The sinking sun cast a soft amber-tinted radiance over the little township of Wentworth, New South Wales, as a little boy, weary and footsore with travel, knocked at a farmer’s door about two miles beyond the settlement.

A kind, motherly woman who answered the knock stared with astonishment at the juvenile tramp, who blurted out in a faint voice, “If you please, ma’am, will you give me a drink of water? I’m so hungry, I really don’t know where I shall sleep to-night.”

The good lady laughed heartily at the little fellow’s quaint request. She took him into the house, and led him into a back room, where a great fat man was seated at tea.

“Who is this, wife?” said he in a surly tone, looking at our hero.

“Only a poor boy begging some food, Mark; that’s all,” answered his wife meekly. [74]

“I didn’t beg, ma’am, please,” said the boy quickly.

“Oh, you didn’t beg?” rejoined the farmer in the same gruff voice. “Git down on that stool now.”

“I came a very long way, sir, and I——” began the boy.

“Silence! Wife, take his bundle; pull off his old shoes; let him be washed; then give him his tea.” The voice lost nothing of its coarse disagreeable ring as it gave the curt order, but the man’s eyes looked kindly at the little wanderer. “What is your name?” still gruffly.

“Tim, sir, please.”

“Tim what? Hav’n’t you another name?”

“No, sir. Nuggety Joe never called me anything else than Tim.”

“And who is Nuggety Joe?” asked the farmer.

The boy played nervously with the edge of his tattered jacket for a moment, and then replied in a voice broken and unsteady with emotion, “Please, sir, father and Joe were mates on the diggings at Forbes. When the great dam broke and flooded the creek, and drowned father, mother, and little sister Jessie, Joe took care of me, and was a father to me—he was—until [75]he took the fever, and died, and then I——” The child’s quavering voice gave way to a fit of bitter wailing.

“Stop that!” cried the farmer, putting his handkerchief to his nose, and making that organ sound like a French horn—“stop it at once. I’ll have no snivelling here.”

But poor Tim sobbed on; and notwithstanding all the womanly sympathy of the farmer’s wife, she could not stay the torrent. Not yet in his “teens,” the brave lad walked over two hundred miles, suffering hunger and pain with the courage of a Spartan; but he had no courage to put back the tears that swelled upwards at the remembrance of that rude, unlettered, dead digger, who had loved him, and had taken him to his bosom for Christ’s sake, and who had now gone to receive his reward.

All things have an end, so the fountain of Tim’s eyes became dry again ere the tea was over. Before the lad was sent to bed, the farmer said, “Look here, boy, I think I can give you something to do on my farm. Mind, I’ll set you a task the first thing in the morning; if you perform it to my satisfaction, and you likewise prove yourself an honest, trustworthy youngster, why, you shall never want a home or a friend [76]while Mark Wilson lives. Now, wife, put him to bed.”

The good dame led Tim to a small attic bedroom, which contained, amongst other things, a beautiful parrot in a stout wire cage.

“Cockie” had evidently been enjoying a nap, for he shook himself at sight of the intruders, and sent forth from his bill a volley of strange sounds, in true imitation of a person just aroused from slumber. Mrs. Wilson kissed our hero and retired, but she had hardly closed the door before the bird began to flap his wings and crow like a rooster.

“A funny parrot,” muttered Tim. “I wonder if it can talk?”

“Of course it can,” answered Cockie, eyeing him through the bars of the cage. The lad rubbed his eyes, and stared at the bird in the cage for fully three minutes without speaking a word, so great was his consternation. “Don’t stare, Tim; it’s very rude to stare,” continued the bird gravely. “People in this colony have a bad habit of staring you out of countenance, I am sorry to say.”

“Why, you can talk like a man,” cried the boy in his astonishment.

“Certainly; much better than some men, I [77]trust. Pray come here and scratch me, Tim,” cried the parrot coaxingly.

Little Tim obeyed very cautiously, and in fear and trembling.

“That is delightful,” said Cockie.

“It’s wonderful,” muttered poor Tim.

“What is wonderful, sir? Can’t parrots talk?”

“Some of them can, but not like you.”

“Oh! but I’m not a parrot, I’m a fairy.”

“A fairy?” cried the boy, agape with wonder. “Are you really?”

“Truly I am. One of the Lake George fairies. Xanthine, our Queen, turned me into a parrot, five years ago, through her foolish jealousy, and here I’ve been caged up ever since with this great beak upon my face, which quite disfigures me.”

“What a shame! Can’t you get back again to your friend at Lake George?” cried the boy.

“Yes, for Queen Xanthine is dead, and I can now return in safety, if you will help me,” replied the bird.

“Me! how can I help you?” answered little Tim.

“I will tell you” rejoined the elfin. “You must know, boy, that every one of us could help each other if we would. The rich can help the poor, and the poor the wealthy; yea, even the smallest [78]can render assistance to the strong and powerful, as was the case with the lion and the mouse. Now, I can prove how I can render you a service. Judge. Didn’t the master say he would set you a task in the morning?”

“He did,” replied Tim in wonder.

“Very well. The task is to milk a bad-tempered, touchy old cow called ‘Peggy.’ The beast, who is a splendid milker, is the torment and plague of the farmer’s life. She has kicked him until he is afraid to approach her, and every one, man, woman, and boy, who attempts to milk Peggy is sure to be upset. It has proved useless to tie her by the leg and the tail—the wicked rogue would find a way of defeating her enemies before the milking was ended.”

“Are you sure that I shall have to try to milk Peggy in the morning?” inquired Tim.

“Quite certain,” replied the elfin.

“Then I—I think I had better go away now, at once, before the morning, don’t you?” said the lad ruefully.

“No, I don’t, because I can tell you how to overcome the antics of this refractory cow.”

“How?”

“I will tell you upon one condition,” replied the fairy parrot, rubbing its beak reflectively. [79]

“What condition?” asked Tim.

“That you set me free as soon as you have completed your task to-morrow.”

“It’s a bargain,” replied little Tim readily. “I can easily get the farmer another parrot—a real bird, you know—and then there will be no harm done.”

“Very good. Now listen. On the gable of this house there grows a creeper with a pale blue flower. In the morning, when they call you, go and gather a small wreath of this plant, and when the wicked cow is bailed up ready for milking, place the vine around her horns, and you may take the word of an Australian fairy that Peggy will stand as quiet as a mouse until you have drained her teats as dry as a corn cob.”

“Lor! how simple!” replied Tim.

“All knowledge is simple, boy, when you once acquire it. You’ll not forget my instructions?”

“No, I thank you. I shall remember.”

“Kiss Cockie, then, say your prayers like a good boy, and go to bed. Good-night.”

Tim wished to ask the fairy bird a hundred questions, but after it had said good-night it would not utter another word, so the boy went to bed and fell asleep.

The sun was up before him in the morning. [80]Yet Tim managed to get down into the garden and cut a slender tendril from the creeper, which he formed into a small hoop, just as the farmer’s voice was heard calling him.

Twenty cows had to be milked every morning at the farm, and Tim heard a great deal of shouting and bellowing, and clanking of milk-cans, which proceeded from a yard at hand, enclosed with a high fence and into which the cattle had been driven.

The farmer led our hero into the enclosure, and pointing to where the ill-tempered short-horn stood, with her head in the bail, said briefly, “Sit down and milk that cow.”

The boy went up to Peggy, who gave a loud bellow at sight of him. He placed the vine around her horns, then sat down to his task. Mark Wilson stood ready to pick the boy up in case the cow knocked him over; but the beast never moved until the boy had drawn every drop of milk from her teats. The good farmer was filled with amazement, and cried out, “Twenty-five boys and ten men have all tried to milk Peggy, and not one of them has succeeded but you. Therefore, from this moment, I will adopt you as my son, Tim, and you shall marry my little girl Amy, by-and-by, and I will leave you the [81]farm as a wedding present.” And the farmer kept his word.

When Tim went upstairs to set the parrot free, he found the bird transformed into a beautiful wee lady, whom he politely lifted out of the cage. She thanked him, and made him a graceful curtsey as she vanished out of the window. [82]

Toby Grumbleton worked with his uncle down in one of the deepest mines in Ballarat. If you had searched the whole district in that gold hunting region, you couldn’t have found a more selfish, lazy, and disobedient boy than Toby. In consequence of his surly and complaining disposition his companions had bestowed upon him the nickname of “Toby the Growler,” and he well deserved the title; for a greater snivelling, discontented youth never existed.

“ ‘GET UP, TOBY THE GROWLER, AND FOLLOW ME.’ ”

One day, while at work in the mine, Toby was ordered to gather together all the blunt tools and send them up to the surface to be sharpened. As usual, Toby began to grumble, whereupon his uncle gave him a good thrashing, and the “Growler” ran off into one of the usual drives or passages of the mine to indulge in a sulking fit. Of the many dark and wide caverns underground, none in the whole pit was so large and so gloomy and dismal as the one in which “Toby [83]the Growler” had taken refuge, yet the boy had not been there long before he became aware of a strange yellow-coloured glow lighting up the drive. Looking up, he beheld a little old dwarf, with a lamp in his hand, standing over him. Such a plain, ugly-looking creature Toby had never seen before, though there are any number of queer-looking fellows at Ballarat. The intruder was small, not nearly so tall as Toby, but his head was a rasper, and appeared as if it had [84]belonged to several ancient individuals in succession, the eyes very red, and omitting a fiery glow. He was attired in a suit of brown russet, with a long sugar-loaf hat, and a crutch staff.

“Get up, Toby the Growler, and follow me,” cried the dwarf in a brief tone, and looking at him with those horrid eyes. Toby felt inclined to disobey, but his heart sank within him at sight of the creature, and he therefore followed, grumbling as he went, and wondering where the ugly little humpback would lead him. Of one thing the boy was certain—that the end of the subterranean passage would effectually bar the progress of the unwelcome visitor; but the dim cave seemed to extend and open out before them as they proceeded, until it took the shape of a long railway tunnel, from which they at length emerged into the bright open sunlight, beaming down upon a landscape fairer than a child’s dream. The sudden transit from what appeared to be the bowels of a great high mountain to the noonday light almost blinded our friend Toby; but the dwarf touched him with his staff, and lo! the boy beheld a charming country teeming with life and beauty. Here were soft grassy spots, shaded by trees bending with ripe and golden-hued fruit; yonder a range of hills clothed with richest verdure, and [85]at the feet of which a broad lake gleamed like a burnished shield. There were swans on the lake, and birds of bright plumage on the trees and in the air, and birds everywhere around.

“What place is this, sir?” cried Toby in amazement.

“This is the land of the three sparrows,” answered the dwarf with a smile. “Look there; that little white building is the home of ‘Test,’ the eldest of the three; yonder by the water is the palace of ‘Try,’ while on the hills over there you can see the castle of ‘Cure,’ the youngest.”

“Are they real sparrows, sir?” asked Toby.

“No, boy, only in form. They are Australian elves. Every twenty years the great body of elfins in this country transform three of their number into the shape of sparrows, to govern this land, and also for other purposes, of which you may judge for yourself.” Saying which, the dwarf caught the Growler in his arms, and in an instant they were standing by the white palace on the lake. All the windows and doors were wide open, so the dwarf entered with his companion and conducted him to a large room where Test sat perched on the back of an armchair. He seemed a well-feathered, plump old bird and wore spectacles. [86]

“Ah, Grip, my trusty messenger,” he cried, “I see you have returned with the Growler; take him hence and test him in the usual way.”

“Very well, your Excellency,” and the dwarf bent low in obeisance and retired. He led Toby away into a large empty hall, and standing him up beside the door, said, “Toby, Toby, shut your eyes and see what Fate will send you.” The Growler closed his eyes, when the voice of the dwarf was again heard. “Toby, Toby, open your eyes and see what Fate has sent you.”

The boy opened his eyes and beheld the most magnificent apartment it is possible to conceive. Tables with marble tops, inlaid with gold, were loaded with choice fruits and lollies, and by some enchantment the boy’s ragged clothes were changed to a gorgeous suit of crimson velvet, bordered with pearls, and several servants stood at hand ready to do his bidding.

“Ah, this is as it should be!” cried the delighted Toby. “I shall never grumble again if I am to live like this. Here are guns to shoot with; dogs to hunt with; horses to ride, and plenty of fishing in the lake. Ah! I shall be thoroughly satisfied now.” And the Growler set about enjoying himself.

But alas! for human resolves. The fruit made [87]Toby ill; one of the horses threw him and hurt his leg; he nearly shot himself with his gun; and was all but drowned in the lake while fishing; and so he began to complain worse than before. But the moment he did so, the splendid scene vanished from before him in the twinkling of an eye, and he discovered himself in the bare and empty room again, with only his dirty rags, and the dwarf standing grinning beside him.

“Come along with me, Toby the Growler,” cried the old fellow in a mocking tone; and before the boy could refuse he was borne away to the palace of Try. This old and venerable sparrow was deep in the pages of the Observer when Grip entered with Toby.

“Whom have we here?” he inquired, addressing the dwarf.

“Please, your Worship, this is a mortal who has been tested by your Worship’s brother, and has failed,” answered Grip.

“What is his special defect?”

“Grumbling, your Worship.”

“Humph! a common quality among mortals, more especially with farmers and boys. Try him without delay.”

With the quickness of a shifting scene in a [88]magic-lantern Toby was transferred to a cottage in a lonely valley, occupied by an old lady and gentleman, who welcomed him as if he had been their own son, and procured for him all that he could desire. The whole day was one round of pleasure and enjoyment, and the boy expressed himself grateful and satisfied with his position. One simple act he had to perform in return for all this kindness, and that was to draw seven buckets of water from a well every morning, for the use of the cottage. Yet Toby the Growler, unmindful of past experience, began to grumble again, and once more he found himself by the lake with the dwarf at his elbow.

“For the last time, come with me, Toby the Growler,” he cried in a terrible voice, while his red flaming eyes shot out flashes like fire. The boy felt utterly powerless to resist, and swift as a streak of lightning he was carried to the gloomy abode of Cure, the youngest of the three sparrows. The castle was as dark as a dungeon, but the guide found his way within to the reception-hall, where Cure, in regal feathers, sat surrounded by a guard of crows bearing torches.

“Who is this?” inquired the youngest sparrow sternly.

“A grumbling boy, your Highness.” [89]

“Let him be cured. Take him away.”

The words were scarcely spoken ere poor Toby found himself instantly transformed into a donkey with long ears. He was on a hard, hilly road, dragging a heavy dray after him loaded with firewood. At first the lad felt somewhat doubtful respecting the sudden transformation, but a smart thump across his buttock soon convinced him he was no longer an idle boy, but a beast of burden, with a cruel youth for his master, who beat and bruised him unmercifully with a thick stick. Oh! the long and weary hours he had to toil, while the miserable food he had to eat made him weep, and wet the winkers with his tears. He thought of his uncle and his home, and all the many kindnesses he had received, and had repaid with complaints and grumblings, and he vowed earnestly, and with true penitence, that if ever he got back again to the mine and to his kind relative, he would avoid complaining for the rest of his life.

With this firm resolve came another sudden shifting in the magic scene. So sudden was it that Toby rubbed his eyes, and found himself in that self-same narrow drive in the mine at Ballarat, with his uncle shaking him by the [90]collar, and telling him that it was time to go to the surface.

