CHAPTER VII. WHAT NORAH FOUND
Norah, meanwhile, had been feeling somewhat "out of things." It wasreally more than human nature could be expected to bear that she shouldremain on the log with the three boys, while Jim told amazing yarnsabout her. Still it was decidedly lonesome in the jutting root of theold tree, looking fixedly at the water, in which placidly lay a floatthat had apparently forgotten that the first duty of a float is to bob.
Jim's voice, murmuring along in his lengthy recital, came to her softly,and she could see from her perch the interested faces of the two others.It mingled drowsily with the dull drone of bees in the ti-tree behindher, and presently Norah, to her disgust, found that she was growingdrowsy too.
"This won't do!" she reflected, shaking herself. "If I go to sleep andtumble off this old root I'll startle away all the fish in the creek."She looked doubtfully at the still water, now and then rippled by thesplash of a leaping fish. "No good when they jump like that," said Norahto herself. "I guess I'll go and explore."
She wound up her line quickly, and flung her bait to the lazyinhabitants of the creek as a parting gift. Then, unnoticed by the boys,she scrambled out of the tree and climbed up the bank, getting her blueriding-skirt decidedly muddy--not that Norah's free and independent soulhad ever learned to tremble at the sight of muddy garments. She hid herfishing tackle in a stump, and made her way along the bank.
A little farther up she came across black Billy--a very cheerfulaboriginal, seeing that he had managed to induce no less than nineblackfish to leave their watery bed.
"Oh, I say!" said Norah, round-eyed and envious. "How do you manage it,Billy? We can't catch one."
Billy grinned. He was a youth of few words.
"Plenty bob-um float," he explained lucidly. "Easy 'nuff. You try."
"No, thanks," said Norah, though she hesitated for a moment. "I'm sickof trying--and I've no luck. Going to cook 'em for dinner, Billy?"
"Plenty!" assented Billy vigorously. It was his favourite word, andmeant almost anything, and he rarely used another when he could make itsuffice.
"That's a good boy," said Norah, approvingly, and black eighteen grinnedfrom ear to ear with pleasure at the praise of twelve-year-old white."I'm going for a walk, Billy. Tell Master Jim to coo-ee when lunch isready."
"Plenty," said Billy intelligently.
Norah turned from the creek and entered the scrub. She loved the bush,and was never happier than when exploring its recesses. A born bushmaid,she had never any difficulty about finding her way in the scrub, or ofretracing her steps. The faculty of bushmanship must be born in you; ifyou have it not naturally, training very rarely gives it.
She rambled on aimlessly, noting, though scarcely conscious that she didso, the bush sights and scenes on either hand--clinging creepers andtwining plants, dainty ferns, nestling in hollow trees, clusters ofmaidenhair under logs; pheasants that hopped noiselessly in the shade,and a wallaby track in some moist, soft earth. Once she saw a carpetsnake lying coiled in a tussock and, springing for a stick, she ran atit, but the snake was too quick for her and she was only in time to hitat its tail as it whisked down a hole. Norah wandered on, feelingdisgusted with herself.
Suddenly she stopped in amazement.
She was on the edge of a small clear space, at the farther side of whichwas a huge blue-gum tree. Tall trees ringed it round, and the wholespace was in deep shade. Norah stood rooted to the ground in surprise.
For at the foot of the big blue-gum was a strange sight, in that lonelyplace. It was nothing more or less than a small tent.
The flap of the tent was down, and there were no inhabitants to be seen;but all about were signs of occupation. A well-blackened billy hung fromthe ridge-pole. Close to the tent was a heap of dry sticks, and a littlefarther away the ashes of a fire still smouldered, and over them ablackened bough, supported by two forked sticks, showed that the billyhad many times been boiled there. The little camp was all very neat andtidy. "It looks quite home-like," said Norah to herself.
As she watched, the flap of the tent was raised, and a very old man cameout. He was so tall that he had to bend almost double in stooping underthe canvas of the low tent. A queer old man, Norah thought him, as shedrew back instinctively into the shadow of the trees. When hestraightened himself he was wonderfully tall--taller even than Dad, whowas over six feet. He wore no hat, and his hair and beard were verylong, and as white as snow. Under bushy white eyebrows, a pair of brightblue eyes twinkled. Norah decided that they were nice eyes.
But he certainly was queer. His clothes would hardly have passed musterin Collins Street, and would even have attracted attention in Cunjee. Hewas dressed entirely in skins--wallaby skins, Norah guessed, thoughthere was an occasional section that looked like 'possum. They didn'tlook bad, either, she thought--a kind of sleeved waistcoat, and loosetrousers, that were met at the knee by roughly-tanned gaiters, orleggings. Still, the whole effect was startling.
The old man walked across to his fire and, kneeling down, carefullyraked away the ashes. Then he drew out a damper--Norah had never seenone before, but she knew immediately that it was a damper. It lookedgood, too--nicely risen, and brown, and it sent forth a fragrance thatwas decidedly appetizing. The old man looked pleased "Not half bad!" hesaid aloud, in a wonderfully deep voice, which sounded so amazing in thebush silence that Norah fairly jumped.
