want to transplant them and you must take so much of the old earth
with them that they hardly know they are being moved.  Sarah, bring
the coffee.  As for my own part, Archie, I am going back; but it is
only just to see the old cottage, the dear old woods, and--and my
mother's grave."

"Yes," said Archie, thoughtfully.  "Well, root by root you said,
didn't you?"

"Aye, root by root."

"Then I'm going to begin.  Rupert and Elsie will be the first roots.
Roup isn't over strong yet.  This country will make a man of him.
Bob and you, Harry, can go to bed as soon as you like.  I'm going out
to think and walk about a bit.  Stick another log or two on the fire,
and as soon as you have all turned in I'll write a letter home.  I'll
begin the uprooting, though it does seem cruel to snap old ties."

"Well," said Harry, "thank goodness, I've got no ties to snap.  And I
think with you, Archie, that the old country isn't a patch on the
new.  Just think o' the London fogs.  You mind them, Sarah."

"I does, 'Arry."

"And the snow."

"And the slush, 'Arry."

"And the drizzle."

"And the kitchen beetles, boy.  It would take a fat little lot to
make me go back out o' the sunshine.  Here's the coffee."

"Keep mine hot, Sarah."

Away went Archie out into the night, out under the stars, out in the
falling dew, and his kangaroo went jumping and hopping after him.

The sky was very bright and clear to-night, though fleece-shaped,
snow-white clouds lay low on the horizon, and the moon was rising
through the distant woods, giving the appearance of some gigantic
fire as its beams glared red among the topmost branches.

There was the distant howling or yelling of dingoes, and the low,
half-frightened bleat of sheep, and there was the rippling murmur of
the stream not far off, but all else was still.

It was two hours before Archie found his way back.  The kangaroo saw
him to the door, then went off to curl up in the shed till the hot
beams of the morning sun should lure him forth to breakfast.

And all alone sat Archie, by the kitchen table, writing a letter home
by the light of candles made on the steading.

It was very still now in the house--only the ticking of the clock,
the occasional whirr of some insect flying against the window,
anxious to come into the light and warmth and scratching of the young
man's pen.

Surely the dog knew that Archie was writing home, for presently he
got slowly up from his corner and came and leant his head on his
master's knee, in that wise and kindly way collies have of showing
their thoughts and feelings.  Archie must leave off writing for a
moment to smooth and pet the honest "bawsent" head.

Now it would be very easy for us to peep over Archie's shoulder and
read what he was writing, but that would be rude; anything rather
than rudeness and impoliteness.  Rather, for instance, let us take a
voyage across the wide, terribly wide ocean, to pay a visit to Burley
Old Farm, and wait till the letter comes.

* * * * * *

"I wonder," said Elsie with a gentle sigh, and a long look at the
fire, "when we may expect to hear from Archie again.  Dear me, what a
long, long time it is since he went away!  Let me see, Rupert, it is
going on for six years, isn't it?"

"Yes.  Archie must be quite a man by now."

"He's all right," said the Squire.

"That he is, I know," said Uncle Ramsay.

"He's in God's good hands," said the mother, but her glasses were so
moist she had to take them off to wipe them; "he is in God's good
hands, and all we can do now is to pray for him."

Two little taps at the green-parlour door and enter the maid, not
looking much older, and not less smart, than when last we saw her.

"If you please, sir, there's a gentleman in the study as would like
to see you."

"Oh," she added, with a little start, "here he comes!"

And there he came certainly.

"God bless all here!" he cried heartily.

"What," exclaimed the Squire, jumping up and holding out his hand,
"my dear old friend Venturesome Vesey!"

"Yes, Yankee Charlie, and right glad I am to see you."

"My wife and children, Vesey.  Though you and I have often met in
town since my marriage, you've never seen them before.  My brother,
whom you know."

Vesey was not long in making himself one of the family circle, and he
gave his promise to stay at Burley Old Farm for a week at least.

Rupert and Elsie took to him at once.  How could they help it? a
sailor and gentleman, and a man of the world to boot.  Besides,
coming directly from Archie.

"I just popped into the house the very morning after he had written
the letter I now hand to you," said Captain Vesey.  "He had an idea
it would be safer for me to bring it.  Well, here it is; and I'm
going straight away out to the garden to smoke a pipe under the moon
while you read it.  Friend as I am of Archie's, you must have the
letter all to yourselves;" and away went Vesey.

"Send for old Kate and Branson," cried the Squire, and they
accordingly marched in all expectancy.

Then the father unfolded the letter with as much reverence almost as
if it had been Foxe's Book of Martyrs.

Every eye was fixed upon him as he slowly read it.  Even Bounder, the
great Newfoundland, knew something unusual was up, and sat by Elsie
all the time.

ARCHIE'S LETTER HOME.

"MY DEAREST MOTHER,--It is to you I write first, because I know that
a proposal I have to make will 'take you aback,' as my friend Winslow
would say.  I may as well tell you what it is at once, because, if I
don't, your beloved impatience will cause you to skip all the other
parts of the letter till you come to it.  Now then, my own old mummy,
wipe your spectacles all ready, catch hold of the arm of your chair
firmly, and tell Elsie to 'stand by'--another expression of
Winslow's--the smelling-salts bottle.  Are you all ready?  Heave oh!
then.  I'm going to ask you to let Rupert and Elsie come out to me
here.

"Have you fainted, mummy?  Not a bit of it; you're my own brave
mother!  And don't you see that this will be only the beginning of
the end?  And a bright, happy end, mother, I'm looking forward to its
being.  It will be the reunion of us all once more; and if we do not
live quite under one roof, as in the dear old days at Burley Old
Farm, we will live in happy juxtaposition.

"'What!' you cry, 'deprive me of my children?'  It is for your
children's good, mummy.  Take Rupert first.  He is not strong now,
but he is young.  If he comes at once to this glorious land of ours,
on which I am quite enthusiastic, he will get as hardy as a New
Hollander in six months' time.  Wouldn't you like to see him with
roses on his face, mother, and a brow as brown as a postage stamp?
Send him out.  Would you like him to have a frame of iron, with
muscles as tough as a mainstay?  Send him out.  Would you like him to
be as full of health as an egg is full of meat? and so happy that he
would have to get up at nights to sing?  Then send him here.

"Take poor me next.  You've no notion how homesick I am; I'm dying to
see some of you.  I am making money fast, and I love my dear, free,
jolly life; but for all that, there are times that I would give up
everything I possess--health, and hopes of wealth--for sake of one
glance at your dear faces, and one run round Burley Old Farm with
father."

This part of Archie's letter told home.  There were tears in Mrs.
Broadbent's motherly eyes; and old Kate was heard to murmur, "Dear,
bonnie laddie!" and put her apron to her face.

"Then," the letter continued, "there is Elsie.  It would do her good
to come too, because--bless the lassie!--she takes her happiness at
second-hand; and knowing that she was a comfort to us boys, and made
everything cheery and nice, would cause her to be as jolly as the
summer's day is long or a gum tree high.  Then, mother, we three
should work together with only one intent--that of getting you and
father both out, and old Kate and Branson too.

"As for you, dad, I know you will do what is right; and see how good
it would be for us all to let Roup and Elsie come.  Then you must
remember that when we got things a bit straighter, we would expect
you and mother to follow.  You, dear dad, would have full scope here
for your inventive genius, and improvements that are thrown away in
England could be turned to profit out here.

"We would not go like a bull at a gate at anything, father; but what
we do want here is machinery, easily worked, for cutting up and
dealing with wood; for cutting up ground, and for destroying tree
stumps; and last, but not least, we want wells, and a complete system
of irrigation for some lands, that shall make us independent to a
great extent of the sparsely-failing rains of some seasons.  Of
course you could tell us something about sheep disease and cattle
plague, and I'm not sure you couldn't help us to turn the wild horses
to account, with which some parts of the interior swarm."

Squire Broadbent paused here to exclaim, as he slapped his thigh with
his open palm:

"By St. Andrews, brother, Archie is a chip of the old block!  He's a
true Broadbent, I can tell you.  He appreciates the brains of his
father too.  Heads are what are wanted out there; genius to set the
mill a-going.  As for this country--pah! it's played out.  Yes, my
children, you shall go, and your father will follow."

