“The omadhaun!” he said to himself under the bedclothes; “it would be a good thing to serve him with the sauce of silence, as he did me last night.”  But better counsels prevailed in his warm Irish heart, and he arose to unlock the door, when suddenly it flew open, and Wilkinson, with nothing but a pair of trousers added to his night attire, fell backwards into his arms.  It was broad daylight as each looked into the other’s face for explanations.

“But you’re strong, Wilks!” said the lawyer with admiration.

“Corry, when I heard you groan that way, I was sure you were in a fit.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” replied his friend, who found it hard to keep from laughing, “only a bad nightmare.”

“What were you dreaming about to bring it on?”

Now, this was just what Coristine dared not tell, for the truth would bring up all last night’s misunderstanding.  So he made up a story of Wilkinson’s teaching The Crew navigation and the use of the globes, when the captain interfered and threatened to kick master and pupil overboard.  Then he, Coristine, interposed, and the captain fell upon him.  “And you know, Wilks, he’s a heavy man.”

“Well, I am heartily glad it is no worse.  Get a wash and get your clothes on, and come down to breakfast, like a good boy, for I hear the bell ringing.”

Over their coffee and toast, eggs and sausages, the two were as kind and attentive to one another’s wants, as if no dispute had ever marred their friendship.  The dominie got out his sketch map of a route and opened it between them.  “We shall start straight for the bush road into the north, if that suits you,” he said, “and travel by easy stages towards Collingwood, where we shall again behold one of our inland seas.  But, as it may be sometime before we reach a house of entertainment, it may be as well to fill the odd corners of our knapsacks with provisions for the way.”

“I say amen to that idea,” replied the lawyer, and the travellers arose, paid their bill, including the price of the door-lock, seized their knapsacks by the straps and sallied forth.  They laid in a small stock of captain’s biscuits, a piece of good cheese, and some gingersnaps for Wilkinson’s sweet tooth; they also had their flask refilled, and Coristine invested in some pipe-lights.  Then they sallied forth, not into the north as Wilkinson had said, it being a phrase he was fond of, but, at first, in a westerly, and, on the whole, in a north-westerly direction.

When the last house on the outskirts was left behind them, they helped each other on with their knapsacks, and felt like real pedestrians.  The bush enclosed them on either side of the sandy road, so that they had shade whenever they wanted it.  Occasionally a wayfarer would pass them with a curt “good morning,” or a team would rattle by, its driver bestowing a similar salutation.  The surface of the country was flat, but this did not hinder Wilkinson reciting:—­