CHAPTER IV.

THE KING MAY COME IN THE CADGER'S WAY.

Mr. Glorie did not put his runaway apprentice in gaol. He simply advertised for another—with a premium.

Poor Archie! His condition in life was certainly not to be envied now. He had but very few pounds between him and actual want.

He was rich in one thing alone—pride. He would sooner starve than write home for a penny. No, he could die in a gutter, but he could not bear to think they should know of it at Burley Old Farm.

Long ago, in the bonnie woods around Burley, he used to wonder to find dead birds in dark crannies of the rocks. He could understand it now. They had crawled into the crannies to die, out of sight and alone.

His club friends tried to rally him. They tried to cheer him up in more ways than one. Be it whispered, they tried to make him seek solace in gambling and in the wine-cup.

I do not think that I have held up my hero as a paragon. On the contrary, I have but represented him as he was—a bold, determined lad, with many and many a fault; but now I am glad to say this one thing in his favour: he was not such a fool as to try to drown his wits in wine, nor to seek to make money questionably by betting and by cards.

After Archie's letter home, in which he told Elsie that he was "something in soap," he had written another, and a more cheerful one. It was one which cost him a good deal of trouble to write; for he really could not get over the notion that he was telling white lies when he spoke of "his prospects in life, and his hopes being on the ascendant;" and as he dropped it into the receiver, he felt mean, demoralized; and he came slowly along George Street, trying to make himself believe that any letter was better than no letter, and that he would hardly have been justified in telling the whole truth.

Well, at Burley Old Farm things had rather improved, simply for this reason: Squire Broadbent had gone in heavily for retrenchment.

He had proved the truth of his own statement: "It does not take much in this world to make a man happy." The Squire was happy when he saw his wife and children happy. The former was always quietly cheerful, and the latter did all they could to keep up each other's hearts. They spent much of their spare time in the beautiful and romantic tower-room, and in walking about the woods, the grounds, and farm; for Rupert was well now, and was his father's right hand, not in the rough-and-tumble dashing way that Archie would have been, but in a thoughtful, considering way.

Mr. Walton had gone away, but Branson and old Kate were still to the fore. The Squire could not have spared these.

I think that Rupert's religion was a very pretty thing. He had lost none of his simple faith, his abiding trust in God's goodness, though he had regained his health. His devotions were quite as sincere, his thankfulness for mercies received greater even than before, and he had the most unbounded faith in the efficacy of prayer.

So his sister and he lived in hope, and the Squire used to build castles in the green parlour of an evening, and of course the absent Archie was one of the kings of these castles.

After a certain number of years of retrenchment, Burley was going to rise from its ashes hike the fabled phoenix—machinery and all. The Squire was even yet determined to show these old-fashioned farmer folks of Northumbria "a thing or two."

That was his ambition; and we must not blame him; for a man without ambition of some kind is a very humble sort of a clod—a clod of very poor clay.

But to return to Sydney.

Archie had received several rough invitations to go and visit Mr. Winslow. He had accepted two of these, and, singular to say, Etheldene's father was absent each time. Now, I refuse to be misunderstood. Archie did not "manage" to call when the ex-miner was out; but Archie was not displeased. He had taken a very great fancy for the child, and did not hesitate to tell her that from the first day he had met her he had loved her like his sister Elsie.

Of course Etheldene wanted to know all about Elsie, and hours were spent in telling her about this one darling sister of his, and about Rupert and all the grand old life at Burley.

"I should laugh," cried Archie, "if some day when you grew up, you should find yourself in England, and fall in love with Rupert, and marry him."

The child smiled, but looked wonderfully sad and beautiful the next moment. She had a way like this with her. For if Etheldene had been taken to represent any month of our English year, it would have been April—sunshine, flowers, and showers.

But one evening Archie happened to be later out in the suburbs than he ought to have been. The day had been hot, and the night was delightfully cool and pleasant. He was returning home when a tall, rough-looking, bearded man stopped him, and asked "for a light, old chum." Archie had a match, which he handed him, and as the light fell on the man's face, it revealed a very handsome one indeed, and one that somehow seemed not unfamiliar to him.

Archie went on. There was the noise of singing farther down the street, a merry band of youths who had been to a race meeting that day, and were up to mischief.

The tall man hid under the shadow of a wall.

"They're larrikins," he said to himself, and "he's a greenhorn." He spat in his fist, and kept his eye on the advancing figures.

Archie met them. They were arm-in-arm, five in all, and instead of making way for him, rushed him, and down he went, his head catching the kerb with frightful force. They at once proceeded to rifle him. But perhaps "larrikins" had never gone to ground so quickly and so unexpectedly before. It was the bearded man who was "having his fling" among them, and he ended by grabbing one in each hand till a policeman came up.

Archie remembered nothing more then.

When he became sensible he was in bed with a bandaged head, and feeling as weak all over as a kitten. Sarah was in the room with the landlady.

"Hush, my dear," said the latter; "you've been very ill for more than a week. You're not to get up, nor even to speak."

Archie certainly did not feel inclined to do either. He just closed his eyes and dozed off again, and his soul flew right away back to Burley.

"Oh, yes; he's out of danger!" It was the doctor's voice. "He'll do first-rate with careful nursing."

"He won't want for that, sir. Sarah here has been like a little mother to him."

Archie dozed for days. Only, whenever he was sensible, he could notice that Sarah was far better dressed, and far older-looking and nicer-looking than ever she had been. And now and then the big-bearded man came and sat by his bed, looking sometimes at him, some times at Sarah.

One day Archie was able to sit up; he felt quite well almost, though of course he was not really so.

"I have you to thank for helping me that night," he said.

"Ay, ay, Master Archie; but don't you know me?"

"No—no. I don't think so."

The big-bearded man took out a little case from his pocket, and pulled therefrom a pair of horn-bound spectacles.

"Why!" cried Archie, "you're not——"

"I am, really."

"Oh, Bob Cooper, I'm pleased to see you! Tell me all your story."

"Not yet, chummie; it is too long, or rather you're too weak. Why, you're crying!"

"It's tears of joy!"

