In search of fortune: A tale of the old land and the new

by Gordon Stables

Book III.

CHAPTER I.
"IN THIS NEW LAND OF OURS."

There was something in the glorious lonesomeness of Bush-life that accorded most completely with Archie's notions of true happiness and independence. His life now, and the lives of all the three, would be simply what they chose to make them. To use the figurative language of the New Testament, they had "taken hold of the plough," and they certainly had no intention of "looking back."

Archie felt (this too is figurative) as the mariner may be supposed to feel just leaving his native shore to sail away over the broad, the boundless ocean to far-off lands. His hand is on the tiller; the shore is receding; his eye is aloft, where the sails are bellying out before the wind. There is hardly a sound, save the creaking of the blocks, or rattle of the rudder chains, the joyous ripple of the water, and the screaming of the sea-birds, that seem, to sing their farewells. Away ahead is the blue horizon and the heaving sea, but he has faith in his good barque, and faith in his own skill and judgment, and for the time being he is a Viking; he is "monarch of all he surveys."

"Monarch of all he surveys?" Yes; these words are borrowed from the poem on Robinson Crusoe, you remember; that stirring story that so appeals to the heart of every genuine boy.

There was something of the Robinson Crusoe element in Archie's present mode of living, for he and his friends had to rough it in the same delightfully primitive fashion. They had to know and to practise a little of almost every trade under the sun; and while life to the boy—he was really little more—was very real and very earnest, it felt all the time like playing at being a man.

But how am I to account for the happiness—nay, even joyfulness—that appeared to be infused in the young man's very blood and soul? Nay, not appeared to be only, but that actually was—a joyfulness whose effects could at times be actually felt in his very frame and muscle like a proud thrill, that made his steps and tread elastic, and caused him to gaily sing to himself as he went about at his work. May I try to explain this by a little homely experiment, which you yourself may also perform? See, here then I have a small disc of zinc, no larger than a coat button, and I have also a shilling-piece. I place the former on my tongue, and the latter between my lower lip and gum, and lo! the moment I permit the two metallic edges to touch I feel a tingling thrill, and if my eyes be shut I perceive a flash as well. It is electricity pissing through the bodily medium—my tongue. The one coin becomes en rapport, so to speak, with the other. So in like manner was Archie's soul within him en rapport with all the light, the life, the love he saw around him, his body being but the wholesome, healthy, solid medium.

En rapport with the light. Why, by day this was everywhere—in the sky during its mid-day blue brightness; in the clouds so gorgeously painted that lay over the hills at early morning, or over the wooded horizon near eventide. En rapport with the light dancing and shimmering in the pool down yonder; playing among the wild flowers that grew everywhere in wanton luxuriance; flickering through the tree-tops, despite the trailing creepers; gleaming through the tender greens of fern fronds in cool places; sporting with the strange fantastic, but brightly-coloured orchids; turning greys to white, and browns to bronze; warming, wooing, beautifying all things—the light, the lovely light. En rapport with the life. Ay, there it was. Where was it not? In the air, where myriads of insects dance and buzz and sing and poise hawk-like above flowers, as if inhaling their sweetness, or dart hither and thither in their zigzag course, and almost with the speed of lightning; where monster beetles go droning lazily round, as if uncertain where to alight; where moths, like painted fans, hover in the sunshine, or fold their wings and go to sleep on flower-tops. In the forests, where birds, like animated blossoms, living chips of dazzling colours, hop from boughs, climb stems, run along silvery bark on trees, hopping, jumping, tapping, talking, chattering, screaming, with bills that move and throats that heave even when their voices cannot be heard in the feathered babel. Life on the ground, where thousands of busy beetles creep, or play hide-and-seek among the stems of tall grass, and where ants innumerable go in search of what they somehow never seem to find. Life on the water slowly sailing round, or in and out among the reeds, in the form of bonnie velvet ducks and pretty spangled teal. Life in the water, where shoals of fish dart hither and thither, or rest for a moment in shallows to bask in the sun, their bodies all a-quiver with enjoyment. Life in the sky itself, high up. Behold that splendid flock of wonga-wonga pigeons, with bronzen wings, that seem to shake the sunshine off them in showers of silver and gold, or, lower down, that mob of snowy-breasted cockatoos, going somewhere to do something, no doubt, and making a dreadful din about it, but quite a sight, if only from the glints of lily and rose that appear in the white of their outstretched wings and tails. Life everywhere.

En rapport with all the love around him. Yes, for it is spring here, though the autumn tints are on the trees in groves and woods at Burley. Deep down in the forest yonder, if you could penetrate without your clothes being torn from your back, you might listen to the soft murmur of the doves that stand by their nests in the green gloom of fig trees; you would linger long to note the love passages taking place among the cosy wee, bright, and bonnie parrakeets; you would observe the hawk flying silently, sullenly, home to his castle in the inaccessible heights of the gum trees, but you would go quickly past the forest dens of lively cockatoos. For everywhere it is spring with birds and beasts. They have dressed in their gayest; they have assumed their fondest notes and cries; they live and breathe and buzz in an atmosphere of happiness and love.

Well, it was spring with Nature, and it was spring in Archie's heart.

Work was a pleasure to him.

That last sentence really deserves a line to itself. Without the ghost of an intention to moralise, I must be permitted to say, that the youth who finds an undoubted pleasure in working is sure to get on in Australia. There is that in the clear, pure, dry air of the back Bush which renders inactivity an impossibility to anyone except ne'er-do-wells and born idiots. This is putting it strongly, but it is also putting it truthfully.

Archie felt he had done with Sydney, for a time at all events, when he left. He was not sorry to shake the dust of the city from his half-wellingtons as he embarked on the Canny Scotia, bound for Brisbane.

If the Winslows had not been among the passengers he certainly would have given vent to a sigh or two.

All for the sake of sweet little Etheldene? Yes, for her sake. Was she not going to be Rupert's wife, and his own second sister? Oh, he had it all nicely arranged, all cut and dry, I can assure you!

Here is a funny thing, but it is also a fact. The very day that the Canny Scotia was to sail, Archie took Harry with him, and the two started through the city, and bore up for the shop of Mr. Glorie.

They entered. It was like entering a gloomy vault. Nothing was altered. There stood the rows on rows of dusty bottles, with their dingy gilt labels; the dusty mahogany drawers; the morsel of railinged desk with its curtain of dirty red; there were the murky windows with their bottles of crusted yellows and reds; and up there the identical spider still working away at his dismal web, still living in hopes apparently of some day being able to catch a fly.

The melancholy-looking new apprentice, who had doubtless paid the new premium, a long lantern-jawed lad with great eyes in hollow sockets, and a blue-grey face, stood looking at the pair of them.

"Where is your master, Mr.——?"

"Mr. Myers, sir. Myers is my name."

"Where is Mr. Glorie, Mr. Myers?"

"D' ye wish to see 'm, sir?"

"Don't it seem like it?" cried Harry, who for the life of him "could not help putting his oar in."

"Master's at the back, among—the soap."

He droned out the last words in such a lugubrious tone that Archie felt sorry for him.

Just then, thinking perhaps he scented a customer, Mr. Glorie himself entered, all apron from the jaws to the knees.

"Ah! Mr. Glorie," cried Archie. "I really couldn't leave Sydney without saying ta-ta, and expressing iny sorrow for breaking——"

"Your indenture, young sir?"

"No; I'm glad I broke that. I mean the oil-jar. Here is a sovereign towards it, and I hope there's no bad feeling."

"Oh, no, not in the least, and thank you, sir, kindly!"

"Well, good-bye. Good-bye, Mr. Myers. If ever I return from the Bush I'll come back and see you."

And away they went, and away went Archie's feeling; of gloom as soon as he got to the sunny side of the street.

"I say," said Harry, "that's a lively coon behind the counter. Looks to me like a love-sick bandicoot, or a consumptive kangaroo. But don't you know there is such a thing as being too honest? Now that old death-and-glory chap robbed you, and had it been me, and I'd called again, it would have been to kick him. But you're still the old Johnnie."

* * * * * *

Now if I were writing all this tale from imagination, instead of sketching the life and struggles of a real live laddie, I should have ascended into the realms of romance, and made a kind of hero of him thus: he should have gone straight away to the bank when he received that £50 from his uncle, and sent it back, and then gone off to the bush with twopence halfpenny in his pocket, engaged himself to a squatter as under-man, and worked his way right up to the pinnacle of fortune.

But Archie had not done that; and between you and me and the binnacle, not to let it go any further, I think he did an extremely sensible thing in sticking to the money.

Oh, but plenty of young men who do not have uncles to send them fifty-pound notes to help them over their first failures, do very well without such assistance! So let no intending emigrant be disheartened.

Again, as to Winslow's wild way of borrowing said £50, and changing it into £300, that was another "fluke," and a sort of thing that might never happen again in a hundred years.

Pride did come in again, however, with a jump—with a gay Northumbrian bound—when Bob and Harry seriously proposed that Johnnie, as the latter still called him, should put his money in the pool, and share and share alike with them.

"No, no, no," said the young Squire, "don't rile me; that would be so obviously unfair to you, that it would be unfair to myself."

When asked to explain this seeming paradox, he added:

"Because it would rob me of my feeling of independence."

So the matter ended.

But through the long-headed kindness and business tact of Winslow, all three succeeded in getting farms that adjoined, though Archie's was but a patch compared to the united great farms of his chums, that stretched to a goodly two thousand acres and more, with land beyond to take up as pasture.

But then there was stock to buy, and tools, and all kinds of things, to say nothing of men's and boys' wages to be paid, and arms and ammunition to help to fill the larder.

At this time the railway did not go sweeping away so far west as it does now, the colony being very much younger, and considerably rougher; and the farms lay on the edge of the Darling Downs.

This was a great advantage, as it gave them the run of the markets without having to pay nearly as much in transit and freight as the stock was worth.

They had another advantage in their selection—thanks once more to Winslow—they had Bush still farther to the west of them. Not adjacent, to be sure, but near enough to make a shift of stock to grass lands, that could be had for an old song, as the saying is.

The selection was procured under better conditions than I believe it is to be had to-day; for the rent was only about ninepence an acre, and that for twenty years, the whole payable at any time in order to obtain complete possession.*

* At present agricultural farms may be selected of not more than 1280 acres, and the rent is fixed by the Land Board, not being less than threepence per acre per annum. A license is issued to the selector, who must, within five years, fence in the land or make permanent improvements of a value equal to the cost of the fence, and must also live on the selection. If at the end of that time he can prove that he has performed the above conditions, he will be entitled to a transferable lease for fifty years. The rent for the first ten years will be the amount as at first fixed, and the rent for every subsequent period of five years will be determined by the Land Board, but the greatest increase that can be made at any re-assessment is fifty per cent.

It must not be imagined that this new home of theirs was a land flowing with milk and honey, or that they had nothing earthly to do but till the ground, sow seed, and live happy ever after. Indeed the work to be performed was all earthly, and the milk and honey had all to come.

A deal of the very best land in Australia is covered with woods and forests, and clearing has to be done.

Bob wished his busy little body of a wife to stay behind in Brisbane till he had some kind of a decent crib, as he called it, ready to invite her to.

But Sarah said, "No! Where you go I go. Your crib shall be my crib, Bob, and I shall bake the damper." This was not very poetical language, but there was a good deal of sound sense about Sarah, even if there was but little poetry.

Well, it did seem at first a disheartening kind of wilderness they had come to, but the site for the homesteads had been previously selected, and after a night's rest in their rude tents and waggons, work was commenced. Right joyfully too.

"Down with, them! Down
With the lords of the forests."

This was the song of our pioneers. Men shouted and talked, and laughed and joked, saws rasped and axes rang, and all the while duty went merrily on. Birds and beasts, never disturbed before in the solitude of their homes, except by wandering blacks, crowded round—only keeping a safe distance away—and wondered whatever the matter could be. The musical magpies, or laughing jackasses, said they would soon settle the business; they would frighten those new chums out of their wits, and out of the woods. So they started to do it. They laughed in such loud, discordant, daft tones that at times Archie was obliged to put his fingers in his ears, and guns had to be fired to stop the row. So they were not successful. The cockatoos tried the same game; they cackled and skraighed like a million mad hens, and rustled and ruffled their plumage, and flapped their wings and flew, but all to no purpose—the work went on.

The beautiful lorries, parrakeets, and budgerigars took little notice of the intruders, but went farther away, deserting half-built nests to build new ones. The bonnie little long-tailed opossum peeped down from his perch on the gums, looking exceedingly wise, and told his wife that not in all his experience had there been such goings on in the forest lands, and that something was sure to follow it; his wife might mark his words for that. The wongawongas grumbled dreadfully; but great hawks flew high in the air, swooping round and round against the sun, as they have a habit of doing, and now and then gave vent to a shrill cry which was more of exultation than anything else. "There will be dead bones to pick before long." That is what the hawks thought. Snakes now and then got angrily up, puffed and blew a bit, but immediately decamped into the denser cover.

The dingoes kept their minds to themselves until night fell, and the stars came out; the constellation called the Southern Cross spangled the heaven's dark-blue, then the dingoes lifted up their voices and wept; and, oh, such weeping! Whoso has never heard a concert of Australian wild dogs can have no conception of the noise these animals are capable of. Whoso has once heard it, and gone to sleep towards the end of it, will never afterwards complain of the harmless musical reunions of our London cats.

But sleep is often impossible. You have got just to lie in bed and wonder what in the name of mystery they do it for. They seem to quarrel over the key-note, and lose it, and try for it, and get it again, and again go off into a chorus that would "ding doon" Tantallan Castle. And when you do doze off at last, as likely as not, you will dream of howling winds and hungry wolves till it is grey daylight in the morning.

CHAPTER II.
BURLEY NEW FARM.

There was so much to be done before things could be got "straight" on the new station, that the days and weeks flew by at a wonderful pace. I pity the man or boy who is reduced to the expedient of killing time. Why if one is only pleasantly and usefully occupied, or engaged in interesting pursuits, time kills itself, and we wonder where it has gone to.

If I were to enter into a minute description of the setting-up of the stock and agricultural farm, chapter after chapter would have to be written, and still I should not have finished. I do not think it would be unprofitable reading either, nor such as one would feel inclined to skip. But as there are a deal of different ways of building and furnishing new places the plan adopted by the three friends might not be considered the best after all. Besides, improvements are taking place every day even in Bush-life. However, in the free-and-easy life one leads in the Bush one soon learns to feel quite independent of the finer arts of the upholsterer.

In that last sentence I have used the adjective "easy;" but please to observe it is adjoined to another hyphenically, and becomes one with it—"free-and-easy." There is really very little ease in the Bush. Nor does a man want it or care for it—he goes there to work. Loafers had best keep to cities and to city life, and look for their little enjoyments in parks and gardens by day, in smoke-filled billiard-rooms or glaringly-lighted music-halls by night, go to bed at midnight, and make a late breakfast on rusks and soda-water. We citizens of the woods and wilds do not envy them. We go to bed with the birds, or soon after. We go to sleep, no matter how hard our couches may be; and we do sleep too, and wake with clear heads and clean tongues, and after breakfast feel that nothing in the world will be a comfort to us but work. Yes, men work in the Bush; and, strange to say, though they go there young, they do not appear to grow quickly old. Grey hairs may come, and Nature may do a bit of etching on their brows and around their eyes with the pencil of time, but this does not make an atom of difference to their brains and hearts. These get a trifle tougher, that is all, but no older.

Well, of the three friends I think Archie made the best Bushman, though Bob came next, then Harry, who really had developed his powers of mind and body wonderfully, which only just proves that there is nothing after all, even for a Cockney, like rubbing shoulders against a rough world.

A dozen times a week at least Archie mentally thanked his father for having taught him to work at home, and for the training he had received in riding to hounds, in tramping over the fields and moors with Branson, in gaining practical knowledge at the barnyards, and last, though not least, in the good, honest, useful groundwork of education received from his tutor Walton.

There was something else that Archie never failed to feel thankful to heaven for, and that was the education his mother had given him.

Remember this: Archie was but a rough, harum-scarum kind of a British boy at best, and religious teaching might have fallen on his soul as water falls on a duck's back, to use a homely phrase. But as a boy he had lived in an atmosphere of refinement. He constantly breathed it till he became imbued with it; and he received the influence also second-hand, or by reflection, from his brother Rupert and his sister.

Often and often in the Bush, around the log-fire of an evening, did Archie speak proudly of that beloved twain to his companions. His language really had, at times, a smack of real, downright innocence about it, as when he said to Bob once: "Mind you, Bob, I never was what you might call good. I said, and do say, my prayers, and all the like of that; but Roup and Elsie were so high above me that, after coming in from a day's work or a day on the hill, it used to be like going into church on a week-day to enter the green parlour. I felt my own mental weakness, and I tried to put off my soul's roughness with my dirty boots in the kitchen."

But Archie was now an excellent superintendent of work. He knew when things were being well done, and he determined they should be. Nothing riled him more than an attempt on the part of any of the men to take advantage of him.

They soon came to know him; not as a tyrant, but simply as one who would have things rightly done, and who knew when they were being rightly done, even if it were only so apparently simple a matter as planting a fence-post; for there is a right way and a wrong way of doing that.

The men spoke of him as the young Boss. Harry being ignored in all matters that required field-knowledge.

"We don't want nary a plumbline," said a man once, "when the young Boss's around. He carries a plumbline in his eye."

Archie never let any man know when he was angry; but they knew afterwards, however, that he had been so from the consequences. Yet with all his strictness he was kind-hearted, and very just. He had the happy gift of being able to put himself in the servant's place while judging betwixt man and master.

Communications were constantly kept up between the station and the railway, by means of waggons, or drays and saddle-horses. Among the servants were several young blacks. These were useful in many ways, and faithful enough; but required keeping in their places. To be in any way familiar with them was to lose their respect, and they were not of much consequence after that. When completed, the homestead itself was certainly not devoid of comfort, though everything was of the homeliest construction; for no large amount of money was spent in getting it up. A Scotchman would describe it as consisting of "twa butts and a ben," with a wing at the back. The capital letter L, laid down longways thus will give you some notion of its shape. There were two doors in front, and four windows, and a backdoor in the after wing, also having windows. The wing portion of the house contained the kitchen and general sitting-room; the right hand portion the best rooms, ladies' room included, but a door and passage communicated with these and the kitchen.

This house was wholly built of sawn wood, but finished inside with lath and plaster, and harled outside, so that when roofed over with those slabs of wood, such as we see some old-English church steeples made of, called "shingles," the building was almost picturesque. All the more so because it was built on high ground, and trees were left around and near it.

The kitchen and wing were par excellence the bachelor apartments, of an evening at all events.

Every thing that was necessary in the way of furnishing found its way into the homestead of Burley New Farm; but nothing else, with the exception of that of the guests'-room. Of this more anon.

The living-house was completed first; but all the time that this was being built men were very busy on the clearings, and the sites were mapped out for the large wool-shed, with huge adjoining yards, where the sheep at shearing-time would be received and seen to.

There were also the whole paraphernalia and buildings constituting the cattle and horse-yards, a killing and milking-yard; and behind these were slab huts, roofed with huge pieces of bark, rudely but most artistically fixed, for the men.

These last had fire-places, and though wholly built of wood, there was no danger of fire, the chimneys being of stone.

Most of the yards and outhouses were separate from each other, and the whole steading was built on elevated ground, the store-hut being not far from the main or dwelling-house.

I hardly know what to liken the contents of this store, or the inside of the place itself, to. Not unlike perhaps the half-deck or fore-cabin of a Greenland ship on the day when stores are being doled out to the men. Or, to come nearer home, if ever the reader has been in a remote and rough part of our own country, say Wales or Scotland, where gangs of navvies have been encamped for a time, at a spot where a new line of railway is being pushed through a gully or glen.

Just take a peep inside. There is a short counter of the rudest description, on which stand scales and weights, measures and knives. Larger scales stand on the floor, and everywhere around you are heaps of stores, of every useful kind you could possibly name or imagine, and these are best divided into four classes—eatables, wearables, luxuries, and tools.

Harry is at home here, and he has managed to infuse a kind of regularity into the place, and takes a sort of pride in knowing where all his wares are stored. The various departments are kept separate. Yonder, for instance, stand the tea, coffee, and cocoa-nibs, and near them the sugar of two kinds, the bags of flour, the cheeses (in boxes), the salt (in casks), soda, soap, and last, but not least, the tobacco and spirits; this last in a place by vtself, and well out of harm's way. Then there is oil and candles—by-and-bye they will make these on the farm—matches—and this brings us to the luxuries—mustard, pepper of various sorts, vinegar, pickles, curry, potted salmon, and meats of many lands, and bags of rice. Next there is a small store of medicines of the simplest, not to say roughest, sorts, both for man and beast, and rough bandages of flannel and cotton, with a bundle of splints.

