Dick followed Mr. Lester along the wharf, and up a wide and dusty street, until they came to one rather wider and a little less dusty, where trams rattled and business seemed brisk. There were big shops and fine buildings, and people moved about as though they had no time to dawdle. There is always a kind of feverish activity about a city that lives by shipping. Other places may doze sleepily between trains, waking now and then to send off or receive mails, but a seaport knows no time-table, and is busy all the time, as the big ships come and go, and the blue-clad sailors hurry along its streets. So Perth lies dreamily on the borders of its wide river, and, but a few miles off, Fremantle, like a busy watchdog, never seems to rest.
They found a garage that readily supplied Mr. Warner with two cars, in one of which they were soon back at theMoondarra, where they found the others waiting on the wharf. Carriers had taken their heavier luggage; lighter effects were quickly packed in, and presently they were gliding along a well-kept road, where sparse gum trees fringed bungalow houses set in gardens flaming with many unfamiliar flowers. The motors made short work of the distance; soon they could see the buildings of Perth, and then a gleam of silver, and a turn in the road brought them out beside the Swan, a wide, shining expanse, dotted with the white sails of many little yachts. Dick uttered a delighted whistle.
"I say! Did you know it was such a big river, mother?"
"No, I didn't," admitted his mother. "Why it is almost a lake! What an ideal place for yachting!"
Perth seemed to think so, for the boats were legion; fairy-like yachts, little rowing skiffs, motor-boats chugging across the rippled surface, and even canoes, their broad paddles flashing in the sunlight as they dipped and fell. Boat-houses were thick along the banks: here and there the big buildings of yachting clubs, with wide verandahs and balconies overhanging the water. All the river was full of the stir of moving boats.
"I think this is a jolly place," Dick pronounced, solemnly.
The car turned from the river and ran along a wide, tree-fringed road, and in a moment they were in the heart of Perth itself, winding in and out of the traffic until they stopped before a big hotel. Mr. Warner was before them. Their rooms were already engaged, and a boy in buttons took them up and brought their luggage. Dick was kneeling on the floor in his mother's room unstrapping her dressing-case, when a knock came to the door. Mrs. Lester opened it.
Mr. Warner stood there, his enormous bulk seeming to fill the corridor.
"I ran out to the Orient office, it's no distance from here," he said, beaming at them. "TheOhiocomes in at ten o'clock to-morrow morning. And there's a wireless for you!"
He held out a thin brown envelope. Then he was gone, and the door shut, and Mrs. Lester was tearing at the envelope with fingers that shook.
"All well. Love to you both."
"Dickie!" she said, catching at the boy; "Dickie." They clung together for a moment, and the flimsy paper that was like a dear voice speaking after twelve months of silence fluttered to the ground between them.
Dick Lester and his mother never had any very clear idea of how they passed that day in Perth. Lunch filled up an hour; then they took a hansom and drove to the beautiful public gardens, and wandered about them, and at intervals took out their precious wireless and read it again, as if expecting to find some new remark tucked in among its six brief words. In the evening Mr. Warner took them to a theatre—Mrs. Warner declining to be again separated from the twinses. Presumably it was a good play, for Mr. Warner and Merle seemed to enjoy it, but neither Mrs. Lester nor Dick could have told you what it was about. The wireless also went to the theatre, in Dick's pocket. He had asked his mother if he might keep it.
"Rather a curio, when you've never seen a wireless before, you see," he explained, in an elaborately off-hand manner. Mrs. Lester had nodded comprehendingly, a little sad at heart, for she would certainly have liked to keep it herself. Dick went to bed, declaring that he could not sleep; his eyes so bright that Mrs. Lester was half afraid that his belief was true, but when, half an hour later, she peeped into his room he was lying peacefully with his head on his arm, already far away in the land of dreams. She sat down in a chair near his open window, feeling the need of companionship, if only that of a sleeping little son. It was moonlight; from the high window she could catch a glimpse of the river, a streak of silver. Beyond it her mind flashed out to sea, where a great ship ploughed landwards, and on its deck a man paced up and down, gripping his pipe in his teeth, and striving with his mind to bridge the few miles that yet lay between him and his dear ones. Possibly he succeeded, for thoughts often fly further than we know. After an hour Mrs. Lester's wakefulness left her, and she stole to bed, drowsy and content.
Breakfast in the morning was a scramble, for they woke late, and were both quite unable to think of anything so ordinary as food. Dick put salt into his tea and sugar on his fish, and would probably have consumed both without noticing anything amiss had not the waiter intervened in horror. Mr. Warner ordered a car for them, and very soon they were flying down the road, that seemed oddly familiar. It was early; but then, as Dick said, theOhiomight be early too. Dick was not acquainted with the clock-work methods of mail steamers. He dashed breathlessly on to the wharf at Fremantle to ask if theOhiowere in, and was met with bored surprise by a man in a blue jersey, who said, "TheOhio? But she don't come in till ten"—much as a railway porter might answer if you demanded the Sydney express an hour too soon. Dick returned ruefully to the car.
"No sign of her, mother. It really will be ten o'clock."
"I was afraid so," said his mother, laughing, while the chauffeur grinned broadly. "Jump in and we'll go for a spin while we wait."
Dick would have preferred to stay on the wharf, straining his eyes to the horizon. But he obeyed, and they went careering over strange roads that neither saw, though the sense of swift motion helped them in a measure. Still, it was a relief when at length the car turned, and again they spun towards the pier. The chauffeur had judged his time well; the wharf was crowded now, and, just beyond the breakwater, a great ship loomed through a little drifting mist.
"That's her," said the chauffeur, half-turning. "Steady—it'll take her a quarter of an hour to get aside yet." This to Dick, who was wrestling with a stiff door-handle before the car could stop.
They edged through the throng on the pier to where a dock-hand told them the mail steamer's gangway would come down. She was close in now, they could see sailors on board getting the great gangway ready. The passengers were crowding along every yard of the deck railing; it was impossible to pick out one face amidst the mass, no matter how hard they might strain their eyes. Everywhere, people were waving to their friends ashore, shouting, coo-eeing; Dick coo-ee'd too, but with a kind of helpless irritation at being unable to see the only face that mattered. The minutes dragged on, while the ship edged her way in, yard by yard; and still they scanned her decks in vain.
"Oh, mother, isn't it awful?" Dick's voice had a quiver in it. "Do you think he's really there?"
"Of course he's there, son." The voice was little more than a whisper.
Suddenly, and together, they saw him. The crowd was densest on the deck near the gangway, but he must have taken up his position very early, for he was in front of everyone, talking to the officer in charge of the landing operations. He towered over the other people; six foot three of lean, muscular activity, with a clean-shaven face, bronzed and keen. Dick heard his mother catch her breath, and he slipped his hand through her arm. Then, as if their upward gaze drew him, John Lester turned and looked down, straight into their eyes. His cap was pulled low on his brow, but they saw the sudden light that sprang into his face—the quick smile that was a caress, singling them out from the crowd. He took off his cap with a swift movement, and stood bareheaded, his eyes never moving from his wife and son. So they stood, until, with a rattle, the gangway came down—and while it still shook from the impact, John Lester ran down it lightly, the first man to leave theOhio. He put an arm round them both, hustling them gently towards the gangway.
