Queensland Cousins

by Eleanor Luisa Haverfield

  CHAPTER XIV.

  A MOONLIGHT DISTURBANCE.

  "Aunt Dorothy's cows" became as great a family joke as "AuntDorothy's lunatics;" indeed, scarcely a day passed that thehousehold was not amused by some quaint mistake of hers. Every onechaffed her, especially Bob; and as the two patients rapidlyrecovered, the house-party was a merry one. In spite of the thoughtof parting with his family so soon, Mr. Orban was in much betterspirits; the cane had been safely cut, the good crop had beenspoiled neither by fire nor the rainy season coming too soon, andthe crushing was well in progress.

  "Oh dear," exclaimed Nesta one morning at breakfast, "I am so sorryyou are getting well, Bob."

  "Very kind of you, I'm sure," said Bob with deliberate politeness."One is always so glad of one's friends' good wishes."

  Every one laughed except Nesta.

  "Well, you know what I mean," she said. "Of course the minute youare well you will go, and the house will be duller than everwithout you."

  "Very prettily put for the rest of us, dear," said Miss Chase. "Iam sure we feel much complimented."

  "I don't know what you mean," said Nesta in bewilderment. "I didn'tmean to compliment any one."

  "You achieved it, however," said Bob. "You called them a pack ofdull dogs not fit to live with. Of course they feel charmed withyour opinion."

  "Oh, I didn't," said Nesta.

  "You inferred it," said Miss Chase. "However, we forgive you.Fortunately we shan't be able to die of dullness entirely, becausethere will be so much to be done preparing for the voyage."

  "I vote Bob stays with us till we go," said Eustace.--"He would bejolly useful, wouldn't he, mother?"

  "Really, Eustace," remonstrated Mrs. Orban with a laugh, "I amashamed of you. Is that the way you treat your friends?"

  Eustace reddened and looked uncomfortable as the laugh went round.Glancing deprecatingly at Bob, he found that he was not evensmiling. It did seem a cheeky way of putting it.

  "I beg your pardon," he began, when Bob interrupted quickly.

  "No, don't. I was only thinking what a jolly thing you had said.What are friends for if they are not to be made use of?"

  "That is rather a dangerous theory to propound," said Mr. Orban."Supposing your friends take advantage of it--what then?"

  "A real friend never would take advantage of it," said Bob withcertainty; "that is just how you can test him. The chap who willtake nothing from you, but only give, is a patronizing bounder; thefellow who will give nothing to you, but only take, is a meanbeggar; the man who will give and take equally is your chum. Holdon to him when you've got him."

  "An excellent definition, Bob," said Mr. Orban, with a genialsmile. "We shall certainly never let you go."

  There was a second's pause, then Bob said quietly,--

  "Thank you, sir. I guess I shall hold on to all of you too."

  It took Nesta to the end of breakfast to unravel the meaning of thesudden gravity that had fallen over the party, and then she was notsure of herself.

  "Why, you silly," said Eustace, to whom she appealed in private,"don't you see?--Father as good as said it--Bob is the right kindof chap to have for a chum. And so he is. I guess I know thatbetter than any one."

  "I don't see why you should," exclaimed Nesta jealously. "We allknow Bob; he isn't anybody's in particular. He said himself hemeant to hold on to _all_ of us, not just one person only."

  Her tone was "snubby" in the extreme, but Eustace was utterlysilent for a moment.

  Nesta did not know it; he would never know it himself; but therewas a big difference in Eustace nowadays. He had not gone throughgreat experiences untouched; some things in life leave an indelibleimpression.

  "Yes," he said thoughtfully, "I'm glad he said that."

  Nesta was so astonished at getting no response to her assertionthat she exclaimed,--

  "Said what?"

  "Why, that he will hold on to us," Eustace said.

  "Well," Nesta remarked, again with a touch of superiority, "ofcourse we all knew that without his telling us."

  Eustace eyed her with a quietness that somehow irritated the girl.She could not understand him at all, and nothing annoyed Nesta somuch as to discover she was not understanding something that wasperfectly clear to somebody else.

  "Didn't you know it?" she asked sharply.

  "Of course," said Eustace dreamily.

