CHAPTER V

“ ‘You ain’t havin’ a loan of me, I s’pose?’ ”

CHAPTER V

But when the world went wild with SpringWhat days we had! Do you forget?

But when the world went wild with Spring

What days we had! Do you forget?

—V. J. Daley.

BEFORE the homestead the lawn stretched smoothly away, its green expanse broken here and there by a gay flower bed or a mass of shrubbery. Tall palms tossed their feathery heads aloft, above lower growing roses and tumbling masses of creepers. The mellow brick of the house itself was half concealed beneath a mantle of ivy and Virginia creeper, while, on the verandah posts, masses of tecoma and bougainvillæa made a blaze of colour. Beyond the garden fence the water of the lagoon could be seen—a blue gleam, studded with lazily swimming waterfowl. Further off, the yellow grass seemed to tremble under a mist of shimmering heat.

Jim came in from the paddocks, welcoming the silent coolness of the house after the blazing sun of the parched outer world. No one was visible in any of the rooms into which he poked an inquiring head. Finally the sound of Wally’s laugh guided him to the side verandah, and he made his way thither through the French windows of the breakfast-room.

It was always cool on the side verandah after the morning sun had considerately mounted so high that a great pine tree flung its shade across that part of the house. The verandah was very wide, with a low trellis fencing it in from the lawn. Just now its lattice work was covered with nasturtiums and sweet peas, which even sent intrusive tendrils creeping across the red tiles of the floor. On the posts hung clusters of climbing roses, so thick that all the verandah seemed a bower, the green of the garden blending with the ferns that were planted in tubs here and there. Rugs lay on the tiles, and here were tables, littered with books and magazines, and big rush easy chairs and lounges, made more inviting by red cushions. Altogether, the side verandah was a pleasant place, and the Billabong folk were accustomed to spend a great deal of time there in the summer days and the long, hot evenings.

Norah and Jean were at present occupying a wide lounge, the former curled up in a corner, sewing violently at a rent in one of Jim’s white coats, while Jean spread herself over the remaining portion, with a book in her hand, to which she was paying very little attention. Wally, at full length on another couch, was discoursing on many topics, in his own cheerful way, to the huge delight of Mrs. Brown, whose affection for him was unbounded. A huge bowl of peas was in her lap, and Wally was resting after the fatigue of assisting her to shell them.

“Here’s old Jimmy!” he said, as Jim’s long form came through the French window. “You look warm, old man. Have this couch, won’t you?”

“Couldn’t think of turning you out, old chap,” Jim answered grinning.

“I was always a beggar to struggle,” said Wally, thankfully settling himself anew. “Fearful visions were in my mind of how I should bear it if you should accept my heroic offer. Is it warm outside, Jim?”

“Warm!” said Jim, briefly expressive. He dropped into an easy chair, carefully casting the cushions far from him—cushions not being part of his creed. “It’s a fierce day. I don’t envy Dad and the men, tailing into Cunjee behind those cattle.”

“Did you go far with them, Jim?” Norah asked.

“No—only to the second gate. They didn’t need me at all; only Dad wanted to give me directions about some bullocks he wants moved. We’ll have to do that presently, Wal.”

“Certainly,” said Wally, affably. “Judging by my feelings just now, I don’t think I’ll be alive presently, so I can promise without any trouble. Are there many, James, and is it far?”

“Only two, worse luck,” Jim answered. “Two can generally be relied upon to give more trouble than two hundred. It isn’t far, but you can be pretty certain that they’ll make it far.”

“Cheerful brute you are!” Wally ejaculated. “Well, I’m ready any time you are, old man, though I think it would be kind to the cattle not to disturb them until the cool of the evening!”

“I like your kind forethought for the bullocks,” Jim told him, laughing. “They’d appreciate it, I know. You’ll end up as a philanthropist, if you’re not careful, Wally. Unfortunately we’ve a job with the sheep for the time you mention, so the cattle must come first—it’s very certain that we wouldn’t get a move out of the sheep just now.”

Wally sighed heavily.

“It’s a laborious life I lead,” he said, stretching his long limbs on the couch. “I come up here with beautiful hopes of getting fat, and I always go back about two stone lighter. Norah, I wish you wouldn’t sew so hard; it makes a fellow ache to see you.”

“Jim will ache if this coat isn’t ready,” said Norah, stitching vigorously. “His coats are in a dreadful state—there isn’t one cool one that doesn’t need mending. As far as Brownie and I can tell he seems to have locked them away carefully whenever he tore them. Why did you do it, Jimmy?”

“An’ me ready an’ willin’ as ever was to mend ’em,” Brownie said; “an’ now Miss Norah’s doin’ of it, poor lamb! Why did you, Master Jim?”

“Blessed if I know,” said Jim, somewhat embarrassed. “I didn’t know the jolly things weren’t all right. Sorry—but it’s ripping practice for you, Nor., all the same. You can tell old Miss Winter I kept you up to the mark with your needle!”

“M-f!” said Norah, with much scorn in the terse remark. “In the circumstances, Brownie, does he deserve a cool drink?”

“He don’t, but I expect he’ll have to get it,” said Brownie, laughing. She rose with the deliberate majesty that pertains to seventeen stone. “There’s a new brew of lemonade coolin’ in the cellar, and I’ll bring a jug along.”

“Bless you, Brownie, you’re my best friend,” said Jim. “You needn’t bring any for the others—they haven’t earned it.”

“Haven’t I!” said Wally, indignantly. “Why, I’ve shelled peas until my brain reeled! And I believe it’s hotter to be inside on a day like this than out in the paddocks, so you needn’t be superior, James.” He stretched himself, letting one brown hand fall on the railing of the verandah. “I don’t think——”

He broke off suddenly, twisted himself off the lounge, and was on his feet with one quick movement. Jim’s stock whip dangled from the arm of his chair; Wally snatched it and struck furiously at a lithe form that slid off the railing with a sinuous wriggle, and fell to the ground beneath. The boy vaulted over the trellis as it fell, and thrashed violently among the nasturtiums below. It was all done so quickly that the others were scarcely on their feet before he hooked the still writhing body of a black snake out of the creepers, and tossed it out on to the lawn.

