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diff --git a/old/69610-0.txt b/old/69610-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6d4f300..0000000 --- a/old/69610-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6198 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Robin, 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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Robin - -Author: Mary Grant Bruce - -Release Date: December 23, 2022 [eBook #69610] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed - Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROBIN *** - - - - - - - - [Cover Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration: Robin flung the gate open.] - - (_See page_ 275) - - - - - =ROBIN= - - - - =BY= - =MARY GRANT BRUCE= - =Author of _Hugh Stanford’s Luck_, _A Little Bush Maid_,= - =_Mates of Billabong_, _Norah of Billabong_, _’Possum_, etc.= - - - =AUSTRALIA:= - =CORNSTALK PUBLISHING COMPANY= - =89 CASTLEREAGH STREET, SYDNEY= - =1926= - - - - - Wholly set up and printed in Australia by - The Eagle Press, Ltd., Allen Street, Waterloo - for - Angus & Robertson, Ltd. - 89 Castlereagh Street, Sydney. - 1926 - - Registered by the Postmaster-General for transmission - through the post as a book - - Obtainable in Great Britain at the _British Australian_ Bookstore, - 51 High Holborn, London, W.C.1, the Bookstall in the Central Hall - of Australia House, Strand, W.C., and from all other Booksellers; - and (_wholesale only_) from the Australian Book Company, 16 - Farringdon Avenue, London, E.C.4 - - _First Edition, June 1926_ _4.000 copies_ - _Second Edition, August 1926_ _3.000 copies_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CALTON HALL - NEXT DAY - MERRI CREEK - PLANS AND PROBLEMS - TWO MONTHS LATER - ROBIN FINDS STRANDED WAYFARERS - A BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT - MAKING FRIENDS - THE MERRI CREEK FALLS - THE HUT IN THE SCRUB - CONCERNING THE END OF A PIG - STRANGERS - BLACK SUNDAY - THE LAST - - - - - ILLUSTRATIONS - - ROBIN FLUNG THE GATE OPEN - “IS ANYONE HURT?” - “KEEP BACK!” - - - - - CHAPTER I - CALTON HALL - - -“GONE!” said the cook, tragically. - -“They _can’t_ be,” said the parlourmaid, with that blank disbelief that -is so helpful in times of stress. “Did you look in the cake-tin?” - -“Did I look in the cake-tin?” demanded the cook, in tones of fury. “They -was never in the cake-tin, and they aren’t now. Wotever may be the -custom in your home, Elizer, it’s not my ’abit to pile up fresh -cream-puffs in a cake-tin when they’re all filled with cream and just -ready for a party. ’Ow’d they look, I arsk you, all messed up, and the -cream stickin’ ’ere and there on ’em in blobs? I left ’em spread out -singly on them two big blue dishes, same as I could serve ’em in two -jiffs. And they’re gone.” - -“There’s the dishes, right enough,” said the parlourmaid, still bent on -being helpful. She inspected faint traces of cream on their blue -expanse, with the air of a Sherlock Holmes. “They been there once, -anyone can see. Oh, have another think, Cook, dear—you must have put -them on the cake-plates!” She dashed hopefully at a large safe, peered -into its recesses, and lost heart visibly on meeting only the cold stare -of a big sirloin and a string of pallid sausages. - -“Anyone as ’ud think I’d put cream-puffs in the meat-safe—!” said the -cook, wearily. “’Ave sense, Elizer, if it’s any way possible. I tell -you, I left ’em on the blue dishes; there’s the cake-plates all ready -for ’em, clean d’oyleys an’ all. An’ not a cream-puff left! Well, you -can search _me_. I give up.” - -“But where can they have gone to?” wailed Eliza, dismally. - -“I dunno. But there’s young limbs in this school as is equal to -anything. It ain’t the first time things ’ave disappeared from my -pantry. Scones I’ve missed, time and again; and there was sausage-rolls -last week, and ’alf a jam-sandwidge another time. Lots of little -oddments, as you might say. But this is ’olesale, an’ no mistake!” - -Eliza was understood to murmur something feebly about the cat. - -“Cat!” said the cook. “There’s cats enough and to spare, goodness knows, -but cats don’t browse on scones and cream-puffs. It’s two-legged cats, -or my name’s not Mary Ann Spinks—you mark my words, Elizer! Not that -I’d mention names, nor even red ’air; but I have me suspicions!” - -“Red hair!” ejaculated Eliza. “You aren’t thinking of Lucy Armitage? Her -that’s a prefect?” - -“I am not,” said the cook. “Prefeck or no prefeck, that one ’ud never -’ave spirit enough to come a-raidin’ anyone’s pantry. Not that I ’old -with raidin’, Elizer, ’specially when it’s me own pantry. But I was -young meself once, an’ I remember there was an apple-tree me an’ me -brothers used to visit. Not our own apple-tree. I ’ave me memories. The -apples weren’t any too good, ’specially as we always collared ’em green. -It wasn’t ’ardly the apples we cared for, but the fun of it. Ah, well, -one’s only young once, an’ the school food ain’t any too good either, as -I well know.” The cook sighed, and apparently gave herself up to her -memories. - -“But raiding’s just stealing!” said Eliza, whose youth held no such -recollections of buccaneering. She regarded the fat cook with a cold and -disapproving eye. - -“Not when you’re young it ain’t,” defended the cook. - -“Well, I don’t see any difference,” Eliza stated. “Don’t the collect say -to keep one’s hands from picking and stealing?” - -“Ah, the collecks!” said the cook. “Them as wrote the collecks weren’t -young, either. ’Tisn’t all of us lives up to ’em all the time—until we -grow up, of course, that’s to say.” - -Eliza was thinking deeply. - -“Red hair!” she murmured. “Young Robin Hurst has red hair, and so has -Annette Riley. Is it either of them you’re thinking of, Cook?” - -“I’m not thinkin’ of anyone in particular,” averred the cook, -definitely. “Not my business to think. Wot you an’ I ’ave got to bend -our minds to is Miss Stone, an’ wot she’s goin’ to say when she finds -there’s no cream-puffs for her party.” - -“My Hevins, yes!” agreed Eliza. “And she’s that particular about having -them always!” - -“Don’t I know it!” the cook uttered. “’Cause why, they’re my specialty, -an’ always ’ave been, wherever I’ve cooked. ‘Cream-puffs, of course, -Cook,’ says she, yesterday, as sweet as sugar; ‘it isn’t a Calton Hall -party without your puffs, you know!’ An’, though I says it, Elizer, they -was never better.” - -“Fair melted in me mouth, the ones you gave me, Cook,” said Eliza, -soulfully. - -“They would so. I must say, I’d like to see ’ow they manage ’em in the -drorin-room, all in their Sunday best,” pondered the cook. “I can’t eat -a cream-puff meself without needin’ a wash afterwards. But I s’pose they -’ave their dodges. Well, they won’t get any this afternoon to worry -about, an’ that’s that. An’ it’s near four o’clock now, Elizer, an’ -we’ve got to think of a substichoot.” - -“My goodness!” Eliza uttered. “What are you goin’ to give ’em, Cook?” - -“Fancy Mixed!” said the cook, grimly, advancing with slow dignity -towards a tin that graced the upper shelf. - -“Biscuits!” breathed Eliza, faintly. “She’ll take a fit, Miss Stone -will. I never saw biscuits at one of her parties, all the time I’ve been -here.” - -“No, an’ you never won’t again, if I know it. I reckon I’ll keep the key -of me pantry firm an’ tight in me pocket after this. It’s lowerin’ to me -pride to send in fancy-mixed, but there it is—I ain’t a jugular, to -conjure up a fresh set of puffs in ten minutes. Oh, well, they won’t -starve: me scones take some beatin’, an’ there’s the other cakes. But -them puffs lend tone to a party, Elizer, as you well know: an’ this -particular party’s goin’ to be lackin’ in tone. Just you make the -biscuits look as respectable as you can, while I make the tea: the -bell’ll go any minute.” And Eliza, sighing deeply, prepared to face the -tragedy of the drawing-room. - -Meanwhile, under a great pine-tree that stood in the corner of the -Calton Hall playground, three girls sat in a state of palpitating -expectancy. School was dismissed for the day, and the “crocodile” walk, -loathed by the boarders, which usually followed hard upon the heels of -the last lesson, was not to take place—a joyful omission which always -signalized the afternoons when Miss Stone gave a party, since the junior -governesses, who escorted the “crocodile,” were required in the -drawing-room to assist in pouring out tea. Sounds of mirth came from the -tennis-courts, where a hastily-arranged tournament was in full swing. -Across the playground the space sacred to juniors echoed with the shrill -cries attending a game of rounders: other enthusiasts made merry over -basketball. But the three under the pine-tree, although ready for -tennis, were evidently a prey to emotions deeper than could be excited, -at the moment, by any ordinary game. - -“I know she’s been caught!” Annette Riley breathed, anxiously. “She -ought to have been here ages ago.” - -“Oh, give her time,” said Joyce Harrison, endeavouring to be comforting. -“She might have been delayed in ever so many ways. Ten to one she’s -found that the whole thing is no go, and she’s given it up, and is -getting into her tennis things.” - -“Not Robin,” said Betty O’Hara, quietly. - -“Well, Robin can’t do everything she wants to, no matter how plucky she -is,” Joyce responded. “And I really do hope she isn’t going to pull this -off. She’s been in such an awful lot of rows already this term—Miss -Stone’s getting madder and madder about her. I wish that silly ass of a -Ruby hadn’t dared her to go raiding the sacred pantry.” - -“So do I,” said Annette. “Everyone knows it isn’t safe to dare Robin to -do anything. If you told her she wasn’t game to climb feet foremost up -the electric-light pole, she’d be doing it in five minutes!” - -“Ruby Bennett takes advantage of that,” Betty said hotly. “Half the -scrapes that Robin has been in this term have had Ruby’s nasty little -jeers at the bottom of them. And Robin’s such a dear old blind bat that -she never sees it.” - -“Well, Robin seems to like rows,” said Joyce. “But there will be an -awful one if she’s caught this time.” She dropped her voice -dramatically. “When Mother was down last week Miss Stone talked to her -in her very stoniest manner about my being friends with Robin——said -all sorts of horrid things about her wildness, and that she had a bad -influence in the school. Poor old Mother was quite worried about it, -until I made her see that Robin is just the straightest ever—she does -mad things, but she wouldn’t tell a lie if she were burned alive!” - -“I should just say she wouldn’t!” uttered Betty. “Robin a bad influence, -indeed! I never heard such rubbish. Why, there isn’t a junior that -wouldn’t lick her boots! Prigs like Lucy Armitage, of course——” - -“Oh, old Lucy isn’t bad,” said Annette. “She’s rather overweighted by -being a prefect, that’s all. She’s worried about Robin too, because Miss -Stone told her she meant to make an example of her, next time she broke -a rule. And Robin’s simply incapable of not breaking rules!” - -“But she never does an underhand thing, as half of Miss Stone’s pets -do,” said Betty. “Everyone knows that girls whose parents have money are -all right in this school: Miss Stone keeps her telescope to her blind -eye where they are concerned. If Robin’s mean old uncle were a bit more -generous to her, she wouldn’t be Miss Stone’s black sheep. He must be a -horrid old pig! Robin and her mother have a perfectly vile time at home. -It’s no wonder the poor darling kicks over the traces when she gets away -from him.” She fanned herself with her racquet. “I wish she’d come—it -will be time for out set very soon.” - -“Wonder if Miss Stone has caught her and locked her up,” conjectured -Joyce, gloomily. - -“Not much she hasn’t!” said a cheerful voice—and the three girls sprang -up with exclamations of delight as a fourth whirled suddenly into their -midst, laughing. - -“Robin!—you didn’t manage it?” - -“You weren’t caught?” - -“Tell us what happened!” - -“Easiest thing ever,” said Robin Hurst cheerfully, sitting down on the -thick carpet of pine-needles. “I waited until the front-door bell was -going every two minutes and Eliza was marking time between rings in the -hall, and then I slipped into the servery. Cookie was up to her eyes in -hot scones: just as she was brooding over the cooking of a great -oven-trayful I dodged into the pantry—and oh, girls, you should have -seen the cream-puffs!” - -“Cream-puffs—wow!” said Annette. - -“They were just waiting for me—two big blue dishes full. It seemed a -sin to leave any, so I didn’t. That little suit-case of yours just held -them all, Annette, darling—it’ll be a bit creamy, but I’ll clean it for -you.” - -“And nobody saw you?” - -“Not a soul. It didn’t take two minutes. I shot up the back stairs just -as Eliza came out—she was too full of importance to glance upwards, and -tennis-shoes are nice quiet things. We’ll have a gorgeous supper -to-night—and I’ll show Ruby Bennett I’m not as scared as she tried to -make out.” - -She laughed defiantly, tossing her hat from her mane of bright red hair. -Even though shingled, Robin Hurst’s hair was a defiant mop, resisting -all her efforts to make it resemble the sleek demureness of her -schoolfellows’ heads. Its very colour was defiant: no such head of flame -had ever before enlivened the sober rooms of Calton Hall. It blazed -round a narrow delicate face, with clear pale skin that made its owner -furious by its trick of blushing at the slightest provocation. Until -humourously-inclined schoolgirls had found that the pastime was -dangerous, it had been considered rather good fun to make Robin -blush—to see the quick wave of colour surge to the very roots of her -hair, and even down her neck. That was two years ago, when she had been -a new girl, shy and uncertain of herself. Now that she was nearly -sixteen, no one took liberties—it was too much like jesting with -gunpowder. - -For the rest, she was tall and very slender—almost boyish in her clean -length of limb; with brown eyes that were rarely without a twinkle, and -a mouth altogether too wide for good looks, with a little upward quirk -at the corners. Lessons were abhorrent to her; history and poetry she -loved, but in every other subject she held a firm position at the bottom -of her class, and was wholly unrepentant about it. The teachers liked -her, while they despaired of her. Miss Stone, the principal, regarded -her with cold disapproval, as a girl who was never likely to reflect the -slightest credit on the school. From the first she had shown a disregard -of law and order that landed her perpetually in trouble. Whatever might -be her deficiencies in class, she was possessed of an amazing ability -for getting into scrapes—and for laughing her way out of them. She took -her penalties cheerfully, and was ready to plan fresh mischief the next -day. - -An impatient hail came from the tennis-courts, and the four girls -gathered themselves up and ran to answer it. Over a hard-fought set -Robin apparently forgot altogether that any weight of crime lay upon her -shoulders—possibly because she did not regard the raiding of a pantry -as in the least criminal. She prepared for tea with serene cheerfulness, -that deepened a little as she met Ruby Bennett’s enquiring eye. - -“Well, how did the raid go?” asked Ruby, lightly. One was never quite -sure of one’s ground with Robin: it was necessary to feel one’s way. - -“What raid?” queried Robin, with an air of sublime innocence. They were -filing into the dining-room, and conversation was frowned upon by the -authorities during the procession. - -Triumph flashed into the other girl’s face. - -“I thought you wouldn’t be game!” she said, smiling unpleasantly. She -went to her place, radiating satisfaction. Miss Stone was not present; -it was usual for her to remain in seclusion on the evening following a -party. The teachers, especially the junior ones, looked rather troubled, -as if the festivity had not brought pleasure in its train. They were -preoccupied, and when conversation at the long tables rose above its -permitted hum they failed to quell it with their customary promptness. -There were plates of biscuits on their table—Fancy Mixed—but they -seemed to regard them without appetite. - -These things did not trouble the pupils, who were unusually hungry—hard -exercise in the playground having more effect upon the appetite than the -slow and sinuous meanderings of a walk in crocodile formation. They ate -all before them, and did not grumble unduly at the jam, which was that -peculiar blend that arrives in very large tins, and is said to be -nutritious—as, indeed, it may well be, having as a basis the wholesome -turnip and vegetable marrow. Calton Hall was one of those -semi-fashionable private schools that loom attractively in -advertisements and preserve a certain amount of outside show, while -assisting profits by a steady system of cheese-paring in matters under -the surface: its boarders owed much of their healthy appearance to the -fact that the digestion of youth is tough and long-enduring. Tea being -over, they dispersed for the half-hour of liberty before preparation: -during which time Robin and her friends were at some pains to avoid Ruby -Bennett. That damsel was clearly bent on triumphing openly. Since, -however, she could not find Robin, she philosophically postponed her -jibes until bedtime, when her victim would be at her mercy in the -dormitory. - -Ruby was not the only occupant of Number Four who went up to bed with a -keen sense of anticipation. Every girl knew that she had dared Robin -Hurst to raid Miss Stone’s pantry: eight out of the twelve had gathered, -more or less indirectly, that Robin had not taken up the challenge—and -it was always interesting to see Robin baited, especially by Ruby -Bennett, who had a very unpleasant knowledge of the best places to plant -her winged darts. Robin’s peppery temper lent peculiar excitement to the -frequent encounters between them. - -It was, therefore, extremely disappointing to find that Robin took all -Ruby’s jeers meekly on this eventful evening. She said very little, and -what she did say was vague: she alluded apologetically to the manifold -risks of raiding before a party, and led them to infer that her spirit -had quailed at the task. Ruby rose to the occasion with vigour, though -she might have been warned by her adversary’s suspicious humility: now -was her chance to be avenged for many encounters when Robin had -triumphed. She let all her smouldering jealousy of the more popular girl -find vent in her sneers, until Number Four marvelled at Robin’s -self-restraint. - -That lasted until the lights were out and the teacher on duty had made -her round. Then came stealthy movements and choked laughter; and the -flash of Annette’s electric torch revealed Robin perched on the end of -Betty’s bed, an elfish figure in pale-blue pyjamas. - -“Friends—Romans—countrymen!” she declaimed. “Are you awake?” - -Ten convulsive moments demonstrated that the dormitory was indeed astir. -There was a sense of development in the air. Betty O’Hara giggled -hopelessly. Ruby lay still. - -“Miss Stone regrets—I feel sure she regrets—the poor and insufficient -food set before you at the evening meal. She realizes that more is owing -to you; that you cannot be expected to sleep without a little extra -nourishment.” - -“Robin, you lunatic—what have you been up to?” ejaculated someone. - -“I am not a lunatic,” said Robin, with dignity. “I am the commissariat -department of this dormitory, just as Ruby is its top-notch orator—when -she gets a chance. It is my joyful privilege to beg you all to sit -up—which I perceive ten of you are already doing—and to invite you to -join in Miss Stone’s party festivities. Willingly and gladly have her -guests denied themselves that you may now feast on Cook’s extra-special -cream-puffs!” - -Smothered yelps of joy broke out from the beds, and leaping figures -hastened to form a ring round the red-haired speaker. Many hands patted -her on the back, until she begged for mercy. - -“Keep off, you stupids! And for goodness’ sake, be quiet, or you’ll have -Miss Bryant in! Got the suit-case, Betty?” - -“Robin, darling, how did you do it?” - -“Quite easy, when you know how,” said Robin, airily. She opened the -suit-case, and the torch revealed a mass of cream-cakes, more or less -amalgamated by this time. But no one was critical. - -“Help yourselves, everybody.” No second bidding was necessary. Ten hands -plunged into the booty, and choked sounds of satisfaction arose. From -Ruby’s bed came neither voice nor movement. - -“Cream-puff, Ruby?” invited Robin. - -“No, thanks,” said Ruby, sulkily. - -“Too bad!” said the commissariat department. She selected a fairly -undamaged puff, and took it over to Ruby’s bed, holding it within an -inch of her nose. The nose twitched longingly, but pride was stronger -than hunger. - -“I don’t want it, I tell you. Take it away!” - -“Oh, I really couldn’t,” said Robin, lightly. “They’re ever so good, -aren’t they, girls? I couldn’t bear you to go without any, when I really -did risk my life and liberty to get them for you.” She laid the delicacy -gently on Ruby’s pillow, disregarding a furious command to take it away, -and capered back to the circle of girls, who were choking with laughter, -between mouthfuls. - -“All gone!” said Joyce, mournfully. “Oh, but they were lovely, Robin!” - -“Robin Hurst!” said Betty, suddenly. “You never had one yourself!” - -“Didn’t I?” answered Robin, innocently. “Well, that was an oversight on -my part. Never mind, I really don’t much like squashed cream-puff. Next -time I have the chance of—er—abstracting any, young ladies, I shall -endeavour to pack them more neatly.” - -“Oh, that’s a shame, Robin—when you ran all the risk. What beasts we -are! And I had three!” - -“I had all the fun—except what Ruby had,” laughed Robin. “It was worth -it. And Ruby did enjoy herself so. Own up you’re beaten, Ruby, and eat -that puff!” - -“Cave!” said someone, in a sharp whisper. - -There was a faint sound in the passage. Robin shot the empty suit-case -under the bed, and in a moment every girl’s head was meekly on her -pillow, as the door opened and Miss Stone’s portly figure appeared. She -switched on the dormitory light. Behind her, Miss Bryant’s face showed, -worried and anxious. - -“Girls, what are you doing?” - -There was profound silence. - -“I heard your voices—you need not pretend to be asleep.” The -principal’s angry glance swept the long room. “Joyce Harrison—what have -you been doing?” - -“Talking, Miss Stone.” - -“And what else?” - -No answer. Mild surprise was visible on Joyce’s innocent face. Talking -in bed was against the rules—to admit to one breach of regulations -seemed to her sufficient. - -“You need not try to hide your guilt from me,” boomed Miss Stone, in -tones of concentrated wrath. “I am very certain of what has been going -on.” She moved from one bed to another, peering with short-sighted eyes. -“What is that on your pillow, Ruby?” - -She made a hasty step forward, and her foot caught on a trailing -blanket. Stumbling, she put out her hand, to save herself. It came down -squarely on Ruby’s neglected cream-puff. Triumph mingled with disgust as -she regained her balance, cream dripping from the hand she held aloft. - -“I thought as much! A towel, if you please, Miss Bryant—quickly! You -wicked, deceitful girls! Which of you stole these cakes from my pantry -this afternoon?” - -The profound silence that greeted this question was broken by a -smothered burst of irrepressible laughter from two beds at the end of -the room. The scene had been too much for Robin and Betty. They ducked -their heads beneath the clothes, whence gurgles proceeded. - -It was all that was necessary to fan Miss Stone’s anger to white heat. -Words failed her for a moment, while she rubbed furiously at her sticky -hand. - -“You will find it by no means a joke, young ladies,” she said, bitterly, -her voice shaking. “Ruby Bennett, what do you know of this theft?” - -“I didn’t do it,” said Ruby, sulkily. - -“The cake was on your pillow—do you think I am going to believe that -you know nothing of it? Answer me!” - -“I never touched your cakes—and I never ate any,” Ruby gulped. Fear of -Miss Stone’s wrath mingled with fear of her schoolfellows, should she -tell all she longed to tell. - -“Did you put the cake on your pillow?” - -“No, I didn’t.” - -“Then who did?” - -“I—I—” - -Robin Hurst sat up in bed, her hair a vivid flame round her pale face. - -“Oh, Ruby doesn’t know anything about it, Miss Stone,” she said, her -voice faintly bored. “I did it all. None of the others had anything to -do with it.” - -Joyce, Betty, and Annette bobbed up with Jack-in-the-box effect. - -“We were in it too, Miss Stone!” - -“That’s not true!” flashed Robin. “I took them by myself.” - -Miss Stone surveyed them bitterly. - -“I had guessed you were at the bottom of it, Robin Hurst,” she said. “No -other girl in the school would lower herself by the actions in which you -find pleasure. I warned you last week—this time I shall certainly make -an example of you. Do not go into school in the morning; you may come to -my study at half-past-nine!” She swept majestically from the room, -leaving silence and consternation behind her. - - - - - CHAPTER II - NEXT DAY - - -THE school hummed in the morning. Before breakfast it was known that a -row transcending all other rows had occurred in the night, and that -Robin Hurst, who had figured in so many scrapes before, was liable to -“catch it” this time with unexampled severity. Fearful stories of the -wrath of Miss Stone circulated among the juniors. It was reported that -she had fallen into a basket of stolen cream-puffs, rising in a -condition of messiness and fury most terrifying to contemplate. That -Robin had been foolish enough to laugh at the wrong moment was readily -believed—it was the kind of lunatic thing that Robin would do. As to -her punishment, the school palpitated amid the wildest guesses. -Expulsion was hinted at by a few, since ordinary penalties seemed -feeble, considering Miss Stone’s anger. The whole dormitory was to -suffer—except Ruby Bennett, who, having instigated the crime, had -refused to share in its fruits. Ruby found herself ostentatiously -cold-shouldered. - -Whatever thoughts or doubts mingled in Robin’s mind, she gave no hint of -them to anyone else. Before breakfast, she risked further trouble by a -whirlwind visit to the kitchen, for the purpose of making her peace with -the cook. - -“I’m afraid I gave you an awful lot of trouble, Cook,” she said, -breathlessly. “It wasn’t that I really wanted the blessed things, you -know—but it was a dare, so I had to get them. Please don’t be cross -with me!” - -“Some day you’ll take a dare once too often, my young lady!” said Cook, -affecting sternness, and grinning in spite of herself. - -“I’m not sure that I haven’t done it this time,” answered Robin, with a -sigh and a twinkle. “There’s going to be an awful row. Well, I don’t -care if I am sent away—except for Mother. She’d hate it. If I’m only a -red-haired memory to-morrow, Cookie, darling, think of me kindly and -remember I loved you. And they were scrumptious cream-puffs!” - -“They say you never tasted one of them,” said the cook. For gossip -travels swiftly in a school. - -Robin tilted her nose. - -“Well—no,” she said. “I don’t snare things to eat them myself. It’s -different, you see.” - -It was hardly a lucid explanation, but the cook saw. - -“Well, between you an’ me, I rather any day they went to you young -things than to the droring-room,” she said. “I ’ope she won’t be too -’ard on you, my dear, for ’twas only a prank—but ’er state of mind was -fair ’orrible, Elizer said, when she saw them Fancy Mixed biscuits I ’ad -to send in, instead!” - -Robin gave a low chuckle. - -“It would be,” she said. “Well I must run, Cookie dear, for it will be -the end of all things if I’m caught. But I had to tell you I was sorry!” -She flashed a smile at the cook, and was gone. - -Breakfast was eaten in unhappy silence: the weight of disgrace that lay -over Number Four dormitory was felt by all the boarders, and many -surreptitious glances were stolen at Miss Stone’s grim face, striving to -forecast the extent of the penalty to be exacted from the chief sinner. -In the playground, afterwards, Robin found her three allies banded -together by a high resolve. - -“We’re going in with you,” Betty stated. - -“To Miss Stone? Indeed you’re not, my children!” - -“We’re just as much in it as you are,” said Annette. “We knew all about -it beforehand.” - -“I never heard such rubbish,” said Robin, laughing. “I was the only -criminal, and now I’m the only one asked to the party. You can’t butt in -without an invitation—it isn’t polite!” - -“Bother politeness!” Betty’s voice was almost tearful. “It will be ever -so much better if she has four of us to deal with, Robin, dear—she -can’t expel four of us.” - -“She isn’t likely to expel any one,” Robin answered, in cheery tones -that hid her own forebodings. “But if she is, I’m the one, and you three -have nothing to do with it.” - -“It isn’t fair for you to put on that ‘Alone I did it!’ air,” said -Joyce. “You were only the catspaw; as Annette says, we knew all about -it, so we’re just as guilty. I think all Number Four ought to go in with -you.” - -“What—Ruby too? Wild horses wouldn’t drag her, and you know it.” - -“Oh—Ruby!” Joyce’s tone was scornful. “She doesn’t count. Anyone else -would have whipped that beastly cream-puff under her pillow, but she -just let it sit there to give us all away. She’s an outcast!” - -“She’ll emerge with a perfectly good halo, in Miss Stone’s eyes,” said -Robin, laughing. “I can see Ruby as a prefect before long, ruling us all -with a rod of iron. But truly, girls, you can’t come with me. I’ve got -to take my gruel alone.” - -“You can’t stop us,” Betty said, stubbornly. - -“It will only make things worse,” Robin pleaded. “Miss Stone wants a -victim, but she doesn’t want four: she will be madder than ever if you -all march into the study. And it isn’t fair, no matter how you look at -it. I’m the Knave of Hearts who stole the tarts, and if I have to be -beaten full sore, well, it’s just. You can’t get away from it, that it -is just.” - -“Justice is all right, but Miss Stone can be such a pig,” said Annette. -“If she hadn’t such a down on you, already, Robin, we wouldn’t mind. -We’re coming, and that’s all about it.” - -The big bell clanged out, and from every quarter the girls began to -hurry towards the schoolroom. - -“Well, I must go,” Robin said, straightening her shoulders. “Trot off -into school, my dears, or you will be marked late.” She smiled at them, -turning to go. - -“We’re coming,” said the three, in an obstinate chorus. They formed -round her, and marched across the playground and into the house, while -Robin protested vainly. She was still protesting when they reached the -study door and Joyce tapped gently. - -Miss Stone’s eyebrows went up as they filed into the room. - -“I summoned Robin only,” she said, stiffly. “Why are you all here?” - -“We were in it too, Miss Stone,” Joyce said. “It doesn’t seem fair to us -for Robin to take all the blame.” - -The principal looked at them indifferently. - -“Possibly I have not understood fully,” she said, with cold politeness. -“You mean me to believe that you were concerned in the robbery -yesterday?” - -Joyce flushed angrily. - -“We knew Robin meant to take the things—if she could.” - -“Quite so. And you were willing to let her do it?” - -“It was only a joke—another girl had dared her to do it.” - -“But you did not help in this very peculiar species of joke?” - -“No. But we would have, if Robin had wanted help.” - -“They had nothing whatever to do with it, Miss Stone!” Robin -interrupted, hotly. “It was entirely my own affair. It’s quite -ridiculous for them to come in with me. I’m the only one who should be -punished.” - -“I am glad you realize that,” said Miss Stone, smoothly. “Everyone who -helped to gorge upon what you stole is worthy of punishment, and will -certainly be dealt with in due course; but you were evidently the -ringleader, as you have been so often before in every kind of -lawlessness. Since your companions have chosen to burst into my study -with you they may remain to hear what I have to say to you.” - -“I wish you would send them away,” muttered Robin. - -“I daresay you do. But it may hinder them from following in your -footsteps if they are enabled to form a clear idea of how such behaviour -as yours is regarded by people with ordinary ideas of honour.” - -The colour surged over Robin’s face, and ebbed as quickly, leaving it -very white. Betty O’Hara uttered a choked exclamation. - -“Miss Stone! Robin’s the honourablest girl——!” - -“Is she?” Miss Stone smiled faintly. “I fear that does not say much for -the others—if I accept your view, Betty. But then, I do not.” She -paused, and took off her pince-nez as though fearing they might be a -handicap to her eloquence. Then, very deliberately, she proceeded to -avenge her wrongs by dissecting Robin’s character. - -The three who listened carried away no very clear idea of the long -oration that followed. They heard the smooth voice rising and falling in -waves of scorn and condemnation; but most of their attention was centred -on the white face of their companion, who listened to the recital of her -own misdeeds in utter silence, infuriating the principal by the shadow -of a smile that lurked about the corners of her mouth. Miss Stone was a -woman of an evil temper: she had never liked Robin, and she had chosen -to consider herself humiliated. Now she forgot that the girl before her -was little more than a child, and her anger grew as she lashed her -pitilessly with her tongue. She searched an ample vocabulary for the -most stinging words: her voice was bitter as she spoke of deceit, theft, -dishonour, meanness, greed. “If Robin had been a murderess she couldn’t -have been more beastly,” said Annette, tearfully, later. And Robin -listened, and the little smile did not fail. - -“I have not made up my mind whether I can permit you to remain in the -school,” finished the principal, as breath began to grow short. “The -disgrace to your mother weighs with me, of course, though I cannot -expect it to weigh with you: but I have to consider your contaminating -effect upon my other pupils. For the present you will remain entirely -apart from the others, studying, sleeping, and taking your meals alone, -and debarred from all games. Later on——” - -There was a knock at the door. Eliza entered, visibly nervous at finding -herself in the hall of justice, yet able to send a look of sympathy at -the criminal in the dock. - -“I told you I was not to be disturbed, Eliza,” said Miss Stone, angrily. - -“Sorry ma’am. But it’s a telegram, and it’s marked “Urgent.” So