a, who always championed Rumple
through thick and thin. "And of course no one expects quite so much from
a poet as from a more ordinary person. People with teeming ideas are
always rather absent-minded I find; it is one of the penalties of the
artistic temperament. I suffer from it myself, and Rumple is far
cleverer than I am."

"I don't know about that; you have got the colour sense, even though
you don't seem to get the hang of perspective," said Rumple, looking
visibly cheered. "When I begin to sell my poems you shall have the money
to have lessons in art, old girl, for I fancy you are worth developing."

"I hope I am," rejoined Sylvia, tossing her head with a saucy air. "But
I am afraid that the process will be rather delayed if it has to wait
until your poetry brings the money for doing it, for everyone says that
there is no money in poetry. Now, Nealie, darling, do cheer up and be
happy; poor Rumple will have no peace at all while you look like that."

"I will try; but you must give me time. But I am so disappointed, for I
had hoped that Father would be at Sydney to meet us," answered Nealie,
with a sigh.

CHAPTER V

The End of the Voyage

Rumple found himself immediately popular, because of his prompt and
spirited action in doing what he could to save the old lady. But, like a
good many other people upon whom greatness descends, he had to pay a
rather heavy price for his popularity, and when it came to being kissed
by the old lady and her daughter every time they appeared on deck, he
began to ask himself savagely if it were quite worth while to be
regarded as a hero of the first class.

Two or three days of kissing and hugging were enough for him, and then
he took to subterfuge, and whenever the old lady or her very angular but
kindly daughter hove in sight, Rumple bolted like a frightened rabbit,
taking to any sort of cover which came handy.

The stewards, entering into the joke of the thing, co-operated with
great heartiness, and for the remainder of the voyage there was no more
elusive person on board than Rumple Plumstead; so the old lady and her
daughter were forced to lavish on the rest of the family the tenderness
they felt solely for the boy, who loathed their indiscreet petting.

"Rupert, where is Rumple?" asked Nealie, coming on deck one afternoon a
day or two before they expected to reach Fremantle.

"I haven't an idea. Come to think of it, I have not seen him since
breakfast. Where