"You would have to wait a long time," said Alice, turning admiring eyes
upon his comely person, noting with regret that he could not be within
several years of her own age. "It is quite a young infant, isn't it?"

"Yes; that is--let me see--fifteen months and a little over. Yes, it
will be fifteen months on Thursday since he lost his mother." Time had
done so much for him that he could now speak of her to a
stranger. "And he was then only a few weeks old."

"Poor, poor little thing!" sighed Alice Urquhart.

It was, by the way, a particularly sympathetic night--soft, still,
solitary, with a full moon. They both felt it. Besides, he had had an
excellent dinner. Five Creeks was poor, but it lived well.

"Oh," laughed the guest, without merriment in his laugh, "you needn't
waste pity on HIM, Miss Urquhart; he's all right. Rolls in fat--never
ailed a thing in his life--might take the prize at a baby show. So
they tell me. I have not seen him myself for a good while."

"What! Why, he's in Melbourne, isn't he?"

"Not far out."

"And you haven't been home to see him?"

"I haven't got a home. I gave it up when--you know. I knew I should
never be there, and you can't leave a house and a young child to
servants. The little time that I did try to carry on by myself, I made