Queensland cousins

Ms^a^^^

QUEENSLAND COUSINS

(1,381)

It was the great native chief.

QUEENSLAND
COUSINS

BY

E. L. HAVERFIELD

LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK

PRINTED IN GBBAT BRITAIN AT
THE PRESS OT THH PUBLISHERS

Stack
Annex

CONTENTS.

I. Home, .... .... .... .... 9

//. Bob>.... .... .... .... .... 22

///. The Barefoot Visitor, .... .... .... 39

IV. A Night of Terror, .... .... .... 49

V. The First Shot, .... .... .... 60

VI. BoVs Verdict, .... .... .... .... 69

VII. Peter's Nightmare, .... .... .... 80

VIII. The Witch, „ 91

IX. A Riderless Horse, .... .... .... 102

X. A Voice from the Scrub, .... .... .... 114

XI. Black-fellows, .... .... .... .... 124

XII. The Secret of the Thicket, .... .... 136

XIII. A Great Surprise, .... .... .... 148

XIV. A Moonlight Disturbance, .... .... 158

XV. Who is in the Boat 1 .... .... .... 168

XVI. What the Tide brought in, w. .... 177

XVII. Mother's Home, .... „.. .... 188

XVIII. Peter makes a Diversion, .... .... 201

XIX. The Last Straw, .... .... .... 212

XX. Breaking the News, ..„ .... .... 225

QUEENSLAND COUSINS.

CHAPTER L
HOME.

" TT has come, it has come, it has come ! Oh,
JL do be quick, father ! "

The cry rang out lustily from three young voices,
three eager heads were thrust over the veranda rail-
ings. Below, on horseback, was a big, brown-haired,
brown-bearded man, who looked up from under his
soft slouch hat with a laugh, and exclaimed, —

"What has come, you outrageously noisy young-
sters ? One would think I had a family of dingoes,
to hear you."

Then another head appeared over the railings —
a gentle-faced, fair-haired woman looked down.

" It is the parcel from home, Jack," she said.
" Hadji brought it up an hour ago."

" Yes, yes, father ; it is the parcel from England
at last, and mother wouldn't open it till you came,

10 HOME.

so we have been waiting a whole hour — the longest
hour I have ever lived."

Nesta Orban, to whom one of the first heads over
the railing belonged, shook back her masses of fair,
flufly hair with an impatient little toss.

"Stuff, Nesta; you always say that," exclaimed
Eustace, her twin of fourteen. " You said it yester-
day coming through the scrub because you were
tired; and the day before when mother made you
sew for an hour instead of reading; and the day
before — "

"Oh, shut up!" Nesta retorted. "You needn't
quote pages from my biography like that. Let's
think about the parcel. — Hurry up, dad, darling."

This last she called after her father, for Mr.
Orban had not stayed a second after his wife's
explanation of the excitement.

" The parcel from home," he repeated, all the
laughter dying out of his face, and he spurred his
horse into a trot round the house towards the
stable.

The heads all came back into the veranda, and
there fell a hush of expectancy as every one listened
for Mr. Orban's footsteps coming up through the house.

" La, la, la ! look, Nesta. Dolly downside up ;
Becky done it," piped a little voice from the floor.

" Oh, do be quiet, Becky. Think about the parcel
from England. Perhaps there is something in it for
you," said Nesta.

Mrs. Orban had seated herself again in a low
wicker chair, and was busy sewing — patching a well-
worn shirt with utmost patience.

"Don't be cross with Becky," she said gently.

HOME. 11

" She can't -be expected at two years old to realize
the meaning of a parcel from home. I don't believe
you do yourself, Nesta. It is just a lot of nice
things from England to you — only to father and
me is it ' a parcel from home.' "

Nesta flushed a little and looked grave as she
stood by the table fingering the string of the wonder-
ful parcel. Such a lot of string there was, and so
much sewing and writing ! Whatever it might con-
tain, at least the parcel looked interesting.

The owner of the third head that had looked
over the veranda railing to shout the news was
ten-year-old Peter. It always seemed to Nesta and
Eustace that he was ever so much younger than
they were — perhaps because he had been the baby
for so many years, till Becky came.

" Mother," said Peter, setting himself right in front
of her, and staring at her with wide blue eyes, " why
don't you and father live in England when you want
to so much ? "

Peter was fair, and very like his mother and Nesta.
Eustace and little Becky were the two who were
like their father, brown-haired and brown-eyed.
Peter had a delicate, sensitive face, and he was
always wondering about things in a queer, dreamy
sort of way.

" It is easier said than done, my little son," Mrs.
Orban answered, bending low over her sewing that
the child might not see the tears his question had
brought to her eyes. " Father must work."

" But couldn't he work in England just as well
as Queensland ? " asked Peter.

" Unfortunately not," said his mother sadly.

12 HOME.

" Work is not easy to get in England, or anywhere
for the matter of that."

Eustace caught the note of sadness in his mother's
voice, and strolling behind Peter he gave him a kick
on the ankle with all the air of its being accidental.

" Ow-wow-wow ! " exclaimed Peter, hopping on
one leg and holding on to the other. " You hurt me."

"Sorry," said Eustace carelessly, following him
across the veranda.

" La, la, la ! dolly upside downey," crooned Becky
from the floor, where she sat deeply engaged in
trying to make her boy doll stand on its head as
she had seen Eustace do.

" Look here," said Eustace under cover of Becky's
singing, "don't ask stupid questions, Peter. It
always makes mother feel bad to talk about Eng-
land— any silly could see that without being told,
I should think."

But Peter looked surprised.

"Then you kicked me on purpose," he said, no
louder than Eustace had spoken.

" Of course," said Eustace.

" What for ? " demanded Peter, flushing hotly.

"To make you shut up, that's all," Eustace said
coolly.

Peter dropped his injured leg and flung himself
upon his brother with doubled fists.

" How dare you, you — you horrid boy ! " he said
chokily, for Peter's temper always sprang out like
a sheet of flame up muslin curtains.

With a queer little smile, Eustace gripped his
slender wrists, and held them so that the little chap
could do nothing but wriggle about like an eel.

HOME. 13

" Let me go, I say," he said ; " let me go, I tell
you. I won't be held like a baby."

He had about as much strength as a baby in
Eustace's grip, for the elder boy was a well-built,
square-shouldered fellow, and powerful for his age.

Mrs. Orban looked up at the commotion, and
wondered what it could be all about so suddenly.

" As you are strong, be merciful, Eustace," she said
quietly — that was all.

Eustace instantly let go, and Peter stood for a
second staring down at the two red rings round
his wrists, then, as Eustace turned unconcernedly
away, dashed at his back and pommelled it.

" Go on," said Eustace with seeming carelessness,
but the words were jerked out by the thumps ;
" my coat hasn't had a brushing for a week. Glad
to get the dust out of it"

" Peter, Peter," said his mother warningly, " you
surely don't want to be sent away before the parcel
is opened, do you ? "

This stopped Peter effectually ; a minute later he
had forgotten his grievance, which was also Peter's
way.

"So the great day has come at last," said Mr.
Orban, coming out from the house on to the veranda,
which was so large and spacious that it was as
useful to the household as several extra rooms.

Mrs. Orban put away her sewing, and every one
gathered round the table as Mr. Orban began care-
fully undoing the string.

" Here's my knife, father," Eustace said, with a
pleading note in his voice.

" Plenty of time, my lad," Mr. Orban said quietly.

14 HOME.

" One doesn't get a bit of string like this every
day."

Becky had become infected by the excitement at
last, and now insisted upon being held up in her
mother's arms. All the eager eyes were bent on Mr.
Orban's hands as he skilfully untied knot after knot.

" You won't unpick the sewing on the American
cloth too, will you ? " asked Nesta anxiously.

" No ; I think we can cut that, Miss Impatience,"
laughed her father. " Mother could hardly use it
again even for hemming floor-cloths."

" I'm not so sure, Jack," said Mrs. Orban ; " my
stock of cottons is running very low. It is time you
went away and brought me a fresh supply."

Mr. Orban undid the last knot, but instead of
taking the knife Eustace was still patiently holding
out, he began winding up the string into a neat
coil The children glanced up in desperation, to
find his face grave and preoccupied. He looked as
if he had entirely forgotten the parcel.

" What is it, dear ? " said Mrs. Orban, with sudden
alarm in her voice. " Is anything wrong ? "

Mr. Orban roused himself with an effort.

" Oh no," he replied slowly ; " nothing wrong
exactly. Only your words struck me oddly, for,
as a matter of fact, I have to go away, and soon too."

Eustace glanced quickly at his mother, and the
look in her eyes made him forget the parcel too.

" Not far, Jack, I hope," she said.

" Rather, I'm afraid," was the answer. " I hope
you won't mind being left for a week or two."

"A week or two!" exclaimed Mrs. Orban in a
tone that was unmistakably disturbed.

HOME. 15

" I can't do it in less," Mr. Orban went on. " I am
obliged to go down to Brisbane on business."

"To Brisbane!" Nesta cried. "O dad, couldn't
you take us all with you ? It would be lovely ! "

" If you will find the fares, young woman, I shall
be delighted," said her father, pinching her ear. " The
journey to Brisbane is rather an expensive matter.
I couldn't afford to take myself there just for the
fun of the thing."

" When must you go, Jack ? " asked Mrs. Orban,
trying hard to speak steadily and naturally.

" Next week — as soon as possible, that is," Mr.
Orban said ; " and I will get back just as quick as
I can. You will be all right, dear. . I will tell
Farley or Robertson to sleep up here in the house,
and you won't feel so lonely at night."

" Oh no, no," Mrs. Orban said, " don't do that.
They have both got their wives and families to look
after. Eustace will be an efficient man of the house
and companion to his mummie — won't you, son ? "

" I'll do my best," Eustace said soberly.

To be quite honest, he was as startled as his
mother at his father's announcement ; he did not
like the idea at all. He had caught that curious
look in his mother's eyes, and it troubled him.

But Nesta was too much taken up with the
thought of the parcel to notice anything except
the delay in opening it.

" Couldn't we go on ? " she pleaded.

" Poor Nesta," said Mr. Orban, beginning to cut
the sewing, "is it getting beyond your patience
altogether ? Well, here goes then ! "

Inside the American cloth was yet another wrapper,

16 HOME.

this time of linen sewn up most carefully, and within
that paper after paper. The excitement grew more
and more tense, till at last, when they came to a
series of neat packages, each with a label to say
from whom and to whom the gift was, every one
except Becky was beyond speaking point.

The joys that parcel contained were indescribable,
because no child born and bred in England could be
made to understand how wonderful, how undreamed
of, how surprising were the most ordinary things to
those four Bush children. They lived right out of
the world, and had spent most of their lives on a
sugar plantation in North Queensland ; the common
things of our everyday existence were marvels to them.

A clockwork train sent out to Peter with a hope
that " he was not too old for it " fascinated Eustace,
despite his four years' seniority ; the exquisite little
doll's dinner service for Becky set Nesta longing to
play with it and cook pretence dinners for it.

There was something for every one, and the
children's eyes shone with pleasure ; but Mrs. Orban's
were dim as, the unpacking over, she turned quietly
away and disappeared into the house.

In the midst of turning the pages of his new book
to look for pictures, Eustace missed her, and shortly
after Mr. Orban went away too.

" Oh ! " Eustace exclaimed, slamming his book
together with a big sigh, "I do wish parcels from
England didn't always make mother sad."

"I guess she wants to see grannie and Aunt
Dorothy badly," Nesta suggested.

"Oh, it is more than that," Eustace said, getting
up and moving restlessly about. " I sometimes think

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HOME. 17

she simply hates this place and everything to do
with it."

" Do you, Eustace ? " asked Peter, his eyes round
with wonder.

" Well, it is fearfully dull, isn't it ? " Nesta said.
" England must be quite different. English stories
always make me ache to go there. It must be so
awfully interesting, mustn't it ? "

" Wouldn't it be splendid if father said suddenly
one day we could all go to England ! " Peter cried
excitedly.

"I don't think there is the least chance of that,"
Eustace said. " You heard what he said about its
being too expensive to take us even to Brisbane.
It would cost ten times as much to go to England."

" I say," Nesta said quickly, " I wonder why
father has to go to Brisbane in such a hurry ?
Don't you, Eustace ? "

"I haven't thought about it," Eustace answered.
"But, anyhow, mother doesn't like his going — that's
very clear."

" Doesn't she ? " Nesta asked in a surprised voice.
' How do you know ? "

* Didn't you see her face when father said he
must go ? " Eustace asked with a touch of impatience.

Nesta shook her head.

" Oh ! " was all Eustace exclaimed ; then he turned,
and resting his elbows on the railings, stared straight
ahead with unseeing eyes.

The Orbans' house was built on the top of an
isolated hill three hundred feet above a valley which,
except where the scrub had been cleared for the
growing of sugar-cane, was thickly wooded. On

(1,331) 2

18 HOME.

three sides of the valley, stretching round like a
great horse -shoe, lay range upon range of hills, now
softest purple. The fourth side, on which the boy
gazed, was bounded by the sea — a shimmering patch
of blue. No scene could have been grander, none
more infinitely lonely. But Eustace was not think-
ing about it either admiringly or otherwise.

Nesta joined her brother, and stared curiously at
his unusually serious face.

" What do you mean, Eustace ? " she demanded.

He did not speak, so she put her hand on his
shoulder and gave him a little shake.

" What are you thinking about ? " she asked.

" Mother," Eustace said quite shortly.

" Yes, I know," Nesta said ; " but what about her ? "

" Father's going away," Eustace said.

" Of course," Nesta said, rather scornfully ; " you
told me that before. And I know mother will be
dreadfully dull without him."

" Dull ! " exclaimed Eustace, knocking the tips of
his toes impatiently against the woodwork.

" Yes, dull," said the girl

" Worse than dull," Eustace responded soberly.

" But we can do our best to cheer her up till he
comes back."

Eustace turned slowly round until he was staring
right into Nesta's eyes, and his look was so queer
that she was startled.

" Do you mean to say you don't understand ? " he
said solemnly.

" No, I certainly don't," Nesta replied.

Eustace wheeled quickly back to the railing, gazing
seaward again.

HOME. 19

u Then I'm not going to tell you," he said decidedly.

Nesta stood blankly wondering for a moment.

" Well, it's hateful of you," she began ; then
suddenly her expression changed. " Eustace," she
exclaimed, grabbing his arm with both hands, " do
you mean mother will be frightened ? "

" I'm not going to tell you," repeated the boy with
seeming obstinacy.

But Nesta's face was full of certainty.

" It is that ! " she said with conviction. " You
think she will be scared at being left."

Now Eustace had suddenly begun to repent of
having said so much. He had not the least desire
to frighten Nesta ; he had honestly believed that she
must have noticed what he did in their mother's tone
and look, but now he realized Nesta had not under-
stood. He stood silent, regretting his carelessness.

" 0 Eustace," Nesta cried, " of course it is that.
How dreadful ! I remember now what father said
— he knew mother might be frightened, and that is
why he offered to have Farley or Robertson up."

There was terror in Nesta's voice now, and Eustace
rounded sharply upon her.

" I say, shut up ! " he said, with a glance towards
Peter, who was too engrossed with his train at the
other side of the veranda to be listening. " You
don't want to frighten the kids, do you ? Besides,
father said we should be all right, and he knows."

" But mother was frightened," Nesta said, looking
unconvinced.

" She didn't say so," Eustace argued. " She refused
to have either of the men up, you see. That doesn't
look much like funking it,"

20 HOME.

"Then what did you mean ? " demanded Nesta.

" Oh, never mind," Eustace said, throwing himself
into a chair and reopening his book. "Don't let's
talk about it."

" That is nonsense," Nesta said. " How can I
help minding about a thing like that ? "

" Well, but what's the good of talking ? " Eustace
exclaimed. "Dad has to go; we can't prevent that
if we talk for ever."

"Yes; but if it is dangerous — " Nesta began
in a low, awe-struck voice.

" Dangerous ! " Eustace repeated. " What could
there be dangerous about it ? "

"You know as well as I do," Nesta replied.
" Supposing the blacks were to come down on us
in the night when we were here all alone ! "

" Oh, do shut up ! " Eustace said sharply. " Why
should the blacks happen to come just because father
is away ? They may not even be in the neigh-
bourhood."

"Yes; but you remember that horrid story Kate
told us," Nesta said, almost whispering. " The
father was away — there were nothing but women
and children in the house — "

" Oh, stop, Nesta ! " Eustace said. " Of course I
remember all about it. I don't want to hear the
beastly thing all over again. What is the good of
frightening ourselves all for nothing ? Don't you
know that father wouldn't go if he could possibly
help it ? And if he must go, we've got to make
the best of it, that's all. Now I'm going to read, so
do shut up."

Nesta stood silently staring at him a moment,

HOME. 21

but he seemed already to have forgotten her very
existence.

" Well, you are a queer boy," she said, in what
the boys always called her " huffy " voice.

Still Eustace took no notice.

" Perhaps you will be sorry some day," Nesta
said with a little gulp, and turned away to Becky,
who was calling her.

Eustace was apparently engrossed in his book,
but not a word did he see on the page he stared
at so intently. He had done a stupid thing, and
he regretted it, for the mischief was past remedy
now. Quite unintentionally he had made Nesta
as nervous as he was himself, and he knew that
nothing he might say would reassure her. He was
quite right that there was no use in talking about
it; he felt sure that his father would say he ought
not to have said so much, and he was vexed with
himself for his carelessness. Silence seemed the
only course open to him — silence on the subject
for the present, and for the future a great, whole-
hearted resolve to play the man come what might.

CHAPTER IL
BOB.

was right: their father would not
have gone to Brisbane had it not been neces-
sary ; but this was not because Mr. Orban was
troubled by any fears for the safety of his family.
He had lived so long in North Queensland that he
was used to the solitude, and thought nothing of
the dangers surrounding them. It distressed him to
have to go away simply because he knew that his
wife would be terribly nervous without him. Fifteen
years in the colony had not accustomed her to the
loneliness of their position.

Besides the two engineers, and the field manager,
Mr. Ash ton, who all lived at the foot of the hill, the
Orbans had no white neighbours nearer than five
miles off. The field hands were coloured men of
some five or six different races, chiefly Chinese or
Malays — the good-for-nothing riff-raff of their own
countries come to seek a living elsewhere.

There was no society, no constant dropping in of
friends, nothing to relieve the monotony of daily life.
But none of this did Mrs. Orban mind ; she was
always busy and content by day. It was only of
the night-time she was afraid, when strange-voiced

BOB. 23

creatures were never silent an hour, weird cries from
the scrub pierced the air, and there arose from the
plantation below wild sounds, sometimes of revelry
over a feast, the beating of tom-toms, and wailing of
voices as the natives conducted their heathen worship,
or indulged in noisy quarrels likely to end in blood-
shed between antagonistic tribes.

But though for some reasons the coolies were not
pleasant neighbours, the house on the hill had nothing
to fear from them. Their worst feature was their
utter uselessness in any real danger, coming from
quite another quarter. Though they might serve
him solely for their own benefit, and were for the
most part thieves and rogues, the coolies had no
desire to harm the white man personally.

But wandering stealthily through the woods, home-
less and lawless, is a race that hates the white man
— the aborigines of Australia. Civilization has
driven them farther and farther north, for the
Australian black-fellows cannot be tamed and trained
— their nature is too wild and fierce to be kept within
bounds except by fear and crushing. They are
treacherous and savage, and most repulsive in appear-
ance. Though spoken of as black, they are really
chocolate-brown, but so covered with hair as to be
very dusky.

Being very cunning in their movements, it is always
difficult to know where they are, and there are often
such long lapses between the times they are heard of,
that most people forget their existence as a matter of
any importance. But Mr. Orban knew that his wife
was haunted by a very constant horror of them — a
dread lest one night the blacks should make a raid

24 BOB.

upon their plantation, as they had been known to do
upon other white men's dwellings.

What neither Mr. nor Mrs. Orban realized was
how much Eustace and Nesta knew of certain terrible
events happening from time to time in just such
isolated homes as their own. It was from the two
young white maidservants the children heard tales
they listened to with a kind of awful enjoyment by
day, but which were remembered at night with a
shudder. The creaking of the wooden house in which
they lived as the boards contracted after the tropical
heat of day, and the weird sounds rising from the plan-
tation below, held a hundred terrors to be ashamed
of in the morning.

Eustace and Nesta never spoke of these night
panics to any one, least of all to each other — they
seemed so silly when broad daylight proved there
had been absolutely nothing to be cowardly about.

By some unspoken rule Peter was never allowed
to hear these stories. He was always considered so
very much younger than Eustace and Nesta that
even the servants had the sense not to frighten him.
So Peter's spirits were not damped by the thought
of their father's departure, and he knew nothing of
the queer little tiff that had taken place between
Eustace and Nesta.

It is very odd how people can quarrel over a
matter upon which they are perfectly agreed ; but
they frequently do, especially when it has anything
to do with fear.

Nesta went to bed that night still in the sulks,
with an air of " You'll be sorry some day " about her
every attitude. Eustace seemed inseparable from his

BOB. 25

book, and disinclined to talk. He went heavily to
bed, more troubled than ever because, though his
mother was unusually merry, making much of all
the presents from England, and showing great interest
in them, he saw she was very white, and there was
still a strange look about her eyes. He suspected
her gaiety to be only put on for their amusement,
and he felt sorrier and sorrier for her.

But a good night's rest did wonders for both chil-
dren, and they came in to breakfast in better humours.
Nesta forgot to be tragic when she heard her father
and mother discussing what material should be
brought from Brisbane for the girls' new dresses.
New clothes were a rare event for the Orban chil-
dren, and always caused a good deal of excitement.

Eustace had been up early, and everything looked
so calm, peaceful, and ordinary about the place that
he was inclined to be more than half ashamed of his
outburst the day before. " After all," he argued,
"nothing ever has happened to us — why should it
now ? The black-fellows have never come this way.
Why should they, just because father is away ? How
could they get to know of his going ? Besides, the
plantation isn't so awfully far off."

He had stood on the veranda and stared down
at the sugar mill lying at the foot of the hill, where
Robertson and Farley lived ; at Mr. Ashton's house,
and all the familiar, odd-shaped huts in which the
coolies lived. It was all just as he had seen it every
day of his life, and nothing had ever happened —
why, indeed, should it now ?

Mrs. Orban's interest in the new dresses was
certainly not feigned.

26 BOB.

" Now, Jack," she was saying as Eustace entered
the room, " don't— don't go and ask for dusters. It
is that pretty pink and blue check zephyr I want —
pink for Becky, and blue for Nesta."

" Well, dear, you must confess it is just like duster
stuff — now, isn't it ? " demanded Mr. Orban with a
laugh.

" O daddy, not a bit ! " Nesta exclaimed. " What
a horrid thought ! "

" Some of mother's dusters are very pretty, young
woman," said her father. " I wouldn't mind having
shirts made of them myself."

"I should object very much," Mrs. Orban said
with a laugh ; " you would look like a coolie. But
let us talk sense again."

Talking sense meant talking business, which on
this occasion was the making out of a list of really
rather dull things wanted in the house.

Daily life begins early on a sugar plantation. It
was now only half -past six, and the house had been
astir since half-past four ; the children playing, Mrs.
Orban working about the house, and Mr. Orban away
down on the plantation. The comparative cool of
the morning was the best time for any sort of
activity. Later, as the fierce December sun rose
higher, even the children became listless and dis-
inclined to race about.

After breakfast, when Mr. Orban went back to
work, Mrs. Orban gave the children lessons — the
only teaching they had ever had. At eleven Mr.
Orban returned for early dinner.

To our English ideas the routine seems strange ;
but the Orban children were used to it, and had no

BOB. 27

realization of how different was life in their parents'
old home. It did not seem at all funny even to the
twins to have tea at five, and go to bed at half-past
six or seven. They were generally very ready for
sleep by then, after their long, exhausting day.

" I say, father," Eustace said suddenly, after a long
meditation while business was being discussed, " I can
stay up to dinner with mother when you are away —
can't I ? It will be awfully dull for her if I don't."

"And me too," said Nesta, who never allowed it
to be forgotten that, being the same age as Eustace,
she claimed the same privileges.

" Rot," said Eustace ; " you're only a girl."

" And me too," chimed in Peter.

" Oh, you silly baby," said Eustace impatiently,
" what good would you do ? "

Peter's delicate face became scarlet.

" I could play games with mother quite as well as
you," he said with an angry frown.

" Mother doesn't want amusing like that to keep
her from being dull," Eustace declared. " She wants
somebody who can talk sensibly like father, and be
grown up."

Nesta gave a little derisive laugh.

" Like father ! " she repeated ; " that is funny. I
suppose you think you could be just like him. Why
don't you ask him to let you smoke one of his pipes
at once ? "

" Don't be silly, Nesta," Eustace retorted.

"It's you who are silly," Nesta said, "thinking
only boys can be grown up or of any use."

" When you have quite done snapping each other's
heads off," interposed their father in his deep, quiet

28 BOB.

voice, " perhaps you will allow me to speak. As a
matter of fact, the mother thinks of going to bed
with the cocks and hens herself."

"To bed with the cocks and hens!" repeated Peter,
with an expression of blank surprise in his blue eyes.

Now the cocks and hens many of them roosted
under the house, which was built on pillars, and set
some distance above the ground. It was not an
attractive spot at any time, for here there also lived
many strange creatures, snakes amongst them.

"Well, not exactly in the henhouse, Peter," said
his father, with a twinkle in his eyes. " I dare say
she will sleep as usual in her own bedroom. I was
referring more to the hour at which she says she
means to go to bed — not very long after you."

" Still you will have dinner — won't you, mummie?"
Eustace said.

" Certainly," Mrs. Orban answered with a smile ;
" and I don't think it would be a bad plan for you
and Nesta to stay up for it, if you will promise
not to get up quite so early in the morning. We
will have dinner directly after Peter and Becky are
in bed ; but we won't sit up late ourselves, any of us."

Mrs. Orban certainly showed no signs of nervous-
ness to-day ; the strained expression had left her
eyes ; she was laughing and talking quite naturally.

"I suppose," thought Eustace, "she was partly
upset by the parcel from England."

" Father," Nesta exclaimed, " I'm certain I hear a
horse coming up the hill. Who can it be at this
time of day ? "

" Don't know, I'm sure," said her father ; " it might
be one of a dozen people. You had better go and

BOB. 29

sing out ' friend or foe ' over the veranda ; but I
dare say it isn't a horse at all. More probably it is
old Hadji with the mail bag that ought to have come
with the parcel yesterday."

But the three elder children had disappeared out
on to the veranda and were leaning over, straining
their eyes down the road that wound up the hill
from the plain.

It was a very rough road, with ruts in it sometimes
two or three feet deep. During the rains little better
than a bog, it was now burnt hard as flint.

There was nothing to be seen though a mile of
road was visible, lost now and then among bends ;
but the children listened breathlessly, and at last
Eustace said, —

" It is two horses and a four-wheel buggy, and it
has only just begun the hill Let's go in and tell
father."

"Oh, what a bother it is so far off!" Nesta ex-
claimed, with a sigh of impatience. " We shall have
to wait ages to find out who it is."

" Who do you think it can be, father ? " Peter
asked, as Eustace explained what he believed to be
coming.

" How should I know ? " Mr. Orban answered with
mock seriousness.

" It might be a magician with milk-white steeds,
or a fairy godmother, Peter, in a coach made out of
pumpkins," said Mrs. Orban.

"O mother!" Peter cried impatiently, "don't be
silly—"

The sentence was never completed ; it finished in
a howl of mingled pain and rage.

30 BOB.

" What on earth is the matter now ? " asked Mr.
Orban.

" Eustace ki-ki-kicked me," stormed Peter, making
a dive at his brother with doubled fists ; but his father
caught him and held him pinioned.

" I can pretty well guess why," said the big man
severely. " If he hadn't, I should have spanked you
myself. How dare you say ' don't be silly ' to your
mother ? "

Peter hung his head.

"I didn't mean — " he began.

" I should just think you didn't mean it," said his
father. " You'll kindly remember you've no right
by birth to be a cad, and it is caddish for a gentle-
man to speak like that to a lady — whether he is ten
years old or a hundred."

" Besides," said Eustace, looking furiously at the
small culprit, " mother couldn't be silly if she tried."

Peter's humbled expression changed.

" It wasn't for you to kick me," he spluttered resent-
fully ; " I'll kick you back."

" Oh, if you like to be a donkey," began Eustace in
a lordly tone.

" Who was donkey first ? " demanded Peter.

"I guess," said Nesta, who was accustomed to
these scenes, "the buggy may be in sight at the
first bend by now. I'm going to look."

Eustace followed.

" Well, Peter, what comes next ? " asked Mr. Orban,
without letting go the child's wrists.

Peter looked over his shoulder towards his mother
— the blue eyes were swimming with tears, tnere
was a choke in his voice.

BOB. 81

" I'm sorry, mummie," he gasped.

The next moment he was clasped in his mother's
arms, there was a manful struggle with gathering
tears, and then like an arrow from a bow Peter was
off to the veranda with every intention of thumping
Eustace soundly. But the news that greeted him
there put the recent fray right out of his mind.

" It is a buggy, Peter," said Nesta, " and I believe
Bob Cochrane is driving it."

Now the Cochranes were the Orbans' nearest neigh-
bours— the family that lived only five miles away.
It consisted of a father and mother and this young
fellow Robert, who was six-and-twenty, the idol
and greatest admiration of the Orban children's
hearts. In their eyes there was nothing Bob could
not do ; his shooting, his driving and riding, his
jokes, his ways — everything about him was wonder-
ful. A visit from Bob was a splendid event, no
matter what the hour of the day.

Bob had a sister who was about the twins' age,
and Nesta's only friend.

" It looks just like Bob's driving," said Eustace.

Then they waited with eager faces, too excited to
speak, till suddenly they all cried at once, —

" It is Bob — it is— it is — it is ! "

Mr. and Mrs. Orban came out on to the veranda,
Becky toddling behind.

"There is no doubt about it," said Mr. Orban as
he watched the jolting, bumping carriage toiling up
the terribly steep hill that was almost too much for
the horses, fine beasts though they were.

" How strange of him to come in the buggy instead
of riding, as he is alone," said Mrs. Orban.

82 BOB.

" Yes," chimed in Nesta, " that was just what I
was thinking. Bob always — always rides, except-
ing—"

She paused to think whether she had ever seen
Bob driving before, and Eustace finished her sentence
for her.

" Excepting when he doesn't," he said.

" Goose," said Nesta tartly.

" Or, more correctly speaking, ' gander,' " said Mr.
Orban. " Well, we needn't squeeze our heads to a
pulp trying to guess what we shall learn from Bob
without the slightest trouble in another twenty
minutes at most."

When Bob Cochrane came within earshot he was
greeted with such a chorus of yells that not a single
word could he hear of what the children were trying
to say. He grinned back good-humouredly, waved,
and whipping up his horses, came as fast as he could
under the veranda. Then he gathered the meaning
of the noise.

" What have you come for, Bob ? " shouted the
three.

" What have I come for ? " he repeated, with his
particular laugh which had a way of setting every one
else off laughing too as a rule. " Well, upon my
word, that is a nice polite way to greet a chap. I
had better be off again."

He was big, fair-haired, and gray-eyed, not hand-
some, but far too manly for that to matter. As
Manuel the Manila boy ran round the house to take
charge of the horses, Bob got down from the buggy
and sprang up the veranda steps in contradiction
of his own words. He was surrounded at the top

BOB. 33

by the children, all talking at once. Without an
attempt at answering, he picked up Becky, who
adored him with the rest, and passed on to Mr. and
Mrs. Orban.

" I apologize for the disorder," Mr. Orban said,
" but they have been working themselves up into a
fever of expectation ever since they first heard the
buggy wheels. Seriously though, I hope nothing is
wrong at home. Your mother isn't ill, is she ? You
haven't come to fetch the wife as mine, or anything?"

Such friendly acts as these were the common
courtesies of their simple colonial life. But Bob
only laughed now.

" Oh, nothing wrong at all," he replied. " Mater
is right enough ; it is only Trix who is the trouble
now. She doesn't seem to pick up after that last
bout of fever, and she is so awfully depressed and
lonely, mother thought if you would let me take a
couple of the children — Nesta and another — back
with me for a week, it might brighten the kiddy
up. Could you spare them, Mrs. Orban ? "

" With pleasure," began Mrs. Orban readily, when
Nesta started a sort of war-dance with accompanying
cries of delight.

" When you have quite done ! " said Bob, with a
solemn stare that quelled the disturbance after a
moment. " I shan't have an ear to hear with by the
time I get home, at this rate. Well, who is the other
one to be ? You, Eustace ? "

Eustace coloured deeply. There was nothing he
would have liked better. To go to the Highlands,
as the Cochranes' plantation was called, was the
greatest pleasure that could have been offered him

(1,331) 3

34 BOB.

— the treat had only come his way about twice in
his life. It meant so much — rides with Bob, shoot-
ing with Bob, long rambles always with his hero.

" I should like to awfully," he said, and stopped,
looking beseechingly at his father.

" Why, what's the matter, old chap ? " asked Bob
in a kindly voice. "You're as limp as if all the
starch had been boiled out of you. Come along if
you want to, of course. Peter can come another
time, if it's afraid of being selfish that you are."

" But it isn't that," Eustace said with difficulty.
" I mean I can't. You see, father is going away, and
I couldn't leave mother."

Bob darted a quick look at Mr. Orban.

" Are you really going away ? " he asked — " any
distance, I mean ? "

" Unfortunately, yes," Mr. Orban said gravely. " I
have to be away about a fortnight or three weeks.
I go the day after to-morrow."

Bob looked serious.

" Oh, I say," he said, " I'm sorry."

To Nesta, standing there in the sunshine, with a
great big pleasure ahead of her, the words conveyed
nothing beyond a civil sympathy with the annoyance
it must be to Mr. Orban to have to go away on
business. To Eustace, who must stay behind, there
was something underlying those few words that
brought back all the fears of the day before.

"It is a nuisance, but it can't be helped," Mr.
Orban said ; " business won't wait."

" I am sorry," repeated Bob, with that same strange
solemnity, " because I can't offer to come and stay
here while you are away. Father is going away

BOB. 85

too, and of course I couldn't leave the mater and
Trix. If only it hadn't happened just now — "

" It is very good of you to think of it, Bob," said
Mrs. Orban, " but of course we shall be perfectly
safe. I think I would rather you took Peter,
though," she added in a lower tone. " Eustace is
more companionable. I can spare one of the twins,
but not both at once."

" Of course," agreed Bob.

He was strangely unlike his usual cheerful self,
but he roused himself, as every one seemed to be
looking at him, and added, " Could the children be
ready to go back with me soon ? "

" Stay till the heat is over, and drive home in the
cool with them," suggested Mr. Orban. " I'll say
good-bye for the present ; I'm due at the plantation."

Eustace was left alone with Bob, for the others
went with their mother to watch her preparations
for their departure.

" Well, old man," questioned Bob from the depths
of a cane chair, where he had flung himself for a
quiet smoke, " what's up ? "

Eustace stood staring at him.

" I say," he said with some difficulty, " it's beastly
about father going, isn't it ? "

" Rather," said Bob carelessly. " Mrs. Orban will
feel awfully dull."

" That isn't the worst of it," said the lad mysteri-
ously.'

" Really ? " questioned Bob indifferently, as he
packed his pipe with great apparent interest.

"You know it isn't, Bob," Eustace broke out
desperately.

36 BOB.

"Do I ? " questioned Bob lazily, but with a shrewd
glance at the thin, pale face before him. "Why,
what's the trouble ? "

"It's the black -fellows," Eustace said in a half
whisper.

Bob raised his eyebrows a little, and was again
attentive to his pipe.

" Indeed ? " he said ; " what about them ? "

"They are all round us in the scrub; you never
know where they are," Eustace said with a gulp.

"They always are, and one never does," said Bob
lightly. " I don't see that it matters. Are you in a
funk about them ? "

The cool question brought crimson to Eustace's
cheeks.

" No," he said sturdily, " but they are a fearfully
low grade lot, and — and they have done some awful
things in lonely places, out of revenge, on white
people."

