good day; I'll see you again."

"Good day."

Mitchell shouldered his spoil and left.

The cook scratched his head; he had a chat with the overseer afterwards,
and they agreed that the traveller was a bit gone.

But Mitchell's head wasn't gone--not much: he had been round a bit--that
was all.

THE BUSH UNDERTAKER

"Five Bob!"

The old man shaded his eyes and peered through the dazzling glow of that
broiling Christmas Day. He stood just within the door of a slab-and-bark
hut situated upon the bank of a barren creek; sheep-yards lay to the
right, and a low line of bare, brown ridges formed a suitable background
to the scene.

"Five Bob!" shouted he again; and a dusty sheep-dog rose wearily from
the shaded side of the but and looked inquiringly at his master, who
pointed towards some sheep which were straggling from the flock.

"Fetch 'em back," he said confidently.

The dog went off, and his master returned to the interior of the hut.

"We'll yard 'em early," he said to himself; "the super won't know. We'll
yard 'em early, and have the arternoon to ourselves."

"We'll get dinner," he added, glancing at some pots on the fire. "I cud
do a bit of doughboy, an' that theer boggabri'll eat like tater-marrer
along of the salt meat." He moved one of the black buckets from the
blaze. "I likes to keep it jist on the sizzle," he said in explanation
to himself; "hard bilin' makes it tough--I'll keep it jist a-simmerin'."

Here his soliloquy was interrupted by the return of the dog.

"All right, Five Bob," said the hatter, "dinner'll be ready dreckly.
Jist keep yer eye on the sheep till I calls yer; keep 'em well rounded
up, an' we'll yard 'em afterwards and have a holiday."

This speech was accompanied by a gesture evidently intelligible, for the
dog retired as though he understood English, and the cooking proceeded.

"I'll take a pick an' shovel with me an' root up that old blackfellow,"
mused the shepherd, evidently following up a recent train of thought; "I
reckon it'll do now. I'll put in the spuds."

The last sentence referred to the cooking, the first to a blackfellow's
grave about which he was curious.

"The sheep's a-campin'," said the soliloquizer, glancing through the
door. "So me an' Five Bob'll be able to get our dinner in peace. I
wish I had just enough fat to make the pan siss; I'd treat myself to a
leather-jacket; but it took three weeks' skimmin' to get enough for them
theer doughboys."