Chapter Five.

Chapter Five.“How many did you see?”It was only dawn, but German had seen that the great kettle was boiling where it hung over the wood fire, and that the cattle were all safe, and enjoying their morning repast of rich, green, dewy grass. The boys were up and off at once, full of the life and vigour given by a night’s rest in the pure fresh air, and away down to the river side to have a bath before breakfast.Then, just as flecks of orange were beginning to appear, Aunt Georgie came out of the tent tying on an apron before picking up a basket, and in a businesslike way going to the fire, where she opened the canister, poured some tea into a bit of muslin, and tied it up loosely, as if she were about to make a tea-pudding.“Too much water, Samuel,” she said; “pour half away.”Sam German lifted down the boiling kettle, and poured half away.“Set it down, Samuel.”“Yes, mum,” said the man obediently; and as it was placed by the fire, Aunt Georgie plunged her tea-bag in, and held it beneath the boiling water with a piece of stick.Just then the captain and Uncle Jack appeared from where they had been inspecting the horses.“Morning, auntie,” said the former, going up and kissing the sturdy-looking old lady.“Good-morning, my dear,” she replied; “you needn’t ask me. I slept deliciously, and only dreamed once about that dreadful black man.—Good-morning, John, my dear,” she continued, kissing Uncle Jack. “Why, you have not shaved, my dear.”“No,” he said gruffly, “I’m going to let my beard grow.”“John!” exclaimed Aunt Georgie.“Time those girls were up,” said the captain.“They’ll be here directly, Edward,” said the old lady; “they are only packing up the blankets.”“Oh!” said the captain; “that’s right. Why, where are the boys gone?”“Down to the river for a bathe, sir,” said German.“What! Which way?” roared the captain.“Straight down yonder, sir, by the low trees.”“Quick, Jack, your gun!” cried the captain, running to the wagon, getting his, and then turning to run in the direction pointed out; his brother, who was accustomed to the captain’s quick military ways, and knowing that he would not give an order like that if there were not dire need, following him directly, armed with a double gun, and getting close up before he asked what was the matter.“Matter?” panted the captain. “Cock your piece—both barrels—and be ready to fire when I do. The boys are gone down to the river.”“What, are there really savages there?”“Yes,” said the captain, hoarsely; “savages indeed. Heaven grant we may be there in time. They have gone to bathe, and the river swarms for a long way up with reptiles.”Uncle Jack drew a deep breath as, with his gun at the trail, he trotted on beside his brother, both increasing their pace as they heard the sound of a splash and shouting.“Faster!” roared the captain, and they ran on till they got out from among the trees on to a clearing, beautifully green now, but showing plain by several signs that it was sometimes covered by the glittering river which ran deep down now below its banks.There before them were Rifle and Tim, just in the act of taking off their last garments, and the former was first and about to take a run and a header off the bank into the deep waters below, when, quick as thought, the captain raised his gun, and without putting it to his shoulder, held it pistol way, and fired in the air.“Now you can shoot!” cried the captain; and again, without stopping to ask questions, Uncle Jack obeyed, the two shots sounding almost deafening in the mist that hung over the ravine.As the captain had anticipated, the sound of the shots stopped Rifle at the very edge of the river, and made him make for his clothes, and what was of even greater importance, as he reached the bank where the river curved round in quite a deep eddy beneath them, there was Norman twenty yards away swimming rapidly toward a shallow place where he could land.Words would not have produced such an effect.“Now,” said the captain, panting for breath from exertion and excitement, “watch the water. Keep your gun to your shoulder, and fire the moment there is even a ripple anywhere near the boy.”Uncle Jack obeyed, while as Norman looked up, he saw himself apparently covered by the two guns, and at once dived like a dabchick.“Madness! madness!” groaned the captain; “has he gone down to meet his fate. What are you loaded with?”“Ball,” said Uncle Jack, laconically.“Better lie down and rest your piece on the edge of the bank. You must not miss.”As they both knelt and rested the guns, Norman’s head appeared.“I say, don’t,” he shouted. “I see you. Don’t do that.”“Ashore, quick!” roared the captain, so fiercely that the boy swam harder.“No,” roared the captain again; “slowly and steadily.”“Yes, father, but don’t, don’t shoot at me. I’m only bathing.”“Don’t talk; swim!” cried the captain in a voice of thunder; and the boy swam on, but he did not make rapid way, for the tide, which reached up to where they were, was running fast, and as he swam obliquely across it, he was carried rapidly down.“What have I done—what does it mean?” he thought, as he swam on, growing so much excited now by the novelty of his position that his limbs grew heavy, and it was not without effort that he neared the bank, still covered by the two guns; and at last touched bottom, waded a few paces, and climbed out to where he was able to mount the slope and stand in safety upon the grass.“Ned, old fellow, what is it?” whispered Uncle Jack, catching his brother’s arm, for he saw his face turn of a ghastly hue.“Hush! don’t take any notice. I shall be better directly. Load that empty barrel.”Uncle John Munday Bedford obeyed in silence, but kept an eye upon his brother as he poured in powder, rammed down a wad, and then sent a charge of big shot rattling into the gun before thrusting in another wad and ramming it home.As he did all this, and then prised open the pan of the lock to see that it was well filled with the fine powder—for there were no breechloaders in those days, and the captain had decided to take their old flint-lock fowling-pieces for fear that they might be stranded some day up-country for want of percussion caps—the deadly sickness passed off, and Captain Bedford sighed deeply, and began to reload in turn.Meanwhile, Norman, after glancing at his father, naturally enough ran to where he had left his clothes, hurried into shirt and trousers, and as soon as he was, like his companions, half-dressed, came toward the two men, Rifle and Tim following him, after the trio had had a whispered consultation.“I’m very sorry, father,” faltered Norman, as he saw the stern, frowning face before him, while Uncle Jack looked almost equally solemn.Then, as the captain remained silent, the lad continued: “I know you said that we were to journey up the country quite in military fashion, and obey orders in everything; but I did not think it would be doing anything wrong for us all to go and have a morning swim.”“Was it your doing?” said the captain, coldly.“Yes, father. I know it was wrong now, but I said there would be time for us all to bathe, as the river was so near. I didn’t think that—”“No,” said the captain, sternly, “you did not think—you did not stop to think, Norman. That is one of the differences between a boy and a man. Remember it, my lad. A boy does not stop to think: as a rule a man does. Now, tell me this, do I ever refuse to grant you boys any reasonable enjoyment?”“No, father.”“And I told you before we started that you must be very careful to act according to my rules and regulations, for an infringement might bring peril to us all.”“Yes, father.”“And yet you took upon yourself to go down there to bathe in that swift, strange river, and took your brother and cousin.”“Yes, father. I see it was wrong now, but it seemed a very innocent thing to do.”“Innocent? You could not have been guilty of a more wild and mad act. Why would not the captain allow bathing when we were in the tropics?”“Because of the sharks; but there would not be sharks up here in this river.”“Are there no other dangerous creatures infesting water, sir?”A horrified look came into Norman’s eyes, and the colour faded out of his cheeks.“What!” he said at last, in a husky voice, “are there crocodiles in the river?”“I had it on good authority that the place swarmed with them, sir; and you may thank God in your heart that my enterprise has not been darkened at the start by a tragedy.”“Oh, father!” cried the boy, catching at the captain’s hand.“There, it has passed, Man,” said the captain, pressing the boy’s hand and laying the other on his shoulder; “but spare me such another shock. Think of what I must have felt when German told me you boys had come down to bathe. I ought to have warned you last night; but I cannot think of everything, try as I may. There, it is our secret, boys. Your mother is anxious enough, so not a word about this. Quick, get on your clothes, and come on to breakfast.—Jack, old fellow,” he continued, as he walked slowly back, “it made me feel faint as a woman. But mind about the firing. We did not hit anything. They will very likely ask.”As it happened, no questions were asked about the firing, and after a hearty breakfast, which, in the bright morning, was declared to be exactly like a picnic, they started once more on what was a glorious excursion, without a difficulty in their way. There was no road, not so much as a faint track, but they travelled on through scenery like an English park, and the leader had only to turn aside a little from time to time to avoid some huge tree, no other obstacles presenting themselves in their way.German, the captain’s old servant, a peculiarly crabbed man in his way, drove the cart containing the tent, provisions, and other immediate necessaries; Uncle Munday came last on horseback with his gun instead of a riding-whip, driving the cattle and spare horses, which followed the lead willingly enough, only stopping now and then to crop the rich grass.The progress was naturally very slow, but none the less pleasant, and so long as the leader went right, and Uncle Munday took care that no stragglers were left behind, there was very little need for the other drivers to trouble about their charges; while the girls, both with their faces radiant with enjoyment, cantered about quite at home on their side-saddles, now with the captain, who played the part of scout in advance and escort guard, now behind with Uncle Jack, whose severe face relaxed whenever they came to keep him company.Hence it was that, the incident of the morning almost forgotten, Norman left the horses by whose side he trudged, to go forward to Rifle, who was also playing carter.“How are you getting on?” he said.“Slowly. I want to get there. Let’s go and talk to Tim.”Norman was ready enough, and they went on to where their cousin was seated on the shaft of one of the carts whistling, and practising fly-fishing with his whip.“Caught any?” said Rifle.“Eh? Oh, I see,” said the boy, laughing. “No; but I say there are some flies out here, and can’t they frighten the horses!”“Wouldn’t you like to go right forward?” said Norman, “and see what the country’s like?”“No: you can see from here without any trouble.”“Can you?” said Rifle; and catching his cousin by the shoulder, he gave him a sharp pull, and made him leap to the ground.“What did you do that for?” said Tim resentfully.“To make you walk. Think the horse hasn’t got enough to drag without you? Let’s go and talk to Sourkrout.”“If old Sam hears you call him that, he’ll complain to father,” said Norman quietly.“Not he. Wouldn’t be such an old sneak. Come on.”The three boys went forward to where Sam German sat up high in front of the cart looking straight before him, and though he seemed to know that the lads were there by him, he did not turn his eyes to right or left.“What can you see, Sam?” cried Rifle eagerly.“Nought,” was the gruff reply.“Well, what are you looking at?”“Yon tree right away there.”“What for?”“That’s where the master said I was to make for, and if I don’t keep my eye on it, how am I to get there.”He nodded his head toward a tree which stood up alone miles and miles away, but perfectly distinct in the clear air, and for a few minutes nothing more was said, for there were flies, birds, and flowers on every hand to take the attention of the boys.“How do you like Australia, Sam?” said Norman, at last.“Not at all,” grumbled the man.“Well, you are hard to please. Why, the place is lovely.”“Tchah! I don’t see nothing lovely about it. I want to know why the master couldn’t take a farm in England instead of coming here. What are we going to do for neighbours when we get there?”“Be our own neighbours, Sam,” said Rifle.“Tchah! You can’t.”“But see how beautiful the place is,” said Tim, enthusiastically.“What’s the good of flowers, sir? I want taters.”“Well, we are going to grow some soon, and everything else too.”“Oh! are we?” growled Sam. “Get on, will yer?”—this to the horse. “Strikes me as the captain’s going to find out something out here.”“Of course he is—find a beautiful estate, and make a grand farm and garden.”“Oh! is he?” growled Sam. “Strikes me no he won’t. Grow taters, will he? How does he know as they’ll grow?”“Because it’s such beautiful soil, you can grow Indian corn, sugar, tobacco, grapes, anything.”“Injun corn, eh? English corn’s good enough for me. Why, I grew some Injun corn once in the hothouse at home, and pretty stuff it was.”“Why, it was very handsome, Sam,” said Rifle.“Hansum? Tchah. What’s the good o’ being hansum if you ain’t useful?”“Well,you’renot handsome, Sam,” said Norman, laughing.“Who said I was, sir? Don’t want to be. That’s good enough for women folk. But I am useful. Come now.”“So you are, Sam,” said Tim; “the jolliest, usefullest fellow that ever was.”“Useful, Master ’Temus, but I don’t know about jolly. Who’s going to be jolly, transported for life out here like a convick? And as for that Injun corn, it was a great flop-leaved, striped thing as grew a ear with the stuff in it hard as pebbles on the sea-saw—seashore, I mean.”“Sam’s got his tongue in a knot,” said Norman. “What are you eating, Sam?”“Ain’t eating—chewing.”“What are you chewing, then. India-rubber?”“Tchah! Think I want to make a schoolboy’s pop-patch? Inger-rubber? No; bacco.”“Ugh! nasty,” said Rifle. “Well, father says he shall grow tobacco.”“’Tain’t to be done, Master Raffle,” said Sam, cracking his whip; nor grapes nayther. Yer can’t grow proper grapes without a glass-house.