ERNEST HARRINGTON’S REWARD.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 9, 27 February 1892, Page 194

ERNEST HARRINGTON’S REWARD.

BY

THOMAS COTTLE, REMUERA, AUCKLAND.

CHAPTER I. THE COMING MAN. THE RECEPTION AWARDED HIM.

i|HE news spiead quickly over the :J quaint little settlement of Catlin’s q River that Old Jones had at last I found a purchaser for his farm. His neighbours were well pleased to hear it, for Old Jones was not one of those nice clean old men, who remind one of the restful peace of the calm, quiet evening which follows !j a well-spent day. He was not nice ; he was not even clean : and he was

lie wao uui even cicau . auu ne cantankerous, and crusty to a degree. He never paid a bill without disputing it ; never gave a penny away in charity ; never settled up with his workmen without defrauding them of some part of their earnings, if not the whole, the latter for choice; and never allowed his cattle to’feed on bis own section if by any chance he could get them to steal a bite off any one of his neighbour’s. Men who had only worked a few weeks with him—and, indeed, few cared to work longer—rather than lose time by waiting about till they could force him to settle, brusquely informed him that he might keep his dirty money and go to the place reserved for him. As a general rule, they did not believe in any such locality as the one to which they thus referred. The doctrine of eternal punishment they usually laughed to scorn. There was no such place as hell. Of that fact they were well assured : yet they told Old Jones to proceed there, and felt fully convinced that he could not possibly miss his way. Oh ! ah .' yes ; when they came to consider the matter there must be a hell for him, and the very few who resembled him, hut not for the general public. The best of us are inconsistent in some things. Old Jones, meanwhile, chuckled gleefully to himself as he reflected that this piece of fencing, or that thatch of bushfalling, had cost him nothing but the man’s food, which being of his providing, was far from expensive. As to the gratuitous advice he had received regarding his future movements, he took no heed of that, for he did not believe in the locality either, at least so far as it concerned himself. He was well aware that no one ever spoke a good word for him ; but why need that trouble him ? Good words never got work done cheaply, but his system did, therefore he preferred it. Local men would not engage with him on any consideration, but what matter? He could easily secure all the aid he required from the shifting tide of swaggers, who are ever wandering up and down the colonies in search of a job. They did not know him, but probably soon would. Thus much have I written about Old Jones' peculiarities to show that his neighbours had good reason for refraining from grieving over his departure from amongst them. There exists no possible necessity why I should write more about him, an<l at this I rejoice, and so may my- readeis, for the old gentleman would not make a desirable hero for this or any other story. It would be mere waste of time even to hold him up as a sad waining to those who resembled him, if there are any, for they would never believe they were the least like him.

But to proceed. The arrival of a new settler in a sparsely inhabited district in a new country is an event which can only l>e fittingly spelt with a big E. He is the object of much profound speculation. As a fresh subject of conversation alone he is worth his weight in gold. The state of the weather, the price of stock, the last Road Board election, nay, even the last leturns for frozen meat, sank into comparative insignificance for the time in the bucolic minds of the men. And as for the fairer portion of the community, the usually engrossing topics of dress, butter making, and even the latest ehurch tea-fight, with its delightful windup—the free and easy dance—ceased for the time to occupy their minds. They could not hold their own against the new man. The all absorbing question with each and every one wa«, ‘ Have you seen the man who bought Old Jones ont ?' But no one could yet answer in the affirmative, furiosity was intensely aroused. An agent had come down and purchased the property for him, and all the information that he vouchsafed respecting his principal was that his name was Ernest Harrington, that he had been a digger, was about thirty years of age, and last, but not of least importance, was single. Vivid feminine imaginations seized these simple naked facts with becoming modesty, and, shocked at their nakedness, without loss of time clothed them decorously with the voluminous robes of vast possibilities. A retired digger and single, what might not that mean ? It was hard to say. On one occasion two adventurous youths had returned to pay a visit to their families after a few years spent at the Blue Spur and other prolific gold fields, and had taken to t hemselves wives of the daughters of the land. They were line looking young fellows, and had been exceptionally lucky. The happy brides wrote to their girl friends letters teeming with eulogies on their husbands’ many virtues and nuggets. The Catlin’s River girls were therefore prepared to adore diggers. In their estimation thejwere invariably wealthy, and they were also tine manly, handsome fellows. They danced divinely, they were amusing and entertaining. never at a loss for something to say, and above all fell in love with delightful facility. To have one of them sweet on you was they affirmed, perfectly lovely. They gave such valuable presents, were always in a great hurry to get married, and theie was a delicious admixture of boldness and romantic reverence in their attentions. The very nature of their calling, the constant search, the ever present expectation of finding inestimable wealth in the bowels of the earth, imbued them with the firm conviction that they would'find pearls without price in the hearts of their adored. They found them occasionally, but it is only reasonable to suppose, to carry out the simile, that, on more thoroughly pro-

