"Seeing your name on yer bags, an' knowin' you was belonging to the
Bossiers, I ask if yer might be a daughter of Dick Melvyn, of
Bruggabrong, out by Timlinbilly."

"Yes, I am."

"Well, miss, please remember me most kindly to yer pa; he was a good boss
was Dick Melvyn. I hope he's doin' well. I'm Billy Haizelip, brother to
Mary and Jane. You remember Jane, I s'pose, miss?"

I hadn't time to say more than promise to send his remembrances to my
father, for Mr Hawden, saying we would be in the dark, had whipped his
horses and was bowling off at a great pace, in less than two minutes
covering a rise which put Gool-Gool out of sight. It was raining a
little, so I held over us the big umbrella, which grannie had sent, while
we discussed the weather, to the effect that rain was badly needed and
was a great novelty nowadays, and it was to be hoped it would continue.
There had been but little, but the soil here away was of that rich loamy
description which little water turns to mud. It clogged the wheels and
loaded the break-blocks; and the near side horse had a nasty way of
throwing his front feet, so that he deposited soft red lumps of mud in
our laps at every step. But, despite these trifling drawbacks, it was
delightful to be drawn without effort by a pair of fat horses in splendid
harness. It was a great contrast to our poor skinny old horse at home,
crawling along in much-broken harness, clumsily and much mended with
string and bits of hide.

Mr Hawden was not at all averse to talking. After emptying our tongues of
the weather, there was silence for some time, which he broke with, "So