LIFE at the run proved pleasant to Jean and full of interesting happenings. She missed her father and Fergus, but she and Sandy soon grew to be great friends, and many were the thrilling bits of mischief into which he dragged her, sure that he would escape punishment if Jean were only to say, "Don't punish Sandy, Uncle Angus, I did it too." The little girl loved her Aunt Mildred, but more than any one at the station her uncle had won her heart. She grew to be his little shadow, driving and riding with him, sun-tanned and rosy, growing strong and healthy in the free Australian life. "You are getting as fat as a Chinaman's horse, lassie," said her uncle as they rode to the river one day. "Why do you say that?" she asked. "The Chinese are always very kind to their horses and keep them fat and slick, so that has grown to be a proverb, though some people say as 'fat as a larrikin's dog,' instead." "What is a larrikin?" Jean was growing as full of questions as Fergus. "Larrikin is a slang term applied to the idlers who lounge about the cities, a dog at their heels, like the 'Enery 'Awkins of London or Glasgow. There are many of them in Australia and they have formed a kind of secret society among themselves, which is not a very good thing. Here is a fine bit for a canter, Jeanie. I'll beat you to the big eucalyptus." "No, you won't." Jean chirruped to her pony and was off like a shot through the open paddock, jumping a fence as if on wings. She loved to gallop when the air was filled with the fragrance of the wattle and the gum, and she had grown to ride like a little centaur. "Well done," cried her uncle as she drew up at the gate, laughing and breathless, her horse half a head in advance of his. "We are so near to 'Mason's run,' I think we'll have time to stop there. I want to see him about several things, so we'll ride on." "Very well, Uncle. Is it a sheep run?" "No, cattle. You have not seen one yet, so keep your eyes open and learn all you can. Mason breeds the long horns, sullen beasts, but good stock." "I shall be glad to see them," she said, and they cantered up to the homestead, which was very unlike her uncle's station. Built of wood, with a galvanized-iron roof, the house stood on piles, but between each pile and the house was a tin plate to keep the white ants from climbing into the rooms. Several gins[7] came out to see who the strangers were, the first that Jean had seen, and she looked at them curiously. Not more so, however, than they looked at her, for they stared at her and whispered together. "They don't know what to make of you, 'Lassie with the lint white locks,'" her uncle laughed. "The young gin wants to know if you are Great Baiame's golden child. It's your fair hair, I suppose." Jean's hair was light golden and floated all about her face like a halo. "Great Baiame is their god, good spirit, and they think you are a goddess. That gin wants to touch your hair. Better let her, she won't hurt you."