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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Little Bush Maid, 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: A Little Bush Maid
+
+Author: Mary Grant Bruce
+
+Release Date: August 5, 2003 [eBook #8730]
+[Most recently updated: May 14, 2022]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BUSH MAID ***
+
+
+
+
+A LITTLE BUSH MAID
+
+By Mary Grant Bruce
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+  CHAPTER I. BILLABONG 
+  CHAPTER II. PETS AND PLAYTHINGS 
+  CHAPTER III. A MENAGERIE RACE 
+  CHAPTER IV. JIM’S IDEA 
+  CHAPTER V. ANGLERS’ BEND 
+  CHAPTER VI. A BUSH FIRE 
+  CHAPTER VII. WHAT NORAH FOUND 
+  CHAPTER VIII. ON A LOG 
+  CHAPTER IX. FISHING 
+  CHAPTER X. THE LAST DAY 
+  CHAPTER XI. GOOD-BYE 
+  CHAPTER XII. THE WINFIELD MURDER 
+  CHAPTER XIII. THE CIRCUS 
+  CHAPTER XIV. CAMPING OUT 
+  CHAPTER XV. FOR FRIENDSHIP 
+  CHAPTER XVI. FIGHTING DEATH 
+  CHAPTER XVII. THE END OF THE STRUGGLE 
+  CHAPTER XVIII. EVENING 
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+BILLABONG
+
+
+Norah’s home was on a big station in the north of Victoria—so large
+that you could almost, in her own phrase, “ride all day and never see
+any one you didn’t want to see”; which was a great advantage in Norah’s
+eyes. Not that Billabong Station ever seemed to the little girl a place
+that you needed to praise in any way. It occupied so very modest a
+position as the loveliest part of the world!
+
+The homestead was built on a gentle rise that sloped gradually away on
+every side; in front to the wide plain, dotted with huge gum trees and
+great grey box groves, and at the back, after you had passed through
+the well-kept vegetable garden and orchard, to a long lagoon, bordered
+with trees and fringed with tall bulrushes and waving reeds.
+
+The house itself was old and quaint and rambling, part of the old
+wattle and dab walls yet remaining in some of the outhouses, as well as
+the grey shingle roof. There was a more modern part, for the house had
+been added to from time to time by different owners, though no
+additions had been made since Norah’s father brought home his young
+wife, fifteen years before this story opens. Then he had built a large
+new wing with wide and lofty rooms, and round all had put a very broad,
+tiled verandah. The creepers had had time to twine round the massive
+posts in those fifteen years, and some even lay in great masses on the
+verandah roof; tecoma, pink and salmon-coloured; purple bougainvillea,
+and the snowy mandevillea clusters. Hard-headed people said this was
+not good for the building—but Norah’s mother had planted them, and
+because she had loved them they were never touched.
+
+There was a huge front garden, not at all a proper kind of garden, but
+a great stretch of smooth buffalo grass, dotted with all kinds of
+trees, amongst which flower beds cropped up in most unexpected and
+unlikely places, just as if some giant had flung them out on the grass
+like a handful of pebbles that scattered as they flew. They were always
+trim and tidy, and the gardener, Hogg, was terribly strict, and woe
+betide the author of any small footmarks that he found on one of the
+freshly raked surfaces. Nothing annoyed him more than the odd bulbs
+that used to come up in the midst of his precious buffalo grass;
+impertinent crocuses and daffodils and hyacinths, that certainly had no
+right there. “Blest if I know how they ever gets there!” Hogg would
+say, scratching his head. Whereat Norah was wont to retire behind a
+pyramid tree for purposes of mirth.
+
+Hogg’s sworn foe was Lee Wing, the Chinese gardener, who reigned
+supreme in the orchard and the kingdom of vegetables—not quite the same
+thing as the vegetable kingdom, by the way! Lee Wing was very fat, his
+broad, yellow face generally wearing a cheerful grin—unless he happened
+to catch sight of Hogg. His long pigtail was always concealed under his
+flapping straw hat. Once Jim, who was Norah’s big brother, had found
+him asleep in his hut with the pigtail drooping over the edge of the
+bunk. Jim thought the opportunity too good to lose and, with such
+deftness that the Celestial never stirred, he tied the end of the
+pigtail to the back of a chair—with rather startling results when Lee
+Wing awoke with a sudden sense of being late, and made a spring from
+the bunk. The chair of course followed him, and the loud yell of fear
+and pain raised by the victim brought half the homestead to the scene
+of the catastrophe. Jim was the only one who did not wait for
+developments. He found business at the lagoon.
+
+The queerest part of it was that Lee Wing firmly believed Hogg to be
+the author of his woe. Nothing moved him from this view, not even when
+Jim, finding how matters stood, owned up like a man. “You allee same
+goo’ boy,” said the pigtailed one, proffering him a succulent raw
+turnip. “Me know. You tellee fine large crammee. Hogg, he tellee
+crammee, too. So dly up!” And Jim, finding expostulation useless,
+“dried up” accordingly and ate the turnip, which was better than the
+leek.
+
+To the right of the homestead at Billabong a clump of box trees
+sheltered the stables that were the unspoken pride of Mr. Linton’s
+heart.
+
+Before his time the stables had been a conglomerate mass, bark-roofed,
+slab-sided, falling to decay; added to as each successive owner had
+thought fit, with a final mixture of old and new that was neither
+convenient nor beautiful. Mr. Linton had apologised to his horses
+during his first week of occupancy and, in the second, turning them out
+to grass with less apology, had pulled down the rickety old sheds,
+replacing them with a compact and handsome building of red brick, with
+room for half a dozen buggies, men’s quarters, harness and feed rooms,
+many loose boxes and a loft where a ball could have been held—and
+where, indeed, many a one was held, when all the young farmers and
+stockmen and shearers from far and near brought each his lass and
+tripped it from early night to early dawn, to the strains of old Andy
+Ferguson’s fiddle and young Dave Boone’s concertina. Norah had been
+allowed to look on at one or two of these gatherings. She thought them
+the height of human bliss, and was only sorry that sheer inability to
+dance prevented her from “taking the floor” with Mick Shanahan, the
+horse breaker, who had paid her the compliment of asking her first. It
+was a great compliment, too, Norah felt, seeing what a man of agility
+and splendid accomplishments was Mick—and that she was only nine at the
+time.
+
+There was one loose box which was Norah’s very own property, and
+without her permission no horse was ever put in it except its rightful
+occupant—Bobs, whose name was proudly displayed over the door in Jim’s
+best carving.
+
+Bobs had always belonged to Norah, He had been given to her as a foal,
+when Norah used to ride a round little black sheltie, as easy to fall
+off as to mount. He was a beauty even then, Norah thought; and her
+father had looked approvingly at the long-legged baby, with his fine,
+well-bred head. “You will have something worth riding when that fellow
+is fit to break in, my girlie,” he had said, and his prophecy had been
+amply fulfilled. Mick Shanahan said he’d never put a leg over a finer
+pony. Norah knew there never had been a finer anywhere. He was a big
+pony, very dark bay in colour, and “as handsome as paint,” and with the
+kindest disposition; full of life and “go,” but without the smallest
+particle of vice. It was an even question which loved the other best,
+Bobs or Norah. No one ever rode him except his little mistress. The
+pair were hard to beat—so the men said.
+
+To Norah the stables were the heart of Billabong. The house was all
+very well—of course she loved it; and she loved her own little room,
+with its red carpet and dainty white furniture, and the two long
+windows that looked out over the green plain. That was all right; so
+were the garden and the big orchard, especially in summer time! The
+only part that was not “all right” was the drawing-room—an apartment of
+gloomy, seldom-used splendour that Norah hated with her whole heart.
+
+But the stables were an abiding refuge. She was never dull there. Apart
+from the never-failing welcome in Bobs’ loose box, there was the dim,
+fragrant loft, where the sunbeams only managed to send dusty rays of
+light across the gloom. Here Norah used to lie on the sweet hay and
+think tremendous thoughts; here also she laid deep plans for catching
+rats—and caught scores in traps of her own devising. Norah hated rats,
+but nothing could induce her to wage war against the mice. “Poor little
+chaps!” she said; “they’re so little—and—and soft!” And she was quite
+saddened if by chance she found a stray mouse in any of her
+shrewdly-designed traps for the benefit of the larger game which
+infested the stables and had even the hardihood to annoy Bobs!
+
+Norah had never known her mother. She was only a tiny baby when that
+gay little mother died—a sudden, terrible blow, that changed her father
+in a night from a young man to an old one. It was nearly twelve years
+ago, now, but no one ever dared to speak to David Linton of his wife.
+Sometimes Norah used to ask Jim about mother—for Jim was fifteen, and
+could remember just a little; but his memories were so vague and misty
+that his information was unsatisfactory. And, after all, Norah did not
+trouble much. She had always been so happy that she could not imagine
+that to have had a mother would have made any particular difference to
+her happiness. You see, she did not know.
+
+She had grown just as the bush wild flowers grow—hardy, unchecked,
+almost untended; for, though old nurse had always been there, her
+nurseling had gone her own way from the time she could toddle. She was
+everybody’s pet and plaything; the only being who had power to make her
+stern, silent father smile—almost the only one who ever saw the softer
+side of his character. He was fond and proud of Jim—glad that the boy
+was growing up straight and strong and manly, able to make his way in
+the world. But Norah was his heart’s desire.
+
+Of course she was spoilt—if spoiling consists in rarely checking an
+impulse. All her life Norah had done pretty well whatever she
+wanted—which meant that she had lived out of doors, followed in Jim’s
+footsteps wherever practicable (and in a good many ways most people
+would have thought distinctly impracticable), and spent about
+two-thirds of her waking time on horseback. But the spoiling was not of
+a very harmful kind. Her chosen pursuits brought her under the unspoken
+discipline of the work of the station, wherein ordinary instinct taught
+her to do as others did, and conform to their ways. She had all the
+dread of being thought “silly” that marks the girl who imitates boyish
+ways. Jim’s rare growl, “Have a little sense!” went farther home than a
+whole volume of admonitions of a more ordinarily genuine feminine type.
+
+She had no little girl friends, for none was nearer than the nearest
+township—Cunjee, seventeen miles away. Moreover, little girls bored
+Norah frightfully. They seemed a species quite distinct from herself.
+They prattled of dolls; they loved to skip, to dress up and “play
+ladies”; and when Norah spoke of the superior joys of cutting out
+cattle or coursing hares over the Long Plain, they stared at her with
+blank lack of understanding. With boys she got on much better. Jim and
+she were tremendous chums, and she had moped sadly when he went to
+Melbourne to school. Holidays then became the shining events of the
+year, and the boys whom Jim brought home with him, at first prone to
+look down on the small girl with lofty condescension, generally ended
+by voting her “no end of a jolly kid,” and according her the respect
+due to a person who could teach them more of bush life than they had
+dreamed of.
+
+But Norah’s principal mate was her father. Day after day they were
+together, riding over the run, working the cattle, walking through the
+thick scrub of the backwater, driving young, half-broken horses in the
+high dog-cart to Cunjee—they were rarely apart. David Linton seldom
+made a plan that did not naturally include Norah. She was a wise little
+companion, too; ready enough to chatter like a magpie if her father
+were in the mood, but quick to note if he were not, and then quite
+content to be silently beside him, perhaps for hours. They understood
+each other perfectly. Norah never could make out the people who pitied
+her for having no friends of her own age. How could she possibly be
+bothered with children, she reflected, when she had Daddy?
+
+As for Norah’s education, that was of the kind best defined as a minus
+quantity.
+
+“I won’t have her bothered with books too early,” Mr. Linton had said
+when nurse hinted, on Norah’s eight birthday, that it was time she
+began the rudiments of learning. “Time enough yet—we don’t want to make
+a bookworm of her!”
+
+Whereat nurse smiled demurely, knowing that that was the last thing to
+be afraid of in connexion with her child. But she worried in her
+responsible old soul all the same; and when a wet day or the occasional
+absence of Mr. Linton left Norah without occupation, she induced her to
+begin a few elementary lessons. The child was quick enough, and soon
+learned to read fairly well and to write laboriously; but there nurse’s
+teaching from books ended.
+
+Of other and practical teaching, however, she had a greater store. Mr.
+Linton had a strong leaning towards the old-fashioned virtues, and it
+was at a word from him that Norah had gone to the kitchen and asked
+Mrs. Brown to teach her to cook. Mrs. Brown—fat, good-natured and
+adoring—was all acquiescence, and by the time Norah was eleven she knew
+more of cooking and general housekeeping than many girls grown up and
+fancying themselves ready to undertake houses of their own. Moreover,
+she could sew rather well, though she frankly detested the
+accomplishment. The one form of work she cared for was knitting, and it
+was her boast that her father wore only the socks she manufactured for
+him.
+
+Norah’s one gentle passion was music. Never taught, she inherited from
+her mother a natural instinct and an absolutely true ear, and before
+she was seven she could strum on the old piano in a way very satisfying
+to herself and awe-inspiring to the admiring nurse. Her talent
+increased yearly, and at ten she could play anything she heard—from
+ear, for she had never been taught a note of music. It was, indeed, her
+growing capabilities in this respect that forced upon her father the
+need for proper tuition for the child. However, a stopgap was found in
+the person of the book-keeper, a young Englishman, who knew more of
+music than accounts. He readily undertook Norah’s instruction, and the
+lessons bore moderately good effect—the moderation being due to a not
+unnatural disinclination on the pupil’s part to walk where she had been
+accustomed to run, and to a fixed loathing to practice. As the latter
+necessary, if uninteresting, pursuit was left entirely to her own
+discretion—for no one ever dreamed of ordering Norah to the piano—it is
+small wonder if it suffered beside the superior attractions of riding
+Bobs, rat trapping, “shinning up” trees, fishing in the lagoon and
+generally disporting herself as a maiden may whom conventional
+restrictions have never trammelled.
+
+It follows that the music lessons, twice a week, were times of woe for
+Mr. Groom, the teacher. He was an earnest young man, with a sincere
+desire for his pupil’s improvement, and it was certainly disheartening
+to find on Friday that the words of Tuesday had apparently gone in at
+one ear and out at the other simultaneously. Sometimes he would
+remonstrate.
+
+“You haven’t got on with that piece a bit!”
+
+“What’s the good?” the pupil would remark, twisting round on the music
+stool; “I can play nearly all of it from ear!”
+
+“That’s not the same”—severely—“that’s only frivolling. I’m not here to
+teach you to strum.”
+
+“No” Norah would agree abstractedly. “Mr. Groom, you know that poley
+bullock down in the far end paddock—”
+
+“No, I don’t,” severely. “This is a music lesson, Norah; you’re not
+after cattle now!”
+
+“Wish I were!” sighed the pupil. “Well, will you come out with the dogs
+this afternoon?”
+
+“Can’t; I’m wanted in the office. Now, Norah—”
+
+“But if I asked father to spare you?”
+
+“Oh, I’d like to right enough.” Mr. Groom was young, and the temptress,
+if younger, was skilled in wiles.
+
+“But your father—”
+
+“Oh, I can manage Dad. I’ll go and see him now.” She would be at the
+door before her teacher perceived that his opportunity was vanishing.
+
+“Norah, come back! If I’m to go out, you must play this first—and get
+it right.”
+
+Mr. Groom could be firm on occasions. “Come along, you little shirker!”
+and Norah would unwillingly return to the music stool, and worry
+laboriously though a page of the hated Czerny.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+PETS AND PLAYTHINGS
+
+
+After her father, Norah’s chief companions were her pets.
+
+These were a numerous and varied band, and required no small amount of
+attention. Bobs, of course, came first—no other animal could possibly
+approach him in favour. But after Bobs came a long procession,
+beginning with Tait, the collie, and ending with the last brood of
+fluffy Orpington chicks, or perhaps the newest thing in disabled birds,
+picked up, fluttering and helpless, in the yard or orchard. There was
+room in Norah’s heart for them all.
+
+Tait was a beauty—a rough-haired collie, with a splendid head, and big,
+faithful brown eyes, that spoke more eloquently than many persons’
+tongues. He was, like most of the breed, ready to be friends with any
+one; but his little mistress was dearest of all, and he worshipped her
+with abject devotion. Norah never went anywhere without him; Tait saw
+to that. He seemed always on the watch for her coming, and she was
+never more than a few yards from the house before the big dog was
+silently brushing the grass by her side. His greatest joy was to follow
+her on long rides into the bush, putting up an occasional hare and
+scurrying after it in the futile way of collies, barking at the
+swallows overhead, and keeping pace with Bobs’ long, easy canter.
+
+Puck used to come on these excursions too. He was the only being for
+whom it was suspected that Tait felt a mild dislike—an impudent Irish
+terrier, full of fun and mischief, yet with a somewhat unfriendly and
+suspicious temperament that made him, perhaps, a better guardian for
+Norah than the benevolently disposed Tait. Puck had a nasty, inquiring
+mind—an unpleasant way of sniffing round the legs of tramps that
+generally induced those gentry to find the top rail of a fence a more
+calm and more desirable spot than the level of the ground. Indian
+hawkers feared him and hated him in equal measure. He could bite, and
+occasionally did bite, his victims being always selected with judgment
+and discretion, generally vagrants emboldened to insolence by seeing no
+men about the kitchen when all hands were out mustering or busy on the
+run. When Puck bit, it was with no uncertain tooth. He was suspected of
+a desire to taste the blood of every one who went near Norah, though
+his cannibalistic propensities were curbed by stern discipline.
+
+Only once had he had anything like a free hand—or a free tooth.
+
+Norah was out riding, a good way from the homestead, when a
+particularly unpleasant-looking fellow accosted her, and asked for
+money. Norah stared.
+
+“I haven’t got any,” she said. “Anyhow, father doesn’t let us give away
+money to travellers—only tucker.”
+
+“Oh, doesn’t he?” the fellow said unpleasantly. “Well, I want money,
+not grub.” He laid a compelling hand on Bobs’ bridle as Norah tried to
+pass him. “Come,” he said—“that bracelet’ll do!”
+
+It was a pretty little gold watch set in a leather bangle—father’s
+birthday present, only a few weeks old. Norah simply laughed—she
+scarcely comprehended so amazing a thing as that this man should really
+intend to rob her.
+
+“Get out of my way,” she said—“you can’t have that!”
+
+“Can’t I!” He caught her wrist. “Give it quietly now, or I’ll—”
+
+The sentence was not completed. A yellow streak hurled itself though
+the air, as Puck, who had been investigating a tussock for lizards,
+awoke to the situation. Something like a vice gripped the swagman by
+the leg, and he dropped Norah’s wrist and bridle and roared like any
+bull. The “something” hung on fiercely, silently, and the victim hopped
+and raved and begged for mercy.
+
+Norah had ridden a little way on. She called softly to Puck.
+
+“Here, boy!”
+
+Puck did not relinquish his grip. He looked pleadingly at his little
+mistress across the swagman’s trouser-leg. Norah struck her saddle
+sharply with her whip.
+
+“Here, sir!—drop it!”
+
+Puck dropped it reluctantly, and came across to Bobs, his head hanging.
+The swagman sat down on the ground and nursed his leg.
+
+“That served you right,” Norah said, with judicial severity. “You
+hadn’t any business to grab my watch. Now, if you’ll go up to the house
+they’ll give you some tucker and a rag for your leg!”
+
+She rode off, whistling to Puck. The swagman gaped and muttered various
+remarks. He did not call at the house.
+
+Norah was supposed to manage the fowls, but her management was almost
+entirely ornamental, and it is to be feared that the poultry yard would
+have fared but poorly had it depended upon her alone. All the fowls
+were hers. She said so, and no one contradicted her. Still, whenever
+one was wanted for the table, it was ruthlessly slain. And it was black
+Billy who fed them night and morning, and Mrs. Brown who gathered the
+eggs, and saw that the houses were safely shut against the foxes every
+evening. Norah’s chief part in the management lay in looking after the
+setting hens. At first she firmly checked the broody instincts by
+shutting them callously under boxes despite pecks and loud protests.
+Later, when their mood refused to change, she loved to prepare them
+soft nests in boxes, and to imprison them there until they took kindly
+to their seclusion. Then it was hard work to wait three weeks until the
+first fluffy heads peeped out from the angry mother’s wing, after which
+Norah was a blissfully adoring caretaker until the downy balls began to
+get ragged, as the first wing and tail feathers showed. Then the chicks
+became uninteresting, and were handed over to Black Billy.
+
+Besides her own pets there were Jim’s.
+
+“Mind, they’re in your care,” Jim had said sternly, on the evening
+before his departure for school. They were making a tour of the
+place—Jim outwardly very cheerful and unconcerned; Norah plunged in
+woe. She did not attempt to conceal it. She had taken Jim’s arm, and it
+was sufficient proof of his state of mind that he did not shake it off.
+Indeed, the indications were that he was glad of the loving little hand
+tucked into the bend of his arm.
+
+“Yes, Jim; I’ll look after them.”
+
+“I don’t want you to bother feeding them yourself,” Jim said
+magnanimously; “that ’ud be rather too much of a contract for a kid,
+wouldn’t it? Only keep an eye on ’em, and round up Billy if he doesn’t
+do his work. He’s a terror if he shirks, and unless you watch him like
+a cat he’ll never change the water in the tins every morning. Lots of
+times I’ve had to do it myself!”
+
+“I’d do it myself sooner’n let them go without, Jim, dear,” said the
+small voice, with a suspicion of a choke.
+
+“Don’t you do it,” said Jim; “slang Billy. What’s he here for, I’d like
+to know! I only want you to go round ’em every day, and see that
+they’re all right.”
+
+So daily Norah used to make her pilgrimage round Jim’s pets. There were
+the guinea pigs—a rapidly increasing band, in an enclosure specially
+built for them by Jim—a light frame, netted carefully everywhere, and
+so constructed that it could be moved from place to place, giving them
+a fresh grass run continually. Then there were two young wallabies and
+a little brush kangaroo, which lived in a little paddock all their own,
+and were as tame as kittens. Norah loved this trio especially, and
+always had a game with them on her daily visit. There was a shy
+gentleman which Norah called a turloise, because she never could
+remember if he were a turtle or a tortoise. He lived in a small
+enclosure, with a tiny water hole, and his disposition was extremely
+retiring. In private Norah did not feel drawn to this member of her
+charge, but she paid him double attention, from an inward feeling of
+guilt, and because Jim set a high value upon him.
+
+“He’s such a wise old chap,” Jim would say; “nobody knows what he’s
+thinking of!”
+
+In her heart of hearts Norah did not believe that mattered very much.
+
+But when the stables had been visited and Bobs and Sirdar (Jim’s
+neglected pony) interviewed; when Tait and Puck had had their breakfast
+bones; when wallabies and kangaroo had been inspected (with a critical
+eye to their water tins), and the turtle had impassively received a
+praiseworthy attempt to draw him out; when the chicks had all been fed,
+and the guinea pigs (unlike the leopard) had changed their spot for the
+day—there still remained the birds.
+
+The birds were a colony in themselves. There was a big aviary, large
+enough for little trees and big shrubs to grow in, where a happy family
+lived whose members included several kinds of honey-eaters, Queensland
+finches, blackbirds and a dozen other tiny shy things which flitted
+quickly from bush to bush all day. They knew Norah and, when she
+entered their home, would flutter down and perch on her head and
+shoulders, and look inquisitively for the flowers she always brought
+them. Sometimes Norah would wear some artificial flowers, by way of a
+joke. It was funny to see the little honey-eaters thrusting in their
+long beaks again and again in search of the sweet drops they had
+learned to expect in flowers, and funnier still to watch the air of
+disgust with which they would give up the attempt.
+
+There were doves everywhere—not in cages, for they never tried to
+escape. Their soft “coo” murmured drowsily all around. There were
+pigeons, too, in a most elaborate pigeon cote—another effort of Jim’s
+carpentering skill. These were as tame as the smaller birds, and on
+Norah’s appearance would swoop down upon her in a cloud. They had done
+so once when she was mounted on Bobs, to the pony’s very great alarm
+and disgust. He took to his heels promptly. “I don’t think he stopped
+for two miles!” Norah said. Since then, however, Bobs had grown used to
+the pigeons fluttering and circling round him. It was a pretty sight to
+watch them all together, child and pony half hidden beneath their load
+of birds.
+
+The canaries had a cage to themselves—a very smart one, with every
+device for making canary life endurable in captivity. Certainly Norah’s
+birds seemed happy enough, and the sweet songs of the canaries were
+delightful. I think they were Norah’s favourites amongst her feathered
+flock.
+
+Finally there were two talkative members—Fudge the parrot, and old
+Caesar, a very fine white cockatoo. Fudge had been caught young, and
+his education had been of a liberal order. An apt pupil, he had picked
+up various items of knowledge, and had blended them into a whole that
+was scarcely harmonious. Bits of slang learned from Jim and the
+stockmen were mingled with fragments of hymns warbled by Mrs. Brown and
+sharp curt orders delivered to dogs. A French swag-man, who had hurt
+his foot and been obliged to camp for a few days at the homestead,
+supplied Fudge with several Parisian remarks that were very effective.
+Every member of the household had tried to teach him to whistle some
+special tune. Unfortunately, the lessons had been delivered at the same
+time, and the result was the most amazing jumble of melody, which Fudge
+delivered with an air of deepest satisfaction. As Jim said, “You never
+know if he’s whistling ‘God Save the King,’ ‘Pop Goes the Weasel,’ or
+‘The Wearin’ o’ the Green,’ but it doesn’t make any difference to
+Fudge’s enjoyment!”
+
+Caesar was a giant among cockatoos, and had a full sense of his own
+importance.
+
+He had been shot when very young, some stray pellets having found their
+way into his wing. Norah had found him fluttering helplessly along the
+ground, and had picked him up, sustaining a severe peck in doing so. It
+was, however, the first and last peck he ever gave Norah. From that
+moment he seemed to recognize her as a friend, and to adopt her as an
+intimate—marks of esteem he accorded to very few others. Norah had
+handed him to Jim on arriving at the house, a change which the bird
+resented by a savage attack on Jim’s thumb. Jim was no hero—at the age
+of eleven, he dropped the cockatoo like a hot coal. “Great Caesar!” he
+exclaimed, sucking his thumb, and Caesar he was christened in that
+moment.
+
+After his recovery, which was a long and tedious process, Caesar showed
+no inclination to leave the homestead. He used to strut about the back
+yard, and frequent the kitchen door, very much after the fashion of a
+house-dog. He was, indeed, as valuable as a watch-dog, for the
+appearance of any stranger was the signal for a volley of shrieks and
+chatter, sufficient to alarm any household. However, Caesar’s liberty
+had to be restricted, for he became somewhat of a menace to all he did
+not choose to care for, and his attacks on the ankles were no joking
+matter.
+
+To the dogs he was a constant terror. He hated all alike, and would “go
+for” big Tait as readily as for cheerful little Puck, and not a dog on
+the place would face him. So at last a stand and a chain were bought
+for Caesar, and on his perch he lived in solitary splendour, while his
+enemies took good care to keep beyond his reach. Norah he always loved,
+and those whom he had managed to bite—their number was large—used to
+experience thrills on seeing the little girl hold him close to her face
+while he rubbed his beak up and down her cheek. He tolerated black
+Billy, who fed him, and was respectful to Mr. Linton; but he worshipped
+Mrs. Brown, the cook, and her appearance at the kitchen door, which he
+could see from his stand, caused an instant outbreak of cheers and
+chatter, varied by touching appeals to “scratch Cocky.” His chief foe
+was Mrs. Brown’s big yellow cat, who not only dared to share the adored
+one’s affections, but was openly aggressive at times, and loved to
+steal the cockatoo’s food.
+
+Caesar, on his perch, apparently wrapped in dreamless slumber, would in
+reality be watching the stealthy movements of Tim, the cat, who would
+come scouting through the grass towards the tin of food. Just out of
+reach, Tim would lie down and feign sleep as deep as Caesar’s, though
+every muscle in his body was tense with readiness for the sudden
+spring. So they would remain, perhaps many minutes. Tim’s patience
+never gave out. Sometimes Caesar’s would, and he would open his eyes
+and flap round on his perch, shouting much bad bird language at the
+retreating Tim. But more often both remained motionless until the cat
+sprang suddenly at the food tin. More often than not he was too quick
+for Caesar, and would drag the tin beyond reach of the chain before the
+bird could defend it, in which case the wrath of the defeated was awful
+to behold. But sometimes Caesar managed to anticipate the leap, and Tim
+did not readily forget those distressful moments when the cockatoo had
+him by the fur with beak and claw. He would escape, showing several
+patches where his coat had been torn, and remained in a state of
+dejection for two or three days, during which battles were
+discontinued. It took Caesar almost as long to recover from the wild
+state of triumph into which his rare victories threw him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+A MENAGERIE RACE
+
+
+The first time that Jim returned from school was for the Easter
+holidays.
+
+He brought a couple of mates with him—boys from New South Wales and
+Queensland, Harry Trevor and Walter Meadows. Harry was a little older
+than Jim—a short, thick-set lad, very fair and solemn, with
+expressionless grey eyes, looking out beneath a shock of flaxen hair.
+Those who knew him not said that he was stupid. Those who knew him said
+that you couldn’t tell old Harry much that he didn’t know. Those who
+knew him very well said that you could depend on Trevor to his last
+gasp. Jim loved him—and there were few people Jim loved.
+
+Walter—or Wally—Meadows was a different type; long and thin for
+fourteen, burnt to almost Kaffir darkness; a wag of a boy, with merry
+brown eyes, and a temperament unable to be depressed for more than five
+minutes at a time. He was always in scrapes at school, but a great
+favourite with masters and boys notwithstanding; and he straightway
+laid his boyish heart down at Norah’s feet, and was her slave from the
+first day they met.
+
+Norah liked them both. She had been desperately afraid that they would
+try to take Jim away from her, and was much relieved to find that they
+welcomed her cheerfully into their plans. They were good riders, and
+the four had splendid gallops over the plains after hares. Also they
+admired Bobs fervently, and that was always a passport to Norah’s
+heart.
+
+It was on the third day of their visit, and they were making the
+morning round of the pets, when a brilliant idea came to Wally.
+
+“Let’s have a menagerie race!” he cried suddenly.
+
+“What’s that?” Norah asked blankly.
+
+“Why, you each drive an animal,” explained Wally, the words tumbling
+over one another in his haste. “Say you drive the kangaroo, ’n me the
+wallabies, ’n Jim the Orpington rooster, ’n we’ll give old Harry the
+tortoise—turloise, I beg pardon!”
+
+“Thanks,” said Harry dryly. “The tortoise scored once, you know, young
+Wally!”
+
+“Well, old man, you take him,” Wally said kindly. “Wouldn’t stand in
+your way for a moment. We can use harness, can’t we?”
+
+“Don’t know,” Jim said. “I never studied the rules of menagerie racing.
+Use bridles, anyhow. It’s a good idea, I think. Let’s see how many
+starters we can muster.”
+
+They cruised round. Dogs were barred as being too intelligent—horses
+were, of course, out of the question. Finally they fixed on the
+possible candidates. They were the kangaroo, the wallabies, a big black
+Orpington “rooster,” Fudge the parrot, Caesar the cockatoo, Mrs.
+Brown’s big yellow cat, Tim, and the “turloise.”
+
+“Eight,” said Harry laconically. The starters were all mustered in one
+enclosure, and were on the worst of terms. “We’ll need more jockeys—if
+you call ’em jockeys.”
+
+“Well, there’s black Billy,” Jim said; “he’s available, and he’ll drive
+whichever he’s told, and that’s a comfort. That’s five. And we’ll rouse
+out old Lee Wing, and Hogg, that’s a ripping idea, ’cause they hate
+each other so. Seven. Who’s eight? Oh, I know! We’ll get Mrs. Brown.”
+
+Mrs. Brown was accordingly bearded in her den and, protesting
+vigorously that she had no mind for racing, haled forth into the open.
+She was a huge woman, as good-natured as she was fat, which said a good
+deal. In her print dress, with enormous white apron and flapping sun
+bonnet, she looked as unlikely a “jockey” as could be imagined.
+
+Lee Wing, discovered in the onion bed, was presently brought to the
+scratch, despite his protests. He said he “couldn’t lun,” but was told
+that in all probability no running would be required of him. He also
+said “no can dlive” many times, and further remarked, “Allee same gleat
+bosh.” When he saw his arch enemy Hogg among the competitors his
+resentment was keen, and Wally was told off to restrain him from
+flight. Wally’s own idea was to tie him up by the pigtail, but this Jim
+was prudent enough to forbid.
+
+Hogg was, as Jim put it, rooting amongst the roses, and grunted freely
+on his way to the post. He could never refuse Norah anything, but this
+proceeding was much beneath his dignity, and the sight of Lee Wing did
+not tend to improve his view of the matter. He stood aloof, with a
+cold, proud smile, like a hero of melodrama.
+
+Black Billy was, of course, in the stables, and came with alacrity. He
+had not much English and that little was broken, but he worshipped the
+Linton children—Jim especially, and would obey him with the
+unquestioning obedience of a dog.
+
+“All here?” asked Jim, looking round. “Five, six, eight—that’s all
+serene. Now who’s going to drive who?”
+
+Opinions on that point were mixed. Every one wanted the kangaroo, and
+at last a general vote gave him to Norah. Wally chose one Wallaby. He
+said it was only natural, and made a further remark about the feelings
+of the others when “Wally and his wallaby should wallow by them” that
+was happily quenched by Harry, who adopted the simple plan of sitting
+on the orator. Harry secured the second wallaby, and black Billy was
+given the Orpington rooster as his steed. Mrs. Brown from the first
+applied for the tortoise. She said it meant less exertion, and she
+preferred to be slow and sure, without any risk of over-work. Hogg
+chose the yellow cat, Tim, and Lee Wing was given Caesar, the cockatoo.
+
+“Leaving old Fudge for me,” Jim said ruefully. “What sort of a chance
+do you think I’ve got? Never mind, I’m used to being suppressed.”
+
+“Good for you,” observed Harry. “Now, how about harness?”
+
+“Well, we’ll leave that to individual taste,” Jim said. “Here’s a ball
+of string, and there are plenty of light straps. Mrs. Brown—you’re the
+leading lady. How shall I harness your prancing steed for you?”
+
+“You will have your joke, Master Jim,” retorted Mrs. Brown, bridling
+and beaming. “Now, I don’t think I’ll harness my poor beastie at all.
+Give me a couple of sticks to keep his head the right way and to poke
+him gently, and we’ll beat you all yet!”
+
+Norah and the two boys fixed up fearful and wonderful harness for their
+nominations—collars of straps, and long string headpieces and reins.
+The animals objected strongly to being harnessed, and the process was
+most entertaining. Mrs. Brown was particularly appreciative, and at
+length in a paroxysm of mirth narrowly escaped sitting down on the
+tortoise.
+
+Black Billy’s harness was not extensive. He tied a string round the
+black Orpington’s leg, and retired to the stable for a few minutes,
+returning with a bulging pocket, the contents of which he did not
+communicate. Hogg did not attempt to bit and bridle the yellow cat,
+which was much annoyed at the whole proceeding. Instead he fixed up a
+collar and traces of string, and chose a long cane, more, he said, for
+purposes of defence than for anything else. Lee Wing and Jim harnessed
+their steeds in the same way—with a long string tied to each leg.
+
+“All ready?” Jim queried. “Toe the line!”
+
+The course was across a small paddock near the house—a distance of
+about thirty yards—and the competitors were ranged up with no little
+difficulty. Luckily, the line was a wide one, admitting of considerable
+space between each starter, or the send-off might have been
+inextricably confused. However, they were all arranged at last, and
+Jim, in a stentorian voice, gave the word to “Go.”
+
+As the signal was given, the drivers urged on their steeds according to
+their judgment, and with magnificent results.
+
+First to get off the line were the wallabies and the kangaroo. They
+fled, each his several way, and after them went their drivers, in great
+haste. The kangaroo had all the best of the start. So remarkable was
+his bound that he twitched his reins quite out of Norah’s hands, and
+made for the fence of the paddock. It was an open one, which let him
+through easily. The wallabies, seeing his shining success, followed his
+course, and midway managed to entangle their reins, at which Wally and
+Harry were wildly hauling. Confusion became disorder, and the wallabies
+at length reduced themselves to a tangle, out of which they had to be
+assisted by means of Harry’s pocket knife.
+
+Jim had no luck. The parrot went off well, but very soon seemed to
+regret his rashness and, despite all Jim’s endeavours, returned with
+solemnity to the start, where he paused and talked fluently in the
+mixed language that was all his own. In desperation Jim tried to pull
+him along, but Fudge simply walked round and round him, until he had
+exhausted his driver’s patience, and was “turned out.”
+
+The most spirited of the competitors were decidedly the cockatoo and
+Tim. They were panting for each other’s blood from the start, and
+before they had been urged over a quarter of the way they found an
+opportunity of warfare, and seized it simultaneously. Then the air grew
+murky with sound—cockatoo shrieks, mingled with cat calls and fluent
+Chinese, cutting across Hogg’s good, broad Scots. Naturally, the
+strings of the harness became fatally twisted immediately, and soon the
+combatants were bound together with a firmness which not all the
+efforts of their drivers could undo. A sudden movement of the pair made
+Lee Wing spring back hastily, whereupon he tripped and stumbled
+violently against Hogg.
+
+Hogg’s temper was at vanishing point, and this was the last straw.
+
+“Ye pig-tailed image!” he exclaimed furiously. Drawing back, he aimed a
+blow at Lee Wing, which would have effectively put that gentle
+Mongolian out of the race had he not dodged quickly. He shouted
+something in his own language, which was evidently of no complimentary
+nature, and hurled himself like a yellow tornado upon the angry
+Scotsman. They struck out at each other with all possible ill-will, but
+their science was much impeded by the fact that the cat and cockatoo
+were fighting fiercely amongst their legs. Finally Lee Wing tripped
+over Tim, and sat down abruptly, receiving as he did so an impassioned
+peck from Caesar which elicited from him a loud yell of anguish. Hogg,
+attempting to follow up his advantage, was checked suddenly by Jim, who
+left his parrot to its own devices, and arrived on the scene at full
+gallop.
+
+“You are a blessed pair of duffers!” said Jim wrathfully. “Look here,
+if father catches you fighting there’ll be the most awful row—and I’ll
+be in it too, what’s worse. Clear out, for goodness’ sake, before he
+comes along, and don’t get in each others’ road again!” and each
+nursing bitterness in his heart, the rival gardeners returned to their
+respective beds of roses and onions.
+
+Left to their own devices, the yellow cat and the cockatoo departed
+also, in a turmoil of wrath, with fur and feathers flying in equal
+proportions. Eventually Tim found discretion the better part of valour
+and scurried away to the safe shelter of the kitchen, pursued by Caesar
+with loud shrieks of defiance and victory—sounds of joyful triumph
+which lasted long after he had regained his perch and been securely
+fastened by the leg with his hated chain.
+
+Black Billy, meanwhile, had paid strict attention to business. The
+vagaries of wallabies and kangaroo, of cat and parrot and cockatoo, had
+no attraction for the dusky leader of the big black Orpington rooster.
+
+The Orpington—Jonah, Norah called him—was not inclined to race. He had
+tugged furiously at his leg rope, with much outcry and indignation,
+until Billy, finding himself alone, owing to the eccentric behaviour of
+the other starters, had resorted to different tactics by no means
+devoid of native cunning. Slackening the line, he suddenly produced
+from his pocket a few grains of wheat, and spread them temptingly
+before Jonah.
+
+Now Jonah was a tame bird. He was accustomed to being handled, and had
+only been indignant at the disgrace of bonds. This new departure was
+something he understood; so he gobbled up the wheat with alacrity and
+looked up inquiringly for more.
+
+“Right oh!” said Bffly, retiring a few steps down the track and
+bringing out another grain. Jonah sprang after it, and then was dazzled
+with the view of two lying yet a few yards farther off. So, feeding and
+coaxing, black Billy worked his unsuspecting steed across the little
+paddock.
+
+No one was near when he reached the winning post, to which he promptly
+tied Jonah, and, his purpose being accomplished, and no need of further
+bribery being necessary, sat down beside him and meditatively began to
+chew the remainder of his wheat. Jonah looked indignant, and poked
+round after more grains, an attention which Billy met with jeers and
+continued heartless mastication, until the Orpington gave up the quest
+in disgust, and retired to the limit of his tether. Billy sat quietly,
+with steadfast glittering eyes twinkling in his dusky face.
+
+“Hallo!” It was Jim’s voice. “Where are all the rest? D’you mean to say
+you’re the only one to get here?”
