" said Blake, "that's nothing. It was only a matter of
dodging the stumps. You'd better get on now to Donohoe's Hotel, and get
Mrs. Donohoe to find some dry things for you."

The mere fact of his refusing a lift showed that there was some
hostility between himself and Hugh Gordon; but the priest, who had
climbed into the Kuryong vehicle as a matter of course, settled the
matter off-hand.

"Get in the trap," he said. "Get in the trap, man. What's the use for
two of ye to ride the mail horses, and get your death o' cold? Get in
the trap!"

"Of course I'll give you a lift," said Hugh. "Jump in, and let us get
away before you all get colds. What will you do about the coach and the
luggage, Pat?"

"I'll borry them two old draught horses from Martin Donohoe, and they'll
haul it out. Bedad, some o' that luggage 'll be washed down to the
Murrumbidgee before night; but the most of it is strapped on. Push
along, Mr. Gordon, and tell Martin I'm coming."

With some reluctance Blake got into the waggonette; before long they
were at Donohoe's Hotel, and Mary Grant was soon rigged out in an outfit
from Mrs. Donohoe's best clothes--a pale-green linsey bodice and purple
skirt--everything, including Mrs. Donohoe's boots, being about four
sizes too big. But she looked by no means an unattractive little figure,
with her brown eyes and healthy colour showing above the shapeless
garments.

She came into the little sitting-room laughing at the figure she cut,
sat down, and drank scalding tea, and ate Mrs. Donohoe's cakes, while
talking with Father Kelly and Blake over the great adventure.

When she was ready to start she got into the waggonette alongside Hugh,
and waved good-bye to the priest and Blake and Mrs. Donohoe, as
though they were old friends. She had had her first touch of colonial
experience.

CHAPTER VII. MR. BLAKE'S RELATIONS.

As soon as Hugh got his team swinging along at a steady ten miles an
hour on the mountain road, Mary Grant opened the conversation.

"Mr. Gordon," she said, "who is Mr. Blake?"

"He's the lawyer from Tarrong."

"Yes, I know. Mrs. Connellan called him the 'lier.' But I thought you
didn't seem to like him. Isn't he nice?"

"I suppose so. His father was a gentleman--the police magistrate up
here."

"Then, why don't you like him? Is there anything wrong about him?"

Hugh straightened his leaders and steadied the vehicle over a little
gully.

"There's nothing wrong about him," he