specting their claims, they often diopped on a ‘wild cat.’ Then followed the deluge ! <

This last reflection is my own ; it found no place in the minds of the young damsels. They were discussing Mr Harrington’s probable attributes, not their own. * But,’ said one of more matuie years and experience than the others, * what if Mr Harrington does not come up to your glowing expectations? I have noticed that men rarely do,' this rather lugubriously. * Oh ! even if he doesn’t quite, at all events he will be a new man, and as that alone he can’t help being a godsend ! I'm sick to death of these hobbledehoys of cockatoos’ sons who have never been ten miles from their own doors, and possess ideas bounded by that limit.* (She had been five miles or so farther, and so was competent to talk.) ‘ They fall in love readily enough too—in fact, never seem out of it ; but with them falling in love seems to mean standing staring at a girl like great gawks with their thumbs in their mouths till her friends chaff her most unmercifully, and she —gets no satisfaction.’

There was a general laugh at Miss Molly’s outspoken confession of her own experiences, and unmitigated indulgence in banter at her expense. This she enjoyed mightily. It was what she wanted. She was exceedingly plain, there was therefore the more pressng need to enact the role of the too much worshipped beauty, and give her hearers the impression that she had far more admirers, if silent ones, than they gave her credit for, or, indeed, than she well knew what to do with. I have met others like her in this respect of both sexes. I do not care much for them, especially the men.

The young men, whom Miss Molly had so irreverently termed gawks, with the distrust and dislike common to their class and age of any strange man animal who is about to swoop down upon them, and concerning whom the girls are already raving in a delightful fever of anticipation, thereby pushing them out into the cold just as they had arrived at the age to feel the warmth of feminine attractiveness—these youths, I say, were convinced that the newcomer would prove a fraud. That he could not be wealthy, or be would have purchased a station instead of a bush section ; that he might certainly be a bachelor, but was sure to pass off as one, whether he was or not. At all events, there must be something wrong about the man who left the goldfields to come and ‘ cockatoo ’ in a quiet little corner like Catlin’s River. He must have something to hide. They hinted as much to the young women when the subject, so distasteful to them, was under discussion. If, however, they thought to gain anything by aspersing the coming man, they erred grievously. In due course of time Mr Ernest Harrington arrived and took possession of his property. There was an unusually large congregation at the modest little place of worship on the Sunday succeeding his arrival. The fair sex predominated even to a greater degree than usual, especially in the seats near the door, generally rather empty. They had risen half an hour earlier that morning, and had spent it before their glasses. It was time well spent, as three or four extra ribbons testified. They looked their best, and this was quite passable for young women who had not the advantage of town style and fashion. * " hy, Sissy, you are a penny masher this morning. What a lark it the new man doesn’t turn up ! 111 bet my bottom dollar he doesn t! exclaimed a vounger brother, in genuine younger brother phraseology.

‘ Poo. 11do yon think I’d trouble to dress for him, yon young idiot? What do I care whether he’s there or not? Just mind your own business, will you?’ was the scornful reply.

