A Little Bush Maid Part 31

"I've got to let you go," he said. "It's the only way. Remember, I won't have a minute's peace until I know you've got safely home."

"I'll be all right, Daddy--true. And I'll hurry. Don't bother about me."

"Bother!" he said. "My little wee mate." He kissed her twice.

"Now--hurry!"

Bobs, grazing peacefully under a big gum tree, was startled by a little figure, staggering beneath saddle and bridle. In a minute Norah was on his back, and they were galloping across the plain towards home.

A young man sat on the cap of the stockyard fence at Billabong homestead, swinging his legs listlessly and wishing for something to do.

He blessed the impulse that had brought him to the station before his time, and wondered if things were likely to be always as dull.

"Unless my small pupil stirs things up, I don't fancy this life much,"

he said moodily, in which he showed considerable impatience of judgment, being but a young man.

Across the long, grey plain a tiny cloud gathered, and the man watched it lazily. Gradually it grew larger, until it resolved itself into dust--and the dust into a horse and rider.

"Someone coming," he said, with faint interest. "By Jove, it's a girl!

She's racing, too. Wonder if anything's wrong?"

He slipped from the fence and went forward to open the gate, looking at the advancing pair. A big bay pony panting and dripping with sweat, but with "go" in him yet for a final sprint; and on his back a little girl, flushed and excited, with tired, set lips. He expected her to stop at the gate, but she flashed by him with a glance and a brief "Thank you,"

galloping up to the gate of the yard. Almost before the pony stopped she was out of the saddle and running up the path to the kitchen. The man saw Mrs. Brown come out, and heard her cry of surprise as she caught the child to her.

"Something's up," said the stranger. He followed at a run.

In the kitchen Norah was clinging to Mrs. Brown, quivering with the effort not to cry.

"Someone ill in the bush?" said the astonished Brownie, patting her nurseling. "Yes, Billy's here, dearie--and all the horses are in.

Where's the note? I'll see to it. Poor pet! Don't take on, lovey, there.

See, here's your new governess, Mr. Stephenson!"

Norah straightened with a gasp of astonishment.

"You!" she said.

"Me!" said d.i.c.k Stephenson ungrammatically, holding out his hand.

"You're my pupil, aren't you? Is anything wrong?"

"There's a poor gentleman near to dyin' in the scrub," volunteered Mrs.

Brown, "an' Miss Norah's come all the way in for help. Fifteen mile, if it's a inch! I don't know ow' you did it, my blessed pet!"

"You don't mean to say you did!" said the new "governess" amazed. Small girls like this had not come his way. "By Jove, you're plucky! I say, what's up?"

Norah was very pale.

"Are you really Mr. Stephenson?" she asked. "I... You'll be surprised.... He's..." Her voice failed her.

"Don't worry to talk," he said gently. "You're done up."

"No--" She steadied her voice. "I must tell you. It's--it's--your father!"

d.i.c.k Stephenson's face suddenly darkened.

"I beg your pardon," he said stiffly. "You're making a mistake; my father is dead."

"He's not," said Norah, "He's my dear Hermit, and he's out there with typhoid, or some beastly thing. We found him--and Dad knows him quite well. It's really him. He never got drowned."

"Do you know what you're saying?" The man's face was white.

But Norah's self-command was at an end. She buried her face in Brownie's kind bosom, and burst into a pa.s.sion of crying.

The old woman rocked her to and fro gently until the sobs grew fainter, and Norah, shame-faced, began to feel for her handkerchief. Then Mrs.

Brown put her into the big cushioned rocking-chair.

"Now, you must be brave and tell us, dearie," she said gently. "This is pretty wonderful for Mr. Stephenson."

So Norah, with many catchings of the breath, told them all about the Hermit, and of her father's recognition of him, saying only nothing of her long and lonely ride. Before she had finished Billy was on the road to Cunjee, flying for the doctor. d.i.c.k Stephenson, white-faced, broke in on the story.

"How can I get out there?" he asked shortly.

"I'll take you," Norah said.

"You!--that's out of the question."

"No, it isn't. I'm not tired," said Norah, quite unconscious of saying anything but the truth. "I knew I'd have to, anyhow, because only Billy and I know the way to the Hermit's camp, and he has to fetch the doctor.

You tell Wright to get Banker for you, and put my saddle on Jim's pony--and to look well after Bobs. Hurry, while Brownie gets the other things!"

d.i.c.k Stephenson made no further protests, his brain awhirl as he raced to the stables. Brownie protested certainly, but did her small maid's bidding the while. But it was a very troubled old face that looked long after the man and the little girl, as they started on the long ride back to the camp.

Mile after mile they swung across the grey plain.

Norah did not try to talk. She disdained the idea that she was tired, but a vague feeling told her that she must save all her energies to guide the way back to the camp hidden in the scrub, where the Hermit lay raving, and her father sat beside the lonely bed.

Neither was her companion talkative. He stared ahead, as if trying to pierce with his eyes the line of timber that blurred across the landscape. Norah was glad he did not bother her with questions. She had told him all she knew, and now he was content to wait.

"It must be hard on him, all the same," thought Norah, looking at the set young face, and sparing an instant to approve of the easy seat in the saddle displayed by her new "governess." To believe that your father was dead all these years, and then suddenly to find him alive--but how far apart in every way! "Why, you hardly know," mused Norah, "whether you'll like him--whether he'll be glad to see you! Not that anyone could fail to like the Hermit--anyone with sense, that is!"

Mile after mile! The plain slipped away beneath the even beat of the steadily cantering hoofs. The creek, forded slowly, sank into the distance behind them; before, the line of timber grew darker and more definite. Jim's pony was not far inferior to Bobs in pace and easiness, and his swinging canter required no effort to sit, but a great weariness began to steal over his rider. d.i.c.k Stephenson, glancing at her frequently, saw the pallor creeping upon the brave little face.

He pulled up.

"We'll go steady for a while," he said. "No good knocking you up altogether."

Norah checked her pony unwillingly.

"Oh, don't you think we ought to hurry?" she said. "Dad's waiting for those medicines you've got, you know."