but adhered to formality on other occasions.

Harold looked so comfortable and lazy that I longed to test how far he
meant the offer he had made me.

"I'm just dying for a row on the river. Would you oblige me?" I said.

"Just look at the thermometer!" exclaimed Miss Augusta. "Wait till it
gets cooler, child."

"Oh, I love the heat!" I replied. "And I am sure it won't hurt his
lordship. He's used to the sun, to judge from all appearances."

"Yes, I don't think it can destroy my complexion," he said
good-humouredly, rubbing his finger and thumb along his stubble-covered
chin. The bushmen up-country shaved regularly every Sunday morning, but
never during the week for anything less than a ball. They did this to
obviate the blue--what they termed "scraped pig"--appearance of the faces
of city men in the habit of using the razor daily, and to which they
preferred the stubble of a seven-days' beard. "I'll take you to the river
in half an hour," he said, rising from his seat. "First I must stick on
one of Warrigal's shoes that he's flung. I want him tomorrow, and must do
it at once, as he always goes lame if ridden immediately after shoeing."

"Shall I blow the bellows?" I volunteered.

"Oh no, thanks. I can manage myself. It would be better though if I had
some one. But I can get one of the girls."

"Can't you get one of the boys?" said his aunt.

"There's not one in. I sent every one off to the Triangle paddock today
to do some drafting. They all took their quart pots and a snack in their
saddle-bags, and won't be home till dark."

"Let me go," I persisted; "I often blow the bellows for uncle Jay-Jay, and
think it great fun."

The offer of my services being accepted, we set out.

Harold took his favourite horse, Warrigal, from the stable, and led him
to the blacksmith's forge under an open, stringybark-roofed shed, nearly
covered with creepers. He lit a fire and put a shoe in it. Doffing his
coat and hat, rolling up his shirt-sleeves, and donning a leather apron,
he began preparing the horse's hoof.

When an emergency arose that necessitated uncle Jay-Jay shoeing his
horses himself. I always manipulated the bellows, and did so with great
decorum, as he was very exacting and I feared his displeasure. In this
case it was different. I worked the pole with such energy that it almost
blew the whole fire out of the pan, and sent the ashes and sparks in a
whirlwind around Harold. The horse--a touchy beast--snorted and