for him. He was quite well, it said; and to look out for him about
Christmas time; he might come home then, or send for us; to stop at
Boree if we could get work, and keep a couple of horses in good trim, as
he might want us. A couple of five-pound notes fell out of the letter as
I opened it.

When I looked at them first I felt a kind of fear. I knew what they came
from. And I had a sort of feeling that we should be better without them.
However, the devil was too strong for me. Money's a tempting thing,
whether it's notes or gold, especially when a man's in debt. I had begun
to think the fellows looked a little cool on us the last three or four
nights, as our losses were growing big.

So I gave Jim his share; and after tea, when we sat down again, there
weren't more than a dozen of us that were in the card racket. I flung
down my note, and Jim did his, and told them that we owed to take the
change out of that and hand us over their paper for the balance.

They all stared, for such a thing hadn't been seen since the shearing
began. Shearers, as a rule, come from their homes in the settled
districts very bare. They are not very well supplied with clothes; their
horses are poor and done up; and they very seldom have a note in their
pockets, unless they have managed to sell a spare horse on the journey.

So we were great men for the time, looked at by the others with wonder
and respect. We were fools enough to be pleased with it. Strangely, too,
our luck turned from that minute, and it ended in our winning not only
our own back, but more than as much more from the other men.

I don't think Mr. Falkland liked these goings on. He wouldn't have
allowed cards at all if he could have helped it. He was a man that hated
what was wrong, and didn't value his own interest a pin when it came in
the way. However, the shearing hut was our own, in a manner of speaking,
and as long as we shore clean and kept the shed going the overseer, Mr.
M'Intyre, didn't trouble his head much about our doings in the hut.
He was anxious to get done with the shearing, to get the wool into
the bales before the dust came in, and the grass seed ripened, and the
clover burrs began to fall.

'Why should ye fash yoursel',' I heard him say once to Mr. Falkland,
'aboot these young deevils like the Marstons? They're as good's ready
money in auld Nick's purse. It's bred and born and welded in them. Ye'll
just have the burrs and seeds amang the wool if ye keep