"My dear Elsie and Rupert," the letter went on, "how I should love to
have you both out here.  I have not asked you before, because I
wanted to have everything in a thriving condition first; but now that
everything is so, it wants but you two to help me on, and in a year
or two----  Hurrah! for dad and the mum!

"Yes, Elsie, your house is all prepared.  I said nothing about this
before.  I've been, like the duck-bill, working silently out of
sight--out of your sight I mean.  But there it is, the finest house
in all the district, a perfect mansion; walls as thick as Burley Old
Tower--that's for coolness in summer.  Lined inside with
cedar--that's for cosiness in winter.  Big hall in it, and all the
rooms just _fac-simile_ of our own house at home, or as near to them
as the climate will admit.

"But mind you, Elsie, I'm not going to have you banished to the Bush
wilds altogether.  No, lassie, no; we will have a mansion--a real
mansion--in Sydney or Brisbane as well, and the house at Burley New
Farm will be our country residence.

"I know I'll have your answer by another mail, and it will put new
life into us all to know you are coming.  Then I will start right
away to furnish our house.  Our walls shall be polished, pictures
shall be hung, and mirrors everywhere; the floors shall glitter like
beetles' wings, and couches and skins be all about.  I'm rather lame
at house description, but you, Elsie, shall finish the furnishing,
and put in the nicknacks yourself.

"I'm writing here in the stillness of night, with our doggie's head
upon my knee.  All have gone to bed--black and white--in the house
and round the Station.  But I've just come in from a long walk in the
moonlight.  I went out to be alone and think about you; and what a
glorious night, Rupert!  We have no such nights in England.  Though
it is winter, it is warm and balmy.  It is a delight to walk at night
either in summer or winter.  Oh, I do wish I could describe to you my
garden as it is in spring and early summer!  That is you know, our
garden that is going to be.  I had the garden laid out and planted
long before the house was put up, and now my chief delight is to keep
it up.  You know, as I told you before, I went to Melbourne with the
Winslows.  Well, we went round everywhere, and saw everything; we
sailed on the lovely river, and I was struck with the wonderful
beauty of the gardens, and determined ours should be something like
it.  And when the orange blossom is out, and the fragrant verbenas,
and a thousand other half-wild flowers, with ferns, ferns, ferns
everywhere, and a fountain playing in the shadiest nook--this was an
idea of Harry's--you would think you were in fairyland or dreamland,
or 'through the looking-glass,' or somewhere; anyhow, you would be
entranced.

"But to-night, when I walked there, the house--our house you
know--looked desolate and dreary, and my heart gave a big
superstitious thud when I heard what I thought was a footstep on the
verandah, but it was only a frog as big as your hat.

"That verandah cost me and Harry many a ramble into the scrub and
forest, but now it is something worth seeing, with its wealth of
climbing flowering plants, its hanging ferns, and its clustering
marvellous orchids.

"Yes, the house looks lonely; looks haunted almost; only, of course,
ghosts never come near a new house.  But, dear Elsie, how lovely it
will look when we are living in it! when light streams out from the
open casement windows! when warmth and music are there!  Oh, come
soon, come _soon_!  You see I'm still impulsive.

"You, Elsie, love pets.  I daresay Bounder will come with you.  Poor
Scallowa!  I was sorry to hear of his sad death.  But we can have all
kinds of pets here.  We have many.  To begin with, there is little
Diana, she is queen of the station, and likely to be; she is
everybody's favourite.  Then there are the collies, and the kangaroo.
He is quite a darling fellow, and goes everywhere with me.

"Our laughing jackass is improving every day.  He looks excessively
wise when you talk to him, and if touched up with the end of a brush
of turkey's feathers, which we keep for the purpose, he goes off into
such fits of mad hilarious, mocking, ringing laughter that somebody
has got to pick him up, cage and all, and make all haste out of the
house with him.

"We have also a pet bear; that is Harry's.  But don't jump.  It is no
bigger than a cat, and far tamer.  It is a most wonderful little
rascal to climb ever you saw.  Koala we call him, which is his native
name, and he is never tired of exploring the roof and rafters; but
when he wants to go to sleep, he will tie himself round Sarah's
waist, with his back downwards, and go off as sound as a top.

"We have lots of cats and a cockatoo, who is an exceedingly
mischievous one, and who spends most of his life in the garden.  He
can talk, and dance, and sing as well.  And he is a caution to
snakes, I can tell you.  I don't want to frighten you though.  We
never see the 'tiger' snake, or hardly ever, and I think the rest are
harmless.  I know the swagsmen, and the sundowners too, often kill
the carpet snake, and roast and eat it when they have no other sort
of fresh meat.  I have tasted it, and I can tell you, Rupert, it is
better than roasted rabbit.

"I'm going to have a flying squirrel.  The first time I saw these
creatures was at night among the trees, and they startled me--great
shadowy things sailing like black kites from bough to bough.

"Kangaroos are cautions.  We spend many and many a good day hunting
them.  If we did not kill them they would eat us up, or eat the
sheep's fodder up, and that would be all the same.

"Gentleman Craig has strange views about most things; he believes in
Darwin, and a deal that isn't Darwin; but he says kangaroos first got
or acquired their monster hindlegs, and their sturdy tails, from
sitting up looking over the high grass, and cropping the leaves of
bushes.  He says that Australia is two millions of years old at the
very least.

"I must say I like Craig very much.  He is so noble and handsome.
What a splendid soldier he would have made!  But with all his
grandeur of looks--I cannot call it anything else--there is an air of
pensiveness and melancholy about him that is never absent.  Even when
he smiles it is a sad smile.  Ah!  Rupert, his story is a very
strange one; but he is young yet, only twenty-six, and he is now
doing well.  He lives by himself, with just one shepherd under him,
on the very confines of civilisation.  I often fear the blacks will
bail up his hut some day, and mumkill him, and we should all be
sorry.  Craig is saving money, and I believe will be a squatter
himself one of these days.  Etheldene is very fond of him.  Sometimes
I am downright jealous and nasty about it, because I would like you,
Rupert, to have Etheldene for a wife.  And she knows all about the
black fellows, and can speak their language.  Well, you see, Rupert,
you could go and preach to and convert them; for they are not half so
bad as they are painted.  The white men often use them most cruelly,
and think no more of shooting them than I should of killing an old
man kangaroo.

"When I began this letter, dearest Elsie and old Roup, I meant to
tell you such a lot I find I shall have no chance of doing--all about
the grand trees, the wild and beautiful scenery, the birds and beasts
and insects, but I should have to write for a week to do it.  So pray
forgive my rambling letter, and come and see it all for yourself.

"Come you must, else--let me see now what I shall threaten.  Oh, I
have it; I won't ever return!  But if you do come, then in a few
years we'll all go back together, and bring out dad and the dear
mummy.

"I can't see to write any more.  No, the lights are just as bright as
when I commenced; but when I think of dad and the mum, my eyes will
get filled with moisture.  So there!

"God bless you all, all, from the mum and dad all the way down to
Kate, Branson, and Bounder.

"ARCHIE BROADBENT, C.O.B.

"p.s.--Do you know what C.O.B. means?  It means Chip of the Old
Block.  Hurrah!"

CHAPTER X.

_RUMOURS OF WAR._

As soon as Squire Broadbent read his son's letter he carefully folded
it up, and with a smile on his face handed it to Rupert.  And
by-and-bye, when Captain Vesey returned, and settled into the family
circle with the rest, and had told them all he could remember about
Archie and Burley New Farm in Australia, the brother and sister,
followed by Bounder, slipped quietly out and told old Kate they were
going to the tower.  Would she come?  That she would.  And so for
hours they all sat up there before the fire talking of Archie, and
all he had done and had been, and laying plans and dreaming dreams,
and building castles in the air, just in the same way that young
folks always have done in this world, and will, I daresay, continue
to do till the end of time.

But that letter bore fruit, as we shall see.

Things went on much as usual in the Bush.  Winter passed away, spring
came round and lambing season, and the shepherds were busy once more.
Gentleman Craig made several visits to the home farm, and always
brought good news.  It was a glorious time in every way; a more
prosperous spring among the sheep no one could wish to have.

On his last visit to the house Craig stayed a day or two, and Archie
went back with him, accompanied by a man on horseback, with medicines
and some extra stores--clothing and groceries, &c., I mean, for in
those days live stock was sometimes called stores.

