hem. It was small wonder it was
so, Mrs. Wardle." That was the name that Aunt M'riar had come to be
called by, although it was not her own real name. Confusion of this sort
is not uncommon in the class she belonged to. Sapps Court was aware that
she was not Mrs. Wardle, but she had to be accounted for somehow, and
the name she bore was too serious a tax on the brain-power of its
inhabitants.

She repeated Mrs. Prichard's words: "From the factory, ma'am? I see."
Because she did not understand them.

"It was always called the factory," said Mrs. Prichard. But this made
Aunt M'riar none the wiser. _What_ was called the factory? The way in
which she again said that she _saw_ amounted to a request for
enlightenment. Mrs. Prichard gave it. "It was the Government quarters
with the Residence, and the prisons where the convicts were detained on
their arrival. They would not be there long, being told off to work in
gangs up-country, or assigned to the settlers as servants. But I've
never told you any of all this before, Mrs. Wardle." No more she had.
She had broached Van Diemen's Land suddenly, having gone no farther
before than the mere fact of her son's birth at Port Macquarie.

Aunt M'riar couldn't make up her mind as to what was expected of her,
whether sympathy or mere interest or silent acquiescence. She decided on
a weak expression of the first, saying:--"To think of that now--all that
time ago!"

"Fifty long years ago! But I knew of it before that, four years or
more," said the old lady. It did not seem to move her much--probably
felt to her like a previous state of existence. She went on talking
about the Convict Settlement, which she had outlived. Her hearer only
half understood most of it, not being a prompt enough catechist to ask
the right question at the right time.

For Aunt M'riar, though good, was a slowcoach, backward in
cross-examination, and Mrs. Prichard's first depositions remained
unqualified, for discussion later with Uncle Mo. However, one inquiry
came to her tongue. "Was you born in those parts yourself, ma'am?" said
she. Then she felt a little sorry she had asked it, for a sound like
annoyance came in the answer.

"Who--I? No, no--not I--dear me, no! My father was an Essex man.
Darenth, his place was called." Aunt M'riar repeated the name
wrongly:--"Durrant?" She ought to have asked something concerning his
status and employment. Who knows but Mrs. Prichard might have talked of
that mill and sup