is own. It pleased us
also for mercenary reasons. "It's just the same with my old woman,"
or "It's just the same with my youngsters," Peter would exclaim
boisterously, for he looked upon any little similarity between the two
families as a remarkable coincidence. He liked us all, and was always
very kind to us, often standing between our backs and the rod that
spoils the child--that is, I mean, if it isn't used. I was very
short-tempered, but this failing was more than condoned by the fact that
Peter's "eldest" was given that way also. Mother's second son was very
good-natured; so was Peter's third. Her "third" had a great aversion
for any duty that threatened to increase his muscles; so had Peter's
"second". Our baby was very fat and heavy and was given to sucking her
own thumb vigorously, and, according to the latest bulletins from home,
it was just the same with Peter's "last".

I think we knew more about Peter's family than we did about our own.
Although we had never seen them, we were as familiar with their features
as the photographer's art could make us, and always knew their domestic
history up to the date of the last mail.

We became interested in the McKenzie family. Instead of getting bored by
them as some people were, we were always as much pleased when Peter got
a letter from home as he was himself, and if a mail were missed, which
seldom happened--we almost shared his disappointment and anxiety. Should
one of the youngsters be ill, we would be quite uneasy, on Peter's
account, until the arrival of a later bulletin removed his anxiety, and
ours.

It must have been the glorious power of a big true heart that gained for
Peter the goodwill and sympathy of all who knew him.

Peter's smile had a peculiar fascination for us children. We would
stand by his pointing forge when he'd be sharpening picks in the early
morning, and watch his face for five minutes at a time, wondering
sometimes whether he was always SMILING INSIDE, or whether the smile
went on externally irrespective of any variation in Peter's condition of
mind.

I think it was the latter case, for often when he had received bad news
from home we have heard his voice quaver with anxiety, while the old
smile played on his round, brown features just the same.

Little Nelse (one of those queer old-man children who seem to come into
the world by mistake, and who seldom stay long) used to say that Peter
"cried inside".

Once, on Gulgong, when he atte