I -thought I’d better bring it in.” - -Miss Stone took the envelope from her hand, and tore it open hastily. -Her face changed. She looked at Robin uncertainly. - -“This—this alters matters,” she said. “It concerns you, Robin.” - -All the defiant carelessness died out of Robin’s face. She sprang -forward. - -“Mother!” she cried, and her voice was a wail. “It isn’t Mother!” - -“No—no. Not your Mother. She has telegraphed for you to go home at -once. There is bad news for you, I am afraid.” - -“Then she is ill! Tell me, quickly!” - -“It is not your mother at all,” Miss Stone answered. “It is your uncle. -He—he died yesterday, my dear.” - -Robin stared at her, helpless in her overwhelming rush of relief. - -“Oh—Uncle Donald!” she said. She gave a short laugh, and caught at -Betty to steady herself, forgetting Miss Stone altogether. “I—I’m -sorry—I didn’t mean to laugh. But I thought it was Mother!” - - - - - CHAPTER III - MERRI CREEK - - -IT was late on the afternoon of the following day when Robin Hurst -changed from the main line and entered the narrow-gauge train which -marked the final stage of her journey home. The little line was a new -one, opening up a great stretch of bush country that had hitherto been -almost unknown, save for scattered farms and sawmills, where plucky -settlers earned a hard enough living among the giant hills. Robin had -not travelled on it before: it was still under construction when she had -left home after the May holidays. She remembered her drive to the -station then, over twelve miles of bad road, in torrents of rain. She -and her mother, half-smothered in heavy black oilskins, had tried to be -merry as they urged the slow old horse up and down the hills: she had a -sudden very vivid memory of her mother’s face, still determinedly -cheerful, when the train that they had only just managed to catch puffed -out of the station. Mrs. Hurst had stood on the platform, tall and -erect, the water dripping from her hat and coat, and forming a widening -pool round her: and though her smile had been gay, Robin had never -forgotten the loneliness of her eyes. - -Now she settled herself in the corner of an empty carriage with an -unwonted sense of relief. She did not for a moment pretend to herself -that Uncle Donald’s death caused her the slightest grief. He had been -her father’s brother, very much older than the big, cheery red-haired -father whose death, three years before, had left his wife and child -alone and almost penniless. Until then, their home had been in the -Wimmera district, and they had scarcely known Donald Hurst: but when -everything was over, and he realized the helplessness of their position, -he had offered them a home. - -They had taken it gratefully enough, and through the years that followed -they had tried to please the hard old man: but it had never been a happy -home. Donald Hurst’s wife had died many years before, and there had been -no children; he was alone in the world, and he had asked nothing better -than to be alone. He lived in a house much too big for him, with an old -housekeeper as hard and dour as himself, and made the most of his small -hill-farm; it would not have been enough had he not possessed a small -private income as well. At first Mrs. Hurst had tried to teach Robin -herself, for there was no school within five miles. Then, realizing that -the girl was beyond her powers of teaching, she had come to an -arrangement with her brother-in-law, by which she took the place of the -housekeeper, and with the money thus saved he paid Robin’s expenses at a -school near Melbourne. - -It was a very profitable arrangement for Donald Hurst. The housekeeper -had been wasteful and lazy; had demanded high wages and had cooked -abominably. Now he saved her wages and “keep,” as well as that of Robin; -and if he groaned heavily over the school-bills, he knew well that he -was a gainer by the transaction. Mrs. Hurst made his house run on oiled -wheels: his meals were better, his monthly store-accounts less. Most of -the house remained shut up, but the rooms they occupied shone with a -cleanliness they had not known for years. The old man chuckled in the -depths of his calculating old soul. - -It pleased him, too, to be without Robin. He hated all children, and -Robin, with her red hair and her overflowing high spirits, reminded him -sharply of the younger brother he had never liked, and of whom he had -always been jealous. She was constantly getting into trouble; it seemed -almost impossible for a day to pass without a brush between her uncle -and herself. Robin had never known anything but happiness. It puzzled -her, and brought out all that was worst in her nature, to be in a house -where there was no home-like atmosphere—where grumbling and -fault-finding were perpetual. She grew reckless and daring; dodging her -uncle’s wrath when she could, and bearing it with a careless shrug when -to dodge was impossible. Even though losing Robin condemned her mother -to ceaseless loneliness she was glad to see the child go. - -Holidays had been rather more bearable, although the long Christmas -vacations had strained endurance more than once to breaking-point. Robin -thought of them now with a surge of dull anger against her uncle that -suddenly horrified her, seeing that he was dead, and could trouble her -no more. How she and her mother had longed for a tiny place just for -themselves during those precious weeks! Even a tent in the bush would -have been Paradise, compared to the gloomy house where at any time the -loud, angry voice might break in upon them with complaints and stupid -grumbling. And now it could never happen any more. “I don’t care if it’s -wicked,” Robin muttered to herself. “He was a bad old man, and I’m glad -he’s dead!” - -The train crawled slowly out of the junction and wound its way between -the hills she knew. Robin looked out eagerly. Below her wound the road -over which she had often travelled behind slow old Roany: she could see -that it had been made freshly, most likely to assist in the construction -of the railway. Its smooth, well-rolled surface struck an odd note, -remembering what seas of mud they had often ploughed through on their -journeys to the township. Slow and toilsome as those drives had been, -she looked back to them as the brightest parts of her holidays, since -then they had known that for hours they would be free from Uncle -Donald’s strident voice. - -It was early September now. The winter had been unusually mild and dry, -and the hills were gay with wattle-blossom, which shone in dense masses -of gold along the line of the creek in the valley below. Already the -willows were budding: the sap, racing through their limbs, turned them -to a coppery glow against the sunset. “Early Nancy” starred the grass in -the cultivated fields with its myriad flowers: Robin almost fancied she -could smell their faint, spicy fragrance. She longed to lie in the deep, -cool grass, forgetting the long months of Melbourne dust and the school -that she had hated. Ayrshire cows, knee-deep in marshy pools, glanced up -lazily as the train puffed by, too contented to allow themselves to be -disturbed: once a huge bull stared defiantly, his great head thrust -forward, the sunlight rippling on his beautiful, dappled brown and white -coat. Robin drew a long breath of utter happiness. Soon she would be -home: and there would be mother waiting, and before them would stretch -the long, quiet evening, with no harsh voice to mar its peace. Surely it -was not wicked to be glad! - -Gradually, as they left the township farther and farther behind, the -farms became fewer and more isolated, giving place to long stretches of -rough hill-country. Here there was little dairying land, and scarcely -any cultivation; the holdings were only partially cleared, ring-barked -timber standing out, gaunt and grey, from the surrounding undergrowth. -There was evidence of the ceaseless war against bracken fern and -rabbits: paddocks littered with dry, cut ferns showed a fresh crop of -green fronds starting vigorously to replace them, and among them were -innumerable rabbit-burrows. Already the evening was tempting their -inhabitants to appear: as the train came round curves, a score of -grey-brown bodies went scurrying over the hillside, and a score of white -tails gleamed for an instant as their owners dived into the safety of -the underworld. - -They came to a little siding presently, and pulled up for a brief halt. -There were no station buildings: the tall timber came almost to the -railway line, save for a clearing where a sawmill had established -itself, gaunt and hideous, with huge piles of giant logs waiting their -turn at the shrieking saw, and great heaps of brown sawdust bearing mute -testimony to those which had already met their fate. Now, freshly cut, -and still fragrant with resin and gum, they waited for the trucks that -should bear them to Melbourne—stacks of smooth timber, among which -played the half-wild children of the mill encampment. Here and there -were the tents of the workmen; their wives, thin brown women, looking -almost like men, came hurrying out to greet the train that made the -great event of each day. The guard flung upon the ground beside the line -the stores brought from the township: sacks of bread, boxes of -groceries, meat in blood-stained bags. The children came running to get -them. Robin, leaning out, offered them the remains of the fruit and -sweets the girls had packed into her travelling basket that -morning—pressing them into grubby brown hands, whose owners hung back, -half-shy, wholly longing. Then the engine-whistle made the hills echo, -and the little train drew away—to be swallowed up in a moment by the -tall trees. - -There was a hint of dusk in the evening sky when they drew into the -terminus, a tiny station in a more cleared area. Robin had the door open -before the train had come to a standstill. There was the tall figure -waiting, just as she had dreamed—waiting with her face alight with the -joy of welcome. Robin flung herself at her mother, holding her with -strong young arms. - -“Oh, Mother!—poor old Mother!” - -“Oh. I’m glad to have you!” breathed Mrs. Hurst, with a deep sigh. “I -had to get you, Robin—I couldn’t wait.” - -“I should think not! Has it been very dreadful, Mother, darling?” - -“Pretty dreadful.” The tall woman shuddered slightly. “Never mind—I’ve -got you now. Let us get home as quickly as we can.” - -There were friendly hands to lift Robin’s trunk into the battered old -buggy outside the station, and warm, kindly words of welcome; all the -farmers about Merri Creek knew Mrs. Hurst and the long-legged, -red-haired girl who used to run wild over their paddocks, and their -wives had proved Alice Hurst’s kindness in a hundred ways. They looked -at her this evening with an added touch of respect and sympathy. Old -Donald Hurst’s rough nature had made him an unpopular figure in the -district, and the weary life led with him by his sister-in-law was no -secret. They knew she had been a drudge, unpaid save for her child’s -school-fees; but hard work was the daily portion of most of the women of -the bush. They pitied her, not for that, but because of the ceaseless -bitterness of the old man’s tongue. It had been no easy thing, to live -upon his bounty. - -Robin and her mother climbed into the buggy, said “Good-night,” and took -the road that wound along the valley. The horse jogged slowly, and Mrs. -Hurst let him take his own pace. She drove with one hand resting on -Robin’s knee, apparently unwilling to talk, only glad of her nearness; -and Robin, after one glance at her worn face, was silent, too. They -understood each other very well. When Mother felt that she could talk, -Robin would be ready. - -When they turned in at the gate of Hill Farm, it was almost dark. Roany -jogged more quickly up the track that led to the stable-yard, where a -big, awkward lad waited, grinning cheerfully. - -“’Ullo, Miss Robin! Glad to see y’ back.” - -“Hallo, Danny!” Robin jumped out lightly, and shook hands with him. “How -are all your people?” - -“Good-oh, thanks, Miss Robin. Jus’ you leave the ol’ horse to me, an’ -I’ll bring your box in presently. Kettle’s near boilin’, Mrs. Hurst, an’ -I lit the kitchen lamp.” - -“That’s very good of you, Danny.” Mrs. Hurst’s voice was utterly weary, -but she forced a smile, and the big fellow beamed in answer. Robin -gathered her light luggage, following her mother to the house. - -The kitchen was bright with lamp-light and the glow of the fire. Robin -put down her burdens and went to her mother, taking off her hat and coat -as if she were a child. Then she looked at her deliberately. - -“Ah, you’re just dead-beat, Mummie!” she said softly. She gathered the -tall form into her arms, holding her closely, patting her with little -loving touches; and Mrs. Hurst put her head on the young shoulder, and -shook with sobs that had no tears. So they stayed for a few moments. -Then the mother pulled herself together. - -“Oh, it is just beautiful to feel you are home!” she said. “Come to your -room, darling—you must be so hungry and tired. Tea is all ready, except -for the toast, and that won’t take three minutes.” - -“It won’t take you any time at all,” said Robin, masterfully. “You’re -going to do as you’re told, for one night, anyhow, Mrs. Hurst!” She led -her into the dining-room, and put her firmly on the couch: in spite of -her protests she took off her shoes, dashing to her room for a pair of -soft slippers. - -“Now you just lie quiet,” she ordered, as she lit the lamp. “Oh, you’ve -got the fire laid!—how ripping! It isn’t really cold, but I’ll put a -match to it, I think, don’t you? a fire’s so cosy when you’re tired. -What a jolly tea, Mummie! that cake is just an extra-special, and you -had no business to make it, but I’ll eat an awful lot. Oh, and I’ve been -getting into a most horrible row over cakes!—they were cream-puffs, and -I’ll tell you all about them presently. Feet warm?” She took off the -slippers and felt her mother’s feet, proceeding to rub them vigorously. -“They’re just like frogs—when the fire burns up well you’ll have to -toast them; I’ll just get you a rug for the present.” She covered her -gently, dropping a kiss on her forehead as she straightened the rug. -“Now, you lie still and don’t argue—remember you’ve got a daughter to -bully you. I’ll have the toast made in a jiffy. Shall I make Danny’s tea -in the little teapot?” - -“Yes, please, darling,” said Mrs. Hurst, smiling faintly. “But it’s too -bad for you to be working after your long journey. I can quite well——” - -“Never saw such a woman to talk nonsense,” said Robin. “Lie quiet, or -I’ll have to sit on you, and then we’ll never get tea—and I’m so -hungry!” She went swiftly into the adjoining kitchen, leaving the door -open, and talking cheerfully while she cut bread and poked the fire. -“Isn’t it splendid to have the railway at last! I was quite thrilled to -travel on it for the first time, and to think how often we’d jogged -along that dreary old road. It’s so lovely to be back, and to see hills -and paddocks again, after months of dingy grey streets: and the wattle -is just beautiful all the way out. That you, Danny? come in. I’ll have -your tea ready in a moment.” - -“I put your things in your room, Miss Robin,” Danny said. “Got plenty of -wood? I got a lot cut outside.” - -“I’ll want a big log for the dining-room fire after tea, thanks, Danny.” - -“Right-oh. I’ll go an’ ’ave a bit of a wash.” He went out clumsily, and -Robin finished her preparations. - -“There!” she said at length. “I’ll shut the door, and we’ll be all cosy -and comfortable. I can hardly realize that I’m back, unless I keep -looking at you all the time! Let me bring your tea to the couch, Mummie, -dear.” - -“No, indeed,” said Mrs. Hurst, with decision. “I’m not so bad as that.” -She got up and came across to where Robin stood, smiling down at her. -“Let me wash my hands, and I shall be able to enjoy the luxury of -sitting down with my daughter.” - -“If only Miss Stone regarded me as you do, how happy she might be!” -remarked Robin. “She has a total lack of appreciation of my finer -qualities.” Over their meal she told her mother the harrowing story of -the cream-puffs, and had the satisfaction of making her laugh more than -once. To anyone who knew Miss Stone the mental vision of her plunging -into Ruby Bennett’s discarded delicacy was not without humour. - -“I don’t approve, of course,” said Mrs. Hurst. “It was really naughty of -you, Robin, and you are old enough to know better. But I think I can -leave that part of it to Miss Stone.” - -“You can, indeed,” Robin assured her. “Her remarks left nothing to the -imagination.” - -“I suppose I would have been distressed, but nothing seems to matter -much now,” said her mother. “For school is over for you, I’m afraid, -dearest. You can never go back to Calton Hall.” - -“Mother! Say it again!” - -“Ah, it isn’t a joke, beloved,” said Mrs. Hurst. “It is a great grief to -me. You are not sixteen: I had so hoped for two years yet at school for -you.” - -“I wouldn’t be anything but a dunce if I went to school for twenty -years,” stated her daughter, with shining eyes. “I know enough now for -life in the country, and that’s what I’m always going to have. Oh, -Mother, I’m so glad! I’m sorry you aren’t, but I can’t help it: I’m just -glad all over!” - -She stopped abruptly, looking at her mother’s white face. - -“Now, you’re just going to lie down again while I clear the table and -wash up,” she said. “Then I’ll put a big log on the fire, and you’re -going to tell me everything.” - - - - - CHAPTER IV - PLANS AND PROBLEMS - - -“THERE isn’t so much to tell you,” Mrs. Hurst said. The room was tidy, -the kitchen work done; Robin had made up the fire and pulled her -mother’s couch close to it. She sat on the hearthrug near her; so near -that Mrs. Hurst could put out her hand and touch the shining red hair. - -“I don’t know anything, you see,” Robin answered. “Was he—was Uncle -Donald ill long, Mummie?” - -“Only about ten days. He had been very trying for over a month: his -temper was worse than ever, and nothing I could do seemed to please him. -I think the poor old man must have been suffering, but he would never -tell me anything, and there were times when I was almost in despair. -Then one night he would not eat, and when I took him some nourishment -after he had gone to bed he flew into a violent passion and shouted at -me until even Danny woke and came running to see what was the matter.” - -Robin set her lips. - -“I suppose I ought to be sorry that he’s dead,” she said. “But I can’t -be, Mother—I just can’t. He was a bad, cruel old man. That anyone -should speak to you like that—!” - -“I think he was sorry afterwards. The fit of anger ended in a violent -coughing attack, and at last he fainted. I sent Danny to the village to -telephone for the doctor, but he was away in the hills and could not get -here until the next day, about noon, and I had a terrible time trying to -keep Uncle Donald in bed: he would try to get up and dress, but he -always fainted. When the doctor came he became more obedient. The doctor -told me from the first that there was no hope.” - -“You should have got me home,” breathed Robin. She found her mother’s -hand and held it tightly. - -Mrs. Hurst shuddered. - -“I would not have had you here for anything. He was very difficult to -manage—his temper seemed to get quite beyond his control. And all the -time he hated me, Robin—he just hated me. You could see it in every -look he gave me, not only in the bitter things he said.” - -“And you had no help?” - -“I tried to get a nurse, but there were none to be had. Some of the -women about here came when they could, and Danny was a great comfort. -There was really very little to be done for the poor old man. But it was -a very heart-breaking thing to see him dying like that—hating everyone, -and with his heart full of malice. Thank God, at the last the evil -spirit seemed to leave him. For it really was an evil spirit, Robin: -something that seemed to take possession of him, and to control his -mind.” - -“And it left him?” said Robin, awed. - -“Twenty-four hours before he died. He woke up from a long sleep, very -weak, but quite rational and quiet. The first thing he said was to tell -me to get the lawyer out from the township at once—Mr. Briggs. -Fortunately, Danny was able to get him on the telephone and he came out -in a car immediately, with his clerk. Uncle Donald got him to make his -will, and they propped him up while he signed it. It was all very -distressing, for he was so weak, and we feared he might die at any -moment. After the business was done he seemed to grow stronger, and -talked to me quite kindly.” - -“I’m glad he did,” said Robin. “It would have been awful if he had died -in that wicked mood.” - -“Yes—it would have been terrible. He said once, ‘You’ve been very kind -to me, Alice, and I’ve been very hard on you.’ And he asked me to -forgive him—poor old man! He seemed to want to have me with him after -that, and he liked me to hold his hand. I was holding it when he died, -very early the next morning.” - -“I wish you had got me sooner,” said Robin, very low. - -“I did not want to get you until—until everything was over. The funeral -was this morning. And after that I felt as if I could hardly wait until -you came.” - -Robin put her cheek against the hand she held, and for a while they were -silent. - -“You must be just worn out, Mummie,” the girl said, at length. - -“Oh, I shall be quite well in a few days. I think I did not know how -tired I was until I saw you. Then I seemed to go all to pieces.” She -smiled at the bent head. “It was feeling that I had someone to lean -upon, I suppose.” - -“Well, you’d better just lean hard,” said Robin, sturdily. “You’re going -to be an invalid for a few days—I mean to keep you in bed, and make you -forget everything: we’ve got such heaps to talk about. Mummie, are we -going to be very poor?” - -“Are you afraid of being poor?” - -“Not a bit. We’ve never been anything else, have we? As long as we are -together I don’t mind anything at all.” - -“We shall be very poor, my girl. Uncle Donald left me all he had, but it -is not much. Most of his income came from money he had sunk in an -annuity, and that, of course, died with him. The farm is not valuable. I -consulted Mr. Briggs about selling it, but he thinks there would be no -chance of that, and that we should get very little, even if we were able -to sell.” - -“But we can’t work it, can we? I’ll do anything in the world to help, -Mummie, but I know two women can’t run the place.” - -“No, we couldn’t possibly work it; even if we employed a man it could -hardly be carried on, and wages and keep would eat up the profits. -Properties are hard to sell just now, Mr. Briggs says; people are afraid -of the difficult life on the hill farms, with the constant struggle -against rabbits and bracken. He thinks he could let the land to one of -the neighbours: the Merritts need more land, he says, now that the -railway has come and they can get their produce away more easily. He -advises us to let the paddocks, retaining the house and the few acres -round it. With very great care I think we could live on the income we -should get. But it would mean looking at every penny twice.” - -“Well, you know best, Mother, darling. What could we do if we didn’t let -the land to Mr. Merritt?” - -“I think we have very little choice. Selling is out of the question, for -the present, at any rate. We might try to let the whole property, with -the house; if we could do that I might get some work in Melbourne that -would add to our income. But work is hard to get, for anyone of my age; -and I should hardly know what to do with you.” - -“I think that’s a perfectly hateful idea!” Robin sat up with a jerk. -“You mean to go slaving in some beastly shop or office, I -suppose—wearing yourself out altogether! Don’t you think we could -manage to stay on here, Mother? We could live on awfully little—I can -shoot rabbits and catch fish, and we hardly need any clothes out in this -lonely place! And it would be so lovely to be together again—just you -and I. You know how we used to ache to be by ourselves somewhere, in the -holidays.” - -“Do you think I don’t want it as much as you do? I have thought of -nothing else. Oh, I think we may venture to try it, Robin—even if it -were only for a year or two. I wouldn’t want you to stay here too long: -when you are eighteen I should like you to learn typewriting and -shorthand, so that you would have a profession to fall back upon.” - -“I don’t seem to care what we do in a couple of years,” Robin said, -laughing. “But at present I want to stay here, in this jolly old place, -and feel that it’s our very own, and that no one can turn us out of it. -It _is_ such a dear old house, and we could make it so pretty. We’ll -have a scrumptious garden, Mummie: I can do the digging, and you’ll -supply the brains. I don’t see why we shouldn’t sell vegetables, because -of course we can never eat all we grow!” - -“That might be an idea,” said Mrs. Hurst, thoughtfully. “Now that the -railway is here it would be easy to send fresh vegetables into Baroin -once a week.” - -“We’ll make heaps of money,” said Robin, with the gay confidence of -nearly sixteen. “And rabbits, Mummie—isn’t it a mercy that Father -taught me to shoot, and that we have his gun? Nice young bunnies ought -to be very saleable—and think of the skins! they are worth ever so -much. Danny can teach me to prepare them. We’ll have to do without -Danny. I suppose?” - -“Yes—we have no chance of keeping a boy. The cows must be sold. I -thought we would keep the little Jersey: she has a beautiful calf a week -old. She will give us more butter than we need, but I can sell it at the -store in the village.” - -“Well, I can milk her,” said Robin. - -“That will be my job,” said her mother, with firmness. - -“Certainly, if you get there first!” rejoined Robin politely. They -laughed at each other, and Mrs. Hurst gave a great sigh of happiness. - -“Oh, if you knew what a difference it makes to have you!” she said. -“Everything looked black to me, and I was sure I could not manage to -make both ends meet. And I’m not sure now: we are certain to have a hard -struggle, with plenty of anxiety and care, but nothing seems to matter -so much now.” - -“I don’t see how anything _can_ matter much, if we are together,” said -Robin, simply. “We’re both strong—at least you will be after you have -had a good rest—and you’re nearly as young as I am—” - -“Robin, what nonsense!” - -“Indeed, you are—you know Father married you and ran away with you when -you hardly had your hair up! and you’ll grow younger every year, because -we’re going to make a joke of everything, and there will be no one to be -cross with you any more. At least, I shall be very cross with you if you -try to do foolish things like milking cows—but you’ll soon learn that -it isn’t safe! And everything will be tremendous fun, even if we have to -live on turnips and buttermilk. I think we’re the luckiest people that -ever owned a farm!” - -“I think I am a very lucky mother,” Mrs. Hurst said, quietly. - -“Indeed, Miss Stone wouldn’t tell you so. Mother, darling, I’ve come -home with a horribly bad character—Miss Stone thinks I’m absolutely no -good in the world. I was always getting into scrapes and sinking lower -and lower in the form. I didn’t mean to be so hopeless; but I seemed to -get into rows without any effort on my part, and at last I just didn’t -care. I’m awfully sorry now, ’cause of you. But it really isn’t a school -that makes you proud of it, and no one trusts Miss Stone. I’m just glad -all over that I need never see her again!” - -“Do the girls trust you?” Mrs. Hurst asked. - -Robin’s head went up, and she coloured hotly. - -“Yes,” she said, shortly. “They know they can.” - -“Well, I am not going to let Miss Stone’s report worry me,” said her -mother. “I’m sorry you have got into trouble, and I wish you had worked -better, especially as you have no more chances of learning. But you and -I are facing the real things of life now, and school scrapes, big as -they seem at the moment, will soon be forgotten. We’re partners, my -daughter, and we have to trust each other in all things, and work -together.” She sighed. “I do hope it won’t mean that you will get none -of the joy of life while you are young. I had always hoped to be able to -give you a good time—such a time as I had myself before Father, as you -say ‘married me and ran away with me’.” - -Robin hugged her enthusiastically. - -“If you only knew how I’m loving the bare idea of being partners!” she -exclaimed. “I never dared to hope for anything so lovely: all the way in -the train, even when I ached with joy at seeing the country, I was -aching in a different way at the thought of going back to school! I’d -never have done any good there, Mummie—you don’t know how hopeless it -was. Now we’ll be working together, in our own home, and sharing -everything. I’m blessed if I want more joy of life than that is going to -mean!” - -She sat back on her heels, the firelight dancing on her vivid face and -her mop of red hair. - -“And to think,” she chanted, “that they’ll be getting up in the morning -at the sound of the same old bell, and ploughing through the same old -stodgy lessons all day, and eating the same old awful meals, and walking -in the same old crocodile down the same old dusty streets! And I’m free -and independent and here——” - -“Milking the same old cow!” laughed her mother—looking suddenly as -young as she. - -“In the same old cow-bail,” Robin flashed back. “And I wouldn’t change -my job for all the tea in China!” - - - - - CHAPTER V - TWO MONTHS LATER - - -ROBIN HURST came out upon the veranda of Hill Farm in the early dawn. It -was an exquisite November morning. Mists were rising slowly from the -gullies, revealing the tops of giant tree-ferns; above them, invisible -in tree-tops still shrouded in white clouds, cockatoos shrieked a -morning chorus. A pair of kookaburras perched on the gate-posts and -looked wisely at Robin: they were old friends, christened Sally and Sam, -so tame that they came regularly to find the scraps of raw meat that she -left for them whenever meat occurred in the Hurst household—which was -not every day. They preened their feathers, puffing them out until they -looked ridiculously fat, the first sunbeams making them glint with a -metallic blue and bronze. Then they broke into a wild duet of laughter. -The echoes ran round the hills, “Ha-ha-ha! Hoo-hoo-hoo!” and were -answered by other kookaburras beyond the creek. Robin put her head back -and imitated the call—a proceeding that always puzzled and delighted -Sally and Sam, who waited politely until she had finished, and then -laughed as if it were the best joke in the world. - -Robin waved her hand to the cheerful pair, and went off round the -house—a workmanlike figure in blue shirt and khaki breeches, finished -with home-made leggings of khaki cloth. From the first she had discarded -skirts for country wear; and fortunately, Mrs. Hurst had put by a stock -of breeches belonging to her husband, which her nimble fingers had -altered to suit Robin’s requirements. The Jersey cow was waiting near -the shed, where a shining bucket was up-ended on a rough bench, beside a -three-legged stool. Robin petted her for a moment, and then sat down in -the open to milk her—there was no need now to affront Bessy with the -indignity of a bail. This done, she fed her, gave breakfast to Daisy, -the calf, and to two small pigs that roamed at will in a tiny paddock; -and, taking a hoe, went off to the vegetable garden. - -Everything was very neat about the Hill Farm house. In front was a -rambling old garden, ablaze with flowers. A trimly-cut lawn, shaded on -the west by a row of Cootamundra wattles, took up much of the space; and -there were winding walks and cool, quiet nooks where rustic seats -invited you to sit down and rest, looking down the smooth green slopes -towards the creek. Creeping plants and climbing roses made the wide -verandas into bowers of scented bloom. Beyond the well-kept back yard -came the vegetable garden, the pride of Robin’s heart. - -Danny had dug the garden for Robin, refusing any payment. It was, -indeed, difficult to exclude Danny from Hill Farm: the fact that he was -supposed to be working for his father did not prevent him from appearing -at odd moments, not at the house itself, but wherever any job waited -that required extra muscle. Thus, Robin would find the cow-yard or -pigsty swept and garnished: a heap of wood split and stacked, or a -broken fence mended. “Aw, I just gotta spare hour an’ nothin’ to do in -it,” Danny would say, bashfully. It was evident that he still looked on -the Hursts as his responsibility. - -Mrs. Hurst worried over the fact that it was impossible to make him take -any money—the mere mention of which threw Danny into painful -embarrassment. She consoled herself by knitting him socks, and by -keeping on hand a stock of the brown gingerbread that never failed to -delight him. Danny regarded himself as the guardian of the family, and -would have been content with his position without either gingerbread or -socks. - -The vegetables stretched in neat rows, and, to Robin’s mind, represented -unlimited wealth. The season had been kind to her: rain had come just -when it was needed, and everything had flourished amazingly in the rich -virgin soil. Long lines of potatoes were in flower: peas, beans, -turnips, and all their brethren made a heartsome sight; and there was a -little corner Robin loved, where thyme, sage, marjoram and parsley lent -their old-world sweetness. Not a weed was to be seen anywhere. Daily the -gardener made her way, hoe in hand, up and down each row; and in face of -this martial pilgrimage no weed dared lift its head. Robin declared that -her motto was, “A hoe in time saves nine.” - -Already she had preparations in train for disposing of her crop. Baroin -boasted a good greengrocer’s shop, and Robin had made friends with its -proprietress, who had agreed to take a weekly supply of vegetables from -her as soon as they were ready. Eggs and chickens were to be a -side-line. In a netted pen a dozen cockerels fattened in happy ignorance -of the advance of Christmas, while three or four broods of fluffy chicks -roamed the hillside beside their fussy mothers, and young ducklings swam -gaily in the creek. Robin yarded them all carefully every evening, for -there were many foxes in the bush, a terror to every country -poultry-yard. - -The months since the death of her uncle had been, for her mother and -herself, a time of absolute happiness. They were busy, but never -oppressed with work. The house was much too large for them, but most of -the rooms had been shut up, after undergoing a rigorous spring-cleaning. -They slept on the veranda, and took most of their meals there; the -bathroom served them as dressing-room, so that housework was reduced to -its lowest possible terms, since there was no dust and no one to make -the place disorderly. Together they worked in the garden, kept -everything spick-and-span, and made a joke of each hour’s toil as it -came. There was time for play, too: they fished in the creek for trout -and blackfish, and took long walks over the hills, where many a rabbit -fell to Robin’s gun. - -The peaceful, happy life had wrought a great change in Mrs. Hurst. She -looked years younger already: there was a new light in her eyes, a new -energy in her movements. Colour had returned to her white face, and -wrinkles had vanished. Robin was desperately proud of her. “When I make -you wear breeches like me and have your hair shingled,” she declared, -“everyone will think you’re my young sister!” To which Mrs. Hurst -responded that she preferred the dignity of age. - -The bell rang just as Robin reached the end of her last row of peas, and -she fled to answer it with a haste that proclaimed hunger. When, after -washing her hands, she appeared on the veranda, Mrs. Hurst was waiting -for her. Robin attacked her porridge and cream ravenously. - -“Isn’t it a good thing you brought me up not to take sugar with -porridge?” she remarked. “Sugar costs a lot of money, and we can’t -possibly grow it ourselves. The girls at school used to think me -perfectly mad when I said they turned their porridge into a pudding. Oh, -I am hungry, Mummie, and the runner beans are up, and I got three weeds. -Small weeds, but healthy. We can have radishes for tea to-night. More, -please.” - -Mrs. Hurst disentangled these mingled confidences with the calmness of -long practice. - -“My phlox seeds are up, too,” she said. “What wouldn’t come up, in -weather like this? Finish the cream, darling: I don’t want any more. -I’ve made the butter, and there will be three pounds to take down to the -store. Bessy is behaving nobly.” - -Robin let the thick yellow cream trickle slowly over her porridge. - -“Yes, isn’t she? Mr. Merritt was a brick to let us graze Bessy and Roany -in the creek paddock—poor dears, they’re so used to it that they would -have hated to be the wrong side of the fence!” - -“It means a great deal to us,” Mrs. Hurst remarked. “Mr. Merritt is very -kind: he said he would use Roany occasionally, to pay for their grazing, -but I don’t think he has had him in the plough three times.” - -“No, and it would really be better for Roany if he did use him—Roany is -getting disgracefully fat and lazy. I think he’d be frisky if it weren’t -so much bother. What is the heavenly aroma of cooking, Mummie?