He was a pleasant-looking young fellow somewhere about twenty, whose face was quite familiar to me.

He smiled so good-humouredly at me that I widely did the same in return, and he came forward with extended hand, exclaiming, “At last!”

The others looked on in surprise, Harold remarking suspiciously, “You said you were unacquainted with Miss Melvyn, but an introduction does not seem necessary.”

“Oh, yes it is,” chirped Mr Goodchum.  I haven’t the slightest idea of the young lady’s name.”

“Don’t know each other!” ejaculated Harold; and grannie, who had appeared upon the scene, inquired stiffly what we meant by such capers if unacquainted.

Mr Goodchum hastened to explain.

“I have seen the young lady on several occasions in the bank where I am employed, and I had the good fortune to be of a little service to her one day when I was out biking.  Her harness, or at least the harness on the horse she was driving, broke, and I came to the rescue with my pocket-knife and some string, thereby proving, if not ornamental, I was useful.  After that I tried hard to find out who she was, but my inquiries always came to nothing.  I little dreamt who Miss Melvyn was when Harry, telling me she was a Goulburn girl, asked if I knew her.”

“Quite romantic,” said aunt Helen, smiling; and a great thankfulness overcame me that Mr Goodchum had been unable to discover my identity until now.  It was right enough to be unearthed as Miss Melvyn, grand-daughter of Mrs Bossier of Caddagat, and great friend and intimate of the swell Beechams of Five-Bob Downs station.  At Goulburn I was only the daughter of old Dick Melvyn, broken-down farmer-cockatoo, well known by reason of his sprees about the commonest pubs in town.

Mr Goodchum told us it was his first experience of the country, and therefore he was enjoying himself immensely.  He also mentioned that he was anxious to see some of the gullies around Caddagat, which, he had heard, were renowned for the beauty of their ferns.  Aunt Helen, accordingly, proposed a walk in the direction of one of them, and hurried off to attend to a little matter before starting.  While waiting for her, Harold happened to say it was my birthday, and Mr Goodchum tendered me the orthodox wishes, remarking, It is surely pardonable at your time of life to ask what age you have attained today?”

“Seventeen.”

“Oh! oh! ‘sweet seventeen, and never been kissed’; but I suppose you cannot truthfully say that, Miss Melvyn?”

“Oh yes, I can.”

“Well, you won’t he able to say it much longer,” he said, making a suggestive move in my direction.  I ran, and he followed, grannie reappearing from the dining-room just in time to see me bang the garden gate with great force on my pursuer.

“What on earth is the girl doing now?” I heard her inquire.

However, Mr Goodchum. did not execute his threat; instead we walked along decorously in the direction of the nearest ferns, while Harold and aunt Helen followed, the latter carrying a sunbonnet for me.