Australian Tales - Setis

news which you had communicated from her absent boy or girl? Did you
ever try that luxury? If not, look out for an opportunity of doing so, and I
promise it will yield you a pleasure immeasurably surpassing the
excitement of the most improbable love or ghost story, and a delightsome
relish such as M. Soyer and all his fry could no more imitate than they
could make a live turtle.
Next morning, after breakfast, Widow Blunt expressed a desire that
Goliah should see her dear relatives, the Goodwins, who lived at a farmhouse
a few miles off, but she added hesitatingly, “I really don't know
how you will get there, unless I can send a messenger to cousin Peter to
bring his gig for you.”
“How be'est thee going, then?” asked Goliah, in his own peculiar tone,
and with a comical twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, I'm going in my little donkey chaise; I have a nice quiet beast that
I can drive myself, but I should not like to ask you to ride behind an ass,
you would not like it, I am sure, for we shall meet a lot of people by the
way.”
“Bless thee heart, mother, I'm not so grand as thee thinks, though I
come from a golden land. Where's the animal? I'll harness 'en up in no
time. Not ride behind a donkey, indeed! Why, your son, Sam, wouldn't
speak to me if I was too proud to ride with his mother. I don't care a flip
who sees me do anything that isn't wicked — that's the way to say it.
Where's the moke?”
The donkey was soon put into a two-wheeled gig, which was perhaps a
size too small for Goliah and his rather stout companion; however, they
wedged themselves in with a little exertion, and off they set, Widow
Blunt taking the reins. “Gee up, Jacky! gee up, my boy!” she exclaimed,
mildly, and gave the reins a gentle jerk at the same time. Jacky looked
round at his extra load, then moved his long ears to and fro, and shuffled
along at the rate of four miles an hour, which was the pace the widow
usually travelled at, for she was fearful of driving fast; indeed, Jacky
would not have moved faster had she tried to persuade him with her
kindest words, and she was afraid to whip him lest he should damage the
dash-board with his hoofs, and perhaps injure her at the same time.
“Won't he move along faster than that?” asked Goliah, who was
probably thinking of the fine paces of his mettle-some prad in the colony.
“No, he won't go faster,” said the widow. “He is very obstinate
sometimes, and won't mind a word I say to him; still he is a good
donkey, he never offers to run away with me, and he only kicks when I
begin to beat him.”
“Oho, Mister Jacky! a pretty character I hear of thee! That's the way
you behave to your kind missis, is it? Now let me tell thee, thee'st got her
son, Sam's friend, Goliah Trump, behind thee, so the sooner thee begin'st
to mend the better, I can tell thee. Drabbit it, let me drive 'en,” added