shoved forward by the flat woman, she thanked us sweetly, and said we
were good fellows, and that she was sorry for some things she'd said
to us. Then she retired, fluttering and very much flushed, and hid
herself behind the hard woman--who, by the way, had an excrescence on
her upper lip which might have stood for a rivet.

Presently the Pretty Girl came from behind the big woman and stood
watching things with glistening eyes. Some of the chaps on the
opposite side of the ring moved a little to one side and all were
careful not to meet her eye--not to be caught looking at her--lest she
should be embarrassed. Watty had roused himself a little at the sound
of a strange voice in the Army (and such a clear, sweet voice too!)
and had a look; then he settled back peacefully again, but it was
noticed that he didn't snore that evening.

And when the Army prayed, the Pretty Girl knelt down with the rest on
the gravel. One or two tall bushmen bowed their heads as if they had
to, and One-eyed Bogan, with the blood washed from his face, stood
with his hat off, glaring round to see if he could catch anyone
sniggering.

Mitchell, the shearer, said afterwards that the whole business made
him feel for the moment like he felt sometimes in the days when he
used to feel things.

The town discussed the Pretty Girl in the Army that night and for many
days thereafter, but no one could find out who she was or where she
belonged to--except that she came from Sydney last. She kept her
secret, if she had one, very close--or else the other S.-A. women
were not to be pumped. She lived in skillion-rooms at the back of the