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CHAPTER I. lost in the bush. “Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!” roared the laughing jackass. It was a glorious morning in the heart of the bush. The warm sun glinted athwart the branches of the trees and cast festoons of light beneath, as if some gigantic magic lantern was at work. The mocking bird of Australia sat perched upon the highest bough of a giant red-gum and looking down beneath upon the form of a wee urchin lying prostrate on the turf, sobbing as if his little heart was breaking. “Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!” laughed the merry jackass, making the bushland ring again with its mimic jeers. The boy under the tree ceased sobbing and looked up. “It’s a fine thing to laugh when one’s in trouble,” he said, espying the long ugly beak of the scoffer pointing down towards him. “I’ll bet if I only had my Shanghai I’d soon make you laugh t’other side of your mouf.” “Ho-ho-ho!” chuckled the jackass in reply. “Oh, it’s no use troubling about a silly bird,” muttered the child sadly. “He can’t help me. Oh, I wish he could!” And the sobbing recommenced more intensely than before. Poor Berty Wake was lost in the bush—lost utterly. For two whole days the child had wandered on and on hoping to find his way back again to that section on the back blocks which his father farmed and where he had been born. For two days the child had not seen a sign of civilisation, nor any form of life whatsoever, save a native bear, one or two wallabies, and this mocking jackass, who seemed to add to the poor wanderer’s grief by its unseemly laughter. Berty, who was one of five brothers, had been sent early in the morning, by his father, to hunt up an old roan mare, who had a great love for straying away in the bush. The boy had been diligent in his search, but could find no trace of the pony anywhere; and when he began to track back home again night came on, and the boy found he was astray in the trackless waste, with not a single point or landmark to guide him. Poor Berty! how he coo-eed and called on his mother and his father, and then cried himself to sleep under the big gum-trees, and when daylight came again walked on and on, bravely hoping to find the track to guide him home again. No use though. Here he was the beginning of the third day, tired and hungry and much deeper in the lonesome wilderness than before. “Ho-ho-ho!” laughed the jackass. “If I only had something to eat—just a piece of bread—wouldn’t it be nice!” said the lost one, sighing ruefully. “Or a mince-pie!” cried a voice from the tree-top. Berty Wake jumped to his feet. “Who’s that?” he cried. “Ho-ho-ho!” laughed the jackass hoarsely. “Who spoke?” repeated the child, with an hysterical sob; “please say that again—mince-pie, wasn’t it?” “And jam tart,” added the voice again, but sounding much nearer than before. Poor Berty clapped his tiny hands in delight. “Ah! It’s some one come at last,” he cried. “Yes, Berty Wake, it’s me!” gurgled the bird in a deep, guttural tone, at the same time dropping down on a broad limb of the tree just over the boy’s head. “Here am I, Jack the Rover—otherwise, Laughing Jack, as my pa calls me.” For fully a minute the boy stood gaping at the strange bird, too much astonished to utter a word. “Was it—was it really you who talked just now?” he said, with a quaver of fear in his voice. “Why, of course it was,” said the jackass, whetting his beak in a reflective way and shaking his huge head to and fro. “Oh!” cried Berty, “I know you can laugh and whistle, but I didn’t know you could talk. Where did you learn?” “In a cage on the Murray River,” replied the bird, laughing loudly. “I belonged to a squatter named Wake—Stephen Wake. He took me out of a nest when I was a wee urchin like you and taught me all I know.” “Good gracious! Why, you can’t be our Jack?” cried Berty joyfully. “That’s just what I am; Jack the Rover. Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!” replied the bird, ruffling his feathers in great glee. “Ever since my wings have grown I have taken flights from the station when it suited me. Yesterday, I heard you were lost in the bush; so I came after you on my own account, and found you asleep under this tree.” “You are a very kind fellow, Jack,” said poor Berty with tears in his eyes and in his voice. “Not half so kind as you have often been to me, my boy,” replied the bird gravely. “Don’t you remember when Tom nearly broke my legs with the bullock hobbles how you nursed and fondled me, and gave me tit-bits of sugar and cream, and hid me in the stable loft until I was well again? Ho-ho-ho!” “It is wonderful,” cried the child, with wide-open astonished eyes. “Not at all. There is nothing wonderful in kindness, Berty Wake. That is natural. The wonderful part lies in gratitude, my dear. Gratitude moved me to find you, if you were alive. Now here we are.” Little Berty laughed, and the bird followed suit with interest. “I suppose you are hungry?” said the bird. “Please don’t mention it,” responded the wee fellow, with wistful look. “You haven’t really a mince-pie anywhere about, have you?” “Haven’t I though!” answered Jack, with his hoarse laugh. “Just be good enough to follow me over to yonder peak. I’ll show you.” Saying which, Jack the Rover alighted on the ground, hopping in very stately fashion towards the spot indicated, our little hero following. Halting before the hollowed trunk of a huge tree, the bird began to scatter a mound of leaves within the cone, and lo! there came to view three lovely pies. “Sit down, Berty, and eat,” said the jackass. “You’ll find them very fresh and nice. I took them from the larder at the station yesterday, while your father and brothers were out hunting for you.” “Oh, I shall be glad to get back home again, Jack.” “That’s all right. There’s such a lot of people out after you, but they won’t find you, Berty. Jack the Rover shall have the pleasure of guiding you home again.” “Come here, Jack, and let me kiss you,” said the child. “Won’t you?” “Ha-ha-ha! The idea. You can’t kiss with your mouth full of pie. Besides, what will the trees say?” “The trees. Can they know?” cried the boy, with surprise. “Can’t they!” said Jack the Rover confidently. “The trees talk to me. Listen! Don’t you hear them—the rustling of the leaves against