were rather like -the ducks, splashing in every pool for the mere joy of splashing. They -raced to the bathing-pool, shouting with glee to see the river already -rising and flowing with something like a current once more: they flung -themselves in, just as they were, since it was impossible to be more -thoroughly soaked: then, coming up, caught Punch and Merrilegs, and went -galloping madly round the paddock—until Merrilegs, finding a baby -watercourse that had long been only a dry hollow, jumped it, and -finished up with a long slither on the wet ground, whereat Rex, -unprepared for such acrobatics, shot over his head, landing in a pool, -while Billy yelled with laughter. They capered back to the house, -turning somersaults on the flooded lawn; then, discovering that it was -breakfast-time, and that they were very muddy, brought out the -long-disused garden hose and sluiced each other thoroughly. - -“Wish we could, too,” said the twins enviously. - -The prisoner awoke, evidently better, but still unable to say more than -one or two disconnected words. It puzzled them that he seemed happiest -when anyone except the twins was with him: the sight of Jean and Jo -invariably brought a look of worry to his face, so that after a time -they reluctantly decided to keep away from him. This was sad, seeing -that he was their very own prisoner. He fell into a sound sleep after -breakfast; and when the doctor arrived—summoned by a passing neighbour, -who had called in on his way to Barrabri to mention that the rain was -glorious—he was still sleeping soundly. - -“Concussion, of course,” Dr. Lawrence said. “He’s had a fall. Sleep’s -the best thing for him; I don’t want to rouse the poor beggar. Keep him -very quiet: your old Sarah can nurse him.” He grinned. “Fancy the twins -getting him, with all the police in the district after him! Did you send -word to Ransome, by the way?” - -“No, I didn’t,” Mr. Weston said. “I didn’t want the police out here -worrying him before you had been out. He can’t run away, that’s certain. -I suppose you must tell them.” - -“Oh, yes, I’d better. I’ll wait until to-morrow, though; I fancy they’ll -have to put a constable on here, to watch him, and there’s no need to -give you that bother to-day. I’ll come out in the morning. Great rain, -isn’t it, old man? I said that before, didn’t I?” - -“Three times, I think,” said John Weston, laughing. “You could say it -three times a minute, and it wouldn’t be too much for me. Listen to it!” -as a sudden downpour, heavier than usual, suddenly pelted on the roof. -“Was there ever such a sound!” - -“I’m resenting having the hood on the car,” the doctor said. “Naturally, -it wouldn’t be common-sense to arrive at my patients’ bedsides as soaked -as Billy and young Rex, whom I met in a puddle on the track—but I -understand how they feel. I want the rain on my skin. We all do.” - -“I’ve been wet through twice this morning,” said his friend, laughing. -“It’s a gorgeous feeling. Of course, I’m not counting on the rain yet; -we haven’t had anything like what we need. But it really does look like -keeping on.” - -“There’s every sign of it. Well, I’ll have a word with Mrs. Weston and -the girls, and be off: I’d two cases of sunstroke yesterday. Worst day I -ever knew.” He spoke to Mrs. Weston, and immediately prescribed a tonic -for her, saying he would bring it with him next day: and chaffed the -twins on their ability as detectives. “I’ll have to bring a constable -out to stay with your friend to-morrow,” he said. - -Jean made a little face. - -“I’d hide him from you, if I could,” she defied him. “We were going to -help him to escape, only he was too sick. We’re awfully sorry for -him—he’s so young!” - -“You’re a nice young law-breaking person!” said the doctor, with mock -severity. “Don’t forget I’m a magistrate—I believe there’s a special -penalty for harbouring criminals. And he was old enough to annex quite a -nice little sum of other people’s money!” - -“Well—he may have had his reasons!” said Jo—a mild sentiment which -evoked mirth among her hearers. - -“A good many people have—that’s why magistrates exist,” said the -doctor. “Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to lose your friend as soon as -he’s well enough to be moved.” He said good-bye, splashing out to his -car through the pouring rain. - -It was