HOME AGAIN.
They were all back again at Gillong. All except Eileen and Frank, for
Frank had gone to Sydney early in March, to commence his studies; and
they were all glad of Willie's company, for he filled up to some extent
the blanks left by Eileen and Frank.
After their splendid holiday they were all glad to be back again, for
the ground was covered with a carpet of greenery, and there was plenty
of water in the creeks and gullies, and the children raced up and down
the banks and shouted for sheer gladness and lightness of heart. Mollie
would mount her horse and canter away across the paddocks, singing as
she went, for hadn't everything gone well lately? Frank had his darling
wish gratified, and Mother and Father looked so well and happy because
their burdens were lightened. Uncle sent them cards from every port; and
she would recall Uncle's last words as he stood on the deck of the big
ship that bore him to England (for they had all gone to see him off):
"Good-bye, Mollie, dear; and the next time I go I hope you will be with
me. It is you I thank for this reunion; and, remember, Mollie, it is
through you that Frank has got his chance while he is still young and
keen--God bless you, little girl!"
After that she felt she could never be very unhappy again, and she would
think of a time that might come when she would stand on the deck of a
big out-going ship and plunge away through the rollicking, dancing
waves, out past the Heads, where the snow-capped breakers foamed and
tossed and tumbled, and away o'er the trackless ocean, till wonderful
new lands were reached!
Willie declared that the country was the best place in all the world,
and he would never, never, never go back to "old" Sydney again!
"Pshaw! I hate all the rows and rows and rows of houses, and no big
paddocks and no mobs of sheep or horses, and I hate all the old
cart-horses now, the old baker's and butcher's and milkman's, and I hate
all the cab-horses, and all the horses in Hordern's and Lassetter's
vans, and I hate the trams, and I hate everything in Sydney! I wish
Mamma would come up here and live!"
"What a pity we couldn't get a nice little house built in the little
paddock for your Mother," said Eva.
"Oh, yes! wouldn't it be grand?" cried Willie. "Or a tent would do."
"A tent?" cried Eva, in disgust. "Oh, no!"
"Yes, we lived in a tent for weeks once at Narrabeen."
"Oh, but that's different! That was picnic-like."
"Well, we can make it picnic-like up here," declared Willie, "and Dadda
could come up when he gets his holidays."
"Oh, no, Willie! they could never live in a tent up here," said Eva,
decidedly. "It's real different to Narrabeen."
"I don't see any difference," declared Willie, "except there's no surf.
That's the only difference. Besides," he added brightly, "we could be
nearly always at your place. We needn't spend much time at all in the
tent."
Just now Willie was more in love than ever with the country, for they
were to have a short shearing at Gillong while the days were still warm.
It would be only for a week or so, but Willie had visions of snow-white
sheep being driven away from the woolshed, of great thick fleeces being
tossed on the wool-table, and all the noise and excitement and bustle of
shearing time. And perhaps he could drive the sheep up from the paddocks
to the yards sometimes, and he was looking forward to a real good time.
Willie was perfectly happy. He was actually driving sheep from the creek
paddock to the woolshed, all by himself. Mounted on old Brownie, he rode
slowly backwards and forwards behind the sheep.
"You're sure you know your way, Willie?" Mr. Hudson had asked.
"Know my way?" repeated Willie, with fine scorn. "'Course I do. You've
only got to ride across the bridge and turn down the creek, and round
the bend, and round 'em all up and drive 'em back to the slip-rails, and
let 'em through, and you're there," he went on, jauntily.
"That's right!" answered Mr. Hudson. "Of course, you can't get lost. You
can't get out of the paddock, anyhow, only by the slip-rails. But mind
you don't get 'bothered' like some new chums do, and ride away from the
place you want to go to."
But Willie wasn't afraid. He had set off whistling blithely. He'd let
them shearing fellows see how he could drive a mob of sheep to the
yards, even if he were only a city boy! The sheep were scattered about
in all directions, so he rounded them up quietly and "headed" them
towards the creek. He had gone much further down the swamps and gullies
than he ever had before, but he didn't notice that as he whistled and
shouted to bring the sheep scampering up from the bends. After driving
them along slowly for some distance he "hit" the creek, and suddenly
discovered that the bends and turns seemed unfamiliar; but he kept on
steadily, trying to keep down a rising fear.