“Not in a hot country like this?”“No, sir. They’ll all come little teeny rubbidging things big as black currants, and no better.”“Ah, you’ll see,” cried Norman.“Oh yes, I shall see, sir. I ain’t been a gardener for five-and-twenty years without knowing which is the blade of a spade and which is the handle.”“Of course you haven’t,” said Tim.“Thankye, Master ’Temus. You always was a gentleman as understood me, and when we gets there—if ever we does get there, which I don’t believe, for I don’t think as there is any there, and master as good as owned to it hisself, no later nor yes’day, when he laughed at me, and said as he didn’t know yet where he was a-going—I says, if ever we does get there, and you wants to make yourself a garden, why, I’ll help yer.”“Thankye, Sam, you shall.”“Which I will, sir, and the other young gents, too, if they wants ’em and don’t scorn ’em, as they used to do.”“Why, when did we scorn gardens?” said the other two boys in a breath.“Allus, sir; allus, if you had to work in ’em. But ye never scorned my best apples and pears, Master Norman; and as for Master Raffle, the way he helped hisself to my strorbys, blackbuds, and throstles was nothing to ’em.”“And will again, Sam, if you grow some,” cried Rifle.“Don’t I tell yer it ain’t to be done, sir,” said Sam, giving his whip a vicious whish through the air, and making the horse toss its head, “Master grow taters? Tchah! not he. You see if they don’t all run away to tops and tater apples, and you can’t eat they.”“Don’t be so prejudiced.”“Me, sir—prejudiced?” cried the gardener indignantly. “Come, I do like that. Can’t yer see for yourselves, you young gents, as things won’t grow here proper?”“No!” chorused the boys.“Look at the flowers everywhere. Why, they’re lovely,” cried Norman.“The flowers?” said Sam, contemptuously. “Weeds I call them. I ain’t seen a proper rose nor a love-lies-bleeding, nor a dahlia.”“No, but there are plenty of other beautiful flowers growing wild.”“Well, who wants wild-flowers, sir? Besides, I want to see a good wholesome cabbage or dish o’ peas.”“Well, you must plant them first.”“Plaint ’em? It won’t be no good, sir.”“Well, look at the trees,” said Rifle.“The trees? Ha! ha! ha!” cried Sam, with something he meant for a scornful laugh. “I have been looking at ’em. I don’t call them trees.”“What do you call them, then?” said Norman.“I d’know. I suppose they thinks they’re trees, if so be as they can think, but look at ’em. Who ever saw a tree grow with its leaves like that. Leaves ought to be flat, and hanging down. Them’s all set edgewise like butcher’s broom, and pretty stuff that is.”“But they don’t all grow that way.”“Oh yes, they do, sir. Trees can’t grow proper in such syle as this here. Look here, Master ’Temus, you always did care for your garden so long as I did all the weeding for you. You can speak fair. Now tell me this, What colour ought green trees to be?”“Why, green, of course.”“Werry well, then; just look at them leaves. Ye can’t call them green; they’re pink and laylock, and dirty, soap-suddy green.”“Well, there then, look how beautifully the grass grows.”“Grass? Ye–e–es; it’s growing pretty thick. Got used to it, I suppose.”“So will our fruits and vegetables, Sam.”“Nay, Master Norman, never. The syle won’t suit, sir, nor the country, nor the time, nor nothing.”“Nonsense!”“Nay, sir, ’tain’t nonsense. The whole place here’s topsy-turvy like. Why, it’s Christmas in about a fortnit’s time, and are you going to tell me this is Christmas weather? Why, it’s hot as Horgus.”“Well, that’s because we’re so far south.”“That we ain’t, sir. We’re just as far north as we are south, and you can’t get over that.”“But it’s because we’ve crossed the line,” cried Rifle. “Don’t you remember I told you ever so long ago that we were just crossing the line?”“Oh yes, I remember; but I knew you was gammoning me. I never see no line?”“Of course not. It’s invisible.”“What? Then you couldn’t cross it. If a thing’s inwisible, it’s because it ain’t there, and you can’t cross a thing as ain’t there.”“Oh, you stubborn old mule!” cried Norman.“If you forgets yourself like that, Master Norman, and treats me disrespeckful, calling me a mule, I shall tell the captain.”“No, don’t; I’m not disrespectful, Sam,” cried Norman, anxiously. “Look here, about the line: don’t you know that there’s a north pole and a south pole?”“Yes, I’ve heard so, sir; and as Sir John Franklin went away from our parts to find it, but he didn’t find it, because of course it wasn’t there, and he lost hisself instead.”“But, look here; right round the middle of the earth there’s a line.”“Don’t believe it, sir. No line couldn’t ever be made big enough to go round the world; and if it could, there ain’t nowheres to fasten it to.”“But I mean an imaginary line that divides the world into two equal parts.”Sam German chuckled.“’Maginary line, sir. Of course it is.”“And this line—Oh, I can’t explain it, Rifle, can you?”“Course he can’t, sir, nor you nayther. ’Tain’t to be done. I knowed it were a ’maginary line when you said we war crossing it. But just you look here, sir: ’bout our garden and farm, over which I hope the master weant be disappointed, but Iknowhe will, for I asks you young gents this—serusly, mind, as gents as has had your good eddication and growed up scollards—How can a man make a garden in a country where everything is upside down?”“But it isn’t upside down, Sam; it’s only different,” said Norman.“That’s what I say, sir. Here we are in the middle o’ December, when, if the weather’s open, you may put in your first crop o’ broad Windsor beans, and you’ve got your ground all ridged to sweeten in the frost. And now, look at this. Why, it’s reg’lar harvest time and nothing else. I don’t wonder at the natives being black.”“Look, look!” cried Tim suddenly, as he pointed away to where, on an open plain on the right, some birds were running rapidly.“I see them! what are they?” cried Rifle, excitedly.“Somebody’s chickens,” said Sam, contemptuously.The boys looked at him and laughed.“Sam German has got to grow used to the place,” said Norman. And then, as his father cantered up, he pointed off. “Do you see those, father?”“What, those birds?” said the captain, eagerly. “Comebacks, sir. Guinea fowls. A bit wild,” said Sam, quietly.“Guinea fowls?” replied the captain, sheltering his eyes. “No; birds twenty times as large, you might say. Why, boys, those must be emus.”“Emus?” said Rifle. “Oh yes, I remember. Ostrichy-looking things. Are those what they are?”“I do not think there’s a doubt about it,” replied the captain, after another look at the rapidly-retiring birds, which, after a long stare at the little train of carts and wains, literally made their legs twinkle like the spokes of a carriage wheel as they skimmed over the ground and out of sight.“Yes,” said the captain again, as the last one disappeared. “Emus, the Australian ostriches. You boys ought to make notes of all the wild creatures you see.”“We shan’t forget them, uncle,” said Tim. “Let’s see; there was the black, the snake—”“Snake? Have you seen one?”“Oh yes,” replied Tim.“Thirty feet long, wasn’t it?” said Norman, giving his brother a look.“Thirty? More likely three, uncle. I think it was nearer six though.”“Did you kill it?”“No; it wouldn’t stop, but crawled into the bush, and I don’t think I should have tried.”“Well, be on your guard all of you. I suppose they are pretty plentiful, and some are very dangerous, but I believe they will all get out of our way if they can. What birds are those?”A couple of dusky-green birds, with their feathers barred across like those of a hawk or cuckoo, with lines of a darker green, started up from some grass and flew off, their long, pointed tails and rounded heads and beaks showing plainly what they were.“Ground parrots,” said the captain. “It’s curious, in a country to which one kind of bird is peculiar, what a variety one sees.”“Is one kind of bird peculiar to this country, then?” asked Norman.“Well, it is not fair to say peculiar, but one kind is abundant—the parrot—and there are several kinds here.”“Are cockatoos?” said Rifle, eagerly.“A cockatoo, you might say, is a parrot. The only difference seems to be that it has a crest.—But how much farther do you make it to the tree, German?”“Miles,” said that worthy, rather gruffly. “Keeps getting farther off ’stead o’ nigher, sir.”“The air is so wonderfully clear that distance is deceiving. Never mind, keep on slowly, so as not to distress the cattle and the horses with their heavier loads.”“Needn’t ha’ said that, sir; this horse’ll go slow enough,” grumbled German. “I get thinking sometimes as he ain’t moving at all.”The captain laughed, and as he rode a few yards in advance to carefully scan the country in front, a great deal of whispering and gesticulation went on between the gardener and Norman, while the other boys looked on full of mischievous glee, and egged the lad on.“No, no, Master Norman; don’t, sir. It’d make him cross.”“Yes, and he’d discharge you if I told him how you threw cold water on his plans.”“I ain’t a bit afraid o’ that, sir,” said German, with a grin. “He can’t send me back. But I don’t want to rile him. I say, don’t tell him, sir.”“But you laughed at everything he meant to do.”“That I didn’t, sir. Precious little laughing I’ve done lately.”“Well, then, say you’re sorry, and that you think father’s plans are splendid.”“What, tell a couple o’ big thumpers like that?” whispered German, with virtuous indignation; “no, that I won’t. I wonder at you, Master Norman; that I do.”“Oh, very well, then,” cried the boy. “Here goes. I say, father—” He ran forward, and as he joined the captain, taking hold of the mane of his horse, and walking on beside him, Sam’s face was so full of pitiable consternation that the other two boys laughed.Sam turned upon them fiercely.“Ah, it’s all very well for you two to grin,” he growled. “Think o’ what it’s going to be for me.”“Serve you right for saying what you did,” cried Rifle, by way of consolation.“Oh, Master Raffle, don’t you turn again me, too.—He’s too hard, ain’t he, Master ’Temus?”“Not a bit,” cried the latter. “You grumble at everything. You’re a regular old Sourkrout, always grumbling.”“Well! of all!” gasped the gardener, taking off his hat and wiping his brow.“Look here,” cried Rifle; “father will be back here directly, so you had better go down on your knees and say you’re very sorry.”“That I won’t,” said German, sturdily.“And say you believe that the place is beautiful, and that you’ll make a better garden than we had in the country, and grow everything.”“No; you won’t ketch me saying such a word as that, sir, for I don’t believe the place is any good at all. I say, see them chaps yonder?”The boys looked in the direction pointed out by Sam with his whip, and Rifle exclaimed, “Blacks!”“Yes; I saw one too.”“I seed three or four dodging in and out among the trees,” said Sam.Rifle ran on to join his father.“Stop a moment, Master Raffle,” cried Sam, imploringly. “Oh, he’s gone! Go on too, Master ’Temus, and say that I didn’t mean it. The captain would be so put out if I found fault, after promising to stand by him through thick and thin.”“Then will the land grow potatoes?” said Tim mischievously.“If I don’t make it grow some as is twice as big as those at home, I’m a Dutchman. Oh dear! Here he comes.”For the captain had turned his horse’s head and returned.“Did you both see blacks?” he said anxiously.“Yes, both of us, uncle, going from tree to tree along there toward the river.”“How many did you see, Tim?”“I think it was two, uncle; but I’m not sure, for they darted from bush to bush, and were in sight and out again directly.”“And you, German?”“Oh, I saw ’em first, sir, just as Master ’Temus says, running and dodging from bush to tree, so as to keep out of sight.”“But how many did you see?”Can’t say for certain, sir; but I don’t think there was more’n six.The captain hesitated for a few moments, then, as if decided what to do, he spoke.“Keep on, and make for the tree. Have you the gun handy?”“Yes, sir, close to my elber.”“Loaded.”“That she is, sir. Double dose o’ big shot.”“That’s right. But I don’t think there is any danger. The blacks will not meddle with us if we leave them alone. Look here, boys, we shall go armed for the sake of precaution, but I fervently hope that we shall not be called upon to fire upon the poor wretches. I daresay we shall encounter some of them, and if we do, you must keep them at a distance. Let them know that we are their masters, with firmness, but no cruelty.”“Look, there they go again!” cried Norman, pointing to a patch of woodland, a quarter of a mile forward, to their left.“Yes, I saw one dart in amongst the scrub,” said the captain. “There, keep on as if nothing had happened. It is not worth while to startle your mother and the girls. Now, each of you to his duty, and let the people see that we mean business, and not to take any notice of or to molest them.”Each boy returned to his driving duties, and, on the plea of Mrs Bedford looking dull, the captain made the two girls ride close to the wagon, where she sat with Aunt Georgie, after which he went back to where Uncle Jack was steadily driving his flocks and herds, and warned him of what he had seen.“Humph not pleasant,” said the captain’s brother. “Think they’re dangerous?”“I think that the farther we get away from civilisation the less likely they are to interfere with us, so long as we do not molest them.”“Not going to turn back, then?”“What, because we have seen a few blacks? Hardly likely, is it?”“No,” said the other; and, keeping a sharp look-out, they went on at their slow crawl for nearly three hours before the landmark was reached, all pretty well exhausted, for the heat had been growing intense. But the great tree was one of many standing out of quite a shady grove, and this was cautiously approached by the captain, who scouted forward in front to find it apparently quite free from any appearance of ever having been occupied, and here in a very short time the little caravan was arranged so that they had some protection in case of an attack; a fire was lit by German, while the boys turned the horses loose to graze; and water being near in a creek, the customary kettle was soon on to boil, and Aunt Georgie was unpacking the store of food, when German shouted, “Hi! quick! look out!” and there was a glimpse of a black figure passing rapidly among the trees.