Then comes clothing of all kinds—hats, shirts, jackets, boots, shoes, &c. Then tools and cooking utensils; and in a private cupboard, quite away in a corner, the ammunition.

It is unnecessary to add that harness and horse-shoes found a place in this store, or that a desk stood in one corner where account-books were kept, for the men did not invariably pay down on the nail.

I think it said a good deal for Sarah's courage that she came right away down into the Bush with her "little man," and took charge of the cooking department on the station, when it was little, if any, better than simply a camp, with waggons for bedrooms, and a morsel of canvas for gentility's sake.

But please to pop your head inside the kitchen, now that the dwelling-house has been up for some little time. Before you reach the door you will have to do a bit of stepping, for outside nothing is tidied up as yet. Heaps of chips, heaps of stones and sticks and builders' rubbish, are everywhere. Even when you get inside there is a new smell—a limy odour—to greet you in the passage, but in the kitchen itself all is order and neatness. A huge dresser stands against the wall just under the window. The legs of it are a bit rough to be sure, but nobody here is likely to be hypercritical; and when the dinner-hour arrives, instead of the vegetables, meat, and odds-and-ends that now stand thereon, plates, and even knives and forks, will be neatly placed in a row, and Sarah herself, her cooking apron replaced by a neater and nattier one, will take the head of the table, one of the boys will say a shy kind of grace, and the meal will go merrily on.

On a shelf, slightly raised above the floor, stand rows of clean saucepans, stewpans, and a big, family-looking business of a frying-pan; and on the wall hang bright, shining dish-covers, and a couple of racks and shelves laden with delf.

A good fire of logs burns on the low hearth, and there, among ashes pulled on one side for the purpose, a genuine "damper" is baking, while from a movable "sway" depends a chain and crook, on which latter hangs a pot. This contains corned beef—very well, call it salt if you please. Anyhow, when Sarah lifts the lid to stick a fork into the boiling mess an odour escapes and pervades the kitchen quite appetizing enough to make the teeth of a Bushman water, if he had done anything like a morning's work. There is another pot close by the fire, and in this sweet potatoes are boiling.

It is a warm spring day, and the big window is open to admit the air, else poor Sarah would be feeling rather uncomfortable.

What is "damper"? It is simply a huge, thick cake or loaf, made from extremely well-kneaded dough, and baked in the hot ashes of the hearth. Like making good oat cakes, before a person can manufacture a "damper" properly, he must be in a measure to the manner born. There is a deal in the mixing of the dough, and much in the method of firing, and, after all, some people do not care for the article at all, most useful and handy and even edible though it be. But I daresay there are individuals to be found in the world who would turn up their noses at good oat cake. Ah, well, it is really surprising what the air of the Australian Bush does in the way of increasing one's appetite and destroying fastidiousness.

But it is near the dinner-hour, and right nimbly Sarah serves it up; and she has just time to lave her face and hands, and change her apron, when in comes Bob, followed by Archie and Harry. Before he sits down Bob catches hold of Sarah by both hands, and looks admiringly into her face, and ends by giving her rosy cheek a kiss, which resounds through the kitchen rafters like the sound of a cattle-man's whip.

"I declare, Sarah lass," he says heartily, "you are getting prettier and prettier every day. Now at this very moment your lips and cheeks are as red as peonies, and your eyes sparkle as brightly as a young kangaroo's; and if any man a stone heavier than myself will make bold to say that I did wrong to marry you on a week's courtship, I'll kick him over the river and across the creek. 'For what we are about to receive, the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.' Sit in, boys, and fire away. This beef is delightful. I like to see the red juice following the knife; and the sweet potatoes taste well, if they don't look pretty. What, Sarah, too much done? Not a bit o' them."

* * * * * *

The creek that Bob talked about kicking somebody across was a kind of strath or glen not very far from the steading, and lying below it, green and luxuriant at present. It wound away up and down the country for miles, and in the centre of it was a stream or river or burn, well clothed on its banks with bush, and opening out here and there into little lakes or pools. This stream was—so old Bushmen said—never known to run dry.

"In the centre of the glen was a stream, well clothed on its banks with
bush, and opening out here and there into little lakes or pools."

In the winter time it would at times well merit the name of river, especially when after a storm a "spate" came down, with a bore perhaps feet high, carrying along in its dreadful rush tree-trunks, rocks, pieces of bank—everything, in fact, that came in its way, or attempted to withstand its giant power. "Spates," however, our heroes hoped would come but seldom; for it is sad to see the ruin they make, and to notice afterwards the carcases of sheep and cattle, and even horses, that bestrew the haughs, or banks, and give food to prowling dingoes and birds of the air, especially the ubiquitous crow.

The ordinary state of the water, however, is best described by the word stream or rivulet, while in droughty summers it might dwindle down to a mere burn meandering from pool to pool.

The country all around was plain and forest and rolling hills. It was splendidly situated for grazing of a mixed kind. But our three friends were not to be content with this, and told off the best part of it for future agricultural purposes. Even this was to be but a nucleus, and at this moment much of the land then untilled is yielding abundance of grain.

Not until the place was well prepared for them were cattle bought and brought home. Sheep were not to be thought of for a year or two.

With the cattle, when they began to arrive, Winslow, who was soon to pay the new settlement a visit, sent up a few really good stockmen. And now Archie was to see something of Bush-life in reality.

CHAPTER III.
RUNAWAY STOCK—BIVOUAC IN THE BUSH—NIGHT SCENE.

Australian cattle have one characteristic in common with some breeds of pigeons, notably with those we call "homers." They have extremely good memories as to localities, and a habit of "making back," as it is termed, to the pastures from which they have been driven. This comes to be very awkward at times, especially if a whole herd decamps or takes "a moonlight flitting."

It would be mere digression to pause to enquire what God-given instinct it is, that enables half-wild cattle to find their way back to their old homes in as straight a line as possible, even when they have been driven to a new station by circuitous routes. Many other animals have this same homing power; dogs for example, and, to a greater extent, cats. Swallows and sea-birds, such as the Arctic gull, and the albatross, possess it in a very high degree; but it is still more wonderfully displayed in fur seals that, although dispersed to regions thousands and thousands of miles away during winter, invariably and unerringly find their road back to a tiny group of wave and wind-swept islands, four in number, called the Prybilov group, in the midst of the fog-shrouded sea of Behring. The whole question wants a deal of thinking out, and life is far too short to do it in.

* * * * * *

One morning, shortly after the arrival of the first great herd of stock, word was brought to head-quarters that the cattle had escaped by stampede, and were doubtless on their way to the distant station whence they had been bought.

It was no time to ask the question, Who was in fault? Early action was necessary, and was provided for without a moment's hesitation.

I rather think that Archie was glad to have an opportunity of doing a bit of rough riding, and showing off his skill in horse management. He owned what Bob termed a clipper. Not a very handsome horse to look at, perhaps, but fleet enough and strong enough for anything. As sure-footed as a mule was this steed, and as regards wisdom, a perfect equine Solomon.

At a suggestion of Bob's he had been named Tell, in memory of the Tell of other days. Tell had been ridden by Archie for many weeks, so that master and horse knew each other well. Indeed Archie had received a lesson or two from the animal that he was not likely to forget; for one day he had so far forgotten himself as to dig the rowel into Tell's sides, when there was really no occasion to do anything of the sort. This was more than the horse could stand, and, though he was not an out-and-out buck-jumper, nevertheless, a moment after the stirrup performance, Archie found himself making a voyage of discovery, towards the moon apparently. He descended as quickly almost as he had gone up, and took the ground on his shoulder and cheek, which latter was well skinned. Tell had stood quietly by looking at him, and as Archie patted him kindly, he forgave him on the spot, and permitted a remount.

Archie and Bob hardly permitted themselves to swallow breakfast, so anxious were they to join the stockmen and be off.

As there was no saying when they might return, they did not go unprovided for a night or two out. In front of their saddles were strapped their opossum rugs, and they carried also a tin billy each, and provisions, in the shape of tea, damper, and cooked corned beef; nothing else, save a change of socks and their arms.

Bob bade his wife a hurried adieu, Archie waved his hand, and next minute they were over the paddocks and through the clearings and the woods, in which the trees had been ring-barked, to permit the grass to grow. And such tall grass Archie had never before seen as that which grew in some parts of the open.

"Is it going to be a long job, think you, Bob?"

"I hardly know, Archie. But Craig is here."

"Oh, yes, Gentleman Craig, as Mr. Winslow insists on calling him! You have seen him."

"Yes; I met him at Brisbane. And a handsome chap he is. Looks like a prince."

"Isn't it strange he doesn't rise from the ranks, as one might say; that he doesn't get on?"

"I'll tell you what keeps him back," said Bob, reining his horse up to a dead stop, that Archie might hear him all the easier.

"I'll tell you what keeps him back now, before you see him. I mustn't talk loud, for the very birds might go and tell the fellow, and he doesn't like to be 'minded about it. He drinks!"

"But he can't get drink in the Bush."

"Not so easily, though he has been known before now to ride thirty miles to visit a hotel."

"A shanty, you mean."

"Well, they call 'em all hotels over here, you must remember."

"And would he just take a drink and come back?"

Bob laughed.

"Heaven help him, no. It isn't one drink, nor ten, nor fifty he takes, for he makes a week or two of it."

"I hope he won't take any such long rides while he is with us."

"No. Winslow says we are sure of him for six months, anyhow. Then he'll go to town and knock his cheque down. But come on, Craig and his lads will be waiting for us."

At the most southerly and easterly end of the selection they met Gentleman Craig himself.

He rode forward to meet them, lifting his broad hat, and reining up when near enough. He did this in a beautifully urbane fashion, that showed he had quite as much respect for himself as for his employers. He was indeed a handsome fellow, and his rough Garibaldian costume fitted him, and set him out as if he had been some great actor.

"This is an awkward business," he began, with an easy smile; "but I think we'll soon catch the runaways up."

"I hope so," Bob said.

"Oh, it was all my fault, because I'm boss of my gang, you know. I ought to have known better, but a small mob of stray beasts got among ours, and by-and-by there was a stampede. It was dirty-dark last night, and looked like a storm, so there wouldn't have been an ounce of use in following them up."

He flicked his long whip half saucily, half angrily, as he spoke.

"Well, never mind," Bob replied, "we'll have better luck next, I've no doubt."

Away they went now at a swinging trot, and on crossing the creek they met Craig's fellows.

They laid their horses harder at it now, Bob and Archie keeping a bit in the rear, though the latter declared that Tell was pulling like a young steam-engine.

"Why," cried Archie at last, "this beast means to pull my arms out at the shoulders. I always thought I knew how to hold the reins till now."

"They have a queer way with them, those bush-ranging horses," said Bob; "but I reckon you'll get up to them at last."

"If I were to give Tell his head, he would soon be in the van."

"In the van? Oh, I see, in the front!"

"Yes; and then I'd be lost. Why these chaps appear to know every inch of the ground. To me it is simply marvellous."

"Well, the trees are blazed."

"I've seen no blazed trees. Have you?"

"Never a one. I say, Craig."

"Hullo!" cried the head stockman, glancing over his shoulder.

"Are you steering by blazed trees?"

"No," he laughed; "by tracks. Cattle don't mind blazed trees much."

Perhaps Bob felt green now, for he said no more. Archie looked about him, but never a trail nor track could he decipher.

Yet on they rode, helter-skelter apparently, but cautiously enough for all that. Tell was full of fire and fun; for, like Verdant Green's horse, when put at a tiny tree trunk in his way, he took a leap that would have carried him over a five-bar-gate.

There was many a storm-felled tree in the way also and many a dead trunk, half buried in ferns; there were steep stone-clad hills, difficult to climb, but worse to descend, and many a little rivulet to cross; but nothing coidd interfere with the progress of these hardy horses.

Although the sun was blazing hot, no one seemed to feel it much. The landscape was very wild, and very beautiful; but Archie got weary at last of its very loveliness, and was not one whit sorry when the afternoon halt was called under the pleasant shade of trees, and close by the banks of a rippling stream.

The horses were glad to drink as well as the men, then they were hobbled, and allowed to browse while all hands sat down to eat.

Only damper and beef, washed down by a billyful of the clear water, which, strange to say, was wonderfully cool.

When the sun was sinking low on the forest-clad horizon, there was a joyful but half-suppressed shout from Craig and his men. Part of the herd was in sight, quietly browsing up a creek.

Gentleman Craig pointed them out to Archie; but he had to gaze a considerable time before he could really distinguish anything that had the faintest resemblance to cattle.

"Your eye is young yet to the Bush," said Craig, laughing, but not in any unmannerly way.

"And now," he continued, "we must go cautiously or we spoil all."

The horsemen made a wide detour, and got between the bush and the mob; and the ground being favourable, here it was determined to camp for the night. The object of the stockmen was not to alarm the herd, but to prevent them from getting any farther off till morning, when the march homewards would commence. With this intent, log fires were built here and there around the herd; and once these were well alight the mob was considered pretty safe. All, however, had been done very quietly; and during the live-long night, until grey dawn broke over the hills, the fellows would have to keep those fires burning.

Supper was a more pleasing meal, for there was the addition of tea; after which, with their feet to the log fire—Bob and Craig enjoying a whiff of tobacco—they lay as much at their ease, and feeling every whit as comfortable, as if at home by the "ingleside." Gentleman Craig had many stories and anecdotes to relate of the wild life he had had, that both Archie and Bob listened to with delight.

"I'll take one more walk around," said Craig, "then stretch myself on my downy bed. Will you come with me, Mr. Broadbent?"

"With pleasure," said Archie.

"Mind how you step then. Keep your whip in your hand, but on no account crack it. We have to use our intellect versus brute force. If the brute force became alarmed and combined, then our intellect would go to the wall, there would be another stampede, and another long ride to-morrow."

Up and down in the starlight, or by the fitful gleams of the log fires, they could see the men moving like uneasy ghosts. Craig spoke a word or two kindly and quietly as he passed, and having made his inspection, and satisfied himself that all was comparatively safe, he returned with Archie to the fire.

Bob was already fast asleep, rolled snugly in his blanket, with his head in the hollow of his upturned saddle; and Archie and Craig made speed to follow his example.

As for Craig, he was soon in the land of Nod. He was a true Bushman, and could go off sound as a bell the moment he stretched himself on his "downy bed," as he called it.

But Archie felt the situation far too new to permit of slumber all at once. He had never lain out thus before; and the experience was so delightful to him that he felt justified in lying awake a bit, and looking at the stars. The distant dingoes began to howl, and more than once some great dark bird flew over the camp, high overhead, but on silent wings.

His thoughts wandered away over the thousands and thousands of miles that intervened between him and home, and he began to wonder what they were all doing at Burley; for it would be broad daylight there, and very likely his father was trudging over the moors, or through the stubbles. But dreams came and mingled with his waking thoughts at last, and were just usurping them all when he became conscious of the approach of stealthy footsteps.

He lay perfectly still, though his hand sought his ready revolver; for stories of black fellows stealing on out-sleeping travellers began to crowd through his mind, and being young to the Bush, he could not prevent that heart of his from throbbing uneasily and painfully against his ribs.

How did they brain people, he was wondering, with a boomerang or nullah? or was it not more common to spear them?

But, greatly to his relief, the figure immediately afterwards revealed itself in the person of one of the men, silently placing an armful of wood on the half-dying embers. Then he silently glided away again, and next minute Archie was wrapt in the elysium of forgetfulness.

The dews lay all about, glittering in the first beams of the sun, when he awoke, feeling somewhat cold and considerably stiff; but warm tea and a breakfast of wondrous solidity soon put him all to rights again.

Two nights after this the new stock was safe in the yards; and every evening before sundown, for many a day to come, they had to be "tailed," and brought within the strong bars of the rendezvous.

Branding was the next business. This is no trifling matter with old cattle. With the calves indeed it is a bit troublesome at times, but the grown-up ones resent the adding of insult to injury. It is no uncommon thing for men to be severely injured during the operation. Nevertheless the agility displayed by the stockmen and their excessive coolness is marvellous to behold.

Most of those cattle were branded with a "B.H.," which stood for Bob and Harry; but some were marked with the letters "A.B.," for Archibald Broadbent, and—I need not hide the truth—Archie was a proud young man when he saw these marks. He realized now fully that he had commenced life in earnest, and was a squatter, not only in name, but in reality.

The fencing work and improvements still went gaily on, the ground being divided into immense paddocks, many of which our young farmers trusted to see ere long covered with waving grain.

The new herds soon got used to the country, and settled down on it, dividing themselves quietly into herds of their own making, that were found browsing together mornings and evenings in the best pastures, or gathered in mobs during the fierce heat of the middle-day.

Archie quickly enough acquired the craft of a cunning and bold stockman, and never seemed happier than when riding neck and neck with some runaway semi-wild bull, or riding in the midst of a mob, selecting the beast that was wanted. And at a job like the latter Tell and he appeared to be only one individual betwixt the two of them, like the fabled Centaur. He came to grief though once, while engaged heading a bull in as ugly a bit of country as any stockman ever rode over. It happened—— Next chapter, please.

CHAPTER IV.
A WILD ADVENTURE—ARCHIE'S PRIDE RECEIVES A FALL.

It happened—I was going to say at the end of the other page—that in a few weeks' time Mr. Winslow paid his promised visit to Burley New Farm, as the three friends called it.

Great preparations had been made beforehand because Etheldene was coming with her father, and was accompanied by a black maid. Both Etheldene and her maid had been accommodated with a dray, and when Sarah, with her cheeks like ripe cherries, and her eyes like sloes, showed the young lady to her bedroom, Etheldene was pleased to express her delight in no measured terms. She had not expected anything like this. Real mattresses, with real curtains, a real sofa, and real lace round the looking-glass.

"It is almost too good for Bush-life," said Etheldene; "but I am so pleased, Mrs. Cooper; and everything is as clean and tidy as my own rooms in Sydney. Father, do come and see all this, and thank Mrs. Cooper prettily."

Somewhat to Archie's astonishment a horse was led round next morning for Etheldene, and she appeared in a pretty dark habit, and was helped into the saddle, and gathered up the reins, and looked as calm and self-possessed as a princess could have done.

It was Gentleman Craig who was the groom, and a gallant one he made. For the life of him Archie could not help envying the man for his excessive coolness, and would have given half of his cattle—those vith the bold "A.B.'s" on them—to have been only half as handsome.

Never mind. Archie is soon mounted, and cantering away by the young lady's side, and feeling so buoyant and happy all over that he would not have exchanged places with a king on a throne.

"Oh, yes," said Etheldene, laughing, as she replied to a question of Archie's, "I know nearly everything about cattle, and sheep too! But," she added, "I'm sure you are clever among them already."

Archie felt the blood mount to his forehead; but he took off his broad hat and bowed for the compliment, almost as prettily as Gentleman Craig could have done himself.

Now, there is such a thing as being too clever, and it was trying to be clever that led poor Archie to grief that day.

The young man was both proud and pleased to have an opportunity of showing Etheldene round the settlement, all the more so that there was to be a muster of the herds that day, and neighbour-squatters had come on horseback to assist. This was a kind of a love-darg which was very common in Queensland a few years ago, and probably is to this day.

Archie pointed laughingly towards the stock-whip Etheldene carried. He never for a moment imagined it was in the girl's power to use or manage such an instrument.

"That is a pretty toy, Miss Winslow," he said.

"Toy, do you call it, sir?" said this young Diana, pouting prettily. "It is only a lady's whip, for the thong is but ten feet long. But listen."

It flew from her hands as she spoke, and the sound made every animal within hearing raise head and sniff the air.

"Well," said Archie, "I hope you won't run into any danger."

"Oh," she exclaimed, "danger is fun!" And she laughed right merrily, and looked as full of life and beauty as a bird in spring-time.

Etheldene was tall and well-developed for her age, for girls in this strange land very soon grow out of their childhood.

Archie had called her Diana in his own mind, and before the day was over she certainly had given proof that she well merited the title.

New herds had arrived, and had for one purpose or another to be headed into the stock yards. This is a task of no little difficulty, and to-day being warm these cattle appeared unusually fidgety. Twos and threes frequently stampeded from the mob, and went determinedly dashing back towards the creek and forest, so there was plenty of opportunities for anyone to show off his horsemanship. Once during a chase like this Archie was surprised to see Etheldene riding neck and neck for a time with a furious bull. He trembled for her safety as he dashed onwards to her assistance. But crack, crack, crack went the brave girl's whip; she punished the runaway most unmercifully, and had succeeded in turning him ere her Northumbrian cavalier rode up. A moment more and the bull was tearing back towards the herd he had left, a stockman or two following close behind.

"I was frightened for you," said Archie.

"Pray, don't be so, Mr. Broadbent. I don't want to think myself a child, and I should not like you to think me one. Mind, I've been in the Bush all my life."

But there was more and greater occasion to be frightened for Etheldene ere the day was done. In fact, she ran so madly into danger, that the wonder is she escaped. She had a gallant, soft-mouthed horse—that was one thing to her advantage—and the girl had a gentle hand.