They made Findlayson's the first night, though it was late.  They
found that the honest Scot had been so busy all day he had scarcely
sat down to a meal.  Archie and Craig were "in clipping-time"
therefore, for there was roast duck on the table, and delightful
potatoes all steaming hot, and, as usual, the black bottle of
mountain dew, a "wee drappie" of which he tried in vain to get either
Craig or Archie to swallow.

"Oh, by-the-bye, men," said Findlayson, in the course of the
evening--that is, about twelve o'clock--"I hear bad news up the hills
way."

"Indeed," said Craig.

"Aye, lad.  You better ha'e your gun loaded.  The blacks, they say,
are out in force.  They've been killing sheep and bullocks too, and
picking the best."

"Well, I don't blame them either.  Mind, we white men began the
trouble; but, nevertheless, I'll defend my flock."

Little more was said on the subject.  But next morning another and an
uglier rumour came.  A black fellow or two had been shot, and the
tribe had sworn vengeance and held a corroboree.

"There's a cloud rising," said Findlayson.  "I hope it winna brak
o'er the district."

"I hope not, Findlayson.  Anyhow, I know the black fellows well.  I'm
not sure I won't ride over after I get back and try to get to the
bottom of the difference."

The out-station, under the immediate charge of Gentleman Craig, was
fully thirty miles more to the north and west than Findlayson's, and
on capital sheep-pasture land, being not very far from the hills--a
branch ridge that broke off from the main range, and lay almost due
east and west.

Many a splendidly-wooded glen and gully was here; but at the time of
our story these were still inhabited by blacks innumerable.  Savage,
fierce, and vindictive they were in all conscience, but surely not so
brave as we sometimes hear them spoken of, else could they have swept
the country for miles of the intruding white man.  In days gone by
they had indeed committed some appallingly-shocking massacres; but of
late years they had seemed contented to either retire before the
whites or to become their servants, and receive at their hands that
moral death--temptation to drink--which has worked such woe among
savages in every quarter of the inhabitable globe.

As Archie and his companion came upon the plain where--near the top
of the creek on a bit of table-land--Craig's "castle," as he called
it, was situated, the owner looked anxiously towards it.  At first
they could see no signs of life; but as they rode farther on, and
nearer, the shepherd himself came out to meet them, Roup, the collie,
bounding joyfully on in front, and barking in the exuberance of his
glee.

"All right and safe, shepherd?"

"All right and safe, sir," the man returned; "but the blacks have
been here to-day."

"Then I'll go there to-morrow."

"I don't think that's a good plan."

"Oh! isn't it?  Well, I'll chance it.  Will you come, Mr. Broadbent?"

"I will with pleasure."

"Anything for dinner, George?"

"Yes, sir.  I expected you; and I've got a grilled pheasant, and fish
besides."

"Ah, capital!  But what made you expect me to-day?"

"The dog Roup, sir.  He was constantly going to the door to look out,
so I could have sworn you would come."

The evening passed away quietly enough.

Dwelling in this remote region, and liable at any time to be
attacked, Gentleman Craig had thought it right to almost make a fort
of his little slab-hut.  He had two black fellows who worked for him,
and with their assistance a rampart of stones, earth, and wood was
thrown up, although these men had often assured him that "he," Craig,
"was 'corton budgery,' and that there was no fear of the black
fellows 'mumkill' him."

"I'm not so very sure about it," thought Craig; "and it is best to be
on the safe side."

They retired to-night early, having seen to the sheep and set a black
to watch, for the dingoes were very destructive.

Both Craig and Archie slept in the same room, and they hardly
undressed, merely taking off their coats, and lying down on the rough
bed of sacking, with collie near the door to do sentry.

They had not long turned in when the dog began to growl low.

"Down charge, Roup," said Craig.

Instead of obeying, the dog sprang to the door, barking fiercely.

Both Archie and Craig were out of bed in a moment, and handling their
revolvers.  Craig managed to quieten Roup, and then listened
attentively.

The wind was rising and moaning round the chimney, but above this
sound they could hear a long-prolonged "Coo--oo--ee!"

"That's a white man's voice," said Craig; "we're safe."

The door and fort was at once opened, and a minute after five
squatters entered.

"Sorry we came so late," they said; "but we've been and done it, and
it took some time."

"What have you done?" said Craig.

"Fired the woods all along the gullies among the hills."

"Is that fair to the blacks?"

"Curse them!" exclaimed the spokesman.  "Why do they not keep back?
The law grumbles if we shoot the dogs, unless in what they please to
call self-defence, which means after they have speared our beasts and
shepherds, and are standing outside our doors with a nullah ready to
brain us."

Craig and Archie went to the door and looked towards the hills.

What a scene was there!  The fire seemed to have taken possession of
the whole of the highlands from east to west, and was entwining wood
and forest, glen and ravine, in its snake-like embrace.  The hills
themselves were cradled in flames and lurid smoke.  The stems of the
giant gum trees alone seemed to defy the blaze, and though their
summits looked like steeples on fire, the trunks stood like pillars
of black marble against the golden gleam behind them.  The noise was
deafening, and the smoke rolled away to leeward, laden with sparks
thick as the snow-flakes in a winter's fall.  It was an appalling
sight, the description of which is beyond the power of any pen.

"Well, men," said Craig when he re-entered the hut, "I don't quite
see the force of what you have done.  It is like a declaration of
war, and, depend upon it, the black fellows will accept the
challenge."

"It'll make the grass grow," said one of the men with a laugh.

"Yes," said another; "and that grass will grow over a black man's
grave or two ere long, if I don't much mistake."

"It wouldn't be worth while burying the fiends," said a third.
"We'll leave them to the rooks."

"Well," said Craig, "there's meat and damper there, men.  Stir up the
fire, warm your tea, and be happy as long as you can.  We're off to
bed."

Gentleman Craig was as good as his word next day.  He rode away in
search of the tribe, and after a long ride found them encamped on a
tableland.

As it turned out they knew him, and he rode quietly into their midst.

They were all armed with spear, and nullah, and boomerang.  They were
tattooed, nearly naked, and hideous enough in their horrid war-paint.

Craig showed no signs of fear.  Indeed he felt none.  He told the
chief, however, that he had not approved of the action of the white
men, his brothers, and had come, if possible, to make peace.  Why
should they fight?  There was room enough in the forest and scrub for
all.  If they--the blacks--would leave the cattle and flocks of the
squatters alone, he--Craig--could assure them things would go on as
happily as before.

"And if not?" they asked.

"If not, for one black man there was in the country, there were a
thousand white.  They would come upon them in troops, even like the
locusts; they would hunt them as they hunted the dingoes; they would
kill them as dingoes were killed, and before long all the black
fellows would be in the land of forgetfulness.  What would it profit
them then that they had speared a few white fellows?"

Craig stayed for hours arguing with these wild men, and left at last
after having actually made peace with honour.

The cloud had rolled away, for a time at all events.  In the course
of a few days Archie and his man left on his return journey.
Findlayson made up his mind to go on with him to Burley New Farm; for
this Scot was very fond of an occasional trip eastwards, and what he
called a "twa-handed crack" with Bob or Harry.

Everybody was glad to see him; for, truth to tell, no one had ever
seen Findlayson without a smile on his old-fashioned face, and so he
was well liked.

Bob came galloping out to meet them, and with him, greatly to
Archie's astonishment, was what he at first took for a black bear.

The black bear was Bounder.

Archie dismounted and threw his arms round the great honest dog's
neck, and almost burst into tears of joy.

For just half a minute Bounder was taken aback; then memory came
rushing over him; he gave a jump, and landed Archie on his back, and
covered his face and hair with his canine kisses.  But this was not
enough.  Bounder must blow off steam.  He must get rid of the
exuberance of his delight before it killed him.  So with a
half-hysterical but happy bark he went off at a tangent, and
commenced sweeping round and round in a circle so quickly that he
appeared but a black shape.  This wild caper he kept up till nearly
exhausted, then returned once more to be embraced.

"So they've come."  It was all that Archie could say.

Yes, they had come.  Elsie had come, Rupert had come, Branson and
Bounder had come.

