Sake dl by ie WTCHETHMARTIN. © . Nlustrated by H.J. JOHNSTONE RI.BA. R.GARRICK-RA.M. UO HUGHES. 67 ee MARCELLA WALKER. A.J. WALL, EMILY J. HARDING. Weisu. NeweeRy HOUSE Lion Don aso SYDNEY. penta et oo . THE SEA Birps’ MESSAGE Over the Sea Stories of Two Worlds By 3 Mrs. Campbell Praed Countess De la Warr \ “’Tasma” Frederic E. Weatherly | Mrs. Patchett Martin Hume Nisbet Miss M. Senior Clark H. B. Marriott Watson Edited by A. Patchett Martin Bie : ; Illustrated in Colour by DG~ i. J. Johnstone — T. J. Hughes R. Carrick, R.I.M. : _ And in Black and Whtte by Emily J. Harding Marcella Walker A. W. Wall Lngravings by Ch. Guillaume & Co. LONDON . Griffith Farran Okeden & Welsh \ Newbery House, Charing Cross Road AND SYDNEY The Rights of Translation and of Reproduction are Reserved [ae AIEEE AEE i, Children of Two Worlds. By the Eprror. THE SEA-BIRDS’ MESSAGE. By Mrs, CamppeLtt Praep. U NAN. By Freperic E. WeaTHeErLy. AT THE GATE. By the Counrsss ; De ta Warr. LOST IN THE BUSH. By Mrs. Patcuetr Marrin. A TALE OF A THIEF. -By H. B. 7 aa Fr irecpreraeS Marriott Watson. GRANDMOTHER’S PETS. By Miss Mary SENIOR CLARK. sce LEFT IN CHARGE. By Home Niszer. \ BERTHA AND THE SNAKE. \ By “Tasma.” | \ 4 \ \ r= LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. THE SEA-BIRDS’ MESSAGE. Colour plate by ‘H. J. Jounstone, ic Illustrated in Black and White by MaRceuLA WALKER. NAN. Colour plate dy R. Carrick, R.I.M. Illustrated in Black and White by Exny J. Harpine. AT THE GATE. Colour plate éy H. J. Jounsrone. Lilustrated in Black and White by MARCELLA WALKER. -EOST IN AHE BUSH Colour plate by H. J. Jounstone. tllustrated in Black and White by EMIty J. Harpine. A TALIM OF A THIEF. Colour plate by H. J. Jounsrone. : Illustrated in Black and White by Emiy J. Harvie. GRANDMOTHER'S PETS. Colour plate by T. J. Hucuss. Lllustrated in Black and White éy Emity J. Harpine. LEFT IN CHARGE. Colour plate by © H. J. Jounstone. Lilustrated in Black and White by MaRCELLA WALKER. BERTHA AND THE SNAKE. Colour plate by H. J. Jounsronr. Lilustrated in Black and White by A. W. Watt. Over the Sea, where our kinsfolk dwell In cities built of their golden gain, By Maori lakes, by the South Sea’s swell, In the Austral bush, or on station plain. However the elders may fume and complain, The children are singing, and shouting with glee, In Shakespeare's tongue—to the gay refrain Of old English pastimes—over the Sea. Ve who hold forth in your clubs in Pall Mall, Or squabble o& nights in the Parliament's fane, O! dull Legislators, so anxious to tell How to bind these lands in this bountiful reign. Hark to these voices across the main! Grey Sophists be still—you will never agree: But the bonny young bairns may be weaving a chain To link us at Home to those over the Sea. They can unite us; aye! firmly and well, In the bonds of a love that should ever vemain— The youngsters who vomp in a sweet English dell, Or rouse the Bush echoes again and again. They are our Law-givers honest and sane! Ve, then, who pray that our Flag may fy free, That England's proud might may ne'er weaken and wane List to the little ones—over the Sea! Ewvot. The lesson is nigh us. O! do not disdain Our wise little Solons, wherever they be— They will unite us. So heed ye the strain Of the children at Home—and those over the Sea. THE SEA-BIRDS’ MESSAGE. THERE is a great lake in one of the inland districts of Northern Australia. It is closed in by green ranges, which slope down to a beach of silverysand. It has no outlet for its waters, which are salt as the sea. Pelicans and wild swans haunt its shores, and myriads of sea gulls and marine birds hover upon its calm surface. The lake is almost always still, for it is very shallow and in seasons of great drought its waters dry up altogether, and there is only to ee be seen a vast basin of shining sand. eae But this does not happen once in a great many years. At most times it has the appear- ance of an untroubled sea, for it is not possible to see from one side across to its furthermost shore. Tiny wavelets sparkle in the daylight as far as the eye can reach. The moon rises from its waters, and the sun goes down beneath them in a glory of pink and gold, and the horizon clouds take strange shapes which make them seem like the gates of some enchanted city, or the trees in a dream garden. Little Janie Galvin used to have all kinds of fancies about the lake and the distant invisible shore. She was an odd imaginative child, and would remain on the beach some- times for hours together, dreaming her child-dreams, and keeping so still. that the pelicans and ibises would come quite close to her, and the sea-gulls would swoop down and circle round.her and her sickly little brother who lay sleeping in the warm sand at her feet; and they would perch on the rocks near her, and would flap their wings and utter their strange discordant cries, till she could almost fancy they had a story to tell her, or a message to give from that land over the sea—for the lake was the sea to Janie; she could imagine no ocean vaster. : The ‘sea-gulls made her think of the wild swans of Hans Andersen’s story—the mistress on. the station where her father was employed had sent her Hans Andersen one Christmas time, and she had a notion that they wanted to take her and little Dick to the opposite shore, and that there she should find Death’s Garden, where God the Great Gardener gathers His flower-angels, and that there her own mother who was dead would come and meet them, and would take little Dick in her arms, and would lead Janie by the hand—and so they would wander about together in the beautiful garden, and there would be no more harsh words or cruel blows; no more frighteried quiverings of little Dick’s feeble body, no more sobbings to sleep after unjust punishment, no more lonely longing for the love which these two poor little children had lost when their mother left them. Janie remembered her mother well, but Dick was only a tiny baby when she died. It was to Janie that the mother had given the little boy, and almost her last words had been, “ Remember, darling, to take care of baby ; don’t let any one be unkind to baby.” Perhaps the poor mother had been thinking then of what did happen a little later when 10 OVER THE SEA. Joe Galvin brought home a stepmother to his children. It was quite natural that he should marry again. What could a stockman do with two motherless mites on an out-station thirty miles from the nearest women-folk ? And then his duty obliged him to be away from the hut often for days and nights together, when it was mustering time and the cattle had to be brought from round the lake. But it was a pity he should have married Polly Warren, who was violent, intemperate, rough of speech, and hated sickly children. Poor little Dick had a tendency to water on the brain, and he was often stupid and drowsy, and slow in answering his stepmother when she called him, and in obeying her commands. She said he was obstinate and disobedient, whereas the child was only dazed and frightened. Once she had beaten him severely, and Dick had been ill for days afterwards; and Janie, remembering her mother’s dying words, had vowed to herself that with her own little body she would defend her baby-brother from being a second time so cruelly treated. A stray blow now and then, a box on the ears, or an angry push were ordinary occurrences and not so greatly to be minded, but to see Dick tied up to a rail of the stockyard and beaten like a dog with the stockman’s. heavy . ; whip was more than Janie could endure. ee & And now this was threatened again. Dick had been naughty. The stock- man was away, and Polly Galvin had de- clared that on the morrow Dick should be taught by the lash which was mas- ter, he or she. In vain Janie had pleaded, had urged Dick’s: delicacy and the pos- sible conse- feeble brain. In entreated that she herself might bear the punishment. Polly was inexorable. ‘ 2 The boy had disobeyed her: he shouldbe sent tobedonbread =~ OO and water at sundown. To-night she did not choose to tire her arms further after her day’s washing ; and besides there was grog in the house, and Polly wished to enjoy her evening glass undisturbed. On the morrow she would be fresh for her brutal work, and she had something of the true tyrant’s pleasure in keeping her victim trembling in suspense. Poor little Dick did indeed tremble and cry all that long evening, and Janie heard him through the slab walls of the verandah-room where he was lockéd up, and where she was not allowed to go to him. Janie’s own small frame quivered and shook in helpless misery and indignation. What had she and Dick done that they should be used so? Why did not God have pity on them? and oh! if their own mother could look down from Heaven and see what they were suffering, why did she not come and help them ? All kinds of wild fancies and despairing resolves passed through Janie’s brain. If she could only get Dick away—if she could only hide him safe till her father came home! Surely, for her dead mother’s sake her father would prevent Polly from beating the boy. He did not know—he could not know—how hard she struck ; what her temper was when it was roused, and how she hated little white-faced sickly Dick. Janie had heard her say that she wished him dead. Perhaps on the morrow she meant to kill him. All Janie’s quences to his vain had she THE SEA-BIRDS’ MESSAGE. II soul went out in passionate yearning for help. She prayed to God. She prayed to her mother, and while:she prayed sleep fell on her, and she dreamed that the help had come. It seemed to her that she and Dick were on the sea-shore, and the sea-gulls were gathered round them, and the birds’ great white wings were like those of angels closing them in from harm. Somehow the sea-gulls were not sea-gulls, but angels indeed with kind faces, and one had the face of her mother. The mother-wings folded round the two children, and seemed to lift them up in air, and Janie heard the dear voice say, “ My poor babies! Mother will take care of you.” Then she awoke, and the moon’s rays streamed into the room, and for a minute or two Janie fancied that those white wings were still enfolding her. But it was only the white curtains of her little bed that flapped in the night breeze. The wind had risen, and outside on the lake shore she could hear the waves rising and falling, and the curlews in the bush were making their plain- tive moan. Janie gotup and dressed. The house was quite still, and she’ crept out along the verandah to Dick’s door and listened. Through the chink she could see Dick’s white face with the moon’s rays £ “upon it, as he lay all dressed upon a ie sack on the floor ; and she could hear the frightened gasps which seemed still drawn up from his heart out of very fear. = “Dickie,” Janie whispered softly, “don’t cry; don’t call