“Faith, it’s little chance I had while yer mouth was doing its work, Teddy,” cried Ned, with a grin.

“We will make a bargain with you,” Mr. Brown said to the men.  “Give us a share of your potatoes, and we’ll divide the whiskey.”

“Done,” cried all hands, with remarkable unanimity; and the pot containing the esculents was jerked off the fire and placed at our feet, while we treated all hands, not even excepting the women.

“Well, what is the news at Melbourne?” asked Mr. Brown, while We were satisfying our appetites.

“It’s loud talk they have about the miners, and their dislike to pay the tax, glory to God; and the artillerymen were getting ready to march whenever the governor tells ’em to, bad luck to ’em.”

“Did you understand at what mines the soldiers are to be stationed?” I asked.

“Yes, I did,” replied our informant. “’Tis at Ballarat.”

“Then there must have been trouble since our absence,” remarked Mr. Brown; “and the sooner we are home the safer will our property be.  If we but had fresh horses we could start at once.”

“And carry off the whiskey?” demanded the men, with rueful looks.

“No, we would leave it for your use.”

“Then long life to yez, and it’s prayers ye shall have for fresh horses without delay”

Pat’s prayers, if indeed he prayed at all, were of but little avail, for the fresh horses did not come along, and we were compelled to remain inactive until near midnight, when we again saddled our animals, and bade our entertainers farewell.  When we left, the company was very patriotic, and songs of Ireland’s greatness and England’s outrages were hooted loud enough to awaken every one within a radius of two miles.  They gave us three cheers when we left, and one of the party, in the excitement, stumbled over the potato pot, and got a dose of hot water on his person that caused him to utter the most frightful cries, which were responded to by shouts of laughter instead of tears of condolement.

“We have accomplished one humane purpose in giving the men the whiskey,” Mr. Brown said, as we rode in the direction of Ballarat.  “The poor horses will get a few hours’ extra rest.”

“That is more than the women and children can do,” I remarked.

“The women can take care of themselves, I’ll warrant you, and if a fight occurs, look after their children at the same time.  But touch up your horse.  We must reach Ballarat by daylight, for I have no doubt that stirring times are occurring there.”

The air was quite cool, and the moon sufficiently bright to show us the right road, so that we wasted no time in searching for it.  Not a single person did we meet until just before daylight, when our horses suddenly shied, and an examination revealed the cause.  Under a tree by the roadside was a team, and the driver fast asleep, snoring most unmusically, while the oxen were quietly chewing their cuds, chained to a wheel of the cart.