With that brushing of the hand the inevitable reaction began, and for a
little while we feared we would have another sick traveller on our hand.
But only for a little while. After a day or two of rest and care his
strength came back, but his thoughts were ever of those seven years of
steadfast comradeship. Simply and earnestly he spoke of them and of that
mother, all unconscious of the heartbreak that was speeding only too
surely to her. Poor mother! And yet those other two nameless graves on
that little rise deep in the heart of the bush bear witness that other
mothers have even deeper sorrows to bear. Their sons are gone from them,
and they, knowing nothing of it, wait patiently through the long silent
years for the word that can never come to them.
For a few days the man rested, and then, just when work--hard work--was
the one thing needful, Dan came in for a consultation, and with him a
traveller, the bearer of a message from our kind, great-hearted chief to
say that work was waiting for the mate at the line party. Our chief was
the personification of all that is best in the bush-folk (as all bushmen
will testify to his memory)--men's lives crossed his by chance just here
and there, but at those crossing places life have been happier and
better.
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