Berty Wake sat under the trees and waited. Around him rose gigantic ridges of bare rock, rent and torn in quaint shapes, representing towers, peaks, and spires; riven cliffs, dells, moss-grown and webbed and festooned with finest drapery of ferns and wild flowers.
It seemed a long time to the anxious child, straining his eyes, watching for the return of the friendly jackass. Then in utter weariness the little watcher became drowsy, his heavy eyelids closed, and he slept.
How long he remained asleep he could not tell. Something touched his face and he awoke.
Standing before him he saw a fine, strong emu—full-grown, with a soft crimson saddle fixed between its wings, and a bridle on its head and round its beak glittering with precious stones.
The boy rubbed his eyes to make certain he was awake, and touched the huge bird with his finger. The talking jackass seemed commonplace in comparison with this wonderful picture. However, Berty had little time to indulge in his astonishment, for Jack the Rover, from the thick branches of the tree, commanded him to mount the curious steed.
“I can’t ride an emu. I shall fall off,” cried poor Berty in some alarm.
“Why, I thought an Australian could ride anything,” echoed the jackass, with a loud peal of laughter. “Don’t be afraid, my little man: Emu Royal is a safe animal and warranted not to buck.”
Emu Royal bowed in a stately way at the compliment, and Berty Wake, over-coming his surprise, caught hold of the silken reins and sprang upon its back.
“Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho! Isn’t it funny?” laughed the jackass from the tree-top. “Now on we go. I’ll lead the way, and do you follow me, Emu Royal. Quick march!”
No bush-bred horse ever sped over the ground so easily and speedily as Emu Royal. At first poor Berty had some difficulty in keeping his seat, the mode of transit was so queer and unusual, but he soon became accustomed to the long swinging stride of the gigantic bird, who seemed to know his way through the intricate windings of the scrub without any aid whatever from Jack the Rover; for that knowing blade sailed smoothly on the wing high overhead, and appeared to have no other purpose in life than to scare the young parrots from their nests with his demoniacal laughter.
They went swiftly along, every bump and jolt and bound of the strange steed seemed to say, “Berty Wake’s going home. The lost is found—Berty’s coming home.”
Hills and plains, lakes, and forests of trees appeared and went by them like a drifting cloud.
Then, suddenly, they emerged into a quiet dell, ringed in by tall gum-trees, where the grass was emerald green, and soft to the tread as a carpet of velvet pile. Here, without the least warning, the emu gave a sudden spring in the air, and lightly deposited our little hero on the broad of his back on the sward; and before Berty was aware of what had happened, Emu Royal had vanished from his sight.
The boy rose to his feet and looked about him; there was no one in view, not even the laughing jackass. Then he laughed in childish glee and clapped his hands.
“Why, this is Fir Tree Hollow,” he said, half laughing, half crying. “Don’t I know every bush and sapling in it? And there’s the sheep track leading to the river, and the dray road that winds round the back of our fence. Why, I’m at home again. Coo-ee! Coo-ee!!”
A reply came to his call in the shape of a shrill neigh from a neighbouring copse.
“Gracious me! That’s our old mare. I know her dear old whinny out of a hundred. Coo-ee!”
And the child ran scampering off, and came forth presently, leading by the forelock a roan quadruped which showed ample signs of recognition.
“Where have you been hiding yourself?” cried Berty, fondling the pony. “Don’t you know I’ve been hunting for you everywhere and got lost, eh?”
Another neigh, and the roan rubs its cold nose up and down the little fellow’s shoulder.
“Ah, none of that, you old Greasehorn, I’ve had some trouble to find you; but ‘better late than never’ as dad says. Now won’t they be pleased to see me? and shan’t I be glad to see them?”
Vaulting on the back of the pony, the pair jog along the wheel track towards the station. Turning a bend in the track, boy and pony come in view of a party of men, tired to death, and who have been out hunting for the lost one.
A loud, glad shout of recognition, and the next moment poor little Berty is in the strong arms of his father, whose voice is husky with emotion as he mutters a prayer of thankfulness intermingled with his passionate kisses.
“Where did you get to, my son?”
“Oh, a long way, mother. It was the laughing jackass who found me.”
Mother and father exchange glances.
“The child has had a touch of the sun,” says the latter, stroking Berty’s curls.
“Where did the jackass find you, boy?”
“Under a big gum-tree such a long, long way off,” responds the child, extending his arms. “Then he brought a emu—such a big fellow, with a saddle and bridle, you know—and he brought me all the way to Fir Tree Hollow.”
Stephen Wake shakes his head.
“Put him to bed, wife,” he says quietly; “the poor child is not himself. A good night’s sleep will set him all right again.”
And Berty Wake slept well. In the early morning, however, he arose and went out into the stable yard, where the laughing jackass nodded on his perch.
“Hallo! Jack the Rover,” he said, saluting the bird.
The laughing jackass opened its sleepy eye and gazed meditatively at the boy for a few moments, then broke out into its hearty guffaw: “Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!!”