I consider that clever and just the sort of thing I should expect from “How can you expect anything of him when you don’t know him?”

“I’ve spent quite a long time in your company and to do that is to know quite a bit about this wonderful man, for you talk of nothing else.”

“Very well, I’ll not speak of him. You asked questions and I replied to -them. That’s all.”

“Of course I want to hear about this wonderful godlike creature. But tell me more about your mother.”

“How can I when I never knew her?”

There must have been some stories. “

He frowned and was silent. There were stories, I decided, and he did not want to tell them. Why? Because I imagined they were not very flattering to Lynx.

“And did he never marry again?” I went on.

“He did not marry again.”

“All those years without a wife! I should have thought Lynx would have wanted a wife. “

“You should not judge him until you know him,” said Stirling rather sourly. Then he changed the subject quickly and talked about the country. It would be the end of winter when we arrived for I must not forget that winter in Australia was summer at home. The wattle would be in bloom and I should see the fine brave eucalypts—red stringy barks and grey ghost gums; and we should have to travel north from Melbourne through parts of the bush. I was not listening very intently. I kept thinking of Lynx’s marrying and becoming his master’s son-in-law. Perhaps, I thought, Fox would have been a better name for him. The more I heard of the perfection of this man the more I set my mind against him because I imagined that in every account of his prowess was some implied criticism of my father.

We sat gazing over the water while Stirling talked of my new home and at last I said: “It’s getting late. I must go in.”

Stirling conducted me to my cabin and said goodnight. When I entered, my companion, who was already in her bunk, remarked that I seemed to find the company of Mr. Herrick very intriguing.

“Naturally we have a great deal to talk about since he is taking me to his country which will be my new home.”

“Mrs. Mullens was saying how odd it was for a young girl to have such a young guardian.”

“There is no law laid down that a guardian should be of a stipulated age. A guardian can be of any age. No one can prevent his being a guardian because he is not middle-aged, nor can people be prevented from gossiping. Nor again is there any law to prevent one listening to gossip—only that of good breeding, of course.”

That silenced her and I chuckled to myself. Stirling was right. I had a quick tongue. I must make of it a defensive weapon. Perhaps I should have an opportunity of trying it on Lynx. The thought amused me.

I should not let him command me, I assured myself, though he was my guardian and appointed as such by my own father. I would never be dominated by anyone as this man appeared to dominate people—even Stirling. I would ask no more questions about him. I would shut him out of my mind.

I fell asleep then, but my dreams were haunted by a tall .

We were three days out of Cape Town when we discovered Jemmy. We had had our usual meal at seven and gone out on to the deck to sit side by side while Stirling talked about his country. I was beginning to build up a clear picture. I saw the bush with its yellow wattle and enormous trees. Stirling was not one to offer glowing descriptions; his conversation was in fact inclined to be terse; but he did make me guess at the beauty of the jarrah tree blossom and the red flowering gum. I could image the red and yellow glory of the flowers they called kangaroo paws; I could see the yellow swamp daisies and the many coloured orchids. He mentioned casually the gay rosellas; and I longed to see the green lorikeets and red-winged parrots. Each day I was learning a little more about the country which would soon be mine.

Suddenly we heard the sound of violent sneezing. We were startled, believing ourselves be alone on deck.

“Who was that?” said Stirling, looking about him.

There was a paroxysm of coughing which could only have come from someone close by. It was clear that the sufferer was desperately attempting to stifle his cough. Stirling and I looked at each other in amazement for we could see no one.

We took a few steps along the deck suspended from which were the lifeboats and as we passed one of these the coughing started again.

“Who’s there?” called Stirling.

There was no answer—but the cough had started again, and this time there was no doubt that it came from the suspended lifeboat.

Stirling was agile. It did not take him long to hoist himself up to the boat. I heard his exclamation.

“It’s a boy,” he said.

I saw the boy’s head—tousled and dirty; his frightened eyes were enormous in his white, scared face.

Stirling had him by the arm and lowered him on to the deck. In a second the three of us were standing there together.

