"SWEET, SWEET HOME."
Sour Sorrel wanted no reining in, but stopped short at the foot of the
great hillock, down which two bonny-looking, sun-browned maidens had
run, followed by a tall, grey, graceful-looking lady.
"It is Dominic, isn't it?" cried one of the girls.
"Yes, it is!" cried the other. "Oh, Nic, how you have grown!"
"And oh!" cried the other, "how you have distressed poor Sorrel! You
shouldn't have ridden him so hard."
This was in the intervals between kisses, as the lad was embraced by
first one and then the other. But as soon as he could free himself, Nic
ran to meet his mother, who was descending more slowly.
"My dear boy!" she cried.
"Mother!" and they were locked in each other's arms.
Mrs Braydon could say no more for some minutes, but stood with the
tears streaming down her handsome face, clinging tightly to her son,
while the two dogs looked on uneasily, whining and giving short,
half-angry barks, as if they did not quite understand whether the
attentions of the three ladies were friendly toward their young master.
The tears stood in the eyes of the two girls as well, but they were
tears of joy, and in a merry, laughing way the elder cried:
"Oh, mother, you must not keep him all to yourself!"
"No, no, of course not," cried Mrs Braydon, locking one arm now in
Nic's. "Poor boy! how hot and weary he is, Janet!"
"Yes; and he has nearly ridden poor Sorrel to death," cried the second
girl.
"In his eagerness to get home," said Mrs Braydon, clinging to her son
affectionately. "At last--at last! Oh, my boy, it has seemed so long!
But your father, is he just beyond the gully?"
"No, no!" cried Nic excitedly. "A day's journey away."
"And you have come alone?"
"Yes; but tell me," cried Nic. "The blacks: have they attacked you?"
"No, no," cried Janet quickly; "are they out?"
"Yes; we saw a large party this morning coming to attack the waggon.
Father was afraid that they might have been here, and he sent me on for
news."
"No," said Mrs Braydon, "they have not been near us. But your father?"
"I left him with the two men and the waggon."
"They'll be all right, mother," said the second girl, squeezing up to
Nic's side and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Oh! how wet and
hot you are. Sticky boy!"
"Yes, mother dear," said Janet. "Hil is quite right. There's nothing
to mind."
"But he said the blacks were going to attack the waggon, my dear," cried
Mrs Braydon anxiously. "We had better send over to Mr Dillon for a
party to go and meet them."
"Oh, nonsense, mother!" said Hilda, giving her dark brown curls a toss;
"father would laugh at the idea. He'll fire a few shots over their
heads and send them scrambling away."
"Yes, of course," said Janet calmly enough. "Mamma is a little nervous
sometimes, Nic. We don't mind a few blackfellows about here. They are
only like big children."
"But what ought I to do?" cried Nic anxiously. "Shall I ride somewhere
and get help?"
"Perhaps it is not necessary," said Mrs Braydon, smiling rather
piteously. "The girls are right. But, my dear boy, how did you find
your way?"
"Father pointed out that gap in the mountain over there, and told me to
ride straight for it."
"What place was it where you left your father?"
Nic described it as well as he was able.
"I know: it must be the third water-hole from here; five-and-thirty
miles away."
"And he has ridden all that way since morning!" cried Mrs Braydon. "My
poor boy! It is dreadful!"
"There," cried Hilda saucily; "it's all over, Jan. I knew mamma would
spoil him as soon as he came. Go and have your face washed, Nic; you're
not fit to touch ladies. _Cooey--cooey_!"
Nic stared to see his pretty young sister, a year older than he,
suddenly put her hands to her mouth and utter a peculiar cry.
"She's calling one of the men."
"_Cooey_!" came in response, and a shock-headed black in shirt and
trousers came running down from one of the sheds.
"White Mary want er?"
"No, no: where's Samson?"
"White Mary want er--Sam," said the black aloud, as if telling himself;
and he trotted off with a queer gait, his legs very far apart, as if he
found trousers awkward to walk in; and he then burst into a sharp run,
for the dogs, which had been smelling his heels, began to bark and rush
after him.
"Here, here, here!" shouted Nic, for the black uttered a yell; and the
dogs turned back obediently, and came to his side wagging their tails,
and, apparently satisfied in their minds, were ready to respond to the
friendly advances of the two girls.
"Hi! Sam!" cried Hilda, as a diminutive grey old man came hurrying
down, smiling and touching his hat. "Take Sorrel, and give him a feed
of corn and a good rub down. Hardly any water."
"All right, miss. So this is young master? How do, sir? Glad to see
you. Master close home?"
