Page 8 - An Australian Lassie

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. Tt was only Nancy who had cold thrills down 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. 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.

Tt 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.

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 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."

"Tt isn't yours," said Betty shrilly; "it belongs to our grandfather--so there!"