was short of
money. And James said that the people would have loaded the buggy with
'rubbish' if he'd waited. They all seemed glad to see Joe Wilson getting
on--and these things did me good.

We got the things inside, and I don't think either of us knew what we
were saying or doing for the next half-hour. Then James put his head in
and said, in a very injured tone,--

'What about my tea? I ain't had anything to speak of since I left
Cudgeegong. I want some grub.'

Then Mary pulled herself together.

'You'll have your tea directly,' she said. 'Pick up that harness at
once, and hang it on the pegs in the skillion; and you, Joe, back
that buggy under the end of the verandah, the dew will be on it
presently--and we'll put wet bags up in front of it to-morrow, to
keep the sun off. And James will have to go back to Cudgeegong for the
cart,--we can't have that buggy to knock about in.'

'All right,' said James--'anything! Only get me some grub.'

Mary fried the fish, in case it wouldn't keep till the morning, and
rubbed over the tablecloths, now the irons were hot--James growling
all the time--and got out some crockery she had packed away that had
belonged to her mother, and set the table in a style that made James
uncomfortable.

'I want some grub--not a blooming banquet!' he said. And he growled a
lot because Mary wanted him to eat his fish without a knife, 'and that
sort of Tommy-rot.' When he'd finished he took his gun, and the black
boy, and the dogs, and went out 'possum-shooting.

When we were alone Mary climbed into the buggy to try the seat, and
made me get up alongside her. We hadn't had such a comfortable seat for
years; but we soon got down, in case any one came by, for we began to
feel like a pair of fools up there.

Then we sat, side by side, on the edge of the verandah, and talked
more than we'd done for years--and there was a good deal of 'Do you
remember?' in it--and I think we got to understand each other better
that night.

And at last Mary said, 'Do you know, Joe, why, I feel to-night
just--just like I did the day we were married.'

And somehow I had that strange, shy sort of feeling too.

The Writer Wants to Say a Word.

In writing the first sketch of the Joe Wilson series, which happened
to be 'Brighten's Sister-in-law', I had an idea of making Joe Wilson a
strong character. Whether he is or not, the reader must judge. It seems
to me that the man's natural sentimental selfishness,