—you -haven’t been extravagant, have you?” - -“Only potato-puffs,” said Mrs. Hurst, emerging from the kitchen with a -covered dish. “You were up so early, Robin, and you really need a good -breakfast.” - -“I always have a good breakfast,” stated her daughter. “Catch me going -without! But those puffs are awfully exciting, Mummie.” She gazed fondly -at the crisp golden balls as they smoked on her plate. “I wish I could -fry things like you. No, not like you—you know what I mean.” - -“So you will, when you have a little more practice. You are doing very -well as a cook. What are your plans for this morning?” - -“I am going to finish painting the front fence. I thought one coat would -be enough, but it would be a better job with two. Isn’t it a mercy Uncle -Donald bought paint by the gallon? I’ve enough to do ever so much more. -What are you going to do, Mummie?” - -“Mend sheets—there is a pile waiting for me. I think you had better go -to the store with the butter after lunch, Robin—if you take your gun -you may get some rabbits, coming home.” - -“That’s a good idea,” agreed Robin. “Won’t you come, too?” - -“No, not to-day—I want to get all the mending out of the way when once -I begin it. Replacing house-linen will be an expensive matter: we can’t -afford to let things go at all.” A faint line appeared between her -brows. - -“Now, you’re worrying about money again, Mummie. And you promised you -wouldn’t.” - -“I do try not to worry,” said her mother. “Now and then I can’t help it, -especially when I wake up at night. If I could only get a little reserve -in the bank, Robin—something against a rainy day.” - -“But the rainy day may never come.” - -“It’s far less likely to come if one has something in the bank. I don’t -know why, but it is so. We did save a little, and then my horrible -dentist’s bill ate it all up. The idea of illness makes me -afraid—supposing I fell ill, and you all alone here, without money!” - -“You—you aren’t feeling ill, Mother?” demanded Robin, anxiously. - -“No—not a bit. But it may come.” She laughed at the worried face. “I -really didn’t mean to talk like this; but I had a wakeful night, and all -sorts of bogies came and sat on my pillow. I would do anything if I -could earn some money—something to put by.” - -“I don’t see how we can do more than we’re doing,” Robin said, knitting -her brows. “Remember, the vegetable money will begin to come in soon, -and I’ve quite a lot of rabbit skins, already. Oh, I’m sure we’ll manage -quite well, darling!” She went to her mother, putting her lips to her -hair. “If you begin to worry, things will be sure to go wrong. And we’re -so happy!” - -“Yes, indeed we are,” said her mother, holding her closely for a moment. -“Well, I will try to scare the bogies away from my pillow; and after -all, there is nothing like happiness for that. Come and help me to clear -up the kitchen—we’re being disgracefully idle.” - -Her sewing-machine was humming steadily when Robin passed the window an -hour later—a truly remarkable figure in blue denim overalls that had -belonged to the late Mr. Donald Hurst. They came to her insteps, ending -in an artistic fringe where superfluous length had been ruthlessly -shorn. She wore an old felt hat which had also been the property of her -uncle. It was an outfit reserved for painting; many white splashes -testified to the fact that its use was no unnecessary precaution. She -carried a can of paint and a large brush, and sang cheerfully as she -went. The strains of “Why Did I Kiss That Girl?” mingled with the -chatter of cockatoos in the tree-tops. - -Mrs. Hurst looked, and smiled, and sighed. There was no doubt that Robin -asked nothing better than her present existence. She seemed to have put -away all the childish irresponsibility that had made her school career a -series of mad pranks, throwing herself into her unaccustomed work with -whole-hearted vigour and complete happiness. But it was more a boy’s -life than a girl’s—not the life that Mrs. Hurst had longed to give her. -And there was no prospect of anything better. Money anxieties were not -the only bogies that had disturbed the mother’s pillow in the night. - -Robin was blissfully unconscious of any troubling thoughts. She painted -all the morning, using her brush with a fine slap-dash effect that -bespattered her overalls even more generously. The spirit of the late -Mr. Hurst might have writhed to see the lavishness with which his paint -was used. The job was nearly done when Mrs. Hurst came out to warn her -that dinner was almost ready. The fence gleamed white against the deep -green of the garden, and Robin was by the gate, marking a board “Wet -Paint” in letters large enough to warn the most unwary trespasser. - -“Just done,” she said, gaily. “Doesn’t it look scumptious, Mother? I -think I’ll paint the side-fences, too: it would give the place an almost -regal effect, don’t you think?” - -“It’s always the way,” Mrs. Hurst said, shaking her head with affected -gloom. “I have known many other cases.” - -“Cases of what?” - -“Paint-fever. You might call it paintitis. They’re very painful.” - -“Did you say paint-ful?” - -“Agonizing was what I said, I think. The patient begins by painting a -curtain-rod, or a book-rack, and that leads to the kitchen-chairs, and -then to a garden-fence. After that, she can’t stop. Everything she sees -presents itself in a new light—something to be painted. The worst cases -go on to decorate the Jersey cow, and the horse, and the pigs. They -brighten a property very much, but they’re expensive!” - -“This case has already painted her uncle’s pants, and she’ll paint the -house red if she doesn’t soon get dinner!” laughed Robin. “Come -home—it’s horrid of you to jeer at my artistic instincts, just as -they’re developing!” - -“It was indeed, and I think the fence is beautiful,” said her mother. -“And yes, I do believe it would look better if it were done all round. -Robin, our little home is beginning to do us credit!” - -“Isn’t it?” agreed Robin, looking affectionately at the white cottage -nestling in its girdle of blossoming garden. “What a pity it is we can’t -fill it up with poor youngsters who never see anything but streets. How -I do hate streets! Tell you what, Mummie, when I find a gold-mine in the -hills——” - -“_When_ you do!” - -“Why, of course I’m going to—the kind all stiff with nuggets, like -plums in a pudding! Then we’ll get little convalescents from the -Children’s Hospital and put them in all the empty rooms. Plenty of -blankets, aren’t there?” - -“Plenty—not that that need trouble you when you have the plum-pudding -gold-mine!” said her mother laughing. - -“No, of course—I forgot that. Well, I’ll buy eiderdown quilts. And -we’ll give them all a glorious time. Isn’t it a jolly idea, Mummie! I -have heaps of ideas like that while I’m working, and even if they never -come to pass I’ll have had all the fun of planning them. They taught me -at school that ‘to travel hopefully was a better thing than to arrive,’ -or something like that. Well, I haven’t done much arriving yet, but -there’s a lot of fun in travelling hopefully!” - -Mrs. Hurst looked at the eager, merry face. - -“You are certainly a hopeful traveller for one’s journey-mate,” she -said. “And now, I am going to give orders, for once. I have sat still -almost all the morning, and need exercise, whereas you have worked since -sunrise without a break—and that is not good for young muscles. You -will therefore take a book out to your bed on the veranda and lie down -for at least two hours——” - -“And leave you to wash up! Not if I know it!” - -“To please me, Robin.” - -They smiled at each other. - -“But I have to go to the store with the butter——” - -“Half-past three or four o’clock will be quite time enough for that. You -know quite well that you won’t get rabbits early in the afternoon. Run -away and get your boots off; I shall begin to be worried if you are not -lying down in five minutes.” - -Robin stood up, conscious that her shoulders ached badly. - -“Well, I’ll go, because you are mean enough to appeal to my better -nature,” she said, laughing. “But lie down, yourself, for a bit, Mummie, -darling—you won’t work at that old machine all day?” - -“Very well—I promise, if you will do as you are told.” She began to -gather plates and dishes swiftly, and Robin went with an unwilling step. -But when her mother came softly to the veranda, half an hour later, her -book had fallen beside the bed, and Robin lay with her cheek upon her -hand, fast asleep. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - ROBIN FINDS STRANDED WAYFARERS - - -A BIG grey touring-car came slowly along the narrow track, feeling its -way round blind corners and hairpin bends. It was not a pleasant road -for touring, especially to people accustomed only to the smoothness and -width of city streets. The road that led out from Baroin had been -metalled for only part of its length: after five or six miles, winter -had put a stop to road-making, and the good surface ceased abruptly. -Then with each mile as it wound into the hills, the track grew worse. It -clung to the steep sides of the rises, a grey ribbon undulating between -walls of bracken fern, barely wide enough, in many places, to carry a -car: above it the sheer rise: below, a drop of anything from ten to a -hundred feet. Sometimes the trees near it had been cleared: more often, -they crowded it on both sides, so that the road ran between walls of -slender trunks and tossing tree-tops. This gave variety, because any -turn might reveal a tree across the track. On the other hand, the trunks -might catch a car that went over the side—a helpful possibility, at the -narrowest bends. - -One drove along the hill-road, hoping earnestly that one would not meet -any other vehicle. Should this occur, the proceedings were slow and -complicated. A jinker, or a light cart, was nothing, provided the horse -did not play up: the steed could be taken out of the shafts and the cart -backed until a space was reached wide enough to allow of passing: which -might not be for a mile, or perhaps two. Still, it was simple. More -harrowing were the times when one motor encountered another, or a team -of twelve or fourteen bullocks dragging a heavy waggon. Then might be -seen the spectacle of a car feeling its way painfully in reverse gear, -along the way it had come—a way sufficiently exciting to drive on the -forward journey. Nervous passengers were wont to get out and walk. -Pitt-street and Collins-street may have their terrors for the motorist, -but they lack the thrills provided by a Gippsland track. - -To avoid, so far as might be possible, the dangers of these untoward -meetings, the grey touring-car crawled like a snail round bends, and -made haste where haste did not seem suicidal. Its driver was a -middle-aged man, tanned and weather-beaten, whose ordinarily cheerful -face was set, just now, in anxious lines. His wife sat beside him, -little, and plump, and pretty. She said nothing, but occasionally -emitted short gasps of horror. To ease her feelings—it was clear that -she did not ease those of her husband—she leaned forward constantly and -pressed the button of the horn, so that their advance was preluded by a -succession of piercing shrieks. Occasionally the driver said patiently, -“I wish you wouldn’t, Milly.” To which she invariably responded:—“But -you mustn’t take a single finger from the wheel, dear, and somebody -_must_ hoot!” - -The third member of the party occupied the back seat, amid a litter of -luncheon-baskets, cushions, rugs, and fishing-rods. He was a thick-set -boy of fifteen, whose dark face betrayed nothing but boredom with his -surroundings. The bush through which they travelled did not interest -him; a motor-car was, in his view, a means of moving swiftly through -space, and to crawl along a mountain track at the pace of a -bullock-waggon failed to appeal to him in the least. His mother’s -nervous gasps moved him only to faint scorn. Finally he produced a -paper-covered book from his pocket, and became lost in its pages. - -Fate contrived to make Mrs. Edward Lane press unusually hard on the -button after a period of silence very grateful to her husband’s nerves. -The ear-splitting hoot that ensued made him swerve a few inches—at a -spot where there was, unfortunately, not an inch to spare. The bracken, -growing thickly from below, hid the fact that the edge of the track had -broken off. Bracken, however thick, cannot support the weight of a -six-cylinder car. There was a moment’s sick suspense as the big Buick -toppled sideways, slid for a few yards, and came to rest, wedged against -a huge tree. - -Mrs. Lane shot head-first over the edge, landing in a patch of fern, -while her husband and son saved themselves in some miraculous fashion. -The bottom of the car received them, amid the flying pieces of the -shattered windscreen. Considerably astonished at finding themselves -alive, they climbed out and hurried to the assistance of the lady of the -party, who sat among the ferns, holding her ankle. She had taken her own -meteoric flight in silence, but she screamed as she saw their faces. - -“Oh, you’re hurt!” she cried. “Barry!” - -“Only scratches, Mother,” said Barry Lane, gruffly, his face white under -streaks of blood. “Are you hurt?” - -She leaned back against her husband’s arm. - -“My ankle,” she said. “Something has happened to it. But not much, I -think. Are you sure you are not injured, Edward?” - -“Quite sure, dear—just scratches and bruises.” He felt her ankle -tenderly, while she winced. “No bone broken, thank goodness! Sure you’re -all right, Barry-boy?” - -“Rather!” said Barry. “A bit of glass just missed my eye—luck, wasn’t -it?” - -“Then, if neither of you are hurt, I’m glad the suspense is over,” -declared Mrs. Lane, with surprising energy. “I knew it had to come, only -I was sure it would be where there was a clear drop of half a mile! Now -it’s happened, and we’re all alive!” - -“I like your philosophy,” said her husband. “It doesn’t deal with the -problem of how we’re to get out of this outlandish place, with a damaged -car, I suppose?” He was removing her shoe and stocking with deft fingers -as he spoke. “Only a bad sprain—poor little woman! Are you perfectly -certain you are not hiding anything else?” - -“Not a thing,” she assured him, hastily. “I’m scratched, of course, but -who wouldn’t be? bracken is such scratchy stuff. Just fancy, if there -had been a log in it, what a bump I would have come! And how is the poor -car?” - -“I’ll look presently. Barry, get the table-napkins out of the -lunch-baskets and climb down to the creek—soak them well, and bring -them back as quickly as you can. That’s the best we can do for the ankle -until we can find a house.” - -Barry dived at the car and in a moment was plunging down the hillside. -Dr. Lane took out a pocket-flask. - -“Drink this,” he said, giving her the little silver cup. “No, I don’t -care if you don’t want it—you’re to have it, Milly. There’s a certain -amount of shock about a tumble like this, even if we do happen to be all -alive. I’m going to have a drink myself. Now I’ll make you a bit more -comfortable.” He salvaged a rug from the car, folded it, and arranged it -so that she could sit on it, leaning back against a tree: and lifting -her as if she were a child, placed her upon it, with a cushion behind -her and another supporting the injured foot. Barry returned, panting, -with a handful of dripping table-napkins, with which his father bandaged -the ankle scientifically. - -“That’s ever so much easier,” said Mrs. Lane, smiling at their concerned -faces. “How wise it is to take a doctor when one goes for hair-raising -trips!” - -“I wish we’d taken an ambulance as well!” said her husband drily. “But -we’ll get help somewhere. Now, let’s have a look at the car, Barry. You -might have washed your face when you were at the creek!” - -“Hadn’t time,” said Barry, with a grin. He was poking round the car, -pulling away the undergrowth into which it had settled. “I say, Father, -she hasn’t come off too badly, I believe!” - -“No, I think not—thanks to that providential tree. We should all have -been mince-meat, but for it. One wheel is hopeless, of course, and the -petrol-tank is badly bashed—but I don’t think there’s much wrong with -the engine. Stout old car, and no mistake. But getting her up will be no -end of a job.” - -“Oh, these country people make a regular living from hauling damaged -cars out of difficulties,” said Barry, with the air of a man of the -world. “A fellow at school says there’s one place on the Prince’s -Highway where the people water the road regularly every night, and keep -a team of bullocks handy to pull the cars out of the mud-holes next day! -I expect we’ll have the kindly natives along presently.” - -Dr. Lane glanced up, and whistled softly. - -“Well, there’s the first native, and armed to the teeth, too!” he -remarked. “But she doesn’t look as if she could do much pulling, I’m -afraid.” - -“Well, she’s found game, so we shan’t starve,” Barry chuckled. “Talk -about ginger hair!” - -Robin, bare-headed, was coming along the track above them—a -sufficiently unexpected figure in her blue shirt and khaki breeches, -with her red mane glinting in the sun. She carried her gun over her -shoulder: a pair of rabbits dangled limply from her hand. Just as the -boy spoke she caught sight of them and stopped in amazement. Then she -put her gun against the hillside, dropped the rabbits, and plunged down -towards them. - -[Illustration: “Is anyone hurt?”] - - - - -“Is anyone hurt?” - -“Not badly,” Dr. Lane said, taking off his hat. “But we’re pretty well -stranded, as you may see, and my wife has sprained her ankle. Can you -tell me where is the nearest township?” - -“Merri Creek is nearest, but it is only a village—one store and a -blacksmith’s shop. You’re more than twelve miles from Baroin. That is -the only place where there is a garage—and a doctor.” - -“The garage interests me most—I happen to be a doctor myself,” he said, -smiling at her. “We are staying at the hotel at Baroin; we came out this -way for a day’s fishing. Twelve miles—h’m! It’s a long way at this time -of the evening.” - -“Merri Creek has a telephone; you could easily get help for the car -to-morrow,” said Robin. She was thinking rapidly, her thoughts running -upon the state of the larder at Hill Farm. She remembered the rabbits -with a throb of relief. “And there’s bacon and eggs,” she murmured, half -aloud. - -“I beg your pardon?” said Dr. Lane, staring. - -Robin flushed. - -“I was only pondering ways and means,” she said. “You must come to our -house, of course; it isn’t more than a mile away. My mother will be very -glad to do all she can for you. I can run home and bring our horse and -buggy.” - -“Is it a quiet horse?” spoke Mrs. Lane, for the first time. “I do hope -it is really quiet!” - -Robin laughed outright. - -“When you see Roany you won’t be anxious,” she said. “He’s long past his -wild youth. The difficulty is to make him raise anything but a jog!” - -“That’s just the kind of horse I like,” Mrs. Lane answered, with a sigh -of relief. “But are you sure we shan’t be putting your people to -horrible inconvenience?” - -“There is only mother and I,” Robin said. “And we have plenty of room. -Mother wouldn’t dream of letting you go anywhere else. Indeed, there -isn’t anywhere to go—ours is the only house near the road.” She turned, -and went up the hillside lightly. From the road she hailed them again. - -“Can I bring back anything to make the hurt ankle comfortable?” - -“It’s well bandaged with table-napkins, thank you,” Dr. Lane answered. -“I think it will be all right until we get to your house.” - -“That’s a lass with a head on her shoulders,” he remarked, as Robin -gathered up her gun and her rabbits and disappeared round a bend in the -track. “We’re in luck’s way, I fancy. One would not expect to meet a -girl of her type in this wild place.” - -“I was picturing spending the night in a splitter’s camp—and glad to -get there,” his wife answered. “She looked so nice and clean—far -cleaner than I feel! I wonder what the house will be like.” - -“It’s any port in a storm for us to-night,” said Dr. Lane, regarding the -wreck of his car ruefully. “Merri Creek must be that little place we saw -below us a mile back—the railway terminus. It wouldn’t be a bad idea, -Barry, if you got down there and telephoned to the hotel. Tell them to -send out things for the night—your mother might as well be comfortable. -If you explain what has happened they can send them with a car from the -garage, and the garage people can size up the damage of the Buick, and -see how we’re to get her in.” - -“Right-oh!” said Barry. “But I say—we don’t know the name of the people -here. How am I to tell them where to send?” - -“By Jove! I never thought of that,” his father said. - -“Just ask the people at Merri Creek,” said Mrs. Lane, practically. “I’m -certain there can’t be two girls with hair like that walking round these -hills in breeches! If you describe her, they will be sure to know.” - -“But if a car comes out,” said Barry, “why shouldn’t we go back to -Baroin in it?” - -“Because your mother isn’t going to drive twelve miles over these tracks -after being shot out once,” said Dr. Lane, concisely. “Hurry up, or -they’ll never get here before dark.” And Barry went off, wishing that he -had a chance of washing his face, on which the blood had dried -uncomfortably. - -It seemed a long while before they heard the rattle of buggy-wheels and -saw Robin driving along the track. She greeted them cheerfully. - -“I’ll have to drive on a little way,” she called: “there’s no room to -turn here. I won’t be more than a few minutes.” - -“Then I may as well get you up to the track,” said Dr. Lane to his wife. - -It was not an easy business: both were panting, and Mrs. Lane’s face was -very white, when Robin reappeared. - -“Mother put a mattress on the floor of the buggy,” she said. “This is -what we call an express-waggon, and there’s lots of room behind; Mother -said it would be more comfortable than sitting on the seat, with your -foot hanging down.” - -“Your mother’s a wise woman,” said Dr. Lane, thankfully. He braced his -muscles, and lifted his wife into the back of the buggy, where she sat -enthroned upon the mattress with the injured foot sticking out stiffly, -and declared that she was perfectly comfortable—a manifest untruth, -which impressed neither of her hearers. They unloaded the car of all -that was portable, and Dr. Lane climbed up beside Robin. - -“Ready?” she asked. “Oh—where’s the boy?” - -“He has gone to telephone from Merri Creek.” - -“But he won’t know where to come afterwards. - -“I fancy he’ll find his way—Barry generally gets where he wants to go.” - -“I had better drive back for him after I land you at home,” said Robin, -without enthusiasm—visions crossing her mind of evening duties among -the live stock. There was milking to be done, animals to be fed and -poultry to be housed for the night. She had no mind to risk her -ducklings among the foxes for the sake of a boy who had looked -distinctly cross. Then she remembered his blood-smeared face and -mentally rebuked herself for being a pig. - -“No need for that, I think,” Dr. Lane was saying, pleasantly. “I can -drive back, when I get Mrs. Lane to bed, if you will be kind enough to -let me have the trap—I’ll promise not to send it over the edge, as I -did the car!” - -Robin brightened visibly. - -“Certainly you can,” she said. “Old Roany will take you safely over any -of these tracks—they’re really not fit for cars.” They jogged -peacefully homewards. - -“I hope I’m not jolting you very badly;” she said, presently, turning to -look at the passenger in the rear. “The road isn’t wide enough to dodge -the holes—I can only go slowly.” - -“But I’m quite enjoying myself,” said the lady on the mattress. “Only, I -want to be introduced, because you aren’t a bit what we expected to meet -in the country! Our name is Lane, and we came from Melbourne yesterday -for a holiday.” - -“I’m Robin Hurst,” the girl told her, smiling down at the pretty face. -“Mother and I live at Hill Farm.” - -“But you haven’t always lived here?” - -“Oh no. But I hope we’re always going to.” - -“Dear me!” said Mrs. Lane, weakly. “It seems a strange hope!” - -Robin laughed softly. Dr. Lane decided that he liked the sound. - -“You have had an unlucky beginning,” she said. “It really isn’t fair to -judge our country when you try to kill yourself on the very first day. -Wait until you see the bush in the early morning, before the mists -rise—” - -“Never!” said Mrs. Lane, firmly. “I dislike seeing anything before -breakfast—and not too soon after! I like well-paved streets, without -precipices, nicely furnished with electric trams. I can’t see any fun -whatever in driving along a mantelshelf on the side of a hill. It makes -me afraid: and it is so lowering to one’s pride to feel afraid!” - -“But if, before you had the shelf on the side of the hill, you had no -road at all, you would look at it differently,” said Robin, laughing. -“We regard our road with respect and affection—especially the metalled -part!” - -“Is there a metalled part?” queried Mrs. Lane. “I hadn’t noticed any. It -seemed to me all a terrible series of bumps and pot-holes.” - -“You expect altogether too much when you come to the country,” her -husband said. “It would do you good to lead the simple life for awhile. -I’m sure Miss Hurst could show you how.” - -Mrs. Lane shuddered. - -“We are giving Miss Hurst and her mother quite enough trouble as it is,” -she said, hastily. She gave a sudden gasp. “My dear, have you had -measles?” - -“Yes.” Robin looked surprised at the sudden query. “Why?” - -“My boy has just had them—his quarantine period is almost finished, but -they don’t want him back at school before the holidays. And my husband’s -eyes had been giving him trouble, so we decided upon a long holiday.” - -“What—in Baroin?” asked Robin. Baroin, to her, was the most -uninteresting of townships: she could imagine no reason for spending a -holiday there. - -“The fishing was the lure,” Dr. Lane said. “I have been hearing -wonderful things of the trout in the streams here; we thought we could -put in a few weeks exploring them, with Baroin as our headquarters. -Don’t tell me that the report is only a rumour to catch tourists! I -certainly have failed to rise a single fish to-day.” - -“There are trout, and big ones, if you know where to go,” Robin told -him. “Mother and I often fish.” - -“And catch fish?” - -“Why, of course.” Robin’s eyes twinkled. “We’re busy people; we haven’t -time to fish just for fun, like—like tourists!” - -“That’s a fair hit,” Dr. Lane said, laughing. “I will certainly dog your -footsteps if I see you going out with a rod.” - -“But wouldn’t you like to go out yourself this evening?” Robin asked. -“There are two or three good holes in a little creek not far from our -place. And the evening rise is the best, unless you get down really -early—about dawn.” - -“Would I like!” Dr. Lane suddenly looked like a schoolboy. “Can you come -too?” - -Robin shook her head. - -“I can’t come this evening. There is a good deal to do. But I can easily -show you where to go.” - -“Don’t let him get lost in the bush,” spoke Mrs. Lane. “He is only a -tourist, you know!” She turned her head as they came out of a belt of -timber. “Oh, what a charming house!” - -“That is our place,” Robin said. - -Hill Farm had indeed a look of charm in the evening sunlight. Against a -sky tinged faintly with rosy pink the white house nestled in the deep -green of garden and orchard, ending in the snowy gleam of the -newly-painted front fence. The slope before it stretched to the creek, -over which they crossed on a rough-hewn bridge: behind it cleared -paddocks stretched upwards merging into the stately timbered hills. - -“I’ll have to take you round to the back,” Robin said, as old Roany -walked slowly up the little hill. “The front gate is too narrow: -besides, I painted the fence only this morning, and when I paint -anything it takes two or three days to dry. So please be careful, Dr. -Lane, if you go out that way. There’s Mother.” - -Mrs. Hurst was waiting by the back gate, tall and fresh-looking in her -simple grey frock. She greeted them pleasantly, exclaiming with sympathy -over the poor, bandaged foot: and presently Mrs. Lane found herself -installed in a wide room, smelling faintly of lavender, and exquisitely -clean. The windows overlooked the western stretch of great, tree-covered -hills. A quaint old-fashioned paper covered the walls, bright with -little trails of roses; there were fresh roses on the dressing-table and -mantelshelf. A dainty tea-tray stood on a table covered with a snowy -cloth. - -“I have everything ready for doctoring the foot,” Mrs. Hurst said. “But -I was sure you poor things would like a cup of tea first.” - -Mrs. Lane heaved a sigh of contentment. - -“I could almost weep at the sight of a teapot,” she said. “My husband -made me drink whisky, which I hate—I tried to get rid of the taste by -eating a gum-leaf, so that my mouth is now a miserable blend of alcohol -and eucalyptus! No, no sugar, thank you. Dear me, how good that is!” She -looked rather like a mischievous child as she smiled at Mrs. Hurst over -her cup. - -Dr. Lane stirred his tea reflectively. - -“I think we chose the place for our disaster very judiciously,” he said. -“Certainly, no stranded motorists ever fared better. Are we putting you -to very great inconvenience, Mrs. Hurst? My son has gone to telephone to -the hotel to send out our things—we could go back in the car, when it -comes, if——” - -Mrs. Hurst interposed. - -“But that isn’t to be thought of! We shall love to have you; Robin and I -live so quietly that to have strangers is quite exciting and delightful, -and if you can put up with our bush ways——” - -Dr. Lane interrupted in his turn. - -“Your bush ways, as you call them, seem ways of smoothing out -difficulties for people in distress,” he said. “And frankly, I am not -anxious to give Mrs. Lane a jolting drive. She has had a considerable -shock.” - -“You must all be feeling it, I should imagine,” said Mrs. Hurst. “Please -don’t think of hurrying away: we shall be glad to have you for as long -as you care to stay. I am sure that ankle needs rest, and the Baroin -hotel is not a cheerful place to rest in.” - -“Indeed, no!” said Mrs. Lane, with a faint shudder. “My window only -opens for about three inches, and the smells—! And the bar is always -full of noisy men. But perhaps there is a private hospital where I could -go for a few days: I don’t want to spoil the holiday for my menfolk.” - -“Oh, I believe there is—but I don’t think you would like it. You are -not ill; a couch on our veranda would be better for you than any place -in the township.” Mrs. Hurst smiled, as she gathered the tea-things -together. “Let us see how you feel in the morning.” - -“_What_ a nice hostess!” breathed Mrs. Lane, as the door closed behind -her. “Now, do leave me just as I am, dear, and go to find Barry; he may -lose his way.” - -“I don’t think he’ll do that,” Barry’s father said. “But I don’t want -him to walk too far; he is not really strong yet. Sure you will be quite -comfortable until I get back, Milly?” - -“Oh, perfectly. Just give me a book, so that I need not watch the -scenery all the time—scenery is _so_ unchanging! And do take care of -yourselves on that horrible hillside. If that horse should shy at a -snake, or anything, where would you be?” - -“I should be lost in astonishment if that steed shied at anything -whatever,” said her husband, laughing. “If ever there were a town -mouse—!” He arranged her pillows, gave her a book, and went off with -long strides. - -Barry was encountered sitting on a log by the wayside. He greeted his -father with something of relief. - -“Jolly good of you to come back,” he said, climbing into the buggy. “My -legs aren’t what they were before I had measles. Mother all right?” - -“Oh, yes—it is not a severe sprain. We came off uncommonly well.” - -“I expect she’s pining for home,” said Barry. “Is the farm very awful? I -can’t imagine Mother in a farm-house.” - -“Wait until you see it,” Dr. Lane chuckled. “We fell on our feet, -Barry—you’ll have to mind your manners.” - -Barry sniffed. - -“I expect my manners are good enough for this part of the world,” he -said, loftily. “The hotel people were very decent: they said a car with -our things would be out pretty soon. Gee, I could do with a cup of tea! -I found a bit of a pool and washed my face, but the water didn’t look -good enough to drink. Have we far to go?” - -“We’re nearly there.” They came in sight of Hill Farm as Dr. Lane spoke. -Above them, in the little paddock near the house, could be seen Robin, -carrying in each hand a kerosene-tin bucket, and surrounded by an -excited retinue of little pigs and a Jersey calf. - -“There’s the ginger-haired girl,” said Barry, indifferently. “Regular -farm-hand, isn’t she?” - -“I shouldn’t wonder if she could teach you a thing or two, old man,” -said his father. - -“_Me!