g out the cow-shed.

Brookes had come out of the blinding sunshine, and the shed was dark and
cool. He did not see the blacks, but he was not surprised, for their
faces would naturally assimilate with the gloom.

"Here, you two," he growled, "nearly done?" an unnecessary question, for
he knew that their task to be done thoroughly would take them some hours
at their rate of working.

"Do you hear, you charcoal-faced beggars?" he shouted; but of course all
was still, and satisfying himself, by picking up a manure fork, that
they were not asleep in a heap of straw by jobbing the handle in
savagely, after making an offer with the tines, he uttered a low growl,
and, fork in hand, went out to look sharply round about the yards; but
not a soul was in sight.

"Ah!" muttered Brookes, "that's it, is it? Cuss 'em, I might have
known." Then, urged by a sudden thought, he went back into the long
cow-shed, and looked round till he caught sight of the old trousers and
shirts lying in a heap.

"Hah!" he ejaculated, shaking the fork handle, "just wait till they come
back. I'll make them see stars."

Then, striding out, he made for the garden, where, with his sleeves
rolled up and the neck and breast of his shirt open, old Samson was
digging away, turning over the moist earth, and stooping every now and
then to pick out some weed that was sure not to rot.

"Hi, Sam!" cried Brookes.

"Hullo!" said the little old fellow, going on with his digging,
whistling softly the while.

"Where's Bungarolo?"

"Down yonder weeding."

"Nay," he cried.

"Yes, he is. I saw him ten minutes ago."

"He's started off with the other two."

"Nay!"

"He has, I tell you!" cried Brookes. "They've left their rags in the
cow-shed, and all gone."

Samson showed his yellow teeth and chuckled.

"Just like 'em," he said; "just like 'em."

"I don't see anything to grin at," growled Brookes.

"Nay, you wouldn't, my lad; but I do. `When the cat's away the mice
will play.' I wonder they've stopped steady at work so long."

"What?"

"They're on'y big savage children, lad," said the old man, "and you
can't alter 'em. `'Tis their natur' to.'"

"Natur' or no natur', they shan't play those games while I'm master
here."

"Eh? Didn't know you was, Brooky."

"Then you know it now. P'r'aps you're going to give yourself a
holiday."

"Having one," said the old man, breaking a refractory clod.

"And going to take yourself off to the bush