een a weak coward. I drank the rest of the beer and
went to sleep.

About daylight I woke and heard Jack's horse on the gravel. He came
round the back of the buggy-shed and up to my door, and then, suddenly,
a girl screamed out. I pulled on my trousers and 'lastic-side boots and
hurried out. It was Mary herself, dressed, and sitting on an old stone
step at the back of the kitchen with her face in her hands, and Jack was
off his horse and stooping by her side with his hand on her shoulder.
She kept saying, 'I thought you were----! I thought you were----!' I
didn't catch the name. An old single-barrel, muzzle-loader shot-gun was
lying in the grass at her feet. It was the gun they used to keep loaded
and hanging in straps in a room of the kitchen ready for a shot at a
cunning old hawk that they called ''Tarnal Death', and that used to be
always after the chickens.

When Mary lifted her face it was as white as note-paper, and her eyes
seemed to grow wilder when she caught sight of me.

'Oh, you did frighten me, Mr Barnes,' she gasped. Then she gave a little
ghost of a laugh and stood up, and some colour came back.

'Oh, I'm a little fool!' she said quickly. 'I thought I heard old
'Tarnal Death at the chickens, and I thought it would be a great thing
if I got the gun and brought him down; so I got up and dressed quietly
so as not to wake Sarah. And then you came round the corner and
frightened me. I don't know what you must think of me, Mr Barnes.'

'Never mind,' said Jack. 'You go and have a sleep, or you won't be
able to dance to-night. Never mind the gun--I'll put that away.' And he
steered her round to the door of her room off the brick verandah where
she slept with one of the other girls.

'Well, that's a rum start!' I said.

'Yes, it is,' said Jack; 'it's very funny. Well, how's your face this
morning, Joe?'

He seemed a lot more serious than usual.

We were hard at work all the morning cleaning out the big wool-shed and
getting it ready for the dance, hanging hoops for the candles, making
seats, &c. I kept out of sight of the girls as much as I could. One side
of my face was a sight and the other wasn't too classical. I felt as if
I had been stung by a swarm of bees.

'You're a fresh, sweet-scented beauty now, and no mistake, Joe,' said
Jimmy Nowlett--he was going to play the accordion that night. 'You ought
to fetch the girls now, Joe. But never mind, your face'll go down
in about three weeks. My lower ja