George’s anger had soon died.  Jacky found him reading a little book in search of comfort, and when they were out in the air Jacky saw that his eyes were rather red.

“Why you cry?” said Jacky.  “I very angry because you cry.”

“It is very foolish of me,” said George, apologetically, “but three is a small company, and we in such trouble; I thought I had made a friend of him.  Often I saw he was not worth his wages, but out of pity I wouldn’t part with him when I could better have spared him than he me, and now—­there—­no more about it.  Work is best for a sore heart, and mine is sore and heavy, too, this day.”

Jacky put his finger to his head, and looked wise.  “First you listen me—­this one time I speak a good many words.  Dat stupid fellow know nothing, and so because you not shoot him a good way* behind—­you very stupid.  One,” counted Jacky, touching his thumb, “he know nothing with these (pointing to his eyes).  Jacky know possum,** Jacky know kangaroo, know turkey, know snake, know a good many, some with legs like dis (four fingers), some with legs like dis (two flngers)—­dat stupid fellow know nothing but sheep, and not know sheep, let him die too much.  Know nothing with ’um eyes.  One more (touching his forefinger).  Know nothing with dis (touching his tongue).  Jacky speak him good words, he speak Jacky bad words.  Dat so stupid—­he know nothing with dis.

* Long ago.

** Opossum.

“One more.  You do him good things—­he do you bad things; he know nothing with these (indicating his arms and legs as the seat of moral action), so den because you not shoot him long ago now you cry; den because you cry Jacky angry.  Yes, Jacky very good.  Jacky a little good before he live with you.  Since den very good—­but when dat fellow know nothing, and now you cry at the bottom* part Jacky a little angry, and Jacky go hunting a little not much direckly.”

At last.

With these words the savage caught up his tomahawk and two spears, and was going across country without another word, but George cried out in dismay, “Oh, stop a moment!  What! to-day, Jacky?  Jacky, Jacky, now don’t ye go to-day.  I know it is very dull for the likes of you, and you will soon leave me, but don’t ye go to-day; don’t set me against flesh and blood altogether.”

“I come back when the sun there,” pointing to the east, “but must hunt a little, not much.  Jacky uncomfortable,” continued he, jumping at a word which from its size he thought must be of weight in any argument, “a good deal uncomfortable suppose I not hunt a little dis day.”

“I say no more, I have no right—­goodby, take my hand, I shall never see you any more.

“I shall come back when the sun there.”

“Ah! well I daresay you think you will.  Good-by, Jacky; don’t you stay to please me.”

Jacky glided away across country.  He looked back once and saw George watching him.  George was sitting sorrowful upon a stone, and as this last bit of humanity fell away from him and melted away in the distance his heart died within him.  “He thinks he will come back to me, but when he gets in the open and finds the track of animals to hunt he will follow them wherever they go, and his poor shallow head won’t remember this place nor me; I shall never see poor Jacky any more!”