ON A LOG
Lunch over, everyone seemed disinclined for action. The boys lay about
on the grass, sleepily happy. Norah climbed into a tree, where the
gnarled boughs made a natural arm-chair, and the Hermit propped his
back against a rock and smoked a short black pipe with an air of
perfect enjoyment. It was just hot enough to make one drowsy. Bees
droned lazily, and from some shady gully the shrill note of a cricket
came faintly to the ear. Only Billy had stolen down to the creek, to
tempt the fish once more. They heard the dull “plunk” of his sinker as
he flung it into a deep, still pool.
“Would you like to hear how I lost my boot?” queried the Hermit
suddenly.
“Oh, please,” said Norah.
The boys rolled over—that is to say Jim and Wally rolled over. Harry
was fast asleep.
“Don’t wake him,” said the Hermit. But Wally’s hat, skilfully thrown,
had already caught the slumberer on the side of the head.
Harry woke up with surprising promptness, and returned the offending
head-gear with force and directness. Wally caught it deftly and rammed
it over his eyes. He smiled underneath it at the Hermit like a happy
cherub.
“Now we’re ready, sir,” he said. “Hold your row, Harry, the—this
gentleman’s going to spin us a yarn. Keep awake if you can spare the
time!”
“I’ll spare the time to kick you!” growled the indignant Harry.
“I don’t know that you’ll think it’s much of a yarn,” the Hermit said
hurriedly, entering the breach to endeavour to allay further
discussion—somewhat to Jim’s disappointment. “It’s only the story of a
pretty narrow escape.
“I had gone out fishing one afternoon about a month ago. It was a grand
day for fishing—dull and cloudy. The sun was about somewhere, but you
couldn’t see anything of him, although you could feel his warmth. I’d
been off colour for a few days, and had not been out foraging at all,
and as a result, except for damper, my larder was quite empty.
“I went about a mile upstream. There’s a splendid place for fishing
there. The creek widens, and there’s a still, deep pool, something like
the pool at the place you call Anglers’ Bend, only I think mine is
deeper and stiller, and fishier! At all events, I have never failed to
get fish there.
“I fished from the bank for a while, with not very good luck. At all
events, it occurred to me that I could better it if I went out upon a
big log that lay right across the creek—a tremendous tree it must have
been, judging by the size of the trunk. You could almost ride across
it, it’s so wide—if you had a circus pony, that is,” added the Hermit
with a twinkle.
“So I gathered up my tackle, hung the fish I’d caught across a bough in
the shade, and went out on the log, and here I had good luck at once.
The fish bit just as soon as I put the bait into the water, and though
a good many of them were small there were some very decent-sized ones
amongst them. I threw the little chaps back, on the principle that—
Baby fish you throw away
Will make good sport another day,
and at last began to think I had caught nearly enough, even though I
intended to salt some. However, just as I thought it was time to strike
for camp, I had a tremendous bite. It nearly jerked the rod out of my
hands!
“‘Hallo!’ I said to myself, ‘here’s a whale!’ I played him for a bit,
for he was the strongest fish I ever had on a line in this country, and
at last he began to tire, and I reeled the line in. It seemed quite a
long time before I caught a glimpse of his lordship—a tremendous perch.
I tell you I felt quite proud as his head came up out of the water.
“He was nearly up to the log, when he made a sudden, last leap in the
air, and the quickness of it and his weight half threw me off my
balance. I made a hurried step on the log, and my right foot slipped
into a huge, gaping crack. It was only after I had made two or three
ineffectual struggles to release it that I found I was stuck.
“Well I didn’t realize the seriousness of the position for a few
minutes,” the Hermit went on. “I could understand that I was wedged,
but I certainly never dreamed that I could not, by dint of manoeuvring,
wriggle my foot out of the crack. So I turned my attention to my big
fish, and—standing in a most uncomfortable position—managed to land
him; and a beauty he was, handsome as paint, with queer markings on his
sides. I put him down carefully, and then tried to free myself.
“And I tried—and tried—and tried—until I was tired out, and stiff and
hopeless. By that time it was nearly dark. After I had endeavoured
unsuccessfully to get the boot clear, I unlaced it, and tried to get my
foot out of it—but I was in a trifle too far for that, and try as I
would I could not get it free. The crack was rather on the side of the
log. I could not get a straight pull. Hurt? Yes, of course it hurt—not
more from the pinching of the log, which you may try any time by
screwing your foot up in a vice, than from my own wild efforts to get
clear. My foot and ankle were stiff and sore from my exertions long
before I knocked off in despair. I might have tried to cut the wood
away, had I not left my knife on the bank, where I was fishing first. I
don’t know that it would have done much good, anyhow.
