“As you’re a gentleman,” said the fat lady, “I fully expected you’d have let us off. I’m Mrs. Buxter, of Bobbrawobbra.”

“Indeed! I have no words to express my regret,” says Starlight; “but, my dear lady, hard necessity compels me. Thanks, very much,” he said to the young girl.

She handed over a small old Geneva watch and a little purse. The plump lady had a gold watch with a chain and purse to match. “Is that all?” says he, trying to speak stern.

“It’s my very all,” says the girl,“five pounds. Mother gave me her watch, and I shall have no money to take me to Bowning, where I am going to a situation.”

Her lips shook and trembled and the tears came into her eyes.

Starlight carefully handed Mrs. Buxter’s watch and purse to Jim. I saw him turn round and open the other purse, and he put some thing in, if I didn’t mistake. Then he looked in again.

“I’m afraid I’m rather impertinent,” says he, “but your face, Miss—ah—Elmsdale, thanks—reminds me of someone in another world—the one I once lived in. Allow me to enjoy the souvenir and to return your effects. No thanks; that smile is ample payment Ladies, I wish you a pleasant journey.”

He bowed. Mrs. Buxter did not smile, but looked cross enough at the young lady, who, poor thing, seemed pretty full up and inclined to cry at the surprise.

“Now then, all aboard,” sings out Starlight; “get in, gentlemen, our business matters are concluded for the night. Better luck next time, William, you had better drive on. Send back from the next stage, and you will find the mail bags under that tree. They shall not be injured more than can be helped. Goodnight!”

The driver gathered up his reins and shouted to his team, that was pretty fresh after their spell, and went off like a shot. We sat down by the roadside with one of the coach lamps that we had boned and went through all the letters, putting them back after we’d opened them, and popping all notes, cheques, and bills into Jim’s leather sack. We did not waste more time over our letter-sorting than we could help, you bet; but we were pretty well paid for it—better than the post-office clerks are, by all accounts. We left all the mail bags in a heap under the tree, as Starlight had told the driver; and then, mounting our horses, rode as hard as we could lick to where dad and Warrigal were camped.