‘I have no doubt that you will do your best, John,’ answered Mr. Neuchamp, much gratified by the warm gratitude exhibited by one whose fate at one time lay in his hand; whose after-career had done so much to justify his anxiety for the welfare of his fellow-man. ‘I have no doubt that Mildool will be the best-managed station on the river—after Rainbar, of course; and that there will be a splendid increase this year,—always providing that no calf bears my brand—and never mistake me on that score—that cannot be honestly provided with a mother of the same ownership.’ Mr. Windsor made a slight gesture of compulsory resignation, as of one who feels himself bound down to superhuman purity; but he said, ‘You shall be obeyed in that, sir; and in every other thing you choose to order; though it will come queer to the old hands at Mildool, if all tales are true, to kill their own beef, let alone mothering their calves. But _your word’s my law_! And I see now that going straight is the best in the end, whether in big things or little. We’ll be off to-morrow, Carry and I, and she can hang it out at Rainbar and have Tot Freeman to talk to—those chaps ain’t left yet, I believe—while I’m taking over the cattle at Mildool.’ ‘That will do very well, John. Meanwhile you can let a contract for a neat six-roomed cottage at Mildool, as there isn’t a place there fit for Piambook and his gin to live in. You must consult your wife about the site of it, though, as she will have to live in it and spend many a day by herself there. Don’t let her regret the snug parlour and the old orchard at the “Cheshire Cheese,” eh, John?‘ ‘Well, it _is_ a great change, now I come to think of it,’ said Mr. Windsor, the first expression of distrust coming over his bold features that had been there exhibited since his successful raid upon the lowlanders. ‘I daresay she _would_ feel struck all of a heap if she was to come upon Mildool old station sudden-like, with the dog-holes of huts, and every tree cut down on the sandhill because the men were too lazy to go out for firewood, or for fear the blacks might sneak on them, and the pile of bones, like a boiling down round the gallows. But, thank God! there’s grass now, and there’s fat cattle enough in Mildool by this time—for they’ve never sent away a beast this season, I hear—to build an Exhibition, if it’s wanted. Carry’s got me, and I’ve got her, that’s the main thing; and I think we shall make shift to jog along. We’ve got to do it, and no two ways about it. So, good-bye, sir. When shall we see you at Rainbar?’ ‘I am afraid that business will detain me in Sydney for some weeks longer,’ said Mr. Neuchamp thoughtfully, as if mentally calculating the exact day on which he might quit the metropolis. ‘But you and Mr. Banks will be able to manage the muster easy enough.’