Nevertheless this young lady’s eyes brightened wonderfully when Ernest walked in and took a vacant seat next her. She could not help admitting, however, after due inspection from behind her book, that he was disappointing to a degree. He did not look a bit like a digger He was neither handsome, manly-looking, nor muscular, but was plain, undersized, and deficient in flesh and muscle. All that could be said in his favour was that he had a clear honest expression in his eyes which many a better-lookin<» man lacked. °

In truth, when they came to know him better these girls found that he was of a bashful nature, shunned rather than courted their society, had very little to say to them if he happened to t>e thrown in their company, and worst crime of all, did not seem in the least inclined to fall in love with any of them. They doubted indeed if he knew what it meant. Yes, there was no getting over the fact, he was a disappointment. They admitted it amongst themselves, the half fledged cockatoos before mentioned gloried in the downfall of these girlish hopes, and boasted of their own superior discernment. They knew all along the fellow would turn out a brute. They put on airs in the girls’ presence which, but for the feelings which prompted them would have been considered by their fair companions a vast improvement on their usual diffident deportment. But it can easily be surmised that these blooming country lasses whose vigorous love of fun and broad sense of humour were not inconveniently hampered with the troublesome retsrictiqns of refinement and delicacy which are supposed to obtain with their better informed and moredelicatelv-nurtured sisters, did not give Mr Harrington up without making some slight efforts to draw him ont of his shell—efforts which probably will be considered ill-advised, to say the least. At first they contented themselves with entering his hut in his absence and putting thingsstraightforhim, as they termedit, old Jones’patent home made wooden latch, which would never catch, but had to be tied with a leaf of flax, had not yet been replaced by a proper lock. The girls washed up his crockery, burnished his billy and frying pan, inscribed amatory passages intensely underlined, exhibiting infinitely more fervour than brilliancy, in the fly leaves of his books, affixing thereto one anothei’s signatures, and displayed the

exuberance of their fresh young feelings in many other unique ways calculated in their estimation, but in theirs alone, to inspire the object of their attention with sensations of love and sweet thoughts of conjugal felicity. Had they drawn the line here all would perhaps have been well. The evidences of their frequent visits amused rather than annoyed Ernest after he had, by a thorough search on several succeeding evenings, allayed the ever-hauntin<» dread that one or more of his uninvited guests might prove to be concealed about the premises, and spring ont at him suddenly from her or their hiding place. Such search proving needless, he discontinued it. and reflected philosophically that it might be as well to allow the poor girls to do his dirty work for him provided they did not come into personal contact with him. It appeared to afford them amusement, and did not hurt him, as the big man, in the old story, said when a friend inquired why he allowed his little dot of a wife to hammer him.

