LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7045, 23 December 1890, Page 1

LITERATURE.

THREE BRAVE LITTLE HEARTS. [By Mbs M. Campbell.] (Concluded.) Chapter 111. The boys began rapidly putting together their acquisitions, George filling the crown ■of his hat with bird's eggs, while little Ted, amid much laughter from bis brothers, ■filled his pocket with five corners; "" they're for mother," he explained. "I hope she'll like five corner squash, aeasoned with pocket," laughed George. A puff of wind came moaning along the top of the ridge, bending and Bwaying the tree tops aa it came. I "Do make baste," said Gerald again, --almost stamping with impatience to be gone. As he spoke tbe breeze reached the burning enrrajong tree ; there was a sudden crack, and a large bough came crashing down. The boys sprang to right and left, ■but they were not quick enough. Ia a second they were sprawling on the ground, •half smothered in greenery! They had been caught only by the mass of broad green leaves, and the slender branches ; but even that, falling from such a height, was sufficient to dash them roughly to the ground. Two of them scrambled quickly out, half laughing, half frightened, and looked round for the third. Gerald lay still, partly covered by the mass of fallen foliage. He had fallen backwards across a small ledge of rock, that stuck out a few inches above the surface of the ground. The brothers quickly pulled aside the fallen bough and drew him out. But <Serald lay motionless — his face white — all the ruddy colour had ebbed away in that second of time. "Gerald. 1 Gerald!" called little Ted, clasping his hands together in his terror. "Gerald! are you dead? Do look up, Gerald, and speak. Oh, George," moaned the little fellow, " what shall we do ? He's tilled, I'm Bure." " Perhaps he's only stunned," returned 'George, in a frightened whisper. "See, ■he fell across this bit of rock; and his bead must have come against that stone. He'll be better in a minute, perhaps. Get some water, and we'll bathe his face." They brought water from the little stream, and -laved the face and hands of tho insensible boj\ But several minutes, which seemed like hours, passed before he showed any signs of life. Presently, however, a look of consciousness returned to the pale features ; and Gerald opened his eyes, to the intense relief of the two little boys who were so ■anxiously watching him. "You're all right, now, Gerald— aren't you ?" said George. " Ye— es, I expect so," answered Gerald, rather gaspingly. "At least, I'll be all right presently, when 1 get my wind;" and he closed his eyes again. The others waited a few moments — then spoke again. " It's getting very late, Gerald. Don't you think you'll soon be able to start." Gerald opened his eyes, and lay smiling, rather foolishly, up at the failing light in the sky. "Oh yes, .I'll start," he said, "if you chaps 'll.just help me on to my feet. My back feels rather funny, but I expect it'll .go off when I begin to move." They took his hands and tried to help him into a sitting position ; but in vain. " I don't know what's amiss," be said, presently. "I don't think I'm hurt ; but I've got a queer numbed sort of feeling in my back ; and I don't seem as if I had any legs belonging to me ah all." "They're not broken, Gerald?" asked little Ted, horrified. " Well, they might be broken right off for all I can feel of them," answered Gerald. "Anyhow, I can't get up, much leaa walk. What on earth shall we do ? You boys will have to go home and tell father ; and he'll come and fetch me ; only, don't fee long !" "We can't leave you here alone," said George. " I'll stay with you, Gerald, while Ted runs borne for help. You can find your way over the ridge by yourself, can't you Teddy?" Poor little Ted ; he looked up at the fast darkening mass of trees that clothed the sides of the great ridge below them, and bis lips quivered. " I'll try," waß all he said, and was turning to go, when Gerald spoke again. " You're the best one to co, George. You can run the fastest. Don't frighten mother too much, that's all. Ted will sit foere with me ; and we'll keep each other company till you come back." No sooner said than done. Little Ted sat down with a sigh of relief, and George started off down the Bteep slope ; springing from rock to rock like a young deer. How quickly tbe darkness seemed to settle down when he was gone. The setting sun went down with a rush behind the hills, and though myriads of stars twinkled out in the clear, dark sky above them, they seemed to give little or no light. The two boyß crouched close together and talked in whispers, afraid of they mew not what. " How long will we have to wait, do you think, Gerald ?" Baid Ted. ■■"Four or five hours, at least," answered Gerald, with a sigh. " You see, we took more than that coming np here this morning, and, let George run bis fastest, he can't get home much under three ; and then they'll have to catch the horses, that'll take a little while, you know. I hope mother won't be frightened, that's all." " Oh, dear," sighed the younger boy. I wish old Nettles hadn't gone and had a headache this morning. I wish we were back in tbe schoolroom. And, oh Gerald, I'm getting so hungry ; and it'll soon be feed time. I wish mother was here." " It's no good wishing things. I wish my back was better or that I could use my legs. Perhaps I never shall again, Ted. Perhapß I shall be like that man we saw at the township one day, who had