Bob looked up sharply.

" What do you know about it ? " he asked in a
voice that sounded almost stern.

"The servants — Kate and Mary — have told us
stories," Eustace explained.

" Oh, they have, have they ? " Bob positively snorted
in indignation. "Then they deserve to be sacked."

He was silent a long time, puffing out volumes of
smoke, then he said suddenly, —

" Look here, Eustace, don't get stupid and fright-
ened about the black -fellows. Your father has
never done them any harm ; they have nothing to
revenge here, for he hasn't interfered with any of
them."

BOB. 87

" But Kate says that doesn't matter," Eustace said
dismally. "She says they have a deadly hatred
against all white people."

" Kate is an ignorant goose," growled Bob ; " much
she can know about it ! Why, my father has had
black-fellows in his employment for years, and they've
been all right. Don't you listen to Kate's nonsense."

There was silence awhile, then Bob went on, —

" But I tell you what I'll do, if it will be any
comfort to Mrs. Orban. I'll come over nearly every
day and hang about the place as if I were living
here. How would that do ? "

" I should like it, of course, and I believe mother
would," said the boy slowly.

" Of course you would be all right anyhow," Bob
said bracingly.

" Of course," repeated Eustace with less certainty,
hesitated, then went on haltingly, " but supposing —
of course I believe you, Bob — but just only supposing
one night some black -fellows did turn up, what
should you do ? "

" I should shoot them," Bob said promptly.

" But if you were me ? " questioned Eustace.

" Oh, if I were you," repeated Bob thoughtfully.
" Well, of course, you wouldn't shoot them — they
wouldn't be scared enough of a chap your size. On
the whole, I think if I were you I should scoot down
the hill as hard as I could go for Robertson, Farley,
and Ashton. They would soon settle matters."

" But that would be leaving mother to face them
alone," objected Eustace.

Bob stared solemnly for one moment, then broke
into a lau?h.

38 BOB.

" Cheer up, old boy," he exclaimed ; " you look as
if you had a whole tribe at your heels this minute.
Why, what has happened to you ? I thought you
had more spirit than to be scared by a pack of silly
maids' stories."

The laugh was so genuine, the look in Bob's eyes
so quizzical, that Eustace felt suddenly abashed, and
as if he had been making a stupid fuss about nothing.
With all his heart he wished he had not mentioned
the subject to Bob — Bob whose opinion he valued
above all others, except, perhaps, his own father's.

CHAPTER III
THE BAREFOOT VISITOR.

WHEN Mr. Orban came home to dinner he
brought with him another excitement — the
mail letters that Hadji ought to have brought with
the parcel the day before.

To Bob Cochrane, whose parents were Australian
born and bred, this meant nothing ; but he was so
intimate with the Orbans that he understood their
feelings on the subject. He sat silently puffing at
his pipe while Mr. and Mrs. Orban read their letters.
Eustace, Nesta, and Peter had seized on some packets
which they knew to contain English papers and
magazines.

Suddenly Mrs. Orban gave a curious exclamation,
and all eyes were turned questioningly upon her.

" Mother, mother, what is it ? " cried Nesta, noting
the colour flooding her mother's usually pale face.

" Any news, darling ? " asked Mr. Orban.

"I should just think it is news," said Mrs. Orban
unsteadily. " Listen to this, Jack : ' Dorothy has been
so very slow in her recovery from the terrible bout
of typhoid she had in spring that the doctor advises
a long sea voyage at once, and we have decided to
send her out to you by the first boat available. We
go up to London to-morrow to get her outfit.' "

40 THE BAREFOOT VISITOR.

0 Aunt Dorothy ! " yelled the children. " Aunt
Dorothy coming here ! "

It was a most surprising piece of news, almost
incredibly so. The children had never seen any of
their parents' people, as none of them had been over
to Queensland. They knew them only by name and
the oft-repeated tales of childhood, which were their
favourite stories of all Mr. and Mrs. Orban told.

This was their mother's unmarried sister, Dorothy
Chase, who lived with her father and mother in
Herefordshire, in the " old home " the children knew
so well by hearsay, and longed so much to see.
Some one coming out from England was next best
to going home, and the news produced the wildest
commotion of questions and suggestions.

" When will she come, mother ? When can she be
here ? " came in chorus.

" Well, I am sure I don't know," Mrs. Orban said ;
" but it seems to me she will not be very far behind
this letter."

" Not more than a fortnight, I should think," said
Mr. Orban. " You see they are hurrying her off."

" O mummie, this is exciting ! " Nesta exclaimed.
" Do tell us how old Aunt Dorothy is ! "

" Just twenty-three. She was a little child when
I last saw her, and I can never picture her grown
up."

" Twenty-three is a decent age for girls," said
Eustace.

"Out of a vast and varied experience speaks Sir
Eustace," laughed Bob — and Eustace reddened.

" Twenty-three," said Mr. Orban. " Fancy little Dot
twenty-three ! There'll be a big change in her."

THE BAREFOOT VISITOB. 41

" There must be a big change in every one, Jack,"
Mrs. Orban sighed. " What wouldn't I give to see
them all ! "

" The next thing we shall hear," remarked Bob
solemnly, " is that you will be clearing out to England
— the whole lot of you. I don't think I like the
idea of Miss Dorothy coming at all. She will
bewitch you, and off you will all go."

" No such luck," cried Nesta impulsively.

" Alas ! an impossibility," said Mrs. Orban.

Mr. Orban said nothing, but looked very grave.

These few words, however, could only shadow the
great excitement a moment. Mrs. Orban returned
to her letter, and read interesting little scraps from
time to time, such as ' I am cudgelling my brains
in the hurry to think of everything I can send you —
it is such a grand opportunity — I wish I had time
to get a list of wants from you — but I dare say
nothing will come amiss. Frocks for the girls and
yourself, of course — ' "

" Darling gran ! " cried Nesta.

"Then I needn't get the duster stuff," said Mr.
Orban. .

"No, none of the clothes," said Mrs. Orban. "I
know what grannie is when she gets a chance to send
a box."

Nesta and Peter went off in high spirits with Bob
later in the day, Nesta exacting many promises that
should Aunt Dorothy by some miracle appear before
she was expected, Mrs. Orban would send for the
children back.

Eustace let the party go without a pang ; he was
actually glad not to be going. So taken up was he

42 THE BAREFOOT VISITOR.

with the new idea that he even forgot his fear lest
he had made a bad impression on the great Bob.

There was so much to be thought of in the
preparations for Miss Chase's arrival that even Mr.
Orban's departure two mornings later left no one
depressed. Up to the last Mrs. Orban was wondering
whether there was anything she could think of that
could be brought from Brisbane for their visitor's
greater comfort.

" She will be used to such a different life," Mrs.
Orban said. " I do hope she won't mind roughing it."

" Not she," said Mr. Orban heartily. " She will like
it all the better if we make no changes for her, but
just let her see life as we live it. After all, it is only
for a time with her."

" Well, my darling old man," said Mrs. Orban
gaily that evening, as she and Eustace sat alone at
late dinner, " how does it feel to be ' man of the
house ' ? Do you feel a great burden of responsibility
as mummie's guardian and protector ? "

" I don't know, mummie," said Eustace.

He was looking very grave, for now that the
lamps were lighted and it was dusk outside every-
thing felt different again.

The veranda ran round the entire house ; only
on one side was there a flight of steps down to the
ground. The drawing-room opened out on to the
other side of the house, facing the sea. It was here
Mrs. Orban and Eustace went after dinner, for the
day had been exhaustingly hot, and now a slight
breeze blew landwards.

But for the rustling of leaves and a distant

THE BAREFOOT VISITOR. 43

murmur from the plantation, the night was very still.
As she meant to go to bed so early, Mrs. Orban did
not have lamps brought out on to the veranda; she
and Eustace sat close together in the gloom, their only
light a faint golden streak from the drawing-room.

Becky had been in bed a long time, and was fast
asleep. For a while they could hear the servants
clearing away the dinner ; then there was silence even
in that quarter, and they knew that Mary and Kate
had gone to bed.

" We ought to be going too, I think, my man,"
Mrs. Orban said softly.

Eustace slipped down on to a stool at her feet
and rested his head against her knee.

" O mummie," he pleaded, " not just yet. Couldn't
you tell me a story first ? "

"I could, of course," Mrs. Orban admitted slowly,
" but the question is, Ought I to ? It is getting late
for you."

" But it is awfully early for you," Eustace argued.
" I don't believe you will sleep if you go now. You
always say you can't if you go to bed too soon. You
see, we needn't get up quite so early, as father isn't
here to go out to the plantation."

" That is true," said Mrs. Orban with a laugh. " I
really think we shall have to make a barrister of you,
Eustace, you plead a cause so eloquently. But what
kind of story shall I tell you ? "

" Oh, one of the old home stories, please," he said
instantly. "I should like to know all I can about
it before Aunt Dorothy comes."

" I wonder if there are any I have not told you/'
Mrs. Orban said thoughtfully.

44 THE BAREFOOT VISITOR.

" There must be hundreds," Eustace said. " I always
think Maze Court must have stories without end."

"We used to think so, I remember," said his
mother ; " but I suppose that is always the case with
a house when one family has possessed and occupied
it for so many generations."

" It is a sixteenth-century house, isn't it ? " Eustace
asked.

" Seventeenth century," was the answer, " built in
1688 by Eustace Chase, a loyal subject of the king.
His father lost everything for the cause, and the
young man was rewarded for following the Royalist
fortunes — or rather misfortunes — soon after the king
came to his own again."

Eustace gave a huge sigh.

" I do like belonging to people like that," he said
with satisfaction.

There was a long silence.

" Mummie — the story," prompted Eustace at last.

" I was just hunting my memory for one," said
his mother. " Did you ever hear how we lost Aunt
Dorothy ? "

Eustace shook his head and settled himself com-
fortably to listen, so Mrs. Orban went on : —

" One summer we gave a large party for young
people. It happens that several of us have birth-
days in the summer, and this was a sort of combined
birthday treat. So we invited friends varying in
age from five, suitable for Dorothy, to seventeen or
eighteen, and a very merry party it promised to be.
The day began gloriously, but father prophesied it
was going to be too hot to be perfect; and he was
right. About the middle of the afternoon thunder-

THE BAREFOOT VISITOR. 45

clouds gathered quickly, and by tea-time there was
a raging storm ; but it was as short as it was sharp,
and all over in an hour. There was no question as
to going out again, the ground. was too sopping wet
after the rain to dream of such a thing, so it was
proposed that we should have a good game of hide-
and-seek all over the house. I wish I could tell you
what a lovely plaw home is for hide-and-seek.
There are so many rooms with doors between that
you can almost go the round of the house on any
landing without coming out into the passage more
than twice or three times. Then there are several
staircases, and lastly the turret, which was always
used for ' home/ because it was a regular trap for
hiding in. Once found, you could never get away
from there."

" O mummie," breathed Eustace softly, " how it
does make me want to go and see it all."

" I am glad it does, sonny," Mrs. Orban said. " I
want you to want to go — I always pray some day
you will. It is a home to be proud of."

" Go on, please," said Eustace in the little pause
that followed.

"I don't think people ever get tired of hide-and-
seek," Mrs. Orban continued. " It is the one game
that seems to suit all ages — I mean among young
people. We played on and on till dusk, and then
the game was only stopped by people coming for
or sending to fetch their children home. Just in the
middle of the first ' good-byes,' mother, who had been
entertaining grown-ups most of the afternoon, came
and asked for Dorothy. No one knew where she
was. ' Who had seen her last ? ' It was impossible

46 THE BAREFOOT VISITOR.

to find out, but apparently she had not been seen
by any one for a long time. Dorothy at five years
old was a very independent little person, and resented
being obviously looked after. She always liked to
hide by herself, for instance. Well, then, there began
a game of hide-and-seek in real earnest, and it became
more and more .serious every minute, when white-
faced groups met in the hall declaring that every
corner had been searched, and still there was no
trace of Dorothy."

"Didn't grannie nearly go mad?" asked Eustace
feelingly. He well knew what the loss of Becky
would mean to his mother.

" Very nearly," was the answer ; " but I think your
grandfather was even worse. All the tiny children
were taken home, but many of the elder boys and
girls begged to be allowed to stay and help, and now
the hunt began outside with lanterns among out-
houses and stables. The echoes rang with Dorothy's
name, but in vain ; the hunt was useless, and some
of us straggled back into the house and began calling
and looking all over the same ground again. I
cannot tell you what terrible thoughts had got into
our heads by that time. We remembered the story
of the lady who hid herself in the old spring chest
and could not get out — "

" The Mistletoe Bough lady," breathed Eustace.

" Yes ; and we hunted every box, chest, and cup-
board in the house, but Dorothy was in none of them.
She seemed literally to have been spirited away.
It became so late that at last all the other children
were taken home, and we were left just ourselves —
a very miserable family."

THE BAREFOOT VISITOR. 47

Eustace sat up suddenly and held his breath, his
face blanched, his eyes alert.

" At last, close on midnight," Mrs. Orban went on
in a low voice.

" Mother, mother," Eustace said in a sharp whisper,
kneeling and putting an arm protectingly round her,
" did you hear something ? "

"Yes, darling," Mrs. Orban continued, "close on
midnight — "

"No, no," Eustace said, "not then — now — this
minute, as you were speaking ! "

Mrs. Orban started perceptibly.

" No, darling," she answered. "Why? Did you?"

There was an instant's tense silence.

" It is some one coming round the veranda —
barefoot," Eustace whispered.

" One of the maids, perhaps," said Mrs. Orban, but
her voice quivered.

"They would come through the house," said the
boy. " This fellow has come up the veranda steps. I
heard them creak."

A lifetime in great solitude sharpens the hearing
to the most extraordinary extent. Children born and
brought up in the wilds often have this sense more
keenly developed than any other. The Orban chil-
dren seemed to hear without listening — sounds which,
even when she was told of them, Mrs. Orban, with
her English training, did not catch till several
minutes later.

But now the pad-pad-pad of bare feet was unmis-
takable— a pad-pad-pad, then a halt, as if the visitor
stopped to listen.

Below in the scrub — that wild thick undergrowth

48 THE BAREFOOT VISITOR.

among trees, harbouring so many strange creatures —
there were hoarse cries, and now and then the howl
of a dingo, so horribly suggestive of a human being
in an agony of pain.

The pair on the veranda clung together for an
instant — one only.

"I must go to Becky," whispered Mrs. Orban,
recovering herself.

But Eustace held her down.

" Oh, don't — don't for one moment," he implored ;
" wait and see what it is."

" Pad-pad-pad " came the steps, nearer and nearer.
A shadow fell aslant the corner of the veranda —
the shadow of a man thrown by the light from the
drawing-room side window.

The shadow of a man fell aslant the corner of the veranda.

CHAPTER IV.
A NIGHT OF TERROR.

" T% TRS. ORBAN," called a voice softly— a familiar
i V J. English-speaking voice ; " Mrs. Orban, are
you still up ? "

Mother and son fell apart, and Eustace sprang to
his feet.

" Why, it is Bob ! " he exclaimed in bewilderment

" Bob ! " cried his mother. " Impossible ! "

" Not a bit," said Bob Cochrane, coming round into
the streak of lamplight, carrying his boots in his
hands. " I just strolled over to see if you were all
right. When I got to the steps it struck me I might
startle you if I came thundering up, so I took my
boots off and crept round to find out where you were.
You were so quiet I thought you must have gone to
bed and left the lights burning."

" We were talking, nevertheless, when you arrived,"
Mrs. Orban said, " for I was telling Eustace a story."

"I didn't hear you," Bob said. "Probably my
heart was in my mouth, and beating so loud that
it deafened me ; for, of course, I knew I carried my
life in my hand."

" Your life in your hand ? " repeated Eustace
wonderingly.

(1,331) 4

60 A NIGHT OF TERROR.

" Certainly. I felt sure you would bound on me
with a revolver the moment you heard me, shoot me
dead, and then demand an explanation. It is the
sort of ardent thing one might expect from a knight
of your order, Sir Eustace."

Bob's chaff went deeper home than he meant it
to. Eustace was in no mood for joking after the
strain of the last few minutes. He hoped with all
his heart that Mrs. Orban would not betray to Bob
how terror-stricken he had just shown himself.
Perhaps she understood, or it may be that she was
half ashamed of her own unnecessary panic, for she
only said, —

"It is really very good of you to have come in
the face of that grave peril, and at such an hour too."

" Well, the fact is I wanted to," Bob said in his
casual way, "and the mater insisted. I've left our
old foreman sleeping in the house for to-night, and
I thought I would just turn in with Eustace, if you
don't mind."

" We shall be simply delighted," Mrs. Orban said,
with a feeling of real relief.

" The mater wants me to take you all back to
the Highlands early to-morrow," Bob went on ; " you,
Becky, and Eustace. She can't bear to think of your
loneliness here. Do come and stay with us till Mr.
Orban comes back."

It was the kind of thought good, homely little
Mrs. Cochrane was celebrated for. But Mrs. Orban
shook her head.

" It is just like your mother to think of such a
thing," she said, "and just like her son to be her
messenger so readily, but I can't do it, Bob. I

A NIGHT OF TERROR. 51

couldn't possibly leave the maids and the house to
take care of themselves. Mary and Kate would be
terrified."

" Oh, bother Mary and Kate ! " said Bob.

"I should be most bothered if they took it into
their heads to run away and leave us, especially
now that my sister is coming. No, really, I cannot
leave home, much as I should enjoy it. Your mother,
as an experienced housekeeper, will feel for me in
that."

" We forgot the maids and the house," said Bob in
a disappointed tone.

" It can't be helped," said Mrs. Orban lightly ; " and,
indeed, we are quite all right. There is nothing to
be afraid of, and I have Eustace. — Which reminds
me, old man, hadn't you better be off to bed ? This
is considerably later than I meant you to be."

" Oh but, mother," Eustace exclaimed, " what about
Aunt Dorothy ? I couldn't sleep without the rest of
that story."

" Oh yes, do let's have the rest of the story first,"
pleaded Bob.

"There isn't much left now," said Mrs. Orban.
"I was only telling him how we once lost Dorothy
in a game of hide-and-seek when she was five years
old. We had been hunting the house for hours ; a
sort of awful silence had fallen among us, as if we
were expecting I don't know what — "

" When close upon midnight," quoted Eustace in a
mysterious voice.

" There arose the cry of a terror-stricken child —
shriek upon shriek — feeble because of the distance it
was from the great hall, where we were all mustered

52 A NIGHT OF TERROR.

in shivering silence, but distinct enough to be recog-
nized as Dorothy's voice. I shall never forget it —
it makes me shudder now — for the panic in that
child's cry was appalling. What was being done to
her ? What awful pain was she in that she should
shriek in such a way ? Such were our thoughts as
we hurried in a tumbling mass after father and
mother. We reached the turret stairs, and father
commanded every one with lanterns to go first and
light the way. Right to the very top we went, into
the little round room we called the Watchman's Nest,
and here the sounds were loudest ; but they were still
muffled, and there was not a sign of Dorothy any-
where."

" Was there any furniture for her to hide in ? "
asked Eustace, looking puzzled.

" One table, one chair," said Mrs. Orban, " and a
small black oak cupboard against the inner wall — it
would have just about held Dorothy on the lower
shelf. We opened it, flashed in our lanterns, but it
was black and empty. One peculiar feature there
was about it — when the cupboard door was open we
heard the child more clearly. It seemed a stupid,
senseless thing to do, but down I went on my hands
and knees to feel those empty shelves, as if I imagined
Dorothy might be there in spite of our seeing nothing
— invisible but tangible. Of course there was nothing
but wood to touch ; but with my head inside there, I
could hear Dorothy so well I might have been in the
same room with her."

" How queer ! " Eustace broke out excitedly.

" ' Dorothy, Dorothy,' I shouted. ' Mother — I want
mother, mother, mother,' she shrieked. 'Where are

A NIGHT OF TEBROB. 53

you ? Tell us where you are/ I called. ' I want
mother, mother, mother,' was the only answer. 'Mother
is here,' I said ; and again, ' Tell us where you are.'
Something made me feel the cupboard again, and
this time I did not only touch the shelves, but put
my hand right back. ' Quick, quick ! a lantern/ I
simply screamed, and half a dozen were lowered
instantly. There was no back to the cupboard on
the lower shelf. The blackness we had mistaken for
the old oak was just nothingness — a deep, deep hollow
into the wall."

" Mother," Eustace cried, " a secret chamber ! "

" A secret chamber that no one had ever suspected ;
and Dorothy it was who had found it."

" But how ? " The question came from Bob
Cochrane.

" She was the most daring child I have ever
known," said Mrs. Orban. " I don't think Dorothy
knew what fear meant in those days. She knew
that scarcely any one ever searched the turret,
because it was difficult to get away from, and it
entered her small head to creep up to the Watch-
man's Nest and into this cupboard. Whether she
went to sleep waiting for us to find her, or whether
she rolled over at once and fell down the little flight
of steps into the secret chamber, to lie there stunned,
no one knows. Dorothy could not explain herself.
Anyhow, there she was, and the moment she came
to her senses and found herself in the dark she
began to scream with fright."

" But how was it no one had ever discovered the
secret chamber before ? " demanded Eustace. " It
seems funny,"

54 A NIGHT OF TERROR.

" You would not think so if you saw the cupboard,"
Mrs. Orban said. " It is a little, insignificant-looking
thing — low and rather deep, and, as we then found,
built into the wall. The back of the lower shelf
was a sliding panel ; and your grandfather's theory
is that the last person who used the secret chamber
left the panel open. Without nearly standing on
one's head it was impossible to see the back of the
lower shelf, and no one had ever suspected such a
thing."

"O Bob, Bob, wouldn't you just like to see Maze
Court ? " cried Eustace. " I shall never be happy till
I do."

" I tell you you will all be off on Miss Dorothy's
broomstick one of these fine days," growled Bob.
" She is a witch, and she has already bewitched you,
for you can talk of nothing but England now."

"You had better go to bed, Eustace," Mrs. Orban
said with a laugh. " Bob is getting quite fierce."

Bob left very early next day to get back to work.
As Nesta and Peter were having holidays, Eustace,
of course, did no lessons, but spent the day very
contentedly helping his mother. She was busy re-
arranging furniture in the room that was to be Miss
Chase's, and they scarcely sat down the whole day
till evening.

" Early to bed this night, my son," said Mrs.
Orban as they left the dinner-table. " I expect you
will sleep like a top."

He was looking sleepy already, and a quarter of
an hour later went very readily to his room, with a
parting entreaty to his mother that she would not
sit up late.

A NIGHT OF TERROR. 66

" Not I," was the laughing rejoinder. " I promise
you I will only write one little line to father and
begin my mail letter to grannie, and then I will go
to bed."

This Mrs. Orban did, and being very tired she fell
asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

For several hours a great silence reigned over the
house ; but even when it was broken by the soft pad-
pad-pad of bare feet creeping stealthily round the
veranda, the sleepers lay utterly unconscious. The
stairs had not creaked under the weight of this
figure ; it cast no shadows, for there was no light
either within the house or without. At every window
it halted, listened, peered in, as if it had the eyes of
a cat to see with in the dark.

First came the dining-room, and next it the room
in which Eustace and Peter slept. Round the corner
were Mrs. Orban's room and part of the drawing-room.
At the other corner was Nesta's room, where Miss
Chase would also sleep, and next to that the servants'
room.

The strange visitor made a complete tour of the
veranda and reached the stair again.

Eustace was dreaming vividly. He was out with
Nesta and Becky. Beoky had been specially entrusted
to their care, and they had been told only to go a
little way into the scrub. As a rule the children
were not allowed to go into the scrub without a
grown-up in charge, for there were dangers among
the thick bushy undergrowth known by this odd
name. For one thing, snakes abounded there ; for
another, it was only too easy to lose one's bearings,
wander farther and farther into the wood, and eventu-

66 A NIGHT OF TERROR.

ally die of thirst and starvation, utterly unable to
find the way home again. To Eustace's distraction,
in his dream Becky would insist on playing hide-and-
seek, and kept constantly disappearing and returning,
flitting on in front of them now and again like a
will-o'-the-wisp.

" We mustn't let her do it," Eustace exclaimed.
" Run, Nesta ; we must catch her."

But the faster they ran, the farther Becky went ;
it was extraordinary how fast she could go.

"I can't keep up," Nesta panted.

" Just like a girl," puffed Eustace back, for he was
getting exhausted himself.

Then Becky disappeared right out of sight, and
though Eustace called her till the echoes rang again
and again with her name, there came no answer.

" Now I guess we shall all be lost," thought
Eustace desperately.

He was rushing madly hither and thither, when
suddenly he heard a blood-curdling yell not very far
off It was followed by another and another, till his
heart stood still with terror.

" Of course," he said, pulling himself together with
all his might, " she must be in the secret chamber. I
never thought of that."

But even as the notion flashed into his mind he
knew how silly it was to think of a secret chamber
in the Bush. He was so paralyzed by the awfulness
of the sounds that for a moment he could not move ;
but at last, with a mighty effort, he forced himself to
dart forward in the direction whence the cries came.

A second later he was fighting blindly with some
thing that clung unpleasantly to him. It took him

A NIGHT OF TERROR. 57

a moment to realize that this was the mosquito net
round his bed. He was out on the floor in his own
room at home. He had been dreaming, and was now
awake ; but the screams continued, and were most
horribly real. It was not Becky's voice — no child
could have cried like that.

There was a door from his room into Mrs. Orban's,
and through this the boy dashed.

" Mother, mother," he cried, " what is happening ? "

There was a light in the room. Mrs. Orban was
standing with a look of terror on her face.

" I don't know," she said unsteadily.

" It has been going on for ages," Eustace whispered.

But Mrs. Orban shook her head. "It has only
just begun," she said. " I must go and see what is
the matter."

Eustace was haunted by his dream — a second in a
dream is equivalent to hours of real life.

" O mother, don't go ! " he exclaimed in an agonized
voice, and clung to her.

" I must," was the answer, and gently but firmly
Mrs. Orban put the boy from her. " Perhaps one of
the servants is ill. At least they are both frightened,
and need me. Stay here with Becky."

The words were hardly out of her mouth when the
door burst open, and in rushed Mary, followed by
Kate. Both girls looked half mad with fear.

" O ma'am, ma'am," they cried, piecing out the
tale between them, " there was a black-fellow in our
room. He lias stolen our watches from under our
pillows, and everything he could find before we woke,
and he was pulling the rings off Mary's finger when
she felt him and jumped out of bed. But he got the

58 A NIGHT OF TERROR.

rings, and we don't know where he is — somewhere
about the house — and maybe there are others with
him. O ma'am, whatever shall we do? We shall all
be murdered in our beds."

" Nonsense, you silly girls," said Mrs. Orban, with
sudden sternness ; " we can't possibly be murdered in
our beds when we are all out of them."

Even in the stress of the moment Eustace could
not help being struck by the humour of the assertion,
but he was in no mood for laughing.

Creeping to the window, he peered out, to find
that it was no longer pitch dark ; there was a
sufficient glimmer of light to have enabled their
uninvited guest to do all that the servants described.

By this time Becky was awake and howling.
Her mother took her into her arms and soothed her
gently.

" As to what we shall do," Mrs. Orban said in that
same firm tone ; " we must all stay here till daylight
together. If there are thieves about the house, we
can do nothing to check them. They will not hurt
us if we don't interfere. There is nothing to be
done but to behave as little like cowards as we can
manage."

" But black-fellows do such — " began Kate.

" Hold your tongue, Kate," said the usually gentle
Mrs. Orban, with sudden anger. " What good can it
do to scare yourself and us by talking in such a way ?
We are in God's hands, don't forget that."

" Mother," Eustace said, " has father got his revolver
away with him ? "

"There are two in this room," Mrs. Orban replied.
" Could you use one if necessary ? "

A NIGHT OF TERROR. 59

" Oh, for mercy's sake don't let Master Eustace
have a gun in his hands ! " said Mary. " There's no
saying which of us he might shoot in mistake if he
began playing with one."

" Playing with one ! " repeated Eustace scornfully ;
" why, father says my shooting is very good for my
age."

Mrs. Orban took a revolver from a cupboard and
gave it into the boy's hands.

" It is loaded," she said, and now there was the
suspicion of a quiver in her voice ; " but realize I am
trusting you to be sensible. Don't shoot at random.
Remember what Bob said last night. You are only
to fire if terribly necessary. Now jump into Becky's
bed, or you will be getting a chill and fever."

From beneath her own pillow she drew out a
second revolver, examined it, and set it on a table
within easy reach.

" Mother," said Eustace in surprise, " do you always
sleep with a revolver under your pillow ? "

" Only when your father is away," was the reply.
— " Now, Mary and Kate, get into my bed. I am
going to sit in this cosy chair with Miss Becky. We
will talk and keep the light burning ; but it is my
belief nothing more will happen to-night."

The maids obeyed, still looking terrified, and then
Mrs. Orban seated herself, with Becky in her arms,
near the table where the revolver lay.

Thus they prepared to face the remaining hour of
darkness, powerless to do anything, utterly helpless,
with nerves strung to the highest possible pitch, and
hearts that beat wildly at every sound.

CHAPTER V
THE FIRST SHOT.

MRS. ORBAN'S words were brave, her whole
bearing courageous, but she was more
frightened than she had ever been in her life before.
It is doubtful whether she really believed her own
assertion that nothing more would happen that
night, though she tried to. As a matter of fact
her prophecy was correct. Scared by the screams
of the women, the unpleasant guest must have
promptly run away. He was probably alone, and,
uncertain as to who was in the house, had fled
from the chance of being peppered by a revolver.

It was found in the morning that nothing was
missing except the servants' watches, their few small
trinkets that were lying on the dressing-table, and
Mary's rings. The extraordinary silence with which
he had perpetrated the theft, his skill in taking the
rings off Mary's hand as it lay outside the coverlet,
were not at all unprecedented — the natives were
known to be silent and subtle as snakes in their
doings.

Mrs. Orban sent Eustace down to the plantation
as soon as she knew every one would be astir. Mr.
Ashton the field manager, was suffering from fever,

THE FIRST SHOT. 61

so that it was useless to go to him ; but on hearing
the story, Robertson, the chief engineer, returned with
the boy to look into the matter.

Investigations were in vain ; the man had left no
tracks around the house, no footprints on the ver-
anda.

The servants were so terrified that they declared
they would not stay another night in the house.
They wanted to be sent to Cooktown immediately —
a five days' journey by sea. Robertson, a big burly
Scotsman, roughly told them that such a thing was
impossible. They could not get away for another
week, when the schooner might be expected to bring
provisions. He lectured them on their cowardice in
wanting to run away and leave their mistress alone
at such a time, but the girls would not listen to
reason ; they said they would hire horses and ride
all the way to the first civilized place they could find.

Then Mrs. Orban tried persuasion. Had they not
better wait at least to see whether anything could be
heard of their lost possessions ? She would offer a
reward to any one finding the thief or restoring the
stolen goods to their owners — the offer should be
made known all over the plantation.

The suggestion carried the day, and the bargain
was made. Mrs. Orban felt that at all costs she
must keep the maids until Mr. Orban's return, for
the work and the solitude would have been too much
for her to stand, brave as she had proved herself
to be.

The offering of a reward was greatly against
Robertson's advice. He pointed out that it would
only prove an incentive to further robbery. The

62 THE FIRST SHOT.

plantation hands were an unprincipled lot, and if
they discovered that they could get money by steal-
ing things and bringing them back, as if they had
discovered them in the possession of some one else,
there would be no end to the thefts, and no tangible
means of getting hold of the thieves unless they were
caught red-handed.

But so anxious was Mrs. Orban to keep the
servants that she disregarded Robertson's opinion,
and the reward was duly offered. The engineer
had one proposal to make, which was accepted.
With Mrs. Orban's leave, he said, he, with his wife
and two little children, would come up the hill and
sleep in the house until Mr. Orban's return. There
would be safety in numbers ; and if the night visitor
came again, some one to deal with him better than
by screaming at him.

In spite of the fuller house, and the fact that
Robertson's eight-year-old boy was sleeping in Peter's
bed that night, Eustace did not feel particularly
happy in the hours of darkness before him, after
the party had broken up and said good -night.

The door between his mother's room and his own
was left open, by way of companionship for them
both, but the boy was so overtired as to be restless
and unable to go to sleep. To his excited fancy
there were unusual sounds about. The creaking of
unwarping boards, the soughing of the night breeze
round the house, even Sandy Robertson turning
round in his bed, with an impatient but sleepy
flump at the heat, were noises that set his hair on
end and made him feel cold and damp all over again
and again. Once or twice he stole from his bed to

THE FIRST SHOT. 63

peer into his mother's room, but she always seemed
asleep ; or he would look stealthily out of the win-
dow, as if he could possibly have seen anything in
the dark.

Robertson, with his wife and baby, was in Nesta's
room at the other side of the house. It occurred to
Eustace that if anything did happen — anything need-
ing immediate action — Robertson was very far away
and ungetatable. The boy sat up in bed hugging
his knees, making feverish plans as to what he should
do supposing the night visitor came again and he
should see him.

Unknown to his mother, Eustace had taken the
revolver he had been entrusted with the night before
to bed with him. He meant to sleep with it under
his pillow, but every time he got up to make his
investigations he took it, gripped tightly in his hand
ready for immediate use.

When the first gray light stole into the room at
last, Eustace began to feel drowsy. Almost against
his will he lay back on his pillow and fell asleep.
He had determined to watch the night through, but a
great heaviness, overpowered him, and he lay like a log.

It seemed A him he had hardly closed his eyes —
indeed, it cannft have been much later, for there was
but little difference in the light — when a resounding
pistol report rang through the silent house. Eustace
awoke with an instant consciousness of having slept
on his self-imposed sentry work. He felt queer and
oddly shaken as, with a cry of dismay, he sprang out
of bed and rushed into his mother's room.

" Oh, what is it ? " exclaimed Mrs. Orban, frightened
out of her wits by the noise.

64 THE FIRST SHOT.

She stared at Eustace, who stood, revolver in hand,
gazing blankly round the room.

" I don't know," he began, stopped abruptly, and
added in a choked voice, " Oh, look ! look ! "

He was staring towards the window. Outside on
the veranda, crouching on all fours in the dusk, was
a dark figure. With a strange, sudden movement it
raised itself and stretched out an arm towards the
room — standing lank, tall, and horribly sinister.

Without a moment's hesitation Eustace raised his
hand and fired. There was a splintering of glass, a
wild howl of pain, and the figure dropped like a
stone.

" Eustace," cried Mrs. Orban in a horrified voice,
" what have you done ? "

" I had to fire first," returned the boy in an odd,
sullen tone.

The figure outside moved, and with a succession
of dreadful yells began rapidly crawling along the
veranda towards the stairs.

At the bedroom door appeared the entire house-
hold, Robertson leading the way, his usually ruddy
face ghastly with astonishment.

" What on earth is happening ? " he asked, staring
at Eustace and his mother.

" I've shot something," Eustace faltered. " It is
going down the steps — "

Robertson waited to hear no more. Seizing the
boy's revolver, he took a short cut through the house
for the veranda steps.

" What was it ? " asked the frightened women, as
they huddled together in the doorway.

" I don't know," Eustace answered — "a black-

THE FIRST SHOT. 65

fellow of some sort. I wonder if I — I killed
him."

There had fallen a sudden silence outside ; the
awful howling had ceased.

Eustace sat down on the edge of his mother's bed
feeling sick and shivery. To have killed a man — a
white fellow, black-fellow, any sort of fellow ; it was
horrible !

The most extraordinary sounds arose from the
veranda. Had Robertson gone mad, or what could
be the matter with him ?

" Ho-ho-ho ! ha-ha-ha ! ho-ho-ho-ho ! " he roared.

Every one stood as if paralyzed. There was some-
thing terribly uncanny about the laughter. It seemed
so ill-timed, so jarring and unkind.

Robertson appeared at the broken window.

" Upon my word, Eustace," exclaimed the Scotsman,
" it's the best joke ever I heard or saw. Come and
look at your black-fellow and be proud of yourself."

