ant to win out of this hell for his sake."

He paused, and they were all silent. He was measuring time, as his next
words proved: "Jack must be nearly ready now." Then he took a packet
from some inside pocket of his blue dungaree shirt. It was wrapped in
oil-cloth, and he opened it and laid it on the table; there was a small
Bible and a packet of letters--and portraits, maybe.

"Now, missus," he said, "you mustn't think me soft, and I'm neither
a religious man nor a hypocrite. But that Bible was given to me by my
mother, and her hand-writing is in it, so I couldn't chuck it away. Some
of the letters are hers and some--someone else's. You can read them if
you like. Now, I want you to take care of them for me and dry them if
they are a little damp. If I get clear I'll send for them some day, and,
if I don't--well, I don't want them to be taken with me. I don't want
the police to know who I was, and what I was, and who my relatives are
and where they are. You wouldn't have known, if you do know now, only
your husband knew me on the diggings, and happened to be in the court
when I got off on that first cattle-stealing charge, and recognized me
again to-night. I can't thank you enough, but I want you to remember
that I'll never forget. Even if I'm taken and have to serve my time I'll
never forget it, and I'll live to prove it."

"We--we don't want no thanks, an' we don't want no proofs," said the
bushwoman, her voice breaking.

The sister, her eyes suspiciously bright, took up the packet in her
sharp, practical way, and put it in a work-box she had in the kitchen.

The settler brought the young fellow out dressed in his own clothes. The
elder shook hands quietly all round, or, rather, they shook hands with
him. "Now, Jack!" he said. They had fastened an oilskin cape round
Jack's shoulders.

Jack came forward and shook hands with a nervous grip that he seemed to
have trouble to take off. "I won't forget it," he said; "that's all I
can say--I won't forget it." Then they went out with the settler. The
rain had held up a little. Clatter of sliprails down and up, but the
settler didn't come back.

"Wonder what Peter's doing?" said the wife.

"Showin' 'em down the short cut," said Uncle Abe.

But, presently, clatter of sliprails down again, and cattle driven over
them.

"Wonder what he's doing with the cows," said the wife.

They waited in wonder, and with growing anxiety, for some quarter of an
hour; then Abe and And