Jacko, when alone, nothing daunted by the darkness or solitude, seated himself on the top rail, took out a pipe, and struck a match.  When the tobacco was ignited he dropped the match on the dry grass at his feet, and a little flame instantly sprang up.  The boy waited a few seconds till the flames began to run, and then putting his feet together on the ground stamped out the incipient fire.  “My word!” said Jacko to himself, “it’s easy done, anyway.”

Harry went on to the left for about half a mile, and then stood leaning against the fence.  It was very dark, but he was now looking over into an inclosure which had been altogether cleared of trees, and which, as he knew well, had been cultivated and was covered with sugar-canes.  Where he stood he was not distant above a quarter of a mile from the river, and the field before him ran down to the banks.  This was the selected land of Giles Medlicot—­two years since a portion of his own run, which had now been purchased from the government—­for the loss of which he had received and was entitled to receive no compensation.  And the matter was made worse for him by the fact that the interloper had come between him and the river.  But he was not standing here near midnight merely to exercise his wrath by straining his eyes through the darkness at his neighbor’s crops.  He put his finger into his mouth to wet it, and then held it up that he might discover which way the light breath of wind was coming.  There was still the low moan to be heard continually through the forest, and yet not a leaf seemed to be moved.  After a while he thought he caught a sound, and put his ear down to the ground.  He distinctly heard a footstep, and rising up, walked quickly toward the spot whence the noise came.

“Who’s that?” he said, as he saw the figure of a man standing on his side of the fence, and leaning against it, with a pipe in his month.

“Who are you?” replied the man on the fence.  “My name is Medlicot.”

“Oh, Mr. Medlicot, is it?”

“Is that Mr. Heathcote?  Good-night, Mr. Heathcote.  You are going about at a late hour of the night.”

“I have to go about early and late; but I ain’t later than you.”

“I’m close at home,” said Medlicot.

“I am, at any rate, on my own run,” said Harry.

“You mean to say that I am trespassing?” said the other; “because I can very soon jump back over the fence.”

“I didn’t mean that at all, Mr. Medlicot; any body is welcome on my run, night or day, who knows how to behave himself.”

“I hope I’m included in that list.”

“Just so; of course.  Considering the state that every thing is in, and all the damage that a fire would do, I rather wish that people would be a little more careful about smoking.”

“My canes, Mr. Heathcote, would burn quite as quickly as your grass.”

“It is not only the grass.  I’ve a hundred miles of fencing on the run which is as dry as tinder, not to talk of the station and the wool-shed.”