MISCELLANEOUS.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 5923, 30 August 1890, Page 1 (Supplement)

MISCELLANEOUS.

ON I A' NKLL. ' Going lishing ?" ' Yes.' ' Down by the camp track ■'' < Yes.' Then they both laughed like fellows who have tumbled oil something which is good, and 1 went on with my bush rod oyer my arm through the wattle to thcti-tree. Perhaps it" was good. It seemed fresh and innocent to me at least. And this was how it began. We were driving in an old tunnel' up the gully, trying to cut a reef which

ought to he got not very far in. Tim and I were driving, and Peter was getting props for us. We camped near to the water, though the drive was

a mile up the hill, and there was a navvies' camp on the flat. They were taking a new railway line along there. One Saturday afternoon I was washing clothes, and down to the big waterholo came a girl carrying two kerosene tins outside a wooden hoop. She was about fourteen, slim, almost delicate, with a short skirt, ami neither shoes nor stockings. She didn't notice me, but as she bent down to fill the cans the low sun shone full on her hair. It was a tousled mat of hair, neither plaited nor combed ; but it flashed in that, sunlight like a bough of wattle bloom in a clump of gum scrub. When she lifted her face her eyes shone, and they were blue. I couldn't say much of her face ; if- was dirty. She filled the cans and went away up the track, slowly, painfully : the load was enough for a man. She slipped on a bit of a pinch and fell. The water and the cans came tumbling back towards the creek. I thought she might be hurt and went up. One of her arms was scratched, and the blood had got on her face. Blood and tears and dirt mixed up together, it was not easy to tell what was beneath thorn. I picked up the cans and tilled them again, and carried them up to the camp. She walked after. The place was a boardinghouse and shanty—a long room built of saplings and covered with old bags and canvas, a hut with :. bar and a couple of canvas lean-tos. which served for sleeping places. The kitchen was outside. Three or four sheets of bark, rooting a shed, and a log fire Avith camp ovens in the ashes, and pots slung oyer the logs. Mistress Cook stood by the tire, a six feet dame, avlio could have done a day's work in the cutting. ' Fhat kept you ?* •' I fell and cut my arm. He carried the water up.'

She looked savage at me, and I knew there Avas but one way to mollify her. • I Avas coming up for a drink—is the old man inside ?'

'If there's a drink to lie got he's there. In Avid you now (this to the girl), and be seem' to the table."

.1 drank, and the boss drank, and just out: of curiosity I stayed for tea.

Tousled golden hair, blue eves, halfAvashed face, and arm bound up with a dirty rag, waited on us at tea—fourteen navvies and myself. These Avere none of them drunk—it Avasn't pay Saturday—and there was not much swearing. She carried plates of beef and potatoes and pannikins of beer or tea about. When the meal Avas over I. sat and .smoked awhile with the ganger, an old miner, and when he went tuvay sat still on a stump near the canvas lean-to, and became unwittingly a listener to such com-ersation as this— ' How many dhrinks had Pat Dwyer ?' • Two, 1 'think.'

' An' tA\*o forbye that.' ' I didn't give him them." ' Well, two lie had and two lie didn't makes four whatever? Who's he carried the water for yes ?' ' He's one of the diggers, he avus Avashing.' • Goold . ■No, his shirts." ' But they are gittin' goold ?' • I dun no." ' Sco them honey, talk to him Avhenever ye get a chance, and wash his shirts or bring thim to me, an Avhin ye take 'em home look well about the hut an' listen an' tell me what ye hear.' ' I won't take notion' from him." •Who asked ye, ye divil ? Didn't I rear ye, and keep ye, an' do all that a mother should do ? It's the unthankful woman you'll be, Nell. Get away to your duty now. Kneel down there now, and say it after me.'

Then I heard patferings of ' Aye Maria' and such like, and lastly the mandate—

' Now away to your bed, and have the fire lit by six in the morning.'

