by Carol Norton
*CHAPTER XI*
*THE BREAKING-UP*
"With trumping horn and juvenile huzzas, At going home to spend their Christmas days, And changing Learning's pains for Pleasure's toys." TOM HOOD.
Out through the gateway of the National School, on one sultry afternoonin late December, tumbled a pack of noisy boys and scarcely less noisygirls; the while they kicked up a fine dust, yelling in an uproariousfashion. Were you, a stranger, to ask the cause of this demonstrationof voice and capering limbs, you would be answered by a score of voicesin rousing chorus--
"Hip, hip, hurray for Christmas Day! School's broke up, hip, hip, hurray!"
However strongly one might be disposed to question the quality of thecouplet as he listened to the trumpetings of this cluster of children,he would cheerfully admit the gusto of the proceedings as the juvenilesissued pell-mell.
If truth be told, the master was no less pleased than the youngsterswhen the actual moment of dismissal came. Like all schools, thisparticular one was infected for weeks previously with a spirit ofrestlessness, which made it well-nigh impossible to secure the undividedattention of the children. There was no disposition for serious study,and Simpson, who was a wise teacher, attempted no coercive measures.Natural history was presented in its most attractive forms. Grammar andarithmetic were for the most part tabooed, and instead of puzzlingrefractory brains with arithmetical and grammatical abstractions, thechildren lived in the jungles of India, crossed Sahara, took a trip tothe Booties, wandered into Arctic circles, or, what was equallyexciting, made transcontinental trips in company with Sturt, Burke andWills, Leichhardt, and other great Australian explorers.
Many were the schemes unfolded and plans laid by the boys during thelast schooldays. The holidays would not be an undiluted playtime to anyone of the boys. Many of the lads would work hard on the farms; theirparents, bearing in mind the old adage of Satan and idle hands, willtake good care to anticipate the sinister designs of that interferingold gentleman. The wood pile stood as an unfailing object of labour.Sheds were awaiting the whitewash brush. Fowl houses loomed expectant.Fences demanded attention. These, and many other duties about house andfarm, were put off till the "holidays."
There were other anticipations, however, far more highly coloured andbewitching than these. Charm the schoolboy never so wisely, histhoughts, with a dogged obstinacy or triumphant breakaway, return to thedelectable things of the groves, streams, mountains, and plains. Horse,gun, dog, rod, bat, duck, quail, pigeon; perch, bream, mullet; kangaroo,wallaby, dingo, brumby, scrubber! These are the sources and instrumentsof pleasure; things that people the imagination, and make an earthlyparadise.
Sobering down, after an unusual indulgence in larks to mark theauspicious event, Joe, Tom, and Sandy, separating from the others,sauntered to the slip-rail entrance of the school horse-paddock. Joeand Tom, at the express request of Mrs. M'Intyre, are to spend theholidays with Sandy on the station. Here all kinds of fun and alluringadventure are promised the lads. How well that promise was redeemed letthe sequel bear witness.
"Now then, you fellows, don't forget that you are to be at Bullaroi onthe morning of Christmas Eve without fail."
"I say, ole boss, what does eve mean?"
"Eve! Why, a--er--short for evening, I s'pose. What makes you ask,Joe?"
"Well, if Christmas Eve is evening, how can we be there in themornin'?--you savee?"
"You're mighty smart, Blain, but did you ever know an evening thatdidn't have a morning to it?"
"Oh--ah--yes, I see. We're to come out on the morning of the evening.Sure it's an Irishie ye ought to be instead of a Scotchie."
"Scotchie or no Scotchie," replied Sandy, who was the essence ofgood-humour, "ye're not to be later than ten o'clock of the forenoon ofthe day before Christmas. There! Will that fit you, you pumpkin-headedson of a bald-bellied turnip?"
"Thanks, M'Intyre; I'm sure my father'll be delighted when I tell himthe respectful titles you've given him," returned Joe, with mocksarcasm.
"He'll no dispute the title of his son's head, anyhow," flung back theScotch lad, as, bridle in hand, he strolled on to round up his steed.
This parthian shot nettled Joe, but the answer he would have givenremained unuttered, for at this moment his eldest sister appeared andbeckoned to him in an emphatic manner, at the same time calling upon himto hurry. So, contenting himself with levelling Midshipman Easy'smasonic sign at the retreating lad, he hurried along towards his sister.
"Father wants you to go down the river with him in the boat."
"Where's it to?"
"Down to Beacon Point. Tom Tyler's had a bad accident, and they've sentfor the doctor; but he's away. He was called out to a bad case at DingoCreek head station, and is not expected to be back till middayto-morrow. So they've asked father to go down, and you've to hurryalong. Father's waiting down at the boat for you."
Mr. Blain was waiting at the boat with everything that was required forthe trip. As soon as the lad was in, he pushed off, and, taking thestern oar, with Joe at the bow, father and son started on theirtwelve-mile pull.
In answer to the boy's question the minister gave some details of theaccident, and, further, informed the lad that it was his intention tocall at Mrs. Robinson's, distant about five miles from Tareela.
They had now settled down to a steady stroke, and as the sun was on itswestering wheel, and the sting out of its slanting rays, the row becameenjoyable. Mr. Blain was a sort of newsletter to the settlers, and inhis trips up-stream and down-stream was frequently hailed and made thetarget of questioning from the riverbank.
Robinsons' was reached a little before sunset, where they were madeabundantly welcome. Some years previously Mr. Robinson met his death byone of those accidents all too common in new settlements. Felling scrubtimber is a risky performance. It so happened that in felling a stoutfig tree, Robinson failed to notice some lawyer vines that, hanging fromthe high branches, had attached themselves to the bare limbs of anadjacent dead tree.
Standing at the base and watching the toppling fig tree, as it slowlyswayed preparatory to its final crash, he was unaware that thecable-like vines were retarding its progress. Gathering way, however,the falling tree brought a strain upon the vine, and tore away a heavylimb of the dead tree. This falling upon the axe-man, killed himinstantly.
The widow was blest with a family of boys and girls who were true grit.Misfortune breaks some people--it makes others. The latter was thetruth in this case.
In all the trying times Mrs. Robinson underwent, the minister was herfriend and counsellor.