Bunyip Land Part 64

Two days later we had come to a halt in a lovely little glen through which trickled a clear spring whose banks were brilliant with flowers.

We were all busy cooking and preparing to halt there for the night. My father had walked the whole of the morning, and now had wandered slowly away along the banks of the stream, Mr Francis being a little further on, while Jimmy was busy standing beside a pool spearing fish.

I glanced up once or twice to see that my father was standing motionless on the bank, and then I was busying myself once more cutting soft boughs to make a bed when Jimmy came bounding up to me with his eyes starting and mouth open.

"Where a gun, where a gun?" he cried. "Big bunyip down 'mong a trees, try to eat Jimmy. Ask for um dinner, all aloud, oh."

"Hush! be quiet!" I cried, catching his arm; "what do you mean?"

"Big bunyip down 'mong stones say, 'Hoo! much hungry; where my boy?'"

"Some one said that?" I cried.

"Yes, 'much hungry, where my boy?' Want eat black boy; eat Jimmy!"

"What nonsense, Jimmy!" I said. "Don't be such a donkey. There are no bunyips."

"Jimmy heard um say um!" he cried, stamping his spear on the ground.

Just then I involuntarily glanced in the direction where my father stood, and saw him stoop and pick up a flower or two.

My heart gave a bound.

The next minute he was walking slowly towards Mr Francis, to whom he held out the flowers; and then I felt giddy, for I saw them coming slowly towards our camp, both talking earnestly, my father seeming to be explaining something about the flowers he had picked.

The doctor had seen it too, and he drew me away, after cautioning Jimmy to be silent.

And there we stood while those two rescued prisoners talked quietly and earnestly together, but it was in the savage tongue.

I need not tell you of my joy, or the doctor's triumphant looks.

"It is the beginning, Joe," he said; and hardly had he spoken when Jimmy came up.

"Not bunyip 'tall!" he said scornfully. "Not no bunyip; all big 'tuff!

Jimmy, Ma.s.s Joe fader talk away, say, 'where my boy?'"

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

HOW I MUST WIND UP THE STORY.

It was the beginning of a better time, for from that day what was like the dawn of a return of his mental powers brightened and strengthened into the full sunshine of reason, and by the time we had been waiting at Ti-hi's village for the coming of the captain with his schooner we had heard the whole of my father's adventures from his own lips, and how he had been struck down from behind by one of the blacks while collecting, and kept a prisoner ever since.

I need not tell you of his words to me, his thanks to the doctor, and his intense longing for the coming of the schooner, which seemed to be an age before it came in sight.

We made Ti-hi and his companions happy by our supply of presents, for we wanted to take nothing back, and at last one bright morning we sailed from the glorious continent-like island, with two strong middle-aged men on board, both of whom were returning to a civilised land with the traces of their captivity in their hair and beards, which were as white as snow.

Neither shall I tell you of the safe voyage home, and of the meeting there. Joy had come at last where sorrow had sojourned so long, and I was happy in my task that I had fulfilled.

I will tell you, though, what the captain said in his hearty way over and over again.

To me it used to be:

"Well, you have growed! Why, if you'd stopped another year you'd have been quite a man. I say, though I never thought you'd ha' done it; 'pon my word!"

Similar words these to those often uttered by poor, prejudiced, obstinate old nurse.

To Jack Penny the captain was always saying:

"I say, young 'un, how you've growed too; not uppards but beam ways.

Why, hang me if I don't think you'll make a fine man yet!"

And so he did; a great strong six-foot fellow, with a voice like a trombone. Jack Penny is a sheep-farmer on his own account now, and after a visit to England with my staunch friend the doctor, where I gained some education, and used to do a good deal of business for my father, who is one of the greatest collectors in the south, I returned home, and went to stay a week with Jack Penny.

"I say," he said laughing, "my back's as strong as a lion's now. How it used to ache!"

We were standing at the door of his house, looking north, for we had been talking of our travels, when all at once I caught sight of what looked like a little white tombstone under a eucalyptus tree.

"Why, what's that?" I said.

Jack Penny's countenance changed, and there were a couple of tears in the eyes of the great strong fellow as he said slowly:

"That's to the memory of Gyp, the best dog as ever lived!"

I must not end without a word about Jimmy, my father's faithful companion in his botanical trips.

Jimmy nearly went mad for joy when I got back from England, dancing about like a child. He was always at the door, black and shining as ever, and there was constantly something to be done. One day he had seen the biggest ole man kangaroo as ever was; and this time there was a wallaby to be found; another the announcement that the black c.o.c.katoos were in the woods; or else it would be:

"Ma.s.s Joe, Ma.s.s Joe! Jimmy want go kedge fis very bad; do come a day."

And I? Well, I used to go, and it seemed like being a boy again to go on some expedition with my true old companion and friend.

Yes, friend; Jimmy was always looked upon as a friend; and long before then my mother would have fed and clothed him, given him anything he asked. But Jimmy was wild and happiest so, and I found him just as he was when I left home, faithful and boyish and winning, and often ready to say:

"When Ma.s.s Joe ready, go and find um fader all over again!"

THE END.