appiness to her all the hot, long days that followed; to a
girl just entering life there can be no purer, deeper feeling of
pleasure than that brought by the knowledge that she is influencing
for good some man or woman older than herself, more sin-worn and
earth-wearied. Poor little Meg! Her tender rose dreams had
pictured her big _protege_ a man among men again, holding up his
head once more, taking his place in the world, going back to the
old country, and claiming the noble lady her fertile imagination
had pictured; waiting so patiently for him; and all this because
she, Meg Woolcot, had stepped into his life and pointed the way
he should go.

And then she went to swing in a hammock on the back veranda,
and all her castles came tumbling about her ears, dealing her sharp,
bitter blows. There was a thick creeper of passion-fruit vines
behind her, and through it she could hear Tettawonga talking to
the cook.

"Marse Gillet on the burst agen," he said, and chuckled through
the side of his lips where his pipe did not rest.

Meg sat up in horror. Since she had been at Yarrahappini she had
heard the phrase applied to too many of the station hands: not to
know that it meant a reckless drinking bout.

"Lor'! I'M not surprised," the woman said, "he's been too sober late
days to keep it up; s'pose he's been trying to last the visitors out,
but found it too much. Who's got the keys?"

"Mis' Hassal," he said, "you to helpin' her--ba`al good for
stores to-day, Marse Gillet--he, he, ha, ha!"

So that was what had happened to him all these three days she had
not seen him! She had heard he had ridden over to the next station on
business for Mr. Hassal, but had not dreamed such 'a thing had
overtaken him. The fifth day she had seen him in the distance, once
coming out of the storeroom and looking exactly like himself, only
his shoulders stooped a little more, and once smoking outside his own
door.

The sixth day was the picnic.

Just as light-hearted and merry as the others she could not feel,
with this disappointment at her heart, this shaken trust in human
nature.

How weak he was, she thought, how ignoble!

All her pity was swept away in a young, large indignation.

She had hardly shaken hands when they had met in the morning,
and all the long drive she was persistently cold towards him.

After lunch the party became scattered. Judy took the General and
went over to the belt of trees; Pip and Bunty occupie