_” There was ineffable scorn in the boy’s tone as he climbed out to -open the gate. “I don’t think I’ll worry any of the wild natives for -lessons, thanks!” - - - - - CHAPTER VII - A BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT - - -“I COULD ask Mrs. Hurst, of course,” said Mrs. Lane, doubtfully. “I -wonder if she would be offended?” - -“Not a bit likely, I should think,” her husband answered. “She strikes -one as far too sensible a woman to be offended by a simple business -proposal. And it might suit her very well: I gathered from something she -said last night that they have not much money.” - -“And you would not be bored—you and Barry?” - -“Barry and I want to fish,” said Dr. Lane. “And here we’re right in the -midst of it. I might have explored round here by myself for a week -without finding that little creek young Robin showed me last night—and -you wouldn’t have had trout for breakfast, my dear!” His eye kindled at -the recollection of the previous evening. “Nearly three pounds, the -biggest fellow weighed; and four others of quite a respectable size! -After failing to get a rise all day it was almost exciting, I tell you, -Milly!” - -“Yes, dear, it was lovely for you,” said Mrs. Lane, with wifely -sympathy. “And how perfectly Mrs. Hurst cooked them!” - -“Couldn’t have been better. It was a cheerful contrast to the greasy -chops at the Baroin hotel. Of course it will be dull for you, dear, I’m -afraid: but not so dull as it would be in the township, I’m certain. If -you would let me take you home—” - -“That is not to be thought of,” interrupted his wife. “Why, you have not -had a holiday for two years!” She smiled at him. “And there is Barry, -too.” - -“Yes, there’s Barry. I want him to be quite fit before he goes back. -He’s keen on the fishing, too, and I must say I should like him to learn -something besides city ways. It’s too bad that he’s over fifteen and -doesn’t know one end of a rod or a gun from the other. If Mrs. Hurst -would have us here, there would be no twelve-mile drive night and -morning along that track you dislike so much—” - -“That would decide it, if there were no other advantages!” spoke Mrs. -Lane, briskly. “I’ll ask Mrs. Hurst, dear: after all, she can hardly be -offended. I’ll put it very nicely.” - -“I have always remarked that when you are truly tactful you are hard to -refuse,” said the doctor, gravely. “So I’ll hope for the best. I do hope -you won’t be horribly bored, dear; it’s all very rough on you. You have -plenty of books to go on with, haven’t you? Of course I can order -anything you like from Town. We can get the mail every day.” - -“Oh, I shall manage famously,” she said. “Don’t think of worrying about -me. I shall write all the letters I should have written ever so long -ago, and read all the books. And I daresay Mrs. Hurst and that nice red -Robin will come and talk to me.” - -“We seem to be taking it for granted that Mrs. Hurst will consent,” her -husband remarked. “It will be rather a blow if she won’t have us.” - -But Mrs. Hurst, handled tactfully, proved responsive. At first she felt -a quick flush of pride and of outraged hospitality; to make money out of -these stranded people who were her guests, seemed an impossible thing. -Then common sense came to her aid. The Lanes, also, had their pride; -clearly, it was unthinkable that they should remain without making any -payment. And their wish to remain was very evident: Mrs. Hurst liked to -see it. - -Then, too, came in her own urgent need of money. Despite her promise to -Robin not to worry, the thought of their tiny bank balance was never out -of her mind: it was so flimsy a barrier between them and disaster, -should bad times come. Dr. Lane’s offer was a generous one—more, she -knew, than he would have paid the hotel in Baroin. She protested against -it. - -“It is too much for simple farm-house accommodation,” she told him, when -he came to join in the discussion. At which he laughed. - -“If you saw our stuffy rooms in that hotel—!” he said. “This is luxury; -your delightful, airy rooms, and the clean freshness everywhere. It -would be ten times the holiday for us. Think, too, of all I shall save -in petrol, apart from the joys of the mantelshelf road which your -daughter says I must not malign. And my wife cannot help giving you some -extra trouble, until her ankle is better.” - -“But you do not realize our limitations,” she said. “I can’t always get -good meat out here—I have to put up with whatever the travelling cart -brings, three times a week. And there are other difficulties. Robin and -I live so simply that we do not notice them, but to you—from Melbourne -. . . .” She paused unhappily, and he laughed at her again. - -“As it happens, meat does not matter much to any of us,” he said. -“Fish—such trout as these—is a treat to us, and so are rabbits, which -we dare not touch in Melbourne. Barry and I can shoot and fish for the -pot, which will give us an extra incentive to do well. Try us for a -week, Mrs. Hurst, and see if we give you too much trouble.” - -Mrs. Hurst had agreed, with some misgivings, and inwardly wondering how -Robin would view the matter. But Robin was frankly delighted. - -“Why, we’ll make heaps of money!” she said. “And it will be rather fine, -Mother, to have people about: I don’t much like the boy, but his father -and mother are dears.” - -“Why don’t you like the boy? He seems civil enough.” - -“Oh, he’s civil,” said Robin, tilting her nose. “But he thinks too much -of himself, and he looks at my hair! He has a kind of lofty manner, as -if he thought it was very nice for the country that he came to stay -there.” - -“Poor Barry!” said Mrs. Hurst, smiling. “Aren’t you a little hard on -him?” - -“Well, I may be,” admitted Robin. “But I haven’t much time for boys, -especially town ones. Danny is worth a paddockful of them! I say, -Mother, are you sure it won’t give you too much work?” - -“I shan’t mind it at all. I must drop other things, more or less: but -the garden is in such good order that it won’t suffer. The sewing can -wait.” - -“Well, of course I’ll do all the rough work,” said Robin, sturdily. “I -can be housemaid and slushy, and you can be head cook and -lady-of-the-house. ’Tisn’t everyone could double those two parts, but -you could cook with one hand tied behind you! Now, if anyone speaks to -me when I’m frying fish, it’s all up with either me or the fish! I can -run errands for Mrs. Lane, and carry out her trays—we’ll make her live -on trays out on the veranda, shall we, Mother?” - -“It sounds uncomfortable,” smiled Mrs. Hurst. “Still—” - -“Oh, you know what I mean. We can fix her up in a jolly corner with a -couch and a little table, and she really won’t be much bother! I suppose -Dr. Lane and Barry will be out all day—that means cutting lunches: I -can do that all right. Mother, hadn’t I better go down to Merri Creek -this afternoon and telephone to the store in Baroin for things? We -haven’t nearly enough groceries.” - -“Yes—and you must tell Mrs. Hawkes I shall not be able to send her any -butter for awhile. We shall have to plan things, Robin; it won’t do to -be caught without food, if fish and rabbits fail.” - -“Lucky I was commissariat department at school,” said Robin, with an -impish grin. “There are four or five fowls that can be killed.” Suddenly -her face clouded. “Mother, I could get Danny to do the killing, couldn’t -I?” - -“Yes, indeed,” said her mother, hastily. “You didn’t think I would let -you do it?” - -“I ought to want to do it, and save money,” said Robin, still looking -distressed. “But I couldn’t kill my chooks, unless I really had to. -Rabbits are different, though I don’t enjoy dealing with them, either. -Still, they’re strangers to me, and the chooks are intimate friends. I -should feel like the lady who suggested cutting her baby in half for -King Solomon!” - -The arrangement, begun with many misgivings on the part of Mrs. Hurst, -worked with remarkable smoothness. Never, she declared, were paying -guests less trouble than hers: they appeared to enjoy everything, never -grumbled, and gave as little trouble as was possible. On the other hand, -the Lanes rejoiced in the peace and freedom of Hill Farm. The food was -simple, but it was well cooked and daintily served: succulent grills and -savoury roasts were not, indeed, to be procured, but Mrs. Hurst had the -skill of a magician in making the indifferent meat of the travelling -cart assume appetizing forms, and Dr. Lane was frankly bewildered by the -variations in their meals, and assured his hostess that she was a -perpetual surprise. The freshest of vegetables, the yellowest of butter, -the thickest of cream—all were delightful to people accustomed to -eating food long past its first freshness. “If I have eggs for breakfast -here,” said the doctor, “I am morally certain that the hens have -scarcely finished cackling over them before I have eaten them! I am -growing disgracefully fat!” - -Barry and his father fished and shot early and late, comfortably certain -that no one minded erratic hours for breakfast and tea. Dr. Lane had at -first made a heroic effort to be punctual, and had protested when Mrs. -Hurst assured him cheerfully that it was not necessary. - -“But what does it matter?” she had asked. “Robin and I have no servants -to hamper us: it does not trouble us at all if you do come in late. And -we know what it means for you to have the morning and evening rise for -fishing; how stupid it would be for you to miss them on account of mere -meals! As for the rabbits—if you want them, you simply _must_ be out in -the evening. I can’t give you dinner at night, but you can have a meal -whenever you choose to come in.” - -“But the trouble to you—” - -“Why, there isn’t any trouble. I make my preparations beforehand, and -all the rest can be done while you are taking off your boots or washing -your hands.” - -“But it is keeping you on duty all the time. If you had heard the frigid -warnings of the hotel in Baroin as to what we might expect if we got -home after six—!” At which Mrs. Hurst’s head went up. - -“But I am not the Baroin hotel, Dr. Lane. You must recognize certain -differences between Hill Farm and that haughty establishment.” Dr. Lane -had laughed at the twinkle in her eye. - -“I thank my lucky stars for them every day,” he had responded. “Well, if -you are really sure that it does not make things too hard for you, it is -certainly delightful to feel that one can carry on with a free -conscience. I’m the slave of a time-table in Melbourne: it is sheer rest -to know that at Hill Farm time does not seem to exist.” - -“Only so far as you wish it to exist,” Mrs. Hurst had answered. “We want -you to enjoy yourselves, Robin and I.” - -Mrs. Lane had shaken down to captivity with surprising philosophy. Her -husband had devoted his first morning to the manufacture of a makeshift -crutch, by means of which she could move about a little, giving her a -feeling of independence that added greatly to her cheerfulness. She -laughed delightedly at her own clumsy efforts at movement, even while -the pain made her wince. - -“I was always taught by my mother that grace was essential to a woman!” -she said. “Dear me, if she could see me now! Robin, you bad child, don’t -laugh at the afflicted—you should be full of sympathy.” - -“I am; but you would make anyone laugh,” Robin defended herself. She was -standing by, ready to help the guest’s progress towards the veranda. “Do -lean on me a bit, Mrs. Lane—I know it’s hurting you horribly, and I -don’t believe Dr. Lane would approve.” - -“Certainly he wouldn’t—but then, men are so fussy, aren’t they?” -responded the afflicted one. “And I won’t be more helpless than I have -to be. Just be handy in case I stumble. I shall be much more -accomplished to-morrow; this third leg of mine isn’t really broken-in -yet.” She reached the couch in safety, and collapsed upon it with a sigh -of relief. - -“There!—I did it! Just lift the old ankle up for me, my dear, and put -that horrid implement where I can’t see it—not out of my reach, though. -I may feel the need of exercise later on.” - -“I don’t think you ought to feel any such thing,” said Robin, much -concerned, although it was impossible not to laugh at the cheerful -sufferer. “See, there’s a little bell on your table, Mrs. Lane: do ring -if you want anything. I shall be just round the corner.” - -“What are you going to do?” - -“Thin my turnips; they’re crowding each other out of the ground.” - -“Dear me!” said Mrs. Lane, looking at her respectfully. “You and your -mother are people of many activities. I wish you would sit down and be -restful for a few minutes: I know I saw you pass my window at five -o’clock this morning.” - -“Very likely,” Robin said, smiling. “I hope I didn’t disturb you, -though.” - -“No: I was awake. Do sit down: I know I’ll need something in about two -minutes—I don’t remember yet what it is, but it will come to me! So it -would be a pity if you went. That’s right; now I can feel more restful -myself. Tell me, why do you and your mother live in this big place -alone? I know I’m very inquisitive, but I was born so.” - -“Well, we must live somewhere,” Robin laughed. “And Uncle Donald left -the place to Mother. He was an old widower, and he hadn’t anyone else to -leave it to—that’s why we got it.” - -“And did he live here alone?” - -“Yes, but for a housekeeper. He bought the place very cheaply: of -course, he didn’t use it all, but it was so cheap he didn’t mind that. -Uncle Donald never could resist a bargain. He used to buy things at -sales, just because they were cheap; the house is full of queer old -things he picked up.” Robin grinned. “I was the worst bargain he ever -made!” - -“Did he get you cheaply?” - -“He got me for nothing, but he thought I was dear at any price. It was -mostly my hair, I think: it had a most irritating effect upon him. -Goodness knows, it’s burden enough to carry a flame-coloured head -through life, without one’s uncles objecting to it. I thought it should -make me an object of sympathy, but Uncle Donald seemed to fancy that the -sympathy should be given to him!” - -Mrs. Lane chuckled delightedly. - -“Then you didn’t get on very well?” - -“Well—not exactly,” said Robin, demurely. “We disapproved of each -other. I could have put up with that, but I couldn’t stand the way he -used to speak to Mother. He really wasn’t a nice old man, Mrs. Lane. You -would have said so yourself!” - -“He doesn’t sound nice,” said Mrs. Lane. “But I like his house. Don’t -you and your mother find it very lonely, though? I can imagine being -happy here for a few weeks—but to live here! I should want more -civilization and fewer cows!” - -“Oh, we’re never lonely. There is too much to do, and we’re so glad to -be together. You see, I was away at school for two years, and we both -hated that.” She jumped up, suddenly, as her mother appeared, bearing a -tray. “Mother, you ought to have called me to carry that!” - -“I thought you were in the garden—but I’m very glad to find you sitting -down,” said Mrs. Hurst, smiling at her. “Just a cup of eleven o’clock -tea, Mrs. Lane. I hope Robin has been looking after you.” - -“Excellently—and I have been shamelessly keeping her from her work. But -she begins so early!” - -“Indeed she does—too early. I was just going to call you in for your -tea, Robin.” - -“Do have it out here with me,” begged Mrs. Lane. - -Mrs. Hurst twinkled. - -“I’m not sure that that would be correct behaviour,” she said. “Is it -done?—the farm-workers intruding on the guest—?” - -“Don’t be horrid!” pleaded the guest. “I am an invalid, and I need -special treatment. Robin, dear, do bring your Mother’s tea and your own, -and let us have a party. Cheerful companionship is what my ankle needs.” - -“But—Madam’s luncheon?” laughed Mrs. Hurst, sitting down, obediently. - -“Oh—lunch!” said the afflicted guest, scornfully. “Madam can eat a -boiled egg. She consumes nourishment in your house at such frequent -intervals that when her ankle is better she’ll only be able to waddle! -You bring out to me trays loaded with food, and I strongly suspect you -both of perching on the kitchen-table and dining on bread-and-butter.” - -Mrs. Hurst shook her head. - -“I might,” she admitted, “if it were not that I have Robin—just as -Robin certainly would, but for the fact that she has me.” - -“Not me!” said Robin, firmly. “I want full rations.” - -“She certainly needs them, for she works very hard,” said her mother. -“So I make a point of having meals properly served: it is good for us -both, for it’s easy for women living alone to get into slack ways. We -don’t perch on the kitchen-table; we eat very respectably, on the -veranda.” - -“But how nice! May I come there, too, when my silly ankle is better? I -won’t ask you when Edward and Barry happen to be at home, for I know you -would hate to have the whole party there—” - -“I would!” Mrs. Hurst smiled, frankly. - -“But when it is just we three? At home I have lunch alone every day—it -suits Edward better to lunch at his club, and Barry is at school. I hate -the sight of the lonely table.” - -“We should like to have you very much, if you can bear lunching with -people in working clothes. No human power can get Robin out of breeches -until the evening, and not always then!” - -“I should think not,” said Robin, warmly. “Fancy getting into a frock -when one has to feed pigs!” - -Mrs. Lane shuddered delicately. - -“I don’t know how you do it—and manage to remain so nice!” she said. - -“Oh, it’s all fun,” Robin answered. “I haven’t yet managed to see the -fun of skinning rabbits, but it has to be done: no doubt the humour of -it will strike me in time. Mrs. Lane, when you are better, aren’t you -going out with your menfolk? You’d have an awfully good time!” - -Again the guest shuddered. - -“My dear,” she said, confidentially, “I was never made for the country. -I can be quite happy while my men-folk are enjoying themselves, so long -as they don’t ask me to join them: I simply loathe a gun, and as for -dangling a worm on a fishing-rod, nothing bores me more, unless it is -casting a fly, which I find actively irritating—cast as I will, the -abominable insect never goes in the right place! I think your veranda is -delightful, as long as no one asks me to look at the scenery or to gaze -at live cows or chickens—or pigs! All, to my mind, are better in their -inanimate forms. You won’t ask me to admire ducklings, will you, Robin, -dear?” - -“Never—unless cooked!” said Robin, laughing. - -“Oh, then I can admire them whole-heartedly. What an understanding child -you are! No—I really don’t want my ankle to recover too quickly: then I -can lie here with an easy mind, read and write, and realize that -civilization is really not far off whenever I see a motor crawling -painfully along that awful track below. I can also be devoutly thankful -that I am not in it! Life is full of compensations to the injured, I -find—especially in a place like Hill Farm.” - -“It is very cheering that you can take it that way,” said Mrs. Hurst, -smiling at the merry, mischievous face—there were times when it seemed -ridiculous to think that Mrs. Lane was really the mother of a boy of -fifteen. “I hope your husband and Barry are as happy.” - -“My dear, they’re in ecstasies! Edward says he has never been so -delighted with a place—as for Barry, he shot two rabbits yesterday and -caught three trout and an eel, and apparently life has nothing more to -offer him. We are only haunted by a fear that you will find we give you -too much trouble, and send us back to that appalling hotel!” - -Mrs. Hurst laughed outright. - -“Why, you’re no trouble at all! Dr. Lane brings in all his game ready -prepared for the table—I wonder does he dream how Robin and I bless him -for it!—and as for you, we give you a bell which you never dream of -ringing. I caught your husband chopping wood yesterday, much to my -horror. He wasn’t in the least impressed by my protests—in fact, he -sent me away, and he and Barry brought the wood in, and filled the box!” - -“Don’t dream of interfering with his pastimes!” said his wife. “He chops -wood at home when he has had an unusually aggravating patient—it seems -to work off his pent-up feelings.” - -“I hope he has not any feelings of that kind here,” spoke Mrs. Hurst, -with some anxiety. - -“Oh, no—it’s just the joy of living, in this case: it has to find -expression somewhere. Barry works his off by singing in his bath, and as -his voice has not quite finished cracking, the effect is blithe, but -peculiar. We’re just a very fortunate family, Mrs. Hurst, and we hope -you’ll keep us a month!” - -Robin rose with an air of determination. - -“In that case,” she said, briskly, “I’ve simply _got_ to go and thin -those turnips!” - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - MAKING FRIENDS - - -“WHAT are those things?” asked Barry, lounging at the shed doorway, -hands in pockets. - -“Rabbit-skins,” answered Robin, shortly. She was kneeling by an open -box, packing what looked like piles of envelopes of parchment. - -“Don’t look much like rabbits.” - -“I don’t suppose our skins would look much like us if they were pulled -off inside out,” Robin responded, grimly practical. -“Ten—eleven—twelve!” She tied a string round the bundle she held, made -a note on a piece of paper, and proceeded to count a fresh dozen. - -“Where’d you get them?” - -“Shot them.” Robin looked ruefully at a much-punctured skin which had -apparently been shot at too close quarters, hesitated a moment, and -then, with reluctance, decided to reject it. Barry sniggered. - -“Gave him the whole cartridge, didn’t you? Did he sit still while you -walked up and potted him?” - -“Yes—ours always do. Haven’t you noticed? I thought that was how you -managed to shoot the two you got.” - -Barry flushed. He was grimly aware of the number of cartridges he had -expended. Apparently this provoking farm-girl knew something about it, -too. He decided to pursue the matter no further. - -“What do you do with the skins?” - -“Send them to Melbourne.” - -“What—are they worth anything? We never keep ours.” - -“Don’t suppose you do,” said Robin, carelessly. Her tone classed Barry -finally among the people who toil not, neither do they spin: and -somehow, Barry fully understood that it was not a compliment. - -“Never thought of it,” he responded, equally carelessly. “Who gets yours -ready for you?” - -“Myself. Seven—eight—nine,” counted Robin. - -“You don’t skin rabbits?” - -“Yes, I do. Why not?” - -“Didn’t think it was a girl’s job, that’s all.” Barry whittled a stick -with an unconscious air. “Of course, I suppose country girls are -different.” - -“How do you mean different?” - -“Oh, well, town girls simply couldn’t do jobs like that.” - -“Because they wouldn’t know how?” - -“Partly. They wouldn’t like it, either.” - -“Well, country girls don’t exactly revel in it,” responded Robin. “But -we don’t make a silly fuss about doing necessary things. We’ve got more -important things to think of than town girls have.” - -Barry sniggered again. - -“That’s a good one,” he said. “I’d like some of the girls I know to hear -you. They’d be amused.” - -“They’d be welcome to their amusement, poor things!” said Robin, in a -tone of lofty pity. “By the way, do you mind moving out of the light? -Thanks—eleven—twelve.” She tied up a new dozen, and Barry felt the -warm indignation of a very small boy who has been told to run away and -play while older people work. He took up a position on the other side of -the wide doorway, whittling more vigorously. - -“Ever been in Town?” he asked. - -“Oh, yes—now and then. Why?” - -“I was thinking it would be rather a surprise to you, in some ways.” - -“It is,” said Robin, with surprising meekness. “Awfully exciting, -crossing the streets, don’t you think? I get terribly scared.” - -Barry assumed the patronizing air of a complete man of the world. - -“I suppose you would,” he said. “All the country people do. Awfully -funny to see them at Show time—they always get on the wrong trams, and -try to talk to the drivers.” - -“Nearly as funny as the Town people out at the Show,” said Robin. “Ever -seen them trying to understand a disc-plough? And they talk about a -horse’s back-foot.” - -“Why wouldn’t they?” queried Barry, unwisely. - -“Well—if you don’t know. . . . . .” Robin smiled with extreme -sweetness, and packed another dozen. - -Barry pondered uneasily for a moment, and decided to seek information on -the matter from a more sympathetic source. He sought to change the -subject, but no inspiration presented itself except rabbit-skins. - -“How d’you get those things into that flat shape?” - -“Stretch them on bent wires. There are some hanging up,” said Robin, -nodding towards a corner of the shed, where skins hung in a dismal row. - -“Must need a lot of wires. Do you buy them ready-made?” - -“No—catch us wasting money that way! Danny made me those.” - -“Oh—that big lout from over at the next farm?” - -The gunpowder stored beneath Robin’s red thatch exploded suddenly. -Barry, had he not been somewhat overwhelmed by the concussion, might -have congratulated himself on having drawn blood at last. - -“Don’t you talk like that!” she said, sharply. “I’ve got to be polite to -you, ’cause your mother and father are so nice, but if you think you can -sneer at our friends you’re jolly well mistaken, Mr. Barry Lane! Danny a -lout, indeed! Danny’s got more sense in his little finger than you, or -any other town boy, have in your whole body! He could show you the way -about everything that really matters, only he wouldn’t be seen wasting -his time over you!” She whirled past him, scarlet with anger, and left -him to digest her words. - -“Whew-w!” whistled Barry. “I put my foot well in that time, didn’t I?” -His dark skin had flushed hotly. “Scissors, can’t she flare up! And all -over that big farm-chap. He looks a lout, anyhow. But I suppose, living -in the country, she doesn’t notice it.” He pondered the matter rather -uneasily, realizing, somewhat to his own disgust, that he had -transgressed his own code. When you were staying with people you did not -abuse their friends. Apparently, that was what he had done. - -He strolled round to the front of the house, disconsolately. Dinner was -over: before him stretched a long and lonely afternoon. The mail, -arriving in the middle of the day, had brought with it a request to Dr. -Lane for a paper on some abstruse medical subject for a learned society: -the doctor, groaning heavily, had shut himself up in his room, to write -until evening. Barry was left to his own resources, and at the moment -they seemed to him insufficient. - -Mrs. Lane was on her couch. The injury to her ankle was a week old, but -she declared that the joint still needed rest, although, to the -unprejudiced eye, it looked much like the other. She greeted her son -with a quick little smile. He sat down on the edge of the veranda near -her. - -“Bored, Barry-boy?” - -“Oh, no. I’ll go fishing, I think.” - -“Then what is wrong?” - -Barry grinned at her, recognizing the detective eye. They told each -other most things. - -“I’ve been cheap,” he said. - -“And nasty?” - -He nodded. “Yes, a bit.” - -“To Robin?” - -He nodded again. - -“Want to tell me?” - -“No, I don’t think so, Mother. Not worth it. But I came to the -conclusion I was cheap.” - -“When that happens,” said little Mrs. Lane, looking like a wise -mother-bird, “the only thing to do is to get back to the level where one -belongs. Otherwise one remains marked-down, like the damaged goods at a -sale. You’ll find a way. I would go out, if I were you, and show Father -you can catch trout without him.” She smiled at him. - -“Right-oh!” he said, rising. “I’ll get my kit.” - -He came out again presently, in a scout shirt and knickers, with stout -wading boots, looking younger than in his customary long trousers. - -“I had never thought to see your knees again,” said his mother. “I -thought they had disappeared into trousers for ever!” - -“Father knew what he was about when he made me bring shorts,” said -Barry. “They dry in no time after wading—and you can’t fish these -creeks without wading half your time. Great pair of knees, aren’t they, -Mother?” - -“They’re like a cross-word puzzle, with scratches. How do you manage to -knock them about so?” - -“Oh—blackberries, and wild raspberries, and prickly-Moses, and other -affectionate plants,” he said. “They all seem to cling to me. I’m as -clumsy as a bear in the bush—never manage to dodge anything. Father -says one doesn’t develop the sense of moving in the bush all at once, so -I can only hope it will come.” - -“But you like it, Barry?” - -The boy’s dark face lit up suddenly. - -“Oh, I love it,” he said. “It bored me stiff that first day, but now it -grows on me more each time I’m out in it. Father’s an awfully good mate, -you know: he shows me ever so many things I’d never see for myself. He’s -jolly patient too—I make a fool of myself in heaps of ways, but he -never seems to mind.” - -“He tells me you are developing a good deal of common sense with your -gun.” - -Barry beamed. - -“Does he? I’m jolly glad. I know I did a lot of idiotic things at first. -I nearly hit him the second night—did he tell you, Mother?” - -Mrs. Lane repressed a shudder. But her voice was quite calm. - -“No, he didn’t tell me, son. I don’t suppose he would tell me that sort -of thing. Was it—very near?” - -“Oh, well, I hit a tree about ten yards from him. But that wasn’t the -point—it might just as well have been Father, because I didn’t know -that the blessed thing was going off. I thought it wasn’t cocked.” He -looked at her ruefully, and found her smile very comforting. - -“As you didn’t hit him, it was probably a very good thing it happened,” -she said. “It would teach you a good deal, Barry-boy.” - -“That’s just what it did,” he said. “I thought I knew all about it -before, and it just showed me what an utter fool I was. Mother, I don’t -think I’d ever be that particular kind of idiot again. I just shook for -about ten minutes. And he was such a brick about it. I was scared he’d -say I mustn’t use a gun again, but instead he said that was just the -time to go on using it—so that I wouldn’t be likely to forget. I guess -I won’t, either!”—and Barry set his jaw in a hard line. - -“Your grandfather believed in that,” said Mrs. Lane. “When I was quite -small—yes, I know I am small now, but I was still smaller then!