d, as we entered the bare-looking
room, which was beautifully clean. "Don't trouble about cooking or
preparing anything, for you are my guests. There is a sleeping-place
here."

He walked across to a door at one corner, and showed me another
fair-sized place, bare as the first, but beautifully white and clean,
and with some of the boards looking quite ornamental from the fine
grain. There was a row of sleeping-bunks and plenty of water ready, and
plain and rough as everything was, it seemed princely to the style of
sleeping accommodation we had been accustomed to for so long.

He nodded and left us, and we had to explain to Quong that he was not to
cook and prepare our evening meal, an explanation which for the first
time made the little yellow-faced fellow look discontented.

"You all velly angly? What Quong been do?"

"Nothing at all. Mr Raydon's people are going to send us our supper."

"Don't like--don't like," he said, shaking his head. "All angly. Quong
no make good blead?"

"Yes; everything has been capital," I said. "Don't you understand?"

"No; can't undlestan. Quong velly solly. Go now?"

"No, no. Stop."

He shook his head and went and sat doleful-looking and unhappy in one
corner; out of which he had to be almost dragged at last to partake of
the evening meal Mr Raydon sent in for us, absolutely refusing to join
us, and waiting patiently till we had done.

There was capital bread, plenty of tea with milk and sugar, cold ham,
and hot slices of the deer-meat we had brought with us, and when we had
finished and set Quong to his supper, Gunson went to the door to smoke
his pipe, while Esau came to me smiling.

"Rather lonely sort of place," he said, "but it will do, eh?"

"Oh yes, if Mr Raydon is willing for us to stay."

"Eh? Why, of course he will be, won't he? I say, though, what lovely
ham!"

"What's the matter with Quong?" I said, for the little fellow was
muttering and grumbling as he sat on the wooden bench at the
well-scrubbed table.

I went to him, and asked what was wrong.

"Allee dleadful," he said. "No cookee meat plopelly. No makee tea
plopelly. Blead bad."

"Why, I'm sure it isn't," I said, crumbling off a piece to taste.

"Yes; allee bad. No bake blead to-day. Blead high."

"High?" I said; "you mean stale?"

"Yes; stale high. Keep blead too long. Not good to eat."

"Why, Quong," I cried; "you're grumbling because somebody else cooked
and baked," and