From sun-up to sun-down on Tuesday, the train glided quietly forward on
its way towards the Never-Never; and from sun-up to sun-down the Maluka
and I experienced the kindly consideration that it always shows to
travellers: it boiled a billy for us at its furnace; loitered through the
pleasantest valleys; smiled indulgently, and slackened speed whenever we
made merry with blacks, by pelting them with chunks of water-melon; and
generally waited on us hand and foot, the Man-in-Charge pointing out the
beauty spots and places of interest, and making tea for us at frequent
intervals.

It was a delightful train--just a simple-hearted, chivalrous,
weather-beaten old bush-whacker, at the service of the entire Territory.
"There's nothing the least bit officious or standoffish about it," I was
saying, when the Man-in-Charge came in with the first billy of tea.

"Of course not!" he said, unhooking cups from various crooked-up fingers.
"It's a Territorian, you see."

"And had all the false veneer of civilisation peeled off long ago," the
Maluka said, adding, with a sly look at my discarded gloves and gossamer,
"It's wonderful how quietly the Territory does its work."

The Man-in-Charge smiled openly as he poured out the tea, proving thereby
his kinship with all other Territorians; and as the train came to a
standstill, swung off and slipped some letters into a box nailed to an
old tree-trunk.

At the far end of the train, away from the engine, the passengers' car
had been placed, and as in front of it a long, long line of low-stacked