I met Santley after thirty years, sitting on a bench in front of the “Travellers’ Rest” at Alberton, in Gippsland.  He had a wrinkled old face, and did not recognise my beautiful countenance until he heard my name.  He had half-a-dozen little boys and girls around him—­his grandchildren, I believe—­and was as happy as a king teaching them to sing hymns.  I don’t think Santley had grown rich, but he always carried a fortune about with him wherever he went, viz., a kind heart and a cheerful disposition.  Nobody could ever think of quarrelling with Santlay any more than with George Coppin, or with that benevolent bandmaster, Herr Plock.  He told me that he was now related to the highest family in the world, his daughter having married the Chinese giant, whose brothers and sisters were all of the race of Anak.

My mate, Philip, was so successful with his little school in the tent that he was promoted to another at the Rocky Waterholes, and then he went to the township at Lake Nyalong.  Philip had never travelled as far as Lake Nyalong, but Picaninny Jack told him that he had once been there, and that it was a beautiful country.  He tried to find it at another time, but got bushed on the wrong side of the lake; now he believed there was a regular track that way if Philip could only find it.  The settlers and other inhabitants ought to be well off; if not, it was their own fault, for they had the best land in the whole of Australia.

Philip felt sure that he would find at least one friend at Nyalong—­ viz., Mr. Barton, whom he had harboured in his tent at Bendigo, and had sheltered from the pursuit of the three bloodthirsty convicts.  Some people might be too proud to look forward to the friendship of a flagellator, but in those days we could not pick and choose our chums; Barton might not be clubable, but he might be useful, and the social ladder requires a first step.

Thanks to such men as Dan and Bez, in Melbourne, and to other enterprising builders in various places, habitable dwellings of wood, brick, and bluestone began to be used, instead of the handy but uncomfortable tent, and, at the Rocky Waterholes, Philip had for some time been lodging in a weatherboard house with the respectable Mrs. Martin.  Before going to look for Nyalong he introduced his successor to her, and also to the scholars.  Her name was Miss Edgeworth.

The first virtue of a good master is gravity, and Philip had begun at the beginning.  He was now graver even than usual while he briefly addressed his youthful auditors.

“My dear children,” he said, “I am going away, and have to leave you in the care of this young lady, Miss Edgeworth.  I am sure you will find her to be a better teacher than myself, because she has been trained in the schools of the great city of Dublin, and I, unfortunately, had no training at all; she is highly educated, and will be, I doubt not, a perfect blessing to the rising generation of the Rocky Waterholes.  I hope you will be diligent, obedient, and respectful to her.  Good-bye, and God bless you all.”