+
+Billy grinned silently.
+
+Sounds of mirth floated over the grass, and Norah, Harry and Wally
+raced up.
+
+“Where are your mokes?” queried Jim.
+
+“The good knights are dust,
+Their mokes are rust,”
+
+
+misquoted Wally cheerfully.
+
+“We don’t know, bless you. Cleared out, harness and all. We’ll have a
+wallaby and kangaroo hunt after this. Who’s won?”
+
+“Billy,” said Jim, indicating that sable hero. “In a common walk. Fed
+him over. All right, now, Billy, you catch-um kangaroo, wallaby—d’you
+hear?”
+
+Billy showed a set of amazingly white teeth in a broad grin, and
+departed swiftly and silently.
+
+“Where’s Lee Wing?”
+
+“Had to tear him off Hogg!” Jim grinned. “You never saw such a shindy.
+They’ve retired in bad order.”
+
+“Where’s Fudge?”
+
+“Left at the post!”
+
+“Where’s Mrs. Brown—and the tortoise?”
+
+“Great Scott!” Jim looked round blankly. “That never occurred to me.
+Where is she, I wonder?”
+
+The course was empty.
+
+“Tortoise got away with her!” laughed Wally.
+
+“H’m,” said Jim. “We’ll track her to her lair.”
+
+In her lair—the kitchen—Mrs. Brown was discovered, modestly hiding
+behind the door. The tortoise was on the table, apparently cheerful.
+
+“Poor dear pet!” said Mrs. Brown. “He wouldn’t run. I don’t think he
+was awake to the situation, Master Jim, dear, so I just carried him
+over—I didn’t think it mattered which way I ran—and my scones were in
+the oven! They’re just out—perhaps you’d all try them?”—this
+insinuatingly. “I don’t think this tortoise comes of a racing
+family!”—and the great menagerie race concluded happily in the kitchen
+in what Wally called “a hot buttered orgy.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+JIM’S IDEA
+
+
+Two hammocks, side by side, under a huge pine tree, swung lazily to and
+fro in the evening breeze. In them Norah and Harry rocked happily, too
+comfortable, as Norah said, to talk. They had all been out riding most
+of the day, and were happily tired. Tea had been discussed fully, and
+everything was exceedingly peaceful.
+
+Footsteps at racing speed sounded far off on the gravel of the front
+path—a wide sweep that ran round the broad lawn. There was a scatter of
+stones, and then a thud-thud over the grass to the pine trees—sounds
+that signalised the arrival of Jim and Wally, in much haste. Jim’s
+hurry was so excessive that he could not pull himself up in time to
+avoid Harry. He bumped violently into the hammock, with the natural
+result that Harry swung sharply against Norah, and for a moment things
+were rather mixed.
+
+“You duffer!” growled Harry, steadying his rocking bed. “Hurt you?
+“—this to Norah.
+
+“No, thanks,” Norah laughed. “What’s the matter with you two?”
+
+“Got an idea,” Wally gasped, fanning himself with a pine cone.
+
+“Hurt you?”
+
+“Rather. It’s always a shock for me to have an idea. Anyway this isn’t
+mine—it’s Jim’s.”
+
+“Oh.” Norah’s tone was more respectful. Jim’s ideas were not to be
+treated lightly as a rule. “Well, let’s hear it.”
+
+“Fishing,” Jim said laconically. “Let’s start out at the very daybreak,
+and get up the river to Anglers’ Bend. They say you can always get fish
+there. We’ll ride, and take Billy to carry the tucker and look for
+bait. Spend the whole blessed day, and come home with the mopokes. What
+do you chaps say?”
+
+“Grand idea!” Norah cried, giving her hammock an ecstatic swing. “We’ll
+have to fly round, though. Did you ask Dad?”
+
+“Yes, and he said we could go. It’s tucker that’s the trouble. I don’t
+know if we’re too late to arrange about any.”
+
+“Come and ask Mrs. Brown,” said Norah, flinging a pair of long black
+legs over the edge of the hammock. “She’ll fix us up if she can.”
+
+They tore off to the kitchen and arrived panting. Mrs. Brown was
+sitting in calm state on the kitchen verandah, and greeted them with a
+wide, expansive smile. Norah explained their need.
+
+Mrs. Brown pursed up her lips.
+
+“I haven’t anythink fancy, my dear,” she said slowly. “Only plum cake
+and scones, and there’s a nice cold tongue, and an apple pie. I’d like
+you to have tarts, but the fire’s out. Do you think you could manage?”
+
+Jim laughed.
+
+“I guess that’ll do, Mrs. Brown,” he said. “We’ll live like fighting
+cocks, and bring you home any amount of fish for breakfast. Don’t you
+worry about sandwiches, either—put in a loaf or two of bread, and a
+chunk of butter, and we’ll be right as rain.”
+
+“Then I’ll have it all packed for you first thing, Master Jim,” Mrs.
+Brown declared.
+
+“That’s ripping,” said the boys in a breath. “Come and find Billy.”
+
+Billy was dragged from the recesses of the stable. He grinned widely
+with joy at the prospect of the picnic.
+
+“All the ponies ready at five, Billy,” ordered Jim. “Yours too. We’re
+going to make a day of it—and we’ll want bait. Now, you chaps, come
+along and get lines and hooks ready!”
+
+
+“Whirr-r-r!”
+
+The alarm clock by Jim’s bedside shrieked suddenly in the first hint of
+daylight, and Jim sprang from his pillow with the alertness of a
+Jack-in-the-box, and grabbed the clock, to stop its further eloquence.
+He sat down on the edge of his bed, and yawned tremendously. At the
+other side of the room Harry slept peacefully. Nearer Wally’s black
+eyes twinkled for a moment, and hurriedly closed, apparently in deep
+slumber. He snored softly.
+
+“Fraud!” said Jim, with emphasis. He seized his pillow, and hurled it
+vigorously. It caught Wally on the face and stayed there, and beneath
+its shelter the victim still snored on serenely.
+
+Jim rose with deliberation and, seizing the bedclothes, gave a
+judicious pull, which ended in Wally’s suddenly finding himself on the
+floor. He clasped wildly at the blankets, but they were dragged from
+his reluctant grasp. Jim’s toe stirred him gently and at length he
+rose.
+
+“Beast!” he said miserably. “What on earth’s the good of getting up at
+this hour?”
+
+“Got to make an early start,” replied his host. “Come and stir up old
+Harry.”
+
+Harry was noted as a sleeper. Pillows hurled on top of him were as
+nought. The bedclothes were removed, but he turned on his side and
+slumbered like a little child.
+
+“And to think,” Wally said, “that that chap springs up madly when the
+getting-up bell rings once at school!”
+
+“School was never like this,” Jim grinned. “There’s the squirt, Wal.”
+
+The squirt was there; so was the jug of water, and a moment sufficed to
+charge the weapon. The nozzle was gently inserted into the sleeper’s
+pyjama collar, and in a moment the drenched and wrathful hero arose
+majestically from his watery pillow and, seizing his tormentors, banged
+their heads together with great effort.
+
+“You’re slow to wake, but no end of a terror when once you rouse up,”
+said Wally, ruefully rubbing his pate.
+
+“Goats!” said Harry briefly, rubbing his neck with a hard towel. “Come
+on and have a swim.”
+
+They tore down the hail, only pausing at Norah’s door while Jim ran in
+to wake her—a deed speedily accomplished by gently and firmly pressing
+a wet sponge upon her face. Then they raced to the lagoon, and in a few
+minutes were splashing and ducking in the water. They spent more time
+there than Jim had intended, their return being delayed by a spirited
+boat race between Harry’s slippers, conducted by Wally and Jim. By the
+time Harry had rescued his sopping footgear, the offenders were beyond
+pursuit in the middle of the lagoon, so he contented himself with
+annexing Jim’s slippers, in which he proudly returned to the house.
+Jim, arriving just too late to save his own, promptly “collared” those
+of Wally, leaving the last-named youth no alternative but to paddle
+home in the water-logged slippers—the ground being too rough and stony
+to admit of barefoot travelling.
+
+Norah, fresh from the bath, was prancing about the verandah in her
+kimono as the boys raced up to the house, her hair a dusky cloud about
+her face.
+
+“Not dressed?—you laziness!” Jim flung at her.
+
+“Well, you aren’t either,” was the merry retort.
+
+“No; but we’ve got no silly hair to brush!”
+
+“Pooh!—that won’t take me any time. Mrs. Brown’s up, Jim, and she says
+breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.”
+
+“Good old Brownie!” Jim ejaculated. “Can’t beat her, can you? D’you
+know if she’s got the swag packed?”
+
+“Everything’s packed, and she’s given it all to Billy, and it’s on old
+Polly by now.” Polly was the packhorse. “Such a jolly, big bundle—and
+everything covered over with cabbage leaves to keep it cool.”
+
+“Hooroo for Casey! Well, scurry and get dressed, old girl. I bet you
+keep us waiting at the last.”
+
+“I’m sure I won’t,” was the indignant answer, as Norah ran off through
+the hail. “Think of how much longer you take over your breakfast!”
+
+Ten minutes later breakfast smoked on the wide kitchen table, Mrs.
+Brown, like a presiding goddess, flourishing a big spoon by a
+frying-pan that sent up a savoury odour.
+
+“I’m sure I hope you’ll all kindly excuse having it in here,” she said
+in pained tones. “No use to think of those lazy hussies of girls having
+the breakfast-room ready at this hour. So I thought as how you wouldn’t
+mind.”
+
+“Mind!—not much, Mrs. Brown,” Jim laughed. “You’re too good to us
+altogether. Eggs and bacon! Well, you are a brick! Cold tucker would
+have done splendidly for us.”
+
+“Cold, indeed!—not if I know it—and you precious lambs off for such a
+ride, and going to be hot weather and all,” said the breathless Mrs.
+Brown indignantly. “Now, you just eat a good breakfast, Miss Norah, my
+love. I’ve doughnuts here, nearly done, nice and puffy and brown, just
+as you like them, so hurry up and don’t let your bacon get cold.”
+
+There was not, indeed, much chance for the bacon, which disappeared in
+a manner truly alarming, while its fate was speedily shared by the huge
+pile of crisp doughnuts which Mrs. Brown presently placed upon the
+table with a flourish.
+
+“We don’t get things like this at school!” Wally said regretfully,
+pausing for an instant before his seventh.
+
+“All the more reason you should eat plenty now,” said their
+constructor, holding the doughnuts temptingly beneath his nose. “Come
+now, dearie, do eat something!” and Wally bashfully recommenced his
+efforts.
+
+“How’s Billy getting on?” Jim inquired.
+
+“Billy’s in the back kitchen, Master Jim, my love, and you’ve no call
+to worry your head about him, He’s had three plates of bacon and five
+eggs, and most like by this time he’s finished all his doughnuts and
+drunk his coffee-pot dry. That black image will eat anythink,”
+concluded Mrs. Brown solemnly.
+
+“Well, I can’t eat anything more, anyhow,” Jim declared. “How we’re all
+going to ride fifteen miles beats me. If we sleep all day, instead of
+catching fish for you, you’ve only got yourself to blame, Mrs. Brown.”
+Whereat Mrs. Brown emitted fat and satisfied chuckles, and the meeting
+broke up noisily, and rushed off to find its hats.
+
+Six ponies in a line against the stable yard fence—Bobs, with an eye
+looking round hopefully for Norah and sugar; Mick, most feather-headed
+of chestnuts, and Jim’s especial delight; Topsy and Barcoo, good useful
+station ponies, with plenty of fun, yet warranted not to break the
+necks of boy-visitors; Bung Eye, a lean piebald, that no one but black
+Billy ever thought of riding; next to him old Polly, packed securely
+with the day’s provisions. Two fishing-rods stuck out from her bundles,
+and a big bunch of hobbles jingled as she moved.
+
+There was nothing in the saddles to distinguish Norah’s mount, for she,
+too, rode astride. Mr. Linton had a rooted dislike to side saddles, and
+was wont to say he preferred horses with sound withers and a daughter
+whose right hip was not higher than her left. So Norah rode on a dainty
+little hunting saddle like Jim’s, her habit being a neat divided skirt,
+which had the double advantage of looking nice on horseback, and having
+no bothersome tail to hold up when off.
+
+The boys were dressed without regard to appearances—loose old coats and
+trousers, soft shirts and leggings. Red-striped towels, peeping out of
+Polly’s packs, indicated that Jim had not forgotten the possibilities
+of bathing which the creek afforded. A tin teapot jangled cheerfully
+against a well-used black billy.
+
+“All right, you chaps?” Jim ran his eye over the ponies and their gear.
+“Better have a look at your girths. Come along.”
+
+Norah was already in the saddle, exulting over the fact that, in spite
+of Jim’s prophecy that she would be late, she was the first to be
+mounted. Bobs was prancing happily, infected with the gaiety of the
+moment, the sweet morning air and sunshine, and the spirit of mirth
+that was everywhere. Mick joined him in capering, as Jim swung himself
+into the saddle. Billy, leading Polly, and betraying an evident
+distaste for a task which so hampered the freedom of his movements,
+moved off down the track.
+
+Just as Wally and Harry mounted, a tall figure in pyjamas appeared at
+the gate of the back yard.
+
+“There’s Dad!” Norah cried gleefully, cantering up to him. The boys
+followed.
+
+“Had to get up to see the last of you,” Mr. Linton said; “not much
+chance of sleeping anyhow, with you rowdy people about.”
+
+“Did we wake you, Dad?—sorry.”
+
+“Very sorry, aren’t you?” Mr. Linton laughed at the merry face. “Well,
+take care of yourselves; remember, Norah’s in your charge, Jim, and all
+the others in yours, Norah! Keep an eye to your ponies, and don’t let
+them stray too far, even if they are hobbled. And mind you bring me
+home any amount of fish, Harry and Wal.”
+
+“We will, sir,” chorused the boys.
+
+Norah leant from her saddle and slipped an arm round her father’s neck.
+
+“Good-bye, Dad, dear.”
+
+“Good-bye, my little girl. Be careful—don’t forget.” Mr. Linton kissed
+her fondly. “Well, you’re all in a hurry—and so am I, to get back to
+bed! So-long, all of you. Have a good time.”
+
+“So-long!” The echoes brought back the merry shout as the six ponies
+disappeared round the bend in the track.
+
+Down the track to the first gate helter-skelter—Billy, holding it open,
+showed his white teeth in a broad grin as the merry band swept through.
+Then over the long grass of the broad paddock, swift hoofs shaking off
+the dewdrops that yet hung sparkling in the sunshine. Billy plodded far
+behind with the packhorse, envy in his heart and discontent with the
+fate that kept him so far in the rear, compelled to progress at the
+tamest of jogs.
+
+The second paddock traversed, they passed through the sliprails into a
+bush paddock known as the Wide Plain. It was heavily timbered towards
+one end, where the river formed its boundary, but towards the end at
+which they entered was almost cleared, only a few logs lying here and
+there, and occasionally a tall dead tree.
+
+“What a place for a gallop!” said Harry. His quiet face was flushed and
+his eyes sparkling.
+
+“Look at old Harry!” jeered Wally. “He’s quite excited. Does your
+mother know you’re out, Hal?”
+
+“I’ll punch you, young Wally,” retorted Harry. “Just you be civil. But
+isn’t it a splendid place? Why, there’s a clear run for a mile, I
+should say.”
+
+“More than that,” Jim answered. “We’ve often raced here.”
+
+“Oh!” Norah’s eyes fairly danced. “Let’s have a race now!”
+
+“Noble idea!” exclaimed Wally.
+
+“Well, it’ll have to be a handicap to make it fair,” Jim said. “If we
+start level, Norah’s pony can beat any of the others, and I think Mick
+can beat the other two. At any rate we’ll give you fellows a start, and
+Norah must give me one.”
+
+“I don’t care,” Norah said gleefully, digging her heel into Bobs, with
+the result that that animal suddenly executed a bound in mid-air.
+“Steady, you duffer; I didn’t mean any offence, Bobsie dear,” She
+patted his neck.
+
+“I should think you wouldn’t care,” Jim said. “Best pony and lightest
+weight! You ought to be able to leave any of us miles behind, so we’ll
+give you a beautiful handicap, young woman!”
+
+“Where’s the winning post?” Harry asked.
+
+“See that big black tree—the one just near the boundary fence, I mean?
+It’s a few chains from the fence, really. We’ll finish there,” Jim
+replied.
+
+“Come on, then,” said Norah, impatiently. “Get on ahead, Harry and
+Wally; you’ll have to sing out ‘Go!’ Jim, and sing it out loud, ’cause
+we’ll be ever so far apart.”
+
+“Right oh!” Jim said. “Harry, clear on a good way; you’re the heaviest.
+Pull up when I tell you; you too, Wal.” He watched the two boys ride on
+slowly, and sang out to them to stop when he considered they had
+received a fair start. Then he rode on himself until he was midway
+between Wally and Norah, Harry some distance ahead of the former. The
+ponies had an inkling of what was in the wind, and were dancing with
+impatience.
+
+“Now then, Norah,”—Jim flung a laughing look over his shoulder—“no
+cribbing there!”
+
+“I’m not!” came an indignant voice.
+
+“All right—don’t! Ready every one? Then—go!” As the word “Go” left
+Jim’s lips the four ponies sprang forward sharply, and a moment later
+were in full gallop over the soft springy turf. It was an ideal place
+for a race—clear ground, covered with short soft grass, well eaten off
+by the sheep—no trees to bar the way, and over all a sky of the
+brightest blue, flecked by tiny, fleecy cloudlets.
+
+They tore over the paddock, shouting at the ponies laughing, hurling
+defiance at each other. At first Harry kept his lead; but weight will
+tell, and presently Wally was almost level with him, with Jim not far
+behind. Bobs had not gone too well at first—he was too excited to get
+thoroughly into his stride, and had spent his time in dancing when he
+should have been making up his handicap.
+
+When, however, he did condescend to gallop, the distance that separated
+him from the other ponies was rapidly overhauled. Norah, leaning
+forward in her stirrups, her face alight with eagerness, urged him on
+with voice and hand—she rarely, if ever touched him with a whip at any
+time. Quickly she gained on the others; now Harry was caught and
+passed, even as Jim caught Wally and deprived him of the lead he had
+gaily held for some time. Wally shouted laughing abuse at him, flogging
+his pony on the while.
+
+Now Norah was neck and neck with Wally, and slowly she drew past him
+and set sail after Jim. That she could beat him she knew very well, but
+the question was, was there time to catch him? The big tree which
+formed the winning post was very near now. “Scoot, Bobsie, dear!”
+whispered Norah unconscious of the fact that she was saying anything
+unmaidenly. At any rate, Bobs understood, for he went forward with a
+bound. They were nearly level with Jim now—Wally, desperately flogging,
+close in the rear.
+
+At that moment Jim’s pony put his foot into a hole, and went down like
+a shot rabbit, bowling over and over, Jim flung like a stone out of a
+catapult, landed some distance ahead of the pony. He, too, rolled for a
+moment, and then lay still.
+
+It seemed to Norah that she pulled Bobs up almost in his stride.
+Certainly she was off before he had fairly slackened to a walk,
+throwing herself wildly from the saddle. She tore up to Jim—Jim, who
+lay horribly still.
+
+“Jim—dear Jim!” she cried. She took his head on her knee. “Jim—oh, Jim,
+do speak to me!”
+
+There was no sound. The boy lay motionless, his tanned face strangely
+white. Harry, coming up, jumped off, and ran to his side.
+
+“Is he hurt much?”
+
+“I don’t know—no, don’t you say he’s hurt much—he couldn’t be, in such
+a second! Jim—dear—speak, old chap!” A big sob rose in her throat, and
+choked her at the heavy silence. Harry took Jim’s wrist in his hand,
+and felt with fumbling fingers for the pulse. Wally, having pulled his
+pony up with difficulty, came tearing back to the little group.
+
+“Is he killed?” he whispered, awestruck.
+
+A little shiver ran through Jim’s body. Slowly he opened his eyes, and
+stretched himself.
+
+“What’s up?” he said weakly. “Oh, I know.... Mick?”
+
+“He’s all right, darling,” Norah said, with a quivering voice. “Are you
+hurt much?”
+
+“Bit of a bump on my head,” Jim said, struggling to a sitting position.
+He rubbed his forehead. “What’s up, Norah?” For the brown head had gone
+down on his knee and the shoulders were shaking.
+
+Jim patted her head very gently.
+
+“You dear old duffer,” he said tenderly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+ANGLERS’ BEND
+
+
+Jim’s “bump on the head” luckily proved not very serious. A
+handkerchief, soaked in the creek by Wally, who rode there and back at
+a wild gallop, proved an effective bandage applied energetically by
+Harry, who had studied “first-aid” in an ambulance class. Ten minutes
+of this treatment, however, proved as much as Jim’s patience would
+stand, and at the end of that time he firmly removed the handkerchief,
+and professed himself cured.
+
+“Nothing to make a fuss about, anyhow,” he declared, in answer to
+sympathetic inquiries. “Head’s a bit ‘off,’ but nothing to grumble at.
+It’ll be all right, if we ride along steadily for a while. I don’t
+think I’ll do any more racing just now though, thank you!”
+
+“Who won that race?” queried Harry, laughing. The spirits of the little
+party, from being suddenly at zero, had gone up with a bound.
+
+“Blessed if I know,” said Jim. “I only know I was leading until Mick
+ended matters for me.”
+
+“I led after that, anyhow,” said Wally. “Couldn’t pull my beauty up, he
+was so excited by Mick’s somersault.”
+
+“I’d have won, in the long run!” Norah said. There were still traces of
+tears in her eyes, but her face was merry enough. She was riding very
+close to Jim.
+
+“Yes, I think you would,” Jim answered; “you and Bobs were coming up
+like a hurricane last time I looked round. Never mind, we’ll call it
+anybody’s race and have it over again sometime.”
+
+They rode along for a few miles, keeping close to the river, which
+wound in and out, fringed with a thick belt of scrub, amongst which
+rose tall red-gum trees. Flights of cockatoos screamed over their
+heads, and magpies gurgled in the thick shades by the water.
+Occasionally came the clear whistle of a lyre bird or the peal of a
+laughing jackass. Jim knew all the bird-notes, as well as the signs of
+bush game, and pointed them out as they rode. Once a big wallaby showed
+for an instant, and there was a general outcry and a plunge in pursuit,
+but the wallaby was too quick for them, and found a safe hiding-place
+in the thickest of the scrub, where the ponies could not follow.
+
+“We cross the creek up here,” Jim said, “and make ’cross country a bit.
+It saves several miles.”
+
+“How do you cross? Bridge?” queried Wally.
+
+“Bridge!—don’t grow such things in this part of the world,” laughed
+Jim. “No, there’s a place where it’s easy enough to ford, a little way
+up. There are plenty of places fordable, if you only know them, on this
+creek; but a number of them are dangerous, because of deep holes and
+boggy places. Father lost a good horse in one of those bogs, and to
+look at the place you’d only have thought it a nice level bit of grassy
+ground.”
+
+“My word!” Wally whistled. “What a bit of hard luck!”
+
+“Yes, it was, rather,” Jim said. “It made us careful about crossing, I
+can tell you. Even the men look out since Harry Wilson got bogged
+another time, trying to get over after a bullock. Of course he wouldn’t
+wait to go round, and he had an awful job to get his horse out of the
+mud—it’s something like a quicksand. After that father had two or three
+good crossings made very plain and clear, and whenever a new man is put
+on they’re explained to him. See, there’s one now.”
+
+They came suddenly on a gap in the scrub, leading directly to the
+creek, which was, indeed, more of a river than a creek, and in winter
+ran in a broad, rapid stream. Even in summer it ran always, though the
+full current dwindled to a trickling, sluggish streamlet, with here and
+there a deep, quiet pool, where the fish lay hidden through the long
+hot days.
+
+All the brushwood and trees had been cleared away, leaving a broad
+pathway to the creek. At the edge of the gap a big board, nailed to a
+tall tree, bore the word FORD in large letters. Farther on, between the
+trees, a glimpse of shining water caught the eye.
+
+“That’s the way father’s had all the fords marked,” Norah said. “He
+says it’s no good running risks for the sake of a little trouble.”
+
+“Dad’s always preaching that,” Jim observed. “He says people are too
+fond of putting up with makeshifts, that cost ever so much more time
+and trouble than it does to do a thing thoroughly at the start. So he
+always makes us do a thing just as well as we know how, and there’s no
+end of rows if he finds any one ‘half doing’ a job. ‘Begin well and
+finish better,’ he says. My word, it gives you a lesson to see how he
+fixes a thing himself.”
+
+“Dear old Dad,” said Norah softly, half to herself.
+
+“I think your father’s just splendid,” Harry said enthusiastically. “He
+does give you a good time, too.”
+
+“Yes, I know he does,” Jim said. “I reckon he’s the best man that ever
+lived! All the same, he doesn’t mean to give me a good time always.
+When I leave school I’ve got to work and make my own living, with just
+a start from him. He says he’s not going to bring any boy up to be a
+loafer.” Jim’s eyes grew soft. “I mean to show him I can work, too,” he
+said.
+
+They were at the water’s edge, and the ponies gratefully put their
+heads down for a drink of the cool stream that clattered and danced
+over its stony bed. After they had finished, Jim led the way through
+the water, which was only deep enough to wash the ponies’ knees. When
+they had climbed the opposite bank, a wide, grassy plain stretched
+before them.
+
+“We cut across here,” Norah explained, “and pick up the creek over
+there—that saves a good deal.”
+
+“Does Billy know this cut?” Harry queried.
+
+“What doesn’t Billy know?” Norah laughed. “Come along.”
+
+They cantered slowly over the grass, remembering that Jim was scarcely
+fit yet for violent exercise, though he stoutly averred that his
+accident had left no traces whatever. The sun was getting high and it
+was hot, away from the cool shade near the creek. Twice a hare bounded
+off in the grass, and once Harry jumped off hurriedly and killed a big
+brown snake that was lazily sunning itself upon a broad log.
+
+“I do hate those beasts!” he said, remounting. Norah had held his pony
+for him.
+
+“So do I,” she nodded; “only one gets used to them. Father found one on
+his pillow the other night.”
+
+“By George!” Harry said. “Did he kill it?”
+
+“Yes, rather. They are pretty thick here, especially a bit earlier than
+this. One got into the kitchen through the window, by the big vine that
+grows outside, and when Mrs. Brown pulled down the blind it came,
+too—it was on the roller. That was last Christmas, and Mrs. Brown says
+she’s shaking still!”
+
+“Snakes are rummy things,” Harry observed. “Ever hear that you can
+charm them with music?”
+
+“I’ve heard it,” Norah said quaintly. Her tone implied that it was a
+piece of evidence she did not accept on hearsay.
+
+“Well, I believe it’s true. Last summer a whole lot of us were out on
+the verandah, and there was plenty of laughing and talking going on—a
+snake wouldn’t crawl into a rowdy group like that for the fun of it,
+now, would he? It was Christmas day, and my little brother Phil—he’s
+six—had found a piccolo in his stocking, and he was sitting on the end
+of the verandah playing away at this thing. We thought it was a bit of
+a row, but Phil was quite happy. Presently my sister Vera looked at
+him, and screamed out, ‘Why, there’s a snake!’
+
+“So there was, and it was just beside Phil. It had crawled up between
+the verandah boards, and was lying quietly near the little chap,
+looking at him stealthily—he was blowing away, quite unconcerned. We
+didn’t know what to do for a moment, for the beastly thing was so near
+Phil that we didn’t like to hit it for fear we missed and it bit him.
+However, Phil solved the difficulty by getting up and walking off,
+still playing the piccolo. The snake never stirred when he did—and you
+may be sure it didn’t get much chance to stir after. Three sticks came
+down on it at the same time.”
+
+“I say!” Norah breathed quickly. “What an escape for poor Phil!”
+
+“Wasn’t it? He didn’t seem to care a bit when we showed him the snake
+and told him it had been so near him—he hadn’t known a thing about it.
+‘Can’t be bovvered wiv snakes,’ was all he said.”
+
+“When I was a little kiddie,” Norah said, “they found me playing with a
+snake one day.”
+
+“Playing with it?” Harry echoed.
+
+“Yes; I was only about two, and I don’t remember anything about it. Dad
+came on to the back verandah, and saw me sitting by a patch of dust,
+stroking something. He couldn’t make out what it was at first, and then
+he came a bit nearer, and saw that it was a big snake. It was lying in
+the dust sunning itself, and I was stroking it most kindly.”
+
+“By George!” said Harry.
+
+“Funny what things kiddies will do!” said Norah, with all the
+superiority of twelve long years. “It frightened Dad tremendously. He
+didn’t know what to do, ’cause he didn’t dare come near or call out. I
+s’pose the snake saw him, ’cause it began to move. It crawled right
+over my bare legs.”
+
+“And never bit you?”
+
+“No; I kept on stroking its back as it went over my knees, without the
+least idea that it was anything dangerous. Dad said it seemed years and
+years before it went right over and crawled away from me into the
+grass. He had me out of the way in about half a second, and got a
+stick, and I cried like anything when he killed it, and said he was
+naughty!”
+
+“If you chaps have finished swopping snake yarns,” said Jim, turning in
+his saddle, “there’s Anglers’ Bend.”
+
+They had been riding steadily across the plain, until they had again
+come near the scrub-line which marked the course of the creek.
+Following the direction pointed by Jim’s finger, they saw a deep curve
+in the green, where the creek suddenly left the fairly straight course
+it had been pursuing and made two great bends something like a capital
+U, the points of which lay in their direction. They rode down between
+them until they were almost at the water’s edge.
+
+Here the creek was very deep, and in sweeping round had cut out a wide
+bed, nearly three times its usual breadth. Tall trees grew almost to
+the verge of the banks on both sides, so that the water was almost
+always in shadow, while so high were the banks that few breezes were
+able to ripple its surface. It lay placid all the year, scarcely
+troubled even in winter, when the other parts of the creek rushed and
+tumbled in flood. There was room in the high banks of Anglers’ Bend for
+all the extra water, and its presence was only marked by the strength
+of the current that ran in the very centre of the stream.
+
+Just now the water was not high, and seemed very far below the
+children, who sat looking at it from their ponies on the bank. As they
+watched in silence a fish leaped in the middle of the Bend. The sudden
+movement seemed amazing in the stillness. It flashed for an instant in
+a patch of sunlight, and then fell back, sending circling ripples
+spreading to each bank.
+
+“Good omen, I hope,” Harry said, “though they often don’t bite when
+they jump, you know.”
+
+“It’s not often they don’t bite here,” Jim said.
+
+“Well, it looks a good enough place for anything—if we can’t catch fish
+here, we won’t be up to much as anglers,” Harry said.
+
+“You’ve been here before, haven’t you, Norah?” Wally asked.
+
+“Oh, yes; ever so many times.”
+
+“Father and Norah have great fishing excursions on their own,” said
+Jim. “They take a tent and camp out for two or three days with Billy as
+general flunkey. I don’t know how many whales they haven’t caught at
+this place. They know the Bend as well as any one.”
+
+“Well, I guess we’d better take off the saddles and get to work,” said
+Norah, slipping off Bobs and patting his neck before undoing the girth.
+The boys followed her example and soon the saddles were safely stowed
+in the shade. Then Jim turned with a laugh.
+
+“Well, we are duffers,” he said. “Can’t do a thing till Billy turns up.
+He’s got all the hooks and lines, all the bait, all the hobbles, all
+the everything!”
+
+“Whew-w!” whistled the boys.
+
+“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Norah said cheerfully. “There’s lots to do.
+We can hang up the ponies while we hunt for rods. You boys have got
+your strong knives, haven’t you?”
+
+They had, and immediately scattered to work. The ponies having been
+tied securely under a grove of saplings, the search for rods began, and
+soon four long straight sticks were obtained with the necessary amount
+of “springiness.” Then they hunted for a suitable camping-ground, where
+lunch might be eaten without too much disturbance from flies and
+mosquitoes, and gathered a good supply of dry sticks for a fire.
+
+“Billy ought to bless us, anyhow,” Jim grinned.
+
+“Yes, oughtn’t he? Come along and see if he’s coming.” They ran out
+upon the plain, and cheerful exclamations immediately proclaimed the
+fact that Billy and the old packhorse had at length made their
+appearance in what Wally called the “offing.”
+
+Billy soon clattered up to the little party, the hobbles and quart pot
+jingling cheerfully on old Polly’s back. He grinned amiably at the four
+merry faces awaiting him in the shade of a wattle tree.
+
+“This feller pretty slow,” he said, indicating Polly with a jerk of his
+thumb. “You all waitin’ for tackle?”
+
+“Rather,” said Jim. “Never mind, we’ve got everything ready. Look sharp
+and shy down the hooks, Billy—they’re in that tin, and the lines are
+tied on to it, in a parcel. That’s right,” as the black boy tossed the
+tackle down and he caught it deftly. “Now, you chaps, get to work, and
+get your lines ready.”
+
+“Right oh!” said the chorus, as it fell to work. Billy made a swift
+incursion into the interior of the pack, and fished up a tin of worms
+and some raw meat, Wally being the only one to patronize the latter.
+The other three baited their hooks with worms, and, all being in
+readiness, made their way down the steep bank at a place where a little
+cleft gave easier access to a tiny shelving beach below. Here a great
+tree-trunk had long ago been left by an unusually high flood, and
+formed a splendid place to fish from, as it jutted out for some
+distance over the stream. Norah scrambled out like a cat to its
+farthest extremity, and Harry followed her for part of the way. Wally
+and Jim settled themselves at intervals along the trunk. Sinkers,
+floats and baits were examined, and the business of the day began.
+
+Everybody knows how it feels to fish. You throw in your hook with such
+blissful certainty that no fish can possibly resist the temptation you
+are dangling before its eyes. There is suppressed excitement all over
+you. You are all on the alert, feeling for imaginary nibbles, for bites
+that are not there. Sometimes, of course, the dreams come true, and the
+bites are realities; but these occasions are sadly outnumbered by the
+times when you keep on feeling and bobbing your line vainly, while
+excitement lulls to expectation, and expectation merges into hope, and
+hope becomes wishing, and wishing often dies down to disappointment.
+
+Such was the gradual fate of the fishing party at Anglers’ Bend. At
+first the four floats were watched with an intensity of regard that
+should surely have had some effect in luring fishes to the surface; but
+as the minutes dragged by and not a fish seemed inclined even to
+nibble, the solemn silence which had brooded on the quartet was broken
+by sundry fidgetings and wrigglings and suppressed remarks on the
+variableness of fish and the slowness of fishing. Men enjoy the sport,
+because they can light their pipes and smoke in expectant ease; but the
+consolation of tobacco was debarred from boys who were, as Jim put it,
+“too young to smoke and too old to make idiots of themselves by trying
+it,” and so they found it undeniably dull.
+
+Billy came down to join the party presently, after he had seen to his
+horses and unpacked old Polly’s load. His appearance gave Jim a
+brilliant idea, and he promptly despatched the black boy for cake,
+which proved a welcome stimulant to flagging enthusiasm.
+
+“Don’t know if fish care about cake crumbs,” said Harry, finishing a
+huge slice with some regret.
+
+“Didn’t get a chance of sampling any of mine,” Wally laughed; “I wanted
+it all myself. Hallo!”
+
+“What is it—a bite?”
+
+“Rather—such a whopper! I’ve got it, too,” Wally gasped, tugging at his
+line.
+
+“You’ve got it, right enough,” Jim said. “Why, your rod’s bending right
+over. Want a hand?”
+
+“No, thanks—manage it myself,” said the fisherman, tugging manfully.
+“Here she comes!”
+
+The line came in faster now, and the strain on the rod was plain.
+Excitement ran high.
+
+“It’s a great big perch, I do believe,” Norah exclaimed. “Just fancy,
+if it beats Dad’s big boomer—the biggest ever caught here.”
+
+“It’ll beat some records,” Wally gasped, hauling in frantically. “Here
+she comes!”
+
+“She” came, with a final jerk. Jim broke into a suppressed shout of
+laughter. For Wally’s catch was nothing less than an ancient, mud-laden
+boot!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+A BUSH FIRE
+
+
+Wally disentangled his hook gravely, while the others would have
+laughed more heartily but for fear of frightening the fish.
+
+“Well, I’m blessed!” said the captor at length, surveying the prize
+with his nose in the air. “A blooming old boot! Been there since the
+year one, I should think, by the look of it.”
+
+“I thought you had a whale at the very least,” grinned Harry.
+
+“Well, I’ve broken my duck, anyhow, and that’s more than any of you
+others can say!” Wally laughed. “Time enough for you to grin when
+you’ve caught something yourselves—even if it’s only an old boot! It’s
+a real old stager and no mistake. I wonder how it came in here.”
+
+“Some poor old beggar of a swaggie, I expect,” Jim said. “He didn’t
+chuck it away until it was pretty well done, did he? Look at the holes
+in the uppers—and there’s no sole left to speak of.”
+
+“Do you see many tramps here?” Harry asked.
+
+“Not many—we’re too far from a road,” Jim replied. “Of course there are
+a certain number who know of the station, and are sure of getting
+tucker there—and a job if they want one—not that many of them do, the
+lazy beggars. Most of them would be injured if you asked them to chop a
+bit of wood in return for a meal, and some of them threaten to set the
+place on fire if they don’t get all they want.”
+
+“My word!” said Wally. “Did they ever do it?”
+
+“Once—two years ago,” Jim answered. “A fellow came one hot evening in
+January. We’d had a long spell of heat, and all our meat had gone bad
+that day; there was hardly a bit in the place, and of course they
+couldn’t kill a beast till evening. About the middle of the day this
+chap turned up and asked for tucker.
+
+“Mrs. Brown gave him bread and flour and tea and some cake—a real good
+haul for any swaggie. It was too good for this fellow, for he
+immediately turned up his proud nose and said he wanted meat. Mrs.
+Brown explained that she hadn’t any to give him; but he evidently
+didn’t believe her, said it was our darned meanness and, seeing no men
+about, got pretty insulting. At last he tried to force his way past
+Mrs. Brown into the kitchen.”
+
+“Did he get in?” asked Wally.
+
+“Nearly—not quite, though. Dad and Norah and I had been out riding, and
+we came home, past the back yard, in the nick of time. We couldn’t hear
+what the fellow was saying to Mrs. Brown, but his attitude was enough
+to make us pull up, and as we did so we saw him try to shove her aside.
+She was plucky enough and banged the door in his face, but he got his
+foot in the crack, so that it couldn’t shut, and began to push it open.
+
+“Dad slipped off his horse gently. He made a sign to us to keep quiet
+and went across the yard, and we saw him shake the lash of his
+stockwhip loose. You can just fancy how Norah and I were dancing with
+joy!
+
+“Dad was just near the verandah when we saw the door give. Poor old
+Brownie was getting the worst of it. We heard the fellow call out
+something—a threat—and Dad’s arm went up, and the stockwhip came down
+like a flash across the man’s shoulder He gave one yell! You never
+heard such an amazed and terrified roar in your life!” and Jim chuckled
+with joy at the recollection.
+
+“He turned on Dad and jumped at him, but he got another one with the
+whip that made him pause, and then Dad caught him and shook him like a
+rat. Mr. Swaggie was limp enough when it was over.
+
+“‘I’ve a very good mind to give you in charge!’ Dad said—he was simply
+furious. It made a fellow feel pretty bad to see poor old Brownie’s
+white face in the doorway, and to think what a fright she had had.
+
+“The swaggie turned a very ugly look on Dad.
+
+“‘You give me in charge, and I’ll precious quick have you up for
+assault!’ he said.
+
+“Dad laughed.
+
+“‘As for that, you can do exactly as you choose,’ he said. ‘I’ll be
+quite ready to answer for thrashing a cur like you. However, you’re not
+worth carting seventeen miles to Cunjee, so you can go—the quicker the
+better.”
+
+“And he cleared, I suppose?” Wally asked.
+
+“He just did—went like a redshank. But when he got outside the gate and
+a bit away he stopped and turned round and let fly at Dad—such a volley
+of threats and abuse you never heard. It finished up with something
+about the grass; we didn’t quite understand what; but we remembered it
+later, and then it was clearer to us. However, he didn’t stop to
+explain, as Dad turned the dogs loose. They lost no time, and neither
+did the swaggie. He left the place at about the rate of a mile a
+minute!”
+
+Jim paused.
+
+“Thought I had a bite,” he said, pulling up his line. “Bother it! The
+bait’s gone! Chuck me a worm, young Wally.” He impaled the worm and
+flung his line out again.