  "Then what do you mean?" Nesta demanded.

  "I was thinking about going to England," was the seeminglyirrelevant reply.

  "What has that got to do with it?" said Nesta.

  "Everything," Eustace said. "If we had been going to stay here forever and ever I shouldn't have thought so much about it. As it is,it means a lot that good old Bob won't forget us."

  "Why, how stupid you are to-day," Nesta exclaimed. "Did you thinkhe might in 'a year and a day,' as mother calls it?"

  "How do you know it will be only 'a year and a day'?" Eustace saidalmost roughly. "How do you know we shall ever come back?"

  "Eustace!" cried Nesta, staring at him as if she thought he musthave suddenly gone mad.

  "Well?" he said briefly.

  "But this is home--and father is staying here," the girl argued."We couldn't stay in England for ever."

  "I don't know," said Eustace. "I've got an awfully queer feelingabout going ever since it was settled. And it seems to me Bob hasit too."

  "Oh, stuff!" said Nesta bracingly. "Bob only says it to tease AuntDorothy."

  "He said just the same things before Aunt Dorothy came," was theresponse. "That is nothing to go by."

  "Well, neither are your queer feelings," said Nesta. "I haven'tany. I don't see why we should stay in England. What is to makeus?"

  "Suppose we were left there to go to school?" suggested Eustace,watching her narrowly.

  Nesta stared at him blankly. It was evidently a new idea to her.

  "Do you think we might be?" she said; then her expression broke,and she smiled. "It would be just splendid, wouldn't it?" sheadded.

  Eustace was silent a moment.

  "You wouldn't mind leaving Trixy?" he said.

  "Well, I should come back again," Nesta answered, feeling somehowannoyingly rebuked, "and I should have such loads and shoals ofthings to tell her and show her. All about the girls and myclothes, you know--"

  "Oh," exclaimed Eustace in a tone of disgust, "that is all girlscare about--talking, and showing off."

  "It isn't," Nesta said quickly. "I should like the learning."

  "Well, I shouldn't," admitted Eustace frankly; "I hate learning. Itis only games that make school worth going to, and that isn'tenough to make up for other things."

  "What other things?" asked Nesta curiously.

  "Oh, never mind," said Eustace impatiently; "I don't want to talkabout it."

  But Nesta did exceedingly; she wanted to talk of nothing else; tillat last Eustace went off in desperation down the hill to watch thesugar crushing, saying something about, "It isn't as if peoplecould come back to Queensland for the holidays," and "Everythingwould be different when they were all grown up."

  "I don't know what is the matter with him," Nesta said to herselfin perplexity. "I do believe he doesn't want to go at all. And I'msure he is wrong about our staying there. No such luck!"

  Bob did stay on after he was quite well and strong, and he entirelyjustified Eustace's prophecy. He proved most useful; nothingapparently could have been done without him. "But for Bob," saidMrs. Orban, "I don't believe we should ever be ready in time."

  It was he who saw to the soundness of the travelling boxes, to themaking of a packing case; he who had advice and assistance to giveto every one, and who was certainly the life and spirit of theparty in the evenings when other people seemed tired or out ofheart. Eustace was not at all in good form. Mrs. Orban was at timesinclined to have grave misgivings as to the wisdom of the step, andof course felt leaving her husband. Mr. Orban himself, though heinsisted on the trip, was naturally a little sad at the prospect.Even Aunt Dorothy
--the witch--had her moments of sadness that hervisit should be drawing so rapidly to a close. Only to Nesta andPeter did the time seem to drag and hang heavy, as if it wouldnever pass.

  "You'll have to come back with them, Miss Chase," said Bob a fewevenings before the great departure.

  "I wish I could," she said; "but I am quite sure mother and fatherwon't see the force of that."

  "Well, I think you ought to--don't you, Mrs. Orban?" Bob said."Miss Chase hasn't had half enough Colonial experiences yet."

  "The few you have given me have been sufficiently vivid to countfor a good many though," said the girl merrily. "I don't know thatI really want any more."

  "One doesn't always want what is good for one," said Bob. "Besides,there is another way of looking at it--isn't there, Nesta? It hasbeen proved you are a witch. You ought to be brought back by mainforce to be punished for whisking these good people all off toEngland with you."

