e from which Arthur had just dismounted.

As the stock-keeper unsaddled the animal, Arthur's eye fell on the open
page of the book from which he had been reading. It was a superior
edition of Horace, well used.

Roughly clad and unshorn and haggard in his looks as the man was, Arthur
could not but conclude that he had once moved among the educated classes
of society. The ever-ready damper and pot of tea were produced; and
Arthur, having satisfied his appetite, made the usual inquiries about
the station. Everything seemed to be satisfactory.

"You appear to be fond of reading," said Arthur, glancing at the Horace,
which had been placed on a shelf among a few other books.

"Ah! a friend of my early days. He serves to beguile many a weary
hour," answered the hut-keeper, with a sigh.

Arthur did not like to ask questions. "We brought a few books with us
into the bush; I shall be glad to lend them to you," he said.

"They will be most acceptable, sir," said the hut-keeper, his
countenance brightening; "my own stock is small, and I have read each
volume over and over again till I know them by heart. I believe that if
a chest of new books were to reach me, like the half-starved wretch who
suddenly finds himself in the midst of plenty, I could sit down and read
till my eyesight or my wits had left me."

"I can enter into your feelings," said Arthur kindly. "The life you
lead must indeed be dull."

"Ah! it might be far worse, though," answered the hut-keeper; "poverty
out here can scarcely be said to pinch. I often ask myself what might
it have been, or what certainly would it have been, had I remained in
London till my last shilling was gone. To rot in a poorhouse or to
sweep a crossing would have been my lot, or there might have been a
worse alternative. I had enough left to pay my passage out here. It
was a wise move--the only wise thing I ever did in my life. My
expectations on landing were foolish, and before I could realise them I
had the chance of going to gaol or becoming a hut-keeper." The last
remarks were made as he stood holding the rein of Arthur's horse.

Arthur rode round the run, inspected the flock, and had to pass near the
hut again on his return homeward. The hut-keeper, Charles Craven he
called himself, was on the watch for him.

"I must have a word with you, Mr Gilpin," he said. "You are the first
man I have met since I landed on these shores who has sympathised with
me. I would do