It was only dawn, but German had seen that the great kettle was boiling where it hung over the wood fire, and that the cattle were all safe, and enjoying their morning repast of rich, green, dewy grass. The boys were up and off at once, full of the life and vigour given by a night’s rest in the pure fresh air, and away down to the river side to have a bath before breakfast.

Then, just as flecks of orange were beginning to appear, Aunt Georgie came out of the tent tying on an apron before picking up a basket, and in a businesslike way going to the fire, where she opened the canister, poured some tea into a bit of muslin, and tied it up loosely, as if she were about to make a tea-pudding.

“Too much water, Samuel,” she said; “pour half away.”

Sam German lifted down the boiling kettle, and poured half away.

“Set it down, Samuel.”

“Yes, mum,” said the man obediently; and as it was placed by the fire, Aunt Georgie plunged her tea-bag in, and held it beneath the boiling water with a piece of stick.

Just then the captain and Uncle Jack appeared from where they had been inspecting the horses.

“Morning, auntie,” said the former, going up and kissing the sturdy-looking old lady.

“Good-morning, my dear,” she replied; “you needn’t ask me. I slept deliciously, and only dreamed once about that dreadful black man.—Good-morning, John, my dear,” she continued, kissing Uncle Jack. “Why, you have not shaved, my dear.”

“No,” he said gruffly, “I’m going to let my beard grow.”

“John!” exclaimed Aunt Georgie.

“Time those girls were up,” said the captain.

“They’ll be here directly, Edward,” said the old lady; “they are only packing up the blankets.”

“Oh!” said the captain; “that’s right. Why, where are the boys gone?”

“Down to the river for a bathe, sir,” said German.

“What! Which way?” roared the captain.

“Straight down yonder, sir, by the low trees.”

“Quick, Jack, your gun!” cried the captain, running to the wagon, getting his, and then turning to run in the direction pointed out; his brother, who was accustomed to the captain’s quick military ways, and knowing that he would not give an order like that if there were not dire need, following him directly, armed with a double gun, and getting close up before he asked what was the matter.

“Matter?” panted the captain. “Cock your piece—both barrels—and be ready to fire when I do. The boys are gone down to the river.”

“What, are there really savages there?”

“Yes,” said the captain, hoarsely; “savages indeed. Heaven grant we may be there in time. They have gone to bathe, and the river swarms for a long way up with reptiles.”

Uncle Jack drew a deep breath as, with his gun at the trail, he trotted on beside his brother, both increasing their pace as they heard the sound of a splash and shouting.

“Faster!” roared the captain, and they ran on till they got out from among the trees on to a clearing, beautifully green now, but showing plain by several signs that it was sometimes covered by the glittering river which ran deep down now below its banks.

There before them were Rifle and Tim, just in the act of taking off their last garments, and the former was first and about to take a run and a header off the bank into the deep waters below, when, quick as thought, the captain raised his gun, and without putting it to his shoulder, held it pistol way, and fired in the air.

“Now you can shoot!” cried the captain; and again, without stopping to ask questions, Uncle Jack obeyed, the two shots sounding almost deafening in the mist that hung over the ravine.

As the captain had anticipated, the sound of the shots stopped Rifle at the very edge of the river, and made him make for his clothes, and what was of even greater importance, as he reached the bank where the river curved round in quite a deep eddy beneath them, there was Norman twenty yards away swimming rapidly toward a shallow place where he could land.

Words would not have produced such an effect.

“Now,” said the captain, panting for breath from exertion and excitement, “watch the water. Keep your gun to your shoulder, and fire the moment there is even a ripple anywhere near the boy.”

Uncle Jack obeyed, while as Norman looked up, he saw himself apparently covered by the two guns, and at once dived like a dabchick.

“Madness! madness!” groaned the captain; “has he gone down to meet his fate. What are you loaded with?”

“Ball,” said Uncle Jack, laconically.

“Better lie down and rest your piece on the edge of the bank. You must not miss.”

As they both knelt and rested the guns, Norman’s head appeared.

“I say, don’t,” he shouted. “I see you. Don’t do that.”

“Ashore, quick!” roared the captain, so fiercely that the boy swam harder.

“No,” roared the captain again; “slowly and steadily.”

“Yes, father, but don’t, don’t shoot at me. I’m only bathing.”

“Don’t talk; swim!” cried the captain in a voice of thunder; and the boy swam on, but he did not make rapid way, for the tide, which reached up to where they were, was running fast, and as he swam obliquely across it, he was carried rapidly down.

“What have I done—what does it mean?” he thought, as he swam on, growing so much excited now by the novelty of his position that his limbs grew heavy, and it was not without effort that he neared the bank, still covered by the two guns; and at last touched bottom, waded a few paces, and climbed out to where he was able to mount the slope and stand in safety upon the grass.

“Ned, old fellow, what is it?” whispered Uncle Jack, catching his brother’s arm, for he saw his face turn of a ghastly hue.

“Hush! don’t take any notice. I shall be better directly. Load that empty barrel.”

Uncle John Munday Bedford obeyed in silence, but kept an eye upon his brother as he poured in powder, rammed down a wad, and then sent a charge of big shot rattling into the gun before thrusting in another wad and ramming it home.

As he did all this, and then prised open the pan of the lock to see that it was well filled with the fine powder—for there were no breechloaders in those days, and the captain had decided to take their old flint-lock fowling-pieces for fear that they might be stranded some day up-country for want of percussion caps—the deadly sickness passed off, and Captain Bedford sighed deeply, and began to reload in turn.

Meanwhile, Norman, after glancing at his father, naturally enough ran to where he had left his clothes, hurried into shirt and trousers, and as soon as he was, like his companions, half-dressed, came toward the two men, Rifle and Tim following him, after the trio had had a whispered consultation.

“I’m very sorry, father,” faltered Norman, as he saw the stern, frowning face before him, while Uncle Jack looked almost equally solemn.

Then, as the captain remained silent, the lad continued: “I know you said that we were to journey up the country quite in military fashion, and obey orders in everything; but I did not think it would be doing anything wrong for us all to go and have a morning swim.”

“Was it your doing?” said the captain, coldly.

“Yes, father. I know it was wrong now, but I said there would be time for us all to bathe, as the river was so near. I didn’t think that—”

“No,” said the captain, sternly, “you did not think—you did not stop to think, Norman. That is one of the differences between a boy and a man. Remember it, my lad. A boy does not stop to think: as a rule a man does. Now, tell me this, do I ever refuse to grant you boys any reasonable enjoyment?”

“No, father.”

“And I told you before we started that you must be very careful to act according to my rules and regulations, for an infringement might bring peril to us all.”

“Yes, father.”

“And yet you took upon yourself to go down there to bathe in that swift, strange river, and took your brother and cousin.”

“Yes, father. I see it was wrong now, but it seemed a very innocent thing to do.”

“Innocent? You could not have been guilty of a more wild and mad act. Why would not the captain allow bathing when we were in the tropics?”

“Because of the sharks; but there would not be sharks up here in this river.”

“Are there no other dangerous creatures infesting water, sir?”

A horrified look came into Norman’s eyes, and the colour faded out of his cheeks.

“What!” he said at last, in a husky voice, “are there crocodiles in the river?”

“I had it on good authority that the place swarmed with them, sir; and you may thank God in your heart that my enterprise has not been darkened at the start by a tragedy.”

“Oh, father!” cried the boy, catching at the captain’s hand.

“There, it has passed, Man,” said the captain, pressing the boy’s hand and laying the other on his shoulder; “but spare me such another shock. Think of what I must have felt when German told me you boys had come down to bathe. I ought to have warned you last night; but I cannot think of everything, try as I may. There, it is our secret, boys. Your mother is anxious enough, so not a word about this. Quick, get on your clothes, and come on to breakfast.—Jack, old fellow,” he continued, as he walked slowly back, “it made me feel faint as a woman. But mind about the firing. We did not hit anything. They will very likely ask.”

As it happened, no questions were asked about the firing, and after a hearty breakfast, which, in the bright morning, was declared to be exactly like a picnic, they started once more on what was a glorious excursion, without a difficulty in their way. There was no road, not so much as a faint track, but they travelled on through scenery like an English park, and the leader had only to turn aside a little from time to time to avoid some huge tree, no other obstacles presenting themselves in their way.

German, the captain’s old servant, a peculiarly crabbed man in his way, drove the cart containing the tent, provisions, and other immediate necessaries; Uncle Munday came last on horseback with his gun instead of a riding-whip, driving the cattle and spare horses, which followed the lead willingly enough, only stopping now and then to crop the rich grass.

The progress was naturally very slow, but none the less pleasant, and so long as the leader went right, and Uncle Munday took care that no stragglers were left behind, there was very little need for the other drivers to trouble about their charges; while the girls, both with their faces radiant with enjoyment, cantered about quite at home on their side-saddles, now with the captain, who played the part of scout in advance and escort guard, now behind with Uncle Jack, whose severe face relaxed whenever they came to keep him company.

Hence it was that, the incident of the morning almost forgotten, Norman left the horses by whose side he trudged, to go forward to Rifle, who was also playing carter.

“How are you getting on?” he said.

“Slowly. I want to get there. Let’s go and talk to Tim.”

Norman was ready enough, and they went on to where their cousin was seated on the shaft of one of the carts whistling, and practising fly-fishing with his whip.

“Caught any?” said Rifle.

“Eh? Oh, I see,” said the boy, laughing. “No; but I say there are some flies out here, and can’t they frighten the horses!”

“Wouldn’t you like to go right forward?” said Norman, “and see what the country’s like?”

“No: you can see from here without any trouble.”

“Can you?” said Rifle; and catching his cousin by the shoulder, he gave him a sharp pull, and made him leap to the ground.

“What did you do that for?” said Tim resentfully.

“To make you walk. Think the horse hasn’t got enough to drag without you? Let’s go and talk to Sourkrout.”

“If old Sam hears you call him that, he’ll complain to father,” said Norman quietly.

“Not he. Wouldn’t be such an old sneak. Come on.”

The three boys went forward to where Sam German sat up high in front of the cart looking straight before him, and though he seemed to know that the lads were there by him, he did not turn his eyes to right or left.

“What can you see, Sam?” cried Rifle eagerly.

“Nought,” was the gruff reply.

“Well, what are you looking at?”

“Yon tree right away there.”

“What for?”

“That’s where the master said I was to make for, and if I don’t keep my eye on it, how am I to get there.”

He nodded his head toward a tree which stood up alone miles and miles away, but perfectly distinct in the clear air, and for a few minutes nothing more was said, for there were flies, birds, and flowers on every hand to take the attention of the boys.

“How do you like Australia, Sam?” said Norman, at last.

“Not at all,” grumbled the man.

“Well, you are hard to please. Why, the place is lovely.”

“Tchah! I don’t see nothing lovely about it. I want to know why the master couldn’t take a farm in England instead of coming here. What are we going to do for neighbours when we get there?”

“Be our own neighbours, Sam,” said Rifle.

“Tchah! You can’t.”

“But see how beautiful the place is,” said Tim, enthusiastically.

“What’s the good of flowers, sir? I want taters.”

“Well, we are going to grow some soon, and everything else too.”

“Oh! are we?” growled Sam. “Get on, will yer?”—this to the horse. “Strikes me as the captain’s going to find out something out here.”

“Of course he is—find a beautiful estate, and make a grand farm and garden.”

“Oh! is he?” growled Sam. “Strikes me no he won’t. Grow taters, will he? How does he know as they’ll grow?”

“Because it’s such beautiful soil, you can grow Indian corn, sugar, tobacco, grapes, anything.”

“Injun corn, eh? English corn’s good enough for me. Why, I grew some Injun corn once in the hothouse at home, and pretty stuff it was.”

“Why, it was very handsome, Sam,” said Rifle.

“Hansum? Tchah. What’s the good o’ being hansum if you ain’t useful?”

“Well,you’renot handsome, Sam,” said Norman, laughing.

“Who said I was, sir? Don’t want to be. That’s good enough for women folk. But I am useful. Come now.”

“So you are, Sam,” said Tim; “the jolliest, usefullest fellow that ever was.”

“Useful, Master ’Temus, but I don’t know about jolly. Who’s going to be jolly, transported for life out here like a convick? And as for that Injun corn, it was a great flop-leaved, striped thing as grew a ear with the stuff in it hard as pebbles on the sea-saw—seashore, I mean.”

“Sam’s got his tongue in a knot,” said Norman. “What are you eating, Sam?”

“Ain’t eating—chewing.”

“What are you chewing, then. India-rubber?”

