rod sticking out from
the other side of the stump; and while I watched it was dropped into the
water. Then I heard a murmur, and craned my neck round the back of
the stump to see who it was. I saw the back view of Jack Drew and
Miss Wilson; he had his arm round her waist, and her head was on his
shoulder. She said, 'I WILL trust you, Jack--I know you'll give up the
drink for my sake. And I'll help you, and we'll be so happy!' or words
in that direction. A thunderstorm was coming on. The sky had darkened
up with a great blue-black storm-cloud rushing over, and they hadn't
noticed it. I didn't mind, and the fish bit best in a storm. But just
as she said 'happy' came a blinding flash and a crash that shook the
ridges, and the first drops came peltering down. They jumped up and
climbed the bank, while I perched on the she-oak roots over the water to
be out of sight as they passed. Half way to the town I saw them standing
in the shelter of an old stone chimney that stood alone. He had his
overcoat round her and was sheltering her from the wind...."

"Smoke-oh, Joe. The tea's stewing."

Mitchell got up, stretched himself, and brought the billy and pint-pots
to the head of my camp. The moon had grown misty. The plain horizon
had closed in. A couple of boughs, hanging from the gnarled and blasted
timber over the billabong, were the perfect shapes of two men hanging
side by side. Mitchell scratched the back of his neck and looked down at
the pup curled like a glob of mud on the sand in the moonlight, and an
idea struck him. He got a big old felt hat he had, lifted his pup, nose
to tail, fitted it in the hat, shook it down, holding the hat by the
brim, and stood the hat near the head of his doss, out of the moonlight.
"He might get moonstruck," said Mitchell, "and I don't want that pup
to be a genius." The pup seemed perfectly satisfied with this new
arrangement.

"Have a smoke," said Mitchell. "You see," he added, with a sly grin,
"I've got to make up the yarn as I go along, and it's hard work. It
seems to begin to remind me of yarns your grandmother or aunt tells of
things that happened when she was a girl--but those yarns are true. You
won't have to listen long now; I'm well on into the second volume.

"After the storm I hurried home to the tent--I was batching with a
carpenter. I changed my clothes, made a fire in the fire-bucket with
shavings and ends of soft wood, boiled the billy, and had a cup of
coffee. It was Satur