But as I have hinted, they did not draw the line here. One evening Ernest came in, having washed at the creek on his way up to the house, as was his usual custom, took bis solitary tea, had a good read and a smoke, then with a yawn determined to retire to rest, though it was yet early his manual labour having made him drowsy. He had not vis’ited his bedroom since he came in. His candle had burned out, but no matter; he could jirmp into bed in the dark •it was not worth while getting another. Entering the only other apartment his hut contained, he flung off his clothes felt his way to his bunk, and sprang into it. But what was this? He was out of it in no time. It was occupied. For a moment the old fear of some love-sick damsel being concealed about the place almost paralysed him. This was simply awful. What on earth would they do next? He must strike a match and assure himself that it was not as he dreaded. He did so, but it was the only one in his box. It blazed up for a moment, then went out suddenly but' oh, horrors ! that uncertain light confirmed his suspicions—the occupant of his couch was a female. More he could not yet discover, but was not this enough ? I have said he was bashful, I will add he was virtuous Many bashful men are, but it is not their fault ; it is their fear that makes them so. It was not so with our hero. To his praise be it recorded that his virtue was due to high principle, not to diffidence. Forgetting his clothes in his haste, he fled from the room. If the girl had no regard for her own reputation, he would guard it for her to the utmost of his ability, and in this respect he rightly felt he was a very able man. Hunting up a fresh candle and another box of matches, he procured a light, wished he had his clothes and sat down to think over the situation, and shiver His hre was out, and the night grew colder. Clothes, overcoat, rug, eveiything, in fact, which would impart warmth was m the other room, and, worst of all, so was the girl And now it suddenly struck him, that she might come’ out at any time. He shivered more at the thought than he had done with the cold. He must get his attire at all risks otherwise he would not be ready to receive company, taking into due consideration its sex. He would open the door very gently. She might be asleep—he fervently hoped she JL as T then l _ he - could F®®* in and set his clothes. He opened the door the tiniest bit and listened intently. Not a sound of the heavy breathing of a person sleeping. She must be awake and waiting to play some trick on him. What was to be done ? He could not go in dressed, or rather undressed as he was. Again he listened. Still not a sound except the beating of his own heart. That was making noise enough for two. He could not make it out. Pushing the door a trifle wider open, but still concealing his figure carefully behind it, he held the candle so as to cast its light on the recumbent form. Ha! it was not a girl after all. His limited knowledge of the sex assured him that no girl would array herself in an old-fashioned night eap like that on any consideration whatever. He very much doubted whether they wore nocturnal headgear at all, but an unfashionable one, never. And now he caught sight of the face. Why, it must be the old half mad woman who lived away down in the gully by herself ! But she looked far more hideous at night than by daylight. This surprised him somewhat. Ladies who are dependent on toilet aids might exhibit an extra degree of ugliness when deprived of them on betaking themselves to rest, but one could hardly accuse the widow Bellew of getting herself up. At all events he was delighted to find the occupant of his couch was not one of those horrid girls, whose playful pranks he so much dreaded and his courage i eturned. He boldly slipped in and secured his raiment and slipped out again! There was still no signs of breathing. Could the poor old thing be de j ’ u Y- j 8 bls ? u , t y Bee as soon as he was dressed, but a duty he did not half appreciate. He approached the bunk with some misgiving, spoke to her loudly, but she did not move a limb. He next grasped what he judged to be her shoulder, and shook it gently. Still no movemint. A more vigorous shake and a startling result—the old lady’s head off j ier body. He jumped backward in horror, then discovered that his dismay and virtuous indignation had been wasted on a bulky bolster surmounted by a mask portraying femimne feature, of hoary antiquity and unparalleled ugliness and arrayed in a wide-frilled night cap and fhpir A nfl n t| yJ udged I b y Ernest to be antiquities from their dirty yellow hue and general shapelessness* Without a blush, and totally regardless of the respect due to age, he incontinently dragged the old lady forth, disrobed her, and casting her habiliments into the far corner of the room sought his couch. ’

h da,ned things are?' be said to him- “ ,,as he d ‘d so. It does not matter anyhow ; the owner’ll turn up if she wants them. I hope it won’t be till the mormng though. This night work seems to upset me some

The owner did turn up in the morning. She was in a f”'J enn£t rage : >t was the half mad woman. Ernest’s next rter " f a “ h .°“. r was a had one. In language which has h y S “ Dk ’ DtO ° bllv,on sh e accused ou7 hero of purhe he ' c,< ‘ thaa «ne. In vain he denied .?® 5? a S u® would not listen to him. The girls, for hel ' Thp eeen hl "! the,n • that wa “ proof enough

Ernest did not like the girls any the better after this D ° r make hi,n one u ’hit more desirous of tehlf cond,tlu “' To have gids like them in the Ik?.- ” “ h f”? r ““invited was bad enough, he felt. A lifetime spent with one of them would be too trying.