“Tchah! Think I want to make a schoolboy’s pop-patch? Inger-rubber? No; bacco.”

“Ugh! nasty,” said Rifle. “Well, father says he shall grow tobacco.”

“’Tain’t to be done, Master Raffle,” said Sam, cracking his whip; nor grapes nayther. Yer can’t grow proper grapes without a glass-house.

“Not in a hot country like this?”

“No, sir. They’ll all come little teeny rubbidging things big as black currants, and no better.”

“Ah, you’ll see,” cried Norman.

“Oh yes, I shall see, sir. I ain’t been a gardener for five-and-twenty years without knowing which is the blade of a spade and which is the handle.”

“Of course you haven’t,” said Tim.

“Thankye, Master ’Temus. You always was a gentleman as understood me, and when we gets there—if ever we does get there, which I don’t believe, for I don’t think as there is any there, and master as good as owned to it hisself, no later nor yes’day, when he laughed at me, and said as he didn’t know yet where he was a-going—I says, if ever we does get there, and you wants to make yourself a garden, why, I’ll help yer.”

“Thankye, Sam, you shall.”

“Which I will, sir, and the other young gents, too, if they wants ’em and don’t scorn ’em, as they used to do.”

“Why, when did we scorn gardens?” said the other two boys in a breath.

“Allus, sir; allus, if you had to work in ’em. But ye never scorned my best apples and pears, Master Norman; and as for Master Raffle, the way he helped hisself to my strorbys, blackbuds, and throstles was nothing to ’em.”

“And will again, Sam, if you grow some,” cried Rifle.

“Don’t I tell yer it ain’t to be done, sir,” said Sam, giving his whip a vicious whish through the air, and making the horse toss its head, “Master grow taters? Tchah! not he. You see if they don’t all run away to tops and tater apples, and you can’t eat they.”

“Don’t be so prejudiced.”

“Me, sir—prejudiced?” cried the gardener indignantly. “Come, I do like that. Can’t yer see for yourselves, you young gents, as things won’t grow here proper?”

“No!” chorused the boys.

“Look at the flowers everywhere. Why, they’re lovely,” cried Norman.

“The flowers?” said Sam, contemptuously. “Weeds I call them. I ain’t seen a proper rose nor a love-lies-bleeding, nor a dahlia.”

“No, but there are plenty of other beautiful flowers growing wild.”

“Well, who wants wild-flowers, sir? Besides, I want to see a good wholesome cabbage or dish o’ peas.”

“Well, you must plant them first.”

“Plaint ’em? It won’t be no good, sir.”

“Well, look at the trees,” said Rifle.

“The trees? Ha! ha! ha!” cried Sam, with something he meant for a scornful laugh. “I have been looking at ’em. I don’t call them trees.”

“What do you call them, then?” said Norman.

“I d’know. I suppose they thinks they’re trees, if so be as they can think, but look at ’em. Who ever saw a tree grow with its leaves like that. Leaves ought to be flat, and hanging down. Them’s all set edgewise like butcher’s broom, and pretty stuff that is.”

“But they don’t all grow that way.”

“Oh yes, they do, sir. Trees can’t grow proper in such syle as this here. Look here, Master ’Temus, you always did care for your garden so long as I did all the weeding for you. You can speak fair. Now tell me this, What colour ought green trees to be?”

“Why, green, of course.”

“Werry well, then; just look at them leaves. Ye can’t call them green; they’re pink and laylock, and dirty, soap-suddy green.”

“Well, there then, look how beautifully the grass grows.”

“Grass? Ye–e–es; it’s growing pretty thick. Got used to it, I suppose.”

“So will our fruits and vegetables, Sam.”

“Nay, Master Norman, never. The syle won’t suit, sir, nor the country, nor the time, nor nothing.”

“Nonsense!”

“Nay, sir, ’tain’t nonsense. The whole place here’s topsy-turvy like. Why, it’s Christmas in about a fortnit’s time, and are you going to tell me this is Christmas weather? Why, it’s hot as Horgus.”

“Well, that’s because we’re so far south.”

“That we ain’t, sir. We’re just as far north as we are south, and you can’t get over that.”

“But it’s because we’ve crossed the line,” cried Rifle. “Don’t you remember I told you ever so long ago that we were just crossing the line?”

“Oh yes, I remember; but I knew you was gammoning me. I never see no line?”

“Of course not. It’s invisible.”

“What? Then you couldn’t cross it. If a thing’s inwisible, it’s because it ain’t there, and you can’t cross a thing as ain’t there.”

“Oh, you stubborn old mule!” cried Norman.

“If you forgets yourself like that, Master Norman, and treats me disrespeckful, calling me a mule, I shall tell the captain.”

“No, don’t; I’m not disrespectful, Sam,” cried Norman, anxiously. “Look here, about the line: don’t you know that there’s a north pole and a south pole?”

“Yes, I’ve heard so, sir; and as Sir John Franklin went away from our parts to find it, but he didn’t find it, because of course it wasn’t there, and he lost hisself instead.”

“But, look here; right round the middle of the earth there’s a line.”

“Don’t believe it, sir. No line couldn’t ever be made big enough to go round the world; and if it could, there ain’t nowheres to fasten it to.”

“But I mean an imaginary line that divides the world into two equal parts.”

Sam German chuckled.

“’Maginary line, sir. Of course it is.”

“And this line—Oh, I can’t explain it, Rifle, can you?”

“Course he can’t, sir, nor you nayther. ’Tain’t to be done. I knowed it were a ’maginary line when you said we war crossing it. But just you look here, sir: ’bout our garden and farm, over which I hope the master weant be disappointed, but Iknowhe will, for I asks you young gents this—serusly, mind, as gents as has had your good eddication and growed up scollards—How can a man make a garden in a country where everything is upside down?”

“But it isn’t upside down, Sam; it’s only different,” said Norman.

“That’s what I say, sir. Here we are in the middle o’ December, when, if the weather’s open, you may put in your first crop o’ broad Windsor beans, and you’ve got your ground all ridged to sweeten in the frost. And now, look at this. Why, it’s reg’lar harvest time and nothing else. I don’t wonder at the natives being black.”

“Look, look!” cried Tim suddenly, as he pointed away to where, on an open plain on the right, some birds were running rapidly.

“I see them! what are they?” cried Rifle, excitedly.

“Somebody’s chickens,” said Sam, contemptuously.

The boys looked at him and laughed.

“Sam German has got to grow used to the place,” said Norman. And then, as his father cantered up, he pointed off. “Do you see those, father?”

“What, those birds?” said the captain, eagerly. “Comebacks, sir. Guinea fowls. A bit wild,” said Sam, quietly.

“Guinea fowls?” replied the captain, sheltering his eyes. “No; birds twenty times as large, you might say. Why, boys, those must be emus.”

“Emus?” said Rifle. “Oh yes, I remember. Ostrichy-looking things. Are those what they are?”

“I do not think there’s a doubt about it,” replied the captain, after another look at the rapidly-retiring birds, which, after a long stare at the little train of carts and wains, literally made their legs twinkle like the spokes of a carriage wheel as they skimmed over the ground and out of sight.

“Yes,” said the captain again, as the last one disappeared. “Emus, the Australian ostriches. You boys ought to make notes of all the wild creatures you see.”

“We shan’t forget them, uncle,” said Tim. “Let’s see; there was the black, the snake—”

“Snake? Have you seen one?”

“Oh yes,” replied Tim.

“Thirty feet long, wasn’t it?” said Norman, giving his brother a look.

“Thirty? More likely three, uncle. I think it was nearer six though.”

“Did you kill it?”

“No; it wouldn’t stop, but crawled into the bush, and I don’t think I should have tried.”

“Well, be on your guard all of you. I suppose they are pretty plentiful, and some are very dangerous, but I believe they will all get out of our way if they can. What birds are those?”

A couple of dusky-green birds, with their feathers barred across like those of a hawk or cuckoo, with lines of a darker green, started up from some grass and flew off, their long, pointed tails and rounded heads and beaks showing plainly what they were.

“Ground parrots,” said the captain. “It’s curious, in a country to which one kind of bird is peculiar, what a variety one sees.”

“Is one kind of bird peculiar to this country, then?” asked Norman.

“Well, it is not fair to say peculiar, but one kind is abundant—the parrot—and there are several kinds here.”

“Are cockatoos?” said Rifle, eagerly.

“A cockatoo, you might say, is a parrot. The only difference seems to be that it has a crest.—But how much farther do you make it to the tree, German?”

“Miles,” said that worthy, rather gruffly. “Keeps getting farther off ’stead o’ nigher, sir.”

“The air is so wonderfully clear that distance is deceiving. Never mind, keep on slowly, so as not to distress the cattle and the horses with their heavier loads.”

“Needn’t ha’ said that, sir; this horse’ll go slow enough,” grumbled German. “I get thinking sometimes as he ain’t moving at all.”

The captain laughed, and as he rode a few yards in advance to carefully scan the country in front, a great deal of whispering and gesticulation went on between the gardener and Norman, while the other boys looked on full of mischievous glee, and egged the lad on.

“No, no, Master Norman; don’t, sir. It’d make him cross.”

“Yes, and he’d discharge you if I told him how you threw cold water on his plans.”

“I ain’t a bit afraid o’ that, sir,” said German, with a grin. “He can’t send me back. But I don’t want to rile him. I say, don’t tell him, sir.”

“But you laughed at everything he meant to do.”

“That I didn’t, sir. Precious little laughing I’ve done lately.”

“Well, then, say you’re sorry, and that you think father’s plans are splendid.”

“What, tell a couple o’ big thumpers like that?” whispered German, with virtuous indignation; “no, that I won’t. I wonder at you, Master Norman; that I do.”

“Oh, very well, then,” cried the boy. “Here goes. I say, father—” He ran forward, and as he joined the captain, taking hold of the mane of his horse, and walking on beside him, Sam’s face was so full of pitiable consternation that the other two boys laughed.

Sam turned upon them fiercely.

“Ah, it’s all very well for you two to grin,” he growled. “Think o’ what it’s going to be for me.”

“Serve you right for saying what you did,” cried Rifle, by way of consolation.

“Oh, Master Raffle, don’t you turn again me, too.—He’s too hard, ain’t he, Master ’Temus?”

“Not a bit,” cried the latter. “You grumble at everything. You’re a regular old Sourkrout, always grumbling.”

“Well! of all!” gasped the gardener, taking off his hat and wiping his brow.

“Look here,” cried Rifle; “father will be back here directly, so you had better go down on your knees and say you’re very sorry.”

“That I won’t,” said German, sturdily.

“And say you believe that the place is beautiful, and that you’ll make a better garden than we had in the country, and grow everything.”

“No; you won’t ketch me saying such a word as that, sir, for I don’t believe the place is any good at all. I say, see them chaps yonder?”

The boys looked in the direction pointed out by Sam with his whip, and Rifle exclaimed, “Blacks!”

“Yes; I saw one too.”

“I seed three or four dodging in and out among the trees,” said Sam.

Rifle ran on to join his father.

“Stop a moment, Master Raffle,” cried Sam, imploringly. “Oh, he’s gone! Go on too, Master ’Temus, and say that I didn’t mean it. The captain would be so put out if I found fault, after promising to stand by him through thick and thin.”

“Then will the land grow potatoes?” said Tim mischievously.

“If I don’t make it grow some as is twice as big as those at home, I’m a Dutchman. Oh dear! Here he comes.”

For the captain had turned his horse’s head and returned.

“Did you both see blacks?” he said anxiously.

“Yes, both of us, uncle, going from tree to tree along there toward the river.”

“How many did you see, Tim?”

“I think it was two, uncle; but I’m not sure, for they darted from bush to bush, and were in sight and out again directly.”

“And you, German?”

“Oh, I saw ’em first, sir, just as Master ’Temus says, running and dodging from bush to tree, so as to keep out of sight.”

“But how many did you see?”

Can’t say for certain, sir; but I don’t think there was more’n six.

The captain hesitated for a few moments, then, as if decided what to do, he spoke.

“Keep on, and make for the tree. Have you the gun handy?”

“Yes, sir, close to my elber.”

“Loaded.”

“That she is, sir. Double dose o’ big shot.”

“That’s right. But I don’t think there is any danger. The blacks will not meddle with us if we leave them alone. Look here, boys, we shall go armed for the sake of precaution, but I fervently hope that we shall not be called upon to fire upon the poor wretches. I daresay we shall encounter some of them, and if we do, you must keep them at a distance. Let them know that we are their masters, with firmness, but no cruelty.”

“Look, there they go again!” cried Norman, pointing to a patch of woodland, a quarter of a mile forward, to their left.

“Yes, I saw one dart in amongst the scrub,” said the captain. “There, keep on as if nothing had happened. It is not worth while to startle your mother and the girls. Now, each of you to his duty, and let the people see that we mean business, and not to take any notice of or to molest them.”