"Come up," he said, a little breathlessly. "I've squared the man on top."
The officer greeted them with a smile as they mounted—it was against rules, but John Lester had a way of getting what he wanted. He edged a way for them through the crowding passengers with courteous little apologies; somehow they found themselves in the clear space behind the throng, hurrying along the deck—and in a moment they were in a single-berth deck-cabin, and the door was shut, and he was holding them as if he could never let them go.
"A year!" he said. "Well, don't let either of you think you're ever going to get rid of me again!" He scanned his wife deliberately.
"A bit thin, I think," he said. "But you haven't let her get any older, Dick. She hasn't grown up yet."
"Not she!" said Dick.
"To read her letters you might almost think she had—sometimes. I used to be a little anxious about it. I wouldn't know her if she grew up!" His arm tightened round her, and the keen eyes turned to Dick, dwelling on the well-knit, active figure.
"It's you who have done the growing up, old son," he said. "I left a little kiddie—but you aren't that now. Is he too big to be hugged, do you think, mother?"
"He's not!" said Dick, and proved that he was not.
"Well, that's all right," said Mr. Lester, with a great sigh. He sat down on the sofa, and drew one down on each side, holding them closely. The time flew by unheeded; they talked, more or less incoherently, occasionally falling into silence that was as satisfying as talk, since they were together again.
A tap came to the door an hour later—a steward, with telegrams. Mr. Lester glanced over them.
"Just greetings," he said. "I must answer them, though. Dick, can you find a telegraph office here?"
"Rather," said Dick. "I can go in the car."
"Good gracious!" said his mother, faintly. "I forgot the car!"
"What—have you one waiting? Well, it's a nice day for it!" said her husband placidly. He was scribbling answers. "Here you are, old chap, and here's the money. Sure you can manage?"
"Of course he can," said Mrs. Lester. "Hasn't he been looking after me ever since you went away?"
"I'll take up my job again," he said, as the door closed behind Dick.
The chauffeur welcomed the boy with some relief.
"Thought you were never comin'," he remarked. "Well, did 'e get here all right?"
"Rather!" Dick answered.
"So I should think, by your face," quoth the chauffeur. "Beamin's no name for it. Well, where to now?"
"Telegraph office," said Dick, getting in beside him. They whirred up through the busy streets, while the chauffeur discoursed learnedly on the ways of motors, in terms which were Greek to Dick though he tried to conceal the fact. He tried once to divert the conversation to horses, but the chauffeur said loftily, "Oh, 'orses is out of date, unless it's on a racecourse!"—which made Dick gasp with disgust.
"I'd sooner have my Tinker than all your jolly old cars!" said he. To which the chauffeur responded, "Oh, you'll grow out of that!" in a manner so intensely superior that Dick writhed beneath it. He was glad when they reached the telegraph office, and he could dash in and write out his telegrams. There were dozens of other people on the same errand, most of them from the mail steamer. Dick had to wait his turn, and, as he was a slow writer, it was some time before he could finish; after which a very fat lady blocked him at the counter until he was almost dancing with impatience. He got through at last, and hurried the chauffeur back to the wharf.
His father and mother did not seem to notice that he had been long away. They were still sitting together on the sofa. John Lester looked at his son with a glance at once tender and proud.
"Come here, old chap," he said. He put his hand on Dick's shoulder, gripping it tightly.
"Mother has been telling me," he said, and stopped; something seemed to make speech not easy. "About your swim after that small boy. I'm proud of my son, Dick."
Dick reddened furiously.
"Oh, it wasn't anything," he mumbled. "A chap couldn't see the poor kid go in, and not go after him."
"No, of course you couldn't. Still I'm glad you thought quickly—and moved quickly. Was it very cold?
"Oh, beastly!" said Dick, with a reminiscent shiver. "You couldn't imagine how cold, father! I didn't seem to be able to kick or do anything, after the first minute. I thought I could just swim back to the ship with him, as easy as wink, but my word, I couldn't!"
"A good thing you didn't have to try," said John Lester, his grip on Dick's shoulder tightening. "Well, all's well that ends well, anyhow. Now how about getting up to Perth?"
Dick hesitated.
"Could I have a look round the ship first, father?"
"Why, of course you can. Come along."
They explored the great mail steamer thoroughly—meeting, on their tour, the captain himself, who took them over his quarters and up on the towering bridge. Behind Dick's back he asked Mr. Lester in an undertone:
"Is that the small boy who's been diving off theMoondarra?"
"Yes, that's the culprit," Mr. Lester answered in some surprise. "How did you know?"
"Why, there's half a column about him in the Perth morning papers."
"Good gracious!" ejaculated Mr. Lester. "I trust he won't hear about it."
"Well, you ought to be proud," said the captain severely. "If I had a kid like that——"
"I'm proud enough," said John Lester. "But I don't make a song about it to Dick. He takes it as the most ordinary thing—only beastly cold!" He shuddered. "Good Lord—when I think how nearly I might never have seen him again!"
"Yes," said the captain, staring at Dick. "Great kid. Rough on his mother, too—paper said she was looking on." He opened a cupboard and solemnly presented Dick with a little ebony elephant. "There's an Indian beastie, for luck," he said. "You can teach him to swim——" At which Dick turned scarlet, and fled, cutting short his thanks. He had hoped to leave such annoying reminders on theMoondarra.
But there was a more substantial reminder in store for him that night, when he was dressing for dinner in the hotel. A tap on his door heralded Bobby Warner, very pink and important, bearing a little parcel.
"Daddy said I was to give you this myself," he said. "And he and mummy send veir love wiv it, cause you jumped into the water after me. I say, can I open ve parcel for you? I does love opening parcels!"
"Right oh!" said the puzzled Dick, vigorously towelling his face and head.
"It's a tick-tick, but you has to be vewy sp'rised," explained Bobby, kindly, fumbling with the string. "I fink I ought to have one, too, 'cause I was in the water wiv you. Oo-oh, it's tumbled!"
It had, but no further than the hearthrug on which he was sitting. Dick, who had had a vague idea that the small boy was carrying sweets, suddenly made a jump towards a little glittering heap that had slipped from its white tissue paper A beautiful gold watch and chain—no boy's watch but a man's; inside the hunting case his own name, with a brief inscription:
"To remember theMoondarra."
The date followed, and the Warners' initials. Dick stared at it blankly.
"It's a pwetty tick-tick, isn't it?" Bobby remarked, placidly. "Daddy has one like it, only ve twinses gave it to ve goat. I wouldn't let vem have yours, if I was you."
"I say, they oughtn't to," murmured Dick, still blankly looking at the watch. He did not refer to the twinses, but Bobby was satisfied.
"Vat's what daddy said when he got his back from ye goat," he remarked. "She had nearly etted it—it's all funny wiv her toof marks now. Where's you goin', Dick?"
Dick had plunged out into the hall in his shirt-sleeves, his wet hair standing on end, the watch and chain in his hand. There he ran into Mr. Warner, whose memories of the twinses' methods with watches possibly made him a little anxious at having made Bobby a messenger.
"I say, sir, you shouldn't!" blurted Dick miserably.
