"And how came the shepherd to think about sending to _us_?" he asked.

"Oh, the poor young man's been raving and talking about you scores of times; and Mr Abraham's name's well-known all over the colony."

Hubert went to his uncle with the information.

"What can we do?" he asked; "I'll gladly go to him, if you can spare me for a few days."

Jacob Poole, who was in the office, and had heard the conversation, now interposed,--

"Oh, Mayster Oliphant, let me go to him. I'm more used to roughing it nor you. I'll see to poor Mayster Frank. I can't forget what he's done for me; and maybe, if G.o.d spares him, and that rascal Juniper Graves keeps out of the road, he'll do well yet."

This plan commended itself to Mr Oliphant and his nephew, and it was resolved that Jacob should go at once. His master furnished him with what he needed, and bade him send word to him if he should find himself in any trouble or difficulty.

"You'll find him out easy enough," said the bullock-driver to Mr Oliphant, "for there's a party of mounted police setting off this afternoon for the Murray, and the crossing's only about two miles lower down than the hut. If he as goes joins the police, he'll be there in half the time it took me to come up."

So it was arranged that Jacob should start immediately.

"And never mind," said Mr Oliphant, "about the time of your coming back. If you can be of any service to your poor young master by staying on with him, do so. And keep with him altogether if he wishes to take you again into his service. It may keep him from the drink, now that vagabond's taken himself off, though I'll be bound he hasn't gone empty- handed. Should you wish, however, Jacob, to come back again to me, either now or at any future time, I'll find you a place, for I can always make an opening for a stanch total abstainer."

Jacob's preparations were soon made. He furnished himself with all necessaries, and then joined the party of police on a stout little bush horse, and started that afternoon on his journey. It was drawing towards the evening of the second day after their departure from Adelaide, when they came in sight of the river Murray, where a long shelving bank of reeds, like a small forest, intervened between themselves and the river. The country all round them was wild and wooded, with little to remind of civilised man except the tracks of bullock-drays.

"And here we part," said the leader of the police. "I've no doubt you'll soon reach the hut you're seeking if you keep along the bank of the river; but be sure you don't lose sight of that."

"Perhaps," said one of the men, "there may be some one not far-off who could show him his way, so that he'd lose no time. Shall I cooey?"

"Ay, do," said the captain. So the man uttered a prolonged "Coo-oo-oo- ee!" and all paused. A faint answering "Cooey" was heard in the distance. Then a second "Cooey" was answered by a nearer response, and soon after a stout-looking bushman made his appearance.

"Can you take this young man to a hut about two miles up the river, where there's a young Englishman lying sick?" asked the captain.

"Ay, surely I can," was the reply. "I've only left it an hour since."

So Jacob took a hearty farewell of his escort, and in another minute was following his new guide.

"A relation of the young gent's, I guess?" asked the bushman.

"No, only an old servant. He saved my life, and I want to help save his, please G.o.d."

"You'll not do much towards saving it if you give him the same sort of medicine the last chap did," remarked the other drily.

"The drink, you mean," said Jacob. "No; I'm not likely to do anything of the sort, for I'm an out-and-out total abstainer."

"I'm right glad to hear it; give me your hand, friend," cried the bushman, treating him, at the same time, to a grip which made his fingers tingle. "I wish we'd more of your sort among us. It'd be better for 'em, body and soul."

"Then, of course, you're an abstainer yourself."

"To be sure I am. I've four brothers, and not one of us has ever tasted any intoxicating drink."

"And do you live hereabouts?" inquired Jacob.

"Yes; my father's head-shepherd at Tanindie. We all live together, my mother and all."

"And you find you can do your work without the drink?"

"Look there," said the other, stopping short, and baring his arm. "Feel that; some muscle there, I reckon. That muscle's grown on unfermented liquors. Me and my four brothers are all just alike. We never trouble the doctor, any of us."

"Ah!" said Jacob; "I've heard strange talk about 'can't do without wine;' 'can't do without beer;' 'can't do without spirits;' 'heat of the climate makes it needful to make up for wear and tear of body,' and so on. And then, I've seen a many shake their heads and say as young people can't do without a little now and then 'to brace up their nerves,' as they call it, 'and give a tone to the const.i.tootion.' I've heard a deal of this talk in the old country."

"'Plenty gammon, plenty gammon,' all that, as the black fellows say,"

replied the other. "Truth is, people makes artificial wants, and then they must have artificial stimulants. We're no great scholars in our house, but we gets a good many books even out here in the bush, and reads them at odd times; and we've read a great deal of nonsense about young people wanting beer and wine, and such things. If people gets themselves into an unnatural state, they wants unnatural food. But where's the real need? I don't believe the world would suffer a pin if all the intoxicating drinks were thrown into the sea to-morrow. Indeed, I'm sure it would be a thousandfold better."

