l, Jeff, but it's easier said than done. Do you hear
that? There are cattle down the gully!"

There was some noise in the air beside the evening rustle of the south
wind among the tree-tops. Now it sounded like a far-off hubbub of
waters, now swelled up harmonious, like the booming of cathedral bells
across some rich old English valley on a still summer's afternoon.

"I'll tell you what I think it is, old Jeff; it's some new chums going
to cross the watershed, and look for new country to the south. Let us go
down to meet them; they will come down by the river yonder."

All doubt about what the newcomers were was solved before we reached the
river; so we sat and watched the scene so venerable and ancient--the
patriarchs moving into the desert, to find new pasture-ground.

First came the cattle lowing loudly, then horsemen, six or seven in
number, and last, four drays came crawling up the pass.

Suddenly James dashed forward with a shout, and when I came up with him,
wondering, I found myself shaking hands, talking and laughing, with
Major Buckley and Tom Troubridge.

They told us all the news as we rode with them to the drays, where sat
Mrs. Buckley,--a noble, happy matron, laughing at her son, as he toddled
about busy gathering sticks for the fire. Beside her sat Mary, looking
sad and worn, with her child on her lap, and poor old Miss Thornton,
glancing uneasily round.

Mary sprang up, burst into hysterical weeping. I saw how his big heart
yearned to comfort his old sweetheart in her distress, as he took the
child of his rival to his bosom.

"Is nobody going to notice me or my boy, I wonder?" said Mrs. Buckley.
"Come here immediately, Mr. Stockbridge, before we quarrel."

Soon we were all restored to our equanimity, and laying plans for future
meetings.

Next morning, with many hearty farewells, and having promised to spend
Christmastide with them, I turned my horse homewards, and went my
solitary way. Jim was going on with them to see them settled.

_IV.--Father and Son_

There is a long period of dull prosperity coming to our friends. Go on
two years. See Baroona, the Buckley's place, now. That hut where we
spent the pleasant Christmas-day is degraded into the kitchen, for a new
house is built--a long, low house, with deep, cool verandas all round,
already festooned with passion flowers, and young grape-vines.

Mary and Miss Thornton had stayed with the Buckleys till good Cousin Tom
had got a house