"Shouldn't what?"
"This." Dick held out the watch, looking very much as if he had received a beating. "I—I didn't do anything."
"Well, you can look at it that way if you like, old man," said Bobby's father. "I look at it another—it seems to me I'd have no Bobby to-night but for you. And I have a value for Bobby. Don't you worry, anyhow. Just remember that you spoiled a good suit of clothes on his account, and got jolly wet and cold; and that we're goin' to be good friends always." He patted Dick's wet head, reassuringly. "I say, what about this father of yours? Am I going to meet him?"
"Rather!" said Dick. "He's in his room. I ought to be getting ready, I suppose."
"I'll come with you and rescue Bobby," said Mr. Warner.
They found Bobby gloriously happy over the forbidden joy of Dick's pocket knife, and presently, leaving him with the twinses and their nurse, went downstairs together. At the foot of the staircase stood John Lester, smoking. Dick's confused introduction was scarcely necessary. The two men gripped hands over his head.
"I owe your boy a heap," Mr. Warner said.
"I'm glad he was handy," Dick's father answered.
Which was all that either said upon the matter. Instead, they talked stock and station, crops and weather, horses and dogs; all the bush talk of Australia, from which John Lester had been exiled. The talk began in the hall before dinner—they sat at adjoining tables, and continued in the lounge afterwards. Dick sat near, blissfully content; it was the talk that he, too, loved to hear, and Mrs. Lester lay back in a great easy-chair, watching her husband's face. It lit up wonderfully when he talked; he leaned forward, asking eager questions, drinking in the other man's slow speech. After a time he turned to Mrs. Warner, apologetically.
"I shouldn't let you in for so much 'shop,' should I?" His smile was as boyish as Dick's. "But you have no idea what it means to hear Australian talk again. I haven't enjoyed anything so much for ages."
"You are very glad to be back?"
"Glad!" He gave an expressive shrug of his broad shoulders. "Well, I knew I was homesick, but I didn't know how badly until I got here."
"He has lain flat on the grass in the wildest corner of the gardens all the afternoon, looking at the gum trees," Mrs. Lester said, laughing.
"So would you, if you hadn't seen one for a year." His eyes dwelt on her tenderly. "Of course, I did see blue gums now and then; they grow them in big gardens—funny leggy things, that never look quite healthy or quite right, somehow. They let them get too tall and spindly, and then the winter gales break them to pieces. I used to preach the advantages of lopping their tops when young, but the English can't bring themselves to do it. It's good to come back and see the old things growing as they were meant to grow."
"So Australia is still good enough for you?" Mr. Warner asked.
"Quite good enough. I'll go back some day, and take my wife and Dick; I want to show them everything on the other side—and possibly then I shan't be so homesick. But we'll come back again. And I don't want to think of starting for a very long while!"
He finished with a little smile at his wife.
"You don't know the West?" Mr. Warner said.
"No—not at all. I've only passed through on my way to England."
"Well, look here——" Mr. Warner leaned forward eagerly. "My wife and I were thinking how delightful it would be for us if you three would come up with us to Narrung Downs. We could show you some unfamiliar country—the wild flowers should be at their best now, Mrs. Lester—and I think you'd be interested in the working of a Western place. There are some fairly decent horses that Dick might try. What do you think of our plan?"
John Lester hesitated, looking at his wife.
"It sounds delightful—many thanks," he said. "But I don't know about inflicting such a party upon you."
"Oh—!" Mrs. Warner brushed this aside. "We have such a barrack of a house; and servants of a kind, even if they are mostly blacks. We know you would make allowances for the shortcomings of the bush, wouldn't you, Mrs. Lester?"
"I don't think they would exist for me," Mrs. Lester said. "It's a lovely plan, Mrs. Warner; I don't know how to thank you."
"Would you like to come up into the back country, Dick?" inquired Mr. Warner.
Dick's eyes were round.
"My word, wouldn't I!" he uttered. Everyone laughed.
"Well, think it over," Mr. Warner said. "We don't leave for three days; that would give you time to look round Perth and the country near here. We shall be more than pleased if we can take you back with us." They drifted away, murmuring something about writing letters.
"What do you think, Jean? Shall we go?"
Mrs. Lester smiled up at her husband.
"You must decide," she said. "I'm just like an absolutely contented and placid old cow at the moment——"
"I never saw you look less like anything," he said. "Go on, however."
"But I am, John. I have everything I want in the world; you aren't in England, and Dick isn't drowned, and nothing can possibly matter. Whereever we may be doesn't seem to signify in the least. Would you like to go?"
"Yes; I think so," he said. "They're nice people, and it would be good experience for the boy. You'd like it, Dick?"
"I think it would be ripping, father," said Dick eagerly. "After all, once we get back to Victoria we'll be a long time there, won't we?"
"That's a highly philosophic remark," said his father, laughing. "All right, old son; we'll go."
After all, they did not go north with the Warners. Mrs. Lester's housewifely soul realised that am woman who had been away for six weeks from a home principally staffed with black servants would prefer to be without guests for at least a few days after her return, and accordingly it was arranged that they should follow Mr. Warner's party within the week.
The plan suited the Lesters very well. They were, as Dick's mother said, in a state of absolute content at being together again. It was delightful enough to explore Perth, to go yachting on the Swan with a friend of Mr. Warner's who had a beautiful little cutter; to take a motor-boat for the day, exploring up the river, or to go out into the country in a car. Wherever they went they only seemed to want to talk. There was so much to tell and to hear; so many details of the long separation to remember, to discuss, to laugh over. Dick's memory of that first happy week was that they seemed to have laughed all the time.
The Warners left in a huge motor, heaped confusedly with luggage and passengers, the twinses occupying precarious positions whenever they could escape from their mother's anxious eye.
"See you next week!" shouted Mr. Warner.
"Be sure you bring some rough clothes!" was Mrs. Warner's farewell, as she clutched at a twin who threatened to dive over the wheel. "Thick boots, mind!"
"Mind you come, old Dick!" This from Bobby.
Only Merle said nothing. She sat beside her father, looking stiffly ahead, as the car slowly slid away from the little group on the hotel steps.
"I don't see why they want to come," she had said to her father.
"Why not?"
"Oh, I don't know. I hate visitors."
"I suppose you'll get sense some day," was all Mr. Warner's rejoinder. He did not know that the curt remark hit her more sharply than a whole volume of remonstrance.
Merle was the one fly in the ointment in Dick's cheerful anticipations of his visit to the Warners' station. On theMoondarraand in the hotel it had been easy enough to avoid being much with her, since she so clearly showed that she did not desire his company; but in her own home it would be different. They were too near in age, and too similar in tastes, not to be thrown together. That in itself was painful enough, since girls, to Dick, were rather boring creatures, full of queer whims and notions—not plain, straightforward people like Teddy Raine and Bottles and Nugent. But a girl who would not even take the trouble to be civil—that, in Dick's language, was "over the odds." He hoped that her governess would make regular demands upon her time, and grinned to think what would have been Merle's opinion of him, had she guessed at that particular hope.
