Chapter III: Part 3

By a happy thought of Jimmy the hunger difficulty was overcome. The boys had picked up a fine lot of oranges, as well as some dozens of plantains, in the back-water. After they had eaten a quantity they stowed the balance away in the bow locker, and completely forgot them in the exciting events which followed. Jimmy suddenly remembered the fruit. Selecting a fine specimen, he quickly peeled and quartered it. Then, seeding some of the quarters, he put one in baby's fist, guiding the same to her mouth. The sweet, juicy orange was simply nectar to the famished child. It sucked as only a hunger-bitten baby can. The boys were highly amused at the way in which she mouthed the skin, and the difficulty Jimmy encountered in unlocking her little fingers order to substitute a full for an empty quarter. It indeed a happy solution; an admirable recipe for tears and squalls. As long as baby had an orange quarter it was peaceful. After a little while Jimmy took the little one on his knee, giving furtive glances towards the others as he did so. The boys, however, under all the sad circumstances forebore to chaff. Substituting, at length, a ripe plantain for an orange section, the babe was taken to the seventh heaven of gastronomic bliss.

And the while above them in the she-oak, whose thread-like leaves make mournful music to the wind, lies the mother who has sacrificed her life for that of the babe. There is no doubt of this. The poor woman must have been exposed to the winds and waves long before she reached the tree refuge. How she got there was never known. She had almost denuded herself to protect the babe. Little wonder that at some moment of that awful night vigil the vital spark should have quitted its terror-haunted tenement.

*CHAPTER X*

*THE RETURN*

"See the conquering hero comes!
Sound the trumpet, beat the drums."

After baby's hunger was satisfied the boys' attention was given to their immediate surroundings.

"What are we goin' to do about _her_?" asked Tom, pointing upward as he spoke.

"It's simply impossible for us to do anything. If she were alive we would take any risk. But as things are it is beyond our power to shift the body, it is jammed so tightly. The only thing left for us to do is to inform the police when we get to the other side."

"What'll we do now, Joe?"

"Get back to our former anchorage first. River's goin' down pretty fast, I reckon; and it'll be all dry about here before morning if it recedes at the same rate. The current is not nearly so strong as it was when we came over, and that will make it easier for us to get out of the clump. There's no need for us to go back by the same course. We can take a slant across to that red gum, and when we're there we're out of the stream."

The exit from the cluster of trees was very well managed, and in a few minutes from the time of casting adrift from the she-oak the boat was out of the clump and across the narrow stream into the slack water. They continued on to their former camping place, and hitched on to the tree.

This gallant attempt at rescue, though not accomplishing what was in the minds of the boys, was not altogether a failure. Indeed, it was the reverse of that. Though but little time is consumed in reading the account of this episode, it covered a goodly portion of the day. By the time the boys had made fast to their former anchorage, the slanting sun-rays proclaimed the advance of eventide.

"Let's have a confab, chaps, on what's best to be done. I don't s'pose any of us is wanting to stick here all night. What d'you say, Tom?"

"I say pull over to the hillock on the other side of the slack. See! the water's retreated from the high ground. We could camp there, I dare say, easy enough, and get home early to-morrow morning. I don't think we ought to tackle the river to-night. I bet you it'd be a measly, tricky trip. So I vote to do as I said."

"What d'you say, Billy?"

"I say same as Tom. Plenty dry land over there. Might get matches in that house behind the hill. I'll pull 'possum outa spout, an' we'll roast 'im an' make bully feed."

Billy, as indeed were all the boys, was beginning to feel desperately hungry.

"What have you got to say, Jimmy?"

Jimmy Flynn, who had been gazing wistfully across the flood waters, turned round slowly as Joe put the question to him. "Oh, Joe! can't we get home to-night? The river isn't so bad as when we crost up at the Bend. There's not nearly so much timber goin' down now. 'Sides, it's easier crossing down here to what it was above. I give a straight vote for--home!"

"Bravo! Well done, Jimmy! You're a brick. It's just the word, an' we're the coves to do it. It's my vote too, my hearties. We've half an hour of sun left: say an hour before it's right dark. I reckon 'twill be about two mile an' a half from here to Tareela. It won't be near as difficult as up by the Bend. Yes, we'll do it, boys; an' the sooner the better. Then there's the blessed little baby, you know! Some of us would have to mind her in the night, an' what about your beauty sleep then? I reckon the kiddie would be too much for the whole boilin' of us. And I've a notion that too much fruit'll be worse for her than none at all. S'pose she gets the jim-jams! And, lastly, as father says when he's preaching, what about the old folks at home?"

There was no need to say anything further.

"I'm game, for one," said Tom.

"I'm game, for two," said Billy.

"I'm game, for three," said Jimmy.

"Put me down for the fourth," said Joe.

"Now, boys, that's settled. We'll tackle the river straight away; for better or for worse, as dad says in the marriage ceremony. And I say, chaps, let's ask God to help us."

Though there was no audible form of expression, the spirit of prayer was in each boy's heart. He who sat above the floods heard and answered.

"Billy and Jimmy are to take the oars. We want the best men at the paddles. Now then, Tom, let the painter go an' keep the pole handy for driftwood."

The painter is slipped, and the boat's head is turned riverwards. She is soon out of the slack, and feels the full force of the flood. The starting-point was nearly a mile and a half above the township, so that there was a liberal margin for drift. The river was quite a mile wide. There was still a quantity of driftwood, and many difficulties beset them which made delicate steering and skilful management incumbent. When they had travelled about half the distance, Tom, who was eagerly conning the other shore, gave a shout, pointing at the same time to a headland above the village.

"Some 'un's waving! See 'em, over there!"