out. I’m coming to you somehow. I’m going to take you where she can’t hurt you. Mother knows ; mother will look after us.” The child stirred uneasily ; he was only half asleep. “ Janie,’ he mut- tered, “I’m so frightened, Janie, ~Can’t you come?” Janie stole back to the sitting room. Polly was sleeping heavily. Down by the fire-place in a camp-oven was some new-baked bread, and Janie lifted the lid and broke off a three- cornered piece, which she put in her pocket. She did not dare to take any other food from the cupboard, for that was near Polly’s room, and the door stood wide open, as is the way ' in these bush-houses. . A daring project had entered the child’s mind, and she went out again by the verandah to the back of. the hut, where was the little skillin-room in which Dick was locked up. By placing a forked log against the window—and oh! what an effort it was for the puny arms! —she could just manage to clamber up, and presently she was at little Dick’s side, and ‘bidding him “hush!” had lifted him in her arms, and was guiding him painfully down to the ground. They stood out.in the pale moonlight—the two children, free to roam whither they _ would. The lake lay before them—a rippling sea tipped with moonbeams. Janie drew Dick with her, and they ran along the beach and under the shadow of the rocks till they reached a shallow cove which Janie knew. There was a tiny floating islet at the point of the cove. It was the stump of an 12 OVER THE SEA. ancient ti-tree, which had floated down from the bank of a creek, and gathering to itself soil and refuse, had put forth quite a bushy crop of shoots from its half-withered stem, The twisted mossy roots made a sort of arm-chair beneath the foliage, and hither Janie had often brought Dick, and had sat with him for long hours, eluding her stepmother’s angry search. Here the gulls and pelicans perched, and to-night one white bird with outstretched wings hovered over the greenery and seemed to Janie like the ‘spirit of her dream inviting her to seek shelter here, With Dick still in her arms the little girl crouched in the hollow of the stump, and | leaned back so that the branches closed round them both, hiding them completely, and leaving visible to them only the stars overhead. The night was very warm, and the Southern Cross shone clear, though there were dark clouds low on the horizon. Dick slept peacefully, and the gulls crouched on the furthest bough. By and by Janie slept too. She slept so soundly that she had no sense of rising wind or of heaving waters. — When she awoke the sky was lightening. The rosy dawn seemed near, and the land far away. Janie gave a little bewildered cry which awakened Dick. The two children started up, and pushing aside the branches looked out from their retreat. 5, Be \ ee, There was nothing round them but water. The floating islet had drifted away in the storm, and they were far out on the great lake. No fear now of Polly’s pursuit. She would never guess where they had gone. The little waves splashed up against the log, and a flock of sea gulls circled overhead. But for the gulls they were alone on what seemed the wide sea. There are no tides nor currents on this shallow inland sea, and while the wind blew from the slopes beneath which Joe Galvin’s hut was built, the tree islet floated straight for the opposite shore. But as the day got on the wind ceased, and the old stump lay like some shipwrecked hull scarcely making any perceptible movement in the water. At first the children were pleased with the novelty of the scene and the situation. Dick liked to watch the birds which still hovered about, and the tiny shell fish that clung to the rotting stump, and the shoals of fish which could be seen distinctly through the clear water. They ate their meal of Janie’s bread, and the afternoon waned, and Dick began to get hungry again, and cried himself into a troubled sleep. Janie’s heart sank, and she wished that the wind would rise and send the stump to hore again. But the wind did not rise, and the child began to realize that unless rescue came they must perish of thirst and hunger upon this motionless sea. THE SEA-BIRDS’ MESSAGE. 13 Late the next night Joe Galvin rode up to the station, the master of which employed him, and wild with grief and excitement implored that a search party might be got together to hunt for the two children, lost in the bush. He had come home that morning to hear the news, and Polly in her remorse and anxiety had told him of her plan of punishing Dick, and of how she feared that Janie had taken the boy away to escape the beating she had threatened. Joe Galvin in his fury struck his wife and left her, while he went wandering madly along the lake shore, and through the bush near the hut seeking for tracks and finding none, for the rain of the night before had washed out all marks of the little footsteps. Then he mounted his horse and galloped to the station for help. It was not long before the search-party set out—the master and two young men of the station, Galvin and four Duels trackers, each two going a different way and searching during the night while the moon lasted. They beat about towards different points of the lake shore, and when there came the pitch darkness before dawn, they made fires and coo-eed. And the master tells how he and, Galvin walking together - would pause, and start, and rush wildlyin some direction when they fancied achild’s cry came, only to find that - it was the cry of a curlew or of some other night bird, or the sound .,of the wind ,soughing eerily through the oaks. The wind blew fiercely that night, and the tree-islet with the two little beings upon it drifted back to shore. In 0 AGES the morning the bush-boys found tracks of children’s feet upon a cane ‘hill near the lake. A shout of joy went out,and with frenzied eagerness Joe Galvin followed the tiny footmarks. The trackers lost them again, found them once more, followed them along a gulley bed, and once more lost them. It was almost evening when they stopped at the foot. of a little stony hillock attracted by an eagle hawk eins in the air. A terrible fear smote Galvin. He motioned to the master to go first, and hung back, his limbs tottering, brawny bushman as he was, like the limbs of one faint to death. The master stepped forward. It was under a rocky knoll overgrown with wattle and scarlet kennedia that he saw the children lying. At first he thought that they had stopped to rest, and were only sleeping. Dickie was clasped tight in Janie’s arms, and Janie lay, her head upon a stone, her face upturned with a smile upon her poor swollen lips. When he went closer he saw that they were dead. NAN. ROUND the cliff ran the pathway, and along the pathway darted a beautiful bright butterfly, and after the butterfly darted Nan. What the butterfly thought about it all it is impossible to say. Probably he observed that Nan did not run very fast, and accordingly. “felt perfectly safe. What Nan felt is easier-to infer. Not that she was so very eager to catch the butterfly after all: at all events, she soon stopped her chase and stood gazing out to sea, What did she see? A: little cloud rising out of the the horizon. Was it chance made her gaze so yonder? What had for her? What was bringing to her? darted across her eyes Nan took up the chase. — and a tender darkness and the girl hastened that lay below. | there was a wreck upon caused by a storm so had never forgotten it, and whenever the sky and sea ship—a fine East India- west, and a strange vessel on or foreboding that steadfastly and sadly the cloud in its bosom the strange vessel But the butterfly again, and once more Presently the sun sank, fell upon sea and shore, home to the littlevillage Twelve years ago that shore, a wreck. terrible that the village seldom ceased to talk of it were threatening. The man—had been taken on a sunken reef through the care- lessness of a drunken pilot: and then the wind which had been blowing — ‘ strongly turned to a perfect hurricane, and the vessel was literally torn to pieces. Of the whole ship’s company, passengers and crew, only one was saved—and that a tiny baby just - born at sea and plucked from her dead mother’s breast when the body was thrown ashore. The baby is now a strong, bright girl ; and you have seen her this afternoon chasing the butterfly round the cliff, above the very sea where she may almost be said first to have seen - the light. The lifeboat had gone out to the wreck but it was in vain ; and the brave fellows who 4 NAN. | 15 had manned her only saved their own lives by a miraculous chance. All the villagers were out upon the shore, watching, praying, hoping, longing to be of some use. And it seemed almost a mockery when for all their wishes to render assistance there was but one tiny babe to need it. There was almost a competition for the privilege of giving the little one a home, for the kindliness in the hearts of the villagers was not measured by their means. But when by the advice of the parson and the doctor the honour was assigned to John Brown’s young wife who had not long lost her own baby, all. the villagers accepted the decision and proffered such help as they could afford to Mrs. Brown, in the way of clothes, food, and—above all—advice. So Nan—they had christened her Nannie from a name they found engraved on a locket round the neck of her mother—grew and flourished in her new home, without a single relative to own kinship with her, but with such love as even relationship does not always imply. The Browns often speculated whether the child would ever be claimed ; and as they turned over the mother’s clothes which they had religiously kept, they Med themselves -whether it was their duty to tell the child that they were not her parents. But the idea of losing Nan who was now to them as their own child, and the improbability that she would ever be sought for, made them shrink from telling her the story of her life. So they lived on, putting out of sight the possibility of losing her, and she, knowing nothing and consequently without doubts or apprehensions. John Brown was a coastguard, and in the days of this little tale, coastguards had a great - deal more to do than look to sea and chat to seaside visitors. ; As Nan ran up the shingly path to the cottage, he was just starting for his night-watch. “Why, Nan, my lass,” he said, “I thought you were lost, my pretty one,” as she lifted her face for his good-night kiss. “Lost, father! That would be a fine thing, indeed,” she answered. “No—lI stayed some time with Granny on the down, and then coming along the cliff path I tried to catch a butterfly and—oh, father,” she added, “there’s going to be a storm to- -night, and Isawa -strange ship in the offing.” « And what of that, my lass?” laughed Brown. “Haven't you seen plenty o’ strange craft afore? One ’ud think