Jim's “bump on the head” luckily proved not very serious. A handkerchief, soaked in the creek¹ by Wally, who rode there and back at a wild gallop², proved an effective bandage applied³ energetically by Harry⁴, who had studied “first-aid” in an ambulance class. Ten minutes of this treatment, however, proved as much as Jim's patience would stand, and at the end of that time he firmly removed the handkerchief, and professed⁵ himself cured.  
“Nothing to make a fuss about, anyhow,” he declared, in answer to sympathetic inquiries⁶. “Head's a bit 'off,' but nothing to grumble⁷ at. It'll be all right, if we ride along steadily⁸ for a while. I don't think I'll do any more racing⁹ just now though, thank you!”
 
“Who won that race?” queried¹⁰ Harry, laughing. The spirits of the little party, from being suddenly at zero, had gone up with a bound.
 
“Blessed if I know,” said Jim. “I only know I was leading until Mick ended matters for me.”
 
“I led after that, anyhow,” said Wally. “Couldn't pull my beauty up, he was so excited by Mick's somersault.”
 
“I'd have won, in the long run!” Norah said. There were still traces of tears in her eyes, but her face was merry enough. She was riding very close to Jim.
 
“Yes, I think you would,” Jim answered; “you and Bobs were coming up like a hurricane last time I looked round. Never mind, we'll call it anybody's race and have it over again sometime.”
 
They rode along for a few miles, keeping close to the river, which wound in and out, fringed with a thick belt of scrub, amongst which rose tall red-gum trees. Flights of cockatoos screamed over their heads, and magpies¹¹ gurgled in the thick shades by the water. Occasionally came the clear whistle of a lyre bird or the peal¹² of a laughing jackass. Jim knew all the bird-notes, as well as the signs of bush game, and pointed¹³ them out as they rode. Once a big wallaby showed for an instant, and there was a general outcry and a plunge¹⁴ in pursuit, but the wallaby was too quick for them, and found a safe hiding-place in the thickest of the scrub, where the ponies¹⁵ could not follow.
 
“We cross the creek up here,” Jim said, “and make 'cross country a bit. It saves several miles.”
 
“How do you cross? Bridge?” queried Wally.
 
“Bridge!—don't grow such things in this part of the world,” laughed Jim. “No, there's a place where it's easy enough to ford¹⁶, a little way up. There are plenty of places fordable, if you only know them, on this creek; but a number of them are dangerous, because of deep holes and boggy¹⁷ places. Father lost a good horse in one of those bogs¹⁸, and to look at the place you'd only have thought it a nice level bit of grassy¹⁹ ground.”
 
“My word!” Wally whistled. “What a bit of hard luck!”
 
“Yes, it was, rather,” Jim said. “It made us careful about crossing, I can tell you. Even the men look out since Harry Wilson got bogged²⁰ another time, trying to get over after a bullock. Of course he wouldn't wait to go round, and he had an awful job to get his horse out of the mud—it's something like a quicksand. After that father had two or three good crossings made very plain and clear, and whenever a new man is put on they're explained to him. See, there's one now.”
 
They came suddenly on a gap in the scrub, leading directly to the creek, which was, indeed, more of a river than a creek, and in winter ran in a broad, rapid stream. Even in summer it ran always, though the full current dwindled²¹ to a trickling²², sluggish²³ streamlet, with here and there a deep, quiet pool, where the fish lay hidden through the long hot days.
 
All the brushwood and trees had been cleared away, leaving a broad pathway to the creek. At the edge of the gap a big board, nailed to a tall tree, bore the word FORD in large letters. Farther on, between the trees, a glimpse of shining water caught the eye.
 
“That's the way father's had all the fords marked,” Norah said. “He says it's no good running risks for the sake of a little trouble.”
 
