ear round, having never heard of the eight hours
system; but he talked, and prayed, and swore all his life in the
Hampshire dialect. Whenever he spoke to the neighbours a look of
pain and misery came over them. Sometimes he went to meetings, and
made a speech, but he was told to go and fetch a Chinaman to
interpret.

Philip entered into possession of the hut. It had two rooms, and the
furniture did not cost much. At Adams' store he bought a camp oven,
an earthenware stew-pot, a milk pan, a billy, two pannikins, two
spoons, a whittle, and a fork. The extra pannikin and spoon were for
the use of visitors, for Philip's idea was that a hermit, if not
holy, should be at least hospitable. With an axe and saw he made his
own furniture--viz., two hardwood stools, one of which would seat
two men; for a table he sawed off the butt end of a messmate, rolled
it inside the hut, and nailed on the top of it a piece of a pine
packing case. His bedstead was a frame of saplings, with strong
canvas nailed over it, and his mattress was a sheet of stringy bark,
which soon curled up at the sides and fitted him like a coffin. His
pillow was a linen bag filled with spare shirts and socks, and under
it he placed his revolver, in case he might want it for unwelcome
visitors.

Patrick Duggan's wife did the laundry work, and refused to take
payment in cash. But she made a curious bargain about it. A priest
visited Nyalong only once a month; he lived fifty miles away; when
Mrs. Duggan was in her last sickness he might be unable to administer
to her the rites of the church. So her bargain was, that in case the
priest should be absent, the schoolmaster, as next best man, was to
read prayers over her grave. Philip thought there was something
strange, perhaps simoniacal, about the bargain. Twice Mrs. Duggan,
thinking she was on the point of death, sent a messenger to remind
him of his duty; and when at last she did die, he was present at the
funeral, and read the prayers for the dead over her grave.

Avarice is a vice so base that I never heard of any man who would
confess that he had ever been guilty of it. Philip was my best
friend, and I was always loath to think unkindly of him, but at this
time I really think he began to be rather penurious--not
avaricious, certainly not. But he was not a hermit of the holiest
kind. He began to save money and acquire stock. He had not been
long on the hill before he owned a horse, two dogs, a