Free Guardian Nurse by Joyce Dingwell Page A

it, but there was no sign of a car.
    She had dinner with Jason that evening. Very soon, Burn had said, he would bri ng · the boy to the dining room . Just as they were finishing the meal, Burn knocked and came in.
    ‘I’ll be away by the time you wake up, sonno,’ he said. It was f o r Frances as well. ‘Be a good boy, and who knows, I may bring something back.’
    ‘Like a book on gold?’
    ‘You couldn’t read it.’
    Jason exchanged an obvious . . . though childlike he didn’t realise it was obvious . .. triumphant glance with Frances and did not argue that.
    ‘You be good, too, France,’ said Burn , and soon afterwards he strolled out.
    She heard him go the next morning, and wondered how long he would be away. It would not be the same house without its master. For all his sternness at least she had to admit that. The river would be different without him.
    They did more lessons in the morning, then in the afternoon Frances asked Jim, seeing he was working nearby, if they could go down to the panning beach. She knew Jason would love that and considered that Jim would be Burn ’s necessary third. Jim agreed at once, even spent some time showing the boy his own method with a dolly pot, then he sauntered off, telling Frances he was only over the slope and to cooee if she wanted him.
    It was glorious down on the river. If there was no gold, and there wasn’t today, not even fool’s gold, gold still abounded in the sun-sparkling surface ripples, in the wings of the tiny river things that fluttered between bank and water. Frances propped herself against an accommodating tree so as to be near enough if Jason got into difficulties, which seemed unlikely; for all his disability he was a steady lit tl e fellow. Also, she had chosen for him the safest part of the bank, level, firm, with no drop to speak of and even then a shallow shelf to the deeper water.
    But for all her conscientious precaution she still did not play the part properly; she fell asleep. She was angry with herself when she woke up. Why, the child could have tripped, tumbled in, rolled down into the moving stream.
    The first thing she was aware of coming out of her doze was Jason’s shrill indignation, for Jason never kept a check on that. ‘You made me lose a lump of gold, proper gold, not fool’s,’ he stormed. ‘I don’t like you one bit!’
    ‘I’m sorry, little man, but it seemed to me you were too near the edge. You are now.’ The intruder lifted Jason, kicking as far as a plastered leg could kick, further up the bank. ‘Again we meet,’ he greeted Frances.
    ‘Mr. Uplands,’ she responded with a smile, ‘or I should say Trent—Trevor Trent.’
    He smiled back and did not correct her. He also obviously waited for her name.
    ‘I’m Frances,’ she complied.
    ‘I was just strolling by the river,’ he proffered pleasan tl y. ‘Oh yes, I saw your fencer.’ He gave a reassuring and understanding nod. ‘All’s well.’ He looked appreciatively around him. ‘How lovely it is down here.’
    “You s hould know,’ she laughed meaningly, remembering what both Burn and Jim had said about boyhood days.
    ‘I should,’ he agreed. Then he asked, ‘Boss away, I hear.’
    ‘In Sydney. You haven’t been down to see him?’
    ‘Not yet. Perhaps later ... But meanwhile I wanted to look at the lit tl e fellow. So’ ... smiling down at Burn ’s sonno... ‘you’re Jason .’
    ‘Nothing,’ said Jason.
    ‘Panning, were you? Let me show you how to really get gold.’
    ‘I don’t like you, not a bit. You lost my big nugget !’
    ‘Jason ! ’ intervened Frances sternly.
    ‘He did so , France! And I know about gold already. I’ll know a lot more because he’s bringing m e back a gold book.’
    ‘So you can read !’ admired Trent.
    This time that remark did nothing to Jason. There was no elated exchange of glances with Frances. Jason simply stuck out his lip and repeated, ‘Nothing.’
    ‘I’m afraid when he’s like that, he’s