Some nights before Sinkum Fung was sitting in his store waiting for customers. His best trade was always in the evening, when the coolies' work was over, and they had time to do some shopping. But it was getting late, and Sinkum thought it about time to close the store and go to bed. Suddenly there fell a shadow across the threshold, and a big black-fellow entered—a stranger whom Sinkum Fung had never seen before. What had he come to buy? Sinkum asked politely. But the black-fellow had come to buy nothing—he had a fierce, wild face, and his voice made Sinkum tremble when he said he had not come to buy, but to sell. He declared his name to be Jaga-Jaga of the great "Rat clan" now living in the Bush not far away. He had found, he said, a white man hanging in a tree, caught and held fast by the dreadful "wait-a-bit" cane that will swing round man or beast at a touch, and hold them fast till they die of exposure and starvation. This man was dead, and on his body, Jaga-Jaga said, he discovered sundry things which he now brought to the store to sell. What would Sinkum Fung give for them? The payment must be made in food, for the tribe were nearly starving. Food was difficult to procure in the intense heat; the ground was arid and unproductive.

Sinkum examined the goods; he made his offer; whereat the wild man swung his boomerang disagreeably, and indicated that he must have "more, more." Tears of self-pity flooded Sinkum's eyes. He had no choice but to obey, and at last the black-fellow left with a sack containing ten times the value of the goods the storeman had been forced to buy. He had been cheated, cruelly used; he was a poor man, and could not stand such losses. The things were of no value—none; but if he had not bought them he would have been a dead man.

Sinkum's hands were no longer in his sleeves—he had made dramatic passes, illustrative of the fearful fate that might have befallen him.

It presented to Eustace's mind a vivid picture—the black-fellow with poised boomerang standing over the shrinking Chinkee, threatening his life if he did not obey the exorbitant demands.

To Mrs. Orban came another thought. There apparently really were black-fellows in the neighbourhood—a whole tribe living in the Bush.

The story of the poor white man strung up in the wood made the listeners shudder. Such a thing had never come into their experience, but they knew the terrible possibility of it. Many a man has been so detained in the Bush, riding inadvertently against the "wait-a-bit" or "lawyer cane." It springs round its victim like a coiled spring, and he is helpless to free himself if his arms happen to be pinioned. Who could this particular poor fellow have been, found not far from the plantation? No one would ever know, Mrs. Orban reflected pitifully.

"And what were the things you had to buy, Sinkum Fung?" asked Eustace, with intense interest.

Sinkum searched amongst his curious garments and produced a handful of things, which he set solemnly down upon the table beside Mrs. Orban, watching her narrowly, to see what effect his action produced.

She gave a start of surprise.

"Why," said Eustace, springing to his feet, "this is the servants' jewellery, and their watches. The black-fellow never got them off any dead white man at all; he stole them straight out of our house."

Sinkum nodded drearily.

So he had discovered, he said. When too late he had heard of the reward for the catching of that black-fellow. He could only claim the reward for returning the goods; but surely the good missee would not let him lose so much. He had given ten times the value of those things, and thus only had he saved them from the black-fellow.

In his endeavour to point out that it was due to him, and him alone, the jewellery had reappeared, Sinkum Fung next fell into raptures over his own deeds. Had he but known that missee wanted the black-fellow too, he would have given his greatest treasure—his fine long pig-tail—to have detained him. He made the statement with a great air of devotion—a Chinaman does not part lightly with his pig-tail.

But no amount of assurances would prevail on Mrs. Orban to give the man more than the promised regard. Any further claim he might have to make, she said, must be made to Mr. Orban on his return. Sinkum Fung went away in a transparently aggrieved frame of mind.

"Mother," Eustace said, as soon as the man's footsteps died away round the veranda, "did you believe his story about the black-fellow?"

"At first, yes," Mrs. Orban admitted. "I dare say such a thing is quite possible. I pictured the black-fellow bringing in a wallet containing the poor traveller's kit, a worn leather belt, with perhaps some money in it, a pipe and pouch."

"Yes, that is what I expected," said Eustace.

"Then one could have believed that Sinkum Fung might be taken in by the tale," Mrs. Orban went on; "but never tell me he believed it when he saw those trinkets. They are not the sort of things a Bushman would be carrying about with him, and Sinkum knows that as well as I do. He is no simpleton. His mistake was that he thought I might be one, and he overreached himself in his description of the ferocious Jaga-Jaga."

