“I think life is all a picnic to those two plump and worthy men,” Dr. Firth responded. “I suppose they landed as a measure of exploration. They came back in some excitement, though, to breakfast—nothing makes my two sleuth-hounds forget their meals. A man has been camping in the old hut, they say: they found blankets there. Indeed, for all they know, he is still on the Island.”
“But I suppose anyone may camp there?” I asked. “It isn’t private property.”
“Of course—dozens of people may use it, for all I know. However, the detectives have made up their minds that he is their man, and off they went after breakfast, to explore it thoroughly. I only hope they won’t arrest some perfectly innocent holiday-maker and bring me his scalp!”
I did not dare to look at the children. They fell behind, affecting to examine a plant, and I heard smothered shrieks of glee. For myself, I found it difficult to listen to what my companion was saying: my brain was all a-whirl. If we had not gone last night——! And then I fell to wondering if anything that might be found on Shepherd’s Island would bear marks that would be incriminating. The blankets, I knew, were plain Army grey ones; the food-tins, even if discovered, were only such as might be bought at any good store, and I knew Mrs. McNab had always ordered them from Melbourne. Ronald Hull would have hidden them carelessly: there was no hope that they would not be found by the detectives. Well, I could only hope that Mrs. McNab’s prudence had guarded against supplying evidence. She had had long enough to practise prudence, poor soul.
We camped beside a little creek, boiled the billy, and shared our lunch with Dr. Firth; fortunately, I had learned that it was wise to provide amply for Judy and Jack’s appetites, and there were plenty of sandwiches. Then Sandy dashed into the bush, to appear presently in triumph with a rabbit, which he laid at his master’s feet. The sight of the little, limp body filled Judy and Jack with ambition to fish for yabbies, and Dr. Firth skilfully dissected a leg for each, while they tied strings to tea-tree sticks. Then they sat, supremely happy, on the bank, dangling their grisly baits, and drew up numbers of the hideous little fresh-water crayfish, which they stowed in the billy, with a view to supper. I had uneasy visions of Mrs. Winter’s probable comments on the addition to her larder.
Dr. Firth and I sat under a tree, listening to their ecstatic yells, and talked. It was always easy to talk to him: each time we met seemed to show me more clearly what a friend I had found. Always he wanted to hear more and more of Colin and Madge, and of our life since we had lost Father; he knew all about the little Prahran flat, about Madge’s music and her examination successes, and about Colin’s dearness to us both. We laughed over our amateur housekeeping and over Colin’s droll stories of his office—Colin had always made a joke of it, though Madge and I knew well enough how sorely he hated it. And then the talk would swing back to Father, and he would tell me stories of the youth they had spent together, until I felt that I knew Father better than I had ever done before, and had even greater cause for pride than I had dreamed of. The future, that had been so drab to us, seemed quite different now. Hardship and work there must be, of course, but not the loneliness that had walled us round since Father had gone away.
We had been so deeply engrossed that we had not noticed that the children had tired of fishing and had disappeared, leaving their rods on the bank beside the billy that was half full of squirming captives. I looked at my watch when we discovered their absence, and came back with a start to the realization of my duties.
“We ought to be making a move homeward,” I said. “I don’t want Mrs. McNab to be worried about us.”
“Oh, they won’t be far off,” Dr. Firth said.
He sent a long coo-ee ringing through the scrub. A faint answering sound came, and following it, we went along the creek bank, to be greeted presently by the spectacle of Judy and Jack perched in a tree that partly overhung the water. Jack was feeling his way along a dead bough towards a hole that might or might not contain a parrot’s nest. I cried out in alarm at sight of him, for the branch was rickety, and the ground below did not invite a fall—it was strewn with loose rocks, some of which had tumbled bodily into the creek.