Harry and Wally are his two chums."

"Coo-ee! Coo-ee!"

Norah answered the call quickly and turned to the Hermit, feeling a little apologetic.

"I had to call," she explained--"Jim would be anxious. They want me for lunch." She hesitated. "Won't you come too?" she asked timidly.

"I haven't eaten with my fellow-men for more time than I'd care to reckon," said the Hermit. "I don't know--will they let me alone afterwards? Are they ordinary abominable boys?"

"Indeed, they're not!" said Norah indignantly. "They won't come near you at all, if you don't want them--but I know they'd be pleased if you came. Do!"

"Coo-ee!"

"Jim's getting impatient, isn't he?" said the Hermit. "Well, Miss Norah, if you'll excuse my attire I'll come. Shall I bring my damper?"

"Oh, please!" Norah cried. "We've never tasted damper."

"I wish _I_ hadn't," said the Hermit grimly. He picked up the fallen cake. "Let us away!" he said. "The banquet waits!"

During their walk through the scrub it occurred to Norah once or twice to wonder if her companion were really a little mad. He said such extraordinary things, all in the most matter-of-fact tone--but when she looked up at him his blue eyes twinkled so kindly and merrily that she knew at once he was all right, and she was quite certain that she liked him very much.

The boys were getting impatient. Lunch was ready, and when lunch has been prepared by Mrs. Brown, and supplemented by fresh blackfish, fried over a camp fire by black Billy, it is not a meal to be kept waiting.

They were grouped round the table-cloth, in att.i.tudes more suggestive of ease than elegance, when Norah and her escort appeared, and for once their manners deserted them. They gaped in silent amazement.

"Boys, this is The Hermit," said Norah, rather nervously. "I--I found him. He has a camp. He's come to lunch."

"I must apologize for my intrusion, I'm afraid," the Hermit said. "Miss Norah was good enough to ask me to come. I--I've brought my damper!"

He exhibited the article half shyly, and the boys recovered themselves and laughed uncontrollably. Jim sprang to his feet. The Hermit's first words had told him that this was no common swagman that Norah had picked up.

"I'm very glad to see you, sir," he said, holding out his hand.

"Thank you," said the Hermit gravely. "You're Jim, aren't you? And I conclude that this gentleman is Harry, and this Wally? Ah, I thought so.

Yes, I haven't seen so many people for ages. And black Billy! How are you Billy?"

Billy retreated in great embarra.s.sment.

"Plenty!" he murmured.

Everybody laughed again.

"Well," Jim said, "we're hungry, Norah. I hope you and--er--this gentleman are." Jim was concealing his bewilderment like a hero. "Won't you sit down and sample Billy's blackfish? He caught 'em all--we couldn't raise a bite between us--barring Wally's boot!"

"Did you catch a boot?" queried the Hermit of the blushing Wally. "Mine, I think--I can't congratulate you on your luck! If you like, after lunch, I'll show you a place where you could catch fish, if you only held the end of your finger in the water!"

"Good enough!" said Jim. "Thanks, awfully--we'll be jolly glad. Come on, Billy--trot out your frying-pan!"

Lunch began rather silently.

In their secret hearts the boys were rather annoyed with Norah.

"Why on earth," Jim reflected, "couldn't she have left the old chap alone? The party was all right without him--we didn't want any one else--least of all an odd oddity like this." And though the other boys were loyal to Norah, she certainly suffered a fall in their estimation, and was cla.s.sed for the moment with the usual run of "girls who do rummy things."

However, the Hermit was a man of penetration and soon realized the state of the social barometer. His hosts, who did not look at all like quiet boys, were eating their blackfish in perfect silence, save for polite requests for bread or pepper, or the occasional courteous remark, "Chuck us the salt!"

