consigned to the cattle station, where he is Vivian's head man, finding
time now and then to indulge his old poaching propensities at the
expense of parrots, black cockatoos, pigeons, and kangaroos. The
shepherd remains with us, and does not seem, honest fellow, to care to
better himself; he has a feeling of clanship which keeps down the
ambition common in Australia. And his wife--such a treasure! I assure
you, the sight of her smooth, smiling woman's face when we return home
at nightfall, and the very flow of her gown as she turns the "dampers"
(1) in the ashes and fills the teapot, have in them something holy and
angelical. How lucky our Cumberland swain is not jealous! Not that
there is any cause, enviable dog though he be; but where Desdemonas are
so scarce, if you could but guess how green-eyed their Othellos
generally are! Excellent husbands, it is true,--none better; but you
had better think twice before you attempt to play the Cassio in
Bushland! There, however, she is, dear creature!--rattling among knives
and forks, smoothing the table-cloth, setting on the salt beef, and that
rare luxury of pickles (the last pot in our store), and the produce of
our garden and poultry-yard, which few Bushmen can boast of, and the
dampers, and a pot of tea to each banqueter,--no wine, beer, nor
spirits; those are only for shearing-time. We have just said grace (a
fashion retained from the holy mother-country), when, bless my soul!
what a clatter without, what a tramping of feet, what a barking of dogs!
Some guests have arrived. They are always welcome in Bushland! Perhaps
a cattle-buyer in search of Vivian; perhaps that cursed squatter whose
sheep are always migrating to ours. Never mind,--a hearty welcome to
all, friend or foe. The door opens; one, two, three strangers. More
plates and knives; draw your stools: just in time. First eat, then--
what news?

Just as the strangers sit down a voice is heard at the door,--