lost both his legs and went along rocking himself in a sort of cradle." " Oh, don't Gerald, protested Ted, tearfully. I'm sure you'll be all right is soon as we get home and mother puts you to bed. Mother always knows what to do for us, doesn't she ? Oh, mother, mother." and poor little Ted broke quite down, and began to sob in moat pitiful fashion. "There, there, Ted, don't cry j I did not quite mean what I said about the man without legs," said the injured boy, trying to comfort the little brother, whose soft heart had beten entirely melted by the dismal picture of Gerald's rocking himself about the roads in a cradle, and who Bobbed away in most uncontrollable fashion. " Don't cry any more ; there's a good boy. Remember the story old Nettlesbip read us one day about tho Spartans— they never cried." " Not for their own selves," returned Ted, oblivious of grammar in the extremity of his woe, " But perhaps they cried when their brothers got hurted." "I'm sure they didn't," answered Gerald, with conviction. " But, now, look here, Ted ; do leave off crying, and I'll tell you a story to pass the time; and it's about some boys who went into the bush and lost their way, and wandered about for <j a y 6i — —What's that" and he broke off suddenly, with a violent start. A low, whining note ; swelling gradually into a long, loud bowl. It seemed to come from nowhere, and end nowhere ; it . filled the air, yet they could not have told : from which side it came. Ted jammed to his feet, in a perfect

agony of terror. "Gerald, Gerald; it'i the wild dogs; it's the dingoea. Oh what shall we do ?" Gerald made no answer for a minute— his heart was beating wildly ; and all the stories he had heard of the ferocity of the wild dogs in attacking little children, oi wounded creatures, came into his mind al once. "I wonder i£ George heard them," he said at length. Did he not, poor boy, as he scrambled down that rough hill side ; and did not the sound lend wings of terror to his flying feet? "It's the smell of the fire that has attracted them," said Gerald, in a low voice. "If I could only use my legs we'd soon get away from them. I don'fc believe they'd follow or dare to attack us unless they thought we were hurt, and couldn't fight." " Gerald," said Ted, suddenly, " let me try and carry you — at least, not quite carry you ; but, if you held me tight round the neck, I might drag you, and its all downhill, you know. Do try ; you don't know how strong I am. I carried George right round the garden on my back yesterday, and I'm sure he's as heavy as youare. Come, Gerald, don't wait a minute, but catch me right round the neck and let'B try. Oh, there's another howl — ever so much nearer. Gerald ! Gerald ! come at once ! " and Ted stooped in front of his brother. " Ini afraid you can't manage it, little man," he said. "I'm an awful heavy chap, I know." " Oh, yea, I can ; at any rate, we'll be meeting them when they come to look for us. Catch hold, Gerald, do." Thu9 entreated, Gerald raised himself with difficulty, and claßped his brother tightly round the shoulders ; and the little fellow, bending all his strength to the task, found to his delight that, half carrying, half dragging, he could move. And bo he set out, all bis Btrong little heart bent to the task of getting his brother out of danger. Down the rocky hillside he slipped and staggered, sometimes almost falling, sometimes obliged to stop and take breath, but still progressing, though very, very slowly. What an endless journey it seemed down the hill they had climbed so gaily in the morning. And how often those two brave little hearts beat with renewed dread when the howl of the dingo was heard again, sounding now near, now far, a dißtnal, melancholy wail. # * * # # Meanwhile, George had .gained the foot of the ridge, and was speeding along the level flat. The perspiration was pouring from his face, partly from the violent exertion, partly from the fear for his brothers 5 and his breath came in loud, quick gasps. ' Through the paddock, up the garden path—he ia home at last, and bursts into the lighted room, where the rest of the family are seated at their evening meal, panting and dishevelled, with pale cheeks and starting eyes— a terrifying vision to his parents, who at first can get no word from him ; he has no breath left tj speak. "Where are your brothers, George?" demanded his father. "Has anything happened to them ? Tell me quick." For all answer George lifts bis hand, and points in the direction of the PineEidge. " Up there," he gasps. " Why have they not come home with you ? What is wrong ?" George, tried again to speak. " Gerald's hurt," he managed to pant out. " A tree fell. We think his legs are broken, or his back, or something. He can'b walk. And— Oh ! father, do make baste ! I heard the wild dogs bowling all the way down." Mr Martin tnrned and rushed out of the room, and his voice was heard calling outside, as he rapidly organised a party to seek for the missing boys. Poor Mrs Martin — her comely face white with terror— sank back in her chair, and George remembered, with contrition, Gerald's parting words. . "Perhaps he'a not so very bad, mother," be said ; "be told me not to frighten you." j "Did he; dear boy?" j "Yes, and I don't think he can be much hurt," added George, only anxious now to make as light as possible of his late terrifying announcement ; " because it wasn't a whole tree that fell— only a big bough, and it knocked me and Ted down, too; only it