“Dad's always preaching that,” Jim observed. “He says people are too fond of putting up with makeshifts, that cost ever so much more time and trouble than it does to do a thing thoroughly²⁴ at the start. So he always makes us do a thing just as well as we know how, and there's no end of rows if he finds any one 'half doing' a job. 'Begin well and finish better,' he says. My word, it gives you a lesson to see how he fixes a thing himself.”
 
“Dear old Dad,” said Norah softly, half to herself.
 
“I think your father's just splendid,” Harry said enthusiastically. “He does give you a good time, too.”
 
“Yes, I know he does,” Jim said. “I reckon he's the best man that ever lived! All the same, he doesn't mean to give me a good time always. When I leave school I've got to work and make my own living, with just a start from him. He says he's not going to bring any boy up to be a loafer.” Jim's eyes grew soft. “I mean to show him I can work, too,” he said.
 
They were at the water's edge, and the ponies gratefully put their heads down for a drink of the cool stream that clattered²⁵ and danced over its stony²⁶ bed. After they had finished, Jim led the way through the water, which was only deep enough to wash the ponies' knees. When they had climbed the opposite bank, a wide, grassy plain stretched before them.
 
“We cut across here,” Norah explained, “and pick up the creek over there—that saves a good deal.”
 
“Does Billy know this cut?” Harry queried.
 
“What doesn't Billy know?” Norah laughed. “Come along.”
 
They cantered slowly over the grass, remembering that Jim was scarcely fit yet for violent exercise, though he stoutly²⁷ averred²⁸ that his accident had left no traces whatever. The sun was getting high and it was hot, away from the cool shade near the creek. Twice a hare bounded off in the grass, and once Harry jumped off hurriedly and killed a big brown snake that was lazily sunning itself upon a broad log.
 
“I do hate those beasts!” he said, remounting. Norah had held his pony²⁹ for him.
 
“So do I,” she nodded; “only one gets used to them. Father found one on his pillow the other night.”
 
“By George!” Harry said. “Did he kill it?”
 
“Yes, rather. They are pretty thick here, especially a bit earlier than this. One got into the kitchen through the window, by the big vine that grows outside, and when Mrs. Brown pulled down the blind it came, too—it was on the roller. That was last Christmas, and Mrs. Brown says she's shaking still!”
 
“Snakes are rummy things,” Harry observed. “Ever hear that you can charm them with music?”
 
“I've heard it,” Norah said quaintly³⁰. Her tone implied that it was a piece of evidence she did not accept on hearsay³¹.
 
“Well, I believe it's true. Last summer a whole lot of us were out on the verandah, and there was plenty of laughing and talking going on—a snake wouldn't crawl into a rowdy group like that for the fun of it, now, would he? It was Christmas day, and my little brother Phil—he's six—had found a piccolo in his stocking, and he was sitting on the end of the verandah playing away at this thing. We thought it was a bit of a row, but Phil was quite happy. Presently my sister Vera looked at him, and screamed out, 'Why, there's a snake!'
 
“So there was, and it was just beside Phil. It had crawled up between the verandah boards, and was lying quietly near the little chap, looking at him stealthily—he was blowing away, quite unconcerned. We didn't know what to do for a moment, for the beastly thing was so near Phil that we didn't like to hit it for fear we missed and it bit him. However, Phil solved the difficulty by getting up and walking off, still playing the piccolo. The snake never stirred when he did—and you may be sure it didn't get much chance to stir after. Three sticks came down on it at the same time.”
 
“I say!” Norah breathed quickly. “What an escape for poor Phil!”
 
“Wasn't it? He didn't seem to care a bit when we showed him the snake and told him it had been so near him—he hadn't known a thing about it. 'Can't be bovvered wiv snakes,' was all he said.”
 
“When I was a little kiddie,” Norah said, “they found me playing with a snake one day.”
 
“Playing with it?” Harry echoed.
 
“Yes; I was only about two, and I don't remember anything about it. Dad came on to the back verandah, and saw me sitting by a patch of dust, stroking something. He couldn't make out what it was at first, and then he came a bit nearer, and saw that it was a big snake. It was lying in the dust sunning itself, and I was stroking it most kindly³³.”
 
