If you wait till I promise anything, you’ll wait till the end of the century.  I’m quite capable of walking home.”

“You’ll soon get tired of walking in this heat, and your feet will he blistered in a mile with those bits of paper.”

The bits of paper to which he alluded were a pair of thin-soled white canvas slippers—­not at all fitted for walking the eight miles on the hard hot road ahead of me.  I walked resolutely on, without deigning a glance at Harold, who had slowed down to a crawling walk.

“Aren’t you ready to get up now?” he inquired presently.

I did not reply.  At the end of a quarter of a mile he jumped out of the buggy, seized upon me, lifted me in, and laughed, saying, “You’re a very slashing little concern, but you are not big enough to do much damage.”

We were about half-way home when Barney gave a tremendous lurch, breaking a trace and some other straps.  Mr Beecham was at the head of the plunging horse in a twinkling.  The harness seemed to be scattered everywhere.

“I expect I had better walk on now,” I remarked.

“Walk, be grannied!  With two fat lazy horses to draw you?” returned Mr Beecham.

Men are clumsy, stupid creatures regarding little things, but in their right place they are wonderful animals.  If a buggy was smashed to smithereens, from one of their many mysterious pockets they would produce a knife and some string, and put the wreck into working order in no time.

Harold was as clever in this way as any other man with as much bushman ability as he had, so it was not long ere we were bowling along as merrily as ever.

Just before we came in sight of Caddagat he came to a standstill, jumped to the ground, untied Warrigal, and put the reins in my hand, saying: 

I think you can get home safely from here.  Don’t be in such a huff—­I was afraid something might happen you if alone.  You needn’t mention that I came with you unless you like.  Goodbye.”

“Good-bye, Mr Beecham.  Thank you for being so officious,” I said by way of a parting shot.

“Old Nick will run away with you for being so ungrateful,” he returned.

“Old Nick will have me anyhow,” I thought to myself as I drove home amid the shadows.  The hum of the cicadas was still, and dozens of rabbits, tempted out by the cool of the twilight, scuttled across my path and hid in the ferns.

I wished the harness had not broken, as I feared it would put a clincher on my being allowed out driving alone in future.

Joe Slocombe, the man who acted as groom and rouseabout, was waiting for me at the entrance gate.

“I’m glad you come at last, Miss Sybyller.  The missus has been in a dreadful stoo for fear something had happened yuz.  She’s been runnin’ in an’ out like a gurrl on the look-out fer her lover, and was torkin’ of sendin’ me after yuz, but she went to her tea soon as she see the buggy come in sight.  I’ll put all the parcels on the back veranda, and yuz can go in at woncest or yuz’ll be late fer yer tea.”