Toby is a man now, and is married and has several children; and if one of these begins to grumble, he does not forget to remind them of the Three Sparrows. [91]

Only a careless, stupid boy perched on a high stool within the schoolroom, trying to learn his lesson, long after his companions had been dismissed to their several homes. Only the biggest dunce at Slate-em’s Academy, who wouldn’t try, like other boys, to master his tasks—not because he hadn’t the ability to do so, but because he wanted to be a King. Yes, dear readers, Noel Biffin, son of Jack Biffin, the tin-smith, wanted to be a King. Nothing less would satisfy him. No, not even the rank of Duke or Prince; so, instead of minding his lessons, young Biffin drew Kings on his slate and in his copy-book, and was therefore compelled to ride the wooden horse after school hours.

It was a very beautiful evening, with a grand sunset glow flooding Slate-em’s Academy, and wrapping the Dunce round and round as with an amber-coloured mantle, orange tinted. The old usher, nodding in his chair, was quite unconscious [92]of the halo which played round and about his bald, venerable head, and made him appear for one brief moment like one of the Apostles. The good, patient old man was tired with the heat, and weary with the incessant chatter of the boys, and so he dozed in comfort, and saw not the wee, shapely creature who entered at the window and approached the boy as he stood upon the stool and bent the knee before him. Although small, the stranger was very handsome, and decked from head to heel in bright, glittering armour, with a crimson plume adorning his helmet.

“May it please your gracious Majesty,” he said, doffing his helmet, “my name is Popgun—Sir Guy Fawkes Popgun, Knight—one of your Majesty’s subjects from the realm of Shadowland.” The Dunce nearly fell from the stool in amazement at the strange words. He looked towards the still sleeping master, and from him to the armour-clad Knight at his feet, and replied in a low tone, “Hush! Don’t speak so loud. I haven’t learnt my lesson yet; if he wakens he’ll thrash me. Now, what do you want?”

“Pardon, your liege,” rejoined the Knight respectfully, “I am sent as ambassador from the good people of Shadowland to inform your [93]Majesty that you have been unanimously elected monarch of our wide and spacious dominions, and I beg that it may please you to allow me to conduct you thither without delay.”

“A King! Am I really a King after all?” cried Biffin, jumping from the stool.

“Every inch a King, your Majesty,” replied Sir Guy Fawkes Popgun, replacing his headpiece. “Will your liege follow me?”

“Stop, where is Shadowland?” inquired the boy.

Australian Fairy Tales]  [Page 93.

“Speeding away across the country as swift as the wind.”

“On the borders of Fancy, where dwell my kindred, the Australian elves. Fairyland will have none but a mortal to reign over her. Come, your Majesty.” And with a dignified bearing the Elfin Knight strode past the slumbering usher, and led the newly-elected Majesty of Elfland out at the door, which opened at their approach. Beyond the school, out on the open play-ground, stood two fine-looking emus, splendidly caparisoned, and ready for a journey; and before young Biffin knew what he was about he and his companion were mounted thereon, and were speeding away across the country as swift as the wind. Small townships, hills and valleys, tracts of gloomy forests, and broad lakes appeared before them, and disappeared behind them again, before the boy could say “Jack Robinson.” [94]Indeed, poor Biffin hadn’t breath to say anything, they proceeded so swiftly. At length they came to a large sandy desert on the confines of which rose a chain of lofty mountains. After crossing the desert these mountains looked so steep and high that further progress appeared at an end, but the Knight went to a cave close by and brought forth a pair of flying horses, which flew upward with them in a moment and landed them far away on the other side in safety—and this was Shadowland of the Elfins. What poet’s brain, teeming with strange wild fancies, could give expression to such a scene of loveliness as Noel the Dunce saw here? What travel-stained worshipper of Nature, traversing the girdle of the globe, ever feasted his eyes on a more glorious prospect? Not at Rome, filled as it is with monuments of man; nor at Athens, where Paul found the tablet inscribed, “To the Unknown God”; or on that Ionian Isle, where the inspired John wrote “The Revelation.” Beautiful and sacred are all three to view, but I have feasted my soul on scenes equally grand and sublime in this new land where the Universal Spirit of “Our Father” seemed to rest, and attract the uplifted eyes and the inmost thoughts of the Soul to the Invisible Presence. [95]

The flying steeds alighted in a ravine shut in by walls of fantastic rocks, peaked and turreted like the gable of some old feudal castle. Here a mounted escort, composed of the potent and mighty of the empire, awaited their coming, and led the King upwards to a grassy platform, shaded by a patch of hoary trees, where a throne built of wild-flowers had been erected for his reception. The site commanded a fine view of the surrounding country, and the elected monarch beheld with satisfaction thousands and thousands of his subjects assembled on the plains below to do him homage, and whose cheers and shouts rang far and wide when he ascended the throne to read the proclamation.

From time to time, for generations past, the Elfin Kings had to read their own proclamations, but when young Biffin received the paper from the hands of the Prime Minister his heart sank within him. His progress at school had been so slow that he was unable to read print fluently. How, then, was he to master the contents of the closely-written parchment in his hand? At that moment he would have given all his toys at home, even to his crop-eared pony, to have been able to read writing; but he couldn’t read or spell, nor make anything better than a pot-hook. [96]

“May it please your Majesty to read the proclamation to the people?” whispered Sir Guy Fawkes Popgun in the King’s ear.

“I—I cannot read,” replied his Majesty, trembling with shame and vexation.

“Cannot read!” repeated the courtiers, looking at each other. “Surely your Majesty is jesting.”

“Indeed, gentlemen, I’m afraid I’m a dunce,” replied Biffin sheepishly.

“A dunce, who cannot read, and yet has the silly presumption to be a King!” shouted the fairy populace in a mocking tone. “Hurrah for King Dunce! Long live King Dunce!”

And such is the uncertainty of popular favour in Elfland, that the vast assembly, who but a moment before had exhibited such hearty tokens of good-will, began to hoot and clamour in derision. They pulled the monarch from his throne, stripped him of his robes of state, and carried him to a rocky peak, where they doffed his crown and replaced it with a wreath of straw; while their shouts—“Long live King Dunce! Hurrah for King Dunce!”—once more rent the air.

In all his troubles at home, and his canings and disappointments with his lessons at school, our hero never felt so humbled and crestfallen [97]in his life before. He would have given anything to be enabled to read and write well. And this wish would have been easily gratified, had he but paid a little attention to his books while at the Academy; but he hadn’t done so, and the result was his downfall from the proud position he had so long coveted.

What availed his regrets now, when he was led away a prisoner, and placed in a dark cave, guarded by seven monsters, whose bodies were covered with long feathers, and who had heads like monkeys? It availed nothing that they set him hard lessons day and night, beat him with rods, until he was bruised all over, and suffered such pain that he made his escape from the cave. But the monsters were after him across the country, over hill and dale, until he came to the top of the high mountain which overlooked the desert, and the monsters being close behind, there was nothing left for him in his last extremity but to leap for his life and liberty.

And Noel Biffin did leap; but instead of being dashed to pieces, the Dunce came down from his perch on the stool to the floor of the schoolroom, the noise of which roused the usher from his nap, who gave the stupid boy a dose of cane pie and sent him home. [98]

Our little hero lived in a very pretty cottage on the hills. He was fond of reading, and his parents, who could well afford it, indulged the boy to his heart’s content with interesting books.

By his schoolmates this lad was known by the nickname of “Careless Harry,” because he was so untidy and negligent in his habits. Out of all the expensive books that had been purchased for him there wasn’t one that had a decent cover. Indeed, some of them had their backs completely broken with ill-usage, while others hadn’t a back at all. Besides being careless and forgetful the boy had still another fault. If his mother asked him a question, the answer was sure to be, “I don’t know.”

“Where’s your hat, Harry?”

“I don’t know.”

“What have you done with your ball?”

“I don’t know.”

“Child, however did you tear your clothing in that frightful manner?” [99]

“I am sure I don’t know.”

His room was littered with his books, toys, and playthings. There stood the rocking-horse with his tail pulled out. Here, flat on its back, lay his sister’s big doll, its poor face dreadfully disfigured by Harry’s mischievous fingers. His mother was very much displeased with him, and had sent him to bed, promising to take severe measures with him if she ever heard “I don’t know” from his lips again.

Harry was very frightened. He did not wish to vex his mother, or to act unkindly towards his sister, and so, resolving to be more careful in the future, he covered his head over with the bedclothes and fell fast asleep.

But Harry’s carelessness had raised the ire of others besides his mother and sister, and they were determined to punish him.

It is all very well to treat books, dolls, drums, rocking-horses, and other playthings as if they had no life in them, but careless boys may do that once too often. So it appeared in this case. Harry was no sooner asleep than these ill-fated creatures held a great discussion with reference to his cruelty.

“I’ll not stand this any longer,” cried Robinson Crusoe, stepping from the boy’s bookshelf. “I’m [100]getting an old man, and I won’t be insulted by having my only covering torn from my back by this young rogue. There he is covered up quite snug, while I am standing here shivering in my shirt.”

“And I,” responded little Red Riding Hood, “would gladly see him punished. He has thrown so much soapy water over me I feel as if I’d been shipwrecked in the washing-tub.”

“And I,” echoed the Drum, “owe him a grudge, not so much for the hard thumps he has bestowed on my person, as for his disgraceful treatment of yonder fair lady, whose dear nose he has completely put out of joint. That lady doll is my relation. We were born in the same place, were sent out in the same ship to Australia, and have occupied the same shop, until purchased and brought here to be cuffed and ill-treated by this boy. Gentlemen, I mean to avenge the lady.”

Now the ice was broken, accusations came so fast and thick against the unlucky culprit that it was quite impossible to make them all out. Fishing rods, minus line or hook, bats without handles, balls and tops, which danced like mad around the bed—the hubbub became so great the wonder is the whole house was not roused by his accusers. [101]

The noise, however, woke Harry, who sat bolt upright in bed, and gazed with a bewildered stare at the queer crowd surrounding him. He was too much alarmed to speak, but one glance showed him Robinson Crusoe, clad in nothing but his fly-leaves, standing at his bedside, with many others, who in the dim light he could not recognise.

“Place him on my back, friends, and I’ll gallop away to—‘I don’t know,’ ” cried out the tailless Rocking-horse in a terrible voice; and the words were no sooner uttered than poor Harry was quickly blindfolded, dragged from his bed, and placed astride the horse, who instantly galloped out into the cold night with him.

The pace at which the steed travelled was a caution. Harry had once accompanied his father to Gawler by rail, but the speed of the train was like travelling on a bullock dray in comparison to the flying pace of that beast without a tail. How he held on to its back is a positive wonder. All he saw was the clear starlit sky above his head, rocking and rolling about like the waves at the Semaphore on a windy day. His poor feet ached with the cold, for his only covering was his night-gown, and his legs felt as though they didn’t belong to him. At length, just as he was beginning [102]to feel faint and giddy from exhaustion, the Rocking-horse stopped, and the bandage was removed from his eyes. Ah! what a sight he beheld. There was the Drum he had broken strutting about on legs like a human being, who came up to Harry with a haughty swagger, and said, “Boy, why did you break my head?”

“A JACK-IN-THE-BOX … CAME AND REVILED HIM.”

And then a Hoop came, and demanded, “why he was thrown aside in the lumber-room?” and a black Jack-in-the-box, whose scanty locks had been wantonly torn from his scalp, came and [103]reviled him; and, lastly, his late victim, the poor doll, made its appearance in a winding sheet, and began to reproach him for his cruelty.

The unfortunate boy seated himself on the ground and burst into tears, but the more he wept the more his tormentors jeered at him; and really the Drum and Robinson Crusoe seemed to incite the others to insult him; therefore was our poor Harry very miserable indeed. Growing tired of playing with him, or afraid of the cold wind, perhaps, his strange companions at last took their departure, and Harry was left alone.

Such companionship had been bad enough, but solitude was worse. He started up, and shouted with all his might, “Is there anybody about?” “I don’t know,” sighed the wind. “Which is the way home?” shouted Harry. “I don’t know,” chuckled the laughing jackass. “Where’s my mother?” screamed the boy. “I don’t know,” exclaimed a ’possum and a kangaroo together. Too frightened to speak any more, Harry groped his way along in the darkness. As day dawned he came to a very high hill, and here he saw his tormentors having some rare fun. The Doll had mounted the Rocking-horse, which was galloping round and round as they do in a [104]circus. While the Drum beat time, old Robinson Crusoe was waltzing with the Lady of the Lake; and Jack the Giant-killer played leap-frog with Mother Hubbard, Red Riding Hood and Little Jack Horner. Their merriment grew more fast and furious every moment, but the instant they espied our hero it ceased, and a deep silence fell upon them all.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” cried a Pop-gun, breaking the silence, “you are aware we have refrained from doing injury to this cruel boy, through the mediation of the ‘Old Woman who lived in a Shoe.’ We left him in peace to make his way home, and instead of doing so he has wantonly broken in upon our secret revelry, and so has forfeited all claim to our clemency. What shall we do with him?”

“Pitch him headlong from the cliff,” replied the Drum in a deep voice.

“It shall be done,” responded a chorus of voices.

Poor Harry, who had not spoken hitherto, now found his voice. “No, no! Spare me, good gentlemen; spare me!” he cried.

They only mocked him for his pains. “Hearken to him pleading for mercy! Careless Harry! cruel Harry!” and amidst much noise and confusion the young mortal was carried to the apex of the [105]steep, tall cliff, and pushed over into the yawning gulf below.

Poor Harry, half mad with terror, uttered a series of piercing shrieks as he felt himself falling—falling through the air—and called aloud for his mother to help him. Conceive his joy when he found himself in her arms, and heard her well-known voice reassuring him.

“You are safe, my boy, quite safe. What has frightened you?”

“Oh, mother! I have been taken away in the night.”

“Taken away! Where?”

“To—to—‘I don’t know.’ ”

The mother smiled to herself as she left the room, and “Careless Harry” went out to see if the rocking-horse and the others had returned home. [106]

Because “Tent-Peg” on the Bogan isn’t on the map of Australia, it must not be inferred that the little township does not exist. Indeed, any old colonist who knows his way about will tell you that the place is in the sister colony, and consists of one public-house, a blacksmith’s shop, a store, a church (about the shape and size of a haystack), and a small branch bank.

The latter building presented nothing of the polish and artistic finish, or the magnificence of many of our metropolitan banks, but it was one of the most snug and cosy institutions in the whole country, within its walls. No doubt Toney Buck, the messenger, was of the same opinion, as he sat dozing before a warm coal fire, this severe winter night, with no other company than a large black cat, of the male gender, for his companion.

Toney Buck was an orphan, aged twelve years, or thereabouts, and acted in the dual rôle of servant to the manager and messenger to the [107]bank. The boy slept on the premises, and the manager having gone to visit a neighbouring squatter, his servant had been ordered to sit up until he returned. There Toney sat in the manager’s armchair, bowing and nodding to the fire, as if it had been some great fetish to whom he was paying homage. Toney was a very practical lad. Nothing fanciful or dreamy ever bothered Toney. Had the boy been otherwise, I’m afraid he wouldn’t have had anything to do with the bank, because his employers were anything but poets or visionaries, as some of my borrowing friends can testify. However, be this as it may, every time our hero opened his heavy eyelids after each jerk forward, he encountered the round, black, winking orbs of Tabby fixed full upon his face, with a strange expression stamped thereon. Indeed, more than once Toney felt certain that the cat actually laughed at him, and when discovered in the act, instantly attempted to compose its features and wink at the fire in a knowing way. It is not a very easy task for a sleepy boy, who feels as if his eyelids were freighted with four-pound weights, to rouse himself and his waking faculties all in a moment, but Toney managed to sit bolt upright after a time and to stare at his companion. Toney fancied he could stare. So he could [108]without a doubt; but the cat could and did stare harder than Toney. Its eyes never moved, in their fixed look, from his face, yet he could see their colour change from black to pale sea-green, and from green to grey, and then turn flaming red as the fire. Toney feeling uncomfortable, removed his chair farther back, muttering, “Oh, bother the cat!”