"Well, well; I would join you, lad, but tears ain't in my line. But somebody else will want to see you to-morrow."

"Who?"

"Just wait and see."

Archie did wait. Indeed he had to; for the doctor left express orders that he was not to be disturbed.

The evening sun was streaming over the hills when Sarah entered next day and gave a look towards the bed.

"I'm awake, Sarah."

"It's Bob," said Sarah, "and t'other little gent. They be both a-comin' upstairs athout their boots."

Archie was just wondering what right Sarah had to call Bob Cooper by his Christian name, when Bob himself came quietly in.

"Ah!" he said, as he approached the bed, "you're beginning to look your old self already. Now who is this, think you?"

Archie extended a feeble white hand.

"Why, Whitechapel!" he exclaimed joyfully. "Wonders will never cease!"

"Well, Johnnie, and how are ye? I told ye, ye know, that 'the king might come in the cadger's way.'"

"Not much king about me now, Harry; but sit down. Why I've come through such a lot since I saw you, that I begin to feel quite aged. Well, it is just like old times seeing you. But you're not a bit altered. No beard, or moustache, or anything, and just as cheeky-looking as when you gave me that thrashing in the wood at Burley. But you don't talk so Cockneyfied."

"No, Johnnie; ye see I've roughed it a bit, and learned better English in the bush and scrub. But I say, Johnnie, I wouldn't mind being back for a day or two at Burley. I think I could ride your buck-jumping 'Eider-Duck' now. Ah, I won't forget that first ride, though; I've got to rub myself yet whenever I think of it."

"But how on earth did you get here at all, the pair of you?"

"Well," said Harry, "that ain't my story 'alf so much as it is Bob's. I reckon he better tell it."

"Oh, but I haven't the gift of the gab like you, Harry! I'm a slow coach. I am a duffer at a story."

"Stop telling both," cried Archie. "I don't want any story about the matter. Just a little conversational yarn; you can help each other out, and what I don't understand, why I'll ask, that's all."

"But wait a bit," he continued. "Touch that bell, Harry. Pull hard; it doesn't ring else. My diggins are not much account. Here comes Sarah, singing. Bless her old soul! I'd been dead many a day if it hadn't been for Sarah."

"Look here, Sarah."

"I'm looking nowheres else, Mister Broadbent; but mind you this, if there's too much talking, I'm to show both these gents downstairs. Them's the doctor's orders, and they've got to be obeyed. Now, what's your will, sir?"

"Tea, Sarah."

"That's right. One or two words at a time and all goes easy. Tea you shall have in the twinkling of a bedpost. Tea and etceteras."

Sarah was as good as her word. In ten minutes she had laid a little table and spread it with good things; a big teapot, cups and saucers, and a steaming urn.

Then off she went singing again.

Archie wondered what made her so happy, and meant to ask her when his guests were gone.

"Now, young Squire," said Harry, "I'll be the lady; and if your tea isn't to your taste, why just holler."

"But don't call me Squire, Harry; I left that title at home. We're all equal here. No kings and no cadgers.

"Well, Bob, when last I saw you in old England, there was a sorrowful face above your shoulders, and I'll never forget the way you turned round and asked me to look after your mother's cat."

"Ah, poor mother! I wish I'd been better to her when I had her. However, I reckon we'll meet some day up-bye yonder."

"Yes, Bob, and you jumped the fence and disappeared in the wood! Where did you go?"

CHAPTER V.

BOB'S STORY: WILD LIFE AT THE DIGGINGS.

"Well, it all came about like this, Archie: 'England,' I said to myself, says I, 'ain't no place for a poor man.' Your gentry people, most o' them anyhow, are just like dogs in the manger. The dog couldn't eat the straw, but he wouldn't let the poor hungry cow have a bite. Your landed proprietors are just the same; they got their land as the dog got his manger. They took it, and though they can't live on it all, they won't let anybody else do it."

"You're rather hard on the gentry, Bob."

"Well, maybe, Archie; but they ain't many o' them like Squire Broadbent. Never mind, there didn't seem to be room for me in England, and I couldn't help noticing that all the best people, and the freest, and kindest, were men like your Uncle Ramsay, who had been away abroad, and had gotten all their dirty little meannesses squeezed out of them. So when I left you, after cutting that bit o' stick, I made tracks for London. I hadn't much money, so I tramped all the way to York, and then took train. When I got to London, why I felt worse off than ever. Not a soul to speak to; not a face I knew; even the bobbies looking sour when I asked them a civil question; and starvation staring me in the face."

"Starvation, Bob?"

"Ay, Archie, and money in my pocket. Plenty o' shilling dinners; but, lo! what was one, London shilling dinner to the like o' me? Why, I could have bolted three! Then I thought of Harry here, and made tracks for Whitechapel. I found the youngster—I'd known him at Burley—and he was glad to see me again. His granny was dead, or somebody; anyhow, he was all alone in the world. But he made me welcome—downright happy and welcome. I'll tell you what it is, Archie lad, Harry is a little gentleman, Cockney here or Cockney there; and deep down below that white, thin face o' his, which three years and over of Australian sunshine hasn't made much browner, Harry carries a heart, look, see! that wouldn't disgrace an English Squire."

"Bravo, Bob! I like to hear you speak in that way about our friend."

"Well, that night I said to Harry, 'Isn't it hard, Harry,' I says, 'that in this free and enlightened land a man is put into gaol if he snares a rabbit?'

"'Free and enlightened fiddlestick!' that was Harry's words. 'I tell ye what it is, Bob,' says he, 'this country is played out. But I knows where there are lots o' rabbits for the catching.'

"'Where's that?' I says.

"'Australia O!' says Harry.

"'Harry,' says I, 'let us pool up, and set sail for the land of rabbits—for Australia O!'

"'Right you are,' says Harry; and we pooled up on the spot; and from that day we haven't had more'n one purse between the two of us, have we, Harry?"

"Only one," said Harry; "and one's enough between such old, old chums."

"He may well say old, old chums, Archie; he may well put the two olds to it; for it isn't so much the time we've been together, it's what we've come through together; and shoulder to shoulder has always been our motto. We've shared our bed, we've shared our blanket, our damper and our water also, when there wasn't much between the two of us.

