; she is evidently
used to the position she occupies; used to being regarded with awe as a
superior being by ranks and regiments of bearded bushmen. She receives
our reverential bows with an amused expression in her blue eyes, and
shakes hands with us, one by one, with the air of a princess according
gracious favours to her subjects. And a funny little incident occurs.

Miss Fairweather remarks to the Little'un that she thinks she has met
him before; in Auckland, probably. Either she is mistaken, or, the
Little'un has forgotten, and is shamefaced. He blushes the colour of
beet-root. His huge frame wobbles in confusion; and, awkwardly trying to
shrink out of sight, as his bashful habit is, he steps backward, and
plants a giant heel upon O'Gaygun's toe. That outraged individual
startles the assemblage with the sudden exclamation, "Gosh!"
Endeavouring to extricate himself, he lumbers against the Saint and Dark
Charlie, whom he sends flying into a centre-table. The table overturns,
of course, and Dark Charlie's short, thick person sprawls and flounders
heavily over it.

The ice is now thoroughly broken. The ladies fall into seats, fairly
screaming with laughter, and all of us, except the unlucky ones, begin
to feel more at home. Then Mrs. Member tells her friend all sorts of
wild legends about our shanty, such as obtain among the feminine public
of the district. She says we are just a pack of overgrown schoolboys,
who are rapidly turning into absolute savages. And they banter us
deliciously to their hearts' content.

But we are not noisy visitors, you know, on such occasions as these. On
the contrary, the ladies do most of the talking, as some of us are
absolutely tongue-tied. We can do nothing but sit and gaze at the young
lady in our midst with all our eyes. She is a houri straight from
Paradise, and we poor mortals just get a glimpse from beyond the gate,
as it were.

Then more arrivals keep dropping in by twos and threes, neighbouring
settlers and chums of ours. So at last a circle of some thirty more or
less rough-looking men form a court about those two ladies. Then we go
to dinner in another room. Most of us dine chiefly off Miss Fairweather,
devouring her with our admiring gaze, listening enraptured to her chat,
and pulsating with wild joy if she do but smile or speak to us
personally. Many can hardly eat anything; they are too love-sick
already.

After dinner our shyness has disappeared, and our native manhoo