The Gold-Stealers A Story Of Waddy by Edward Dyson (reading in the dark txt) 📖
- Author: Edward Dyson
Book online «The Gold-Stealers A Story Of Waddy by Edward Dyson (reading in the dark txt) 📖». Author Edward Dyson
'Well, If He Should Come To See You, Will You Give Him This?' So I Took
It, An' There You Are.'
Dick Read The Letter Slowly; It Was A Very Artful Letter, Most Pathetic,
And Sprinkled With Drops Which Might Have Been Tears. The Writer Spoke
Despondingly Of Her Loneliness And Her Desolation, And The Fears She
Endured When By Herself In The House At Night, Knowing There Was A Camp
Of Blacks In The Corner Paddock, And So Many Rough Cattlemen About. She
Was Entirely Helpless Since Her Only Protector Had Deserted Her, And She
Supposed That It Only Remained For Her To Be Resigned To Her Fate. She
Signed Her Self, 'Your Forsaken And Sorrow-Stricken Mother.'
When Dick Had Finished Reading He Started To Put On His Clothes.
'What'S Up, Morgan?' Asked Phil.
'Knock Off!' Was The Brief Reply.
'But What Yer Goin' To Do?'
'I'M Goin' Home.'
'Home!' Cried Peterson. 'Why?'
'Because!'
Dick Had The Instincts Of A Leader; He Demanded Reasons For Everything,
But Gave None.
Before The Lads Parted That Night Young Haddon Proffered Ted Mcknight
Excellent Advice.
'Your Dad'S Night Shift, Ain'T He?' He Said. 'Well, Don'T You Go In Till
Near Twelve. He'Ll Be Gone To Work Then, An' When He Comes Off In The
Mornin' He'Ll Be Too Tired To Lick You Much.' This, From An Orphan With
Practically No Experience Of Paternal Rule, Argued A Fine Intuition.
Chapter 4 Pg 26Dick Haddon Did Not Enter His Home Immediately After Parting With His
Mates. Mrs. Haddon'S Little Cottage, Four Roomed, With A Queer Skillion
Front, Was Surrounded By A Tumbled Mass Of Tangled Vegetation Miscalled A
Garden, And Dick Loitered In The Shadow Of The Back Fence To Consider
What Manner Of Entrance Would Be Most Politic. He Was Shrewdly Aware That
His Mother Might Be Tempted To Make An Attack On The Impulse Of The
Moment, Her Most Pathetic Letter Notwithstanding, And It Was A Point Of
Honour With Him To Offer No Resistance And Make No Evasion When Mrs.
Haddon Felt Called Upon To Administer Corporal Punishment. To Be Sure The
Maternal Beatings Occasioned Very Little Physical Inconvenience; But They
Gave Rise To Much Unpleasantness, And Were To Be Avoided When Possible.
As It Happened, Dick Was Not Put To The Necessity Of Making A Choice
To-Night. In The Midst Of His Cogitations He Felt Himself Seized From
Behind In a Pair Of Long, Strong Arms. With The Quick Instinct Of A
Wrongdoer He Suspected Evil, And Kicked Sharply Back Ward At The Shins Of
The Enemy.
'Le' Go! You Le' Me Go, See!' Gasped The Boy, Struggling And Fighting
Fiercely.
Resistance Was Quite Useless. Dick Was Dragged Through The Gate, And Up
To The House. The Door Was Opened, And He Was Bundled Unceremoniously
Into The Kitchen. Then Ephraim Shine--For It Was The Superintendent Who
Had Fallen Upon Dick In The Darkness--Thrust His Sparsely-Whiskered,
Leathery Face Into The Well-Lighted Room, And Said Shortly:
'Your Boy, Ma'Am!'
Shine Withdrew Instantly, Closing The Door Noiselessly After Him, And
Left Dick Flushed And Furious.
'He Didn'T Take Me,' He Cried. 'I Was Comin' Home, An' He Grabbed Me Just
Outside There--The Beast!
Dick Stopped Short, Suddenly Conscious Of The Presence Of Visitors. Mrs.
Hardy Was Sitting Opposite His Mother By The Wide Fireplace--The Tall,
White-Haired Gentlewoman In Whose Society He Always Felt Himself
Transformed Suddenly Into A Sort Of Saintly Fellowship With The
Remarkably Gentlemanly Little Boys Whose Acquaintance He Made In The
Books Provided By The Chapel Library. At The Table Sat Gable, The Grey,
Chubby-Faced Third-Class Scholar Whom Joel Ham Had Forgiven Because Of
His Extreme Youth. The Old Man Had A Circular Slab Of Bread And Jam In
His Left Hand, And Was Grinning Fraternally At Dick. There Was A Third
Visitor, A Stranger, A Brown-Haired, Brown-Skinned, Bony Young Man,
Dressed After The Manner Of A Drover. He Had A Small Moustache, And A
Grave, Taking Face. He Looked Like A Bushranger, Dick Thought Admiringly.
'This Is Richard, Henry,' Said Mrs. Hardy.
'You Don'T Know Me, Eh, Coppertop?' Said The Young Man, Taking The Boy'S
Hand.
Chapter 4 Pg 27'Harry Hardy,' Said Dick At Random.