Mrs. Blain was the first to spy the advancing boat. The boys' mothers had been trapsing the lagoon shore and river-side for hours, in a semi-demented manner. The minister and the others had returned after a fruitless errand. The police, with a strong crew in the Government whale-boat, were scouring the shores in the vicinity of the Bend, and had not returned. The disappearance of the boys had seemed most mysterious until the break-away was discovered. Then the accident as it really happened was immediately conjectured. The profoundest sensation was created in the village, for the boys were dearly loved by all.

The feelings of the poor parents may be but faintly imagined. Great was the relief, therefore, when Mrs. Blain, whose eyes were devouring the flood waters in her frantic eagerness to discover some hopeful sign, suddenly screamed out in an alarming manner, gesticulating wildly as she did so, and acting to outward seeming in a frenzied fashion. Other searchers, scattered along the river-bank, hearing the piercing cry, and seeing the untoward gestures of the joy-possessed woman, came running towards her, thinking for the moment that she had lost her reason.

"See, see!" screamed she, pointing to a distant spot on the waters. "They're saved, they're saved! God be praised, our lovely boys are returning all safe; yes, one, two, three, four--the darlings."

Looking in the direction indicated, the neighbours saw, far out on the wild, impetuous, wreckage-strewn waters, a tiny boat with four slight figures running the blockade; threading their course between the thousand objects which intervene and threaten destruction.

The good news is now shouted from end to end of the township, and in a few minutes the river-bank is lined with exultant and yet anxious spectators. For the joy of the discovery of the lads is almost quenched at times by sights of the perils of the passage.

The mothers of Joe, Tom, and Jimmy are grouped together, wrought up to such a pitch of anxiety as to be well-nigh silent. They noted every danger and counted every oar-stroke. The gallant rowers lifted their blades in the twilight, as the last rays sparkled on the flowing waters. Beyond a landward look the boys had no time to bestow upon the excited spectators. Eye and mind, in close conjunction, are continuously engaged in evading danger and maintaining the boat's position.

"We'll make the point," exclaimed Joe, after an interval of silence. "We'll make the point, all right. Keep her steady, lads," turning the boat's nose, as he spoke, well up stream, at an angle inclining shorewards. "Now, pull like a prize crew for five minutes an' we're there. We're out of the driftwood as it is."

The rowers needed no further stimulus. They bent to the oars like old salts.

"Capital! just the stroke! Keep it up! Hear 'em cheering!"

The cheering spurred on the boys, and in less than five minutes they landed in the midst of a wildly excited and loud-cheering crowd. And wasn't there a hugging and kissing, and hand-shaking and back-slapping!

Just as the women were up to their necks in it, to use a homely figure, some one happened to glance at the boat. The glance extorted a scream.

"A baby, a darling baby! See, see, see! a little baby in the boat!"

A moment's dazed surprise, and every one crowded to the boat. Joe, who had not moved far from the boat's nose, and who only waited for the violence of the welcome to abate a little that he might call attention to the precious freight, waved the jostling crowd back, and in a few words related the incident of the rescue.

A great wave of feeling passed over the crowd as he spoke. The women wept copiously as the scene was conjured us, and strong men unconsciously shed briny tears as the story reached its culminating point of the discovery of the helpless and orphaned babe, bound to the dead breast of her who had thus made the great sacrifice of motherhood.

While Joe was reciting the story of the rescue, Jimmy Flynn held on to his mother's arm and whispered excitedly into her ear. The narrator had hardly finished ere Mrs. Flynn stepped forward to his side and faced the crowd. Ordinarily, this woman was undemonstrative and shy. Now she is unconscious of any timidity. The moment was an inspired one; to produce which Jimmy's whisperings had played an important part.

"Mr. Blain, and friends all, give me the darling baby. It'll take the place of the one God took from me last month. The clothes'll fit----"

The bereft mother could get no further. Any woman who has lost a child will tell you why.

"My friends, you all know Mrs. Flynn, as I know her. If it were a matter of choosing between you, I should still say that no one in the town is better fitted for the sacred duty of mothering this little flood-driven stranger. None of us can say to whom the child belongs; whether there is a father or near relations. But until it is claimed by those who can prove the right to do so, the very best of all possible arrangements, and one I regard as providential, will be for Mrs. Flynn to take this baby to nourish and cherish it."

The murmurs of assent were unanimous. Joe, without any more delay, stepped into the boat, and, picking up the child--which all this time looked round, wondering in its baby way at this ado--put the little one into its foster-mother's hands.

The river baby was evidently delighted beyond measure to receive a warm motherly embrace; judging, at any rate, by the way it gooed and crowed.

As soon as she could get through the admiring throng, Mrs. Flynn hastened home, and before long the baby, washed and dressed anew, was filling its "little Mary" with sweet new milk.

*CHAPTER XI*

*THE BREAKING-UP*

"With trumping horn and juvenile huzzas,
At going home to spend their Christmas days,
And changing Learning's pains for Pleasure's toys."
TOM HOOD.

Out through the gateway of the National School, on one sultry afternoon in late December, tumbled a pack of noisy boys and scarcely less noisy girls; the while they kicked up a fine dust, yelling in an uproarious fashion. Were you, a stranger, to ask the cause of this demonstration of voice and capering limbs, you would be answered by a score of voices in rousing chorus--

"Hip, hip, hurray for Christmas Day!
School's broke up, hip, hip, hurray!"

However strongly one might be disposed to question the quality of the couplet as he listened to the trumpetings of this cluster of children, he would cheerfully admit the gusto of the proceedings as the juveniles issued pell-mell.

