"You've sprung it upon us rather suddenly, Jack."  
Betty and her brother-in-law sat in the verandah in the glory of the Tasmanian night. The stars shone out like lamps from the dark vault above with a brilliancy unknown in our cloudier atmosphere; a wonderful silence rested on the land, except that at long intervals a wind came sighing from the bush-clad hills, precursor of the strong breeze, sometimes reaching the force of a gale, that often springs up with the rising of the sun.
 
Jack removed his pipe and let it die out before he answered Betty.
 
"To you I expect it may seem a fad, the result of a sudden impulse, but really I've been working towards this end ever since aviation has been mooted, spending all my spare time and thought upon the perfecting of a notion too entirely technical to explain to anyone who does not understand aeroplanes. Finally I sent over my invention to an expert in the Admiralty, with the result that I've received my recall, and am to work it out. There is no question that at this juncture, when all nations are hurrying to get their air fleet afloat, we are singularly behindhand, and I feel the best service I can give my country is to help, in however small a degree, to retrieve our mistake."
 
"You don't really think England is in peril, do you?"
 
"The unready man is always in peril, and England is singularly unready for any emergency at the present time. I believe with some men the call of country is the strongest passion in their blood. For a moment the thought of leaving the little lad staggered me, for, of course, he's altogether too young to think of taking him with me. Nobody would mother him as you are doing, Betty. I would like him to be with you for some years longer yet, if you agree to continue taking charge of him."
 
"But of course," said Betty, with a little catch in her throat. "He is my greatest joy in life. I dread the time when I must let him go."
 
"Thank you; I want to leave him here as long as possible until it becomes a question of education. Of course I would like if he shows any inclination that way that he should follow in my footsteps, either serve in the navy or in the air fleet."
 
Betty gave a little gasp. "But the peril, Jack! Think of the lives that have been already sacrificed."
 
Jack shrugged his shoulders. "By the time the boy is old enough to think of a profession, I don't suppose aviation will be much more dangerous than any other calling that is distinctly combative in character, and if it is, I hope my son will be brave enough to face it. However, what Jack will be or do when he grows up is too far a cry to discuss seriously."
 
"And meanwhile what do you want me to do with him?"
 
"Just what you are doing now. Bring him up to fear God and honour the King."
 
"And when education presses? I can teach him to read and write and a little arithmetic, but when he ought to go further? Am I to send him away to a boarding school?"
 
"I think not, Betty. I would almost rather you let him go to the State school here, and kept him under your own eye. I don't believe association during school hours with all and sundry will hurt him whilst he has you to come back to, and the teaching at some of these schools is far more practical and useful than at many a preparatory school at home. What can you tell me of the master here?"
 
"He's rather above the average, and if he finds a boy interested in his work is often willing to give him a helping hand. For one thing, I don't believe Jack will ever want to be much off the place out of school hours. He's a manly little chap, and loves being about with Ted or father on the farm. I wish sometimes he had some chum of his own, a little brother, or what would be almost as good—a little sister. His play is too solitary."
 
"I'm afraid it's out of your power or mine to cure that," said the Captain, rather sadly, his thoughts going back to the pretty wife who had been his for so short a time.
 
When little Jack appeared at breakfast the following morning there was no sign of the previous night's emotion, but he was quite inseparable from his father that day, never leaving his side for an instant if he could help it. He was much graver than usual, intent upon watching the Captain's every movement, even adjusting his own little shoulders to exactly the same angle as his father's, and adopting a suspicion of roll in his walk.
 
The Captain was to leave by the evening coach, and Betty catching the wistful look in little Jack's eyes suggested that he should be the one to escort the Captain down the green lane to the hotel in the township from which the coach started. Jack, holding his father's hand tight gripped in his own, scarcely uttered a word as they walked off together. He held his head high and swallowed the uncomfortable knot in his throat. Not again would he disgrace his manhood by breaking into tears.
 
"I'll be real big when you come next time," he ventured at last. "Will it be soon?"
 
"As soon as I can make it, Jackie. Meanwhile you'll be good and do as Aunt Betty tells you."
 
"Yes, sometimes. I can't always," said Jack truthfully.
 
"Well, as often as you can. And little or big you'll not forget you're Jack, the Englishman, who'll speak the truth and be brave and ready to fight for your country if need be."
 
"Yes," said Jack, squaring his shoulders a little.
 