So it came about, that Nell bad no trouble in meeting me, and that I used to go fishing. You could catch a I'oav blaeklish in the pools at times. The old woinaii, of course, thought that ive Avere on gold, and would lamb down at the finish in her shanty. • Got any fish to-day?' ' No, Nell. They Avon't bite.' < 1 shouldn't like "to ketch fish.' ' Why not ?' 'They're so quiet and gentle like They look like Mother Flynn's baby when it was dead.' ' Was that long ago ?' ' Two months praps. Mother I'Tynn had the shanty in number (avo. Fishes ain't a bit like Irishmen, but the jackass is.' 'Why?' • Listen to him ; couldn't you think it Avas one of them fightin' drunk ?' 'They're bad Avhen they are lighting drunk, Nell' " "" '

' Yes, dam-in' drunk doesn't hurt, 'cept when they knock the tables down and break flic crockery. Singingdrunks best though. It's only Charley the Swede gels singing drunk, anil then he's j U si, like a magpie. I likes (he magpie, but I cries sometimes on a Sunday night when he is singing, and the missis sleepin', an' the boss dead drunk." ' liver go to church, Nell .'" ' Yes, whenever the priest comes round." • School ?' • No." ' Ever live in town ?' •No, always in camps. She took me out of the orphanage, at: least she says so.' ' Where is your mother .'" ' Wonder now. I often think about thai. Mother's like the bell-bird. 1 never found a bell-bird, did A'ott ?" ' No.' ' I've heard them, though, when we had a. camp at Ironbark. I used to go out and hunt for 'em, an".she licked me bad, cos I got lost. Then I didn't sleep for a long time, and when 1 did I dreamed an" I thought the bell-bird was mother crying to come fo me. and calling -Xeli-iieil ! Xell-ncll ! Nell !" (she imitated the hell-bird's call with nunderfill accuracy), and 1 wont out calling mother ! mother! Nothing on

me, and the cold woke me up. Then I came home crying, an' she wanted to lick me again, but he blacked her eye an' swore he'd lag her if she ever put hands on me again. An' she never did. There's the bell - bird now. Wonder where hois, and wonder where's mother.'

• Wonder, aye ! Did you ever wash your face, Nell'?' •' Yes, sometimes.' ' There's some soap down by the Avaterhole. Wisli you'd go and wash it avcll noiv.' She Avent, and presently returned, and then I saw that she had Avashed aAvay what seemed to be an assurance of continuance of life. The pink on her cheeks Avas pure as on a hyacinth. bloom, and the white beneath alabasterlike in its clearness. - Where did you pick Nell up ?' I asked the boss one day, having stood him all a half-dozen drinks. ' Where them as owned her left her, mate : and that's your answer.' • That river knoAA's something noA.,' said 1. ell. ' It's always trying to say something. Listen to it.' The mcr came out of a fern groA*e and rippled over a shingle, bed, then slid over a smooth rock into the pool. ' Pity Aye can't understand the m*er. Nell .'' ' Yes, but then you can't understand the priest either. The rivers not like the priest though. He's like the jackass Avhen he's not very noisy. I can't understand him, and I don't Avaut to.' ' The priest is a good man, Nell.' 'What for?' ' What is the river good for ?' • Everything, of course. I wish I could understand the riA'er. The river, tuny, might come from mother. Do you think so ?' ' Perhaps. Do you ever think you will go to your mother, Nell ?' • Wonder AA*ould she know me ?' - Certainly sbe will.' 'Then why did she go and leave me ?' • Didn't she die, Nell ?' ' They says so, aud oh, why didn't I die too ?' Then the tousled hair fell all about her knees, and she rocked to and fro, and sobbed in her utter weariness of the hopelessness and anguish of life. ' Don't cry, Nell.' ■ Can't help it: I must cry, and I must cough, and if I only knew I should die soon I Avouldn't care much.' • 1 heard the river tell a tale once, Nell.' • Go on !" •■* ' I did ; it Avas about a boy, a little chap. His father Avas dead ; and one day he a. cut away and got bushed, and we never found him. But one day the river said, " I Icuoav where he is," and I said, •• Where ?" Then the river told me about a fine place up there iv some of the stars. That's where the father had gone to. and he came down Avhen the boy got bushed, and kneAv him in a moment, and took him right away. It Avas a beautiful place, the riA'er said.' • Wattle there and heath ?' • Plenty; • Anybody fighting drunk, or bad Avith the horrors ?' • No.' 'All the raihvays made ?' ' Yes, and all" the people living in houses ivith gardens, and music playing all day.' •He A\*as a boy, though. Mother would never lind me if I AYent away and got bushed.' • Perhaps not, Nell.' • Hi. v do you think she will find me ?' • Perhaps when you get sick, Nell; when you have to lie doAvn all day long, anil your cough hurts you, and you don't care to eat any more.' • But the priest will come then ; he comes to Mother Plynn's baby.'

