Another neigh, and the roan rubs its cold nose up and down the little fellow’s shoulder.
“Ah, none of that, you old Greasehorn, I’ve had some trouble to find you; but ‘better late than never’ as dad says. Now won’t they be pleased to see me? and shan’t I be glad to see them?”
Vaulting on the back of the pony, the pair jog along the wheel track towards the station. Turning a bend in the track, boy and pony come in [[323]]view of a party of men, tired to death, and who have been out hunting for the lost one.
A loud, glad shout of recognition, and the next moment poor little Berty is in the strong arms of his father, whose voice is husky with emotion as he mutters a prayer of thankfulness intermingled with his passionate kisses.
“Where did you get to, my son?”
“Oh, a long way, mother. It was the laughing jackass who found me.”
Mother and father exchange glances.
“The child has had a touch of the sun,” says the latter, stroking Berty’s curls.
“Where did the jackass find you, boy?”
“Under a big gum-tree such a long, long way off,” responds the child, extending his arms. “Then he brought a emu—such a big fellow, with a saddle and bridle, you know—and he brought me all the way to Fir Tree Hollow.”