If truth be told, the master was no less pleased than the youngsters when the actual moment of dismissal came. Like all schools, this particular one was infected for weeks previously with a spirit of restlessness, which made it well-nigh impossible to secure the undivided attention of the children. There was no disposition for serious study, and Simpson, who was a wise teacher, attempted no coercive measures. Natural history was presented in its most attractive forms. Grammar and arithmetic were for the most part tabooed, and instead of puzzling refractory brains with arithmetical and grammatical abstractions, the children lived in the jungles of India, crossed Sahara, took a trip to the Booties, wandered into Arctic circles, or, what was equally exciting, made transcontinental trips in company with Sturt, Burke and Wills, Leichhardt, and other great Australian explorers.

Many were the schemes unfolded and plans laid by the boys during the last schooldays. The holidays would not be an undiluted playtime to any one of the boys. Many of the lads would work hard on the farms; their parents, bearing in mind the old adage of Satan and idle hands, will take good care to anticipate the sinister designs of that interfering old gentleman. The wood pile stood as an unfailing object of labour. Sheds were awaiting the whitewash brush. Fowl houses loomed expectant. Fences demanded attention. These, and many other duties about house and farm, were put off till the "holidays."

There were other anticipations, however, far more highly coloured and bewitching than these. Charm the schoolboy never so wisely, his thoughts, with a dogged obstinacy or triumphant breakaway, return to the delectable things of the groves, streams, mountains, and plains. Horse, gun, dog, rod, bat, duck, quail, pigeon; perch, bream, mullet; kangaroo, wallaby, dingo, brumby, scrubber! These are the sources and instruments of pleasure; things that people the imagination, and make an earthly paradise.

Sobering down, after an unusual indulgence in larks to mark the auspicious event, Joe, Tom, and Sandy, separating from the others, sauntered to the slip-rail entrance of the school horse-paddock. Joe and Tom, at the express request of Mrs. M'Intyre, are to spend the holidays with Sandy on the station. Here all kinds of fun and alluring adventure are promised the lads. How well that promise was redeemed let the sequel bear witness.

"Now then, you fellows, don't forget that you are to be at Bullaroi on the morning of Christmas Eve without fail."

"I say, ole boss, what does eve mean?"

"Eve! Why, a--er--short for evening, I s'pose. What makes you ask, Joe?"

"Well, if Christmas Eve is evening, how can we be there in the mornin'?--you savee?"

"You're mighty smart, Blain, but did you ever know an evening that didn't have a morning to it?"

"Oh--ah--yes, I see. We're to come out on the morning of the evening. Sure it's an Irishie ye ought to be instead of a Scotchie."

"Scotchie or no Scotchie," replied Sandy, who was the essence of good-humour, "ye're not to be later than ten o'clock of the forenoon of the day before Christmas. There! Will that fit you, you pumpkin-headed son of a bald-bellied turnip?"

"Thanks, M'Intyre; I'm sure my father'll be delighted when I tell him the respectful titles you've given him," returned Joe, with mock sarcasm.

"He'll no dispute the title of his son's head, anyhow," flung back the Scotch lad, as, bridle in hand, he strolled on to round up his steed.

This parthian shot nettled Joe, but the answer he would have given remained unuttered, for at this moment his eldest sister appeared and beckoned to him in an emphatic manner, at the same time calling upon him to hurry. So, contenting himself with levelling Midshipman Easy's masonic sign at the retreating lad, he hurried along towards his sister.

"Father wants you to go down the river with him in the boat."

"Where's it to?"

"Down to Beacon Point. Tom Tyler's had a bad accident, and they've sent for the doctor; but he's away. He was called out to a bad case at Dingo Creek head station, and is not expected to be back till midday to-morrow. So they've asked father to go down, and you've to hurry along. Father's waiting down at the boat for you."

Mr. Blain was waiting at the boat with everything that was required for the trip. As soon as the lad was in, he pushed off, and, taking the stern oar, with Joe at the bow, father and son started on their twelve-mile pull.

In answer to the boy's question the minister gave some details of the accident, and, further, informed the lad that it was his intention to call at Mrs. Robinson's, distant about five miles from Tareela.

They had now settled down to a steady stroke, and as the sun was on its westering wheel, and the sting out of its slanting rays, the row became enjoyable. Mr. Blain was a sort of newsletter to the settlers, and in his trips up-stream and down-stream was frequently hailed and made the target of questioning from the riverbank.

Robinsons' was reached a little before sunset, where they were made abundantly welcome. Some years previously Mr. Robinson met his death by one of those accidents all too common in new settlements. Felling scrub timber is a risky performance. It so happened that in felling a stout fig tree, Robinson failed to notice some lawyer vines that, hanging from the high branches, had attached themselves to the bare limbs of an adjacent dead tree.

Standing at the base and watching the toppling fig tree, as it slowly swayed preparatory to its final crash, he was unaware that the cable-like vines were retarding its progress. Gathering way, however, the falling tree brought a strain upon the vine, and tore away a heavy limb of the dead tree. This falling upon the axe-man, killed him instantly.

The widow was blest with a family of boys and girls who were true grit. Misfortune breaks some people--it makes others. The latter was the truth in this case.

In all the trying times Mrs. Robinson underwent, the minister was her friend and counsellor.

*CHAPTER XII*

*DOWN THE RIVER*

"When the full moon flirts with the perigee tide,
On a track of silver away we ride,--
Oh, glorious times we have together,
My boat and I in the summer weather."
ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.

The boat was sighted from Robinsons' some time before its nose grated on the shingle at the landing-place.

