CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
"SWEET, SWEET HOME."
Sour Sorrel wanted no reining in, but stopped short at the foot of thegreat hillock, down which two bonny-looking, sun-browned maidens hadrun, followed by a tall, grey, graceful-looking lady.
"It is Dominic, isn't it?" cried one of the girls.
"Yes, it is!" cried the other. "Oh, Nic, how you have grown!"
"And oh!" cried the other, "how you have distressed poor Sorrel! Youshouldn't have ridden him so hard."
This was in the intervals between kisses, as the lad was embraced byfirst one and then the other. But as soon as he could free himself, Nicran to meet his mother, who was descending more slowly.
"My dear boy!" she cried.
"Mother!" and they were locked in each other's arms.
Mrs Braydon could say no more for some minutes, but stood with thetears streaming down her handsome face, clinging tightly to her son,while the two dogs looked on uneasily, whining and giving short,half-angry barks, as if they did not quite understand whether theattentions of the three ladies were friendly toward their young master.
The tears stood in the eyes of the two girls as well, but they weretears of joy, and in a merry, laughing way the elder cried:
"Oh, mother, you must not keep him all to yourself!"
"No, no, of course not," cried Mrs Braydon, locking one arm now inNic's. "Poor boy! how hot and weary he is, Janet!"
"Yes; and he has nearly ridden poor Sorrel to death," cried the secondgirl.
"In his eagerness to get home," said Mrs Braydon, clinging to her sonaffectionately. "At last--at last! Oh, my boy, it has seemed so long!But your father, is he just beyond the gully?"
"No, no!" cried Nic excitedly. "A day's journey away."
"And you have come alone?"
"Yes; but tell me," cried Nic. "The blacks: have they attacked you?"
"No, no," cried Janet quickly; "are they out?"
"Yes; we saw a large party this morning coming to attack the waggon.Father was afraid that they might have been here, and he sent me on fornews."
"No," said Mrs Braydon, "they have not been near us. But your father?"
"I left him with the two men and the waggon."
"They'll be all right, mother," said the second girl, squeezing up toNic's side and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Oh! how wet andhot you are. Sticky boy!"
"Yes, mother dear," said Janet. "Hil is quite right. There's nothingto mind."
"But he said the blacks were going to attack the waggon, my dear," criedMrs Braydon anxiously. "We had better send over to Mr Dillon for aparty to go and meet them."
"Oh, nonsense, mother!" said Hilda, giving her dark brown curls a toss;"father would laugh at the idea. He'll fire a few shots over theirheads and send them scrambling away."
"Yes, of course," said Janet calmly enough. "Mamma is a little nervoussometimes, Nic. We don't mind a few blackfellows about here. They areonly like big children."
"But what ought I to do?" cried Nic anxiously. "Shall I ride somewhereand get help?"
"Perhaps it is not necessary," said Mrs Braydon, smiling ratherpiteously. "The girls are right. But, my dear boy, how did you findyour way?"
"Father pointed out that gap in the mountain over there, and told me toride straight for it."
"What place was it where you left your father?"
Nic described it as well as he was able.
"I know: it must be the third water-hole from here; five-and-thirtymiles away."
"And he has ridden all that way since morning!" cried Mrs Braydon. "Mypoor boy! It is dreadful!"
"There," cried Hilda saucily; "it's all over, Jan. I knew mamma wouldspoil him as soon as he came. Go and have your face washed, Nic; you'renot fit to touch ladies. _Cooey--cooey_!"
Nic stared to see his pretty young sister, a year older than he,suddenly put her hands to her mouth and utter a peculiar cry.
"She's calling one of the men."
"_Cooey_!" came in response, and a shock-headed black in shirt andtrousers came running down from one of the sheds.
"White Mary want er?"
"No, no: where's Samson?"
"White Mary want er--Sam," said the black aloud, as if telling himself;and he trotted off with a queer gait, his legs very far apart, as if hefound trousers awkward to walk in; and he then burst into a sharp run,for the dogs, which had been smelling his heels, began to bark and rushafter him.
"Here, here, here!" shouted Nic, for the black uttered a yell; and thedogs turned back obediently, and came to his side wagging their tails,and, apparently satisfied in their minds, were ready to respond to thefriendly advances of the two girls.
"Hi! Sam!" cried Hilda, as a diminutive grey old man came hurryingdown, smiling and touching his hat. "Take Sorrel, and give him a feedof corn and a good rub down. Hardly any water."
"All right, miss. So this is young master? How do, sir? Glad to seeyou. Master close home?"
