The Foot of Time: A Novel of Australia and the South Seas: (1933)

50 THE FOOT OF TIME
garden fence. They put their spear-beaked heads
on one side to take it in. They liked the sound
of it, almost as much as did the brawler, and joined
in. The kingfisher's maniacal shrieks of laughter
rose into the air, crescendo fashion. It set other
kookies, those darling pets of the Southern Continent,
joining in, and the row put a check upon
young Bruce, greatly to his mother's relief. Sincerely
wishing she had never taught him to say the
word, Clare endeavoured to undo the harm. It was
rough luck on the youngster, but he had yet to
learn that this world is not all joy, and he tasted
his first instance of real, right-down, true-to-God
injustice when, succeeding again in repeating the
word Daddy, he was told "Naughty, naughty; baby
not say Daddy!" This led in course of time to him
giving out "naught-Daddy," and so later still to
((
naughty Daddy"; the very last thing which poor
Clare had intended to teach him to say.
She put him to school at five, to keep him out of
mischief and give him amusement. The kindergarten
was all play, except that in playing the
youngsters were cleverly taught to learn unconsciously,
and Bruce loved every minute of it. The
school, being but a few hundred yards away from
his mountain home, with wide gates kept open, the
boy rode bareback there each day on a diminutive
pony. He fell completely in love with his tall,
soft-eyed mistress, but forgot her when at dinner
time, he returned to his mother, at half past twelve,
his lessons over for the day.
His first fight took place when he was eight,
THE FOOT OF TIME 51
having been at the school for three years. By this
time the baronet's son no longer carried coppery
hair; it had turned an attractive dark auburn. He
could never abide carroty boys. Having so nearly
been one himself, they irritated him. Fights were
forever near the surface in his dealings with them,
there being too little contrast in their characters
to blend. Now Bruce Swinton was known to have
an English mother, and that led to all the trouble.
"You're no Aussie; you're English," a young
freckled-face one day accused Bruce.
"You're a smug-nosed liar!" responded Bruce,
with great heat and indignation. "I'm Australian!"
"Gam!" gibed the other. "Look! Your mother's
English, so you must be English, too!"
"I'm not; I'm Australian, I tell you. Say I'm
English again and I'll knock your block off!"
"Where was you born, Swinton?" interposed
another young hopeful.
"Yes," chimed in other voices, "where were you
born? If you're born in Australia you're Australian."
"I was born in Australia," Bruce asserted
stoutly, "and I'm Australian, and if anybody says
I'm not, look out for yourselves!"
"What was your father, then?" asked a voice.
Bruce was silent. The subject still puzzled him.
"That's not fair," one of the bigger lads put in.
"Swinton hasn't got a father; you don't say anything
to boys about their fathers if they're dead!"
"When did he die?" Bruce was asked.
"I don't know; I never saw him," answered the
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