But Archie drew rein himself, and held his breath with fear, to see a maddened animal, that she was pressing hard, turn wildly round and charge back on horse and rider with all the fury imaginable. A turn of the wrist of the bridle hand, one slight jerk of the fingers, and Etheldene's horse had turned on a pivot, we might almost say, and the danger was over.

So on the whole, instead of Archie having had a very grand opportunity for showing off his powers before this young Diana, it was rather the other way.

The hunt ended satisfactory to both parties; and while Sarah was getting an extra good dinner ready, Archie proposed a canter "to give them an appetite."

"Have you got an appetite, Mr. Broadbent? I have."

It was evident Etheldene was not too fine a lady to deny the possession of good health.

"Yes," said Archie; "to tell you the plain truth, I'm as hungry as a hunter. But it'll do the nags good to stretch their legs after so much wheeling and swivelling."

So away they rode again, side by side, taking the blazed path towards the plains.

"You are sure you can find your way back, I suppose?" said Etheldene.

"I think so."

"It would be good fun to be lost."

"Would you really like to be?"

"Oh, we would not be altogether, you know! We would find our way to some hut and eat damper, or to some grand hotel, I suppose, in the Bush, and father and Craig would soon find us."

"Father and you have known Craig long?"

"Yes, many, many years. Poor fellow, it is quite a pity for him. Father says he was very clever at college, and is a Master of Arts of Cambridge."

"Well, he has taken his hogs to a nice market."

"But father would do a deal for him if he could trust him. He has told father over and over again that plenty of people would trust him if he could only trust himself."

"Poor man! So nice-looking too! They may well call him Gentleman Craig."

"But is it not time we were returning?"

"Look! look!" she cried, before Archie could answer. "Yonder is a bull-fight. Whom does the little herd belong to?"

"Not to us. We are far beyond even our pastures. We have cut away from them. This is a kind of no-man's land, where we go shooting at times; and I daresay they are trespassers or wild cattle. Pity they cannot be tamed."

"They are of no use to anyone, I have heard father say, except to shoot. If they be introduced into a herd of stock cattle, they teach all the others mischief. But see how they fight! Is it not awful?"

"Yes. Had we not better return? I do not think your father would like you to witness such sights as that."

The girl laughed lightly.

"Oh," she cried, "you don't half know father yet! He trusts me everywhere. He is very, very good, though not so refined as some would have him to be."

The cows of this herd stood quietly by chewing their cuds, under the shade of a huge gum tree, while two red-eyed giant bulls struggled for mastery in the open.

It was a curious fight, and a furious fight. At the time Archie and his companion came in sight of the conflict, they had closed, and were fencing with their horns with as much skill, apparently, as any two men armed with foils could have displayed. The main points to be gained appeared to be to unlock or get out of touch of each other's horns long enough to stab in neck and shoulder, and during the time of being in touch to force back and gain ground. Once during this fight the younger bull backed his opponent right to the top of a slight hill. It was a supreme effort, and evidently made in the hope that he would hurl him from a height at the other side. But in this he was disappointed; for the top was level, and the older one, regaining strength, hurled his enemy down the hill again far more quickly than he had come up. Round and round, and from side to side, the battle raged, till at long last the courage and strength of one failed completely. He suffered himself to be backed, and it was evident was only waiting an opportunity to escape uncut and unscathed. This came at length, and he turned and, with a cry of rage, dashed madly away to the forest. The battle now became a chase, and the whole herd, holloaing good luck to the victor, joined in it.

As there was no more to be seen, Archie and Etheldene turned their horses' heads homewards.

They had not ridden far, however, before the vanquished bull himself hove in sight. He was alone now, though still tearing off in a panic, and moaning low and angrily to himself.

It was at this moment that what Archie considered a happy inspiration took possession of our impulsive hero. "Let us wait till he passes," he said, "and drive him before us to camp."

Easily said. But how was it to be done? They drew back within the shadow of a tree, and the bull rushed past. Then out pranced knight Archie, cracking his stock whip.

The monster paused, and wheeling round tore up the ground with his hoofs in a perfect agony of anger.

"What next?" he seemed to say to himself. "It is bad enough to be beaten before the herd; but I will have my revenge now."

The brute's roaring now was like the sound of a gong, hollow and ringing, but dreadful to listen to.

Archie met him boldly enough, intending to cut him in the face as he dashed past. In his excitement he dug his spurs into Tell, and next minute he was on the ground. The bull rushed by, but speedily wheeled, and came tearing back, sure now of blood in which to dip his ugly hoofs.

Archie had scrambled up, and was near a tree when the infuriated beast came down on the charge. Even at this moment of supreme danger Archie—he remembered this afterwards—could not help admiring the excessively business-like way the animal came at him to break him up. There was a terrible earnestness and a terrible satisfaction in his face or eyes; call it what you like, there it was.

Near as Archie was to the tree, to reach and get round it was impossible. He made a movement to get at his revolver; but it was too late to draw and fire, so at once he threw himself flat on the ground. The bull rushed over him, and came into collision with the tree-trunk. This confused him for a second or two, and Axchie had time to regain his feet. He looked wildly about for his horse. Tell was quietly looking on; he seemed to be waiting for his young master. But Archie never would have reached the horse alive had not brave Etheldene's whip not been flicked with painful force across the bull's eyes. That blow saved Archie, though the girl's horse was wounded on the flank.

"Archie never would have reached the horse alive had not brave
Etheldene's whip been flicked with painful force across the bull's eyes.
That blow saved Archie, though the girl's horse was wounded on the flank."

A minute after both were galloping speedily across the plain, all danger over; for the bull was still rooting around the tree, apparently thinking that his tormentors had vanished through the earth.

"How best can I thank you?" Archie was saying.

"By saying nothing about it," was Etheldene's answer.

"But you have saved my life, child."

"A mere bagatelle, as father says," said this saucy Queensland maiden, with an arch look at her companion. But Archie did not look arch as he put the next question.

"Which do you mean is the bagatelle, Etheldene, my life, or the saving of it?"

"Yes, you may call me Etheldene—father's friends do—but don't, please, call me child again."

"I beg your pardon, Etheldene."

"It is granted, sir."

"But now you haven't answered my question."

"What was it? I'm so stupid!"

"Which did you mean was the bagatelle—my life, or the saving of it?"

"Oh, both!"

"Thank you."

"I wish I could save Gentleman Craig's life," she added, looking thoughtful and earnest all in a moment.

"Bother Gentleman Craig!" thought Archie; but he was not rude enough to say so.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because he once saved mine. That was when I was lost in the Bush, you know. He will tell you some day—I will ask him to. He is very proud though, and does not Like to talk very much about himself."

Archie was silent for a short time. Why, he was wondering to himself, did it make him wretched—as it certainly had done—to have Etheldene look upon his life and the saving of it as a mere bagatelle. Why should she not? Still the thought was far from pleasant. Perhaps, if he had been killed outright, she would have ridden home and reported his death in the freest and easiest manner, and the accident would not have spoiled her dinner. The girl could have no feeling; and yet he had destined her, in his own mind, to be Rupert's wife. She was unworthy of so great an honour. It should never happen if he could prevent it. Suddenly it occurred to him to ask her what a bagatelle was.

"A bagatelle?" she replied. "Oh, about a thousand pounds. Father always speaks of a thousand pounds as a mere bagatelle."

Archie laughed aloud—he could not help it; but Etheldene looked merrily at him as she remarked quietly, "You wouldn't laugh if you knew what I know."

"Indeed! What is it?"

"We are both lost!"

"Goodness forbid!"

"You won't have grace to say to-day—there will be no dinner; that's always the worst of being lost."

Archie looked around him. There was not a blazed tree to be seen, and he never remembered having been in the country before in which they now rode.

"We cannot be far out," he said, "and I believe we are riding straight for the creek."

"So do I, and that is one reason why we are both sure to be wrong. It's great fun, isn't it?"

"I don't think so. We're in an ugly fix. I really thought I was a better Bushman than I am."

Poor Archie! His pride had received quite a series of ugly falls since morning, but this was the worst come last. He felt a very crestfallen cavalier indeed.

It did not tend to raise his spirits a bit to be told that if Gentleman Craig were here, he would find the blazed-tree line in a very short time.

But things took a more cheerful aspect when out from a clump of trees rode a rough-looking stockman, mounted on a sackful of bones in the shape of an aged white horse.

He stopped right in front of them.

"Hillo, younkers! Whither away? Can't be sun-downers, sure—ly!"

"No," said Archie; "we are not sundowners. We are riding straight home to Burley New Farm."

"'Xcuse me for contradicting you flat, my boy. It strikes me ye ain't boss o' the sitivation. Feel a kind o' bushed, don't ye?"

Archie was fain to confess it.

"Well, I know the tracks, and if ye stump it along o' me, ye won't have to play at babes o' the wood to-night."

They did "stump it along o' him," and before very long found themselves in the farm pasture lands.

They met Craig coming, tearing along on his big horse, and glad he was to see them.

"Oh, Craig," cried Etheldene, "we've been having such fun, and been bushed, and everything!"

"I found this 'ere young gent a-bolting with this 'ere young lady," said their guide, whom Craig knew and addressed by the name of Hurricane Bill.

"A runaway match, eh? Now, who was in the fault? But I think I know. Let me give you a bit of advice, sir. Never trust yourself far in the Bush with Miss Ethie. She doesn't mind a bit being lost, and I can't be always after her. Well, dinner is getting cold."

"Did you wait for us?" said Etheldene.

"Not quite unanimously, Miss Ethie. It was like this: Mr. Cooper and Mr. Harry waited for you, and your father waited for Mr. Broadbent. It comes to the same thing in the end, you know."

"Yes," said Etheldene, "and it's funny."

"What did you come for, Bill? Your horse looks a bit jaded."

"To invite you all to the hunt. Findlayson's compliments, and all that genteel nonsense; and come as many as can. Why, the kangaroos, drat 'em, are eating us up. What with them and the dingoes we've been having fine times, I can tell ye!"

"Well, it seems to me, Bill, your master is always in trouble. Last year it was the blacks, the year before he was visited by bushrangers, wasn't he?"

"Ye—es. Fact is we're a bit too far north, and a little too much out west, and so everything gets at us like."

"And when is the hunt?"

"Soon's we can gather."

"I'm going for one," said Etheldene.

"What you, Miss?" said Hurricane Bill. "You're most too young, ain't ye?"

The girl did not condescend to answer him.

"Come, sir, we'll ride on," she said to Archie.

And away they flew.

"Depend upon it, Bill, if she says she is going, go she will, and there's an end of it."

"Humph!" That was Bill's reply. He always admitted he had "no great fancy for womenfolks."

CHAPTER V
ROUND THE LOG-FIRE—HURRICANE BILL AND THE
TIGER-SNAKE—GENTLEMAN CRAIG'S RESOLVE.

Kangaroo driving or hunting is one of the wild sports of Australia, though I have heard it doubted whether there was any real sport in it. It is extremely exciting, and never much more dangerous than a ride after the hounds at home in a rough country.

It really does seem little short of murder, however, to surround the animals and slay them wholesale; only, be it remembered, they are extremely hard upon the herbage. It has been said that a kangaroo will eat as much as two sheep; whether this be true or not, these animals must be kept down, or they will keep the squatter down. Every other species of wild animal disappears before man, but kangaroos appear to imagine that human beings were sent into the bush to make two blades of grass grow where only one grew before, and that both blades belong to them.

The only people from Burley New Farm who went to the Findlayson kangaroo drive were Harry, Archie, and Etheldene, and Craig to look after her. Mr. Winslow stopped at home with Bob, to give him advice and suggest improvements; for he well knew his daughter would be safe with Gentleman Craig.

It was a long ride, however, and one night was to be spent in camp; but as there was nothing to do, and nothing in the shape of cattle or sheep to look after, it was rather jolly than otherwise. They found a delightful spot near a clear pool and close by the forest to make their pitch on for the night.

Hurricane Bill was the active party on this occasion; he found wood with the help of Harry, and enough of it to last till the morning. The beauty, or one of the beauties, of the climate in this part of Australia is, that with the sun the thermometer sinks, and the later spring and even summer nights are very pleasant indeed.

When supper was finished, and tea, that safest and best of stimulants, had been discussed, talking became general; everybody was in good spirits in the expectation of some fun on the morrow; for a longish ride through the depth of that gloomy forest would bring them to the plain and to Findlayson's in time for a second breakfast.

Hurricane Bill told many a strange story of Australian life, but all in the way of conversation; for Bill was a shy kind of man, and wanted a good deal of drawing-out, as the dog said about the badger.

Archie gave his experiences of hunting in England, and of shooting and fishing and country adventure generally in that far-off land, and he had no more earnest listener than Etheldene. To her England was the land of romance. Young though she was, she had read the most of Walter Scott's novels, and had an idea that England and Scotland were still peopled as we find these countries described by the great wizard, and she did not wish to be disillusioned. The very mention of the word "castle," or "ruin," or "coat of mail," brought fancies and pictures into her mind that she would not have had blotted out on any account.

Over and over again, many a day and many a time, she had made Archie describe to her every room in the old farm; and his turret-chamber high up above the tall-spreading elm trees, where the rooks built and cawed in spring, and through which the wild winds of winter moaned and soughed when the leaves had fallen, was to Etheldene a veritable room in fairy-land.

"Oh," she said to-night, "how I should love it all! I do want to go to England, and I'll make father take me just once before I die."

"Before ye die, miss!" said Hurricane Bill. "Why it is funny to hear the likes o' you, with all the world before ye, talkin' about dying."

Well, by-and-by London was mentioned, and then it was Harry's turn. He was by no means sorry to have something to say.

"Shall I describe to you, Miss Winslow," he said, "some of the wild sights of Whitechapel?"

"Is it a dreadfully wild place, Mr. Brown?"

"It is rather; eh, Johnnie?"

"I don't know much about it, Harry."

"Well, there are slums near by there, miss, that no man with a black coat and an umbrella dare enter in daylight owing to the wild beasts. Then there are peelers."

"What are peelers? Monkeys?"

"Yes, miss; they are a sort of monkeys—blue monkeys—and carry sticks same as the real African ourangoutangs do. And can't they use them too!"

"Are they very ugly?"

"Awful, and venomous too; and at night they have one eye that shines in the dark like a wild cat's, and you've got to stand clear when that eye's on you."

"Well," said Etheldene, "I wouldn't like to be lost in a place like that. I'd rather be bushed where I am. But I think, Mr. Brown, you are laughing at me. Are there any snakes in Whitechapel?"

"No, thank goodness; no, miss. I can't stand snakes much."

"There was a pretty tiger crept past you just as I was talking though," she said with great coolness.

Harry jumped and shook himself. Etheldene laughed.

"It is far enough away by this time," she remarked. "I saw something ripple past you, Harry, like a whip-thong. I thought my eyes had made it."

"You brought it along with the wood perhaps," said Craig quietly.

"'Pon my word," cried Harry, "you're a lot of Job's comforters, all of you. D'ye know I won't sleep one blessed wink to-night. I'll fancy every moment there is a snake in my blanket or under the saddle."

"They won't come near you, Mr. Brown," said Craig. "They keep as far away from Englishmen as possible."

"Not always," said Bill. "Maybe ye wouldn't believe it, but I was bitten and well-nigh dead, and it was a tiger as done it. And if I ain't English, then there ain't an Englishman 'twist 'ere and Melbourne. See that, miss?" He held up a hand in the firelight as he spoke.

"Why," said Etheldene, "you don't mean to say the snake bit off half your little finger?"

"Not much I don't; but he bit me on the finger, miss. I was a swagsman then, and was gathering wood, as we were to-night, when I got nipped, and my chum tightened a morsel of string round it to keep the poison away from the heart, then he laid the finger on a stone and chopped it off with his spade. Fact what I'm telling you. But the poison got in the blood somehow all the same. They half carried me to Irish Charlie's hotel. Lucky, that wasn't far off. Then they stuck the whiskey into me."

"Did the whiskey kill the poison?" said Archie.

"Whiskey kill the poison! Why, young sir, Charlie's whiskey would have killed a kangaroo! But nothing warmed me that night; my blood felt frozen. Well, sleep came at last, and, oh, the dreams! 'Twere worse ten thousand times than being wi' Daniel in the den o' lions. Next day nobody hardly knew me; I was blue and wrinkled. I had aged ten years in a single night."

"I say," said Harry, "suppose we change the subject."

"And I say," said Craig, "suppose we make the beds."

He got up as he spoke, and began to busy himself in preparations for Etheldene's couch. It was easily and simply arranged, but the arrangement nevertheless showed considerable forethought.

He disappeared for a few minutes, and returned laden with all the necessary paraphernalia. A seven-foot pole was fastened to a tree; the other end supported by a forked stick, which he sharpened and drove into the ground. Some grass was spread beneath the pole, a blanket thrown carefully over it, the upturned saddle put down for a pillow, and a tent formed by throwing over the pole a loose piece of canvas that he had taken from his saddle-bow, weighted down by some stones, and the whole was complete.

"Now, Baby," said Craig, handing Etheldene a warm rug, "will you be pleased to retire?"

"Where is my flat candlestick?" she answered.

Gentleman Craig pointed to the Southern Cross.

"Yonder," he said. "Is it not a lovely one?"

"It puts me in mind of old, old times," said Etheldene with a sigh. "And you're calling me 'Baby' too. Do you remember, ever so long ago in the Bush, when I was a baby in downright earnest, how you used to sing a lullaby to me outside my wee tent?"

"If you go to bed, and don't speak any more, I may do so again."

"Good-night then. Sound sleep to everybody. What fun!" Then Baby disappeared.

Craig sat himself down near the tent, after replenishing the fire—he was to keep the first watch, then Bill would come on duty—and at once began to sing, or rather 'croon' over, an old, old song. His voice was rich and sweet, and though he sang low it could be heard distinctly enough by all, and it mingled almost mournfully with the soughing of the wind through the tall trees.

"My song is rather a sorrowful ditty," he had half-whispered to Archie before he began; "but it is poor Miss Ethie's favourite." But long before Craig had finished no one around the log fire was awake but himself.

He looked to his rifle and revolvers, placed them handy in case of an attack by blacks, then once more sat down, leaning his back against a tree and giving way to thought.

Not over pleasant thoughts were those of Gentleman Craig's, as might have been guessed from his frequent sighs as he gazed earnestly into the fire.

What did he see in the fire? Tableaux of his past life? Perhaps or perhaps not. At all events they could not have been very inspiriting ones. No one could have started in life with better prospects than he had done; but he carried with him wherever he went; his own fearful enemy, something that would not leave him alone, but was ever, ever urging him to drink. Even as a student he had been what was called "a jolly fellow," and his friendship was appreciated by scores who knew him. He loved to be considered the life and soul of a company. It was an honour dearer to him than anything else; but deeply, dearly had he paid for it.

By this time he might have been honoured and respected in his own country, for he was undoubtedly clever; but he had lost himself, and lost all that made life dear—his beautiful, queenly mother. He would never see her more. She was dead, yet the memory of the love she bore him was still the one, the only ray of sunshine left in his soul.

And he had come out here to Australia determined to turn over a new leaf. Alas! he had not done so.

"Oh, what a fool I have been!" he said in his thoughts, clenching his fists until the nails almost cut the palms.

He started up now and went wandering away towards the trees. There was nothing that could hurt him there. He felt powerful enough to grapple with a dozen blacks, but none were in his thoughts; and, indeed, none were in the forest.

He could talk aloud now, as he walked rapidly up and down past the weird grey trunks of the gum trees.

"My foolish pride has been my curse," he said bitterly. "But should I allow it to be so? The thing lies in a nutshell. I have never yet had the courage to say, 'I will not touch the hateful firewater, because I cannot control myself if I do.' If I take but one glass I arouse within me the dormant fiend, and he takes possession of my soul, and rules all my actions until sickness ends my carousal, and I am left weak as a child in soul and body. If I were not too proud to say those words to my fellow-beings, if I were not afraid of being laughed at as a coward! Ah, that's it! It is too hard to bear! Shall I face it? Shall I own myself a coward in this one thing? I seem compelled to answer myself, to answer my own soul. Or is it my dead mother's spirit speaking through my heart? Oh, if I thought so I—I——"

Here the strong man broke down. He knelt beside a tree-trunk and sobbed like a boy. Then he prayed; and when he got up from his knees he was calm. He extended one hand towards the stars.

"Mother," he said, "by God's help I shall be free."

* * * * * *

When the morning broke pale and golden over the eastern hills, and the laughing jackasses came round to smile terribly loud and terribly chaffingly at the white men's preparation for their simple breakfast, Craig moved about without a single trace of his last night's sorrow. He was busy looking after the horses when Etheldene came bounding towards him with both hands extended, so frank and free and beautiful that as he took hold of them he could not help saying:

"You look as fresh as a fern this morning, Baby."

