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Chapter 5
Applying Consumer Theory

◼ Chapter Outline
Challenge: Per-Hour Versus Lump-Sum Childcare Subsidies
5.1 Deriving Demand Curves
Indifference Curves and a Rotating Budget Line
Price-Consumption Curve
Application: Smoking Versus Eating and Phoning
The Demand Curve Corresponds to the Price-Consumption Curve
Solved Problem 5.1
5.2 How Changes in Income Shift Demand Curves
Effects of a Rise in Income
Solved Problem 5.2
Consumer Theory and Income Elasticities
Income Elasticities
Income-Consumption Curves and Income Elasticities
Some Goods Must Be Normal
Application: Fast-Food Engel Curve
5.3 Effects of a Price Change

© 2018 Pearson Education, Inc.

 Chapter 5 Applying Consumer Theory 67

Income and Substitution Effects with a Normal Good

Solved Problem 5.3
Solved Problem 5.4
Income and Substitution Effects with an Inferior Good
Solved Problem 5.5
*Compensating Variation and Equivalent Variation
Application: What’s Your Smart Phone Worth to You?
5.4 Cost-of-Living Adjustments
Inflation Indexes
Real Versus Nominal Prices
Calculating Inflation Indexes
Effects of Inflation Adjustments
CPI Adjustment
Application: Paying Employees to Relocate
*True Cost-of-Living Adjustment
Size of the CPI Substitution Bias
5.5 Deriving Labor Supply Curves
Labor-Leisure Choice
Income and Substitution Effects
Solved Problem 5.6
Shape of the Labor Supply Curve
Application: Working After Winning the Lottery
Income Tax Rates and Labor Supply

◼ Teaching Tips
This chapter contains a great deal of important material and requires several classes to cover effectively.
I find that covering the price consumption curve, Engel curve, and the derivation of demand curves usually
takes me about one 70-minute period. The material is not intuitively difficult, but students need to be clear
about these concepts in order to have the substitution and income effect material make sense. You may want
to spread the presentation of the substitution and income effects over more than one period because students
will benefit from having some time to process the first run-through, as well as refer back to the book.
The Challenge is a good way to introduce the topics covered. You might discuss why a family might make
different decisions when they are given a lump sum subsidy versus a per-hour subsidy. Then as you go
through the material in the chapter, you can refer back to the childcare Challenge. It is also a slightly
different approach to the income tax rates section, with the per-hour subsidy being a negative tax on
childcare.

When presenting the substitution and income effects, try to set up the presentation such that the class can
take good quality notes on the graphs. When students come in for help on this material, you might go through
their notes with them. What you are likely to discover is that hurriedly drawn indifference curves and freehand
wobbly budget constraints have led to a graph that looks almost nothing like the one you put on the board.
They may have the imaginary budget line drawn so that it intersects the original point of tangency, which
leaves them with no substitution effect. To minimize this problem, in addition to reminding them to bring in
a protractor and colored pencils with which to take notes, I do the following: The first time I demonstrate the
separation of the total effect into the two component effects, I replicate an example that is in the text (such as
the live music and music tracks example in Figure 5.4). I tell the class that I am doing this but ask them to

© 2018 Pearson Education, Inc.

68 Perloff • Microeconomics, Eighth Edition

take notes as they normally would rather than just watch me and look at the book. This way, if they make
errors in note taking, they can refer to the text to see the correct graph. The other thing that can be helpful
is to supply them with pre-drawn indifference curves because this is where most of the trouble occurs. For
example, if they draw their curves much differently than yours when you are demonstrating the separation of
income and substitution effects for an inferior good, theirs may not turn out to be inferior. Another
possibility is to give the class coordinates of points that make up the needed indifference curves. It may be
useful to assign a number of substitution and income effect questions as homework, some with supplied
graphs and some where students draw their own graphs. I find that the more practice that students get
drawing the graphs, the more comfortable they become.

The section on CPI and inflation indexes is an important tool for students to understand. News articles
often compare prices across years without accounting for inflation. Where the inflation figures come from,
the different indexes that can be used and the CPI substitution bias are important concepts that can easily
be applied outside of class.

The inclusion of the labor supply curve and the labor-leisure trade-off in this chapter is another good way
to make the point of the importance of the substitution and income effects. Solved Problem 5.6, about
Enrico’s scholarship, is a good place to start a class discussion. You might ask students to think about their
own work decisions and how they depend on the support they receive from their parents or from other
sources. The effect of income taxes on labor supply is also a good discussion topic. The text describes the
attempts by the Kennedy, Reagan, and George W. Bush administrations to increase both work effort and tax
receipts by decreasing marginal tax rates at the highest levels. If there is time, you might point out the
normative nature of “fair” marginal tax rates and that, while a primary issue for individuals is fairness,
another important aspect of the setting of tax rates is how they may affect work effort and thus revenues. It
may be the case that in order to construct tax proportions that the majority feels are fair, rates would have
to be higher than another scheme judged to be almost as fair but with lower rates and greater work effort.
The inverted-U curve in text Figure 5.10 is useful when discussing optimal tax rates. The fact that the
United States is far below the peak of the curve and the economic implications with respect to efficiency
and redistribution may be worth discussing. It would never be optimal to tax beyond the peak of the
curvebecause that would further distort the economy without increasing tax revenues. You might ask
students where on the curve would be optimal, and what other factors, such as economic growth and
redistribution, determine that choice.

As an extension of this section, you may want to discuss in class or assign as homework Question 7 in the
following Additional Problems section. This question requires the students to construct a piece-wise linear
budget line due to changes in the marginal tax rate as hours worked increases.

◼ Additional Applications
Rats Treat Quinine Solution as a Giffen Good1
Economists have long sought empirical confirmation of the Giffen good phenomenon—the occurrence of
a negative income effect so large that it overwhelms the substitution effect, creating a positively sloped
demand curve. Battalio, Kagel, and Kogut (1991) used a novel experimental procedure to demonstrate
that, within a certain income range, the Giffen phenomenon can occur at the individual level.

The authors began by providing six rats with the opportunity to consume liquid in the form of root beer,
a quinine solution (0.1 gram per liter), and water. The rats strongly preferred root beer to water and water
to quinine solution. Given these preferences, root beer was chosen as the normal good and quinine was
intended to serve as the Giffen good. In the experiment, the rats could “purchase” each liquid by pressing

1
Raymond Battalio, John H. Kagel, and Carl A. Kogut, “Experimental Confirmation of the Existence of a Giffen Good,”
American Economic Review, 81(4) September 1991:961–70.

© 2018 Pearson Education, Inc.

 Chapter 5 Applying Consumer Theory 69

on a wall-mounted lever (one for root beer, one for quinine) in their cage. Income was controlled by fixing
the number of presses that would produce liquid. The rats could allocate their total presses across the two
levers in whatever proportion they chose.

The authors first searched for an income range in which quinine was strongly inferior (a necessary condition
for producing the Giffen phenomenon). They then imposed income-constant price changes at these income
levels to demonstrate the Giffen effect. The quinine price was changed by altering the amount received
per lever press. As the price went up, less quinine was received per press.

Of the six rats tested, three produced a Giffen response, and three did not. Not surprisingly, the Giffen-
response-producing rats were the same three that had treated quinine as a strongly inferior good in the
income range that was tested. The other three rats, for whom quinine was not strongly inferior, did not
exhibit the Giffen phenomenon.

The authors concluded that the Giffen good is observed rarely for two reasons. First, it is difficult empirically
to generate (or to observe in human experience) the “initial conditions of strong inferiority that the theory
calls for.” Further, when the responses were averaged across rats to produce a market effect, the effect was
not significantly different from zero. Thus, although some individuals did exhibit the Giffen phenomenon
in a specific income range, the heterogeneity of preferences and income levels across individuals makes
the observation of the Giffen phenomenon at the market level extremely unlikely.

1. The authors were able to demonstrate this result only at very low income levels. Why would this be
so?

2. Does this experiment reinforce or weaken the theory of choice?

Job Sharing May Help Workers to Maximize Utility

The model of labor supply presented in the chapter assumes that workers are free to choose the number of
hours that they work. However, in many occupations, employers typically do not offer part-time work, and
workers are constrained to full-time work. For workers who would choose to work any number of hours
per week other than 40, this alters their utility-maximizing hours choice and so reduces utility. For those
workers with a high preference for income who would like to work more than 40 hours per week, they
may be able to increase their income by working part-time at a second job. However, for those employees
who would like to work less than 40 hours per week, they could face the choice of working more than
they would like, or not at all. Job sharing is a relatively recent labor market innovation that can provide
a solution. In job sharing, two employees work as partners and share a single full-time position. The
employees receive the benefit of knowing that they have full-time coverage (and maybe even better than
full-time coverage if one partner can cover for the other during vacations and sick time), while the
employees receive the benefit of being able to choose fewer hours of labor market participation and can
devote more time to either leisure or work in the home. Partners may be spouses (as sometimes occurs in
academia when spouses with similar training share a single position) or completely unrelated individuals
who have significant at-home responsibilities that make full-time work undesirable. Employers have
responded to the increased demand for shared jobs. USA Today reports that as many as 28% of firms offer
job sharing. Those interested in sharing a job can even use Internet search services specifically designed to
match partners.2

1. Use a graph similar to Figure 5.8 in the text to show an individual who is constrained to working
40 hours per week but would prefer to work less (i.e., her utility would be higher if she could choose
another point on the budget line with about half as many hours of work).