you expected some one aboard her.” And so saying he kissed the girl, and steadily wound his way up the cliff path to his beat at the top. “Some one aboard her!” The words seemed to linger in Nan’s ear. > But who that had anything to do with her could be aboard the ship? Nevertheless the girl could not get the words out of her memory, and as she sat at tea with her “mother” her thoughts kept with the strange ship, and with the storm that she knew was coming. The night drew on, and the wind was now blowing a heavy ts and as the tide was. at the full, the noise in the bay was bewildering. Anxious faces of women and children were pressed against the darkening window- « 16 OVER THE SEA: panes, and men stood about in groups on the beach road, speculating, wondering, and thankful they were safe ashore to-night. Brown on his beat at the top of the cliff, and his wife in their cottage below both were thinking of the terrible wreck just twelve years ago, when Nan came to bless their lives out of the very jaws of death. And Nan herself lay in bed, trembling as the storm shook the cottage, and still haunted by the sight of the strange ship. ; By this time the strange ship—a Dutch lugger—was close in shore, running helplessly before the wind, and drifting right towards the fatal reef. rs It was too late to warn her by | rockets. “No shouts or even She was doomed. The life- though it was but a forlorn in the cottages,’ blankets of those who should be guns would have been heard in the din: boat was being hastily manned, hope. Fires were being stirred got ready in anticipation saved, and all the place was alive with pity, hope, and preparation. And then the vessel struck, Allwasoverina ¢ few seconds, and nothing mass of floating, drifting struggling bodies. For the terrors of that night. trembling, and then at “mother” at the door of into the blowing night: back filled with half- the men on shore cheered how the rescued crew to one cottage, and one how to their cottage was © ing seaman, and laid remained of her save one timbers, and helpless, years, Nan remembered How she lay for a while last got up and joined her the cottage looking out how the lifeboat came drowned creatures: how as she put out to sea again: were carried here and there, one to another: and, clearest of all, borne the body of a strange-look- a before the bright kitchen fire. Among the men who carried him in was the village doctor, and seeing that this was a doubtful case he stayed,. . and-after long and patient rubbing, and expanding of the arms and legs, the seemingly- lifeless body gave a struggle, and life rushed back to the white cold limbs. The rest was easy, and the good doctor leaving the rescued man in Mrs. Brown’s care, passed on to see to others who needed his skill. With morning, Brown came home, to find a strange man standing at his door muttering and scowling, while his wife and Nan were within, worn out with their exertions, and disappointed with the strange conduct of their ungrateful charge. ‘Look here, mate,” he said—“it’s bad luck to lose a berth aboard of a good ship—not as I thinks much of an Englishman who ships with a Dutchman as you.appear to have done. But there ain’t no call for you to be rough with those who’ve done their best with NAN. 17 you. So if youcan’t keep a civil tongue in your head, you'd best sheer off, or you and I'll come to words.” “Better if they’d left me alone,” growled the man. “What's life to them as hates it?” and he turned off to the village inn that lay across the way. ; Brown thought this unwelcome guest was gone, and indeed, was not sorry for his departure. But he was mistaken. Day after day went by, and he still stayed on at the Blue Anchor, smoking, drinking, quarrelling, and swearing, till at last the Dutchman’s mate, as he was called, became a byword in the place. One day Nan was passing the door of the Blue iwchoe when she heard a gruff voice —“Come here.” . She looked up» and there on a bench sat, or rather lounged, the “mate,” his face crimson, his eyes glazed and start- _ mug and broken pipe on the table he growled. Nan went up to him. “going?” he asked, look- “Up to granny’s, sir— ing, and an empty beer before him. “Come here,” Too terrified to refuse, “Where yer ing hard at her. on the down,” she The mate stag- answered. gered to his feet, her that Nan shrank till his bloated face hers, he seized hold which the girl had “ Whose locket’s almost tearing it neck. and came so close to back. Bending down was almost touching of her mother’s locket worn for years. that?” he shouted from the — child’s But before he had Brown steppedacross / said or done more, the street, and came to Nan’s rescue. The mate now seemed sobered, and ms began to talk in maudlin fashion. : “ The locket’s mine. The locket’s her mother’s. I gave it her. And they say she’s drowneded. The kid’s mine!” he added fiercely to Brown; and putting his arm round Nan he drew her to him—“ Kiss yer father, my dear.” Nan cried, and put out her arms to Brown. She only thought it was the freak of a drunken man. But Brown, with sick heart, felt it was all true. The long-dreaded trial had come. The sea that had brought Nan to bless their lives was now the means of parting them. “Come across to my place,” he said quietly : and the mate followed, still holding Nan’s hand tightly, as though determined to assert to the full his authority and power. Needless to tell what followed. Dazed, besotted, brutal as he was, his story was too circumstantial to be discredited, though Brown and his wife would not be convinced for a Cc 18 OVER THE SEA. long time: nor would they consent to give up the child till they had taken the advice of the parish counsellors—the parson and the doctor. But the trial of parting was prolonged, deferred ; for the father havice established his claim did not seem so anxious now to assume the responsibility. And Nan’s dread of the new life had been almost quieted But it came at last. morrow. She was to leave her real parents, those who by the ties of love were her only parents. How she had prayed them to keep her still, not to send her away, not to give her up. & But with breaking hearts they And now on the last evening Nan is kneeling by bed where she hasslept At the window stands gazing listlessly across that stormy night that brought the baby to: Nan is praying aloud. mother” to hear her pray. “Our Father ”—but before she has finished ‘she hears a heavy, staggering step in the next room, and oath after oath poured out as her “father” reels in from the Blue Anchor. - And this is the father to whom she must give up herself. Yes, Nan. It is “our Father’s” will; and He will help you in the new life: He will bless all you do to win him back to something of his old innocence: He will console you for the loss of those you must leave ; for He is “our Father” who, though in Heaven, sees and loves all on earth. agony of parting, and her , by mere postponement. She was to go. to- told her she must go. they will be together her little bed—the all these happy years. her “little mother ” the sea, remembering ‘twelve years ago her. It comforts “little rama i ORT AT THE GATE SAT THE GATE . ve) “WHEN will dear father come? Me so tired of waiting, Sissy, dear,and me do want my supper!” lisped a rosy-faced little maiden of five years old, seated one lovely summer evening on the gate leading (as you will see by the picture) to their sunny home- stead—a real picture of a genuine farmhouse, beautifully situated in a grassy dell, with a tiny stream (the delight of the children) trickling through it a few yards from the house. “Don’t be impatient, Rosie, dear,” answered the older sister who was standing by her. “The longer you wait the more you will enjoy your supper when you get it; and see, darling,” she continued, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked down the glade, “see, here comes father, so jump down and let us run and meet him.” With these words she helped the child to spring down from the gate, and hand in hand they ran as fast as little Rosie’s fat legs allowed of towards their father, who hurried to meet his children as soon as he observed them approaching, and with a kiss for the elder, sprang his little pet off the ground to his shoulder, and hastened homewards. To Rosie’s delight, a plentiful supper of home-made bread and butter, new-laid eggs, and bowls of milk, spread on the whitest of table-cloths, was awaiting them, and the mother, who had also been on the look-out for some time past, now devoted herself to satisfying their wants, especially those of the hungry little child. “What has so delayed you, father, dear?” she at last questioned the good man of the house. “TI began to think you were lost.” C2 20 OVER THE SEA. “Well, wife, I will tell you. I have had an adventure to-day which might have ended badly enough, but thanks to the big lump of plum-pudding you made me take away with me this morning, instead of ending badly, see here!” And taking a purse from his trousers pocket, to the astonishment of his wife, he counted out on the table before her fifty golden sovereigns. She could hardly believe her eyes, and lifting up her hands in astonishment, exclaimed : “ Why, John, dear, what is the meaning of it all? Are you dreaming, or am 1? For what can my plum-pudding have to do with all that gold?” The children meanwhile gazed with wide-open eyes, and all anxiously awaited the wonderful story. “Yes, wife,” he said, laughing at their bewilderment, “you may indeed be surprised, but I say again that I owe those bright pieces to your slice of plum-pudding, and here it is!” taking as he spoke something out of the inner pocket of his coat. “To my dying day I shall keep it, and leave it as an heirloom to my family to show how the most unlikely thing may become through Providence the means of saving a life. “T went off to market this morning somewhat in a hurry, as you know, and on my way back through the woods, about five miles from there, seeing that my watch pointed to twelve, I was thinking I might have a rest and eat my dinner, when I suddenly heard voices and the tramp of approaching feet, and became aware that a shooting party was close at hand. “You know how fond I am of sport, and I thought I would watch them at it a bit, but not to disturb the gentlemen, I kept on the opposite side of the hedge, where I had a good view of their proceedings. AT THE GATE. 21 “They were good shots, the whole lot of them, and many were the rabbits I saw rolled over, and the partridges that fell to the ground killed outright, and not only wounded, I was glad to see. At last in my excitement I was standing at a low part of the hedge when one of the gentlemen perceived me and called out, ‘Here, my good fellow, just hold my gun while I get over the hedge into the next field. I caught sight of a fine covey of partridges out yonder, and must have a shot at them.’ “Of course I took the gun which was held out to me across the hedge, but whether the trigger caught on a bramble bush or what really happened I don’t know at this moment— bang went the gun, and down I fell unconscious. “When I came to, which was pretty soon it appears, I found brandy was being poured down my throat, and was aware of eager inquiries as to whether I was hurt. “Well, I felt stunned-like by my fall, and made sure I was wounded, especially when I saw a hole or two in my coat ; but, would you believe it, the shot had embedded itself in that precious slice of plum-pudding in my breast-pocket instead of going into me, and so here I am, sound as ever. “ The gentlemen around me seemed heartily glad that no harm had: happened, especially the one to whom the gun belonged, who seemed to consider himself responsible for the accident, for which he expressed great concern. He helped me up and shook hands with me, taking this purse out of his pocket, which he put into my hand, saying: “*Take this, my good fellow, as an earnest of the relief I experience from what might have been a day of remorse to me for the rest of my life. That slice of plum-pudding has been a kind of talisman, and I am going to ask you for a piece of it to take away with me in remembrance of a day’s sport that might have had a tragical ending,’ “And he took the bit I broke off, and went away hurriedly with his friends as if he wished to escape from my thanks as soon as he felt sure that I was all right and required no further assistance. “ The shock, however, had rather upset me, and it took me some time to get home, as I rested more than once by the way, though most anxious to get back to all my dear ones.” During the recital of the farmer's adventure the poor wife had hardly been able to control her emotion, and at its close she got up and embraced her husband fondly, saying : “ How can I be sufficiently thankful to have you safe home? Little did I think when I gave you that bit of pudding as the first thing that came to hand this morning for your dinner, because you seemed in a hurry to be off, that it could have averted a danger. But don’t cry, children. Let us be thankful for all mercies, including the good fortune that has befallen us. With this purse of gold we shall be able to do all kinds of things. To-morrow, father, dear, old Dobbin must be harnessed directly after breakfast, and we will all drive to the town and get the children the new clothes they are so much in want of.” “ And a boo’ful talking dolly for me,’ chimed in a little voice. “And a real feast next week to which we will ask all our poorer neighbours,” said the elder girl; “and let us have the blind fiddler to play to us, and mother must make such a big plum-pudding as never was seen.” 22 _ OVER THE SEA. “Yes, yes,” assented the mother, “ whatever you like best, eas but you must really be off to bed now, and be up early in the morning for our start.’ The next morning by daybreak the little household was all astir—Rosie bhatiering 6 away | as fast as her tongue could wag, while her elder sister was trying to dress her under conditions of the greatest difficulty as the child would not stand still a moment. Aftera hasty breakfast, old Dobbin in the cart came round to, the door, and the party having taken their respective seats started off in high glee. “Gee up, old horse!” said the farmer as be took the reins, “get over your nine miles as quickly as you know how.” Dobbin. responded by putting his best foot forward, and soon settled down into a steady trot. It was a pleasing sight on that lovely morning to see the happy family overflowing with pleasure and excitement start- ing for a day of enjoyment in each other’s society. They all thoroughly enjoyed the drive to the town,and then the real business of the day began. \ First the dinner at the Inn— Ss which had all the charm of novelty for the children—then the shopping ; getting their finery and choosing Rosie’s doll, which was a long operation, for never having been in that fairyland for children—a toy- shop—before, when the child found herself there, she nearly lost her head. _ The rows of dolls bewildered her by their number and variety. Blue-eyed, dark-eyed, flaxen-haired, brown-haired, dressed and undressed darlings—some in baby clothes, others in walking attire, and even grand ladies with sweeping trains, moving arms and legs, saying papa and mamma, and all casting appealing glances at Rosie as if they were saying: “I do so want a change—I should like to come and be your little girl—pray, pray, buy me!” Arid not of course being able to buy all she at last decided on a big baby-doll because it: looked so gentle and sweet, and she thought it would be quite like the little sister she had always longed to have. AY, THE GATE... - 23 Some of the dolls looked so grand they quite frightened her, and then there were so many wild animals in the shop with fierce eyes that-she was quite glad to get away from them —bears, elephants, camels/and even crocodiles thatshe had hitherto only seen in picture-books—although they were standing quietly on the shelves, she felt alarmed at being in such company. But the crowning treat of the day -was when their father took them to the circus which was holding its performances in a large field just outside the town. Rosie’s excitement knew no bounds at the sight of the clowns and ponies and performing dogs, the fairy-like beings in their short muslin skirts jumping through paper hoops, or gracefully standing on one leg while their horses galloped wildly round the arena—all this was such a scene as she had never imagined, and she rubbed her eyes and pinched herself to make sure that she was really: awake, and that it was her very own self beholding all these wonders. It was a very tired little girl who was at last tenderly lifted into the cart and ended by sleeping all the way home. The good housewife had not forgotten either to get all that she wanted for the coming feast to the neighbours, and during the next few days the | farm-house was ina busy whirl of preparation. On the day appointed for the: gathering not one was absent who had been invited. The table had been spread under a big tree in front of the house and amongst all the good things on the board, the most conspicuous object was a huge decorated plum-pudding. After dinner, and before they began to dance on the green, the worthy farmer’s health was drunk:by all present, and he was begged on all sides to relate the story of his adventure. He did not require to be asked twice, and the history of the lucky slice of plum-pudding became the topic of conversation for many a day afterwards all round the country-side. All the good wives took to making plum-puddings and insisting on stuffing a piece into their husbands’ pockets when they left home, not thinking that if a similar accident should befall them the shot might not another time happen to lodge on the plum-pudding side. The fifty pounds was only the beginning of the farmer's good luck, for it was invested in a manner that turned out so well that he was at last able with the proceeds to buy some land and eventually possess a snug little farm of his own. Every year seemed to increase in prosperity and he passed the remainder of his days in peace and comfort surrounded by his children’s children who were never tired of hearing the story of the reason why their mothers long ago waited for him so long at the gate. LOST IN THE BUSH. St VA tex, IT was a very hot day, and a hot day in Australia is something that English children will hardly be able to picture to themselves, so much hotter is it than the hottest day they can possibly think of. But they can at any rate know by their own experience how restless it makes children even in a temperate climate, and can remember times when their elders have said, “ Do be quiet, children, and sit still, if you can; you make yourselves so. much warmer moving about.” And this was just what a tall, slim Australian girl of sixteen was saying to her younger brother and sister, who seemed ‘to fancy that any other place must be cooler than the particular spot in which they happened to be at the moment. “Sakes alive, children! don’t be worrying round like this, for I can’t do with your fidgeting at all. Father will be wanting his clothes looked after a bit if he’s going from home for a week, and all Mrs. Wright’s time is taken up cooking and cleaning while the shearing’s going on. One good job, that’ll be over to-morrow. He's very rough on_his. shirts, is father,” continued the girl as she took up one of the flannel garments in question from a pile lying on the table by which she was standing. “Oh, Belle!” cried a little eager voice, “is the shearing to be over to-morrow, and mayn’t we go to the shed now this very minute and watch Jim Long?” and the little girl caught her breath with excitement as she turned her pretty flushed face up to her sister. “They do say that Jim can shear a hundred in a day all to himself,” broke in Master Tommy ; “a hundred, Belle, think of that! But I believe it, ’cos he put a new blade into. my penknife, and he made that old watch of father’s. to go, and he can dance a hornpipe better nor any of the other hands, Jim can.”. And Tommy looked round on his small audience with an air of triumph, as if he had- proved Jim Long’s capabilities in the sheep-shearing line beyond the shadow of a doubt, Belle, still busy with her inspection of ‘her father’s garments, smiled at her brother as. she said, “Why not say at once, Tommy, that Jim Long’s a sailor, or has been one anyhow, and that sailors are handy—and strong—and gentle—and kind,” with a little . break between her sentences, as: hersvoice sank gradually into a soft murmur, just as if she were talking to herself. - oe “But, Belle, you haven’t answered,” interrupted Libby ; “you haven’t said if we may go.” H > 5 mM fu a - Z - u) : LOST IN THE BUS 7. 