"Who's calling me?" said the young girl as her pet left my young master.
From outside we could hear clear voices--"Cass--Cass--Cassowary!"
"Coming," she replied. "Dallas, you wait here, I want to show you the other hen houses," and she and the dog dashed away.
My young master stood in the doorway staring at the drowsy hens. Then his head began to droop. He leaned against the doorpost and little by little his young legs folded under him like tape, and he sank down, his head against the hard wood.
He was too sleepy to keep his eyes open any longer. When Cassowary came back she stared at him. "Upon my weary word, he's gone sleepy." Then she shook him. "Wake up and walk to bed."
He wouldn't budge and she looked round for help.
Her father was coming across the yard, and his eyes twinkled when he saw Dallas.
"Daughter," he said, "I warned you that the boy was dead tired."
"He's as sound as a drugged top," she replied.
Mr. Devering shook my young master slightly, then smiled as he heard a murmur from the half-open lips.
"What's he muttering in his sleep?" asked Cassowary.
"Who knows--that active young brain of his goes leaping like a mountain stream. These words have a peculiar significance from him."
"My daughter, there are some things I can not tell even you."
She was laughing at the antics of young Dallas, whom Mr. Devering was trying to set on his feet.
"Poor lamb," said this strong man, and he lifted my young master's limp body as easily as if he had been Lammie-noo.
Cassowary and her dog and I trotted alongside, as we went to the house. Her eyes were on Dallas' head bobbing over her father's shoulder.
"Fallen comrade," she said presently, "just rescued from under the guns."
I could see Mr. Devering's broad shoulders shaking with amusement in spite of the burden he carried.
"Cassowary," he said, "there's some truth in that statement of yours, only the guns are family and not enemy."
"He's a queer boy," she said. "Not like us."
"You're highland plants. He's a hot-house product. Be good to him, my daughter--promise me."
"He has more imagination than all you young ones put together," said her father warmly. "He knows
'How short the way to fairyland Across the purple hill.'
He will go further than----" then he stopped.