Part 50 (2/2)

It was the Doctor. They both welcomed him warmly home, and waited in the gloom for him to speak, but only saw that he had bent down his head over the fire.

”Are you ill, Doctor?” said Mrs. Buckley.

”Sound in wind and limb, my dear madam, but rather sad at heart. We have had some very severe black fighting, and we have lost a kind old friend--James Stockbridge.”

”Is he wounded, then?” said Mrs. Buckley.

”Dead.”

”Dead!”

”Speared in the side. Rolled off his horse, and was gone in five minutes.”

”Oh, poor James!” cried Mrs. Buckley. ”He, of all men! The man who was their champion. To think that he, of all men, should end in that way!”

Charles Hawker rode home that night, and went into the room where his mother was. She was sitting sewing by the fire, and looked up to welcome him home.

”Mother,” said he, ”there is bad news to tell. We have lost a good friend. James Stockbridge is killed by the blacks on the Macquarrie.”

She answered not a word, but buried her face in her hands, and very shortly rose and left the room. When she was alone, she began moaning to herself, and saying,--

”Some more fruit of the old cursed tree! If he had never seen me, he would have died at home, among his old friends, in a ripe, honoured old age.”

Chapter XXVII

THE GOLDEN VINEYARD.

On a summer's morning, almost before the dew had left the gra.s.s on the north side of the forest, or the belated opossum had gone to his nest, in fact just as the East was blazing with its brightest fire, Sam started off for a pleasant canter through the forest, to visit one of their out-station huts, which lay away among the ranges, and which was called, from some old arrangement, now fallen into disuse, ”the heifer station.”

There was the hut, seen suddenly down a beautiful green vista in the forest, the chimney smoking cheerily. ”What a pretty contrast of colours!” says Sam, in a humour for enjoying everything. ”Dark brown hut among the green shrubs, and blue smoke rising above all; prettily, too, that smoke hangs about the foliage this still morning, quite in festoons. There's Matt at the door!”

A lean long-legged clever-looking fellow, rather wide at the knees, with a brown complexion, and not unpleasant expression of face, stood before the door plaiting a cracker for his stockwhip. He looked pleased when he saw Sam, and indeed it must be a surly fellow indeed, who did not greet Sam's honest phiz with a smile. Never a dog but wagged his tail when he caught Sam's eye.

”You're abroad early this morning, sir,” said the man; ”nothing the matter; is there, sir?”

”Nothing,” said Sam, ”save that one of Captain Brentwood's bulls is missing, and I came out to tell you to have an extra look round.”

”I'll attend to it, sir.”

”Hi! Matt,” said Sam, ”you look uncommonly smart.”

Matt bent down his head, and laughed, in a rather sheepish sort of way.

”Well, you see, sir, I was coming into the home station to see if the Major could spare me for a few days.”

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