"Not so green, Craig. Say 'Not so green.'"

"No, not so green. But really to look at you brings a great big wave of joy surging all over my heart. But to descend from romance to common-sense. I hope you are hungry? I have just been seeing to your horse. Where do you think I found him?"

"I couldn't guess."

"Why in the water down yonder. Lying down and wallowing."

"The naughty horse! Ah, here come the others! Good morning all."

"We have been bathing," said Archie. "Oh, how delicious!"

"Yes," said Harry; "Johnnie and I were bathing down under the trees, and it really was a treat to see how quickly he came to bank when I told him there was an alligator taking stock."

"We scared the ducks though. Pity we didn't bring our guns and bag a few."

"I believe we'll have a right good breakfast at Findlayson's," said Craig; "so I propose we now have a mouthful of something and start."

The gloom of that deep forest became irksome at last; though some of its trees were wondrous to behold in their stately straightness and immensity of size, the trunks of others were bent and crooked into such weird forms of contortion, that they positively looked uncanny.

Referring to these, Archie remarked to Craig, who was riding by his side:

"Are they not grotesquely beautiful?"

Craig laughed lightly.

"Their grotesqueness is apparent anyhow," he replied. "But would you believe it, in this very forest I was a week mad?"

"Mad!"

"Yes; worse than mad—delirious. Oh, I did not run about, I was too feeble! but a black woman or girl found me, and built a kind of bark gunja over me, for it rained part of the time and dripped the rest. And those trees with their bent and gnarled stems walked about me, and gibbered and laughed, and pointed crooked fingers at me. I can afford to smile at it now but it was very dreadful then; and the worst of it was I had brought it all on myself."

Archie was silent.

"You know in what way?" added Craig.

"I have been told," Archie said, simply and sadly.

"For weeks, Mr. Broadbent, after I was able to walk, I remained among the blacks doing nothing, just wandering aimlessly from place to place; but the woods and the trees looked no longer weird and awful to me then, for I was in my right mind. It was spring—nay, but early summer—and I could feel and drink in all the gorgeous beauty of foliage, of tree flowers and wild flowers, nodding palms and feathery ferns; but, oh! I left and went south again; I met once more the white man, and forgot all the religion of Nature in which my soul had for a time been steeped. So that is all a kind of confession. I feel the better for having made it. We are all poor, weak mortals at the best; only I made a resolve last night."

"You did?"

"Yes; and I am going to keep it. I am going to have help."

"Help!"

"Yes, from Him who made those stately giants of the forest and changed their stems to silvery white. He can change all things."

"Amen!" said Archie solemnly.

CHAPTER VI.
AT FINDLAYSON'S FARM—THE GREAT KANGAROO
HUNT—A DINNER AND CONCERT.

Gentleman Craig was certainly a strange mortal; but after all he was only the type of a class of men to be found at most of our great universities. Admirable Crichtons in a small way, in the estimation of their friends—bold, handsome, careless, and dashing, not to say clever—they may go through the course with flying colours. But too often they strike the rocks of sin and sink, going out like the splendid meteors of a November night, or sometimes—if they continue to float—they are sent off to Australia, with the hopes of giving them one more chance. Alas! they seldom get farther than the cities. It is only the very best and boldest of them that reach the Bush, and there you may find them building fences or shearing sheep. If any kind of labour at all is going to make men of them, it is this.

Two minutes after Craig had been talking to Archie, the sweet, clear, ringing notes of his manly voice were awaking echoes far a-down the dark forest.

Parrots and parrakeets, of lovely plumage, fluttered nearer, holding low their wise, old-fashioned heads to look and listen. Lyre-birds hopped out from under green fern-bushes, raising their tails and glancing at their figures in the clear pool. They listened too, and ran back to where their nests were to tell their wives men-people were passing through the forest singing; but that they, the cock lyre-birds, could sing infinitely better if they tried.

On and on and on went the cavalcade, till sylvan beauty itself began to pall at last, and no one was a bit sorry when all at once the forest ended, and they were out on a plain, out in the scrub, with, away beyond, gently-rising hills, on which trees were scattered.

The bleating of sheep now made them forget all about the gloom of the forest. They passed one or two rude huts, and then saw a bigger smoke in the distance, which Bill told Archie was Findlayson's.

Findlayson came out to meet them. A Scot every inch of him, you could tell that at a glance. A Scot from the soles of his rough shoes to the rim of his hat; brown as to beard and hands, and with a good-natured face the colour of a badly-burned brick.

He bade them welcome in a right hearty way, and helped "the lassie" to dismount.

He had met "the lassie" before.

"But," he said, "I wadna hae kent ye; you were but a bit gilpie then. Losh! but ye have grown. Your father's weel, I suppose? Ah, it'll be a while afore anybody makes such a sudden haul at the diggin' o' gowd as he did! But come in. It's goin' to be anither warm day, I fear.

"Breakfast is a' ready. You'll have a thistle fu' o' whiskey first, you men folks. Rin butt the hoose, my dear, and see my sister. Tell her to boil the eggs, and lift the bacon and the roast ducks."

He brought out the bottle as he spoke. Both Harry and Archie tasted to please him. But Craig went boldly into battle.

"I'm done with it, Findlayson," he said. "It has been my ruin. I'm done. I'm a weak fool."

"But a wee drap wadna hurt you, man. Just to put the dust out o' your wizzen."

Craig smiled.

"It is the wee draps," he replied, "that do the mischief."

"Well, I winna try to force you. Here comes the gude wife wi' the teapot."

"Bill," he continued, "as soon as you've satisfied the cravins o' Nature, mount the grey colt, and ride down the Creek, and tell them the new chums and I will be wi' them in half an hour."

And in little over that specified time they had all joined the hunt.

Black folks and "orra men," as Findlayson called them, were already detouring around a wide track of country to beat up the kangaroos.

There were nearly a score of mounted men, but only one lady besides Etheldene, a squatter's bold sister.

The dogs were a sight to look at. They would have puzzled some Englishmen what to make of them. Partly greyhounds, but larger, sturdier, and stronger, as if they had received at one time a cross of mastiff. They looked eminently fit, however, and were with difficulty kept back. Every now and then a distant shout was heard, and at such times the hounds seemed burning to be off.

But soon the kangaroos themselves began to appear thick and fast. They came from one part or another in little groups, meeting and hopping about in wonder and fright. They seemed only looking for a means of escape; and at times, as a few rushing from one direction met others, they appeared to consult. Many stood high up, as if on tiptoe, gazing eagerly around, with a curious mixture of bewilderment and fright displayed on their simple but gentle faces.

They got small time to think now, however, for men and dogs were on them, and the flight and the murder commenced with a vengeance. There were black fellows there, who appeared to spring suddenly from the earth, spear-armed, to deal terrible destruction right and left among the innocent animals. And black women too, who seemed to revel in the bloody sight. If the whites were excited and thirsty for carnage, those aborigines were doubly so.

Meanwhile the men had dismounted, Archie and Harry among the rest, and were firing away as quickly as possible. There is one thing to be said in favour of the gunners; they took good aim, and there was little after-motion in the body of the kangaroo in which a bullet had found a billet.

After all Archie was neither content with the sport, nor had it come up as yet to his beau ideal of adventure from all he had heard and read of it. The scene was altogether noisy, wild, and confusing. The blacks gloated in the bloodshed, and Archie did not love them any the more for it. It was the first time he had seen those fellows using their spears, and he could guess from the way they handled or hurled them that they would be pretty dangerous enemies to meet face to face in the plain or scrub.

"Harry," he said after a time, "I'm getting tired of all this; let us go to our horses."

"I'm tired too. Hallo! where is the chick-a-biddy?"

"You mean Miss Winslow, Harry."

"Ay, Johnnie."

"I have not seen her for some time."

They soon found her though, near a bit of scrub, where their own horses were tied.

She was sitting on her saddle, looking as steady and demure as an equestrian statue. The sunshine was so blinding that they did not at first notice her in the shade there until they were close upon her.

"What, Etheldene!" cried Archie; "we hardly expected you here."

"Where, then?"

"Following the hounds."

"What! into that mob? No, that is not what I came for."

At that moment Craig rode up.

"So glad," he said, "to find you all here. Mount, gentlemen. Are you ready, Baby?"

"Ready, yes, an hour ago, Craig."

They met horsemen and hounds not far away, and taking a bold detour over a rough and broken country, at the edge of a wood, the hounds found a "forester," or old man kangaroo. The beast had a good start if he had taken the best advantage of it; but he failed to do so. He had hesitated several times; but the run was a fine one. A wilder, rougher, more dangerous ride Archie had never taken.

The beast was at bay before very long, and his resistance to the death was extraordinary.

They had many more rides before the day was over; and when they re-assembled in farmer Findlayson's hospitable parlour, Archie was fain for once to own himself not only tired, but "dead beat."

The dinner was what Harry called a splendid spread. Old Findlayson had been a gardener in his younger days in England, and his wife was a cook; and one of the results of this amalgamation was, dinners or breakfasts either, that had already made the Scotchman famous.

Here was soup that an epicure would not have despised, fish to tempt a dying man, besides game of different kinds, pies, and last, if not least, steak of kangaroo.

The soup itself was made from the tail of the kangaroo, and I know nothing more wholesome and nourishing, though some may think it a little strong.

While the white folks were having dinner in-doors, the black fellows were doing ample justice to theirs al fresco, only they had their own cuisine and menu, of which the least said the better.

"You're sure, Mr. Craig, you winna tak' a wee drappie?"

If the honest squatter put this question once in the course of the evening, he put it twenty times.

"No, really," said Craig at last; "I will not tak' a wee drappie. I've sworn off; I have, really. Besides, your wife has made me some delightful tea."

"Weel, man, tak' a wee drappie in your last cup. It'll cheer ye up."

"Take down your fiddle, Findlayson, and play a rattling strathspey or reel, that'll cheer me up more wholesomely than any amount of 'wee drappies.'"

"Come out o' doors then."

It was cool now out there in Findlayson's garden—it was a real garden too. His garden and his fiddle were Findlayson's two fads; and that he was master of both, their present surroundings of fern and flower, and delicious scent of wattle-blossom, and the charming strains that floated from the corner where the squatter stood were proof enough. The fiddle in his hands talked and sang, now bold or merrily, now in sad and wailing notes that brought tears to even Archie's eyes. Then, at a suggestion of Craig's, Etheldene's sweet young voice was raised in song, and this was only the beginning of the concert. Conversation filled up the gaps, so that the evening passed away all too soon.

Just as Findlayson had concluded that plaintive and feeling air "Auld Robin Gray," a little black girl came stealthily, silently up to Etheldene, and placed a little creature like a rabbit in her lap, uttering a few words of Bush-English, which seemed to Archie's ear utterly devoid of sense. Then the black girl ran; she went away to her own camp to tell her people that the white folks were holding a corroboree.

The gift was a motherless kangaroo, that at once commenced to make itself at home by hiding its innocent head under Etheldene's arm.

The party soon after broke up for the night, and next day but one, early in the morning, the return journey was commenced, and finished that night; but the sun had gone down, and the moon was shining high and full over the forest, before they once more reached the clearing.

CHAPTER VII.
A NEW ARRIVAL.

Winslow made months of a stay in the Bush, and his services were of great value to the young squatters. The improvements he suggested were many and various, and he was careful to see them carried out.

Dams were made, and huge reservoirs were dug; for, as Winslow said, their trials were all before them, and a droughty season might mean financial ruin to them.

"Nevertheless," he added one day, addressing Bob, "I feel sure of you; and to prove this I don't mind knocking down a cheque or two to the tune of a thou or three or five if you want them.

"I'll take bank interest," he added, "not a penny more."

Bob thanked him, and consulted the others that evening. True, Archie's aristocratic pride popped up every now and then, but it was kept well under by the others.

"Besides, don't you see, Johnnie," said Harry, "this isn't a gift. Winslow is a business man, and he knows well what he is about."

"And," added Bob, "the fencing isn't finished yet. We have all those workmen's mouths to fill, and the sooner the work is done the better."

"Then the sheep are to come in a year or so, and it all runs away with money, Johnnie. Our fortunes are to be made. There is money on the ground to be gathered up, and all that Winslow proposes is holding the candle to us till we fill our pockets."

"It is very kind of him," said Archie, "but——"

"Well," said Bob, "I know where your 'buts' will end if you are not careful. You will give offence to Mr. Winslow, and he'll just turn on his heel and never see us again."

"Do you think so?"

"Think so? Yes, Archie, I'm sure of it. A better-hearted man doesn't live, rough and all as he is; and he has set his mind to doing the right thing for us all for your sake, lad, and so I say, think twice before you throw cold water over that big, warm heart of his."

"Well," said Archie, "when you put it in that light, I can see matters clearly. I wouldn't offend my good old Uncle Ramsay's friend for all the world. I'm sorry I ever appeared bluff with him. So you can let him do as he pleases."

And so Winslow did to a great extent.

Nor do I blame Bob and Harry for accepting his friendly assistance. Better far to be beholden to a private individual, who is both earnest and sincere, than to a money-lending company, who will charge double interest, and make you feel that your soul is not your own.

Better still, I grant you, to wait and work and plod; but this life is almost too short for much waiting, and after all, one half of the world hangs on to the skirts of the other half, and that other half is all the more evenly balanced in consequence.

I would not, however, have my young readers misunderstand me. What I maintain is this, that although a poor man cannot leave this country in the expectation that anybody or any company will be found to advance the needful to set him up in the business of a squatter, still, when he has worked hard for a time, beginning at the lowermost ring of the ladder, and saved enough to get a selection, and a few cattle and sheep, then, if he needs assistance to heave a-head a bit, he will—if everything is right and square—have no difficulty in finding it.

So things went cheerily on at Burley New Farm. And at last Winslow and Etheldene took their departure, promising to come again.

"So far, lads," said Winslow, as he mounted his horse, "there hasn't been a hitch nowheres. But mind keep two hands at the wheel."

Mr. Winslow's grammar was not of the best, and his sentences generally had a smack of the briny about them, which, however, did not detract from their graphicness.

"Tip us your flippers, boys," he added, "and let us be off. But I'm just as happy as if I were a father to the lot of you."

Gentleman Craig shook hands with Mr. Winslow. He had already helped Etheldene into her saddle.

Archie was standing by her, the bridle of his own nag Tell thrown carelessly over his arm; for good-byes were being said quite a mile from the farm.

"I'll count the days, Etheldene, till you come again," said Archie. "The place will not seem the same without you."

Craig stood respectfully aside till Archie had bade her adieu, then, with his broad hat down by his side, he advanced. He took her hand and kissed it.

"Good-bye, Baby," he said.

There were tears in Etheldene's eyes as she rode away. Big Winslow took off his hat, waved it over his head, and gave voice to a splendid specimen of a British cheer, which, I daresay, relieved his feelings as much as it startled the lories. The "boys" were not slow in returning that cheer. Then away rode the Winslows, and presently the grey-stemmed gum trees swallowed them up.

* * * * * *

Two whole years passed by. So quickly, too, because they had not been idle years. Quite the reverse of that, for every day brought its own duties with it, and there was always something new to be thought about or done.

One event had taken place which, in Bob's eyes, eclipsed all the others—a little baby squatter saw the light of day. But I should not have used the word eclipsed. Little "Putty-face," as Harry most irreverently called her, did not eclipse anything; on the contrary, everything grew brighter on her arrival, and she was hailed queen of the station. The news spread abroad like wildfire, and people came from far and near to look at the wee thing, just as if a baby had never been born in the Bush before.

Findlayson dug the child with his forefinger in the cheek, and nodded and "a-goo-ed" to it, and it smiled back, and slobbered and grinned and jumped. Findlayson then declared it to be the wisest "wee vision o' a thing the warld ever saw." Sarah was delighted, so was the nurse—a young sonsy Scotch lass brought to the station on purpose to attend to baby.

"But," said Findlayson, "what about bapteezin' the blessed wee vision."

"Oh," said Bob, "I've thought of that! Craig and I are going to Brisbane with stock, and we'll import a parson."

It so happened that a young missionary was on his way to spread the glad tidings among the blacks, and it did not need much coaxing on Bob's part to get him to make a detour, and spend a week at Burley New Farm. So this was the imported parson.

But being in Brisbane, Bob thought he must import something else, which showed what a mindful father he was.

He had a look round, and a glance in at all the shop windows in Queen Street, finally he entered an emporium that took his fancy.

"Ahem!" said Bob. "I want a few toys."

"Yes, sir. About what age, sir?"

"The newest and best you have."

"I didn't refer to the age of the toys," said the urbane shopkeeper, with the ghost of a smile in his eye. "I should have said, Toys suitable for what age?"

"For every age," replied Bob boldly.

The shopkeeper then took the liberty of remarking that his visitor must surely be blessed with a quiverful.

"I've only the one little girl," said Bob. "She fills the book as yet. But, you see, we're far away in the Bush, and baby will grow out of gum-rings and rattles, won't she, into dolls and dung-carts? D' ye see? D' ye understand?"

"Perfectly."

It ended in Bob importing not only the parson in a dray, but a box of toys as big as a sea-chest, and only Bob himself could have told you all that was in it. That box would have stocked a toyshop itself and Harry and Archie had the grandest of fun unpacking it, and both laughed till they had to elevate their arms in the air to get the stitches out of their sides.

The amusing part of it was that innocent Bob had bought such a lot of each species.

A brown paper parcel, for example, was marked "1 gross: gum-rings."

"That was a job lot," said Bob, explaining. "I got them at a reduction, as the fellow said. Besides, if she has one in each hand, and another in her mouth, it will keep her out of mischief for a month or two to begin with."

There was no mistake about it, baby was set up; for a time, at all events.

Not only did visitors—rough and smooth, but mostly rough—come from afar, but letters of congratulation also. Winslow said in a letter that Etheldene was dying to come and see "the vision," and so was he, though not quite so bad. "Only," he added, "as soon Eth is finished we'll both run up. Eth is going to Melbourne to be finished, and I think a year will do the job."

"Whatever does he mean," said stalwart Bob, "by finishing Eth, and doing the job?"

"Why, you great big brush turkey," said Sarah, "he means finishing her edication, in coorse!"

"Oh, I see now!" said Bob. "To be sure; quite right. I say, Sarah, we'll have to send "the vision" to a slap-up lady's school one of these days, won't us?"

"Bob," replied Sarah severely, "tell that lazy black chap, Jumper, to dig some potatoes."

"I'm off, Sarah! I'm off!"

Both Harry and Archie had by this time become perfect in all a squatter's art.

Both had grown hard and hardy, and I am not sure that Harry was not now quite as bold a rider as Archie himself, albeit he was a Cockney born, albeit he had had to rub himself after that first ride of his on Scallowa, the "Eider Duck."

Well, then, both he and Archie were perfectly au fait at cattle work in all its branches, and only those who have lived on and had some interest in farming have an idea what a vast amount of practical work breeding cattle includes. One has really to be Jack-of-all-trades, and a veterinary surgeon into the bargain.

Moreover, if he be master, and not merely foreman, there are books to be kept; so he must be a good accountant, and a good caterer, and always have his weather eye lifting, and keeping a long look-out for probable changes in the markets.

But things had prospered well at Burley New Station. One chief reason of this was that the seasons had been good, and that there was every prospect that the colony of Queensland was to be one of the most respected and favourite in the little island.

For most of his information on the management of sheep, Archie and his companions were indebted to the head stockman, Gentleman Craig. He had indeed been a Godsend, and proved himself a blessing to the station. It is but fair to add that he had sacredly and sternly kept the vow he had registered that night.

He did not deny that it had been difficult for him to do so; in fact he often referred to his own weakness when talking to Archie, whose education made him a great favourite and the constant companion of Craig.

"But you don't feel any the worse for having completely changed your habits, do you?" said Archie one day.

Craig's reply was a remarkable one, and one that should be borne in mind by those teetotallers who look upon inebriety as simply a species of moral aberration, and utterly ignore the physiology of the disease.

"To tell you the truth, Mr. Broadbent, I am both better and worse. I am better physically; I am in harder, more robust, muscular health; I'm as strong in the arms as a kicking kangaroo. I eat well, I sleep fairly well, and am fit in every way. But I feel as if I had passed through the vale of the shadow of death, and it had left some of its darkness on and in my soul. I feel as if the cure had mentally taken a deal out of me; and when I meet, at Brisbane or other towns, men who offer me drink I feel mean and downcast, because I have to refuse it, and because I dared not even take it as food and medicine. No one can give up habits of life that have become second nature without mental injury, if not bodily. And I'm more and more convinced every month that intemperance is a disease of periodicity, just like gout and rheumatism."

"You have cravings at certain times, then?"