"We got helped out by the emigration folks, and we've paid them since, and a bit of interest thrown in for luck like; but when we stood together in Port Jackson for the first time, the contents of our purse wouldn't have kept us living long, I can assure you."

"'Cities aren't for the like of us, Harry,'" says I.

"'Not now,'" says Harry.

"So we joined a gang going west. There was a rush away to some place where somebody had found gold, and Harry and I thought we might do as well as any o' them.

"Ay, Archie, that was a rush. 'Tinklers, tailors, sodjers, sailors.' I declare we thought ourselves the best o' the whole gang, and I think so still.

"We were lucky enough to meet an old digger, and he told us just exactly what to take and what to leave. One thing we did take was steamboat and train, as far as they would go, and this helped us to leave the mob a bit in the rear.

"Well, we got high up country at long last——"

"Hold!" cried Harry. "He's missing the best of it. Is that fair, Johnnie?"

"No, it isn't fair."

"Why, Johnnie, we hadn't got fifty miles beyond civilization when, what with the heat and the rough food and bad water, Johnnie, my London legs and my London heart failed me, and down I must lie. We were near a bit of a cockatoo farmer's shanty."

"Does it pay to breed cockatoos?" said Archie innocently.

"Don't be the death o' me, Johnnie. A cockatoo farmer is just a crofter. Well, in there Bob helped me, and I could go no farther. How long was I ill, Bob?"

"The best part o' two months, Harry."

"Ay, Johnnie, and all that time Bob there helped the farmer—dug for him, trenched and fenced, and all for my sake, and to keep the life in my Cockney skin."

"Well, Harry," said Bob, "you proved your worth after we got up. You hardened down fine after that fever."

Harry turned towards Archie.

"You mustn't believe all Bob says, Johnnie, when he speaks about me. Bob is a good-natured, silly sort of a chap; and though he has a beard now, he ain't got more 'n 'alf the lime-juice squeezed out of him yet."

"Never mind, Bob," said Archie, "even limes and lemons should not be squeezed dry. You and I are country lads, and we would rather retain a shade of greenness than otherwise; but go on, Bob."

"Well, now," continued Bob, "I don't know that Harry's fever didn't do us both good in the long run; for when we started at last for the interior, we met a good lot of the rush coming back. There was no fear of losing the tracks. That was one good thing that came o' Harry's fever. Another was, that it kind o' tightened his constitution. La! he could come through anything after that—get wet to the skin and dry again; lie out under a tree or under the dews o' heaven, and never complain of stiffness; and eat corn beef and damper as much as you'd like to put before him; and he never seemed to tire. As for me, you know, Archie, I'm an old bush bird. I was brought up in the woods and wilds; and, faith, I'm never so much at home as I am in the forests. Not but what we found the march inland wearisome enough. Worst of it was, we had no horses, and we had to do a lot of what you might call good honest begging; but if the squatters did give us food going up, we were willing to work for it."

"If they'd let us, Bob."

"Which they didn't. Hospitality and religion go hand in hand with the squatter. When I and Harry here set out on that terribly long march, I confess to both of ye now I didn't feel at all certain as to how anything at all would turn out. I was just as bad as the young bear when its mother put it down and told it to walk. The bear said, 'All right, mother; but how is it done?' And as the mother only answered by a grunt, the young bear had to do the best it could; and so did we.

"'How is it going to end?' I often said to Harry.

"'We can't lose anything, Bob,' Harry would say, laughing, 'except our lives, and they ain't worth much to anybody but ourselves; so I'm thinkin' we're safe.'"

Here Bob paused a moment to stir his tea, and look thoughtfully into the cup, as if there might be some kind of inspiration to be had from that.

He laughed lightly as he proceeded:

"I'm a bad hand at a yarn; better wi' the gun and the 'girn,' Harry. But I'm laughing now because I remember what droll notions I had about what the Bush, as they call it, would be like when we got there."

"But, Johnnie," Harry put in, "the curious thing is, that we never did get there, according to the settlers."

"No?"

"No; because they would always say to us, 'You're going Bush way, aren't ye, boys?' And we would answer, 'Why, ain't we there now?' And they would laugh."

"That's true," said Bob. "The country never seemed to be Bush enough for anybody. Soon's they settled down in a place the Bush'd be farther west."

"Then the Bush, when one is going west," said Archie, "must be like to-morrow, always one day ahead."

"That's it; and always keeping one day ahead. But it was Bush enough for us almost anywhere. And though I feel ashamed like to own it now, there was more than once that I wished I hadn't gone there at all. But I had taken the jump, you see, and there was no going back. Well, I used to think at first that the heat would kill us, but it didn't. Then I made sure the want of water would. That didn't either, because, one way or another, we always came across some. But I'll tell you what nearly killed us, and that was the lonesomeness of those forests. Talk of trees! La! Archie, you'd think of Jack and the beanstalk if you saw some we saw. And why didn't the birds sing sometimes? But no, only the constant bicker, bicker of something in the grass. There were sounds though that did alarm us. We know now that they were made by birds and harmless beasts, but we were all in the dark then.

"Often and often, when we were just dropping, and thought it would be a comfort to lie down and die, we would come out of a forest all at once, and feel in a kind of heaven because we saw smoke, or maybe heard the bleating o' sheep. Heaven? Indeed, Archie, it seemed to be; for we had many a kindly welcome from the roughest-looking chaps you could possibly imagine. And the luxury of bathing our poor feet, with the certainty of a pair of dry, clean socks in the mornin', made us as happy as a couple of kings. A lump of salt junk, a dab of damper, and a bed in a corner made us feel so jolly we could hardly go to sleep for laughing.

"But the poor beggars we met, how they did carry on to be sure about their bad luck, and about being sold, and this, that, and t'other. Ay, and they didn't all go back. We saw dead bodies under trees that nobody had stopped to bury; and it was sad enough to notice that a good many of these were women, and such pinched and ragged corpses! It isn't nice to think back about it.

"Had anybody found gold in this rush? Yes, a few got good working claims, but most of the others stopped till they couldn't stop any longer, and had to get away east again, crawling, and cursing their fate and folly.

