Books: Mates at Billabong
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Mary Grant Bruce (1878 1958). >> Mates at Billabong
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"I should think so!" said Norah, forgetting everything in the sight of
that cruel wound. "Come on up to the house quickly!" She turned to lead
the way, but the man shook his head.
"Woman there," he stammered.
"It's all right," Norah told him. "Come along."
"Small dog," said the Hindu, unhappily. "Them afraid of me." He pointed
towards the house. "Been there."
"Oh-h!" said Norah, suddenly comprehending. She knew Mary. Then she
laughed. "You come with me; it's all right." She led the way, and the
hawker followed her. A few yards further on, Norah bethought herself of
something, and turned back.
"You must have that covered up," she told him. "No, not with that awful
rag again," with a faint shudder. She took out her handkerchief and
wrapped it lightly round the man's wrist. "That'll do for the
present--come on."
Puck, still in a state of profound indignation in the back yard, was
thrown into a paroxysm of fury at the sight of his enemy returning.
Norah had to chain him up before the Hindu would come inside the gate.
Then she led the way to the kitchen and called Mary.
No Mary answered, so Norah went about her preparations alone--a big
basin of hot water, boracic acid--standby of the Bush--soft rags, and
ointment from the "hospital drawer" Mrs. Brown kept always ready. She
shuddered a little as she began to bathe the wound, while the Indian
watched her with inscrutable face, never flinching, though the pain was
no small thing. It was done at last--cleansed, anointed, and carefully
bandaged. Then he smiled at her gratefully.
"Ram Das him say you good," he said. "Him truth!"
Norah laughed, somewhat embarrassed.
"Hungry?" she asked. "You take my food?"
It was always a delicate question, since the Hindu is easily offended
over a matter of caste. This man, however, was evidently as independent
as Ram Das, for he nodded, and when Norah brought him food, fell to
work upon it hungrily.
Thus it was that Mary, brought from the hysterical sanctuary of her
room by the pressing sense of the necessity of looking after the
kitchen fire, and coming back to her duties like a vestal of old, found
her dreaded enemy cheerfully eating in the kitchen, while Norah sat
near and carried on a one-sided conversation with every appearance of
friendliness, with Tait sleepily lying beside her--at which astonishing
spectacle Mary promptly shrieked anew. The Hindu rose, smiling
nervously.
"Come here, you duffer, Mary!" said Norah, who by this time had arrived
at something of an understanding of the previous happenings. "He's as
tame as tame. Why, old Ram Das sent him!"
"Miss Norah, he's got a knife on him!" said Mary, in a sepulchral
whisper. "I saw it with me own eyes. He nearly killed Puck with it!"
"Well, Puck was trying to kill him," said Norah, "and I guess if you
had a wrist like his, you'd defend yourself any way you could, if Puck
was at you! He's terribly sorry he frightened you--you didn't understand
him, that was all. Ram Das sent him to have his wrist fixed up, and his
name's Lal Chunder, and he's quite a nice man!"
"H'm!" said Mary doubtfully, relaxing so far as to enter the kitchen,
but keeping a respectful distance from the hawker, who took no further
notice of her, going on with his meal. "I don't 'old with them black
creechers in any shape or form, Miss Norah, an' it's my belief he'd
kill us all in our beds as soon as wink! Scarin' the wits out of one,
with his pink top-knot arrangement--such a thing for a man to wear!
Gimme white Orstralia!"
"Look out, he'll hear you!" said Norah, laughing. "He--"
"What talk is this?" said a cheerful voice; and Ram Das, very plump,
very hot and very beaming, came in at the kitchen door, and stood
looking at them. "I sent this young man to the li'l meesis, for that he
was hurt and in pain, and I know the fat woman is kind, and has the
brassic-acid." He glanced at Lal Chunder's bandaged wrist, and shot a
quick question at him in their own tongue, to which the other
responded. The old man turned back to Norah, not without dignity.
"We thank the l'il meesis," he said. "Lal Chunder is as my son: he
cannot speak, but he will not forget."