"No, no, Samson," said Mrs Braydon anxiously. "What do you think? My
son was sent on to see if we were safe here. The blacks are out, and a
party surprised them by the waggon."
To Nic's annoyance the man showed a few very old yellow teeth in an ugly
laugh.
"Master'll surprise some o' them if they don't take to their legs mighty
sharp, missus."
"Then you don't think there's any danger?"
"Yes, I do--for them," said the man. "Some on 'em'll be howling while
t'others picks shot-corns out o' their black hides with a pynted stone."
"Yes, of course," said Hilda coolly.
"Then you don't think I ought to send over to Mr Dillon to get help for
him?"
"Help? Tchah! Don't you be so narvous, missus. They blackfellows
don't know no better. They comes out with some streaks of white chalk
on their black carcadges, and they goes up to a waggon flourishing their
hop-poles and making faces, and frightens some people, and then they
steal flour and stores; but if they've gone to our waggon, I 'magine
they've gone to the wrong un. Take a precious ugly face to scare the
doctor. Tell you what he'll do, ladies all. He'll shoot over their
heads _first_."
"Yes, of course," said Hilda.
"That's right, Miss Hil. Then if that don't do no good, he'll give 'em
a dose o' number six. And then, missus, if that don't do, he'll try
swan shot; but don't you be frecken. Master knows how to manage strange
blackfellows. Come along, my lad. Say, young master, you have give him
a sweating, and no mistake."
The horse went and placed its muzzle over the little old man's shoulder,
and gave a puff like a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"Knows me, young master," said the man, grinning. "Ay, nussed you,
Sorrel, when you was on'y a babby, didn't I?" he continued, patting the
arched neck and carefully turning a few strands of the mane back in
their place.
"There, mother dear," said Janet affectionately; "you see it is not
necessary."
"But I feel as if, now I know you are all safe, I ought to go back,"
said Nic.
"You couldn't do it, sir," said the old man. "Why, you don't s'pose I
should be talking like this if I thought the doctor was in trouble!
There's allus blacks about; and it's on'y missus as is so scared about
'em. It's all right, sir. Where did you say you left the master?"
"By the third water-hole."
"By Bangoony," said the old man. "Day's trot, and the bullocks'll want
a three-hour rest half-way. They'll be here twelve o'clock to-night,
for master'll make it one day for the last. Don't you fret, missus; the
doctor knows what he's about. Blacks ain't lifers. He'll be here all
right. Come along, my bairn!"
This last was to the horse, which followed him toward one of the sheds;
and the dogs went after, one of them uttering a low growl as the man
gave the nag a sounding slap.
Samson stood still, and then turned to the dog. "Now then: none o'
that. It ain't your horse." The dog growled, and its companion joined
in. "Oh, that's it, is it? I say, Mr Dominic, sir, hadn't you better
interrajuice us? They say they don't know me, and I'm too useful to
your father to feed dogs."
"They won't bite," said Nic, going up, but walking very stiff and lame.
"That's what folks allus says," grumbled the old man; "but `dogs do bark
and bite, for 'tis their nature to.' Just you tell 'em to make
friends."
"Yes. Look here: friends! friends!" cried Nic. "Shake hands, Samson."
"Sure I will, sir," said the old man, grinning, as he rubbed a hard
blackened hand down one leg of his trousers. "That ain't dirt, sir.
I've been tarring some o' the sheep. On'y a bit sticky."
"I don't mind," cried the boy, holding out his hand, which was taken in
a firm grip, and proved to be more than a bit sticky, for it was held
tightly as the man stared hard at him.
"And the master to'd me, he did, as you was on'y a bit of a sickly slip
of a lad as he left in London or elsewhere when he come out here--a
poor, thin, weak, wankle sort o' gentleman, not what he is now."
Nic wanted to loose his hand and get back, but it was held fast, and the
old man went on:
"Why, you'll grow into a _big_, strong man, sir, bigger than the doctor.
Ay, I 'gaged with him arter he'd nussed me for my broken leg, as the
ship doctor down at Botany Bay said must come off. `Nay,' says your
father, and him all the time suff'rin' from a norful corf,--`nay,' he
says, `don't you have it took off, my man,' he says; and I says I
wouldn't, for o' course I didn't want to go about like a pegtop; and he
sets to and makes it right. This here's the leg, stronger than t'other.
I call it the doctor's leg, and I said I'd come up country with him if
he'd have me, and he said he would, and I helped him make this place.