CHAPTER 11. THE LITTLE BVSH MAIDEN—ERNEST WAXES ELOQUENT. Finding their efforts at eliciting from him any spark of answering devotion useless, and a new lock on the door, these high-spirited young rural beauties forthwith left Ernest to his own resources for amusement, entertainment, and house-tidying. He was grateful for his escape from their amorous persecutions. Meantime, he worked away with a will and the assistance of his man at the arduous task of subduing that portion of the wilderness which was his by right of purchase. The grass grew fast in the older clearings, and it was soon necessary to procure stock to eat it. He casually heard of a settler who had some weaned calves for sale. "They might suit, so he went to see them. The old man was bedridden, but he lost nothing by allowing his good lady to transact sales of stock and other business in his stead. She prided herself on her judgment and capabilities as a stock saleswoman, and not without reason. Pleading poverty, which was but too apparent, she fixed a price on the animals which Ernest thought too high. He had not, however, either the pluck or the heart to haggle with her, as he might have done with a man, but closed the bargain at once. And now the trouble begun. Purchasing calves is easy enough if you have the money, but driving them home is an entirely different matter, especially when one side of the road is unfenced and skirted by standing bush, in which they have been accustomed to run. First one dodged in ; while Ernest was running after him the others followed suit. They had never left home before, and were not disposed to do so now, if they could possibly avoid it. Fresh weaned calves have wills of their own, and if occasion serves they use them. Ernest was on foot. In this bush country a horse would be worse than useless. Time after time he drove them some few chains up the road, only to see them double back in a most exasperating manner.

The old lady calmly watched him from the verandah. She could sell calves, but would not guarantee to deliver them. Chasing them through ithe bush was not quite in her line. At last she took pity on him.

• Hold on, young man, I’ll send Maggie to help you,’ she cried.

Ernest frowned, • Another of those horrid girls. Much good she’ll do me. She’ll only langh at me, and make matters worse. I wish to Heaven I’d never seen the old woman’s calves. Never mind, Mrs Martin,’ he continued aloud, ‘ I’ll bring the man to-morrow.’ His reply came too late. The old lady had already called her daughter from the wash-tub and instructed her to ‘go and help that duffer of a digger fellow, or he’d never get the calves away.' Maggie, nothing loth, hastily wiped the suds from her steaming arms, popped on her hat and a tight-fitting scarlet jacket to cover her plump white shoulders, hitherto bared for greater freedom of action and coolness of body while she toiled. The hot rays of the summer sun beating on the low roof of the little lean-to wash-house, combined with the steam from the tubs, caused the temperature to be sultry, and superfluous clothing undesirable. Having thus made herself presentable, she sallied forth. She had previously obtained several surreptitious peeps at the perspiring and perplexed stranger from behind the blind of her little window. She liked the look of him, and also pitied him. When bidden, therefore, she went to his assistance with becoming alacrity and the prompt obedience so pleasing in the young.