“By George!” said Harry.
 
“Funny what things kiddies will do!” said Norah, with all the superiority of twelve long years. “It frightened Dad tremendously. He didn't know what to do, 'cause he didn't dare come near or call out. I s'pose the snake saw him, 'cause it began to move. It crawled right over my bare legs.”
 
“And never bit you?”
 
“No; I kept on stroking its back as it went over my knees, without the least idea that it was anything dangerous. Dad said it seemed years and years before it went right over and crawled away from me into the grass. He had me out of the way in about half a second, and got a stick, and I cried like anything when he killed it, and said he was naughty!”
 
“If you chaps have finished swopping snake yarns,” said Jim, turning in his saddle, “there's Anglers' Bend.”
 
They had been riding steadily across the plain, until they had again come near the scrub-line which marked the course of the creek. Following the direction pointed by Jim's finger, they saw a deep curve in the green, where the creek suddenly left the fairly straight course it had been pursuing and made two great bends something like a capital U, the points of which lay in their direction. They rode down between them until they were almost at the water's edge.
 
Here the creek was very deep, and in sweeping³⁴ round had cut out a wide bed, nearly three times its usual breadth. Tall trees grew almost to the verge³⁵ of the banks on both sides, so that the water was almost always in shadow, while so high were the banks that few breezes were able to ripple³⁶ its surface. It lay placid³⁷ all the year, scarcely troubled even in winter, when the other parts of the creek rushed and tumbled in flood. There was room in the high banks of Anglers' Bend for all the extra water, and its presence was only marked by the strength of the current that ran in the very centre of the stream.
 
Just now the water was not high, and seemed very far below the children, who sat looking at it from their ponies on the bank. As they watched in silence a fish leaped in the middle of the Bend. The sudden movement seemed amazing in the stillness. It flashed for an instant in a patch of sunlight, and then fell back, sending circling ripples³⁸ spreading to each bank.
 
“Good omen³², I hope,” Harry said, “though they often don't bite when they jump, you know.”
 
“It's not often they don't bite here,” Jim said.
 
“Well, it looks a good enough place for anything—if we can't catch fish here, we won't be up to much as anglers,” Harry said.
 
“You've been here before, haven't you, Norah?” Wally asked.
 
“Oh, yes; ever so many times.”
 
“Father and Norah have great fishing excursions on their own,” said Jim. “They take a tent and camp out for two or three days with Billy as general flunkey. I don't know how many whales they haven't caught at this place. They know the Bend as well as any one.”
 
“Well, I guess we'd better take off the saddles and get to work,” said Norah, slipping off Bobs and patting his neck before undoing³⁹ the girth. The boys followed her example and soon the saddles were safely stowed in the shade. Then Jim turned with a laugh.
 
“Well, we are duffers,” he said. “Can't do a thing till Billy turns up. He's got all the hooks and lines, all the bait, all the hobbles, all the everything!”
 
“Whew-w!” whistled the boys.
 
“Well, it doesn't matter,” Norah said cheerfully. “There's lots to do. We can hang up the ponies while we hunt for rods. You boys have got your strong knives, haven't you?”
 
They had, and immediately scattered⁴⁰ to work. The ponies having been tied securely under a grove⁴¹ of saplings, the search for rods began, and soon four long straight sticks were obtained with the necessary amount of “springiness.” Then they hunted for a suitable camping-ground, where lunch might be eaten without too much disturbance⁴² from flies and mosquitoes, and gathered a good supply of dry sticks for a fire.
 
“Billy ought to bless us, anyhow,” Jim grinned.
 
“Yes, oughtn't he? Come along and see if he's coming.” They ran out upon the plain, and cheerful exclamations⁴³ immediately proclaimed the fact that Billy and the old packhorse had at length made their appearance in what Wally called the “offing.”
 
