occasion.
Peggy heaved a subdued sigh and settled in a chair. Red Mick opened the
conversation.

"Mornin' to you, Gavan," he said.

By virtue of his relationship Mick was privileged to call his brilliant
nephew by his Christian name. To the rest of the clans Gavan was Mr.
Blake.

"Good-morning, Mick. Good-morning, Peggy. Have you had any rain?"

In the bush no one would think of introducing discussion without a
remark about the weather.

"Jist a few drops," said Red Mick gloomily. "Do us no good at all.
Things is looking terrible bad, so they are. But we want to see
ye--" and here he dropped his voice, rose, and cautiously closed the
door--"Peggy here, Mrs. Grant, d'ye see,"--Mick got the name out without
an effort--"she wants to see ye about making a claim on the estate. 'Tis
time she done somethin'. All these years left to shift for herself--"

Here Blake broke in on him. He meant to probe Peggy's case thoroughly,
and knew that it would be no easy matter to get at the truth while she
had Red Mick alongside to prompt her. He had not dealt with the mountain
folk for nothing, and handled his clients in a way that would astonish a
more conservative practitioner.

"Mick," he said, "You go over to Isaacstein's store and wait till I send
for you."

"I want Mick to be wid me," began Peggy.

Blake blazed up. He knew that he must keep his ascendancy over these
wild people by force of determination.

"You heard what I said," he thundered, turning fiercely on Peggy. "You
want this and you want that! It's not what you want, it's what I want!
You do what you're told. If you don't--I won't help you. Mick, you go
over to the store, and wait till I send for you." And Mick shambled off.

Peggy, still inclined to be defiant, settled herself in her chair. She
had battled in North Queensland so long that she neither feared nor
respected anybody; but her native shrewdness told her she had all to
gain and nothing to lose by doing what her lawyer advised.

"Now, Peggy," he said, "do you want to make a claim against William
Grant's estate?"

"Yis."

"On the ground that you're his widow?"

"Yis. I'll tell yer--"

"No, you won't tell me anything. I'll tell you. If you are to have any
hope of succeeding in this case, you must furnish me with the name of
the priest or parson who married you, the place where you were married,
and the date. It must be a real priest or parson, a real place, and
a real date. It's no use coming a