In a few minutes after we had wished success to the last party that crossed the stream our horses were saddled, and once more we resumed our journey for Melbourne.

Nothing of general interest occupied our attention until we were within a few miles of the city, when Murden sent one of his men forward to announce his arrival to the captain of police, and to confide to him the success which had attended his enterprise.

Maurice, the person sent, must have imparted the news to a dozen friends, and they, probably, in turn told it to every one they met, for just as we came in sight of the city, we were surprised to witness a vast concourse of people on the road.

Some were on foot, and some on horseback, and every description of vehicle in Melbourne appeared to have been pressed into speedy service, and loaded down with men and women, anxious to get a glimpse of the ferocious bushrangers, whose names had long been such a terror to all having business beyond the limits of the city.

“We are in for it,” said Murden, pointing towards the fast approaching crowd.  “Close up on each side of the cart, men, and let no one speak to, or insult our prisoners!”

Before the crowd reached us, Smith deserted the side of his oxen for a moment, and laid his hand upon my horse’s bridle, saying,—­

“You remember where you and Mr. Fred slept the first night you landed in Melbourne?”

“To be sure I do,” I replied; “in your house.”

“And remember,” he said, “I want you both to take up your quarters there again.  You will promise me this?”

“I think that we had better go to some hotel,” I replied, fearing that we should cause him trouble and expense.

“Don’t think of such a thing; you will squander all of your money, and receive no equivalent for it.  Go to my house, and we’ll live like princes at a quarter the expense.  Or, if you feel that you are too good for the company of a felon—­”

“Hold there, Smith,” I said; “have we ever given you occasion to speak thus?”

“No; but you will be petted and praised, and I fear that perhaps so much attention will turn your hearts against me.”

“Do not fear that,” I rejoined, pressing his hand, which he returned, until I thought my fingers were in a vice; “we found in you a friend, and as such we shall continue to regard you until we leave the island.”

“Then you will make my house your home?” Smith inquired.

“If you still insist, I answer that we had rather keep together, and be under your roof, than to be lodged in the proudest hotel in Melbourne.”

Smith’s broad, red face was actually radiant with happiness, as he fell back to his place; and as he had no other way of testifying his happiness, he began cracking his long heavy whip, which started the cattle into a trot, and shook up the bushrangers and the parrot so roughly, that the latter yelled out,—­