" I can't ! " said Eustace, his knees knocking together
as he attempted to stand, and he fell back on the bed.

" Oh, what is it, Mr. Robertson ? " asked Mrs.
Orban.

" Why, it's nothing but a miserable, half -starved
dingo-dog that must have prowled up to the house
in search of food," Robertson said. "You marked
him well — I will say that for you, Eustace. He
was dead before I could reach the steps."

" Thank God it was not a human being," exclaimed
Mrs. Orban.

" A dingo ! " cried Eustace, sitting up suddenly with
a perplexed expression in his eyes. " Then who fired
the first shot ? I mean the one that woke me."

(1,331) 5

66 THE FIRST SHOT.

The relief faded from Mrs. Orban's face. It was a
startling question, an uncomfortable reflection that
the first shot had not been accounted for.

" Yes, by the way," she said, " there was that other
shot. It seemed to come from Eustace's room, and I
was frightened out of my wits. I was thankful to
see him safe and sound a minute later."

"I heard two shots distinctly," Robertson said,
looking grave ; " but of course I fancied Eustace had
fired twice at the dingo."

"Not I," said Eustace. "I never saw the beast
till I came into mother's room ; and I didn't fire till
it stood up against the window and looked like a
human being."

" H'm," said Robertson. " It strikes me I had
better have a look round. Just stay here till I
come back."

The women all looked scared. It was not a
pleasant idea that the person who fired that first
shot was possibly lurking about somewhere in the
shadows. They listened breathlessly as Robertson
made the tour of the house, momentarily expecting
a fresh commotion, the firing of shots and a struggle.
Mrs. Robertson was dreadfully upset, and held her
two children close ; the maids huddled together in
a corner. Mrs. Orban stood, revolver in hand, near
Becky's bed with such quiet dignity that somehow
Eustace was steadied.

The chances were that, finding himself hunted by
Robertson, the man would try to effect an escape on
to the veranda this way as a short cut to the steps.

If the visitor were the same as that of the night
before, it was all important he should be captured

THE FIRST SHOT. 67

— otherwise this disagreeable night raid might be
repeated.

But no shots and no sound of a scuffle were heard.
Robertson returned to say that he had investigated
every nook and cranny that a man might have
hidden in, and found no trace of any one having
entered the house anywhere.

The little gathering stared about with questioning,
bewildered eyes, and no one felt any happier for the
news. The fact remained that a shot had been fired
by a mysterious being who had apparently vanished
into air. For what purpose had that shot been fired ?
At what ? At whom ?

" I can't make it out," said Robertson. " There
seems no sense in a fellow coming and letting off
fireworks in the middle of the night for nothing."

" Perhaps it is a trick of some sort," suggested Mrs.
Orban ; " some one trying to frighten us. But I don't
see that that is possible."

"Nor I," said Robertson. "People aren't in the
habit of playing practical jokes without some purpose
in them hereabouts. All the same, it doesn't seem
much good all of you staying up like this. If you'll
just get back to your beds, I'll watch for the rest of the
night. It may be a better way of trapping a chap,
if he hasn't got clean away by now. That is the most
likely thing, of course — his firearm probably went off
inadvertently as he was coming round the veranda,
and he knew he had done for himself, so made tracks
at once. He might come back as soon as he thought
the house was quiet again, but I don't expect him."

No one felt much inclined to take Robertson's
practical advice. At the same time it seemed foolish

68 THE FIRST SHOT.

to stay up and exhaust themselves for nothing, and
Mrs. Orban agreed that every one should go to bed.

Eustace went very reluctantly. He would have
liked to stay up and share Robertson's watch like
a man ; it seemed so childish to be sent to bed after
taking part in such an excitement. He wondered
what Nesta would have thought of it had she been
there.

" Goodness, wouldn't she have been scared ! " he
reflected. " I do wonder what she would have done."

At least there would be plenty to tell her when
she came home. She might be having a jolly time ;
but Eustace guessed, when it was all over, she would
be disappointed at having been out of such adventures
as these. There was a sort of glow about the realiza-
tion that they were such very real adventures —
experiences that did not come every day and to every
one. The only stupid part about it was having to go
to bed.

Mrs. Orban felt no glow in her realization of the
situation. She longed for her husband, and wondered
how she was going to bear his absence much longer.
If this sort of thing were to go on she felt that it
would break her nerve entirely.

Having kissed Eustace and sent him away, she felt
too restless to get into bed. Sleep she knew would
be impossible ; and taking a book, she was just sitting
down with the set purpose of making herself read
awhile, in order to quiet her mind, when a sharp cry
reached her from the next room.

" Mother ! mother ! " Eustace cried, " come here-
quick I "

CHAPTER VI,
BOB'S VERDICT.

SHE found Eustace standing beside his bed staring
at it in utter bewilderment.

" My dearest boy, what is it ? " she asked.

" Why, look at that ! " Eustace exclaimed, pointing
down at the coverlet.

From about the centre of the bed on the right
side, down almost to the foot, was a long brown
streak like a burn : the coverlet was cut and charred.

Mrs. Orban stared at it in astonishment

" What can it be ? " she said.

" I can't think," Eustace replied.

"You had better fetch Robertson," Mrs. Orban
said. " There is something very odd about this."

" Don't you mind being left alone, mother ? "
Eustace asked, looking round anxiously, as if he
thought an explanation of the mystery might jump
from under a bed or out of a cupboard.

" Of course not, dear," Mrs. Orban replied gravely.

It amused her even in her anxiety that this
slender scrap of fourteen should assume such an
air of protection, but it touched her also, and she
would not for worlds have let him fancy she could
smile at him.

70 BOB'S VERDICT.

Robertson hurried to the spot immediately, and
when he saw the condition of the coverlet he looked
utterly nonplussed.

"Well, this is a queer state of things," he said,
rubbing his head meditatively. " I never saw any-
thing to equal it."

Further examination proved that not only was
the coverlet burnt right through, but the under
clothes were scorched and crumbled like tinder at
a touch.

" It looks like the track of a shot," Robertson said ;
" but how could it come there ? "

" I don't know," Eustace said, " unless some one
was kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed
and tried to shoot me without raising his hand.
The shot sounded most awfully close."

Robertson took a quick survey of the situation,
ending with an examination of the wall at the head
of the bed.

"No," he said, "that couldn't be. The bullet
would have gone into the pillow or lodged in the
wall, but there isn't a sign of it. Seems to me it
went the other way by the mark. It is broadest
in the middle of the bed."

He followed the line with his eye, then glanced
across the room.

"Why," he exclaimed, going over to the opposite
wall, "here is the mark of the bullet — here is the
bullet itself, deep in the wood. That shot went off
from the middle of your bed, lad."

Eustace looked incredulous, Mrs. Orban horrified.
It was awful to think that the boy had been in such
danger. The man who had fired that first alarming

BOB'S VERDICT. 71

shot was close to him, perhaps bending over him,
when inadvertently the weapon had gone off ! The
mother could picture it only too vividly, and she
felt sick at the thought of the ghastly peril.

" But what happened to the man ? " questioned
Eustace. " I was awake in a minute, and must have
seen him."

" Not if he ducked under the bed," suggested Mrs.
Orban. " He must have been there when you came
to me, and made his escape the instant you were
out of the way."

" Much more likely if he had knocked the youngster
on the head to silence him," argued Robertson, as he
stood toying with Mr. Orban's revolver. "I don't
think that story will wash."

Quite suddenly the man threw back his head and
laughed aloud.

" I have it," he said. " Eustace, you young rascal,
what a scare you have given us ! "

" I ! " exclaimed Eustace, with a touch of indigna-
tion in his tone.

" Yes, you," was the reply. " Why, you fired that
first shot yourself; I'll bet you anything you did.
You only shot once at the dingo — there are two
chambers empty in this revolver. Come, own up ;
where was the revolver when you went to sleep ? "

Eustace flushed crimson as the realization flooded
his mind.

" It was in my hand when I jumped out of bed,"
he said. "I — I do believe I went to sleep holding
it. I dropped off suddenly."

He remembered how inexplicably queer and shaken
be had felt when he awoke. Now he came to think

72 BOB'S VERDICT.

of it, he had been strangely jarred. A mere sound
could scarcely have accounted for the feeling.

" Well, that clears the whole mystery, then;" said
Robertson. " There is no one lurking about the house,
and there hasn't been anything to be frightened about
— except that you might have shot your own foot
through, and lamed yourself for life."

" He might have killed himself," said Mrs. Or-
ban seriously. " It was a terribly dangerous thing
to do."

She said nothing more, for it was evident Eustace
felt very small and uncomfortable. It was the tamest
possible ending to what had promised to be such a
stirring adventure — such a tale to tell !

Presently, when he was left alone to try and get
a little sleep before it was time to get up and dress,
the full humiliation of it overcame him. What
would his father say ? and Nesta ? and, worse and
worse, Bob Cochrane ? How he would be laughed
at — teased ! He would never be allowed to forget
the dingo he had mistaken for a black-fellow ; and
he felt hot all over when he thought of that foolish
shot — the cause of all the commotion.

It was a very depressed Eustace who appeared
at breakfast. He took Robertson's unabated amuse-
ment so gravely that the engineer stopped laughing
at him, and wondered if the youngster were sulking.

Mrs. Orban felt a good deal distressed to see how
pale the boy was, and that he could hardly touch
the food set before him. But every one showed
signs of exhaustion, as was natural after two nights
of such unusual strain. Mrs. Orban kept Eustace
with her all day, setting him small jobs to keep him

BOB'S VERDICT. 78

occupied. They all went to bed early that night,
and the household slept without rocking.

Nezt day, in the cool of the morning, Bob Cochrane
rode over to inquire how the Orbans were getting
on. Eustace heard him come — the boy was on the
lookout for this particular visit — and as Bob walked
round one side of the veranda, Eustace disappeared
along the other, left a message with Mary that he
was going down to the mill, and started away from
the house at a run. The truth was, he felt he simply
could not be present while Bob listened to the story
of his absurd adventures ; he wanted the narration
to be over before he faced the fusillade of chaff with
which the young fellow might pepper him. " He'll
think me a silly little fool, I know he will," Eustace
told himself again and again; "and he'll say, 'What
did I tell you about shooting recklessly ? ' I expect
he'll think I'm a baby, not fit to be trusted with
firearms. It's disgusting, just when I was hoping
he might begin to think me worth taking out shoot-
ing with him soon."

Thoroughly out of conceit with himself, Eustace
wished he need not go home at all until Bob was
certain to be gone. But no sooner did he reach
the mill and begin wandering about the rooms full
of machinery than it struck him it had been rather
cowardly even to run away for a time. Bob would
know he had not felt equal to facing him, and
perhaps he would despise that as much as he was
bound to be amused at the other. The lad had a
sharp tussle with himself, and at last started back
up the hill with the feelings of a most unwilling
martyr going to the stake.

74 BOB'S VERDICT.

He was about two-thirds of the way up when he
caught sight of Bob Cochrane coming swinging down
towards him. Bob was just the kind of fellow every
boy wants to grow into — big, well-made, splendidly
manly ; he looked jolly in his riding-suit.

" Hulloa ! " he called as soon as he came within
speaking distance.

" Hulloa ! " Eustace called back tonelessly, his heart
thumping hard, his colour coming and going ridicu-
lously.

Bob waited till they met. Then, " Well, youngster,"
he said gravely, putting a big hand on the lad's
shoulder and walking on beside him, " you've had a
rough time since I saw you last. I don't wonder
you shot at that dingo in the way you did ; I should
have done it myself, I believe, under the circum-
stances."

Eustace's heart almost stopped beating, he was
so surprised ; he could not speak a word.

" Of course that chap coming the night before
put you all on edge," proceeded Bob, " and you were
flurried by the first shot. That might have been a
nasty business too. Glad you didn't hurt yourself."

There was another pause, but Bob did not seem
to mind. He went on again presently,—

" It is just this kind of thing, I always think, that
gives one a bit of a useful warning : first, to be
cautious; and second, to keep a cool head. You'll
never go to sleep with a revolver ready cocked again,
and another time you will give yourself a second's
deliberation before you fire at anything looking like
a man. It might have been Robertson making a
tour of the house, you know."

BOBS VERDICT. 75

Eustace felt suddenly rather sick.

" I never thought of that," he said.

" Of course not," was the cheery response. " One
doesn't look all round a question in a hurry, but
one has to learn to remember there may be two
sides to it. You'll get the hang of the idea one of
these days. I know it was a long time before I
gave up wanting to shoot down everything I didn't
quite like the looks of. Sometimes it turns out well,
sometimes pretty badly."

He ended with a little laugh. Eustace, looking
up into the merry, kindly face, knew that the awful
time he had so dreaded was over, and it had not
been an " awful time " after all. Bob did not think
him a fool ; he might have done the same himself,
he said. He only warned him to be more careful
another time, and gave him the reasons why he should.

The boy had always admired this friend of the
family ; he positively glowed with pride at this
minute that Bob was a friend of his own. Whatever
might happen now, whoever might snub or laugh at
him, Eustace had this comforting knowledge always
at heart — Bob understood, and Bob was a man no
one would laugh at.

"He is a brick," thought the lad warmly. "I
wish there was anything, anything in the world I
could do to show him what a brick I think him.
If ever there is, won't I just do it! The more
dangerous it is the better."

" I remember once having a pretty gruesome ex-
perience," said Bob, chatting on easily. " I expect
you've never heard about it, because you were nothing
but a kiddy at the time, and it has been forgotten

76 BOB'S VERDICT.

lately. I was going home across our plantation with
two other fellows late at night — much later than
the mater liked us to be out. In order to be as
quick as possible, when we got to the little line
running to the mill we hoisted the trolley on to
the rails and began pushing ourselves along at a
great rate. It was the sort of darkness one can peer
through, making things look weird and distorted,
often much bigger than they really are."

" Like the dingo."

" Like the dingo. Well, we were getting along
finely, when we got to rather a steep gradient and
had to go slower up it. Near the top one of us
suddenly caught sight of something unusual to the
left of the line. It looked like a huge cowering
figure, wide but not tall. Whether four-legged or
two-legged it was impossible to say because of the
gloom. It wasn't a nice feeling to have this thing
silently waiting for one. We all boo'd and shoo'd
first, thinking that if it were a beast of any sort it
would scoot at the noise; but it didn't stir an inch
or make a sound. We felt pretty creepy by then,
for black-fellow tales were even commoner in those
days than they are now. From the size of it we
guessed it might have been a group of three men.
Then we shouted, ' Hands up and declare yourself,
or we fire ! ' But still the creature didn't move or
speak."

" My hat ! " exclaimed Eustace sympathetically.

" We had got to get past it somehow to reach
home, for it wasn't likely we could stay there all
night. We gave it two more chances, and then we
fired for all we were worth. There were instantly

BOB'S VERDICT. 77

shrieks, groans, and such horrible sounds that we
waited for nothing more, but pushing our stakes into
the ground, sent the trolley flying past the awful
spot and down the next hill. How we didn't turn
over and get killed down that incline I don't know —
it was the one nearest home, you know, where one
has to be so fearfully careful about putting on a
brake as a rule. However, we got in all right, and
gave a detailed account of our adventure. Every
one was interested and puzzled. Father was a little
inclined to laugh ; he said it was probably the stump
of a tree, but of course we had evidence against that
in the genuine shrieks and groans following our shots.
' Well, we must just go first thing to-morrow,' father
said, ' and look into the matter by daylight.' "

" And did you ? " asked Eustace eagerly.

" Rather ! I should just think we did — father, a
friend of his who was staying with us, and the two
boys I had been out with. We rode, and when we
got to the spot the first thing we saw was the huge
stump of a newly-felled tree, right in the very place
we had seen the gruesome object."

Eustace whistled.

" But a tree couldn't shriek and groan," he objected.

" So we said when father began minutely examin-
ing the bark ; and to our satisfaction there wasn't a
single shot mark in the tree, though we must have fired
half a dozen between us. ' We can't have seen this,'
I said, feeling rather cock-a-hoopy ; ' it must have
been something nearer.' We were just all puzzling
our heads over the matter when a Chinkee came
running towards us from a group of huts not very
far off. He was gesticulating and making a fearful

78 BOB 8 VERDICT.

fuss. We followed him in a fine state of excitement,
and he led us to a little low shed with a railing before
it. We looked in, and there lay two dead pigs ! "

" Two dead pigs ! " cried Eustace.

" Yes. It was pretty humiliating, for it just proved
we had aimed at the tree and missed it. Instead, we
shot the Chinkee's inoffensive pigs. It was many
a long day before that joke was forgotten against us.
Moreover, amongst us we had to scrape a pound
together to pay the Chinaman for his loss. I never
felt so small in my life."

Eustace could well appreciate the sensation after
his own experiences.

Bob took a very light view of the real visit the
Orbans had had from the black-fellow two nights
before.

"He wouldn't have hurt any one," said the young
fellow. " He was nothing but a cowardly thief, or
he wouldn't have behaved in the way he did. I'm
only sorry you've offered a reward for the things ;
it will be an incentive to other fellows to do the
same. However, I dare say, with Robertson sleeping
up here, no one will venture again. I shouldn't
worry if I were you, Mrs. Orban."

" I will try not to," Mrs. Orban answered bravely.

They had a quiet enough night again to warrant
confidence, and every one felt rested and refreshed
next day.

Just after breakfast Kate appeared to tell her
mistress that a Chinaman from the plantation wished
to speak to her. His name was Sinkum Fung,
and he was the plantation storekeeper, a man who
thought a good deal of himself, but for lying and

BOB'S VERDICT. 79

trickery, Mr. Orban declared, was no better than
his neighbours the coolies who dealt at his shop.

As soon as Sinkum Fung was shown on to the
veranda, he did a good deal of bowing and scraping
by way of politeness, and he had so much to say
on the subject of his own unimpeachable integrity
that it was a long time before Mrs. Orban could
bring him to an explanation of his early visit. Both
she and Eustace guessed he must be wanting to sell
something, and probably hoped to drive a good
bargain in Mr. Orban's absence, the cunning of the
average Chinese being unsurpassed.

After a considerable preamble, Sinkum began the
following remarkable tale, all told in such strange
Chinkee patter, and with so much self-praise inter-
spersed, that it took the listeners' whole attention to
unravel it.

CHAPTER VIL
PETER'S NIGHTMARE.

SOME nights before Sinkum Fung was sitting in
his store waiting for customers. His best trade
was always in the evening, when the coolies' work
was over, and they had time to do some shopping.
But it was getting late, and Sinkum thought it about
time to close the store and go to bed. Suddenly
there fell a shadow across the threshold, and a big
black-fellow entered — a stranger whom Sinkum Fung
had never seen before. What had he come to buy ?
Sinkum asked politely. But the black-fellow had
come to buy nothing — he had a fierce, wild face,
and his voice made Sinkum tremble when he said he
had not come to buy, but to sell. He declared his
name to be Jaga-Jaga of the great " Rat clan " now
living in the Bush not far away. He had found,
he said, a white man hanging in a tree, caught and
held fast by the dreadful "wait-a-bit" cane that will
swing round man or beast at a touch, and hold them
fast till they die of exposure and starvation. This
man was dead, and on his body, Jaga-Jaga said, he dis-
covered sundry things which he now brought to the
store to sell. What would Sinkum Fung give for
them ? The payment must be made in food, for the

PETER'S NIGHTMARE. 81

tribe were nearly starving. Food was difficult to pro-
cure in the intense heat ; the ground was arid and
unproductive.

Sinkum examined the goods ; he made his offer ;
whereat the wild man swung his boomerang disagree-
ably, and indicated that he must have " more, more."
Tears of self-pity flooded Sinkum's eyes. He had no
choice but to obey, and at last the black-fellow
left with a sack containing ten times the value of the
goods the storeman had been forced to buy. He had
been cheated, cruelly used ; he was a poor man, and
could not stand such losses. The things were of no
value — none ; but if he had not bought them he
would have been a dead man.

Sinkum's hands were no longer in his sleeves — he
had made dramatic passes, illustrative of the fearful
fate that might have befallen him.

It presented to Eustace's mind a vivid picture — the
black-fellow with poised boomerang standing over the
shrinking Chinkee, threatening his life if he did not
obey the exorbitant demands.

To Mrs. Orban came another thought. There
apparently really were black-fellows in the neighbour-
hood— a whole tribe living in the Bush.

The story of the poor white man strung up in the
wood made the listeners shudder. Such a thing had
never come into their experience, but they knew the
terrible possibility of it. Many a man has been so de-
tained in the Bush, riding inadvertently against the
" wait-a-bit " or " lawyer cane." It springs round its
victim like a coiled spring, and he is helpless to free
himself if his arms happen to be pinioned. Whc
could this particular poor fellow have been, found

(1,331) 6

82 PETER'S NIGHTMARE.

not far from the plantation ? No one would ever
know, Mrs. Orban reflected pitifully.

"And what were the things you had to buy,
Sinkum Fung ? " asked Eustace, with intense interest.

Sinkum searched amongst his curious garments and
produced a handful of things, which he set solemnly
down upon the table beside Mrs. Orban, watching her
narrowly, to see what effect his action produced.

She gave a start of surprise.

" Why," said Eustace, springing to his feet, " this is
the servants' jewellery, and their watches. The black-
fellow never got them off any dead white man at all ;
he stole them straight out of our house."

Sinkum nodded drearily.

So he had discovered, he said. When too late he
had heard of the reward for the catching of that
black-fellow. He could only claim the reward for re-
turning the goods ; but surely the good missee would
not let him lose so much. He had given ten times
the value of those things, and thus only had he saved
them from the black -fellow.

In his endeavour to point out that it was due to him,
and him alone, the jewellery had reappeared, Sinkum
Fung next fell into raptures over his own deeds.
Had he but known that missee wanted the black-
fellow too, he would have given his greatest treasure
— his fine long pig-tail — to have detained him. He
made the statement with a great air of devotion —
a Chinaman does not part lightly with his pig-tail.

But no amount of assurances would prevail on Mrs.
Orban to give the man more than the promised
regard. Any further claim he might have to make,
she said, must be made to Mr. Orban on his return.

, PETER S NIGHTMARE. 83

Sinkum Fung went away in a transparently aggrieved
frame of mind.

" Mother," Eustace said, as soon as the man's foot-
steps died away round the veranda, " did you believe
his story about the black-fellow ? "

" At first, yes," Mrs. Orban admitted. " I dare say
such a thing is quite possible. I pictured the black-
fellow bringing in a wallet containing the poor
traveller's kit, a worn leather belt, with perhaps some
money in it, a pipe and pouch."

" Yes, that is what I expected," said Eustace.

" Then one could have believed that Sinkum Fung
might be taken in by the tale," Mrs. Orban went on ;
" but never tell me he believed it when he saw those
trinkets. They are not the sort of things a Bushman
would be carrying about with him, and Sinkum
knows that as well as I do. He is no simpleton.
His mistake was that he thought I might be one, and
he overreached himself in his description of the fero-
cious Jaga-Jaga."

" You don't even think Sinkum was terrified into
buying the things ? " Eustace asked.

Mrs. Orban shook her head and smiled.

" I very much doubt it," she said. " Indeed, I am
inclined to fancy the thief was no black-fellow at
all now. It is just as likely he was a Malay or
Manila boy from the plantation, and Sinkum Fung is
in collusion with him. They will probably go shares
in the reward ; but Sinkum meant to make as much
more out of me for himself as he possibly could."

" My word ! if the other fellow comes again,"
said Eustace, " don't I just hope we shall catch him."

" I am sure I hope and trust he will not come

84 PETERS NIGHTMARE.

again," said Mrs. Orban gravely. " We have had quite
as many disturbances already as I feel inclined for."

Mary and Kate were delighted to get back their
belongings, and made no further reference to running
away. They felt more secure with the Robertson
family living in the house. Besides, a letter from
Mr. Orban stated that he was getting through his
business quicker than he had expected, and he should
only now wait for Miss Chase's boat from England,
because she would need an escort up country.

This cheered every one immensely. It was some-
thing to look forward to, and the days began to go
quicker and more brightly.

Then Nesta and Peter came home full of all their
doings at the Highlands, and this made a great differ-
ence to the house. Eustace did not know he could
have been so glad to see his brother and sister ; it
was not till they came back that he realized how dull
he had really been without them.

The Robertsons still stayed. Nesta slept with her
mother, and the three boys were in the next room.

Nesta knew a good deal about the excitements that
had been taking place at home. It was thought use-
less to try and hush the matter up. Something
was bound to slip out in the course of conversa-
tion, and so she was given the lightest possible version
of the theft, ending with an amusing account of Sin-
kum Fung's visit.

Of course Bob brought the children over, and to
Eustace's intense gratitude, when it came to the story
of the bogus scare, and Nesta seemed inclined to
giggle, Bob said gravely, " Older people have made
worse mistakes," and then proceeded to tell the

PETER'S NIGHTMARE. 85

story against himself about the tree stump and
the pigs.

There was something so big and nice about
Bob's nature that, without meaning to, he always
made people ashamed of being petty and ill-natured
when he was present.

"You made a good shot at the dingo, old man,"
he said. " It won't be long before you are out shooting
with me, at this rate."

Of course no one could laugh at Eustace after that.
Bob saw nothing funny about what he had done —
Bob actually praised him — and when Bob praised it
meant something.

" I say," Nesta asked when the twins were alone
together, " weren't you most awfully scared ? "

" Well, I guess I was rather," Eustace admitted ;
" but of course it was silly to be. Mother thinks
it was only one of the plantation hands now, and not
a black-fellow at all, you see."

" But a plantation hand might have knifed some-
body," Nesta said, with a shudder. " I hope he won't
come again. I know I should scream like any-
thing."

" I believe it would be the worst thing you could
do," Eustace said gravely. " He would be sure to
try and shut you up if you made a row — any thief
would, if he wasn't such a coward as that one. But
I wouldn't think about it if I were you, or you'll
be fancying things, just as I did."

In spite of which advice Nesta did suffer a few
qualms at night, if she happened to wake in the dark ;
but sleeping with her mother was comforting, and the
panics never lasted long.

86 PETER 8 NIGHTMARE.

Lessons began again, and the days passed in their
usual routine, but with the added joy of something to
look forward to in the arrival of the new aunt.

It was a nightly annoyance to Peter that he was put
to bed at the same time as Sandy Robertson, while the
twins stayed up to late dinner. Becky went to bed
still earlier, and was generally fast asleep as soon
as her head touched the pillow.

" You might shoot pistols in the room after Becky
is asleep," was a favourite saying, " and you wouldn't
wake her."

Which statement she almost verified the night
Eustace caused such an excitement; she really did
not wake until the second shot was fired.

But Peter was not a heavy sleeper. Moreover, he
had heard something about the black-fellow stories
too. Sandy Robertson gave him a good deal of infor-
mation as they played together, and the little fellow
got into a thoroughly nervous state.

Mrs. Orban often sat with him till he was asleep,
and then left a shaded light burning both in his room
and her own.

It did not startle her very much one night as
she sat at dinner with the twins to see Peter tear
into the room yelling for her at the top of his voice.
She guessed he had awakened from a dream, and was
just frightened at finding himself alone with no one
but Sandy.

He sprang into her arms and lay there trembling,
panting only " Mother — mother — mother," over and
over again.

" Well, sonny, what is it ? " said his mother sooth-
ingly, stroking back his hair from his forehead.

PETER'S NIGHTMARE. 87

" O mummie," he gasped, " there's something mov-
ing in your room. I heard it."

Eustace and Nesta started, and exchanged frightened
glances. But Mrs. Orban answered quite calmly, —

" I dare say, darling. It is probably Mary turning
down the beds."

She rose as she spoke and went towards the door.

" Oh, don't, mummie ! don't go," Peter pleaded
eagerly ; " perhaps it's a black-fellow."

" Nonsense, darling," Mrs. Orban said. " You can
stay here with Eustace and Nesta if you like, but of
course I must go and see what the noise was."

" I'm going with mother," said Eustace sturdily.

" So am I," said Nesta.

" We'll all go," said Mrs. Orban cheerily; " and I am
quite sure Mary will think us mad when she sees us."

So down the passage they went, Peter trembling and
clinging to his mother. Straight into Mrs. Orban's
room they all trooped, and of course, when they
got there, there was no one to be seen — not even Mary
turning down the beds.

On they went into the boys' room, and all was
peaceful there ; for Peter had been too frightened
to yell till he reached the dining-room, and Sandy
had not been roused.

"There, you see," said Mrs. Orban; "what did
I tell you ? There are far too many of us in the
house now for any one to dare to come."

She went on into the kitchen still holding Peter, and
Mary and Kate certainly did look surprised.

" Master Peter has been having a nightmare," Mrs.
Orban explained, "and I want to reassure him.
Were you in my room just now, Mary ? "

88 PETER'S NIGHTMARE.

" No, ma'am," Mary said ; " I haven't been there
since dinner."

" Oh, well, then, he must have been dreaming,"
Mrs. Orban said, still in the same cheery way. " We
will just go all through the house and show him every-
thing is all right, and then I will sit by him till he
gets to sleep again."

Eustace took a lantern, and on they all went right
through the house, very naturally finding no one.
Robertson, who was smoking on the veranda, declared
that no one had been up or down the steps since he
had been out, and Mrs. Robertson, who was in her bed-
room lulling the baby to sleep, said no one had been
that way either.

After all of which Eustace and Nesta began to
breathe freely ; but, to tell the truth, at first they had
both been a good deal scared by Peter's announcement.
They guessed their mother was just making all this
show of bravery for Peter's and their sakes, for
another visit from the thief was not at all unlikely.

But when Robertson laughed at the notion of any
one having been able to pass him unseen where he
stood near the veranda steps, when every nook and
cranny had been looked into and no one was forth-
coming to prove Peter's tale, every one was certain he
had had a bad dream.

" You are a little silly," Nesta said bracingly. " Of
course there are always noises in the house."

" But this was a big noise," Peter objected ; " some-
thing banged."

" Why didn't you say that before ? " said Eustace
with superiority; then added, out of the vastness of his
recent experience, " Nobody ever bangs when they

PETER'S NIGHTMARE. 89

want to rob a house; they try to be as silent as
mice."

" Besides," said Nesta, " there is nothing for any one
to steal now, since we keep all our things hidden
away."

This was a rule Mrs. Orban had made — that every-
thing of value must be put away under lock and key.
She had no fancy to be perpetually paying away
rewards for recovered goods. She believed Sinkum
Fung to be quite capable of setting people to do these
little pilferings just in order to obtain the rewards.
Disagreeable as was the idea, it frightened her far less
than the thought of genuine black-fellows lurking
about the place ; they were really dangerous, cruel,
and lawless.

Mrs. Orban took Peter back with her into the
dining-room, and he sat cuddled up on her knee while
she finished dinner.

They were all sitting listening to just one " good-
night" story before going to bed, when Mary came
into the room, gave a frightened glance round, and
exclaimed, —

" Lor', ma'am, haven't you got Miss Becky here ? I
made sure you had."

Every one stared at Mary, and thought she looked
rather white and queer.

" Did you, Mary ? " asked Mrs. Orban rather hur-
riedly. "Why?"

" Well, ma'am," said Mary in an unsteady voice,
" because she isn't in her bed."

Mrs. Orban sprang to her feet.

" Not in her bed ? " she exclaimed. " My good
woman, what do you mean ? "

90 PETER'S NIGHTMARE.

Setting Peter down on the ground, she turned
swiftly and left the room.

" I just went in to turn down the beds," explained
Mary to the twins as they hurriedly followed, " and
went over to Miss Becky's corner to take a look
at her, and she wasn't there. I didn't stop a minute,
I was so took aback, but came straight off to see
if maybe she was in the dining-room. You might
have knocked me down with a feather when I
saw she wasn't."

Mrs. Orban rushed to Becky's bed. She was stand-
ing beside it as if petrified when the others entered.
The bed was empty. This was no dream. Becky
really and truly was not thera

CHAPTER VIIL
THE WITCH.

OF course Peter's story jumped to every one's mind,
and with a horrified cry Mrs. Orban fell for-
ward, fainting, on to the empty bed.

The recent hunt through the house had been,
as Eustace guessed, a greater strain than she had
allowed any one to see ; she could not be certain that
they were on a wild-goose chase. This, coming on the
top of it, was just too much for her.

Instances of children being stolen had from time to
time come to her knowledge — stories of little ones
silently, mysteriously disappearing and never being
heard of again. The twins had heard the same from
the servants, among other disturbing stories. This
last terrible event seemed just to prove that the first
visitor had been no mere plantation hand ; the steal-
ing of a baby was more like the work of the native
blacks.

Nesta wrung her hands and wept. Eustace dashed
away to fetch Robertson. Mary lost her head com-
pletely, and nobody thought of trying to restore poor
Mrs. Orban to consciousness till motherly little Mrs.
Robertson appeared on the scene.

Robertson stood in the middle of the room looking
the picture of bewilderment.

92 THE WITOH.

" This beats everything," he said in an awed voice.

Every one was really too terrified to make a noise.
Puzzled glances were exchanged, questions whispered,
and Robertson said again, —

" This beats everything ! It doesn't seem possible,
unless she has been spirited away ; for how could any
one pass me on those steps without my seeing them ? "

" Could he have swarmed one of the posts ? " Eustace
asked.

" I shouldn't say he could," Robertson replied, " but
it looks as if he did. How could a man swarm a
post with a sleeping child in his arms ? "

" Black-fellows are dreadfully clever," said Kate.

" Hush," said Mrs. Robertson, " the poor lady is
coming to herself. Don't let her hear you talking
like that. Oh dear, how will she bear it ? "

The poor woman's eyes were full of tears. She
knew well enough what a mother's feelings would be
under such awful circumstances.

" Every corner of the house was searched," said
Robertson meditatively.

" We didn't look under the beds," said Nesta.

" Silly," said Eustace. " As if a black-fellow would
have stopped to be looked for under a bed."

" Yes — that's no go," said Robertson ; and just
at that moment there came such a strange sound
from under the very bed they were standing by that
every one jumped — a sound that brought Mrs. Orban
back to her senses far quicker than any of good Mrs.
Robertson's restoratives, for it was the voice of Becky
herself.

" Good gracious ! " exclaimed all the women, after
the first shock of surprise was over.

THE WITCH. 93

" My patience," said Robertson, and down they
all went on their hands and knees like a party of
kangaroos, peering under the bed.

There lay Becky, rosy with sleep, safe and sound,
with puckered face and plaintive voice, evidently
wondering what all the fuss was about.

They hauled her from under the bed, and placed
her on her mother's knee, where she sat blinking
at the light like a young owl.

" Why," said Nesta, " she must have tumbled out of
bed in her sleep, and rolled over underneath."

" So she must," agreed every one.

" That was the noise Peter heard," Eustace said.

" Of course it was," said every one except Mrs.
Orban ; and she said, as she bent her face over the
baby in her arms, —

" Oh, you dreadful children ! Have you a con-
spiracy amongst you to frighten me out of my wits ?
Or are you trying to harden my nerves ? I begin to
wish your father would come home."

She laughed a little, and it sounded much more like
sobbing. So kind Mrs. Robertson hurried every one
off to bed, because she said Mrs. Orban must be quite
worn out.

Eustace was so upset by his mother's words that
he could not get to sleep for hours. They seemed to
hold a reproach specially for himself — for had he not
been the first to terrify his mother ? It was not
a good record to present to his father; and he
had meant to be such a stand-by and comfort. With
all his heart he echoed Mrs. Orban's wish. He had
dreaded his father's going away ; he longed for his
return.

94 THE WITCH.

The very next day the wish was fulfilled. News
came up the hill that the plantation schooner had been
sighted the evening before ; she was in the bay. By
midday the travellers had arrived, and the climax
of the great excitement was reached.

Every one had wondered a hundred times and more
what that first greeting would be like — what words
would be said. As a matter of fact, when the time
really came, nobody said anything at all except Mr.
Orban, who exclaimed when he caught sight of his
wife, " Darling, what is the matter ? You are look-
ing ill."