• Mother will come after the priest has gone, Nell.' •Is that the way T • Yes ; that's always the way.' We struck the reef at Christmas, but, it was a duffer. Tried a crushing, and didn't get four weights to the ton. There had been an alluvial patch struck on the other side of* the divide, and Aye started across on the charge of getting a claim. I s.iav Nell. She Avas, in the bar serving drinks. They had dressed her in a muslin frock with red ribbons. ' You are a regular swell, Nell V • Yes; but, I say, I wish that cough would come' ' But it's merry iioav, eh V ' Merry, is it ? If you only knew. Fighting drunk every night ; and such talk. The maddest jackass couldn't be so bad if you understood him all.' ' I'm going a\A*ay." • Are you ."' • Yes." Can Ido anything for you, Nell ?' • I don't knoAv. I'll tell you, though. Are you going to ironbark country ? ■ Yes.' ' Well, that's where the bell-bird sings the best. If you should find out one and he should tell you anything, will you come back and let me know ?' 1. said yes, and thought it was very likely indeed that the bell-bird would tell "me ...nothing, and before very long. We were early on the rush and got a pretty good claim, but it was deep sinking, and we didn't Avork it out fill midwinter. Fearfully wet that winter was. 1 thought it was the wet, perhaps, Avbich made tbe bell-birds singso sadly, but perhaps it was something else I could always hear them on the hill above the lead. It was an ironstone hill, hard and barren, with applebox: and ironbark dotted about, and an occasional wattle Nell-nell! Ncllnell ! Neil ! they seemed to sing. Aim when Ihe work was over, and avc could afford to spell for a month if we liked, [ hegati to think of Nell. The river would be up, most, of the flat under water, all about the camp there would l,e a lio". The canvas sleeping-places would 'be always wet. The navvies would be half the time in the ealinghmis., and all surroundings would be undesirable for poor Nell, bad as could be imagined. Surely it was time for the cough to'come.

I said, therefore, • I am going back to Tangil.' ' Fishing ?'. 'Yes.' '

Wo agreed to meet in Melbourne a month later.