each other in the breeze? That is how they talk.” “And can you understand what they say, Jack?” “Of course I can, Berty. They are whispering something to me now. Something that I want to know very much.” “Tell me what they say, Jack.” “They say that you must sit here beneath their protecting shade and finish your pies,” said the bird solemnly. “If you stir from beneath these trees before I return, you will be totally lost to those you love, and die a dreadful death in the bush.” “Are you going to leave me, Jack?” “Only for a short time,” said the bird assuringly. “Finish your repast, and wait patiently till I return. I won’t be long away.” Saying which the laughing jackass mounted on the wing and was soon lost to view. CHAPTER II. emu royal. Berty Wake sat under the trees and waited. Around him rose gigantic ridges of bare rock, rent and torn in quaint shapes, representing towers, peaks, and spires; riven cliffs, dells, moss-grown and webbed and festooned with finest drapery of ferns and wild flowers. It seemed a long time to the anxious child, straining his eyes, watching for the return of the friendly jackass. Then in utter weariness the little watcher became drowsy, his heavy eyelids closed, and he slept. How long he remained asleep he could not tell. Something touched his face and he awoke. Standing before him he saw a fine, strong emu—full-grown, with a soft crimson saddle fixed between its wings, and a bridle on its head and round its beak glittering with precious stones. The boy rubbed his eyes to make certain he was awake, and touched the huge bird with his finger. The talking jackass seemed commonplace in comparison with this wonderful picture. However, Berty had little time to indulge in his astonishment, for Jack the Rover, from the thick branches of the tree, commanded him to mount the curious steed. “I can’t ride an emu. I shall fall off,” cried poor Berty in some alarm. “Why, I thought an Australian could ride anything,” echoed the jackass, with a loud peal of laughter. “Don’t be afraid, my little man: Emu Royal is a safe animal and warranted not to buck.” Emu Royal bowed in a stately way at the compliment, and Berty Wake, over-coming his surprise, caught hold of the silken reins and sprang upon its back. “Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho! Isn’t it funny?” laughed the jackass from the tree-top. “Now on we go. I’ll lead the way, and do you follow me, Emu Royal. Quick march!” No bush-bred horse ever sped over the ground so easily and speedily as Emu Royal. At first poor Berty had some difficulty in keeping his seat, the mode of transit was so queer and unusual, but he soon became accustomed to the long swinging stride of the gigantic bird, who seemed to know his way through the intricate windings of the scrub without any aid whatever from Jack the Rover; for that knowing blade sailed smoothly on the wing high overhead, and appeared to have no other purpose in life than to scare the young parrots from their nests with his demoniacal laughter. They went swiftly along, every bump and jolt and bound of the strange steed seemed to say, “Berty Wake’s going home. The lost is found—Berty’s coming home.” Hills and plains, lakes, and forests of trees appeared and went by them like a drifting cloud. Then, suddenly, they emerged into a quiet dell, ringed in by tall gum-trees, where the grass was emerald green, and soft to the tread as a carpet of velvet pile. Here, without the least warning, the emu gave a sudden spring in the air, and lightly deposited our little hero on the broad of his back on the sward; and before Berty was aware of what had happened, Emu Royal had vanished from his sight. The boy rose to his feet and looked about him; there was no one in view, not even the laughing jackass. Then he laughed in childish glee and clapped his hands. “Why, this is Fir Tree Hollow,” he said, half laughing, half crying. “Don’t I know every bush and sapling in it? And there’s the sheep track leading to the river, and the dray road that winds round the back of our fence. Why, I’m at home again. Coo-ee! Coo-ee!!” A reply came to his call in the shape of a shrill neigh from a neighbouring copse. “Gracious me! That’s our old mare. I know her dear old whinny out of a hundred. Coo-ee!” And the child ran scampering off, and came forth presently, leading by the forelock a roan quadruped which showed ample signs of recognition. “Where have you been hiding yourself?” cried Berty, fondling the pony. “Don’t you know I’ve been hunting for you everywhere and got lost, eh?” Another neigh, and the roan rubs its cold nose up and down the little fellow’s shoulder. “Ah, none of that, you old Greasehorn, I’ve had some trouble to find you; but ‘better late than never’ as dad says. Now won’t they be pleased to see me? and shan’t I be glad to see them?” Vaulting on the back of the pony, the pair jog along the wheel track towards the station. Turning a bend in the track, boy and pony come in view of a party of men, tired to death, and who have been out hunting for the lost one. A loud, glad shout of recognition, and the next moment poor little Berty is in the strong arms of his father, whose voice is husky with emotion as he mutters a prayer of thankfulness intermingled with his passionate kisses. “Where did you get to, my son?” “Oh, a long way, mother. It was the laughing jackass who found me.” Mother and father exchange glances. “The child has had a touch of the sun,” says the latter, stroking Berty’s curls. “Where did the jackass find you, boy?” “Under a big gum-tree such a long, long way off,” responds the child, extending his arms. “Then he brought a emu—such a big fellow, with a saddle and bridle, you know—and he brought me all the way to Fir Tree Hollow.” Stephen Wake shakes his head. “Put him to bed, wife,” he says quietly; “the poor child is not himself. A good night’s sleep will set him all right again.” And Berty Wake slept well. In the early morning, however, he arose and went out into the stable yard, where the laughing jackass nodded on his perch. “Hallo! Jack the Rover,” he said, saluting the bird. The laughing jackass opened its sleepy eye and gazed meditatively at the boy for a few moments, then broke out into its hearty guffaw: “Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!!”
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