BUSH BOYS.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1211, 17 May 1895, Page 8

BUSH BOYS.

“ Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day.” By a BushwomAn in The Australasian. f I'll be lavin' ye, ma’am, the day week,' says old Johanna. ‘ For what reason ?’ I say aghast (for deftest of nurses is she, and the mainstay and * major-domo' of the household. At all costs must she be kept). ‘The raison is this, ma’am. Since ye wint away that last thrip for ye’re health I’m foindin’ thim two bhoys beyant me intively. Sure, I’ll be sorry lavin’ ye and “himself” and the little weeny gerrul, but thim two bhoys’—and she wrinkles her nose and purses up her lip disapprovingly — f they’re the mischief intirely.’ ‘ Dear me,’ I murmur sympathetically, * are they very unmanageable ?’ ‘’Tis this way. Since ye wint away “ himself ” has been takin’ thim about the station, and colloguin’ wid ’em about the sthoclc. Sez I to him, “ Sure, wha.t’s the use o’ takin’ thim two babies o’ six and four aboub wid ye?” “’Tis Jackaroos I’ll make o’ thim soon,” sez he, * and aren’t they me own sons ?” And the little cratliurs wint off to the musterin’, ridin’ by the side of “ himself,” wid their bits o’ red blankets strapped before them, they lookin’ for all the worruld like a pair o’ pet monkeys, and he laflin’ fit to kill himself at thim. 'Tis rooned they’ll be intirely, ma’am,’ slie goes on, shaking her head. ‘ Whin I came first, they were the tinderhest-hearted crathurs alive, for iver carryin’ me sthray cockroaches, and bastes of ail sorts, and biddin’ me mind thim for fear they’ll be kilt.” ‘ “ Will yez foind the mother o’ thim ?” says Masther Bob. * “ Sure,” sez I, “ and how’ll I be findin’ the mothers for all thim dirthy bastes, and how’d I know them if I did ?” ‘“Oh,” says he, “anny one of ’em ud

mind 'em ; and don’t call ’em bastes/’ sez he, “they’re pretty teeny, weeny shiny cockroaches.” * “ Maybe,” sez I, “ but kape ’em out of rache o’ my feet for all that.” “Tis changed they are now, for iver roostin’ on the rails of the cowyard, or the killin’-per, or the horse-brandin’-yard. *“ Shame on ye,” sez I. “Wud ye go look at the poor horses sufferin’ ?” f “ By Jove,” sez Masther Willie, that eldest one, “ye should see ’em kick when they’re gettin’ branded —’tis as good as a feed o’ corn to thim anny day,” and off they run back agin like a couple o’ woild colts. ‘ Sure, stidy tachin’ o’ their lessons and sixpennorth o’ whipcord kep’ handy wud be the makin’ o’ thim two, ma’am,’ and she looks ruefully at me. f Where are the boys now, Johanna ?’ 4 I have ’em losht now; not wan minit will they sthay wid me—aff wid ’em when they have a meal swallowed.’ She is to be pitied. She takes breath and resumes. I listen. I must humour the old woman. * Faith, what wid ’em lamin’ their pups to mind sheep by workin’ me fowls and frightenin’ the poor crathurs to their deaths, ’tis hardly a chicken I’d have for ye at all, only for a few perseverin’ hins that wudn’t be chased from their nests. * I losht them bhoys wan day and found ’em sittin’ on a log, their murderin’ sthockwhips alongside o’ thim, playin’ wid a pack o’ grazy cards. * “ What’s thrumps,” sez wan o’ thim (not seein' me). “ Sthicksis thrumps,” sez I, picken’ up wan, and given thim a cut aich. * “ Like to see a Barcoo Flash ?” sez Masther Willie (winkin’ at Master Bob). “ Yes,” sez I, lookin’ in the sky for a sign o’ lightnin’. Up went the whips in the air, and down agin, slappin’ and slashin’ about me heels; and bedad,’ she says grimly, * I’ve got the mark o’ that Barcoo Flash on me yet.’ ‘ Bring me the boys now, Johanna.’ ‘Very well, ma’am,’ says she, * I’ll be lookin’ for ’em.’ She reappears soon, leading my sons ; they are plunging vigorously to get away ; they look dilapidated ; they have discarded their neat blouses and linen hats, and have arrayed themselves in two of my husband’s old cabbage-trees; they have further adorned their waists with saddle straps, which have coarse buckhorn pocketknives thrust underneath. The boys are fearfully muddy. ‘ Look at the throusers o’ thim,’ says poor Johanna, half crying. * I found thim diggin’ holes and fillin’ them up wid wather.’ ‘ “ Will ye stliop makin’ thim dirthy mud pies,” sez I. ‘“Mud pies indade!”sez they, "’tis an artesian bore, we’re puttin’ the casin’ in, and kape out o’ this or ye’ll knock the ‘ derrick ’ down wid your petticoats.” Here they are now ma’am, for ye to dale wid ’em,’ and the trio glare at each other. lam in despair about these boys. Only yesterday I discovered them preparing to treat my prize ‘ collie ’ for footrot; they had him in a corner of the laundry, barricaded with chairs, Willie armed with a blunt tableknife, Bob with a stockwhip. 4 Now I’ll begin to foot-rot him, and if he moves you tune him up with the whip,’ said Willie. 4 Bight you are, sir,’ acquiesced Bob. The instant the knife touched his foot, the dog gave a savage growl and bounded over their heads, and a mixture of barks, shrieks, sprawling boys and wildest confusion reigned supreme, and the collie rushed forth the victor.