  "So she ought," said Nesta gleefully. "She must be burned at thestake. We'll make you come."

  "We will, Aunt Dorothy," cried Peter, ready for the fray; "and ifyou won't, we'll get Bob to come and fetch you."

  "Will you really, Peter Perky?" retorted Aunt Dorothy. "I shouldlike to see you. Why, Mr. Cochrane wouldn't set his nose insideEngland for all the witches in the world."

  "Well, no, perhaps not for all the witches in the world," said Bobthoughtfully; "they might prove rather too much for me. But what alot of nonsense we talk, to be sure."

  The nonsense had the effect of sending Miss Chase to bed quiteunusually meditative, and, do what she would, she could not get offto sleep for wondering whether she ever would come back toQueensland again. It seemed of all things most impossible, and yet,as she argued, who would ever have thought of her coming at allthis time only a year ago?

  She had become accustomed to most of the night sounds that had atfirst puzzled and sometimes frightened her, and by day there wassomething about the life that delighted her--it was so free, suchan open air existence! "They seem to me to sweep all their worrieswith the dust over the edge of the veranda," she thought. "I thinkEngland will feel a little stiff and shut in after it."

  It was a bright moonlight night. A deluded cock at about midnightawoke and fancied it must be day. He crowed so loudly over hisdiscovery that he roused a great enemy of his, who replied in huskyirritation and no measured terms that he was a fool. But themischief was done--some half-dozen young cockerels took the matterup as a joke, and crowed persistently in spite of all remonstrancefrom the rest of the poultry.

  Miss Chase put her head under the bedclothes and tried to shut outthe sound, but in vain. Besides, it was far too hot to sleep with aburied nose and mouth. Resolutely keeping her eyes tight shut, sheset her mind upon nothing but sleep. She must have lain like thatfor quite ten minutes, when suddenly her eyes unclosed in spite ofher, just as if they were worked by a spring, and she was as wideawake as ever. At least so she fancied the first instant, but thenext she thought she must be dreaming. There had been nosound--nothing but Nesta's regular breathing--and yet at the otherside of the room, standing with his back towards her, was thefigure of a man.

  Her first impulse was to call out, her second prompted caution, andshe pinched herself hard to make sure whether she was awake ornot. There was no doubt about it--she was not asleep; the pinchhurt considerably, and the man was still there. He was apparentlyexamining the things on her dressing-table minutely, and sheguessed he was looking for valuables. Knowing the story of the darkvisitor who had frightened every one so before her arrival, MissChase had followed the general rule and left nothing of any valuelying about, though no one thought a thief would venture into thehouse now that it was so full. Here he certainly was, however, andthe question was, "What ought she to do?"

  Miss Chase lay absolutely still, her heart beating to suffocation,her mind working rapidly. There was no saying that this was thesame man. He might be of a much more desperate and viciouscharacter. Had she been alone she might have risked screaming forhelp, but there was also Nesta to be considered; she dared notexpose the child to a knock on the head to silence her.

  The man took a slow tour of the room, peering into nooks andcorners in a stealthy, silent way that was most eerie to watch.Miss Chase bore it until at last he went towards Nesta's bed withthat cat-like, sinister gait. The horror of his approaching thehelpless sleeper at the other side of the room was too much for thegirl's strained nerves. His back was towards her; he fancied herasleep. Slipping her hand under her pillow she drew out a smallrevolver, then sat up softly and took careful aim. There was areport, a howl of fear and pain, and the man turned to gaze wildlyround the room. Nesta sprang from her bed with a terrified yell andrushed to her aunt, who sat, still pointing her weapon at theintruder, with a look of grim determination in her eyes.

  With a heavy groan the man started towards the window, limpingpitifully. He disappeared out on to the veranda, leaving a trail ofblood across the uncarpeted floor.

  "Now go for your father," said Miss Chase, giving the tremblinggirl a push. "Tell him what has happened."

  Nesta needed no second bidding, but she had not reached the doorbefore it opened and Mr. Orban dashed in.

  "Through there," said Miss Chase, pointing towards the window."Follow the blood track. He can't go fast. I winged him."