lbourne, but
that was on one of the few very special occasions when he condescended to
'dress up.' At home on Boobyalla his usual attire comprised a heavy pair
of water-tights, old trousers, much the worse for wear more senses than
one, hanging in great folds, a dark gray jumper tucked into the trousers,
and a battered felt hat, pulled, after long service, into the shape of a
limp cone. The only concession to 'company manners' Mack would make was
in drawing on a despised black coat over his collarless jumper.

In addition to the peculiarities already mentioned, Donald Macdougal had
an extraordinary trick of chewing his tongue, and a most disconcerting
habit of allowing his trousers to drift down, wrinkle after wrinkle, till
chance strangers fell into an agony of apprehension, and then suddenly
recovering them with a with a convulsion of his body that was entirely
instinctive.

And yet nobody with a pinch of brains ever made the mistake of supposing
Donald Macdougal to be a fool. Old Dint-the-Tin was a wealthy man, and
had made his fortune out of the land by exercising a shrewdness that was
the envy of half the squatters in the colony, and had no apparent desire
in life but to go on increasing that fortune in the same way, although
there were some who credited him with a great if secret satisfaction in
seeing his wife outdo the wives of his neighbours in the social graces, a
satisfaction superior to the gratification he derived from adding to his
great accumulation in the Bank of New South Wales.

Mrs. Macdougal spent a merry Christmas, if not a New Year. She was
extremely fond of company, particularly the company of young people, and
that amiable trait was indulged to the utmost. She had drawn her guests
from far and wide, and the most superior people amongst the 'squatocracy'
had not hesitated to accept her invitations, although there were a few
who in her absence occasionally referred to her as the cow-girl, to show
they had no intention of forgetting the fact that she was once dairymaid
to Mrs. Martin Cargill at Longabeena. But society at this stage could not
very well afford to be punctilious in the matter of parentage and
pedigree, and Mrs. Mack derived no little satisfaction from the mystery
surrounding her birth. Her father had carried her to Longabeena, a child
just able to toddle; he described himself as a widower, and asked for
work, and it was given him, but a week later he disappeared, leaving
little Marci