“It was I who guided her hither,” answered the elfin.
“Then thou shalt die,” exclaimed the vast throng, as with one voice.
“Not all your hosts of this dim region nor your power can destroy me.
Dash me to pieces against the rugged walls of your palace, burn me to
ashes, and scatter them to the vapours, still I shall rise up stronger,
in some other form to give you battle. Give the woman her little ones.”
“Beware! Let the race of this mortal give us back our stolen treasures.
They have invaded our domain, and have rifled it of some of its richest
treasures. Through soil and rock and granite they have delved down,
down into this under world, until we could hear the ring of their
tools. And we have seen them change our dim regions into a wilderness.”
While Croak uttered these words the elfin glided swiftly forward,
seized the children, and placing them safely in the mother’s arms,
cried hurriedly, “Begone; run to the outer gate, and my power shall
bear you company and carry you swiftly to the upper air. Quick!”
And the woman, pressing her babes tightly to her throbbing bosom, fled
away, and rising through the mists which obscure the lower world,
regained the hut on the cliff; while Love battled with the legions of
Hate, and battles with them still—ay! and will battle with them to the
end of time.
BABY’S VISITORS.
Open the window, wide. How serene and peaceful it is out yonder, where
the stars gleam and sparkle—some faint and small as a diamond speck,
others large, clear, and dazzling, as the eyes of angels gazing through
the dim void earthward to that little room where Baby sleeps the sleep
of death. It may have been the shadowing of that radiance, attendant on
the sinless ones, whom we call angels, which had cast athwart the
infant’s features a sheen of glory, and changed them into the seeming
of a sleeping cherub, or perchance the immortal glow that shimmered,
widening and circling as it fell, was but the forerunner of that
celestial band who bridge space and suffer little children to go unto
Him!
See the mother kneeling beside her dead babe, her slender frame
convulsed with agony. Not a tear, not a sob, that breaks forth for her
lost darling but freights its newly awakened soul and holds it backward
from the angels. How can it soar while the kindred spirit below wails
its absence, and every moan shouts, trumpet tongued, “Come back! Come
back!”
“It was my world,” she says, “my whole world, and it has gone from me
like a vision. Alas! Common things live on; earth’s mighty heart still
throbs! Creation lifts its voice in sea and air, and in the world’s
great mart. Music, life, and motion are everywhere, save in my babe.”
Alas! for thee, fond mother, whose vision mounts no higher than the
baby’s cot. Alas! for thee!
Frail, yet beautiful, were the creatures who entered at the open
window. Softly as kindly thoughts that gathered round the infant
sleeper in wonder, and laid a ring of flowers about it, until they
formed a rosy cradle. And then, as the sighing wind or those more
delicate strains heard in dreams, the voices of the elfins rose upon
the stillness of the night like silver bells.
Solemn was their chant, and weird and fanciful, which anon changed to
lighter vein and measure. The mourner heard the sounds, and wondered as
the cadence rose and fell upon her grief-dulled ears, but the singers
were invisible to her.
“Nurslings of the summer air
Buzz, buzz, here, there.
So we! quaint and gay,
Antic gambol,
Gnome and Fay.
“Whispering to the smiling moon,
Trill, trill, ‘Come soon.’
So we! quaint and gay,
Antic gambol,
Gnome and Fay.
“As the breezes come and go.
Hum, hum. Just so.
So we! quaint and gay,
Antic gambol,
Gnome and Fay.”
As a single drop of water contains things with life and being, which
cannot be seen with the naked eye, so in space dwell the creatures of
the imagination, both wise and beautiful, being full of love and
sympathy for mankind and goodwill towards women and young children.
Show me a selfish, disobedient boy, or a naughty girl, who ever saw a
fairy. You can’t. I defy you to produce one. But many a bright youth
and pretty maiden, who love truth and obedience better than play or
lollies, can testify that the lovely persons who came to them in dreams
were the same who now stood round the cradle of the dead baby.
How these wee people had loved it, and had kept watch and ward over it,
ever since they had espied it in its basket cradle downstairs! Fresh
from the mysterious star-world, of which they knew nothing, they had
marvelled at it, and had crowed and cooed and sung to it, until it had
begun to know them, and answer after its fashion, and laugh, and shake
its fat, dimpled fists and crow too.
How they had watched it when it slept, and filled its tiny brain with
innocent visions pure as the setting sun! How they had caused their
magic to mantle its slumber, and the little rosebud mouth to open out
in smiles! How silent and still now! No smile parts the pale lips. Not
all the witchcraft in Fairyland, nor all the songs sung by sprite or
fay to fretful babyhood, can lift but even one slender hair from those
drooping eyelids which shroud the dim, blue eyes.
“Baby’s dead,” said one, and “Dead, dead, dead,” repeated all the elfin
circle.
“Let us bear it hence unto the open glade. The bright beams of the
morning sun will bring back its look of gladness, and we shall hear its
voice again.”
“Ay, bear it hence,” replied the chorus.
Cradled in the wild flowers they had spread around it, the elfins
carried off their silent burden, and laid it gently within a scented
grove, and as the glorious morn broke forth to life and gladness, the
birds gathered together in the fairy haunt and sang a requiem.
Up rose the sun and filled the dell with golden splendour. Its shining
beams spread through the foliage in amber-coloured radiance, and played
about the fair head of the dead baby until the creatures around shrank
back in awe at the sight; but the sun brought no light to its eyes, nor
smile to its lips. And so they carried the infant back again within its
little room, and departed wondering.
Oh, weeping mother, whose bitter tears have drenched thy baby’s winding
sheet, had’st thou faith even as a grain of mustard seed in the Master,
thou couldst see above thee, beyond that cold, dead clay, the forms of
angels bearing thy little one to eternal rest.
Oh, ye parents, shall I preach to you, as well as to your children? Ye
who, when your daily task is done, sit brooding o’er the loss of some
fondly remembered child, now sleeping its long sleep in death, take
heart if ye have loved it; then it is not dead, but lives again within
you. Love cannot die, for it is as immortal as the soul. Like Jacob’s
ladder, it is the broad pathway from Paradise to earth, by which our
little ones come back to us in visions and in dreams to give us
assurance of the tender care of God.
RUBYWINGS.
CHAPTER I.
THE JOURNEY.
Come with me for an hour, out of the hard, stony by-ways and hot, dusty
thoroughfares of this work-a-day city.
Mount behind me on the broad wings of this carrier-bird, which most men
have, yet which no mortal hath ever seen! Sit close and fear not, for
our pillion is soft and easy, the steed safe. Now mount and away!
“Where silvery songs of bird and bee,
Of leaf and lake and stream,
Round us hum and flit and flee
While we linger silently
In our noon-tide dream.”
Nothing but ice! Walls of it, peaks, spires, towers, grottoes, floors.
Ice everywhere! It is of all manner of delicate hues—pale green and
blue; and where the edges catch the sun it shines even brighter than
the glitter of a thousand clustering diamonds. This is Silverhaze, the
border of Fairyland. The King of Silverhaze stood at the ice-bound
portal of his kingdom, when he observed the approach of a very old man.
The gait of the mortal wayfarer was slow and feeble, and he often
paused to rest ere he reached the gates where stood the monarch.
“Who lives here, Spirit?” he asked of the Frost King.
“I,” responded the tall, bearded form, in a sweet voice which sounded
like a song heard a long way off.
“Where is Fairyland, and how am I to get there?” inquired the old
gentleman in a faint tone.
“You are standing on the boundary line of the region you seek,”
answered the King; “this is the wall encircling the land of the
Australian Elves, O mortal!”
“What a thick rampart of ice!” exclaimed the old man, curiously
inspecting the great white barrier.
“True,” answered the Frost King. “This wall is made from the dew and
rain of Earth that are not delicate enough to moisten the tender grass
of Elfland. I catch the mists as they wreathe themselves upward, and
divide them; that which has touched and been tainted with the under
world I build up into these icy walls; that which is pure as the
morning cloud floats on into the country where you are going.”
“Thank you; may I wander onward?”
“Ay! Few come here to break my repose. I live here alone. Continue your
journey onwards towards Moonrise, and you will see all you want.”
“Shall I see everything, O King Frost?”
“Nay, that will depend on yourself. If you can fling away from you
every thought that is not fit for the pure mind of an innocent child,
then shall you behold wonders.”
“Alas! great King, I am afraid I cannot do that. Who can, who can? In
my youth I never heard of this glorious Fairyland. Childhood, young
manhood, mature age, were all spent by me in getting and hoarding
money; and now the time is drawing near when I must depart; but ere I
go I want to view the silver mosses and green slopes of these regions.”
The old man bent low before the Ice Monarch, whose cold blue eyes
changed to flashing steel.
“I can help you,” he answered. “Come here, and let me touch your
forehead. If you wish it in your heart, I will draw from you your
memories and thoughts, and send you a child into Fairyland. Your past
will lie here for you in my ice cave, a burden or a blessing, for you
to resume as you go out.”
“How, a burden or a blessing?” asked the mortal.
“That again will depend on yourself; according to what you see in your
travels will your past seem to you on your return.”
“But you said I should see all.”
“You will have the power of seeing all, yet you will only see that
which you care to look upon.” As the Frost King spoke, he advanced and
touched the mortal’s brow with his finger. While he did so there glided
beneath the old man’s feet a silver cloud-car, which instantly
enveloped him and carried him away from the ice-clad border with the
swiftness of a sea-gull. Amazement grew upon him as he felt himself
borne away and no visible thing in view. Then remembering what the
Spirit had said, he exclaimed aloud, “Can I not see what is about me?”
The words were hardly uttered when he perceived that he was the
occupant of a gorgeous conveyance drawn by a team of butterflies, with
a lovely child seated therein driving them. Wonderful indeed the
delicate tints and shades which the moonbeams had woven in her robes.
Still more wondrous the blended purity and beauty of her face.
Exquisitely, deliciously soft and musical the voice that addressed him
in accents like the soft south wind, wooing the trees at summer’s
eventide.
“Welcome, Sir Mortal. Welcome to Elfland.”
“Dear child, art thou a fairy?” he cried in surprise.
“Yes! My name is Rubywings,” she answered, with a beaming smile.
“Rubywings,” he repeated. “It is a delightful name, my child; but why
do they call thee Rubywings?”
“Because I am Queen of the Butterflies,” she replied; “and because I am
also the messenger of Peace and Charity to the good of the Earth.
Invisible to all else of mortal birth am I. Peace! Let us onward.”
Brilliantly flashed the wings of the butterflies as they wafted the
cloud-car, light and joyous as the golden orioles that flew before
them. Here they fluttered among curious rocks of veined and marbled
stone, here and there soft mosses, which grew in little clumps, some in
scales, like trays on which stood silver cups for the fays to drink out
of. Then ferns peeped out with their long tresses that blew backwards
and forwards in the wind. A trickle of water began to flow from a deep
cranny, and tall plants blossomed along its course. Suddenly they came
upon a wide, beautiful plain, robed with such lovely, silk-like grass,
only to be found in these regions. Here tall palms tossed their
feathery heads, while creepers, bearing flowers, streaked with gold and
brown, climbed about their trunks.
Still onward, with but a passing glimpse at the emerald carpet beneath,
until they reached a fine lagoon, in the midst of which an island
appeared to view, so fair and beautiful that the rest of the landscape
turned bleak and barren by comparison. Over this wondrous place
Rubywings guided the cloud-car. Landing where a mossy bank sloped
gently to the water, the fairy led her companion into such a charming
garden that a burst of rapture broke from his lips at sight of it. The
most refined imagination of mortal man never conceived such a world of
rare beauty. No seasons came and went here, the flowers bloomed
eternally. Like a jewelled crown encircling the brows of a queen, so a
vast ring of pale blossoms surrounded this bower of loveliness—primrose,
with her beseeching face, shy snowdrop, loving violet, with her whisper
of summer, glad hyacinth, ringing a peal of bells, whose faint tinkle
came upon the mortal’s ears, like subdued melody.
