"Can I dwive, Aunt Polly, can I dwive? Ask him, can I dwive!" he roared,
beating her skirts with his fists. He was only silenced by the driver
threatening to throw him as a juicy morsel to the gang of bushrangers
who, sure as blazes, would be waiting to stick the coach up directly it
entered the bush.
Husband and wife lingered to watch the start, when the champing horses
took a headlong plunge forward and, together with the coach, were
swallowed up in a whirlwind of dust. A last glimpse discovered Johnny,
pale and wide-eyed at the lurching speed, but sitting bravely erect.
"The spirit of your brother in that child, my dear!" said Mahony as they
made to walk home.
"Poor little Johnny," and Polly wiped her eyes. "If only he was going
back to a mother who loved him, and would understand."
"I'm sure no mother could have done more for him than you, love."
"Yes, but a real mother wouldn't need to give him up, however naughty he
had been."
"I think the young varmint might have shown some regret at parting from
you, after all this time," returned her husband, to whom it was
offensive if even a child was lacking in good feeling. "He never turned
his head. Well, I suppose it's a fact, as they say, that the natural
child is the natural barbarian."
"Johnny never meant any harm. It was I who didn't know how to manage
him," said Polly staunchly.--"Why, Richard, what IS the matter?" For
letting her arm fall Mahony had dashed to the other side of the road.
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