"Yes; but that isn't the worst. The worst is that periodically in my dreams I have gone back to my old ways, and think I am living once again in the fool's paradise of the inebriate; singing wild songs, drinking recklessly, talking recklessly, and looking upon life as but a brief unreality, and upon time as a thing only to be drowned in the wine-cup. Yes, but when I awake from these pleasantly-dreadful dreams, I thank God fervidly I have been but dreaming."

Archie sighed, and no more was said on the subject.

Letters came from home about once a mouth, but they came to Archie only. Yet, though Bob had never a friend to write to him from Northumbria, nor Harry one in Whitechapel, the advent of a packet from home gave genuine joy to all hands.

Archie's letters from home were read first by Archie himself, away out under the shade of a tree as likely as not. Then they were read to his chums, including Sarah and Diana.

Diana was the baby.

But they were not finished with even then. No; for they were hauled out and perused night after night for maybe a week, and then periodically for perhaps another fortnight. There was something new to talk about found in them each time; something suggesting pleasant conversation.

Archie was often even amused at "his dear old dad's" remarks and advice. He gave as many hints, and planned as many improvements, as though he had been a settler all his life, and knew everything there was any need to know about the soil and the climate.

He believed—i.e., the old Squire believed—that if he were only out among them, he would show even the natives* a thing or two.

* Natives = White men born in the Bush.

Yes, it was amusing; and after filling about ten or twelve closely-written pages on suggested improvements, he was sure to finish up somewhat as follows in the postscript:

"But after all, Archie, my dear boy, you must be very careful in all you do. Never go like a bull at a gate, lad. Don't forget that I—even I—was not altogether successful at Burley Old Farm."

"Bless that postscript," Archie would say; "mother comes in there."

"Does she now?" Sarah would remark, looking interested.

"Aye, that she does. You see father just writes all he likes first—blows off steam as it were; and mother reads it, and quietly dictates a postscript."

Then there were Elsie's letters and Rupert's, to say nothing of a note from old Kate and a crumpled little enclosure from Branson. Well, in addition to letters, there was always a bundle of papers, every inch of which was read—even the advertisements, and every paragraph of which brought back to Archie and Bob memories of the dear old land they were never likely to forget.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE STREAM OF LIFE FLOWS QUIETLY ON.

One day a grand gift arrived from England, being nothing less than a couple of splendid Scotch collies and a pair of Skye terriers. They had borne the journey wonderfully well, and set about taking stock, and settling themselves in their new home, at once.

Archie's pet kangaroo was an object of great curiosity to the Skyes at first. On the very second day of their arrival Bobie and Roup, as they were called, marched up to the kangaroo, and thus addressed him:

"We have both come to the conclusion that you are something that shouldn't be."

"Indeed!" said the kangaroo.

"Yes; so we're going to let the sawdust out of you."

"Take that then to begin with!" said Mr. Kangaroo; and one of the dogs was kicked clean and clear over a fern bush.

They drew off after that with their tails well down. They thought they had made a mistake somehow. A rabbit that could kick like a young colt was best left to his own devices.

The collies never attempted to attack the kangaroo; but when they saw the droll creature hopping solemnly after Archie, one looked at the other, and both seemed to laugh inwardly.

The collies were placed under the charge of Craig to be broken to use, for both were young, and the Skyes became the vermin-killers. They worked in couple, and kept down the rats far more effectually than ever the cats had done. They used to put dingoes to the rout whenever or wherever they saw them; and as sometimes both these game little animals would return of a morning severely bitten about the face and ears, it was evident enough they had gone in for sharp service during the night.

One curious thing about the Skyes was, that they killed snakes, and always came dragging home with the loathsome things. This was very clever and very plucky; nevertheless, a tame laughing-jackass that Harry had in a huge cage was to them a pet aversion. Perhaps the bird knew that; for as soon as he saw them he used to give vent to a series of wild, defiant "ha-ha-ha's" and "hee-hee-hee's" that would have laid a ghost.

The improvements on that portion of Burley New Farm more immediately adjoining the steading had gone merrily on, and in a year or two, after fencing and clearing the land, a rough style of agriculture was commenced. The ploughs were not very first-class, and the horses were oxen—if I may make an Irish bull. They did the work slowly but well. They had a notion that every now and then they ought to be allowed to go to sleep for five minutes. However, they were easily roused, and just went on again in a dreamy kind of way.

The land did not require much coaxing to send up crops of splendid wheat. It was a new-born joy to Bob and Archie to ride along their paddocks, and see the wind waving over the growing grain, making the whole field look like an inland sea.

"What would your father say to a sight like that?" said Bob one morning while the two were on their rounds.

"He would start subsoiling ploughs and improve it."

"I don't know about the improvement, Archie, but I've no doubt he would try. But new land needs little improving."

"Maybe no; but mind you, Bob, father is precious clever, though I don't hold with all his ways. He'd have steam-ploughs here, and steam-harrows too. He'd cut down the grain to the roots by steam-machines, or he'd have steam-strippers."

"But you don't think we should go any faster?"

"Bob, I must confess I like to take big jumps myself. I take after my father in some things, but after my Scottish ancestors in others. For instance, I like to know what lies at the other side of the hedge before I put my horse at it."

The first crops of wheat that were taken off the lands of Burley New Farm were gathered without much straw. It seemed a waste to burn the latter; but the distance from the railway, and still more from a market-town, made its destruction a necessity.

Nor was it altogether destruction either; for the ashes served as a fertilizer for future crops.

As things got more settled down, and years flew by, the system of working the whole station was greatly improved. Bob and Harry had become quite the home-farmers and agriculturists, while the cattle partially, and the sheep almost wholly, became the care of Archie, with Gentleman Craig as his first officer.

Craig certainly had a long head on his broad shoulders. He did not hesitate from the first to give his opinions as to the management of the station. One thing he assured the three friends of: namely, that the sheep must be sent farther north and west if they were to do well.

"They want higher and dryer ground," he said; "but you may try them here."

I think at this time neither Bob nor Archie knew there was anything more deadly to be dreaded than foot-rot, which the constant attention of the shepherds and a due allowance of blue-stone, served out from Harry's stores, kept well under.

They gained other and sadder experience before very long, however.

At first all went as merrily as marriage bells. The first sheep-shearing was a never-to-be-forgotten event in the life of our Bushmen.

The season was October—a spring month in Australia—and the fleeces were in fine form, albeit some were rather full of grass seed. They were mostly open, however, and everyone augured a good clip.

Sarah was very busy indoors superintending everything; for there was extra cooking to be done now. Wee Diana, who had developed into quite a Bush child, though a pretty one, toddled about here, there, and everywhere; the only wonder is—as an Irishman might say—that she did not get killed three or four times a day. Diana had long since abjured gumrings and rattles, and taken to hoops and whips. One of the collie dogs, and the pet kangaroo, were her constant companions. As previously stated, both collies had been sent to Craig to be trained; but as Bounce had a difference of opinion with one of the shepherds, he concluded he would make a change by the way of bettering himself, so he had taken French leave and come home to the steading. He would have been sent off again, sure enough, if he had not—collie-like—enlisted Sarah herself on his behalf. This he had done by lying down beside little Diana on the kitchen floor. The two kissed each other and fell asleep. Bounce's position was assured after that.

Findlayson, who did not mean to commence operations among his own fleeces for another month, paid a visit to Burley, and brought with him a few spare hands. Harry had plenty to do both out of doors and in his stores; for many men were now about the place, and they must all eat and smoke.

"As sure as a gun," said Findlayson the first morning, "that Joukie-daidles o' yours 'ill get killed."

He said this just after about three hundred sheep had rushed the child, and run over her. It was the fault of the kangaroo on one hand, and the collie, Bounce, on the other. Findlayson had picked her off the ground, out of a cloud of dust, very dirty, but smiling.

"What is to be done with her?" said Bob, scratching his head.

"Fauld her," said Findlayson.

"What does that mean?"

Findlayson showed him what "faulding" meant. He speedily put up a little enclosure on an eminence, from which Diana could see all without the possibility of escaping. So every day she, with her dog and the pet kangaroo, to say nothing of a barrow-load of toys, including a huge Noah's ark, found herself happy and out of harm's way. Diana could be seen at times leaning over the hurdle, and waving a hand exultingly in the air, and it was presumed she was loudly cheering the men's performance; but as to hearing anything, that seemed utterly out of the question, with the baa-ing and maa-ing of the sheep.

When the work was in full blast it certainly was a strange sight, and quite colonial. Archie had been at sheep-shearings before at home among the Cheviot Hills, but nothing to compare to this.

There was, first and foremost, the sheep to be brought up in batches or flocks from the distant stations, men and dogs also having plenty to do to keep them together, then the enclosing them near the washing-ground. The dam in which the washing took place was lucidly well filled, for rain had fallen not long before. Sheep-washing is hard work, as anyone will testify who has tried his hand at it for even half a day. Sheep are sometimes exceedingly stupid, more particularly, I think, about a time like this. The whole business is objected to, and they appear imbued with the idea that you mean to drown them, and put every obstacle in your way a stubborn nature can invent.

The sheep, after being well scrubbed, were allowed a day to get dry and soft and nice. Then came the clipping. Gentleman Craig was stationed at a platform to count the fleeces and see them ready for pressing, and Archie's work was cut out in seeing that the fellows at the clipping did their duty properly.

It was a busy, steaming time, on the whole, for everybody, but merry enough nevertheless. There was "lashins" of eating and drinking. Findlayson himself took charge of the grog, which was mostly rum, only he had a small store of mountain dew for his own special consumption.

Harry was quite the Whitechapel tradesman all over, though you could not have told whether the grocer or butcher most predominated in his appearance.

The clipping went on with marvellous speed, a rivalry existing between the hands apparently; but as they were paid by the number of fleeces, there was evident desire on the part of several to sacrifice perfection to rapidity.

When it was all over there was still a deal to be done in clearing up and getting the whole station resettled, one part of the resettling, and the chief too, being the re-establishing of the sheep on their pasturage after marking them.

The wool was pressed into bales, and loaded on huge bullock-waggons, which are in appearance something between an ordinary country wood-cart and a brewer's dray. The road to the distant station was indeed a rough one, and at the slow rate travelled by the bullock teams the journey would occupy days.

Craig himself was going with the last lot of these, and Archie had started early and ridden on all alone to see to business in Brisbane.

He had only been twice at the town in the course of three years, so it is no wonder that now he was impressed with the notion that the well-dressed city folks must stare at him, to see if he had any hay-seed in his hair.

Winslow was coming round by boat, and Etheldene as well; she had been at home for some time on a holiday.

Why was it, I wonder, that Archie paid a visit to several outfitters' shops in Brisbane, and made so many purchases? He really was well enough dressed when he entered the town; at all events, he had looked a smart young farmer all over. But when he left his bedroom on the morning of Winslow's arrival, he had considerably more of the English Squire than the Australian Squatter about his tout ensemble. But he really looked a handsome, happy, careless young fellow, and that bit of a sprouting moustache showed off his good looks to perfection. He could not help feeling it sometimes as he sat reading a paper in the hotel hall, and waiting for his friends, and was fool enough to wonder if Etheldene would think him improved in appearance.

But Archie was neither "masher" nor dandy at heart. He was simply a young man, and I would not value any young man who did not take pains with his personal appearance, even at the risk of being thought proud.

Archie had not long to wait for Winslow. He burst in like a fresh sea-breeze—hale, hearty, and bonnie. He was also a trifle better dressed than usual. But who was that young lady close by his left hand? That couldn't be—yes, it was Etheldene, and next moment Archie was grasping a hand of each.

Etheldene's beauty had matured; she had been but a girl, a child, when Archie had met her before. Now she was a bewitching young lady, modest and lovely, but, on the whole, so self-possessed that if our hero had harboured any desire to appear before her at his very best, and keep up the good impression by every means in his power, he had the good sense to give it up and remain his own natural honest self.

But he could not help saying to himself, "What a wife she will make for Rupert! And how Elsie will love and adore her! And I—yes, I will be content to remain the big bachelor brother."

There was such a deal to ask of each other, such a deal to do and to say, that days flew by before they knew where they were, as Winslow expressed it.

On the fifth day Gentleman Craig arrived to give an account of his stewardship.

Etheldene almost bounded towards him.

But she looked a little shy at his stare of astonishment as he took her gloved hand.

"Baby," he exclaimed, "I would hardly have known you! How you have improved!"

Then the conversation became general.

When accounts were squared, it was discovered that, by the spring wool, and last year's crops and bullocks, the young squatters had done wonderfully well, and were really on a fair way to wealth.

"Now, Archie Broadbent," said Winslow that night, "I am going to put you on to a good thing or two. You are a gentleman, and have a gentleman's education. You have brains, and can do a bit of speculation; and it is just here where brains come in."

Winslow then unfolded his proposals, which were of such an inviting kind that Archie at once saw his way to benefit by them. He thanked Winslow over and over again for all he had done for him, and merely stipulated that in this case he should be allowed to share his plans with Bob and Harry.

To this, of course, Winslow made no objection.

"As to thanking me for having given ye a tip or two," said Winslow, "don't flatter yourself it is for your sake. It is all to the memory of the days I spent as steward at sea with your good old uncle. Did you send him back his fifty pounds?"

"I did, and interest with it."

"That is right. That is proper pride."

Archie and the Winslows spent a whole fortnight in Brisbane, and they went away promising that ere long they would once more visit the station.

The touch of Etheldene's soft hand lingered long in Archie's. The last look from her bonnie eyes haunted him even in his dreams, as well as in his waking thoughts. The former he could not command, so they played him all kinds of pranks. But over his thoughts he still had sway; and whenever he found himself thinking much about Etheldene's beauty, or winning ways, or soft, sweet voice, he always ended up by saying to himself, "What a love of a little wife she will make for Rupert!"

One day, while Archie was taking a farewell walk along Queen Street, glancing in here and there at the windows, and now and then entering to buy something pretty for Sarah, something red—dazzling—for her black servant-maid, and toys for Di, he received a slap on the back that made him think for a moment a kangaroo had kicked him.

"What!" he cried, "Captain Vesey?"

"Aye, lad, didn't I say we would meet again?"

"Well, wonders will never cease! Where have you been? and what have you been doing?"

"Why I've gone in for trade a bit. I've been among the South Sea Islands, shipping blacks for the interior here; and, to tell you the truth, my boy, I am pretty well sick of the job from all I've seen. It is more like buying slaves, and that is the honest truth."

"And I suppose you are going to give it up?"

The captain laughed—a laugh that Archie did not quite like.

"Yes," he said, "I'll give it up after—another turn or two. But come and have something cooling, the weather is quite summery already. What a great man you have grown! When I saw you first you were just a——"

"A hobbledehoy?"

"Something like that—very lime-juicy, but very ardent and sanguine. I say, you didn't find the streets of Sydney paved with gold, eh?"

"Not quite," replied Archie, laughing as he thought of all his misery and struggles in the capital of New South Wales.

"But," he added, "though I did not find the streets paved with gold, I found the genuine ore on a house-top, or near it, in a girl called Sarah."

"What, Archie Broadbent, you don't mean to say you're married?"

"No; but Bob is."

"What Bob? Here, waiter, bring us drinks—the best and coolest you have in the house. Now, lad, you've got to begin at the beginning of your story, and run right through to the end. Spin it off like a man. I'll put my legs on a chair, smoke, and listen."

So Archie did as he was told, and very much interested was Captain Vesey.

"And now, captain, you must promise to run down, and see us all in the Bush. We're a jolly nice family party, I can assure you."

"I promise, my boy, right heartily. I hope to be back in Brisbane in six months. Expect to see me then."

They dined together, and spent the evening talking of old times, and planning all that they would do when they met.

Next day they parted.

* * * * * *

The end of this spring was remarkable for floods. Never before had our heroes seen such storms of ram, often accompanied with thunder and lightning. Archie happened to be out in the forest when it first came on.

It had been a hot, still, sulphurous morning, which caused even the pet kangaroo to lie panting on his side. Then a wind came puffing and roaring through the trees in uncertain gusts, shaking the hanging curtains of climbing plants, rustling and rasping among the side-long leaved giant gums, tearing down tree ferns and lovely orchids, and scattering the scented bloom of the wattle in every direction.

With the wind came the clouds, and a darkness that could be felt.

Then down died the fitful breeze, and loud and long roared and rattled the thunder, while the blinding lightning seemed everywhere. It rushed down the darkness in rivers like blood, it glanced and glimmered on the pools of water, and zigzagged through the trees. From the awful hurtling of the thunder one would have thought every trunk and stem were being rent and riven in pieces.

Tell—the horse—seemed uneasy, so Archie made for home. The rain had come on long before he reached the creek, but the stream was still fordable.

But see! He is but half-way across when, in the interval between the thunder peals, he can hear a steady rumbling roar away up the creek and gulley, but coming closer and closer every moment.

On, on, on, good Tell! Splash through that stream quicker than ever you went before, or far down the country to-morrow morning two swollen corpses will be seen floating on the floods!

Bewildered by the dashing rain, and the mist that rose on every side, Archie and his trusty steed had but reached high ground when down came the bore.

A terrible sight, though but dimly seen. Fully five feet high, it seemed to carry everything before it. Alas! for flocks and herds. Archie could see white bodies and black, tumbling and trundling along in the rolling "spate."

The floods continued for days. And when they abated then losses could be reckoned. Though dead cattle and sheep now lay in dozens about the flat lands near the creek, only a small percentage of them belonged to Burley.

Higher up Findlayson had suffered, and many wild cattle helped to swell the death bill.

But it was bad enough.

However, our young squatters were not the men to sit down to cry over spilt milk.

The damage was repaired, and the broken dams were made new again. And these last were sadly wanted before the summer went past. For it was unusually hot, the sun rising in a cloudless sky, blazing down all day steadily, and setting without even a ray being intercepted by a cloud.

"Bush fires were not now infrequent. One of the strangest sights
in connection with it was the wild stampede of the panic-stricken
kangaroos and bush horses."

Bush fires were not now infrequent. While travelling in a distant part of the selection, far to the west, in company with Craig, whom he had come to visit, they were witnesses to a fire of this sort that had caught a distant forest. Neither pen nor pencil could do justice to such a scene. Luckily it was separated from the Burley estate by a deep ravine. One of the strangest sights in connection with it was the wild stampede of the panic-stricken kangaroos and bush horses.

To work in the fields was now to work indeed. Bob's complexion and Archie's were "improved" to a kind of brick-red hue, and even Harry got wondrously tanned. There was certainly a great saving in clothes that year, for excepting light, broad-brimmed hats, and shirts and trousers, nothing else was worn by the men.

But the gardens were cool in the evening, in spite of the midday glare of the sun, and it was delightful to sit out in the open for an hour or two and think and talk of the old country; while the rich perfume of flowers hung warm in the air, and the holy stars shimmered and blinked in the dark blue of the sky.

CHAPTER IX.
"I'LL WRITE A LETTER HOME."

The summer wore away, autumn came, the harvest was made good, and in spite of the drought it turned out well; for the paddocks chosen for agricultural produce seldom lacked moisture, lying as they did on the low lands near the creek, and on rich ground reclaimed from the scrub.

Our Bushmen were congratulating themselves on the success of their farming; for the banking account of all three was building itself, so to speak, slowly, but surely.

Archie was now quite as wealthy as either of his companions; for his speculations, instigated by his friend Winslow, had turned out well; so his stock had increased tenfold, and he had taken more pasture to the westward and north, near where Bob's and Harry's sheep now were; for Craig's advice had been acted on.

None too soon though; for early in the winter an old shepherd arrived in haste at the homesteading to report an outbreak of inflammatory catarrh among the flocks still left on the lower pastures.

The events that quickly followed put Archie in mind of the "dark days" at Burley Old Farm, when fat beasts were dying in twos and threes day after day. Sheep affected with this strange ailment lived but a day or two, and the only thing to do was to kill them on the very first symptoms of the ailment appearing. They were then just worth the price of their hides and tallow.

Considering the amount of extra work entailed, and the number of extra hands to be hired, and the bustle and stir and anxiety caused by the outbreak, it is doubtful if it would not have been better to bury them as they fell, skin and all.

This was one of the calamities which Winslow had pointed out to Archie as likely to occur. But it was stamped out at last. The sheep that remained were sent away to far-off pastures; being kept quite separate, however, from the other flocks. So the cloud passed away, and the squatters could breathe freely again, and hope for a good lambing season, when winter passed away, and spring-time came once more.

"Bob," said Archie one evening, as they all sat round the hearth before retiring to bed, "that fire looks awfully cosy, doesn't it? And all the house is clean and quiet—oh, so quiet and delightful that I really wonder anyone could live in a city or anywhere near the roar and din of railway trains! Then our farm is thriving far beyond anything we could have dared to expect. We are positively getting rich quickly, if, indeed, we are not rich already. And whether it be winter or summer, the weather is fine, glorious sometimes. Indeed, it is like a foretaste of heaven, Bob, in my humble opinion, to get up early and wander out of doors."

"Well," said Bob, "small reason to be ashamed to say that, my boy."