Billy soon clattered up to the little party, the hobbles and quart pot jingling⁴⁴ cheerfully on old Polly's back. He grinned amiably⁴⁵ at the four merry faces awaiting him in the shade of a wattle tree.
 
“This feller pretty slow,” he said, indicating Polly with a jerk of his thumb. “You all waitin' for tackle?”
 
“Rather,” said Jim. “Never mind, we've got everything ready. Look sharp and shy down the hooks, Billy—they're in that tin, and the lines are tied on to it, in a parcel. That's right,” as the black boy tossed the tackle down and he caught it deftly⁴⁶. “Now, you chaps, get to work, and get your lines ready.”
 
“Right oh!” said the chorus, as it fell to work. Billy made a swift incursion into the interior of the pack, and fished up a tin of worms and some raw meat, Wally being the only one to patronize the latter. The other three baited their hooks with worms, and, all being in readiness, made their way down the steep bank at a place where a little cleft⁴⁷ gave easier access to a tiny shelving beach below. Here a great tree-trunk had long ago been left by an unusually high flood, and formed a splendid place to fish from, as it jutted⁴⁸ out for some distance over the stream. Norah scrambled⁴⁹ out like a cat to its farthest extremity⁵⁰, and Harry followed her for part of the way. Wally and Jim settled themselves at intervals⁵¹ along the trunk. Sinkers, floats and baits were examined, and the business of the day began.
 
Everybody knows how it feels to fish. You throw in your hook with such blissful certainty that no fish can possibly resist the temptation you are dangling⁵² before its eyes. There is suppressed excitement all over you. You are all on the alert, feeling for imaginary nibbles⁵³, for bites that are not there. Sometimes, of course, the dreams come true, and the bites are realities; but these occasions are sadly outnumbered by the times when you keep on feeling and bobbing your line vainly, while excitement lulls⁵⁵ to expectation, and expectation merges⁵⁶ into hope, and hope becomes wishing, and wishing often dies down to disappointment.
 
Such was the gradual fate of the fishing party at Anglers' Bend. At first the four floats were watched with an intensity⁵⁷ of regard that should surely have had some effect in luring⁵⁸ fishes to the surface; but as the minutes dragged by and not a fish seemed inclined even to nibble⁵⁴, the solemn silence which had brooded on the quartet was broken by sundry⁵⁹ fidgetings and wrigglings and suppressed remarks on the variableness of fish and the slowness of fishing. Men enjoy the sport, because they can light their pipes and smoke in expectant ease; but the consolation⁶⁰ of tobacco was debarred from boys who were, as Jim put it, “too young to smoke and too old to make idiots of themselves by trying it,” and so they found it undeniably dull.
 
Billy came down to join the party presently, after he had seen to his horses and unpacked⁶¹ old Polly's load. His appearance gave Jim a brilliant idea, and he promptly⁶² despatched the black boy for cake, which proved a welcome stimulant⁶³ to flagging enthusiasm.
 
“Don't know if fish care about cake crumbs,” said Harry, finishing a huge slice with some regret.
 
“Didn't get a chance of sampling any of mine,” Wally laughed; “I wanted it all myself. Hallo!”
 
“What is it—a bite?”
 
“Rather—such a whopper! I've got it, too,” Wally gasped⁶⁴, tugging⁶⁵ at his line.
 
“You've got it, right enough,” Jim said. “Why, your rod's bending right over. Want a hand?”
 
“No, thanks—manage it myself,” said the fisherman, tugging manfully. “Here she comes!”
 
The line came in faster now, and the strain on the rod was plain. Excitement ran high.
 
“It's a great big perch⁶⁶, I do believe,” Norah exclaimed. “Just fancy, if it beats Dad's big boomer—the biggest ever caught here.”
 
“It'll beat some records,” Wally gasped, hauling in frantically⁶⁷. “Here she comes!”
 
“She” came, with a final jerk. Jim broke into a suppressed shout of laughter. For Wally's catch was nothing less than an ancient, mud-laden boot!