—I used -to ride a great grey mare on which I felt rather like a pea sitting on -an elephant. I fell off her one day, and was sure I was killed—I -believed grandfather thought so, too, until he had picked me up and -discovered nothing worse than bruises. Then he caught the grey mare and -put me on her at once, while I howled vigorous protests, assuring him -that I would fall off again at once. But he only laughed, and said, ‘Not -you, Milly!’” - -“And did you?” Barry asked, much interested. - -“Certainly not. I stuck on, and we galloped home in triumph. And I rode -that mare for years, and never had another toss: more than that, I was -never afraid again. And you never will be in doubt again as to whether -your gun is cocked or not, Barry—you’ll know it is not cocked unless -you want to fire!” - -“I believe I won’t,” he said. “But I won’t be cock-sure, Mother! -Gracious, wasn’t that brilliant, for me, and I never meant to say it, -either! I think I’d better go fishing, or I may make more puns.” He took -off his cap as she blew him a kiss, and went striding down the hill, his -rod over his shoulder. - -Luck was kind to him at first: he hooked a trout in a long stretch of -rippling water, and managed to land it after five minutes’ highly -unscientific play, trembling all the while for fear of making a fatal -mistake; quite certain that no rod could stand the strain of being bent -like a whip, with a leaping, fighting fish at its delicate end. When he -finally managed to net it, after two unsuccessful attempts, and had -killed it with a swift, merciful blow, as his father had taught him, he -laid the still-twitching body on the grass and fairly gloated. The -sunlight rippled on the golden-brown sides, spotted with scarlet. It was -a fine fish, nearly two pounds. Barry felt that he had made a definite -step towards manhood. - -“Lucky for me you were hooked so firmly, old chap,” he said. “I’d have -lost you for a certainty if you’d been lightly hooked. Golly, I am glad -I got you!” He cleaned the trout and stowed it in his bag. - -After that the goddess of Luck removed her face from him, and he fished -pool after pool in vain: growing somewhat impatient as the afternoon -wore on, and no new capture had gone to join his first prey. Still, it -was jolly in the quiet stillness of the bush, where only bird-calls -broke the stillness: even if the fish were shy there was fresh -excitement in trying each promising bit of water, and always failure was -solaced by the comforting weight of the bag—he could go home and show -them that a town boy could hook and kill a decent trout unaided. The -red-haired girl evidently didn’t think much of townsfolk. Well, he would -show her! And then he grew a little less cheerful, for when the -red-haired girl was concerned Barry was still feeling cheap. - -He was thinking of her when suddenly he came upon her, as he rounded a -scrub-covered bend. Ahead was a wide pool with a little rushy island in -its midst: he had fished it with his father, and had looked forward to -getting to it again, for it was a good pool. But Robin had got there -first: a fine trout on the bank beside her, almost as big a fish as his -own, showed that she had not wasted her time. As he came, she flicked -her spinner across the water again—and uttered an exclamation of -annoyance as it caught in a little bush in the island. - -Robin tried to twitch it free, but it was evidently held strongly, and -she dared not risk breaking her rod. She laid it down on the bank and -pulled and jerked the line—all to no purpose. The bush swayed, but the -hooks of the spinner clung closely. - -“Well, you are a pig!” said Robin, heartily. She glanced round and saw -Barry. - -“That’s hard luck,” he said. “What will you do?” - -“Wade, I suppose,” she answered, shortly. - -“Easier to break the line, wouldn’t it?” - -Robin looked her scorn of this suggestion. - -“That’s a new spinner, and the best cast I’ve got,” she said. “I can’t -afford to waste tackle.” She turned from him and looked doubtfully at -the water. - -“Is it deep?” he asked. - -“I’m not sure; it might be better to swim than to wade. It might be -snaggy—you never can tell, in these pools, what snags may have floated -down and sunk. Oh, I’ll chance wading: if it gets too deep I’ll have to -go home and get bathing-togs and swim.” - -“I’ll swim over for you,” he offered eagerly. - -“It’s all right, thanks,” was Robin’s stiff reply. Evidently she had not -forgotten their encounter after lunch: she would not accept any favour -from him. She waded out into the pool, while Barry watched her uneasily. -The water, swift and brown, seemed to him altogether too deep for -wading—especially for a girl. - -“I wish you’d let me swim,” he called. “Here, I’ll get my boots off: it -doesn’t matter if I get wet.” - -He sat down on the bank and unlaced his boots hurriedly, heedless of the -fact that Robin had not answered. The socks followed the boots, and he -stood barefooted on the bank, again begging her to come back. But -Robin’s “red-haired streak,” as her schoolfellows had called it, was -uppermost, although she began to realize that the water was too deep for -wading. Had she been alone, she would have turned back to the bank: but -not before the supercilious youngster who had called good old Danny a -lout. “I’ll give it a yard more,” she muttered to herself. “It may not -get any deeper than it is now.” - -A stone turned under her foot. She lurched forward uncertainly in the -knee-deep water, saving herself from falling only by taking a long step. -Her foot went down—down: there was no bottom anywhere, and no drawing -back. She gave a little choked cry as the water closed over her red -head. It was a cry that expressed exasperation more than fear. - -She kicked downwards as she sank, to send herself up to the surface, and -something closed like a vice upon her foot. Something that held and -clung, tantalizing her with a swing that felt as though it were -yielding, but never releasing its grip. She knew what it was, as she -struggled in sick fear: knew how the old, water-logged gum boughs lie -along the bottom, spikes driven into the mud holding the crooked, forked -limbs that swing and sway with the current, never released until they -rot away and mingle with the stream. She knew how little time she had to -fight. Already her lungs seemed bursting with the effort of holding her -breath: already her limbs were heavy and helpless. And the grip was no -less tight. - -On the bank, Barry had uttered an exclamation of dismay as Robin -disappeared. He was not alarmed, for she had spoken easily of swimming: -still, he knew that no girl likes an involuntary ducking. He waited for -the red head to bob up again, prepared to shout sympathetically to her. -Fifteen seconds went by: thirty: and suddenly the boy found his heart -beginning to pump like an engine. - -“She’s been under nearly a minute!” he muttered. “Something’s wrong.” He -blessed the impulse that had made him kick off his boots, as he dived -into the pool. - -The water was muddy with Robin’s struggling, but he came upon her -quickly. Sinking down, his hands encountered the imprisoned foot, and he -grasped the bough. One of his feet, as he kicked, found a moment’s -purchase upon another snag; it held as he put all his force into a -desperate tug, slipping off just as the bough broke short at the fork. -An inch less, and it would still have gripped Robin’s boot. As it was, -Barry saw her float slowly upwards. - -He was after her like a flash and drew her into the shallow water: she -had not lost consciousness, but was capable of only the feeblest -paddling. They reached the bank, and she lay down on the grass, still -gasping. - -“Swallow any water?” he asked, anxiously. - -She shook her head. Under water, Barry Lane was entirely capable: on -land he became a rather scared boy, without the faintest idea of what to -do for a half-drowned lady in distress. So he rubbed her hands very -hard, and uttered disjointed words of encouragement, such as “Buck up, -old chap!”—which perhaps was as effective as anything he could have -done. At any rate, Robin presently sneezed violently, gave a feeble -grin, and sat up. - -“I was nearly a goner that time!” she remarked, inelegantly. Her voice -shook, and Barry frowned. - -“Better lie down again,” he counselled. “I vote you keep quiet and I’ll -run up and fetch Father—and some brandy.” - -“No—I’m all right. At least I will be in a minute or two,” she -shuddered. “Ugh, it was awful down there—I thought I’d never get free. -Never would, either, if you hadn’t come. However did you do it?” - -Barry grinned feebly. - -“Oh, it was easy—I was born in Queensland, and I could swim under water -almost before I could walk. We used to have competitions to see who -could stay under longest and pick up most things. Only this water was so -jolly muddy that it was hard to make out anything.” He sat back on his -heels and looked at her. “Sure you’re all right? Golly, you gave me a -fright!” - -“I’m all right, but I’m awfully cold. I think I’d better move.” - -“Let’s help you up,” Barry said. He hauled her ungently to her feet, and -she promptly staggered and caught at his shoulder. In a moment her head -steadied. - -“Now I’m better,” she said. “I’ll just walk home slowly.” She turned, -but stopped as he moved towards the creek. “What are you going to do?” - -“Just get your spinner,” he said, carelessly. “You go on—I’ll catch you -up with the rods.” - -“You aren’t going back into that beastly creek!” - -“I’m not going to waste your tackle,” he said, laughing. “Don’t -worry—I’ll look out for snags.” He swam across carefully, keeping his -body almost on the surface, and freed the spinner from the clutches of -the bush. In a moment he was back on the bank beside her. - -“I say—do go on!” he protested. “I’ve got to get my boots on, and -you’ll certainly get pneumonia or something if you stand there with your -teeth chattering.” - -She stared at him without speaking for an instant. Then she turned and -walked unsteadily away, while Barry forced his wet feet into his boots -and gathered up the rods and fish. He caught her up in the next paddock. - -“Feel all right?” - -“Oh, yes—right enough. Just a bit shaky, but nothing to matter.” - -“You want a good rub-down and a hot drink,” counselled Barry. “I hope -your mother won’t be scared.” - -“She won’t, ’cause she’ll see I’m alive,” said Robin, with something of -her usual twinkle. It was a washy twinkle, but Barry was relieved to see -that it was there. “But we’re a lovely pair, to be coming home!” - -“Better wet than dead!” grinned her dripping companion. “And anyhow, -we’ve brought home our breakfast!” - -“Yes, and you saved my tackle. That was awfully decent of you. You saved -my life, too, but you might have felt you had to do that—but there was -no need for you to go back after that spinner. I—I’m just awfully -obliged to you.” The speech was an effort, and she hurried on, -squelching in her wet boots. - -Barry might reasonably have felt bewildered at this peculiar -distribution of gratitude, but he saw nothing to criticize. He was -oppressed by the necessity of making a speech himself. - -“I was no end of a swine this morning,” he said, flushing. “What I said -about Danny, I mean. It was a low-down thing to say—I’m sorry, Robin.” - -She flashed a smile at him. - -“That’s all right,” she said, with embarrassment. “I was rather a pig, -too. I won’t be again, if you won’t.” - -“Rather not!” said Barry. They squelched companionably towards the -house. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - THE MERRI CREEK FALLS - - -“I THOUGHT, a week ago,” said Dr. Lane, “that my son and your daughter -intended to remain for ever in a state of armed neutrality. They -bristled at sight of each other, like two terriers, and politeness was -all that restrained them from combat. There were even indications that -the politeness was wearing thin. And look at them now!” - -He waved a hand towards the little flat below the house, where Robin and -Barry, mounted on ponies borrowed from Mr. Merritt, had erected a brush -hurdle and were taking turns in jumping. The ponies were awkward, and -the riders not highly skilled; when they succeeded in making the steeds -face the hurdle they did not always get them over; when they got them -over they rarely remained in the saddle. These minor defects did not -chill the ardour of the riders. Shouts of laughter echoed up the hill, -mingled with mutual comments that lacked nothing of frankness. Beyond -doubt, the partnership was firmly established. - -“This seems to be the result of impromptu mixed bathing,” said Mrs. -Hurst, laughing, as her eyes dwelt on Robin. “I still shiver at the -thought of my girl’s danger—but I am not altogether sorry it happened. -They are very happy together. And it is so good for Robin to have a -friend. She did not realize how lonely she was.” - -“She didn’t suggest loneliness. I think the companionship between you -was very delightful, and she will find it so again when Barry has gone. -But youth calls to youth. As for Barry—it has always been our regret -that he has no sister. To be friends with a girl like your Robin is very -good for him.” - -“Barry doesn’t in the least regard Robin as a girl,” said Mrs. Lane, -from the couch where she was generally to be found, in spite of the fact -both silk-clad ankles were equally slender. “He told me this morning -that the best thing about her was that she was just like a boy. ‘No -silly girl-tricks!’ said Barry. ‘I can’t stand girls!’ And he was quite -sure he meant it.” - -“And yet he has many little chivalrous ways with her that he certainly -would not show for another boy,” Mrs. Hurst remarked. “I do not think he -even knows he has them. But they are there, all the same.” - -“I’m glad to hear that you have noticed that,” said Dr. Lane. “I thought -I had, too: but I was afraid it might be only desire to think so on my -part!” - -“Oh, no; I have seen a dozen little proofs. Why, I found him cleaning -her boots to-day!” - -“That is indeed a proof, for it is hard enough to make him clean his own -when he is at home,” said Mrs. Lane, laughing. “When Barry cleans a boot -he declines to perceive that it has any back. Oh, look!—his pony jumped -the hurdle without knocking it down, and he didn’t fall off! My Barry -will be a jockey before he leaves here.” - -“I only hope we shall return him to you undamaged,” said Mrs. Hurst. - -For it had been settled that Barry should stay another month at Hill -Farm. Business was calling Dr. Lane to Queensland, and his wife insisted -that he should not go alone: but Barry hated the hot weather of the -North, and was so happy in the bush that his parents had begged Mrs. -Hurst to keep him. Barry himself welcomed the suggestion with delight; -anything was better than to grill for weeks in Brisbane in midsummer; -and Hill Farm, where he had settled down as though it had always been -his home, was a very lucky alternative. - -The partnership between him and Robin had deepened into a firm -friendship. Barry’s feeling of natural superiority as a boy had quickly -vanished before the girl’s leadership in all bushcraft. He was a clumsy -new chum where she trod with the sure, quick step of one who has entered -into her kingdom. The dense scrub that puzzled him was to her an open -book, for she had that instinctive knowledge of direction and of -unconscious observation that marks the bushman born. It irritated Barry, -now and then, that she should know so much. “For, after all, you haven’t -been here so awfully long yourself,” he would say. Robin could not -explain it. “I feel as if I’d been born knowing the bush,” she would -answer, half apologetically. “But you’re getting on splendidly, Barry, -so don’t worry.” - -Already the month for which the Lanes had asked had gone by, and Dr. -Lane was, as he said, “screwing-out” a few more days before he and his -wife must go North. It had been a very happy month; everything had gone -smoothly, the Lanes had been the most cheerful and considerate of -paying-guests, and Mrs. Hurst marvelled at the ease with which she had -managed her big household. There was satisfaction in that, as there was -in the thought of the comfortable little balance mounting up in the -bank: solid satisfaction, too, in the knowledge that she and Robin had -made good friends. The Lanes declared that nothing should prevent their -visit being a yearly one, so long as Hill Farm would have them: they had -exacted a half-promise that Robin and her mother should visit them in -Melbourne. The vision of the future, when Robin must go to the city to -learn typing, lost half its terrors for the anxious mother now that she -knew that her child would not be friendless. - -On the flat below, the riders decided that their ponies had had enough -tuition in jumping—perhaps induced to this conclusion by their own -bruises. They came cantering up, passed the house with a gay shout, and -presently appeared on the veranda, flushed and hot. - -“What have you done with the ponies?” asked Mrs. Hurst. - -“Taken them back to their own paddock: Mr. Merritt wants them to-morrow. -Oh, Mother, we’ve had fun!” - -“You seemed to be enjoying life,” Dr. Lane said. “I hope the ponies -enjoyed it too.” - -“Oh, they were quite happy. They knew ever so much more about it than we -did—but we managed to get the same point of view after a while. -Jumping’s great sport,” Barry ended. - -“When you stick on?” - -“Yes—or even when you don’t. The grass is so thick down there it’s like -falling on a carpet, and if we fell off the ponies always stopped very -kindly and began to feed. It must be much more disheartening to fall off -and see your horse disappearing into the distance: I like them trained -to pause, like these.” - -“I never had the luck to ride a pauser,” remarked Dr. Lane. “When I -quitted the saddle they invariably quitted me, at the rate of knots, and -I had to walk miles before I found them. Hence, I prefer motors, which -do not run away——” - -“Not even down a hillside?” asked Robin, wickedly. “I knew a Buick—” - -“The very thing to prove what I was saying,” returned Dr. Lane. “Even -when the wicked tracks of Gippsland let a good car over the edge, what -does the good car do? Somersault to the bottom? Certainly not. It -hastily finds a tree, and leans up against it, waiting for its master!” - -“Uttering gentle bleats, to attract his attention,” finished Robin, -softly. “That’s what I noticed about the car I mentioned. And everyone -seemed so pleased with it!” - -“It played us a very good trick, at all events,” remarked the doctor, -shaking his fist at her. “Think what a holiday we have had because it -chose that spot to fall over the edge, and what a hideous time we should -have had if it had gone peacefully on its way to Baroin. I refuse to -hear one word against my car. But there’s something else I want to -consult you about, Robin. Do you know the way to the Merri Creek Falls?” - -Robin knitted her brows. - -“I’ve never been quite to the Falls,” she said. “I did go a good deal of -the way with a camping-party more than two years ago. We gave it up: I -was young then, and they were all soft, and the going was certainly very -bad. I believe there is a better track now. Why, Dr. Lane?” - -“Well, I’d like to go there,” he said. “A man I met fishing yesterday -told me they were well worth seeing. It’s a bit of a rough trip, he -said, but we could do it in the day if we made an early start. I thought -you and Barry and I could tackle it, if your mother were willing. I have -got permission from my headquarters”—he nodded meekly towards his wife. -“This fellow told me there was good fishing in the creek below the -falls. He had been camping there.” - -“I am quite willing, but I should strongly advise against fishing,” Mrs. -Hurst said. - -“The track is exceedingly rough; I don’t think you realize what a -nuisance rods would be to you on a long walk in such country: and fish, -if you got them, would be an added burden on the way back.” - -“That sounds common-sense,” said the doctor, regretfully. “Well, after -all, I have had better fishing here than I ever hoped to have, so I may -as well put it out of my head. But I would like to see those falls. Feel -inclined, Barry?” - -“My Aunt!” said Barry, eagerly. “It would be a ripping day!” - -“And what about you, Robin?” - -“Oh, I’m always ready for an excursion,” she said. “But I warn you, it -will be rougher walking than anything you have done about here. We shall -have to wade the creek ever so many times; I remember we walked in the -creek itself for a good way, but perhaps the track will save us that -now. When would you like to go, Dr. Lane?” - -“To-morrow, I thought; it’s beautiful weather, and I have so few days -left.” - -“Do you think we could get breakfast at five o’clock, Mother?” Robin -asked. - -“Five!” exclaimed her four hearers in various notes of horror. But Robin -only smiled. - -“I’ve tried to get to those Falls, and you haven’t,” she said. “I’m all -for an early start, to get as far as we can before the day grows hot. We -can always rest on the way—and we’ll want to!” - -“I’m beginning to think this is a more serious expedition than I had -imagined,” laughed the doctor. - -“Oh, I don’t know that it’s serious,” Robin answered. “But it _is_ -rough, and I warn you that I don’t know any short cuts.” - -“Could you get lost?” demanded Mrs. Lane. “If so, I shall hang bells on -all three of you before you start!” - -“You wouldn’t be up,” said Barry, solemnly. - -“I should rise to the occasion,” was his mother’s lofty reply. “But tell -me, Robin: I am going to enter a protest if there is any fear of your -being bushed.” - -“Oh, we can’t get bushed if we stick to the creek,” Robin said. “There -are short cuts, I know, that make the distance much less, but of course, -it wouldn’t be safe to tackle them. So we must be prepared for a long -day. I could get breakfast ready to-night, Mother, and pack the lunch.” - -“Yes: I will help you. You must all eat enormous quantities of eggs and -bacon before you start—then I shall feel more easy about you,” Mrs. -Hurst said. - -“If anyone, a month ago, had told me I could devour eggs and bacon at -five o’clock in the morning, I should have thought him mad,” said Dr. -Lane. “But I feel now that I could tackle anything that was offered me, -at any hour. That’s the result of Hill Farm, Mrs. Hurst!” - -Even though it was almost midsummer, it was chilly enough in the deep -gullies when they set out the next morning. The mists had not yet risen: -ahead of them the bush was dim and mysterious, and every bough dripped -with moisture. For the first few miles they were able to keep above the -creek, following sheep-tracks through the hill settlers’ country: they -walked steadily, anxious to get as far as possible before the real -fatigue of the journey began. Then they came to the last of the -clearing. Before them ranged the tall rounded masses of the hills, -covered with dense scrub and giant trees. - -“Now we’ll have to stick to the creek, unless we can find a track,” -Robin said. - -They went down the steep hillside, and were lucky in coming upon a -narrow path that followed the windings of the creek. It was not easy -travelling: the track was so narrow, the greedy march of the bush so -swift, that the undergrowth brushed their faces, and often they were -forced to hold it apart while they forced their way through. Sometimes -it curved sharply round the butts of huge trees, leaving only the barest -footing, where one went, clinging to any stray shoot of musk or hazel as -a support: sometimes it dipped into waterworn gullies where brambles -disputed every yard of the way. But still, it was a track; and Robin, at -least, was duly grateful for it. Below them the creek sang and rippled -on its way: occasionally they caught glimpses of the brown water, -gurgling over its boulder-strewn bed. But for the most part the scrub -undergrowth hemmed them in, and they went in single file, seeing nothing -but the dense green wall on either side. - -It was past nine o’clock when the track suddenly ended in an enormous -fallen tree, the butt of which, six feet high, made a grey wall before -them. Its roots, now intertwined with scrub, stretched down to the -creek. They followed along its great length, and the pale shadow of a -track seemed to them to stretch away northward into the bush. But Robin, -looking at it, shook her head. - -“It might be our track,” she said. “And then, again, it mightn’t. I -don’t like trying experiments in this sort of country.” - -“No experiments for me, thank you,” Dr. Lane said, briskly. “The creek -is definite: we’ll stick to it.” He looked at his companions. “How are -you two feeling?” - -“First-rate,” said Robin and Barry in chorus. - -“That’s good. Still, I think we’ll have twenty minutes’ spell, not -because we are tired, but because the wise man rests before he is tired. -Let us climb round this large vegetable which is blocking the way and -get down to the creek.” - -They fought their way round the fallen tree—it took them five minutes -to do it: and so came to where the brown water gurgled and chattered -over a bed of huge rounded stones. Barry lay down with his face in a -pool, and drank as a dog drinks, inelegantly, but thoroughly. - -“My word, that’s good!” he said. “Have some: I left plenty for you!” - -“That was kind of you,” said his father. He produced from his pocket -little collapsible aluminium cups, and screwed them up, offering one to -Robin. - -“These are handy things,” he said. “Sometimes they collapse at the wrong -moment, and it is very awkward, especially if you are drinking coffee in -a railway carriage. Here, we should probably enjoy it, so they won’t -collapse. Sandwiches—yes, please Robin, I think that is a very good -idea.” - -“I made a little parcel for our first halt,” said Robin. “We ought to -have lunch at the Falls, if we have any luck.” - -“I could eat an enormous lunch now—and at the Falls, too!” said Barry. -“This is a hungry stroll we’re taking!” - -“Supplies wouldn’t hold out,” said Robin, practically. - -They lay on the soft grass just above the water’s edge and nibbled their -sandwiches economically, to make them last longer. Below them a great -veil of maidenhair fern trailed downward to the stream that washed its -fronds: above towered the tall brown shafts of tree-ferns, their -spreading crests mingling with sarsaparilla and clematis. Just across -the stream stood a clump of Christmas-bush, already a starry mass of -white. There were birds everywhere among the bushes, happy and unafraid; -bell-birds chimed ceaselessly in the tree-tops far above them. Once, a -wallaby hopped upon an open space on the farther bank, looked at them -serenely for a moment, and then hopped back into cover. - -“You were right, Robin,” Dr. Lane said. “We have not seen any bush like -this—nothing so quiet and utterly undisturbed. It makes one feel -oneself an intruder.” - -“We’d see lyre-birds if we could stay here long enough without moving,” -Robin said. “Look—there’s a platypus!” She pointed to a tiny promontory -across the creek, where a queer flat creature, furry and with a bill -like a duck’s, paused for a moment before sliding head-first into the -water. - -“First I’ve ever seen,” commented Barry. “My word this is a jolly place! -I wish we could have a camp here.” - -“We’ll think about it next year, when we come back,” said the doctor. -“Meanwhile, I’m afraid we had better move: we don’t know how rough the -going will be after this.” - -They were soon after to prove the melancholy truth of the foreboding -contained in this remark. There was no track at all to be found near the -creek, and the banks were so overgrown that each yard of progress had to -be fought. So they took to the water, a slow process, since it was -necessary to follow the creek through all its windings: a laborious one, -because most of the way was over smooth and slippery stones, where each -foothold had to be tested. All were wearing rough spiked boots, which -gave them more security in treading; but they also made walking tiring, -when heavy with water. The creek rarely rose above Barry’s knees: but it -was swift, the power of the current increasing as they mounted higher -and higher into the hills; and it was hard to gauge the depth of the -pools. There was more than one moment when Dr. Lane asked himself -doubtfully if they should give up the attempt to reach the Falls. - -The children, however, scouted the suggestion indignantly. To have come -so far, and then to turn back, seemed to them an unthinkable idea. - -“I had to do it once, and I’ve been sorry ever since,” Robin declared. -“And I wasn’t fourteen then. We can’t be so very far from the Falls -now.” She peered ahead into the dim tunnel of greenery—it was long -since they had seen the sun, shut in by the trees as they were. “Look—I -believe it is a little clearer ahead. We might have another try at -walking on the bank.” - -“Let’s see,” said Barry, eagerly. “Gee, but my feet are sore from these -old stones!” - -They waded on as quickly as they could. As Robin had thought, they came -upon a break in the dense wall of undergrowth. There were signs of old -axe-marks on some of the trees, and many felled stumps, now rotten and -overgrown with creepers and moss. - -“Probably some old prospector lived about here ages ago,” said Robin. -“He’d have to clear a way down to the water. This is most likely his old -track.” - -“Did they ever find gold here?” - -“No—at least, only the merest traces. But there are always fossickers -about in the hills who believe they will hit on gold some day. Some -people think that these hills hold all sorts of things—marble, and -limestone, and valuable clays, and even oil. I suppose they’ll be -discovered by-and-bye.” - -“What a lark if we found an oil-well on your place!” said Barry. “How -does one look for oil, Father?” - -“Other people do the looking, and then they make you buy shares, my -boy,” said his father, gloomily. “I’ve lost more than I care to think of -in that way. The last oil-well in which I was interested spouted only -hot water instead of oil, and so, much of my hard-earned money went up -in steam. I’ve given up buying things I can’t see. Let us try the old -prospector’s clearing, and see if it leads us to anything. We won’t go -far from the creek, though.” - -The clearing was so overgrown that to speak of it as cleared was only to -distinguish it from the impenetrable scrub on either hand. Still, it was -possible to find a way through it; and presently, to their delight, they -came again upon the track, and saw, through a rift in the timber, that -they were not far from the head of the gully where the creek came down. -They forgot fatigue as they hurried onward, making light of the many -difficulties in the way: anything was better than wading over the smooth -round stones that hurt the feet so cruelly. - -Presently, as they went, a sound came to their ears: a low boom which at -first they took for the soughing of a far-off wind coming across the -tree-tops. It grew louder as they advanced, almost unnoticed by them: -one does not lend a very attentive ear to sounds, when one is fighting -every step of an uphill climb. But at length, in a moment when the going -was easier, it suddenly brought Dr. Lane to a standstill. - -“By Jove!” he said, with a touch of excitement unusual in him. “I -believe that is the noise of the Falls!” - -They halted, listening. The sound was a dull, steady roar that never -varied. Wind and sea have light and shade in their stormy note, but -falling water comes with a ceaseless and unalterable boom: a roar that -has lasted since time began, and will last down the ages when the little -races of men are dust. There was no doubting the sound now. - -Barry gave a joyful cry and dashed ahead. They heard him shout again as -they hurried after him. - -The path ended in a wide space clear of trees. On their left, the creek -had broadened out until it was a great pool; a whirlpool of wild water -that boiled and foamed and eddied, before it rushed away over the stony -bed between the walls of scrub. Behind it the hill rose sharp and -rugged, a mass of grey rocks, where mosses and lichen clung, and stunted -bushes struggled for a foothold. A huge, rough mass showed near the top, -fifty feet above them: and over it, in a smooth and glistening curve, -lit by a dancing rainbow where the sun’s rays struck it, poured the -waters of the Fall. - -Half-way down, the wonderful wall of shining water was broken by a fang -of rock that jutted from the hillside. The fall split upon it, shooting -out on either side, to meet again, lower down, so that the united -curtain flung its whole weight into the boiling waters of the pool. But -where it was cleft by the jutting rock, a dancing curtain of spray hung -like a misty veil before it, catching the rainbow light from above and -multiplying it into a myriad gleams of flying colour. One might fancy -one saw all the fairies of air and water dancing in the opal mist. - -“Oh!” said Robin—“oh!” She sat down on the grass, hugging her knees, -and stared up as though she were worshipping. It was long before any of -them spoke. - -“Well!” said Dr. Lane at last—leaning near her, because of the roar of -falling water. “It was worth the walk, don’t you think, kiddies?” - -They nodded: there was awe on each young face. - -“Come along,” Dr. Lane said. “We can’t afford to wait too long, -considering the track home; and the billy must be boiled. Let us get a -little farther back, where we can watch the Falls and hear ourselves -speak as well.” - -But no one seemed to have much wish to speak: the wonder of the Falls -held them all silent. They boiled their billy and ate lunch under a big -tree at the edge of the scrub, saying little, but watching the dancing -mist-rainbows on the face of the water, and the splendid curve above, -like polished black marble. Robin sighed heavily when at length Dr. Lane -gave the word to march. - -“Well, I was always sorry that I didn’t see it,” she said. “But it was -worth waiting for. It’s like a dream, to take home for keeps. If only I -could make Mother see it too!” - -“We don’t know what is going to happen next year,” Dr. Lane said, -wisely. “If we managed to camp where we halted to-day—and found a man -who could tell us more about the track—and got the two Mothers into -hard condition by judicious exercise—who knows what we may not arrive -at! At any rate we’ll have a try. Red Robin!” - -“Barry, I think your Father is the nicest ever!” said Robin, solemnly. - -“Tell us news!” was Barry’s lofty response. - - - - - CHAPTER X - THE HUT IN THE SCRUB - - -THEY were somewhat thoughtful as they turned back into the scrub: a -little awed by the wonder they had seen—perhaps a little sober at the -remembrance of the long, rough journey home. But there was something of -triumph in Robin and Barry, for they had succeeded where others had -failed. Many tourists set out each summer for the Merri Creek Falls, but -the majority gave up the journey, voting no waterfall worth the trouble -of getting through the forest in which this particular fall chose to -hide itself. Few of the residents of the district had reached the -Falls—being a busy folk with small leisure for scenery. And they had -won through! It was small wonder if Robin and Barry felt a throb of -exultation. - -They reached the place where they had rejoined the track after their -long wading in the creek. Dr. Lane halted. - -“I wonder if it would not be better to keep to the track for a bit,” he -said, rather doubtfully. “If we could save ourselves even half a mile of -that unpleasant wading it would be something. What do you think, Robin?” - -“I don’t fancy we should risk losing our way,” Robin answered. “It must -be the only track, even if it seems to bend to the north; there is no -settlement of any kind out here.” - -“Do let’s try it for a bit,” begged Barry. “My feet won’t stand too much -of those beastly stones; I’m sure I’ve sixteen blisters already!” - -“Well, we can try it for a while,” Dr. Lane said. - -They followed the track, which almost immediately became more definite. -There were signs that it had been used; light scrub had evidently been -roughly cut, and once or twice Robin, who was leading, thought that she -could make out a footprint. She pulled up, presently, and pointed out a -faint mark to Dr. Lane. - -“Don’t you think a boot made that?” - -“It looks uncommonly like it,” Dr. Lane answered. “There may be someone -camped near here: a prospector, or a fishing enthusiast. It would be -luck if we could find someone who could tell us if we were going out of -our way.” - -“It might be a track left by the man you were talking to,” Barry -suggested. - -“Oh, he was here last summer; no track of his would be visible by this -time. That mark looked fairly new. Hullo—!” He broke off suddenly. - -The path had swung sharply round a dense patch of dogwood, and they saw -before them, in a little open space, a rough bark hut. It stood among a -clump of wattles, the trunks of which had been used, so far as was -possible, as supports. No more crazy-looking building had ever formed a -home: it seemed to lean this way and that, and where the heavy slabs of -iron-bark had warped under the weather it was patched with whatever -material the bush afforded, and daubed with creek mud. Dr. Lane gave a -low whistle. - -“We seem to have found our prospector,” he said. “I hope the good man is -at home.” - -“Man!” said Robin, staring. “It isn’t only a man. Look there!” - -She pointed to where a rude clothes-line, made of twisted stringy-bark, -hung between two trees. Something fluttered from it: a woman’s dress of -faded blue, patched and torn. And as they looked, a woman suddenly came -round the corner of the hut, and, seeing them, cried out and ran -forward. - -She was a very young woman, but her face was lined and worn in a way -that was not good to see. Her faded hair was strained back from a face -so thin that it looked almost like a mummy’s; her eyes held a world of -horror in their sunken depths. Robin gave a gasp of pity and went -quickly to meet her, and the poor soul put out a trembling hand, -touching her sleeve with a kind of incredulous delight. - -“A girl!” she muttered. “I thought I’d never see a woman again!” - -“What is it?” Robin asked gently. “Can we help you?” - -“I’m just desperate”—the low, strained voice could hardly be heard. “I -thought no one ’ud ever come.” - -“You are not alone here?” Dr. Lane asked sharply. She shook her head. - -“Me husband’s there. He’s dyin’, I think—he’s been ill for weeks. We’d -both have been dead pretty