"But I'll tell you, Archie, what ruined most o' them. Just drink. It is funny that drink will find its way farther into the bush at times than bread will.

"Well, coming in at the tail o' the day, like, as Harry and I did, we could spot how matters stood at a glance, and we determined to keep clear of bush hotels. Ah! they call them all hotels. Well, I'm a rough un, Archie, but the scenes I've witnessed in some of those drinking houffs has turned my stomach. Maudlin, drunken miners, singing, and blethering, and boasting; fighting and rioting worse than poachers, Archie, and among them—heaven help us!—poor women folks that would melt your heart to look on.

"'Can we settle down here a bit?' I said to Harry, when we got to the diggings.

"'We'll try our little best, old chum,' was Harry's reply.

"And we did try. It was hard even to live at first. The food, such as it was in the new stores, was at famine price, and there was not much to be got from the rivers and woods. But after a few months things mended; our station grew into a kind o' working town. We had even a graveyard, and all the worst of us got weeded out, and found a place there.

"Harry and I got a claim after no end of prospecting that we weren't up to. We bought our claim, and bought it cheap; and the chap we got it from died in a week. Drink? Ay, Archie, drink. I'll never forget, and Harry I don't think will, the last time we saw him. We had left him in a neighbour's hut down the gully dying to all appearance, too weak hardly to speak. We bade him 'good-bye' for the last time as we thought, and were just sitting and talking like in our slab-hut before turning in, and late it must have been, when the door opened, and in came Glutz, that was his name. La! what a sight! His face looked like the face of a skeleton with some parchment drawn tight over it, his hollow eyes glittered like wildfire, his lips were dry and drawn, his voice husky.

"He pointed at us with his shining fingers, and uttered a low cry like some beast in pain; then, in a horrid whisper, he got out these words:

"'Give me drink, drink, I'm burning.'

"I've seen many a sight, but never such a one as that, Archie. We carried him back. Yes, we did let him have a mouthful. What mattered it. Next day he was in a shallow grave. I suppose the dingoes had him. They had most of those that died.

"Well, by-and-by things got better with Harry and me; our claim began to yield, we got dust and nuggets. We said nothing to anybody. We built a better sort of shanty, and laid out a morsel of garden, we fished and hunted, and soon learned to live better than we'd done before, and as we were making a bit of money we were as happy as sandboys.

"No, we didn't keep away from the hotel—they soon got one up—it wouldn't have done not to be free and easy. But we knew exactly what to do when we did go there. We could spin our bits o' yarns, and smoke our pipes, without losing our heads. Sometimes shindies got up though, and revolvers were used freely enough, but as a rule it was pretty quiet."

"Only once, when that Little fellow told you to 'bail up.'"

"What was that, Harry?" asked Archie.

"Nothing much," said Bob shyly.

"He caught him short round the waist, Johnnie, and smashed everything on the counter with him, then flung him straight and clear through the doorway. When he had finished he quietly asked what was to pay, and Bob was a favourite after that. I reckon no one ever thought of challenging him again."

"Where did you keep your gold?"

"We hid it in the earth in the tent. There was a black fellow came to look after us every day. We kept him well in his place, for we never could trust him; and it was a good thing we did, as I'm going to tell you.

"We had been, maybe, a year and a half in the gully, and had got together a gay bit o' swag, when our claim gave out all at once as 't were—some shift o' the ground or lode. Had we had machinery we might have made a round fortune, but there was no use crying about it. We quietly determined to make tracks. We had sent some away to Brisbane already—that we knew was safe, but we had a good bit more to take about us. However, we wouldn't have to walk all the way back, for though the place was half-deserted, there were horses to be had, and farther along we'd manage to get drags.

"Two of the worst hats about the place were a man called Vance, and a kind of broken-down surgeon of the name of Williams. They lived by their wits, and the wonder is they hadn't been hanged long ago.

"It was about three nights before we started, and we were coming home up the gully. The moon was shining as bright as ever I'd seen it. The dew was falling too, and we weren't sorry when we got inside. Our tame dingo came to meet us. He had been a pup that we found in the bush and brought up by hand, and a more faithful fellow never lived. We lit our fat-lamp and sat down to talk, and a good hour, or maybe more, went by. Then we lay down, for there was lots to be done in the morning.

"There was a little hole in the hut at one end where Wango, as we called the wild dog, could crawl through; and just as we were dozing off I heard a slight noise, and opened my eyes enough to see poor Wango creeping out. We felt sure he wouldn't go far, and would rush in and alarm us if there were the slightest danger. So in a minute more I was sleeping as soundly as only a miner can sleep, Archie. How long I may have slept, or how late or early it was, I couldn't say, but I awoke all at once with a start. There was a man in the hut. Next minute a shot was fired. I fell back, and don't remember any more. Harry there will tell you the rest."

"It was the shot that wakened me, Archie, but I felt stupid. I groped round for my revolver, and couldn't find it. Then, Johnnie, I just let them have it Tom Sayers's fashion—like I did you in the wood, if you remember."

"There were two of them?"

"Aye, Vance and the doctor. I could see their faces by the light of their firing. They didn't aim well the first time, Johnnie, so I settled them. I threw the doctor over my head. His nut must have come against something hard, because it stilled him. I got the door opened and had my other man out. Ha! ha! It strikes me, Johnnie, that I must have wanted some exercise, for I never punished a bloke before as I punished that Vance. He had no more strength in him than a bandicoot by the time I was quite done with him, and looked as limp all over and just as lively as 'alf a pound of London tripe.

"I just went to the bluff-top after that, and coo-eed for help, and three or four right good friends were with us in as many minutes, Johnnie.

"We thought Bob was dead, but he soon spoke up and told us he wasn't, and didn't mean to die.

"Our chums would have lynched the ruffians that night. The black fellow was foremost among those that wanted to. But I didn't like that, no more did Bob. They were put in a tent, tied hand and foot, and our black fellow made sentry over them. Next day they were all gone. Then we knew it was a put-up job. Poor old Wango was found with his throat cut. The black fellow had enticed him out and taken him off, then the others had gone for us."

