hot."

"I don't suppose," said Mitchell; "I don't suppose it's any use asking
you for a job?"

"Naw."

"Well, I won't ask you," said Mitchell, "but I don't suppose you want
any fencing done?"

"Naw."

"Nor boundary-riding'?"

"Naw."

"You ain't likely to want a man to knock round?"

"Naw."

"I thought not. Things are pretty bad just now."

"Na--yes--they are."

"Ah, well; there's a lot to be said on the squatter's side as well as
the men's. I suppose I can get a bit of rations?"

"Ye-yes." (_Shortly_)--"Wot d'yer want?"

"Well, let's see; we want a bit of meat and flour--I think that's all.
Got enough tea and sugar to carry us on."

"All right. Cook! have you got any meat?"

"No!"

To Mitchell: "Can you kill a sheep?"

"Rather!"

To the cook: "Give this man a cloth and knife and steel, and let him
go up to the yard and kill a sheep." (To Mitchell) "You can take a
fore-quarter and get a bit of flour."

Half an hour later Mitchell came back with the carcass wrapped in the
cloth.

"Here yer are; here's your sheep," he said to the cook. "That's all
right; hang it in there. Did you take a forequarter?"'

"No."

"Well, why didn't you? The boss told you to."

"I didn't want a fore-quarter. I don't like it. I took a hind-quarter."

So he had.

The cook scratched his head; he seemed to have nothing to say. He
thought about trying to think, perhaps, but gave it best. It was too hot
and he was out of practice.

"Here, fill these up, will you?" said Mitchell. "That's the tea-bag, and
that's the sugar-bag, and that's the flour-bag." He had taken them from
the front of his shirt.

"Don't be frightened to stretch 'em a little, old man. I've got two
mates to feed."

The cook took the bags mechanically and filled them well before he knew
what he was doing. Mitchell talked all the time.

"Thank you," said he--"got a bit of baking-powder?"

"Ye-yes, here you are."

"Thank you. Find it dull here, don't you?"

"Well, yes, pretty dull. There's a bit of cooked beef and some bread and
cake there, if you want it!"

"Thanks," said Mitchell, sweeping the broken victuals into an old
pillow-slip which he carried on his person for such an emergency. "I
s'pose you find it dull round here."

"Yes, pretty dull."

"No one to talk to much?" "No, not many."

"Tongue gets rusty?"

"Ye--es, sometimes."

"Well, so long, and thank yer."

"So long," said the cook (he nearly added "thank yer").

"Well,