"We'll soon come to that old leany tree," he said aloud, although he
began to have a horrible fear that he was getting lost. The next bend
was still unfamiliar, and then a panic seized him. Where was he? Off the
track? And with no chance of finding it again. He wondered if he were
going the right way, and a wild desire seized him to race up to the
front of the mob and wheel them back. He just didn't know where he was.
He had twisted and turned so many times while mustering. It was all very
well for the Hudsons to say there was no chance of getting lost in the
creek paddock. There was. Why, he was lost now. He didn't know whether
to let the sheep go on or turn them back; he didn't know exactly where
he had brought them from, and where he had "hit" the creek. Then, like
most other new chums, he completely lost his head. Here he was, out in
the big paddock, with not the slightest idea where to turn; and the
worst of it was, they wouldn't give him a thought till all hours, as he
was supposed to drive the sheep slowly, and perhaps he'd be miles and
miles and miles away by then--perhaps he'd be dead! What a fool he was
to come alone!
He pulled up and stared at his surroundings. Nothing but blue-grey gum
trees everywhere, with a monotonous sameness about them. Nothing
whatever to guide him. Just the same all round, and the sheep were
beginning to camp now that it was growing warm. He was sorry he ever saw
them. He never saw such silly old things as sheep! He was sorry he ever
came out into the silly old paddock. Where was he? Why, every place
looked strange and new! Yes, he was lost--lost--lost! and he put his
head down on the pummel of the saddle and burst into tears. Why did he
ever leave Sydney? He wished now that he was alongside the G.P.O. clock;
he wished he could see a big, friendly, blue-clad policeman, to point
out the way. He wished they had policemen up here in these silly old
paddocks, to show a man the proper track, and he wished--oh, he wished
he'd never come alone! If he lived to be a hundred thousand years, he'd
never come out like this again! Here he was, under the blue sky,
surrounded by blue gums and acres and acres of grass, and he might stay
here all night, and perhaps they'd find him dead in the morning! Of
course, they'd be sure to find him dead! He wondered what his mother
would say when she heard of her poor little Willie, and then he
commenced to sob. He wondered whatever Dadda would say. He wondered
would he give up his office work for a time, and would he wear a black
band round his arm; and what would all the other men say when they saw
Dadda going in so pale and quiet every morning. He could just imagine
them all getting together and speaking of poor little Willie, who got
lost in the bush, and how he was found--dead! And then suddenly a wild
fear seized him. Supposing the story should come true--supposing he were
out all night, and the dingoes did come! Oh, horror! He wished he had
never seen the horrid old country. If ever he got back to dear old
Sydney again, he would never, never leave it. No! not for a million
thousand Hudsons, or a million thousand horses and sheep and dogs, or a
million thousand paddocks! Sydney was the best old place in all the
world. No getting lost there! No chance of it with million thousands of
people to ask the way! If you were in the least doubt you simply had to
just ask the first person you met, and they'd give you all the
information you needed. Good old Sydney! Oh! what would he do?
Just then he heard a whip crack. Oh, joy! Away in the distance, through
the trees, he saw Big Tom from "Myall" riding slowly towards him. His
heart gave a great bound. Saved at last! Safe again! But he must never
let Tom know he'd been afraid. He must never let him know that he'd been
crying. He liked Big Tom because he called him Bill sometimes, and
treated him like a man. So he slipped from his pony and dashed his hands
and face into the water and slipped his handkerchief under his hat, as
he had often seen the men do on the hot days; and he was glad to have it
flapping round his face in case Tom might notice the tell-tale tears.
Then he mounted hurriedly and shouted to the sheep, and began to muster
them up again; and, lo! there was the "leany" tree, and the old familiar
bend not twenty yards off from where he had been hopelessly sobbing! and
there, just round the bend, Gillong was in sight; and he could even see
Doris and Baby playing out on the flat. All within cooee of him all the
time! Dear me! All his worrying for nothing! What would they say if they
knew? But he would never, never, never tell them!
And so no one ever knew that Willie had given up hope that fine morning,
and thought he was lost for ever in the creek paddock.