Accordingly the Hermit exerted himself to please, and it would really have taken more than three crabby boys to resist him. He told the drollest stories, which sent everyone into fits of laughter, although he never laughed himself at all; and he talked about the bush, and told them of the queer animals he saw--having, as he said, unusually good opportunities for watching the bush inhabitants unseen. He knew where the lyrebirds danced, and had often crept silently through the scrub until he could command a view of the mound where these strange birds strutted and danced, and mimicked the other birds with life-like fidelity. He loved the birds very much, and never killed any of them, even when a pair of thievish magpies attacked his larder and pecked a damper into little bits when he was away fishing. Many of the birds were tame with him now, he said; they would hop about the camp and let him feed them; and he had a carpet snake that was quite a pet, which he offered to show them--an offer that broke down the last tottering barriers of the boys' reserve. Then there were his different methods of trapping animals, some of which were strange even to Jim, who was a trapper of much renown.

"Don't you get lonely sometimes?" Norah asked him.

The Hermit looked at her gravely.

"Sometimes," he said. "Now and then one feels that one would give something to hear a human voice again, and to feel a friend's hand-grip.

Oh, there are times, Miss Norah, when I talk to myself--which is bad--or yarn to old Turpentine, my snake, just to hear the sound of words again.

However, when these bad fits come upon me I know it's a sign that I must get the axe and go and chop down sufficient trees to make me tired. Then I go to sleep, and wake up quite a cheerful being once more!"

He hesitated.

"And there's one thing," he said slowly--"though it may be lonely here, there is no one to trouble you; no one to treat you badly, to be ungrateful or malicious; no bitter enemies, and no false friends, who are so much worse than enemies. The birds come and hop about me, and I know that it is because I like them and have never frightened them; old Turpentine slides his ugly head over my knees, and I know he doesn't care a b.u.t.ton whether I have any money in my pocket, or whether I have to go out into the scrub to find my next meal! And that's far, far more than you can say of most human beings!"

He looked round on their grave faces, and smiled for the first time.

"This is uncommonly bad behaviour in a guest," he said cheerily. "To come to lunch, and regale one's host and hostess with a sermon! It's too bad. I ask your forgiveness, young people, and please forget all I said immediately. No, Miss Norah, I won't have any damper, thank you--after a three months' course of damper one looks with joy once more on bread. If Wally will favour me--I think the correct phrase is will you 'chuck me the b.u.t.ter?'"--whereat Wally "chucked" as desired, and the meal proceeded merrily.

CHAPTER VIII. ON A LOG

Lunch over, everyone seemed disinclined for action. The boys lay about on the gra.s.s, sleepily happy. Norah climbed into a tree, where the gnarled boughs made a natural arm-chair, and the Hermit propped his back against a rock and smoked a short black pipe with an air of perfect enjoyment. It was just hot enough to make one drowsy. Bees droned lazily, and from some shady gully the shrill note of a cricket came faintly to the ear. Only Billy had stolen down to the creek, to tempt the fish once more. They heard the dull "plunk" of his sinker as he flung it into a deep, still pool.

"Would you like to hear how I lost my boot?" queried the Hermit suddenly.

"Oh, please," said Norah.

The boys rolled over--that is to say Jim and Wally rolled over. Harry was fast asleep.

"Don't wake him," said the Hermit. But Wally's hat, skilfully thrown, had already caught the slumberer on the side of the head.

Harry woke up with surprising promptness, and returned the offending head-gear with force and directness. Wally caught it deftly and rammed it over his eyes. He smiled underneath it at the Hermit like a happy cherub.

"Now we're ready, sir," he said. "Hold your row, Harry, the--this gentleman's going to spin us a yarn. Keep awake if you can spare the time!"

"I'll spare the time to kick you!" growled the indignant Harry.

"I don't know that you'll think it's much of a yarn," the Hermit said hurriedly, entering the breach to endeavour to allay further discussion--somewhat to Jim's disappointment. "It's only the story of a pretty narrow escape.

"I had gone out fishing one afternoon about a month ago. It was a grand day for fishing--dull and cloudy. The sun was about somewhere, but you couldn't see anything of him, although you could feel his warmth. I'd been off colour for a few days, and had not been out foraging at all, and as a result, except for damper, my larder was quite empty.