'But I'll tell you what I think of your splendid pluck when we're quit of these beastly townships, and have gone straight into Nature.

Now, I've got to go and see after the buggy and find my boys, and I shall have all my work cut out to be ready in an hour.

You just make the best of things, and if the bedroom is impossible spread out my poncho and take a rest on that sofa there, and don't be frightened if you hear any rowdiness going on.' The bedroom was impossible, and the sofa seemed equally so.

Bridget drank the coarse bush tea which the landlady brought in, and was glad that the woman seemed too sulky to want to talk.

Then she sat down at the window and watched the life of the township--the diggers slouching in for drinks, the riders from the bush who hung up their horses and went into the bar, the teams of bullocks coming slowly down the road and drawing up here or at some other of the nineteen public houses 'to wet the wool,' in bush vernacular.