"But our swag was safe," said Bob, "though I lay ill for months after. And now it was Harry's turn to nurse; and I can tell you, Archie, that my dear old dead-and-gone mother couldn't have been kinder to me than he was. A whole party of us took the road back east, and many is the pleasant evening we spent around our camp-fire.

"We got safe to Brisbane, and we got safe here; but somehow we're a kind o' sick of mining."

"Ever hear more of your assailants?" asked Archie.

"What, the chaps who tried to bail us up? Yes. We did hear they'd taken to bushranging, and are likely to come to grief at that."

"Well, Bob Cooper, I think you've told your story pretty tidily, with Harry's assistance; and I don't wonder now that you've only got one purse between you."

"Ah!" said Bob, "it would take weeks to tell you one half of our adventures. We may tell you some more when we're all together in the Bush doing a bit of farming."

"All together?"

"To be sure! D'ye reckon we'll leave you here, now we've found you? We'll have one purse between three."

"Indeed, Bob, we will not. If I go to the Bush—and now I've half a mind to—I'll work like a New Hollander."

"Bravo! You're a chip o' the old block. Well, we can arrange that. We'll hire you. Will that do, my proud young son of a proud old sire?"

"Yes; you can hire me."

"Well, we'll pay so much for your hands, and so much for your head and brains."

Archie laughed.

"And," continued Bob, "I'm sure that Sarah will do the very best for the three of us."

"Sarah! Why, what do you mean, Bob?"

"Only this, lad: Sarah has promised to become my little wife."

The girl had just entered.

"Haven't you, Sarah?"

"Hain't I what?"

"Promised to marry me."

"Well, Mister Archie Broadbent, now I comes to think on't, I believes I 'ave. You know, mister, you wouldn't never 'ave married me."

"No, Sarah."

"Well, and I'm perfectly sick o' toilin' up and down these stairs. That's 'ow it is, sir."

"Well, Sarah," said Archie, "bring us some more nice tea, and I'll forgive you for this once, but you mustn't do it any more."

It was late ere Bob and Harry went away. Archie lay back at once, and when, a few minutes after, the ex-policeman's wife came in to see how he was, she found him sound and fast.

Archie was back again at Burley Old Farm, that is why he smiled in his dreams.

"So I'm going to be a hired man in the bush," he said to himself next morning. "That's a turn in the kaleidoscope of fortune."

However, as the reader will see, it did not quite come to this with Archie Broadbent.

CHAPTER VI.

MINER'S MARRIAGE.

It was the cool season in Sydney. In other words, it was winter just commencing; so, what with balmy air and beauty everywhere around, no wonder Archie soon got well. He had the kindest treatment too, and he had youth and hope.

He could now write home to his parents and Elsie a long, cheerful letter without any twinge of conscience. He was going to begin work soon in downright earnest, and get straight away from city life, and all its allurements; he wondered, he said, it had not occurred to him to do this before, only it was not too late to mend even yet. He hated city life now quite as much as he had previously loved it, and been enamoured of it.

It never rains but it pours, and on the very day after he posted his packet to Burley he received a registered letter from his uncle. It contained a bill of exchange for fifty pounds. Archie blushed scarlet when he saw it.

Now had this letter and its contents been from his father, knowing all he did of the straits at home, he would have sent the money back. But his uncle evidently knew whom he had to deal with; for he assured Archie in his letter that it was a loan, not a gift. He might want it he said, and he really would be obliging him by accepting it. He—Uncle Ramsay—knew what the world was, and so on and so forth, and the letter ended by requesting Archie to say nothing about it to his parents at present.

"Dear old boy," said Archie half aloud, and tears of gratitude sprang to his eyes. "How thoughtful and kind! Well, it'll be a loan, and I'll pray every night that God may spare him till I get home to shake his honest brown paw, and thrust the fifty pounds back into it. No, it would be really unkind to refuse it."

He went straight away—walking on feathers—to Bob's hotel. He found him and Harry sitting out on the balcony drinking sherbet. He took a seat beside them.

"I'm in clover, boys," he cried exultingly, as he handed the cash to Bob to look at.

"So you are," said Bob, reading the figures. "Well, this is what my old mother would call a God-send. I always said your Uncle Ramsay was as good as they make 'em."

"It looks a lot of money to me at present," said Archie. "I'll have all that to begin life with; for I have still a few pounds left to pay my landlady, and to buy a blanket or two."

"Well, as to what you'll buy, Archie," said Bob Cooper, "if you don't mind leaving that to us, we will manage all, cheaper and better than you could; for we're old on the job."

"Oh! I will with pleasure, only——"

"I know all about that. You'll settle up. Well, we're all going to be settlers. Eh? See the joke?"

"Bob doesn't often say funny things," said Harry; "so it must be a fine thing to be going to get married."

"Ay, lad, and I'm going to do it properly. Worst of it is, Archie, I don't know anybody to invite. Oh, we must have a dinner! Bother breakfasts, and hang honeymoons. No, no; a run round Sydney will suit Sarah better than a year o' honeymooning nonsense. Then we'll all go off in the boat to Brisbane. That'll be a honeymoon and a half in itself. Hurrah! Won't we all be so happy! I feel sure Sarah's a jewel."

"How long did you know her, Bob, before you asked her the momentous question?"

"Asked her what?"

"To marry you."

"Oh, only a week! La! that's long enough. I could see she was true blue, and as soft as rain. Bless her heart! I say, Archie, who'll we ask?"

"Well, I know a few good fellows——"

"Right. Let us have them. What's their names?"

Out came Bob's notebook, and down went a dozen names.

"That'll be ample," said Archie.

"Well," Bob acquiesced with a sigh, "I suppose it must. Now we're going to be spliced by special license, Sarah and I. None of your doing things by half. And Harry there is going to order the cabs and carriages, and favours and music, and the parson, and everything firstchop."

The idea of "ordering the parson" struck Archie as somewhat incongruous; but Bob had his own way of saying things, and it was evident he would have his own way in doing things too for once.