25 “Well, if you promise to be very good, and not get in the way, or go out of the shed, until the sun goes down a bit. My word! but you'll be baked before you get there. Why can’t. you bide in till evening, Liberty? I never did see such a ramping child.” “Tell you what, Belle,” interposed Tommy, with an air of settling the whole matter, “you give us a bit of that cake I saw you baking yesterday, and a bottle of cold tea, and we'll take it with us and have it in the shed. Ain’t I a fellow to think of things just ?” “Ves, yes!” cried Libby, clapping her hands at the prospect of anything out of the usual way, especially when a big sister is too busy to tell stories or do anything shirts ” then,” said the elder girl reluctantly ; “ but mind father said it was just likely he might except “bother over father’s old “T suppose you must go, and be in by supper-time, for be off to-night and not And with hasty burnt, shady, straw wait till the morning.” kisses, snatching up their old sun- hats, which were always hang- ing up within reach, the pair stepped out into the glar- ing sunshine, one taking the piece of cake and the other the bottle of each slipped tea, which they intoa pocket as they started off to the shearing-shed. . “Isabel, Tommy, and Elizabeth, whowascalled “Liberty” on account of her fearless spirit and daring ways,were the three surviv- ing children of James Benson, the overseer at Korang, an “up-country ” station in Queensland, with about as big a sheep-run as any in the : district. He had had a great misfortune Betore he came there about four years ago, when Belle was a lanky girl of twelve, and Tommy and Liberty were eight and five years old. Everybody felt sorry for the sad-looking man with the three children in their black clothes, for their mother with her baby-girl, and a boy two years older than Tommy had all been drowned in a flood that had taken place at a little township on the banks of a creek a few miles from some new diggings, where James Benson had been what they call “ prospecting,” which means looking for gold. It was a sad story. The flood had risen so suddenly that the mother had eH time to snatch her baby out of its cot wrapped in a blanket, and the father took his boy up in his arms, and they stepped out ankle-deep in water on the threshold of their cottage which 26. OVER THE SEA. was very soon after washed away by the force of the current. James Benson managed to hoist his wife up on a limb of a fallen tree, and to get up there himself with Ned, and the house-dog who had followed them jumped up too, shivering and whining with fright. But after a time the father and the boy were knocked off by a big log that struck Benson on the arm with which he was holding on, and though he managed to get to another tree with the boy on his back, the poor child at last slipped off his father’s ‘shoulders into the water, while the tree, to which the mother still clung with her baby, was swept down quite far away from the other two. It was a pitch dark night so that they could see nothing, and the rain coming down in torrents. The next morning early a relief party, which had been sent out in search, came i dering about not very where the cottage much exhausted upon Benson wan- far from the place © had stood; he was — and battered about, man who had lost of the wife and recovered till the and seemed like a his wits. The bodies children were not next day, one of miles down the some distance In the midst of at this terrible son was yet able three dear chil- him. They had time with a relative them quite four stream, and all from each other. his griefand misery blow James Ben- to thank God that dren were still left to -been staying at the in another part, having been attacked by some childish malady which the other two had not taken, and as the baby was delicate, it was thought better to send them away, and they were thus spared the sad fate of the others. , Belle did her best to comfort her father in his affliction, and to be a mother to her younger sister and brother. No children were better looked after or cared for, and it was very rarely that she allowed Liberty away from her side, though Tommy, who was now ten years old, was growing into a nice companion for his. father, who often took him with him on his rounds. So it was rather in the way of a treat that the two started off together for the afternoon all by themselves. We must follow them to the big wool shed, at one end of which they went and sat down on an upturned bucket, opposite to the long row of shearers. It was a capital place to see all that was going on, for in front of every man on the other side of the shed are ! This is a true incident. LOST IN THE BUSH. 27 narrow doors opening into little pens into which each sheep is hustled after having been deprived of his fleecy covering. Although the men are too busy to talk much to each other, there is a constant hubbub going on, and I regret to say, some swearing and bad language as the poor frightened animals are dragged one by one to the shearers. When once held down with a knee pressed upon them, they are generally quiet enough, but sometimes they shrink or wriggle about in the shearer’s hands, and get a sharp snip which requires to be daubed with tar to make it heal. PETS. ee Denier Clawke A LITTLE fair-haired girl was lying: asleep on the seat of a railway-carriage. So sound asleep was she that she did not rouse up when the train stopped and a lady got in—an acquaintance of hae, dagy already sitting beside the child, for the two began at once to talk. “Who is your small travelling companion ?” asked the new-comer. “Mrs. Prickard’s grandchild. .Her mother died lately in ee so she is oe sent home. I have only had charge of her from London.” . “Mrs. Prickard?” said the other. “What, that fine- looking sd lady who lives all alone with her maid and her pet dog? Dear me! what will she do with a child? It will oe Bee be likes to undertake such a “The child will put joint,” said the first lady. “or else the dog will put | added, ‘in French, “the Little Maisie had indeed. had heard much of | said. She was just to assure them that so cruelly to any dog, dreadful prophecy that would be sure to do it be a terrible place if happen here! And -be a great burden. I wonder she charge.” the dog’s nose out of " “Ves.” said the other, hers.—But hush!” she child is waking up.” already waked up, and what the two friends starting up indignantly she wouldnever behave when they added that if she did not the dog to her. England must such things could _ what was that which they were saying just before about her being a charge and a.burden to her grandmother? It . had always seemed so natural that she should be taken care of and petted by everybody, that the thought of being unwelcome was strange to her and very disagreeable. So it was a very timid as well as a pale and tired little face that showed itself by the cheerful firelight when Mrs. Prickard took off the little one’s hat and looked at her, and GRANDMOTHER'S PETS GRANDMOTHER’S PETS. 35 then folded lovingly in her arms the little granddaughter who had come to her from over the sea. . By the time that Maisie was in bed and was receiving her granny’s good-night kiss she had changed her mind, and thought that England in general and granny’s home in particular was a very nice, comfortable place after all. It was Mrs. Prickard’s servant Leah who dressed Maisie the next morning. “As I used to do to your papa, my dear,’ she told her, “more years ago than I care to count.” When Mrs. Prickard heard that her offer to take little Maisie was accepted, she had held council with Leah as to how they were to manage, for she could not well afford the expense of a nurse. Leah was sure that to have a girl in to help would be much better than giving the little one into the care of a stranger. Hannah will be proud to do for that right enough, “There’s only one thing “What is that, Leah ?” Dandy like having a child | ma’am ?” the little dog. wondering the same “There’s young come. We. shall ma’am,”’ she said. that’s troubling me.” “How will Mr. about the place, Mr. Dandy was His mistress had been thing, but she would not “They will be nice They need not have Dandy would behave to “Come, Maisie dear, say so, even to Leah. playfellows,” she said. been anxious as to how his new friend. : and make acquaint- ance with the gentleman of the house,” said her grandmother when Maisie came down staits on the first morning. “Dandy, say good morning to little Maisie.” Dandy came forward, ready to do his best, and seeing Maisie’s face so nearly within reach, he made a jump to give her a kiss. ; Maisie screamed, and clapped her hand to her nose. “My dear, what is it? did he hurt you?” asked her grandmother. “No,” said Maisie, ashamed, when she saw his face of anxious inquiry, to tell that she had thought that he was going to put her nose out of joint. “He wouldn't want to hurt me, ever, would he, granny ?” “No indeed, Dandy never wants to hurt any one. You should see how good he is to the kittens and chickens. Pussy trusts him with her kitten if she wants to go for a walk, and Dandy takes care of it for her until she comes back.” As they were sitting together on the rug after breakfast, Maisie whispered to Dandy. “We don’t want to do nothing to each other’s noses, do we, dear?” And Dandy wagged his tail and looked so knowing that he must have understood. D2 36 OVER THE SEA. By the time that Spring came, you would ‘hardly have known the little pale timid stranger in the merry, rosy child who filled the house with chatter and with laughter ; Maisie learnt her lessons with her grandmother, and took her walks with everybody in the house, especially Dandy. Every sunny morning she and granny took a turn round the garden, and it was pretty to see them together, the child with her basket, the grandmother with her stick, and Dandy I am sorry to say generally sitting down with his back to them to show that he disapproved of the proceeding. How could people prefer to saunter in a garden when there were fields to scamper in, lanes to sniff in, and roads to trot along? It was too silly! thought Mr. Dandy. “Granny,” said Maisie one day as they were walking thus together,“am I a charge and a burden to am Granny nearly dropped her ished to hear the child talk “Nothing of the sort!” such a thing into your pet and my dear child.” pet, granny?” you?” stick, she was so aston- in this way. she said. “What put head? You are my “Tsn’t Dandy your “Dandy is my pet too; you are both grand- “And is this little granny? You always stop “Well, dear, if trees might call this one a pet planted it before he went I care for it for his shall be your tree ss 299 your father’s. mother’s pets.” apple-tree your pet, and look at it so.” can be pets, you of mine. Your father out to India, and so sake, Maisie, it now, because it was “ “Mine, my real very own? Oh,” look, isn’t it a pity granny, how nice! But that the flowers are all dropping off?” “The flowers must fall, dear, for the fruit to come.” 2 “And will the apples be mine too? Yes? how jolly!” and Maisie jumped about in her joy. “When will they be ripe, granny?” “Let me see, when is your birthday? the twenty-eighth of September. I think they will be ripe on your birthday.” Maisie’s face fell ; that was a long, long time to wait. The pleasant summer, Maisie’s first English summer, went by, and every day she visited her tree, and three*times a week at least she counted the apples on it: fifteen, and all of them healthy and promising, If grannies ever did get tired of answering questions, Maisie’s grandmother would have grown tired of telling her how soon her birthday was coming. At last it came to Next ’ GRANDMOTHER'S PETS. 37 month ; this month; in a fortnight; next week. Now it did seem as if it were really coming, “Dandy,” said Maisie—for she told everything to Dandy and to her doll—« Dandy, it’s my birthday next week; did you know? and granny is going to give me a present, but I don’t know what it will be. And I shall have a nice letter from father, and Leah’s going to make me a cake, ’cause she said so, and I think Hannah is dressing a doll for me, ’cause ‘Tran in and she popped it into a drawer and looked as if she didn’t know nothing. And I couldn’t even see if it’s got painted hair or real. Oh, Dandy, don’t you hope it’s got real hair ?