So he departed, with Nelly’s best wishes, and full of hope and expectation, promising to return in two weeks.

Two months slipped past, and one evening a forlorn, ragged, lean scarecrow of a black boy—­without a hat, unshaven, without a blanket, and even destitute of a pipe, clambered over the side of the steamer, and dropped into the boat without a word.  It was Tom!

In shreds and patches the history of his experience was related.  He had arrived at Lucinda, had charmed “Little Jinny” with his manly presence and spruceness and the amount of his personal property, supplemented by the display and free bestowal of Nelly’s choicest finery, and had, as a matter of course, been compelled to fight for her.  He had been beaten, terribly beaten.  One ear had been viciously “marked,” a triangular slice being missing (a subsequent combat removed all trace of this mark), and he showed the meritorious scar of a spear-wound on the arm.

Having failed in the stand-up fight, he had resorted to stratagem, had been foiled, and forced to flee, abandoning everything, even to that last vestige of independence—­his pipe.

We knew that he had been hard pressed, for on going gaily away he had volunteered to bring a fat young pig from one of the wild herds of Hinchinbrook, and he came back empty-handed.  He talks of the pig—­how fat and very young it was—­even to this day.  He came with his life—­that was all, and a threadbare sort of life it was at that.

Several months went by—­a black boy recovers condition in a day or two as does a starved dog—­and Tom had saved money.  He never forgets, never swerves from a purpose.  He is as determined as a dung-beetle.

Another leave of absence was granted.  A second raid was made upon Nelly’s wardrobe—­two big bailer shells.  Elated, freshly shaved and smiling, he was a different sort from the individual who had shamefacedly slipped over the side of the steamer, bereft of everything but life.

He said he would be back in two weeks, and to the day he appeared.  His youthful third wife he handed down into the boat, and the boat was full of their luggage.  Ah, that desolated camp at Lucinda!  The young lady’s trousseau was complete even to lingerie.  He had won the fight, and the bride and the spoils were his.

Poor Nelly!  She welcomed “Little Jinny” effusively, and “Little Jinny” gave her a dress and a second-best hat.  Life for a couple of days at the camp was idyllic.  Then they took back the gifts of clothing, and turned Nelly out of the hut.  She built a separate establishment—­a dome of dried grass on bent sticks, and in it she wept and upbraided, and fired up frequently under the torments of jealousy.

Shrill squabbles were of daily occurrence, until the great Peacemaker removed Tom’s favourite wife.  And who more sorely grieved than Nelly!