And oh, what a joyful meeting that was!  Only those who have been
separated for many long years from all they love and hold dear, and
have met just thus, as Archie now met his sister and brother, can
have any appreciation of the amount of joy that filled their hearts.

The very first overflowing of this joy being expended, of course the
next thing for both Archie and the newcomers to say was, "How you've
changed!"

Yes, they had all changed.  None more so than Elsie.  She always gave
promise of beauty; but now that Archie held her at arms' length, to
look at and criticise, he could not help exclaiming right truthfully:

"Why, Elsie, you're almost as beautiful as Etheldene!"

"Oh, what a compliment!" cried Rupert.  "I wouldn't have it, Elsie.
That '_almost_' spoils it."

"Just you wait till you see Etheldene, young man," said Archie,
nodding his head.  "You'll fall in love at once.  I only hope she
won't marry Gentleman Craig.  And how is mother and father?"

Then questions came in streams.  To write one half that was spoken
that night would take me weeks.  They all sat out in the verandah of
the old house; for the night was sultry and warm, and it was very
late indeed before anyone ever thought of retiring.

Findlayson had been unusually quiet during the whole of the evening.
To be sure, it would not have been quite right for him to have put in
his oar too much, but, to tell the truth, something had happened
which appeared to account for his silence.  Findlayson had fallen in
love--love at first sight.  Oh, there are such things!  I had a touch
of the complaint myself once, so my judgment is critical.  Of course,
it is needless to say that Elsie was the bright particular star, that
had in one brief moment revolutionized the existence and life of the
ordinarily placid and very matter-of-fact Findlayson.  So he sat
to-night in his corner and hardly spoke, but, I daresay, like Paddy's
parrot, he made up for it in thinking; and he looked all he could
also, without seeming positively rude.

Well, a whole fortnight was spent by Archie in showing his brother
and sister round the station, and initiating them into some of the
mysteries and contrarieties of life in the Australian Bush.

After this the three started off for Brisbane and Sydney, to complete
the purchase of furniture for Archie's house.  Archie proved himself
exceedingly clever at this sort of thing, considering that he was
only a male person.  But in proof of what I state, let me tell you,
that before leaving home he had even taken the measure of the rooms,
and of the windows and doors.  And when he got to Sydney he showed
his taste in the decorative art by choosing "fixings" of an
altogether Oriental and semi-esthetic design.

At Sydney Elsie and Rupert were introduced to the Winslows, and, as
soon as he conveniently could, Archie took his brother's opinion
about Etheldene.

Very much to his astonishment, Rupert told him that Etheldene was
more sisterly than anything else, and he dare say she was rather a
nice girl--"as far as girls go."

Archie laughed outright at Rupert's coolness, but somehow or other he
felt relieved.

First impressions go a far way in a matter of this kind, and it was
pretty evident there was little chance of Rupert's falling in love
with Etheldene, for some time at least.

Yet this was the plan of campaign Archie had cut out: Rupert and
Etheldene should be very much struck with each other from the very
first; the young lady should frequently visit at Burley New Farm,
and, for the good of his health, Rupert should go often to Sydney.
Things would progress thus, off and on, for a few years, then the
marriage would follow, Rupert being by this time settled perhaps, and
in a fair way of doing well.  I am afraid Archie had reckoned without
his host, or even his hostess.

He was not long in coming to this conclusion either; and about the
same time he made another discovery, very much to his own surprise;
namely, that he himself was in love with Etheldene, and that he had
probably been so for some considerable length of time, without
knowing it.  He determined in his own mind therefore that he would
steel his heart towards Miss Winslow, and forget her.

Before Elsie and Rupert came to settle down finally at the farm, they
enjoyed, in company with Mr. Winslow and his daughter, many charming
trips to what I might call the show-places of Australia.  Sydney, and
all its indescribably-beautiful surroundings, they visited first.
Then they went to Melbourne, and were much struck with all the wealth
and grandeur they saw around them, although they could not help
thinking the actual state of the streets was somewhat of a reproach
to the town.  They sailed on the Yarra-Yarra; they went inland and
saw, only to marvel at, the grandeur of the scenery, the ferny
forests, the glens and hills, the waterfalls and tumbling streams and
lovely lakes.  And all the time Rupert could not get rid of the
impression that it was a beautiful dream, from which he would
presently awake and find himself at Burley Old Farm.

CHAPTER XI.

_THE MASSACRE AT FINDLAYSON'S FARM._

By the time Elsie and Rupert had returned from their wanderings
winter was once more coming on; but already both the sister and
brother had got a complexion.

The house was quite furnished now, guest-room and all.  It was indeed
a mansion, though I would not like to say how much money it had cost
Archie to make it so.  However, he had determined, as he said himself
to Bob, to do the thing properly while he was about it.

And there is no doubt he succeeded well.  His garden too was all he
had depicted it in his letter home.

That Archie had succeeded to his heart's content in breaking ties
with the old country was pretty evident, from a letter received by
him from his father about mid-winter.

"He had noticed for quite a long time," the Squire wrote, "and was
getting more and more convinced, that this England was,
agriculturally speaking, on its last legs.  Even American inventions,
and American skill and enterprise, had failed to do much for the
lands of Burley.  He had tried everything, but the ground failed to
respond.  Burley was a good place for an old retired man who loved to
potter around after the partridges; but for one like himself, still
in the prime of his life, it had lost its charms.  Even Archie's
mother, he told him, did not see the advisability of throwing good
money after bad, and Uncle Ramsay was of the same way of thinking.
So he had made up his mind to let the place and come straight away
out.  He would allow Archie to look out for land for him, and
by-and-bye he would come and take possession.  Australia would
henceforth reap the benefit of his genius and example; for he meant
to show Australians a thing or two."

When Archie read that letter, he came in with a rush to read it to
Bob, Harry, and Sarah.

"I think your father is right," said Bob.

"I tell you, Bob, my boy, it isn't father so much as mother.  The
dear old mummy speaks and breathes through every line and word of
this epistle.  Now I'm off to astonish Elsie and Roup.  Come along,
Bounder."

* * * * * *

Meanwhile Findlayson became a regular visitor at the farm.

"Why," Archie said to him one evening, as he met him about the outer
boundary of the farm, "why, Findlayson, my boy, you're getting to be
a regular 'sundowner.'  Well, Miss Winslow has come, and Craig is
with us, and as I want to show Branson a bit of real Australian
sport, you had better stop with us a fortnight."

"I'll be delighted.  I wish I'd brought my fiddle."

"We'll send for it if you can't live without it."

"Not very weel.  But I've something to tell you."

"Well, say on; but you needn't dismount."

"Yes, I'll speak better down here."

Findlayson sat up on top of the fence, and at once opened fire by
telling Archie he had fallen in love with Elsie, and had determined
to make her his wife.  Archie certainly was taken aback.

"Why, Findlayson," he said, "you're old enough to be her father."

"A' the better, man.  And look here, I've been squatting for fifteen
years, ever since there was a sheep in the plains almost.  I have a
nice little nest egg at the bank, and if your sister doesna care to
live in the Bush we'll tak' a hoose in Sydney.  For, O man, man,
Elsie is the bonniest lassie the world e'er saw.  She beats the
gowan."*

* Gowan = mountain daisy.

Archie laughed.

"I must refer you to the lady herself," he said.

"Of course, man, of course--

  "'He either fears his fate too much,
    Or his deserts are small,
  Who dares not put it to the test
    To win or lose it all.'"

So away went Findlayson to put his fate to the test.

What _he_ said or what _she_ said does not really concern us; but
five minutes after his interview Archie met the honest Scot, and
wondrously crest-fallen he looked.

"She winna hae me," he cried, "but _nil desperandum_, that'll be my
motto till the happy day."

The next fortnight was in a great measure given up to pleasure and
sport.  Both Branson and Bounder received their baptism of fire,
though the great Newfoundland was wondrously exercised in his mind as
to what a kangaroo was, and what it was not.  As to the dingoes, he
arrived at a conclusion very speedily.  They could beat him at a
race, however; but when Bounder one time got two of them together, he
proved to everybody's satisfaction that there was life in the old dog
yet.

Gentleman Craig never appeared to such excellent advantage anywhere
as in ladies' society.  He really led the conversation at the
dinner-table, though not appearing to do so, but rather the reverse,
while in the drawing-room he was the moving spirit.

