THE RIVER BABY

Otago Witness, Issue 3881, 31 July 1928, Page 77

THE RIVER BABY

By

M. H. Poynter.

(Copyright.—For the Otago Witness }

CHAPTER lI.—THE HUT BY THE RIVER.' The little hut by the river was very Still and deserted when Phil and Donnie reached it in the golden sunshine of late J r afternoon. They had gone ahead to prepare it for the rest of the party, who were coming later with the bedding and provisions in the station trap, and they had walked to it from the homestead across the long grass paddocks, through yellow tussocks, and on the shingle of the riverbed itself. The sky and the river were deep, bright blue, and the skylarks were singing high up towards the sun—so far away that they were almost invisible. “It is the dearest little place in the world,” said Donnie, as they pushed their way through the flax bushes that surrounded it, and reached the narrow strip of shingle that stretched from the doorway to the river’s bank. A little 1 wind rustled through the flax, and the leaves CiTone big bush tapped against the hut as though someone was impatiently waiting to enter. The river itself was so clear that one could see the very bottom of its shallow bed. Above the hut there was a ford leading to Mr Hill’s land on the other side; a little distance below there were miniature rapids, where the water sang all day and night with a song that never ceased. It was an ideal camping place, full of peace and rest and the joy of the open air. “ Let us go in and take possession,” said Phil. “ It’s our own for a whole week. It was splendid of you to think of it, Donnie.” He pushed open the floor, and they went inside together. The hut was quite an ordinary little place of two small rooms, each of which had a tiny window looking on to the river. The inner room contained nothing but the framework of two rude beds, and the outer a rough table, a couple of benches, and a big fireplace. In spite of its disused appearance and the cobwebs that clung to its ceiling, it was clean, and Phil and Donnie soon banished cobwebs and dust, opened the windows and the door, and let the wind blow in to freshen it. When this was finished they set about gathering firewood, and had soon collected -x pile from odds and ends of scrub, and anything they could lay their hands upon, searching up and down the river, and even wading across the shallow ford to get what they could find on the other side. A further pile of dry koraris was gathered for kindling, and then a fire was set in the big fireplace ready for lighting whenever the station trap came into view, to provide a cheery welcome for Aunt Sibbie and the little ones. / They had expected the trap quite early, \ and kept careful watch for it, but the afternoon slipped away and it did not appear upon the road. “Something must have kept them,” Phil said, and proceeded philosophically to'sit and wait for its arrival. It was past tea time, and he and Donnie were both very hungry, but it was no use thinking about that—they must just exercise patience till tea came. So Phil put a match to the fire, and together he and Donnie sat on the doorstep, waiting and watching the sunset colours m the sky and the reflections in the river, and every now and then a flock of seagulls making their way home to some rocky gorge where the river ran between the hills before emerging oh the open plain. The pink and gold of the sunset had faded quite away, and shadows were falling over everything, but still the children sat in the door of the hut, waiting. Far in the distance they could just make out a moving speck of black, which they’knew to be the trap, but it would be some time yet before it readied the hut. They put a fresh supply of wood on the fire, and were sitting silent, looking like a couple of silhouettes on a background of orange and yellow light, when they heard a rustle in the flax bushes which they knew was not that of the Wind, and a man appeared suddenly Before them. For a moment the children were startled. It was too dark to see his face, but Phil, with relief, recognised the figure. “ It’s Mr Hill’s shepherd.” he said eagerly. , . ■■ ■

“Did I startle you?” the man asked. “ I am sorry. I saw the light of your fire from the road across the paddock there, and thought it was well to investigate before I crossed The ford. There’s been no one in this hut since 1 came to the district, and the light looked strange. What are you doing here at this time of night ? ” He looked searcliirigly at the children, trying to see their faces in the shadow. His voice was low and pleasant, but Donnie resented the touch of authority that was in it. What did their affairs matter to him? Phil answered readily enough:

“We are camping out for a week. Ob, no! we are not alone. Our aunt is coming, too, and the two kids. We are waiting for the trap now. I don’t know why they should lie so late—we expected them quite early, but they didn’t turn up. They have our tea with them, and we are jolly hungry now.” “ Hard lines! ” Said the shepherd. "But I don’t think you’ll have to wait much longer. I passed a trap on the road—l’ve been to the township—with a lady and two children, and a man driving. That’ll be the rest of your party, I suppose. One horse was a bit lame, and they are going slowly.” “ I wish they’d come,” Phil answered. “My patience is getting worn out. 1 say, if you are not in a hurry wait here with us a little. I’d like to talk to you.”