2
Jerry Langdon, “Job Sharing Programs on the Upswing,” at http://www.usatoday.com/careers/news/2001-01-26-jobsharing.htm,
and “Job Share Partner Search,” at http://www.womans-work.com/job_share_search.htm. Accessed 1/1/03.

© 2018 Pearson Education, Inc.

70 Perloff • Microeconomics, Eighth Edition

2. Show how the individual in the graph would benefit from job sharing. It may help to assume that
there are two individuals with the same taste for market work.

◼ Discussion Questions
1. What kind of experiment could a firm conduct to determine the demand curve it faces?

2. Suppose the government wants to discourage consumption of some good (such as cigarettes or
liquor). How effective will specific taxes and lump sum taxes (a pure reduction in income) be in
reducing consumption? What type of information do you need to answer this question?

3. How can the firm use the information contained in an Engel Curve and government forecasts of
income to predict future demand?

4. Are you aware of any Giffen goods? What types of goods might these be?

5. Should the government try to pick the marginal tax rate to maximize government revenue?

6. Think of several goods that, at your current income level, you would consider normal, others that you
would consider inferior. Try to determine the defining characteristics of normal and inferior goods by
evaluating your list. What do the two groups have in common? How are they different from each other?

7. In the United States, Social Security is tied to the CPI-W, a consumer price index for urban and wage
earners. What are the advantages of this index over the more general CPI? How does the welfare of
Social Security recipients depend on the distribution of price changes across the goods in the basket?

◼ Additional Questions and Problems

1. Suppose the government wants to increase the ability of families to pay for college education. Would
a $500 income tax rebate differ from a $500 tax credit for tuition reimbursement? Explain.

2. True, False, or Uncertain; explain your answer. When income rises and the price of x falls, the
consumer will always buy more units of x.
3. Suppose that a consumer’s annual demand for office visits is described by the equation Q = 8 – 0.1p.
If office visits cost $30, and the consumer has no health insurance (i.e., the consumer pays full price),
how many office visits will she make? What is the elasticity of demand for office visits at this point?
Suppose a health insurance plan is instituted that pays for one-third of each office visit. How would
this affect the quantity and the demand elasticity at the new equilibrium?
4. A consumer faces prices for hot dogs and hamburgers of $1 each. Consumption of the two commodities
at various weekly income levels are shown below.

© 2018 Pearson Education, Inc.

Another document from Scribd.com that is
random and unrelated content:
 “But the trouble to you—”
“Why, there isn’t any trouble. I make my preparations beforehand,
and all the rest can be done while you are taking off your boots or
washing your hands.”
“But it is keeping you on duty all the time. If you had heard the frigid
warnings of the hotel in Baroin as to what we might expect if we got
home after six—!” At which Mrs. Hurst’s head went up.
“But I am not the Baroin hotel, Dr. Lane. You must recognize certain
differences between Hill Farm and that haughty establishment.” Dr. Lane
had laughed at the twinkle in her eye.
“I thank my lucky stars for them every day,” he had responded.
“Well, if you are really sure that it does not make things too hard for you,
it is certainly delightful to feel that one can carry on with a free
conscience. I’m the slave of a time-table in Melbourne: it is sheer rest to
know that at Hill Farm time does not seem to exist.”
“Only so far as you wish it to exist,” Mrs. Hurst had answered. “We
want you to enjoy yourselves, Robin and I.”
Mrs. Lane had shaken down to captivity with surprising philosophy.
Her husband had devoted his first morning to the manufacture of a
makeshift crutch, by means of which she could move about a little,
giving her a feeling of independence that added greatly to her
cheerfulness. She laughed delightedly at her own clumsy efforts at
movement, even while the pain made her wince.
“I was always taught by my mother that grace was essential to a
woman!” she said. “Dear me, if she could see me now! Robin, you bad
child, don’t laugh at the afflicted—you should be full of sympathy.”
“I am; but you would make anyone laugh,” Robin defended herself.
She was standing by, ready to help the guest’s progress towards the
veranda. “Do lean on me a bit, Mrs. Lane—I know it’s hurting you
horribly, and I don’t believe Dr. Lane would approve.”
“Certainly he wouldn’t—but then, men are so fussy, aren’t they?”
responded the afflicted one. “And I won’t be more helpless than I have to
be. Just be handy in case I stumble. I shall be much more accomplished
to-morrow; this third leg of mine isn’t really broken-in yet.” She reached
the couch in safety, and collapsed upon it with a sigh of relief.
“There!—I did it! Just lift the old ankle up for me, my dear, and put
that horrid implement where I can’t see it—not out of my reach, though.
I may feel the need of exercise later on.”
“I don’t think you ought to feel any such thing,” said Robin, much
concerned, although it was impossible not to laugh at the cheerful
sufferer. “See, there’s a little bell on your table, Mrs. Lane: do ring if you
want anything. I shall be just round the corner.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Thin my turnips; they’re crowding each other out of the ground.”
“Dear me!” said Mrs. Lane, looking at her respectfully. “You and
your mother are people of many activities. I wish you would sit down
and be restful for a few minutes: I know I saw you pass my window at
five o’clock this morning.”
“Very likely,” Robin said, smiling. “I hope I didn’t disturb you,
though.”
“No: I was awake. Do sit down: I know I’ll need something in about
two minutes—I don’t remember yet what it is, but it will come to me! So
it would be a pity if you went. That’s right; now I can feel more restful
myself. Tell me, why do you and your mother live in this big place
alone? I know I’m very inquisitive, but I was born so.”
“Well, we must live somewhere,” Robin laughed. “And Uncle
Donald left the place to Mother. He was an old widower, and he hadn’t
anyone else to leave it to—that’s why we got it.”
“And did he live here alone?”
“Yes, but for a housekeeper. He bought the place very cheaply: of
course, he didn’t use it all, but it was so cheap he didn’t mind that. Uncle
Donald never could resist a bargain. He used to buy things at sales, just
because they were cheap; the house is full of queer old things he picked
up.” Robin grinned. “I was the worst bargain he ever made!”
“Did he get you cheaply?”
