I can't
thank you enough, but I want you to remember that I'll never forget.
Even if I'm taken and have to serve my time I'll never forget it, and
I'll live to prove it."
"We--we don't want no thanks, an' we don't want no proofs," said the
bushwoman, her voice breaking.
The sister, her eyes suspiciously bright, took up the packet in her
sharp, practical way, and put it in a work-box she had in the kitchen.
The settler brought the young fellow out dressed in his own clothes.
The elder shook hands quietly all round, or, rather, they shook hands
with him. "Now, Jack!" he said. They had fastened an oilskin cape
round Jack's shoulders.
Jack came forward and shook hands with a nervous grip that he seemed
to have trouble to take off. "I won't forget it," he said; "that's
all I can say--I won't forget it." Then they went out with the
settler. The rain had held up a little. Clatter of sliprails down
and up, but the settler didn't come back.
"Wonder what Peter's doing?" said the wife.
"Showin' 'em down the short cut," said Uncle Abe.
But, presently, clatter of sliprails down again, and cattle driven
over them.
"Wonder what he's doing with the cows," said the wife.
They waited in wonder, and with growing anxiety, for some quarter of
an hour; then Abe and Andy, going out to see, met the settler coming
back.
"What in thunder are you doing with the cows, Peter?" asked Uncle
Abe.
"Oh, just driving them out and along a bit over those horse tracks;
we might get into trouble," said Peter.
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