Queensland Cousins Part 16

Miss Chase smiled as she eyed the great big fellow.

"I wouldn't come if you paid me," Bob said lightly. "They tell me it is a toss up whether the climate or the people freeze you up most in England."

"Treason, treason, Bob," said Mrs. Orban. "Remember we are English."

"I guess you have mellowed in the suns.h.i.+ne," Bob said imperturbably. "Children, don't you listen to a good word about England; don't you let yourselves be spirited away by bad fairies, or you'll regret it."

"It's high treason," shouted Eustace. "England is our country. Off with his head."

Then suddenly Miss Chase saw what her nephews and nieces really were like.

"He has got to be punished," Nesta sang out.

Peter and Becky made a simultaneous dive at the unfortunate Bob, who had begun whistling with a great show of unconcern.

"What's his punishment to be?" demanded Eustace.

Mrs. Orban thought a minute while Peter suggested pommelling, and Nesta mentioned a few tortures in the way of old-fas.h.i.+oned forfeits.

"It's too hot for violent exercise," said Bob, when Nesta requested him to walk round the room three times on his head. "I shall go home to mother if I am ill-used."

"Have some tea, Bob," said Mr. Orban.

"No, no," cried the bullying trio, "not till he has paid his penalty for high treason."

"Well," said Mrs. Orban gently, "suppose you fetch the banjo and make him sing for his tea."

"Good! Good!" was the immediate acclamation.

Bob sat down resignedly.

"I don't think a crueller sentence could have been pa.s.sed," he said with a mock groan.

"Between ourselves," said Mrs. Orban, as the children rushed into the drawing-room to fetch the banjo, "there is no tea in the pot, and you may as well sing till the kettle is boiling."

Bob took the banjo with the air of a martyr and tuned it skilfully.

"I choose my own song," he said, struck a few chords, and began, in his really beautiful voice,--

"Dey told us darkies right away out west In England men make der money much de best, And I believed dat ebry word was true, So dat is why I come along wid you.

Oho you and de banjo."

"Oh, oh, oh," interrupted the children, "more treason! If you sing that song you will have to do another as well."

"You can't hang a man after his head is cut off," said Bob stolidly, and went on,--

"But now we're here, why, de money doesn't grow, And we ain't got nuffin' but de old banjo: So we rove the streets if de wedder's wet or dry, Till my heart most breaks and der's water in your eye.

Oho you and de banjo."

"Most pathetic," said Miss Chase, with a twinkle in her dark eyes.

"I think I begin to see where Mr. Cochrane gets his revolutionary sentiments from."

"Then in sleep at night de n.i.g.g.e.r dreams ob home, Where de sun really s.h.i.+nes and de frosts nebber come, Where we'd plenty to eat, and a little hut of logs, And we hadn't got to beg for our bread like de dogs.

Oho you and de banjo."

Bob's voice became more and more plaintive; he sat in a drooping att.i.tude with his head on one side as he finished,--

"But it ain't no good all dis singin' out of tune, For we can't get warm, tho' they say it's hot for June; It's certain for darkies dis is not de place, Where eben de sun am ashamed to show his face.

Oho you and de banjo."

"So that is your opinion of England, is it?" asked Miss Chase.

"Well, I am not surprised you don't want to come, then."

"But of course it is all stuff, and nothing but a silly old darkie song," said Eustace.

"You wait till you get there, young man," said Bob, still with an air of mock gloom about him; "you'll remember my warning then. It is so cold in England the natives have their windows glued in to keep out the air, and they have front doors as thick as walls, all studded with nails and bra.s.s knockers."

"But what are the bra.s.s knockers for?" asked Nesta. "They wouldn't keep you warm."

"Certainly not," was the answer; "the bra.s.s knockers are for the purpose of waking the people inside the house, who are always asleep with the cold--like dormice."

"Mother," demanded Eustace, "do you think he ought to have any tea after that? He hasn't done penance, and he isn't a bit sorry. He is making it worse and worse."

"I think, darling, as he is a guest he must have his tea," Mrs.

Orban said; "but I will send a note by him to his mother to say he has not been good."

"I'm not going home to-night--so there," said Bob complacently; "I'm going to sleep in a hammock on the veranda."

"Oh, jolly!" exclaimed every one, and there was a chorus of, "We can stay up late, can't we, just for to-night--Aunt Dorothy's first night?"

But Aunt Dorothy did not allow the compliment to deceive her. Not for her but for Bob Cochrane did the young people want to stay up later. He was certainly a great favourite.

CHAPTER IX.

A RIDERLESS HORSE.

It was a delightfully merry evening. Bob had to re-do his punishment and sing several songs, and then he struck.

"I am quite sure Miss Chase sings," he declared. "It's her turn now. Witches ought to be punished even more severely than traitors."

She made no demur, but sat down to the piano and began to sing. But in the middle of her song such a noise began over her head that she dropped her hands laughingly, and exclaimed,--

"How can I sing with that wretched electric bell going on all the time?"

"Tr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r," sounded shrilly through the room, louder and louder.