I walked it, a three days' journey. The third day it rained. It was a bullock-dray track through hard hills, and I never saAV the bush so dismal before or since. There didn't seem to be a bird alive. The dead strips of bark hung like loose skin on adroAvued body. If I overlooked a bit of a swamp the frogs seemed croaking like a hundred thousand Calvinist. about a dead child's bier. An iguana hung on the under side of a limb, nothing alive about him . ut his eyes, and an old working bullock stood just above the track, chewing his cud, occasionally tanging his bell like a bush sexton. There Avere three feet of Avater in the cuttings Avhen I came alongside the raihvay, and all the flats Avere covered. The smoke hung over the camp, but. I could see no sign of life. They Avould be at the shanty drunk, of course. But the shanty Avas quiet too. Nobody in the bar, and Avhen I banged the counter the old Avoman came out rubbing her eyes with a dishclout or something of the sort. 1 Fifty miles away is the priest, and the doctor gone doAvn to Melbourne, and, God help us. I'm glad to see you. \ r e'll haA T e Avashed up at the claim ?' ' Can I see her ?' ' Why not ? Himself is there wid | some poor beast, in a black coat, but ! neA'er a priest." ' Himself' was seated on a box. He looked hard and bad. The poor beast in the black coat, one of those halfteacher, half-preacher creatures, ordained at some time by some unlettered body, Avas blethering .away at God Almighty, or the child, or both, like a book-hawking drummer at a hard-faced cockatoo. And she was dying with inflammation of the lungs. Her face on fire, her chest heaving quickly and tumultuously. A sovereign and a lie got rid of the ranter. ' She's a Catholic,' said I ; ' and I've been a priest.' He shuddered piously and went out. Then I knelt doAvn by the bed, and she tried to reach out her hand to me. ' Nell! I've found the bell-bird.' She did not speak, but her eyes put the eager question. 'It said mother is waiting, Avaiting to-night.' 1 Ilieard, too —this morning—early.* •Ready to go, Nell?'_ ' She answered with her eyes once more, and then lay still, breathing very hard. The missis looked in, but Avent out again, filling all the air Avith her hoA.liiig. ' Himself' spoke after a while. ' That Avas a thick one, mate, about your being a Roman.' ' Yes, avc didn't Avant him.' '.No: I'd have shifted him myself soon.' ' She Avill die through the night.' ' I reckoned so. Ah well.' He went out. for a drink, and I Avatched while she seemed to sleep. Just at sundoAvn the clouds broke a little over the Avest, aud let a loav Avatery gleam of sunlight right across the world. The rain ceased then, and through the stillness the hoarse roar of the riA'er came up. Nell heard it, and started, 'The river, river, Avhat is it saying ?' ' The river is angry to-day, Nell. It has not been near mother.' ' That's the reason ?' ' Yes.' Two hours later, when it was quite dark outside and they had lit candles in the tent, she spoke again. 4 Are you quite sure—about the— the—bell-bird ?' ' Quite sure, Nell.' ' Good-bye then, good-bye, I shan't be long.' And she Avent away very quickly. The priest was there next day, the doctor too, aud most of the navvies washed up and folloATod to a grave that had been made on a spur above the river. A year later I had another patch of luck, and AA*as in Melbourne. I sought out a clever man, and avc hunted about a good deal. The end of our searching was the discovery of a house in \rhich a young couple had lodged about fourteen years before. They had one child, a little girl. When they had been there a month it became necessary for the husband to go home, and he was but three Aveeks at sea when the wife died of typhoid fever. Shortly after the death of the child was registered too. The woman of the house handed over to the police t*vo boxes tilled Avith Avell-Avorn clothes, some poor trinkets, and two pounds odd in money. The husband returned in four months, and then declared that Ids Avife had at least a hundred pounds in gold, and jeivellery Avorth four or five hundred. She belonged to wealthy people ; he married her against her parents' will, but had gone home and become reconciled. The Avoman of the house could not be found. The police worked for a month and gave, it up. But she was known as a shady character, and there Avas somethiug very secret and doubtful about the death of the child. Where was the husband now ? Where indeed ? It was fourteen years ago, I, hoA.ever, could not get away from the idea that the child had not died then. Nell was that child. We went out to look up the shanty people to get from them by some means what they must know. The raihvay was finished all iloayu that valley, but they Avere working thirty miles farther on, we should find a shanty there. The. Avreck of the old place was easily enough distinguishable. The hut part seemed to have been burned. A crow sat croaking on a .scorched post. The old chimneys stood and the gal lows-like frame oA*er the Avhite ash-heap. But avc did not find the Cooks on one, or two, or three of the next contracts. • Old dem Cook and the Grenadier? They've gone for ever.' • flow r • It's the divil of a. tale, mate—th_ (For continuation sec next page.)

