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penned by a woman, but the postmark showed her place of residence to be at the other end of the world.

Mr. Fletcher was seated at his breakfast, a meal which for domestic reasons he generally took alone, and Winnie was waiting on him. He received the letters with a kindly smile, and allowed them to lie by his plate while he conversed with the girls.

‘Mr. Raymond struck me as an estimable and well-informed young man. I am pleased to think he has found an employer so close at hand.’

‘Mr. Hogg is going to open a branch store on the gumfield,’ Winnie said; ‘so probably he will send Mr. Raymond there by and by. Have you met the new storekeeper Mr. Hernshaw?’

Mr. Fletcher’s brows contracted slightly. ‘Yes,’ he said; ‘I saw him on Sunday last.’

‘Isn’t he nice-looking?’ Mabel asked. Something of the old leaven still worked beneath the demure exterior of the younger sister, betraying itself now and again in chance remarks. Winnie made warning signals behind the parson’s chair.

‘He is not outwardly ill-favoured,’ Mr. Fletcher admitted. ‘Has he been long in the district?’

‘Two or three years,’ Winnie hastened to reply. ‘He has a brother—such a nice boy—who used to be a shepherd on the station until this one came out. Of course Mr. Hernshaw’s taking on the store is only a forerunner to something else.’

Mr. Fletcher looked interrogation.

‘He and Eve are dreadfully gone on one another,’ Mabel explained, with a roguish laugh. ‘All last summer they were inseparable; so it is easy to see what his coming to live at the place means.’