."

"Are you going to teach the children?"

"No, I'm going to live there. My father owns Kuryong. My father is Mr.
Grant."

Mrs. Connellan was simply staggered at this colossal treasure-trove,
this majestic piece of gossip that had fallen on her like rain from
Heaven. Mr. Grant's daughter! Going out to Kuryong! What a piece of
news! Hardly knowing what she did, she shuffled out of the room, and
interrupted the singing waitress who was wiping plates, and had just got
back to "It's a vilet" when Mrs. Connellan burst in on her.

"Maggie! Maggie! Do you know who that is? Grant's daughter! The one that
used to be in England. She must be going to Kuryong to live, with all
that luggage. What'll the Gordons say? The old lady won't like it, will
she? This'll be a bit of news, won't it?" And she went off to tell the
cook, while Maggie darted to the door to meet Dan, and tell him.

Dan told the station-master when he went back for the next load, and
when he had finished carting the luggage he got on a horse and went
round telling everybody in the little town. The station-master told the
ganger of the four navvies who went by on their trolly down the line to
work. At the end of their four-mile length they told the ration-carrier
of Eubindal station, who happened to call in at their camp for a drink
of tea. He hurried off to the head-station with the news, and on his
way told three teamsters, an inspector of selections, and a black boy
belonging to Mylong station, whom he happened to meet on the road. Each
of them told everybody that they met, pulling up and standing in their
stirrups to discuss the matter in all its bearings, in the leisurely
style of the bush; and wondering what she had come out for, whether the
Gordons would get the sack from Kuryong, whether she would marry Hugh
Gordon, whether she was engaged already, whether she was good-looking,
how much money she had, and how much old Grant would leave her. In
fact, before twenty-four hours were over, all the district knew of her
arrival; which possibly explains how news travels in Africa among the
Kaffirs, who are supposed to have a signalling system that no one
has yet fathomed; but the way it gets round in Australia is just as
wonderful as among the Kaffirs, in fact, for speed and thoroughness of
information we should be inclined to think that our coloured brethren
run a bad second.

At last, however, Tracey had finished shoeing the coach-horse, and Miss
Grant, wit