"And I'll write to you from every port—Aunt Betty will show you on the map the ports my ship will touch at—and when I get home I shall write to you every week."
 
That promise brought a smile to Jack's twitching lips.
 
"Oh, but that's splendid! A letter all my own every week," he said, beginning to jump about with excitement at the prospect.
 
"Will it have my name written upon the envelope?"
 
"Why, yes. How else should the postman know whom it's for? You'll have to write to me, you know."
 
That proposition did not sound quite so delightful, and Jack's forehead puckered a little. He remembered the daily tussle over his copy-book.
 
"I don't write very well just yet," he said.
 
"That will have to be amended, for a letter I must have every week. Aunt Betty will guide your hand at first, and very soon I hope you will be able to write me a sentence or two all your own, without Aunt Betty's help."
 
"But what'll I say in a letter?" asked Jack, still distrustful of his own powers.
 
"Just what you would say to me if you were talking as you're talking now; how you get on with your lessons. If you're a good boy or a bad one, who you meet, what picnics you have; anything you like. What interests you will surely interest me."
 
The thought that father would still talk to him when he was away kept Jack steady through the parting, that, and the fact that a young horse only partially broken in was harnessed to the steady goer who for months past had been one of the hinder pair of the four-horse coach, played all manner of pranks at starting; at first declining to budge at all; then, when the superior force of the three others made movement necessary, setting his four legs together and letting himself be dragged along for a few paces, finally breaking into a wild gallop which was checked by his more sober mates, until at last finding himself over-matched he dropped into the quick trot of the other three, fretting and foaming at the mouth, nevertheless, at his enforced obedience. It was a primitive method of horse-breaking, but effectual. And so Jack's farewells to his father were diversified by watching the antics of the unbroken colt, and joining a little in the laughter of the ring of spectators that had gathered round to see the fun. But when the final start was made Jack was conscious of the smarting of unshed tears, rubbed his eyes vigorously with his sturdy fists and set off home at a smart trot, standing still sometimes and curvetting a little in imitation of the colt that needed breaking in.
 
Betty, who stood waiting for him at the gate of the paddock, ready to comfort and console, saw him gambolling along like a frisky horse, and felt her sympathy a little wasted. Children's sorrows are proverbially evanescent, but she was hardly prepared for Jack to return in such apparently rollicking spirits from the parting with his father of indefinite duration. And when he came up to her it was of the horse and its capering that he told her, mimicking its action in his own little person: holding back, pelting forwards, trying to rear, interspersed with vicious side kicks, and finally a wild gallop which sobered into a trot.
 
"That's 'zackly how he went," he said, waiting breathless for Aunt Betty to catch him up.
 
Betty was extremely astonished that Jack made no mention of his father, but later she understood. Tea was over, and before Jack went to bed Betty allowed him a quarter of an hour's play at any game he chose.
 
"Would you like to be the frisky horse again, and I will drive you," she asked, willing to humour his latest whim.
 
"No, I'll get my slate and write, only you must help me."
 
This was indeed an unexpected development for Jack, and left Betty speechless. Jack was quick at reading and quite good at counting, but writing was his particular bug-bear.
 
She lifted him on to her lap, and he bent eagerly over the slate on his knees.
 
"Now, what do you want to write," Betty asked, taking his right hand in her own firm, strong one.
 
"A letter—a letter to father. He's going to write to me every week. How do you begin? He says I must write every week, same as he does."
 
"All right! 'My dear Father'—That's the way to begin."
 
By the time the "r" was reached Jack lifted a flushed face.
 
"It's awful hard work; I'll never do it."
 
"Oh, yes we will. We'll write it to-morrow in your copybook. Very soon it will come quite easy."
 
And the wish to conquer made Jack comparatively patient at his writing the following morning. Lessons over, he turned out into the paddock as usual to play, but somehow all zest for play had deserted him. The effort to prove himself a man the day before had a reaction. Every game, played alone, lost its flavour. Hitherto Jack had never been conscious of the need of a playmate. His whole being had been so absorbed in his father that the looking forward to his visits, the saving up everything to show him and to tell him, had satisfied him; but to-day, with that father gone, he floated about like a rudderless boat, fretful and lonely, not able to voice his vague longing for something to happen! He opened the gate and looked down the lane. On the opposite side of the lane was a tenantless house; the half-acre in which it stood had never been brought into proper cultivation as a garden, but the flowers and shrubs which had been planted haphazard about it had grown now into tangled confusion, and Jack, when tired of his own premises, had often run down there, where, crawling on all-fours through the long grass and shrubs, he had imagined himself lost in the bush, and great was his joy when Aunt Betty, not finding him in the home paddock, would come wandering down the lane, saying in a clear, distinct tone:
 
"Now where can that little boy have gone? I'm afraid, I'm dreadfully afraid, he's lost in the bush! I wonder if it's possible he can have strayed in here."
 