“Well, I looked at the situation—in fact, I had been looking at it all
the time. It wasn’t a very cheering prospect, either. The more I
pondered over it, the less chance I saw of getting free. I had done all
I could towards that end; now it only remained to wait for something to
‘turn up.’ And I was quite aware that nothing was in the least likely
to turn up, and also that in all probability I would wear out some time
before the log did.
“Night came on, and I was as hungry as a hunter—being a hunter, I knew
just how hungry that is. I hadn’t anything to eat except raw fish, and
I wasn’t quite equal to that yet. I had only one pipe of tobacco too,
and you may be sure I made the most of that, I smoked it very, very
slowly, and I wouldn’t like to say how long it lasted.
“From time to time I made fresh attempts to release my foot—all
unavailing, and all the more maddening because I could feel that my
foot wasn’t much caught—only just enough to hold it. But enough is as
good as a feast! I felt that if I could get a straight pull at it I
might get it out, and several times I nearly went head first into the
water, overbalancing myself in the effort to get that straight pull.
That wasn’t a pleasant sensation—not so bad, indeed, if one had got as
far as the water. But I pictured myself hanging from the log with a
dislocated ankle, and the prospect was not inviting.
“So the night crept on. I grew deadly sleepy, but of course I did not
care to let myself go to sleep; but worse than that was the stiffness,
and the cramp that tortured the imprisoned leg. You know how you want
to jump when you’ve got cramp? Well, I wanted to jump at intervals of
about a minute all through that night, and instead, I was more securely
hobbled than any old horse I ever saw. The mosquitoes worried me too.
Altogether it was not the sort of entertainment you would select from
choice!
“And then, just as day began to dawn, the sleepiness got the better of
me. I fought it unavailingly; but at last I knew I could keep awake no
longer, and I shut my eyes.
“I don’t know how long I slept—it couldn’t have been for any time, for
it was not broad daylight when I opened my eyes again. Besides, the
circumstances weren’t the kind to induce calm and peaceful slumber.
“I woke up with a start, and in my dreams I seemed to hear myself
crying out with pain—for a spasm of cramp had seized me, and it was
like a red-hot iron thrust up my leg. I was only half awake—not
realizing my position a bit. I made a sudden spring, and the next
moment off I went, headlong!
“I don’t suppose,” said the Hermit reflectively, poking a stem of grass
down his pipe, “that I’ll ever lose the memory of the sudden, abject
terror of that moment. They say ‘as easy as falling off a log,’ and it
certainly doesn’t take an able-bodied man long to fall off one, as a
rule; but it seemed to me that I was hours and years waiting for the
jerk to come on my imprisoned foot. I’m sure I lived through half a
lifetime before it really came.
“Then it came—and I hardly felt it! There was just a sudden
pull—scarcely enough to hurt very much, and the old boot yielded. Sole
from upper, it came clean away, and the pressure on my foot alone
wasn’t enough to hold me. It was so unexpected that I didn’t realize I
was free until I struck the water, and went down right into the mud at
the bottom of the creek.
“That woke me up, I can assure you. I came up choking and spluttering,
and blinded with the mud—I wouldn’t like to tell you for a moment that
it was pleasant, but I can truthfully say I never was more relieved in
my life. I struck out for the bank, and got out of the water, and then
sat down on the grass and wondered why on earth I hadn’t made up my
mind to jump off that log before.
“I hadn’t any boot left—the remainder had been kicked off as I swam
ashore. I made my way along the log that had held me so fast all night,
and there, wedged as tight as ever in the crack, was my old sole! It’s
there still—unless the mosquitoes have eaten it. I limped home with my
fish, cleaned them, had a meal and went to bed—and I didn’t get up
until next day, either!
“And so, Mr. Wally, I venture to think that it was my boot that you
landed this morning,” the Hermit said gravely. “I don’t grudge it to
you; I can’t say I ever wish to see it again. You”—magnanimously—“may
have it for your very own!”
“But I chucked it back again!” blurted out Wally, amidst a roar of
laughter from Jim and Harry at his dismayed face.
“I forgive you!” said the Hermit, joining in the laugh. “I admit it was
a relic which didn’t advertise its own fame.”
“I guess you’d never want to see it again,” Jim said. “That was a
pretty narrow escape—if your foot had been in just a bit farther you
might have been hanging from that old log now!”
