what's past.'

'Yes, yes,' said Chris brightly.

'Tell him how much trouble he is givin' his poor mother, who'd be alone
but for him. You might dwell on that, my dear, will you?

'I will, of course; and it's true, too.'

'It always seems to soften him. If it doesn't, you can hint I'm not very
well to-night.'

Miss Chris, who stood head and shoulders above her friend, laid an
affectionate hand upon the plump and rosy widow.

'When he's unmanageable other ways I take ill for a little while, you
know,' said the widow mournfully. 'Come in,' she cried in answer to a
sharp knock at the door.

The caller was Harry Hardy. He stopped short in confusion on beholding
Christina Shine, and Chris blushed warmly in answering his curt 'Good
evening.'

'I called to see Dick 'bout that tin dish,' he said, beating his leg with
his hat in an obvious effort to appear at his ease.

Mrs. Haddon glanced sharply from Harry to Chris and conceived a new
interest.

'I will go to Dickie,' said Chris, taking the key from the widow.

Mrs. Haddon explained to Harry when they were alone, and added
insinuatingly:

'That's a dear good girl.'

'Shine's daughter?' said Harry with emphasis.

'Yes, Shine's daughter, an' she's as good as he pretends to be.'

Harry contrived to look quite vindictive and gave no answer, and a minute
later Chris returned. Dick had barred his door on the other side and
would give her no reply.

'The window!' cried Mrs. Haddon.

Harry hastened out and around the house. Finding the window of Dick's
room unlatched he threw it up and climbed into the room. The door was
barred with a chair; this he removed, and Mrs. Haddon entered with a
candle. There was no sign of the boy, but pinned on the wall was a large
strip of paper on which was written in bold letters:

'Good-bye for ever. I've run away to be a bushranger.--DICK HADDON.
P.S.--Pursuit is useless.'

The widow sank upon the edge of the bed and mopped her tears with a
snow-white apron.

'That means that I sha'n't see him for two days at least,' she said,
'unless I'm either taken very ill or attacked by a burglar. Why, why
can't a poor woman be allowed to bring up her own children in her own
way?'

Chris was soothing and Harry reassuring.

'He knows how to take care of himself. He'll be all right,' cried the
young man heartily.

'If you could get some o' the boys to let him know I wasn't safe from a
sundowner, or a drunken drover, or someone, I'd b