Jean watched until she was tired. The smell of the wool, the noise, the heat, the cries of the tormented sheep, all turned her sick, and she fled to the house. There things were little better. Everybody was busy. Aunt Mildred had no time to notice a little girl. Sandy was away, no one knew where, and, worst of all, her mother was laid low with one of her terrible headaches. Jean knew these of old, and that it was no use to expect to even speak to her mother before night. She felt forlorn and lonely and decided to take a ride.
No one was at the stable to saddle Dandy, but she had learned to ride as well without a saddle as with, so she got on the pony's back and rode toward the river.
Away from the noise of the shearing shed, how quiet and lovely it all seemed. The wind swayed gently the branches of the great she-oaks as a mopoke's mournful note came from the gum trees. Flying foxes flapped their wings and she came upon the playground of a satin-bower[8] bird, the first she had ever seen, although her uncle had told her about them. She rode farther into the wood than she intended and, feeling tired, she got off Dandy and, throwing the reins over a bush, sat down under a tree to rest.
"I'm so tired," she said to herself, "I think I will take a little nap. This looks just the place for a fairy ring and perhaps the elves will come to dance while I am asleep."
She lay down under the huge tree about which ferns grew so thickly as to form a green curtain. Dandy browsed in the grass near by, every now and then pricking up his dainty ears and working his velvety nose as if something he did not like was near. Then his reins pulled loose from the bush and he wandered away to nibble at a tempting bit of turf a little distance away. Another tempted him and he was soon out of sight, hidden by the great ferns which grew up above his pretty head.
As he disappeared there was a little rustle in the bushes and two eyes peered at the sleeping child. Then a hand reached out and warily touched a fold of her little blue gingham frock. Jean stirred in her sleep and smiled. She was dreaming that her father had come back and that he took her in his strong arms and carried her away, away, and she never wanted him to put her down. The scent of the wild blooms was in her nostrils, and she did not wake when two arms cautiously raised her from the ground and holding her lightly yet carefully, so that no branch might brush against her, carried her far into the deep and lonely wood. It was perhaps an hour that the man carried her and she did not wake. Then she opened her eyes to find herself in the arms of a big Black. She screamed in fright, but he spoke gently to her.
"Missa not 'fraid. Me not bad Black. Take Missa home."
"Where is my pony. I would rather ride him," she cried, struggling, and the Black put her down.
"Pony all gone," he said. "Missa very tired, me show Missa my gin. She very sick, want to see white baby, with gold for hair. Hear all about her from other gin. Then carry home. Black very much like Missa." He smiled again and his face looked kind. "Let me carry Missa or we not get there soon," he said coaxingly, and not knowing what else to do Jean allowed him to pick her up and carry her again. He walked fast, but she did not see the river or the house and she began to grow frightened. It grew dark and the air was full of flying things, so large as to seem like birds and so small as to seem like baby mice with wings. The bird songs were stilled; only the soft chirping of the tree insects were heard. Then those ceased and all was still and dark, and the silent forest so terrified the child that she began to cry.