tented young mother--painfully and patiently
dragging her first calf, which was hanging obstinately to a teat, with
its head beneath her hind legs. Last of all there came the inevitable
red steer, who scratched the dust and let a stupid "bwoo-ur-r-rr" out of
him as he snuffed at the rails.

Brook had shifted the rails there often before--fifteen years
ago--perhaps the selfsame rails, for stringy-bark lasts long; and the
action brought the past near to him--nearer than he wished. He did not
like to think of that hungry, wretched selection existence; he felt more
contempt than pity for the old-fashioned, unhappy boy, who used to let
down the rails there, and drive the cattle through.

He had spent those fifteen years in cities, and had come here, prompted
more by curiosity than anything else, to have a quiet holiday. His
father was dead; his other relations had moved away, leaving a tenant on
the old selection.

Brook rested his elbow on the top rail of an adjacent panel and watched
the cattle pass, and thought until Lizzie--the tenant's niece--shoved
the red steer through and stood gravely regarding him (Brook, and not
the steer); then he shifted his back to the fence and looked at her.
He had not much to look at: a short, plain, thin girl of nineteen,
with rather vacant grey eyes, dark ringlets, and freckles; she had no
complexion to speak of; she wore an ill-fitting print frock, and a
pair of men's 'lastic-sides several sizes too large for her. She was
"studying for a school-teacher;" that was the height of the ambition of
local youth. Brook was studying her.

He turned away to put up the rails. The lower rail went into its place
all right, but the top one had got jammed, and it stuck as though it was
spiked. He worked the rail up and down and to and fro, took it under his
arm and tugged it; but he might as well have pulled at one of the
posts. Then he lifted the loose end as high as he could, and let it
fall--jumping back out of the way at the same time; this loosened it,
but when he lifted it again it slid so easily and far into its socket
that the other end came out and fell, barking Brook's knee. He swore a
little, then tackled the rail again; he had the same trouble as before
with the other end, but succeeded at last. Then he turned away, rubbing
his knee.

Lizzie hadn't smiled, not once; she watched him gravely all the while.

"Did you hurt your knee?" she asked, without emotion.

"No. The rail did."

S