Isaac, the younger son, a giant in stature and a prime favourite with Joe, was at the landing-stage. Seizing the bow what time it touched land, he half lifted, half dragged the boat two-thirds of her length out of the water, and made her fast to an old stump.

"Mother's so glad you've come, sir. She wants to talk with you about that boy of Maguire's, who's bin givin' us a lot of trouble."

"Won't be able to stay long, Ike. We've got to be at Beacon Point to night. We just put in for a cup of tea and a bite. Mother's inside, I suppose? I'll go in and have a chat with her."

"You'll find her in the kitchen, sir. When we saw you roundin' Piccaniny Point we knew you'd be here for tea, and mother's lookin' after things."

"I hope she won't go to any trouble. A mouthful is all we want."

"Well, you know mother, sir. She feels that nothin' is near good enough."

"Any pancakes for tea, Ike?"

"Pancakes! Why, of course. That's what mother's makin' now. She knew that'd be the first thing you'd be askin' fur, Joe."

"Rather, Ike!" said Joe, pursing his mouth and drawing in his breath with the peculiar, half-whistling, unwriteable sound which boys instinctively make when visions of goodies arise. More especially when such goodies come within measurable distance of consumption.

Master Joe had a healthy boy's appetite. The rowing exercise gave additional spice to his hunger. Pancake was at that moment the gate of entry to the boy's very material heaven.

"Tea won't be ready fur a few minutes, Joe. Let's go down to the barn. I was just goin' to rub some more mixture inter the skins when I seen your boat roundin' the point. Sorry you're goin' on, my son. When I seen you on the river I ses to meself, ses I, 'By George! Joey an' I'll have a great night at the 'possums.' I wish to goodness you'd been stayin'. There'll be a grand moon ter night, an it's very temptin'."

"By gum, ain't it just! It'd be simply, rippin'. 'Member last time I was down? That was a grand bit of sport we had. Forty-seven was it, or forty-nine? I know it took a dashed long time to skin 'em."

"Forty-seven it was. We'd do over fifty to-night."

"Well, as mother says, 'What can't be cured must be endured.' By dad! that's a grand wallaby skin! Where'd you get it?"

"Got it larst night." Ike had the Colonial drawl to perfection. "I was up at the top end of the scrub cultivation paddick, mooseying around after some cockatoos that'd bin skinnin' the corn. It was just about dusk, an' I was waitin' in the corner for the cockies, as I knew they'd soon be leavin' fur their roosts, an' my bes' charnse at 'em was on the wing. They're so 'tarnal cute, yer know, yer carn't git 'em on the corn."

"I know. Didn't I try my best to stalk 'em the last time I was down, Ike! I got three altogether, you 'member, an' you said it'd be a crest apiece to take home to the girls."

"Waal, as I was sayin', I'd sarcumvented the ole boss cockie, which was keeping watch in the dead gum-tree that stood in the middle of the patch, an' was posted in the middle of the corner expectin' them ter fly over every minit. But ole Pincher, who was chevyin' about, starts this ere boss outer the pumpkin vines; they're death on pumpkins, yer know. The dorg made a dash at 'im, an', by jings! he did streak. Greased lightnin' wasn't in it with 'im. I tried to draw a bead on 'im, but, what with the dusk an' the bushes an' stumps, I couldn't get a good line. I banged away one barril, but was yards off, I reckon.

"Pincher, he disappeared in a brace of shakes, an' I made sure the vermin ud get through a 'ole in the fence. I was makin' for 'ome, 'cause the cockies, yer know, 'ad all gone. All of a suddent I heers a yelp, an' knew ole Pinch 'ad somehow 'eaded 'im. Reckon 'e missed the 'ole, or the dorg'd never got near 'im. Anyhow, 'e was a-streakin' a bit now, an' Pinch at 'is 'eels. He was makin' fur the maize agen. I lined 'im this time all right, though it was a longish shot; about sixty-five I reckon; an' dropped 'im clean at the very edge."

"It's a prime pelt, anyway."

"Yaas, 'e was a grand ole buck fur a wally; about the biggest I've got this season."

"How many skins have you taken, Ike?"

"Two more'n I'd 'ave six dozen."

"Gettin' a good price for 'em?"

"Waal, Jack Croft, 'e offered me nine shillin' a dozen fur 'em. There are about twenty kangaroos among 'em. Jack reckoned it was a stiff price, an' 'e sed 'e'd not offer anythin' near it but fur the kangaroo skins, which 'e 'ad a fancy fur."

"Old Jack can put it on, you know."

"Oh, I know Jack all right! Me an' 'im's 'ad dealin' afore. Jacky's not too bad, but 'e knows 'ow to draw the long bow. Anyway, ole Eb Dowse's boat'll be along nex' week. He's sent word ter say as 'e'd do a deal with me fur 'em."

"Better wait an' see what Eb'll shell out for 'em, Ike, I reckon. German Harry, up the river, says he can always knock a shillin' a dozen more out of Eb than Jack."

"I ain't hurryin', Joe."

Just then the welcome supper cooee reached their ears. The boys lost no time in getting to the supper-table. Joe instinctively eyed the contents. Cold streaky bacon; a big dish of fried pumpkin and potatoes; a mountain of home-made bread, sliced; a basin of prime butter; Cape gooseberry jam galore, and amber-tinted honey in the comb. What more could any hungry lad desire?

Mary Robinson, a great tease, caught Joe's glance, and said, with an amused smile, "No pancakes to-night, Joe."

Joe was abashed for the fraction of a second. Quickly rallying, he laughingly said, "Tell another, Mary, while your mouth's hot."

"Very well, my boy! If you don't believe me ask our black tom-cat. He chased a mouse into the batter and upset the bowl; so there!"