But Mrs. Orban stopped him with the promise to
tell him everything later on. Meanwhile she nearly
wept for joy over the meeting with Aunt Dorothy,
and was far too happy to remember or speak of
the distresses of the past week or so.

The children hung back shyly and stared at the
new-comer — a tall, slender girl, dressed, Nesta after-
wards commented, just like a person in a story book,
so dainty was she.

Dorothy Chase was not at all like Mrs. Orban. She
was certainly pretty, but the most remarkable thing
about her was her expression, so vivacious was it, so
keenly interested and alert. She was a great con-
trast to the people amongst whom she had come, for
tropical heat saps a good deal of the enthusiasm of
life out of people — even the children were subject
to lassitude.

They looked a quiet enough set as Miss Chase cast
a quick searching glance around her after greeting her
sister, and there flashed through her mind a contrast
between them and the nephew and niece she had left

THE WITCH. 96

but a few weeks ago in England — the children of
another sister, orphans who lived with their grand-
parents in the old home.

" Well, chicks," said Aunt Dorothy, with a laugh,
" who is going to speak to me first ? "

They were standing, all in an untidy row, Becky,
with one finger in her mouth, hanging on to Nesta's
skirt.

To the new-comer they looked pasty-faced, spirit-
less beings. The prints that the girls were dressed in
were rather washed out ; Peter had outgrown his suit.
They were ill-clad, shy, and awkward.

Eustace flushed with an uncomfortable feeling that
they were not behaving very courteously, and came
forward the instant Miss Chase spoke. Nesta fol-
lowed, and then Peter, all as stiff as pokers in their
shyness. But Becky Miss Chase picked up with a
playful little shake, and kissed her heartily.

" Oh, you dear, funny wee soul," she said, " how glad
I am to see you. I've brought out a Kodak and I've
promised to take all your photos almost every other
day, for certainly no one at home could guess the
least little bit what you are like."

Becky did not resent the unceremonious treatment
at all, but took it quite placidly in her own particular
way. This gave Peter confidence.

" Have you brought lots of boxes ? " he asked, with
an interested stare up into his young aunt's face.

Eustace pulled his sleeve.

" Shut up," he whispered. " Don't ask questions; it's
rude"

Eustace felt uncomfortable. He knew quite well
whither his small brother's questions were trending.

96 THE WITCH.

Peter was wondering what would be in those boxes
for himself.

" A good many," answered Miss Chase; but she was
allowed time to say no more, because she was hurried
into the house to rest and refresh.

At tea the children sat round as solemn as owls
and listened to all the questions and answers about
the home folk. They picked up scraps of informa-
tion most interesting to themselves, especially about
the English cousins, Herbert, who was sixteen, and
Brenda, who was a month or so older than the twins.
From time to time they had heard of these cousins in
letters, but it made them seem much more real when
they were talked about by some one who had just
come away from them.

"Herbert is a very big fellow," Miss Chase said.
" He is doing famously at Winchester."

" Lucky chap," thought Eustace, who never read a
school story without longing to go to a big English
school.

" And what about Brenda ? " questioned Mrs.
Orban.

" You shall see a photo that was taken of her the
other day," was the answer. " Most people think her
very pretty."

" Does she go to school too? " said Mrs. Orban, asking
the very question Nesta was bursting to put.

" Oh yes, Brenda is a regular schoolgirl. You see
it would be so lonely for her to have lessons at home
with a governess."

" Lucky girl," thought Nesta, and sighed.

" She was quite green with envy when she heard I
was coming out here," Miss Chase said, " and threat-

THE WITCH. 97

ened to have all sorts of illnesses, necessitating change
of air for recovery, so that she might come with me."

" Oh, I wish she had," Nesta said impulsively.

" I don't think her grannie would agree with you,"
laughed Miss Chase. "She can hardly bear to part with
her every term. If you want to see her, I think your
best plan is to have an illness yourself, and let me
take you back with me for change of air."

" That would be better and better," Nesta exclaimed,
" only I should want mother and every one else to
come too."

" Well, why not ? " asked Miss Chase gaily. " Let's
make up a party and all go back together. I am
only allowed to stay two months, and then I must
be off again. I will willingly pack you all up in
my boxes and take you with me."

" What did I tell you ? " said a deep voice from
the window, and there stood Bob Cochrane on the
veranda. " I said she would bewitch you and spirit
you all away."

"You did, you did," said Peter, who had been
drinking in every word ; " you said you wouldn't like
her."

" Oh, come, no tales out of school," said Bob, as
he crossed the threshold and came forward to be in-
troduced ; " you are giving me a bad start, you know."

" I am sorry to have made such a bad impression
at the outset," Miss Chase responded merrily as she
shook hands. " Would it appease you at all if I
offered to pack you with the rest ? "

"I wouldn't if I were you, Dorothy," said Mr.
Orban. " He would take such a fearful amount of
room, even if you doubled him up."

(1,331) 7

98 THB WITCH.

Miss Chase smiled as she eyed the great big
fellow.

" I wouldn't come if you paid me," Bob said lightly.
" They tell me it is a toss up whether the climate
or the people freeze you up most in England."

" Treason, treason, Bob," said Mrs. Orban. " Re-
member we are English."

" I guess you have mellowed in the sunshine," Bob
said imperturbably. " Children, don't you listen to
a good word about England ; don't you let your-
selves be spirited away by bad fairies, or you'll
regret it."

" It's high treason," shouted Eustace. " England is
our country. Off with his head."

Then suddenly Miss Chase saw what her nephews
and nieces really were like.

" He has got to be punished," Nesta sang out.

Peter and Becky made a simultaneous dive at the
unfortunate Bob, who had begun whistling with a
great show of unconcern.

" What's his punishment to be ? " demanded Eustace.

Mrs. Orban thought a minute while Peter suggested
pommelling, and Nesta mentioned a few tortures in
the way of old-fashioned forfeits.

" It's too hot for violent exercise," said Bob, when
Nesta requested him to walk round the room three
times on his head. " I shall go home to mother if I
am ill-used."

" Have some tea, Bob," said Mr. Orban.

" No, no," cried the bullying trio, " not till he has
paid his penalty for high treason."

" Well," said Mrs. Orban gently, " suppose you fetch
the banjo and make him sing for his tea."

THE WITCH. 99

" Good ! Good ! " was the immediate acclamation.

Bob sat down resignedly.

" I don't think a crueller sentence could have been
passed," he said with a mock groan.

" Between ourselves," said Mrs. Orban, as the
children rushed into the drawing-room to fetch the
banjo, "there is no tea in the pot, and you may as
well sing till the kettle is boiling."

Bob took the banjo with the air of a martyr and
tuned it skilfully.

"I choose my own song," he said, struck a few
chords, and began, in his really beautiful voice, —

44 Dey told us darkies right away out west
In England men make der money much de best,
And I believed dat ebry word was true,
So dat is why I come along wid you.
Oho you and de banjo."

" Oh, oh, oh," interrupted the children, " more
treason ! If you sing that song you will have to do
another as well."

" You can't hang a man after his head is cut off,"
said Bob stolidly, and went on, —

4 ' But now we're here, why, de money doesn't grow,
And we ain't got nuffin' but de old banjo :
So we rove the streets if de wedder's wet or dry,
Till my heart most breaks and der's water in your eye.
Oho you and de banjo."

"Most pathetic," said Miss Chase, with a twinkle
in her dark eyes. " I think I begin to see where
Mr. Cochrane gets his revolutionary sentiments from."

44 Then in sleep at night de nigger dreams ob home,
Where de sun really shines and de frosts nebber come,
Where we'd plenty to eat, and a little hut of logs,
And we hadn't got to beg for our bread like de dogs.
Oho you and de banjo."

Bob's voice became more and more plaintive ; he sat

100 THE WITOH.

in a drooping attitude with his head on one side as he
finished, —

" But it ain't no good all dis singin' oat of tune,
For we can't get warm, tho' they say it's hot for June ;
It's certain for darkies dis is not de place,
Where eben de sun am ashamed to show his face.
Oho you and de banjo."

" So that is your opinion of England, is it ? " asked
Miss Chase. "Well, I am not surprised you don't
want to come, then."

" But of course it is all stuff, and nothing but a silly
old darkie song," said Eustace.

" You wait till you get there, young man," said Bob,
still with an air of mock gloom about him ; " you'll
remember my warning then. It is so cold in England
the natives have their windows glued in to keep out
the air, and they have front doors as thick as walls,
all studded with nails and brass knockers."

" But what are the brass knockers for ? " asked
Nesta. " They wouldn't keep you warm."

"Certainly not," was the answer; "the brass
knockers are for the purpose of waking the people
inside the house, who are always asleep with the
cold — like dormice."

" Mother," demanded Eustace, " do you think he
ought to have any tea after that ? He hasn't done
penance, and he isn't a bit sorry. He is making it
worse and worse."

" I think, darling, as he is a guest he must have
his tea," Mrs. Orban said ; " but I will send a note by
him to his mother to say he has not been good."

" I'm not going home to-night — so there," said Bob
complacently ; " I'm going to sleep in a hammock
on the veranda."

THE WITCH. 101

" Oh, jolly ! " exclaimed every one, and there was a
chorus of, " We can stay up late, can't we, just for to-
night— Aunt Dorothy's first night ? "

But Aunt Dorothy did not allow the compliment to
deceive her. Not for her but for Bob Cochrane did
the young people want to stay up later. He was cer-
tainly a great favourite.

CHAPTER IX.
A RIDERLESS HORSE.

IT was a delightfully merry evening. Bob had to
re-do his punishment and sing several songs,
and then he struck.

" I am quite sure Miss Chase sings," he declared.
"It's her turn now. Witches ought to be punished
even more severely than traitors."

She made no demur, but sat down to the piano
and began to sing. But in the middle of her song
such a noise began over her head that she dropped
her hands laughingly, and exclaimed, —

" How can I sing with that wretched electric bell
going on all the time ? "

" Tr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r," sounded shrilly through
the room, louder and louder.

" Electric bell ? " exclaimed the children with
blank faces.

" Oh, you dear new chum," said Mr. Orban, burst-
ing into peals of laughter, accompanied by Bob, " that
isn't an electric bell ; it's a cicada."

" A cicada ! " repeated Miss Chase.

" Yes ; a kind of grasshopper, or cricket, you
know," Mrs. Orban explained, looking much amused.
" He is up there in the roof. I am afraid you

A RIDERLESS HORSE. 103

will have to stop, for as long as you go on so
will he."

" How very ill-mannered of him," said Miss Chase.

"Let's play something instead," said Peter, who
was getting sleepy, but would not own it.

He was not really fond of music — Bob's comic
songs excepted.

The game was begun, and going merrily, when
suddenly there rose on the night air such an appalling
howl that Miss Chase started and turned pale. To
her astonishment, when she looked round the table,
she found that no one but herself was at all disturbed
by the sound.

" You to play, I believe, Miss Chase," said Bob,
who sat opposite her.

She put down her card, and at that moment the
agonized cry came again, apparently from immediately
under the veranda. Dorothy gripped her hands
tightly together, and again looked round on the
unmoved faces. Again the cry resounded.

" Surely," she said, looking appealingly at Bob,
" there is something or some one in dreadful pain
outside."

Bob laughed.

" I thought you seemed upset, but I didn't like to
mention it," he said. " That's nothing but a dingo
howling. There'll be a whole pack of them at it
presently, I dare say. Ill go out and disperse them
as soon as the game is over."

" What is a dingo ? " inquired Miss Chase.

"Don't you know that, Aunt Dorothy?" asked
Peter in tones of contemptuous astonishment. " Well,
it's the commonest thing here."

104 A RIDERLESS HORSE.

"Peter," said Bob gravely, "do you know what
a top hat and a frock coat are like ? "

Peter shook his head in bewilderment.

" Don't you ? " said Bob, mimicking the small boy's
tone. " Well, they're the commonest things in
England. I am surprised at your ignorance 1 "

Peter reddened.

" But I've never seen them," he said.

" Nor has Miss Chase ever seen a dingo," said Bob
calmly. — " It is the wild dog of the Bush, Miss Chase.
They come prowling round the house at night, looking
for food."

The howling grew worse and worse. Bob quietly
sauntered out on to the veranda. There were a few
shots, and the noise changed to yelps as the dingoes
scurried in terror down the hill.

" Don't be worried if you hear them in the distance
most of the night," said Mrs. Orban. " I am afraid
it will take you some time to get used to our noisy
hours of darkness."

When Miss Chase tried to settle down to sleep she
remembered these words, and it seemed superfluous
to her that she should have been wished "good-
night " by every one. A good night was impossible.
The dingoes howled persistently in the woods below,
and quite close there was the incessant " croak-croak-
croak-croak " of tree-frogs, together with many other
inexplicable and weird noises.

Nesta slept placidly through it all ; but not till
there came a lull just an hour or so before dawn did
the weary stranger drop into oblivion.

It did not seem to her she had been asleep five
minutes, and there was only the faintest glimmer of

A RIDERLESS HORSE. 106

light in her room, when she was awakened by some-
thing new. Just under her window there was a
strident laugh.

" Ha-ha-ha ! " Then another, " Ha-ha-ha ! "

Miss Chase listened in bewilderment.

" What extraordinary people," she thought, glancing
enviously at the undisturbed Nesta. " Who on earth
can be out at this time ? "

She supposed that it must be some of the plantation
hands prowling about outside ; but she wondered at
her brother-in-law allowing them to behave in such
a tiresome way when people were wanting to
sleep.

" Ha-ha ! ha-ha ! " jeered the voice outside, as if
mocking at her annoyance. Then followed a chorus
of chuckles, and Miss Chase sat up in bed, and
strained her ears to catch the joke, if possible. But
no words reached her. There was a little pause as
if some one might be speaking, and then another
burst of delighted chuckles, so very funny that they
were quite infectious, and Miss Chase smiled in spite
of herself.

" Ha-ha ! ha-ha ! ha-ha-ha-ha ! " laughed the voices.
Now certainly there were more than one.

"This is too ridiculous," thought Miss Chase,
beginning to chuckle softly to herself. " What can
they be saying or doing out there ? "

At last the hilarity became so boisterous that her
curiosity got the better of her, and slipping on a
wrapper she opened the window and crept out on to
the veranda.

To her surprise there was no one to be seen — not
a soul was about either on the veranda or below,

106 A RIDERLESS HORSE.

though she leant right over, and strained her eyes
to catch a glimpse of these queer people.

It was comparatively deliciously cool outside, the
grayness before dawn a pleasant contrast to the
tropical glare that was positively hurtful to the new-
comer's eyes. Going to the corner of the veranda,
she gazed away and away towards the now deep
gray sea, lying like a bath of mist beyond the dense
black of the trees in the valley.

" What a queer, unreal world it seems," she was
thinking, " and yet to little Peter this is all reality,
and England nothing but a dream."

" Ha-ha ! " said a voice from immediately below, so
loudly as to sound almost insulting.

Miss Chase jumped, looked about in astonishment
— and saw no one.

" Ha-ha ! ha-ha-ha ! " repeated the mocker.

" I wonder if he sees me, and is laughing at me
now ? " thought the girl.

She gave a little shiver. It was not a very
pleasant sensation to feel herself spied upon by an
unseen watcher, and she began to beat a hasty
retreat towards her own window again.

" Ha-ha ! " laughed the unseen one, with such a note
of triumph that now she was certain the humour was
at her expense. It annoyed her, and at the same
time it rather frightened her. Was it possibly a
madman ? — for assuredly the chuckles became madder
and madder as they increased. Besides which, what
sane person would be out of bed and giggling at
such an hour? The thought of a lunatic or two
at large lurking round the house was discomforting
indeed. In England, with fast-barred doors and

A RIDERLESS HORSE. 107

windows that are supposed to be unassailable, it
would not be pleasant ; but here — where what might
be called the "front door" was nothing but the
flimsiest of French windows, the windows themselves
utterly powerless to keep any one out — the English
girl found this new suspicion particularly disagree-
able. She wondered whether she ought not to go
and rouse Mr. Orban. Perhaps he ought to be
warned, she reflected, so as to be ready in case these
maniacs burst into the house, intent on the mischief
they were so evidently gloating over in anticipation.

" I wish I knew what to do," she thought in great
agitation.

"Ha-ha! ha-ha-ha-ha!" responded the laughers
with maniacal glee.

" Why, Aunt Dorothy," exclaimed Nesta, as Miss
Chase entered the room in a hurry, " what have you
been doing ? "

Nesta was sitting up in bed. She had evidently
awakened, and discovering her aunt's absence, was
wondering about it. It comforted Miss Chase to
have some one to speak to ; but, determined not to
frighten the child, she said as steadily as she could, —

" I was only trying to find out what those people
are laughing at out there. It seems such a strange
time to be so amused. I suppose they must be some
of the coolies going to work."

" People ! " repeated Nesta blankly.

" Yes — listen ! " said Miss Chase ; and as another
burst of thick-toned mirth reached them, "There —
don't you hear that ? "

Nesta rolled down into her pillow, and fairly
shouted into it.

108 A RIDERLESS HORSE.

" What is the matter with the child ? " asked Miss
Chase in bewilderment.

" People ! " gasped Nesta, as soon as she had any
voice to speak with. "Those aren't people; they're
birds ! "

" Birds ! " said Miss Chase. " Impossible. You must
be asleep still, or you didn't hear what I said."

" Yes, I did," Nesta replied. " You mean those
funny fat chuckles and ha-ha's ? Well, those are
birds — the laughing jackasses. I can show them to
you in a minute."

Out they both went on to the veranda, and in the
fast-increasing light Nesta pointed out some trees
below, on which sat groups of brightly-hued birds,
not unlike kingfishers in appearance, but very much
larger. They had without doubt the funniest faces
Miss Chase had ever seen. Not only did they laugh
aloud — they positively grinned, so comic was the
expression of their wide beaks. She laughed herself
till the tears ran down her cheeks, and Nesta put
her head down on the veranda railing and wept with
laughter too.

The sun was up now, there being practically no
twilight either before sunrise or after sunset in North
Queensland. The glory of the scene sobered Miss
Chase, and she stood watching.

The glee of the birds was explained. They sat
and laughed as they watched for their prey, then
pounced down upon the unwary locusts or lizards
they had marked, and returning to the tree, sat chuck-
ling triumphantly over the capture before eating.

" It is really rather horrid of them, isn't it ? " said
Miss Chase.

A RIDERLESS HORSE. 106

But Nesta did not sympathize.

" Nobody minds," she said, " especially about locusts
being eaten — nasty things. When there is a plague
of them it means ruin to father ; they destroy every
blade of sugar-cane."

Over the tree-tops in the valley below appeared
a cloud of shimmering whiteness, moving swiftly
round the base of the hill.

" What is that ? " asked Miss Chase curiously.

" White cockatoos," said Nesta, with a yawn ;
" they're changing their feeding - ground — white
cockatoos with bright yellow crests. But, I say,
don't you think you had better go back to bed ?
You're looking awfully tired."

" Is that one for me and two for yourself ? " said
Miss Chase lightly. " Personally, I would rather
dress and go for a walk in the wood down there."

" I don't think you had better," Nesta said, shaking
her head doubtfully. "We aren't allowed to go
there alone. It is awfully easy to get lost; and
then there are snakes and things. You might get
into a mangrove swamp too — or you might meet
black-fellows."

" Well, really," laughed Miss Chase, leading the
way back to bed, "you don't give a very flattering
description. Why, at home I'm often up at sunrise,
out all by myself in the woods. You don't even
meet poachers, for they take good care not to be
seen."

" I think England must be splendid," sighed Nesta.

" I wonder if you would really think so," Miss
Chase responded. " Mr. Cochrane gave you a very
dismal picture of it, remember."

110 A RIDERLESS HORSE.

" Oh, but Bob has never been there. Besides, he
was only exaggerating, because he doesn't want us
to go, you know."

Miss Chase gave such a graphic account at break-
fast of her early morning experiences that every
one at the table shouted with laughter. The jack-
asses were alluded to ever after as Aunt Dorothy's
lunatics.

" To talk of serious things," said Mr. Orban, half
way through the meal, " we shall have to be fearfully
careful with the water. The second tank is almost
empty, and I doubt its lasting till the rains come."

" That's bad," said Bob.

" Things are bad," said Mr. Orban. " I hope the
rains will hurry up, or we shall have the cane catch-
ing fire. We should lose every bit of the crop if
that happened."

"Dear me," said Miss Chase, "you seem to have
fearful difficulties to contend with. Nesta was talk-
ing about locusts only this morning."

" Locusts will destroy the young crop," said Mr.
Orban. " If it escapes them, fire may destroy the
old. Too much rain and too little do equal damage.
We've had a good many unprosperous years, with
one thing and another."

" It looks grand burning," said Eustace.

" A sheet of flame, and your heart in the middle
of it, never seems very grand to the man whose year's
work and hope is being burnt under his very nose,"
said Mr. Orban.

The children had seldom seen their father look as
worried as he did then. It seemed to Eustace there
was trouble in the air.

A RIDERLESS HORSE. Ill

"Can't you put out a fire in the cane once it
begins ? " asked Miss Chase with interest.

" No," was the answer ; " you can only try to stop
it spreading by cutting as wide a path as possible
between the burning part and the sound. It takes
all hands to do it, though, and some of the coolies
can't be got to work for love or money. It is a nasty
business when it happens."

Bob started off home early ; not quite so early as
he had meant to, because when his horse was brought
round ready saddled, he found it had lamed itself
somehow in the stable. He therefore borrowed a
horse from Mr. Orban, and left his own to rest for
a day or two.

Generally when Bob took his departure after a
particularly jolly time there was a good deal of
depression about. But to-day, with the arrival of
Aunt Dorothy's boxes up the hill, low spirits dis-
appeared as if by magic.

The contents of those boxes kept every one
occupied the whole day. What with the excitement
and curiosity over the many presents — the clothes,
useful things, and games stowed quaintly into the
packing-cases together ; what with every one's amuse-
ment over Miss Chase's frequent astonishment at the
commonest things of their everyday life, time slipped
cheerily away towards evening.^ The children never
remembered such happiness in their quiet existence
before, and Miss Chase felt half inclined to weep
when she saw what simple things were joys to
them.

" Herbert and Brenda would laugh at them if they
saw them," she thought gravely.

112 A RIDERLESS HORSE.

Brenda's photograph was very much admired. She
was a beautiful girl indeed, with a proudly-carried
head, and just the suspicion of a scornful curve to
her lips.

Nesta suppressed a sigh as she looked at her
cousin's clothes, for Nesta loved pretty things. She
let out little bursts of admiration that amused her
aunt considerably.

" She looks a regular angel," Nesta said. " I never
saw any one so lovely. Isn't she simply perfect,
Aunt Dorothy ? "

" She is a very nice girl," was all Miss Chase could
be brought to admit

" And she goes to school," murmured Nesta, gazing
lingeringly at the lucky girl, who seemed to have
everything heart could desire. " I just want to see
her more than everything in the world."

" Perhaps you will some day," said Miss Chase,
wondering silently how much of the compliment
Brenda would return could she see a photograph of
this rough-headed, ill-dressed little cousin of hers ;
for Brenda was particular — at least over her friends
at school.

Eustace gazed silently at the portrait of Herbert.
He had no word to say about the immaculately-
dressed English boy, photographed in his best suit,
his highest collar, and pet tie. At least he made no
public comment ; but when Nesta bothered him later
for an opinion, he said shortly, —

"He looks an ass."

"Oh, he doesn't," Nesta said warmly, ready to
admire everything English.

" I think so," Eustace said imperturbably.

A RIDERLESS HORSE. 113

" Then you're a silly, jealous boy," said Nesta in
fiery championship.

" Who wants to have clothes like Brenda ? " was
the instant retort, " and go to school like Brenda, and
be just like Brenda ? But I'm certain I don't want
to look like Herbert anyway. He looks a stuck-up
ass."

" He — he looks like a gentleman," spluttered Nesta

" Oh, shut up," said Eustace. " Can't a gentleman
look an ass ? Who is that riding up the hill ? "

His quick ears had caught the sound of hoofs, and
glad of a pretext to change the sdbject he went and
leant over the balcony.

Nesta was at his side with a pounce.

" Hulloa ! " he shouted a few seconds later ; " here
is something queer."

" What is it, Eustace ? " called his mother from
within ; and soon every one was on the veranda,
staring eagerly down the hill.

Coming up at a leisurely trot was a riderless
horse — saddled, bridled, but alone.

The watchful party waited in breathless astonish-
ment till it was close to the house. Then Eustace
said sharply, —

"Mother, it's the horse Bob went away on this
morning ! There's been some accident."

(1,331)

CHAPTER X.
A VOICE FROM THE SCRUB.

THERE could be no doubt about it, and every one
stared blankly after the beautiful big creature as
it passed on, round the house towards its own stable.

" What can have happened ? " Mrs. Orban exclaimed.
" Bob is such a splendid rider."

" Oh, he can't have been thrown, of course," Eustace
said, with an emphasis meant to impress Aunt Dorothy.

" Perhaps it's black-fellows," said Nesta shakily.

" Stupid," said Eustace sharply, " Bob can shoot
straighter than any one I know."

" Instead of wrangling over possibilities, we ought
to be doing something," said Mrs. Orban. " Eustace,
you had better fetch that horse and ride down to
father at once. Perhaps he will guess what it means."

Eustace was off like an arrow from a bow, and
presently appeared below the veranda, sitting erect
and fearless, riding the returned horse.

He looked such a scrap perched up there that Miss
Chase had a sudden qualm as to his safety.

" Will he be all right going down alone ? " she
asked.

" All right?" questioned Mrs. Orban, looking puzzled.

" Yea ; I mean, isn't it rather a risk for him,? "

A VOICE FROM THE SCRUB. 115

" Oh goody, no ! " Nesta answered with a laugh.
" Why, Eustace can ride anything ; he has ridden ever
since he was six."

" Father will want to see the horse," Mrs. Orban
said. " Perhaps it has only run away from the High-
lands before it was stabled. But I can't think what
it has been doing in the interval, or why Bob has not
sent over to inquire. He ought to have got home by
nine at latest."

Mr. Orban was as puzzled as every one else when he
saw the horse. He examined it carefully.

" Well, so far as I can see, Bolter has not been
running away," he said thoughtfully. " He has not
been overheated, and he is as fresh as paint. I
should say he has had some quiet hours of grazing.
But where Bob is remains a mystery. I must ride
over to the Highlands at once and find out if he
is there."

" 0 father, can I come too ? " Eustace cried eagerly.
" I could ride Bolter, and I shall never be happy till I
know Bob is all right."

Mr. Orban eyed the boy kindly.

" Yes, you can come," he said. " It will scare Mrs.
Cochrane less perhaps, and look more casual if I have
you with me."

Away they went at a quick trot along the rough
road leading to the wood known as Palm Tree Scrub.
Eustace knew every inch of the way, and generally
loved to get into the cool and shade under the
feathery palms. But to-day he glanced left and right,
looking for he knew not what with sickening anxiety.

The road, nothing but a cart-track, skirted a man-
grove swamp awhile

116 A VOICE FROM THE SCRUB.

" He can't have got in there," said Eustace, with a
nod towards the thickly growing stems of ti-trees
rearing up from long coarse grass.

There was a mysterious darkness in the depths of
the woods that somehow chilled the boy to-day.

" What should he get into a rank place like that
for ? " said Mr. Orban bracingly.

At the same time he whipped up his horse and
hurried forward. He was regretting having brought
Eustace. A mangrove swamp is an unhealthy spot
at the best of times, productive of a great deal of
malarial fever ; it would be nightfall, he reflected,
before they got back, and the mist would be rising.

Away and away out into the open the pair galloped,
and came to the side of the creek — the bend in the
river through which the horses had to wade. The
water was low just now. There were times when such
floods roared over this spot that the man carrying the
mails had been known to be swept away, horse and
all, and was never heard of again.

At the other side the horses plunged into grass as
high as their flanks — a flat, uninteresting tract of
land, bare of trees except where here and there a
single palm tree arose. But beyond that the ground
rose suddenly from the banks of this bend of the
river. On the summit of a high bank, luxuriantly
surrounded by tropical foliage of all sorts, was Bob
Cochrane's home.

It was a relief to Mr. Orban to find only Mr.
Cochrane on the lower veranda. He was a short,
broad, sandy-haired man with a rough appearance,
and as kind a heart as could be found in the colony,
which is saying a great deal.

A. VOICE FROM THE SCRUB. 117

" Good-evening, Cochrane," said Mr. Orban casually,
as he reined in his horse. " Is Bob at home ? "

Eustace listened for the answer with a thumping
heart, and he saw a slight look of surprise flit across
Mr. Cochrane's face as he replied slowly, —

" Bob ? No. I thought he was over at your place.
He hasn't turned up here to-day."

" Well, he was with us," Mr. Orban said, trying
hard to keep up the careless tone, " but he started off
this morning — I thought for home."

" Not he," said Mr. Cochrane ; " at least he hasn't
arrived. Perhaps he had to come round by somewhere
else — Gairloch or one of those places. Come in, won't
you, and wait for him, if you want to see him."

" Afraid I can't do that," Mr. Orban said, speaking
low so that only Mr. Cochrane, now by his horse's
head, should hear. " Fact is, I'm rather worried. Bob's
horse went lame, and he borrowed one of mine. He
should have been here at about nine, but the horse —
this one Eustace is on — appeared back at my place an
hour ago."

Mr. Cochrane stared blankly.

" Without Bob ? " he questioned in a dazed way.

" Yes. Don't say anything about it to your wife
— it might frighten her unnecessarily," Mr. Orban
said. " He may have gone round by Gairloch, and the
beast ran away from there. We can just say I came
over on business, and then you had better come right
off with me to see if Bob is all right."

" I'll do that," said the Scotsman, and hurried off
to get his horse.

" Now look here, Eustace," Mr. Orban said, " I'm
going to leave you here for to-night, whatever

9
118 A VOICE FROM THE SCRUB.

happens. Mother would not thank me for bringing
you through that mangrove swamp and risking fever.
But you'll have to keep a quiet tongue in your head
and say nothing about Bob's leaving our house to-
day. If you say nothing, Mrs. Cochrane and Trix
will only fancy he is staying with us."

" 0 father," Eustace said pleadingly, " need I stay
really?"

The prospect frightened him, for he was terrified
lest he should let the cat out of the bag. Keeping a
secret was not one of his accomplishments.

" Yes, my lad," was the answer, however; " there is
to be no question about it, and you are to behave like
a man. Anxiety is much worse to bear than any
bodily hurt, and a man should protect a woman from
it as he would save her from being tortured. Do
you understand ? "

" Yes, father," Eustace said, with a sinking heart.

" It isn't a little thing to do," Mr. Orban went on ;
" it is one of the big things, for it means self-sacrifice.
It is always comforting to oneself to talk things out.
You'll have plenty of things to say without mention-
ing Bob. Tell them about Aunt Dorothy and her
queer mistakes — the boxes you have unpacked — Ah,
Mrs. Cochrane," he broke off suddenly, looking up to a
figure that appeared on the upper veranda, " how do
you do ? I've just come over to steal your husband for
a bit. I hope you won't mind."

Eustace was amazed at the change in his father's
tone ; it was brisk, cheery, and impossible to suspect.

" But won't you come in ? " asked Mrs. Cochrane,
who in appearance was something like a little brown
robin. " You must be hot and tired."

A VOICE FROM THE SCRUB. 119

" Not a bit," Mr. Orban said ; " and I'm in such a
hurry I must ask you to forgive the rudeness. I
want you to do me a favour too, if you will. Keep
Eustace the night. I never thought how late I might
be going home when I brought him ; I want to go
back by Qairloch."

" Certainly, I'll keep the dear laddie with pleasure,"
was the cordial answer, and the kindly look that
beamed on Eustace positively hurt him. She looked
so happy, and oh, what awful news was there in store
for her !

" I may even keep your husband all night," Mr.
Orban added. " You won't be scared if he doesn't turn
up in good time for bed ? "

" Not I," said Mrs. Cochrane. " I know my dear
belongings are always safe with you."

Eustace could have cried at the words. " Safe ! "
and where was Bob whom she pictured so safely at
this very minute in the Orbans' house ? Mr. Orban
did not look up as he said, —

" Don't expect Bob either. Eustace will tell you all
about what a merry household we have suddenly be-
come. We've got a witch into it, as Bob calls her.
Here comes Cochrane. I hope he won't want an hour
to say farewell."

" Not I," said Mr. Cochrane bravely. " Orban has
made his apologies, I suppose ? "

He ran up the steps, said good-bye, and in a few
minutes the two men were gone, leaving Eustace to
face a terrible ordeal.

He took his father's suggestion and talked much of
Miss Chase. It was made easy for him by the kindly
curiosity of both Mrs. Cochrane and Trixy.

120 A VOICE FROM THE SCRUB.

Beatrix was a jolly girl, rather like Bob both in
looks and ways. She was older for her age than
Nesta, perhaps because she had no companions of her
own standing to keep her back. Eustace and she al-
ways got on well together, and to-night he was grate-
ful to her for being such a chatterbox. The story of
Aunt Dorothy's lunatics made Mrs. Cochrane and Trix
both laugh till the tears ran down their cheeks. It
was harder to tell them about the evening before, for
that was all so full of Bob.

It struck Mrs. Gochrane after a time that Eustace
looked singularly pale, and that the boy was talking
rather fast and excitedly, unlike his usual self.

"Do you know," she said, "I believe you are
very tired, Eustace. What do you say to going
to bed ? "

" Oh, I should love it," he said, with such eagerness
that Mrs. Cochrane was startled, and eyeing him crit-
ically she discovered he was now crimson.

" I just hope he has not got a touch of the sun,"
was her thought.

But she said nothing of her fear.

Eustace was put into Bob's room, and everything
he looked at in it made him more miserable. But
he was thankful to get away by himself at last and
give up the wretched pretence of good spirits. He
felt he was getting to the end of his powers, that in
another minute the truth would tumble out in spite
of him. All the time he was talking he was also
listening — listening — listening for the sound of hoofs
that never came.

He went on listening long after he got into bed, for
he could not sleep, he was so certain there must

A VOICE FROM THE SCRUB. 121

be bad news, as neither Mr. Cochrane nor his father
returned.

He must have dozed fitfully through the night, but
it seemed a terribly long one. Every time he opened
his eyes he was wide awake in a minute to the remem-
brance of what had happened. When he awoke at last
to find the sun rising, he could lie still no longer, he
was haunted by such restless thoughts. He dressed
and went downstairs into the open air.

" Supposing Bob had gone off the track for some
reason, and lost his way," ran his thoughts. " Sup-
posing he was wandering about seeking it all night
up to this very minute ! Supposing he had been way-
laid and surrounded by black-fellows ! — Sinkum Fung
had declared they were camping in the neighbour-
hood. No, Eustace would not think of that — one
white man against a tribe of blacks : it was too
terrible ! And yet supposing he had been, and no one
found out ! " Thoughts are sometimes dreadfully un-
controllable things.

" I believe I will go for a ride," he said to him-
self. " I might just go down to the creek — I won't
cross it — but just as far as there, to see if they are
in sight. I can do that easily, and be in to break-
fast."

He found a man near the stables whom he got to
saddle Bolter, then off he started down the slope
across the river, and away over the uninteresting
stretch of flatness till he again reached the river
bank. There he paused, staring towards the man-
grove swamp with the same chilled feeling he had ex-
perienced the day before. It was the terrible dread
that the depths of the woods might hold something

122 A VOICE FROM THE SCRUB.

ghastly — Bob living, but in awful distress of mind
or body ; Bob dead !

There were no signs of his father or Mr. Cochrane ;
no sounds but those of nature. They certainly
could not have found Bob at Gairloch. The only
alternative seemed the scrub.

Suddenly Eustace threw back his head, and in a
shrill treble gave vent to a prolonged Australian
" coo-ee."

" If he is there," argued the boy, " of course he
will answer. How silly of me not to think of that
before."

He could hardly believe his ears for joy, but there
was instantly an answer — so faint that he only caught
a bit of it ; still he heard it.

In wild excitement he coo-eed again, his very
loudest this time ; and again came the reply, scarcely
more distinct, and more like a cry than a coo-ee.