--There’s granny, let us run to her.” “Granny,” said Maisie, “do grown up peoples have birthdays too ?” “Ves, dearie.” “Do they have presents on their birthdays, granny?” “Well no, not often, I think.” : “Then how do they make them be dey: 2? What do you do to keep your birthday, granny ?” “Well, dear, if I want to keep it I do a kindness or make a present to some one else,” said grandmother. “Oh! Then I’m glad I am a little girl and not a grown-up people.” But that evening when Maisie had said her prayers and was lying in bed in that pleasant time for thinking while you are still not so sleepy but that you can, think your - thoughts and not your thoughts think you; she began to think that granny’s was not such a bad way after all. Why should she not keep her birthday in both ways? “It would make you feel nice,” she thought, “as one does after being good in Church.” Gs But what had she got to give? The apples! Yes, she would give away her beautiful apples. The next morning Maisie went to her tree. “Those three beauties shall be for granny,’ she said; “and that for Leah, and that for Hannah, and that for the gardener, Dandy doesn't care for apples. I,wonder—” and Maisie ran into the house. “Granny, - can you send apples to India?” “No, sweetheart, I am afraid not.” “Then, granny, may I give three of my apples to old Patty, oe three to her lame boy?” “Yes, that you may.” “And may I take them there all myself?” Granny thought perhaps she might. Maisie ran back to count over her apples. There would be just three left for herself : that would do nicely. “] wish my birthday was to-morrow,” she sighed. It came at last, and as lovely a day as could be wished. Maisie received charming presents, and the doll had got real hair, and Maisie kissed her, but Dandy wouldn’t. 38 : OVER THE SEA: She went and gathered her apples, gave them as she had planned, and set off with her basketful to old Patty’s cottage. Granny was watching for her when she came back. “Well, dear, did you like your walk all by yourself?” “ Pretty well,” said Maisie, “but I was not alone, Dandy went with me. Oh, granny, came and asked him to go fora I’m going with my little girl; her.” And oh, granny, then nearly ran home, but Dandy to have him! And then I must put it down; so we blackberries are and rested. at the birds and the sky, floating by—such a soft he was so good! Miss Jenkins’s little dog walk, and Dandy put his legs stiff and said,‘No, it’s her birthday, and I’m not going to leave ; there came some gooses and hissed, and 1. drove them out of the way, and I was glad was tired, and the basket got so heavy I sat down under the hedge where the It was sonice there! I looked and a little cloud came little white cloud—and I thought perhaps there it. And I said my Dandy, but he didn’t was catching a fly was an angel sitting on last hymn all through to attend very well; he that would want to sit on his nose. “Then we went on; and the lame boy was so pleased with the apples, granny. And there was no gooses coming back, and we ran nearly all the way. Isn't Dandy a dear boy? Granny, will you write all about Dandy in my birthday letter to father, and tell him how good he has been ?” “Dear child!” said granny, “I will tell him that you are both of you grand- mother’s pets.” LEE IN GHARGE “LEFT IN CHARGE: A STORY OF OLDEN DAYS ON THE RIVERINA. I SUPPOSE every girl in Australia must know all about the Riverina district, so that if I say anything by way of description of this pastoral region of the colonies, it is only for the sake of those poor benighted feminine minds in the old country who have not been blest by a sight of the ‘Riverina after rain, and so could not possibly be able to realize its deliciousness and. loveliness. I will just tell you what it is like before I begin to talk about my dog “ Tarra,” myself, and our adventures along § @ with poor old Johnny “Cha-Che,” our kitchen gardener. The Riverina after a long dry season is not perhaps the most - fertile-looking landscape one could wish to see, I will admit, but after the shower does come, then is the time to look about one ; tender by magic, and the most greenery that you green grasses springing up as if beautiful flowers amongst the could-wish for, or imagine ; it is as if you went to sleep one night surrounded with — dark-looking ‘soil, pitying the poor grubbing amongst that roots, and then perfect paradise of 4 the angel whoturns~ Now for myself gardener. My sheep who are vainly black dust for grass- opened your wondering eyes next morning in a peace, and plenty—that’s what the Riverina is after on the water-works has passed over the land. and my dog, not forgetting our faithful old Chinaman name is Maggie Harkis, and I am the one and only daughter of a Riverina squatter; our station is on the Billabong River, above Dinilequin. I am fourteen past, this year, but at the time I am going to tell you about I was just going on ten, which of course means as much as fifteen in the old country. I think Iam rather pretty, because every one says so, as well as my looking-glass, only I don’t like the colour of my hair, it is so tawny, although my father says it is a lovely tone, and he ought to know, for he was an artist before he became a squatter ; only Aunt Sarah, who keeps the . s a, 2 40 OVER THE SEA. house for him since mother died, calls it carroty when she is in a temper, which is very often I am sorry to say, and what I am much vexter for than at her anger is | the fact that I cannot help believing her verdict instead of my father’s. Aunt Sarah, father says, was a very nice girl once, before she went home to Tenebne and got presented to the Queen, which made her so conceited that she snubbed all her best friends and thus became an old maid ; that’s what spoilt her and made her so disagreeable; but, as father says, it is the fault with the young colonials nowadays, the boys,smoke ‘cigarettes instead of honest pipes, and the girls dream of being “my lady,” instead of learning to be as amiable as their mothers were, so that the colonies are fast going to the dogs—I don’t know, I’m sure, but if all animals were like my dog “ Tarra,” they might do worse than go to them. “Tarra,” my dog, is not a common dog any more than I am a common girl—he is what you might call a self-contained dog, and does not air his opinions or express his feelings to every one who thinks fit to speak to him at first sight ; indeed, many have gone away, both quadrupeds and bipeds, under the fixed impression that he was a stupid old collie who had not a wag of appreciation or humour in him, all the while “Tarra” was sitting solemnly taking stock of them and their peculiarities, and concocting merry jests at their expense all to himself, his tail as expressionless as are the eyes of John Cha-Che when father is questioning him’ about the packet of opium which the postman brings up weekly from Melbourne. John no “savzes” anything, and when Tarra gives way to the weakness of a “laugh ” or a wag of the tail it is to put people off their guard, not because he is enjoying himself. What I am going to tell you happened just about the end of a very long and dry season, when the only sign of green to be found in the country side was John Cha-Ghe’s kitchen garden, which never lost its colour, no matter what the season was. Father and Aunt Sarah had. driven into Dinilequin to hire fresh servants, as all our old ones had left us in the lurch ; they often do this in Australia, and are one of our great tribulations in life. While | they are with us, you have no idea, how often one ‘wishes they could do without servants nowadays. The house was empty excepting for “ Tarra” and me, ie all the men had gone to the outlying runs to look after the sheep, poor things, which were dying by hundreds for want , of water and meat, and John Cha-Che was inside his own little hut at the bottom of the garden. Father gave strict orders to “ Tarra” to look after the station, and although the old fellow wanted to go with him badly, yet he had too great a sense of his responsibility to stir from my side at the door as we both stood and watched them drive away, along by the dried-up Billabong, through the gum-trees, until they seemed to disappear in a cloud of grey dust behind the mirage which the dry weather always produces in these parts. Perhaps you will not believe it, but we have mirages on the Riverina as distinctly as they could have in the desert. You look round the country on a very dry day, when the sky is all clouded overhead and no sunshine can get through, and there they seem to be, clear lakes of glittering white water with the gum-trunks'starting out of them, just a little distance away, and yet all the time the poor sheep are lying about gasping with hunger and thirst. LEFT IN CHARGE. 4l Well, after “Tarra” and I had seen the last of the dog-cart, we turned about to think how best we could spend the long day before us. Father had taught me how to sketch a little, sovI ran in and got out my book and pencil, and then while looking about me, an idea struck me that I would go down and sketch Johnny Cha-Che before he woke up, for I knew that this was the time he took his forenoon smoke and nap. I had always wanted to take him asleep, but could not do it when Aunt Sarah was at home, for she did not think it proper—she was so very strong on the “proprieties.” No sooner thought than done; | stole down gently through the pumpkins and marrows, and opening the door of the hut discovered my subject lying on his bunk, face upwards, 4 with such a seraphic smile upon his yellow quite looked like a golden 4 nankeens. Tarra sat down door while I placed the best position and study. [had just ral pose inrough, f ace, that he | cherub inblue ' quietly by the stool in the | began = my 14 got the gene- i as father . should be first get the fore-. ~ taught me it done so as to shortening when I was the most un- from Tarra, a properly startled by es} usual sound low growl, a thing he never did excepting to ‘“‘sun- downers” — station, that 1 when they came near the jumped up in quite a fluster, and. drawing the curtain aside from the little window, looked out to see what the matter could be. It was lucky for us all that I did not open the door, but only looked out of the window for there I saw a number of black fellows stealing from the bush towards the empty house. One by one they crept along, with branches held in front of them ; I counted forty before 1] could recover myself enough to think. Then I: remembered how nasty Aunt Sarah had been with the last tribe who had visited us, and how harshly they had been driven off the station by her orders, and all at once | felt how helpless I was, with none of the men near to aid me, while a horror came over me for a moment which deprived me of breath, and the next moment made me feel as old as a grown-up woman. “Cha-Che, wake up,” I cried, shaking the smiling Chinaman, but he never moved a bit or seemed to feel my shaking. Then I looked about me wondering what I would do if they came to the hut and found me alone with only the sleeping Chinaman and Tarra. Tarra! He was looking at me intently with eyes which not only seemed to understand my thoughts, but also were trying their hardest to tell me what to do—ah! I read the wise dog’s meaning at last ; it was—“ Quick, bar the door and window, and then let me go for help.” To | OVER THE SEA. “ Good boy !