However, life was too joyful at the moment to allow him to worry over Merle's whims. He began each day with a walk before breakfast with his father; long, brisk walks outside Perth, and long talks that bridged the year of silence that lay behind them. They swung along together, Dick rejoicing that he could now keep in step with his father—a year ago he had to jog if Mr. Lester lengthened his stride; and the father noting the development of his boy's mind as well as of his body, and meeting his questions and his crudely expressed views with a ready sympathy that knitted them more closely together than anything else could have done.
"He's only a baby yet, of course," John Lester said to his wife. "His mind is clean and open and honest; just a child's mind still. But his body—well, he's going to be something of a man, I believe."
"He is, I think," agreed Dick's mother. "And so good looking, John!"
"Oh, that!" He laughed down at her. "You women only think about handsome faces!"
"Indeed, I don't," Mrs. Lester defended herself. "I've been just as keen about his physical training as you have. I wanted him to be strong first of all. But he might have been strong and ugly—and he isn't. And you're just as proud of it as I am!"
"Well—perhaps." He smiled down at her. "But physique comes first; and he certainly has that. His muscles are extraordinarily good for such a kid."
"Fresh air and cold water," said Mrs. Lester solemnly. "That has been Dick's treatment since he was a baby, and it certainly has paid. He hardly knows what medicine is, and he looks the very picture of strength and fitness."
"Thank God!" said her husband hastily.
"Yes, thank God," she agreed. "Why do you say it in that way, John?"
"Oh, I don't know." He gave a short, half-embarrassed laugh. "They say in Ireland that if you don't add 'Thank God' after you praise anyone it brings bad luck. The peasantry there never omit it; you'll hear, ''Tis a fine child, thank God!' or 'She have lovely eyes, thank God!'—and you'll worry a peasant woman badly if you admire her baby without giving God the credit. I got into the way of it, I suppose."
"Well, it's a pretty good habit to cultivate," said his wife thoughtfully. "Look at Dick now!"
They had motored far out into the country, and had camped in the bush for lunch; after which Dick had stripped to his shirt and knickerbockers, and had begun to climb trees. Nine months of hard training in the gymnasium at school had put a finish on lifelong practice, a steady eye and a cool head. Dick had always loved climbing—before he had discarded frocks for knickerbockers he had been found by his horrified nurse some distance up a pepper tree. Now he was almost like a monkey in the swift agility of his movements. As his father and mother watched him, he swung himself cleanly across a wide gap between two trees; caught a bough with one hand, and came dropping down from branch to branch until he reached one about ten feet from the ground—a smooth, straight limb, that tempted him with its likeness to a horizontal bar. He swung head downwards, hanging by his knees, and then circled round and round with such swiftness that the slender bough bent and quivered. Finally, he turned a quick somersault in the air and came down on the grass, landing lightly on his feet.
"Good man!" said his father approvingly. "It's a pity that the gentleman who derived us all from tree-apes couldn't see you. You'd have been great support to his theory."
Dick grinned.
"Can't climb decently in boots," he said, casting a disparaging glance at his feet. "But it's jolly to get up a tree again."
"No trees at school?"
"Oh, some," admitted Dick. "We're not supposed to climb them, of course, but——" He grinned again. "But, anyhow, they're not like good bush trees, like these. I don't suppose anyone ever climbed here much, but the trees at school—well, they're just polished with climbing!"
"Being a forbidden luxury," said his father, laughing. "Well, I think I was one of the early polishers of those same trees, so I can't say anything to you."
"But you never do jaw a chap, father," said Dick comfortably.
That was one of the points that made their early morning walks so satisfactory—that there was never any "jawing." John Lester encouraged his boy to tell him each little detail of his life at school. He learned all about his friends—Teddy Raine, the captain of the junior eleven, who was easily the leader of the lower school; Bottles, fat and cheery and honest, whom everybody liked; Nugent, the homeless boy, with a father in India and no mother; these were the chief, but there were a host of others. Mr. Lester knew them all fairly well now. He learned about their scrapes and their pranks, their midnight suppers, half-holiday escapades, and—not in such details—their schoolroom life. Dick was a little shy of talking at first; but, finding only ready sympathy and interest, his tongue became loosened, and he chattered away as freely as he would to the irrepressible Teddy Raine. Mr. Lester never preached. His eye generally held a twinkle; his sharpest criticism was, once or twice, "I don't know that that's altogether the thing." There the matter ended, for him; but Dick made up his mind that the incidents in question should not happen again.
They would come back to breakfast; glowing and hungry, and make a raid on Mrs. Lester in her room, declaring that she was the laziest person alive, and did not know how much she missed; at which Mrs. Lester smiled quietly, and would go down to breakfast arm in arm between them. Not for worlds would she have made a third—even a beloved third—in those walks. Dick had lived in her pocket long enough; it was his turn for his father now, and she rejoiced in each day's new evidence of how completely they were becoming mates.
They visited the great limestone caverns at Yallingup, making a three days' expedition of it, and coming back to Perth full of the weird charm of the glistening underground world. At the hotel they found a two-days' old telegram from Mr. Warner.
"Can you start Thursday obliged to take car Westown with sick governess like meet you same trip don't worry if inconvenient can arrange anything suit you had good trip up."
Mr. Lester glanced at the date.
"H'm; and Thursday is to-morrow. The train starts at five o'clock."
"In the morning?" gasped Mrs. Lester.
"Oh, no—don't be anxious!" He laughed at her. "Five in the afternoon; and we get to Kalgoorlie at ten next morning."
"And after that?"
"After that a little train that wobbles north to Westown at its own sweet will, I suppose," said her husband. "I don't know anything about it; but it's believed to put us off at Westown some time in the afternoon, and Warner will be there with his car. We must go, if possible. I don't want to give him the long journey in from Narrung Downs again."
"Oh, we couldn't do that, of course," said Mrs. Lester hastily. "And there is no reason why we should not get away to-morrow."
"No more shopping?" asked he, smiling down at her.
"Of course, there's always shopping!" returned his wife with dignity. "But not more than we can get through to-morrow. Oh, and the packing I must do! Don't let me think of that to-night, John—take us to the theatre instead!"
"Indeed, I think it would be wiser if you went early to bed and had a good night's sleep," he said. "Was there ever such an irresponsible young person!"
"Don't want to be responsible!" said she. "I'm having a holiday. If you telephoned for seats, now——"
"You know you'll have to, father!" said Dick, capering. "Better give in nicely."
"This is what it is to be meek—you get systematically bullied!" said his father, with mock despair. "All right; I suppose I shan't get any peace if I don't." He departed whistling.
"Mother, it is nice of you not to grow up!" said Dick solemnly.
They followed their last gay night in Perth by a busy day; there was a rushed visit to shops, collecting the last odds and ends of country kit that had seemed so unnecessary when packing in Melbourne—riding gear, chiefly, with thick boots and the cooler clothes that might be found necessary up North. Then came packing, with much sorting out of luggage; most of their baggage was to be left at the hotel until their return. They were glad to get into their train at five o'clock, and its jolting failed to keep them awake during the long night while it rattled into the north-east towards Coolgardie and Kalgoorlie.
