in a wonderfully deep voice, which sounded so amazing in the
bush silence that Norah fairly jumped.

The old man raked the ashes together again, and placed some sticks on
them, after which he brought over the billy, and hung it above the fire
to boil. The fire quickly broke into a blaze, and he picked up the
damper again, and walked slowly back to the tent, where he paused to
blow the dust from the result of his cookery.

At this moment Norah became oppressed with a wild desire to sneeze. She
fought against it frantically, nearly choking in her efforts to remain
silent, while she wildly explored in her pockets for a nonexistent
handkerchief.

As the water bursts from the dam the more violently because of its
imprisonment, so Norah's sneeze gained intensity and uproar from her
efforts to repress it. It came--

"A--tish--oo--oo!"

The old man started violently. He dropped his damper and gazed round.

"What on earth's that?" he said. "Who's there?" For a moment Norah
hesitated. Should she run for her life? But a second's thought showed
her no real reason why she should run. She was not in the least
frightened, for it never occurred to Norah that anyone could wish to
hurt her; and she had done nothing to make him angry. So she modestly
emerged from behind a friendly tree and said meekly, "It's me."

"'Me', is it?" said the old man, in great astonishment. He stared hard
at the little figure in the blue blouse and serge riding-skirt--at the
merry face and the dark curls crowned by the shady Panama hat. "'Me ',"
he repeated. "'Me' looks rather nice, I think. But what's she doing
here?"

"I was looking at you," Norah exclaimed.

"I won't be unpolite enough to mention that a cat may look at a king,"
said the old man. "But don't you know that no one comes here? No young
ladies in blue dresses and brown curls--only wombats and wallabies, and
ring-tailed 'possums--and me. Not you--me, but me--me! How do you
account for being here?"

Norah laughed. She decided that she liked this very peculiar old man,
whose eyes twinkled so brightly as he spoke.

"But I don't think you know," she said. "Quite a lot of other people
come here--this is Anglers' Bend. At least, Anglers' Bend's quite close
to your camp. Why, only, to-day there's Jim and the boys, and black
Billy, and me! We're not wallabies!"

"Jim--and the boys--and black Billy--and me!" echoed the old man
faintly. "Angels and ministers of grace, defend us! And I thought