All this time F---- and I were seated amicably side by side on poor Salter's red blanket-covered "bunk," or wooden bedstead, made of empty flour-sacks nailed between rough poles, and other sacks filled with tussock grass for a mattress and pillow.
The word loneliness gave me a good opening to broach the subject of our Sunday gatherings, and my suspicions of Jim's having been told of our visit were confirmed by the alacrity with which he said, "I have much pleasure in accepting your kind invitation, mum, if so be as I am not intruding." "No, indeed Salter," F---- said; "you'd be very welcome, and you could always turn Judy into the paddock whilst we were having service." Now if there was one thing dearer to Salter's heart than another, it was his little roan mare Judy: her excellent condition, and jaunty little hog-mane and tail, testified to her master's loving care.

So it was all happily settled, and after paying a most unfashionably long visit to the lonely man, we rode away with many a farewell nod and smile.

I may say here that Salter was one of the most regular of our congregation for more than two years, besides being a member of the book club.

In time, its more sensible volumes utterly displaced the yellow paper rubbish in his but library, and I never can forget the poor man's emotion when he came to bid me good-bye.
At my request he made the rough little pen and ink sketches which are here given, and as he held my offered hand (not knowing quite what else to do with it) when I took leave of him after our last home-service, when my face was set towards England, he could not say a word.

The great burly creature's heart must have been nearly as big as his body, and he seemed hardly to know that large tears were rolling down his sunburnt face and losing themselves in his bushy beard.