 CHAPTER XIII The Circus The days went by, but no further word of the wind-filled murderer came to the anxious ears of the little girl at Bilibang homestead. Nora never read the papers, and could not therefore satisfy her mind by their reports, but all her inquiries were met by the same reply. Nothing fresh! The police were still in the district, so much she knew, for she had caught glimpses of them when outriding with her father. The stern-looking men in dusty uniforms were unusual figures in those quiet parts. But Nora could not manage to discover if they had searched the scrub that hid the hermit's simple camp, and the mystery of the wind-filled murder seemed as far from being cleared up as ever. Meanwhile, there was plenty to distract her mind from such disquieting matters. The station work happened to be particularly engrossing just then, and day after day saw Nora in the saddle, close to her father's big black mare, riding over hills and plains, bringing up the slow sheep, or galloping gloriously after cattle, that declined to be mustered. There were visits of inspection to be made to the farthest portions of the run, and busy days in the yards when the men worked at drafting the stock, and Nora sat perched on the high cap of a fence, and watching with all her eager little soul in her eyes wished heartily that she had been born a boy. Then there were a couple of trips with Mr. Linton to outlying townships, and on one of these occasions Nora had a piece of marvelous luck, for there was actually a circus in Kanji, a real magnificent circus with lions and tigers and hyenas and a camel and other beautiful animals, and best of all a splendid elephant of meek and mild demeanor. It was the elephant that broke up Nora's calmness. �Oh, Daddy� she said. �Daddy, oh, can�t we stay?� Mr. Linton laughed. �I was expecting that� he said. �Stay, and what would Brownie be thinking� Nora�s face fell. �Oh� she said. �I�ve forgotten Brownie. I suppose it wouldn�t too, but isn�t it a glorious elephant, Daddy? �It is indeed� said Mr. Linton, laughing. �I think it�s too glorious to leave, girly. Fact is, I had an inkling the circus was to be here, so I told Brownie not to expect us until she saw us. She put a basket in the buggy, with your toothbrush, I think. The face of his small daughter was sufficient reward. �Daddy� she said. �Oh, but you are the most, Daddy� words failed her at that point. Nora said it was a most wonderful spree. They had dinner at the hotel, where the waiter called her Miss Linton, and in all ways behaved precisely as if she were grown up, and after dinner she and her father sat on the balcony while Mr. Linton smoked, and Nora watched the population arriving to attend the circus. They came from all quarters, comfortable, old farm wagons containing whole families, a few smart buggies, but the majority came on horseback, old as well as young. The girls rode in their dresses or else had slipped on habit skirts over their gaire attire, with great indifference as to whether it happened to be crushed, and they had huge hats trimmed with all the colors of the rainbow. Nora did not know much about dress, but it seemed to her theirs was queer. But one and all looked so happy and excited that dress was the last thing that mattered. It seemed to Nora a long while before Mr. Linton shook the ashes from his pipe deliberately and pulled out his watch. She was inwardly dancing with impatience. Half past seven remarked her father, shutting up his watch with a click. Well, I suppose we'd better go, Nora, already, dear. Yes, Daddy, must I wear gloves? Why, not that I know of, said her father, looking puzzled. Hardly necessary, I think. I don't wear them. Do you want to? Goodness, no! said his daughter hastily. Well, that's all right, said Mr. Linton, stowed them in my pocket and come along. Out in the street there were unusual signs of bustle. People were hurrying along the footpath. The blare of brass instruments came from the big circus tent, round which was lingering every small boy of kanji who could not gain admission. Horses were tied to adjoining fences, considerably disquieted by the brazen strains of the band. It was very cheerful and inspiring. And Nora capered gently as she trodded along by her father. Mr. Linton gave up his tickets at the first tent, and they passed in to view the menagerie, a queer collection, but wonderful enough, in the eyes of kanji. The big elephant held pride of place, as he stood in his corner and sleepily waved his trunk at the aggravating flies. Nora loved him from the first, and in a moment was stroking his trunk, somewhat to her father's anxiety. I hope he's safe, he asked an attendant. Bless you, yes, sir, said that worthy, resplendent in dengy scarlet uniform. He always knows if people ain't afraid of him. Try him with this, Missy. This was an apple, and jumbo danned to accept it, at Nora's hands, and crunched it serenely. He's just dear, said Nora, parting reluctantly from the huge, swaying brute, and giving him a final pat as she went. Better than Bob's, asked her father. Poo! said Nora, loftily. What's this rum thing? A wildebeest read her father. He doesn't look like it. Pretty tame beast, I think, Nora observed, surveying the stolid-looking animal before her. Show me something really wild, Daddy. How about this chap, asked Mr. Linton. They were before the tiger's cage, and the big yellow brute was walking up and down with long, stealthy strides, his great eyes roving over the curious faces in front of him. Someone poked a stick at him, an attention which met an instant roar, and spring on the tiger's part, and a quick and stinging rebuke from an attendant, before which the poker of the stick fled precipitately. The crowd, which had jumped back as one man, pressed nearer to the cage, and the tiger resumed his quick, silent prowl, but his eyes no longer roved over the faces. They remained fixed upon the man who had provoked him. How do you like him, Mr. Linton? asked his daughter. Nora hesitated. He's not nice, of course, she said, but I'm so awfully sorry for him, aren't you, Daddy? It does seem horrible. A great, splendid thing like that, shut up for always in that little box of a cage. You feel he really ought to have a great stretch of jungle to row men. And eat men in? I think he's better where he is. Well, you'd think the world was big enough for him to have a place apart from men altogether, said Nora, holding to her point sturdily, somewhere that isn't much wanted, a sandy desert, or a spare alp. This doesn't seem right, somehow. I think I've seen enough animals, Daddy, and it's smelly here. Let's go into the circus. The circus tent was fairly crowded as Nora and her father made their way in, and took the seats reserved for them, under the direction of another official in dengy scarlet. Round the ring the tears of seats rose abruptly, each tear a mass of eager, interested faces. A lame cellar of fruit and drinks hobbled about crying his wares. At intervals came the pop of a lemonade bottle, and there was a steady crunching of peanut shells. The scent of orange peel rose over the circus smell, that weird compound of animal and sawdust and a settling lamps. In the midst of all was the ring, with its surface banked up towards the outer edge. They had hardly taken their seats, when the band suddenly struck up in its perch near the entrance, and the company entered to the inspiring strains. First came the elephant, very lazy and stately, gorgeously comparison'd now, with a gaily attired mahut upon his neck. Behind him came the camel, and the cages with the other occupants of the menagerie, looking either bored or fierce. They circled round the ring, and then filed out. The band struck up a fresh strain, and encountered a lovely lady on a chestnut horse. She wore a scarlet hat and habit, and looked to Nora very like a Christmas card. Round the ring she dashed gaily, and behind her came another lady, equally beautiful, and a green habit, on a black horse, and a third, wearing a habit of pale blue plush, who managed a piebald horse. Then came some girls in bright frocks, on beautiful ponies, and some boys in tights, on other ponies, and then men, also in tights of every color in the rainbow, who rode round with bored expressions, as if it were really too slow a thing merely to sit on a horse's back, instead of pirouetting there upon one foot. They flashed round once or twice, and were gone, and Nora sat back and gasped, feeling that she had had a glimpse into another world, as indeed she had. A little figure whirled into the ring, a tiny girl on a jet-black pony. She was sitting sideways at first, but as the pony settled into its stride round the ring, she suddenly leapt to her feet, and, standing poised, kissed her hands gaily to the audience. Then she capered first on one foot, then on another. She sat down, facing the tail, and lay flat along the pony's back. She assumed every position except the natural one. She leapt to the ground, to Nora's intense horror, who imagined she didn't mean to, and, running fiercely at the pony, sprang on his back again, while he galloped the harder. Lastly she dropped a handkerchief, which she easily recovered by the simple expedient of hanging head downwards, suspended by one foot, and then galloped out of the ring, amid the frantic applause of Kanji. "'Could you do that, Nora?' laughed Mr. Lantan. "'Me!' said Nora, amazingly. "'Me? Oh, fancy me ever thinking I could ride a bit!' One of the lovely ladies, in a glistening suit of black, covered with spangles, next entered. She also preferred to ride standing, but was by no means idle. A gentleman in the ring, obligingly, handed her up many necessaries, plates and saucers and knives, and she threw these about the air as she galloped, with great apparent carelessness, yet never failed to catch each, just as it seemed certain to fall. Tiring of this pursuit, she flung them all back at the gentleman with deadly aim, while he, resenting nothing, copped them cleverly and disposed of them to a clown who stood by, open-mouthed. Then the gentleman hung bright ribbons across the ring, apparently with the unpleasant intention of sweeping the lady from her horse, an intention which she frustrated by lightly leaping over each intern, while her horse galloped beneath it. Finally the gentleman, whose ideas really seemed most unfriendly, suddenly confronted her with a great paper-covered hoop, the very side of which would have made an ordinary horse shy wildly. But even at this obstacle the lady did not lose courage. Instead she leapt straight through the hoop, paper and all, and was carried out by her faithful steed, amidst yells of applause. Nora gasped. Oh, isn't it perfectly lovely, Daddy? she said. Perhaps you boys and girls who live in cities or near townships where traveling companies pay yearly visits can have no idea of what this first circus meant to this little bushmaid who had lived all her twelve years without seeing anything half so wonderful. Perhaps, too, you are lucky to have so many chances of seeing things, but it is something to possess nowadays, even at twelve the unspoiled, fresh mind that Nora brought to her first circus. Everything was absolutely real to her. The clown was a being almost too good for this world, seeing that his whole time was spent in making people laugh uproariously, and that he was so wonderfully unselfish in the