still pouring when he returned next day, this time with two -policemen: a senior man from an adjoining town, and a tall, downcast -young constable, the unlucky wight who had been careless enough to lose -his prisoner. - -“He’s conscious, I think, but still very stupid,” Mr. Weston told them. -“He doesn’t attempt to speak, but he has taken a little nourishment. You -can’t move him yet, surely, Sergeant.” - -“That’s for the doctor to say,” said the sergeant. “But I’ll have to -leave a man in charge of him: we can’t run the risk of losing him again. -Constable Wilkins will relieve you of some of the care of him.” - -“Lemme have a look at him!” said Constable Wilkins sourly. “I’ll bet he -don’t give me the slip again!” - -“I’ll see him first,” said the doctor. - -He came out presently. - -“You can go in, to identify him,” he said. “But don’t worry him with -talk yet; he’s not fit for it. Don’t take your helmets in, either—no -need to make him feel he’s in the hands of the police. I’m not keen on -his having a shock. . . . And the sight of that chap’s sulky face is -enough to give anyone assorted shocks!” he added to himself, as he -followed the policemen in. In the background Jean and Jo hovered with -downcast looks. - -If Constable Wilkins’s face had been sour when he entered the room, it -was frankly furious as he turned and strode out. Only the doctor’s -lifted finger had prevented the angry words that sprang to his lips. - -“Whose little joke is this?” he queried wrathfully. “That’s not my man!” - -“Not your man?” queried the Sergeant. - -“Not a criminal?” yelped Jean. - -“I’m jolly well hanged if I know what he is,” quoth the angry policeman. -“But he’s no more Dawson than I am! Why, he ain’t even like him! Not -remotely. And we’ve wasted half a day on a wild-goose chase!” - -What more Constable Wilkins might have said was lost in a curious -demonstration. The twins, who had been staring, with shining eyes, -suddenly seized each other and executed a wild two-step down the hall. -The door stood open; they danced through, and disappeared; the sound of -their prancing feet died away upon the verandah. The doctor shook with -silent laughter. - -“But who said he was Dawson?” demanded the Sergeant. - -“Why, I’m afraid we’d rather taken it for granted,” Mr. Weston admitted. -“Perhaps I adopted my daughters’ view too readily; they seemed to have -no doubt. Of course, he has been practically unconscious since they -found him. He was a stranger—a delicate-looking man in a grey suit—and -he seemed to be a fugitive.” He smiled a little. “Possibly I might have -asked more questions if the rain hadn’t come just as we brought him -home. But the rain seemed so much more important!” - -“It did,” said the doctor. “After all, the circumstantial evidence was -good enough to go on: you’d have censured them for not reporting their -find, Sergeant.” - -“I would,” admitted that officer. “Matter of fact, we’ve been calling -them the ’uman sleuth-hounds since we heard! Oh, well, he’s not our man, -so we needn’t worry you further, Mr. Weston.” They said good-bye, -Constable Wilkins’s face still a study in mingled emotions. - -On the verandah, the twins faced each other. - -“But there’s no doubt he didn’t want the police on his track, Jo,” Jean -said. “Do you think we ought to tell them?” - -“I won’t!” said Jean obstinately. “He’s our discovery, and he’s sick, -even if he _is_ a criminal—and I don’t believe he is! We’ll tell -Father, when the poor fellow is better. Fancy imagining any one ever -would get better, with a horror like that Wilkins creature looking at -one. He’d be clinking the handcuffs at you all the time!” - -The mystery, however, was cleared up two days later, when a hue-and-cry -was suddenly raised for one of two young Englishmen who were farming -together five miles up the river. He had gone out with his gun, -intending to reach a neighbour’s place and remain all night, so that his -mate felt no anxiety when he did not return. It was not until the third -day that he discovered that nothing had been seen of the absentee, and -at once raised the alarm. Therefore a very harassed young man arrived on -a very tired horse at Emu Plains, and begged to be allowed to see the -Westons’ guest. - -“He’s sure to be Harry,” he said. “The police in Barrabri described him -to me.” - -The guest was by