The young man who had just returned home had on a flannel shirt, a
pair of mole-skin trowsers, and an old straw hat, battered nearly out
of all shape. He had no coat, no waistcoat, no braces, and nothing
round his neck. Round his waist there was a strap or belt, from the
front of which hung a small pouch, and, behind, a knife in a case.
And stuck into a loop in the belt, made for the purpose, there was a
small brier-wood pipe. As he dashed his hat off, wiped his brow, and
threw himself into a rocking-chair, he certainly was rough to look
at, but by all who understood Australian life he would have been
taken to be a gentleman. He was a young squatter, well known west of
the Mary River, in Queensland. Harry Heathcote of Gangoil, who owned
30,000 sheep of his own, was a magistrate in those parts, and able to
hold his own among his neighbors, whether rough or gentle; and some
neighbors he had, very rough, who made it almost necessary that a man
should be able to be rough also, on occasions, if he desired to live
among them without injury. Heathcote of Gangoil could do all that.
Men said of him that he was too imperious, too masterful, too much
inclined to think that all things should be made to go as he would
have them. Young as he was, he had been altogether his own master
since he was of age--and not only his own master, but the master also
of all with whom he was brought into contact from day to day. In his
life he conversed but seldom with any but those who were dependent on
him, nor had he done so for the last three years. At an age at which
young men at home are still subject to pastors and masters, he had
sprung at once into patriarchal power, and, being a man determined to
thrive, had become laborious and thoughtful beyond his years.

Harry Heathcote had been left an orphan, with a small fortune in
money, when he was fourteen. For two years after that he had
consented to remain quietly at school, but at sixteen he declared his