  Mrs. Grey, the overseer’s wife, at Jenkin’s old place, was very ill. It was something unusual for Mrs. Grey to be ill. Mother spent a lot of time with her, and Miss Gibson would go down and read aloud to her by the hour. But she grew gradually worse, till at last Mother and the governess took it in turns to stay with her, following out the doctor’s instructions, which were written or wired daily from the far-off town. The children rather liked the novelty of Mrs. Grey being ill at first, because they had broken time at school, but as time went on they grew tired of it. It was too lonesome in the house without Mother at night time, and they missed Miss Gibson, too. So old Joe came to the rescue, and told them yarns. “Did you ever hear tell of the time youse were nearly burnt to death, and your Mother saved you?” he asked one afternoon about dusk. “Oh, no, Joe!” gasped Doris, with wide-open eyes. “Tell’s.” “Oh, you wasn’t in the world then!” answered Joe. “Little Eva was a baby.” Then Baby cried because Eva was ever a baby. “Oh, tell’s about it!” cried Willie, eagerly. “You never heard tell of it, then?” “No, never,” cried Willie. “As true as anything, I didn’t.” “We have, but we’d love to hear it again,” said Eileen. “Righto!” and Joe tapped his pipe on his boot, preparatory to filling it. “Oh, dear! are you going to fill your pipe first?” asked Willie. “Come on, I’ll help you.” “No, thanks, young man; I don’t care about the way you cut baccy.” “Oh, dear, start telling us, Joe, while you’re cutting the tobacco!” said Willie, all eagerness to hear the story. “Hold ’ard, hold ’ard!” said Joe, calmly, as he went on with his work. At last the pipe was filled and lit, and Joe proceeded. “Yes, we was all away draftin’ at the yards down at the back of ‘Coolabah,’ and a fire broke out down along the crick, about four mile from here. There was tons of dry grass lying about, and it blazed like fury. Your Mother seen it light up, and you can bet she got the shock of her life. Not a man within miles, and all youse little ones with her. She knew if it came this far the house and all would go, and very likely you and her’d be burnt to death. So she rushed out to the paddock and catches old Dolly and whipped her into the spring-cart, and she put all youse in, an’ she rushed round and gathers up a little brood of chickens that she couldn’t bear to think of bein’ burnt to death, and put ’em in a box and jumps out into the cart and sent old Dolly like—like blazes, down the Myall road, and all the time the flames was comin’ nearer an’ nearer, and she was hardly game to look back, fearin’ she would see the house on fire.” “Oh, dear!” gasped the children. “Wasn’t it awful?” “Yes, and she sent old Dolly as fast as she could go down the road, and just as she turned the bend, lo and behold youse! she sees a pack of horsemen galloping down towards her!” “Oh!” they gasped again in relief. “Yes, they’d seen the fire, and knew it was near your place, so they rushed off from the yards and got here just in time to save the ’omestead. My! wasn’t your Mother glad? She just sat and cried after the shock; but, my word, she must have rushed round to have got you all safe away, for the fire was no time coming up the crick, and it swallowed all before it! Yes, she just sat and cried, for it was an awful shock to her, because she thought the fire might overtake you and you’d all be burnt to death alive.” “Oh!” they all gasped again. “But wasn’t Mother brave?” “Brave!” echoed Joe. “Why, I call your Mother a hero!” “A hero—yes, that’s what she is!” they declared. “Yes, she’s a regular hero,” declared Willie, stoutly. “Oh, dear, I’m glad we’re saved!” said Eileen, “and were not burnt to death alive.” “Do you know what I’d ha’ done, if I’d been there?” asked Willie. “No,” said Joe, quietly. “I’d ha’ got the scythe, and I’d ha’ cut all the grass down round the house, and I’d ha’ raked it all away out so’s there’d be nothing for the fire to burn near the house—see? And I’d ha’ got wet bags and hung them all round——” “Yes, and what’d the fire be doing all this time?” asked old Joe, sarcastically. “Do you think it would wait for you to cut the grass and rake it all away, and find the bags, and all the rest of it? Oh, no, young man, you wouldn’t ha’ been alive to tell the tale to-day if you had started on them lines, and don’t you forget it! No, you couldn’t ha’ done better than your Mother,” he added, turning to the other children. “I always said, and I always will say, that your Mother’s a hero.” “Oh, dear! isn’t it lovely to have your Mother a hero?” gasped Doris.... “Here she comes now,” said Joe. “I wonder what’s the news.” “I say, let’s give her a cheer,” said the children. “Well, I’d like you to, and I’d like to join in; but it mightn’t be in keepin’ with the time, seeing as how Mrs Grey is so ill.” “Oh, yes! a good thing you thought of that, Joe,” said Mollie. “Old Joe can think sometimes,” said Joe, well pleased. Then Mother came in with the good news that Mrs. Grey was much better, and that a friend of hers would arrive to-morrow to look after her. Then the children cheered to their heart’s content, both because Mrs. Grey was better and because their Mother was a hero. |
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