"I'm sure of the same," said Jacob. "But I suppose it isn't all of your trade as thinks so."

"No, indeed; more's the pity. There's plenty about us that loves their drink a vast deal too well. I can tell you strange tales about some of them. I've known hardworking fellows, that have kept sober all the year, go up at the year's end, with all they have saved, to Adelaide, and put it into the publican's hand, telling him, 'There, you keep that, and give me drink, as I calls for it, till I've drunk it all out.'"

"And I'll warrant," said Jacob, "as publicans'll not be particular as to a gallon or two about giving them the full worth of their bra.s.s."

"Not they, you may be very sure; and as soon as the publican has squeezed them dry, out they go, neck and crop."

"And don't that larn 'em better?" asked Jacob.

"Not a bit of it," replied his companion; "for there's no fool like a drunken fool. They'll do anything for a spree. They're like madmen when they go off with their wages. You may find three or four shepherds clubbing together. They'll call for champagne, and then for a pail.

Then they'll knock the necks off the bottles, pour the champagne into the pail, and ladle it out with their pannikins as they sit round. And if that don't satisfy them, they'll add a bottle of brandy, or rum, or some other spirit. I think they're fairly crazy after the drink in this colony."

"I shouldn't be surprised," said Jacob. "It's much the same in most places in the old country."

"Here we are," said the young bushman, shortly after, as they made their way through the tangled trees and shrubs, and came upon a large-sized log-hut.

How strange it was, that solitary hut in that lone wilderness, and in view of the shining river! All around was wild and primitive; and fair in its negligent beauty as though it had never been disturbed by the hand of man. The hut was large and well-constructed, though now a little falling to decay. It was built of logs laid horizontally in order one above another, and rendered tolerably wind-proof by the moss and clay which served to fill up the crevices.

Into this primitive dwelling Jacob followed his guide. He was surprised at the air of comfort presented by the interior. Not that there was much to boast of in the way of furniture, but great pains and skill had evidently been used to give an air of snugness to the one long, desolate apartment of which the hut consisted. On a low, roughly-made bedstead lay poor Frank Oldfield, judiciously shielded from draughts by hangings of carefully arranged drapery. His various possessions lay around him, neatly piled up, or hung on the walls. And what struck Jacob with both pleasure and surprise, was a text in large printed characters on the wall--opposite the foot of the bed. The words of the text were: "The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin." Oh, what a marvellous power have the words of the blessed Bible to prove their own heavenly origin in circ.u.mstances like these! In a moment it was clear to Jacob that his master was in good hands. These words out of that volume which is the revelation of the G.o.d of love to poor guilty sinners, told him so with a force which no eloquence or a.s.surance from human lips could strengthen. Yet there were other, and very pleasing, proofs also, for at the bed's head sat a middle-aged, kindly-looking woman, who was acting the part of nurse to the poor emaciated figure that lay on that couch of sickness.

"Who is it?" asked a feeble voice, as the newcomers entered the hut.

"An old servant, mother, of the gentleman's," answered the young bushman.

"What, Jacob Poole!" exclaimed Frank, raising himself up.

"There, don't worry or excite yourself," said the kind woman. "I'll prop you up a bit, but you mustn't talk too much. It'll only make you bad again."

Jacob came forward.

"Mr Frank," he said, "I've come over, as soon as I heard as you was badly, to do whatever I can for you. Mr Oliphant's let me come; and he and Mr Hubert's rare and vexed as you're so ill. So I'm to see as you want for nothing, and to let them know how you're coming on. And I'm bound to stay with you till you gets round again."

The poor patient held out his hand to Jacob, while the tears streamed down his face.

"You're all very good to me," he said; "too good, far better than I deserve. But I hope G.o.d may spare me to reward you, if I can. You see, Jacob, I'm brought very low. That rascal Juniper robbed me of fifty pounds, and deserted me when I was getting ill. He would have taken all my money, I've no doubt, if he'd only known where to find it. If it had not been for my kind nurse here, and her husband, I should not have been alive now."

Here he sank back, exhausted with the effort of speaking. He was sadly altered. His fine features were sunk and pinched, his cheeks blanched, and his lips cracked and swollen; while his beautiful hair, once his mother's pride, had fallen under the scissors of the shepherd's wife.

He was about to speak again, when his nurse motioned Jacob to be seated, and said to her patient,--