"And," continued Bob, "the ex-policeman's wife and I are going to buy the bonnie things to-morrow. And as for the 'bobby' himself, we'll have to send him away for the day. He is too fond of one thing, and would spoil the splore."

Next day sure enough Bob did start off with the "bobby's" wife to buy the bonnie things. A tall, handsome fellow Bob looked too; and the tailor having dona his best, he was altogether a dandy. He would persist in giving his mother, as he called her, his arm on the street, and the appearance of the pair of them caused a good many people to look after them and smile.

However, the "bonnie things" were bought, and it was well he had someone to look after him, else he would have spent money uselessly as well as freely. Only, as Bob said, "It was but one day in his life, why shouldn't he make the best of it?"

He insisted on making his mother a present of a nice little gold watch. No, he wouldn't let her have a silver one, and it should be "set with blue stones." He would have that one, and no other.

"Too expensive? No, indeed!" he cried. "Make out the bill, master, and I'll knock down my cheque. Hurrah! one doesn't get married every morning, and it isn't everybody who gets a girl like Sarah when he does get spliced! So there!"

Archie had told Bob and Harry of his first dinner at the hotel, and how kind and considerate in every way the waiter had been, and how he had often gone back there to have a talk.

"It is there then, and nowhere else," said Bob, "we'll have our wedding dinner."

Archie would not gainsay this; and nothing would satisfy the lucky miner but chartering a whole flat for a week.

"That's the way we'll do it," he said; "and now look here, as long as the week lasts, any of your friends can drop into breakfast, dinner, or supper. We are going to do the thing proper, if we sell our best jackets to help to pay the bill. What say, old chummie?"

"Certainly," said Harry; "and if ever I'm fool enough to get married, I'll do the same kind o' thing."

A happy thought occurred to Archie the day before the marriage.

"How much loose cash have you, Bob?"

"I dunno," said Bob, diving his hands into both his capacious pockets—each were big enough to hold a rabbit—and making a wonderful rattling.

"I reckon I've enough for to-morrow. It seems deep enough."

"Well, my friend, hand over."

"What!" cried Bob, "you want me to bail up?"

"Bail up!"

"You're a downright bushranger, Archie. However, I suppose I must obey."

Then he emptied his pockets into a pile on the table—gold, silver, copper, all in the same heap. Archie counted and made a note of all, put part away in a box, locked it, gave Bob back a few coins, mostly silver, and stowed the rest in his purse.

"Now," said Archie, "be a good old boy, Bob; and if you want any more money, just ask nicely, and perhaps you'll have it."

There was a rattling thunder-storm that night, which died away at last far beyond the hills, and next morning broke bright, and cool, and clear.

A more lovely marriage morning surely never yet was seen.

And in due time the carriages rolled up to the church door, horses and men bedecked in favours, and right merry was the peal that rang forth from St. James's.

Sarah did not make by any means an uninteresting bride. She had not over-dressed, so that showed she possessed good taste.

As for the stalwart Northumbrian, big-bearded Bob, he really was splendid. He was all a man, I can assure you, and bore himself as such in spite of the fact that his black broadcloth coat was rather wrinkly in places, and that his white kid gloves had burst at the sides.

There was a glorious glitter of love and pride in his dark blue eyes as he towered beside Sarah at the altar, and he made the responses in tones that rang through all the church.

After the ceremony and vestry business Bob gave a sigh of relief, and squeezed Sarah's hand till she blushed.

The carriage was waiting, and a pretty bit of a mob too. And before Bob jumped in he said, "Now, Harry, for the bag."

As he spoke he gave a look of triumph towards Archie, as much as to say, "See how I have sold you."

Harry handed him a bag of silver coins.

"Stand by, you boys, for a scramble," shouted Bob in a voice that almost brought down the church.

"Coo—ee!"

And out flew handful after handful, here, there, and everywhere, till the sack was empty.

When the carriages got clear away at last, there was a ringing cheer went up from the crowd that really did everybody's heart good to hear.

Of course the bridegroom stood up and waved his hat back, and when at last he subsided:

"Och!" he sighed, "that is the correct way to get married. I've got all their good wishes, and they're worth their weight in gold, let alone silver."

The carriages all headed away for the heights of North Shore, and on to the top of the bay, from whence such a glorious panorama was spread out before them as one seldom witnesses. The city itself was a sight; but there were the hills, and rocks, and woods, and the grand coast line, and last, though not least, the blue sea itself.

The breakfast was al fresco. It really was a luncheon, and it would have done credit to the wedding of a Highland laird or lord, let alone a miner and quondam poacher. But Australia is a queer place. Bob's money at all events had been honestly come by, and everybody hailed him king of the day. He knew he was king, and simply did as he pleased. Here is one example of his abounding liberality. Before starting back for town that day he turned to Archie, as a prince might turn:

"Archie, chummie," he said.

"You see those boys?"

"Yes."

"Well, they all look cheeky."

"Very much so, Bob."

"And I dearly love a cheeky boy. Scatter a handful of coins among them, and see that there be one or two yellow ones in the lot."

"What nonsense!" cried Archie; "what extravagant folly, Bob!"

"All right," said Bob quietly. "I've no money, but——" He pulled out his splendid gold hunter.

"What are you going to do?"

"Why, let them scramble for the watch."

"No, no, Bob; I'll throw the coins."

"You have to," said Bob, sitting down, laughing.

The dinner, and the dance afterwards, were completely successful. There was no over-crowding, and no stuckupness, as Bob called it. Everybody did what he pleased, and all were as happy and jolly as the night was long.

Bob did not go away on any particular honeymoon. He told Sarah they would have their honeymoon out when they went to the Bush.

Meanwhile, day after day, for a week, the miner bridegroom kept open house for Archie's friends; and every morning some delightful trip was arranged, which, faithfully carried out, brought everyone hungry and happy back to dinner.

There is more beauty of scenery to be seen around Sydney in winter than would take volumes to describe by pen, and acres of canvas to depict; and, after all, both author and artist would have to admit that they had not done justice to their subject.