soon.” Then she swayed, and would have -fallen, if they had not caught her. They gave her a mouthful of brandy -and water, and in a minute she made herself sit up and answer questions. - -Bit by bit the sorry little story came from her halting tongue—long -before it was finished, Dr. Lane had gone off with long strides to the -hut, feeling for his pocket medicine-case as he went. She and her -husband had come to the district as “married couple” on a farm: they had -heard wild stories of gold to be found by fossickers and prospectors -along the Merri Creek, and when they had saved a little money they had -given up their job and come out into the bush. A farmer who knew the -track had brought them up on horses, a packhorse carrying what outfit -and stores they had been able to buy. - -From the first, bad luck had dogged them. They were of the feckless kind -that should never leave a township; and the immensity and the silence of -the bush, and its impenetrable nature, had filled their very souls with -fear. “We hated to look at it,” she whispered—“only there wasn’t -nothing else to look at.” They had managed to burn down their tent, -losing a good deal of their property. It seemed that they had expected, -in a vague way, to live chiefly on fish and rabbits—and had found -neither easy to get. Not a speck of gold had rewarded their pitiful -seeking, although they had worked together with aching backs and -blistered hands, cheering each other on with visions of “striking it -rich” any moment. And then, just as they realized the uselessness of -their efforts, Jim, the husband, had fallen ill. - -“I don’ know what was the matter with him,” she whispered. “We didn’t -have no medicine—it was all burned, the little bit we had. He couldn’t -eat nothing: I got a rabbit twice, an’ once I caught a fish, but he -didn’t seem to fancy none.” For the last three days he had scarcely -moved or spoken, and she was afraid to leave him. There was no food -left: there had been none for thirty-six hours. “I knew he was dyin’,” -the weak voice whispered. “I just thought I’d lie down an’ die too.” - -“Robin!” The doctor’s voice was urgent, and the girl ran to him as he -stood in the doorway of the wretched hut. - -“Have we any milk left?” he asked sharply. - -“There is a bottle in Barry’s haversack,” she said; “and a few -sandwiches we kept for the way home. Oh, and I’ve a cake of -milk-chocolate. I didn’t dare offer her anything until I spoke to you. -She’s starving, you know.” Her voice caught in a sob. “Is he . . . is -her husband . . . dead?” - -“No, but not far off. Thank goodness I had my medicine-case; and the -milk may help to pull him through. But it will be touch-and-go. Get -Barry to light a fire and heat some water; we’ll make some chocolate -into a hot drink for her. I want all the milk for the man. Don’t give -her anything solid yet.” He turned and went back into the hut. - -Twenty minutes later Robin had the satisfaction of seeing a little -colour coming back into the blue lips as her patient sipped the hot -chocolate. She fed her with a spoon, afraid that she might drink it too -quickly. The woman’s eyes had gleamed wolfishly at the sight of the -drink, but she was too weak to be anything but docile. - -“Jim,” she muttered. “Is Jim gettin’ any?” - -“The doctor is looking after him,” Robin told her, pityingly. “He is a -very good doctor: he will do everything he can for him. We have a little -milk, but we are keeping it all for Jim.” And at that the starved -creature had given a great sigh of relief, and tears had stolen weakly -down her face; it seemed that she had scarcely strength left to weep. -Robin made her lie down when she had finished the chocolate, promising -her food soon. She pointed, as she lay, to the torn blue dress hanging -from the stringy-bark line. - -“Couldn’t get me washin’ in,” she muttered, as if in apology. “I rubbed -it out in the creek a week ago and hung it up. But every time I put up -me arms to get it down I fainted right off. So at last I just leave it -stay there.” And at that, Robin, who had been very calm and -self-possessed, suddenly burst out crying, to Barry’s infinite alarm. -She recovered herself in a moment. - -“Sorry I was such a fool, old chap,” she said, gruffly. “It seemed to -knock me all of a heap.” She went forward and unfastened the poor little -frock—it was pinned to the line with thorns of prickly-Moses—and -folded it carefully: and the woman on the grass watched her with -wondering eyes that were yet not wholly sane. - -Dr. Lane called Barry and Robin to him after he had examined the wife -briefly. - -“She’ll do: her heart and pulse are not bad,” he said. “The man is a -different story, but I’m not without hope. Give me every scrap of food -or chocolate that we have.” - -It was a very little store, and Barry groaned over it. - -“To think we were gorging, not half a mile away!” he uttered. “I didn’t -want my last three sandwiches a bit, only it seemed a pity to leave -them. If only we’d known!” - -“It was a mighty good thing we knew as soon as we did,” said his father. -“To-morrow it would certainly have been too late. And now, their main -chance depends on you two.” - -They looked at him enquiringly. - -“I won’t leave them, of course,” he said. “The man’s only hope lies in -my being with him, to give him medicine and stimulant at the proper -intervals.” - -“And we’re to get help?” Robin asked eagerly. - -“Yes. You’re sure you can get back alone? I hate letting you go, but -there’s no help for it.” - -“Rather!” said Barry and Robin, together. - -“I wonder if this track is all right,” the doctor said, uneasily. - -“The woman says so. She told me twice, pointing to it, that it was the -track the horses came. We’ll watch very carefully, and there’s always -the creek to guide us.” - -“Yes—if you can get to it through the scrub. Well, I can only hope it -is safe: you’re a better bushman than I am, Robin. If you have not sent -help out by this time to-morrow I’ll start in myself, by the way we -came. Here’s a list of what I want—telephone it into Baroin at the -earliest possible moment, and have the things sent out by car. Merritt -or some of the other farmers will help you about getting -stretcher-bearers: we’ll need two stretchers to bring them in, and -plenty of relays of bearers, in this awful country. Make them start as -early as they can; and you’ll have to arrange for the ambulance from -Baroin to come as far as it can to meet the stretchers. That young -fellow at the garage has sense: he will help, if you can get on to him. -Sure you understand?” - -Robin nodded. “We’ll send out food and fresh milk with the stretcher -party as well as the things you want from the township,” she said. -“You’ll be terribly hungry yourself by that time.” - -“By Jove!” said Barry, staring; “it’s pretty awful to think of you -having nothing to eat, Father.” - -“Oh, I’m well fed,” said the doctor, lightly. “No need to worry about -me. Now be off, you two—and remember, I won’t have an easy moment until -I know how you have got on. For goodness’ sake, don’t lose the creek!” -He smiled at them, letting his hand rest on his boy’s shoulder for a -moment. Then he watched them as they hurried into the bush. - -For a time the track was plain enough—steep and stony, with sudden -drops that made them wonder sharply how men were going to carry a -stretcher down it—but not densely overgrown. They were able to make -good progress. Then they came to a place where a fallen tree had smashed -across it, and it was quite difficult to find the path again in the mass -of far-flung limbs; they hated the loss of time while they cast -backwards and forwards. When, three or four hundred yards farther on, -the track seemed to fork, Robin pulled up. - -“I don’t like it, Barry,” she said. “There may have been stray cattle -here, making a second trail, and how do we know where it may lead us? -The creek is beastly to walk in, but at least it’s safe. I think we’d -better get down to it.” - -“Right-oh,” said Barry. “But can we?” - -Robin put up her hand, listening. - -“I think I hear it, don’t you?” She looked at the thick wall of scrub as -one looks at an enemy. “Come on: I guess we can worm our way through.” - -They wormed—if that term may be given to a struggle that left both -breathless. Sometimes they tore aside stiff clumps of dogwood twined -thickly with creeping plants: sometimes squeezed through the -closely-growing hazel and blanket-wood, stepping downwards upon heaps of -slender, long-fallen trunks, so rotten, under their covering of ferns, -that at any moment a foot incautiously planted might sink down past the -knee. They climbed over huge fallen trees, deep-brown with damp moss or -slippery with wet—trunks on which it was no easy matter to get a -footing; where, once gained, the slightest misstep might end in a long -slither and a broken ankle. They could not see a yard ahead, in most -places: only, when they paused a moment to wipe their dripping faces, -the song of the creek could be heard, far below, but always coming a -little nearer. Often it was easier to crawl beneath a dead giant than to -climb over it, even if they had to dig a way through. Nettles, tall and -venomous, stung their hands and faces: brambles and wild-raspberry, and -all the other hooked enemies of the scrub tore at them unceasingly. When -at last they gained the creek, and, plunging in thankfully, sat down on -two boulders, they looked at each other and laughed. - -“We’re a pretty pair of scarecrows,” said Robin. Barry chuckled. - -“We are—if I look like you!” - -“You’re worse,” Robin assured him. - -“Couldn’t be!” - -Their faces were almost unrecognizable with heat and dirt and the brown -dust of fern-seed. Their clothes, torn in a hundred places, hung about -them in soiled tatters: long, bleeding scratches showed beneath many of -the rents. They looked at each other, panting, and laughed. - -“At least we can have a drink and a wash,” Robin said. “What a comfort -to think we needn’t mind getting wet!” She knelt down in the nearest -pool, and as the stone on which she had chosen to kneel decided to turn -completely round, she fell sideways into the water with a yelp and a -stupendous splash. Barry shouted with laughter. She emerged, dripping, -with an air of pained surprise. - -“I said I didn’t mind getting wet, but this is wetter than I meant,” -Robin said. “Oh, well, I’ll dry soon, and it’s very refreshing.” They -scrubbed their hands and faces, dipping their heads under the hurrying -water, and coming up with gasps of satisfaction; then they rubbed wet -earth into their burning nettle-stings, already showing like angry weals -upon the skin. Then, for they dared not linger, they set off upon the -toilsome journey down the creek. - -It was as well that they had shortened it by keeping to the track above, -for their feet were still sore from the wading of the morning, and from -being all day in soaked boots; and each step was soon a torment. They -had not time to pick their way: the thought of the three whom they had -left in the lonely camp whipped them forward, so that they plunged -recklessly over the slippery stones, often losing their footing -altogether. They had joked over it in the morning, but there was no -joking now: it was hard enough to keep from wincing or crying out as the -stones pinched and bruised their swollen feet, while their bodies ached -with the perpetual effort to retain their balance. - -“I think it’s nearly over,” said Robin, as she saw Barry lurch sideways, -biting his lip to restrain an exclamation of pain. “Buck up, old chap—I -believe we’re almost at the tree where we took to the creek first this -morning.” - -“Jolly good thing,” said the boy, trying to speak lightly. “You must be -pretty sick of it, Robin—your boots are lighter than mine.” He forced a -grin. “Wouldn’t this be great country for an aeroplane!” - -“Rather—except when you wanted to land.” She looked ahead, and gave a -joyful whistle. “There’s our tree!” - -“Well, they say all things come to an end, but I was beginning to think -that stretch of creek had no finish,” said Barry, as they climbed -thankfully up the bank. “It’s all plain sailing now.” - -“Yes, thank goodness—and we can hurry.” - -It was already evening as they made their way along the rough -path—rough as it was, it felt smooth and grateful to their aching feet. -Robin led the way, keeping well ahead, so that the lash of the held-back -branches should not sweep Barry’s face. They did not speak until at -length they came out of the timber and saw, ahead, the cleared hills and -valleys that meant home. Then Barry caught up. - -“What should we do first, Robin?” - -“We must scatter,” Robin said. “You go over to the Merritts’, Barry—you -know the way. They will pass the word round among the farms in the hills -on that side of the creek; it will be best for the men to meet there, -for it’s the place nearest to the Falls track. They are sure to start as -soon as it is light in the morning.” - -“All right. Will you go home?” - -“Yes; I’ll get Mother and Mrs. Lane to drive down to Merri Creek at -once: Mrs. Lane can telephone for the things your father wants while -Mother is telling the people there. Then I’ll cross our creek and get -over to O’Rourke’s.” - -“It’s nearly dark,” Barry said, looking anxiously at the sky. “Will -there be time to get enough people?” - -Robin laughed. - -“The whole district will know before morning,” she said. “All the men -about here know what it will mean to get two stretchers down the Falls -track.” - -“Where will I go after I’ve told the Merritts?” - -“Home—and get those boots off as quickly as you can.” - -“But it’s doing so little, Robin. Can’t I go on somewhere else?” - -“There won’t be any need,” Robin said—“unless, of course, Mr. Merritt -and the boys are away. But they won’t be: they’ll be milking. Oh, and -tell them I’ll be over to give the girls a hand with the cows in the -morning after the boys have gone. They will send word on everywhere—one -place passes it to another, in a case like this.” She looked at the -boy’s dead-beat face, and patted his shoulder. “You needn’t worry, -Barry, old chap. They’ll all know you’ve done your bit.” - -“I?” said Barry. “I haven’t done anything.” He turned to go. “You won’t -be long, Robin?” - -“I expect to come straight home from O’Rourke’s,” she said. “Don’t hurry -too much—there’s plenty of time to get things ready by daylight.” - -But the men of the district did not wait for daylight. It was not long -after midnight when the first relay of twenty men set out—men who had -no cows to milk, or having cows, had wives and children who could milk -them. They carried food and the drugs that Dr. Lane had ordered, and -they went on horses, so far as horses could be forced through the scrub. -They were men who knew the track to the Falls—knew that it was not -necessary to wade the creek as the Lanes and Robin had done. They left -their horses when the going became impossible, and pushed onward on -foot, making the way clearer for those who should follow: the sound of -their axes echoed through the quiet night, and their hurricane lamps -sent weird shafts of dim radiance to startle the furry folk of the bush, -who only move after day has gone. It was scarcely dawn when old David -Merritt halted them. - -“We’re not more than a quarter of a mile from the Falls,” he said. -“Eight of us’ll go forrard now: you other chaps stay here and get your -breath. We’ll want all the breath you’ve got, I reckon.” - -Back at the settlement, riders had gone to and fro all night, and men -had climbed where there was no footing for a horse in the darkness: and -always when the message was given men made haste to pass it on, and -women packed food swiftly, catching their breath to think of the woman -who had fought for her man’s life in the awful loneliness of the wild -bush. From the little towns the lights of cars and buggies gleamed in a -long, broken procession, toiling up the hill tracks with men, and yet -more men. Hill Farm was the central point: the cars and buggies and -horsemen turned in at its gate unendingly, until the little flat below -the house was black with vehicles. All night the house was a lit hive of -humming activity. Robin and Barry slept the dreamless sleep of worn-out -children on the veranda, heedless of the passing feet; but in the -kitchen Mrs. Hurst and Mrs. Lane, with other women, gave out great mugs -of tea and parcels of food, and the men ate and drank swiftly before -flinging off their coats and following the figures that streamed, -ant-like, into the silent hills. There were none left when dawn had -come. Even the men who had cows had yarded them at two o’clock in the -morning, and, their milking done, were on their way before the sun -turned the eastern tree-tops to copper and scarlet. - -The first men who carried the stretchers did not last a quarter of a -mile—old David Merritt’s estimate had been over-sanguine. Two hundred -yards was enough, and more than enough, for the strongest man in that -terrible descent through the bush, with the dead weight of a helpless -burden: feeling with every step for roots and stumps in the track, -bending to avoid the clutching branches, bracing each muscle suddenly to -avoid shock for the silent forms they carried, when a sudden drop in the -slippery path flung them forward. They fell, more than once: it was -beyond human power always to retain footing under their loads. But even -when they fell they did not try to save themselves—only to ease the -fall for the stretchers. And one burden knew nothing, wrapped in a -heavy, drugged sleep: and to the other, neither falls, nor weariness, -nor hunger mattered any more. - -“Both all right?” had been the eager question when the second relay had -hurried up in response to a whistle. David Merritt’s headshake had been -answer. - -“The man’s gone, poor chap. Died in the night. The woman’ll do, the Doc. -says.” He dropped his voice. “She don’t know he’s gone. The Doc.’s put -her to sleep. I’d say carry her gently, boys, but it’s no darned use!” - -It was no use, on that mountain pathway. They changed bearers every -hundred yards, while those who were not carrying went ahead to make the -way easier with their axes: and still, it was a journey of horror until -they had accomplished the first abrupt descent, and of the twenty men, -not one but was thankful to sit down and rest. Dr. Lane, heavy-eyed -after his night of watching and fasting, glanced beneath the blanket -that covered the woman’s face. - -“She’ll sleep through, I fancy,” he said. “No need to hurry now, boys: -the hurry was for the poor fellow yonder.” His tone bore the sadness of -a man who has failed. “I could have pulled him through if I had found -him twelve hours sooner, I believe.” - -“We got here as quick as we could, Doc.,” said a big, loose-limbed -fellow. - -The doctor’s eye kindled. - -“You were marvels!” he said. “I’m hanged if I know how you did it in the -dark—I didn’t expect you until hours later.” - -“Aw, that’s nothin’,” they said, awkwardly. David Merritt lit his pipe -and pulled at it hard. - -“Those youngsters,” he said, “They’re good plucked ’uns if you -like—both kids, an’ one of ’em a girl! That boy of yours, Doc.—come up -to my place limpin’ and runnin’, with his boots near cut from his feet, -an’ the blood runnin’ out of them. An’ him a town kid. It was hard luck -they didn’t know the track; it would ’a’ saved them miles of that cruel -wading.” - -“No joke, that wading isn’t,” said someone. - -“No, it ain’t any joke. Gave his message quite clear, the kid did, an’ -then wanted to go on to the next farm.” - -“Did he go?” asked Barry’s father. - -“Not if I knew it! All our work was done, an’ there was plenty of us to -send messages. I put him on a pony an’ sent him acrost to Hill -Farm—he’d done enough for any boy of his size.” - -“Miss Robin’s the same,” said big Tim O’Rourke. “’Twas all I could do to -make her go home from my place. Gad, you should ’a’ seen her: clothes -cut to ribbons, an’ her feet bleedin’ like the boy’s. I wanted her to -ride home. ‘No,’ says she, ‘you’ve only got one pony an’ you’ll need -him!’ True enough, too, but I reckoned she needed him more. But she off -down the hill before I could so much as get a bridle.” - -“Town or country, I reckon them two are darned good Aussies!” said a -returned soldier. A murmur of assent went round the group. - -David Merritt put his pipe carefully into his pocket. - -“Time for another shift, boys,” he said. - -It was mid-afternoon before the last relay of bearers came steadily -across the Hill Farm paddock towards the motor-ambulance that -waited—brought by a cunning driver over ground where it is safe to say -its builders had never dreamed that it could go. There was a little -crowd about it: a silent crowd, for word of what they bore had gone -before them, and if there were pride in the life snatched from the bush -it was hushed into speechlessness in the presence of Death. The men took -off their hats as the ambulance moved off slowly: here and there a woman -sobbed. Big Tim O’Rourke, who had been first and last to carry, -stretched his great shoulders. - -“Poor chap!” he said. “He done his best. Well, boys, I reckon it’s about -time to get home to milk!” - - - - - CHAPTER XI - CONCERNING THE END OF A PIG - - -“COMING out, Robin?” - -“Too hot, I think,” Robin said, lazily. “Where do you want to go?” - -“Oh, anywhere. What’s the good of staying in the house?” - -“I don’t see much good in going out, either, in this weather. There -isn’t a trout in the creek that would rise, on a day like this, and you -know you wouldn’t get a shot at a rabbit until the evening. Unless you -want to be like all the other tourists, and shoot parrots and -jackasses!” - -This was a calculated insult, and Barry responded by a well-aimed -cushion. Robin caught it deftly and tucked it under her head. - -“Thanks: I just wanted that. Barry, why can’t you read a book nicely -like a good little boy?” - -“Because I’m not one, I expect,” said Barry, truthfully. “I was one, -once, before I came here—but two months of your society have had an -awful effect on me. And I have read all the books I want to, and—I say, -Robin, how about a swim?” - -“Well, that is not such a foolish idea,” Robin said. “In fact, it seems -the most possible thing to do, since you won’t let me read quietly. But -I must get afternoon tea first.” - -“I’ll help you,” he said. He disappeared violently from the veranda, and -she heard the clatter of the kettle against the kitchen tap. - -January was nearly over, and Barry was still an inmate of Hill Farm. -Indeed, he could hardly be called a mere inmate, so much had he become a -member of the family. His father and mother had returned from their -Queensland trip, and had kindly invited him to return home, but the -invitation had not been a command, and Barry had begged that he might -remain where he was. Melbourne in mid-January made no appeal to him: -nearly all his friends would be out of Town, having fled to the hills or -the seaside, and he saw a dreary vision of hot streets with dusty -tram-cars crawling up and down them. If Mrs. Hurst would have him—and -Mrs. Hurst had nobly refrained from making any objection—why might he -not stay at Hill Farm until school once more drew him into its -relentless clutch? And since Dr. and Mrs. Lane had no sufficient answer -to this query, at Hill Farm he had stayed. - -Robin and he were inseparable chums, on a purely boyish footing. There -was rarely any question of leadership on Barry’s part: he had learned -from the first that he had to defer to Robin’s superior knowledge, and -to adapt his days, if he wanted her companionship, to her occupations. -It was fortunate for him that these occupations were rarely of a -feminine nature. He was too active to remain unemployed while she -worked; therefore it came about that while she milked Bessy he fed pigs, -and while she trained runner beans in the way they should go, he dug -potatoes—since, if they were to have time to play, work must be done -first. Because they were young, and often very feather-headed, it was -true that the work was not infrequently scamped; the garden was by no -means the place of shining neatness that it had been in November, and it -was possible, with the naked eye, to find weeds flourishing among the -rows of vegetables. The painting of the garden fence had never been -completed. The allies had, indeed attacked it, taking each one side, and -had worked until the eastern half was done; then it had seemed a rather -dreary prospect to begin upon the western half, and by mutual consent -the work had been put aside until there was nothing better to do—a -period that did not seem likely to arrive while Barry remained at Hill -Farm. There were always so many things more interesting that clamoured -for their attention. - -They got into mischief, too, sometimes, and played pranks which called -for intervention on the part of Mrs. Hurst; it was not to be expected -that the “red-headed streak” in Robin would remain dormant with a -companion as light-hearted as herself. Things that should have been done -were forgotten, and there had been one or two occasions when the mother -had been angry—such as the night when they had slipped out -’possum-hunting at midnight, had lost themselves in the gullies, and had -not managed to get home until long after breakfast-time: when they -arrived, penitent, but with an irrepressible air of having had a good -time. But it was all straightforward mischief; and even when Mrs. Hurst -was annoyed, it was with a half-hidden sense of relief that Robin was -not growing old too soon. There had been something almost unnatural in -the Robin who had worked early and late, had never forgotten anything -that she should remember, and had been quite content to adapt her life -to her mother’s standpoints. After all, she was only a child, still; and -Mrs. Hurst was one of those who believe that childhood cannot always sit -up and behave prettily, if it is to develop on the right lines. She had -sorrowed because Robin seemed likely to have none of the ordinary -irresponsible joy of life. Unquestionably, she was arriving at a good -deal in Barry’s society. - -Then, too, it would not last. Barry must soon go, and then there would -be nothing for Robin but to slip into the old routine, finding most of -her enjoyment in work about the place. Then, probably, the western half -of the fence would receive a seemly coat of paint, and Hill Farm would -no longer look lop-sided; hours for meals would become splendidly -regular, the garden would be weeded, and the milk-bucket be polished -again with monkey-soap until it resembled silver. There would be no more -pranks and mischief: no gay shouts echoing over the hills. “And I shall -wish all the time that she had a playmate again,” Mrs. Hurst admitted to -herself. - -There was another inmate now at Hill Farm—the forlorn little widow of -poor “Jim,” who had ended his ineffectual life in the camp by the Falls. -Polly had been nursed back to health in the hospital in Baroin; but with -physical health full mental balance had not returned, and she would -probably go through life gentle and uncomplaining, but never with -complete realization of all that had happened to her. Public sympathy -had been excited over her case: a subscription for her benefit had -resulted in a fairly large sum, and kindly women had united in supplying -her with an outfit of clothes. She did not know that her Jim was dead: -that was something the hurt mind failed to grasp. He was away, she told -people: gone away prospecting into the hills—he would be back for her -as soon as he found gold. She did not seem to worry about Jim. But from -the moment she had regained consciousness in the hospital she had begged -for Robin. - -She did not, of course, know who Robin was—did not even know her name, -or why she wanted her. “The red-haired one,” she entreated, again and -again, until the Baroin doctor, in despair, had motored out to Hill Farm -and brought Robin to the hospital—when immediately the poor thing was -content. Probably it was because Robin had been the one who had run to -meet her at the camp: the first person who had brought a ray of -encouragement to her hopeless misery. She remembered how the girl had -fed her with a spoon; she told the story again and again to the nurses. -When Robin went away she was restless and uneasy, asking for her -continually. The matter had been finally settled by the Benevolent -Society, which had agreed with Mrs. Hurst to take charge of her for a -small weekly payment: and so Polly had come for three months to Hill -Farm, where she pottered happily all day at small tasks, perfectly -content if Robin now and then spared her a cheery word, and always -watching for a chance to do her some small service. She liked Mrs. -Hurst, and was always gentle and docile with her. But Robin was the sun -of her existence. - -Cool weather had ended with Christmas. For over a month no rain had -fallen, and the paddocks had dried up rapidly, changing from green to -yellow within a few days. All the creeks were shrinking, with the -exception of Merri Creek, which, fed from its mysterious source above -the Falls, had never been known to fail: the others were mere chains of -holes, so that there was no water in some of David Merritt’s paddocks. -It was a hard season for a district that depended mainly on dairying. -The milk-yield began to fall off, so that the cheques from the -butter-factory dwindled even as the water dwindled in the creeks: the -gardens suffered, and the farmers whose houses were not well equipped -with tanks were already carting water for their households—a strenuous -task in country so hilly and rough. - -Here and there, fires broke out during the last week of January: but -settlers were fully alive to the risk they ran, and every outbreak had -been fought and beaten before it could spread. Back in the ranges, -however, fires were burning: the men of the district watched them -anxiously, with grim predictions of what might happen should strong -winds bring the blaze down towards the valleys. There were deep-voiced -threats against any man who should dare to burn off his cut scrub, with -the whole country as dry as tinder and dead grass as thick as a crop in -every paddock. “If a fire does come our way,” David Merritt said, -“there’ll be no earthly use in fighting it. It’ll be a case of make for -the nearest hole in the creek, and be thankful if you get out of it -alive!” - -“But they always talk like that,” one farmer’s wife said to Mrs. Hurst. -“There’ve been other years as dry, with the grass as thick: but even if -a fire started they always manage to stop it. And most prob’ly rain’ll -came soon.” That was the comforting belief: that rain would come soon. -But the sun sank each evening in a sky of angry red; and day after day -of breathless heat succeeded nights that, for Gippsland, were -extraordinarily hot: Gippsland being a place where hot nights are almost -unknown. And still rain seemed as far off as ever. - -The afternoon when Barry had been so uncomfortably full of energy was a -stifling one: and though his suggestion of a bathe in the creek was -enticing, Robin viewed with no pleasure the prospect of the walk across -the paddock. However, since he had rushed off to put on the kettle for -tea, she felt that she could no longer lie down: and as the bed was hot -and her book one that she had read twice before, she was able to be the -more philosophic about getting up. She went out to the kitchen to find -Barry sitting on the table discoursing to Polly, who greeted her with a -delighted smile. - -“Hullo, Miss Robin. Isn’t he a funny boy?” - -“Rather!” said Robin. “What has he been doing now, Polly?” - -“Been telling me stories,” said Polly. “Funny stories. I like your -stories best.” - -“Of course you do,” said Robin, laughing at Barry’s disgusted face. -“I’ll tell you about Cinderella after tea, if you like—when he is out -of the way.” For Polly loved stories, and would listen to the simplest -fairy-tale, told over and over, with the most perfect delight. It was no -unusual thing for her to crouch near Robin as she worked in the garden, -listening, with parted lips and shining eyes, while Robin told her “The -Three Bears,” or some other nursery classic, between strokes of her hoe. - -“I never saw such rotten taste!” said Barry, disgustedly. “I’ve been -telling her a gorgeous yarn I read about some Boy Scouts who got off -with an aeroplane—but I believe it’s all double-Dutch to her.” - -“Yes—double-Dutch!” said Polly, chuckling to herself over the phrase. -“Funny little boy!” - -“Here, I say—who are you calling little?” demanded Barry, justly -indignant. - -“Double-Dutch little boy,” crooned Polly, softly. “Double-Dutch little -boy!” The words pleased her, and she drifted out of the kitchen, still -singing them softly. Barry laughed, but there was pity in the laugh. - -“Poor soul!” he said. “She’s just awfully funny, but what a shame it all -is. She’d be a jolly nice little woman if she hadn’t had that cruel -time.” - -“I think she’s that now,” said Robin. “There never was anyone kinder, -and she’s very capable and sensible in lots of ways. Only, just like a -little child.” She sighed. “You know, I can’t bear to think of her after -she leaves here: they are going to put her in some Home or other, and -she’ll simply hate it. She can’t stand being within four walls—do you -notice she always wanders out of a room after a few minutes? She told me -once that something would hurt her if she stayed in a room.” - -“Queer idea,” said Barry. - -“Yes, isn’t it? And she loves the hills: she often sits on a stump in -the paddock and looks at them for an hour at a time. I wonder does she -think Jim is in them?” - -“I wouldn’t wonder—poor soul. She never asks for him, does she?” - -“No—she just says he’s coming back when he finds gold. But she will -hate to be in a place with high walls in a city. I think she may begin -to fret for Jim then. Mother and I wish we could keep her here, but I -suppose it’s out of the question.” - -“It would be a tremendous tie,” Barry remarked. “You could never leave -her alone.” - -“No: it hasn’t mattered yet, but of course it might be a difficulty. -Anyhow, we couldn’t afford it. What a blessed nuisance money is! it’s -always interfering with what one wants to do. If I could find a -gold-mine Mother and I wouldn’t have any worries.” - -“You’d have to manage the miners, and they’d always be going on strike,” -said Barry, wisely. “Anyhow, you get a heap of fun out of life, without -a gold-mine. There! that old kettle is boiling at last: I was getting so -hot I thought I should boil before it did! When I strike my own mine, -Robin, I’m going to have an electric plant put in here, so’s you can -cook by electricity instead of that hot old wood-stove.” He filled the -teapot, and then discovered that he had not put in any tea, at which he -was justifiably annoyed. - -“Your mind is too set on high projects,” laughed Robin, preparing the -tray swiftly. “Never mind—you boiled three times as much water as we -need; pitch it out, and the teapot will be as hot as Mother likes it to -be, which is one good thing. Cake or biscuits? You can’t have -bread-and-butter, ’cause all the butter is down the well. It was fast -turning to oil this morning, so I put it down the well in a Mason jar.” - -“Cake and biscuits, please,” said Barry. “Where’s your mother?” - -“Lying down—she promised me, after a heated argument, that she would -lie down until after five o’clock. I’m going to take this tray to her.” -She went to the door and called softly. “Polly! Are you there?” - -“Yes, Miss Robin.” Polly came hurrying, her face alight. - -“Here’s your tea. Would you like to take it into the yard, in the -shade?” - -“Yes, please, Miss Robin. I like the yard.” - -“All right. There’s a big piece of cake for you, and two biscuits—don’t -let that funny boy get them!” Polly laughed delightedly, and scuttled -into the kitchen; and Robin went off with her mother’s tray. - -“We’re going for a swim, and we want to try to get some rabbits -afterwards, Mother,” she said. “Does it matter if we’re late for tea? -I’ll get it when we come in.” - -“It doesn’t matter at all,” said Mrs. Hurst. “I don’t think anyone will -be in a hurry for tea on such an evening. But don’t knock yourself up, -dear.” - -“Oh, no. Anyhow, we won’t be really late, because there is so much smoke -about that we shan’t be able to shoot once the sun goes down. So I need -not milk and feed until we come in. You won’t do it yourself, you bad -old mother?