CHAPTER IV



Behold him at Redford, with his tea-cup in his hand. He was safe now
from talk about the baby; but he was also cut off from the lovely
Deborah, now wandering about her extensive grounds with another young
man. Old Father Pennycuick had him fast. They sat together under a
verandah of the great house.

"There were no pilots then," said the old man, puffing comfortably at
his pipe--"there were no pilots then, and we had to feel our way along
with the cast 'o the lead. We got ashore at Williamstown, on sailors'
backs, and walked to Melbourne. Crossed the Yarra on a punt, not far
from where Prince's Bridge now is--"

"Yes," said Guthrie Carey.

He seemed to be listening attentively, his strong, square face set like
a mask; but his eyes roamed here and there.

"Bread two-and-six the small loaf," Mr Pennycuick dribbled into his
dreaming ears. "Eggs sixpence apiece. Cheap enough, too, compared with
the gold prices. But gold was not thought of for ten years after that.
I tell you, sir, those were the times--before the gold brought all the
riff-raff in."

The sailor murmured something to the effect that he supposed they were.