“He got me for nothing, but he thought I was dear at any price. It was
mostly my hair, I think: it had a most irritating effect upon him.
Goodness knows, it’s burden enough to carry a flame-coloured head
through life, without one’s uncles objecting to it. I thought it should
make me an object of sympathy, but Uncle Donald seemed to fancy that
the sympathy should be given to him!”
Mrs. Lane chuckled delightedly.
“Then you didn’t get on very well?”
 “Well—not exactly,” said Robin, demurely. “We disapproved of each
other. I could have put up with that, but I couldn’t stand the way he used
to speak to Mother. He really wasn’t a nice old man, Mrs. Lane. You
would have said so yourself!”
“He doesn’t sound nice,” said Mrs. Lane. “But I like his house. Don’t
you and your mother find it very lonely, though? I can imagine being
happy here for a few weeks—but to live here! I should want more
civilization and fewer cows!”
“Oh, we’re never lonely. There is too much to do, and we’re so glad
to be together. You see, I was away at school for two years, and we both
hated that.” She jumped up, suddenly, as her mother appeared, bearing a
tray. “Mother, you ought to have called me to carry that!”
“I thought you were in the garden—but I’m very glad to find you
sitting down,” said Mrs. Hurst, smiling at her. “Just a cup of eleven
o’clock tea, Mrs. Lane. I hope Robin has been looking after you.”
“Excellently—and I have been shamelessly keeping her from her
work. But she begins so early!”
“Indeed she does—too early. I was just going to call you in for your
tea, Robin.”
“Do have it out here with me,” begged Mrs. Lane.
Mrs. Hurst twinkled.
“I’m not sure that that would be correct behaviour,” she said. “Is it
done?—the farm-workers intruding on the guest—?”
“Don’t be horrid!” pleaded the guest. “I am an invalid, and I need
special treatment. Robin, dear, do bring your Mother’s tea and your own,
and let us have a party. Cheerful companionship is what my ankle
needs.”
“But—Madam’s luncheon?” laughed Mrs. Hurst, sitting down,
obediently.
“Oh—lunch!” said the afflicted guest, scornfully. “Madam can eat a
boiled egg. She consumes nourishment in your house at such frequent
intervals that when her ankle is better she’ll only be able to waddle! You
bring out to me trays loaded with food, and I strongly suspect you both
of perching on the kitchen-table and dining on bread-and-butter.”
Mrs. Hurst shook her head.
“I might,” she admitted, “if it were not that I have Robin—just as
Robin certainly would, but for the fact that she has me.”
 “Not me!” said Robin, firmly. “I want full rations.”
“She certainly needs them, for she works very hard,” said her mother.
“So I make a point of having meals properly served: it is good for us
both, for it’s easy for women living alone to get into slack ways. We
don’t perch on the kitchen-table; we eat very respectably, on the
veranda.”
“But how nice! May I come there, too, when my silly ankle is better?
I won’t ask you when Edward and Barry happen to be at home, for I
know you would hate to have the whole party there—”
“I would!” Mrs. Hurst smiled, frankly.
“But when it is just we three? At home I have lunch alone every day
—it suits Edward better to lunch at his club, and Barry is at school. I hate
the sight of the lonely table.”
“We should like to have you very much, if you can bear lunching
with people in working clothes. No human power can get Robin out of
breeches until the evening, and not always then!”
“I should think not,” said Robin, warmly. “Fancy getting into a frock
when one has to feed pigs!”
Mrs. Lane shuddered delicately.
“I don’t know how you do it—and manage to remain so nice!” she
said.
“Oh, it’s all fun,” Robin answered. “I haven’t yet managed to see the
fun of skinning rabbits, but it has to be done: no doubt the humour of it
will strike me in time. Mrs. Lane, when you are better, aren’t you going
out with your menfolk? You’d have an awfully good time!”
Again the guest shuddered.
“My dear,” she said, confidentially, “I was never made for the
country. I can be quite happy while my men-folk are enjoying
themselves, so long as they don’t ask me to join them: I simply loathe a
gun, and as for dangling a worm on a fishing-rod, nothing bores me
more, unless it is casting a fly, which I find actively irritating—cast as I
will, the abominable insect never goes in the right place! I think your
veranda is delightful, as long as no one asks me to look at the scenery or
to gaze at live cows or chickens—or pigs! All, to my mind, are better in
their inanimate forms. You won’t ask me to admire ducklings, will you,
Robin, dear?”
“Never—unless cooked!” said Robin, laughing.
 “Oh, then I can admire them whole-heartedly. What an understanding
child you are! No—I really don’t want my ankle to recover too quickly:
then I can lie here with an easy mind, read and write, and realize that
civilization is really not far off whenever I see a motor crawling
painfully along that awful track below. I can also be devoutly thankful
that I am not in it! Life is full of compensations to the injured, I find—
especially in a place like Hill Farm.”
“It is very cheering that you can take it that way,” said Mrs. Hurst,
smiling at the merry, mischievous face—there were times when it
seemed ridiculous to think that Mrs. Lane was really the mother of a boy
of fifteen. “I hope your husband and Barry are as happy.”
“My dear, they’re in ecstasies! Edward says he has never been so
delighted with a place—as for Barry, he shot two rabbits yesterday and
caught three trout and an eel, and apparently life has nothing more to
offer him. We are only haunted by a fear that you will find we give you
too much trouble, and send us back to that appalling hotel!”
Mrs. Hurst laughed outright.
“Why, you’re no trouble at all! Dr. Lane brings in all his game ready
prepared for the table—I wonder does he dream how Robin and I bless
him for it!—and as for you, we give you a bell which you never dream of
ringing. I caught your husband chopping wood yesterday, much to my
horror. He wasn’t in the least impressed by my protests—in fact, he sent
me away, and he and Barry brought the wood in, and filled the box!”
“Don’t dream of interfering with his pastimes!” said his wife. “He
chops wood at home when he has had an unusually aggravating patient
—it seems to work off his pent-up feelings.”
“I hope he has not any feelings of that kind here,” spoke Mrs. Hurst,
with some anxiety.
“Oh, no—it’s just the joy of living, in this case: it has to find
expression somewhere. Barry works his off by singing in his bath, and as
his voice has not quite finished cracking, the effect is blithe, but peculiar.
We’re just a very fortunate family, Mrs. Hurst, and we hope you’ll keep
us a month!”
Robin rose with an air of determination.
“In that case,” she said, briskly, “I’ve simply got to go and thin those
turnips!”
 CHAPTER VIII
MAKING FRIENDS

