Page 108 - A Little Bush Maid

He put a photograph frame into her hand-- a dainty thing, made from the
native woods, cunningly jointed together and beautifully carved. Norah

accepted it with pleasure.

"Tt’s not anything," the Hermit disclaimed--"very rough, T’m afraid. But you
can’t do very good work when your pocket-knife is your only tool. T hope
you’ll forgive its shortcomings, Miss Norah, and keep it to remember the

old Hermit."

"T think it’s lovely," Norah said, looking up with shining eyes, "and T’m ever
so much obliged. T’ll always keep it."

"Don’t forget," the Hermit said, looking down at the flushed face. "And
some day, perhaps, you’ll all come again."

"We must hurry," Jim said.

They were all back at the lunching-place, and the sight of the sun, sinking
far across the plain, recalled Jim to a sense of half-forgotten responsibility.

"Tt’s every man for his own steed," he said. "Can you manage your old
crock, Norah?"

"Don’t you wish yours was half as good?" queried Norah, as she took the

halter off Bobs and slipped the bit into his mouth.

Jim grinned.

"Knew T’d got her on a soft spot!" he murmured, wrestling with a refractory

crupper.

Harry and Wally were already at their ponies. Billy, having fixed the load

to his satisfaction on the pack mare, was standing on one foot on a log
jutting over the creek, drawing the fish from their cool resting-place in the

water. The bag came up, heavy and dripping--so heavy, indeed, that it
proved the last straw for Billy’s balance, and, after a wild struggle to remain