“That was my own idea all that night,” observed the Hermit; “and then
Wally wouldn’t have caught any more than the rest of you this morning!
And that reminds me, I promised to show you a good fishing-place. Don’t
you think, if you’ve had enough of my prosy yarning, that we’d better
make a start?”
The party gathered itself up with alacrity from the grass. Lines were
hurriedly examined, and the bait tin, when investigated, proved to
contain an ample supply of succulent grubs and other dainties
calculated to tempt the most fastidious of fish.
“All ready?” said the Hermit.
“Hold on a minute,” Jim said. “I’ll let Billy know where we’re going.”
Billy was found fishing stolidly from a log. Three blackfish testified
to his skill with the rod, at which Wally whistled disgustedly and
Norah laughed.
“No good to be jealous of Billy’s luck,” she said. “He can always get
fish, when nobody else can find even a nibble. Mrs. Brown says he’s got
the light hand like hers for pastry.”
The Hermit laughed.
“I like Mrs. Brown’s simile,” he said. “If that was her pastry in those
turnovers at lunch, Miss Norah, I certainly agree that she has ‘the
light hand.’”
“Mrs. Brown’s like the cook in _The Ingoldsby Legends_, Dad says,”
Norah remarked.
“What,” said the Hermit—
“For soups and stews, and French ragouts,
Nell Cook is famous still—?”
“She’d make them even of old shoes
She had such wondrous skill!”
finished Norah delightedly. “However did you know, Mr. Hermit?”
The Hermit laughed, but a shade crossed his brow. “I used to read the
_Legends_ with a dear old friend many years before you were born, Miss
Norah,” he said gravely. “I often wonder whether he still reads them.”
“Ready?” Jim interrupted, springing up the bank. “Billy understands
about feeding the ponies. Don’t forget, mind, Billy.”
“Plenty!” quoth Billy, and the party went on its way. The Hermit led
them rapidly over logs and fallen trees, up and down gullies, and
through tangles of thickly growing scrub. Once or twice it occurred to
Jim that they were trusting very confidingly to this man, of whom they
knew absolutely nothing; and a faint shade of uneasiness crossed his
mind. He felt responsible, as the eldest of the youngsters, knowing
that his father had placed him in charge, and that he was expected to
exercise a certain amount of caution. Still it was hard to fancy
anything wrong, looking at the Hermit’s serene face, and the trusting
way in which Norah’s brown little hand was placed in his strong grasp.
The other boys were quite unconscious of any uncomfortable ideas, and
Jim finally dismissed his fears as uncalled for.
“I thought,” said the Hermit, suddenly turning, “of taking you to see
my camp as we went, but on second thoughts I decided that it would be
better to get straight to work, as you young people want some fish, I
suppose, to take home. Perhaps we can look in at my camp as we come
back. It’s not far from here.”
“Which way do you generally go to the river?” Norah asked.
“Why, anyway,” the Hermit answered. “Generally in this direction. Why
do you ask, Miss Norah?”
“I was wondering,” Norah said. “We haven’t crossed or met a single
track.”
The Hermit laughed.
“No,” he said, “I take very good care not to leave tracks if I can
avoid it. You see, I’m a solitary fellow, Miss Norah, and prefer, as a
rule, to keep to myself. Apart from that, I often leave camp for the
greater part of the day when I’m fishing or hunting, and I’ve no wish
to point out the way to my domain to any wanderers. Not that I’ve much
to lose, still there are some things. Picture my harrowed feelings were
I to return some evening and find my beloved frying-pan gone!”
Norah laughed.
“It would be awful,” she said.
“So I planned my camp very cunningly,” continued the Hermit, “and I can
tell you it took some planning to contrive it so that it shouldn’t be
too easily visible.”
“Well, it isn’t from the side I came on it,” Norah put in; “I never
dreamed of anything being there until I was right on the camp. It did
surprise me!”
“And me,” said the Hermit drily. “Well that is how I tried to arrange
camp, and you could be within a dozen yards of it on any side without
imagining that any was near.”
“But surely you must have made some sort of a track leading away from
it,” said Jim, “unless you fly out!”
The Hermit laughed.
“I’ll show you later how I manage that,” he said.
The bush grew denser as the little party, led by the Hermit, pushed
along, and Jim was somewhat surprised at the easy certainty with which
their guide led the way, since there was no sign of a track. Being a
silent youth, he held his tongue on the matter; but Wally was not so
reserved.
“However d’you find your way along here?” he asked. “I don’t even know
whether we’re near the creek or not.”