“W are those things?” asked Barry, lounging at the shed doorway,

hands in pockets.
“Rabbit-skins,” answered Robin, shortly. She was kneeling by an
open box, packing what looked like piles of envelopes of parchment.
“Don’t look much like rabbits.”
“I don’t suppose our skins would look much like us if they were
pulled off inside out,” Robin responded, grimly practical. “Ten—eleven
—twelve!” She tied a string round the bundle she held, made a note on a
piece of paper, and proceeded to count a fresh dozen.
“Where’d you get them?”
“Shot them.” Robin looked ruefully at a much-punctured skin which
had apparently been shot at too close quarters, hesitated a moment, and
then, with reluctance, decided to reject it. Barry sniggered.
“Gave him the whole cartridge, didn’t you? Did he sit still while you
walked up and potted him?”
“Yes—ours always do. Haven’t you noticed? I thought that was how
you managed to shoot the two you got.”
Barry flushed. He was grimly aware of the number of cartridges he
had expended. Apparently this provoking farm-girl knew something
about it, too. He decided to pursue the matter no further.
“What do you do with the skins?”
“Send them to Melbourne.”
“What—are they worth anything? We never keep ours.”
“Don’t suppose you do,” said Robin, carelessly. Her tone classed
Barry finally among the people who toil not, neither do they spin: and
somehow, Barry fully understood that it was not a compliment.
“Never thought of it,” he responded, equally carelessly. “Who gets
yours ready for you?”
“Myself. Seven—eight—nine,” counted Robin.
“You don’t skin rabbits?”
 “Yes, I do. Why not?”
“Didn’t think it was a girl’s job, that’s all.” Barry whittled a stick
with an unconscious air. “Of course, I suppose country girls are
different.”
“How do you mean different?”
“Oh, well, town girls simply couldn’t do jobs like that.”
“Because they wouldn’t know how?”
“Partly. They wouldn’t like it, either.”
“Well, country girls don’t exactly revel in it,” responded Robin. “But
we don’t make a silly fuss about doing necessary things. We’ve got more
important things to think of than town girls have.”
Barry sniggered again.
“That’s a good one,” he said. “I’d like some of the girls I know to
hear you. They’d be amused.”
“They’d be welcome to their amusement, poor things!” said Robin,
in a tone of lofty pity. “By the way, do you mind moving out of the light?
Thanks—eleven—twelve.” She tied up a new dozen, and Barry felt the
warm indignation of a very small boy who has been told to run away and
play while older people work. He took up a position on the other side of
the wide doorway, whittling more vigorously.
“Ever been in Town?” he asked.
“Oh, yes—now and then. Why?”
“I was thinking it would be rather a surprise to you, in some ways.”
“It is,” said Robin, with surprising meekness. “Awfully exciting,
crossing the streets, don’t you think? I get terribly scared.”
Barry assumed the patronizing air of a complete man of the world.
“I suppose you would,” he said. “All the country people do. Awfully
funny to see them at Show time—they always get on the wrong trams,
and try to talk to the drivers.”
“Nearly as funny as the Town people out at the Show,” said Robin.
“Ever seen them trying to understand a disc-plough? And they talk about
a horse’s back-foot.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” queried Barry, unwisely.
“Well—if you don’t know. . . . . .” Robin smiled with extreme
sweetness, and packed another dozen.
 Barry pondered uneasily for a moment, and decided to seek
information on the matter from a more sympathetic source. He sought to
change the subject, but no inspiration presented itself except rabbit-skins.
“How d’you get those things into that flat shape?”
“Stretch them on bent wires. There are some hanging up,” said
Robin, nodding towards a corner of the shed, where skins hung in a
dismal row.
“Must need a lot of wires. Do you buy them ready-made?”
“No—catch us wasting money that way! Danny made me those.”
“Oh—that big lout from over at the next farm?”
The gunpowder stored beneath Robin’s red thatch exploded
suddenly. Barry, had he not been somewhat overwhelmed by the
concussion, might have congratulated himself on having drawn blood at
last.
“Don’t you talk like that!” she said, sharply. “I’ve got to be polite to
you, ’cause your mother and father are so nice, but if you think you can
sneer at our friends you’re jolly well mistaken, Mr. Barry Lane! Danny a
lout, indeed! Danny’s got more sense in his little finger than you, or any
other town boy, have in your whole body! He could show you the way
about everything that really matters, only he wouldn’t be seen wasting
his time over you!” She whirled past him, scarlet with anger, and left him
to digest her words.
“Whew-w!” whistled Barry. “I put my foot well in that time, didn’t
I?” His dark skin had flushed hotly. “Scissors, can’t she flare up! And all
over that big farm-chap. He looks a lout, anyhow. But I suppose, living
in the country, she doesn’t notice it.” He pondered the matter rather
uneasily, realizing, somewhat to his own disgust, that he had
transgressed his own code. When you were staying with people you did
not abuse their friends. Apparently, that was what he had done.
He strolled round to the front of the house, disconsolately. Dinner
was over: before him stretched a long and lonely afternoon. The mail,
arriving in the middle of the day, had brought with it a request to Dr.
Lane for a paper on some abstruse medical subject for a learned society:
the doctor, groaning heavily, had shut himself up in his room, to write
until evening. Barry was left to his own resources, and at the moment
they seemed to him insufficient.
 Mrs. Lane was on her couch. The injury to her ankle was a week old,
but she declared that the joint still needed rest, although, to the
unprejudiced eye, it looked much like the other. She greeted her son with
a quick little smile. He sat down on the edge of the veranda near her.
“Bored, Barry-boy?”
“Oh, no. I’ll go fishing, I think.”
“Then what is wrong?”
Barry grinned at her, recognizing the detective eye. They told each
other most things.
“I’ve been cheap,” he said.
“And nasty?”
He nodded. “Yes, a bit.”
“To Robin?”
He nodded again.
“Want to tell me?”
“No, I don’t think so, Mother. Not worth it. But I came to the
conclusion I was cheap.”
“When that happens,” said little Mrs. Lane, looking like a wise
mother-bird, “the only thing to do is to get back to the level where one
belongs. Otherwise one remains marked-down, like the damaged goods
at a sale. You’ll find a way. I would go out, if I were you, and show
Father you can catch trout without him.” She smiled at him.
“Right-oh!” he said, rising. “I’ll get my kit.”
He came out again presently, in a scout shirt and knickers, with stout
wading boots, looking younger than in his customary long trousers.
“I had never thought to see your knees again,” said his mother. “I
thought they had disappeared into trousers for ever!”
“Father knew what he was about when he made me bring shorts,”
said Barry. “They dry in no time after wading—and you can’t fish these
creeks without wading half your time. Great pair of knees, aren’t they,
Mother?”
“They’re like a cross-word puzzle, with scratches. How do you
manage to knock them about so?”
“Oh—blackberries, and wild raspberries, and prickly-Moses, and
other affectionate plants,” he said. “They all seem to cling to me. I’m as
clumsy as a bear in the bush—never manage to dodge anything. Father
says one doesn’t develop the sense of moving in the bush all at once, so I
can only hope it will come.”
“But you like it, Barry?”
The boy’s dark face lit up suddenly.
“Oh, I love it,” he said. “It bored me stiff that first day, but now it
grows on me more each time I’m out in it. Father’s an awfully good
mate, you know: he shows me ever so many things I’d never see for
myself. He’s jolly patient too—I make a fool of myself in heaps of ways,
but he never seems to mind.”
“He tells me you are developing a good deal of common sense with
your gun.”
Barry beamed.
“Does he? I’m jolly glad. I know I did a lot of idiotic things at first. I
nearly hit him the second night—did he tell you, Mother?”
Mrs. Lane repressed a shudder. But her voice was quite calm.
“No, he didn’t tell me, son. I don’t suppose he would tell me that sort
of thing. Was it—very near?”
“Oh, well, I hit a tree about ten yards from him. But that wasn’t the
point—it might just as well have been Father, because I didn’t know that
the blessed thing was going off. I thought it wasn’t cocked.” He looked
at her ruefully, and found her smile very comforting.
“As you didn’t hit him, it was probably a very good thing it
happened,” she said. “It would teach you a good deal, Barry-boy.”
“That’s just what it did,” he said. “I thought I knew all about it
before, and it just showed me what an utter fool I was. Mother, I don’t
think I’d ever be that particular kind of idiot again. I just shook for about
ten minutes. And he was such a brick about it. I was scared he’d say I
mustn’t use a gun again, but instead he said that was just the time to go
on using it—so that I wouldn’t be likely to forget. I guess I won’t,
either!”—and Barry set his jaw in a hard line.
“Your grandfather believed in that,” said Mrs. Lane. “When I was
quite small—yes, I know I am small now, but I was still smaller then!—I
used to ride a great grey mare on which I felt rather like a pea sitting on
an elephant. I fell off her one day, and was sure I was killed—I believed
grandfather thought so, too, until he had picked me up and discovered
nothing worse than bruises. Then he caught the grey mare and put me on
her at once, while I howled vigorous protests, assuring him that I would
fall off again at once. But he only laughed, and said, ‘Not you, Milly!’ ”
“And did you?” Barry asked, much interested.
“Certainly not. I stuck on, and we galloped home in triumph. And I
rode that mare for years, and never had another toss: more than that, I
was never afraid again. And you never will be in doubt again as to
whether your gun is cocked or not, Barry—you’ll know it is not cocked
unless you want to fire!”
“I believe I won’t,” he said. “But I won’t be cock-sure, Mother!
Gracious, wasn’t that brilliant, for me, and I never meant to say it, either!
I think I’d better go fishing, or I may make more puns.” He took off his
