closed the lid carefully, passed a
piece of string round it, and sealed it with the Birralong date-stamp.

"That's as safe as the Queensland National," he exclaimed, as he stood
up with pride on his face and faced the three lucky diggers.

"It ought to be, unless Birralong has changed," Tony answered, with a
short laugh. "Now, suppose we give the Rest a chance?"

Marmot looked round and smiled. Then he went to the back door, closed
and bolted it, and came on to the verandah where they were, closing and
locking the door after him, and suspending on a nail a notice-board,
always ready, and bearing the legend, "Gone to Rest."

"Looks well," Peters said, eyeing the notice.

"Ah, that's his work," Marmot answered, looking at Tony. "He cut the
'the' out, and I've never had time to write another."

He came down from the verandah, mounted the pack-horse, sitting far back
behind the pack like an Arab on a donkey, and once more headed the
procession from the store to the Rest--a procession which grew in size
as it passed down the township road, and collected the units of the male
population from their various habitations.

"How's old Slaughter getting on?" Tony asked Marmot, after greeting
Smart and Cullen.

"Oh, _him_?" Marmot answered evasively, as he glanced over at Murray,
who, however, did not manifest any interest in the matter.

"I didn't see him last time I was in," Tony went on. "How is the old
chap keeping? Still a whale on----"

"It's risky," Marmot whispered excitedly, interrupting him. "Ain't you
heard? Ain't young Murray heard? Don't you know?"

"Know what?" Tony asked.

"Why, about--about Slaughter and the girl."

"Slaughter and the girl? What girl? You don't mean----" Tony, filled
with admiration for Ailleen, the greater because it was suppressed,
immediately became alert and suspicious.

"_His_ sister," Marmot answered under his breath, jerking his head
towards Murray.

Tony looked at him for a moment too surprised to speak. Then he burst
out laughing.

"You have found out something this time," he said, in a bantering tone.
"Who made up that fairy tale?"

"It's no fairy tale. It's true," Marmot answered. "There's Tommy Nuggan
coming. Ask him about it, if you won't believe me."

Tony, as soon as the reasons for the procession and the direction of its
route had been duly explained to and accepted by Nuggan, reined in his
horse beside him, and, dismounting, walked with him.

"Marmot said you