"Oh, that's all right," said Norah, turning a lively red. "It wasn't
anything, really, Ram Das--and his wrist was terribly sore. You'll both
camp here to-night, won't you? And have some tea--I'm sure you want it,
it's so hot."
"It will be good," said Ram Das, gratefully, sitting down. Then voices
and the sound of hoofs and the chink of bits came from outside; and
presently Mr. Linton and the boys came in, hot and thirsty.
Cecil's eyebrows went up as he beheld his cousin carrying a cup to the
stout old Hindu.
"It's the most extraordinary place I was ever at," he told himself
later, dressing for dinner, in the seclusion of his own room. From the
garden below came shouts and laughter, as Jim engaged Norah and Wally
in a strenuous set on the tennis court. "Absolutely no class limits
whatever, and no restrictions--why, she kept me waiting for my second
cup while she looked after that fat old black in the dirty white
turban! As for the boys--childish young hoodlums. Well, thank goodness
I'm not condemned to Billabong all my days!" With which serene
reflection Mr. Cecil Linton adjusted his tie nicely, smoothed a
refractory strand of hair in his forelock, and went down to dinner.
CHAPTER XII
OF POULTRY
A man would soon wonder how it's done,
The stock so soon decreases!
A. B. PATERSON
"Where are you off to, Norah?"
"To feed the chickens."
"May I come with you, my pretty maid?"
"Delighted!" said Norah. "Here's a load for you."
"Even to stagger under thy kerosene tin were ever a joy!" responded
Wally, seizing the can of feed as he spoke--the kerosene tin of the
bush, that serves so many purposes, from bucket to cooking stove, and
may end its days as a flower pot, or, flattened out, as roofing iron.
"Anyhow, you oughtn't to carry this thing, Norah; it's too heavy. Why
will you be such a goat?"
Under this direct query, put plaintively, Norah had the grace to look
abashed.
"Well, I don't, as a rule," she said. "It's really Billy's job to carry
it for me, but Jim has been coming with me since he came home, so of
course young Billy's got out of hand. And Jim's gone across with Dad to
see old Derrimut, so I had no one. I looked for you and couldn't find
you. And I asked Cecil politely to accompany me, but he put his
eyebrows up, and said fowls didn't interest him. Oh, Wally, don't you
think it's terribly hard to find subjects that do interest Cecil?"
"Hard!" said Wally expressively. "Well, it beats me, anyhow. But then
Cecil regards me with scorn and contumely, and, to tell you the truth,
Nor., when I see him coming I quiver like--like a blancmange! He's so
awfully superior!"
"You know, I'm sure he's not enjoying himself," Norah went on; "and it
really worries us, 'cause we hate to think of anyone being here and not
having a good time. But he does keep his nose so in the air, doesn't
he?"
"Beats me how you're so nice to him," Wally averred. "My word, it would
do that lad good to have a year or two at our school! I guess it would
take some of the nonsense out of him. Was he ever young?"
"I shouldn't think so," Norah said, laughing--"he has such a lofty
contempt for anything at all juvenile now. Well, at least he's looking
better than when he came, so Billabong is doing him good in one way at
any rate, and that is a comfort. But I'm sure he's counting the days
until he goes away."
"Well, so am I," said Wally, cheerfully. "So at least there are two of
us, and I should think there were several more. It's pleasant to find
even one subject on which one can be a twin-soul with Cecil.
Norah"--solemnly--"I have counted eleven different pairs of socks on that
Johnny since I came, and each was more brilliant than the last!"
"I don't doubt it," Norah laughed. "They're the admiration of the
laundry here, and even the men stopped and looked at them as they were
hanging on the line last week. Dave Boone was much interested in that
green pair with the gold stripes, and asked Sarah what football club
they belonged to!"
"Great Scott!" said Wally explosively. "Can you imagine Cecil playing
football?"
"I can't--I wish I could," Norah answered. "Well, never mind Cecil--he's
a tiring subject. Tell me what you think of my chicks."