" It comes from the scrub," thought Eustace. " He
must be there, but awfully far off or ill, for that
isn't like his voice. What shall I do ? I can't go
back and fetch any one, because father said I was not
to tell. I daren't wait till father comes, for fear I
lose it. It might get fainter and fainter. Oh, I must
do something when Bob is calling out for help ! If
I could find him, if — if I could save him, it would
be splendid ! "

Just once again he sent out his piercing coo-ee,
and this time the answer was distinct enough for
him to decide its exact position. Without another
moment for reflection, he urged Bolter on, waded
through the river, and dashed helter-skelter towards
the wood. He thought nothing of the possibility

A VOICE FROM THE SCRUB. 123

of himself being lost, nothing of the danger of meet-
ing black-fellows. He was going to Bob — that was
the central idea. Bob was in danger and called for
help. It was the fulfilment of the greatest wish of
Eustace's life to serve Bob.

CHAPTER XL
BLACK-FELLOWS.

IN the exultation of the thought Eustace plunged
into the scrub and rode on and on unheedingly,
lost in dreams of the adventure before him. Always
he found Bob, always he rescued him, sometimes with
the most thrilling hair-breadth escapes.

The wood was not dark but densely shady, with
black distances. It presently began to worry Eustace
that it was impossible to keep a straight line for
the direction whence the answering cry had come ;
it was often necessary to wind in and out of
the close-growing tree stems to find a passage for
himself and Bolter. There was no road, path, or
even track to follow.

"This will get muddling," he thought, when he
had been twisting and turning, doubling back on
his route, for about half an hour. " I guess I ought
to have marked the trees with notches as I came
along. I'll go back and start again."

He pulled Bolter up, sat back on his saddle, and
looked round for the gleam of light through the
trunks of the trees that would guide him back to
the open; but there was none — nothing but an
even monotony of dense distance, no matter where
he turned.

BLACK-FELLOWS. 125

The boy's heart stood still in the unpleasant shock
of surprise. Which way had he come ? He had
not the slightest notion, for each way looked so
exactly the same as the other. He realized with
sickening intensity that he had lost his bearings.

"But I must find my way out, of course," he
said, addressing Bolter's glossy ears. "I'll try each
way in turn till I see the light. There is nothing
to be scared about."

He felt quite angry with himself for his momentary
panic ; it was stupid and babyish. Of course fellows
had been lost in the Bush, but they couldn't have
been such a short way in as he must be by now.
True, he had heard a story of a chap who had gone
round and round like a squirrel in a cage not a
mile from the outskirts of the scrub. He was
" bushed," and found dead.

The boy shuddered, then literally shook himself
as he urged Bolter on again to begin investigations.

" I won't think about it," he said, setting his teeth.
" I must get out, and begin again ; I must."

In and out of the trees he wound, trying his
utmost to retrace his steps ; but he had noticed
nothing on the way in, and he had no landmarks
to guide him. This went on so long that, fight
as he would with the fear at his heart, it began
to master him.

" Seems to me I am always coming back to the
place I start from," he thought, with a desperate
sense of helplessness ; " but there isn't a bit of
difference between these hateful trees. I'll mark
one and try."

He cut a deep gash in the bark of the nearest

126 BLACK-FELLOWS.

to him, and went on. But though he watched most
carefully, he never came on that tree again.

"As I'm not getting out," he reflected, "I must
be getting deeper and deeper into the scrub. Oh,
what shall I do — what shall I do ? What a silly
fool I have been ! I might have remembered father's
warnings. Bob said one ought to learn to think
out all sides of a question. I didn't; and now if
father goes back I shan't be there to tell him I
heard the coo-ee. Oh dear, oh dear ! "

He gave a gasping sigh, almost a sob. To have
been so near saving Bob, and not to have done it
after all — only to die "bushed"! It was enough
to break a man's nerve, let alone a child'a

He went back in thought to the river bank,
picturing how it would have been if he had only
patiently waited, giving a coo-ee now and again to
keep in touch with the answerer.

" Why, how silly I am ! " he exclaimed. " If I
coo-ee now he will answer me, and I can follow that."

The thought cheered him instantly, and making
a hollow mouthpiece with his hands to increase
the sound, he gave the loudest coo-ee he had ever
given in his life.

There was not the faintest response.

Again and again he repeated it, straining his ears
to hear if there came a reply. More and more
agonized grew his cries; so intense his silences
between that he even stopped his breathing to
listen. But there was nothing to hear. He got
hot and cold by turns ; he felt sick and queer. It
was now hours since his departure from the High-
lands, and he had had no food since the very poor

BLACK-FELLOWS. 127

supper he managed to eat the night before. The
effort of shouting did not improve matters, and he
was so hoarse at last he could call no more.

Then he completely lost his head, and began
riding with desperate inconsequence as straight
ahead as the trees would allow. Stay still he
could not; the inaction terrified him. He argued
that he must get somewhere by going on long
enough — somewhere "through to the other side," as
he expressed it.

" Why doesn't Bob answer ? " that was the most
troublesome thought. " Have I got out of ear-
shot ? "

Presently Eustace was beyond thinking ; he went
on dully because he felt he must keep on the
move; but hunger, exhaustion, and the heat of the
now well-advanced day were beginning to tell on
him. The apathy threatened to become so settled
that it was a mercy when Bolter presently stumbled
so badly that Eustace had to rouse himself to hold
on. Then it was that he noticed straight before
him at last a wide gleam of light amongst the
stems of the trees.

The sight put such life and spirit into him that
he whipped up the now drooping Bolter, who also
had just cause to reflect on no breakfast and general
ill-usage, and they covered the ground as fast as
possible, considering how unequal it was, how thick
the undergrowth in parts.

A disappointment and a great surprise awaited the
pair when they emerged into this open space — it was
nothing but a clearing in the wood after all, dotted
about with queer-shaped huts scarcely as tall as a

128 BLACK-FELLOWS.

man, and all made of pliable branches of trees inter-
woven with grass for walls.

Eustace pulled up short in breathless dismay, for
a few paces away there arose from among these
untidy " humpies " some twenty natives — erect, alert,
all with poised boomerangs or spears ready to fling.
It was a sinister reception for one small boy on
a spent horse. Of course the keen-eared black-
fellows had heard him coming from miles away, and
were ready.

It was small wonder, considering his condition,
that after one wild, appealing glance at the line
of fierce, dark faces Eustace fell forward on Bolter's
neck in a dead faint. He did not see the weapons
lowered, or the gleam of something like grim amuse-
ment on the chief's face as he realized for what it
was they had been so elaborately prepared.

Out of the huts crept stealthy figures of women
and children. When Eustace opened his eyes he
found himself lying flat on his back with these
people crowding inquisitively around. He looked
up into their repulsively heavy faces with a horror
of realization. For some moments he was too
paralyzed to stir. No more awful fate could have
befallen him than this — it was the sort of thing
that might come to one in a nightmare. But he
knew it was no dream. There stood Bolter a few
paces away, grazing thankfully, and in no way
perturbed.

The harsh guttural language these people spoke
was unintelligible to the boy, but he could guess
they wero intensely curious about him from the
way they pointed and stared. It seemed to him

BLACK-FELLOWS. 129

that some of them could never have seen a white
child before, they were so excited, especially the
children, who looked half terrified. Were they
cannibals these people ? he wondered, with a sink-
ing heart.

He forced himself to his feet, and stood shaking
a second, then dropped on his knees. The perform-
ance seemed to amuse the gaping group — the younger
men and women laughed, the children clapped their
hands.

Eustace was wondering drearily how long they
would stand staring at him, when the chief strode
up to him and said something with many gesticula-
tions; but not a thing could the boy understand.

The chief was much more decorated than any
one else — covered from head to heels with stripes
and devices in white, blue, and red paint. There
were feathers in his crisp dark hair, and slung
over his shoulder a strange shaped club.

Eustace proceeded, by means of much waving,
pointing, and the patter talked on the plantation
by the coolies, to try and explain how he had
come there, and how very much he only wanted
to get away and find the way home. But it was
useless — the men shook their heads and looked
perplexed.

Seeing that no one seemed inclined to molest him,
but that every one merely watched him as if he
were a monkey in a cage at the Zoo, he resolved
on a desperate step. With a supreme effort he
stood again, staggered over to Bolter, and attempted
to mount.

But this was not allowed. With two strides the

(1,331) 9

130 BLACK-FELLOWS.

chief was upon him, flinging him back on the ground
as a big boy might fling a kitten from him. Then
the great man plainly intimated that this creature
he considered his ; no one should touch it. Eustace
was not to dare to approach it. The chief's attitude
was menacing ; it was well to be seen he felt he had
acquired a prize.

" But what is going to happen to me ? " thought
Eustace, quaking with fear. " What will they do
with me ? "

No one seemed to have any intention of doing
anything with him at the moment; he was only
stared at. The men, for the most part, were now
more interested in Bolter, particularly his saddle
and bridle. Little by little the women dropped
off, as if they had work to attend to, and a smell
of cooking arose that made the boy sick with longing
as he sat huddled up and half silly with starvation
and fatigue. The apathy that had been upon* him
before he was cheered by the gleam of light crept
over him again ; fear faded from his mind ; nothing
seemed to matter any more.

He sat so still that presently the children crept
closer, and began to finger his clothes, as if they
puzzled them. What drew them away from him
he did not realize till something was thrust under
his very nose, and the smell told him it was food.

He had just enough sense left to try and eat ; but
before he had swallowed five mouthfuls he rolled
over and fell sound asleep. Nothing could have
kept him awake — neither a thunderstorm nor an
earthquake.

When he awoke again to a consciousness of his

BLACK-FELLOWS. 131

surroundings the sun was rising. He had come
through the night in safety — that was his first
thought; and it both surprised and encouraged him.
Surely, he argued, if they wanted to kill him he
would not have been spared so long.

The scarcely -touched food was still beside him.
Refreshed by the much -needed sleep, he was able
to eat it now, and began to feel more like himself
again, though stiff and still weary. He was suffi-
ciently rested for his brain to be active once more,
and his whole thoughts were bent upon what was to
become of him next.

Bolter was tethered at the other side of the open
space, well guarded, as if the chief thought he might
try to inveigle the horse away by some magic means,
then mount and ride off. It was very evident that
if he meant to get away it would have to be on
foot — the chief would not part with Bolter. The
question was : Did they mean to detain Eustace aa
prisoner ? At present, except that they stared
inquisitively at him, every one seemed fairly in-
different to his presence. However, he decided that
it would be foolish to put the matter to the test
in broad daylight; he must wait till nightfall, and
under cover of thefuntense darkness make his escape.
He set himself to wait as patiently as he could,
pretending to be as drowsy and inert as a well-fed
snake ; but his mind was very active. He had never
thought so many thoughts in all his life before.
What, he wondered, could Mrs. Cochrane have
thought of his disappearance ? Had his father
returned to the Highlands and discovered it ? Were
they keeping his loss from his mother as they had

132 BLACK-FELLOWS.

kept Bob's from Mrs. Cochrane ? Was it possible
Bob had got safe and sound home again ? And oh !
were they looking for him ?

There came an answer both to this and to the
question as to the black-fellows' intentions respecting
him that very morning.

Eustace had been furtively watching the dark
figures moving to and fro. Apparently some of
the men went off to hunt. Except when they were
preparing food, the women seemed to do nothing.
The children squabbled and tumbled about, or slept
like tired brown kittens in casual places. There
was a great hush over everything, when suddenly
across the silence came a sound that set every pulse
in the boy's body astir, so that the beating of his
heart almost choked him. It was a distant but
long, clear coo-ee.

Wild with joy Eustace sprang to his feet, but
before he could make a sound he found himself
surrounded by a dozen menacing figures, clubs in
hand, ready to fell him if he dared to reply.

Some of the tribes are very secretive and stealthy
in their movements. It was well to be seen that
this one did not wish to have its camping ground
divulged.

With a thrill of horror Eustace understood that
he was powerless. To cry out would mean certain
death. It might be their intention to kill him at
any rate, but in the postponement lay a chance of
escape. He must meet stealth by stealth.

Again the coo-ee cut through the air, but Eustace
covered his face with his hands and dropped dejectedly
back on the ground.

BLACK-FELLOWS. 133

It was a bitter moment. Could anything have
been worse than to know help was at hand, and to
be unable to take it ?

That a search-party was now out he felt certain ;
it was probably his father's voice, and he dared not
answer. He had the sense to see how useless it
would be to give one cry, and die for it. But oh !
it was hard — cruelly hard.

It seemed to him those coo-ees went on for hours,
each with a long listening pause after it, sometimes
nearer, gradually fading away and away till they
were no louder than the answer he had received on
the banks of the creek.

In addition to the keenness of the disappointment
and the terror that he was losing his last chance
of ever getting home again came the speculation as
to what these wild-faced people meant to do with
him, and there leaped to his mind a new and very
terrible question. Was it possible that Bob had
come this way ? Had they met him with spears
and boomerangs, and dispatched him before he had
time to whip out his revolver ? But no. There
was still that answering coo-ee to be accounted for.
Perhaps they had only bound him and made him
prisoner till then, undecided what to do with him.
It was possible that on hearing Eustace's coo-ee he
had dared the blacks, and attempted those three
faint answers. If so, they had cost him his life,
and the ultimate silence was explained.

Eustace lay shuddering over the thought. He
could only keep his teeth from chattering by hold-
ing his jaw tightly in both hands.

How long he lay lost in those miserable thoughts

134 BLACK-FELLOWS.

he did not know. He was roused from his lethargy
by a soft kick, and, starting up, he found the woman
who fed him the day before beside him offering him
food again. She seemed to treat him as if he were
a white pig that had strayed amongst them. He
was probably a less intelligible creature in her eyes,
but she knew that he must at least eat to live.

It was a messy preparation, but he managed to
eat some ; and all the driest portions of it he could
extract unnoticed he slipped into his pockets, laying
in provision for possible starvation next day. Then
he lay down again and feigned sleep.

He looked through half-closed lids with longing
eyes at the peaceful Bolter. Eustace wondered
whether he too had heard those tantalizing coo-ees
and ached to respond. What would be poor Bolter's
fate here ? The blacks make the women of the
tribes into their beasts of burden when shifting
camp ; they do not habitually use horses. The
chief was perhaps only keeping Bolter as a valuable
addition to the larder when provisions ran short.

Every thought that came to the boy was horrid.
He wished he did not have to think, and as dusk
fell set his mind to the task of keeping awake
after his captors had settled down for the night.
It would be fatal to sleep as he had done the
night before.

The chief had been away all day, and was not
yet come back. It was possible judgment on the
prisoner was suspended till his return. When the
great man heard of the coo-ees and Eustace's attempt
to answer, probably the boy's fate would be sealed.
Escape must be now or never.

BLACK-FELLOWS. 135

Eustace made up his mind that he would start
off in the direction whence the coo-ees had come.
It was the only guide he had, and a very poor
one, as had already been proved by the first cry
he had so unfortunately tried to follow.

He waited just as long as he could bear, after
silence fell on the camp. There was no question
of taking Bolter. He was guarded as on the night
before ; besides, he would have made too much noise.
Eustace dared not get up and walk himself, or even
crawl. He had invented a silent, gliding movement
as he lay scheming — by means of strong tufts of
grass he meant to gradually pull his body, snakewise,
little by little away from the open into the wood.

As soon as he dared he began his weird progress,
quaking at every sound he made lest it should rouse
those keen-eared sleepers so close around him. The
soft "frou-frou" of the dry grass beneath him
sounded to his excited fancy like the sudden rush-
ing of a torrent. He was almost overwhelmed by
the fear of pulling himself inadvertently up against
one of those dark forms, for he did not know where
every one was lying. One false move now, and it
would mean the end of all things for him.

CHAPTER XIL
THE SECRET OF THE THICKET.

THE night was close and still with the silence
that intensifies sound tenfold. Eustace thought
he could not have had worse luck. His temptation
was to hurry ; common sense bade him hold himself
in check. Panic urged him to risk everything, and
make a bolt for it. But Bob's precept was ringing
in his mind — there were two sides to the question ;
he might bolt, but where to in the dark ? It was
useless to dash headlong into trees and make for
nowhere in particular. The plan was to get as far
away as possible in the dark, unheard, so that by
daylight he would be out of sight, and able to
quicken his pace to some purpose.

Gliding, halting, scarcely breathing, he pulled him-
self along, and great beads of perspiration started on
his forehead and trickled down into his eyes.

The darkness was useful in one way, but it had
its disadvantages. He had no idea what progress
he was making, and it seemed ages before his hand
came against what he thankfully realized was the
bark of a tree. Almost simultaneously there was a
blinding flash of lightning, so vivid that for a full
moment the sleeping camp lay revealed, and Eustace

THE SECRET OF THE THICKET. 137

had time to grasp the fact that he was well within
the outskirts of the wood. The crash of thunder
almost overhead brought him to his feet. Now was
the time to make some pace, in the dense darkness,
under cover of that merciful noise. Eustace was not
the least afraid of thunder and lightning ; he was
used to tremendous storms, and loved nothing better
than to stand out on the veranda to watch one
raging round among the hills or out at sea. Now
it was a positive blessing. Every flash showed him
where he was, and he took care to have a tree trunk
between himself and the camp. Then during the
thunder bursts he made his way swiftly forward,
groping cautiously like a blind man. His spirits
rose with the excitement, and all his courage came
back to him.

By the time the storm had grumbled itself away
into the distance he knew he was well out of sight
of the camp, and he dared to sit down to wait for
dawn. Without the aid of the lightning it was folly
to plunge farther into the scrub.

In spite of a stern resolve not even to let himself
doze, the tired boy must have slept awhile, sitting
with his back against a tree. There was just a first
glimmer of light penetrating the thick foliage above
when he opened his eyes with a sudden definite feel-
ing of something having roused him.

Very much on the alert, instantly he raised his
head, and sat listening with held breath. He was
beginning to think he must have been mistaken,
when there came a sound that made his hair stand
on end and his blood run cold. He got up swiftly
but softly, and stood, still backed by the tree, staring

138 THE SECRET OF THE THICKET.

into the gloom. The sound seemed to come from
what looked like a dense thicket not very far to
the right, but as yet it was not light enough to
distinguish objects from each other.

" Is it some animal, or a native, or what can it
be ? " Eustace questioned, feeling most horribly shaky.

There was a long pause, and then the silence was
once more broken by a deep, heavy groan — something
like a long sobbing sigh.

The boy was paralyzed with horror. Besides
which, to have moved, to have gone forward, would
have been useless in this half light. He could have
done nothing, seen nothing. There was nothing for
it but to wait till daybreak. He could not bring
himself to sit down again ; there is always a feeling
of being ready for anything when one is standing.

There was another long interval, and then this
awful sound came once more — slow, laboured, intensely
painful. There could be no doubt that something
or some one was suffering inexpressibly not twenty
yards away. The voice was like the voice of a man
having a nightmare, and trying to call some one to
help him. The third time the sound came Eustace
almost fancied it contained a word — " Help."

Five times he heard it, and every time it was
exactly the same in tone and duration. Each time
he became more persuaded that it was a muffled cry
for help.

The light was coming at last. Soon he would be
able to venture forward and find out what horrible
secret the thicket held.

The boy sank down on his knees and prayed with all
his might for strength to face whatever it might be

THE SECRET OF THE THICKET. 139

for at the thought of the ordeal before him he could
have turned and fled. He stood up again as white as
a sheet, but resolute, and ashamed of the temptation.

" Who is there ? " he demanded in a hoarse, shaky
voice unlike his own.

His throat was parched, his lips dry. He had not
spoken a word for two nights and a day ; it was
scarcely wonderful speech was difficult.

There was no answer for a full minute, and then
came that same groaning cry again, not as in answer
to the question, but at its own regular interval.

Following the curve of the thicket a little way,
behind a thick group of trees Eustace came to a
sudden standstill with a cry of dismay ; for there,
standing almost upright in the thickest of the scrub,
was the figure of a man, his bare head bowed down
upon his breast so that his face was invisible, his
arms hanging down at his sides.

It struck Eustace at once as strange that he should
be standing making this terrible sound. It would
not have surprised the boy nearly so much to have
found him lying down — indeed, that he had expected.
Bracing himself to the task, Eustace went closer.

" I say," he said in a loud voice, " what's up ? "

The man made neither sign nor movement. Could
he be tied there to a stake ? the boy wondered. Was
he deaf and blind ?

" I say," Eustace said, almost shouting now, " can't
you see me ? "

Fighting down his own horror of the situation, he
pressed a little closer, to find the man's shirt torn
to shreds, his arms pinioned down to his sides by
something that looked like small cords.

140 THE SECRET OF THE THICKET.

" It's the ' wait-a-bit ' cane ! " Eustace exclaimed
aloud, shrinking back sharply with a quick horror
of being entrapped by it himself.

Here was an awful state of affairs. A wretched
wayfarer caught and held like a fly in a spider's
web, and not a soul at hand to help.

To go back to the natives was out of the question.
With their reputation for cruelty and hatred of
white men it would be worse than useless to appeal
to them. What was to be done ? What would Bob
have done under the circumstances ?

With a gasping cry Eustace crept closer again, and
bending low he strained to catch a glimpse of the
man's face without going too perilously deep into
the thicket.

" Bob," whispered the boy, " Bob, is it you ? Oh,
speak to me — is it you ? "

Little fool that he had been not to think of it
before. But somehow these last hours of terror,
centred only upon himself and his own means of
escape, had blunted his intelligence to everything
else — even to the remembrance of Bob. He was
mad with himself for it now — so mad that all
thought of personal danger fell away from him.
He had room for nothing but the realization that
this must be Bob indeed standing here helpless and
dying of privation.

Oh the folly of having waited for the light ! But
Eustace stayed for nothing more now — not even to
look at the two sides of the question. He dashed
against the bushes like a little mad thing, recklessly
fighting his way towards the imprisoned man.

" Bob, Bob ! " he said in a voice choked with sobs.

THE SECRET OF THE THICKET. 141

It was difficult to grasp that this huddled, helpless
figure was Bob, the big, the strong. But when at
last Eustace saw the white, drawn face he knew
there was no mistake about it.

There came that awful groan again, but this time
Eustace did not shrink back.

" It's all right, Bob," he said huskily. " I've come
now. I'm going to help you all I can. You shan't
die — you shan't — you shan't."

He spoke the last words through set teeth, for he
had taken out his clasp-knife, and was hacking at
the cruel bonds with all his might.

It needed no explanation to tell Eustace how Bob
had got there. The thing was as plain as daylight.
He must have been riding fast, and inadvertently
struck against some " wait-a-bit," which rebounded
like a bit of twisted elastic, and caught him in
such a grip that he was powerless to free himself.
Bolter passed on from beneath, and the more he
fought and struggled the tighter he became entangled.
Had his arms been free it would have been different ;
but the strength of the cane was marvellous — more-
over, it was covered with vicious thorns. That Bob
had fought desperately for his life was to be seen
by the condition of his shirt and his deeply-scored
skin. He was now in a state of more than semi-
unconsciousness from exhaustion and starvation ; still,
at intervals, he half roused himself to call for help,
as he must have been doing for days.

It was no easy matter to saw through the cane,
which was wound again and again round him. But
bit by bit Eustace worked at it, with a ferocity that
was bound to tell. He was mad with fear for Bob,

142 THE SECRET OF THE THICKET.

and madness is said to increase strength extra-
ordinarily.

More by good luck than good guidance the boy
was not caught in the meshes himself, for he took
no care.

As the last coils were cut, and Bob was bereft of
his main support, he fell gradually to the ground,
lying in the pathway Eustace had made to reach
him, and from there the boy could not move him an
inch. Perhaps owing to the change of position Bob
had stopped groaning at last; but though Eustace
called him, and implored him to speak, if only a
word, he made no sign.

" I suppose it is faintness," Eustace thought in
deep trouble, for this was something so terribly new
in Bob. He did not seem the sort of fellow who
could ever be ill.

Something ought to be done for him, and that
quickly ; this much Eustace knew. At home he
would have rushed for water ; but here where there
was none — where there was nothing — what was he
to do ? If only he were a man, and carried a brandy
flask, as his father always did ! A sudden brilliant
idea struck him — perhaps Bob carried a flask him-
self !

It was the work of but a few seconds to search
him, and to the boy's joy he found a little flask full
of spirit. It was not very long since Eustace had
had a practical demonstration of what to do with
some one in a faint. He remembered Mrs. Robert-
son's treatment of his mother the night of their
fright about Becky.

So first he moistened the dry blue lips, then put

THE SECRET OF THE THICKET. 143

a few drops between them. Oh, it was a tedious, ter-
rifying business — too long to describe ; and nothing
scared Eustace more than the choking and gasping
with which Bob came to himself at last. But it was
the turning-point and saving of his life.

It took Bob a long time to pull himself sufficiently
together to make a sign to Eustace that he knew
him. He was far too weak to speak at first ; but
after a long, dazed study of the boy's white, miser-
able face, Bob's lips parted in a pitiful attempt at a
smile.

To his own after-annoyance and shame, whenever he
remembered it, Eustace flung himself face downwards
on the ground and fairly sobbed. What fear for his
own safety and all the horrors he had gone through
had no power to do, the relaxation of this tension of
anxiety about Bob did.

" Say, old chap," came in a far-away whisper to
his ears, " don't ! "

It pulled him up short. Bob's eyes were closed,
and he looked so like fainting again that Eustace
gave him more brandy.

It had a good effect ; but later, not even when he
had regained his full consciousness, could Bob move
hand or foot ; he was as stiff as a log. Just as he
had been bound rigidly upright, so he remained now
lying at full length.

" Guess I'm pretty helpless," he said in a thin,
weak voice. " I shall have to be oiled before I can
move." Then, after a little while, when he had been
lying staring at his companion meditatively some
minutes, he said, " Just explain what you are doing
here, will you ? "

144 THE SECRET OF THE THICKET.

From the very beginning — the return of Bolter —
Eustace told the story of the last few days, and Bob
listened with growing eagerness in his eyes.

" So you lost yourself finding me," he said at the
end. " And there isn't a doubt you've saved my life,
old boy."

But even this assertion did not cheer Eustace.

" I'm afraid I haven't, though," he said miserably,
" because you see we are lost."

" Not a bit of it," Bob said. " If I had any legs
I could walk you out of the wood in two hours. I
know the way perfectly."

" Do you ? " Eustace exclaimed. " Then what did
you come here for ? "

" Merely to see if it was true there were any
natives in the neighbourhood," was the answer. " I
never got as far as the camp, but my shouts brought
a whole lot of them gibbering round me. It seemed
to amuse them to see me there ; but they threatened
to kill me if I went on shouting, so I had to shut up
and hope for the best. They have come each day in
little batches and watched me awhile, then slipped
away. At last I began to feel so bad that I rather
wished they would come and finish me off, to put
me out of my misery; so I began calling again. But
I suppose my voice was too weak to matter; they
knew I couldn't be heard. Anyhow, the beggars didn't
touch ma I dare say they'll come again to-day."

Eustace looked scared.

" Oh, I say," he exclaimed, " I hope they won't.
They'll take us prisoners, and goodness knows what
they'll do to us. We must get away from here
before they come."

THE SECRET OF THE THICKET. 146

" You must," said Bob, " but I can't. You'll have
to take my compass, and keep going due west with
it all the time. You'll know where you are the
minute you get out into the open."

Eustace stared at him blankly.

" But I couldn't go and leave you," he exclaimed.

" Why not ? " asked Bob with a smile.

"How could I," Eustace said warmly, "and you
in danger ? I just won't go. Nothing shall make
me."

There was a curious light in Bob's eyes as they
rested on tha slip of a lad kneeling beside him.

" Good old man," he said, " you can't do me any
good by staying. For both our sakes you must go,
and as fast as you can."

" But suppose while I am away — " began Eustace
desperately.

" We've got to chance that," said Bob bravely.
" You couldn't save my life if you stayed ; you could
only die too, and what would be the good of that ? "

" I would rather," said Eustace chokily.

" Well, I wouldn't," Bob said firmly. " We mustn't
think about ourselves in it at all. You've got to go
home and set the dear home-folks' minds at rest
about us. They'll know no peace till they hear, one
way or another. Then, of course, they'll set out to
fetch me. You'll guide them. If I am here, well
and good. If I am not, don't you forget I wouldn't
let you stay. You did the only thing you could for
me by obeying orders."

Eustace hid his face in his hands because his lips
were trembling so ; he felt sick, and shaky all over.

"O Bob," he said, "must I?"

(1,331) 10

146 THE SECRET OF THE THICKET.

" For my sake, laddie," said Bob softly.

Eustace stood up, but kept his head turned away
that Bob should still not see his face.

" I do wish," said Bob lightly, " that you could
give me a nice slice of beef before you go; I'm so
hungry."

It was a little bit of chaff to help the boy to pull
himself together. It worked quite a miracle, for
Eustace's face cleared instantly.

" Why, how stupid of me ! " he said. " I can give
you something to eat. It was what I couldn't finish
of my own."

Out of his pockets he pulled the unappetizing
lumps of food he had secreted, and kneeling again,
he began feeding the helpless man as if he had been
a baby.

" Upon my word, you are a magician," said Bob,
keeping up a cheery tone, although he could little
more than whisper. " But eat some yourself ; turn
and turn about."

" I don't want any," said the boy.

" Obey," said Bob briskly, with his kind smile.

So they made their strange meal together. It was
a small one, but quite enough for Bob after his long
starvation.

" I ate every leaf and berry within my reach," he
told Eustace, "or I don't think I should be alive to
tell the tale. Lucky for me, they were none of them
poisonous. When they were done I started on chew-
ing twigs, but they didn't go far."

At last Eustace had no excuse to linger. Very
unwillingly he rose to do Bob's behest. He had
never heard of anything so awful as leaving him

THE SECRET OF THE THICKET. 147

like this to his fate. It seemed the worst kind of
desertion — something that he would be ashamed of
all the days of his life.

Bob made him take his watch and chain with the
compass on it.

" Keep the compass afterwards if you like," Bob
said, " and give my love to every one."

Eustace turned sharply away ; he could stand no
more.

" Good-bye," he said thickly ; " I feel a beast."

He took two quick strides forward, and walked
right into some one. It was the great native chief.

CHAPTER XIII,
A GREAT SURPRISE.

EUSTACE thought he had never seen anything
so wicked as the chief's grin when he looked
down into his astonished face. The black-fellow's
teeth gleamed like a wolf's. His whole expression
seemed to say, " Ha, ha ! so I've caught you in the
very act. You don't escape me so easily, you see."
He evidently felt an exultant satisfaction in frustrat-
ing his departure, or he was rejoicing over having
found him again.

With an overwhelming consciousness of Bob's
helplessness, Eustace moved back quickly to the
prostrate figure, as if to shelter it.

" What's up, old man ? " questioned Bob, who from
his position could see nothing. " You're not shirking,
are you ? "

The chief came rapidly within range of the sick
man's eyes, and Bob's face fell most unmistakably.
There was disappointment in every line of it.

" Phew ! " he whistled, " we've lost our chance this
time."

Exactly how crestfallen the pair was it would be
impossible to describe. Not that Bob had harboured
any hope for himself. He knew the natives would

A GREAT SURPRISE. 149

come to him before Eustace could possibly get back
with assistance, and finding him no longer an amusing
spectacle, would probably dispatch him. But he had
been bent on saving the boy's life and sending his
message home.

The native chief said something in his rapid,
unintelligible language, then turned, made a strange
call, and began gesticulating violently.

Eustace dropped on his knees and hid his face
on Bob's tattered shirt.

" Buck up, old chap," Bob said softly ; " one can
only die once. Let's show these black-fellows how
a Christian and an Englishman can do it. You'll
get the strength right enough ; I'm not a bit afraid
of your funking."

There was an advancing tramp, a crashing of
branches : the chief's summons was being rapidly
obeyed. With a long shuddering sigh Eustace
raised himself and knelt upright, gazing down on
his hero.

"That's right," said Bob steadily, with his own
genial smile lighting up his whole face, " keep your
eyes on mine ; hold on to me if you like. I shan't
think you a muff, because I know you aren't one."

But the boy did not touch him ; he kept his hands
clasped tightly together in a supreme effort to be
worthy of Bob's belief in him. He heard the new-
comers halt. The native spoke and moved aside.
Then —

" Both of them ! " exclaimed a familiar voice.
"Thank God for that."

Eustace sank back in a heap on the ground and
stared up.

160 A GREAT SUEPRI8E.

" Father ! " cried Bob in astonishment.

It was Mr. Cochrane indeed, and with him Mr.
Orban — as haggard a pair as could be met with in
a long day's march.

It seemed little short of a miracle that they should
appear at such a juncture, yet the explanation proved
simple enough. The native chief had fetched them
straight to the spot. There was no sort of nobility
in the act : the man knew enough of white men's
ways to expect a big reward. Bob he did not know ;
but when Eustace appeared on the scene he recog-
nized the boy as belonging to the master of the
neighbouring plantation, whom he had seen many
times from a distance as he rode through the Bush.
Mr. Orban was out with Mr. Cochrane making a
frantic search of the entire neighbourhood when the
chief arrived, and he would communicate his business
to no one else. Not that it is likely any one else
would have understood him or followed him as
Mr. Orban did the moment he arrived home. The
language was unintelligible to both men ; but putting
two and two together in their great anxiety, they
made out that the chief could lead them where they
would find something of interest to themselves. They
had not dared to hope he knaw the whereabouts of
both their sons, or to speculate which they should
find ; they did not even know whether they were
being taken to the living or the dead.

" I'm afraid you'll have a bit of bother getting
me home," said Bob ; " I'm as stiff as a board, and
can't move hand or foot."

Then he told his story, and how Eustace had found
him, and to all intents and purposes saved his life.

A GREAT SURPRISE. 151

"And you, Eustace," said Mr. Orban — "how did
you come here ? "

When Eustace came to the description of the
answering coo-ee on the banks of the creek, Mr. Orban
interrupted him.

" That was only an echo. I knew there was one
there, but I never thought of telling you."

" Thank God you didn't," said Mr. Cochrane, " and
that he made the mistake. We should never have
found Bob but for that."

"Father," Eustace said anxiously, "you won't for-
get poor old Bolter, will you ? This black-fellow has
got him in the camp over there."

" I had quite forgotten him," Mr. Orban said ;
"and we shall need him too."

Their own horses were quietly waiting a little
distance back. By means of much gesticulation —
pointing towards the horses, and then in the direction
of the camp — the chief was made to understand what
was wanted ; and after a little demur he went away
to fetch Bolter, but certainly most grudgingly.

The journey back to the plantation was one that
none of the party could ever forget. The difficulty
of conveying the helpless Bob, the suffering he so
bravely tried to endure, and the terrible time it took,
were indescribable.

It had of course been necessary to tell both
mothers of the loss of their sons. Mrs. Cochrane and
Trixy had gone immediately to the Orbans' house
as more central for obtaining news.

Mr. Orban dispatched one coolie from the planta-
tion for the doctor, who lived fifteen miles away.
Another man he sent up the hill as fast as he could

152 A GREAT SURPRISE.

go with a note preparing his wife for their arrival,
and the whole white-faced party was out waiting
for it as the slow procession — Bob on a stretcher in
the midst — wound its way to the house.

The joy of the meeting was lost sight of in the
anxiety, for Bob was by this time delirious with
pain, Eustace so weak that he was nearly fainting.

For the next ten days the house was no better
than a hospital — its central interest the condition of
the two patients within its walls ; but the first day
Bob and Eustace were brought out on to the veranda
— two white -faced shadows of themselves — Bob
laughingly called it the convalescent home.

Up to that point everything was, as Nesta ex-
pressed it, horrid ; but when Bob was about again,
even if his voice was weaker, his laugh a ghost of
itself, matters at once began to improve.

They were all sitting together enjoying the cool
of the evening.

" What I can't understand," said Nesta meditatively,
breaking a long pause, " is why the black-fellows
wouldn't let Eustace answer father's coo-ee."

" It is quite simple," said Mr. Orban. " The chief
had evidently given strict orders he was not to be
allowed to go in his absence, and they were afraid
we should come and take him away. Then the chief
would have got no reward."