way he allowed himself to be kicked and knocked about, always landing in positions so excruciatingly droll that you quite forgot to ask if he were hurt. All the ladies who galloped round the ring and did such marvelous things, treating a metaled steed as though he were as motionless as a kitchen table, seemed to Nora models of beauty and grace. There was one who set her heart beating by her daring, for she not only leapt through a paper-covered hoop, but through three, one after the other, and then marvel of marvels through one on which the paper was alight and blazing fiercely. Nora held her breath, expecting to see her scorched and smoldering at the very least, but the heroic rider galloped on, without seeming so much as singed. Almost as wonderful was the total indifference of the horses to the strange sights around them. "'Bob's would be off his head,' said Nora. She was especially enchanted with a small boy and girl who rode in on the same brown pony, and had all sorts of capers, as much off the pony's back as upon it. Not that it troubled them to be off, because they simply ran together at the pony, and landed simultaneously, standing on his back, while the gallant steed galloped them more furiously. They hung head downwards, while the pony jumped over hurdles to their great apparent danger. They even wrestled, standing, and the girl pitched the boy off to the company in front of loud strands from the band, and wild cheers from Kanji. Not that the boy minded, he picked himself up and raced the pony desperately round the ring, the girl standing and shrieking in encouragement, the pony racing, the boy scutting in front, until he suddenly turned and bolted out of the ring, the pony following at his heels, but never quite catching him, so that the boy really won, after all, which Nora thought was quite as it should be. Then there were the acrobats, accomplished men in tight clothes, who cut the most amazing somersaults, and seemed to regard no object as too great to be leapt over. They brought in the horses, and stood ever so many of them together, backed up by the elephant, and the leading acrobat jumped over them all without any apparent effort, after which all the horses galloped off of their own accord, and put themselves away, without giving anyone any trouble. Then the acrobats were hauled up into the top of the tent, where they swung themselves from rope to rope, and somersaulted through space, and one man hung head downwards, and caught by the hands another, who came flying through the air as if he belonged there. Once he missed the outstretched hands, and Nora gasped, expecting to see him terribly hurt, instead of which he fell harmlessly into a big net, thoughtfully spread for his reception, and rebounded like a tennis ball, kissing his hand gracefully to the audience, after which he again whirled through the air, and this time landed safely in the hands of the hanging man, who had all this while seemed just as comfortable head downwards as any other way. There was even a little boy, who swung himself about the tent as fearlessly as the grown men, and cut capers almost as dangerous as theirs. Nora couldn't help breathing more freely when the acrobats bowed their final farewell. Mr. Lenton consulted his program. They're bringing in the lion next, he said. The band struck up the liveliest of tunes. All the ring was cleared now, except for the clown, who suddenly assumed an appearance of great solemnity. He marched to the edge of the ring, and struck an attitude indicative of profound respect. In came the elephant, slightly harnessed, and drawing a huge cage on wheels. On other sides marched attendance in special uniforms. And on the elephant's back stood the lion tamer, all glorious in scarlet and gold, so that he was almost hurtful to the eye. In the cage three lions paced ceaselessly up and down. The band blared. The people clapped. The clown bowed his forehead into the dust, and said, feelingly, wow! Beside the ring was another, more like a huge iron safe than a ring, as it was completely walled and roofed with iron bars. The cage was drawn up close beside this, and the doors slid back. The lions needed no further invitation. They gave smothered growls as they leapt from their close quarters into this larger breathing space. Then another door was opened stealthily, and the lion tamer slipped in, armed with no weapon more deadly than a heavy whip. Nora did not like it. It seemed to her, to put it mildly, a risky proceeding. Generally speaking, Nora was by no means a careful soul, and had no opinion of people who thought over much about looking after their skins, but this business of lions was not exactly what she had been used to. They appeared to her so hungry, and so remarkably ill-tempered, and the man as is one to three, and had apparently no advantage in the matter of teeth and claws. Don't like this game, said the bushmaiden, frowning. Is he safe, Daddy? Oh, he's all right. Her father answered, smiling. These chaps know how to take care of themselves, and the lions know he's master. Watch them, Nora. Nora was already doing that. The lions prowling round the ring, keeping wary eyes on their tamer, were called to duty by a sharp crack of the whip. Growling, they took their respective stations, two on the seats of chairs, the third standing between them, poised on the two chair backs. Then they were put through a quick succession of tricks. They jumped over chairs and ropes and each other. They raced round the ring, taking hurdles at intervals. They balanced on big wooden balls, and pushed them along by quick changes of position. Then they leapt through poops, ornamented with fluttering strips of paper, and clearly did not care for the exercise. And all the while their stealthy eyes never left those of the tamer. How do you like it? asked Mr. Linn. It's beastly, said Nora, with surprising suddenness. I hate it, Daddy. Such big beautiful things, and to make them do silly tricks like these, just as you'd train a kitten. Well, they're nothing more than big cats, laughed her father. I don't care. It's mean, I think. I don't wonder their cross, and you can see they are, Daddy. If I was a lion, I know I'd want to bite somebody. The lions certainly did seem cross. They growled constantly, and were slow to obey orders. The whip was always cracking, and once or twice a big lioness, who was especially sulky, received a sharp cut. The outside attendants kept close to the cage, armed with long iron bars. Nora thought, watching them, that they were somewhat uneasy. For herself, she knew she would be very glad when the lion, turn, was over. The smaller tricks were finished, and the tamer made ready for the grand chariot act. He dragged forward an iron chariot, and to it harnessed the smaller lions with stout straps, coupling the reins to a hook on the front of the little vehicle. Then he signalled to the lioness to take her place as driver. The lioness did not move. She crouched down, watching him with hungry, savage eyes. The trainer took a step forward, raising his whip. You, queen! he said sharply. She growled, not stirring. A sudden movement of the lions behind him made the trainer glance round quickly. There was a roar, and a yellow streak cleft the air. A child's voice screamed. The tamer's spring aside was too late. He went down on his face, the lioness upon him. Nora's cry rang out over the circus, just as the lioness sprang. Too late for the trainer, however. The girl was on her feet, clutching her father. Oh, Daddy! Daddy! she said. All was wildest confusion. Men were shouting, women screaming. Two girls fainted, slipping down motionless, unnoticed heaps from their seats. Circus men yelled contradictory orders. Within the ring the lioness crouched over the fallen man, her angry eyes roving about the disordered tent. The two lions and the chariot were making furious attempts to break away. Luckily their harness was strong, and they were so close to the edge of the ring that the attendants were able, with their iron bars, to keep them in check. After a few blows they settled down, growling, but subdued. But to rescue the trainer was not so easy a matter. He lay in the very center of the ring, beyond the reach of any weapons, and not a man would venture within the great cage. The attendants shouted at the lioness. Brandished irons cracked whips. She heard them unmoved. Once she shifted her position slightly, and a moan came from the man underneath. This is awful. Mr. Linton said he left his seat in the front row and went across the ring to the group of white-faced men. Can't you shoot the brute? he asked. We'd do it in a minute, the proprietor answered, but who'd shoot and take the chance of hitting Joe? Look at the way they are. It's ten to one. He'd get hit. He shook his head. Well, I guess it's up to me to go in and tackle her. I'd get a better shot inside the ring. He moved forward. A white-faced woman flung herself upon him and clung to him desperately. Sarah hardly recognized her as the gay lady who had so merrily jumped through the burning hoops a little while ago. You shan't go, Dave. She cried, sobbing. You mustn't. Think of the kitties. Joe hasn't got a wife in Littlund's. The circus proprietor tried to loosen her hold. I've got to my girl, he said gently. I can't leave a man of mine to that brute. It's my fault. I ought to know better than to let him take her from them cubs to-night. Let go, dear." He tried to unclench her hands from his coat. Has she, the lioness, got little cubs? It was Nora's voice, and Mr. Linton started to find her at his side. Nora, very pale and shaky, with wide eyes, glowing with a great idea. The circus man nodded, too. Wouldn't she? Nora's voice was trembling almost beyond the power of speech. Wouldn't she go to them if you showed them to her? Put them in the small cage. My old cat would. Buy the powers, said the proprietor. Fetch him, Dick! Run! The clown ran, his grotesque draperies contrasting oddly enough with his errand. In an instant he was back, two fluffy yellow heaps in his arms, one wide as they drew near the cage, and the lioness looked up sharply with a growl. The clown held the cubs in her view, and she growled again, evidently uneasy. Beneath her, the man was quiet now. The cage, quick, the big lion cage, its open door communicating with the ring, stood ready. The clown opened another door, and slipped in the protesting cubs. They made for the further door, but were checked by the stout cords fastened to their collars. He held them in leash, in full view of the lioness. She growled, and moved, but did not leave her prey. Make him sing out! the woman said sharply. Someone handed the clown an iron rod, sharpened at one end. He passed it through the bars, and prodded a cub on the foot. They wind angrily, and a quick growl came from the ring. Hot a dick! The clown obeyed. There was a sharp, amazed yelp of pain from the cub, and an answering roar from the mother. Another protesting cry, and then again that yellow streak as the lioness left her prey, and sprang to her baby with a deafening roar. The clown tugged the cubs sharply back into the recesses of the cage, as the mother hurled herself through the narrow opening. Behind her the bars rattled into place, and she was restored to captivity. It was the work of only a moment to rush into the ring where the tamer lay huddled and motionless. Kind hands lifted