Norah's special fowl yard was a grassy run divided into two parts, with
small houses and wire-netted enclosures in each. At present one was
devoted to a couple of mothers with clutches of ten and twelve
chickens--all white Orpingtons. The mothers were stately, comfortable
dames, and the chicks, round little creamy balls, very tame and
fascinating. They came quite close to Norah as she stooped to feed
them, and one chick, bolder than his brethren, even stood on the back
of her hand. Wally admired without stint, and proceeded to discharge
the practical duty of rinsing out the water tins and filling them
afresh.
In the other yard a number of older chickens grew and prospered; these
also were all white, of the Leghorn breed, and Norah was immensely
proud of them. She sat down on the end of a box and pointed out their
varied beauties.
"I should have more--lots more," she said, dolefully. "But I've had
horrible trouble with pigs. Why anybody keeps pigs at all I can't
imagine!"
"They're handy when preserved," Wally remarked. "But what did they do
to you?"
"I had a lot of hens sitting this year," said the owner of the
yard--"sitting on lovely eggs, too, Wally! Some I got from Cunjee, and
some from Westwood, and two special sittings from Melbourne. I was
going to be awfully rich! You couldn't imagine all I'd planned with the
immense sums I was going to make."
"There's a proverb," said Wally, sententiously, "about counting your
chickens."
"You're quite the twelfth person who's mentioned that," Norah said,
with some asperity. "Anyhow, I never counted them; I only became rich
in a vague way, and it was very comforting. I'm glad I had that
comfort, for it was all I had."
"Norah, you thrill my very soul with awful fears," Wally gasped. "Tell
me the worst!"
"Donkey!" said Norah, unsympathetically. "Well, they were set. I fixed
up the boxes myself, and lined them so beautifully that when they were
ready, and the eggs in, it was all I could do to prevent myself sitting
on them!"
"I know," Wally nodded. "And then the hens wouldn't sit, would they?
They never do, when you make the nests especially tempting. I had an
old Cochin once who used to sit quite happily for six months at a time
on a clod and a bit of stone, expecting to hatch out a half-acre
allotment and a town hall; but if you put her on twelve beautiful eggs
she simply wouldn't look at them! Makes you vow you'll give up keeping
hens at all."
"It would," Norah said. "Only mine didn't do that."
"Oh!" said Wally, a little blankly. "What did they do, then?"
"Sat--"
"And ate the eggs--I know," Wally burst in. "My old brute used to eat
one a day if you got her to sit. I remember once it was a race between
her and the eggs, and I used to haunt the nest, wondering would she get
'em all eaten before they hatched. They beat her by one--one poor chick
came out. The shock was too much for the old hen, and she deserted it,
and I poddied it in a box for a week, and called it Moses, and it would
eat out of my hand, and then it died!" He gasped for breath, and Norah
gazed with undisguised admiration at the orator.
"So I know how you'd feel," Wally finished.
"I might--but my hens weren't cannibals. They didn't eat any."
"You had luck," said the unabashed Wally. "Well, what happened?"
"They sat quite nicely--"
"And the eggs were addled, weren't they? It's always the way with half
these swagger sittings you buy from dealers. They--"
"Oh, Wally, I WISH you wouldn't be so intelligent!" said Norah, with
not unnatural heat. "How am I ever going to tell you?"
"Why, I thought you were telling me as hard as ever you could!" Wally
responded, visibly indignant "Well, fire away; I won't speak another
word!"
"I don't think you could help it," Norah laughed. "However, I'd eight
hens sitting, and I really do believe that they understood their
responsibilities, for they set as if they were glued, except when they
came off for necessary exercise and refreshment. Even then, they never
gave me any of the usual bother about refusing to go back into the
right box, or scratching the eggs out. They behaved like perfect
ladies--I might have known it was too bright to last!" She heaved a
sigh.
"I know you're working up to some horrible tragedy, and I'm sure I
won't be able to bear it!" said her hearer, much agitated. "Tell me the
worst!"