Rubywings pointed out a soft couch of ferns, bordered with lilies, and
said,—
“Rest thee here awhile, O mortal. Sleep, dream, bewilder thyself. When
thou wakest, thine eyes shall open upon the ministering spirits of
Nature, which I go to bring around thee.
“‘Bi baby bunting,
I am going hunting
For the shadows as they fly,
For the winds to waft them by;
Bi baby bunting!’”
Ere her childish song had ended Rubywings vanished, and the mortal fell
asleep.
CHAPTER II.
SHADOWS.
The old mortal, whom the fays had christened Ready Money, slept soundly
in that island garden into which he had been guided by Rubywings. And
as he slumbered, behold the Fairy Queen approached with a golden wand
in her hand. She stood over him and gently waved the wand to and fro,
when lo! the flowers around and about instantly assumed the shape of
frolicsome sprites who formed themselves into a vast ring about him.
Again Rubywings lifted her enchanted staff, and the trees receded
backwards in the distance as so many drifting clouds athwart the
horizon. And waving her wand for the third time, a sudden darkness
shrouded the island save where the man reposed.
Round that clear, circular space, bordered by the crowded ranks of the
elves, there shone a brilliant, steady, silvery light, brighter than
the sun and softer than a moonbeam.
Rubywings stooped and whispered in the sleeper’s ear. And as she did
so, the magic ring widened and widened out, until at length it appeared
to encompass the whole landscape. The beautiful light increased
simultaneously with the wonderful expansion of the garden, thereby
adding a tenfold beauty to every object upon which it rested.
“Behold, mortal, this is the valley of the shadows. First lift thine
eyes,” cried the fairy.
Ready Money obeyed, and saw much clearer than with his waking sight.
Into the shimmering ring there glided the Monarch of the Shadows. He
was not at all black or gloomy. Not in the least—his manners were soft
and engaging, and his robe was decorated with all kinds of delicate
tints, brown and silver-grey, and violet shaded with faint blue and
azure. All the fays bowed down reverently before him, because they knew
he was the greatest Shadow in the land. Painters loved him and made
charming pictures of him, and poets sang of him and wrote songs in his
praise, and yet neither painter nor poet could tell how great, how
magnificent and glorious he was.
Troop by troop, rank and column, the Shadows came out of the ravines,
valleys and dells, and from the clefts in the hill sides, and from
amongst the rocks, and approached the King in due order and gave an
account of their several missions.
Some told how they had spent their time in sick rooms, where people lay
tossing in pain, and how they had rested the eyes of many a weary
sufferer, and shielded them from the glaring light, and how sometimes
they had gathered thickly round them and lulled them into health-giving
sleep. Others spoke of travellers far from home, who, longing to see
their wives and children or friends once more, had been comforted by
the Shadows, who took upon themselves the dear home figures and the
scenes of home.
The mortal listened eagerly to every word uttered by these ministers of
Nature. Hitherto he had believed that Beam and Shadow alike had no
life, any more than the particles of dust beneath his feet, and were
just as useless. What sick couch had he visited? What heart comforted?
What good accomplished for the benefit of his kindred? Why, the very
Shadows, dim and soulless as they were, had done more good than he had
done, and Ready Money trembled as the thought came home to him. One
grand fellow bent his tall form before the Shadow King and said that
when the summer sun waxed hot and fierce over the Australian Continent
he cast himself across the fiery pathway of the burning rays, thereby
refreshing many a broiling citizen, and making cool and restful shade
beneath tree and hill, and giving beauty to field and stream, by
throwing lovely, translucent shadows over them, and so bringing out to
full perfection the form and colour of all created things.
Then there advanced Shadows of a gloomier, darker hue. Drooping,
careworn, and sorrow-laden, they had come from the houses of the very
poor, from courts of justice, from prison cells where criminals sat in
silence and despair. Many had come from homes where there was no love
of parents; where wives and husbands were at strife; where fierce
words, and cruel blows, and hard usage were the rule of daily death in
life. Others had just left places of business, where men, who ought to
know better, toiled year after year to increase their wealth, striving
after gold, lying and cheating for it, holding it tightly when they had
it, and shuddering as the time drew near when they must go hence and
leave it all to others.
If these Shadows, fresh from counting-houses and cobweb-covered
chambers, wherein sat men faded and wan, as the colourless walls around
them, if they had been the Shadow only of this listening mortal, they
could hardly have presented a more realistic picture of his life in the
past than they did in their report of others.
Lying there powerless, there came upon him a strong desire to get back
amongst his fellow-men if it were only for one short month—nay, but
only the length of a brief day; for in it what good might be done and
what atonement made! Alas! for our resolution. Ready Money was fast
held beneath the influence of the wand of Rubywings, and therefore
could not budge.
When the grim Shadows rested, there came an altogether merrier group
upon the scene. These related how they had given their attention to
schoolrooms, alarming idle boys and girls by bringing the Shadow of
their teachers upon them just in the middle of a game of romps. Others
again had had rare fun with naughty little folks who were going to help
themselves to sugar and jam, by looking over their shoulders and making
believe that some one was coming.
Next the house Shadows took their turn, and showed how they engaged
themselves, by making pleasant figures on the floor and walls, dancing
in the firelight, and playing bo-peep in the curtains on winter
evenings. When all the reports were finished, the King called to the
Wind to dismiss the Shadows.
Then the Wind came, and the Shadows, ere they took their departure,
amused themselves as they liked best. In the most surprising manner
some played leap-frog, hide-and-seek, and blind-man’s-buff. Others
raced along the sward and up the side of the hills, like so many
will-o’-the-wisps; many changing into all kinds of strange and
fantastic shapes, until the silver light dimmed and died out, and the
beautiful garden resumed its grandeur as before.
And a change came o’er the slumbering mortal. Slowly he opened his
eyes, but the fairy with her enchanting wand was not there, nor the
flowers and trees. Nothing, save the high boundary wall of ice and the
white-bearded Frost King standing near.
“Resume thy earth-woven memories, O mortal!” he said in a grave, solemn
tone. “Stand upright that I may touch thee. So! Go thy way for a brief
season. In thy daily wanderings here and there thy former friends shall
not recognise thee! From henceforth, Greed, Selfishness, Envy, and all
of that nature that were dear to thee, shall become thy bitter foes.
Remember what the Shadows said. Farewell!”
Down, earthward, with tottering and uncertain step went the mortal;
downward, along the broad, sunny pathway, where innumerable birds sang,
and trees waved, and where the low, hoarse murmur of bread-winning
millions ascended to the Creator.
LIFE AND DEATH.
Once upon a time an old man and a fairy sat by the wayside talking.
“When the world was first created,” said the elfin, “it was appointed
how many years each creature should exist. So the horse came and
inquired how long he was to live.
“‘Thirty years,’ he was told, and then was asked, ‘Is that sufficient?’
“‘Alas!’ replied the beast, ‘that is a long time. Think how many
wearisome burdens I shall have to carry from morning to night beneath a
hot sun, that man, my master, may eat bread and live at ease, and I
receive nothing but blows and hard words, and must yet keep always
active and obliging. The time is too long. Take away some of my years,
I pray.’
“So the horse was pitied, and a life of only eighteen years was
appointed to him. Whereupon he went gladly away; and the dog then made
his appearance and asked,—
“‘What is the duration of my life?’
“‘How long do you wish to live?’ was inquired of him. ‘Thirty years was
allotted to the horse, but that was too much for him; perhaps you will
be satisfied with that term?’
“‘Do you think so?’ answered the dog. ‘Remember how much I shall have
to run and bark and bite. My feet will not last the time, and when I
have lost my voice and my teeth, and can neither bark nor bite, what
will then be for me but to crawl and howl from one corner to another?’
“Therefore the dog’s plea was granted, and twelve years appointed for
his age. After which he departed and made room for the monkey.
“‘You will live thirty years willingly, no doubt,’ was said to the ape.
‘You need not work like the horse or the dog, and therefore will always
be well off.’
“‘Indeed, it should be so’ replied Jacko, ‘but I have found it
different. Mine is anything but a life of indolence. I must always be
aping my betters, and making comical faces for people to laugh at. Many
a hard nut I have to crack. And as sadness is often hidden beneath a
grin, so have I to show my teeth, even if they are aching with pain.
Please shorten the years of my life.’ So ten years were allotted to
him.
“Last of all man appeared, healthy and vigorous, and requested a term
to be appointed to him.
“‘You shall live thirty years,’ was the reply. ‘Is that enough?’
“‘What a short time!’ exclaimed the man. ‘Just when I shall have
cleared my land, built myself a house, and lighted a fire upon my own
hearth, and I am thinking of enjoying life, I must die. I pray let my
life be lengthened.’
“‘Very well. The eighteen years of the horse shall be added.’
“‘That is not sufficient,’ said man.
“‘You shall have also twelve years of the dog’s life thereto.’
“‘Still too little,’ replied the man.
“‘Then you may have the ten years allowed to the monkey, but you must
desire no more.’
“Man was then obliged to leave, but he was not satisfied.
“Thus man lives seventy years. The first thirty are the days of his
manhood, which pass quickly away; he is then strong and lusty, works
with pleasure, and rejoices in his being. Then follow the eighteen
years of the life of the horse which brings in its train burdens which
he must bear from the rising to the setting of the sun, and wherein
blame and abuse often reward him for his labours. Next come the twelve
years of the dog, during which man has to sit in corners, because he
has lost the power to bark and bite. And when this time is up the ten
years of the monkey bring the close of the scene, for in these man
becomes foolish, gabbers and jabbers without end, and is fit for
nothing but——”
The elfin paused, and gazed earnestly at the mortal.
“But what?” cried the old man.
“But—Death. The portal which leads into the vast unknown, and from
which we elves are debarred,” responded the fairy.
“And what is Death?”
“A certainty, O mortal, for all thy race. No more or less than that.
Ere I go hence from thee for ever hear this fable:—
“In olden times a giant wrestled with this terrible enemy Death, and
vanquished him. As the grim foe lay helpless by the wayside he began to
grumble. ‘What will be the consequence of my downfall to the world? If
I lie here, then it will be so full and crowded with humanity that they
will not be able to move for each other.’
“Just then a young man came up the road, strong and healthy, singing a
song, and looking well about him. As soon as he perceived the conquered
one he went up to him, and compassionately raising him, bound up his
wounds, and nursed him until strength returned.
“‘Do you know who I am?’ asked Death, when he was fairly on his legs
again.
“‘No,’ replied the youth. ‘I know you not.’
“‘I am Death,’ he replied. ‘I spare no one, and can take no excuse from
you even. But to show you that I am not ungrateful, I promise not to
take you unawares, but I will send my messengers before I come and
fetch you.’
“‘Very well,’ said the young man, ‘that is a bargain. Until your
harbingers come I shall be safe from you.’
“With this understanding the mortal pursued his way merrily, and lived
in prosperity for some time; but youth and health will not remain for
ever. Pain and sickness and grief came, and the man complained that
there was no rest for him night or day. ‘I shall not die,’ he said,
‘for Death must first send his messengers; but I wish these fearful
days of illness were over.’
“Health returned again, and he began to live as usual. One day,
somebody knocked at the window, and looking round he saw Death standing
behind him. ‘Follow me,’ he said.
