too little
let us agree for L160--it does not mean that you will be
anything else to me but the daughter of your dear mother.
Now I must tell you that Minerva Downs is a difficult place
to reach, and that you will have to ride all the way from
Townsville--250 miles--but that will be nothing to an
Australian-born girl 'wid Oirish blood in her.' When you get
to Townsville call on Mr. Mallard, the editor of the
_Champion_, who is a friend of ours (I've written him), and
he will 'pass' you on to another friend of ours, a Mr.
Grainger, who lives at a mining town called Chinkie's Flat,
ninety miles from here, and Mr. Grainger (don't lose your
heart to him, and defraud my children of their governess)
will 'pass' you on with the mailman for Minerva Downs. The
enclosed will perhaps be useful (it is half a year's salary
you advance), and my husband and _all_ my large and furious
family of rough boys and rougher girls will be delighted to
see you.

"Very sincerely yours, my dear Sheila,

"Noba Fabbow."

With the letter was enclosed a cheque for L50 on a Sydney bank.

As the girl descended Melton Hill into hot, dusty, and noisy Flinders
Street, she smiled to herself as she thought how very much she had
stimulated the curiosity of Mrs. Trappeme--to whom she had, almost
unconsciously, taken an instinctive dislike.

As she entered the crowded vestibule of the Royal Hotel, a group of
men--diggers, sugar planters, storekeepers, bankers, ship captains, and
policemen, who were all laughing hilariously at some story which was
being told by one of their number--at once made a lane for her
to approach the office, for ladies--especially young and pretty
ladies--were few in comparison to the men in North Queensland in those
days, and a murmured whisper of admiration was quite audible to her as
she made her inquiry of the clerk.

"No; Mr. Mallard is with Mr. and, Miss Grainger at the 'Queen's.' He
left here a few minutes ago."

"May I show you the way, miss?" said a huge bearded man, who, booted and
spurred, took off his hat to her in an awkward manner. "I'm Dick Scott,
one of Mr. Grainger's men."

"Thank you," replied Sheila, "it is very kind of you," and, escorted by
the burly digger, she went out into the street again.

"Are you Miss Caroline, ma'am?" said her guide to her respectfully, as
he tried to shorten his lengthy strides.

"Y