They breakfasted on the train, arriving at Kalgoorlie soon afterwards; and after a wait too short to allow them to do more than peep at the busy gold-fields capital they were off again, travelling slowly into the north. Soon the mullock heaps and poppet heads of the mines thinned out and they found themselves running through country covered with sparse scrub, with mulga and saltbush mingling with stunted gum trees and she oaks; a dreary enough land, dry and desolate, where many a gold seeker had perished from thirst in the days when every yard of earth was turned up in the search for nuggets. Now and then the train pulled up at a little township, built of weatherboard and corrugated iron, where the people crowded the narrow gravelled platform to look at the train and peer curiously in at the passengers. It seemed to Dick that as they travelled farther and farther into the country these bush folk grew more and more lean and bronzed; tall men, in blue shirts and moleskin trousers, wrinkled about the eyes, as men grow early when they live in wild spaces under a hot sun; women, in faded blouses and skimpy skirts, with print sun-bonnets or men's felt half pulled down over their eyes. Such lonely women! They stood in the doorways of little isolated homesteads watching the train wistfully as it roared past them; generally with a baby tucked into one arm, and three or four older children playing near them, or perched on the railway fence, shouting greetings to the train. Indeed, all through that lonely country, as the train sped north, came appealing shouts—from the isolated cottages, from children evidently sent a mile or two to be at the line when the train was due, or rising almost from under the wheels, from navvies working on the line. Just one word—"Papers! Papers!"—and people would jump up, and sleeping travellers rouse themselves, to hurl newspapers and magazines from the windows. Dick used to lean out to watch them flutter down like great white birds, to be pounced on by eager hands before they touched the ground. It did not much matter who got them, for they were sure to be passed round and read by every family and every camp within five miles.
Here and there, as they rattled over stony ridges or wide sandy plains, were mines; the big mullock heaps and towering poppet heads seemed to dot all the country. Some were working still; others derelict; with hardy bushes trying to find a footing in every corner where men had toiled in the feverish hunt for gold. Sometimes they saw long strings of camels slouching along in their sulky fashion, laden with wood for the mines; there were Afghans in charge of some of the teams, tall, dirty-looking natives, whose dark faces, under grimy turbans, scarcely turned to glance at the train. Donkey teams came into view, hauling waggons along the sandy tracks; it was curious to watch them sneaking in and out of the sparse mulga scrub.
The carriage grew hotter and hotter, and ever more full of dust. There was a halt for a meal at a wayside station, where the food in the refreshment room also seemed to have acquired a liberal coating of dust, and the tea was stewed to an inky blackness. Mrs. Lester fled from the meal, and lunched frugally on bananas, which, she remarked, were at least dust-proof. Then they rattled on into country that became wilder and yet more sandy, until, about the middle of the afternoon, they found themselves standing on a rough gravel platform, surrounded by their luggage, while the train vanished in a belt of kurrajong trees. A motor hooted outside, and in a moment Mr. Warner appeared, looking huger than ever in an enormous wide-awake hat, and very red-faced and hurried.
"It's splendid to see you all—welcome to Out Back!" He shook hands vigorously all round. "Had a good trip? But I needn't ask. I've done it too often myself. I was nearly late for you. A dog insisted on trying to commit suicide under the car as I was coming from the hotel, and I had no end of trouble getting him out. Wasn't hurt, only pretty badly frightened. I don't think he'll choose a motor next time he feels tired of life. Come along—we'll get your stuff loaded up, and then have a cup of tea at the hotel before we start. I told them to have hot scones ready!"
"Hot scones!" said Mrs. Lester faintly. "It sounds too good to be true!"
"I know that refreshment room on the way up," said Mr. Warner, laughing. "You all look starved; however, we'll have you home in time for dinner. Getting off here saves you two hours in the train. Of course, it's a longer run in the car, but not so wearying."
"And the governess?" asked Mrs. Lester.
"Oh, poor soul, she's pretty bad. The wife of the doctor here is her sister, and nothing would do but she must come to her. I didn't think she was fit for the journey myself. However, she wept until we had to let her go. So Merle's at a loose end again, as far as education is concerned. I've no doubt she'll find occupation enough." He was scientifically fitting luggage on the steps of the car, and lashing it firmly. "You people are wonders; I thought you'd have twice as much baggage as this. Sure you haven't lost a trunk or two?"
"Why, we were afraid you would have heart failure when you saw the amount we were bringing," said Mr. Lester, laughing.
"Bless you, this is nothing; my wife's sister came up last year with three times as much for her lone self," Mr. Warner answered. "We get accustomed to carrying luggage on the car in a way that would horrify a Melbourne or Sydney motorist. I believe I'll come home some day with a few trunks perched on the bonnet. There, that's all right." He stood back, opening the door. "Now, Mrs. Lester, I'm sure you're needing those hot scones!"
The scones proved all that hungry travellers could wish, and twice they exhausted the hotel's largest teapot. Mr. Warner hurried them over the meal, and soon they were in the car again, and the iron roofs of the little township a grey blur in the distance. The road was good firm sand, with a few softer patches where bullock teams had cut up the surface; but on the whole they made good time over it, slipping through the scented scrub that bordered the track. Wild flowers, unfamiliar and beautiful, gleamed among the trees in every clear patch; wild arums and asters and clumps of dwarf yellow cassia. They passed a wide swamp, where red legs and sand pipers stalked among the sparse rushes on the edge, and further out pelicans swam lazily, with a host of lesser fowl.
"Great shooting here," said Mr. Warner—"or would be if it were not for the blacks. Any amount of teal and musk duck and wild geese. But the blacks fairly live in the swamp when the birds are here."
"Do they shoot them?" Dick asked.
"Oh, no—they're not allowed guns. But they're very useful with spears and throwing sticks; our blacks are fairly uncivilised, you see. Later on I suppose they'll lose all their old darts and become utterly useless; that's what has happened in the eastern states."
"Do you find them faithful?" asked Mr. Lester.
"Well—sometimes. You never can tell. A woman or a boy may have every appearance of being thoroughly settled down, and of responding to training, and then some fine morning you find one 'gone bush'—back to the tribe. Possibly you never see that one again; possibly he or she will turn up six months later, quite prepared to go back to work. On the other hand, we have a few who have been for years with us. Children are their best tie; if they once become attached to your youngsters they're much less likely to go."
He talked on, telling stories of the blacks and of the wild life of the early days, leaning back in his seat with one careless hand on the wheel, while the car seemed to find its own way along the noiseless sandy track. The scattered farms that spread out a few miles from the township gave place to wide plains, partly covered with scrub, where only an occasional house was to be seen; and the road grew more and more lonely. At first they had met buggies, bullock wagons, and one or two other motors, but after a time they seemed to be the only people on the plain, and it was almost a relief when they met a "sun-downer" slouching along under a heavy swag, his felt hat pulled low over his eyes, and a battered quart pot in his hand. The sun sank lower and lower, and a keen breeze made the travellers glad to put on heavier coats. It was almost dusk when they emerged from a dense belt of gum trees and saw ahead of them a fence, stretching apparently for miles east and west, and a gate that stood open, held by a solemn black boy. Mr. Warner nodded to him, and they swept through. The track curved round a plantation of pines, and they saw a homestead so large that it looked like a village. White-painted roofs gleamed among the trees, and scattered buildings fringed the main block until there seemed no end to them, while the tall, spidery outlines of windmills towered above the green. The deep emerald of a lucerne paddock stretched down to a little creek.
