smouldering on a great open fireplace, and raking
the embers open the good woman put a toasting fork into Rumple's hands
and bade him toast scones for himself. He was invited to put the butter
on for himself also, and there was milk to drink in a big mug close
beside him. So the next half-hour passed pleasantly enough.

But when his hunger was satisfied Rumple began to worry about the others
and started for the cowyard once more in order to see if any news of the
wagon had arrived. Truth to tell, he was feeling very guilty because of
all the trouble he was giving, for he knew that Rupert and Nealie would
be very worried and anxious concerning him, and the journey would be
delayed also.

He had discovered that the woman who had found him lying in the road and
had brought him home was a Mrs. Warner, that her husband was away from
home that day on business, and that all the people moving about the
cowyard were the sons and daughters of the house, with the exception of
an old black fellow who had only one eye.

The milking was over and the cows had all been turned into the home
paddock for the night, but now a strange humming noise made itself heard
on the quiet air.

"Why, what is that?" asked Rumple as one of the young Warners passed
him, bowed under the weight of two heavy pails of sour milk for the
poultry.

"That is the separator. Do you want to see it at work?" asked the boy,
with a friendly grin. He was a few years older than Rumple and scorched
to a berry-brown by the sun.

"What is a separator?" demanded Rumple, whose knowledge of farming was
of a rather antiquated description, Beechleigh being about twenty years
behind the times.

"It is the thing that parts the cream from the milk. Go into the dairy
and have a look at it," said the youth, nodding his head in the
direction of a long, low shed that had been built into the side of the
hill, and which was so covered with creepers that it looked almost like
a part of the bank.

Away went Rumple, nothing loath. Something fresh always appealed to him,
and in this new land fresh things were meeting him at every turn.

Fascinated, he stood watching the machine, the cream pouring from one
spout and the milk from the other, while a rosy-faced Miss Warner turned
the handle, and another Miss Warner, with pale cheeks and quite a
stylish air, bustled about the dairy putting things straight for the
night.

"If you please, have you seen or heard anything of our wagon