"Hallo, Geordie, lad! is that you? I might have known it; no one else can climb the rocks as you do."
"I thought I should find you at 'The Castle.' What have you come for? There's something the matter, I'm sure there is. What is it, old boy?" He sat down as he spoke and passed his hand into his brother's arm. "Tea is quite ready, and the Johnny-cakes piping hot. Mother and Margaret couldn't think where you were, but I guessed you had ramped off to 'The Castle' for a quiet think. Come, tell us all about it."
For a moment Alec Law did not answer, but sat, as he had been sitting before his brother came, with his chin on his hand and his elbow on his knee, looking with steady gaze over the tops of the wild, great trees that grew below them in a tangled mass of luxuriant greenery, towards that far-away strip of silver on which the moonlight fell, which he knew to be the sea. He was two or three years older than George, and was more developed and of a stouter build, but one could see at a glance that they were brothers: they had the same dark eyes and level brows, and the same dark wavy hair. They were dressed alike, which made the likeness stronger. Just as nine-tenths of Australian bushmen do, they wore white—or what once were white—moleskin breeches, laced boots, gaiters, and red flannel shirts open at the throat, and with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow.
Alec turned when he found his arm taken, and, as he saw his brother, the stern look vanished from his determined face, and his eyes met Geordie's inquiring gaze with a softer light there than had shone in them before.
"Yes, you are right; something is the matter. I came here to try and think of a way out of it all. I didn't want to trouble you with it, so I came out alone."
"And did you think that I should not miss you? No, that plan will never pay. Don't let us begin to have secrets from one another, Alec; all the more reason I should know it, if it is trouble."
"I should have told you at once if I had thought you could help, but you can't."
"Mine may not be up to much, but two heads are better than one."
"Well this is all about it. You know that during the two years after father's death we had that long dry season; there was no rain, and every water-hole in the creek dried up; the sheep and cattle died by hundreds at a time. That was the beginning of it."
"The beginning of what?"