“Not a bit of it,” replied his companion; “for there’s no fool like a drunken fool. They’ll do anything for a spree. They’re like madmen when they go off with their wages. You may find three or four shepherds clubbing together. They’ll call for champagne, and then for a pail. Then they’ll knock the necks off the bottles, pour the champagne into the pail, and ladle it out with their pannikins as they sit round. And if that don’t satisfy them, they’ll add a bottle of brandy, or rum, or some other spirit. I think they’re fairly crazy after the drink in this colony.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Jacob. “It’s much the same in most places in the old country.”
“Here we are,” said the young bushman, shortly after, as they made their way through the tangled trees and shrubs, and came upon a large-sized log-hut.
How strange it was, that solitary hut in that lone wilderness, and in view of the shining river! All around was wild and primitive; and fair in its negligent beauty as though it had never been disturbed by the hand of man. The hut was large and well-constructed, though now a little falling to decay. It was built of logs laid horizontally in order one above another, and rendered tolerably wind-proof by the moss and clay which served to fill up the crevices.
Into this primitive dwelling Jacob followed his guide. He was surprised at the air of comfort presented by the interior. Not that there was much to boast of in the way of furniture, but great pains and skill had evidently been used to give an air of snugness to the one long, desolate apartment of which the hut consisted. On a low, roughly-made bedstead lay poor Frank Oldfield, judiciously shielded from draughts by hangings of carefully arranged drapery. His various possessions lay around him, neatly piled up, or hung on the walls. And what struck Jacob with both pleasure and surprise, was a text in large printed characters on the wall—opposite the foot of the bed. The words of the text were: “The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.” Oh, what a marvellous power have the words of the blessed Bible to prove their own heavenly origin in circumstances like these! In a moment it was clear to Jacob that his master was in good hands. These words out of that volume which is the revelation of the God of love to poor guilty sinners, told him so with a force which no eloquence or assurance from human lips could strengthen. Yet there were other, and very pleasing, proofs also, for at the bed’s head sat a middle-aged, kindly-looking woman, who was acting the part of nurse to the poor emaciated figure that lay on that couch of sickness.
“Who is it?” asked a feeble voice, as the newcomers entered the hut.
“An old servant, mother, of the gentleman’s,” answered the young bushman.
“What, Jacob Poole!” exclaimed Frank, raising himself up.
“There, don’t worry or excite yourself,” said the kind woman. “I’ll prop you up a bit, but you mustn’t talk too much. It’ll only make you bad again.”