+
+“Where was I? Oh, yes. Norah and I were a bit scared about the swaggie,
+and wondered what he’d try to do; but Dad only laughed at us. It never
+entered his head that the brute would really try to have his revenge.
+Of course it would have been easy enough to have had him watched off
+the place, but Dad didn’t even think of it. He knows better now.
+
+“I waked up early next morning hearing someone yelling outside. It was
+only just light. I slipped out of my window and ran into the yard, and
+the first thing I saw was smoke. It was coming from the west, a great
+cloud of it, with plenty of wind to help it along. It was one of those
+hot autumn mornings—you know the kind. Make you feel anyhow.”
+
+“Who was yelling?” asked Harry.
+
+“One of Morrison’s men—he owns the land adjoining ours. This fellow was
+coo-eeing for all he was worth.
+
+“‘You’d better rouse your men out quick ’n lively,’ he sang out.
+‘There’s a big grass fire between us and you. All our chaps are workin’
+at it; but I don’t fancy they can keep it back in this wind.’
+
+“I just turned and ran.
+
+“The big bell we use for summoning the men to their meals hangs under
+the kitchen verandah and I made a bee-line for it. There seemed plenty
+of rocks and bits of glass about, and my bare feet got ’em all—at least
+I thought so—but there wasn’t time to think much. Morrison’s chap had
+galloped off as soon as he gave his news. I caught hold of the
+bell-pull and worked it all I knew!
+
+“You should have seen them tumble out! In about half a minute the place
+was like a jumpers’ nest that you’ve stirred up with a stick. Dad came
+out of the back door in his pyjamas, Norah came scudding along the
+verandah, putting on her kimono as she ran, Brownie and the other
+servants appeared at their windows, and the men came tumbling out of
+the barracks and the hut like so many rabbits.
+
+“Dad was annoyed.
+
+“‘What are you doing, you young donkey?’ he sang out.
+
+“‘Look over there!’ I says, tugging the bell.
+
+“Dad looked. It didn’t take him long to see what was up when he spied
+that big cloud of smoke.
+
+“‘Great Scott!’ he shouted. ‘Jim, get Billy to run the horses up. Where
+are you all? Burrows, Field, Henry! Get out the water-cart—quick. All
+of you get ready fire-beaters. Dress yourselves—quickly!’ (You could
+see that was quite an afterthought on Dad’s part.) Then he turned and
+fled inside to dress.”
+
+“How ripping!” Wally said, wriggling on the log with joy.
+
+“Ripping, do you call it?” said Jim indignantly. “You try it for
+yourself, young Wally, and see. Fire’s not much of a joke when you’re
+fighting it yourself, I can tell you. Well, Dad was out again in about
+two shakes, ready for the fray, and you can bet the rest of us didn’t
+linger long. Billy had the horses up almost as soon, and every one got
+his own. Things were a bit merry in the stockyard, I can tell you, and
+heels did fly.
+
+“After all, Norah here was the first mounted. Bobs was in the stable,
+you see, and Norah had him saddled before any of us had put our bridles
+on. Goodness knows how she dressed. I guess it wasn’t much of a
+toilet!”
+
+Jim ducked suddenly, and a chip hurled by Norah flew over his head and
+splashed into the water.
+
+“Get out—you’ll frighten the fish!” he said, grinning. “My yarn, old
+girl.”
+
+“Might have had the sense to keep me out of it,” said Norah impolitely.
+
+“You be jiggered,” said Jim affectionately. “Anyhow, boys, you should
+have seen Dad’s face when Norah trotted over from the stable. He was
+just girthing up old Bosun, and I was wrestling with Sirdar, who didn’t
+want his crupper on.
+
+“‘My dear child,’ Dad said, ‘get off that pony and go back to bed. You
+can’t think I could allow you to come out?’
+
+“Poor old Norah’s face fell about a foot. She begged and argued, but
+she might as well have spared herself the trouble. At last Dad said she
+could ride out in the first two paddocks, but no nearer the fire, she
+had to be content with that. I think she was pretty near mopping her
+eyes.”
+
+“Wasn’t,” said Norah indistinctly.
+
+“Well, we went off. All of us had fire-beaters. You know we always have
+them ready; and Field was driving the water-cart—it always stands ready
+filled for use. We just galloped like mad. Dad didn’t wait for any
+gates—Bosun can jump anything—and he just went straight across country.
+Luckily, there was no stock in the paddocks near the house, except that
+in one small paddock were about twenty valuable prize sheep. However,
+the fire was so far off that we reckoned they were safe, and so we
+turned our attention to the fire.
+
+“We left old Norah in the second paddock, looking as miserable as a
+bandicoot. Dad made her promise not to meddle with the fire. ‘Promise
+me you won’t try any putting out on your own account,’ he said; and
+Norah promised very reluctantly. I was jolly sorry you were out of it,
+you know, old kid,” said Jim reflectively; and Norah gave him a little
+smile.
+
+“We made great time across the paddocks,” Jim continued. “Dad was ever
+so far ahead, of course, but our contingent, that had to go round by
+the gates, didn’t do so badly. Billy was on Mick, and he and I had a go
+for the lead across the last paddock.”
+
+“Who won?” asked Harry.
+
+“Me,” said Jim ungrammatically. “When we got into the smoke we had to
+go round a bit, or we’d have gone straight into the fire. We hung up
+the horses in a corner that had been burnt round, and was safe from
+more fire, and off we went. There were ever so many men fighting it;
+all Morrison’s fellows, and a lot from other places as well. The fire
+had started right at our boundary, and had come across a two-hundred
+acre paddock like a shot. Then a little creek checked it a bit, and let
+the fighters have a show.
+
+“There were big trees blazing everywhere, and stumps and logs, and
+every few minutes the fire would get going again in some ferns or long
+grass, and go like mischief, and half a dozen men after it, to stop it.
+It had got across the creek, and there was a line of men on the bank
+keeping it back. Some others were chopping down the big, blazing, dead
+trees, that were simply showering sparks all round. The wind was pretty
+strong, and took burning leaves and sticks ever so far and started the
+fire in different places. Three fellows on ponies were doing nothing
+but watch for these flying firebrands, galloping after them and putting
+them out as they fell.”
+
+Jim paused.
+
+“Say you put your hook in the water, Wally, old chap,” he suggested.
+
+Wally looked and blushed. In the excitement of the moment he had
+unconsciously pulled up his line until the bait dangled helplessly in
+the air, a foot above the water. The party on the log laughed at the
+expense of Wally, and Jim proceeded.
+
+“Father and four other men came across the creek and sang out to us—
+
+“‘We’re going back a bit to burn a break!’ they said. ‘Come along.’
+
+“We all went back about a hundred yards from the creek and lit the
+grass, spreading out in a long line across the paddock. Then every one
+kept his own little fire from going in the wrong direction, and kept it
+burning back towards the creek, of course preventing any logs or trees
+from getting alight. It was pretty tough work, the smoke was so bad,
+but at last it was done, and a big, burnt streak put across the
+paddock. Except for flying bits of lighted stuff there wasn’t much risk
+of the fire getting away from us when once we had got that break to
+help us. You see, a grass fire isn’t like a real bush fire. It’s a far
+more manageable beast. It’s when you get fire in thick scrub that you
+can just make up your mind to stand aside and let her rip!”
+
+Jim pulled up his book and examined his bait carefully.
+
+“Fish seem off us,” he said.
+
+“That all the yarn?” Harry asked.
+
+“No, there’s more, if you’re not sick of it.”
+
+“Well, fire away,” Wally said impatiently.
+
+Jim let his sinker go down gently until it settled in comfort in the
+soft mud at the bottom.
+
+“This is where I come to Norah,” he said.
+
+That young lady turned a lively red.
+
+“If you’re going to tell all that bosh about me, I’m off,” she said,
+disgustedly. “Good-bye. You can call me when you’ve finished.”
+
+“Where are you off to, Norah?” inquired Harry.
+
+“Somewhere to fish—I’m tired of you old gossips—” Norah elevated a
+naturally tilted nose as she wound up her tackle and rose to her feet.
+She made her way along the log past the three boys until she reached
+the land, and, scrambling up the bank, vanished in the scrub. Presently
+they saw her reappear at a point a little lower down, where she
+ensconced herself in the roots of a tree that was sticking out of the
+bank, and looked extremely unsafe. She flung her line in below her
+perch.
+
+“Hope she’s all right,” Harry said uneasily.
+
+“You bet. Norah knows what she’s about,” Jim said calmly. “She can swim
+like a fish anyhow!”
+
+“Well, go on with your yarn,” urged Wally.
+
+“Well—I told you how we stopped the fire at the little creek, didn’t I?
+We thought it was pretty safe after we had burnt such a good break, and
+the men with axes had chopped down nearly all the big trees that were
+alight, so that they couldn’t spread the fire. We reckoned we could sit
+down and mop our grimy brows and think what fine, brave, bold heroes we
+were! Which we did.
+
+“There was one big tree the men couldn’t get down. It was right on a
+bit of a hill, near the bank of the creek—a big brute of a tree, hollow
+for about twelve feet, and I don’t know how high, but I’ll bet it was
+over a hundred and fifty feet. It got alight from top to bottom, and,
+my word, didn’t it blaze!
+
+“The men tried to chop it down, but it was too hot a job even for a
+salamander. We could only watch it, and it took a lot of watching,
+because it was showering sparks and bits of wood, and blazing limbs and
+twigs in every direction. Lots of times they blew into the dead grass
+beyond our break, and it meant galloping to put them out.
+
+“The wind had been pretty high all the time, and it got up suddenly to
+a regular gale. It caught this old tree and fairly whisked its burning
+limbs off. They flew ever so far. We thought we had them all out, when
+suddenly Dad gave a yell.
+
+“There was a little, deep gully running at right angles to the creek,
+and right through the paddocks up to the house. In winter it was a
+creek, but now it was dry as a bone, and rank with dead grass at the
+bottom. As we looked we saw smoke rise from this gully, far away, in
+the home paddock.
+
+“‘My Shropshires!’ said Dad, and he made a run for Bosun.
+
+“How we did tear! I never thought old Dad could run so hard! It seemed
+miles to the corner where the horses were, and ages before we got on
+them and were racing for the home paddock. And all the time the smoke
+was creeping along that beastly gully, and we knew well enough that,
+tear as we might, we couldn’t be in time.
+
+“You see, the valuable sheep were in a paddock, where this gully ended.
+It wasn’t very near the house, and no one might see the fire before
+every sheep was roasted. We had only just got them. Dad had imported
+some from England and some from Tasmania, and I don’t know how much
+they hadn’t cost.”
+
+“Weren’t you afraid for the house as well?” asked Harry.
+
+“No. There was a big ploughed paddock near the house; it would have
+taken a tremendous fire to get over that and the orchard and garden. We
+only worried about the Shropshires.
+
+“I got the lead away, but Dad caught me up pretty soon. Between us and
+the sheep paddock there were only wire fences, which he wouldn’t take
+Bosun over, so he couldn’t race away from the rest of us this time.
+
+“We might as well take it easy,’ he said, ‘for all the good we can do.
+The sheep nearly live in that gully.’
+
+“All the same, we raced. The wind had gone down by now, so the fire
+couldn’t travel as fast as it had done in the open ground. There was a
+long slope leading down to the gully, and as we got to this we could
+see the whole of the little paddock, and there wasn’t a sheep in sight.
+Every blessed one was in the gully, and the fire was three-parts of the
+way along it!
+
+“Roast mutton!’ I heard Dad say under his breath.
+
+“Then we saw Norah. She came racing on Bobs to the fence of the paddock
+near the head of the gully—much nearer the fire than we were. We saw
+her look at the fire and into the gully, and I reckon we all knew she
+was fighting with her promise to Dad about not tackling the fire. But
+she saw the sheep before we could. They had run from the smoke along
+the gully till they came to the head of it, where it ended with pretty
+steep banks all round. By that time they were thoroughly dazed, and
+there they would have stayed until they were roasted. Sheep are stupid
+brutes at any time, but in smoke they’re just idiots!
+
+“Norah gave only one look. Then she slipped off Bobs and left him to
+look after himself, and she tore down into the gully.”
+
+“Oh, Jim, go on!” said Wally.
+
+“I’m going,” said Jim affably.
+
+“Dad gave one shout as Norah disappeared into the gully. ‘Go back, my
+darling!’ he yelled, forgetting that he was so far off that he might as
+well have shouted to the moon. Then he gave a groan, and dug his spurs
+into Bosun. I had mine as far as they’d go in Sirdar already!
+
+“The smoke rolled on up the gully and in a minute it had covered it all
+up. I thought it was all up with Norah, too, and old Burrows behind me
+was sobbing for all he was worth. We raced and tore and yelled!
+
+“Then we saw a sheep coming up out of the smoke at the end of the
+gully. Another followed, and another, and then more, until every
+blessed one of the twenty was there (though we didn’t stop to count ’em
+then, I can tell you!) Last of all—it just seemed years—came Norah!
+
+“We could hear her shouting at the sheep before we saw her. They were
+terribly hard to move. She banged them with sticks, and the last old
+ram she fairly kicked up the hill. They were just out of the gully when
+the fire roared up it, and a minute or so after that we got to her.
+
+“Poor little kid; she was just black, and nearly blind with the smoke.
+It was making her cry like fun,” said Jim, quite unconscious of his
+inappropriate simile. “I don’t know if it was smoke in his case, but so
+was Dad. We put the fire out quick enough; it was easy work to keep it
+in the gully. Indeed, Dad never looked at the fire, or the sheep
+either. He just jumped off Bosun, and picked Norah up and held her as
+if she was a baby, and she hugged and hugged him. They’re awfully fond
+of each other, Dad and Norah.”
+
+“And were the sheep all right?” Harry asked.
+
+“Right as rain; not one of the black-faced beauties singed. It was a
+pretty close thing, you know,” Jim said reminiscently. “The fire was
+just up to Norah as she got the last sheep up the hill; there was a
+hole burnt in the leg of her riding skirt. She told me afterwards she
+made up her mind she was going to die down in that beastly hole.”
+
+“My word, you must have been jolly proud of her!” Wally exclaimed.
+“Such a kid, too!”
+
+“I guess we were pretty proud,” Jim said quietly. “All the people about
+made no end of a fuss about her, but Norah never seemed to think a
+pennyworth about it. Fact is, her only thought at first was that Dad
+would think she had broken her promise to him. She looked up at him in
+the first few minutes, with her poor, swollen old eyes. ‘I didn’t
+forget my promise, Dad, dear,’ she said. ‘I never touched the fire—only
+chased your silly old sheep!’”
+
+“Was that the end of the fire?” Harry asked.
+
+“Well, nearly. Of course we had to watch the burning logs and stumps
+for a few days, until all danger of more fires was over, and if there’d
+been a high wind in that time we might have had trouble. Luckily there
+wasn’t any wind at all, and three days after there came a heavy fall of
+rain, which made everything safe. We lost about two hundred and fifty
+acres of grass, but in no time the paddock was green again, and the
+fire only did it good in the long run. We reckoned ourselves uncommonly
+lucky over the whole thing, though if Norah hadn’t saved the
+Shropshires we’d have had to sing a different tune. Dad said he’d never
+shut up so much money in one small paddock again!”
+
+Jim bobbed his float up and down despairingly.
+
+“This is the most fishless creek!” he said. “Well, the only thing left
+to tell you is where the swagman came in.”
+
+“Oh, by Jove,” Harry said, “I forgot the swaggie.”
+
+“Was it his fault the fire started?” inquired Wally.
+
+“Rather! He camped under a bridge on the road that forms our boundary
+the night Dad cleared him off the place, and the next morning, very
+early, he deliberately lit our grass in three places, and then made
+off. He’d have got away, too, and nobody would have known anything
+about it, if it hadn’t been for Len Morrison. You chaps haven’t met
+Len, have you? He’s a jolly nice fellow, older than me, I guess he’s
+about sixteen now—perhaps seventeen.
+
+“Len had a favourite cow, a great pet of his. He’d petted her as a calf
+and she’d follow him about like a dog. This cow was sick—they found her
+down in the paddock and couldn’t move her, so they doctored her where
+she was. Len was awfully worried about her, and used to go to her late
+at night and first thing in the morning.
+
+“He went out to the cow on this particular morning about daylight. She
+was dead and so he didn’t stay; and he was riding back when he saw the
+swag-man lighting our grass. It was most deliberately done. Len didn’t
+go after him then. He galloped up to his own place and gave the alarm,
+and then he and one of their men cleared out after the brute.”
+
+“Did they catch him?” Wally’s eyes were dancing, and his sinker waved
+unconsciously in the air.
+
+“They couldn’t see a sign of him,” Jim said. “The road was a plain,
+straight one—you chaps know it—the one we drove home on from the train.
+No cover anywhere that would hide so much as a goat—not even you, Wal!
+They followed it up for a couple of miles, and then saw that he must
+have gone across country somewhere. There was mighty little cover
+there, either. The only possible hiding-place was along the creek.
+
+“He was pretty cunning—my word, he was! He’d started up the road—Len
+had seen him—and then he cut over the paddock at an angle, back to the
+creek. That was why they couldn’t find any tracks when they started up
+the creek from the road, and they made sure he had given them the slip
+altogether.
+
+“Len and the other fellow, a chap called Sam Baker, pegged away up the
+creek as hard as they could go, but feeling pretty blue about catching
+the swaggie. Len was particularly wild, because he’d made so certain he
+could lay his hands on the fellow, and if he hadn’t been sure, of
+course he’d have stayed to help at the fire, and he didn’t like being
+done out of everything! They could understand not finding any tracks.
+
+“‘Of course it’s possible he’s walked in the water,’ Baker said.
+
+“‘We’d have caught him by now if he had,’ Len said—‘he couldn’t get
+along quickly in the water. Anyhow, if I don’t see anything of him
+before we get to the next bend, I’m going back to the fire.’
+
+“They were nearly up to the bend, and Len was feeling desperate, when
+he saw a boot-mark half-way down the bank on the other side. He was
+over like a shot—the creek was very shallow—and there were tracks as
+plain as possible, leading down to the water!
+
+“You can bet they went on then!
+
+“They caught him a bit farther up. He heard them coming, and left his
+swag, so’s he could get on quicker. They caught that first, and then
+they caught him. He had ‘planted’ in a clump of scrub, and they nearly
+passed him, but Len caught sight of him, and they had him in a minute.”
+
+“Did he come easily?” asked Wally.
+
+“Rather not! He sent old Len flying—gave him an awful black eye. Len
+was, up again and at him like a shot, and I reckon it was jolly plucky
+of a chap of Len’s age, and I dare say he’d have had an awful hiding if
+Sam hadn’t arrived on the scene. Sam is a big, silent chap, and he can
+fight anybody in this district. He landed the swaggie first with one
+fist and then with the other, and the swaggie reckoned he’d been struck
+by a thunderbolt when they fished him out of the creek, where he had
+rolled! You see, Sam’s very fond of Len, and it annoyed him to see his
+eye.
+
+“The swaggie did not do any more resisting. He was like a half-dead,
+drowned rat. Len and Sam brought him up to the men at the fire just
+after we’d left to try to save Dad’s Shropshires, and they and Mr.
+Morrison could hardly keep the men off him. He hid behind Sam, and
+cried and begged them to protect him. They said it was beastly.”
+
+“Rather!” said Harry. “Where’s he now?”
+
+“Melbourne Gaol. He got three years,” said Jim. “I guess he’s
+reflecting on the foolishness of using matches too freely!”
+
+“By George!” said Wally, drawing a deep breath. “That was exciting,
+Jimmy!”
+
+“Well, fishing isn’t,” responded Jim pulling up his hook in disgust, an
+example followed by the other boys. “What’ll we do?”
+
+“I move,” said Wally, standing on one leg on the log, “that this
+meeting do adjourn from this dead tree. And I move a hearty vote of
+thanks to Mr. Jim Linton for spinning a good yarn. Thanks to be paid
+immediately. There’s mine, Jimmy!”
+
+A resounding pat on the back startled Jim considerably, followed as it
+was by a second from Harry. The assaulted one fled along the log, and
+hurled mud furiously from the bank. The enemy followed closely, and
+shortly the painful spectacle might have been seen of a host lying flat
+on his face on the grass, while his guests, sitting on his back, bumped
+up and down to his extreme discomfort and the tune of “For He’s a Jolly
+Good Fellow!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+WHAT NORAH FOUND
+
+
+Norah, meanwhile, had been feeling somewhat “out of things.” It was
+really more than human nature could be expected to bear that she should
+remain on the log with the three boys, while Jim told amazing yarns
+about her. Still it was decidedly lonesome in the jutting root of the
+old tree, looking fixedly at the water, in which placidly lay a float
+that had apparently forgotten that the first duty of a float is to bob.
+
+Jim’s voice, murmuring along in his lengthy recital, came to her
+softly, and she could see from her perch the interested faces of the
+two others. It mingled drowsily with the dull drone of bees in the
+ti-tree behind her, and presently Norah, to her disgust, found that she
+was growing drowsy too.
+
+“This won’t do!” she reflected, shaking herself. “If I go to sleep and
+tumble off this old root I’ll startle away all the fish in the creek.”
+She looked doubtfully at the still water, now and then rippled by the
+splash of a leaping fish. “No good when they jump like that,” said
+Norah to herself. “I guess I’ll go and explore.”
+
+She wound up her line quickly, and flung her bait to the lazy
+inhabitants of the creek as a parting gift. Then, unnoticed by the
+boys, she scrambled out of the tree and climbed up the bank, getting
+her blue riding-skirt decidedly muddy—not that Norah’s free and
+independent soul had ever learned to tremble at the sight of muddy
+garments. She hid her fishing tackle in a stump, and made her way along
+the bank.
+
+A little farther up she came across black Billy—a very cheerful
+aboriginal, seeing that he had managed to induce no less than nine
+blackfish to leave their watery bed.
+
+“Oh, I say!” said Norah, round-eyed and envious. “How do you manage it,
+Billy? We can’t catch one.”
+
+Billy grinned. He was a youth of few words.
+
+“Plenty bob-um float,” he explained lucidly. “Easy ’nuff. You try.”
+
+“No, thanks,” said Norah, though she hesitated for a moment. “I’m sick
+of trying—and I’ve no luck. Going to cook ’em for dinner, Billy?”
+
+“Plenty!” assented Billy vigorously. It was his favourite word, and
+meant almost anything, and he rarely used another when he could make it
+suffice.
+
+“That’s a good boy,” said Norah, approvingly, and black eighteen
+grinned from ear to ear with pleasure at the praise of twelve-year-old
+white. “I’m going for a walk, Billy. Tell Master Jim to coo-ee when
+lunch is ready.”
+
+“Plenty,” said Billy intelligently.
+
+Norah turned from the creek and entered the scrub. She loved the bush,
+and was never happier than when exploring its recesses. A born
+bushmaid, she had never any difficulty about finding her way in the
+scrub, or of retracing her steps. The faculty of bushmanship must be
+born in you; if you have it not naturally, training very rarely gives
+it.
+
+She rambled on aimlessly, noting, though scarcely conscious that she
+did so, the bush sights and scenes on either hand—clinging creepers and
+twining plants, dainty ferns, nestling in hollow trees, clusters of
+maidenhair under logs; pheasants that hopped noiselessly in the shade,
+and a wallaby track in some moist, soft earth. Once she saw a carpet
+snake lying coiled in a tussock and, springing for a stick, she ran at
+it, but the snake was too quick for her and she was only in time to hit
+at its tail as it whisked down a hole. Norah wandered on, feeling
+disgusted with herself.
+
+Suddenly she stopped in amazement.
+
+She was on the edge of a small clear space, at the farther side of
+which was a huge blue-gum tree. Tall trees ringed it round, and the
+whole space was in deep shade. Norah stood rooted to the ground in
+surprise.
+
+For at the foot of the big blue-gum was a strange sight, in that lonely
+place. It was nothing more or less than a small tent.
+
+The flap of the tent was down, and there were no inhabitants to be
+seen; but all about were signs of occupation. A well-blackened billy
+hung from the ridge-pole. Close to the tent was a heap of dry sticks,
+and a little farther away the ashes of a fire still smouldered, and
+over them a blackened bough, supported by two forked sticks, showed
+that the billy had many times been boiled there. The little camp was
+all very neat and tidy. “It looks quite home-like,” said Norah to
+herself.
+
+As she watched, the flap of the tent was raised, and a very old man
+came out. He was so tall that he had to bend almost double in stooping
+under the canvas of the low tent. A queer old man, Norah thought him,
+as she drew back instinctively into the shadow of the trees. When he
+straightened himself he was wonderfully tall—taller even than Dad, who
+was over six feet. He wore no hat, and his hair and beard were very
+long, and as white as snow. Under bushy white eyebrows, a pair of
+bright blue eyes twinkled. Norah decided that they were nice eyes.
+
+But he certainly was queer. His clothes would hardly have passed muster
+in Collins Street, and would even have attracted attention in Cunjee.
+He was dressed entirely in skins—wallaby skins, Norah guessed, though
+there was an occasional section that looked like ’possum. They didn’t
+look bad, either, she thought—a kind of sleeved waistcoat, and loose
+trousers, that were met at the knee by roughly-tanned gaiters, or
+leggings. Still, the whole effect was startling.
+
+The old man walked across to his fire and, kneeling down, carefully
+raked away the ashes. Then he drew out a damper—Norah had never seen
+one before, but she knew immediately that it was a damper. It looked
+good, too—nicely risen, and brown, and it sent forth a fragrance that
+was decidedly appetizing. The old man looked pleased “Not half bad!” he
+said aloud, in a wonderfully deep voice, which sounded so amazing in
+the bush silence that Norah fairly jumped.
+
+The old man raked the ashes together again, and placed some sticks on
+them, after which he brought over the billy, and hung it above the fire
+to boil. The fire quickly broke into a blaze, and he picked up the
+damper again, and walked slowly back to the tent, where he paused to
+blow the dust from the result of his cookery.
+
+At this moment Norah became oppressed with a wild desire to sneeze. She
+fought against it frantically, nearly choking in her efforts to remain
+silent, while she wildly explored in her pockets for a nonexistent
+handkerchief.
+
+As the water bursts from the dam the more violently because of its
+imprisonment, so Norah’s sneeze gained intensity and uproar from her
+efforts to repress it. It came—
+
+“A—tish—oo—oo!”
+
+The old man started violently. He dropped his damper and gazed round.
+
+“What on earth’s that?” he said. “Who’s there?” For a moment Norah
+hesitated. Should she run for her life? But a second’s thought showed
+her no real reason why she should run. She was not in the least
+frightened, for it never occurred to Norah that anyone could wish to
+hurt her; and she had done nothing to make him angry. So she modestly
+emerged from behind a friendly tree and said meekly, “It’s me.”
+
+“‘Me’, is it?” said the old man, in great astonishment. He stared hard
+at the little figure in the blue blouse and serge riding-skirt—at the
+merry face and the dark curls crowned by the shady Panama hat. “‘Me’,”
+he repeated. “‘Me’ looks rather nice, I think. But what’s she doing
+here?”
+
+“I was looking at you,” Norah exclaimed.
+
+“I won’t be unpolite enough to mention that a cat may look at a king,”
+said the old man. “But don’t you know that no one comes here? No young
+ladies in blue dresses and brown curls—only wombats and wallabies, and
+ring-tailed ’possums—and me. Not you—me, but me—me! How do you account
+for being here?”
+
+Norah laughed. She decided that she liked this very peculiar old man,
+whose eyes twinkled so brightly as he spoke.
+
+“But I don’t think you know,” she said. “Quite a lot of other people
+come here—this is Anglers’ Bend. At least, Anglers’ Bend’s quite close
+to your camp. Why, only, to-day there’s Jim and the boys, and black
+Billy, and me! We’re not wallabies!”
+
+“Jim—and the boys—and black Billy—and me!” echoed the old man faintly.
+“Angels and ministers of grace, defend us! And I thought I had found
+the back of beyond, where I would never see anyone more civilized than
+a bunyip! But—I’ve been here for three months, little lady, and have
+never come across anyone. Are you sure you’re quite serious?”
+
+“Quite,” Norah answered. “Perhaps it was that no one came across you,
+you know, because people really do come here to fish. Dad and I camp
+here sometimes, but we haven’t been for more than three months.”
+
+“Well, I must move, that’s all,” said the old man. “I do like
+quiet—it’s annoying enough to have to dress up and go into a township
+now and then for stores. How do you like my clothes, by the way? I may
+as well have a feminine opinion while I have the chance.”
+
+“Did you make them yourself?” asked Norah.
+
+“Behold how she fences!” said the old man. “I did indeed!”
+
+“Then they do you proud!” said Norah solemnly.
+
+The old man laughed.
+
+“I shall prize your expression of opinion,” he said. “May I ask the
+name of my visitor?”
+
+“I’m Norah. Please who are you?”
+
+“That’s a different matter,” said the other, looking nonplussed. “I
+certainly had a name once, but I’ve quite forgotten it. I have an
+excellent memory for forgetting. Would you think I was a bunyip? I’d be
+delighted if you could!”
+
+“I couldn’t.” Norah shook her head. “But I’ll tell you what I think you
+are.”
+
+“Do.”
+
+“A hermit!”
+
+The old man’s face cleared.
+
+“My dear Miss Norah,” he said, “you’ve made a profound discovery. I
+am—I am—a hermit! Thank you very much. Being a hermit my resources are
+scanty, but may I hope that you will have lunch with me?
+
+“I can’t, I’m afraid,” said Norah, looking affectionately at the
+damper. “The boys will be looking for me, if I don’t go back.
+Listen—there’s Jim coo-eeing now!”
+
+“And who may Jim be?” queried the Hermit, a trifle uneasily.
+
+“Jim’s my brother,” Norah said. “He’s fifteen, and he’s just splendid.
+Harry and Wally are his two chums.”
+
+“Coo-ee! Coo-ee!”
+
+Norah answered the call quickly and turned to the Hermit, feeling a
+little apologetic.
+
+“I had to call,” she explained—“Jim would be anxious. They want me for
+lunch.” She hesitated. “Won’t you come too?” she asked timidly.
+
+“I haven’t eaten with my fellow-men for more time than I’d care to
+reckon,” said the Hermit. “I don’t know—will they let me alone
+afterwards? Are they ordinary abominable boys?”
+
+“Indeed, they’re not!” said Norah indignantly. “They won’t come near
+you at all, if you don’t want them—but I know they’d be pleased if you
+came. Do!”
+
+“Coo-ee!”
+
+“Jim’s getting impatient, isn’t he?” said the Hermit. “Well, Miss
+Norah, if you’ll excuse my attire I’ll come. Shall I bring my damper?”
+
+“Oh, please!” Norah cried. “We’ve never tasted damper.”
+
+“I wish _I_ hadn’t,” said the Hermit grimly. He picked up the fallen
+cake. “Let us away!” he said. “The banquet waits!”
+
+During their walk through the scrub it occurred to Norah once or twice
+to wonder if her companion were really a little mad. He said such
+extraordinary things, all in the most matter-of-fact tone—but when she
+looked up at him his blue eyes twinkled so kindly and merrily that she
+knew at once he was all right, and she was quite certain that she liked
+him very much.
+
+The boys were getting impatient. Lunch was ready, and when lunch has
+been prepared by Mrs. Brown, and supplemented by fresh blackfish, fried
+over a camp fire by black Billy, it is not a meal to be kept waiting.
+They were grouped round the table-cloth, in attitudes more suggestive
+of ease than elegance, when Norah and her escort appeared, and for once
+their manners deserted them. They gaped in silent amazement.
+
+“Boys, this is The Hermit,” said Norah, rather nervously. “I—I found
+him. He has a camp. He’s come to lunch.”
+
+“I must apologize for my intrusion, I’m afraid,” the Hermit said. “Miss
+Norah was good enough to ask me to come. I—I’ve brought my damper!”
+
+He exhibited the article half shyly, and the boys recovered themselves
+and laughed uncontrollably. Jim sprang to his feet. The Hermit’s first
+words had told him that this was no common swagman that Norah had
+picked up.
+
+“I’m very glad to see you, sir,” he said, holding out his hand.
+
+“Thank you,” said the Hermit gravely. “You’re Jim, aren’t you? And I
+conclude that this gentleman is Harry, and this Wally? Ah, I thought
+so. Yes, I haven’t seen so many people for ages. And black Billy! How
+are you Billy?”
+
+Billy retreated in great embarrassment.
+
+“Plenty!” he murmured.
+
+Everybody laughed again.
+
+“Well,” Jim said, “we’re hungry, Norah. I hope you and—er—this
+gentleman are.” Jim was concealing his bewilderment like a hero. “Won’t
+you sit down and sample Billy’s blackfish? He caught ’em all—we
+couldn’t raise a bite between us—barring Wally’s boot!”
+
+“Did you catch a boot?” queried the Hermit of the blushing Wally.
+“Mine, I think—I can’t congratulate you on your luck! If you like,
+after lunch, I’ll show you a place where you could catch fish, if you
+only held the end of your finger in the water!”
+
+“Good enough!” said Jim. “Thanks, awfully—we’ll be jolly glad. Come on,
+Billy—trot out your frying-pan!”
+
+Lunch began rather silently.
+
+In their secret hearts the boys were rather annoyed with Norah.
+
+“Why on earth,” Jim reflected, “couldn’t she have left the old chap
+alone? The party was all right without him—we didn’t want any one
+else—least of all an odd oddity like this.” And though the other boys
+were loyal to Norah, she certainly suffered a fall in their estimation,
+and was classed for the moment with the usual run of “girls who do
+rummy things.”
+
+However, the Hermit was a man of penetration and soon realized the
+state of the social barometer. His hosts, who did not look at all like
+quiet boys, were eating their blackfish in perfect silence, save for
+polite requests for bread or pepper, or the occasional courteous
+remark, “Chuck us the salt!”
+
+Accordingly the Hermit exerted himself to please, and it would really
+have taken more than three crabby boys to resist him. He told the
+drollest stories, which sent everyone into fits of laughter, although
+he never laughed himself at all; and he talked about the bush, and told
+them of the queer animals he saw—having, as he said, unusually good
+opportunities for watching the bush inhabitants unseen. He knew where
+the lyrebirds danced, and had often crept silently through the scrub
+until he could command a view of the mound where these strange birds
+strutted and danced, and mimicked the other birds with life-like
+fidelity. He loved the birds very much, and never killed any of them,
+even when a pair of thievish magpies attacked his larder and pecked a
+damper into little bits when he was away fishing. Many of the birds
+were tame with him now, he said; they would hop about the camp and let
+him feed them; and he had a carpet snake that was quite a pet, which he
+offered to show them—an offer that broke down the last tottering
+barriers of the boys’ reserve. Then there were his different methods of
+trapping animals, some of which were strange even to Jim, who was a
+trapper of much renown.
+
+“Don’t you get lonely sometimes?” Norah asked him.
+
+The Hermit looked at her gravely.
+
+“Sometimes,” he said. “Now and then one feels that one would give
+something to hear a human voice again, and to feel a friend’s
+hand-grip. Oh, there are times, Miss Norah, when I talk to myself—which
+is bad—or yarn to old Turpentine, my snake, just to hear the sound of
+words again. However, when these bad fits come upon me I know it’s a
+sign that I must get the axe and go and chop down sufficient trees to
+make me tired. Then I go to sleep, and wake up quite a cheerful being
+once more!”
+
+He hesitated.
+
+“And there’s one thing,” he said slowly—“though it may be lonely here,
+there is no one to trouble you; no one to treat you badly, to be
+ungrateful or malicious; no bitter enemies, and no false friends, who
+are so much worse than enemies. The birds come and hop about me, and I
+know that it is because I like them and have never frightened them; old
+Turpentine slides his ugly head over my knees, and I know he doesn’t
+care a button whether I have any money in my pocket, or whether I have
+to go out into the scrub to find my next meal! And that’s far, far more
+than you can say of most human beings!”
+
+He looked round on their grave faces, and smiled for the first time.
+
+“This is uncommonly bad behaviour in a guest,” he said cheerily. “To
+come to lunch, and regale one’s host and hostess with a sermon! It’s
+too bad. I ask your forgiveness, young people, and please forget all I
+said immediately. No, Miss Norah, I won’t have any damper, thank
+you—after a three months’ course of damper one looks with joy once more
+on bread. If Wally will favour me—I think the correct phrase is will
+you ‘chuck me the butter?’”—whereat Wally “chucked” as desired, and the
+meal proceeded merrily.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+ON A LOG
+
+
+Lunch over, everyone seemed disinclined for action. The boys lay about
+on the grass, sleepily happy. Norah climbed into a tree, where the
+gnarled boughs made a natural arm-chair, and the Hermit propped his
+back against a rock and smoked a short black pipe with an air of
+perfect enjoyment. It was just hot enough to make one drowsy. Bees
+droned lazily, and from some shady gully the shrill note of a cricket
+came faintly to the ear. Only Billy had stolen down to the creek, to
+tempt the fish once more. They heard the dull “plunk” of his sinker as
+he flung it into a deep, still pool.
+
+“Would you like to hear how I lost my boot?” queried the Hermit
+suddenly.
+
+“Oh, please,” said Norah.
+
+The boys rolled over—that is to say Jim and Wally rolled over. Harry
+was fast asleep.
+
+“Don’t wake him,” said the Hermit. But Wally’s hat, skilfully thrown,
+had already caught the slumberer on the side of the head.
+
+Harry woke up with surprising promptness, and returned the offending
+head-gear with force and directness. Wally caught it deftly and rammed
+it over his eyes. He smiled underneath it at the Hermit like a happy
+cherub.
+
+“Now we’re ready, sir,” he said. “Hold your row, Harry, the—this
+gentleman’s going to spin us a yarn. Keep awake if you can spare the
+time!”
+
+“I’ll spare the time to kick you!” growled the indignant Harry.
+
+“I don’t know that you’ll think it’s much of a yarn,” the Hermit said
+hurriedly, entering the breach to endeavour to allay further
+discussion—somewhat to Jim’s disappointment. “It’s only the story of a
+pretty narrow escape.
+
+“I had gone out fishing one afternoon about a month ago. It was a grand
+day for fishing—dull and cloudy. The sun was about somewhere, but you
+couldn’t see anything of him, although you could feel his warmth. I’d
+been off colour for a few days, and had not been out foraging at all,
+and as a result, except for damper, my larder was quite empty.
+
+“I went about a mile upstream. There’s a splendid place for fishing
+there. The creek widens, and there’s a still, deep pool, something like
+the pool at the place you call Anglers’ Bend, only I think mine is
+deeper and stiller, and fishier! At all events, I have never failed to
+get fish there.
+
+“I fished from the bank for a while, with not very good luck. At all
+events, it occurred to me that I could better it if I went out upon a
+big log that lay right across the creek—a tremendous tree it must have
+been, judging by the size of the trunk. You could almost ride across
+it, it’s so wide—if you had a circus pony, that is,” added the Hermit
+with a twinkle.
+
+“So I gathered up my tackle, hung the fish I’d caught across a bough in
+the shade, and went out on the log, and here I had good luck at once.
+The fish bit just as soon as I put the bait into the water, and though
+a good many of them were small there were some very decent-sized ones
+amongst them. I threw the little chaps back, on the principle that—
+
+Baby fish you throw away
+Will make good sport another day,
+
+
+and at last began to think I had caught nearly enough, even though I
+intended to salt some. However, just as I thought it was time to strike
+for camp, I had a tremendous bite. It nearly jerked the rod out of my
+hands!
+
+“‘Hallo!’ I said to myself, ‘here’s a whale!’ I played him for a bit,
+for he was the strongest fish I ever had on a line in this country, and
+at last he began to tire, and I reeled the line in. It seemed quite a
+long time before I caught a glimpse of his lordship—a tremendous perch.
+I tell you I felt quite proud as his head came up out of the water.
+
+“He was nearly up to the log, when he made a sudden, last leap in the
+air, and the quickness of it and his weight half threw me off my
+balance. I made a hurried step on the log, and my right foot slipped
+into a huge, gaping crack. It was only after I had made two or three
+ineffectual struggles to release it that I found I was stuck.
+
+“Well I didn’t realize the seriousness of the position for a few
+minutes,” the Hermit went on. “I could understand that I was wedged,
+but I certainly never dreamed that I could not, by dint of manoeuvring,
+wriggle my foot out of the crack. So I turned my attention to my big
+fish, and—standing in a most uncomfortable position—managed to land
+him; and a beauty he was, handsome as paint, with queer markings on his
+sides. I put him down carefully, and then tried to free myself.