didn't hurt us. It was only Gerald said he couldn't get up, and bo I we thought bis legs or something must be broken; but legs are pretty easy mended, aren't fche'y, mother?" " George," called his father's voice, hurried and sharp ; " come at once, and Bhow us where you left them." "You had better send a man for the doctor," he added to his wife. "The boy may not be seriously hurt, but it is as well to be on the safe side." In a wonderfully short space of time the horses bad been caught and saddled, and Mr Martin, accompanied by Mr Nettleahip, very repentant of his headache now, and George, on his pony, set out at a quick pace towards the dark mass of hill. They reached the foot of the ridge, and there were obliged to dismount and tie up the boraes, the ground being too rough for riding over in the dark, and continued their way on foot. " Do you think you can find your way, George ?" said his father; " I think so," answered the boy ; "it waa quite at the top of the ridge, and there's a tree burning there ; we set it alight to burn out the 'possums." They scrambled on in silence for some minutes, the father's heart full of apprehension for his first-born son. The bright, brave, boy he had always been so prond of. They have nearly got half way up, when a sudden sound made them pause and listen. A very faint, hoarse, little cooey was heard; and a shout went up in reply. " Where are you, boys ? " " Here " waa the answer, and a few steps to the right brdught the anxiouß searchers to the little group. Poor little Ted had stuck to his task, and had succeeded in dragging his brother more than half-way down the hill. But bis strength had given way at last, and he bad sunk down beside him on the ground. A hurried question or two, and Mr Martin, full of foreboding, lifted Gerald in hi 3 arms, and leaving the others to help Ted, made the best of bis way back to where they bad left the horses. Ted refused to be carried, but did not disdain a strong helping band, and as be limped along, footsore and weary, he told how they had been startled by the cry of the dingoes, and how he bad made Gerald let him try and bring him down. Arrived at home both boys were speedily put to bed, and Mr Martin examined Gerald carefully, but could find no brokon bones. " Hiß legs are all right, that is certain "he said to his wife. "I am afraid tbe injury is to the spine, but I can find nothing." "That brave little Ted. Fancy his dragging bis big brother down that hill in the dark. I fissure you it was all I could do to carry him. I hope the doctor will not; be long in coming." It wa3 a~ ride of six miles to summon the doctor, but a strong horse and willing rider quickly conquer Bpace; and many hours had not elapsed before be stood by Gerald's bed, the anxious parents hanging on his words, which seemed to them to involve their boy's whole future. With grave face and gentle hands he examined the boy, and questioned him closely and gave his verdict. " I think it is only a severe jar to the spiue, which has temporarily paralysed

s the lower limbs. Best and gentle friction „ is what lie needs; but we shall be able to judge better in the morning. At any - rate, Mr Martin, there is no broken back b in the question." b "I think I have had a good dose of r 'friction 1 already," said Gerald. "My fc feet and legs, I know; bumped on every rock on the hillside. Although I couldn't 3 feel it, I expect my clothes did. Mother, is there anything left of my trousers and I boots at all ?" i "Not much," paid Mrs Martin with a ; laugh, verging nearly on tears, as she held up a jagged garment, ■which certainly bore i only a remote resemblance to the neat ■ clothes of the morning. "Never mind . them, my son, bo long as you are all right i yourself. Now I must go and see after i poor little Ted, and tell him what the ; doctor says." Ted had stayed awake to hear the doctor's verdict ; but it was about all he could do. His blue eyes were closing as his mother bent over him, and whispered that the doctor thought Gerald would soon be all right again. "I'm bo glad," he murmured, as he dropped off, almost too far gone to return his mother's heartfelt kiss, but rouaing himself for a second to say, "Mother, dear, there's some five corners for you in my breeches pockets. I hope they're not all egu — squashed." Certainly the most effoctive Medicine in the World is Sasder and Sons' .Eucalypti Extjuct* Test its eminent powerful effects in Coughs, Colds. Influenza, &o. 5 tie relief is instantaneous. Thou, sands give the most, gratifying testimony. Rood this certificate :— " 24th April, 1885.— Mesara Sander and BoTXß,—lt is with the greatest pleasure that I testify to the excellence of your Eucalypti Extract. Harintr had inflammation on tho bone of the lesj, which~came on after a severe attack of low fever, X was attended by Dr J. Boyd, who had made strena ous efforts to save my leg, butwithout success. He then found it necessary to amputate my limb. Having heard in the meantime of the wonderful cures worked by the Eucalypti Extract, I obtained a bottle, and the extract had not been applied more than an hour when I began to feel greatly relieved. After applying the eztract every four hours for nine or ten days, I was out of all danger. I would per. suade all who may be affected with any such disease to give the Eucalypti Extract a trial, and X am convinced that they will find it the most wonderful of medicines.— Yours, bo., E. J. Curnow, Wattle «treet,Bandhurßt. — PApyTi.