" What I can't understand," said Peter, who never
remained long in the background, " is why the black
fellows didn't cut Bob down. It was wicked of them."

" That's what I think," said Nesta. " If they left
him because they thought it funny, I wish they could
be tortured."

A GREAT SURPRISE. 153

" Nesta, Nesta, my darling ! " said Mrs. Orban
warningly.

" I suppose," said Miss Chase softly, " the poor
things have no knowledge of mercy."

" None," said Mr. Cochrane, who was over spending
the evening ; " and they wouldn't understand it if
you showed them any, either."

" No heathens ever do," said Mrs. Orban, " and how
should they ? They have no Great Example to
follow as we have. It is the people who have the
chance of knowing better, and still are cruel and
heartless, that I would have tortured — if any one."

Mr. Orban gave a soft laugh.

" If any one, indeed, wife," he said. " You know
as well as I do that you wouldn't have a spider hurt
for torturing a fly."

Every one laughed with him except Mrs. Orban
herself. Her tender heart was as good as a fable
in the household. But she said quite gravely, —

" You have chosen a bad example for once, Jack.
A spider is as ignorant as a heathen. It has only
its own nature to follow."

" Got the worst of it there, Mr. Orban," said Bob
in an amused tone.

" Talking of cruelty," remarked Miss Chase, " what
do you do to your unfortunate cows here at night ?
I never heard such a dismal noise as they make."

" Cows ! " exclaimed every one in astonishment.

" Yes, cows," was the answer. " If you listen you
can hear them now."

There was an instant hush, followed by renewed
peals of laughter.

" Those aren't cows I advise you to go and sympa-

154 A GREAT SURPRISE.

thize with, Miss Chase," said Bob. " We call them
alligators hereabouts, and at the present minute they
are lying on the banks of the creek wishing a mce,
tasty supper would come strolling along."

" There are alligators in the river, and yet
Nesta says you boat on it and bathe in it ! " ex-
claimed Miss Chase. " What extraordinary people
you are ! "

"There are alligators one side of the bar and
sharks the other, and one often upsets going over
it in rough weather," said Bob cheerfully.

" How horrible ! " said Miss Chase.

" When Aunt Dorothy saw a tarantula strolling
round the table towards her the other day she nearly
had a fit," said Peter.

"Don't tell tales out of school, Peter Perky," said
Aunt Dorothy. "A poor, ignorant Englishwoman
isn't expected to be brave when she sees a spider
as big as a penny bun, with furry legs in proportion,
trying to sit on her knee."

"Then, so far, Miss Chase," said Bob, with a
twinkle in his eyes, "you are not infatuated with
our Bush life ? "

"Have you and Eustace given me much chance
to be ? " she asked. " You must confess you did not
give me a very good first impression by both running
away and losing yourselves. We don't think that
sort of thing necessary for the entertainment of our
friends in England. Spiders are spiders there, too,
not animated penny buns, and our cows don't want
to eat us."

"Oh, of course," said Bob, "everything is perfect
in England — isn't it, Nesta ? "

A GREAT SURPRISE. 155

"It has some advantages," said Mrs. Orban. "I
think the absence of these excitements is amongst
them."

She was looking very worn out after her recent
experiences.

" Well, it's my opinion, my dear," said Mr. Orban,
"that with your little family you would have ex-
citements wherever you went. It has seemed fated
to give you one shock after another."

" Only just lately, Jack," was the gentle response,
for Mrs. Orban caught a contrite expression in
Eustace's eyes.

" It was the coming of the witch that did it," said
Bob. "As soon as she started for Queensland queer
things began happening over here. She wanted to
make you out of conceit with life here, so that she
could more easily bewitch you over to England. That
was her spell."

"And the queer thing is," said Mr. Orban quite
gravely, "that it has acted. She is going to take
them all away from me when she goes — wife, and
sons, and daughters."

" Father," exclaimed Nesta, " what are you saying ? *

" Is it a story, daddy ? " demanded Peter.

" No, the solemn truth," said Mr. Orban.

" I don't understand," said Eustace blankly.

" How should you when so much nonsense is being
talked ? " said his mother. " But the fact is, father
thinks a change of air would do us all a great deal
of good ; and as grannie wants us, and has sent us
our passage money — "

" Oh ! oh ! oh ! " cried Nesta, " don't go on, mummie.
You make it sound just as if it were real, and it

156 A GREAT SURPRISE.

will be so disappointing to have to un-fancy it
again."

But Eustace said breathlessly, —

" Mother, is it true ? "

"Quite true," was the grave answer. "We sail
the end of next month. It is all settled."

" What did I say ? " said Bob in mock despair.
" She'll take you away, and you'll never come back
any more."

"Oh, there you are quite wrong, Bob," said Mrs.
Orban. "If Dorothy is a witch, Jack is a wizard,
and he will magic us all back again in a year and
a day at latest"

" Well, I simply can't believe it," said Nesta.

"It's the queerest thing I have ever heard," said
Eustace.

But Peter set up such yells of delight he had to
be repressed by the early-to-bed threat — always a
useful one when Peter became rampageous, for he
hated going to bed at any time.

That evening no one could talk of anything but
this trip to England. No matter what subject was
started, everything harked back to this wonderful
plan, which Mr. Orban had been thinking out for
some time, only confiding in his wife and Miss Chase
as long as the matter was undecided. Bob kept up
the appearance of being utterly woebegone, and
Nesta and Peter seemed to have turned into machines
for asking questions.

Of the party only Eustace was silent, and presently
Nesfca noticed the fact.

" Aren't you most awfully glad ? " she asked.

" I don't know," said Eustace slowly.

A GREAT SURPRISE. 157

" Goodness ! " said Nesta in a bustling tone, " you've
always said you wanted to go."

"That was when I knew we couldn't," replied
Eustace, scarcely thinking what he was saying.

" What a funny thing to say," said Nesta. " But
you do still want to go, don't you ? "

" I don't know," said Eustace.

" Well, you are a queer boy," said Nesta in rather
a disgusted tone. " I call that silly."

" I think I know just what Eustace means," said
Miss Chase quietly. " He wants to get there without
going — to be there without leaving home. It is how
I felt about coming here."

" I don't understand a bit," said Nesta, with a
shake of her head.

" I do," said Bob. " One knows what one is
leaving, but one doesn't know what one is going to.
It is a toss-up whether there is to be any happiness
in the venture. But I prophesy the witch will see
to it you don't want to come back in a hurry.
You'll enjoy yourself no end."

" Why, Bob," exclaimed Nesta in astonishment,
" how you have changed ! That is all the opposite
to what you have always said before."

"Is it?" said Bob lamely. "Well, I suppose I
must be bewitched too. What do you expect when
you will import such things into the country ? "

CHAPTER XIV.
A MOONLIGHT DISTURBANCE.

A TNT DOROTHY'S cows" became as great a
family joke as " Aunt Dorothy's lunatics ; "
indeed, scarcely a day passed that the household was
not amused by some quaint mistake of hers. Every
one chaffed her, especially Bob; and as the two
patients rapidly recovered, the house-party was a
merry one. In spite of the thought of parting with his
family so soon, Mr. Orban was in much better spirits ;
the cane had been safely cut, the good crop had been
spoiled neither by fire nor the rainy season coming
too soon, and the crushing was well in progress.

" Oh dear," exclaimed Nesta one morning at break-
fast, " I am so sorry you are getting well, Bob."

"Very kind of you, I'm sure," said Bob with
deliberate politeness. " One is always so glad of one's
friends' good wishes."

Every one laughed except Nesta.

" Well, you know what I mean," she said. " Of
course the minute you are well you will go, and
the house will be duller than ever without you."

" Very prettily put for the rest of us, dear," said
Miss Chase. " I am sure we feel much complimented."

"I don't know what you mean," said Nesta in
bewilderment. " I didn't mean to compliment any one."

A MOONLIGHT DISTURBANCE. 159

" You achieved it, however," said Bob. " You called
them a pack of dull dogs not fit to live with. Of
course they feel charmed with your opinion."

" Oh, I didn't," said Nesta.

" You inferred it," said Miss Chase. " However, we
forgive you. Fortunately we shan't be able to die
of dullness entirely, because there will be so much
to be done preparing for the voyage."

" I vote Bob stays with us till we go," said Eustace.
— " He would be jolly useful, wouldn't he, mother ? "

" Really, Eustace," remonstrated Mrs. Orban with
a laugh, " I am ashamed of you. Is that the way
you treat your friends ? "

Eustace reddened and looked uncomfortable as the
laugh went round. Glancing deprecatingly at Bob,
he found that he was not even smiling. It did seem
a cheeky way of putting it.

"I beg your pardon," he began, when Bob inter-
rupted quickly.

" No, don't. I was only thinking what a jolly
thing you had said. What are friends for if they
are not to be made use of ? "

" That is rather a dangerous theory to propound,"
said Mr. Orban. " Supposing your friends take advan-
tage of it — what then ? "

" A real friend never would take advantage of it,"
said Bob with certainty ; " that is just how you can
test him. The chap who will take nothing from
you, but only give, is a patronizing bounder ; the
fellow who will give nothing to you, but only take,
is a mean beggar ; the man who will give and take
equally is your chum. Hold on to him when you've
got him."

160 A MOONLIGHT DISTURBANCE.

"An excellent definition, Bob," said Mr. Orban,
with a genial smile. " We shall certainly never let
you go."

There was a second's pause, then Bob said quietly, —

" Thank you, sir. I guess I shall hold on to all
of you too."

It took Nesta to the end of breakfast to unravel
the meaning of the sudden gravity that had fallen
over the party, and then she was not sure of herself.

" Why, you silly," said Eustace, to whom she
appealed in private, " don't you see ? — Father as good
as said it — Bob is the right kind of chap to have for
a chum, And so he is. I guess I know that better
than any one."

"I don't see why you should," exclaimed Nesta
jealously. " We all know Bob ; he isn't anybody's in
particular. He said himself he meant to hold on
to all of us, not just one person only."

Her tone was "snubby" in the extreme, but
Eustace was utterly silent for a moment.

Nesta did not know it ; he would never know
it himself ; but there was a big difference in Eustace
nowadays. He had not gone through great expe-
riences untouched ; some things in life leave an
indelible impression.

" Yes," he said thoughtfully, " I'm glad he said that."

Nesta was so astonished at getting no response
to her assertion that she exclaimed, —

" Said what ? "

" Why, that he will hold on to us," Eustace said.

"Well," Nesta remarked, again with a touch of
superiority, " of course we all knew that without his
telling us."

A MOONLIGHT DISTURBANCE. 161

Eustace eyed her with a quietness that somehow
irritated the girl. She could not understand him at
all, and nothing annoyed Nesta so much as to discover
she was not understanding something that was per-
fectly clear to somebody else.

" Didn't you know it ? " she asked sharply.

" Of course," said Eustace dreamily.

" Then what do you mean ? " Nesta demanded.

" I was thinking about going to England," was the
seemingly irrelevant reply.

" What has that got to do with it ? " said Nesta.

" Everything," Eustace said. " If we had been going
to stay here for ever and ever I shouldn't have
thought so much about it. As it is, it means a lot
that good old Bob won't forget us."

"Why, how stupid you are to-day," Nesta ex-
claimed. " Did you think he might in ' a year and
a day,' as mother calls it ? "

" How do you know it will be only ' a year and
a day ' ? " Eustace said almost roughly. " How do
you know we shall ever come back ? "

" Eustace ! " cried Nesta, staring at him as if she
thought he must have suddenly gone mad.

" Well ? " he said briefly.

" But this is home — and father is staying here,"
the girl argued. " We couldn't stay in England for
ever."

" I don't know," said Eustace. " I've got an awfully
queer feeling about going ever since it was settled.
And it seems to me Bob has it too."

"Oh, stuff!" said Nesta bracingly. "Bob only
says it to tease Aunt Dorothy."

" He said just the same things before Aunt Dor-

(1,331) 11

162 A MOONLIGHT DISTURBANCE.

othy came," was the response. " That is nothing to
go by."

" Well, neither are your queer feelings," said Nesta.
" I haven't any. I don't see why we should stay
in England. What is to make us ? "

" Suppose we were left there to go to school ? "
suggested Eustace, watching her narrowly.

Nesta stared at him blankly. It was evidently a
new idea to her.

" Do you think we might be ? " she said ; then her
expression broke, and she smiled. " It would be just
splendid, wouldn't it ? " she added.

Eustace was silent a moment.

" You wouldn't mind leaving Trixy ? " he said.

" Well, I should come back again," Nesta answered,
feeling somehow annoyingly rebuked, " and I should
have such loads and shoals of things to tell her and
show her. All about the girls and my clothes, you
know — "

" Oh," exclaimed Eustace in a tone of disgust, " that
is all girls care about — talking, and showing off"

" It isn't," Nesta said quickly. " I should like the
learning."

" Well, I shouldn't," admitted Eustace frankly ; " I
hate learning. It is only games that make school
worth going to, and that isn't enough to make up for
other things."

" What other things ? " asked Nesta curiously.

" Oh, never mind," said Eustace impatiently ; " I
don't want to talk about it."

But Nesta did exceedingly ; she wanted to talk
of nothing else ; till at last Eustace went off in
desperation down the hill to watch the sugar crushing,

A MOONLIGHT DISTURBANCE. 163

saying something about, " It isn't as if people could
come back to Queensland for the holidays," and
" Everything would be different when they were all
grown up."

" I don't know what is the matter with him,"
Nesta said to herself in perplexity. " I do believe
he doesn't want to go at all. And I'm sure he is
wrong about our staying there. No such luck ! "

Bob did stay on after he was quite well and
strong, and he entirely justified Eustace's prophecy.
He proved most useful ; nothing apparently could
have been done without him. " But for Bob," said
Mrs. Orban, " I don't believe we should ever be ready
in time."

It was he who saw to the soundness of the
travelling boxes, to the making of a packing case ; he
who had advice and assistance to give to every one,
and who was certainly the life and spirit of the party
in the evenings when other people seemed tired or
out of heart. Eustace was not at all in good form.
Mrs. Orban was at times inclined to have grave mis-
givings as to the wisdom of the step, and of course
felt leaving her husband. Mr. Orban himself, though
he insisted on the trip, was naturally a little sad at the
prospect. Even Aunt Dorothy — the witch — had her
moments of sadness that her visit should be drawing
so rapidly to a close. Only to Nesta and Peter did
the time seem to drag and hang heavy, as if it would
never pass.

" You'll have to come back with them, Miss Chase,"
said Bob a few evenings before the great departure.

" I wish I could," she said ; " but I am quite sure
mother and father won't see the force of that."

164 A. MOONLIGHT DISTURBANCE.

"Well, I think you ought to — don't you, Mrs.
Orban ? " Bob said. " Miss Chase hasn't had half
enough Colonial experiences yet."

" The few you have given me have been sufficiently
vivid to count for a good many though," said the
girl merrily. * I don't know that I really want any
more."

" One doesn't always want what is good for one,"
said Bob. " Besides, there is another way of looking
at it — isn't there, Nesta ? It has been proved you
are a witch. You ought to be brought back by
main force to be punished for whisking these good
people all off to England with you."

" So she ought," said Nesta gleefully. " She must
be burned at the stake. We'll make you come."

"We will, Aunt Dorothy," cried Peter, ready for
the fray ; " and if you won't, we'll get Bob to come
and fetch you."

"Will you really, Peter Perky?" retorted Aunt
Dorothy. " I should like to see you. Why, Mr.
Cochrane wouldn't set his nose inside England for
all the witches in the world."

" Well, no, perhaps not for all the witches in the
world," said Bob thoughtfully ; " they might prove
rather too much for me. But what a lot of nonsense
we talk, to be sure."

The nonsense had the effect of sending Miss Chase
to bed quite unusually meditative, and, do what she
would, she could not get off to sleep for wondering
whether she ever would come 'back to Queensland
again. It seemed of all things most impossible, and
yet, as she argued, who would ever have thought
of her coming at all this time only a year ago ?

A MOONLIGHT DISTURBANCE. 166

She had become accustomed to most of the night
sounds that had at first puzzled and sometimes
frightened her, and by day there was something
about the life that delighted her — it was so free,
such an open air existence ! " They seem to me
to sweep all their worries with the dust over the
edge of the veranda," she thought. " I think England
will feel a little stiff and shut in after it."

It was a bright moonlight night. A deluded cock
at about midnight awoke and fancied it must be day.
He crowed so loudly over his discovery that he
roused a great enemy of his, who replied in husky
irritation and no measured terms that he was a fool.
But the mischief was done — some half-dozen young
cockerels took the matter up as a joke, and crowed
persistently in spite of all remonstrance from the
rest of the poultry.

Miss Chase put her head under the bedclothes and
tried to shut out the sound, but in vain. Besides,
it was far too hot to sleep with a buried nose and
mouth. Resolutely keeping her eyes tight shut, she
set her mind upon nothing but sleep. She must
have lain like that for quite ten minutes, when
suddenly her eyes unclosed in spite of her, just as
if they were worked by a spring, and she was as
wide awake as ever. At least so she fancied the
first instant, but the next she thought she must
be dreaming. There had been no sound — nothing
but Nesta's regular breathing — and yet at the other
side of the room, standing with his back towards
her, was the figure of a man.

Her first impulse was to call out, her second
prompted caution, and she pinched herself hard to

166 A MOONLIGHT DISTURBANCE.

make sure whether she was awake or not. There was
no doubt about it — she was not asleep ; the pinch
hurt considerably, and the man was still there. He
was apparently examining the things on her dressing-
table minutely, and she guessed he was looking
for valuables. Knowing the story of the dark
visitor who had frightened every one so before her
arrival, Miss Chase had followed the general rule and
left nothing of any value lying about, though no one
thought a thief would venture into the house now
that it was so full. Here he certainly was, however,
and the question was, " What ought she to do ? "

Miss Chase lay absolutely still, her heart beating
to suffocation, her mind working rapidly. There was
no saying that this was the same man. He might
be of a much more desperate and vicious character.
Had she been alone she might have risked screaming
for help, but there was also Nesta to be considered ;
she dared not expose the child to a knock on the
head to silence her.

The man took a slow tour of the room, peering
into nooks and corners in a stealthy, silent way that
was most eerie to watch. Miss Chase bore it until
at last he went towards Nesta's bed with that cat-
like, sinister gait. The horror of his approaching
the helpless sleeper at the other side of the room
was too much for the girl's strained nerves. His
back was towards her; he fancied her asleep. Slip-
ping her hand under her pillow she drew out a small
revolver, then sat up softly and took careful aim.
There was a report, a howl of fear and pain, and the
man turned to gaze wildly round the room. Nesta
sprang from her bed with a terrified yell and rushed

A MOONLIGHT DISTURBANCE. 167

to her aunt, who sat, still pointing her weapon at the
intruder, with a look of grim determination in her
eyes.

With a heavy groan the man started towards the
window, limping pitifully. He disappeared out on
to the veranda, leaving a trail of blood across the
uncarpeted floor.

" Now go for your father," said Miss Chase, giving
the trembling girl a push. " Tell him what has
happened."

Nesta needed no second bidding, but she had not
reached the door before it opened and Mr. Orban
dashed in.

" Through there," said Miss Chase, pointing towards
the window. "Follow the blood track. He can't
go fast. I winged him."

CHAPTER XV.
WHO IS IN THE BOAT?

u T} EALLY, Miss Chase," said Bob next morning,
£x. "I'm glad you didn't burst all your accom-
plishments on us at once. We might have been
rather frightened of you."

Miss Chase smiled. She was looking very pale,
and unlike her usual bright self.

" I hope I didn't do an awfully wrong thing," she
said nervously ; " but I had only two definite ideas —
one was to save Nesta, the other not to let the man
get away."

"You were perfectly right, Dorothy," Mr. Orban
said ; " there would never have been any end to the
worry until he was caught. He may thank his stars
I didn't find him out. I should not have been so
merciful."

" So that is why you aimed at his ankle, Aunt
Dorothy ? " said Eustace. " It was clever of you to
think of laming him."

" She says she did," said Bob, the tease. — " But are
you quite sure, Miss Chase, that you really didn't
aim at his head ? For most women his ankle would
have been wonderfully near the mark."

" I shall treat the aspersion with silent contempt,"
laughed Miss Chase.

WHO IS IN THE BOAT? 169

"Where did you learn to shoot like that, Dorothy?"
asked Mrs. Orban.

" Oh, I've patronized every shooting gallery that
has come to the village for the last eighteen years,
I should think," was the answer. "But, do you
know, I feel most awfully remorseful about that poor
fellow. He will be lame for a long time."

In the kitchen sat Manuel, the stable-boy, his leg
bandaged and resting on a chair ; for the midnight
visitor on both occasions had been no other. He
confessed to the first performance quite readily, and
declared that this second had been at the instigation
of Sinkum Fung, who promised always to get the
reward for stolen goods, and give him half. Mr.
Orban was not sorry to get hold of some defi-
nite reason for turning Sinkum Fung out of the
place. He had long suspected him to be a cheat,
and he wanted an Englishman in the store. But
Manuel, when he was well, was to be allowed to
retrieve his character, as he protested vehemently he
would.

"You needn't worry about Manuel," said Bob.
" We shall all be coming to you to shoot us, if you'll
just bind us up as beautifully afterwards. Did you
learn that in the shooting galleries too, in case you
put the showman's eye out ? "

Miss Chase really did treat this speech with silent
scorn, and changed the subject.

The clearing up of the black-fellow mystery was
a great relief to every one's mind.

"Though it comes rather late in the day, just
when we are going away," said Mrs. Orban.

" Do you know, I don't feel a bit as if we were

170 WHO IS IN THE BOAT?

really going," Miss Chase declared the very evening
before their departure.

All the same, when the next day came, they
started in the plantation schooner for Cooktown,
accompanied by Bob and Mr. Orban, who were going
to see them off.

The children found many excitements on the way ;
and when finally they were hoisted on board the big
boat by means of a crane and basket, Peter's joy
knew no bounds.

Nesta found it was certainly not very nice saying
the last "good-byes," and she wished Eustace had
not said anything to her about the possibility of not
coming back to Queensland for years.

But when they were fairly off, and out of sight
of waving hands and the two strong, kind faces that
had been his ideals from his babyhood, even Eustace
began to cheer up considerably. He had been very
much like a bear with a sore head, rather to his
mother's and Miss Chase's astonishment ; for Eustace
could generally be counted on as sensible and fairly
serene in temper. To get short answers from him,
to find him unreasonably uninterested in things,
and to see him really snappy with Nesta and Peter,
was something new and extraordinary.

" Well, good-bye, old chap," said Bob. " Let Eng-
land see the, best side of you, and be a credit to us."

The words rang in the boy's ears long after, and he
pulled himself together with a sudden consciousness
that he had not been much of a credit to any one for
some days. He hoped Bob hadn't noticed it, for never,
never could he explain to him that it was just the
thought of leaving him that made going away so

WHO IS IN THE BOAT? 171

hard. If only he had not been possessed by the
horrible feeling that he would never come back again,
or at least not for years and years, it would have
been different.

It was impossible not to become interested in the
boat before very long — it was so huge, such a real
house afloat, and so unusual. Peter revelled in going
downstairs to bed. Becky wanted to play in what
she called her " bunky-bye " instead of going to
sleep. Nesta eyed some other families of children
speculatively, wondering how much good they would
prove as friends on the voyage. But Eustace only
wanted to talk to the officers, especially the captain,
of whom he determined to ask hundreds of questions
about the machinery, how he knew his way, and the
exact time the boat would reach every port, just to
be able to check it off, and see how far he was right
in his estimates.

The first day was a lovely one — a less likely one
to be productive of adventures could scarcely be
imagined.

" Calm as a duck-pond, isn't it, sir ? " said one of
the seamen to Eustace, who stood staring out to sea.
" Yet I've seen some storms here too. It's a nasty
bit of coast, with some ugly reefs about."

" Are there many wrecks here ? " asked Eustace
with interest.

" A goodish few," said the seaman ; " but one
doesn't look for them this kind of weather."

"No, of course not," said Eustace, with a great
show of certainty, for he did not want the man to
imagine he was scaring him.

Peter had been fairly irrepressible all day. He

172 WHO IS IN THE BOAT?

was always a fidget — made on springs, his father
said — and the excitement carried him away entirely.
He talked to every one indiscriminately, especially
if they happened to be in uniform, and had no shy-
ness in asking questions. He had a dozen friends
in a very few hours. Afraid lest he should weary
people, Mrs. Orban tried to keep him with her,
and towards evening she said, —

" You might play with poor Becky a little, Peter.
She will have to go to bed very soon, and I think it
has been a duller day for her than for any one else."

Which was probably true, as Becky was too tiny
to have the sustained interest in things the others had.

So Peter began a game of romps with Becky,
which at first consisted of careering round and
round and in and out between their mother's and
aunt's chairs, Peter making the reiterated assertion,
" I'll catch you, I'll catch you," Becky retorting with
delighted chuckles, " Oo can't, oo can't ! "

Mrs. Orban was just congratulating herself that
Becky would be delightfully sleepy after the exercise,
when the child made a sudden dive away from the
chairs in her excitement, Peter behind her. The
next minute she was rolling head over heels down
the companion-ladder, down which it had evidently
been her intention to go right side up, for a joke.

The yells that proceeded from the passage below
assured every one that Becky was not killed ; but
when she was picked up it was discovered that one
poor little wrist was terribly sprained. She must
have fallen with it doubled under her. To put her
to bed in such pain was out of the question ; her
mother's arms was the only place in which she could

WHO IS IN THE BOAT? 173

find any rest. So Mrs. Orban remained on deck in
the cool with Miss Chase near her. The children's
bedtime was quite forgotten ; in fact, after the
doctor had examined Becky and reported on her
injuries, Nesta, Eustace, and Peter had disappeared —
probably out of range of orders to go to bed. Their
mother, when she gave them a thought, supposed
them to be all together, and in her anxiety over
Becky never realized how late it was getting.

It was quite dark. All the other children had
disappeared. Most of the grown-ups who had begun
the voyage together, and were friendly by now, were
in the music-room below having a concert. The ship
was utterly still but for the throb of the engines and
the " swish " of the water as the bows cut through it.
They were running at full speed, without a pitch or
a roll, the sea as clear as glass, when all of a sudden
there was an awful crash, and the boat shuddered
from bow to stern.

In an instant the peaceful scene was changed to
one of wildest confusion. There were cries of terror,
hurried questions, rapid orders, the crew dashing
hither and thither, and a stream of horror-stricken
people began swarming up from below. It was
awful, the intense darkness of the night adding to
the confusion immeasurably.

" We've struck on a rock," Mrs. Orban heard some
one say. " There isn't a minute to lose."

" Man the boats ! " called a strident voice, and there
was a running of ropes over pulleys, a creaking and
a splashing not far away.

" Here you are, ma'am," a seaman said, taking her
by the arm.

174 WHO IS IN THE BOAT?

"Oh, the children!" said Mrs. Orban, holding
back.

" We're here, mother," said Nesta's voice at her
elbow.

" We'll see to them, ma'am," said the seaman ; " you
and the little one first."

He was almost rough in his kindness; and Mrs.
Orban found herself swinging down into the boat
below before she had time to make any protestations.

One after another, through pitch darkness into the
only chance for safety, people were sent down. It
was impossible to know who came — nothing could be
seen or heard. The seamen above could not stop to
pick and choose, but whoever they could lay hands
on went.

Then came a hoarse cry — the boat was becoming
overcrowded, the crew pushed off, and away they
went with a bound at every stroke of the oars. To
Mrs. Orban it was a hideous nightmare of awful
anxiety. She could not tell whether all her children
and her sister were with her or not. Her one ray
of hope was that as they had apparently been all
standing close together, the others must have been
put in after her. But people had rushed so the
moment they knew the boats were lowered, there
was an awful possibility the children had been swept
aside. They were certainly not near her, for she
called their names and Dorothy's again and again,
and there was no answer.

The men had not been rowing for seven minutes
when there was a sudden awful sound behind them,
and the boat plunged and rocked as if she were a
living thing gone mad with terror.

WHO IS IN THE BOAT? 175

" Oh, what was that ? " Mrs. Orban cried, and the
question ran from mouth to mouth.

" The ship," answered a solemn voice with a break
in it ; " she's gone under, poor thing. Must have
been ripped from bows to stern."

The silence that followed was dreadful. How
many boats had got away ? Who was left on board ?
There was not one in the boat who had not a thought
of agonized pity for the poor souls left behind.

It was so unexpected; every one was so unprepared.
Who could suppose that with a sea as calm as a mill-
pond a great vessel could strike on a rock and sink
in less than seven minutes ?

Afterwards, when the matter came to be inves-
tigated, it was discovered that the Cora had run on
to a coral reef unmarked in the charts. Coral reefs
form with extraordinary rapidity, and are infinitely
dangerous, because they are so sharp as to cut like
razors. The loss of the Cora was no one's fault ; but
that fact was of but little comfort to those whose
friends went down in her.

The boat pulled steadily on awhile, then paused,
for no one could be certain where she lay as regarded
the shore.

" Easy, mates," said the man in command. " We
must hang about till there's a gleam of light to give
us our bearings, or we shall go down like that poor
thing over there."

In the hush that fell it was possible to hear each
other speak. People began to question who was in
the boat with them.

" Eustace, Nesta, Peter, are you there ? " cried Mrs.
Orban.

176 WHO IS IN THE BOAT?

" Yes, mother ; yes, mother," she heard, and her
heart bounded with thankfulness.

" And you, Dorothy ? " she forced herself to say.

But to this there was no answer.

" Children," Mrs. Orban said, " isn't your aunt
there ? "

" I don't know," Eustace said ; " she wouldn't come
before us."

There could be no doubt that Miss Chase was not
there.

The first streak of daylight fell upon a boatload
of haggard men and women, afraid of, yet longing
for, the day. It was discovered that they had come
within half a mile of shore, and the crew pulled with
a will till they beached the boat. One after another
in the shadowy gloom the stiff, cramped figures
landed. There were meetings, but no open rejoicings,
because of those others left behind.

Eustace and Nesta clung to their mother, half
sobbing.

" And Peter," she said—" where is Peter ? "

" Peter ? " said the other two blankly.

" I thought you said he was there ? " said Mrs.
Orban

" We — we answered for ourselves," faltered
Eustace. " I didn't notice he didn't speak."

The boat was empty now. Groups of shivering,
unstrung people stood about, utterly incapable of
thinking what to do next. But Peter was not there
— nor was Dorothy,

CHAPTER XVI.
WHAT THE TIDE BROUGHT IN.

THE stranded party was much in need of a
leader till one of the crew volunteered the
information that some miles higher up the coast there
was a be'che-de-mer station where they would probably
get some means of communicating with the rest of the
world, and at least find food, of which every one was
much in need. Be'che-de-mer fisheries are a feature
of the coast, the beche-de-mer being a huge sea-slug,
thought to be a great delicacy.

This particular station was owned by some half-
caste Portuguese, and worked by a mixture of
aborigines and Malays, a most unpromising and
ruffianly-looking set. However, they received the
unhappy boatload quite civilly, promised that a
messenger should be dispatched across country to
the nearest civilized centre, and provided a good
meal of salt junk, sweet potatoes, rice, and tea. It
did not matter to the exhausted men and women
that th«y had to eat off tin plates, drink out of tin
pannikins, and that the food was more roughly
prepared and served than any they had ever tasted
before.

They camped under some trees for the meal ; and

(1,331) 12

178 WHAT THE TIDE BROUGHT IN.

many sad eyes looked towards the great calm sea,
where not a trace of last night's tragedy was to be
seen. In the distance there was the sail of an out-
going vessel — one of the be'che-de-mer boats off on a
several months' trip. Besides that, there was just
one tiny speck, not so far out as the sail, but much
smaller.

" It's a boat," said the captain of the station, a
swarthy Portuguese. He had been watching the
speck for some time through a telescope. " So far
as I can make out it is something of the same build
as yours."

There was instant excitement. Could it be another
of the ship's boats ?

It seemed an eternity before the boat came close
enough to discover that she did indeed belong to the
ill-fated Cora. The crowd on the beach was speech-
less before she pulled in to shore and her worn-out
occupants were disembarked.

Amongst the anxious watchers were Mrs. Orban,
with the fretful, feverish Becky in her arms, and
Nesta and Eustace. But though they pressed for-
ward and saw every man, woman, and child that
landed, there was no comfort for them. Miss Chase
and Peter had not come. There was but one inter-
pretation to put on this — they had never left the
ship.

" Any more boats likely to come ? " asked a woman
whose husband was missing.

" No, lady," said a sailor, shaking his head piti-
fully. " They only got one more out, and she was
overcrowded and swamped. There was no time for
anything."

WHAT THE TIDE BKOUGHT IN. 179

There is no describing the misery of the day that
followed — the terrible blankness for many, the
haunting recollection that all had of the nightmare
experience.

The men at the station were as kind as they
could be in their rough way. The sailors who had
manned the boats set to work to arrange some com-
forts for the women and children, improvising ham-
mocks for them to lie in, as sleeping in the grass was
dangerous on account of snakes and other disagree-
ables.

Poor little Becky spent a day of weeping, for her
wrist was very painful. She needed all Mrs. Orban's
attention, which was perhaps fortunate for the poor
lady — it gave her less time for brooding over her
terrible loss. Nesta cried herself nearly silly, and
then fell asleep in a hammock that a kindly old
sailor prevailed on her to try.

Eustace was too restless to settle down. He spent
his time hovering about his white-faced, desolate-
looking mother. The moment inaction began to tell
on him and make him feel sleepy he went away for
a while, and paced up and down by the water's edge
to rouse himself. However useless his presence, he
could not bear to leave his mother lonely and un-
watched ; it seemed heartless to forget her and her
sorrows in sleep when she could take no rest.

" She might want something, or perhaps she would
like to speak," he argued, " or she may cry presently ;
and there mustn't be no one to comfort her."

But Mrs. Orban asked for nothing for herself, only
water now and then to bandage Becky's wrist. She
took the food when it was given her, but ate very

180 WHAT THE TIDE BROUGHT IN.

little. Whatever she was thinking about, she did
not speak of her trouble, but inquired after Nesta,
and whether she and Eustace had had plenty of food
and felt no symptoms of chill or fever.

" I wish father or Bob would come quick," thought
the boy helplessly ; " we're no good. She is only
thinking about taking care of us all the time ; and I
don't know how to look after her. It would have
been better if I had been drowned instead of Aunt
Dorothy ; she would have known what to do."

He was doing one of his violent pacings up and
down, and every turn backwards or forwards he
had to change his course, for the tide was running
in fast. The sea fascinated him ; he could not help
watching it, especially now when all sorts of bits of
wreckage were beginning to float in — lengths of
rope, a life-belt or two, and things belonging to the
Cora' 8 deck. The men from the station were watch-
ing with the sailors and hauling things in to land.

" Any bodies that went down will be carried by
the under current into the next bay," 'Eustace heard
the be^che-de-mer owner explaining to the Cora's crew.

" Well, my name's not Swaine," said an old sailor
with a telescope, " if that isn't one coming now."

There was a thrill of excitement, an immediate
demand for the telescope, as every one pressed
forward.

" It will be a broken spar," said the beche-de-mer
captain. " I've been here fifteen years and there's
never such a thing happened yet."

" I'm going out in one of the boats, mate," said
the old sailor resolutely. " Who is coming with
me?"

WHAT THE TIDE BROUGHT IN. 181

There were many volunteers at once, and the boat
was launched.

Eustace remained as if frozen to the spot. He
could just see the log-like thing lying upon the
water, gently tossed by the tiny waves that were
slowly, slowly bearing it to shore. It certainly
looked no bigger than a broken spar, and very much
that shape as, the boat drawn up alongside, two
sailors leant over and lifted it in.

It was all Eustace could do to make himself stay
until the boat's return, and he covered his face as the
burden was gently lifted ashore.

" It's all right, youngster," said a kindly voice at
his elbow, one of the older sailors ; " he is alive —
only unconscious. It's a miracle ; but there, miracles
do happen, say what you will."

The news made all the difference to Eustace, and
he pressed round with the rest.