"So they sat--"
"You said that before!"
"Well, they sat before--and after," said Norah, unmoved. "Two of them
brought their eggs out, beautiful clutches, twelve in one and thirteen
in the other. Such luck! I used to be like the old woman who pinched
herself and asked, 'Be this I?' They all lived in a fox-proof
yard--fence eight feet high with wire-netting on top. I wasn't leaving
anything to chance about those chicks."
"Was it cholera? Or pip?"
"Neither," said Norah. "They were the very healthiest, all of them. The
chickens grew and flourished, and when they were about a week old, the
other six hens were all about to bring out theirs within two days. Oh,
Wally, I was so excited! I used to go down to the yard about a dozen
times a day, just to gloat!"
"Never gloat too soon," said Wally. "It's a hideous risk!"
"I'm never going to gloat again at all, I think," said Norah,
mournfully. The recital of her woes was painful. "So I went down one
morning, and found them all happy and peaceful; the six old ladies
sitting in their boxes, and the two proud mammas with their chicks,
scratching round the yard and chasing grasshoppers. It was," said
Norah, in the approved manner of story-tellers," a fair and joyous
scene!"
"'Specially for the grasshoppers!" commented her hearer. "And then--?"
"Then I went out for a ride with Dad, and I didn't get back until late
in the afternoon. I let Bobs go, and ran down to the fowl yard without
waiting to change my habit." Norah paused. "I really don't know that I
can bring myself to tell you any more!"
"If you don't," said Wally, indignantly, "there'll certainly be
bloodshed. Go on at once--
"Am I a man on human plan
Designed, or am I not, Matilda?"
"H'm," said Norah. "Well, I'm not Matilda, anyway! However, I opened
the gate of the yard. And then I stood there and just gaped at what I
saw."
"Dogs?"
"Our dogs are decently trained," Norah said, much offended. "No, it
wasn't dogs--it was pigs!"
"Whew-w!" whistled Wally.
"Pigs. They had burrowed in right under the fence; there was a great
big hole there. And they'd eaten every chicken, and every egg in the
yard. My lovely boxes were all knocked over, and the nests torn to
bits, and there wasn't so much as an eggshell left. The poor old hens
were just demented--they were going round and round the yard, clucking
and calling, and altogether like mad things. And in the middle of it
all, fat and happy and snoring--three pigs!"
"What did you do?" Wally felt that this case was beyond the reach of
ordinary words of sympathy.
"Couldn't do anything. I chased the beasts out of the yard, and threw
everything I could find at them--but you can't hurt a pig. And Dad was
horrid--advised me to have them killed, so that at least we could have
eggs and bacon!" Norah laughed, in spite of her woebegone tone.
"And he calls himself a father!" said Wally, solemnly.
"Oh, he wasn't really horrid," Norah answered. "He wrote off to town
and bought me a very swagger pair of Plymouth Rocks--just beauties. They
cost three guineas!"
"Three guineas!" said the awestruck youth. "What awful waste! Where are
they, Norah? Show me them at once!"
"Can't," Norah responded, sadly.
"You don't mean--?"
"Oh, I've had a terrible year with fowls," said the dejected poultry
keeper. "Those Plymouth Rocks came just before the Cunjee show, and Dad
entered them for me, 'cause the dealer had told him they would beat
anything there. And I think they would have--only just after he sold Dad
mine, a Cunjee man bought a pair for five guineas. He showed his, too!"
Norah sighed.
"Oh!" said Wally.
"So I got second. However, they were very lovely, and so tame. I was
truly fond of Peter."
"Why Peter?"
"Oh, Peter means a Rock," said Norah. "I heard it in a sermon. He was a
beautiful bird. I think he was too beautiful to live, 'cause he became
ill--I don't know what it was, but he pined away. I used to nurse him
ever so; for the last two days of his poor young life I fed him every
hour with brandy and strong soup out of the spout of the invalid
feeder. Brownie was quite annoyed when she found I'd used it for him,"
said Norah, reflectively.
