In the Roaring Fifties Part 24

'And is there no hero now?'

'I have found no other.'

'Ah, that is something! Do you still pray for the old one, Lucy?'

'But you have no faith in prayers.'

'I may have in the prayer.'

'Well, then, I do. You see, you can never be wholly undeserving in my eyes.' With Lucy, as with many girls in whom grat.i.tude is the precursor of love, most of the sentiments due to the kindling affection were credited to grat.i.tude.

'You have not blamed me for neglecting to write.'

'No; I have had no anxiety for some time. I knew where you were and how you were.'

'You knew!'

'I knew that you had made friends, that you were on pay dirt at Diamond Gully, and that the good Australian suns.h.i.+ne had warmed your heart.' She smiled mysteriously.

'Ah, I know,' he said after a moment's thought--'Ryder.'

'Yes, Mr. Walter Ryder. He wrote me that he had come across you at Diamond Gully. He seemed quite interested in you.'

'And I am interested by him. He is a peculiar personality.'

'Yes, so flippant; and behind it all you seem to feel something iron-like, strong and impenetrable.'

Flippant! Ryder had appealed to Jim as anything but a flippant character.

'He is a man of good family. He came to Australia seeking change and adventure. He is rich--very. He did Mr. Macdougal some service, and we saw a good deal of him in Melbourne. Mrs. Macdougal thinks he is an earl at least, and has woven quite a romance about him. She will be glad to see you.'

Done's mind had flown to Burton's estimate of Ryder, and Lucy's evident admiration of, him gave him a little uneasiness.

'Is Mrs. Macdougal of b.o.o.byalla quite well?' he asked.

'Quite. But you must not laugh at her. One gets to like her.'

'If one is quite determined.'

'Whether or no,' persisted Lucy. 'One would care for n.o.body if one were resolved to see only the bad points.'

'That serves me right. The little girl is very like her.'

'Eva is my boon companion, my confidante, my guide, philosopher, and friend--aren't you, dear?'

'My oath!' said the child in a grave, sweet voice. Jim started at the incongruous expression, and looked inquiringly at Lucy.

'Your teaching?'

'How dare you? No; that is the teaching of rouseabouts and gins. I am trying to unteach it. Poor kiddies! I found them queer, wild, little Bush animals, with no childish companions, so I became a child myself, and we are the best mates in the world. The other is a boy, a monkey and a rip, but we are civilizing together. Do you know the funniest things in the world? Children like these and half-grown dogs. I discovered that at b.o.o.byalla.'

'The world is a pretty good sort of place, after all eh?'

'Yes.' She did not wonder at its seeming so very delightful to her just then. 'But you do not tell me. Talk, talk! I want your Australian history.'

He talked, describing his life, pleased with his own fluency, and not a little surprised at it. In half an hour she knew his story since the day he left the Francis Cadman, with certain judicious reservations and emendations. Aurora's name did not appear once in the narrative. This suppression was quite instinctive? Lucy told something of her existence on the station, and they chatted cheerfully of the people on s.h.i.+pboard and the incidents of the voyage, avoiding only the most sensational incident of all--the rescue from the sea.

'Dear me I' cried Lucy; 'I am playing the hostess badly. I have offered you nothing, and you must have had a long tramp.'

'And I've forgotten poor Burton.'

'Go, bring him while I get tea. I must know your mate. Of course you drink tea? Here everybody drinks tea at all hours.'

Jim found Mike admiring a wonderful big bay horse, the astounding virtues of which stimulated the black boy to an incoherent flow of yabber.

'Don't mind me,' said Burton. 'I've had a drink an' a sleep, and I've seen the loveliest animal that was ever lapped in horse-hide. Look at him!'

'We were chatting away in there, and I forgot you, old man. But come along; we are to have tea and grub on the veranda.'

'Not me!' Mike looked wildly for a way of escape.

'Here, here! but you must, Mike--I promised.'

'There's a dirty trick to serve 'a man!' Burton was genuinely alarmed.

'Yarding him up with a mob of old women! I'm hanged if I do it!'

'There's no mob. There's only one, and she's young and pleasant. Come along, I'll stand by you.'

'Gi' me your solemn oath you'll break away as soon as possible.'

'I do, I do.'

Mike was led on to the veranda and introduced to Lucy, who gave him a pleasant welcome. He placed his hat by his chair, drank his tea quietly, said very little and ate less, flipped his fingers once or twice at the little girl in a friendly way, looked quite imperturbable, and all the time was painfully ill at ease, and raging inwardly at Jim's delay. When Lucy left them in quest of fruit, he turned furiously on his mate.

'What's that she says about staying?'

'She wants us to take a shakedown in one of the huts for to-night. Mrs.

Macdougal will be home before dark. She wishes to see me.'

'By the big blue Bunyip, if you stay I'll bush you in the next scrubby gully, an' leave you to do a three days' peris.h.!.+' Mike's tribulation was pitiful, but Jim laughed derisively.

Done did not accept Lucy's invitation, however. To tell the truth, although it would have been a great pleasure to remain near the girl, he had no desire to meet Mrs. Macdougal. He made suitable excuses. Mike said it would require smart travelling to bring them to the camp where their tools and swags were left, and, having shaken hands with Lucy, sauntered away.

'You will come again?' said the girl to Jim.

'Yes, if I have the chance; but Burton is the Bush man. I could never find you without his help.'

'In any case you will write?'