The old man raked the ashes together again, and placed some sticks onthem, after which he brought over the billy, and hung it above the fireto boil. The fire quickly broke into a blaze, and he picked up thedamper again, and walked slowly back to the tent, where he paused toblow the dust from the result of his cookery.
At this moment Norah became oppressed with a wild desire to sneeze. Shefought against it frantically, nearly choking in her efforts to remainsilent, while she wildly explored in her pockets for a nonexistenthandkerchief.
As the water bursts from the dam the more violently because of itsimprisonment, so Norah's sneeze gained intensity and uproar from herefforts to repress it. It came--
"A--tish--oo--oo!"
The old man started violently. He dropped his damper and gazed round.
"What on earth's that?" he said. "Who's there?" For a moment Norahhesitated. Should she run for her life? But a second's thought showedher no real reason why she should run. She was not in the leastfrightened, for it never occurred to Norah that anyone could wish tohurt her; and she had done nothing to make him angry. So she modestlyemerged from behind a friendly tree and said meekly, "It's me."
"'Me', is it?" said the old man, in great astonishment. He stared hardat the little figure in the blue blouse and serge riding-skirt--at themerry face and the dark curls crowned by the shady Panama hat. "'Me ',"he repeated. "'Me' looks rather nice, I think. But what's she doinghere?"
"I was looking at you," Norah exclaimed.
"I won't be unpolite enough to mention that a cat may look at a king,"said the old man. "But don't you know that no one comes here? No youngladies in blue dresses and brown curls--only wombats and wallabies, andring-tailed 'possums--and me. Not you--me, but me--me! How do youaccount for being here?"
Norah laughed. She decided that she liked this very peculiar old man,whose eyes twinkled so brightly as he spoke.
"But I don't think you know," she said. "Quite a lot of other peoplecome here--this is Anglers' Bend. At least, Anglers' Bend's quite closeto your camp. Why, only, to-day there's Jim and the boys, and blackBilly, and me! We're not wallabies!"
"Jim--and the boys--and black Billy--and me!" echoed the old manfaintly. "Angels and ministers of grace, defend us! And I thought I hadfound the back of beyond, where I would never see anyone more civilizedthan a bunyip! But--I've been here for three months, little lady, andhave never come across anyone. Are you sure you're quite serious?"
"Quite," Norah answered. "Perhaps it was that no one came across you,you know, because people really do come here to fish. Dad and I camphere sometimes, but we haven't been for more than three months
."
"Well, I must move, that's all," said the old man. "I do likequiet--it's annoying enough to have to dress up and go into a townshipnow and then for stores. How do you like my clothes, by the way? I mayas well have a feminine opinion while I have the chance."
"Did you make them yourself?" asked Norah.
"Behold how she fences!" said the old man. "I did indeed!"
"Then they do you proud!" said Norah solemnly.
The old man laughed.
"I shall prize your expression of opinion," he said. "May I ask the nameof my visitor?"
"I'm Norah. Please who are you?"
"That's a different matter," said the other, looking nonplussed. "Icertainly had a name once, but I've quite forgotten it. I have anexcellent memory for forgetting. Would you think I was a bunyip? I'd bedelighted if you could!"
"I couldn't." Norah shook her head. "But I'll tell you what I think youare."
"Do."
"A hermit!"
The old man's face cleared.
"My dear Miss Norah," he said, "you've made a profound discovery. Iam--I am--a hermit! Thank you very much. Being a hermit my resources arescanty, but may I hope that you will have lunch with me?
"I can't, I'm afraid," said Norah, looking affectionately at the damper."The boys will be looking for me, if I don't go back. Listen--there'sJim coo-eeing now!"
"And who may Jim be?" queried the Hermit, a trifle uneasily.
"Jim's my brother," Norah said. "He's fifteen, and he's just splendid.Harry and Wally are his two chums."
"Coo-ee! Coo-ee!"
Norah answered the call quickly and turned to the Hermit, feeling alittle apologetic.
"I had to call," she explained--"Jim would be anxious. They want me forlunch." She hesitated. "Won't you come too?" she asked timidly.
"I haven't eaten with my fellow-men for more time than I'd care toreckon," said the Hermit. "I don't know--will they let me aloneafterwards? Are they ordinary abominable boys?"
"Indeed, they're not!" said Norah indignantly. "They won't come near youat all, if you don't want them--but I know they'd be pleased if youcame. Do!"
"Coo-ee!"
"Jim's getting impatient, isn't he?" said the Hermit. "Well, Miss Norah,if you'll excuse my attire I'll come. Shall I bring my damper?"
"Oh, please!" Norah cried. "We've never tasted damper."
"I wish _I_ hadn't," said the Hermit grimly. He picked up the fallencake. "Let us away!" he said. "The banquet waits!"
During their walk through the scrub it occurred to Norah once or twiceto wonder if her companion were really a little mad. He said suchextraordinary things, all in the most matter-of-fact tone--but when shelooked up at him his blue eyes twinkled so kindly and merrily that sheknew at once he was all right, and she was quite certain that she likedhim very much.