divil of a tale. You'll remember the girlecn .' ' \ IS.' 'An' how she died?' i V,,;,' ' Y.e.l. -.'-ere had been some dirty Avork a!....;' thai little girl, and ho bate the Cr - : . A-;-, so that he'd a week. After ih-v he .... throe months. But they c ! : '..igether again in the old shaii;;.. a::' then both took to drinking. She fej int.. the tire first an' Avas burii.-i. ; ;e was never straight after, and ..,- :'..■ I 0.-g cud he got the horrors. The !>..-■ v.-fhei him tAVo nights, but the th;:,: i broke away into the bush, and a-, he:: ihey had hunted a Aveek he floated. ;■-,'; he was in Ilog.-ui's tank and ileal.!.' • Was .-.riy.hi'ig' found in theshanty V ' Didn't i mil you . ' Whet ." ' .Share the shanty took lire Avhile the boys were after him, and every shriek hi-. !■• was burned.' And -.1 ;:ia; was the end of it. A plain -■':'; -tone by the grave, and Avritic:-! O.i b • (inly Nell." Si .!:■■•;'.■.!!.• now when 1 meet a man with ;: red face aud light hair becoming 'J:\vy. v :tli a look in his eyes that, tolls me he ha.- lost something for Avhieh I: ■ will keep ~n searching till he dies,! f'■■■i inclined ;o talk with him. but I have never (hum so. ft is better not. Wo wii! never open that lonely gra\'e. .it was (miv .Nell.—.Melbourne. Argus. .IK. AND .MIIS. BOWSER. ! f.V Mils. imWsKU.f An <o::'!a-sman brought up a small jag of lumber :!i" other afternoon, ami left i; at t' barn, and when Mr 1. e,vs".- came home i mentioned the fa-, an ! asked what he intended to do •.villi it. ' it's lot- screen doors for the front doors,' he replied. ' t'arpenier coming to make them .'' ' 1 lav-nt engaged any.' 'Mr r.owser. you are not going to try and make them yourself.' • There v.on't In- any trying about it. I shall proceed to make and hang them.' ' I'm afraid you can't do it. It's a nice piece of joiner work fo make a screen door, especially one for the. front, of the h-use.' • i am we'll aware of that,' he said as he stroked his chin in a complacent way. ' Haven't 1 got about .(idol. AVorih of tools .' Don't J know how to hand!.' them >' • 1 — 1 wish yon had given your order ai the simp as other bilks do.' • I'll be banged if 1 pay any . dol. for a pair of doors when [ can make 'cm for bdoi. .' You are always .lead set against anything 1 undertake !' *.Mr Dowser, you can't make a screen door. Yoti can't hang one. Don't .lam- 1 nic .hen the failure COlUes.' ' nhinte yon ! Are you getting cra;:v .' If iho-e doors are not a success yon won't hear a word of fault from it.- —not a peep. I was thinking of ordering them, hut seeing you have stuck up your nose so high. I'll make 'em now inst to show vmi that 1 can do it V And next morning he put on an old suit and went out to the barn, and before :> o'clock he had measured four different tines for those doors. At last he got the dimensions to suit, and I heard him sawing <>!f the strip*. About 11 o'clock f went nut and found the si nil all cut to lengths, and Mr I'mWsvr Mas making half mortices ar the ends. • Aren't oin-front ,loots higher than this .'" ! a-ked as I picked ill. one of the sid" pier... • Maxell's Voil a.:'' hmisCWnrk to see to. he bru-meiv r.'-pi:-.]. ' YoliV- go! 'em a foot short." ' Oh. I have, eh .' Some folks' ~,,,,., are 'o"!i,.r than a earpejiier's rule!" I v.cii! ba'-k inio the house, but it I Avasn"; lon'.: bofmv I -:.',v him sneaking j around io i ia' front with ~ne of the pieces. j watched him as he tried ;(. und ii v, as all '•'( twelve Inches short. '.Mr I'ov,--I' scratched his ~,,-. v-novled like a bear, and looked as foolish as a boy caught in the harvest apple tree. Ten minutes later he was ai the telephone oricntm some tumv stuff. • Wor<- ihey too short .'" 1. asked, as he hung no the trumpet. •,\--n ■'. but I though! Fd got heavier siitif." he mumbled as he shot out door--. The sml'f ctinie up after dinner, and it AYiis aiiotit •"» o'clock in the afienioon Avh'ti !"■ put one of the frames together and stood it up in lie- door. | went out, and as ie- began to .-mile with Satisfaction. J said :-— ' Mr 1. lAvsi-r. that door is squec- ' Squoogawod .' Squoegawed .' What does that stand for in the back counties .'" • Y\e<iv door is wider at the bottom than ai the 1,, p.' • It cau'i be !' ' I'.ut your own eyes Avill convince vo't. Tin I".-* an inch difference !' • X'-vei- ! I'll bet you a million dollars there isn't a hair's breadth .'" i ran for my tape-line and soon i proved that the difference was over an ' inch. • Oh, avcll. I can fix that in a ' moment,' he said, but it svas >i o'oluck titat etei-'iig before he came in. Then ' lie 'nad p-umded one of his fingers with the hammer, run a tack into his I thumb, got a bad hurt, front n bradawl, and half a do-.cn times during the ; night h" groaned out in his sleep about ' mortice-, tenons, binges, springs, etc., and mice I heard him exclaim : I • Fit : Why. if they don't lit I'll | knock the infernal house down !' i i i un- hi "'clock next I'urei n Avium 1 j went out to tin- barn. He had the il.im- c.vi'i-i'il wiib ilie wire-cloth, and i prui.idiv called my attention to it. ' ' Which is the outside of the door .'' J I asked. I • Why, the side this way, of oour.-e.' • Then you've lacked the cloth on ; ihe. inside !" I • Thai's where it belongs.' i • Vmi never saw ii there. Mr PiOAVsor i — lieM-r ! .Nnd look at the way you ba\e lacked tin- -tufi' on. It's humped ' Up 'ti a do;, a, different places, because yoll plllled it askew." •There isn't one btinip—not the sign j ' of a hump ! I'll give any man a J I billion dollars to make a better job of i tt, ! All that dour needs imw is paint- . in;,'." _ _ ! ' ■ I'm don't they paint the frames j 1 before they lack the cloth on .' Mow ; ■ are voit going to paint the inside of the ; a frame ." , ' •.loii't worry yourself about this ; job. Mis llouser. I. wasn't born along- j 1 <ide of a huckleberry marsh !' i 1

