re true socialists, those cats.

One of those cats was a mighty big Tom, named Jack. He was death on
rabbits; he would work hard all night, laying for them and dragging them
home. Some weeks he would graft every night, and at other times every
other night, but he was generally pretty regular. When he reckoned he
had done an extra night's work, he would take the next night off and go
three miles to the nearest neighbour's to see his Maria and take her out
for a stroll. Well, one evening Jack went into the garden and chose a
place where there was good cover, and lay low. He was a bit earlier than
usual, so he thought he would have a doze till rabbit time. By-and-bye
he heard a noise, and slowly, cautiously opening one eye, he saw two big
ears sticking out of the leaves in front of him. He judged that it was
an extra big bunny, so he put some extra style into his manoeuvres. In
about five minutes he made his spring. He must have thought (if cats
think) that it was a whopping, old-man rabbit, for it was a pioneer
hare--not an ordinary English hare, but one of those great coarse, lanky
things which the bush is breeding. The selector was attracted by an
unusual commotion and a cloud of dust among his cabbages, and came along
with his gun in time to witness the fight. First Jack would drag the
hare, and then the hare would drag Jack; sometimes they would be down
together, and then Jack would use his hind claws with effect; finally he
got his teeth in the right place, and triumphed. Then he started to drag
the corpse home, but he had to give it best and ask his master to lend a
hand. The selector took up the hare, and Jack followed home, much to
the family's surprise. He did not go back to work that night; he took
a spell. He had a drink of milk, licked the dust off himself, washed it
down with another drink, and sat in front of the fire and thought for a
goodish while. Then he got up, walked over to the corner where the hare
was lying, had a good look at it, came back to the fire, sat down again,
and thought hard. He was still thinking when the family retired.

Meeting Old Mates

I.

Tom Smith

You are getting well on in the thirties, and haven't left off being a
fool yet. You have been away in another colony or country for a year or
so, and have now come back again. Most of your chums have gone away or
got married, or, worse still, signed the pledge--settled down and got
steady; and you feel lonely and