like this in these streets of low, verandahed, red-brick houses, always
dull and sleepy, and such animation as there was, was invariably to be
found before the doors of the many public-houses.

At one of these the coach stopped and unloaded its goods, for an
interminable time. People came and looked in at the window at Laura, and
she was beginning to feel alarmed lest O'Donnell, who had gone inside,
had forgotten all about her having to catch the train, when out he came,
wiping his lips.

"Now for the livin' luggage!" he said with a wink, and Laura drew
back in confusion from the laughter of a group of larrikins round the
door.

It was indeed high time at the station; no sooner was her box dislodged
and her ticket taken than the train steamed in. O'Donnell recommended
her to the guard's care; she shook hands with him and thanked him, and
had just been locked into a carriage by herself when he came running
down the platform again, holding in his hand, for everyone to see, the
apple, which Laura believed she had safely hidden under the cushions of
the coach. Red to the roots of her hair she had to receive it before a
number of heads put out to see what the matter was, and she was even
forced to thank O'Donnell into the bargain. Then the guard came along
once more, and told her he would let no one get in beside her: she need
not be afraid.

"Yes. And will you please tell me when we come to Melbourne."

Directly the train was clear of the station, she lowered a window and,
taking aim at a telegraph post, threw the apple from her with all her