s continually
sliding forward, now by inches, now with a great jerk. At last Mahony
noticed it. "You are not sitting very comfortably, Polly, I fear?" he
said.

Polly righted herself yet again, and reddened. "It's my ... my feet
aren't long enough," she replied.

"Why, my poor little love!" cried Mahony, full of quick compunction.
"Why didn't you say so?" And drawing rein and getting down, he stuffed
some of Mrs. Beamish's bundles--fragments of the feast, which the good
woman had sent with them--under his wife's feet; stuffed too many, so
that Polly drove the rest of the way with her knees raised to a hump in
front of her. All the afternoon they had been making for dim blue
ranges. After leaving the flats near Geelong, the track went up and
down. Grey-green forest surrounded them, out of which nobbly hills rose
like islands from a sea of trees. As they approached the end of their
journey, they overtook a large number of heavy vehicles labouring along
through the mire. A coach with six horses dashed past them at full
gallop, and left them rapidly behind. Did they have to skirt
bull-punchers who were lashing or otherwise ill-treating their teams,
Mahony urged on the horse and bade Polly shut her eyes.

Night had fallen and a drizzling rain get in, by the time they
travelled the last couple of miles to Ballarat. This was the worst of
all; and Polly held her breath while the horse picked its way among
yawning pits, into which one false step would have plunged them. Her
fears were not lessened by hearing that in several places the very road
was undermined; and she was thankful when Richard--himself rendered
uneasy by the precious cargo he bore--got out and walked at the horse's
head. They drew up before a public-house. Cramped from sitting and numb
with cold, Polly climbed stiffly down as bidden; and Mahony having
unloaded the baggage, mounted to his seat again to drive the cart into
the yard. This was a false move, as he was quick to see: he should not
have left Polly standing alone. For the news of the arrival of "Doc."
Mahony and his bride flew from mouth to mouth, and all the loafers who
were in the bar turned out to stare and to quiz. Beside her tumulus of
trunk, bag, bundle little Polly stood desolate, with drooping
shoulders; and cursing his want of foresight, Mahony all but drove into
the gatepost, which occasioned a loud guffaw. Nor had Long Jim turned
up as ordered, to shoulder the heavy luggage. These blunders