Page 9 - An Australian Lassie

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 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, "T'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 T 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 T'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.

"Oh, Cywil, do smash him," begged Betty in desperation.

"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.

Through the air rang a clear shrill voice--it belonged to golden haired Dorothea--"Betty, come home."

"You're called," said Brown, winding up a yard or so of his line.

Betty stooped, grasped another stone, took aim at a distant wattle in sheer desperation, and caught Brown on
the hand.

The pain of it drew a sharp exclamation from him, and brought him from his post in a towering rage.

And Betty took to her bare heels and ran--ran as though her grandfather and all his emus were after her.

Near the wicket-gate she ran against Cyril, who was throwing stones in the air for the dog to snap at as they
fell.