and was just beginning to think about "puttin' in a few vines an'
fruit-trees" when the government surveyors--whom he'd forgotten all
about--had a resurrection and came and surveyed, and found that the
real selection was located amongst some barren ridges across the
creek. Tom reckoned it was lucky he didn't plant the orchard, and he
set about shifting his home and fences to the new site. But the
squatter interfered at this point, entered into possession of the farm
and all on it, and took action against the selector for
trespass--laying the damages at L2500.

Tom was admitted to the lunatic asylum at Parramatta next year, and
the squatter was sent there the following summer, having been ruined
by the drought, the rabbits, the banks, and a wool-ring. The two
became very friendly, and had many a sociable argument about the
feasibility--or otherwise--of blowing open the flood-gates of Heaven
in a dry season with dynamite.

Tom was discharged a few years since. He knocks about certain suburbs
a good deal. He is seen in daylight seldom, and at night mostly in
connection with a dray and a lantern. He says his one great regret is
that he wasn't found to be of unsound mind before he went up-country.



ENTER MITCHELL


The Western train had just arrived at Redfern railway station with a
lot of ordinary passengers and one swagman.