ide of my life, Dad--my poor old Garryowen's absolutely
cowed, and has no tail left to speak of!" He ducked to avoid a cushion
from his sister. "It's a most disastrous experiment to keep Norah off a
horse for five weeks!"

"We won't repeat it," said her father, "not that Garryowen seemed to be
suffering from nervous prostration as he came up the paddock--or Monarch
either! Any letters?"

"One from Wally," Norah cried, "poor old boy. He says school is horrid
without Jim, and he's collar-proud, and they lost the match last
Saturday--he carried out his bat for thirty-seven, though!--and he misses
Billabong, and he sends his love and all sorts of messages to you, Dad.
I guess Brownie and I will fix up a hamper for him," concluded Norah,
pensively, weighing in her mind the attractions of plum or seed cake,
and deciding on both. "And mice pies," she added, aloud.

"What?" said her father, staring. "Oh, I see. Any other mail?"

"Oh, the usual pile for you, Dad. Agents' letters and bills and things.
Jim has them. We didn't bring the papers."

"I should think not!" returned her father. "If I catch either of you
carrying loose papers on those horses--well, one broken leg is enough in
a family of this size!"

"Too much respect for Monarch, to say nothing of my legs," said Jim,
laconically, producing a handful of letters. "There you are, Dad;
that's all. Do you want anything? I'm going down to the little paddock
for a lesson in bullock driving from Burton."

"How are you getting on in the art?" asked his father, smiling.

"Oh, slowly. My command of language doesn't seem to be sufficient, for
so far the team looks on me with mild scorn." Jim grinned. "It's
nervous work for Joe, too. I got him with the tail of the whip
yesterday, when I'd every intention of correcting old Ranger! However,
I plod on, and Joe keeps well out of the way now. He yells instructions
at me from some way back in the landscape!"

"Prudent man, Burton," laughed his father. "A good tutor, too. I don't
know that I ever saw a man handle bullocks better. Most people don't
credit bullocks with souls, but I think Joe gets nearer to finding that
attribute in his beasts than the average driver, and with less
expenditure of energy and eloquence! He's like the man we were reading
about, North:

"As to a team, over gully and hill,
He can travel with twelve on the breadth of a quill!"

"Oh, COULD he?" asked Jim, with much interest. "Well, the width of th