“Whirr. You’re another,” replied a voice instantly.

The messenger was in the act of sitting down again, but he gave a jump as if a snake had bitten him. He looked first at Tabby, and then at the fire bewildered, and said, “Who spoke?”

“I did,” replied the cat.

“Good gracious! Are you sure now?” inquired Toney, with the scales—or the weights, rather—fallen from his eyeballs.

“I did say ‘You’re another’; and so you are. If you bother me I’ll bother you!” replied Tabby, whisking his long tail.

“Oh, my! I never knew cats could talk, although I’ve heard their voices sometimes, of a night, to some tune.”

“None of your sneers, Toney,” interrupted Tabby quickly. “There are more wonderful things in Australia than a talking cat, and some noises to [109]which our midnight concerts are as sweet music in comparison. Listen to me. The bank will be robbed this very night. There!”

“Talking cat—the bank robbed. I—I hope I’m awake,” cried Toney, tugging at his unkempt hair in astonishment.

“I hope you are, for there are those coming who will soon arouse you,” replied the cat, jumping on the back of a chair, and erecting his back in the form of a rainbow. “Hark! that noise is worse than our caterwauling. Hear them forcing in the door of the front office.”

As the cat spoke there came upon their ears first a low grating noise, then followed a sound as if the heavy door of the bank had been wrenched off its hinges. “Lord help us! It’s the bushrangers, and master’s away. Oh! what shall I do?” and the poor boy began to cry bitterly.

“Stop crying. Wait and see!” Tabby hadn’t time to say more, ere three men, with masks upon their faces, and armed with revolvers, rushed into the room.

“Hallo! only a boy here. Where’s the manager?” inquired one of the robbers, grasping Toney.

“He isn’t here, sir.”

“Come, none o’ that,” cried the man gruffly. [110]“Tell us where he is, or I’ll shove you a-top of that fire.”

Toney looked at the fire, and then at the bushranger, and began to cry afresh.

“Where’s the manager?”

“Gone to Mr. Hilton’s, the station on the river.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, as certain as that you will be hanged.”

The man let go his hold of Toney instantly, and stared first at the cat and then at the messenger, as if he was puzzled as to which had answered him. He appeared to decide in favour of the boy, for he said hoarsely, “No cheek, my fine kiddie, or I’ll roast you like a chicken. Bring the keys of the safe, quick.”

“Master has them in his pocket, sir.”

The robber swore a frightful oath, then held converse with his companions in an undertone. After which they produced a cord, and having tied the lad hand and foot, left him in the room with the cat, locked the door on the outside, and proceeded to ransack the bank.

Poor Toney! What could he do against three armed men? The manager, his master, had been very good to him. He was father and mother and brother and sister all in one. What would he say when he returned and found the place robbed—[111]the money gone? Hadn’t he entrusted all the gold, and notes, and papers—worth thousands and thousands of pounds—into his (Toney’s) custody, and here were villains breaking open these sacred coffers with hammer and crowbar in ruthless plunder! In his trouble, he almost wished the bushrangers would come in and roast him as they had promised to do. Even that would be preferable to facing his kind master.

“Toney. Hi, Toney!” The boy jumped. He had forgotten all about the cat.

“You were always kind to me, Toney, and I’m going to help you now.”

“How can a cat help anybody?” replied poor Toney.

“Ah! but I wasn’t always a cat, Toney.”

“Oh, bother; I suppose you mean when you were a little kitten,” muttered the boy.

“No, I don’t, Toney Buck. I never was a kitten. I mean when I was a happy fairy in Elfland, before I was changed into a cat for being cruel and selfish.”

“Snooks!” answered Toney sceptically.

“Who?”

“Snooks! It won’t do, you know. There ain’t no fairies, nor moonland, and such nonsense.”

“Supposing my shape were to change again, [112]here under your very nose; would you believe what you saw?”

“Rather! but you can’t do it, puss.”

“Can’t I? You shall see,” replied Tabby. “Say: ‘Sevle naila rtsua’ very slowly. Now!”

“ ‘Sevle naila rtsua,’ ” cried the boy in a brisk tone; but he had no sooner uttered the words than the black cat vanished into thin air, and in its place he beheld a wee, thin, elderly gentleman dressed in hunting costume, seated astride the back of the chair, who bowed very politely and lifted his hat to the astonished messenger.

“Well I never!” cried Toney. “Who are you, pray?”

“ ‘Sevle naila rtsua!’ ” replied the little man, laughing.

“What is ‘Sevle naila rtsua’?” demanded the boy.

“Read the letters backwards and join the first two syllables together.”

“Ah! A-u-s-t-r-a-l-i-a-n—E-l-v-e-s—Australian Elves, eh?”

“That’s it, Toney; I’m proud to be one of them, my boy. Now I’ll show you how a cat can help you out of this scrape,” answered the wee man, with a smile only to be seen on the face of a fairy. “I’m going out at that broken pane in [113]the window there, straight to Dick Holmes’ stable, take out the steeplechaser ‘Nightwind,’ ride as fast as he can go to the junction, return with half-a-dozen troopers by a short cut, and secure these ruffians red-handed with their booty.

“Hurrah!” cried Toney in his enthusiasm.

“Hush, boy. Not so loud,” said the elfin; “they may hear you. I must away on my errand quickly; yet mind, Toney, if you don’t see the bank cat here again, I’m always to be found on the banks of the Bogan. Keep good heart. Good-bye.”

With a hop, skip, and a jump the wee man was through the broken pane and astride the horse “Nightwind” before the boy could realise that he was alone.

Meanwhile the strong-room of the bank resounded with the heavy blows dealt by the robbers upon the solid doors of the iron safe, which for a long time withstood their utmost attempts to break it open. Poor Toney sat in fear and trembling, and counted the minutes as they fled by, listening to the noises without, and wondering if the little elfin man would really do what he promised. It seemed hardly possible that he could sit a horse at all, much less guide the crack steeplechaser “Nightwind” across country [114]on a dark night. Nevertheless, the confident tone of the fairy before he jumped out at the window reassured him, and hope began to gather in Toney the messenger.

Alas! that hope was dispelled the next moment by a loud shout from the bushrangers, which proclaimed that the safe had yielded. Had the robbers been less intent upon the bags of gold and silver which met their gaze, it is probable they would have seen the half-dozen police-troopers who entered, carbine in hand, and surrounded them. When the ruffians did see them, however, it was too late to resist, and they were taken away out into the darkened night, some of them never to see the light of the sun again as free men.

At the trial of the bushrangers the police couldn’t swear who gave the information about the bank, and I believe it remains a mystery to this day. [115]

Like “Ben Bolt’s” mill, Allan’s farm, situated by the River Torrens, had gone to decay and ruin. It was a flourishing place before the death of Peter Allan, but the farmer had been taken away, and his widow and her three children had to fight out the battle of life unaided. The property had been heavily mortgaged three years previously, and, what with unfavourable seasons and other misfortunes, the widow Allan had not been able to repay principal or interest of the money borrowed, and the creditors therefore gave the farmer’s wife notice to quit.

Fortunately, Mrs. Allan had a brother who had gone to some diggings in New South Wales, and had left in charge of his sister an old hut and a patch of land known as Gumtree Hollow. In the emergency the widow determined to occupy the place until she could find a more suitable home. The Hollow consisted of about two acres of crags and stones, without sufficient soil to grow [116]a potato in, and was distant from the farm about five miles.

On a warm afternoon, three days after the widow had received notice to leave the homestead, little Charlie Allan, the eldest boy, aged twelve, started to the hut at Gumtree Hollow with his mother’s goods and chattels in the spring-cart. It had been arranged that after delivering his load the lad should return for his parent and his brother and sister. Charlie was intelligent and very kind-hearted. He had noticed his mother crying bitterly, and he had followed her into a back room where his father had died, and there putting his little arms about her neck he had tried to soothe her with many assurances that when he became a man he would work for her and buy the place back again.

Old Bob, the pony, didn’t like the road to the hut, but repeatedly turned to retrace his steps every half-mile or so of the journey. Nevertheless, Charlie managed to get him there at last.

In a ravine between a natural cutting of jagged crags stood the old building, overshadowed by a gigantic tree whose wide-open trunk, hollow as a bell, had often afforded shelter to straggling picnic parties. It was a grand, old, hoary gum, knobbed and gnarled with age, and whose spreading [117]branches formed a canopy over the dilapidated hut. One long, fork-like branch projected farther over than the rest, on the extreme end of which something perched, swaying the bough to and fro with an easy motion. Charlie, thinking it was a parrot, took up a stone for a shot; but he dropped the stone again instantly, as a voice from the tree uttered a shrill peal of laughter.

The poor lad’s first thought was to take to his heels and run for it; but the voice called out in a kindly tone, “Hallo! Charlie ’avic, how are ye, Charlie Allan?”

The boy gazed upward in amazement, and beheld a wee, teeny, queer fellow, hardly six inches high, sitting astride the branch, and gazing down with a knowing look at him. The creature’s dress was green; from his shapely shoes to his brimless hat, swallow-tailed coat, breeches, stockings, all were the verdant green colour.

“Who are you?” questioned Charlie, recovering from his surprise.

“Shure I’m an Irishman,” cried the little fellow, at the same time springing to the ground. “A rale paddy, an’ I may tell you that there isn’t a fay or a gnome in South Australia that I can’t leap or swim wid; do’s thee hear that, ’avic?”

He was such a dwarfed miniature of a man, [118]and appeared such an impudent swaggerer—with his chimney-pot hat on one side of his head, and his saucy turned-up nose—that Charlie felt inclined to pick him up and cuff him soundly.

“What is your name?” asked the boy, making a sudden dive at the creature.

“McKombo,” answered the sprite, dodging under Charlie’s legs. “My name is McKombo; but be aisy wid ye now, an’ don’t be after trying to take a mane advantage of me.”

“I’d scorn to do it,” said Charlie, unconsciously clenching his fists. “Who are you; what are you; and what do you want?”

“Be aisy, Charlie. Arrah’, don’t be botherin’ me wid too many questions,” said McKombo. “I’ve tould ye I’m an Irishman. Captain Brophy imported me to the colony in a hat-box twenty years ago.”

“Why, you’re a fairy,” suggested the lad, eyeing his strange companion askance.

“Of course I am,” replied McKombo, “and I may tell you I’ve been waiting all this blessed day to see you.”

“To see me?”

“Thrue for ye, Charlie. I am very well acquainted wid all the bother an’ trouble that’s going on at the farm, an’ I mane to help your mother clane out of it.” [119]

Poor Charlie felt as if he could have hugged McKombo, but the sprite kept his distance and said quietly, “You haven’t such a thing as a spade and a pick among the things in the cart?”

“ ‘HURRAH!’ HE CRIED, TOSSING UP HIS HAT.”

Charlie had, though. Both the pick and the spade he had used many a time at the farm, and he produced them at once; but he looked doubtfully at McKombo as to what he was to do with them or how they could be the means of assisting his mother in her difficulties. It seemed very business-like, however, the way the sprite led Charlie to the hollow trunk of the great gum-tree, and [120]commanded him to dig within a certain circle he at once marked out. The goblin’s promises of certain and speedy benefit gave the boy faith and energy to dig and delve away with might and main until there gaped a large hole within the trunk, which revealed some of the thick roots beneath, also the top of a square tin box, such as lawyers keep their deeds in. The moment McKombo caught sight of the box he began to caper about the sward in antic glee.

“Hurrah!” he cried, tossing up his hat. “There it is, me boy, safe an’ sound, as on the night I saw them murthering scoundrels place it there twenty years ago.”

Poor Charlie stared at the fairy, and wiped the perspiration from his heated face, but he could not comprehend what his companion meant. Acting under McKombo’s directions, young Allan made a lever and got the box out of its bed. It did not appear large, but it was very heavy—so heavy that the boy could hardly lift it; the thick coating of paint on it had preserved it from rusting and decay, and it was fastened with an iron padlock. With one blow of his spade Charlie broke open the lid, when—lo! he saw a heap of dark yellow sovereigns and several parcels of bank-notes within. The sight made him faint and [121]giddy with surprise and delight, so that he could not utter a word.

“Look there, now. See that,” ejaculated the sprite, pointing to the treasure. “One evening, twenty years ago, three men brought that box here and hid it beneath the trunk of this old gum-tree; they went away, but never returned for it. In time a poor woodcutter built his hut beneath the great tree, and I watched him come and go to his daily toil, until he could toil no more and they carried him forth and buried him on the river-bank. Then came your Uncle George, my boy, who purchased the place for ten pounds; but had he known of the riches under his very nose, I’ll go bail he wouldn’t have gone away to dig for gold.”

“Why didn’t you tell Uncle George about this money?” asked Charlie.

“Bekase he would have spent it recklessly, honey, that’s why. Money ill-spent or misapplied is a great evil. Put the box on the cart wid the things, and return to your mother. Off wid ye, boy, at onst.”

“Won’t you come with me?” pleaded Charlie.

“I can’t, ’avic, I’m going to a christening at McFadden’s in the Glen. Away ye go. Good-bye.” Saying which, McKombo vanished from his sight. [122]

Widow Allan was very much astonished when Charlie returned and told his story, but her surprise was still greater when she saw the box of hard cash. She counted the money, which amounted to over three thousand pounds sterling; after which she fastened the box again, and wrote a letter to the manager of a certain bank in Sydney, and to which most of the notes belonged.

In due course the bank sent a representative to Allan’s farm, who informed the widow that the bank had been robbed of over three thousand pounds one night in June twenty years ago, and which had never been recovered. The bank agent departed with the money, but he left the poor but honest widow a cheque for £500—a sum which not only paid off the liability upon her farm, but enabled her to put something by for a rainy day and for Charlie when he came of age. [123]

Patter, patter, splash, splash, drip, drip, fell the rain on the housetops, down the waterspouts, and along the narrow streets of the New South Wales capital. A dismal evening to be abroad; the fierce wind playing antic tricks with the people returning home from work, by driving the rain full in their faces, turning their umbrellas inside out, and compelling many to seek temporary shelter beneath verandahs and the projecting gables of high buildings.

The tempest of wind and rain didn’t appear to trouble a small, dirty-looking urchin who had taken up his quarters in a sheltered nook at the corner of one of the main thoroughfares of the city, and where he crouched, watching the vehicles, with their gleaming lamps, dash onward through the mud and wet. The poor child’s clothes would have suited a warmer temperature than the keen wind and rain; but he indulged in an occasional short run beneath the portico to keep his blood [140]in circulation. It was while taking his trot to and fro that the boy’s attention was attracted by the stoppage of an omnibus, which drew close up to the curb to allow an old gentleman to alight therefrom. He was a portly old fellow, buttoned up in a portly overcoat, and he carried a portly umbrella. The boy noted this by the light of the gas lamp as the passenger went by him, and he also noted a small dark object lying on the wet pavement, not a yard away, that was not there before.

“Hallo! What’s this? A pocket-book with money in it. That gentleman who passed has lost it. Hi, sir, hi!” And away ran the urchin in pursuit of the elderly gentleman. The little fellow overtook him, after a good chase against the pelting rain, which soaked his thin garments through and through. “I say, sir, hi!”

“Be off, boy! I never give to beggars,” said the old gentleman, turning round upon the lad briskly.

“I ain’t a beggar,” answered the little fellow with spirit. “I ran after you to know if yer lost anything just now.”