“You didn’t lose much time, young Wally!” said Jim, approvingly. “Fancy that brute getting up here! Lucky you spotted him.”

“ ’M,” said Wally. Something in his tone made Norah swing round sharply.

“Wally! He didn’t bite you?”

“He did then,” said Wally. Something of the colour had died out of his tanned face, but his voice was steady.

“Old man!” said Jim. Then he shut his lips tightly, and dived into his pocket for his knife.

Wally took the verandah steps in one stride, and was beside him.

“I’ll do the chopping,” he said. “Lend me that, old chap. Is it sharp?”

Jim nodded.

“Slip round to Brownie,” he said, sharply, to Norah. “She knows where the permanganate is—there’s some in the store, and some in the office.” Norah’s racing feet sounded in the hall almost before he had spoken, and he turned back to his chum.

“Would you rather do it, old man?” he asked.

Wally nodded, without speaking. There were two punctures plainly visible on the lean hand he steadied on the verandah rail.

“Parallel cuts,” said Jim. “Quick, Wal.” He flung a hasty command over his shoulder to Jean. “The men are at the stables—tell them I want the dog-cart with the cobs, as hard as they can tear!”

The knife was razor-edged, and Wally did not flinch. He cut deep and quickly, the blood spurting in the track of the blade. Jim was already busy with a ligature on his arm, tightening it with a stick twisted almost to breaking point. As the last cut went home, and Wally put down the knife, Jim caught his hand and bent down to it. Wally uttered a sharp exclamation, struggling.

“Get out, you old idiot! I’ll suck my own blessed hand!”

He tried to wrench his hand away, but the grasp on his wrist was iron. Jim’s lips were on the wound, sucking it furiously.

“Oh, Lord, I wish you wouldn’t!” said Wally, miserably. “I can do it perfectly well myself; and you may have a scratch about your mouth. For goodness sake, stop it, old man! What’s the good of two of us getting the dose?”

Jim, being otherwise engaged, did not answer. He continued his operations strenuously, deaf to Wally’s entreaties, until Norah came flying back with Brownie in the rear.

“Here are the crystals, Jim!”

The boy caught at the little bottle. Then he saw Brownie’s distressed face, and gave them to her.

“You get ’em ready,” he said, briefly. “I’ll go on sucking for a moment. Hurry the men, Norah!”

Almost by the time the permanganate crystals were worked into a paste and rubbed into the cut about the punctures, the horses were in the stable yard. Every man on Billabong liked the merry Queensland boy—there were willing hands at every buckle of the harness that was flung upon the brown cobs in breathless haste. The dog-cart, with Murty O’Toole on the box, clattered to the front of the house—to the little group that had been so merry when the shadow of death had suddenly fell upon it.

Wally’s face was a little strained. The tightness of the ligature was telling upon him, more than the snake bite itself. But he grinned up at Murty in his old way.

“I’m giving you plenty of trouble, Murty,” he said. “Silly ass, to go patting a snake at my time of life!”

“Begob, it might happen to the owldest of us,” said Murty, consolingly. “Ye have that bandage tied tight, Mr. Jim?”

“He has that!” said Wally, ruefully. “Don’t you worry about Jim when it comes to tying a ligature. My hand will drop off soon, I should say!”

“Y’can have it loosened just f’r a minute, presently,” said Murty. “Whin it’s been on half an hour it’s due f’r a spell. Begob, I’ll bet it hurts y’, me boy!”

“Oh—some,” said Wally, briefly. He glanced at his hand, swollen and purple under the bandage Brownie had wrapped about the part that had been bitten. “Pretty looking object, isn’t it? Well, I do think I was a chump! That beggar must have been lying along the rail for ever so long!”

“Y’ had no business to go killin’ it before ye attinded to y’r hand,” said Murty. “Much better have let him get away on us than wait. Never mind, there ain’t much time lost, an’ y’r as healthy as a rabbit. We’ll have y’ right as rain in no time.”

“Oh, I guess so,” said Wally. Then Jim came plunging out, Norah and Jean at his heels.

“Here’s your hat, old man,” Jim said, clapping it on its owner’s head. “The girls are coming in with us. Hurry along—we don’t want to lose any time.” He made as though to help his chum into the dog-cart, and Wally grinned at him.

“What are you after?” he asked, swinging himself up with one hand. “I’m not a dead man yet. Come on, you old nursemaid!” He waved his hat cheerily to Brownie, whose kind old face was working with anxiety. “Don’t go worrying, Brownie—I’ll be back for tea! May I have pikelets if I’m a good boy?”

“You’ll have everything I can make for you,” said poor Brownie, tears in her eyes as she looked at the merry, defiant face. “Only come back all right, my dear!” Murty gave the cobs their heads, and they shot down the drive. It was but fifteen minutes from the moment Wally had put his hand on the black intruder lying along the railing of the trellis.

A man was waiting at each gate; there was no delay of opening and shutting. Murty swung the horses through the narrow openings, shaving gateposts by a hair’s breadth, but never slackening speed. Out on the road, the brown cobs felt the unaccustomed indignity of the whip on their backs, and resented it by trying to bolt; but the hand on their mouths was rigid, and they came back from a gallop to a flying trot, that spun over the long miles to Cunjee. The shining tyres flashed in the sunlight. Now and then sparks flew from flints hard smitten by the racing, iron-shod hoofs.

Wally kept up a plucky attempt at chatter for awhile. Then he grew silent, nursing his swollen arm in a fruitless effort to relieve the agony caused by the checked circulation. Jim loosened the ligature momentarily, after a time, and the relief was great; but it had to be tightened again, and gradually the boy’s set lips grew white. Once he spoke, in a low voice.

“I say, old chap,” he said. “If things go wrong, you’ll let them know all about it up at home, won’t you? Tell ’em it was all my own stupidity.”

“You shut up,” returned Jim, gruffly. “Things aren’t going wrong—we’ve got you in loads of time.”