"I didn't know you could grow lucerne here," remarked Mr. Lester. "In fact, I had a vague idea that nothing but sand and mulga really flourished in the West. But your place doesn't suggest that!"
"You can do a heap with irrigation," his host answered. "Between the windmills and a hydraulic ram down at the creek I can get as much water as I want; and with water you can grow anything in this climate. I'll show you all the place to-morrow."
He gave a long coo-ee, bringing the car more slowly round a fence that bordered a great garden. There seemed a dense crowd waiting for them: Mrs. Warner first, her kind face alight with welcome. Merle beside her; close at hand the twinses, struggling against control; and then a few white faces amidst a mass of black ones, all striving to have a good look at the new arrivals. The car came to a standstill, and suddenly Bobby hurtled through the throng and flung himself at the step.
"Hallo, Dick! Oh, I's so glad you came!"
Willing hands, black and white, seized upon their luggage. They drifted in through the gate, and found themselves on a very wide verandah, which completely surrounded a long, one-storied house, almost hidden by creepers. The architecture of that house was simple. It had begun by being two rooms, opening out of each other; than a room had been added at each end; then more, as need arose; until at last there were fourteen rooms, all in a long row, and all opening upon the verandahs. Kitchen, storerooms and other offices had been built across a little space from the main building, and at a later date a wing had been thrown out connecting the two; and now the space was a great sandy courtyard, with shrubs and palms growing in enormous tubs, and seats scattered here and there. The living rooms—dining and drawing rooms, Mrs. Warner's workroom, and a big man's "den" were in this new wing; the long side of the house was principally given up to bedrooms. Mrs. Warner led them inside. Two strapping black girls were putting trunks into a big airy bedroom.
"This is your room, with the dressing-room opening from it. Dick's is next door," she told them. "Bobby, you take Dick to his room."
Bobby tugged at his friend's hand.
The room into which he ushered Dick was long and bright, with two little beds in opposite corners, and windows at each side.
"Muvver said I wasn't to ask you somefing," Bobby began and hesitated.
"How's that?" asked Dick.
The small boy cast an appealing look at the second bed.
"Vat's not your bed," he said. "The uvver one has ve sheets and fings. Nobody sleeps in vat bed. 'Course, I could easy bwing up my sheets from my howwid silly bed in the nursewy, if——"
He stopped, round-eyed. "O-o-oh, I nearly wented and asked you, after all!"
Dick laughed.
"I believe you nearly did," he said. "Better not, or mother might be cross with you. I say, I'll ask you something instead. How'd you like to come and sleep in this spare bed? I'd rather like a mate!"
Bobby was out like a flash.
"Muvver! Muvver! Dick wants me to sleep in his room."
Came Mrs. Warner's voice reproachfully:
"Oh, Bobby, you asked!"
"No, I didn't—I only nearly did. True, mother!"
"He really didn't, Mrs. Warner. I asked him," said Dick, appearing.
"And do you really want him, Dick?"
"Oh, rather!"
But Bobby waited for no more. He fled down the verandah like a rabbit to its burrow, his voice coming faintly as he ran:
"I'm goin' to ask Nanna—for—my—sheets—an'—fings!"
"Merle! Where are you?"
"Here," said a sulky voice.
"Make haste, then," said her father. "I want you."
Merle emerged from the shrubbery slowly. The expression on her face was not inviting, but her father was too preoccupied to notice it.
"Look after Dick, will you?" he said. "A man is sick in one of the huts in the far paddocks, and Mr. Lester is going with me to have a look at him. Show Dick round a bit and keep him entertained."
Merle scowled.
"Can't Bobby?" she asked.
Her father stared at her.
"You can't leave a boy of Dick's age to a kid like Bobby," he said. "Whatever is the matter with you? One would think you would be only too glad of the chance of a mate. Behave yourself, and remember the boy is our guest."
A black boy called from the gate.
"Horses ready, boss!"
"All right. Now, mind what I told you, Merle." He strode away across the garden.
Merle stood watching his retreating form, her heart seething with rebellion. She had not wanted Dick; she did not like him. Why should she be saddled with his entertainment? She had kept out of the way the night before, and her absence had not been noticed in the excitement of their arrival. To-day she had planned to climb up a favourite tree with a book and remain there until they were all out—she was sure her father meant to take them on a tour of the place. To have this cheerful plan frustrated, and to find herself responsible for Dick, was a heavy blow. She made her way inside, her scowl darker than ever.
Dick was with his mother, watching Mrs. Warner ordering her household for the day. Her cook was a middle-aged Scotchwoman, whose husband was storekeeper to the station; but all her other maids were black gins, and, with a native, nothing can be indefinite—orders have to be repeated daily, supplies doled out as they are needed, and only constant watchfulness ensures any comfort. She was at the moment interviewing the laundress, a big lubra, whose scanty attire was already soaked from splashing in the tubs.
"But I gave you plenty soap last night, Julia."
Julia rolled her great eyes wildly.
"Not this pfeller, missis. Mine thinkit that very little picaninny soap you bin gib. All bin tumble down (die) in water."
"Havers!" broke in Mrs. Macleay, the housekeeper briskly. "'Twas the usual quantity, and the wash no bigger than usual. Julia, you bin give soap to that feller Ben."
"No, no, missis, Julia no gib Ben good pfeller soap. That Ben no good." Julia's air of virtuous surprise and indignation was perfect.
Mrs. Warner pondered, and then turned to a little girl.
"Mary, you go and bring me Julia's bag."
Julia heard the order unmoved—a circumstance that did not escape Mrs. Macleay's keen eye. She slipped away, as the little girl, returning with the lubra's woven grass bag, tipped the contents out on the floor for Mrs. Warner's inspection. There were a few lumps of sugar, half a stick of coarse tobacco, some string, a half-eaten chop, a cup handle and a strip of bright print. But no soap.
"I bin tell you truth, missis," said Julia smugly. "Now, you gib it more soap?"
Mrs. Warner hesitated. Then came the whisk of Mrs. Macleay's starched skirt, and a large and capable hand deposited part of a bar of yellow soap on the table before her.
"You bin no good, Julia," said Mrs. Macleay severely. "Carefully planted under a tub of clothes, ma'am. I know Julia."
Julia's eyes rolled anew, and her lips parted in a childlike grin.
"I bin put 'em there by mistake," she said airily. "Mine thinkit you very good woman, Missis Mac."
"I don't doubt it," said the Scotswoman dourly. "Suppose you get on with the washing, Julia?"
Julia grasped the soap and disappeared, while Mrs. Warner turned to her guest.
"Julia's husband is very fond of soap."
"Rather unusual in a black fellow, isn't it?" asked Mrs. Lester, laughing.
"Quite. He eats it."
"Oh," said Mrs. Lester blankly.
Mrs. Warner was attending to another case. A tall young black answered to a call of "Jacky," and stood before her, looking sheepish.
"Jacky," said Mrs. Warner sternly, "I bin give you Boss's washing to carry down to Julia, and one fellow pair of trousers gone. You tell me what you do with 'em."