cap as she blew him a kiss, and went striding down the hill, his rod over
his shoulder.
Luck was kind to him at first: he hooked a trout in a long stretch of
rippling water, and managed to land it after five minutes’ highly
unscientific play, trembling all the while for fear of making a fatal
mistake; quite certain that no rod could stand the strain of being bent like
a whip, with a leaping, fighting fish at its delicate end. When he finally
managed to net it, after two unsuccessful attempts, and had killed it with
a swift, merciful blow, as his father had taught him, he laid the still-
twitching body on the grass and fairly gloated. The sunlight rippled on
the golden-brown sides, spotted with scarlet. It was a fine fish, nearly
two pounds. Barry felt that he had made a definite step towards
manhood.
“Lucky for me you were hooked so firmly, old chap,” he said. “I’d
have lost you for a certainty if you’d been lightly hooked. Golly, I am
glad I got you!” He cleaned the trout and stowed it in his bag.
After that the goddess of Luck removed her face from him, and he
fished pool after pool in vain: growing somewhat impatient as the
afternoon wore on, and no new capture had gone to join his first prey.
Still, it was jolly in the quiet stillness of the bush, where only bird-calls
broke the stillness: even if the fish were shy there was fresh excitement
in trying each promising bit of water, and always failure was solaced by
the comforting weight of the bag—he could go home and show them that
a town boy could hook and kill a decent trout unaided. The red-haired
girl evidently didn’t think much of townsfolk. Well, he would show her!
And then he grew a little less cheerful, for when the red-haired girl was
concerned Barry was still feeling cheap.
 He was thinking of her when suddenly he came upon her, as he
rounded a scrub-covered bend. Ahead was a wide pool with a little rushy
island in its midst: he had fished it with his father, and had looked
forward to getting to it again, for it was a good pool. But Robin had got
there first: a fine trout on the bank beside her, almost as big a fish as his
own, showed that she had not wasted her time. As he came, she flicked
her spinner across the water again—and uttered an exclamation of
annoyance as it caught in a little bush in the island.
Robin tried to twitch it free, but it was evidently held strongly, and
she dared not risk breaking her rod. She laid it down on the bank and
pulled and jerked the line—all to no purpose. The bush swayed, but the
hooks of the spinner clung closely.
“Well, you are a pig!” said Robin, heartily. She glanced round and
saw Barry.
“That’s hard luck,” he said. “What will you do?”
“Wade, I suppose,” she answered, shortly.
“Easier to break the line, wouldn’t it?”
Robin looked her scorn of this suggestion.
“That’s a new spinner, and the best cast I’ve got,” she said. “I can’t
afford to waste tackle.” She turned from him and looked doubtfully at
the water.
“Is it deep?” he asked.
“I’m not sure; it might be better to swim than to wade. It might be
snaggy—you never can tell, in these pools, what snags may have floated
down and sunk. Oh, I’ll chance wading: if it gets too deep I’ll have to go
home and get bathing-togs and swim.”
“I’ll swim over for you,” he offered eagerly.
“It’s all right, thanks,” was Robin’s stiff reply. Evidently she had not
forgotten their encounter after lunch: she would not accept any favour
from him. She waded out into the pool, while Barry watched her
uneasily. The water, swift and brown, seemed to him altogether too deep
for wading—especially for a girl.
“I wish you’d let me swim,” he called. “Here, I’ll get my boots off: it
doesn’t matter if I get wet.”
He sat down on the bank and unlaced his boots hurriedly, heedless of
the fact that Robin had not answered. The socks followed the boots, and
he stood barefooted on the bank, again begging her to come back. But
Robin’s “red-haired streak,” as her schoolfellows had called it, was
uppermost, although she began to realize that the water was too deep for
wading. Had she been alone, she would have turned back to the bank:
but not before the supercilious youngster who had called good old Danny
a lout. “I’ll give it a yard more,” she muttered to herself. “It may not get
any deeper than it is now.”
A stone turned under her foot. She lurched forward uncertainly in the
knee-deep water, saving herself from falling only by taking a long step.
Her foot went down—down: there was no bottom anywhere, and no
drawing back. She gave a little choked cry as the water closed over her
red head. It was a cry that expressed exasperation more than fear.
She kicked downwards as she sank, to send herself up to the surface,
and something closed like a vice upon her foot. Something that held and
clung, tantalizing her with a swing that felt as though it were yielding,
but never releasing its grip. She knew what it was, as she struggled in
sick fear: knew how the old, water-logged gum boughs lie along the
bottom, spikes driven into the mud holding the crooked, forked limbs
that swing and sway with the current, never released until they rot away
and mingle with the stream. She knew how little time she had to fight.
Already her lungs seemed bursting with the effort of holding her breath:
already her limbs were heavy and helpless. And the grip was no less
tight.
On the bank, Barry had uttered an exclamation of dismay as Robin
disappeared. He was not alarmed, for she had spoken easily of
swimming: still, he knew that no girl likes an involuntary ducking. He
waited for the red head to bob up again, prepared to shout
sympathetically to her. Fifteen seconds went by: thirty: and suddenly the
boy found his heart beginning to pump like an engine.
“She’s been under nearly a minute!” he muttered. “Something’s
wrong.” He blessed the impulse that had made him kick off his boots, as
he dived into the pool.
The water was muddy with Robin’s struggling, but he came upon her
quickly. Sinking down, his hands encountered the imprisoned foot, and
he grasped the bough. One of his feet, as he kicked, found a moment’s
purchase upon another snag; it held as he put all his force into a
desperate tug, slipping off just as the bough broke short at the fork. An
inch less, and it would still have gripped Robin’s boot. As it was, Barry
saw her float slowly upwards.
 He was after her like a flash and drew her into the shallow water: she
had not lost consciousness, but was capable of only the feeblest
paddling. They reached the bank, and she lay down on the grass, still
gasping.
“Swallow any water?” he asked, anxiously.
She shook her head. Under water, Barry Lane was entirely capable:
on land he became a rather scared boy, without the faintest idea of what
to do for a half-drowned lady in distress. So he rubbed her hands very
hard, and uttered disjointed words of encouragement, such as “Buck up,
old chap!”—which perhaps was as effective as anything he could have
done. At any rate, Robin presently sneezed violently, gave a feeble grin,
and sat up.
“I was nearly a goner that time!” she remarked, inelegantly. Her
voice shook, and Barry frowned.
“Better lie down again,” he counselled. “I vote you keep quiet and
I’ll run up and fetch Father—and some brandy.”
“No—I’m all right. At least I will be in a minute or two,” she
shuddered. “Ugh, it was awful down there—I thought I’d never get free.
Never would, either, if you hadn’t come. However did you do it?”
Barry grinned feebly.
“Oh, it was easy—I was born in Queensland, and I could swim under
water almost before I could walk. We used to have competitions to see
who could stay under longest and pick up most things. Only this water
was so jolly muddy that it was hard to make out anything.” He sat back
on his heels and looked at her. “Sure you’re all right? Golly, you gave me
a fright!”
“I’m all right, but I’m awfully cold. I think I’d better move.”
“Let’s help you up,” Barry said. He hauled her ungently to her feet,
and she promptly staggered and caught at his shoulder. In a moment her
head steadied.
“Now I’m better,” she said. “I’ll just walk home slowly.” She turned,
but stopped as he moved towards the creek. “What are you going to do?”
“Just get your spinner,” he said, carelessly. “You go on—I’ll catch
you up with the rods.”
“You aren’t going back into that beastly creek!”
“I’m not going to waste your tackle,” he said, laughing. “Don’t worry
—I’ll look out for snags.” He swam across carefully, keeping his body
almost on the surface, and freed the spinner from the clutches of the
bush. In a moment he was back on the bank beside her.
“I say—do go on!” he protested. “I’ve got to get my boots on, and
you’ll certainly get pneumonia or something if you stand there with your
teeth chattering.”
She stared at him without speaking for an instant. Then she turned
and walked unsteadily away, while Barry forced his wet feet into his
boots and gathered up the rods and fish. He caught her up in the next
paddock.
“Feel all right?”
“Oh, yes—right enough. Just a bit shaky, but nothing to matter.”
“You want a good rub-down and a hot drink,” counselled Barry. “I
hope your mother won’t be scared.”
“She won’t, ’cause she’ll see I’m alive,” said Robin, with something
of her usual twinkle. It was a washy twinkle, but Barry was relieved to
see that it was there. “But we’re a lovely pair, to be coming home!”
“Better wet than dead!” grinned her dripping companion. “And
anyhow, we’ve brought home our breakfast!”
“Yes, and you saved my tackle. That was awfully decent of you. You
saved my life, too, but you might have felt you had to do that—but there
was no need for you to go back after that spinner. I—I’m just awfully
obliged to you.” The speech was an effort, and she hurried on,
squelching in her wet boots.
Barry might reasonably have felt bewildered at this peculiar
distribution of gratitude, but he saw nothing to criticize. He was
oppressed by the necessity of making a speech himself.
“I was no end of a swine this morning,” he said, flushing. “What I
said about Danny, I mean. It was a low-down thing to say—I’m sorry,
Robin.”
She flashed a smile at him.
“That’s all right,” she said, with embarrassment. “I was rather a pig,
too. I won’t be again, if you won’t.”
“Rather not!” said Barry. They squelched companionably towards the
house.
 CHAPTER IX
THE MERRI CREEK FALLS

