I," Mr. Brown answered, making an attempt to stroke the
bird's head, but the familiarity was rebuked by a vigorous peck, that
almost started the skin.

"You little devil, what do you mean?" my friend said, almost angry.

"That's right; swear and d----n! Where's the women? I love women! I
should like to hug one."

"You vulgar little brute! Where did you learn your bad manners?" I
asked.

"Mike, Mike, Mike."

"Well, Mike might be in better business. You have got some queer
crotchets in your head that are hardly suitable for a ladies boudoir,
especially if she expected gentlemen visitors," and Mr. Brown surveyed
the talented bird with considerable admiration, although he kept at a
respectful distance.

Jackson now made his appearance, and began to lay the dishes for supper,
first driving the laborers into their own sitting room, where they
surrounded the bushrangers, and, I am sorry to say, did not treat them
exactly as prisoners should have been used.

Left together, Mr. Brown and myself superintended Jackson, and wished
for supper, so that we could get a few hours' sleep before daylight.

CHAPTER LXXVIII.

PUNISHING THE BULLY.

There are moments when the hardest hearts are softened with a feeling
akin to pity for criminals; and although I thought that I had got pretty
well toughened to all sentiments of the kind, yet I must confess that
while I looked at the imprisoned bushrangers. I wished them upon the
very summit of Mount Tarrengower, and compelled to remain there amid
snow and storm, until all their wickedness was washed away, and their
past sins were forgiven.

I was more inclined to feel as I did from the fact that the farm hands
were encircling the poor devils, and criticising and abusing them
without mercy. I hate to see a fallen enemy ill treated. I always
thought that it was more noble to treat a fallen foe with some slight
show of respect, but that standard was not thought of by the laborers.

At last, one man, carried away by his feelings, deliberately spat into
the face of old Bill, and the act was hailed with shouts of applause and
laughter. The bushranger was unable to remove the indignity, and it
remained upon his grizzly countenance, a dirty monument of reproach to
his tormentors. I saw the old robber's eyes flash fire, and I could
imagine his feelings while standing there with bound arms, powerless.

"Can't you interfere, and prevent so disgraceful a recurrence?" I asked
of Mr.