Joe Wilson and His Mates [82]
Andy gave me
a dig in the back. Then I saw it all.
`No, Mrs Head. The Boss didn't tell me about that.'
`You surely know about the Bush Fairies, Mr Ellis,' she said,
her big eyes fixed on my face -- `the Bush Fairies that look after
the little ones that are lost in the Bush, and take them away from the Bush
if they are not found? You've surely heard of them, Mr Ellis?
Most Bushmen have that I've spoken to. Maybe you've seen them?
Andy there has?' Andy gave me another dig.
`Of course I've heard of them, Mrs Head,' I said; `but I can't swear
that I've seen one.'
`Andy has. Haven't you, Andy?'
`Of course I have, Mrs Head. Didn't I tell you all about it
the last time we were home?'
`And didn't you ever tell Mr Ellis, Andy?'
`Of course he did!' I said, coming to Andy's rescue; `I remember it now.
You told me that night we camped on the Bogan river, Andy.'
`Of course!' said Andy.
`Did he tell you about finding a lost child and the fairy with it?'
`Yes,' said Andy; `I told him all about that.'
`And the fairy was just going to take the child away when Andy found it,
and when the fairy saw Andy she flew away.'
`Yes,' I said; `that's what Andy told me.'
`And what did you say the fairy was like, Andy?' asked Mrs Head,
fixing her eyes on his face.
`Like. It was like one of them angels you see in Bible pictures, Mrs Head,'
said Andy promptly, sitting bolt upright, and keeping his big
innocent grey eyes fixed on hers lest she might think he was telling lies.
`It was just like the angel in that Christ-in-the-stable picture
we had at home on the station -- the right-hand one in blue.'
She smiled. You couldn't call it an idiotic smile,
nor the foolish smile you see sometimes in melancholy mad people.
It was more of a happy childish smile.
`I was so foolish at first, and gave poor Walter and the doctors
a lot of trouble,' she said. `Of course it never struck me, until afterwards,
that the fairies had taken the children.'
She pressed the tips of the fingers of both hands to her forehead,
and sat so for a while; then she roused herself again --
`But what am I thinking about? I haven't started to tell you
about the children at all yet. Auntie! bring the children's portraits,
will you, please? You'll find them on my dressing-table.'
The old woman seemed to hesitate.
`Go on, Auntie, and do what I ask you,' said Mrs Head. `Don't be foolish.
You know I'm all right now.'
`You mustn't take any notice of Auntie, Mr Ellis,' she said with a smile,
while the old woman's back was turned. `Poor old body,
she's a bit crotchety at times, as old women are. She doesn't like me to get
talking about the children. She's got an idea that if I do
I'll start talking nonsense, as I used to do the first year
after the children were lost. I was very foolish then, wasn't I, Walter?'
`You were, Maggie,' said the Boss. `But that's all past.
You mustn't think of that time any more.'
`You see,' said Mrs Head, in explanation to me, `at first
nothing would drive it out of my head that the children had wandered about
until they perished of hunger and thirst in the Bush. As if the Bush Fairies
would let them do that.'
`You were very foolish, Maggie,' said the Boss; `but don't think about that.'
The old woman brought the portraits, a little boy and a little girl:
they must have been very pretty children.
`You see,' said Mrs Head, taking the portraits eagerly, and giving them to me
one by one, `we had these taken in Sydney some years before the children
were lost; they were much younger then. Wally's is not a good portrait;
he was teething then, and very thin. That's him standing on the chair.
Isn't the pose good? See, he's got one hand and one little foot forward,
and an eager look in his eyes. The portrait is very dark,
and you've got to look close to see the foot. He wants a toy rabbit
that the photographer is tossing up to make him laugh. In the next portrait
he's sitting on the chair -- he's just settled himself to enjoy the fun.
a dig in the back. Then I saw it all.
`No, Mrs Head. The Boss didn't tell me about that.'
`You surely know about the Bush Fairies, Mr Ellis,' she said,
her big eyes fixed on my face -- `the Bush Fairies that look after
the little ones that are lost in the Bush, and take them away from the Bush
if they are not found? You've surely heard of them, Mr Ellis?
Most Bushmen have that I've spoken to. Maybe you've seen them?
Andy there has?' Andy gave me another dig.
`Of course I've heard of them, Mrs Head,' I said; `but I can't swear
that I've seen one.'
`Andy has. Haven't you, Andy?'
`Of course I have, Mrs Head. Didn't I tell you all about it
the last time we were home?'
`And didn't you ever tell Mr Ellis, Andy?'
`Of course he did!' I said, coming to Andy's rescue; `I remember it now.
You told me that night we camped on the Bogan river, Andy.'
`Of course!' said Andy.
`Did he tell you about finding a lost child and the fairy with it?'
`Yes,' said Andy; `I told him all about that.'
`And the fairy was just going to take the child away when Andy found it,
and when the fairy saw Andy she flew away.'
`Yes,' I said; `that's what Andy told me.'
`And what did you say the fairy was like, Andy?' asked Mrs Head,
fixing her eyes on his face.
`Like. It was like one of them angels you see in Bible pictures, Mrs Head,'
said Andy promptly, sitting bolt upright, and keeping his big
innocent grey eyes fixed on hers lest she might think he was telling lies.
`It was just like the angel in that Christ-in-the-stable picture
we had at home on the station -- the right-hand one in blue.'
She smiled. You couldn't call it an idiotic smile,
nor the foolish smile you see sometimes in melancholy mad people.
It was more of a happy childish smile.
`I was so foolish at first, and gave poor Walter and the doctors
a lot of trouble,' she said. `Of course it never struck me, until afterwards,
that the fairies had taken the children.'
She pressed the tips of the fingers of both hands to her forehead,
and sat so for a while; then she roused herself again --
`But what am I thinking about? I haven't started to tell you
about the children at all yet. Auntie! bring the children's portraits,
will you, please? You'll find them on my dressing-table.'
The old woman seemed to hesitate.
`Go on, Auntie, and do what I ask you,' said Mrs Head. `Don't be foolish.
You know I'm all right now.'
`You mustn't take any notice of Auntie, Mr Ellis,' she said with a smile,
while the old woman's back was turned. `Poor old body,
she's a bit crotchety at times, as old women are. She doesn't like me to get
talking about the children. She's got an idea that if I do
I'll start talking nonsense, as I used to do the first year
after the children were lost. I was very foolish then, wasn't I, Walter?'
`You were, Maggie,' said the Boss. `But that's all past.
You mustn't think of that time any more.'
`You see,' said Mrs Head, in explanation to me, `at first
nothing would drive it out of my head that the children had wandered about
until they perished of hunger and thirst in the Bush. As if the Bush Fairies
would let them do that.'
`You were very foolish, Maggie,' said the Boss; `but don't think about that.'
The old woman brought the portraits, a little boy and a little girl:
they must have been very pretty children.
`You see,' said Mrs Head, taking the portraits eagerly, and giving them to me
one by one, `we had these taken in Sydney some years before the children
were lost; they were much younger then. Wally's is not a good portrait;
he was teething then, and very thin. That's him standing on the chair.
Isn't the pose good? See, he's got one hand and one little foot forward,
and an eager look in his eyes. The portrait is very dark,
and you've got to look close to see the foot. He wants a toy rabbit
that the photographer is tossing up to make him laugh. In the next portrait
he's sitting on the chair -- he's just settled himself to enjoy the fun.