th a husky throat.

"Good-bye--Good-bye!" said his wife, with tears in her eyes, while
Sybil had only strength to wave her arm to the fast disappearing figure
of Claud as he drove with his friends to the railway station twenty
miles beyond.

"You're queer lookin', Claud," said Sandy, as they went down the road.

"Shut up!" interjected Bill, who, like all Bushmen, had a true respect
for the sentiment inspired by the dangers of war. However, the sadness
of parting was soon forgotten. They were, also, cheered to see, coming
over the plains, little groups of cookies, shearers and others, bent on
their own errand.

"Sakes alive! where's all you mad fellows goin'?" inquired the wizened
old stationmaster.

"Berlin," said Bill.

"Ach sure, stationmaster, we're goin' to kiss the little darlints in
the Sultan's harem."

"Well, hurry up, boys; the train's ready."

With a wild whoop fifty of them dashed for tickets, some "tucker," and
a bottle or two of Scotch. Into the train they jumped, and in a jiffy
were rolling over the line to Sydney. Song and story helped to cheer
the long and somewhat tiring journey. During a sort of lull in the
proceedings Claud looked up and said: "Here, Bill, can't you recite us
some of that impromptu sort of doggerel that you get into the Sydney
weeklies now and then."

"Well--yes," said Bill, rising and clearing his throat.

"Order, order! ye sheep-eatin' blackguards," shouted Paddy, hitting a
table with his riding-whip. The gathering ceased their chatter, and
Bill rhymed out:

"We're the Kangaroo Marines,
We're not Lager-fed machines,
But Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains.
We can ride, and we can cook,
Ay, in shooting know our book,
We're out to wipe off Kaiser Billy's stains.

"We're not trim--and not polite,
And, perchance, get on the skite--
We're Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains.
Yet though we can't salute,
We can bayonet and can boot
The wily, wily Turk from our domains.

"So when we ride away,
Off hats and shout 'Hooray'
For Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains.
And, parsons, say your prayers
That we may pass "Upstairs"
Should a nasty little bullet hit our veins.

"Now, boys, stand up and sing
God save our good old King,
And Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains."

"Good, Bill, good!" shouted Claud, gripping the rough rhymster by the
hand.

"Hear, hear!" shouted the crowd.

"