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Updated: June 2, 2025
And without a look at Ann's rising color or the Reverend Orme's twitching face the doctor was gone. The Reverend Orme fixed his eyes upon his wife. "When the boy awakes," he said, "not a word to him. Send him to my study." Ann nodded. As the door closed, she fell upon her knees beside the bed. An hour later the study door opened. Shenton entered.
"Yes, yes, dear; I see. Oh, look how you've rumpled your dress! What will Lewis say to that? Come, Shenton, give mother your hand." Slowly she led them down the steps, her eyes fixed on the approaching cab. The Reverend Orme sprang out and up to meet them. He kissed his wife and children. Shenton clung to his arm. "O Dad," he cried, "didn't you bring him?" "Bring him? I should say I did.
It seemed to him only a day since he had had to drag a log to stand on to see through this same window. Shenton was sitting on the bench beside the table, his black, curly head hanging to one side. Beyond him sat Manoel, leering and jabbering. Between them was a bottle. Lewis's lips were opening for a cry of warning when the door was flung wide, and the Reverend Orme stepped into the room.
A strange terror had seized him. Something was the matter with Shenton. Lewis did not know what it was. Suddenly Shenton's mood changed to sullen stupor, and Manoel, whose gait was also unsteady, picked him up and carried him to a spigot, where he carefully unbuttoned the child's waist and soaked his head in cold water. The charm was broken. Lewis fled. Routine is the murderer of time.
Lewis did not have to wait long to divine the source of mirth, for Shenton soon essayed to walk the length of the table. Lifting his arm, he pointed along a crack, and swung one leg around to take a first step. But he seemed unable to place his foot as he wished. He reeled and fell in a giggling ball, which Manoel saved from rolling to the floor.
George Shenton, and the other members of the City Council, companies of volunteers lined the streets on either side, and the various bodies of Freemasons, Oddfellows, and Good Templars, accompanied by the brass band of the latter, took a part in the procession.
Ann and the Reverend Orme looked vaguely at each other. They had no answer. But Shenton spoke. "Friend," he said, "we come from the South. We journey to yonder mountain. What is it called? "It is called the Sorcerer." "The Sorcerer?" cried Shenton. "That is a strange-name." "It is called the Sorcerer," said the man, "because it deceives.
"Well," whispered the priest, his face twitching in the effort to look stern, "he eats little children." With that he dropped from view. Lewis and Shenton stared at each other. Natalie began to cry. Lewis picked up the brick and slipped it back into place. Shenton helped him wedge it in with twigs; then all three stole away, to break into giggles and laughter when distance gave them courage.
Leighton's arms, and Mammy, grinning from ear to ear, caught him by one fat leg and demanded in soft negro tones: "Wha' fo' you call yo' mammy 'bad niggah, young Marster? Ho! ho! 'Go go good niggah! Did yo' hea' him, Mis' Ann?" Shenton and Natalie jumped up and down, with, cries of "Please, Mother," and "Muvver, oh, please!" Mrs. Leighton set Lewis on his feet between them.
On the 6th we moved to a rock-hole near Mount Grant, in the same range as Mount Shenton, and spent another day tramping the hills with no result. Here again we were in luck, for a mob of thirteen emus came to drink whilst I was in the rock-hole.
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