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"The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Australian Lassie, by Lilian Turner The Project Gutenberg EBook of An Australian Lassie, by Lilian Turner This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: An Australian Lassie Author: Lilian Turner Illustrator: A.J. Johnson Release Date: January 28, 2008 [EBook #24443] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN AUSTRALIAN LASSIE *** Produced by David Wilson, Jacqueline Jeremy and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net AN AUSTRALIAN LASSIE -1- The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Australian Lassie, by Lilian Turner "Seated on a partly submerged post ... was John Brown." (Page 25.) AN AUSTRALIAN LASSIE BY LILIAN TURNER author of "the perry girls," etc. ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. J. JOHNSON WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED LONDON AND MELBOURNE -2- The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Australian Lassie, by Lilian Turner TO MY STEPFATHER CHARLES COPE [7] CONTENTS CHAP. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. Wygate School The Pearl Seekers "The Daily Round—The Common Task" Ghosts John Brown Monday Morning "Carew-Brown" The Fight Dorothea’s Friends Riches or Rags The Artist by the Wayside Betty in the Lion’s Den "If I were only You!" John’s Plans On the Road The Note on the Pincushion In the City Alma’s Shilling The Bent-Shouldered Old Gentleman The Day After School "Good-bye, Good-bye" PAGE 9 20 30 41 59 68 79 86 101 112 123 134 147 162 177 189 201 214 224 234 245 -3- The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Australian Lassie, by Lilian Turner [8] [9] CHAPTER I WYGATE SCHOOL "Emily Underwood, 19; Stanley Smith, 20; Cyril Bruce, 21; Nellie Underwood, 22; Elizabeth Bruce, 23—bottom of the class!" Mr. Sharman took off his eyeglasses, rubbed them, and put them on again. Then he looked very hard at the little girl at the end of the furthest form, who was hanging her head and industriously biting a slate pencil. "Stand up, Elizabeth Bruce. Put down your pencil and fold your hands behind you." Elizabeth did as she was told instantly. Her rosy face looked anxiously into the master’s stern one. "Yesterday morning," the master said, "you were head of the class. This morning I find your name at the end of the list. How was that?" Elizabeth hung her head again, and her [10]dimpled chin hid itself behind the needlework of her pinafore. A small girl, a few seats higher, held up her hand and waved it impatiently. "Well?" asked the master. "Please sir, she was promptin’ Cyril Bruce." "Silence!" thundered the master sternly. Then his gaze went back to the bent head of the little culprit. "Stand upon the form," he said, "and tell me in a clear voice how it is you went down twenty-two places in one afternoon." The rosiness left the little girl’s face. She raised her head, and her brown eyes looked pleadingly into the master’s, her white face besought him, for one second. Then she scrambled up to the form by the aid of the desk in front of her. Down the room near the master’s desk stood a new boy, an awkward looking figure of twelve years old or so, waiting to be given a place in the class. Elizabeth knew that her disgrace was meant as a solemn warning to him. So she tossed back the short dark [11]curls that hardly reached her neck, and looking angrily at him, said— "I was top and I pulled Nelly Martin’s hair, and was sent down three. Then I was fourth, and my pencil squeaked my slate and I was sent down six. Then Cyril had to spell ’giraffe,’ and I said ’one r and two f’s,’ and she sent me to the bottom." -4- The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Australian Lassie, by Lilian Turner All of this speech was directed to the new boy who stood on one leg and grew red. It was an immense relief to him when the master rapped the front desk with his cane and said— "Look at me, miss. Whom do you mean by ’she’?" At the end of the room a sharp visaged lady of forty-five was watching the proceedings of the first class from over the heads of a row of small students who comprised the "Babies’ Class." "D-o, do; g-o, go," she said mechanically, and looked anxiously from little Elizabeth to her stern son, the master of Wygate School. Elizabeth jerked her head, "Mrs. Sharman," she said. [12]"Sit down and fold your hands behind you," ordered the master. He turned to the new boy. "John Brown," he said, "go and take your seat next to Elizabeth Bruce—but one above her." The new boy moved across the room, red-faced and clumsy in every movement. When he found himself in front of the class he grew still redder, and hung hesitatingly upon the step that led to the platform upon which the form was placed. Elizabeth looked at him disdainfully and drew her dress close around her. "Sit down, you silly," she said in a sharp whisper, and indicated with a little