+
+“And I tried—and tried—and tried—until I was tired out, and stiff and
+hopeless. By that time it was nearly dark. After I had endeavoured
+unsuccessfully to get the boot clear, I unlaced it, and tried to get my
+foot out of it—but I was in a trifle too far for that, and try as I
+would I could not get it free. The crack was rather on the side of the
+log. I could not get a straight pull. Hurt? Yes, of course it hurt—not
+more from the pinching of the log, which you may try any time by
+screwing your foot up in a vice, than from my own wild efforts to get
+clear. My foot and ankle were stiff and sore from my exertions long
+before I knocked off in despair. I might have tried to cut the wood
+away, had I not left my knife on the bank, where I was fishing first. I
+don’t know that it would have done much good, anyhow.
+
+“Well, I looked at the situation—in fact, I had been looking at it all
+the time. It wasn’t a very cheering prospect, either. The more I
+pondered over it, the less chance I saw of getting free. I had done all
+I could towards that end; now it only remained to wait for something to
+‘turn up.’ And I was quite aware that nothing was in the least likely
+to turn up, and also that in all probability I would wear out some time
+before the log did.
+
+“Night came on, and I was as hungry as a hunter—being a hunter, I knew
+just how hungry that is. I hadn’t anything to eat except raw fish, and
+I wasn’t quite equal to that yet. I had only one pipe of tobacco too,
+and you may be sure I made the most of that, I smoked it very, very
+slowly, and I wouldn’t like to say how long it lasted.
+
+“From time to time I made fresh attempts to release my foot—all
+unavailing, and all the more maddening because I could feel that my
+foot wasn’t much caught—only just enough to hold it. But enough is as
+good as a feast! I felt that if I could get a straight pull at it I
+might get it out, and several times I nearly went head first into the
+water, overbalancing myself in the effort to get that straight pull.
+That wasn’t a pleasant sensation—not so bad, indeed, if one had got as
+far as the water. But I pictured myself hanging from the log with a
+dislocated ankle, and the prospect was not inviting.
+
+“So the night crept on. I grew deadly sleepy, but of course I did not
+care to let myself go to sleep; but worse than that was the stiffness,
+and the cramp that tortured the imprisoned leg. You know how you want
+to jump when you’ve got cramp? Well, I wanted to jump at intervals of
+about a minute all through that night, and instead, I was more securely
+hobbled than any old horse I ever saw. The mosquitoes worried me too.
+Altogether it was not the sort of entertainment you would select from
+choice!
+
+“And then, just as day began to dawn, the sleepiness got the better of
+me. I fought it unavailingly; but at last I knew I could keep awake no
+longer, and I shut my eyes.
+
+“I don’t know how long I slept—it couldn’t have been for any time, for
+it was not broad daylight when I opened my eyes again. Besides, the
+circumstances weren’t the kind to induce calm and peaceful slumber.
+
+“I woke up with a start, and in my dreams I seemed to hear myself
+crying out with pain—for a spasm of cramp had seized me, and it was
+like a red-hot iron thrust up my leg. I was only half awake—not
+realizing my position a bit. I made a sudden spring, and the next
+moment off I went, headlong!
+
+“I don’t suppose,” said the Hermit reflectively, poking a stem of grass
+down his pipe, “that I’ll ever lose the memory of the sudden, abject
+terror of that moment. They say ‘as easy as falling off a log,’ and it
+certainly doesn’t take an able-bodied man long to fall off one, as a
+rule; but it seemed to me that I was hours and years waiting for the
+jerk to come on my imprisoned foot. I’m sure I lived through half a
+lifetime before it really came.
+
+“Then it came—and I hardly felt it! There was just a sudden
+pull—scarcely enough to hurt very much, and the old boot yielded. Sole
+from upper, it came clean away, and the pressure on my foot alone
+wasn’t enough to hold me. It was so unexpected that I didn’t realize I
+was free until I struck the water, and went down right into the mud at
+the bottom of the creek.
+
+“That woke me up, I can assure you. I came up choking and spluttering,
+and blinded with the mud—I wouldn’t like to tell you for a moment that
+it was pleasant, but I can truthfully say I never was more relieved in
+my life. I struck out for the bank, and got out of the water, and then
+sat down on the grass and wondered why on earth I hadn’t made up my
+mind to jump off that log before.
+
+“I hadn’t any boot left—the remainder had been kicked off as I swam
+ashore. I made my way along the log that had held me so fast all night,
+and there, wedged as tight as ever in the crack, was my old sole! It’s
+there still—unless the mosquitoes have eaten it. I limped home with my
+fish, cleaned them, had a meal and went to bed—and I didn’t get up
+until next day, either!
+
+“And so, Mr. Wally, I venture to think that it was my boot that you
+landed this morning,” the Hermit said gravely. “I don’t grudge it to
+you; I can’t say I ever wish to see it again. You”—magnanimously—“may
+have it for your very own!”
+
+“But I chucked it back again!” blurted out Wally, amidst a roar of
+laughter from Jim and Harry at his dismayed face.
+
+“I forgive you!” said the Hermit, joining in the laugh. “I admit it was
+a relic which didn’t advertise its own fame.”
+
+“I guess you’d never want to see it again,” Jim said. “That was a
+pretty narrow escape—if your foot had been in just a bit farther you
+might have been hanging from that old log now!”
+
+“That was my own idea all that night,” observed the Hermit; “and then
+Wally wouldn’t have caught any more than the rest of you this morning!
+And that reminds me, I promised to show you a good fishing-place. Don’t
+you think, if you’ve had enough of my prosy yarning, that we’d better
+make a start?”
+
+The party gathered itself up with alacrity from the grass. Lines were
+hurriedly examined, and the bait tin, when investigated, proved to
+contain an ample supply of succulent grubs and other dainties
+calculated to tempt the most fastidious of fish.
+
+“All ready?” said the Hermit.
+
+“Hold on a minute,” Jim said. “I’ll let Billy know where we’re going.”
+
+Billy was found fishing stolidly from a log. Three blackfish testified
+to his skill with the rod, at which Wally whistled disgustedly and
+Norah laughed.
+
+“No good to be jealous of Billy’s luck,” she said. “He can always get
+fish, when nobody else can find even a nibble. Mrs. Brown says he’s got
+the light hand like hers for pastry.”
+
+The Hermit laughed.
+
+“I like Mrs. Brown’s simile,” he said. “If that was her pastry in those
+turnovers at lunch, Miss Norah, I certainly agree that she has ‘the
+light hand.’”
+
+“Mrs. Brown’s like the cook in _The Ingoldsby Legends_, Dad says,”
+Norah remarked.
+
+“What,” said the Hermit—
+
+“For soups and stews, and French ragouts,
+Nell Cook is famous still—?”
+“She’d make them even of old shoes
+She had such wondrous skill!”
+
+
+finished Norah delightedly. “However did you know, Mr. Hermit?”
+
+The Hermit laughed, but a shade crossed his brow. “I used to read the
+_Legends_ with a dear old friend many years before you were born, Miss
+Norah,” he said gravely. “I often wonder whether he still reads them.”
+
+“Ready?” Jim interrupted, springing up the bank. “Billy understands
+about feeding the ponies. Don’t forget, mind, Billy.”
+
+“Plenty!” quoth Billy, and the party went on its way. The Hermit led
+them rapidly over logs and fallen trees, up and down gullies, and
+through tangles of thickly growing scrub. Once or twice it occurred to
+Jim that they were trusting very confidingly to this man, of whom they
+knew absolutely nothing; and a faint shade of uneasiness crossed his
+mind. He felt responsible, as the eldest of the youngsters, knowing
+that his father had placed him in charge, and that he was expected to
+exercise a certain amount of caution. Still it was hard to fancy
+anything wrong, looking at the Hermit’s serene face, and the trusting
+way in which Norah’s brown little hand was placed in his strong grasp.
+The other boys were quite unconscious of any uncomfortable ideas, and
+Jim finally dismissed his fears as uncalled for.
+
+“I thought,” said the Hermit, suddenly turning, “of taking you to see
+my camp as we went, but on second thoughts I decided that it would be
+better to get straight to work, as you young people want some fish, I
+suppose, to take home. Perhaps we can look in at my camp as we come
+back. It’s not far from here.”
+
+“Which way do you generally go to the river?” Norah asked.
+
+“Why, anyway,” the Hermit answered. “Generally in this direction. Why
+do you ask, Miss Norah?”
+
+“I was wondering,” Norah said. “We haven’t crossed or met a single
+track.”
+
+The Hermit laughed.
+
+“No,” he said, “I take very good care not to leave tracks if I can
+avoid it. You see, I’m a solitary fellow, Miss Norah, and prefer, as a
+rule, to keep to myself. Apart from that, I often leave camp for the
+greater part of the day when I’m fishing or hunting, and I’ve no wish
+to point out the way to my domain to any wanderers. Not that I’ve much
+to lose, still there are some things. Picture my harrowed feelings were
+I to return some evening and find my beloved frying-pan gone!”
+
+Norah laughed.
+
+“It would be awful,” she said.
+
+“So I planned my camp very cunningly,” continued the Hermit, “and I can
+tell you it took some planning to contrive it so that it shouldn’t be
+too easily visible.”
+
+“Well, it isn’t from the side I came on it,” Norah put in; “I never
+dreamed of anything being there until I was right on the camp. It did
+surprise me!”
+
+“And me,” said the Hermit drily. “Well that is how I tried to arrange
+camp, and you could be within a dozen yards of it on any side without
+imagining that any was near.”
+
+“But surely you must have made some sort of a track leading away from
+it,” said Jim, “unless you fly out!”
+
+The Hermit laughed.
+
+“I’ll show you later how I manage that,” he said.
+
+The bush grew denser as the little party, led by the Hermit, pushed
+along, and Jim was somewhat surprised at the easy certainty with which
+their guide led the way, since there was no sign of a track. Being a
+silent youth, he held his tongue on the matter; but Wally was not so
+reserved.
+
+“However d’you find your way along here?” he asked. “I don’t even know
+whether we’re near the creek or not.”
+
+“If we kept still a moment you’d know,” the Hermit said. “Listen!” He
+held up his hand and they all stood still. There came faintly to their
+ears a musical splash of water.
+
+“There’s a little waterfall just in there,” the Hermit said, “nothing
+much, unless the creek is very low, and then there is a greater drop
+for the water. So you see we haven’t got far from the creek. How do I
+know the way? Why, I feel it mostly, and if I couldn’t feel it, there
+are plenty of landmarks. Every big tree is as good as a signpost once
+you know the way a bit, and I’ve been along here pretty often, so
+there’s nothing in it, you see, Wally.”
+
+“Do you like the bush, Mr. Hermit?” Norah asked.
+
+The Hermit hesitated.
+
+“Sometimes I hate it, I think, Miss Norah,” he said, “when the
+loneliness of it comes over me, and all the queer sounds of it bother
+me and keep me awake. Then I realise that I’m really a good way from
+anywhere, and I get what are familiarly called the blues. However,
+that’s not at all times, and indeed mostly I love it very much, its
+great quietness and its beauty; and then it’s so companionable, though
+perhaps you’re a bit young to understand that. Anyhow, I have my mates,
+not only old Turpentine, my snake, but others—wallabies that have come
+to recognise me as harmless, for I never hunt anywhere near home, the
+laughing jackasses, two of them, that come and guffaw to me every
+morning, the pheasants that I watch capering and strutting on the logs
+hidden in the scrub. Even the plants become friends; there are creepers
+near my camp that I’ve watched from babyhood, and more than one big
+tree with which I’ve at least a nodding acquaintance!”
+
+He broke off suddenly.
+
+“Look, there’s a friend of mine!” he said gently. They were crossing a
+little gully, and a few yards on their right a big wallaby sat staring
+at them, gravely inquisitive. It certainly would not have been human
+nature if Jim had not longed for a gun; but the wallaby was evidently
+quite ignorant of such a thing, and took them all in with his cool
+stare. At length Wally sneezed violently, whereat the wallaby started,
+regarded the disturber of his peace with an alarmed air, and finally
+bounded off into the scrub.
+
+“There you go!” said the Hermit good-humouredly, “scaring my poor
+beastie out of his wits.”
+
+“Couldn’t help it,” mumbled Wally.
+
+“No, a sneeze will out, like truth, won’t it?” the Hermit laughed.
+“That’s how Miss Norah announced herself to me to-day. I might never
+have known she was there if she hadn’t obligingly sneezed! I hope.
+you’re not getting colds, children!” the Hermit added, with mock
+concern.
+
+“Not much!” said Wally and Norah in a breath.
+
+“Just after I came here,” said the Hermit, “I was pretty short of
+tucker, and it wasn’t a good time for fishing, so I was dependent on my
+gun for most of my provisions. So one day, feeling much annoyed after a
+breakfast of damper and jam, I took the gun and went off to stock up
+the larder.
+
+“I went a good way without any luck. There didn’t seem anything to
+shoot in all the bush, though you may be sure I kept my eyes about me.
+I was beginning to grow disheartened. At length I made my way down to
+the creek. Just as I got near it, I heard a whirr-r-r over my head, and
+looking up, I saw a flock of wild duck. They seemed to pause a moment,
+and then dropped downwards. I couldn’t see where they alighted, but of
+course I knew it must be in the creek.
+
+“Well, I didn’t pause,” said the Hermit. “I just made my way down to
+the creek as quickly as ever I could, remaining noiseless at the same
+time. Ducks are easily scared, and I knew my hopes of dinner were poor
+if these chaps saw me too soon.
+
+“So I sneaked down. Pretty soon I got a glimpse of the creek, which was
+very wide at that point, and fringed with weeds. The ducks were calmly
+swimming on its broad surface, a splendid lot of them, and I can assure
+you a very tempting sight to a hungry man.
+
+“However, I didn’t waste time in admiration. I couldn’t very well risk
+a shot from where I was, it was a bit too far, and the old gun I had
+wasn’t very brilliant. So I crept along, crawled down a bank, and found
+myself on a flat that ran to the water’s edge, where reeds, growing
+thickly, screened me from the ducks’ sight.
+
+“That was simple enough. I crawled across this flat, taking no chances,
+careless of mud, and wet, and sword grass, which isn’t the nicest thing
+to crawl among at any time, as you can imagine; it’s absolutely
+merciless to face and hands.”
+
+“And jolly awkward to stalk ducks in,” Jim commented, “the rustle would
+give you away in no time.”
+
+The Hermit nodded.
+
+“Yes,” he said, “that’s its worst drawback, or was, on this occasion.
+It certainly did rustle; however, I crept very slowly, and the ducks
+were kind enough to think I was the wind stirring in the reeds. At any
+rate, they went on swimming, and feeding quite peacefully. I got a good
+look at them through the fringe of reeds, and then, like a duffer,
+although I had a good enough position, I must try and get a better one.
+
+“So I crawled a little farther down the bank, trying to reach a knoll
+which would give me a fine sight of the game, and at the same time form
+a convenient rest for my gun. I had almost reached it when the sad
+thing happened. A tall, spear-like reed, bending over, gently and
+intrusively tickled my nose, and without the slightest warning, and
+very greatly to my own amazement, I sneezed violently.
+
+“If I was amazed, what were the ducks! The sneeze was so unmistakably
+human, so unspeakably violent. There was one wild whirr of wings, and
+my ducks scrambled off the placid surface of the water like things
+possessed. I threw up my gun and fired wildly; there was no time for
+deliberate taking of aim, with the birds already half over the ti-tree
+at the other side.”
+
+“Did you get any?” Jim asked.
+
+“One duck,” said the Hermit sadly. “And even for him I had to swim; he
+obligingly chose a watery grave just to spite me, I believe. He wasn’t
+much of a duck either. After I had stripped and swum for him, dressed
+again, prepared the duck, cooked him, and finally sat down to dinner,
+there was so little of him that he only amounted to half a meal, and
+was tough at that!”
+
+“So was your luck,” observed Wally.
+
+“Uncommonly tough,” agreed the Hermit. “However, these things are the
+fortunes of war, and one has to put up with them, grin, and play the
+game. It’s surprising how much tougher things look if you once begin to
+grumble. I’ve had so much bad luck in the bush that I’ve really got
+quite used to it.”
+
+“How’s that?” asked Harry.
+
+“Why,” said the Hermit, “if it wasn’t one thing, it was mostly another.
+I beg your pardon, Miss Norah, let me help you over this log. I’ve had
+my tucker stolen again and again, several times by birds, twice by
+swaggies, and once by a couple of black fellows pilgrimaging through
+the bush I don’t know whither. They happened on my camp, and helped
+themselves; I reckoned myself very lucky that they only took food,
+though I’ve no doubt they would have taken more if I hadn’t arrived on
+the scene in the nick of time and scared them almost out of their
+wits.”
+
+“How did you do that?” asked Norah; “tell us about it, Mr. Hermit!”
+
+The Hermit smiled down at Norah’s eager face.
+
+“Oh, that’s hardly a yarn, Miss Norah,” he said, his eyes twinkling in
+a way that made them look astonishingly young, despite his white hair
+and his wrinkles. “That was only a small happening, though it capped a
+day of bad luck. I had been busy in camp all the morning cooking, and
+had laid in quite a supply of tucker, for me. I’d cooked some wild
+duck, and roasted a hare, boiled a most splendid plum-duff and finally
+baked a big damper, and I can tell you I was patting myself on the back
+because I need not do any more cooking for nearly a week, unless it
+were fish—I’m not a cook by nature, and pretty often go hungry rather
+than prepare a meal.
+
+“After dinner I thought I’d go down to the creek and try my luck—it was
+a perfect day for fishing, still and grey. So I dug some worms—and
+broke my spade in doing so—and started off.
+
+“The promise of the day held good. I went to my favourite spot, and the
+fish just rushed me—the worms must have been very tempting, or else the
+fish larder was scantily supplied. At any rate, they bit splendidly,
+and soon I grew fastidious, and was picking out and throwing back any
+that weren’t quite large enough. I fished from the old log over the
+creek, and soon had a pile of fish, and grew tired of the sport. I was
+sleepy, too, through hanging over the fire all the morning. I kept on
+fishing mechanically, but it was little more than holding my bait in
+the water, and I began nodding and dozing, leaning back on the broad
+old log.
+
+“I didn’t think I had really gone to sleep, though I suppose I must
+have done so, because I dreamed a kind of half-waking dream. In it I
+saw a snake that crept and crept nearer and nearer to me until I could
+see its wicked eyes gleaming, and though I tried to get away, I could
+not. It came on and on until it was quite near, and I was feeling
+highly uncomfortable in my dream. At last I made a great effort, flung
+out my hand towards a stick, and, with a yell, woke up, to realise that
+I had struck something cold, and clammy, and wet. What it was I
+couldn’t be certain for an instant, until I heard a dull splash, and
+then I knew. I had swept my whole string of fish into the water below!
+
+“Oh, yes, I said things—who wouldn’t? I was too disgusted to fish any
+more, and the nightmare having thoroughly roused me, I gathered up my
+tackle and made tracks for home, feeling considerably annoyed with
+myself.
+
+“You must know I’ve a private entrance into my camp. It’s a track no
+one would suspect of being a track, and by its aid I can approach
+noiselessly. I’ve got into a habit of always sneaking back to camp—just
+in case anyone should be there. This afternoon I came along quietly,
+more from force of habit than from any real idea of looking out for
+intruders. But half-way along it a sound pulled me up suddenly. It was
+the sound of a voice.
+
+“When you haven’t heard anyone speak for a good many months, the human
+voice has quite a startling effect upon you—or even the human sneeze,
+Miss Norah!” added the Hermit, with a twinkle. “I stopped short and
+listened with all my might. Presently the voice came again, low and
+guttural, and I knew it for a native’s.
+
+“The conviction didn’t fill me with joy, as you may imagine. I stole
+forward, until by peeping through the bushes I gained a view of the
+camp—and was rewarded with the spectacle of two blacks—ill-favoured
+brutes they were, too—quite at home, one in the act of stuffing my
+cherished roast hare into a dirty bag, the other just taking a huge
+bite out of my damper!
+
+“The sight, as you may imagine, didn’t fill me with joy. From the
+bulges in my black visitors’ bag I gathered that the ducks had preceded
+the hare; and even as I looked, the gentleman with the damper relaxed
+his well-meant efforts, and thrust it, too, into the bag. Then they put
+down the bag and dived into the tent, and I heard rustlings and
+low-toned remarks that breathed satisfaction. I reckoned it was time to
+step in.
+
+“Luckily, my gun was outside the tent—indeed I never leave it inside,
+but have a special hiding-place for it under a handy log, for fear of
+stray marauders overhauling my possessions. A gun is a pretty tempting
+thing to most men, and since my duck-shooting failure I had treated
+myself to a new double-barrel—a beauty.
+
+“I crept to the log, drew out both guns, and then retired to the
+bushes—a little uncertain, to tell the truth, what to do, for I hadn’t
+any particular wish to murder my dusky callers; and at the same time,
+had to remember that they were two to one, and would be unhampered by
+any feeling of chivalry, if we did come to blows. I made up my mind to
+try to scare them—and suddenly I raised the most horrible, terrifying,
+unearthly yell I could think of, and at the same time fired both
+barrels of one gun quickly in the air!
+
+“The effect was instantaneous. There was one howl of horror, and the
+black fellows darted out of the tent! They almost cannoned into me—and
+you know I must look a rum chap in these furry clothes and cap, with my
+grandfatherly white beard! At all events, they seemed to think me so,
+for at sight of me they both yelled in terror, and bolted away as fast
+as their legs could carry them. I cheered the parting guests by howling
+still more heartily, and firing my two remaining barrels over their
+heads as they ran. They went as swiftly as a motor-car disappears from
+view—I believe they reckoned they’d seen the bunyip. I haven’t seen a
+trace of them since.
+
+“They’d had a fine time inside the tent. Everything I possessed had
+been investigated, and one or two books badly torn—the wretches!” said
+the Hermit ruefully. “My clothes (I’ve a few garments beside these
+beauties, Miss Norah) had been pulled about, my few papers scattered
+wildly, and even my bunk stripped of blankets, which lay rolled up
+ready to be carried away. There wasn’t a single one of my poor
+possessions that had escaped notice, except, of course, my watch and
+money, which I keep carefully buried. The tent was a remarkable
+spectacle, and so close and reminiscent of black fellow that my first
+act was to undo the sides and let the fresh air play through. I counted
+myself very lucky to get off as lightly as I did—had I returned an hour
+later none of my goods and chattels would have been left.”
+
+“What about the tucker?” Harry asked; “did they get away with the bag
+they’d stowed it in?”
+
+“Not they!” said the Hermit; “they were far too scared to think of bags
+or tucker. They almost fell over it in their efforts to escape, but
+neither of them thought of picking it up. It was hard luck for them,
+after they’d packed it so carefully.”
+
+“Is that how you looked at it?” Jim asked, laughing.
+
+“Well—I tried to,” said the Hermit, laughing in his turn. “Sometimes it
+was pretty hard work—and I’ll admit that for the first few days my own
+misfortunes were uppermost.”
+
+“But you didn’t lose your tucker after all, you said?” queried Wally.
+“I thought they left the bag?”
+
+“They did,” the Hermit admitted. “But have you ever explored the
+interior of a black fellow’s bag, Master Wally? No? Well, if you had,
+you would understand that I felt no further hankerings over those
+masterpieces of the cook’s art. I’m not extra particular, I believe,
+but I couldn’t tackle them—no thanks! I threw them into the scrub—and
+then washed my hands!”
+
+“Poor you!” said Norah.
+
+“Oh, I wasn’t so badly off,” said the Hermit. “They’d left me the
+plum-duff, which was hanging in its billy from a bough. Lots of duff—I
+had it morning, noon and night, until I found something fresh to
+cook—and I haven’t made duff since. And here we are at the creek!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+FISHING
+
+
+The party had for some time been walking near the creek, so close to it
+that it was within sound, although they seldom got a glimpse of water,
+save where the ti-tree scrub on the bank grew thinner or the light wind
+stirred an opening in its branches. Now, however, the Hermit suddenly
+turned, and although the others failed to perceive any track or
+landmark, he led them quickly through the scrub belt to the bank of the
+creek beyond.
+
+It was indeed an ideal place for fishing. A deep, quiet pool, partly
+shaded by big trees, lay placid and motionless, except for an
+occasional ripple, stirred by a light puff of wind. An old wattle tree
+grew on the bank, its limbs jutting out conveniently, and here Jim and
+Wally ensconced themselves immediately, and turned their united
+attention to business. For a time no sound was heard save the dull
+“plunk” of sinkers as the lines, one by one, were flung into the water.
+
+The Hermit did not fish. He had plenty at his camp, he said, and
+fishing for fun had lost its excitement, since he fished for a living
+most days of the week. So he contented himself with advising the others
+where to throw in, and finally sat down on the grass near Norah.
+
+A few minutes passed. Then Jim jerked his line hurriedly and began to
+pull in with a feverish expression. It lasted until a big black fish
+made its appearance, dangling from the hook, and then it was suddenly
+succeeded by a look of intense disgust, as a final wriggle released the
+prisoner, which fell back with a splash into the water.
+
+“Well, I’m blessed!” said Jim wrathfully.
+
+“Hard luck!” said Harry.
+
+“Try again, Jimmy, and stick to him this time,” counselled Wally, in a
+fatherly tone.
+
+“Oh, you shut up,” Jim answered, re-baiting his hook. “I didn’t catch
+an old boot, anyhow!”—which pertinent reflection had the effect of
+silencing Wally, amidst mild mirth on the part of the other members of
+the expedition.
+
+Scarcely a minute more, and Norah pulled sharply at her line and began
+to haul in rapidly.
+
+“Got a whale?” inquired Jim.
+
+“Something like it!” Norah pulled wildly.
+
+“Hang on!”
+
+“Stick to him!”
+
+“Mind your eye!”
+
+“Don’t get your line tangled!”
+
+“Want any help, Miss Norah?”
+
+“No thanks.” Norah was almost breathless. A red spot flamed in each
+cheek.
+
+Slowly the line came in. Presently it gave a sudden jerk, and was
+tugged back quickly, as the fish made another run for liberty. Norah
+uttered an exclamation, quickly suppressed, and caught it sharply,
+pulling strongly.
+
+Ah—he was out! A big, handsome perch, struggling and dancing in the air
+at the end of the line. Shouts broke from the boys as Norah landed her
+prize safely on the bank.
+
+“Well done, Miss Norah,” said the Hermit warmly.
+
+“That’s a beauty—as fine a perch as I’ve seen in this creek.”
+
+“Oh, isn’t he a splendid fellow!” Norah cried, surveying the prey with
+dancing eyes. “I’ll have him for Dad, anyhow, even if I don’t catch
+another.”
+
+“Yes, Dad’s breakfast’s all right,” laughed the Hermit. “But don’t
+worry, you’ll catch more yet. See, there goes Harry.”
+
+There was a shout as Harry, with a scientific flourish of his rod,
+hauled a small blackfish from its watery bed.
+
+“Not bad for a beginning!” he said, grinning. “But not a patch on
+yours, Norah!”
+
+“Oh, I had luck,” Norah said. “He really is a beauty, isn’t he? I think
+he must be the grandfather of all the perches.”
+
+“If that’s so,” said Jim, beginning to pull in, with an expression of
+“do or die” earnestness, “I reckon I’ve got the grandmother on now!”
+
+A storm of advice hurtled about Jim as he tugged at his line.
+
+“Hurry up, Jim!”
+
+“Go slow!”
+
+“There—he’s getting off again!”
+
+“So are you!” said the ungrateful recipient of the counsel, puffing
+hard.
+
+“Only a boot, Jim—don’t worry!”
+
+“Gammon!—it’s a shark!—look at his worried expression!”
+
+“I’ll ‘shark’ you, young Harry!” grunted Jim. “Mind your eye—there he
+comes!” And expressions of admiration broke from the scoffers as a
+second splendid perch dangled in the air and was landed high and dry—or
+comparatively so—in the branches of the wattle tree.
+
+“Is he as big as yours, Norah?” queried Jim a minute later, tossing his
+fish down on the grass close to his sister and the Hermit.
+
+Norah laid the two fishes alongside.
+
+“Not quite,” she announced; “mine’s about an inch longer, and a bit
+fatter.”
+
+“Well, that’s all right,” Jim said. “I said it was the grandmother I
+had—yours is certainly the grandfather! I’m glad you got the biggest,
+old girl.” They exchanged a friendly smile.
+
+A yell from Wally intimated that he had something on his hook, and with
+immense pride he flourished in the air a diminutive blackfish—so small
+that the Hermit proposed to use it for bait, a suggestion promptly
+declined by the captor, who hid his catch securely in the fork of two
+branches, before re-baiting his hook. Then Harry pulled out a fine
+perch, and immediately afterwards Norah caught a blackfish; and after
+that the fun waxed fast and furious, the fish biting splendidly, and
+all hands being kept busy. An hour later Harry shook the last worm out
+of the bait tin and dropped it into the water on his hook, where it
+immediately was seized by a perch of very tender years.
+
+“Get back and grow till next year,” advised Harry, detaching the little
+prisoner carefully, the hook having caught lightly in the side of its
+mouth. “I’ll come for you next holidays!” and he tossed the tiny fellow
+back into the water. “That’s our last scrap of bait, you chaps,” he
+said, beginning to wind up his line.
+
+“I’ve been fishing with an empty hook for I don’t know how long,” said
+Jim, hauling up also. “These beggars have nibbled my bait off and
+carefully dodged the hook.”
+
+“Well, we’ve plenty, haven’t we?” Norah said. “Just look what a
+splendid pile of fish!”
+
+“They take a bit of beating, don’t they?” said Jim. “That’s right, Wal,
+pull him up!” as Wally hauled in another fine fish. “We couldn’t carry
+more if we had ’em.”
+
+“Then it’s a good thing my bait’s gone, too!” laughed Norah, winding
+up. “Haven’t we had a most lovely time!”
+
+Jim produced a roll of canvas which turned out to be two sugar bags,
+and in these carefully bestowed the fish, sousing the whole thoroughly
+in the water. The boys gathered up the lines and tackle and “planted”
+the rods conveniently behind a log, “to be ready for next time,” they
+said.
+
+“Well, we’ve had splendid sport, thanks to you, sir,” Jim said, turning
+to the Hermit, who stood looking on at the preparations, a benevolent
+person, “something between Father Christmas and Robinson Crusoe,” as
+Norah whispered to Harry. “We certainly wouldn’t have got on half as
+well if we’d stayed where we were.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t know,” the Hermit answered. “Yours is a good place—I’ve
+often caught plenty of fish there—only not to be relied on as this pool
+is. I’ve really never known this particular spot fail—the fish seem to
+live in it all the year round. However, I’m glad you’ve had decent
+luck—it’s not a bit jolly to go home empty-handed, I know. And now,
+what’s the next thing to be done? The afternoon’s getting on—don’t you
+think it’s time you came to pay me a visit at the camp?”
+
+“Oh, yes, please!” Norah cried.
+
+Jim hesitated.
+
+“We’d like awfully to see your camp, if—if it’s not any bother to you,”
+he said.
+
+“Not the least in the world,” the Hermit said. “Only I can’t offer you
+any refreshment. I’ve nothing but cold ’possum and tea, and the
+’possum’s an acquired taste, I’m afraid. I’ve no milk for the tea, and
+no damper, either!”
+
+“By George!” said Jim remorsefully. “Why, we ate all your damper at
+lunch!”
+
+“I can easily manufacture another,” the Hermit said, laughing. “I’m
+used to the process. Only I don’t suppose I could get it done soon
+enough for afternoon tea.”
+
+“We’ve loads of tucker,” Jim said. “Far more than we’re likely to eat.
+Milk, too. We meant to boil the billy again before we start for home.”
+
+“I’ll tell you what,” Norah said, struck by a brilliant idea. “Let’s
+coo-ee for Billy, and when he comes send him back for our things. Then
+if—if Mr. Hermit likes, we could have tea at his camp.”
+
+“Why, that’s a splendid notion,” the Hermit cried. “I’m delighted that
+you thought of it, Miss Norah, although I’m sorry my guests have to
+supply their own meal! It doesn’t seem quite the thing—but in the bush,
+polite customs have to fall into disuse. I only keep up my own good
+manners by practising on old Turpentine, my snake! However, if you’re
+so kind as to overlook my deficiencies, and make them up yourselves, by
+all means let us come along and coo-ee for sweet William!”
+
+He shouldered one of the bags of fish as he spoke, disregarding a
+protest from the boys. Jim took the second, and they set out for the
+camp.
+
+Their way led for some time along the track by which they had come, if
+“track” it might be called. Certainly, the Hermit trod it confidently
+enough, but the others could only follow in his wake, and wonder by
+what process he found his way so quickly through the thick bush.
+
+About half a mile along the creek the Hermit suddenly turned off almost
+at right angles, and struck into the scrub. The children followed him
+closely, keeping as nearly at his heels as the nature of the path would
+permit.
+
+Norah found it not very pleasant. The Hermit went at a good rate,
+swinging over the rough ground with the sure-footed case of one
+accustomed to the scrub and familiar with the path. The boys unhampered
+by skirts and long hair, found no great difficulty in keeping up with
+him, but the small maiden of the party, handicapped by her clothes, to
+say nothing of being youngest of them all, plodded along in the rear,
+catching on sarsaparilla vines and raspberry tangles, plunging head
+first through masses of dogwood, and getting decidedly the worst of the
+journey.
+
+Harry was the first to notice that Norah was falling “into the
+distance,” as he put it, and he ran back to her immediately.
+
+“Poor old kid!” he said shamefacedly. “I’d no idea you were having such
+a beast of a time. Sorry, Norah!” His polite regrets were cut short by
+Norah’s catching her foot in a creeper and falling bodily upon him.
+
+“Thank you,” said Harry, catching her deftly. “Delighted, I’m sure,
+ma’am! It’s a privilege to catch any one like you. Come on, old girl,
+and I’ll clear the track for you.”
+
+A little farther on the Hermit had halted, looking a trifle guilty.
+
+“I’m really sorry, Miss Norah,” he said, as Norah and Harry made their
+way up to the waiting group. “I didn’t realise I was going at such a
+pace. We’ll make haste more slowly.”
+
+He led the way, pausing now and again to make it easier for the little
+girl, holding the bushes aside and lifting her bodily over several big
+logs and sharp watercourses. Finally he stopped.
+
+“I think if you give Billy a call now, Jim,” he said, “he won’t have
+much difficulty in finding us.”
+
+To the children it seemed an utter impossibility that Billy should ever
+find them, though they said nothing, and Jim obediently lifted up his
+voice and coo-ee’d in answer to the Hermit’s words. For himself, Jim
+was free to confess he had quite lost his bearings, and the other boys
+were as much at sea as if they had suddenly been dropped down at the
+North Pole. Norah alone had an idea that they were not far from their
+original camping-place; an idea which was confirmed when a long
+“Ai-i-i!” came in response to Jim’s shout, sounding startlingly near at
+hand.
+
+“Master Billy has been making his way along the creek,” commented the
+Hermit. “He’s no distance off. Give him another call.”
+
+“Here!” Jim shouted. Billy answered again, and after a few more
+exchanges, the bushes parted and revealed the sable retainer, somewhat
+out of breath.
+
+“Scoot back to camp, Billy,” Jim ordered. “Take these fish and soak ’em
+in the creek, and bring back all our tucker—milk and all. Bring
+it—Where’ll he bring it, sir?” to the Hermit.
+
+“See that tall tree, broken with the bough dangling?” the Hermit asked,
+pointing some distance ahead. Billy nodded. “Come back to that and
+cooee, and we’ll answer you.”
+
+“Plenty!” said Billy, shouldering the bags of fish, and departing at a
+run. Billy had learnt early the futility of wasting words.
+
+“Come along,” said the Hermit, laughing.
+
+He turned off into the scrub, and led the way again, taking, it seemed
+to Norah, rather a roundabout path. At length he stopped short, near a
+dense clump of dogwood.
+
+“My back door,” he said politely.
+
+They stared about them. There was no sign of any door at all, nor even
+of any footprints or marks of traffic. The scrub was all about them;
+everything was very still and quiet in the afternoon hush.
+
+“Well, you’ve got us beaten and no mistake!” Jim laughed, after they
+had peered fruitlessly about. “Unless you camp in the air, I don’t
+see—”
+
+“Look here,” said the Hermit.
+
+He drew aside a clump of dogwood, and revealed the end of an old log—a
+huge tree-trunk that had long ago been a forest monarch, but having
+fallen, now stretched its mighty length more than a hundred feet along
+the ground. It was very broad and the uppermost side was flat, and here
+and there bore traces of caked, dry mud that showed where a boot had
+rested. The dogwood walled it closely on each side.
+
+“That’s my track home,” the Hermit said. “Let me help you up, Miss
+Norah.”
+
+He sprang up on the log as he spoke, and extended a hand to Norah, who
+followed him lightly. Then the Hermit led the way along the log, which
+was quite broad enough to admit of a wheelbarrow being drawn down its
+length. He stopped where the butt of the old tree, rising above the
+level of the trunk, barred the view, and pulling aside the dogwood,
+showed rough steps, cut in the side of the log.
+
+“Down here, Miss Norah.”
+
+In a moment they were all on the ground beside him—Wally, disdaining
+the steps, having sprung down, and unexpectedly measured his length on
+the earth, to the accompaniment of much chaff. He picked himself up,
+laughing more than any of them, just as Norah popped her head through
+the scrub that surrounded them, and exclaimed delightedly—.
+
+“Why, here’s the camp.”
+
+“I say,” Jim said, following the Hermit into the little clearing,
+“you’re well planted here!”
+
+The space was not very large—a roughly circular piece of ground, ringed
+round with scrub, in which big gum trees reared their lofty heads. A
+wattle tree stood in the centre, from its boughs dangling a rough
+hammock, made of sacking, while a water bag hung from another
+convenient branch. The Hermit’s little tent was pitched at one side;
+across the clearing was the rude fireplace that Norah had seen in the
+morning. Everything, though tough enough, was very clean and tidy, with
+a certain attempt at comfort.
+
+The Hermit laughed.
+
+“Yes, I’m pretty well concealed,” he agreed. “You might be quite close
+to the camp and never dream that it existed. Only bold explorers like
+Miss Norah would have hit upon it from the side where she appeared to
+me this morning, and my big log saves me the necessity of having a
+beaten track home. I try, by getting on it at different points, to
+avoid a track to the log, although, should a footmark lead anyone to
+it, the intruder would never take the trouble to walk down an old
+bushhung tree-trunk, apparently for no reason. So that I feel fairly
+secure about my home and my belongings when I plan a fishing expedition
+or an excursion that takes me any distance away.”
+
+“Well, it’s a great idea,” Jim said. “Of course, a beaten track to your
+camp would be nothing more or less than an invitation to any swaggie or
+black fellow to follow it up.”
+
+“That’s what I thought,” the Hermit said; “and very awkward it would
+have been for me, seeing that one can’t very well put a padlock on a
+tent, and that all my belongings are portable. Not that there’s
+anything of great value. I have a few papers I wouldn’t care to lose, a
+watch and a little money—but they’re all safely buried in a cashbox
+with a good lock. The rest I have to chance, and, as I told you, I’ve
+so far been pretty lucky in repelling invaders. There’s not much
+traffic round here, you know!”
+
+Jim and Norah laughed. “Not much,” they said, nodding.
+
+“My tent’s not large,” the Hermit said, leading the way to that
+erection, which was securely and snugly pitched with its back door (had
+there been one) against the trunk of a huge dead tree. It was a
+comparatively new tent, with a good fly, and was watertight, its owner
+explained, in all weathers. The flap was elaborately secured by many
+strings, tied with wonderful and fearful knots.
+
+“It must take you a long time to untie those chaps every day,” said
+Wally.
+
+“It would,” said the Hermit, “if I did untie them. They’re only part of
+my poor little scheme for discouraging intruders, Master Wally.” He
+slipped his fingers inside the flap and undid a hidden fastening, which
+opened the tent without disarranging the array of intricate knots.
+
+“A fellow without a knife might spend quite a while in untying all
+those,” said the Hermit. “He’d be rather disgusted, on completing the
+job, to find they had no bearing on the real fastening of the tent. And
+perhaps by that time I might be home!”