—promise! Barry will help me.” - -“Very well, I won’t,” Mrs. Hurst said. “Is Polly all right?” - -“Yes—I’ll tell her not to go out of the yard. Well, I must go and get -my tea, or Barry will have eaten all the cake.” She blew a merry kiss to -her mother, and disappeared. - -They set off presently across the paddock, Polly straining wistful eyes -after their retreating figures. - -“Whew-w, it’s hot!” whistled Barry. “Queer, wicked sort of heat—makes a -chap feel all anyhow. This is the first day I’ve wanted to be back in -Melbourne. Not that I want Melbourne: I don’t—but I want the sea.” - -“Then I don’t see why you want the old Melbourne sea—that’s only the -Bay.” Robin made disdainful answer. “It’s all used-up water. I’d rather -have the Ninety-Mile Beach; great tumbling breakers as far as ever you -can see each way, and a big lovely stretch of sand.” - -Barry disagreed with this. - -“I know it’s good,” he said. “But I want a place where you can dive. I -like to get high up above the water and look right down into it, and -then just shoot below! And then have room to swim under water: you can -dive in some of the creek-holes, but the mud below spoils them. There’s -a jetty at Inverloch where I used to dive—gorgeous place, with a good -stiff current racing past, out to sea. That’s fun, if you like!” - -“Thanks, I like mine without currents,” Robin laughed. “Anyhow, you will -have to put up with the creek this afternoon, ’cause its all we’ve got.” - -“Lucky to have it,” was Barry’s comment “I’ll race you in!” - -They had arrived at their swimming-hole, a deep still place where the -creek widened among lofty grey rocks. One formed a shelf that jutted -over the deepest part: and when Barry had emerged from his dressing-nook -he ran out upon it, standing bare-headed, a muscular, sturdy figure in -his scanty swimming-suit. He sent a defiant crow in the direction of -Robin, who had not yet appeared, and then bent forward, cleaving the air -in a neat dive. A mighty splashing startled Robin, as she ran out, and -she looked down to see him swimming wildly across the pool. Gaining the -nearest rock he pulled himself out, and gave an excited shout. - -“Don’t come in! Ugh! I dived on top of a snake!” - -“Barry! It didn’t bite you?” - -“No. I scared it too much.” He was scanning the water sharply. “There it -is—see him, Robin? He’s swimming towards that little patch of sand -between the rocks.” - -“I see him,” Robin said. “Nice of him to come out my side, if only I can -get a stick in time. Watch him, Barry—don’t take your eyes off him.” -She scrambled down the rocks, wincing as sharp edges caught her bare -feet; and then turned back to her dressing-hole. “The gun is quicker,” -she observed, in answer to Barry’s impatient shout. - -She ran out on the ledge with her gun just as the snake crawled out of -the water upon the warm stretch of sunny sand. He liked the feel of it, -and decided to stay a moment: a decision that was immediately his -undoing. The report of the gun shattered the stillness, and what was -left of the snake writhed feebly. - -“Good man!” said Barry, happily. “That fellow won’t go bathing again.” - -“Neither will I, until we have a good look round,” said the lady with -the gun. “No fun in bathing with snakes. Get your boots on, Barry, and -we’ll make sure his mate is not about.” They beat the bushes with -sticks, poked into every crevice, and finally decided that to bathe was -safe; and being, by this time, extremely hot, bathed for a very long -while, without giving another thought to the possibility of -snakes—which, indeed, would scarcely have ventured into the excited -waters of the pool when people as energetic as Robin and Barry were -disporting themselves in it. Finally, having dressed with reluctance, -they pondered on what should be their next step. - -“Too early to shoot,” Robin said. “There won’t be many rabbits about, -anyhow: the heat and the smoke will keep them in their burrows. That -fire up in the ranges must be getting bigger, Barry.” - -“The smoke is certainly worse,” Barry remarked. “I hope the old fire -stays where it is, that’s all.” He dived into the little canvas bag in -which he carried his cartridges, and produced something wrapped in -paper. “Know what that is, Robin?” - -“No,” said Robin: “I don’t. Rum-looking stuff. What is it, Barry? Soap?” - -Barry regarded with a proud eye the stick of putty-like substance he had -unwrapped. - -“Soap!” he said, scornfully. “I don’t cart yellow soap about with me, -you silly! That’s gelignite.” He tossed up the plug and caught it, and -Robin gave a cry of alarm. - -“You idiot, Barry! Do take care—it might go off.” - -“So might you,” was Barry’s impolite response. “Gelignite doesn’t go off -like that—you’ve got to have a detonator, and fuse. I’ve got ’em, too.” -He took from his bag a length of thick black cord, and a small tin box, -handling the latter with considerable respect. It contained an -innocent-looking little copper tube, closed at one end. - -“That’s the detonator,” he explained. “You stick the end of the fuse -into it and nip the tube with pliers so’s she can’t slip out. Then you -shove the closed end of the detonator down into the gelignite, and -everything’s ready.” - -“But how does it go off?” - -“Why, you put the gelignite where you want to blast things, and light -the fuse: it burns at the rate of about a foot a minute. Soon as she -begins to sputter, you know she’s properly alight, and then you scoot as -hard as you can lick. And then—bang!” - -Robin regarded the expert in explosives with something akin to -reverence. - -“How did you find out all about it?” she asked. - -“Oh, I used to see the men blasting when they were making a new railway -line one year when we went to Queensland,” said Barry. “They’d always -let me watch until just before they lit the fuse. I found this outfit in -one of the sheds, high up on a beam—it was in an old biscuit-tin. Must -have belonged to your Uncle Donald.” - -“What would he do with it?” - -“Oh, lots of men use it for getting rid of old stumps and trees. So I -collared it, because I had a great idea!” - -“What?” demanded Robin. “Tell me, Barry!” - -Barry regarded her in silence for a moment, his head on one side, like -an inquisitive bird. - -“I thought we could have no end of a lark with it,” he said. “I’ve seen -the men using it so often, and I’ve always wanted to have a bit myself.” - -“But isn’t it awfully dangerous?” - -“Not a bit,” said Barry, airily, “if you know how to use it. Of course, -in any ordinary place, and with the country as dry as it is, it wouldn’t -do. But you know that rocky place up at the head of that gully—” he -jerked his hand towards the hills. “There’s nothing but rocks there and -mossy stuff and bare earth—not much earth, either. A few ferns sticking -among the lumps of rock. It would be perfectly safe there. Let’s go and -try it!” - -He sat back on his heels and looked at her with an impish expression of -joy in his plan. - -“I suppose it would be safe,” Robin said. “The walls of the gully are so -steep, and there is no grass there to be set on fire—only a few clumps -of bracken, and we could watch them.” Her eye began to kindle. “It would -be rather a lark!” she said. “But I wonder what Mr. Merritt would say. -He rents that part, you know.” - -“Oh, it won’t hurt him. We’ll hunt any of his cows out of the gully, if -they’re there. If he hears the bang, and says anything about it, we’ll -tell him, of course. I expect he’s used any amount of the stuff himself, -blasting out stumps.” Barry jumped up. “Come along, Robin, old chap!” - -“All right,” Robin said, recklessly. - -“Hurroo!” cried Barry. “I knew you’d be a sport. You’re nearly as good -as a boy!” He capered down the rocks ahead of her, and they set off on -their way to the gully. - -It was an ideal spot for such a lawless enterprise. The gully was a -short one, running back between two great rocky hills that were almost -bare of timber. At the closed end the walls of rock were very lofty: -they could be fairly certain that no flying fragments of stone could -reach the top. No stock were to be seen: all the ground was littered -with half-buried boulders, among which patches of withered bracken -clung. A few rabbits scurried away as they came in sight; but the -children were far too excited to think of shooting. The sight, however, -gave Robin a flash of common sense. - -“We’ll leave the guns and all our cartridges here,” she said, halting -beside a big tree near the entrance to the gully—the only tree that -grew there. “Put them on this side, and nothing will be likely to touch -them when you blow that old cliff to bits!” - -“All right,” Barry agreed. “I prospected this place yesterday, you know; -there’s a sort of cave between those two great rocks over yonder, and we -can hide there while we’re waiting for the bang. Nothing could hit -us—it’s as safe as a dugout.” He pranced along, almost running, to the -end of the gully, where they halted—two little figures under the walls -of frowning grey rock. “That’s the bit of stone I want to shift,” he -said, pointing upwards. - -Robin looked. A big square rock jutted sharply from the face of the -cliff, with a mass of loose boulders under it. - -“I’d give my hat to blow that big chap out!” declared Barry, excitedly. -“There’s a cleft right behind him, on top—I can just get my hand in, up -to the elbow. Gelignite shatters downwards, you know: I want to get the -plug well down into that cleft. It’s a perfectly gorgeous place for the -charge!” - -“Well, it couldn’t do any harm, that I can see,” Robin said. “As long as -you’re sure we have time to get out of the way.” - -“Oh, whips of time! How do you suppose the men manage when they’re using -this stuff every day?” - -“They know more about it than I do,” was Robin’s sage comment. “But I -suppose it’s all right: I’m game to chance it, anyhow. Carry on!” - -She climbed up beside him, and explored for herself the hole where the -charge was to go, and watched him place it in position. - -“Now, you clear!” he told her. “No sense in our being in each other’s -way when we’re scrambling down these rocks.” - -“I suppose there isn’t,” she said, unwillingly. “But oh, Barry, do be -careful! Suppose you slipped and hurt an ankle or something when you’re -getting down?” - -“Much more likely to do it if I’ve a girl blocking the way!” said the -lordly male. “But I’m not going to do any such fat-headed thing. I know -what I’m about. Cut, now, Robin, and I’ll set her going!” - -Robin scrambled down the rocks, noting, with some relief, that the way -was easy. Further she would not go, alone: she waited, with her heart -beginning to beat heavily until Barry followed her, with amazing speed, -and together they ran like frightened hares to their “dugout.” As they -passed the largest patch of bracken they heard a quiet, satisfied -grunting. - -“Wonder if that’s a wombat?” panted Barry. “Well, he’s going to get the -shock of his life!” - -They reached their cave and crawled thankfully into its shelter. A split -in the rock gave them a peep-hole, and they looked out anxiously. As -they did so, two plump forms emerged from the ferns, still grunting. - -“Oh, my sainted Aunt!” groaned Barry. “Robin, they’re Merritt’s young -pigs!” - -“Barry!” screamed Robin. “I’m going to hunt them!” She wriggled back, -and the boy caught her sleeve in a tight grip. - -“You silly ass!” he panted. “Keep back! I wouldn’t let you go out there -for fifty pigs! Keep your head down, I tell you, Robin, you old——” - -_Bang!_ - -The explosion burst upon their ears with shattering force. Never was -such a noise—the walls of the gully, closing it in, seemed to rock with -its deafening thunder. The great mass of rock shot from the face of the -cliff, flying into a hundred pieces. Shattered fragments strewed the -ground, banging and clattering on their protecting crags. One little pig -uttered an ear-piercing shriek, and fled for the open country, his -shrill notes of protest dying away in the distance. The other -disappeared beneath a hurtling mass of stone. - -[Illustration: “Keep back!”] - - - - -Barry burst into a shout of excited laughter. - -“Oh, my goodness, Robin, did you see him! Won’t there be a jolly row! A -big bit of rock just sailed through the air, and absolutely flattened -him—he never knew what hit him. And the pig was not! Just listen to his -brother—he’s got shell-shock!” - -They scrambled out of their hole, and gazed at the slab of stone, from -which protruded a melancholy curly tail. It was mercifully clear that -the deceased pig could not have known what hit him. - -“Now you’ll have to tell Mr. Merritt,” said Robin. - -“Yes, of course. I’ll pay him for poor piggy. Well, he shouldn’t have -hidden in that bracken until it was too late. Anyhow, he died gloriously -on the field of battle, and it’s better than living to be made into pork -sausages. Wasn’t it a topping blast! Come and see what it has done to my -rock.” - -The smoke of the explosion still lingered about the head of the gully, -mingling with air already murky with bush-fire smoke; but they could see -that the charge had done its work very thoroughly. Not only was the big -rock gone, shattered to pieces, but the whole face of the rocky wall, -for many feet, had been split off: the new, clean-looking stone showed -curiously against the weathered and moss-grown stretch on either side. -They looked at it respectfully. - -“Well, we’ve made our mark,” Robin said, at length. “No sign of burning -anywhere, is there, Barry?” - -They searched carefully, but found no trace of fire: the explosion had -confined itself to the head of the gully, save for the flying fragments. -Mr. Merritt’s pig remained the one sacrifice. - -“’Told you I knew all about it,” said Barry, triumphantly. “I vote we go -home now: shooting rabbits would be too tame altogether after a bang -like that!” - -“All right,” Robin agreed. She looked curiously at the stretch of -newly-exposed stone. - -“Isn’t that pretty rock?” she observed. “It’s got such queer colours and -markings.” - -“Just what a girl would say!” was Barry’s scornful rejoinder. “It’s only -old rock: I don’t see anything pretty about it. But the bang was -gorgeous, if you like! I’m going to be an engineer when I grow up—they -always have lots of blasting rocks in their jobs!” - -“Do they always kill pigs?” asked Robin, cruelly. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - STRANGERS - - -IT seemed to Mrs. Hurst that the evening grew hotter as sundown -approached, and the atmosphere more oppressive. The blue haze drifting -slowly down from the ranges made all the air heavy: it had spread gently -over the landscape, so that distant objects were misty and indistinct. -Since this was not unusual in summer-time, when fires were constantly -burning in the distant ranges, it had caused no anxiety to the settlers -in the valleys below. But as Mrs. Hurst strolled out into the garden, -weary of the hot house, she cast an apprehensive glance upwards. - -“I believe it is thicker than it was this morning,” she said, half -aloud. “I wonder—if the wind should get up—” She did not put the -partly-formed thought into words. - -Even in the garden the feeling of being shut in oppressed her, and -presently she opened the white gate and strolled slowly down the slope -towards the road. There was a log close to the fence; she sat down on -it, looking across the paddocks towards the green line of wattles that -marked the winding course of the creek. - -“I wish the children would come home,” she said. - -From the hills a loud booming noise came as if in answer, and she -started violently, while the echoes ran round the gullies: laughing at -herself as they died away. - -“Only the road-gang blasting somewhere,” she said. “I believe I am -getting nervous. This long spell of dry heat makes us all jumpy. If only -rain would come—!” - -A sharp creaking sound, faint at first, but gradually drawing nearer, -made her look round; and presently, a bend in the road showed a queer, -unwieldy object looming through the haze. It revealed itself, coming -closer, as a light cart, drawn by an old chestnut horse that hung its -head, shuffling wearily through the dust as though its load had drained -it of every particle of energy it had once possessed. Piled high on the -cart was furniture: stretchers and bedding, a kitchen-table, a battered -meat-safe, and a few rough chairs, with wooden boxes filled with -hastily-packed odds and ends. Two dirty children of five and six years -old were perched in corners among the load. Beside the horse—it was -clearly not necessary to guide it in any way—walked a woman, covered -with dust, and carrying a younger child. She stumbled often as she -walked, never lifting her face. At intervals she said, mechanically, -“Gee up, Bawly!”—a remark which had no effect whatever upon the -chestnut horse. - -The creaking that had first attracted Mrs. Hurst’s attention came from -the off-wheel. The sound was rapidly growing more acute, rising to a -long-sustained screech that was the clearest possible demand for more -oil: but the woman trudging by the horse’s head did not seem to notice -it. A step sounded near Mrs. Hurst, and she glanced round, to meet -Danny’s friendly gaze. - -“Evenin’, Mrs. Hurst,” he said. “I jus’ come over to see if yous was all -right. Been a cow of a day, hasn’t it?—an’ the smoke’s thicker than -ever. Wonder who them travellers are? They’ll have a hot axle if they -don’t watch it.” - -“I was just thinking that, Danny,” Mrs. Hurst said. “Poor things, how -tired they look!” She opened the gate and went out into the road. - -“Good-evening,” she said, gently. “Your wheel is very stiff, isn’t it? -Won’t you rest here for a few minutes while I get you some oil for it?” - -The woman had started violently at her voice. The chestnut horse pulled -up thankfully, and dropped his nose yet farther earthwards. - -“I been thinkin’ it wouldn’t get us much farther,” she said, dully. -“Trouble is, I don’t know how much farther we got to go.” - -“Have you come far?” - -“Out of the hills,” she nodded vaguely backward. “We been on the track -all day. Any township near here?” - -“Not for two miles.” - -“Two mile!” It was clear that it might as well have been twenty, by her -hopeless look. “Well, we got to get on. Gee up, Bawly!” - -“Oh, but you can’t!” Mrs. Hurst cried. “You—are you going to friends?” - -“Oh, no. We don’t know anyone round here. We come out of the hills.” - -“Then you are not going any farther,” Mrs. Hurst said, quietly. “Just -turn your horse in through this gate. Will you open it, Danny?” - -Danny had it open before she had finished speaking. - -“Better not try ’n’ get the load up the hill before I grease that axle,” -he said. “I’ll slip up an’ get some grease.” He took the rein, and led -the tired horse through the gateway. - -“But we can’t stay here—four of us,” the woman said. “I thought there’d -be a pub somewheres: I got money, y’ know, Missus.” - -“Why, I wouldn’t let you go another yard!” Mrs. Hurst answered. “You -look just tired out, all of you. Sit down on this log for a few minutes -before you walk up the hill.” - -The woman sank on the log with a sigh of relief, and the heavy baby in -her arms woke and cried. Mrs. Hurst leaned down and took it out of the -mother’s arms. Danny had already lifted the children out of the cart: -they stood by the wheel, holding each other’s hands, too shy to move, -and half-inclined to cry, too. - -“My word, it’s good to sit down!” said the woman. “You’re awful kind, -Missus. It’s too bad, loafin’ on you like this.” - -“It would have been too bad if I had not happened to see you,” replied -Mrs. Hurst. “There—isn’t she a good baby!”—as the baby, deciding that -she liked the change of arms, ceased crying and looked about in an -interested way. A half-smile flickered on the weary mother’s face. - -“She’s been jolly good, considerin’ she ain’t a year old,” she said. -“But it’s been a long day for all of ’em, an’ I was afraid to stop long -anywhere. It’s a bit rough, when you don’t know the country an’ you -ain’t got any idea where you’re goin’. Is this near Baroin?” - -“Oh, no: Baroin is twelve miles away. But you need not worry any more: -you can stay here until you are all rested. What brings you and the -bairns alone on the track?” - -“Me husband made us come. He an’ his brother have a sawmill back there; -jus’ got it well goin’. But we got fair scared of the fires: they been -creepin’ nearer and nearer, an’ if the wind changed they’d be down on -our camp before you could say knife. I’d ’a’ stuck it out with them if -I’d been by meself. But there’s the kids.” - -“Is there no one near you?” - -“No. There’ll be a road up after a bit: there’s only a track through the -bush now, an’ the timber’s awful thick all round us. Great timber for -millin’, of course, but you’d be roasted alive if a fire come through -it. There ain’t nowhere to get to, you see. There’s a bit of a creek, -but it’s that small it ’ud be no use to you.” - -“But your menfolk? Is it safe for them to stay?” - -“Safe?” was the dull answer. “No, it’s darned unsafe. Y’ wouldn’t catch -me leavin’ but for that. I didn’t want to go, anyhow. But Mick made me. -‘Bill an’ I can put up a fight for the mill,’ he says, ‘but I’m darned -if we can fight for the kids, too. So you got to clear out with the -kids,’ he says. ‘You take the furnitcher an’ the kids, an’ you clear out -o’ the timber.’ An’ I knew that was sense, so I done it. But I tell you -straight, Missus, I’d like to dump the kids somewhere an’ go back!” - -“You can’t do that,” Mrs. Hurst said, gently. “Your husband would only -be more anxious.” - -“An’ what about me?” - -Mrs. Hurst had no answer for that question. She glanced away from the -haggard misery of the other woman’s eyes. - -“Just come up to the house, all of you, and let me take care of you,” -she said. “The wind may not change, and we may get rain at any -time—why, your Mick might be down looking for you in a day or two. Come -and I will make you some tea.” - -“My word, I could do with a cup o’ tea,” the woman said. “The poor kids, -too—!” She beckoned to the two small boys, who had never stirred. “C’m -on, you two. They been awful good, an’ it’s been a tough day.” - -“It must have been a very tough day,” Mrs. Hurst said. “They will like -some milk, and I have plenty.” - -“Milk! My word, they ain’t seen milk f’r a blue moon!” said their -mother. - -“They shall have all they can drink now. Can you fix the wheel, Danny?” - -“Would ’a’ had a job if the ol’ cart ’ud gone a hundred yards farther,” -said Danny, who had jacked up the wheel, and was busy over it. “Dry as a -bone, an’ near jammed altogether. Oh, yes, I’ll fix it all right, Mrs. -Hurst.” He grinned sympathetically at the woman. “Don’t you worry, -mum—I’ll bring the cart up to the house presently.” - -“Will you put it into the big shed and turn the horse into the creek -paddock, Danny? I’m sure Mr. Merritt would not mind.” - -“Not ’im,” said Danny. “Right you are. Mrs. Hurst. Don’t you bother -about anything.” - -“Gimme the baby, Missus,” said the mother. “She’s too heavy for you to -carry.” - -“I think she is lighter for me than for you,” Mrs. Hurst answered, -smiling. “And I like her—she is such a friendly baby.” She held the -dusty bundle closely as they went up the slope. - -“Oh—a garden!” said the woman from the tall timber. “Oh, what a lovely -garden! Missus, I ain’t seen a flower for near six months!” - -“Then I must show you all mine—when you are rested.” Mrs. Hurst put her -into a big chair on the veranda. “Just sit quietly until I bring you -some tea. No—baby is coming with me.” - -“Lor’, it’s like meetin’ an angel from ’eaven!” said the weary creature. -She sank back, with a long sigh. “Micky an’ Joe, don’t you touch them -flowers!” - -“They can’t do any harm—please don’t trouble about them,” Mrs. Hurst -said. At the door she looked back. Micky and Joe were standing before a -huge sunflower, their faces a study of rapt wonder—never had they -dreamed that the world could hold so great a marvel. There were tears in -Mrs. Hurst’s eyes as she hurried to the kitchen. - -The baby, made happy with a drink, and with hands and face hastily -sponged, was placed in an upturned box, where a string of empty -cotton-reels threw her into a very ecstasy of joy: she was clearly an -unexacting infant, to whom much attention was a thing unknown. There was -a kettle boiling: in a very few minutes Mrs. Hurst carried out a tray. -Her visitor tried to rise. - -“No, you are to sit still. Baby is quite all right. Drink that—don’t -try to eat until you feel like it.” She poured out two glasses of creamy -milk and put them, with a plate of bread-and-butter, on the edge of the -veranda. “Come on, boys!” But Micky and Joe held back, even when their -mother called them, overcome with shyness. - -“They’re like wild things—they ain’t hardly seen a living soul ’cept -ourselves for ages,” said the mother, apologetically. “They don’t mean -to be bad-mannered, Missus.” - -“And they are not bad-mannered—we’ll be great friends by to-morrow.” -Mrs. Hurst smiled. “They will be happier if I go away. Just look after -them and yourself, and don’t worry about Baby.” She retreated into the -house, and presently, peeping through a curtain, had the satisfaction of -seeing Micky and Joe attacking their first drink with faces that began -by being doubtful, and ended in pure bliss as the glasses were set down -empty. - -“You can ’ave more,” she heard the mother say, filling the glasses with -a hand that shook. “Drink ’em up, Kids. An’ you be good boys, now, or -your Dad ’ll want to know the reason why when he comes!” - -“When’s ’e comin’, Mum?” - -“Lor’, if I knew that I wouldn’t be near off me ’ead this minute!” said -the mother. - -Robin and Barry came in a little later, in a frame of mind divided -between triumph and depression; pride in their unlawful exploit having -become damped, as they neared home, by melancholy forebodings on the -subject of Mr. Merritt’s pig. They were trying to calculate the probable -value of the victim to its owner, should it have been spared to arrive -at the dignity of full growth, when upon their astonished eyes burst the -vision of a crowded kitchen. At the table were seated a haggard woman -and two small boys—the latter shining from the effects of a recent and -thorough hot bath, and clad only in clean shirts. Mrs. Hurst was moving -about, plying them with food; while Polly, in a corner, her face alight -with happiness, fed an equally-scrubbed baby. The baby sat on her knee, -dipped its fingers in its food, and clawed its nurse’s face with them, -while the nurse beamed, and uttered incoherent words of pride. Danny was -filling kettles with the air of one who insists on joining in a general -upheaval. - -Robin and Barry stared—not with more amazement than was shown on the -faces of the strangers, as the new-comers, guns in hand, halted in the -doorway. Mrs. Hurst looked up and nodded brightly. - -“Why, there are my warriors!” she said. “Any rabbits? I hope so, because -I shall want some badly for to-morrow. We have guests, you see.” - -The warriors looked at each other blankly. - -“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mother,” said Robin, in a voice of tragedy. “We -haven’t got one!” Resolve seized her. “Come on, Barry—we’re sure to get -some on the flat by the creek if we hurry.” Her face fell. “Oh, and we -haven’t milked!” - -“I done all the feedin’ and milkin,’ Miss Robin,” spoke Danny, grinning. - -“Danny, you’re a brick! Hurry up, Barry—it’s nearly dark already.” They -dashed from the kitchen and clattered across the yard. - -One of the visitors uplifted his voice in the first remark he had made -since his arrival at Hill Farm. - -“Ain’t that feller got ginger hair!” said little Mick. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - BLACK SUNDAY - - -ROBIN woke early, after an uneasy dream, in which Mr. Merritt’s pig had -been flattening her under a great slab of rock, while its brother -exploded plug after plug of gelignite close by, apparently with the hope -of killing her. To breathe under the rock was extremely difficult, and -she was much relieved when the final explosion removed not only the -stone, but both pigs, and left her swimming down the Merri Creek Falls. -By great good luck she avoided the jutting crag that divided the main -fall, and swam placidly down, using the breast-stroke very slowly, and -not at all inconvenienced by being in a vertical position. This lasted -until she reached the whirlpool at the foot, when the water immediately -took charge of her, whirled her round like a cork at great speed, and -washed her out upon a slope, quite dry, which was curious, and very -breathless, which was what might have been expected. - -She woke, and rubbed her eyes, wondering, half-sleepily, why she should -still feel the sense of breathlessness that had followed her throughout -her ridiculous dream. Her bed on the veranda overlooked the long stretch -of narrow valley between the creek and the foothills, ending in a great -spur of the range that towered into the sky, covered with mountain -ash-trees. It was a view she loved: her first glance was for it every -morning, and she turned towards it now. - -There were no hills to be seen. The valley lay peacefully, looking just -as it always did, save that it was hazy, as though a soft, transparent -grey veil had been drawn over the familiar outlines. But the hills had -vanished as completely as if they had been wiped out. - -“Whew-w!” Robin whistled, sitting up. “Those fires in the ranges must -have come down a good bit.” Her thoughts went to the mother of Micky and -Joe. “Poor little Mrs. Ryan will be more worried than ever. I do hope -that Mick and Bill of hers won’t stay too long trying to save their -mill.” - -She got up, and, putting on kimono and slippers, went into the garden. -All the hills that ran to north and south of the creek valley were -blotted out, as if the valley had, in the night, become a kind of -island, ending in nothing. Although the sun was well above the horizon, -it was invisible. Somewhere behind the curtain it was mounting, already -giving promise of a day that should be hotter than any they had yet -endured—there was something sinister in its steady, unseen force. The -air of early morning had no sense of refreshment and coolness. It was -heavy to breathe, and profoundly still. Not a flicker stirred a leaf in -the garden. And Robin suddenly realized that the busy chatter of awaking -birds was altogether absent. They were hiding in the trees; there was no -merry flutter of wings, no cheery call of cockatoos beyond the creek. -The utter silence sent a little thrill of discomfort through her. - -“This is too quiet altogether, even for Sunday morning,” she said, with -a half-laugh. “It feels uncanny. I think I’ll call Barry, and we’ll get -the work done early.” - -Barry came into view as she turned to go. - -“Hullo, you up?” he said. “Isn’t it a beastly morning? I woke up feeling -as if I had been eating smoke.” His black hair was tousled; he rubbed -his eyes, looking, in his pink-striped pyjamas, rather like an aggrieved -child. “I don’t think this is going to be at all a nice day!” - -“And that’s no bad prophecy,” Robin said, laughing. “I think we’ll spend -most of it in the swimming-hole: it will be the only place fit to live -in. I was just going to call you: we might as well get the outside jobs -done before it gets any hotter.” - -“Good idea!” Barry responded. “I’ll go and get some clothes on. Don’t go -into the kitchen, by the way, Robin: I passed through there, and Polly’s -terribly busy making tea, to surprise you.” - -“All right, I won’t,” said Robin. Her air of delighted astonishment sent -Polly into a flutter of joy when, a few minutes later, she brought her a -steaming cup. - -“Why, how lovely of you, Polly! I wanted to get the milking done early, -and you’ve saved me ever so much time. Toast, too! No one ever makes me -early-morning toast but you. I must take a cup to Mother.” - -“No—I want to,” Polly begged, her big, dog-like eyes dwelling -affectionately on the merry face, and on the shining red hair. Polly -loved Robin’s hair so openly that its owner used to declare that it -almost made her reconciled to its colour. She put out her hand now, and -touched it gently. Her greatest delight was to be allowed to trim -it—they had discovered that she possessed extraordinary skill with the -scissors—and Barry declared that she treasured all the clippings! - -“Nearly time I cut it again, Miss Robin,” she said. - -“Yes, I think it is. All right, Polly, you can go at it any time you -like. Well, you take Mother her tea, and give her my love. Tell her I’ve -gone to milk.” - -“Yes: good-oh!” said Polly. “Then I’ll sweep all the rooms.” - -“You mustn’t get tired,” Robin warned her. “The Doctor will be angry if -you do—and so will I.” At which Polly laughed as if it were the best -joke in the world. She loved to work about the house, especially when -she fancied that by doing so she could save Robin; the Baroin doctor’s -warning that her heart was not strong enough for much exertion had no -meaning for her. Robin and her mother had to watch her carefully lest -she should overtax her