"Oh!" said Norah, drawing back a pace, instinctively. "You poor fellow!

How did you do it?"

"Barb wire," said the Indian, simply. "Three days. Him bad. Ram Das, him say you help." With this stupendous effort of eloquence he became speechless again, still holding the torn wrist out to her.

"I should think so!" said Norah, forgetting everything in the sight of that cruel wound. "Come on up to the house quickly!" She turned to lead the way, but the man shook his head.

"Woman there," he stammered.

"It's all right," Norah told him. "Come along."

"Small dog," said the Hindu, unhappily. "Them afraid of me." He pointed towards the house. "Been there."

"Oh-h!" said Norah, suddenly comprehending. She knew Mary. Then she laughed. "You come with me; it's all right." She led the way, and the hawker followed her. A few yards further on, Norah bethought herself of something, and turned back.

"You must have that covered up," she told him. "No, not with that awful rag again," with a faint shudder. She took out her handkerchief and wrapped it lightly round the man's wrist. "That'll do for the present--come on."

Puck, still in a state of profound indignation in the back yard, was thrown into a paroxysm of fury at the sight of his enemy returning.

Norah had to chain him up before the Hindu would come inside the gate.

Then she led the way to the kitchen and called Mary.

No Mary answered, so Norah went about her preparations alone--a big basin of hot water, boracic acid--standby of the Bush--soft rags, and ointment from the "hospital drawer" Mrs. Brown kept always ready. She shuddered a little as she began to bathe the wound, while the Indian watched her with inscrutable face, never flinching, though the pain was no small thing. It was done at last--cleansed, anointed, and carefully bandaged. Then he smiled at her gratefully.

"Ram Das him say you good," he said. "Him truth!"

Norah laughed, somewhat embarra.s.sed.

"Hungry?" she asked. "You take my food?"

It was always a delicate question, since the Hindu is easily offended over a matter of caste. This man, however, was evidently as independent as Ram Das, for he nodded, and when Norah brought him food, fell to work upon it hungrily.

Thus it was that Mary, brought from the hysterical sanctuary of her room by the pressing sense of the necessity of looking after the kitchen fire, and coming back to her duties like a vestal of old, found her dreaded enemy cheerfully eating in the kitchen, while Norah sat near and carried on a one-sided conversation with every appearance of friendliness, with Tait sleepily lying beside her--at which astonishing spectacle Mary promptly shrieked anew. The Hindu rose, smiling nervously.

"Come here, you duffer, Mary!" said Norah, who by this time had arrived at something of an understanding of the previous happenings. "He's as tame as tame. Why, old Ram Das sent him!"

"Miss Norah, he's got a knife on him!" said Mary, in a sepulchral whisper. "I saw it with me own eyes. He nearly killed Puck with it!"

"Well, Puck was trying to kill him," said Norah, "and I guess if you had a wrist like his, you'd defend yourself any way you could, if Puck was at you! He's terribly sorry he frightened you--you didn't understand him, that was all. Ram Das sent him to have his wrist fixed up, and his name's Lal Chunder, and he's quite a nice man!"

"H'm!" said Mary doubtfully, relaxing so far as to enter the kitchen, but keeping a respectful distance from the hawker, who took no further notice of her, going on with his meal. "I don't 'old with them black creechers in any shape or form, Miss Norah, an' it's my belief he'd kill us all in our beds as soon as wink! Scarin' the wits out of one, with his pink top-knot arrangement--such a thing for a man to wear!

Gimme white Orstralia!"

"Look out, he'll hear you!" said Norah, laughing. "He--"

"What talk is this?" said a cheerful voice; and Ram Das, very plump, very hot and very beaming, came in at the kitchen door, and stood looking at them. "I sent this young man to the li'l meesis, for that he was hurt and in pain, and I know the fat woman is kind, and has the bra.s.sic-acid." He glanced at Lal Chunder's bandaged wrist, and shot a quick question at him in their own tongue, to which the other responded. The old man turned back to Norah, not without dignity.

"We thank the l'il meesis," he said. "Lal Chunder is as my son: he cannot speak, but he will not forget."

"Oh, that's all right," said Norah, turning a lively red. "It wasn't anything, really, Ram Das--and his wrist was terribly sore. You'll both camp here to-night, won't you? And have some tea--I'm sure you want it, it's so hot."