+
+The interior of the tent was scrupulously tidy and very plain. A
+hastily put up bunk was covered with blue blankets, and boasted a
+sacking pillow. From the ridge-pole hung a candlestick, roughly
+fashioned from a knot of wood, and the furniture was completed by a
+rustic table and chair, made from branches, and showing considerable
+ingenuity in their fashioning. Wallaby skins thrown over the chair and
+upon the floor lent a look of comfort to the tiny dwelling; and a
+further touch of homeliness was given by many pictures cut from
+illustrated papers and fastened to the canvas walls. The fly of the
+tent projected some distance in front, and formed a kind of verandah,
+beneath which a second rustic seat stood, as well as a block of wood
+that bore a tin dish, and evidently did duty as a washstand. Several
+blackened billies hung about the camp, with a frying-pan that bore
+marks of long and honourable use.
+
+The children surveyed this unusual home with much curiosity and
+interest, and the boys were loud in their praises of the chairs and
+tables. The Hermit listened to their outspoken comments with a
+benevolent look, evidently pleased with their approval, and soon Jim
+and he were deep in a discussion of bush carpentry—Jim, as Wally said,
+reckoning himself something of an artist in that line, and being eager
+for hints. Meanwhile the other boys and Norah wandered about the camp,
+wondering at the completeness that had been arrived at with so little
+material, and at its utter loneliness and isolation.
+
+“A man might die here half a dozen times, and no one be any the wiser,”
+Wally said. “I wouldn’t like it myself.”
+
+“Once would be enough for most chaps.” Harry grinned.
+
+“Oh, get out! you know what I mean,” retorted Wally. “You chaps are
+never satisfied unless you’re pulling my leg—it’s a wonder I don’t
+limp! But seriously, what a jolly rum life for a man to choose.”
+
+“He’s an educated chap, too,” Harry said—“talks like a book when he
+likes. I wonder what on earth he’s doing it for?”
+
+They had dropped their voices instinctively, and had moved away from
+the tent.
+
+“He’s certainly not the ordinary swaggie,” Norah said slowly.
+
+“Not by a good bit,” Wally agreed. “Why, he can talk like our English
+master at school! Perhaps he’s hiding.”
+
+“Might be,” Harry said. “You never can tell—he’s certainly keen enough
+on getting away from people.”
+
+“He’s chosen a good place, then.”
+
+“Couldn’t be better. I wonder if there’s anything in it—if he really
+has done anything and doesn’t want to be found?”
+
+“I never heard such bosh!” said Norah indignantly. “One would think he
+really looked wicked, instead of being such a kind old chap. D’you
+think he’s gone and committed a murder, or robbed a bank, or something
+like that? I wonder you’re not afraid to be in his camp!”
+
+The boys stared in amazement.
+
+“Whew-w-w!” whistled Wally.
+
+Harry flushed a little.
+
+“Oh steady, Norah!” he protested—“we really didn’t mean to hurt your
+feelings. It was only an idea. I’ll admit be doesn’t look a hardened
+sinner.”
+
+“Well, you shouldn’t have such ideas,” Norah said stoutly; “he’s a
+great deal too nice, and look how kind he’s been to us! If he chooses
+to plant himself in the bush, it’s no one’s business but his own.”
+
+“I suppose not,” Harry began. He pulled up shortly as the Hermit,
+followed by Jim, emerged from the tent.
+
+The Hermit had a queer smile in his eyes, but Jim looked desperately
+uncomfortable.
+
+Jim favoured the others with a heavy scowl as he came out of the tent,
+slipping behind the Hermit in order that he might deliver it
+unobserved. It was plain enough to fill them with considerable
+discomfort. They exchanged glances of bewilderment.
+
+“I wonder what’s up now?” Wally whispered.
+
+Jim strolled over to them as the Hermit, without saying anything,
+crossed to his fireplace, and began to put some sticks together.
+
+“You’re bright objects!” he whispered wrathfully. “Why can’t you speak
+softly if you must go gabbling about other people?”
+
+“You don’t mean to say he heard us?” Harry said, colouring.
+
+“I do, then! We could hear every word you said, and it was jolly
+awkward for me. I didn’t know which way to look.”
+
+“Was he wild?” whispered Wally.
+
+“Blessed if I know. He just laughed in a queer way, until Norah stuck
+up for him, and then he looked grave. ‘I’m lucky to have one friend,’
+he said, and walked out of the tent. You’re a set of goats!” finished
+Jim comprehensively.
+
+“Well, I’m not ashamed of what I said, anyhow!” Norah answered
+indignantly. She elevated her tip-tilted nose, and walked away to where
+the Hermit was gathering sticks, into which occupation she promptly
+entered. The boys looked at each other.
+
+“Well, I am—rather,” Harry said. He disappeared into the scrub,
+returning presently with a log of wood as heavy as he could drag.
+Wally, seeing his idea, speedily followed suit, and Jim, after a stare,
+copied their example. They worked so hard that by the time the Hermit
+and Norah had the fire alight, quite a respectable stack of wood
+greeted the eye of the master of the camp. He looked genuinely pleased.
+
+“Well, you are kind chaps,” he said. “That will save me wood-carting
+for many a day, and it is a job that bothers my old back.”
+
+“We’re very glad to get it for you, sir,” Jim blurted, a trifle
+shamefacedly. A twinkle came into the Hermit’s eyes as he looked at
+him.
+
+“That’s all square, Jim,” he said quietly, and without any more being
+said the boys felt relieved. Evidently this Hermit was not a man to
+bear malice, even if he did overhear talk that wasn’t meant for him.
+
+“Well,” said the Hermit, breaking a somewhat awkward silence, “it’s
+about time we heard the dusky Billy, isn’t it?”
+
+“Quite time, I reckon,” Jim replied. “Lazy young beggar!”
+
+“Well, the billy’s not boiling yet, although it’s not far off it.”
+
+“There he is,” Norah said quickly, as a long shout sounded near at
+hand. The Hermit quickly went off in its direction, and presently
+returned, followed by Billy, whose eyes were round as he glanced about
+the strange place in which he found himself, although otherwise no sign
+of surprise appeared on his sable countenance. He carried the bags
+containing the picnic expedition’s supply of food, which Norah promptly
+fell to unpacking. An ample supply remained from lunch, and when
+displayed to advantage on the short grass of the clearing the meal
+looked very tempting. The Hermit’s eyes glistened as Norah unpacked a
+bag of apples and oranges as a finishing touch.
+
+“Fruit!” he said. “Oh, you lucky people! I wish there were fruit shops
+in the scrub. I can dispense with all the others, but one does miss
+fruit.”
+
+“Well, I’m glad we brought such a bagful, because I’m sure we don’t
+want it,” Norah said. “You must let us leave it with you, Mr. Hermit.”
+
+“Water’s plenty boilin’,” said Billy
+
+Tea was quickly brewed, and presently they were seated on the ground
+and making a hearty meal, as if the lunch of a few hours ago had never
+been.
+
+“If a fellow can’t get hungry in the bush,” said Wally, holding out his
+hand for his fifth scone, “then he doesn’t deserve ever to get hungry
+at all!” To which Jim replied, “Don’t worry, old man—that’s a fate
+that’s never likely to overtake you!” Wally, whose hunger was of a
+generally prevailing kind, which usually afflicted him most in school
+hours, subsided meekly into his tea-cup.
+
+They did not hurry over the meal, for everyone was a little lazy after
+the long day, and there was plenty of time to get home—the long summer
+evening was before them, and it would merge into the beauty of a
+moonlit night. So they “loafed” and chatted aimlessly, and drank huge
+quantities of the billy-tea, that is quite the nicest tea in the world,
+especially when it is stirred with a stick. And when they were really
+ashamed to eat any more they lay about on the grass, yarning, telling
+bush tales many and strange, and listening while the Hermit spun them
+old-world stories that made the time slip away wonderfully. It was with
+a sigh that Jim roused himself at last.
+
+“Well,” he said, “it’s awfully nice being here, and I’m not in a bit of
+a hurry to go—are you, chaps?”
+
+The chaps chorused “No.”
+
+“All the same, it’s getting late,” Jim went on, pulling out his
+watch—“later than I thought, my word! Come on—we’ll have to hurry.
+Billy, you slip along and saddle up the ponies one-time quick!”
+
+Billy departed noiselessly.
+
+“He never said ‘Plenty!’” said Wally disappointedly, gathering himself
+up from the grass.
+
+“It was an oversight,” Jim laughed. “Now then, Norah, come along. What
+about the miserable remains?”
+
+“The remains aren’t so miserable,” said Norah, who was on her knees
+gathering up the fragments of the feast. “See, there’s a lot of bread
+yet, ever so many scones, heaps of cake, and the fruit, to say nothing
+of butter and jam.” She looked up shyly at the Hermit. “Would you—would
+you mind having them?”
+
+The Hermit laughed.
+
+“Not a bit!” he said. “I’m not proud, and it is really a treat to see
+civilized food again. I’ll willingly act as your scavenger, Miss
+Norah.”
+
+Together they packed up the remnants, and the Hermit deposited them
+inside his tent. He rummaged for a minute in a bag near his bed, and
+presently came out with something in his hand.
+
+“I amuse myself in my many odd moments by this sort of thing,” he said.
+“Will you have it, Miss Norah?”
+
+He put a photograph frame into her hand—a dainty thing, made from the
+native woods, cunningly jointed together and beautifully carved. Norah
+accepted it with pleasure.
+
+“It’s not anything,” the Hermit disclaimed—“very rough, I’m afraid. But
+you can’t do very good work when your pocket-knife is your only tool. I
+hope you’ll forgive its shortcomings, Miss Norah, and keep it to
+remember the old Hermit.”
+
+“I think it’s lovely,” Norah said, looking up with shining eyes, “and
+I’m ever so much obliged. I’ll always keep it.”
+
+“Don’t forget,” the Hermit said, looking down at the flushed face. “And
+some day, perhaps, you’ll all come again.”
+
+“We must hurry,” Jim said.
+
+They were all back at the lunching-place, and the sight of the sun,
+sinking far across the plain, recalled Jim to a sense of half-forgotten
+responsibility.
+
+“It’s every man for his own steed,” he said. “Can you manage your old
+crock, Norah?”
+
+“Don’t you wish yours was half as good?” queried Norah, as she took the
+halter off Bobs and slipped the bit into his mouth.
+
+Jim grinned.
+
+“Knew I’d got her on a soft spot!” he murmured, wrestling with a
+refractory crupper.
+
+Harry and Wally were already at their ponies. Billy, having fixed the
+load to his satisfaction on the pack mare, was standing on one foot on
+a log jutting over the creek, drawing the fish from their cool
+resting-place in the water. The bag came up, heavy and dripping—so
+heavy, indeed, that it proved the last straw for Billy’s balance, and,
+after a wild struggle to remain on the log, he was forced to step off
+with great decision into the water, a movement accompanied with a
+decisive “Bust!” amidst wild mirth on the part of the boys. Luckily,
+the water was not knee deep, and the black retainer regained the log,
+not much the worse, except in temper.
+
+“Damp in there, Billy?” queried Wally, with a grave face.
+
+“Plenty!” growled Billy, marching off the log with offended dignity and
+a dripping leg.
+
+The Hermit had taken Norah’s saddle and placed it on Bobs, girthing it
+up with the quick movements of a practised hand. Norah watched him
+keenly, and satisfaction crept into her eyes, as, the job done, the old
+man stroked the pony’s glossy neck, and Bobs, scenting a friend, put
+his nose into his hand.
+
+“He likes you,” Norah said; “he doesn’t do that to everyone. Do you
+like horses?”
+
+“Better than men,” said the Hermit. “You’ve a good pony, Miss Norah.”
+
+“Yes, he’s a beauty,” the little girl said. “I’ve had him since he was
+a foal.”
+
+“He’ll carry you home well. Fifteen miles, is it?”
+
+“About that, I think.”
+
+“And we’ll find Dad hanging over the home paddock gate, wondering where
+we are,” said Jim, coming up, leading his pony. “We’ll have to say
+good-night, sir.”
+
+“Good-night, and good-bye,” said the Hermit, holding out his hand. “I’m
+sorry you’ve all got to go. Perhaps some other holidays—?”
+
+“We’ll come out,” nodded Jim. He shook hands warmly. “And if ever you
+find your way in as far as our place—”
+
+“I’m afraid not,” said the Hermit hastily. “As I was explaining to Miss
+Norah, I’m a solitary animal. But I hope to see you all again.”
+
+The boys said “good-bye” and mounted. The Hermit held Bobs while Norah
+swung herself up—the pony was impatient to be gone.
+
+“Good-bye,” he said.
+
+Norah looked at him pitifully.
+
+“I won’t say good-bye,” she said. “I’m coming back—some day. So
+it’s—‘so long!’”
+
+“So long,” the old man echoed, rather drearily, holding her hand. Then
+something queer came into his eyes, for suddenly Norah bent from the
+saddle and kissed his cheek.
+
+He stood long, watching the ponies and the little young figures
+scurrying across the plain. When they vanished he turned wearily and,
+with slow steps, went back into the scrub.
+
+
+They forded the creek carefully, for the water was high, and it was
+dark in the shadows of the trees on the banks. Jim knew the way well,
+and so did Norah, and they led, followed by the other boys. When they
+had crossed, it was necessary to go steadily in the dim light. The
+track was only wide enough for them to ride in Indian file, which is
+not a method of locomotion which assists conversation, and they rode
+almost in silence.
+
+It was queer, down there in the bush, with only cries of far-off birds
+to break the quiet. Owls and mopokes hooted dismally, and once a great
+flapping thing flew into Harry’s face, and he uttered a startled yell
+before he realised that it was only one of the night birds—whereat
+mirth ensued at the expense of Harry. Then to scare away the hooters
+they put silence to flight with choruses, and the old bush echoed to
+“Way Down Upon the Swanee River” and more modern songs, which aren’t
+half so sweet as the old Christy Minstrel ditties. After they had
+exhausted all the choruses they knew, Harry “obliged” with one of
+Gordon’s poems, recited with such boyish simplicity combined with
+vigour that it quite brought down the audience, who applauded so loudly
+that the orator was thankful for the darkness to conceal his blushes.
+
+“Old Harry’s our champion elocutioner at school, you know,” Wally said.
+“You should have heard him last Speech Day! He got more clapping than
+all the rest put together.”
+
+“Shut up, young Wally!” growled Harry in tones of affected wrath.
+
+“Same to you,” said Wally cheerfully. “Why, you had all the mammas
+howling into their hankies in your encore piece!”
+
+After which nothing would satisfy Norah but another recitation, and
+another after that; and then the timber ended, and there was only the
+level plain be tween them and home, with the moon just high enough to
+make it sufficiently light for a gallop. They tore wildly homeward, and
+landed in a slightly dishevelled bunch at the gate of the paddock.
+
+No one was about the stables.
+
+“Men all gone off somewhere,” said Jim laconically, proceeding to let
+his pony go. His example was followed by each of the others, the steeds
+dismissed with a rub and a pat, and the saddles placed on the stands.
+
+“Well, I don’t know about you chaps,” said Jim, “but I’m as hungry as a
+hunter!”
+
+“Same here,” chorused the chaps.
+
+“Come along and see what good old Brownie’s put by for us,” said Norah,
+disappearing towards the house like a small comet.
+
+The boys raced after her. In the kitchen doorway Mrs. Brown stood, her
+broad face resplendent with smiles.
+
+“I was just beginning to wonder if any of you had fallen into the
+creek,” she said. “You must be hungry, poor dears. Supper’s ready.”
+
+“Where’s Dad?” asked Norah.
+
+“Your Pa’s gone to Sydney.”
+
+“Sydney!”
+
+“Yes, my dears. A tallygrum came for him—something about some valuable
+cattle to be sold, as he wants.”
+
+“Oh,” said Jim, “those shorthorns he was talking about?”
+
+“Very like, Master Jim. Very sorry, your Pa were, he said, to go so
+suddint, and not to see you again, and the other young gentlemen
+likewise, seein’ you go away on Monday. He left his love to Miss Norah,
+and a letter for you; and Miss Norah, you was to try not to be dull,
+and he would be back by Thursday, so he ’oped.”
+
+“Oh,” said Norah, blankly. “It’s hardly a homecoming without Dad.”
+
+Supper was over at last, and it had been a monumental meal. To behold
+the onslaughts made by the four upon Mrs. Brown’s extensive
+preparations one might have supposed that they had previously been
+starving for time uncounted.
+
+“Heigho!” said Jim. “Our last day to-morrow.”
+
+Groans followed from Harry and Wally.
+
+“What do you want to remind a fellow for?”
+
+“Couldn’t help it—slipped out. What a jolly sell not to see old Dad
+again!” Jim wrinkled his brown handsome face into a frown.
+
+“You needn’t talk!” said Norah gloomily. “Fancy me on Monday—not a soul
+to speak to.”
+
+“Poor old Norah—yes, it’s rough on you,” said Jim. “Wish you were
+coming too. Why can’t you get Dad to let you go to school in
+Melbourne?”
+
+“Thanks,” said Norah hastily, “I’d rather not. I think I can bear this
+better. School! What on earth would I do with myself, shut up all day?”
+
+“Oh, all right; I thought you might like it. You get used to it, you
+know.”
+
+“I couldn’t get used to doing without Dad,” returned Norah.
+
+“Or Dad to doing without you, I reckon,” said Jim. “Oh, I suppose it’s
+better as it is—only you’ll have to get taught some day, old chap, I
+suppose.”
+
+“Oh, never mind that now,” Norah said impatiently. “I suppose I’ll have
+a governess some day, and she won’t let me ride astride, or go after
+the cattle, or climb trees, or do anything worth doing, and everything
+will be perfectly hateful. It’s simply beastly to be getting old!”
+
+“Cheer up, old party,” Jim laughed. “She might be quite a decent sort
+for all you know. As for riding astride, Dad’ll never let you ride any
+other way, so you can keep your mind easy about that. Well, never mind
+governesses, anyhow; you haven’t got one yet, and sufficient unto the
+day is the governess thereof. What are we going to do to-morrow?”
+
+“Can’t do very much,” said Norah, still showing traces of gloom. “It’s
+Sunday; besides, the horses want a spell, and you boys will have to
+pack—you leave pretty early on Monday, you know.”
+
+“Oh, botheration!” said Wally, jumping up so suddenly that he upset his
+chair. “For goodness’ sake, don’t talk of going back until we actually
+get there; it’s bad enough then. Let’s go and explore somewhere
+to-morrow.”
+
+“We can do that all right,” said Jim, glad of any turn being given to
+the melancholy conversation. “We’ve never taken you chaps to the falls,
+two miles up the creek, and they’re worth seeing.”
+
+“It’s a nice walk, too,” added Norah, putting sorrow to flight by
+deftly landing a pellet of bread on Harry’s nose. “Think you can
+struggle so far, Harry?”
+
+“Yes, and carry you back when you knock up,” said that gentleman,
+returning the missile, without success, Norah having retreated behind a
+vase of roses. “I think it would be a jolly good plan.”
+
+“Right oh!” said Jim. “That’s settled. We’ll pack up in the morning,
+get Brownie to give us dinner early, and start in good time. It doesn’t
+really take long to walk there, you know, only we want to be able to
+loaf on the way, and when we get to the falls.”
+
+“Rather,” said Harry. “I never see any fun in a walk when you tear
+somewhere, get there, and tear back again. Life’s too short. Come on,
+Norah, and play to us.”
+
+So they trooped into the drawing-room, and for an hour the boys lay
+about on sofas and easy chairs, while Norah played softly. Finally she
+found that her entire audience was sound asleep, a state of things she
+very naturally resented by gently pouring water from a vase on their
+peaceful faces. Peace fled at that, and so did Norah.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+THE LAST DAY
+
+
+“Now then, Harry, are you ready?”
+
+“Coming,” said Harry’s cheerful voice. He appeared on the verandah,
+endeavouring to cram a gigantic apple into his pocket.
+
+“Norah’s,” he said, in response to Jim’s lifted eyebrows. “Don’t know
+if she means to eat it in sections or not—it certainly doesn’t mean to
+go into my pocket as it is.” He desisted from his efforts. “Try it in
+the crown of your hat, old man.”
+
+“Thanks—my hat’s got all it knows to hold my brains,” retorted Jim.
+“You can’t take that thing. Here, Norah,” as that damsel appeared on
+the step, “how do you imagine Harry’s going to cart this apple?”
+
+“Quite simple,” said Norah airily. “Cut it in four, and we’ll each take
+a bit.”
+
+“That’s the judgment of Solomon,” said Wally, who was lying full length
+on the lawn—recovering, as Jim unkindly suggested, from dinner.
+
+“Well, come along,” Jim said impatiently—“you’re an awfully hard crowd
+to get started. We want to reach the falls in fair time, to see the
+sunlight on them—it’s awfully pretty. After about three or four o’clock
+the trees shade the water, and it’s quite ordinary.”
+
+“Just plain, wet water,” murmured Wally. Jim rolled him over and over
+down the sloping lawn, and then fled, pursued by Wally with dishevelled
+attire and much grass in his mouth. The others followed more steadily,
+and all four struck across the paddock to the creek.
+
+It was a rather hot afternoon, and they were glad to reach the shade of
+the bank and to follow the cattle track that led close to the water.
+Great fat bullocks lay about under the huge gum trees, scarcely raising
+their eyes to glance at the children as they passed; none were eating,
+all were chewing the cud in lazy contentment. They passed through a
+smaller paddock where superb sheep dotted the grass—real aristocrats
+these, accustomed to be handled and petted, and to live on the fat of
+the land—poor grass or rough country food they had never known. Jim and
+Norah visited some special favourites, and patted them. Harry and Wally
+admired at a distance.
+
+“Those some of the sheep you saved from the fire?” queried Harry.
+
+Norah flushed.
+
+“Never did,” she said shortly, and untruthfully. “Don’t know why you
+can’t talk sense, Jim!”—at which that maligned youth laughed
+excessively, until first the other boys, and then Norah, joined in,
+perforce.
+
+After again climbing over the sheep-proof fence of the smaller paddock
+they came out upon a wide plain, almost treeless, save for the timber
+along the creek, where their cattle track still led them. Far as they
+could see no fence broke the line of yellow grass. There were groups of
+cattle out on the plain. These were store bullocks, Jim explained, a
+draft recently arrived from Queensland, and hardly yet acclimatised.
+
+“It takes a good while for them to settle down,” Norah said, “and then
+lots of ’em get sick—pleuro and things; and we inoculate them, and
+their tails drop off, and sometimes the sick ones get bad-tempered, and
+it’s quite exciting work mustering.”
+
+“Dangerous?” asked Wally.
+
+“Not with a pony that knows things like Bobs,” said Bobs’ mistress. “He
+always keeps his weather eye open for danger.”
+
+“Not a bad thing, as you certainly don’t,” laughed Jim.
+
+“Well—do you?”
+
+“Certainly I do,” said Jim firmly, whereat Norah laughed very heartily.
+
+“When I leave school, Dad says I can go on the roads with the cattle
+for one trip,” said Jim. “Be no end of fun—takes ever so long to bring
+them down from Queensland, and the men have a real good time—travel
+with a cook, and a covered buggy and pair to bring the tucker and tents
+along.”
+
+“What’ll you be?” asked Wally—“cook?”
+
+“No, slushy,” said Harry.
+
+“No, I’ll take you two chaps along in those billets,” grinned Jim.
+
+“I don’t know who’d be cook,” said Norah solemnly; “but I don’t think
+the men would be in very good condition at the end of the trip,
+whichever of you it was!”
+
+With such pleasantries they beguiled the way, until, on rounding a bend
+in the track, a dull roar came plainly to their ears.
+
+“What’s that?” asked Wally, stopping to listen.
+
+“That’s the falls, my boy,” replied Jim. “They’re really quite
+respectable falls—almost Niagarous! Come along, we’ll see them in a
+couple of minutes.”
+
+The sound of falling water became plainer and plainer as they pushed
+on. At this point the track was less defined and the scrub thicker—Jim
+explained that the cattle did not come here much, as there was no
+drinking-place for them for a good distance below the falls. They might
+almost have imagined themselves back in the bush near the Hermit’s
+camp, Harry said, as they pushed their way through scrub and
+undergrowth, many raspberry vines adding variety, if not charm, to the
+scramble. The last part of the walk was up bill, and at length they
+came out upon a clearer patch of ground.
+
+For some time the noise of the falls had deepened, until now it was a
+loud roar; but the sound had hardly prepared the boys for the sight
+that met their gaze. High up were rocky cliffs, sparsely clothed with
+vegetation, and through these the creek had cut its way, falling in one
+sheer mass, fifty feet or more, into the bed below, hollowed out by it
+during countless ages. The water curved over the top of the fall in one
+exquisite wave, smooth as polished marble, but half-way down a point of
+rock jutted suddenly out, and on this the waters dashed and split,
+flying off from it in a cloud of spray. At the foot the cataract roared
+and bubbled and seethed in one boiling mass of rapids.
+
+But the glory of it all was the sunlight. It fell right on the mass of
+descending water; and in the rays the fall glittered and flashed with
+all the colours of the rainbow, and the flying spray was like powdered
+jewels. It caught the drops hanging on the ferns that fringed the
+water, and turned them into twinkling diamonds. The whole fall seemed
+to be alive in the sunbeams’ dancing light.
+
+“Oh-h, I say,” whispered Harry. “Fancy never showing us this before!”
+He cast himself on the ground and lay, chin in hands, gazing at the
+wonder before him.
+
+“We kept it to the last,” said Norah softly. She sat down by him and
+the others followed their example.
+
+“Just think,” said Harry, “that old creek’s been doing that ever since
+time began—every day the sun comes to take his share at lighting it up,
+long before we were born, and ages after we shall die! Doesn’t it make
+you feel small!”
+
+Norah nodded understandingly. “I saw it once by moonlight,” she said.
+“Dad and I rode here one night—full moon. Oh, it was lovely! Not like
+this, of course, because there wasn’t any colour—but a beautiful white,
+clean light, and the fall was like a sheet of silver.”
+
+“Did you ever throw anything over?” asked Wally. His wonderment was
+subsiding and the boy in him woke up again.
+
+“No good,” said Jim. “You never see it again. I’ve thrown a stick in up
+above, and it simply whisks over and gets sucked underneath the curtain
+of water at once, and disappears altogether until it reaches the smooth
+water, ever so far down.”
+
+“Say you went over yourself?”
+
+“Wouldn’t be much left of you,” Jim answered, with a laugh. “The bed of
+the creek’s simply full of rocks—you can see a spike sticking up here
+and there in the rapids. We’ve seen sheep come down in flood-time—they
+get battered to bits. I don’t think I’ll try any experiments, thank
+you, young Wally.”
+
+“You always were a disobliging critter,” Wally grinned.
+
+“Another time a canoe came over,” Jim said. “It belonged to two chaps
+farther up—they’d just built it, and were out for the first time, and
+got down too near the falls. They didn’t know much about managing their
+craft, and when the suck of the water began to take them along they
+couldn’t get out of the current. They went faster and faster,
+struggling to paddle against the stream, instead of getting out at an
+angle and making for the bank—which they might have done. At last they
+could hear the roar of the falls quite plainly.”
+
+“What happened to them?” asked Wally. “Did they go over?”
+
+“Well, they reckoned it wasn’t healthy to remain in the canoe,” said
+Jim. “It was simply spinning along in the current, and the falls were
+almost in sight. So they dived in, on opposite sides—the blessed canoe
+nearly tipped over when they stood up, and only the shock of the cross
+drive kept her right. Of course the creek’s not so very wide, even
+farther up beyond the falls, and the force of their spring sent them
+nearly out of the current. They could both swim well, and after a
+struggle they got to the banks, just in time to see the canoe whisk
+over the waterfall!”
+
+“What hard luck!”
+
+“It was rather. They started off down-stream to find it, but for a long
+way they couldn’t see a trace. Then, right in the calm water, ever so
+far down, they found it—bit by bit. It was broken into so much
+matchwood!”
+
+“What did they do?” asked Wally.
+
+“Stood and stared at it from opposite sides, like two wet images,” said
+Jim, laughing. “It’s lowdown to grin, I suppose, but they must have
+looked funny. Then one of them swam across and they made their way to
+our place, and we fixed them up with dry things and drove them home. I
+don’t think they’ve gone in for canoeing since!” finished Jim
+reflectively.
+
+“Well, I guess it would discourage them a bit,” Wally agreed. “Getting
+shipwrecked’s no fun.”
+
+“Ever tried it?”
+
+“Once—in Albert Park Lagoon,” Wally admitted bashfully. “Some of us
+went out for a sail one Saturday afternoon. We didn’t know much about
+it, and I really don’t know what it was that tipped the old boat over.
+I was the smallest, so naturally I wasn’t having any say in managing
+her.”
+
+“That accounts for it,” said Jim dryly.
+
+“Didn’t mean that—goat!” said Wally. “Anyhow, I was very much
+astonished to find myself suddenly kicking in the mud. Ever been in
+that lake? It isn’t nice. It isn’t deep enough to drown you, but the
+mud is a caution. I got it all over me—face and all!”
+
+“You must have looked your best!” said Jim.
+
+“I did. I managed to stand up, very much amazed to find I wasn’t
+drowned. Two of the others walked out! I was too small to do more than
+just manage to keep upright. The water was round my chest. I couldn’t
+have walked a yard.”
+
+“How did you manage?”
+
+“A boat came along and picked up the survivors,” grinned Wally. “They
+wouldn’t take us in. We were just caked with mud, so I don’t blame
+’em—but we hung on to the stern, and they towed us to the shore. We
+were quite close to land. Then they went back and brought our boat to
+us. They were jolly kind chaps—didn’t seem to mind any trouble.”
+
+“You don’t seem to have minded it, either,” said Norah.
+
+“We were too busy laughing,” Wally said. “You have to expect these
+things when you go in for a life on the ocean wave. The worst part of
+it came afterwards, when we went home. That was really unpleasant. I
+was staying at my aunt’s in Toorak.”
+
+“Did you get into a row?”
+
+“It was unpleasant,” Wally repeated. “Aunts haven’t much sympathy, you
+know. They don’t like mess, and I was no end messy. We won’t talk about
+it, I think, thank you.” Wally rolled over on his back, produced an
+apple and bit into it solemnly.
+
+“Let us respect his silence,” said Jim.
+
+“You had aunts too?” queried Wally, with his mouth full.
+
+“Not exactly aunts,” Jim said. “But we had an old Tartar of a
+housekeeper once, when we were small kids. She ruled us with a rod of
+iron for about six months, and Norah and I could hardly call our souls
+our own. Father used to be a good deal away and Mrs. Lister could do
+pretty well as she liked.”
+
+“I did abominate that woman,” said Norah reflectively.
+
+“I don’t wonder,” replied Jim. “You certainly were a downtrodden little
+nipper as ever was. D’you remember the time we went canoeing in the
+flood on your old p’rambulator?”
+
+“Not likely to forget it.”
+
+“What was it?” Wally asked. “Tell us, Jim.”
+
+“Norah had a pram—like most kids,” Jim began.
+
+“Well, I like that,” said Norah, in great indignation. “It was yours
+first!”
+
+“Never said it wasn’t,” said Jim somewhat abashed by the laughter that
+ensued. “But that was ages ago. It was yours at this time, anyhow. But
+only the lower storey was left—just the floor of the pram on three
+wheels. Norah used to sit on this thing and push herself along with two
+sticks, like rowing on dry land.”
+
+“It was no end of fun,” said Norah. “You _could_ go!”
+
+“You could,” grinned Jim. “I’ll never forget the day I saw you start
+from the top of the hill near the house. The pram got a rate on of a
+mile a minute, and the sticks weren’t needed. About half-way down it
+struck a root, and turned three double somersaults in the air. I don’t
+know how many Norah turned—but when Dad and I got to the spot she was
+sitting on a thick mat of grass, laughing like one o’clock, and the
+pram was about half a mile away on the flat with its wheels in the air!
+We quite reckoned you were killed.”
+
+“Yes, and Dad made me promise not to go down that hill again,” said
+Norah ruefully. “It was a horrid nuisance!”
+
+“Well, there was a flood,” said Jim. “Not very much of a one. We’d had
+a good bit of rain, and the water-hole in the home paddock overflowed
+and covered all the flat about two feet deep. At first it was a bit too
+deep for Norah and her wheeled boat, but when it went down a bit she
+set off voyaging. She did look a rum little figure, out in the middle
+of the water, pushing herself along with her two sticks! Mrs. Lister
+didn’t approve of it, but as Dad had given her leave, the housekeeper
+couldn’t stop her.”
+
+At this point Norah was heard to murmur “Cat!”
+
+“Just so!” said Jim. “Well, you know, I used to poke fun at Norah and
+this thing. But one day I had gone down to the water’s edge, and she
+came up on it, poling herself through the water at a great rate, and it
+occurred to me it didn’t look half bad fun. So I suggested a turn
+myself.”
+
+“You said, ‘Here, kid, let’s have that thing for a bit,’” said Norah
+firmly.
+
+“Did I?” said Jim, with meekness.
+
+“Yes, you did. So I kindly got off.”
+
+“Then?” asked Harry.
+
+“He got on. I said, ‘Jim, dear, pray be careful about the holes, and
+let me tell you where they are!’”
+
+“I’m sure you did!” grinned Wally.
+
+“And he said, ‘If a kid like you can keep out of holes, I guess I
+can!’”
+
+“I’m sure he did!” said Wally.
+
+“Yes. So he set off. Now I had been over that flat so often in dry
+weather that I knew every bit of it. But Jim didn’t. He went off as
+hard as he could, and got on very well for a little bit—”
+
+“Am I telling this yarn, or are you?” inquired Jim, laughing.
+
+“This is the part that is best for me to tell,” said Norah solemnly.
+“Then he turned suddenly, so suddenly I hadn’t time to do more than
+yell a warning, which he didn’t hear—and the next minute the side
+wheels of the pram went over the edge of a hole, and the thing turned
+upside down upon poor old Jimmy!”
+
+“How lovely!” said Wally, kicking with delight. “Well, and what
+happened?”
+
+“Oh, Jim can tell you now,” laughed Norah. “I wasn’t under the water!”
+
+“I was!” said Jim. “The blessed old pram turned clean over and cast me
+bodily into a hole. That was all I knew—until I tried to get out, and
+found the pram had come, too, and was right on top of me—and do you
+think I could move that blessed thing?”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“In came Norah,” said Jim. “(I’ll take it out of you now, my girl!) She
+realised at once what had happened and waded in from the bank and
+pulled the old pram off her poor little brother! I came up,
+spluttering, to see Norah, looking very white, just preparing to dive
+in after me!”
+
+“You never saw such a drowned rat!” said Norah, taking up the tale.
+“Soaked—and muddy—and very cross! And the first thing he did was to
+abuse my poor old wheely-boat!”
+
+“Well—wouldn’t you?” Jim laughed. “Had to abuse something! Anyhow, we
+righted her and Norah waded farther in after the sticks, which had
+floated peacefully away, and we pulled the wheely-boat ashore. Then we
+roared laughing at each other. I certainly was a drowned rat, but Norah
+wasn’t much better, as she’d slipped nearly into the hole herself, in
+pulling the pram off me. But when we’d laughed, the first thought
+was—‘How are we going to dodge Mrs. Lister!’ It was a nasty problem!”
+
+“What did you do?”
+
+“Well, after consultation we got up near the house, planting the pram
+in some trees. We dodged through the shrubbery until we reached that
+old summer-house, and there I left Norah and scooted over to the
+stables, and borrowed an overcoat belonging to a boy we had working and
+a pair of his boots. Dad was away, or I might have gone straight to
+him. I put on the borrowed things over my wet togs (and very nice I
+looked!) and trotted off to the side of the house. No one seemed about,
+so I slipped into my room through the window and then into Norah’s, and
+got a bundle of clothes, and back I scooted to the summer-house, left
+Norah’s things there, and found a dressing-room for myself among some
+shrubs close by.
+
+“Well, do you know, that old cat, Mrs. Lister, had seen us all the
+time? She’d actually spotted us coming up the paddock, dripping, and
+had deliberately planted herself to see what we’d do. She knew all
+about my expedition after clothes; then she followed us to the
+shrubbery, and descended upon us like an avalanche, just as we got
+half-dressed!”
+
+“‘May I ask what you naughty little children are doing?’ she said.
+
+“Well, you know, that put my back up a bit—’cause I was nearly twelve,
+and Dad didn’t make a little kid of me. However, I tried to keep civil,
+and tell her what had happened; but she told me to hold my tongue. She
+grabbed Norah by the shoulder, and called her all the names under the
+sun, and shook her. Then she said, ‘You’ll come to bed at once, miss!’
+and caught hold of her wrist to drag her in.
+
+“Now Norah had sprained her wrist not long before, and she had to be a
+bit careful of it. We all knew that. She didn’t cry out when Mrs.
+Lister jerked her wrist, but I saw her turn white, and knew it was the
+bad one.”
+
+“So he chucked himself on top of old Mrs. Lister, and pounded her as
+hard as he could,” put in Norah, “and she was so astonished she let me
+go. She turned her attention to Jim then, and gave him a terrible whack
+over the head that sent him flying. And just then we heard a voice that
+was so angry we hardly recognised it for Dad’s, saying—
+
+“‘What is this all about?’”
+
+“My word, we were glad to see Dad!” said Jim. “He came over and put his
+arm round Norah—poor little kid. Mrs. Lister had screwed her wrist till
+it was worse than ever it had been, and she was as white as a sheet.
+Dad helped her on with her clothes. All the time Mrs. Lister was
+pouring out a flood of eloquence against us, and was nearly black in
+the face with rage. Dad took no notice until Norah was dressed. Then he
+said, ‘Come to me in the study in twenty minutes,’ and he picked Norah
+up and carried her inside, where he dosed her, and fixed up her wrist.
+I put on my clothes and followed them.
+
+“Norah and I never said anything until Mrs. Lister had told her story,
+which was a fine production, little truth, and three parts awful crams.
+Then Dad asked for our side, and we just told him. He knew we never
+told lies, and he believed us, and we told him some other things Mrs.
+Lister used to do to us in the way of bullying and spite. I don’t know
+that Dad needed them, because Norah’s wrist spoke louder than fifty
+tales, and he didn’t need any more evidence, though after all, she
+might have grabbed the bad wrist by mistake, and she had done far worse
+things on purpose. But the end of it was, Mrs. Lister departed that
+night, and Norah and I danced a polka in the hall when we heard the
+buggy drive off.”
+
+“That being the case,” said Norah gravely, “we’ll all have an apple.”
+
+The apples were produced and discussed, and then it was time to think
+of home, for the sun had long since left the glistening surface of the
+falls. So they gathered themselves up, and reluctantly enough left the
+beautiful scene behind them, with many a backward look.
+
+The way home was rather silent. The shadow of the boys’ departure was
+over them all, and Norah especially felt the weight of approaching
+loneliness. With Dad at home it would have been easier to let the boys
+go, but the prospect of several days by herself, with only the servants
+for company, was not a very comforting one. Norah wished dismally that
+she had been born a boy, with the prospect of a journey, and mates, and
+school, and “no end of larks.” Then she thought of Dad, and though
+still dismal, unwished the wish, and was content to remain a girl.
+
+There was a little excitement on the homeward trip over a snake, which
+tried to slip away unseen through the grass, and when it found itself
+surrounded by enemies, coiled itself round Harry’s leg, a proceeding
+very painful to that youth, who nevertheless stood like a statue while
+Jim dodged about for a chance to strike at the wildly waving head. He
+got it at last, and while the reptile writhed in very natural
+annoyance, Harry managed to get free, and soon put a respectful
+distance between himself and his too-affectionate acquaintance. Jim
+finished up the snake, and they resumed the track, keeping a careful
+look-out, and imagining another in every rustle.
+
+“Well done, old Harry!” said Wally. “Stood like a statue, you did!”
+
+“Thanks!” said Harry. “Jim’s the chap to say ‘Well done’ to, I think.”
+
+“Not me,” said Jim. “Easy enough to try to kill the brute. I’d rather
+do that than feel him round my leg, where I couldn’t get at him.”
+
+“Well, I think I would, too,” Harry said, laughing. “I never felt such
+a desire to stampede in my life.”
+
+“It was beastly,” affirmed Norah. She was a little pale. “It seemed
+about an hour before he poked his horrid head out and let Jim get a
+whack at it. But you didn’t lose much time, then, Jimmy!”
+
+“Could he have bitten through the leg of your pants?” queried Wally,
+with interest.
+
+“He couldn’t have sent all the venom through, I think,” Jim replied.
+“But enough would have gone to make a very sick little Harry.”