"No, no, Samson," said Mrs Braydon anxiously. "What do you think? Myson was sent on to see if we were safe here. The blacks are out, and aparty surprised them by the waggon."
To Nic's annoyance the man showed a few very old yellow teeth in an uglylaugh.
"Master'll surprise some o' them if they don't take to their legs mightysharp, missus."
"Then you don't think there's any danger?"
"Yes, I do--for them," said the man. "Some on 'em'll be howling whilet'others picks shot-corns out o' their black hides with a pynted stone."
"Yes, of course," said Hilda coolly.
"Then you don't think I ought to send over to Mr Dillon to get help forhim?"
"Help? Tchah! Don't you be so narvous, missus. They blackfellowsdon't know no better. They comes out with some streaks of white chalkon their black carcadges, and they goes up to a waggon flourishing theirhop-poles and making faces, and frightens some people, and then theysteal flour and stores; but if they've gone to our waggon, I 'maginethey've gone to the wrong un. Take a precious ugly face to scare thedoctor. Tell you what he'll do, ladies all. He'll shoot over theirheads _first_."
"Yes, of course," said Hilda.
"That's right, Miss Hil. Then if that don't do no good, he'll give 'ema dose o' number six. And then, missus, if that don't do, he'll tryswan shot; but don't you be frecken. Master knows how to manage strangeblackfellows. Come along, my lad. Say, young master, you have give hima sweating, and no mistake."
The horse went and placed its muzzle over the little old man's shoulder,and gave a puff like a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"Knows me, young master," said the man, grinning. "Ay, nussed you,Sorrel, when you was on'y a babby, didn't I?" he continued, patting thearched neck and carefully turning a few strands of the mane back intheir place.
"There, mother dear," said Janet affectionately; "you see it is notnecessary."
"But I feel as if, now I know you are all safe, I ought to go back,"said Nic.
"You couldn't do it, sir," said the old man. "Why, you don't s'pose Ishould be talking like this if I thought the doctor was in trouble!There's allus blacks about; and it's on'y missus as is so scared about'em. It's all right, sir. Where did you say you left the master?"
"By the third water-hole."
"By Bangoony," said the old man. "Day's trot, and the bullocks'll wanta three-hour rest half-way. They'll be here twelve o'clock to-night,for master'll make it one day for the last. Don't you fret, missus; thedoctor knows what he's about. Blacks ain't lifers. He'll be here allright. Come along, my bairn!"
This last was to the horse, which followed him toward one of the sheds;and the dogs went after, one of them uttering a low growl as the mangave the nag a sounding slap.
Samson stood still, and then turned to the dog. "Now then: none o'that. It ain't your horse." The dog growled, and its companion joinedin. "Oh, that's it, is it? I say, Mr Dominic, sir, hadn't you betterinterrajuice us? They say they don't know me, and I'm too useful t
oyour father to feed dogs."
"They won't bite," said Nic, going up, but walking very stiff and lame.
"That's what folks allus says," grumbled the old man; "but `dogs do barkand bite, for 'tis their nature to.' Just you tell 'em to makefriends."
"Yes. Look here: friends! friends!" cried Nic. "Shake hands, Samson."
"Sure I will, sir," said the old man, grinning, as he rubbed a hardblackened hand down one leg of his trousers. "That ain't dirt, sir.I've been tarring some o' the sheep. On'y a bit sticky."
"I don't mind," cried the boy, holding out his hand, which was taken ina firm grip, and proved to be more than a bit sticky, for it was heldtightly as the man stared hard at him.
"And the master to'd me, he did, as you was on'y a bit of a sickly slipof a lad as he left in London or elsewhere when he come out here--apoor, thin, weak, wankle sort o' gentleman, not what he is now."
Nic wanted to loose his hand and get back, but it was held fast, and theold man went on:
"Why, you'll grow into a _big_, strong man, sir, bigger than the doctor.Ay, I 'gaged with him arter he'd nussed me for my broken leg, as theship doctor down at Botany Bay said must come off. `Nay,' says yourfather, and him all the time suff'rin' from a norful corf,--`nay,' hesays, `don't you have it took off, my man,' he says; and I says Iwouldn't, for o' course I didn't want to go about like a pegtop; and hesets to and makes it right. This here's the leg, stronger than t'other.I call it the doctor's leg, and I said I'd come up country with him ifhe'd have me, and he said he would, and I helped him make this place.We cut the wood and knocked in the nails, and I've bred horses and sheepand cows for him, and I'm going to stick to him to the end, and thenhe's promised to dig a hole hisself under yan big gum tree with my nameplaced over me, and that's where I'm goin' to sleep. Now you wants togo back to your mar. She's been a-frettin' arter you for years whileyou was being taught to read and write, so be a good boy to her. But, Isay, you couldn't ha' rid another five-and-thirty mile to-day."
