‘That’s how it is in my mind,’ he slowly continued, as if pursuing his ordinary train of thoughts, ‘and before we meet again you’ll know all about it. I’m off to Melbourne as soon as I can get on to the mail line. I shall buy stock right and left, and pick up as many cottages and town allotments as I can find with good titles. They’ll be like these Freeman store cattle; cent per cent will be a trifle to what profits are to be had out of them. But all this yarning won’t buy the child a frock. Where’s that young man of yours? I want to leave my horse and saddle in his charge.’ ‘Where are you going now?’ asked Ernest. ‘How can you get over to the mail station without a horse? It’s a hundred and eighty miles to Wargan, where the coach line comes in.’ ‘It’s only thirty miles to Wood-duck Lagoon, where the horse mail passes,’ said his determined guest. ‘I left word for them down at Mingadee to send a led horse by the mailman for me to-morrow. Johnny Daly’s an old stockman of mine, and one of those chaps that when he says he’ll do a thing he always does it. I’m as sure of finding a horse there at ten o’clock to-morrow as if I saw him now.’ ‘But suppose he loses him on the way, or don’t find your horse ready at Mingadee, what then? Hadn’t you better take a man and horse from here?’ ‘Well, I don’t say Johnny would _steal_ a horse, out and out, if he knew I expected one at a certain hour; he’s a good boy, though he does come from the Weddin Mountains. But he’d _have_ one for me, some road or other, if there wasn’t one nearer than Bargo Brush. As for your horses, I’m obliged, and know I’m welcome, but it would knock up one going and one coming back, for they’re all as poor as crows, and that don’t pay, besides a man’s time for nothing. I’ve plenty of time, and the night’s the best travelling weather now. If you’ll call this native chap I’ll be off.’ Ernest, though extremely loath to let his friend and benefactor depart on foot—of which, as a mode of progression, he was beginning to acquire the Australian opinion, viz. that it wore a poverty-stricken appearance—could not decently oppose Mr. Levison’s fixed desire to take the road. He therefore called up Jack Windsor, to whose care Mr. Levison solemnly confided his emaciated quadruped, a much worn and sunburned saddle and bridle, together with a considerable portion of gray blanket, which, in many folds, did duty as saddle-cloth. ‘Now, young man,’ he said solemnly, walking aside with Mr. Windsor, ‘you take care of these and my old horse. Give them to nobody without he brings Mr. Cottonbush’s written order; do you hear? That’s as good a stock horse and journey hack as ever you crossed, though he’s low now.’ ‘He is _very_ low!’ averred Jack, looking at the bare-ribbed spectral but well-formed animal that was grazing within a few yards of the spot, ‘but he may get over it. I’ll take a look at him night and morning, and see that he’s lifted regular if he gets down.’