"But he was an invalid, wasn't he?" asked Wally.
"Of course he was--and it's an invalid feeder. I don't see what it's
for, if not for the sick. But it didn't do him any good. I went out
about ten o'clock one night and wrapped him in hot flannel, and he was
rattling inside his poor chest; and in the morning I went out at five
and he was dead!"
"Poor old Nor.!"
"So I tied a bit of black stuff on the gate and went back to bed," said
Norah, pensively.
Wally grinned. "And what became of Mrs. Peter?"
"Oh, Mrs. Peter was a lovely hen," Norah said, "and very healthy. She
never seemed to feel any of Peter's delicacy. He was a very refined
bird. There was another show coming on at Mulgoa, and I found among the
other fowls another Mr. Peter, and it struck me I would have a try for
the prize. Mrs. Peter was so good that I felt I'd get it unless the
five-guinea Plymouth Rock man came up. So I fed up the new Peter and
had them looking very well the day before the show. And then--"
"Yes?" said Wally, as she paused.
"Then a new dog of Burton's killed Mrs. Peter," said Norah, "so I gave
up showing poultry!"
"I should think you did," said the sympathetic auditor. "What did your
father say?"
"He was very nice; and very angry with the dog; but he didn't buy me
any more valuable fowls--and I expect that was just as well," said
Norah, laughing. "I don't seem to have luck when it comes to keeping
poultry. Jim says it's management, but then Jim never kept any himself.
And it does make a difference to your views if you keep them yourself."
"It does," Wally agreed. "I used to lose ever so many in Queensland,
but then things are really rough on fowls up there--climate and snakes
and lots of odd things, including crocodiles! When I came down to
school I left a lot of hens, and twelve eggs under one old lady hen,
who should have hatched 'em out a few days after I left. And the whole
lot went wandering and found some poison my brother had put out for a
cat!" Wally wiped his eyes elaborately.
"And died?"
"It was suicide, I think," said Wally, nodding. "But I always had
comfort about that lot, because I still have hopes that those twelve
eggs hadn't hatched."
"I don't see what that has to do with it," Norah said, plainly puzzled.
"Why, don't you understand? If they hatched I must have lost them along
with the others; but if they didn't hatch, I didn't lose so many, for,
not having them to lose, I couldn't very well lose them, could I?
Q.E.D.!" finished Wally, triumphantly. "That's Philosophy!"
"You're a credit to your teachers, old man," said a new voice; and Jim
made his appearance behind the fence, over which he proceeded to climb
laboriously.
"Yes, I'm a nice boy," said modest Mr. Meadows. "Sometimes I think you
don't appreciate me--"
"Perish the thought!" said Jim, solemnly.
"But I always feel that honest worth will tell in the end," finished
Wally. "Jim, you great, uncivilized rogue, unhand me!" There was a
strenuous interlude, during which the Leghorn chicks fled shrieking to
the farthest corner of their domain. Finally Jim stepped unwittingly,
in the joy of battle, into the kerosene tin, which was fortunately
empty, and a truce was made while he scraped from a once immaculate
brown leather legging the remains of the Leghorns' breakfast.
"Serve you right," said Wally, adjusting his tie, which had
mysteriously appeared under his right ear. "Norah and I were talking
beautifully, and you hadn't any business to come poke your nose in, if
you couldn't behave, had he Nor.?" Whereat Norah and Jim grinned
cheerfully at each other, and Wally collapsed, remarking with
indignation that you couldn't hope to get justice for either of the
Linton twins when it came to dealing with the other.
"We're not twins!" said Norah.
"No," said her guest, "I think you're worse!" Withdrawing, he sat in
melancholy isolation on a hen coop, and gave himself up, very
appropriately, to brooding.