"You don't even think Sinkum was terrified into buying the things?" Eustace asked.

Mrs. Orban shook her head and smiled.

"I very much doubt it," she said. "Indeed, I am inclined to fancy the thief was no black-fellow at all now. It is just as likely he was a Malay or Manila boy from the plantation, and Sinkum Fung is in collusion with him. They will probably go shares in the reward; but Sinkum meant to make as much more out of me for himself as he possibly could."

"My word! if the other fellow comes again," said Eustace, "don't I just hope we shall catch him."

"I am sure I hope and trust he will not come again," said Mrs. Orban gravely. "We have had quite as many disturbances already as I feel inclined for."

Mary and Kate were delighted to get back their belongings, and made no further reference to running away. They felt more secure with the Robertson family living in the house. Besides, a letter from Mr. Orban stated that he was getting through his business quicker than he had expected, and he should only now wait for Miss Chase's boat from England, because she would need an escort up country.

This cheered every one immensely. It was something to look forward to, and the days began to go quicker and more brightly.

Then Nesta and Peter came home full of all their doings at the Highlands, and this made a great difference to the house. Eustace did not know he could have been so glad to see his brother and sister; it was not till they came back that he realized how dull he had really been without them.

The Robertsons still stayed. Nesta slept with her mother, and the three boys were in the next room.

Nesta knew a good deal about the excitements that had been taking place at home. It was thought useless to try and hush the matter up. Something was bound to slip out in the course of conversation, and so she was given the lightest possible version of the theft, ending with an amusing account of Sinkum Fung's visit.

Of course Bob brought the children over, and to Eustace's intense gratitude, when it came to the story of the bogus scare, and Nesta seemed inclined to giggle, Bob said gravely, "Older people have made worse mistakes," and then proceeded to tell the story against himself about the tree stump and the pigs.

There was something so big and nice about Bob's nature that, without meaning to, he always made people ashamed of being petty and ill-natured when he was present.

"You made a good shot at the dingo, old man," he said. "It won't be long before you are out shooting with me, at this rate."

Of course no one could laugh at Eustace after that. Bob saw nothing funny about what he had done—Bob actually praised him—and when Bob praised it meant something.

"I say," Nesta asked when the twins were alone together, "weren't you most awfully scared?"

"Well, I guess I was rather," Eustace admitted; "but of course it was silly to be. Mother thinks it was only one of the plantation hands now, and not a black-fellow at all, you see."

"But a plantation hand might have knifed somebody," Nesta said, with a shudder. "I hope he won't come again. I know I should scream like anything."

"I believe it would be the worst thing you could do," Eustace said gravely. "He would be sure to try and shut you up if you made a row—any thief would, if he wasn't such a coward as that one. But I wouldn't think about it if I were you, or you'll be fancying things, just as I did."

In spite of which advice Nesta did suffer a few qualms at night, if she happened to wake in the dark; but sleeping with her mother was comforting, and the panics never lasted long.Lessons began again, and the days passed in their usual routine, but with the added joy of something to look forward to in the arrival of the new aunt.

It was a nightly annoyance to Peter that he was put to bed at the same time as Sandy Robertson, while the twins stayed up to late dinner. Becky went to bed still earlier, and was generally fast asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

"You might shoot pistols in the room after Becky is asleep," was a favourite saying, "and you wouldn't wake her."

Which statement she almost verified the night Eustace caused such an excitement; she really did not wake until the second shot was fired.

But Peter was not a heavy sleeper. Moreover, he had heard something about the black-fellow stories too. Sandy Robertson gave him a good deal of information as they played together, and the little fellow got into a thoroughly nervous state.

Mrs. Orban often sat with him till he was asleep, and then left a shaded light burning both in his room and her own.

It did not startle her very much one night as she sat at dinner with the twins to see Peter tear into the room yelling for her at the top of his voice. She guessed he had awakened from a dream, and was just frightened at finding himself alone with no one but Sandy.

He sprang into her arms and lay there trembling, panting only "Mother—mother—mother," over and over again.

"Well, sonny, what is it?" said his mother soothingly, stroking back his hair from his forehead."O mummie," he gasped, "there's something moving in your room. I heard it."