"No," said Nic. "Take care of the horse."
"Ay, and the dogs too. Here, give's your paw."
The dog he spoke to growled and showed its teeth.
"Ah, friends! Give him your paw," cried Nic.
The dog held out its right paw, but threw up its head and drew back itsmuzzle, as it looked at Nic protestingly, as much as to say, "He's onlya stranger, and I don't know anything about him."
"Now you," growled Samson; and the same business was gone through, withthe dog whining uneasily.
"Hullo! what's the matter?" said Samson, lifting the leg. "There--don'tmake that row. It's on'y a thorn. You'll get lots o' them in your toesif you behave yourself. Dogs ought to wear boots in some o' theseparts. That's it. Big un too. See it?"
He made an offer as if to prick the dog's nose, after drawing out along, sharp thorn, making the beast yelp; but as soon as it was out itgave the place a lick, and then barked loudly and danced about the oldman, both dogs following him readily now as he went off grinning to thestable.
Mrs Braydon and the girls were waiting, and Nic was led limping towardthe house.
"Only a bit stiff with riding," said the boy. "Then we are to becomfortable about father?"
"I suppose so, my dear," said Mrs Braydon. "Janet, my love, see to thetea."
"Everything is ready, mother dear," said the girl affectionately; "andreally I don't think we need fidget. Nic cannot go back. He must stayand take care of us and the station."
"Yes," said Mrs Braydon sadly, as if she thought it would be of moreconsequence to take care of the doctor; and Nic was led into the house,after passing through a neatly kept, well fenced-in garden, full oftrees, shrubs, and flowers new to him, though beyond a hedge there was abroad spread of homely old friends of a useful kind, growingluxuriantly.
He was ushered at once into a pleasant room, made bright, in spite ofits extremely simple furnishing, by white dimity curtains and home-mademats, the bed in the corner looking white as snow; and, left to himself,the boy luxuriated in a comfortable wash, though in place of ewer andbasin he had but a bucket and tub.
Before he had finished, his mother was back with a cup of refreshingtea, this time with cream.
"You'll find everything very rough, my son; but every time the waggongoes on its journey to the port it brings back same more domesticcomforts."
"Never mind the roughness, mother," cried Nic, kissing her, and bringinga smile of joy playing about her lips; "it's home, and I'm along withyou all again."
"Yes, my son; and I can be quite happy now," said Mrs Braydon, clingingto him fondly. "There, drink your tea," she said quickly, "finishdressing, and there's a brush by the window, and I've brought you myglass. How brown and blistered your poor face is!"
"Oh, that's nothing, mother," cried Nic. "Hah! delicious!" he sighed,as he finished the tea, making his mother smile her satisfaction.
"Be quick. We have a tea-dinner ready, for we felt that you might comeat any time. You will not have to come downstairs, dear; we are all onone floor. We only had one room and the waggon and a tent first; butothers have been added, one at a time. I ought to go now, but it is sohard to leave you, my dear."
She kissed him lovingly again--they were the first kisses she hadpressed upon his lips for over five years--and then she hurried out.
"Hah!" sighed Nic; "I wish I knew that father was safe." Then, stiffand with his hand trembling from his long ride, he took up the comb tosmooth his hair.
"Might as well sit down," he said; and he sank back on the bed. "Howsoft! Feathers! And the pillow--how cool! Cheeks burn so," hemuttered, as he subsided on the restful couch to gaze sidewise at thewindow with its little sill and flowers growing in a box, all fresh,bright and fragrant.
"I like flowers," he said softly, and then--"Hah!"
He was breathing softly.
The bow strained tightly for so many hours was now unstrung. Everynerve and muscle were relaxed, and the soft, pure air which came throughthe open window played upon his scorched cheeks.
The horse was swinging along in that easy canter out of the burningsunshine into the shade--a soft, cool, delicious, restful shade--on andon and on toward the Bluff; and Nic felt that there was no more care andtrouble in the world. There was nothing to trouble him. He had felthis mother's kisses on his cheeks and lips, and the horse was notrushing, only swinging along in that glorious canter, for the shade hadgrown darker, into a soft, sweet obscurity, and everything was so still.
First in the Field: A Story of New South Wales Page 14