powers. - -“Two rooms only, Polly—promise me, or I can’t go and milk.” - -Polly made a laborious mental calculation of rooms. - -“Four!” she begged. - -“No, two. Then we’ll do the others together when I come in.” This was a -bait that never failed, and Polly succumbed. - -“Good-oh!” she said, beaming. “I’ll go and get that tea now.” She went -off happily, and Robin departed in search of Bessy. - -When she came back, a bucket in each hand, Mrs. Ryan was standing on the -back veranda. The baby was in her arms: Micky and Joe, still tongue-tied -with shyness, pressed against her skirt. - -“I hope you slept well. Mrs. Ryan,” Robin said. “You needed a good -rest.” - -“No, I didn’t sleep much,” the woman said. “It was hot—and I kep’ -thinkin’ of them back there at the mill. It’ll be a bit of a terror, you -know, if that mill goes: we put every penny into it, an’ we got a -first-rate lot of timber cut, waitin’ for the road. It’s been hard -scratchin’ to live, but we done it somehow, knowin’ we’d get a good -cheque when we sold. But if the fire comes——.” She shut her lips -tightly. - -“It may not come, Mrs. Ryan. Try not to worry too much,” Robin said, -pityingly, knowing, as she spoke, how useless were her words. - -“You an’ your mother have been awful kind, miss,” Mrs. Ryan said. There -was a flash of gratitude in her dull eyes. “I’d never forget it. But -it’s hard not to worry a bit.” - -“Was the fire very near, Mrs. Ryan?” - -“Not so very near. We hadn’t been worryin’ ourselves much about it. But -it got hotter an’ hotter, an’ the smoke come down more an’ more, an’ -Mick got thinkin’ about the wind changin’. If it did—well, did y’ ever -see a fire travel in the ranges, miss?” - -“No. I’ve only seen very small fires.” - -“Please God you’ll never see a big one. In the ranges, with a wind -behind it, it don’t travel—it races. Gets into the tree-tops, an’ jumps -a mile at a time. There’s no fightin’ it—you can’t burn breaks in that -big timber. Men might have a chance to save their lives, but never kids. -That’s why Mick sent us off. But I wish’t I could ’ave stayed. Only for -the kids I’d ’ave stayed, too, an’ let ’im talk. But kids are an awful -big argument.” - -She paused, trying vainly to look into the hills. - -“Mind y’, we haven’t been fools. Mick an’ Bill know their way about. -We’ve cut every stick as far as we could, all round the camp, an’ burnt -off all the undergrowth: we been livin’ on a big patch of bare, burnt -ground for weeks. It’s awful livin’, of course—I jus’ give up tryin’ to -keep the kids or anything else clean, ’specially with the only water -half a mile away, down a big hill. Took over twenty minutes to carry up -a bucket, an’ half of it would be splashed away before I got up. You get -mighty savin’ with water when you got to carry it like that!” - -“I should think you did,” said Robin, under her breath. Bush girl as she -liked to think herself, she realized that there were phases of life she -did not comprehend. This little woman, with her quiet face and anxious -eyes, was only one of many, struggling and suffering quietly in the -lonely places. “How did you manage for stores, Mrs. Ryan?” - -“Oh, not too bad. Mick or Bill took a day off every fortnight or three -weeks, an’ brought things back from the township. I’ve got a camp-oven, -so I can make bread all right. I ain’t been off the place meself for six -months, ’cept for one day, an’ then it was on’y ’cause Baby was sick, -an’ I had to take her to a chemist. That’s what gets y’ down, miss: when -the kids gets sick, an’ y’ don’t know what it is. An’ of course they -don’t get the right sort of food for kids. But they got to manage on it -somehow.” - -She gave a short laugh. - -“I got a sister—works in a big shop in Melbourne. She come to see us -once when she had her holidays, but it fair scared her. She come for a -week, but she on’y stayed three days—my word, an’ I’d looked forward to -havin’ her, too, an’ I’d got the camp like a new pin. Wasn’t Bill mad, -havin’ to knock off work again to take her back! She said she didn’t -know how I lived. Like animals, she said—never a soul to speak to, an’ -no goin’ out to pictures or darnces or things. Well I reckon I know all -about what it means not to have a woman to talk to now ’n’ then. But she -can keep ’er pictures an’ darnces: I wouldn’t change my job for hers, -bad ’n’ all as she thinks mine!” Her head went up with a queer little -flash of pride. “Bill an’ me reckon we’re doin’ a job that counts!” - -“I should think you are!” Robin said, slowly. “And you have your three -splendid kiddies.” - -“Yes—we got them.” She put her tanned cheek against the baby’s soft -face for a moment. “But when you got to choose between your man an’ the -kids—” Her voice died away; and Robin had no words to offer. - -Breakfast was a meal for which no one had much appetite, except Micky -and Joe, who wore an air of awe-struck bewilderment at a world which -held so many new and unexpected things to eat. The heat increased with a -kind of bitter intensity. No animals were to be seen in the scorched -paddocks: they had all sought the creek, where they stood with hanging -heads, in dumb protest at the breathless stillness. Robin and Barry -agreed that it was too hot to walk to the swimming-hole, with the -prospect of a worse walk back, to destroy the effect of a bathe. -Everyone seemed restless and uneasy; people jumped at a sound, without -knowing why they jumped. It was as though the still air was charged with -something mysterious and uncanny. - -And, at eleven o’clock, came the wind. - -It came with a far-off soughing, like the sound of breakers on a distant -beach. They heard it for what seemed a long while before they felt it; -but at the first sound Mrs. Ryan got up hurriedly and went into the -yard, where she stood gazing towards the hills that she could not see. -Nearer and nearer: and then it was upon them. The trees in the orchard -bent suddenly, and one old pear-tree snapped with a sharp crack: Mrs. -Ryan’s thin skirts whipped round her legs: an empty kerosene-tin was -blown rattling and banging across the yard with the first wild gust. A -burning wind, like the breath of a furnace: it caught the house and -shook it, and, racing on, whirled the dust from the road into a dense, -eddying cloud. They shut the house against it, closing every door and -window; and the wind howled and moaned as it eddied among the chimneys, -and swelled to a full-throated roar, sweeping down the valley. So it -blew, unbroken in its scorching fierceness, for more than sixteen hours. - -Borne on its fiery breath came the smoke: such smoke as made the valley -settlers realize that the earlier haze, by comparison, had been but as a -light morning mist. It came in a dense, unbroken cloud, blotting out the -country, until it was impossible to see more than a hundred yards in any -direction. The sun, a great ball of angry orange, seemed to hang framed -in it. Like a wall of dull yellow the smoke marched across the land, -turning every familiar object into an unreal ghost. The very flowers in -the garden lost their colour before it: Robin’s crimson dahlias showed a -dull flame-colour, the blue of the plumbago flowers a dirty grey. And -ever the roar of the wind grew louder and louder, and its breath more -laden with fierce heat. - -They could not stay in the shut house. Even though the hot gusts parched -the skin and choked the breath—even though they could see nothing but -the dense smoke-wall that shut them in—no one could bear to remain -indoors. There was worse yet to come, they knew: danger that must be -watched for, out in the open. And presently, in the garden, came the -first messengers from the burning ranges: ashes, falling thickly, -charred fronds of bracken, half-burned twigs, and fragments of bark. No -fire lived in them, but many were still hot. They came more and more -swiftly, until the coverlets of the beds on the verandas were black with -them: blown so fiercely that many were forced underneath the pillows. - -The scorching wind grew wilder until it was a very hurricane of heat. A -new sound began to mingle with its fury; a dull, far-off roar that made -the Hill Farm watchers look at each other in voiceless fear. As they -stood by the fence, they heard galloping hoofs, and David Merritt raced -up on a sweating horse. - -“That you, Mrs. Hurst? They’re bringing people here—the Gordon family -and the Watts and Duncans. There’s no earthly chance for their homes. -You must be ready to make for the creek.” - -“Is the fire very near?” Mrs. Hurst asked. - -“God knows where there isn’t fire! All the ranges are burning, on both -sides of the valley, and the fire is coming down fast. There’s no -fighting it, in this awful wind. Eh, Robin, that’s a good sight!”—for -Robin had slipped away, returning with a long tumbler of cool drink. He -drained it thirstily. - -“Every man in the district is out, doing what he can—it’s chiefly -getting people away from the lonely farms back in the bush, and from the -sawmillers’ camps. They’re sending cars out from Baroin to take refugees -in there. I think your place is safer than most, for it’s surrounded -with green—but you can’t tell. Every bit of woodwork is hot to the -touch to-day, and if a burning branch lodged on a shed roof or under the -veranda, the house would go.” - -“Yes—I see that,” Mrs. Hurst said. “What should I do, Mr. Merritt?” - -“Keep a close watch, that’s all. There’s no safer place than the creek -down below your paddock, for there are good holes with no trees near -them to hold the fire. That’s the worst—the trees: the grass and ferns -go like a flash, but the trees burn so long, and shower fragments -everywhere. If the house catches, or if you see flames coming from the -hills behind the smoke, make for the creek—take blankets with you to -soak and put over your heads. And don’t leave it too late to go! There -would be men here to watch your place only that we don’t reckon you’re -in as much danger as most of the places.” - -“We do not need anyone,” Mrs. Hurst said, calmly. “But is there nothing -any of us can do?” - -“Can’t I be some use, Mr. Merritt?” Barry struck in. “I could help the -men!” - -“No, my son, you can’t. We want only men who know every yard of the -country. Be ready to do all you can here—you had better take it in -turns to watch, or your eyes will soon give out—three men are -smoke-blind already. You might have food and drinks ready, Mrs. Hurst: -I’ll tell any of the men they can get a bite here, if I may. They may -not have the chance, but if they do it will be a help.” - -“It will be a comfort to do it,” Mrs. Hurst said. “I’ll have boracic -lotion made, too, for their poor eyes.” - -“That’s a real good idea. Well, I must be off.” He swung himself into -the saddle, and then spoke again. “We’re pretty anxious about Danny -Sanders; his brother’s splitting rails over near Gaunt’s Crossing, -camping alone, and we heard by telephone that there’s a big fire there. -Danny went off at once on a horse—but he has five miles of awful -country to get through, and by the look of it the fire will be across it -before he is. Well, it’s a black day for Gippsland!” He wheeled his -horse, and in a moment was swallowed up by the smoke. - -“We must all work,” Mrs. Hurst said. “Robin, will you and Barry watch, -for the present—one in front, the other at the back. We will get food -ready: and all of us must eat something, for we’ll need all our -strength.” They battled against the raging wind, fighting each step -across the yard. - -“I’m blessed if I’m going to let the house go without putting up a -fight!” declared Robin. - -“Same here,” Barry returned. “I say, Robin, I’ll get boughs ready for -beaters at every point, and put buckets of water handy. Gee, aren’t your -eyes sore!” He rubbed his own furiously, as he hurried off for an axe. - -It was a comfort to work, even though work was terrible, in the blinding -heat. Together they put the house in a state of defence, as well as they -could; and then, an idea occurring to Robin, they dug a hole in the -garden and buried whatever money and small valuables the house -contained, wrapped in an old mackintosh. Now and then Mrs. Hurst or Mrs. -Ryan took their places, and they went in to snatch a morsel of food, to -bathe their smarting eyes, or to help in preparing food and drink. In -one of the bedrooms Polly played happily on the floor with the three -little Ryans—only leaving them to make sure, occasionally, that Robin -was not far off: when she would stand by her for a moment, perhaps -stroke her sleeve, and then would return contentedly to her charges. -Mrs. Ryan worked in utter silence, her face stony in its self-control. -And as the dull roar from the ranges mounted on the rushing wind, no one -dared breathe to her a word of hope. - -Dazed people began to arrive at Hill Farm: mothers carrying little -children; old men and women; boys and girls sick with excitement and -fear: all of them stumbling in, half-blind with smoke, and stupid from -the fight through the gale. They scarcely realized that in all -probability the little homes, so toilfully reared throughout years of -grinding effort, would be heaps of ashes when they next saw them—some -things are mercifully beyond realization. They carried just what they -had been permitted to save as they fled: little articles of value, -bundles of clothes, clocks that still ticked sturdily: and one childless -mother held in her hand the little shoes her baby had not stayed long -enough with her to wear out. They sat about in pitiful groups, grateful -for what the Hursts did for them, too dazed to speak much. Men came out -from Baroin in cars, to take them away. - -“Safer there than here,” said one man. “Though goodness knows, the -township would go like a flash if a blaze started anywhere—there’d be -no stopping it, in this wind. What a hurricane! a bit of charred -messmate bark fell on my lawn, and there’s no messmate forest within ten -miles of us! And there are no men left to fight in Baroin—every man in -the place is out fighting somewhere. The fire-bell rings a new alarm -every little while—some fresh outbreak reported from the country. The -post-office people have been doing great work telephoning—but half the -telephone-lines are down now, brought down by falling trees.” - -“Are there fires between here and the township?” Mrs. Hurst asked. - -“Half a dozen have started, but they’ve managed to stop them—there are -men all along, to keep the track clear. I had a narrow shave in one -place: a burning tree came down across the road, and missed the car by -inches. But a miss is as good as a mile! They’ll have the tree cleared -away when I get back with my load. Sure you wouldn’t like to come in, -Mrs. Hurst?” - -She shook her head. “I think we are safe here—and there is the creek.” - -“Well, it wouldn’t be a joy-ride,” said the man from Baroin. “One fellow -met a wall of flame across the track near Heathfield: he made his -passengers duck down and cover themselves all over with a rug, and he -went through it at forty miles an hour. Got through all right, but the -rug was blazing. Nobody even singed, however. Your house had a narrow -shave just now, hadn’t it?” - -“Mine?” She looked at him questioningly. - -“Didn’t you know?” he asked, astonished. “Just as I got up to the back, -it was. Bit of burning wood must have lodged against the wall, high up, -over the veranda: it was beginning to smoulder. That red-haired young -daughter of yours was up with a bucket of water, putting it out, before -I could get there. It’s quite all right now, so don’t worry.” He went -off to gather his passengers, and Mrs. Hurst continued to cut sandwiches -with a calmness that surprised herself. Robin was safe, evidently: and -the food was needed. She must not leave her job. - -There was no word of Danny Sanders. The fire had raged at Gaunt’s -Crossing, wiping out a sawmill and a road construction camp: but of -Danny and his brother nothing was known. Cars could not get through, for -the only track was blocked by enormous fallen trees, still blazing -fiercely: one had been tried, and had encountered a sudden shower of -sparks and flying coals as a tree came down—the car had been blazing -fiercely in a moment, and the men in it had staggered out of the -fire-zone on foot, glad to find themselves alive, their shirts charred -rags. No one knew whether Danny had got across the blazing spur to his -brother. The men who spoke of his chances shook their heads doubtfully. -There were sad hearts, for everyone liked big Danny. - -The slow afternoon crawled on. There were no more refugees now; all who -were not still clinging to their homes, refusing to leave while there -was a chance of fighting, had been taken in to Baroin; and rumour said -that the township itself was in grave danger, from a fire approaching -from the east. All the men of the valley were fighting to save their -homes. The wind had eddied, swinging from one point to another; or long -ago the blaze from the hills would have swept down across the creeks. It -roared above them, the lashing tongues of flame leaping half a mile at a -time; their sullen raging sound, and the mighty crashing of forest -giants, loud above the howling gale. Even on the flats, limbs were -twisted and flung many yards away, and great trees crashed down before -the fury of the wind; two men had been badly hurt, and had been taken -away, insensible, to the hospital. The men, strung out below the -foothills, raced from place to place, as burning fragments from the -mountains fell into the long grass—beating savagely at the blaze that -sprang up almost before the fiery messenger had touched the earth. Women -fought with superhuman strength beside them, or staggered from one to -another with buckets of tea—men and women alike choking and crying with -the smoke. And all the while the cruel, scorching gale howled, and they -knew in their hearts that, sooner or later, they must give up the -unequal fight and think only of saving their lives. - -A dozen times the sheds or the house of Hill Farm had caught—but always -Robin or Barry had been lucky enough to see the first licking tongue of -flame and to quench it before it had fairly taken hold. Polly worked -with them, as quick to see as they: as the day wore on she seemed unable -to let Robin out of her sight. Whether Robin beat out a springing flame, -or worked at preparing food, or toiled across the paddock with cans of -tea, Polly was beside her—careless of the blistering heat, always ready -with a faint little smile when the girl looked at her. It was useless to -beg her to remain inside: she merely shook her head obstinately, still -smiling. And there was no time for argument on Black Sunday. - -It was four o’clock when David Merritt, with blackened face and -red-rimmed eyes, raced to the house again. - -“Get to the creek!” he shouted, trying to make himself heard above the -shrieking of the gale and that deeper roar that came behind it. “It’s -coming down like a wall—there’s no fighting it! Take blankets—and -hurry!” He struck his spurs into his horse, galloping to the next farm. - -They were all prepared: like disciplined soldiers they made their way -out and filed down the slope, leaving Hill Farm to its fate. Only Robin -hung back a moment, calling to Barry. They flung the water in their -buckets over the verandas. - -“Not that it’s much good,” Robin muttered—“it dries almost before it -falls, in this wind. But it’s our last kick! Grab your blanket, Barry, -and run!” - -They trotted after the little procession ahead—already dimly seen -through the smoke. - -“One of the men told me he doesn’t think the house will go,” Barry said. -“So much green all round it, and no big trees that will burn. And he -said it was the very fierceness of the wind that would save it, for the -fire will go past it in a flash. It’s flying fragments that are the -danger.” - -“Well, goodness knows there are enough of them,” Robin answered, -stamping on a smouldering piece of bark that fell almost at her feet. -“No, I guess it’s the finish for poor old Hill Farm, Barry. And we’ve -been so happy there!” She raised her voice as she saw Polly hanging back -uneasily before them. “All right, Polly—go on, I’m coming!” - -“And it was only yesterday,” said Barry, in a voice of wonder, “that we -were worried because we’d killed Mr. Merritt’s pig! Doesn’t it seem -queer that it ever seemed to matter!” - -“Poor old Mr. Merritt hasn’t a pig left,” Robin said. “Dick Merritt told -me when I took him a drink that they had all died of the heat and -smoke.” - -“By Jove!” said Barry, staring. “And I’ve never had a chance to own up -about the one we finished. Well, I can do it to-morrow—if any of us are -alive.” - -“Oh, we’ll be alive, I expect,” said Robin. But in her own heart she did -not feel so sure. - -It seemed strange to find themselves at the creek, with nothing to do. -The day had been all toil and agony: now there was nothing for them but -the last effort ahead—of saving their own lives. They all plunged into -the water, rejoicing in its cool touch on their suffering bodies: the -little boys kicked and scrambled in the shallows, with shrill cries of -delight. The hole that they had chosen was wide, and bare of overhanging -trees; there was a little rocky island in the middle, and here they -placed the basket of food that they had carried, and covered it with a -wet rug, held down by a slab of stone. And then there was nothing to do. - -Nothing but to watch. Already Hill Farm was only a misty outline through -the smoke. Behind it the roar of the fire drove on the hurricane, each -moment drawing nearer: embers fell and sizzled on their soaked felt -hats, and spluttered as they struck the water. They saw fleeing animals, -kangaroos and wallabies, that leaped past them, blind with terror: near -at hand a splendid crimson lory suddenly flashed downwards through the -smoke and fell dead beside them. The very air was full of terror and -death. - -Then, for the first time, behind the smoke they saw the wall of flame -that leaped down from the hills like a hungry animal. High above the -trees it towered in rushing tongues and solid roaring sheets, while the -hills shook and echoed with the noise of crashing timber. Nearer it -came—nearer yet . . . . . . - -A shrill, pitiful sound pierced the gale—a horse’s neigh that was half -a scream. Robin glanced round sharply. - -“Oh, it’s Roany!” she cried. “He’s trapped in the next paddock—Dick -Merritt was using him. I’ll run and open the gate, Mother—it will give -him a chance, at least. I can’t let him burn!” - -“Robin—come back!” Mrs. Hurst’s agonized cry was lost in the screaming -wind. Barry pushed past her in the water. - -“I’ll go after her,” he said, between his teeth. Already the slender, -running figure was dim through the smoke. - -Mrs. Hurst caught his wrist and held it as in a vice. - -“No!” she said. “You are all they have—and you can do no good. Oh, pray -for her—pray that she may be quick!” - -Roany was at the gate, pawing, uttering terrified whinnying. Robin flung -it open, the iron latch scorching her fingers, and the horse galloped -madly past her, the thudding of his hoofs dying away towards the creek. -Robin ran back, more slowly than she had come. She knew that she was -very nearly done. - -Then the smoke seemed to split in two, showing the fire as is whirled -down upon Hill Farm. Behind the green of the garden the immediate blaze -died away: but on either side a wall of flame rushed through the long -grass and the dry bracken, driving with hurricane speed towards the -creek. The hot breath of its coming blinded and choked her. She knew the -creek was near: knew that she was staggering uncertainly, her sense of -direction gone. Then dimly, through the dense smoke, she saw a running, -silent figure: Polly, carrying something, and smiling as she ran. Only -for a moment, for Robin’s eyes could see no more. She fell, blind and -helpless, in the path of the rushing wall of flame. - -The scorching blast touched her. Then came a sudden weight of coolness -and darkness, exquisite in its relief. She drifted under it into -unconsciousness. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - THE LAST - - -“MOTHER, are you there?” - -“Yes, dear heart. Don’t try to move.” - -“I can’t see you.” - -“No—and I cannot see you, Robin. We are both blind, from the smoke. But -it will soon pass.” - -“Where am I?” - -“You are in your own room, dear.” - -Memory was coming back to Robin—and with memory, fear. - -“Mother—the fire! Is the house safe?” - -“Quite safe—the fire has gone. It missed the house, Robin—nothing is -burned, except the grass. The wind changed in the night, and everything -is safe now.” - -Robin wrinkled her brow under the wet bandage that hid her eyes. - -“I can’t remember,” she said. “We were in the creek, weren’t we? Oh, and -I ran to let Roany out, and the fire came—and I saw Polly running, and -I knew she shouldn’t run. Is she all right, Mother?” - -Mrs. Hurst was silent for a moment. - -When her voice came, it was trembling. - -“Yes—Polly is quite all right, now,” she said. But Robin had caught the -hesitation and the tone that quivered. She felt blindly for her mother’s -hand. - -“You’re not telling me something,” she said—and found that her own -voice was beyond her control. “I—I wish I could see you. Tell me, -Mother. Is there something wrong?” - -Mrs. Hurst found the groping hand and held it tightly. - -“There will never be anything wrong for Polly again,” she said. “She -gave her life for you, my darling. No—not burned—” she shivered at the -horror in Robin’s cry. “She was scarcely scorched—her wet clothes and -hat saved that. She flung a wet blanket over you, when you fell, and -went down herself: the fire was over you both in the flash of a moment, -thanks to the wind. You were only unconscious, when we got to you. But -Polly—” her voice broke. “The doctor says that her heart just stopped.” - -“Oh, Mother—Mother!” Robin whispered. - -“The doctor thinks she could have felt nothing from the moment that she -fell.” Mrs. Hurst said, holding her closely. “Don’t cry, Robin.” - -“She was smiling when she ran to me—I can see her face now!” Robin -said, after a choked minute. - -“She was smiling when we found her, like a happy child. No one could -think that she had felt either pain or terror. We believe that she died -in triumph, because she knew she had saved you: and the doctor says we -ought to think that it is best for her, Robin.” - -“And she has got Jim again,” whispered Robin. - -“Yes—and they have found gold together.” - -Little by little the horror of Black Sunday came to be known; in that -wild and scattered district it was impossible at once to discover the -full extent of the havoc the fires had wrought. Polly’s was not the only -one whose life had gone out as a sacrifice. There were men who had been -killed by falling trees: who had died fighting for their homes: wives -who had perished battling beside their husbands, and whole families whom -the fire had trapped in the forest. There were communities in which -every living soul was blind from smoke. Hundreds were homeless and -penniless; townships were blotted out, farm-houses reduced to a heap of -ashes and twisted iron. Starving stock roamed the blackened country, -seeking vainly for food. In the towns where they could gather, the -refugees huddled, clutching the few poor possessions they had been able -to save—dazed and bewildered, while the doctors worked day and night, -tending their burns, and kindly homes gathered in the sick who had -fallen by the way. - -And then, with the spreading of the news, came the swift response of the -country. After the first gasp of horror the rush of help followed. Women -ransacked their homes to send clothing, linen, blankets; children gave -their toys for the children who had lost their all: the tide of money -poured into the coffers of the relief funds until it mounted day by day -in a wave of gold. Men who were slow to give in ordinary circumstances -gave gladly now. The whole world heard the pitiful story, and shouted -its sympathy: there were offers of help from every State, and from far -beyond Australia. From the King’s whole-hearted message of grief to the -quick help of the Chinese in Victoria, there was no heart that was not -wrung by the story of the fires. The sufferers, dazed and homeless, as -they squared their shoulders to begin anew could feel that, at least, -their country stood behind them to help. - -In the neighbourhood of Hill Farm many houses had escaped, the fury of -the gale having swept the flames along too swiftly to let them fasten on -homes where gardens were green or where fire-breaks had been made and -undergrowth cleared. Merritt’s farm was safe, and O’Rourke’s, and -Sanders’: and to the joy of everyone, Danny appeared, badly burned, but -safe, having ridden through five miles of fire in time to rescue his -brother. Merri Creek village had been reduced to a heap of ashes, and -for miles the new railway showed nothing but blackened and twisted -rails; but no lives had been lost, and no one despaired. In the hearts -of everyone was the same quiet determination—to build up all that had -been lost. - -Dr. and Mrs. Lane appeared on the third day and took firm possession of -Mrs. Hurst and Robin, carrying them bodily off to Melbourne. Mrs. Hurst -did not resist. She knew that the terror of Black Sunday, and the shock -of Polly’s death would cling to Robin until her full strength returned; -while she herself longed to be out of sight of the blackened hills and -valleys, with their fearful memories. Only one consideration held -her—Mrs. Ryan, who went about whatever work she could find to do, or -tended her children, in tight-lipped silence. No word had come from the -lonely sawmill she had left in the forest. It was almost beyond hope -that any good news could ever come. - -But on the fourth day, sitting on the veranda, she glanced up to see two -gaunt and ragged men walking up the hill: and at the same moment a dish -clattered to the floor in the kitchen, and Mrs. Ryan, clutching the -baby, fled past her, racing down the blackened slope; with Micky and Joe -at her heels, yelping joyfully. Big Mick Ryan gathered his family into -his arms. - -“You were awful good to ’em, Missus,” he told Mrs. Hurst, a little -later. - -“Good?” she said: and laughed. “We were all in the same box: it was a -comfort to be able to help. But I’m so sorry your mill has gone!” - -“Oh—darn the ol’ mill!” said little Mrs. Ryan. - - • • • • • • - -[_From a letter from Robin Hurst, Hill Farm, to Barry Lane, Melbourne._] - - “We had a good journey back, though it wasn’t half as - interesting in the train as it was in the car. The Ryans had all - the place in beautiful order. They are still here, but the - Relief Committee is going to fix them up with a new sawmill - soon, and they say they will be just as well-off as they were - before the fire. I don’t know how well-off that was, but it - seems to satisfy them. The boys will talk now, and the baby is - beautiful. So are Roany and Bessy and the calf. - - “Everyone asks after you, and Danny came over and showed me your - gun. Why didn’t you ever tell me that you gave it to him after - the fire? He is terribly proud of it, and expects to make a - large fortune out of rabbit-skins. - - “All the country is green again, except for the blackened trees. - They look dreadful, but everyone is so glad to be alive that - nobody worries. And lots of them will sprout out—the trees, I - mean, not the people. - - “The Merritts say that Mother and I are quite fat, so that shows - what a splendid time you gave us in Town. I always hated Town - until this time, but now I love it, and I’m ever so glad Mrs. - Lane has asked me to go again some day. The worst part of it is - that one can’t go about there in breeches and a shirt; but I - suppose everything has to have its drawbacks. - - “Now I have a perfectly wonderful piece of news, which I left to - the last on purpose, because it’s so exciting. After you wrote - to Mr. Merritt and told him the sad story of the gelignited pig - (I had to pause while I looked up gelignite—I thought it began - with a j)—he went down one day and had a look at the place - where we blasted the rock, just out of curiosity. You know where - the big stone split off from the face of the hill—I said the - rock looked pretty, and you said that was just what a girl would - say. Well, it was pretty, Mr. Barry, and it is pretty still. And - it has every right to be pretty, because it’s marble! - - “Mr. Merritt knew a good bit about marble, because he used to - work in a quarry, and he hadn’t any doubt: but rather than - excite our hopes he said nothing, but he sent a lot of samples - to Melbourne and had them examined. And the report was better - than he had hoped it would be. And then he got an expert down, a - man he could trust, to look into the matter, keeping it all very - quiet. But the expert says there is no doubt at all, and that it - will probably be a most valuable quarry, and bring us in heaps - of money. So we won’t have to look three times at a penny next - time we want to spend it. - - “I have always wondered what I would do if I had a lot of money, - and now that there seems a chance of it, I really don’t know. I - want a car, of course, and some really topping horses, though - Mother won’t promise that we’ll ever get them. But best of all - is knowing that Mother won’t look worried any more. And next - best is the thought that I shan’t have to go away from Hill Farm - and learn shorthand and typing. How dreadful that prospect was - no one could ever know. - - “Just fancy if old Uncle Donald had known that wealth was shut - up in one of his hills! And if he could have guessed that the - red-haired niece he couldn’t stand would go out with a rude - little boy from Melbourne and use his own old gelignite to find - it! But he’d never have had any fun with it, and I’m sure we’ll - have lots. We’re going to begin by getting some poor little - youngsters from Melbourne, who have been sick, and have only - slum-homes to go back to, when they leave hospital. I’m sure - they will like it. But I’ll make quite certain they don’t find - any gelignite! - - “Mr. Merritt says that he thinks his pig was very lucky to die - when it did. So do I. But he is ever so pleased with the two - little pure-bred Berkshires you sent him. I have offered him the - first slab of marble as a suitable monument for the pig we slew. - You might think up a poetical inscription. - - “And don’t forget to come next summer, Barry, because, even with - the marble quarry and all the excitement, it’s dull without you. - - “Yours truly, - “ROBIN.” - - - - - The Eagle Press Ltd., Allen St., Waterloo - - - - - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - -Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. 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