Letters came from home about once a month, but they came to Archie only.

Yet, though Bob had never a friend to write to him from Northumbria,

nor Harry one in Whitechapel, the advent of a packet from home gave

genuine joy to all hands.

Archie's letters from home were read first by Archie himself, away out

under the shade of a tree as likely as not. Then they were read to his

chums, including Sarah and Diana.

Diana was the baby.

But they were not finished with even then. No; for they were hauled out

and perused night after night for maybe a week, and then periodically

for perhaps another fortnight. There was something new to talk about

found in them each time; something suggesting pleasant conversation.

Archie was often even amused at "his dear old dad's" remarks and advice.

He gave as many hints, and planned as many improvements, as though he

had been a settler all his life, and knew everything there was any need

to know about the soil and the climate.

He believed--i.e., the old Squire believed--that if he were only out

among them, he would show even the natives [white men born in the Bush]

a thing or two.

Yes, it was amusing; and after filling about ten or twelve

closely-written pages on suggested improvements, he was sure to finish

up somewhat as follows in the postscript:

"But after all, Archie, my dear boy, you must be very careful in all you

do. Never go like a bull at a gate, lad. Don't forget that I--even I--

was not altogether successful at Burley Old Farm."

"Bless that postscript," Archie would say; "mother comes in there."

"Does she now?" Sarah would remark, looking interested.

"Ay, that she does. You see father just writes all he likes first--

blows off steam as it were; and mother reads it, and quietly dictates a

postscript."

Then there were Elsie's letters and Rupert's, to say nothing of a note

from old Kate and a crumpled little enclosure from Branson. Well, in

addition to letters, there was always a bundle of papers, every inch of

which was read--even the advertisements, and every paragraph of which

brought back to Archie and Bob memories of the dear old land they were

never likely to forget.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE STREAM OF LIFE FLOWS QUIETLY ON.

One day a grand gift arrived from England, being nothing less than a

couple of splendid Scotch collies and a pair of Skye terriers. They had

borne the journey wonderfully well, and set about taking stock, and

settling themselves in their new home, at once.

Archie's pet kangaroo was an object of great curiosity to the Skyes at

first. On the very second day of their arrival Bobie and Roup, as they

were called, marched up to the kangaroo, and thus addressed him:

"We have both come to the conclusion that you are something that

shouldn't be."

"Indeed!" said the kangaroo.

"Yes; so we're going to let the sawdust out of you."

"Take that then to begin with!" said Mr Kangaroo; and one of the dogs

was kicked clean and clear over a fern bush.

They drew off after that with their tails well down. They thought they

had made a mistake somehow. A rabbit that could kick like a young colt

was best left to his own devices.

The collies never attempted to attack the kangaroo; but when they saw

the droll creature hopping solemnly after Archie, one looked at the

other, and both seemed to laugh inwardly.

The collies were placed under the charge of Craig to be broken to use,

for both were young, and the Skyes became the vermin-killers. They

worked in couple, and kept down the rats far more effectually than ever

the cats had done. They used to put dingoes to the rout whenever or

wherever they saw them; and as sometimes both these game little animals

would return of a morning severely bitten about the face and ears, it

was evident enough they had gone in for sharp service during the night.

One curious thing about the Skyes was, that they killed snakes, and

always came dragging home with the loathsome things. This was very

clever and very plucky; nevertheless, a tame laughing jackass that Harry

had in a huge cage was to them a pet aversion. Perhaps the bird knew

that; for as soon as he saw them he used to give vent to a series of

wild, defiant "ha-ha-ha's" and "hee-hee-hee's" that would have laid a

ghost.

The improvements on that portion of Burley New Farm more immediately

adjoining the steading had gone merrily on, and in a year or two, after

fencing and clearing the land, a rough style of agriculture was

commenced. The ploughs were not very first-class, and the horses were

oxen--if I may make an Irish bull. They did the work slowly but well.

They had a notion that every now and then they ought to be allowed to go

to sleep for five minutes. However, they were easily roused, and just

went on again in a dreamy kind of way.

The land did not require much coaxing to send up crops of splendid

wheat. It was a new-born joy to Bob and Archie to ride along their

paddocks, and see the wind waving over the growing grain, making the

whole field look like an inland sea.

"What would your father say to a sight like that?" said Bob one morning

while the two were on their rounds.

"He would start subsoiling ploughs and improve it."

"I don't know about the improvement, Archie, but I've no doubt he would

try. But new land needs little improving."

"Maybe no; but mind you, Bob, father is precious clever, though I don't

hold with all his ways. He'd have steam-ploughs here, and steam-harrows

too. He'd cut down the grain to the roots by steam-machines, or he'd

have steam-strippers."

"But you don't think we should go any faster?"

"Bob, I must confess I like to take big jumps myself. I take after my

father in some things, but after my Scottish ancestors in others. For

instance, I like to know what lies at the other side of the hedge before

I put my horse at it."

The first crops of wheat that were taken off the lands of Burley New

Farm were gathered without much straw. It seemed a waste to burn the

latter; but the distance from the railway, and still more from a

market-town, made its destruction a necessity.

Nor was it altogether destruction either; for the ashes served as a

fertiliser for future crops.

As things got more settled down, and years flew by, the system of

working the whole station was greatly improved. Bob and Harry had

become quite the home-farmers and agriculturists, while the cattle

partially, and the sheep almost wholly, became the care of Archie, with

Gentleman Craig as his first officer.

Craig certainly had a long head on his broad shoulders. He did not

hesitate from the first to give his opinions as to the management of the

station. One thing he assured the three friends of: namely, that the

sheep must be sent farther north and west if they were to do well.

"They want higher and dryer ground," he said; "but you may try them

here."

I think at this time neither Bob nor Archie knew there was anything more

deadly to be dreaded than foot-rot, which the constant attention of the

shepherds, and a due allowance of blue-stone, served out from Harry's

stores, kept well under.

They gained other and sadder experience before very long, however.

At first all went as merrily as marriage bells. The first

sheep-shearing was a never-to-be-forgotten event in the life of our

Bushmen.

The season was October--a spring month in Australia--and the fleeces

were in fine form, albeit some were rather full of grass seed. They

were mostly open, however, and everyone augured a good clip.

Sarah was very busy indoors superintending everything; for there was

extra cooking to be done now. Wee Diana, who had developed into quite a

Bush child, though a pretty one, toddled about here, there, and

everywhere; the only wonder is--as an Irishman might say--that she did

not get killed three or four times a day. Diana had long since abjured

gum-rings and rattles, and taken to hoops and whips. One of the collie

dogs, and the pet kangaroo, were her constant companions. As previously

stated, both collies had been sent to Craig to be trained; but as Bounce

had a difference of opinion with one of the shepherds, he concluded he

would make a change by the way of bettering himself, so he had taken

French leave and come home to the steading. He would have been sent off

again, sure enough, if he had not--collie-like--enlisted Sarah herself

on his behalf. This he had done by lying down beside little Diana on

the kitchen floor. The two kissed each other and fell asleep. Bounce's

position was assured after that.

Findlayson, who did not mean to commence operations among his own

fleeces for another month, paid a visit to Burley, and brought with him

a few spare hands. Harry had plenty to do both out of doors and in his

stores; for many men were now about the place, and they must all eat and

smoke.

"As sure as a gun," said Findlayson the first morning, "that

Joukie-daidles o' yours 'ill get killed."

He said this just after about three hundred sheep had rushed the child,

and run over her. It was the fault of the kangaroo on one hand, and the

collie, Bounce, on the other. Findlayson had picked her off the ground,

out of a cloud of dust, very dirty, but smiling.

"What is to be done with her?" said Bob, scratching his head.

"Fauld her," said Findlayson.

"What does that mean?"

Findlayson showed him what "faulding" meant. He speedily put up a

little enclosure on an eminence, from which Diana could see all without

the possibility of escaping. So every day she, with her dog and the pet

kangaroo, to say nothing of a barrow-load of toys, including a huge

Noah's ark, found herself happy and out of harm's way. Diana could be

seen at times leaning over the hurdle, and waving a hand exultingly in

the air, and it was presumed she was loudly cheering the men's

performance; but as to hearing anything, that seemed utterly out of the

question, with the baa-ing and maa-ing of the sheep.

When the work was in full blast it certainly was a strange sight, and

quite colonial. Archie had been at sheep-shearings before at home among

the Cheviot Hills, but nothing to compare to this.

There was, first and foremost, the sheep to be brought up in batches or

flocks from the distant stations, men and dogs also having plenty to do

to keep them together, then the enclosing them near the washing-ground.

The dam in which the washing took place was luckily well filled, for

rain had fallen not long before. Sheep-washing is hard work, as anyone

will testify who has tried his hand at it for even half a day. Sheep

are sometimes exceedingly stupid, more particularly, I think, about a

time like this. The whole business is objected to, and they appear

imbued with the idea that you mean to drown them, and put every obstacle

in your way a stubborn nature can invent.

The sheep, after being well scrubbed, were allowed a day to get dry and

soft and nice. Then came the clipping. Gentleman Craig was stationed

at a platform to count the fleeces and see them ready for pressing, and

Archie's work was cut out in seeing that the fellows at the clipping did

their duty properly.

It was a busy, steaming time, on the whole, for everybody, but merry

enough nevertheless. There was "lashins" of eating and drinking.

Findlayson himself took charge of the grog, which was mostly rum, only

he had a small store of mountain dew for his own special consumption.

Harry was quite the Whitechapel tradesman all over, though you could not

have told whether the grocer or butcher most predominated in his

appearance.

The clipping went on with marvellous speed, a rivalry existing between

the hands apparently; but as they were paid by the number of fleeces,

there was evident desire on the part of several to sacrifice perfection

to rapidity.

When it was all over there was still a deal to be done in clearing up

and getting the whole station resettled, one part of the resettling, and

the chief too, being the re-establishing of the sheep on their pasturage

after marking them.

The wool was pressed into bales, and loaded on huge bullock-waggons,

which are in appearance something between an ordinary country wood-cart

and a brewer's dray. The road to the distant station was indeed a rough

one, and at the slow rate travelled by the bullock teams the journey

would occupy days.

Craig himself was going with the last lot of these, and Archie had

started early and ridden on all alone to see to business in Brisbane.

He had only been twice at the town in the course of three years, so it

is no wonder that now he was impressed with the notion that the

well-dressed city folks must stare at him, to see if he had any hay-seed

in his hair.

Winslow was coming round by boat, and Etheldene as well; she had been at

home for some time on a holiday.

Why was it, I wonder, that Archie paid a visit to several outfitters'

shops in Brisbane, and made so many purchases? He really was well

enough dressed when he entered the town; at all events, he had looked a

smart young farmer all over. But when he left his bedroom on the

morning of Winslow's arrival, he had considerably more of the English

Squire than the Australian Squatter about his _tout ensemble_. But he

really looked a handsome, happy, careless young fellow, and that bit of

a sprouting moustache showed off his good looks to perfection. He could

not help feeling it sometimes as he sat reading a paper in the hotel

hall, and waiting for his friends, and was fool enough to wonder if

Etheldene would think him improved in appearance.