"Hold on, Bob, I'm coming to the part I'm ashamed of; just you smoke your pipe and keep quiet. Well, so much in love am I with the new country that I'm beginning to forget the old. Of course I'll always—always be a true Englishman, and I'd go back to-morrow to lay down my life for the dear old land if it was in danger. But it isn't, it doesn't want us, it doesn't need us; it is full to overflowing, and I daresay they can do without any of us. But, Bob, there is my dear old father, mother, Elsie, and Rupert. Now, if it were only possible to have them here. But I know my father is wedded to Burley, and his life's dream is to show his neighbours a thing or two. I know too that if he starts machinery again he will be irretrievably lost."

Archie paused, and the kangaroo looked up into his face as much as to say, "Go on, I'm all attention."

"Well, Bob, if I make a pile here and go home, I'll just get as fond of Burley as I was when a boy, and I may lose my pile too. It seems selfish to speak so, but there is no necessity for it. So I mean to try to get father to emigrate. Do you think such a thing is possible, Bob?"

"It's the same with men as with trees, Archie. You must loosen the ground about them, root by root must be carefully taken up if you want to transplant them and you must take so much of the old earth with them that they hardly know they are being moved. Sarah, bring the coffee. As for my own part, Archie, I am going back; but it is only just to see the old cottage, the dear old woods, and—and my mother's grave."

"Yes," said Archie, thoughtfully. "Well, root by root you said, didn't you?"

"Aye, root by root."

"Then I'm going to begin. Rupert and Elsie will be the first roots. Roup isn't over strong yet. This country will make a man of him. Bob and you, Harry, can go to bed as soon as you like. I'm going out to think and walk about a bit. Stick another log or two on the fire, and as soon as you have all turned in I'll write a letter home. I'll begin the uprooting, though it does seem cruel to snap old ties."

"Well," said Harry, "thank goodness, I've got no ties to snap. And I think with you, Archie, that the old country isn't a patch on the new. Just think o' the London fogs. You mind them, Sarah."

"I does, 'Arry."

"And the snow."

"And the slush, 'Arry."

"And the drizzle."

"And the kitchen beetles, boy. It would take a fat little lot to make me go back out o' the sunshine. Here's the coffee."

"Keep mine hot, Sarah."

Away went Archie out into the night, out under the stars, out in the falling dew, and his kangaroo went jumping and hopping after him.

The sky was very bright and clear to-night, though fleece-shaped, snow-white clouds lay low on the horizon, and the moon was rising through the distant woods, giving the appearance of some gigantic fire as its beams glared red among the topmost branches.

There was the distant howling or yelling of dingoes, and the low, half-frightened bleat of sheep, and there was the rippling murmur of the stream not far off, but all else was still.

It was two hours before Archie found his way back. The kangaroo saw him to the door, then went off to curl up in the shed till the hot beams of the morning sun should lure him forth to breakfast.

And all alone sat Archie, by the kitchen table, writing a letter home by the light of candles made on the steading.

It was very still now in the house—only the ticking of the clock, the occasional whirr of some insect flying against the window, anxious to come into the light and warmth and scratching of the young man's pen.

Surely the dog knew that Archie was writing home, for presently he got slowly up from his corner and came and leant his head on his master's knee, in that wise and kindly way collies have of showing their thoughts and feelings. Archie must leave off writing for a moment to smooth and pet the honest "bawsent" head.

Now it would be very easy for us to peep over Archie's shoulder and read what he was writing, but that would be rude; anything rather than rudeness and impoliteness. Rather, for instance, let us take a voyage across the wide, terribly wide ocean, to pay a visit to Burley Old Farm, and wait till the letter comes.

* * * * * *

"I wonder," said Elsie with a gentle sigh, and a long look at the fire, "when we may expect to hear from Archie again. Dear me, what a long, long time it is since he went away! Let me see, Rupert, it is going on for six years, isn't it?"

"Yes. Archie must be quite a man by now."

"He's all right," said the Squire.

"That he is, I know," said Uncle Ramsay.

"He's in God's good hands," said the mother, but her glasses were so moist she had to take them off to wipe them; "he is in God's good hands, and all we can do now is to pray for him."

Two little taps at the green-parlour door and enter the maid, not looking much older, and not less smart, than when last we saw her.

"If you please, sir, there's a gentleman in the study as would like to see you."

"Oh," she added, with a little start, "here he comes!"

And there he came certainly.

"God bless all here!" he cried heartily.

"What," exclaimed the Squire, jumping up and holding out his hand, "my dear old friend Venturesome Vesey!"

"Yes, Yankee Charlie, and right glad I am to see you."

"My wife and children, Vesey. Though you and I have often met in town since my marriage, you've never seen them before. My brother, whom you know."

Vesey was not long in making himself one of the family circle, and he gave his promise to stay at Burley Old Farm for a week at least.

Rupert and Elsie took to him at once. How could they help it? a sailor and gentleman, and a man of the world to boot. Besides, coming directly from Archie.

"I just popped into the house the very morning after he had written the letter I now hand to you," said Captain Vesey. "He had an idea it would be safer for me to bring it. Well, here it is; and I'm going straight away out to the garden to smoke a pipe under the moon while you read it. Friend as I am of Archie's, you must have the letter all to yourselves;" and away went Vesey.

"Send for old Kate and Branson," cried the Squire, and they accordingly marched in all expectancy.

Then the father unfolded the letter with as much reverence almost as if it had been Foxe's Book of Martyrs.

Every eye was fixed upon him as he slowly read it. Even Bounder, the great Newfoundland, knew something unusual was up, and sat by Elsie all the time.

ARCHIE'S LETTER HOME.

"MY DEAREST MOTHER,—It is to you I write first, because I know that a proposal I have to make will 'take you aback,' as my friend Winslow would say. I may as well tell you what it is at once, because, if I don't, your beloved impatience will cause you to skip all the other parts of the letter till you come to it. Now then, my own old mummy, wipe your spectacles all ready, catch hold of the arm of your chair firmly, and tell Elsie to 'stand by'—another expression of Winslow's—the smelling-salts bottle. Are you all ready? Heave oh! then. I'm going to ask you to let Rupert and Elsie come out to me here.

"Have you fainted, mummy? Not a bit of it; you're my own brave mother! And don't you see that this will be only the beginning of the end? And a bright, happy end, mother, I'm looking forward to its being. It will be the reunion of us all once more; and if we do not live quite under one roof, as in the dear old days at Burley Old Farm, we will live in happy juxtaposition.

"'What!' you cry, 'deprive me of my children?' It is for your children's good, mummy. Take Rupert first. He is not strong now, but he is young. If he comes at once to this glorious land of ours, on which I am quite enthusiastic, he will get as hardy as a New Hollander in six months' time. Wouldn't you like to see him with roses on his face, mother, and a brow as brown as a postage stamp? Send him out. Would you like him to have a frame of iron, with muscles as tough as a mainstay? Send him out. Would you like him to be as full of health as an egg is full of meat? and so happy that he would have to get up at nights to sing? Then send him here.

"Take poor me next. You've no notion how homesick I am; I'm dying to see some of you. I am making money fast, and I love my dear, free, jolly life; but for all that, there are times that I would give up everything I possess—health, and hopes of wealth—for sake of one glance at your dear faces, and one run round Burley Old Farm with father."

This part of Archie's letter told home. There were tears in Mrs. Broadbent's motherly eyes; and old Kate was heard to murmur, "Dear, bonnie laddie!" and put her apron to her face.

"Then," the letter continued, "there is Elsie. It would do her good to come too, because—bless the lassie!—she takes her happiness at second-hand; and knowing that she was a comfort to us boys, and made everything cheery and nice, would cause her to be as jolly as the summer's day is long or a gum tree high. Then, mother, we three should work together with only one intent—that of getting you and father both out, and old Kate and Branson too.

"As for you, dad, I know you will do what is right; and see how good it would be for us all to let Roup and Elsie come. Then you must remember that when we got things a bit straighter, we would expect you and mother to follow. You, dear dad, would have full scope here for your inventive genius, and improvements that are thrown away in England could be turned to profit out here.

"We would not go like a bull at a gate at anything, father; but what we do want here is machinery, easily worked, for cutting up and dealing with wood; for cutting up ground, and for destroying tree stumps; and last, but not least, we want wells, and a complete system of irrigation for some lands, that shall make us independent to a great extent of the sparsely-failing rains of some seasons. Of course you could tell us something about sheep disease and cattle plague, and I'm not sure you couldn't help us to turn the wild horses to account, with which some parts of the interior swarm."

Squire Broadbent paused here to exclaim, as he slapped his thigh with his open palm:

"By St. Andrews, brother, Archie is a chip of the old block! He's a true Broadbent, I can tell you. He appreciates the brains of his father too. Heads are what are wanted out there; genius to set the mill a-going. As for this country—pah! it's played out. Yes, my children, you shall go, and your father will follow."

"My dear Elsie and Rupert," the letter went on, "how I should love to have you both out here. I have not asked you before, because I wanted to have everything in a thriving condition first; but now that everything is so, it wants but you two to help me on, and in a year or two—— Hurrah! for dad and the mum!

"Yes, Elsie, your house is all prepared. I said nothing about this before. I've been, like the duck-bill, working silently out of sight—out of your sight I mean. But there it is, the finest house in all the district, a perfect mansion; walls as thick as Burley Old Tower—that's for coolness in summer. Lined inside with cedar—that's for cosiness in winter. Big hall in it, and all the rooms just fac-simile of our own house at home, or as near to them as the climate will admit.

"But mind you, Elsie, I'm not going to have you banished to the Bush wilds altogether. No, lassie, no; we will have a mansion—a real mansion—in Sydney or Brisbane as well, and the house at Burley New Farm will be our country residence.

"I know I'll have your answer by another mail, and it will put new life into us all to know you are coming. Then I will start right away to furnish our house. Our walls shall be polished, pictures shall be hung, and mirrors everywhere; the floors shall glitter like beetles' wings, and couches and skins be all about. I'm rather lame at house description, but you, Elsie, shall finish the furnishing, and put in the nicknacks yourself.

"I'm writing here in the stillness of night, with our doggie's head upon my knee. All have gone to bed—black and white—in the house and round the Station. But I've just come in from a long walk in the moonlight. I went out to be alone and think about you; and what a glorious night, Rupert! We have no such nights in England. Though it is winter, it is warm and balmy. It is a delight to walk at night either in summer or winter. Oh, I do wish I could describe to you my garden as it is in spring and early summer! That is you know, our garden that is going to be. I had the garden laid out and planted long before the house was put up, and now my chief delight is to keep it up. You know, as I told you before, I went to Melbourne with the Winslows. Well, we went round everywhere, and saw everything; we sailed on the lovely river, and I was struck with the wonderful beauty of the gardens, and determined ours should be something like it. And when the orange blossom is out, and the fragrant verbenas, and a thousand other half-wild flowers, with ferns, ferns, ferns everywhere, and a fountain playing in the shadiest nook—this was an idea of Harry's—you would think you were in fairyland or dreamland, or 'through the looking-glass,' or somewhere; anyhow, you would be entranced.

"But to-night, when I walked there, the house—our house you know—looked desolate and dreary, and my heart gave a big superstitious thud when I heard what I thought was a footstep on the verandah, but it was only a frog as big as your hat.

"That verandah cost me and Harry many a ramble into the scrub and forest, but now it is something worth seeing, with its wealth of climbing flowering plants, its hanging ferns, and its clustering marvellous orchids.

"Yes, the house looks lonely; looks haunted almost; only, of course, ghosts never come near a new house. But, dear Elsie, how lovely it will look when we are living in it! when light streams out from the open casement windows! when warmth and music are there! Oh, come soon, come soon! You see I'm still impulsive.

"You, Elsie, love pets. I daresay Bounder will come with you. Poor Scallowa! I was sorry to hear of his sad death. But we can have all kinds of pets here. We have many. To begin with, there is little Diana, she is queen of the station, and likely to be; she is everybody's favourite. Then there are the collies, and the kangaroo. He is quite a darling fellow, and goes everywhere with me.

"Our laughing jackass is improving every day. He looks excessively wise when you talk to him, and if touched up with the end of a brush of turkey's feathers, which we keep for the purpose, he goes off into such fits of mad hilarious, mocking, ringing laughter that somebody has got to pick him up, cage and all, and make all haste out of the house with him.

"We have also a pet bear; that is Harry's. But don't jump. It is no bigger than a cat, and far tamer. It is a most wonderful little rascal to climb ever you saw. Koala we call him, which is his native name, and he is never tired of exploring the roof and rafters; but when he wants to go to sleep, he will tie himself round Sarah's waist, with his back downwards, and go off as sound as a top.

"We have lots of cats and a cockatoo, who is an exceedingly mischievous one, and who spends most of his life in the garden. He can talk, and dance, and sing as well. And he is a caution to snakes, I can tell you. I don't want to frighten you though. We never see the 'tiger' snake, or hardly ever, and I think the rest are harmless. I know the swagsmen, and the sundowners too, often kill the carpet snake, and roast and eat it when they have no other sort of fresh meat. I have tasted it, and I can tell you, Rupert, it is better than roasted rabbit.

"I'm going to have a flying squirrel. The first time I saw these creatures was at night among the trees, and they startled me—great shadowy things sailing like black kites from bough to bough.

"Kangaroos are cautions. We spend many and many a good day hunting them. If we did not kill them they would eat us up, or eat the sheep's fodder up, and that would be all the same.

"Gentleman Craig has strange views about most things; he believes in Darwin, and a deal that isn't Darwin; but he says kangaroos first got or acquired their monster hindlegs, and their sturdy tails, from sitting up looking over the high grass, and cropping the leaves of bushes. He says that Australia is two millions of years old at the very least.

"I must say I like Craig very much. He is so noble and handsome. What a splendid soldier he would have made! But with all his grandeur of looks—I cannot call it anything else—there is an air of pensiveness and melancholy about him that is never absent. Even when he smiles it is a sad smile. Ah! Rupert, his story is a very strange one; but he is young yet, only twenty-six, and he is now doing well. He lives by himself, with just one shepherd under him, on the very confines of civilisation. I often fear the blacks will bail up his hut some day, and mumkill him, and we should all be sorry. Craig is saving money, and I believe will be a squatter himself one of these days. Etheldene is very fond of him. Sometimes I am downright jealous and nasty about it, because I would like you, Rupert, to have Etheldene for a wife. And she knows all about the black fellows, and can speak their language. Well, you see, Rupert, you could go and preach to and convert them; for they are not half so bad as they are painted. The white men often use them most cruelly, and think no more of shooting them than I should of killing an old man kangaroo.

"When I began this letter, dearest Elsie and old Roup, I meant to tell you such a lot I find I shall have no chance of doing—all about the grand trees, the wild and beautiful scenery, the birds and beasts and insects, but I should have to write for a week to do it. So pray forgive my rambling letter, and come and see it all for yourself.

"Come you must, else—let me see now what I shall threaten. Oh, I have it; I won't ever return! But if you do come, then in a few years we'll all go back together, and bring out dad and the dear mummy.

"I can't see to write any more. No, the lights are just as bright as when I commenced; but when I think of dad and the mum, my eyes will get filled with moisture. So there!

"God bless you all, all, from the mum and dad all the way down to Kate, Branson, and Bounder.

"ARCHIE BROADBENT, C.O.B.

"p.s.—Do you know what C.O.B. means? It means Chip of the Old Block. Hurrah!"

CHAPTER X.
RUMOURS OF WAR.

As soon as Squire Broadbent read his son's letter he carefully folded it up, and with a smile on his face handed it to Rupert. And by-and-bye, when Captain Vesey returned, and settled into the family circle with the rest, and had told them all he could remember about Archie and Burley New Farm in Australia, the brother and sister, followed by Bounder, slipped quietly out and told old Kate they were going to the tower. Would she come? That she would. And so for hours they all sat up there before the fire talking of Archie, and all he had done and had been, and laying plans and dreaming dreams, and building castles in the air, just in the same way that young folks always have done in this world, and will, I daresay, continue to do till the end of time.

But that letter bore fruit, as we shall see.

Things went on much as usual in the Bush. Winter passed away, spring came round and lambing season, and the shepherds were busy once more. Gentleman Craig made several visits to the home farm, and always brought good news. It was a glorious time in every way; a more prosperous spring among the sheep no one could wish to have.

On his last visit to the house Craig stayed a day or two, and Archie went back with him, accompanied by a man on horseback, with medicines and some extra stores—clothing and groceries, &c., I mean, for in those days live stock was sometimes called stores.

They made Findlayson's the first night, though it was late. They found that the honest Scot had been so busy all day he had scarcely sat down to a meal. Archie and Craig were "in clipping-time" therefore, for there was roast duck on the table, and delightful potatoes all steaming hot, and, as usual, the black bottle of mountain dew, a "wee drappie" of which he tried in vain to get either Craig or Archie to swallow.

"Oh, by-the-bye, men," said Findlayson, in the course of the evening—that is, about twelve o'clock—"I hear bad news up the hills way."

"Indeed," said Craig.

"Aye, lad. You better ha'e your gun loaded. The blacks, they say, are out in force. They've been killing sheep and bullocks too, and picking the best."

"Well, I don't blame them either. Mind, we white men began the trouble; but, nevertheless, I'll defend my flock."

Little more was said on the subject. But next morning another and an uglier rumour came. A black fellow or two had been shot, and the tribe had sworn vengeance and held a corroboree.

"There's a cloud rising," said Findlayson. "I hope it winna brak o'er the district."

"I hope not, Findlayson. Anyhow, I know the black fellows well. I'm not sure I won't ride over after I get back and try to get to the bottom of the difference."

The out-station, under the immediate charge of Gentleman Craig, was fully thirty miles more to the north and west than Findlayson's, and on capital sheep-pasture land, being not very far from the hills—a branch ridge that broke off from the main range, and lay almost due east and west.

Many a splendidly-wooded glen and gully was here; but at the time of our story these were still inhabited by blacks innumerable. Savage, fierce, and vindictive they were in all conscience, but surely not so brave as we sometimes hear them spoken of, else could they have swept the country for miles of the intruding white man. In days gone by they had indeed committed some appallingly-shocking massacres; but of late years they had seemed contented to either retire before the whites or to become their servants, and receive at their hands that moral death—temptation to drink—which has worked such woe among savages in every quarter of the inhabitable globe.

As Archie and his companion came upon the plain where—near the top of the creek on a bit of table-land—Craig's "castle," as he called it, was situated, the owner looked anxiously towards it. At first they could see no signs of life; but as they rode farther on, and nearer, the shepherd himself came out to meet them, Roup, the collie, bounding joyfully on in front, and barking in the exuberance of his glee.

"All right and safe, shepherd?"

"All right and safe, sir," the man returned; "but the blacks have been here to-day."

"Then I'll go there to-morrow."

"I don't think that's a good plan."

"Oh! isn't it? Well, I'll chance it. Will you come, Mr. Broadbent?"

"I will with pleasure."

"Anything for dinner, George?"

"Yes, sir. I expected you; and I've got a grilled pheasant, and fish besides."

"Ah, capital! But what made you expect me to-day?"

"The dog Roup, sir. He was constantly going to the door to look out, so I could have sworn you would come."

The evening passed away quietly enough.

Dwelling in this remote region, and liable at any time to be attacked, Gentleman Craig had thought it right to almost make a fort of his little slab-hut. He had two black fellows who worked for him, and with their assistance a rampart of stones, earth, and wood was thrown up, although these men had often assured him that "he," Craig, "was 'corton budgery,' and that there was no fear of the black fellows 'mumkill' him."

"I'm not so very sure about it," thought Craig; "and it is best to be on the safe side."

They retired to-night early, having seen to the sheep and set a black to watch, for the dingoes were very destructive.

Both Craig and Archie slept in the same room, and they hardly undressed, merely taking off their coats, and lying down on the rough bed of sacking, with collie near the door to do sentry.

They had not long turned in when the dog began to growl low.

"Down charge, Roup," said Craig.

Instead of obeying, the dog sprang to the door, barking fiercely.

Both Archie and Craig were out of bed in a moment, and handling their revolvers. Craig managed to quieten Roup, and then listened attentively.

The wind was rising and moaning round the chimney, but above this sound they could hear a long-prolonged "Coo—oo—ee!"

"That's a white man's voice," said Craig; "we're safe."

The door and fort was at once opened, and a minute after five squatters entered.

"Sorry we came so late," they said; "but we've been and done it, and it took some time."

"What have you done?" said Craig.

"Fired the woods all along the gullies among the hills."

"Is that fair to the blacks?"

"Curse them!" exclaimed the spokesman. "Why do they not keep back? The law grumbles if we shoot the dogs, unless in what they please to call self-defence, which means after they have speared our beasts and shepherds, and are standing outside our doors with a nullah ready to brain us."

Craig and Archie went to the door and looked towards the hills.

