"You shall see the identical hut," Mr Pennycuick kindly promised. "Down
by the creek, where those big willows are--I planted them myself. Not
good enough for a dog-kennel, my daughters say; but the best thing I
can wish for them is that they may be as happy in their good
houses as I was in that old shanty--aye, in spite of many a hard time
I had there, with blacks and what not. We cut the stuff, Billy and I,
and set the whole thing up; and all our furniture was our
sleeping-bunks and a few stools and a table. We washed in a tin bowl on
a block outside the door. Not so particular about tubbing and clean
shirts in those days. Our windows were holes of a handy size for gun
barrels, and the shutters we put up o' nights were squares of bark hung
on to nails by strips of green hide. Many's the time I've woke to see
one of 'em tilted up, and a pair of eyes looking in--sometimes
friends, sometimes foes; we were ready for either. When Billy went, and
I thought I'd get married too, then I built a better house--brick this
time, and workmen from Melbourne to do it; that's it over there, now
the kitchens and store-rooms--and imported furniture--er--I am not
boring you, I hope?"

"Oh, dear, no! I am deeply interested."

"Well, Billy and I"--the tale seemed interminable--"Billy and I, we
gave sixty pounds apiece for our stock horses, and the same for a ton
of flour; and went right over Ballarat without knowing it. Camped
there, sir, and didn't see the gold we must actually have crunched
under our boot heels. And Billy had misfortunes, and died poor as a
rat. It was in the family. Mrs D. was all right, though. She used to
send a brother of hers to Melbourne market with her cattle, and cash
being scarce, he would sometimes have to take land deeds for them, and
she'd be wild with him for it. But what was the consequence? Those bits