—wise Tarra!” I cried as I grasped his meaning, and then set to work as quietly and quickly as I could to make things secure, after which I wrote on a leaf of my sketch-book, “The blacks are attacking our station— come back and save us. Maggie Harkis, Marmion Station, Billa- bong River.” This note I tied round Tarra’s neck, and then I turned to watch for a chance to let him out unob- served by the blacks, who by this time had flung away their boughs and were leaping all over the house, satis- fied that there was no one to hinder them, all too busy stealing to Gently I undid the I whispered as I Tarra, to your mas- and at the word he Dinilequin. watch the destruc- the house through a boards, for I had window with some corner. How I cried wretches tearing look about them. door, and opening it softly, pushed him out, “ Run fast, ter,and bring him back was off towards Then I sat down to tion going on up at crack in the weather- jammed up the little wood I found in a & when I saw the down the pretty cur- things all outside, and fought with one meat and drink. They of brandy, and wine, tains and pitching while they scrambled another over the brought out bottles and beer,and whisky, and gulped them all down one after the other, jabbering away like monkeys as they staggered and tumbled about in all directions. I prayed that they might all get so drunk that they would not _ be able to notice the hut after I had seen one or two fall down helpless, but - even as I was praying for this, one of them pointed over to it, and two or three of the others began talking and pointing also. . Then a cold shiver passed over me and I shut my eyes and felt quite sick and faint. ' “ Hallo, Missie Halkis, what you wantche here ?” inquired John, waking quite suddenly and sitting up in his bed, blinking at me with his little black eyes. “Oh, Johnny, it is the black fellows robbing the house.” “Black fellows lobbing? let me see,” and he slid over to the crack and looked out. “You bet, missy, dey will make a blaze plesently.” Once more I looked out and saw them all outside dancing, while great clouds of smoke were bursting from the doors and windows. They had forgotten the hut for a time in their delight at the fire they had made. How quickly it caught and blazed up, while the white smoke rose and then bore down upon the forest of gum-trees with a distant roar like water rushing. si LEFT IN CHARGE. AS “Bush fi soon, you bet—all bound blazey pletty soon,” observed John calmly ; then with some more excitement in his voice he added, “my house next.” Yes, John was right. , As I looked I saw all who could stagger leaving the burning house and come over towards us. : “Oh, John, what shall we do?” ; “Nothing, missy, excepting you can say your players while I take smokee.” "John was right, although it seemed horrible to see him sit down so quietly and begin to prepare his opium while this awful danger was so near; but his advice was good, so I knelt down by his bed and began to pray to God that I would not see them when they Five minutes passed away ~ to save us, shutting my eyes so broke in. without anything hap- pening excepting that strange far-off roaring sound coming nearer which I had heard be- fore. ,What were they doing? I rose once more and peeped out only the place where it eight insensible black ground, and the smoke at the house, to see had stood, with six or fellows lying on the curling upwards. The the forest side and roaring: sound was from coming nearer. Creeping over to the door I again looked through the joints towards the river-bed, road. Then I knew what the black fellows had left’ : “John, we are saved—the : Fin floods are coming.” - There it was, a great rolling wave rushing down the dried watercourse and overflowing its banks in every direction, coming straight down upon us, for the hut stood on a low level, and leaving a perfect sea behind it. The wet weather had begun up country, and which was as dry as a the roaring meant, and why us alone. would soon be with us. “ Quick, missy, jumpy, upon the bed,” cried John, and in another moment we were both standing holding on to the shaking rafters with the water rushing in upon all sides through the crevices as the wave passed by with a shiver and the noise of thunder. Five hours afterwards we were found by the men, who had seen the smoke, and that night father, Aunt Sarah, and Tarra joined us at the woolshed, our only house left ; but, as father said, “ what use heeding about a house or two so long as his Peggy was all right,” for he had been most anxious all the drive back. Tarra had run the whole way to Dinilequin with his message, and now lay contentedly with his nose almost in the fireplace, and even Aunt Sarah forgot to grumble at her failure to secure servants, for the wet weather had at last come, which meant peace and plenty to the Riverina. BERTHA AND THE SNAKE. ae J Cm 224 & y. Bee a WouLp you like to know what Freda and Bertha were thinking of, as they sate on the fallen trunk of the big gum-tree just outside the little wooden cottage where they kept house for their father? Though perhaps it is hardly fair to say that Bertha kept house, seeing that she was not more than six years old, and that the most she did in that way was to have a doll’s wash from time to time. With Freda it was diffe- rent. Freda was a big girl, who would soon be in her teens. Ever since their mother had died, far away in Sweden, and they had come out to Aus- tralia with their father in a ship that swung them up and down all the way, Freda had been like a . little mother to her younger sister. She had carried her about, dressed and undressed her, sung to her, told her stories, and even (though this had been very hard to do) had put her occasionally into the corner when she would not do as she was bid. Lately she had begun to’ teach Bertha to read. Indeed in her own poor little way, she was teaching her more or less all day. You may perhaps-have kept a box of silk-worms some time in your life, and may have seen how the worms nibble all day long at the dark green leaves, until by and by they spin out all they have taken into their bodies in long silk threads, that shine like gold. In the same way poor Freda would go to the books lying in the case they had brought from town, and would get hold of a bit here and a bit there, and carry it all in-her head, until by and by out it would all come in Bertha’s behalf; a smooth shining tale like the silkworm’s golden thread. No wonder Bertha liked to listen to her sister’s fanciful stories—especially upon an evening like this, when the sun was going down behind his curtains of purple and gold at the close of a long hot day. But all this time I have not told you what the two little girls were thinking of. Well, it was all about a fancy of Freda’s. They had been playing on the trunk of the gum-tree until they were tired. Not ordinary play, I beg you to understand, for Freda was wonderful in her “ make-believe.” She had set Bertha upon a bough, and made her suppose she was a princess riding through an enchanted forest in which all the trees had leaves of crystal and gold and silver, that shone and rattled and glittered as the fairy steed cantered by. Then the trunk of the gum-tree had become the mast of a tall ship, which rocked from side to side until it rocked right over and went to the bottom of the sea, AND THE SN BERTHA AND THE SNAKE. 4s where the little mermen and mermaids, wearing wreaths of sea-weed and pearls, had come out of an oyster-shell cave to invite Freda and Bertha to play.with them. Finally it had been turned into a desert island around which the ocean stretched as far as they could see, and Freda feigned to be so much alarmed at the waves that were coming to wash them away, that little Bertha clung to her skirts and cried “Oh! save me! save me!” in tones of real terror. Now as in reality there was nothing but the dry earth and the yellow grass (and very dry and very yellow they were too), the risk of drowning was not so great after all, and being tired by this time—after all the adventures they had been through—the two little girls sate down to watch the sun take his flaming leave of them. They were thinking now of the curious shapes that the gold-tipped clouds assumed. “TI do b’lieve its going to rain, Ido,” little Bertha had said. She always gave weight to her remarks, by repeating her opening words very solemnly, and though she was only:six years old knew quite well that rain was badly needed on their farm. Did not father say every day that the crops would be all dried up if they didn’t have some showers soon, and hadn’t she got her own little foot caught the other day in the big cracks that were opening everywhere in the parched soil of the meadows? Freda had said the earth was so thirsty, it was opening its lips all over the place to drink. Bertha was sorry for the poor thirsty earth, and as for Freda, she was still more anxious for the rain. Had not father promised if it rained that she and Bertha should be sent to school in \ Melbourne, where they would learn to play the piano, and where Freda might take pattern by wiser, taller girls than herself, with—very probably —longer skirts, and hair done up fashion- ably on their heads, instead of hanging loose and ‘“no- how” like hers and Bertha’s. se Well, the clouds add carry a kind of promise in them, and what wonderful pictures they made besides! First of all Freda made out a big polar bear running after a little boy. Then the little boy’s head fell off and he turned into a dog with three legs, by which time the polar bear had changed into an old man with a pipe: and an um- brella, and only one arm. “T