‘Ten foot under water, by this,’ replied the carrier, ‘seein’ it was up to the naves afore we left. We knowed nothin’ till we feels it in our blankets. Then up we jumps, and, behold you, we’re on a hiland about twenty foot round, an’ the flood a-roarin’ like billyho. As luck ’ll ’ave it, Tom, there, has this boat in his loadin’, takin’ her to a storekeeper at Overflow—I expect he’s a-thinkin’ on her just now. So we hiked her out, paddles an’ all, gits some tucker, an’ steers for Tarnpirr, knowin’ as you was a lot lower ’n we, an’ no boat. Well, when we sees nothin’ but water where the house shud ha’ been, we reckoned you’d all been swep’ away, so comes along on chance, cooeyin’ pretty often. By jakers, guv’nor, if you hadn’t ’appened to have savee enough to chuck that thing together, you’d all a’ been gone goosers sure enough! I don’t b’lieve there’s one single solitary ’oof left on the run, not exceptin’ our bullocks an’ saddle ’orses.’ The castaways now made a much-needed meal off damper and some of the Tarnpirr mutton, and voted it a wonderful improvement on raw pumpkin, even with love for its sauce. Before they had pulled a mile towards Warrooga, they met Mr Barton with some residents in the police boat. He had been nearly frantic with anxiety since, on returning home, he encountered the water, and, galloping back, had with great difficulty reached the township. * * * * * ‘What’s the use?’ replied Mr Barton despondently, when, that same evening, Fortescue asked him for Daisy. ‘I’m a ruined man, and, like most such, selfish, and I want to keep my little girl. So far as I can gather, there’s not an animal of any description left alive on Tarnpirr. Pastoral firms make no allowances; they’ll say I ought to have cleared everything off before the flood came, and they’ll sack me at a minute’s notice. Of course, if the people here had done as they should, I might have saved most of the sheep, if not all. No; I don’t like to disappoint you, after having behaved so nobly and pluckily—and I must say now that I never did you justice—but I think, Mr Fortescue, you’d better choose a wife elsewhere; I do, indeed.’ Seeing that Barton was irritable, and rather inclined to hug his misfortune, Fortescue, perhaps wisely, said no more just then, and apparently took his dismissal with a good grace. But later, before starting for the capital, Daisy and he had a long talk, during which a conspiracy was hatched. Mr Barton bade his jackaroo a kindly good-bye; and if he felt any surprise at the non-renewal of his suit, he never showed it.