“Lost! lost! not a——I say, by Jove! you—you don’t mean to——why, if it is not gone, and I would not lose it for——”

The actions of the portly gentleman were [141]somewhat singular. He first passed his hand hastily over the breast of his buttoned-up coat, then he threw down his open umbrella on the pavement—which the wind carried away in a moment—tore open his clothing violently, and dived into the recesses of a capacious inner pocket. Then he began a frenzied sort of war-dance in front of the boy. “I had it in my hand not ten minutes since,” he cried excitedly; “and I can swear to it before the Mayor and all the J. P.’s in the colony. Mark that.”

“Mark what, sir?”

“Why, I have told you—haven’t I? My pocket-book, full of——Ah! I see you have found it, my good, honest lad,” he went on, altering his tone, and recovering his composure as the child held out the bloated purse to its owner. “Full of documents, boy; of no use to anybody but me. Thank you for restoring it.”

He snatched at the recovered treasure, and hastily unfastened the clasp to see if any of its contents had been disturbed, revealing to the youth some of the documents, which appeared marvellously like bank-notes, and a good many of them.

“It’s all right, my little man. Stop! What is your name?” [142]

“Eddy Wilkinson, sir.”

“Eddy Wilkinson, eh? Where d’ye live, boy? Where’s your father and mother?”

“Father’s dead; and we live in Baker’s Court, Redfern,” answered Eddy, turning to depart.

“Stay one moment. I like to encourage honesty. Honesty is the best policy, eh?” cried the old gentleman, fumbling in his vest pocket. “Here is sixpence for you, and to-morrow, if you call at the office of Balam Bros., Woolbrokers, York Street, I will consider about a further reward. Now run off home out of the wet.”

“It’s very mean of him, so it is, only to give me sixpence for finding such a lot of money,” muttered Eddy, as he trotted homeward through the storm. “Well, well, I must not grumble; sixpences are sixpences these ’ere times—so mother says. But what a thin, battered old coin it is!” he cried, holding it up beneath the glare of a gas lamp. “I believe it’s a bad one!” and the boy closed his sharp teeth on it the next moment.

“Oh dear! Oh!” shrieked a voice, which seemed to issue out of Eddy’s own mouth. The poor child dropped the coin instantly, and ran for his life; but he soon recovered from his surprise, and returned to where the sixpence lay [143]on the shining flag in the full light of the street lamp.

“Surely it wasn’t you who cried out just now?” said Eddy, apostrophising it.

“Yes, it was, and you have hurt me very much, biting me in such a savage way,” replied the crooked sixpence reprovingly. “Here have I been rudely tossed and hustled from pouch to pocket, and hand to hand, to try and serve you, and you show your gratitude by saying I’m bad. For shame, Eddy Wilkinson.”

“Indeed, I’m very sorry, ma’am,” rejoined Eddy, astonished and trembling all over at the strange incident.

“I’m not of the feminine gender, Eddy. Don’t call me ‘ma’am,’ please.”

“Very well, sir,” apologised the boy.

“That’s worse; I’m not a gentleman.”

“What are you, then?” asked the lad, in an impatient tone.

“Neither one nor the other, yet I’m a little of both. If you turn me on this side, I’m a man; roll me over, and I’m a woman. Still I’m incongruous, and only a sixpence,” replied the coin.

“You’re very thin, and worn, and of no earthly use to anybody, I think,” said Eddy boldly, [144]“except the banks, who are taking worn-out customers like you.”

“I shall prove very useful to you, Eddy, so don’t insult me. On me, thin as I am, you will build a stupendous fortune.”

“Oh, let us be joyful!” cried Eddy, shaking the rain from his rags.

“And when you grow to be a man, and are elected Mayor of this city,” added the sixpence, “you will wear me on your watchchain as a relic, to remind you of your first advanced step in life.”

“You old humbug! I’ve a good mind to pick you up and spend you at the confectioner’s over the way,” answered Eddy, laughing.

“They won’t have smooth money there,” rejoined the coin. “Take my advice, and put me in your pocket out of the wet. As you said just now, I’m very thin, and I can’t stand the rain.”

“What shall I do with you then?”

“Put me by in that old teapot in the cupboard at home until you get another of my race to keep me company,” answered the voice of the crooked sixpence earnestly. “Remember, boy, a penny saved is a penny gained, for it is by such small beginnings that people have amassed fortunes to benefit humanity, and by saving pennies and sixpences, little boys who have no fathers to work for [145]them have been enabled to assist their widowed mothers and to make their home comfortable and happy.”

“That is quite true. I’m sure, I often wish I could keep my mother, who is always working,” answered the child in a sad tone.

“Your wish will be gratified, Eddy, if you only take my advice,” said the voice, in the same resolute accent. “You are ten years old, and you ought to begin to earn money. The gentleman whose purse you restored wants an office boy. When he sees you to-morrow he will employ you, because the prompt manner in which you returned his pocket-book has made a good impression on him. Be careful to maintain and strengthen that effort by being trustworthy, honest, and truthful; above all, never forget the old teapot in the cupboard, where I shall be ready to welcome every new-comer placed therein.”

“I’m so glad I’m going to work to help mother, and I’ll not forget what you have said to me,” replied the boy.

“I am fully aware of it, Eddy Wilkinson,” responded the voice modestly. “I have seen a great deal of human nature in my travels, and I have noted that people—both old and young—rarely forget what I say to them. You must [146]know that I never came out of the Mint. I was born of a good old fairy family on the Queensland border. From my childhood I hated Money, and was constantly railing against it and its evil influences, until our chief, Fen, transformed me into a sixpence as a penalty for my abuse of Mammon. In less than a month I went from the dainty purse of the Governor’s lady to the dirty fob of a sweep. Once I was the only coin in the pocket of a poor solitary swagman travelling in the bush, who was attacked by a robber and foully murdered; but had you seen the murderer’s face after rifling my master’s pouch, and to find only me, you would have said, as I did, that crime brings its own punishment. Again, a very proud man dropped me on the pavement, and disdaining to stoop for me, there I lay for hours trampled by the crowd passing up and down. A poor, despairing, wretch, without a home, without a friend—without even the smallest means of procuring a meal—hurried with feverish haste through the by-ways of this great city, to end his life and his misery in the river; but he discovered me in his path. Weary and faint with long fasting, I supplied him with food and a night’s lodging. With the return of day came other thoughts and fresh resolves, and so the man [147]was saved the awful act of self-destruction, and lived to bless the old crooked sixpence.”

And so did little Eddy Wilkinson, my dear children. The firm of “Balam Brothers & Wilkinson” is one of the most sound and thriving concerns in the colonies. The junior partner has just been elected to the civic chair of Sydney, and when he dies he intends to bequeath the crooked sixpence to the Museum. [148]

Tottie Maybush, of Melgrove on the hills, was never known to tell an untruth. Yet little kind-hearted Tottie could not be certain whether she had fallen asleep and dreamed all about the fairies’ ball, or the spirits of the dell had carried her off bodily to their annual festival. On one of our beautiful Australian midsummer nights, the dark-blue sky, and the earth beneath it, illumined by a full, radiant moon, Tottie was seated under a large fig-tree in the garden, playing with Sultan, the retriever puppy. The child’s parents had gone to visit a neighbour; therefore there was no one at home save Jane, the servant, who had promised Tottie that she might remain up till they returned.

No one can say—not even Tottie herself—how it was she came to leave her seat and the puppy, and stroll all alone down the long walk beyond the orchard, until she emerged upon a sloping lawn that dipped with an easy fall to the edge of [149]the river. The round, full moon overhead cast thin streaks and broad bars of soft light athwart the branches of the tall trees, which formed triangles, circles, and crosses, about the sombre trunks, and lay like scraps of burnished steel about her path. Out on the mossy bank the moon’s focus seemed to rest on one great patch of light, whereon stood a group of small, slender, puny creatures, drawn up in two lines, like a regiment of soldiers on parade. Tiny and insignificant as they appeared, Tottie could not help observing their costumes, which were both elegant and superb. Every rich and varied flower in the botanical world of the Southern Hemisphere had lent its bloom and beauty to adorn their persons, while beyond their ranks, on the placid bosom of the river, sat six large, white swans, attached to the car of state, which glowed and sparkled under the beams of the moon like a mass of sapphires.

The moment Tottie appeared, the King of the fairies stepped forth and addressed her,—

“Mortal, you are invited to our Jubilee in the dell. Xylophagus, my Queen, has sent her barge of state, together with this gallant escort, to convey you thither. Fear not to come with us; we are your friends and your slaves for the hour. Gentlemen, let your royal barge approach.” [150]

The elfin monarch waved his hand, when instantly there arose upon the air a choral melody from the fairy boat, far surpassing the song of birds. No warbling bulbul, no melting note of dulcimer floating o’er the waters at still midnight, ever ravished the senses, or soothed with tones so liquid soft, as the strains which fell upon the ears of Tottie Maybush as she was borne aboard by the elves. They placed her on a couch of softest down, fringed by a border of wild rose leaves, and two lovely fairy ladies fanned her with perfumed fans, which not only warded off the mosquitoes, but lulled Tottie into a passive state, wherein she was utterly powerless to move or act, yet which left her sense of hearing and observation free and unfettered. What engines made of mortal hands could propel a boat so swiftly and noiselessly as those proud, vigorous swans, who glided onward down the river with the elfin barque and its freight as if the whole thing had been no heavier than a gossamer? What mortal ears could conceive from out the world of sound such enchanting harmony? It was the silvery lullaby of Fairyland, that our Australian sprites might chant to some fretful changeling they had adopted and sought to hush to sleep.

And now the view opens upon a magnificent [151]glade, with here and there a huge eucalyptus standing out in bold relief like a grim giant on guard. Here the elfin King and his grotesque retinue land, and escort their mortal guest across the velvet sward and through a grove of trees, which terminates in a deep dell—the scene of the fairy ball.

Upon a verdant, natural carpet, softer than velvet pile, stood two lines of young trees, from the roots of which the vines of the purple sarsaparilla had shot upward along the trunks and amongst the branches, and there bending with a graceful slope had met and entwined, and so had formed a long trellis-work roof, where the moon beamed through in twice ten thousand rays into the gallery beneath.

The elfin King conducted Tottie into this primeval hall, where Queen Xylophagus was seated with her ladies on a bank of wild violets. The child was quite bewildered at the wildly odd scene that met her gaze. The gallery was hung round with myriads of glow-worms and fire-flies, which illumined the place with a soft, subdued light, and shed a sparkling sheen on the parti-coloured robes of the gay creatures which moved to and fro about her. Here, as in the higher world of mortals, the ladies fanned and flirted, while the [152]gentlemen flattered and were smilingly attentive; but there was no lurking devil behind it all with the elves. They, at least, were genuine.

“Approach, O mortal, and kiss my hand,” cried the fairy Queen, rising and saluting Tottie. “In this dell thou shalt be fed on honeyed words. We will deck thee with jewels brought from hidden caves and gathered in bowers of green, where loop the clustered vines. Pure pearls of may-dew shall adorn thy fair young brow like summer’s fruited gems, ripe and mellow.”

Tottie tried to thank her Majesty.

“These are my ladies,” continued the Queen, pointing to several lovely fays beside her. “Moppet, stand forth. This is our lady of the robes, who supplies a new dress for our person every morning.”

A fair, wee creature rose from her seat and kissed Tottie.

“Moth and Poppy, two of my daughters, who are about to be married—Poppy, the youngest, to Prince Cornflower, and her sister, to the celebrated Grimalkin of the Hills,” said her Majesty, introducing the members of the household. “Those three ladies in purple, who are teasing that old gentleman with the crutch, are Gloze, Geneva, and Moss, the King’s first cousins—old maiden ladies who have [153]never been married, and who delight in annoying the bachelors.”

Perhaps it was fortunate for poor Tottie Maybush that a great noise at the other end of the gallery interrupted the Queen, otherwise she would probably have been smothered by the warm-hearted beings presented to her. The commotion was caused by the arrival of several ambassadors from the vast realm of Nature. Here advanced the representative of the Forest with stately dignity; then followed the Wind, whose tread shook the roof of the ball-room; and after him came a long procession of birds. The eagle headed one column, the wild turkey another, after which came parrots and plovers, quails, snipe, and magpies, while the jolliest of them all—the great kingfisher—brought up the rear. Round and round the hall they trooped until the whole host found suitable perches among the thick foliage of the trees, where they gazed down in wonder upon the throng beneath.

Amid a deep silence which had fallen upon the place the elfin King rose to his feet, and in a sharp, clear, piping tone, said, “We are all assembled; let the dance begin.”

Suddenly the throng of birds struck up a wild medley of song, whereupon the fairies, bounding to their feet, began a fantastic dance around the [154]grotto. Such a quick, changing whirl of steps and leaps and varied motions it would be difficult to conceive. Circles here, confusion there, up and down in mazes, until, the feathered band piping higher and wilder, the eye was unable to follow the labyrinth of gay creatures in their mad career. “The witches at Benevento” were as nothing compared to the furious freaks and vagaries of the elves; but in the midst of it all there was heard the booming of a bell, and—like enchantment—darkness and quiet fell upon the sylvan festivity in the twinkling of an eye.

“Tottie! Miss Tottie, do get up and come to bed!” cried Jane. “Your pa and ma have returned home!” [155]

If you were to search the whole of Australia you could not find a more beautiful place than “Hawthorne,” the residence of little Elsie Barton Elsie’s father was a merchant with plenty of money. He therefore erected a large house, a little way in the country, away from the dust and noise of the city. The building stood on a lofty hill, surrounded by trees and a lovely garden, with a broad river flowing down below among crags and thick foliage, and where the water seemed like a great mirror fixed in an emerald frame. Little Elsie loved music, and was always ready every morning to begin her music lessons without being scolded and driven to them, as some disobedient and naughty girls and boys are. It was a bright morning, and Elsie raised up the window to admit the fresh breeze and the sunshine, and then sat down to the piano. She had scarcely touched the keys, however, when she was startled at hearing some one pronounce her name. The voice which [156]Elsie heard calling her was not a gruff or a rough voice by any means, neither was it shrill or disagreeable in its tone; yet it was decidedly unlike any other voice she had ever heard before. It seemed more like the tinkling of a tiny silver bell than anything else, save that the utterance was clear and decided, and sent a thrill, half of fear, half of surprise, through the frame of the listener.

“Elsie—Elsie Barton!” repeated the voice.

Elsie turned about quickly, and stood amazed to observe upon the toilet-table near the window the tiniest and most grotesque creature in the world. The form was that of an old woman. Such a wee, graceful old lady, with a lithe, slight figure, no higher than the bottle of perfume near her. She was attired in a purple robe, green baize shoes, and a shining cloak of the same colour, with a hood attached, but which she had thrown back, disclosing her yellow hair. She supported herself with a crutch stick, about the size of a wax match.

“Well, my dear, you are no doubt astonished at seeing me?” said the old lady, leaning on her staff, and looking at Elsie with a smile. “Pray take out those horrid long spikes you call pins from the pincushion, and I will sit down and rest myself, for I am really tired.”

There was nothing at all repulsive in the manner [157]or the aspect of this strange visitor. So little Elsie, overcoming her wonder and amazement, prepared the pincushion and seated the old lady thereon, then inquired in a respectful tone how she came into the room.

“ ‘PRAY TAKE OUT THOSE HORRID LONG SPIKES.’ ”

“Through the window, of course, my dear,” answered the creature, smiling. “We fairies come and go at divers times and seasons, and exactly how and when we please.”

“Are you a fairy—a real fairy?” cried Elsie, [158]approaching and gazing with deep interest on the little lady before her.