head toss the seat above her. John Brown slunk past her and dropped heavily into his seat. The master retired to his desk and made an entry or two in his long blue book while silence hung over the schoolroom. In Elizabeth’s heart a flame of anger was spreading. That this boy, this new boy, should be placed above her, was in her eyes the greatest injustice. A small voice within [13]told her that she had been punished sufficiently yesterday afternoon. Her head moved slightly in the direction of the new boy and her rosy lips opened. "You cheat!" she whispered. The boy sat motionless and the anger burned hotter in Elizabeth’s heart. "Cheaty, cheaty; go home and tell your mother!" she said in a sing-song way. Still Brown did not move. Elizabeth slid her hand along the seat and gave him a sharp pinch, and he started uneasily. "Stand up the boy or girl who was speaking," ordered the master, without looking up. A small fair-haired fair-complexioned boy, two seats above Elizabeth, flushed. His name was Cyril Bruce and he was Elizabeth’s twin brother—twelve years old. -5- The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Australian Lassie, by Lilian Turner "I was only talking to myself—that’s not speaking," he murmured. Elizabeth rose slowly to her feet and stood working a corner of her pinafore into a knot. The master looked around, and his brow grew dark when he saw the small offender. [14]"Repeat aloud what you said, Elizabeth Bruce," he ordered. The little girl grew white, then red, then white again, and went on twisting her pinafore. "Do you hear me?" shouted the master. "Stand upon the form and repeat your words." Once again Elizabeth clambered into a higher position. "I said—I said, ’Cheaty, cheaty; go home and tell your mother,’" she said in a clear voice that sounded all over the room. A shocked expression passed over the face of the class. "To whom were you addressing yourself?" asked the master. "The new boy," said the little girl. "Sit down, and stay in the dinner-hour and write out the sentence fifty times." Elizabeth sat down, and again her anger against the new boy blazed high. She put out her foot and kicked the heel of his boot, but this time she eschewed words, for the face of the master was towards her, and [15]an expectant silence hung over the schoolroom. The clock struck ten, and the boy at the head of the class immediately began passing slates down—one to each pupil, with a piece of pencil upon it. The sight of the well-cleaned slate and nicely pointed pencil brought a feeling of great uneasiness to Elizabeth. It had been in her mind how nicely she could climb above the new boy, and the tell-tale girl, and all the other boys and girls, and now the order of the day was—sums. The master was writing them down on the blackboard, making them up as he went along, with due care working nines and eights and sevens into his multiplicand and dealing but sparsely with fives and twos and threes. Elizabeth copied it down and rubbed it out. Copied it down and rubbed out half, by judicious breathings directed judiciously; looked up the class to see how Cyril was progressing, and back to the board to see if a pleasant little short division sum was lurking near this obnoxious multiplication; then [16]back to her slate to count the number of nines once more. And by that time the master was giving out his order: "Pencils down. Hands behind you. At—tention." -6- The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Australian Lassie, by Lilian Turner Brown’s face expressed such placidity that the master asked him to stand and give out the answer, and he gave it gladly enough—999.009—which sounded particularly learned to a class not yet introduced to decimals. The master nodded. "You are right," he said, "but no one is up to decimals yet." So it happened that Brown made his reputation straightway, and with such ease did he solve every arithmetical puzzle, that dinner-time saw him sitting smiling and covered with laurels at the head of the class, and Elizabeth still at the bottom cleaning her slate to write "Cheaty, cheaty; go home and tell your mother," fifty times. Wygate School was a preparatory school for boys and girls, although the girls out-numbered the boys. At the present stage of its existence it had eighteen girls and twelve boys. Not half a mile distant was a public school, to the precincts of which flocked fifty [17]pupils daily, each of whom paid a modest threepence a week for educationary advantages. Wygate School was the only private school in the district, and was regarded respectfully by the neighbourhood. So many "undesirables" were precluded from its benefits, by its charge of one guinea a quarter. John Brown, the new boy, whose age it appeared was thirteen years, was the eldest pupil in the school, and Floss Jones, who was four, was the baby. The neighbourhood frequently moaned that there was no private school for those of riper years—fifteen and sixteen or so; but