Communication in these days was limited. Cantleville news arrived _via_ Sydney, and the newspapers were a week old when delivered. So that the team brought its own tidings home. They had not had a good time. They had also been heavily fined, and they proposed to go afield no more. The Blacksmith and the Saddler, who had ‘taken it out,’ were the last to appear. ‘I suppose you play Rugby rules?’ had asked blandly the Secretary of the C.F.C., as he curiously surveyed the ‘Bushies’ on their arrival. ‘No, we don’t,’ said the Blacksmith. ‘We plays Crupperton,’ and no more questions were asked. But when it was seen what Crupperton rules meant, backs, half-backs, forwards, and all the rest of it, struck and refused to continue. Instead, they took to chaffing the ‘black and white magpies.’ Whereupon, Crupperton, putting the question of football on one side, went at its opponents _à la_ Saddlestrap. Their places, however, they presently found taken by policemen. These latter every man handled to the best of his ability, and had to pay for accordingly. ‘Shoo!’ said the Blacksmith, as he finished. ‘They’re nothin’ but a lot o’ tiddleywinkers up there. Let’s have another match with Saddlestrap.’ ON THE GRAND STAND. A Pioneer Sketch. There was a lot of men from up-country staying at the Kamilaroi. One could easily tell them by their bronzed hands and faces, and creased or brand-new clothes, from the city members of the well-known Pastoralists’ Club. ‘Hello,’ suddenly exclaimed a fine-looking man, whose thick moustache lay snow-white against the deep tan of his cheek, ‘here’s Boorookoorora in the market! H’m, one hundred and sixty thousand sheep (so they’ve got the jumbucks on it at last).... Capital homestead ... stone-built house ... splendid garden and orchard. How things must have changed out there since Wal Neville and Jimmy Carstairs and myself took that country up, and lived for months at a time on damper, bullock and pigweed in a bark humpy. Stone house and orchard! Well, well,’ he concluded, laying down the newspaper with a sigh, ‘I hope they haven’t disturbed the boys. I left them there sleeping quietly enough side by side over five-and-twenty years ago.’ ‘Shouldn’t have gone home and stayed away so long, Standish,’ here remarked a friend. ’You’re out of touch altogether with our side now. That’s the worst of being rich. D’rectly a fellow gets a pot of money left him, off he must go “home.” But here’s Hatton.—Hatton, let me introduce Mr Hugh Standish to you. He’s interested in your place. First man to take it up; early pioneer, and all that sort of thing.’