Page 195 - A Little Bush Maid

THE END OF THE STRUGGLE

The long slow journey to Billabong homestead was accomplished.

The Hermit had never regained consciousness throughout the weary hours

during which every jolt of the express-wagon over the rough tracks had
sent a throb to the hearts of the watchers. All unconscious he had lain while
they lifted him from the bunk where he had slept for so many lonely nights.

The men packed his few personal belongings quickly. Norah, remembering
a hint dropped by the Hermit in other days, had instituted a search for

buried papers, which resulted in the unearthing of a tin box containing
various documents. She had insisted, too, that the rough furniture should
go, and it was piled in the front of the wagon. Another man had brought out

the old pack mare for the baggage of the original fishing party, and the
whole cavalcade moved off before the sun had got above the horizon.

But it was a tedious journey. Dr. Anderson sat beside his patient, watching
the feeble action of the heart and the flickering pulse, plying him with

stimulants and nourishment, occasionally calling a halt for a few minutes’
complete rest. Close to the wheel Dick Stephenson rode, his eyes scarcely

leaving his father’s face. On the other side, Norah and her father rode in
silent, miserable anxiety, fretting at their utter helplessness. Dr. Anderson
glanced sharply now and then at the little girl’s face.

"This isn’t good for her," he said at length quietly to Mr. Linton. "She’s had

too much already. Take her home." He raised his voice. "You’d better go
on," he said; "let Mrs. Brown know just what is coming; she’ll need you to
help her prepare the patient’s room, Norah. You, too, Stephenson."

"T won’t leave him, thanks," he said. "T’d rather not--he might become

conscious."

"No chance of that," the doctor said, "best not, too, until we have him

safely in bed. However, stay if you like--perhaps it’s as well. T think,