in some cases it called in a governess, in others it forewent its dignity and adopted the public school, and in others again it sent its young folk over the water to Sydney—a matter of three miles or more. But the North Shore Highlands was at this time uncatered for by the tramway authorities. An old coach ran twice daily from Willoughby to the steamer—a morning trip and an evening-tide one—there and back. It was [18]largely patronized by the Chinese, and parents of the artisan class hesitated and frequently refused to allow their young folk to make the journey. The three young Bruces went every day across a beaten bush track, from their weather-board cottage home, past the big iron gates of Dene Hall, a house built of grey stone in the early days of the colony, where their irascible grandsire dwelt, up a red dusty road to the little school-house on the hill. And special terms were arranged for them because they were three—Cyril, and Elizabeth the twins, and six-year-old Nancy. They had always been three. For even in the days when Cyril and Elizabeth had belonged to the baby class there had been Dorothea, Dorothea who was sixteen and quite old now, who was a weekly boarder in a fashionable Sydney school (for a ridiculously small quarterly fee). And when Dorothea had left Wygate School little Nancy’s hand had been put into Elizabeth’s and she too had taken the long red road to school. And after Nancy there [19]was still a wee toddler who, it was said, would make the number up to three again when Cyril went to a "real" boy’s school. -7- The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Australian Lassie, by Lilian Turner [20] CHAPTER II THE PEARL SEEKERS They were round the corner and away from school—Cyril, Elizabeth and Nancy. Behind them were all the trials and vexations of the day, among which may be counted Mrs. Sharman, Mr. Sharman—and John Brown. Cyril spoke with awe of John Brown’s big hands and feet, and looked over his shoulder as he spoke. For that small hope of the Bruces had in the cloak-room inadvertently trodden upon Brown’s hat, and had been startled by the way in which Brown had swung him round by his collar. "I pinched him," said Betty proudly. "He shouldn’t have gone above me. I’ll pinch him every time." Her sun-bonnet was tucked away under her arm, her boots and stockings were in the family lunch-basket that she carried, boy-like, [21]swung over her shoulder, and she covered the ground most of the time with a hop, skip, and a jump, aided by a long stout stick. "I suppose," she said, "we’ll have to try the dangerous little coral islands this time. I know that’s where the black pearl is hidden." "Oh dear," sighed Nancy, "I don’t like curral islands a bit. Let’s go home to-day." "Silly!" said Cyril loftily. "We’ve got to find the black pearl somehow." "It’ll be worth hundreds and thousands of pounds," said Elizabeth. "Just think of taking that to mother, just think of all we could do. It wouldn’t matter then grandfather not speaking. We could drive past him in our carriage then! Come on my lass." This last was to Nancy. "I want to go in the water, too, Betty," said the small lassie, following at a trot. "Don’t want to be your old wife. I’ve been your wife for a lot of days now." "I don’t know who you mean when you say Betty," declared Elizabeth, and leapt forward so far that the other two had to sharpen their pace suddenly. [22]"Peter Lucky," said Nancy imploringly. "Oh, Peter Lucky, let Cywil be your wife a bit—do." "Cywil’s"—it may be stated that Betty was still very backward sometimes in the matter of r’s—"Cywil’s got to be my chum—don’t be such a stupid Nancy—er—Polly. He’s got to try to murder me in the middle of the night to get the pearl. Look here, we’ve only just put you in to amuse you a bit, we can just as well do without you." Nancy’s face fell. Such statements were lavishly used by these two elders of hers towards herself. But the indignity she feared most was to be told to go home and play with the baby, and she looked at her sister with an eager smile now to stop the words if possible. -8- The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Australian Lassie, by Lilian Turner "Oh, don’t do wivout me, Betty dear," she said. "I’ll love to be your wife. I was only thinking it would be nice to have your feet in the water." "You’re six," said Betty. "You ought to be able to be my wife well now—cook the dinner, and wash up, and all that. If you do [23]well at this, we’ll see how you’ll do as a man some day." For a second they stopped before their grandfather’s gates and peered up the long drive. It was an old habit of theirs, varied for instance by challenges of who dared to walk the furthest distance up the drive. Betty had once advanced just beyond that mysterious bend, but she had scudded back again soon, declaring her grandfather had a gun and was coming after them, with it aimed at her head. Oh, how they had run home that day! Another time she