“What is your name the short for, Lyn?” he said, picking up one of her drawing-books, whereon it was traced—in faded ink upon the faded cover.
She laughed. “It isn’t a name at all really. It’s only my initials. I have three ugly Christian names represented under the letters L.Y.N., and it began with a joke among the boys when I was a very small kiddie. But now I rather like it. Don’t you?”
“Yes. Very much... Why, what’s the matter now?”
For certain shrill shouts were audible from the thick of the bush, but at no great distance away. They recognised Fred’s voice, and he was hallooing like mad.
“Lyn! Mr Blachland! Quick—quick! Man, here’s a whacking big snake!”
“Oh, let’s go and see!” cried the girl, hurriedly putting down her drawing things, and springing to her feet. “No—no. You stay here. I’ll go. You’re quite safe here. Stay, do you hear?”
She turned in surprise. Her companion was quite agitated.
“Why, it’s safe enough!” she said with a laugh, but still wondering. “I’m not in the least afraid of snakes. I’ve killed several of them. Come along.”
And answering Fred’s shouts she led the way through the grass and stones at an astonishing pace, entirely disregarding his entreaties to allow him to go first.
“There! There!” cried Fred, his fist full of stones, pointing to some long grass almost hiding a small boulder about a dozen yards away. “He’s squatting there. He’s a big black ringhals. I threw him with three stones—didn’t hit him, though. Man, but he’s ‘kwai.’ Look, look! There!”