rely
through and spat back on Queensland.

"That's what I think of the blanky colonies!" he said.

He gave us time to become sufficiently impressed; then he said:

"And if I was at the Victorian and South Australian border I'd do the
same thing."

He let that soak into our minds, and added: "And the same with West
Australia--and--and Tasmania." Then he went away.

The last would have been a long spit--and he forgot Maoriland.

We heard afterwards that his name was Clancy and he had that day been
offered a job droving at "twenty-five shillings a week and find your
own horse." Also find your own horse feed and tobacco and soap and other
luxuries, at station prices. Moreover, if you lost your own horse you
would have to find another, and if that died or went astray you would
have to find a third--or forfeit your pay and return on foot. The
boss drover agreed to provide flour and mutton--when such things were
procurable.

Consequently, Clancy's unfavourable opinion of the colonies.

My mate and I sat down on our swags against the fence to talk things
over. One of us was very deaf. Presently a black tracker went past and
looked at us, and returned to the pub. Then a trooper in Queensland
uniform came along and asked us what the trouble was about, and where
we came from and were going, and where we camped. We said we were
discussing private business, and he explained that he thought it was
a row, and came over to see. Then he left us, and later on we saw him
sitting with the rest of the population on a bench under the hotel
veranda. Next morning we rolled up our swags and left Hungerford to the
north-west.

A CAMP-FIRE YARN

"This girl," said Mitchell, continuing a yarn to his mate, "was about
the ugliest girl I ever saw, except one, and I'll tell you about her
directly. The old man had a carpenter's shop fixed up in a shed at the
back of his house, and he used to work there pretty often, and sometimes
I'd come over and yarn with him. One day I was sitting on the end of
the bench, and the old man was working away, and Mary was standing there
too, all three of us yarning--she mostly came poking round where I was
if I happened to be on the premises--or at least I thought so--and
we got yarning about getting married, and the old cove said he'd get
married again if the old woman died.

"'_You_ get married again!' said Mary. 'Why, father, you wouldn't get
anyone to marry you--who'd have you?'

"'Well,' he s