He also managed to make Findlayson happy after a way.  The Scotchman
had told Craig all his troubles, but Craig brought him his fiddle, on
which he was a really excellent performer.

"Rouse out, Mr. Findlayson, and join the ladies at the piano."

"But, man," the squatter replied, "my heart's no in it; my heart is
broken.  I can play slow music, but when it comes to quick, it goes
hard against the grain."

Nevertheless, Findlayson took his stand beside the piano, and the ice
thus being broken, he played every night, though it must be
confessed, for truth's sake, he never refused a "cogie" when the
bottle came round his way.  Towards ten o'clock Findlayson used,
therefore, to become somewhat sentimental.  The gentleman sat up for
a wee half hour after the ladies retired, and sometimes Findlayson
would seize his fiddle.

"Gentlemen," he would say, "here is how I feel."

Then he would play a lament or a wail with such feeling that even his
listeners would be affected, while sometimes the tears would be
quivering on the performer's eyelashes.

At the end of the fortnight Findlayson went to Brisbane.  He had some
mysterious business to transact, the nature of which he refused to
tell even Archie.  But it was rumoured that a week or two later on,
drays laden with furniture were seen to pass along the tracks on
their way to Findlayson's farm.

Poor fellow, he was evidently badly hit.  He was very much in love
indeed, and, like a drowning man, he clutched at straws.

The refurnishing of his house was one of these straws.  Findlayson
was going to give "a week's fun," as he phrased it.  He was
determined, after having seen Archie's new house, that his own should
rival and even outshine it in splendour.  And he really was insane
enough to believe that if Elsie only once saw the charming house he
owned, with the wild and beautiful scenery all around it, she would
alter her mind, and look more favourably on his suit.

In giving way to vain imaginings of this kind, Findlayson was really
ignoring, or forgetting at all events, the sentiments of his own
favourite poet, Burns, as impressed in the following touching lines:

  "It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
    That bought contentment, peace, or pleasure;
  The bands and bliss o' mutual love,
    O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!"

His sister was very straightforward, and at once put her brother down
as a wee bit daft.  Perhaps he really was; only the old saying is a
true one: "Those that are in love are like no one else."

* * * * * *

It was the last month of winter, when early one morning a gay party
from Burley New Farm set out to visit Findlayson, and spend a week or
two in order to "'liven him up," as Harry expressed it.

Bob was not particularly fond of going much from home--besides,
Winslow and he were planning some extensions--so he stopped on the
Station.  But Harry went, and, as before, when going to the kangaroo
hunt, Gentleman Craig was in the cavalcade, and of course Rupert and
Elsie.

It would have been no very difficult matter to have done the journey
in a single day, only Archie was desirous of letting his brother and
sister have a taste of camping out in the Bush.

They chose the same route as before, and encamped at night in the
self-same place.

The evening too was spent in much the same way, even to singing and
story-telling, and Craig's lullaby to Baby, when she and Elsie had
gone to their tent.

Morning dawned at last on forest and plain, and both Harry and the
brothers were early astir.  It would have been impossible to remain
asleep much after daybreak, owing to the noise of the birds,
including the occasional ear-splitting clatter of the laughing
jackasses.

Besides, towards morning it had been exceedingly cold.  The first
thing that greeted their eyes was a thorough old-fashioned hoar
frost, the like of which Archie had not seen for many a year.
Everything gleamed white almost as coral.  The grass itself was a
sight to see, and the leaves on the trees were edged with lace.  But
up mounted the sun, and all was speedily changed.  Leaves grew
brightly green again, and the hoar frost was turned into glancing,
gleaming, rainbow-coloured drops of dew.

The young men ran merrily away to the pool in the creek, and most
effectually scared the ducks.

The breakfast to-day was a different sort of a meal to the morsel of
stiff damper and corned junk that had been partaken of at last
bivouac.  Elsie made the tea, and Etheldene and she presided.  The
meat pies and patties were excellent, and everyone was in the highest
possible spirits, and joyously merry.

Alas! and alas! this was a breakfast no one who sat down to, and who
lives, is ever likely to forget.

Have you ever, reader, been startled on a bright sunshiny summer's
day by a thunder-peal?  And have you seen the clouds rapidly bank up
after this and obscure the sky, darkness brooding over the windless
landscape, lighted up every moment by the blinding lightning's flash,
and gloom and danger brooding all round, where but a short half-hour
ago the birds carolled in sunlight?  Then will you be able, in some
measure, to understand the terribleness of the situation in which an
hour or two after breakfast the party found themselves, and the awful
suddenness of the shock that for a time quite paralyzed every member
of it.

They had left the dismal depths of the forest, and were out on the
open pasture-land, and nearing Findlayson's house, when Craig and
Archie, riding on in front, came upon the well-known bobtailed
collie, who was the almost constant companion of the squatter.  The
dog was alive, but dying.  There was a terrible spear-gash in his
neck.  Craig dismounted and knelt beside him.  The poor brute knew
him, wagged his inch-long tail, licked the hand that caressed him,
and almost immediately expired.  Craig immediately rode back to the
others.

"Do not be alarmed, ladies," he said.  "But I fear the worst.  There
is no smoke in Findlayson's chimney.  The black fellows have killed
his dog."

Though both girls grew pale, there were no other signs of fear
manifested by them.  If Young Australia could be brave, so could Old
England.

The men consulted hurriedly, and it was agreed that while Branson and
Harry waited with the ladies, Archie and Craig should ride on towards
the house.

Not a sign of life; no, not one.  Signs enough of death though, signs
enough of an awful struggle.  It was all very plain and simple,
though all very, very sad and dreadful.

Here in the courtyard lay several dead natives, festering and
sweltering in the noonday sun.  Here were the boomerangs and spears
that had fallen from their hands as they dropped never to rise again.
Here was the door battered and splintered and beaten in with
tomahawks, and just inside, in the passage, lay the bodies of
Hurricane Bill and poor Findlayson, hacked about almost beyond
recognition.

In the rooms all was confusion, every place had been ransacked.  The
furniture, all new and elegant, smashed and riven; the very piano
that the honest Scot had bought for sake of Elsie had been dissected,
and its keys carried away for ornaments.  In an inner room,
half-dressed, were Findlayson's sister and her little Scotch maid,
their arms broken, as if they had held them up to beseech for mercy
from the monsters who had attacked them.  Their arms were broken, and
their skulls beaten in, their white night-dresses drenched in blood.
There was blood, blood everywhere--in curdled streams, in great
liver-like gouts, and in dark pools on the floor.  In the kitchen
were many more bodies of white men (the shepherds), and of the fiends
in human form with whom they had struggled for their lives.

It was an awful and sickening sight.

No need for Craig or Archie to tell the news when they returned to
the others.  Their very silence and sadness told the terrible tale.

Nothing could be done at present, however, in the way of punishing
the murderers, who by this time must be far away in their mountain
fastnesses.

They must ride back, and at once too, in order to warn the people at
Burley and round about of their great danger.

So the return journey was commenced at once.  On riding through the
forest they had to observe the greatest caution.

Craig was an old Bushman, and knew the ways of the blacks well.  He
trotted on in front.  And whenever in any thicket, where an ambush
might possibly be lurking, he saw no sign of bird or beast, he
dismounted and, revolver in hand, examined the place before he
permitted the others to come on.

They got through the forest and out of the gloom at last, and some
hours afterwards dismounted a long way down the creek to water the
horses and let them browse.  As for themselves, no one thought of
eating.  There was that feeling of weight at every heart one
experiences when first awakening from some dreadful nightmare.

They talked about the massacre, as they sat under the shadow of a gum
tree, almost in whispers; and at the slightest unusual noise the men
grasped their revolvers and listened.

They were just about to resume their journey when the distant sound
of galloping horses fell on their ears.  Their own nags neighed.  All
sprang to their feet, and next moment some eight or nine men rode
into the clearing.

Most of them were known to Craig, so he advanced to meet them.

"Ah!  I see you know the worst," said the leader.

"Yes," said Craig, "we know."

"We've been to your place.  It is all right there with one exception."

"One exception?"

"Yes; it's only the kid--Mr. Cooper's little daughter, you know."

"Is she dead?" cried Archie aghast.