Vexed and harassed as Ernest was with his humiliating failures, and also at the idea of a girl being sent to his assistance, he could not but stand still and stare with wondering admiration at the frisky little dark-eyed beauty who suddenly flashed on his sight. He could see at a glance she was not one of those bold young explorers who had invaded the sacred precincts of his bachelor hut. She was a modest little maiden some seventeen or eighteen years of age, short of stature, but shapely and supple of figure, attired in the scarlet bodice before mentioned, and a very short skirt of a different material. These garments certainly bore evidence of much wear and tear, but neat needlework and skilful darning had done much to repair the ravages of time and bushlawyers. The effect altogether struck Ernest as being highly picturesque, and the costume admirably adapted for speedy movement in scrub and bush. Some extra particular sort of people might, it is true, have taken exception to the shortness of skirt and lavish display of prettily moulded lower limb. Ernest did not ; but then in this respect he was not an extra particular sort of person. Although he paused to gaze at her, she certainly did not return the compliment. A passing glance, a curt nod. a hasty spoken ‘ Good-day, sir,’ and she was off into the bush like a shot, leaping fallen logs, diving under overhanging branches, and threading intricate interlacements of supplejack with a rapidity and lissom gracefulness which bespoke a practised bush woman in perfect health. Ernest acknowledged to himself that he was nowhere in the race. She beat him almost to a standstill, though you may be sure he did his best to keep up with her. The refractory calves also acknowledged her supremacy, for they were speedily reduced to order, and driven out of the bush to a part of the road where a fence on either side, and a sweet patch of white clover in the middle, restrained their wandering proclivities, and occupied their attention. Outof breath with their smart bitof bush-scouring, these two widely dissimilar stockdrivers, with one consent, sank down on a soft moss-cushioned log for a much-needed rest. Not close together ; oh, no ! quite a becoming distance apart. I inding he had not yet sufficient breath for seemly speech to thank his companion for her opportune and valuable assistance, Ernest did the next best thing in his estimation. He took another good look at her. She was well worth it. Never before did he remember having seen so fair a picture. He wondered afterwards how it was the bashfulness, which troubled him, when in company with other girls, did not for a moment prevent him gazing straight at this little bnsh maiden. In flying through the bush rude, envious supplejacks had knocked off her hat, but a hat more or less mattered not when unruly calves had to be dealt with. She did not wait to pick it up ; another day would do for that. A projecting branch next disarranged her hair; it fell in shimmering showers to her trim waist. She now sought in the most natural manner possible to reduce the glossy black tresses into something like order. Her attitude was perfect. The upraised arms stretched backwards to effect this object threw her well-developed bust well forward. It rose and fell tumultuously with her quickened breathing. Her

colour, naturally bright, was heightened by the sharp exercise, and the dense dark green mass of foliage at her back threw out every delicate curve of the ravishing figure into rich relief. Her pose wouid have driven a painter crazy. Ernest was not a painter, therefore he kept his reason ; lam not so sure about his heart. Be this as it may, though only an amateur, he secured a mental photo graph of her, which for faithfulness of detail and proof against fading could not have been surpassed by a professional. The light in which he regarded her might have especially favoured him. If the young women who at our hero’s first ariival judged him deficient in admiration of the fair sex could have seen him now, they would have altered their verdict, and merely wondered what he could see in that silly little chit of a Maggie to stare at her so. If it had been either of them now

Miss Maggie, meantime, was in no way disconcerted by his gaze of admiration. In truth she was too busily engaged with her hair to notice it. At last he found breath and words :

