From his saddle dees he took a pair of green-hide hobbles, lifted off the saddle with its valise, hobbled the horse, and then holding the child's hand in his, set out towards the beach.
“Now, Mary, you and I are going to have a great old time. First of all, you are going to show me how you get pippies. Then we will come back and cook them, and have some tea and some damper as well, for I have both in my saddle-bags, and I have a wood duck too, which I shot this morning. Did you see it?”
“Yes, Uncle Tom; and your gun, too. Jim loves guns.”
“Does he, my chick? Jim must be a man after my own heart.”
“What's that, Uncle Tom?”
“Oh, I'll tell you some day. Now come along for the pippies. You show me how you get them, and I'll show you how I get them.”
Holding his hand, the child led him down through the wild, sweet-smelling littoral scrub by a cattle track to the beach, where before them lay the blue Pacific, shining under the rays of the afternoon sun. The tide was low, and the “pippies” (cockles) were easily had, for they protruded their suckers out upon every few inches of the sand. Gerrard, booted and spurred as he was, went into the water, dug into the sand with his hands, and helped the child to fill the basket she carried, and then, realising that she was excited, and being himself determined upon a certain course of action, he walked slowly back with her to where he had left the horses.
“Mary, dear, just sit down, and listen to me. I am not going to Marumbah to-night, and you must stay with me. We shall be there early in the morning.”
“Oh, Uncle Tom! Aunt Elizabeth will punish me.”
“Don't be afraid, chick—she won't. I will explain everything to her in the morning.”