"No, sir; that is, it isn't likely.  Mr. Cooper's black girl left
last night, and took the child."

"Good heavens! our little Diana!  Poor Bob!  He will go raving mad!"

"He is mad, sir, or all but, already; but we've left some fellows to
defend the station, and taken to the trail as you see."

"Craig," said Archie, "we must go, too."

"Well," said the first speaker, "the coast is all clear betwixt here
and Burley.  Two must return there with the ladies.  I advise you to
make your choice, and lose no time."

It was finally arranged that Branson and one of the newcomers should
form the escort; and so Archie, Harry, and Craig bade the girls a
hurried adieu, and speedily rode away after the men.

CHAPTER XII.

_ON THE WAR TRAIL._

Twelve men all told to march against a tribe consisting probably of
over a hundred and fifty warriors, armed for the fight, and
intoxicated with their recent success!  It was a rash, an almost mad,
venture; but they did not for one moment dream of drawing back.  They
would trust to their own superior skill to beat the enemy; trust to
that fortune that so often favours the brave; trusting--many of them
I hope--to that merciful Providence who protects the weak, and who,
in our greatest hour of need, does not refuse to listen to our
pleadings.

They had ridden some little way in silence, when suddenly Archie drew
rein.

"Halt, men!" he cried.  "Halt for a moment and deliberate.  Who is to
be the commander of this little force?"

"Yourself," said Gentleman Craig, lifting his hat "You are boss of
Burley Farm, and Mr. Cooper's dearest friend."

"Hear, hear!" cried several of the others.

"Perhaps it is best," said Archie, after a moment's thoughtful pause,
"that I should take the leadership under the circumstances.  But,
Craig, I choose you as my second in command, and one whose counsel I
will respect and be guided by."

"Thank you," said Craig; "and to begin with, I move we go straight
back to Findlayson's farm.  We are not too well armed, nor too well
provisioned."

The proposal was at once adopted, and towards sundown they had once
more reached the outlying pastures.

They were dismounting to enter, when the half-naked figure of a black
suddenly appeared from behind the storehouse.

A gun or two was levelled at him at once.

"Stay," cried Craig.  "Do not fire.  That is Jacoby, the black
stockman, and one of poor Mr. Findlayson's chief men.  Ha, Jacoby,
advance my lad, and tell us all you know."

Jacoby's answer was couched in such unintelligible jargon--a mixture
of Bush English and broad Scotch--that I will not try the reader's
patience by giving it verbatim.  He was terribly excited, and looked
heart-broken with grief.  He had but recently come home, having
passed "plenty black-fellows" on the road.  They had attempted to
kill him, but here he was.

"Could he track them?"

"Yes, easily.  They had gone away there."  He pointed north and east
as he spoke.

"This is strange," said Craig.  "Men, if what Jacoby tells us be
correct, instead of retreating to their homes in the wilderness, the
blacks are doubling round; and if so, it must be their intention to
commit more of their diabolical deeds, so there is no time to be
lost."

It was determined first to bury their dear friends; and very soon a
grave was dug--a huge rough hole, that was all--and in it the
murdered whites were laid side by side.

Rupert repeated the burial-service, or as much of it as he could
remember; then the rude grave was filled, and as the earth fell over
the chest of poor old-fashioned Findlayson, and Archie thought of all
his droll and innocent ways, tears trickled over his face that he
made no attempt to hide.

The men hauled the gates of a paddock off its hinges, and piled wood
upon that, so that the wandering dingoes, with their friends the
rooks, should be baulked in their attempts to gorge upon the dead.

The blacks had evidently commenced to ransack the stores; but for
some reason or another had gone and left them mostly untouched.

Here were gunpowder and cartridges in abundance, and many dainty,
easily-carried foods, such as tinned meats and fish, that the unhappy
owner had evidently laid in for his friends.  So enough of everything
was packed away in the men's pockets or bags, and they were soon
ready once more for the road.

The horses must rest, however; for these formed the mainstay of the
little expedition.  The men too could not keep on all night without a
pause; so Archie and Craig consulted, and it was agreed to bivouac
for a few hours, then resume the journey when the moon should rise.

Meanwhile the sun went down behind the dark and distant wooded hills,
that in their strange shapes almost resembled the horizon seen at sea
when the waves are high and stormy.  Between the place where Archie
and his brother stood and the light, all was rugged plain and
forest-land, but soon the whole assumed a shade of almost blackness,
and the nearest trees stood up weird and spectre-like against the
sky's strange hue.  Towards the horizon to-night there was a deep
saffron or orange fading above into a kind of pure grey or opal hue,
with over it all a light blush of red, and hurrying away to the
south, impelled by some air-current not felt below, was a mighty host
of little cloudlets of every colour, from darkest purple to
golden-red and crimson.

There was now and then the bleating of sheep--sheep without a
shepherd--and a slight tinkle-tinkle, as of a bell.  It was in
reality the voice of a strange bird, often to be found in the
neighbourhood of creeks and pools.

Hardly any other sound at present fell on the ear.  By-and-bye the
hurrying clouds got paler, and the orange left the horizon, and stars
began to twinkle in the east.

"Come out here a little way with me," said Rupert, taking Archie by
the hand.

When they had gone some little distance, quite out of hearing of the
camp, Rupert spoke:

"Do you mind kneeling down here," he said, "to pray, Archie?"

"You good old Rupert, no," was the reply.

Perhaps no more simple, earnest, or heart-felt prayer was ever
breathed under such circumstances, or in such a place.  And not only
was Rupert earnest, but he was confident.  He spoke to the great
Father as to a friend whom he had long, long known, and One whom he
could trust to do all for the best.  He prayed for protection, he
prayed for help for the speedy restoration of the stolen child, and
he even prayed for the tribe they soon hoped to meet in
conflict--prayed that the God who moves in so mysterious a way to
perform His wonders would bless the present affliction to the white
man, and even to the misguided black.

Oh, what a beautiful religion is ours--the religion of love--the
religion taught by the lips of the mild and gentle Jesus!

When they rose from their knees they once more looked skywards at the
stars, for they were brightly shining now; then hand-in-hand, as they
had come, the brothers returned to the camp.

No log-fire was lit to-night.  The men just lay down to sleep rolled
in their blankets, with their arms close by their saddle pillows, two
being told off to walk sentry in case of a sudden surprise.

Even the horses were put in an enclosure, lest they might roam too
far away.

About twelve o'clock Archie awoke from an uneasy dreamful slumber,
and looked about him.  His attention was speedily attracted to what
seemed a huge fire blazing luridly behind the hills, and lighting up
the haze above with its gleams.  Was the forest on fire again?  No;
it was only moonrise over the woods.  Ha awakened Craig, and soon the
little camp was all astir and ready for the road.  Jacoby was to act
as guide.  No Indian from the Wild West of America could be a better
tracker.

But even before he started he told Craig the task would be an easy
one, for the black fellows had drunk plenty, and had taken plenty rum
with them.  They would not go far, he thought, and there was a
probability that they would meet some of the band returning.  Even in
the moonlight Jacoby followed the trail easily and rapidly.

It took them first straight for the forest that had been burned
recently--a thoughtless deed on the part of the whites, that probably
led to all this sad trouble.

There was evidence here that the blacks had gone into camp on the
very night of the massacre, and had held a corroboree, which could
only have been a day or two ago.  There were the remains of the camp
fires and the trampled ground and broken branches, with no attempt at
concealment.  There was a chance that even now they might not be far
away, and that the little band might come up with them ere they had
started for the day.  But if they ventured to hope so, they were
doomed to disappointment.

Morning broke at last lazily over the woods, and with but a brief
interval they followed up the trail, and so on and on all that day,
till far into the afternoon, when for a brief moment only Jacoby
found himself puzzled, having fallen in with another trail leading
south and west from the main track.  He soon, however, discovered
that the new trail must be that of some band who had joined the
Findlayson farm raiders.

It became painfully evident soon after that this was the correct
solution, for, going backwards some little way.  Archie found a
child's shoe--one of a crimson pair that Bob had bought in Brisbane
for his little Diana.

"God help her, poor darling!" said Archie reverently, as he placed
the little shoe in his breast pocket.  When he returned he held it up
for a moment before the men, and the scowl of anger that crossed
their faces, and the firmer clutch they took of their weapons, showed
it would indeed be bad for the blacks when they met these rough
pioneers face to face.