“If we kept still a moment you’d know,” the Hermit said. “Listen!” He
held up his hand and they all stood still. There came faintly to their
ears a musical splash of water.
“There’s a little waterfall just in there,” the Hermit said, “nothing
much, unless the creek is very low, and then there is a greater drop
for the water. So you see we haven’t got far from the creek. How do I
know the way? Why, I feel it mostly, and if I couldn’t feel it, there
are plenty of landmarks. Every big tree is as good as a signpost once
you know the way a bit, and I’ve been along here pretty often, so
there’s nothing in it, you see, Wally.”
“Do you like the bush, Mr. Hermit?” Norah asked.
The Hermit hesitated.
“Sometimes I hate it, I think, Miss Norah,” he said, “when the
loneliness of it comes over me, and all the queer sounds of it bother
me and keep me awake. Then I realise that I’m really a good way from
anywhere, and I get what are familiarly called the blues. However,
that’s not at all times, and indeed mostly I love it very much, its
great quietness and its beauty; and then it’s so companionable, though
perhaps you’re a bit young to understand that. Anyhow, I have my mates,
not only old Turpentine, my snake, but others—wallabies that have come
to recognise me as harmless, for I never hunt anywhere near home, the
laughing jackasses, two of them, that come and guffaw to me every
morning, the pheasants that I watch capering and strutting on the logs
hidden in the scrub. Even the plants become friends; there are creepers
near my camp that I’ve watched from babyhood, and more than one big
tree with which I’ve at least a nodding acquaintance!”
He broke off suddenly.
“Look, there’s a friend of mine!” he said gently. They were crossing a
little gully, and a few yards on their right a big wallaby sat staring
at them, gravely inquisitive. It certainly would not have been human
nature if Jim had not longed for a gun; but the wallaby was evidently
quite ignorant of such a thing, and took them all in with his cool
stare. At length Wally sneezed violently, whereat the wallaby started,
regarded the disturber of his peace with an alarmed air, and finally
bounded off into the scrub.
“There you go!” said the Hermit good-humouredly, “scaring my poor
beastie out of his wits.”
“Couldn’t help it,” mumbled Wally.
“No, a sneeze will out, like truth, won’t it?” the Hermit laughed.
“That’s how Miss Norah announced herself to me to-day. I might never
have known she was there if she hadn’t obligingly sneezed! I hope.
you’re not getting colds, children!” the Hermit added, with mock
concern.
“Not much!” said Wally and Norah in a breath.
“Just after I came here,” said the Hermit, “I was pretty short of
tucker, and it wasn’t a good time for fishing, so I was dependent on my
gun for most of my provisions. So one day, feeling much annoyed after a
breakfast of damper and jam, I took the gun and went off to stock up
the larder.
“I went a good way without any luck. There didn’t seem anything to
shoot in all the bush, though you may be sure I kept my eyes about me.
I was beginning to grow disheartened. At length I made my way down to
the creek. Just as I got near it, I heard a whirr-r-r over my head, and
looking up, I saw a flock of wild duck. They seemed to pause a moment,
and then dropped downwards. I couldn’t see where they alighted, but of
course I knew it must be in the creek.
“Well, I didn’t pause,” said the Hermit. “I just made my way down to
the creek as quickly as ever I could, remaining noiseless at the same
time. Ducks are easily scared, and I knew my hopes of dinner were poor
if these chaps saw me too soon.
“So I sneaked down. Pretty soon I got a glimpse of the creek, which was
very wide at that point, and fringed with weeds. The ducks were calmly
swimming on its broad surface, a splendid lot of them, and I can assure
you a very tempting sight to a hungry man.
“However, I didn’t waste time in admiration. I couldn’t very well risk
a shot from where I was, it was a bit too far, and the old gun I had
wasn’t very brilliant. So I crept along, crawled down a bank, and found
myself on a flat that ran to the water’s edge, where reeds, growing
thickly, screened me from the ducks’ sight.
“That was simple enough. I crawled across this flat, taking no chances,
careless of mud, and wet, and sword grass, which isn’t the nicest thing
to crawl among at any time, as you can imagine; it’s absolutely
merciless to face and hands.”
“And jolly awkward to stalk ducks in,” Jim commented, “the rustle would
give you away in no time.”
The Hermit nodded.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s its worst drawback, or was, on this occasion.
