t holiday he and Polly had ever had
together.

The second thing he did was: to indulge the love of giving that was
innate in him; and of giving in a somewhat lordly way. He enjoyed the
broad grin that illumined Ellen's face at his unlooked-for generosity;
Jerry's red stammered thanks for the gift of the cob the boy had long
coveted. It did him good to put two ten-pound notes in an envelope and
inscribe Ned's name on it; he had never yet been able to do anything
for these poor lads. He also, without waiting to consult
Polly--fearing, indeed, that she might advise against it--sent off the
money to Long Jim for the outward voyage, and a few pounds over. For
there were superstitious depths in him; and, at this turn in his
fortunes, it would surely be of ill omen to refuse the first appeal for
help that reached him.

Polly was so much a part of himself that he thought of her last of all.
But then it was with moist eyes. She, who had never complained, should
of a surety not come short! And he dropped asleep that night to the
happy refrain: "Now she shall have her piano, God bless her! ... the
best that money can buy."

Part IV

Chapter I

The new house stood in Webster Street. It was twice as large as the old
one, had a garden back and front, a verandah round three sides. When
Mahony bought it, and the piece of ground it stood on, it was an
unpretentious weather-board in a rather dilapidated condition. The
situation was good though--without being too far from his former
address--and there was stabling for a pair of horses. And by the time
he had finished with it, it was one of those characteristically
Australian houses which, added to wherever feasible, without a thought
for symmetry or design--a room built on here, a covered passage there,
a bathroom thrown out in an unexpected corner, with odd steps up and
down--have yet a spacious, straggling comfort all their own.

How glad he was to leave the tiny, sunbaked box that till now had been
his home. It had had neither blind nor shutter; and, on his entering it
of a summer midday, it had sometimes struck hotter than outside. The
windows of his new room were fitted with green venetians; round the
verandah-posts twined respectively a banksia and a Japanese
honey-suckle, which further damped the glare; while on the patch of
buffalo-grass in front stood a spreading fig-tree, that leafed well and
threw a fine shade. He had also added a sofa to his equipment. Now,