Stockbridge sat immovable and silent as a statue, and I saw that his heart travelled farther than his eye could reach.

“Jim,” said I, “I wonder what is going on at Drumston now?”

“I wonder,” he said softly.

“Jim,” I began again, “do you ever think of poor little Mary now?”

“Yes, old boy, I do,” he replied.  “I was thinking of her then—­I am always thinking of her.  I wonder if she married that fellow Hawker?”

“I fear there’s but little doubt of it,” I said.  “Try to forget her, James; you’ll make all your life unhappy if you don’t.”

He laughed.

“That’s all very well, Jeff, but it’s easier said than done.  Do you hear that?  There are cattle down the gully!”

There was some noise in the air beside the evening rustle of the south wind among the tree-tops.  Now it sounded like a far-off hubbub of waters, now swelled up harmonious, like the booming of cathedral bells across some rich old English valley on a still summer’s afternoon.

“I’ll tell you what I think it is, old Jeff; it’s some new chums going to cross the watershed, and look for new country to the south.  Let us go down to meet them; they will come down by the river yonder.”

All doubt about what the newcomers were was solved before we reached the river; so we sat and watched the scene so venerable and ancient—­the patriarchs moving into the desert, to find new pasture-ground.

First came the cattle lowing loudly, then horsemen, six or seven in number, and last, four drays came crawling up the pass.

Suddenly James dashed forward with a shout, and when I came up with him, wondering, I found myself shaking hands, talking and laughing, with Major Buckley and Tom Troubridge.

They told us all the news as we rode with them to the drays, where sat Mrs. Buckley,—­a noble, happy matron, laughing at her son, as he toddled about busy gathering sticks for the fire.  Beside her sat Mary, looking sad and worn, with her child on her lap, and poor old Miss Thornton, glancing uneasily round.

Mary sprang up, burst into hysterical weeping.  I saw how his big heart yearned to comfort his old sweetheart in her distress, as he took the child of his rival to his bosom.

“Is nobody going to notice me or my boy, I wonder?” said Mrs. Buckley.  “Come here immediately, Mr. Stockbridge, before we quarrel.”

Soon we were all restored to our equanimity, and laying plans for future meetings.

Next morning, with many hearty farewells, and having promised to spend Christmastide with them, I turned my horse homewards, and went my solitary way.  Jim was going on with them to see them settled.

IV.—­Father and Son

There is a long period of dull prosperity coming to our friends.  Go on two years.  See Baroona, the Buckley’s place, now.  That hut where we spent the pleasant Christmas-day is degraded into the kitchen, for a new house is built—­a long, low house, with deep, cool verandas all round, already festooned with passion flowers, and young grape-vines.