" Here," said one of the Cora's crew, catching
sight of him suddenly, " make way for this laddie —
it's his own brother."

In utter bewilderment Eustace felt himself forced
to the centre of the crowd, and there, with a man
kneeling beside him trying restoratives, lay Peter,
with a life-belt round him, his face ashen, and his
fair hair all sodden — but he was living. They said
he was alive, but certainly he did not look it.

Eustace turned, fought his way madly through
the press, and dashed up the beach straight to the
trees where his mother sat bending over Becky.

" Hush," she said warningly ; " I am just getting
her off to sleep."

The quiet voice pulled the boy up just in time,

182 WHAT THE TIDE BROUGHT IN.

before he had blurted out his news in all its
crudeness.

" Mother," he said instead, " let me hold Becky —
I can really. Peter will want you."

Mrs. Orban neither started nor changed colour; she
just stared at Eustace curiously, and said inquiringly,—

" Peter ? "

" Yes, mummie, Peter," Eustace said hi a shaking
voice. " He is unconscious, but he will want you
when he opens his eyes."

He held out his arras for Becky ; and Mrs. Orban
rose and went as if she were dreaming, leaving him
standing there with the baby.

It was a very long time before Peter knew that
he wanted his mother. Terror and the exposure in
the water for so many hours had done their work,
and even when the little fellow recovered conscious-
ness he was too ill to realize anything at all.

Every one was very kind to the Orbans. The
poor lady who had lost her husband took entire
charge of Becky; other fellow-passengers offered to
help with Peter, who needed nursing night and day.
The survivors from the wreck clung together, and
found some comfort in helping each other. The
people of the station were very attentive and good ;
but the relief party from Cooktown was hailed with
thankfulness, for there were of course many discom-
forts and unpleasantnesses. The blacks had a dis-
agreeable habit of prowling about in the night and
peeping at their guests as they tried to sleep in the
impromptu hammocks. The food was coarse and
monotonous ; the men rough, and uncouth in their
ways.

WHAT THE TIDE BROUGHT IN. 183

When Eustace saw his father he felt a great
burden lifted from his shoulders ; his powerlessness
to help his mother did not matter any more ; no one
could comfort her like his father. Then there was
Bob ; he would help the whole family to keep up in
his usual splendid way !

Fortunately Mr. Orban and Bob had not yet left
Cooktown when the news of the disaster arrived.
They hastened to the beche-de-mer station on getting
Mrs. Orban's message, without the least knowledge
whom they would find of their own party ; and after
the first explanations were over, no one could speak
of the cloud shadowing the joy of meeting. To
Eustace's infinite surprise, Bob, to whom he had
looked for so much, failed him utterly — he could
not rouse himself, let alone other people.

The survivors of the wrecked Cora were carried
by steamer to Cooktown, and Mr. Orban took his
family to the best hotel, for no plans could be made
till Peter was better.

Alone with Eustace, Nesta gave vent to her feel-
ings very often.

" Eustace," she said, " wasn't it queer Aunt
Dorothy saying the very day before we left she
didn't feel a bit as if we were going to England ?
Do you remember ? "

Eustace replied with a kind of grunt. He had
not words for every emotion as Nesta had.

" And it seems so horrid," she proceeded chokily,
" to know nothing about what happened to her or
even how it happened. If only some one could
tell us ! "

" What's the good of talking when no one can ? "

ISA WHAT THE TIDE BROUGHT IN.

said Eustace gruffly. " I can't think why you do
You only make yourself cry."

The first person to speak of Miss Chase without
tears was Peter. He was lying in their private
sitting-room, and suddenly he said, —

" I say, where's Aunt Dorothy ? "

He had asked before, but in his weakness the
subject had easily been changed.

" She is not here, dear," said Mrs. Orban.

" That's funny," said Peter, in his old talkative
way ; " she distinctly said she was coming."

Bob got up from a deep chair and stood, with his
back to the room, looking out of the window.

" Did she, Peter ? " said Mr. Orban quickly.
" When ? "

" Why, on the boat," said Peter ; " when she put
the life-belt round me."

" Oh, she put the life-belt round you, did she ? "
said Mr. Orban. " And what did she say ? "

Every one leant forward eagerly. It was the first
time Pater had shown any inclination to talk, and
no one had guessed he could possibly know anything
of Miss Chase.

" She said," was his clear reply, ' That's right,
Peter Perky. Now mind you float ; don't struggle,
but lie on your back.' — Bob," he broke off, " lucky
you taught me to float, wasn't it ? "

" Yes, yes," said Bob ; " never mind about that.
Go on about Dorothy."

Eustace stared at his back in wonder. For the
first time in his life he heard Bob irritable.

" She said," Peter went on obediently, " ' Don't be
frightened ; I am coming too.' "

WHAT THE TIDE BROUGHT IN. 185

" Well ? " prompted Mr. Orban.

" Then she took me up, and we jumped overboard.
I don't know what happened next."

" Try to think," said Bob in a hard voice.

" I can't," said Peter ; " everything was noise and
blackness. Ask Aunt Dorothy ; she'll tell you."

There was a solemn hush — so solemn that Peter
stared round in amazement at the grave faces. Bob
turned and walked heavily out of the room. Nesta
buried her head in her hands.

" Why, what's the matter ? " asked Peter sharply.

He had to be told then, and he wept as if his
heart would break ; but he could remember nothing
after the jump into the sea. It appeared that he
was all by himself at the other side of the ship,
very unhappy because he thought it was all his
fault Becky had been hurt. Then came the crash,
and he was terrified. He was wondering what had
happened, when Aunt Dorothy came running towards
him, crying, " Peter, Peter, where are you ? " And
then followed the putting on of the life-belt. It
was so easy to picture her talking to him all the
time, to reassure him, in that quick, cheery way
of hers.

" O Eustace," Nesta said afterwards, " wasn't she
splendid ? I guess Bob must be sorry he teased her
so now."

" Pooh," said Eustace, " that was only his fun.
Aunt Dorothy knew it."

But Nesta could not stand teasing herself, and
was sure no one liked or understood it.

" I don't know," she said ; " she used to get red
sometimes. And I'm not so sure Bob did mean it

186 WHAT THE TIDE BROUGHT IN.

all in chaff. He has a real down-on-anything-English.
I mean to ask him some day what he thinks of
English girls' pluck now."

" If you do," said Eustace, with sudden ferocity,
" I'll never speak to you again."

Nesta stared at him in dismay.

"Why ever?" she asked dully. "Wouldn't he
like to talk about her ? Didn't he like her, really ? "

" Like her ! " Eustace exclaimed. " Oh, you little
stupid ! Didn't you see him when Peter was telling
us about her ? Didn't you hear Bob then ? Can't
you understand ? "

Nesta stared in blank silence for some seconds.

"Oh, I say!" she gasped, "I didn't know! I
never thought of that ! I — I wasn't looking at him."

" I wasn't looking at anything else," said Eustace ;
" but I guess he wouldn't like to think any one knew,
so we must hold our tongues. But I couldn't have
you going and asking him blundering questions."

" I won't," said Nesta, with unwonted meekness.
" When did you guess ? "

" Only then," said Eustace ; " but now I can
remember lots of things. Bob always liked talking
to her better than any one. Bob didn't want her
to go. Bob asked her to come back."

He broke off short and slammed out of the room.
It was as bad to think of as it had been to bear his
mother's helpless loneliness ; for as he could do
nothing then for her, he could do nothing now
for Bob.

It was a matter of conjecture between the twins
what was likely to happen next. They really ex-
pected that, when Peter was well enough for the

WHAT THE TIDE BROUGHT IN. 187

rough journey, they would all go back to the plan-
tation, and settle down again for ever and ever.

A telegram had been dispatched with the bad
news to Mr. and Mrs. Chase. The reply was an
urgent appeal for them all to go on as first intended.

Leaving everything on the plantation in Bob's
care, Mr. Orban decided to take his wife and family
home himself. It would not be the joyful home-
coming they had anticipated ; and Mrs. Orban would
need him, he knew.

" We must do what we can for the poor dear old
people," Mr. Orban explained to Bob. " Dorothy was
their baby. It is a terrible loss to them."

" To every one," said Bob briefly.

CHAPTER XVII.
MOTHER'S HOME.

IN the length and breadth of England there could
hardly have been found a more lovely little
property than Maze Court. There were larger houses
in the neighbourhood, with more extensive grounds ;
but as Brenda Dixon stood on the terrace and gazed
down towards the good old English park she felt
a real glow of pride and pleasure in belonging to
such a place. It was the sort of feeling she had
whenever she brought a new school friend home for
the holidays.

Beside her stood Herbert — long, lean, and very
gentlemanly in his flannels. It was one of his
sister's great joys that he always looked a gentleman
in everything.

She was a striking -looking girl herself, with
features a little too pronounced for accurate beauty ;
but this very fault had the effect of making her
handsome. She had little personal vanity — mere
features she cared nothing for — but pride of birth
and of the old home were deeply rooted in her.

" I think Nesta and Eustace ought to be surprised,"
she was thinking; "they won't have seen anything
like it It will seem so big and splendid to them
after the kind of life they have had."

MOTHERS HOME. 189

Brenda was never very sure how to picture the
Orbans' existence in Queensland. There was a touch
of pettiness about it — a feeling of poverty and
" hugger-muggerness," if one may coin such a word.
The thought of her uncle going daily to his work in
his shirt-sleeves ; of her aunt helping in the house-
work ; her cousins brought up just anyhow, without a
governess or any schooling, shocked her sensibilities
and gave vivid local colouring to her ideas about the
Orbans. Those were the sort of details she would
never have referred to at school.

And now she and Herbert were waiting for the
arrival of the travellers, whom their grandparents
had driven to the station to meet.

"Oh dear," she said with a sigh, "how I wish I didn't
wish they weren't coming ! If they are fearfully
eccentric, all the neighbourhood will be talking about
it in a week, and thinking it funny we have such
relations. One can't explain to every one that they
really are ladies and gentlemen gone to seed, can one ? "

" Not exactly," said Herbert. " I jolly well hope
you won't try ; it would be beastly bad form. Of
course if one had a fellow staying in the house one
might have to explain."

" I simply couldn't ask any one," Brenda said.
" It would be all over the school next term my uncle
was a common labourer, and my cousins savages — or
something ! "

" Nice sort of friends you seem to have," said
Herbert. " Is that a girl's usual way ? "

"Well," said Brenda, with some asperity, "boys
aren't any better, if you should have to explain
matters to a chum of yours."

190 MOTHER 8 HOME.

"That's different," Herbert said; "one doesn't want
to give a bad impression. What I hope is that
Eustace isn't an awful little muff. I expect he is,
though — can't help being when he has never been
amongst any boys. It will have to be knocked out
of him."

" Aunt Dorothy said he was a very nice little chap,"
Brenda quoted, and then her voice broke, so that she
could not go on.

It was the beginning of the summer holidays, and
both she and Herbert were feeling the death of Miss
Chase most dreadfully. It had been bad enough
when she left before the end of the winter holidays.
Again at Easter the dullness of the house without her
had known no bounds. But now, when they knew
she would never be with them again, her very name
choked them ; they could scarcely speak of her,
because her absence proved at every turn all that
her presence had meant to them and to every one.
How they had hated Australia when she left ! How
much more they hated it now and everything to do
with it — even the coming of the cousins ! Australia
seemed the root of all evil — the cause of Aunt
Dorothy's death.

" Aunt Dorothy was a brick," said Herbert jerkily ;
" she saw niceness in people whatever they were like.
But girls don't really know when fellows are muffs."

" I don't know about Eustace," said Brenda, " but
Nesta looked fearfully long-legged and queerly dressed
in those snapshots Aunt Dorothy did."

" I hope she won't want to kiss me when she says
' How-do-you-do,' " said Herbert ; " that is all I mind
about her. But if that kid Eustace fancies he is

MOTHER'S HOME. 191

going to hang around with me perpetually, he will
find himself mistaken. I couldn't be bothered."

" But we shall have to look after them properly,
and treat them just as we would any other visitors,"
Brenda said anxiously ; " we can't sort of leave them
to themselves, you know."

" Of course," said Herbert rather testily ; " what do
you take me for ? I hope I shan't behave like a cad
in my own house ! But that is just the nuisance of
it: they'll be visitors without being visitors, and
they'll be here such an awful time. Thank goodness,
there will be term time to look forward to ! "

" If only Aunt Dorothy — " began Brenda.

" Oh, shut up," said Herbert roughly. Then added
more gently, " I think the carriage has just turned in
at the park gate. Listen."

All through the voyage Eustace and Nesta had
been picturing this very day — this very hour. The
parting with Bob and the farewell to home necessarily
dropped into the background of their thoughts; the
foreground was full of expectations. Now that they
could realize they were on their way to the fulfilment
of what had originally been the dream of their lives,
all the old feeling of longing possessed them. At
last they would see England ! At last they would
know what real "home" was like — their mother's
old home, to which she had given them such a
sense of belonging by all the tales they knew so
well!

That England was not what they expected was
natural enough. Mrs. Orban had never pretended to
describe England, but simply her own particular
corner of it on the borders of Wales. Leaving the

id2 MOTHER'S HOME.

ship was all bustle and rush, but during the long
train journey there was plenty of time to look about,
and English scenery struck all three children as most
peculiar.

" Why, it's just like a map ! " exclaimed Peter, as
he knelt up at a window. " I'm certain if I was up
in a balloon it would look like a map with all those
funny little hedges."

"I think it would look like a patchwork quilt,"
said Nesta. " Father, why do people mark their
land out into such funny little bits ? "

So spoke the children, used to wide tracts of land
without boundaries, hundreds of acres without fence
or railing — such country as England boasts of in
miniature only on its wildest moors.

The twins were speechless and 'almost suffocated
with excitement when the train at last ran into
a little country station, and Mr. Orban said
briskly, —

" Here we are ! "

" There they are ! " exclaimed Mrs. Orban, with
a little sob in her voice.

"Who? who?" yelled Peter, dashing from the
other side of the carriage.

" Qrannie and grandpapa," answered Mrs. Orban.

" Oh, where?" said Peter, as the train stopped. The
children knew Bob Cochrane's grandfather and grand-
mother— a very comfortable, homely old pair of the
typical " grannyish " type, rather bent, rather deaf,
and always referred to as " the old people." Trixy
invariably rushed at them when they came, and
called them " the dear old pets."

There was no one the least " grannyish " or cosy-

MOTHER S HOME. 193

#

looking on the platform. Only a very erect, elderly
gentleman with silver hair, and a lady who might
have been the Queen, so dignified, so stately was she.
They were the sort of people the twins had read of
but never seen.

A hush fell over the children as they scrambled
out of the carriage after their mother, and waited till
their grandparents were ready to notice them. Then
they each received a kiss and a handshake which
made them instantly feel that nothing would be
more impossible than to rush upon this grandfather
and grandmother and call them either " dear," " old,"
or " pets."

All through the drive in the old-fashioned waggon-
ette the sense of unfamiliarity grew as the children
stared — the twins furtively, Peter openly — at Mr. and
Mrs. Chase.

It seemed to the twins such a queer arrival, and so
different to anything they had expected, that they
could scarcely believe it was real. " Why," thought
Nesta, " the Cochranes make much more fuss over us
when we go to see them for a day." But Eustace's
thoughts were too confused for description.

The conversation was funny and jerky, and just
the sort of things strangers say to each other. Mrs.
Chase hoped they were not very tired, and that they
had had a nice journey. And Mr. Chase said it was
a hotter summer than there had been for the last ten
years, and so on.

" Oh dear," thought Eustace wearily, as they drove
into the park, " how different it would have been if
Aunt Dorothy had been here ! "

But still there was the place to be interested in,

(1,331) 13

194 MOTHER'S HOME.

and when his mother said, " This is home, Eustace,"
he roused himself, and looked about him.

Even a Colonial child, accustomed to vastness,
could not help admiring such a place as this, full of
fine old trees spreading over the short cropped turf.
The park was hilly, and swept away to right and
left towards thick woods.

Then, as the carriage reached a bend and came into
full view of the great house, standing gray, massive,
and strong in the evening light, the children's hearts
did thrill with pride. This was something better
than their own slenderly-built, iron-roofed house in
Queensland.

" There are Herbert and Brenda waiting for us,"
said Mrs. Chase, " but I don't see nurse. I have got
you a charming woman as nurse for Becky and Peter.
You can't be tied down to looking after the children,
you know. I want you to be free to enjoy your-
self."

Peter started as if he had been shot.

" Me have a nurse ! " he exclaimed. " I don't want
looking after."

Eustace and Nesta glanced quickly at their mother.
Becky with a nurse ! This was something extra-
ordinary. And mother "not to be tied down to
looking after the children." When had it ever been
a tie to mother to look after them ? Such a strange
idea had never occurred to any of them before, and
all in their own separate ways resented it.

Mr. Chase looked at Peter in surprise.

" When I was your age," he said gravely, " I had
what was given me, no matter what I wanted."

"We've got to think about your mother's wants

MOTHERS HOME. 195

first," said Mrs. Chase, " and she deserves a holiday
after all these years."

" Quite right," said Mr. Orban ; " she needs one
badly. I am thankful she should have it."

There was no time to say more, for just then the
carriage pulled up under the fine old portico.

Again there was that sense of stiffness and awk-
wardness as the Dixons came forward to greet their
cousins ; there was no triumphant entry and welcome
to the old home. Mrs. Chase drew Mrs. Orban in ;
Mr. Chase took Mr. Orban ; Becky, sleepy and per-
fectly placid, was whisked away by a grave-faced,
elderly woman who said, " Come along, sir," to Peter,
and disappeared through a red baize door, whither the
little fellow had to follow.

"We're to have meals with the little ones in the
schoolroom," said Brenda, to whom this new rule was
not pleasing. " Come and get ready."

Now that she was a schoolgirl, and only home for
holidays, she had all her meals with her grand-
parents except late dinner; but the arrival of the
Orbans put an end to this. It was felt that the
perpetual presence of such a crowd of youngsters at
meals would never do. To Brenda and Herbert the
change was typical of* the whole difference these
unwelcome guests would make in their lives.

" Couldn't we just have one look round first?" said
Nesta, staring about her in proprietary admiration at
the walls of the great hall, where hung the horns
and weapons, the family portraits and trophies, of
bygone Chases. " I would like just to see the secret
chamber. Let me see — it must be through that door
and up some steps — "

196 MOTHERS HOME.

She stopped inquiringly.

" No, it isn't," Brenda said, with a look of surprise;
"you go just the other way. But there isn't time
now ; Herbert and I will show you everything
to-morrow."

Nesta looked taken aback.

"I don't expect I shall need much showing," she
said, with a little air of importance.

Her cousins both stared at her.

" You certainly will," said Herbert decidedly ; " it
isn't at all an easy house to find one's way about
in, I can tell you. You would go blundering into all
sorts of places you oughtn't to."

" Places we oughtn't to ? " repeated Eustace in
bewilderment.

"Yes, the servants' quarters, you know," said
Herbert, as if he were talking to a child of eight.

"Aren't you allowed to go into the servants'
quarters ? " asked Nesta wonderingly.

" Oh, we're allowed, of course," said Herbert ; " but
one doesn't go. I dare say things were rather mixed
out with you, though."

" What do you mean ? " asked Eustace abruptly.

" Oh, you had to rough it rather, hadn't you ? " said
the elder boy. "I had a sort of idea you all had
meals together."

" With the servants ? " questioned Eustace.

" Yes," said Herbert, with perfect gravity.

Eustace flushed deeply.

" Oh, of course," he said, " coolies and every one
had meals together. We all ate out of a trough."

" Eustace ! " exclaimed Nesta in dismay, wondering
what had happened to him all of a sudden.

MOTHER S HOME. 197

The cousins stared at him blankly, hardly realizing
for a moment what he had said.

" Well, it is just as sensible as saying we had
meals with the servants," said the boy, in such a tone
of disgust that Herbert was left in no doubt as to
his meaning.

" You needn't be cheeky, youngster," he said ; " you
can't expect me to know your habits, can you ? I do
know people in the Colonies can't pick and choose
their company, and have to make friends with cow-
boys and bushrangers, if they want any society."

"What!" shouted the twins. "Who told you
that ? "

" Oh, I've read it somewhere," Herbert said care-
lessly. " It said ' there are no class distinctions in
Colonial life. Men and women meet as equals.' "

"Then it is rot," said Eustace briefly. "I don't
know how you could believe it. Our friends were
all gentlemen and ladies. Australians are as partic-
ular as you are whom they have for friends."

" My good kid," said Herbert aggravatingly, " you
don't know everything, and you haven't been every-
where in the Colonies, you know. But it really
doesn't matter, does it ? We were only saying one
doesn't do that sort of thing in England. Come and
wash for tea."

The small passage of arms left neither boy much
pleased with the other. Herbert foresaw that Eustace
was likely to be uppish and cheeky, and would want
keeping in his place. Eustace thought Herbert gave
himself airs, and more than justified the criticism he
had long accorded his portrait. He did not look it
in real life, for Herbert was manly and unaffected in

198 MOTHER'S HOME.

appearance. " All the same," thought Eustace, " he's
a silly ass."

Not so much what was said as the tone in which
it was said left an unpleasant impression upon both
new-comers. They had planned together that the
very first thing they would do when they arrived
would be to rush all over the house and see every-
thing. Nesta declared she would not be able to sleep
a wink for excitement if she did not. It had never
occurred to them there would be barriers of any sort.
Nothing in their own free lives hitherto had sug-
gested baize doors through which they "ought not
to go."

Somehow those baize doors were suggestive of
everything irksome and disappointing ; they were of
a piece with all the other changes which the twins
began to feel from the outset.

Before the evening was over Eustace and Nesta
had grasped something of what coming to England
really meant : it seemed a case of shut doors all
round — there was no feeling of home about it.
Rather, Eustace reflected bitterly, it was like prison,
and all the freedom of existence was gone. It
appeared that here the grown-ups lived in one part
of the house, the children in another. There were
certain times at which the drawing-room or dining-
room might be visited, otherwise the grown-ups must
not be interrupted. Becky and Peter were provided
with a sort of jailer, whose business it also was to
give all the young people their meals, and their
mother seemed utterly ungetatable.

Life on the veranda always together, always in
the thick of everything that was going on, with

MOTHERS HOME. 199

no shut doors anywhere, had ill-prepared them for
this.

Then there were Herbert and Brenda.

Strange to say, Eustace and Nesta had not
thought of them as anything but some one to play
with — other children staying in the same house as
themselves. That they were really the son and
daughter of the place had never occurred to the new-
comers. That they would play the part of host and
hostess, and treat the Australians entirely as visitors,
was a shock to Eustace and Nesta. Not thus did
they expect to be received into their mother's old
home, which she had always taught them to look on
as their own.

Before the end of the day, however, they had
realized this one thing very vividly — Herbert and
Brenda had lived here all their lives, but the Orbans
were outsiders, their very coldly-welcomed guests.

" It is delightful," said Mrs. Orban, as she dressed
for dinner, "to think of the children getting to
know each other at last. I do hope they will be
happy."

"All the happier for being thrown so much
together," said Mr. Orban. " We couldn't help it, of
course, but ours have been thrown far too much with
older people. This sort of thing is much healthier
for them."

" It is all hateful," wept Nesta to her pillow that
night. " Herbert is a bully, and Brenda is a stuck-up
pig — and I wish we had never come."

And Eustace did not close his eyes for hours.

"Bob was quite right," he thought. "English people
are horrid ; they freeze you right up the minute you

200 MOTHER'S HOME.

see them. But oh ! I believe it would be better if
only there was a veranda. They do live in such
a queer way, all divided up like this."

Back into his mind there came the refrain of one
of Bob's songs — the one he had sung to Aunt Dorothy
the day of her arrival. He went to sleep with the
tune ringing in his head, —

" Certain for darkies die is not do place,
Where eben cle sun am ashamed to show his face."

CHAPTER XVIII
PETER MAKES A DIVERSION.

BUT for Peter and Becky schoolroom breakfast next
morning would have been a very dismal and
quiet affair, for the elder cousins had little to say to
each other.

Herbert and Brenda cudgelled their brains for
topics of conversation to keep things going, and they
thought they had never had any one so difficult to talk
to in their lives. The Australian cousins seemed
downright stupid and uninteresting. Just for one
thing Brenda was thankful — they were not outwardly
so unpresentable as she had anticipated.

Nesta, still smarting under a sense of disappoint-
ment, had made a sullen resolution not to appear to
want to know anything at all. In spite of Herbert's
assurances she was quite sure she did know a great
deal about the house and grounds. Brenda and he
should see later that she did.

Eustace held his tongue because he had literally
nothing to say that was at all agreeable. They had
begun the day by going into their mother's room to
say good-morning.

" 0 children," she had exclaimed when she saw
them, " isn't it all lovely ? "

202 PETER MAKES A DIVERSION.

" It is, mummie," began Nesta in such a miserable
voice that Eustace knew she was going on with a " but."

There were tears of joy in Mrs. Orban's eyes. To
her at least everything was perfect. Eustace was
standing close to Nesta, and he gave her a surreptitious
pinch that just nipped the complaint right off before
the " but " could come out.

" It is ripping, mother," he said. " I never thought
it would be half so splendid."

" I knew you would love it," said Mrs. Orban con-
fidently ; " and it is so jolly for you having Brenda
and Herbert. If only — "

She stopped, and her face had grown suddenly sad.
There was always that " if only." The twins knew
she was thinking of Aunt Dorothy.

" Look here, Nesta," said Eustace in a low voice
when they left the room, " don't you go grumbling to
mother and spoiling everything for her, or you will
be a selfish little pig."

" But when things are horrid — " began Nesta.

" It won't make them better to worry her," said
Eustace shortly.

" But how could you say it is splendid ? " Nesta
said with a choke.

" Well, isn't it ? " said Eustace. " I was thinking
about the house and the park. It was not the people
mother told us about before we came, but the place."

" Grannie and grandfather are not a bit like what
I thought," Nesta remarked in an aggrieved tone.

" They are very beautiful," said Eustace in an awed
voice. " They somehow match the house and every-
thing in it, and it seems to make them much too
grand for us."

PETER MAKES A DIVERSION. 203

"I know Herbert and Brenda think themselves
much too grand for us," said Nesta crossly. " Fancy
their thinking such silly things about the way we
lived, just as if we weren't ladies and gentlemen!
Why, last night, when Brenda told me we were to go
in to dessert, she said, ' You know people always dress
for dinner in England,' in that snubby way of hers ;
and I laughed right out, and said, ' Goodness, father
and mother dress for dinner every night at home.' "

" I think they fancy we are sort of savages," said
Eustace. " It makes me feel inclined to be one, and
give them a shock."

Dessert the evening before had proved a very dull
affair, and the time in the drawing-room afterwards,
playing halma with the cousins, was worse. They
all four hailed bedtime with thankfulness. Never
before had Eustace and Nesta felt so shut in — so
pinned down and overawed. Never, thought Her-
bert and Brenda, had they met such queer, un-
responsive children.

At breakfast they found Becky entirely at home
with her keeper, who had a grave kind of way of
smiling down upon the small person and Peter.

" You had better come and see the house now,"
said Herbert immediately after breakfast. " I'm go-
ing off rabbit-shooting later."

" Not you, Master Peter," said nurse as Peter shot
off his chair ; " your hands and face are all sticky, and
must be washed before you can do anything."

The others did not offer to wait for him, so the
crestfallen Peter was left behind, wondering why
people wanted so much washing in England.

Herbert and Brenda took the twins through

204 PETER MAKES A DIVERSION.

the house as they might have conducted a party
of sight-seers. Eustace accepted everything in silence,
but Nesta did not. For instance, —

"This is the picture gallery," said Herbert, "and
all these people are our ancestors."

"Yes, I know," said Nesta.

" This is the room Queen Elizabeth is supposed to
have slept in once — "

" Oh yes, mother told us all about that," broke in
Nesta ; " and the bishop always sleeps here when
he comes to hold confirmations in the neighbour-
hood."

The party passed on in silence. This sort of thing
was damping to the showman.

" You see that group of swords over there," began
Herbert, trying again as they reached the hall.

" The middle one was the one Sir Herbert Chase
killed the man with at Worcester and just saved the
Prince's life, and you are called after him," said
Nesta, anticipating the tale.

Herbert mentally voted his cousin a bumptious
brat of a girl. Eustace began to wish Nesta would
stop showing off so palpably — it seemed small and
silly.

They passed an interesting looking door, and Nesta
at once said, —

" Oh, we're missing one. That must be the library,
because of the double doors and the carved owl over
them. Do let's go in."

" Can't," said Herbert, glad to show some superior
knowledge at least of the ways of the house if not of
its contents. " Grandfather is always there all morn-
ing, and no one ever disturbs him."

PETER MAKES A DIVERSION. 205

" That portrait over there is our great-great-
grandfather," said Brenda in the dining-room.

" No," said Nesta, shaking her head ; " one more
great. Great-great-great-grandfather, Eustace Chase."

Brenda flushed with annoyance.

" Well, I really think I ought to know," she said,
" considering I've lived here all my life. — It is only
great-great, isn't it, Herbert ? "

Herbert looked worried.

" No, it is three greats," he said grudgingly.

" I knew for certain," said Nesta.

Brenda allowed Herbert to take up the rdle of
conductor awhile. Nesta was getting on her nerves.
But presently, in the smaller drawing-room, they all
came to a standstill in front of the picture of a
beautiful little brown-haired girl.

" That was Aunt Dorothy when she was little,"
said Brenda very low.

Nesta knew this also, but she said nothing for once.

Herbert led the way out of the house in silence.

Out of doors Nesta displayed just the same irritat-
ing certainty of things. The sun-dial she noticed
from a distance.

"That has 'Sic transit vita' on it," she said hur-
riedly, lest she should be forestalled. " Oh, and that
tank is the little well place mother fell into when
she was Becky's age."

But she received a check later.

"The good old swing and the giant's stride," she
said with enthusiasm.

" No — new ones," said Herbert with satisfaction ;
" the old ones were rotten, and these were put up for
us."

206 PETER MAKES A DIVERSION.

Nesta put her next venture in the form of a
question.

" Is that the summer-house mother and the aunts
played dolls in ? "

" No," said Brenda, " that fell down. This is mine.
Grandfather gave it me one birthday."

Everything had the impress of the Dixon children
— everything seemed to be " mine " or " Herbert's."
It was a depressing morning for the Australians,
though Nesta did flatter herself she must have clearly
demonstrated her knowledge of Maze Court and
pretty well surprised her cousins. It annoyed her
that Eustace had been so dumb, and seemingly unable
to say more than "yes" or "no" to things. It showed
a lack of spirit about him she would not have
expected after his sally about the troughs they fed
out of with the coolies, and his assertion only that
morning that he felt inclined to become a savage and
astonish the Dixons.

" I expect he's afraid of Herbert," she thought ;
" but I'm not."

Eustace was not either, but he was just a little
ashamed of his outburst of the evening before.
Looked at by light of day it seemed unnecessary
waste of temper. He thought Bob would not have
thought much of him for it ; it was rather babyish.

Oh, how homesick he felt ! What wouldn't he
have given to have seen Bob walking down one of
those wide paths towards them. Good old Bob ! Poor
old Bob ! What would Brenda and Herbert think if
they only knew all that story ? It was enough to
keep the boy silent to have such thoughts as these
starting up in his memory again and again; enough to

PETER MAKES A DIVERSION. 207

make him ashamed of any pettiness. But the thought
of Bob alone had power to do that ; he was so big,
so splendid, such a man !

Coming out of the gardens into the park they met
nurse and Becky.

" Oh," said nurse, looking flushed and flustered,
" isn't Master Peter with you ? I can't find him any-
where. I just left him while I went to dress Miss
Becky, and never thought to tell him to wait for
me."

" Peter isn't used to staying in one room," said
Eustace quietly. " I guess he is looking for us."

" But it is very naughty of him," said the English
nurse in vexation.

" Peter wouldn't mean to be naughty," said Eustace
in the same quiet tone ; " but you see we are so used
to be all together all day long on the veranda."

" That's all very fine," said nurse, " but it doesn't
find him for me. I just hope he won't come to
some harm or do some mischief before I get
him."

" Could he come to any harm ? " asked Nesta
anxiously.

" Well, there are ponds he could fall into, and places
he could climb and tumble out of. And as to
mischief — there are things everywhere he could
handle and break," said the woman. "I never saw
such an inquisitive little fidget as he is. He is all
the time asking questions and wanting to touch
everything he sees."

There immediately began a hunt for Peter. Here,
there, and everywhere they went in pairs, but
nowhere could he be found. They called him,

208 PETER MAKES A DIVERSION.

but there was no answer ; they asked every one they
met, but no one had seen him.

Mrs. Chase was out driving with Mr. and Mrs.
Orban ; there seemed no one to appeal to.

The search reminded Eustace of the story of the
loss of Aunt Dorothy, and he went and looked in the
turret and the secret chamber through the cupboard
door ; but Peter was not there.

Nurse was becoming frantic, for of course she felt
responsible for her charge. Eustace and Nesta began
to be worried. Herbert was cross because this pre-
vented his rabbit-shooting ; he could not very well
go away leaving such an anxious household as this.
Brenda felt sorry both for him and for the twins, but
said nothing.

The search-party met in the hall, just as that other
search-party had kept doing so many, many years
ago, but there was never any news.

" Can there be a secret chamber somewhere else ? "
said Nesta.

Brenda shook her head.

"I don't think so," she said.

" I wish father would come home," Eustace thought
miserably. " He might think of something."

" We had better ask grandfather what is to be
done," said Herbert at last in desperation.

It was a last resource. Nothing but the most
serious business was allowed to interrupt Mr. Chase's
morning, but this had- become sufficiently pressing to
w-rrant the intrusion.

In through the folding-doors trooped the anxious-
looking searchers, Herbert first.

" Well, I never ! " he exclaimed, for there stood

PETER MAKES A DIVERSION. 209

Peter as calm as you please, his hands behind him,
staring at his grandfather across the broad writing-
table.

" Can you ride bareback ? " he was inquiring in his
shrill treble. "Bob can; but he said I mustn't try
because it is slimy."

" Slimy ? " repeated Mr. Chase, with brows bent
in perplexity.

" Yes," said Peter, " sliddery, you know. A horse is
a very slippery beast for short legs, Bob says."

He went on quite regardless of the intruders, who
stood watching in awed silence, because if Mr. Chase
did not order Peter out of the room, it was no one's
business to do so.

" And who may this Bob be you keep quoting ? "
asked Mr. Chase — " a bushranger ? "

" No, he's our friend," replied Peter. " He is just
Bob, you know, who comes to see us. Once Eustace
and he were lost in the scrub. And Bob says Eustace
is a—"

" Peter ! " exclaimed Eustace.

" I wasn't going to say anything bad," said
Peter. "I was only going to tell grandfather how
you—"

" Grandfather doesn't want to know," said Eustace,
looking red and uncomfortable.

Mr. Chase turned his bright blue eyes on Eustace ;
they were blue eyes, very like Peter's.

" Perhaps grandfather does," he said firmly. — " Go
on, Peter."

" I can tell you better," said Eustace hurriedly. " It
is only Bob was lost, and I got lost looking for him ;
and we thought some natives were going to kill us,

(1,331) 14

210 PETER MAKES A DIVERSION.

but the chief wanted a reward, so he fetched father and
Mr. Cochrane to take us home."

Mr. Chase listened quietly. It was a tame little
story, without much point to it told like that, but he
had watched Eustace's sensitive face narrowly, and
he asked no further questions.

" I seem to be honoured with much company this
morning," he said instead, looking round the group on
the threshold. " What are you all doing, if I may
ask ? "

" Looking for Peter, grandfather," explained Herbert
uncomfortably, certain that Mr. Chase was annoyed.
" We've been hunting for him for the last hour."

" I've had the pleasure of his society for about that
space of time," said Mr. Chase. " I have had to give
an account of how many black men and how many
Chinkees I employ about the place ; whether I
wouldn't rather live in Queensland if I had a hundred
pounds of my own ; and how long I sleep in the
winter. I don't know why he wants to know that, I
am sure."