“A … stowaway!” I cried.

“Don’t you tell them,” whimpered the boy.

I could see that he was in a poor state of health when that terrible racking cough started again.

“Don’t be frightened,” I said.

“It’s all right now.”

I must have sounded convincing because as the cough subsided he looked at me trustingly.

“You’ve no right be on the ship, have you?” I said gently.

“You stowed away.”

“Yes, miss.”

“How long have you been on?”

“Since London.”

Stirling cried: “You young rogue! What do you think you’re doing?”

The boy cowered towards me, and I was determined to protect him as much as I could.

“He’s ill,” I said.

Serve him right. “

“You’re hungry, I daresay,” I said to the boy.

“And you have a bad cough. Why, you’re shivering. It’s time you came out of hiding.”

“No!” he cried fearfully, and looked about him so wildly that I was afraid he was contemplating jumping overboard. I was filled with a deep pity for him.

“You’ve run away from home,” I said.

“Of course he has,” said Stirling.

“I haven’t got a home.”

“Your father …”

“No father. No mother,” he said; and my heart was deeply touched.

After all, hadn’t I known what it meant to be without a mother and father, without a home? The misery of Danesworth House came back to me—not so much the bleak attic, the shivering draughts and the stuffy heat, but the memory of what it felt like to be abandoned, alone and unwanted.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Jemmy,” he said.

“Well, Jemmy,” I assured him, ‘you are not to worry. I’m going to see that everything is right. “

Stirling had raised his eyebrows, but I went on: “You’ll have to confess what you’ve done, but I’ll explain; and the first thing is to get some hot food and a bed. You haven’t slept in a bed since you left London, have you?”

He shook his head.

“And you have had no proper food. Only that which you have managed to steal.”

He nodded.

“That’s going to be changed. You can trust me. Jemmy.”

“I don’t want to go back.”

“You’re not going back.”

That satisfied him.

One of the officers came on deck just then and seeing us with the boy hurried towards us. We explained what had happened and he took charge of Jemmy. The look the child gave me as he was taken away haunted me.

“You certainly played the lady bountiful,” said Stirling.

“Making everything right for stowaways—even rewarding them for their sins.”

“I think you are rather hardhearted.”

“At least I haven’t made promises I can’t fulfill.”

“What do they do to stowaways?”

“I don’t know, but I feel sure they receive the punishment they richly deserve.”

“That poor child was ill and hungry.”

“Naturally. What did he expect? To be received on board as a passenger? He must have had some idea of what would happen when he stowed away.”

“He wouldn’t have thought of that. He would have seen a big ship as an escape from an intolerable existence. He would have dreamed of sailing away into the sunshine, starting a new life.”

“Another of those dreamers, it seems.”

That angered me. He was referring, of course, to my father. I said firmly.

“I don’t want that child to suffer. How will they punish him?

They’ll be harsh, I suppose. “

“He’ll probably have to work on board and when we get to Australia he’ll be punished and sent back to England to be punished there.”

“It’s cruel.”

“It’s justice. Why should he evade it?”

“He’s young and some people manage to evade punishment … by marrying their master’s daughter, for instance.”

It was unfair, but he had criticized my father and I couldn’t resist retaliating by attacking him. He merely laughed.

“People have to be clever to get the best out of life.”

“Some are helped,” I said.

“And if I can help that boy I will.”

“You should, shouldn’t you? You’ve promised. Rashly, of course, but you have given your word.”

He was right. I was determined to do what I could for poor little Jemmy.

Everyone on board was talking about the stowaway. They had taken him to the sick bay and tor days it was doubted whether he would survive the hardships he had suffered. He had spent a great deal of the time in the lifeboat, cleverly ascertaining when there was to be lifeboat drill and then hiding himself in one of the cupboards where spare life-jackets were stored. He had prowled about the ship at night looking for food and had found a little now and then. He had almost died of exposure and hunger. So at least for a time he was comfortable, well cared for and too sick to contemplate what trouble might be awaiting him when he was well enough to be judged.