“Shall we go with him and take care of him?” said Janet mischievously.
“Yes, I’ll come,” cried Hilda, exchanging glances with her sister, while the doctor looked on quite amused, and waited for his son’s reply.
“No, that you won’t,” cried Nic indignantly. “Just as if I were a little boy! I know: you want to take me for a walk and each hold a hand. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I begin to feel at home in the place.”
“Of course,” said his father. “There, Nic, I’m going to trust to your discretion. Of course the snakes are dangerous, and you must keep a sharp look-out. You can take your gun with you.”
Mrs Braydon started.
“Don’t be alarmed, mamma. Nic can be trusted to carry a gun. It’s of no use to wince, my dear. Nic has come out here to grow into a man, and he must begin to act like one. You’ll be careful with the piece, of course?”
“Yes, father: very.”
“That’s right. Now then, I’ll tell you the great danger—one, however, that you are not likely to fall into now, because you will not go far enough—the danger is, being bushed.”
“Being bushed, father? what’s that?”
“Wandering into the bush and losing your way.”