e old Reid that Abel hadn't tried to prove
that Ryan's bull had never been in Reid's paddock at all.

Well, it was Christmas Day, and the Carey family and Aunt Emma sat down
to dinner. Jim was present, having arrived overnight, with no money,
as usual, and suffering a recovery. The elder brother, Bob (who had a
selection up-country), and his wife were there. Mrs Carey moved round
with watchful eyes and jealous ears, lest there should be a word or
a look which might hurt the feelings of her wild son--for of such are
mothers.

Dinner went on very moodily, in spite of Aunt Emma, until at last Jim
spoke--almost for the first time, save for a long-whispered and, on his
part, repentant conversation with his mother.

"Look here, Mary!" said Jim. "What did you throw Harry Dale over for?"

"Don't ask me, Jim."

"Rot! What did he do to you? I'm your brother" (with a glance at Bob),
"and I ought to know."

"Well, then, ask Bertha Buckolt. She saw him last."

"What!" cried Jim.

"Hold your tongue, Jim! You'll make her cry," said Aunt Emma.

"Well, what's it all about, anyway?" demanded Jim. "All I know is that
Mary wrote to Harry and threw him over, and he ain't been the same man
since. He swears he'll never come near the district again."

"Tell Jim, Aunt Emma," said Mary. And Aunt Emma started to tell the
story as far as she knew.

"Saw her at Buckolt's sliprails!" cried Jim, starting up. "Well, he
couldn't have had time to more than say good-bye to her, for I was
with her there myself, and Harry caught up to me within a mile of the
gate--and I rode pretty fast."

"He had a jolly long good-bye with her," shouted Uncle Abel. "Look here,
Jim! I ain't goin' to stand by and see a nephew of mine bungfoodled by
no girl; an', I tell you I seen 'em huggin' and kissin' and canoodlin'
for half an hour at Buckolts' Gate!"

"It's a--a-- Look here, Uncle Abel, be careful what you say. You've
got the bull by the tail again, that's what it is!" Jim's face grew
whiter--and it had been white enough on account of the drink. "How did
you know it was them? You're always mistaking people. It might have been
someone else."

"I know Harry Dale on horseback two miles off!" roared Uncle Abel. "And
I knowed her by her cape."

It was Mary's turn to gasp and stare at Uncle Abel.

"Uncle Abel," she managed to say, "Uncle Abel! Wasn't it at our Lower
Sliprails you saw them and not Buckolts' Gate?"

"Well!" bellowed Uncle Abel. "You mi