“Oh, I know. I’m not expecting them to,” Wally answered. “Still, there’s the chance. Don’t forget, old Stick-in-the-mud.” He pulled Norah’s hair gently, and demanded to know why she was so quiet. “Something unusual to have you civil for so long at a stretch!” he told her, laughing—to which Norah tried to make a cheerful retort, but choked instead, and averred that she had swallowed a fly.

“Hard lines on the fly!” said Wally. “See—there’s your father!”

He pointed ahead to a blur of dust on the track, which resolved itself into Mr. Linton and two men, riding slowly behind some cattle. Murty glanced over his shoulder at the same instant.

“Will I pull up, Mr. Jim?”

“Just for a moment,” Jim said, hesitating. “Dad won’t want much of an explanation.”

Not much was needed. The racing hoofs and the grave faces told their own story, as Mr. Linton checked his horse beside the road. Jim was brief, in answer to his father’s hasty question.

“What’s wrong?”

“Snake,” he said. “He got Wally on the hand. We’re off to Dr. Anderson.”

“You’ve done all you can, of course?” Mr. Linton asked quickly.

“Yes—everything. Haven’t lost any time, either.”

“Well, Anderson’s not there,” Mr. Linton said. “I saw his motor going out along the Mulgoa road half an hour ago. But go in; Mrs. Anderson may know what to do, or where to send for him. Murty can go for him. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can catch him now; there’s no knowing where he may have pulled up. You’ve got stimulants?”

“Two Thermos flasks of strong black coffee,” Norah said.

“That’s right. Don’t wait. Keep up your pecker, Wally, my boy.” The big man smiled at Wally affectionately. “We’ll have you all right soon, my dear lad.”

“I guess it’ll take a tough snake to kill me,” Wally answered. “I’m all serene, sir.” The buggy whirled away again as Mr. Linton wheeled his horse and went off at a hard gallop.

“Jove, old Monarch can travel!” said Wally, approvingly. A jolt shook his swollen hand, and his lips tightened again.

Mrs. Anderson could give but a vague idea of her husband’s movements, nor was there any one in the township able to do more to help the patient. Murty dashed off on a fresh horse in search of the doctor; and the four from Billabong sat in the shade of a big oak tree and tried to talk—three watching covertly all the time for any new symptoms on Wally’s part. After a while his eyes grew heavy, and Norah brought a flask of coffee, strong and black, and dosed him at short intervals. The boy made a brave fight to help them.

“This won’t do,” he said, after a while. “I’ll be asleep in five minutes if I stay here. Get a pack of cards and we’ll play cribbage.”

They played on a rug in the shade—Jim and Jean against Norah and Wally, the latter playing with one hand and occasionally cracking a laborious joke, almost in the midst of which his head would nod to one side. He always recovered himself with a jerk, and, despite his drowsiness, he played with a keen quickness that shamed the others, who made the most egregious mistakes with a total lack of concern as to their score. It was long before Norah could ever again bear the sight of a cribbage board.

Jim flung down his cards at last, his voice shaking.

“Well, I can’t stand this,” he said. “Hang that man! Will he ever come? Let’s walk up and down, Wal., old man.”

They went up and down, up and down, along the garden path, in the hot air, heavy with the scent of the doctor’s flowers—all the time fighting the fatal drowsiness that threatened to overcome the boy they loved. Mrs. Anderson kept the supply of coffee ready, and Wally took it obediently whenever it was brought to him.

“If this blessed hand would only let me do anything, I’d be all right,” he said sleepily. “I’d give something to be able to use an axe! Norah, asthore, will you stick hatpins into me if I get any more stupid? I’m not going to sleep, if I have to stick them into myself!”

Then, just as they were becoming sick with anxiety and the long watching, came the far-off hum of a hurrying car, and presently little Dr. Anderson swung round the corner, pulled up with a sudden jar that would ordinarily have caused him extreme wrath, and came through his garden at a run. He cast a swift professional eye over Wally.

“Good children!” he said, approvingly. “Come along to the surgery, my boy; you, too, Jim. You girls go and let the wife take care of you.”

But Norah could not talk to any one just then. The long strain had been too heavy a burden. She watched the three figures vanish within the surgery door, the doctor’s hand on Wally’s shoulder, and then turned and went blindly down a winding path. It ended in a fence. She put her head down upon it, swallowing hard, dry sobs. Jean put an arm round her, silent. There was not anything to say.

Within the surgery Wally had faced the little doctor.

“I say, sir,” he said, moistening dry lips, “you won’t let me make a fool of myself if things get a bit beyond me, will you?”

“I will not,” said the doctor, sturdily. “But they won’t—don’t talk nonsense!” He was unwrapping the hand swiftly. “Catch this bottle, Jim.”

Very long after—so it seemed to Norah and Jean—a quick step came down the path behind them.

“Your nice brown lad is all right,” said Mrs. Anderson, happily. “Jack says there’s no risk now. Everything was done in time. We’ll keep him here to-night, just to watch him, and Jim will stay with him. Mr. Linton is waiting for you two lassies; and you can come back to-morrow, and take Wally home for Christmas. Unless you like to leave him with me for a month or so? I like that boy!”

“So does Billabong,” said David Linton’s voice, not quite steady. “We can’t spare him to any one, can we, Norah?”

Norah shook her head. She clung to her father’s hand as they went back to the house, where Jim waited on the verandah, his face still grave.

“The patient sends his love, and you’re none of you to worry,” he said. “And you’re to tell Brownie to keep the pikelets for to-morrow!”

“Wally snatched it and struck furiously at a lithe form that slid off the railing with a sinuous wriggle, and fell to the ground beneath.”

CHAPTER VI

And stirrup to stirrup we’ll sing as we ride,To the lights of the township that glimmer and guide.

And stirrup to stirrup we’ll sing as we ride,

To the lights of the township that glimmer and guide.

—W. H. Ogilvie.

THEY should be home, Murty,” said David Linton.

“They shud,” said Mr. O’Toole, with conviction. He removed an exceedingly black pipe from his mouth and stared at it, pressing the tobacco down in the bowl with a broad thumb. “Will I be saddlin’ up a horse, do ye think, an’ takin’ afther them?”

