They landed. Mr. Winchester purchased the right of feeding cattle over a large tract a hundred miles distant from Sydney, and after a few days spent in that capital started with their wagons into the interior. There for about five months George was Mr. Winchester's factotum, and though he had himself much to learn, the country and its habits being new to him, still he saved his friend from fundamental errors, and, from five in the morning till eight at night, put zeal, honesty and the muscular strength of two ordinary men at his friend's service. At the expiration of this period Mr. Winchester said to him one evening, “George, I can do my work alone now, and the time is come to show my sense of your services and friendship. I have bought a run for you about eight miles from here, and now you are to choose five hundred sheep and thirty beasts; the black pony you ride goes with them.” “Oh no, sir! it is enough to rob you of them at all without me going and taking the pick of them.” “Well! will you consent to pen the flocks and then lift one hurdle and take them as they come out, so many from each lot?” “That I consent to, sir, and remain your debtor for life.” “I can't see it; I set _my life_ a great deal higher than sheepskin.” Mr. Winchester did not stop there, he forced a hundred pounds upon George. “If you start in any business with an empty pocket you are a gone coon.” So these two friends parted with mutual esteem, and George set to work by prudence and vigor to make the thousand pounds. One thousand pounds! This one is to have the woman he loves for a thousand pounds. That sounds cheap. Heaven upon earth for a thousand pounds. What is a thousand pounds? Nothing. There are slippery men that gain this in a week by time bargains, trading on capital of round 0's; others who net as much in an evening, and as honorably, by cards. There are merchants who net twenty times this sum by a single operation. “An operation?” inquires Belgravia.