These other purchasers were the bane of his existence, the one great sorrow which, as he said, broke his heart.
While he was speaking, a rough-looking lad, about sixteen years of age, came through the parlor to the veranda, dressed very much like his master, but unwashed, uncombed, and with that wild look which falls upon those who wander about the Australian plains, living a nomad life.

This was Jacko--so called, and no one knew him by any other name--a lad whom Heathcote had picked up about six months since, and who had become a favorite.

"The old woman says as you was wanting me ?" suggested Jacko.

"Going to be fine to-night, Jacko ?" Jacko went to the edge of the veranda and looked up to the sky.

"My word! little squall a-coming," he said.
"I wish it would come from ten thousand buckets," said the master.
"No buckets at all," said Jacko.