It so happened that a young missionary was on his way to spread the glad tidings among the blacks, and it did not need much coaxing on Bob’s part to get him to make a détour, and spend a week at Burley New Farm. So this was the imported parson.
But being in Brisbane, Bob thought he must import something else, which showed what a mindful father he was.
He had a look round, and a glance in at all the shop windows in Queen Street, finally he entered an emporium that took his fancy.
“Ahem!” said Bob. “I want a few toys.”
“Yes, sir. About what age, sir?”
“The newest and best you have.”
“I didn’t refer to the age of the toys,” said the urbane shopkeeper, with the ghost of a smile in his eye. “I should have said, Toys suitable for what age?”
“For every age,” replied Bob boldly.
The shopkeeper then took the liberty of remarking that his visitor must surely be blessed with a quiverful.
“I’ve only the one little girl,” said Bob. “She fills the book as yet. But, you see, we’re far away in the Bush, and baby will grow out of gum-rings and rattles, won’t she, into dolls and dung-carts? D’ye see? D’ye understand?”