“I , a week ago,” said Dr. Lane, “that my son and your daughter
intended to remain for ever in a state of armed neutrality. They bristled at
sight of each other, like two terriers, and politeness was all that
restrained them from combat. There were even indications that the
politeness was wearing thin. And look at them now!”
He waved a hand towards the little flat below the house, where Robin
and Barry, mounted on ponies borrowed from Mr. Merritt, had erected a
brush hurdle and were taking turns in jumping. The ponies were
awkward, and the riders not highly skilled; when they succeeded in
making the steeds face the hurdle they did not always get them over;
when they got them over they rarely remained in the saddle. These minor
defects did not chill the ardour of the riders. Shouts of laughter echoed
up the hill, mingled with mutual comments that lacked nothing of
frankness. Beyond doubt, the partnership was firmly established.
“This seems to be the result of impromptu mixed bathing,” said Mrs.
Hurst, laughing, as her eyes dwelt on Robin. “I still shiver at the thought
of my girl’s danger—but I am not altogether sorry it happened. They are
very happy together. And it is so good for Robin to have a friend. She
did not realize how lonely she was.”
“She didn’t suggest loneliness. I think the companionship between
you was very delightful, and she will find it so again when Barry has
gone. But youth calls to youth. As for Barry—it has always been our
regret that he has no sister. To be friends with a girl like your Robin is
very good for him.”
“Barry doesn’t in the least regard Robin as a girl,” said Mrs. Lane,
from the couch where she was generally to be found, in spite of the fact
both silk-clad ankles were equally slender. “He told me this morning that
the best thing about her was that she was just like a boy. ‘No silly girl-
tricks!’ said Barry. ‘I can’t stand girls!’ And he was quite sure he meant
it.”
“And yet he has many little chivalrous ways with her that he
certainly would not show for another boy,” Mrs. Hurst remarked. “I do
not think he even knows he has them. But they are there, all the same.”
“I’m glad to hear that you have noticed that,” said Dr. Lane. “I
thought I had, too: but I was afraid it might be only desire to think so on
my part!”
“Oh, no; I have seen a dozen little proofs. Why, I found him cleaning
her boots to-day!”
“That is indeed a proof, for it is hard enough to make him clean his
own when he is at home,” said Mrs. Lane, laughing. “When Barry cleans
a boot he declines to perceive that it has any back. Oh, look!—his pony
jumped the hurdle without knocking it down, and he didn’t fall off! My
Barry will be a jockey before he leaves here.”
“I only hope we shall return him to you undamaged,” said Mrs.
Hurst.
For it had been settled that Barry should stay another month at Hill
Farm. Business was calling Dr. Lane to Queensland, and his wife insisted
that he should not go alone: but Barry hated the hot weather of the North,
and was so happy in the bush that his parents had begged Mrs. Hurst to
keep him. Barry himself welcomed the suggestion with delight; anything
was better than to grill for weeks in Brisbane in midsummer; and Hill
Farm, where he had settled down as though it had always been his home,
was a very lucky alternative.
The partnership between him and Robin had deepened into a firm
friendship. Barry’s feeling of natural superiority as a boy had quickly
vanished before the girl’s leadership in all bushcraft. He was a clumsy
new chum where she trod with the sure, quick step of one who has
entered into her kingdom. The dense scrub that puzzled him was to her
an open book, for she had that instinctive knowledge of direction and of
unconscious observation that marks the bushman born. It irritated Barry,
now and then, that she should know so much. “For, after all, you haven’t
been here so awfully long yourself,” he would say. Robin could not
explain it. “I feel as if I’d been born knowing the bush,” she would
answer, half apologetically. “But you’re getting on splendidly, Barry, so
don’t worry.”
Already the month for which the Lanes had asked had gone by, and
Dr. Lane was, as he said, “screwing-out” a few more days before he and
his wife must go North. It had been a very happy month; everything had
gone smoothly, the Lanes had been the most cheerful and considerate of
paying-guests, and Mrs. Hurst marvelled at the ease with which she had
managed her big household. There was satisfaction in that, as there was
in the thought of the comfortable little balance mounting up in the bank:
solid satisfaction, too, in the knowledge that she and Robin had made
good friends. The Lanes declared that nothing should prevent their visit
being a yearly one, so long as Hill Farm would have them: they had
exacted a half-promise that Robin and her mother should visit them in
Melbourne. The vision of the future, when Robin must go to the city to
learn typing, lost half its terrors for the anxious mother now that she
knew that her child would not be friendless.
On the flat below, the riders decided that their ponies had had enough
tuition in jumping—perhaps induced to this conclusion by their own
bruises. They came cantering up, passed the house with a gay shout, and
presently appeared on the veranda, flushed and hot.
“What have you done with the ponies?” asked Mrs. Hurst.
“Taken them back to their own paddock: Mr. Merritt wants them to-
morrow. Oh, Mother, we’ve had fun!”
“You seemed to be enjoying life,” Dr. Lane said. “I hope the ponies
enjoyed it too.”
“Oh, they were quite happy. They knew ever so much more about it
than we did—but we managed to get the same point of view after a
while. Jumping’s great sport,” Barry ended.
“When you stick on?”
“Yes—or even when you don’t. The grass is so thick down there it’s
like falling on a carpet, and if we fell off the ponies always stopped very
kindly and began to feed. It must be much more disheartening to fall off
and see your horse disappearing into the distance: I like them trained to
pause, like these.”
“I never had the luck to ride a pauser,” remarked Dr. Lane. “When I
quitted the saddle they invariably quitted me, at the rate of knots, and I
had to walk miles before I found them. Hence, I prefer motors, which do
not run away——”
“Not even down a hillside?” asked Robin, wickedly. “I knew a Buick
—”
“The very thing to prove what I was saying,” returned Dr. Lane.
“Even when the wicked tracks of Gippsland let a good car over the edge,
what does the good car do? Somersault to the bottom? Certainly not. It
hastily finds a tree, and leans up against it, waiting for its master!”
“Uttering gentle bleats, to attract his attention,” finished Robin,
softly. “That’s what I noticed about the car I mentioned. And everyone
seemed so pleased with it!”
 “It played us a very good trick, at all events,” remarked the doctor,
shaking his fist at her. “Think what a holiday we have had because it
chose that spot to fall over the edge, and what a hideous time we should
have had if it had gone peacefully on its way to Baroin. I refuse to hear
one word against my car. But there’s something else I want to consult
you about, Robin. Do you know the way to the Merri Creek Falls?”
Robin knitted her brows.
“I’ve never been quite to the Falls,” she said. “I did go a good deal of
the way with a camping-party more than two years ago. We gave it up: I
was young then, and they were all soft, and the going was certainly very
bad. I believe there is a better track now. Why, Dr. Lane?”
“Well, I’d like to go there,” he said. “A man I met fishing yesterday
told me they were well worth seeing. It’s a bit of a rough trip, he said,
but we could do it in the day if we made an early start. I thought you and
Barry and I could tackle it, if your mother were willing. I have got
permission from my headquarters”—he nodded meekly towards his wife.
“This fellow told me there was good fishing in the creek below the falls.
He had been camping there.”
“I am quite willing, but I should strongly advise against fishing,”
Mrs. Hurst said.
“The track is exceedingly rough; I don’t think you realize what a
nuisance rods would be to you on a long walk in such country: and fish,
if you got them, would be an added burden on the way back.”
“That sounds common-sense,” said the doctor, regretfully. “Well,
after all, I have had better fishing here than I ever hoped to have, so I
may as well put it out of my head. But I would like to see those falls.
Feel inclined, Barry?”
“My Aunt!” said Barry, eagerly. “It would be a ripping day!”
“And what about you, Robin?”
“Oh, I’m always ready for an excursion,” she said. “But I warn you,
it will be rougher walking than anything you have done about here. We
shall have to wade the creek ever so many times; I remember we walked
in the creek itself for a good way, but perhaps the track will save us that
now. When would you like to go, Dr. Lane?”
“To-morrow, I thought; it’s beautiful weather, and I have so few days
left.”
 “Do you think we could get breakfast at five o’clock, Mother?”
Robin asked.
“Five!” exclaimed her four hearers in various notes of horror. But
Robin only smiled.
“I’ve tried to get to those Falls, and you haven’t,” she said. “I’m all
for an early start, to get as far as we can before the day grows hot. We
can always rest on the way—and we’ll want to!”
“I’m beginning to think this is a more serious expedition than I had
imagined,” laughed the doctor.
“Oh, I don’t know that it’s serious,” Robin answered. “But it is
rough, and I warn you that I don’t know any short cuts.”
“Could you get lost?” demanded Mrs. Lane. “If so, I shall hang bells
on all three of you before you start!”
“You wouldn’t be up,” said Barry, solemnly.
“I should rise to the occasion,” was his mother’s lofty reply. “But tell
me, Robin: I am going to enter a protest if there is any fear of your being
bushed.”
“Oh, we can’t get bushed if we stick to the creek,” Robin said.
“There are short cuts, I know, that make the distance much less, but of
course, it wouldn’t be safe to tackle them. So we must be prepared for a
long day. I could get breakfast ready to-night, Mother, and pack the
lunch.”
“Yes: I will help you. You must all eat enormous quantities of eggs
and bacon before you start—then I shall feel more easy about you,” Mrs.
Hurst said.
“If anyone, a month ago, had told me I could devour eggs and bacon
at five o’clock in the morning, I should have thought him mad,” said Dr.
Lane. “But I feel now that I could tackle anything that was offered me, at
any hour. That’s the result of Hill Farm, Mrs. Hurst!”
Even though it was almost midsummer, it was chilly enough in the
deep gullies when they set out the next morning. The mists had not yet
risen: ahead of them the bush was dim and mysterious, and every bough
dripped with moisture. For the first few miles they were able to keep
above the creek, following sheep-tracks through the hill settlers’ country:
they walked steadily, anxious to get as far as possible before the real
fatigue of the journey began. Then they came to the last of the clearing.
Before them ranged the tall rounded masses of the hills, covered with
dense scrub and giant trees.
“Now we’ll have to stick to the creek, unless we can find a track,”
Robin said.
They went down the steep hillside, and were lucky in coming upon a
