Lady Bridget O'Hara's soul warmed to that stockman and to his steed.
He was looking at the windows of the bar-parlour.

As soon as he saw the lady, the cabbage tree hat was raised in a flourish, the horse was reined in, the man off his saddle and the bridle hitched to a post.
Now the stockman stepped on to the veranda.
'Mrs McKeith--or is it Lady McKeith I should say--I haven't got the hang of the name if you'll pardon me--Mr McKeith sent me on to say that he'll be here with the buggy in a minute or two....

I'm Moongarr Bill....

Glad to welcome you up the Leura, ma'am, though I expect things seem a bit rough to you straight out from England and not knowing the Bush.' Lady Bridget won Moongarr Bill's good favour instantly by the look in her eyes and the smile with which she answered him.
'I'm from Ireland, Moongarr Bill, and if we Irish know anything we know a good horse, and that's a beauty you're riding.' 'Out of a Pitsford mare by a Royallieu colt, and there's not a finer breed in the Never-Never.

My word! you've struck it there, ma'am, and no mistake,' responded the stockman enthusiastically.