The boys were getting impatient. Lunch was ready, and when lunch hasbeen prepared by Mrs. Brown, and supplemented by fresh blackfish, friedover a camp fire by black Billy, it is not a meal to be kept waiting.They were grouped round the table-cloth, in attitudes more suggestive ofease than elegance, when Norah and her escort appeared, and for oncetheir manners deserted them. They gaped in silent amazement.
"Boys, this is The Hermit," said Norah, rather nervously. "I--I foundhim. He has a camp. He's come to lunch."
"I must apologize for my intrusion, I'm afraid," the Hermit said. "MissNorah was good enough to ask me to come. I--I've brought my damper!"
He exhibited the article half shyly, and the boys recovered themselvesand laughed uncontrollably. Jim sprang to his feet. The Hermit's firstwords had told him that this was no common swagman that Norah had pickedup.
"I'm very glad to see you, sir," he said, holding out his hand.
"Thank you," said the Hermit gravely. "You're Jim, aren't you? And Iconclude that this gentleman is Harry, and this Wally? Ah, I thought so.Yes, I haven't seen so many people for ages. And black Billy! How areyou Billy?"
Billy retreated in great embarrassment.
"Plenty!" he murmured.
Everybody laughed again.
"Well," Jim said, "we're hungry, Norah. I hope you and--er--thisgentleman are." Jim was concealing his bewilderment like a hero. "Won'tyou sit down and sample Billy's blackfish? He caught 'em all--wecouldn't raise a bite between us--barring Wally's boot!"
"Did you catch a boot?" queried the Hermit of the blushing Wally. "Mine,I think--I can't congratulate you on your luck! If you like, afterlunch, I'll show you a place where you could catch fish, if you onlyheld the end of your finger in the water!"
"Good enough!" said Jim. "Thanks, awfully--we'll be jolly glad. Come on,Billy--trot out your frying-pan!"
Lunch began rather silently.
In their secret hearts the boys were rather annoyed with Norah.
"Why on earth," Jim reflected, "couldn't she have left the old chapalone? The party was all right without him--we didn't want any oneelse--least of all an odd oddity like this." And though the other boyswere loyal to Norah, she certainly suffered a fall in their estimation,and was classed for the moment with the usual run of "girls who do rummythings."
However, the Hermit was a man of penetration and soon realized the stateof the social barometer. His hosts, who did not look at all like quietboys, were eating their blackfish in perfect silence, save for politerequests for bread or pepper, or the occasional courteous remark, "Chuckus the salt!"
Accordingly the Hermit exerted himself to please, and it would reallyhave taken more than three crabby boys to resist him. He told thedrollest stories, which sent everyone into fits of laughter, although henever laughed himself at all; and he talked about the bush, and toldthem of the queer animals he saw--having, as he said, unusually goodopportunities for watching the bush inhabitants unseen. He knew wherethe lyrebirds danced, and had often crept silently through the scrubuntil he could command a view of the mound where these strange birdsstrutted and danced, and mimicked the other birds with life-likefidelity. He loved the birds very much, and never killed any of them,even when a pair of thievish magpies attacked his larder and pecked adamper into little bits when he was away fishing. Many of the birds weretame with him now, he said; they would hop about the camp and let himfeed them; and he had a carpet snake that was quite a pet, which heoffered to show them--an offer that broke down the last totteringbarriers of the boys' reserve. Then there were his different methods oftrapping animals, some of which were strange even to Jim, who was atrapper of much renown.
"Don't you get lonely sometimes?" Norah asked him.
The Hermit looked at her gravely.
"Sometimes," he said. "Now and then one feels that one would givesomething to hear a human voice again, and to feel a friend's hand-grip.Oh, there are times, Miss Norah, when I talk to myself--which is bad--oryarn to old Turpentine, my snake, just to hear the sound of words again.However, when these bad fits come upon me I know it's a sign that I mustget the axe and go and chop down sufficient trees to make me tired. ThenI go to sleep, and wake up quite a cheerful being once more!"
He hesitated.
"And there's one thing," he said slowly--"though it may be lonely here,there is no one to trouble you; no one to treat you badly, to beungrateful or malicious; no bitter enemies, and no false friends, whoare so much worse than enemies. The birds come and hop about me, and Iknow that it is because I like them and have never frightened them; oldTurpentine slides his ugly head over my knees, and I know he doesn'tcare a button whether I have any money in my pocket, or whether I haveto go out into the scrub to find my next meal! And that's far, far morethan you can say of most human beings!"
He looked round on their grave faces, and smiled for the first time.
"This is uncommonly bad behaviour in a guest," he said cheerily. "Tocome to lunch, and regale one's host and hostess with a sermon! It's toobad. I ask your forgiveness, young people, and please forget all I saidimmediately. No, Miss Norah, I won't have any damper, thank you--after athree months' course of damper one looks with joy onc
e more on bread. IfWally will favour me--I think the correct phrase is will you 'chuck methe butter?'"--whereat Wally "chucked" as desired, and the mealproceeded merrily.
A Little Bush Maid Page 7