"Mary, Mary!" remonstrated Mrs. Robinson. "There's only a grain of truth in the pound of fiction she's giving you, Joe. The cat, it is true, did chase a mouse; but it did not jump into the batter, nor was the bowl upset. The pancakes are cooked, with currans in 'em; just the sort you like; and they're keeping hot by the fire."

"Thanks awfully, Mrs. Robinson; I believe _you_ anyway. As for Mary, she's like Sandy M'Intyre's old, toothless sheep-dog."

"How's that, Joe?" interjected Ike.

"Bark's worse than her bite."

"My stars! what originality, what refinement! Sandy's razor is not in it with master Joe Blain for sharpness. I'll remember this, though, the next time you ask me to go out to the scrub with you for passion fruit. Anyhow, there's no resemblance between you and Sandy's wonderful barker."

"_Indeed!_"

"No; your bark's noisy enough, but your bite's a hundred times worse--especially when pancakes are about."

With this "Roland" Mary ran out to the kitchen to get the teapot.

Joe made a royal repast, topping off with the hot pancakes at a rate which caused his father to dryly remark: "Too much pancake won't help the boat along, my boy."

Tea finished, the visitors prepare to continue their voyage. With Ike's powerful assistance the boat is shoved into the water, and her nose pointed down-stream. In due time Beacon Point is reached.

*CHAPTER XIII*

*OFF FOR THE HOLIDAYS!*

"Boyhood is the natural time for abundant play and laughter, without which rarely does high health touch young cheeks with its rose-bloom, or knit bones strongly for the fighting and the toiling that awaits them."--JOSEPH H. FLETCHER.

"Now then, Norah, look slippy with breakfast! It's half-past six, an' Sandy's to be here at seven. Said he'd leave the station at five with the spare horse for me."

"Begorrah! at the rate breakfast's cookin' it'll be midnight before it's ready. 'Tis the bastliest wood that niwer was."

"Time the fish was fryin', Norah."

"Fish, bedad! For two pins ye wuddent have anny fish. The thrubble Oi've had wid thim! Phwat for did youse lave thim in the bag all night? If ye'd put thim out on the dish, ye spalpeen, Oi'd have seen thim and claned thim long ba-fore Oi wint to bed. 'Sted of which it's tuk me two morchial hours to scale the brutes, they was that dry and hard. Be Saint Pathrick, they scales was loike porky-pine's pricklies!"

"Sorry, Norah; my fault as usual," remarked Joe good-humouredly. "Father called out to turn the horse from the lucerne just as I reached the back door. So I threw the bag down on the steps to chase the moke, an' clean forgot 'em when I came back."

"Well, Oi'll forgive ye wanst more, which makes about a million tousandth toime; but, moind ye, 'tis----"

"All serene, Norah! Oh, I say, Norry, I'd nearly forgotten it! Paddy Lacey asked me yesterday to tell you that they want you to go to the Hibernian picnic on Boxing Day. They've chartered the _Firefly_, an' are goin' down to the Bar."

"God's truth! 'tis only gammoning me ye are, Masther Joe. It's a young thrick ye be, indade, with yure Hayburnion picnacs."

"It's as true as true, Norah. No make-up this time. An' oh! I say, d'you know what Jimmy Flynn tole Tom Hawkins?"

"Nawthin' good, bedad!"

"Ain't it! Well, opinions differ. At any rate he was goin' to set a line on Friday night, an' as he was roundin' the point he hears somewheres ahead of him a noise between a smack an' a crack. Then comes a bit of a squeal, an' a woman's voice sings out: 'Don't, stop it!' Then there was another smack-crack, an' just as he got round the corner he sees a couple, for all the world like you and Paddy, sittin' on a log. No, 'twas Paddy that was on the log, an' you were on Paddy's----"

"Ye loi-in spalpeen! Oi'll pull yure tongue from betune yure teeth," screamed Norah, as, blushing furiously, she chased the nimble Joe out of the kitchen right into the arms of Sandy M'Intyre, as he was coming up the back doorstep.

"Hello, Sandy!"

"Hello, Joe! What's row inside? Norah givin' you the rounds of the kitchen as usual, eh?"

"Only jiggin' her about Paddy Lacey, an' got her _paddy_ up a bit. You're up to time, Sandy, ole man. By jing! I see you've brought Curlew in. Am I to ride him? My word! it is good of your governor to let me. I thought you'd a brought the piebald."

"So I intended, but he was limpin' when he was run into the stockyard; so father says, 'Take Curlew.'"

Curlew was Mr. M'Intyre's favourite horse, and Joe was highly honoured in being allowed to ride this mettlesome but lovely paced steed.

Just then breakfast appeared. After a substantial meal Joe brought out his father's valise and strapped it to the saddle.

"All ready, Sandy? Good-bye, mother. Good-bye, father. Good-bye, girls!"

And so, with kisses and cautions from the family, the boys mounted their steeds and cantered down the street to the punt, on their way to Bullaroi, as Mr. M'Intyre's station was called.

Across the river the boys were joined by Tom Hawkins, who was to accompany them. Tom, who was mounted on a brisk pony, greeted them with a cheery cry as the punt reached the shore. A jollier trio of young Australians could not be found than this chattering, capering band, who on that brilliant morning raced along the bush track.

Plans of fun and frolic were projected during the ride, including astounding adventures that would have taken half a year to carry out. In anticipation the lads were already having tip-top fun. Tom's riotous imagination, especially, made the spoils of the gun, the rod, and the chase to assume brobdingnagian proportions.

