Dick Lester of Kurrajong

by Mary Grant Bruce

A week went by, and the Lesters found themselves dropping so completely into the life of the western station that it might almost have seemed to be their own home. They applied insistently for work, and got it; Dick and his father were constantly out on the run with Mr. Warner and his men, while Mrs. Lester lent a willing hand within the house, plying a busy needle at Mrs. Warner's perennially overflowing mending basket, and, by way of recreation, embroidering linen smocks for the twinses.

"They'd be happier in sugar bags!" said their father, looking at the dainty garments.

"But I wouldn't get any fun out of sugar bags," protested Mrs. Lester. "It's mere selfishness!"

The twinses adored her, and constantly impeded her work by climbing over her and piling themselves upon her; at which times the matter would generally end by the disappearance of all three into the garden, where, under a big tree, she would tell them stories of fairies and leprechauns until their big eyes grew round with delight. Merle often formed a third listener. She and Mrs. Lester had become great friends, albeit the friendship on Merle's side was a silent one. Speech was never easy to her; her father was the one person to whom she could talk without constraint; and yet he knew less of her heart than did this woman who had known her but a few weeks.

"I'm really sorry for her," Mrs. Lester said to her husband. "She's just like a chestnut burr; quite sound inside that hard, prickly exterior. It's very bad luck to be born with a shell like that!" So she was unceasing in her efforts to be friends with Merle, and had the satisfaction of seeing the prickles visibly decrease.

As for Dick, nothing troubled him. He bathed at daybreak each morning in the lake with the jackeroos, and added to his learning in the matter of fancy diving, for the Perth boy was a swimmer of note. With them, too, he rode and shot and fished and played tennis, since Mr. Warner gave them a few slack days after their time in camp—"to put on condition," said he. In the long blue days there were expeditions to the out stations, mustering of the cattle, marking and branding clean skins, picnics in the scrub and by the lagoons, and motor runs wherever the roads would allow the big car to go. Dick took lessons in driving from Mr. Warner, and, though his allegiance to horses never wavered, was obliged to admit that there was more in motoring when you happened to be the man at the wheel. There were no dull moments, largely because there were no empty ones; no day was half long enough for all that he wanted to pack into it.

The jackeroos took kindly to the new-comer; he was "only a kid, but a decent kid," Downes said; and he brought a breath of the outer world, with his cheery stories of life at school. He was keen to learn, too, and enjoyed everything so intensely that it was rather fun to have him with them. So they made him one of them, both in the work and play of the long clear days, and in the star-lit nights when they fished in the lagoon, or went 'possum hunting in the belt of scrub that fringed the creek, or came back from a visit to another station, racing through the long grass with all the nameless thrill and leap of the blood that catches alike horses and riders in a night gallop. Afterwards, when galloping days are over, it is the night rides that come back to us most clearly; memories of scented darkness, with only the clear stars overhead; memories of the moonlight, when the ring-barked gums stood ghost-like, throwing long shadows across the track—shadows over which the racing horses plunged, half-shying, too excited to be more than half afraid. They come back to us, and with them come the sounds of the night: the long howl of a dingo in the ranges, a mopoke's weird cry, or a fox's bark; mingled with the tinkle of a bell on a working bullock, grazing fitfully, the creak of saddle leather and the jingle of bit and stirrup-iron; and over all the hot scents of the dew-wet bush. Dick Lester, being a very ordinary boy, did not talk of these things; did not even frame them into thoughts. But a night ride left him glowing, in mind and body; so that his mother, seeing his shining eyes, understood. The child in Dick was fast giving way to the manhood stirring in him; and Mrs. Lester—bring an ordinary mother—found herself looking ahead, proud and yet regretful, clinging to her baby, and yet eager for all that she hoped for him.

Dick came in one night with the jackeroos to find the elders discussing plans.

"We're going to be civilised to-morrow," Mr. Warner told him. "That is, we're going to put on our best clothes and take the car and go calling—the Harrisons at Mernda have asked us all over. Means starting at eleven and not home until dark."

"Oh," said Dick, his face falling involuntarily Calls—in best clothes—did not appeal to him; always they seemed to him waste of time, and here in the free western life, with so many new things to do daily, to go calling was little short of sacrilege. Moreover, the ration cart, escorted by the jackeroos, was to go to the out-stations next day, and he had hoped to accompany it. Good manners came to his aid—but his "That will be jolly!" was like flat sodawater.