him, and carried him away beyond the performance tent, with its eager spectators. The attendants quickly unharnessed the two tame lions, and they were removed in another cage, brought in by the elephant for their benefit. Nora slipped a hot, trembling hand into her father's. Let's go, Daddy. I've had enough. More than enough, I think, said Mr. Linden. Come on, little girl. They slipped out in the wake of the anxious procession that carried the tamer. As they went, a performing goat and monkey passed them on their way to the ring, and the clown capered behind them. They heard his cheerful shout, Here we are again! and the laughter of the crowd, as the show, was resumed. Lucky chap, that clown! Mr. Linden said. In the fresh air the men had laid the tamer down gently, and a doctor was bending over him, examining him by the flickering light of torches, held by hands that found it hard to be steady. Not so much damaged as he might be, the doctor announced, rising, that shoulder will take a bit of healing, but he looks healthy. His padded uniform has saved his life. Let's get him to the private hospital up the street. Everything necessary is there, and I'd like to have his shoulder dressed before he regains consciousness. The men lifted the improvised stretcher again, and passed on with it. Nora and her father weren't following, when a voice called them. The wife of the circus proprietor ran after them. A strange figure enough, in her scarlet riding dress, the paint on her face streaked with tear-marks. I'd like to know who you are, she said, catching Nora's hand, but for you mom men had been in a ring with that brute. None of us had the sense to think of bringing in the copes. Tell me your name, Dairy. Nora told her unwillingly. Nothing to make a fuss over, she added, in great confusion. I guess you saved Joe's life, and perhaps my daves as well, the woman said. We won't forget you. Good night, sir, and thank you both. Nora had no wish to be thanked, being of opinion that she had done less than nothing at all. She was feeling rather sick, and, amazing, feeling for Nora, inclined to cry. She was very glad to get into bed at the hotel, and eagerly welcomed her father's suggestion that he should sit for a while in her room. Nora did not know that it was dawn before Mr. Linton left his watch by the restless sleeper, quiet now, and sought his own couch. She woke late, from a dream of lions and elephants, and men who moaned softly. Her father was by her bedside. Breakfast, lazy bones! he said. How's the tamer? queried Nora, sitting up. Getting on all right, he wants to see you. Me! said Nora, whatever for! We've got to find that out! said her father, withdrawing. They found out after breakfast when a grateful white-faced man swathed in bandages stammered, broken thanks. For me it was you calling out that saved me first. He said, I'd never thought to jump, but I heard you sing out to me, and if I hadn't, she'd have broke my neck, sure. And then it was you thought of bringing in the cubs. Well, Missy, I won't forget your longs I'll live. The nurse, at his nod, brought out the skin of a young tiger, beautifully marked and made into a rug. If you wouldn't moan taken that from me, explained the tamer, I'd like to feel you at it, and I'd like to shake hands with you, Missy. Outside the room Nora turned a flush face to her father. Do let's go home, Daddy! she begged. Kanji's too embarrassing for me. CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XIV CAMPING OUT About that fishing excursion, Nora. Yes, Daddy! a small brown paw slid itself into Mr. Linton's hand. They were sitting on the veranda in the stillness of an autumn evening. Watching the shadows on the lawn become vague and indistinct, and finally merge into one haze of dusk. Mr. Linton had been silent for a long time. Nora always knew when her father wanted to talk. This evening she was content to be silent, too, leaning against his knees in her own friendly fashion as she curled up at his feet. Oh! you hadn't forgotten, then. Well, not much. Only I didn't know if you really wanted to go, Daddy. Why, yes, said her father. I think it would be rather a good idea, my girly. There's not much doing on the place just now. I could easily be spared. And we don't want to leave our trip until the days grow shorter. The moon will be right, too. It will be full in four or five days. I forget the exact date. So, altogether, Nora, I think we'd better consult Brownie about the Commissariat Department and make our arrangements to go immediately. It'll be simply lovely, said his daughter, breathing a long sigh of delight. Such a long time since we had a camping out. Just you and me, Daddy. Yes, it's a good while. Well, we've got to make up for lost time by catching plenty of fish. Said Mr. Lenton, I hope you haven't forgotten the whereabouts of that fine new hole of yours. You'll have to take me to it, if Angler's Bend doesn't come up to expectations. A deep flush came into Nora's face. For a little while she had almost forgotten the hermit. Or, rather, he had ceased to occupy a prominent position in her mind since the talk of the wind-filled murder had begun to die away. The troopers, unsuccessful in their quest, had gone back to headquarters, and Nora had breathed more freely knowing that her friend had escaped this time. Still, she never felt comfortable in her mind about him. Never before had she kept any secret from her father, and the fact of this concealment was apt to come home closely to her at times and cloud the perfect friendship between them. Mr. Billy will be delighted, I expect, went on Mr. Lenton, not noticing the little girl's silence. Anything out of the ordinary groove of civilization is a joy to that primitive young man. I don't fancy it would take much to make a cheerful savage of Billy. Can't you fancy him? said Nora, making an effort to break away from her own thoughts, roving the bush with a boon-rang and a potty, and dressed in strips of white paint. Striped indeed! said her father, laughing, I have no doubt he'd enjoy it. I hope his ancient instincts won't revive. He's the best hand with horses we ever had on the station. Now, Nora, come and talk to Brownie. Mrs. Brown, on being consulted, saw no difficulties in the way. A day, she declared, was all she wanted to prepare, sufficient food for the party, for a week, let alone for only three days. Not as I'll stench you to three days, remarked the prudent Brownie. Last time it was to be three days, and it was more like six, when we saw you again. Once you two get away, and she wagged a stern forefinger at her employer, and there's that black hemp he eats enough for five. You forget the fish we're going to live on, laughed Mr. Linton. Mm, said Brownie, solemnly, first catch your fish. Why, of course, we mean to you, horrid old thing, cried Nora, laughing, and bring you home loads, too, not that you deserve it for doubting us. I have seen many fishing parties go out, Miss Nora, my dear, said Mrs. Brownie, impassively, and on the old, more came back, himp the-handed, than bringing loads, fish being curious things, and very unreliable on the bite, still, will out for the best, and meanwhile, to prepare for the worst, I'll just cook a few extra little things, another tongue, now, and a nice piece of corned beef, and perhaps I am. And do you think you can manage a pie, oh, too, Miss Nora? Traher, said Mr. Linton, laughing. Let's tell Billy, and off went Nora at a gallop. She returned a few minutes later, slightly crestfallen. Billy must be asleep, she said. I couldn't get an answer, lazy young nigger, and it's still twilight. Billy has no use for the day after the sun goes down, unless he's going possumming, her father said. Never mind, the news will keep until the morning. Oh, I know, said Nora, smiling, but I wanted to tell him to-night. I sympathize with you, said her father, and meantime, to console yourself. Suppose you bend your mighty mind to the problem of getting away. Do you see any objection to our leaving for parts unknown the day after to-morrow? Depends on Brownie and the Tucker, said Nora, practically. That part's all right. Brownie guarantees to have everything ready to-morrow night, if you help her. Why, of course I will, Daddy. And you have to get your own preparations made. That won't take long, said Nora, with a grin. Brush, comb, toothbrush, pajamas. That's all, Dad. Such minor things as soap and towels don't appear to enter into your calculations, said her father. Well, I can bear it. Oh, you silly old Dad, of course I know about those. Only Brownie always packs the ordinary uninteresting things. I foresee a busy day for you and Brownie to-morrow. Mr. Lenton said, I'll have a laborious time myself, fixing a fishing tackle, if Jim and his merry men left me with any. As for Billy, he will spend the day grubbing for bait. Wherefore, everything being settled, come and play me the last rows of summer, and then say, good night. Nora was up early, and the day passed swiftly in a whirl of preparations. Everything was ready by evening, including a hamper of monumental proportions, the consumption of which, Mr. Lenton said, would certainly render the party unfit for active exertion in the way of fishing. Billy's delight had made itself manifest in the broad grin which he wore all day, while he dug for worms and chased crickets and grasshoppers. The horses were brought in and stabled overnight, so that an early start might be made. It was quite an exciting day, and Nora was positive that she could not go to sleep when her father sent her off to bed at an unusually early hour, meeting her remonstrances with the reminder that she had to be up with, or before, the lark. However, she was really tired, and was soon asleep. It seemed to her that she had only been in this blissful condition for three minutes when a hand was laid on her shoulder, and she started up to find daylight had come. Mr. Lenton stood laughing at her sleepy face. Do you mean to say it's morning? said Nora. I've been led to believe so. Her father rejoined. Shall I pull you out, or would you prefer to rise without assistance? I'd much prefer to go to sleep again. But I'll tumble out. Thank you, said his daughter, suiting the action to the word. Had your bath, Daddy? Just going to it. Then I'll race you, said Nora, snatching a towel and disappearing down the hall, a slender flying figure in blue pajamas. Mr. Lenton gave chase, but Nora's start was too good, and the click of the lark greeted him as he arrived at the door of the bathroom. The noise of the shower drowned his laughing threats, while a small voice sang amid splashes. You should have been here last week. Breakfast was a merry meal, although, as Nora said, it was unreasonable to expect anybody to have an appetite at that hour. Still, with a view to the future, and to avoid wounding Mrs. Brown too deeply, they made as firm an attempt as possible, with surprisingly good results. Then brief goodbyes were said, the pack scientifically adjusted to the saddle, on the old mare, and they rode off in the cool, dewy morning. This time there was no racing and chasing, or cannibally, on the way to Angler's Bend. Mr. Lenton's days of scurrying were over, he said, unless a bullock happened to have a difference of opinion as to the way he should go, and as racing by oneself is a poor thing, Nora was content to ride along steadily by her