In due course they pulled up at the slip-rails marking the Bullaroi boundary line. Thence to the white gate seen in the distance, and which fronted the homestead, a mad race ensued. In this Curlew was first, the rest nowhere. Indeed, Curlew became so excited by the gallop and the shrill shoutings of the riders that Joe, who had made no attempt to pull him till the horse was almost on the gate, found it impossible to stop his steed, which was full of running. Before the boy fully realised it, Curlew was soaring through the air, clearing the gate by at least a couple of feet. Joe, parting from the "pigskin," was sailing through space on his own account, leaving a foot or two between his sit-down and the saddle seat.

Joe, though a fair rider, was not a practised steeple-chaser. He was not a horseman, as were Sandy and Tom, who were to the manner born. Little wonder, then, that his heart rose with the horse and his rider, and for some brief moments palpitated furiously in his mouth. That mysterious and natural law of the universe called gravitation was on hand, however, and saved the situation.

Curlew's hoofs struck the ground on the descending curve as lightly as a cat. Joe's legs, which in this aerial flight had assumed the shape of an inverted V, came plop into the saddle at the right moment. But his body was thrown forward, his hands clutching frantically at the horse's neck and mane. In this condition, unable to recover his equilibrium, with but the loss of his hat, the rider is carried over the intervening distance to the stables, amid loud laughter from the station people, who had been attracted by the shouting of the boys.

Sandy cleared the gate in pursuit of Joe, but failed to catch him. Tom was obliged to haul up and open the gates, as the jump was too high for his pony. Thus the rider of Curlew came in a winner, and all three dismounted amid laughter and teasings.

"Weel, Joseph, my lad," said Mr. M'Intyre, who possessed a pawky humour, "Johnny Gilpin couldna hae done the trick better. You kep' up wi' Curlew, anyway. I thocht he was goin' to leave ye behind. Ma certie it's deeficult to say which is the winner, you or the horse. We'll juist ca' it neck an' neck."

"Take no heed to him, Joe," said Mrs. M'Intyre. She saw through the lad's apparent good-humour a sense of humiliation at his unhorsemanlike entry. "You did well to stick to him, not knowing his intention. But come away in, boys; ye'll be ready for something to eat after that ride. We're right glad to see you. Sandy was so excited last night at the prospect of your coming that I am sure he didn't sleep a wink. Why, he had the horses saddled at dawn, and was off without a bite if I hadn't stopped him and made him drink a cup of coffee."

The day was a busy one on the station. Every one was engaged in finishing off jobs and cleaning up. For during Christmas week, and until after New Year's Day, only that which was absolutely necessary in the way of work was expected.

During the previous week drafting and mustering had been the all absorbing work on the run. That finished, and a mob of "fats" despatched overland to Maitland to catch the Christmas market, the last few days were occupied in culling "boilers" and in branding calves. On this particular day all the available hands were engaged in tidying up; the whitewash bucket being in great request.

Willy and Jacky, the aboriginal boys, together with an Irish lad,--Norah's brother, in fact,--were enrolled as whitewash artists. Their special work consisted in converting dingy looking hen-roosts, dog-kennels, pigsties, milking sheds, and the like into a brilliant white. Meanwhile two of the men, with rough brooms made of stiff brushes, were sweeping the ground within a fair radius of the house.

Inside, the housework was prosecuted with great vigour. Two gins were set to work with the scrubbing brush; while in the kitchen, where Mrs. Mac and the two elder daughters were domiciled, Christmas cooking went on apace. There was, indeed, such a weighing of flour and raisins, such a slicing of candied peel, such a dressing of flesh and fowl as to make Ah Fat, the cook, fairly amazed, and to wonder how in the name of Confucius the oven was to stand the cooking strain that was being brought upon it. While from the kitchen an odoriferous perfume was wafted across the yard, assaulting all noses, and breeding high anticipation, most pleasurable from the standpoint of creature comforts.

Mr. M'Intyre, no patron of idleness either in man or boy, took the lads early in the day into the harness room, and set them to the task of cleaning the saddle and harness ware. Saddles, girths, bridles, various sets of light and heavy harness, required attention. All leather was to be well cleaned and oiled, stirrups and bits to be burnished, and broken straps to be repaired.

The pals threw themselves, _con amore_, into the work. It was hard to say which moved the more briskly, tongues or hands. The afternoon was well advanced before the last piece of steel and electro silver was polished, the last girth and surcingle refitted, and the whole placed on their respective brackets. This task finished, the boys felt that they had earned the promised reward--a glorious swim. Within a couple of hours of sunset the whole of the outside work was accomplished, and, for the time being, each employe was a free agent.

The homestead faced a large affluent of the river, which was known as Crocodile Creek. Why the creek was so named was a sort of a mystery. No species of the saurian tribe was ever known to infest its waters. The name may have been given to it through some fancied resemblance in its course to the aforesaid reptile.

Crocodile Creek formed a fine frontage to Bullaroi run, being distant from the homestead about a quarter of a mile. Immediately opposite, the creek widened out into a fine sheet of water some three miles long, and varying in width from one hundred to one hundred and fifty yards. There was a particular spot which stood about seven or eight feet above the water. Here Mr. M'Intyre had a spring-board constructed. The water was fully twelve feet deep at the jump off, and, added to other advantages, formed an ideal spot for bathing purposes.

Having finished their allotted tasks, the lads came bounding out of the harness-room and across the yard to the house, shouting, as they capered, "Who's for a swim?" The stockmen certainly looked, and no doubt felt, that the one thing above all others necessary for their ease and comfort after the stable and the house-yard cleaning operations was a plunge into the cool, sweet waters of the creek. If they were semi-black by reason of their employment, it was no less true that the black boys, Willy and Jacky, were semi-white.

