Page:Such Is Life.djvu/95

Rh indifferent tone. "Stay with me, Mary, dear," I continued, taking out my note-book. "I'll make you a picture of a horse."

"But A'm aiger fur till see the pine wi' the big santipede on it," objected the terrible infant.

"Nat now, darlin'," replied Rory. "Sure we'll come an' see the pine when we've lavin's o' time; but we're in a hurry now. Stap here an' kape Misther Collins company. Daddy'll be back at wanst."

He kissed the child, and disappeared round the hop-bush. Then she turned her unfathomable eyes reproachfully on my face, as I sat on the ground.

"A love you, Tammas, becos ye spake aisy till my Daddy. But O!"—and the little, brown fingers wreathed themselves together in the distress of her soul—"A don't want till go to school, an' lave my Daddy his lone! An' A don't want till see that picther iv a horse; an' A 'on't lave me Daddy."

I weakly explained that it was a matter of no great importance whether she went to school or not; and that, at worst, her Daddy could accompany her as a schoolmate. Presently Rory returned.

"Mary, jewel, jist pelt aff, lek a good chile, an' see if the wee gate's shut." Mary shot off at full speed; and he continued gravely, "Dhrapped aff at the dead hour o' the night, seemin'ly. God rest his sowl! O, Tammas! iv we'd only knowed!"

"Ay, or if I had only spoken to him! He must have got there yesterday morning. Likely he had heard the cocks crowing at your place before daylight, and was making for the sound, only that the light beat him, and he gave it best five minutes too soon."

"Ah! we're poor, helpless craythurs, Tammas! But A s'pose A betther see Misther Spanker at wanst?"

"No," I replied; "you stay and do what you can. I'll ride back, and see Mr. Spanker. How far is it to where that swag is on the fence?"

"About—well, about seven mile, as the crow flies."

"Better have it here. Now we'll catch the horses. Come on, Mary! Take her on your back, Rory; we must hurry up now."

I have already exceeded the legitimate exactions of my diary-record; but the rest of the story is soon told. Mr. Spanker, as a Justice of Peace, took the sworn depositions of Ward, Andrews, Rory, and myself. In the man's pockets were found half-a-dozen letters, addressed to George Murdoch, Mooltunya Station, from Malmsbury, Victoria; and all were signed by his loving wife, Eliza H. Murdoch. Two of the letters acknowledged receipt of cheques; and there was another cheque (for £12 15s., if I remember rightly) in his pocket-book, with about £3 in cash. He was buried in the station cemetery, between Val English, late station storekeeper, who had poisoned himself, and Jack Drummond, shearer, who had died—presumably of heart failure—after breaking the record of the district. Such is life.