"and I'm so poorly, and David out
of work, too. I wouldn't mind if I could get about. But," she went on
in her energetic manner, "we've had the house full all the winter; we've
had very good luck with the lodgers, all respectable people, and one
of them answers the door and that keeps me away from the draught--so it
might be worse, mightn't it? But Johnson doesn't seem to mend at all,
and he gets so terribly depressed. But the warm weather coming on, etc."

They and the Lord only knew how they managed to live, for they are
honest people and the lodgers scarcely pay the rent of the house. There
was only David between them and the poorhouse, as far as I could see.

Johnson came out with me a piece and we had a drink or two together--his
was gin hot. He talked a good deal about Australia, but sadly and
regretfully on this occasion.

"We could have done well in Australia," he said, "very well indeed. I
might have been independent and the children well started in life. But
we did things for the best. Mrs Johnson didn't like Australia, you know.
It was a pity we didn't stay there, a great pity. We would have done far
better than in England. I'd go out again now if I had the money, but I'm
getting too old."

"Would Mrs Johnson go out?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. But I'm afraid she wouldn't stand the voyage.... Things have
been very sad with us ever since we came back to England, very sad
indeed." And after a while he suddenly caught his breath.

"It takes me that way sometimes," he said. "I catch my breath just as if
I was going to lose it."

A DROVING YARN

Andy Maculloch had heard that old Bill Barker, the well-known overland
drover, had died over on the Westralian side, and Dave Regan told a yarn
about Bill.

"Bill Barker," said Dave, talking round his pipe stem, "was the
_quintessence_ of a drover--"

"The whatter, Dave?" came the voice of Jim Bentley, in startled tones,
from the gloom on the far end of the veranda.

"The quintessence," said Dave, taking his pipe out of his mouth. "You
shut up, Jim. As I said, Bill Barker was the quintessence of a drover.
He'd been at the game ever since he was a nipper. He run away from home
when he was fourteen and went up into Queensland. He's been all over
Queensland and New South Wales and most of South Australia, and a good
deal of the Western, too: over the great stock routes from one end to
the other, Lord knows how many times. No man could keep up with him
riding o