Dennis Kineavy, the Irish lad, was the "broth of a bhoy," and all three were cram full of impishness. No sooner were the finishing touches of whitewash decoration given, than Denny, sneaking up behind Willy and Jacky, who stood off a little from the hen-roost admiring their artistic handicraft--with capacious brush well charged with the sediment of his bucket--smote them in quick succession across the bare shoulders and breech, and then, with an Irish yell, darted round the stable.

Surprised for the moment, but nothing loath, the black boys snatched their buckets, wielded their brushes, and, shouting their native war-cry, dashed off in hot pursuit; Denny dodged them successfully for a while, but was at length outflanked, and then ensued a battle royal which only ceased when the supplies of ammunition (whitewash) were exhausted.

It was at the tail-end of the fray that Sandy and his mates came racing along with the cry of, "Swim O! Swim O!"

Boys and men, black and white, were all ready and willing, nay, eager, for a jolly bogey.[#] There was a rush by the whites for towels; then, in quick procession, the motley band made for the water.

[#] "Bogey," native name for bathe.

After a plunge and a short swim to get rid of the dust and muck, an impromptu carnival was arranged. First of all came the long dive. This meant a run along the spring-board and a dive straight out. The diver in each case, when reaching the surface, had to tread water, keeping as nearly as possible to the spot of emergence.

Tom Hawkins led off, the others followed in order at twenty seconds' interval. The blacks, by reason of their native abilities in this direction, were made to do the dive with arms interlocked, Siamese twin fashion. The darkies were the whippers-in of this diving procession. Tom, who led off, faltered in his stride when leaving the spring-board. He rose to the surface at about thirty feet from the bank. Joe, who followed, dived a good ten feet farther out than Tom. Sandy, however, when he shot up through the water, was fully fifty feet from the shore. Both of the stockmen beat Joe, but were behind Sandy.

Then came the blacks, side by side. With an even, measured, and springy stride they raced down the board, which was wide enough to admit of this manoeuvre. They took the water without a splash, like a pair of frogs, leaving scarce a ripple. It was naturally thought that by being coupled in this way matters would be evened. It was the general opinion that they would fail to reach Sandy's limit, and probably not get beyond Joe's. The boys eagerly awaited their reappearance, watching the water closely for some sign. After what appeared to be an interminable period they were startled by a double cooee, and, lo! the twins, so to speak, had risen at least twenty feet beyond Sandy, or seventy feet from the shore.

Somersault diving followed the long distance trial. In thia Harry the stockman, who had been a circus rider and acrobat in his youthful days, outshone all the others.

Then came the exciting game of "catch the devil." Willy was chosen devil. It was his business to dive off the spring-board and run the gauntlet, the others being scattered in the water. To catch the aboriginal seemed a comparatively easy matter, all things considered. He was, however, a superb swimmer and trickster, diving and dodging like a cormorant. A dozen times surrounded, he marvellously eluded his pursuers. The game was at its height, and there was no knowing how long the "devil" would remain at large, when the station bell rang out a lusty summons to supper.

This brought the carnival to an instant conclusion. And now each swimmer scrambled for the shore, and soon the whole company, with clean bodies and healthy appetites, were hieing along the track. When the boys reached home they found a new arrival in the person of a young Englishman. This gentleman was out on a business tour, and, being anxious to see something of station life, was recommended to Mr. M'Intyre by a mutual friend. Mrs. M'Intyre's hospitality was proverbial, and Neville, for such was the "new chum's" name, was heartily made welcome.

The day had been a long one, and, supper ended, the boys were quite resigned to go to bed, or at least to the bedroom. The noises therefrom, after their retirement, were very suggestive of prime larks, and continued long after lights were out. The pals were domiciled, to their great delight, in a big spare room, which contained a double bed and a single one. Joe and Tom shared the former, while Sandy camped on the latter, which was, indeed, his stretcher brought in for the occasion.

Silence reigned supreme at length within, and without was broken only by the hoarse croaking of the frogs, an occasional call from a night owl, and the weird wail of the curlew.

*CHAPTER XIV*

*CHRISTMAS FUN AND FROLIC*

"It was the time when geese despond
And turkeys make their wills;
The time when Christians to a man
Forgive each other's bills.
It was the time when Christmas glee
The heart of childhood fills."
BRUNTON STEPHENS.

Daylight had barely broken. The only stir in the household is that produced by Joe, whose slumber had been disturbed by the persistent crawling of flies across his face.

There are three things in animated nature which run each other very closely for the supremacy in downright tenacity to purposeful cussedness. Pig, Hen, Fly--these three! And of the three, the cussedest and most exasperatingly tenacious to its rooted purpose of squeezing in between one's eyelids, sinking a well in the corner of one's eye, or climbing the inside walls of one's nose, is the Australian species of the common house-fly.

It is possible at times to circumvent the "gintilman wot pays the rint," and persuade him to return through the same hole in the fence which gave him escape, by appearing to be anxious to drive him out on to the plain. That is pig strategy; or rather, strategy with a pig. He is beaten, so to speak, by the law of contrairy. When all resources fail in persuading the hen that the flour-bin, or the linen basket, is not specially constructed to suit her convenience in the daily duty of egg producing, one can at the last resort requisition the services of Madame la Guillotine.

But neither strategy nor tactics, neither force nor fraud, avail anything when the early fly, with recruited energies and fiendish intent, starts on her mission of seeking whom and what she may annoy. She--it is quite safe to put the insect in the feminine gender--can be neither coaxed, persuaded, shoo'd, deceived, frightened, nor driven from her prey. The fly always wins--in the end.