father's side, with only an occasional canter, when Bob's pulled and reefed as if he were as anxious to gallop as his young mistress could possibly be. It was time for lunch when they, at length, arrived at the well-remembered bend on the creek. The horses were unsaddled and hobbled, and then turned out to wander at their own sweet will. The shortness of the hobbles a guarantee that they would not stray very far, and the three wanderers sat on the bank of the creek, very ready for the luncheon Mrs. Brown had carefully prepared and placed near the top of the pack. This dispatched, preparations were made for pitching camp. Here luck favoured them, for a visit to their former camping place showed that tent poles and pegs were still there, and un injured, which considerably lessened the labour of pitching the tents. In a very short time the two tents were standing, and a couple of stretchers rigged up with bags. Mr. Linton had no opinion of the comfort of sleeping on beds of leaves. While her father and Billy were at this work, Nora unpacked the cooking utensils and provisions. Most of the latter were encased in calico bags, which could be hung in the shade, secure from either ants or flies. The remainder, packed in tents, being stowed away easily in the corner of one of the tents. When the stretchers were ready, Nora unpacked the bedding and made their beds. Finally she hung the toothbrushes to the ridge poles, and said contentedly, Daddy, it's just like home. Glad you think so, said Mr. Linton, casting an approving eye over the comfortable-looking camp, and really there is something wonderfully home-like about a well-pitched camp with a few arrangements for comfort. At any rate I think we'll manage very well for a few days, Nora. Now while Billy lays in a stock of firewood and fixes up a humpy for himself to sleep in, as opposed you and I go down and try to catch some fish for tea. Plenty! laughed Nora. It soon became evident that Angler's Bend was going to maintain its name as a place for fish. Scarcely was Nora's line in the water before a big black fish was on the hook, and after that the fun was fast and furious, until they had caught enough for two or three meals. The day was ideal for fishing, gray and warm, with just enough breeze to ripple the water faintly. Mr. Linton and Nora found it very peaceful, sitting together on the old blog that jutted across the stream. And the time passed quickly. Billy, at length, appeared and was given the fish to prepare, and then father and daughter returned to camp. Mr. Linton lit the fire, and, cutting two stout forked steaks, which he drove into the ground, one on each side of the fire, he hung a green teap-tree pole across, in readiness to hold the Billy and frying-pan. Billy presently came up with the fish, and soon a cheery sound of sizzling smoked the evening air. By the time that Nora had the table set, as she phrased it, the fish were ready, and in Nora's opinion no meal ever tasted half so good. After it was over, Billy, the indispensable, removed the plates and washed up, and Nora and her father sat by the fire and yarned in the cool dusk. Not for long, for soon the little girl began to feel sleepy, after the full day in the open air, and the prospect of the comfortable stretcher in her tent was very tempting. She brushed her hair outside in the moonlight, because a small tent is not the place in which to wield a hair-brush. Then she slipped into bed, and her father came and tucked her up before tying the flap securely enough to keep out possible intruders, in the shape of bears and possums. Nora lay watching the flickering fire-light for a little while, thinking there was nothing so glorious as the open air feeling, and the night-sense of the bush. Then she fell asleep. A cheeky jackass on a gum-tree-bow fairly roared with laughter, and Nora woke up with a violent start. The sunlight was streaming across her bed. For a moment she was puzzled, wondering where she was. Then the walls of the tent caught her eye, and she laughed at herself, and then lay still in the very pleasure of the dewy morning and the wonderful freshness of the air, for there is a delight in a waking after a night in the open that the finest house in the world cannot give. Presently the flap of the tent was parted, and Mr. Lenton peeped in. "'Hello,' he said, smiling. Did the old jackass wake you? I found him as good as an alarm-clock myself. How about a swim?' "'Oh, rather,' said Nora, tumbling out of bed. She slipped on a jacket and shoes, and presently joined her father. And they threaded their way through the scrub until they came to a part of the creek, where a beach, flat and sandy, and shelving down to a fairly deep hole, offered glorious bathing. Mr. Lenton left Nora here, and himself went a few yards farther up, round a bend in the creek. At the first plunge the water was distinctly cold, but once the first dip was taken Nora forgot all about the chilliness, and only reveled in the delights of that big pool. She could swim like a fish. Her father had seen to that in the big lagoon at home. Not until Mr. Lenton's warning voice sang out that it was time to dress did she leave the water, and then with reluctance. A brisk rub down with a hard towel, and she rejoined her father. He cast an approving look at her glowing face. "'Well, you look as if you'd enjoyed your swim,' he said. "'Oh, it was lovely, Daddy. Did you have a good bath?' "'Yes, I struck a very good place, deep enough to dive in,' her father answered. "'Not that I counsel diving altogether. You strike such a lot of mud at the bottom—soft, sticky black mud. I went most of my bay than getting myself clean after my dive. Still, I had a good swim, notwithstanding. I say, Nora, I'm ready for breakfast.' "'So am I,' said his daughter. I hope Billy's got the fish on.' However, there was no sign of the black retainer when they reached the camp. The fire was blazing and the Billy boiling, but of the other Billy no trace existed. He's gone after the horses, Mr. Linton said. I told him to see to them, but he ought to be back. I hope they're all right. Well, you get dressed, Nora.' By the time Nora's toilet was completed, the fish, under Mr. Linton's supervision, were in the pan, and she hurried to set out the breakfast things. They were just beginning breakfast when the sound of hoofs was heard, and Billy rode into the clearing on his own pony with evident signs of perturbation on his ebony face. "'What's up, Billy?' Mr. Linton asked sharply. "'That fellow pack-mare,' Billy said briefly. Broken hobbles clear out plenty. He produced a hobble as he spoke, the broken leather telling its own tale. Mr. Linton uttered an exclamation of anger. "'That comes of not seeing to the hobbles myself,' he said sharply. No sign of her?' Billy shook his head. "'Not likely,' Mr. Linton said. That old mare would make for home like a shot. I daresay she's half-way there by now. "'Well, Billy, there's only one thing to do. Get your pony saddled and go after her.' Billy's face expressed unuttered depths of woe. "'Get your breakfast first,' said his master. "'There's no particular hurry, for you're bound to have to go all the way home and bring some good hobbles back with you, if you do.' Billy slid to the ground. "'Plenty,' he said ruefully. Billy, a black vision of despondency, had faded away into the distance, making his chestnut pony pay for the disappointment of his long ride back to the homestead for the missing mare. Nora and her father had cleaned up house, as Nora put it, and again they were sitting on the old log that spanned the creek. Their lines were in water, but the fish were shy. The promise of a hot day had driven them to the shady hollows under the banks. The juiciest worms failed to lure them from their hiding places. Nora thought it dull and said so. Her father laughed. "'Bleh! You'll never make a fisherman without cultivating an extra stock of patience,' he said. The thought of last night's luck ought to make you happy.' "'Well, it doesn't,' his daughter answered decidedly. "'That was yesterday, and this is today, and it is dull, Daddy, anyhow.' "'Well, keep on hoping,' said Mr. Lenton. Luck may change at any minute. Nora, do you know I have something to tell you?' "'What?' Nora's dullness was gone. There was something unusual in her father's tone. "'I'm afraid you won't think. It's the best news,' he said, smiling at her eager face. But it had to come some day. I suppose I couldn't keep you a baby always. There's a tutor coming to make a learned lady of my little bushmaid.' "'Daddy!' There were worlds of horror in the tone. "'Oh, don't,' said her father. "'You make me feel a criminal of the deepest dye. What can I do with you, you ignorant small child? I can't let you grow up altogether a bush duffer, dear.' His voice was almost apologetic. "'I can assure you it might have been worse. Your Aunt Eva has been harrowing my very soul to make me send you to a boarding school. Think of that now.' "'Borting school?' said Nora faintly. "'Daddy, you wouldn't.' "'No, not at present, certainly,' said her father. "'But I had to agree to something. And really, I knew it was time. Your twelve, you know. Nora, be reasonable.' "'Oh, all right,' said Nora, swallowing her disgust. "'If you say it's got to be, it has to be. That's all. "'Daddy, my goodness, how I will hate it. Have I got to learn heaps of things?' "'Loads,' said her father, nodding. "'Latin, and French, and drawing, and geography, and how to talk grammar, and any number of things I never knew. Then you can teach the tutor things—riding, and cooking, and knitting, and the care of tame wallabies, and any number of things he never dreamed of. He's a town-young man, Nora, and horribly ignorant of all useful arts.' "'I'll turn him over to Belly after school,' said Nora, laughing. "'Is he nice, Dad?' "'Very, I should say,' rejoined her father. "'He's the son of an old friend.' And his face saddened imperceptibly. "'Your Aunt Eva,' said, it ought to be a governess, and perhaps it would have been one only young Stevenson came in my way. He wanted something to do, and for his father's sake I chose him for my daughter's instructor.' "'Who's his father, Daddy?' "'Well, you wouldn't know if I told you, girly. A dear old friend of mine, when I was a young man—the best friend I ever had—Jim is named after him.' "'Is he dead now?' Mr. Linton hesitated. "'We lost him years ago,' he said sadly. "'A great trouble came upon him. He lost some money, and was falsely accused of dishonesty. And he had to go to prison. When he came out, his wife refused to see him. They had made her believe him a thief, and she was a hard woman, although she loved him. She sent him a message that he must never try to see her or their boy. She was cruel, nor his eyes were angry. She was very unhappy, so we mustn't judge her.' Her father said, sighing. "'Poor soul!' She paid for her harshness. Later the truth of the whole bad business came out, and she would have given the world to be able to beg his forgiveness. Only it was too late.' "'Was he dead, Daddy?' They found his body in the river, said Mr. Linton. Poor old chap. He couldn't stand the loss of his whole world. I wished ever since that I could tell him I never believed the lie for a moment. I was in England at the time, and I knew nothing about it until he was dead.' "'Poor old Daddy,' said Nora, softly. "'Oh, it's an old