“‘How so?’ exclaimed the mortal. ‘Will you break the promise that you
made to me, that your servants should first give me notice ere you
appeared? I have not seen them.’
“‘Be silent,’ replied Death. ‘Have I not sent you one messenger after
another? Did not fever come and seize you and lay you prostrate? Did
not racking pain oppress your limbs, noises sound in your ears, a
dimness cover your eyes? Above all, did not my twin brother, Sleep,
remind you every night that I should come?’
“And the man knew not what to reply, and was therefore taken away.”
When the elfin had thus spoken he vanished from the mortal’s view.
GIANTS.
I, Martin Crowe, am a book-loving vagabond. Reading hath charms for me
not to be found in men or women. My few quaint volumes are my
companions and my friends. True, I cannot borrow money from, or use
them according to my worldly necessity; nevertheless, they speak to me
in many voices, some in tones of deep wisdom, others in the witchery of
suggestive imagery, until my humble study, with its scanty furniture
and bare walls, vanish altogether from my outward senses.
It is late. On this long winter night I have been deep into the pages
of the famous astronomer, Newton; and although I have laid down the
book before me on the table, my mind is still busy at the threshold of
the mysterious realm of Nature, to which I have been introduced by the
wand of the magician. If knowledge is power, it sometimes happens that
the power does not bring happiness in its train, but often assumes
strange shapes. As I sat and looked with vacant eyes at what, for the
moment, I saw not, behold the table before me became gradually
luminous. At first the light was flickering and uncertain, rising and
falling in a shapeless mass, but it quickly brightened into a
spiral-shaped luminary, which presently assumed the form of a venerable
old man.
I cannot venture an opinion as to the means employed by my strange
visitor for his entrance into my chamber, any more than you can explain
to me the manifestations of clairvoyance and electro-biology.
From the first appearance of the light, and during the subsequent
gradations which qualified my vision to discover a personage with the
aspect of a seer of the olden time standing at my side, I have no clear
idea of anything save that of being held by an all-powerful spell
towards him. I had studied animal magnetism, and curative mesmerism
under Tom Buckland, and knew a thing or two with reference to passes,
currents, and counter-currents, but I found my will ebbing away before
the steady fingers and calm eyes of the stranger, whose stronger
influence seemed to wrap me round and round as with a band of steel,
utterly powerless to speak or move, except at the will of my companion.
Yet I felt my sensations in rapid play to all around me. Nay, more, the
sense of hearing and observation seemed marvellously quickened within
me, and the intensity of thought brightened from the gross element
which had previously partially obscured it. The shape found voice, and
addressed me:—
“Young man, I am the guardian of Nature’s chief secrets,” it said,
replying to the unasked question on my lip. “Men call me Knowledge, but
my name is Science. What dost thou want with me?”
I found the power of speech return to me ere the last words were
uttered.
“Let me behold some of Nature’s secrets,” I cried eagerly.
“Thou art a bold mortal.”
“I am earnest. Even as the aspiring thoughts that meet me in this book,
I would soar and know.”
“Of course,” replied the voice. “Although I come to thee in fairy form
and guise, I am the servant of thought. It was not the uttered word
that did summon me, but the force of the inward wish to understand
within thee. Well, I am here. If thou wouldst see some of the giants of
the future, follow me.”
I had no will but to follow him, as he led the way out of the doorway
into the silent night, under the whispering trees beyond the city,
across the bridge of the river, and away to the summit of a hill, with
the waves of the gulf thundering at its base.
“All human knowledge commences in dreams,” he said in a low tone.
“Trance hovers over measureless secrets, and forms the first faint
bridge between them and thought. Look steadfastly on the moon yonder.”
I obeyed in silence. I had no power otherwise than to obey. As I gazed,
the pale orb of night appeared to expand and dilate until its luminous
circumference diffused all space, and in the midst of this shining
atmosphere I became aware of a strange sense of heavenly liberty
pervading my whole being. It seemed as if hitherto I had been bound
with a strong chain, which had suddenly snapped asunder, and had
yielded me unutterable freedom from the body, and had imparted a
bird-like lightness which floated me into space itself. Through this
space a swift succession of shadowy landscapes rolled; mountains,
trees, cities, ships, and inland seas glided along, like the drifting
clouds seen in a stormy sky, until at length, settled and stationary, I
saw a vast cave in the heart of a gloomy forest.
“Enter, and beware of Fear,” cried the voice at my side. At the sound
the ecstasy and lightness which had been upon me faded away, and a sort
of languor seized my frame, without communicating itself to the mind.
Downward by a stairway of rugged rock I was led into what seemed a
terrible abyss. Round and round in spiral form we descended for many
miles, amid noises loud and new to me, when our farther progress was
abruptly stopped by a massive door formed in the solid rock, and which
was guarded by monsters of various shapes, called Ignorance. Erect and
threatening they rose to crush me, but at sight of my conductor they
fell down again in abject submission and opened the door; whereupon we
passed into a mighty cavern, so wide and so lofty that its magnitude
astounded me, its limit reaching far beyond my range of vision. Here I
beheld huge giants, mightier than ever appeared in legend or fairy
tale. Many were toiling hard, some lay reclining, as if just awakened
from a deep sleep; while others slumbered peacefully. Dim and
indistinct as the light here glimmered, I could see the ponderous
shapes plainly. With the will to question my guide came the power of
speech.
“Who is yonder fellow,” I asked, “seated astride the trident rock? What
huge limbs he has!”
“That is young Australia,” replied the voice. “The ages have cradled
him. He is only a baby awakened out of his first sleep. I predict the
infant will develop into a magnificent giant by-and-by,” rejoined the
voice.
“What is the name of this powerful-looking creature here with the
gigantic head?” I inquired, pointing to a monster who seemed but just
awakened from a long nap.
“Electricity. It is a name but little known as yet,” replied the sage,
“but your children will see this new land filled with its wonders. You
see the giant has only been disturbed, not awakened.”
“Why do they not rouse him up to action, O wise sage?”
“Because the time for him to use his great and varied powers has not
come,” answered the voice gravely. “Powers wrested from Nature for the
benefit of mankind may be also turned into a scourge for the innocent.
A Titan war is waging ever among men, the good for ever on the
defensive, the bad for ever in assault. Perchance ’tis well the giant
sleeps.”
“There is another giant standing near Electricity, whose proud look I
have often noted on the faces of men I have met. Who is he?”
“He is called Money, otherwise Cash, often Hard Cash,” replied the
voice in answer. “Truly he is a powerful fellow. Sometimes great and
god-like in his liberality, at other times he is mean and selfish. Mark
what an affinity between him and the prostrate monster. In the far-off
future, I see them hand-in-hand together, working a wonderful change on
the face of Nature and in the condition of mankind.” A faint smile
passed across the features of the sage as he uttered the words.
“One question more. Pray tell me the name of yon noble creature who
seems as though he were able to prop the globe single-handed?”
“Ah, that is the twin brother of young Australia, and his name is
Enterprise,” added the voice proudly. “Up and doing, early and late,
ever active and daring in speculation. Australian Enterprise has
promised that this, his country, shall be the commercial focus of the
earth some time in the future, which shall also uprouse these
slumbering giants.”
The voice ceased speaking; but another voice, well known to my waking
ears as that of my landlady, filled the vacuum, with the following
choice sentence:—
“Mr. Crowe, I hopes you remember that I’m a widder with five innercent
children to keep, and can’t afford to let you fall asleep and burn
every drop of ile out of the lamp for a guinea a week, washing
included! There now!”
THE KANGAROO HUNTER.
CHAPTER I.
THE LOST DRESS.
His hut stood on the border of a vast and unknown tract of bushland,
away north. Why he had removed from all traces of his fellows to lead
such a lonely mode of life we cannot pretend to explain. All we know is
that he was a tall, handsome young fellow, and known to a few of the
out-station boundary riders as Bob, the Kangaroo Hunter.
One day Bob had chased a fine old man kangaroo that he had wounded
farther than usual into the trackless depths of the bush. As he was
returning homeward along the margin of a small lagoon he perceived an
article of very fine linen lying on the sand. Our hero came to a dead
halt, and stared at the article in question, with as much astonishment
as if a white elephant had presented itself in his path. He took up the
linen, and the more he examined it the more puzzled he became at the
discovery. Bob was a capital shot, and could track game like a
blackfellow, but the finding of a piece of soft cambric in such a
solitary region bothered him completely. After supper he sat and
thought over it, but gave it up by-and-by and went to bed.
Somewhere in the dead of night the hunter was awakened by a voice
calling him by name. He could not see anything, for it was quite dark,
but he felt as if it were some one moving up and down over his bunk,
and at the same time a soft, gentle voice repeated, “Bob! Bob! Bob!”
“Here I am,” he answered. “What do you want?”
“Please give me back—my—my—dress,” replied the voice in hesitating
tones.
“Eh? what?” cried our hero, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “What did
you say? Your dress?”
“If you please,” continued the voice pleadingly, “the article you found
on the shore of the lake yesterday—it is mine. Pray return it to me.”
“Oh!” said Bob, “why, that was a lady’s——”
“I know it,” rejoined the voice quickly. “Oh dear. It is mine. I am a
lady.”
“Pray wait one moment, madam, and I will strike a light.”
“It is useless. You cannot see me, I am invisible,” replied the voice.
“Indeed!” ejaculated Bob, “that is a pity. However, I will return to
you what I found upon one condition.”
“What condition?”
“Tell me who you are.”
“Alas! I am the daughter of a mighty chief, whose race and dominions
are far beyond the ‘Lubra Mountains,’ but I have fallen into the power
of a wicked magician, who has confined me on the highest summit of the
Granite Cliff. Every day I am allowed to bathe in the lake accompanied
by an old hag called Mother Growl; but I cannot return without
my—my—dress. Yesterday I was obliged to stay by the lake, and I’m
afraid the cruel witch will kill me if I’m detained here much longer.”
The low, plaintive voice touched the heart of our hero, who replied,
“Rest easy, poor child. Here is your garment. Yet ere you depart tell
me if I can help you out of the hands of your enemies.”
“Can you climb the Granite Cliff, which is as steep and smooth as a
polished rod of steel? You cannot. Farewell!”
“Stop! Where there’s a will there’s a way,” said Bob. “With your
permission, I mean to try and do it; but I never heard of the Granite
Cliff. Where is it?”
“The path lies beyond the lake towards the plains,” answered the voice.
“Yet do not attempt to go, for there are horrid birds and beasts who
will devour you. More I dare not tell you.” So saying, the voice died
away in the stillness of the night. The warning uttered by the voice,
instead of deterring the young hunter from approaching the dreadful
cliff, only made him the more determined to make an effort to rescue
the lady from her thraldom. At the break of day he arose and loaded
his gun, slung his pouch—containing powder and ball—over his shoulder,
put some food in his bag, and started off for the lagoon. He traversed
the country beyond the lake for some considerable distance without
meeting a living thing and, feeling hungry, seated himself beneath the
shade of a large tree to eat his dinner. He had not been seated many
minutes when a gigantic bird alighted overhead and eyed him with some
attention. Bob observed it was as big in the body as an emu, with broad
wings, long beak, and talons like an eagle. Our hero had seized his gun
for a shot, but he dropped the weapon as the bird called out in a
hoarse tone,—
“Hello! Who are you?”
The hunter was dumb with surprise, but at length found voice to reply,
“I’m a traveller.”
“Oh, and what are you eating?” said the bird.
“Kangaroo,” answered Bob, smiling.
“I’m very fond of kangaroo. Can I dine with you?”