Now that he had really found friends—humble though they might be considered in England—life to Archie, which before his accident was very grey and hopeless, became bright and clear again. He had a present, and he believed he had a future. He saw new beauties everywhere around him, even in the city; and the people themselves, who in his lonely days seemed to him so grasping, grim, and heartless, began to look pleasant in his eyes. This only proves that we have happiness within our reach if we only let it come to us, and it never will while we sit and sulk, or walk around and growl.

Bob, with his young wife and Archie and Harry, made many a pilgrimage all round the city, and up and through the sternly rugged and grand scenery among the Blue Mountains. Nor was it all wild and stern, for valleys were visited, whose beauty far excelled anything else Archie had ever seen on earth, or could have dreamt of even. Sky, wood, hill, water, and wild flowers all combined to form scenes of loveliness that were entrancing at this sweet season of the year.

Twenty times a day at least Archie was heard saying to himself, "Oh, how I wish sister and Rupert were here!"

Then there were delightful afternoons spent in rowing about the bay.

I really think Bob was taking the proper way to enjoy himself after all. He had made up his mind to spend a certain sum of money on seeing all that was worth seeing, and he set himself to do so in a thoroughly business way. Well, if a person has got to do nothing, the best plan is to do it pleasantly.

So he would hire one of the biggest, broadest-beamed boats he could find, with two men to row. They would land here and there in the course of the afternoon, and towards sunset get well out into the centre of the bay. This was the time for enjoyment. The lovely chain of houses, the woods, and mansions half hid in a cloudland of soft greens and hazy blues; the far-off hills, the red setting sun, the painted sky, and the water itself casting reflections of all above.

Then slowly homewards, the chains of lights springing up here, there, and everywhere as the gloaming began to deepen into night.

If seeing and enjoying such scenes as these with a contented mind, a good appetite, and the certainty of an excellent dinner on their return, did not constitute genuine happiness, then I do not know from personal experience what that feeling is.

But the time flew by. Preparations had to be made to leave this fascinating city, and one day Archie proposed that Bob and he should visit Winslow in his suburban villa.

CHAPTER VII.

MR. WINSLOW IN A DIFFERENT LIGHT.

"You'll find him a rough stick," said Archie.

"What, rougher than me or Harry?" said Bob.

"Well, as you've put the question I'll answer you pat. I don't consider either you or Harry particularly rough. If you're rough you're right, Bob, and it is really wonderful what a difference mixing with the world has done for both of you; and if you knew a little more of the rudiments of English grammar, you would pass at a pinch."

"Thank ye," said Bob.

"You've got a bit of the bur-r-r of Northumbria in your brogue, but I do believe people like it, and Harry isn't half the Cockney he used to be. But, Bob, this man—I wish I could say gentleman—Winslow never was, and never could be, anything but a shell-back. He puts me in mind of the warty old lobsters one sees crawling in and out among the rocks away down at the point yonder.

"But, oh!" added Archie, "what a little angel the daughter is! Of course she is only a baby. And what a lovely name—Etheldene! Isn't it sweet, Bob?"

"I don't know about the sweetness; there is a good mouthful of it, anyhow."

"Off you go, Bob, and dress. Have you darned those holes in your gloves?"

"No; bought a new pair."

"Just like your extravagance. Be off!"

Bob Cooper took extra pains with his dressing to-day, and when he appeared at last before his little wife Sarah, she turned him round and round and round three times, partly for luck, and partly to look at him with genuine pride up and down.

"My eye," she said at last, "you does look stunning! Not a pin in sight, nor a string sticking out anywheres. You're going to see a young lady, I suppose; but Sarah ain't jealous of her little man. She likes to see him admired."

"Yes," said Bob, laughing; "you've hit the nail straight on the head; I am going to see a young lady. She is fourteen year old, I think. But bless your little bobbing bit o' a heart, lass, it isn't for her I'm dressed. No; I'm going with t' young Squire. He may be all the same as us out here, and lets me call him Archie. But what are they out here, after all? Why, only a set o' whitewashed heathens. No, I must dress for the company I'm in."

"And the very young lady?——"

"Is a Miss Winslow. I think t' young Squire is kind o' gone on her, though she is only a baby. Well, good-bye, lass."

"Good-bye, little man."

Etheldene ran with smiles and outstretched arms to meet Archie, but drew back when she noticed the immense bearded stranger.

"It's only Bob," said Archie. "Is your father in?"

"Yes, and we're all going to have tea out here under the trees."

The "all" was not a very large number; only Etheldene's governess and father, herself, and a girl playmate.

Poor Etheldene's mother had died in the Bush when she was little more than a baby. The rough life had hardly suited her. And this child had been such a little bushranger from her earliest days that her present appearance, her extreme beauty and gentleness, made another of those wonderful puzzles for which Australia is notorious.

Probably Etheldene knew more about the blacks, with their strange customs and manners, their curious rites and superstitions, and more about the home life of wallabies, kangaroos, dingoes, birds, insects, and every thing that grew wild, than many a professed naturalist; but she had her own names, or names given by blacks, to the trees and to the wild flowers.

While Etheldene, somewhat timidly it must be confessed, was leading big Bob round the gardens and lawns by the hand as if he were a kind of exaggerated schoolboy, and showing him all her pets—animate and inanimate—her ferns and flowers and birds, Winslow himself came upon the scene with the Morning Herald in his hand. He was dressed—if dressing it could be called—in the same careless manner Archie had last seen him. It must be confessed, however, that this semi-negligent style seemed to suit him. Archie wondered if ever he had worn a necktie in his life, and how he would look in a dress suit. He lounged up with careless ease, and stuck out his great spade of a hand.

Archie remembered he was Etheldene's father, and shook it.

"Well, youngster, how are you? Bobbish, eh? Ah, I see Ethie has got in tow with a new chum. Your friend? Is he now? Well, that's the sort of man I like. He's bound to do well in this country. You ain't a bad sort yourself, lad; but nothing to that, no more than a young turkey is to an emu. Well, sit down."

Mr. Winslow flung himself on the grass. It might be rather damp, but he dared not trust his weight and bulk on a lawn-chair.

"So your friend's going to the Bush, and going to take you with him, eh?"

Archie's proud soul rebelled against this way of talking, but he said nothing. It was evident that Mr. Winslow looked upon him as a boy.