"Well, I'm sorry if I broke up the party," Jim said, relinquishing the
task of polishing his leggings with marshmallow leaves and looking at
its streaked surface disconsolately. Jim might--and did--scorn coats and
waistcoats in the summer, and revel in soft shirts and felt hats; but
his riding equipment was a different matter, and from Garryowen's bit
and irons to his own boots, all had to be in apple pie order. "Norah,
may I have your hanky to rub this up? No? You haven't one! Well, I'm
surprised at you!" He rubbed it, quite ineffectually, with the crown of
his hat, and still looked pained. "Never mind, I'll get hold of some
tan stuff when I go in. What I came to say when you attacked me, young
Wally--"
"When I attacked you! I like that!" spluttered the justly indignant
Wally.
"Didn't you? I thought you did," grinned Jim. "My mistake, I suppose.
Well, anyhow, when you attacked Norah--quiet, Wally, bother you; how can
a fellow get a word out?--what I came to mention was that Dad wants us."
"Oh!" said Norah, gathering herself up. "Why didn't you say so before?"
"Too busy, and you and Wal. do prattle so. Anyhow, he's not in a
tearing hurry, 'cause he said he was going to have an hour at his
income-tax--and you know what that means."
"Solitude is always best for Dad when he's income-taxing," said Norah.
"It has the most horrible effect on his usual serenity. My dear old
Hermit used to help him, of course; but now--well, no wonder he's
starting early! How's Derrimut, Jimmy?"
"Going on splendidly; Dad and I are quite proud of ourselves as vets.,"
said her brother. "We made quite a good job of the old chap; I believe
he'll hardly have a blemish. By George, you should have seen Cecil at
that operation! He had one rope to hold and he was scared to death."
"So was I," said Wally, grinning. "I was always as timid as a rabbit."
"You!" said Jim, laughing. "Well, you held three ropes, anyway, and I
didn't notice that you looked pale."
"My face won't let me," said his chum. "But I FELT pale!"
"Well Cecil looked and felt it," Jim said. "Of course, you don't
exactly blame a town chap for not taking to that sort of thing like a
duck to water. Still, there's a limit--and I'll swear Norah would have
made a fuss. As far as that goes, Dad says he's known our grandmother,
in the early days, have to help at a much worse job for a beast than
fixing up old Derry's leg. Lots of women had to. They wouldn't like it,
of course, but they certainly wouldn't have made it harder for the man
they were helping by putting on frills!"
"Well, you'd hate to have to get a woman to do a job like that."
"Of course you would. You'd never do it unless it came to a question of
saving a beast or easing its pain. But if it did come to the point, a
decent woman with backbone would lend a hand, just as she's help if it
was the man himself that was hurt. At least, most Australian women
would, or most of those in the country, at any rate. I'd disown Norah
if she didn't."
"I should hope so!" said Norah, quietly.
"At the same time, I've not the remotest intention of employing you as
a vet., old woman," said Jim, untying her hair ribbons in a brotherly
fashion. "Quite enough for you to act in that capacity for that rum
beggar, Lal Chunder--who's departed, by the way, leaving you his
blessing and a jolly little brass tray. The blessing was rather
unintelligible, but there's no doubt about the tray."
"Bother!" said Norah, vexedly. "Silly man! I don't want him to give me
presents--and that wound of his ought certainly to have been looked
after for a few days."
"He said he was going to travel with Ram Das--and old Ram'll see that he
ties it up, I expect," said Jim, with unconcern. "I wouldn't bother,
old first-aid; it looked tip-top when you dressed it before breakfast."
"I'd have given him rag for it, anyway," said Norah, still troubled.
"He can always tear half a yard or so off that turban of his," Jim
said. "Don't go out of your way to meet worry, my girl--it'll always
come quickly enough to meet you. Which is philosophy quite equal to
Wally's!" He sighed. "Here's trouble coming to meet us now, that's
certain!"
CHAPTER XIII
STATION DOINGS
I see as I stand at the slip-rails, dreaming,
Merry riders that mount and meet;
Sun on the saddles, gleaming, gleaming,
Red dust wrapping the horses' feet.
W. H. OGILVIE
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