“Certainly, child. Couldn’t you see that? We Australian elves are not so tall as our kindred over the ocean, but we are fairies notwithstanding.”

“I—I have read of the fairies,” said Elsie shyly, “but I have never seen any of them before.”

“Oh, my dear, it’s a great favour for any mortal to see us. It is only good children who have the privilege. Do you know why I came here this morning?” said the old lady, fanning herself with a rose-leaf.

“No. Pray tell me.”

“A poor little boy, who has been dreadfully hurt, and who lives in the little hut near the quarry, sent me to you,” replied the fairy.

“Is it little Harry, the widow’s boy?”

“The same, my dear.”

“I will go this moment,” she replied; and running down the stairs, Elsie took her sun-bonnet from the rack in the hall, and joined the elfin in the garden. Without speaking another word the fairy led the way down the hill, and away along the sunny banks of the river, and onward to a secluded dell, where Nature had exhausted the skill of simplicity. The earth undulating into tiny hillocks, was clothed with a tender verdure as [159]soft and green as moss. The deep blue waters rolled by with a hushed ripple, that was more soothing than silence, and a blueness that rivalled the deep azure of the skies. On one side rose great masses of rugged rocks, and these and all the trees around were draped with great masses of clematis. From the roots of these there crept along the ground the beautiful vines of the purple sarsaparilla, and the grass all around was gemmed with wild violets and the blossoms of a delicately pencilled little wild orchid. The scent of the clematis made the air heavy with perfume, and the song of birds came with added music from the other side of the stream.

In this pleasant spot were gathered together a troop of elves—little, transparent people, dressed in scarlet, and blue, and amber, others in white, shining robes, and with green jewels and wreaths decking their golden curls.

Elsie Barton stood spellbound with amazement at the wonderful sight before her. Many a time she had strolled through the lovely dell previously, but she had never met either fay or sprite. While she stood with mouth agape, the old lady fairy whispered in her ear and led the child away out of the glen and over the river, where the blue smoke from the cottage wherein lay the sick boy could be [160]seen ascending in a thin, spiral column up toward heaven, as if bridging the void between the suffering child and the ministering angels of God.

Within sight of the hut, the fairy halted, and seating herself upon a mushroom, said in a sweet, piping tone: “I cannot venture farther, Elsie. We elves are but the emblem of good thoughts and benevolent deeds. Whoever thinks least of self can see us palpably everywhere, because we are beneficence personified. Wherever there may be an act of kindness to be done, we seek out the kindly disposed to do it; but it is death to us to look upon any other mortals, save the humane and kindly hearted. Bend down, my dear, so that I may kiss you. Now, good-bye,” and the tiny lady vanished in a moment.

It was a very rude dwelling built of slabs, and almost devoid of furniture, and little Elsie Barton’s eyes filled with tears as she entered it and beheld on a bed, in one corner of the room, a boy about her own age, lying pale and ill. The poor lad had been obliged to work in a quarry, to help his widowed mother and his two little brothers, and a large stone had fallen down and had crushed one of his legs dreadfully. The brave child was sinking fast for want of generous diet and such nourishment as the widow was unable to procure [161]for him, and so the fairy had brought kind-hearted little Elsie Barton to visit him; and Elsie helped the widow to make the sick-room more light and cosy, then went home and told her mother about the sick boy; and Mrs. Barton, after filling a basket with nice food, returned with Elsie to the cottage.

And every day for weeks Elsie Barton carried her basket of flowers and fruit, and choice morsels of dainty food for the little sufferer, until the lad grew well and strong again; and sometimes, sitting in the small country church on Sundays, the quarry boy sees her in the family pew listening with upturned face to the preacher, while through the stained windows gleam broad bars of rich and gorgeous light, which float about her as a gossamer, and surround the gentle face as with a glory tint. [162]

The Blue Mountains of our neighbour New South Wales, are, it has been said, the metropolis of Elfland. On those grand cliffs are caves where grim giants lie in wait ready to be summoned by the fathers and mothers of naughty, disobedient children. Away down in the cool dells the fairies hold their councils and their balls, and many a merry frolic have they when the ghosts are asleep and snoring.

I am going to tell you about giants in this story—about two giants, one called Fog, and the other named Duty, and when the tale is finished, you shall tell me which of the giants you like best.

In one of the most lonesome valleys among the mountains lived Harry Podder, a little boy whose father was a poor selector. The selector, his wife, and their only child, were quite alone in their solitude; the dell which they occupied was shut in by high, rugged cliffs, upon whose steep sides [177]grew dwarfed gum-trees, whose outstretched limbs appeared like the expanded wings of gigantic birds of prey, ready to swoop down upon the frail bark-dwelling beneath. Wild, weird, and fantastic was the scene. Here there was no school for Harry to go to, nor neighbours’ children for him to play with. The mother would take him out among the peaks and turrets, and teach him from the open page of Nature around them, until the mind of the lad became almost as strange and wild as his surroundings.

Many a wondrous tale did the fond parent invent as to what the torrent cried in its rushing, headlong course down the mountain side; and what the trees said, as they bent and whispered one to the other in the breeze; and where the clouds were going, and why the thick mists came to kill the flowers and enfold the highest spurs as with a winding sheet. Thus they were a poor but a very happy family.

But a dreadful winter came, which laid the selector on a bed of sickness, and he was very ill indeed. “Harry, my little son,” said his mother, “you must go to Ridgeford for the doctor.”

Ridgeford, the nearest township, was four miles distant, over a rough track across the hills, where lived the only medical man on the range. The [178]boy hung his head, and she had to repeat her injunction.

“Ridgeford, mother! I can’t go. I’m afraid.”

“Afraid, Harry? Afraid of what?”

“Of the giants, mother.”

“Giants, boy? Why, there are no such beings as giants.”

“Oh, mother, but there is. Did you not show me the Giant Fog, that haunts our valley? Why, you and I have watched him take all kind of shapes to hide the sheep from us. He it was who led father into the river, and caused poor old ‘Possum’ here to fall from the cliff.”

“Possum” was a large kangaroo hound, who looked up into his young master’s face as his name was mentioned, and then began to frisk about him.

The mother appeared puzzled for a moment, and then said quietly,—

“Yes, I remember Giant Fog; but, Harry, I know a giant far more powerful than he. Go to the settlement for the doctor, and I will give you a letter to my giant, and he will surely help you even if Fog were to meet you on the way.”

So the mother took a sheet of paper and printed on it in large letters such as Harry could read, “Duty.” [179]

Then she wrapped up the boy as warmly as she could, gave him a note for the doctor, and pinned the message to her giant on his breast. That done, she called “Possum,” the kangaroo hound, and bade him accompany his master.

Little Harry and the dog started off on their errand, while the woman attended to her sick husband. Towards afternoon a thick fog settled on the mountains, and the mother was heard to mutter, “Giant Fog will overtake my poor child, I fear.”

Many times did she go to the windows and look forth in the hope of seeing him and his faithful companion descending the cliff, but each time she was disappointed.

And where was our hero all this time? Such a road as that poor boy had to travel few little boys have ever seen, much less had to traverse alone.

Harry thought little of the road; he walked along bravely, quite proud of his journey, and, above all, his message to the Giant Duty. As he and Possum climbed the hill-side and looked down on many a rugged slope, he almost laughed and said, “I wonder if there are really such things as giants in the mountains after all?”

Arrived at the township the boy gave the letter [180]to the doctor, who ordered some dinner for Harry, then started him and the dog homeward.

“BOTH HE AND THE DOG WERE ENVELOPED IN A DEEP MIST.”

“I hope Giant Fog won’t catch us here, Possum,” cried the youngster, as he mounted the steep crags above Ridgeford in safety. But the words were hardly out of his mouth when both he and the dog were enveloped in a deep mist, whirling and eddying round, till the child was quite giddy and terrified. He put his hand to his breast, pressed the talisman his mother had given him, and cried out, “Duty!” Strange, Giant Fog seemed to [181]clear out of the way for a moment, and they stumbled onward down the crest of the mountain; but it soon became evident to Harry that all shadow of the path was lost. Still the brave boy pursued his way, and when his spirits flagged and the dog whined he cried out, “Duty, Possum, Duty!”

At length they emerged out upon a ledge of ridges with deep ravines intervening. Below the fog looked inky black.

Our hero paused, and Possum rubbed himself against him and looked up whimpering in his face. “Never mind, old boy,” said Harry. “Even if this is the very castle of Giant Fog, we have Duty with us. On, Possum, on.”

The kangaroo hound drew back. The boy pressed forward, and in a moment he felt he was falling rapidly through the air.

How long poor Harry lay at the base of those cruel crags he could not say, but when he recovered consciousness the dog’s cold nose was against his cheek. When he attempted to rise from the ground he found one of his little arms hung useless at his side and sharp pains darted through every limb. The tears started to his eyes, for he was but a little fellow.

“Giant Fog has done us a bad turn, Possum; [182]yet Giant Duty will help us all right,” he muttered, and fell back with a groan of pain.

The dark night fell o’er the mountains. Patiently the mother waited and watched for the return of her son. In her anxiety she was about to issue forth in quest of him when the doctor made his appearance.

“Where is Harry?” he inquired eagerly.

“Not come back yet.”

“No, I made all haste to overtake him, but the fog is so thick I have missed him on the way.”

While they were talking Possum dashed into the house, and without more ado began to tug at the dress of the woman with might and main, and with whines and barkings asked as plain as dog could ask for them to follow him.

The woman understood the mute appeal. Accompanied by the doctor they hastened after Possum, who led them over spurs and ridges to where lay his insensible boy-master.

Tenderly did the kind doctor lift the exhausted child, skilfully did he treat him, and faithfully did the mother nurse and tend him; but for weeks it was doubtful who was to have the victory—the good or the bad giant.

But at last one day Harry opened his eyes and [183]said, “Mother, I hope the doctor came and made father well again?”

“Yes, my darling, the doctor has cured father.”

“I’m so glad, mother. Giant Fog was very cruel, but Giant Duty brought me home to you in spite of him; so if the doctor has made father well, it’s all right. Ah! Possum. Here, Possum, old boy!” [184]

That great painter of animals, Sir Edwin Landseer, never sketched a nobler specimen of the canine race than the big, black, curly Newfoundland dog, Sailor, the hero of our story. He was a fine, faithful dog, and almost as large as a young foal, and every bit as frisky and as harmless, save when teased by naughty boys. If you tried ever so hard you couldn’t hide anything from Sailor. You might fasten him in a room and then attempt to conceal a ball, or a piece of wood, in the garden or the stables, but the moment you set him free Sailor would hunt the object out and return with it in his mouth. Besides being sagacious, the faithful brute could dive and swim like a fish; that is why he received such a suitable name.

Captain Hauser, of the barque South Australian, had brought him from India when but a puppy, but now the worthy captain had settled down ashore with his two boys at Anchordale on the [222]River Murray, and the dog had become almost one of the family circle.

On a very hot afternoon, and when the New Year was scarcely a score of days old, Bertie Hauser and his cousin, Tom Blake, took it into their heads to have a row down the river. Anchordale was a pleasant cottage situated on the bank of the Murray, with a tiny skiff fastened to a stout post at the end of the orchard.

Bertie was only eight years of age, and Tom one year older; but the boat being so small and light they managed to get afloat and paddled away in high glee down the river. The dog, Sailor, was the only one who had seen them depart, and he, with wagging tail and out-hanging tongue, had begged, as only dumb animals can, to accompany them on their trip; but Tom Blake said the boat would be swamped with such a cargo, and so the lads had departed without him. Now, although Sailor was dumb, he wasn’t blind. Neither was the poor brute wanting in instinct. Many a day he had acted as a substitute for a pony for little Bertie, and had even suffered the child to put a string into his mouth for a bridle, and had trotted or cantered and walked up and down the lawn according to the whim of his infantile rider. Indeed, Sailor was a kind old dog, [223]and probably thought it his duty to guard the person of his young master, on land or on the water.

Perhaps this instinct prompted the Newfoundland to crawl cat-like through the dense scrub on the bank of the river and keep the skiff in view. Be that as it may, the dog never lost sight of them for a moment. He saw Tom Blake guide the boat into a wide part of the stream, and where the banks were very high and almost as steep as the gable of a house.

“Oh, Bertie, here’s the place for a bathe. Are you game?” asked Tom, rocking the boat.

Bertie assented. They found a little cove, where they landed, and made fast the skiff; then ascending the high bank they began to prepare for the water. Both boys had been taught to swim—as all boys should be—but Bertie and his cousin had been warned not to bathe down the river, because there were places teeming with snags and dangerous undercurrents. Tom and his companion had forgotten all about the caution. The water at this spot appears very dark and still and cool, with the shadows of the overhanging trees upon it, and the drooping branches of the willows laving to and fro on its bosom with a dreamy sound. [224]

“What a frightful jump!” cried Bertie, approaching the brink timidly, and looking over at the river beneath. “It’s a high leap, Tom; hadn’t we better go a little farther down?”

“Not at all,” responds Tom, swinging his arms about above his head. “I like a good header; you stand there and watch me dive.”

Bertie stands aside and watches him. Tom retires several paces, starts forward with a short, quick run, and springs headforemost from the cliff into the river. For a moment the waters bubble and widen out in circling eddies over the broad expanse. Bertie Hauser stands looking down trying to trace the white, shapely form of his cousin cleaving through the dark stream, expecting to see him rise to the surface twenty yards away from where he plunged in. But many seconds go by, and Tom Blake rises not, and poor Bertie, in an agony of suspense, calls to him to “come up at once, or he will be drownded,” as if the treacherous element would part its substance and carry his weak voice below, to its holes and caves, where his companion is struggling for his little life.

“Tom, Tom, dear cousin Tom,” cries the child on the bank, as the truth begins to dawn upon him that Tom is drowning. “Oh! what shall I do to help him? What shall I do?” When lo! old [225]Sailor comes bounding towards him with a joyous bark. The boy clutches his favourite by the ears and draws him forward to the brink of the river, where, pointing down to the water, he urges on the dog with voice and gesture. “Ho, Sailor, fetch him out, old fellow, go on—bring him out.”

Sailor needs no second bidding. Before Bertie has the words out of his mouth, the dog comprehends the whole business, and leaps into the water and disappears. How anxiously the child watches for his re-appearance! At a spot half way up the stream, he observes the water begin to whirl and eddy and bubble upward, as being disturbed by a great commotion beneath; and here Sailor rises to the surface, and blows the water from his snout, like a whale; but the dog is alone. There is no sign of poor Tom Blake. Little Bertie becomes sick and faint with terror, but the boy does not lose his presence of mind. He has every confidence in the Newfoundland’s strength and courage.

“Ho, Sailor, fetch him out, old boy, bring him out.”

Downward plunges the gallant dog again, while his young master, naked as he is, rushes down to the skiff, jumps in, and pushes into midstream, running athwart the dog, as he rises once more. [226]This time Sailor has something in his mouth, but the boat knocking against him causes him to let go. Yet he dives after it, and appears again in a moment with the drowning boy. Sailor has clutched him firmly by the hair of the head, and the dog’s great red eyes are all aflame as he buoys up the insensible child and paddles the water with ponderous strokes and lands him safe upon the bank.

What avail little Bertie’s terms of endearment and the affectionate appeals he makes to his still, silent cousin? Tom Blake is deaf. And although Bertie may make a hundred promises of bats and guns and ponies poor Tom cannot hear him.

It is fortunate that two men with swags upon their backs are passing at the time, who carry the unfortunate youth into the sunlight, and rub his body vigorously with their hands until the vitality that was almost extinct begins to revive again within him.

