At the present date there are eight squatter families in the Punch-Bowl, three belong to the branches of the clan of Boxall, three to that of Snelling, and two to the less mighty clan of Nash. At the time of which I write one of the best built houses and the most fertile patches of land was in the possession of the young man, Jonas Kink, commonly known as Bideabout. Jonas was a bachelor. His father and mother were dead, and his sister had married one of the Rocliffe's. He lived alone in his tolerably substantial house, and his sister came in when she was able to put it tidy for him and to do some necessary cooking. He was regarded as close-fisted though young; his age about twenty-three years. Hitherto no girl had caught his fancy, or had caught it sufficiently to induce him to take one to wife. "Tell'y what," said his sister, "you'll be nothing else but an old hudger (bachelor)." This was coming to be a general opinion. Jonas Kink had a heart for money, and for that only. He sneered at girls and flouted them. It was said that Jonas would marry no girl save for her money, and that a monied girl might pick and choose for herself, and such as she would most assuredly not make election of Bideabout. Consequently he was foredoomed to be a "hudger." "What's that?" suddenly exclaimed the Broom-Squire, who led the way along a footpath on the side of the steep slope. "It's a dead sheep, I fancy, Bideabout." "A dead sheep--I wonder if it be mine. Hold hard, what's that noise?" "It's like a babe's cry," said the boy. "Oh, lawk! if it be dead and ha' become a wanderer! I shu'd never have the pluck to go home alone." "Get along with your wanderers. It's arrant nonsense. I don't believe a word of it." "But there is the crying again. It is near at hand. Oh, Bideabout! I be that terrified!" "I'll strike a light. I'm not so sure about this being a dead sheep." Something lay on the path, catching what little light came from the sky above. Jonas stooped and plucked some dry grass. Then he got out his tinderbox and struck, struck, struck. The boy's eyes were on the flashing sparks. He feared to look elsewhere. Presently the tinder was ignited, and the Broom-Squire blew it and held dry grass haulms to the glowing embers till a blue flame danced up, became yellow, and burst into a flare. Cautiously Jonas approached the prostrate figure and waved the flaming grass above it, whilst sparks flew about and fell over it. The boy, shrinking behind the man, looked timidly forward, and uttered a cry as the yellow flare fell over the object and illumined a face. "I thought as much," said the Broom-Squire. "What else could he expect? Them three chaps ha' murdered him. They've robbed and stripped him." "Oh--Bideabout!" "Aye. What other could come o' such companions. They've gone off wi' his clothes--left his shirt--have they? That's curious, as one of the blackguards had none." Then the child's wailing and sobbing sounded more continuously than before.