“Why, you’re looking first-rate, Captain!” says Bella. “Dick, I hardly knowed ye—the mountain air seems to agree with you. Maddie and I thought you was never going to look in no more. Thought you’d clean forgot us—didn’t we, Mad? Why, Dick, what a grand beard you’ve grown! I never thought you was so handsome before!”

“I promised you a trifling present when I was here last, didn’t I, Bella?” says Starlight. “There.” He handed her a small parcel carefully tied up. “It will serve to remind you of a friend.”

“Oh, what a lovely, splendid duck of a watch!” says the girl, tearing open the parcel. “And what a love of a chain! and lots of charms, too. Where, in all the world, did you get this? I suppose you didn’t buy it in George Street.”

“It was bought in George Street,” says he; “and here’s the receipt; you needn’t be afraid of wearing it to church or anywhere else. Here’s Mr. Flavelle’s name, all straight and square. It’s quite new, as you can see.”

Jim and I stared. Dad was outside, seeing the horses fed, with Warrigal. We made sure at first it was Mrs. Buxter’s watch and chain; but he knew better than to give the girl anything that she could be brought into trouble for wearing, if it was identified on her; so he’d sent the cash down to Sydney, and got the watch sent up to him by one of father’s pals. It was as right as the bank, and no body could touch it or her either. That was Starlight all over; he never seemed to care much for himself. As to anything he told a woman, she’d no call to trouble herself about whether it would be done or not.

“It’ll be my turn next,” says Maddie. “I can’t afford to wait till—till—the Captain leaves me that beauty horse of his. It’s too long. I might be married before that, and my old man cut up rough. Jim, Marston, what are you going to give me? I haven’t got any earrings worth looking at, except those gold hoops that everybody knows.”

“All right,” says Jim. “I’ll give you and Bell a pair each, if you’re good girls, when we sell the horses, unless we’re nailed at the Turon. What sort of a shop is it? Are they getting much gold?”

“Digging it out like potatoes,” says Bella; “so a young chap told us that come this way last week. My word! didn’t he go on about the coach being stuck up. Mad and I nearly choked ourselves laughing. We made him tell it over twice. He said a friend of his was in it—in the coach, that is—and we could have told him friends of ours was in it, too, couldn’t we?”