"Mine gibit all that pfeller clothes to Julia, missis," said Jacky stolidly. "Mine thinkit she steal 'em that pfeller t'ouser for Ben."
Julia suddenly reappeared, with the briskness of a pantomime artist.
"Nebber mine see that white pfeller t'ouser," she screamed angrily. "I good lubra—nebber steal!" She paused and added a convincing proof. "Boss's t'ouser no good for Ben—he too big!"
"And that's true," said Mrs. Macleay. "What's more, ma'am, you sent four pairs down by Jacky and I counted them over to Julia, and there was only three."
"What you done with 'em, Jacky?" Mrs. Warner asked severely.
"Mine gibit all them things to Julia," reiterated Jacky. "She no good."
Mrs. Warner knitted her brows.
"You not telling me truth, Jacky," she said. "I send you to boss unless you do."
"Mine thinkit always tell truth," said Jacky. "That pfeller God him kill Jacky if not tell truth. Jacky very good black pfeller." He beamed on his mistress in a childlike fashion.
A tall man strode into the kitchen verandah—a stockman, so bronzed that he might almost have been taken for a native. He carried in his hand a begrimed and crumpled pair of flannel trousers.
"Morning, missus!" he said. "Glad you've got that chap on the carpet." He nodded wrathfully at Jacky, who suddenly assumed the air of a hurt baby. "I seen him last night doin' the grand in these down at the camp—reckon he got lost if he tried to put 'em on, so he was wearin' 'em tied round his dirty neck! I wasn't able to stop just then—I was after a bullock—but I turned out his hut this mornin' and got 'em from his gin. Good pants, too. They'll take a bit of washin' now."
"I go wash 'em, missis," said Julia, in a voice of oil. "I tell you that pfeller Jacky no good." She seized the trousers and departed.
"Jacky!" said Mrs. Warner sternly.
Jacky rolled his eyes and said nothing. Possibly from his point of view, there was nothing to say.
"No baccy for you this week," said his mistress. "I tell boss, too; very like he send you back alonga camp."
"No, missis—I not go back alonga camp!" cried Jacky. "I be good boy!"
"Then you not steal again! I give you one chance," said Mrs. Warner. "Now you go work in garden."
Jacky withdrew, crestfallen, and Mrs. Warner proceeded to deal with each native in turn, giving instructions, seeing, where necessary, to the weighing out of supplies; and, so far as possible, guarding against any chances of household matters going wrong.
"Of course, they do go wrong," she remarked, as the last lubra left the verandah. "No matter how careful one may be there is always to be taken into consideration the airy nature of the black. You can't count on them; however contented and docile they may sometimes seem, they will always yield to the merest impulse—to steal anything that takes their fancy, to drop any job they may be at, generally at the most inconvenient moment, or to clear out altogether to the tribe. I have known my best housemaid leave a room half-scrubbed, bucket and brush in the middle of the floor, and be found up to her armpits in the lagoon looking for lily pods!"
"It must lend great variety to housekeeping," said Mrs. Lester, laughing.
"It does. Of course, it's funny enough—one is always laughing at them—but it can be rather awful as well. I had some bad times before I got Mrs. Macleay as second in command." Her eye fell on her daughter. "Oh, there you are, Merle. Take Dick round the place—Mrs. Lester and I are having a morning indoors."
"All right," said Merle.
"Thanks," said Dick.
They looked at each other like two distrustful puppies, and moved off together.
"I say," said Dick, "don't come if it bothers you. I can easy poke round by myself."
"Oh, it doesn't matter," said his entertainer—with a sudden determination that he should do no such thing.
Conversation flagged after that. They went down a wide path, bordered with flowering shrubs, which opened out into a broad, sanded yard behind the kitchen. Here were a series of small buildings, made fly-proof with wire sides, and kept cool by thick roofs projecting so far that they almost formed verandahs. They stood in the shadow of some huge trees.
"What are all these for?" Dick asked.
"Oh, that's the meat house, and that's the dairy, and that's the bacon-curing house. They make salt beef and corned beef there too. That new place is for a 'frigerator thing daddy's just bought."
Dick peeped in through the wire. Rows of hams and sides of bacon hung from whitewashed beams, and there were great tubs and vats where, presumably, many a good bullock found a last resting place in brine. At one end was a kind of table with a ledge all round, where the salting of the meat was done. The floor was cemented; so was that of the dairy, where stood a separator, a churn and a complicated apparatus for cooling milk. Cream and milk, in enamelled buckets, stood on big slate slabs, and all the woodwork was scrubbed to a snowy whiteness.
"We can keep water dripping all round the dairy in the summer, and running over the floor," Merle said proudly. "Daddy fixed it. Could your father do that?"
"I don't know—don't suppose he ever tried," answered Dick, much impressed. "How d'you get the water!"
"It's all pumped up from the big dam by a windmill. When it's cooled the dairy, it runs away down that little channel to the vegetable garden."
"That's a jolly good idea," said Dick. "I say, don't the blacks ever try to steal the meat? They could break that light wire as easy as wink."
"They did try once, but daddy was all ready for them—he had some big fireworks, and he let them off just as they were coming on a dark night. You ought to have seen them run!" And for the first time Merle permitted herself to smile. "Now they say, 'Big pfeller debbil-debbil live here,' and none of them would go within a hundred yards of the meat-house after dark."
Dick's eyes danced.
"My word. I wish I'd been here!" he exclaimed.
"Do you?" said Merle coldly—and Dick felt as if he had suddenly received a ducking with icy water. "Oh, well, these old houses aren't up to much—we'll go and see the stables." And Dick followed meekly, not because he felt meek, but because he did not know what else to do. He was conscious of a wholly unchivalrous desire to smack her.
But the stables were a spot so near to the heart of each that it was impossible to keep up coldness. They were large and roomy, with great lofts full of sweet-smelling hay, where the sunlight flickered in dusty shafts from cracks in the walls. There were big loose boxes and comfortable stalls, and a large harness-room, where the saddles and bridles were so beautifully kept that Dick lingered lovingly over them, feeling the supple, glossy leather with all a country boy's delight. Merle pointed out her own saddle proudly—a splendid little English hunting model.
"I s'pose you'll use one of the stock saddles when you go out," she said carelessly. "Can you ride?"
Dick's heart swelled within him, but he kept his temper.
"Oh, a little," he said. He could not remember any time that he had not ridden; but there was no need to say so to this small, scornful person with the tilted nose. Anyway, he reflected, she knew that he lived on a station; she was probably only trying to get a rise out of him. School had taught him not to rise to such easy baits.
"Dad has lots of quiet old horses you could try," went on Merle.
"Thanks," replied her guest. "You don't feel anxious on a quiet horse, do you?"
"I don't know," she answered. "I never ride 'em." And this time the desire to smack her was so strong that Dick was obliged to take down a bridle and examine it to keep his hands out of harm's way.
They found O'Mara, the head groom, busy in a yard behind the stables, helping a black boy to bathe the hock of a fine bay mare that had managed to get entangled with some barbed wire. The mare was young and half-broken, and could understand neither her throbbing leg nor the hands that were dealing with it; and the boy was stupid and rough, with the result that she was plunging and kicking violently, and resisting every attempt to touch the injured part. O'Mara was rapidly losing patience.
