Page 87 - A Little Bush Maid

"Tf T was amazed, what were the ducks! The sneeze was so unmistakably
human, so unspeakably violent. There was one wild whirr of wings, and my

ducks scrambled off the placid surface of the water like things possessed. T
threw up my gun and fired wildly; there was no time for deliberate taking

of aim, with the birds already half over the ti-tree at the other side."

"Did you get any?" Jim asked.

"One duck," said the Hermit sadly. "And even for him T had to swim; he

obligingly chose a watery grave just to spite me, T believe. He wasn’t much
of a duck either. After T had stripped and swum for him, dressed again,
prepared the duck, cooked him, and finally sat down to dinner, there was so

little of him that he only amounted to half a meal, and was tough at that!"

"So was your luck," observed Wally.

"Uncommonly tough," agreed the Hermit. "However, these things are the

fortunes of war, and one has to put up with them, grin, and play the game.
Tt’s surprising how much tougher things look if you once begin to grumble.

T’ve had so much bad luck in the bush that T’ve really got quite used to it."

"How’s that?" asked Harry.

"Why," said the Hermit, "if it wasn’t one thing, it was mostly another. T beg

your pardon, Miss Norah, let me help you over this log. T’ve had my tucker
stolen again and again, several times by birds, twice by swaggies, and once
by a couple of black fellows pilgrimaging through the bush T don’t know

whither. They happened on my camp, and helped themselves; T reckoned
myself very lucky that they only took food, though T’ve no doubt they

would have taken more if T hadn’t arrived on the scene in the nick of time
and scared them almost out of their wits."

"How did you do that?" asked Norah; "tell us about it, Mr. Hermit!"

The Hermit smiled down at Norah’s eager face.