I came
here first my good partner and I had no place to live in for years but a
reed shanty, a butt and a ben, mither mine, with never a stick of
furniture in it, and neither a chair nor stool nor table worth the
name?'

'That is so, Miss M'Crimman,' said the partner, Mr. Jones. 'And I think my
dear friend Moncrieff will let the ladies see the sort of place we lived
in.'

'This way, then, ladies,' said the big Scot. He seized a huge naphtha lamp
as he spoke, and strode before them through the garden. Arrived at the end
of it they came to a strange little hut built apparently of mud and
straw.

With little ceremony he kicked open the rickety door, and made them enter.
Both aunt and Aileen did so, marvelling much to find themselves in a room
not ten feet wide, and neither round nor square. The roof was blackened
rafters and straw, the floor was hardened clay. A bed--a very rude
one--stood in one corner. It was supported by horses' bones; the table in
the centre was but a barrel lid raised on crossed bones.

'Won't you sit down, ladies?' said Moncrieff, smiling.

He pointed to a seat as he spoke. It was formed of horses' skulls.

Aunt smiled too, but immediately after looked suddenly serious, gathered
her dress round her with a little shudder, and backed towards the door.

'Come away,' she said; 'I've seen enough.'

What she had seen more particularly was an awful-looking crimson and grey
spider as big as a soft-shell crab. He was squatting on a bone in one
corner, glaring at her with his little evil eyes, and moving his
horizontal mandibles as if he would dearly like to eat her.

CHAPTER XIV.

LIFE ON AN ARGENTINE ESTANCIA.

I verily believe that Britons, whether English, Irish, or Scotch, are all
born to wander, and born colonists. There really seems to be something in
the very air of a new land, be it Australia, America, or the Silver West,
that brings all their very best and noblest qualities to the surface, and
oftentimes makes men--bold, hardy, persevering men--of individuals who,
had they stayed in this old cut-and-dry country, would never have been
anything better than louts or Johnnie Raws. I assure the reader that I
speak from long experience when I make these remarks, and on any Saturday
evening when I happen to be in London, and see poor young fellows coming
home to garrets, perhaps with their pittance in their pockets, I feel for
them from the very depths of my soul. And sometimes I sigh