Their tact and knowledge in this respect is marvellous, and is only equalled by their skill at throwing the boomerang,—­a curved piece of wood, measuring from twenty inches to three feet in length.

As I listened to Day’s description of the farmer of the Lodden, and his means of repelling attacks, and precaution against surprise, I no longer regretted the dangers of the excursion and its hardships.  I longed to see a farmer of Australia, and learn his method of planting, and what kind of tools he used, and all the information which I hoped would be interesting to my agricultural friends in this country.  I forgot that I was not clothed in exactly the kind of costume that would insure me a warm reception, and I forgot that the farmers of Victoria, as a general thing, are as aristocratic in feeling as the gentlemanly farmers of England.

I could have wished for a white shirt and a decent riding costume; but as I was destitute of those luxuries, I determined to appear like an American gentleman, even if I didn’t look like one.

As for Mr. Brown, he manifested the most profound contempt for clothing when I hinted the matter to him, and concluded by expressing a hope that if Mr. Wright didn’t like our personal appearance he wouldn’t look at us, which I considered only just and reasonable, although, as a general thing, I prefer open hostility to quiet contempt.

In about two hours time we gained the banks of the Loddon, and quenched our thirst with its pure water, and then followed the stream along for a number of miles until we began to approach signs of cultivation, when we struck a very good road that apparently had been used for the carting of water to the farm house.  In a short time we came in view of an immense field of wheat, ripe and ready for reaping, but without a fence or hedge to guard it against the depredations of animals, although, as far as I could judge, the grain had not suffered in that respect.

Still, we met with no one connected with the farm; a circumstance that gave Day some uneasiness, for he was continually urging us to be cautious how we moved along, and to check our horses the instant a word was addressed to us.

“It’s all very well for you coveys to pretend that you don’t care, but if a few bullets should happen to fly this way and knock you off your horses, what satisfaction would there be in letting the coveys know that they had made a mistake.  Recollect, you don’t look over genteel.”

We calmed the shepherd with assurances that we would be extremely careful, and continued onward, and when we least expected it, a sudden rounding of the road freed us from the trees which grew upon the banks of the Loddon, and we emerged upon an open space containing about sixty acres, and in the middle of the vast square was the farm house belonging to Mr. Wright.  It was quite a respectable building, two stories high, with flat roof, and constructed entirely of rough logs, yet fitted together with considerable pretensions to skill and nicety.