Mr. Linton sternly hunted his flock to bed early on Sunday evening, and dawn, had scarcely broken next morning when they were astir, Norah and Jean running hurriedly to the Cottage to dress, while Murty dismantled their little tent, and had it, with the bags that formed their bunks, neatly packed and made ready for transport. Breakfast was despatched hastily by all but Mr. Linton, who declined altogether to bestir himself unduly, and demanded of his excited charges if they had visions of catching a train? Finally, they were all in the saddle, the horses fidgeting and dancing with excitement—save the packhorse, who looked upon the world with an embittered gaze, and Black Billy’s scrawny piebald, old Bung Eye, who was supposed to be proof against any kind of excitement whatever.
“Now do come back safe an’ sound, all of you!” Brownie begged. “Me nerves have had enough to bear lately; I don’t want any broken heads or cracked legs. An’ if you find a gold mine out there, then I’ll give notice, if you please, sir, an’ take out a miner’s right, an’ go off makin’ me fortune!”
“Anybody in this party finding a gold mine is hereby ejected summarily!” said Mr. Linton, promptly. “The penalty would be too heavy to make the find worth while.”
“We’ll live and die poor, but we’ll keep you, Brownie!” Jim told her.
“Me own prospects don’t seem to matter much to you, do they?” retorted Brownie, enjoying herself hugely. Occasionally it gave her immense delight to toy with the fiction of leaving Billabong—knowing very well indeed, as did they all, that a team of bullocks would scarcely have been strong enough to tear her away. “Often I says to meself that I might end me days as a prospector—there’s no knowin’ how much gold is lyin’ about in them ranges for the pickin’ up.”
“If it’s there, Brownie, I will bring you a necklace of nuggets with my own fair hands,” said Wally. “Steady, you brute!”
Brownie beamed over the portion of the speech addressed to her.
“Thank you—an’ take care of that horse, dearie, for I know he ain’t safe,” she said anxiously—to the great delight of Jim, and Wally’s no small embarrassment. The men grinned widely.
“The halters is in the pack, sir, an’ likewise the hobbles,” said Murty. “If y’ don’t be watchin’ that black image of a haythen on Bung Eye, he’ll put the wrong hobbles on Bosun—there’s a small, little pair I made special for the pony. He’ll get his feet out of nearly anny other hobbles on the place.”
“Thank you, Murty!” from Norah. Murty beamed.