What a scene was there! The fire seemed to have taken possession of the whole of the highlands from east to west, and was entwining wood and forest, glen and ravine, in its snake-like embrace. The hills themselves were cradled in flames and lurid smoke. The stems of the giant gum trees alone seemed to defy the blaze, and though their summits looked like steeples on fire, the trunks stood like pillars of black marble against the golden gleam behind them. The noise was deafening, and the smoke rolled away to leeward, laden with sparks thick as the snow-flakes in a winter's fall. It was an appalling sight, the description of which is beyond the power of any pen.

"Well, men," said Craig when he re-entered the hut, "I don't quite see the force of what you have done. It is like a declaration of war, and, depend upon it, the black fellows will accept the challenge."

"It'll make the grass grow," said one of the men with a laugh.

"Yes," said another; "and that grass will grow over a black man's grave or two ere long, if I don't much mistake."

"It wouldn't be worth while burying the fiends," said a third. "We'll leave them to the rooks."

"Well," said Craig, "there's meat and damper there, men. Stir up the fire, warm your tea, and be happy as long as you can. We're off to bed."

Gentleman Craig was as good as his word next day. He rode away in search of the tribe, and after a long ride found them encamped on a tableland.

As it turned out they knew him, and he rode quietly into their midst.

They were all armed with spear, and nullah, and boomerang. They were tattooed, nearly naked, and hideous enough in their horrid war-paint.

Craig showed no signs of fear. Indeed he felt none. He told the chief, however, that he had not approved of the action of the white men, his brothers, and had come, if possible, to make peace. Why should they fight? There was room enough in the forest and scrub for all. If they—the blacks—would leave the cattle and flocks of the squatters alone, he—Craig—could assure them things would go on as happily as before.

"And if not?" they asked.

"If not, for one black man there was in the country, there were a thousand white. They would come upon them in troops, even like the locusts; they would hunt them as they hunted the dingoes; they would kill them as dingoes were killed, and before long all the black fellows would be in the land of forgetfulness. What would it profit them then that they had speared a few white fellows?"

Craig stayed for hours arguing with these wild men, and left at last after having actually made peace with honour.

The cloud had rolled away, for a time at all events. In the course of a few days Archie and his man left on his return journey. Findlayson made up his mind to go on with him to Burley New Farm; for this Scot was very fond of an occasional trip eastwards, and what he called a "twa-handed crack" with Bob or Harry.

Everybody was glad to see him; for, truth to tell, no one had ever seen Findlayson without a smile on his old-fashioned face, and so he was well liked.

Bob came galloping out to meet them, and with him, greatly to Archie's astonishment, was what he at first took for a black bear.

The black bear was Bounder.

Archie dismounted and threw his arms round the great honest dog's neck, and almost burst into tears of joy.

For just half a minute Bounder was taken aback; then memory came rushing over him; he gave a jump, and landed Archie on his back, and covered his face and hair with his canine kisses. But this was not enough. Bounder must blow off steam. He must get rid of the exuberance of his delight before it killed him. So with a half-hysterical but happy bark he went off at a tangent, and commenced sweeping round and round in a circle so quickly that he appeared but a black shape. This wild caper he kept up till nearly exhausted, then returned once more to be embraced.

"So they've come." It was all that Archie could say.

Yes, they had come. Elsie had come, Rupert had come, Branson and Bounder had come.

And oh, what a joyful meeting that was! Only those who have been separated for many long years from all they love and hold dear, and have met just thus, as Archie now met his sister and brother, can have any appreciation of the amount of joy that filled their hearts.

The very first overflowing of this joy being expended, of course the next thing for both Archie and the newcomers to say was, "How you've changed!"

Yes, they had all changed. None more so than Elsie. She always gave promise of beauty; but now that Archie held her at arms' length, to look at and criticise, he could not help exclaiming right truthfully:

"Why, Elsie, you're almost as beautiful as Etheldene!"

"Oh, what a compliment!" cried Rupert. "I wouldn't have it, Elsie. That 'almost' spoils it."

"Just you wait till you see Etheldene, young man," said Archie, nodding his head. "You'll fall in love at once. I only hope she won't marry Gentleman Craig. And how is mother and father?"

Then questions came in streams. To write one half that was spoken that night would take me weeks. They all sat out in the verandah of the old house; for the night was sultry and warm, and it was very late indeed before anyone ever thought of retiring.

Findlayson had been unusually quiet during the whole of the evening. To be sure, it would not have been quite right for him to have put in his oar too much, but, to tell the truth, something had happened which appeared to account for his silence. Findlayson had fallen in love—love at first sight. Oh, there are such things! I had a touch of the complaint myself once, so my judgment is critical. Of course, it is needless to say that Elsie was the bright particular star, that had in one brief moment revolutionized the existence and life of the ordinarily placid and very matter-of-fact Findlayson. So he sat to-night in his corner and hardly spoke, but, I daresay, like Paddy's parrot, he made up for it in thinking; and he looked all he could also, without seeming positively rude.

Well, a whole fortnight was spent by Archie in showing his brother and sister round the station, and initiating them into some of the mysteries and contrarieties of life in the Australian Bush.

After this the three started off for Brisbane and Sydney, to complete the purchase of furniture for Archie's house. Archie proved himself exceedingly clever at this sort of thing, considering that he was only a male person. But in proof of what I state, let me tell you, that before leaving home he had even taken the measure of the rooms, and of the windows and doors. And when he got to Sydney he showed his taste in the decorative art by choosing "fixings" of an altogether Oriental and semi-esthetic design.

At Sydney Elsie and Rupert were introduced to the Winslows, and, as soon as he conveniently could, Archie took his brother's opinion about Etheldene.

Very much to his astonishment, Rupert told him that Etheldene was more sisterly than anything else, and he dare say she was rather a nice girl—"as far as girls go."

Archie laughed outright at Rupert's coolness, but somehow or other he felt relieved.

First impressions go a far way in a matter of this kind, and it was pretty evident there was little chance of Rupert's falling in love with Etheldene, for some time at least.

Yet this was the plan of campaign Archie had cut out: Rupert and Etheldene should be very much struck with each other from the very first; the young lady should frequently visit at Burley New Farm, and, for the good of his health, Rupert should go often to Sydney. Things would progress thus, off and on, for a few years, then the marriage would follow, Rupert being by this time settled perhaps, and in a fair way of doing well. I am afraid Archie had reckoned without his host, or even his hostess.

He was not long in coming to this conclusion either; and about the same time he made another discovery, very much to his own surprise; namely, that he himself was in love with Etheldene, and that he had probably been so for some considerable length of time, without knowing it. He determined in his own mind therefore that he would steel his heart towards Miss Winslow, and forget her.

Before Elsie and Rupert came to settle down finally at the farm, they enjoyed, in company with Mr. Winslow and his daughter, many charming trips to what I might call the show-places of Australia. Sydney, and all its indescribably-beautiful surroundings, they visited first. Then they went to Melbourne, and were much struck with all the wealth and grandeur they saw around them, although they could not help thinking the actual state of the streets was somewhat of a reproach to the town. They sailed on the Yarra-Yarra; they went inland and saw, only to marvel at, the grandeur of the scenery, the ferny forests, the glens and hills, the waterfalls and tumbling streams and lovely lakes. And all the time Rupert could not get rid of the impression that it was a beautiful dream, from which he would presently awake and find himself at Burley Old Farm.

CHAPTER XI.
THE MASSACRE AT FINDLAYSON'S FARM.

By the time Elsie and Rupert had returned from their wanderings winter was once more coming on; but already both the sister and brother had got a complexion.

The house was quite furnished now, guest-room and all. It was indeed a mansion, though I would not like to say how much money it had cost Archie to make it so. However, he had determined, as he said himself to Bob, to do the thing properly while he was about it.

And there is no doubt he succeeded well. His garden too was all he had depicted it in his letter home.

That Archie had succeeded to his heart's content in breaking ties with the old country was pretty evident, from a letter received by him from his father about mid-winter.

"He had noticed for quite a long time," the Squire wrote, "and was getting more and more convinced, that this England was, agriculturally speaking, on its last legs. Even American inventions, and American skill and enterprise, had failed to do much for the lands of Burley. He had tried everything, but the ground failed to respond. Burley was a good place for an old retired man who loved to potter around after the partridges; but for one like himself, still in the prime of his life, it had lost its charms. Even Archie's mother, he told him, did not see the advisability of throwing good money after bad, and Uncle Ramsay was of the same way of thinking. So he had made up his mind to let the place and come straight away out. He would allow Archie to look out for land for him, and by-and-bye he would come and take possession. Australia would henceforth reap the benefit of his genius and example; for he meant to show Australians a thing or two."

When Archie read that letter, he came in with a rush to read it to Bob, Harry, and Sarah.

"I think your father is right," said Bob.

"I tell you, Bob, my boy, it isn't father so much as mother. The dear old mummy speaks and breathes through every line and word of this epistle. Now I'm off to astonish Elsie and Roup. Come along, Bounder."

* * * * * *

Meanwhile Findlayson became a regular visitor at the farm.

"Why," Archie said to him one evening, as he met him about the outer boundary of the farm, "why, Findlayson, my boy, you're getting to be a regular 'sundowner.' Well, Miss Winslow has come, and Craig is with us, and as I want to show Branson a bit of real Australian sport, you had better stop with us a fortnight."

"I'll be delighted. I wish I'd brought my fiddle."

"We'll send for it if you can't live without it."

"Not very weel. But I've something to tell you."

"Well, say on; but you needn't dismount."

"Yes, I'll speak better down here."

Findlayson sat up on top of the fence, and at once opened fire by telling Archie he had fallen in love with Elsie, and had determined to make her his wife. Archie certainly was taken aback.

"Why, Findlayson," he said, "you're old enough to be her father."

"A' the better, man. And look here, I've been squatting for fifteen years, ever since there was a sheep in the plains almost. I have a nice little nest egg at the bank, and if your sister doesna care to live in the Bush we'll tak' a hoose in Sydney. For, O man, man, Elsie is the bonniest lassie the world e'er saw. She beats the gowan."*

* Gowan = mountain daisy.

Archie laughed.

"I must refer you to the lady herself," he said.

"Of course, man, of course—

"'He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the test
To win or lose it all.'"

So away went Findlayson to put his fate to the test.

What he said or what she said does not really concern us; but five minutes after his interview Archie met the honest Scot, and wondrously crest-fallen he looked.

"She winna hae me," he cried, "but nil desperandum, that'll be my motto till the happy day."

The next fortnight was in a great measure given up to pleasure and sport. Both Branson and Bounder received their baptism of fire, though the great Newfoundland was wondrously exercised in his mind as to what a kangaroo was, and what it was not. As to the dingoes, he arrived at a conclusion very speedily. They could beat him at a race, however; but when Bounder one time got two of them together, he proved to everybody's satisfaction that there was life in the old dog yet.

Gentleman Craig never appeared to such excellent advantage anywhere as in ladies' society. He really led the conversation at the dinner-table, though not appearing to do so, but rather the reverse, while in the drawing-room he was the moving spirit.

He also managed to make Findlayson happy after a way. The Scotchman had told Craig all his troubles, but Craig brought him his fiddle, on which he was a really excellent performer.

"Rouse out, Mr. Findlayson, and join the ladies at the piano."

"But, man," the squatter replied, "my heart's no in it; my heart is broken. I can play slow music, but when it comes to quick, it goes hard against the grain."

Nevertheless, Findlayson took his stand beside the piano, and the ice thus being broken, he played every night, though it must be confessed, for truth's sake, he never refused a "cogie" when the bottle came round his way. Towards ten o'clock Findlayson used, therefore, to become somewhat sentimental. The gentleman sat up for a wee half hour after the ladies retired, and sometimes Findlayson would seize his fiddle.

"Gentlemen," he would say, "here is how I feel."

Then he would play a lament or a wail with such feeling that even his listeners would be affected, while sometimes the tears would be quivering on the performer's eyelashes.

At the end of the fortnight Findlayson went to Brisbane. He had some mysterious business to transact, the nature of which he refused to tell even Archie. But it was rumoured that a week or two later on, drays laden with furniture were seen to pass along the tracks on their way to Findlayson's farm.

Poor fellow, he was evidently badly hit. He was very much in love indeed, and, like a drowning man, he clutched at straws.

The refurnishing of his house was one of these straws. Findlayson was going to give "a week's fun," as he phrased it. He was determined, after having seen Archie's new house, that his own should rival and even outshine it in splendour. And he really was insane enough to believe that if Elsie only once saw the charming house he owned, with the wild and beautiful scenery all around it, she would alter her mind, and look more favourably on his suit.

In giving way to vain imaginings of this kind, Findlayson was really ignoring, or forgetting at all events, the sentiments of his own favourite poet, Burns, as impressed in the following touching lines:

"It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
That bought contentment, peace, or pleasure;
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,
O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!"

His sister was very straightforward, and at once put her brother down as a wee bit daft. Perhaps he really was; only the old saying is a true one: "Those that are in love are like no one else."

* * * * * *

It was the last month of winter, when early one morning a gay party from Burley New Farm set out to visit Findlayson, and spend a week or two in order to "'liven him up," as Harry expressed it.

Bob was not particularly fond of going much from home—besides, Winslow and he were planning some extensions—so he stopped on the Station. But Harry went, and, as before, when going to the kangaroo hunt, Gentleman Craig was in the cavalcade, and of course Rupert and Elsie.

It would have been no very difficult matter to have done the journey in a single day, only Archie was desirous of letting his brother and sister have a taste of camping out in the Bush.

They chose the same route as before, and encamped at night in the self-same place.

The evening too was spent in much the same way, even to singing and story-telling, and Craig's lullaby to Baby, when she and Elsie had gone to their tent.

Morning dawned at last on forest and plain, and both Harry and the brothers were early astir. It would have been impossible to remain asleep much after daybreak, owing to the noise of the birds, including the occasional ear-splitting clatter of the laughing jackasses.

Besides, towards morning it had been exceedingly cold. The first thing that greeted their eyes was a thorough old-fashioned hoar frost, the like of which Archie had not seen for many a year. Everything gleamed white almost as coral. The grass itself was a sight to see, and the leaves on the trees were edged with lace. But up mounted the sun, and all was speedily changed. Leaves grew brightly green again, and the hoar frost was turned into glancing, gleaming, rainbow-coloured drops of dew.

The young men ran merrily away to the pool in the creek, and most effectually scared the ducks.

The breakfast to-day was a different sort of a meal to the morsel of stiff damper and corned junk that had been partaken of at last bivouac. Elsie made the tea, and Etheldene and she presided. The meat pies and patties were excellent, and everyone was in the highest possible spirits, and joyously merry.

Alas! and alas! this was a breakfast no one who sat down to, and who lives, is ever likely to forget.

Have you ever, reader, been startled on a bright sunshiny summer's day by a thunder-peal? And have you seen the clouds rapidly bank up after this and obscure the sky, darkness brooding over the windless landscape, lighted up every moment by the blinding lightning's flash, and gloom and danger brooding all round, where but a short half-hour ago the birds carolled in sunlight? Then will you be able, in some measure, to understand the terribleness of the situation in which an hour or two after breakfast the party found themselves, and the awful suddenness of the shock that for a time quite paralyzed every member of it.

They had left the dismal depths of the forest, and were out on the open pasture-land, and nearing Findlayson's house, when Craig and Archie, riding on in front, came upon the well-known bobtailed collie, who was the almost constant companion of the squatter. The dog was alive, but dying. There was a terrible spear-gash in his neck. Craig dismounted and knelt beside him. The poor brute knew him, wagged his inch-long tail, licked the hand that caressed him, and almost immediately expired. Craig immediately rode back to the others.

"Do not be alarmed, ladies," he said. "But I fear the worst. There is no smoke in Findlayson's chimney. The black fellows have killed his dog."

Though both girls grew pale, there were no other signs of fear manifested by them. If Young Australia could be brave, so could Old England.

The men consulted hurriedly, and it was agreed that while Branson and Harry waited with the ladies, Archie and Craig should ride on towards the house.

Not a sign of life; no, not one. Signs enough of death though, signs enough of an awful struggle. It was all very plain and simple, though all very, very sad and dreadful.

Here in the courtyard lay several dead natives, festering and sweltering in the noonday sun. Here were the boomerangs and spears that had fallen from their hands as they dropped never to rise again. Here was the door battered and splintered and beaten in with tomahawks, and just inside, in the passage, lay the bodies of Hurricane Bill and poor Findlayson, hacked about almost beyond recognition.

In the rooms all was confusion, every place had been ransacked. The furniture, all new and elegant, smashed and riven; the very piano that the honest Scot had bought for sake of Elsie had been dissected, and its keys carried away for ornaments. In an inner room, half-dressed, were Findlayson's sister and her little Scotch maid, their arms broken, as if they had held them up to beseech for mercy from the monsters who had attacked them. Their arms were broken, and their skulls beaten in, their white night-dresses drenched in blood. There was blood, blood everywhere—in curdled streams, in great liver-like gouts, and in dark pools on the floor. In the kitchen were many more bodies of white men (the shepherds), and of the fiends in human form with whom they had struggled for their lives.

It was an awful and sickening sight.

No need for Craig or Archie to tell the news when they returned to the others. Their very silence and sadness told the terrible tale.

Nothing could be done at present, however, in the way of punishing the murderers, who by this time must be far away in their mountain fastnesses.

They must ride back, and at once too, in order to warn the people at Burley and round about of their great danger.

So the return journey was commenced at once. On riding through the forest they had to observe the greatest caution.

Craig was an old Bushman, and knew the ways of the blacks well. He trotted on in front. And whenever in any thicket, where an ambush might possibly be lurking, he saw no sign of bird or beast, he dismounted and, revolver in hand, examined the place before he permitted the others to come on.

They got through the forest and out of the gloom at last, and some hours afterwards dismounted a long way down the creek to water the horses and let them browse. As for themselves, no one thought of eating. There was that feeling of weight at every heart one experiences when first awakening from some dreadful nightmare.

They talked about the massacre, as they sat under the shadow of a gum tree, almost in whispers; and at the slightest unusual noise the men grasped their revolvers and listened.

They were just about to resume their journey when the distant sound of galloping horses fell on their ears. Their own nags neighed. All sprang to their feet, and next moment some eight or nine men rode into the clearing.

Most of them were known to Craig, so he advanced to meet them.

"Ah! I see you know the worst," said the leader.

"Yes," said Craig, "we know."

"We've been to your place. It is all right there with one exception."

"One exception?"

"Yes; it's only the kid—Mr. Cooper's little daughter, you know."

"Is she dead?" cried Archie aghast.

"No, sir; that is, it isn't likely. Mr. Cooper's black girl left last night, and took the child."

"Good heavens! our little Diana! Poor Bob! He will go raving mad!"

"He is mad, sir, or all but, already; but we've left some fellows to defend the station, and taken to the trail as you see."

"Craig," said Archie, "we must go, too."

"Well," said the first speaker, "the coast is all clear betwixt here and Burley. Two must return there with the ladies. I advise you to make your choice, and lose no time."

It was finally arranged that Branson and one of the newcomers should form the escort; and so Archie, Harry, and Craig bade the girls a hurried adieu, and speedily rode away after the men.

CHAPTER XII.
ON THE WAR TRAIL.

Twelve men all told to march against a tribe consisting probably of over a hundred and fifty warriors, armed for the fight, and intoxicated with their recent success! It was a rash, an almost mad, venture; but they did not for one moment dream of drawing back. They would trust to their own superior skill to beat the enemy; trust to that fortune that so often favours the brave; trusting—many of them I hope—to that merciful Providence who protects the weak, and who, in our greatest hour of need, does not refuse to listen to our pleadings.

They had ridden some little way in silence, when suddenly Archie drew rein.

"Halt, men!" he cried. "Halt for a moment and deliberate. Who is to be the commander of this little force?"

"Yourself," said Gentleman Craig, lifting his hat "You are boss of Burley Farm, and Mr. Cooper's dearest friend."

"Hear, hear!" cried several of the others.

"Perhaps it is best," said Archie, after a moment's thoughtful pause, "that I should take the leadership under the circumstances. But, Craig, I choose you as my second in command, and one whose counsel I will respect and be guided by."

"Thank you," said Craig; "and to begin with, I move we go straight back to Findlayson's farm. We are not too well armed, nor too well provisioned."

The proposal was at once adopted, and towards sundown they had once more reached the outlying pastures.

They were dismounting to enter, when the half-naked figure of a black suddenly appeared from behind the storehouse.

A gun or two was levelled at him at once.

"Stay," cried Craig. "Do not fire. That is Jacoby, the black stockman, and one of poor Mr. Findlayson's chief men. Ha, Jacoby, advance my lad, and tell us all you know."

Jacoby's answer was couched in such unintelligible jargon—a mixture of Bush English and broad Scotch—that I will not try the reader's patience by giving it verbatim. He was terribly excited, and looked heart-broken with grief. He had but recently come home, having passed "plenty black-fellows" on the road. They had attempted to kill him, but here he was.