“Not a bit of good,” said the squatter. “They may come home by any of three or four roads. I’d go myself if I were sure.” He knitted his brow, staring down the twilit track. “I don’t understand it—Mr. Jim is never late.”

“Sure, they’re young,” said Murty, and propped his long form comfortably against a tree. “Ye can’t never be tellin’ what the young’ll be afther whin they gets out wid a loose leg, like. An’ Mr. Jim’s level-headed enough. I wud not be worryin’.”

“Mr. Jim should know better than to be away so late,” said Jim’s father, sharply. “It’s nearly nine o’clock—and they should have been in for dinner at half-past six. Wonder do they think a woman has nothing to do but keep dinner hot for them! At any rate, I’ve told Mrs. Brown she’s not to keep anything. They can manage with bread and cheese if they can’t be in in decent time!”

“Niver did I see the ould man in such a tear!” confided Murty, a little later, to Mrs. Brown—who, in flagrant defiance of instructions, was brooding over preparations for a large and satisfactory supper for the absentees. “Him that aisy-goin’ as a rule, an’ niver lettin’ a cross word out of him—an’ he’s walkin’ up an’ down like a caged elephint, fairly rampin’. ’Tis anxious he is—that’s the throuble.”

“Well may he be,” said Mrs. Brown, tearfully. “That new pony of Miss Norah’s is that flighty and excitable—an’ he’s big an’ strong, too, an’ I know for two pins he’d buck! See him when they went off this mornin’—fit to jump out of his skin, an’ dancin’ little jigs all the way down the track. It’s enough to make anybody anxious.”

“P——f!” said Murty, with great scorn. “Miss Norah can manage Bosun as aisy as shellin’ peas. There’s no vice in him, nayther; he’s as kind a pony as iver I throwed a leg over. Ye’d not have the little misthress ridin’ an old crock?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said poor Brownie. “I never could make meself feel ’eroic where Miss Norah’s concerned. All very well to be proud of her ridin’ an’ all that—an’ you men are fair foolish over that sort of thing—but give me the contented mind as is a continual feast! An’ I would feel contenteder if she rode something a little less like a jumpin’-jack than Bosun.”

“That pony do be suitin’ Miss Norah down to the ground,” averted Murty. “Sure, ’twas something to see her face whin she caught sight of him first; an’ she’s that proud of him already. I did not think anny pony would ever do as well for her as poor ould Bobs, but——”

“Miss Norah’ll never love a pony like she loved Bobs,” Brownie said, belligerently.

“No—maybe not. But Bosun’ll run him close, an’ he’ll carry her real well until she’s growed up,” Murty answered. “Sure, he’s not far off fifteen hands, for all they call him a pony. An’ as for worryin’ about her ridin’ him, Mrs. Brown, ma’am—well, ye may as well save y’r own feelin’s.”

“Well, I wish they were all home, that’s all,” said Brownie. “It mightn’t be Miss Norah—there’s Miss Jean, too.”

“Sure, that one can take care of herself,” Murty said, laughing. “She ain’t one of them as talks; but I guess she won’t go fallin’ off on us, for all that. An’ Nan is as safe a mare as there is on Billabong.”

“Now, I heard you say Nan could shy!” retorted Brownie, whose soul refused to be led in ways of comfort.

“I’d not give y’ a ha’penny for the horse that couldn’t,” said Murty, unblushingly. “Wud ye have them all rockin’ horses? But Miss Jean can ride her all right. Now, wud ye be afther suggestin’ that it’s Garryowen as’ll sling Mr. Jim, or ould Warder that’s goin’ to market wid Mr. Wally? Ye pays y’r money an’ takes y’r choice!”

“You get out!” said Brownie gloomily. “All very well for you to stand there grinnin’ at me like a Cheshire cheese—but the master’s as anxious as I am, an’ it’s no wonder! An’ I would bet sixpence, Murty, me fine lad, that down inside you you’re pretty anxious too!”

“Bosh!” said Murty, looking slightly confused. The sounds of hoofs saved him from further defence. He turned to the kitchen doorway with sufficient quickness to justify Brownie’s accusation.

“ ’Tis the Boss,” he said, in tones of disappointment. “I’d thought ’twas thim young ones comin’ up the thrack. Tare an’ ages! he’s lettin’ ould Monarch out! Why wudn’t he be lettin’ me go, whin I asked him, I wonder? Well——” He pondered a moment, and strolled away. Five minutes later Brownie, looking out hurriedly at hearing again the sound of hoofs on the gravel of the track, saw him cantering off in the wake of his master.

“Why on earth am I seventeen stone?” queried Brownie, desperately, of the ambient air. Receiving no adequate response, she retreated to the kitchen and wept a little into her apron; then, realizing the futility of grief, roused herself to action and made scones of a lightness almost ephemeral. It was some relief to her surcharged feelings.

Christmas had come and gone, and it was New Year’s eve. Summer was ruling in earnest; day after day saw the sun rise like a golden disc, to be molten brass during the long, breathless day, and finally sink into a lurid sky, a ball of liquid fire. The grass dried rapidly; paddocks that had been green when Norah and Jean came from Melbourne were now waving expanses of yellow. Rumours of bush fires all over the country districts filled the newspapers.

