ks, the strapping of carpet-bags, affixing of labels. Their luggage
hoisted into a spring-cart, they themselves took their seats in the
buggy and were driven to the railway station; and to himself Mahony
murmured an all's-well--that-ends-well. On alighting, however, he found
that his greatcoat had been forgotten. He had to re-seat himself in the
buggy and gallop back to the house, arriving at the station only just
in time to leap into the train.

"A close shave that!" he ejaculated as he sank on the cushions and
wiped his face. "And in more senses than one, my dear. In tearing round
a corner we nearly had a nasty spill. Had I pitched out and broken my
neck, this hole would have got my bones after all.--Not that I was
sorry to miss that cock-and-hen-show, Mary. It was really too much of a
good thing altogether."

For a large and noisy crowd had gathered round the door of the carriage
to wish the travellers god-speed, among them people to whom Mahony
could not even put a name, whose very existence he had forgotten. And
it had fairly snowed last gifts and keepsakes. Drying her eyes, Mary
now set to collecting and arranging these. "Just fancy so many turning
up, dear. The railway people must have wondered what was the
matter.--Oh, by the way, did you notice--I don't think you did, you
were in such a rush--who I was speaking to as you ran up? It was Jim,
Old Jim, but so changed I hardly knew him. As spruce as could be, in a
black coat and a belltopper. He's married again, he told me, and has
one of the best-paying hotels in Smythesdale. Yes, and he was at the
sale, too--he came over specially for it--to buy the piano."

"He did, confound him!" cried Mahony hotly.

"Oh, you can't look at it that way, Richard. As long as he has the
money to pay for it. Fancy, he told me had always admired the 'tune' of
it so much, when I played and sang. My dear little piano!"

"You shall have another and a better one, I promise you, old
girl--don't fret. Well, that slice of our life's over and done with,"
he added, and laid his hand on hers. "But we'll hold together, won't
we, wife, whatever happens?"

They had passed Black Hill and its multicoloured clay and gravel heaps,
and the train was puffing uphill. The last scattered huts and
weatherboards fell behind, the worked-out holes grew fewer, wooded
rises appeared. Gradually, too, the white roads round Mount Buninyong
came into view, and the trees became denser. And having climbed the