and sprinkled with drops which might have been tears. The writer spoke
despondingly of her loneliness and her desolation, and the fears she
endured when by herself in the house at night, knowing there was a camp
of blacks in the corner paddock, and so many rough cattlemen about. She
was entirely helpless since her only protector had deserted her, and she
supposed that it only remained for her to be resigned to her fate. She
signed her self, 'Your forsaken and sorrow-stricken mother.'

When Dick had finished reading he started to put on his clothes.

'What's up, Morgan?' asked Phil.

'Knock off!' was the brief reply.

'But what yer goin' to do?'

'I'm goin' home.'

'Home!' cried Peterson. 'Why?'

'Because!'

Dick had the instincts of a leader; he demanded reasons for everything,
but gave none.

Before the lads parted that night young Haddon proffered Ted McKnight
excellent advice.

'Your dad's night shift, ain't he?' he said. 'Well, don't you go in till
near twelve. He'll be gone to work then, an' when he comes off in the