Despite the heat, Billabong was doing its best for its visitors. Wally’s adventure was almost forgotten by the victim himself, since he had suffered no further effects from the snake bite than a rather sore hand—due, Jim said, to poor carving. No one seemed to mind the temperature much. When the thermometer was trying to eclipse all previous records, the house was always a cool refuge; or there was the lagoon, where the boat rocked sleepily in the shade of the willows; or the tree-fringed banks of the creek, where no intrusive sun rays ever penetrated. Besides, there was so much to do that there really seemed little time to think of the weather; long days out in the paddocks with the cattle, mustering, or drafting, or cutting out; boundary riding, to make sure that fences were in good order and gates secure; fishing expeditions, rides to neighbouring stations, and long, delicious bathes in the lagoon, which in themselves made the heat seem worth while. Jim had established a jumping ground during his year at home—a paddock near the homestead, where a couple of log fences and some brush hurdles made an excellent training ground for the horses. Brownie used to stand on the balcony, torn betwixt pride and anxiety, watching the four riders sailing over the jumps—with sometimes a fifth, when Mr. Linton could persuaded to add Monarch, his black thoroughbred, to the starters. The boys entertained visions of a general hurdle race, for which the entries should include Lee Wing, the Chinese gardener, on an ancient piebald mare entitled Bung Eye, and Hogg, his sworn foe, on a lean mule that was popularly supposed to be capable of kicking the eye out of a mosquito. They even planned to enter Mrs. Brown, and declared their intention of training her on Blossom, a Clydesdale mare of great antiquity. In this ambition it is perhaps unnecessary to state that they had not the support of Mrs. Brown.

To-day the quartette had ridden into Cunjee, somewhat against their inclination. As a rule the township made small appeal to them; they greatly preferred the freedom of the paddocks and the wide galloping-places of the plains. On the station, where play included work and responsibility, there was never any dullness; the interests of each day claimed them, giving even the girls a definite share in the daily business. It was the life to which Norah had always been accustomed, and which she loved with every fibre of her energetic being. That Jim and Wally should care for it was a matter of course; to them also it was a part of life. It had been added joy to find that Jean took to it with a zest little, if anything, inferior to her own. Nothing was wanting, in Norah’s eyes, to complete the perfection of holidays and Billabong.

The necessity of despatching a telegram had caused the expedition to Cunjee; somewhat deplored by the boys, since they were reluctantly compelled to don coats, to which they strenuously objected in the hot weather, and to find hats of a more respectable appearance than the battered felt head gear they habitually wore. They rode away after an early lunch; four cheery figures, alike in white linen coats and Panama hats, the brims turned down to keep the sun glare from their eyes; turning at the bend in the track to wave farewell to Mr. Linton, who stood at the gate to watch them go.

Cunjee was found gasping with heat, and only mildly consoled by the fact that no such temperatures had been recorded in the memory of man.

“Now, I always think that’s quite a help,” Jean said. “Once it’s 100° in the shade you feel almost as bad as you’re going to feel—and you might just as well have the satisfaction of knowing you had every excuse for being hot, because it was 114°. That makes it so interesting that you forget to be sorry for yourself!”

“I like to hear you, New Zealand!” quoth Wally, with fine scorn. “Didn’t know you ever worked up much of a temperature in those Antarctic islands of yours!”

“Well, we aren’t exactly singed into chips, like the Queenslanders!” said Jean, mildly, amidst mirth on the part of Norah and Jim—while Wally, who hailed from the vicinity of the Gulf of Carpentaria, looked modestly unconscious. “But we can be just as warm as we want to be.”

“Well, Cunjee is warmer than I appreciate,” Jim said. “Let’s leave the horses at the hotel to get a feed, and we’ll go and beg afternoon tea from Mrs. Anderson.”

Mrs. Anderson greeted the invasion enthusiastically.

“So lovely of you to come,” she said. “I’ve been feeling ever so dull. And now you’ve come, you must stay. The doctor has had to go to Mulgoa, and may not be back to-night; and I want an escort for the concert.”

“Is there a concert?” Norah asked.

“Didn’t you know? Ah, well, I suppose you irresponsible people don’t read the local paper,” said their hostess, pouring out tea. “Cream, Wally? No? How ridiculous of you, and you so thin! Yes, we’re to have a tremendous concert. I forget what it’s in aid of, but it’s mainly local talent, and so it’s bound to be exciting. And I can’t go by myself, and it’s quite too hot to go out and find a companion. Personally, I think Providence has delivered you into my hands!”

“Afraid we can’t, thanks very much, Mrs. Anderson,” Jim told her. “We didn’t say we’d be away.”

“Pooh! They would know at home that you would be all right,” said Mrs. Anderson. “You station folk never seem to worry about times and seasons, and I always think it’s so delightful! Your father would know the others were quite safe in your care, Jim.”

“I hope you children are taking note of that speech,” said Jim, laughing. “I wish I could feel as confident about it as you do, Mrs. Anderson—but, unfortunately, my years don’t seem to convince Dad of my common sense. I’m afraid he’d be worried if we didn’t turn up for dinner.”

“Rubbish!” said Mrs. Anderson. “He would know you stayed for something or other; probably he reads the local paper, if you don’t, and is acquainted with the dissipated intentions of Cunjee. I’m certainly not going to let you escape now that I have you all!”

“What do you think, Nor.?” Jim asked his sister.

“Why, I don’t suppose he’d mind,” Norah answered. “It always seems much the same to be out with you as with him, though it’s very imprudent of me to let you know it.”

“He wouldn’t mind if he knew,” Jim said, doubtfully. “Still——”

“Oh, risk it,” said Mrs. Anderson, laughing. “Consider the claims of a woman in distress—you can’t leave me to face a Cunjee audience alone. Your clothes don’t matter a bit—in fact, Cunjee will probably consider you clad as the lilies of the field.” So Jim, against his better judgment, stayed.

Dinner at the Andersons’ was a cheerful occasion, to which variety was lent by the Anderson baby, who insisted on sitting on Norah’s knee, and drummed happily on the cloth with her dessert-spoon, while Norah ate on the catch-as-catch-can principle. Then, the baby being with difficulty severed from the object of his adoration, they hurried to the Mechanics’ Institute, outside which the local brass band was performing prodigies of harmony, somewhat impeded by the fact that the euphonium was three tones flat.

