Australian Tales - Setis

yer blanket, ye'll be catching cowld. I'd rayther sit by the fire all night, an
injoy meself; for I've got plinty ov plisant thoughts to think about jist
now, so I have. I'm as happy as a bhoy that's jist found a honey pot.”
With much difficulty Mr. Hopewell at length prevailed upon Micky to
take one of the blankets; and, after replenishing the fire, they prepared
for their repose.
“Can you sing, Micky?” asked Mr. Hopewell, as he rolled his blanket
around him.
“Yes, sir, a little bit,” said Micky. “I can sing ‘Rory O'More,’ an
‘Groves ov Blarney,’ an — ”
“No, no, I don't mean that sort of music,” interrupted Mr. Hopewell,
with a smile, “though I don't object to harmless songs occasionally. Can
you sing hymns, or psalms?”
“Not a bit, sir,” said Mick, with a sigh. “I don't know half a one. I've
clane forgot all I know'd years agone.”
“I am sorry for that,” said Mr. Hopewell. “You must try and learn
some. Singing praises to God often helps to cheer me on my weary way
through the bush, and makes the time fly lightly and pleasantly.” He then
sang, “Praise God, from whom all blessings flow” in a clear, ringing
voice, which seemed to awaken a hundred echoes among the giant foresttrees
around; then, wishing Micky “Good night,” he lay down before the
fire and was soon fast asleep.
Just as the sun was rising in the morning, they were awakened by the
loud cachinations of those well-known punctual bush birds commonly
called “the settlers' clocks;” and after a short devotional exercise, a bath
in a neighbouring lagoon, and a hearty breakfast, they prepared to go on
their separate journeys.
“Now Micky, my friend,” said Mr. Hopewell, opening his valise, and
producing two books (a pocket Bible, and a small illustrated edition of
Bunyan's “Pilgrim's Progress,”) “I trust you will not forget my advice to
you last night. Take these books as keepsakes, to remind you of our
meeting in the bush. Study that Bible, and pray to God to help you to
understand it. Keep your eye of faith steadily fixed on Christ, who is ‘the
way, the truth, and the life;’ and by-and-bye, when we have done with
this world, and all its anxieties, we shall surely meet again in that eternal
home of rest, joy, and peace, where pains and sorrow are unknown, and
where thieves cannot molest us. Give me your hand, Micky; farewell!
may God bless you! farewell!”
Poor Micky was completely overwhelmed. He could not speak a word,
but after wringing his kind friend's hand affectionately, he sat down,
placed his head on his knees, and sobbed like a child.
Chapter V.