“And I thought I was going to have a good quiet day’s gardening!” said old Sam. “There’s hundreds o’ things wants doing badly, and I’m ’bliged to give up my time to cultivate convicts. I wish to goodness the master was at home; then all this mess wouldn’t ha’ took place.”
But as the old man muttered he kept on acting. Taking some fresh water, he bathed the convict’s temples and tried hard to revive him.
“Give you a clean face if it don’t give you a clean character, my lad. I don’t like you because you’re a convict, that’s all. You’re a good, manly sort o’ chap, and if you’d ha’ been a honest man I should ha’ said you were as good a fellow to work as ever was. Nothing never comes amiss to you, and you and me never had a word in our lives. But you see you are one of the gang and a blackguard and a thief; not as you was ever a blackguard here, nor stole so much as one o’ my taters, which I will say has been big enough and fine enough to tempt any man as was digging ’em, as you was. I know they tempted me, Leather, for I took a dozen nubbly ones and roasted ’em three at a time in a bit o’ fire as Bungarolo made for me; but then I did grow them taters and had a sort o’ right in ’em.”
Old Sam left off talking to the insensible man, and looked at him anxiously as he kept on bathing his face.
“I don’t want to be hard on you, my lad, even if you are a convict. ‘Temptation sore long time you bore,’ p’r’aps before you took it, and your head maybe wasn’t as strong as your hands. But I say, are you a-coming to? None o’ that nonsense! Here! Hi! Leather! Don’t die! Don’t be so stoopid as that just for a whack on the head as’ll heal up in a fortnit.”
He gave the insensible man a shake in his excitement, but it made no impression.
“What am I to do? If I goes and tells ’em at the house it’ll frighten the women, and they can’t do no good. They’d want to burn feathers under his nose. Here, Leather, rouse up, man; don’t be a fool! D’yer hear? Wait till you get back to town, where you can be buried properly; don’t die here!”
Sam began to mop and splash the water almost frantically, as the motionless features before him seemed to grow hard and stem.
“Well, I thought you had more good stuff in you, Leather—that I did,” said the old man piteously. “I don’t wish no harm to nobody, but I wish to goodness you were old Brookes lying here instead o’ yourself, for he’s the wiciousest warmint as ever lived. I never see things go so orkard: it’s worse than locusts or blight. Master going off like that, too, just when he’s wanted. Poor lad! and I can’t do nothing for you, or I would. There, I don’t care what you done, Leather,” he said, “convict or no convict, I forgive you, whatever you did, and here’s my fist.”
He took the strong labour-hardened hand in his, and then dropped it hastily, for just as he pressed it there was a deep sigh and the convict opened his eyes to stare blankly in the old man’s face. Then, as recollection came back, he struggled up into a sitting position, rose to his feet, and stood with one hand resting against the boarded side of the bothy.