“You, Twenty-five! How dare you? Extra punishment for that. Pass by, sir.”
“No, no, don’t punish him,” whispered Nic. “He did not mean any harm.”
“Not going to, sir,” said the warder drily; “but one must keep them in their places. He’s a comic sort of blackguard. Not much harm in him.”
“I thought not,” said Nic eagerly.
“And precious little good, sir,” added the warder. “But he may turn out right. Housebreaking, I think, was his offence. When he gets out to the convict lines they’ll teach him to know better; and some day he’ll have a house of his own, if it’s only a bark hut—gunyah they call ’em out there—and then he’ll know the value of it, and be ready to upset any one who tries to break in.”
“Then you have been out before?”
“Oh yes, sir. I know the country pretty well, specially the part where your father is. I’ve been there.”
“And you know my father?”
“Oh no, sir. I never saw him. But it’s a fine place, and you’ll like it. I wish I was you, and going to begin life out there in the new land.”
“Then you think I shall like it?” said Nic.