But Archie was neither "masher" nor dandy at heart. He was simply a

young man, and I would not value any young man who did not take pains

with his personal appearance, even at the risk of being thought proud.

Archie had not long to wait for Winslow. He burst in like a fresh

sea-breeze--hale, hearty, and bonnie. He was also a trifle better

dressed than usual. But who was that young lady close by his left hand?

That couldn't be--yes, it was Etheldene, and next moment Archie was

grasping a hand of each.

Etheldene's beauty had matured; she had been but a girl, a child, when

Archie had met her before. Now she was a bewitching young lady, modest

and lovely, but, on the whole, so self-possessed that if our hero had

harboured any desire to appear before her at his very best, and keep up

the good impression by every means in his power, he had the good sense

to give it up and remain his own natural honest self.

But he could not help saying to himself, "What a wife she will make for

Rupert! And how Elsie will love and adore her! And I--yes, I will be

content to remain the big bachelor brother."

There was such a deal to ask of each other, such a deal to do and to

say, that days flew by before they knew where they were, as Winslow

expressed it.

On the fifth day Gentleman Craig arrived to give an account of his

stewardship.

Etheldene almost bounded towards him.

But she looked a little shy at his stare of astonishment as he took her

gloved hand.

"Baby," he exclaimed, "I would hardly have known you! How you have

improved!"

Then the conversation became general.

When accounts were squared, it was discovered that, by the spring wool,

and last year's crops and bullocks, the young squatters had done

wonderfully well, and were really on a fair way to wealth.

"Now, Archie Broadbent," said Winslow that night, "I am going to put you

on to a good thing or two. You are a gentleman, and have a gentleman's

education. You have brains, and can do a bit of speculation; and it is

just here where brains come in."

Winslow then unfolded his proposals, which were of such an inviting kind

that Archie at once saw his way to benefit by them. He thanked Winslow

over and over again for all he had done for him, and merely stipulated

that in this case he should be allowed to share his plans with Bob and

Harry.

To this, of course, Winslow made no objection.

"As to thanking me for having given ye a tip or two," said Winslow,

"don't flatter yourself it is for your sake. It is all to the memory of

the days I spent as steward at sea with your good old uncle. Did you

send him back his fifty pounds?"

"I did, and interest with it."

"That is right. That is proper pride."

Archie and the Winslows spent a whole fortnight in Brisbane, and they

went away promising that ere long they would once more visit the

station.

The touch of Etheldene's soft hand lingered long in Archie's. The last

look from her bonnie eyes haunted him even in his dreams, as well as in

his waking thoughts. The former he could not command, so they played

him all kinds of pranks. But over his thoughts he still had sway; and

whenever he found himself thinking much about Etheldene's beauty, or

winning ways, or soft, sweet voice, he always ended up by saying to

himself, "What a love of a little wife she will make for Rupert!"

One day, while Archie was taking a farewell walk along Queen Street,

glancing in here and there at the windows, and now and then entering to

buy something pretty for Sarah, something red--dazzling--for her black

servant-maid, and toys for Di, he received a slap on the back that made

him think for a moment a kangaroo had kicked him.

"What!" he cried, "Captain Vesey?"

"Ay, lad, didn't I say we would meet again?"

"Well, wonders will never cease! Where have you been? and what have you

been doing?"

"Why I've gone in for trade a bit. I've been among the South Sea

Islands, shipping blacks for the interior here; and, to tell you the

truth, my boy, I am pretty well sick of the job from all I've seen. It

is more like buying slaves, and that is the honest truth."

"And I suppose you are going to give it up?" The captain laughed--a

laugh that Archie did not quite like.

"Yes," he said, "I'll give it up after--another turn or two. But come

and have something cooling, the weather is quite summery already. What

a great man you have grown! When I saw you first you were just a--"

"A hobbledehoy?"

"Something like that--very lime-juicy, but very ardent and sanguine. I

say, you didn't find the streets of Sydney paved with gold, eh?"

"Not quite," replied Archie, laughing as he thought of all his misery

and struggles in the capital of New South Wales.

"But," he added, "though I did not find the streets paved with gold, I

found the genuine ore on a housetop, or near it, in a girl called

Sarah."

"What, Archie Broadbent, you don't mean to say you're married?"

"No; but Bob is."

"What Bob? Here, waiter, bring us drinks--the best and coolest you have

in the house. Now, lad, you've got to begin at the beginning of your

story, and run right through to the end. Spin it off like a man. I'll

put my legs on a chair, smoke, and listen."

So Archie did as he was told, and very much interested was Captain

Vesey.

"And now, captain, you must promise to run down, and see us all in the

Bush. We're a jolly nice family party, I can assure you."

"I promise, my boy, right heartily. I hope to be back in Brisbane in

six months. Expect to see me then."

They dined together, and spent the evening talking of old times, and

planning all that they would do when they met.

Next day they parted.

The end of this spring was remarkable for floods. Never before had our

heroes seen such storms of rain, often accompanied with thunder and

lightning. Archie happened to be out in the forest when it first came

on.

It had been a hot, still, sulphurous morning, which caused even the pet

kangaroo to lie panting on his side. Then a wind came puffing and

roaring through the trees in uncertain gusts, shaking the hanging

curtains of climbing plants, rustling and rasping among the sidelong

leaved giant gums, tearing down tree ferns and lovely orchids, and

scattering the scented bloom of the wattle in every direction.

With the wind came the clouds, and a darkness that could be felt.

Then down died the fitful breeze, and loud and long roared and rattled

the thunder, while the blinding lightning seemed everywhere. It rushed

down the darkness in rivers like blood, it glanced and glimmered on the

pools of water, and zigzagged through the trees. From the awful

hurtling of the thunder one would have thought every trunk and stem were

being rent and riven in pieces.

Tell--the horse--seemed uneasy, so Archie made for home. The rain had

come on long before he reached the creek, but the stream was still

fordable.

But see! He is but half-way across when, in the interval between the

thunder peals, he can hear a steady rumbling roar away up the creek and

gulley, but coming closer and closer every moment.

On, on, on, good Tell! Splash through that stream quicker than ever you

went before, or far down the country to-morrow morning two swollen

corpses will be seen floating on the floods!

Bewildered by the dashing rain, and the mist that rose on every side,

Archie and his trusty steed had but reached high ground when down came

the bore.

A terrible sight, though but dimly seen. Fully five feet high, it

seemed to carry everything before it. Alas! for flocks and herds.

Archie could see white bodies and black, tumbling and trundling along in

the rolling "spate."

The floods continued for days. And when they abated then losses could

be reckoned. Though dead cattle and sheep now lay in dozens about the

flat lands near the creek, only a small percentage of them belonged to

Burley.

Higher up Findlayson had suffered, and many wild cattle helped to swell

the death bill.

But it was bad enough.

However, our young squatters were not the men to sit down to cry over

spilt milk.

The damage was repaired, and the broken dams were made new again. And

these last were sadly wanted before the summer went past. For it was

unusually hot, the sun rising in a cloudless sky, blazing down all day

steadily, and setting without even a ray being intercepted by a cloud.

Bush fires were not now infrequent. While travelling in a distant part

of the selection, far to the west, in company with Craig, whom he had

come to visit, they were witnesses to a fire of this sort that had

caught a distant forest. Neither pen nor pencil could do justice to

such a scene. Luckily it was separated from the Burley estate by a deep

ravine. One of the strangest sights in connection with it was the wild

stampede of the panic-stricken kangaroos and bush horses.

To work in the fields was now to work indeed. Bob's complexion and

Archie's were "improved" to a kind of brick-red hue, and even Harry got

wondrously tanned.

There was certainly a great saving in clothes that year, for excepting

light, broad-brimmed hats, and shirts and trousers, nothing else was

worn by the men.

But the gardens were cool in the evening, in spite of the midday glare

of the sun, and it was delightful to sit out in the open for an hour or

two and think and talk of the old country; while the rich perfume of

flowers hung warm in the air, and the holy stars shimmered and blinked

in the dark blue of the sky.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

"I'LL WRITE A LETTER HOME."

The summer wore away, autumn came, the harvest was made good, and in

spite of the drought it turned out well; for the paddocks chosen for

agricultural produce seldom lacked moisture, lying as they did on the

low lands near the creek, and on rich ground reclaimed from the scrub.

Our Bushmen were congratulating themselves on the success of their

farming; for the banking account of all three was building itself, so to

speak, slowly, but surely.

Archie was now quite as wealthy as either of his companions; for his

speculations, instigated by his friend Winslow, had turned out well; so

his stock had increased tenfold, and he had taken more pasture to the

westward and north, near where Bob's and Harry's sheep now were; for

Craig's advice had been acted on.

None too soon though; for early in the winter an old shepherd arrived in

haste at the homesteading to report an outbreak of inflammatory catarrh

among the flocks still left on the lower pastures.

The events that quickly followed put Archie in mind of the "dark days"

at Burley Old Farm, when fat beasts were dying in twos and threes day

after day. Sheep affected with this strange ailment lived but a day or

two, and the only thing to do was to kill them on the very first

symptoms of the ailment appearing. They were then just worth the price

of their hides and tallow.

Considering the amount of extra work entailed, and the number of extra

hands to be hired, and the bustle and stir and anxiety caused by the

outbreak, it is doubtful if it would not have been better to bury them

as they fell, skin and all.

This was one of the calamities which Winslow had pointed out to Archie

as likely to occur. But it was stamped out at last. The sheep that

remained were sent away to far-off pastures; being kept quite separate,

however, from the other flocks. So the cloud passed away, and the

squatters could breathe freely again, and hope for a good lambing

season, when winter passed away, and spring time came once more.

"Bob," said Archie one evening, as they all sat round the hearth before

retiring to bed, "that fire looks awfully cosy, doesn't it? And all the

house is clean and quiet--oh, so quiet and delightful that I really

wonder anyone could live in a city or anywhere near the roar and din of

railway trains! Then our farm is thriving far beyond anything we could

have dared to expect. We are positively getting rich quickly, if,

indeed, we are not rich already. And whether it be winter or summer,

the weather is fine, glorious sometimes. Indeed, it is like a foretaste

of heaven, Bob, in my humble opinion, to get up early and wander out of

doors."

"Well," said Bob, "small reason to be ashamed to say that, my boy."