" Oh," said Peter quickly, " because Bob says people
in England sleep like dormice in the winter, and have
to be wakened by big knockers on the door."

" I see," said Mr. Chase gravely, " your friend Bob
seems to know more about England than I do —
probably because I sleep right through the winter.
Now, if you have asked everything you can think
of, perhaps you will take your tribe away with
you, Peter Perky."

The twins jumped violently at the name, and stared
at the speaker in astonishment. No one but Aunt
Dorothy had ever called Peter that.

PETER MAKES A DIVERSION. 211

" I should like to know if you roll up when
you sleep, or lie flat," Peter said, not feeling at all
anxious to go. "Aunt Dorothy always called me
a dormouse at night — "

" You can go, Peter," interrupted Mr. Chase
hurriedly ; " I am busy."

Herbert took the child by the shoulder and marched
him out of the room.

" Peter, how could you ? " exclaimed Brenda, when
they reached the schoolroom.

" How could I what ? " demanded Peter, looking
puzzled.

" Why, speak about poor Aunt Dorothy before
grandfather," said the girl. "Nobody does; he can't
bear it."

" Can't he ? " said Peter mildly; " but he asked me a
lot of questions about her himself. And I told him
how she called me Peter Perky, and all about her
saving my life in the wreck."

" What ! " interrupted the cousins in a breath ;
" she did what ? "

" Didn't you know ? " said Eustace.

" We don't know anything except what that awful
cable said," Brenda said in a low, shaky voice.

Between them the twins and Peter told the whole
story. Herbert sat at the table, his head buried
in his hands. Brenda listened with her back to
the speakers, looking away out of the window.

There was a long pause.

" Then," said Herbert huskily at last, " if it hadn't
been for Peter, Aunt Dorothy would never have been
drowned."

CHAPTER XIX.
THE LAST STRAW.

words fell like a thunderbolt into the
midst of the group. Eustace moved in-
voluntarily to Peter's side and put a protecting arm
round him, as if he had been struck. The little
fellow himself looked utterly bewildered.

" How can you say such a wicked, wicked thing ? "
exclaimed Nesta in astonishment; "just as if it was
poor Peter's fault."

" Well, wasn't it ? " demanded Herbert bitterly, his
face still hidden. " If Peter hadn't been at the
other side of the ship — if Aunt Dorothy had not
had to go away and find him — but you all got into
the boat and went away and left her ! "

" Don't ! " exclaimed Eustace sharply. " You don't
know what a wreck in the dark is like, or you
wouldn't talk like that. There isn't time to know
anything. We didn't know Aunt Dorothy was left."

"I should have known," said Herbert, with all
the confidence of ignorance, "and I would have
stayed and drowned with her."

He broke off short, rose abruptly, and stumbled
in a queer, blind way from the room. He could not
bear that any one should witness his grief.

Brenda turned a tear-stained face from the

THE LAST STRAW. 213

window and stared at the trio now standing close
together.

" He isn't thinking what he is saying," she said
chokily ; " but we are so frightfully unhappy about
Aunt Dorothy — and this seems to make it worse —
I mean that she might so easily have been saved.
Of course you didn't really know her, so you can't
understand. But ever since our mother died Aunt
Dorothy — "

But here Brenda's voice broke utterly, and she, too,
hurriedly left the room.

" Well," exclaimed Nesta, " I think it just horrid
of them. I shall never, never like them now."

Eustace turned a pair of surprised brown eyes
upon her.

" Won't you ? " he said wonderingly. " Why, I like
them better than I did, ever so much."

" What ! " Nesta said, " you like them better for
saying a horrid thing like that ? To make out it
was Peter's fault! Poor little Peter, who was so
nearly drowned himself ! "

"It wasn't that part I was thinking of," said
Eustace, "but just how they loved her. Somehow
I never thought of it before. Same way we love
mother, I guess; and I don't know what I should
have thought if mother had been drowned saving
some one .else's brother."

Nesta stared at him blankly. There were things
about Eustace lately that she did not understand.
She knew nothing of Bob's maxim about looking
at two sides of a question, so she could see no
reason for the strange things he sometimes said, and
he was far too reticent to have explained.

214 THE LAST STRAW.

" Well, all I can say is, I wish we had never come,"
said Nesta for about the twentieth time. " Nothing
is nice, and it will be more hateful than ever now
they feel like that about Peter. We had better tell
mother and father, and ask them to take us away."

" What's that I hear ? " said an astonished voice at
the door.

The children all jumped and turned round, for
there stood their grandfather. They were speechless
with dismay ; they could not have pictured a worse
thing happening.

" What did you say, Nesta ? " asked Mr. Chase
again, in a tone that made the twins' hearts stand
still.

He looked angry, surprised, and very commanding.
But how were they to repeat what they had been
saying ? Nesta remembered they had been warned
not to speak of Aunt Dorothy before him. Eustace
felt it would be mean and ungenerous to get Herbert
into trouble behind his back. But Peter had no
such scruples. Dropping his head into his arms on
the table, he broke out sobbingly, —

" Herbert says it was me drowned Aunt Dorothy."

" What ! " exclaimed Mr. Chase incredulously ; " he
surely never said such a thing ? Explain this to me,
Eustace, at once."

His tone was so severe that the boy literally shook.
He had never seen any one really angry in his life
before.

" He didn't say quite that," Eustace said with
difficulty ; " he only meant it was because of Peter."

" Kindly give me his exact words," Mr. Chase said,
still in that awful voice.

THE LAST STRAW. 215

Eustace closed his thin lips tight, with an expression
that meant wild horses would not drag it from him.
His grandfather scanned his face closely, then turned
to Nesta.

" As Eustace seems to have lost his tongue, I must
ask you to tell me what Herbert said in exactly his
own words."

Nesta glanced furtively at her twin, but she was
angry with Herbert and saw no reason why he should
be protected.

" He said," she replied, " if Peter had not been
at the other side of the boat, and Aunt Dorothy had
not had to go and find him, she wouldn't have been
drowned. He said we all went away and left her — "

" How dared he ! " Mr. Chase thundered. " I am
ashamed that a grandson of mine should have behaved
in such a way. Whatever he thought, he had no
right to say such a thing."

" He — he was most fearfully unhappy," said
Eustace nervously.

" That is no excuse for his making other people
so too," Mr. Chase replied. " Eustace, go and tell
Herbert to come here at once."

It was a disagreeable errand, and the boy whitened
as he turned to obey. Mr. Chase's prompt, old-
fashioned methods were something new to him.
Fault-finding at home had always been reserved for
quiet talks alone with father or mother ; they were
never made big public affairs like this.

Eustace found Herbert in his own room pacing
up and down the floor with his hands in his pockets.
He had got control of himself by then, and he turned
on his visitor with a look of impatient surprise.

216 THE LAST STRAW.

" What do you want ? " he said.

" I'm awfully sorry," Eustace began lamely, " but
you've got to come to grandfather. We were talking
about what you said, and he came in without our
hearing. He made us tell him the rest, and I'm
afraid he — he is going to lecture you."

" You — you told tales ? " said Herbert scathingly.
Without waiting for a reply he marched past his
cousin to the schoolroom. Eustace could not bear to
follow and see him humiliated. It would be just
a little better for him with one person less present,
he thought.

" Grandfather was fearfully severe," said Nesta
later, when she had found Eustace prowling about
like a bear with a sore head alone in the grounds.
" So you see it was a beastly thing to say. He said
Herbert was no gentleman if he didn't apologize."

" And did he ? " asked Eustace shortly.

" He said he was sorry if he hadn't behaved like a
gentleman, and it shouldn't occur again. Most awfully
stiffly he spoke, just like a grown-up, and then
grandfather said he might go."

" And that before you and Peter ! " exclaimed
Eustace in tones of disgust. " I'm jolly glad I wasn't
there ; it would have made me feel a low-down black-
fellow if Herbert had apologized to me. I don't
think Peter behaved like a white man, and I mean
to tell him so, too, when I get him to myself."

" Grandfather seems to have taken a fancy to
Peter," said Nesta. " He had come up to fetch him
when he overheard me. He said Peter had already
broken his morning, and he had better have the rest
of it and take him a walk. Erenda says she never

THJpJ LAST STRAW. 217

knew him do such a queer thing before ; he is not
generally supposed to be fond of children, and that
is why we have no meals downstairs." ,

Every one was surprised at Mr. Chase's sudden par-
tiality for Peter, but the reason was a very simple one.
From Peter he could hear more about Miss Chase
than from any one else. No tears choked little
Peter's voice when he described Aunt Dorothy's first
day, or told the story of her quaint mistakes. He
quite forgot the sad part of her visit, and lost himself
in his stories. The old man led him on from point
to, point, and learned all that he could of his beloved
daughter's stay in Queensland without Peter's guessing
what he was really doing.

The little fellow was radiantly happy. They
walked about the grounds together, and presently
Mr. Chase said Peter must learn to ride — he would
teach him himself. Accordingly, out went Peter on
a little pony with Mr. Chase at its head, and the
riding lessons began>

" It doesn't look as if grandfather thought it was
Peter's fault," said Nesta to Eustace ; " he seems fonder
of him than any one."

If Peter was content, not so the twins. The scene
with Herbert had produced a very uncomfortable
state of affaira He no longer played the part of
host, but kept out of his cousins' way as much as
possible, going out on long expeditions by himself,
and never joining the schoolroom party when he could
help it.

Nesta thought him detestable, but Eustace had a
feeling that Herbert had been very hardly treated
in his own home. He could not forget how genuine

218 THE LAST STRAW.

had been the big fellow's unhappiness over the awful
loss of his beloved aunt, and Eustace could have
forgiven much more than the outburst against Peter
in the face of such real distress. But he had no
chance of showing his sympathy ; Herbert would
have resented any exhibition of sentiment most
haughtily. Eustace only felt exceedingly awkward
whenever he was with him, and wished with all his
heart he could awake to find all these unfortunate
English experiences nothing but a bad dream.

Between her loyalty to her brother and the sense
of courtesy that bade her look after her cousins,
Brenda had a very difficult course to steer ; being
proud and reserved by nature, she only succeeded in
being exceedingly stiff in her attempts at civility to
the twins.

" It gets horrider and horrider," Nesta said after
two or three days of it.

But the secret treaty not to trouble their mother
and disturb her enjoyment held good through every-
thing.

" It will come to an end in a year," Eustace said
bravely ; " and we couldn't bear it after we got back
if we had to remember we had spoiled mother's trip.
She has been longing for it such a long time."

Because they saw so comparatively little of their
mother, it was always possible to keep their grievances
from her; and she was so certain her children must
be sharing the pleasures with herself, it never occurred
to her to suspect that anything was wrong.

" It wouldn't be us spoiling her trip," Nesta
objected ; " it would be Brenda's and Herbert's faults,
because they are so disagreeable."

THE LAST STRAW. 219

"It would be because of us," Eustace held out,
" and I'll never forgive you if you go whining about
it to mother or any one. We can bear it for a year,
or we aren't worth anything."

But even Eustace's courage received a check one
evening when he and Nesta were called into their
mother's room for a talk before she dressed for dinner.
Her face was aglow with some pleasant thoughts,
yet she was very serious — a strange mixture that
immediately struck the twins as portending something
very big and out of the way.

"Chicks," she said, drawing them down on each
side of her on the sofa, " I have got something very
special to say to you to-day — something I scarcely
know whether to be most glad or sorry about, for
it cuts two ways. It fulfils the ambition of my life
for you, and at the same time it costs me my twins."

There was a breathless, expectant silence.

" I think for you the happiness will outweigh the
pain," she went on gently, "because it means new
interests, new life, everything you must most desire.
And, dears, we have to thank grandfather for it ;
he insists on sending you both to school."

" To school ! " shouted the twins simultaneously.

" Yes," Mrs. Orban said, " actually to school. He
wishes you to have exactly the same advantages as
Brenda and Herbert. Won't it be splendid for you ? "

There was dead silence. Mrs. Orban glanced from
one grave face to the other. Nesta's was crumpled
and bewildered ; Eustace's very white, and his ex-
pression sadly strained.

"Why, darlings," Mrs. Orban said, "you have
always wanted to go to school. Hasn't it nearly

220 THE LAST STRAW.

made me cry again and again to hear you craving
for a thing we could not give you ? And now your
wishes have been granted as it were by magic, I
do believe you are not glad after all."

There was such a ring of disappointment in their
mother's voice that even Nesta was roused.

" We've wanted it awfully," stammered Eustace
awkwardly, " but we — we didn't think of it coming
quite so soon."

" Oh, is that it, you dears ? " Mrs. Orban said in a
tone between laughter and tears. " I was afraid some-
thing much worse was the matter — that you had
changed your minds, for instance, or that you didn't
like England after all ; but of course that couldn't be."

She spoke with such perfect certainty that the
twins were dumb; they could think of nothing to
say.

"There really is rather a blessing in disguise in
your going to school at once, though I can't bear
parting with you," Mrs. Orban went on after a little
silence. " I shall be quite close to you while you are
still feeling strange in your new life ; I shall hear
all about everything from you by word of mouth in
the holidays ; and I shall go away next year feeling
content that you are settled down, and likely to be
nothing but a tiny bit mammy-sick at my departure."

Eustace rubbed his head against her shoulder.

" More than a tiny bit, mummie," he said.

" We needn't think about that yet, though," said
Mrs. Orban cheerily ; " it is a long way off, with plenty
of lovely times between. I only wish father had not
to go so soon."

" How soon ? " queried Nesta sharply.

THE LAST STRAW. 221

" He says he must be off the end of this month,"
was the answer ; " that is why the school-going has
had to be settled so hurriedly. But he has a lovely
dream for the future : before you have left school
he hopes to be able to come to England for good
and settle down here."

"How long would it be before that, mother?"
Eustace asked.

" Oh, four or five years, perhaps," said Mrs. Orban.

" But shan't we ever go back to Australia again ? "
Nesta said with a gulp.

" You won't want to, my dear, once you get used
to England," said her mother gently. " Of course it
would not be possible for you to come home all that
distance for holidays, but you will soon learn not to
mind if you have our home-coming to look forward
to. Now I will tell you a little about the schools
you are going to."

It was easy to listen with apparent interest to
this, to put in a question here and there and glean
all the information possible. But when the pair left
the room Nesta suddenly gripped her brother's arm.

" Eustace," she said huskily, " I — I can't bear it."

" You just must," said the boy sturdily. " I guess
there is nothing else to do."

The words were so hopeless that Nesta's tears
began to fall thick and fast, and he drew her almost
roughly down the passage out of earshot. They
reached the picture gallery, and sat down in a deep
window-seat overlooking the front drive and the
beautiful park beyond. Here Nesta buried her face
in her hands and fairly sobbed. Eustace bore it
for some seconds, then, —

222 THE LAST STRAW.

" Look here, old girl," he said, " don't be silly.
You'll have a red nose for dessert."

" I don't care," Nesta blurted out

"But you must care," Eustace said a little im-
patiently, " because then mother will see you have
been crying and find out we're miserable."

" I don't care," sobbed Nesta again. " I can't hide
it any more, and I don't want to. I shall ask father
to let me go home with him. Nothing will make me
stay here with these — these horrid people."

" Nesta ! " Eustace exclaimed.

" Well, I can't help it ; they are horrid, even if
they are our people. I never thought of them being
anything like this. And I can't — I won't stay with
them."

" Rot," said Eustace angrily. " You know we can't
help staying if every one says we are to."

" Then," said Nesta, drawing herself up with a
sudden attempt at dignity, " I shall run away."

" Silly ! " Eustace exclaimed irritably.

" You'll see it isn't silly when I do it," said Nesta
gloomily. " I shall tell father and mother everything
about how horrid it is for us, and then if they won't
take us home — "

She stopped dramatically, leaving Eustace to fill
in the threat for himself.

" You really will tell mother, and spoil everything
for her ? " he asked in a low, angry tone.

Nesta nodded defiantly.

" Then you are a little beast," said Eustace furi-
ously— " a cruel little beast."

Nesta rose with her nose very high in the air.

" Thank you," she said ; " you are most awfully

THE LAST STRAW. 223

polite. I shall take care not to tell you anything
ever again."

Eustace knelt up on the seat, and leant out of the
open window into the soft evening air. He was too
angry to speak coherently, too bewildered to know
what to say. With a toss of her head Nesta turned
and left him.

He heard her determined footsteps die away down
the gallery, and knew he was meant to understand
he had her sincerest disapproval. A few months
earlier, he would presently have thrown off his sense
of irritation and laughed at Nesta's little airs of
importance. To-night he had no heart for the funny
side of it. He was vexed to have lost his influence
over Nesta, and worried at the thought of what
an upset her headstrong course would make. Let
alone his mother's disappointment, there would be
the grandparents' indignation to reckon with, and
Herbert's and Brenda's scornful surprise. They
would indeed think them wild Bush children, and
be justified in their present attitude of cool un-
friendliness.

Yet to be left in these uncongenial surroundings
for a space of time that seemed like an eternity to
a lad of fourteen ; to be forced to remain with these
unsympathetic companions for the next four or five
years, with no one to turn to and without a home,
meant desolation as complete for Eustace as for Nesta.

Away in the park some rooks cawed fussily over
the choice of their night quarters. Nearer, a black-
bird piped an evening song. They sounded restless
and plaintive to the lonely boy, and he hid his face in
his hands, covering eyes and ears that he might see

224 THE LAST STRAW.

nothing, hear nothing. Then into his mind there
surged a recollection of the dear old free days at
home, never to come again. Right in the midst of
every memory stood Bob — his friend Bob whom he
would never see again. That was the thought that
broke his spirit, and had he been a girl he would
have cried ; but Eustace shed no tears — this sorrow
was beyond them, for a boy.

Something hard suddenly struck him with a sharp
tap on the shoulder, and, as he started back in sur-
prise, fell with a clatter back on the gravel below.

Then Eustace gasped, rubbed his eyes, and stared,
feeling as if he must suddenly have taken leave of
his senses ; for there in the drive, his hand poised
ready to throw another stone if the first had missed
its mark, stood Bob Cochrane,

CHAPTER XX.
BREAKING THE NEWS.

BEFORE the boy had recovered sufficiently to
make a sound, Bob said in a low, distinct
voice, —

" Don't make a row, old man. It's all right ; I'm
not a ghost. I want you to get hold of your father
for me without a soul knowing that you have seen me.
Tell him I am waiting by the first drive gate, and
want to speak to him at once. Mind no one else
hears what you say. Seeing you is better luck than
I expected."

He turned and was walking rapidly away across
the centre grass plot before Eustace quite realized
this was no dream, but a solid truth, and that some-
thing was required of him.

" Bob, Bob, how have you come here ? " he called
in a trembling voice.

But the figure only half turned with a warning
gesture, and passed resolutely on.

For a moment the boy was rooted to the spot.
Was this thing real ? Could Bob possibly be there ?
The idea was incredible ; yet his eyes, his ears, both
bore witness to the fact. But how had it happened ?
what did it mean ?

(1.331) 15

226 BREAKING THE NEWS.

With thoughts in a turmoil and heart beating to
suffocation, .he made his way to his father's dressing-
room.

"I say, father," he said breathlessly, putting his
head round the door at the answer to his knock, " are
you nearly dressed ? "

" All but my coat," said Mr. Orban, without turning
from the glass where he was carefully arranging his
evening tie. " Come in if you want to."

There was an open door into the bedroom, where
Eustace knew his mother was certain still to be.

"I — I would rather speak to you out here," said
the boy, " if you could be quick."

Mr. Orban turned a surprised face.

" Oh, if it is a secret I am sure mother will excuse
our shutting the door," he said, and suited the action
to the word. " Now come, out with it Have you
been getting into some scrape, old man ? "

The boy looked so extraordinarily white that Mr.
Orban began to be afraid something serious had
happened.

"You are quite certain mother can't hear?" Eustace
said in a low tone.

" Perfectly," said Mr. Orban, looking more deeply
perplexed, for hitherto Mrs. Orban had shared all
secrets ; in fact, the children had gone more readily
to her with their troubles than to him, because he had
so little time for such things. " There hasn't been any
accident to one of the others ? " he added sharply,
struck by a new idea.

" Oh no, no," Eustace said ; " nothing like that.
But, father," he went on, drawing very close, " I'm
not to tell another soul — only you. Bob Cochrane

BREAKING THE NEWS. 227

is here. He is waiting for you down by the first
drive gate, and wants to speak to you at once."

" Bob Cochrane ! " repeated Mr. Orban, blankly
staring at the boy. " What are you talking about,
child ? You've been dreaming, or you've got a touch
of fever."

He passed his hand over Eustace's brow, and found
it cool enough.

"But it's the truth, father," Eustace said. "I
thought I was dreaming myself, and it feels awfully
strange still. I was kneeling at the window with
iny head in my hands, thinking — thinking about
home" — his voice faltered a good deal over the
words — " when some one hit me on the shoulder
with a stone, and I looked down and saw Bob."

" Impossible ! " said Mr. Orban. " You've had a
delusion because you were thinking about home.
You were thinking so hard about Bob you fancied
you saw him. Things like that do happen some-
times, you know. Bob is thousands of miles away,
looking after the plantation; he couldn't by any
earthly possibility be here."

Mr. Orban spoke so certainly that Eustace's faith
in his own reason almost wavered ; but if vision it
were, it had impressed him strongly.

" I don't think I could have seen it so clearly if it
had only been my own thought," he argued aloud.
" Besides, he spoke ; he said quite clearly, ' Don't
make a row, old man ; I'm not a ghost. I want you
to get hold of your father for me without a soul
knowing that you have seen me. Tell him I
am waiting by the first drive gate, and want
to speak to him at once. Mind no one else hears

228 BREAKING THE NEWS.

what you say. Seeing you is better luck than I
expected.' "

The words were branded on his memory by the
shock he had received, and now it was Mr. Orban's
turn to become white.

" If it is so really," he said in an odd, unsteady
voice, " he brings bad news. Something so bad has
happened that he could not break it to me in a letter."

It flashed into Eustace's mind that Bob had looked
awfully grave and queer — if Bob it really were, and
no delusion ! Suppose his father should go to the
gate and find no one awaiting him — what then ?

" You — you will go and see if he is there ?" faltered
the boy nervously.

"I am going at once," said Mr. Orban. "When
you are dressed yourself, go down into the drawing-
room as usual, as if nothing had happened." He
opened the door into Mrs. Orban's room and said
lightly, "There's a man just called to see me, dear.
If I happen to be detained, make my apologies to the
old people, and ask them not to wait dinner for me."

Mrs. Orban made a cheery, unsuspecting response,
and he and Eustace left the room.

The twins and the Dixon pair always assembled in
the drawing-room with every one before dinner was
served, and there they awaited the summons to
dessert, as a rule with books, in dreary silence.

When Eustace came down he found every one
waiting for dinner. Mr. Orban was not yet in, and
Mr. Chase would not hear of beginning the meal
without him.

" His friend can't in conscience keep him late at
such an hour," he said. " Of course we will wait"

BREAKING THE NEWS. 229

No one was very talkative. It seemed to Eustace
as if something of the coming shadow were creeping
over the community before the bad news could even
be dreamed of by any one except himself. There
was just the sort of deadly calm and stillness over
everything that comes before a thunderstorm.

Nesta had curled herself up in a deep window-seat,
well out of sight. Eustace guessed she had made
such a fright of herself with crying she was afraid
to show her face. He sat near the door into the
great conservatory with a book, pretending to read.
Really he could do nothing but wonder what terrible
thing could be going to happen next.

Presently, just when Mr. Chase was getting a
little restless, and Mrs. Orban began anxiously watch-
ing the door, Mr. Orban came hurriedly into the
room.

" Forgive my being so late," he said in a voice
that vibrated strangely ; " but I am afraid I must
detain you still for a few minutes. The fact is, a
Queensland friend of mine has just turned up with
— with some rather curious details about the wreck
of the Cora. He thought it would pain us less to
hear them by word of mouth than by letter, so he
came himself."

"Very good of him, I'm sure," said Mr. Chase,
looking surprised. " Won't he stay and dine with
us, and then afterwards — "

" Oh, of course he must stay the night ! " cried
Mrs. Chase hospitably ; " and this evening we can
talk things over quietly when the children have gone
to bed."

"I think," said Mr. Orban, with a gravity that

230 BREAKING THE NEWS.

impressed every one deeply, " my friend would rather
have his interview at once. He is anxious to get it
over as soon as possible. I have asked him into the
boudoir, Mrs. Chase. I thought we would talk there
more quietly than here."

"Certainly," said Mrs. Chase, rising and leading
the way to the boudoir, which opened off the drawing-
room.

Every one looked utterly bewildered, and Mr.
Chase just a little annoyed. It was most unprece-
dented that dinner should be so delayed. Eustace
noticed his father whisper something to his mother ;
she started, flushed painfully, and he guessed Mr.
Orban had told her who the visitor was.

The boudoir door closed after the elders, and there
was silence in the drawing-room. Herbert became
restless, and wandered about the room opening books
or fingering the ornaments in an aimless way ; Nesta
stared gloomily out of the window, and Brenda tried
to read.

Eustace could stand the inaction and the unsym-
pathetic company no longer, so, getting up, he strolled
into the sweet-smelling conservatory to be alone.

There were scents there that always wafted him in
memory back home — he loved the warmth and the
plants. There was a large oval stage covered with
flowers in the centre, and round this he strolled
towards the outer door.

So it was about the wreck Bob had come to speak.
What more painful news could he have to bring than
they already knew ? The boy's common sense told
him that the details must have to do with the death
of Aunt Dorothy; nothing of less importance could

BREAKING THE NEWS. 231

have brought Bob over. Perhaps he had met an eye-
witnes* of the tragedy ! Perhaps there were last
messages from the drowned girl !

Eustace turned a corner and came to an abrupt
standstill. It seemed to him in that instant as if his
very heart stopped beating and his hair stood straight
on end.

It was absurd, of course. Bob had turned out to
be no mere creation of his own brain, but this could
be nothing else. Here was proof positive of Mr.
Orban's words that one has but to think hard enough
about a person to imagine one sees him.

With her back to the outer door — a white figure
with a face as colourless as her dress — stood Dorothy
Chase ; nothing about her was lifelike except the
familiar deep-brown eyes that gazed steadfastly on
the startled boy.

It was an extraordinarily vivid hallucination, and
not a little terrifying. Was it no fancy ? Could it
possibly be Aunt Dorothy's spirit come to visit her
old home again ? The thought leapt into the boy's
mind.

Eustace was no coward, but the notion fairly
paralyzed him ; he could not have moved to save
his life. One supreme effort he made.

"Aunt Dorothy," he whispered hoarsely, and could
say no more, for his lips were parched, his throat was
dry.

The vision raised a warning hand.

" Hush ! " she said ; " don't be frightened. I see
Bob has not told you yet ; but it is all right, darling.
I am a real live human being, and no spirit. Just
Aunt Dorothy come back to you safe and sound."

232 BREAKING THE NEWS.

The words seemed to come from far away, and
Eustace felt so queer he swayed to try and keep his
balance. He was so giddy he must have fallen had
the vision not swept forward and caught him. The
feeling of those strong arms about him, the warm
touch of Aunt Dorothy's face bent down to his,
brought him with a jerk to himself again, and he did
not faint. But even then he could not believe his
senses.

" I don't understand," he gasped, shaking from
head to foot in her arms; and he pressed his face
tight against her shoulder to try and recover himself.

" Poor old chap ! " said Aunt Dorothy, " how I
have upset you ! I never meant any of you to see
me till you knew. Bob is breaking the news to
father and mother gently. We were afraid the shock
of joy would be too much for them, so we did not
even cable, but came at once. A letter would have
got here very little sooner than ourselves."

She talked on in a soft, soothing voice to give the
boy time to pull himself together, and all the time
she held him close.

" You — you weren't drowned," Eustace managed to
blurt out.

" Very nearly, but not quite," was the reply ; " my
escape was like a miracle. Ah, here comes Bob at
last."

" Have I seemed an awful time ? " said Bob gently.
" It was a difficult thing to do. Come — they are
waiting for you."

The pair passed swiftly up the conservatory into
the drawing-room.

Herbert was standing by the mantelpiece examin-

BREAKING THE NEWS. 233

ing a piece of valuable Sevres china. As the stranger,
accompanied by that white figure, crossed the room
to the boudoir, the ornament fell with a crash, to
be splintered into twenty pieces on the fender.

" Oh, what was that ? " cried Brenda, starting to
her feet and gazing after the apparition.

" It's Aunt Dorothy," said Eustace from the con-
servatory. " She was never drowned at all."

" What ! " said Herbert sharply. " You are dream-
ing."

" Then we are all dreaming," said Eustace gravely.
" You saw her for yourself."

It would be impossible to describe the scene that
followed. When the boudoir door opened and the
grown-ups all trooped out, headed by Aunt Dorothy,
the commotion was beyond words. From the midst
of it Mr. Chase slipped away, to return with Peter
in his arms. Peter was in pyjamas and dressing-
gown, rosy, and fresh roused from sleep.

" We can't let him be out of it all," said Mr. Chase.
" I have told him of our joyful surprise, and he takes
it quite calmly."

"Peter would," said Miss Chase, taking the wee
fellow in her arms.

"I'm very glad I didn't drown you," Peter said
serenely. " Herbert — "

But he finished the sentence in an incoherent yell,
kicking out right and left.

" What is the matter ? " asked Dorothy in surprise.

" Eustace pinched my bare leg," Peter said irately,
wriggling to the ground in order to avenge himself.

Eustace caught his wrists, and bending low, whis-
pered,—

234 BREAKING THE NEWS.

"You are not to tell tales. I told you that the
other day. You don't want to be a low-down black-
fellow, do you ? "

Peter's face was crumpled with anger, and there
is no saying what he would have done if Bob had
not exclaimed, —

" Hulloa, Peter ! haven't you a word for me ? "

The shock was complete. Mr. Chase had not
mentioned Bob's arrival, and Peter was wholly un-
prepared for seeing him.

" Bob ! " he shouted, " good old Bob ! " and sprang
like a young cat at the big fellow, who caught him
skilfully.

" When you have quite done throttling me I shall
be glad," said Bob, after enduring the embrace of the
merciless little arms a moment.

" But how did you get here ? " demanded Peter of
the long memory. " Were you bewitched over to
England ? "

" Come, come," said Mr. Chase ; " dinner first and
stories afterwards. We shall have to eat cinders as
it is, I expect, and cook will give notice to-morrow."

" Every one must come into the dining-room,
father," laughed Aunt Dorothy ; " I can't part with
one of you yet. We will talk while we eat."

In a moment everything seemed changed. All the
severity had faded from the old people's faces ; they
could not have looked more delightfully " grannyish "
if they had tried. The dreadful barriers of formality
were broken down ; no noisier, freer family party
had ever gathered in the Queensland home than the
one that peopled the stately old dining-room that
night.

BREAKING THE NEWS. 236

"This," whispered Brenda to Nesta, "is how we
always were before Aunt Dorothy went away. Now
you can see why we missed her."

The change was something like a fairy tale to
the Bush children ; every one seemed suddenly
" magicked " into different beings. This, then, was
home as mother had known it.

The story of Aunt Dorothy's rescue held the table
spellbound ; the very butler and footman forgot their
duties as they listened.

It appeared that, having jumped into the water
with Peter, Dorothy struck out as fast as possible
to swim away from the ship, keeping a grip of the
little fellow as best she could. But in the terrible
commotion that occurred on the going down of the
Cora she lost her grasp, and Peter was swept away
from her into the inky blackness of the night.

She swam, floated, called, it seemed to her for
ages, but all in vain, and at last, in a state of utter
exhaustion, she gave herself up merely to the thought
of keeping afloat. She must have been many hours
in the water, but, losing consciousness after a while,
her next experience was to find herself on board a
vessel of some sort — a schooner it turned out to be
on her way out to the reefs for beche-de-mer fishing.

" Why, we saw her ! " exclaimed Eustace. " Mother,
that must have been the boat we saw far away out
to sea. The captain of the station told us it was
theirs."

" They must have picked me up soon after dawn,
before the turn of the tide," said Aunt Dorothy.
"I think when I came to my senses and saw the
kind of people I was among, I was more frightened

236 BREAKING THE NEWS.

than I had been even by the wreck. Most of them
were black-fellows — the rest I have since discovered
were Portuguese ; but not a soul in ail that uncouth
crowd could speak English or understand a word
I said."

" It was pretty terrifying," Bob agreed.

" They therefore did not know where I came from,
where I wanted to go, or anything about me I
kept imploring them to take me back to land; but
this, though they must have understood my signs,
they refused to do."

" What brutes ! " exclaimed Herbert hotly.

" They are a low-grade lot," said Bob in his quaint
Colonial way, " but you know they can only get the
beche-de-mer at certain tides. It would have meant
a dead loss to them to have put back, and probably
they were working under contract, bound to supply
a certain amount at a given time to their Chinkee
employers."

" But it was horrid of them," said Nesta, who had
recovered herself entirely in the excitement, and was
inclined to agree even with Herbert for once.

" It was a real adventure, wasn't it ? " Eustace
said, appealing to Bob.

"Rather more of one than I bargained for," said
Aunt Dorothy. "But in their own rough way the
men tried to be kind to me. The food we had was
disgusting, the boat dreadfully fishy, oily, and dirty ;
there was not a possibility of being comfortable day
or night. But I have nothing to grumble at. They
took me back safe and sound to the beche-de-mer
station at last, and there I heard all about you, even
to the saving of Peter. AH the discomforts and

BREAKING THE NEWS. 237

horrors put together were nothing to my suspense
about your fates till then."

The rest of the story was simple enough. Finding
the Orbans had left Cooktown, Miss Chase instantly
communicated with Bob, and together they arranged
the plan for the home-coming. Their chief aim was
to convey the good news as gently as possible, and
they certainly achieved their end.

" I don't know how I could have borne the waiting
had you cabled," Mrs. Chase said. " I should have
suffered agonies imagining fresh accidents that might
happen to you all the time."

" Dorothy has become quite an experienced traveller
one way and another," said Mr. Chase. " You little
thought, my dear, when you set out so gaily from
here, what a stormy life you were embarking upon."

" I should think you would be terrified ever to
go there again," said Brenda.

" On the contrary," said Bob Cochrane, " I hope
your aunt will feel encouraged to return before long.
What was the compact, Peter ? She was to come
back and be burnt as a witch, wasn't she ? "

" Not yet awhile," said Mr. Chase gravely. " You
can't expect us to part with her for some little time
to come."

" Of course not, sir," said Bob genially.

And then he and Dorothy just glanced at each
other and laughed with a strange kind of joyousness
that mystified the Dixons ; but Eustace looked hard
at Nesta and nodded meaningly.

Bob's face was no longer haggard and drawn ;
it wore its old, habitual expression of steadfast
happiness.

238 BREAKING THE NEWS.

The party did not break up till "disgracefully
late," as Mr. Chase put it. Peter was carried by his
mother asleep to bed. The twins and the Dixons
felt so wide awake they fancied they would not close
an eye all night.

Mr. Chase laughed when he heard the story of the
Sevres ornament.

"I'm not surprised you were startled," he said
kindly ; " but please try to have something a little
less valuable in your hands next ghost you meet."

" Nesta," said Eustace, following his twin to her
door, " what are you going to do now ? Shall you
tell mother ? "

" Tell mother what ? " asked Nesta, with well-
feigned astonishment

" Why, that you are miserable, and won't stay, and
all that stuff," was the reply.

" Of course not, silly," Nesta retorted. " Any one
can see everything is going to be quite different now
Aunt Dorothy has come."

" Of course, silly," said Eustace, in a mocking tone,
and they both laughed.

" Good-night, you two," said a voice along the
passage, and Herbert turned off into his own room.

" I'm coming to brush my hair in your room to-
night," said Brenda, bearing down upon them, brush
and comb in hand.

Eustace passed on.

" It is all different already," he said softly. " I
think Bob has been right all along — Aunt Dorothy
has bewitched us, every one."

THE END.

FEINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT
THE PRESS OF THE PUBLISHERS.

JS&SOH