So far from that I gave him a shilling, and as the maids (who were greatly taken with his appearance) got up a collection for him and gave him a feed, he did not do badly.
A few days later, while out riding, I called at the station for an evening paper, and there he was again, "touching his guitar," and singing something that sounded very sentimental.
"That fellow is like a bad shilling," I said to one of the porters--"always turning up." "He is never away.

I think he must have taken it into his head to live here." "What does he do ?" "Oh, he just hangs about, and watches the trains, as if he had never seen any before.

I suppose there are none in the country he comes from.

Between whiles he sometimes plays on his banjo and sings a bit for us.

I cannot quite make him out; but as he is very quiet and well-behaved, and never interferes with nobody, it is no business of mine." Neither was it any business of mine; so after buying my paper I dismissed the subject from my mind and rode on to Kingscote.
As a rule, I found the morning papers quite as much as I could struggle with; but at this time a poisoning case was being tried which interested me so much that while it lasted I sent for or fetched an evening paper every afternoon.