When Tom had partly recovered and could speak, he told his uncle, the captain, that when he dived he struck his head against a snag, which rendered him insensible, and no doubt in that state he was being carried away by the current when the dog found him.

And poor Tom was grateful for the service, for [227]when he was quite well he bought the Newfoundland a grand collar, and had the following inscription engraven on it:—

“Sailor,

“Rescued Tom Anson Blake from drowning on the 18th January, 187-, at Anchordale, River Murray.”

[228]

They came to the boy one night when he was abed, and said they would take him with them in their fairy balloon.

Willie Fenton told his father and mother that he had seen the elfins, and what they had promised him, but they only laughed at him and told him he had been dreaming.

Our hero wasn’t to be convinced that it was only a dream. Hadn’t he seen them—three fairy creatures no higher than his top—enter his bedroom through the keyhole, and seat themselves on his pillow, and begin talking about the glorious sights to be seen in the clouds?

If Willie Fenton had been born up in a balloon his youthful fancy could not have been imbued with a greater passion for the sport. Indeed, since he was a child of four or five years old our youthful aeronaut had blown soap bubbles, and had watched them soar away in the sun, glistening with all the hues of the rainbow, and his dreams [244]at night and aspirations by day had been to emulate those daring spirits who surpassed the mighty eagle in his flight into the bright blue sky above the clouds.

Willie’s home, situated on Mount Pleasant, was in the vicinity of many a romantic spot calculated to favour the elves in their adventure, and one fine morning, as the lad was returning from a neighbouring farm, he espied his three nocturnal visitors seated under a large gum-tree awaiting him. Willie recognised them in a moment, and doffing his cap said, “Good-morning, gentlemen.”

The fairies rose and saluted him, and answered that they were quite ready to fulfil their promises. Our hero thanked them for their kindness, and at the same time expressed himself quite ready to accompany them. Whereupon the three elves conducted him in silence along a narrow ravine which opened out on a still, quiet glen on the banks of the river. Fastened securely between two huge trees, Willie beheld a great, pear-shaped thing, swaying to and fro with the motion of the breeze, and at which the elves pointed and said, “Behold, our cloud car.”

“IT WAS A GRAND BALLOON.”

Yes, it was a grand balloon, already inflated and with a cage attached, bordered with wild roses and creepers, that reached from the apex of the [245]monster down to the car beneath, which hung suspended, like a flower-pot in a balcony. How it surged and struggled desperately with the wind, as if it were endowed with life, and wished to escape from fastenings that held it, and soar upward! And how frail it appeared, as Willie approached and examined it! Was it made of cloth? No, too fine for cloth. Cotton? Nay, it was too soft for cotton, or silk either. Yet the whole fabric seemed no weightier than a gossamer. The fairies smiled at the boy’s curiosity, and invited [246]him to enter the car. Our little hero had no sooner complied than the elfins seated themselves at his side. And one of them, who had a bright diadem glittering upon his breast, stood up and waved his hand as a signal, when instantly the balloon shot aloft with inconceivable velocity.

The young mortal closed his eyes and held his breath for one brief moment; but when he looked forth, the earth appeared to be miraculously vanishing from his sight. Although the ascent was fearfully rapid, the motion of the balloon was quite imperceptible. The morning was bright and sunny, the sky a deep, Prussian blue, and as the boy craned his neck over the cage and gazed below, what a glorious sight met his view. There stretched beneath him were the golden valleys of his birthplace, with hundreds of farms dotting the landscape, and no bigger than a child’s toy. From his elevated position the houses were as so many dots, and the people in the fields as tiny ants. The flowing Torrens, that had seemed so broad and deep, appeared as a silver thread, and the high cliffs and hills were on a level with the dull round earth. Willie Fenton felt not the least alarm; on the contrary, his courage rose with the balloon, as it sped upward to the sky. The elfin with the diadem threw out some pieces of paper, which [247]seemed to drop like stones. This, however, was not so, but only the effect of the terrible rate at which they were travelling. Higher, higher, still higher. Now they disappeared from view, in a thick vapour forming the white clouds, which looked so light and fleecy from earth. The balloon did not remain long in these, but quickly rose into a clear atmosphere beyond. And here the scene changed to one splendid in the extreme. Above them nothing but the big round sun, and the deep azure of the heavens. Beneath no dingy earth, dim and gloomy, but a brilliant sea of sparkling cloud, rose tinted, dancing and flashing in the sun’s rays. The cloud completely hid everything below, and lay beneath like a huge, rolling billow, the top of which flashed back the sunlight till our hero almost fancied it was a wave of driven snow spangled with diamonds. How long Willie might have remained in his rapt trance of wonder it is hard to say, but he was aroused by a feeling of cold, and a difficulty in breathing.

“Our mortal friend will find it very chilly up here,” said Pippin, who wore the diadem, answering the boy’s unspoken words.

“It has grown very cold indeed, gentlemen,” rejoined Willie, his teeth chattering as he spoke.

“Ha, ha! Listen to him, Needle; hear him, [248]Bobbin; he’s beginning to cry out already!” cried Pippin to his companions. “Cold, eh? Well, we have a cure for cold, and for frost and snow—whole mountains of it. Eh, Needle?” As Pippin spoke, he unrolled a parcel which had been lying unnoticed at the bottom of the car, and produced a cloak made of the same material as the balloon. Without more ado they enveloped Willie from head to heel in the garment, with just sufficient space left clear about his eyes so that he could see, the rest of him being completely covered. In a few moments he began to breathe more freely, and the rarity of the air made no impression upon him at all.

“You feel all right now, Willie Fenton?” questioned Bobbin. Willie mumbled, and nodded his head in the affirmative.

“Let us mount higher then, my brethren. Excelsior!” exclaimed Pippin of the diadem. “Bold indeed the mortal who first conceived and carried out the idea of making the unstable element water subservient to his genius, as witness the ships that come and go on the bosom of the ocean; but it is left to us, the elves of Australia, to curb the air and make it do our bidding. Higher and higher go we, to show this mortal the wonders of the upper world.”

Upward still, beyond the cloud which breaks [249]for a moment and gives them a glimpse of the sea, and the coast-line away to the westward seeming no broader than a single thread. And now the cold became intense, but the fairies and their companion felt it not, for their gaze was fixed upon a sight that no emperor or king had ever seen—and perchance never would. If all the diamonds in that rich valley visited by Sinbad the Sailor, also all the gems which Aladdin’s lamp could have procured, and all that ever have been seen in the world had been pressed into the service—they would have failed utterly in producing one tithe of the strange sight Willie now saw. The whole dome of the balloon was covered as it were in a diamond mantle. A shower of glittering gems was falling in all directions, apparently coming from the blue void above, and sprinkling down, with a fluttering motion like that of butterflies, and then disappearing in the vast abyss below.

Lost in amazement at this marvellous vision, the boy frees one of his hands, and reaches to catch one of the heavenly gems; but he discovers the diamond shower is in reality only thin sheets of newly-formed ice.

The elves laugh at him and the look of wonder on his face. And Pippin explains in a grave [250]tone, “Boy, we have entered a region where some watery vapour hath been, which the cold hath turned into ice, and now being heavier than the atmosphere falls fluttering to the earth. Towards the earth, I say, since I know well it will never reach it, because before it can do so it will encounter a warmer region, when the ice will again become water and the water vapour. Do you understand?”

“Oh yes. It’s the vapour which makes the clouds, isn’t it?” answered Willie.

“Just so,” replied the elfin. “And now having fulfilled our promise, we will descend again to old mother earth.”

Like a streak of light the fairy balloon shot downward through the glittering, diamond shower, through the mist and cloud, until the bright landscape appeared in view. The elfins, Pippin, Needle, and Bobbin, landed Willie safely by the river-bank, and the boy reached home just in time for dinner.

*   *   *

The three elves still haunt that dell by the Torrens, so if any of my readers are anxious for a trip in the fairy balloon, I have no doubt Messrs. Pippin & Co. will be only too glad to oblige them—that is, if they are at home. [251]

Mount with me, my little friends, upon the wings of fancy. Don’t be alarmed—the conveyance is perfectly safe, and warranted free from accidents. Hi, Presto! Here we stand upon the famous Blue Mountains of our neighbour, whose glens, dells, and deep ravines are haunted by creatures beautiful beyond conception, and grotesque, and stranger than any painter dreamed of. Yonder, on the mountain-side, the western train is seen puffing its way along the gigantic “zigzag,” like a huge serpent, and whose hot breath takes weird shapes before it is lost in the blue haze above it. Beneath, on that natural terrace of rock, stands the humble hut of the charcoal-burner, whose single window overlooks a deep valley of monster trees—fallen and half-buried amongst great blocks of stone and rank vegetation.

But who is that woman who is wringing her hands, and calling and weeping by turns, as she runs to and fro among the chaos of undergrowth [252]and the ledges around? It is the wife of the charcoal-burner, and she calls for her two children, who have wandered away and become lost in this wild region. It was early morn when they strolled forth to play—Edith and Winnie, both little toddlers, and quite helpless—yet the sun is on the rim of the horizon and they cannot be found.

“Coo-ee, coo-ee!—Winnie—Edie, my darlings, where are you? Oh, where are you?” cries the poor mother; and her voice grows faint and weary as she calls to the echoing cliffs about. She becomes aware that some one is answering her as she is about to retrace her steps to the hut. The voice is far off at first, but it becomes gradually nearer and nearer, until a rough mountain goat with long horns presents itself before her.

“I am here. What do you want with me?” it said, bowing itself before her.

It was a beautiful animal, with a soft, white, silky fleece, and large, kind-looking eyes, while its voice sounded so full of sympathy that the suffering mother answered readily,—

“Oh, sir! I have lost my two children; pray tell me, have you seen them?”

“I have seen them,” answered the goat. “And if you have sufficient courage to follow my advice [253]they shall soon be restored to you. I am the guardian sprite of this glen, which my race have occupied since the Flood. Here on this mountain are two kingdoms; the one on the surface called Love; the other, beneath the surface, termed Hate. We are ever at war with each other; therefore, I am here to serve you. Learn, O mortal, that Croak and Gloom, of the lower world, have stolen your children, and they have hid them within the bowels of the mountains.”

“Then they are dead, and I shall never see them more,” replied the woman, falling on her knees and weeping bitterly.

“I have said they shall be restored to you again,” replied the goat quickly. “My power is far mightier than the whole nation of Hate combined. Have you faith that I can help you?”

“Yes,” she answered, “because Love is stronger than Hate.”

“Good. Extend your hand and pluck a tuft of hair from my right side, roll it in your fingers, then twist it round your finger above your wedding-ring.”

The charcoal-burner’s wife did as the goat desired her, but she had scarcely finished before the animal vanished from her sight, and she felt herself bodily lifted up, and borne away over the deep ravine, [254]and across over-hanging cliffs and the tops of tall trees, and away down into a yawning chasm, which seemed like a deep and bottomless well. Down, down, she went swiftly, yet with an easy, sliding motion that was not at all unpleasant, while she felt no fear, save for the fate of her little ones. She had a feeling of a powerful presence being near and about her—extending from the finger on which was twisted the goat’s hair round and round her person, and beneath her feet, like the strong net-work of a balloon. Even when the void grew dim and black, a strange glow, emanating from the ring, lit up the darkness and revealed to her wondering eyes many earth-bound treasures. Here gleamed thick seams of coal, and there slabs of tin and copper ores, and beyond these shone white masses of stone, like marble, with thick veins of gold therein, which sparkled athwart the woman’s eyes, and made her almost forget her children, so great became her desire to possess some of it While she cogitated she suddenly became conscious that she was upon her feet, standing before a large cavern gate, guarded by a tall griffin, who cried out the moment he espied her, “Who dare enter into the realm of Hate?”

And the woman answered quickly, “Love. Love [255]dares everything, because, being pure, it is fearless. I have come to demand my children.”

“THE MONSTER … ADVANCED WITH A LARGE STONE.”

The monster laughed at her, and advanced with a large stone to dash out her brains; but the white goat, transformed now into a handsome youth, with a sharp, gleaming sword in his hand, advanced boldly to the rescue, and soon defeated the grim warder, took his keys without more ado, and opening several doors, led his companion through a labyrinth of caves until they reached a second gate guarded like the first, the warder having the [256]body of an ass and the head of a wolf. “Who knocks at the gates of Hate?” he said fiercely.

“Love,” answered the valiant fairy, waving his sword.

“Love isn’t wanted here,” replied the monster. “Begone! Or I will kill you both.” Whereupon he opened the gate and advanced towards them; but the elfin engaged him at once, and so great was his power that he overturned the creature in a moment.

“Now, Malice, I have thee,” cried the brave sprite sternly. “Yield up thy keys and get thee hence, and hide thyself, together with Envy, at the outer gate, for if I find you here on my return I will slay you both.”

Malice gave up his keys and ran howling along the rocky caverns of the place; while Love, the elfin, led the woman onward through a catacomb of dismal vapour, which ended in a series of arched chambers, draped and festooned with sheets of solid gold. The horrid creatures who inhabited the place were hideous and frightful to behold. Some had two heads, others were without legs or arms; many crawled like snakes, and not a few presented the appearance of being half man and half beast. These monsters fled in all directions at the sight of Love, and so he passed onward [257]unmolested until he came to Cavernous Hall—the palace of Croak and Gloom—and here he found the two great chiefs of Hate with the children, Winnie and Edith. The hall was filled with the rank and fashion of the nation to see the wonderful mortals of the upper world; and into their midst walked Love and the woman hand-in-hand.

“Who are these strange people?” cried the terrible voice of Gloom, grasping the little ones in his arms, for they had uttered a glad cry at sight of their mother.

“My children! Oh, give me my children!” pleaded the woman.

“Mortal, how came you here?” inquired the grim Croak.

“It was I who guided her hither,” answered the elfin.

“Then thou shalt die,” exclaimed the vast throng, as with one voice.

“Not all your hosts of this dim region nor your power can destroy me. Dash me to pieces against the rugged walls of your palace, burn me to ashes, and scatter them to the vapours, still I shall rise up stronger, in some other form to give you battle. Give the woman her little ones.”

“Beware! Let the race of this mortal give us back our stolen treasures. They have invaded [258]our domain, and have rifled it of some of its richest treasures. Through soil and rock and granite they have delved down, down into this under world, until we could hear the ring of their tools. And we have seen them change our dim regions into a wilderness.”

While Croak uttered these words the elfin glided swiftly forward, seized the children, and placing them safely in the mother’s arms, cried hurriedly, “Begone; run to the outer gate, and my power shall bear you company and carry you swiftly to the upper air. Quick!”

And the woman, pressing her babes tightly to her throbbing bosom, fled away, and rising through the mists which obscure the lower world, regained the hut on the cliff; while Love battled with the legions of Hate, and battles with them still—ay! and will battle with them to the end of time. [259]

Open the window, wide. How serene and peaceful it is out yonder, where the stars gleam and sparkle—some faint and small as a diamond speck, others large, clear, and dazzling, as the eyes of angels gazing through the dim void earthward to that little room where Baby sleeps the sleep of death. It may have been the shadowing of that radiance, attendant on the sinless ones, whom we call angels, which had cast athwart the infant’s features a sheen of glory, and changed them into the seeming of a sleeping cherub, or perchance the immortal glow that shimmered, widening and circling as it fell, was but the forerunner of that celestial band who bridge space and suffer little children to go unto Him!

See the mother kneeling beside her dead babe, her slender frame convulsed with agony. Not a tear, not a sob, that breaks forth for her lost [260]darling but freights its newly awakened soul and holds it backward from the angels. How can it soar while the kindred spirit below wails its absence, and every moan shouts, trumpet tongued, “Come back! Come back!”