"Ye have no more gumption than a cow," he told the boy angrily. "Take her aisy, will ye? Remember her laig is sore, an' don't touch it as if ye were scrubbin' a brick floor." The boy dabbed at the swollen hock, and the mare kicked furiously and danced away on three legs and O'Mara uttered pungent comments. "That you, Miss Merle? Take care, now, an' keep back; that one'd kick the eye out of a mosquito, she's that bothered with this black omadhaun. 'Tis all I wish the boss hadn't gone before he helped me to do her; this boy's no good either to hould her or to bathe her. Whisht now, my beauty—no one's going to hurt you at all."
"Can I hold her?" Dick asked.
"Better keep back, sir. She's gentle enough, only she don't understand why she's hurt."
"Poor old girl!" said Dick gently. He went up to the mare's head, all his horse-loving soul eager to touch her. The wild eyes softened under his quiet hand. He stroked her nose, and then slid his fingers up quietly, rubbing her neck and talking to her under his breath. It was months since he had handled a horse, except the forbidden luxury of the milkman's pony. The very feel of the rippling muscles under the satin skin of her neck was a delight to him. He put his cheek against hers and the mare stopped trembling and muzzled against him. Dick looked up at O'Mara half shyly.
"Isn't she a beauty?" he said. "Seems a shame to hurt her."
"We'll try not to," said O'Mara happily. "Sure, 'tis yourself has the way with you, with a horse. Keep talkin' to her, now, and I'll do her hock that gentle she won't know she's touched."
He took the sponge from the black boy, who stood aside thankfully, and softly bathed the injured leg, keeping away from the hock at first, until she had grown used to his touch. The mare started a little when she felt the sponge, but Dick's caressing voice and fingers steadied her, and presently she stood quietly, only flinching when the sponge finally rested on the worst place.
"There now—'tis nice an' comfortin' against that hot place, isn't it, my beauty?" said O'Mara wheedlingly. "Begob, she'd say 'Thank you,' if she could spake. 'Is it kick?' says she. 'I'll not kick at all if only I'm treated like a lady,' she says. Divil a bit of vice have she in her, only she couldn't see why we'd want to hurt her, an' she havin' done no harrm to anny wan of us. Whist then, me jewel, let me hould it on ye just a wee bit now."
The soft Irish voice ran on coaxingly, and Dick's hand never ceased fondling, and finally the mare stood quietly, submitting to the gentle handling of her hock with perfect confidence. It was finished at last, and Dick led her to the gate of a shady little paddock close by.
"This is the hospital paddock," O'Mara told him. "'Tis only invalids goes in here, where we can keep an eye on them. She have not much company, only ould Druid, an' he's nearly well afther stakin' himself." He indicated a big bay Clydesdale grazing in the corner. "But they're the best of friends entirely."
"Where are the other horses?" Dick asked.
"They're all out in the home paddock; there's just a few gets stabled at night since the boss came home. Pretty fresh, most of 'em; nearly the whole mob was turned out for a spell while he was away, barrin' a few needed about the place, and they're all kicking up their heels. And have you many, sir, at your own place?"
Dick told him, and they stood by the gate talking of horses—both forgetting Merle, who stood still in the yard, looking after them sullenly. She had experienced only a new pang of jealousy over Dick's handling of the bay mare. O'Mara need not have called to her to stand back, she reflected angrily; she knew the mare, and she was certain she could have quietened her just as well as any strange boy who had never seen her before. It was just the way in everything, she thought; whenever Dick was about she was not wanted. Now O'Mara and he stood talking as if she did not exist. Well, if she was not wanted, at least she did not mean to stay. She had been told to entertain Dick, but to stand waiting while he talked to the groom was quite a different matter. Her book was still where she had left it in the tree. Thus it was that when Dick suddenly remembered his guide and turned from the entrancing company of O'Mara, who was telling him stories of horses he had managed as head-groom in a big hunting stable in County Cork, there was no Merle to be seen.
"Is it Miss Merle?" asked the Irishman. "I seen her streakin' across to the garden five minutes ago. That's the queer little gerrl entirely. She's that short in her temper you'd hardly hould her at times."
"I suppose she's all right," said Dick uncomfortably.
"You can be very sure Miss Merle's all right," said O'Mara. "She do be getting all she wants, most times—herself is the wan to make sure of that. Well, as I was sayin', Captain Keogh had a big brown horse——" and Merle and everything else faded from Dick's mind.
It was an hour later that Mr. Warner and Mr. Lester, riding home, perceived, in a tree in the front garden, the flutter of a blue print frock.
"That looks like Merle," Mr. Warner said. "I wonder if Dick is with her." He gave a short whistle. It was Merle's signal from him, and she responded to it promptly, running to the fence.
"Where's Dick?" queried her father.
"I don't know."
Mr. Warner's face darkened.
"How's that, Merle? I left you to look after him."
"Well, he doesn't want me—he started talking to O'Mara," Merle said sulkily.
"H'm," said her father, giving her a keen look. They rode on.
"For goodness' sake, don't worry about my urchin," said Mr. Lester, laughing. "He's well able to look after himself."
"I assure you I'm more worried about my own," said his friend. "If I could only inculcate some ordinary good manners into her——"
"Why, she's a nice little soul. I think you worry unduly," said Mr. Lester. "And she's only a baby yet." He gave a short laugh. "Dick is happy enough, at any rate."
They had come into view of Dick and O'Mara—the former perched on the gate-post of the little paddock, while the old man, leaning against the gate, was talking so earnestly that he failed to see his master approaching. Dick's intent face suddenly beamed, and a shout of delighted laughter rang out.
"Oh, that was ripping!" he cried. "My word, I'll tell father that!" Then his eye fell on his father, and he slid from the post and ran to meet the riders.
"I say, what a lovely horse!" His glance dwelt for a moment only on his father's mount—a useful black—and then lingered on Mr. Warner's. Indeed, there was excuse for looking at that horse. He was a great iron grey, all of seventeen hands in height, and built on perfect lines. He carried Mr. Warner's huge bulk as if it were a feather weight, and his beautiful head and mild eye showed both spirit and good temper. As he stood there, arching his powerful neck, he was a picture to delight any horse lover. Mr. Warner laughed.
"Not bad, is he?" he said. "I bred him myself, and he's carried me through many a long day and never seemed tired—and I've never been able to say that of any other horse. Good old Conqueror!" He swung to the ground and patted the grey's neck, and Conqueror put his head against him. "Well, young man, and how have you been getting on? Did Merle desert you?"
"I'm afraid she may have thought I deserted her, Mr. Warner," Dick said, reddening a little. "I got talking here, and I clean forgot she had stayed behind. I hope she isn't offended."
"He was helping me with the mare beyant, sir," said O'Mara. "An' 'tis the fine help he was—that black imp Jimmy had me an' the mare desthroyed with his clumsiness."
"Good man!" said Mr. Warner, nodding at Dick approvingly. "I'm glad Merle didn't leave you alone. We'll soon make it all square with her. Did she show you all round?"
Dick grinned.
"We didn't get very far," he said. "We just came by the meat houses here, and then we stopped. You see, the bay mare was very interesting."