story now,' Mr. Linton said. Only I never lose the regret, and wish that I could have done something to help my old friend. I don't quite know why I've told you about it, except that I want you to be kind to young Dick Stevenson, because his life has been a sad enough one.' "'Is his mother alive?' She lives in Melbourne, said her father. I think she only lives for this boy, and the time when she can go to her husband and beg his forgiveness. He'll give it, too. Poor old Jim. He never could bear malice in his life, and I'm certain death couldn't change his nature.' The lad seems a good chap. He's had a first-rate education, but his mother never gave him any profession. I don't know why. Women aren't made for business, so he wants to teach. I'll be good to him, Daddy.' Nora slipped her hand into her father's. "'That's my little girl. I knew I could depend on you,' said Mr. Linton. A faraway look came into his eyes, and he pulled hard at his pipe. Nor a guest he was thinking of days long ago.' She pulled her bait up, and examination told her it was untouched. The fish were certainly shy, and another half-hours tempting did not bring them to the hook. It was exceedingly dull. Nora wound up her line slowly. She also had been thinking. "'I'm going for a walk, Daddy,' she said. "'All right, dear. Don't go far,' said her father, absently. Nora walked soberly along the log until she reached the creek bank, and then jumped ashore. She looked round at her father, but he was absorbed in his fishing and his thoughts, and so the little girl slipped away into the bush. She made her way among the trees quickly, keeping to the line of the creek. Presently she sat down on a moss-grown stump, and thought deeply. The hermit had been pretty constantly in Nora's mind since the troopers had been scouring the district in their search for the wind-filled murderer. She had longed intensely to warn him, sending certain unpleasantness to him, and possible danger, although she was loyally firm in the belief that he could not be the man for whom they were searching. Still, how like the description was. Even though Nora's faith was unshaken, she knew that the various hint of the hermit's existence would bring the troopers down on him as fast as they could travel to his camp. She put aside, resolutely, the thoughts that flocked to her mind, the strange old man's lonely life, his desire to hide himself from his fellow men. I don't understand it a bit, she said out loud, but I'll have to tell him he ought to know. With that she sprang up and ran on through the scrub. It was thick enough to puzzle many a traveler, but the little maid of the bush saw no difficulties in the way. It was quite clear to her, remembering how the hermit had guided the merry party on the first visit weeks ago, at the exact spot on the creek she struck off at right angles into the heart of the trees, keeping a sharp look out for the tall old form that might appear at any moment, hoping that her father might not grow tired of fishing, and coo-ee for her to return. But there was a silence in the bush, and no sign of the hermit could be seen. The thought came to Nora that he might have struck camp and gone farther back into the wild country, away from the men he dreaded. But she put the idea from her. Somehow she felt that he was there. She came to the clump of dogwood that hid the old log along which laid the last part of the track to the hermit's camp, and, climbing up, ran along it lightly. There were no recent footprints upon it. Suddenly the silence of the surroundings fell heavily on her heart. Reaching the end of the log that gave access to the clearing, she took a hasty glance round. The ashes of the fire were long dead. No one was there. Nora's heart thumped heavily. For a moment she fought with the longing to run back, back from this strange silent place, back to Daddy. Then she gulped down something in her throat, and giving herself an impatient shake. She went resolutely across the clearing to the tent, and peeped in. The interior of the tent was as neat and home-like as when Nora had seen it first. The quaint bits of furniture stood in their places, and the skins lay on the floor, but Nora saw nothing but her friend's face. The hermit was lying on his bunk, a splendid old figure in his dress of soft furry skins, but with a certain helplessness about him that brought Nora's heart into her mouth. As the flap of the tent lifted, he turned his head with difficulty, and looked at the little girl with weary, burning eyes that held no light of recognition. His face was ghastly white beneath the sun-burnt skin, which was drawn like parchment over the cheekbones. A low moan came from his dry lips. Water! Nora cast a despairing glance around, an empty belly by the old man, told its own tale, and a hurried search in the camp only revealed empty vessels. I'll be back in a minute! said Nora, sobbing. Afterwards she could not remember how she had got down to the creek. Her blouse was torn, and there were long scratches on her wrists, and she was panting as she came back to the sick man, and struggling to raise his heavy head, held a cup to his lips. He drank fiercely, desperately, as Nora had seen starving cattle drink when released after a long journey in the trucks. Again and again he drank, until Nora grew afraid and begged him to lie down. He obeyed her meekly, and smiled a little, but there was no comprehension in the fevered eyes. She put her hand on his forehead and started at its burning heat. Oh, what will I do with you? she said, in her perplexity. Do, said the hermit, with startling suddenness, but I'm dead. He closed his eyes, and laid very still. Dead, ages ago, he muttered. A second he lay so, and then he turned and looked at her. Where's the child? he asked. I must go to him. Let me go, I tell you. He tried to rise, but fell back weakly. Water, he begged. She gave him water again, and then bathed his face and hands, using her handkerchief for a sponge. He grew quieter, and once or twice Nora thought he seemed to know her, but at the end he closed his eyes and lay motionless. I'll be back very soon, she said. Do please be still, dear Mr. Hermit. She bent over him and kissed his forehead, and he stirred and murmured a name she could not catch. Then he relapsed into unconsciousness, and Nora turned and ran wildly into this scrub. To bring Daddy, Daddy who knew everything, who always understood there was no other thought in her mind now, whatever the hermit might have done, he needed help now, most sorely. Daddy was the only one who could give it. Only the way seemed long as she raced through this trees, seeing always that haggard, pain-rung face on the rude bunk, if only they were in time. Mr. Linton, sitting on the log and lazily watching his idle float, started at the voice that called to him from the bank, and at sight of the little girl he'd leapt to his feet and ran towards her. Nora, what is it? She told him, clinging to him and sobbing, hugging at him all the time to make him come quickly. A strange enough tale it seemed to Mr. Linton of hermits and hidden camps and the wind-filled murderer and someone who needed help, but there was that in Nora's face and in her unfamiliar emotion that made him hurry through the scrub beside her, although he did not understand what he was to find, and was only conscious of immense relief to know that she herself was safe. After the moment of terror that her first cry had given him, Nora steadied herself with a great effort as they came to the silent camp. He's there, she said, pointing. Mr. Linton understood something then, and he went forward quickly. The hermit was still unconscious. His hollow eyes met them blankly as they entered the tent. Oh, he's ill, Daddy! Will he die? But David Linton did not answer. He was staring at the unconscious face before him, and his own was strangely white. As Nora looked at him, struck with a sudden wonder, her father fell on his knees and caught the sick man's hand. Jim, he said, and a sob choked his voice. Oh, chum! Jim! CHAPTER 15 FOR FRIENDSHIP DADDY! At the quivering voice her father lifted his head and Nora saw that his eyes were wet. It's my dear old friend, Stevenson, he said brokenly. I told you about him. We thought he was dead. There was the body. I don't understand. But this is he, and he is alive. Thank God! The hermit stirred and begged again for water, and Mr. Linton held him while he drank. His face grew anxious, and as he felt the scorching heat of the old man's body. He's so thirsty! Nora said tremulously. Goodness knows when he'd had a drink. His poor lips were all black and cracked when I found him. Had he no water near him? Asked her father quickly. You got this? Yes, from the creek. Nora nodded. I'll get some more, Daddy. The belly's nearly empty. When Nora returned, laden with two cans, her father met her with a very grave face. That's my girl, he said, taking the water from her. Nora, I'm afraid he's very ill. It looks uncommonly like typhoid. Will he? Will he die, Daddy? I can't tell, dear. What's bothering me is how to get help for him. He wants a doctor immediately, wants a dozen things I haven't got here. I wish that blessed black boy hadn't gone. I don't quite know what to do. I can't leave you here while I get help. He's half delirious now. You must let me go, said Nora quietly. I can, easily. You, said her father, looking down at the steady face, that won't do, dear, not across fifteen miles of lonely country. I— The hermit cried out suddenly and tried to rise, and Mr. Lenton had to hold him down gently, but the struggle was a painful one, and when it was over the strong man's bra was wet. Poor old chap, he muttered, brokenly. Nora caught his arm. You see, I must go, Daddy, she said. There's no one else, and he'll die. Truly, I can, Daddy, quite well. Bob's'll look after me. Can you? he said, looking down at her. You're sure you know the track. Of course I can, said his daughter, scornfully. I don't see anything for it, Mr. Lenton said, an anxious frown, knitting his brow. His life hangs on getting help, and there's no other way. I'll have to risk you, my little girl. There's no risk, said Nora. Don't you worry, Daddy, dear. Just tell me what you want." Mr. Lenton was writing hurriedly in his pocket-book. Send in to Congee, for Dr. Anderson, as hard as a man can travel, he said shortly. Don't wait for him, however. Get Mrs. Brown to pack these things from my medicine-chest, and let Billy get a fresh horse and bring them back to me, and he needn't be afraid of knocking his horse up. I'm afraid we're too late, as it is. Can he find his way here? He's been here. That's all right, then. Tell Anderson I think it's typhoid, and if he thinks we can move him, let Wright follow the doctor out with the express wagon. Mrs. Brown will know what to send to make it comfortable. Can you manage, Bobs? Yes, of course. Mr. Lenton put his hand on her shoulder. I've got to let you go, he said. It's the only way. Remember, I won't have a minute's peace until I know you've got safely home. I'll be all right, Daddy. True. And I'll hurry. Don't bother about me. Bother, he said. My little wee mate. He kissed her. Twice. Now, hurry. Bobs, grazing peacefully under a big gum-tree, was startled by a little figure, staggering beneath saddle and bridle. In a minute Nora was on his back, and they were galloping across the plain towards