Each boy returned to his driving duties, and, on the plea of Mrs Bedford looking dull, the captain made the two girls ride close to the wagon, where she sat with Aunt Georgie, after which he went back to where Uncle Jack was steadily driving his flocks and herds, and warned him of what he had seen.

“Humph not pleasant,” said the captain’s brother. “Think they’re dangerous?”

“I think that the farther we get away from civilisation the less likely they are to interfere with us, so long as we do not molest them.”

“Not going to turn back, then?”

“What, because we have seen a few blacks? Hardly likely, is it?”

“No,” said the other; and, keeping a sharp look-out, they went on at their slow crawl for nearly three hours before the landmark was reached, all pretty well exhausted, for the heat had been growing intense. But the great tree was one of many standing out of quite a shady grove, and this was cautiously approached by the captain, who scouted forward in front to find it apparently quite free from any appearance of ever having been occupied, and here in a very short time the little caravan was arranged so that they had some protection in case of an attack; a fire was lit by German, while the boys turned the horses loose to graze; and water being near in a creek, the customary kettle was soon on to boil, and Aunt Georgie was unpacking the store of food, when German shouted, “Hi! quick! look out!” and there was a glimpse of a black figure passing rapidly among the trees.

Chapter Six.“Coo-ee! Coo-ee!”A run was made for the wagons, in whose shelter the ladies were placed, while with quite military precision, the result of the captain’s teaching, men and boys stood to their arms, so that an inimical tribe would have had to face six double guns, whose discharge had been so arranged, that two would always be loading, two firing, and the other two ready to pour in their shots in case of a rush.It was just at the edge of the grove at one end, where a glimpse of the black figure had been seen, and every eye was strained on the watch for the next appearance of danger.“I’m glad we were warned in time,” said the captain in a low voice. Then, after a painful pause, “Mind this; not a shot must be wasted. If we are to fire on the poor wretches, I should prefer for them to be at a distance, so that the charges of buck-shot may scatter and wound as many as possible, so as to give them a lesson. A close shot means death. No one fires till I give the word.”The moments grew into minutes, and as Norman looked back over his shoulder, he could see the anxious faces of the four ladies peering out at him from their shelter, but not a word was spoken.“Think they will get round to the back to try and drive off the bullocks?”“I was thinking of going to see, and— Look out!”For all at once there was a loud rustling of the bushes in front of them, as if something was making a rush, and the next moment a black figure bounded into the open space where the fire was burning.“Why, it’s old Shanter,” cried Rifle, bursting into a hearty laugh, in which the black joined, showing his white teeth with childish delight as he came close up, holding out something hung on the end of his spear, and carrying what appeared to be a bag made of bark in his left hand, in company with his boomerang, his war-club being stuck in the skin loin-cloth which was the only garment he wore.“White Mary—big white Mary,” he cried, while every eye scanned the trees behind him, but only for a moment or two, as all felt now that it was another false alarm.“What do you want?” said the captain rather angrily, for he was vexed at the black’s arrival.“Shanter want big white Mary,” cried the black; and he shook the objects on his spear, which proved to be a couple of opossum-like animals evidently freshly killed, and then held out his bark basket or bag.“What for?” cried Norman.“Good eat. Good, nice;” and then as, seeing there was no danger, the ladies came forward, the black went to Aunt Georgie, and held the bag to her. “Good, cook, fire,” he said. “Big white Mary. Little white Marys—” Then he stopped short looking at Mrs Bedford, as if puzzled what to call her. But a gleam of intelligence shot across his face, and he cried, “Other white Mary.”“He’s brought these for us to eat,” said Rifle.“Good eat,” said the black. “Big white Mary gib soff damper.”He nodded and smiled triumphantly from one to the other.“Put away the guns,” said the captain angrily. “Here, I cannot have this black crow haunting our camp. He’ll be bringing his tribe to pester us. What would you do, Jack?”“Don’t know yet,” said Uncle Jack. “What has he brought in his bag?”“Some kind of fruit,” said Rifle, who had joined his aunt in the inspection of the contents of the bag, as she thrust in her hand, and snatched it away again with a cry of disgust.“Good eat; good eat. Roastum fire,” said the black indignantly, and pouncing upon a couple of large, fat, white objects which the lady had dropped, he ran with them to the fire, and placed them close to the embers, afterwards going through a pantomime of watching them, but with gesticulations indicative of delight.“Why, they’re big fat grubs,” cried Norman.“Of course,” said the captain. “I have heard that they eat them. And these other things?”He turned over the two dead animals.“Good eat,” cried the black; and he rubbed the front of his person, and grinned as broadly as nature would allow him to spread his extensive mouth. Then, turning to Aunt Georgie, “Big white Mary gib soff damper?”The lady snorted loudly, and looked as if she would never give him another piece; but she drew her knife, and cut off a goodly-sized piece of a loaf, and held it out once more on the point of the knife.Shanter took the bread without hesitation.“No tick a knife in um,” he cried laughing. “Shanter no ’fraid.”Then taking his bread, he went off to a short distance, and sat down to eat it, while a meal was prepared for the travellers, who then settled down to rest till the heat of the day was past.But after a few minutes the boys were on their feet again, and ready to explore about the outskirts of the patch of woodland chosen for their resting-place; and on reaching the fire they found that the black had come close up, and seeing his grubs neglected, was busy roasting and eating them.He looked up, laughing good-humouredly, drew out three or four of the freshly-roasted delicacies from the embers with a bit of pointed stick, and held them up to the boys.“Good,” he said.“Well, you eat ’em,” replied Norman.The black needed no further invitation, but devoured the nicely-browned objects with great gusto, and smacked his lips.“I say,” cried Tim; “they don’t smell bad.”“Ugh!” ejaculated Rifle.“Seems so nasty,” said Norman, as he watched the black attentively, while the fellow carefully arranged some more of the delicacies among the embers. “They’re great fine caterpillars, that’s what they are.”“But they smell so good,” said Tim. “I’ve often eaten caterpillars in cauliflower.”“So have I,” said Norman; “but then we didn’t know it.”“And caterpillars lived on cauliflower, so that they couldn’t be nasty.”“I don’t see that these things could be any worse to eat than shrimps. Old Shanter here seems to like them.”“Old Shanter—O’ Shanter—old Tam o’ Shanter,” said Rifle, thoughtfully.“You’d better help him to eat them,” said Norman, tauntingly.“I’ll eat one if you will,” cried Tim. “They smell delicious.”“Very well. I will, if Rifle does too,” said Norman.“Then you won’t,” said that young gentleman. “Ugh! the nasty-looking things.”“So are oysters and mussels and cockles nasty-looking things,” cried Tim, who kept on watching the black eagerly. “I never saw anything so nasty-looking as an old eel. Ugh! I’d as soon eat a snake.”“Snakum good eat,” said Shanter, nodding.“You eat one, then,” cried Norman. “I’ll shoot the first I see.”“Look here,” cried Tim; “are either of you two going to taste one of these things?”“No,” cried both the others; “nor you. You daren’t eat one.”“Oh, daren’t I? You’ll see,” replied Tim. “Here, Shanter, give me that brown one.”“Good!” cried the black, raking out one looking of a delicate golden-brown, but it was too hot to hold for a time; and Tim held it on a pointed stick, looking at the morsel with his brow all puckered up.“Go on, Tim; take it like a pill,” cried Norman.“He won’t eat it: he’s afraid,” said Rifle.“It’s too hot yet,” replied Tim.“Yes, and always will be. Look out, Rifle; he’ll pitch it over his shoulder, and pretend he swallowed it.”“No, I shan’t,” said Tim, sniffing at his delicacy, while the black watched him too, and kept on saying it was good.“There, pitch it away,” said Norman, “and come on and have a walk. I’d as soon eat a worm.”By this time Tim had sniffed again and again, after which he very cautiously bit a tiny piece off one end, hesitated, with his face looking very peculiar before beginning to chew it, but bravely going on; and directly after his face lit up just as his cousins were about to explode with mirth, and he popped the rest of the larva into his mouth, and held out his hand to the black for another.“Oh! look at the nasty savage,” cried Rifle. “You’ll be ill and sick after it.”“Shall I?” cried Tim, as with his black face expanding with delight Shanter helped him to some more, and then held out one to Norman to taste.“I say,” cried the latter, watching his cousin curiously, as he was munching away fast; “they aren’t good, are they?”“No,” said Rifle; “he’s pretending, so as to cheat us into tasting the disgusting things.”“But, Tim, are they good?”“Horrid!” cried the boy, beginning on another. “Don’t you touch ’em.—Here, Shanter, more.”The black turned over those he had roasting, and went on picking out the brownest, as he squatted on his heels before the fire, and holding them out to Tim.“Well, of all the nasty creatures I ever did see,” said Norman, “you are the worst, Tim.”He looked at the grub he held with ineffable disgust, and then sniffed at it.“You’ll have to go to the stream with a tooth-brush, and clean your teeth and mouth with sand.”He sniffed again, and looked at Tim, who just then popped a golden-brown fellow into his mouth.“Ugh!” ejaculated Rifle, but he took the one the black held out to him on the stick point, smelt it cautiously, looking at Norman the while.Then both smelt together, looking in each others eyes, Tim feasting away steadily all the time.“I say,” said Norman; “they don’t smell so very bad.”“No; not so very,” replied Rifle.“I say: I will if you will.”“What, taste this?”“Yes.”“Get out. Think I’m going to turn savage because I’ve come to Australia? Don’t catch me feeding like a bird. You’ll want to eat snails next.”“Well,” said Norman, “Frenchmen eat snails.”“So they do frogs. Let ’em.”“But this thing smells so nice. I say, Rifle, bite it and try.”“Bite it yourself.”Norman did, in a slow, hesitating way, looked as if he were going to eject the morsel as the corners of his lips turned down, but bit a piece more instead, then popped the remaining half in his mouth, and smiled.“Horrid, ain’t they?” cried Tim, while, grinning with genuine pleasure, the black held out another to Norman, who took it directly, held it in first one hand, and then the other, blew upon it to cool it, and then began to eat.“Oh, they are horrid,” he cried. “Give us another, blacky.”“Look here,” cried Rifle, watching him curiously, to see if there was any deceit. “I’m not going to be beaten by you two. I say—no games—are they really nice?”“Find out,” cried Norman, stretching out his hand to take another from the pointed stick held out to him. But Rifle was too quick; he snatched it himself, and put it in his mouth directly.“Oh, murder! isn’t it hot,” he cried, drawing in his breath rapidly, then beginning to eat cautiously, with his features expanding. “Here, give us another, Tam o’ Shanter,” and he snatched the next.“Oh, come, I say, play fair,” cried Norman, making sure of the next. “Ain’t they good?”“’Licious,” said Rifle.—“Come on, cookie. More for me.”“All agone,” cried the black, springing up, slapping his legs, and indulging in a kind of triumphal dance round the fire to express his delight at having converted the three white boys, ending by making a tremendous bound in the air, and coming down on all fours. “Eat um all up. You go ’long—come along. Shanter find a more.”“No, not now, old chap,” said Norman. “Wait a bit.”“Had ’nuff? Good, good!” cried the black, holding his head on one side and peering at all in turn. “Good—corbon budgery!” (Very good!)“Yes, splendid. We’ll have a feast next time.”The black nodded, and picked up the two little animals which he had tossed aside, and rehung them upon his spear.He was evidently going to roast them, but Norman stopped him, and pointed out into the open.“Come along with us.”The black understood.“Yes; Shanter, come along. Chop sugar-bag.”“But, look here,” continued Norman, pointing in different directions. “Black fellow?”“Black fellow?” cried Shanter, seizing his nulla-nulla—the short club he carried with a round hard knob at the end. “Black fellow?”He dropped the dead game off his spear, dodged sharply about among the trees, and ended by hurling his weapon at a tree twenty yards away, in whose soft bark it stuck quivering, while the black rushed up, seized it, dragged it out, and then treating the trunk as an enemy, he attacked it, going through the pantomime of knocking it down, beating it on the head, jumping on the imaginary body, and then dragging it in triumph by the heels to where the boys stood laughing. Here he made believe to drop the legs of his dead enemy, and gave him a contemptuous kick. “No budgery. Shanter mumkull (kill) that black fellow.”“You seem to have found a very cheerful companion, boys,” said a voice behind them, and Uncle Jack came up with a grim smile on his countenance. “Is that the way that fellow means to kill us?”“No; that, was to show how he would kill all the black fellows who came near us.”“Mumkull black fellow,” cried Shanter, shaking his club threateningly. “No come along.”Seeing the group, the captain, who had been taking a look round, and been speaking to German, who was seated on the top of one of the loaded wagons keeping watch, came up to them.“That black fellow still here?” he said sternly.“Black fellow come along,” cried Shanter. “Where?”He rushed about among the bushes, dodged in and out through the trees, and went through a pantomime again of hunting for enemies, but soon came back.“No black fellow. All agone. Shanter kill mumkull.”“Very well,” said the captain; “now then, you go.”He pointed away back in the direction they had come, and, looking disappointed, the black went off toward where the river lay, and soon disappeared among the trees.