"The effect was instantaneous. There was one howl of horror, and the black fellows darted out of the tent! They almost cannoned into me--and you know I must look a rum chap in these furry clothes and cap, with my grandfatherly white beard! At all events, they seemed to think me so, for at sight of me they both yelled in terror, and bolted away as fast as their legs could carry them. I cheered the parting guests by howling still more heartily, and firing my two remaining barrels over their heads as they ran. They went as swiftly as a motor-car disappears from view--I believe they reckoned they'd seen the bunyip. I haven't seen a trace of them since.

"They'd had a fine time inside the tent. Everything I possessed had been investigated, and one or two books badly torn--the wretches!" said the Hermit ruefully. "My clothes (I've a few garments beside these beauties, Miss Norah) had been pulled about, my few papers scattered wildly, and even my bunk stripped of blankets, which lay rolled up ready to be carried away. There wasn't a single one of my poor possessions that had escaped notice, except, of course, my watch and money, which I keep carefully buried. The tent was a remarkable spectacle, and so close and reminiscent of black fellow that my first act was to undo the sides and let the fresh air play through. I counted myself very lucky to get off as lightly as I did--had I returned an hour later none of my goods and chattels would have been left."

"What about the tucker?" Harry asked; "did they get away with the bag they'd stowed it in?"

"Not they!" said the Hermit; "they were far too scared to think of bags or tucker. They almost fell over it in their efforts to escape, but neither of them thought of picking it up. It was hard luck for them, after they'd packed it so carefully."

"Is that how you looked at it?" Jim asked, laughing.

"Well--I tried to," said the Hermit, laughing in his turn. "Sometimes it was pretty hard work--and I'll admit that for the first few days my own misfortunes were uppermost."

"But you didn't lose your tucker after all, you said?" queried Wally. "I thought they left the bag?"

"They did," the Hermit admitted. "But have you ever explored the interior of a black fellow's bag, Master Wally? No? Well, if you had, you would understand that I felt no further hankerings over those masterpieces of the cook's art. I'm not extra particular, I believe, but I couldn't tackle them--no thanks! I threw them into the scrub--and then washed my hands!"

"Poor you!" said Norah.

"Oh, I wasn't so badly off," said the Hermit. "They'd left me the plum-duff, which was hanging in its billy from a bough. Lots of duff--I had it morning, noon and night, until I found something fresh to cook--and I haven't made duff since. And here we are at the creek!"

CHAPTER IX. FISHING

The party had for some time been walking near the creek, so close to it that it was within sound, although they seldom got a glimpse of water, save where the ti-tree scrub on the bank grew thinner or the light wind stirred an opening in its branches. Now, however, the Hermit suddenly turned, and although the others failed to perceive any track or landmark, he led them quickly through the scrub belt to the bank of the creek beyond.

It was indeed an ideal place for fishing. A deep, quiet pool, partly shaded by big trees, lay placid and motionless, except for an occasional ripple, stirred by a light puff of wind. An old wattle tree grew on the bank, its limbs jutting out conveniently, and here Jim and Wally ensconced themselves immediately, and turned their united attention to business. For a time no sound was heard save the dull "plunk" of sinkers as the lines, one by one, were flung into the water.

The Hermit did not fish. He had plenty at his camp, he said, and fishing for fun had lost its excitement, since he fished for a living most days of the week. So he contented himself with advising the others where to throw in, and finally sat down on the gra.s.s near Norah.

A few minutes pa.s.sed. Then Jim jerked his line hurriedly and began to pull in with a feverish expression. It lasted until a big black fish made its appearance, dangling from the hook, and then it was suddenly succeeded by a look of intense disgust, as a final wriggle released the prisoner, which fell back with a splash into the water.

"Well, I'm blessed!" said Jim wrathfully.

"Hard luck!" said Harry.

"Try again, Jimmy, and stick to him this time," counselled Wally, in a fatherly tone.

"Oh, you shut up," Jim answered, re-baiting his hook. "I didn't catch an old boot, anyhow!"--which pertinent reflection had the effect of silencing Wally, amidst mild mirth on the part of the other members of the expedition.

Scarcely a minute more, and Norah pulled sharply at her line and began to haul in rapidly.

"Got a whale?" inquired Jim.

"Something like it!" Norah pulled wildly.

"Hang on!"

"Stick to him!"

"Mind your eye!"

"Don't get your line tangled!"

"Want any help, Miss Norah?"

"No thanks." Norah was almost breathless. A red spot flamed in each cheek.

Slowly the line came in. Presently it gave a sudden jerk, and was tugged back quickly, as the fish made another run for liberty. Norah uttered an exclamation, quickly suppressed, and caught it sharply, pulling strongly.

Ah--he was out! A big, handsome perch, struggling and dancing in the air at the end of the line. Shouts broke from the boys as Norah landed her prize safely on the bank.

"Well done, Miss Norah," said the Hermit warmly.

"That's a beauty--as fine a perch as I've seen in this creek."

"Oh, isn't he a splendid fellow!" Norah cried, surveying the prey with dancing eyes. "I'll have him for Dad, anyhow, even if I don't catch another."

"Yes, Dad's breakfast's all right," laughed the Hermit. "But don't worry, you'll catch more yet. See, there goes Harry."

There was a shout as Harry, with a scientific flourish of his rod, hauled a small blackfish from its watery bed.

"Not bad for a beginning!" he said, grinning. "But not a patch on yours, Norah!"

"Oh, I had luck," Norah said. "He really is a beauty, isn't he? I think he must be the grandfather of all the perches."

"If that's so," said Jim, beginning to pull in, with an expression of "do or die" earnestness, "I reckon I've got the grandmother on now!"

A storm of advice hurtled about Jim as he tugged at his line.

"Hurry up, Jim!"

"Go slow!"

"There--he's getting off again!"

"So are you!" said the ungrateful recipient of the counsel, puffing hard.

"Only a boot, Jim--don't worry!"

"Gammon!--it's a shark!--look at his worried expression!"

"I'll 'shark' you, young Harry!" grunted Jim. "Mind your eye--there he comes!" And expressions of admiration broke from the scoffers as a second splendid perch dangled in the air and was landed high and dry--or comparatively so--in the branches of the wattle tree.

"Is he as big as yours, Norah?" queried Jim a minute later, tossing his fish down on the gra.s.s close to his sister and the Hermit.

Norah laid the two fishes alongside.