Jim did not enjoy the concert. A shade of anxiety hung over his mind, with the conviction that it was quite possible that their absence was causing anxiety at the station. Thus the antics of the Cunjee comedian who, in private life, kept a somewhat disreputable bicycle-repairing establishment, fell flat; albeit the comedian aforesaid had bedecked himself in spurious red whiskers and a kilt compounded of a red table cloth, with a whitewash brush as sporran, and sang Scotch ditties with a violent Australian twang—a combination truly awe inspiring. They suffered from the familiar soprano, who trilled strange trills in a key very much too high, and from the confident young baritone, who warbled a ditty of the type more generally reserved for tenors, and took an encore on the echo of the first faint clap. The band master played a long solo upon the cornet, than which there is no more lonely instrument when unsupported; and on the heels of its wailing came a young lady who recited harrowing particulars of the death of “my chee-ild,” whom she indicated as lying in its coffin immediately before her. She knelt by it, and apostrophized the deceased in moving terms. She wrung her hands over it; in fact, she pointed it out so definitely that to Norah, whose imagination was unfortunately vivid, it assumed actual reality, and she with difficulty restrained a cry when, in the last verse, the elocutionist forgot her previous actions, and in the anguish of her mood, stepped right into the coffin! At this point Norah decided definitely that she did not like recitations. It pained her greatly to see the young lady smirk and stroll off the stage, oblivious of her heart-rending actions.

Then the Shire President came forward and thanked everybody in impartial terms, and the concert was over. Jim hurried his party out of the hall, and as soon as possible they had said good-night to Mrs. Anderson, resisting her offers of supper; and were in the saddle, cantering along the homeward track.

Five miles out of Cunjee a shadow loomed up out of the gloom, and Garryowen gave a sudden whinney. Mr. Linton’s voice followed it.

“Is that you, Jim?”

Under his breath Jim uttered a low whistle.

“Great Scott! It’s Dad!” he said. He raised his voice. “Right-oh, Dad! Is anything wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong at home,” said David Linton, wheeling Monarch beside Garryowen. “What has kept you?”

“Went to a concert,” said Jim, briefly, feeling suddenly very small and young.

“We never thought you’d be anxious, Dad!” Norah said.

“Not anxious!” said her father, explosively. Then he shot a glance at Jean and Wally, uncomfortably silent.

“You’ve given us a pleasant evening,” was all he said. But Jim winced as if he had been struck, and the blood surged into his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said curtly.

“It was my fault, just as much, Dad,” Norah began. But her father stopped her.

“Jim was in charge,” he said. “There isn’t any more to be said about it. We’d better hurry. Mrs. Brown is picturing all sorts of things.” He put Monarch into a canter, and they rode on in silence. Two miles further on a dim figure at the roadside turned his horse beside Wally.

“Is it all right, ye are, all of ye?” asked Murty in a hoarse whisper.

“Some one else out hunting the lost sheep?” Wally asked. “Yes, we’re all right.”

“Thin I’ll not let on to himself that I kem out,” said the Irishman. “Wisha! he was wild!” He dropped behind the riders, vanishing into the gloom.

Billabong was slow in appearing; to the silent riders the miles had never seemed longer. At last the lights came into view with Brownie’s massive figure silhouetted against the light of the doorway.

“Run in, you and Jean, and tell Brownie you’re all right,” Mr. Linton said to Norah, as they pulled up. “We’ll see to the horses.”

In the harness room, while Wally took off bridles outside, Jim’s eyes met his father’s. Both had been thinking.

“I’m sorry we made you anxious,” said the boy, stiffly.

“You made me very anxious,” said David Linton. “Still——” He hesitated, memories of his own early manhood coming back to him as the big fellow faced him. “Perhaps I forget that you’re not a child any longer,” he said, with an effort. “If I hurt you, Jim, I’m——”

“Don’t!” Jim’s hand went out quickly. “I deserved a jolly sight more than I got. But I’m sorry, Dad.” They shook hands on it, gravely.

“Bring in those bridles, young Wally, and be quick!” sang out Mr. Linton—and Wally appeared, his face comically relieved at the tone. They walked over to the house—a laugh from Jim at some futile remark of his chum’s coming to Norah’s ears as they neared the verandah, and greatly relieving that distressed damsel, to whom it had appeared that the skies had fallen.

Later, when supper had been discussed cheerfully, and the household had scattered, David Linton smoked a last pipe on the balcony, thinking.

A slender figure in blue pyjamas came softly to him.

“Dad—I’m sorry!” said Norah.

“Right, mate!” said her father. He saw the quick lift of her head, but she hesitated.

David Linton laughed, kissing her.

“And Jim’s all right,” he said. “Off to bed with you!”

CHAPTER VII

That loving Laughing Land, where life is fresh and clean,Where the rivers flow all summer, and the grass is always green.

That loving Laughing Land, where life is fresh and clean,

Where the rivers flow all summer, and the grass is always green.

—Henry Lawson.

NORAH!”

“James?” said Norah, with polite inquiry. She paused with Jean, and turned a questioning eye towards the window whence Jim’s voice had reached her.

Jim, in his shirt sleeves, his face obscured by lather, looked out, razor in hand.

“Don’t go over to the stable just now, if that’s where you two are going,” said he.

“Right-oh, Jimmy. For how long?”

“Don’t quite know,” Jim said, grinning through the suds. “Dad’s having words with one of the men, and you’d better wait until he comes over. You mustn’t risk interrupting the flow of his eloquence.”

“Is anything wrong?” Norah asked.

“It’s that blithering ass, Harvey,” Jim answered. “He’s a useless loafer at the best of times; and he’s let us in for a nice game now! Dad has been sending him out to look round those new Queensland bullocks in the Bush Paddock, and he’s left the slip-rails down, and they’ve all boxed with the cattle next door, in the Far Plain.” At this point Jim’s wrath, or an unconscious movement, led him to take a mouthful of lather, and his head withdrew abruptly, spluttering. Incoherent sounds came from the interior of the room.

The girls laughed unfeelingly.

“He’s so funny when he shaves, isn’t he?” said his sister. “Jean, it’s an ill wind that blows nowhere!”

“Why?” asked Jean.

“Well, if those cattle are boxed it means a big muster,” said Norah; “and mustering the Bush Paddock is better fun than anything else. I don’t feel nearly as sorry as I might.”

“More shame for you!” said a voice above their heads, at which both girls jumped. Wally’s face emerged from the concealment of the dark green leaves of a cherry tree. A big black cherry bobbed temptingly near his nose, and he ate it, still keeping a severe eye upon his audience.