“It will not do to encourage any of those fellows about our camp,” said the captain decisively; and they returned to where the ladies were seated in the shade, all looking rested and cheerful, and as if they would soon be used to their new life.A couple of hours later they were on their way again, with the captain and Uncle Jack in front scouting; and as they went on, the latter kept pointing out suitable-looking pieces of land which might be taken up for their settlement, but the captain always shook his head.“No, Jack,” he said; “they will not do.”“But the land is rich in the extreme.”“Yes; but all one dead level. Floods come sometimes, terrible floods which rise in a few hours, and we must have high ground on which to build our station, and to which our flocks and herds can flee.”“Right; I had not thought of that,” said Uncle Jack, and they journeyed on till night, making a grove of magnificent trees their resting-place, and then on again for two more days, their progress being of course slow in this roadless land. Everything about them was lovely, and the journey was glorious, becoming more and more like a pleasure excursion every day as they grew more used to the life. The girls were in robust health, the boys full of excitement, and not a single black was met.It was toward the close of the third day since Shanter had been dismissed, and they were still journeying on over the plain toward a range of mountains far away in the west, for there the captain was under the impression that he would find the tract of land he sought.As before, they had marked down a clump of trees for their resting-place, and this they reached, just as the golden sun was sinking in a bank of glorious clouds. Here all was peaceful; water was at hand, and the bread brought from the settlement being exhausted, the flour-tub was brought out of the wagon, and Aunt Georgie proceeded to make the cake to bake for their meal—the damper of the colonists—a good fire being soon started by the boys, while the men quickly rigged up the tent.This done, Sam German came up to the boys and took off his hat and scratched his head, looking from one to the other.“What’s the matter, Sam?” said Norman.“In trouble, sir.”“What is it?”“That there little ord’nary heifer as master brought out.”“What the red and white Alderney?” said Rifle.“No, sir; that there one like a tame rat.”“What the mouse colour?”“Yes, sir.”“Has she been eating some poisonous weed?”“I dunno, sir.”“Well; is she ill?” said Rifle.“Dunno that nayther, sir. She’s gone.”“Gone?” cried Tim. “Ida’s favourite?”“Yes, sir. Gone she is. I can’t mind o’ seeing her for a long time.”“Then you’ve lost her?” cried Norman angrily. “Now, don’t you be too hard on a man, Master Norman, because I ain’t the only one as druv the cattle. Mr Munday Bedford’s had a good many turns, and so has master, and you young gents druv ’em twiced—”“Hi! German,” shouted the captain just then. “I can’t see the mouse-coloured heifer;” and he came toward them with Ida, who had been looking for her pet. “Where is she?”“That’s what I was talking to the young gents about, sir. I can’t find her nowhere.”“Not find her?” cried the captain angrily. “I wouldn’t lose that animal for fifty pounds. She is so choice bred. Well, saddle a couple of horses. You and one of the boys must go back in search of her. She must have hung back somewhere to-day.”“Can’t call to mind seeing her to-day,” said the gardener.“Not seen her to-day?”“No, papa,” said Ida. “I looked for her this morning, but I did not see her, nor yet yesterday, nor the day before. I thought you had tied her up somewhere.”“Never mind, father; we’ll soon find her,” said Rifle. “She will not have strayed far from the track, will she, Sam?”“I can’t say, sir, now, as I’ve seen her for three days.”“Then you have neglected your duty, sir. You ought to have known every one of those beasts by heart, and missed one directly. It is disgraceful.”“Yes, sir, I’m afraid it is, but I never missed her, and I feel about sure now that I haven’t seen the poor beast since three days ago, when you came to me and said you wanted to drive for a couple of hours, and sent me to mind the leading cart. Next day Mr Munday Bedford, sir, was driving all day at the rear. I was very careful. Shall I start back at once?”The captain was silent for a few minutes. Then turning to Ida: “Do you think it is three days since you have seen the heifer?”“Yes, papa; I am almost sure it is,” she replied. “But have you been to try and find her?”“Yes, every morning; but I never for a moment imagined that she was gone right away.”“I won’t come back without her, sir,” said German eagerly.“It is of no use,” he replied sternly. “We cannot wait here, perhaps six days, for you to go back and return. No: we may find her later on when we are going back to the port. We can’t go now.”“Oh!” said Ida, piteously.“I am very sorry, my dear, but it would be madness to stop. We must go on.”“But couldn’t you get some one else to look for her?”“Whom shall I send?” asked the captain drily; and for the first time Ida realised how far they were from all society, and that by the same time next night they would be farther away still.“I forgot,” she said. “You know best.”“Let us go, father,” said Norman. “We boys will find her.”The captain waved his hand and turned away, evidently very much put out at the loss, for the mouse-coloured heifer was destined to be the chief ornament of the dairy out at the new farm.“I can’t help it, Miss Ida,” said German, deprecatingly. “I took all the care of the poor beasts I could. I get all the blame, because I found out she was gone, but I’ve been right in front driving the leading carts nearly all the time; haven’t I, Master ’Temus?”“Yes, Sam; but are you quite sure she has gone?”“Now, boys!” shouted the captain; “tea!”They were soon after seated near the fire, partaking of the evening meal. The last rays of the setting sun were dying out, and the sky was fast changing its orange and ruddy gold for a dark violet and warm grey. Very few words were spoken for some time, and the silence was almost painful, broken as it was only by the sharp crack of some burning stick. Every one glanced at the captain, who sat looking very stern, and Mrs Bedford made a sign to the boys not to say anything, lest he should be more annoyed.But Aunt Georgie was accustomed to speak whenever she pleased. To her the captain and Uncle Jack were only “the boys,” and Norman, Raphael, and Artemus “the children.” So, after seeing that everybody was well supplied with bread, damper, and cold boiled pork, she suddenly set down the tin mug to which she was trying to accustom herself, after being used to take her tea out of Worcester china, and exclaimed:“I’m downright vexed about that little cow, Edward. I seemed to know by instinct that she would give very little milk, but that it would be rich as cream, while the butter would be yellow as gold.”“And now she’s gone, and there’s an end of her,” said the captain shortly.“Such a pity! With her large soft eyes and short curly horns. Dear me, I am vexed.”“So am I,” said the captain; “and now say no more about her. It’s a misfortune, but we cannot stop to trouble ourselves about misfortunes.”“Humph!” ejaculated Aunt Georgie; and she went on sipping her tea for a time.“This is a very beautiful place, Edward,” she said suddenly. “I was saying so to Marian here. Why don’t you build a house and stop without going farther?”“For several reasons, aunt dear. But don’t be uneasy. I shall select quite as beautiful a place somewhere farther on, one that you and the girls will like better than this.”“I don’t know so much about that,” said the old lady. “I’m rather hard to please.—Oh!”“What’s the matter?” cried those nearest, for the old lady’s ejaculation was startling.“I’ve got it!” she cried. “Oh the artfulness of the thing, Edward, that man.”“What man?”“That black fellow. Depend upon it, he came here on purpose to steal our poor little cow, and he has driven it away somewhere to sell.”The captain started and looked excited.“Oh no, aunt,” cried Norman; “I don’t think he was a bad sort of chap.”“See how honest he was about the ‘tickpence,’” said Rifle.“I don’t think he was the sort of fellow to steal,” whispered Tim to Hester.“I believe that you have hit the right nail on the head, aunt,” said the captain; and the boys looked across at one another, thought of the grub feast, and felt hurt that the black, whose many childish ways had won a kind of liking for him, should be suspected of theft.“Well,” said the captain; “it will act as a warning. Bought wit is better than taught wit. No more black fellows anywhere near our camp. It is my own fault. I was warned about them. They have none of the instincts of a civilised man, and will kill or steal, or be guilty of any crime. So understand here, boys, don’t make friends with any more.”“Coo-ee!”The cry was far away, but it came clearly enough through the night air. Then again, “Coo-ee!”“The blacks,” cried the captain. “Quick! They see the fire, and think it’s the camp of friends. Away from it every one. Guns.”There was a quick movement. The ladies were got under shelter, and the men and boys took refuge in the shadow cast by the bushes, all feeling that a white in the full light of the fire would be an easy mark for a spear.The captain gave his orders briefly that there was to be no firing unless the blacks attacked them, and then they waited, Rifle suffering all the time as he crouched down in the scrub from an intense desire to answer each “coo-ee” as it came nearer and nearer, and now evidently from the track they had made in their journey that day.“It is not a large party,” whispered the captain to Artemus, who was close to him.“Only one, I think, uncle, for it’s the same man who keeps coo-eeing.”“Impossible to say yet,” was whispered back by his uncle. “Feel frightened?”“Well, I hardly know,” said the boy. “I don’t feel at all comfortable, and keep on wishing they’d gone.”“Naturally, my boy. I shall fire a shot or two over their heads when they come close in. That will scare them, I expect.”“Coo-ee!” came from the darkness before them, but they could see nothing now, for all near the ground and among the trees was almost black, though overhead the stars were coming out fast, and eight or ten feet above the bushes it was comparatively light.“Coo-ee!” came again from apparently a couple of hundred yards away, but not another sound.“Creeping up very cautiously. Suspicious because of the fire, and receiving no answer,” whispered the captain. “They thought it was the camp-fire of their tribe, but now feel sure it is a white man’s fire.”“Queer work this,” whispered Uncle Jack to Norman, who was with him on the other side of the track, the fire lying between them and the captain.“Yes, isn’t it, uncle?” was whispered back.“I’m beginning to ask myself why I’m here when I ought to be in London at my club.”“I’m glad you are here, uncle,” whispered Norman.“Can you see any of them, Tim? Your eyes are younger than mine.”“No, uncle,” came after a pause.“They must be crawling up, so as to hurl their spears from close by.”“Coo-ee!” came again from very near now. “Not suspicious, then?” said the captain, wonderingly.“I can see one now, uncle,” whispered Tim. “He’s high up.”“In a tree?”“No: moving; coming nearer; he’s on horseback.”“Nonsense! Black fellows don’t ride horses out in the scrub.”“But he is mounted, uncle. I can see plainly now.”“You are right,” said the captain, after a short pause.“Coo-ee!”This was only from a few yards away, and directly after a familiar voice shouted:“Why baal not call along coo-ee? Hi, white fellow! Hi, boy! Hi, big white Mary!”“Why, it’s Shanter,” cried Norman, excitedly. “Hi coo-ee!”“Coo-ee! coo-ee!” came back, and directly after a black face was seen above the bushes full in the glare of the fire, and then the body came into view, as the black’s steed paced very slowly and leisurely forward, and suddenly threw up its head and gave vent to a prolonged “moo,” which was answered by first one and then another of the cows and bullocks chewing their cud close to the camp.“Hooray!” shouted Rifle and Tim together. “Here’s a game. Look! he is riding on the little Alderney.”“Hey!” cried the black, drumming the heifer’s ribs with his bare legs, and giving her a crack near the tail with his spear to force her right up into the light, where he sat grinning in triumph with his spear now planted on the ground.“Yes, that’s the ord’nary heifer, sure enough,” grumbled German.“Shanter fine along this bull-cow fellow all ’lone. Yabber moo-moo hard!”He gave so excellent an imitation of the cow’s lowing that it was answered again by the others.“What, you found that heifer?” cried the captain.“Shanter fine bull-cow fellow all ’lone.”“Where? when?”The black pointed with his stick.“Bulla (two) day. Come along bull fellow slow, Big white Mary gib Shanter soff damper; no eat long time. Fine sugar-bag—kill poss? No; Shanter come along bull-cow fellow.”“I can’t make out his jargon,” said the captain, tetchily.“He says, father, he found the cow two days ago, and couldn’t stop to eat because he wanted to bring it along. He’s hungry and wants damper.”“Soff damper,” said the black, correctively.“Soft bread because he’s hungry. Isn’t that what you mean?” cried Norman.“Soff damper. Big white Mary gib damper. Marmi gib Shanter tickpence bring bull-cow fellow all along.”“That I will,” cried the captain. “Tut, tut! How I am obliged to eat my words. You’re a good fellow, Shanter,” he cried, clapping the black on the shoulder. “Go and have some damper.—Give him some meat too.”However badly Shanter expressed himself, he pretty well comprehended all that was said; and at the captain’s words he began to rub his front, leaped off the heifer, and followed the boys to the fire, round which the party gathered as soon as they found there was no danger, and where Aunt Georgie, in her satisfaction, cut the fellow so big a portion of bread and bacon, that his eyes glistened and his teeth gleamed, as he ran away with it amongst the bushes to lie down and eat.Half an hour later they found him fast asleep, and the first thing the boys saw the next morning, after a delightful night’s rest, was the shining black face of Shanter where he was squatting down on his heels, watching them and waiting for them to wake.Norman lay for some minutes, still half asleep, gazing at the black face, which seemed to be somehow connected with his dreams and with the soft sweet piping of the magpie crows, which were apparently practising their scales prior to joining in the morning outburst of song, while the great kingfishers—the laughing jackasses of the colonists—sat here and there uttering their discordant sounds, like coarse, harsh laughter, at the efforts of the crows.

