Sobering down, after an unusual indulgence in larks to mark the auspicious event, Joe, Tom, and Sandy, separating from the others, sauntered to the slip-rail entrance of the school horse-paddock. Joe and Tom, at the express request of Mrs. M’Intyre, are to spend the holidays with Sandy on the station. Here all kinds of fun and alluring adventure are promised the lads. How well that promise was redeemed let the sequel bear witness.
"Now then, you fellows, don’t forget that you are to be at Bullaroi on the morning of Christmas Eve without fail."
"Eve! Why, a—er—short for evening, I s’pose. What makes you ask, Joe?"
"Well, if Christmas Eve is evening, how can we be there in the mornin’?—you savee?"
"You’re mighty smart, Blain, but did you ever know an evening that didn’t have a morning to it?"
"Oh—ah—yes, I see. We’re to come out on the morning of the evening. Sure it’s an Irishie ye ought to be instead of a Scotchie."
"Scotchie or no Scotchie," replied Sandy, who was the essence of good-humour, "ye’re not to be later than ten o’clock of the forenoon of the day before Christmas. There! Will that fit you, you pumpkin-headed son of a bald-bellied turnip?"
"Thanks, M’Intyre; I’m sure my father’ll be delighted when I tell him the respectful titles you’ve given him," returned Joe, with mock sarcasm.
"He’ll no dispute the title of his son’s head, anyhow," flung back the Scotch lad, as, bridle in hand, he strolled on to round up his steed.
This parthian shot nettled Joe, but the answer he would have given remained unuttered, for at this moment his eldest sister appeared and beckoned to him in an emphatic manner, at the same time calling upon him to hurry. So, contenting himself with levelling Midshipman Easy’s masonic sign at the retreating lad, he hurried along towards his sister.
"Father wants you to go down the river with him in the boat."
"Down to Beacon Point. Tom Tyler’s had a bad accident, and they’ve sent for the doctor; but he’s away. He was called out to a bad case at Dingo Creek head station, and is not expected to be back till midday to-morrow. So they’ve asked father to go down, and you’ve to hurry along. Father’s waiting down at the boat for you."
Mr. Blain was waiting at the boat with everything that was required for the trip. As soon as the lad was in, he pushed off, and, taking the stern oar, with Joe at the bow, father and son started on their twelve-mile pull.