'Well, That'S A Good Enough Guess, Young Fellow
Dick Fell Back Quietly. It Was, He Felt, A Moment When An Air Of Sadness
And A Retiring Disposition Would Be Likely To Be Most Becoming In
Him--And Most Effective. He Declined His Mother'S Invitation To Supper
With Such Meekness That The Little Woman Found It Difficult To Hide Her
Concern. Could She Have Peeped Into The Drive Of The Mount Of Gold, Where
Was Scrap-Food Enough To Victual A Small Regiment, Not To Mention Pillage
From Wilson'S Orchard, She Might Have Been More At Her Ease--Or Have
Found Fresh Occasion For Uneasiness. Dick Had None Of His Mother'S
Apple-Like Roundness--The Widow, Who Was Not Yet Thirty-Five, Always
Suggested Apples And Roses--He Had Inherited His Father'S Flame-Coloured
Hair, And A Pale Complexion That Was Very Effective In Turning Away
Maternal Wrath When Allied With An Appearance Of Pensive Melancholy And A
Fictitious Pain In The Chest.
The Conversation, Which Had Been Interrupted By Dick'S Entrance, Was
Presently Resumed. The Women Were Recounting The Story Of Frank Hardy'S
Arrest And Trial For Harry'S Information. The Subject Was One Of Profound
Interest To Dick, And From His Retreat At The Far End Of The Table, Where
He Sat Disregarded, His Crimes Tacitly Ignored For The Time Being, He
Listened Eagerly. When Gable Kicked Him To Attract His Attention, And
Gleefully Exhibited A Handful Of Loaf Sugar That He Had Slyly Abstracted
From The Basin, The Small Boy Frowned The Old Man Down With A Diabolical
Scowl.
Gable Was Mrs. Hardy'S Brother, And Although Over Sixty Years Of Age, His
Mind Had Remained The Mind Of A Child; Mentally, He Never Grew Beyond His
Eighth Year. He Was A Child In all His Ways And Wishes, Was Happiest In
The Society Of Children, And Was Regarded By Them, Without Question And
Without Surprise, As One Of Themselves. He Was Sent To School Because It
Pleased Him To Go, And It Kept Him Out Of Mischief, And Every Day He
Learned Over Again The Lessons He Had Learned The Day Before And
Forgotten Within An Hour. His Admiration For Dick Haddon Was Profound,
The Respect And Appreciation The Boy Of Eight Has For The Big Brother Who
Is Twelve And Smokes.
Abashed By Dick'S Frown, The Old Man Devoted Himself Humbly To His
'Piece,' And The Boy Gave His Whole Attention To The Conversation. He Was
Eager To Get An Inkling Of Harry'S Line Of Action. For His Own Part He
Had Thought Of A Desperate Band, With Harry At Its Head And Himself In a
Conspicuous Position, Raiding The Gaol At Yarraman Under A Hail Of
Bullets, And Bearing Off The Prisoner In Triumph; But Experience Had
Taught Him That The Expedients Of Grown-Up People Were Apt To Be
Disgustingly Common Place And Ludicrously Ineffective.
'If He'D An Enemy,' Said Harry, 'There'D Be Something To Go On. Was
Chapter 4 Pg 28Nobody, No One At All, That He'D Had Any Row With--Nobody Who Hated Him?'
Mrs. Haddon Shook Her Head.
'Nobody,' She Said. 'But He Declared The Real Thieves Had Done It, Either
To Shift Suspicion Or To Be Rid Of Him. He Thought It A Disgrace That All
The Men At The Stream Should Be Marked As Probable Thieves Because Of One
Or Two Rogues; An' He Was Always Eager To Spot The Real Robbers. It Was
Known Gold-Stealin' Had Been Goin' On For Some Time. That'S Why They Put
On The Searcher.'
'Shine. Mightn'T He Have Had A Finger In It?'
'No, No. It Doesn'T Seem Likely. Why Should He?'
'I Can'T Say. God Ks Upon Earth!"
Conclusion.
He That Commends Me To Mine Own Content,
Commends Me To The Thing I Cannot Get.
I To The World Am Like A Drop Of Water,
That In The Ocean Seeks Another Drop;
Who, Falling There To Find His Fellow Forth,
Unseen, Inquisitive, Confounds Himself.
Comedy Of Errors.
Three Eventful Years Have Passed, And A General Peace Is Giving Rest
To Exhausted Europe. The War Has Cut Off Many A Brave Man; But It
Remained For Peace To Terminate The Military Career Of A Rising
Soldier In L'Isle'S Person; And Sad To Say, Before He Was Either Major
General Or Knight Of The Bath; Though Sought In Many A Dangerous Path,
He Had Not Found His Golden Spurs.
Regiments Have Been Disbanded, His Comrades Are Scattered, And He
Himself Has Nothing To Do, Not Even The Poor Resource Of Having To
Study Economy On Half-Pay, Or Of Looking For More Additional Means To
Eke Out A Living.
It Is The Curse Of Those Entirely Engrossing Pursuits, Which Excite
All Our Enthusiasm, And Task Every Energy, And Of Which The
Statesman'S And The Soldier'S Callings Are The Best Examples, That,
When They Fail Us, We Can Find No Substitute. All Things Else Are, By
Comparison, Stale, Flat, And Unprofitable. Can The Brandy Drinker
Chapter 4 Pg 29Cheer Himself With Draughts Of Small Beer? Screw Up His Nervous
Energies To Their Accustomed Tone With Slops?
Tired To Death Of Fox-Hunting, Pleasant Shooting, And Country
Neighbors; All The Means Of Excitement Around Him Exhausted, L'Isle
Lounged In The Library At C----D Hall, With Half A Dozen Open But
Discarded Volumes Before Him, Revolving In His Mind All Possible Means
Of Occupation. At One Time He Would Resolve To Travel The World Over,
And Get Up A Personal Narrative, Attractive As That Of Humboldt, And
Views Of Nature, That Should Look Through Nature'S Surface To The
Recognition Of Nature'S God, Whom The Philosopher Seems Never To Have
Found In all His Works. At Another Time, In Order More Effectively To
Counteract The Ill Effects,
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