An Australian Lassie

sufficiently near to home to gather from the sound of the voices that might call her if she were really need

ng Cyril and Nancy behind her, flung herself beneath the sha

hed from the side garden into which the study looked, and from the passage outside the study door; then Mrs. Bruce would carry his meals to him upon a tray, and he would have strong black coffee in th

carried into the study for her father to see, and her mother would proudly read page af

etty, and no one wondered wherever she got her ideas from. And yet she had quite a collection of fairy stories and poems of her own compos

e did see; or seeing,

ike her father-nor as a guarantee that the scribbling genius wa

which ran mad in the bush behind her home, towards Middle Harbour. H

ne of her sort of poems, about streams and flowers and dells and birds, but a dashing sort of poem,

n, "Once upon a time," and asked herself what t

a dog, a fire, a man-a St. Bernard dog saving a

aware of a small figure running along the road, and entering the bush track. It was Cyril, and Cyril in woe. She could

s face and she heard, ever and anon as he ran, a great sob,

is the matter?" she cried

t big bully!"

claimed Betty

ig bully. Let

sterday this same John Brown had sent her

d he'd knock me into next

side at quite a brisk t

knocked him do

her isn't our gra

asked Betty eagerly. Her "r's" had a way of rolli

Cyril slackened his speed, and looked

id boldly. "I told him

at's right Cywil. No Bruce is afraid. B

om him in a burst. "We fight to-night dow

Betty admiringly. "Oh, I am s

, and was lagging behind

eant us to fight," he said

did he

thing about a chal

minute; "if he said 'challenge' y

ve hurt

the fervent Betty, who regarded the family cognomen as something

be hanged, if I'm lame

school-all over the neighbourhood-that Cyril had been afraid to fight. Of course she, Betty, his own twin sister, knew there would not be a grain of truth in it. She knew he was shy and delicate, and had hurt his leg. But for all that,

not look at her, and crept off to bed at six o'clock, complaining of the pain in his leg. Tea was o

ry thankful. It raised his self-respect and brought tears of self-pity to his eyes, that Betty should have expected him to fight under such circumstances! So much

r face, came in. And such a Betty! Her brown hair was bundled away under one of Cyril's battered straw hats, and thankful indeed had she been that she had so little hair to bundle

ess as she besought her brother

get there," she said, "and he

e?" asked Cyril, sitting up in bed; "

tly; "I've been wanting to e

id Cyril disgustedly.

sitively flamed

s I've got the knack, but not very much strength. Anyway,

s three times as

t to fight at all. And if you don't fight, they-they might say you were

atch her go, and so occupied was he over her danger,

r's, and a happy peaceful look on her face. The thought ran through the boy's mind, how little grow

ohn, the grey

away o'er t

t was to be a girl-a goos

afraid that Betty would be hurt-and once again had he hung back when he shou

s "challenge" but he felt morally certain that it would not be accepted. He was

ish a rash youth for trying to thrust himself into their family. He, his grandfather's

small stretch of denser scrub, to the very shores of the "coral island sea." And the baby-moo

d speaking in a hearty tone; "I didn't believe y

e!" piped Betty, and bit he

d had fully expected it. If he had found "Bruce" over-bold, he would h

g to fight me. I'm not in a fight

run away, but she did nothing of the sort, she only clenched her hands, and

ar, and she felt herself swung round, stood down and swung r

ting out from the shoulder," etc. etc. She kicked Brown's legs with all the strength she could put into her own.

er short curly hair. And the moon chose that moment to sail fr

"By Jove!" he sa

er hat down upo

's not! It's me, Cyril.

h at him, but Brown t

d. "I'm not taki

n," urg

ight girls

y in a heart-brok

d. "It's Cyril. It's C

er, jumped over the fence, and took his

uld feel her light weight yet as he swung her round, hear her girlish voice crying, "We Bruces fight til

, coward

hame. Coward, bully!

venture the night had advanced, and her imagination peop

e from her, solely on acc

uld fear of outer darkness remain, when the dinn

sat at the piano, in a pretty fresh dress, flower-like as ever. For a space, while little boy-Betty looked, she just touched the keys ten

ears running down her cheeks

od till you are grown up." She ran along the passage into the little bedroom which she and Dot

me good." But it is to be feared her gladness was not very deep, because a sense of great s