“I never knew any one with your ability for appearing in unexpected places,” said Norah, laughing. “Come down, Wally; I know quite well your mother doesn’t let you climb!”

“I come,” said Wally; “but more because the cherries are scarce than because of you, young woman. Funny how few ripe ones there are this morning.”

“Not a bit. Jean and I have been up there,” said Norah, with calmness. “That’s what comes of being early birds. If you’d only get up in the morning instead of snoring in a loud voice——”

“Never did,” said Wally, swinging his long form to earth. “ ’Twas Jim you heard.”

“Jim never snores!” said Jim’s sister.

“Then ’twas the Boss. Or probably you weren’t up at all, and heard yourself snoring in your sleep, which is far more likely. Certainly, the cherries have disappeared in a manner only possible to you and Jean; but that might have been while I swam peacefully in the lagoon. In any case, you’re a shocking hostess!” Wally paused for breath, while Norah grinned amiably and remarked that, at any rate, she had suited Jean!

“Given up to greed, both of you,” said Mr. Meadows, “while I, alas, am given up to hunger. Here comes your father, and he looks pretty wild. Wonder if he’s sacked Harvey?”

“We’ll want all hands to-day,” said Mr. Linton, pausing to greet them as he came up with quick strides. “Harvey’s boxed half the cattle on the place, and we’ll have our work cut out to get them all in, short-handed. You see, I gave the other men permission to go to the races, and they left about sunrise. And now Harvey’s leaving too, in haste!”

“Did you sack him, Dad?”

“I did,” said his father. “I don’t know that I would have done so, though he’s a most useless man on the place, but he chose to be insolent about it. In fact he told me just what he thought about me for oppressing the labouring man. I wished Murty and Boone and the rest had been there to have learned how down-trodden they are. They would have enjoyed it!”

“I believe Murty would have fought him,” Norah said, indignantly.

“It’s not unlikely,” her father answered. “Murty’s a loyal old soul. According to Harvey, they are all worms, and I am a callous tyrant, and Jim’s a whelp!”

“Oh, am I?” said that gentleman, with interest, looking out. “What have I done to the noble Harvey?”

“Well, you’ve existed. I can’t quite gather that you’ve done anything else, and I fancy Harvey would have mentioned it if you had. At times he seemed hard up for things to mention. Still, on the whole, he was very eloquent. I’ve known politicians tarred with the same brush; the less they have to say, the more fluent they become! Judging by present indications,” said Mr. Linton, “Harvey will develop into a Prime Minister, and probably afflict me with a special land tax. And all because I asked him why he’d left the slip-rails down.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve sent him away, Dad,” Norah said. “I always thought he had a horrid face.”

“Oh, he’s a miserable type,” her father answered—“the kind of man that never ought to come to the country. He’s absolutely useless, and I don’t think he ever did a day’s work in his life—if he did, it wasn’t on Billabong. We’ve put him at various kinds of work, and found him worthless at each; his one idea was to ‘knock off,’ and he shone at that. And, as you say, he’s a low-looking brute, and I shall be glad to have him off the place. But I don’t like sacking a man.”

“Don’t know why we ever put him on,” said Jim, through the window.

“Well, he said he hadn’t a penny, and wanted work. One doesn’t like to send a man away without giving him a chance. But I’m sorry I kept Harvey. However, he’s off, or he will be shortly, so we needn’t bother our heads about him. The bullocks are likely to need all our energies. Jean, can I rely on your assistance?”

Jean nodded vigorously. It was clear that the prospect afforded her undiluted joy.

“That’s right. And Wally?” Wally grinned, disdaining further answer.

“Then,” said Mr. Linton, “as I presume I can count on Jim and Norah——”

“Not that they’re much use,” said Wally, despondently. A large boot hurtled from Jim’s window, took him in the rear, and he uttered a startled yell. Recovering his composure, he possessed himself of the missile and proceeded to swarm up the bare trunk of a tall palm, going up hand over hand, much like a monkey on a stick. Arrived at the crown of leaves, he clung with his legs while he tied the boot firmly in with the laces.

“Bring that down, Wally, you reptile,” sang out Jim. He made a dash for the garden, one foot encased in a sock, and, seizing a hoe, prodded vainly upwards in the climber’s direction.

“Not if I know it,” said Wally, happily. “Looks lovely up here—like some strange tropic blossom. Orchid Kangaroohides Jamesobium Wallistylis. Exquisite new species, flowering once a century. Look out, Jimmy, I’m going to slide.”

“Are you?” said Jim with vigour. His eye, roving round in search of a weapon, had caught sight of a fragment of barbed wire—the remains of a device of Hogg, the gardener, to keep greedy ’possums from devouring his rosebuds. It was but a moment’s work to seize it and coil it round the palm trunk in a long spiral. He stood back, grinning.

“Better not slide too suddenly, old man!” he said, pleasantly.

Wally had already begun to move, but he checked himself quickly. There were not many intonations in his chum’s voice that he did not understand. He leaned sideways and surveyed the trunk, his face lengthening involuntarily.

“Oh!” he said, and paused, apparently seeking for inspiration. “Beast!”

Jim sat down in a leisurely fashion on the grass and nursed his unshod foot.

“It’s a nice morning,” he remarked, conversationally. “Garden looks jolly well before the sun gets hot, doesn’t it? Tropic blossoms well out, and all that—including the climbing novelties! And there’s breakfast,” as the gong sounded. “What a pity to leave it all!” He gathered himself up, slowly. “So long!”

“Brute!” said Wally, with fervour.

“Aren’t you happy?” asked Jim, surprise in his tone. “You ought to be—I’ve never seen you look so nice! Will you bring me my boot, young Wally?”

“I will not,” said the victim, firmly. “Not if I stay here for a week!”

“The barbed wire will last longer than that,” said Jim, grinning. “Does it strike you, Dad, that the climbing novelty looks dry?”

“It’s more evident that it’s annoyed with you,” said David Linton, laughing. “Better bring him his boot, Wally—it’s his game, I think.”

“Never!” said the captive.