Eustace and Nesta started, and exchanged frightened glances. But Mrs. Orban answered quite calmly,—

"I dare say, darling. It is probably Mary turning down the beds."

She rose as she spoke and went towards the door.

"Oh, don't, mummie! don't go," Peter pleaded eagerly; "perhaps it's a black-fellow."

"Nonsense, darling," Mrs. Orban said. "You can stay here with Eustace and Nesta if you like, but of course I must go and see what the noise was."

"I'm going with mother," said Eustace sturdily.

"So am I," said Nesta.

"We'll all go," said Mrs. Orban cheerily; "and I am quite sure Mary will think us mad when she sees us."

So down the passage they went, Peter trembling and clinging to his mother. Straight into Mrs. Orban's room they all trooped, and of course, when they got there, there was no one to be seen—not even Mary turning down the beds.

On they went into the boys' room, and all was peaceful there; for Peter had been too frightened to yell till he reached the dining-room, and Sandy had not been roused.

"There, you see," said Mrs. Orban; "what did I tell you? There are far too many of us in the house now for any one to dare to come."

She went on into the kitchen still holding Peter, and Mary and Kate certainly did look surprised.

"Master Peter has been having a nightmare," Mrs. Orban explained, "and I want to reassure him. Were you in my room just now, Mary?""No, ma'am," Mary said; "I haven't been there since dinner."

"Oh, well, then, he must have been dreaming," Mrs. Orban said, still in the same cheery way. "We will just go all through the house and show him everything is all right, and then I will sit by him till he gets to sleep again."

Eustace took a lantern, and on they all went right through the house, very naturally finding no one. Robertson, who was smoking on the veranda, declared that no one had been up or down the steps since he had been out, and Mrs. Robertson, who was in her bedroom lulling the baby to sleep, said no one had been that way either.

After all of which Eustace and Nesta began to breathe freely; but, to tell the truth, at first they had both been a good deal scared by Peter's announcement. They guessed their mother was just making all this show of bravery for Peter's and their sakes, for another visit from the thief was not at all unlikely.

But when Robertson laughed at the notion of any one having been able to pass him unseen where he stood near the veranda steps, when every nook and cranny had been looked into and no one was forthcoming to prove Peter's tale, every one was certain he had had a bad dream.

"You are a little silly," Nesta said bracingly. "Of course there are always noises in the house."

"But this was a big noise," Peter objected; "something banged."

"Why didn't you say that before?" said Eustace with superiority; then added, out of the vastness of his recent experience, "Nobody ever bangs when they want to rob a house; they try to be as silent as mice."

"Besides," said Nesta, "there is nothing for any one to steal now, since we keep all our things hidden away."

This was a rule Mrs. Orban had made—that everything of value must be put away under lock and key. She had no fancy to be perpetually paying away rewards for recovered goods. She believed Sinkum Fung to be quite capable of setting people to do these little pilferings just in order to obtain the rewards. Disagreeable as was the idea, it frightened her far less than the thought of genuine black-fellows lurking about the place; they were really dangerous, cruel, and lawless.

Mrs. Orban took Peter back with her into the dining-room, and he sat cuddled up on her knee while she finished dinner.

They were all sitting listening to just one "good-night" story before going to bed, when Mary came into the room, gave a frightened glance round, and exclaimed,—

"Lor', ma'am, haven't you got Miss Becky here? I made sure you had."

Every one stared at Mary, and thought she looked rather white and queer.

"Did you, Mary?" asked Mrs. Orban rather hurriedly. "Why?"

"Well, ma'am," said Mary in an unsteady voice, "because she isn't in her bed."

Mrs. Orban sprang to her feet.

"Not in her bed?" she exclaimed. "My good woman, what do you mean?"Setting Peter down on the ground, she turned swiftly and left the room.

"I just went in to turn down the beds," explained Mary to the twins as they hurriedly followed, "and went over to Miss Becky's corner to take a look at her, and she wasn't there. I didn't stop a minute, I was so took aback, but came straight off to see if maybe she was in the dining-room. You might have knocked me down with a feather when I saw she wasn't."

Mrs. Orban rushed to Becky's bed. She was standing beside it as if petrified when the others entered. The bed was empty. This was no dream. Becky really and truly was not there.

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