However, the Hermit was a man of penetration and soon realized the state of the social barometer. His hosts, who did not look at all like quiet boys, were eating their blackfish in perfect silence, save for polite requests for bread or pepper, or the occasional courteous remark, “Chuck us the salt!”
Accordingly the Hermit exerted himself to please, and it would really have taken more than three crabby boys to resist him. He told the drollest stories, which sent everyone into fits of laughter, although he never laughed himself at all; and he talked about the bush, and told them of the queer animals he saw—having, as he said, unusually good opportunities for watching the bush inhabitants unseen. He knew where the lyrebirds danced, and had often crept silently through the scrub until he could command a view of the mound where these strange birds strutted and danced, and mimicked the other birds with life-like fidelity. He loved the birds very much, and never killed any of them, even when a pair of thievish magpies attacked his larder and pecked a damper into little bits when he was away fishing. Many of the birds were tame with him now, he said; they would hop about the camp and let him feed them; and he had a carpet snake that was quite a pet, which he offered to show them—an offer that broke down the last tottering barriers of the boys’ reserve. Then there were his different methods of trapping animals, some of which were strange even to Jim, who was a trapper of much renown.
“Don’t you get lonely sometimes?” Norah asked him.
The Hermit looked at her gravely.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Now and then one feels that one would give something to hear a human voice again, and to feel a friend’s hand-grip. Oh, there are times, Miss Norah, when I talk to myself—which is bad—or yarn to old Turpentine, my snake, just to hear the sound of words again. However, when these bad fits come upon me I know it’s a sign that I must get the axe and go and chop down sufficient trees to make me tired. Then I go to sleep, and wake up quite a cheerful being once more!”
He hesitated.
“And there’s one thing,” he said slowly—“though it may be lonely here, there is no one to trouble you; no one to treat you badly, to be ungrateful or malicious; no bitter enemies, and no false friends, who are so much worse than enemies. The birds come and hop about me, and I know that it is because I like them and have never frightened them; old Turpentine slides his ugly head over my knees, and I know he doesn’t care a button whether I have any money in my pocket, or whether I have to go out into the scrub to find my next meal! And that’s far, far more than you can say of most human beings!”
He looked round on their grave faces, and smiled for the first time.
“This is uncommonly bad behaviour in a guest,” he said cheerily. “To come to lunch, and regale one’s host and hostess with a sermon! It’s too bad. I ask your forgiveness, young people, and please forget all I said immediately. No, Miss Norah, I won’t have any damper, thank you—after a three months’ course of damper one looks with joy once more on bread. If Wally will favour me—I think the correct phrase is will you ‘chuck me the butter?’”—whereat Wally “chucked” as desired, and the meal proceeded merrily.