and the farmer’s wife had to interpret.  And that farmer lived to the age of eighty years, and never learned to speak English.  He was not a fool by any means; knew all about farming; worked twelve or fourteen hours a day all the year round, having never heard of the eight hours system; but he talked, and prayed, and swore all his life in the Hampshire dialect.  Whenever he spoke to the neighbours a look of pain and misery came over them.  Sometimes he went to meetings, and made a speech, but he was told to go and fetch a Chinaman to interpret.

Philip entered into possession of the hut.  It had two rooms, and the furniture did not cost much.  At Adams’ store he bought a camp oven, an earthenware stew-pot, a milk pan, a billy, two pannikins, two spoons, a whittle, and a fork.  The extra pannikin and spoon were for the use of visitors, for Philip’s idea was that a hermit, if not holy, should be at least hospitable.  With an axe and saw he made his own furniture—­viz., two hardwood stools, one of which would seat two men; for a table he sawed off the butt end of a messmate, rolled it inside the hut, and nailed on the top of it a piece of a pine packing case.  His bedstead was a frame of saplings, with strong canvas nailed over it, and his mattress was a sheet of stringy bark, which soon curled up at the sides and fitted him like a coffin.  His pillow was a linen bag filled with spare shirts and socks, and under it he placed his revolver, in case he might want it for unwelcome visitors.

Patrick Duggan’s wife did the laundry work, and refused to take payment in cash.  But she made a curious bargain about it.  A priest visited Nyalong only once a month; he lived fifty miles away; when Mrs. Duggan was in her last sickness he might be unable to administer to her the rites of the church.  So her bargain was, that in case the priest should be absent, the schoolmaster, as next best man, was to read prayers over her grave.  Philip thought there was something strange, perhaps simoniacal, about the bargain.  Twice Mrs. Duggan, thinking she was on the point of death, sent a messenger to remind him of his duty; and when at last she did die, he was present at the funeral, and read the prayers for the dead over her grave.

Avarice is a vice so base that I never heard of any man who would confess that he had ever been guilty of it.  Philip was my best friend, and I was always loath to think unkindly of him, but at this time I really think he began to be rather penurious—­not avaricious, certainly not.  But he was not a hermit of the holiest kind.  He began to save money and acquire stock.  He had not been long on the hill before he owned a horse, two dogs, a cat, a native bear, a magpie, and a parrot, and he paid nothing for any of them except the horse.  One day he met Mr. McCarthy talking to Bob Atkins, a station hand, who had a horse to sell—­a filly, rising three.  McCarthy was a good judge of horses, and after inspecting the filly, he said:  “She will just suit you, Mr. Philip, you ought to buy her.”  So the bargain was made; the price was ten pounds, Bob giving in the saddle, bridle, a pair of hobbles, and a tether rope.  He was proud of his deal.