home. A young man sat on the cap of the stockyard fence at Billabong Homstead, swinging his legs listlessly and wishing for something to do. He blessed the impulse that had brought him to the station before his time, and wondered if things were likely to be always as dull. Unless my small pupils stirs things up, I don't fancy this life much. He said moodily, in which he showed considerable impatience of judgment, being but a young man. Across the long gray plain, a tiny cloud gathered, and the man watched it lazily. Gradually it grew larger, until it resolved itself into dust, and the dust into a horse and rider. Someone coming, he said, with faint interest. By Jove, it's a girl. She's racing, too. Wonder if anything's wrong. He slipped from the fence, and went forward to open the gate, looking at the advancing pair, a big bay pony panting and dripping with sweat, but with go in him, yet for a final sprint, and on his back a little girl, flushed and excited, with tired, set lips. He expected her to stop at the gate, but she flashed by him with a glance, and a brief, Thank you. Galloping up to the gate of the yard. Almost before the pony stopped, she was out of the saddle and running up the path to the kitchen. The man saw Mrs. Brown come out, and heard her cry of surprise as she caught the child to her. Something's up, said the stranger. He followed at a run. In the kitchen Nora was clinging to Mrs. Brown, quivering with the effort not to cry. Someone ill in the bush, said the astonished brownie, patting her nurseling. Yes, Billy's here, Derry, and all the horses are in. Where's the note? I'll see to it. Poor pet. Don't take on, lovey. There. See, here's your new governess, Mr. Stevenson. Nora straightened with a gasp of astonishment. You, she said. Me, said Dick Stevenson, ungrammatically, holding out his hand. You're my pupil, aren't you? Is anything wrong? There's a poor gentleman near to dying in the scrub. Volunteered Mrs. Brown, and Miss Nora's come all the way in for help. Fifteen miles, if it's an inch. I don't know how you did it, my blessed pet. You don't mean to say you did, said the new governess. Amazed. Small girls like this had not come his way. By Jove, you're plucky, I say. What's up? Nora was very pale. Are you really Mr. Stevenson? She asked. I, you'll be surprised. He's, her voice felt her. Don't worry to talk, he said gently. You're done up. No, she steadied her voice. I must tell you. It's, it's your father, Dick Stevenson's face suddenly darkened. I beg your pardon, he said stiffly. You're making a mistake. My father is dead. He's not, said Nora. He's my dear hermit, and he's out there with typhoid, or some beastly thing. We found him, and Dad knows him quite well. It's really him. He never got drowned. Do you know what you're saying? The man's face was white. But Nora's self-command was at an end. She buried her face in Brownie's kind bosom, and burst into a passion of crying. The old woman rocked her to and fro gently, until the sobs grew fainter, and Nora, shame-faced, began to feel for her handkerchief. Then Mrs. Brown put her into the big, cushioned rocking chair. Now, you must be brave and tell us, dearie, she said gently. This is pretty wonderful for Mr. Stevenson. So Nora, with many catchings of the breath, told them all about the hermit, and of her father's recognition of him, saying only nothing of her long and lonely ride. Before she had finished, Billy was on the road to Kanji, flying for the doctor. Dick Stevenson, white-faced, broke in on the story. How can I get out there? he said shortly. I'll take you, Nora said. You! that's out of the question. No, it isn't. I'm not tired, said Nora, quite unconscious of saying anything but the truth. I knew I'd have to, anyhow, because only Billy and I know the way to the hermit's camp, and he has to fetch the doctor. You tell Wright to get banker for you, and put my saddle on Jim's pony, and to look well after Bob's. Hurry! Well, Brownie gets the other things. Dick Stevenson made no further protests, his brain a whirl as he raced to the stables. Brownie protested, certainly, but did her small maids bidding the while. But it was a very troubled old face that looked long after the man and the little girl as they started on the long ride back to the camp. Mile after mile they swung across the gray plain. Nora did not try to talk. She disdained the idea that she was tired, but a vague feeling told her she must save all her energies to guide the way back to the camp, hidden in the scrub, where the hermit lay raving, and her father sat beside the lonely bed. Neither was her companion talkative. He stared ahead, as if trying to pierce with his eyes the line of timber that blurred across the landscape. Nora was glad he did not bother her with questions. She had told him all she knew, and now he was content to wait. It must be hard on him all the same, thought Nora, looking at the set young face, and sparing an instant to approve of the easy seat in the saddle displayed by her new governess, to believe that her father was dead all these years, and then suddenly to find him alive. But how far apart in every way? Why, you hardly know. Muse Nora, whether you'll like him, whether he'll be glad to see you, not that anyone could fail to like the hermit, anyone with sense, that is. Mile after mile the plain slipped away beneath the even beat of the steadily cantering hoofs. The creek, forwarded slowly, sank into the distance behind them, before the line of timber grew darker and more definite. Jem's pony was not far inferior to Bob's in pace and easiness, and his swinging canter required no effort to sit, but a great weariness began to steal over his rider. Dick Stevenson, glancing at her frequently, saw the pallor creeping upon the brave little face. He pulled up. We'll go steady for a while, he said, no good knocking you up altogether. Nora checked her pony, unwellingly. Oh, don't you think we ought to hurry? She said. Dad's waiting for those medicines you've got, you know. Yes, I know, but I don't think we'll gain much by overdoing it. If you're thinking about me, Nora said impatiently, you needn't. I'm as right as rain. You must think I'm pretty soft. Do come on! He looked at her steadily. Dark shadows of weariness lay under the brave eyes that met his. Why, no, he said. Fact is, I'm a bit of a new chum myself where writing is concerned. You mustn't be too ashamed of me. I think we'd better walk for a while, and you take this. He poured something from his flask into its little silver cup and handed it to Nora. Their eyes met, and she read his meaning through the kindness of the words that cloaked what he felt. Above her weariness a sense of comfort stole over Nora. She knew in that look that henceforth they were friends. She gulped down the drink, which was hateful, but presently sent a feeling of renewed strength through her tired limbs. They rode on in silence for some time, the horses brushing through the long, soft grass. Dick Stevenson pulled hard at his pipe. Did—did my father know you this morning? he asked suddenly. Nora shook her head, mournfully. He didn't know anyone, she answered. Only asked for water, and said things I couldn't understand. Then, when Dad came, he knew him at once, but their hermit didn't seem even to know that Dad was there. Did he look very bad? Yes, pretty bad, said Nora, hating to hurt him. He was terribly flushed, and—oh, his poor eyes were awful, so burning and sunken, and—oh, let's canter, Mr. Stevenson, please. This time there was no objection. Banker jumped at the quick touch of the spur as Stevenson's heel went home. Side by side they cantered steadily until Nora pulled her pony in at length of the entrance to the timber, where the creek swung into Angler's bend. We're nearly there, she said. But to the man watching in the hermit's camp the hours were long indeed. The hermit was too weak to struggle much. There had been a few sharp paroxysms of delirium, such as Nora had seen, during which David Linton had been forced to hold the old man down with unwilling force. But the struggles soon brought their own result of helpless weakness. And the hermit subsided into restless unconsciousness, broken by feeble mutterings of which few coherent words could be caught. Dick was frequently on the fevered lips. Once he smiled suddenly, and Mr. Linton, bending down, heard a faint whisper of, Nora. Sitting beside his old friend in the lonely silence of the bush, he studied the ravages time and sorrow had wrought in the features he knew. Greatly changed, as Jim Stevenson was, his face lined and sunken, and his beard long and white as snow. It was still to David Linton the friend of his boyhood come back from the grave and from his burden of unmerited disgrace. The frank blue eyes were as brave as ever. They met his with no light of recognition, but with their clear gaze undemmed. A sob rose in the strong man's throat, if he could but see again that welcoming light. Here once more his name on his friend's lips, if he were not too late. The hermit muttered and tossed on his narrow bed. The watcher's thoughts fled to the little messenger galloping over the long miles of lonely country, his motherless girl whom he had sent on a mission that might so easily spell disaster. Horrible thoughts came into the father's mind. He pictured Bobs putting his hoof into a hidden crab-hole, falling, nor a lying white and motionless, perhaps far from the track. That was not the only danger. Bad characters were to be met with in the bush, and the pony was valuable enough to tempt a desperate man, such as the wind-filled murderer, who was roaming the district nobody knew where. There was a score of possible risk to battle with them. A little maid of twelve, strong only in the self-reliant spread of the bush. The father looked at the ghastly face before him, and asked himself questions that tortured. Was it right to have let the young life go to save the old one that seemed just flickering out? He put his face in his hands and groaned. How long the hours were? He calculated, feverishly, the time it would take the little messenger to reach home if all went well. And how long it must be before a man could come out to him? At that thought he realized for the first time the difficulty Nora had seen in silence. Who should come out to him? Black Billy must fetch the doctor and guide him to the sick man, but no one else saved Nora herself, knew the track to the little camp, hidden so cunningly in the scrub. At that rate it might be many hours before he knew if his child were safe. Anxiety for the remedies for his friend was swallowed up in the anguish of uncertainty for Nora. It seemed to him that he must go to seek her, that he could not wait. He started up, but as if alarmed by his sudden movement the hermit cried out and tried to rise, struggling feebly with the strong hands that were quick to hold him back. When the struggle was over David Linton sat down again. How could he leave him? Then across his agony of uncertainty came a clear childish voice. The tent flaps were parted and Nora stood in the entrance, white and trembling, but with a glad smile of welcome on her lips. Behind her a tall man, who trembled too. David Linton did not see him. All the world seemed whirling round him as he caught his child in his arms. 15 You, Mr. Linton, said, he had put Nora gently into the rough chair and turned to Dick Stevenson, who was standing by his father, his lips twitching. They gripped hands silently. 