that as a reason he only laughed, and said
I was a very Job to worry myself about such trifles; as for the fever
there was hardly a trace of it left, and it was tact, not strength,
Boatman wanted to ride him. Then there was nothing more to be said. I
could only put my arms round his neck and tell him it was only my love
for him made me foolishly anxious, and he must not think badly of me for
it. After all, it was only natural I should be anxious; he would have
had more cause to grumble if I had not been.

I got little enough sleep that night. Early in the evening my father and
the most of his guests went down to the principal public-house in the
township to look at the general entries--why I 'm sure I don't know, for
they must have known well enough for weeks beforehand what horses were
going to run--and then late at night they, or rather my father and one
or two choice spirits, came home, and through the thin partition I could
hear them talking and shouting, and drinking interminable healths,
and when I heard them drink the health of "the Prize for the Yanyilla
Steeplechase," I covered my face with the clothes and tried to hear no
more, for I knew by the shout of laughter that accompanied the toast
that they were thinking of my father's foolish wager. The summer dawn
crept in through the windows before they reeled off to bed, and I,
wearied and tired, realised that at last the day I dreaded so was here,
and a few more hours would put me out of my misery.

That is what Paul said when he met me on the verandah soon after
breakfast, for he had stayed the night in the township, so as to be
close at hand, and the smile I gave him in return was very near to
tears. I think he saw that, for he hastily directed my attention to the
crowd of people already assembled, and laughed, and said there was no
fear but Yanyilla Races would be a success this year.

They were content with very primitive arrangements in those days, my
dear. How the secretary of the least flourishing turf club in Victoria
nowadays would stare if he could see the humble shed where the riders
weighed out, and the still more humble judge's box made of boughs, a bad
imitation of a blackfellow's mia-mia. And more primitive even than
the judge's box was the refreshment booth, where the landlord of the
_Bushman s Rest_ dispensed drinks to all who could afford to pay for
them, or could get others to do so in their stead. The racehorses, I
remember, were merely hit