The next station, Dunmore, was already quite famed for its pattern
homestead. I entered its hospitable doorway with a sense of comfort and
of the climax of possible squatting attainments such as had never been
approached before. "Campbell, McKnight, and Irvine," "brither Scots"
all, and all of them at home at the time, were of the best company,
classic or otherwise, alike to one another and to all visitors. Janet,
from the kitchen, too, sent us the best oatcakes and other Scotch fare.
I always fancy now that such cooks must be called Janet, from lively
remembrance of the savoury hotch-potch and sheeps' head of another Janet
at old Robert Sutherland's, at Egham.

Thence I reached "Burchetts', of the Emus," less finished, indeed, but
hardly less attractive. They were business clients of my pleasant old
friend Charles Barnes, whose name I gave as my pass, with, however, but
little need in those open-door days. This was a sheep station, as it was
a drier locality, the other stations having been more suited for cattle.
We sat joyously chatting in the bright midwinter sunshine. The air was
redolent of humour, for which the Burchetts had a name. One of them was
rather deaf--indeed very deaf, but when he did pick up the current
subject, he seldom failed to contribute good sauce. With regret I
remounted next morning, for with business finished in this direction, I
was resolved to push on to the Glenelg, as I wished to see through
Victoria westwards while I had the opportunity. So I turned my steed
north for the Wannon.

I struck a little southern tributary of that pretty grass-banked river,
and saw a noteworthy as well as a quite Australian sight. Some recent
slight rains had just set the tiny creek in motion, and it was now in
the act of filling up a previously quite dry waterhole. I watched the