Bui after I had gone away he fore oil' the wire and painted the frame, and next, morning he covered the other. That night Mr Bowser kicked around in his sleep in the most awful manner, and at about _ o'clock in the morning ho siiddt-.tly sat up in bed ami exclaimed :

' SqueegaAved ! I'll bet you four hundred thousand billion dollars against a cent that they are as plumb as a rule.'

Mr Bowser had been ai Avork an hour next morning before I. Avent out. He had the doors at the front, and lie seemed to have, some trouble about hanging lliem.

' You see Avhat you've, done, don't you !' I asked, after a survey of the scene. ' 1 don't believe I'm either nearsighted or color-blind,' he replied. ' Well, you've got one door wrongside up to begin with. • 11-how .'•'"

' Look at the panels and see. Then you have been trying to hang one to swing in and the ither to swing out.'

' I have, eh ? That shows all you know about it. I'm simply fitting the screens so they will shut tight.'

•hist before noon he got a hang on both doors, and as I looked at thorn from the hall .1 had to sit down on the lloor and laugh. Thoy didn't meet in the cent re within two inches, and each avus half an inch short at the top and bottom. He had also hung (hem Avith the cloth on the inside. .hist then a neighbor came along and turned in to the steps. After looking at the doors for half a minute in great astonishment, he said :

Something just from Paris, Bowser '.'* What do you mean ?' Why. you've got a new idea in

screen doors. I suppose the space at the bottom is for bugs, that at. the top for mosquitoes, and the centre for flies. I see you have left the frames exposed. They will make capital roosting places for horse-flies and pinch-bugs. Did vmi do this job ." ' Y-yes.' ' ' Well, if 1 had a girl ten years old who {.Muldn'l bent ii I'd make her go barefoot all summer.' • I didn't make those doors for your bouse, sir.' 'Thank heaven for that ! Bowser, you're a brick—a soft, brick ! I'll come up this evening with a band and serenade those doors !'

When the neighbor had gone 1 suddenly felt the back end of the house lift up. It was Mr Bowser pulling those screen doors oil. He couldn't even wail to take the screws out of the hinges. They came off in detachments, aud the pieces were flung info the hackyard. When he had finished he came in and said :— • Mrs Bowser. 1 Avant to have a talk with ymi—a very serious talk !' • But didn't I tell you how* it Avould

•Never .' You encouraged me to go ahead ; and to please a whim of yours I've lost three days' time, pounded myself all over, spent bdoi. in cash, and been made, a bull of ridicule ! Mi's Bowser, this is the limit—the lints— ihe end ! Make out a list of what furniture you Avant, and let us agree on the alimony !'