At sunset supper was partaken of, and camp once more formed, though
no fire was lit, cold though it might be before morning.

The men were tired, and were sound asleep almost as soon as they lay
down; but Craig, with the brothers, climbed the ridge of the hill to
look about them soon after it grew dark.

The camp rested at the entrance of a wild gully, a view of which
could be had, darkling away towards the east, from the hill on which
the three friends now found themselves.

Presently Rupert spoke.

"Archie," he said, "in this land of contrarieties does the moon
sometimes rise in the south?"

"Not quite," replied Archie.

"Look, then.  What is that reflection over yonder?"  Craig and Archie
both caught sight of it at the same time.

"By Saint George and merry England!" Craig cried exultingly, "that is
the camp of the blacks.  Now to find Diana's other shoe, and the dear
child herself wearing it.  Now for revenge!"

"Nay," said Rupert, "call it justice, Craig."

"What you will; but let us hurry down."

They stayed but for a moment more to take their bearings.  The fire
gleams pointed to a spot to the south-east, on high ground, and right
above the gully, and they had a background of trees, not the sky.  It
was evident then that the enemy was encamped in a little clearing on
a forest table-land; and if they meant to save the child's life--if
indeed she was not already dead--the greatest caution would be
necessary.

They speedily descended, and a consultation being held, it was
resolved to commence operations as soon as the moon should rise; but
meanwhile to creep in the darkness as near to the camp as possible.

But first Jacoby was sent out to reconnoitre.  No cat, no flying
squirrel could glide more noiselessly through an Australian forest
than this faithful fellow.  Still he seemed an unconsciously long
time gone.  Just as Craig and Archie were getting seriously uneasy
the tinkle, tinkle of the bell-bird was heard.  This was the signal
agreed upon, and presently after, Jacoby himself came silently into
their midst.

"The child?" was Archie's first question.

"Baāl mumhill piccaninny, belong a you.  Pidney you."

"The child is safe," said Craig, after asking a few more questions of
this Scotch Myell black.

"Safe? and they are holding a corroboree and drinking.  There is
little time to lose.  They may sacrifice the infant at any time."

Craig struck a light as he spoke, and every man examined his arms.

"The moon will rise in an hour.  Let us go on.  Silent as death, men!
Do not overturn a stone or break a twig, or the poor baby's life will
be sacrificed in a moment."

They now advanced slowly and cautiously, guided by Jacoby, and at
length lay down almost within pistol-shot of the place where the
horrid corroboree was going on.

Considering the noise--the shrieking, the clashing of arms, the rude
chanting of songs, and awful din, of the dancers and actors in this
ugly drama--to maintain silence might have seemed unnecessary; but
these blacks have ears like wolves, and, in a lull of even half a
second, would be sharp to hear the faintest unusual noise.

Craig and Archie, however, crept on till they came within sight of
the ceremonies.

At another time it might have been interesting to watch the hideous
grotesqueness of that awful war-dance, but other thoughts were in
their minds at present--they were looking everywhere for Diana.
Presently the wild, naked, dancing blacks surged backwards, and,
asleep in the arms of a horrid gin, they discovered Bob's darling
child.  It was well Bob himself was not here or all would quickly
have been lost.  All was nearly lost as it was, for suddenly Archie
inadvertently snapped a twig.  In a moment there was silence, except
for the barking of a dog.

Craig raised his voice, and gave vent to a scream so wild and
unearthly that even Archie was startled.

At once all was confusion among the blacks.  Whether they had taken
it for the yell of Bunyip or not may never be known, but they
prepared to fly.  The gin carrying Diana threw down the frightened
child.  A black raised his arm to brain the little toddler.  He fell
dead instead.

[Illustration: "A black raised his arm to brain the little toddler.
He fell dead instead.  Diana was saved!  Craig's aim had been a
steady one.  Almost immediately after a volley or two completed the
rout."]

Craig's aim had been a steady one.  Almost immediately after a volley
or two completed the rout, and the blacks fled yelling into the
forest.

Diana was saved!  This was better than revenge; for not a hair of her
bonnie wee head had been injured, so to speak, and she still wore the
one little red-morocco shoe.

There was not a man there who did not catch that child up in his arms
and kiss her, some giving vent to their feelings in wild words of
thankfulness to God in heaven, while the tears came dripping over
their hardy, sun-browned cheeks.

CHAPTER XIII.

_CHEST TO CHEST WITH SAVAGES--HOW IT ALL ENDED._

No one thought of sleeping again that night.  They went back for
their horses, and, as the moon had now risen, commenced the journey
in a bee line, as far as that was possible, towards Burley New Farm.

They travelled on all night, still under the guidance of Jacoby, who
needed no blazed trees to show in which direction to go.  But when
morning came rest became imperative, for the men were beginning to
nod in their saddles, and the horses too seemed to be falling asleep
on their feet, for several had stumbled and thrown their
half-senseless riders.  So camp was now formed and breakfast
discussed, and almost immediately all save a sentry went off into
sound and dreamless slumber, Diana lying close to Craig, whom she was
very fond of, with her head on his great shoulder and her fingers
firmly entwined in his beard.

It was hard upon the one poor fellow who had to act as sentry.  Do
what he might he could scarcely keep awake, and he was far too tired
to continue walking about.  He went and leant his body against a
tree, and in this position, what with the heat of the day, and the
drowsy hum of insects, with the monotonous song of the grasshopper,
again and again he felt himself merging into the land of dreams.
Then he would start and shake himself, and take a turn or two in the
sunshine, then go back to the tree and nod as before.

The day wore on, the sun got higher and higher, and about noon, just
when the sentry was thinking or rather dreaming of waking the
sleepers, there was a wild shout from a neighbouring thicket, a spear
flew past him and stuck in the tree.  Next moment there was a
terrible _melée_--a hand-to-hand fight with savages that lasted for
long minutes, but finally resulted in victory for the squatters.

But, alas! it was a dearly-bought victory.  Three out of the twelve
were dead, and three more, including Gentleman Craig, grievously
wounded.

The rest followed up the blacks for some little way, and more than
one of them bit the dust.  Then they returned to help their fellows.

Craig's was a spear wound through the side, none the less dangerous
in that hardly a drop of blood was lost externally.

They drew the killed in under a tree, and having bound up the wounds
of the others, and partly carrying them or helping them along, they
resumed the march.

All that day they dragged themselves along, and it was far into the
early hours of morning ere they reached the boundaries of Burley New
Farm.

The moon was shining, though not very brightly, light fleecy clouds
were driving rapidly across the sky, so they could see the lights in
both the old house and in the lower windows of Archie's own dwelling.
They fired guns and coo-ee-ed, and presently Bob and Winslow rushed
out to bid them welcome.

Diana went bounding away to meet him.

"Oh, daddy, daddy!" she exclaimed, "what a time we've been having!
but mind, daddy, it wasn't all fun."

Bob could not speak for the life of him.  He just staggered in with
the child in his arms and handed her over to Sarah; but I leave the
reader to imagine the state of Sarah's feelings now.

Poor Craig was borne in and put to bed in Archie's guest room, and
there he lay for weeks.

Bob himself had gone to Brisbane to import a surgeon, regardless of
expense; but it was probably more owing to the tender nursing of
Elsie than anything else that Craig was able at length to crawl out
and breathe the balmy, flower-scented air in the verandah.

One afternoon, many weeks after this, Craig was lying on a bank,
under the shade of a tree, in a beautiful part of the forest, all in
whitest bloom, and Elsie was seated near him.

There had been silence for some time, and the girl was quietly
reading.

"I wonder," said Craig at last, "if my life is really worth the care
that you and all the good people here have lavished on me?"

"How can you speak thus?" said Elsie, letting her book drop in her
lap, and looking into his face with those clear, blue eyes of hers.

"If you only knew all my sad, sinful story, you would not wonder that
I speak thus."

"Tell me your story: may I not hear it?"

"It is so long and, pardon me, so melancholy."

"Never mind, I will listen attentively."

Then Craig commenced.  He told her all the strange history of his
early demon-haunted life, about his recklessness, about his struggles
and his final victory over self.  He told her he verily did believe
that his mother's spirit was near him that night in the forest when
he made the vow which Providence in His mercy had enabled him to keep.