It certainly did rustle; however, I crept very slowly, and the ducks
were kind enough to think I was the wind stirring in the reeds. At any
rate, they went on swimming, and feeding quite peacefully. I got a good
look at them through the fringe of reeds, and then, like a duffer,
although I had a good enough position, I must try and get a better one.
“So I crawled a little farther down the bank, trying to reach a knoll
which would give me a fine sight of the game, and at the same time form
a convenient rest for my gun. I had almost reached it when the sad
thing happened. A tall, spear-like reed, bending over, gently and
intrusively tickled my nose, and without the slightest warning, and
very greatly to my own amazement, I sneezed violently.
“If I was amazed, what were the ducks! The sneeze was so unmistakably
human, so unspeakably violent. There was one wild whirr of wings, and
my ducks scrambled off the placid surface of the water like things
possessed. I threw up my gun and fired wildly; there was no time for
deliberate taking of aim, with the birds already half over the ti-tree
at the other side.”
“Did you get any?” Jim asked.
“One duck,” said the Hermit sadly. “And even for him I had to swim; he
obligingly chose a watery grave just to spite me, I believe. He wasn’t
much of a duck either. After I had stripped and swum for him, dressed
again, prepared the duck, cooked him, and finally sat down to dinner,
there was so little of him that he only amounted to half a meal, and
was tough at that!”
“So was your luck,” observed Wally.
“Uncommonly tough,” agreed the Hermit. “However, these things are the
fortunes of war, and one has to put up with them, grin, and play the
game. It’s surprising how much tougher things look if you once begin to
grumble. I’ve had so much bad luck in the bush that I’ve really got
quite used to it.”
“How’s that?” asked Harry.
“Why,” said the Hermit, “if it wasn’t one thing, it was mostly another.
I beg your pardon, Miss Norah, let me help you over this log. I’ve had
my tucker stolen again and again, several times by birds, twice by
swaggies, and once by a couple of black fellows pilgrimaging through
the bush I don’t know whither. They happened on my camp, and helped
themselves; I reckoned myself very lucky that they only took food,
though I’ve no doubt they would have taken more if I hadn’t arrived on
the scene in the nick of time and scared them almost out of their
wits.”
“How did you do that?” asked Norah; “tell us about it, Mr. Hermit!”
The Hermit smiled down at Norah’s eager face.
“Oh, that’s hardly a yarn, Miss Norah,” he said, his eyes twinkling in
a way that made them look astonishingly young, despite his white hair
and his wrinkles. “That was only a small happening, though it capped a
day of bad luck. I had been busy in camp all the morning cooking, and
had laid in quite a supply of tucker, for me. I’d cooked some wild
duck, and roasted a hare, boiled a most splendid plum-duff and finally
baked a big damper, and I can tell you I was patting myself on the back
because I need not do any more cooking for nearly a week, unless it
were fish—I’m not a cook by nature, and pretty often go hungry rather
than prepare a meal.
“After dinner I thought I’d go down to the creek and try my luck—it was
a perfect day for fishing, still and grey. So I dug some worms—and
broke my spade in doing so—and started off.
“The promise of the day held good. I went to my favourite spot, and the
fish just rushed me—the worms must have been very tempting, or else the
fish larder was scantily supplied. At any rate, they bit splendidly,
and soon I grew fastidious, and was picking out and throwing back any
that weren’t quite large enough. I fished from the old log over the
creek, and soon had a pile of fish, and grew tired of the sport. I was
sleepy, too, through hanging over the fire all the morning. I kept on
fishing mechanically, but it was little more than holding my bait in
the water, and I began nodding and dozing, leaning back on the broad
old log.
“I didn’t think I had really gone to sleep, though I suppose I must
have done so, because I dreamed a kind of half-waking dream. In it I
saw a snake that crept and crept nearer and nearer to me until I could
see its wicked eyes gleaming, and though I tried to get away, I could
not. It came on and on until it was quite near, and I was feeling
highly uncomfortable in my dream. At last I made a great effort, flung
out my hand towards a stick, and, with a yell, woke up, to realise that
I had struck something cold, and clammy, and wet. What it was I
couldn’t be certain for an instant, until I heard a dull splash, and
then I knew. I had swept my whole string of fish into the water below!
“Oh, yes, I said things—who wouldn’t? I was too disgusted to fish any
more, and the nightmare having thoroughly roused me, I gathered up my
tackle and made tracks for home, feeling considerably annoyed with
myself.
