shine,
solitude, and space. Think of the peacefulness of that sun-washed bay.
Nothing nearer than fifteen miles away, and that a mere hamlet,
probably. Werrina--not a bad name, Nick--Werrina. Aboriginal origin, I
imagine. And all that for the mere taking; open to the poorest--even
to us. You liked the _Ariadne_, Nick. What would you think of a ship
of our own?'

Assuredly, we were the strangest pair of emigrants....

II

Naturally, my father's suggestion, thrown out as it were in jest,
whimsically, fired my fancy instantly. 'How glorious!' I said. 'But
can we, really, father?'

It was less than a week later that we walked out of Werrina's one
street into the bush to the westward of that township, accompanied by
Ted Reilly and a heavily-laden pack-horse--Jerry. Ted was one of
Werrina's oddities, and, in many respects, our salvation. The Werrina
storekeeper shook his grizzled head over Ted, and vowed there wasn't
an honest day's work in the man.

'What's the matter with Ted is he's got no Systum; never had since he
was a babby.' (My thoughts reverted at once to a highly coloured
anatomical diagram which hung in the cabin of the _Ariadne's_ captain:
the flayed figure of a man whose face wore the incredibly complacent
look one sees on the waxen features of tailors' dummies, though the
poor fellow's heart, liver, kidneys, and other internal paraphernalia
were shamelessly exposed to the public gaze. The storekeeper's
tone convinced me for the time that poor Ted had been born lacking
some one or other of the important-looking purple organs which the
diagram had shown me as belonging to the human system.) 'He's a
here-to-day-and-gone-to-morrow, come-day-go-day-God-send-Sunday sort of a
customer, is Ted--my oath! Wanter Systum. That's what I'm always telling
'em in this place. It's wanter Systum that's the curse uv Australia; an'
Ted's got it worsen most. Don't I know it? I gave him a chanst here in
my store. Might ha' made a Persition frimself. But, no; no Systum at
all. He was off in a fortnight, trappin' dingoes in the bush, or some
such nonsense. He's for no more use than--than a bumble bee, isn't Ted
Reilly; nor never will be.'

Well, he was of a good deal of practical use to us, the storekeeper
notwithstanding; but I admit that there was a notable absence of
'Systum' about the man. He was singularly unmethodical and haphazard,
even as his kind go in the remoter parts of Australia. He made our
acquaintance very