Australian Tales - Setis

their voices died away in the distant bush.
Micky slowly returned to the hut, then gathered up a part of the late
contents of the fryingpan, off the earthen floor, and sat down to his
solitary supper.
Chapter VI.
“WELL, well! dear knows I've had cracks enuf, the last two days, to
kill a crocodile,” muttered Micky, as he sat down on a log stool inside
the chimney, after he had finished his supper; “and it isn't the smallest bit
ov me thruble naythir, to see me owld frinds runnin away from me, as if I
was a churchyard ghost. If iver any innocint crater was sarved worse nor
me, in two days, I should jist like to see him, that's all. I've bin robbed an
murthered, an shaved, an straight-jacketed, till I'm got so ugly that all me
frinds are scared outright; an here I am, forsaken by all me kin, like a
buck rat that's tumbled into a tar-but. Och, blarney! what'll come nixt, I
wonder? I naydn't frit much about what's coming, anyhow — nor yit
about what's gone naythir; I shall have strength given till me to bear the
next thruble, whatever it may be. I feel that, shure enuf, an that's a blissed
comfort, that I niver felt in this hut afore. I've had pirplexity in galores,
since I left this tother morning, still an all, the pace I feel in me heart
now, would help to make me smile if I met wid forty times as much. I'm
not afeard of thruble, not a bit. But, ah, Musha! I wisht I'd got me books,
so I do; I could read sich a lot ov thim, now I'm all alone an quiet. I
wonder where that owld bloke has gone to wid em? but I hope he'll be
readin em till I git em agin, an they'll do him good, soh; for he was a
terrible owld Turk to swear. Well, plase God, I'll git up in the mornin an
ride his horse till I find him, if he's in this part ov the worrld at all. Be the
same token, I must go an look afther the poor baste; for he'll not like to
be standin gnawin a gum saplin all night. I'm forgettin him clane, for I'm
not used to the convanience of a horse to ride; I think I'm the firsht ov me
family that iver sat in a raal pigskin saddle.”
Accordingly, Micky went out, took off the saddle and saddle-bags, and
after rubbing down his horse, led him away to a waterhole to drink; then
tethered him on a nice fresh piece of feed, and slowly returned towards
the hut. As he approached it, he heard voices inside, and, to his great joy,
beheld through the open window Joe Griddle and Sawney M'Grim,
apparently holding a consultation. Fearful of again frightening Joe,
Micky paused awhile, and as he did so he overheard part of the
conversation.
“I dinna believe a word aboot ghaists,” said Sawney M'Grim, in a
positive tone. “There are bogles and kelpies in Scotland as plenty as
thistles; but I never heerd tell o' ony o' them crossing the ocean to this
unco hot coontry — they're nae sich fules. It wasna a ghaist at all ye