We cut the wood and knocked in the nails, and I've bred horses and sheep
and cows for him, and I'm going to stick to him to the end, and then
he's promised to dig a hole hisself under yan big gum tree with my name
placed over me, and that's where I'm goin' to sleep. Now you wants to
go back to your mar. She's been a-frettin' arter you for years while
you was being taught to read and write, so be a good boy to her. But, I
say, you couldn't ha' rid another five-and-thirty mile to-day."
"No," said Nic. "Take care of the horse."
"Ay, and the dogs too. Here, give's your paw."
The dog he spoke to growled and showed its teeth.
"Ah, friends! Give him your paw," cried Nic.
The dog held out its right paw, but threw up its head and drew back its
muzzle, as it looked at Nic protestingly, as much as to say, "He's only
a stranger, and I don't know anything about him."
"Now you," growled Samson; and the same business was gone through, with
the dog whining uneasily.
"Hullo! what's the matter?" said Samson, lifting the leg. "There--don't
make that row. It's on'y a thorn. You'll get lots o' them in your toes
if you behave yourself. Dogs ought to wear boots in some o' these
parts. That's it. Big un too. See it?"
He made an offer as if to prick the dog's nose, after drawing out a
long, sharp thorn, making the beast yelp; but as soon as it was out it
gave the place a lick, and then barked loudly and danced about the old
man, both dogs following him readily now as he went off grinning to the
stable.
Mrs Braydon and the girls were waiting, and Nic was led limping toward
the house.
"Only a bit stiff with riding," said the boy. "Then we are to be
comfortable about father?"
"I suppose so, my dear," said Mrs Braydon. "Janet, my love, see to the
tea."
"Everything is ready, mother dear," said the girl affectionately; "and
really I don't think we need fidget. Nic cannot go back. He must stay
and take care of us and the station."
"Yes," said Mrs Braydon sadly, as if she thought it would be of more
consequence to take care of the doctor; and Nic was led into the house,
after passing through a neatly kept, well fenced-in garden, full of
trees, shrubs, and flowers new to him, though beyond a hedge there was a
broad spread of homely old friends of a useful kind, growing
luxuriantly.
He was ushered at once into a pleasant room, made bright, in spite of
its extremely simple furnishing, by white dimity curtains and home-made
mats, the bed in the corner looking white as snow; and, left to himself,
the boy luxuriated in a comfortable wash, though in place of ewer and
basin he had but a bucket and tub.
Before he had finished, his mother was back with a cup of refreshing
tea, this time with cream.
"You'll find everything very rough, my son; but every time the waggon
goes on its journey to the port it brings back same more domestic
comforts."
"Never mind the roughness, mother," cried Nic, kissing her, and bringing
a smile of joy playing about her lips; "it's home, and I'm along with
you all again."
"Yes, my son; and I can be quite happy now," said Mrs Braydon, clinging
to him fondly. "There, drink your tea," she said quickly, "finish
dressing, and there's a brush by the window, and I've brought you my
glass. How brown and blistered your poor face is!"
"Oh, that's nothing, mother," cried Nic. "Hah! delicious!" he sighed,
as he finished the tea, making his mother smile her satisfaction.
"Be quick. We have a tea-dinner ready, for we felt that you might come
at any time. You will not have to come downstairs, dear; we are all on
one floor. We only had one room and the waggon and a tent first; but
others have been added, one at a time. I ought to go now, but it is so
hard to leave you, my dear."
She kissed him lovingly again--they were the first kisses she had
pressed upon his lips for over five years--and then she hurried out.
"Hah!" sighed Nic; "I wish I knew that father was safe." Then, stiff
and with his hand trembling from his long ride, he took up the comb to
smooth his hair.
"Might as well sit down," he said; and he sank back on the bed. "How
soft! Feathers! And the pillow--how cool! Cheeks burn so," he
muttered, as he subsided on the restful couch to gaze sidewise at the
window with its little sill and flowers growing in a box, all fresh,
bright and fragrant.
"I like flowers," he said softly, and then--"Hah!"
He was breathing softly.
The bow strained tightly for so many hours was now unstrung. Every
nerve and muscle were relaxed, and the soft, pure air which came through
the open window played upon his scorched cheeks.
The horse was swinging along in that easy canter out of the burning
sunshine into the shade--a soft, cool, delicious, restful shade--on and
on and on toward the Bluff; and Nic felt that there was no more care and
trouble in the world. There was nothing to trouble him. He had felt
his mother's kisses on his cheeks and lips, and the horse was not
rushing, only swinging along in that glorious canter, for the shade had
grown darker, into a soft, sweet obscurity, and everything was so still.