“Certainly,” replied our hero; “come down and I’ll share with you.”
The strange bird did not wait for the invitation to be repeated. In a
very short time he devoured the lion’s share of the lunch, and he and
our hero became very friendly.
“What kind of bird are you?”
“I’m a gum-hawk,” cried he, stretching his huge wings. “We are the
giants of the feathered tribe hereabouts.”
“You are a monster,” responded Bob in admiration. “I suppose you are
quite strong enough to carry a man like me?”
“I’d carry two such as you,” answered the gum-hawk quietly. “Only try
me.”
“Perhaps I may,” said Bob. “Do you know a place named the Granite
Cliff?”
“Rather; are you going there?”
“Yes,” answered Bob, “if I may depend on you to convey me so far.”
“Of course I will, with pleasure; one good turn deserves another. Get
on my back,” and ere our hero knew what he was about the bird rose with
him into the blue void high above the tree-tops. Bob held on tightly,
but without feeling at all alarmed at his dangerous position. From his
elevated post he had a splendid view of the surrounding country. Far
ahead in the distance he beheld a colossal peak, standing darkly out
above the surrounding hills. Its sides were almost upright, and shone
in the sun like polished marble.
“What mountain is that yonder?” he inquired of the gum-hawk.
“Mountain! That is the Granite Cliff.”
“I have a large piece of kangaroo still left in my pouch,” rejoined the
hunter after a pause. “The meat shall be yours if you set me down on
the summit of the cliff.”
“Don’t go there,” answered the gum-hawk in a warning voice.
“Why?”
“Because it is the home of wicked people, who will kill you.”
“I have no fear on that head. Will you have the meat?”
“Certainly, if you are determined,” and the friendly bird, finding that
our hero was resolved, flew to the apex of the rock, and there left
him.
The summit appeared quite different to what one would have imagined it
to be from the plain. It seemed to the eyes of Bob a small island in
itself. There was a wide, clear space whereon stood an old stone house,
and before its door a very large water-hole, and behind a dark belt of
dense bush, which almost obscured the setting sun.
The young hunter saw neither man nor beast; all was still, save the
noise of the wind among the trees, while close above his head the
clouds were rolling along.
Bob stepped up to the door of the hut and gave it a hard thump with his
gun. Immediately an old woman with red eyes and a brown face opened it
She had goggles upon her nose, and looked at him sharply before she
asked him how he came there.
“A gum-hawk took me up in his talons and dropped me upon this
mountain,” responded Bob readily.
“Well, what do you want here?”
“Entrance, my supper, and a night’s lodgings, dame.”
“That you shall have, but you will have to earn what you get here by
difficult work on the morrow.”
“I am prepared,” said Bob.
“Very well. Come in,” she cried, and immediately closed the door.
CHAPTER II.
QUIZ.
There was nothing extraordinary within the house on the Granite Cliff.
If Dame Growl had any suspicions with reference to the visit of our
hero, she kept them to herself. Bob was provided with a good supper,
and a bed afterwards, where he slept as sound as a cockroach until the
morning. The sun had hardly begun to peep over the top of the mountain,
however, when the old woman shook him roughly by the arm. “Get up, you
sluggard!” she cried. “You don’t remain here and eat idle bread; you
must work—work!”
“All right, dame,” responded Bob cheerfully. “I’m not afraid of work in
any shape.”
The witch laughed grimly, thereby disclosing her black, ugly teeth.
“Oh, you are a wonderful fellow, but we can match you here; we’ll make
you work—work!”
She hobbled off into an adjoining room, and returned with an old
battered thimble, which she held out on her skinny forefinger. “Here,
take this,” she cried. “Now go, and empty the water-hole out there.”
“What! with a thimble?” cried Bob.
“Yes; and you must finish your task before evening; also take out all
the small fish, and range them according to their species on the bank.
Do you hear?”
“Of course, good dame. Anything besides?” asked the hunter with bitter
irony.
Mother Growl disclosed her teeth at him in answer, and left him to his
toil.
Poor Bob stared at the water-hole for a good half-hour, without seeing
what his gaze rested on. He had expected some reasonable work, but here
he was set to do an impossibility. The hole was a very large one;
almost as wide as the mouth of a river. How then was he to bale it out
with a thimble? It appeared very absurd; nevertheless, our hero was
determined to try. He began his work, but he found it labour in vain.
When noonday came he stopped, and sat down to rest. “It’s quite
hopeless for me to try and empty out all this water to-day. Why, it
would take me a thousand years to do it at this rate,” he cried,
raising his voice. “Indeed, I don’t see the use of making a fuss about
it; it will be the same whether I work or not. I wonder where the witch
has hid that lady that came to my hut?” And with this new turn to his
thoughts Bob sat by the water-hole and made circles in the water with
the pebbles at his feet.
As he sat there and shied the stones into the water-hole, he heard some
one cry out as if in sudden pain! Bob stared around and about him, but
he could see no one.
“Oh dear! you have struck me on the head!” exclaimed a voice.
The hunter rose quickly to his feet “Who and what are you?” he cried.
“Can’t you see who I am? Look here, on the water,” repeated the voice.
Our hero turned his gaze in the direction indicated, and beheld a large
frog swimming towards him.
“Pray who are you, sir?” inquired Bob, filled with amazement.
“I’ll tell you that presently,” responded the frog, as he crawled up
the embankment. He was a fine, speckled fellow with a big head, long
arms and legs, and a considerable paunch, which showed that he was fond
of his food.
“I was just taking my usual mid-day bath when my ears caught your
reproaches with respect to emptying this lake,” said the frog, at the
same time bowing very politely to Bob. “May I ask if you seriously
intend to attempt the task?”
The young hunter briefly explained the whole circumstances of the case.
Froggy listened quietly, and then replied, “Be content. I will help
you.”
“How can a frog help any one?” cried Bob contemptuously.
“Wait and see. I am not a frog as you suppose. This skin is a bathing
dress, nothing more. They are very fashionable in Elfland at present.
Of course the robe is not elegant, but it is comfortable. How do you
like it?”
“Are you a fairy?” inquired Bob, not heeding the last remark.
“I am that. Everybody round here knows Quiz the Sprite. I’m Quiz.”
“Ah! I’m sorry that stone hit you on the head.”
“Never mind. It didn’t hurt me much,” answered Quiz. “Now allow me to
help you with your task.”
“Can you really help me?”
“Certainly. Old Dame Growl is no friend of mine; and I have those with
me who can execute any tasks she may find for you to do, no matter how
difficult they may be.”
As Quiz spoke, he opened his speckled covering, and out stepped three
little men, no bigger than one’s thumb. The first was slim and slender,
with a very resolute face, the other two were strong and robust.
“These creatures may appear to you quite insignificant,” continued the
sprite, “but they are not so. Stand aside and watch what this, the
smallest of them, can do.” Saying which Quiz made a sign for Bob to
retire a few paces; which he did.
“Now, Resolute, give us a taste of your quality, by emptying out that
water-hole,” cried Quiz.
Ere the words had left the elfin’s mouth the wee man advanced, and
said, “Out, water—out, fishes,” and immediately the water rose in the
air like a white vapour, and rolled away with the other clouds; while
the fish all jumped out and arranged themselves on the bank according
to their size and species.
“Well done, Resolute!” shouted Bob, in ecstasy.
“Dame Growl will set you harder tasks to-morrow than this one,” resumed
the sprite. “Yet keep good heart, and I will help you to accomplish
them and to rescue the chief’s lovely daughter from her hands.
To-morrow I shall see you again.”
And with another polite bow, Quiz gathered the wee little men beneath
his skin, and hopped away to a deep crevice in the cliff, where he
vanished from sight.
When evening fell the Witch came forth from the house leaning on her
staff.
“Ah, sluggard!” she cried, “if you have not done the work I gave you I
will have you thrown head-foremost from the cliff.”
Bob laughed, and pointed with his finger to the lines of fishes and the
wide, empty water-hole.
Dame Growl held her skinny arms aloft in amazement.
“Who has done this task for you?” she shouted in unbridled passion.
“Tell me who it was, and I’ll have them boiled, roasted, and baked for
my husband’s dinner.”
“I sha’n’t tell you anything, dame,” answered Bob. “You gave me a job
to do; there it is done, according to order, and now I want my supper,
please.”
The old woman looked silently and maliciously at him for several
minutes, and then replied, “Very well, very well; doubtless you are a
wonderful fellow; but I have a task in store for you to-morrow which
will tax all your cleverness to accomplish. You got off too easily
to-day. Wait till to-morrow.”
Bob followed her as she went towards the hut, muttering under her
breath and shaking her staff at some imaginary foe. He ate his supper,
like a man who was hungry, and then retired to rest for the night.
CHAPTER III.
A SLEEPING BEAUTY.
When morning dawned, the enchantress conducted Bob to that belt of
trees before mentioned and which was situated to the rear of the hut.
“See here, my son,” she said, with a wicked leer, which made her face
look positively odious; “your task to-day will be to cut down every
tree on the cliff—split and cut the timber into short lengths; then you
must pile the whole into one great stack, so that we may have a beacon
to light the night hereabouts.”
“Is that all?” answered Bob, with self-feigned contempt. “Why, dame, I
could stand on my head and do all that.”
She shot another evil glance at him from beneath her shaggy brows. “I
care not how you stand,” she replied, “only the work I have given you
must be finished before evening. You came here on a very foolish
errand, but you do not return without your lesson.”
“What errand, dame?”
“To rescue my prize. The maiden who lost her robe, eh?”
“The lady is here, then?”
“Ay, and likely to remain here, foolish boy,” she cried. “Get to
work—get to work. Faint heart never won fair lady. Ho! Ho! Hi! Hi!”
With these words she gave him an axe, wedges, and a mallet, then
hobbled away to the hut.
Bob gazed after her with a confident smile on his handsome face. “None
but the brave deserve the fair,” cried he as he set to work at his
task; but at the first blow he discovered that his axe was only lead,
and also that the wedges were made of tin.
“This is too hard,” he muttered angrily. “The affair with the thimble
was bad enough, but this promises to become a trifle more interesting.
What’s to be done now? I can’t fell trees with a leaden axe, or split
logs with tin wedges, that’s certain. Well, I may as well take it easy
till the fairy comes; he’ll help me out of it all right.” With this
philosophical view of things our hero stretched himself full length
beneath a huge gum to await his friend.
The morning had become intensely hot and sultry, therefore it was much
more pleasant in the shade than felling trees in the full glare of the
sun. So Bob thought, as the morning waned apace, and the heat grew more
intense. Noontide found the young hunter still reclining in the shade,
and not a tree down. If they had given him a proper set of tools he
could have made a start at all events; as it was, he could only strain
his eyes looking for Quiz to make his appearance, and he was growing
tired even of that. Try as he would, he could not keep from nodding.
The deep stillness, the oppressive heat, together with that low,
buzzing, sleep-producing sound of insect life, appeared to draw down
his eyelids as if each of them had been freighted with a four-pound
weight. In the midst of his torpor, however, Bob felt a sharp pinch on
his leg. Looking up, the first thing upon which his gaze rested was a
very tiny lady dressed all in red. Close by stood a magnificent little
carriage, from which the lady had evidently just alighted. Such a
small, funny conveyance Bob had never seen before. It was constructed
entirely of wild flowers, and drawn by six well-matched locusts, in
lieu of ponies, with a butterfly for a coachman. By the side of the
latter Bob recognised the two little men whom he had seen with Quiz the
sprite.
“Pray, what are you doing here?” inquired the small lady in shrill
tones.