• What a splendid hand you are in the bush, Miss Martin ! I should never have succeeded in getting those contrary little brutes out without your assistance. You can’t think how much obliged I am to you !’ • Well, yes, I think lam pretty fair. I ought to be, anyhow, for I have heaps of practice. You see since father’s been laid up all the work falls to mother and me, for I’ve no brother except poor Davie, who never could walk without crutches. I have to do every thing. 1 can catch, saddle, and ride almost any sort of horse. I can yoke up and drive our two old working bullocks, cut down treesand haul firewood, hunt wild pigs, and do all sorts of things. Did you see old Juno in her kennel up by the house? You know we are very poor, and if it wasn’t for her and me it’s very little meat we’d see on our table, I can tell you. She’s my pet, ano a most useful one. None of your fine ladies’ lapdogs for me. Give me a dog that can hold a pig, and earn her salt. Juno’s getting old and stiff, but I never saw the pig that could get away from her yet, when she once gets her grip. We keep a lot of cows in the bush. I hunt them up and milk them, and we sell the butter down at the Saw Mills on the river bank. I don’t know what you’ll think of me after all I have told you ! I’m a sad chatterbox, I know, but it’s so seldom I meet anyone here I care to talk to. It’s a real treat when I do, so you must excuse me. What did you pay mother for the calves ?’ ‘ Excuse you, my dear young lady! I should rather think I would if there was anything to excuse, which there isn’t. If it’s a treat to you to talk, what must it be to me to listen ? One pound each I gave you mother for the calves. I don’t think them dear, at least not very.’ • I do, then. There were better sold last week at seventeen and sixpence. Fifteen shillings would have been quite enough for them. It was too bad of mother. Because she heard you had money she stuck it on. lam wild at her “ having ” you. taking advantage of your not knowing their value. I don’t n.ind her “ having ” other people if she can. for as we are so poor we want every penny we can get. You must excuse her though.’ ‘ Oh, it doesn’t matter a rap ! don’t trouble about it. I’m quite satisfied. They are just the sort I wanted, and will grow into the money in a few weeks even if they are not absolutely worth it to-day. The clover will be up to their knees in Jones’ old clearing,’ returned Ernest, well pleased that she should single him out as one whom she considered her mother should have spared from undue spoliation. ‘ Poor little pets,’ she said sadly. ‘lam so sorry they are sold. I always fed them myself.’ ‘ What wouldn’t I give to be a calf at feeding time,’ sighed Ernest, ‘ though in truth I’d rather be excused that sounding crack you gave Master Snowball across his nose when you were rousing him out of the bush.’ ‘ I dare say you would, for though I love them when they are good, I make them respect me, and the stick is the only thing to effect that. It’s horrid being so poor. If only we weren’t dependent on every shilling we can scrape together, we could keep our calves till they grew up, and thus get a nice mob of cattle. But now directly they are old enough to be independent of me and the bucket, off they have to go. I hope you have good fences, Mr Harrington. If they can find the least hole to creep through, they'll be back here before to morrow morning. Weaners always do try their hardest to get back till they forget the bucket or their mothers, as the case may be.’ ‘ I am not the least surprised at their wanting to get back, Miss Martin. I should if I was a calf. But you need not fret at parting with them. You can come and pet them as often as ever you like. It’s an easy walk, and I shan’t mind in the least. I assure you,’ returned Ernest hurriedly, and somewhat awkwardly.

Whether it was the fault of the fences I am not prepared to say, but it is a well authenticated fact that those identical calves did work their waj- back to the place of their birth, not once, but many times, and Ernest always came alone to look for them. The man invariably happened to be busy on these occasions. 11 spoke volumes for Miss Maggie’s good nature that she never wearied of rendering him all the aid in her power, and he, for his part, never under rated it since that first memorable occasion. The rests in the gnarled old rata log increased in length on each subsequent occasion. Ernest's conversational powers developed themselves at a surprising rate. He marvelled much at his loquacity. No one else ever made him talk like this fresh unsophisticated little bush maiden. She on her part, as we have seen, from the first never experienced any difficulty in keeping up her end of the conversation. She drew him out of himself. He became communicative concerning events of his past life which he had never before mentioned to a living soul. They were simple enough in themselves. His thirty years or so of life had certainly not been so brilliant and happy as they might have been under other circumstances. In this he was not unique. There are very few of us, indeed, who could not have said the same at his age if we have already passed it.

With regard to this past of his then, whatever it was, he was accustomed to take his troubles philosophically, much as one does w hen one gets into the way of expecting little else. He was not, however, by any means embittered, nor did he make a practice of boring his acquaintances by whining about his ill-luck, as too many do. It was only after many assertions that a relation of any of the incidents of his past life could in no way interest his hearer, and her emphatic contradictions of these assertions, that he was per - suaded to relate to her somewhat of hirm-elf ami his doings.

He much preferred hearing her talk about herself and her home life, and he said so.