“It was my world,” she says, “my whole world, and it has gone from me like a vision. Alas! Common things live on; earth’s mighty heart still throbs! Creation lifts its voice in sea and air, and in the world’s great mart. Music, life, and motion are everywhere, save in my babe.”

Alas! for thee, fond mother, whose vision mounts no higher than the baby’s cot. Alas! for thee!

Frail, yet beautiful, were the creatures who entered at the open window. Softly as kindly thoughts that gathered round the infant sleeper in wonder, and laid a ring of flowers about it, until they formed a rosy cradle. And then, as the sighing wind or those more delicate strains heard in dreams, the voices of the elfins rose upon the stillness of the night like silver bells.

Solemn was their chant, and weird and fanciful, which anon changed to lighter vein and measure. The mourner heard the sounds, and wondered as the cadence rose and fell upon her grief-dulled ears, but the singers were invisible to her. [261]

As a single drop of water contains things with life and being, which cannot be seen with the naked eye, so in space dwell the creatures of the imagination, both wise and beautiful, being full of love and sympathy for mankind and goodwill towards women and young children. Show me a selfish, disobedient boy, or a naughty girl, who ever saw a fairy. You can’t. I defy you to produce one. But many a bright youth and pretty maiden, who love truth and obedience better than play or lollies, can testify that the lovely persons who came to them in dreams were the same who now stood round the cradle of the dead baby.

How these wee people had loved it, and had [262]kept watch and ward over it, ever since they had espied it in its basket cradle downstairs! Fresh from the mysterious star-world, of which they knew nothing, they had marvelled at it, and had crowed and cooed and sung to it, until it had begun to know them, and answer after its fashion, and laugh, and shake its fat, dimpled fists and crow too.

How they had watched it when it slept, and filled its tiny brain with innocent visions pure as the setting sun! How they had caused their magic to mantle its slumber, and the little rosebud mouth to open out in smiles! How silent and still now! No smile parts the pale lips. Not all the witchcraft in Fairyland, nor all the songs sung by sprite or fay to fretful babyhood, can lift but even one slender hair from those drooping eyelids which shroud the dim, blue eyes.

“Baby’s dead,” said one, and “Dead, dead, dead,” repeated all the elfin circle.

“Let us bear it hence unto the open glade. The bright beams of the morning sun will bring back its look of gladness, and we shall hear its voice again.”

“Ay, bear it hence,” replied the chorus.

Cradled in the wild flowers they had spread around it, the elfins carried off their silent burden, and laid it gently within a scented grove, and as the glorious morn broke forth to life and gladness, [263]the birds gathered together in the fairy haunt and sang a requiem.

Up rose the sun and filled the dell with golden splendour. Its shining beams spread through the foliage in amber-coloured radiance, and played about the fair head of the dead baby until the creatures around shrank back in awe at the sight; but the sun brought no light to its eyes, nor smile to its lips. And so they carried the infant back again within its little room, and departed wondering.

Oh, weeping mother, whose bitter tears have drenched thy baby’s winding sheet, had’st thou faith even as a grain of mustard seed in the Master, thou couldst see above thee, beyond that cold, dead clay, the forms of angels bearing thy little one to eternal rest.

Oh, ye parents, shall I preach to you, as well as to your children? Ye who, when your daily task is done, sit brooding o’er the loss of some fondly remembered child, now sleeping its long sleep in death, take heart if ye have loved it; then it is not dead, but lives again within you. Love cannot die, for it is as immortal as the soul. Like Jacob’s ladder, it is the broad pathway from Paradise to earth, by which our little ones come back to us in visions and in dreams to give us assurance of the tender care of God. [264]

Once upon a time an old man and a fairy sat by the wayside talking.

“When the world was first created,” said the elfin, “it was appointed how many years each creature should exist. So the horse came and inquired how long he was to live.

“ ‘Thirty years,’ he was told, and then was asked, ‘Is that sufficient?’

“ ‘Alas!’ replied the beast, ‘that is a long time. Think how many wearisome burdens I shall have to carry from morning to night beneath a hot sun, that man, my master, may eat bread and live at ease, and I receive nothing but blows and hard words, and must yet keep always active and obliging. The time is too long. Take away some of my years, I pray.’

“So the horse was pitied, and a life of only eighteen years was appointed to him. Whereupon he went gladly away; and the dog then made his appearance and asked,— [278]

“ ‘What is the duration of my life?’

“ ‘How long do you wish to live?’ was inquired of him. ‘Thirty years was allotted to the horse, but that was too much for him; perhaps you will be satisfied with that term?’

“ ‘Do you think so?’ answered the dog. ‘Remember how much I shall have to run and bark and bite. My feet will not last the time, and when I have lost my voice and my teeth, and can neither bark nor bite, what will then be for me but to crawl and howl from one corner to another?’

“Therefore the dog’s plea was granted, and twelve years appointed for his age. After which he departed and made room for the monkey.

“ ‘You will live thirty years willingly, no doubt,’ was said to the ape. ‘You need not work like the horse or the dog, and therefore will always be well off.’

“ ‘Indeed, it should be so’ replied Jacko, ‘but I have found it different. Mine is anything but a life of indolence. I must always be aping my betters, and making comical faces for people to laugh at. Many a hard nut I have to crack. And as sadness is often hidden beneath a grin, so have I to show my teeth, even if they are aching with pain. Please shorten the years of my life.’ So ten years were allotted to him. [279]

“Last of all man appeared, healthy and vigorous, and requested a term to be appointed to him.

“ ‘You shall live thirty years,’ was the reply. ‘Is that enough?’

“ ‘What a short time!’ exclaimed the man. ‘Just when I shall have cleared my land, built myself a house, and lighted a fire upon my own hearth, and I am thinking of enjoying life, I must die. I pray let my life be lengthened.’

“ ‘Very well. The eighteen years of the horse shall be added.’

“ ‘That is not sufficient,’ said man.

“ ‘You shall have also twelve years of the dog’s life thereto.’

“ ‘Still too little,’ replied the man.

“ ‘Then you may have the ten years allowed to the monkey, but you must desire no more.’

“Man was then obliged to leave, but he was not satisfied.

“Thus man lives seventy years. The first thirty are the days of his manhood, which pass quickly away; he is then strong and lusty, works with pleasure, and rejoices in his being. Then follow the eighteen years of the life of the horse which brings in its train burdens which he must bear from the rising to the setting of the sun, and wherein blame and abuse often reward him for [280]his labours. Next come the twelve years of the dog, during which man has to sit in corners, because he has lost the power to bark and bite. And when this time is up the ten years of the monkey bring the close of the scene, for in these man becomes foolish, gabbers and jabbers without end, and is fit for nothing but——”

The elfin paused, and gazed earnestly at the mortal.

“But what?” cried the old man.

“But—Death. The portal which leads into the vast unknown, and from which we elves are debarred,” responded the fairy.

“And what is Death?”

“A certainty, O mortal, for all thy race. No more or less than that. Ere I go hence from thee for ever hear this fable:—

“In olden times a giant wrestled with this terrible enemy Death, and vanquished him. As the grim foe lay helpless by the wayside he began to grumble. ‘What will be the consequence of my downfall to the world? If I lie here, then it will be so full and crowded with humanity that they will not be able to move for each other.’

“Just then a young man came up the road, strong and healthy, singing a song, and looking well about him. As soon as he perceived the [281]conquered one he went up to him, and compassionately raising him, bound up his wounds, and nursed him until strength returned.

“ ‘Do you know who I am?’ asked Death, when he was fairly on his legs again.

“ ‘No,’ replied the youth. ‘I know you not.’

“ ‘I am Death,’ he replied. ‘I spare no one, and can take no excuse from you even. But to show you that I am not ungrateful, I promise not to take you unawares, but I will send my messengers before I come and fetch you.’

“ ‘Very well,’ said the young man, ‘that is a bargain. Until your harbingers come I shall be safe from you.’

“With this understanding the mortal pursued his way merrily, and lived in prosperity for some time; but youth and health will not remain for ever. Pain and sickness and grief came, and the man complained that there was no rest for him night or day. ‘I shall not die,’ he said, ‘for Death must first send his messengers; but I wish these fearful days of illness were over.’

“Health returned again, and he began to live as usual. One day, somebody knocked at the window, and looking round he saw Death standing behind him. ‘Follow me,’ he said.

“ ‘How so?’ exclaimed the mortal. ‘Will you [282]break the promise that you made to me, that your servants should first give me notice ere you appeared? I have not seen them.’

“ ‘Be silent,’ replied Death. ‘Have I not sent you one messenger after another? Did not fever come and seize you and lay you prostrate? Did not racking pain oppress your limbs, noises sound in your ears, a dimness cover your eyes? Above all, did not my twin brother, Sleep, remind you every night that I should come?’

“And the man knew not what to reply, and was therefore taken away.”

When the elfin had thus spoken he vanished from the mortal’s view. [283]

I, Martin Crowe, am a book-loving vagabond. Reading hath charms for me not to be found in men or women. My few quaint volumes are my companions and my friends. True, I cannot borrow money from, or use them according to my worldly necessity; nevertheless, they speak to me in many voices, some in tones of deep wisdom, others in the witchery of suggestive imagery, until my humble study, with its scanty furniture and bare walls, vanish altogether from my outward senses.

It is late. On this long winter night I have been deep into the pages of the famous astronomer, Newton; and although I have laid down the book before me on the table, my mind is still busy at the threshold of the mysterious realm of Nature, to which I have been introduced by the wand of the magician. If knowledge is power, it sometimes happens that the power does not bring happiness in its train, but often assumes strange shapes. [284]As I sat and looked with vacant eyes at what, for the moment, I saw not, behold the table before me became gradually luminous. At first the light was flickering and uncertain, rising and falling in a shapeless mass, but it quickly brightened into a spiral-shaped luminary, which presently assumed the form of a venerable old man.

I cannot venture an opinion as to the means employed by my strange visitor for his entrance into my chamber, any more than you can explain to me the manifestations of clairvoyance and electro-biology.

From the first appearance of the light, and during the subsequent gradations which qualified my vision to discover a personage with the aspect of a seer of the olden time standing at my side, I have no clear idea of anything save that of being held by an all-powerful spell towards him. I had studied animal magnetism, and curative mesmerism under Tom Buckland, and knew a thing or two with reference to passes, currents, and counter-currents, but I found my will ebbing away before the steady fingers and calm eyes of the stranger, whose stronger influence seemed to wrap me round and round as with a band of steel, utterly powerless to speak or move, except at the will of my companion. Yet I felt my sensations [285]in rapid play to all around me. Nay, more, the sense of hearing and observation seemed marvellously quickened within me, and the intensity of thought brightened from the gross element which had previously partially obscured it. The shape found voice, and addressed me:—

“Young man, I am the guardian of Nature’s chief secrets,” it said, replying to the unasked question on my lip. “Men call me Knowledge, but my name is Science. What dost thou want with me?”

I found the power of speech return to me ere the last words were uttered.

“Let me behold some of Nature’s secrets,” I cried eagerly.

“Thou art a bold mortal.”

“I am earnest. Even as the aspiring thoughts that meet me in this book, I would soar and know.”

“Of course,” replied the voice. “Although I come to thee in fairy form and guise, I am the servant of thought. It was not the uttered word that did summon me, but the force of the inward wish to understand within thee. Well, I am here. If thou wouldst see some of the giants of the future, follow me.”

I had no will but to follow him, as he led the way out of the doorway into the silent night, under [286]the whispering trees beyond the city, across the bridge of the river, and away to the summit of a hill, with the waves of the gulf thundering at its base.

“All human knowledge commences in dreams,” he said in a low tone. “Trance hovers over measureless secrets, and forms the first faint bridge between them and thought. Look steadfastly on the moon yonder.”

I obeyed in silence. I had no power otherwise than to obey. As I gazed, the pale orb of night appeared to expand and dilate until its luminous circumference diffused all space, and in the midst of this shining atmosphere I became aware of a strange sense of heavenly liberty pervading my whole being. It seemed as if hitherto I had been bound with a strong chain, which had suddenly snapped asunder, and had yielded me unutterable freedom from the body, and had imparted a bird-like lightness which floated me into space itself. Through this space a swift succession of shadowy landscapes rolled; mountains, trees, cities, ships, and inland seas glided along, like the drifting clouds seen in a stormy sky, until at length, settled and stationary, I saw a vast cave in the heart of a gloomy forest.

“Enter, and beware of Fear,” cried the voice at [287]my side. At the sound the ecstasy and lightness which had been upon me faded away, and a sort of languor seized my frame, without communicating itself to the mind.

Downward by a stairway of rugged rock I was led into what seemed a terrible abyss. Round and round in spiral form we descended for many miles, amid noises loud and new to me, when our farther progress was abruptly stopped by a massive door formed in the solid rock, and which was guarded by monsters of various shapes, called Ignorance. Erect and threatening they rose to crush me, but at sight of my conductor they fell down again in abject submission and opened the door; whereupon we passed into a mighty cavern, so wide and so lofty that its magnitude astounded me, its limit reaching far beyond my range of vision. Here I beheld huge giants, mightier than ever appeared in legend or fairy tale. Many were toiling hard, some lay reclining, as if just awakened from a deep sleep; while others slumbered peacefully. Dim and indistinct as the light here glimmered, I could see the ponderous shapes plainly. With the will to question my guide came the power of speech.

“Who is yonder fellow,” I asked, “seated astride the trident rock? What huge limbs he has!” [288]

“That is young Australia,” replied the voice. “The ages have cradled him. He is only a baby awakened out of his first sleep. I predict the infant will develop into a magnificent giant by-and-by,” rejoined the voice.

“What is the name of this powerful-looking creature here with the gigantic head?” I inquired, pointing to a monster who seemed but just awakened from a long nap.

“Electricity. It is a name but little known as yet,” replied the sage, “but your children will see this new land filled with its wonders. You see the giant has only been disturbed, not awakened.”

“Why do they not rouse him up to action, O wise sage?”

“Because the time for him to use his great and varied powers has not come,” answered the voice gravely. “Powers wrested from Nature for the benefit of mankind may be also turned into a scourge for the innocent. A Titan war is waging ever among men, the good for ever on the defensive, the bad for ever in assault. Perchance ’tis well the giant sleeps.”

“There is another giant standing near Electricity, whose proud look I have often noted on the faces of men I have met. Who is he?” [289]

“He is called Money, otherwise Cash, often Hard Cash,” replied the voice in answer. “Truly he is a powerful fellow. Sometimes great and god-like in his liberality, at other times he is mean and selfish. Mark what an affinity between him and the prostrate monster. In the far-off future, I see them hand-in-hand together, working a wonderful change on the face of Nature and in the condition of mankind.” A faint smile passed across the features of the sage as he uttered the words.

“One question more. Pray tell me the name of yon noble creature who seems as though he were able to prop the globe single-handed?”

“Ah, that is the twin brother of young Australia, and his name is Enterprise,” added the voice proudly. “Up and doing, early and late, ever active and daring in speculation. Australian Enterprise has promised that this, his country, shall be the commercial focus of the earth some time in the future, which shall also uprouse these slumbering giants.”

The voice ceased speaking; but another voice, well known to my waking ears as that of my landlady, filled the vacuum, with the following choice sentence:—

“Mr. Crowe, I hopes you remember that I’m a [290]widder with five innercent children to keep, and can’t afford to let you fall asleep and burn every drop of ile out of the lamp for a guinea a week, washing included! There now!” [291]

Every one who knew Tiny Thumbcake loved him. He was one of eleven brothers and sisters, and the smallest mite that was ever born in the land of the cornstalk.