+
+“It’d be an interesting experiment, no doubt,” said Harry. “But, if you
+don’t mind, I’ll leave it for someone else to try. I’d recommend a
+wooden-legged man as the experimenter. He’d feel much more at his ease
+while the snake was trying how much venom he could get through a pant
+leg!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+GOOD-BYE
+
+
+“I was just a-goin’ to ring the big bell,” said Mrs. Brown.
+
+She was standing on the front verandah as the children came up the
+lawn.
+
+“Why, we’re not late, Brownie, are we?” asked Norah.
+
+“Not very.” The old housekeeper smiled at her. “Only when your Pa’s
+away I allers feels a bit nervis about you—sech thoughtless young
+people, an’ all them animals and snakes about!”
+
+“Gammon!” said Jim laughing. “D’you mean to say I can’t look after
+them, Brownie?”
+
+“I’d rather not say anythink rash, Master Jim,” rejoined Mrs. Brown
+with a twinkle.
+
+“I guess Mrs. Brown’s got the measure of your foot, old man,” grinned
+Harry.
+
+“Oh, well,” said Jim resignedly, “a chap never gets his due in this
+world. I forgive you, Brownie, though you don’t deserve it. Got a nice
+tea for us?”
+
+“Sech as it is, Master Jim, it’s waitin’ on you,” said Mrs. Brown, with
+point.
+
+“That’s what you might call a broad hint,” cried Jim. “Come on,
+chaps—race you for a wash-up!”
+
+They scattered, Mrs. Brown laying violent hands on the indignant Norah,
+and insisting on arraying her in a clean frock, which the victim
+resisted, as totally unnecessary. Mrs. Brown carried her point,
+however, and a trim little maiden joined the boys in the dining-room
+five minutes later.
+
+Mrs. Brown’s cooking was notable, and she had excelled herself over the
+boys’ farewell tea. A big cold turkey sat side by side with a ham of
+majestic dimensions, while the cool green of a salad was tempting after
+the hot walk. There were jellies, and a big bowl of fruit salad, while
+the centre of the table was occupied by a tall cake, raising aloft
+glittering white tiers. There were scones and tarts and wee cakes, and
+dishes of fresh fruit, and altogether the boys whistled long and
+softly, and declared that “Brownie was no end of a brick!”
+
+Whereat Mrs. Brown, hovering about to see that her charges wanted
+nothing, smiled and blushed, and said, “Get on, now, do!”
+
+Jim carved, and Jim’s carving was something to marvel at. No method
+came amiss to him. When he could cut straight he did; at other times he
+sawed; and, when it seemed necessary, he dug. After he had finished
+helping every one, Wally said that the turkey looked as if a dog had
+been at it, and the ham was worse, which remarks Jim meekly accepted as
+his due. Nor did the inartistic appearance of the turkey prevent the
+critic from coming back for more!
+
+Everyone was hungry, and did full justice to “Brownie’s” forethought;
+while Norah, behind the tall teapot, declared that it was a job for two
+men and a boy to pour out for such a thirsty trio. Harry helped the
+fruit salad, and Harry’s helpings were based on his own hunger, and
+would have suited Goliath. Finally, Norah cut the cake with great
+ceremony, and Wally’s proposal that everyone should retire to the lawn
+with a “chunk” was carried unanimously.
+
+Out on the grass they lay and chattered, while the dusk came down, and
+slowly a pale moon climbed up into the sky. Norah alone was silent.
+After a while Harry and Wally declared they must go and pack, and Jim
+and his sister were left alone.
+
+Wally and Harry scurried down the hail. The sound of their merry voices
+died away, and there was silence on the lawn.
+
+Jim rolled nearer to Norah.
+
+“Blue, old girl?”
+
+“‘M,” said a muffled voice.
+
+Jim felt for her hand in the darkness—and found it. The small, brown
+fingers closed tightly round his rough paw.
+
+“I know,” he said comprehendingly. “I’m awfully sorry, old woman. I do
+wish we hadn’t to go.”
+
+There was no answer. Jim knew why—and also knowing perfectly well that
+tears would mean the deepest shame, he talked on without requiring any
+response.
+
+“Beastly hard luck,” he said. “We don’t want to go a bit—fancy school
+after this! Ugh! But there are three of us, so it isn’t so bad. It
+wouldn’t matter if Dad was at home, for you. But I must say it’s
+lowdown to be leaving you all by your lonely little self.”
+
+Norah struggled hard with that abominable lump in her throat, despising
+herself heartily.
+
+“Brownie’ll be awfully good to you,” went on Jim. “You’ll have to buck
+up, you know, old girl, and not let yourself get dull. You practise
+like one o’clock; or make jam, or something; or get Brownie to let you
+do some cooking. Anything to keep you ‘from broodin’ on bein’ a dorg,’
+as old David Harum says. There’s all the pets to look after, you
+know—you’ve got to keep young black Billy up to the mark, or he’ll
+never feed ’em properly, and if you let him alone he changes the water
+in the dishes when the last lot’s dry. And, by George, Norah”—Jim had a
+bright idea—“Dad told me last night he meant to shift those new
+bullocks into the Long Plain. Ten to one he forgot all about it, going
+away so suddenly. You’ll have to see to it.”
+
+“I’d like that,” said Norah, feeling doubtfully for her voice.
+
+“Rather—best thing you can do,” Jim said eagerly. “Take Billy with you,
+of course, and a dog. They’re not wild, and I don’t think you’ll have
+any trouble—only be very careful to get ’em all—examine all the scrub
+in the paddock. Billy knows how many there ought to be. I did know,
+but, of course, I’ve forgotten. Of course Dad may have left directions
+with one of the men about it already.”
+
+“Well, I could go too, couldn’t I?” queried Norah.
+
+“Rather. They’d be glad to have you.”
+
+“Well, I’ll be glad of something to do. I wasn’t looking forward to
+to-morrow.”
+
+“No,” said Jim, “I know you weren’t. Never mind, you keep busy. You
+might drive into Cunjee with Brownie on Tuesday—probably you’d get a
+letter from Dad a day earlier, and hear when he’s coming home—and if he
+says he’s coming home on Thursday, Wednesday won’t seem a bit long.
+You’ll be as right as ninepence if you buck up.”
+
+“I will, old chap. Only I wish you weren’t going.”
+
+“So do I,” said Jim, “and so do the other chaps. They want to come
+again some holidays.”
+
+“Well, I hope you’ll bring them.”
+
+“My word! I will. Do you know, Norah, they think you’re no end of a
+brick?”
+
+“Do they?” said Norah, much pleased. “Did they tell you?”
+
+“They’re always telling me. Now, you go to bed, old girl.”
+
+He rose and pulled her to her feet.
+
+Norah put her arms round his neck—a very rare caress.
+
+“Good night,” she said. “I—I do love you, Jimmy!”
+
+Jim hugged her.
+
+“Same here, old chap,” he said.
+
+There was such scurrying in the early morning. Daylight revealed many
+things that had been overlooked in the packing overnight, and they had
+to be crammed in, somehow. Other things were remembered which had not
+been packed, and which must be found, and diligent hunt had to be made
+for them.
+
+Norah was everybody’s mate, running on several errands at once, finding
+Jim’s school cap near Harry’s overcoat while she was looking for
+Wally’s cherished snake-skin. Her strong brown hands pulled tight the
+straps of bulging bags on which their perspiring owners knelt, puffing.
+After the said bags were closed and carried out to the buggy, she found
+the three toothbrushes, and crammed each, twisted in newspaper, into
+its owner’s pocket. She had no time to think she was dull.
+
+Mrs. Brown, who had been up since dawn, had packed a huge hamper, and
+superintended its placing in the buggy. It was addressed to “Master
+James, Master Harry, and Master Wallie,” and later Jim reported that
+its contents were such as to make the chaps at school speechless—a
+compliment which filled Mrs. Brown with dismay, and a wish that she had
+put in less pastry and perhaps a little castor oil. At present she felt
+mildly safe about it and watched it loaded with a sigh of relief.
+
+“Boom-m-m!” went the big gong, and the boys rushed to the dining-room,
+where Norah was ready to pour out tea.
+
+“You have some, Norah,” said Harry, retaining his position close to the
+teapot, whence Wally had vainly striven to dislodge him.
+
+“Yes, old girl, you eat some breakfast,” commanded Jim.
+
+Norah flashed a smile at him over the cosy.
+
+“Lots of time afterwards,” she said, a little sadly.
+
+“No time like the present.” Wally took a huge bite out of a scone, and
+surveyed the relic with interest. Someone put a smoking plateful before
+him, and his further utterances were lost in eggs and bacon.
+
+Mrs. Brown flitted about like a stout guardian angel, keeping an
+especially watchful eye on Jim. If the supply on his plate lessened
+perceptibly, it was replenished with more, like manna from above. To
+his laughing protests she merely murmured, “Poor dear lamb!” whereat
+Wally and Harry laughed consumedly, and Jim blushed.
+
+“Well, you’ve beaten me at last, Brownie,” Jim declared finally. He
+waved away a chop which was about to descend upon his plate. “No truly,
+Brownie dear; there are limits! Tea? No thanks, Norah, I’ve had about a
+dozen cups already, I believe! You fellows ready?”
+
+They were, and the table was briskly deserted.
+
+There was a final survey of the boys’ room, which resembled a rubbish
+heap, owing to vigorous packing.
+
+Everybody ran wildly about looking for something.
+
+Wally was found searching frantically for his cap, which Norah
+discovered—on his head. There was a hurried journey to the kitchen, to
+bid the servants “Good-bye.”
+
+The buggy wheels scrunched the gravel before the hall door. The
+overseer coo-ee’d softly.
+
+“All aboard!”
+
+“All right, Evans!” Jim appeared in the doorway, staggering under a big
+Gladstone bag. Billy, similarly laden, followed. His black face was
+unusually solemn.
+
+“Chuck ’em in, Billy. Come on, you chaps!”
+
+The chaps appeared.
+
+“Good-bye, Norah. It’s been grand!” Harry pumped her hand vigorously.
+
+“Wish you were coming!” said Wally dismally. “Good-bye. Write to us,
+won’t you, Norah?”
+
+“Now then, Master Jim!” Evans glanced at his watch.
+
+“Right oh!” said Jim. He put his arm round the little girl’s shoulders
+and looked keenly into her face. There was no hint of breaking down.
+Norah met his gaze steadily and smiled at him. But the boy knew.
+
+“Good-bye, little chap,” he said, and kissed her. “You’ll keep your
+pecker up?”
+
+She nodded. “Good-bye, Jimmy, old boy.”
+
+Jim sprang into the buggy.
+
+“All right, Evans.”
+
+They whirled down the drive. Looking back, waving their caps, the boys
+carried away a memory of a brave little figure, erect, smiling and
+lonely on the doorstep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+THE WINFIELD MURDER
+
+
+The next few days went by slowly enough.
+
+Norah followed faithfully all Jim’s plans for her amusement. She
+practised, did some cooking, and helped Mrs. Brown preserve apricots;
+then there were the pets to look to and, best of all, the bullocks to
+move from one paddock to another. It was an easy job, and Evans was
+quite willing to leave it to Norah, Billy and a dog. The trio made a
+great business of it, and managed almost to forget loneliness in the
+work of hunting through the scrub and chasing the big, sleepy half-fat
+beasts out upon the clear plain. There were supposed to be forty-four
+in the paddock, but Norah and Billy mustered forty-five, and were
+exceedingly proud of themselves in consequence.
+
+Next day Norah persuaded Mrs. Brown to allow herself to be driven into
+Cunjee. There was nothing particular to go for, except that, as Norah
+said, they would get the mail a day earlier; but Mrs. Brown was not
+likely to refuse anything that would chase the look of loneliness from
+her charge’s face. Accordingly they set off after an early lunch, Norah
+driving the pair of brown ponies in a light single buggy that barely
+held her and her by no means fairy-like companion.
+
+The road was good and they made the distance in excellent time,
+arriving in Cunjee to see the daily train puff its way out of the
+station. Then they separated, as Norah had no opinion whatever of Mrs.
+Brown’s shopping—principally in drapers’ establishments, which this
+bush maiden hated cordially. So Mrs. Brown, unhampered, plunged into
+mysteries of flannel and sheeting, while Norah strolled up the
+principal street and exchanged greetings with those she knew.
+
+She paused by the door of a blacksmith’s shop, for the smith and she
+were old friends, and Norah regarded Blake as quite the principal
+person of Cunjee. Generally there were horses to be looked at, but just
+now the shop was empty, and Blake came forward to talk to the girl.
+
+“Seen the p’lice out your way?” he asked presently, after the weather,
+the crops, and the dullness of business had been exhausted as topics.
+
+“Police?” queried Norah. “No. Why?”
+
+“There was two mounted men rode out in your direction yesterday,” Blake
+answered. “They’re on the track of that Winfield murderer, they
+believe.”
+
+“What was that?” asked Norah blankly. “I never heard of it.”
+
+“Not heard of the Winfield murder! Why, you can’t read the papers,
+missy, surely?”
+
+“No; of course I don’t,” Norah said. “Daddy doesn’t like me to read
+everyday ones.”
+
+Blake nodded.
+
+“No, I s’pose not,” he said. “You’re too young to worry your little
+head about murders and suchlike. But everybody was talkin’ about the
+Winfield affair, so I sorter took it for granted that you’d know about
+it.”
+
+“Well, I don’t,” said Norah. “What is it all about?”
+
+“There’s not very much I can tell you about it, missy,” Blake said,
+scratching his head and looking down at the grave lace. “Nobody knows
+much about it.
+
+“Winfield’s a little bit of a place about twenty miles from ’ere, you
+know—right in the bush and away from any rail or coach line. On’y a
+couple o’ stores, an’ a hotel, an’ a few houses. Don’t suppose many
+people out o’ this district ever heard of it, it’s that quiet an’
+asleep.
+
+“Well, there was two ol’ men livin’ together in a little hut a mile or
+so from the Winfield township. Prospectors, they said they were—an’
+there was an idea that they’d done pretty well at the game, an’ had a
+bit of gold hidden somewhere about their camp. They kept very much to
+themselves, an’ never mixed with anyone—when one o’ them came into the
+township for stores he’d get his business done an’ clear out as quick
+as possible.
+
+“Well, about a month ago two fellows called Bowen was riding along a
+bush track between Winfield an’ their camp when they came across one o’
+the ol’ mates peggin’ along the track for all he was worth. They was
+surprised to see that he was carryin’ a big swag, an’ was apparently on
+a move.
+
+“‘Hullo, Harris!’ they says—‘leavin’ the district?’ He was a civil
+spoken ol’ chap as a rule, so they was rather surprised when he on’y
+give a sort o’ grunt, an’ hurried on.
+
+“They was after cattle, and pretty late the same day they found
+themselves near the hut where the two ol’ chaps lived, an’ as they was
+hungry an’ thirsty, they reckoned they’d call in an’ see if they could
+get a feed. So they rode up and tied their horses to a tree and walked
+up to the hut. No one answered their knock, so they opened the door,
+an’ walked in. There, lyin’ on his bunk, was ol’ Waters. They spoke to
+him, but he didn’t answer. You see, missy, he couldn’t, bein’ dead.”
+
+“Dead!” said Norah, her eyes dilating.
+
+Blake nodded.
+
+“Stone dead,” he said. “They thought at first he’d just died natural,
+as there was no mark o’ violence on ’im, but when they got a doctor to
+examine ’im he soon found out very different. The poor ol’ feller ’ad
+been poisoned, missy; the doctor said ’e must a’ bin dead twelve hours
+when the Bowens found ’im. Everything of value was gone from the hut
+along with his mate, old Harris—the black-hearted villain he must be!”
+
+“Why, do they think he killed the other man?” Norah asked.
+
+“Seems pretty certain, missy,” Blake replied. “In fact, there don’t
+seem the shadder of a doubt. He was comin’ straight from the hut when
+the Bowens met ’im—an’ he’d cleared out the whole place, gold an’ all.
+Oh, there ain’t any doubt about Mr. Harris bein’ the guilty party. The
+only thing doubtful is Mr. Harris’s whereabouts.”
+
+“Have the police been looking for him?” asked Norah.
+
+“Huntin’ high an’ low—without any luck. He seems to have vanished off
+the earth. They’ve bin follerin’ up first one clue and then another
+without any result. Now the last is that he’s been seen somewhere the
+other side of your place, an’ two troopers have gone out to-day to see
+if there’s any truth in the rumour.”
+
+“I think it’s awfully exciting,” Norah said, “but I’m terribly sorry
+for the poor man who was killed. What a wicked old wretch the other
+must be!—his own mate, too! I wonder what he was like. Did you know
+him?”
+
+“Well, I’ve seen old Harris a few times—not often,” Blake replied.
+“Still, he wasn’t the sort of old man you’d forget. Not a bad-looking
+old chap, he was. Very tall and well set up, with piercin’ blue eyes,
+long white hair an’ beard, an’ a pretty uppish way of talkin’. I don’t
+fancy anyone about here knew him very well—he had a way of keepin’ to
+himself. One thing, there’s plenty lookin’ out for him now.”
+
+“I suppose so,” Norah said. “I wonder will he really get away?”
+
+“Mighty small chance,” said Blake. “Still, it’s wonderful how he’s
+managed to keep out of sight for so long. Of course, once in the bush
+it might be hard to find him—but sooner or later he must come out to
+some township for tucker, an’ then everyone will be lookin’ out for
+him. They may have got him up your way by now, missy. Is your Pa at
+home?”
+
+“He’s coming home in a day or two,” Norah said; “perhaps to-morrow. I
+hope they won’t find Harris and bring him to our place.”
+
+“Well, it all depends on where they find him if they do get him,” Blake
+replied. “Possibly they might find the station a handy place to stop
+at. However, missy, don’t you worry your head about it—nothing for you
+to be frightened about.”
+
+“Why, I’m not frightened,” Norah said. “It hasn’t got anything to do
+with me. Only I don’t want to see a man who could kill his mate, that’s
+all.”
+
+“He’s much like any other man,” said Blake philosophically. “Say,
+here’s someone comin’ after you, missy, I think.”
+
+“I thought I’d find you here,” exclaimed Mrs. Brown’s fat, comfortable
+voice, as its owner puffed her way up the slope leading to the
+blacksmith’s. “Good afternoon, Mr. Blake. I’ve finished all my
+shopping, Miss Norah, my dear, and the mail’s in, and here’s a letter
+for you, as you won’t be sorry to see.”
+
+“From Dad? How lovely!” and Norah, snatching at the grey envelope with
+its big, black writing, tore it open hastily. At the first few words,
+she uttered a cry of delight.
+
+“Oh, he’s coming home to-morrow, Brownie—only another day! He says he
+thinks it’s time he was home, with murderers roaming about the
+district!” and Norah executed a few steps of a Highland fling, greatly
+to the edification of the blacksmith.
+
+“Dear sakes alive!” said Mrs. Brown, truculently. “I think there are
+enough of us at the station to look after you, murderer or no
+murderer—not as ’ow but that ’Arris must be a nasty creature! Still I’m
+very glad your Pa’s coming, Miss Norah, because nothing do seem right
+when he’s away—an’ it’s dull for you, all alone.”
+
+“Master Jim gone back, I s’pose?” queried Blake.
+
+“Yesterday,” Norah added.
+
+“Then you must be lonely,” the old blacksmith said, taking Norah’s
+small brown hand, and holding it for a moment in his horny fist very
+much as if he feared it were an eggshell, and not to be dropped.
+“Master Jim’s growing a big fellow, too—goin’ to be as big a man as his
+father, I believe. Well, good-bye, missy, and don’t forget to come in
+next time you’re in the township.”
+
+There was nothing further to detain them in Cunjee, and very soon the
+ponies were fetched from the stables, and they were bowling out along
+the smooth metal road that wound its way across the plain, and Norah
+was mingling excited little outbursts of delight over her father’s
+return with frequent searches into a big bag of sweets which Mrs. Brown
+had thoughtfully placed on the seat of the buggy.
+
+“I don’t know why Blake wanted to go telling you about that nasty
+murderer,” Mrs. Brown said. They were ten miles from Cunjee, and the
+metal road had given place to a bush track, in very fair order.
+
+“Why not?” asked Norah, with the carelessness of twelve years.
+
+“Well, tales of murders aren’t the things for young ladies’ ears,” Mrs.
+Brown said primly. “Your Pa never tells you such things. The paper’s
+been full of this murder, but I would ’a’ scorned to talk to you about
+it.”
+
+“I don’t think Blake meant any harm,” said Norah. “He didn’t say so
+very much. I don’t suppose he’d have mentioned it, only that Mr. Harris
+is supposed to have come our way, and even that doesn’t seem certain.”
+
+“’Arris ’as baffled the police,” said Mrs. Brown, with the solemn pride
+felt by so many at the worsting of the guardians of the law. “They
+don’t reely know anythink about his movements, that’s my belief. Why,
+it’s weeks since he was seen. This yarn about his comin’ this way is
+on’y got up to ’ide the fact that they don’t know a thing about it. I
+don’t b’lieve he’s anywhere within coo-ee of our place. Might be out of
+the country now, for all anyone’s sure of.”
+
+“Blake seemed to think he’d really come this way;” Norah said.
+
+“Blake’s an iggerant man,” said Mrs. Brown loftily.
+
+“Well, I’ll keep a look-out for him, at any rate,” laughed Norah. “He
+ought to be easy enough to find—tall and good-looking and well set
+up—whatever that may mean—and long white beard and hair. He must be a
+pretty striking-looking sort of old man. I—” And then recollection
+swept over Norah like a flood, and her words faltered on her lips.
+
+Her hand gripped the reins tighter, and she drove on unconsciously.
+Blake’s words were beating in her ears. “Not a bad-looking old
+chap—very tall and well set up—piercing blue eyes and a pretty uppish
+way of talking.” The description had meant nothing to her until someone
+whom it fitted all too aptly had drifted across her mental vision.
+
+The Hermit! Even while she felt and told herself that it could not be,
+the fatal accuracy of the likeness made her shudder. It was perfect—the
+tall, white-haired old man—“not the sort of old man you’d forget”—with
+his distinguished look; the piercing blue eyes—but Norah knew what
+kindliness lay in their depths—the gentle refined voice, so different
+from most of the rough country voices. It would answer to Blake’s
+“pretty uppish way of talking.” Anyone who had read the description
+would, on meeting the Hermit, immediately identify him as the man for
+whom the police were searching. Norah’s common sense told her that.
+
+A wave of horror swept over the little girl, and the hands gripping the
+reins trembled. Common sense might tell one tale, but every instinct of
+her heart told a very different one. That gentle-faced old man, with a
+world of kindness in his tired eyes—he the man who killed his sleeping
+mate for a handful of gold! Norah set her square little chin. She would
+not—could not—believe it.
+
+“Why, you’re very quiet, dearie.” Mrs. Brown glanced inquiringly at her
+companion. “A minute ago you was chatterin’, and now you’ve gone down
+flat, like old soda-water. Is anything wrong?”
+
+“No, I’m all right, Brownie. I was only thinking,” said Norah, forcing
+a smile.
+
+“Too many sweeties, I expect,” said Mrs. Brown, laying a heavy hand on
+the bag and impounding it for future reference. “Mustn’t have you get
+indigestion, an’ your Pa comin’ home to-morrow.”
+
+Norah laughed.
+
+“Now, did you ever know me to have indigestion in my life?” she
+queried.
+
+“Well, perhaps not,” Mrs. Brown admitted. “Still, you never can tell;
+it don’ do to pride oneself on anything. If it ain’t indigestion,
+you’ve been thinking too much of this narsty murder.”
+
+Norah flicked the off pony deliberately with her whip.
+
+“Darkie is getting disgracefully lazy,” she said. “He’s not doing a bit
+of the work. Nigger’s worth two of him.” The injured Darkie shot
+forward with a bound, and Mrs. Brown grabbed the side of the buggy
+hastily, and in her fears at the pace for the ensuing five minutes
+forgot her too inconvenient cross-examination.
+
+Norah settled back into silence, her forehead puckered with a frown.
+She had never in her careless little life been confronted by such a
+problem as the one that now held her thoughts. That the startling
+similarity between her new-made friend and the description of the
+murderer should fasten upon her mind, was unavoidable. She struggled
+against the idea as disloyal, but finally decided to think it out
+calmly.
+
+The descriptions tallied. So much was certain. The verbal likeness of
+one man was an exact word painting of the other, so far as it went,
+“though,” as poor Norah reflected, “you can’t always tell a person just
+by hearing what he’s like.” Then there was no denying that the conduct
+of the Hermit would excite suspicion. He was camping alone in the
+deepest recesses of a lonely tract of scrub; he had been there some
+weeks, and she had had plenty of proof that he was taken aback at being
+discovered and wished earnestly that no future prowlers might find
+their way to his retreat. She recalled his shrinking from the boys, and
+his hasty refusal to go to the homestead. He had said in so many words
+that he desired nothing so much as to be left alone—any one would have
+gathered that he feared discovery. They had all been conscious of the
+mystery about him. Her thoughts flew back to the half-laughing
+conversation between Harry and Wally, when they had actually speculated
+as to why he was hiding. Putting the case fairly and squarely, Norah
+had to admit that it looked black against the Hermit.
+
+Against it, what had she? No proof; only a remembrance of two honest
+eyes looking sadly at her; of a face that had irresistibly drawn her
+confidence and friendship; of a voice whose tones had seemed to echo
+sincerity and kindness. It was absolutely beyond Norah’s power to
+believe that the hand that had held hers so gently could have been the
+one to strike to death an unsuspecting mate. Her whole nature revolted
+against the thought that her friend could be so base.
+
+“He was in trouble,” Norah said, over and over again, in her uneasy
+mind; “he was unhappy. But I know he wasn’t wicked. Why, Bobs made
+friends with him!”
+
+The thought put fresh confidence in her mind; Bobs always knew “a good
+sort.”
+
+“I won’t say anything,” she decided at last, as they wheeled round the
+corner of the homestead. “If they knew there was a tall old man there,
+they’d go and hunt him out, and annoy him horribly. I know he’s all
+right. I’ll hold my tongue about him altogether—even to Dad.”
+
+The coach dropped Mr. Linton next day at the Cross Roads, where a
+little figure, clad in white linen, sat in the buggy, holding the brown
+ponies, while the dusky Billy was an attendant sprite on his piebald
+mare.
+
+“Well, my little girl, it’s good to see you again,” Mr. Linton said,
+putting his Gladstone bag into the buggy and receiving undismayed a
+small avalanche of little daughter upon his neck. “Steady, dear—mind
+the ponies.” He jumped in, and put his arm round her. “Everything
+well?”
+
+“Yes, all right, Daddy. I’m so glad to have you back!”
+
+“Not gladder than I am to get back, my little lass,” said her father.
+“Good-day, Billy. Let ’em go, Norah.”
+
+“Did you see Jim?” asked Norah, as the ponies bounded forward.
+
+“No—missed him. I had only an hour in town, and went out to the school,
+to find Master Jim had gone down the river—rowing practice. I was sorry
+to miss him; but it wasn’t worth waiting another day in town.”
+
+“Jim would be sorry,” said Norah thoughtfully. She herself was rather
+glad: had Jim seen his father, most probably he would have mentioned
+the Hermit. Now she had only his letters to fear, and as Jim’s letters
+were of the briefest nature and very far apart, it was not an acute
+danger.
+
+“Yes, I suppose he would,” Mr. Linton replied. “I regretted not having
+sent a telegram to say I was going to the school—it slipped my memory.
+I had rather a rush, you know. I suppose you’ve been pretty dull, my
+girlie?”
+
+“Oh it was horrid after the boys went,” Norah said. “I didn’t know what
+to do with myself, and the house was terribly quiet. It was hard luck
+that you had to go away too.”
+
+“Yes, I was very sorry it happened so,” her father said; “had we been
+alone together I’d have taken you with me, but we’ll have the trip some
+other time. Did you have a good day’s fishing on Saturday?”
+
+“Yes,” said Norah, flushing a little guiltily—the natural impulse to
+tell all about their friend the Hermit was so strong. “We had a lovely
+day, and caught ever so many fish—didn’t get home till ever so late.
+The only bad part was finding you away when we got back.”
+
+“Well, I’m glad you had good luck, at any rate,” Mr. Linton said. “So
+Anglers’ Bend is keeping up its reputation, eh? We’ll have to go out
+there, I think, Norah; what do you say about it? Would you and Billy
+like a three days’ jaunt on fishing bent?”
+
+“Oh, it would be glorious, Daddy! Camping out?”
+
+“Well, of course—since we’d be away three days. In this weather it
+would be a very good thing to do, I think.”
+
+“You are a blessed Daddy,” declared his daughter rubbing her cheek
+against his shoulder. “I never knew anyone with such beautiful ideas.”
+She jigged on her seat with delight. “Oh, and, Daddy, I’ll be able to
+put you on to such a splendid new hole for fishing!”
+
+“Will you, indeed?” said Mr. Linton, smiling at the flushed face.
+“That’s good, dear. But how did you discover it?”
+
+Norah’s face fell suddenly. She hesitated and looked uncomfortable.
+
+“Oh,” she said slowly; “I—we—found it out last trip.”
+
+“Well, we’ll go, Norah—as soon as I can fix it up,” said her father.
+“And now, have you heard anything about the Winfield murderer?”
+
+“Not a thing, Daddy. Brownie thinks it’s just a yarn that he was seen
+about here.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t think so at all,” Mr. Linton said. “A good many people
+have the idea, at any rate—of course they may be wrong. I’m afraid
+Brownie is rather too ready to form wild opinions on some matters. To
+tell the truth, I was rather worried at the reports—I don’t fancy the
+notion of escaped gentry of that kind wandering round in the vicinity
+of my small daughter.”
+
+“Well, I don’t think you need have worried,” said Norah, laughing up at
+him; “but all the same, I’m not a bit sorry you did, if it brought you
+home a day earlier, Dad!”
+
+“Well, it certainly did,” said Mr. Linton, pulling her ear; “but I’m
+not sorry either. I can’t stand more than a day or two in town. As for
+the murderer, I’m not going to waste any thought on him now that I am
+here. There’s the gate, and here comes Billy like a whirlwind to open
+it.”
+
+They bowled through the gate and up the long drive, under the arching
+boughs of the big gum trees, that formed a natural avenue on each side.
+At the garden gate Mrs. Brown stood waiting, with a broad smile of
+welcome, and a chorus of barks testified to the arrival of sundry dogs.
+“It’s a real home-coming,” Mr. Linton said as he walked up the path,
+his hand on Norah’s shoulder—and the little girl’s answering smile
+needed no words. They turned the corner by the big rose bush, and came
+within view of the house, and suddenly Norah’s smile faded. A trooper
+in dusty uniform stood on the doorstep.
+
+“Why, that’s a pleasant object to greet a man,” Mr. Linton said, as the
+policeman turned and came to meet him with a civil salute. He nodded as
+the man came up. “Did you want me?”
+
+“It’s only about this ’ere murderer, sir,” said the trooper. “Some of
+us is on a sort of a scent, but we haven’t got fairly on to his tracks
+yet. I’ve ridden from Mulgoa to-day, and I came to ask if your people
+had seen anything of such a chap passing—as a swaggie or anything?”
+
+“Not that I know of,” said Mr. Linton. “What is he like?”
+
+“Big fellow—old—plenty of white hair and beard, though, of course,
+they’re probably cut off by this time. Very decent-looking old chap,”
+said the trooper reflectively—“an’ a good way of speakin’.”
+
+“Well, I’ve seen no such man,” said Mr. Linton decidedly—“of course,
+though, I don’t see all the ‘travellers’ who call. Perhaps Mrs. Brown
+can help you.”
+
+“Not me sir,” said Mrs. Brown, with firmness. “There ain’t been no such
+a person—and you may be sure there ain’t none I don’t see! Fact is,
+when I saw as ’ow the murderer was supposed to be in this districk, I
+made inquiries amongst the men—the white hands, that is—and none of
+them had seen any such man as the papers described. I reckon ’e may
+just as well be in any other districk as this—I s’pose the poor p’lice
+must say ’e’s somewheres!”
+
+She glared defiantly at the downcast trooper.
+
+“Wish you had the job of findin’ him, mum,” said that individual.
+“Well, sir, there’s no one else I could make inquiries of, is there?”
+
+“Mrs. Brown seems to have gone the rounds,” Mr. Linton said. “I really
+don’t think there’s any one else—unless my small daughter here can help
+you,” he added laughingly.
+
+But Norah had slipped away, foreseeing possible questioning.
+
+The trooper smiled.
+
+“Don’t think I need worry such a small witness,” he said. “No, I’ll
+just move on, Mr. Linton. I’m beginning to think I’m on a wild-goose
+chase.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+THE CIRCUS
+
+
+The days went by, but no further word of the Winfield murderer came to
+the anxious ears of the little girl at Billabong homestead. Norah never
+read the papers, and could not therefore satisfy her mind by their
+reports; but all her inquiries were met by the same reply, “Nothing
+fresh.” The police were still in the district—so much she knew, for she
+had caught glimpses of them when out riding with her father. The
+stern-looking men in dusty uniforms were unusual figures in those quiet
+parts. But Norah could not manage to discover if they had searched the
+scrub that hid the Hermit’s simple camp; and the mystery of the
+Winfield murder seemed as far from being cleared up as ever.
+
+Meanwhile there was plenty to distract her mind from such disquieting
+matters. The station work happened to be particularly engrossing just
+then, and day after day saw Norah in the saddle, close to her father’s
+big black mare, riding over hills and plains, bringing up the slow
+sheep or galloping gloriously after cattle that declined to be
+mustered. There were visits of inspection to be made to the farthest
+portions of the run, and busy days in the yards, when the men worked at
+drafting the stock, and Norah sat perched on the high “cap” of a fence
+and, watching with all her eager little soul in her eyes, wished
+heartily that she had been born a boy. Then there were a couple of
+trips with Mr. Linton to outlying townships, and on one of these
+occasions Norah had a piece of marvellous luck, for there was actually
+a circus in Cunjee—a real, magnificent circus, with lions and tigers
+and hyaenas, and a camel, and other beautiful animals, and, best of
+all, a splendid elephant of meek and mild demeanour. It was the
+elephant that broke up Norah’s calmness.
+
+“Oh, Daddy!” she said. “Daddy! Oh, can’t we stay?”
+
+Mr. Linton laughed.
+
+“I was expecting that,” he said. “Stay? And what would Brownie be
+thinking?”
+
+Norah’s face fell.
+
+“Oh,” she said. “I’d forgotten Brownie. I s’pose it wouldn’t do. But
+isn’t it a glorious elephant, Daddy?”
+
+“It is, indeed,” said Mr. Linton, laughing. “I think it’s too glorious
+to leave, girlie. Fact is, I had an inkling the circus was to be here,
+so I told Brownie not to expect us until she saw us. She put a basket
+in the buggy, with your tooth-brush, I think.”
+
+The face of his small daughter was sufficient reward.
+
+“Daddy!” she said. “Oh, but you are the MOST Daddy!” Words failed her
+at that point.
+
+Norah said that it was a most wonderful “spree.” They had dinner at the
+hotel, where the waiter called her “Miss Linton,” and in all ways
+behaved precisely as if she were grown up, and after dinner she and her
+father sat on the balcony while Mr. Linton smoked and Norah watched the
+population arriving to attend the circus. They came from all
+quarters—comfortable old farm wagons, containing whole families; a few
+smart buggies; but the majority came on horseback, old as well as
+young. The girls rode in their dresses, or else had slipped on habit
+skirts over their gayer attire, with great indifference as to whether
+it happened to be crushed, and they had huge hats, trimmed with all the
+colours of the rainbow. Norah did not know much about dress, but it
+seemed to her theirs was queer. But one and all looked so happy and
+excited that dress was the last thing that mattered.
+
+It seemed to Norah a long while before Mr. Linton shook the ashes from
+his pipe deliberately and pulled out his watch. She was inwardly
+dancing with impatience.
+
+“Half-past seven,” remarked her father, shutting up his watch with a
+click. “Well, I suppose we’d better go, Norah. All ready, dear?”
+
+“Yes, Daddy. Must I wear gloves?”
+
+“Why, not that I know of,” said her father, looking puzzled. “Hardly
+necessary, I think. I don’t wear ’em. Do you want to?”
+
+“Goodness—no!” said his daughter hastily.
+
+“Well, that’s all right,” said Mr. Linton. “Stow them in my pocket and
+come along.”
+
+Out in the street there were unusual signs of bustle. People were
+hurrying along the footpath. The blare of brass instruments came from
+the big circus tent, round which was lingering every small boy of
+Cunjee who could not gain admission. Horses were tied to adjoining
+fences, considerably disquieted by the brazen strains of the band. It
+was very cheerful and inspiring, and Norah capered gently as she
+trotted along by her father.
+
+Mr. Linton gave up his tickets at the first tent, and they passed in to
+view the menagerie—a queer collection, but wonderful enough in the eyes
+of Cunjee. The big elephant held pride of place, as he stood in his
+corner and sleepily waved his trunk at the aggravating flies. Norah
+loved him from the first, and in a moment was stroking his trunk,
+somewhat to her father’s anxiety.
+
+“I hope he’s safe?” he asked an attendant.
+
+“Bless you, yes, sir,” said that worthy, resplendent in dingy scarlet
+uniform. “He alwuz knows if people ain’t afraid of him. Try him with
+this, missy.” “This” was an apple, and Jumbo deigned to accept it at
+Norah’s hands, and crunched it serenely.
+
+“He’s just dear,” said Norah, parting reluctantly from the huge swaying
+brute and giving him a final pat as she went.
+
+“Better than Bobs?” asked her father.
+
+“Pooh!” said Norah loftily. “What’s this rum thing?”
+
+“A wildebeest,” read her father. “He doesn’t look like it.”
+
+“Pretty tame beast, I think,” Norah observed, surveying the
+stolid-looking animal before her. “Show me something really wild,
+Daddy.”
+
+“How about this chap?” asked Mr. Linton.
+
+They were before the tiger’s cage, and the big yellow brute was walking
+up and down with long stealthy strides, his great eyes roving over the
+curious faces in front of him. Some one poked a stick at him—an
+attention which met an instant roar and spring on the tiger’s part, and
+a quick, and stinging rebuke from an attendant, before which the poker
+of the stick fled precipitately. The crowd, which had jumped back as
+one man, pressed nearer to the cage, and the tiger resumed his quick,
+silent prowl. But his eyes no longer roved over the faces. They
+remained fixed upon the man who had provoked him.
+
+“How do you like him?” Mr. Linton asked his daughter.
+
+Norah hesitated.
+
+“He’s not nice, of course,” she said. “But I’m so awfully sorry for
+him, aren’t you, Daddy? It does seem horrible—a great, splendid thing
+like that shut up for always in that little box of a cage. You feel he
+really ought to have a great stretch of jungle to roam in.”
+
+“And eat men in? I think he’s better where he is.”
+
+“Well, you’d think the world was big enough for him to have a place
+apart from men altogether,” said Norah, holding to her point sturdily.
+“Somewhere that isn’t much wanted—a sandy desert, or a spare Alp! This
+doesn’t seem right, somehow. I think I’ve seen enough animals, Daddy,
+and it’s smelly here. Let’s go into the circus.”
+
+The circus tent was fairly crowded as Norah and her father made their
+way in and took the seats reserved for them, under the direction of
+another official in dingy scarlet. Round the ring the tiers of seats
+rose abruptly, each tier a mass of eager, interested faces. A lame
+seller of fruit and drinks hobbled about crying his wares; at intervals
+came the “pop” of a lemonade bottle, and there was a steady crunching
+of peanut shells. The scent of orange peel rose over the circus
+smell—that weird compound of animal and sawdust and acetylene lamps. In
+the midst of all was the ring, with its surface banked up towards the
+outer edge.
+
+They had hardly taken their seats when the band suddenly struck up in
+its perch near the entrance, and the company entered to the inspiring
+strains. First came the elephant, very lazy and stately—gorgeously
+caparisoned now, with a gaily attired “mahout” upon his neck. Behind
+him came the camel; and the cages with the other occupants of the
+menagerie, looking either bored or fierce. They circled round the ring
+and then filed out.
+
+The band struck up a fresh strain and in cantered a lovely lady on a
+chestnut horse. She wore a scarlet hat and habit, and looked to Norah
+very like a Christmas card. Round the ring she dashed gaily, and behind
+her came another lady equally beautiful in a green habit, on a black
+horse; and a third, wearing a habit of pale blue plush who managed a
+piebald horse. Then came some girls in bright frocks, on beautiful
+ponies; and some boys, in tights, on other ponies; and then men, also
+in tights of every colour in the rainbow, who rode round with bored
+expressions, as if it were really too slow a thing merely to sit on a
+horse’s back, instead of pirouetting there upon one foot. They flashed
+round once or twice and were gone, and Norah sat back and gasped,
+feeling that she had had a glimpse into another world—as indeed she
+had.