Yes, it was a long story.  The sun had gone down ere he had finished,
a crescent moon had appeared in the southern sky, and stars had come
out.  There was sweetness and beauty everywhere.  There was calm in
Craig's soul now.  For he had told Elsie something besides.  He had
told her that he had loved her from the first moment he had seen her,
and he had asked her in simple language to become his wife--to be his
guardian angel.

That same evening, when Archie came out into the garden, he found
Elsie still sitting by Craig's couch, but her hand was clasped in his.

Then Archie knew all, and a great, big sigh of relief escaped him,
for until this very moment he had been of opinion that Craig loved
Etheldene.

* * * * * *

In course of a few months Squire Broadbent was as good as his word.
He came out to the new land to give the Australians the benefit of
his genius in the farming way; to teach Young Australia a thing or
two it had not known before; so at least he thought.

With him came Mrs. Broadbent, and even Uncle Ramsay, and the day of
their arrival at Brisbane was surely a red-letter day in the annals
of that thriving and prosperous place.

Strange to say, however, none of the squatters from the Bush, none of
the speculating men, nor anybody else apparently, were very much
inclined to be lectured about their own country, and the right and
wrong way of doing things, by a Squire from the old country, who had
never been here before.  Some of them were even rude enough to laugh
in his face, but the Squire was not offended a bit.  He was on far
too good terms with himself for that, and too sure that he was in the
right in all he said.  He told some of these Bush farmers that if
_they_ did not choose to learn a wrinkle or two from him _he_ was not
the loser, with much more to the same purpose, all of which had about
the same effect on his hearers that rain has on a duck's back.

To use a rather hackneyed phrase, Squire Broadbent had the courage of
his convictions.

He settled quietly down at Burley New Farm, and commenced to study
Bush life in all its bearings.  It soon began to dawn upon him that
Australia was getting to be a great country, that she had a great
future before her, and that _he_--Squire Broadbent--would be
connected with it.  He was in no great hurry to invest, though
eventually he would.  It would be better to wait and watch.  There
was room enough and to spare for all at Archie's house, and that all
included honest Uncle Ramsay of course.  He and Winslow resumed
acquaintance, and in the blunt, straightforward ways of the man even
Squire Broadbent found a deal to admire and even to marvel at.

"He is a clever man," said the Squire to his brother; "a clever man
and a far-seeing.  He gets a wonderful grasp of financial matters in
a moment.  Depend upon it, brother, he is the right metal, and it is
upon solid stones like him that the future greatness of a nation
should be founded."

Uncle Ramsay said he himself did not know much about it.  He knew
more about ships, and was quite content to settle down at Brisbane,
and keep a morsel of a 20-tonner.  That was his ambition.

What a delight it was for Archie to have them all round his
breakfast-table in the green-parlour at Burley New Farm, or seated
out in the verandah all so home-like and happy.

His dear old mummy too, with her innocent womanly ways, delighted
with all she saw, yet half afraid of almost everything--half afraid
the monster gum-trees would fall upon her when out in the forest;
half afraid to put her feet firmly to the ground when walking, but
gathering up her skirts gingerly, and thinking every withered branch
was a snake; half afraid the howling dingoes would come down in force
at night, as wild wolves do on Russian wastes, and kill and eat
everybody; half afraid of the most ordinary good-natured-looking
black fellow; half afraid of even the pet kangaroo when he hopped
round and held up his chin to have his old-fashioned neck stroked;
half afraid--but happy, so happy nevertheless, because she had all
she loved around her.

Gentleman Craig was most deferential and attentive to Mrs. Broadbent,
and she could not help admiring him--indeed, no one could--and quite
approved of Elsie's choice; though, mother-like, she thought the girl
far too young to marry yet, as the song says.

However, they were not to be married yet quite.  There was a year to
elapse, and a busy one it was.  First and foremost, Craig took the
unfortunate Findlayson's farm.  But the old steading was allowed to
go to decay, and some one told me the other day that there is now a
genuine ghost, said to be seen on moonlight nights, wandering round
the ruined pile.  Anyhow, its associations were of far too terrible a
character for Craig to think of building near it.

He chose the site for his house and outbuildings near the creek and
the spot where they had bivouaced before the murder was discovered.
It was near here too that Craig had made his firm resolve to be a
free man--made it and kept it.  The spot was charmingly beautiful
too; and as his district included a large portion of the forest, he
commenced clearing that, but in so scientific and tasteful a manner
that it looked, when finished, like a noble park.

During this year Squire Broadbent also became a squatter.  From
Squire to Squatter may sound to some like a come-down in life; but
really Broadbent did not think so.

He managed to buy out a station immediately adjoining Archie's, and
when he had got fairly established thereon he told his brother Ramsay
that fifteen years had tumbled off his shoulders all in a
lump--fifteen years of care and trouble, fifteen years of struggle to
keep his head above water, and live up to his squiredom.

"I'm more contented now by far and away," he told his wife, "than I
was in the busy, boastful days before the fire at Burley Old Farm;
so, you see, it doesn't take much in this world to make a man happy."

Rupert did not turn squatter, but missionary.  It was a great treat
for him to have Etheldene to ride with him away out into the bush
whenever he heard a tribe had settled down anywhere for a time.
Etheldene knew all their ways, and between the two of them they no
doubt did much good.

It is owing to such earnest men as Rupert that so great a change has
come over the black population, and that so many of them, even as I
write, sit humbly at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in their right
mind.  To quote the words of a recent writer: "The war-paints and
weapons for fights are seen no more, the awful heathen corroborees
have ceased, the females are treated with kindness, and the
lamentable cries, accompanied by bodily injuries, when death
occurred, have given place to Christian sorrow and quiet tears for
their departed friends."

It came to pass one day that Etheldene and Archie, towards the end of
the year, found themselves riding alone, through scrub and over
plain, just as they were that day they were lost.  The conversation
turned round to Rupert's mission.

"What a dear, good, young man your brother is, Archie!" said the girl.

"Do you really love him?"

"As a brother, yes."

"Etheldene, have him for a brother, will you?"

The rich blood mounted to her cheeks and brow.  She cast one
half-shy, half-joyful look at Archie, and simply murmured, "Yes."

It was all over in a moment then.  Etheldene struck her horse lightly
across the crest with the handle of her stock-whip, and next minute
both horses were galloping as if for dear life.

When Archie told Rupert how things had turned out, he only smiled in
his quiet manner.

"It is a queer way of wooing," he said; "but then you were always a
queer fellow, Archie, and Etheldene is a regular Bush baby, as Craig
calls her.  Oh, I knew long ago she loved you!"

At the year's end then both Elsie and Etheldene were married, and
married, too, at the same church in Sydney from which Bob led Sarah,
his blushing bride.  It might not have been quite so wild and daft a
wedding, but it was a very happy one nevertheless.

No one was more free in blessing the wedded couples than old Kate.
Yes, old as she was, she had determined not to be left alone in
England.

We know how Bob spent his honeymoon.  How were the new young folks to
spend theirs?  Oh, it was all arranged beforehand!  And on the very
morning of the double marriage they embarked--Harry and Bob going
with them for a holiday--on board Captain Vesey's pretty yacht, and
sailed away for England.  Etheldene's dream of romance was about to
become a reality; she was not only to visit the land of chivalry, but
with Archie her husband and hero by her side.

The yacht hung off and on the shore all day, as if reluctant to leave
the land; but towards evening a breeze sprang up from the west, the
sails filled, and away she went, dancing and curtseying over the
water like a thing of life.

The sunset was bewitchingly beautiful; the green of the land was
changed to a purple haze, that softened and beautified its every
outline; the cloudless sky was clear and deep; that is, it gave you
the idea you could see so far into and through it.  There was a flush
of saffron along the horizon; above it was of an opal tint, with here
and there a tender shade of crimson--only a suspicion of this colour,
no more; and apparently close at hand, in the east, were long-drawn
cloudlets of richest red and gold.

Etheldene looked up in her husband's face.

"Shall we have such a sky as that to greet our arrival on English
shores?" she said.

Archie drew her closer to his side.

"I'm not quite sure about the sky," he replied, shaking his head and
smiling, "but we'll have a hearty English welcome."

And so they had.

FINIS.