can see him quite plainly, I can,” said Bertha. But all of a sudden her voice changed. She crept closer to her sister, and clung tightly toher « arm with her two fat little hands. ‘Oh, Freda! there’s a real alive old man looking at us over there—there is—and I'm so dreffully fright- ened, I am.” i Freda looked quickly , In the direction indi- cated by. Bertha and, ' sure enough, there, standing next ‘to a myrtle-bush was an old man, who seemed to be watching them intently from under the rim of a very shabby felt hat. Freda was a brave little girl, but : she knew that Bertha and herself were all alone on the farm, and aa the unexpected sight of this strange appa- rition suddenly starting up in this lonely spot made her heart stand still fora moment. Her father and his mate were gone with the working bullocks over two miles away, to drag back the stumps of some big trees that had been rooted up last year, and that would have to serve for firewood next winter. They would not be back till long after sun-down, when they would probably fry themselves a steak, and make tea in the-rough front-room that did duty for dining-room and sitting-room and kitchen and smoking- room allat the same time, and that Freda never failed to clean and tidy up so carefully every morning _ like atrue little working housekeeper as she was. Oh! how the children wished their father were near them now. They had no one to whom to turn for protection, nothing but a big, lithe, kangaroo dog, that was only brave in the matter of chasing the fowls and the ducks, and Freda’s white cockatoo, chained to a perch outside the hut, that could not be taught to say “pretty cocky,” but that would swing up and down and screech inharmoniously by the hour together. Yet why be so frightened of a poor old man? Certainly he was dressed in rather a singular fashion. He wore, as I hhave said, a shabby felt wide-awake hat, a woollen shirt, and an old—very old—coat, round which were strapped, behind his back, his red blankets and the quart pot, or tin billy, in which he boiled his water for his tea, when he sate down of a night to his lonely meals, all by yy 46 OVER THE SEA. himselfin the midst of the wide bush. ‘Then his boots ! How worn and cut they were! How many rough roads and stony tracks they must have tramped over to have become so shabby as that! Freda knew now that this man must be what is called a “‘sun-downer ”; that is to say, aman who tramps about along country roads and through the lonely bush, stopping at sun-down at far-away stations and solitary farms to beg a’ night’s shelter in a barn or under a haystack, and to ask may-be for a job of work next day. She wished somehow he had not come just when her father and his mate were so far out of the way. He had such a big, shagey beard, grizzled and tangled, and his face was so hairy all over. It made her think of the wolf in “Red Riding Hood.” And his eyes, as far as she could make them out beneath the rim of his tattered hat, looked so sharp and cunning. Should she go up to him boldly ; and ask him what he wanted, or should she slip down from the trunk with little Bertha in her arms, and run towards the hut, calling out, ‘Father, father, we’re ready for supper!” in order to make the sun-downer believe that their great, strong, good father was sitting inside (oh, how she wished he were smoking his pipe and waiting for his little girls to come and lay the table for supper? : : It was necessary to come to a decision, for Freda perceived that the sun-downer was coming up to speak to them. He hobbled rather than walked, for his feet were sore and blistered, and little Bertha, seeing him approach, buried her face in her sister’s lap and whimpered, “I don’t like him, I don’t.” : “Don’t be a silly little girl,” said Freda resolutely in a low voice, then aloud, “Come Bertha!” she added, “Father ’ll be waiting supper. Pick up your hat and we'll go and ask him what o’clock it is.” Bertha jumped down, and hurriedly extended a fat little hand for the straw hat lying on the gtass at her feet. But instead of picking it up, she pulled away her hand violently and uttered a loud shriek. Meantime Freda was aware that a large black snake had glided out from beneath the hat under which it had lain curled, and was now working its way swiftly across the dry slippery grass to finda shelter beneath the great trunk of the gum-tree upon which she and her sister had been playing. As the reptile crawled along you would have said that its body was made of black moving rings. Another instant, and it would bury itself away out of reach under the ‘sheltering log. Freda’s first impulse was to shriek out loud, as Bertha had done. There was ‘something so loath- some as well as terrifying in the aspect of the snake as it pushed its way actively along over the slippery grass. But like a brave little bush-woman, instead of screaming she did what was more to the point: she seized up a stone lying on the trunk which she and Bertha had made-believe, to be a loaf for the shipwrecked mariners, and hurled it with all the force of her two small hands against the reptile’s head. The snake’s body curled itself up as a worm’s will do when it is cut in half with a spade. It writhed about convulsively, twisting itself nevertheless in the direction of the sheltering log. But another stone, well aimed by Freda at its head, put an end to its struggles by killing it outright. It continued to move, however, for there is a kind of muscular movement left in a snake’s body long after the life is fairly out of it, but it could do no more harm. Then Freda turned round to her little sister, who was nursing her hand and sobbing under her breath all the while. She would have taken her in her arms to console her, buf Bertha pushed her away. “Oh, Freda!” it’s bitten me, it has!” she wailed; and as she held out her fat hand, with a piteous expression of terror in her childish face, her sister saw, to her indescribable horror, that the serpent’s fang had indeed darted its venom into the chubby little arm, just above the wrist, and had left an ugly red and blue mark, from which some drops of blood were slowly oozing forth. d e BLERTHA AND THE SNAKE. : 47 And now it was poor Freda’s turn to raise a cry of bitterest anguish. Better than Bertha : she knew the deadly danger to which her little sister was exposed. A snake’s fang contains a mortal poison in-it, and unless this poison is drawn out of the wound at once it will work its way into the blood and cause the person who has been bitten by the snake to grow sleepy and drowsy, and sleepier and drowsier until by and by he falls into the sleep of death, from which there is no awakening. Unless something was done to save Bertha instantly, this was the fate that would probably overtake her. And what could a poor ignorant little girl like Freda do? She would have given her life for her sister’s, but how would that help her now? In her great and bitter distress she looked wildly around her for assistance, and there by her side was the old sun-downer, whose appearance had frightened her so unreasonably only a few minutes ago. There was no thought of fear now. All such thoughts were swallowed up in the one great overwhelming terror for Bertha. “Oh, pray help us!” she cried to him. “See, my little sister is bitten by a snake!” and she held out Bertha’s hand towards him. In another instant the old sun-downer had pulled out his knife, and was cleaning it upon his sleeve after carefully sticking it into the ground. “Don’t you take on so, missy,” he said to Freda, and it was wonderful what a kind voice he seemed to have. “You tell your sister to be a brave little lass. Tl just make a little bit of a cut in her arm—I won’t huit her more’n I can help—and she’ll be all right—bless you !—in no time.” But at sight of the knife Bertha had begun to shriek afresh. She put her arm behind her back crying loudly, “I don’t want to be cut, I don’t! Iwon’t let him touch me, I won't!” . “You must, Bertha,” cried Freda. “See, it doesn’t hurt so much,” and she snatched the knife from the sun-downer’s hand, and before he could prevent her had actually sliced away a bit of flesh from her own arm. The blood poured from the gash. ; “That ain’t a very nice thing to do,” said the old man ; and it certainly was not, though in her frenzy of dis- tress Freda was hardly responsible for. what she did. “You'd far better catch hold of the little un’s hand than go a hacking of your own that way.” And Freda did as she was told. Poor little Bertha! In vain she fought, and screamed, and struggled. With a face as pale ni as death, Freda held her tightly in her arms while the “." old sun-downer cut the poisoned part away with his knife. And then he lifted the poor bleeding arm to his lips and sucked 48 OVER THE SEA. the wound, to draw away such venom as might still be left in it. And all the time that Bertha was loudly sobbing Freda was saying in her heart, “Oh, if it were only me! if it were only me!” 1 think have taken the snake it wind itself close could only have in- instead of Bertha. were beginning to had gone down, and pricking up its ears wards and forwards of welcome. ‘And girls?” Freda heard ment later. She ran him round the neck. brave before, but as what had happened cried as though her break. You may feelings as he heard may fancy how he sun-downer who had Bertha’s life. For and a‘ week after for her adventure. began to be proud of bourne school, where Freda, she always first thing to every words, ‘I don’t s’pose did it? Well, I had And then she tells the “ drefful accident,” as she calls it, that befel her. downer, Freda’s father wanted him to stay with them end of a few weeks he strapped his swag.again upon his back, hoisted the tin billy into its old place, and took his farewell of the little girls as they sat once more outside their hut-home at sunset. Both Freda and Bertha shed tears as he left them, and when they are at home they have a kindly word for every sun-downer who passes their way, in memory of the old man who saved little Bertha’s life. RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BUNGAY. indeed she would in her arms and let to her heart if she duced it to bite her And now the stars come out. The sun the kangaroo-dog was and running _ back- with yelping barks where are my little her father say a mo- forward and clasped She had been very she tried to tell him she broke down and very heart would fancy the father’s the. story, and you felt towards the old saved _his little Bertha was saved, was none the worse A month after she it, and at the Mel- she now goes with shows her scar the new pupil, with the a snake ever bit you, one’ bite me, I had.” whole. story of the As.for the old sun- always. But at the \ © \ \ \ . 1 & e ¥ i S : -s Be % Ba q at ; oud 4% ~ ; — ; ‘ bd t x * “S 4 SS x + Ne & 2 > 4 \ i ee y & it i “