narrow path that followed the windings of the creek. It was not easy
travelling: the track was so narrow, the greedy march of the bush so
swift, that the undergrowth brushed their faces, and often they were
forced to hold it apart while they forced their way through. Sometimes it
curved sharply round the butts of huge trees, leaving only the barest
footing, where one went, clinging to any stray shoot of musk or hazel as
a support: sometimes it dipped into waterworn gullies where brambles
disputed every yard of the way. But still, it was a track; and Robin, at
least, was duly grateful for it. Below them the creek sang and rippled on
its way: occasionally they caught glimpses of the brown water, gurgling
over its boulder-strewn bed. But for the most part the scrub undergrowth
hemmed them in, and they went in single file, seeing nothing but the
dense green wall on either side.
It was past nine o’clock when the track suddenly ended in an
enormous fallen tree, the butt of which, six feet high, made a grey wall
before them. Its roots, now intertwined with scrub, stretched down to the
creek. They followed along its great length, and the pale shadow of a
track seemed to them to stretch away northward into the bush. But
Robin, looking at it, shook her head.
“It might be our track,” she said. “And then, again, it mightn’t. I
don’t like trying experiments in this sort of country.”
“No experiments for me, thank you,” Dr. Lane said, briskly. “The
creek is definite: we’ll stick to it.” He looked at his companions. “How
are you two feeling?”
“First-rate,” said Robin and Barry in chorus.
“That’s good. Still, I think we’ll have twenty minutes’ spell, not
because we are tired, but because the wise man rests before he is tired.
Let us climb round this large vegetable which is blocking the way and
get down to the creek.”
They fought their way round the fallen tree—it took them five
minutes to do it: and so came to where the brown water gurgled and
chattered over a bed of huge rounded stones. Barry lay down with his
face in a pool, and drank as a dog drinks, inelegantly, but thoroughly.
 “My word, that’s good!” he said. “Have some: I left plenty for you!”
“That was kind of you,” said his father. He produced from his pocket
little collapsible aluminium cups, and screwed them up, offering one to
Robin.
“These are handy things,” he said. “Sometimes they collapse at the
wrong moment, and it is very awkward, especially if you are drinking
coffee in a railway carriage. Here, we should probably enjoy it, so they
won’t collapse. Sandwiches—yes, please Robin, I think that is a very
good idea.”
“I made a little parcel for our first halt,” said Robin. “We ought to
have lunch at the Falls, if we have any luck.”
“I could eat an enormous lunch now—and at the Falls, too!” said
Barry. “This is a hungry stroll we’re taking!”
“Supplies wouldn’t hold out,” said Robin, practically.
They lay on the soft grass just above the water’s edge and nibbled
their sandwiches economically, to make them last longer. Below them a
great veil of maidenhair fern trailed downward to the stream that washed
its fronds: above towered the tall brown shafts of tree-ferns, their
spreading crests mingling with sarsaparilla and clematis. Just across the
stream stood a clump of Christmas-bush, already a starry mass of white.
There were birds everywhere among the bushes, happy and unafraid;
bell-birds chimed ceaselessly in the tree-tops far above them. Once, a
wallaby hopped upon an open space on the farther bank, looked at them
serenely for a moment, and then hopped back into cover.
“You were right, Robin,” Dr. Lane said. “We have not seen any bush
like this—nothing so quiet and utterly undisturbed. It makes one feel
oneself an intruder.”
“We’d see lyre-birds if we could stay here long enough without
moving,” Robin said. “Look—there’s a platypus!” She pointed to a tiny
promontory across the creek, where a queer flat creature, furry and with
a bill like a duck’s, paused for a moment before sliding head-first into the
water.
“First I’ve ever seen,” commented Barry. “My word this is a jolly
place! I wish we could have a camp here.”
“We’ll think about it next year, when we come back,” said the doctor.
“Meanwhile, I’m afraid we had better move: we don’t know how rough
the going will be after this.”
 They were soon after to prove the melancholy truth of the foreboding
contained in this remark. There was no track at all to be found near the
creek, and the banks were so overgrown that each yard of progress had to
be fought. So they took to the water, a slow process, since it was
necessary to follow the creek through all its windings: a laborious one,
because most of the way was over smooth and slippery stones, where
each foothold had to be tested. All were wearing rough spiked boots,
which gave them more security in treading; but they also made walking
tiring, when heavy with water. The creek rarely rose above Barry’s
knees: but it was swift, the power of the current increasing as they
mounted higher and higher into the hills; and it was hard to gauge the
depth of the pools. There was more than one moment when Dr. Lane
asked himself doubtfully if they should give up the attempt to reach the
Falls.
The children, however, scouted the suggestion indignantly. To have
come so far, and then to turn back, seemed to them an unthinkable idea.
“I had to do it once, and I’ve been sorry ever since,” Robin declared.
“And I wasn’t fourteen then. We can’t be so very far from the Falls
now.” She peered ahead into the dim tunnel of greenery—it was long
since they had seen the sun, shut in by the trees as they were. “Look—I
believe it is a little clearer ahead. We might have another try at walking
on the bank.”
“Let’s see,” said Barry, eagerly. “Gee, but my feet are sore from these
old stones!”
They waded on as quickly as they could. As Robin had thought, they
came upon a break in the dense wall of undergrowth. There were signs of
old axe-marks on some of the trees, and many felled stumps, now rotten
and overgrown with creepers and moss.
“Probably some old prospector lived about here ages ago,” said
Robin. “He’d have to clear a way down to the water. This is most likely
his old track.”
“Did they ever find gold here?”
“No—at least, only the merest traces. But there are always fossickers
about in the hills who believe they will hit on gold some day. Some
people think that these hills hold all sorts of things—marble, and
limestone, and valuable clays, and even oil. I suppose they’ll be
discovered by-and-bye.”
 “What a lark if we found an oil-well on your place!” said Barry.
“How does one look for oil, Father?”
“Other people do the looking, and then they make you buy shares,
my boy,” said his father, gloomily. “I’ve lost more than I care to think of
in that way. The last oil-well in which I was interested spouted only hot
water instead of oil, and so, much of my hard-earned money went up in
steam. I’ve given up buying things I can’t see. Let us try the old
prospector’s clearing, and see if it leads us to anything. We won’t go far
from the creek, though.”
The clearing was so overgrown that to speak of it as cleared was only
to distinguish it from the impenetrable scrub on either hand. Still, it was
possible to find a way through it; and presently, to their delight, they
came again upon the track, and saw, through a rift in the timber, that they
were not far from the head of the gully where the creek came down.
They forgot fatigue as they hurried onward, making light of the many
difficulties in the way: anything was better than wading over the smooth
round stones that hurt the feet so cruelly.
Presently, as they went, a sound came to their ears: a low boom
which at first they took for the soughing of a far-off wind coming across
the tree-tops. It grew louder as they advanced, almost unnoticed by them:
one does not lend a very attentive ear to sounds, when one is fighting
every step of an uphill climb. But at length, in a moment when the going
was easier, it suddenly brought Dr. Lane to a standstill.
“By Jove!” he said, with a touch of excitement unusual in him. “I
believe that is the noise of the Falls!”
They halted, listening. The sound was a dull, steady roar that never
varied. Wind and sea have light and shade in their stormy note, but
falling water comes with a ceaseless and unalterable boom: a roar that
has lasted since time began, and will last down the ages when the little
races of men are dust. There was no doubting the sound now.
Barry gave a joyful cry and dashed ahead. They heard him shout
again as they hurried after him.
The path ended in a wide space clear of trees. On their left, the creek
had broadened out until it was a great pool; a whirlpool of wild water
that boiled and foamed and eddied, before it rushed away over the stony
bed between the walls of scrub. Behind it the hill rose sharp and rugged,
a mass of grey rocks, where mosses and lichen clung, and stunted bushes
struggled for a foothold. A huge, rough mass showed near the top, fifty
feet above them: and over it, in a smooth and glistening curve, lit by a
dancing rainbow where the sun’s rays struck it, poured the waters of the
Fall.
Half-way down, the wonderful wall of shining water was broken by a
fang of rock that jutted from the hillside. The fall split upon it, shooting
out on either side, to meet again, lower down, so that the united curtain
flung its whole weight into the boiling waters of the pool. But where it
was cleft by the jutting rock, a dancing curtain of spray hung like a misty
veil before it, catching the rainbow light from above and multiplying it
into a myriad gleams of flying colour. One might fancy one saw all the
fairies of air and water dancing in the opal mist.
“Oh!” said Robin—“oh!” She sat down on the grass, hugging her
knees, and stared up as though she were worshipping. It was long before
any of them spoke.
“Well!” said Dr. Lane at last—leaning near her, because of the roar of
falling water. “It was worth the walk, don’t you think, kiddies?”
They nodded: there was awe on each young face.
“Come along,” Dr. Lane said. “We can’t afford to wait too long,
considering the track home; and the billy must be boiled. Let us get a
little farther back, where we can watch the Falls and hear ourselves
speak as well.”
But no one seemed to have much wish to speak: the wonder of the
Falls held them all silent. They boiled their billy and ate lunch under a
big tree at the edge of the scrub, saying little, but watching the dancing
mist-rainbows on the face of the water, and the splendid curve above,
like polished black marble. Robin sighed heavily when at length Dr.
Lane gave the word to march.
“Well, I was always sorry that I didn’t see it,” she said. “But it was
worth waiting for. It’s like a dream, to take home for keeps. If only I
could make Mother see it too!”
“We don’t know what is going to happen next year,” Dr. Lane said,
wisely. “If we managed to camp where we halted to-day—and found a
man who could tell us more about the track—and got the two Mothers
into hard condition by judicious exercise—who knows what we may not
arrive at! At any rate we’ll have a try. Red Robin!”
“Barry, I think your Father is the nicest ever!” said Robin, solemnly.
“Tell us news!” was Barry’s lofty response.
 CHAPTER X
THE HUT IN THE SCRUB

