Walking up to the house, Mat, who acted as spokesman, was confronted by a tall and dissipated-looking man, who was lounging in a canvas chair, smoking and reading.
This individual’s first words were not encouraging, as putting down his paper, he stared at Mat, and drawled out,—
“What do you want? I don’t require any hands now, certainly not a half-caste.”
But Mat’s answer in right good English considerably astonished Mr. Burns.
“My name is Stanley, I was bringing out a letter to you some years ago from a more civil-tongued fellow than yourself, and that’s your own brother, only I and my brother here got wrecked, were the only two saved, and we’ve lived with the blacks up north ever since; how long I don’t know, as I’ve lost all tally, but a great number of years.”
Before the conclusion of this speech, Burns had started from his chair and was critically examining the speaker.
“Well, I be hanged!” he cried, as soon as he could grasp the fact that he was addressing one of the only two survivors of the ill-fated Young Austral; for he guessed that was the ship. “I didn’t mean to speak roughly, only I’ve been so bothered lately; that’s your brother there, I’ll go bail by the likeness. But come in, come in, and let’s talk all about it; fetch the niggers up too, I beg your pardon, I mean the natives. You shall all have a good square meal before anything else.”
Burns’ manner completely changed as he ordered in the dinner, and bade them all be seated. Mat then gave his host Carew’s letter, and whilst he was reading it, our travellers were only too glad to be left to enjoy their meal, having fasted since early morning.
Burns reappeared after the lapse of a few minutes, with a bottle of grog, saying,—
“Now you’ve about finished, let me hear something of your doings.”