* That is all very fine, but I don’t see why you are to let me do all the talking and have all the fun of listening to yourself,’ was her unanswerable reply. Fun was certainly not the word to describe his sensations while listening to her pathetic story, but Miss Maggie had not always time to select her words with a due resjrect to their exact meaning. The sensation which her story called forth was a new one to him. L'ntil now all he had known about the word ‘ sympathy ’ was that it consisted of three syllables, and was to be met with in the dictionary, and it was just possible on rare occasions out of it, though he was not very certain about that. But what matter ? It was not often required. He had rubbed along very fairly without it. Now he began to realize its blessed meaning, as Miss Maggie, in gentler tones than usual, and with tears in her soft dark eyes, told how her father had been struck down by a tree he was felling during his first year of bush life, six years ago now, but he was doomed never again to rise from bis bed, though he might linger on it for years. How her brother had been a cripple from his birth, afflicted with pains and aches innumerable, yet withal so patient and uncomplaining, so ready to see the bright side of everything, to cheer and comfort her mother and herself when weary and cast down with their desperate daily struggle for existence, and the Herculean task they had undertaken of looking after two invalids and carrying on the farm unaided. But on this I will not enlarge. It is with Ernest’s recital that we have more particularly to do. * Well, if you really are determined to hear something about me,’ he commenced, ‘ I had better begin at the beginning. My father had originally a fair income in the old country, but the maintenance and education of myself and brother, together with five sisters, made no inconsiderable hole in it. The much-asked-and seldom-satisfactorily-answered question of what to do with his boys sorely perplexed him. He at last solved it by emigrating to NewZealand and purchasing a farm. This he considered would find ample employment and a good home for us all. As long as he lived we were happy as the day was long. It had been always understood that at his death Ted and I were to have the farm between us, and that other provision was made foi mother and the girls; but when he was thrown from his horse and killed on the spot, it turned out that by some unaccountable means I had been entirely forgotten, and Ted got the farm to himself. He and mother had worked on the old man somehow. I don’t blame father. I know the day before his death they had a long argument about it, and I feel certain that if he had lived but another few days he would have provided in some way for me. Ted was always the favourite with mother and the girls. They none of them ever seemed to take to me, but dad always stuck up for me. I’ve no doubt they bothered him into letting Ted have the farm, and he thought he saw his wayclear to fix me up some other way, but hadn’t time to do it. Ted offered me work at good wages on the place, but I rejected his offer with scorn. I couldn’t stand that, so I sailed for Australia to try my luck there. I was barely sixteen, but I obtained a stockman’s billet, and soon began to save money. Vp in the bush there was no way of spending it except at the grog shanties, and my tastes, fortunately, did not lie that way. After I had been there two years I fell in love, or fancied I did, which amounts to much the same thing with a mad-headed young fool of eighteen. The girl was a smart housemaid at the home station—But those calves are trying to work back. I’ll give them a start, and come back to you in a jiffey.’ Miss Maggie had been listening with interest and pity to his story until he talked of falling in love. At this point a new sensation seized her, which she could best describe as a dull sinking feeling in the region of her heart. She wished he had left that part out, and, indeed, most men would have done so. Still, if she did not care to hear what was coming she could easily make some excuse to return home, and thus escape it. But no she would not do that. She must hear the sequel now, whatever it was. At this moment he returned, and this time was bold enough to take a seat much nearer her.

* And did this girl you speak of love you in return ?’ asked Maggie, fervently hoping the answer would be in the negative.

‘Love me in return? I should just about think she did, if the way she took my kisses and presents was any criterion. We exchanged photos, and she promised to marry me as soon as ever I could put together another fifty pounds. That with what I had already saved, she judged was the least with which she would be tempted to start housekeeping.’ Poor Maggie's indisposition increased alarmingly, but she bore it silently. * The boss,’ continued Ernest, ‘ was delighted to hear of our contemplated wedding, and promised me a larger hut. He had taken an immense fancy to me, and thought if I was once married I should settle down for good. To expedite the raising of the requisite sum, and also to suit his convenience in another way he offered me double wages if I would take charge of a mob of cattle on a new block of country he had just taken up. The blacks, he said, were reported to be a bit troublesome so we must keep a sharp look out. It was worth more than he offered me to live up on that ungodly back block, and go about constantly with your life in your hands, or worse still, in the hands of any sneaking black fellow who thought tit to lie in ambush and take it ; but I did not consider this at the time. The joy of being able to earn enough in a few months to claim my bride counterbalanced this danger, ami also the fact that I should have to leave her in the meantime. (TO BE COXTIXt ED.)