“Told you he was dry,” said Jim. “Look at that purple flush—doesn’t that indicate a need of cooling down?” He disappeared behind a clump of laurustinus, and returned armed with a coil of hose.

Norah gave a fresh burst of laughter. “Oh, Jimmy, you won’t!” she cried.

“Will I not?” grinned her brother, turning on the tap. A light shower of drops spattered the trunk near the victim’s head—with due regard for the safety of the dangling boot.

“My hat, Jimmy, when I get within reach of you——,” said Wally, laughing. “Put that down, you fiend, and fight fair!”

“Bless you, I’m not fighting,” said Jim blandly. “I’m watering the garden!”

“Yes, you’re Daddy’s useful little son, I know,” returned Mr. Meadows. “I’ll deal with you when I get down!”

“Told you water was necessary,” said Jim to his audience, two-thirds of which had collapsed on the grass, helpless. “Parched, that’s what he is. Turn on that tap a little harder, Dad, and I’ll give him a really nice tropic downpour!”

Mr. Meadows capitulated.

“Take off your beastly barbed wire,” he said, his tone expressing anything but pious resignation. “And put on your beastly great boot!” The boot descended with some force, and caught Jim on the shoulder as he stooped over his spiked entanglement. “Nice shot—there’s some balm in Gilead!” said Wally. He slid down, arriving at the ground with some force, and immediately gave chase to Jim, who had gathered up his property and fled.

“No one would think there was any work waiting on this place!” said Mr. Linton, laughing. “Come to breakfast, all of you—hurry up, Norah!”

Wally joined them in the breakfast-room, somewhat dishevelled.

“He’ll be in in a moment—he’s putting on the boot!” he said. “Isn’t he an uncivilized ostrich? I don’t know how you brought him up in his youth, sir, but he’s no credit to you. I’d sooner have old Lee Wing, pigtail and all.”

“You look a little damp, Wally,” Norah said, kindly. “I hope you won’t take cold!” To which the injured one returned merely a baleful glance, before devoting himself to his porridge.

Jim slipped in unobtrusively, wearing an air of bland composure.

“We’ll take lunch out, I suppose, Dad?”

“Yes, I sent Brownie a message some time ago,” said his father. “You’ll have to run up the horses after breakfast, Jim, and when you’ve caught ours turn the others out into the big paddock.”

Jim glanced up inquiringly. It was an unusual command.

“I wouldn’t trust that beggar, Harvey,” his father said, answering the glance. “If the horses were close at hand the temptation to borrow one to get as far as Cunjee might be too strong; but he couldn’t catch one in the big paddock. It won’t take long to put them back when we come in.”

“You’re not going to send him in to the township then?”

“I’m not,” said Mr. Linton, firmly. “He came carrying his swag, and he can carry it away—after the flood of bad language and insolence I had from him this morning, I really don’t feel any obligation to have him driven in. The walk may give him time to get a little sense—not that you could put sense into a man of the Harvey type by any known means.”

“Well, it won’t hurt him—and I don’t see who would have driven him, anyhow,” Jim said. “Are you letting him have any tucker?”

“Oh, yes; I said he could get some from the kitchen.”

“Then he’s got nothing to grumble at,” Jim declared. “Not that that is in the least likely to keep him from grumbling. I expect it wouldn’t be a bad precaution to lock up pretty carefully at the stables, Dad.”

“Certainly, lock up everything,” his father answered. “I’d have been glad to see him fairly off the place, as Murty and Boone are away—still Hogg and Lee Wing are about, so there’s really no need—and we can’t afford the time.”

“Lee Wing would be sufficient guardian for any place,” said Wally, who cherished an undying affection for the stolid Chinaman, who did not return the feeling at all. It was not certain that Lee Wing loved any one, though Norah was wont to declare that he wrote sonnets to a girl in China. So far as Australia was concerned, his heart seemed to be given to his onions, and he regarded Wally with a dubious eye.

Mrs. Brown came in, favouring the company impartially with her wide and beaming smile.

“Will you be boilin’ the billy, sir?”

“Yes, decidedly,” said Mr. Linton. “It is going to be hot enough to make tea a necessity, I fancy. And Wally is aching to carry the billy—aren’t you, my boy?”

“Personally,” said Jim, “I should have thought it was the breakfast he’s eaten, on top of about a hundredweight of cherries. Give him some more coffee, Norah—he looks pensive!”

“That’s because he has had two cups already—and I don’t allow him three, as a rule,” said Norah, callously. “However, he’s had a hard morning, so I’ll be weak—and so will be the coffee. Pass his cup, Jean.”

“I don’t know why I come to stay with the Linton tribe,” said Wally, surrendering his cup and sighing heavily. “I’m not appreciated, and it’s blighting my young life. Mrs. Brown, may I stay with you to-day and hold your hand?”

“You can’t. I got a fair amount to do with it,” rejoined Brownie. “Not but I will say, Master Wally, you’re the good-temperedest ever I see! And gimme a boy as laughs!”

“Well, I’ve thrown myself at your feet often enough, but you won’t pick me up!” said Wally, much aggrieved. “Some day I will wed another, and then you’ll know what you’ve lost!” At which Mrs. Brown bridled, and said, “Ah, go along now, do!” and aimed a destructive blow at him with her apron. Murmuring something about lunch, she retreated to the kitchen.

“I’ll go and run up the horses,” said Jim, pushing back his chair. “Young Wally, see that you have the saddles out by the time I get them in, and bring the bridles down to the yards.”

“Be it thine to command,” said Wally, with meekness. “Mine to obey—when I’m ready.”

“Better make it convenient to be ready quickly,” warned Jim. “Otherwise——”

He left the sentence dramatically unfinished, and, finding a halfpenny lying on the mantelshelf, deftly inserted it into his friend’s collar as he passed him. Wally choked over his coffee, and fled in hot pursuit, clutching at his backbone as he went.

“Aren’t they cheerful babies!” said Norah, laughing. “I guess I’ll be grey-haired long before they grow up. Come on, Jeanie—I’ll race you getting ready!” The sound of their flying feet echoed down the corridor.

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