A run was made for the wagons, in whose shelter the ladies were placed, while with quite military precision, the result of the captain’s teaching, men and boys stood to their arms, so that an inimical tribe would have had to face six double guns, whose discharge had been so arranged, that two would always be loading, two firing, and the other two ready to pour in their shots in case of a rush.

It was just at the edge of the grove at one end, where a glimpse of the black figure had been seen, and every eye was strained on the watch for the next appearance of danger.

“I’m glad we were warned in time,” said the captain in a low voice. Then, after a painful pause, “Mind this; not a shot must be wasted. If we are to fire on the poor wretches, I should prefer for them to be at a distance, so that the charges of buck-shot may scatter and wound as many as possible, so as to give them a lesson. A close shot means death. No one fires till I give the word.”

The moments grew into minutes, and as Norman looked back over his shoulder, he could see the anxious faces of the four ladies peering out at him from their shelter, but not a word was spoken.

“Think they will get round to the back to try and drive off the bullocks?”

“I was thinking of going to see, and— Look out!”

For all at once there was a loud rustling of the bushes in front of them, as if something was making a rush, and the next moment a black figure bounded into the open space where the fire was burning.

“Why, it’s old Shanter,” cried Rifle, bursting into a hearty laugh, in which the black joined, showing his white teeth with childish delight as he came close up, holding out something hung on the end of his spear, and carrying what appeared to be a bag made of bark in his left hand, in company with his boomerang, his war-club being stuck in the skin loin-cloth which was the only garment he wore.

“White Mary—big white Mary,” he cried, while every eye scanned the trees behind him, but only for a moment or two, as all felt now that it was another false alarm.

“What do you want?” said the captain rather angrily, for he was vexed at the black’s arrival.

“Shanter want big white Mary,” cried the black; and he shook the objects on his spear, which proved to be a couple of opossum-like animals evidently freshly killed, and then held out his bark basket or bag.

“What for?” cried Norman.

“Good eat. Good, nice;” and then as, seeing there was no danger, the ladies came forward, the black went to Aunt Georgie, and held the bag to her. “Good, cook, fire,” he said. “Big white Mary. Little white Marys—” Then he stopped short looking at Mrs Bedford, as if puzzled what to call her. But a gleam of intelligence shot across his face, and he cried, “Other white Mary.”

“He’s brought these for us to eat,” said Rifle.

“Good eat,” said the black. “Big white Mary gib soff damper.”

He nodded and smiled triumphantly from one to the other.

“Put away the guns,” said the captain angrily. “Here, I cannot have this black crow haunting our camp. He’ll be bringing his tribe to pester us. What would you do, Jack?”

“Don’t know yet,” said Uncle Jack. “What has he brought in his bag?”

“Some kind of fruit,” said Rifle, who had joined his aunt in the inspection of the contents of the bag, as she thrust in her hand, and snatched it away again with a cry of disgust.

“Good eat; good eat. Roastum fire,” said the black indignantly, and pouncing upon a couple of large, fat, white objects which the lady had dropped, he ran with them to the fire, and placed them close to the embers, afterwards going through a pantomime of watching them, but with gesticulations indicative of delight.

“Why, they’re big fat grubs,” cried Norman.

“Of course,” said the captain. “I have heard that they eat them. And these other things?”

He turned over the two dead animals.

“Good eat,” cried the black; and he rubbed the front of his person, and grinned as broadly as nature would allow him to spread his extensive mouth. Then, turning to Aunt Georgie, “Big white Mary gib soff damper?”

The lady snorted loudly, and looked as if she would never give him another piece; but she drew her knife, and cut off a goodly-sized piece of a loaf, and held it out once more on the point of the knife.

Shanter took the bread without hesitation.

“No tick a knife in um,” he cried laughing. “Shanter no ’fraid.”

Then taking his bread, he went off to a short distance, and sat down to eat it, while a meal was prepared for the travellers, who then settled down to rest till the heat of the day was past.

But after a few minutes the boys were on their feet again, and ready to explore about the outskirts of the patch of woodland chosen for their resting-place; and on reaching the fire they found that the black had come close up, and seeing his grubs neglected, was busy roasting and eating them.

He looked up, laughing good-humouredly, drew out three or four of the freshly-roasted delicacies from the embers with a bit of pointed stick, and held them up to the boys.

“Good,” he said.

“Well, you eat ’em,” replied Norman.

The black needed no further invitation, but devoured the nicely-browned objects with great gusto, and smacked his lips.

“I say,” cried Tim; “they don’t smell bad.”

“Ugh!” ejaculated Rifle.

“Seems so nasty,” said Norman, as he watched the black attentively, while the fellow carefully arranged some more of the delicacies among the embers. “They’re great fine caterpillars, that’s what they are.”

“But they smell so good,” said Tim. “I’ve often eaten caterpillars in cauliflower.”

“So have I,” said Norman; “but then we didn’t know it.”

“And caterpillars lived on cauliflower, so that they couldn’t be nasty.”

“I don’t see that these things could be any worse to eat than shrimps. Old Shanter here seems to like them.”

“Old Shanter—O’ Shanter—old Tam o’ Shanter,” said Rifle, thoughtfully.

“You’d better help him to eat them,” said Norman, tauntingly.

“I’ll eat one if you will,” cried Tim. “They smell delicious.”

“Very well. I will, if Rifle does too,” said Norman.

“Then you won’t,” said that young gentleman. “Ugh! the nasty-looking things.”

“So are oysters and mussels and cockles nasty-looking things,” cried Tim, who kept on watching the black eagerly. “I never saw anything so nasty-looking as an old eel. Ugh! I’d as soon eat a snake.”

“Snakum good eat,” said Shanter, nodding.

“You eat one, then,” cried Norman. “I’ll shoot the first I see.”

“Look here,” cried Tim; “are either of you two going to taste one of these things?”

“No,” cried both the others; “nor you. You daren’t eat one.”

“Oh, daren’t I? You’ll see,” replied Tim. “Here, Shanter, give me that brown one.”

“Good!” cried the black, raking out one looking of a delicate golden-brown, but it was too hot to hold for a time; and Tim held it on a pointed stick, looking at the morsel with his brow all puckered up.

“Go on, Tim; take it like a pill,” cried Norman.

“He won’t eat it: he’s afraid,” said Rifle.

“It’s too hot yet,” replied Tim.

“Yes, and always will be. Look out, Rifle; he’ll pitch it over his shoulder, and pretend he swallowed it.”

“No, I shan’t,” said Tim, sniffing at his delicacy, while the black watched him too, and kept on saying it was good.

“There, pitch it away,” said Norman, “and come on and have a walk. I’d as soon eat a worm.”

By this time Tim had sniffed again and again, after which he very cautiously bit a tiny piece off one end, hesitated, with his face looking very peculiar before beginning to chew it, but bravely going on; and directly after his face lit up just as his cousins were about to explode with mirth, and he popped the rest of the larva into his mouth, and held out his hand to the black for another.

“Oh! look at the nasty savage,” cried Rifle. “You’ll be ill and sick after it.”

“Shall I?” cried Tim, as with his black face expanding with delight Shanter helped him to some more, and then held out one to Norman to taste.

“I say,” cried the latter, watching his cousin curiously, as he was munching away fast; “they aren’t good, are they?”

“No,” said Rifle; “he’s pretending, so as to cheat us into tasting the disgusting things.”

“But, Tim, are they good?”

“Horrid!” cried the boy, beginning on another. “Don’t you touch ’em.—Here, Shanter, more.”

The black turned over those he had roasting, and went on picking out the brownest, as he squatted on his heels before the fire, and holding them out to Tim.

“Well, of all the nasty creatures I ever did see,” said Norman, “you are the worst, Tim.”

He looked at the grub he held with ineffable disgust, and then sniffed at it.

“You’ll have to go to the stream with a tooth-brush, and clean your teeth and mouth with sand.”

He sniffed again, and looked at Tim, who just then popped a golden-brown fellow into his mouth.

“Ugh!” ejaculated Rifle, but he took the one the black held out to him on the stick point, smelt it cautiously, looking at Norman the while.

Then both smelt together, looking in each others eyes, Tim feasting away steadily all the time.

“I say,” said Norman; “they don’t smell so very bad.”

“No; not so very,” replied Rifle.

“I say: I will if you will.”

“What, taste this?”

“Yes.”

“Get out. Think I’m going to turn savage because I’ve come to Australia? Don’t catch me feeding like a bird. You’ll want to eat snails next.”

“Well,” said Norman, “Frenchmen eat snails.”

“So they do frogs. Let ’em.”

“But this thing smells so nice. I say, Rifle, bite it and try.”

“Bite it yourself.”

Norman did, in a slow, hesitating way, looked as if he were going to eject the morsel as the corners of his lips turned down, but bit a piece more instead, then popped the remaining half in his mouth, and smiled.

“Horrid, ain’t they?” cried Tim, while, grinning with genuine pleasure, the black held out another to Norman, who took it directly, held it in first one hand, and then the other, blew upon it to cool it, and then began to eat.

“Oh, they are horrid,” he cried. “Give us another, blacky.”

“Look here,” cried Rifle, watching him curiously, to see if there was any deceit. “I’m not going to be beaten by you two. I say—no games—are they really nice?”

“Find out,” cried Norman, stretching out his hand to take another from the pointed stick held out to him. But Rifle was too quick; he snatched it himself, and put it in his mouth directly.

“Oh, murder! isn’t it hot,” he cried, drawing in his breath rapidly, then beginning to eat cautiously, with his features expanding. “Here, give us another, Tam o’ Shanter,” and he snatched the next.

“Oh, come, I say, play fair,” cried Norman, making sure of the next. “Ain’t they good?”

“’Licious,” said Rifle.—“Come on, cookie. More for me.”

“All agone,” cried the black, springing up, slapping his legs, and indulging in a kind of triumphal dance round the fire to express his delight at having converted the three white boys, ending by making a tremendous bound in the air, and coming down on all fours. “Eat um all up. You go ’long—come along. Shanter find a more.”

“No, not now, old chap,” said Norman. “Wait a bit.”

“Had ’nuff? Good, good!” cried the black, holding his head on one side and peering at all in turn. “Good—corbon budgery!” (Very good!)

“Yes, splendid. We’ll have a feast next time.”

The black nodded, and picked up the two little animals which he had tossed aside, and rehung them upon his spear.

He was evidently going to roast them, but Norman stopped him, and pointed out into the open.

“Come along with us.”

The black understood.

“Yes; Shanter, come along. Chop sugar-bag.”

“But, look here,” continued Norman, pointing in different directions. “Black fellow?”

“Black fellow?” cried Shanter, seizing his nulla-nulla—the short club he carried with a round hard knob at the end. “Black fellow?”

He dropped the dead game off his spear, dodged sharply about among the trees, and ended by hurling his weapon at a tree twenty yards away, in whose soft bark it stuck quivering, while the black rushed up, seized it, dragged it out, and then treating the trunk as an enemy, he attacked it, going through the pantomime of knocking it down, beating it on the head, jumping on the imaginary body, and then dragging it in triumph by the heels to where the boys stood laughing. Here he made believe to drop the legs of his dead enemy, and gave him a contemptuous kick. “No budgery. Shanter mumkull (kill) that black fellow.”

“You seem to have found a very cheerful companion, boys,” said a voice behind them, and Uncle Jack came up with a grim smile on his countenance. “Is that the way that fellow means to kill us?”

“No; that, was to show how he would kill all the black fellows who came near us.”

“Mumkull black fellow,” cried Shanter, shaking his club threateningly. “No come along.”

Seeing the group, the captain, who had been taking a look round, and been speaking to German, who was seated on the top of one of the loaded wagons keeping watch, came up to them.

“That black fellow still here?” he said sternly.

“Black fellow come along,” cried Shanter. “Where?”

He rushed about among the bushes, dodged in and out through the trees, and went through a pantomime again of hunting for enemies, but soon came back.

“No black fellow. All agone. Shanter kill mumkull.”

“Very well,” said the captain; “now then, you go.”

He pointed away back in the direction they had come, and, looking disappointed, the black went off toward where the river lay, and soon disappeared among the trees.

“It will not do to encourage any of those fellows about our camp,” said the captain decisively; and they returned to where the ladies were seated in the shade, all looking rested and cheerful, and as if they would soon be used to their new life.

A couple of hours later they were on their way again, with the captain and Uncle Jack in front scouting; and as they went on, the latter kept pointing out suitable-looking pieces of land which might be taken up for their settlement, but the captain always shook his head.

