remarkably hungry, and distinguished himself greatly with his knife
and fork.

Afterwards it was necessary to try the bay's paces without delay, and
they all watched Jim take him round the home paddock. Garryowen moved
beautifully; and when Jim finally put him at the highest part of the
old log fence, and brought him back again, he flew it with a foot to
spare. The boy's face was aglow as he rode up.

"Well, he's perfect!" he said. "I never was on such a horse." He came
close to his father. "Dad," he said in a low tone--"are you sure you
wouldn't like him instead of Monarch? He's far more finished."

"Not for anything, thanks, old chap--I prefer my pupil," said his
father, his look answering more than his words. "You see he never bucks
with me, Jim!"

Jim laughed, dismounting. "Like to try him, Cecil?"

"Thanks," said Cecil, scrambling up and setting off down the paddock,
while Jim watched him and writhed to think of possible damage to his
horse's back and mouth. Billy, who was near, said reflectively, "Plenty
bump!" and Murty O'Toole roundly rebuked Jim for "puttin' up an insult
like that on a good horse!" They breathed more freely when Cecil came
back, albeit the way in which he sawed at the bay's mouth was
calculated to strike woe to the heart of any owner. Then Wally tried
Garryowen, and finally Norah, having flown to the house for a riding
skirt, had a ride also, and sailed over the log fence in a manner fully
equal to Jim's. She came back charged with high compliment.

"He's nearly as good as Bobs, Jim!"

"Bobs!" said Jim, loftily. "We don't compare ponies with horses, my
child!"

"Then he's not to be compared with Bobs!" Norah retorted sturdily, and,
the laugh being on her side, retired quickly to dress for dinner.

Dinner was typical of Billabong, and an Australian Christmas--one with
the thermometer striving to reach the hundred mark. Everything was
cold, from the mammoth turkey, with which Mr. Linton wrestled, to the
iced peaches that topped off what the boys declared "a corking feed."
There was plum pudding, certainly, but it was cold, too. Wally found in
his piece no fewer than four buttons; and, deeply aggrieved, went
afterwards to remonstrate with Mrs. Brown, who was amazed, declaring
she had put in but one, which to her certain knowledge had fallen to
the unhappy lot of Sarah. Further inquiries revealed the fact that Jim
had come to the table well supplied with buttons, with which he had
contri