ion Army had got him. He had saved his soul, his
liver and his money at the same time. And he was bursting with
information.

"You take the train to Cook's Wall, chum," he said, spitting on his
hands and trying the strength of the good leather straps. He had tapped
the billy and the mugs with a wise finger, giving them advice about
soaking their boots in linseed oil for a few days.

"Yous ought to buy your tea and baccy and flour in Sydney. It's dear and
poor the further yous get," he told them. And--

"Cook's Wall is the rail-head, chum," he said. "It's in the Lower
Warrilow. There's a bit o' manganese down there, and they're clearing
land. Plenty of work waiting. Lot of new squatters--small squatters
without two fardens to rub together and make a chink. Them assisted lot.
They're always glad of help, clearing scrub. They get a loand off of the
Gov'ment for tools and seeds and stock, but they've got to clear the
land--within three years, I think it is. Hard work, chum."

Marcella and Louis looked at each other with shining eyes.

"That's the place for us, old lady!" he said. "I've done clearing in New
Zealand, and gorse grubbing. Makes you as black as your hat, and you
sleep like a million tops and eat half a sheep at a sitting--"

"You'll get a job there, ma," he went on, turning the spigot of his
information before her now. "They're always glad of cooks for the huts
where the men live. And they don't pay so bad, either. You get your
rations, of course. It's rotten hard for lads that have been working
fourteen hours in the open air to come in and start cooking."

Marcella felt thrilled with the excitement of it all, but doubted her
powers of cooking.

"You needn't worry, old lady," said Louis. "It's fried sheep for
breakfast, dinner and tea unless a cow breaks its leg and has to be
slaughtered. And then it's fried cow. And damper and flapjacks. I can do
that much cooking in a southerly buster with three sticks for firing,
standing on my head."

But she decided to be on the safe side and scoured Sydney for a cookery
book. She found a very fat and flushed and comfortable Mrs. Beeton. It
apparently weighed about two pounds. A week later Marcella decided that
its weight was at least two stone, but the pretty picture of cooked
foods, and the kindly advice it gave about answering doors, folding
table napkins and serving truffles were all very reassuring.

They had a tremendous argument about books. Louis flatly r