that time regaining full consciousness, and greeted his -friend with a faint grin, although he showed no disposition to talk to -him. It was several days before he was able to give a coherent account -of himself. He had put his gun down on a log while he pursued a wounded -rabbit into some thick scrub, and then had been unable to find it again. -In the search he had lost his way completely, and had wandered all day -in the heat, until, in the evening, he had found himself near the ruined -hut at Emu Plains. He had climbed a tree to get his bearings: and, just -as he caught sight of the homestead roofs, a limb had given way with -him, and he had fallen, damaging his head and ankle. He had managed to -crawl to the hut when the twins found him. - -“You were godsends, of course,” he said. “But you worried me -dreadfully.” - -“We didn’t mean to,” Jean said, rather pained. “We only did what we -could for you.” - -“Oh, I don’t mean that!” Harry Jeffries said, rather appalled at his own -apparent ingratitude. “Why, if ever a fellow had two ministering angels -looking after him it was I! But it was the fact that you were two that -worried me—especially when I came up here, and began to feel better.” - -“But why?” - -“Because I thought I was off my head permanently. I could see your -mother and father, and Sarah, all right: they were normal and natural. -But whenever I looked at you I thought I was seeing double!” - -“Good gracious!” said the twins in chorus. - -“And each said to the other, ‘That’s your fault!’ as Kipling has it,” -put in Mr. Weston, laughing. - -“But there’s another thing,” Jean said. “Why were you so worried in the -hut when we spoke of the police?” - -The patient reddened. - -“Well, you mustn’t give me away,” he said. “The fact is, I’d been making -a collection of platypus skins—the little beggars are very thick in the -creek near our place. And it was only the day before that I found out -they were strictly protected, and that I was liable to imprisonment, or -beheading, or something, for having the skins in my possession. So, when -you talked police, of course I thought it was my poor old platypi!” - - * * * * * - -But this was after the rain had stopped—it had poured for four days and -nights without cessation—and already there was a green tinge all over -Emu Plains. The river was running almost a banker: the creeks had -overflowed for miles, and the flood-waters were beginning to recede, -leaving the paddocks covered with a muddy silt, as good as a dressing of -fertilizer. All over the country, thankful men spoke of the wonderful -rain, and predicted wonderful grass to follow; the land had rested for a -year, and now there would be such a season as would wipe out the memory -of the evil time. Already there was talk of bringing back the stock from -Gippsland: owners were beginning to plan to stock up their places again, -and sheep and cattle had risen sharply in price. - -“I’m going to make a hatful of money over those sheep of Murphy’s,” John -Weston told his wife. “By the time I’m ready to sell them sheep will be -four or five times what they are to-day! and they’re worth twice what I -gave for them now.” He looked down at her very tenderly. “You can begin -to choose the colour of your motor—I reckon that old toe of yours has -earned a car! It shall be carried in luxury for the rest of its time.” - -“Then it might not do its duty so well,” she said, laughing. - -“It has done its job,” he answered. “I don’t want it ever to ache -again!” - -They looked out across the paddocks, faintly green. About them was the -smell of growing things: although the land was still bare, it was -different—there was no longer the feeling of barren desolation. The -garden was already bursting into new life, and new life was stirring in -every one. - -“I don’t want a motor particularly, John,” she said. “But I want to give -a good time to my twinses!” - -“They’ll have their good time,” he said masterfully. “Your motor will be -part of it. And we’re all going away for a holiday, as soon as I get -things settled—a real holiday—Sydney, Tasmania, or wherever you like, -where we’ll forget about droughts. We’ll let the twins choose, shall we? -They’ve been great little daughters to us when we needed them.” - -“Great little daughters!” Mrs. Weston echoed softly. - -“Then we’ll get a tutor for the boys, and the twins can go back to -Merriwa next term. We’ll tell Miss Dampier not to make them prefects yet -awhile. I want them to be kiddies again—to forget they ever had -responsibilities.” - -He was silent for a moment, pulling hard at his pipe. - -“It isn’t so much what they did for us,” he said; “though goodness knows -they did enough. It was how they did it: how they brought youth and -freshness and laughter back to us—how they ‘kept smiling.’ Will you -ever forget how they sang as they swept the verandahs?—the little -bricks! And never a whine or a murmur from them, though I’ll bet they -often ached for the old good times!” - -“I know they ached,” the mother said. “Please God we’ll keep that sort -of ache from them in future—at least while they are children.” - - * * * * * - -At the moment the twins were not manifesting any ache, unless it were -the ache that comes from overmuch laughter. They had dismissed Rex and -Billy after morning school, and had watched those graceless urchins tear -down the paddock on their ponies. Then they had turned to tidy up the -schoolroom table, and in doing so a sheet of paper had fluttered from an -exercise book. It was covered with Rex’s small, neat writing. - -“It’s not a letter,” Jo said, picking it up. “I don’t suppose it’s -private. Oh, my goodness, Jean, he’s dropped into poetry!” - -They bent delighted heads over Master Forester’s outpourings. The path -of spelling was always strewn with rocks to Rex, but his sentiments were -definite. - -“Why, it’s an ode to you, Jean,” said Jo, chuckling. “Prepare to blush!” - - “Girls are fat and girls are lean, - Just allright is danety Jean. - - “She has prety curly hair, - And she has a lovely stare! - - “Once I swetted with Miss Green, - She was a cat, but now I’ve Jean. - - “Other chaps may plump for Jo, - Phurmly I would anser ‘No.’ - - “I have known ful many a girl, - Danety Jean she is the purl!” - -“And I’m the plain, I suppose!” commented Jo ecstatically. But Jean -frowned. - -“The little villain!” she said. “I must say he’s managed to conceal his -sentiments pretty well. I don’t believe he likes me a bit better than -you.” - -“Shows his sense if he does,” said Jo, laughing. “What on earth does it -matter?” - -“I don’t suppose it does,” said her twin. “And it’s a gorgeous poem! Did -you know I had ‘a lovely stare’?” - -“I suppose that’s your look of fixed horror when he shows up a bad copy. -Next time you can remember that he’s wallowing in enjoyment of it!” Jo -laughed. - -“I’ll wallow him!” said Jean. “How dare he make any difference between -us—aren’t we twins? He wants spanking!” She flipped the paper -contemptuously away. - -“Now, that’s foolish!” Jo said. “Remember, you’re never likely to have -an ode written to you again!” She picked up the sheet of paper. “Why, my -stars, Jeanie! there’s another ode on the back!” - -They read together: - - “Pharest of all girls I’ve seen - Is the joly Josypheen. - - “She is very tall and slim. - Like a porpus she can swim. - - “Just to see her makes you glad. - Chasing savige bulls like mad. - - “She is nerely always kind. - To play the gote she does not mind. - - “Fokes may say the best is Jean— - Me for joly Josypheen!” - -“He’s all things to all men, isn’t he!” gasped Jo, when she could speak. - -“Did you ever see anything so priceless!” Jean uttered, wiping her eyes. -“Twin odes to twinses! Look, he’s grouped us in a grand finale at the -bottom—in his best writing, and flourishes all round it, too!” - - “I have known ful many a girl, - Danety Jean she is the purl! - - “Fokes may say the best is Jean— - Me for joly Josypheen!” - - - - - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - -Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple -spellings occur, majority use has been employed. - -Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors -occur. - -Some illustrations were moved to facilitate page layout. - - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Twins of Emu Plains, by Mary Grant Bruce - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TWINS OF EMU PLAINS *** - -***** This file should be named 60447-0.txt or 60447-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/4/4/60447/ - -Produced by Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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