"Well, I hope you'll do right both of you. What prospects have you?"

Archie told him how high his hopes were, and how exalted his notions.

"Them's your sentiments, eh? Then my advice is this: Pitch 'em all overboard—the whole jing-bang of them. Your high-flown notions sink you English greenhorns. Now, when I all but offered you a position under me——"

"Under your gardener," said Archie, smiling.

"Well, it's all the same. I didn't mean to insult your father's son. I wanted to know if you had the grit and the go in you."

"I think I've both, sir. Father—Squire Broadbent——"

"Squire Fiddlestick!"

"Sir!"

"Go on, lad, never mind me. Your father——"

"My father brought me up to work."

"Tossing hay, I suppose, raking flower-beds and such. Well, you'll find all this different in Australian Bush life; it is sink or swim there."

"Well, I'm going to swim."

"Bravo, boy!"

"And now, sir, do you mean to tell me that brains go for nothing in this land of contrariety?"

"No," cried Winslow, "no, lad. Goodness forbid I should give you that impression. If I had only the gift of the gab, and were a good writer, I'd send stuff to this paper" (here he struck the sheet that lay on the grass) "that would show men how I felt, and I'd be a member of the legislature in a year's time. But this is what I say, lad, Brains without legs and arms, and a healthy stomach, are no good here, or very little. We want the two combined; but if either are to be left out, why leave out the brains. There is many an English youth of gentle birth and good education that would make wealth and honour too in this new land of ours, if he could pocket his pride, don a workman's jacket, and put his shoulder to the wheel. That's it, d' ye see?"

"I think I do."

"That's right. Now tell me about your uncle. Dear old man! We never had a cross word all the time I sailed with him."

Archie did tell him all, everything, and even gave him his last letter to read.

By-and-by Etheldene came back, still leading her exaggerated schoolboy.

"Sit down, Mr. Cooper, on the grass. That's the style."

"Well," cried Archie, laughing, "if everybody is going to squat on the grass, so shall I."

Even Etheldene laughed at this; and when the governess came, and servants with the tea, they found a very happy family indeed.

After due introductions, Winslow continued talking to Bob.

"That's it, you see, Mr. Cooper; and I'm right glad you've come to me for advice. What I don't know about settling in Bushland isn't worth knowing, though I say it myself. There are plenty long-headed fellows that have risen to riches very quickly, but I believe, lad, the same men would have made money in their own country. They are the geniuses of finance; fellows with four eyes in their head, and that can look two ways at once. But they are the exception, and the ordinary man needn't expect such luck, because he won't get it.

"Now there's yourself, Mr. Cooper, and your friend that I haven't seen; you've made a lucky dive at the fields, and you're tired of gold-digging. I don't blame you. You want to turn farmer in earnest. On a small scale you are a capitalist. Well, mind, you're going to play a game, in which the very first movement may settle you for good or evil.

"Go to Brisbane. Don't believe the chaps here. Go straight away up, and take time a bit, and look round. Don't buy a pig in a poke. Hundreds do. There's a lot of people whose interest is to sell A1 claims, and a shoal of greenhorns with capital who want to buy. Now listen. Maybe not one of these have any experience. They see speculation in each other's eyes; and if one makes a grab, the other will try to be before him, and very likely the one that lays hold is hoisted. Let me put it in another way. Hang a hook, with a nice piece of pork on it, overboard where there are sharks. Everyone would like the pork, but everyone is shy and suspicious. Suddenly a shark, with more speculation in his eye than the others, prepares for a rush, and rather than he shall have it all the rest do just the same, and the lucky one gets hoisted. It's that way with catching capitalists. So I say again, Look before you leap. Don't run after bargains. They may be good, but—— This young fellow here has some knowledge of English farming. Well, that is good in its way, very good; and he has plenty of muscle, and is willing to work, that is better. If he were all alone, I'd tell him to go away to the Bush and shear sheep, build fences, and drive cattle for eighteen months, and keep his eyes wide open, and his ears too, and he'd get some insight into business. As it is, you're all going together, and you'll all have a look at things. You'll see what sort of stock the country is suited for—sheep, or cattle, or both; if it is exposed, or wet, or day, or forest, or all together. And you'll find out if it be healthy for men and stock, and not 'sour' for either; and also you'll consider what markets are open to you. For there'd be small use in rearing stock you couldn't sell. See?"

"Yes," said Bob; "I see a lot of difficulties in the way I hadn't thought of."

"Go warily then, and the difficulties will vanish. I think I'll go with you to Brisbane," added Winslow, after a pause. "I'm getting sick already of civilized life."

Etheldene threw her arms round her father's neck.

"Well, birdie, what is it? 'Fraid I go and leave you too long?"

"You mustn't leave me at all, father. I'm sometimes sick of civilized life. I'm going with you wherever you go."

That same evening after dinner, while Etheldene was away somewhere with her new friend—showing him, I think, how to throw the boomerang—Winslow and Archie sat out in the verandah looking at the stars while they sipped their coffee.

Winslow had been silent for a time, suddenly he spoke.

"I'm going to ask you a strange question, youngster," he said.

"Well, sir?" said Archie.

"Suppose I were in a difficulty, from what you have seen of me would you help me out if you could?"

"You needn't ask, sir," said Archie. "My uncle's friend."

"Well, a fifty-pound note would do it."

Archie had his uncle's draft still with him. He never said a word till he had handed it to Winslow, and till this eccentric individual had crumpled it up, and thrust it unceremoniously, and with only a grunt of thanks, into one of his capacious pockets.

"But," said Archie, "I would rather you would not look upon it as a loan. In fact, I am doubting the evidence of my senses. You—with all the show of wealth I see around me—to be in temporary need of a poor, paltry fifty pounds! Verily, sir, this is the land of contrarieties."

Winslow simply laughed.

"You have a lot to learn yet," he said, "my young friend; but I admire your courage, and your generous-heartedness, though not your business habits."

Archie and Bob paid many a visit to Wistaria Grove—the name of Winslow's place—during the three weeks previous to the start from Sydney.

One day, when alone with Archie, Winslow thrust an envelope into his hands.