Australian Tales - Setis

very fast, but not quite so fast as the cow, for she overtook him before he
got to cover, and tossed him up, ten feet at least, in a direct course
towards the noonday sun. After turning a summer-sault and a half, down
he came again head foremost, into a sweet brier bush, and there he stuck
as fast as if he had grown up with the bush itself, and all that could be
seen of him were his kangaroo boots, his pepper and salt socks, portions
of well-developed muscles of his legs, and the bottom hem of his
worsted corduroys; but that he was not dead was soon evidenced by his
loud shouts to Phoebe, “to stand clear of that spiteful owld varmin, or she
wud toss her into the hedge too.”
Phoebe soon picked herself up, then picked up her appurtenances and
re-arranged her straggling tresses. She was not at all injured, for the steel
bars of her skirt rendered her as invulnerable to cow's horns, as iron-clad
frigates are to the attacks of sword-fish. Moreover knock-down butts, or
ill-tempered kicks from cows, were regarded by her as professional
incidentals, so she was not much terrified by her sudden upset. She had
seen Jonathan turning heels over head in the air, and had seen him
rapidly descend into the hedge; but as she had not seen him make a
struggle to get out of the hedge again, her anxiety for him was quite
natural. It was very brief, though, for his loud words of warning assured
her in a moment that his neck was not broken, and that no other vital
organ was seriously injured, so she joyfully hastened to his assistance.
Chapter IV.
PHoeBE, though a courageous girl, was not fool-hardy; so, instead of
rushing straight towards her disabled lover, and thus incurring the risk of
again being tossed by the surly cow, she trotted across the paddock, crept
through a fence, and arrived in a short time at the back of the bush,
where Jonathan was stuck fast, with his head where his heels should be.
Her proximity was known to him immediately; for he could see her
plainly enough, although she could see no more of him than I have
described in the preceding chapter.
“Jonathan, I hope you are not hurt,” said Phoebe, in her softest tones of
commiseration. “Can't you get out?”
“Noa, Phoebe, I can't move half an inch, if I try; these prickly thorns
push me amazing sharp. I bean't hurt much, but I be stuck in here as
toight as if I wor rammed in with a pile driver. I must be cut out, loike a
buzzy in a horse's tail. You can't get me out any other way as I can see;
for if you pull me up by the legs, I shall be scratched all to rags and
tatters.”
“I'll run and get some help,” said Phoebe decisively, “I won't be long
away. Poor fellow! keep your spirits up.”
“Stop; don't ee run away from me, Phoebe,” cried Jonathan, “sit thee