"It will be good," said Ram Das, gratefully, sitting down. Then voices and the sound of hoofs and the c.h.i.n.k of bits came from outside; and presently Mr. Linton and the boys came in, hot and thirsty.

Cecil's eyebrows went up as he beheld his cousin carrying a cup to the stout old Hindu.

"It's the most extraordinary place I was ever at," he told himself later, dressing for dinner, in the seclusion of his own room. From the garden below came shouts and laughter, as Jim engaged Norah and Wally in a strenuous set on the tennis court. "Absolutely no cla.s.s limits whatever, and no restrictions--why, she kept me waiting for my second cup while she looked after that fat old black in the dirty white turban! As for the boys--childish young hoodlums. Well, thank goodness I'm not condemned to Billabong all my days!" With which serene reflection Mr. Cecil Linton adjusted his tie nicely, smoothed a refractory strand of hair in his forelock, and went down to dinner.

CHAPTER XII

OF POULTRY

A man would soon wonder how it's done, The stock so soon decreases!

A. B. PATERSON

"Where are you off to, Norah?"

"To feed the chickens."

"May I come with you, my pretty maid?"

"Delighted!" said Norah. "Here's a load for you."

"Even to stagger under thy kerosene tin were ever a joy!" responded Wally, seizing the can of feed as he spoke--the kerosene tin of the bush, that serves so many purposes, from bucket to cooking stove, and may end its days as a flower pot, or, flattened out, as roofing iron.

"Anyhow, you oughtn't to carry this thing, Norah; it's too heavy. Why will you be such a goat?"

Under this direct query, put plaintively, Norah had the grace to look abashed.

"Well, I don't, as a rule," she said. "It's really Billy's job to carry it for me, but Jim has been coming with me since he came home, so of course young Billy's got out of hand. And Jim's gone across with Dad to see old Derrimut, so I had no one. I looked for you and couldn't find you. And I asked Cecil politely to accompany me, but he put his eyebrows up, and said fowls didn't interest him. Oh, Wally, don't you think it's terribly hard to find subjects that do interest Cecil?"

"Hard!" said Wally expressively. "Well, it beats me, anyhow. But then Cecil regards me with scorn and contumely, and, to tell you the truth, Nor., when I see him coming I quiver like--like a blancmange! He's so awfully superior!"

"You know, I'm sure he's not enjoying himself," Norah went on; "and it really worries us, 'cause we hate to think of anyone being here and not having a good time. But he does keep his nose so in the air, doesn't he?"

"Beats me how you're so nice to him," Wally averred. "My word, it would do that lad good to have a year or two at our school! I guess it would take some of the nonsense out of him. Was he ever young?"

"I shouldn't think so," Norah said, laughing--"he has such a lofty contempt for anything at all juvenile now. Well, at least he's looking better than when he came, so Billabong is doing him good in one way at any rate, and that is a comfort. But I'm sure he's counting the days until he goes away."

"Well, so am I," said Wally, cheerfully. "So at least there are two of us, and I should think there were several more. It's pleasant to find even one subject on which one can be a twin-soul with Cecil.

Norah"--solemnly--"I have counted eleven different pairs of socks on that Johnny since I came, and each was more brilliant than the last!"

"I don't doubt it," Norah laughed. "They're the admiration of the laundry here, and even the men stopped and looked at them as they were hanging on the line last week. Dave Boone was much interested in that green pair with the gold stripes, and asked Sarah what football club they belonged to!"

"Great Scott!" said Wally explosively. "Can you imagine Cecil playing football?"

"I can't--I wish I could," Norah answered. "Well, never mind Cecil--he's a tiring subject. Tell me what you think of my chicks."

Norah's special fowl yard was a gra.s.sy run divided into two parts, with small houses and wire-netted enclosures in each. At present one was devoted to a couple of mothers with clutches of ten and twelve chickens--all white Orpingtons. The mothers were stately, comfortable dames, and the chicks, round little creamy b.a.l.l.s, very tame and fascinating. They came quite close to Norah as she stooped to feed them, and one chick, bolder than his brethren, even stood on the back of her hand. Wally admired without stint, and proceeded to discharge the practical duty of rinsing out the water tins and filling them afresh.