pair of eyes looking in--sometimes friends, sometimes
foes; we were ready for either. When Billy went, and I thought I'd get
married too, then I built a better house--brick this time, and workmen
from Melbourne to do it; that's it over there, now the kitchens and
store-rooms--and imported furniture--er--I am not boring you, I hope?"

"Oh, dear, no! I am deeply interested."

"Well, Billy and I"--the tale seemed interminable--"Billy and I, we
gave sixty pounds apiece for our stock horses, and the same for a ton
of flour; and went right over Ballarat without knowing it. Camped
there, sir, and didn't see the gold we must actually have crunched
under our boot heels. And Billy had misfortunes, and died poor as a
rat. It was in the family. Mrs D. was all right, though. She used to
send a brother of hers to Melbourne market with her cattle, and cash
being scarce, he would sometimes have to take land deeds for them, and
she'd be wild with him for it. But what was the consequence? Those bits
of paper that she thought so worthless that it's a wonder she took the
trouble to save them, gave her city lots that turned out as good as
gold mines. She sold too soon, or she'd have made millions--and died of
a broken heart, they say, when she found out that mistake. Still, she
left a lot more than it's good for a young fellow to start life with.
That boy has been to Cambridge, and now he loafs about the club,
pretends to be a judge of wine, gets every stitch of clothes from
London--pah!" Mr Pennycuick spat neatly and with precision over the
verandah floor into a flower-bed. "But these mother's darlings--you
know them. If Mrs Dalzell could see him now, I daresay she'd be
bursting with pride, for there's no denying that he's a smart-looking
chap. But his father would be ashamed of him."

"Daddy dear!" Mary gently expostulated.

"So he would. An idle, finicking scamp, that'll never do an honest
stroke of work as long as he lives. And I wish Deb wouldn't waste her
time listening to his nonsense. Isn't it about time to be getting ready
for dinner, Moll?"

Mary looked through a window at a clock indoors, and said it was.
Guthrie hailed the news, and rose to his feet.

But not yet did he escape. His host, hoisting himself heavily out of
his big cane chair, hollowed like a basin under his vast weight,
extended a detaining hand.

"Come with me to my office a minute," he half whispered. "I'd like to
show you something."

With apparent ale