of the long-lost celebrity Termagant, with the same crooked blaze
down the face, the same legs, the same high croup and peculiar way of
carrying her head. She corresponded exactly in age to the date on which
the grand thoroughbred mare, just about to bring forth, had disappeared
from Buntagong. No reasonable doubt existed as to the identity of this
valuable animal, followed as she was by several of her progeny, equally
aristocratic in appearance. Still, as these interesting individuals had
never been seen by their rightful owners, it was impossible to prove a
legal title.

The same presumptive certainty and legal incompleteness existed
concerning Mr. Bowe's short-horns (as he averred) and Mr. Dawson's
Devons.

'Thou art so near and yet so far,'

as a provoking stock-rider hummed. Finally, it was decided by the
officials in charge to send the whole collection to the public pound,
when each proprietor might become possessed of his own, with a good and
lawful title in addition--for 'a consideration'--and to the material
benefit of the Government coffers.

So it was this way the poor old Hollow was dropped on to, and the
well-hidden secret blown for ever and ever. Well, it had been a good
plant for us and them as had it before our time. I don't expect there'll
ever be such a place again, take it all round.

And that was the end of father! Poor old dad! game to the last. And the
dog, too!--wouldn't touch bit or sup after the old man dropped. Just
like Crib that was! Often and often I used to wonder what he saw in
father to be so fond of him. He was about the only creature in the wide
world that was fond of dad--except mother, perhaps, when she was young.
She'd rather got wore out of her feelings for him, too. But Crib stuck
to him to his end--faithful till death, as some of them writing coves
says.

And Warrigal! I could see it all, sticking out as plain as a fresh track
after rain. He'd come back to the Hollow, like a fool--in spite of me
warning him--or because he had nowhere else to go. And the first time
dad had an extra glass in his head he tackled him about giving me away
and being the means of the other two's death. Then he'd got real mad and
run at him with the axe. Warrigal had fired as he came up, and hit him
too; but couldn't stop him in the rush. Dad got in at him, and knocked
his brains out there and then. Afterwards, he'd sat down and drank
himself pretty well blind; and then, finding the pains