+
+A little figure whirled into the ring—a tiny girl on a jet-black pony.
+She was sitting sideways at first, but as the pony settled into its
+stride round the ring she suddenly leaped to her feet and, standing
+poised, kissed her hands gaily to the audience. Then she capered first
+on one foot, then on another; she sat down, facing the tail, and lay
+flat along the pony’s back; she assumed every position except the
+natural one. She leapt to the ground (to Norah’s intense horror, who
+imagined she didn’t mean to), and, running fiercely at the pony, sprang
+on his back again, while he galloped the harder. Lastly, she dropped a
+handkerchief, which she easily recovered by the simple expedient of
+hanging head downwards, suspended by one foot, and then galloped out of
+the ring, amid the frantic applause of Cunjee.
+
+“Could you do that, Norah?” laughed Mr. Linton.
+
+“Me?” said Norah amazedly; “me? Oh, fancy me ever thinking I could ride
+a bit!”
+
+One of the lovely ladies, in a glistening suit of black, covered with
+spangles, next entered. She also preferred to ride standing, but was by
+no means idle. A gentleman in the ring obligingly handed her up many
+necessaries—plates and saucers and knives—and she threw these about the
+air, as she galloped with great apparent carelessness, yet never failed
+to catch each just as it seemed certain to fall. Tiring of this
+pursuit, she flung them all back at the gentleman with deadly aim,
+while he, resenting nothing, caught them cleverly, and disposed of them
+to a clown who stood by, open-mouthed. Then the gentleman hung bright
+ribbons across the ring, apparently with the unpleasant intention of
+sweeping the lady from her horse—an intention which she frustrated by
+lightly leaping over each in turn, while her horse galloped beneath it.
+Finally, the gentleman—whose ideas really seemed most
+unfriendly—suddenly confronted her with a great paper-covered hoop, the
+very sight of which would have made an ordinary horse shy wildly—but
+even at this obstacle the lady did not lose courage. Instead, she
+leaped straight through the hoop, paper and all, and was carried out by
+her faithful steed, amidst yells of applause.
+
+Norah gasped.
+
+“Oh, isn’t it perfectly lovely, Daddy!” she said.
+
+Perhaps you boys and girls who live in cities, or near townships where
+travelling companies pay yearly visits, can have no idea of what this
+first circus meant to this little bush maid, who had lived all her
+twelve years without seeing anything half so wonderful. Perhaps, too,
+you are lucky to have so many chances of seeing things—but it is
+something to possess nowadays, even at twelve, the unspoiled, fresh
+mind that Norah brought to her first circus.
+
+Everything was absolutely real to her. The clown was a being almost too
+good for this world, seeing that his whole time was spent in making
+people laugh uproariously, and that he was so wonderfully unselfish in
+the way he allowed himself to be kicked and knocked about—always
+landing in positions so excruciatingly droll that you quite forgot to
+ask if he were hurt. All the ladies who galloped round the ring, and
+did such marvellous things, treating a mettled steed as though he were
+as motionless as a kitchen table, seemed to Norah models of beauty and
+grace. There was one who set her heart beating by her daring, for she
+not only leaped through a paper-covered hoop, but through three, one
+after the other, and then—marvel of marvels—through one on which the
+paper was alight and blazing fiercely! Norah held her breath, expecting
+to see her scorched and smouldering at the very least; but the heroic
+rider galloped on, without seeming so much as singed. Almost as
+wonderful was the total indifference of the horses to the strange
+sights around them.
+
+“Bobs would be off his head!” said Norah.
+
+She was especially enchanted with a small boy and girl who rode in on
+the same brown pony, and had all sorts of capers, as much off the
+pony’s back as upon it. Not that it troubled them to be off, because
+they simply ran, together, at the pony, and landed simultaneously,
+standing on his back, while the gallant steed galloped the more
+furiously. They hung head downwards while the pony jumped over hurdles,
+to their great apparent danger; they even wrestled, standing, and the
+girl pitched the boy off to the accompaniment of loud strains from the
+band and wild cheers from Cunjee. Not that the boy minded—he picked
+himself up and raced the pony desperately round the ring—the girl
+standing and shrieking encouragement, the pony racing, the boy scudding
+in front, until he suddenly turned and bolted out of the ring, the pony
+following at his heels, but never quite catching him—so that the boy
+really won, after all, which Norah thought was quite as it should be.
+
+Then there were the acrobats—accomplished men in tight clothes—who cut
+the most amazing somersaults, and seemed to regard no object as too
+great to be leaped over. They brought in the horses, and stood ever so
+many of them together, backed up by the elephant, and the leading
+acrobat jumped over them all without any apparent effort. After which
+all the horses galloped off of their own accord, and “put themselves
+away” without giving anyone any trouble. Then the acrobats were hauled
+up into the top of the tent, where they swung themselves from rope to
+rope, and somersaulted through space; and one man hung head downwards,
+and caught by the hands another who came flying through the air as if
+he belonged there. Once he missed the outstretched hands, and Norah
+gasped expecting to see him terribly hurt—instead of which he fell
+harmlessly into a big net thoughtfully spread for his reception, and
+rebounded like a tennis ball, kissing his hand gracefully to the
+audience, after which he again whirled through the air, and this time
+landed safely in the hands of the hanging man, who had all this while
+seemed just as comfortable head downwards as any other way. There was
+even a little boy who swung himself about the tent as fearlessly as the
+grown men, and cut capers almost as dangerous as theirs. Norah couldn’t
+help breathing more freely when the acrobats bowed their final
+farewell.
+
+Mr. Linton consulted his programme.
+
+“They’re bringing in the lion next,” he said.
+
+The band struck up the liveliest of tunes. All the ring was cleared
+now, except for the clown, who suddenly assumed an appearance of great
+solemnity. He marched to the edge of the ring and struck an attitude
+indicative of profound respect.
+
+In came the elephant, lightly harnessed, and drawing a huge cage on
+wheels. On other sides marched attendants in special uniforms, and on
+the elephant’s back stood the lion tamer, all glorious in scarlet and
+gold, so that he was almost hurtful to the eye. In the cage three lions
+paced ceaselessly up and down. The band blared. The people clapped. The
+clown bowed his forehead into the dust and said feelingly, “Wow!”
+
+Beside the ring was another, more like a huge iron safe than a ring, as
+it was completely walled and roofed with iron bars. The cage was drawn
+up close beside this, and the doors slid back. The lions needed no
+further invitation. They gave smothered growls as they leaped from
+their close quarters into this larger breathing space. Then another
+door was opened stealthily, and the lion tamer slipped in, armed with
+no weapon more deadly than a heavy whip.
+
+Norah did not like it. It seemed to her, to put it mildly, a risky
+proceeding. Generally speaking, Norah was by no means a careful soul,
+and had no opinion of people who thought over much about looking after
+their skins; but this business of lions was not exactly what she had
+been used to. They appeared to her so hungry, and so remarkably ill
+tempered; and the man was as one to three, and had, apparently, no
+advantage in the matter of teeth and claws.
+
+“Don’t like this game,” said the bush maiden, frowning. “Is he safe,
+Daddy?”
+
+“Oh, he’s all right,” her father answered, smiling. “These chaps know
+how to take care of themselves; and the lions know he’s master. Watch
+them Norah.”
+
+Norah was already doing that. The lions prowling round the ring,
+keeping wary eyes on their tamer, were called to duty by a sharp crack
+of the whip. Growling, they took their respective stations—two on the
+seats of chairs, the third standing between them, poised on the two
+chair backs. Then they were put through a quick succession of tricks.
+They jumped over chairs and ropes and each other; they raced round the
+ring, taking hurdles at intervals; they balanced on big wooden balls,
+and pushed them along by quick changes of position. Then they leaped
+through hoops, ornamented with fluttering strips of paper, and clearly
+did not care for the exercise. And all the while their stealthy eyes
+never left those of the tamer.
+
+“How do you like it?” asked Mr. Linton.
+
+“It’s beastly!” said Norah, with surprising suddenness. “I hate it,
+Daddy. Such big, beautiful things, and to make them do silly tricks
+like these; just as you’d train a kitten!”
+
+“Well, they’re nothing more than big cats,” laughed her father.
+
+“I don’t care. It’s—it’s mean, I think. I don’t wonder they’re cross.
+And you can see they are, Daddy. If I was a lion I know I’d want to
+bite somebody!”
+
+The lions certainly did seem cross. They growled constantly, and were
+slow to obey orders. The whip was always cracking, and once or twice a
+big lioness, who was especially sulky, received a sharp cut. The
+outside attendants kept close to the cage, armed with long iron bars.
+Norah thought, watching them, that they were somewhat uneasy. For
+herself, she knew she would be very glad when the lion “turn” was over.
+
+The smaller tricks were finished, and the tamer made ready for the
+grand “chariot act.” He dragged forward an iron chariot and to it
+harnessed the smaller lions with stout straps, coupling the reins to a
+hook on the front of the little vehicle. Then he signalled to the
+lioness to take her place as driver.
+
+The lioness did not move. She crouched down, watching him with hungry,
+savage eyes. The trainer took a step forward, raising his whip.
+
+“You—Queen!” he said sharply.
+
+She growled, not stirring. A sudden movement of the lions behind him
+made the trainer glance round quickly.
+
+There was a roar, and a yellow streak cleft the air. A child’s voice
+screamed. The tamer’s spring aside was too late, He went down on his
+face, the lioness upon him.
+
+Norah’s cry rang out over the circus, just as the lioness sprang—too
+late for the trainer, however. The girl was on her feet, clutching her
+father.
+
+“Oh, Daddy—Daddy!” she said.
+
+All was wildest confusion. Men were shouting, women screaming—two girls
+fainted, slipping down, motionless, unnoticed heaps, from their seats.
+Circus men yelled contradictory orders. Within the ring the lioness
+crouched over the fallen man, her angry eyes roving about the
+disordered tent.
+
+The two lions in the chariot were making furious attempts to break
+away. Luckily their harness was strong, and they were so close to the
+edge of the ring that the attendants were able, with their iron bars,
+to keep them in check. After a few blows they settled down, growling,
+but subdued.
+
+But to rescue the trainer was not so easy a matter. He lay in the very
+centre of the ring, beyond the reach of any weapons; and not a man
+would venture within the great cage. The attendants shouted at the
+lioness, brandished irons, cracked whips. She heard them unmoved. Once
+she shifted her position slightly and a moan came from the man
+underneath.
+
+“This is awful,” Mr. Linton said. He left his seat in the front row and
+went across the ring to the group of white-faced men. “Can’t you shoot
+the brute?” he asked.
+
+“We’d do it in a minute,” the proprietor answered. “But who’d shoot and
+take the chance of hitting Joe? Look at the way they are—it’s ten to
+one he’d get hit.” He shook his head. “Well, I guess it’s up to me to
+go in and tackle her—I’d get a better shot inside the ring.” He moved
+forward.
+
+A white-faced woman flung herself upon him and clung to him
+desperately. Norah hardly recognised her as the gay lady who had so
+merrily jumped through the burning hoops a little while ago. “You
+shan’t go, Dave!” she cried, sobbing. “You mustn’t! Think of the
+kiddies! Joe hasn’t got a wife and little uns.”
+
+The circus proprietor tried to loosen her hold. “I’ve got to, my girl,”
+he said gently. “I can’t leave a man o’ mine to that brute. It’s my
+fault—I orter known better than to let him take her from them cubs
+to-night. Let go, dear.” He tried to unclinch her hands from his coat.
+
+“Has she—the lioness—got little cubs?”
+
+It was Norah’s voice, and Mr. Linton started to find her at his side.
+Norah, very pale and shaky, with wide eyes, glowing with a great idea.
+
+The circus man nodded. “Two.”
+
+“Wouldn’t she—” Norah’s voice was trembling almost beyond the power of
+speech—“wouldn’t she go to them if you showed them to her—put them in
+the small cage? My—old cat would!”
+
+“By the powers!” said the proprietor. “Fetch ’em, Dick—run.” The clown
+ran, his grotesque draperies contrasting oddly enough with his errand.
+
+In an instant he was back, two fluffy yellow heaps in his arms. One
+whined as they drew near the cage, and the lioness looked up sharply
+with a growl. The clown held the cubs in her view, and she growled
+again, evidently uneasy. Beneath her the man was quiet now.
+
+“The cage—quick?”
+
+The big lion cage, its open door communicating with the ring, stood
+ready. The clown opened another door and slipped in the protesting
+cubs. They made for the further door, but were checked by the stout
+cords fastened to their collars. He held them in leash, in full view of
+the lioness. She growled and moved, but did not leave her prey.
+
+“Make ’em sing out!” the woman said sharply. Someone handed the clown
+an iron rod sharpened at one end. He passed it through the bars, and
+prodded a cub on the foot. It whined angrily, and a quick growl came
+from the ring.
+
+“Harder, Dick!”
+
+The clown obeyed. There was a sharp, amazed yelp of pain from the cub,
+and an answering roar from the mother. Another protesting cry—and then
+again that yellow streak as the lioness left her prey and sprang to her
+baby, with a deafening roar. The clown tugged the cubs sharply back
+into the recesses of the cage as the mother hurled herself through the
+narrow opening. Behind her the bars rattled into place and she was
+restored to captivity.
+
+It was the work of only a moment to rush into the ring, where the tamer
+lay huddled and motionless. Kind hands lifted him and carried him away
+beyond the performance tent, with its eager spectators. The attendants
+quickly unharnessed the two tame lions, and they were removed in
+another cage, brought in by the elephant for their benefit.
+
+Norah slipped a hot, trembling hand into her father’s.
+
+“Let’s go, Daddy—I’ve had enough.”
+
+“More than enough, I think,” said Mr. Linton. “Come on, little girl.”
+
+They slipped out in the wake of the anxious procession that carried the
+tamer. As they went, a performing goat and monkey passed them on their
+way to the ring, and the clown capered behind them. They heard his
+cheerful shout, “Here we are again!” and the laughter of the crowd as
+the show was resumed.
+
+“Plucky chap, that clown,” Mr. Linton said.
+
+In the fresh air the men had laid the tamer down gently, and a doctor
+was bending over him examining him by the flickering light of torches
+held by hands that found it hard to be steady.
+
+“Not so much damaged as he might be,” the doctor announced, rising.
+“That shoulder will take a bit of healing, but he looks healthy. His
+padded uniform has saved his life. Let’s get him to the private
+hospital up the street. Everything necessary is there, and I’d like to
+have his shoulder dressed before he regains consciousness.”
+
+The men lifted the improvised stretcher again, and passed on with it.
+Norah and her father were following, when a voice called them. The wife
+of the circus proprietor ran after them—a strange figure enough, in her
+scarlet riding dress, the paint on her face streaked with tear marks.
+
+“I’d like to know who you are,” she said, catching Norah’s hand. “But
+for you my man ’ud ’a been in the ring with that brute. None of us had
+the sense to think o’ bringin’ in the cubs. Tell me your name, dearie.”
+
+Norah told her unwillingly. “Nothing to make a fuss over,” she added,
+in great confusion.
+
+“I guess you saved Joe’s life, an’ perhaps my Dave’s as well,” the
+woman said. “We won’t forget you. Good night, sir, an’ thank you both.”
+
+Norah had no wish to be thanked, being of opinion that she had done
+less than nothing at all. She was feeling rather sick, and—amazing
+feeling for Norah—inclined to cry. She was very glad to get into bed at
+the hotel, and eagerly welcomed her father’s suggestion that he should
+sit for a while in her room. Norah did not know that it was dawn before
+Mr. Linton left his watch by the restless sleeper, quiet now, and
+sought his own couch.
+
+She woke late, from a dream of lions and elephants, and men who moaned
+softly. Her father was by her bedside.
+
+“Breakfast, lazy bones,” he said.
+
+“How’s the tamer?” queried Norah, sitting up.
+
+“Getting on all right. He wants to see you.”
+
+“Me!” said Norah. “Whatever for?”
+
+“We’ve got to find that out,” said her father, withdrawing.
+
+They found out after breakfast, when a grateful, white-faced man,
+swathed in bandages, stammered broken thanks.
+
+“For it was you callin’ out that saved me first,” he said. “I’d never
+’a thought to jump, but I heard you sing out to me, an’ if I hadn’t
+she’d a broke my neck, sure. An’ then it was you thought o’ bringing in
+the cubs. Well, missy, I won’t forget you long’s I live.”
+
+The nurse, at his nod, brought out the skin of a young tiger,
+beautifully marked and made into a rug.
+
+“If you wouldn’t mind takin’ that from me,” explained the tamer. “I’d
+like to feel you had it, an’ I’d like to shake hands with you, missy.”
+
+Outside the room Norah turned a flushed face to her father.
+
+“Do let’s go home, Daddy,” she begged. “Cunjee’s too embarrassing for
+me!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+CAMPING OUT
+
+
+“About that fishing excursion, Norah?”
+
+“Yes, Daddy.” A small brown paw slid itself into Mr. Linton’s hand.
+
+They were sitting on the verandah in the stillness of an autumn
+evening, watching the shadows on the lawn become vague and indistinct,
+and finally merge into one haze of dusk. Mr. Linton had been silent for
+a long time. Norah always knew when her father wanted to talk. This
+evening she was content to be silent, too, leaning against his knee in
+her own friendly fashion as she curled up at his feet.
+
+“Oh, you hadn’t forgotten, then?”
+
+“Well—not much! Only I didn’t know if you really wanted to go, Daddy.”
+
+“Why, yes,” said her father. “I think it would be rather a good idea,
+my girlie. There’s not much doing on the place just now. I could easily
+be spared. And we don’t want to leave our trip until the days grow
+shorter. The moon will be right, too. It will be full in four or five
+days—I forget the exact date. So, altogether, Norah, I think we’d
+better consult Brownie about the commissariat department, and make our
+arrangements to go immediately.”
+
+“It’ll be simply lovely,” said his daughter, breathing a long sigh of
+delight. “Such a long time since we had a camping out—just you and me,
+Daddy.”
+
+“Yes, it’s a good while. Well, we’ve got to make up for lost time by
+catching plenty of fish,” said Mr. Linton. “I hope you haven’t
+forgotten the whereabouts of that fine new hole of yours? You’ll have
+to take me to it if Anglers’ Bend doesn’t come up to expectations.”
+
+A deep flush came into Norah’s face. For a little while she had almost
+forgotten the Hermit—or, rather, he had ceased to occupy a prominent
+position in her mind, since the talk of the Winfield murder had begun
+to die away. The troopers, unsuccessful in their quest, had gone back
+to headquarters, and Norah had breathed more freely, knowing that her
+friend had escaped—this time. Still, she never felt comfortable in her
+mind about him. Never before had she kept any secret from her father,
+and the fact of this concealment was apt to come home closely to her at
+times and cloud the perfect friendship between them.
+
+“Master Billy will be delighted, I expect,” went on Mr. Linton, not
+noticing the little girl’s silence. “Anything out of the ordinary
+groove of civilisation is a joy to that primitive young man. I don’t
+fancy it would take much to make a cheerful savage of Billy.”
+
+“Can’t you fancy him!” said Norah, making an effort to break away from
+her own thoughts; “roaming the bush with a boomerang and a waddy, and
+dressed in strips of white paint.”
+
+“Striped indeed!” said her father, laughing. “I’ve no doubt he’d enjoy
+it. I hope his ancient instincts won’t revive—he’s the best hand with
+horses we ever had on the station. Now, Norah, come and talk to
+Brownie.”
+
+Mrs. Brown, on being consulted, saw no difficulties in the way. A day,
+she declared, was all she wanted to prepare sufficient food for the
+party for a week—let alone for only three days.
+
+“Not as I’ll stint you to three days,” remarked the prudent Brownie.
+“Last time it was to be three days—an’ ’twas more like six when we saw
+you again. Once you two gets away—” and she wagged a stern forefinger
+at her employer. “And there’s that black himp—he eats enough for five!”
+
+“You forget the fish we’re going to live on,” laughed Mr. Linton.
+
+“‘M,” said Brownie solemnly. “First catch your fish!”
+
+“Why, of course, we mean to, you horrid old thing!” cried Norah,
+laughing; “and bring you home loads, too—not that you deserve it for
+doubting us!”
+
+“I have seen many fishing parties go out, Miss Norah, my dear,” said
+Mrs. Brown impassively, “and on the ’ole more came ’ome hempty ’anded
+than bringing loads—fish bein’ curious things, an’ very unreliable on
+the bite. Still, we’ll ’ope for the best—an’ meanwhile to prepare for
+the worst. I’ll just cook a few extry little things—another tongue,
+now, an’ a nice piece of corned beef, an’ per’aps a ’am. An’ do you
+think you could manage a pie or two, Miss Norah?”
+
+“Try her!” said Mr. Linton, laughing.
+
+“Let’s tell Billy!”—and off went Norah at a gallop.
+
+She returned a few minutes later, slightly crestfallen.
+
+“Billy must be asleep,” she said. “I couldn’t get an answer. Lazy young
+nigger—and it’s still twilight!”
+
+“Billy has no use for the day after the sun goes down, unless he’s
+going ’possuming,” her father said. “Never mind—the news will keep
+until the morning.”
+
+“Oh, I know,” said Norah, smiling. “But I wanted to tell him to-night.”
+
+“I sympathise with you,” said her father, “and, meanwhile, to console
+yourself, suppose you bend your mighty mind to the problem of getting
+away. Do you see any objection to our leaving for parts unknown the day
+after to-morrow?”
+
+“Depends on Brownie and the tucker,” said Norah practically.
+
+“That part’s all right; Brownie guarantees to have everything ready
+to-morrow night if you help her.”
+
+“Why, of course I will, Daddy.”
+
+“And you have to get your own preparations made.”
+
+“That won’t take long,” said Norah, with a grin. “Brush, comb,
+tooth-brush, pyjamas; that’s all, Dad!”
+
+“Such minor things as soap and towels don’t appear to enter into your
+calculations,” said her father. “Well I can bear it!”
+
+“Oh, you silly old Dad! Of course I know about those. Only Brownie
+always packs the ordinary, uninteresting things.”
+
+“I foresee a busy day for you and Brownie tomorrow,” Mr. Linton said.
+“I’ll have a laborious time myself, fixing up fishing tackle—if Jim and
+his merry men left me with any. As for Billy, he will spend the day
+grubbing for bait. Wherefore, everything being settled, come and play
+me ‘The Last Rose of Summer,’ and then say good-night.”
+
+Norah was up early, and the day passed swiftly in a whirl of
+preparations. Everything was ready by evening, including a hamper of
+monumental proportions, the consumption of which, Mr. Linton said,
+would certainly render the party unfit for active exertion in the way
+of fishing. Billy’s delight had made itself manifest in the broad grin
+which he wore all day while he dug for worms, and chased crickets and
+grass-hoppers. The horses were brought in and stabled overnight, so
+that an early start might be made.
+
+It was quite an exciting day, and Norah was positive that she could not
+go to sleep when her father sent her off to bed at an unusually early
+hour, meeting her remonstrances with the reminder that she had to be up
+with, or before, the lark. However, she was really tired, and was soon
+asleep. It seemed to her that she had only been in this blissful
+condition for three minutes when a hand was laid on her shoulder and
+she started up to find daylight had come. Mr. Linton stood laughing at
+her sleepy face.
+
+“D’you mean to say it’s morning?” said Norah.
+
+“I’ve been led to believe so,” her father rejoined. “Shall I pull you
+out, or would you prefer to rise without assistance?”
+
+“I’d much prefer to go to sleep again—but I’ll tumble out, thank you,”
+said his daughter, suiting the action to the word. “Had your bath,
+Daddy?’
+
+“Just going to it.”
+
+“Then I’ll race you!” said Norah, snatching a towel and disappearing
+down the hall, a slender, flying figure in blue pyjamas. Mr. Linton
+gave chase, but Norah’s start was too good, and the click of the lock
+greeted him as he arrived at the door of the bathroom. The noise of the
+shower drowned his laughing threats, while a small voice sang, amid
+splashes, “You should have been here last week!”
+
+Breakfast was a merry meal, although, as Norah said, it was
+unreasonable to expect anybody to have an appetite at that hour. Still,
+with a view to the future, and to avoid wounding Mrs. Brown too deeply,
+they made as firm an attempt as possible, with surprisingly good
+results. Then brief good-byes were said, the pack scientifically
+adjusted to the saddle on the old mare, and they rode off in the cool,
+dewy morning.
+
+This time there was no “racing and chasing o’er Cannobie Lea” on the
+way to Anglers’ Bend. Mr. Linton’s days of scurrying were over, he
+said, unless a bullock happened to have a difference of opinion as to
+the way he should go, and, as racing by one’s self is a poor thing
+Norah was content to ride along steadily by her father’s side, with
+only an occasional canter, when Bobs pulled and reefed as if he were as
+anxious to gallop as his young mistress could possibly be. It was time
+for lunch when they at length arrived at the well-remembered bend on
+the creek.
+
+The horses were unsaddled and hobbled, and then turned out to wander at
+their own sweet will—the shortness of the hobbles a guarantee that they
+would not stray very far; and the three wanderers sat on the bank of
+the creek, very ready for the luncheon Mrs. Brown had carefully
+prepared and placed near the top of the pack. This despatched,
+preparations were made for pitching camp.
+
+Here luck favoured them, for a visit to their former camping place
+showed that tent poles and pegs were still there, and uninjured—which
+considerably lessened the labour of pitching the tents. In a very short
+time the two tents were standing, and a couple of stretchers rigged up
+with bags—Mr. Linton had no opinion of the comfort of sleeping on beds
+of leaves. While her father and Billy were at this work, Norah unpacked
+the cooking utensils and provisions. Most of the latter were encased in
+calico bags, which could be hung in the shade, secure from either ants
+or flies, the remainder, packed in tins, being stowed away easily in
+the corner of one of the tents.
+
+When the stretchers were ready Norah unpacked the bedding and made
+their beds. Finally she hung the tooth-brushes to the ridge poles and
+said contentedly, “Daddy, it’s just like home!”
+
+“Glad you think so!” said Mr. Linton, casting an approving eye over the
+comfortable-looking camp, and really there is something wonderfully
+homelike about a well-pitched camp with a few arrangements for comfort.
+“At any rate, I think we’ll manage very well for a few days, Norah.
+Now, while Billy lays in a stock of firewood and fixes up a ‘humpy’ for
+himself to sleep in, suppose you and I go down and try to catch some
+fish for tea?”
+
+“Plenty!” laughed Norah.
+
+It soon became evident that Anglers’ Bend was going to maintain its
+name as a place for fish. Scarcely was Norah’s line in the water before
+a big blackfish was on the hook, and after that the fun was fast and
+furious, until they had caught enough for two or three meals. The day
+was ideal for fishing—grey and warm, with just enough breeze to ripple
+the water faintly. Mr. Linton and Norah found it very peaceful, sitting
+together on the old log that jutted across the stream, and the time
+passed quickly. Billy at length appeared, and was given the fish to
+prepare, and then father and daughter returned to camp. Mr. Linton lit
+the fire, and cutting two stout forked stakes, which he drove into the
+ground, one on each side of the fire, he hung a green ti-tree pole
+across, in readiness to hold the billy and frying-pan. Billy presently
+came up with the fish, and soon a cheery sound of sizzling smote the
+evening air. By the time that Norah had “the table set,” as she phrased
+it, the fish were ready, and in Norah’s opinion no meal ever tasted
+half so good.
+
+After it was over, Billy the indispensable removed the plates and
+washed up, and Norah and her father sat by the fire and “yarned” in the
+cool dusk. Not for long, for soon the little girl began to feel sleepy
+after the full day in the open air, and the prospect of the comfortable
+stretcher in her tent was very tempting. She brushed her hair outside
+in the moonlight, because a small tent is not the place in which to
+wield a hairbrush; then she slipped into bed, and her father came and
+tucked her up before tying the flap securely enough to keep out
+possible intruders in the shape of “bears” and ’possums. Norah lay
+watching the flickering firelight for a little while, thinking there
+was nothing so glorious as the open-air feeling, and the night scents
+of the bush; then she fell asleep.
+
+“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho!!”
+
+A cheeky jackass on a gum tree bough fairly roared with laughter, and
+Norah woke up with a violent start. The sunlight was streaming across
+her bed. For a moment she was puzzled, wondering where she was; then
+the walls of the tent caught her eye, and she laughed at herself, and
+then lay still in the very pleasure of the dewy morning and the
+wonderful freshness of the air. For there is a delight in awaking after
+a night in the open that the finest house in the world cannot give.
+
+Presently the flap of the tent was parted and Mr. Linton peeped in.
+
+“Hallo!” he said, smiling, “did the old jackass wake you? I found him
+as good as an alarum clock myself. How about a swim?”
+
+“Oh—rather!” said Norah, tumbling out of bed. She slipped on a jacket
+and shoes, and presently joined her father, and they threaded their way
+through the scrub until they came to a part of the creek where a beach,
+flat and sandy, and shelving down to a fairly deep hole, offered
+glorious bathing. Mr. Linton left Norah here, and himself went a few
+yards farther up, round a bend in the creek.
+
+At the first plunge the water was distinctly cold, but once the first
+dip was taken Norah forgot all about chilliness, and only revelled in
+the delights of that big pool. She could swim like a fish—her father
+had seen to that in the big lagoon at home. Not until Mr. Linton’s
+warning voice sang out that it was time to dress did she leave the
+water, and then with reluctance.
+
+A brisk rub down with a hard towel and she rejoined her father. He cast
+an approving look at her glowing face.
+
+“Well, you look as if you’d enjoyed your swim,” he said.
+
+“Oh it was lovely, Daddy! Did you have a good bathe?”
+
+“Yes—I struck a very good place—deep enough to dive in,” her father
+answered. “Not that I counsel diving altogether—you strike such a lot
+of mud at the bottom—soft, sticky, black mud! I spent most of my bathe
+in getting myself clean after my dive! Still, I had a good swim,
+notwithstanding. I say, Norah, I’m ready for breakfast.”
+
+“So am I,” said his daughter. “I hope Billy’s got the fish on!”
+
+However, there was no sign of the black retainer when they reached the
+camp. The fire was blazing and the billy boiling, but of the other
+Billy no trace existed.
+
+“He’s gone after the horses,” Mr. Linton said. “I told him to see to
+them—but he ought to be back. I hope they’re all right. Well, you get
+dressed, Norah.”
+
+By the time Norah’s toilet was completed the fish, under Mr. Linton’s
+supervision, were in the pan, and she hurried to set out the breakfast
+things. They were just beginning breakfast when the sound of hoofs was
+heard and Billy rode into the clearing on his own pony, with evident
+signs of perturbation on his ebony face.
+
+“What’s up, Billy?” Mr. Linton asked sharply.
+
+“That feller pack-mare,” Billy said briefly. “Broken hobbles—clear out.
+Plenty!” He produced a hobble as he spoke, the broken leather telling
+its own tale.
+
+Mr. Linton uttered an exclamation of anger.
+
+“That comes of not seeing to the hobbles myself,” he said sharply. “No
+sign of her?”
+
+Billy shook his head.
+
+“Not likely,” Mr. Linton said; “that old mare would make for home like
+a shot. I dare say she’s half-way there by now. Well, Billy, there’s
+only one thing to do—get your pony saddled and go after her.”
+
+Billy’s face expressed unuttered depths of woe.
+
+“Get your breakfast first,” said his master; “there’s no particular
+hurry, for you’re bound to have to go all the way home—and bring some
+good hobbles back with you, if you do!”
+
+Billy slid to the ground.
+
+“Plenty!” he said ruefully.
+
+Billy, a black vision of despondency, had faded away into the distance,
+making his chestnut pony pay for the disappointment of his long ride
+back to the homestead for the missing mare. Norah and her father had
+“cleaned up house,” as Norah put it, and again they were sitting on the
+old log that spanned the creek.
+
+Their lines were in water, but the fish were shy. The promise of a hot
+day had driven them to the shady hollows under the banks. The juiciest
+worms failed to lure them from their hiding-places. Norah thought it
+dull and said so.
+
+Her father laughed.
+
+“You’ll never make a fisherman without cultivating an extra stock of
+patience,” he said. “The thought of last night’s luck ought to make you
+happy.”
+
+“Well, it doesn’t,” his daughter answered decidedly. “That was
+yesterday, and this is to-day; and it is dull, Daddy, anyhow.”
+
+“Well, keep on hoping,” said Mr. Linton; “luck may change at any
+minute. Norah, do you know, I have something to tell you?”
+
+“What?” Norah’s dullness was gone. There was something unusual in her
+father’s tone.
+
+“I’m afraid you won’t think it the best news,” he said, smiling at her
+eager face. “But it had to come some day, I suppose. I couldn’t keep
+you a baby always. There’s a tutor coming to make a learned lady of my
+little bush maid.”
+
+“Daddy!” There were worlds of horror in the tone.
+
+“Oh, don’t!” said her father. “You make me feel a criminal of the
+deepest dye. What can I do with you, you ignorant small child? I can’t
+let you grow up altogether a bush duffer, dear.” His voice was almost
+apologetic. “I can assure you it might have been worse. Your Aunt Eva
+has been harrowing my very soul to make me send you to a boarding
+school. Think of that now!”
+
+“Boarding school!” said Norah faintly. “Daddy, you wouldn’t?”
+
+“No—not at present, certainly,” said her father. “But I had to agree to
+something—and, really, I knew it was time. You’re twelve, you know,
+Norah. Be reasonable.”
+
+“Oh, all right,” said Norah, swallowing her disgust. “If you say it’s
+got to be, it has to be, that’s all, Daddy. My goodness, how I will
+hate it! Have I got to learn heaps of things?”
+
+“Loads,” said her father, nodding; “Latin, and French, and drawing, and
+geography, and how to talk grammar, and any number of things I never
+knew. Then you can teach the tutor things—riding, and cooking, and
+knitting, and the care of tame wallabies, and any number of things he
+never dreamed of. He’s a town young man, Norah, and horribly ignorant
+of all useful arts.”
+
+“I’ll turn him over to Billy after school,” said Norah laughing. “Is he
+nice, Dad?”
+
+“Very, I should say,” rejoined her father. “He’s the son of an old
+friend”—and his face saddened imperceptibly. “Your Aunt Eva said it
+ought to be a governess, and perhaps it would have been one only young
+Stephenson came in my way. He wanted something to do, and for his
+father’s sake I chose him for my daughter’s instructor.”
+
+“Who’s his father, Daddy?”
+
+“Well, you wouldn’t know if I told you, girlie. A dear old friend of
+mine when I was a young man—the best friend I ever had. Jim is named
+after him.”
+
+“Is he dead now?”
+
+Mr. Linton hesitated.
+
+“We lost him years ago,” he said sadly. “A great trouble came upon
+him—he lost some money, and was falsely accused of dishonesty, and he
+had to go to prison. When he came out his wife refused to see him; they
+had made her believe him a thief, and she was a hard woman, although
+she loved him. She sent him a message that he must never try to see her
+or their boy.”
+
+“She was cruel.” Norah’s eyes were angry.
+
+“She was very unhappy, so we mustn’t judge her,” her father said,
+sighing. “Poor soul, she paid for her harshness. Later the truth of the
+whole bad business came out, and she would have given the world to be
+able to beg his forgiveness-only it was too late.”
+
+“Was he dead, Daddy?”
+
+“They found his body in the river,” said Mr. Linton. “Poor old chap, he
+couldn’t stand the loss of his whole world. I’ve wished ever since that
+I could tell him I never believed the lie for a moment. I was in
+England at the time, and I knew nothing about it until he was dead.”
+
+“Poor old Daddy,” said Norah softly.
+
+“Oh, it’s an old story, now,” Mr. Linton said. “Only I never lose the
+regret—and wish that I could have done something to help my old friend.
+I don’t quite know why I’ve told you about it, except that I want you
+to be kind to young Dick Stephenson, because his life has been a sad
+enough one.”
+
+“Is his mother alive?”
+
+“She lives in Melbourne,” said her father. “I think she only lives for
+this boy, and the time when she can go to her husband and beg his
+forgiveness. He’ll give it, too—poor old Jim. He could never bear
+malice in his life, and I’m certain death couldn’t change his nature.
+The lad seems a good chap; he’s had a first-rate education. But his
+mother never gave him any profession; I don’t know why. Women aren’t
+made for business. So he wants to teach.”
+
+“I’ll be good to him, Daddy.” Norah slipped her hand into her father’s.
+
+“That’s my little girl. I knew I could depend on you,” said Mr. Linton.
+A far-away look came into his eyes, and he pulled hard at his pipe.
+Norah guessed he was thinking of days of long ago.
+
+She pulled her bait up, and examination told her it was untouched. The
+fish were certainly shy, and another half-hour’s tempting did not bring
+them to the hook. It was exceedingly dull. Norah wound up her line
+slowly. She also had been thinking.
+
+“I’m going for a walk, Daddy,” she said.
+
+“All right, dear; don’t go far,” said her father absently.
+
+Norah walked soberly along the log until she reached the creek bank,
+and then jumped ashore. She looked round at her father, but he was
+absorbed in his fishing and his thoughts, and so the little girl
+slipped away into the bush. She made her way among the trees quickly,
+keeping to the line of the creek. Presently she sat down on a
+moss-grown stump and thought deeply.
+
+The Hermit had been pretty constantly in Norah’s mind since the
+troopers had been scouring the district in their search for the
+Winfield murderer. She had longed intensely to warn him—scenting
+certain unpleasantness to him, and possible danger, although she was
+loyally firm in the belief that he could not be the man for whom they
+were searching. Still, how like the description was! Even though
+Norah’s faith was unshaken, she knew that the veriest hint of the
+Hermit’s existence would bring the troopers down on him as fast as they
+could travel to his camp. She put aside resolutely the thoughts that
+flocked to her mind—the strange old man’s lonely life, his desire to
+hide himself from his fellow-men.
+
+“I don’t understand it a bit,” she said aloud. “But I’ll have to tell
+him. He ought to know.”
+
+With that she sprang up and ran on through the scrub. It was thick
+enough to puzzle many a traveller, but the little maid of the bush saw
+no difficulties in the way. It was quite clear to her, remembering how
+the Hermit had guided their merry party on the first visit, weeks ago.
+At the exact spot on the creek she struck off at right angles into the
+heart of the trees, keeping a sharp lookout for the tall old form that
+might appear at any moment—hoping that her father might not grow tired
+of fishing and coo-ee for her to return.
+
+But there was silence in the bush, and no sign of the Hermit could be
+seen. The thought came to Norah that he might have struck camp, and
+gone farther back into the wild country, away from the men he dreaded.
+But she put the idea from her. Somehow she felt that he was there.
+
+She came to the clump of dogwood that hid the old log along which lay
+the last part of the track to the Hermit’s camp and, climbing up, ran
+along it lightly. There were no recent footprints upon it. Suddenly the
+silence of the surroundings fell heavily on her heart.
+
+Reaching the end of the log that gave access to the clearing, she took
+a hasty glance round. The ashes of the fire were long dead. No one was
+there.
+
+Norah’s heart thumped heavily. For a moment she fought with the longing
+to run back—back from this strange, silent place—back to Daddy. Then
+she gulped down something in her throat, and giving herself an
+impatient shake, she went resolutely across the clearing to the tent
+and peeped in.
+
+The interior of the tent was as neat and homelike as when Norah had
+seen it first. The quaint bits of furniture stood in their places, and
+the skins lay on the floor. But Norah saw nothing but her friend’s
+face.
+
+The Hermit was lying on his bunk—a splendid old figure in his dress of
+soft furry skins, but with a certain helplessness about him that
+brought Norah’s heart into her mouth. As the flap of the tent lifted he
+turned his head with difficulty, and looked at the little girl with
+weary, burning eyes that held no light of recognition. His face was
+ghastly white beneath the sunburnt skin, which was drawn like parchment
+over the cheekbones. A low moan came from his dry lips.
+
+“Water!”
+
+Norah cast a despairing glance around. An empty billy by the old man
+told its own tale, and a hurried search in the camp only revealed empty
+vessels.
+
+“I’ll be back in a minute,” said Norah, sobbing.
+
+Afterwards she could not remember how she had got down to the creek.
