his afternoon."

"Right you are," said Frenchy. "Come on, Billjim. Can't do any good here
just now. I'll take you to Mother Slater's."

Billjim gave one look at Jack, who nodded and smiled, and then went away
with Frenchy.

For three weeks after the operation Jack L'Estrange lay hovering on the
brink of the great chasm. Then he began to mend and get well rapidly.

Billjim was in constant attendance from the day she was allowed to see
him, and the doctor said, in fact, that but for her care and attention
there would probably have been no more Jack.

Great was the rejoicing at the Nest when Jack reappeared, and the
rejoicing turned to enthusiasm when it was discovered that there was a
mutual understanding come to between Billjim and the crippled miner.

Micky the Rat prophesied great things, but said:

"Faix, 'tis a distressful thing entirely to see a fine gurrl like that
wid a husband an' he wed on wan leg. 'Twas mesilf Billjim should ha'
tuk, no less."

But we all knew Micky the Rat, you see.

The wedding-day will never be forgotten by those who were on the Newanga
at the time.

The event came off at Clagton, and everybody was there. No invitations
were issued. None were needed. The town came, and the miners from far
and near, _en masse_.

Those who couldn't get a seat squatted in true bush fashion with their
wide-brimmed hats in their hands, and listened attentively to the
service; a lot of them never having entered a church door in their lives
before.

At the feast, before the newly married couple took their departure,
everybody was made welcome. It was a great time.

Old Dick got up to make a speech, and failed ignominiously. He looked at
Billjim for inspiration. She was just the identical person he shouldn't
have looked at, for thoughts of the Nest without Billjim again rose
before him, and those thoughts settled him, so he sat down again without
uttering a word.

Jack said something, almost inaudible, about seeking a fortune and
finding one, which was prettily put, and Frenchy as best man was heard
to mutter something about "Beautiful ... loss to camp ... happiness ...
wooden leg," and the speech making was over.

At the send off much rice flew about, and as the buggy drove off, an old
dilapidated iron-shod miner's boot was found dangling on the rear axle
of that conveyance.

That was Micky the Rat's parting shot at Jack for carrying Billjim away.

Clagton was a veritable London for that night