h horses, and I couldn't even keep the station books; the owner said
my education had been sadly neglected (one for Rugby, that was!) when he
was up here the other day. It's only through Mr. Rigden's good-nature
that I'm hanging on, and because--I--can't--tear myself away."

"And what do you think of doing eventually?"

"Oh, I don't know. I shall go home again, I suppose; I only came out for
the voyage. After that, goodness knows; I was no real use at school
either."

Insensibly the rocking-chair canter of the bush horses had lapsed into
the equally easy amble which is well-nigh their one alternative; and the
shadows were shortening, and the back of the neck and the ears were
beginning to burn. The jackeroo was sweeping the horizon for pure
inexplicable delight in its dirty greens and yellows; but had quite
forgotten that he ought already to have been scouring it for sheep.

"And so the boss is good-natured, is he?" said Moya, she could not have
told herself why; for she would not have admitted that it could afford
her any further satisfaction to hear his praises.

"Good-natured?" cried the jackeroo. "He's all that and much more;
there's not a grander or a straighter chap in Riverina, and we all swear
by him; but--well, he is the boss, and let's you know it."

A masterful man; and Moya had wanted her master all these years! She
asked no more questions, and they rode a space in silence, Ives glancing
sidelong in his turn, and in his heart congratulating Rigden more and
more.

"By Jove," he cried at last, "I think I shall have to get you to use
your influence on my behalf!"

"For what?" asked Moya, wincing again.

"Another chance! They mustn't give me the sack just yet--I must be here
when you come. It's the one thing we need--a lady. It's the one thing
_he_ needs to make him as nearly perfect as it's comfortable for other
people for a man to be. And I simply must be here to see."

"Let's canter," said Moya. The blood came rushing to his face.

"I apologise," he cried. "It was horrid cheek of me, I know!"

Moya's reassuring smile was all kindly, and not all forced; indeed, the
tears were very close to the surface, and she could not trust herself to
say much.

"Not cheek at all," was what she did say, with vigour. "Only--you'll
change your mind."

With that her eyes glistened for an instant; and young Ives loved her
himself. But neither of them was sorry when another gate grew large
above the horses' ears,