“I know, and that’s enough,” snarls father. “I hear a lot in many ways about things and people that no one guesses on, and I know this—that he’s pretty well marked down by old Stillbrook the detective as went down there a month ago.”

“But didn’t you warn him?”

“Yes, of course, as soon as I heard tell; but it’s too late, I’m thinking. He has the devil’s luck as well as his own, but I always used to tell him it would fail him yet.”

“I believe you’re the smartest man of the crowd, dad,” says Jim, laying his hand on father’s shoulder. He could pretty nigh get round the old chap once in a way, could Jim, surly as he was. “What do you think we’d better do? What’s our best dart?”

Father shook off his hand, but not roughly, and his voice wasn’t so hard when he said—

“Why, stop at home quiet, of course, and sleep in your beds at night. Don’t go planting in the gully, or someone’ll think you’re wanted, and let on to the police. Ride about the country till I give you the office. Never fear but I’ll have word quick enough. Go about and see the neighbours round just as usual.”

Jim and I was quite stunned by this bit of news; no doubt we was pretty sorry as ever we left Melbourne, but there was nothing for it now but to follow it out. After all, we were at home, and it was pleasant to think we wouldn’t be hunted for a bit and might ride about the old place and enjoy ourselves a bit. Aileen was as happy as the day was long, and poor mother used to lay her head on Jim’s neck and cry for joy to have him with her. Even father used to sit in the front, under the quinces, and smoke his pipe, with old Crib at his feet, most as if he thought he was happy. I wonder if he ever looked back to the days when he was a farmin’ boy and hadn’t took to poaching? He must have been a smart, handy kind of lad, and what a different look his face must have had then!

We had our own horses in pretty good trim, so we foraged up Aileen’s mare, and made it up to ride over to George Storefield’s and give a look-up. He’d been away when we came, and now we heard he was home.

“George has been doing well all this time, of course,” I said. “I expect he’ll turn squatter some day and be made a magistrate.”