nd take the train to Sydney; or go right on, by
the old coach-road, over the Blue Mountains: it would be a grand drive.
I thought best to tell Mary's sister at Gulgong about the buggy; I told
her I'd keep it dark from Mary till the buggy came home. She entered
into the spirit of the thing, and said she'd give the world to be able
to go out with the buggy, if only to see Mary open her eyes when she saw
it; but she couldn't go, on account of a new baby she had. I was rather
glad she couldn't, for it would spoil the surprise a little, I thought.
I wanted that all to myself.

I got home about sunset next day, and, after tea, when I'd finished
telling Mary all the news, and a few lies as to why I didn't bring the
cart back, and one or two other things, I sat with James, out on a log
of the wood-heap, where we generally had our smokes and interviews, and
told him all about the buggy. He whistled, then he said--

'But what do you want to make it such a Bushranging business for?
Why can't you tell Mary now? It will cheer her up. She's been pretty
miserable since you've been away this trip.'

'I want it to be a surprise,' I said.

'Well, I've got nothing to say against a surprise, out in a hole like
this; but it 'ud take a lot to surprise me. What am I to say to Mary
about taking the two horses in? I'll only want one to bring the cart
out, and she's sure to ask.'

'Tell her you're going to get yours shod.'

'But he had a set of slippers only the other day. She knows as much
about horses as we do. I don't mind telling a lie so long as a chap has
only got to tell a straight lie and be done with it. But Mary asks so
many questions.'

'Well, drive the other horse up the creek early, and pick him up as you
go.'

'Yes. And she'll want to know what I want with two bridles. But I'll fix
her--YOU needn't worry.'

'And, James,' I said, 'get a chamois leather and sponge--we'll want 'em
anyway--and you might give the buggy a wash down in the creek, coming
home. It's sure to be covered with dust.'

'Oh!--orlright.'

'And if you can, time yourself to get here in the cool of the evening,
or just about sunset.'

'What for?'

I'd thought it would be better to have the buggy there in the cool
of the evening, when Mary would have time to get excited and get over
it--better than in the blazing hot morning, when the sun rose as hot as
at noon, and we'd have the long broiling day before us.

'What do you want me to come at sunset f