The boys, thanks to the tuition of ‘ himself/ know the points of a horse, a bullock, or a sheep as well as lads twice their age, they are adepts at ‘oughts and crosses/ good riders, and * mumble-peggers ’ of the most ardent description—beyond these arts they know nothing. * Sure " himself ” wudn’t even let me tache ’em their letthers/ said Johanna. “‘Time enough when Master Willie is sivin,” sez he. ‘ “ They’ll nivir learn younger,” sez I. ‘ Thim two bhoys is hand and glove wid the rouseabouts and the musterers, but most o’ their time is spint in Andy the groom’s stable-hammock, they eatin’ horsecarrots and he playin’ “ Annie Booney ” on the Jew’s harp for thim/ ‘Kindly wash and dross the boys and take them to my work-room. T shall begin to teach them.’ ‘Thank hivins for that same. I’ll be sthay in’ on now ma’am/ and J ohanna drags them off. They return shining and spotless, but rather alarmed. ‘What are we getting yarded up for, mother ?’ Will says. ‘To be taught to read and write, I reply. 4 Andy can’t read ’cept brands, and ho knows spiffing stories about "Bed Jake and the “White Squaw” he can’t write and he says, “ My trouble’s about it.” ’ ‘ Indeed, stand up straight, look at me, and repeat your letters after me !’ ‘ABC/I began vigorously. ‘Mother, there’s a horse’ —‘D E F/ I proceeded stolidly—' in the yard with only one ear, called Ally Sloper, and—

‘ Silence —G HI/ Then Will produced a handful of slimy worms from his pocket. ‘Mind them, mother, they’re crawling in my pocket and tickling my leg dreffully/ ‘ Ugh, horrible things/ I say, ‘Take them away/ With difficulty repressing a ‘ Jolianna calls them bastes, and you know what she calls us—"boosh bhoys’ and “ divils intirely.” Mike, the hut cook, calls us "little gentlemen,” ’cause sometimes we give him father s cigars; and he s made us a beautiful cake, mother, with lolly over it, and he’s put it in his bedroom, and the ants are getting on it. Can’t wo go up for it, mother? Our legs are so tired, and we’re drefful thirsty, and we think you’ve got a headache ’cause your voice sounds sick—haven’t you, mother,