"Could he track them?"

"Yes, easily. They had gone away there." He pointed north and east as he spoke.

"This is strange," said Craig. "Men, if what Jacoby tells us be correct, instead of retreating to their homes in the wilderness, the blacks are doubling round; and if so, it must be their intention to commit more of their diabolical deeds, so there is no time to be lost."

It was determined first to bury their dear friends; and very soon a grave was dug—a huge rough hole, that was all—and in it the murdered whites were laid side by side.

Rupert repeated the burial-service, or as much of it as he could remember; then the rude grave was filled, and as the earth fell over the chest of poor old-fashioned Findlayson, and Archie thought of all his droll and innocent ways, tears trickled over his face that he made no attempt to hide.

The men hauled the gates of a paddock off its hinges, and piled wood upon that, so that the wandering dingoes, with their friends the rooks, should be baulked in their attempts to gorge upon the dead.

The blacks had evidently commenced to ransack the stores; but for some reason or another had gone and left them mostly untouched.

Here were gunpowder and cartridges in abundance, and many dainty, easily-carried foods, such as tinned meats and fish, that the unhappy owner had evidently laid in for his friends. So enough of everything was packed away in the men's pockets or bags, and they were soon ready once more for the road.

The horses must rest, however; for these formed the mainstay of the little expedition. The men too could not keep on all night without a pause; so Archie and Craig consulted, and it was agreed to bivouac for a few hours, then resume the journey when the moon should rise.

Meanwhile the sun went down behind the dark and distant wooded hills, that in their strange shapes almost resembled the horizon seen at sea when the waves are high and stormy. Between the place where Archie and his brother stood and the light, all was rugged plain and forest-land, but soon the whole assumed a shade of almost blackness, and the nearest trees stood up weird and spectre-like against the sky's strange hue. Towards the horizon to-night there was a deep saffron or orange fading above into a kind of pure grey or opal hue, with over it all a light blush of red, and hurrying away to the south, impelled by some air-current not felt below, was a mighty host of little cloudlets of every colour, from darkest purple to golden-red and crimson.

There was now and then the bleating of sheep—sheep without a shepherd—and a slight tinkle-tinkle, as of a bell. It was in reality the voice of a strange bird, often to be found in the neighbourhood of creeks and pools.

Hardly any other sound at present fell on the ear. By-and-bye the hurrying clouds got paler, and the orange left the horizon, and stars began to twinkle in the east.

"Come out here a little way with me," said Rupert, taking Archie by the hand.

When they had gone some little distance, quite out of hearing of the camp, Rupert spoke:

"Do you mind kneeling down here," he said, "to pray, Archie?"

"You good old Rupert, no," was the reply.

Perhaps no more simple, earnest, or heart-felt prayer was ever breathed under such circumstances, or in such a place. And not only was Rupert earnest, but he was confident. He spoke to the great Father as to a friend whom he had long, long known, and One whom he could trust to do all for the best. He prayed for protection, he prayed for help for the speedy restoration of the stolen child, and he even prayed for the tribe they soon hoped to meet in conflict—prayed that the God who moves in so mysterious a way to perform His wonders would bless the present affliction to the white man, and even to the misguided black.

Oh, what a beautiful religion is ours—the religion of love—the religion taught by the lips of the mild and gentle Jesus!

When they rose from their knees they once more looked skywards at the stars, for they were brightly shining now; then hand-in-hand, as they had come, the brothers returned to the camp.

No log-fire was lit to-night. The men just lay down to sleep rolled in their blankets, with their arms close by their saddle pillows, two being told off to walk sentry in case of a sudden surprise.

Even the horses were put in an enclosure, lest they might roam too far away.

About twelve o'clock Archie awoke from an uneasy dreamful slumber, and looked about him. His attention was speedily attracted to what seemed a huge fire blazing luridly behind the hills, and lighting up the haze above with its gleams. Was the forest on fire again? No; it was only moonrise over the woods. Ha awakened Craig, and soon the little camp was all astir and ready for the road. Jacoby was to act as guide. No Indian from the Wild West of America could be a better tracker.

But even before he started he told Craig the task would be an easy one, for the black fellows had drunk plenty, and had taken plenty rum with them. They would not go far, he thought, and there was a probability that they would meet some of the band returning. Even in the moonlight Jacoby followed the trail easily and rapidly.

It took them first straight for the forest that had been burned recently—a thoughtless deed on the part of the whites, that probably led to all this sad trouble.

There was evidence here that the blacks had gone into camp on the very night of the massacre, and had held a corroboree, which could only have been a day or two ago. There were the remains of the camp fires and the trampled ground and broken branches, with no attempt at concealment. There was a chance that even now they might not be far away, and that the little band might come up with them ere they had started for the day. But if they ventured to hope so, they were doomed to disappointment.

Morning broke at last lazily over the woods, and with but a brief interval they followed up the trail, and so on and on all that day, till far into the afternoon, when for a brief moment only Jacoby found himself puzzled, having fallen in with another trail leading south and west from the main track. He soon, however, discovered that the new trail must be that of some band who had joined the Findlayson farm raiders.

It became painfully evident soon after that this was the correct solution, for, going backwards some little way. Archie found a child's shoe—one of a crimson pair that Bob had bought in Brisbane for his little Diana.

"God help her, poor darling!" said Archie reverently, as he placed the little shoe in his breast pocket. When he returned he held it up for a moment before the men, and the scowl of anger that crossed their faces, and the firmer clutch they took of their weapons, showed it would indeed be bad for the blacks when they met these rough pioneers face to face.

At sunset supper was partaken of, and camp once more formed, though no fire was lit, cold though it might be before morning.

The men were tired, and were sound asleep almost as soon as they lay down; but Craig, with the brothers, climbed the ridge of the hill to look about them soon after it grew dark.

The camp rested at the entrance of a wild gully, a view of which could be had, darkling away towards the east, from the hill on which the three friends now found themselves.

Presently Rupert spoke.

"Archie," he said, "in this land of contrarieties does the moon sometimes rise in the south?"

"Not quite," replied Archie.

"Look, then. What is that reflection over yonder?" Craig and Archie both caught sight of it at the same time.

"By Saint George and merry England!" Craig cried exultingly, "that is the camp of the blacks. Now to find Diana's other shoe, and the dear child herself wearing it. Now for revenge!"

"Nay," said Rupert, "call it justice, Craig."

"What you will; but let us hurry down."

They stayed but for a moment more to take their bearings. The fire gleams pointed to a spot to the south-east, on high ground, and right above the gully, and they had a background of trees, not the sky. It was evident then that the enemy was encamped in a little clearing on a forest table-land; and if they meant to save the child's life—if indeed she was not already dead—the greatest caution would be necessary.

They speedily descended, and a consultation being held, it was resolved to commence operations as soon as the moon should rise; but meanwhile to creep in the darkness as near to the camp as possible.

But first Jacoby was sent out to reconnoitre. No cat, no flying squirrel could glide more noiselessly through an Australian forest than this faithful fellow. Still he seemed an unconsciously long time gone. Just as Craig and Archie were getting seriously uneasy the tinkle, tinkle of the bell-bird was heard. This was the signal agreed upon, and presently after, Jacoby himself came silently into their midst.

"The child?" was Archie's first question.

"Ba�l mumhill piccaninny, belong a you. Pidney you."

"The child is safe," said Craig, after asking a few more questions of this Scotch Myell black.

"Safe? and they are holding a corroboree and drinking. There is little time to lose. They may sacrifice the infant at any time."

Craig struck a light as he spoke, and every man examined his arms.

"The moon will rise in an hour. Let us go on. Silent as death, men! Do not overturn a stone or break a twig, or the poor baby's life will be sacrificed in a moment."

They now advanced slowly and cautiously, guided by Jacoby, and at length lay down almost within pistol-shot of the place where the horrid corroboree was going on.

Considering the noise—the shrieking, the clashing of arms, the rude chanting of songs, and awful din, of the dancers and actors in this ugly drama—to maintain silence might have seemed unnecessary; but these blacks have ears like wolves, and, in a lull of even half a second, would be sharp to hear the faintest unusual noise.

Craig and Archie, however, crept on till they came within sight of the ceremonies.

At another time it might have been interesting to watch the hideous grotesqueness of that awful war-dance, but other thoughts were in their minds at present—they were looking everywhere for Diana. Presently the wild, naked, dancing blacks surged backwards, and, asleep in the arms of a horrid gin, they discovered Bob's darling child. It was well Bob himself was not here or all would quickly have been lost. All was nearly lost as it was, for suddenly Archie inadvertently snapped a twig. In a moment there was silence, except for the barking of a dog.

Craig raised his voice, and gave vent to a scream so wild and unearthly that even Archie was startled.

At once all was confusion among the blacks. Whether they had taken it for the yell of Bunyip or not may never be known, but they prepared to fly. The gin carrying Diana threw down the frightened child. A black raised his arm to brain the little toddler. He fell dead instead.

"A black raised his arm to brain the little toddler. He fell dead
instead. Diana was saved! Craig's aim had been a steady one. Almost
immediately after a volley or two completed the rout."

Craig's aim had been a steady one. Almost immediately after a volley or two completed the rout, and the blacks fled yelling into the forest.

Diana was saved! This was better than revenge; for not a hair of her bonnie wee head had been injured, so to speak, and she still wore the one little red-morocco shoe.

There was not a man there who did not catch that child up in his arms and kiss her, some giving vent to their feelings in wild words of thankfulness to God in heaven, while the tears came dripping over their hardy, sun-browned cheeks.

CHAPTER XIII.
CHEST TO CHEST WITH SAVAGES—HOW IT ALL ENDED.

No one thought of sleeping again that night. They went back for their horses, and, as the moon had now risen, commenced the journey in a bee line, as far as that was possible, towards Burley New Farm.

They travelled on all night, still under the guidance of Jacoby, who needed no blazed trees to show in which direction to go. But when morning came rest became imperative, for the men were beginning to nod in their saddles, and the horses too seemed to be falling asleep on their feet, for several had stumbled and thrown their half-senseless riders. So camp was now formed and breakfast discussed, and almost immediately all save a sentry went off into sound and dreamless slumber, Diana lying close to Craig, whom she was very fond of, with her head on his great shoulder and her fingers firmly entwined in his beard.

It was hard upon the one poor fellow who had to act as sentry. Do what he might he could scarcely keep awake, and he was far too tired to continue walking about. He went and leant his body against a tree, and in this position, what with the heat of the day, and the drowsy hum of insects, with the monotonous song of the grasshopper, again and again he felt himself merging into the land of dreams. Then he would start and shake himself, and take a turn or two in the sunshine, then go back to the tree and nod as before.

The day wore on, the sun got higher and higher, and about noon, just when the sentry was thinking or rather dreaming of waking the sleepers, there was a wild shout from a neighbouring thicket, a spear flew past him and stuck in the tree. Next moment there was a terrible melée—a hand-to-hand fight with savages that lasted for long minutes, but finally resulted in victory for the squatters.

But, alas! it was a dearly-bought victory. Three out of the twelve were dead, and three more, including Gentleman Craig, grievously wounded.

The rest followed up the blacks for some little way, and more than one of them bit the dust. Then they returned to help their fellows.

Craig's was a spear wound through the side, none the less dangerous in that hardly a drop of blood was lost externally.

They drew the killed in under a tree, and having bound up the wounds of the others, and partly carrying them or helping them along, they resumed the march.

All that day they dragged themselves along, and it was far into the early hours of morning ere they reached the boundaries of Burley New Farm.

The moon was shining, though not very brightly, light fleecy clouds were driving rapidly across the sky, so they could see the lights in both the old house and in the lower windows of Archie's own dwelling. They fired guns and coo-ee-ed, and presently Bob and Winslow rushed out to bid them welcome.

Diana went bounding away to meet him.

"Oh, daddy, daddy!" she exclaimed, "what a time we've been having! but mind, daddy, it wasn't all fun."

Bob could not speak for the life of him. He just staggered in with the child in his arms and handed her over to Sarah; but I leave the reader to imagine the state of Sarah's feelings now.

Poor Craig was borne in and put to bed in Archie's guest room, and there he lay for weeks.

Bob himself had gone to Brisbane to import a surgeon, regardless of expense; but it was probably more owing to the tender nursing of Elsie than anything else that Craig was able at length to crawl out and breathe the balmy, flower-scented air in the verandah.

One afternoon, many weeks after this, Craig was lying on a bank, under the shade of a tree, in a beautiful part of the forest, all in whitest bloom, and Elsie was seated near him.

There had been silence for some time, and the girl was quietly reading.

"I wonder," said Craig at last, "if my life is really worth the care that you and all the good people here have lavished on me?"

"How can you speak thus?" said Elsie, letting her book drop in her lap, and looking into his face with those clear, blue eyes of hers.

"If you only knew all my sad, sinful story, you would not wonder that I speak thus."

"Tell me your story: may I not hear it?"

"It is so long and, pardon me, so melancholy."

"Never mind, I will listen attentively."

Then Craig commenced. He told her all the strange history of his early demon-haunted life, about his recklessness, about his struggles and his final victory over self. He told her he verily did believe that his mother's spirit was near him that night in the forest when he made the vow which Providence in His mercy had enabled him to keep.

Yes, it was a long story. The sun had gone down ere he had finished, a crescent moon had appeared in the southern sky, and stars had come out. There was sweetness and beauty everywhere. There was calm in Craig's soul now. For he had told Elsie something besides. He had told her that he had loved her from the first moment he had seen her, and he had asked her in simple language to become his wife—to be his guardian angel.

That same evening, when Archie came out into the garden, he found Elsie still sitting by Craig's couch, but her hand was clasped in his.

Then Archie knew all, and a great, big sigh of relief escaped him, for until this very moment he had been of opinion that Craig loved Etheldene.

* * * * * *

In course of a few months Squire Broadbent was as good as his word. He came out to the new land to give the Australians the benefit of his genius in the farming way; to teach Young Australia a thing or two it had not known before; so at least he thought.

With him came Mrs. Broadbent, and even Uncle Ramsay, and the day of their arrival at Brisbane was surely a red-letter day in the annals of that thriving and prosperous place.

Strange to say, however, none of the squatters from the Bush, none of the speculating men, nor anybody else apparently, were very much inclined to be lectured about their own country, and the right and wrong way of doing things, by a Squire from the old country, who had never been here before. Some of them were even rude enough to laugh in his face, but the Squire was not offended a bit. He was on far too good terms with himself for that, and too sure that he was in the right in all he said. He told some of these Bush farmers that if they did not choose to learn a wrinkle or two from him he was not the loser, with much more to the same purpose, all of which had about the same effect on his hearers that rain has on a duck's back.

To use a rather hackneyed phrase, Squire Broadbent had the courage of his convictions.

He settled quietly down at Burley New Farm, and commenced to study Bush life in all its bearings. It soon began to dawn upon him that Australia was getting to be a great country, that she had a great future before her, and that he—Squire Broadbent—would be connected with it. He was in no great hurry to invest, though eventually he would. It would be better to wait and watch. There was room enough and to spare for all at Archie's house, and that all included honest Uncle Ramsay of course. He and Winslow resumed acquaintance, and in the blunt, straightforward ways of the man even Squire Broadbent found a deal to admire and even to marvel at.

"He is a clever man," said the Squire to his brother; "a clever man and a far-seeing. He gets a wonderful grasp of financial matters in a moment. Depend upon it, brother, he is the right metal, and it is upon solid stones like him that the future greatness of a nation should be founded."

Uncle Ramsay said he himself did not know much about it. He knew more about ships, and was quite content to settle down at Brisbane, and keep a morsel of a 20-tonner. That was his ambition.

What a delight it was for Archie to have them all round his breakfast-table in the green-parlour at Burley New Farm, or seated out in the verandah all so home-like and happy.

His dear old mummy too, with her innocent womanly ways, delighted with all she saw, yet half afraid of almost everything—half afraid the monster gum-trees would fall upon her when out in the forest; half afraid to put her feet firmly to the ground when walking, but gathering up her skirts gingerly, and thinking every withered branch was a snake; half afraid the howling dingoes would come down in force at night, as wild wolves do on Russian wastes, and kill and eat everybody; half afraid of the most ordinary good-natured-looking black fellow; half afraid of even the pet kangaroo when he hopped round and held up his chin to have his old-fashioned neck stroked; half afraid—but happy, so happy nevertheless, because she had all she loved around her.

Gentleman Craig was most deferential and attentive to Mrs. Broadbent, and she could not help admiring him—indeed, no one could—and quite approved of Elsie's choice; though, mother-like, she thought the girl far too young to marry yet, as the song says.

However, they were not to be married yet quite. There was a year to elapse, and a busy one it was. First and foremost, Craig took the unfortunate Findlayson's farm. But the old steading was allowed to go to decay, and some one told me the other day that there is now a genuine ghost, said to be seen on moonlight nights, wandering round the ruined pile. Anyhow, its associations were of far too terrible a character for Craig to think of building near it.

He chose the site for his house and outbuildings near the creek and the spot where they had bivouaced before the murder was discovered. It was near here too that Craig had made his firm resolve to be a free man—made it and kept it. The spot was charmingly beautiful too; and as his district included a large portion of the forest, he commenced clearing that, but in so scientific and tasteful a manner that it looked, when finished, like a noble park.

During this year Squire Broadbent also became a squatter. From Squire to Squatter may sound to some like a come-down in life; but really Broadbent did not think so.

He managed to buy out a station immediately adjoining Archie's, and when he had got fairly established thereon he told his brother Ramsay that fifteen years had tumbled off his shoulders all in a lump—fifteen years of care and trouble, fifteen years of struggle to keep his head above water, and live up to his squiredom.

"I'm more contented now by far and away," he told his wife, "than I was in the busy, boastful days before the fire at Burley Old Farm; so, you see, it doesn't take much in this world to make a man happy."

Rupert did not turn squatter, but missionary. It was a great treat for him to have Etheldene to ride with him away out into the bush whenever he heard a tribe had settled down anywhere for a time. Etheldene knew all their ways, and between the two of them they no doubt did much good.

It is owing to such earnest men as Rupert that so great a change has come over the black population, and that so many of them, even as I write, sit humbly at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in their right mind. To quote the words of a recent writer: "The war-paints and weapons for fights are seen no more, the awful heathen corroborees have ceased, the females are treated with kindness, and the lamentable cries, accompanied by bodily injuries, when death occurred, have given place to Christian sorrow and quiet tears for their departed friends."

It came to pass one day that Etheldene and Archie, towards the end of the year, found themselves riding alone, through scrub and over plain, just as they were that day they were lost. The conversation turned round to Rupert's mission.

"What a dear, good, young man your brother is, Archie!" said the girl.

"Do you really love him?"

"As a brother, yes."

"Etheldene, have him for a brother, will you?"

The rich blood mounted to her cheeks and brow. She cast one half-shy, half-joyful look at Archie, and simply murmured, "Yes."

It was all over in a moment then. Etheldene struck her horse lightly across the crest with the handle of her stock-whip, and next minute both horses were galloping as if for dear life.

When Archie told Rupert how things had turned out, he only smiled in his quiet manner.

"It is a queer way of wooing," he said; "but then you were always a queer fellow, Archie, and Etheldene is a regular Bush baby, as Craig calls her. Oh, I knew long ago she loved you!"

At the year's end then both Elsie and Etheldene were married, and married, too, at the same church in Sydney from which Bob led Sarah, his blushing bride. It might not have been quite so wild and daft a wedding, but it was a very happy one nevertheless.

No one was more free in blessing the wedded couples than old Kate. Yes, old as she was, she had determined not to be left alone in England.

We know how Bob spent his honeymoon. How were the new young folks to spend theirs? Oh, it was all arranged beforehand! And on the very morning of the double marriage they embarked—Harry and Bob going with them for a holiday—on board Captain Vesey's pretty yacht, and sailed away for England. Etheldene's dream of romance was about to become a reality; she was not only to visit the land of chivalry, but with Archie her husband and hero by her side.

The yacht hung off and on the shore all day, as if reluctant to leave the land; but towards evening a breeze sprang up from the west, the sails filled, and away she went, dancing and curtseying over the water like a thing of life.

The sunset was bewitchingly beautiful; the green of the land was changed to a purple haze, that softened and beautified its every outline; the cloudless sky was clear and deep; that is, it gave you the idea you could see so far into and through it. There was a flush of saffron along the horizon; above it was of an opal tint, with here and there a tender shade of crimson—only a suspicion of this colour, no more; and apparently close at hand, in the east, were long-drawn cloudlets of richest red and gold.

Etheldene looked up in her husband's face.

"Shall we have such a sky as that to greet our arrival on English shores?" she said.

Archie drew her closer to his side.

"I'm not quite sure about the sky," he replied, shaking his head and smiling, "but we'll have a hearty English welcome."

And so they had.

FINIS.