lay down that night in his comfortable bedroom after a long look out
of his window at the beautiful moonlit harbour, with its shipping bathed
in the soft, silvery light, and a feeling of melancholy came over him.
He was sorry to leave frank-spoken, motherly Lady O'Hara, and the
thought of going right away into the wilds, though fascinating, would
inspire him with a shrinking feeling of awe.

For during the few days he had been ashore he had picked up some
information, and not always of the pleasantest nature. People about had
not been backward in telling him that the blacks were rather fond of
spearing people who entered the bush. They had some ugly stories, too,
about tiger-snakes, which lay waiting for unwary passers-by, and then
struck them, the bite being so venomous that the sufferer would survive
only a few hours at most, possibly only a few minutes.

There were other terrors and dangers, too, in the bush, they said; but
when asked what, they shook their heads very strangely, as if the
subject were not to be mentioned, for fear of ill befalling those who
talked lightly. So one way and another Nic was pretty well primed, and
consequently only slightly buoyed up by the knowledge that he was going
to his real home, he fell asleep to dream of all kinds of mysterious
horrors, among which was one that was terrible in the extreme. He was
lost in the bush, and nothing was left for him to do but lie down and
die; and the first part of this he had, he thought, just achieved, when
a loud voice came out of the blackness and cried:

"Now, Nic, boy, it's time to get up. And I want you to see to the dogs.
They know you."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

TO THE BUSH.

For some moments Nic acted involuntarily as he scrambled on his clothes,
feeling, as he did, in a confused way that it was his duty to dress, but
why and wherefore, he had not the most remote idea.

It was cold and raw, and everything went wrong; and as he could not get
himself quite dry, his shirt stuck to him and refused to go on. Those
things which ought to have been in one place had got into another; and
even when the cold water had thoroughly wakened him he did not get on
very well, and felt ill-humoured, stupid, and out of sorts.

"It's so vexatious starting so soon," thought Nic, as lie thrust brush,
comb, and nightshirt into the bag he had nearly packed over night; and
at last he opened the door, just as his father called up the stairs:

"Come, Nic, my