Then her bright head would be thrust over the gate, and each time Jack was discovered cowering from sight there would be a fresh burst of rapture on the part of the much-distressed aunt and roars of delighted laughter from Jack. It was a most favourite game, but he did not wish to play it to-day.
 
Yet he resented it a little that a bullock-wagon was drawn to one side of the road, the wagon piled high with furniture, which was being lifted piece by piece into the house. His happy hunting-ground was to be his no longer, for evidently the house was to be occupied by a fresh tenant. Dancing to and fro with the men who were unlading the dray was a little girl, her face entirely hidden by a large sun-bonnet, and the rest of her little person enveloped in a blue overall, below which came a pair of sturdy brown legs, scarcely distinguishable from the tan shoes and socks below.
 
Jack's resentment at the thought of losing his playground yielded to excitement at the prospect of a playmate so close at hand, and he crept cautiously along his side of the lane to obtain a nearer view of the new-comer, finally taking a seat against the fence just opposite the house. It was a minute or two before the little girl discovered him. When she did she crossed the dividing road and stood just far enough from him to make a quick retreat to her own premises if a nearer inspection was unfavourable. It was almost a baby face that peered out from the bonnet: round apple cheeks, big serious eyes, and a halo of dark curls that framed the forehead. Her eyes met Jack's for a moment, then dropped in a sudden attack of shyness, and she showed signs of running away without speaking.
 
"Wait a bit," said Jack. "Can't you tell us your name?"
 
The child drew a step nearer. "What's yours?" she said, answering Jack's question by another.
 
"I'm Jack, father's called Jack, too."
 
"I'm Eva, but mummy calls me puss. Is that your place?" with a nod towards Jack's home.
 
"Yes, you can come and look at it if you like," and Jack held out a grubby hand.
 
Eva paused, looked up the lane and down it.
 
"Mummy only lets me play with nice little boys," she said.
 
"All right," said Jack, rising and turning back to go home. That he was rejected on the score of not being nice enough to play with puzzled him rather than annoyed.
 
There was a hasty scuttle after him as Eva ran to catch him up.
 
"Stop, boy! I think you's nice! You's got booful blue eyes!"
 
Jack turned, laughing merrily. "You're a funny little kiddie. Do you want to come, then?"
 
Eva nodded gravely, thrusting a confident hand in his.
 
"You're old, a lot older than me," she said, admiring the agility with which Jack climbed the top of the gate and pulled back the iron fastening to let her through.
 
"I'm seven, big for my age, Aunt Betty says, but I want to be a lot bigger before I'm done with."
 
"I'm six next bufday," Eva announced. "I had a bufday last week."
 
"Then you're six now."
 
Eva shook her head vigorously. "Next bufday, mummy says."
 
"Oh, you're only five," said Jack dejectedly. A baby of five was really too young to play with.
 
"Can you play horses?"
 
"Yus," suddenly smiling into Jack's face.
 
"And cricket?"
 
"Kick it, a ball like this," throwing out her little foot. "Yus."
 
"Let's see how you run. I'll give you quite a long start, and we'll see which can get to the house first."
 
Eva's stout legs acquitted themselves so well that Jack's esteem and respect grew by leaps and bounds.
 
"You'll do quite well for a chum, after all," he said as he panted up to her. "Come along and see Aunt Betty."
 
Aunt Betty's whereabouts were not difficult to discover. Her song rose clear and full as a magpie as she busied herself in the dairy which adjoined the house. The sound of Jack's voice made her turn from her milk-pans to the doorway which framed him and his little companion.
 
"Why, Jack, who is the little girl?" she asked.
 
"Her name is Eva, and I've just settled she shall be my chum," was the decided answer.
 
But Eva, frightened at finding herself quite away from her own people, threw herself on the doorstep and hid her face in a fit of sobbing.
 
"I won't be nobody's chum! Take me home to mummy," she said.
 
Betty's arms closed round her consolingly.
 
"So I will directly Jack can tell me where mummy lives," said Betty. "Come along, Jack, and show me where to take her."