“Alas, madam,” replied Bob, “I came here to attempt the rescue of a
lovely maiden, who is under the spell of Dame Growl, the witch of this
cliff.”
“Ah! And why do you not rescue the lady, instead of slumbering away
your time here?” cried the fairy.
“Indeed, dear lady, the power of the enchantress can only be broken by
the performance of certain very difficult tasks, which I am quite
unable to perform without help.”
“What will you give me if I aid you?” inquired the tiny lady.
“Twenty kisses,” answered Bob promptly.
“Agreed! I’ll take the kisses first,” she said, with a rosy blush.
The pair of wee men on the box turned away their heads while our hero
paid his hire, and the gaudy coachman got down from his perch to adjust
the traces which had caught round one of the leader’s legs.
After what had happened, it appeared quite natural for Bob to hand the
lady to her carriage, and, still further, to accompany her along the
opposite side of the rock, chatting, smiling, and nodding pleasantly by
the way until the butterfly coached the team down a broad cleft that
formed an avenue to a small cave.
The tiny lady conducted the young hunter within; where he beheld one of
the most lovely damsels lying asleep upon a marble couch. The sleeper
seemed so divinely beautiful, that our hero stood speechless with
admiration.
“Here slumbers the beauty whom you seek,” she said.
“How lovely!” responded Bob, clasping his hands together. “I will
awaken her.”
“Nay, you cannot,” replied the fairy. “While the witch lives this fair,
innocent maiden will remain under the spell of the enchantment.”
“Let us go and kill the witch,” urged Bob.
“Hush! That would be a worse crime still. Have patience yet a little
while. Dame Growl will be punished ere long, and by the very means she
has devised for your overthrow. And now be good enough to follow those
two mannikins to the place where I met you. They are brave workers, and
will soon accomplish your task. When it is finished, return hither with
them.”
At a sign from her the wee men departed, followed by the young hunter,
who marvelled at the beauty of the sleeping maiden.
Since the days when our sturdy forefathers cleared the land to build
their huts, the sun had never looked down on such extraordinary
tree-felling as that which the two dwarfs began on the Granite Cliff.
From the point where Bob stood, it appeared as if innumerable giants
were at work. Crash! crash! crash! was heard on all sides; and, still
more wonderful, to note that the trees were no sooner down than they
seemed to roll asunder to the desired lengths, and to split without the
aid of mallet or wedges, and then to hop away like so many imps and lay
themselves into a vast heap.
Long before the evening our hero saw the task completed; but the dwarfs
had not finished yet. With the same amazing despatch they gathered
together all the dry leaves and the dead timber, and piling these
against the stock, they set fire to the whole mass.
It was not long ere a mighty conflagration arose which wrapped the apex
of the mountain in a sheet of fire. The forked tongues shot upward to
the clouds, and across the space where the house stood, until it was
seen as in the midst of a furnace.
The hunter hastened back to the cave when the flames began to ascend.
As he reached the place, a great shock seemed to rend the cliff
asunder.
“What is that?” he cried.
“It is the death of the wicked enchantress, Dame Growl,” answered the
wee lady. “The fire has enfolded her in its embrace, and so her power
is at an end. See! the sleeping beauty is awakening from the spell.”
While the fairy uttered the words, Bob saw the maiden stretch out her
shapely arms and fold them about her golden locks, and at the same time
she sighed deeply.
“Approach, mortal,” continued the fay, with a smile. “Touch her lips
with thine, so shall it rouse her into waking life; for upon whom her
bright eyes shall first rest there will her love take root and abide
for ever.”
And the youth kissed the budding, rosy mouth, and as he did so, behold!
there opened to his gaze a vision of Paradise.
THE LAUGHING JACKASS.
CHAPTER I.
LOST IN THE BUSH.
“Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!” roared the laughing jackass. It was a glorious
morning in the heart of the bush. The warm sun glinted athwart the
branches of the trees and cast festoons of light beneath, as if some
gigantic magic lantern was at work.
The mocking bird of Australia sat perched upon the highest bough of a
giant red-gum and looking down beneath upon the form of a wee urchin
lying prostrate on the turf, sobbing as if his little heart was
breaking.
“Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!” laughed the merry jackass, making the bushland
ring again with its mimic jeers.
The boy under the tree ceased sobbing and looked up. “It’s a fine thing
to laugh when one’s in trouble,” he said, espying the long ugly beak of
the scoffer pointing down towards him. “I’ll bet if I only had my
Shanghai I’d soon make you laugh t’other side of your mouf.”
“Ho-ho-ho!” chuckled the jackass in reply.
“Oh, it’s no use troubling about a silly bird,” muttered the child
sadly. “He can’t help me. Oh, I wish he could!” And the sobbing
recommenced more intensely than before.
Poor Berty Wake was lost in the bush—lost utterly. For two whole days
the child had wandered on and on hoping to find his way back again to
that section on the back blocks which his father farmed and where he
had been born. For two days the child had not seen a sign of
civilisation, nor any form of life whatsoever, save a native bear, one
or two wallabies, and this mocking jackass, who seemed to add to the
poor wanderer’s grief by its unseemly laughter.
Berty, who was one of five brothers, had been sent early in the
morning, by his father, to hunt up an old roan mare, who had a great
love for straying away in the bush. The boy had been diligent in his
search, but could find no trace of the pony anywhere; and when he began
to track back home again night came on, and the boy found he was astray
in the trackless waste, with not a single point or landmark to guide
him.
Poor Berty! how he coo-eed and called on his mother and his father, and
then cried himself to sleep under the big gum-trees, and when daylight
came again walked on and on, bravely hoping to find the track to guide
him home again. No use though. Here he was the beginning of the third
day, tired and hungry and much deeper in the lonesome wilderness than
before.
“Ho-ho-ho!” laughed the jackass.
“If I only had something to eat—just a piece of bread—wouldn’t it be
nice!” said the lost one, sighing ruefully.
“Or a mince-pie!” cried a voice from the tree-top.
Berty Wake jumped to his feet. “Who’s that?” he cried.
“Ho-ho-ho!” laughed the jackass hoarsely.
“Who spoke?” repeated the child, with an hysterical sob; “please say
that again—mince-pie, wasn’t it?”
“And jam tart,” added the voice again, but sounding much nearer than
before.
Poor Berty clapped his tiny hands in delight. “Ah! It’s some one come
at last,” he cried.
“Yes, Berty Wake, it’s me!” gurgled the bird in a deep, guttural tone,
at the same time dropping down on a broad limb of the tree just over
the boy’s head. “Here am I, Jack the Rover—otherwise, Laughing Jack, as
my pa calls me.”
For fully a minute the boy stood gaping at the strange bird, too much
astonished to utter a word.
“Was it—was it really you who talked just now?” he said, with a quaver
of fear in his voice.
“Why, of course it was,” said the jackass, whetting his beak in a
reflective way and shaking his huge head to and fro.
“Oh!” cried Berty, “I know you can laugh and whistle, but I didn’t know
you could talk. Where did you learn?”
“In a cage on the Murray River,” replied the bird, laughing loudly. “I
belonged to a squatter named Wake—Stephen Wake. He took me out of a
nest when I was a wee urchin like you and taught me all I know.”
“Good gracious! Why, you can’t be our Jack?” cried Berty joyfully.
“That’s just what I am; Jack the Rover. Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!” replied
the bird, ruffling his feathers in great glee. “Ever since my wings
have grown I have taken flights from the station when it suited me.
Yesterday, I heard you were lost in the bush; so I came after you on my
own account, and found you asleep under this tree.”
“You are a very kind fellow, Jack,” said poor Berty with tears in his
eyes and in his voice.
“Not half so kind as you have often been to me, my boy,” replied the
bird gravely. “Don’t you remember when Tom nearly broke my legs with
the bullock hobbles how you nursed and fondled me, and gave me tit-bits
of sugar and cream, and hid me in the stable loft until I was well
again? Ho-ho-ho!”
“It is wonderful,” cried the child, with wide-open astonished eyes.
“Not at all. There is nothing wonderful in kindness, Berty Wake. That
is natural. The wonderful part lies in gratitude, my dear. Gratitude
moved me to find you, if you were alive. Now here we are.”
Little Berty laughed, and the bird followed suit with interest.
“I suppose you are hungry?” said the bird.
“Please don’t mention it,” responded the wee fellow, with wistful look.
“You haven’t really a mince-pie anywhere about, have you?”
“Haven’t I though!” answered Jack, with his hoarse laugh. “Just be good
enough to follow me over to yonder peak. I’ll show you.” Saying which,
Jack the Rover alighted on the ground, hopping in very stately fashion
towards the spot indicated, our little hero following.
Halting before the hollowed trunk of a huge tree, the bird began to
scatter a mound of leaves within the cone, and lo! there came to view
three lovely pies.
“Sit down, Berty, and eat,” said the jackass.
“You’ll find them very fresh and nice. I took them from the larder at
the station yesterday, while your father and brothers were out hunting
for you.”
“Oh, I shall be glad to get back home again, Jack.”
“That’s all right. There’s such a lot of people out after you, but they
won’t find you, Berty. Jack the Rover shall have the pleasure of
guiding you home again.”
“Come here, Jack, and let me kiss you,” said the child. “Won’t you?”
“Ha-ha-ha! The idea. You can’t kiss with your mouth full of pie.
Besides, what will the trees say?”
“The trees. Can they know?” cried the boy, with surprise.
“Can’t they!” said Jack the Rover confidently.
“The trees talk to me. Listen! Don’t you hear them—the rustling of the
leaves against each other in the breeze? That is how they talk.”
“And can you understand what they say, Jack?”
“Of course I can, Berty. They are whispering something to me now.
Something that I want to know very much.”
“Tell me what they say, Jack.”
“They say that you must sit here beneath their protecting shade and
finish your pies,” said the bird solemnly. “If you stir from beneath
these trees before I return, you will be totally lost to those you
love, and die a dreadful death in the bush.”
“Are you going to leave me, Jack?”
“Only for a short time,” said the bird assuringly. “Finish your repast,
and wait patiently till I return. I won’t be long away.” Saying which
the laughing jackass mounted on the wing and was soon lost to view.
CHAPTER II.
EMU ROYAL.
Berty Wake sat under the trees and waited. Around him rose gigantic
ridges of bare rock, rent and torn in quaint shapes, representing
towers, peaks, and spires; riven cliffs, dells, moss-grown and webbed
and festooned with finest drapery of ferns and wild flowers.
It seemed a long time to the anxious child, straining his eyes,
watching for the return of the friendly jackass. Then in utter
weariness the little watcher became drowsy, his heavy eyelids closed,
and he slept.
How long he remained asleep he could not tell. Something touched his
face and he awoke.
Standing before him he saw a fine, strong emu—full-grown, with a soft
crimson saddle fixed between its wings, and a bridle on its head and
round its beak glittering with precious stones.
The boy rubbed his eyes to make certain he was awake, and touched the
huge bird with his finger. The talking jackass seemed commonplace in
comparison with this wonderful picture. However, Berty had little time
to indulge in his astonishment, for Jack the Rover, from the thick
branches of the tree, commanded him to mount the curious steed.
“I can’t ride an emu. I shall fall off,” cried poor Berty in some
alarm.
“Why, I thought an Australian could ride anything,” echoed the jackass,
with a loud peal of laughter. “Don’t be afraid, my little man: Emu
Royal is a safe animal and warranted not to buck.”
Emu Royal bowed in a stately way at the compliment, and Berty Wake,
over-coming his surprise, caught hold of the silken reins and sprang
upon its back.
“Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho! Isn’t it funny?” laughed the jackass from the
tree-top. “Now on we go. I’ll lead the way, and do you follow me, Emu
Royal. Quick march!”
No bush-bred horse ever sped over the ground so easily and speedily as
Emu Royal. At first poor Berty had some difficulty in keeping his seat,
the mode of transit was so queer and unusual, but he soon became
accustomed to the long swinging stride of the gigantic bird, who seemed
to know his way through the intricate windings of the scrub without any
aid whatever from Jack the Rover; for that knowing blade sailed
smoothly on the wing high overhead, and appeared to have no other
purpose in life than to scare the young parrots from their nests with
his demoniacal laughter.
They went swiftly along, every bump and jolt and bound of the strange
steed seemed to say, “Berty Wake’s going home. The lost is
found—Berty’s coming home.”
Hills and plains, lakes, and forests of trees appeared and went by them
like a drifting cloud.
Then, suddenly, they emerged into a quiet dell, ringed in by tall
gum-trees, where the grass was emerald green, and soft to the tread as
a carpet of velvet pile. Here, without the least warning, the emu gave
a sudden spring in the air, and lightly deposited our little hero on
the broad of his back on the sward; and before Berty was aware of what
had happened, Emu Royal had vanished from his sight.
The boy rose to his feet and looked about him; there was no one in
view, not even the laughing jackass. Then he laughed in childish glee
and clapped his hands.
“Why, this is Fir Tree Hollow,” he said, half laughing, half crying.
“Don’t I know every bush and sapling in it? And there’s the sheep track
leading to the river, and the dray road that winds round the back of
our fence. Why, I’m at home again. Coo-ee! Coo-ee!!”
A reply came to his call in the shape of a shrill neigh from a
neighbouring copse.
“Gracious me! That’s our old mare. I know her dear old whinny out of a
hundred. Coo-ee!”
And the child ran scampering off, and came forth presently, leading by
the forelock a roan quadruped which showed ample signs of recognition.
“Where have you been hiding yourself?” cried Berty, fondling the pony.
“Don’t you know I’ve been hunting for you everywhere and got lost, eh?”
Another neigh, and the roan rubs its cold nose up and down the little
fellow’s shoulder.
“Ah, none of that, you old Greasehorn, I’ve had some trouble to find
you; but ‘better late than never’ as dad says. Now won’t they be
pleased to see me? and shan’t I be glad to see them?”
Vaulting on the back of the pony, the pair jog along the wheel track
towards the station. Turning a bend in the track, boy and pony come in
view of a party of men, tired to death, and who have been out hunting
for the lost one.
A loud, glad shout of recognition, and the next moment poor little
Berty is in the strong arms of his father, whose voice is husky with
emotion as he mutters a prayer of thankfulness intermingled with his
passionate kisses.
“Where did you get to, my son?”
“Oh, a long way, mother. It was the laughing jackass who found me.”
Mother and father exchange glances.
“The child has had a touch of the sun,” says the latter, stroking
Berty’s curls.
“Where did the jackass find you, boy?”
“Under a big gum-tree such a long, long way off,” responds the child,
extending his arms. “Then he brought a emu—such a big fellow, with a
saddle and bridle, you know—and he brought me all the way to Fir Tree
Hollow.”
Stephen Wake shakes his head.
“Put him to bed, wife,” he says quietly; “the poor child is not
himself. A good night’s sleep will set him all right again.”
And Berty Wake slept well. In the early morning, however, he arose and
went out into the stable yard, where the laughing jackass nodded on his
perch.
“Hallo! Jack the Rover,” he said, saluting the bird.
The laughing jackass opened its sleepy eye and gazed meditatively at
the boy for a few moments, then broke out into its hearty guffaw:
“Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!!”
HOP-O’-MY-THUMB.
Every one who knew Tiny Thumbcake loved him. He was one of eleven
brothers and sisters, and the smallest mite that was ever born in the
land of the cornstalk.
Tiny, though very diminutive in body, was nevertheless a hardy fellow
who could run and jump like a kangaroo; moreover, he possessed the gift
of knowing the language of all animals and birds, and these nicknamed
him “Hop-o’-my-thumb.”
The Thumbcakes were poor people, and Tiny, who loved the wild bush,
determined to try his fortune as a pioneer squatter. In conversation
with an old wallaby, who used to pay him periodical visits, Tiny
learned that there was a vast district owned by a giant aborigine named
“Slubber,” where no white man had ever been and which was supposed by
everybody to be a dreary wilderness without river, or lake, or anything
to sustain life in the way of game. Tiny Thumbcake, or as we shall call
him, Hop-o’-my-thumb, was both surprised and delighted at the news
imparted to him by the wallaby—namely, that the Unknown Country, ruled
over by Slubber the Giant, was both beautiful and fertile, and one of
the finest climates under the Southern Cross.
And so in due time, guided by the faithful wallaby, our hero came to
the country of Slubber, and took up his abode in a rich and
well-watered valley, beside a high mountain, and here he formed a fine
station for rearing cattle and sheep. For a whole year our little man
remained hard at work unmolested.
One fine summer day a scarlet and green parrot alighted near where the
little squatter was at work on his orchard fence.
“Good-day, Hop-o’-my-thumb,” said the bird.
“Good-day, my friend,” returned the wee man, politely raising his hat
and bowing. “I’m glad to see you. What can I do for you, eh?”
“Nothing at present, thank you. I was sent by King Stork to warn you
that Slubber the Giant is on his way here to destroy you,” answered the
parrot.
Poor Hop-o’-my-thumb, though not wanting in pluck, became much
disturbed at the news. “Are you quite certain of what you say?” he
asked of the parrot.
“Oh, quite,” rejoined the messenger decidedly. “King Stork and the
giant are great friends. He heard Slubber say that he would slay you or
any white riff-raff who dared to set foot in his territory, and saw him
start off straightway down the mountain to carry out his threat,
therefore I posted off to warn you.”
“Thank you very much,” said poor Hop-o’-my-thumb. “Slubber is a big,
selfish wretch. I have as much right to make a home here as he has, and
I mean to show him I am not at all afraid of his bullying.”
“Bravo!” cried the parrot, flapping his wings in glee. “You’re a lad of
mettle, and I’m glad you intend to try and take the blackfellow down a
peg. Do you know, he is the most vile beast living and a great liar.
Don’t trust him a bit. If he finds he cannot kill you with his huge
waddy, or spear you unawares, he will want to parley with you, and take
you on his knee, in friendly fashion. Be careful, Hop, my boy. Don’t
let the wretch lay a finger on you, if you can help it”.
“Thank you, I’ll take every precaution,” said Hop-o’-my-thumb coolly.
“We all like you very much, my dear little Hop,” added the bird kindly;
“what is more, we are determined to help you against Slubber if we can.
Your friend Jack, the wallaby, is waiting behind yonder ridge, with
some possum friends and one or two native bears, in case you need
assistance. Hark! Do you hear that noise? That’s the giant; he hasn’t
lost much time on the road. Look! Yonder he comes.”
Half way down the mountain-side a gigantic blackfellow, tall as a tree,
and with a great woolly head (not unlike the big ball that is hoisted
at noon on the flagstaff at the Observatory), came thundering down the
stony ridges in tremendous leaps and bounds, and at the same time
roaring out a hoarse shout of vengeance. He was quite nude, save for a
segment of covering round his middle, and he brandished aloft a
monstrous waddy, which was large enough to have felled an elephant.
“Where is that insignificant rascal who has dared to enter the domain
of Slubber?” cried the angry monster, striding into the valley and
confronting our hero, who did not flinch in the least before his
dreaded enemy.
“Now, mite, what hast thou to say ere I slay thee?” cried the giant, at
the same time whirling his club round his head with a noise like
thunder.
“Try it,” said Hop-o’-my-thumb, keenly watching every movement of his
adversary.
“Insolent atom, take that,” and Slubber aimed a blow at the little
fellow, which if it had taken effect would have crushed our hero into a
pulp; but Hop-o’-my-thumb nimbly avoided the giant’s bludgeon, and
getting between the monster’s legs, gave him a cut with a sharp adze he
had been using, which made Slubber roar with pain. It might have gone
hard with the brave wee squatter at this moment, for the giant,
reaching down, was about to clutch his small assailant, when the parrot
came to the rescue. He flew full butt against Slubber’s face and nearly
blinded him, and Hop-o’-my-thumb, taking full advantage of the bird’s
help, gave his ugly foe such a slashing about his legs that the giant
fell broadcast on his back, which made the ground tremble like an
earthquake.
Seeing the unexpected and stout resistance made by our little hero,
Slubber the Giant was fain to call a parley.
“Thou art very strong for so small a man,” cried he ruefully, and at
the same time rubbing his smarting shins. “What sayest thou, wilt thou
do me a service? And in return thou and thine shall have this valley of
sweet waters for thy pains, to do with it what ye will.”
“What is the service you want to be performed?” said Hop-o’-my-thumb.
“Come nearer, and I will tell thee.”
“No, not an inch,” cried the little fellow stoutly. “You are near
enough, my friend. Tell me what I am to do. I can hear you.”
“Oh, very well,” responded Slubber sullenly. “Know, then, that I have a
wife.”
“I wish I had one,” interrupted Hop-o’-my-thumb.
“Thou shalt have mine with pleasure,” retorted the giant quickly.
The little squatter laughed. “Nay,” he said, “it is against the law to
take anything belonging to another. Well, you were saying you have a
wife.”
“True, I have a wife and, I may add, one of the most inquisitive of her
sex,” added the giant in quite a humble tone, which contrasted
strangely with his previous bombast. “Know, then, O mite, King Stork
propounded three riddles to my wife, each one full of mystery, and my
life is plagued out of me day and night by her to find an answer to
these problems. Now, if thou canst find the secret of these things the
land is thine for all time.”
“What are the riddles?” inquired Hop-o’-my-thumb.
The giant reflected a moment and then replied,—
“The first is: What is the most wonderful animal in the world? Second:
What shoemaker makes shoes without leather, but uses instead earth,
water, air, and fire, and where each of his customers wears two pairs
at a time? Third: What is seen in the sky, also in the water, and
sometimes on men’s breasts which, being reversed, is the name for the
very worst kind of vermin? Come now, O thou bull ant, canst thou
explain these enigmas?”
Poor Hop-o’-my-thumb seemed dismayed for a moment. He wanted to
conciliate the giant, but how was he to frame a reply to these three
difficult questions? In the midst of his cogitations he bethought him
of his friend the wallaby.
“If Slubber will give me a little time, I believe I can answer the
questions,” said the little man with confidence. The giant assented
readily.
Hop-o’-my-thumb, guided by the parrot, sought out the old wallaby, to
whom he confided his trouble.
“Nothing easier, my boy,” said the animal, stroking his head with his
paw. “A word in your ear. These riddles are the secrets of our King and
must not be made known to every one.”
Then the old wallaby whispered what Hop-o’-my-thumb wanted to know, and
the latter, smiling, went back to the giant Slubber.
“Well, hast thou the answers, mite?” he said.
“Oh yes,” replied our hero cautiously, “but how am I to know you will
keep your word with me?”
The giant laughed. Then he lay full length upon the sward, and plucking
a long hair from his beard laid it across his nose. “Will that
condition satisfy you?” he said in a rage, for Slubber knew he dare not
break that form of oath.
“Then,” said Hop-o’-my-thumb, “the most wonderful animal in the world
is a pig; for it is first killed and then cured.”
“Good!” cried Slubber.
“The next,” continued Hop-o’-my-thumb, “is—What shoemaker makes shoes
without leather? Why, a horseshoer, for he uses earth, air, water,
fire, in shaping his wares, and each of his customers wears two pairs.”