"Hold on, Bob, I'm coming to the part I'm ashamed of; just you smoke

your pipe and keep quiet. Well, so much in love am I with the new

country that I'm beginning to forget the old. Of course I'll always--

always be a true Englishman, and I'd go back to-morrow to lay down my

life for the dear old land if it was in danger. But it isn't, it

doesn't want us, it doesn't need us; it is full to overflowing, and I

daresay they can do without any of us. But, Bob, there is my dear old

father, mother, Elsie, and Rupert. Now, if it were only possible to

have them here. But I know my father is wedded to Burley, and his

life's dream is to show his neighbours a thing or two. I know too that

if he starts machinery again he will be irretrievably lost."

Archie paused, and the kangaroo looked up into his face as much as to

say, "Go on, I'm all attention."

"Well, Bob, if I make a pile here and go home, I'll just get as fond of

Burley as I was when a boy, and I may lose my pile too. It seems

selfish to speak so, but there is no necessity for it. So I mean to try

to get father to emigrate. Do you think such a thing is possible, Bob?"

"It's the same with men as with trees, Archie. You must loosen the

ground about them, root by root must be carefully taken up if you want

to transplant them, and you must take so much of the old earth with them

that they hardly know they are being moved. Sarah, bring the coffee.

As for my own part, Archie, I am going back; but it is only just to see

the old cottage, the dear old woods, and--and my mother's grave."

"Yes," said Archie, thoughtfully. "Well, root by root you said, didn't

you?"

"Ay, root by root."

"Then I'm going to begin. Rupert and Elsie will be the first roots.

Roup isn't over strong yet. This country will make a man of him. Bob

and you, Harry, can go to bed as soon as you like. I'm going out to

think and walk about a bit. Stick another log or two on the fire, and

as soon as you have all turned in I'll write a letter home. I'll begin

the uprooting, though it does seem cruel to snap old ties."

"Well," said Harry, "thank goodness, I've got no ties to snap. And I

think with you, Archie, that the old country isn't a patch on the new.

Just think o' the London fogs. You mind them, Sarah."

"I does, 'Arry."

"And the snow."

"And the slush, 'Arry."

"And the drizzle."

"And the kitchen beetles, boy. It would take a fat little lot to make

me go back out o' the sunshine. Here's the coffee."

"Keep mine hot, Sarah."

Away went Archie out into the night, out under the stars, out in the

falling dew, and his kangaroo went jumping and hopping after him.

The sky was very bright and clear to-night, though fleece-shaped,

snow-white clouds lay low on the horizon, and the moon was rising

through the distant woods, giving the appearance of some gigantic fire

as its beams glared red among the topmost branches.

There was the distant howling or yelling of dingoes, and the low,

half-frightened bleat of sheep, and there was the rippling murmur of the

stream not far off, but all else was still.

It was two hours before Archie found his way back. The kangaroo saw him

to the door, then went off to curl up in the shed till the hot beams of

the morning sun should lure him forth to breakfast.

And all alone sat Archie, by the kitchen table, writing a letter home by

the light of candles made on the steading.

It was very still now in the house--only the ticking of the clock, the

occasional whirr of some insect flying against the window, anxious to

come into the light and warmth and scratching of the young man's pen.

Surely the dog knew that Archie was writing home, for presently he got

slowly up from his corner and came and leant his head on his master's

knee, in that wise and kindly way collies have of showing their thoughts

and feelings. Archie must leave off writing for a moment to smooth and

pet the honest "bawsent" head.

Now it would be very easy for us to peep over Archie's shoulder and read

what he was writing, but that would be rude; anything rather than

rudeness and impoliteness. Rather, for instance, let us take a voyage

across the wide, terribly wide ocean, to pay a visit to Burley Old Farm,

and wait till the letter comes.

"I wonder," said Elsie with a gentle sigh, and a long look at the fire,

"when we may expect to hear from Archie again. Dear me, what a long,

long time it is since he went away! Let me see, Rupert, it is going on

for six years, isn't it?"

"Yes. Archie must be quite a man by now."

"He's all right," said the Squire.

"That he is, I know," said Uncle Ramsay.

"He's in God's good hands," said the mother, but her glasses were so

moist she had to take them off to wipe them; "he is in God's good hands,

and all we can do now is to pray for him."

Two little taps at the green-parlour door and enter the maid, not

looking much older, and not less smart, than when last we saw her.

"If you please, sir, there's a gentleman in the study as would like to

see you."

"Oh," she added, with a little start, "here he comes!"

And there he came certainly.

"God bless all here!" he cried heartily.

"What," exclaimed the Squire, jumping up and holding out his hand, "my

dear old friend Venturesome Vesey!"

"Yes, Yankee Charlie, and right glad I am to see you."

"My wife and children, Vesey. Though you and I have often met in town

since my marriage, you've never seen them before. My brother, whom you

know."

Vesey was not long in making himself one of the family circle, and he

gave his promise to stay at Burley Old Farm for a week at least.

Rupert and Elsie took to him at once. How could they help it? a sailor

and gentleman, and a man of the world to boot. Besides, coming directly

from Archie.

"I just popped into the house the very morning after he had written the

letter I now hand to you," said Captain Vesey. "He had an idea it would

be safer for me to bring it. Well, here it is; and I'm going straight

away out to the garden to smoke a pipe under the moon while you read it.

Friend as I am of Archie's, you must have the letter all to

yourselves;" and away went Vesey.

"Send for old Kate and Branson," cried the Squire, and they accordingly

marched in all expectancy.

Then the father unfolded the letter with as much reverence almost as if

it had been _Foxe's Book of Martyrs_.

Every eye was fixed upon him as he slowly read it. Even Bounder, the

great Newfoundland, knew something unusual was up, and sat by Elsie all

the time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Archie's Letter Home.

"My dearest Mother,--It is to you I write first, because I know that a

proposal I have to make will 'take you aback,' as my friend Winslow

would say. I may as well tell you what it is at once, because, if I

don't, your beloved impatience will cause you to skip all the other

parts of the letter till you come to it. Now then, my own old mummy,

wipe your spectacles all ready, catch hold of the arm of your chair

firmly, and tell Elsie to 'stand by'--another expression of

Winslow's--the smelling-salts bottle. Are you all ready? Heave oh!

then. I'm going to ask you to let Rupert and Elsie come out to me

here.

"Have you fainted, mummy? Not a bit of it; you're my own brave

mother! And don't you see that this will be only the beginning of the

end? And a bright, happy end, mother, I'm looking forward to its

being. It will be the reunion of us all once more; and if we do not

live quite under one roof, as in the dear old days at Burley Old Farm,

we will live in happy juxtaposition.

"'What!' you cry, 'deprive me of my children?' It is for your

children's good, mummy. Take Rupert first. He is not strong now, but

he is young. If he comes at once to this glorious land of ours, on

which I am quite enthusiastic, he will get as hardy as a New Hollander

in six months' time. Wouldn't you like to see him with roses on his

face, mother, and a brow as brown as a postage stamp? Send him out.

Would you like him to have a frame of iron, with muscles as tough as a

mainstay? Send him out. Would you like him to be as full of health

as an egg is full of meat? and so happy that he would have to get up

at nights to sing? Then send him here.

"Take poor me next. You've no notion how homesick I am; I'm dying to

see some of you. I am making money fast, and I love my dear, free,

jolly life; but for all that, there are times that I would give up

everything I possess--health, and hopes of wealth--for sake of one

glance at your dear faces, and one run round Burley Old Farm with

father."

This part of Archie's letter told home. There were tears in Mrs

Broadbent's motherly eyes; and old Kate was heard to murmur, "Dear,

bonnie laddie!" and put her apron to her face.

"Then," the letter continued, "there is Elsie. It would do her good

to come too, because--bless the lassie!--she takes her happiness at

second-hand; and knowing that she was a comfort to us boys, and made

everything cheery and nice, would cause her to be as jolly as the

summer's day is long or a gum tree high. Then, mother, we three

should work together with only one intent--that of getting you and

father both out, and old Kate and Branson too.

"As for you, dad, I know you will do what is right; and see how good

it would be for us all to let Roup and Elsie come. Then you must

remember that when we got things a bit straighter, we would expect you

and mother to follow. You, dear dad, would have full scope here for

your inventive genius, and improvements that are thrown away in

England could be turned to profit out here.

"We would not go like a bull at a gate at anything, father; but what

we do want here is machinery, easily worked, for cutting up and

dealing with wood; for cutting up ground, and for destroying tree

stumps; and last, but not least, we want wells, and a complete system

of irrigation for some lands, that shall make us independent to a

great extent of the sparsely-failing rains of some seasons. Of course

you could tell us something about sheep disease and cattle plague, and

I'm not sure you couldn't help us to turn the wild horses to account,

with which some parts of the interior swarm."

Squire Broadbent paused here to exclaim, as he slapped his thigh with

his open palm:

"By Saint Andrews, brother, Archie is a chip of the old block! He's a

true Broadbent, I can tell you. He appreciates the brains of his father

too. Heads are what are wanted out there; genius to set the mill

a-going. As for this country--pah! it's played out. Yes, my children,

you shall go, and your father will follow."

"My dear Elsie and Rupert," the letter went on, "how I should love to

have you both out here. I have not asked you before, because I wanted

to have everything in a thriving condition first; but now that

everything is so, it wants but you two to help me on, and in a year or

two--Hurrah! for dad and the mum!

"Yes, Elsie, your house is all prepared. I said nothing about this

before. I've been, like the duck-bill, working silently out of

sight--out of your sight I mean. But there it is, the finest house in

all the district, a perfect mansion; walls as thick as Burley Old

Tower--that's for coolness in summer. Lined inside with cedar--that's

for cosiness in winter. Big hall in it, and all the rooms just

_facsimile_ of our own house at home, or as near to them as the

climate will admit.

"But mind you, Elsie, I'm not going to have you banished to the Bush

wilds altogether. No, lassie, no; we will have a mansion--a real

mansion--in Sydney or Brisbane as well, and the house at Burley New

Farm will be our country residence.

"I know I'll have your answer by another mail, and it will put new

life into us all to know you are coming. Then I will start right away

to furnish our house. Our walls shall be polished, pictures shall be

hung, and mirrors everywhere; the floors shall glitter like beetles'

wings, and couches and skins be all about. I'm rather lame at house

description, but you, Elsie, shall finish the furnishing, and put in

the nicknacks yourself.

"I'm writing here in the stillness of night, with our doggie's head

upon my knee. All have gone to bed--black and white--in the house and

round the Station. But I've just come in from a long walk in the

moonlight. I went out to be alone and think about you; and what a

glorious night, Rupert! We have no such nights in England. Though it

is winter, it is warm and balmy. It is a delight to walk at night

either in summer or winter. Oh, I do wish I could describe to you my

garden as it is in spring and early summer! That is, you know, _our_

garden that is going to be. I had the garden laid out and planted

long before the house was put up, and now my chief delight is to keep

it up. You know, as I told you before, I went to Melbourne with the

Winslows. Well, we went round everywhere, and saw everything; we

sailed on the lovely river, and I was struck with the wonderful beauty

of the gardens, and determined ours should be something like it. And

when the orange blossom is out, and the fragrant verbenas, and a

thousand other half-wild flowers, with ferns, ferns, ferns everywhere,

and a fountain playing in the shadiest nook--this was an idea of

Harry's--you would think you were in fairyland or dreamland, or

'through the looking-glass,' or somewhere; anyhow, you would be

entranced.