T were somewhat thoughtful as they turned back into the scrub: a

little awed by the wonder they had seen—perhaps a little sober at the
remembrance of the long, rough journey home. But there was something
of triumph in Robin and Barry, for they had succeeded where others had
failed. Many tourists set out each summer for the Merri Creek Falls, but
the majority gave up the journey, voting no waterfall worth the trouble of
getting through the forest in which this particular fall chose to hide itself.
Few of the residents of the district had reached the Falls—being a busy
folk with small leisure for scenery. And they had won through! It was
small wonder if Robin and Barry felt a throb of exultation.
They reached the place where they had rejoined the track after their
long wading in the creek. Dr. Lane halted.
“I wonder if it would not be better to keep to the track for a bit,” he
said, rather doubtfully. “If we could save ourselves even half a mile of
that unpleasant wading it would be something. What do you think,
Robin?”
“I don’t fancy we should risk losing our way,” Robin answered. “It
must be the only track, even if it seems to bend to the north; there is no
settlement of any kind out here.”
“Do let’s try it for a bit,” begged Barry. “My feet won’t stand too
much of those beastly stones; I’m sure I’ve sixteen blisters already!”
“Well, we can try it for a while,” Dr. Lane said.
They followed the track, which almost immediately became more
definite. There were signs that it had been used; light scrub had evidently
been roughly cut, and once or twice Robin, who was leading, thought
that she could make out a footprint. She pulled up, presently, and pointed
out a faint mark to Dr. Lane.
“Don’t you think a boot made that?”
“It looks uncommonly like it,” Dr. Lane answered. “There may be
someone camped near here: a prospector, or a fishing enthusiast. It
would be luck if we could find someone who could tell us if we were
going out of our way.”
“It might be a track left by the man you were talking to,” Barry
suggested.
 “Oh, he was here last summer; no track of his would be visible by
this time. That mark looked fairly new. Hullo—!” He broke off suddenly.
The path had swung sharply round a dense patch of dogwood, and
they saw before them, in a little open space, a rough bark hut. It stood
among a clump of wattles, the trunks of which had been used, so far as
was possible, as supports. No more crazy-looking building had ever
formed a home: it seemed to lean this way and that, and where the heavy
slabs of iron-bark had warped under the weather it was patched with
whatever material the bush afforded, and daubed with creek mud. Dr.
Lane gave a low whistle.
“We seem to have found our prospector,” he said. “I hope the good
man is at home.”
“Man!” said Robin, staring. “It isn’t only a man. Look there!”
She pointed to where a rude clothes-line, made of twisted stringy-
bark, hung between two trees. Something fluttered from it: a woman’s
dress of faded blue, patched and torn. And as they looked, a woman
suddenly came round the corner of the hut, and, seeing them, cried out
and ran forward.
She was a very young woman, but her face was lined and worn in a
way that was not good to see. Her faded hair was strained back from a
face so thin that it looked almost like a mummy’s; her eyes held a world
of horror in their sunken depths. Robin gave a gasp of pity and went
quickly to meet her, and the poor soul put out a trembling hand, touching
her sleeve with a kind of incredulous delight.
“A girl!” she muttered. “I thought I’d never see a woman again!”
“What is it?” Robin asked gently. “Can we help you?”
“I’m just desperate”—the low, strained voice could hardly be heard.
“I thought no one ’ud ever come.”
“You are not alone here?” Dr. Lane asked sharply. She shook her
head.
“Me husband’s there. He’s dyin’, I think—he’s been ill for weeks.
We’d both have been dead pretty soon.” Then she swayed, and would
have fallen, if they had not caught her. They gave her a mouthful of
brandy and water, and in a minute she made herself sit up and answer
questions.
Bit by bit the sorry little story came from her halting tongue—long
before it was finished, Dr. Lane had gone off with long strides to the hut,
feeling for his pocket medicine-case as he went. She and her husband
had come to the district as “married couple” on a farm: they had heard
wild stories of gold to be found by fossickers and prospectors along the
Merri Creek, and when they had saved a little money they had given up
their job and come out into the bush. A farmer who knew the track had
brought them up on horses, a packhorse carrying what outfit and stores
they had been able to buy.
From the first, bad luck had dogged them. They were of the feckless
kind that should never leave a township; and the immensity and the
silence of the bush, and its impenetrable nature, had filled their very
souls with fear. “We hated to look at it,” she whispered—“only there
wasn’t nothing else to look at.” They had managed to burn down their
tent, losing a good deal of their property. It seemed that they had
expected, in a vague way, to live chiefly on fish and rabbits—and had
found neither easy to get. Not a speck of gold had rewarded their pitiful
seeking, although they had worked together with aching backs and
blistered hands, cheering each other on with visions of “striking it rich”
any moment. And then, just as they realized the uselessness of their
efforts, Jim, the husband, had fallen ill.
“I don’ know what was the matter with him,” she whispered. “We
didn’t have no medicine—it was all burned, the little bit we had. He
couldn’t eat nothing: I got a rabbit twice, an’ once I caught a fish, but he
didn’t seem to fancy none.” For the last three days he had scarcely
moved or spoken, and she was afraid to leave him. There was no food
left: there had been none for thirty-six hours. “I knew he was dyin’,” the
weak voice whispered. “I just thought I’d lie down an’ die too.”
“Robin!” The doctor’s voice was urgent, and the girl ran to him as he
stood in the doorway of the wretched hut.
“Have we any milk left?” he asked sharply.
“There is a bottle in Barry’s haversack,” she said; “and a few
sandwiches we kept for the way home. Oh, and I’ve a cake of milk-
chocolate. I didn’t dare offer her anything until I spoke to you. She’s
starving, you know.” Her voice caught in a sob. “Is he . . . is her husband
. . . dead?”
“No, but not far off. Thank goodness I had my medicine-case; and
the milk may help to pull him through. But it will be touch-and-go. Get
Barry to light a fire and heat some water; we’ll make some chocolate
into a hot drink for her. I want all the milk for the man. Don’t give her
anything solid yet.” He turned and went back into the hut.
Twenty minutes later Robin had the satisfaction of seeing a little
colour coming back into the blue lips as her patient sipped the hot
chocolate. She fed her with a spoon, afraid that she might drink it too
quickly. The woman’s eyes had gleamed wolfishly at the sight of the
drink, but she was too weak to be anything but docile.
“Jim,” she muttered. “Is Jim gettin’ any?”
“The doctor is looking after him,” Robin told her, pityingly. “He is a
very good doctor: he will do everything he can for him. We have a little
milk, but we are keeping it all for Jim.” And at that the starved creature
had given a great sigh of relief, and tears had stolen weakly down her
face; it seemed that she had scarcely strength left to weep. Robin made
her lie down when she had finished the chocolate, promising her food
soon. She pointed, as she lay, to the torn blue dress hanging from the
stringy-bark line.
“Couldn’t get me washin’ in,” she muttered, as if in apology. “I
rubbed it out in the creek a week ago and hung it up. But every time I put
up me arms to get it down I fainted right off. So at last I just leave it stay
there.” And at that, Robin, who had been very calm and self-possessed,
suddenly burst out crying, to Barry’s infinite alarm. She recovered
herself in a moment.
“Sorry I was such a fool, old chap,” she said, gruffly. “It seemed to
knock me all of a heap.” She went forward and unfastened the poor little
frock—it was pinned to the line with thorns of prickly-Moses—and
folded it carefully: and the woman on the grass watched her with
wondering eyes that were yet not wholly sane.
Dr. Lane called Barry and Robin to him after he had examined the
wife briefly.
“She’ll do: her heart and pulse are not bad,” he said. “The man is a
different story, but I’m not without hope. Give me every scrap of food or
chocolate that we have.”
It was a very little store, and Barry groaned over it.
“To think we were gorging, not half a mile away!” he uttered. “I
didn’t want my last three sandwiches a bit, only it seemed a pity to leave
them. If only we’d known!”
 “It was a mighty good thing we knew as soon as we did,” said his
father. “To-morrow it would certainly have been too late. And now, their
main chance depends on you two.”
They looked at him enquiringly.
“I won’t leave them, of course,” he said. “The man’s only hope lies
in my being with him, to give him medicine and stimulant at the proper
intervals.”
“And we’re to get help?” Robin asked eagerly.
“Yes. You’re sure you can get back alone? I hate letting you go, but
there’s no help for it.”
“Rather!” said Barry and Robin, together.
“I wonder if this track is all right,” the doctor said, uneasily.
“The woman says so. She told me twice, pointing to it, that it was the
track the horses came. We’ll watch very carefully, and there’s always the
creek to guide us.”
“Yes—if you can get to it through the scrub. Well, I can only hope it
is safe: you’re a better bushman than I am, Robin. If you have not sent
help out by this time to-morrow I’ll start in myself, by the way we came.
Here’s a list of what I want—telephone it into Baroin at the earliest
possible moment, and have the things sent out by car. Merritt or some of
the other farmers will help you about getting stretcher-bearers: we’ll
need two stretchers to bring them in, and plenty of relays of bearers, in
this awful country. Make them start as early as they can; and you’ll have
to arrange for the ambulance from Baroin to come as far as it can to meet
the stretchers. That young fellow at the garage has sense: he will help, if
you can get on to him. Sure you understand?”
Robin nodded. “We’ll send out food and fresh milk with the stretcher
party as well as the things you want from the township,” she said.
“You’ll be terribly hungry yourself by that time.”
“By Jove!” said Barry, staring; “it’s pretty awful to think of you
having nothing to eat, Father.”
“Oh, I’m well fed,” said the doctor, lightly. “No need to worry about
me. Now be off, you two—and remember, I won’t have an easy moment
until I know how you have got on. For goodness’ sake, don’t lose the
creek!” He smiled at them, letting his hand rest on his boy’s shoulder for
a moment. Then he watched them as they hurried into the bush.