+Her blouse was torn, and there were long scratches on her wrists, and
+she was panting, as she came back to the sick man, and, struggling to
+raise his heavy head, held a cup to his lips. He drank fiercely,
+desperately, as Norah had seen starving cattle drink when released
+after a long journey in the trucks. Again and again he drank—until
+Norah grew afraid and begged him to lie down. He obeyed her meekly and
+smiled a little, but there was no comprehension in the fevered eyes.
+She put her hand on his forehead and started at its burning heat.
+
+“Oh, what’ll I do with you!” she said in her perplexity.
+
+“Do?” said the Hermit with startling suddenness. “But I’m dead!” He
+closed his eyes and lay very still. “Dead—ages ago!” He muttered. A
+second he lay so, and then he turned and looked at her. “Where’s the
+child?” he asked. “I must go to him; let me go, I tell you!” He tried
+to rise, but fell back weakly. “Water!” he begged.
+
+She gave him water again, and then bathed his face and hands, using her
+handkerchief for a sponge. He grew quieter, and once or twice Norah
+thought he seemed to know her; but at the end he closed his eyes and
+lay motionless.
+
+“I’ll be back very soon,” she said. “Do please be still, dear Mr.
+Hermit!” She bent over him and kissed his forehead, and he stirred and
+murmured a name she could not catch. Then he relapsed into
+unconsciousness, and Norah turned and ran wildly into the scrub.
+
+To bring Daddy—Daddy, who knew everything, who always understood! There
+was no other thought in her mind now. Whatever the Hermit might have
+done, he needed help now most sorely—and Daddy was the only one who
+could give it. Only the way seemed long as she raced through the trees,
+seeing always that haggard, pain-wrung face on the rude bunk. If only
+they were in time!
+
+Mr. Linton, sitting on the log and lazily watching his idle float,
+started at the voice that called to him from the bank; and at sight of
+the little girl be leaped to his feet and ran towards her.
+
+“Norah! What is it?”
+
+She told him, clinging to him and sobbing; tugging at him all the time
+to make him come quickly. A strange enough tale it seemed to Mr.
+Linton—of hermits and hidden camps, and the Winfield murderer, and
+someone who needed help,—but there was that in Norah’s face and in her
+unfamiliar emotion that made him hurry through the scrub beside her,
+although he did not understand what he was to find, and was only
+conscious of immense relief to know that she herself was safe, after
+the moment of terror that her first cry had given him. Norah steadied
+herself with a great effort, as they came to the silent camp.
+
+“He’s there,” she said, pointing.
+
+Mr. Linton understood something then, and he went forward quickly. The
+Hermit was still unconscious. His hollow eyes met them blankly as they
+entered the tent.
+
+“Oh, he’s ill, Daddy! Will he die?”
+
+But David Linton did not answer. He was staring at the unconscious face
+before him, and his own was strangely white. As Norah looked at him,
+struck with a sudden wonder, her father fell on his knees and caught
+the sick man’s hand.
+
+“Jim!” he said, and a sob choked his voice. “Old chum—Jim!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+FOR FRIENDSHIP
+
+
+“Daddy!”
+
+At the quivering voice her father lifted his head and Norah saw that
+his eyes were wet.
+
+“It’s my dear old friend Stephenson,” he said brokenly. “I told you
+about him. We thought he was dead—there was the body; I don’t
+understand, but this is he, and he’s alive, thank God!”
+
+The Hermit stirred and begged again for water, and Mr. Linton held him
+while he drank. His face grew anxious as he felt the scorching heat of
+the old man’s body.
+
+“He’s so thirsty,” Norah said tremulously, “goodness knows when he’d
+had a drink. His poor lips were all black and cracked when I found
+him.”
+
+“Had he no water near him?” asked her father, quickly. “You got this?”
+
+“Yes, from the creek,” Norah nodded. “I’ll get some more, Daddy; the
+billy’s nearly empty.”
+
+When Norah returned, laden with two cans, her father met her with a
+very grave face.
+
+“That’s my girl,” he said, taking the water from her. “Norah, I’m
+afraid he’s very ill. It looks uncommonly like typhoid.”
+
+“Will he—will he die, Daddy?”
+
+“I can’t tell, dear. What’s bothering me is how to get help for him. He
+wants a doctor immediately—wants a dozen things I haven’t got here. I
+wish that blessed black boy hadn’t gone! I don’t quite know what to
+do—I can’t leave you here while I get help—he’s half delirious now.”
+
+“You must let me go,” said Norah quietly. “I can—easily.”
+
+“You!” said her father, looking down at the steady face. “That won’t
+do, dear—not across fifteen miles of lonely country. I—” The Hermit
+cried out suddenly, and tried to rise, and Mr. Linton had to hold him
+down gently, but the struggle was a painful one, and when it was over
+the strong man’s brow was wet. “Poor old chap!” he muttered brokenly.
+
+Norah caught his arm.
+
+“You see, I must go, Daddy,” she said. “There’s no one else—and he’ll
+die! Truly I can, Daddy—quite well. Bobs’ll look after me.”
+
+“Can you?” he said, looking down at her. “You’re sure you know the
+track?”
+
+“Course I can,” said his daughter scornfully.
+
+“I don’t see anything for it,” Mr. Linton said, an anxious frown
+knitting his brow. “His life hangs on getting help, and there’s no
+other way, I’ll have to risk you, my little girl.”
+
+“There’s no risk,” said Norah. “Don’t you worry, Daddy, dear. Just tell
+me what you want.”
+
+Mr. Linton was writing hurriedly in his pocket-book.
+
+“Send into Cunjee for Dr. Anderson as hard as a man can travel,” he
+said shortly. “Don’t wait for him, however; get Mrs. Brown to pack
+these things from my medicine-chest, and let Billy get a fresh horse
+and bring them back to me, and he needn’t be afraid of knocking his
+horse up. I’m afraid we’re too late as it is. Can he find his way
+here?”
+
+“He’s been here.”
+
+“That’s all right, then. Tell Anderson I think it’s typhoid, and if he
+thinks we can move him, let Wright follow the doctor out with the
+express-wagon—Mrs. Brown will know what to send to make it comfortable.
+Can you manage Bobs?”
+
+“Yes—of course.”
+
+Mr. Linton put his hand on her shoulder.
+
+“I’ve got to let you go,” he said. “It’s the only way. Remember, I
+won’t have a minute’s peace until I know you’ve got safely home.”
+
+“I’ll be all right, Daddy—true. And I’ll hurry. Don’t bother about me.”
+
+“Bother!” he said. “My little wee mate.” He kissed her twice.
+“Now—hurry!”
+
+
+Bobs, grazing peacefully under a big gum tree, was startled by a little
+figure, staggering beneath saddle and bridle. In a minute Norah was on
+his back, and they were galloping across the plain towards home.
+
+
+A young man sat on the cap of the stockyard fence at Billabong
+homestead, swinging his legs listlessly and wishing for something to
+do. He blessed the impulse that had brought him to the station before
+his time, and wondered if things were likely to be always as dull.
+
+“Unless my small pupil stirs things up, I don’t fancy this life much,”
+he said moodily, in which he showed considerable impatience of
+judgment, being but a young man.
+
+Across the long, grey plain a tiny cloud gathered, and the man watched
+it lazily. Gradually it grew larger, until it resolved itself into
+dust—and the dust into a horse and rider.
+
+“Someone coming,” he said, with faint interest. “By Jove, it’s a girl!
+She’s racing, too. Wonder if anything’s wrong?”
+
+He slipped from the fence and went forward to open the gate, looking at
+the advancing pair. A big bay pony panting and dripping with sweat, but
+with “go” in him yet for a final sprint; and on his back a little girl,
+flushed and excited, with tired, set lips. He expected her to stop at
+the gate, but she flashed by him with a glance and a brief “Thank you,”
+galloping up to the gate of the yard. Almost before the pony stopped
+she was out of the saddle and running up the path to the kitchen. The
+man saw Mrs. Brown come out, and heard her cry of surprise as she
+caught the child to her.
+
+“Something’s up,” said the stranger. He followed at a run.
+
+In the kitchen Norah was clinging to Mrs. Brown, quivering with the
+effort not to cry.
+
+“Someone ill in the bush?” said the astonished Brownie, patting her
+nurseling. “Yes, Billy’s here, dearie—and all the horses are in.
+Where’s the note? I’ll see to it. Poor pet! Don’t take on, lovey,
+there. See, here’s your new governess, Mr. Stephenson!”
+
+Norah straightened with a gasp of astonishment.
+
+“You!” she said.
+
+“Me!” said Dick Stephenson ungrammatically, holding out his hand.
+“You’re my pupil, aren’t you? Is anything wrong?”
+
+“There’s a poor gentleman near to dyin’ in the scrub,” volunteered Mrs.
+Brown, “an’ Miss Norah’s come all the way in for help. Fifteen mile, if
+it’s a inch! I don’t know ow’ you did it, my blessed pet!”
+
+“You don’t mean to say you did!” said the new “governess” amazed. Small
+girls like this had not come his way. “By Jove, you’re plucky! I say,
+what’s up?”
+
+Norah was very pale.
+
+“Are you really Mr. Stephenson?” she asked. “I... You’ll be
+surprised.... He’s...” Her voice failed her.
+
+“Don’t worry to talk,” he said gently. “You’re done up.”
+
+“No—” She steadied her voice. “I must tell you. It’s—it’s—your father!”
+
+Dick Stephenson’s face suddenly darkened.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly. “You’re making a mistake; my
+father is dead.”
+
+“He’s not,” said Norah, “He’s my dear Hermit, and he’s out there with
+typhoid, or some beastly thing. We found him—and Dad knows him quite
+well. It’s really him. He never got drowned.”
+
+“Do you know what you’re saying?” The man’s face was white.
+
+But Norah’s self-command was at an end. She buried her face in
+Brownie’s kind bosom, and burst into a passion of crying.
+
+The old woman rocked her to and fro gently until the sobs grew fainter,
+and Norah, shame-faced, began to feel for her handkerchief. Then Mrs.
+Brown put her into the big cushioned rocking-chair.
+
+“Now, you must be brave and tell us, dearie,” she said gently. “This is
+pretty wonderful for Mr. Stephenson.”
+
+So Norah, with many catchings of the breath, told them all about the
+Hermit, and of her father’s recognition of him, saying only nothing of
+her long and lonely ride. Before she had finished Billy was on the road
+to Cunjee, flying for the doctor. Dick Stephenson, white-faced, broke
+in on the story.
+
+“How can I get out there?” he asked shortly.
+
+“I’ll take you,” Norah said.
+
+“You!—that’s out of the question.”
+
+“No, it isn’t. I’m not tired,” said Norah, quite unconscious of saying
+anything but the truth. “I knew I’d have to, anyhow, because only Billy
+and I know the way to the Hermit’s camp, and he has to fetch the
+doctor. You tell Wright to get Banker for you, and put my saddle on
+Jim’s pony—and to look well after Bobs. Hurry, while Brownie gets the
+other things!”
+
+Dick Stephenson made no further protests, his brain awhirl as he raced
+to the stables. Brownie protested certainly, but did her small maid’s
+bidding the while. But it was a very troubled old face that looked long
+after the man and the little girl, as they started on the long ride
+back to the camp.
+
+Mile after mile they swung across the grey plain.
+
+Norah did not try to talk. She disdained the idea that she was tired,
+but a vague feeling told her that she must save all her energies to
+guide the way back to the camp hidden in the scrub, where the Hermit
+lay raving, and her father sat beside the lonely bed.
+
+Neither was her companion talkative. He stared ahead, as if trying to
+pierce with his eyes the line of timber that blurred across the
+landscape. Norah was glad he did not bother her with questions. She had
+told him all she knew, and now he was content to wait.
+
+“It must be hard on him, all the same,” thought Norah, looking at the
+set young face, and sparing an instant to approve of the easy seat in
+the saddle displayed by her new “governess.” To believe that your
+father was dead all these years, and then suddenly to find him
+alive—but how far apart in every way! “Why, you hardly know,” mused
+Norah, “whether you’ll like him—whether he’ll be glad to see you! Not
+that anyone could fail to like the Hermit—anyone with sense, that is!”
+
+Mile after mile! The plain slipped away beneath the even beat of the
+steadily cantering hoofs. The creek, forded slowly, sank into the
+distance behind them; before, the line of timber grew darker and more
+definite. Jim’s pony was not far inferior to Bobs in pace and easiness,
+and his swinging canter required no effort to sit, but a great
+weariness began to steal over his rider. Dick Stephenson, glancing at
+her frequently, saw the pallor creeping upon the brave little face.
+
+He pulled up.
+
+“We’ll go steady for a while,” he said. “No good knocking you up
+altogether.”
+
+Norah checked her pony unwillingly.
+
+“Oh, don’t you think we ought to hurry?” she said. “Dad’s waiting for
+those medicines you’ve got, you know.”
+
+“Yes, I know. But I don’t think we’ll gain much by overdoing it.”
+
+“If you’re thinking about me,” Norah said impatiently, “you needn’t.
+I’m as right as rain. You must think I’m pretty soft! Do come on!”
+
+He looked at her steadily. Dark shadows of weariness lay under the
+brave eyes that met his.
+
+“Why, no,” he said. “Fact is, I’m a bit of a new chum myself where
+riding’s concerned—you mustn’t be too ashamed of me. I think we’d
+better walk for a while. And you take this.”
+
+He poured something from his flask into its little silver cup and
+handed it to Norah. Their eyes met, and she read his meaning through
+the kindness of the words that cloaked what he felt. Above her
+weariness a sense of comfort stole over Norah. She knew in that look
+that henceforth they were friends.
+
+She gulped down the drink, which was hateful, but presently sent a
+feeling of renewed strength through her tired limbs. They rode on in
+silence for some time, the horses brushing through the long soft grass.
+Dick Stephenson pulled hard at his pipe.
+
+“Did—did my father know you this morning?” he asked suddenly.
+
+Norah shook her head mournfully.
+
+“He didn’t know anyone,” she answered, “only asked for water and said
+things I couldn’t understand. Then when Dad came he knew him at once,
+but the Hermit didn’t seem even to know that Dad was there.”
+
+“Did he look very bad?”
+
+“Yes—pretty bad,” said Norah, hating to hurt him. “He was terribly
+flushed, and oh! his poor eyes were awful, so burning and sunken.
+And—oh!—let’s canter, Mr. Stephenson, please!”
+
+This time there was no objection. Banker jumped at the quick touch of
+the spur as Stephenson’s heel went home. Side by side they cantered
+steadily until Norah pulled her pony in at length at the entrance to
+the timber, where the creek swung into Anglers’ Bend.
+
+“We’re nearly there,” she said.
+
+But to the man watching in the Hermit’s camp the hours were long
+indeed.
+
+The Hermit was too weak to struggle much. There had been a few sharp
+paroxysms of delirium, such as Norah had seen, during which David
+Linton had been forced to hold the old man down with unwilling force.
+But the struggles soon brought their own result of helpless weakness,
+and the Hermit subsided into restless unconsciousness, broken by feeble
+mutterings, of which few coherent words could be caught. “Dick” was
+frequently on the fevered lips. Once he smiled suddenly, and Mr.
+Linton, bending down, heard a faint whisper of “Norah.”
+
+Sitting beside his old friend in the lonely silence of the bush, he
+studied the ravages time and sorrow had wrought in the features be
+knew. Greatly changed as Jim Stephenson was, his face lined and sunken,
+and his beard long and white as snow, it was still, to David Linton,
+the friend of his boyhood come back from the grave and from his burden
+of unmerited disgrace. The frank blue eyes were as brave as ever; they
+met his with no light of recognition, but with their clear gaze
+undimmed. A sob rose in the strong man’s throat—if he could but see
+again that welcoming light!—hear once more his name on his friend’s
+lips! If he were not too late!
+
+The Hermit muttered and tossed on his narrow bed. The watcher’s
+thoughts fled to the little messenger galloping over the long miles of
+lonely country—his motherless girl, whom he had sent on a mission that
+might so easily spell disaster. Horrible thoughts came into the
+father’s mind. He pictured Bobs putting his hoof into a hidden
+crab-hole—falling—Norah lying white and motionless, perhaps far from
+the track. That was not the only danger. Bad characters were to be met
+with in the bush and the pony was valuable enough to tempt a desperate
+man—such as the Winfield murderer, who was roaming the district, nobody
+knew where. There was a score of possible risks; to battle with them, a
+little maid of twelve, strong only in the self-reliance bred of the
+bush. The father looked at the ghastly face before him, and asked
+himself questions that tortured—Was it right to have let the young life
+go to save the old one that seemed just flickering out? He put his face
+in his hands and groaned.
+
+How long the hours were! He calculated feverishly the time it would
+take the little messenger to reach home if all went well; then how long
+it must be before a man could come out to him. At that thought he
+realised for the first time the difficulty Norah had seen in
+silence—who should come out to him? Black Billy must fetch the doctor
+and guide him to the sick man; but no one else save Norah herself knew
+the track to the little camp, hidden so cunningly in the scrub, at that
+rate it might be many hours before he knew if his child were safe.
+Anxiety for the remedies for his friend was swallowed up in the anguish
+of uncertainty for Norah. It seemed to him that he must go to seek
+her—that he could not wait! He started up, but, as if alarmed by his
+sudden movement, the Hermit cried out and tried to rise, struggling
+feebly with the strong hands that were quick to hold him back. When the
+struggle was over David Linton sat down again. How could he leave him?
+
+Then across his agony of uncertainty came a clear childish voice. The
+tent flaps were parted and Norah stood in the entrance white and
+trembling, but with a glad smile of welcome on her lips—behind her a
+tall man, who trembled, too. David Linton did not see him. All the
+world seemed whirling round him as he caught his child in his arms.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+FIGHTING DEATH
+
+
+“You!” Mr. Linton said.
+
+He had put Norah gently into the rough chair, and turned to Dick
+Stephenson, who was standing by his father, his lips twitching. They
+gripped hands silently.
+
+“You can recognise him?”
+
+“I’d know him anywhere,” the son said. “Poor old dad! You think—?”
+
+“I don’t know,” the other said hastily. “Can’t tell until Anderson
+comes. But I fancy it’s typhoid. You brought the things? Ah!” His eyes
+brightened as they fell on the leather medicine-case Mrs. Brown had
+sent, and in a moment he was unstrapping it with quick, nervous
+fingers..
+
+The Hermit stirred, and gasped for water. He drank readily enough from
+the glass Mr. Linton held to his lips, while his son supported him with
+strong young arms. There was not much they could do.
+
+“Anderson should be here before long,” Mr. Linton said. “What time did
+Billy leave?”
+
+“A little after twelve.”
+
+“What did he ride?”
+
+“A big black.”
+
+“That’s right,” Mr. Linton nodded. “Anderson would motor out to
+Billabong, I expect, and Mrs. Brown would have the fresh horses ready.
+They should not be very long, with ordinary luck. Billy left about
+twelve, did he? By Jove, Norah must have made great time! It was after
+half-past ten when she left me.”
+
+“She and the pony looked as if they’d done enough.”
+
+“And she came back! I hadn’t realised it all in the minute of seeing
+her,” her father said, staring at Stephenson. “Norah, dear, are you
+quite knocked up?” He turned to speak, but broke off sharply. Norah was
+gone.
+
+Mr. Linton turned on his heel without a word, and hurried out of the
+tent, with Stephenson at his side. Just for a moment the Hermit was
+forgotten in the sudden pang of anxiety that gripped them both. In the
+open they glanced round quickly, and a sharp exclamation of dismay
+broke from the father.
+
+Norah was lying in a crumpled heap under a tree. There was something
+terribly helpless in the little, quiet figure, face downwards, on the
+grass.
+
+Just for a moment, as he fell on his knees beside her, David Linton
+lost his self-control. He called her piteously, catching the limp body
+to him. Dick Stephenson’s hand fell on his shoulder.
+
+“She’s only fainted,” he said huskily. “Over-tired, that’s all. Put her
+down, sir, please”—and Mr. Linton, still trembling, laid the little
+girl on the grass, and loosened her collar, while the other forced a
+few drops from his flask between the pale lips.
+
+Gradually Norah’s eyes flickered and opened, and colour crept into her
+cheeks.
+
+“Daddy!” she whispered.
+
+“Don’t talk, my darling,” her father said. “Lie still.”
+
+“I’m all right now,” Norah said presently. “I’m so sorry I frightened
+you, Daddy—I couldn’t help it.”
+
+“You should have kept still, dear,” said her father. “Why did you go
+out?”
+
+“I felt rummy,” said his daughter inelegantly; “a queer,
+whirly-go-round feeling. I guessed I must be going to tumble over. It
+didn’t seem any good making a duffer of myself when you were busy with
+the Hermit, so I cut out.”
+
+Dick Stephenson turned sharply and, without a word, strode back into
+the tent.
+
+Norah turned with a sudden movement to her father, clinging to the
+rough serge of his coat. Something like a tear fell on her upturned
+face as the strong arms enfolded her.
+
+“Why—Daddy—dear old Dad!” she whispered.
+
+It was nearly twilight when Dr. Anderson and black Billy rode into the
+clearing, to the joy of the anxious watchers.
+
+The doctor did not waste any words. He slipped off his horse and
+entered the tent. Presently Dick Stephenson came out and sat down
+beside Norah to await the verdict.
+
+“I can’t do any good there,” he said, “and there’s no room.”
+
+Norah nodded. Just then there seemed nothing to say to this son whose
+father, so lately given back from the grave, seemed to be slipping away
+again without a word. She slid her hand into his and felt his fingers
+close warmly upon it.
+
+“I can stand it,” he said brokenly, after a little, “if he can only
+know we—the world—knows he was never guilty—if I can only tell him
+that. I can’t bear him to die not knowing that.”
+
+“He’d know it anyhow.”
+
+The little voice was very low, but the lad heard it.
+
+“I—I guess he will,” he said, “and that’s better. But I would like to
+make it up to him a bit—while he’s here.”
+
+Then they were silent. The shadows deepened across the clearing. Long
+since the sun had disappeared behind the rim of encircling trees.
+
+The tent flaps parted and the doctor and Mr. Linton came out. Dick rose
+and faced them. He could not utter the question that trembled on his
+lips.
+
+The doctor nodded cheerily.
+
+“Well, Norah?” he said. “Yes; I think we’ll pull the patient through
+this time, Mr. Stephenson. It’ll be a fight, for he’s old and weakened
+by exposure and lack of proper food, but I think we’ll do it.” He
+talked on hopefully, appearing not to see the question the son could
+not altogether hide. “Take him home? Yes, we’ll get him home to-morrow,
+I think. We can’t nurse him out here. The express-wagon’s following
+with all sorts of comforting things. Trust your old Mrs. Brown for
+that, Norah. Most capable woman! Mattresses, air pillows,
+nourishment—she’d thought of everything, and the wagon was all ready to
+start when I got to Billabong. By the way, Billy was to go back to show
+Wright the way. Where are you, Billy? Why haven’t you gone?”
+
+“Plenty!” said Billy hastily, as he disappeared.
+
+“Queer chap, that,” said Dr. Anderson, lighting a cigarette. “That’s
+about the only remark he’s made all day, and in the motor he didn’t say
+as much—sat like an ebony statue, with his eyes bulging in unholy
+terror. I hear you’ve been flying all over the country, Norah. What do
+you mean by looking so white?”
+
+The tale of Norah’s iniquities was unfolded to him, and the doctor felt
+her pulse in a friendly way.
+
+“You’ll have to go to bed soon,” he said. “Can’t have you knocking
+yourself up, you know; and we’ve got to make an early start to-morrow
+to avoid the worst heat of the day for the patient. Also, you will take
+a small tabloid to make you ‘buck up,’ if you know what that means,
+Norah!” Norah grinned. “Ah, well, Mr. Stephenson here will make you
+forget all that undesirable knowledge before long—lost in a maze of
+Euclid, and Latin, and Greek, and trigonometry, and things!”
+
+“I say!” gasped Norah.
+
+“Well, you may,” grinned the doctor. “I foresee lively times for you
+and your tutor in the paths of learning, young lady. First of all,
+however, you’ll have to be under-nurse to our friend the patient, with
+Mrs. Brown as head. And that reminds me—someone must sit up to-night.”
+
+“That’s my privilege,” said Dick Stephenson quickly. And all that
+night, after the camp had quieted to sleep, the son sat beside his
+newly-found father, watching in the silver moonlight every change that
+flitted across the wan old face. The Hermit had not yet recovered
+consciousness, but under the doctor’s remedies he had lost the terrible
+restlessness of delirium and lay for the most part calmly. In heart, as
+he watched him, Dick was but a little boy again, loving above all the
+world the tall “Daddy” who was his hero—longing with all the little
+boy’s devotion and all the strength of his manhood to make up to him
+for the years he had suffered alone.
+
+But the calm face on the bed never showed sign of recognition. Once or
+twice the Hermit muttered, and his boy’s name was on his lips. The
+pulse fluttered feebly. The great river flowed very close about his
+feet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+THE END OF THE STRUGGLE
+
+
+The long slow journey to Billabong homestead was accomplished.
+
+The Hermit had never regained consciousness throughout the weary hours
+during which every jolt of the express-wagon over the rough tracks had
+sent a throb to the hearts of the watchers. All unconscious he had lain
+while they lifted him from the bunk where he had slept for so many
+lonely nights. The men packed his few personal belongings quickly.
+Norah, remembering a hint dropped by the Hermit in other days, had
+instituted a search for buried papers, which resulted in the unearthing
+of a tin box containing various documents. She had insisted, too, that
+the rough furniture should go, and it was piled in the front of the
+wagon. Another man had brought out the old pack mare for the baggage of
+the original fishing party, and the whole cavalcade moved off before
+the sun had got above the horizon.
+
+But it was a tedious journey. Dr. Anderson sat beside his patient,
+watching the feeble action of the heart and the flickering pulse,
+plying him with stimulants and nourishment, occasionally calling a halt
+for a few minutes’ complete rest. Close to the wheel Dick Stephenson
+rode, his eyes scarcely leaving his father’s face. On the other side,
+Norah and her father rode in silent, miserable anxiety, fretting at
+their utter helplessness. Dr. Anderson glanced sharply now and then at
+the little girl’s face.
+
+“This isn’t good for her,” he said at length quietly to Mr. Linton.
+“She’s had too much already. Take her home.” He raised his voice.
+“You’d better go on,” he said; “let Mrs. Brown know just what is
+coming; she’ll need you to help her prepare the patient’s room, Norah.
+You, too, Stephenson.”
+
+“I won’t leave him, thanks,” he said. “I’d rather not—he might become
+conscious.”
+
+“No chance of that,” the doctor said, “best not, too, until we have him
+safely in bed. However, stay if you like—perhaps it’s as well. I think,
+Linton, you’d better send a wire to Melbourne for a trained nurse.”
+
+“And one to mother,” Dick said quickly.
+
+“That’s gone already,” Mr. Linton said. “I sent George back with it
+last night when he brought the mare out.” He smiled in answer to Dick’s
+grateful look. “Well, come on, Norah.”
+
+The remembrance of that helpless form in the bottom of the wagon
+haunted Norah’s memory all through the remainder of the ride home. She
+was thoroughly tired now—excitement that had kept her up the day before
+had prevented her from sleeping, and she scarcely could keep upright in
+the saddle. However, she set her teeth to show no sign of weakness that
+should alarm her father, and endeavoured to have a smile for him
+whenever his anxious gaze swept her white face.
+
+The relief of seeing the red roof of home! That last mile was the
+longest of all—and when at length they were at the gate, and she had
+climbed stiffly off her pony, she could only lean against his shoulder
+and shake from head to foot. Mr. Linton picked her up bodily and
+carried her, feebly protesting, into Mrs. Brown.
+
+“Only knocked up,” he said, in answer to the old woman’s terrified
+exclamation. “Bed is all she needs—and hot soup, if you’ve got it.
+Norah, dear”—as she begged to be allowed to remain and help—“you can do
+nothing just now, except get yourself all right. Do as I tell you,
+girlie;” and in an astonishingly short space of time Norah found
+herself tucked up in bed in her darkened room, with Daddy’s hand fast
+in hers, and a comforting feeling of everything fading away to darkness
+and sleep.
+
+It was twilight when she opened her eyes again, and Brownie sat
+knitting by her side.
+
+“Bless your dear heart,” she said fervently. “Yes, the old gentleman’s
+come, an’ he’s quite comfertable in bed—though he don’t know no one
+yet. Dr. Anderson’s gone to Cunjee, but he’s coming back in his steam
+engine to stay all night; an’ your pa’s having his dinner, which he
+needs it, poor man. An’ he don’t want you to get up, lovey, for there
+ain’t nothin’ you can do. I’ll go and get you something to eat.”
+
+But it was Mr. Linton who came presently, bearing a tray with dainty
+chicken and salad, and a glass of clear golden jelly. He sat by Norah
+while she ate.
+
+“We’re pretty anxious, dear,” he told her, when she had finished, and
+was snugly lying down again, astonishingly glad of her soft bed. “You
+won’t mind my not staying. I must be near old Jim. I’ll be glad when
+Anderson’s back. Try to go to sleep quickly.” He bent to kiss her. “You
+don’t know what a comfort your sleep has been to me, my girlie,” he
+said. “Good-night!”
+
+It was the third day of the struggle with death over the Hermit’s
+unconscious body, and again twilight was falling upon Billabong.
+
+The house was hushed and silent. No footfall was allowed to sound where
+the echo might penetrate to the sick-room. Near its precincts Mrs.
+Brown and the Melbourne trained nurse reigned supreme, and Dr. Anderson
+came and went as often as he could manage the fourteen-mile spin out
+from Cunjee in his motor.
+
+Norah had a new care—a little fragile old lady, with snowy hair, and
+depths of infinite sadness in her eyes, whom Dick Stephenson called
+“mother.” The doctor would not allow either mother or son into the
+sick-room—the shock of recognition, should the Hermit regain
+consciousness suddenly, might be too much. So they waited about,
+agonisingly anxious, pitifully helpless. Dick rebelled against the
+idleness at length. It would kill him, he said, and, borrowing a spade
+from the Chinese gardener, he spent his time in heavy digging, within
+easy call of the house. But for the wife and mother there was no help.
+She was gently courteous to all, gently appreciative of Norah’s
+attempts to occupy her thoughts. But throughout it all—whether she
+looked at the pets outside, or walked among the autumn roses in the
+garden, or struggled to eat at the table—she was listening, ever
+listening.
+
+In the evening of the third day Mr. Linton came quickly into the
+drawing-room. Tears were falling down his face. He went up to Mrs.
+Stephenson and put his hand on her shoulder.
+
+“It’s—it’s all right, we think,” he said brokenly. “He’s conscious and
+knew me, dear old chap! I was sitting by the bed, and suddenly his eyes
+opened and all the fever had gone. ‘Why, Davy!’ he said. I told him
+everything was all right, and he mustn’t talk—and he’s taken some
+nourishment, and gone off into a natural sleep. Anderson’s delighted.”
+Then he caught Mrs. Stephenson quickly as she slipped to his feet,
+unconscious.
+
+Then there were days of dreary waiting, of slow, harassing
+convalescence. The patient did not seem to be alive to any outside
+thought. He gained strength very slowly, but he lay always silent,
+asking no questions, only when Mr. Linton entered the room showing any
+sign of interest. The doctor was vaguely puzzled, vaguely anxious.
+
+“Do you think I could go and see him?” Norah was outside the door of
+the sick-room. The doctor often found her there—a little silent figure,
+listening vainly for her friend’s voice. She looked up pleadingly. “Not
+if you think I oughtn’t to,” she said.
+
+“I don’t believe it would hurt him,” Dr. Anderson said, looking down at
+her. “Might wake him up a bit—I know you won’t excite him.”
+
+So it was that the Hermit, waking from a restless sleep, found by his
+side a small person with brown curls that he remembered.
+
+“Why, it’s my little friend,” he murmured, feeling weakly for her hand.
+“This seems a queer world—old friends and new, all mixed up.”
+
+“I’m so glad you’re better, dear Mr. Hermit,” Norah said. She bent and
+kissed him. “And we’re all friends—everybody.”
+
+“You did that once before,” he said feebly. “No one had kissed me for
+such a long, long while. But mustn’t let you.”
+
+“Why?” asked Norah blankly.
+
+“Because—because people don’t think much of me, Miss Norah,” he said, a
+deep shade falling on his fine old face. “They say I’m no good. I don’t
+suppose I’d be allowed to be here, only I’m an old man, and I’m going
+to die.”
+
+“But you’re not!” Norah cried. “Dr. Anderson says you’re not!
+And—and—oh, you’re making a great mistake. Everyone wants you.”
+
+“Me!” said the Hermit, in sudden bitter scorn. “No, only strangers like
+you. Not my own.”
+
+“Oh, you don’t know,” Norah protested. She was painfully aware of the
+order not to excite the patient, but it was awful to let him be so
+unhappy! “Dad’s not a stranger—he always knew you. And see how he wants
+you!”
+
+“Dad?” the Hermit questioned feebly. “Is David Linton your father?” She
+nodded, and for a minute he was silent. “No wonder you and I were
+friends!” he said. “But you’re not all—not even you and Davy.”
+
+“No, but—”
+
+He forced a smile, in pity for her perplexity.
+
+“Dear little girl, you don’t understand,” he said. “There’s something
+even friendship can’t wipe out, though such friendship as your father’s
+can bridge it over. But it’s always there—a black, cruel gulf. And
+that’s disgrace!”
+
+Norah could not bear the misery of his eyes.
+
+“But if it’s all a horrible mistake?” she said. “If everybody knew
+it—?”
+
+“If it’s a mistake!”
+
+The Hermit’s hand was on her wrist like a vice. For a moment Norah
+shivered in fear of what her words might have done.
+
+“What do you mean? For God’s sake, tell me?”
+
+She steadied her voice to answer him bravely.
+
+“Please, you mustn’t get excited, dear Mr. Hermit,” she said. “I’ll
+tell you. Dad told me all about it before we found you. It’s all a
+terrible mistake. Every one knows you were a good man. Everyone wants
+to be friends with you. Only they thought you were dead.”
+
+“I managed that.” His voice was sharp and eager. “I saw the other body
+in the river and the rest was easy.” He struggled for calmness and
+Norah held a glass of water to his lips.
+
+“Please don’t get excited!” she begged.
+
+“I won’t,” he smiled at her. “Tell me—does everyone know?”
+
+“Everyone,” Norah nodded. There was a step behind her and a sudden
+light flashed into the Hermit’s eyes.
+
+“Davy! Is it true? I am cleared?”
+
+“Years ago, old man.” David Linton’s voice was husky. “All the world
+wants to make it up to you.”
+
+“All the world—they’re only two!” the sick man said. “Do they know?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Where are they?”
+
+For a moment Mr. Linton hesitated, not knowing what risk he might run.
+
+“Oh! for pity’s sake don’t be cautious, David,” the Hermit begged.
+“I’ll be calm—anything—only don’t refuse a starving man bread! Davy,
+tell me!”
+
+“They’re here, old man.”
+
+“Here! Can I—will they—?”
+
+“Ah, we’ve got to be careful of you, Jim, old chap,” Mr. Linton said.
+“You’ve been a very sick man—and you’re not better yet. But they’re
+only living on the hope of seeing you—of having you again—of making it
+up to you.”
+
+“And they believe in me?”
+
+“The boy—Dick—never believed a word against you,” Mr. Linton said. “And
+your wife—ah, if she doubted, she has paid for it again and again in
+tears. You’ll forgive her, Jim?”
+
+“Yes,” he said simply. “I’ve been bitter enough God knows, but it all
+seems gone. You’ll bring her, Davy?”
+
+But at the word Norah was out of the room, racing along the hall.
+
+Out in the gardens Dick Stephenson dug mightily in the hard soil, and
+his mother watched him, listening always. She heard the flying
+footsteps on the gravel and turned quickly to meet Norah.
+
+“Mr. Stephenson, he wants you!”
+
+“Is he worse?” Dick gasped.
+
+“No—I think he’s all right. But he knows everything and he wants you
+both!”
+
+In his room the Hermit heard the steps in the hall—the light, slow
+feet, and the man’s tread, that curbed its impatience, lingering to
+support them. His breath came quickly as he stared at the door.
+
+Then for a moment they faced each other, after the weary years; each
+gaunt and wan and old, but in their eyes the light and the love of long
+ago. The hermit’s eyes wandered an instant to his son’s face, seeking
+in the stalwart man the little lad he knew. Then they came back to his
+wife.
+
+“Mary!”
+
+“Jim!” She tottered to the bed.
+
+“Jim—can you forgive me?”
+
+“Forgive—oh, my girl!” The two grey heads were close together. David
+Linton slipped from the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+EVENING
+
+
+They were all sitting on the lawn in the twilight.
+
+Norah had dispensed afternoon tea with laborious energy, ably seconded
+by Dick, who carried cups and cake, and made himself generally useful.
+Then they had talked until the sun slipped over the edge of the plain.
+There was so much to talk of in those days.
+
+The Hermit had been allowed to leave his room a fortnight since. He was
+still weak, but strength was coming every day—strength that follows on
+happiness. Norah declared he grew better every day and no one
+contradicted her.
+
+He and his wife sat hand in hand. They were rarely seen any other
+way—perfect content on each placid face. Dick lay on the grass at their
+feet and smoked, and threw stems of buffalo grass at Norah, who
+returned them honourably. Mr. Linton, also smoking, surveyed the group
+with satisfaction.
+
+They had been talking over plans for the future, plans which Mr.
+Linton’s masterfulness modified very considerably.
+
+“Go away?” he said. “Certainly not! I’ve engaged your son as tutor to
+my daughter, and I really can’t spare him from the poor neglected
+child! Then, as you, curiously enough, don’t wish to leave your son,
+the course is quite clear—you must stay here.”
+
+“I’m not going to live on you, Davy.”
+
+“You needn’t. I’m bitterly in need of someone with a head for figures—a
+thing I never possessed. You can help me tremendously. And, good as
+dear old Brownie is, I know Norah ought to be with a gentlewoman—to
+learn the things that aren’t in school books. It’s the best chance you
+and I have ever had, isn’t it, Norah? We aren’t going to let it—or
+you—slip through our hands.”
+
+“It’s—it’s all very well, Davy, old man—”
+
+“I know it is. Now, can’t you let well alone, Jim? Talk of it again in
+five years’ time—you may have better luck then. I don’t say you
+will—but you may! Hang it all, man, you’re not going to thwart me when
+I’ve just got my family together!”
+
+“Well, I won’t for a while,” the Hermit said-and immediately received a
+kiss on the top of his head.
+
+“Thank you, Norah,” he said meekly.
+
+“Don’t mention it,” Norah answered politely. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re
+going to stay with us, Mr. Hermit!”
+
+Norah had flatly declined to call her friend anything but the name she
+had given him in the bush. As for the Hermit, he was perfectly content
+with anything Norah did and had no idea of objecting.
+
+“You heard, didn’t you, Norah, that they’d found your friend, the
+Winfield murderer?” Mr. Linton asked.
+
+“Daddy!—no!”
+
+“Found his body in an old shaft—not far from Winfield. He had the
+stolen property on him, so there’s no doubt of his guilt. So that
+clears your Hermit, even in your suspicious mind!”
+
+“Ah, don’t, Daddy,” Norah said, flushing. “I wasn’t suspicious. I was a
+duffer.”
+
+“I don’t think you were,” the Hermit said decidedly. “A very sensible
+duffer, anyhow.”
+
+Dick laughed.
+
+“No use trying to come between those two,” he said.
+
+“Not a bit,” said the Hermit with great cheerfulness. He smiled at
+Norah. “You brought me back to life—twice.”
+
+“When I think—but for Norah,” Mrs. Stephenson murmured brokenly, “no
+one would have known you were dying in that dreadful tent.”
+
+“Yes,” said the Hermit, “but I didn’t know anything about it. My best
+memory is of my little friend who brought me good news when I was
+wishing with all my soul that I’d died in the tent!”
+
+“Don’t, Jim!” said Mr. Linton.
+
+“Well, between one and another there’s a fair chance of spoiling my
+pupil,” laughed Dick, stretching himself. “I’ll have to be doubly stern
+to counteract the evil influences, Norah. You can prepare for awful
+times. When next Monday comes, Mr. Linton—may it be soon!—you can say
+good-bye to your pickle of a daughter. She will come out from my mill
+ground into the most approved type of young lady—accomplishments,
+prunes and prisms personified!”
+
+Mr. Linton laughed.
+
+“Will she?” he said, pulling Norah’s hair gently. “I wonder! Well, you
+can do your worst, Dick. Somehow, I fancy that under all the varnish
+I’ll find my little bush maid.”
+
+The End
+
+
+
+
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