with me, Jack,' he said; 'we'll fix you a
shake-down.'

I forgot to tell you that he was married and lived in Bathurst.

'But won't it put Mrs Head about?'

'Not at all. She's expecting you. Come along; there's nothing to see in
Bathurst, and you'll have plenty of knocking round in Sydney. Come on,
we'll just be in time for tea.'

He lived in a brick cottage on the outskirts of the town--an
old-fashioned cottage, with ivy and climbing roses, like you see in some
of those old settled districts. There was, I remember, the stump of a
tree in front, covered with ivy till it looked like a giant's club with
the thick end up.

When we got to the house the Boss paused a minute with his hand on the
gate. He'd been home a couple of days, having ridden in ahead of the
bullocks.

'Jack,' he said, 'I must tell you that Mrs Head had a great trouble at
one time. We--we lost our two children. It does her good to talk to a
stranger now and again--she's always better afterwards; but there's very
few I care to bring. You--you needn't notice anything strange. And agree
with her, Jack. You know, Jack.'

'That's all right, Boss,' I said. I'd knocked about the Bush too long,
and run against too many strange characters and things, to be surprised
at anything much.

The door opened, and he took a little woman in his arms. I saw by the
light of a lamp in the room behind that the woman's hair was grey, and
I reckoned that he had his mother living with him. And--we do have odd
thoughts at odd times in a flash--and I wondered how Mrs Head and her
mother-in-law got on together. But the next minute I was in the room,
and introduced to 'My wife, Mrs Head,' and staring at her with both
eyes.

It was his wife. I don't think I can describe her. For the first minute
or two, coming in out of the dark and before my eyes got used to the
lamp-light, I had an impression as of a little old woman--one of those
fresh-faced, well-preserved, little old ladies--who dressed young, wore
false teeth, and aped the giddy girl. But this was because of Mrs Head's
impulsive welcome of me, and her grey hair. The hair was not so grey as
I thought at first, seeing it with the lamp-light behind it: it was like
dull-brown hair lightly dusted with flour. She wore it short, and
it became her that way. There was something aristocratic about her
face--her nose and chin--I fancied, and something that you couldn't
describe. She had big dark eyes--dark-brown, I thought, th