“Bravo! Let me embrace you,” entreated the giant.
“No you don’t,” responded the little man, with a grin. “Now for your
third question. What is seen in the sky, the water, and sometimes on
men’s breasts? A star, of course. Reverse the spelling of star and it
is rats. Are you satisfied?”
And Slubber, the black giant, wended his way home over the mountain
again, a wiser man; and ever after Hop-o’-my-thumb lived in peace.
A MAGIC WHISTLE.
Here are low green hills and sharply outlined ridges strewn with great
white blocks of quartz, gleaming in the morning sunlight. Adown the
long eastern slope for miles there is a vista of park-like forest,
where the wallaroo and kangaroo leap and gambol on the greensward;
where green and gold parrots chatter and scream; where wild bees are
humming to the morn, and where the eagle soars calm and peerless in the
sapphire firmament.
One solitary figure dots this glorious landscape—a handsome,
well-formed boy, with a swag upon his back, tramping slowly along the
narrow track like unto one who would fain rest and eat. There is not
the sign of any habitation in view; nothing but the matchless sunshine
and the hills and valleys gleaming beneath in one great halo of golden
glory.
Towards evening our traveller, emerging upon a lonely glade, threw off
his swag and cast himself upon the soft sward and so fell asleep. When
he awoke it was night, the dark blue canopy overhead was ablaze with
stars. Looking round he was greatly astonished to observe the space
before him aglow with a soft, subdued light, which was neither from the
sun, the moon, nor the stars, but was produced by countless glow-worms
and fire-flies combined, and who had formed broad festoons from tree to
tree and so lit up the dell by enchantment.
Damper—for so was the wayfarer named, on account of his fondness for
that Australian made cake—rubbed his eyes in great surprise, and also
gave himself one or two severe punches to make certain that he was
awake. The poor lad was without father or mother, and had tramped about
the bush since he could walk, doing odd jobs for cockatoos (small
farmers) and such-like; but a sight like this had never met his view
before. His first impulse was to call out, but his voice refused its
office; for at that moment he beheld a troop of black mites, no larger
than his finger, march from out the gloom beyond into the radius of the
light. They were all sheathed in mail armour and came onward with quick
and regular step, four a-breast, their shields and spears flashing and
sparkling like so many rare jewels in the sun. They ranged themselves
in regular order, shoulder to shoulder, on one side of the dell.
Then there came a second squad, equally tiny in stature, but bravely
attired in cloth of gold, with miniature swords clashing and banners
waving; and these formed up on the sward, opposite the first troop.
And lo! as Damper gazed in consternation, there appeared a third group;
white people these, not so tall as a lady’s thimble, without weapons,
and robed in the most quaint fashions imaginable: some were clad in
gossamer from head to heel; many had cloaks spun from wild bees’ wings;
others were donned in all the gaudy colours of the dragon fly; and one
and all of them appeared dancing mad.
Now here, now there; in and out; up and down; in whirling mazes, they
moved like the sun flashes on some bright instrument, and too quick
sometimes for the eye to follow their evolutions. It was altogether a
fantastic scene, and one that the eye of mortal man is rarely permitted
to look upon.
For some time poor Damper was beside himself with fear. Fortunately he
remained very still and quiet, and was enabled to see everything that
took place, without the elves being in the least degree aware of the
mortal’s close proximity.
The antic gambols were so strange and grotesque that Damper had no
definite idea how long they continued, or who piped the music for the
occasion. One thing was clear to him, however, that the whole scene
vanished as suddenly as it appeared, leaving only two of the fairy
assembly, who without more ado came and perched themselves upon
Damper’s swag, and began a conversation. This pair, it was evident,
were the King and Queen of Elfland, who, after discussing several
affairs of State, spoke of a magic whistle, hidden away among the roots
of a certain tree in the dell.
Damper, although he understood and could hear every word uttered by
their Majesties, paid little heed to what they said until the topic of
the whistle began. Then he listened greedily. He soon learned that
whoever had possession of this simple instrument held the wand of a
magician over animal, bird, or man, and that if he pleased to pipe,
man, bird, or animal within its sound must needs dance.
The hiding-place of this wonderful instrument was very minutely
described by the King, so that when the royal pair had taken their
departure, Damper determined to become possessed of it When day broke
our hero arose and began his search. He had no difficulty in finding
the tree, and he soon found the whistle. It was a stout reed, about six
inches long, with a mouthpiece of pure gold.
Numbers of birds, from the wren to a stork, were about and around,
singing their morning song. To test the efficacy of his prize, Damper
placed the whistle to his mouth and began to play. The effect was
indeed wonderful. Not a bird but suddenly ceased its song and began to
hop and dance about in the most absurd and comical manner, that our
hero had to cease playing in order to laugh.
“Oh! I think you will just be of some service to me,” he said, putting
the whistle in his pocket. Then he shouldered his swag and continued
his journey.
He had not proceeded far when there approached from the opposite
direction a very fat woman in a covered van with her husband, who was a
very little man. He was on foot, driving the horse. The woman seemed in
a bad temper, and was abusing her companion soundly.
Damper stopped the cart and asked the dame for a little food. “Go on
with you for an idle vagabond!” she cried, shaking her huge fist at the
boy. “There are far too many of your sort about the country already. I
only wish we were near a township so that I might have the pleasure of
sending you to the lock-up, you loafing rascal.”
Such uncalled-for abuse roused Damper’s ire. Without uttering a word in
reply he took out his whistle and began to blow. Instantly the fat dame
leapt from the trap into the road and began whirling round and round
with all her might, and anon throwing herself into such ridiculous
postures that the little man, her husband, and even the horse began to
laugh; but their laugh was of short duration, for they also were drawn
into the dance, and the pony being securely harnessed upset the
conveyance and scattered its contents all over the sward.
In the meantime the unfortunate woman, puffing and blowing like a
grampus, cut some very extraordinary capers under the irresistible
spell of the whistle. What seemed to be part of a wild Highland reel
merged into the antics of a sort of Maori war-dance, and it was
wonderful to note the agility displayed by so stout a person.
The piper himself felt too indignant to laugh, otherwise the good
dame’s gambols would have been of brief duration. Not before all the
breath had been jolted out of her anatomy did she plead for parley.
Then in gasps she called out to him to “stop for mercy’s sake, and she
would give him all the tucker in the cart.”
Our hero was by no means a bad-hearted fellow. When he saw the woman
had been punished for her very rude behaviour he put the whistle aside,
and assisted to raise the pony and restore the goods to the trap.
Afterwards they dined together and parted on friendly terms.
Arriving late that night at a farmhouse on the billabong, Damper craved
a night’s shelter, which was given him. In the morning he asked for
work.
“What can you do?” said the farmer.
“Oh, anything almost. I can make you dance,” answered Damper.
“Yes. And, by George, you’ll find I’ll make you dance, my lad, if you
talk to me like that!” retorted the farmer angrily; and so poor Damper
was compelled to hump his swag farther afield.
The weather was fine, however, and the lad’s heart light; so he went
singing along the bush track, until he was suddenly brought to a
stand-still by a gruff command, “To bail up!” Right across the track he
saw a big, bearded bushranger, splendidly mounted, who, seeing he was
but a youth, put back his revolvers and dismounted.
Before the ruffian could approach him, however, Damper pulled out his
whistle and began to play. Instantly the man and horse began their
capers with one accord, and it was not until the robber had fallen
exhausted on the track that our hero ceased whistling.
“I pray thee put by that dreadful thing,” said the panting outlaw, “and
I will fill thy pouch with gold.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Damper resolutely; “my terms are that you hand
over to me every item of your ill-gotten treasure, horse included, else
you shall dance for it, my honey.”
The robber commencing to curse and swear, Damper placed the whistle to
his mouth again.
“Stop! Stop! I yield to thy terms, boy,” cried the other imploringly.
“Very well. Hand over your revolver. Now that belt round your waist.
Now take off your boots and depart in double-quick time.”
The bushranger did not need to be told twice. He fled away into the
bush and was lost to sight in a moment.
Damper found the robber’s belt filled with gold. He mounted the horse
and rode away. And no lad in the whole continent was happier than he
was that day.
“COCKY.”
CHAPTER I.
THE MAGIC HUT.
An outcast in a great city. Half-clad, half-starved, kicked and cuffed,
and sworn at, as if he were no better than a mongrel cur, wretched Jack
Cochrane felt that he was a useless unit in the world.
Jack was a foundling, God help him! First one and then another had
taken him in hand, to rear him in the way he should go and make a
decent member of society of him; but the charitable intentions of his
godfathers and godmothers had evidently failed, for here he stood on
this cold winter’s night, a full-grown youth, utterly unlettered,
shivering in the keen wind, like a puppy in a wet sack.
To most of the young ragamuffins of his class he was known by the
nickname of “Cocky,” and while he stood beneath a lamp-post, thinking
how nice and comfortable it would be to tumble into a warm bed, half a
dozen city waifs like himself came roystering by.
“Hello, Cocky! Where’r you going to doss to-night? Biler, or gas-pipe?
Don’t you go on the wharf—there’s two coppers waitin’ there. Wouldn’t a
saveloy hot or a tater go down slick, eh? So-long! Cocky, old man!” and
the squad of shoeless young vagabonds went laughing on their way.
“I must try and get in and have a snooze somewhere,” muttered the lad,
blowing on his finger-tips to warm them. “There’s the railway—I wonder
if I could find a truck with a tarpaulin on it? I will try.”
The idea is acted on at once. Cocky soon finds a line of trucks covered
well from the weather, into one of which he quietly creeps, and finding
it snug and warm is soon fast asleep.
When he awakes it is daylight, and the sun is shining; peeping out from
his cover, Cocky discovers he is far away from the city. He has been an
unbooked passenger by a goods train which has travelled all night and
carried him while he slept into the heart of the country.
Luckily, the train happens to be stationary at a lonely bush siding,
and Cocky makes his way out of the truck and away into the scrub
without being discovered. Hurrying away from the direction of the
railway siding, Cocky finds himself near sundown on a narrow pathway
leading over a range of high hills into a deep valley without trees,
and where stands a solitary hut. An old man, much bent in form, and
whose hair and beard looked as if they had not been shorn since he was
born, stood at the door and gazed at our hero very curiously.
“Please could you give me a morsel to eat?” said poor Cocky, halting,
faint and tired.
“Hum! You had better go farther if you fare worse,” answered the old
man.
“I can’t go any farther,” said the boy. “I’m done up completely. Pray
let me stay here to-night,” he pleaded.
“Hum! Rum-fuddle-em-fee! Very well. What can you do?” questioned the
old fellow, his eyes glinting and glowering upon poor Cocky in a most
remarkable manner, like a cat’s eyes seen in the dark.
“Do?” repeated the lad boldly. “Oh, I’ll do anything if you will give
me some food and find me somewhere to sleep.”
“Bunkum Geezer,” muttered the toothless old fellow in reply. “You shall
have all you want, but you must do my bidding; otherwise you shall not
leave this valley alive. Do you hear?”
Cocky was desperate with all a lad’s gnawing hunger, so he answered,
“All right. Trot out the tucker.”
Close by the hut stood a magnificent fir-tree, whose branches formed a
canopy impervious to dew or rain. Beneath it stood a table already
spread with dainty food. With a wave of his hand the old man pointed
this out to Cocky, and said,—
“Go, eat. Your couch will be beneath the tree also. When you have
eaten, sleep well, for to-morrow you will have to work—to work hard,
boy.” Saying which, he went into the hut and closed the door.