" All right,” said the shepherd easily, taking the seat that Phil had made for him between Donnie and himself. “ You are the boy I saw the other day, aren’t you? I don’t know what your name is.” “ Phil . Morris,” the boy answered, "and this is my sister Donnie. My father’s station lies this side of the river.” - • The min did not answer for a few moment; then he repeated slowly, as though his thoughts were far away: " Donnie—Donnie.” Donnie herself spoke this time. She had taken a dislike to the stranger, and there was resentment in her voice. “ Yes, that’s my name? Why do you say it in that tone? Do you know anyone called Donnie?” The shepherd looked at her in silence for a while, searching for an answer. He could not see her face, but he was quick to notice her voice, and when at last he spoke his tone was apologetic. “I beg your pardon. Yes—l knew a Donnie once; but she was a baby.” " And did site die ? ” asked Dotinie somewhat mollified. “ Was she vour child ?”' * The stranger gave her no answer at all, but turned to Phil again, questioning him. “ You have other brothers or sisters ? ” he said. “ And an aunt? Is she—is she your mother’s sister—this.aunt?” “ Yes,” said Phil eagerly—he resented np amount of questioning — “ our mother’s sister—Aunt Sibbie. She’s splendid. She’s always lived with us, and has looked after us all. We all love her. It’s she who is coming here to camp with us.” - The shepherd said nothing, and in the interval Donnie spoke again. She was seething with indignation because of the man’s rudeness to herself, and because of his curiosity. “ I think,” she said severely, “ that you are most inquisitive. Why should you want to know everything about us, when you are so rude as .to give no answers when we ask you questions? This is my father’s hut, and my father’s ground—why should you come here and treat us like that! ” Before she -had finished speaking the shepherd was on hisPfeet. “Forgive me,” he said quite humbly. "You are right—it is not my place to question you, I suppose, and I apologise for my rudeness. I deserve what you have said. Good night.” He turned swiftly and disappeared in the flax bushes, and in a few moments they heard the splash of water as his horse crossed the ford to the other side of the river. " You were a bit rough on him, Donnie,” said Phil, when there was silence again. "I don’t think that he really meant to be rude. He seemed just, interested. And it'was I who asked him to stay and talk, you know. I like him.”

“ I don’t,” said Donnie. There’s something odd about him. I can’t tell you how I know, but I do. And he was rude. He’s only a shepherd, too, PhiL

He’s got no right to ask about us, and to take no notice-when I speak to him.” She nursed her wrath against the shepherd until the arrival of the trap, and then promptly forgot all about it for a while in the interest of welcoming the late-comers and in the prospect of tea at last. Four causes had contributed to the delay, Aunt Sibbie said in answer to eager questionings. First, visitors had arrived and had stayed late, and mother had insisted that she must help to entertain them before she went away. -Then Willie had been lost, and a great hunt bad resulted in his discovery in the loft, buried in a volume of Hans Andersen. Evelyn, in a search for Willie, had fallen into the creek, and had had to be dressed afresh from top to toe, and, last of all, one of the horses bad gone lame on the road, and this had prevented them from making fast progress when at last they were fairly started.

“ But here we are, safe after all,” she said, “ and you two poor famished things can’ be fed at last. You don’t know how guilty I’ve felt as we came along, and how sorry I have been for you. For we have all had something to eat since dinner time, and you have had nothing. Yes, that’s right, Donnie; bring along that little basket. The tea’s in it, just ready to put on the table, and Phil’s gone with the billy to get water. It’ll take no time to boil at such a glorious fire.” (To be continued.)