had climbed upon the topmost rail of the gate and, scrambling down quickly, had set off madly for home, followed breathlessly by the others who were afraid even to look over their shoulders. "He’s set the emus loose," Betty told them as they ran, "and emus are like bloodhounds for scenting you out. And besides, they can fly." But that was fully a year ago now, and much of the terror had departed from their grandfather’s gates for the two elder ones. It was only Nancy who had cold thrills down [24]her back and shudderings at passing the dread gates. To-day Betty did no more than peep through the railing, declare there was nobody about, and swing off again with her long pole. "Nobody there to-day," she said, and Nancy breathed easier and ran after her. They were on the well-trodden bush-track now, the track that led home between great gums and slim saplings. The iron roof of the cottage came into view and the row of tall pines that stood like grim sentinels between the two-rail fence and the sweet-scented garden. A small wicket gate stood invitingly ajar, and a black dog, lying meditatively outside it, pricked up his ears and raised his head as the trio came into sight. They took a cross-track, however, and disappeared into the bush again, and the dog shook off his thoughtful mood and ran gleefully after them. For he had not grown up from puppyhood to doghood with these children without knowing what tracks led to school and home, and what to the wonderful realm of play and fancy. [25]Moreover, his anticipations were always aroused when Elizabeth changed her habit, and he had seen in the twinkling of his eye that she was bare-legged and bare-headed and provided with a pole. So he barked joyously and scampered away upon that cross-track too. Down in the gully where the growth was thicker, and where the wattles and willows made many a fairy grove, a small creek ran. The widest end of it ran into their grandfather’s grounds, and had at one time in its career broken down the two-rail dividing fence, which now lay submerged in its waters and formed the "dangerous coral islands" alluded to by Betty. It pleased Elizabeth’s fancy to state that her grandfather was unaware of this creek, but that some one would tell him soon, and then he would send men and have it well examined by divers. -9- The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Australian Lassie, by Lilian Turner To-day, however, a dire disappointment awaited them. Seated on a partly submerged post, and holding a fishing-line in his hands, was John Brown. The three stared at him for [26]a minute in speechless disgust, but he returned their stare with a nod and a small smile and looked at his line. "Better come home," whispered Cyril, with a lively recollection in his mind of the big hand that had played with his collar so short a time past. But Betty was trying to swallow her indignation and to keep her voice quiet. "This is our place," she said. "This was our place before yours." "Well," said Brown, "it’s mine now." "It isn’t yours," said Betty shrilly; "it belongs to our grandfather—so there!" Again Brown smiled. "Well, that’s a stuffer," he said, "it belongs to my grandfather." Betty’s eyes widened in horror at the new boy’s depravity. "Oh, you story!" she said in a shocked voice, then turning to the uneasy Cyril, "Hit him, Cyril!" she said. "Hit him one in the eye for taking our place and telling such a wicked story." But Cyril was already widening the distance between himself and John Brown, and a feeling [27]of anger was beginning to stir in his small breast against Betty for trying to mix him up in this quarrel. "Come on home," he said, "what’s the good of having a row with a fellow like that?" "But it’s our water," said Betty, her face red with anger towards the fisher. She stooped down and picked up a stone. Brown turned and looked at the little group; Cyril a good distance in the rear; and angry-faced Betty, with Nancy cowering in terror behind her. "Look here," he said, "I’m not going to have any of you people poaching on my grandfather’s property. You can come as far as the fence if you like, but I advise you to come no further." Betty’s stone flew through the air—many yards distant from the boy on the post. "Good, again," he said. "There are plenty more stones and I’m here yet." Again Betty repeated the process, and with even worse results. She never could aim straight in all her life! "Good shot!" said Brown, laughing again. [28]"Oh, Cywil, do smash him," begged Betty in desperation. - 10 - The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Australian Lassie, by Lilian Turner "He daren’t, he hasn’t the pluck," mocked Brown. "No Bruce is afraid," said Betty, using her favourite taunt. "Come on Cyril!" But when she looked over her shoulder Cyril was nowhere in sight, and Nancy was scudding away, like a terrified rabbit, through the scrub around her. T..."

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