“And then look at the place, sir, all along by the big river. It arn’t half so healthy as this. I never feel well there, and I know the land arn’t half so rich.”
“But we must study safety, my man,” said my father.
“Of course we must, sir, so what’s the good of being scared about some Injins, who may never come again, and running right into where there’s likely to be fevers—and if some day there don’t come a big flood and half drown ’em all, I’m a Dutchman, and wasn’t born in Carnarvon after all.”
“But there is another consideration, Morgan; we have some one else to look after—your wife.”
“Oh, don’t you trouble about me, sir,” cried Sarah; and we looked up in astonishment. “I came out here to look after you and Master George, not for you to look after me.”
“Why, what are you doing up there?” said my father, as Sarah’s nose showed between the bars of the window of the loft.
“Keeping a sharp look-out for Indians, sir.”
“That’s right Sarah,” cried Morgan. “And, I say, you don’t think we had better go, do you?”
“Certainly not,” said Sarah, sharply. “Just as we’re getting the place and my kitchen so snug and comfortable. I should think not indeed.”
“There, sir,” cried Morgan, triumphantly.