"But to-night, when I walked there, the house--our house you know--

looked desolate and dreary, and my heart gave a big superstitious thud

when I heard what I thought was a footstep on the verandah, but it was

only a frog as big as your hat.

"That verandah cost me and Harry many a ramble into the scrub and

forest, but now it is something worth seeing, with its wealth of

climbing flowering plants, its hanging ferns, and its clustering

marvellous orchids.

"Yes, the house looks lonely; looks haunted almost; only, of course,

ghosts never come near a new house. But, dear Elsie, how lovely it

will look when we are living in it! when light streams out from the

open casement windows! when warmth and music are there! Oh, come

soon, come _soon_! You see I'm still impulsive.

"You, Elsie, love pets. I daresay Bounder will come with you. Poor

Scallowa! I was sorry to hear of his sad death. But we can have all

kinds of pets here. We have many. To begin with, there is little

Diana, she is queen of the station, and likely to be; she is

everybody's favourite. Then there are the collies, and the kangaroo.

He is quite a darling fellow, and goes everywhere with me.

"Our laughing jackass is improving every day. He looks excessively

wise when you talk to him, and if touched up with the end of a brush

of turkey's feathers, which we keep for the purpose, he goes off into

such fits of mad hilarious, mocking, ringing laughter that somebody

has got to pick him up, cage and all, and make all haste out of the

house with him.

"We have also a pet bear; that is Harry's. But don't jump. It is no

bigger than a cat, and far tamer. It is a most wonderful little

rascal to climb ever you saw. Koala we call him, which is his native

name, and he is never tired of exploring the roof and rafters; but

when he wants to go to sleep, he will tie himself round Sarah's waist,

with his back downwards, and go off as sound as a top.

"We have lots of cats and a cockatoo, who is an exceedingly

mischievous one, and who spends most of his life in the garden. He

can talk, and dance, and sing as well. And he is a caution to snakes,

I can tell you. I don't want to frighten you though. We never see

the 'tiger' snake, or hardly ever, and I think the rest are harmless.

I know the swagsmen, and the sundowners too, often kill the carpet

snake, and roast and eat it when they have no other sort of fresh

meat. I have tasted it, and I can tell you, Rupert, it is better than

roasted rabbit.

"I'm going to have a flying squirrel. The first time I saw these

creatures was at night among the trees, and they startled me--great

shadowy things sailing like black kites from bough to bough.

"Kangaroos are cautions. We spend many and many a good day hunting

them. If we did not kill them they would eat us up, or eat the

sheep's fodder up, and that would be all the same.

"Gentleman Craig has strange views about most things; he believes in

Darwin, and a deal that isn't Darwin; but he says kangaroos first got

or acquired their monster hindlegs, and their sturdy tails, from

sitting up looking over the high grass, and cropping the leaves of

bushes. He says that Australia is two millions of years old at the

very least.

"I must say I like Craig very much. He is so noble and handsome.

What a splendid soldier he would have made! But with all his grandeur

of looks--I cannot call it anything else--there is an air of

pensiveness and melancholy about him that is never absent. Even when

he smiles it is a sad smile. Ah! Rupert, his story is a very strange

one; but he is young yet, only twenty-six, and he is now doing well.

He lives by himself, with just one shepherd under him, on the very

confines of civilisation. I often fear the blacks will bail up his

hut some day, and mumkill him, and we should all be sorry. Craig is

saving money, and I believe will be a squatter himself one of these

days. Etheldene is very fond of him. Sometimes I am downright

jealous and nasty about it, because I would like you, Rupert, to have

Etheldene for a wife. And she knows all about the black fellows, and

can speak their language. Well, you see, Rupert, you could go and

preach to and convert them; for they are not half so bad as they are

painted. The white men often use them most cruelly, and think no more

of shooting them than I should of killing an old man kangaroo.

"When I began this letter, dearest Elsie and old Roup, I meant to tell

you such a lot I find I shall have no chance of doing--all about the

grand trees, the wild and beautiful scenery, the birds and beasts and

insects, but I should have to write for a week to do it. So pray

forgive my rambling letter, and come and see it all for yourself.

"Come you must, else--let me see now what I shall threaten. Oh, I

have it; I won't ever return! But if you do come, then in a few years

we'll all go back together, and bring out dad and the dear mummy.

"I can't see to write any more. No, the lights are just as bright as

when I commenced; but when I think of dad and the mum, my eyes _will_

get filled with moisture. So there!

"God bless you all, _all_, from the mum and dad all the way down to

Kate, Branson, and Bounder.

"Archie Broadbent, C.O.B.

"P.S.--Do you know what C.O.B. means? It means Chip of the Old Block.

Hurrah!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

RUMOURS OF WAR.

As soon as Squire Broadbent read his son's letter he carefully folded it

up, and with a smile on his face handed it to Rupert. And by-and-bye,

when Captain Vesey returned, and settled into the family circle with the

rest, and had told them all he could remember about Archie and Burley

New Farm in Australia, the brother and sister, followed by Bounder,

slipped quietly out and told old Kate they were going to the tower.

Would she come? That she would. And so for hours they all sat up there

before the fire talking of Archie, and all he had done and had been, and

laying plans and dreaming dreams, and building castles in the air, just

in the same way that young folks always have done in this world, and

will, I daresay, continue to do till the end of time.

But that letter bore fruit, as we shall see.

Things went on much as usual in the Bush. Winter passed away, spring

came round and lambing season, and the shepherds were busy once more.

Gentleman Craig made several visits to the home farm, and always brought

good news. It was a glorious time in every way; a more prosperous

spring among the sheep no one could wish to have.

On his last visit to the house Craig stayed a day or two, and Archie

went back with him, accompanied by a man on horseback, with medicines

and some extra stores--clothing and groceries, etc, I mean, for in those

days live stock was sometimes called stores.

They made Findlayson's the first night, though it was late. They found

that the honest Scot had been so busy all day he had scarcely sat down

to a meal. Archie and Craig were "in clipping-time" therefore, for

there was roast duck on the table, and delightful potatoes all steaming

hot, and, as usual, the black bottle of mountain dew, a "wee drappie" of

which he tried in vain to get either Craig or Archie to swallow.

"Oh, by-the-bye, men," said Findlayson, in the course of the evening--

that is, about twelve o'clock--"I hear bad news up the hills way."

"Indeed," said Craig.

"Ay, lad. You better ha'e your gun loaded. The blacks, they say, are

out in force. They've been killing sheep and bullocks too, and picking

the best."

"Well, I don't blame them either. Mind, we white men began the trouble;

but, nevertheless, I'll defend my flock."

Little more was said on the subject. But next morning another and an

uglier rumour came. A black fellow or two had been shot, and the tribe

had sworn vengeance and held a corroboree.

"There's a cloud rising," said Findlayson. "I hope it winna brak o'er

the district."

"I hope not, Findlayson. Anyhow, I know the black fellows well. I'm

not sure I won't ride over after I get back and try to get to the bottom

of the difference."

The out-station, under the immediate charge of Gentleman Craig, was

fully thirty miles more to the north and west than Findlayson's, and on

capital sheep-pasture land, being not very far from the hills--a branch

ridge that broke off from the main range, and lay almost due east and

west.

Many a splendidly-wooded glen and gully was here; but at the time of our

story these were still inhabited by blacks innumerable. Savage, fierce,

and vindictive they were in all conscience, but surely not so brave as

we sometimes hear them spoken of, else could they have swept the country

for miles of the intruding white man. In days gone by they had indeed

committed some appallingly-shocking massacres; but of late years they

had seemed contented to either retire before the whites or to become

their servants, and receive at their hands that moral death--temptation

to drink--which has worked such woe among savages in every quarter of

the inhabitable globe.

As Archie and his companion came upon the plain where--near the top of

the creek on a bit of tableland--Craig's "castle," as he called it, was

situated, the owner looked anxiously towards it. At first they could

see no signs of life; but as they rode farther on, and nearer, the

shepherd himself came out to meet them, Roup, the collie, bounding

joyfully on in front, and barking in the exuberance of his glee.

"All right and safe, shepherd?"

"All right and safe, sir," the man returned; "but the blacks have been

here to-day."

"Then I'll go there to-morrow."

"I don't think that's a good plan."

"Oh! isn't it? Well, I'll chance it. Will you come, Mr Broadbent?"

"I will with pleasure."

"Anything for dinner, George?"

"Yes, sir. I expected you; and I've got a grilled pheasant, and fish

besides."

"Ah, capital! But what made you expect me to-day?"

"The dog Roup, sir. He was constantly going to the door to look out, so

I could have sworn you would come."

The evening passed away quietly enough.

Dwelling in this remote region, and liable at any time to be attacked,

Gentleman Craig had thought it right to almost make a fort of his little

slab hut. He had two black fellows who worked for him, and with their

assistance a rampart of stones, earth, and wood was thrown up, although

these men had often assured him that "he," Craig, "was 'corton budgery,'

and that there was no fear of the black fellows 'mumkill' him."

"I'm not so very sure about it," thought Craig; "and it is best to be on

the safe side."

They retired to-night early, having seen to the sheep and set a black to

watch, for the dingoes were very destructive.

Both Craig and Archie slept in the same room, and they hardly undressed,

merely taking off their coats, and lying down on the rough bed of

sacking, with collie near the door to do sentry.

They had not long turned in when the dog began to growl low.

"Down charge, Roup," said Craig.

Instead of obeying, the dog sprang to the door, barking fiercely.

Both Archie and Craig were out of bed in a moment, and handling their

revolvers. Craig managed to quieten Roup, and then listened

attentively.

The wind was rising and moaning round the chimney, but above this sound

they could hear a long-prolonged "Coo--oo--ee!"

"That's a white man's voice," said Craig; "we're safe."

The door and fort was at once opened, and a minute after five squatters

entered.

"Sorry we came so late," they said; "but we've been and done it, and it

took some time."

"What have you done?" said Craig.

"Fired the woods all along the gullies among the hills."

"Is that fair to the blacks?"

"Curse them!" exclaimed the spokesman. "Why do they not keep back? The

law grumbles if we shoot the dogs, unless in what they please to call

self-defence, which means after they have speared our beasts and

shepherds, and are standing outside our doors with a nullah ready to

brain us."

Craig and Archie went to the door and looked towards the hills.