“No, Jack,” he said; “they will not do.”

“But the land is rich in the extreme.”

“Yes; but all one dead level. Floods come sometimes, terrible floods which rise in a few hours, and we must have high ground on which to build our station, and to which our flocks and herds can flee.”

“Right; I had not thought of that,” said Uncle Jack, and they journeyed on till night, making a grove of magnificent trees their resting-place, and then on again for two more days, their progress being of course slow in this roadless land. Everything about them was lovely, and the journey was glorious, becoming more and more like a pleasure excursion every day as they grew more used to the life. The girls were in robust health, the boys full of excitement, and not a single black was met.

It was toward the close of the third day since Shanter had been dismissed, and they were still journeying on over the plain toward a range of mountains far away in the west, for there the captain was under the impression that he would find the tract of land he sought.

As before, they had marked down a clump of trees for their resting-place, and this they reached, just as the golden sun was sinking in a bank of glorious clouds. Here all was peaceful; water was at hand, and the bread brought from the settlement being exhausted, the flour-tub was brought out of the wagon, and Aunt Georgie proceeded to make the cake to bake for their meal—the damper of the colonists—a good fire being soon started by the boys, while the men quickly rigged up the tent.

This done, Sam German came up to the boys and took off his hat and scratched his head, looking from one to the other.

“What’s the matter, Sam?” said Norman.

“In trouble, sir.”

“What is it?”

“That there little ord’nary heifer as master brought out.”

“What the red and white Alderney?” said Rifle.

“No, sir; that there one like a tame rat.”

“What the mouse colour?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Has she been eating some poisonous weed?”

“I dunno, sir.”

“Well; is she ill?” said Rifle.

“Dunno that nayther, sir. She’s gone.”

“Gone?” cried Tim. “Ida’s favourite?”

“Yes, sir. Gone she is. I can’t mind o’ seeing her for a long time.”

“Then you’ve lost her?” cried Norman angrily. “Now, don’t you be too hard on a man, Master Norman, because I ain’t the only one as druv the cattle. Mr Munday Bedford’s had a good many turns, and so has master, and you young gents druv ’em twiced—”

“Hi! German,” shouted the captain just then. “I can’t see the mouse-coloured heifer;” and he came toward them with Ida, who had been looking for her pet. “Where is she?”

“That’s what I was talking to the young gents about, sir. I can’t find her nowhere.”

“Not find her?” cried the captain angrily. “I wouldn’t lose that animal for fifty pounds. She is so choice bred. Well, saddle a couple of horses. You and one of the boys must go back in search of her. She must have hung back somewhere to-day.”

“Can’t call to mind seeing her to-day,” said the gardener.

“Not seen her to-day?”

“No, papa,” said Ida. “I looked for her this morning, but I did not see her, nor yet yesterday, nor the day before. I thought you had tied her up somewhere.”

“Never mind, father; we’ll soon find her,” said Rifle. “She will not have strayed far from the track, will she, Sam?”

“I can’t say, sir, now, as I’ve seen her for three days.”

“Then you have neglected your duty, sir. You ought to have known every one of those beasts by heart, and missed one directly. It is disgraceful.”

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid it is, but I never missed her, and I feel about sure now that I haven’t seen the poor beast since three days ago, when you came to me and said you wanted to drive for a couple of hours, and sent me to mind the leading cart. Next day Mr Munday Bedford, sir, was driving all day at the rear. I was very careful. Shall I start back at once?”

The captain was silent for a few minutes. Then turning to Ida: “Do you think it is three days since you have seen the heifer?”

“Yes, papa; I am almost sure it is,” she replied. “But have you been to try and find her?”

“Yes, every morning; but I never for a moment imagined that she was gone right away.”

“I won’t come back without her, sir,” said German eagerly.

“It is of no use,” he replied sternly. “We cannot wait here, perhaps six days, for you to go back and return. No: we may find her later on when we are going back to the port. We can’t go now.”

“Oh!” said Ida, piteously.

“I am very sorry, my dear, but it would be madness to stop. We must go on.”

“But couldn’t you get some one else to look for her?”

“Whom shall I send?” asked the captain drily; and for the first time Ida realised how far they were from all society, and that by the same time next night they would be farther away still.

“I forgot,” she said. “You know best.”

“Let us go, father,” said Norman. “We boys will find her.”

The captain waved his hand and turned away, evidently very much put out at the loss, for the mouse-coloured heifer was destined to be the chief ornament of the dairy out at the new farm.

“I can’t help it, Miss Ida,” said German, deprecatingly. “I took all the care of the poor beasts I could. I get all the blame, because I found out she was gone, but I’ve been right in front driving the leading carts nearly all the time; haven’t I, Master ’Temus?”

“Yes, Sam; but are you quite sure she has gone?”

“Now, boys!” shouted the captain; “tea!”

They were soon after seated near the fire, partaking of the evening meal. The last rays of the setting sun were dying out, and the sky was fast changing its orange and ruddy gold for a dark violet and warm grey. Very few words were spoken for some time, and the silence was almost painful, broken as it was only by the sharp crack of some burning stick. Every one glanced at the captain, who sat looking very stern, and Mrs Bedford made a sign to the boys not to say anything, lest he should be more annoyed.

But Aunt Georgie was accustomed to speak whenever she pleased. To her the captain and Uncle Jack were only “the boys,” and Norman, Raphael, and Artemus “the children.” So, after seeing that everybody was well supplied with bread, damper, and cold boiled pork, she suddenly set down the tin mug to which she was trying to accustom herself, after being used to take her tea out of Worcester china, and exclaimed:

“I’m downright vexed about that little cow, Edward. I seemed to know by instinct that she would give very little milk, but that it would be rich as cream, while the butter would be yellow as gold.”

“And now she’s gone, and there’s an end of her,” said the captain shortly.

“Such a pity! With her large soft eyes and short curly horns. Dear me, I am vexed.”

“So am I,” said the captain; “and now say no more about her. It’s a misfortune, but we cannot stop to trouble ourselves about misfortunes.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Aunt Georgie; and she went on sipping her tea for a time.

“This is a very beautiful place, Edward,” she said suddenly. “I was saying so to Marian here. Why don’t you build a house and stop without going farther?”

“For several reasons, aunt dear. But don’t be uneasy. I shall select quite as beautiful a place somewhere farther on, one that you and the girls will like better than this.”

“I don’t know so much about that,” said the old lady. “I’m rather hard to please.—Oh!”

“What’s the matter?” cried those nearest, for the old lady’s ejaculation was startling.

“I’ve got it!” she cried. “Oh the artfulness of the thing, Edward, that man.”

“What man?”

“That black fellow. Depend upon it, he came here on purpose to steal our poor little cow, and he has driven it away somewhere to sell.”

The captain started and looked excited.

“Oh no, aunt,” cried Norman; “I don’t think he was a bad sort of chap.”

“See how honest he was about the ‘tickpence,’” said Rifle.

“I don’t think he was the sort of fellow to steal,” whispered Tim to Hester.

“I believe that you have hit the right nail on the head, aunt,” said the captain; and the boys looked across at one another, thought of the grub feast, and felt hurt that the black, whose many childish ways had won a kind of liking for him, should be suspected of theft.

“Well,” said the captain; “it will act as a warning. Bought wit is better than taught wit. No more black fellows anywhere near our camp. It is my own fault. I was warned about them. They have none of the instincts of a civilised man, and will kill or steal, or be guilty of any crime. So understand here, boys, don’t make friends with any more.”

“Coo-ee!”

The cry was far away, but it came clearly enough through the night air. Then again, “Coo-ee!”

“The blacks,” cried the captain. “Quick! They see the fire, and think it’s the camp of friends. Away from it every one. Guns.”

There was a quick movement. The ladies were got under shelter, and the men and boys took refuge in the shadow cast by the bushes, all feeling that a white in the full light of the fire would be an easy mark for a spear.

The captain gave his orders briefly that there was to be no firing unless the blacks attacked them, and then they waited, Rifle suffering all the time as he crouched down in the scrub from an intense desire to answer each “coo-ee” as it came nearer and nearer, and now evidently from the track they had made in their journey that day.

“It is not a large party,” whispered the captain to Artemus, who was close to him.

“Only one, I think, uncle, for it’s the same man who keeps coo-eeing.”

“Impossible to say yet,” was whispered back by his uncle. “Feel frightened?”

“Well, I hardly know,” said the boy. “I don’t feel at all comfortable, and keep on wishing they’d gone.”

“Naturally, my boy. I shall fire a shot or two over their heads when they come close in. That will scare them, I expect.”

“Coo-ee!” came from the darkness before them, but they could see nothing now, for all near the ground and among the trees was almost black, though overhead the stars were coming out fast, and eight or ten feet above the bushes it was comparatively light.

“Coo-ee!” came again from apparently a couple of hundred yards away, but not another sound.

“Creeping up very cautiously. Suspicious because of the fire, and receiving no answer,” whispered the captain. “They thought it was the camp-fire of their tribe, but now feel sure it is a white man’s fire.”

“Queer work this,” whispered Uncle Jack to Norman, who was with him on the other side of the track, the fire lying between them and the captain.

“Yes, isn’t it, uncle?” was whispered back.

“I’m beginning to ask myself why I’m here when I ought to be in London at my club.”

“I’m glad you are here, uncle,” whispered Norman.

“Can you see any of them, Tim? Your eyes are younger than mine.”

“No, uncle,” came after a pause.

“They must be crawling up, so as to hurl their spears from close by.”

“Coo-ee!” came again from very near now. “Not suspicious, then?” said the captain, wonderingly.

“I can see one now, uncle,” whispered Tim. “He’s high up.”

“In a tree?”

“No: moving; coming nearer; he’s on horseback.”

“Nonsense! Black fellows don’t ride horses out in the scrub.”

“But he is mounted, uncle. I can see plainly now.”

“You are right,” said the captain, after a short pause.

“Coo-ee!”

This was only from a few yards away, and directly after a familiar voice shouted:

“Why baal not call along coo-ee? Hi, white fellow! Hi, boy! Hi, big white Mary!”

“Why, it’s Shanter,” cried Norman, excitedly. “Hi coo-ee!”

“Coo-ee! coo-ee!” came back, and directly after a black face was seen above the bushes full in the glare of the fire, and then the body came into view, as the black’s steed paced very slowly and leisurely forward, and suddenly threw up its head and gave vent to a prolonged “moo,” which was answered by first one and then another of the cows and bullocks chewing their cud close to the camp.

“Hooray!” shouted Rifle and Tim together. “Here’s a game. Look! he is riding on the little Alderney.”

“Hey!” cried the black, drumming the heifer’s ribs with his bare legs, and giving her a crack near the tail with his spear to force her right up into the light, where he sat grinning in triumph with his spear now planted on the ground.

“Yes, that’s the ord’nary heifer, sure enough,” grumbled German.

“Shanter fine along this bull-cow fellow all ’lone. Yabber moo-moo hard!”

He gave so excellent an imitation of the cow’s lowing that it was answered again by the others.

“What, you found that heifer?” cried the captain.

“Shanter fine bull-cow fellow all ’lone.”

“Where? when?”

The black pointed with his stick.

“Bulla (two) day. Come along bull fellow slow, Big white Mary gib Shanter soff damper; no eat long time. Fine sugar-bag—kill poss? No; Shanter come along bull-cow fellow.”

“I can’t make out his jargon,” said the captain, tetchily.

“He says, father, he found the cow two days ago, and couldn’t stop to eat because he wanted to bring it along. He’s hungry and wants damper.”

“Soff damper,” said the black, correctively.

“Soft bread because he’s hungry. Isn’t that what you mean?” cried Norman.

“Soff damper. Big white Mary gib damper. Marmi gib Shanter tickpence bring bull-cow fellow all along.”

“That I will,” cried the captain. “Tut, tut! How I am obliged to eat my words. You’re a good fellow, Shanter,” he cried, clapping the black on the shoulder. “Go and have some damper.—Give him some meat too.”

However badly Shanter expressed himself, he pretty well comprehended all that was said; and at the captain’s words he began to rub his front, leaped off the heifer, and followed the boys to the fire, round which the party gathered as soon as they found there was no danger, and where Aunt Georgie, in her satisfaction, cut the fellow so big a portion of bread and bacon, that his eyes glistened and his teeth gleamed, as he ran away with it amongst the bushes to lie down and eat.

Half an hour later they found him fast asleep, and the first thing the boys saw the next morning, after a delightful night’s rest, was the shining black face of Shanter where he was squatting down on his heels, watching them and waiting for them to wake.

Norman lay for some minutes, still half asleep, gazing at the black face, which seemed to be somehow connected with his dreams and with the soft sweet piping of the magpie crows, which were apparently practising their scales prior to joining in the morning outburst of song, while the great kingfishers—the laughing jackasses of the colonists—sat here and there uttering their discordant sounds, like coarse, harsh laughter, at the efforts of the crows.

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