e knocking round and see me.

"'Why, Mitchell,' he'll say, 'I thought you was gone.'

"'I didn't say I was going,' I'll say. 'Who told you that--or what made
you think so?'

"'I thought I told you on Saturday that I wouldn't want you any more,'
he'll say, a bit short. 'I haven't got enough work to keep a man going;
I told you that; I thought you understood. _Didn't I give you the sack
on Saturday_?'

"'It's no use;' I'll say, 'that sort of thing's played out. I've been
had too often that way; I've been sacked once too often. Taking the
sack's been the cause of all my trouble; I don't believe in it. If I'd
never taken the sack I'd have been a rich man to-day; it might be all
very well for horses, but it doesn't suit me; it doesn't hurt you, but
it hurts me. I made up my mind that when I got a place to suit me, I'd
stick in it. I'm comfortable here and satisfied, and you've had no cause
to find fault with me. It's no use you trying to sack me, because I
won't take it. I've been there before, and you might as well try to
catch an old bird with chaff.'

"'Well, I won't pay you, and you'd better be off,' he'll say, trying not
to grin.

"'Never mind the money,' I'll say, 'the bit of tucker won't cost you
anything, and I'll find something to do round the house till you have
some more work. I won't ask you for anything, and, surely to God I'll
find enough to do to pay for my grub!'

"So I'll potter round and take things easy and call up at the kitchen as
usual at meal times, and by and by the boss'll think to himself: 'Well,
if I've got to feed this chap I might as well get some work out of him.'

"So he'll find me, something regular to do--a bit of fencing, or
carpentering, or painting, or something, and then I'll begin to call up
for my stuff again, as usual."

SHOOTING THE MOON

We lay in camp in the fringe of the mulga, and watched the big, red,
smoky, rising moon out on the edge of the misty plain, and smoked and
thought together sociably. Our nose-bags were nice and heavy, and we
still had about a pound of nail-rod between us.

The moon reminded my mate, Jack Mitchell, of something--anything
reminded him of something, in fact.

"Did you ever notice," said Jack, in a lazy tone, just as if he didn't
want to tell a yarn--"Did you ever notice that people always shoot the
moon when there's no moon? Have you got the matches?"

He lit up; he was always lighting up when he was reminded of something.