r Harbour about eleven o'clock and would reach Nobby's at or
before midnight.

Soon after breakfast next morning, Patrick Kenna, under pretence of
speaking to my mother about a strayed heifer of ours, came into the
kitchen, and told Ruth that all was well; he had been to Little Nobby's
at daylight and found that everything was gone and the boat was nowhere
to be discerned.

For quite another two or three weeks after this the constables pursued
their search after Thomas May, much to the amusement of Ruth and
Patrick Kenna, especially as the latter, with 'King Billy' and another
aboriginal, were officially employed by my father at ten shillings _per
diem_ to discover the absconder--Billy, who seemed to be most anxious
to get the reward of five pounds, leading the constables all over the
country and eating more than three men's rations daily. At last the
chase was abandoned, and my father wrote officially to Sydney and said
that 'Thomas May, No. 3614, _Breckenbridge_,' was supposed to have
either died of starvation in the bush or have been killed by the
natives. My mother, of course, thought she knew better.

And so the matter was forgotten by everyone but us who had known and
cared for the good-natured, high-spirited and warm-hearted young sailor;
and as the months went by, Walter Trenfield and my mother both looked
forward to receiving a letter from Tom May, telling them that he and his
companions had reached some port in the Dutch East Indies in safety. For
not only was the boat well found, but they had plenty of provisions,
and Tom May was a thorough seaman; and besides that, my mother had often
told us the story of the convict William Bryant, who had escaped from
Sydney Harbour in Governor Phillip's time, and in an open boat, with
four other men and his wife and two infant children, succeeded in
reaching Timor, after a voyage of three thousand miles.{*}

* Publisher's Note.--The strange but true story of the
Bryants is told in a volume entitled _A First Fleet Family_.
(Louis Becke and Walter Jeffery. London: T. Fisher Unwin.
1896.)

But no letter came until two long years had passed.

Ruth Kenna, at the time of my story, though not yet seventeen years of
age, was a tall, powerful girl, and was known as the best horsewoman in
all the country around. She was a happy, good-natured sort of a wench,
with a heart filled with sunshine and love and truth and honesty; though
Mr Sampson once told m