d by an invitation that evening to dine at the
Home, and came down in his best dark suit and his most genial mood.

Bridget sang. She had not been singing much lately. Colin's gloom over
the evil prospects of squatting on the Leura re-acted upon her spirits.
And besides, the piano had been attacked by white ants, and the tuner
had not been so far up the river for a long time. It was inspiring to
learn that Maule added to his gifts that of getting a piano into tune.
Ninnis promised to rummage among the tools for a key that would serve.

Ninnis had never admired Lady Bridget so much as he did this evening.
Certainly he thought her more flighty and incomprehensible than ever,
but he could not deny her fascination. It seemed quite natural to him
that she should be in high spirits at seeing an old friend from
England, who appeared to know all her people. Ninnis had taken
immensely to Maule. Beside Maule knew parts of the world where Ninnis
had been. It was curious to see the American-isms crop out. Ninnis
considered Maule a person of parts and of practical experience. He said
to himself that the Boss had done wisely in leaving Maule at the
head-station while they were short-handed. Maule showed great interest
in Bush matters--said he wanted to learn all he could about the
management of cattle--thought it not improbable that he might invest
money in Leichardt's Land. Ninnis agreed to show him round, and Maule
begged that he might be made useful--even offered to take a turn with
the tailing-mob, so that Moongarr Bill and the other stockmen might be
free to muster more cattle.

Nothing was heard of the Blacks during the next day or two, but one
morning Ninnis discovered that an old gun, which the station hands and
the black-boys were allowed to use on Sundays for shooting game in the
lagoon, had disappeared in the night. Circumstantial evidence pointed
to Wombo as the thief. Cudgee owned to having seen him skulking among
the Gully rocks. A deserted gunya was found near a lonely, half-dry
waterhole in the scrub, and there were rumours of a tribe of wild
blacks having passed towards the outlying country in the Breeza Downs
direction.

No news came, however, of either racial or labour warfare. McKeith sent
not a word of his doings, and Harry the Blower was not due yet on his
postal, fortnightly round.

McKeith had been gone a week, and the time of his absence seemed like
that sinister lull which comes after the sudden shock o