16 You can recognize him? I'd know him anywhere, the son said. Poor old dad, you think? I don't know, the other said hastily. Can't tell until Anderson comes. But I fancy it's typhoid. You brought the things? Ah, his eyes brightened as they fell on the leather medicine case Mrs. Brown had sent, and in a moment he was unstrapping it with quick, nervous fingers. Nora Hermit stirred and gasped for water. He drank readily enough from the glass Mr. Linton held to his lips while his son supported him with strong, young arms. There was not much they could do. Anderson should be here before long, Mr. Linton said. What time did Billy leave? A little after twelve. What did he ride? A big black. That's right, Mr. Linton nodded. Anderson would motor out to Billabong, I expect, and Mrs. Brown would have the fresh horses ready. They should not be very long, with ordinary luck. Billy left about twelve, did he? By Jove, Nora must have made a great time. It was after half-past ten when she left me. She in the pony looked as if they'd done enough. And she came back. I hadn't realized it all in the minute of seeing her. Her father said, staring at Stevenson, Nora, dear, are you quite knocked up? He turned to speak, but broke off sharply. Nora was gone. Mr. Linton turned on his heel without a word and hurried out of the tent, with Stevenson at his side. Just for a moment the Hermit was forgotten in the sudden pang of anxiety that gripped them both. In the open they glanced round quickly, and a sharp exclamation of dismay broke from the father. Nora was lying in a crumpled heap under a tree. There was something terribly helpless in the little quiet figure, face downwards on the grass. Just for a moment, as he fell on his knees beside her, David Linton lost his self-control. He called her piteously, catching the limp body to him. Dick Stevenson's hand fell on his shoulder. She's only fainted. He said huskily, overtired, that's all. Put her down, sir, please. And Mr. Linton, still trembling, laid the little girl on the grass and loosened her collar while the other forced a few drops from his flask between the pale lips. Gradually Nora's eyes flickered and opened, and color crept into her cheeks. Daddy! she whispered. Don't talk, my darling, her father said. Lies still. I'm all right now, Nora said presently. I'm so sorry. I frightened you, Daddy. I couldn't help it. You should have kept still, dear, said her father. Why did you go out? I felt brummy, said his daughter, inelegantly. A queer, whirly-go-round feeling. I guess I must be going to tumble over. It didn't seem any good making a duffer of myself when you were busy with the hermit, so I cut out. Dick Stevenson turned sharply and, without a word, strode back into the tent. Nora turned with a sudden movement to her father, clinging to the rough surge of his coat, something like a tear fell on her upturned face as the strong arms unfolded her. Why, Daddy, dear old dad, she whispered. It was nearly twilight when Dr. Anderson and Blackbelly rode into the clearing to the joy of the anxious watchers. The doctor did not waste any words. He slipped off his horse and entered the tent. Presently Dick Stevenson came out and sat down beside Nora to await the verdict. I can't do any good there, he said, and there's no room. Nora nodded. Just then there seemed nothing to say to the son, whose father, so lately given back from the grave, seemed to be slipping away again without a word. She slid her hand into his and felt his fingers close warmly upon it. I can stand it, he said brokenly, after a while, if he can only know we, the world, knows he was never guilty. If I can only tell him that I can't bear him to die, not knowing that, he'd know it anyhow. The little voice was very low, but the lad heard it. I guess he will, he said, and that's better, but I would like to make it up to him a bit while he's here. Then they were silent. The shadows deepened across the clearing, long since the sun had disappeared behind the rim of encircling trees. The tent flaps parted, and the doctor and Mr. Linton came out. Dick rose and faced them. He could not utter the question that trembled on his lips. The doctor nodded cheerily. Well, Nora, he said, yes, I think we'll pull the patient through this time. Mr. Stevenson, it'll be a fight, for he's old and weakened by exposure and lack of proper food, but I think we'll do it. He talked on, hopefully, appearing not to see the question the sun could not altogether hide. Take him home? Yes, we'll get him home to-morrow, I think. We can't nurse him out here. The express wagon's following, with all sorts of comforting things. Trust your old Mrs. Brown for that, Nora, most capable woman. Mattresses, air-pellows, nourishment. She'd thought of everything, and the wagon was all ready to start when I got to Billabong. By the way, Billy was to go back to show right the way. Where are you, Billy? Why haven't you gone? Plenty, said Billy hastily, as he disappeared. Queer chap that, said Dr. Anderson, lighting a cigarette. That's about the only remark he's made all day, and in the motor he didn't say as much, sat like an ebony statue with his eyes bulging in unholy terror. I hear you've been flying all over the country, Nora. What do you mean by looking so white? The tale of Nora's iniquities was unfolded to him, and the doctor felt her pulse in a friendly way. You'll have to go to bed soon, he said. Can't have you knocking yourself up, you know, and we've got to make an early start to-morrow, to avoid the worst heat of the day for the patient. Also you will take a small tabloid to make you buck up, if you know what that means, Nora. Nora, Grand. Ah, well, Mr. Sevensson here will make you forget all that undesirable knowledge before long, lost in a maze of Euclid and Latin and Greek and trigonometry and things. I say, gasp, Nora. Well, you may, rim the doctor. I foresee the lively times for you and your tutor in the paths of learning, young lady. First of all, however, you'll have to be undernourished to our friend the patient, with Mrs. Brown as head, and that reminds me, someone must set up tonight. That's my privilege, said Dick Stevenson quickly, and all that night, after the camp had quieted to sleep, the sun sat beside his newly found father, watching in the silver moonlight every change that flitted across the one old face. The hermit had not yet recovered consciousness, but under the doctor's remedies he had lost the terrible restlessness of delirium and lay for the most part calmly. In heart, as he watched him, Dick was but a little boy again, loving above all the world the tall daddy who was his hero, longing with all the little boy's devotion and all the strength of his manhood to make up to him for the years he had suffered alone. But the calm face on the bed never showed sign of recognition. Once or twice the hermit muttered, and the boy's name was on his lips. The pulse fluttered feebly. The great river flowed very close about his feet. CHAPTER 17 THE END OF THE STRUGGLE The long slow journey to Belibang homestead was accomplished. The hermit had never regained consciousness throughout the weary hours, during which every jolt of the express wagon over the rough tracks had sent a throb to the hearts of the watchers. All unconscious he had lain while they lifted him from the bunk where he had slept for so many lonely nights. The men packed his few personal belongings quickly. Nora, remembering a hint dropped by the hermit in other days, had instituted a search for buried papers which resulted in the unearthing of a ten-box containing various documents. She had insisted, too, that the rough furniture should go, and it was piled in the front of the wagon. Another man had brought out the old pack mare for the baggage of the original fishing-party, and the whole calvilcade moved off before the sun had got above the horizon. But it was a tedious journey. Dr. Anderson sat beside his patient, watching the feeble action of the heart and the flickering pulse, plying him with stimulants and nourishment, occasionally calling a halt for a few minutes, complete rest. Close to the wheel, Dick Stevenson rode, his eyes scarcely leaving his father's face. On the other side Nora and her father rode in silent, miserable anxiety, fretting at their utter helplessness. Dr. Anderson glanced sharply, now and then, at the little girl's face. "'This isn't good for her,' he said, at length, quietly, to Mr. Linton. She's had too much already. Take her home.' He raised his voice. "'You'd better go on,' he said. "'Let Mrs. Brown know just what is coming. She'll need you to help her prepare the patient's room, Nora. You too, Stevenson.' "'I won't leave him, thanks,' he said. "'I'd rather not. He might become conscious. No chance of that,' the doctor said. "'Best not, too, until we have him safely in bed. However, stay if you like. Perhaps it's as well, I think. Linton, you'd better send a wire to Melbourne for a trained nurse.' "'And one to mother,' Dick said quickly. "'That's gone already,' Mr. Linton said. I sent George back with it last night, when he brought the mare out. He smiled in answer to Dick's grateful look. Well, come on, Nora.' The remembrance of that helpless form in the bottom of the wagon haunted Nora's memory all through the remainder of the ride home. She was thoroughly tired now. Excitement that had kept her up the day before had prevented her from sleeping, and she scarcely could keep upright in the saddle. However, she set her teeth to show no sign of weakness that should alarm her father, and endeavored to have a smile for him whenever his anxious gaze swept her white face. The relief of seeing the red roof of home, that last mile, was the longest of all, and when at length they were at the gate, and she had climbed stiffly off her pony, she could only lean against his shoulder and shake from head to foot. Mr. Linton picked her up bodily and carried her, feebly protesting into Mrs. Brown. "'Only knocked up,' he said, in answer to the old woman's terrified exclamation, "'Bed is all she needs, and hot soup, if you've got it. Nora, dear.' As she begged to be allowed to remain and help, you can do nothing just now, except get yourself all right. Do as I tell you, girly, and in an astonishingly short space of time Nora found herself tucked up in bed in her darkened room, with daddy's hand fastened hers, and a comforting feeling of everything fading away to darkness and sleep. It was twilight when she opened her eyes again, and Brownie sat knitting by her side. "'Bless you, dear, hot,' she said fervently. "'Yes, the old gentleman's come, and he's quite comfortable in bed, though he don't know no one yet. Dr. Anderson's gone to country, but he's coming back in his steam engine to stay all night, and you pause having his dinner, which he needs it, poor man, and he don't want you to get up, lovey, for there ain't nothing you can do. I'll go and get you something to eat.' But it was Mr. Linton who came presently, bearing a tray with dainty chicken and salad and a glass of clear golden jelly. He sat by Nora while she ate. "'We're pretty anxious, dear,' he told her, when she had finished, and was snugly lying down again, astonishingly glad of her soft bed. "'You won't mind my not staying. I must be near old Jim. I'll be glad