Driven from Blanket Bay on this eventful Christinas morning by the incorrigible fly, Joe proceeded at once to reverse the Golden Rule, and promptly made war upon his mates on that morning which, of all the days in the year, makes for peace and goodwill among men.

Tom had sought refuge from the fly in the bed-clothes, and muffled nasal monotones made a sonorous chorale. On the other hand, Sandy, impervious to all impious fly assaults, lay on his back, mouth wide open, breathing heavily and steadily. Sandy was of the pachydermatous order. Neither mosquito nor fly troubled him. The flies evidently found his eyes to be a dry patch, while they were unable to obtain a permanent foothold at his nostrils owing to the intermittent, horse-like snorts which blew them as from the mouth of a blunderbuss. But they heavily fringed his mouth, eating with manifest relish their bacilli breakfast.

In a jiffy the bed-clothes are whipped off the slumbering lads, and in less than no time the latter, pillows in hand, make common cause against the aggressor. Joe puts up a gallant fight, but the odds are too much for him; he is driven into a corner at last and unmercifully pelted.

This prelude to the day's enjoyment concluded, the pals jump into their clothes and proceed to execute the second item on the day's programme, namely, a horseback scamper through the bush before breakfast.

Oh, the glory of it! Out from the confines of four walls into the open spaces of the world when night is merging into day; to move in the dawn of a new day; to stand enwrapped in its pearl-grey mantle ere the mounting sun has turned its soft shades to rosy brilliance; to inhale the spicy breeze which, during the night watches, having extracted the perfumes of the forest flowers, comes heavily freighted o'er gully and range, and diffuses the sweet odours as the reward of the early riser. And then--to watch the daily miracle of sunrise!

"See! the dapple-grey coursers of the morn
Beat up the light with their bright silver hoofs
And chase it through the sky."

Sandy, on old Rufus, kept for that work, soon rounds-up and yards several steeds from the horse-paddock. From these three are picked and saddled; and ere the rising sun has walked "o'er the dew of yon high eastern hills," the lads are scampering through bush and brake, o'er dale and hill. They chivy the silent kangaroo through the lush grass; have a glorious burst after a belated dingo; rouse screaming parrots and paroquets from their matutinal meal off the honey blossoms of box and apple trees; pulling up at last on the summit of a dome-shaped, treeless hill, from whence, with the bloom of the morning still upon it, the landscape extends in a vast stretch of undulation, broken at irregular intervals by silver ribbons of creek and river.

Belts of scrub and forest, rich pasturages and arable lands, are dotted here and there, with minute spots from which rise slender threads of smoke indicating settlers' houses; while away in the background are the purple hills and the blue mountains.

Boys are not usually considered to be impressionable creatures on the aesthetic side of things. Herein we wrong them. They may not attitudinise, nor spout poetry when under the supreme touches of nature, for the boy is too natural to be theatrical. But, without doubt, the morning and evening glories of dear old mother earth do touch their sense of beauty; and though these impressions may seem to be effaced by other and more sordid things, nevertheless they linger through the long years, called up from time to time in sweet association with days that are no more.

The lads, while they rested their steeds, stood in silent and wondering gaze, broken at last by Tom, who, pointing across the intervening spaces to the broadest of the many silver threads, exclaimed, "Tender's Tareela!" Many miles away, as the crow flies, lay the river village, a small cluster of dots, a few of which glistened in the sunlight. These shining spots indicated the "superior" houses that sported corrugated iron roofs, new in those days. For the most part the "roof-trees" were shingle or bark.

And now, homeward bound, the horsemen slither down the hillside, plunge into a pine scrub, to emerge therefrom on the border of a small plain, and chase a mob of brumbies grazing thereon. They, with snorting nostrils and waving manes, headed by a notorious grey stallion--of whom more anon--dash up a ravine into the fastnesses of the scrub, and, though followed some distance by the reckless riders, vanish from sight with a celerity possible only to wild bush-horses.

Skirting now the banks of the Crocodile, they disturb flocks of teal, widgeon, water-hen, and other aquatic birds. At length they give a view halloo, for the old homestead is in sight. This scares a flock of cockatoos that are camping in the river gums, after an early morning's poaching expedition to the adjacent maize-fields, and brings out the station dogs with a babble of barking, as they pound up the track with a final spurt.

"Breakfast ready, Ah Fat?" sings out Sandy, as the boys come rushing into the kitchen from the stables.

"Leddy? Tes, allee globble upee! Missee say no kleep anyling for bad boy. Lockee allee glub." Ah Fat's twinkling, humorous eyes redeemed his hatchet face and stolid countenance.

"It's all right, fellows. He's only pokin' borak at us," said Sandy, giving the Celestial a familiar slap. "Come along, I'm as hungry as a hunter. They've only started, I know."

The family were seated, heads were bent, and Mr. M'Intyre was saying the long Scotch grace, when the boys burst into the room with a fine clatter. The rude intrusion brought a severe remonstrance from that gentleman when the exercise was concluded. Mrs. M'Intyre--always ready to defend the boys and to champion them, to condone their faults and to extol their virtues, in which she was wise or otherwise, as the reader may decide--broke in with a Christmas greeting. For a minute there was a fusillade of "Merry Christmas to you and many of them!"

"Now, boys, take your seats before breakfast's cold."

On proceeding to their places the boys stood stock still, for there, resting against their respective chairs, stood three brand-new, double-barrel shot-guns.

"Weel, bairns!" exclaimed Mr. M'Intyre, with quiet amusement, surveying the amazed boys as they gazed at the weapons. "What are ye frichtened at? Is it snakes y're lukin' upon? Why dinna ye sit doon to yure food?"