What a scene was there! The fire seemed to have taken possession of the

whole of the highlands from east to west, and was entwining wood and

forest, glen and ravine, in its snake-like embrace. The hills

themselves were cradled in flames and lurid smoke. The stems of the

giant gum trees alone seemed to defy the blaze, and though their summits

looked like steeples on fire, the trunks stood like pillars of black

marble against the golden gleam behind them. The noise was deafening,

and the smoke rolled away to leeward, laden with sparks thick as the

snowflakes in a winter's fall. It was an appalling sight, the

description of which is beyond the power of any pen.

"Well, men," said Craig when he re-entered the hut, "I don't quite see

the force of what you have done. It is like a declaration of war, and,

depend upon it, the black fellows will accept the challenge."

"It'll make the grass grow," said one of the men with a laugh.

"Yes," said another; "and that grass will grow over a black man's grave

or two ere long, if I don't much mistake."

"It wouldn't be worth while burying the fiends," said a third. "We'll

leave them to the rooks."

"Well," said Craig, "there's meat and damper there, men. Stir up the

fire, warm your tea, and be happy as long as you can. We're off to

bed."

Gentleman Craig was as good as his word next day. He rode away in

search of the tribe, and after a long ride found them encamped on a

tableland.

As it turned out they knew him, and he rode quietly into their midst.

They were all armed with spear, and nullah, and boomerang. They were

tattooed, nearly naked, and hideous enough in their horrid war-paint.

Craig showed no signs of fear. Indeed he felt none. He told the chief,

however, that he had not approved of the action of the white men, his

brothers, and had come, if possible, to make peace. Why should they

fight? There was room enough in the forest and scrub for all. If

they--the blacks--would leave the cattle and flocks of the squatters

alone, he--Craig--could assure them things would go on as happily as

before.

"And if not?" they asked.

"If not, for one black man there was in the country, there were a

thousand white. They would come upon them in troops, even like the

locusts; they would hunt them as they hunted the dingoes; they would

kill them as dingoes were killed, and before long all the black fellows

would be in the land of forgetfulness. What would it profit them then

that they had speared a few white fellows?"

Craig stayed for hours arguing with these wild men, and left at last

after having actually made peace with honour.

The cloud had rolled away, for a time at all events.

In the course of a few days Archie and his man left on his return

journey. Findlayson made up his mind to go on with him to Burley New

Farm; for this Scot was very fond of an occasional trip eastwards, and

what he called a "twa-handed crack" with Bob or Harry.

Everybody was glad to see him; for, truth to tell, no one had ever seen

Findlayson without a smile on his old-fashioned face, and so he was well

liked.

Bob came galloping out to meet them, and with him, greatly to Archie's

astonishment, was what he at first took for a black bear.

The black bear was Bounder.

Archie dismounted and threw his arms round the great honest dog's neck,

and almost burst into tears of joy.

For just half a minute Bounder was taken aback; then memory came rushing

over him; he gave a jump, and landed Archie on his back, and covered his

face and hair with his canine kisses. But this was not enough. Bounder

must blow off steam. He must get rid of the exuberance of his delight

before it killed him. So with a half-hysterical but happy bark he went

off at a tangent, and commenced sweeping round and round in a circle so

quickly that he appeared but a black shape. This wild caper he kept up

till nearly exhausted, then returned once more to be embraced.

"So they've come." It was all that Archie could say.

Yes, they had come. Elsie had come, Rupert had come, Branson and

Bounder had come.

And oh, what a joyful meeting that was! Only those who have been

separated for many long years from all they love and hold dear, and have

met just thus, as Archie now met his sister and brother, can have any

appreciation of the amount of joy that filled their hearts.

The very first overflowing of this joy being expended, of course the

next thing for both Archie and the newcomers to say was, "How you've

changed!"

Yes, they had all changed. None more so than Elsie. She always gave

promise of beauty; but now that Archie held her at arms' length, to look

at and criticise, he could not help exclaiming right truthfully:

"_Why_, Elsie, you're almost as beautiful as Etheldene!"

"Oh, what a compliment!" cried Rupert. "I wouldn't have it, Elsie.

That '_almost_' spoils it."

"Just you wait till you see Etheldene, young man," said Archie, nodding

his head. "You'll fall in love at once. I only hope she won't marry

Gentleman Craig. And how is mother and father?"

Then questions came in streams. To write one half that was spoken that

night would take me weeks. They all sat out in the verandah of the old

house; for the night was sultry and warm, and it was very late indeed

before anyone ever thought of retiring.

Findlayson had been unusually quiet during the whole of the evening. To

be sure, it would not have been quite right for him to have put in his

oar too much, but, to tell the truth, something had happened which

appeared to account for his silence. Findlayson had fallen in love--

love at first sight. Oh, there are such things! I had a touch of the

complaint myself once, so my judgment is critical. Of course, it is

needless to say that Elsie was the bright particular star, that had in

one brief moment revolutionised the existence and life of the ordinarily

placid and very matter-of-fact Findlayson. So he sat to-night in his

corner and hardly spoke, but, I daresay, like Paddy's parrot, he made up

for it in thinking; and he looked all he could also, without seeming

positively rude.

Well, a whole fortnight was spent by Archie in showing his brother and

sister round the station, and initiating them into some of the mysteries

and contrarieties of life in the Australian Bush.

After this the three started off for Brisbane and Sydney, to complete

the purchase of furniture for Archie's house. Archie proved himself

exceedingly clever at this sort of thing, considering that he was only a

male person. But in proof of what I state, let me tell you, that before

leaving home he had even taken the measure of the rooms, and of the

windows and doors. And when he got to Sydney he showed his taste in the

decorative art by choosing "fixings" of an altogether Oriental and

semi-aesthetic design.

At Sydney Elsie and Rupert were introduced to the Winslows, and, as soon

as he conveniently could, Archie took his brother's opinion about

Etheldene.

Very much to his astonishment, Rupert told him that Etheldene was more

sisterly than anything else, and he dare say she was rather a nice

girl--"as far as girls go."

Archie laughed outright at Rupert's coolness, but somehow or other he

felt relieved.

First impressions go a far way in a matter of this kind, and it was

pretty evident there was little chance of Rupert's falling in love with

Etheldene, for some time at least.

Yet this was the plan of campaign Archie had cut out: Rupert and

Etheldene should be very much struck with each other from the very

first; the young lady should frequently visit at Burley New Farm, and,

for the good of his health, Rupert should go often to Sydney. Things

would progress thus, off and on, for a few years, then the marriage

would follow, Rupert being by this time settled perhaps, and in a fair

way of doing well. I am afraid Archie had reckoned without his host, or

even his hostess.

He was not long in coming to this conclusion either; and about the same

time he made another discovery, very much to his own surprise; namely,

that he himself was in love with Etheldene, and that he had probably

been so for some considerable length of time, without knowing it. He

determined in his own mind therefore that he would steel his heart

towards Miss Winslow, and forget her.

Before Elsie and Rupert came to settle down finally at the farm, they

enjoyed, in company with Mr Winslow and his daughter, many charming

trips to what I might call the show-places of Australia. Sydney, and

all its indescribably-beautiful surroundings, they visited first. Then

they went to Melbourne, and were much struck with all the wealth and

grandeur they saw around them, although they could not help thinking the

actual state of the streets was somewhat of a reproach to the town.

They sailed on the Yarra-Yarra; they went inland and saw, only to marvel

at, the grandeur of the scenery, the ferny forests, the glens and hills,

the waterfalls and tumbling streams and lovely lakes. And all the time

Rupert could not get rid of the impression that it was a beautiful

dream, from which he would presently awake and find himself at Burley

Old Farm.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE MASSACRE AT FINDLAYSON'S FARM.

By the time Elsie and Rupert had returned from their wanderings winter

was once more coming on; but already both the sister and brother had got

a complexion.

The house was quite furnished now, guest room and all. It was indeed a

mansion, though I would not like to say how much money it had cost

Archie to make it so. However, he had determined, as he said himself to

Bob, to do the thing properly while he was about it.

And there is no doubt he succeeded well. His garden too was all he had

depicted it in his letter home.

That Archie had succeeded to his heart's content in breaking ties with

the old country was pretty evident, from a letter received by him from

his father about mid-winter.

"He had noticed for quite a long time," the Squire wrote, "and was

getting more and more convinced, that this England was, agriculturally

speaking, on its last legs. Even American inventions, and American

skill and enterprise, had failed to do much for the lands of Burley. He

had tried everything, but the ground failed to respond. Burley was a

good place for an old retired man who loved to potter around after the

partridges; but for one like himself, still in the prime of his life, it

had lost its charms. Even Archie's mother, he told him, did not see the

advisability of throwing good money after bad, and Uncle Ramsay was of

the same way of thinking. So he had made up his mind to let the place

and come straight away out. He would allow Archie to look out for land

for him, and by-and-bye he would come and take possession. Australia

would henceforth reap the benefit of his genius and example; for he

meant to show Australians a thing or two."

When Archie read that letter, he came in with a rush to read it to Bob,

Harry, and Sarah.

"I think your father is right," said Bob.

"I tell you, Bob, my boy, it isn't father so much as mother. The dear

old mummy speaks and breathes through every line and word of this

epistle. Now I'm off to astonish Elsie and Roup. Come along, Bounder."

Meanwhile Findlayson became a regular visitor at the farm.

"_Why_," Archie said to him one evening, as he met him about the outer

boundary of the farm, "why, Findlayson, my boy, you're getting to be a

regular 'sundowner.' Well, Miss Winslow has come, and Craig is with us,

and as I want to show Branson a bit of real Australian sport, you had

better stop with us a fortnight."

"I'll be delighted. I wish I'd brought my fiddle."

"We'll send for it if you can't live without it."

"Not very weel. But I've something to tell you."

"Well, say on; but you needn't dismount."

"Yes, I'll speak better down here."

Findlayson sat up on top of the fence, and at once opened fire by

telling Archie he had fallen in love with Elsie, and had determined to

make her his wife. Archie certainly was taken aback.

"Why, Findlayson," he said, "you're old enough to be her father."

"A' the better, man. And look here, I've been squatting for fifteen

years, ever since there was a sheep in the plains almost. I have a nice

little nest egg at the bank, and if your sister doesna care to live in

the Bush we'll tak' a hoose in Sydney. For, O man, man, Elsie is the

bonniest lassie the world e'er saw. She beats the gowan [mountain

daisy]."

Archie laughed.

"I must refer you to the lady herself," he said.

"Of course, man, of course--

"'He either fears his fate too much,

Or his deserts are small,

Who dares not put it to the test

To win or lose it all.'"

So away went Findlayson to put his fate to the test.

What _he_ said or what _she_ said does not really concern us; but five

minutes after his interview Archie met the honest Scot, and wondrously

crestfallen he looked.

"She winna hae me," he cried, "but _nil desperandum_, that'll be my

motto till the happy day."

