casually by asking my father for a match, almost
before we had descended from the coach outside the Royal Hotel,
Werrina. (There was nothing royal, or even comfortable, about this
weatherboard and iron inn, except its name.) And, oddly enough, my
father fell into conversation with him, and seemed rather to take to
the man forthwith.

I know it was by his advice, as kindly meant, I am sure, as it was
shrewd, that my father said nothing to any one else in the township of
his fantastic ideas regarding what we now knew to be the derelict
Italian barque, _Livorno_, of Genoa. It was given out that we were
going camping, between Werrina and the coast; and, no doubt my father
was credited by the local wiseacres with the possession of some crafty
prospecting scheme or another. Most of the folk thereabouts had been
always wont to look to the bush (chiefly for timber) as a source of
livelihood, but their attention was usually turned inland rather than
seaward; for the bulk of the country between Werrina and the sea is
poor and swampy, or sandy. The belt of timber we had seen behind our
derelict's bay was not extensive.

It was Ted who bought Jerry for us for the modest price of L3, 15s.;
and I make no doubt that serviceable beast would have cost my father
L7 if he had had 'the haggling of it.' Pack-saddle and tent, with a
number of other oddments, had come with us from across the Queensland
border; first, by rail, and thence by numerous devious coach routes to
Werrina. The only thing about our expedition which I think Ted really
mistrusted and disliked was the fact that we set forth on foot. He
told my father of horses he could buy, if not for three a penny,
certainly at the rate of two for a five-pound note. (Animals no
better, or very little better, are selling for L20 apiece in the same
country to-day.) But my father spoke of the cost of saddlery and the
like. He had been brought up in a land where horse-keeping means
considerable expense, and the need for husbanding his slender
resources was strongly foremost in his mind just now. But Ted had all
his life long thought of horses as a natural and necessary adjunct to
man's locomotion. I have seen him devote considerable time and energy
to the task of catching Jerry in order to ride across a couple of
hundred yards of sand to his favourite wood-cutting spot. To be poor,
that is, short of money, was a natural and customary thing enough in
Ted's eyes; but to go ajourneying as a