when Anderson's back. Try to go to sleep quickly.' He bent to kiss her. "'You don't know what a comfort your sleep has been to me, my girly,' he said. "'Good night.'" It was the third day of the struggle with death over the hermit's unconscious body, and again Twilight was falling upon Bilibon. The house was hushed and silent. No footfall was allowed to sound where the echo might penetrate to the sick-room. Near its precincts Mrs. Brown and the mill-born trained nurse reigned supreme, and Dr. Anderson came and went as often as he could manage the fourteen mile spin out from Konji in his motor. Nora had a nuke-hair, a little fragile, old lady, with snowy hair, and depths of infinite sadness in her eyes, whom Dick Stevenson called mother. The doctor would not allow either mother or son into the sick-room the shock of recognition should the hermit regain consciousness suddenly might be too much. So they waited about. Agonizingly anxious, pitifully helpless, Dick rebelled against the idleness at length. It would kill him, he said, and, borrowing a spade from the Chinese gardener, he spent his time in heavy digging with an easy call of the house. But for the wife and mother there was no help. She was gently courteous to all, gently appreciative of Nora's attempts to occupy her thoughts. But throughout it all, whether she looked at the pets outside or walked among the autumn roses and the garden, or struggled to eat at the table, she was listening, ever listening. In the evening of the third day Mr. Lenton came quickly into the drawing-room. Tears were falling down his face. He went up to Mrs. Stevenson and put his hand on her shoulder. It's all right, we think, he said brokenly. He's conscious and knew me, dear old chap. I was sitting by the bed, and suddenly his eyes opened, and all the fever had gone. Why, Davey, he said, I told him everything was all right, and he mustn't talk, and he's taken some nourishment, and gone off into a natural sleep. Anderson's delighted. Then he caught Mrs. Stevenson quickly as she slipped to his feet, unconscious. Then there were days of dreary waiting, of slow, harassing convalescence. The patient did not seem to be alive to any outside thought. He gained strength very slowly, but he lay always silent, asking no questions, only when Mr. Lenton entered the room, showing any sign of interest. The doctor was vaguely puzzled, vaguely anxious. Do you think I could go and see him? Nora was outside the door of the sick-room. The doctor often found her there, a little silent figure, listening vainly for her friend's voice. She looked up pleadingly. Not if you think I often too, she said. I don't believe it would hurt him. Dr. Anderson said, looking down at her, might wake him up a bit. I know you won't excite him. So it was that the hermit, waking from a restless sleep, found by his side a small person with brown curls that he remembered. Why, it's my little friend. He murmured, failing weakly for her hand. This seems a queer world, old friends and new, all mixed up. I'm so glad you're better, dear Mr. Hermit. Nora said, she bent and kissed him. And we're all friends, everybody. You did that once before, he said feebly. No one had kissed me for such a long while, but mustn't let you. Why? asked Nora, blankly. Because people don't think much of me, Miss Nora, he said, a deep shed falling on his fine old face. They say I'm no good. I don't suppose I'd be allowed to be here. Only I'm an old man, and I'm going to die. But you're not! Nora cried. Dr. Anderson says you're not. And oh, you're making a great mistake. Everyone wants you. Me! said the hermit, and sudden bit her scorn. No, only strangers like you, not my own. Oh, you don't know! Nora protested. She was painfully aware of the order not to excite the patient. But it was awful to let him be so unhappy. Dad's not a stranger. He always knew you, and see how he wants you. Dad, the hermit questioned feebly, is David Linton your father? She nodded, and for a minute he was silent. No wonder you and I were friends, he said. But you're not all, not even you and Davey. No, but—he forced a smile, and pity for her perplexity. Dear little girl, you don't understand, he said. There's something even friendship can't wipe out, though such friendship as your father's can bridge it over. But it's always there, a black, cruel gulf, and that's disgrace. Nora could not bear the misery of his eyes. But if it's all a horrible mistake, she said, if everybody knew it, if it's a mistake. The hermit's hand was on her wrist like a vice, for a moment Nora shivered in fear of what her words might have done. What do you mean, for God's sake, tell me? She steadied her voice to answer him bravely. Please, you mustn't get excited, dear Mr. Hermit, she said. I'll tell you. Dad told me all about it before we found you. It's all a terrible mistake. Everyone knows you were a good man. Everyone wants to be friends with you. Only they thought you were dead. I managed that. His voice was sharp and eager. I saw the other body in the river, and the rest was easy. He struggled for calmness, and Nora held a glass of water to his lips. Please don't get excited, she begged. I won't, he smiled at her. Tell me, does everyone know? Everyone, Nora nodded. There was a step behind her, and a sudden light flashed into the hermit's eyes. Davy, is it true? I am cleared. Years ago, old man, David Lenton's voice was husky. All the world wants to make it up to you. All the world. They're only two, the sick man said. Do they know? Yes. Where are they? For a moment Mr. Lenton hesitated, not knowing what risk he might run. Oh, for petty sake, don't be cautious, David. The hermit begged. I'll be calm. Anything. Only don't refuse a starving man, read. Davy, tell me. They're here, old man. Here, can I, will they? Uh, we've got to be careful of you, Jim, old chap, Mr. Lenton said. You've been a very sick man, and you're not better yet, but they're only living on the hope of seeing you, of having you again, of making it up to you. And they believe in me? The boy, Dick, never believed a word against you, Mr. Lenton said, and your wife, ah, if she doubted, she has paid for it again and again in tears. You'll forgive her, Jim? Yes, he said simply. I've been bitter enough, God knows, but it all seems gone. You'll bring her, Davy. But at the word Nora was out of the room, racing along the hall. Out in the gardens, Dick Stevenson dug mightily in the hard soil, and his mother watched him, listening always. She heard the flying footsteps on the gravel, and turned quickly to meet Nora. Mr. Stevenson, he wants you— Is he worse, Dick gasped? No, I think he's all right, but he knows everything, and he wants you both. In his room, the hermit heard the steps in the hall, the light, slow feet, and the man's tread curbed its impatience, lingering to support them. His breath came quickly as he stared at the door. Then, for a moment, they faced each other, after the weary years, each gaunt and one and old, but in their eyes the light and the love of long ago. The hermit's eyes wandered an instant to his son's face, seeking in the stalwart man, the little lad he knew. Then they came back to his wife. Mary! Jim! she taught her to the bed. Jim, can you forgive me? Forgive? Oh, my girl! The two greyheads were close together. David Linton slipped from the room. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 of A Little Bush Made by Mary Grant Bruce Chapter 18 Evening They were all sitting on the lawn in the twilight. Nora had dispensed afternoon tea with laborious energy, ably second by Dick, who carried cups and cake and made himself generally useful. Then they had talked until the sun slipped over the edge of the plain. There was so much to talk of in those days. The hermit had been allowed to leave his room a fortnight since. He was still weak, but strength was coming every day, strength that follows on happiness. Nora declared he grew better every day, and no one contradicted her. He and his wife sat hand in hand. They were rarely seen any other way, perfect content on each placid face. Dick lay on the grass at their feet, and smoked, and threw stems of buffalo grass at Nora, who returned them honorably. Mr. Linton, also smoking, surveyed the group with satisfaction. They had been talking over plans for the future, plans which Mr. Linton's masterfulness modified very considerably. Go away, he said. Certainly not. I've engaged your son as tutor to my daughter, and I really can't spare him from the poor neglected child. Then, as you, curiously enough, don't wish to leave your son, the course is quite clear. You must stay here. I'm not going to live on you, Davy. You needn't. I'm bitterly in need of someone with a head for figures, a thing I never possessed. You can help me tremendously. And, good as dear old Brownie is, I know Nora ought to be with a gentlewoman, to learn the things that aren't in schoolbooks. It's the best chance you and I have ever had, isn't it, Nora? We aren't going to let it, or you, slip through our hands. It's—it's all very well, Davy, old man. I know it is. Now can't you let well alone, Jim? Talk of it again in five years' time. You may have better luck then. I don't say you will, but you may. Hang it all, man. You're not going to thwart me when I've just got my family together. Well, I won't for a while," the hermit said, and immediately received a kiss on the top of his head. Thank you, Nora," he said meekly. Don't mention it. Nora answered politely. Oh, I'm so glad you're going to stay with us, Mr. Hermit. Nora had flatly declined to call her friend anything but the name she had given him in the bush. As for the hermit, he was perfectly content with anything, Nora did, and had no idea of objecting. You heard, didn't you, Nora, that they'd found your friend, the Winfield murderer? Mr. Linton asked. Daddy, no. Found his body in an old shaft, not far from Winfield. He had the stolen property on him, so there's no doubt of his guilt, so that clears your hermit, even in your suspicious mind. Ah, don't, Daddy," Nora said, fleshing. I wasn't suspicious. I was a duffer. I don't think you were, the hermit said decidedly, a very sensible duffer, anyhow. Dick laughed. Ha! No use trying to come between those two, he said. Not a bit, said the hermit, with great cheerfulness. He smiled at Nora. You brought me back to life, twice. When I think, but for Nora, Mrs. Stevenson, murmured, brokenly, no one would have known you were dying in that dreadful tent. Yes, said the hermit, but I didn't know anything about it. My best memory is of my little friend who brought me good news when I was wishing with all my soul that I'd died in the tent. Don't, Jim, said Mr. Linton. Well, between one and another, there's a fair chance of spoiling my pupil, laughed Dick, stretching himself, I'll have to be doubly stern to counteract the evil influences, Nora. You can prepare for awful times. When next Monday comes, Mr. Linton, may it be soon you can say good-bye to your pickle-lova daughter. She will come out from my mill, ground into the most approved type of young lady, accomplishments, prunes, and prisons, personified. Mr. Linton laughed. Ha, ha, will she, he said, pulling Nora's hair gently. I wonder. Well, you can do your worst, Dick. Somehow I fancy that under all the varnish I'll fund my little bushmaid. End of Chapter 18 End of A Little Bushmaid by Mary Grant Bruce