The next fortnight was in a great measure given up to pleasure and

sport. Both Branson and Bounder received their baptism of fire, though

the great Newfoundland was wondrously exercised in his mind as to what a

kangaroo was, and what it was not. As to the dingoes, he arrived at a

conclusion very speedily. They could beat him at a race, however; but

when Bounder one time got two of them together, he proved to everybody's

satisfaction that there was life in the old dog yet.

Gentleman Craig never appeared to such excellent advantage anywhere as

in ladies' society. He really led the conversation at the dinner-table,

though not appearing to do so, but rather the reverse, while in the

drawing-room he was the moving spirit.

He also managed to make Findlayson happy after a way. The Scotchman had

told Craig all his troubles, but Craig brought him his fiddle, on which

he was a really excellent performer.

"Rouse out, Mr Findlayson, and join the ladies at the piano."

"But, man," the squatter replied, "my heart's no in it; my heart is

broken. I can play slow music, but when it comes to quick, it goes hard

against the grain."

Nevertheless, Findlayson took his stand beside the piano, and the ice

thus being broken, he played every night, though it must be confessed,

for truth's sake, he never refused a "cogie" when the bottle came round

his way. Towards ten o'clock Findlayson used, therefore, to become

somewhat sentimental. The gentleman sat up for a wee half hour after

the ladies retired, and sometimes Findlayson would seize his fiddle.

"Gentlemen," he would say, "here is how I feel."

Then he would play a lament or a wail with such feeling that even his

listeners would be affected, while sometimes the tears would be

quivering on the performer's eyelashes.

At the end of the fortnight Findlayson went to Brisbane. He had some

mysterious business to transact, the nature of which he refused to tell

even Archie. But it was rumoured that a week or two later on, drays

laden with furniture were seen to pass along the tracks on their way to

Findlayson's farm.

Poor fellow, he was evidently badly hit. He was very much in love

indeed, and, like a drowning man, he clutched at straws.

The refurnishing of his house was one of these straws. Findlayson was

going to give "a week's fun," as he phrased it. He was determined,

after having seen Archie's new house, that his own should rival and even

outshine it in splendour. And he really was insane enough to believe

that if Elsie only once saw the charming house he owned, with the wild

and beautiful scenery all around it, she would alter her mind, and look

more favourably on his suit.

In giving way to vain imaginings of this kind, Findlayson was really

ignoring, or forgetting at all events, the sentiments of his own

favourite poet, Burns, as impressed in the following touching lines:

"It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,

That bought contentment, peace, or pleasure;

The bands and bliss o' mutual love,

O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!"

His sister was very straightforward, and at once put her brother down as

a wee bit daft. Perhaps he really was; only the old saying is a true

one: "Those that are in love are like no one else."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the last month of winter, when early one morning a gay party from

Burley New Farm set out to visit Findlayson, and spend a week or two in

order to "'liven him up," as Harry expressed it.

Bob was not particularly fond of going much from home--besides, Winslow

and he were planning some extensions--so he stopped on the Station. But

Harry went, and, as before, when going to the kangaroo hunt, Gentleman

Craig was in the cavalcade, and of course Rupert and Elsie.

It would have been no very difficult matter to have done the journey in

a single day, only Archie was desirous of letting his brother and sister

have a taste of camping out in the Bush.

They chose the same route as before, and encamped at night in the

self-same place.

The evening too was spent in much the same way, even to singing and

story-telling, and Craig's lullaby to Baby, when she and Elsie had gone

to their tent.

Morning dawned at last on forest and plain, and both Harry and the

brothers were early astir. It would have been impossible to remain

asleep much after daybreak, owing to the noise of the birds, including

the occasional ear-splitting clatter of the laughing jackasses.

Besides, towards morning it had been exceedingly cold. The first thing

that greeted their eyes was a thorough old-fashioned hoar frost, the

like of which Archie had not seen for many a year. Everything gleamed,

white almost as coral. The grass itself was a sight to see, and the

leaves on the trees were edged with lace. But up mounted the sun, and

all was speedily changed. Leaves grew brightly green again, and the

hoar frost was turned into glancing, gleaming, rainbow-coloured drops of

dew.

The young men ran merrily away to the pool in the creek, and most

effectually scared the ducks.

The breakfast to-day was a different sort of a meal to the morsel of

stiff damper and corned junk that had been partaken of at last bivouac.

Elsie made the tea, and Etheldene and she presided. The meat pies and

patties were excellent, and everyone was in the highest possible

spirits, and joyously merry.

Alas! and alas! this was a breakfast no one who sat down to, and who

lives, is ever likely to forget.

Have you ever, reader, been startled on a bright sunshiny summer's day

by a thunder peal? And have you seen the clouds rapidly bank up after

this and obscure the sky, darkness brooding over the windless landscape,

lighted up every moment by the blinding lightning's flash, and gloom and

danger brooding all round, where but a short half hour ago the birds

carolled in sunlight? Then will you be able, in some measure, to

understand the terribleness of the situation in which an hour or two

after breakfast the party found themselves, and the awful suddenness of

the shock that for a time quite paralysed every member of it.

They had left the dismal depths of the forest, and were out on the open

pasture land, and nearing Findlayson's house, when Craig and Archie,

riding on in front, came upon the well-known bobtailed collie, who was

the almost constant companion of the squatter. The dog was alive, but

dying. There was a terrible spear-gash in his neck. Craig dismounted

and knelt beside him. The poor brute knew him, wagged his inch-long

tail, licked the hand that caressed him, and almost immediately expired.

Craig immediately rode back to the others.

"Do not be alarmed, ladies," he said. "But I fear the worst. There is

no smoke in Findlayson's chimney. The black fellows have killed his

dog."

Though both girls grew pale, there were no other signs of fear

manifested by them. If Young Australia could be brave, so could Old

England.

The men consulted hurriedly, and it was agreed that while Branson and

Harry waited with the ladies, Archie and Craig should ride on towards

the house.

Not a sign of life; no, not one. Signs enough of death though, signs

enough of an awful struggle. It was all very plain and simple, though

all very, very sad and dreadful.

Here in the courtyard lay several dead natives, festering and sweltering

in the noonday sun. Here were the boomerangs and spears that had fallen

from their hands as they dropped never to rise again. Here was the door

battered and splintered and beaten in with tomahawks, and just inside,

in the passage, lay the bodies of Hurricane Bill and poor Findlayson,

hacked about almost beyond recognition.

In the rooms all was confusion, every place had been ransacked. The

furniture, all new and elegant, smashed and riven; the very piano that

the honest Scot had bought for sake of Elsie had been dissected, and its

keys carried away for ornaments. In an inner room, half-dressed, were

Findlayson's sister and her little Scotch maid, their arms broken, as if

they had held them up to beseech for mercy from the monsters who had

attacked them. Their arms were broken, and their skulls beaten in,

their white night-dresses drenched in blood. There was blood, blood

everywhere--in curdled streams, in great liver-like gouts, and in dark

pools on the floor. In the kitchen were many more bodies of white men

(the shepherds), and of the fiends in human form with whom they had

struggled for their lives.

It was an awful and sickening sight.

No need for Craig or Archie to tell the news when they returned to the

others. Their very silence and sadness told the terrible tale.

Nothing could be done at present, however, in the way of punishing the

murderers, who by this time must be far away in their mountain

fastnesses.

They must ride back, and at once too, in order to warn the people at

Burley and round about of their great danger.

So the return journey was commenced at once. On riding through the

forest they had to observe the greatest caution.

Craig was an old Bushman, and knew the ways of the blacks well. He

trotted on in front. And whenever in any thicket, where an ambush might

possibly be lurking, he saw no sign of bird or beast, he dismounted and,

revolver in hand, examined the place before he permitted the others to

come on.

They got through the forest and out of the gloom at last, and some hours

afterwards dismounted a long way down the creek to water the horses and

let them browse. As for themselves, no one thought of eating. There

was that feeling of weight at every heart one experiences when first

awakening from some dreadful nightmare.

They talked about the massacre, as they sat under the shadow of a gum

tree, almost in whispers; and at the slightest unusual noise the men

grasped their revolvers and listened.

They were just about to resume their journey when the distant sound of

galloping horses fell on their ears. Their own nags neighed. All

sprang to their feet, and next moment some eight or nine men rode into

the clearing.

Most of them were known to Craig, so he advanced to meet them.

"Ah! I see you know the worst," said the leader.

"Yes," said Craig, "we know."

"We've been to your place. It is all right there with one exception."

"One exception?"

"Yes; it's only the kid--Mr Cooper's little daughter, you know."

"Is she dead?" cried Archie aghast.

"No, sir; that is, it isn't likely. Mr Cooper's black girl left last

night, and took the child."

"Good heavens! our little Diana! Poor Bob! He will go raving mad!"

"He is mad, sir, or all but, already; but we've left some fellows to

defend the station, and taken to the trail as you see."

"Craig," said Archie, "we must go too."

"Well," said the first speaker, "the coast is all clear betwixt here and

Burley. Two must return there with the ladies. I advise you to make

your choice, and lose no time."

It was finally arranged that Branson and one of the newcomers should

form the escort; and so Archie, Harry, and Craig bade the girls a

hurried adieu, and speedily rode away after the men.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

ON THE WAR TRAIL.

Twelve men all told to march against a tribe consisting probably of over

a hundred and fifty warriors, armed for the fight, and intoxicated with

their recent success! It was a rash, an almost mad, venture; but they

did not for one moment dream of drawing back. They would trust to their

own superior skill to beat the enemy; trust to that fortune that so

often favours the brave; trusting--many of them I hope--to that merciful

Providence who protects the weak, and who, in our greatest hour of need,

does not refuse to listen to our pleadings.

They had ridden some little way in silence, when suddenly Archie drew

rein.

"Halt, men!" he cried. "Halt for a moment and deliberate. Who is to be

the commander of this little force?"

"Yourself," said Gentleman Craig, lifting his hat. "You are boss of

Burley Farm, and Mr Cooper's dearest friend."

"Hear, hear!" cried several of the others.

"Perhaps it is best," said Archie, after a moment's thoughtful pause,

"that I should take the leadership under the circumstances. But, Craig,

I choose you as my second in command, and one whose counsel I will

respect and be guided by."

"Thank you," said Craig; "and to begin with, I move we go straight back

to Findlayson's farm. We are not too well armed, nor too well

provisioned."

The proposal was at once adopted, and towards sundown they had once more

reached the outlying pastures.

They were dismounting to enter, when the half-naked figure of a black

suddenly appeared from behind the storehouse.

A gun or two was levelled at him at once.

"Stay," cried Craig. "Do not fire. That is Jacoby, the black stockman,

and one of poor Mr Findlayson's chief men. Ha, Jacoby, advance my lad,

and tell us all you know."

Jacoby's answer was couched in such unintelligible jargon--a mixture of

Bush-English and broad Scotch--that I will not try the reader's patience

by giving it verbatim. He was terribly excited, and looked heartbroken

with grief. He had but recently come home, having passed "plenty black

fellows" on the road. They had attempted to kill him, but here he was.

