shrubberied banks.  The odour from the six-acred flower-garden was overpowering and delightful.  A breeze gently swayed the crowd of trees amid the houses, and swept over the great orchard which sloped down from the south side of the houses.  In the fading sunlight thirty iron roofs gleamed and glared, and seemed like a little town; and the yelp of many dogs went up at the sound of our wheels.  Ah! beautiful, beautiful Five-Bob Downs!

It seemed as though a hundred dogs leapt forth to greet us when that gate flew open, but I subsequently discovered there were but twenty-three.

Two female figures came out to meet us—­one nearly six feet high, the other, a tiny creature, seemed about eighteen inches, though, of course, was more than that.

“I’ve brought her, aunt Gussie,” said Harold, jumping out of the sulky, though not relinquishing the reins, while he kissed the taller figure, and the small one attached itself to his leg saying, “Dimme wide.”

“Hullo!  Possum, why wasn’t old Spanker let go?  I see he’s not among the dogs,” and my host picked the tiny individual up in his arms and got into the sulky to give her the desired ride, while after being embraced by Miss Beecham and lifted to the ground by her nephew, I went with the former over an asphalted tennis-court, through the wide garden, then across a broad veranda into the great, spreading, one-storeyed house from which gleamed many lights.

“I am so glad you have come, my dear.  I must have a good look at you when we get into the light.  I hope you are like your mother.”

This prospect discomfited me.  I knew she would find a very ugly girl with not the least resemblance to her pretty mother, and I cursed my appearance under my breath.

“Your name is Sybylla,” Miss Beecham continued, “Sybylla Penelope.  Your mother used to be very dear to me, but I don’t know why she doesn’t write to me now.  I have never seen her since her marriage.  It seems strange to think of her as the mother of eight-five boys and three girls, is it not?”

Miss Beecham had piloted me through a wide hall and along an extended passage out of which a row of bedrooms opened, into one of which we went.

“I hope you will he comfortable here, child.  You need not dress for dinner while you are here; we never do, only on very special occasions.”

“Neither do we at Caddagat,” I replied.

“Now, child, let me have a good look at you without your hat.”

“Oh, please don’t!” I exclaimed, covering my face with my hands.  I am so dreadfully ugly that I cannot bear to have anyone look at me.”

“What a silly little girl!  You are not like your mother, but you are not at all plain-looking.  Harold says you are the best style of girl he has seen yet, and sing beautifully.  He got a tuner up from Sydney last week, so we will expect you to entertain us every night.”

I learnt that what Harold pronounced good no one dared gainsay at Five-Bob Downs.