“You must know I’ve a private entrance into my camp. It’s a track no
one would suspect of being a track, and by its aid I can approach
noiselessly. I’ve got into a habit of always sneaking back to camp—just
in case anyone should be there. This afternoon I came along quietly,
more from force of habit than from any real idea of looking out for
intruders. But half-way along it a sound pulled me up suddenly. It was
the sound of a voice.
“When you haven’t heard anyone speak for a good many months, the human
voice has quite a startling effect upon you—or even the human sneeze,
Miss Norah!” added the Hermit, with a twinkle. “I stopped short and
listened with all my might. Presently the voice came again, low and
guttural, and I knew it for a native’s.
“The conviction didn’t fill me with joy, as you may imagine. I stole
forward, until by peeping through the bushes I gained a view of the
camp—and was rewarded with the spectacle of two blacks—ill-favoured
brutes they were, too—quite at home, one in the act of stuffing my
cherished roast hare into a dirty bag, the other just taking a huge
bite out of my damper!
“The sight, as you may imagine, didn’t fill me with joy. From the
bulges in my black visitors’ bag I gathered that the ducks had preceded
the hare; and even as I looked, the gentleman with the damper relaxed
his well-meant efforts, and thrust it, too, into the bag. Then they put
down the bag and dived into the tent, and I heard rustlings and
low-toned remarks that breathed satisfaction. I reckoned it was time to
step in.
“Luckily, my gun was outside the tent—indeed I never leave it inside,
but have a special hiding-place for it under a handy log, for fear of
stray marauders overhauling my possessions. A gun is a pretty tempting
thing to most men, and since my duck-shooting failure I had treated
myself to a new double-barrel—a beauty.
“I crept to the log, drew out both guns, and then retired to the
bushes—a little uncertain, to tell the truth, what to do, for I hadn’t
any particular wish to murder my dusky callers; and at the same time,
had to remember that they were two to one, and would be unhampered by
any feeling of chivalry, if we did come to blows. I made up my mind to
try to scare them—and suddenly I raised the most horrible, terrifying,
unearthly yell I could think of, and at the same time fired both
barrels of one gun quickly in the air!
“The effect was instantaneous. There was one howl of horror, and the
black fellows darted out of the tent! They almost cannoned into me—and
you know I must look a rum chap in these furry clothes and cap, with my
grandfatherly white beard! At all events, they seemed to think me so,
for at sight of me they both yelled in terror, and bolted away as fast
as their legs could carry them. I cheered the parting guests by howling
still more heartily, and firing my two remaining barrels over their
heads as they ran. They went as swiftly as a motor-car disappears from
view—I believe they reckoned they’d seen the bunyip. I haven’t seen a
trace of them since.
“They’d had a fine time inside the tent. Everything I possessed had
been investigated, and one or two books badly torn—the wretches!” said
the Hermit ruefully. “My clothes (I’ve a few garments beside these
beauties, Miss Norah) had been pulled about, my few papers scattered
wildly, and even my bunk stripped of blankets, which lay rolled up
ready to be carried away. There wasn’t a single one of my poor
possessions that had escaped notice, except, of course, my watch and
money, which I keep carefully buried. The tent was a remarkable
spectacle, and so close and reminiscent of black fellow that my first
act was to undo the sides and let the fresh air play through. I counted
myself very lucky to get off as lightly as I did—had I returned an hour
later none of my goods and chattels would have been left.”
“What about the tucker?” Harry asked; “did they get away with the bag
they’d stowed it in?”
“Not they!” said the Hermit; “they were far too scared to think of bags
or tucker. They almost fell over it in their efforts to escape, but
neither of them thought of picking it up. It was hard luck for them,
after they’d packed it so carefully.”
“Is that how you looked at it?” Jim asked, laughing.
“Well—I tried to,” said the Hermit, laughing in his turn. “Sometimes it
was pretty hard work—and I’ll admit that for the first few days my own
misfortunes were uppermost.”
“But you didn’t lose your tucker after all, you said?” queried Wally.
“I thought they left the bag?”
“They did,” the Hermit admitted. “But have you ever explored the
interior of a black fellow’s bag, Master Wally? No? Well, if you had,
you would understand that I felt no further hankerings over those
masterpieces of the cook’s art. I’m not extra particular, I believe,
but I couldn’t tackle them—no thanks! I threw them into the scrub—and
then washed my hands!”
“Poor you!” said Norah.
“Oh, I wasn’t so badly off,” said the Hermit. “They’d left me the
plum-duff, which was hanging in its billy from a bough. Lots of duff—I
had it morning, noon and night, until I found something fresh to
cook—and I haven’t made duff since. And here we are at the creek!”