"Could he track them?"

"Yes, easily. They had gone away _there_." He pointed north and east

as he spoke.

"This is strange," said Craig. "Men, if what Jacoby tells us be

correct, instead of retreating to their homes in the wilderness, the

blacks are doubling round; and if so, it must be their intention to

commit more of their diabolical deeds, so there is no time to be lost."

It was determined first to bury their dear friends; and very soon a

grave was dug--a huge rough hole, that was all--and in it the murdered

whites were laid side by side.

Rupert repeated the burial-service, or as much of it as he could

remember; then the rude grave was filled, and as the earth fell over the

chest of poor old-fashioned Findlayson, and Archie thought of all his

droll and innocent ways, tears trickled over his face that he made no

attempt to hide.

The men hauled the gates of a paddock off its hinges, and piled wood

upon that, so that the wandering dingoes, with their friends the rooks,

should be baulked in their attempts to gorge upon the dead.

The blacks had evidently commenced to ransack the stores; but for some

reason or another had gone and left them mostly untouched.

Here were gunpowder and cartridges in abundance, and many dainty,

easily-carried foods, such as tinned meats and fish, that the unhappy

owner had evidently laid in for his friends. So enough of everything

was packed away in the men's pockets or bags, and they were soon ready

once more for the road.

The horses must rest, however; for these formed the mainstay of the

little expedition. The men too could not keep on all night without a

pause; so Archie and Craig consulted, and it was agreed to bivouac for a

few hours, then resume the journey when the moon should rise.

Meanwhile the sun went down behind the dark and distant wooded hills,

that in their strange shapes almost resembled the horizon seen at sea

when the waves are high and stormy. Between the place where Archie and

his brother stood and the light, all was rugged plain and forest land,

but soon the whole assumed a shade of almost blackness, and the nearest

trees stood up weird and spectre-like against the sky's strange hue.

Towards the horizon to-night there was a deep saffron or orange fading

above into a kind of pure grey or opal hue, with over it all a light

blush of red, and hurrying away to the south, impelled by some

air-current not felt below, was a mighty host of little cloudlets of

every colour, from darkest purple to golden-red and crimson.

There was now and then the bleating of sheep--sheep without a shepherd--

and a slight tinkle-tinkle, as of a bell. It was in reality the voice

of a strange bird, often to be found in the neighbourhood of creeks and

pools.

Hardly any other sound at present fell on the ear. By-and-bye the

hurrying clouds got paler, and the orange left the horizon, and stars

began to twinkle in the east.

"Come out here a little way with me," said Rupert, taking Archie by the

hand.

When they had gone some little distance, quite out of hearing of the

camp, Rupert spoke:

"Do you mind kneeling down here," he said, "to pray, Archie?"

"You good old Rupert, no," was the reply.

Perhaps no more simple, earnest, or heart-felt prayer was ever breathed

under such circumstances, or in such a place. And not only was Rupert

earnest, but he was confident. He spoke to the great Father as to a

friend whom he had long, long known, and One whom he could trust to do

all for the best. He prayed for protection, he prayed for help for the

speedy restoration of the stolen child, and he even prayed for the tribe

they soon hoped to meet in conflict--prayed that the God who moves in so

mysterious a way to perform His wonders would bless the present

affliction to the white man, and even to the misguided black.

Oh, what a beautiful religion is ours--the religion of love--the

religion taught by the lips of the mild and gentle Jesus!

When they rose from their knees they once more looked skywards at the

stars, for they were brightly shining now; then hand-in-hand, as they

had come, the brothers returned to the camp.

No log fire was lit to-night. The men just lay down to sleep rolled in

their blankets, with their arms close by their saddle pillows, two being

told off to walk sentry in case of a sudden surprise.

Even the horses were put in an enclosure, lest they might roam too far

away.

About twelve o'clock Archie awoke from an uneasy dreamful slumber, and

looked about him. His attention was speedily attracted to what seemed a

huge fire blazing luridly behind the hills, and lighting up the haze

above with its gleams. Was the forest on fire again? No; it was only

moonrise over the woods. He awakened Craig, and soon the little camp

was all astir, and ready for the road. Jacoby was to act as guide. No

Indian from the Wild West of America could be a better tracker.

But even before he started he told Craig the task would be an easy one,

for the black fellows had drunk plenty, and had taken plenty rum with

them. They would not go far, he thought, and there was a probability

that they would meet some of the band returning. Even in the moonlight

Jacoby followed the trail easily and rapidly.

It took them first straight for the forest that had been burned

recently--a thoughtless deed on the part of the whites, that probably

led to all this sad trouble.

There was evidence here that the blacks had gone into camp on the very

night of the massacre, and had held a corroboree, which could only have

been a day or two ago. There were the remains of the camp fires and the

trampled ground and broken branches, with no attempt at concealment.

There was a chance that even now they might not be far away, and that

the little band might come up with them ere they had started for the

day. But if they ventured to hope so, they were doomed to

disappointment.

Morning broke at last lazily over the woods, and with but a brief

interval they followed up the trail, and so on and on all that day, till

far into the afternoon, when for a brief moment only Jacoby found

himself puzzled, having fallen in with another trail leading south and

west from the main track. He soon, however, discovered that the new

trail must be that of some band who had joined the Findlayson farm

raiders.

It became painfully evident soon after that this was the correct

solution, for, going backwards some little way, Archie found a child's

shoe--one of a crimson pair that Bob had bought in Brisbane for his

little Diana.

"God help her, poor darling!" said Archie reverently, as he placed the

little shoe in his breast pocket. When he returned he held it up for a

moment before the men, and the scowl of anger that crossed their faces,

and the firmer clutch they took of their weapons, showed it would indeed

be bad for the blacks when they met these rough pioneers face to face.

At sunset supper was partaken of, and camp once more formed, though no

fire was lit, cold though it might be before morning.

The men were tired, and were sound asleep almost as soon as they lay

down; but Craig, with the brothers, climbed the ridge of the hill to

look about them soon after it grew dark.

The camp rested at the entrance of a wild gully, a view of which could

be had, darkling away towards the east, from the hill on which the three

friends now found themselves.

Presently Rupert spoke.

"Archie," he said, "in this land of contrarieties does the moon

sometimes rise in the south?"

"Not quite," replied Archie.

"Look, then. What is that reflection over yonder?" Craig and Archie

both caught sight of it at the same time.

"By Saint George and merry England!" Craig cried exultingly, "that is

the camp of the blacks. Now to find Diana's other shoe, and the dear

child herself wearing it. Now for revenge!"

"Nay," said Rupert, "call it _justice_, Craig."

"What you will; but let us hurry down."

They stayed but for a moment more to take their bearings. The fire

gleams pointed to a spot to the south-east, on high ground, and right

above the gully, and they had a background of trees, not the sky. It

was evident then that the enemy was encamped in a little clearing on a

forest tableland; and if they meant to save the child's life--if indeed

she was not already dead--the greatest caution would be necessary.

They speedily descended, and a consultation being held, it was resolved

to commence operations as soon as the moon should rise; but meanwhile to

creep in the darkness as near to the camp as possible.

But first Jacoby was sent out to reconnoitre. No cat, no flying

squirrel could glide more noiselessly through an Australian forest than

this faithful fellow. Still he seemed an unconsciously long time gone.

Just as Craig and Archie were getting seriously uneasy the tinkle,

tinkle of the bell-bird was heard. This was the signal agreed upon, and

presently after, Jacoby himself came silently into their midst.

"The child?" was Archie's first question.

"Baal mumhill piccaninny, belong a you. Pidney you."

"The child is safe," said Craig, after asking a few more questions of

this Scotch Myell black.

"Safe? and they are holding a corroboree and drinking. There is little

time to lose. They may sacrifice the infant at any time."

Craig struck a light as he spoke, and every man examined his arms.

"The moon will rise in an hour. Let us go on. Silent as death, men!

Do not overturn a stone or break a twig, or the poor baby's life will be

sacrificed in a moment."

They now advanced slowly and cautiously, guided by Jacoby, and at length

lay down almost within pistol-shot of the place where the horrid

corroboree was going on.

Considering the noise--the shrieking, the clashing of arms, the rude

chanting of songs, and awful din, of the dancers and actors in this ugly

drama--to maintain silence might have seemed unnecessary; but these

blacks have ears like wolves, and, in a lull of even half a second,

would be sharp to hear the faintest unusual noise.

Craig and Archie, however, crept on till they came within sight of the

ceremonies.

At another time it might have been interesting to watch the hideous

grotesqueness of that awful war-dance, but other thoughts were in their

minds at present--they were looking everywhere for Diana. Presently the

wild, naked, dancing blacks surged backwards, and, asleep in the arms of

a horrid gin, they discovered Bob's darling child. It was well Bob

himself was not here or all would quickly have been lost. All was

nearly lost as it was; for suddenly Archie inadvertently snapped a twig.

In a moment there was silence, except for the barking of a dog.

Craig raised his voice, and gave vent to a scream so wild and unearthly

that even Archie was startled.

At once all was confusion among the blacks. Whether they had taken it

for the yell of Bunyip or not may never be known, but they prepared to

fly. The gin carrying Diana threw down the frightened child. A black

raised his arm to brain the little toddler. He fell dead instead.

Craig's aim had been a steady one. Almost immediately after a volley or

two completed the rout, and the blacks fled yelling into the forest.

Diana was saved! This was better than revenge; for not a hair of her

bonnie wee head had been injured, so to speak, and she still wore the

one little red-morocco shoe.

There was not a man there who did not catch that child up in his arms

and kiss her, some giving vent to their feelings in wild words of

thankfulness to God in heaven, while the tears came dripping over their

hardy, sun-browned cheeks.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

CHEST TO CHEST WITH SAVAGES--HOW IT ALL ENDED.

No one thought of sleeping again that night. They went back for their

horses, and, as the moon had now risen, commenced the journey in a bee

line, as far as that was possible, towards Burley New Farm.

They travelled on all night, still under the guidance of Jacoby, who

needed no blazed trees to show in which direction to go. But when

morning came rest became imperative, for the men were beginning to nod

in their saddles, and the horses too seemed to be falling asleep on

their feet, for several had stumbled and thrown their half-senseless

riders. So camp was now formed and breakfast discussed, and almost

immediately all save a sentry went off into sound and dreamless slumber,

Diana lying close to Craig, whom she was very fond of, with her head on

his great shoulder and her fingers firmly entwined in his beard.

It was hard upon the one poor fellow who had to act as sentry. Do what

he might he could scarcely keep awake, and he was far too tired to

continue walking about. He went and leant his body against a tree, and

in this position, what with the heat of the day, and the drowsy hum of

insects, with the monotonous song of the grasshopper, again and again he

felt himself merging into the land of dreams. Then he would start and

shake himself, and take a turn or two in the sunshine, then go back to

the tree and nod as before.