Tiny, though very diminutive in body, was nevertheless a hardy fellow who could run and jump like a kangaroo; moreover, he possessed the gift of knowing the language of all animals and birds, and these nicknamed him “Hop-o’-my-thumb.”

The Thumbcakes were poor people, and Tiny, who loved the wild bush, determined to try his fortune as a pioneer squatter. In conversation with an old wallaby, who used to pay him periodical visits, Tiny learned that there was a vast district owned by a giant aborigine named “Slubber,” where no white man had ever been and which was supposed by everybody to be a dreary wilderness without river, or lake, or anything to sustain life in the way of game. Tiny Thumbcake, or as we [326]shall call him, Hop-o’-my-thumb, was both surprised and delighted at the news imparted to him by the wallaby—namely, that the Unknown Country, ruled over by Slubber the Giant, was both beautiful and fertile, and one of the finest climates under the Southern Cross.

And so in due time, guided by the faithful wallaby, our hero came to the country of Slubber, and took up his abode in a rich and well-watered valley, beside a high mountain, and here he formed a fine station for rearing cattle and sheep. For a whole year our little man remained hard at work unmolested.

One fine summer day a scarlet and green parrot alighted near where the little squatter was at work on his orchard fence.

“Good-day, Hop-o’-my-thumb,” said the bird.

“Good-day, my friend,” returned the wee man, politely raising his hat and bowing. “I’m glad to see you. What can I do for you, eh?”

“Nothing at present, thank you. I was sent by King Stork to warn you that Slubber the Giant is on his way here to destroy you,” answered the parrot.

Poor Hop-o’-my-thumb, though not wanting in pluck, became much disturbed at the news. “Are you quite certain of what you say?” he asked of the parrot. [327]

“Oh, quite,” rejoined the messenger decidedly. “King Stork and the giant are great friends. He heard Slubber say that he would slay you or any white riff-raff who dared to set foot in his territory, and saw him start off straightway down the mountain to carry out his threat, therefore I posted off to warn you.”

“Thank you very much,” said poor Hop-o’-my-thumb. “Slubber is a big, selfish wretch. I have as much right to make a home here as he has, and I mean to show him I am not at all afraid of his bullying.”

“Bravo!” cried the parrot, flapping his wings in glee. “You’re a lad of mettle, and I’m glad you intend to try and take the blackfellow down a peg. Do you know, he is the most vile beast living and a great liar. Don’t trust him a bit. If he finds he cannot kill you with his huge waddy, or spear you unawares, he will want to parley with you, and take you on his knee, in friendly fashion. Be careful, Hop, my boy. Don’t let the wretch lay a finger on you, if you can help it”.

“Thank you, I’ll take every precaution,” said Hop-o’-my-thumb coolly.

“We all like you very much, my dear little Hop,” added the bird kindly; “what is more, we are determined to help you against Slubber if we [328]can. Your friend Jack, the wallaby, is waiting behind yonder ridge, with some possum friends and one or two native bears, in case you need assistance. Hark! Do you hear that noise? That’s the giant; he hasn’t lost much time on the road. Look! Yonder he comes.”

Half way down the mountain-side a gigantic blackfellow, tall as a tree, and with a great woolly head (not unlike the big ball that is hoisted at noon on the flagstaff at the Observatory), came thundering down the stony ridges in tremendous leaps and bounds, and at the same time roaring out a hoarse shout of vengeance. He was quite nude, save for a segment of covering round his middle, and he brandished aloft a monstrous waddy, which was large enough to have felled an elephant.

“Where is that insignificant rascal who has dared to enter the domain of Slubber?” cried the angry monster, striding into the valley and confronting our hero, who did not flinch in the least before his dreaded enemy.

“Now, mite, what hast thou to say ere I slay thee?” cried the giant, at the same time whirling his club round his head with a noise like thunder.

“Try it,” said Hop-o’-my-thumb, keenly watching every movement of his adversary. [329]

“ ‘THOU ART VERY STRONG FOR SO SMALL A MAN.’ ”

“Insolent atom, take that,” and Slubber aimed a blow at the little fellow, which if it had taken effect would have crushed our hero into a pulp; but Hop-o’-my-thumb nimbly avoided the giant’s bludgeon, and getting between the monster’s legs, gave him a cut with a sharp adze he had been using, which made Slubber roar with pain. It might have gone hard with the brave wee squatter at this moment, for the giant, reaching down, was about to clutch his small assailant, when the [330]parrot came to the rescue. He flew full butt against Slubber’s face and nearly blinded him, and Hop-o’-my-thumb, taking full advantage of the bird’s help, gave his ugly foe such a slashing about his legs that the giant fell broadcast on his back, which made the ground tremble like an earthquake.

Seeing the unexpected and stout resistance made by our little hero, Slubber the Giant was fain to call a parley.

“Thou art very strong for so small a man,” cried he ruefully, and at the same time rubbing his smarting shins. “What sayest thou, wilt thou do me a service? And in return thou and thine shall have this valley of sweet waters for thy pains, to do with it what ye will.”

“What is the service you want to be performed?” said Hop-o’-my-thumb.

“Come nearer, and I will tell thee.”

“No, not an inch,” cried the little fellow stoutly. “You are near enough, my friend. Tell me what I am to do. I can hear you.”

“Oh, very well,” responded Slubber sullenly. “Know, then, that I have a wife.”

“I wish I had one,” interrupted Hop-o’-my-thumb.

“Thou shalt have mine with pleasure,” retorted the giant quickly. [331]

The little squatter laughed. “Nay,” he said, “it is against the law to take anything belonging to another. Well, you were saying you have a wife.”

“True, I have a wife and, I may add, one of the most inquisitive of her sex,” added the giant in quite a humble tone, which contrasted strangely with his previous bombast. “Know, then, O mite, King Stork propounded three riddles to my wife, each one full of mystery, and my life is plagued out of me day and night by her to find an answer to these problems. Now, if thou canst find the secret of these things the land is thine for all time.”

“What are the riddles?” inquired Hop-o’-my-thumb.

The giant reflected a moment and then replied,—

“The first is: What is the most wonderful animal in the world? Second: What shoemaker makes shoes without leather, but uses instead earth, water, air, and fire, and where each of his customers wears two pairs at a time? Third: What is seen in the sky, also in the water, and sometimes on men’s breasts which, being reversed, is the name for the very worst kind of vermin? Come now, O thou bull ant, canst thou explain these enigmas?”

Poor Hop-o’-my-thumb seemed dismayed for [332]a moment. He wanted to conciliate the giant, but how was he to frame a reply to these three difficult questions? In the midst of his cogitations he bethought him of his friend the wallaby.

“If Slubber will give me a little time, I believe I can answer the questions,” said the little man with confidence. The giant assented readily.

Hop-o’-my-thumb, guided by the parrot, sought out the old wallaby, to whom he confided his trouble.

“Nothing easier, my boy,” said the animal, stroking his head with his paw. “A word in your ear. These riddles are the secrets of our King and must not be made known to every one.”

Then the old wallaby whispered what Hop-o’-my-thumb wanted to know, and the latter, smiling, went back to the giant Slubber.

“Well, hast thou the answers, mite?” he said.

“Oh yes,” replied our hero cautiously, “but how am I to know you will keep your word with me?”

The giant laughed. Then he lay full length upon the sward, and plucking a long hair from his beard laid it across his nose. “Will that condition satisfy you?” he said in a rage, for Slubber knew he dare not break that form of oath. [333]

“Then,” said Hop-o’-my-thumb, “the most wonderful animal in the world is a pig; for it is first killed and then cured.”

“Good!” cried Slubber.

“The next,” continued Hop-o’-my-thumb, “is—What shoemaker makes shoes without leather? Why, a horseshoer, for he uses earth, air, water, fire, in shaping his wares, and each of his customers wears two pairs.”

“Bravo! Let me embrace you,” entreated the giant.

“No you don’t,” responded the little man, with a grin. “Now for your third question. What is seen in the sky, the water, and sometimes on men’s breasts? A star, of course. Reverse the spelling of star and it is rats. Are you satisfied?”

And Slubber, the black giant, wended his way home over the mountain again, a wiser man; and ever after Hop-o’-my-thumb lived in peace. [334]

Here are low green hills and sharply outlined ridges strewn with great white blocks of quartz, gleaming in the morning sunlight. Adown the long eastern slope for miles there is a vista of park-like forest, where the wallaroo and kangaroo leap and gambol on the greensward; where green and gold parrots chatter and scream; where wild bees are humming to the morn, and where the eagle soars calm and peerless in the sapphire firmament.

One solitary figure dots this glorious landscape—a handsome, well-formed boy, with a swag upon his back, tramping slowly along the narrow track like unto one who would fain rest and eat. There is not the sign of any habitation in view; nothing but the matchless sunshine and the hills and valleys gleaming beneath in one great halo of golden glory.

Towards evening our traveller, emerging upon a lonely glade, threw off his swag and cast himself [335]upon the soft sward and so fell asleep. When he awoke it was night, the dark blue canopy overhead was ablaze with stars. Looking round he was greatly astonished to observe the space before him aglow with a soft, subdued light, which was neither from the sun, the moon, nor the stars, but was produced by countless glow-worms and fire-flies combined, and who had formed broad festoons from tree to tree and so lit up the dell by enchantment.

Damper—for so was the wayfarer named, on account of his fondness for that Australian made cake—rubbed his eyes in great surprise, and also gave himself one or two severe punches to make certain that he was awake. The poor lad was without father or mother, and had tramped about the bush since he could walk, doing odd jobs for cockatoos (small farmers) and such-like; but a sight like this had never met his view before. His first impulse was to call out, but his voice refused its office; for at that moment he beheld a troop of black mites, no larger than his finger, march from out the gloom beyond into the radius of the light. They were all sheathed in mail armour and came onward with quick and regular step, four a-breast, their shields and spears flashing and sparkling like so many rare jewels in the sun. [336]They ranged themselves in regular order, shoulder to shoulder, on one side of the dell.

Then there came a second squad, equally tiny in stature, but bravely attired in cloth of gold, with miniature swords clashing and banners waving; and these formed up on the sward, opposite the first troop.

And lo! as Damper gazed in consternation, there appeared a third group; white people these, not so tall as a lady’s thimble, without weapons, and robed in the most quaint fashions imaginable: some were clad in gossamer from head to heel; many had cloaks spun from wild bees’ wings; others were donned in all the gaudy colours of the dragon fly; and one and all of them appeared dancing mad.

Now here, now there; in and out; up and down; in whirling mazes, they moved like the sun flashes on some bright instrument, and too quick sometimes for the eye to follow their evolutions. It was altogether a fantastic scene, and one that the eye of mortal man is rarely permitted to look upon.

For some time poor Damper was beside himself with fear. Fortunately he remained very still and quiet, and was enabled to see everything that took place, without the elves being in the least degree aware of the mortal’s close proximity. [337]

The antic gambols were so strange and grotesque that Damper had no definite idea how long they continued, or who piped the music for the occasion. One thing was clear to him, however, that the whole scene vanished as suddenly as it appeared, leaving only two of the fairy assembly, who without more ado came and perched themselves upon Damper’s swag, and began a conversation. This pair, it was evident, were the King and Queen of Elfland, who, after discussing several affairs of State, spoke of a magic whistle, hidden away among the roots of a certain tree in the dell.

Damper, although he understood and could hear every word uttered by their Majesties, paid little heed to what they said until the topic of the whistle began. Then he listened greedily. He soon learned that whoever had possession of this simple instrument held the wand of a magician over animal, bird, or man, and that if he pleased to pipe, man, bird, or animal within its sound must needs dance.

The hiding-place of this wonderful instrument was very minutely described by the King, so that when the royal pair had taken their departure, Damper determined to become possessed of it When day broke our hero arose and began his search. He had no difficulty in finding the tree, [338]and he soon found the whistle. It was a stout reed, about six inches long, with a mouthpiece of pure gold.

Numbers of birds, from the wren to a stork, were about and around, singing their morning song. To test the efficacy of his prize, Damper placed the whistle to his mouth and began to play. The effect was indeed wonderful. Not a bird but suddenly ceased its song and began to hop and dance about in the most absurd and comical manner, that our hero had to cease playing in order to laugh.

“Oh! I think you will just be of some service to me,” he said, putting the whistle in his pocket. Then he shouldered his swag and continued his journey.

He had not proceeded far when there approached from the opposite direction a very fat woman in a covered van with her husband, who was a very little man. He was on foot, driving the horse. The woman seemed in a bad temper, and was abusing her companion soundly.

Damper stopped the cart and asked the dame for a little food. “Go on with you for an idle vagabond!” she cried, shaking her huge fist at the boy. “There are far too many of your sort about the country already. I only wish we were near [339]a township so that I might have the pleasure of sending you to the lock-up, you loafing rascal.”

Such uncalled-for abuse roused Damper’s ire. Without uttering a word in reply he took out his whistle and began to blow. Instantly the fat dame leapt from the trap into the road and began whirling round and round with all her might, and anon throwing herself into such ridiculous postures that the little man, her husband, and even the horse began to laugh; but their laugh was of short duration, for they also were drawn into the dance, and the pony being securely harnessed upset the conveyance and scattered its contents all over the sward.

In the meantime the unfortunate woman, puffing and blowing like a grampus, cut some very extraordinary capers under the irresistible spell of the whistle. What seemed to be part of a wild Highland reel merged into the antics of a sort of Maori war-dance, and it was wonderful to note the agility displayed by so stout a person.

The piper himself felt too indignant to laugh, otherwise the good dame’s gambols would have been of brief duration. Not before all the breath had been jolted out of her anatomy did she plead for parley. Then in gasps she called out to him [340]to “stop for mercy’s sake, and she would give him all the tucker in the cart.”

Our hero was by no means a bad-hearted fellow. When he saw the woman had been punished for her very rude behaviour he put the whistle aside, and assisted to raise the pony and restore the goods to the trap. Afterwards they dined together and parted on friendly terms.

Arriving late that night at a farmhouse on the billabong, Damper craved a night’s shelter, which was given him. In the morning he asked for work.

“What can you do?” said the farmer.

“Oh, anything almost. I can make you dance,” answered Damper.

“Yes. And, by George, you’ll find I’ll make you dance, my lad, if you talk to me like that!” retorted the farmer angrily; and so poor Damper was compelled to hump his swag farther afield.

The weather was fine, however, and the lad’s heart light; so he went singing along the bush track, until he was suddenly brought to a stand-still by a gruff command, “To bail up!” Right across the track he saw a big, bearded bushranger, splendidly mounted, who, seeing he was but a youth, put back his revolvers and dismounted.

Before the ruffian could approach him, however, [341]Damper pulled out his whistle and began to play. Instantly the man and horse began their capers with one accord, and it was not until the robber had fallen exhausted on the track that our hero ceased whistling.

“I pray thee put by that dreadful thing,” said the panting outlaw, “and I will fill thy pouch with gold.”

“Not a bit of it,” said Damper resolutely; “my terms are that you hand over to me every item of your ill-gotten treasure, horse included, else you shall dance for it, my honey.”

The robber commencing to curse and swear, Damper placed the whistle to his mouth again.

“Stop! Stop! I yield to thy terms, boy,” cried the other imploringly.

“Very well. Hand over your revolver. Now that belt round your waist. Now take off your boots and depart in double-quick time.”

The bushranger did not need to be told twice. He fled away into the bush and was lost to sight in a moment.

Damper found the robber’s belt filled with gold. He mounted the horse and rode away. And no lad in the whole continent was happier than he was that day. [342]