haven’t you ?’ in tones of joyful anticipation. ‘.I have no headache.’ ‘Oh!’ (very disappointedly). I order them to stand up again. Over and over the alphabet we go: then I make them count ; they stand in exhausted attitudes. ‘ How are the aching, tired legs ?’ ‘ Much badaer, oh, much badder,’ says Willie, the spokesman for the two. Little Bob, who has watched his opportunity, dashes from the room ; he comes back with a pretty cluster of fragrant mignonette heads. ‘ Take this, mother, it’s a very artistic bunch. How your head'll soon get well.’ They have determined I must have a headache. ‘Stand up again, boys,’ I began in a determined way. Just then comes a sound of jingling spurs and the sharp crack of a whip, and the two little faces brighten up. ‘Himself ’ comes in, his eyes dancing with fun ; he has come to the rescue. * Been yarded up long, kiddies ?’ ‘ Hours, father, hours ’ (in doleful accents). ‘ Poor little chaps !’ he says. ‘ Ask mother to let you loose.’ ‘ Can we go ?’ and four wistful brown eyes and a pair of laughing grey ones look at me searchingly. ‘ For to-day, yes,’ and off they go hand and hand with ‘ himself.’ ‘Ye’ve quietened them finely,’ says Johanna, looking in. ‘ Their father took them away.’ ‘ Oh thin, I wudn’t put it past him,’ she says angrily. ‘ Oh ! ’tis packin me box I’ll be.’ . ; ‘No, Johanna, you will notj I’ll get a nursery governess to teach them, I cannot do so, I’m afraid.’ * All right so !’ she says. I get a nursery governess as soon as possible. She informs me the ‘Kindergarten ’ system of teaching is pleasant and interesting to pup ; ls and teacher. I.sent to town for the first book of action songs. My children were musical, this was the very thing. The book arrived, the governess was up betimes, she sang to me the ‘ Grocer’s Young Man,’ the first song in the book. It seemed a jovial way of acquiring knowledge. The song described a grocer driving about taking orders. At the foot of the page were a list of the gestures to suit the words ‘ Imitate holding reins,’ ‘ Flourish hand, snapping finger and thumb/ ‘ Imitate pulling restive horse up/ &c. ‘Very easy and instructive indeed/ said the governess; she was quite elated ; she practised all the actions -with the greatest ‘ gusto.’ Next morning, I ordered Johanna to take the boys to my work-room. I sat by with my needlework to see fairplay and watch the proceedings. ‘Now, little boys/ said the governess, ‘I am going to teach you like the German people do their children; it is a sort of a play’—(delighted chorus of oh’s and ah’s) —‘and school too* • •*; ‘ Oh I say now !’ (very reproachfully.) ‘ This is a song about a grocer.’. ‘What’s a grocer ?’ says Will. * A man who takes tea and flour and sugar to people, and sells it to them.’ ‘We’ve got tons of flour and tons of sugar, and chests of tea, what’s, the good of a grocer bothering around ?’ ‘ Silence, boys, pay attention/ I say, keeping as straight a face as I can. The governess fixes the boys with her eye, inflates her chest, and sings to the tune of * Little 80-Peep ’ (fortissimo) ‘The grocer’s young man goes out with the van, And, oh ! you should see him driving.’ , (She imitates holding the reins during this burst of melody.) ‘ Oil ! that’s not the way,’ says Will, in derision ; * get a mortgage-grip on them / aud he seizes the crisp ribbons, on my morning-gown and twists them in a * Gordian knot’ round his fingers ub an illustration. ‘Attention!’ I command again, bending over my work to hide a very broad smile. She resumes stoically—--4 He slashes the whip and makes the horse skip, Although to run well he’s striving/ (Slashing furiously at an imaginary steed and flourishing her hand vigorously.) ‘ He was a fool of a driver to thrash his horse like that, ’fore he warmed to the collar. I’ll bet, now, he’ll get a "sugardoodle ” out of that van ’fore long/ says Will, warningly. The boys are both in ecstacies of enjoyment ; they applaud vociferously;, I laugh in a subdued manner, and try to conceal it with my handkerchief. The governess sings her lay to the finish ; she imitates pulling up ; she jerks imaginary reins ; she slashes furiously about her ; she waves and kisses her hands (to show the grocer's joy at getting home after work) ; she points all ways at once ; she: gesticulates frantically in various directions. It is a horrible mixture of “ Dumb Crambo ” and bad theatricals, I think. The boys roar, laughing. It ii infectious. I follow suit. It is rude, but I can't help it; it is too ludicrous. 4 Is that all ?’ says Will. 4 1 think Germans must be foolish pussons, but (sagely nodding his head) I did see a man driving like that once ; he was a shearer’s cook, and Andy said he’d been knocking down his cheque and had ’em badly/ Next day the offended governess left. I can’t say I was sorry. Again I despaired. What was to be done? I would try the refining influence of feminine society—happy thought. I invited the parson’s little daughter, Evangeline, to spend a few weeks with my boys. She and her nurse Sarah, a prim, grim person, arrived. Evangeline was a dainty, fragile, blue:eyed girlie of six summers, always garbed in spotless white. The boys christened her their 4 White Squaw/ Evangeline at first smiled shyly at the boys’ games only, then she joined in a little. ; The ‘artesian bore* wai.a vastjy dusty , proceeding j the little white frock/ Buffered

byUcontact considerably. Sarah complained to Johanna. „ . . * Faith, a glash case wud be a fome thing for the two of yez, and I tell ye, ine fome madam, thim two bhoys, for all their thncks, is the makins of iligant min.’ Sarsh sniffed in disdain. By degrees Evangeline joined more heartily in all the boys’ games. She played at‘sundowners,’ and 4 kangaroo hunts,’ and being * wild pigs’ (a violent pastime, conducted on bands and knees, and accompanied by extraordinary sbiieks and noises). When 4 wild pigs’ was being played 1 was steeled to any noise. ...... Evangeline’s voice became strident, ner nurse was set at defiance, her frockß were m ribbons. The. trio's screaming powers were magnificent. One chilly wet morning I had a tire put in the nursery. I was reading peacefully, out of hearing, I thought. Suddenly wild shrieks—playing wild pigs I thought. Then heart-rending screams from the ‘White Squaw,’ peals of laughter from my boys, a sound of flying feet, a 4 swirl of starched skirts, and Evangeline burst into my room, the boys after her armed with fireirons. , She threw herself into my arms, her eyes dilated with fear. 4 Oh-h, Oh-h !’ she sobbed breathlessly. • The cruel boys, they—they ’ (with a torrent of tears, and clinging to my neck convulsively) 4 What did they do, little one V I-say, trying to calm the poor child. 4 They put the tongs and joker m the fire, and —and —’ .... 4 We were only playing bringing storcbullocks down from the Gulf, and course we had to brand them soon as we got them to the station, and she wouldn’t be branded, ana the irons were only just warm after all, mother,’ break in the two little voices. I walked to my desk, and there and then inscribed and despatched the following legend : i - 4 Wanted immediately for station, a tutor, must be strict disciplinarian ’ —and Johanna remains to this day.