“Don’t fear for me, father,” the daughter said, with an expressive glance at the brawny form of Smith, which seemed to say that he is “strong enough to take care of me in this world of trouble.”

“But I do care for you, for who else have I to love in this world?” answered the stockman, wiping away a tear.

“And will you not let another share that love?” she said, fondling his gray hairs, as though she had just awakened to a sense of his worth.

“What do you mean, girl?” he demanded, with a suspicious glance at her face, which was suffused with blushes.

“I mean,” she replied, coloring with contusion, “that if a suitor should present himself, would you not be willing that I should marry again?”

“You have just lost one husband, and who thinks of whispering nonsense in your ears?  Not these young gallants, I hope, for they never would be willing to introduce you to their homes; and if they mean false, the old gun is still capable of sending a bullet as true as the day that I took it from a bushranger for killing my sheep.”

“O, no, father; the young gentlemen have hardly spoken to me, and if I should wait for them to make love, I should never be married.”

“Then who has caught your fancy, and made you feel as though you wished to desert your old father?” demanded the old convict, sternly.

“Not to desert you, father, for you shall come and live with us, and give up your shepherd’s occupation.  The work is too hard and dangerous for one of your years, and if you wish to make money the city offers larger inducements.”

“I don’t understand all of this,” cried the old man, wiping his brow, and staring at us as though he wished we would explain.  “You want me to live with you, yet when, and where, I am left to conjecture.”

“He will tell you all,” cried the daughter, breaking away and entering the hut, her face nearly as red as Smith’s, and the latter’s seemed as though burning.  He cast an imploring glance towards me, and I helped him out of the dilemma as well as I was able.

“A man whom you might well be proud to call son-in-law has taken a fancy to your daughter, and seeks to make her his wife.  The match in one that you can’t help approving, for he is able to support her and be a kind husband.  What more can you ask for?”

“I ask for the name of the person, and you confuse me with a torrent of praise,” exclaimed the old man, testily.

“Here he is to speak for himself,” I said, leading Smith up.  “This is the man who desires to become your son-in-law.”

“Are you serious, Smith?” the stockman asked, with a suspicious glance of his keen, gray eye.

“I assure you that I am, and that I will labor with all my might to make your child a happy wife.”

Smith bore the scrutiny without flinching, although his words were uttered by syllables.

“But my child is poor; I can give her neither wealth, nor a proud, untarnished name.  I have been a sentenced convict.”