I kenna hoo they ca’ the man, but he has been in my house, noo, twa or three times.  He’s only twa or three months arrived in the colony, and is settled somewhere in the neighbourhood o’ Liverpool—­our Liverpool, ye ken, no the English Liverpool.  He seems to be in respectable circumstances.  Noo, if he comes to sleep here the nicht, as I hae nae doot he will, seein’ there’s nae coach for Liverpool till the morn’s mornin’—­I’ll mention you till him, and maybe ye may mak a bargain.”

I thanked Lawson for his kindness, and was about leaving the house, with a promise to call back in the evening, when he stopped me, and insisted on my taking some refreshment.  This, which consisted of some cold roast fowl and a glass of brandy and water, I readily accepted.  When I had partaken of his hospitality I left the house, repeating my promise to call again in the evening.  The interval, knowing nobody in Sydney, I spent in sauntering about the town.

On the approach of evening, I again returned to Lawson’s.  He was standing in the doorway when I came forward.

“Come awa, lad,” he said, with a glad face, on seeing me.  “Your frien’s here, and I hae been speakin’ to him aboot ye, and he seems inclined to treat wi’ you.  But he’s takin’ a bit chack o’ dinner ’enoo, sae we’ll let him alane for twa or three minutes.  Stap ye awa in there to the bar, in the meanwhile, and I’ll let him ken in a wee that ye’re here.”

I did so.  In about ten minutes after, Lawson came to me, and said the gentleman up stairs would be glad to see me.  I rose and followed him.  We entered the room, the worthy landlord leading the way.  The stranger, with his elbow resting on the table, was leaning his head thoughtfully on his hand when we entered.  He gazed at me for an instant wildly; he sprang from his chair; he clasped me in his arms.  I returned the embrace.  Reader, it was my own father!

“Davie, my son,” he exclaimed, so soon as his surprise and emotion would permit him to speak, “how, in the name of all that’s wonderful, has this come about?  Where are you from? how came you here? and where on earth have you been all this weary time, since you left us?”

It was several minutes before I could make any reply.  At length—­

“I have much to tell you, father,” I said, glancing at the same time towards Lawson, who stood with open mouth and staring eyes, lost in wonder at the extraordinary scene, which he yet could not fully comprehend.

Understanding, however, the hint conveyed in that look, the worthy man instantly quitted the apartment, leaving us to ourselves.  On his doing so, I sat down at table with my father, and related to him the whole history of my misfortunes, without reserve or extenuation.

The narrative grieved and distressed him beyond measure; for, until I told him, he had no idea I stood before him a convicted felon; his first impression naturally being that I had come to the colony of my own free will.