tion whatsoever. She just 'elps a bit in
the 'ouse, an' is company for the girls. We tuck 'er in a year ago--'er
own relations 'ad played 'er a dirty trick. Mustn't let 'er catch me
sayin' so, though; she won't 'ear a word against 'em, and that's as it
should be."

Looking round, and finding Polly absent from the room, she went on to
tell Mahony how Polly's eldest brother, a ten years' resident in
Melbourne, had sent to England for the girl on her leaving school, to
come out and assist in keeping his house. And how an elder sister, who
was governessing in Sydney, had chosen just this moment to throw up her
post and return to quarter herself upon the brother.

"An' so when Polly gets 'ere--a little bit of a thing in short frocks,
in charge of the capt'n--there was no room for 'er, an' she 'ad to look
about 'er for somethin' else to do. We tuck 'er in, an', I will say,
I've never regretted it. Indeed I don't know now, 'ow we ever got on
without 'er.--Yes, it's you I'm talkin' about, miss, singin' yer
praises, an' you needn't get as red as if you'd bin up to mischief!
Pa'll say as much for you, too."

"That I will!" said Mr. Beamish, opening his mouth for the first time
except to put food in it. "That I will," and he patted Polly's hand.
"The man as gits Polly'll git a treasure."

Polly blushed, after the helpless, touching fashion of very young
creatures: the blood stained her cheeks, mounted to her forehead,
spread in a warm wave over neck and ears. To spare her, Mahony turned
his head and looked out of the window. He would have liked to say: Run
away, child, run away, and don't let them see your confusion. Polly,
however, went conscientiously about her task, and only left the room
when she had picked up her full complement of plates.--But she did not
appear again that night.

Deserted even by Mrs. Beamish, the two men pushed back their chairs
from the table and drew tranquilly at their pipes.

The innkeeper proved an odd, misty sort of fellow, exceedingly backward
at declaring himself; it was as though each of his heavy words had to
be fetched from a distance. "No doubt about it, it's the wife that
wears the breeches," was Mahony's inward comment. And as one after
another of his well-meant remarks fell flat: "Become almost a
deaf-mute, it would seem, under the eternal female clacking."

But for each mortal there exists at least one theme to fire him. In the
case of Beamish this turned out to be the Land Question