The famishing lad did not need a second invitation to dine. He found a
stool by the table and sat down and began his dinner. There were many
joints and dishes which the waif had never seen before, but they were
very nice. In the midst of his repast a fine-looking magpie came
fluttering down from the tree, and perching on one end of the table,
eyed our hero inquisitively.
“Hallo! Who are you?” said the boy.
“Never you mind, Jack Cochrane. Can I have something to eat?”
“Of course you can,” answered the lad, after his first start of
surprise. “What’ll you have? Here’s baked snails, stewed kangaroo,
fried wallaby, native companion on toast, with a lot of other things.”
But the magpie without more ado perched himself upon a huge rabbit pie
and began to help himself to its contents.
“Here, I say, old fellow, how do you know my name?” said Cocky, after a
long pause, in which he had been staring wonderingly at the strange
bird.
“I know most things,” replied the magpie, whetting his beak on the
table-cloth, preparatory to an attack on another dish. “I know that you
have got into a very dangerous place, and that if you do not get
counsel and help you will assuredly lose your life.”
“That’s pleasant. But who will kill me?” said Cocky, laughing.
“The old man. He’s a terrible magician, Jack. It would have been better
for you not to have come here.”
“That’s just what the old rascal said himself. But why can’t I go when
I like? He’s in the hut, fast asleep by this time.”
“No. Don’t attempt to run away, Jack,” said the magpie gravely. “Old
Gruff would be certain to know and would trap you like a fox before you
were out of the valley. You have been kind in sharing your dinner with
me and I will help you, Jack. Kindness goes a long way with us. We
never forget those who have once befriended us, Cocky Cochrane.”
“Who are you, then?” inquired the boy, with mouth agape in wonder.
“Your good fairy, Jack, from this moment henceforth,” responded the
bird in a kindly tone. “Please don’t bother me with questions now, for
I must be gone. Gruff is a wicked monster. He will set you to do what
will seem impossible; but accept the task boldly and with cheerfulness.
I will be near to help you. Now go to sleep. Good-night.”
Cocky slept soundly. In the early morning he was awakened by a loud
roaring; opening his eyes, he saw standing over him a huge fellow of
colossal proportions, who commanded him to arise in a voice like the
rumbling noise of an express train.
“I am King Red Gum,” said the monster, at the same time twirling a
sapling round and round in his hand for pastime. “In yonder paddock you
will find a young colt who has never been touched by the hand of man.
Catch him and bring him here before I have eaten my breakfast, or I
will string thee up by the heels and roast thee like a rabbit. Dost
hear?”
Cocky laughed and bounded away on his errand. He found the colt, but
soon discovered that it was quite impossible to approach the vicious
brute without being eaten or kicked to death. He had serious thoughts
of running away, when the magpie alighted near him, to whom he
communicated his trouble.
“Shout Stra fonatsa as loudly as you can,” said the bird.
“Stra fonatsa! Come here!” The wild horse pricked his ears and
immediately came over to where our hero stood. He was as gentle as a
lamb and suffered Cocky to lead him by the mane to where King Red Gum
was waiting with his bludgeon.
“Ho! Ho! thou insignificant mortal,” he cried, “so thou hast brought
Stra fonatsa. It is well. Now I must be off for my morning gallop.
Gruff! Gruff! thou lazy skunk, where art thou?”
“Here am I, master,” answered the old man, appearing at the door of his
hut.
“Give this ant his breakfast so that he may be ready to do my bidding
when I return;” and King Red Gum mounted his steed and rode away. Once
more the old man of the hut invited Cocky to a well-furnished table,
then retired within his domicile and shut the door. In the midst of his
breakfast our hero was joined by the magpie, whom he welcomed
cordially. He placed the choicest tit-bits before it.
“I am glad you have a kind heart, Jack, and that you are grateful for
my help,” said the bird, after the meal was over. “Learn, boy, I am not
what I seem. None of us are, mortals or fairies.”
“Who are you, please?” said Cocky coaxingly.
“I am an elfin, Jack; just that. In this country every one of us has
been made the guardian or custodian of some one who has been wronged. I
am the guardian of a beautiful young lady who has been stolen from her
home and shut up in a spacious mansion underground. I have been
awaiting your coming a long time, Cocky Cochrane, for you and you only
can release my darling Brown Eyes from the thraldom of King Red Gum and
his henchman, Old Gruff.”
“Why did they shut up little Brown Eyes underground? What has she
done?” said Cocky.
“That ugly wretch, King Red Gum, wanted Brown Eyes to marry him, and
she would not. So he turned the poor dear into a blue wren and placed
her in a cage below the earth,” answered the magpie in a trembling
voice. “Now, Jack, we all need help from one another. If you’ll help
me, I’ll stand by you.”
“Agreed,” cried the young fellow resolutely. “You have done me good
service already; therefore whatever you order I am ready to obey.”
“Thank you, Jack. Good-bye for the present. I can hear King Red Gum
returning from his gallop.”
CHAPTER II.
BROWN EYES.
Our friend Cocky was not given very much time to digest his breakfast.
Dismounting from his steed the giant beckoned him forward, and thus
addressed him: “You lazy imp! It would suit you very well to do nothing
but eat my victuals and take a sleep afterwards, but you shall work.
Listen! On the other side of yon mountain there is a wide lagoon
fringed with reeds and rushes. There lives the Australian wonder, a
Bunyip. You must find him and ask of him three questions—the answers to
which you must bring to me before sundown, otherwise your miserable
life shall answer for it.”
“Oh, that’s quite easy,” replied Cocky, with a dash of his city
assurance. “I thought you were going to set me something very
difficult. What are the three questions?”
“Why the leaves on the trees grow edgeways to the sun?” said the giant.
“Next: What is the reason there is no water in Phantom Hollow? And last
but not least: Why figs do not grow on the tree by the hut? Now begone!
and bring me the answers before sundown,” cried the Red Giant in a
towering rage.
Our hero departed with a great show of bravado, but when he came near
the lagoon his assumed swagger quickly evaporated. He had heard there
was such a creature as a Bunyip, but he had never met anybody who had
seen one. “Never despair,” however, was Cocky’s motto. He would try and
find it, for the sake of Brown Eyes. He wandered about and searched in
every likely place amongst the rushes, and waded in the water calling
for the Bunyip. But there was no response to his call, and the sun
began dipping westward.
Hereupon the magpie came upon the scene. “Hello, Jack! Looking for the
Bunyip?” he cried.
“I can’t find him. I don’t believe there is such an animal,” cried
Cocky.
“Oh yes, there is; but he’s neither animal nor fish, Jack—yet a mixture
of both. All you have to do is to cut a reed like a whistle, slit it
down the middle, then blow upon it twice.”
Cocky obeyed the directions of the bird, and immediately there came
forth from the middle of the lake a huge monster, with a head shaped
like that of a calf, and a body as large and unwieldy as a young
hippopotamus. Its eyes were dreadful to behold, as it came slowly out
of the water and crouched abjectly at the feet of our hero.
“What want you with me?” it cried presently.
“Tell me why the leaves of the gum-trees grow edgeways to the sun,”
said Cocky.
“Because it is the nature of the tree to grow its leaves edgewise, thou
fool,” replied the monster.
“What is the reason there is no water in Phantom Hollow?”
The Bunyip chuckled. “Because the sun has dried it up,” he cried
contemptuously. “What more?”
“Why do figs not grow upon the tree by the hut in King Red Gum’s dell?”
“Because King Red Gum is an ass, who cannot discern a wild pine from a
fig-tree. Now depart, or I shall drag thee down into the depths of the
lagoon.”
“Ask for a hair from his tail,” whispered the magpie quickly.
“Please give me a hair from your tail,” said Cocky; and ere the monster
could grant or refuse the request our hero, by a sudden dexterous
movement, had possessed himself of the coveted prize and was speeding
away up the mountain-side like a deer, with the clever magpie flying
low at his side.
“Now, Jack,” cried the bird, “we must not part again until we have
accomplished the release of my lady-bird Brown Eyes. Hold fast to that
hair of the Bunyip’s tail, for it will prove one of the most powerful
weapons in the art of magic. It is a talisman to swear by, and none can
resist it, as you will presently discover.”
Then the magpie added a short whisper into Cocky’s ear, and they
descended into the dell, where the giant and Old Gruff stood awaiting
our hero.
“Tiny mortal, hast thou done thy task? What are the answers?” roared
Red Gum menacingly.
“By the hair of the Bunyip’s tail, I command thy obedience,” cried our
hero sternly.
Red Gum let fall his huge waddy from his hand. With a loud cry he sank
down at our hero’s feet cringingly at the potent words. “Thou art the
master! I am thy slave!” he cried in a submissive tone. “What wilt
thou, mortal?”
“I have conquered, by jingo! henceforth thou shalt be a dingo.”
Cocky had barely uttered the charm ere the huge bulk of the giant faded
beneath his eyes and assumed the form of a wild bush dog. At the same
moment the old man of the hut rushed to the assistance of his fallen
chief; but our hero held the key, or rather the hair, of the position,
and bade him stand.
“Dog shalt thou be for thy folly. I will change thee to a collie!”
cried Cocky.
Immediately the fated words passed the youth’s lips the old fellow was
transformed into a big sheep dog, who, seeing the dingo at hand, sprang
upon him at once, and while a battle royal raged between the two our
hero mounted Stra fonatsa, and galloped away in company with the
magpie, much farther than I could tell you in this little story.
When it was near sundown they came to a great cave, situated on a very
high hill, and the magpie without more ado led our hero downward by a
series of stairs cut in the solid rock, through arches and corridors,
onward to an open vista of glorious country, glowing and shimmering
beneath a strange but powerful light, which revealed the most minute
object within their vision.
In the distance appeared a fine mansion, with a high tower in the
centre of it; and when they came to the gate, they found a regiment of
dwarfs on guard, who as soon as they saw the hair from the Bunyip’s
tail fell down on their faces before our hero and besought him to
enter.
The magnificence displayed within the building was something to be
remembered. Here were arches of polished marble, priceless statues,
tables and couches of antique workmanship, with rich carpets woven in
no mortal loom, and where everything was gleaming with velvet and thick
silks and pure gold.
Wandering on in this wonderful place the magpie led Jack Cochrane to a
small apartment overlooking a lovely prospect of forest scenery, dotted
with lakes, glinting under the soft light. In one corner of this room
was hung a golden cage containing a wee wren. This bird became very
lively when it saw the magpie, and the latter was no less agitated on
seeing the little wren.
“Give me the hair of the Bunyip,” cried the magpie in an altered tone
that Cocky hardly recognised. However, he obeyed. In an instant the
room was plunged in profound darkness, while at the same moment came a
musical voice, who in a loud tone cried, “Come forth, Brown Eyes! come
forth from thy thraldom! Night hath fled. Behold the day!”
Then more swift and sudden than a lightning flash Cocky, the city waif,
who had but winked his eyes in the darkness, opened them upon broad
daylight, with the sun streaming into a magnificent apartment and upon
a beautiful young lady with wonderful brown eyes, and also upon a tall,
handsome young man by her side.
“Am I dreaming?” said poor Cocky, rubbing his eyes and staring at his
companions.
“Not a bit of it, Jack Cochrane,” said the handsome youth, smiling down
upon Brown Eyes beside him. “I am your friend still, but a magpie no
longer. The scene has changed, boy, thanks to your courage and
steadfastness. The wren and the magpie are Sir Plum Dough and his
affianced bride, Brown Eyes Wattle Blossom. This is our domain. It is
called The Gloaming. Stay here with us and be our henchman.”
RING DOWN THE CURTAIN.