The day wore on, the sun got higher and higher, and about noon, just

when the sentry was thinking or rather dreaming of waking the sleepers,

there was a wild shout from a neighbouring thicket, a spear flew past

him and stuck in the tree. Next moment there was a terrible _melee_--a

hand-to-hand fight with savages that lasted for long minutes, but

finally resulted in victory for the squatters.

But, alas! it was a dearly-bought victory. Three out of the twelve were

dead, and three more, including Gentleman Craig, grievously wounded.

The rest followed up the blacks for some little way, and more than one

of them bit the dust. Then they returned to help their fellows.

Craig's was a spear wound through the side, none the less dangerous in

that hardly a drop of blood was lost externally.

They drew the killed in under a tree, and having bound up the wounds of

the others, and partly carrying them or helping them along, they resumed

the march.

All that day they dragged themselves along, and it was far into the

early hours of morning ere they reached the boundaries of Burley New

Farm.

The moon was shining, though not very brightly, light fleecy clouds were

driving rapidly across the sky, so they could see the lights in both the

old house and in the lower windows of Archie's own dwelling. They fired

guns and coo-ee-ed, and presently Bob and Winslow rushed out to bid them

welcome.

Diana went bounding away to meet him.

"Oh, daddy, daddy!" she exclaimed, "what a time we've been having! but

mind, daddy, it wasn't all fun."

Bob could not speak for the life of him. He just staggered in with the

child in his arms and handed her over to Sarah; but I leave the reader

to imagine the state of Sarah's feelings now.

Poor Craig was borne in and put to bed in Archie's guest room, and there

he lay for weeks.

Bob himself had gone to Brisbane to import a surgeon, regardless of

expense; but it was probably more owing to the tender nursing of Elsie

than anything else that Craig was able at length to crawl out and

breathe the balmy, flower-scented air in the verandah.

One afternoon, many weeks after this, Craig was lying on a bank, under

the shade of a tree, in a beautiful part of the forest, all in whitest

bloom, and Elsie was seated near him.

There had been silence for some time, and the girl was quietly reading.

"I wonder," said Craig at last; "if my life is really worth the care

that you and all the good people here have lavished on me?"

"How can you speak thus?" said Elsie, letting her book drop in her lap,

and looking into his face with those clear, blue eyes of hers.

"If you only knew all my sad, sinful story, you would not wonder that I

speak thus."

"Tell me your story: may I not hear it?"

"It is so long and, pardon me, so melancholy."

"Never mind, I will listen attentively."

Then Craig commenced. He told her all the strange history of his early

demon-haunted life, about his recklessness, about his struggles and his

final victory over self. He told her he verily did believe that his

mother's spirit was near him that night in the forest when he made the

vow which Providence in His mercy had enabled him to keep.

Yes, it was a long story. The sun had gone down ere he had finished, a

crescent moon had appeared in the southern sky, and stars had come out.

There was sweetness and beauty everywhere. There was calm in Craig's

soul now. For he had told Elsie something besides. He had told her

that he had loved her from the first moment he had seen her, and he had

asked her in simple language to become his wife--to be his guardian

angel.

That same evening, when Archie came out into the garden, he found Elsie

still sitting by Craig's couch, but her hand was clasped in his.

Then Archie knew all, and a great, big sigh of relief escaped him, for

until this very moment he had been of opinion that Craig loved

Etheldene.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

In course of a few months Squire Broadbent was as good as his word. He

came out to the new land to give the Australians the benefit of his

genius in the farming way; to teach Young Australia a thing or two it

had not known before; so at least _he_ thought.

With him came Mrs Broadbent, and even Uncle Ramsay, and the day of

their arrival at Brisbane was surely a red-letter day in the annals of

that thriving and prosperous place.

Strange to say, however, none of the squatters from the Bush, none of

the speculating men, nor anybody else apparently, were very much

inclined to be lectured about their own country, and the right and wrong

way of doing things, by a Squire from the old country, who had never

been here before. Some of them were even rude enough to laugh in his

face, but the Squire was not offended a bit. He was on far too good

terms with himself for that, and too sure that he was in the right in

all he said. He told some of these Bush farmers that if _they_ did not

choose to learn a wrinkle or two from him _he_ was not the loser, with

much more to the same purpose, all of which had about the same effect on

his hearers that rain has on a duck's back.

To use a rather hackneyed phrase, Squire Broadbent had the courage of

his convictions.

He settled quietly down at Burley New Farm, and commenced to study

Bush-life in all its bearings. It soon began to dawn upon him that

Australia was getting to be a great country, that she had a great future

before her, and that he--Squire Broadbent--would be connected with it.

He was in no great hurry to invest, though eventually he would. It

would be better to wait and watch. There was room enough and to spare

for all at Archie's house, and that all included honest Uncle Ramsay of

course. He and Winslow resumed acquaintance, and in the blunt,

straightforward ways of the man even Squire Broadbent found a deal to

admire and even to marvel at.

"He is a clever man," said the Squire to his brother; "a clever man and

a far-seeing. He gets a wonderful grasp of financial matters in a

moment. Depend upon it, brother, he is the right metal, and it is upon

solid stones like him that the future greatness of a nation should be

founded."

Uncle Ramsay said he himself did not know much about it. He knew more

about ships, and was quite content to settle down at Brisbane, and keep

a morsel of a 20-tonner. That was his ambition.

What a delight it was for Archie to have them all round his

breakfast-table in the green parlour at Burley New Form, or seated out

in the verandah all so homelike and happy.

His dear old mummy too, with her innocent womanly ways, delighted with

all she saw, yet half afraid of almost everything--half afraid the

monster gum trees would fall upon her when out in the forest; half

afraid to put her feet firmly to the ground when walking, but gathering

up her skirts gingerly, and thinking every withered branch was a snake;

half afraid the howling dingoes would come down in force at night, as

wild wolves do on Russian wastes, and kill and eat everybody; half

afraid of the most ordinary good-natured-looking black fellow; half

afraid of even the pet kangaroo when he hopped round and held up his

chin to have his old-fashioned neck stroked; half afraid--but happy, so

happy nevertheless, because she had all she loved around her.

Gentleman Craig was most deferential and attentive to Mrs Broadbent,

and she could not help admiring him--indeed, no one could--and quite

approved of Elsie's choice; though, mother-like, she thought the girl

far too young to marry yet, as the song says.

However, they were not to be married yet quite. There was a year to

elapse, and a busy one it was. First and foremost, Craig took the

unfortunate Findlayson's farm. But the old steading was allowed to go

to decay, and some one told me the other day that there is now a genuine

ghost, said to be seen on moonlight nights, wandering round the ruined

pile. Anyhow, its associations were of far too terrible a character for

Craig to think of building near it.

He chose the site for his house and outbuildings near the creek and the

spot where they had bivouacked before the murder was discovered. It was

near here too that Craig had made his firm resolve to be a free man--

made it and kept it. The spot was charmingly beautiful too; and as his

district included a large portion of the forest, he commenced clearing

that, but in so scientific and tasteful a manner that it looked, when

finished, like a noble park.

During this year Squire Broadbent also became a squatter. From Squire

to Squatter may sound to some like a come-down in life; but really

Broadbent did not think so.

He managed to buy out a station immediately adjoining Archie's, and when

he had got fairly established thereon he told his brother Ramsay that

fifteen years had tumbled off his shoulders all in a lump--fifteen years

of care and trouble, fifteen years of struggle to keep his head above

water, and live up to his squiredom.

"I'm more contented now by far and away," he told his wife, "than I was

in the busy, boastful days before the fire at Burley Old Farm; so, you

see, it doesn't take much in this world to make a man happy."

Rupert did not turn squatter, but missionary. It was a great treat for

him to have Etheldene to ride with him away out into the bush whenever

he heard a tribe had settled down anywhere for a time. Etheldene knew

all their ways, and between the two of them they no doubt did much good.

It is owing to such earnest men as Rupert that so great a change has

come over the black population, and that so many of them, even as I

write, sit humbly at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in their right mind.

To quote the words of a recent writer: "The war-paints and weapons for

fights are seen no more, the awful heathen corroborees have ceased, the

females are treated with kindness, and the lamentable cries, accompanied

by bodily injuries, when death occurred, have given place to Christian

sorrow and quiet tears for their departed friends."

It came to pass one day that Etheldene and Archie, towards the end of

the year, found themselves riding alone, through scrub and over plain,

just as they were that day they were lost. The conversation turned

round to Rupert's mission.

"What a dear, good, young man your brother is, Archie!" said the girl.

"Do you really love him?"

"As a brother, yes."

"Etheldene, have him for a brother, will you?"

The rich blood mounted to her cheeks and brow. She cast one half-shy,

half-joyful look at Archie, and simply murmured, "Yes."

It was all over in a moment then. Etheldene struck her horse lightly

across the crest with the handle of her stock whip, and next minute both

horses were galloping as if for dear life.

When Archie told Rupert how things had turned out, he only smiled in his

quiet manner.

"It is a queer way of wooing," he said; "but then you were always a

queer fellow, Archie, and Etheldene is a regular Bush baby, as Craig

calls her. Oh, I knew long ago she loved you!"

At the year's end then both Elsie and Etheldene were married, and

married, too, at the same church in Sydney from which Bob led Sarah, his

blushing bride. It might not have been quite so wild and daft a

wedding, but it was a very happy one nevertheless.

No one was more free in blessing the wedded couples than old Kate. Yes,

old as she was, she had determined not to be left alone in England.

We know how Bob spent his honeymoon. How were the new young folks to

spend theirs? Oh, it was all arranged beforehand! And on the very

morning of the double marriage they embarked--Harry and Bob going with

them for a holiday--on board Captain Vesey's pretty yacht, and sailed

away for England. Etheldene's dream of romance was about to become a

reality; she was not only to visit the land of chivalry, but with Archie

her husband and hero by her side.

The yacht hung off and on the shore all day, as if reluctant to leave

the land; but towards evening a breeze sprang up from the west, the

sails filled, and away she went, dancing and curtseying over the water

like a thing of life.

The sunset was bewitchingly beautiful; the green of the land was changed

to a purple haze, that softened and beautified its every outline; the

cloudless sky was clear and deep; that is, it gave you the idea you

could see so far into and through it. There was a flush of saffron

along the horizon; above it was of an opal tint, with here and there a

tender shade of crimson--only a suspicion of this colour, no more; and

apparently close at hand, in the east, were long-drawn cloudlets of

richest red and gold.

Etheldene looked up in her husband's face.

"Shall we have such a sky as that to greet our arrival on English

shores?" she said.

Archie drew her closer to his side.

"I'm not quite sure about the sky," he replied, shaking his head and

smiling, "but we'll have a hearty English welcome."

And so they had.

End of Project Gutenberg's From Squire to Squatter, by Gordon Stables